Category Archives: Dreams
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:
Saturday 15th – Sunday 16th September.
It was more chaotic than usual – and, for me, marred by some sadness due to the absence of Certain Individuals (but what else is new I guess, lol/sigh).
In any case and all the same, the required standard was met. Which is to say: went off.
Thanks everyone 🙂
Saturday, 31st March / Sunday, 1st April.
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:
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!