It seems obvious to me. We should all be carrying this fact in our heads, solid as lead, to nod at once in a while if we stop suddenly in the kitchen clutching an unnecessary plate in our hands. There was a time in this city when grief welled greater than reason and there were masses gathering in halls to contact the dead.
I don't know how they carried the burden of uncertainty in tandem with the washing. I don't know how they swept floors and darned socks while all the men were missing and everywhere seemed empty. Growing sons should not be a source of fear but as they came of age they left on boats by the thousand. It was easier to feed a mouth than a memory until spiritualism came to Sydney.
I'm not saying I want to start contacting the departed but let's think about this and maybe try a little experiment. I'll keep you posted.
Showing posts with label The experiment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The experiment. Show all posts
Good lord!
I found these when I was fossicking around in my cupboard. I decided at once that something had to be done, so I left them at a cafe, sorry about that cafe staff.
When I paid for my coffee I noticed the blue one on top of the coffee machine.
Let my own lack of a voice be heard and thank you for making pancakes
It wasn't because of the swirling cold trailing across first one part of me and then another. That's not something I need to say, its a leitmotif, the unsanctioned spontaneous incidental music to thought. I committed the small crime of assuming that Superman would be late so I crawled out of the shower at ten past six draped in towels but there he was ensconced in an armchair in the rear of The Peach.
How now can I turn and focus on what must be done? This waking day shrinks and expands and Superman has the distinct advantage of transporting himself across Sydney to a different space, one without film echoes and half finished crossword puzzles. You know, you really shouldn't smoke in bed but in this house it is a a sanctuary from cold and the others shrugging off art like an unwanted coat.
After pancakes and the communal raft of existence over coffee Superman decided a film was necessary so we moved speakers and newspapers and rolled a joint. I wrapped myself in something warm, fending off the trailing cold and welcoming the artificial haze. I lazed and smoked and huddled on this bed and Superman pressed play. Some films walk across moments using your footprints as its own.
Grizelda had dropped us near the restaurant in Paddington and we crossed a road and walked a block and the cold trailed across first one part of me then another. The restaurant, housed in a boutique hotel, had a small but grand entrance. The tables were low and the chairs had arms. I dropped the cushion from my chair then moved to a neighbouring table. We calculated, carefully, the cost of things and just how much we could consume, for free. This is the dinner competition dinner. This is Superman kindly acting out a small part in my long list of life as experiment. The two cheapest mains were to our liking and left, enough, just enough for a bottle of wine. The small list of wine we could afford fell into two categories, wine we could pronounce and wine we could not pronounce. It is not difficult to discern which wine we ordered.
Conversation, as it is with Superman, was often easy, sometimes light but always alive. We argued, vigorously, from our different corners about the possibility of a government sanctioned sound effect to be played immediately after being hit in the face with a pie and idea of an object possessing a subtle height. The food was an elevated level of existence standing in clear contrast to the weeks where I forage in the pantry for a dry biscuit seeking only the absence of hunger.
The wait staff could have frightened me, but they didn't. Superman had to test the wine and I think his artful draping of a scarf helped him in this matter but I'm not sure. When the almost frightening staff were looking away we swapped plates and the pastry from the lamb shank pie scattered clear to the horizon. The other plate, the one without pastry was a kind of chicken heaven, the kind a chicken would never dream about.
The wine continued and the hired piano player drifted away, replaced by a woman with light fingers. Her two small children stood by the piano and sang in their floral dresses, it could have been anytime but a glow appeared where none had been. The wine continued and the edges of my mouth went pleasantly numb. The wine continued then we walked the length of the wallpapered hall. Superman disappearing briefly behind a door marked "the dungeon". The potential for waking inside Fawlty Towers was never far away.
We walked down Oxford St in a bid for coffee while the cold trailed across first one part of me then another. We were too far from cafes and the late night bookshops so we climbed into a cab and ordered Newtown where I have already drawn my shapes and I can pull towards me coffee at will.
Walking home to The Peach I thrust my hands in my pockets, my red leather gloves an ineffective shield, my red leather shoes becoming invisible as the cold trailed across first one part of me then another. I poured rum for no wine could be found. Superman transformed into a troubadour, relating things only in song. Cat food isn't ordinarily laced with Valium.
This morning's pancakes have vanished and I wish only for the absence of hunger. I must turn now to the things that must be done, pushing away the echoes of film and ignoring the loss of my footprints. The cold trails across first one part of me, then another. This is where I turn the heater on.
How now can I turn and focus on what must be done? This waking day shrinks and expands and Superman has the distinct advantage of transporting himself across Sydney to a different space, one without film echoes and half finished crossword puzzles. You know, you really shouldn't smoke in bed but in this house it is a a sanctuary from cold and the others shrugging off art like an unwanted coat.
After pancakes and the communal raft of existence over coffee Superman decided a film was necessary so we moved speakers and newspapers and rolled a joint. I wrapped myself in something warm, fending off the trailing cold and welcoming the artificial haze. I lazed and smoked and huddled on this bed and Superman pressed play. Some films walk across moments using your footprints as its own.
Grizelda had dropped us near the restaurant in Paddington and we crossed a road and walked a block and the cold trailed across first one part of me then another. The restaurant, housed in a boutique hotel, had a small but grand entrance. The tables were low and the chairs had arms. I dropped the cushion from my chair then moved to a neighbouring table. We calculated, carefully, the cost of things and just how much we could consume, for free. This is the dinner competition dinner. This is Superman kindly acting out a small part in my long list of life as experiment. The two cheapest mains were to our liking and left, enough, just enough for a bottle of wine. The small list of wine we could afford fell into two categories, wine we could pronounce and wine we could not pronounce. It is not difficult to discern which wine we ordered.
Conversation, as it is with Superman, was often easy, sometimes light but always alive. We argued, vigorously, from our different corners about the possibility of a government sanctioned sound effect to be played immediately after being hit in the face with a pie and idea of an object possessing a subtle height. The food was an elevated level of existence standing in clear contrast to the weeks where I forage in the pantry for a dry biscuit seeking only the absence of hunger.
The wait staff could have frightened me, but they didn't. Superman had to test the wine and I think his artful draping of a scarf helped him in this matter but I'm not sure. When the almost frightening staff were looking away we swapped plates and the pastry from the lamb shank pie scattered clear to the horizon. The other plate, the one without pastry was a kind of chicken heaven, the kind a chicken would never dream about.
The wine continued and the hired piano player drifted away, replaced by a woman with light fingers. Her two small children stood by the piano and sang in their floral dresses, it could have been anytime but a glow appeared where none had been. The wine continued and the edges of my mouth went pleasantly numb. The wine continued then we walked the length of the wallpapered hall. Superman disappearing briefly behind a door marked "the dungeon". The potential for waking inside Fawlty Towers was never far away.
We walked down Oxford St in a bid for coffee while the cold trailed across first one part of me then another. We were too far from cafes and the late night bookshops so we climbed into a cab and ordered Newtown where I have already drawn my shapes and I can pull towards me coffee at will.
Walking home to The Peach I thrust my hands in my pockets, my red leather gloves an ineffective shield, my red leather shoes becoming invisible as the cold trailed across first one part of me then another. I poured rum for no wine could be found. Superman transformed into a troubadour, relating things only in song. Cat food isn't ordinarily laced with Valium.
This morning's pancakes have vanished and I wish only for the absence of hunger. I must turn now to the things that must be done, pushing away the echoes of film and ignoring the loss of my footprints. The cold trails across first one part of me, then another. This is where I turn the heater on.
Fuckwits? I rather think not
Creamboy was the initial winner of my dinner competition, the judges declared it so, I would have picked a different entry myself. I phoned Creamboy and after some discussion he decided that he would graciously allow the runner up to attend the dinner because Creamboy is a vegan and the menu did not cater for vegans. I had (and still have) no problem with this.
I left this information out of the announcement because I am The Captain of My Blog, sorry, I just like saying that. Several people commented and it seems that Creamboy has taken these comments as personal criticism which in my opinion is ridiculous for several reasons:
I left this information out of the announcement because I am The Captain of My Blog, sorry, I just like saying that. Several people commented and it seems that Creamboy has taken these comments as personal criticism which in my opinion is ridiculous for several reasons:
- People did not know who they were commenting about,
- People did not know exactly why the offer of dinner was declined,
- I was clearly not angry or in any way discombobulated about it.
You don't have to be rich
Salty sea dogs fear me. I carry the thickened syrup of rough waters in my mouth. This can sometimes happen when you put a pinch too many in your Rupert Soup. All I can taste is salt and it heightens my sense of smell. The frangipanis emit thick fogs unbearably sensual, all of Newtown looms in waves of coloured scent. I have poisoned myself with salt.
I've been trying to find someone to come see the Archibald exhibition with me. No one wants to. Not one person. You'd think one person might be interested, but no. Not a one and this is why when I was given a gift voucher for an expensive dinner in a boutique hotel in Paddington my heart dropped. Who among my friends would disappoint me first? I've decided to leave this up to them, all of them. Here's what I'm going to do.
Wanted - Interesting dinner companion
If you would like to join Dale Slamma for an overpriced (but fortunately paid for by the magic of gift certificate) hopefully delicious dinner in a small boutique hotel in Paddington simply email dale.slamma@gmail.com and explain how and why you would be interesting.
Multiple entries encouraged. The winner will be notified by email, winning entry published on this blog. Remaining anonymous is a possibility.
Correspondence definitely entered into, Slamma loves a good argument.
I've been trying to find someone to come see the Archibald exhibition with me. No one wants to. Not one person. You'd think one person might be interested, but no. Not a one and this is why when I was given a gift voucher for an expensive dinner in a boutique hotel in Paddington my heart dropped. Who among my friends would disappoint me first? I've decided to leave this up to them, all of them. Here's what I'm going to do.
Wanted - Interesting dinner companion
If you would like to join Dale Slamma for an overpriced (but fortunately paid for by the magic of gift certificate) hopefully delicious dinner in a small boutique hotel in Paddington simply email dale.slamma@gmail.com and explain how and why you would be interesting.
Multiple entries encouraged. The winner will be notified by email, winning entry published on this blog. Remaining anonymous is a possibility.
Correspondence definitely entered into, Slamma loves a good argument.
Found object: triangle watch
Object found by Gemma in her mail box because I posted it to her. This really isn't how The Experiment of tag & release is supposed to work. I'm becoming increasingly frustrated by the boring people of planet earth who will not play along with my little game. If I found an object with a tag on it I would definitely investigate further. Come on people! Play!
This watch was given to me as a present in 1989. My friend went to Bali and came back with many exotic things, mostly copper, brown or orange in colour. She also gave me a set of those long metal fingernails that you stick on your fingers when performing traditional dances from that part of the world. I don't know what happened to those. I had a small go at that style of dancing in my bedroom one night but one got stuck in my scrunchie (it was 1989) and I poked myself in the eye with another one.
The watch stopped working in 1989, I wore it until 1992. At first the watch went backwards then it would perform odd leaps of time, sometimes backwards and sometimes forwards. I didn't care. I loved that watch. At the same time I was wearing the watch I unpicked all the buttons from my school shirts and replaced with them with buttons shaped like things such as aeroplanes, bananas and tiny horses. I went through a phase of allowing my shortish hair to stick straight up in its natural afro style formation, sometimes I would crimp the bits I could reach. I usually wore socks with cows printed on them and carried around my flute in its case and my double bass. I don't think it was possible to be less stylish. Its important to note that no one else at my school was doing this. Just me.
To the alarm of every teacher and student at my school I soon after morphed into a pirate shirt wearing rebel leader but that's a tale for another day.
Found object: pen
This pen was found in Melbourne, in a letterbox by Martin. He picked it up and took it inside because I posted it to him. This is not precisely how the experiment is supposed to work but its a start.
In 1986 I acquired the pen from my father after he got an exciting new shiny white one, with a tiny clock set into the top of it so you could just glance down and immediately see the time. I thought that a pen-on-a-rope was the height of practical yet stylish sophistication. My fear is that so did my father.
In a shock announcement my mother told me that last night she broke her foot, doing a handstand.
The Dutch Ambassador's tea cups are a mystery to me
More than anything today I wish to know what kind of tea cups the Dutch Ambassador uses. My washing machine is making sad beeping noises and flashing its little lights. It will not wash no matter which combination of rude words are thrown into the incantation. The teamleading proactive customer relationship building active telephonic woman asked if Friday afternoon was a convenient time for the washing machine repair man to come around. Hell yes, is what I said. Who doesn't want a half day on Friday?
I left a box of miniature crayons in The Duke tonight, with a little swing tag saying 'daleslamma.blogspot.com'. Boli looked at me sideways when I told him my plan. He turned the tiny tin box over and over in his giant palms and said "that's the only way you can do it, isn't it?". He's right, it is the only way I can do it. I am incapable of shedding this traveling snailhouse skin in any other fashion. I'm not sure what it is about this plan that makes it ok to say goodbye to things I have treasured since memory kickstarted its bastard regime but it is ok. This is a joyful unburdening.
Yesterday I got busted on the train. By busted I mean a whole carriage full of besuited morning commuters saw me hang a fuck ugly necklace on a hand rail just before the doors opened and I jumped off at my allotted daily spot. It must have clanged. Its a huge fuck ugly necklace strung with stones and ceramic bits. I was listening to The Rolling Stones and trying my very best not to bust out some bad silent dance moves so I didn't hear the stones clang against the metal railing. I thought I was a spy, better than a spy, I thought I was Super Dale being super secret squirrel in a stealthy casual International Dale of Mystery kind of a way but when I snuck a peek to see if the necklace was hanging nicely I noticed the whole carriage was staring straight at me. The doors started to close on the train so I executed an undignified scrambling leap, the whole carriage watched me out of the windows as the train slid away.
They must not be curious, those staring commuters, not one person has bothered to leave a comment asking about the fuck ugly necklace. I wonder if anyone ever will.
I left a box of miniature crayons in The Duke tonight, with a little swing tag saying 'daleslamma.blogspot.com'. Boli looked at me sideways when I told him my plan. He turned the tiny tin box over and over in his giant palms and said "that's the only way you can do it, isn't it?". He's right, it is the only way I can do it. I am incapable of shedding this traveling snailhouse skin in any other fashion. I'm not sure what it is about this plan that makes it ok to say goodbye to things I have treasured since memory kickstarted its bastard regime but it is ok. This is a joyful unburdening.
Yesterday I got busted on the train. By busted I mean a whole carriage full of besuited morning commuters saw me hang a fuck ugly necklace on a hand rail just before the doors opened and I jumped off at my allotted daily spot. It must have clanged. Its a huge fuck ugly necklace strung with stones and ceramic bits. I was listening to The Rolling Stones and trying my very best not to bust out some bad silent dance moves so I didn't hear the stones clang against the metal railing. I thought I was a spy, better than a spy, I thought I was Super Dale being super secret squirrel in a stealthy casual International Dale of Mystery kind of a way but when I snuck a peek to see if the necklace was hanging nicely I noticed the whole carriage was staring straight at me. The doors started to close on the train so I executed an undignified scrambling leap, the whole carriage watched me out of the windows as the train slid away.
They must not be curious, those staring commuters, not one person has bothered to leave a comment asking about the fuck ugly necklace. I wonder if anyone ever will.
First movement tacit, second movement tacit, third movement tacit
I am waiting for someone to find an object and leave a comment. I am not known for my patience.
Reverse treasure hunt
I have a new experiment. I imagine I am feeling the physical weight of these objects. I have carried so many things with me from house to house from life to life. This is shedding. I am taking things I no longer want or need, one at a time, and leaving them for others to find. Where I am able to I am writing daleslamma.blogspot.com on the bottom or inside, otherwise I am writing it on a tag and tying it on with string or ribbon.
It is my hope that each object might catch someone's eye, might be collected as a new treasure. I am hoping that someone who finds an object might visit here and tell me what they found and where they found it. If anyone does I will write about the object, where I got it, who I got it from and when. I'm starting small but I'll work my way up. This is my new daily task.
It is my hope that each object might catch someone's eye, might be collected as a new treasure. I am hoping that someone who finds an object might visit here and tell me what they found and where they found it. If anyone does I will write about the object, where I got it, who I got it from and when. I'm starting small but I'll work my way up. This is my new daily task.
Unlearning
One hour and twenty three minutes before my 31st birthday I am sitting in bed wearing white cotton granny underpants and reading glasses. I am pondering my year of being 30 and wondering just how low my breasts will droop between now and when I turn 60, among other things. The Spatula bought me some chocolates from Belle Fleur. These are the best chocolates in the universe. Each chocolate is the best chocolate I have ever tasted. There must be drugs in them.
This year of being 30 has been one of revelations. I am tougher than I think I am. I am capable of surviving heartbreak, establishing a new life in the big city and walking around at night by myself. These are things I did not think I could do. I have been compiling a list of things that I have done for the first time.
Bought a dress
Worn red lipstickGone out for a drink with a man
Become insensibly drunk at a party by myself and accepted a lift home from a stranger
Started a blog
Been single for a whole year
Had sex with a man I just met
Had dinner by myself in a restaurant
Decided I did not want to interact with a man that was not good for me, then stuck with it
Made a friend through the internet (hoorah Gemma)
Talked on the telephone with people I don't know (Rups & Martin)
Survived from a single packet of biscuits for nearly a week
Used my life as an experiment
Told people how I was really feeling
Had phone sex
Taken my writing seriously
Made a zine
Walked home from work regularly
Rode in a taxi by myself
Made new friends from attending parties and spoken word things
Hugged my mother (not the very first time but the first time in a really long time, that was today, I was very surprised)
Glued myself back together and been pleased with the result
There is more but it is less tangible. I am beginning to come to grips with terrible freedom and its boundless white void of infinite possibilities. I have new night vision that illuminates the neon strips of imagined limitations. I've got a good missile lock on the black cold banded stripes of fear. They run from my heart to the horizon and back again but I'm in a fast jet now. I'll take on those stripes, I'll murder your raven. I'll walk my own steps despite your crazy drums and insistent absence because this it. The big show.
This year of being 30 has been one of revelations. I am tougher than I think I am. I am capable of surviving heartbreak, establishing a new life in the big city and walking around at night by myself. These are things I did not think I could do. I have been compiling a list of things that I have done for the first time.
Bought a dress
Worn red lipstickGone out for a drink with a man
Become insensibly drunk at a party by myself and accepted a lift home from a stranger
Started a blog
Been single for a whole year
Had sex with a man I just met
Had dinner by myself in a restaurant
Decided I did not want to interact with a man that was not good for me, then stuck with it
Made a friend through the internet (hoorah Gemma)
Talked on the telephone with people I don't know (Rups & Martin)
Survived from a single packet of biscuits for nearly a week
Used my life as an experiment
Told people how I was really feeling
Had phone sex
Taken my writing seriously
Made a zine
Walked home from work regularly
Rode in a taxi by myself
Made new friends from attending parties and spoken word things
Hugged my mother (not the very first time but the first time in a really long time, that was today, I was very surprised)
Glued myself back together and been pleased with the result
There is more but it is less tangible. I am beginning to come to grips with terrible freedom and its boundless white void of infinite possibilities. I have new night vision that illuminates the neon strips of imagined limitations. I've got a good missile lock on the black cold banded stripes of fear. They run from my heart to the horizon and back again but I'm in a fast jet now. I'll take on those stripes, I'll murder your raven. I'll walk my own steps despite your crazy drums and insistent absence because this it. The big show.
Come on then
It has been some time since I have mentioned the sentence for a $1 using a word of the customer's choice market stall experiment. This is because the idea has expanded. I am working on getting together a production line. The customer will say a word, I will write a sentence using the word, someone (hopefully Spencer) will sing and play the sentence as a song, Madam Squeeze will reinterpret the song on her accordion whilst an interpretive dancer performs the sentence song as a dance. The customer can keep the paper on which I wrote the sentence.
Madam Squeeze has agreed to the plan, I am yet to ask Spencer, I might ask Boli to add a jazz clarinet segment before Madam Squeeze's part but after (hopefully) Spencer's. All I really need now is an interpretive dancer. Does anyone dance? If no dancer can be found then I will have to do the interpretive dancing and really, no one wants to see that.
Madam Squeeze has agreed to the plan, I am yet to ask Spencer, I might ask Boli to add a jazz clarinet segment before Madam Squeeze's part but after (hopefully) Spencer's. All I really need now is an interpretive dancer. Does anyone dance? If no dancer can be found then I will have to do the interpretive dancing and really, no one wants to see that.
Eternity stinks my darling
So I have done the Dead vs Alive experiment and now I am facing the very real possibility that I could be here for quite a while. Its a novel experience this contemplating having a go at making the best of things. I always thought that I had a built in escape hatch, that if things were too much for too long I could just bail but now on the wise side of thirty I'm beginning to suspect that its just not my style.
I'm currently sitting in a cliche. Out on the patio I sit, breathing the humidity watching the lightning. Its rather nice, this Australia. I'm pondering the notion of learned expectations, learned expectations of experience about death and spaghetti. I'm think I'm onto something but like a lot of things its going to need some work.
I'm currently sitting in a cliche. Out on the patio I sit, breathing the humidity watching the lightning. Its rather nice, this Australia. I'm pondering the notion of learned expectations, learned expectations of experience about death and spaghetti. I'm think I'm onto something but like a lot of things its going to need some work.
Oh
I have just noticed that the Dead vs Alive experiment is finished. The final scores are:
Dead 10
Unsure 13
Alive 67
I guess that means the deal is done. Results are conclusive and therefore I must stay alive. Well, that was unexpected.
Dead 10
Unsure 13
Alive 67
I guess that means the deal is done. Results are conclusive and therefore I must stay alive. Well, that was unexpected.
Professors professors everywhere
I was in the office this morning for a bit talking to Robert about something I call Professor Points and academic publishers. If you are an academic you need to have a certain amount of stuff published, particularly stuff that has been peer reviewed, this earns you points or something that you need if you want to be a professor and who doesn't want to be a professor. The exact system is a little obscure so I generally just call the whole thing Professor Points.
Its not a bad idea this Professor Points system, I like systems. I also like filling in forms but don't tell anyone. For some years now I have joked about having an annual friend cull, in fact I do generally have a little period of reflection about who is in my life and how my relationships are going. Unfortunately the end result is that I often feel neglected and somewhat angry about things. This year I'm flipping the process. I am going to rate my friends, not with a view to culling friends or feeling disappointed but more as a rewards system. Being endlessly unimaginative I call the scheme Professor Points. The scheme starts now and will last until I become bored with it, it chases all my friends away or I am well enough to recommence more active experimentation.
I only wish I knew some kind of genius to set up an interesting interface, I guess I'll just have to manage. You can find the Professor Points running tally just above Dead vs Alive in the side column.
Its not a bad idea this Professor Points system, I like systems. I also like filling in forms but don't tell anyone. For some years now I have joked about having an annual friend cull, in fact I do generally have a little period of reflection about who is in my life and how my relationships are going. Unfortunately the end result is that I often feel neglected and somewhat angry about things. This year I'm flipping the process. I am going to rate my friends, not with a view to culling friends or feeling disappointed but more as a rewards system. Being endlessly unimaginative I call the scheme Professor Points. The scheme starts now and will last until I become bored with it, it chases all my friends away or I am well enough to recommence more active experimentation.
I only wish I knew some kind of genius to set up an interesting interface, I guess I'll just have to manage. You can find the Professor Points running tally just above Dead vs Alive in the side column.
Devil in a box
The Holy Soul reek of Sydney is one comment I overheard at The Hopetoun tonight after Spencer's gig. Someone else, some young beautiful boy described Spencer's borrowed guitar pedal as a devil in a box. I've never heard them play like that before, they set my fucking head on fire. I don't know what's going on with the guitarist but he's got some fine kind of pain that breaks strings and rearranges atmosphere. If there's only one good band left in Sydney then its them.The Hopetoun was dead tonight when I walked in, dead enough to walk straight through to the bar and not have to steer around one person and I thought oh shit, I dragged my ill self over to Surry Hills for nothing. Sure they would have played but I don't think they would have taken it too serisously. I needn't have worried. By the end of the first song there was a fine jostle going on and someone yelled Fuck that was good and I pulled my chin down and gave a small smile.
After Spencer some boring band played and was mostly ignored. I sat in the tiny courtyard and encountered an unusual man. He had purple sneakers on which was appropriate considering that fine aging rocker Mr Tim Rogers once made a hell of a splendid noise using those same words on those same floorboards. Purple sneakers. The unusual man is called Andy Depressant, Spencer pointed him out as a potential experiment man and at first I vehemently declined and I resorted to using various rude finger gestures which Spencer returned with equal force in an ungentlemanly fashion. Andy Depressant was flippant and other, I have a strange feeling that if I was a man I would be just like him. I greatly admired his glasses, secretly. He told an excellent story about defaecating whilst experiencing the effects of methylenedioxymethamphetamine (spell check anyone?). I have asked Andy Depressant if he would like to be interviewed. He said yes so now I will have to interview him. I will write his portrait and never show it to him. I might pay for his coffee.
Most people were wearing boots, some pointy, some not so pointy, none pointier than Spencer's. I was wearing orange sneakers.
image: We Buy Your Kids
Dead vs Alive update
I am halfway through the dead vs alive challenge**. There are three possible outcomes of this challenge. If dead wins then I will die, method yet to be determined, if alive wins I will have some sort of party with hats but if unsure wins I think I will need to get experimental. If unsure wins I will drink a bottle of vodka, swallow a bunch of pills and see if I wake up in the morning. This is all sounding a little crazy but I can assure you it is perfectly logical.
I am quantifying whether or not the good actually outweighs the bad. This constant state of existential crisis, this shocked trauma and searching sense of overwhelming imagined loss is a new problem and it needs a new solution. Let's see if it turns into my own personal final solution.
**The running tally of dead vs alive is handily visible at all times in the sidebar. Alive is currently out in front by several lengths.
I am quantifying whether or not the good actually outweighs the bad. This constant state of existential crisis, this shocked trauma and searching sense of overwhelming imagined loss is a new problem and it needs a new solution. Let's see if it turns into my own personal final solution.
**The running tally of dead vs alive is handily visible at all times in the sidebar. Alive is currently out in front by several lengths.
Feeling experimental?
Votes are in and the winner was "Set up a stall selling sentences using words of the customer's choice". This is a lame experiment. Lame.
I will do the lame experiment but I am feeling a definite welling of wild. I want to storm down the street like I own this damn town. I am freewheeling, the urge to be the one with dustpan and a watch clattered out with the last pointed shard. Its my turn to be selfish and love it.
I will do the lame experiment but I am feeling a definite welling of wild. I want to storm down the street like I own this damn town. I am freewheeling, the urge to be the one with dustpan and a watch clattered out with the last pointed shard. Its my turn to be selfish and love it.
Watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat
Help me decide on what my next experiment should be. I'm liking the idea of the torture one at the moment but at the same time suspecting that it could be a tad mental. I want to do something drastic, more drastic than eating like a vegan for two weeks and far more drastic than learning to juggle, which is coming along nicely thanks to the handy hints from Creamboy.
Please vote.
Please vote.
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