i remember touch

1) househunting is no fun.
2) nor is your lover being on the other side of the world.
3) nor is self-discipline.

but all of these things give shape to my life at present.

i focus on the last of these which has its rewards. i change my diet (wholefoods, low sugar) so that i no longer feel my body twisting and groaning and causing fatigue. i recommence swimming and remember what it's like to return to the computer with a clear head and the ability to digest words. i re-draft two chapters for my supervisor. combined, these things make me feel better, and give me less grief in thinking about points 1 and 2.

sydney is too expensive. but i'm now forging a repetoire of home-cooked cheap meals, so i'm almost ready to suck it up and pay half my salary as rent, in the hope that this will be temporary.

i'm listening to this song a lot.



yes, i remember touch. it's coming up two weeks (the halfway point) and it's an itch of a memory that i can't shed. i look to see what substitutes may be around, but nothing appeals. besides, i'm no longer in the age bracket of appeal in this world, so do little but awkwardly witness a series of banal self-representations. it's as nourishing as commercial tv.

this song, however, is exquisite. it's like phantom of the opera meets sci-fi memories of times when affection was had. the remembrance of touch. and it doesn't fail to cite disco: a hopeful mode of nostalgia if there ever was one. yes, of course i will survive. and my emotional state is clearly the driving force behind this song. the beat is terribly inconsistent but it makes more sense that way. it feels more real, and also not.

angry sunday

today i'm angry about this country. i'm reading and posting and commenting on the Rudd government's new refugee policy. from now on, any refugee arriving in Australia by boat will be sent to Papua New Guinea. so Australia sheds itself from any responsibility in helping many refugees, instead deporting them so that their treatment, conditions, and rights need not be considered by the Australian government. it's being framed as a deterrent against 'people smugglers', of course, yet regardless of caricaturing them as criminal evil-doers (hang on, aren't they also enablers, and people who save people?), this policy impacts upon 'the victims' that Rudd is pretending to fight for: asylum seekers. Rudd is saying 'lives are at stake', and so deterrence measures are required. yes, the value of lives is being used to justify a policy that is actually very negligent of lives. hello doublespeak.

maybe i don't know enough about the issue - we keep being told that it's a "complex issue" after all. and maybe i'm being too emotional in my response, but maybe that's valid. because the coldness of the Rudd 'solution' is something we should be disgusted, angered, and hurt by. this is not what politics should be. and this seems to be the difficulty many of us are facing.

and of course it's all about winning votes in marginal seats. there's a clear and obvious history of Australian electioneering that uses the lives of others (or irrational fears of otherness) to do so:



materials that offer facts and evidence about asylum seeker and refugee issues in Australia are surfacing, and this is great to see, but i wonder if they're read by anyone not already left-aligned. and i guess, i too have a fear of otherness, but my phobia is of those who appear impervious to compassion, and of a political landscape in which this not challenged, but accepted, and worked into national policy.

lastly, and mostly, i just need to say "fuck you Kevin Rudd".

rats, as far as you know, do not play pinball

Georges Perec, A Man Asleep, excerpt:

"But rats, as far as you know, do not play pinball. You hug the machines for hours on end, for nights on end, feverishly, angrily. You cling, grunting, to the machines, accompanying the erratic rebounds of the steel ball with exaggerated thrusts of your hips. You wage relentless warfare on the springs, the lights, the figures, the channels.

Painted ladies who give an electronic wink, who lower their fans. You can't fight against a tilt. You can play or not play. You can't start up a conversation, you can't make it say what it will never be able to say to you. It is no use snuggling up close to it, panting over it, the tilt remains insensitive to the friendship you feel, to the love which you seek, to the desire which torments you. Six thousand points, when four thousand four hundred are enough for a replay, will only add to your bruises, will only beat you down a little further."

peppermint tea, Suede, a phone call

today was the first day of my new work-to-death schedule. over-commitment, once again, in a final burst of money making (in preparation for a year of poverty and thesis making).

i'm surrounded by taureans: people like me. people a little bit grounded, a little bit distant, rather independent, and somewhat predictable. i can point to 6 whom i've had recent dealings with and i feel like they're keeping me a little bit focused and a little bit upright. i need that.

and tonight was the phone call to suggest a week off for some space and some time. because i need some thinking time. and so does he. i didn't enjoy the conversation but i enjoyed the feeling afterwards. my week has freed itself up for more work, more time with friends, and finding some of that taurean ground that seems to be missing.

and i'm trying not to think too much about one of those taureans. i'm trying not to fuck up friendships. i'm aiming for chastity. so it's a fine time to put my head down and work.

weekend drama

all relationships are hard work. relationships that define themselves as 'not-relationships' are particularly hard. the experiment exists beyond a model, so when things go askew there's no fallback position. there's no default setting. there's just me and him having awkward conversations in the dark. there's misunderstandings. there's the surfacing of words said that i'd forgotten. words that resonated for him. words heard differently. and so we twist them around and pass them back and forth, endlessly.

after dinner, when we're alone, the temperature drops. he's making the bed. he's showering. he's busying himself. i'm laying on the bed, unable to find words to disrupt this awkward drama.

lights are out. his voice is unsteady. there's anger there. there's a slow undressing of all our insecurities, hesitations, dilemmas. i fall asleep and wake in an empty flat. disorientation. it's impossible not to feel alone when you're alone in this flat. he's never not here. his phone is there, his wallet too, but no him.

a few hours later (or minutes), there's me and him and more words. there's me staring at those curtains - cream with brown lines - moving in the breeze. and i think this is the last time i'll look at these curtains from this bed. this is my last time here; with that thought, i drink it in. mostly i stare at the curtains that dance freely in the breeze. the only movement, as we lay still amongst our words.

hours (or minutes) pass until we're holding each other again. i lay on top of him and kiss his lips. he says 'it's about time'. we take to each other like starving animals. few words now, just other sounds as we travel in and out of each other. the curtains probably still dance, but who cares. i'm no longer planning my exit. i'm somewhere else and it's not a place i can describe easily. except to say it's nice. and i stay there for the rest of this day, even now, at home, alone (but so not alone).

before we leave his flat i try to push him into the hallway in his underwear. he says i'm mean. i say 'if you love me you'll walk into the hallway naked'. he says 'but i don't love you.' exactly. and this is what it feels like to not be alone.

for all we know

This song occupies that lovely space before kissing, or maybe after kissing, but either way, the space of departing from the one you love and not knowing if you’ll see them again. “A kiss that is never tasted, forever and ever is wasted”. Indeed. But this space is cause for shyness, and often I don’t lean in for that kiss when I probably should, and this leads to many open-ended dates, conversations, and looks of uncertainty. Once I like you, I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to risk the chance of never seeing you again. So I make plans that include you. I schedule a friendship that is nice, lovely even, but it precludes us from tasting kisses. And I’m not as positive as Billie Holiday. I rarely have her casual attitude to love. She knows that there’ll be other loves and a future of many kisses. I need to take a page from her book. I need to step back and imagine tomorrow’s kisses; those tasted and wasted, real or fantastic. And of course there'll be more lingering on the streets, on train platforms, and after final words drop. “We won’t say goodnight until the last minute”. Indeed. There we are in the Métro, talking quietly and letting trains pass. Like clockwork they slide on by. I say I’ll take the next one, the next one... okay, the last one. And of course, I want your lips on mine, but they brush each side of my face. It almost feels right. And I slip away from you wondering if that was the last kiss. It’s always the last kiss. But for now I wake up in the wrong continent. “For all we know, this may be a dream”.

meeting mother

i'm meeting his mother tonight. not sure why i thought this would be a good idea. i guess i want to impress him. i guess i want to see how it feels. i guess i wonder what she's like, and what she might think of me. though i don't suppose she knows much about me. and her partner will be there too. and we're going to that place where we often eat. (but things will feel different, because it's me, him, his mother, her partner).

i'm there as a friend, i think. but who knows what their conversation will hold on the way to the restaurant. i guess she'll connect some dots at dinner. and i'm confused by what it will feel like and how i'm to behave. (do i kiss him on the lips?).

meeting mum is so counter to our relationship, which might best be called an anti-relationship. perhaps meeting mum doesn't have to be weird, in that case, because it needn't mean what we expect it to mean. (relax; there'll be wine).

i imagine i'll be asked 'what do you do?' which could be interesting, because in this time of 'hanging out' we've not really gone there. we know the basics, but these aspects are irrelevant. work is that place we go to after we crawl out of each other's beds. so many mornings of moving around each other as we shower, dress, and leave for work. and we don't need to know what we 'do' after we part on the corner, in the park, or at the top of the stairs. (i don't want to not kiss him on the lips)