I've cashed in the frequent flyers, booked my flight, and will be back in Sydney on Wednesday morning.
I'm going home for 3 months to get my visa organised and earn some money.
Viva Australia.
Sunday, 20 May 2007
homeward bound...
I've cashed in the frequent flyers, booked my flight, and will be back in Sydney on Wednesday morning.
I'm going home for 3 months to get my visa organised and earn some money.
Viva Australia.
Saturday, 19 May 2007
4am (god bless european summer time)
I love the fact that I've been out all night dancing and can walk home at 4am and the birds are singing. The daylight is creeping up upon me and I'm welcoming back sobriety with a nice cup of tea by the window. There are only a few months of the year that you can enjoy this in London, and when you can...tis' great, it is.
I had such a great night. I went to a friend's 30th, someone who i'd not seen in years. I danced all night on the King's Road, in a horrible bar, filled with pretentious sloany wankers, but I had my friends around me and we danced and drank and feasted on a late night curry.
Due to aforesaid wankers in Chelsea, felt the need to start a socialist/class warrior/don't crack on to me you wanker revolution on the bus home. It sounds a lot more dramatic than it was. Really.
All in all, a fab, fab, fab night. I needed that.
I had such a great night. I went to a friend's 30th, someone who i'd not seen in years. I danced all night on the King's Road, in a horrible bar, filled with pretentious sloany wankers, but I had my friends around me and we danced and drank and feasted on a late night curry.
Due to aforesaid wankers in Chelsea, felt the need to start a socialist/class warrior/don't crack on to me you wanker revolution on the bus home. It sounds a lot more dramatic than it was. Really.
All in all, a fab, fab, fab night. I needed that.
Friday, 18 May 2007
last musical post of the day...
Last song of the day, but I love Israel Kamakawiwo'ole's fusion of Somewhere Over the Rainbow/It's a Wonderful World.
Enjoy.
Enjoy.
chemical brothers feat beth orton
I am in love with www.radioblogclub.com.
I've only seen two concerts in my life. Beth Orton and Beck. Both of which were amazing. However,given that music is one of the central pillars of my existance, and I'm a wanna be guitarist, it's a bit of a piss poor effort really.
Ooh, I forgot, I saw the Brazilian diva, Ivete Sangalo, last year. So that's 3 then.
I've only seen two concerts in my life. Beth Orton and Beck. Both of which were amazing. However,given that music is one of the central pillars of my existance, and I'm a wanna be guitarist, it's a bit of a piss poor effort really.
Ooh, I forgot, I saw the Brazilian diva, Ivete Sangalo, last year. So that's 3 then.
Thursday, 17 May 2007
a poem, is a poem, is a poem
The Art of Poetry - Jorge Luis Borges
To gaze at a river made of time and water
And remember Time is another river.
To know we stray like a river
and our faces vanish like water.
To feel that waking is another dream
that dreams of not dreaming and that the death
we fear in our bones is the death
that every night we call a dream.
To see in every day and year a symbol
of all the days of man and his years,
and convert the outrage of the years
into a music, a sound, and a symbol.
To see in death a dream, in the sunset
a golden sadness--such is poetry,
humble and immortal, poetry,
returning, like dawn and the sunset.
Sometimes at evening there's a face
that sees us from the deeps of a mirror.
Art must be that sort of mirror,
disclosing to each of us his face.
They say Ulysses, wearied of wonders,
wept with love on seeing Ithaca,
humble and green. Art is that Ithaca,
a green eternity, not wonders.
Art is endless like a river flowing,
passing, yet remaining, a mirror to the same
inconstant Heraclitus, who is the same
and yet another, like the river flowing.
In memory of Audrey's Mum.
To gaze at a river made of time and water
And remember Time is another river.
To know we stray like a river
and our faces vanish like water.
To feel that waking is another dream
that dreams of not dreaming and that the death
we fear in our bones is the death
that every night we call a dream.
To see in every day and year a symbol
of all the days of man and his years,
and convert the outrage of the years
into a music, a sound, and a symbol.
To see in death a dream, in the sunset
a golden sadness--such is poetry,
humble and immortal, poetry,
returning, like dawn and the sunset.
Sometimes at evening there's a face
that sees us from the deeps of a mirror.
Art must be that sort of mirror,
disclosing to each of us his face.
They say Ulysses, wearied of wonders,
wept with love on seeing Ithaca,
humble and green. Art is that Ithaca,
a green eternity, not wonders.
Art is endless like a river flowing,
passing, yet remaining, a mirror to the same
inconstant Heraclitus, who is the same
and yet another, like the river flowing.
In memory of Audrey's Mum.
Wednesday, 16 May 2007
kickin' arse
After re-reading my last few posts I've been, quite literally, squirming in my chair. Whilst said posts were complete stream of consciousness ramblings, and I do want to write as honestly as I can about how I am feeling...yuk, it just made me feel self indulgent and melancholy. I wonder though, is it just because I fear that people will judge me that way, that I worry? Is that last sentence just an incredibly bad attempt to seek reassurance from those who read my little ol' blog? Do I think too much about things that really don't bear thinking about? Did Lily Allen really feel hurt by footballer's wife extroadinaire, Cheryl Tweedy's comments about her? Is it wrong to wonder about Lily Allen's state of mind?
Plus, when I look back at the sort of person I was when I was 28, I definitely want to think I was much more kick arse than falling prey to a fractured heart!
Oh, weird side thought, could we all re-write our own histories before they even happen? I know some stoner conspiracy theorists that would love to hypothesise that one.
Anyway, a bit of a rubbish day, but hey, we all have them. M is behaving like a royal prick towards me and I'm tired & sad. I have all but made up my mind that it is time to go home and get myself in to a more happy and positive state of mind.
If I am being really honest with myself, the writing has been on the wall for a really long time. He is not very nice to me. And, as much as I like to think that I'm stronger than to fall prey to my past, right now, that is exactly what I'm doing. My mother once said to me, "Your grandmother sat at the kitchen table every night wondering why your grandfather wanted to drink more than be with her, as did I with your father, don't let the same thing happen to you". Who know's, maybe at some point in the future he'll be different, but right now, that doesn't matter.
I'm going to be kick arse.
The road to being kick arse requires some respite in the form of sitting on the sofa watching some bad tv. This evening's bad tv came in the form of Channel 4's, "Virgin School". Yes, it followed one man's journey to sexual emancipation with the help of an intimacy clinic in Amsterdam. I don't believe in censorship, and the program was interesting in a strange way, but that poor bastard is going to be completely bollocked by the less sensitive men and women of the British public, and that ain't cool.
Plus, when I look back at the sort of person I was when I was 28, I definitely want to think I was much more kick arse than falling prey to a fractured heart!
Oh, weird side thought, could we all re-write our own histories before they even happen? I know some stoner conspiracy theorists that would love to hypothesise that one.
Anyway, a bit of a rubbish day, but hey, we all have them. M is behaving like a royal prick towards me and I'm tired & sad. I have all but made up my mind that it is time to go home and get myself in to a more happy and positive state of mind.
If I am being really honest with myself, the writing has been on the wall for a really long time. He is not very nice to me. And, as much as I like to think that I'm stronger than to fall prey to my past, right now, that is exactly what I'm doing. My mother once said to me, "Your grandmother sat at the kitchen table every night wondering why your grandfather wanted to drink more than be with her, as did I with your father, don't let the same thing happen to you". Who know's, maybe at some point in the future he'll be different, but right now, that doesn't matter.
I'm going to be kick arse.
The road to being kick arse requires some respite in the form of sitting on the sofa watching some bad tv. This evening's bad tv came in the form of Channel 4's, "Virgin School". Yes, it followed one man's journey to sexual emancipation with the help of an intimacy clinic in Amsterdam. I don't believe in censorship, and the program was interesting in a strange way, but that poor bastard is going to be completely bollocked by the less sensitive men and women of the British public, and that ain't cool.
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