afro-ken

felt tips

champagne socialiser

big nose

nothing

cold cold colder

went to the country and all that clean air done made me ill.

was good though, drank the family wine made from the family grapes. looked at the stars while sitting around the campfire.
caught a cold...

was good though.
i've been playing at industrial design; designing a big tree to be cut out with lasers. woo. hope it works. listening to the knife and jose gonzalez. nice counterpoint to eachother. I think that i will get the paavoharju album yha hamaara; psychedelic folk music by finnish born-again christians. how could you go wrong? maybe get the gentleman losers also. went to this site it's full of stuff i might want.

should i go to the Yeah yeah yeahs?

my life sucks

well, no; it's all pretty good at the moment; i get to spend most of everyday doing things that i enjoy, people appreciate my work, my friends are all good-looking, kate is really good-looking.
I was thinking about the tendency to write when we are at our most introspective [miserable]; we don't write about fun, we go out and have it, but mooching is unhealthily compatible with writing: sunny again today, but in my heart it is always three o'clock on a rainy, hungover sunday afternoon...

saw X today at the pub/art opening/sexpo, she/he was with friend Y, we had another of those awkward conversations where the only reason i took my foot out of my mouth was to put the other one in; X got angry, it shouldn't still hurt me but...

...why can't i communicate easily; i feel like i'm wrapped in a bodysuit made of sleeping bags, shouting from the bottom of a swimming pool, while everyone else is on coke, dancing naked at studio 54, occasionally glancing over at the pool thinking "look at the underwater weirdo in the sleeping bag outfit, what's she trying to say? who gives a fuck, more cocaine and nude disco..."

i don't really know what to do about this, I've been tempted to take notes, so that i remember interesting things to write about, eg; last night i saw some asian boys with a ghetto blaster breakdancing in the closed off tivoli arcade entrance, passersby were stopping and hanging out with them, they were doing some pretty good headspins, i wonder if they are related to the mysterious RMIT formation dancers. I haven't been disciplined enough to do that. I did think i should write down the breakdancers and so remembered, but it doesn't always work. often i stare at my blog, can't think of anything to say, and end up on ebay, looking at internet trousers.

Actually, some arrived today, I'm not to sure about them, they may be a little small, although i have been wearing them for a few hours and they seem better, maybe i will still need to shed some fat from my generous arse [generous, but not overly generous, i like to hope..]. The thing that makes me more suspicious is that although the seller was UK based, the jeans were shipped from Shenzhen, china, home of designer rip-offs...
the parcel also read "ladies jeans" although as far as i can tell they are boy jeans. ultimately it doesn't really matter if they are real; they cost as much as a reasonably cheap pair of jeans here and i like them.

i might see you around in my lady-pants.