So I didn’t get the backlog killed before I left. Not even close. But hey, I’ve madeground! (*eyeroll*)
And now I’m out here, I realise the whole thing probably doesn’t matter as much as I thought it did. There are, I guess, conceivably worse things than confronting the mythical apocalypse with a chaotic media archive and a delinquent blog.
CG Fest was good, although I spent most of it sloughing off accumulated stress and sleep deprivation.
Maybe it’s just the delirium, but I’m quite unreasonably thrilled by the fact that my home for the next week and a half is this hut, whose previous occupant over the weekend was none other than Ella Hooper:
I was wondering
If I could get some kind of receipt
For all of the time and energy I have invested
In seeking to address and resolve
The bizarre interrelational dysfunctions of my family
And send it in to the universe for a refund.
Imagine what I could do
With all of that time and energy.
I could no doubt singlehandedly overthrow the 1%
And still have enough left over
To build a sizeable self-sustaining base on the moon
With my bare hands.
Oh, the things I could do.
And yet we must pursue the projects
Which are important and meaningful to us
Must we not.
This long-awaited and much-anticipated function at James Muldoon’s house to celebrate the scheduled end of OM’s as-it-turned-out-not-actually-finished-yet Federal Court litigation against Melbourne City Council was – perhaps predictably – a clusterfuck. But perfectly so.
I was late and missed most of it except the disastrous conclusion and surreal, prolonged aftermath. Not much media was captured, or at least not by me.
(UPDATE (11th Sept 2015): I found two pieces of audio. This one, captured at 2:15am on my way to Muldoon’s, and the one at the foot of this post, captured at 5:33am at Golden Towers in the city:)
All I have is notes:
I’m particularly sad I didn’t manage, despite trying, to record Cobina’s unforgettable trashed mic check after everyone was chucked out of Muldoon’s house at around 3am (“DOES THE COLLECTIVE / WISH TO PRIORITIZE / FOOD, OR ALCOHOL? / WE SHOULD MAKE A DECISION / AND PROCEED ON THAT BASIS. / YOU ARE ALL FUCKED. / YOU ARE ALL.FUCKED.”) – leaving a horde of feral occupiers running amok on the streets of Brunswick unable to reach consensus, and ultimately sitting stubbornly for hours and hours by the side of Sydney Rd throughout the night for no particular reason except that, y’know, that’s what occupiers do.
Here’s a photo I took during said sit-in at around 5am (the sign at the top, which you can’t read due to overexposure, said “WHELAN: THE WRECKER”. This seemed profoundly meaningful or at least funny at the time):
And here’s a photo of chalkage done by Kenji at City Square, where the two of us ultimately wound up, compass-like, at 7am: