I haven't been keeping up to date with what's going on in Israel
Well friends, me again. What'd ya know.
It's currently 2:10am and I'm sitting at my desk, well not my desk, but A desk. It's a white rectangle on legs really, slightly wobbly legs at that. Being used to such gyrations from our mutual friend the white desk my response is nothing if not phlegmatic; I soldier on though the rickets. I hope I can say rickets, I'm looking to say rickety, and I believe rickets is a disease, not a nice one I'm pretty sure. That said, the hope is that by being so-called the disease will resemble something towards the effect I've sought in that previous sentence. If not though, it's clear enough now and the rest can be written off onto some kind of poetic licence. Though, if I'm honest, my high school English teacher always insisted you only got one of those licences after you published a novel, so maybe I'll just have to enjoy a pseudo-poetic licence, we're friends anyhow. Friends speak in syllogistic tongues often enough. Oh no, there I go again.
The scene established, I'm listening to this Skeewiff kid, I assume it's a kid of some sort, only young folk are this inventive. Like that Aussie artist, who's dead now, maybe his name was Sidney Nolan, maybe that's some other guy, he said once that he only wished he could paint like a five year old. Guy must have had something there people brought a lot of his brush strokes. I wonder if he had a poetic licence, definitely a pseudo-licence, there'll be a licence for impressionistic artistry somewhere in the annuls of a book I've never referenced. Doubtless Matt knows it, and Chris can probably tell you the etymology of it.
This Skeewiff - and no, I haven't worked out how to pronounce it - has samples from Cheech & Chong, dirty guitar riffs that blow my nut and plenty of deck scratching. And we all know that you can't just walk up and scratch a record, well you can, I did in fact. Vivian had me over for dinner, he was cooking curry, two curries actually, lamb and chicken. His two new, and I assume initial decks we sitting in the computer room tabled with resources close to hand. They're very shiny and have a psychedelic light effect cast against the turn table edging. I like them enough to trust my instincts and not buy any, they are of course really expensive in my student monetary sphere. But lets not move from pure to convoluted.
I understood what I thought in the context of a character, a character in a book, a book I was reading. I understood what I was reading because i knew the character well and was detached from my own emotional overlay, I'd read some 3000 pages in the past fortnight from the story books, it would be fair to say I was heavily invested over my Christmas, New year break.
A week of solace leaves a lot of time to learn, learn how to think. i had not taken such time since my return to Australia. DEEP.
I feel I have written enough words and will now shower and rest. I have Weetbix for breakfast, two in a bowl topped up with milk and perhaps a banana. Lets see.
If you've gotten this far you should know my birthday was the 9th of January. That's yesterday, well, yesterday, yesterday, but it isn't the next day till you wake up. I'd have done something about it, I mean I had plenty of notice the date approached, I just wasn't in a locale where peers were accessible or even remote. I love my folks, and that settles that. I am brown as a lizard and will organise a suitably silly shindig celebrating my age. Dinner somewhere spiffy, sitting around a table.
I like getting older, I always find I know more than I did the previous year, more about myself, my glory, faults and pressure points. Self development couldn't be closer to my delicate ego. I read a letter mum wrote when she was pregnant with Sarah, she said it was OK. My mum wrote a beautiful letter, casting out lines of feeling you can't help but nip at. I can identify with the sentiments, but a lot of it doesn't apply to the wise person she is today, why is that?
That's not to say I don't feel the creeping expectations of time. I should buy a house, work 30 years to pay it off, invest in shares and travel on the dividends when I retire. I should be married and have kids by the time my wife is thirty and plenty of social hobbies. I should be faithful and successful and a forthright father of two. Honestly though, I've watched enough Hollywood movies to know that's a path like that is folly. I'll end up a wizened old man filled with dreams and a gut if I do that.
I'm starting a PhD at the end of February, that gives me three years to stuff around working bloody hard. I figure when I get done with it I should see where my hobbies have traced and live off them somewhere far away from Australia till I speak differently.
@_@ Jesus this is getting out of hand. I'll leave it here.
It's currently 2:10am and I'm sitting at my desk, well not my desk, but A desk. It's a white rectangle on legs really, slightly wobbly legs at that. Being used to such gyrations from our mutual friend the white desk my response is nothing if not phlegmatic; I soldier on though the rickets. I hope I can say rickets, I'm looking to say rickety, and I believe rickets is a disease, not a nice one I'm pretty sure. That said, the hope is that by being so-called the disease will resemble something towards the effect I've sought in that previous sentence. If not though, it's clear enough now and the rest can be written off onto some kind of poetic licence. Though, if I'm honest, my high school English teacher always insisted you only got one of those licences after you published a novel, so maybe I'll just have to enjoy a pseudo-poetic licence, we're friends anyhow. Friends speak in syllogistic tongues often enough. Oh no, there I go again.
The scene established, I'm listening to this Skeewiff kid, I assume it's a kid of some sort, only young folk are this inventive. Like that Aussie artist, who's dead now, maybe his name was Sidney Nolan, maybe that's some other guy, he said once that he only wished he could paint like a five year old. Guy must have had something there people brought a lot of his brush strokes. I wonder if he had a poetic licence, definitely a pseudo-licence, there'll be a licence for impressionistic artistry somewhere in the annuls of a book I've never referenced. Doubtless Matt knows it, and Chris can probably tell you the etymology of it.
This Skeewiff - and no, I haven't worked out how to pronounce it - has samples from Cheech & Chong, dirty guitar riffs that blow my nut and plenty of deck scratching. And we all know that you can't just walk up and scratch a record, well you can, I did in fact. Vivian had me over for dinner, he was cooking curry, two curries actually, lamb and chicken. His two new, and I assume initial decks we sitting in the computer room tabled with resources close to hand. They're very shiny and have a psychedelic light effect cast against the turn table edging. I like them enough to trust my instincts and not buy any, they are of course really expensive in my student monetary sphere. But lets not move from pure to convoluted.
I understood what I thought in the context of a character, a character in a book, a book I was reading. I understood what I was reading because i knew the character well and was detached from my own emotional overlay, I'd read some 3000 pages in the past fortnight from the story books, it would be fair to say I was heavily invested over my Christmas, New year break.
A week of solace leaves a lot of time to learn, learn how to think. i had not taken such time since my return to Australia. DEEP.
I feel I have written enough words and will now shower and rest. I have Weetbix for breakfast, two in a bowl topped up with milk and perhaps a banana. Lets see.
If you've gotten this far you should know my birthday was the 9th of January. That's yesterday, well, yesterday, yesterday, but it isn't the next day till you wake up. I'd have done something about it, I mean I had plenty of notice the date approached, I just wasn't in a locale where peers were accessible or even remote. I love my folks, and that settles that. I am brown as a lizard and will organise a suitably silly shindig celebrating my age. Dinner somewhere spiffy, sitting around a table.
I like getting older, I always find I know more than I did the previous year, more about myself, my glory, faults and pressure points. Self development couldn't be closer to my delicate ego. I read a letter mum wrote when she was pregnant with Sarah, she said it was OK. My mum wrote a beautiful letter, casting out lines of feeling you can't help but nip at. I can identify with the sentiments, but a lot of it doesn't apply to the wise person she is today, why is that?
That's not to say I don't feel the creeping expectations of time. I should buy a house, work 30 years to pay it off, invest in shares and travel on the dividends when I retire. I should be married and have kids by the time my wife is thirty and plenty of social hobbies. I should be faithful and successful and a forthright father of two. Honestly though, I've watched enough Hollywood movies to know that's a path like that is folly. I'll end up a wizened old man filled with dreams and a gut if I do that.
I'm starting a PhD at the end of February, that gives me three years to stuff around working bloody hard. I figure when I get done with it I should see where my hobbies have traced and live off them somewhere far away from Australia till I speak differently.
@_@ Jesus this is getting out of hand. I'll leave it here.