Autumn

'Expressionism' is when the artist distorts reality for an emotional effect.

Much the same can be said when summing up lust, love and other butterfly-effect emotions. Reality distorts, sensibility blurred, obstacles ignored and plans let go into the sky like a wayward balloon.

It's fast and messy and passionate and powerful. Whether it lasts a week, few months or even for ever, it's a feeling like none other in life. It begins from something so simple and builds and boils over (Beckmann, pictured). Like the adrenaline when you spend patient hours drawing or painting, it may be a slow process but when it finally starts taking shape, it's the most wonderfully self indulgent feeling because it's all yours. You made it, and yet you can't figure out how you managed to do so well. You don't look at the piece and see the starting point. No one can be sure of when it started, you the maker can't even be sure of what happened first, it just did, and it's brilliant..

Stoop to Goop

nourish the inner schmuck. I agree with Bono, you and your frog husband are a pack of wankers.

i swear, and I'm not even kidding; the level of cringe was so high that my eyes welled up. She's my style icon (bland to some, but as a steady capricorn, i dream of black balenciaga blazers with matching black jeans, possibly with a splash of a grey t-shirt underneath but lets not go crazy)

Why Gwynie? WHY!!! "me & tamra davis cook dinner for our husbands, - oh did i mention they are coldplay & beastie boys front men?" (if thats possible for the latter trio, but you get it)

"I love to take my children on day trips to paris and help them understand the beauty of life" - bitch, please. my kids'll be lucky if they get to the national gallery and happen to sit near some baguette-eating transplant who has a vague memory of what the eiffle tower looks like in his home city. "eeeh you know it's veh hiiigh i sink... i'm le tiiiiiiiiired..."

We see you in your polished little family unit.

In Hello! magazine, in OK! and any other publication that requires punctuation in the title for some extra pizazz. Hibiscus-infused salt from spain (what.the.fuck) doesn't pay my bills. i shit you not, she has it as a 'must-have' in the cook section.

I almost had to restart my computer, I felt so dirty after actually paying attention to this site...

spasm

i had a dream you kicked the shit out of my back when i was lying watching television

when i woke, the pain still radiated throughout my body and the vivid visions flashed once more

Plasmas & Mazdas

Little boxes on the hillside, Little boxes made of tickytacky
Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes all the same
There's a green one and a pink one and a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky tacky and they all look just the same.

one street back and you're in wrongtown. however it's creeping in at a rapid rate and eclipsing the heritage with which we distinguish ourselves from others.

Every city has an 'old town' or 'old quarter' where the culture is kept as it should be. the coastal suburbs of this fair city are our version of an old town, particularly my south-central hood.

60's beach shacks, once used as holiday houses for the city's affluent, now mostly kept in sub-mint condition by this generation's affluent. new money with old taste. good. it's when the new money with its new taste or lack there of, come in, take over and make my ears and eyes bleed. there's no denying how important it is for the construction industry to thrive but stop rendering every god damn house until we live in 'Agrestic'... 

There is charm in rusty bikes, weatherboard californian bungalows, norfolk pines, EH Holdens and long lazy lawns. 

Awful expressionless dwellings with big brick fences, marble benches and security systems so adept, it can make you tea and give you one in the morning are for the outter suburbs. Supposedly the blank, treeless, over-developed ghettos which are promoted as the ultimate australian dream is where we are headed. If heaven is as heaven does, than this is hell for sure.

i wish i had a mango tree..... in - my - back - yard

i'm not a servant, i am here to serve you

i wanna open a shop. I'm going to find a product that women want and will find the $50 or $60 to buy what no other store has. Therefore, happily dealing with my concept:

there needs to be a shop where you can tell people to get the fuck out for being rude or disputing price or demanding free shit as a bonus because they bought something from you.. what do i look like to you? willy fucking wonker?

what happened to courtesy? the customer is always right has re-written store etiquette. Bollocks. the customer is always demanding. always a pain in the arse. always talking down to the clerk. why is that? If you want me to serve you, you should be nice. if anyone wants anything done well, it pays to be nice. So when did it become ok to treat the clerk like a dumbshit? I believe i am in this job - they hired me. Not you. Therefore, i think i know what the helen of troy is going down. If you wanted to answer your own question or to self-serve, fuck off to aldi. enjoy your expired mexican whale meat. My store has open spaces, and there is no loitering. if you wish to loiter, do so on the sidewalk outside and away from the premises or even better, amongst busy traffic. doorways are for dickheads - so avoid being one by not standing in one. disorganized and disorientated people who stand stagnent in my god damn shop, blocking my way because no one told them what day it is, will be banned - fo' lyf.

AND i will have a contract drawn up so the retailers association can't touch me when a customer complains of rude attitude/service/etc. phone complaints? i'll hang up. 

I plan to own the building too.

rules is rules in my little treasure chest.

If it gets bad i'll pull out the tourettes or play the spectrum ADHD card.

in my pocket

circumstances cultivate congregations + collaborations to continue company.

picture precious posies of people in pit-less pockets.

supplying a secret stash of sauntering stares soothe situations.

definitely distinguishing differences designates delight, delirium + debate.

fickle fornication fuses familiar feelings flushing fear, fright, friend and foe.

rich raw ranting reoccurs renewing raging reason rapture.

tricky trying to tie together tremendous tales to testify true taste.

dripping from a dead dogs eye

life is explained in the Beatles entire discography. don't even try to dispute it.

of mice & men

there is a mouse who lives in my home. i refuse to rhyme that last part. He/she is a nasty little piece of shit on legs who choses very carefully when the time is right for shock value and in some capacity, revenge. I can deal with cockroaches, ants, wild birds, older brothers who continually shit me to tears, but this, this is far to autonomous for my comfort. like certain people who move about much too quickly and i only wish there was a frypan large enough to smash over their heads and put them in their place. It makes me uncomfortable to the level of unsafe. Rodents, like moronic humans usually have more where they came from. I'm not equipt for the ways of the mouse trap, however i do believe i have the chest kick down to a fine art. It's not "raid" and to be fair, it'd be illegal to sell it for human consumption but having someone who is concerned enough to agree with you and say "what the fuck? thats not fuckin on... what a c***" is far sweeter, and results in zero jail time. win-win.

Dear Friends,

i need more time. more energy. less life... so this year everything i own is in a box to the left. Mmmmm to the left, to the left.

there are not enough hours in the day.

in the week.

in the year.

there are however, enough hours in the night to have the most vivid dreams. my headspace is in a very angry place it seems. so angry, that I am screaming at people and threatening to rip their faces off if they don't just shut the fuck up. and the dream before that in the same night, i am reunited with an old friend and he's giving me directions to drive but he's taking me around and around in circles. i feel used and humiliated in this dream and realise why we're no longer close..

maybe cause i, well we didn't bump into each other, but he must have seen me and followed that by sending a message. It confused me to say the least. 

i can have another you by tomorrow so don't you ever for a second get to thinking you're irreplaceable.

i'm not gonna teach your boyfriend how to dance with you

I'm so tired and quite frankly i've had enough. 

it's all part of life - nein, it IS life and it's no one else's fault or business, however i'm worn out. this has been the longest fullest summer of my time and so far it hasn't got me anywhere special.

so thats it, from here i'm

laying low. 

keeping shtüm. 

not answering the phone.

nor the door.

change of hair colour maybe. 

change of scene definitely.

less iggy pop, and more cat stevens.

sugars replaced with celery.

hangovers replaced with yoga.

but the cigarettes are staying.