on moving house 1

I originally considered calling this blog 'the existentialist guide to interior design'. Needles to say the name was to exhausting, too deeply philosophistic. So i opted for something more straight forward, but i wish to mention the alternate title to suggest a way of interperting what this blog is about. Its not so much about the experience of moving house, but rather the way that the experience of moving house places our selves into question. Moving house - making a new 'home' sets off a range of questions, implicit or explicit, about our existance & identity. So lets begin...

one
Boxes, milk crates & plastic bags. All these material things that i call mine, that i care about if they are lost or stolen, are placed into boxes. Enough for approximately two ute loads. Perhaps a third for the shelf, it may need to travel alone. It is ironic that these personal items, makers of my taste & style, do not travel well with my shelf. The place where they would otherwise sit within my home do not suit each other as well when moving house. Fine china and wooden shelving become parted lovers. They simply do not 'go'. Instead the delicate china is placed in milk crates. And the adored clothes from my wardrobe are placed into plastic bags. Well actually garbage bags. Those personal belongings become indistinguashable from trash. My life is relegated from the fine shelf framing my possesions to the common and unmentionable housing of a milk crates.

China is wraped in yesterdays news. 'Surely its at least worth some up to date?'. No such luck. There is no wardrobe to provide the aura of presitge. They sit in those garbage bags, wraped in that dated paper. Now they too appear to be dated. Some lingering thought persists - that that childrens toy i've kept for so long on the matle piece may as well have been some blackened banana peel. Just a kind of visual gimick, like a peasant sitting on the kings throne. A joke. Perhaps all cultre is just garbage. This isnt so hard to accept. Anthropology has made a science out of such a belief. Treating the waste of ancient cultures as the society itself.

My life, till now, is summed up into a catalouge containing three catagories. Those things best moved in boxes, those things best moved in crates & those things best moved in garbage bags. There is no category for things moved in silken napsacks or finely crafted wooden boxes. It just doesnt fit.

two
I toss out a pair of shoes. They are sill wearable, but only just. 'better to throw them out now, they'll be dead in a month' I tell myself. 'It'll lighten the load for my move.' And so they are thrown out. Trashed. A pair of worn out shoes are thus deleted from my personal belongings, my personal world. Many other things will disapear in this way. Thrown out in order to lighten my load. Other items will be kept. For instance a pair of severly torn pants - long past their use by date. '...At least for a template if i ever decided to sew new ones.' This is a lie. I know the seams are too weak to unpick & the time it would take is not availible to me. Yet... i keep them. They are a sentimental thing.

We clean out things when we move. Keep the things of meaning, throw away those objects which have lost their connection to our 'self'. If something is not liked, if it is no longer 'me' then it is erased. We - maybe I should say 'I', but i feel it is not just me who does such things... anyways - we engage in a process of editing our own lives. This is done much in the same way that we edit photo albums. To paraphrase Dubravka Ugresic, much like a photo album we manage the material indexes of our memories in order to produce a sense of identity that is fitting to who we deem we should be. This does not by necessity match who we are. This process can be a swirl of many emotions but the end result of this process is a clam. The emotions are repressed. We observe a peace that comes with occupying the images of the desired. (After detracting what is undesirable). We are what we want to be. At least for a brief moment, before that image too becomes dated. And no person can ever stand to be dated. We are of the present. The editing proces must begin again.

I continue to throw things out. The pile of stuff i keep sits in one garbage bag in one corner. The stuff to throw sits in another garbage bag in the other corner. I smirk to myself "wouldn't it be funny if i got them mixed up..." My smirking ceases as i decide to move the garbage into the bin. Just in case.

interlude
i am still moving house, or rather unpacking, i have no internet. it will be a while before i post the rest, the less sour finale of this post. i do believe there is some affirming quality to moving... im sure...

this soft lullaby

Every so often i have a an odd moment of understanding. Fateful moments occur. Strange senses of de ja vu & intuitive knowlege.

I listened to the CD i attached to my dance pig zine. Most of the songs have some attached meaning. Reminders of people & places. 'Slave to the Rhythm' for those trashy imperial video jupe box beers. 'Kaltes Klares Wasser' for those house parties at Horden St & 'Ages' for contemplative comedowns as i sat alone in my room.

'Burnt like you' is about those reckless moments we prescribe for ourselves. The reckless things that i do, act that are both inevitable and remorseful. But as i listened to 'Burnt like you' today it wasnt so much about me anymore. The lyrics spoke of someone else. This quite lullaby of a song became so aptly descriptive of another. The sounds soothing the ear with a painful truth before a deep sleep. Before death of sorts.

I have to wonder - did some part of me know this all along? Was the song ever really about me, or was that just some well concealed denial of how things were...

...its a mystery to me, and perhaps it'll stay that way.

Goethe sits on my finger

It was a sureal moment & a special moment.

Drinking beers with my bunny boy. Little flames fly in my stomach - it seems the butterflies have caught alight. My mind lingers, i feel faint touches of fur & see twitching noses. We're close to each other as we sit. Your ears prick up at the sound of my little unfounded fears. And so you show me how much of a fool i am. You summon all your strenght & place goethe on the tip of my finger. I return the favour, in my own little way.

The flames are doused. The buterflies can live now. In peace. With all the other creatures in the forest.

I go to sleep that night, by myself. Before i dream I take some time to Smile in the dark about the things that matter most. Laugh away the things that matter the least. Its what goethe would want.

observation #4: its make or break baby

its funny. Some relationships have recently come to a halt. Others have transpired in front of me. Arising from nothingness, completly unexpected on my part. Some 'ships i have clung to, others i have remembered how sore it is to loose them. Others i am happy to have some form of distance from.

nearness hurts, distance hurts... it seems connecting it a delema not limited to hedgehogs.

in hind sight, all loves take time. all 'ships define themselves. they manifest in their own way... its no use forcing it, just play it by touch.

heat wave

heat in summer. its never the nicest thing. seems to bring out the worst in people. take for instance riots on the beach. It seems everyone decided it wasnt hot enough just lying there. no. some people needed to get a bit phyiscal too...

race riots.

there seems to be several versions floating around. not surprising given how inaccurate & down right wrong the press can be. But there does seem to be some aggreed on - dare i say - 'facts'. two lebs injure a life guard. so some people decide to reclaim the beach. with violence, of course. And so some lebs decide to return the favour & protect their colour. with violence, of course. and so the police decide to stop the riots. with violence of course.

Any use of violence is only done to halt a percieved posibility of violence from the other group in question. Such a flimsy excuse. But then again a thin cover is all thats needed to legitimise actions when things get hot. And when issues of race & nation are rasied things get hot. Stickily hot.

too may fears & emotions mixed together. all sides are misrepresented by the press. it stalls any true understanding of the situation. (perhaps this is the greatest violence of all - if we cant ever really understand whats going on how do we solve the problem?) Latent issues are ignored and only the manifested expressions of those issues are dealt with.

the violence the police issue is most devistating & most hipocritical.

pseudo political spiels either complain about this as being the real face of 'racist australia' or as a hicup within a essentially multicultural society. pseudo politicans play name games, while socialists call a rally. a pesudo political action, no teeth to the bite. no content to the form.

Real thought, engagement of the differently afftected people of society remains ignored. Both perpertrators and victims go on being perpetrators & victims. Policicians hope to buy up the votes by giving the best subjective description to the bystanding majority of australia.

Scince the world trade centre's went blam, one thing is obvious - the religious strategy of tackling racism & opression has failed. As too has the political strategy, half arsed as it was to begin with.

Maybe before we think up anything else to do, before we fix the world, we should take some time out. Be a bit anti-political, be a bit anti-religious. Maybe go down to the beach and have a sit down in the sand. Look at the people dashing around. And, at some point say 'Hi, how are you?' to that stranger near by...

maybe learn something, understand something, then doing something...

letters

i couldnt quite believe it happened. such an unusual thing, and of all people, it happen to me! My mind quizzes over the situation, 'how had this come to be?'

I imagine the catalyst for such a senario could only be a moment of sheer boredom. Someone sitting in there lounge room, daily chores half done, looking for relief in some internet key bashing. Google this, read that. And then at some point a thought would have traversed their mind...

Maybe they glanced at a picture on the wall - a photograph from a summer holiday. Oversized sunglasses and smuges of fluro pink zinc cream. young smiling children whom you half remember, and of course your own face. now aged scince then. A day at the beach, maybe? a typical polariod moment. Maybe such a picture was the reason to thread together several letters on the keyboard into a proper name... d... a... v... all the way through to the letter r.

A name googled. results come up & by sheer coincidence my name appears with a email address attached. A perfect opportunity to send a letter over the ether. Or atleast this is how i suspect the event originated...

I recived an email. from my cousin in canada. she shares my last name. she reminded me of trips to the beach. to the zoo. to the park. even to wollongong. typical things done during a holiday. she's asked me how things are with the family. She writes:

so anyways -- how old are you now? you are working too?
how are your brothers and sister? My mom told me that adam is now 19.... I feel so old. I have thought of you guys many times. In fact I still have alittle note that you wrote me when I returned to canada from my trip.

so I am good - alittle stressed over the whole christmas thing but this shall pass. I have recently gone back to school. I took about 10 years off to raise my kids and I think its time I got back to work. One of my boys is actually named david too! he is seven. daniella is 10 and anthony is 5. and I am old


i am stumped. i don not know what to write in reply. so much has happened. not all so good... memories, sweet memories. remember the good ones eh?! tears stall in my eyes. i fail in my ability to turn letters into words. if only you could offer a silent smile over the ether, and not have to settle for letters.

this dance is for me

last week i had made a decision. It was high time that i went out on the scene... alone.

without the prearranged meetings, without taking along a safety net of friends. i felt it was something i needed to do, given the current pressures that i've had with friends. Given the current change in my life. the only safetly net that i took was a pill and a plan to end up at Dirty Donkey.

During the solo treak... this journey of self discovery... i found that i was never quite alone. My path so quickly flowed into the path of others. I met up with steve at palms. Was good to see him doing well. I could have stayed longer, listening to the handbag trash - but going it alone means going it alone. While jumping between the oxford & manicle i met several of the boys. danny, rob, guy, luke & ben happened to stumble into my path.

Walked into rouges not knowing what to expect. Dirty donkey had got good billing in the past, but rainy days tend to keep crazy clubers away. but rest assured, the dirty cubz were there. those crazy older clubers who rove manicle, arq & kooky lookin for a bit of fun. I knew that i'd be in good hands tonight ;)

danced, clubed raved, little rach & khan graced my presence & ms ali arrived all glamour & glitz promising to stay out the night now that she had taken a pill. My own pill sent me all lovey dovey. Text messages, random pashes & flash dancing. Playful boys & e talks. Bumps of k, flirtations & contemplations of life, Love & friends.

after a snit at phoenix ali, rach, khan and i went back to my place to chill & we all ended up in the cemetary drinking long necks & eating takeaway from clems. such a sweet thing to do with people whom i've known but not really hung out with so closely.

the day ended. i slept, i felt warm. wasnt sure if it was the pill, or if it was real happiness. maybe both... most likely.

workin 9 to 5

so last week was all sex & work. not much time left for puppet or friends - is this what work life is like? mmmm... need to get a routine together.

anyone for tea

i recently obtained a set of japanese tea cups. very cute. very ornate. very symptomatic.

my old life that ive known for all its ups & downs, the recklessness & the love seems to be passing, or atleast changing. altering in quality & quantity. not that it was bad. It taught me lots & still has much to give, but alas, things change.

Transition. Between jobs, places, friends, homes, boys.

I'm beginning to be a bit more, say, tender? brave? stable? - more like relaxed. I still want the clubing, & the occassional recklessness but i need some other things too, things that have thus far has only appeared in apparitions. I am unsure of what i see, there is no manifestation for me to reach out. to grab. all is mystery.

This sighting has left its mark on me. It influences from underneath. Alters my action, differs who i am. ever so slightly. small changes. little desires. glimpses &
the occasional materialisation of objects that remind me of what is to be. They fill me with the kind of warmth you get from drinking a glass of green tea.

is this what they call the mid 20's

two four. 24. i'm older now... though still young at heart :) this was my birthday weekend. 48 hours of drugs, sex, boys, friends, emotions, and friendship, all washed down with several sweetly tasting glasses of sangrier. In the past, a party at my place has meant viciously trashy behaviour - unexpected guests, unwanted messes, and unforseen crashes. Luckily, at this party the trashyness was kept to a more subdued level.

With soft lighting, music from both justin's & my play list, a movie playing in the background and an adequite level of sangrier the party kept a stable level of enthusiasm. No peaks, no slumps, just a fairly chilled hum. People happily roved up and down the long hall separating the lounge from the kitchen, plastic cups in hand, stopping mid way to chat as they bumped into friends. Forgetting where they were ment to be. Rediscovering their destination only after several further displacements and several drinks later.

One thing that was striking about the party was the level of sexual energy and tension that hung in the air. the tension came from the high proportion of ex's present - emma jorja, will, puppet, luke, justin. Sexual enegry i think was the result of the large number of gay boi's present. There was alot of 'W likes X, X likes Y, Y likes Z etc' going on. The outcome of this energy was a a mixture of flirtation, drinking, crying, kisses, D&M's, and other bizare confessions which were possibly more of the moment than of the heart.

the rest of the party on the sunday was at kens & kooky. needless to say, i got my birthday fuck. then went out and got really fucked up. Ran into the older scene boys went down with them to arq & danced well into the morning light.

thankyou to those who came & for the thoughful presents. special thanks to justin for sorting out the music, the kids at kens for getting me extra passes.

serious? fun!? KooKy 10

Its been ten years scince Club KooKy openned. KooKy has changed alot scince the five or so years ago i went there. Different, that is, but still very much the same. Gemma & Seymour seem to have become more serious about their fun. Its as if they are two kids who've moved from a childrens chemestry set to one for adults.

I wish i had some of the past CD's to really touch on the history of their music in this review of KooKy 10. But i cant. So i wont. I'll just give you the low down.

Gemma and Seymour have been hard at work. Its a strong CD, with very little filler. Was a little surprised that they didn't actually mix the songs in together, as would happen on a typical Ministry of Sound CD. Instead it plays like a 'best of' album. The album clues into Seymours liking of deep male vocals (morning city stirs) and gemmas punkish interests (suck it). As well as the usual assortment of electronica (wet n wild), nostalgia (dreams), and darker (dimension) tunes.

club kooky 10 does have a few faults. the rock dont always sit well with the electro. it could also do with some of the more lighter beats. but what can you do? guess i'll just have to hope one of them reads this b4 the next club kooky album is relased...

TRACK LISTING

01 WET N WILD - kim
02 MORNING CITY STIRS - dsico: that no-talent hack
03 SIREN - general electric feat. llama
04 BLACK ELIZABETH - ollo
05 KITTY IN THE MIDDLE (kitty said) - the presets
06 DIMENSION (dimensional kooky mix) - wolfmother
07 QUEEN ON CROWN - the somethings
08 DREAMS - kill peaches
09 TOURIST ATTRACTION - kiosk
10 FAT CAT - liz martin
11 SUCK IT - buggirl
12 ITS NOT ME ITS YOU - paul mac feat ngaiire (itchee and scratchee remix)
13 CRICKET BALL - ez & loretto
14 DUSKY - lake lustre
15 ASTON - suspect

the politics of dance

so at approx 5pm yesterday i wrote this response to someone who emailed me about my zine, 'dance pig'. I thought it would be good to post it here because a) i was impresed that i could write something like this, given how sleep deprived i was. b) it helps to explain some of the politics behind the zine, & c) lots of people who dont participate in dance culture have asked me similar questions -this may offer them the beginnings of an answer ... cheers

hey there,

thanks for taking the time out to read my zine. Im gald you liked it :)

The dance scene is what i kinda grew up on. (or more like the queer alternative dance scene). Mmm, Pretty much everything in it has happened to me or someone else at one time of another, give or tke a few name changes, and alterations. So its kinda more personal than political - not that i really want to separate them (when isn't the personal political?) rather i just want to suggest that i didnt really want to make a definitive political statement.

I wanted to keep the politics implicit. The politics only become explicit through the act of interperetation by the reader. And as Freud noticed from any one text there are many times more interperetations that can be made. Any text is always a highly condensed work of other social, political and psychic texts. This is as true for lived experience as it is the writen word. Any experience is always a highly condensed product of social, political and psychic processes.

It was really good to hear about your take on the scene. I've had talks with friends about this before, and agree that people can partake in the scene as a bit an escapist venture, but this is a highly problematic concept. What i mean to say is who has the right (or ability) to draw the line in the sand so mark where fun ends and escapism begins?, If capitalism is so bad that people need to escape on occasion, is this nessasarily a bad thing? Is escapism really a threat to political action, or can they both exist simoultaneously?

I always find it interesting that escapism is always used in reference to pleasurable activity. Isn't pleasure allowed without some negative connotation or is there a serious need to apply a work ethic to time off the clock. I personally always thought that the true escapists were political individuals who undertake political action that does nothing - such as labor hacks, members of the DSP and people who donate money to charity. They know the system dosent work but they escape from any real form of comitment to social change, yet aleviate any guilt from their own concious by participating in half-arsed campaigns.

Clubing - dancing, meeting people, socialising, substance usage & altered states, a darkened room and loud music. people may find this a nice place to escape, but it is not the only thing they do there. People in these spaces tend to create. They create friends, new perspectives on life, new values that differ from the mainstream. Its a social space in which people can talk politics, they can be confronted with issues of race & sexuality. People can be incited to think - and unlike thinking at work - its on their terms.

What is produced is a sociality that is unlike the nuclear family, the taylorist work place, or the buracratic apparatus that Kafka detested. It is a place with the posibility of open connections. It is a sociality - a way of life - that offers people de-individualisation. I personally follow Fredrick Jamerson in believing that new socialities are a pre-requisite for any political struggle and vice versa. Social spaces - social interaction - shape the culture, politics and actions of the political struggle, and sometimes for the struggle the values and sociality of dance culture are more desirable than the values and sociality of work culture

mmm... i'm talking too much, i hope that made sense, thanks for reading

working 9 to 5

so today i completed my final exam - was up at 4am studying, sat the exam at 8:30am and left campus at 11am. As i walked off campus i felt a little sad that this would be pretty much the last time i saw the campus. *sniff* the place made me allot of who i am. Its also attached to some bad memories... alas, fairwell :(

on the brighter side of things, i got the job at youth association accomodation. YAY! i start in two weeks. so i have a bit of chill time till then. Pro's it'll give me some good experience, its in redfern, it'll be interesting, cons the pay is quite average. Either way it'll be good for the change. Hopefully it'll go ok :)

once again YAY! - it seems that today is one of those thresholds between the old and the new. the past & the future - lets see how i go...

puppet is turning 24!

Its puppet's birthday coming up in just under 2 weeks!

on the Sunday 20th will be partying at Klub Kooky from 11pm onwards! (its at 77 williams st, near the corner of riley)

there are other b.day on goings but you'll have to get in contact with me to find those out.(try dancepuppet@gmail.com)

no more classes

i droped my research report in today! 2 days early. No more classes yay!

And give or take a little bit of study for my final exam i can start to get back on track and be sociable, write not so boring blogs. That is till i get a job, then its all grey suits and droopy faces :-(

UPCOMING: halloween kooky this sunday, dress up & dance up!! performers & tunes 4 the freaktastic!

work it out

mmm... that last post was a bit angsty in a teenage way. Remind me never to post song lyrics again.

Anyways, last week i lived up to my comitment not to drink for 5 consecutive days. I suceeded. Yes thats right the one and only puppet 'is it beer o'clock?' choose not to drink, and whats more kinda enjoyed it. Am a bit proud. I think it was high time that i pushed the reset button on my drinking habits.

My reserch project is done, yay! all thats left is a proper print up. Thanks to luke & nat for their help.

You may have noticed a link in the post, its a first 4 me. I'm teaching myself HTML. Its kinda fun, but also kinda make me feel like 'well now that i can do it so... that's it... i guess...'

study days can be meloncholy too

There’s no point in being careful
I’ll burn bridges anyway

There’s no point in talking vicious
(I’ve) nothing cutting left to say

I’ve achieved my own survival
I’ve refined my own sweet hell

There’s no point in craving beauty
When you’ll tear me anyhow

If I look you in the eye
I swear I’ll die
‘Cos you kill everything you love

Should I scar my face
To find my peace
While you kill everything you love

-Skin you kill everything you love

cute paper and a bow

my sneakers came today, wrapped up in cute paper and a bow. Strangers can be so kind...

It made me think of presents, of the act of giving. Of another gift. A band placed on the wrist and left there, so precariously. It clung to me so dearly & yet just so... i dont know the word, it is somewhere between meloncholy, unworthyness, adoration & confussion. It is difficult to say anything, at all really. Instead a silent game is of interperetation and wonder is played as my fist clenches and releases. The leather tightens and eases on my naked skin. Grip & release...

I also am reminded of being given a letter written on an old type writer. Some mispelt words were erased with other lettera typed over them. Such a cute thing. Like the band it was another goodbye of sorts. I know exactly where it is, in my room, in between the pages of a certian book. I choose to leave those pages firmly pressed closed. other memories typed over this one, it is an effort to remember, to erase the former without damaging the latter...

...as i was saying, strangers can be so kind to give a sense of naievity to the act of giving & recieving. As if what was given and what was recieved is the same thing.

livin' just enough for the city

word count is now down to 5000. most of the formatting is done. referecnes are checked. All thats left for my reseach project is fixing up on one or two mistakes, doing the proof read, grammar, spelling etc & then printing it!! It will be done a week in advance! I'll be glad to have it done and over with. Its an experience to be at uni, but i'm sure there are other experiences out there that i'd like to partake in...

To walk to school, she's got to get up early
Her clothes are old, but never are they dirty
Living just enough, just enough for the city
Living for the city - bonnie tyler
(from puppets homo studyin' music)

dancing with my eyes closed

something inside of me tells me to close my eyes. something told me to just enjoy the moment. roll with the beats. didnt notice whats going on around me. ignored the signs. lived in a dream that 'of course it's all ok...' but then, as always, i bumped into someone. My shoulder connected with their rib cage. coughs... chokes... cry... my arm hurts, but i imagine the pain to be worse for the chest. its such a foolish thing to dance with my eyes closed, to dance in dreams. where what you think your doing and what you are doing are two completely different things.