Air Guitar: Aussie Style

Coming to you from the Stroud International Brick and Rolling Pin throwing contest.

Preparing for battle with Boring the Great

It dons the full body sperm suit, elbow length gloves and safety glasses.

It removes the crusty acid drum from the pallet of other crusty acid drums.

It dips the crusty acid drum in the corrosive detergent goop.

It takes the high pressure water gun and sprays the crusty off the drum, usually wearing the blasted crusty bits from head to toe.

It places the clean drum on a new pallet.

It rinses and repeats for seven hours and three extended smoko breaks.

It leaves the site of the battle and heads for home.

It puts the lotion on it's skin.

PhotoHunt: Hanging

What do you do when you take off just one of your football socks?

Leave just that one on the fence and walk away, of course.

Project Black #5

I've been reading travel magazines lately. Obviously the urge to go discover is coming back with a vengeance, and this time around when I finally do unleash myself on the countryside, I hope I will be better armed to cope photographically... not to mention mentally.

In an editorial piece a mocking challenge is set to any person travelling to Broome. See if you can resist taking a photo of camels walking in a line along the beach with the sun setting behind them. Now the only camels I've ever come across are the ones at that spend their weekends carrying sets of children around in an endless procession at various market days and country shows, and the occasoinal camel race for charity. I've never been to Broome either. But the statement strikes a chord with me. I love a silhouette in the sunset. Can I resist it?

This tower is on a beach not far from home. It's a moody beach, and my experiences there match it. I've laughed and been consumed by love there. I've grinned at the waves in defiance. I've roared and screamed and been consumed by terror there. I've even unwittingly exposed my arse to an entire wedding party there.

The moods change, the weather changes, yet in this place there is one constant: the tower.

Project Black #4

Meet Joey the Turdlet, also affectionately known as BlackTurd. This boy is the biggest sook known to caninekind. He will stand at the back door, bouncing up and down and barking, causing a menace until he is let inside. From the second he is inside he turns to butter. He just lays around sleeping and begging affection.

Project Black #3

i = dx

where d is the distance removed from home,
x is the age of the relevant monument
and i is the resulting factor of interest.

It’s funny how travelling changes our perspectives and our willingness or desire to see certain things. Around home, wherever that may be, I have absolutely no desire to spend time wandering around churches. I have no sneaking religious tendencies and therefore no business being in these places. But… take me away on a road trip and suddenly they are architectural wonders that captivate me and draw me in.

Project Black #2

Two hundred and thirty million years ago trees were dying in swamps. Enormous forests sank bleow the water, and after the debris collected in the basins of water that had drowned them they were eventually covered by large quantities of mud and sand. This process happened over and over again, with layer upon layer compacting onto the last. Somewhere down the line heat and pressure come into play. Layered in between sandstone and other sedimentary rock, like a club sandwich, we have the final product: Coal. Disaster, dead trees, and time.

Pisshead

Cigarettes in this country come with a warning label by law. A series of government warnings that say such things as
SMOKING KILLS
and SMOKING WHEN PREGNANT HARMS YOUR BABY.
When the warnings first came out, a lot of guys I knew would only buy the packets with that last warning on them.

I indulged in a moderate night of drinking last night. I can remember everything, I didn’t make an idiot of myself, and I went to bed before I was anywhere near sloshed. I even had the presence of mind to drink a shitload of water before thinking of going to bed. In the aftermath I have a dehydration hangover from hell. I’ve drunk litre after litre of water and I feel like I have mutated into a piece of sandstone. Why so bad today when it appears I did all the right things?

Red wine.

I think it should come with a government warning label also. Something like
RED WINE WILL DEHYDRATE YOU
or THE CONTENTS OF THIS BOTTLE WILL CAUSE YOUR BODY TO HAVE THE PROPERTIES OF A POROUS STONE
or perhaps a more simple warning of REMEMBER THE LAST TIME?.

This could extend to cartons of beer also.
FRIDAY NIGHT? AS IF YOU’RE GOING TO TAKE IT SLOW!!!
Others could be labelled with
WARNING: POSSESSION OF A CARTON MAY CAUSE YOU TO EXPECT OTHERS TO DRINK WITH YOU.

Project Black #1

Ten days ago Anna started Project Black. Somewhere between going on road trips to the Blue Mountains and work and generally having my head up my arse, I missed the entire thing. I thought Dammit, Vic. You missed another opportunity to push yourself. But did I really? I'm late with it, but this is the net after all. I can publish what the hell I want whenever I want. There are no rules and that's why I love blogging so damn much.



Black: the absence of colour. The muso uniform. I look around the space I am in and immediately I see muso paraphernalia staring at me. Amplifiers, cases, accessories. Even my folders of music are black. You get so used to it in music that diversions from this are unusual and interesting. For that reason I love my red classical guitar case. It's falling apart and is essentially pretty tragic, (especially when you see the yellow plush lining inside), but hell does it stand out.

PhotoHunt: What IS that?

Yes, it's a bird.
In fact I'm pretty sure it's a Crimson Rosella.
But why the hell does it have something pink in it's mouth?
What the hell IS that?



The answer? Chewing gum.

Creature Comforts

One hundred and seventy-something million years in the making, it appears that a local network of limestone caves has evolved not only as a place of amazing beauty, but has also evolved to meet modern waste disposal demands.

Half-Nekkid Thursday: Tied ankles

On a road to nowhere

In honour of Dive's week of Car Porn I thought I would post an excerpt from the recent adventures of EspressoHead and myself.



A graveyard of machinery in the middle of nowhere.
Of course we had to climb on it.

What do you feel on the edge?

I've just been away for a random destination weekend with a good friend. It was brilliant not to be constrained by time for a couple of days. Decisions about where to go next were made on the basis of Why the fuck not? and without much other limitation. Want to stop there? Why the fuck not!

Of the many adventures we had - ghost towns, mailboxes galore, crystal blue rivers and limestone caves - the most brilliant was finding a random walking track in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney. National Parks signs always lie - this is a fact that I have always been aware of and will forget without fail before embarking on a walk - a walk that is signposted as just over a kilometre will always be a shitload more. I think they are working in conjunction with personal trainers. Just a little bit further is in fact twice as far as you've already come. We walked and walked. I whinged and whinged. We ran to make the distance fall away quicker and still we weren't at anything that looked remotely like a lookout. But what do you do? They have you over a barrel. If you give up and turn around because the sign lied about the distance you miss out on the reward at the end. So you keep going. And going.

Then you come across something truly amazing. A view that puts your life in perspective. A view that has been formed over millions and millions of years and my existence is not even a breath of wind compared to it's lifespan. Yet I can stand on the edge of this amazing formation and be completely overwhelmed by the experience. As beings, we are driven by emotion and each of our individual experiences are completely unique. I am the only person who can ever experience my own emotions, as much as the person next to me can only ever experience their own emotions.



I have been driven by a need to share my own experiences with others and I have come to realise how pointless that actually is. While it is awesome to have travelling companions and shared adventures the only emotional experiences I really need to nurture are my own.

Who

I am Vic.
I love catchy music, whether it be funky basslines, elctro, classical or any other genre you can throw into my circle of aural judgement.
I can't draw for shit.
I am an intellectual snob - I have little to no tolerance for idiots.
I like to be surrounded by order in the form of alphabetisation and categorisation.
I hate to sleep alone. I have a teddy bear that keeps me company now and I stress if I cannot find her to snuggle to as I am falling asleep.
I am a sucker for anything limited edition. I am a marketer's dream.
Fresh fruit and vegetables make me happy, and rump steak is my absolute favourite cut of beef.
I take photographs. I am not an artist, just a collector of my own visions and experiences.
A genuine smile from a stranger, or a fun conversation, will make my day.

Birthday suits:

Happy Birthday to my friend of pierced penis fame...
I know you’re only reading for the pictures, TruckieMan, so this one's for you:



Love and hugs,
Miss Vic the Bondage Mistress.


p.s. Why the fuck were you born in winter?

Apathetic Emo

I've had this recurring image lately. It comes in various forms but with the same theme, and occurs mostly when my mind is unoccupied by other goings on such as work or listening to different music. The image: my feet, tied together with rope bindings. Within this image I don't struggle against the binds. I am comfortable knowing that my feet are bound, in fact I'm quite happy to be that way.

There has been some talk kicking about the house of photo shoots of cut skin, and blood. Internally I am screaming Pick Me! for these shots. The weird thing in this, though, is that I do not want to harm myself, especially in the emo cutting type of way. I want to be surgically sliced into by somebody else.

I can't figure it out. There is no sexual motivation behind it. So what the hell is driving this imagery? Am I an apathetic emo, too lazy to do my own cutting?

More rambling.

The last few days I had some surprisingly happy moments. I find myself liking some of the things I do at work, even the hours are terrible and the pay is less than that of a trained monkey.

I went to see my doctor today. Two weeks ago I was a messy lump of indecision when I went to see this doctor about fixing the shit that has taken over my brain and functions. Today I walked in, was at ease straight away and spent some time laughing with her. The result, though was a weird one. Instead of being just normally happy, I walked out of the surgery to find my hands shaking uncontrollably.

I've had that reaction before in a different context: performing a classical guitar to an audience and coming through it all okay. Adrenaline rush. But why with a doctor? I didn't have an adrenaline rush going up on a work platform high above the ground on a mine site yesterday, even though it was my first time going more than a couple of metres off the ground in a wire basket. So why now? Adrenaline because I have perfect blood pressure and an informal chat?

The brain is weird. My answer? Join the local library and borrow some books on philosophy.

Exercise. Holy shit.

The state of the body is a reflection of the state of the mind.

Repeat after me:

The body is ugly and it must be punished.

Repeat it again.
And again.
Turn it into a litany.

Step out the door and go.

The state of the body is a reflection of the state of the mind.

Ramblings on my lack of education.

Despite my thought processes resembling a stew that has been left on the stove and forgotten for at least three days

(crusty, sloppy under the tacky skin on the surface, bits of fat floating around like islands)

I seem to be embarking on a quest for learning, for order of some description.

Today I’m going to a course that will allow me to walk on a construction site. It’s under the guise of searching for better paid work, but I think there’s something deeper than that. Suddenly I want all the cards I can get. This course will get me a green one. Next I want a blue one. Then who knows… Maybe I will have a wallet containing the rainbow in useless qualifications.

I’m really tempted to broach the disaster that I made of University many moons ago and go back to it. But what the fuck for?

Ideally I would sit in a composition class, term after term. Give me ideas, give me insight, make me compose folio after folio of work and hand it in to a deadline. I can do that. The problem is that I can’t afford it. I would love to devote the next three years to sitting in a classroom arguing with a composition lecturer about why a piece shits me to tears and has no musical value at all (yes, I’ve done it before) but how in hell could I afford to live, to smoke the multitude of cigarettes and drink the buckets of coffee I require whenever I start to write a serious piece of music?

And then what do I get out of it?

The ability to compose and join every other never-will-be and publish my stuff on the net? Maybe sell something to be played by a high school student for their compulsory Modern Australian Composition unit?

What about the abandoned computing degree? The reasons I had at the time for giving it all up were that I had no intention of sitting behind a computer for the rest of my life anyway. Yeah right. I was depressed, feeling squashed by the faculty politics, and suffering financially. More than that, I just wasn’t able to hold up to the pressure of learning three programming languages at once in my second year. What did I do? Give it up so that failing was my choice, rather than that of the University.

Funnily, in times of mental disturbance I turn back to those programming days. The mental order, the focus for problem solving that it requires, the immersion in a solution. Maybe I need to remind myself that I can think in that way, retrain myself to do it even. Just as I take comfort in knowing that all the books in my library are categorised and in alphabetical order, I take comfort in the ability to solve a problem in a step-by-step process.

Again, what the fuck for?