Hey Guys!
Please help to Vote for my girlfriend Sonia & her dog Beau in the Bexterity Pinup & Pooches Competition!
We are hoping to win her a pinup photoshoot package valued at well over either of us can afford!
1. Go to http://bexterity.photium.com/page25376.html
2. Scroll to the bottom, choose Miss Sonia & click VOTE
3. Thank you Team SG!
Learning Lightroom: Project 2
Parliament Station - Before & After
Taken on Polaroid Sun 600 LMS
Film: Impossible Project PX70 Push Colour modified/adapted
Parliament Station - Before & After
Taken on Polaroid Sun 600 LMS
Film: Impossible Project PX70 Push Colour modified/adapted
Sideways in Time; Forwards in Love - A Year In Review
Last week I was looking through old photos of myself from my cousin’s wedding in Canberra, and literarlly did a double-take that concerned my nearby dog, who seems to be more empathetic than I am in feeding off any given nearby vibe. After assuring her I wasn’t seizuring I looked again, & then realised. I had done it, ticked off the #1 on my To-Do List that I had penned in November 2009: Lose Weight.
Without making this sound like either an egotistical tirade of self-love or a spam email, I should explain the reason for my self-indulgent hedonism.
I’ve spent the majority of my life as a chubby/overweight kid. At first I wanted to blame it on my Ma’s cooking, but it probably has something more to do with spending the entirety of every recess & lunch for 10 years of school eating Donuts & drinking Coke.
Plus 2.5 years in a very unhealthy (mentally/physically) relationship probably had something to do with it also. Though, as tempting as it may be to be vengeful, I don’t blame my Ex. I take full responsibility for my own actions & am now a big believer in the old idiom You Are What You Eat.
The first move to Self-Discovery & Recovery came in getting out of the Apocalyptic Situation that was my Ex. I was 24k in Debt, had no job, was a total Chubby Bunny, living out of home with someone I had fallen out of lust with, who in hindsight, completely drained me emotionally and financially. I would spend all day in bed, drinking too much, and my artistic outlets had completely ceased. I was stuck & I didn’t know it. I had given up & accepted the possibility of being in that situation for the foreseeable future, at the expense of my Philosophy of being a Nice Guy. I would always try and put others before me. I just happened to be with the One who would not only put herself before me, but over me, and on top of me until I was invisible. Ok, I should try and not focus on the once-intense remorse and regret I have for my bad decision, It’s not my fault she was a bad person but It was my fault for not getting out of a bad situation.
The tipping point came one evening during a house party at the apartment when I just looked at all the consumptions surrounding and inside of me: burgers, beer, snack food. I realized that I was ‘surviving’ but slowly & inevitably drowning into the Red (no pun intended). I was just filling a big hole with the wrong kind of medium.
All of this coincided with the meeting of a young, beautiful, sparky Spaniard, Tracey J Koort, who is pretty much responsible for saving my life.
I met her last Summer through strange yet serendipitous endeavors that found the both of us meeting on a night of hot winds when neither of us could sleep at the steps of St Mary’s Cathedral drinking cheap white wine and sharing stories of Love & Loss. From there we moved down to a small garden in the park where she uttered the six words that would change my life forever
“I don’t want to fuck you”.
Whether that was sprung from her own insecurities or my apparent creepiness, I guess we’ll never know. For the record, I was never interested in her like that to begin with, rather her mind. I’d finally found a friend who shared the same artistic endeavors, views on life, had the same sense of humor, and love for writing & drinking & how those two are inevitably linked to each other. From that moment, (an awkward silence, then me bursting with laughter) a friendship was born. Tracey has become my absolute Best Friend, (only second to my dog). We spent the Summer of 2009/10 in cafe’s, over brunch, window shopping in the Inner West, & daydreaming about moving out together and make-believe-interior-designing our hypothetical Newtown Apartment.
Tracey was the inspiration for me deciding to basically say a big Fuck You to my situation and creating a Life-Make-Over. I balled-up, sat down with my Parent’s and explained how much I’d fucked up but gave them an overview of my 1 year Plan and asked them for help. Boy am I glad they did. They’ve allowed me to move home until I’m cleared of debt and in 2012 plan on purchasing my own property and being a home owner. So I started the move back home, a tired, anxious, overweight, awful mess.
There came a day when everyone was at work, and Paris, the dog, had wandered off for a pee, and It hit me all at once, I was Alone. Incredibly alone. The Epitome of Alone. I’ve always had anxiety issues & panic attacks. I thrive on Social Structure and just love company. I’m very much like a Dog (a new theory I’m working on). I curled up in a ball in the hallway and simply couldn’t breathe. As tough as I wanted to be I couldn’t do this alone.
I went to see my oldest and closest friend Brendan , who in typical Smitty fashion pretty much just summed up that Shit Happens, and it sucks but you got to do it alone. Although he, in unspoken terms, hinted that he was always available to hang out take my mind off things.
The Summer of Sommer
Another story that interweaves with all of this is to do with a spritely, always-happy, insanely intriguing enigma that is Sommer Moore.
We met mid December 2009 in a dodgy Indian Diner in Newtown, brought together by mutual friends. Before even doing the cliche meet & greet technique, exchanging pleasantness etc, she shot me a look that saw right through my soul. In that instant she knew me better than I knew myself. After that night I followed a trail of intrigue that led to me hanging out in her shop in north sydney, days filled with a newly reborn love of coffee, Captain Oats, talking philosophy, thumbing through fashion magazines, sharing a love for the Wild Things film & soundtrack (a sense memory recall that will forever and always remind me of Summer, - especially the Song Worried Shoes combined with a warm breeze & the buzz of cicadas) and helping me through a very rough time, including giving me some Nutrition advice that led me to where I am today, physically. It’s possible I couldn’t have done it without her.
Sommer is an amazing writer, who pours her absolute heart & soul into every word she puts into tangible existence, & taught me that I was worth something, and was a crucial part in helping me develop my new Self.
The Cat’s The Only Cat Who Knows Where It’s At
Summer 2010 was spent alternating between settling into my new surroundings, hanging with both Tracey & Sommer, working out, going for walks, and discovering who I was. I’m a Serial Monogamist who has always jumped from one relationship to the next. In my entire dating life of 15 years, I’d only ever been single approximately a total of 6 months up until that stage.
Through the inspiration of Sommer, and my own research, I’d begun to rediscover my favourite styles, looks, etc, and started to build my own Mood Wall, that remained in place until I moved into my Sisters room this November when she moved out.
Then began an intertwining, a Death & Birth. A falling out with Sommer, (completely my fault, something I’m in the process of hopefully fixing) and the meeting of new friends.
Lauren & I had been Internet buddies for well over a year but never met, until she invited me up to her place one night to collaborate on ideas for a short film. Though to this day no creative projects have ever come about, we met for a reason. Two little Pisces Fish with a mutual understanding of the universe. She welcomed me into her tiny arms and adopted me into her Friend Collective. A misfit rag-tag bunch of social pariah’s, whore’s, rejects but all in all wonderful, crazy, crazy people. This is how I spent mid-2010.
An absolute whirlwind of events including broken teacups, sleepovers, Canadian-Malaysian-Isralien interlations, being stood up upon a hill at Sunrise, laser jesus, cupcakes, op-shopping, the world’s best bacon & egg roll & blueberry pancakes, cats, lap dances, disastrous hair choices, purple eyebrows, hot female archaeology students, photo assignments, full body texter mutilation, Seinfeld, Boosh, & jew jokes.
Thank you Lauren Von Grim (& a special shout out to Ash) for teaching me a renewed love of the chaos of the Universe, and that Everything can be Beautiful.
Little Red
“A Relationship should be about Two People sharing their Individual Lives with eachother. Not Two People leading One Life” - Sonia Merciai
Chapter Four, in which our Hero again pulls of a complex, subconscious Death & Birth of social proportions by un-maliciously drifting from Lauren & Friends and finding The One.
It was August 2010. At this stage, thanks to the help of all the above mentioned and a little self ingenuity I had found Myself. Where I was once a anxious, overweight nervous wreck with no personality, I had become a focused, always-happy individual who would go through bursts of Obsessions and always looking on the bright side of things. I was happy being Alone, in fact I preferred it. I had stopped looking for the Ideal. A concept of a Girl I have detailed endlessly in previous blog posts. As soon as I stopped looking I found her. Someone who Ticked all my Boxes, and even added new ones to the list I never knew I had. Through a serendipitous turn of events involving Twitter, & gluten-free Burgers, I met Sonia.
I met Sonia under the pretense of just being appreciative to have another friend in my life who shared and understood me. I truly wasn’t looking for anything more. But it found me. I began uttering the year’s catchphrase more & more - “Me too!”
After a week or two of hanging out it all just clicked together unspoken and naturally. After a while we began dating without even realizing it. I have found a partner who truly appreciates & accepts me for all that I am, even the bad stuff. A young, beautiful amazingly talented writer/painter/drawer/cook that is built up of her own talents which turn outwardly into this ethereal beauty. I’ve always said that I wanted to meet a girl who not only was Pretty but Smart too, because you only ever get one or the other. I found the winning combination.
I’d started off the year looking to fill a hole inside of me by someone else (no pun intended), and it’s only after filling it myself through a year of epiphany’s & revelations that the Universe delivered into my arms a beautiful addition to my life.
Thank you Sonia, for everything, but mostly for just being You.
Resolutions & Revolutions
One year later, I’m a constantly Inspired thing. Finding beauty in Dead Trees, Tentacles, Autumn Leaves, Girls, Polaroids, Film, Literature, and a new found love for Origami, Flowers, and Cooking.
The Last 365 Days and more have been compiled by bookend Chapters, each one segueing into the other, and I owe each and every character a Thank You for making me who I am, I am but my Senses and the experiences I intake, therefore I am You & You are Me, and together I want us all to be constantly Happy.
My current aim is to cap off the year by rediscovering, & culiminating all the people into my life under the same umbrella. I am now an open person full of love & ready to share it all for those who will take it.
Thank you, I love you all.
Jules Xx
Last week I was looking through old photos of myself from my cousin’s wedding in Canberra, and literarlly did a double-take that concerned my nearby dog, who seems to be more empathetic than I am in feeding off any given nearby vibe. After assuring her I wasn’t seizuring I looked again, & then realised. I had done it, ticked off the #1 on my To-Do List that I had penned in November 2009: Lose Weight.
Without making this sound like either an egotistical tirade of self-love or a spam email, I should explain the reason for my self-indulgent hedonism.
I’ve spent the majority of my life as a chubby/overweight kid. At first I wanted to blame it on my Ma’s cooking, but it probably has something more to do with spending the entirety of every recess & lunch for 10 years of school eating Donuts & drinking Coke.
Plus 2.5 years in a very unhealthy (mentally/physically) relationship probably had something to do with it also. Though, as tempting as it may be to be vengeful, I don’t blame my Ex. I take full responsibility for my own actions & am now a big believer in the old idiom You Are What You Eat.
The first move to Self-Discovery & Recovery came in getting out of the Apocalyptic Situation that was my Ex. I was 24k in Debt, had no job, was a total Chubby Bunny, living out of home with someone I had fallen out of lust with, who in hindsight, completely drained me emotionally and financially. I would spend all day in bed, drinking too much, and my artistic outlets had completely ceased. I was stuck & I didn’t know it. I had given up & accepted the possibility of being in that situation for the foreseeable future, at the expense of my Philosophy of being a Nice Guy. I would always try and put others before me. I just happened to be with the One who would not only put herself before me, but over me, and on top of me until I was invisible. Ok, I should try and not focus on the once-intense remorse and regret I have for my bad decision, It’s not my fault she was a bad person but It was my fault for not getting out of a bad situation.
The tipping point came one evening during a house party at the apartment when I just looked at all the consumptions surrounding and inside of me: burgers, beer, snack food. I realized that I was ‘surviving’ but slowly & inevitably drowning into the Red (no pun intended). I was just filling a big hole with the wrong kind of medium.
All of this coincided with the meeting of a young, beautiful, sparky Spaniard, Tracey J Koort, who is pretty much responsible for saving my life.
I met her last Summer through strange yet serendipitous endeavors that found the both of us meeting on a night of hot winds when neither of us could sleep at the steps of St Mary’s Cathedral drinking cheap white wine and sharing stories of Love & Loss. From there we moved down to a small garden in the park where she uttered the six words that would change my life forever
“I don’t want to fuck you”.
Whether that was sprung from her own insecurities or my apparent creepiness, I guess we’ll never know. For the record, I was never interested in her like that to begin with, rather her mind. I’d finally found a friend who shared the same artistic endeavors, views on life, had the same sense of humor, and love for writing & drinking & how those two are inevitably linked to each other. From that moment, (an awkward silence, then me bursting with laughter) a friendship was born. Tracey has become my absolute Best Friend, (only second to my dog). We spent the Summer of 2009/10 in cafe’s, over brunch, window shopping in the Inner West, & daydreaming about moving out together and make-believe-interior-designing our hypothetical Newtown Apartment.
Tracey was the inspiration for me deciding to basically say a big Fuck You to my situation and creating a Life-Make-Over. I balled-up, sat down with my Parent’s and explained how much I’d fucked up but gave them an overview of my 1 year Plan and asked them for help. Boy am I glad they did. They’ve allowed me to move home until I’m cleared of debt and in 2012 plan on purchasing my own property and being a home owner. So I started the move back home, a tired, anxious, overweight, awful mess.
There came a day when everyone was at work, and Paris, the dog, had wandered off for a pee, and It hit me all at once, I was Alone. Incredibly alone. The Epitome of Alone. I’ve always had anxiety issues & panic attacks. I thrive on Social Structure and just love company. I’m very much like a Dog (a new theory I’m working on). I curled up in a ball in the hallway and simply couldn’t breathe. As tough as I wanted to be I couldn’t do this alone.
I went to see my oldest and closest friend Brendan , who in typical Smitty fashion pretty much just summed up that Shit Happens, and it sucks but you got to do it alone. Although he, in unspoken terms, hinted that he was always available to hang out take my mind off things.
The Summer of Sommer
Another story that interweaves with all of this is to do with a spritely, always-happy, insanely intriguing enigma that is Sommer Moore.
We met mid December 2009 in a dodgy Indian Diner in Newtown, brought together by mutual friends. Before even doing the cliche meet & greet technique, exchanging pleasantness etc, she shot me a look that saw right through my soul. In that instant she knew me better than I knew myself. After that night I followed a trail of intrigue that led to me hanging out in her shop in north sydney, days filled with a newly reborn love of coffee, Captain Oats, talking philosophy, thumbing through fashion magazines, sharing a love for the Wild Things film & soundtrack (a sense memory recall that will forever and always remind me of Summer, - especially the Song Worried Shoes combined with a warm breeze & the buzz of cicadas) and helping me through a very rough time, including giving me some Nutrition advice that led me to where I am today, physically. It’s possible I couldn’t have done it without her.
Sommer is an amazing writer, who pours her absolute heart & soul into every word she puts into tangible existence, & taught me that I was worth something, and was a crucial part in helping me develop my new Self.
The Cat’s The Only Cat Who Knows Where It’s At
Summer 2010 was spent alternating between settling into my new surroundings, hanging with both Tracey & Sommer, working out, going for walks, and discovering who I was. I’m a Serial Monogamist who has always jumped from one relationship to the next. In my entire dating life of 15 years, I’d only ever been single approximately a total of 6 months up until that stage.
Through the inspiration of Sommer, and my own research, I’d begun to rediscover my favourite styles, looks, etc, and started to build my own Mood Wall, that remained in place until I moved into my Sisters room this November when she moved out.
Then began an intertwining, a Death & Birth. A falling out with Sommer, (completely my fault, something I’m in the process of hopefully fixing) and the meeting of new friends.
Lauren & I had been Internet buddies for well over a year but never met, until she invited me up to her place one night to collaborate on ideas for a short film. Though to this day no creative projects have ever come about, we met for a reason. Two little Pisces Fish with a mutual understanding of the universe. She welcomed me into her tiny arms and adopted me into her Friend Collective. A misfit rag-tag bunch of social pariah’s, whore’s, rejects but all in all wonderful, crazy, crazy people. This is how I spent mid-2010.
An absolute whirlwind of events including broken teacups, sleepovers, Canadian-Malaysian-Isralien interlations, being stood up upon a hill at Sunrise, laser jesus, cupcakes, op-shopping, the world’s best bacon & egg roll & blueberry pancakes, cats, lap dances, disastrous hair choices, purple eyebrows, hot female archaeology students, photo assignments, full body texter mutilation, Seinfeld, Boosh, & jew jokes.
Thank you Lauren Von Grim (& a special shout out to Ash) for teaching me a renewed love of the chaos of the Universe, and that Everything can be Beautiful.
Little Red
“A Relationship should be about Two People sharing their Individual Lives with eachother. Not Two People leading One Life” - Sonia Merciai
Chapter Four, in which our Hero again pulls of a complex, subconscious Death & Birth of social proportions by un-maliciously drifting from Lauren & Friends and finding The One.
It was August 2010. At this stage, thanks to the help of all the above mentioned and a little self ingenuity I had found Myself. Where I was once a anxious, overweight nervous wreck with no personality, I had become a focused, always-happy individual who would go through bursts of Obsessions and always looking on the bright side of things. I was happy being Alone, in fact I preferred it. I had stopped looking for the Ideal. A concept of a Girl I have detailed endlessly in previous blog posts. As soon as I stopped looking I found her. Someone who Ticked all my Boxes, and even added new ones to the list I never knew I had. Through a serendipitous turn of events involving Twitter, & gluten-free Burgers, I met Sonia.
I met Sonia under the pretense of just being appreciative to have another friend in my life who shared and understood me. I truly wasn’t looking for anything more. But it found me. I began uttering the year’s catchphrase more & more - “Me too!”
After a week or two of hanging out it all just clicked together unspoken and naturally. After a while we began dating without even realizing it. I have found a partner who truly appreciates & accepts me for all that I am, even the bad stuff. A young, beautiful amazingly talented writer/painter/drawer/cook that is built up of her own talents which turn outwardly into this ethereal beauty. I’ve always said that I wanted to meet a girl who not only was Pretty but Smart too, because you only ever get one or the other. I found the winning combination.
I’d started off the year looking to fill a hole inside of me by someone else (no pun intended), and it’s only after filling it myself through a year of epiphany’s & revelations that the Universe delivered into my arms a beautiful addition to my life.
Thank you Sonia, for everything, but mostly for just being You.
Resolutions & Revolutions
One year later, I’m a constantly Inspired thing. Finding beauty in Dead Trees, Tentacles, Autumn Leaves, Girls, Polaroids, Film, Literature, and a new found love for Origami, Flowers, and Cooking.
The Last 365 Days and more have been compiled by bookend Chapters, each one segueing into the other, and I owe each and every character a Thank You for making me who I am, I am but my Senses and the experiences I intake, therefore I am You & You are Me, and together I want us all to be constantly Happy.
My current aim is to cap off the year by rediscovering, & culiminating all the people into my life under the same umbrella. I am now an open person full of love & ready to share it all for those who will take it.
Thank you, I love you all.
Jules Xx
Pee Shy
Note: This entry is full of contradictions and paradoxes due to the author himself being part of the below mentioned culture. So just take it with your tongue in cheek & perhaps a nice glass of red
Dear Constant Reader,
Tell me I’m not crazy (or tell me I am, I like that sometimes (or tell me anything, I just love the attention) ) I can’t possibly be the only one to notice this:
The cultural changes and significance between our parents generation & our own is a goldmine of literary wonder, so I’ll just skip over all that bosh as you’ve most likely read it all before through the warming words of Benjamin Law in Frankie.
But I’d like to use the comparison and juxtaposition as dramatic impact to point out the one place I’ve noticed the most change - the Men’s Public Toilet.
Being born in 1985 had many advantages, apart from the birth of things like Super Mario Bros & Back to the Future; we got to bask in the afterglow and recessional spirit of the late 70’s. Which mostly just involved our Dad’s & their friends wearing Stubbie shorts everywhere, even with a tuxedo, & thongs to top them off. I use this item as a plot point that carries through the main idea I’m harboring. Those shorts, to me, we’re the absolute epitome of guiless, innocent & proud confidence. They were comfortable as all hell, and were symbolic of the people that wore them. They didn’t give a hoot what anyone thought, but were still ultimately a nice approachable person, despite their tackle hanging halfway out.
This attitude was most obvious in the urinal, note my use of the word. Men would just flop it out any-old-where even in, and especially in, crowded situations, & ironically enough to counterpoint today’s standpoint - you were most likely considered a “poof” or had something to hid if you didn’t join in the team spirit.
I’ve always admired someone who had enough confidence to be themselves, and embrace their faults and humanity, and didn’t feel the need to hid behind an expensive trendy haircut and massive amounts of jewelery (Russell Brand excepted as thats just who he genuinely is).
These days, I’ve noticed, walking in to the Men’s, everyone flocks to the cubicles…just to do a wee! It’s ridiculous. Even those that are brave enough to front the urinal/trough stand so far apart from each other and look awkwardly away, either at the wall, up at the ceiling, or strangely enough down at their own junk, that’s almost as if we’re afraid that making eye contact with another penis will kill us. What has happened to us in the last 20 years that has made men become so self conscious, and unintentionally homophobic?
I don’t want to launch into a judgmental tirade of blame, focusing on examples like our aesthetic fixiation, or the fact we’ve become these souless empty shells that look fantastic on the outside but racked with guilt and anxiety on the inside, but we all smile our souless smiles and never give in to any indication that we might not be happy or have “issues”. See what I did there? Anyway, Readers, just something to think about. I for one, have absolutely no issues ‘flopping it around” the wide open breezy air of the Men’s, & I guess that’s indicative of my nature and attitude.
I wish there were more open, happy Men in the world my age, who could live without fear or judgement. I adhere to you, Men of the world, join me in a united wide-open shake against the Urinals of the World! Let’s knock down the metaphorical cubicle doors and piss all over the shyness.
Note: This entry is full of contradictions and paradoxes due to the author himself being part of the below mentioned culture. So just take it with your tongue in cheek & perhaps a nice glass of red
Dear Constant Reader,
Tell me I’m not crazy (or tell me I am, I like that sometimes (or tell me anything, I just love the attention) ) I can’t possibly be the only one to notice this:
The cultural changes and significance between our parents generation & our own is a goldmine of literary wonder, so I’ll just skip over all that bosh as you’ve most likely read it all before through the warming words of Benjamin Law in Frankie.
But I’d like to use the comparison and juxtaposition as dramatic impact to point out the one place I’ve noticed the most change - the Men’s Public Toilet.
Being born in 1985 had many advantages, apart from the birth of things like Super Mario Bros & Back to the Future; we got to bask in the afterglow and recessional spirit of the late 70’s. Which mostly just involved our Dad’s & their friends wearing Stubbie shorts everywhere, even with a tuxedo, & thongs to top them off. I use this item as a plot point that carries through the main idea I’m harboring. Those shorts, to me, we’re the absolute epitome of guiless, innocent & proud confidence. They were comfortable as all hell, and were symbolic of the people that wore them. They didn’t give a hoot what anyone thought, but were still ultimately a nice approachable person, despite their tackle hanging halfway out.
This attitude was most obvious in the urinal, note my use of the word. Men would just flop it out any-old-where even in, and especially in, crowded situations, & ironically enough to counterpoint today’s standpoint - you were most likely considered a “poof” or had something to hid if you didn’t join in the team spirit.
I’ve always admired someone who had enough confidence to be themselves, and embrace their faults and humanity, and didn’t feel the need to hid behind an expensive trendy haircut and massive amounts of jewelery (Russell Brand excepted as thats just who he genuinely is).
These days, I’ve noticed, walking in to the Men’s, everyone flocks to the cubicles…just to do a wee! It’s ridiculous. Even those that are brave enough to front the urinal/trough stand so far apart from each other and look awkwardly away, either at the wall, up at the ceiling, or strangely enough down at their own junk, that’s almost as if we’re afraid that making eye contact with another penis will kill us. What has happened to us in the last 20 years that has made men become so self conscious, and unintentionally homophobic?
I don’t want to launch into a judgmental tirade of blame, focusing on examples like our aesthetic fixiation, or the fact we’ve become these souless empty shells that look fantastic on the outside but racked with guilt and anxiety on the inside, but we all smile our souless smiles and never give in to any indication that we might not be happy or have “issues”. See what I did there? Anyway, Readers, just something to think about. I for one, have absolutely no issues ‘flopping it around” the wide open breezy air of the Men’s, & I guess that’s indicative of my nature and attitude.
I wish there were more open, happy Men in the world my age, who could live without fear or judgement. I adhere to you, Men of the world, join me in a united wide-open shake against the Urinals of the World! Let’s knock down the metaphorical cubicle doors and piss all over the shyness.
The Art Of Mess: Project #4 - Bury This Book
Instructions:
Bury This Book. After 3 days, dig it up.
Expectations:
Id hoped that the Earth would swallow it whole, turn it into pulp/compost like some kind of Lion King circle of life analogy. As you can see, my ideas of this Reality are rather skewed. Time is not a thing I stick to well, always feelings like im floating about in it like water.
Reality
A wet, messy, damp heap but still the same old book
Conclusion:
Out of Sight, Out of Mind.
I get so easily distracted that, after the stress the other projects caused me, it was quite theraputic to get it underground and out of the way for a while. In fact today, on Day Three, the only reason I remembered it was because I noticed a blank spot on my bookshelf. A place for everything and everything in its right place.
I did find though that, symbolically, it got me thinking about buried secrets and guilts, things that I have done that I’m not so proud of. Now I’m not Hitler, I dont try & edit my history as the mistakes I’ve made make for brilliant stories. So this project has spawned a subplot - Like a member of AA I’m considering righting a few wrongs in my life, starting with the story of Summer. But I’ll save that one for another time…
Instructions:
Bury This Book. After 3 days, dig it up.
Expectations:
Id hoped that the Earth would swallow it whole, turn it into pulp/compost like some kind of Lion King circle of life analogy. As you can see, my ideas of this Reality are rather skewed. Time is not a thing I stick to well, always feelings like im floating about in it like water.
Reality
A wet, messy, damp heap but still the same old book
Conclusion:
Out of Sight, Out of Mind.
I get so easily distracted that, after the stress the other projects caused me, it was quite theraputic to get it underground and out of the way for a while. In fact today, on Day Three, the only reason I remembered it was because I noticed a blank spot on my bookshelf. A place for everything and everything in its right place.
I did find though that, symbolically, it got me thinking about buried secrets and guilts, things that I have done that I’m not so proud of. Now I’m not Hitler, I dont try & edit my history as the mistakes I’ve made make for brilliant stories. So this project has spawned a subplot - Like a member of AA I’m considering righting a few wrongs in my life, starting with the story of Summer. But I’ll save that one for another time…
The Art Of Mess: Project #3
Instructions:
Mess Up this Guy’s Shirt.
Expectations:
“Doing the same thing over & over again & expecting different results is Insanity” - Einstein
It usually takes me making the same mistake 3.5 times minimum before I learn to try a different method. Such is my egoism, I believe among other things, such as that I will be the one and only to defy death & live forever, to succeed where Walt Disney failed, that I can defy the law of nature & physics.
Egg Yolk is as smelly, messy & sticky as Honey. FACT.
If you know me, then you know that any so-called-FACTS quickly exit my brain when in a passionate, inspired frenzy.
Reality:
Conclusion:
Egg Yolk eventualy dries, turns into well, an egg. Now I’m faced with the reality of mold, and the natural deteriation that Time brings. Perhaps the author, Miss Keri Smith, was well aware of this, perhaps not. Perhaps she did not care for the FACTS, & wanted others to experience & try on her Frenzy hat for at least a little while.
This project has been, so far, morally challenging yet extremely enlightening
Instructions:
Mess Up this Guy’s Shirt.
Expectations:
“Doing the same thing over & over again & expecting different results is Insanity” - Einstein
It usually takes me making the same mistake 3.5 times minimum before I learn to try a different method. Such is my egoism, I believe among other things, such as that I will be the one and only to defy death & live forever, to succeed where Walt Disney failed, that I can defy the law of nature & physics.
Egg Yolk is as smelly, messy & sticky as Honey. FACT.
If you know me, then you know that any so-called-FACTS quickly exit my brain when in a passionate, inspired frenzy.
Reality:
Conclusion:
Egg Yolk eventualy dries, turns into well, an egg. Now I’m faced with the reality of mold, and the natural deteriation that Time brings. Perhaps the author, Miss Keri Smith, was well aware of this, perhaps not. Perhaps she did not care for the FACTS, & wanted others to experience & try on her Frenzy hat for at least a little while.
This project has been, so far, morally challenging yet extremely enlightening
The Art Of Mess: Project #2
Instructions:
Close your eyes.
Try to stay inside the Lines.
Expectations:
Once again, of course, I naturally expected I would effortlessly pull this off in a way so perfect it would make Botticelli weep.
Reality:
Conclusion:
The subjective experience of Qualia comes into mind, in which there are two opposing points of view, the first that a combined collective sensus of the senses, averaged out, can provide “facts” and unmovable “truths”, but I’m more a fan of the concept of subjectivness, & that the way we experience the world is uniquely filtered through each one of our tools, our eyes, our senses, the way we experience the world. It’s rare we find someone who we believe “sees” the way we do. I call them Soulmates. Anyway, my point was…I truly believed in my Minds Eye, that I had stayed perfectly within the Lines.
The Lines of Reality are ever moving and uncertain…
Instructions:
Close your eyes.
Try to stay inside the Lines.
Expectations:
Once again, of course, I naturally expected I would effortlessly pull this off in a way so perfect it would make Botticelli weep.
Reality:
Conclusion:
The subjective experience of Qualia comes into mind, in which there are two opposing points of view, the first that a combined collective sensus of the senses, averaged out, can provide “facts” and unmovable “truths”, but I’m more a fan of the concept of subjectivness, & that the way we experience the world is uniquely filtered through each one of our tools, our eyes, our senses, the way we experience the world. It’s rare we find someone who we believe “sees” the way we do. I call them Soulmates. Anyway, my point was…I truly believed in my Minds Eye, that I had stayed perfectly within the Lines.
The Lines of Reality are ever moving and uncertain…
The Art Of Mess
There is a certain terrifying, yet orgiastic feeling that overcomes one’s self when letting down the flood-walls, the self imposed barriers, the berlin wall’s of our minds. A certain feeling akin to taking a lover for the first time, letting down the castle wall, opening up your barn-doors, so to speak, and allowing the outside world to cross the mote that is your cerebelum, a thick, untangible ooze of collectiveness, and enter your proverbial castle walls. As you well know, there is but one simple, childish, lazy way of viewing Pollock’s work, but I of course, would be far too classy to allude to such…jizz.
The problem of course, comes in the ever increasing traffic. As you allow more unknown in and out, and back and forth, dirt is left caked and trampled on the door step of your mind, prone to infection, hard to resist for the OCD to clean, but if one were so inclined could probably be done so with the help of a few bouts of Scientology.
I, for one, have always found Control, that devilish little Bastard Child, to be the slow dimwitted moose-like barrier to unleashing my Art. That was until I found the beauty of letting go. With the help of Keri Smith’s wonderful Mess, an interactive “book” - I’ve become akin to a Zen Picacsso.
Day 1: “Pour something sticky here: Honey, or Glue, Then Blow something onto it and rid of the debris”
image
Expectations:
That things come easily, that it would invariably be an instant genius piece of art that could stand alone & defy context, speak for itself.
Reality:
Honey Never Dries. Ever. Thats the bloody point isnt it! You never see a jar of honey just sitting there, going hard. But as usual, the delirious, egotistical me, believes that I can defy the nature of physics. Of course, the Ants came, a huge hive mind of black frenzied, hungry mess that threatened to devour the project that I’d briliiantly left sitting in the sun to dry!
After dispelling the hive with a few hits of Old Spice, (they seem to hate it, (look away, now look back at me, see? The Ants have gone) not real good marketing is it!?)
I proceeded to find, through yet another Accidental moment of Genuis, that my spilled water dispelled the sticky nature! So after an hour of rubbing down the page with a wet cloth, and in the process losing half the chilli flakes (There were nothing else around of interest, & I just love a bit of spice) it eventually dried….
Conclusion:
This project will be a very philosophical one, indeed. I believe there will be more entertainment in the documentation of the process rather than the process itself. Because, believe me, the process of deliberately, willfully making a right old mess, for a repressed OCD’er? Hell.
There is a certain terrifying, yet orgiastic feeling that overcomes one’s self when letting down the flood-walls, the self imposed barriers, the berlin wall’s of our minds. A certain feeling akin to taking a lover for the first time, letting down the castle wall, opening up your barn-doors, so to speak, and allowing the outside world to cross the mote that is your cerebelum, a thick, untangible ooze of collectiveness, and enter your proverbial castle walls. As you well know, there is but one simple, childish, lazy way of viewing Pollock’s work, but I of course, would be far too classy to allude to such…jizz.
The problem of course, comes in the ever increasing traffic. As you allow more unknown in and out, and back and forth, dirt is left caked and trampled on the door step of your mind, prone to infection, hard to resist for the OCD to clean, but if one were so inclined could probably be done so with the help of a few bouts of Scientology.
I, for one, have always found Control, that devilish little Bastard Child, to be the slow dimwitted moose-like barrier to unleashing my Art. That was until I found the beauty of letting go. With the help of Keri Smith’s wonderful Mess, an interactive “book” - I’ve become akin to a Zen Picacsso.
Day 1: “Pour something sticky here: Honey, or Glue, Then Blow something onto it and rid of the debris”
image
Expectations:
That things come easily, that it would invariably be an instant genius piece of art that could stand alone & defy context, speak for itself.
Reality:
Honey Never Dries. Ever. Thats the bloody point isnt it! You never see a jar of honey just sitting there, going hard. But as usual, the delirious, egotistical me, believes that I can defy the nature of physics. Of course, the Ants came, a huge hive mind of black frenzied, hungry mess that threatened to devour the project that I’d briliiantly left sitting in the sun to dry!
After dispelling the hive with a few hits of Old Spice, (they seem to hate it, (look away, now look back at me, see? The Ants have gone) not real good marketing is it!?)
I proceeded to find, through yet another Accidental moment of Genuis, that my spilled water dispelled the sticky nature! So after an hour of rubbing down the page with a wet cloth, and in the process losing half the chilli flakes (There were nothing else around of interest, & I just love a bit of spice) it eventually dried….
Conclusion:
This project will be a very philosophical one, indeed. I believe there will be more entertainment in the documentation of the process rather than the process itself. Because, believe me, the process of deliberately, willfully making a right old mess, for a repressed OCD’er? Hell.
“My Smile’s a Chain-Link Fence, that I have put up” - MM
Feeling as shallow as a pond. Very much into glam & aesthetic beauty at the moment, but not ‘feeling’ or being in the moment. Feeling like things are boxed in, labelled and cannot defy their nature. Eg - Russell Brand is and can only ever be a “Rusell Brand”
ie - if he ever shaves his face or head, he’ll lose his mojo/look/image/identity.
I suffer constant Identity Crisis’.
What’s My Thing? What do people like/not like about me? What do I like/Not like about myself?, and is it at all influenced by the opinions of others? One absolute revelation that has come to the fore front this year is a shallow one, an aesthetic development, a solid “look” that I have defined for myself through the help others, …that I look good in business shirts with rolled up sleeves. This has been the deep spiritual core that is my year. Pathetic.
I still sometimes wish I could defy my genetics and obtain genetic traits that are impossible to mimic, and people who do, look stupid.
Lately I’ve been intaking too much media and haven’t output a single creative original piece of art in a long, long time. I’m afraid it won’t be able to be placed in context, that it will mean nothing, to myself, or to anyone for that matter.
Everything I do is biased & tainted by the surrounding environment. I only ever take pictures of trees, it reeks of the Shire, I cannot see outside this box.
Why am I afriad to extend boundaries? Is it due to lack of creative tools? Why is it I only recently fixed the tools situation, something that cost less than $15 - a new video camera charger?!
I have been too stale & static creatively for far too long.
What Am I Afraid Of!?
I used to love the creative chaos and wonderment of the Universe. Why, lately, have I been boxing/labelling/defining/planning things so much? Is it parental influence? An expectation of who I’m supposed to be?
I can’t let go and enjoy the moment for what it is, always conscious& aware at the back of my mind.
When I went to the movies as a child, I used to get really anxious halfway through at the impending realization that eventually I would have to leave the theatre and return to the harsh, bright realities of the outside world. Just like the actors in the films I escaped into, I now feel like I’m acting out, putting on a smile, but not really feeling the emotion I’m displaying.
The inside is never the same as the Outside…..
Feeling as shallow as a pond. Very much into glam & aesthetic beauty at the moment, but not ‘feeling’ or being in the moment. Feeling like things are boxed in, labelled and cannot defy their nature. Eg - Russell Brand is and can only ever be a “Rusell Brand”
ie - if he ever shaves his face or head, he’ll lose his mojo/look/image/identity.
I suffer constant Identity Crisis’.
What’s My Thing? What do people like/not like about me? What do I like/Not like about myself?, and is it at all influenced by the opinions of others? One absolute revelation that has come to the fore front this year is a shallow one, an aesthetic development, a solid “look” that I have defined for myself through the help others, …that I look good in business shirts with rolled up sleeves. This has been the deep spiritual core that is my year. Pathetic.
I still sometimes wish I could defy my genetics and obtain genetic traits that are impossible to mimic, and people who do, look stupid.
Lately I’ve been intaking too much media and haven’t output a single creative original piece of art in a long, long time. I’m afraid it won’t be able to be placed in context, that it will mean nothing, to myself, or to anyone for that matter.
Everything I do is biased & tainted by the surrounding environment. I only ever take pictures of trees, it reeks of the Shire, I cannot see outside this box.
Why am I afriad to extend boundaries? Is it due to lack of creative tools? Why is it I only recently fixed the tools situation, something that cost less than $15 - a new video camera charger?!
I have been too stale & static creatively for far too long.
What Am I Afraid Of!?
I used to love the creative chaos and wonderment of the Universe. Why, lately, have I been boxing/labelling/defining/planning things so much? Is it parental influence? An expectation of who I’m supposed to be?
I can’t let go and enjoy the moment for what it is, always conscious& aware at the back of my mind.
When I went to the movies as a child, I used to get really anxious halfway through at the impending realization that eventually I would have to leave the theatre and return to the harsh, bright realities of the outside world. Just like the actors in the films I escaped into, I now feel like I’m acting out, putting on a smile, but not really feeling the emotion I’m displaying.
The inside is never the same as the Outside…..
What a wonderful 1 year anniversary gift from my best friend!
Jules By TJ Koort
Jules and i met sometime last year in Hyde Park where we shared cheap wine and talked about (an old) Bob Dylan. Not exactly the most civil way of meeting someone (do bars count?) but for some reason we’ve been best friends ever since. Rewinding a couple of months prior our meeting, i like to think Jules stalked me on the interwebz, sending me creepy messages about his fantasises involving me wearing a black bra under a white transparent singlet and i’m pretty sure we engaged in fetish conversations about stockings and garter belts. I also vaguely remember he had a girlfriend at the time.
Anyway for months i referred to him as ‘creepy Manson guy’ simply because he was obsessed with Marilyn Manson and said a lot of creepy shit especially about him bringing a coat-hanger on our first date incase with him incase he needed to perform an abortion. SO as you can imagine my initial image was that of a malnourished goth kid who wore lots of black makeup, had a grim attitude towards everything and was afraid of the sun. I was actually kinda convinced he was a serial killer.
Worried ‘creepy Manson guy’ was going to wear my skin as a jumper or at the very least date rape me, i was a little hesitant meeting him. Also, meeting people offline reminds me of the bad old days before Facebook and Myspace where you met people in chatrooms who described themselves as semi-attractive and interesting but actually turned out to be overweight and desperate (i have sources). Although, virtually every guy i am now friends with, i met through Myspace so i could be wrong.
Jules turned out to be the complete opposite of my first impressions. In fact, he turned out to be so normal-looking that it actually freaked me out. I’ll never forget asking whether he was gay followed by ‘i do not want to fuck you.’ Surprisingly, he wasn’t offended by this. And this is how i knew we would be best friends.
Fast-forwarding a year, i refer to Jules as my gay (but not gay) best friend, who not only drives 2 hours to see me, but often does my homework, downloads movies and music for me, sends me entertaining and/or creepy texts, obsesses over the same celebrities as me and in general makes me feel like much less of (or at least on the same level) a creep. God bless the internet.
Jules By TJ Koort
Jules and i met sometime last year in Hyde Park where we shared cheap wine and talked about (an old) Bob Dylan. Not exactly the most civil way of meeting someone (do bars count?) but for some reason we’ve been best friends ever since. Rewinding a couple of months prior our meeting, i like to think Jules stalked me on the interwebz, sending me creepy messages about his fantasises involving me wearing a black bra under a white transparent singlet and i’m pretty sure we engaged in fetish conversations about stockings and garter belts. I also vaguely remember he had a girlfriend at the time.
Anyway for months i referred to him as ‘creepy Manson guy’ simply because he was obsessed with Marilyn Manson and said a lot of creepy shit especially about him bringing a coat-hanger on our first date incase with him incase he needed to perform an abortion. SO as you can imagine my initial image was that of a malnourished goth kid who wore lots of black makeup, had a grim attitude towards everything and was afraid of the sun. I was actually kinda convinced he was a serial killer.
Worried ‘creepy Manson guy’ was going to wear my skin as a jumper or at the very least date rape me, i was a little hesitant meeting him. Also, meeting people offline reminds me of the bad old days before Facebook and Myspace where you met people in chatrooms who described themselves as semi-attractive and interesting but actually turned out to be overweight and desperate (i have sources). Although, virtually every guy i am now friends with, i met through Myspace so i could be wrong.
Jules turned out to be the complete opposite of my first impressions. In fact, he turned out to be so normal-looking that it actually freaked me out. I’ll never forget asking whether he was gay followed by ‘i do not want to fuck you.’ Surprisingly, he wasn’t offended by this. And this is how i knew we would be best friends.
Fast-forwarding a year, i refer to Jules as my gay (but not gay) best friend, who not only drives 2 hours to see me, but often does my homework, downloads movies and music for me, sends me entertaining and/or creepy texts, obsesses over the same celebrities as me and in general makes me feel like much less of (or at least on the same level) a creep. God bless the internet.
SEPTEMBER 2011
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AUGUST 2011
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JULY 2011
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JUNE 2011