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Tuesday, May 31, 2005
document1: Lethargy Listen to poem here... Charles Bernstein reading and talking about poetry Listen here... Sunday, May 29, 2005
Rebuilding a man a mind in twelve days with drugs and junk of that nature doesn't work I will rebuild this man my father with words My father is a black hole in the universe of my existence To know him to build him to come out the other side of him If it is all of him I create then where is there me? Another side of the universe The universe of another side The universe is one unilateral verse We have our universe and no other To create a man my father is to detail uninhabitable burning planets and gas It is called space for a reason His Sun is his father orbiting eternal questions orbiting Shooting crashing stars and comets Saturday, May 28, 2005
It Has to be About Everything (View video here...)  Watch until the end, then go read Matt's various posts on The Corby Trial. This video isn't neccesarily about that case, but it is a thread in my day. Conversations with Matt I've had in the last week about video blogging, my last two video posts, art, the media and the choice of the individual all shape the content of this vlog. I try to cover everything, hence the title.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
When I receive mail mail, it means one of three things: a) I have bills to pay. b) Something I have purchased has finally arrived. c) I've won something. The letter I received today reads as follows: Dear David Re: 2005 Alan Marshall Short Story Award I am pleased to advise that the judge, Mr John Jenkins, selected your story for distinction in the Open Section of the 2005 Alan Marshall Short Story Award. He was impressed with the number and quality of stories entered in this year's competition and has recommended the following awards and commendations: Open Award: First Prize In Shadows, Bill Collopy Highly Commended Seven Bob Head, Suzanne McCourt Alaskan Swan, Sian Eldridge Commended Naked Nicholas, David Maney And?, Patrick Cullen The Line, Phil Guy Patsy's Magic, Gwenda Ennis White, on White, On White, Andrea Dawson Venus Descending, Allan Mackay I'm currently editing Naked Nicholas for university, so all the logic flaws and odd bad phrasing that are obvious now, will get fixed. It is a pity that I didn't win because the prize was money, but I know the story I submitted was far from perfect, which is what I thought when I sent it off . This was the first competition where I had to enter in the Open Section. 450 entries were received. Judges Comment on Naked Nicholas: "Naked Nicholas uses experimental techniques to intriguing effect." This could also read, "we know it's good, but we don't exactly know why." Read Naked Nicholas here... Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Signs to What? (View video here...)  Music: Walking the Cow Daniel Johnston, Highway Blues Marc Seales/Ernie Watts, (If anyone knows the artist of the last track, let me know) Wednesday, May 18, 2005
 This is a vlog is responding to Kristina's question, "What do you like?"
 ________________________________________________________________________ Edition One Reiki and Booze: Unleashing the Sub-Conscious By Oscar Michaels Late last week, on the Upper East Side, I was caught amidst the stupidest conversation. I have since forgotten what this conversation was about, if it even existed in the first place. It was my first time at The Havelock. Upon initiation I now give it a wonderful ocker slur and call it the ‘Havey’ like everyone else. Everyone else being the pretties, hotties and blokies that frequent such a place on a Thursday night. Weeknight bingers and boozers – my sort of crowd – or so I thought. ‘Cause I am not cool. Hell, I don’t even know if cool is still the right word to be labelling these people. I am a geek. I was wearing a salvo-come-retro-chic brown shirt and a brown vest! I dance like everyone’s watching. I talk like somebodies listening. For fuck’s sake! I study Reiki. Rei is the flow of the universe, Ki is the individual energy system, Odd is the girl who I talked to most of the night. Scratch that, talked to for five minutes, then awkwardly kept on [accidentally] bumping into in every secluded corner of the room. I pretend now that I wasn’t “accidentally” bumping into her. I was out of sync with the universe. My aura needed a good raking. She was short-ish, almost podgy, wore a miniskirt and I didn’t want to keep on kissing her, but I did. I had assessed her group of friends from my vantage point, atop a table, where I was dancing, meaning, yes, I was table dancing. Her and her friends stood in a circle sipping at their raspberry vodkas and other sweet concoctions. The girlfriend circle: the impenetrable fortress for every single man. If you step in you’re surrounded, they can shoot you down from all sides. This is why men form groups, I guess, to make such attempts easier. The weight of numbers reduces casualties. I had no blokies by my side that night. And I was surrounded by taller blokies, all wearing salmon t-shirts with indecipherable scribbles of quasi-intellectual-meets-Jean Paul Gautier writing on the front. Salmon is the new fuck head. And that is how/why I ended up on the table with shirt being ripped off, whipping myself with my own belt – to get attention. My sister was on the other side of the room talking to a salmon hater as he remarked to that guy on the table dancing. She later told me she claimed me, said I was her own blood. I don’t need to be claimed, I need to be saved. By the time the bar bitch was standing on the counter pouring tequila and lime down people throats, my throat, I had already stuck my tongue down Odd’s throat five times, once in the genital room. Stinking of urine and booze, we made out in the cubicle – romance for the new millennium. By this stage I was suitably lubricated and needed to go home and heal myself. My Ki was all out of sorts and I needed a prescription of Chi to fix myself up. To harness the Chi, when drunk, should be reasonably simple, one would think. Reiki is all about letting the sub-conscious guide the Chi to where it is needed. Seen as I was barely conscious and had no conscience the path to enlightenment would appear to have been a simple meditation away. The only thing my body was guiding was the beer-vodka-food-stomach acid concoction. I drunkenly vowed to never drink again. I woke up at home, in my shower cubicle, naked. In the midst of healing myself I must have passed out. And it seemed, at this early stage of the morning that the only thing my Chi had re-invigorated was the only thing I was thinking with the night before. I was drunk, high, and emitting low spiritual vibrations. The spiritual vibrations of one individual attract the vibrations of another. High for high – Low for low. And at my lowest I met this girl, Odd. I won’t call, I won’t care. I’m starting to familiarise with myself again. My heart chakra is all clogged up. People will lay their hands upon me to heal and I will be a spiritual brick wall. Self-improvement will consist of a fake tan and deodorant. I have no job. I’m spiritually barren, emotionally repressed yet suffer from emotional anxiety. My version of self-healing is masturbation. Welcome to the slow lane.
Monday, May 16, 2005
The Calculation is Longer Than the Prize If each word took one minute, this poem, so far, would be twelve of my life. And my life, so far, would amount to 6,135,26400 words. Saturday, May 14, 2005
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Monday, May 09, 2005
 Matt "On the Hyperlinkage and the Evolution of the Species" At our final Mount Gambier High School Performance and Presentation our Principal proclaimed that Matt was a genius, to the entirety of school body who cared enough to endure such a function. I still remember a distinct *guffaw guffaw* in my head set (I was stage manager) as the principal read the third of his fifteen or so pages. After all awards were given (most which Matt could win, he did) someone asked me if I thought he was a genius. At the time I think I gave a very inarticulate answer to, if memory serves me, my father. My answer may have been subdued by the insuation that I was somehow jealous of Matt's success, which to some extent is healthy because his achievements are to be envied, but not to be labelled with the treason of jealously. As Matt highlights in his vlog the movement towards a visual literacy is a slow one, and as such, most are amazed by someone who can create with such a medium. Not to take anything away from Matt's formative years of filmmaking, but I think he would agree that there was a lack of a critical eye for him to gauge his progress. Similarly, I lacked a gauge of my progress, thus made no progress besides my own self-loathing and the loathing of everyone else around me. This is where I define a difference between Matt and I as artists as well people. At the moment, Matt's funnel evolution would see me lagging at the second stage of evolution with the funnel tipped the 'right' way up for the intake of information, but still trying to squeeze it through the small pipe of the funnel. Matt and I occupied a dressing room as an office in our last year of high school. While I was busy inspecting my reflection in the mirror, Matt seemingly noted all three mirrors on the wall and how one mirror could reflect him, while the others reflected a world where he wasn't present. A quality I suspect it will take me a life time to absorb and become evident in my attitudes towards art and life. Any pleb can realise the accumulation of knowledge, but absorbtion is the developement of intelligence. So if someone were to ask me if Matt is a genius now, I would have to explain that genius doesn't stop at the point of proclamation. That certain genius can't come from any external influence, similarly, can't be relied on to be extracted from within. Short of a reply from Matt I can only determine from the way I think we looked at the mirrors defines the way we want to create our art, of course noting the different ways we express ourselves. But of course, "an artist creates no matter what the canvas". But of genius, I suppose it is only something we can want to grow into. And inaction, I remind myself, is not the action of genius.
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Monday, May 02, 2005
Titles: (for films, poems, songs, books and my day) South East Funeral Services The Poetry of a Priest Holding Back on the Second Coming Monopoly Value System A World Created Before Bananas Were the Favourite Fruit Indulge No Back Story Stumble Across Me A Hangman’s Notebook Letters for a Noose Mackelby McKee Makes the Following Point 3 Cracks on the Left Boring Bits of Dramatic Tension Start---- Humour ---- End Exit Domestic Happiness A Jockey Whips Skippety-Doo-Dah So You’re in a Cult Now… Well Used Sound More Bricks than the Wall Cult Films Have Cults Attached Overlapping Here and There Mild Mannered Librarian? A Plan of Surprise Order and Respect: Other Curves Kick, Push, Raise I Arrived Early and Came Late A Small Hunched World of Dull Bliss I Done Nothing Today Eloquent Pelican I Ate a Whole Loaf of Bread in an Hour Thug Baker Feed the Addict Throw a Fit Bobby-Jean Dead in his Mother’s Penthouse Ex Iron man Trevor Hendy and the Finance News Report Go to Woe Shorter than the Break Itself This is a Scientific Assessment Woman/Blanket I Have a Knife but I’m not a Chef Learning Through Negative Experience One Still in the Moving Image Nice Affable Guy World of Road kill Foot Squeezed in a Shoe Abyss of Longing Suffer Blonde Maggot All Out Bob When the Second Shot Pitches See Harassment under H Space Refund Supreme Hero Pattern The Day Off Return Complicate Twist Apathetic by Design All the Time is Boring The Vendetta of Two Dogs Up, Down, Out and In Again Another Sheet of Conflict New Words for the Same Problem One More Medium Irreversible Conclusions Begin Huddle Blood Surgery To House a Bomb in a Pizza Box (x) Questions Answer to Question Question I Have Inner Conflict Sit Away from the Door Mr. Untrust The Ceiling is White in the Test Field Hot, Hot Days Video Junk Quill Crinkle My Page Going Ons Inside Nothing from the Top Back of the Head So You’re Dead? Nitpicker Remedy The Judge is Corrupt Yamamoto Changes His Name to Chuck My Face is Covered by a Book More Rooms are not a House Chew Paper Negation / Negation This Room is Not on This Earth Pillow Stack My Lecturer is a Film Student I am Snot Blotch Chemical Brain Peel Operation: Not Possible He Never Writes, He Never Calls Labels: Jotter The Manifesto of the ‘Post-Disco Floral Soviets’ (A Nonsense Social Club/Revolution) Mission Statement: In retaliation to Voluntary Student Unionism reforms taking place at most universities now and in the near future the ‘Post-Disco Floral Soviets’ are raising money for tight and bright lycra costumes to streamline the bureaucratic bullshit of the establishment. Far from anarchy, the PDFS aim to promote having fun at the egos expense, not the unsuspecting individual. It is a non-violent protest that is for humanity, not against any people or person. We hope to breed hope inside a cold learning institution devoid of quirkiness. NOTE: All activities undertaken by the PDFS do not contain drug substances or sausage sizzle fundraisers - we are kind to cows. Exercise Groups include: - Rollin’ With The Homies (Rollerblading: slalom, around campus) - Flash Mob - Zsa Zsa Gabor Dance Troupe - The Blah Blah Choir - Giggles ‘r Us Group Coming Attractions: - PDFS Revolution Launch Party (Market Bazaar, 18th May) Look for the Launch Pad. - Bad Hat n’ Hair Day (23rd of May) - Circa 1983 Dance Off (30th of May) Non-Profit Merchandise: We supply our members with badges, head bands, shirts and a smile. These items sport such hooks as: “Holding Back on the Second Coming” “More Bricks than the Wall” “So You’re in a Cult Now…” “Learning Through Negative Experience” “New Words for the Same Problem” All funds gathered will go towards the product. This is your revolution, do what you want with it! Sunday, May 01, 2005
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