last night you took me to the closing night of the film festival. it was nice to be part of its ending, since it consumed so many of my days. our days. and so often we sat together and grimaced at the noisy people behind us. at the halfway mark i stopped leaning into you, and stopped rubbing your leg, because you called it as friendship. i was glad you did this, because i didn't know how to read it. you said it was sad and i agreed.
last night i drank too much red wine and i wanted you. but i hid these feelings. because maybe it was just the red wine. then you gave 3 kisses at the bus stop. my mouth, my neck, and you blew one as i moved away. or did i imagine that? and it was an uncertain ride home. sadness, again, and i was unable to reconcile what this meant, how i felt, where we were at just now.
this morning, on another bus, i thought of you. i thought of that morning when i walked out of your bathroom and you were slowly and coyly dancing to johnny cash in your underwear. at that point, this morning, i really did want you.
hounds of love, kate bush. this song is you, right? though maybe it's me too. and maybe it can be applied to everyone who's ever feared their own desires (ie. everyone). but maybe i'm still in a red wine haze and reading too much into things.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Thursday, June 3, 2010
digital divide
digits are fingers. they are also numbers. i guess it's the same word because we count with our fingers. but we do many things with fingers. we touch things and make things and grab onto things to make a hasty escape from numbers. or maybe that's just me.
i want digital to mean 'of the fingers' but mostly i use it to speak 'of the computer' or other equipment that operates via batteries and electricity. i'm not a fan of that digital. i like fingers. give me a knitting needle over a mouse any day.
of course fingers use digital technology too. but as i type, i forget my fingers. i'm not looking at them, what they touch, or how they move.
today i've been trying to get a sound file off a digital recorder. to no avail. i've looked at instructions (despite my instructional illiteracy) and i've watched youtube instructional videos. it seems you just plug it in and it works. but it doesn't. silence. nothing. and nowhere to go from there.
i once had a washing machine that used to break down. i could fix it. i once drove a 1978 torana whose gear shaft would get stuck in reverse. i could fix it. a screwdriver, a spanner, some banging of metal, and off i drove. i didn't feel particularly skilled. these were simple tools, simple rules, a matter of putting things back in their place. things that could be seen, felt, and hit. it was dirty work that blackened my fingers but there was a satisfaction in fixing. these were not skills i wanted to learn, but had to learn. if i had money i would probably not have taken them up. but i didn't. and so i did. and i grew accustomed to the joys of fixing things in my life. personal items that kept my life functioning as it did.
but now, today, things break and i have to phone somebody. i phone the landlord who phones the plumber who phones me and then i phone my housemate and this goes on for a while until the problem is fixed. phew. but the problem is beyond my reach. there's no spanner in my hand.
and so with my broken hard drive. there's a man who plugs it in, and listens, and says the head is broken. it's a delicate salvage operation in a dust-free room that will cost $500-600. i can't be there, of course. there's no spanner. once again, i'm dislocated from the things i break. i'm made stupid by the modern art of fixing.
i like to fix things. writing is about fixing. editing, changing, adapting, making something from words. and sometimes it feels like a car stalled in peak hour traffic. but i hammer away until i can get moving once more. i own it. there's a sense of control and achievement. a great sense of achievement when things work. and this is more satisfying than a wage (i would never work as a fixer of things). it's completely non-monetary. $500-600 can't buy me the words i need. generating some necessary skills can though.
this might go some way into explaining why i really wanted to throw this digital recorder against the wall just now.
i want digital to mean 'of the fingers' but mostly i use it to speak 'of the computer' or other equipment that operates via batteries and electricity. i'm not a fan of that digital. i like fingers. give me a knitting needle over a mouse any day.
of course fingers use digital technology too. but as i type, i forget my fingers. i'm not looking at them, what they touch, or how they move.
today i've been trying to get a sound file off a digital recorder. to no avail. i've looked at instructions (despite my instructional illiteracy) and i've watched youtube instructional videos. it seems you just plug it in and it works. but it doesn't. silence. nothing. and nowhere to go from there.
i once had a washing machine that used to break down. i could fix it. i once drove a 1978 torana whose gear shaft would get stuck in reverse. i could fix it. a screwdriver, a spanner, some banging of metal, and off i drove. i didn't feel particularly skilled. these were simple tools, simple rules, a matter of putting things back in their place. things that could be seen, felt, and hit. it was dirty work that blackened my fingers but there was a satisfaction in fixing. these were not skills i wanted to learn, but had to learn. if i had money i would probably not have taken them up. but i didn't. and so i did. and i grew accustomed to the joys of fixing things in my life. personal items that kept my life functioning as it did.
but now, today, things break and i have to phone somebody. i phone the landlord who phones the plumber who phones me and then i phone my housemate and this goes on for a while until the problem is fixed. phew. but the problem is beyond my reach. there's no spanner in my hand.
and so with my broken hard drive. there's a man who plugs it in, and listens, and says the head is broken. it's a delicate salvage operation in a dust-free room that will cost $500-600. i can't be there, of course. there's no spanner. once again, i'm dislocated from the things i break. i'm made stupid by the modern art of fixing.
i like to fix things. writing is about fixing. editing, changing, adapting, making something from words. and sometimes it feels like a car stalled in peak hour traffic. but i hammer away until i can get moving once more. i own it. there's a sense of control and achievement. a great sense of achievement when things work. and this is more satisfying than a wage (i would never work as a fixer of things). it's completely non-monetary. $500-600 can't buy me the words i need. generating some necessary skills can though.
this might go some way into explaining why i really wanted to throw this digital recorder against the wall just now.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
the quiet room
my day was going well, and then, sitting on the bed, i dragged my computer over my lap, forgetting the hard drive was plugged in, and watched it, or rather heard it, fall to the floor. and now it's not working. my day is no longer working.
it shouldn't matter, i know. all my files on there were back-ups. except for the 12000 or so music files. i still have them on ipod, and a few (but not many) on cd. but that's different. the thought of not having that on hand is quite distressing. it shouldn't be. there's records and cds and other ways to hear music. but this is most definitely an amputation.
it shouldn't matter, but it does. it really does. and now i'm going to go to glebe (in the rain) in the hope that someone can salvage it. i'm hesitant though, because maybe the news will be bad.
it shouldn't matter, i know. all my files on there were back-ups. except for the 12000 or so music files. i still have them on ipod, and a few (but not many) on cd. but that's different. the thought of not having that on hand is quite distressing. it shouldn't be. there's records and cds and other ways to hear music. but this is most definitely an amputation.
it shouldn't matter, but it does. it really does. and now i'm going to go to glebe (in the rain) in the hope that someone can salvage it. i'm hesitant though, because maybe the news will be bad.
Monday, May 24, 2010
once in a lifetime
"and you may ask yourself, how did i get here?"
(talking heads)
i'm going to kill my facebook account. i don't need it. it doesn't need me. let's move on.
i had some more dreams, and then they stopped.
thursday night it was a taxi on fire. well, not so much on fire as having a flickering flame on the windscreen and bonnet, as though a flammable liquid over the windshield was on fire. the paint wasn't blistering, the car wasn't burning up. i think it was parked near newtown station. a person over my shoulder says "that'd be right" as though this sort of thing was to be expected.
friday night i dreamt that chris and i were walking and stumbled into a violent street scene. a guy had a knife and threatened the people around him. one man tried to get the knife from him and got slashed across his stomach. he fell down and it looked like he was about to be stabbed to death. then maybe another man intercepted. and then, at some stage, all the fighters stood and bowed to now applauding onlookers. this was a performance and nobody was injured. i was really angry that i was made to feel frightened for the sake of street performance.
chris was in my bed, so perhaps that's why he featured in the dream. i told him of this the next morning. i haven't remembered a dream since.
most of my dreams have circulated around fear and uncertainty. i wonder if the anticipation of seeing haneke's the white ribbon was intercepting with my sleeping thoughts. i saw it last night. that deserves its own post and further contemplation on my part, but it seemed to connect to the trajectory of my dreams. though maybe it has made me more fearful and anxious in my waking life, because there's no writing this off as fiction.
(talking heads)
i'm going to kill my facebook account. i don't need it. it doesn't need me. let's move on.
i had some more dreams, and then they stopped.
thursday night it was a taxi on fire. well, not so much on fire as having a flickering flame on the windscreen and bonnet, as though a flammable liquid over the windshield was on fire. the paint wasn't blistering, the car wasn't burning up. i think it was parked near newtown station. a person over my shoulder says "that'd be right" as though this sort of thing was to be expected.
friday night i dreamt that chris and i were walking and stumbled into a violent street scene. a guy had a knife and threatened the people around him. one man tried to get the knife from him and got slashed across his stomach. he fell down and it looked like he was about to be stabbed to death. then maybe another man intercepted. and then, at some stage, all the fighters stood and bowed to now applauding onlookers. this was a performance and nobody was injured. i was really angry that i was made to feel frightened for the sake of street performance.
chris was in my bed, so perhaps that's why he featured in the dream. i told him of this the next morning. i haven't remembered a dream since.
most of my dreams have circulated around fear and uncertainty. i wonder if the anticipation of seeing haneke's the white ribbon was intercepting with my sleeping thoughts. i saw it last night. that deserves its own post and further contemplation on my part, but it seemed to connect to the trajectory of my dreams. though maybe it has made me more fearful and anxious in my waking life, because there's no writing this off as fiction.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
bad sleep, more dreams
#1
paul kelly, the singer, wants me. he messages me on facebook to tell me so. he keeps contacting me. i'm sort of flattered, because it's paul kelly, but i'm not sure. because i'm sort of seeing somebody. and i'm staying in a room out the back of an old house and paul from melbourne is there too. too many pauls.
#2
i remember that i'd met with 2 potential supervisors from UTS, but forgot to tell them that i'm staying at UNSW. i can't quite remember who they were. one seemed a lot like larissa behrendt, and i'd met with her in my kitchen, where she told me i'd lots of work to do. i liked her. the other supervisor is hazy. but i remember that they were both nice, and as some time had slipped it would now be awkward to tell them i don't need them. as far as they knew, they were my real supervisors. i felt really awful, but still couldn't tell them.
#3
i'm at my brother's house (which is not his real house). my whole family is there. i'm with a partner, but i have no recollection of who this is. we give my brother and sister-in-law really crappy, cheap gifts. everyone else gives they something decent. i try to hide one of ours, pretending i'm keeping it away from the kids. at one point my niece is sitting in a high chair, eating, but turns around to push her hands into a piece of stretched white plastic behind her. it's very stretchy. i'm on the other side, so push it also, playing with her. it's fun, until i grab both her hands and then she freaks out and stops playing.
paul kelly, the singer, wants me. he messages me on facebook to tell me so. he keeps contacting me. i'm sort of flattered, because it's paul kelly, but i'm not sure. because i'm sort of seeing somebody. and i'm staying in a room out the back of an old house and paul from melbourne is there too. too many pauls.
#2
i remember that i'd met with 2 potential supervisors from UTS, but forgot to tell them that i'm staying at UNSW. i can't quite remember who they were. one seemed a lot like larissa behrendt, and i'd met with her in my kitchen, where she told me i'd lots of work to do. i liked her. the other supervisor is hazy. but i remember that they were both nice, and as some time had slipped it would now be awkward to tell them i don't need them. as far as they knew, they were my real supervisors. i felt really awful, but still couldn't tell them.
#3
i'm at my brother's house (which is not his real house). my whole family is there. i'm with a partner, but i have no recollection of who this is. we give my brother and sister-in-law really crappy, cheap gifts. everyone else gives they something decent. i try to hide one of ours, pretending i'm keeping it away from the kids. at one point my niece is sitting in a high chair, eating, but turns around to push her hands into a piece of stretched white plastic behind her. it's very stretchy. i'm on the other side, so push it also, playing with her. it's fun, until i grab both her hands and then she freaks out and stops playing.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
last night's dream
i was boarding an aeroplane. there was an escalator that went up, somehow, through the aeroplane and ended on top of the plane. we (me and others i can't remember) got off the escalator onto the squishy surface of the roof. it was like foam covered in plastic. not too foamy, but soft, shiny and white. it has some give and my feet slightly sunk in, with each step. somehow i ended up near the nose of the plane. others were stepping off the escalator and descending into the aircraft in a nearby opening. i somehow, and slowly, started slipping off the curved edge. we were at a great height but i wasn't scared. i knew it was nothing to punch some holes in the foamy surface of the plane and climb back up. so i did. and i walked the squishy plastic to the entrance, then into the plane. an admin person from my school was on board also. it seemed we were traveling together, but sitting apart. i realised i didn't have a boarding pass or my passport, that they might be in my checked-in luggage. what could i do or say to the flight attendant? i talked with my admin about this, but she couldn't really help. she went and found her seat. i was quite scared that i might be kicked off the flight. how could i not think to bring my boarding pass, or at least my passport? i felt stupid and anxious.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
stylistically awkward
got my first reviewer comments back from a paper i wrote last year. 2 reviewers: one liked it, the other didn't. one ticked 'Yes, could be published with minor revisions', the other ticked 'Maybe, requires major revisions'.
Z1:
"While at times I wondered where the argument was going—as, for instance, in the discussion of the author’s eviction from her apartment and the size of students’ desks—the paper brought it back to the central topic and made it relevant."
Z2:
"if the paper’s consistent use of self-reference is a necessary aspect of its methodology and argument (something that is not evident in the paper’s current form, despite its thematic focus on subject/self), then this approach should be explained and justified at the onset"
Z2 asks for lots of explanation:
"The paper’s central question and argument seem implicit; rather these should be explicitly expressed in the introduction."
Z2 also says that it's "stylistically awkward".
the disparity here is reassuring. i do think my work either resonates or not. it connects to some readers but not others. and i think that's fine. actually, better than fine. an alternative might be to operate in a space of mediocrity where nobody is offended, yet nobody is excited either. at least the editor is excited (she used exclamation marks in her email). though maybe this is because she knows i'm a postgrad (the paper is adapted from a graduate conference presentation) and she's being extra nice on that basis.
editor:
"I'm most inclined to agree with the comments in Z1 - I think your paper is very powerful as a self-reflective piece - in fact, I loved it!"
so if it wasn't a peer-reviewed journal i'd be sorted? though something tells me these people aren't really my peers. well, not yet. not until i can feel affiliated with 'the academy'.
Z1:
"While at times I wondered where the argument was going—as, for instance, in the discussion of the author’s eviction from her apartment and the size of students’ desks—the paper brought it back to the central topic and made it relevant."
Z2:
"if the paper’s consistent use of self-reference is a necessary aspect of its methodology and argument (something that is not evident in the paper’s current form, despite its thematic focus on subject/self), then this approach should be explained and justified at the onset"
Z2 asks for lots of explanation:
"The paper’s central question and argument seem implicit; rather these should be explicitly expressed in the introduction."
Z2 also says that it's "stylistically awkward".
the disparity here is reassuring. i do think my work either resonates or not. it connects to some readers but not others. and i think that's fine. actually, better than fine. an alternative might be to operate in a space of mediocrity where nobody is offended, yet nobody is excited either. at least the editor is excited (she used exclamation marks in her email). though maybe this is because she knows i'm a postgrad (the paper is adapted from a graduate conference presentation) and she's being extra nice on that basis.
editor:
"I'm most inclined to agree with the comments in Z1 - I think your paper is very powerful as a self-reflective piece - in fact, I loved it!"
so if it wasn't a peer-reviewed journal i'd be sorted? though something tells me these people aren't really my peers. well, not yet. not until i can feel affiliated with 'the academy'.
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