Trysting Fields

Stuff I Did This Year

In a nutshell: systematically climbed the fuck out of hell. Again. (See previously: 2005; 2007; 2009.)

And it's good! Can't complain.

:)

"Friends - you know who you are; you know we're grateful." - Blur, 1993. (Seriously. If ever a year was about Who Your Real Friends Are, it was 2011.)

Similarly, those who have fucked me up and fucked me over this year most likely know who they are also, and possibly how I feel about this (hint: angry, bewildered and sad) - with the possible exception of the Rt Hon Lord Mayor of Melbourne Robert Doyle (note contact details), who I strongly suspect does not have any idea who I am.

(I also doubt he reads this blog. But since it just can't be said often enough I might as well take this opportunity to (re)state, for the record: Robert Doyle, you're a fucking cunt. You really are.)

The bulk of this year's SIDTY post I rendered in audio format at the coast a few nights ago. It goes into a bit more detail (although, to be honest, not all that much). Enjoy:

Vale 2011. Viva 2012.

Happy new year!

Tentmonster Rally

Saturday, 10th December.

Footage of (failed) police raid the same night here (207 MB).

Chez Hagakure Cohabitative Arrangement VI Official Housewarming Shenanigan / Karl's Birthday

Friday, 21st October.

As anomalous Chez Hagakure parties go, I'd rate this one as anomalous out of ten. We didn't even do Russian Cocaine in the end. But it still went off.

At an advanced stage of the evening I even shot a video. Don't say I never do anything for yiz.

Obligatory Birthday Party Post

Saturday, 24th September.

An epic time was, needless to say, had.

The Patrick Porter award for the best present and best guest overall goes to Kirrily. The prize for the most perverse guests goes to the Keith! Party crew - comprising on this occasion Talkshow Boy, 2-SHEE, Hot God, Gezus and entourage including Ms C. C*ulter (alias unknown) - who turned up unfashionably early, immediately occupied what would normally be the dancing room and systematically set about turning it into a chillout room. WTF. (NB: And it was *great*.)

Prize for the most long-lost-but-pleasingly-now-seemingly-regained former CH party regular goes to Vicwie. Prize for the best guest who wasn't able to attend physically but who came in essence goes, as always, to Wads. Prize for the best autographed copy of Kafka's "Metamorphosis" and best Tasweigan mafia attaché goes to Doktor Midnight aka The Dan Cross Revolution. Prize for the best drug by almost universal consensus goes to nitrous oxide.

Prize for the most gobsmacking act of delusionality - not to mention the most concerted but nevertheless pathetically unsuccessful attempt to ruin a birthday party of mine in the history of the world - goes to the profoundly fucked in the head disappointing Ms G. Rouse. Prize for the most departing housemate of three years goes to Grim$ha.

Prize for the most heroically tenacious still-recovering-from-her-own-birthday-shenanigan-the-previous-night attendee and all-round best MC-Ren-would-you-please-give-your-testimony-to-the-jury-about-this-fucked-up-incident regaliousness goes to Toots.

Special award for the mouthiest ho goes, as it generally does, to Kat (see audio, below).

Extra special thanks to, y'know, everyone else. Seriously.

(Previously; previously; previously.)

Weird Afternoon

In a good way.

It's getting easier.

Although I'm at a bit of a loss, blogwise. Any requests?

Sat With My Legs Over The Gateposts Out The Front Of My House This Afternoon

Wondering if I'd lost my shiny new job due to being too discombobulated, a random passing woman stopped and said to me, randomly, "You could totally get a job as a gate."

I was unsure how to respond to this.

"Y'know, if you ever need one," she clarified.

I was skeptical. I couldn't raise my legs like a tollbar. I actually tried. But then it occurred to me that - although it was slightly awkward - I could swing them to one side.

"See, there's always an angle," she said.

As randoms who approach you for no ostensive reason when you're tripped-out mental invariably seem to be, she was dead on the money.

(Previously; previously.)

Dinner Party V

Saturday 17th July.

Most fiasco-tastic DP evar! It's been a bit like that lately. I almost gave up and cancelled it. But I'm very glad I didn't, coz despite all kinds of stupid problems in the end it still went OFF.

(10:21pm; 4min 59sec)

Amongst other things, the DPP planning committee encountered considerable guestlist difficulty. Despite and at least partly because of no less than three date changes aimed at accommodating them all and genuine enthusiasm from at least some quarters, exactly none of the invitees I'd originally lined up ultimately managed to make it.

(10:55pm; 1min 17sec)

Which might have been considered a fairly abject fail - were it not for the inspiringly circus-saving company of previous-attendee legends who, in flagrant violation of DPP rules, valiantly braved the cold and brought the awse instead: Matt K (DPs I and III), Twyllan (DP II), Henley (DP III), Sarah aka The Major (DP IV), Pablo (DPP virgin), Luke (DP IV), and of course Grimsey (DPs I, II, III and IV). Fucken <3.

(12:24am; 4min 28sec)

It was an unprecedentedly structured DP. As per a preestablished order of proceedings there was soup, then salad, then pie, then the merciless destruction and defilement of an old chair that had unforgiveably given way under DP I alumnus Bourkie at CH the night before. Then, naturally, muffins.

(1:16am; 2min 26sec)

Along the way there were tears (not really); there was laughter. It was epic.

(2:34am; 2min 49sec)

:)

Friday 2nd July.

Easter Camping

Friday 2nd April - Sunday 4th April.

First Day Of School

Monday 22nd February.

Thailand (Three)

Bangkok, 2nd February.

I'm Back

More pending in due course.

Home

With Gab & Dan.

New York (Four)

With D.

New York (Three)

With Bourkie "B. Jerky" Bourke.

New York (One)

With Nada.

Timeslippage

I spent yesterday evening migrating to a new phone.

(I lost my iPhone in a taxi a few weeks ago. Deep down I wanted to lose it. It was cursed by association.)

It's a Nokia 6300, the same phone I had from October '07 to February '08.

I bought it again because I liked the first one a lot. It was the first phone I'd owned with a vaguely decent camera, a voice recorder, substantial storage capacity, and the ability to talk to my computer. I captured a lot of audio and took a lot of pictures with it, and posted a lot of both here.

Thems were happy, phoenix-from-the-ashes times. Could Has Art. It was great.

There was a lot of acid around then. Maybe that was a factor. Who knows.

(The whole record-some-audio-take-a-picture blogging formula continued, in a more standardized way, through the subsequent winter via the MacBook I got when my eMac died, around the same time that Wouters - sick of hearing me whine about nasty text messages from J that I didn't want to read - killed the aforementioned old Nokia by dropping it in a glass of bourbon & coke.

Different era, more complex & difficult, but in its own way equally good.

Then - in a seasonally trend-bucking turn of events - everything went to shit when Spring hit, and life stopped. Couldn't Has Art.)

The phone died, but its memory card survived.

Going through all of that old media last night was reeaal interesting.

I think it's time for some psychedelics.

(Link; link.)

Friday Morning

New Notebook / Thursday Night

Canberra Redux (Two)

Sunday.

Sunday.

Things To Be Thankful For (Seven)

Art.

Specifically: really goddamn good art.

Fuck yeah.

(Previously; elsewhere.)

Presents I Got Given

As requested. (Previously.)

• A tin of bacon & egg-themed bandaids in assorted shapes & sizes
• Some plastic flies
• A copy of Mr Nonsense
• A spliff
• A packet of Starburst Babies
• A box of hot cinnamon gum bearing the legend "OH GOD I AM SO TOTALLY WASTED" (the preceding six items all from Patrick. Frikken legend; I only gave him a - y'know, nicely wrapped - lemon from my lemon tree and made him a card for his birthday.)
• A packet of Marlboro Menthols
• A bottle of cabernet merlot
• Two sticks of Kinder chocolate
• A tin of wasabi peas (mmm, wasabi peas)
• A glass bubble with bubbles in it costing $8.75 (heh, bubbles)
• A pair of new shoes (which I desperately needed)
• The perfect bedside lamp (beautifully inscribed)
• A blindfolded trip to the Werribee Open Range Zoo - and a lovely picnic and a lovely dinner gathering - with assorted awesome peeps, from a chick who likes animals
• An M2M CD of mysterious provenance
• A photo of a train passing through rural surrounds at night that only one other person apart from the person who sent it to me has seen
• A four-and-a-half minute voicemail that I will keep for ever and ever
• 60% of an iPhone paid off over two years (which I haven't actually picked up yet, because I don't want it to be cursed by association with the world of shit that was the apocalyptic writeoff week I've just had)
• Several very nice cards
• A bottle of black nailpolish
• Another bottle of black nailpolish

These last two items are particularly timely & appreciated.

Birthday

It's certainly been a memorable one. I liked it much better than last year's.

Prize for the best party guest overall goes to Patrick. Prize for the most liable for nothing party guest is a three-way tie between Shane, The Sorcha, and, of course, Coburg.

Prize for the best party guest who wasn't there physically but came in essence goes to Wads. Prize for the most missed party absentee is a tie between Em and this chick. Prize for the best party guest who did attend physically, but who I unfortunately never actually got around to talking to is a three-way tie between Li, Kav, and The Major. Prize for the best (if maybe in hindsight somewhat regrettable) picture of a My Little Cthulhu Bunny goes to Magnus.

Prize for the most devastating headfuckery goes to my housemate & ex-fiancee. Prize for the most comically hypocritical abusive emails goes to Henley. Prize for the most awesome drunken deep & meaningful alleyway convo goes to Liv. I'm not sure what exactly to award the artist formerly known as Semi, but I suspect he deserves a prize of some kind - or that if he doesn't now, he may well before too long.

Prize for the most broken nose goes to Luke. Prize for the most blood cheerfully & unsolicitedly cleaned up as a result of a broken nose goes to Harrie. Prize for the driest one-liners (always) and best wildlife photography goes to Ramm. Prize for the best shisha lesson goes to Nichk. Prize for the heterosexual male with the most sophisticated understanding of little girls' pop music (and also the special award for getting locked in the enclosed garden off my bedroom by a psycho chick person I'm sure is lovely once you get to know her, and then being too wasted to think of calling someone to let him out) goes to Grimsey.

Prize for the best nail-painting (and best former housemate ever) goes to Cel. Prize for the best hungover breakfast-making and tidying up goes to Kat. Prize for the oldest and most enduring friend goes to Bentendo. Prize for the best anonymous benefactor goes to whoever sent me the copy of M2M's second album I found in my mailbox yesterday.

Prize for the best present (y'know, apart from causing me to be born in the first place and shit) goes to my parents.

Prize for the best sister in the entire fucking world goes to this bitch.

Prize for the best mistress (and inexpressible amounts of gratitude & love) goes to Schnozzie.

Thanks, everyone.

Interlude: Massacre.

Oy.

I regret burning W******. And I wish I could have been a better friend to Gab.

But what I feel really terrible about is taking J out for what should - by all rights - have been a night of awesomeness, and then exposing her to all that horror. Last fucking thing on earth that she needed.

EPIC FAIL.

Oh well.

ION: Still need a B#6.

Chez Hagakure Tea & Pizza Shapes Meet

Starring this chick.

(Previously; previously; previously; previously; previously; elsewhere.)

Most Fucked Up Easter Ever (Y'know, In A Good Way)

So there I was, attending an uncivilised picnic in the park on Royal Parade, having a perfectly nice time & minding my own and a select handful of other peoples' business when who should call me completely out of nowhere on my - which is to say, someone else's - mobile telephony device but the J-meister.

(Previously.)

We hadn't spoken in the voice since November, when I drunkenly and unsolicitedly facilitated her and Henley's first ever verbal exchange. She's been in the country three weeks, apparently. Now she & the H-Dogg were in my hood. And they wanted to hang.

Headfuck!

The tone of her voice didn't make me feel like something she'd just scraped off her shoe, which was nice. So, throwing caution to the wind as I am wont to do on occasion, I went.

We met at Alia. We talked. We danced. A good time was had. It seems like we're all friends now. Which is totally what I wanted, although if you'd asked me twelve hours ago I'd have said this outcome seemed less likely than [insert comedy incredibly unlikely occurrence which in practice will never ever happen here]. They're totally coming to my housewarming and shit.

I don't know what else to say about all of this, but if ever something seemed blogworthy etc.

Hooray for drugs; hooray for Jebus.

Despite my cynicism regarding his religion(s), I am a fan of the man's work. That cunt was liable for nothing.

Rainbow Serpent (Part 2)

Okay.

It's a bit hard to to know where to start.

*thinks*

So my computer's sound recording facilities had been playing up, right. Had been for a while. It was no good. I wanted to make an album.

Thus on the morning of January 15th, I called a taxi and took the old gel into town to be serviced. They told me it would take four days. It wound up taking three weeks. But they did it.

In the meantime, I got totally hacked. First teigan@gmail.com, then [mylegalname]@gmail.com, my blog and my Facebook accounts all stopped accepting their passwords across the final week of January.

On Friday the 8th of February, I got my computer back. On Saturday, I threw a party. This is where we came in.

Upon getting reputered, I created some special email accounts and conducted a few experiments. Via these I established to a high degree of likelihood that my hacker was good old Henley. Somewhat predictably, I lost my shit at him.

On Tuesday 12th, I attempted to boot my newly restored digital handmaiden only to discover that - four days after returning home to me - she had totally, totally died.

I was 'puterless once more.

Then the following night - Valentine's Eve, no less - none other than Henley's girlfriend, a former close associate of mine, claimed responsibility for the hacking via SMS.

Leave the poor petal alone, she said. He's innocent.

I was skeptical at first, but when she told me that teigan@gmail was wide open for resetting (Quick! Jump up and find an open internet cafe at 2am etc), I realised she was probably telling at least some weird Lady-J-since-she-turned-feral version of the truth.

Why had the former love of my life done this to me? She'd written to me at another account, she said - one of the ones she hadn't violated and locked me out of - explaining everything.

Only problem was, I had (of course) been changing all my passwords like a demon - without having gotten around to making a backup or a hard copy of any of them. From my computer. Which had since - you will recall - dropped totally, totally dead.

In other words I was now not only 'puterless and locked out of my hacked accounts, but 'puterless and locked out of all my internet accounts.

Then in the early hours of Sunday 17th, Wouters dropped my last remaining link to civilisation phone in a full glass of bourbon & coke.

Oy.

Various people have eased my journey through this Durdenesque ordeal, and thanks are due.

Mishuki of Hagakure 419 fame was good enough to let me use hir Facebook profile. My colleague in social research, fellow FB tragic and soon-to-be-housemate Celestine has been extremely generous with her 3G handset, enabling me to update my status in something akin to the style to which I've become compulsively accustomed. Thad gave me a safe-haven email account on his server. And last Tuesday, having learned that my dead six-year-old eMac would cost $700 to reanimate, my long-suffering parents offered to buy me a MacBook. Which was very nice of them.

I picked it up this morning. I'm using it now. It's lovely.

(I'd take a picture but since the destruction of my phone I've got no working digital camera, except the one inside said MacBook. And its eye is not prehensile. But here's a picture of the box:

)

And now I have my accounts back.

Things are gradually returning to some semblance of what passes for 'normal' on Planet Teigan.

*flops exhaustedly*

Apart from all of that, I have mostly been going out a lot - having, y'know, not a whole lot else to do - and taking quite a lot of acid.

It's been.. awesome, actually. Can't complain.

Oh, and I got engaged on Saturday night. I think. But that's a whole other story.

Welcome back, blog.

Coming soon: the long, long-delayed multimediatastic Rainbow Serpent post.

Reputered.

At long freaking last.

In the meantime, my two primary gmail accounts, my Facebook account and my TypePad (blog) account were hacked & rendered inaccessible. Oy.

I've managed to resecure the blog account, at least, thanks to a friendly cookie which recognised my machine. Bless that cookie. No damage appears to have been inflicted. The only evidence of intrusion is that the answer to my secret security question ("What is your mother's maiden name?") has changed from "Symington" to "whore".

Charmed, I'm sure.

Cunts.

Here - nested all meta-style - is an earlier entry I scrawled freehand on Tuesday, and was planning to post at the 'ternet caff that evening but couldn't, because I'd been hacked:

Munted.

Is the word of the week. As in "Man, I got munted on Saturday night." And I did. I really did.

At 10pm I was summoned by Wouters to a party in the Brunswick area. I was only going to stay out for two hours or so on account of: (a) I was supposed to be working the following day -

(In other news: I started working at the doodle palace again last week; it's been almost as much of a shock to my system as Rainbow. But in a significantly less good way.)

- and (b) I didn't actually know the person who's party it was or anyone else who was going to be there. Or so I thought..

As it turned out.. ah, it's quite a funny story, but it's also a bit complex and at least four of my five remaining readers basically know it already.

Suffice to say a munting good time was had, this being only improved - and further enmunted - by the semi-random appearance of none other than the mysterious and extraordinary Thad at an advanced stage of the evening. (Update 8 Feb: I've encountered him twice more since then. I think he's stalking me. Or someone I know. But I don't mind at all.)

I didn't make it to work. I'm not sure how I made it home. I'm really not.

In other muntedness news, I'm having a party tomorrow night. It's going to be pretty good. If you are reading this and you know my street address, you can come.

I'm Back

It was pretty fucking good. (As in "That's a pretty fucking good milkshake.")

Thanks to Major G, the Rainbow Serpent undercover vibe police, and most especially a man named Thad.

More will be said once I have fully regained the power of speech, and also my computer. Which I still don't have. Still.

So don't even care right now!

Still Puterless!!!

Still.

Avoid these people. They will quote you four days on the repair of your eMac, then keep it for ten with no end in sight. They can't even tell me how much it's going to cost. At this rate I won't be paying them anyway.

Fuck this shit. I'm going to Rainbow Serpent.

Hooray for everything (except puterlessness)!

Puterless!

Totally and utterly 'puterless. Still. I'm posting this from an internet cafe on Brunswick St.

It really does feel like I've entered a strange alternate (originally typed: "alternet") dimension.

It's quite good. It's a PAIN IN THE ASS. But it's certainly novel.

In other news: Happy first birthday, Nada.

Your birthday present is that you are now officially allowed outside to wander wither you will.

We look forward to seeing what you make of the world beyond the fortresslike confines of Chez Hagakure, and what it makes of you.

Racing Season, etc

Found in the toilets at St Jerome's on Saturday night:

I've got absolutely zero interest in horseracing, but I love this time of year.

In other news, the artist formerly known as Shemyaza and more recently known as Jonathan Carfax has a new blog-based venture "dedicated to providing an uniquely Australian perspective on absinthe, and to provid[ing] fellow absintheurs with the most up-to-date and reliable information on absinthe varieties and tasting notes, as well as providing a home for Australian Libertines and lovers of bohemian culture, decadence and art, both historic and contemporary."

It looks pretty cool.

He asked me if I'd like to be an occasional contributor. I replied:

Right now I'm extremely busy & preoccupied preparing for a VCA interview on the 21st and generally trying to metaprogram my way into the belief that I'm a Real Artist, whilst attempting as best I can to assimilate the monumental dual headfuck that:

(a) [censored]

(b) for all his sins, I really *like* the crazy, evil bastard.

And I should tell you that as a retiring semi-recluse I have at best only a nodding acquaintance with the Melbourne artistic intelligentsia and bar scene - although I wouldn't be averse to developing a closer one for a cause as worthy as your own.

So yeah - if you have any absinthe you want me to drink / burlesque performers you want me to date / etc from next month onwards, feel very free to giz a heads up (equine or otherwise) (preferably the latter, ay).

That is the news.

Recent Voicemail

Domestica, Discombobulation etc

Nada has run away.

Can't say I blame her. But I hope she comes back.

Update (10:10pm): She's back.

Random Brunswick Street Encounters, Part Deux & Other Assorted

(Previously.)

This afternoon a waifish aboriginal chick came up and asked me if I had any change. I said no, which was a lie but generally my policy in such situations.

She noticed I was wielding an unlit cigarette, and asked if I needed a light. Again, I said no (thanks). Which, conversely, I thought was true.

"You have a good day," she said nicely, and continued on her way.

I fished into my pocket for the lighter I thought I had, and realised I didn't actually have it.

So I chased after her and told her that I did, as it turned out, need a light after all.

"You looked like you didn't have one," she said with a quiet smile.

I gave her a dollar, and went to hand the lighter back.

"Nah, that's okay," she said. "I've got about six of them."

Maybe you had to be there.

My only regret concerning this encounter, which totally rebrightened my day -

(Said day having turned, from promising beginnings, to shitty slit-yer-wrists shit when it became apparent that I'd probably irretrievably lost my bag, containing my camera and my visual diary, in a taxi yesterday.

Which would have been really bad, and totally fucking sucked.

Turns out I'd left it at work the doodle palace. Phew.

But I digress.)

- was that I didn't ask her if she could assist me in my ongoing quest for time machine fuel.

(Note to blog readers: TIME MACHINE FUEL IS SOUGHT.)

In other news: please excuse the rambling, discombobulated nature of this post.

Two and a half hours sleep, see.

I had to be up at six this morning to receive some people who came to strip the asbestos from my bathroom.

(Now the bathroom looks like this:

)

And I didn't get to sleep until 3:30am, because some broad whose name I forget [*] was fucking hardcore with my head.

Although she denies doing it deliberately. And in any case, I'm really just fucking hardcore with my own head, and attributing said headfuckery to an external source.

Which is, ultimately, all that any of us are ever doing.

(It pays to remember this sometimes.)

I fully hardcore fall down go boom now.

[*] I think maybe her name is Audrey.

I remember, very early on in our acquaintance, suspecting that might be her name and addressing her as such.

"Who's Audrey?" she replied, all blinking wide-eyed incomprehension. Although in fact she knew damn well exactly who Audrey was. And she knew damn well that I knew that she knew. And that I knew that she knew that I knew that she knew. And in general, things were Known. You know how it goes, hypothetical blog reader.

In hindsight I might have imagined the blinking wide eyes.

Anyroad, I was well smitten and from that point on there was no turning back.

But that's a whole 'nother story for a whole 'nother time, if ever there was one.

Sat Waiting For The Tram On Brunny Street This Afternoon

A man in a panda suit and sunglasses came up to me. He asked if I minded sitting next to a panda. I said "no, not at all". He sat down.

I asked him if he'd always been a panda. "Yeah, pretty much." He seemed kind of irritated by the question, and uninterested in further exchange. So I didn't ask if I could take his picture, although I wanted to.

He probably gets sick of being treated like a freakshow.

It was good. Sitting next to him made me feel less self-conscious about wearing a shirt that's technically a blouse, which I was (and still am).

Announcement: The Discombobulation

Oy, the discombobulation.

Everything is okay though. Life is pretty sweet really.

Hey, everyone who's been leaving nice comments - thanks for your comments! They're appreciated. Even those displaying a somewhat tenuous grasp of basic literacy skills. These will surely improve given practice and my firm but loving guidance. Be brave, for tomorrow belongs to you etc.

Announcement: Today Is The Seventh of March

Time is going all weird on Planet Teigan.

Further Announcements to follow.

Actually, Y'Know, We All Have Voices In Our Heads; Some People's Are Just Much More Interesting Than Yours

Frikken' amateurs. No, really. Check this out.

Heh.

How many untreated episoding psychotics do you know who could complete a Master's degree, incidentally? Kudos.

(And since we're on the subject, how many 'treated' ones do you know who could do this? I'll tell you: none. Go off your meds, kids, etc.)

Extreme Weather

If you think Melbourne weather is a bit much sometimes.. try Manchester.

If I believed in God, I'd conclude that he was well pissed off about something.

Home Again

On the upside (of being delayed by 24 hours) I got to send my postcards personally, and to spend all night loitering in central London. There was no downside really.

In other news: Vale RAW. May the fnord etc.