Last week I couldn't get in to the blog but I was thinking about these things.
Coasters, which are useful and underrated. An 80s image selected with apparent cruelty for the front page of the Daily Telegraph. The opposite of Valentine's Day, which according to Ray is steak and blowjob night. Brett Whiteley and ambition. The Art Gallery of New South Wales and how it makes me feel. That (This & That) Put (Here & There) Out of Sight of Polaris is gone, and who knows why? OpenAir Cinema, bats across the screen and a hard, fraught summer past. Ten Days on Earth. A boy man with a life punctuated by catering. Seersucker suits - Lloyd and Master and Charles Dance have that in common. Dame Judy smoking to save her life.
A hot Sunday punctuated by texts from LT. The first, soon after I wake: "Who do we think we are? One day someone will write a book about us, a farce maybe." The next, two words: Mark Dapin.
The girl serving us at the burger shop needs to eat one.
In my dream I'm lying in bed and there are spiders above me. They are furry and actually they look like monkeys. They have yellow faces and hands and are suspended crawling over wire mesh like a false ceiling between us. It's the same mesh that keeps the pigeons from roosting at the Wharf. I am terrified that the spiders will fall through and onto the bed. Then I'm walking into a restaurant and Gabriel is sitting at a table alone. Jim O'Mahony as well.
And now, next door a kid is crying because his Dad is writing a note on his picture. It's on the under side and they're debating whether it can be seen or not.
Coasters, which are useful and underrated. An 80s image selected with apparent cruelty for the front page of the Daily Telegraph. The opposite of Valentine's Day, which according to Ray is steak and blowjob night. Brett Whiteley and ambition. The Art Gallery of New South Wales and how it makes me feel. That (This & That) Put (Here & There) Out of Sight of Polaris is gone, and who knows why? OpenAir Cinema, bats across the screen and a hard, fraught summer past. Ten Days on Earth. A boy man with a life punctuated by catering. Seersucker suits - Lloyd and Master and Charles Dance have that in common. Dame Judy smoking to save her life.
A hot Sunday punctuated by texts from LT. The first, soon after I wake: "Who do we think we are? One day someone will write a book about us, a farce maybe." The next, two words: Mark Dapin.
The girl serving us at the burger shop needs to eat one.
In my dream I'm lying in bed and there are spiders above me. They are furry and actually they look like monkeys. They have yellow faces and hands and are suspended crawling over wire mesh like a false ceiling between us. It's the same mesh that keeps the pigeons from roosting at the Wharf. I am terrified that the spiders will fall through and onto the bed. Then I'm walking into a restaurant and Gabriel is sitting at a table alone. Jim O'Mahony as well.
And now, next door a kid is crying because his Dad is writing a note on his picture. It's on the under side and they're debating whether it can be seen or not.
posted by noonie at 8:29 PM
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