my year ends on a low. have been a bit down these last few weeks. perdu. numbness.
this morning i struggled to get out of bed. i needed someone to enter the room with those medical shock implements that look like irons. "clear!" zap.
but i was forced to drag myself up and out of bed.
life begins in 2 weeks. in sydney. i haven't used my diary for the last month as i haven't needed to. i think this is my problem. nothing to plan my time around. just blank days.
(now playing: always crashing in the same car - david bowie)
i'm starting to assemble my things in the spare room for packing. some of my stuff is already boxed, has been since june, since leaving thorn st. i'm hoping that part of my sadness will be eased by the unpacking of boxes. yet i suspect a large part of it relates to the absence of thorn st.
i try to be tough and unsentimental but it's not easy. i have to pretend that i don't need things and places to prop me up. that's definately not easy. my boxes, my memories; they're heavy but necessary.
i write this from my old table in the front room of bull st. surrounded by an empty bookcase, an unhanged picture of mouchette, my couch... this room is the least used. my furniture, dust and quiet.
i'd like to feel at home at bull st, but can't. though maybe i've never really tried.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
project britney?
last week, xmas eve, and mark wants to buy cds for the car trip to my parents house. it's only 1.5 hours. i don't want to go shopping (because it's xmas eve) but we do. he buys the new kaiser chiefs and britney's circus.
i only lasted 6 songs from circus (though the latter few were skipped over after a minute or so). i started to get all grandpa and launched into a rant about pop music.
i quite like pop music and can be somewhat defensive of it given that i was raised by pop. but on this day i felt sad and wanted to return to a time of early madonna, prince, cyndi lauper, etc. mostly because those artists (at this time) were less polished and gave us interesting lyrics to grasp and consider. they had edge. circus does not, and it certainly lacks in the lyrical department. though britney used to give good lyrics. think toxic, slave 4 u, everytime, baby one more time, do somethin'...
not that i ask for pop lyrics to be well-considered and poetic (this i can find in other music), but at least they can be interesting and cleverly composed.
mark says he doesn't really hear lyrics so much as sounds. he likes britney on this basis. i find this interesting, but then can't help but consider what role britney has in these sounds. probably very little, just like the lyrics (she co-writes 3 of the 13 tracks, all buried in the latter half of the album).
i can't help being cynical about britney. indeed, she is a concept, a brand, a vehicle upon which to move dollars. which is not to say she can't be good. rihanna is the same, yet some of her gems allow me to forgive this (if only to enhance my listening pleasure). yet i would never pay money for the recordings of either artist.
in the past i've criticised claims of inauthenticity thrown at pop music, made on the basis that pop is shallow, vacuous, apolitical, mass-produced. rather, it can be said that pop music is truly postmodern in its rejection of the authentic. it is ever-changing, historically derivative, intertextual, an interplay between the real and the fake - thereby challenging the stability of either.
yet i think what bothers me most about circus is its claims for authenticity. the lyrics seem to play on the public britney phenomenon. there's a lot (once again, á la gimme more) about the media and paparazzi savaging her, her struggle to take back the power, her refusal to be a victim - "i call the shots" (circus).
but she didn't write these words. she's singing about herself through someone else's pen. as a writer of the personal (and not simply a consumer of pop), i feel somewhat affronted by this. by no means do i consider my own writing as an enterprise in authenticity, but it's my own grappling, play, thought-processes. here, britney is absent from such process. she only inhabits these words through her (heavily manipulated) voice.
as someone who can't help listen to (and dissect) lyrics, i can't be comfortable with new britney. i'd rather pop that doesn't pose as autobiography. i'd rather pop that lets listeners recognise themselves in lyrics, rather than dressing them up as those of the performer. if anything, this is just an extension of the britney phenomenon. another chapter of the fuss that is worth little more than a yawn. poor britney? fuck off.
there's no shortage of personal writing in pop music, much of it atrocious. but some of it brave and worthy of mentioning. i'm thinking madonna (particularly the like a prayer album) and pink. both classic pop artists in their inflections of self, their risk-taking, their generosity, their edge.
not that pop artists need to give their selves. i'd rather delta goodrem didn't share her cancer battle in stringing together a bunch of 'i'm a survivor' clichés. yet, this was an expectation by many, including her fans. as it was for kylie. i remember a SMH reviewer saying of kylie's x album that it was a perfect opportunity for her to give us something personal. but kylie has never been generous in this way. undoubtably, for good reason.
surely if britney wanted to take back the power and "call the shots" she might just sing about something that is not her. womanizer works on this level (though reviewers have found personal meaning in these lyrics too). but surely it's just a song about about a girl striking out at a boy (for being "nothing but a womanizer"). inches removed from the girl dumps boy genre (see beyoncé's irreplaceable and rihanna's take a bow). an interesting genre, but hardly one i would call feminist, as others have.
so anyway, i'm driving my sister's car and ranting about pop music and i say to mark 'i think i feel another zine coming on'. i'm not sure if this is a good idea, or just a desire to write again. my writing arm has taken vacation, resting by my side as i consume novels, books and films but write nothing of them, or me. the ease and vigor with which i write this tells me its probably a good way to occupy myself in the coming weeks.
not that my project will be about the britney phenomenon. i'm sure dozens of cultural theorists are writing about that. and while fascinating on some levels, i'd rather look at pop, and my own grapplings with that and with myself as fan/consumer/grandpa.
i only lasted 6 songs from circus (though the latter few were skipped over after a minute or so). i started to get all grandpa and launched into a rant about pop music.
i quite like pop music and can be somewhat defensive of it given that i was raised by pop. but on this day i felt sad and wanted to return to a time of early madonna, prince, cyndi lauper, etc. mostly because those artists (at this time) were less polished and gave us interesting lyrics to grasp and consider. they had edge. circus does not, and it certainly lacks in the lyrical department. though britney used to give good lyrics. think toxic, slave 4 u, everytime, baby one more time, do somethin'...
not that i ask for pop lyrics to be well-considered and poetic (this i can find in other music), but at least they can be interesting and cleverly composed.
mark says he doesn't really hear lyrics so much as sounds. he likes britney on this basis. i find this interesting, but then can't help but consider what role britney has in these sounds. probably very little, just like the lyrics (she co-writes 3 of the 13 tracks, all buried in the latter half of the album).
i can't help being cynical about britney. indeed, she is a concept, a brand, a vehicle upon which to move dollars. which is not to say she can't be good. rihanna is the same, yet some of her gems allow me to forgive this (if only to enhance my listening pleasure). yet i would never pay money for the recordings of either artist.
in the past i've criticised claims of inauthenticity thrown at pop music, made on the basis that pop is shallow, vacuous, apolitical, mass-produced. rather, it can be said that pop music is truly postmodern in its rejection of the authentic. it is ever-changing, historically derivative, intertextual, an interplay between the real and the fake - thereby challenging the stability of either.
yet i think what bothers me most about circus is its claims for authenticity. the lyrics seem to play on the public britney phenomenon. there's a lot (once again, á la gimme more) about the media and paparazzi savaging her, her struggle to take back the power, her refusal to be a victim - "i call the shots" (circus).
but she didn't write these words. she's singing about herself through someone else's pen. as a writer of the personal (and not simply a consumer of pop), i feel somewhat affronted by this. by no means do i consider my own writing as an enterprise in authenticity, but it's my own grappling, play, thought-processes. here, britney is absent from such process. she only inhabits these words through her (heavily manipulated) voice.
as someone who can't help listen to (and dissect) lyrics, i can't be comfortable with new britney. i'd rather pop that doesn't pose as autobiography. i'd rather pop that lets listeners recognise themselves in lyrics, rather than dressing them up as those of the performer. if anything, this is just an extension of the britney phenomenon. another chapter of the fuss that is worth little more than a yawn. poor britney? fuck off.
there's no shortage of personal writing in pop music, much of it atrocious. but some of it brave and worthy of mentioning. i'm thinking madonna (particularly the like a prayer album) and pink. both classic pop artists in their inflections of self, their risk-taking, their generosity, their edge.
not that pop artists need to give their selves. i'd rather delta goodrem didn't share her cancer battle in stringing together a bunch of 'i'm a survivor' clichés. yet, this was an expectation by many, including her fans. as it was for kylie. i remember a SMH reviewer saying of kylie's x album that it was a perfect opportunity for her to give us something personal. but kylie has never been generous in this way. undoubtably, for good reason.
surely if britney wanted to take back the power and "call the shots" she might just sing about something that is not her. womanizer works on this level (though reviewers have found personal meaning in these lyrics too). but surely it's just a song about about a girl striking out at a boy (for being "nothing but a womanizer"). inches removed from the girl dumps boy genre (see beyoncé's irreplaceable and rihanna's take a bow). an interesting genre, but hardly one i would call feminist, as others have.
so anyway, i'm driving my sister's car and ranting about pop music and i say to mark 'i think i feel another zine coming on'. i'm not sure if this is a good idea, or just a desire to write again. my writing arm has taken vacation, resting by my side as i consume novels, books and films but write nothing of them, or me. the ease and vigor with which i write this tells me its probably a good way to occupy myself in the coming weeks.
not that my project will be about the britney phenomenon. i'm sure dozens of cultural theorists are writing about that. and while fascinating on some levels, i'd rather look at pop, and my own grapplings with that and with myself as fan/consumer/grandpa.
Friday, December 19, 2008
playlisting
amplified xmas carols are fading in and out, wafting through the bedroom window. it's quiet. am alone. mark is at work xmas drinks. i'm waking from a nap. still feeling the pinch of hangover.
too many beers were had last night. quiet drinks became trashy night. i was the only one who didn't have to work today. though i was up before 8, in the ocean by 9. that was nice. it cured me, briefly.
then it was more coffee, food, and catching up with friends. when carly left at 3 i returned to being tired, queasy, blah. so i finished my online 80s lyrics quiz. then i listened to smog. then i went to bed.
now i listen to lastfm. and i'm wondering why it's taken me so long to embrace this. it's lazy playlisting. it's finding new music. it's putting already favourite music up against each other.
yet new music is also complicating my life, as my ipod is full. i've exceeded 30GB. i have to remove music in order to add music. i don't enjoy making such choices, limiting my catalogue. so it seems an upgrade is likely to happen.
i hate xmas carols. i wish mark would come home. i'm thinking about how my sister will insist on playing xmas carols on xmas day.
my computer has frozen 3 times while writing this. perhaps lastfm is not so great after all. or maybe it's just my piece-of-shit computer.
time to get up and make some noise.
too many beers were had last night. quiet drinks became trashy night. i was the only one who didn't have to work today. though i was up before 8, in the ocean by 9. that was nice. it cured me, briefly.
then it was more coffee, food, and catching up with friends. when carly left at 3 i returned to being tired, queasy, blah. so i finished my online 80s lyrics quiz. then i listened to smog. then i went to bed.
now i listen to lastfm. and i'm wondering why it's taken me so long to embrace this. it's lazy playlisting. it's finding new music. it's putting already favourite music up against each other.
yet new music is also complicating my life, as my ipod is full. i've exceeded 30GB. i have to remove music in order to add music. i don't enjoy making such choices, limiting my catalogue. so it seems an upgrade is likely to happen.
i hate xmas carols. i wish mark would come home. i'm thinking about how my sister will insist on playing xmas carols on xmas day.
my computer has frozen 3 times while writing this. perhaps lastfm is not so great after all. or maybe it's just my piece-of-shit computer.
time to get up and make some noise.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
nothing
awake at 4am for the second day running.
i've been lying in bed trying to shut my mind down, but thinking about all manner of trivial things. like my to-do list. fretting about getting organised before we head south for xmas. yet, there's little to organise. my life is not complicated right now.
drunk and drugged people are walking the streets, shouting to each other. cars are accelerating heavily. there's too much noise and it bothers me.
is it something i ate? is it my lethargic days of achieving little? is it the weather? these thoughts plague me and make sleep even more difficult. eventually i get up, go downstairs, write here.
things are strange for me right now. haven't been inclined to study much, or do much of anything. for the six weeks i was away my days were full and my eyelids were heavy by the time it reached night. then i was busy with study deadlines. now it's disconcertingly calm. there's nothing to busy myself with. well there is, but i have to make it happen. i can't just step outside and fall into something. there is no pressure of a deadline. so i float about in frustration. days of nothing. or what seems like nothing.
i feel guilty for doing nothing. yet uninspired to fix this.
i've been lying in bed trying to shut my mind down, but thinking about all manner of trivial things. like my to-do list. fretting about getting organised before we head south for xmas. yet, there's little to organise. my life is not complicated right now.
drunk and drugged people are walking the streets, shouting to each other. cars are accelerating heavily. there's too much noise and it bothers me.
is it something i ate? is it my lethargic days of achieving little? is it the weather? these thoughts plague me and make sleep even more difficult. eventually i get up, go downstairs, write here.
things are strange for me right now. haven't been inclined to study much, or do much of anything. for the six weeks i was away my days were full and my eyelids were heavy by the time it reached night. then i was busy with study deadlines. now it's disconcertingly calm. there's nothing to busy myself with. well there is, but i have to make it happen. i can't just step outside and fall into something. there is no pressure of a deadline. so i float about in frustration. days of nothing. or what seems like nothing.
i feel guilty for doing nothing. yet uninspired to fix this.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
homeward
today my panel happened. the panel decided to recommend my upgrade to a phd, with the support of my supervisors. so it's all done. and it seems unlikely that it won't go ahead. phew.
my laziness has continued throughout the week. yesterday i came to uni and spent most of my time reading emails. then i filled out my 5-page progress report. it was easier than i thought. i also ate lots of chocolate. peppermint filled. and then i wrote emails. did not study.
today i had an extended breakfast with a friend in surry hills. i mean, east redfern. got to uni a few hours before the panel. did not prepare.
but it was fine. now i still don't want to study. i've just selected some books from my shelf to take back to newcastle. always a difficult choice.
in less than 50 days i'll be living in sydney again. enmore. my books will be within reach. i will feel like a student. i will have a room of my own. i'm excited by the prospects of making a new home. one that's more than a temporary stay. i think 2009 will be my year of structure, stability, routine, and discipline. the things i had to run from in order to want.
my laziness has continued throughout the week. yesterday i came to uni and spent most of my time reading emails. then i filled out my 5-page progress report. it was easier than i thought. i also ate lots of chocolate. peppermint filled. and then i wrote emails. did not study.
today i had an extended breakfast with a friend in surry hills. i mean, east redfern. got to uni a few hours before the panel. did not prepare.
but it was fine. now i still don't want to study. i've just selected some books from my shelf to take back to newcastle. always a difficult choice.
in less than 50 days i'll be living in sydney again. enmore. my books will be within reach. i will feel like a student. i will have a room of my own. i'm excited by the prospects of making a new home. one that's more than a temporary stay. i think 2009 will be my year of structure, stability, routine, and discipline. the things i had to run from in order to want.
Monday, December 8, 2008
lazy
today is lazy. home alone, yet to leave the house, maybe i won't. though i would like to. i need to send something to dad for his birthday. i need earphones so i can listen to music on wednesday's train. i've been dreaming about getting a stove-top espresso maker. but it's christmas, so i don't want to be in shops. if only online shopping was more instant.
but i should get some sunshine. and maybe i should swim. there's so much i could do, but i choose nothing. well, nothing other than downloading music, looking at emails but not answering them, and laying on the loungeroom floor.
music collection additions include rolling stones, bob dylan, public enemy, the jam, duffy, the clash, the pretenders, dead kennedys, the shangri-las, the supremes, sly and the family stone, nine inch nails...
i'm not sure where my tastes are taking me at the moment. but it suddenly felt necessary to have access to this music.
now it's suede. current song: lazy.
but i should get some sunshine. and maybe i should swim. there's so much i could do, but i choose nothing. well, nothing other than downloading music, looking at emails but not answering them, and laying on the loungeroom floor.
music collection additions include rolling stones, bob dylan, public enemy, the jam, duffy, the clash, the pretenders, dead kennedys, the shangri-las, the supremes, sly and the family stone, nine inch nails...
i'm not sure where my tastes are taking me at the moment. but it suddenly felt necessary to have access to this music.
now it's suede. current song: lazy.
Monday, December 1, 2008
ouch
the sun has scorched my white skin. i didn't expose myself for long, but i guess it's been a while since i've been in this kind of sun. brutal. my chest and shoulder are sticky with sorbolene. it's hot. i suffocate outside and in. but inside it's my research proposal that stifles me. last night i was feeling better after reading over it so far. 'i'm well read' i brag to mark. and supervisor agrees. but then goes on to say some more cutting remarks in today's email. criticisms. what's my question? what's my fucking question? it's unclear. and without a question there's no point.
3 days to deadline. i want to quit. really want to quit. yet my anger for supervisor and her email will mean i finish it in spite of her. i'll finish it to say fuck off. though to actually say it would be nice right now. fuck off.
this not being the first time, and the feeling that my anger is repetitive makes me question 2 more years of this. seeing and speaking to friends doing creative things also makes me want to quit. i can write something. i can be creative. why am i doing this anyway?
losing faith in my self, my abilities, my coping. will i ever be good enough?
3 days to deadline. i want to quit. really want to quit. yet my anger for supervisor and her email will mean i finish it in spite of her. i'll finish it to say fuck off. though to actually say it would be nice right now. fuck off.
this not being the first time, and the feeling that my anger is repetitive makes me question 2 more years of this. seeing and speaking to friends doing creative things also makes me want to quit. i can write something. i can be creative. why am i doing this anyway?
losing faith in my self, my abilities, my coping. will i ever be good enough?
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