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Inspired partly (I think) by the lack of updates here.

The answer is yes.

Life has been a bit chronzonic since Easter.

Amid concerns that my cohabitant and partner in Arts dropoutdom Jaye de Koan and I have begun drifting into the arena of the unwell, and improbable amounts of time spent Googling idly on phrases like “total lack of focus” and “completely stuffed up my life”, I have found myself contemplating joining the French Foreign Legion doing a Certificate III in Disability Care, because this would guarantee me 15 hours of work a week in my capacity as a casual Attendant Carer – a job which involves things like pulling down quadraplegics’ pants for them, waiting in their living rooms for two hours whilst they take a dump, then pulling their pants back up again, and taking profoundly uncommunicative 55-year-old longterm-institutionalized schizophrenics for walks to McDonalds.

In the end I decided against it.

But I did make a resolution to get up at 7:30am every weekday, and set a rule that I cannot log onto the ‘puter or smoke a second cigarette until I’ve been to the gym.

It’s come to this, etc.

But I’m still alive.

In happier news, I met one of my local art heroes last week. Her name is Danielle Freakley. She is, amongst other things, a mobile art gallery and human quote generator.

She contacted me after I rather rudely put her epic, surreal Neurocam application online, asking me to take it down. Then she sent me some long, discursive audio messages and invited me to her house.

She lives two doors down from a brothel. When I went to visit her, I rang its doorbell instead of hers by mistake. Upon being informed of my error – and that no-one was available for the next ninety minutes – I thought maybe she’d deliberately given me the wrong address as a prank.

But the error turned out to be mine, and a delightful evening was eventually had eating soup and birds nests, going to the pub and watching her talk entirely in quotes, putting an egg out on the road and seeing how it took to get run over, drinking tea, and talking about Art.

She called me again last night and told me that the Head of Drawing at VCA had suggested, on her prompting, that I come in and give a workshop on Art Cults. I told her I wasn’t really up for it right now, but that it was a lovely invitation.

Viva Freakley.

In other, other news: I got a kitten! But that’s another post.

Hey, J made us a new masthead. (She’s very creative.) To be precise, she made us a whole new template – which was lovely – and then I went and messed with it. So much so that I now suspect she’d probably be embarrassed if I said it was her work. It mixes sans and serif, see. She would never do that. (See comments.)

But in any case – thanks, J. Happy Easter.

In other news: I decided to drop out of Uni again after all; census day be damned. It was silly and it was doing my head in.

Which is to say, 30 minutes from the effective deadline for withdrawal from my course. (See previous.) And I haven’t withdrawn.

So I guess that means I’ve decided to see out the rest of the semester.

I have decided. We’ll see how we go.

Just do not know at all. Tried flipping a coin. But it didn’t help. I wish I was Scarlett Johannson.

On Thursday night I went to see Labyrinth at the Rooftop Cinema with Althea, AG, Jo, Xade & Li. Deck chairs, panoramic city views, bloggers, David Bowie in tights and a daft wig. It was all pretty good.

And last night I went out with ~ to the East Brunswick Hotel on Lygon St to see The Mammals, an American folk ensemble liked by Lady J. Unfortunately however we missed their set due to misadvertised times.

On the way home we bought Woodies and drunk them swinging on a swing set in a park, giggling at possums and musing about Life like the messed up teenagers we would be if we were teenagers. Upon arriving home at about 3am we watched The Prestige. David Bowie as Nicola Tesla, with an Austrian accent and a silly moustache. It was great.

So what have you been up to?

It’s All Wrong. All Wrong. Or maybe that’s just me. I don’t know.

I thought about killing myself, seeing as how I clearly totally suck at life, etc. But for better or worse, I like it too much. Life, I mean. It’s too full of beauty and illusions. I’d miss it.

Does anyone want to give me a job? I already have two, but they don’t pay me enough and neither of them are really utilizing my core skills to their optimal potential.

Here is a list of some of my skills:

– Disumbration and applied discombobulation
– Blogging in words, pictures and sound
– Writing kickass manifestos for secret organizations dedicated to altering the perceptions of their participants
– Creating imaginary bands
– Daydreaming
– Smoking cigarettes & drinking coffee
– Talking & writing copious amounts of shit
– Reclusive otherworldliness
– Insufferable arrogance & narcissism
– Getting disproportionately stressed out under pressure, then having big cathartic meltdowns; general flakiness & dysfunctionality etc
– Very persistently not killing self despite patently sucking at life
– Morbid self-pity
– Making lists
– Can tie own shoelaces, more or less
– I change a mean lightbulb

In addition to the above, I possess Artistic Vision ™ and a GSOH. I have seen through the illusion of the world. But I believe in love. Most of the time. I also hold a valid learner driver’s permit.

In summary: I am good. I would definitely give me creative, stimulating and lucrative employment if I were you.

UPDATE: But maybe I shouldn’t. ~ thinks I should stick with it. I just DO NOT FUCKING KNOW AT ALL.

Thing is, see, I was going to do Creative Arts. Despite the presence of subjects like Creative Writing (as in “we will teach you how to do Creative Writing”) it seemed a better and more purposeful bet than just plain vanilla Arts. But the School of Creative Arts is, it transpired, being phased out. No more Creative Arts.

I do not fucking know.

capercale, lamergeyer, cassowary etc

UPDATE II: If only the world would play ball and recognise my genius, none of this angst would be necessary. I blame the world. There seems to be something wrong with it; maybe it’s broken.

(Actually, just between you and me, it isn’t even real anyway. Trust me, I’m a disumbrationist. I know what I’m talking about.)

This blog is approaching its second birthday.

For those who came in late, I started TF towards the end of March 2005 after dropping out of first year Arts at Melbourne Uni after one month to reinvent myself as a freelance disumbrationist. Blogging was central to this scheme.

It seemed like the right thing to do at the time and in hindsight, it was. All kinds of strange and great things happened after that.

Now, twenty-four months on, and I’m back giving MU a long-planned second go. Things have changed in all kinds of ways in those two years. In many ways dramatically for the better.

But would you believe I’m yet again finding arts-studentdom pretty stressful, and kind of silly, and kind of tedious, and I don’t really entirely know why I’m doing it, whether I want to be, or what the bastard hell I’m fucking doing at goddamn all.

I’ve also been thinking a lot about whether this whole anniversarial-full-circle-juncture thing means it’s time to put Trysting Fields to bed.

But reading over my archives here always puts things in perspective, and cheers me up.

My blog makes me happy. I like it. And it’s not Done. I’ve decided.

Here’s a word from our sponsor, Solomon from Gummo:

I was certain Piedemonte’s would have bulbs.

If anyone coming tonight knows any morally flexible dentists..

kthx etc

I put the apple down to go and answer the phone. Only upon returning to the kitchen did I realise it was necessary to take a picture and post it to my blog.

I heart Art.