Wednesday, November 26, 2008
The other finalist, sam, was no competition, though she did take some great shots.
It's clear this show was not created to breed high fashion models, no matter how many times they mention the word on the show. I count about 50,000. The prizes are all commercial- covergirl, 17 magazine... I am just left totally unimpressed...
The show was just cliche after cliche. Eugh. Though i guess i still did make a point of watching each episode.
I haven't watched other countries versions of the show, other then Australia's and season 3 of that can't be topped. Alice Bordeu, the winner, is a true catwalk and editorial model, the first to get a vogue cover. A Vogue spread is a prize here people! Even though it's Australian Vogue, it's VOGUE, not Seventeen.... Napolean contract etc etc etc. Just seems to have so much more promise. Though a note must be added of the lack of quality of host- Jodhi Meares, Tigerlily designer, other then being a horrible host with not many fashion/model credentials, she just didn't give a shit. Bah Humbug!
If you aren't Australian it's possible you wont know Alice, but here's some proof for the pudding:
Want to see more of the goods she has: Elite Model Management Profile
ANTM you can suck AuNTM's ass, bitch.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
There are endless upon infinite of fashion blogs, many which i am yet to pass and boy do i wish i could be just like those girls! With their photogenic perfection and wardrobe that for some would kill, it makes for fantastic reading whilst one is supposed to be working. Girls with ask of their mothers, why was i born with this hideous nose, why can't i find great clothes like that in this shanty town. Alas, no answers to be had. Girls will cry and moan and yelp and whinge and holler and complain and suffer in vain. Mother, why can't i be like that too? You watch me. i'll try. til death i shall. See above in my avant-garde pose, not showing my entire face. (actually this is me dancing at ladytron in September). Just look at me go...
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Highlight to include-
'daaaaddddd don't play doooonkeeeyyyy kooooooongggggg'
'i diid a poooo'
'wipe my bum!'
(Steve's son- all recorded while the high score game is being filmed).
Ah, it was just blessing after blessing with this film, even though some of it may have been staged, i choose to remain blissfully ignorant and just enjoy the film in all its dramatic wonder.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
I mean who else but Palahniuk can combine sex addiction, colonial american theme parks, jesus' foreskin, kidnapping, a mental hospital, choking on food, rocks, a lot more sex and italian.
Fantastic soundtrack too- Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and finishing off with Radiohead, it was damn bliss.
If i were to recommend a movie for you- it's an easy choice
Monday, November 10, 2008
I am constantly paranoid. Seeing visions of my own death.
Eyes closed in sleep fire covers the sky. Red, burning, flames licking my senses heightened. Open eyes from this dream and still see an aura of piercing crimson.
Walking down the street i see a truck turn a corner and tip, crushing me, decapitating me. The head rolls and bounces and lands at an onlookers feet. I slam my eyes shut, removing myself from this prophecy. They slowly open and in reverse the truck aligns itself with the road, my head rolls back and the sinews and tissue fuse together. I touch my neck and not a mark is to be found.
I take a step further and a sign falls of my head, i fall off the balcony, i’m stabbed by a herion induced case of psychosis.
All i want is to die, peacefully, of old age in my sleep, for a belief i’ve suffered every other kind of death.
Demon behind the teeth
pushes to escape
barred by ivory
Eye contact broken in order to avoid interrogation
Heaving cough and phlegm
stretched to a thin film
Demon grows and shrinks
day to day
Soon bursts to a piercing shrill
Heaving husk continues its discourse to brokenness
Leaving behind an opinion-less but opinionated hole
So it wishes
there once was a puppet, who on the end of 4 strings
sat lonely in a cabinet, forgotten by kings
and queens who had once enjoyed its sweet act
but had called for a servant and ordered it packed
away. The poor lonely puppet blanketed by dust
sought after a companion, be it with or without rust
But, oh alas, and oh my, alack!
all the puppet knew was a sour old jack
in the box. and so dear puppet thought to himself
‘i shall cut my strings to get off this shelf’
and, doing so, he slunk to the floor
unfortunately, to move no more.
Peering forward towards the sun soaked horizon, the blurs of large entities developed into more solid forms. I picked up my pace as I moved towards these objects with fascination. The heat increased with every step and the air thickened to such an extent that I could no longer view the objects in my sight. The wave of heat only allowed for my close proximity to be seen. I had to lay trust in my other senses to guide me. This factor somewhat dulled my enjoyment. I could no longer see the rich colours across the landscape, rather only the brown dust at my feet. As time flew on, closer to midday, the heat continued to escalate. Every movement needed great effort, even breathing was a difficulty. My insides seared as I gulped in hot air with every inhalation. With my head drooped, my sweaty hair interfered with my sight. Beads of sweat trickled down my neck and sizzled on the fiery red ground.
At this point I felt lost, lost in a place I had never before encountered, nor imagined. My movements slowed as I came to an eventual halt. Glancing behind and to my sides did nothing to establish my position. What should my decision be? Turn and walk to the only water source I knew and give up? Remain in the spot and possibly perish? Or continue on, unaware of where I may eventuate?
I could not accurately judge where any of these options may lead me. It was possible that while attempting to return to the start I could be in an even worse position then what affronted me now. It only seemed wise to move forward. And so, with heavy feet I dragged on. The brown colours at my feet intensified, becoming almost black. Somehow they changed to reflect my mood. I no longer wanted to be here, but what other choice did I have? Lost in my own thoughts I did not realise I had reached one of these mysterious objects I had previously seen. Curiosity and wonder led me to examine it more closely. It appeared to be a face, similar to my own, it too melted in the heat. My hands ran up its smooth surface, strangely, it felt alive. Could such a face exist without a body? Along the back lay a clock, its texture as soft camembert. The quiet tick of its moving hands echoed through the vastness of the desert. Encouraged by this strange being and the possibility that an explanation to what this was lay in my path, I continued. My mood had picked up; at least I had achieved something today.
A buzzing sound swooped past my ears and settled on my face. I brushed the fly away and it flew off into the distance. Not until my walking had continued did I realise the oddity of that situation. What could be attracting that fly to this place? Just as Alice was lost in Wonderland; I too was travelling through some kind of dream. But unlike her, I was not so interested in returning home. Not until the meaning of this place was found would I leave. And so, on I walked.
A looming figure of a box appeared, it was hard and solid, contrasting what I had previously seen. I heaved myself to its crest and surveyed what I had just passed through. I could see the cool, blue shallows and the rocky mountain, the soft, contoured face and the accompanying melted clock. They seemed so close within my sights, yet it had taken me all day to reach this point.
I then changed my focus, concentrating on what lay on top of the sandy coloured box. A swarm of ants were moving in a group, so fast I could not distinguish where one finished and the other began. Underneath the mass of tiny bodies a glint of gold caught my eye. Brushing the ants off the surface emerged a pocket watch. And then, there was another melted clock, oozing down the box’s side. A tree was at my right, its roots planted deeply within the box, and on its singular branch, a fourth clock.
This place was certainly peculiar, solid melting as liquid, and metal attracting ants as if it decayed. Surely this is no reality? But what is? I could not be a judge of that. For all I knew I was just part of the imagination of some giant duck that is suspended in space. Chuckling to myself I thought, perhaps it is true. My trek across this vast desert was complete and as the sun set the panorama seemed to glow.
I stepped back from the box, the clocks, the desert and the heat. Every brushstroke was visible as I stepped back from the canvas and viewed my painting. The process had been long and arduous at times, often because of my lack of direction, but, in the end it seemed to just fall into place. And there it lay, complete, my masterpiece, my ‘Persistence of Memory’. My only hope was that someone else would appreciate my risks and effort.
This dear kids is what that was all about:
By the way- this was written over a year ago. Little editing has been done of late. But pah! I don't mind even if you mind.
Fed. Fed fat to make useless
Fed fat to control.
A belief of fullness, wholeness
Those who .refuse. to take the spoon
See the hole in the bucket
Collection of zombies on a fringe of humanity
Lights flicker out into constant neon