the whisper-stream

Blackout.

2012-01-29T04:16:00.000-08:00

TRG and Dub U, Losing Marbles

These words just fall out my stupid mouth; your eyes between the bars recede.

Liabilities.

2012-01-04T03:15:00.000-08:00

Miniature Bridges, Your Mouth
Marty McConnell

What we do in the dark has no hands. No
crossover effect, no good-bye kiss after the alarm.
What we carry in, we carry out, end of story. This
doesn’t even want to be love. Except in minutes
when your face has the shape of my palm and I think
lungful. Let want out with the cat. Returns
and returns, something dutiful. Persistent.
Hold your breath, let it build, let go. This is practice.
I’m losing weight, a bad sign, I’m happy. Serious,
you say. Contained, I think. The cat comes back
with a dead bird to the doorstep, an offering. Bloodless
this should be easy. A two-step to cowboys. You’re beautiful
but that’s not the point.

x

I know my way back perfectly well. Like the back
of my hand, as it were. But look, the labyrinth walls
are high hedge and green. This also could be joy.

xx

I literally don’t know your middle name. Does that
matter? What systems we arrange for intimacy, small
disclosures like miniature bridges, your mouth. Not
what I’d anticipated. Softer. To begin with,
I should tell the truth more. I could miss you,
and that’s a liability.

xxx

I am not often off-kilter. But you’re so silent, even
naked, and almost absent. I hush too, why
are we here? Go. Want to throw things, you, the clock,
break windows until something bleeds and you finally
scream. I tell you too much; we are not
those people. Or nothing–maybe I say
utilitarian fuck. How would that be. I want you
to want to fall in love with me and that’s
unhealthy. Wrong. Leave your shoes by the door
and pretend it’s about the movie. It’s love
in the movies it’s Casablanca and Toy Story
and water no ice come here. Pockets need
to be untucked, drawers thrown open,
nobody’s safe. There, I’ve said it:
someone I was could have loved you.

your silence is like a kiss I feel you

2011-08-24T01:42:00.000-07:00

Underworld, Best Mamgu Ever

A break in the clouds, a brief respite from the chill of winter. Whispers, laughter and endless city streets that murmur, "come and play!"

in the cold light of day.

2011-08-21T07:26:00.000-07:00

Kele, Unholy Thoughts

i met the devil last night
at an after show
and then he led me in a cab

no more cokeheads, no more cocaine
you're getting sloppy
and someone has, someone has to say

here is bad, here is bad, here is bad, here is bad

i hear their thoughts now before they speak
i feel their eyes now go through my soul accusing me
we're only partners between the day
these thoughts they multiply

and one by one become unholy

I needed to believe.

2011-07-28T05:10:00.000-07:00

All I want from life is to be warm, safe and at peace with my actions given my fortuitous position in this world. Sometimes I feel terribly, terribly lonely in believing that being lucky enough to be well-educated, secure and safe gives rise to some significant moral duties as one girl with an extraordinary amount of autonomy, one girl lucky enough to truly express a right to self-determination.

I hate it when people laugh at me for studying what I do - it's this stupid sense of duty that propels me through academia.

Kindness. Understanding. Passion. Selflessness. I just want to be able to look at my hollowed-out, pale face in the mirror and feel like, for once, I've done all that I can. I'm trying so hard - please cut me some slack.

it is the language of the beasts

2011-07-07T05:46:00.001-07:00

Shackleton, Blood On My Hands

Journalists denying climate change science and the following inevitabilities, Rupert Murdoch's media enterprise bribing police and conducting illegal phone tapping and hacking; Australians continue to piss back and forth on the topic of asylum seekers. I met up with a friend who's been travelling overseas for the first time in eight months today and I remember confessing to not reading the newspaper anymore - all of it feels vaguely apocalyptic. Terrifying things happen, wrongs continue to be perpetuated, the world smiles, and carries on. So it goes.

As a younger girl I was always fascinated by the idea that a society so complex and tangible as ours could one day come to an end; these days, the concept seems far too real to think about.

I find myself less and less partial to opening up to others, these days. It's interesting to chart the progression of my personality over the past two years - from a bright-eyed, optimistic and outgoing eighteen year old to the quietly-spoken, moody, perpetually-despondent student I am now. These are the same old complaints, these are the same tired platitudes - what's the fucking point?

Sorry. This isn't quite self-pity, I guess. This year feels like a turning point of sorts. I am standing on the edge of the abyss and it is gazing back at me. (Sorry, Nietzsche.) These days I am almost convinced I know exactly what I want from this life, and how to go about achieving it. The problem is. Well.

baby baby baby

2011-05-06T05:37:00.000-07:00

Mount Kimbie, Maybes

From an Abbey Road debut recorded mere weeks ago. Watch it: absolutely haunting.

I've been bruising really easily of late. Literally and figuratively. Current count is at four: the back of my calf, thigh, on my hip and shoulder. I don't think I have anything to worry about . My head hurts. Panic is beginning to set in.

Anyway.

--

1. Make a list of 5 things that you can see without getting up.
A set of drawers, Logitech PC speakers, various music-related posters, a bookshelf crowded with DVDs, CDs, novels, textbooks and a MIDI controller, and a clothes rack.

2. What was the last album you listened to in full?
Crooks and Lovers by Mount Kimbie.

3. What are you wearing now?
Levis 501 cutoffs I purchased for the reference in Dirty Epic, a Tiffany's necklace from my father, a borrowed black t-shirt, Bonds sloppy joe, tights.

4. What's your dream occupation?
My life would be a lot easier if I could answer that.

5. What do you hear right now?
Inspiration.

6. Who was the last person you hugged?
A boy I know.

7. Place yourself into one of your favorite shows. What would be your job/role on the show?
Intelligence analyst in Section D, MI5.

8. What did you do today?
Lazy day: no work or uni. Breakfast in Prahran, the train home, a session in Ableton, hanging out with James and listening to the Killers.

9. Dog person or cat person?
Both, please?

10. What's something you're looking forward to?
Semester break. James Zabiela at Brown Alley (media pass, excellent). The next time I see your face. Visiting Ikea and record stores in a few paycheques' time.

11. What was the last thing that you bought?
10 x two-hour Metcard.

12. If you could afford to go anywhere in the world, where would you go?
New York, Tokyo, London.

13. Where do you see yourself in five minutes?
Still in bed.

14. Last book you've read?
The Consolations of Philosophy, Alain de Botton.

15. Next movie you plan to see?
Unsure.

16. What's your favorite color?
Blues and dark greys.

17. Favorite word?
Fuck.

18. What is one thing about you most people don't know?
My biggest regret in life is giving up piano at the age of ten.

19. Name a hobby you enjoy.
Music production.

20. Did you replace many questions?
I wasn't aware I was able to.

hurting

2011-04-24T06:46:00.000-07:00

Martyn, Far Away

Almost close enough.

"in the beginning, there was the word."

2011-04-05T21:08:00.000-07:00

Day Three: a song to dance to.

The Chemical Brothers, Swoon

The best things in life, for me, are: the thump of a kick drum. The way my body feels when I'm shaking my arse with my hands in the air, shouting out lyrics into a midnight-coloured sky, dizzy and laughing. The way you smile, the sound of your voice.

"Just remember to fall in love: there's nothing else."

going down

2011-04-05T17:32:00.000-07:00

Day Two: a song that reminds you of somewhere.

Scuba, Latch

I grew up in Preston, a small suburb located approximately fifteen minutes to the north of the Melbourne central business district for the first eighteen years of my life. Things happened: my parents divorced, my grandmother passed away, the house I spent my entire childhood in was sold and my parents both moved out to their own little apartments, far far away. It's been two years and I still miss Preston with a burning fever. Preston is by no means a beautiful or affluent suburb - filled with abandoned lots, barbed-wire and huge, intimidating factories and run-down shopping strips as opposed to well-kept lawns and beautiful houses.

And that is why I miss it so much. All the hours spent wandering around the suburbs late at night, unable to sleep with an iPod to keep me company taught me to appreciate the beauty inherent in urban environments. It's an interesting juxtaposition: even in the discarded cans of Coke crushed into gutters and the blur of headlights along roads amongst stretches of concrete and steel are signs of movement and life. A bird taking flight from a razor-wire fence, the flood of lights switching on as a security system activates itself. It's a study in constrasts that's always fascinated and inspired me.

Miss you, 3072.

innerspace

2011-04-04T00:00:00.000-07:00

Day One: a song for sadness.

Goldfrapp, Gone to Earth

lights in my eyes

2011-03-29T00:41:00.000-07:00

Panhead#002 from Zachary Saitoti on Vimeo.

In new music we trust.

concrete heart.

2011-03-18T06:32:00.000-07:00

Cyantific, 'Empty Streets'

What are you looking for?

chemical brothers live at rod laver arena, 09/03/11

2011-03-17T21:24:00.000-07:00

The Chemical Brothers, 'Hey Boy, Hey Girl'

Before headlining Future Music Festival, still riding the highs from the release of their 2010 big-beat/psychedelic effort ‘Further’, the Chemical Brothers were kind enough to grace Melbourne with a full-length sideshow at the Rod Laver Arena on the ninth of March, supported by Art vs Science, James Holroyd and Zane Lowe of BBC Radio One. I got there about an hour after doors opened and caught the tail-end of Art vs Science, who sounded pretty tight and had the crowd going.

Don’t even get me started on James Holroyd: a total dickhead dropping appallingly bad commerical electro and top-forty rubbish with inane MCing over the top. Didn’t have a working subwoofer, either. Awful, awful. Was vaguely concerned by the fact that the crowd seemed to genuinely be getting into it – Future Entertainment gigs always seem to pull the most obnoxious kind of crowds, but in any case… Zane Lowe played for about forty-five minutes, from memory – musically speaking, a complete breath of fresh air. Rolling basslines; heavy, relentless cuts of deep house and minimal. Moody, evolving and always surprising, but not overwhelmingly so: an excellent build-up for the main act of the night.

The Chemical Brothers started around nine-fifteen and literally did not stop their aural assault for a full two hours. Aural assault of says it all about their set, really: a nonstop, absolute riot with a crowd of bodies that couldn’t stop dancing madly for the whole set. They’re the kind of electronic act that really know how to get a crowd off. One of the main weaknesses of most dance music acts who play live is that their performances can seem really stale and hackneyed – they don’t seem like they’re putting in any effort, it’s just pushing start and stop in front of a laptop or two. Not these guys, though, and I think that’s one of the main drawcards of the Chemical Brothers that puts them up there with the best in live dance music – their ability to respond to the feel of a crowd and work off them was incredible, a total joy to be a part of.

Two straight hours of watching them mix it up, playing both the old and the new with seamless transitions between tracks – everything from Exit Planet Dust to their latest album got love. ‘Block Rockin’ Beats’, ‘Leave Home’ and ‘Chemical Beats’ were highlights that had the old-school ravers rocking out hard, and hearing material fresh from Further was similarly incredible – ‘Horse Power’ had Rod Laver Arena completely letting loose to its roaring synthesisers and immense beats; the heady, unbridled joy of ‘Swoon’ had an ecstatic audience chanting “just remember to fall in love – there’s nothing else” as one, eyes closed and hands in the air.

‘Hey Boy Hey Girl’, ‘Star Guitar’, ‘Galvanise’, ‘Do It Again’ – hit after hit complemented perfectly by the stage setup they’ve developed for their Further tour, featuring video projections and clips from their music videos responding in time with the music, as well as an insane light show. Watching the lights slowly brighten as they made their presence on stage known, surrounded by a cage of lights – whoa.

A complete pleasure and an inspiration to watch – the brothers gonna work it out, indeed.

(Originally posted at Radio Monash.)

choose life on radio monash: episode #1

2011-03-15T19:15:00.000-07:00

Choose Life On Radio Monash, Episode #1 by Autoimmunity on Mixcloud

Join the biggest party happening on Radio Monash this semester - Bill Murphy and Miki McLay are taking over the airwaves to bring you Choose Life, a fun and filthy mix of gratuitous shit-talkin' and the freshest in new music.

Your hosts are Bill, a second-year Science student at Clayton, whose comprehensive knowledge of indie music is rivalled only by his talent for finding a cheeky yet relevant 4chan references for almost every situation; and Miki, loudmouthed, hard-partying quintessential Arts-student cliche and Radio Monash's resident expert on all things in electronic music.

Tune in at 9AM on Wednesdays weekly for an hour-long, no-holds-barred aural assault consisting of the best in everything from techno to trip-hop, indie rock to IDM, dubstep to riot-pop and more. Excited? We sure as hell are, too.

Missed a show? Never fear: we'll be podcasting episodes here on The Whisper-Stream for listening at your leisure, with tracklistings included.

Choose your future: Choose Life on Radio Monash.

unanswered questions

2011-03-06T19:48:00.000-08:00

Kito, 'What If'

Grey days. Where does it all end?

here i am, and there you are

2011-03-06T17:42:00.000-08:00

UNKLE, 'Unreal'

A dyed blonde with a leather jacket and a tan standing on a corner in the depths of the city lights up a cigarette carefully with fingers like glass, waiting for lights to turn green. Junkies and cold hearts on the last train home. Urban living.

set myself on fire.

2011-03-05T22:35:00.000-08:00

vaccine, 'fever'

--

How do I tell you all these things?

hands of silver, hands of gold

2011-03-05T03:02:00.000-08:00

cut copy, 'pharaohs and pyramids'

--

Blinding lights and cold nights. The days are growing shorter and colder but I can't stop dancing.

chrome.

2011-03-01T18:00:00.000-08:00

sonnet xi
pablo neruda

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

it's hard sometimes

2011-01-27T05:03:00.000-08:00

high contrast, 'tutti frutti'

Some days I feel like I can do anything and they're the best.

dead weight.

2011-01-13T03:51:00.000-08:00

autechre, 'r ess'

It's all moving too fast for me. I think I'm ill. Lovesick.

the bells, the bells.

2011-01-09T05:26:00.000-08:00

four tet, 'there is love in you'

I am steadily trying to teach myself guitar. The days are long. It feels like summer. Open notebooks and wandering around the suburbs with the housemate, armed with cameras. Strange and interesting noises coming from Ableton. Remembering good times with a track from one of my favourite albums from 2010.

screaming into the eye of a lens.

2010-12-06T09:34:00.001-08:00

--

Be back soon. Promise.

digging a hole in your neighbourhood

2010-11-26T05:27:00.000-08:00

we are close to each other, the weather is like the wind that blows hard and bothers me

burn in the face of love.

2010-11-07T07:07:00.000-08:00

walking through a paper town, counting all the reasons to burn the others down
seems like every chance i take brings me ever closer to being far away

Surely there must be hundreds of thousands of teenage girls like me, out there. Unfocused, impotent anger with the world at large, an arrogant delusion that there's a quick fix to all the world's problems and all it takes is one pure, focused mind to put it all back into order.

That's what I thought at fifteen, anyway. Now, things are a little different, but some things stay the same. Nothing changes: we are all but a whisper in the passage of time.

"There is nothing new under the sun" was first written in the book of Ecclesiastes and then quoted by Alan Turing centuries later in a paper on the metaphysics of thought and mind. Turing was a mathematician, cryptanalyst, computer scientist and philosopher, who in his writings, focused in particular on the philosophical question of whether it was possible to conceive of machines as having the same abilities as humans, capable of cognitive thought.

While that quote takes on a different context with background reading on the topic, it's still a thought that tends to stick with bitter little girls studying Year 11 Philosophy, such as myself. Nobody should give half a shit about who I am and where I'm going because I'm just another cliche. I'm just another story somebody's already heard. I'm nothing new.

Drop another pill. Write a half-arsed fucking poem about it. Fuck a stranger. Make jokes. Don't take anything seriously. Delude yourself into thinking somebody cares in an attempt to cover up the gaping ache. Kill yourself, inch by inch, measure by measure. When you're nothing but dust, who's going to know what your story was?

it comes out above my head, close to you, close to you.

2010-10-24T07:21:00.000-07:00

photo from OLEJNICZAKmatthew_swin.

A change in pace. You aren't screwed if you don't know anything. You're screwed if you don't know anything and you've lost the passion to learn.

I've finished my very first remix ever. Dance music website Beatport are known for running remix competitions and when I saw that they had released the stems for a song off Underworld's recent effort Barking, called 'Bird 1', it was the kick in the arse I needed to fire up Ableton, force myself to learn it's ins and outs, and get something made. Not that I particularly care about the fact that it's a competition (like any person out there, though: I wouldn't say no to thousands of dollars of new production equipment!) - to be honest, the opportunity to remix an artist like Underworld I'm so in love with and inspired by was something I'd hate myself for passing up. Here is the result:

Underworld - Bird 1 (Autoimmunity Mix).

Inspired by many of the emerging post-garage and dubstep artists I've found myself listening to lately (Scuba, Distance, Vaccine, Burial - and more), I wanted to take the original track and remove many of the elements that annoyed me about the original (that fucking four-to-the-floor beat, ugh!), stripping it back to a clean, minimalistic piece where the focus was on the syncopated rhythms of each section interacting and shifting with each other. The vocals were, for some reason, a struggle for me to work with - which was the perfect excuse to rip most of them out and keep the focus remain on the slowly-evolving and shifting beats.

I also took the liberty of referencing Underworld's earlier work not only in terms of structure and sound, but there's a brief snippet of me speaking that happens to be borrowed from a Second Toughest in the Infants track - I'll be pleased if somebody gets it!

Despite the obvious flaws (the kick-drums have a strange echo to them, the flange applied to the hats doesn't sound right in places - and the pacing could be better, among other things), I'm terribly pleased with the mere fact that I've finally finished something, learnt a thing or two about a very powerful piece of sequencing and recording software, and know now I've got the potential to learn and achieve some really cool things - despite only owning a MacBook and the intro version of Ableton.

Watch this space.

a god that plays dead.

2010-10-09T23:57:00.000-07:00

we sit and we sigh and nothing gets done
so right so clued up we just get old
and all the while been torn asunder
nicotine and bacteria

The days burn out like the final breath of a cigarette, tossed to the side and dreamt away.

a final hit.

2010-10-09T06:52:00.000-07:00

Worthless
by Nick Flynn

My fingers
cling to your shoulder blades now
until fucking becomes
an urging, a way to shake you, gently. How

can I tell you I don't feel
safe, when inside
a man holds bars before his face

believing himself into a prison,
when parrots fly from his open mouth
as he tries to speak, repeating worthless,

worthless? I'm trying to love you

but I don't know how, & then
I start to remember we are locked together
& pushing, pushing.

--

"I need one more fucking hit!"

blueski.

2010-09-26T22:23:00.000-07:00

no-one must know, judith pordon

You lean to my side
tickling my desires.

Below my clothes
I quiver in infinities.

Others lean towards us.
Do they sense

your exhale is my inhale,
your out, my in?

We sit motionless
but betray ourselves,

glancing around
to see if anyone is looking.

and when i dream, i dream of you.

2010-09-15T07:54:00.000-07:00

"Limerence is an involuntary cognitive and emotional state of intense romantic desire for another person. The term was coined by psychologist Dorothy Tennov to describe the ultimate, near-obsessive form of romantic love. Limerence is sometimes also referred to as infatuation, or is colloquially known as a crush, but in reality it is something much different. In common speech, infatuation includes aspects of immaturity and extrapolation from insufficient information, and is usually short-lived. The concept is an attempt at a scientific study into the nature of romantic love. Limerence can often be what is meant when one expresses having intense feelings of attachment and preoccupations with the love object. It can be experienced as intense joy or as extreme despair, depending on whether the feelings are reciprocated."

rapture's coming.

2010-09-15T07:32:00.000-07:00

Struggling to breathe. This is like watching myself drowning in slow motion.

slowly.

2010-09-08T06:16:00.000-07:00

The light of day is slowly bleeding away into the streets. The world is silent, waiting for you to move. No birds. Just you.

wishful thinking.

2010-09-07T06:43:00.000-07:00

Naked beneath your gaze. Watching me through glass. Fragile, steady. The train is leaving. Be careful with me.

morning comes.

2010-09-06T05:26:00.000-07:00

Every second is electric around you. You're a golden haze on the horizon above the buildingtops in my eyes, the gentle kiss of twilight across the suburbs. You think my life's a dream - I dream my life away.

silence is returning your voice.

2010-09-04T05:40:00.000-07:00

I like watching you, watching you.

why don't you turn your radio up?

2010-08-30T18:07:00.000-07:00

Writing clears your head in a way that’s difficult to describe. It’s a sense of things lifted from you, a sense of freedom that’s found in the stream of electric things scribbled down in notebooks, on scraps of paper hurriedly, tucked away in coat pockets and drawers. You walk through the streets of the city with ink-stained hands and a secret smile that nobody can read, carrying messages to lovers and friends understandable only to you.

we are the night.

2010-08-05T02:03:00.000-07:00

You're unreachable. Alive, alone.

simple distinctive (floating world)

2010-07-27T04:45:00.001-07:00

My headache pounds with the same force of a kick-drum and my eyes look dark and blank, ringed by circles from exhaustion. The blur of scenery outside the train windows is too fast. I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong.

That said, here are a list of things I am grateful for.

Taking acid on sunny, Sunday mornings with two of my favourite people. Recon missions for pancakes while tripping something shocking and scaring the normals out in the wilderness. The strawberries that came on top of them. Sitting in sunny playgrounds shooting the shit with these two wonderful creatures, playing on the swings and hearing their voices come to me from three metres above the earth, quietly humming You Do Scribble to myself and feeling like a little princess. The sight of a bird's wing splayed perfectly across a glass window in your loungeroom, the way the sunlight lit up every single feather. Wondering at it's beauty as it takes off in flight. Almost falling asleep peacefully on an 9:10 train to Epping and waking up in a glorious sunlit morning, ready to take on the world.

What are you grateful for?

always loved a film.

2010-07-24T22:29:00.000-07:00

Maggie is a doll and I'm a big sister, I'm a little girl, and I'm a little princess.

2010-07-22T04:10:00.000-07:00

The night is deep and the sound of your footsteps make me quiver. I have to remember how to breathe, sometimes.

the sun does not yet know it is a star.

2010-07-19T23:51:00.000-07:00

(photo by matthew strong.)

the rhythm of legs moving in the sun
the rhythm of an engine deep and throaty
the rhythm of a summer that you walked in
the sound of a barking dog on a loop
a plane rises in the crystal blue
the rhythm of keys swinging in your hand
the rhythm of light comin' out of your fingers—

light in the west, light in the east.

2010-07-12T06:37:00.000-07:00

On overdrive. Taking in so many things (small, fragile moments; the beautifully elusive nature of the written word) that it feels as if my heart will collapse under it all. The trick is to keep to the corners and the shadows, quietly observing. Keep breathing. Listen to your thoughts.

descent.

2010-07-08T08:03:00.000-07:00

(photo by ginger caravan.)

Beneath the cold concrete again, halfway through the underpass. An eerie, orange glow cuts across your cheekbones, razor-sharp. In your black coat and wrapped in steely remoteness, you’re the one clear detail in the nightmare.

--

Scuba soundtracking a lot of late nights, recently; the gaps in between consciousness and half-dreams, covered by darkness. Moody, beautifully-produced sort-of dubstep: crisp beats and innovative rhythms, moody and urbane soundscapes. Headspace/innerspace music.

it tastes sweet.

2010-06-30T08:42:00.000-07:00

"We're travellers, you and I," he wrote.

2AM.

2010-06-20T09:05:00.000-07:00

Another cigarette out on the back doorstep in the middle on a freezing Melbourne evening. In this chill, it becomes difficult to tell where smoke ends and condensation begins. I shiver, wrap my free arm around myself a little tighter. The only light on in the house is my bedroom's, cutting through the darkness with a weak glow; the world is still and waiting for something - the sound of your voice riddled with interference, but still there, maybe. A notebook filled with scribble and half-thoughts, fragmented poetics. The perfect silence of the night begs to be cut through. I am patient and I wait for you to take me in.

spin spin sugar.

2010-06-19T08:12:00.000-07:00

Old memories come out to play on the stereo, and for a brief, fleeting six minutes my eyes are closed and - do you remember dancing to this? I'm in Luke's loungeroom again, and for a small moment in time, everything is okay.

and it's okay - you give me everything i need.

2010-06-14T22:32:00.000-07:00

"Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelbaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahn! I feel you!"

—Karl Hyde, 13/06/10

ninety-three years on.

2010-06-02T23:49:00.000-07:00

Wrapped in the chill and silence of June, I find myself aching for long stretches of sunlit concrete and hourless, blurry days and nights. Today is for rain-streaked streets and my too-slim, miserable reflection in glass buildings watching me back from unrelentless grey. I always seem to fold back into myself during the winter.

--

your airplanes
Rachel McKibbens

I.

over breakfast,
my father asks what you see in me.

I bite the inside of my cheek,

shove a forkful of pancakes into my mouth,
notice the salt shaker eyeing my wounds.

II.

you launch "I love yous"
from a Brooklyn fire escape.

they travel 3,000 postcard miles
and collapse into my ear, exhausted.

I pinch their noses,
breathe new life into their lungs,
fold them into airplanes,

send them back to you
and wait.

III.

there isn't a building
taller than two stories
here in Orange County.
not a single fire escape.

no point in jumping.
the worst that could happen
is a broken leg or heart.

this is why the sad kids get
so goddamn creative around here.

the mayor's son rigged his noose
to raise with the garage door
when the Mercedes came home.

a nine-year old leapt into the lion's cage
at Prentice Park Zoo after
her dog was hit by a car.

IV.

on our wedding day,
when I tell you "I do,"

it's because I do.

it's because you understand
how ten-thousand dollar apologies
still keep fathers worthless,

it's because my ribcage expands
every time I think of you,

it's for all the things
you see in me

and pretend
not to notice.

hello, world.

2010-05-27T07:02:00.000-07:00

Underslept and just surviving this haze of days.

ties.

2010-05-26T04:23:00.000-07:00

eating a $5 plate of string hoppers, I think of my father
Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha

snoozing in front of Seinfeld on the beige on beige recliner
his belly folds after years
of american chop suey, hamburgers and Michelob
Nothing
he really wanted to eat
was ever on the shelves
of Iandolli's or the Big D
I think of that man
who cried three times in my life
once when appamma died
once when our dog died
& once when I sent him
a 99-cent package of tamarind candy
& he called me long distance after Ma went to bed
weeping from tasting tamarind
for the first time in thirty years

you haven't seen enough.

2010-05-24T09:19:00.000-07:00

image courtesy museom of dirt.

this is really happening, happening, happening—

you're the one clear detail.

2010-05-24T08:16:00.000-07:00

"They're more impressions really, they're fragments. I always saw it as the way that a drunk would see the city, walking through the streets. That seemed to be the key to a lot of the ways that we put text together; it's just these fragments that you're taking, you're picking up on all the time and I think that's the way we all do it anyway, that when we walk down the street, it's made up of fragments that tell us we're in a particular place."

two snakes in a bed.

2010-05-20T21:06:00.000-07:00

image courtesy big screen satellite.

A little-known fact about electronic music act Underworld: before the release of their groundbreaking first effort, dubnobasswithmyheadman (a seminal record in the canon of dance music), there was a demo version of this first album that was constructed, then distributed among friends and family of Karl and Rick for feedback before they went back to the studio to finish it off, once and for all, that features a number of tracks that never made it onto the final album. Courtesy the lovely boys at RTSR, I managed to acquire a copy for myself and have been spinning it ever since.

One of the tracks on this demo tape that never made it onto the final record was titled 'Big Meat Show' - available for download here.

'Big Meat Show' makes explicit the overarching themes of wild, delirious sexuality running through dubnobasswithmyheadman - a breathless tribute to the fiercely dirty hedonism of midnineties electronica. A simplistic synthesiser and guitar loop meet the thumping rhythms that Underworld are synonymous with; Hyde's Beat-esque poetics are focused here on a dream of a "waitress working in a restaurant" that immediately delve straight into wild fantasy. She asks him to be on a quiz show, but instead, takes him to a makeup room and "starts kissing him all over". It's sex, viewed through the eye of a lens for the pleasure of voyeurs everywhere. Adult filmstars, channel sixty-nine: it's intensely charged and provocative, almost pornographic. Yet Hyde's lyrics are never explicit: he manages to retain an originality of expression that distunguishes Underworld as one of the most credible acts in dance music.

I find it intriguing (but understandable) that this piece never made it onto the final album - lyrically, it's quite a strong piece, but the very basic progression of the track, musically speaking, let it down - it sounds almost half-finished, and a letdown compared to some of the more polished, stunningly adventurous and original tracks such as 'Dirty Epic' and 'Mmm Skyscraper I Love You'. It's still worth a listen, however, for fans of Underworld, casual and obsessive alike. Mmm, yeah. Turn it up: welcome, one and all.

life's a gun that's always pointing in my face.

2010-05-20T02:39:00.000-07:00

A few hours, lost in the alleyways and hallways of the city in the dying light of afternoon, behind the eye of a lens: the best thing I've done for my for my head in weeks.

love, death, and the changing of the seasons.

2010-05-17T17:35:00.000-07:00

We are all our own ruin.

beneath the city.

2010-05-17T16:46:00.000-07:00

For a minute there, little blog, I'd almost forgotten about you. Long, sleepless nights and endlessly grey days: it's been busy.

But today the sun is shining outside, I spent an hour in the city at quarter to seven, photographing the streets waking up, and things are kind of okay. I'll make the effort to update more often, I promise - armed with a photographic ear and a desire for words that shimmer on page, searching through relentless stretches of streetlit concrete and messes of barbed-wire and steel - beauty in the ugly and abandoned. Old comforts.

you never pick up the phone these days.

2010-02-12T07:01:00.001-08:00

A very first attempt at putting together a song, constructed entirely from Mixcraft samples. Told you I was serious about getting into this music-making thing!

'half-moon rising', the autoimmunity project.

A meandering, rain-soaked ambient piece. I know it's flawed (the bassline is completely off in the last minute or so in the song) and not even finished (needs a proper ending and some lyrics I have written), but I'd absolutely love to hear some feedback on this.

and boeing jets, in the sunset make glowing twins.

2010-01-25T05:09:00.000-08:00

I keep finding myself in dark places. Alleyways, gazing out onto midnight streets in the city. Walking past alcohol-fuelled rage and fights down near Spencer Street. Waiting for the last tram home in the pouring rain. A kiss on an unlit doorstep. Awake at four in the morning, a beautiful boy sleeping peacefully next to me. Navigating through blacked-out streets in the furthest suburbs of Melbourne, just trying to find my way home through pools of streetlight and the calls of cicadas, ringing through the air. It's where I feel most comfortable.

So I made a mix for it, and now it's up on dirtyRadio for you to enjoy. Iconastasia, episode 1: the city is a whore tonight.

In other news: the new Massive Attack tracks I've been hearing are outstanding. In particular, I've had 'Atlas Air' on repeat for an untold number of days. Robert del Naja's half-whispered, half-sung vocals are captivating and hypnotic; tense and threatening and utterly beautiful. Listen here. His words speak subtly of some of the most atrocious things we as a sociey have done to each other: "I know the drill. Got cells to burn. I'm dressed to kill." The whole album, thus far, seems very cohesive in that sense: a look at the darker side of politics and war in the new decade. A fantastic lineup of guest stars (Guy Garvey of Elbow, Martina Topley-Bird, Damon Albarn, Horace Andy, Hope Sandoval, and more) and Massive Attack's usual originality and flair for beats and sounds. Extremely excited for the proper release.

And they're in Melbourne in March, too - oh, this is going to be a wonderful year for me and music.

mmm, skyscraper. i love you.

2010-01-18T07:10:00.000-08:00

I had one of the most beautiful experiences of my life on Saturday evening. Chemicals, beats, some of my favourite people, old and new.

At one point, out of nowhere, I had a Bloc Party lyric stuck in my head: "We're all scared of the future." Everything seemed overwhelming, and I kept wondering: what if this is it? What if it all goes downhill from here? What if my life falls to pieces, what if my future isn't as bright and beautiful as I want it to be? At one point, I almost started crying because I was afraid to verbalise this, because I thought it would make it real.

Then somebody put on a new song, there was a gentle hug from a boy I've grown so close to. And I came to realise that no, the future is entirely in my control. I am going to take charge, I am going to meet a whole slew of wonderful people along the way, keep the wonderful creatures I call my friends right now, and I'm going to do amazing things. I just have this funny feeling, building up inside me.

And we all danced 'til sunrise, we laughed, shouted, span, and I screamed the lyrics to 'Moaner' by Underworld so loudly I thought I was Karl Hyde. We shook our arses and moved our bodies, laid on the floor, mind filled with beats and basslines and let myself fall away from reality into some perfect dream.

Thank you: this, this and this. Thank you, Luke and your generous spirit, thank you James and your big heart, thank you to everyone else for sharing the dream.

I'm useless, but not for long - my future is comin' on.

i think of you when i'm alone like this.

2009-12-21T11:45:00.000-08:00

The body is aching and tired but the brain is wired and whirring, alive and flickering with too much caffeine and staying up all night to get a story written. It was finished at six in the morning, just as the morning light began to peek in through the blinds, so I left the self-imposed prison of my room and escaped into the light of the early morning.

The smell of eucalyptus and soil, heavy in the air. Traffic gearing up along the main road. Birdsong. Hot-air balloons. floating distantly on the horizon. On the top of the bridge my tummy begins to cry out for food - home, I go. I promise myself that I'll do this again, but properly, very soon.

SLEEP.

save your light for darker days.

2009-12-16T05:11:00.000-08:00

photo © ziz.

Twenty minutes to the next Hurstbridge train at Parliament station. I step outside the station for a cigarette, from underground, up to air, sitting down on the steps still warm with the unrelenting heat of the day. Moths are gathering around the bluest streetlight, strong above me. I spark up; inhale, exhale.

Nineteen minutes.

Song on repeat for the commute home: Digitonal, 'A Lighter Touch'. This gorgeous, warm, simplistic ambient piece speaks of comfort and of sweeter things, to me. Things I've been missing.

Home, and the ceiling fan is going strong above me, the lights are all out. The heat of the day is still going strong. I think I'll let Alison Goldfrapp sing me to sleep tonight.

it makes it melt away.

2009-12-01T06:21:00.000-08:00

I was in a filthy mood all day long, but it dissipated once I left the house and walked into one of the clearest twilights Melbourne has blessed us with in awhile. Funny, how that works out. There was coffee with an ex-boyfriend and later drinks with a friend of ours and I left feeling remarkably healed.

There's light to be found even after darkness has made its way into the backstreets and suburbs and city. The midnight commute home tonight was full of it. The train turning away from Clifton Hill, gaining speed, passing the last city-bound train for the evening lit up, illuminating the few and far between faces of the night's last commuters. A full moon hanging low and sweet in the sky. The digital clock at Bell Station, reading 12:11AM. Stars, strewn all along the horizon, dimmed by the glow of the CBD's light pollution. The blur of late-night traffic along Bell Street. Somebody's security lights flooding the street with its paranoia as I walk past their front yard. The shimmering, moody, joyful beats in my headphones, put on repeat, meshing with my steps, my heartbeat. A curious feeling of warmth in my heart.

The light is everywhere - it's just a matter of looking for it.

the traffic never slows.

2009-11-30T07:13:00.000-08:00

Despite the day-old headache, I roused myself out of this apathy and went for a walk around my suburb at eight and went for a walk around the suburbs this early evening with a Canon 350D. Twilight sinking gently into the backstreets of Preston. Barbed-wire fences, ageing industrial wastelands, metal degrading and decaying everywhere. I grew up here and despite the ugliness of it, it's my home and I adore it.

--

Few days ago I discovered a note a good friend had left me in my phone, back in September. I never wanted to be your rolling train; I never wanted to be your dancing shoes. I love surprises and I love that boy.

--

Plastic cups. Burn holes in the carpet. Full ashtray.
Your breathing. Your breathing. You're still. You're still.
Still here. Still here.

Film photographs. Negative images. A ghost of you,
resting against my back. Late spring rain.

Quiet flat. Open windows, impossible night.
Spinning fan. I could recognise that laugh anywhere.

Swallow hard. Against me. Against me.
It's no good.

--

Dashed off, quickly, in a fit of sleeplessness. Right now I'm just writing and writing and writing, knowing that most of it is bollocks, but hoping that with a lot of time and a lot of practice, something of not-entirely-dubious quality will reappear again. I'm looking forward to properly getting my jam on with Luke. Downloaded a copy of FruityLoops a few days ago and gave it a whirl tonight - it's a complete mystery to me, at the moment, but with the guidance of a good friend and some sweet beats, I think we could be on our way to making magic. The dream: I am living it!

the ocean calls us.

2009-11-26T20:26:00.000-08:00

maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach (to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and

milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.

for whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it's always ourselves we find in the sea

--

Off to Eildon for the weekend. Happy birthday, Calum. See you on the flipside.

all your sundays come back to haunt you.

2009-11-26T02:27:00.000-08:00

you're a razor-wired beauty.

(For those unfamiliar with the program, for which you should be ashamed: Spooks. Ros Myers. The fiercest woman on television right now.)

haze.

2009-11-25T04:18:00.000-08:00

© skydiveparcel.

Here comes another change in pace. I've been reading Karl Hyde of Underworld's daily blog, thoroughly enjoying the idea of day-to-day posting with images, too. It's a lovely, personal look at the innerspace of one of my favourite artists. I love his openness, the way he's so willing to share with his fans - it's not something you often see. (And obviously, I'm not stalking his online presence at all. What sort of a creep would do that?)

The last few days have been headaches and nausea. I'm doing something wrong, though I can't pin down what it is, exactly. Too many cigarettes, coffees, too much stress and apathy, not enough food? (I need to learn how to cook, and properly, too.) Who knows. My creative output has hit a standstill: full ashtrays, blank pages. Haven't touched my Canonet QL17 in days, or figured out how to get my photos off Dad's Canon 350D, and left my friends at the Corner Hotel when the the headache (hi, mum, are you having fun, and now are you on your way to a new tension headache?) became too much.

I waited forty-five minutes for an Epping train at Flinders Street Station before disembarking at Bell and walking home in the cool and darkness of a late spring evening. Strange how those small things can be the sweetest moments of life - the backstreets of Preston, singing 'Born Slippy.NUXX' loudly, raucously to the dark and empty streets - well, empty, until I realised I was walking towards a twenty-something male who looked rather disconcerted and bemused at the sight of me. I crossed the road, unlocked the door and entered my house, still riding the high of Karl Hyde and Rick Smith's delightful grooves. I'm going to make it to Romford one day. One day.

that was yesterday.

2009-10-26T04:16:00.000-07:00

Your breathing, whispering
through the pear trees

outside. Midnight train in
the distance hisses,

with longing. Memory, tissue-thin,
brushing against my eyelids.

in the distance.

2009-10-22T18:01:00.000-07:00

I know loving Richard Siken is what all the cool kids are doing right now, but I couldn't resist.

Boot Theory
Richard Siken

A man walks into a bar and says:
Take my wife–please.
So you do.
You take her out into the rain and you fall in love with her
and she leaves you and you’re desolate.
You’re on your back in your undershirt, a broken man
on an ugly bedspread, staring at the water stains
on the ceiling.
And you can hear the man in the apartment above you
taking off his shoes.
You hear the first boot hit the floor and you’re looking up,
you’re waiting
because you thought it would follow, you thought there would be
some logic, perhaps, something to pull it all together
but here we are in the weeds again,
here we are
in the bowels of the thing: your world doesn’t make sense.
And then the second boot falls.
And then a third, a fourth, a fifth.

A man walks into a bar and says:
Take my wife–please.
But you take him instead.
You take him home, and you make him a cheese sandwich,
and you try to get his shoes off, but he kicks you
and he keeps kicking you.
You swallow a bottle of sleeping pills but they don’t work.
Boots continue to fall to the floor
in the apartment above you.
You go to work the next day pretending nothing happened.
Your co-workers ask
if everything’s okay and you tell them
you’re just tired.
And you’re trying to smile. And they’re trying to smile.

A man walks into a bar, you this time, and says:
Make it a double.
A man walks into a bar, you this time, and says:
Walk a mile in my shoes.
A man walks into a convenience store, still you, saying:
I only wanted something simple, something generic…
But the clerk tells you to buy something or get out.
A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river
but then he’s still left
with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away
but then he’s still left with his hands.

one-line poetry.

2009-07-16T06:56:00.000-07:00

Taking a cue from Ian McBryde - one of my favourite contemporary poets. (Melbournians do it better!)

Curtains astir in the burnt-out house.

Light in the west, light in the east.

I am setting fire to the school gates.

It isn't the wind which moves the playground swings, by night.

The nightmare, again. No safe harbor.

A loaded quiet, before the spark.

The haze and mist of rain over an abandoned London.

Car crash on camera. Glass, metal, pixels.

hide and seek.

2009-06-27T01:38:00.000-07:00

Stranger's backyard, unfamiliar
plum tree. Blossoms, floating in the wind. You
and the night's stars, my anchor.

february.

2009-06-27T01:26:00.000-07:00

metal kitchen sink
open window; close, dense heat
distance, between us

the buzz surounds.

2009-06-05T19:42:00.000-07:00

Somewhere in this vast and
impenetrable night: a light,

switched on, a room filled
with the dull hum of a a

refrigerator. You, asleep on
the kitchen table, cloaked

in uneasy dream, awaiting a
call that will never come.

saturday night smirk.

2009-05-17T06:57:00.000-07:00

Deception comes all
too easily to girls like
you. Filthy lipsticked

mouths, glass eyes, a cold
passion for nothing at all.
Pilot light sparks out.

origins.

2009-04-29T08:08:00.000-07:00

I'm terrible at updating this thing. Have been neglecting writing; moving out, work, friends all conspire against me. Fate is a cruel and harsh mistress!

If you know me, you've probably read this poem before. I'd count it as one of my favourite poems, and it's what the name of this blog is taken from.

The Whisper-Stream, Ian McBryde

No city sleeps. Weeds defeat concrete. The blood
runs and everyone comes from elsewhere, citizenless,

without an address. The midnights pass. Wheels spin,
sleek vehicles peel off just before the lights go green.

Justice weeps for itself, alone at home, wherever that
once was, if ever. Blackness gathers, falling on these

red rooms, this darkened carnival. One will stay, one
hastens away. High-rises wait. Abandoned blocks exhale,

safer places hold their breath. That which heals us also
rips us in half. The cruel bruise, the rack, the broken

back. Scarred shoulders in mirrors. The slaughterhouse
calmness of tired men lunching with their stun guns

on the table. The cave, the castle; there is no difference.
Long splashes of shadow over single women breasting

their children close in cold, lonely kitchens, believing
nothing they are told. Racks of candles reduced to stubs

in untended empty churches where there is nothing left
to confess. Bandages, triage, sirens. The dripping wall.

Everyone in hell wears kevlar. We all are coming back
from nowhere. Regret. Revenge. Truth rules the gutters.

All of us arriving in from nameless, nightshift places.
Blood runs. The messages are banking up. No city sleeps.

a gentle hum.

2009-04-21T08:23:00.001-07:00

Somewhere on the other side of this wide night
and the distance between us, I am thinking of you.

'words, wide night' by carol ann duffy.

as i look into your eyes, i'll pay no mind

2009-04-18T03:15:00.000-07:00

Unkle feat. Ian Brown - Be There
Uploaded by shinri-ikeda

Independence is not freedom, and the tracks lead nowhere.

thames river (for ruth).

2009-04-11T22:11:00.000-07:00

Flat, gray river light;
ash-dark skyline. Postcards from
Paris, Prague, Naples.

12:18am.

2009-03-31T07:10:00.000-07:00

Rain against the glass.
All is dark. Your voice, lost, in
a haze of static.

(Here begins my attempt to write a haiku a day. Watch and laugh!)

i still remember.

2009-03-24T06:42:00.000-07:00

(Not quite sure where this photo came from! It's not mine, in any case.)

Nightly: a rollcall

of names, a medley of whispers,
sirens through the cold
clear night. Locked windows. Ghosts
in my bed. A blur of light

though the glass,
some distant dream. Fingerprints.

can be sweet, though incomplete.

2009-03-23T06:22:00.000-07:00

and the frames will freeze
see me on all fours—

—it's been a long time.

Another late night, though this time not out wandering the streets of Melbourne. 'Inertia Creeps' is one of the singles off my favourite album ever, Mezzanine by Massive Attack. I recall a review of it describing it not as dark, but light-absorbing, and I think that's just perfect. Tense, volatile, and moody - the band went through some serious internal conflict (which, if you're interested, you can read about here) throughout the making of this album, and it's reflected in the feel of the album. It's the sort of record you need to listen to with good headphones - with heavy bass, of course - in a darkened room, at two in the morning to really get into. Do yourself a favour: acquire a copy and follow my instructions. Maybe go for a walk in the evening and plug yourself into it. Lose yourself. You will not regret this.

a change in pace.

2009-03-16T06:14:00.000-07:00

© dyspeptic at deviantart.

I bring you: Bloc Party lyrics. (Stop looking at me like that.) While I'm not usually into this sort of indie-hipster music, it's undeniably well-written and goddamn, is it good to dance to or what.

i was sitting on the roof of my house
with a shotgun and a six-pack of beers
(six-pack of beers, six-pack of beers)

the newscaster says the enemy's among us
as bombs explode on the 30 bus
kill your middle-class indecision:
now is not the time for liberal thought

so i go hunting for witches
i go hunting for witches
heads are going to roll
i go hunting for—

in the nineties
optimistic as a teen
now it's terror
airplanes crash into towers

the daily mail says the enemy's among us
taking our women and taking our jobs
the reasonable fool is being drowned out
by the non-stop baying baying baying for blood

so i go hunting for witches
i go hunting for witches
heads are going to roll

i was an ordinary man with ordinary desire
i watched tv, it informed me
i was an ordinary man with ordinary desire
there must be accountability

disparate and misinformed:
fear will keep us all in place.

Singer and lyricist Kele Okereke on 'Hunting for Witches':

"The 30 bus in Hackney, which is just around the corner from where I live, was blown up. [That song was] written when I was just observing the reactions of the mainstream press in [the UK] and I was just amazed at how easy it’d been to whip them up into a fury. … I guess the point about the song for me is post-September 11th, the media has really traded on fear and the use of fear in controlling people."

So I'm in a little bit of awe with how sharp and insightful this track is. Opening with a haze of disjointed voices and white noise, as if one is shuffling through radio stations, receiving a mess of static instead of information. The lyrics have an almost absurd quality to them: "sitting on the roof of my house / with a shotgun and six-pack of beers", and the references to witches. And yet there's an element of reality about it: we've gone "hunting for witches" in a way that mirrors the witchhunts in Salem such a long time ago - demonising the Middle East, stirring up panic and hysteria and fear, lapping up the lies and spin fed to us by politicians and the media. And that bomb on the bus really did go off, those planes crashed into the Twin Towers. Nightmare and reality: it's as if they're becoming almost indistinguishable from each other.

I'll go to bed now.

along flinders lane.

2009-02-26T08:18:00.000-08:00

Yesterday: a whisper, a stirring
along the pavement,

the movement
of cigarette butts, paper bags,
discarded faith.

Another step down this lonely
laneway. I tilt my face and

catch a first glimpse of sky.

that was just a dream.

2009-02-14T05:01:00.000-08:00

this shoreline, our shipwreck; our
only solace. the light doesn't

think to find us here. time's endless
drift, through my fingers. your

pale shoulder, your luminous
glow. nothing pains me, now.

---

I'm quite enjoying this already. This piece feels awkward and childish to me, but it reminds me of a dream I had and somebody important to me, so. WHAT-EVER.

after the bomb drops.

2009-02-13T05:09:00.000-08:00

Shattered glass. Skeletons
of steel. An unfinished
message, scrawled

on the burnt-out buildings
the trains never pass,
anymore. Your voice

echoing in the blank
space, folding back in
on itself. Twilight; back to

dawn. Light, dancing
nakedly, openly,
in the streets where we

once could have. The
sirens have long since faded
into the gray. The view

from this bridge
is no longer beautiful. Oxygen.
Neon. Underground.

(Keep this secret.)

--

So, hi. For those who don't know me: Miki (female, Japanese-Australian), seventeen, a reasonably-proud inhabitant of the city of Melbourne. Assuming this blog is updated more than once, I foresee it being home to a mishmash of my poetry, photography, artwork, and half thought-out musings. It's lovely meeting you.