Grace Notes @ Snarkattack

The squalor of books, papers, folders and empty packing material has slowly begun to infect my working space (the sunroom). At first, it was contained – in my room, but over the week as I’ve lost energy, it’s just grown outside.

I woke up this morning and the whole stupid poem thing didn’t instantly upset me. That’s a good sign. A few hours later, that was no longer the case. There were a few layout edits that needed to be done to my poem before it’s carved in stone and those have been fixed. I was kind of hoping for some sort of apology, but it feels like I’m the one who needs to apologise. I definitely need to apologise to my friend who called last night and copped a fair bit of my (self-directed) anger which was incredibly stupid given that she was exhausted and still found the time to see how things were with me.

She invited me to spend a few days with her where she’s housesitting and I’m looking forward to that. It’ll be nice to have a space where I can be myself. A lot lately, it seems like I have to pretend to be this statue and remain as quiet and non-obtrusive as possible – like when our family go out for meals. No one talks to me and so I just sit there quietly eating my food, secretly waiting for the evening to be over. I do try to start conversation but that generally doesn’t go down very well because I bore them. That was what Wednesday evening was like, anyway. But at least I got to eat some divine handmade gnocchi.

Today, I’m planning to clean my room before going to stay over elsewhere. It’s always nice to come back from somewhere to a clean room, like a fresh start. I know why it’s a mess – I’m just having trouble handling lots of things in my head. But like one’s thoughts, where to begin cleaning the mess? Is there any point, given that the mess will return? One can only ignore it for so long, alas. Or perhaps mess is natural, and lack of is not.

It just occurred to me that the (former) category ‘quotidien’ is really just a non-depressed version of the (former) ‘mental piss-take’ category. That’s really good, right?

It’s too bad an online pal of mine is having the opposite experience (hi Ash…), but one thing we do still have in common: where are my real-life pals? I know they’re around, and it’s great not to feel sad about me not getting to spend time with them, or talk to them etc. but my personal e-mail account is really quiet of late. It’s weird.

It’s nice to be able to look at it from a more objective perspective: when unwell, it feels like they’ve ‘engineered’ it so that they can’t see you. Some people actually do (and I mentioned this last post) but most don’t.

Is it work? A whole bunch of work people have e-mailed me to ask if I’m going to end up reviewing their audio release or book etc. and I assume that anything I receive gratis is to be reviewed unless I cark it. I’m a bit worried as one place wants me to get a review out in a very short space of time (having only just received the titles last week) when I have about five or so others going and the material came with time to actually read the titles from cover to cover. Perhaps the PR department are looking for cursory reviews rather than my wafflesque ones. I can do that – I won’t like it but it’s not about me, is it? It’s not like it’s a review for the New Yorker, or something.

Finally, I got around to changing my blog theme. Yea! I did two thirds of what needed to be done (the easy stuff, haha) and my admin sorted out the cohones. I love it, it’s so clean and minimalist – the focus is on the content, not flashy MySpacesque graphics, ugh. Groan, now if only I could fix a whole bunch of other tech-related things. My miniblog feed has gone wonky – again! Damn you, wonky MB feed.

It is a rare day where my cat actually pisses me off, but seeing as I only got 3-4 hours sleep, I’m not at all appreciative of him sticking a claw into my hand, little twerp, while I’m trying to snatch some naptime. I got some of my dates mixed up and turned out that I didn’t have as much time to get some work in as I thought so drastic measures were necessary.

Of course there were distractions, such as this puzzle game I’m supposed to review. Rocky Road ice cream Drumsticks – I hate the actual chocolate stuff, but this stuff is nice!

Oh, then there was finding out that I’m getting a poem published. Bit embarrassing really, it was one of my really soppy ones, but fantastic nevertheless. I don’t get paid, but who knows, perhaps that’ll be next… Still have to speak to NMD and another close friend of mine, but did get to speak to one to go all gleeful at. God, I’m so tired. This is like uni before the mid-semester break.

So, to my dear local pals, if I’ve been neglecting you of late, my sincerest apologies. I can think of four people in this group. Yikes. Okay, time for me to get a cup of tea now. It’s well-deserved.

Okay, so I tried to practise today. My father very kindly cleared a space for me in the spare room and I’m trying to get back into it.

Ooh god, I am awful! Perhaps that lady was right…but hopefully, it seems to be mainly a case of my fingers aren’t strong enough. So there I am, plucking away after considerable time spent tuning (this is most common with viol players! Tuning takes forever), making not at all concordant sounds, and the dear kitty is standing at the crack of the open door. So I stop, see if he wants foodies. Not foodies. Go outside? Nope, not that either.

He wants to snuggle with me! So there goes my half hour or so of building up muscle to start properly playing, and I make the dear muse purr like mad on our beloved tiger blankies. Just like a baby, eventually he is lulled to sleep.

Here’s some pictures, been meaning to post one or two for ages, and an e-mail from my BC colleague Cat (hello!) finally made me get up and do it.

I did try to take one of the instrument being held between my legs – to show you that it’s a physical necessity, as there’s no pin like the cello, but that didn’t quite work. Can’t wait to be back in the ‘zone’ again, however long that will take! Might have to start writing my reviews at the local library so I can’t get distracted by the wonderfully constantly available…internet.

Darn! So many things to do! At least I’ve almost finished the Shakespeare book for reviewing; this instrument would have been played a lot during that time (he’s often referring to minstrels and consorts and the like…because he knows musicians are horny beasts, chortle).

I got my first bathtime freebies for reviewing last week after making a pit-stop to my house and grabbing the requisite postage slip and juggling various things at the post office. It was a package from Lush! Some nice treats for review purposes: Black Pearl & Romance In A Stone bath ballistics and Temple of Truth & Marathon bubble bars. Mmm…!

So me and NMD thought this was pretty bloody cool. He’s looking through the Lush catalogue that came with the products and spots a product that might be of use to him. The dialogue that ensued was roughly as follows:

NMD: Hm, I could use that.
me: What? (concentrating, driving)
NMD: Scalp massage stuff. Hmm. (reading product description) Yeah, I get a bit of a flaky scalp now and then [me: not just scalp...haha, try generally speaking!]
me: Oh, well I can always get you some. See, they even have stuff to tempt the lads! Lush has something for everyone. (Approach long stop light) Let’s see, then. (Turns paper towards me) Ohh, hon, that’s just hair conditioner. But still, can’t hurt to try.
NMD: (groans) Uhh…conditioner?!?! Well, there goes that then.

me: Huh?
NMD: Well, I’m not using shampoo at the moment so what need will I have for conditioner?! (exasperated)
me: (big groan) Grr, maybe you should change that policy and start using it again!!! Please?
NMD: (ponders) Nah.
me: Ugh
NMD: (mocking laugh) Heh heh heh…

End of scene.

I don’t get guys. They’re infuriating, but funny. Well, some are. If they’re infuriating and funny it’s cool. Infuriating by itself isn’t so crash-hot.

God I hate Pete Doherty. Okay, that’s well harsh given I don’t know the tosspot, but…come on, he’s a heroin addict, he’s stolen from his band mates and he’s got dirty fingernails.

It’s a tad unfortunate that he’s a member of the Libertines, a very catchy little act hailing from London town. I believe the singer, Carl Barat met Doherty whilst squatting in London. Pete Doherty sucks arse in his Babyshambles incarnation, but alas, in the Libertines he’s not half-bad.

I’ve got their second album, self-titled (at least I think it’s their second album) and it’s very good. All the usual tunes about self-deprecating, lost love, and being a lad skiving whenever possible (because that is what lads do best). They make it all sound so appealing because it’s just light-hearted enough for you to know they’re taking the piss out of themselves.

Song titles, I seem to not be able to remember them…I do know the main single was ‘Can’t Stand Me Now’ which is very bedroom shuffle (shuffle as in you’ll start 60s dancing) inducing despite its title. There’s also a song about a lovely lass. It reminds me of someone I know who shares the name of the girl in the song. It has some nice, whimsical lines like: “Since you said goodbye / Polka dots fill my eyes / and I don’t know why…”

There’s also a good deal of what I like to call “ooh ooh ooh action” in lots of the songs. Ah, no one does the Oohs like the Brits do, and variations of. They sound straight out of the 60s sometimes, they really do tip their hats to the rockers of old. I hope Doherty gets his act together because it’d be a shame if they didn’t manage to churn out any new stuff. Ah yes, “wouldn’t it be great to be Dorian Gray…just for a day…” I want to hear more tales of lads skiving and the sort. You know, so I can imagine what my life would be like if I were a guy.

I’ll take you anywhere you want to go…oh can’t stand me now, can’t stand me now…

The straits be dire. I was actually cruising MySpace for poetry groups that’s how badly I want some near-professional criticism on my work. I’m sorry about my previous entry. Amazing what an overnight sleep, a cuddle from a cat and little purple pills can do to somewhat restore the balance. I’m still heartbroken and fucking want to leave this horrid, cursed place (my parents’ house or Australia? haven’t decided) but lack of funds prevents that from being a reality.

So anyway, ages ago, I handed out a copy of most of my verse novel (novel where the chapters are poems) to some friends to read. The idea for at least a few was that they read it, write notes and comments, then hand it back to me.

That never happened. So I thought I’d come up with some amusing theories as to what happened to the paper my work was printed on.

• Someone’s dog ate part or all of the manuscript.
• It was all stapled together and then donated to Japanese businessmen who are filthy rich but choose to live in cardboard boxes to have a simpler, unfettered life – they used it as a blanket of sorts.
• That guy in one of my musicology electives accidentally got hold of it and tore the pages into strips which he then ingested (I’m not kidding).
• Someone’s dog ran out into the garden, decided to get into an altercation with a household cat and ran around the house like a whirling dervish, smudging so much mud on it that it was rendered illegible (this happened to one of my poetry assignments at uni, would you believe).
• The blank side was much more useful and a draft of something else got printed on it.
• All its pages were used in some weird Dance of the Flaming Arseholes orgy – you roll up some paper, stick it into your plughole and set it alight. I once knew a very fat and very rude (that’s a quotation from Four Weddings and a Funeral so I’m not being gratuitously nasty) girl who claimed her hippy father did this.
• Became cat litter. For a cat that lives in a Melbourne suburb called St. Kilda with an IAMS obsession in desperate need of an apronectomy.
• Became emergency toilet paper in scungy male sharehouses. No, not all males are scungy – in fact, the neatest people I ever lived with were all male. It was the females who were somewhat…festy.
• It got published in a parallel universe…sigh! No, that would make me happy, can’t have that.
• A really lame grindcore band took it, changed some words here and there, and turned it into mediocre commie song lyrics.
• A black hole got it?
• Lastly, it was placed in a coffin and busted out before the person was buried, and became famous in the same way Christina Rosetti’s Goblin Market is supposed to have become known – I think. Or was it her entire oeuvre?

It wasn’t a wasted exercise – two professional writers took a look at it, one was even a published poet here who said it had some merit about it. There were only a few people whose opinions really mattered to me who didn’t give feedback as expected. Some meant to, but you know…more important things come along.

Poetry, why oh why did I have to start writing poetry? I could have a happier life as a punk rocker or something, but it had to be poetry. Probably because it’s so connected to music. But there’s so many other bad poets out there, I don’t fancy adding to the bunch! Hmm. I should start working on my verse novel again, I really miss it. It might not be any good, but it’s been so much to work on.

I’m sad. I’m angry. I’m…desolate. I swear it has something to do with my parents’ place. Spent most of the week elsewhere and was fine, even if a certain moron claims I need looking after. What would he know, his head’s too far up his own arse see reality as it is.
Continue Reading »