Stand in the crowd. Wait in anticipation for the band you've all come to see. Friends shift restlessly. Breath fogs in front of your faces. The sound checks are lost amongst the chatter, disappear between the giggles. Expectations build; the crowd lifts and swells as one.
Stop.
Pause for a moment.
Imagine the heartbeats that surround you. The rhythym that throbs and pulses and underlies your very existence here, in this moment. All other senses fade as the sound sharpens. It fills your ears and prods the edges of your skull. Thousands of hearts, all beating, all around. Including your own. You take a breath.
The band begins.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
My Name is Blue Van Meer - Diary Entry 2009 83.2 by Aylma Pessl
My face is tingling with tingl-ation and brightness. My cheeks burn red, and my bellow swooshies up and down and my… well, I fell great everywhere. Is this what acid feels like dear Sebastien? A great, wonderful tingl-ation and brightness?
I wanted to scream and scream some more.
Wait, and stop dear Blue. I don’t know how to properly express myself in this situation. A truly, magnificent…thing to be honest. For an example please…oh my god. I cannot find a suitable reference to express my current state of joy.
Oh my I am flushed.
I wanted to scream and scream some more.
Wait, and stop dear Blue. I don’t know how to properly express myself in this situation. A truly, magnificent…thing to be honest. For an example please…oh my god. I cannot find a suitable reference to express my current state of joy.
Oh my I am flushed.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Stoker's Horror Blog by Steven Rogers - Part 18: Where ARE the Wild Things?
Rec and I went to see the new Spike Jonze film, the much anticipated Where the Wild Things Are. Overall, I must say I enjoyed the film, but for a full review, check out my blog.
The cinema was rather empty, except for a few single men. They all looked like they were clutching their safety blankets, or pictures of their mum. They all stayed and watch the entire closing credits, as I did, and as we walked out – Rec, me and a few single, lonely men – at least one commented on the brilliance of the film to no one in particular. I looked back at him, and nodded, hoping to perhaps start a conversation (I figured it could be good for my review to see what unemployed men thought) but he could only repeat the comment and turn away from me. His eyes looked red.
I looked at Rec and rolled my eyes. She didn’t notice, as usual, and we sauntered outside where we ran into Matt. Good, old fucking Matt. He was recently broken up again. Again. And he needed some counselling.
We sat down together – some place that served Lavazza Coffee (gross, sick, puke) and he started going on about his ex and their relationship and God knows what else. I tuned out. My coffee came and I drank that bastard down.
‘She was never there for me, not like you Rec. You too Steve. Always off…’ I turned away. Rec looked at him – bleeding heart – and put her hands on his. He reciprocated. I butted in; he was always hitting on Rec.
‘In my opinion Matt, she wasn’t worth much anyway. You only dated her for a month or so...’
‘…it was four actually.’
‘Yeah, okay, whatever. Anyway, she didn’t mean anything so, you need to just get the fuck over it.’
‘Matt, just ignore him,’ Rec said. She glared at me. I got up,
‘I need to make a quick call, I will be back in a jiffy.’ As I walked away, Matt asked the following question to my lovely Rec,
‘Is he still persisting with that horrible film review blog?’
I went to Borders and lamented the poorly organised comic book section, and so much Manga. Poor, so poor. I procrastinated there for as long as I could, and then found them again at the café, both looking rather light-hearted, as if they had been laughing. Laughing a lot.
‘…and you should have read his review about There Will Be Blood,’ Rec burst out laughing. They seemed to be rather jolly.
‘That film was brilliant,’ Matt said.
‘I know, but Steve… you know Steve. Oh hello there Steve.’ She looked at me, and then returned to Matt, ‘He tore it apart. Well, he tried to tear it apart. He could only do so as much as he could understand the film. The review was terrible.’ Matt burst out laughing and touched Rec (probably for the umpteenth time).
‘Listen,’ I said sitting down, ‘It was a well made film, sure, but it was boring as hell. Why was it so slow, and what was with the performance of Day-Lewis? So ridiculous…’
Matt counted, ‘How can you say that Steve? It was amazing. One of the best films I have ever seen. So masterful, and brilliant. Daniel Day-Lewis was amazing in that role, and how he missed out on the Oscar…’
‘..Oh Oscars, why is everything measured by Oscars.’
‘Thank you Steve, for interrupting. It was a superbly made film, so reminiscent of Kubrick. The score as well, was breathtaking in its ability to add to the story telling…’
‘I hate it when you see that guy,’ I later said to Rec. She was brushing her teeth at the time. ‘Not only is he a loser – he can’t stay in a relationship for more than 6 minutes – he is constantly hitting on you. He touches you, and the way he looks at you… I fucking hate it.’ Rec glared at me, and washed her mouth out. As she walked out of the bathroom, she said, ‘Steve, I hate it when you talk to me when I’m brushing my teeth.’ She went into our room, and slid into bed.
‘Do you not agree though? He has a thing for you?’ She kept ignoring my comments, making herself comfortable. She grabbed her book. I took my shirt off.
‘He’s a nice guy Steve, he has trouble with women,’ she then looked at me mischievously, ‘and can you blame him for liking me?’ Rec was trying to make light of the situation, but I wasn’t hanging around for that.
‘Yes. I can. There are millions of women out there. You’re mine. He can go like someone else.’
‘Are we a little jealous there?’
‘Well, yes, I am jealous. I am… I’m… he is a good looking man, in pain, women love that shit. Their hearts melt and they explode in cum everywhere.’
She looked at me in disgust, ‘Steve, you are a fucking animal sometimes.’
‘My point is, women love that sad dog shit. They love it. They want to take the man into their arms and let cry a little and then fuck him!’ I was starting to sweat.
‘You have no idea what women want. Steve, this argument is as flawed as your review of District 9…’
‘…Why do you have to bring that up?’ I yelled.
I stood there, exasperated. Rec put her book down and decided to do what she had to do.
‘Shut up you idiot and listen to me! You have no idea what you are arguing for, or against. You think you’re ideas, or better yet, prejudices are the truth, are fucking gospel. You assume the world is ordered into the Right, Wrong and Fucking-Steve-Says-So. It doesn’t work that way.’
She ripped the blanket off and lept out of bed.
‘Yes, men with feelings are attractive, but so are burly men and men’s men and areshole men and ugly men and hot men and tall men and short men…’
‘..NOT short men!’
‘ … ALL types of men. Even a man like you –with the assistance of a great deal of alcohol, drugs and severe, extreme loneliness on my behalf - can be considered attractive.’
Ouch.
The cinema was rather empty, except for a few single men. They all looked like they were clutching their safety blankets, or pictures of their mum. They all stayed and watch the entire closing credits, as I did, and as we walked out – Rec, me and a few single, lonely men – at least one commented on the brilliance of the film to no one in particular. I looked back at him, and nodded, hoping to perhaps start a conversation (I figured it could be good for my review to see what unemployed men thought) but he could only repeat the comment and turn away from me. His eyes looked red.
I looked at Rec and rolled my eyes. She didn’t notice, as usual, and we sauntered outside where we ran into Matt. Good, old fucking Matt. He was recently broken up again. Again. And he needed some counselling.
We sat down together – some place that served Lavazza Coffee (gross, sick, puke) and he started going on about his ex and their relationship and God knows what else. I tuned out. My coffee came and I drank that bastard down.
‘She was never there for me, not like you Rec. You too Steve. Always off…’ I turned away. Rec looked at him – bleeding heart – and put her hands on his. He reciprocated. I butted in; he was always hitting on Rec.
‘In my opinion Matt, she wasn’t worth much anyway. You only dated her for a month or so...’
‘…it was four actually.’
‘Yeah, okay, whatever. Anyway, she didn’t mean anything so, you need to just get the fuck over it.’
‘Matt, just ignore him,’ Rec said. She glared at me. I got up,
‘I need to make a quick call, I will be back in a jiffy.’ As I walked away, Matt asked the following question to my lovely Rec,
‘Is he still persisting with that horrible film review blog?’
I went to Borders and lamented the poorly organised comic book section, and so much Manga. Poor, so poor. I procrastinated there for as long as I could, and then found them again at the café, both looking rather light-hearted, as if they had been laughing. Laughing a lot.
‘…and you should have read his review about There Will Be Blood,’ Rec burst out laughing. They seemed to be rather jolly.
‘That film was brilliant,’ Matt said.
‘I know, but Steve… you know Steve. Oh hello there Steve.’ She looked at me, and then returned to Matt, ‘He tore it apart. Well, he tried to tear it apart. He could only do so as much as he could understand the film. The review was terrible.’ Matt burst out laughing and touched Rec (probably for the umpteenth time).
‘Listen,’ I said sitting down, ‘It was a well made film, sure, but it was boring as hell. Why was it so slow, and what was with the performance of Day-Lewis? So ridiculous…’
Matt counted, ‘How can you say that Steve? It was amazing. One of the best films I have ever seen. So masterful, and brilliant. Daniel Day-Lewis was amazing in that role, and how he missed out on the Oscar…’
‘..Oh Oscars, why is everything measured by Oscars.’
‘Thank you Steve, for interrupting. It was a superbly made film, so reminiscent of Kubrick. The score as well, was breathtaking in its ability to add to the story telling…’
‘I hate it when you see that guy,’ I later said to Rec. She was brushing her teeth at the time. ‘Not only is he a loser – he can’t stay in a relationship for more than 6 minutes – he is constantly hitting on you. He touches you, and the way he looks at you… I fucking hate it.’ Rec glared at me, and washed her mouth out. As she walked out of the bathroom, she said, ‘Steve, I hate it when you talk to me when I’m brushing my teeth.’ She went into our room, and slid into bed.
‘Do you not agree though? He has a thing for you?’ She kept ignoring my comments, making herself comfortable. She grabbed her book. I took my shirt off.
‘He’s a nice guy Steve, he has trouble with women,’ she then looked at me mischievously, ‘and can you blame him for liking me?’ Rec was trying to make light of the situation, but I wasn’t hanging around for that.
‘Yes. I can. There are millions of women out there. You’re mine. He can go like someone else.’
‘Are we a little jealous there?’
‘Well, yes, I am jealous. I am… I’m… he is a good looking man, in pain, women love that shit. Their hearts melt and they explode in cum everywhere.’
She looked at me in disgust, ‘Steve, you are a fucking animal sometimes.’
‘My point is, women love that sad dog shit. They love it. They want to take the man into their arms and let cry a little and then fuck him!’ I was starting to sweat.
‘You have no idea what women want. Steve, this argument is as flawed as your review of District 9…’
‘…Why do you have to bring that up?’ I yelled.
I stood there, exasperated. Rec put her book down and decided to do what she had to do.
‘Shut up you idiot and listen to me! You have no idea what you are arguing for, or against. You think you’re ideas, or better yet, prejudices are the truth, are fucking gospel. You assume the world is ordered into the Right, Wrong and Fucking-Steve-Says-So. It doesn’t work that way.’
She ripped the blanket off and lept out of bed.
‘Yes, men with feelings are attractive, but so are burly men and men’s men and areshole men and ugly men and hot men and tall men and short men…’
‘..NOT short men!’
‘ … ALL types of men. Even a man like you –with the assistance of a great deal of alcohol, drugs and severe, extreme loneliness on my behalf - can be considered attractive.’
Ouch.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
CountDown by Kate Barnaby
10.
They stand on a balcony, in a Melbourne apartment, waiting with party blowers, poppers and sparklers. Both think about the year gone past, and the events that had taken place between them. So much said and done, so much left to say and do, both too shy to admit it.
9.
Their hands move closer together on the rails of the balcony. The night a few months earlier - it had started off with a major make-out session and ended with a food fight on Elizabeth Street - flashes back into their minds. She smiles at the memory, he scoffs out loud, “Remember when I got sausage roll in your hair?!”
8.
They were as close as brother and sister. And initially, that was their relationship. In the past few months, she had realised that she was falling for him, and wanted nothing more than to start a new year with him. He, who had been there for her. He, who she had scorned unintentionally, before his feelings were known to her. He stands there and accidentally blows his party blower while breathing out, and she laughs at the boyish grin that followed.
7.
He had loved her since the very beginning. Well, almost. He’d never been able to speak so freely to someone in such a short amount of time, but she fell for someone else. He was always there for her though. Their last kiss was at Christmas. She was drunk and upset and he was angry. He helped her into a cab, and they kissed again. He needed time. She would wait for him.
6.
They were no longer angry when she came back from her Christmas holiday. It was so easy to slip back into the comfortable friendship they had before the fight. Now there was this new vigour between them, they sat closer together, held hands or hugged or brushed against each other more often, and were making plans to go to the movies, to hang out and get stoned, and to, subconsciously, just be together. Although too embarrassed to be the first to say it out loud, they are happy.
5.
Others come out onto the balcony with champagne corks ready to fly, stumbling from the pre-countdown consumptions. She is pushed into him. “Shit!” he cries, “you jumped on my foot!” Silly, clumsy girl was always doing things like this by accident. A nice girl, not at all classy, but proud of that fact. She puts out her cigarette and hugs him to apologise. He kissed the top of her head in forgiveness, and rests his chin on the top of her head for a moment.
4.
He moves away from her but doesn’t let go of her hand. They stand subtly, secretly, holding hands on the balcony. Images run through their minds, past events and the wants of the future. They were laughing, play fighting, making love, making out, making nachos while drunk. They can feel what they think is just nervousness, drunkenness, but its more than likely an energy, a spark between them. He sees her smile out of the corner of his eye.
3.
It’s getting louder, more enthusiastic on the balcony. They both know now what they want, what is the natural progression of their lives. This is it, them, together, for now. He swallows a lump down his throat, and she quickly licks her lips to moisten them. They turn to look at each other, seconds dwindling down to a new year, a new decade.
2.
They stare at each other for no longer than an instant, but there is so much more there. A new year, a new love, a resolution of amazing existences for both of them. It’s about time, she thinks. He pulls her close, and in the dying seconds of the year, he smiles, and kisses her.
1.
They stand on a balcony, in a Melbourne apartment, waiting with party blowers, poppers and sparklers. Both think about the year gone past, and the events that had taken place between them. So much said and done, so much left to say and do, both too shy to admit it.
9.
Their hands move closer together on the rails of the balcony. The night a few months earlier - it had started off with a major make-out session and ended with a food fight on Elizabeth Street - flashes back into their minds. She smiles at the memory, he scoffs out loud, “Remember when I got sausage roll in your hair?!”
8.
They were as close as brother and sister. And initially, that was their relationship. In the past few months, she had realised that she was falling for him, and wanted nothing more than to start a new year with him. He, who had been there for her. He, who she had scorned unintentionally, before his feelings were known to her. He stands there and accidentally blows his party blower while breathing out, and she laughs at the boyish grin that followed.
7.
He had loved her since the very beginning. Well, almost. He’d never been able to speak so freely to someone in such a short amount of time, but she fell for someone else. He was always there for her though. Their last kiss was at Christmas. She was drunk and upset and he was angry. He helped her into a cab, and they kissed again. He needed time. She would wait for him.
6.
They were no longer angry when she came back from her Christmas holiday. It was so easy to slip back into the comfortable friendship they had before the fight. Now there was this new vigour between them, they sat closer together, held hands or hugged or brushed against each other more often, and were making plans to go to the movies, to hang out and get stoned, and to, subconsciously, just be together. Although too embarrassed to be the first to say it out loud, they are happy.
5.
Others come out onto the balcony with champagne corks ready to fly, stumbling from the pre-countdown consumptions. She is pushed into him. “Shit!” he cries, “you jumped on my foot!” Silly, clumsy girl was always doing things like this by accident. A nice girl, not at all classy, but proud of that fact. She puts out her cigarette and hugs him to apologise. He kissed the top of her head in forgiveness, and rests his chin on the top of her head for a moment.
4.
He moves away from her but doesn’t let go of her hand. They stand subtly, secretly, holding hands on the balcony. Images run through their minds, past events and the wants of the future. They were laughing, play fighting, making love, making out, making nachos while drunk. They can feel what they think is just nervousness, drunkenness, but its more than likely an energy, a spark between them. He sees her smile out of the corner of his eye.
3.
It’s getting louder, more enthusiastic on the balcony. They both know now what they want, what is the natural progression of their lives. This is it, them, together, for now. He swallows a lump down his throat, and she quickly licks her lips to moisten them. They turn to look at each other, seconds dwindling down to a new year, a new decade.
2.
They stare at each other for no longer than an instant, but there is so much more there. A new year, a new love, a resolution of amazing existences for both of them. It’s about time, she thinks. He pulls her close, and in the dying seconds of the year, he smiles, and kisses her.
1.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)