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AussieAri's weblog Edit this message to change the title of your weblog. Wednesday, December 14, 2005
i bought myself a mailbox. W00t. I feel more secret agenty then ever! Yes, i am irreverent and immature. Do you reckon Sikhs ever get sick of wearing all white? And for that matter do they ever feel conflicted about shoe choices after labor day? Or what to wear to funerals? Oh my god. Read a book not a palm lady! “I had his [my husband’s] penis in my hand and I was in charge of getting it re-attached to him.. and I forgot. I forgot! I forgot to take him to the hospital to get it re-attached!” Woman asking for a dream interpretation from the fortune teller at The Zia Dinner. Middle ages couple outside The Zia Dinner. “It’s like Sedona- it doesn’t have a Laundromat because only riff-raff use laundry.”
Dallas' new attempt at a con. Pretty pretty irradiated flowers.
The Ziggens. Hell yeah. More rockabilly sensibility than you can shake a tarred chook at. You can take the Aussie out of Oz but does that then make them a… So in America there’s a type of chicken roaster called a ‘wog’. Seriously. W-O-G. We have boxes of these ‘wog broiler’ sitting in the poultry cooler at work. I was really surprised at this. If you’re an aussie you already get the significance of this. You’re probably spewing lager out your nose right now. If you’re not then let me say that in Australia a ‘wog’ is…, well read it for yourself. I can’t bring myself to actually say ‘wog broiler’ at work even though I know no one has any idea what it means elsewhere.
The Ladies Almanack – Djuna Burnes Can’t dream…the kindly ones will be cruel and get me. Got home from work yesterday- should have been able to get sent home, but no, we’re strapped in my department. I went right to bed and woke up from a horrifying nightmare covered in sweat and in shock. I never have dreams that are psychologically damaging, not even the worst of my nightmares. I felt like I couldn’t ignore it nor could I face it on my own so I talked it out with someone. It’s still wracking my brain. Ouch.
T.I.A.I.L.W.: Wanda Jackson. They called her the ‘female Elvis’ but I really think she’s way edgier than Elvis ever was, it’s just not a fair title! Saturday, December 10, 2005
The moment fell out as perfectly as possible. That is, without language- purely connection. One more par for the course. Realized my Aunt, when she leaves my parent’s house mid January will most likely be saying goodbye to her sister, my mum, for the last time. And then she goes home to Australia, to her empty home that has been devoid of the life of my uncle for the last 6 months. And that’s about it folks. Wake. Walk. Work. Break. Work. Errands. Walk. Breath. Martial. Mental. Eat. Drink. Sleep.
Damn fine local metal wear by Lori Swartz
In the tradition of not really celebrating the holidays (every day is a cause for celebration, eh?) and infuriating those who do as far as the compulsive necessity to buy and give gifts is concerned, here is Ari’s Outrageous X-mass Gift List ™ (because anything else would be too easy): It's been suggested more than once... I should really learn how to write articles instead of these little journal thoughts, comics and poems. Maybe then I could submit this shit to The Reporter and make a buck. Besides, i'd be able to slip in some more shameless plugs for those local things i deem worthy.
T.I.A.I.L.W.: The Cobweb from A.B.C. Comics. *pant pant pant* Suffering Sappho! The luminescent one has entangled my palpitating heart! Mayhaps she is in need of another blond chauffeur to preserve her billy-club collection and restrain her from chocolatte and it’s peculiar affects! Thursday, December 8, 2005
T.I.A.I.L.W.: Mazikeen of the Lilim, the Morningstar’s Harlot and Warrior at Arms, from Lucifer. Aesthetically I do miss her half facemask but I must admit, it did cured her severe speech impediment (as one usually has when half of one’s face resembles a raw chub grind).
My kind of fashion show. Listening to: Angie Reed, the new Ladytron CD, and David Byrne from Grown Backwards, Look into the Eyeball and True Stories. Looking through the louvers at someone throwing out the baby with the bath water. I just realized one of the things that will be gone are all her distinctively aussie and british turns of phrases. I can never remember them all though I’ve heard the words my whole life.
"bad tourist. no turquoise." Things between lovers in between the sheets. Would this blog be more interesting if I told you who was doing who and how they were doing it? Sort of like that blog from Capital Hill by an anonymous intern who ended up being not so anonymous and getting fired over her overt postings of her colleges (and her own) sexual deeds?
Bring it! Prove it! Show me! 'Piss off a Liberal. Work. Make Money. Be Happy.' Don’t trust an economy in which ‘success’ is a matter of financial holdings and those who are ‘successful’ are not healthy but utterly comfortable. A Useful Destruction. fuck. I lost the only really good poem I wrote while in Italy last. Which is also the only really good poem of decent length that I’ve written in three months since the last one that I wrote while in Italy. FUCK. Failed pick up lines #24 and 25 consecutively. "Hey, I think we wear the same gauge…" $, Time, Quality. I do believe that the triangle of labor can be applied to relationships as well. You can have it cheap and fast but it won’t be quality, fast with quality but it won’t be cheap or cheap with quality but it won’t be fast.
Modeling was exhausting. I’m definitely picking a STANDING pose for the next 3 hour session- seeing as it was a single pose for 3 hours, cut into 6 segments. Worth the money even if I am uncomfortable, dripping sweat down my naked self in front of a bunch of critical old cynical artists once a month, eh wot? And exactly where do I fit in here? It's only me and Cathy in meat. May the best man win. The right man for the job. The best man… The handy man… A man of letters… A worldly man… Play the man. Pay the man. Make a man of you. The men in blue... A man of God… A man of blood... The man of Rome... One man show… Ten men… Man the ship. The face of man… The mind of man… Go-to man… Manpower… Manhandle… Working man… Macho man… Step aside for the man. Workin’ for the man. Part man, part… Yes men… Fall man… Mission man… Secret agent man… Candy man… Magic man… Dead man… Ladies man… Ringman… Strongman… Headman… Bossman… Man-o-war… Man servant… Take it like a man. Man to man. A man’s man... Man about town. Hey man,… My man,… One’s own man. Man oh man. The man for me. Man down. Man about town… Man about the house…
The circles about my eyes have progressed to raccoon like features on my face. How the hell did that happen? I miss unemployment in as many ways as I missed getting a pay check.
Decided to get the back tattoo I’ve been contemplating for 2+ years after mum dies. It’s nice to have something in mind. Cuz he's Irish? My house mate drinks wicks-see. He just informed me so. Menstrational sensational!!! My uterus will destroy the (human) world. Lipsticks, jockstraps, young children and all. Thursday, December 1, 2005 Sunday's story. And that was when she said "screw this, I’m going to join the circus." I puked at work Sunday. Twice. In one of the big garbage cans we keep behind the counter. Now there were three people back there with me but none of them seemed to notice the spew of egg hurtling into the trash twice from my oral orifice. I had even told them I didn’t feel good when I came in. What good is a puking butcher I ask you?
Cold cold mornings. Beginning work at 7:30. And when I come out from the multiple cooling systems of the meat department (the warmest not to exceed 55º) there’s very little warmth left in the day. At least the hair is good for something in the way of keeping warm. The poems I write out by hand: Song, My Mouth Hovers Across Your Breast - Adrienne Rich
T.I.A.I.L.W.: Cécile De France As Marie in High Tension. Because there’s nothing quite like a disassociating, French, tight t-shirt wearing, blood covered chick with a rotating blade. Why are all the psycho killers who get theirs in the end gay anyway? Qu'est que c'est?
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