it was difficult to wake up. and it took a few attempts to leave the house and get to the pool. but eventually i got there. and the swim was great. and the raspberry and sour cream brioche was amazing. and the coffee hit the spot. good morning? yes it was.
then back at home i realised that i've lost my glasses. the new and rather expensive ones. i spent the following hours calling and searching. they're not at that person's home; they're not in that share-car; they haven't been found on a bus... fuck knows where they are.
then my computer at uni doesn't boot. then it does but it's really slow and i make the mistake of rebooting it. the IT person doesn't show up. then the coffee shop person didn't understand my order. i repeated it, she nodded, but i'm pretty sure black coffee shouldn't be cloudy. i drank it, even though each sip felt like a punch.
my feet are dragging and my eyes are foggy. i've given up trying to improve this day. i'll just write my thesis now.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
all i want for my birthday is a boyfriend
2011 is my year of over-commitment. it's also my year of the art project. i just committed to another that will happen in less than 2 weeks. so once i write a lecture, mark a bunch of essays, and re-write that thesis chapter (fuck!), i will have a birthday project to attend.
my project involves recruiting a boyfriend for 24 hours, that is, for my birthday. my project begins with pretending that all i want for my birthday is a boyfriend, and surprise! there he is. his name is daniel. he'll arrive on a train from interstate. we've not seen each other before, only in photos. we're friends on facebook though :p
we'll have to do all those things you do when you're boyfriends. dinner, romance, etc. and then we'll break up the next day. hopefully it'll be a respectful parting, and we'll have just 'drifted' or something like that. i hope we can still be friends. i hope there's no tears this time round.
part of this is about moving away from last year's birthday, when N didn't take me to dinner (i was left alone and i cried). last year was pathetic, but this year will be fun. my boyfriend will take good care of me. he'll sleep in my bed, spend time in my home, and just 'be there' for me.
my project involves recruiting a boyfriend for 24 hours, that is, for my birthday. my project begins with pretending that all i want for my birthday is a boyfriend, and surprise! there he is. his name is daniel. he'll arrive on a train from interstate. we've not seen each other before, only in photos. we're friends on facebook though :p
we'll have to do all those things you do when you're boyfriends. dinner, romance, etc. and then we'll break up the next day. hopefully it'll be a respectful parting, and we'll have just 'drifted' or something like that. i hope we can still be friends. i hope there's no tears this time round.
part of this is about moving away from last year's birthday, when N didn't take me to dinner (i was left alone and i cried). last year was pathetic, but this year will be fun. my boyfriend will take good care of me. he'll sleep in my bed, spend time in my home, and just 'be there' for me.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
"let's all melt down together"
the sun is shining. this morning it caressed my back as i marked essays at the dining room table. now it strokes the right side of my face, as i sit at my desk. it casts a reflection of me in the monitor. i'm wearing glasses. i continue to startle myself, but at least i've started forgetting that they're there (when they're there, because often they're not). i don't want to become too dependent on seeing things clearly.
S told me a nice story last week about how he likes to have morning blurriness before he puts his contact lenses in. i imagine his partial blindness as a comfortable nest, a waking up, a ritual of not-yet-ready-to-see-the-day.
always nice to re-frame what might otherwise be thought of as our body's failings.
today, in the sun once more, i sip coffee and talk about other body failings, about a friend's negotiation of illness, medication, and feeling well. he chose not to take the medication because of its side effects - a choice with consequences, but one that feels right. a choice i've not yet had to make. my body feels trivial and small next to his.
elsewhere today: i read about death (a friend who lost a friend). i hear about a HIV zine that used to appear next to dancefloors in the 90s, with rants about being sick and skinny and dying. i talk to someone about her menstrual body aches. and all these stories remind me that we're all falling apart. this is incredibly comforting. because it's not pleasant to feel like you're the only one falling apart. so together we can laugh as our organs give way and our limbs fall off. together we can extend our bodies or not (with pills, glasses, or other apparatus). together we can dance to this:
S told me a nice story last week about how he likes to have morning blurriness before he puts his contact lenses in. i imagine his partial blindness as a comfortable nest, a waking up, a ritual of not-yet-ready-to-see-the-day.
always nice to re-frame what might otherwise be thought of as our body's failings.
today, in the sun once more, i sip coffee and talk about other body failings, about a friend's negotiation of illness, medication, and feeling well. he chose not to take the medication because of its side effects - a choice with consequences, but one that feels right. a choice i've not yet had to make. my body feels trivial and small next to his.
elsewhere today: i read about death (a friend who lost a friend). i hear about a HIV zine that used to appear next to dancefloors in the 90s, with rants about being sick and skinny and dying. i talk to someone about her menstrual body aches. and all these stories remind me that we're all falling apart. this is incredibly comforting. because it's not pleasant to feel like you're the only one falling apart. so together we can laugh as our organs give way and our limbs fall off. together we can extend our bodies or not (with pills, glasses, or other apparatus). together we can dance to this:
Sunday, April 10, 2011
the ethics of the adventure
yesterday i found myself purchasing simone de beauvoir's the ethics of ambiguity. i had no intention of buying it. i didn't even know it existed. but i felt compelled.
i read the first chapter in victoria park, away from the conference i'd been to that morning. i felt more attached to words on a page, and the grass under my body, than the words and faces of speakers at the conference. i needed something more grounded, more alone, more me.
after reading the first chapter i scrawled an existentialist rant in my notepad. it goes something like this:
"By uprooting himself from the world, man makes himself present to the world and makes the world present to him" (p12).
[This] suggests an ambiguity of distance/closeness. An 'in' that relies on an 'out'. A denial of self to get to a self. A circular motion of self-recognition [that always eclipses itself]. Like writing. I recognise myself in the words I write, and less so in the urge to write, or the tension that brings me to the page. But to enter the page I forget myself. I extract myself from myself (I write) and through extraction I come to see myself as me (a subject unified).
The parenthesis (Beauvoir references Husserl)
I parenthesise myself. I pretend a voice that echoes from within. Or, from the hand. It writes as though unmediated, as though natural. A spilling of self in ink. As artist, I express, through line and symbol, the story of who I am. As though I am a thing with borders, definition, morals, and purpose. I crystalise a self, for purposes of continuation, to know my worth, to know that I can exist (which is to create)... I have perfected this narrative of self to the point that it is accepted and believable. I carve myself in words, and the expectation (of everyone) is that I do so - [in this] there is social acknowledgment of 'me'. And this me-ness is my only true pursuit. I write to know me. But because I cannot fully know me, I'm returning to the page, again and again...
"the original scheme of man is ambiguous: he wants to be, and to the extent that he coincides with this wish, he fails" (p23)
this morning, in bed, i read chapter two. i learn about 5 kinds of 'men' - the sub-man, the serious man, the nihilist, the adventurer, and the passionate man. i see myself as the adventurer. The adventurer "has to declare himself" (60). "He throws himself into his undertakings with zest, into exploration, conquest, war, speculation, love, politics, but he does not attach himself to the end at which he aims; only to his conquest" (58).
and yes, i'm feeling uninspired to finish 'that project', but i have enjoyed the process/conquest/journey. but there are other journeys (which do excite me) to be had. and my urge to jump ship is easy, because i care little for the destination.
"Whether he succeeds or fails, he goes right ahead throwing himself into a new enterprise to which he will give himself with the same indifferent ardor" (59).
however, "Favourable circumstances are enough to transform the adventurer into a dictator" (62). oh dear. but perhaps more distressing is my hatred of and detachment from others (which i prefer to call independence).
"His fault is believing that one can do something for oneself without others and even against them" (63).
so i guess the life of an adventurer is not all (ethical) fun and games. and there's quite a sting in that last statement which reverberated after i read it. perhaps today's mantra can be found at the close of this chapter:
"I concern others and they concern me" (72).
i read the first chapter in victoria park, away from the conference i'd been to that morning. i felt more attached to words on a page, and the grass under my body, than the words and faces of speakers at the conference. i needed something more grounded, more alone, more me.
after reading the first chapter i scrawled an existentialist rant in my notepad. it goes something like this:
"By uprooting himself from the world, man makes himself present to the world and makes the world present to him" (p12).
[This] suggests an ambiguity of distance/closeness. An 'in' that relies on an 'out'. A denial of self to get to a self. A circular motion of self-recognition [that always eclipses itself]. Like writing. I recognise myself in the words I write, and less so in the urge to write, or the tension that brings me to the page. But to enter the page I forget myself. I extract myself from myself (I write) and through extraction I come to see myself as me (a subject unified).
The parenthesis (Beauvoir references Husserl)
I parenthesise myself. I pretend a voice that echoes from within. Or, from the hand. It writes as though unmediated, as though natural. A spilling of self in ink. As artist, I express, through line and symbol, the story of who I am. As though I am a thing with borders, definition, morals, and purpose. I crystalise a self, for purposes of continuation, to know my worth, to know that I can exist (which is to create)... I have perfected this narrative of self to the point that it is accepted and believable. I carve myself in words, and the expectation (of everyone) is that I do so - [in this] there is social acknowledgment of 'me'. And this me-ness is my only true pursuit. I write to know me. But because I cannot fully know me, I'm returning to the page, again and again...
"the original scheme of man is ambiguous: he wants to be, and to the extent that he coincides with this wish, he fails" (p23)
this morning, in bed, i read chapter two. i learn about 5 kinds of 'men' - the sub-man, the serious man, the nihilist, the adventurer, and the passionate man. i see myself as the adventurer. The adventurer "has to declare himself" (60). "He throws himself into his undertakings with zest, into exploration, conquest, war, speculation, love, politics, but he does not attach himself to the end at which he aims; only to his conquest" (58).
and yes, i'm feeling uninspired to finish 'that project', but i have enjoyed the process/conquest/journey. but there are other journeys (which do excite me) to be had. and my urge to jump ship is easy, because i care little for the destination.
"Whether he succeeds or fails, he goes right ahead throwing himself into a new enterprise to which he will give himself with the same indifferent ardor" (59).
however, "Favourable circumstances are enough to transform the adventurer into a dictator" (62). oh dear. but perhaps more distressing is my hatred of and detachment from others (which i prefer to call independence).
"His fault is believing that one can do something for oneself without others and even against them" (63).
so i guess the life of an adventurer is not all (ethical) fun and games. and there's quite a sting in that last statement which reverberated after i read it. perhaps today's mantra can be found at the close of this chapter:
"I concern others and they concern me" (72).
Saturday, March 26, 2011
planning, fucking, doing
yesterday i packed up my library desk. i brought a large bag of paper home to sort through, and hopefully discard. too much paper. too much weight. one weekend task is to reduce my load, and to clear some space for thinking my next move. i have not yet quit the project that generated all this paper. three years, and on it goes.
meanwhile, i'm thinking about other projects. like the one with jessie where we spent a day in the shopping centre (a contested space). i read over my notes on yesterday's bus and i think there's some nice moments there. we don't have long to assemble something though.
then there's my next zine, in the flesh. written last year, i need to publish it, once again to reduce my load and to create space for new projects. it's quite revealing, but the more i read of sophie calle's work the less i care about my privacy. this morning i read about early works, such as le divorce - a photo of her holding her ex-husband's penis while he pisses (an excuse to touch his penis one last time). and now i'm simmering with ideas for my projet d'amour. jb and i don't communicate as much these days - we always apologise for the gaps between emails, and explain how things are busy. but it's probably time to incite some more dialogue, which i can do by offering him another dedication d'amour.
last night X and i drank wine, ate cheese, and practiced speaking french. we listened to records and talked and during madonna's burning up we made out on the couch. then we moved away from madonna, into the bedroom, where we fucked. it was unexpected, which made it all the more lovely. but it may have complicated things for him. for the second time in 7 days there's awkward moments after sex with a friend i should perhaps not have slept with. but the complications are not mine. i only feel pleasured, and lovely.
for some months i gave much time to thinking about touching and kissing and fucking. i was tense with simultaneously wanting and not wanting. today, and over these last few weeks, i feel expressive. currents of pleasure move through me, and i feel that there's some sort of aura that brings more men into my embrace.
yesterday i found myself advising someone to think of the big picture and plan for the future. perhaps i too could follow this advice. because my difficult (heavy) project is still unresolved. i need to sort that out. yet in other ways i do think beyond tomorrow. such as my ways with the biker, whose birthday it is (he was impressed that i remembered). i want him, but i don't need him. and i only want him when he's ready to want me, which could be a while. so i practice the art of patience and it's easier than i thought it could be. in the meantime, there's much to do.
meanwhile, i'm thinking about other projects. like the one with jessie where we spent a day in the shopping centre (a contested space). i read over my notes on yesterday's bus and i think there's some nice moments there. we don't have long to assemble something though.
then there's my next zine, in the flesh. written last year, i need to publish it, once again to reduce my load and to create space for new projects. it's quite revealing, but the more i read of sophie calle's work the less i care about my privacy. this morning i read about early works, such as le divorce - a photo of her holding her ex-husband's penis while he pisses (an excuse to touch his penis one last time). and now i'm simmering with ideas for my projet d'amour. jb and i don't communicate as much these days - we always apologise for the gaps between emails, and explain how things are busy. but it's probably time to incite some more dialogue, which i can do by offering him another dedication d'amour.
last night X and i drank wine, ate cheese, and practiced speaking french. we listened to records and talked and during madonna's burning up we made out on the couch. then we moved away from madonna, into the bedroom, where we fucked. it was unexpected, which made it all the more lovely. but it may have complicated things for him. for the second time in 7 days there's awkward moments after sex with a friend i should perhaps not have slept with. but the complications are not mine. i only feel pleasured, and lovely.
for some months i gave much time to thinking about touching and kissing and fucking. i was tense with simultaneously wanting and not wanting. today, and over these last few weeks, i feel expressive. currents of pleasure move through me, and i feel that there's some sort of aura that brings more men into my embrace.
yesterday i found myself advising someone to think of the big picture and plan for the future. perhaps i too could follow this advice. because my difficult (heavy) project is still unresolved. i need to sort that out. yet in other ways i do think beyond tomorrow. such as my ways with the biker, whose birthday it is (he was impressed that i remembered). i want him, but i don't need him. and i only want him when he's ready to want me, which could be a while. so i practice the art of patience and it's easier than i thought it could be. in the meantime, there's much to do.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
teaching
today is grumpy. i constantly yelled at students (as best i could) for talking during the tutorial. i was angry for the students who wanted to listen, who made eye contact, who wanted to discuss things. the noisy ones mostly contribute to the class when they want answers on how to write their essays. when i offer tips, they're usually not listening. so they'll do poorly. and that might satisfy me. except i'll have to wade through their shit essays.
in an ideal world this would be a reality tv tutorial and i'll evict the dodgy half so that the rest of us can have a decent discussion and make some movement in our understanding of things. but we have to contend with the babble of those who don't care. and so movement is slow, if it happens at all.
i'm going for a swim now. it's been a while. 2 weeks in fact. and maybe this is why i'm so vague and grumpy and cantankerous today (and other days). grr...
in an ideal world this would be a reality tv tutorial and i'll evict the dodgy half so that the rest of us can have a decent discussion and make some movement in our understanding of things. but we have to contend with the babble of those who don't care. and so movement is slow, if it happens at all.
i'm going for a swim now. it's been a while. 2 weeks in fact. and maybe this is why i'm so vague and grumpy and cantankerous today (and other days). grr...
Friday, March 18, 2011
cool rider
he packed a spare helmet on the motorbike. we rode from bondi junction to bondi and back again, my legs pressing heavily into his. i held onto his waist. my fingers felt the softness of stomach. he noted that i was more relaxed on the trip back - my body was less tense and i moved with the bike, with him. i attributed this to alcohol. but it was more than that. "clearly i like you very much". we kissed. i went home, on a train, electric.
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