Grace Notes @ Snarkattack

I was talking to a friend’s boyfriend the other day who did once write poetry and he asked me “What do you write about?”.

I always find this really difficult to answer. Yea eloquence fail.

So…I thought I’d do a summary of what I’ve written so far this year:

- just this morning, I wrote a poem about plums. Largely inspired by slivovitz and this William Carlos Williams poem
- a poem about a dead moth, this one in particular
- a poem inspired by the sociological theory called Dunbar’s number
- a Richard Brautigan three-liner about cafe lattes
- a verse novel one about another drunk night at a tavern

Non-poetry-wise, blogging, semi-reviewing and fervently recording my dreams. People with problems have weird dreams. At the moment I seem to be hellbent on reviewing just about everything. This is a little silly.

As stupid as it sounds, I do often put a bit of effort into my tweets. Yes, I realise this is inanity at its best. However, it’s a challenge – some people have a skill for making the inane sound really, really interesting (a constant work in progress on my part).

Compare “waiting to have a haircut” to “waiting at the doctor’s and the magazines tell me Hillary Clinton is our only hope”. The latter tweet was from Neil Gaiman, and made well after Obama was inaugurated. Guess if you can write, even your microblogging seems awesome.

Had a bit of a crap day at first. I don’t think my workmate realised that in trying to be funny and teasing he was actually a bit harsh. Plus they have me in this crazy box at work! It’s freezing!

Anyway, I pinched this idea solely from Ingmar. We’re supposed to be doing a collaborative artistic project but I’m still waiting for his part. Bit bummed about that too, but am now formulating more projects which don’t rely upon people (which is hard because I have no originality whatsoever). Unless, oddly enough, Kyle Cassidy fulfils a bargain/promise he’s instigated (um, no. I am not collaborating with him. Haha, as if).

Anyway, here’s my visual diary.

1pm

Waiting for the train on the platform. I don’t catch the train supremely regularly, but it was the first time I’d noticed the “mind the gap” warning on the edge of the platform.

3pm

Work. They try to make the place look cheery by decorating it with these idiot lanterns (ha, see what I did there?) but for some reason, it only adds to the soul-destroying nature of it. I finally have my own desk but they’ve stuck me in a corner where I barely fit.

5pm

My boss let me move desks to where it was warmer. I found a cookie, still wrapped. I am not ashamed to say I ate it when I know it did not belong to me, giggle. It was like it was filled with a crunchy Nutella!

7pm

Picked up a present and a CD order before I went out to dinner and a film in Carlton.

9pm

At the film with friends old and new, I bought some coconut and lime kaffir gluten and dairy-free sorbet as dessert. Delish!

Before you go apeshit on my arse for not centre aligning my photos, please listen to me plead my case: I tried, really, I did. The auto-choose-your-own-alignment doesn’t work, and yes I resorted to what little html I know, to no avail.

You will excuse me for choosing shower & bed over flawlessly published web documents. Sorry.

(continuation of CD reviews from this post)

Future of the Left, Curses

The band Future of the Left is made up of some of the members of the now-defunct Welsh punk outfit mclusky. They loved Australia, and gigged here frequently. Sadly, I was not able to catch them in that incarnation, but when I heard that all of them were still musically active, I got excited.

Having said that, I’m a bit bummed to say that Curses is not quite as exciting as I hoped it would be. Sure, we’re graced with Falkous’ unmistakable vocals (seriously, the man could make joining the KKK sound fun and punchy…I don’t know if that’s a good thing!), and the guitar is nice and crunchy like mclusky’s but it’s different, probably because it’s got a bit more of a psychedelic rock edge to it (cheers to the keyboard). The drum tracks sound synthesised, too.

The album does open on a strong note with ‘the lord hates a coward’, and songs like ‘fingers become thumbs!’ or ‘kept by bees’ sound very pub-rock rollicking and cheery. ‘wrigley scott’ sounds a lot like old-school mclusky. The songs are also really short, just like good old-fashioned punk. My favourite song off the album is ‘real men hunt in packs’ which I believe was released as a single.

That’s cool though – of course they don’t need to sound like their previous incarnation. This album’s a bit more deliberate and produced.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs, It’s Blitz!

They’re definitely continuing the more mellow vibe that was displayed on their previous album Show Your Bones; personally I prefer their more raucous, punk sound as evident from their debut album.

Having said that, the opening track ‘Zero’ is pretty sexy. It’s a nice, slow lead-in to the album. This pretty much continues with the second track ‘Heads Will Roll’ but after that, I have to say, it’s a little lacking in energy (usually you wouldn’t be able to listen to one of their albums for some late-night quiet reflection time, but am finding this fine for just that). But…is it okay to suggest that the YYYs have got soft in their older age? Of course, that’s fine, but I don’t know that I really will enjoy this album as much as I did the previous two. It’s an interesting mood change for them.

Not sure if all copies have them but my copy was advertised as having bonus tracks – four of the album’s songs as acoustic versions. These are beautiful (I am partial to acoustic renditions, I confess).

I expected to get obsessed with this album and play the hell out of it, but it’s not going to happen.

I cannot get the last stanza of Wilfred Owen’s ‘Strange Meeting’ out of my head. It’s been there the last couple of days.

I am the enemy you killed, my friend.
I knew you in this dark: for so you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.
Let us sleep now…’

Last fortnight or so has been good: busy, exhausting and chaotic but generally speaking, good. The three-week reign of panic attacks seems to have ended. I am not as strict with my night meds as I should be.

I haven’t been writing much, but my mind has been very active on that front. Today (or rather, yesterday), I had to stay home due to a crippling IBS episode. I was still an undergrad when I first got IBS – been ages since the pain’s been so bad that I couldn’t be upright. A very annoyed me rang work to inform them I’d not be in and stormed off to bed.

I got to read the first half of the Adelaide-based Wet Ink – recently Melbourne-based journal Overland had a great subscription offer going so you could subscribe to two journals at once. I wished that I’d chosen the Overland/Meanjin one, but I’ve subscribed to Meanjin before, thought it’d be nice to give Wet Ink a go.

So far, I don’t really like Wet Ink. The layout is irritating (it seems a bit faux-arty), and the pieces so far aren’t fantastic, with the exception of one – a short story in the form of a high school examination paper where the answers are given by a Rwandan refugee (a brief aside: I am disgusted to learn that some people think asylum seekers come here to drain Australia of resources its “real” citizens would otherwise need. Also, there’s no such thing as an illegal refugee. For fuck’s sake, people…). Anyway, the short story in question is ‘The examination’ by Ryan O’Neill, in issue 14 of Wet Ink.

I got back a submission today from Famous Reporter: of course the poem the editor liked was the one that was, in a way the easiest to write (it was also only four lines – hehe, I should take that as a queue to perhaps shut up!). He didn’t say anything about the one that another Melbourne poet and educator told me I should try to get published. Hmm. Three of the five poems I submitted were what I’d consider some of my best.

Waiting on hearing back about two other submissions, and then I guess the submission cycle starts all over again.

In other poetry news, the newly appointed Oxford Professor of Poetry Ruth Padel has resigned after a week. Turns out that she could not fully shrug off the rumours that she had some sort of involvement in the Derek Walcott smear campaign. Apparently, it was expected she’d pull out after Walcott announced his withdrawal from consideration.

What, a poet, a sleaze? Well I do declare!

(Having said that, sexual harassment is not cool. Yea for it being illegal in Australia, racist backwater that we are, according to Telstra former chief Sol whatsit. Yeah, I know, I can go to a news source and see how his last name is spelt, but I’m too busy telling off workmates for calling people of Asiatic origins “gooks”. True story)

It was a chilly Monday evening, a few weeks ago. Quite far from where I currently live, there’s a beautiful old-style cinema called the Astor, in Windsor. A good friend of mine had organised for a few of us to see the film Baraka (which I think has dated incredibly, but has stunning cinematography – also, the print was in stellar condition).

I’d left an hour and a half early, and my friend Col couldn’t turn up because of work. So, I was alone. I bought my ticket, and waited.

The foyer, unusually, was empty. I’d expected lots of people to turn up to see the film.

About twenty minutes before the film was to start, a cat wandered out. I was quite surprised, and gleeful. She walked past me and hopped onto the lap of a gentleman who was sitting on one of the couches. Shyly, we conversed about the cat’s boldness.

Him and his partner left and the cat sat on the worn couch by herself. The above photo I took when I was sitting next to her, waiting. She’s very friendly and quite used to people. Her nametag said she was called Marzipan.

After the film, I saw one of the ushers sitting next to her. I wandered over and asked him if the cat belonged here. He said yes, she did, and that she wasn’t afraid of large crowds of people, and that she was spoilt rotten and quite well for her eighteen years. I grinned like a kid as he spoke about her. We said goodbye and he told me to come back.

If you should ever find yourself at the Astor, I hope you meet her. She’s really quite a darling.

I defy you to think otherwise after viewing the following clip:

Hee hee. I’ve got more poetry cred than a member of Blur! I read complete Auden in high school. Yeah, that made me popular. < / sarcasm >

This having a job malarkey is actually kind of good for purchasing stuff.

I’ve been buying shitloads of books lately, and reading shitloads too.

I’d come across a reworking of ‘The Snow Queen’ fairytale on one of the LJ poetry comms I’m a member of and based on the strength of the poem, ordered the book by the author. Her name is Jeannine Hall Gailey and the poetry volume in question is called Becoming the Villainess. So far, I love it (and yes, in case you’re wondering, I’m horrendously picky when it comes to poetry…).

Although my father (!?) had told me about it a while ago, it was only when the Melbourne-based Falcon vs Monkey, Monkey Wins publisher brought out a copy of their Torpedo magazine (vol #4) solely dedicated to American sort-of beat writer Richard Brautigan that my ears pricked up in interest. I bought a copy of said magazine and was so impressed I’ve just committed to purchasing vol #5 (fiction/short stories).

Adelaide-based Wet Ink magazine and Melbourne-based Overland journal had some sort of joint subscription going so I took advantage of that and have the current copy of Wet Ink in my hands. I’ve flipped through it and to be honest am not overly impressed. But of course I’ll give it a proper chance and read through it properly over the weekend.

Submit one day? Maybe…sigh.

I think finding exes and ex-friend nasty poets, as well as genuinely nice, talented fellow writers in print is giving me serious status anxiety. Can you tell?

(also – support local writers!)

Yes, I’ve started riding again! Though my bike is a little out-of-shape and needs some attention, I’m determined to get back in the saddle, so to speak. I thought my gears were going to break out into some industrial tunes, such is their crunchiness. I am terrible when it comes to bike maintenance but I best learn! Naturally, my timing is appalling: it’s a very cold autumn in Melbourne and I live in an area that is not at all bike-friendly, despite it having bike lanes along the main roads.

As happens, I stumbled across something interesting on the internet – an article about the world’s fifteen most bike-friendly cities – I was quite surprised to see that Perth (for my international chums, an Australian city) is among them.

It’s a pretty cool list and I’m sure Rob and Ris will be happy to hear that Paris is among the list too.

Carol Ann Duffy, a Scottish (female) (gay) poet is the new Poet Laureate of Britain! This is fantastic news, as she is a superb poet.

I’d do it for the grog, as most of us know, poetry doesn’t pay.

I’d been gunning for her to get this post for ages and now she has. Whee! Hopefully she’ll be a bit more active than Sir Andrew Motion – haven’t heard anything about the work he’s written whilst he’s had this post though I hear it’s been hard for him.

Got some Villainess decants – I don’t think these are available on the actual Villainess website? Anyway, impressions as follows:

Masala – as the name suggests, very (south Asian) Indian-inspired. Initially, it smells like chai (which I happen to think is glorious). This would make a fantastic room fragrance – it’s very sensual and evocative. Once it dries down, it doesn’t smell so much of chai but a burnt liquorice (this is the anise coming through). The only note I cannot detect is the dark cocoa – this fragrance is not as sweet as the notes might make it sound, or indeed, as sweet as chai which I understand is traditionally brewed with condensed milk.

Smoky, single-estate keemun tea liberally spiced with cinnamon, cloves, black pepper, ginger and aniseed, softened with milk, and barely sweetened with dark cocoa.

Kill-Switch – Mmm, I love plum-based fragrances. The cherry cognac in this smells a little artificial to my nose. There’s definitely something salty but I wouldn’t say it’s sweat – it reminds me a bit of saltwater taffy, perhaps? No amber whatsoever.

Dark, resinous amber, black plum and black musk with a little spike of cherry cognac, and a drop of salty sweat.

Xia – sweet and smoky, very alluring. Gah, why are these blends so sophisticated! I thought I detected some clove at the very beginning. It could be black pepper though. I thought this would be suited to the warmer weather because of the orchid but it’s quite an evening/autumnal blend.

Voluptuous orchid and black vanilla stained with blackberry juice, flecked with black pepper, and sprinkled with dry, bitter cocoa. An exercise is dark decadence, grounded by sandalwood drenched in amber.

Sigh, I can’t believe it took me so long to give my thoughts on three fragrances. Oh well!

The last in the ‘Twilight’ series Breaking Dawn is upon me. I have to admit that I really struggled with the first half of the book. Why, I hear you ask?

(Yes, there are spoilers ahead. If you’ve not read the book and don’t want to know what’s next, please don’t read on.)
Continue Reading »

By no stretch of the imagination am I a tech geek. Nu-uh. I think as far as arts geeks go, I tend to like getting my feet wet in some geekery, but not much.

A few weeks ago, I got a Nokia N95 and didn’t really think much of it at the time. I mean, it phones people, it saves numbers, woo-hoo.

Then, one evening I sat down with it and started to look into what it was this thing could really do. Hm. Mobile versions of websites, applications. Wot wot? I thought that stuff was only good for iPhones (which are the devil but I secretly lust after it. Are you happy, Amy?).

Some of you may know about my love for music. Fewer of you know of my love for scrobbling and last.fm. Imagine the figurative jizz in my pants when I discovered an application, specifically for the N95 that allows whatever I listen to on said N95 to scrobble.

The application is called Mobbler. I’ve installed it on my N95 and it indeed does work. I haven’t tested it with listening to actual last.fm radio stations (I don’t use that function much as streaming is slow and to be honest, I have shitloads of music to listen to as it is).

So yeah, now the music I listen to at work to combat Bad 10-Year Old Techno-Listening Guy will actually scrobble. Yeah, I know, easily amused. My life is crap, cut me some slack.