Monday, 9 April 2018

I'm just going to do dot points!

I'm in bed and have been here since 7:50pm. Going to bed much too early is my new thing. It does away with so many difficulties! I will stay awake as long as I can, however.

I was just reading in the Paris Review about a painter called Alexander Melamid who has done a painting of his own arsehole*, and I thought, well there is still an awfully long way to go in the unnecessary overshare stakes, so I had better get "cracking."

  • Thanks to the disappointing results produced by the google image search query "drunk idiot karate kid pose" I am forced to use words to attempt to convey to you how the man outside the gross pub in Punt Rd near the MCG stood on the footpath on Sunday evening, as myself and a friend rode our bicycles towards the crossing. The man spread his legs wide and bent his knees and spread his arms and sort of bobbed from side to side, maybe like an incompetent frill-necked lizard, maybe like the worst sumo wrestler ever born, I don't know what he was hoping to achieve exactly, but we rode around him and his seven friends, none of whom I will deign to piss on when they inevitably get set on fire by a small child who has totally understandably gotten them mixed up with the paper bag containing a very large and fresh dog turd which has just been deposited on the doorstep of the deputy headmaster (the school, of course, is Trinity Grammar, with its quaint motto, "Viriliter Agite" [Act Manfully]"). Hey guys, here come some women on bikes - time to Act Manfully!
  • The organising of Anzac Day is well and truly under way and I have begun in earnest to put coffee onto documents pertaining to the organising of Anzac Day
  • Last Monday I found a $10 note on the ground in Clifton Hill, then I lost it somewhere on the Merri Creek bike path. This morning I found five dollars on the pavement outside the north entrance to Parliament Station. I immediately spent it on coffee. It is quite a nice thing to feel that one is capable of learning from past mistakes. I can't really think of any other examples of this happening though
  • I bought Lenny some new winter clothes online and the box came today. In it, along with his stuff, was a pair of trousers I ordered for myself because the website kept insisting that I look at them and they were marked down to $19. The pair I ordered is the closest they had left to my current measurements. They're a bit too tight, however, which is not altogether surprising because the last time I was that small in the waist I was 25, I worked in a jeans shop where thinness was a highly competitive thing, and at night I smoked a lot of drugs instead of eating. I should send them back but I am very tempted to keep them and absorb their too-tightness into the overall effort to become very thin again which some part of me is pursuing at a subterranean level. I'm writing this down, despite being quite ashamed of myself, so I will have to think rationally about it. I'm in a phase I recognise from many previous episodes of body manipulation: I get off on the discipline but I can't be disciplined about keeping in in perspective. That said I just want to lose three kilos, which would still leave me pretty well padded.

  • This is the pile of CDs next to the little stereo in the bed and breakfast where I spent a night over Easter 
I am photographing myself a lot at the moment. Not my arsehole though

 Just my face.
  • This is the pile of books on my bedside table. I should put them away instead of taking pictures of them. I finished with some of these months back. The problem is they have no homes and there is nowhere else for them to go.

  • Workplace morning and afternoon teas, followed by the unsurpassable goodness of essay club

  •  Newish shoes, well, I guess they're shoes. I bought these, like a fool, after seeing a pair on the feet of the 22-year-old babysitter. It's some sort of cool kids fad and I know, KNOW, that when I try to join in with games that I only dimly understand, all I achieve is to make myself ridiculous. These were quite expensive and summer is practically over. They are lovely to walk in, though.

Go right ahead. If you do click through I would be really interested to know which of the two paintings illustrated in the article you would rather hang in your own home, and why (setting aside the difference in monetary value).

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