The Dirkest Hour

Sam Neill and the Cat Police

2011-12-28T10:08:00.000-08:00

I feel eyes
eyes
from Mr Furry Tuxedo
his black and white body
arched up on the corrugated fence.
The cat seems serene
A few houses down
tabby lady turns her head
from the porch
of a front section home.
It’s then I decide
these kitties are in cahoots
Inspector cats
keeping an eye
(eye)
on me.

It was yesterday
that my eyes
rested on Nigel
sparkling and star-struck
such a nice man
He kept my gaze
as we spoke
friendly chat.

Remembering, I can’t
stop smiling
I grinned like a Cheshire
to the watch dogs…cats
of the neighbourhood.

Susie Banshee - a warning (short story)

2011-12-27T10:13:00.000-08:00

There lives a darkness in me. Right inside. In the middle. Knotted around my intestines. In me. I am evil. I bludgeon small animals and poison nuns. I sleep with married men but with grooms. Fresh from their vows of undying love, their lips, arms and all, meet mine. They feed off my beauty. It ensnares them like catnip. I feel nothing for anyone, even myself. I am aware of my power and I wield it like a tyrant. A snake. A serpent. A sea monster with my tentacles reaching out and destroying all within my grasp and beyond. Drowning dreams and kissing fate. I turn wars into candy and heaven is a hell in which I vacuum up all the souls like dirt. Soul-less space cadets mired in their own misery of funk. Drunk on memories. I laugh. I burn. I corrupt what you yearn. I am for nothing. I am against everything. I am your worst nightmare.

Charlotte on Bermondsey Street

2011-12-27T10:11:00.000-08:00

A woman who looked like a blonde Charlotte Rampling just walked past.
If Charlotte Rampling wore cheap leather trousers, had a bad haircut and got fat.
Harsh (massively) or Charlotte chilling out perfectly incognito.
I'm onto you Char.

Short Story

2011-12-27T09:00:00.000-08:00

Caleb woke early. It was still dark out and as he lay still, listening, he could hear the buses had not started. It was before 530 in the morning then. He rolled over uncomfortably. 3 hours sleep. Again. He stretched his body out under the thin eiderdown, his toes poking out the end of the bed. He fixed his eyes tightly closed but he already knew that was it. Three hours for more than a month now. Sleep was not going to come.
He pulled the blankets back and sat up, his legs against the side of the bed, his feet scuffing against the wooden floor, collecting on his soles. He felt exhausted. His entire body felt like he'd run a marathon. How he imagined you felt after running a marathon.
Caleb hadn't experience insomnia this bad before. He felt trapped by it. Trapped in this cycle of vaguely existing. Of breathing but not mcuh more. Of not knowing how to fill the hours of the day. Caleb's days lay open and expansive and made him feel sick trying to understand how he could stop it. How he could be free. He wanted to pick up some more work. That made sense. Use those extra 100 hours his day seemed to contain but he was empty. He was a deflated balloon and had not enough air or colour to do this. To go down to the centre and show enthusiasm or ability. He stood & walked over to the light switch by the door. There was a single bulb on the light and no light shade. The light was too yellow. It was too bright this early.
Caleb closed his eyes, leaning against the faded floral wallpaper. It was nice. For a moment or two, he wondered if sleep was going to come.
Life was never going to be that kind.Maybe it was. But not then. Not just yet. Caleb opened his eyes. He sighed deeply and without warning, he began to cry. The first sob escaped out of his mouth and didn't sound like him. If one was recognised by their sounds of sadness, it was a strangers misery. Caleb felt like a stranger to himself, who had woken up to find this life. Only how could he awake when he no longer slept?
The sob came and opened himself in a way he didn't remember even feeling that vulnerable, that bare before. He cried loudly and outside of himself. He moved his face away from the wall and pressed his hands against the wall, strugglin to hold himself up. He was crying for some time before he even realised why. It was for him. He was crying for him. For the man he could only hope had once loved him for he never had said. He was crying for the man who was the reason he was partly deaf in one ear, a thrashing dished out with much anger and drink and not focused like usual.
He was crying for the man he had feared for more than 20 years. The man who 3 months ago had died alone in his flat. The man who was discovered in his flat only 6 weeks ago. Of course. His father.
He couldn't hold himself up anymore and he dropped to his knees, the crunch of bone against the wood of his bedroom floor. The pain snapped him from his tears and he clutched at his knees, rubbing them.
Outside a bus went by, the driver pressing on the horn so fiercely that if his insomnia hadn't forced him awake, the sound of that would have.
Caleb's wardrobe door was ajar and the mirror that had cracked (and needed a wipe) caught his reflection. He felt pathetic. At his emptiest point. Tipped out. He stood up, rubbing his eyes and then his knees and switched off the light.
He walked back over to his bed and lay down on it, the sun just barely beginning to come up and cast its glow through the heavy green curtains. A happy ending would be that Caleb closed his eyes, reddened into dots by his tears would now sleep all day. Knowing that he was not his father. Couldn't be. Could be but wouldn't be. But he missed him. He realised now he missed him. He had no other family now. And no hope of his dad becoming the father Caleb had always hoped for. Had hoped for. He closed his eyes and though he didn't sleep, not yet anyway, he did dream. And the peace that came was beautiful.

The River That Calls My Name

2011-12-04T06:40:00.000-08:00

My feet lead me who knows where
One in front of the other
Weaving through tourists
transfixed by the history
I now take for granted
I live here, you know.

I jostle amongst crowds of suits & pencil skirts
angling for beer
in city pubs
in South East London
anywhere in this city
that teems with people
and dreams
Some long buried
Some inhaling & inflating more
each day

I still talk different
though even now people can't tell
the difference between
mine & the other country

I do not love this city
But it is part of me
Under my skin
in who I am
who I became
will become
Since I arrived that time ago

I recognise who I was
& I grab her hand
& we run along Southbank
following the river
the river
That has always sounded a peace in my heart
Will have a piece of my heart
Even when I sail away again

On the fence

2011-11-21T13:23:00.001-08:00

Wanting to write to someone. To reach out. But on the other hand, I also think why should I be the one when I never turned away? I may be flawed & may have let people down, but I didn't walk away. I think that's what upsets me most. That people can just throw something away through a feeling of anger or a sense of being wronged without ever trying to fix it or ever realising it was never broken.
So for now, I keep my silence. And simply wish them well.

Old rant I submitted for something that didn't get it but I still agree with myself now

2011-11-21T13:22:00.000-08:00

Every time I'm in the cinema lately, somewhere in between the end of the film trailers and the movie, one of those God awful UK anti piracy campaign ads come on. There's some smug actor extolling the virtues of dobbing in your fellow cinema goers and talking of the preference of "the real experience." Now, I know they're addressing people who record the latest movies whilst in the movie theatre, but it often feels to me a little like preaching to the converted. I'm in the damn cinema, Jaime Winstone. I've handed over about £10 for a ticket and another £5 for food. Clearly, I'm on your side. But it then has the opposite effect on me. Instead of making me feel guilty about the occasional times I've paid for a pirate DVD whilst in a pub, it makes me yearn for some pirate DVD seller to stroll through the cinema aisles with their large bag of treasure and furtive looks. Many a time karma has bitten me and I've trundled home with a nice selection of the latest films to watch in the comfort of my home ("Take that paper bag rustlers and rogue coughers") and discovered that the film is unwatchable and inaudible. Or worse, has people getting up and walking past the screen or coughing within the DVD itself. But often it can be a pleasant experience. I don't agree with theft and I'm aware, to a degree, that buying pirate DVD's is damaging to the film industry and is supporting a network of corruption. However I think rather than lecturing the cinema going public, that should take heed of this demand. Back in the early days of DVDs it was possible to buy another country zoned film, particularly US films, before their cinematic release. This wasn't done at discount prices; In fact, people would pay a premium to view these films in order to see it as soon as possible. Delaying cinematic releases so a studio can get the maximum money out of it is driven by greed and pays for the often exorbitant wages of A List actors. I think the truth is, people buy pirates only partly as they are cheap, but mainly as they simply want to see a movie as soon as they can. When studios cease to rip off the public with their flagrant money spinning efforts, perhaps I'll be more inclined to support the total eradication of piracy.

the beatles/ in my life

2011-11-21T12:54:00.000-08:00

old skool but one of those songs filled with so many memories for me - of school graduation & of my grandad's funeral in Reefton. Remembering always.

Dandy Warhols - We Used To Be Friends

2011-11-21T12:50:00.000-08:00

old skool fuck u tune

The Letting Go

2011-11-20T04:44:00.000-08:00

We hold on so tightly
To the good
To the hurt
To the wrongs done to us
To the past
To the hope of tomorrow

We get weighted down
with expectation
and exasperation
and try to find a port
an anchor
when the waves keep coming

I say to you
That I care.
But I will not be burdened down
by things you do not share
I can not mend
when you do not tell me something is torn

So I hope the waves subside
that the sun comes out
and that you can be happy
And see
that no one is perfect
Not you
Not me
But we can all be happy
When we let go,
it all comes out in the wash

FaceHook

2011-11-20T04:00:00.000-08:00

My friend & I have long bemoaned "those" people who feel the need to share their conversations and undying love via a Facebook wall. Do these people not have phones? Email? The ability to wander into the next room where their beloved is and actually say something nice to their face? Oh no, it's not love unless everyone can see it. It's not special unless you're showcasing it for a select group of 200 friends to marvel at your wife who is "the most amazing woman in the world" or your boyfriend who is "perfect." Before you go saying that my mate & I are clearly just jaded single people who as soon as we meet someone will be posting our amour before you can say "relationship status:in a relationship", I can say no, that won't be happening. Because I think this whole showcasing of a relationship and often, a life as a whole as some people do on Facebook is damaging, shallow and essentially a waste of time.
My friend Dave put it perfectly when he admitted the only person's page he looks at on facebook is his own. I think the majority of people are the same but there's those people who paste up pictures of their "amazing dinner" or "fabulous views" and rather then feel like that person is actually excitedly sharing an experience with you, it has the distinct feeling of showing off. Of look "how great my life is! Aren't you just seething with jealousy?" I see it as well when people are taking pictures franctically on their iphones to post up later; more concerned with showing the experience they are having with others rather than just actually experiencing it themselves. I'm guilty a bit too. I've posted things to show off but it feels sort of empty & competitive and a constant one-upmanship. If you don't post photos of everything, it means you're not doing anything. Which is, of course, completely inaccurate.
I know some people who post what they do with their significant other ad nausuem. You do question how "amazing" it really is, if they constantly have to provide evidence of this. Just look at Ashton & Demi. It also makes me question where the line is. How long do we have to wait til pictures of couples in a passionate embrace appear? The whole "just had best sex ever! Here is me at the point of orgasm."
I shudder to think that it's not as far away as it should be.
As for me, I'm making the stand to simply not check the news feed and not do any facebook stalking at all. I don't think it makes me a nice person & although it's a great tool to have to keep in touch with those friends not in the same place as you, for the friends that are in the same place, I'd rather pick up the phone or send an email and engage on a one on one level; doing it because I want to and not for show.

Saturday Night Live- Hamm and Buble

2011-10-20T14:05:00.000-07:00

I love this so much. It just makes me laugh quietly to myself

Florence + The Machine - Shake It Out

2011-10-20T14:02:00.000-07:00

Loving this - bit of anthem for the start of your day!

Pot & Kettle

2011-10-20T13:21:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking and have recently come to the realisation it is very easy to see the hypocrisy in others but not so easy to see it in ourselves. I think it's a learning curve really and one that takes time. You don't tend to see it clearly til the dust has settled.
Rather than be a full negative, I think it can really be an opportunity to try and be more open minded. I know in the past I've been very frustrated when people don't play by the rules -but then you realise, they're your rules and people all have their own.
I'm not advocating people putting up with crap but it's more about...maybe tolerance or maybe understanding. Cause I guess tolerance and understanding are not necessarily the same thing.

Scarf & Book

2011-10-16T11:22:00.001-07:00

There is an old lady on the train wearing a headscarf tied elegantly around her head. She is not one of those posh old ladies; the scarf looks functional but she just seems to be lady like and quiet. Her clothes are sort of shapeless but tidy. She has a crossword book or some sort. She occasionally looks around and crinkles her nose up at the things going on and ...I just like her. I wonder where she's been or where she is going. She seems from another time. Not out of sorts but just of a previous time. She has stories

Poem Corner

2011-10-16T10:28:00.001-07:00

Number 5 in a continuing series

They call it a crush for a reason
Because it crushes you
crushes your spirit
crushes your rational side
closes your eyes
My desire is misplaced
but I suppose I just have to ride it out

I want you to want me
I want you to take me
& be had & have all the having
I want someone else
so that my wanting is silenced
and I don't feel so much like the child

I wondered what she is like
She's as fictional as he is
Perfect in my head
And his realities that I see
that jarr with what I imagine
the image in my mind

Crush.

Deja Ew

2011-10-16T10:27:00.001-07:00

I lived in the East End of London, right in the heart of it, in Brick Lane a couple of years back. I lasted a month. It wasn't the East End I hated; I actually loved being right in the stomach of a city, with bustle & noise & people always around. Ok, I guess that's a slight lie. I did love it but I did quickly understand the benefit of escape; Of being able to leave & go somewhere else when you're working day was done. I lived & breathed in the city. But hey, it was something I always wanted to do and had I chosen a better abode, could possibly still be there. As it was I chose the shittiest flat around.
And last night I stayed in a hostel that was sibling to that flat. It's actually 8.19am on a Sunday morning & I'm seriously about to leave. The internet keeps crashing after the duration of a song (literally. I play a song on Spotfiy and mid way through the internet has crashed out) which is less than relaxing and also doesn't bode well for if I actually manage to find a live streaming of the All Blacks game. So am thinking I will throw in the towel and leave.
I am not showering. This is because this looks to be one of those establishments where it is debatable whether you would be cleaner before or after entering the bathroom. As it was, the pubes (shudder) littering the seat of the downstairs toilet has put enough fear into me that I am making the right choice.
I found the hostel on Laterooms which up until now, has always been a reliable and actually pretty gold website. I've stayed at some pretty fantastic places and not always with a price tag to match so I certainly wasn't nervous about the fact this place was only £25 for a single room. To be honest, in a little hostel in Sheffield that seemed entirely reasonable. I wasn't expecting bells and whistles but envisioning somewhere basic and clean with the minimum frills. I'll admit I had forgotten it was a shared bathroom but still, I've done that before and it doesn't usually indicate you're staying at a shit hole.
The first red flag happened when I saw on my map that it was a 30 minute walk from the station. Now this one is not the hostel's fault. I've clearly gone "sweet only a mile away" and not really considered that means it's not "city centre" Not to worry, I got a cab who dropped me off at this residential street with no signage at all apart from the street number scrawled in black paint with an arrow on a wall. Right....
I get there and some man (admittedly nice but I couldn't really understand what was going on) takes me to the "office" to check in. The office is a room with a whole bunch of crap in it along with two mattresses on the floor with unmade bedding on top. It is all a bit hapazard and my gut is telling me to just at this point go "Thanks but no thanks" but I'll lose my deposit (the full payment) & I don't know what else is out there. Also I feel like I'm being a bit snobby. I mean, ok so this is weird (and dirty as well to be frank) but hey it's a hostel and it'll be fine.
The room is at the front of the house and is not clean. It looks like my old horrible East End room. There are two single beds. The room looks sad, like it's a some kind of halfway home. There are leaves and crap on the floor. I am dubious if the sheets have been properly cleaned. I am grateful for the silk scarf I was planning on putting on my pillow anyway. (hair related story. Another time). There was mention on the website on breakfast being included in the room. The man shows me milk in the fridge. He doesn't mention anything else on offer. I don't really care. If they cook how they clean, it's going to be minging anyway!
As I left to go to the show (the reason I came to Sheffield) I thought about it some more and thought "You know, if I can get in somewhere that's about ..£40 I'll just chalk it up to experience - at least I'll have a nicer night"
This then escalated to a willingness to pay £69 to stay at the Hilton because the other places were booked out. And then it turned out The Hilton was also booked out. So I did what many women would do in the face of a bad choice / potential stressful situation; Retail therapy.
After taking myself out for dinner and dropping £50 at Superdrug (actually there's lots to buy there and I did need...well want what I bought) I slunk back into my prison...sorry, room for the night. The sheets did have a mark on it...but my chocolate had got a bit messy so I'll give them benefit of the doubt. The mattress was horrible. Lumpy and springy like some clumsy hands were pawing at my back. Good times.
My sleep last night was not amazing; Impeded by the occasional sounds an old house make that I could have sworn was coming from the rubbish bin in the corner. How brave are mice? Could they wind up on my face? You don't get these kind of questions at the Hilton. Well, at least I imagine you don't.
At any rate, the internet is now sort of working so I'm sort of able to watch the rugby. Sort of. (It's crapped out at the moment - hence the typing. ITV's ads always seem to work fine though - playing ads now...I mean come on!)
So I'll be writing a review of this place and next time will just pay the bit extra. I know you may think this is what I get for being pikey...but £28 (3% card charge don't you know) really isn't that cheap for what I've got. Still...could have been worse. It could have...right?

Voices

2011-10-04T13:35:00.000-07:00

Just so you know....Some of these stories are openly me. Some are me under a different guise. Some are not. That's the joy of being a writer!

White Lies / Lines

2011-10-04T13:28:00.000-07:00

Mike doesn't do coke. He's done all sorts he says, as if to prove he's not square. But "I don't put anything up my nose" as if to prove he's not stupid.
Revealing he dated someone with a propensity for the old Charlie,makes me slightly sceptical that he never participated. But everyone has their limits I suppose. I gather his limits were further then I would have guessed from the outside.
I keep talking about him, spraying his name like saliva all over my conversations "Yeah Mike said" "Mike's a funny guy" "Oh it was a few of us...Me...Mike..."
If this was a game show an alarm would sound and lights would flash when I mention his name. It would be distracting and then like a car alarm going off in Mayfair. It's so loud and so annoying and it's going off all the time so I have to tune it out.

Ant Music by Adam and the Ants

2011-10-04T12:45:00.000-07:00

6 Music was playing this first thing Monday morning...Brilliant. Feel liberated to have escaped Chris Moyles bullying boringness for the gems of 6 Music and its new music and it's proper good old stuff (Neneh Cherry, The Cure & above ditty) and only been listening since Sunday

The post I'm not going to write...

2011-10-04T12:41:00.000-07:00

...That'll learn me for encouraging my mum to read my blog (Hi mum!)
Don't think she reads much (unless me prompting) but still....I wanted to write something about desire and wanting and it's got rude words in it so I'm writing it on one of my notebooks with a pen.
I'm not about to put the "ass" into "class"! (does that make sense? As in I want to stay classy and not be crass....Oh never minnd)

They're back!!

2011-10-03T14:03:00.000-07:00

I've decided I love these two...I also love the fact that her spray tan is worse than ones I've had & that her hair extensions are appallingly bad.
I also think she might just have the hardest working breasts since Liz Hurley.
My main question is...Does one really wear heels on the beach?

Freefall (2009) TV - Part 1 of 9

2011-10-02T09:27:00.000-07:00

I watched this (in full) the other night and it is a little heavy handed and obvious but is still pretty powerful stuff and actually worth a watch to get a real idea of the victims of the Sub Prime crisis (and it's not just who you think)

Oh and it stars Aidan Gillen. Looking super hot in a suit and skulking around Barbican - I probably walked past whilst filming it in 2009. Swoon

By Any Other Name

2011-10-01T16:20:00.000-07:00

So in my play have renamed previously called Skins to Max (sure I've blogged that)
Just found this image - again a real visual (for me anyway) of the kind of physicality / sexuality/ menacing/ open contradiction that is Max

My Father's Gift

2011-10-01T09:11:00.000-07:00

I recently converted to Nichiren Buddhism, a faith that I'm really inspired and challenged by. It's been called a Philosophy of Hope & it's that which resonates with me. The idea of not asking something outside of yourself to make your life better or different. At any rate, I'm really pleased to have found this.
I was brought up Catholic and I certainly don't feel any resentment or disparagement towards that faith. Ok so the Catholic guilt remains but I valued the morals and guidance that I got from my schooling and church and of course, my parents. Coming into a religion as an adult does make you question or struggle with the things as a child that you just accept. There's a lot more "Why do we do that?" & "What's that going to do?" and an awful lot of "Really?"
But I think it was having that faith and eventually not feeling entirely connected to it's teaching that lead me to find & challenge my own faith, or sometimes lack thereof. It's having had something that didn't necessarily fit for me that lead me to something that I hope, does. If that makes sense!
I'm really new with my practice as I might have said before and I suppose it's entirely possible that I'll chuck it in but something in my heart tells me I won't. Something tells me it's not going to be easy and I'll experience a lot more "Really?" moments but that ultimately, it's about having faith in my own value as a person and what value & joy I can give to others.
I have had some people ask me "How do your parents feel that you've "converted"? & I can't answer for them but I have talked to them about what I'm doing. I've always hoped that my dad (it feels more on him as he was the one with the strong faith who always goes to church) doesn't feel like I've rejected something he gave me. I suppose in a way I have. But I hope he knows that it hasn't made me think what he believes is false or anything like that. He's an example to me, of someone who has faith and who has always shown nobility in the face of a life that isn't always easy. I hope he knows that the gift I cherish most is the certainity that as long as I am happy and growing and trying to live a good life, that that's all they want. I honestly know it's not about having the great job or doing what they would choose for me which will give them joy - it's me living a joyful life. How blessed to have people who truly just want you to be happy!

Barrett's place

2011-10-01T09:00:00.000-07:00

My friend's house alwyas had a distinctive smell; A sort of mustiness due to his old books and the drawn curtains of his various homes. Far from being a bad smell, it's something that always conjures up memories of hours spent chatting, listening to music, watching old films and drinking insanely strong tea. It makes me think of him.
I fell in love with him soon after I first met him. He was handsome but he was also cool. not like those cool peopl who know it but proper cool. I didn't know he was gay until the day he brought in his "Hollywood Hunks" magazine and talked about which guys he thought were cutest. My gaydar has always been awful.
I crushed on him quietly, imagining little scenarios that yould never happen and as that passed, we became friends. We were regularly rostered on together so that our Saturday night were spent together. We got into a rhythm of stolen Paddle Pops and watching 80s music videos at work when the loop tape should have been on.
When he left for Japan I went out to the airport to say goodbye. I gave him a letter in which I'd written the lyrics to "Together in Electric Dreams". I thought he wouldn't write. That it was a final goodbye and that we were one of those friendships where one person cares more.
But we both wrote consistently, sending music and creating a friendship that meant we didn't need to be in the same place to still be a part of each other's lives.
We joked about getting married one day but also half meant it. (Well I did)
When we get the opportunity to spend time together (rare obviously as London & Christchurch aren't exactly close) it's always so relaxed and so fun. A coming home feeling. Our little cocoon where we hang out for hours and there's nowhere I'd rather be.
My friend. Who I love dearly.

It came to me in a dream

2011-09-29T22:56:00.000-07:00

Paul McCartney got the tune to "Yesterday" - Last night I had a bizarre character called "Part Time" who entered the house holding a duck decoy (that made a bird noise when you squeezed it's bill together) and was dressed like a homeless person. He might have been homeless. He had bad teeth & many teeth missing. He was eating a pasty or some such as he spoke to me & the other people in the room. He was ridiculously racist.
He might pop up in something because where the hell did he come from??!

Aidan talks nude times

2011-09-29T13:15:00.000-07:00

I love the end bit. Bless.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Avz_zKrAwqo

THE cassette tape of all cassette tapes

2011-09-29T13:11:00.000-07:00

We all have memories attached to certain songs. They remind us of a time, a feeling, a night, a person. Some of these songs that are part of the soundtrack of our life are amazing pieces of music. This is not one of those songs.

Newmarket. 1993. I was staying in a hotel with my parents. Bizarrely said hotel had one room (as in the hotel obviously had more than one room but we were all in the same room. Me & my parents. At least that's how I recollect it. Maybe their snoring was just ridiculously loud.) The hotel had a pool. I had my walkman with me and whilst at a mall I bought Ace of Base's album. It was amazingly good. (Clearly it wasn't amazingly good & I think I did know that at the time but I loved it.) I remember debating whether or not to buy Sheryl Crow's "Tuesday Night something something bla bla" as I also liked some of the songs and was aware it was vaguely more hip than 'Ace of Base.' But I stuck with my heart and those tinny songs resonated in my ears for the duration of the holiday.
Things I also remember about that holiday; Visiting my nana & grandad in Papatoetoe; Feeling super cool as I had my new white "Sportsgirl" t-shirt. Swimming in the pool. The nights being really sticky & hot. Auckland feeling like this whole other massive super city world. Being super impressed at "Foodtown" (solely because we didn't have it in Christchurch.) Ditto that to "Wendys" (the burger place, not the crappy ice cream place that used to be in South City mall. Having lunch at the RSA. I can also recall snippets of conversations even but maybe they were from other visits. I remember that was one of the last times I could fit through those gaps in the concrete power line things.

It's not always the best songs that conjure up the best times.

What are some of your soundtrack songs?

Judgey Wudgey

2011-09-25T01:41:00.002-07:00

It's a hard task to not judge people. I'm not good at it. From the smallest of surface details, I will find myself making an assessment of that person. More often than not, they don't come off great. And it's funny because I know I'd be offended to feel people were judging me without knowing me.
It's worse when we judge those we know. It's fine to have an opinion and it's fine to think that the person you know shouldn't behave like that / wear that/ smoke that if you're being constructive. But if it's simply your own opinion colouring how you see the world and the people in it, then you ought to stop and take a moment. I'm not good at this. It is hard. But I want to try and be better. Not to beat myself up if I think a less than saintly thought about someone and certainly not to go the other way and just accept people behaving appallingly. But to know no one is perfect and it shows much more humanity to put judgement aside and maybe listen.

TaniwhaCalling

2011-09-25T01:41:00.001-07:00

Feet on the ground. Over the water. That floating feeling on a bridge. You hold your breath. No, wait. That's in cemeteries. You're not meant to breathe in because the spirits come in and overtake you. Possess you, don't they? But I'm sure I've heard that about bridges too. I feel scared sometimes crossing a river. Isn’t that silly? I feel like it’s unnatural. To be elevated above water. Water is above and below -I shouldn’t be. And I think it could fall. I could fall. The ground beneath my feet is air and water and I can’t breathe - don’t want to breathe. you’re not allowed to breathe
My dad taught me how to play poo sticks over the Grey river when we would visit my grandparents. We would drop our sticks on three and then run across the road to wait and watch as the sticks would come out the other side. To see who would win. I loved to see them appear but I hated running across the road. Forever nervous the excitement would overcome me and I wouldn’t see a car or truck coming in time. Always a fearful child, even when I was small. And the other fear, when I would swim in the river with my sisters and once under the bridge the sounds down there changed. Became cavernous and heavy and I swam quickly, not wanting the eels to get me. Or the Taniwha. She was partial to sticks. And small children who wore red, my brother teased. I cried when my parents bought me red togs. Thought they hated me. Wanted the Taniwha to come and get me. My brother liked to tell stories. And as I got older I knew they were lies but they resonated. He told me if you drowned that the Taniwha would keep your body. Like a trophy. And that was why they hardly ever found the body of people who drowned. That she was lonely.
Maybe that is why bridges still scare me. The height and the drop and the something underneath but not seen. So far beneath. When you’re under water everything sounds strange. And I can hear other things down there. I always could. I never told my brother. But I could hear singing. No I lie. Once I told my sister. I resurfaced underneath the bridge, in that pocket of still water and I asked her what the song was. And she looked at me strange and splashed me. I persisted and sang some of it. Hummed it really as I couldn’t make out the words. Were they words? And she looked at me oddly and insisted she had not been singing. And certainly not that stupid song I was humming. I ducked under once more and heard it. I wanted to stay down there. In my red togs listening. I opened my eyes, and I remember....I remember seeing something. An open mouth. It didn’t seem human. The song. That song. I run across bridges in London. Where ever I am. Because I am scared. I hear it still. Sometimes in amongst the noise I hear it. (hums) and I want to not be on the bridge. I want to be under/ below./ beneath / floating in the sky.
They never find the bodies. Do they? Well hardly ever. So rivers are cemeteries. They hide everything

Taniwha Lovers

2011-09-21T12:55:00.000-07:00

One. Two. And We're Done

A woman sits on a chair that is a row of three. She has on a coat, and it glistens with rain. Her hair and face is wet and her hair is in mild disarray. She wears comfortable shoes. She has a shopping bag next to her on one of the spare seats. She pulls out her phone to check for the time when he arrives. He has wet hair but has a raincoat on. He bends down and kisses her on the cheek and waits for her to get up. He remains standing.

Mike - You ready to go?

Julia - Yeah, I guess.

Mike - You're wearing those shoes?

Julia - No. In my other bag. I'm not changing til I get there.

Mike - Why do girls do that?

Julia - The high shoes or the flat shoes part?

Mike - Both. Just wear one pair of shoes. A lot easier

Julia - Do you want me to change now then?

Mike - I was just saying. (beat) You're wet

Julia - Yes Mike. I am

Mike - I thought you carried an umbrella?

Julia - It's June. It was sunny when I left the house.

Mike - (laughing) It's London.

Julia - It's shit, that's what it is. (beat) And I threw out that bullshit umbrella. It would turn itself inside out when someone would breathe too hard on it.

pause

Mike - Are you ok?

Julia - Not really. I....Why does it never stop raining here?

Mike - It was sunny last week. Well Monday & Tuesday

Julia - (whined) It's summer. It's supposed to be sunny
Mike - (slightly losing patience) Julia, it's London. You've been here 7 years. You think you'd know by now that summer is...It does what it wants. So, come on. Are we going or what?

Julia - I want to go.

Mike - Let's do it then. I texted them to say we were running late anyway but...What?

Mike has outstretched his hand to Julia but she looks down at the ground.

Julia - I can't do it anymore Mike. I really...I just don't think I can

Mike - Not this again.

Julia - What?

Mike - I can't do this. Not now. How many times are we going to have this conversation?

Julia - I don't know! Until we come to some kind of...some kind of agreement. Or something.

Mike - Until I agree with you

Julia - No. It's not like that

Mike - Then what is it like Julz? We're in the middle of Waterloo and you're springing this shit on me now. We can do this later. We don't have to do it now for Christs sake

Julia - Don't get pissed at me

Mike - I am pissed at you! You're having a bad day. It's raining. Your hair looks crap. It's meant to be 30 degrees and baking. I get it. But what do you expect me to do about it? It's not always bloody paradise in New Zealand either

Julia - I'm not saying it is. I know it's not, I'm from Dunedin. But my family...my family is there.

Mike - Your family has always been there.

Julia- I know. But it's 7 years.

Mike - Are we really doing this now?

Mike sits down

Julia - I want to go home Mike. I really want to go home.

Mike - This is your home. Our home is here

Julia - I...I don't know what to do

Mike - I can't tell you Ju.

Julia - You don't want to go, do you?

Mike - No. Well yeah I do

Julia - You do?

Mike - Of course I do. But not yet.

Julia - When? Like, a month?

Mike - No. I don't know. Maybe in a few years...Julia, this is home to me now. I've built something here.

Julia - If I went back sooner than you...what would/

Mike - /I don't know...I don't know how it would work.

Julia - I wouldn't make you want to go home?

Mike - It's not that. (beat) Besides...I'm not making you want to stay

Julia - You are. You're the only reason I would stay anymore

Mike - But you've got friends. You've got an ok job

Julia - I know. I know...But I...I keep dreaming of New Zealand.

She starts to cry a little.

Mike - Oh, don't cry.

Julia - (trying to compose herself) I'm sorry

Mike - It's just a phase. Honestly, when the sun comes out /

Julia - (laughs through tears) The sun never comes out. (beat) It's not that though. It's just...That pull has gone

Mike - Pull? What do you mean? We're going to be so late

Julia - I was desperate to come here. And I felt so alive here. I couldn't imagine ever wanting to go home. Isn't that horrible? I just felt I was exactly where I was meant to be.

Mike - And you don't anymore I suppose

Julia - No. I've tried to fight this

Mike - (frustrated) Sure you have. You said yes Julia. You said yes to me.

Julia - I still am!

Mike - No, you're not. You can't just change the rules on me

Julia - I'm trying to be honest

Mike - Before my cousins engagement party.

Julia - When would you like me to be honest?

Mike - Never! You're just...incredibly selfish

Julia - I am? You're doing the same

Mike - I didn't change anything. We were making a life here. We've looking at buying here and now/

Julia - I know. But I can't bear another winter

Mike - (laughs) Oh yeah, those Otago winters are so fucking balmy

Julia - I don't know what to do

Mike - Yeah.

Mike stands.

Julia - What are you doing?

Mike - I have to go. Are you going to come?

Julia - Mike we can't /

Mike - Well you're not going to Heathrow right this minute are you? So let's go.

Julia - I love you

Mike - Not enough though. Come on

Julia - I can try. I'll keep trying

Mike - (softly, resigned) I'm not ready. And you are. So I suppose it's done.

Julia - (holding back more tears. Strong) Just like that?

Mike - I don't know Ju.

He starts to walk away. Julia gathers her bag and wipes her eyes. She stands. The sounds that we didn't hear before become louder; the trains, the hum of people, the train announcements. Through these sounds, almost inaudibly is half whispered, almost sung " Home...home...home...."
Julia doesn't acknowledge this and begins to walk, in a different direction to Mike.
Black

Sylvia's Watching -aka That "Him" (a short story)

2011-09-21T12:54:00.000-07:00

"You don't have any say in this", she says as she lies down and pulls the sheets up over her shoulders. She wonders if he sees her. In that way. Or the opposite way. Considers it. Wonders why even the flicker of that is enough. Has she given up looking for nourishment and instead is happy to survive on crumbs from another woman's table. A faceless woman. Not sure if that is easier. If she is beautiful, is there a resignation? If she is plain, is there the feeling of going forth, of not relenting? Of believing maybe? Maybe maybe.
But then what? If she dared and he wasn't a "nice guy" and there is a touch or a kiss or a fuck, what happens then? What and where could you possibly go from that point? Your own wedding? And where is the trust? Would you believe that you two were obviously special and that would be enough? Would you not question him or you over any woman he looks at longer than another? And you're there - a million miles from where you are because you can't /won't imagine.
He's freed you from another, made you see they are ./ were a boy and you're done with them but get your own. Not that someone can be owned but get your own.
You kept looking at his eyes. He was meeting yours too but he's polite or do your eyes still have a pull? Once a man said he was so often lost in them. He couldn't not look at you and you remember that and hope / wonder if it was true / if it's true for this guy. You are so close to touching him. You orchestrate closeness so that as the train rambles and shakes within its tracks your head is tucked in nicely under his shoulder. You hussy.
You're not sure what you are trying to make happen. This wanting is so delicious but so insidious at the same time. As it grows it eats away at yourself/ your self esteem. How could he possibly desire you? Is it a token / a medal / a prize but even now you're aware it's not necessarily a race that can be won. Still you are eagerly searching for your trainers and someone to say "get set".
You collect moments, nothings and store them in the hope of making some sort of something. If it's not fire you're playing with, you certainly have a box of matches in hand. Waiting for him to light the spark or properly fuel your flame of desire. You have power in your mind which again consoles and tortures you; a mental S&M. And that's what you are. A masochist. To want what you cannot have. What you possibly only value because it is so sweetly out of reach.
At this point he cannot really be flawed because he doesn't exist.
So his lips kiss amazingly. He has great arms and a nice amount of hair on his chest. He will not lose his hair. His cock is a decent size. It's nice really. None of the disappointment of knowing him. Any of the realities that may cast doubt or recognition that great cock or not, he's not this thing that you are determinedly putting on a pedestal. He is just a man. He is one of many. Not the one. Not the only one. He is just some guy.
You tell yourself that. But you just don't hear that as well.

That Night (also known as Kamikaze Lou) - A Short Play

2011-09-13T13:19:00.000-07:00

A bedroom. Late at night / very early in the morning. A man & a woman stand in the room looking at each other. The man is swaying slightly.

Rob - I don't know how I got so drunk. I'm so drunk. Ohhh....Yeah.

Louise - Same. I'm really...smashed.

One thing is apparent here to us, if not them. Louise is drunk but nowhere near as drunk as Rob.

Louise - Thanks for letting me come back

Rob - S'ok.

Louise - I didn't...I wasn't even looking at the trains. Like, the times.

Rob - Kelly offered you a ride eh?

Louise - Yeah but...Oh...I'm sorry. You didn't want me here?

Rob - No no no no.No. I didn't mean that. I mean...you would've got home somehow...

Louise - Do you think your wife minds?

Rob - She'd get over it

Louise - Oh no, I'm really embarrassed. She wouldn’t want me here?

Rob - I don't mean it like that. Just a bit...well...bit awkward. Girl from the office you know.

Louise - Not really. She think I'm trying to seduce you or something?

Rob laughs awkwardly.

Rob- No no no. No. I don't know. Women, you know. They get a bit funny.

Louise - It's not like I'm some model

Rob - You're not really hard on the eye though are you?

Louise laughs awkwardly.

Louise - Thanks Rob.
Rob - Well...you know...

Louise - Not really. (beat) She's probably just...you know...you're a good looking guy.

Rob - Ha. I'm old

Louise - No you're not. You're not that much older than me. But maybe that just means I'm old.

Louise sits down on the bed .

Rob - I thought you were younger really.

Louise - Why don't you sit down?

Rob - I probably should go to bed.

Louise looks at Rob. For a little too long.

Louise - Will you sit by me?

Rob - I'm drunk.

Louise - Sorry. Sorry. I'm...I'll go. I can go.

Louise stands. Rob moves closer to her.

Rob - What’s wrong? Have I upset you?

Louise - I just...I feel really silly now. I should go.

Rob - Where are you going to go? I’ll sit down

Louise reaches out and touches his arm. He looks at her a little too long.

Louise - Can I ask you something?

She sits.

Rob - Yeah

Louise - Why won’t you sit down? I’m not going to jump you!

Rob sits.

Rob - I know...I didn’t...I’m...
Louise - Do you want me to?

Rob - What?

Louise - Would it be ok if I did?

Rob - If you what?

Louise - You know.

Rob -I can’t...I can’t hear you.

Rob moves in very close.

Louise - (whispered) Would that be really wrong?

Rob - I’m married.

pause. They’re both looking at each other. Meeting the gaze

Louise - I know.

pause.

Rob - We’re drunk

pause

Louise - I know. Rob I...I think I should go

Louise stands. Rob looks at her, not saying anything.

Louise - Because...I really...I just...I really want to kiss you right now. And that’s...You don’t want that...Do you?

pause

Louise - You don’t want me to kiss you, do you?

Rob stands up and pulls Louise over to him. He kisses her and she kisses back and they are on the bed.

The one low light dims as they make out until there is just a speck of light. From
the darkness, Louise comes out. She is dishevelled. She is adjusting herself
(zipping up her dress / brushing her hair) as she speaks.

Louise - And that’s how it both starts and ends. In innocuous, generic fashion. The smallest, mundane-est way to make your whole world implode. Shit where you eat. Clichés are clichés because people are boring and unoriginal and lazy when it comes to who they desire. I would say love, but it’s not love is it? Where’s the love in checking out his arse at the photocopier and finding it wanting? At looking at him in the early morning with a sense of resigned lust. You fancy him because he’s there. You share space with him for 40 hours a week but you don’t know him. You don’t know what his middle initial on his email even stands for.

Rob comes out of the shadows and buttons up his shirt. He is joined by a row of
similarly looking guys dressed the same who all stands alongside him, looking
outwards, not seeing Louise.

Louise - And so some of you will take it there. Take it to that imagined level. I’ve
heard of people who meet someone that way. It actually somehow works out.

The “Robs” all turn and single file walk off stage

Louise - And I’ve heard sometimes no one finds out. Work doesn’t become
awash with salacious gossip and you don’t feel like some kind of whore because
you wanted him to notice you.

pause

Louise - Leave it at that I say. Wear a nice skirt. Hope maybe he notices you’ve
got a nice set of legs or whatever. And put it to bed. Not him.

She checks her reflection in the mirror and tiptoes out. The lights come up again
to reveal a bedroom where the bed is made and no one has seemingly been in there.

Black

Copywright Me

2011-09-13T13:13:00.000-07:00

Lovely Udon just suggested I copywright myself...I guess in case anyone on the net scours Google for such wonders as found here and decides to publish/ produce/ seduce / wow the world with...(well it could happen. Maybe) I want to take the opportunity to write everything on here is copywrighted to me unless otherwise stated (I pilfered some song lyrics awhile back - but clearly not trying to pass Fleetwood Mac as me) and images/ youtube links are NOT me (unless specifically stated)
But the plays and poems are mine. Copywright of me (she whose details are registered to The Dirkest Hour)
Done. I think.

The man in Berlin

2011-09-13T13:07:00.000-07:00

The third tim she spotted him she actually began to believe it. He wore an old man cardigan made of a thick cable knit which was mustard yellow; A muted enough colour to be overlooked but distinguishable enough for her to pick him out, to see she was being followed.
His eyes were hidden by his sunglasses but the rest of his face seemed cute. Unless his eyes were horribly wrong he was cute. Except he was following her. Which wasn't cute. It was weird. Now, maybe he was just going where she was you might think. But she could feel it. Alexanderplatz she had spotted him and it hadn't really registered but down this empty street near Markisches Ufer, near the bushes and the river, past the musuem, the feeling in her gut told her to listen. To walk faster. To be afraid.

Skins / Jasper / Max

2011-09-12T11:59:00.000-07:00

In the play I'm writing (or avoiding writing cause I'm not sure how I feel about it anymore. As in, think it might have turned to crap)the main male character is called Skins. It was meant to be a kind of ironic reference to that show "Skins" that I've never actually watched and I'm 50 pages in and have realised it's a stupid name. I've kept going though (ok partly lying -see previous paragraph) and yesterday upon watching "The Night Porter" I think I've found his new name (once I re-write).
Don't worry if anyone is reading this blog going "Um...ok" This is not necessarily exciting news or even probably worth blogging about. But I'm kind of excited. Sometimes character names are arbitrary but sometimes they do kind of define the person. Max as a name has given me a bit more clarity. Hopefully. In how I see this character but also kind of explaining his power. The S&M relationship in Night Porter is really compelling and kind of hard to understand in a way, as an outsider. And I kind of think that same type of relationship or power struggle, better explains Skins/Max's relationship and hold over both Flic & Wally (the two female characters)
It's all blah I know until it's on the page. And my time is rapidly running out. The deadline for the Adam play comp is December. And I haven't even finished this first draft of a play I'm worried is absolute garbage now. But it'll be done. It has to be done. I'm just hoping that the story comes through. That the kick is there.

The Night Porter

2011-09-11T12:15:00.000-07:00

Charlotte & Dirker - smoking

His & Hers - My Ultimate Hotties

2011-09-11T12:13:00.000-07:00

I want to be them and be with them...not at once and not now...It's a figure of speech..

He of The Dirkest Hour

2011-09-11T11:40:00.000-07:00

So as I think I rather cleverly stated at the beginning of this blog, the name of this blog was a combination of my love of horror and spooky things (hence "Darkest Hour" /full moon ra de ra) & Dirk Bogarde (cue swooning)
I've never been off the Dirk bandwagon once I got on it, but the past month has further fuelled my passion for the Late Sir Bogarde. The BFI has been playing Dirk films throughout August & September so I took myself along to see "Accident." Also starring a young Michael York and scripted by Harold Pinter, it was a good film and Dirk was fab in it. He's such a modern and understated actor and really understood cinema acting. I then re-watched "Victim" which is such an amazing film. The film itself is not the best film ever made, but it was such a politically interesting and bold work; instrumental in changing the homosexuality law in Britain (it was still a criminal offence when the film was made). Bogarde himself was never "out" as such but had a long term relationship with Anthony Forewood, who he lived with up until his death.
And then I watched "The Night Porter" this afternoon. I've seen it years ago with my sister and we thought it was mental and you know what, it is. But it's also ridiculously sexy. The Nazi / Concentration Camp victim part is clearly hard to take and not the sexy part, but Dirks and Charlotte Rampling's chemistry is off the charts. I watched an interview with her and she was saying how they were good friends and really trusted each other and it translates onto the screen. The movie has subsequently been ripped off in various guises by Madonna (who apparently asked Dirker to appear in her "Justify My Love" video. He declined but props to Madge for that one) and Miss - Not-An-Original-Bone-In-My-Body Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance"
Anyway...Dirk. Awesome. going to put a clip on here. Sharing the love

Poem Corner

2011-09-11T10:56:00.000-07:00

I undress you
in my mind
you do all sorts
of things
that I'm sure
are frowned upon (in the context)
But isn't it delicious?
This unknown wanting
every look is loaded
every thing is coded
I can taste you
and it's sweet
I'm like honey
and I taste better
than you imagine
if
you, in fact,
imagine,
at all

Remember

2011-09-11T10:26:00.000-07:00

Today I kept looking at the sky; For the more mundane reasons to look to see if the forecast thunderstorms would eventuate and also to gaze up at the clear blue sky as I ran through Hyde Park. But also I looked as if expecting something. This will either sound incredibly callous or you'll know exactly what I mean, but I kept noticing planes. And waiting to see the explosion or the crash. But I simply saw planes flying through the air as they do, the marvel of aeorodynamics or gravity or whatever. But I was looking for the other because of what we all saw in the sky ten years ago today. Those images that for all of us who remember, won't ever forget. And looking and wondering and being scared for those planes today, made me realise how the world has changed for all of us in both big ways and little ways because of that day.
I know there have been many other tragedies that have occured where a number of people have lost their lives. The recent incidents in Norway are another cruel example of an evil act robbing so many people of a future. And not just those who die, but the familes and friends who are left behind. Those who had a life with the husbands, wives, best friends,boyfriends, girlfriends, sisters, brothers, dads & mums who died that day in New York City, also lost a life that never then got to happen because that person was taken away.
I never knew the Twin Towers existed until the day they didn't anymore but I've been to Ground Zero twice. The first time was in December 2005 where it was still a gaping hole with temporary type fencing around it with homemade signs pinned about the place as well as information placards as to what it had been and the ideas for what it would be in the future. There was some kind of walk you could do, where you could walk along something that allowed you to look down (I believe it was still a number of levels beneath the ground level) but I didn't want to. I'm not sure why I didn't want to go but something just didn't feel right. The second time was last year, in the Summer of 2010. My father & I went to the Ground Zero memorial and read the information provided, watched the documentary and tried to take in all that was lost. We managed to hold it together, which was no mean feat and there were tears in our eyes once we made it back out onto the hot city street.
I could write more but none of it expresses it properly. How someone who lost no one in that tragedy can still feel the weight of the people whose lives were taken away.
I think it would be easy to say there is a good guy and a bad guy. But I don't think that's the case. I'm not for one minute trying to say that anyone in the Twin Towers deserved to die. I'm trying to say that what happens after shouldn't be about vengeance or evil but about love. Bin Laden being caught...I don't think for one minute that is any real comfort to someone who lost a child or a lover. It doesn't bring them back. I think when we remember a day like today, it's to be grateful for the moments we have with the people we love. And to cherish those and always hold them dearly in our hearts.

Taniwha:The Two Me's

2011-08-27T07:42:00.000-07:00

There are two me's; That I know of at least and I like to imagine that they co-exist. Not side by side but in these other worlds. These other universes that through some twist of fate or myriad of science; both happen to be.
There is a me that never left New Zealand. She married that boy, had two kids (the second one with some reluctance but she was glad once she was born of course) and grew up into adulthood with her family right there. Her family a car ride away; walking distance; Next door.
That me never really knew what it meant to be a New Zealander because she never left. She had never been an "other". Well, maybe that's a slight lie. When she had moved to Christchurch and started at Cotswold Primary, some kids thought she talked strange. So it turns out those from Gore sound like Americans. Sounded different anyway. That was her experience of other. Of a sort of not belonging. That girl who became a woman, who stayed in New Zealand, never knew what it felt like to miss her heart. Her whanau. Her home. She loved but it was different. The sense of sacrifice was in whose parents to spend Christmas Day with or how often to leave the kids. To plan holidays with which part of the family. This other me is the same but different. She has a lot in common with me but she knows things I don't. She has different longing. A longing for travel and a wish to see a world beyond. That world oceans away. That world she never went looking for. That world belongs to the other me. The me who has slept under the stars in the Masai Mara, who has been romanced in Venice and has swam in the clear blue waters of Thailand. That me can only dream of this grounded family connection. To have the certainity of some sort of future mapped out. This other me, the me I know, can often feel adrift in this hungry city. This cold city that cares nothing for me. The only warmth that city gives is from the Victorian central heating. Sometimes. That me feels her roots strongly. Her ties to a country she has not lived in for nearly a decade. And the choices. Because it is a series of choices and non choices that has her in this city at all. Like one step, two step, three step, walking before running but often leaping before looking and just hoping it's the right thing. That it's ok. She came to London for love. Had it. Lost it. May have it again. Which provides another feeling of flux. Of setting up roots in another country. For real. She denies to herself that 4 years with no certain end in sight, suggests she may have already done that.
She constantly feels selfish as well as a martyr. She chooses to remain. Or she at least chooses not to return. And it can be glorious and most often it feels right. But when it is cold and rains and is so busy but so empty, she is painfully jealous of that life she chose not to have.And it stings like a slap. Or worrse, it is like tears on a crowded tube stop when everyone pretends not to see.
Somewhere though or somehow she knows where ever she lives, where ever she breathes, that she carries home in her heart. And that can never leave her. She won't let it. Me /me...I/her...Dreaming of New Zealand/ Dreaming of London. Feet rooted in soil / concrete. (Miles away / Right there). Home.

Telling you something you do know

2011-08-27T06:29:00.001-07:00

So it transpires that what was often suspected but never confirmed is fact; I can't ride a bike. Last night my cousin Matt suggested that we (him, his wife Carrie and myself) checked out some of Berlin's hip beach bars by bicycle. I laughed. Then it turned out he was serious. I balked and said I had a fear of traffic. I was "reassured" (in inverted commas because I wasn't reassured but should have been)by the fact Berlin is geared up for cyclists and there are bicycle lanes all over. Truth time. I advised I learnt to ride a bike at 13 and probably hadn't ridden once since I was about 16. He took me down to the garage and cycled around, showing me how "easy" it was (again in inverted commas because it was not easy). I then discounted the often quoted "it's like riding a bike. You don't forget" by proving that yes, yes actually you can forget. I'm a whizz at spin class but then, that's a stationery bike. I got as far as attempting to peddle and start the bike off before squealing, saying "no no no no." Matt began to sense defeat. "It's not going to happen tonight is it?" I didn't want to crush this plan. I tried again. Cue more squealing and very little motion. "I need to do an adult cycling class I think" I said. "We don't have time for that tonight" he said. I stood by the motionless bike and we both laughed. No, it's not going to happen tonight.
As we later sipped beer at the uber trendy Bar 25 (now named something else and ridiculously hidden because they don't want tourists to go) it worked out ok that we took the walking and publc transport option as we were able to merrily sip down more Pilsner.
But for future reference....I do think I'll check out something like http://www.londonschoolofcycling.co.uk/beginners.html
I'm not going to cycle in London that's for sure (big ups to the people I know who do. You are mental/brave/can actually ride a bike) but it'd be nice to know I can.
PS. It was decided that the fact I can drive a car somehow lessened my inability to cycle. As in I'm not a total lost cause!

Bobby Milk

2011-08-17T13:06:00.000-07:00

So I tend to get obsessive about people. Well famous people (let's be honest...some non famous people too) & Robert DeNiro was the man of the moment from about 16-18 (others got in there too to share the limelight but DeNiro was it and a bit.) There was a bio I read which went into painstaking detail about alot of his films but the library lost it or someone stole it (No, not me. I photocopies alot of it but I wasn't ever that obsessive. Was always keen to share the love) Anyway in my reading I learnt his nickname as a kid was Bobby Milk on account of his pale complexion. And I also sadly somehow committed to memory his birthday; 17 August 1943. So happy birthday Mr DeNiro. Stop making films. After "Analyse this"...I loved you less

Quite possibly my favourite

2011-08-17T13:00:00.000-07:00

This is not on here cause I know you're reading it!
A certain awesome person in my life adored this band (maybe still does) so I grew up knowing this political and gritty band but only stumbled across this song due to sixth form's favourite film "Empire Records" (where they all dance to this on the roof while the end credits roll)
The most bittersweet, hopeful yet looking back song and in a morbid way I'd love this played at my funeral...and in a less morbid way, I'd love this cranked up on a Saturday afternoon as the sun starts to set, nursing a beer whilst some mates play frisbee (I'm probably watching)
Beautiful!

Sad man song time

2011-08-17T12:56:00.000-07:00

Because sometimes you can't imagine being part of a two...
And sometimes someone else puts it better - thanks Harry!

Water Cooler -A Short Story

2011-08-16T13:17:00.000-07:00

He wears a red tie. Often enough for it to not be a mishap. Despite this I still fancy him. Admittedly in spite of said tie and in no way because of it. I think ties on men are like heels on women and the respective sexes feel the same way about them. We like them / They are uncomfortable.
Sometimes I'm sure he must know how I feel. Sometimes I think he so clearly feels that way about me, the outcome is a mere formality. Sometimes I realise it is all in my head. It doesn't usually bother me, this awareness. It's safer that way. Far, far better than the possibility that I could be right. On both counts.
But no one can censor what goes on in your head. Not yet anyway, thankfully. As long as your mouth stays shut, your mind can do whatever it wants. You do all sorts of things in my mind. Things I'm not sure if you'd be glad you're able to. If you'd be thrilled/flattered/ shamed that I let you in my head. I have the decency to blush sometimes as if you can see right through me. This, despite of (or in spite of ) the fact we barely talk. That whole days can go by without us even making eye contact. But that's ok, isn't it? It's safer that way. Besides....The you I imagine is probably nothing like the you, you are. He wouldn't wear a red tie.

No Words

2011-08-09T11:18:00.000-07:00

Sometimes there really isn't. Or maybe there are a million words but everyone is saying them. Shouting/Tweeting/ Whispering / Messaging / Tears. I've lived in London for over 4 years. It's a city that took me a long time to get a grip on (and I sometimes wonder if you can ever get a handle of) and I have a love for it. I'm not in love with it, not in ways I am enamoured with Melbourne or New York or Berlin. But I've got more involved with it, shall we say. I've never been scared before. There's never felt a reason to be. Yes it's big and tangled and filled with all sorts of chaos and people but it never filled me with any unease. I have that now. A real sense of foreboding in the air and a sizing people up. Fear. It pervades and is insidious. And I can't really put it down. It all seems so sad and so nihilistic.
There's a Graham Greene short story I've wanted to read (but can never find it in the collected stories in the library) that they quote in Donnie Darko about these kids who steal some old man's money and ultimately set fire to it as they just wanted to see what happens when they set the world on fire. It feels like that. Are new Nikes really that special when you've robbed them? What worth do they have? And then what happens if someone robs them? Or do they really just don't care?
I know I'm waffling...I've not formulated something proper... but I want more of the London where people are coming along to burnt out streets and sweeping and cleaning up together. Not the London that is torn apart without a cause

Chris Sarandon in Dog Day Afternoon

2011-07-28T14:08:00.000-07:00

Legend. Great film. True story. Also -FYI this is how Susan Sarandon became Susan Sarandon - this was her first husband

Nothing to say

2011-07-27T14:54:00.000-07:00

Listening to Supertramp. Delaying going to sleep because one song leads to another and soon enough 25 minutes have passed. One more song and then proper lights out I think

Sally Anne To Her Mother

2011-07-20T14:11:00.000-07:00

I wrote this for my mama back in 2008 when I lived in Balham. Reading it back is weird as I can remember how I felt back then & almost see it more clearly than I did then.
Ooh and before the story reminds me of the time I was flying to Bangkok via Dubai and I was sat next to this nice older lady. We got to chatting (discussing the movie "An Education" which we both watched on the plane and then London in the 1960s) and it turned out she lived in the same flat I had about 40 years earlier. She gave the address first and it was one and the same! Small world. Anyway..here is short story/ letter.

I wish I could show you this. The London I know and the way it only comes alive on the streets. How indoors, in your small living room, four walls and TV broadcasting shows that seem as if they belong to some other era, it can feel like a tomb. You’re so closed off from all those millions of people that you spend the day time hours dodging. You can spot the true Londoners. Well at least I feel like I can. Those people whose ability to ignore everyone and everything around them seems as second nature as walking. Whereas for the many outsiders who have wormed their way in for short or long, our attempts to cultivate this level of blasé-ness is of varying success. I can’t help but stare when I hear complete strangers tearing into each other on the tube because one of them deigned to put their hand on the others back as a means to avoid being sliced in half by the doors. I don’t mean to suggest that the English, or Londoners at any rate lack compassion...but from what I’ve seen, they seem to hide it well. Maybe you have to in a city this size.
When I was here last time I didn’t really feel the pulse of the place. New York you can hear breathing as soon as you step out of La Guardia, but London...I couldn’t see it. Now, this time...it hums along with a quick and increasing pace...Kind of like a car gathering speed or even a tube running along. It pauses, but only for breath and never for long.
I’m trying to describe to you, mum and I don’t know how good a job I’m doing. I can picture you with a smoke, holding the piece of paper close to your face (I doubt you’ve put your glasses on) and trying to decipher the hieroglyphics that is my handwriting. I worry that you might think I’m unhappy. I’m sure happy people don’t mention tombs but I am. I just want you to see it. To smell it even. The strange coal smell that has appeared some nights now. The smell of Fried chicken (surprisingly everywhere). The smell of money and lack thereof. It’s so surreal to read the weekend papers and have them tell you to fly to Milan or Paris for a spot of post Christmas retail therapy. I can’t help but feel that’s akin to someone suggesting I just pop over to the moon for some fairy dust. I mean that less for the fact that right now I can barely afford the life I’m living, let alone jetting off to act like some socialite with a limitless credit card (so don’t think I’m hinting at cash!) and more because growing up in NZ, travelling to such places seems like a absolute dream; something that could never happen in reality. But everything is here...Right here. Truly makes the highlight of going shopping in Invercargill feel light years away...though I doubt Milan has a DEKA like Invers did.
I want you to wake up after sleeping on the sofa bed (actually you can probably have ours...that’s nicer isn’t it?) and for us to be able to plan a day here together. We could go to Oxford street and brave the crowds (although it may be a race to see which one of us loses it first!) or see some history at The Tower of London. Or watch the ice skaters try to out dazzle one another whilst sipping on mulled wine (you can just have a tea if you want. Or beer. I have seen a bit of Kiwi beer over here so I think you’d be ok). Or at the very basic, daughter reaching out to her mother ...I just want to have you be part of my life again. It feels so odd being so far away and you just carrying on without me. I’m not sure what I expect...It’s not like we were ever going to be able to see each often being so far apart but it’s...I miss it. It’s been so long since I was home...Home for any decent length of time to make it still feel like home that I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever get that sense of grounding back. That feeling you’ve talked of (albeit in a slightly negative way!) that you really feel like you have roots when you’ve been in one place for a long time. It’s funny...I don’t know what that’s like.
Anyway I’m trying to convince you to come and I know now I haven’t done a good job because it just sounds like I’m whinging and you’ll be putting out your smoke thinking ‘Just come home then.’ Not yet mum. I can feel the earth moving under me as London begins to quicken it’s pace and I’m ready to step back on the merry go round and see what else it has to offer – this city, this world so alien to me but ready to take me for a ride. So I love you and miss you and put to you to come. Hop on (for a short while) and let’s spin around until we get giddy with all the sights, smells and sensations. It’s only here for awhile.

Karaoke Video Clips

2011-07-20T13:10:00.000-07:00

Don't you love Karaoke videos with their literal interpretation of the lyrics? Here T'Pau stops short of physically holding the country China in her hand but she does hold a lot of the dining/decorative china...Though her grip doesn't appear to be good.
This video is amazing because I think it's being serious...

To all the men I’ve loved before

2011-07-19T12:58:00.000-07:00

Celebrity crushes are a staple of my life; an ever constant fixture as everything else around me changes. But I am a fickle lover. Or so I thought. I love hard & fast and move on. Currently I adore Jon Hamm…but how long will it last?
But then I discovered something & with this knowledge, Jon needn’t worry.
Although it may have seemed to me like my affections are as changeable as the weather, it appears when I love, I'm in it for the long haul.
Over the weekend I rediscovered my passion for some old faves: Bill Pullman & Gary Sinise.I still think both of them are hot. I fell for Bill when he was in "While You Were Sleeping" which is possibly in part due to the character he plays who is just so darn charming & for Gaz it started with "Forrest Gump" - when he had legs(I didn't like his long hair when he lost his legs. Too scruffy)& in the mini series "The Stand" where he basically plays Mr All American to a T. I was reassured to see a level of consistency in my amour. However upon doing some additional googling of my paramours I realised perhaps I'd spoken too soon. Maybe I am fickle…As my adoration was only for bthen. As in...back when I originally thought they were hot. Bill just isn’t really cute now (well he is like in his 50s) and Gary….Gary’s face is funky. I'm sorry but he's either aged weirdly or he's gone down some plastic surgery road that has robbed him of his cute-ness. Or maybe it's with the exception of George Clooney*, men in their 50s aren't "cute".
* I know George isn't cute per se, but he's a helpful barometer for these type of things.
**Oh and in case you're not on the Gary Sinise bandwagon (many weren't) for your reference, the shirtless picture is hot and the suited picture is indicative of funky face. And if you think he hasn't had work done and has just aged badly...then I guess I'm a horrible person. But we'll always have "The Stand"

Do They Know It's Christmas? (A Short Play)

2011-07-17T11:06:00.000-07:00

A living room in a flat. There is a Christmas tree in the corner with some old decorations on it. There are lights wrapped in the tree. Underneath the tree are a few presents. The couch is next to the tree and in an L shape there is another two seater on the other side. There is some tinsel hung up on the wall behind the couch. The television is on and Mog sits eating absently at a box of Quality Street. She has a paper crown on. Mog's daughter Sophia comes in wearing her school uniform and too much makeup. She is texting on her phone and doesn't look at Mog. She continues to text and then sits down next to her mother. She finishes sending the text and then reaches into the Quality Street. Without turning away from the TV Mog moves the tin away from Sophia so she cannot reach.

Sophia - (whined) Mum

Mog moves the tin back to where it was, in the middle of her lap. Sophia takes the tin off her and looks in.

Sophia - You've eaten all the red ones.

Mog - There's one there. I saw it.

Sophia - No there's not. You've gone and eaten them all.

Mog - Haven't. There's one there.

Mog turns up the TV.

Sophia - There's a red wrapper mum. But no fucking chocolate.

Mog - You watch your mouth Soph.

Mog turns away from the TV and takes a look in the tin. She scuffles about and Sophia looks on at her expectantly.

Sophia - See?

Mog - Oh love I'm sorry. Hold on.

Mog places the tin on the couch and gets up. She scuffles out of the room, her Santa slippers are too small for her feet and so she moves awkwardly.
Sophia reaches for the remote. She changes the channel as Mog comes in with another tin of Quality Street.

Mog - Oi. I'm watching that.

She passes the tin to Sophia.

Sophia - You've seen it a hundred times mum.

Mog - Oi.

Sophia - Sorry.

She hands back the remote and opens the tin up. She finds a red wrapped chocolate and is satisfied.

Sophia - Where's Dave?

Mog - Don't know.

Sophia - What do you mean you don't know?

Mog - I mean I don't know.

Sophia - When's he coming back?

Mog - Don't know.

Sophia - Mum!

Mog - What? I don't know.

Sophia - Well, when did he leave?

Mog - Just after you.

Sophia - And you haven't heard from him since then?

Mog - Nope.

Sophia - Mum, that was like 10 hours ago.

Mog - Was it? What's the time?

Sophia - Just after 7.

Mog suddenly is less interested in the TV show.

Mog - Why are you only home now?

Sophia - Um...Was at the library.

Mog - Doing what?

Sophia - (even less convincingly ) Studying.

Mog - Okay. I wonder where he is then

Sophia - That's what I was saying. What did you do to him?
Mog - Don't give me a hard time Soph.
A cell phone begins to ring. The ring tone is a tinny version of 'Last Christmas'. Mog reaches over to the side of the couch and looks to see who is calling.

Mog - Speak of the devil. She picks up the phone. Hello babe. (pause) We were just wondering where you were. (pause) Oh I never heard it. I must have been in the shower or putting the turkey on. (pause) Yes turkey.

Sophia groans.

Mog - Well come inside then. (pause) What are you doing out there?

Mog gets up still on the phone. She walks over to the door to the flat and opens it. Dave stands outside still on his phone.

Dave - (still on phone) I don't know if I should come in or not.

Mog - (still on phone) You'll catch your death, come on.

Dave - That's what I need to talk to you about.

Mog - Is it snowing?

Sophia groans again and rifles through the Quality Street. Dave puts his phone in his pocket and walks in, not saying anything. Mog hangs up her phone and goes to give him a kiss and he moves his head so she kisses air. Mog closes the door.

Mog - What's the matter? Do you want some eggnog or something?

Dave casts a look at Sophia who quickly looks away.

Dave - Can I have something a bit stronger?

Mog - Sure. A Whisky? A port? Ooh how about a nice glass of mulled wine?

Dave - Not mulled wine! Anything but mulled wine!

Mog - I'll get you a nice pint of lager. Someone obviously had a bit too much wine at your work christmas party.

Mog leaves the room. Dave sits down on the couch. He is tense.

Sophia - Chocolate?

Dave - How do you do it?

Sophia - Sorry?

Dave - How do you just...act like it's all okay? Like there's not a problem?

Sophia - I don't think you should be talking to me about this Dave.

Dave - No. I know. You're right. (pause) I really like your mum.

Sophia - That's good.

Dave - But I...

Dave suddenly notices that Sophia's approach to her school uniform has more in common with a stripper than a proper school girl. Way too much eye makeup, a short skirt and her shirt is half unbuttoned.

Sophia - What?

Dave - Did you wear that to school?

Sophia - Wear what to school Dave?

Dave - You're a bit underdressed Soph. The teachers are okay with that?

Sophia - With me being "underdressed"?

Dave- Uh...yeah.

Sophia laughs.

Dave - I don't think it's funny.

Sophia - What do you think I look like?

Dave - Uh...look I just think you should maybe...cover up a little? You're only a young woman.
Sophia - I'm a stripper Dave.

Dave - Now I wasn't saying that. I just think you don't want people to get the wrong idea.

Sophia - What idea would that be?

Dave - That...you're cheap.

Sophia - I'm reasonable. £30 for a lap dance. £50 to put my boobs in your face.

Dave - Wh...what?

Sophia - Well not your face Dave, you're practically family. I'm just saying, that's the costs. So see I'm not cheap.

Dave - You're not a school girl...

Sophia - Yes. But just not at school.

Dave - Doesn't Mog know?

Sophia - What do you think?

Dave - How long has this been going on for?

Sophia - Awhile.

Dave - How have I not known?

Sophia - You're a good guy Dave. Mum's last boyfriend found out pretty quickly and let's just say it wasn't cause he came out and asked me.

Mog comes back into the room holding a tray of drinks. There is pint glass of beer, two mugs of mulled wine and some Christmas mince pies.

Mog - I thought I'd get some nibbles before we eat. Dinner's going to be awhile. Soph stop hogging the chocolates. Dave might want some.

Sophia passes the tin to Dave who still looks a bit shell shocked.

Dave - Mog honey, have you looked closely at Sophia.

Sophia throws Dave an evil look and pulls her cardigan around her a bit more, slightly minimising the slutty effect. Slightly.

Mog - You need to wear tights honey out when it's cold.

Sophia - I will when it's actually winter mum.

Mog looks crestfallen. She slumps down into the other couch.

Sophia - Oh mum, I'm sorry. I'll go put some on now, shall I?

Mog - (petulant) Well you're inside now, what's the point?

Sophia - The point is...it's Christmas, yeah?

Mog - Don't make fun Soph.

Dave - Why don't you put on that Reindeer jumper?

Sophia - Gosh how surprising that you've suddenly got all Christmassy.

Mog - Oh I love that top. I knitted that for you. Go put it on.

Sophia - Mum.

Mog - Go on. Put it on.

Sophia - I'd rather not mum.

Dave - Go on love.

Sophia -So Dave. Where have you been?

Dave - I went to the beach.

Mog laughs and takes a big gulp of mulled wine.

Mog -Shall I get some crackers?

Dave - I can't do this Mog.

Mog - Do what?

Sophia - Mum.

Dave - I just...You're a lovely woman Mog.

Mog - Why thank you. (she takes a huge swig of the wine)
Dave - But

Sophia - I'll put on the jumper. Mum , how about you crank up the turkey? Dave must be starving if he's been out there all day.

Mog- Alright. I've been slaving away all day

Dave - (quiet) That must be why there's all those Iceland boxes on the bench.

Mog kisses Dave on the cheek and heads off into the kitchen.

Sophia - Why are you being like this?

Dave - You started it.

Sophia - No, you did. I just got pissed off at you. What's got into you?

Dave - How old were you when your dad walked out?

A long silence.

Sophia - Cheers Dave. (beat) I was about 6. He was a bastard anyway

Dave - I'm sorry. My point wasn't to upset you. (pause) Maybe you should put that jumper on.

Sophia - Is my young pert chest distracting you from your serious words?

Dave - Come on.

Sophia exits from the other side and quickly returns holding an atrocious looking jumper. She holds it away from herself as if it stinks. She then shrugs it on and slumps back down on the couch.

Sophia - Happy?

Dave - When I was a kid Sophia my family was...pretty dysfunctional.

Sophia - Example.

Dave - Of the dysfunctional-ness?

Sophia - Yes.

Dave - My mum was a drunk and my father just...was mean.
Sophia - Mean? He sounds brutal

Dave - He was a mean person Sophia.

Sophia - Ok.

Dave - Family occasions were not good. So even at the best of times...which there weren't really many best of times...I've not been a fan. Of Christmas.

Sophia - Ok. I'm beginning to see

Dave - So this...(then whispered) This is not great for me.

Sophia - But no one loves Christmas. I mean, anyone who does is a bit...(trails off)

Dave - You just understood what you were saying right?

Sophia -Yeah. (beat ) Don't make me be disloyal here.

Dave - I'm not Soph, I'm really not. I just...Cliff Richard. The mince pies. The Santa everything. Bad...bad music. The cold weather. The enforced get togethers. Brussel Fucking Sprouts.

Sophia - Brussel Sprouts?

Dave - It's what they stand for?

Sophia - And what exactly do they stand for?

Dave - Everything that is evil and wrong in the world Soph. Every fucking thing that is wrong with modern society.

Sophia - Don't hold back now Dave.

Dave - I just think this is a bad idea

Soph - It's who she is, yeah? And you knew this

Dave - Of course I did. And she's a top bird but...

Soph - You won't get any better.

Dave - (sadly ) I know

Soph - So why are we having this conversation? You'll have to help carve the turkey. She's a muppet when it comes to carvery.

Dave - I didn't quite realise what it would be like. And it's every single day

Soph - That's right

Dave - For 7 months Sophia. 7 months of Brussel Fucking Sprouts

Soph - Try 6 years.

Mog - (off stage) Can you give me a hand love?

Dave - If she stopped it maybe...

Soph - Not going to happen Davey. Well it might but I wouldn't put any money on it.

Dave - Then I have to do. I have to do it today.

Soph - You can't do it today Dave. (a pause and then quietly) It's Christmas

Mog - (off stage ) LOVE! Please! I've got stuffing going everywhere.

Dave - Which love?

Soph - You love. It has to be you love.

Dave sighs and finishes the beer. He looks around the room, resigned.

Dave - Coming pet.

Sophia grabs his arm as he is about to leave the room.

Soph - Not today Dave. Please. It'd break her heart. Just don't do it today.

Dave - When then?

He exits.

Soph - Never ideally.

Sophia slumps down on the couch and pulls at the jumper. She listens for a moment and then turns the tv on. She plays with the remote so that a current news show is on. One that clearly indicates it is not Christmas. She takes a look in the direction of the other room and slowly pushes the volume up so that the news show is blaring.
Mog rushes in.

Mog - Oi. The Queens speech is about to be on Soph. Don't you go messing about with the channels

Dave - Don't you find it strange that she never sees anything different?

Sophia elbows him but he continues

Dave - Same thing every Christmas. Eh Mog?

Mog has taken the remote and Christmas shows appear again. On the TV it advises that the Queens Speech is coming up.

Mog - Well you know the royal family and all those political types. They do tend to say the same type of thing. Still, it's comforting, don't you think?

Dave - I just....I can't do it Soph

Soph (Dejected) -Yeah I expected as much.

Mog - What's wrong love?

The Smoke Alarm starts to go off from the kitchen.

Mog - Oooh Turkey must be burning! Come in the kitchen

Mog exits. Dave stands and looks down at Sophia. He truly does look beaten.

Dave - I'm really sorry Soph. Your mum is a top bird/

Soph - It's ok

Dave - And...well...any other day...I mean...Halloween even

Soph - You'd be surprised Dave.

He holds out his hand for her Soph to shake it. She doesn't.

Soph - Just do one thing yeah?

Dave - Of course. What?

Soph - Don't tell her why.

Dave - You what? I have to

Soph - Trust me. Please. Just make up something

Mog - (O.S) Dave!! Come and try it! I don't think it's bad at all.

Dave - Don't you want it to stop?

Soph - (softly) She's my mum Dave.

Dave looks at Soph for awhile and then nods sadly.

Dave - Ok. Well....all the best with school

Soph - I'm a stripper.

Dave - Well...Ahhh...Stripper School then. See you.

Dave exits. Soph slumps into the couch. She listens to the speech. A few moments later the sound of the door closing and Mog returns, stirring something in a pot.

Soph - You ok mum?

Mog - Dave's left me.

Soph - Aww mum.

She gets up and hugs her.

Soph - Did he say why?

Mog - Nope. Not a reason at all. Just said he didn't want to be with me.

Soph - I'm really sorry mum.

Mog - Broken up with at Christmas again love. What are the odds?

Soph - Can't be too high.

Mog - Still. It's a special day isn't it? I won't let that ruin our day

Soph - Good on you mum

Mog - It's not like it's Christmas every day.

Soph - No. (pause) Let's listen to Lizzie mum. Sit down with me.

Mog smiles and wiping away a tear, sits down next to her daughter.

Lights down

A tale of two _____

2011-07-16T09:07:00.001-07:00

I cant say the names here on the off chance that people in the know read this blog (chance would be a fine thing - but i love my couple of readers - you guys are cool) so will keep it cagey but hopefully still story/blog worthy.
i had a mad dream the other night. In my dream it transpired that in high school i used to date a fairly famous actor. we fancied each other lots but i also think i was using him to booster my image as there was a lot of hair flicking at people in the dream and pointing to my hot boyfriend with the old "he's with me" line. He came with me to my deb ball, which was nice. although whilst everyone else at the ball wore bridal dresses (my favourite was my friend angela's dress which had (and i quote!) a "Glen close motif" on it. Which basically meant her big pavlova dress had pictures of glen close stitched into it. weird. but loving that phrase.) I wore maroon. so no subtle imagery there.
anyway it turned out i also used to date a real life friend of mine (who i haven't dated in real life though there's been more than friends moments) who has the same name as hollywood star. it was odd. i was seemingly torn between deciding who i liked more. the real life friend went into my old house (which i shared with girls aloud because i used to be in girls aloud. according to the dream...keep up!) and ate an old birthday cake that was in a cupboard, covered in cobwebs miss haversham styles and apparently tasted like "rot" in order to prove his feelings. meanwhile hollywood actor had forgotten our magical time together and only remembered when i showed him a series of photos (that i apparently kept on hand for such amnesiac moments)
Moral of the story? No idea...And this was without cheese before bedtime too

Fluff

2011-07-13T12:52:00.000-07:00

This beginning to my Rom Com Chick Flick Novel/Actual Chick Flick has been buzzing about for years (since 2005 according to the "last saved" date on my word document. It's shit. I'm aware. But every time I hear "Heart & Soul" by T'Pau (which I'll have to include here) I just see it. The whole story. Ok, not the whole story. There's always been some issues that I'm not quite sure about...The Izzy character kind of has to be a bit of a bitch for people to completely empathise with Tamsin (urgh - changing that name) but then if she's a total cow, you question why ____ (I can't seriously call her Tamsin) is mates with her...hmmm...Tricky. Particularly considering the below is as far as I've got...

***********************

This is how it all began; with a breath, a little flurry of butterflies in the chest. And stomach. She was about to come out. I was late, a nasty habit that seemed to be a throw-over from my uni days, as it had taken me too long to find my ticket. Thankfully Jonesy, a doorman who was a regular fixture at these events, recognised me and ushered me in. I could hear them bitching about me as I got swept up – more accurately moshed – by the crowd. There was a seat near the front. Empty. Reserved. Mine? But that was a guess. There was no way I was scrambling over there towards it only to watch Donatella sit down or even some bloody buyer from a department store. I leaned up against the wall. And right into him. It’s so disgustingly cliché. A sign surely. This gorgeous man with messy brown hair and gorgeous eyes smiled widely at me.
“You’re late too Tamzin,” he said. “Izzy will kill us.”
“I don’t think she’ll notice. But I won’t tell if you don’t.”
As Dominic started to laugh, the lights dimmed and the roar of the music silenced him. The walls began to reverberate with the opening strains of T’Pau’s “Heart and Soul.” It felt like a movie. The models came out one by one in a gaudy array of aqua, fuschia, lemon. They seemed destined to render us mere mortals gob-smacked.
Izzy was the third out, resplendent in an orange gown that would have made me look like – well, an orange. Somehow she could make it look great which pretty much summed up why Izabelle was the model and I was standing in a crowded room, cheering and clapping like a lunatic. I turned to Dom, who was staring at the runway.
“She looks great, ah?” I leant over and whispered into his ear.
“What Tam?”
“She looks great!” I shouted this time. He flinched, and rubbed his ear.
“Sorry,” I mouthed.
He leaned in, brushed my hair out of my face and spoke quickly into my ear.
“Always. But I’m kind of drawn to Miss Purple there.”
I looked in the direction of the models. Izzy had begun to turn back and behind her was a tall, very thin (even by model standards) blonde with a tiny, purple shift dress on. I recognised her from other shows, but I couldn’t think of her name. She was beautiful but as soon as I looked at her, I knew that was not the reason she had caught Dom’s attention.
“That…seems a bit wrong,” I stammered.
Dom turned to me, with a wide grin on his face. “That’s the f***ing understatement of the year.”

************************************

http://youtu.be/SwrYMWoqg5w

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SwrYMWoqg5w#url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DSwrYMWoqg5w&size=medium&count=false&id=I1_1310588872109&parent=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com&rpctoken=239762291&_methods=onPlusOne%2C_ready%2C_close%2C_open%2C_resizeMe

The Girl With The Chip On Her Shoulder

2011-07-12T13:49:00.000-07:00

This seriously pisses me off. And maybe it shouldn't. But it seriously does. A female character who is strong. Unashamedly sexual. Intelligent. Doesn't act coy or subjubate herself. An all round brilliant modern anti hero. And the poster for the American remake of the film, shows her naked; The curves of her breasts clearly visible (which maybe I'm being overly pedantic, but Lisbeth herself speaks of her lack of a chest that could be called anything but boyish). But it's not even that, that really grates me. Artistic licence and the changes a film director will make to what is on the page. Fine. Particularly with a film director I always would have thought was nuanced and smart. Maybe he didn't have anything to do with the poster. But to me, she is being shown as vulnerable and as some kind of sexual object and oh big burly Blomkvist (I'm sorry - I actually prefer the other actor. I've never found Daniel Craig remotely tingle worthy....but that's a whole other gripe). Why? Why this character? Why portray her so seemingly being kept safe in his arms? Why can't she have a rocking black metal singlet top on? Do you know what I'm saying...or am I really just being super Mary Woodhouse-y on this?

Dem Bones

2011-07-04T07:59:00.000-07:00

The city streets are littered with corpses. Tiny fragments of life. Chicken bones. One could be mistaken that there is some kind of mass bird epidemic. Chickens roaming the corners of Soho & Angel, Camberwell & Brixton. They walk in twos across London Bridge. Chickens with briefcases and an agenda. A thwarted agenda. A thousand chickens scattered all over, like an avarian confetti.
Do chickens dream? I'd imagine if they could, they would aspire to the lofty heights of being "Perfect Chicken" but perhaps less so, "Perfect Fried Chicken" which is where they end up. No, that is where their other journey begins. This journey from a 137 to an 88 bus to a park bench in a Common, to outside your local offie but never, NEVER in a bin and seemingly never to somewhere that allows them to be 'free as a bird.'

Phoney AKA This is how it goes down

2011-07-04T06:50:00.000-07:00

A watched phone never rings. But you can't help it. Maybe you somehow didn't hear it and you missed the call. So you look again. Nope, you didn't miss it. You hear the ring tone in other sounds. The chorus of a song playing in a cafe in Camberwell. In the vibration from the buses on the floor (is my phone not ringing but it's vibrating? Even though it's not on silent?) You have a vague awareness....a strong awareness that the person you're not waiting to call (as if !) probably won't call. Not cause they hate you. Maybe cause they don't care enough. But probably just cause it doesn't occur to them to remember or to make the effort. You pretend that you're not waiting. But you are. And at least have learnt from past times when you waited for others to call (but not. As if!) where you just waited. Occupied your time by waiting. You are doing now. Making action. And ok, yeah the thoughts are there but it's better. This is not romance phone call waiting. Though you've done that too. It's people whose word is slightly fuzzier than others. To whom concrete plans are sometimes more fluid than hard grey rock. But that's ok. It is. It's always how you respond to certain things that is the test. How you let these things effect you. There's a flipside too. And you're familiar with that too. Two sides of a coin so it makes sense that you've been to both A & B. You briefly wonder what it was like in the old days. Those historic dinosaur times where no one had mobile phones so if you weren't at home, you would miss the call. And if you didn't leave home the silence would be deafening. I'd like to think I would always have gone out rather than while away a day inside. Life's too short to wait around. And cell phone ring tones just aren't loud enough.

Home but not Home

2011-07-04T06:49:00.002-07:00

I'm not sure what I would define my home as. I do like "home is where the heart is" but in terms of narrowing down even exactly what that means....And we'll get a meandering blog entry as waffling as the previous. My heart is in a few places with a few people (not in a slutty way -but whanau is in some places, my own memory/friends in another, my physical self somewhere else...you get the idea)
Yesterday evening I went to a festival in Hyde Park with some good friends of mine to see Pulp. It was a really amazing performance, due obviously in large part to Jarvis's all round awesomeness but also due to some other elements that made it a fantastic experience. To prevent me going off on wild tangents (which I feel is my tendency today, writing wise) I'll do some nice little bullet points. Here goes

The Weather (warm, sunny. Just right!)
Said company
Randomly caught up with a friend I hadn't seen in about...I'm thinking at least 12 years but possibly more. She was standing next to me at Cut Copy and tapped me on the shoulder and said hi and then hung out with us for rest of night. Love the universe!
I called my sister during "Disco "2000" and played the whole song. She was the one who introduced me to Pulp so even though she obviously wasn't there, it still felt like I shared it with her in a special way.
Drinking just the right amount of beer (three over about 7 hours). Feeling good today and hence why I'm in a cafe typing and not hungover in bed missing the sun
Being in Hyde Park. At a concert of a band I grew up with who hadn't toured in 15 years. In a city that I've realised I sometimes now do love. Sometimes!

Keep Trying

2011-07-04T06:49:00.001-07:00

I've not really written much (if at all - I can't be bothered to go back and check) about my Buddhist practice. I'm wary of seeing as trying to "cult" people and I feel...maybe a bit of a fraud by talking about it when there's so much I don't yet understand or feel comfortable explaining to others. But I wanted to write about it today, if for nothing else but to try and order my own jumbled thoughts.
I was at an Open Space workshop a few weeks back for a theatre project I'm part of and one of the women there was a Buddhist. She spoke of how she had recently sought guidance as she felt like she was just giving lip service to her Gohonzon and not really feeling it. And I've realised that's where I feel like I am. I have made set myself goals and on one level I am meeting the targets I've set (such as saying to chant for at least twenty minutes a day which is about ten minutes in the morning and ten minutes at night.) Which when you put it that way, seems so small, so very achievable. Ten minutes is not a great amount of time. But I'm not there. I'm checking my phone to see how many minutes have gone by (one minute feels like a long time when you're constantly checking your phone) or looking about my room or thinking about what I have to do next or worrying if I'll be late for work (even though I leave early enough that I'm usually there half an hour before my start time so late in my head is getting there on time) . And I see these pockets of time as so small. So doable. I should write more. Isn't that a constant refrain? But how to make that click? That shift from aiming to do something, to thinking how great it would be, how helpful if would be to make that change to actually making it? Despite my occasional (yes I'm going with only OCCASIONAL) penchant for drama, I like things to be easy. Straight forward. Read - without requiring much effort. And it's a little embarrassing to admit that I am lazy. I'm not going to beat myself off too much...it's really not that kind of confessional /wringing of hands kind of blog, besides which I do feel I've made some headway on my lazy writing tendencies. It's about balance though isn't it? And going back to my Buddhism and my inability to devote ten minutes properly to myself (as in to my life and to others and not ten minutes to reading a trashy magazine, which I can do remarkably well), I don't have any shiny helpful answer. Except to keep trying and to really try and be present. I think being in "the now" is something most of us do struggle with. (I'm sorry to use the new agey "the now" type term but it's a concept I think people are familiar with and I think the phrase "living for the moment" implies a certain hedonism, which is not what I mean). I see people around me who seem so much better at...God, living I suppose which sounds grim. But people who dually inspire me and make me feel like I'm just not doing enough. Rather randomly Grace Jones was such a person. Watching a woman of 63 wear a basque, thong, hula-hooping her way through a 5 minute song made me see that we're really never too old to be brave & that what a way to be. Hula-hooping on a stage wearing a mad hat, looking mental.
Keep trying. (that in a nut shell is what this meandering blog is about!)

Little Things

2011-06-28T06:45:00.000-07:00

I don’t think I’m a particularly observant person. It’s something I feel I should be better at, being a writer, but I’m just not. Sometimes I notice things, tiny details that might pass other people by but on those occasions it’s usually my imagination getting busy as opposed to me being a super sleuth.
At any rate I noticed something today and it made me worry a little. I hope it’s me finding something not there or reading into something that has no meaning. But I am worried. Feeling helpless really. Wishing I could make this person step out of the hole they are in and see the sun. And also see that they may be able to help themselves, find joy in their own heart, if they open up and reach out a helping hand to others. This may sound cheesy but it’s something I pray for daily. I hope.
And even if it wasn’t that; wasn’t what I suspect at all…I still hope that for them.

Ick!

2011-06-22T12:11:00.000-07:00

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-2006574/Green-Mile-actor-Doug-Hutchisons-16-year-old-bride-good-Christian-girl-insist-parents-new-saucy-photos-emerge.html

One word with a well needed exclamation mark; Ick!

Ch ch Changes

2011-06-21T04:37:00.000-07:00

After changes upon changes...it turns out some people really do stay exactly the same.
A recent email exchange with someone which culminated in them making a remark that I’m sure on some level they thought was wry and a little bit cheeky, but which I just thought showed them to be ignorant and actually pretty insensitive. This shouldn’t be a complete surprise being that was always my bug bear with this particular person. And perhaps it really only reinforces how I’ve not entirely changed either, being that I’m getting all uppity over a throw away comment.
I believe comedy can be found in the most unlikely places and that the modern world is far too politically correct for its own good. I also believe that you should be able to laugh in the face of misfortune. We can’t always, sometimes it’s just too raw but sometimes all you can do is laugh. Otherwise you’d collapse into a ball of tears. I know all this. I believe all this. But when the line is neither big nor clever, it does make you wonder….Did you really think before you wrote that? And if so, perhaps think a little harder next time. A little bit beyond yourself. As for me? Well, suck it up. Move on. And know which battles are worth fighting and which battles are worth just writing a snarky blog and leaving it at that.

You Have Beautiful Skin

2011-06-20T13:24:00.000-07:00

Don't come up
with a poem
whilst you're in a concert
as it's a fucking waste of time
because you can't
remember
what it is
you actually thought of
even though you thought
of rhymes and shit and all that

Sunday. Raining. Cold.

2011-06-19T06:56:00.000-07:00

The great British summer has been a wash out. This doesn't surprise me. I've lived in the UK for four years and this is the fourth consecutive very average summer. And that is being generous really. I don't mind rain and cold. Just not when it should be hot and dry. Is 9 months of crap weather not enough?
Still it alleviates the guilt and nay, encourages you to be inside doing writing things, which is what I'm doing whilst listening to a great album called "Dark Was The Night." Could be worse ways to spend an afternoon

Upbeat Pessimists Of The World Unite (to the tune of “Shoplifters of the World Unite”)

2011-06-16T12:43:00.000-07:00

So it turns out I’m not actually an optimist. I think a lot of people would think I am but the truth is, I’m a little bit cynical and more than a little bit paranoid. I tend to veer towards “Murphy’s Law” type way of thinking; as in, if something is going to go wrong, it’ll probably go wrong to me. (I think this is one reasonable explanation as to why I will never bungee jump…aside from the fact I literally can’t imagine doing anything worse)
I can be quite the negative Nelly, but I tend to serve this up with a smile or a jokey comment so in that sense I’m not all doom and gloom and can come across fairly positive. Hence, I coined the term “upbeat pessimist.”*
I imagine the worst. I worry about stuff that hasn’t happened, probably won’t happen and ever if it did happen there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s a bit ridiculous really. I’m really good (well I think I am!) at trying to pep people up and get people to focus on the positives and the things they can control and change…but when it comes to my own thinking, it can often be a whole lot of what I coined “white noise”* thinking. I also tend to second guess decisions I make (or don’t make) and assume the one I land on is wrong…This is a grim blog. I might leave it there. But I’ll leave you with “upbeat pessimist” and the fact I am optimistic about trying to alter my thought patterns so I edge a little bit closer to the glass being half full. And not half full of poison. Or flat Coke.

* I think I coined this but I can be a bit of a klepto when it comes to words & phrases.

One hand in my pocket

2011-06-15T12:46:00.000-07:00

I have greasy hands. Which is odd as most of the time they look like dry little old lady hands that would soak up moisturiser like a paper towel to a juice spill. But it’s true. I have proof.
My iphone (iphone!! Squeal!! Yes, I’m a latecomer) is constantly covered in a smeary, fingerprinted layer of scunge. Which is a result of me. Me and my greasy hands.
I should have known this could happen. Once I did pole dancing classes (yeah, I know) and I was greatly impeded by my tendency to slip off the pole. I was also impeded by my weak old lady arms but the main culprit was the slabs of butter I apparently had eking out of my pores. I could never get a grip and after the pole would be covered in a sheeny shiny layer of sweat. Much like my iphone.
Confession over.
Unless someone else wants to fess up and reveal their iphone (iphone! Squeal!) is also covered in mucky little finger prints like some delinquent child thief has been at it?

June 13 Poem

2011-06-14T12:47:00.000-07:00

There is nothing I can do from here
No cure I can send
No balm for your nerves
No miracle to make it all stop
I'd airmail my love
if the Royal Mail could be trusted
But it's all so far from here
Everything takes too long
and is lost in the time difference
I hear it in your voice
and you know that I do
but you can't hide it
as you simply can't escape that fear
That causes your voice to tremble
You could blame it on a delay
The phone lines are shot after all
But it's the clearest thing there is
There is nothing you can do from there
So it becomes just words
but words bursting with meaning
and full to the brim with love
I tell you to be Totara strong
And I know it's a big ask
Because I don't really understand
I don't pretend to
because that is unwanted
So I just give you my arms
They seem to have gotten bigger
Because they reach from Peckham
to Papanui
I hold you in my arms
We hold you in our arms
We hold you and hold on
and keep on keeping on
Because that
is all we can do.

Thursday

2011-06-13T09:56:00.001-07:00

London Bridge Story

You very easily get into a day to day auto pilot routine when making your way to work. You switch off and drone it up as you follow the same literal path five days a week. For me it goes something like walk to Queens Road station. Wait for train. Train to London Bridge. Navigate way through the people rushing but moving at snail pace at London Bridge station and then walk across London Bridge, past Bank to Moorgate at a steady speed. I stop off via Starbucks at the corner of Moorgate & Chiswell Street (a habit I need to break) and then catch the lift up to the third floor. Sometimes I walk the stairs but I feel ok about not, seeing as I've just power walked for a solid 20 minutes. Just over a week ago I was waiting at the lights to cross on the corner of London Bridge and Tooley Street. I had Chromeo playing (loudly) on my ipod. The sun was out. I had actually just crossed Tooley street before waiting for the little green man, which I had felt a bit hypocritical about. People cross on the red man every morning and I always wait. I tend to feel a bit smug in my waiting. A bit like "I'm not in that much of a rush." So I had felt a little bad to have gone against that. I was thinking of crossing again pre-green man to the middle part of London Bridge. If there is no cars coming to your right, you're fine to go and you can see clearly down the length of the road. There were others near me. I was thinking I'd go with them or just wait when I saw a motorbike come flying across that side of the road and a resounding noise. Or a silence. I don't know. I felt like I heard a sound too but I don't know if I just felt like I should have. I took my headphones off. It felt like everything had stopped. Or slowed down. Or shrunk into that one piece of road. Some people in the middle crossing were screaming. A woman was hugging another and turned away in horror. Another woman lay on her back, her eyes opened to the sky but not seeing. She wasn't blinking. The lights turned green and we stood in the middle and then hurried to the other side. Wanted to get off the road. But didn't want to leave. I knew I couldn't do anything. Wasn't going to be any help. So as much as it felt odd to stand by the side of the road and watch this woman and watch people try to help, it seemed so wrong to just keep on walking. Because I was ok. It seemed really wrong.
I spoke to people near me. Those of us that had seen. Or heard. Or almost not seen and heard because we weren't looking for it. There was a delay as this had broken us out of our drone walk to work. This wasn't the usual turn/turn/walk routine.
Eventually the police moved everyone on. The helicopter landed and the people caught up in the unmoving traffic took photos. Hopefully of the helicopter, though I'm sure a lot was the action of ghouls, taking photos of a woman lying broken on a road, her day completely not what she could have ever imagined as she woke that morning. I found out a week later she died. A police sign mentioning a fatal collision and giving a phone number, I presume for the police, to give any information. I have thought about calling but I don't know what I could say. It all felt so delayed and so fast that I feel I barely saw a thing. But she died. I don't know her. If I had been earlier I wouldn't have even been there and possibly now wouldn't be even more cautious, to the point of paranoia, when crossing main roads. We do it every day. People risk their lives in the most smallest ways and we probably don't even know. Because how can we know, when our time is up? Surely we'd behave completely differently if we knew. Or maybe not. Maybe that's it, that we just keep on until we don't anymore.
As awful as it is, I hope she was happy. Or at least was feeling good and had ticked off some of those personal life check lists. How awful to think you might be making plans for a tomorrow that never comes? But we do. Every day we do. Not one day of this life has been promised to us. So I don't advocate going hedonistic and giving up your responsibilities. But I advocate taking the little bit of time. Not necessarily at crossing roads but in seeing our life. Being in the moment. And not just auto-piloting through those moments we never take the time to acknowledge.

Home

2011-06-13T05:36:00.000-07:00

Jude & Sienna: The Latter Years

2011-06-13T04:05:00.001-07:00

The near future.
JUDE sits at an outdoor table. He has a very obviously fake full head of blond hair and is overtanned. He is saved from ridiculousness by his striking eyes.
He smokes a cigarette and sips at a coffee, distracted. He pulls out his phone and punches in a number.

JUDE (into phone) - It's me. Where are you? (beat) Right.

He puts out the cigarette, annoyed.

JUDE - No. It's fine. (beat) I said it's fine. (beat) I've got to go. Someone is waving at me. I think it's Daisy...

He hangs up the phone. Annoyed. He finishes his coffee and runs his fingers through his hair. Some strands come out. He curses. His phone begins to ring. He looks at who is calling. Smiling he doesn't answer. He takes off his suit jacket and takes out a packet of mints. He eats three and then spritzs himself with an expensive cologne as well as a hydrating mist. He puts the ashtray and the coffee cup on another table. He orders a mineral water. His phone rings again. He lets it ring out. A few moments later SIENNA arrives. Her blonde hair is very long and very blonde. She wears large Dior sunglasses. She is impossibly thin and carries a bag that is almost bigger than her. Literally. She smiles a broad, loved up smile. Then -

SIENNA -(hissed) I hate you, you lying scum

JUDE - (loud) Darling, sit down. I've been waiting for you.

SIENNA airkisses him, her hair swishing about.

SIENNA - You're the worst kind of shit. You had to say "Daisy", didn't you?

JUDE - Honey, sit down.

SIENNA sits. She takes him by the face and kisses him, her hands obscuring his face. They pull apart

SIENNA - Daisy. Daisy

JUDE - How you your flowers grow?

SIENNA - What? (beat) Do you have a smoke?

JUDE - We quit

SIENNA - No,we didn't.

JUDE - I did.

SIENNA - Fine. You did. Do you have any?

JUDE - No. I quit darling

SIENNA - OK. Well I'm going to buy some. Do you want anything to drink?

JUDE shakes his head. SIENNA walks off towards the counter. JUDE taks out the packet of smokes he had in his pocket. He sees there are two remaining smokes. He turns back to see where she has gone. Frowning he then breaks the smokes in half and tosses them in the coffee cup on the other table, along with the packet.
SIENNA returns, cigarette-less and slumps onto the chair.

JUDE - They not have any love?

She shakes her head and looks at him pathetically. He looks around and then leans in to kiss her. He covers her face with his hands. He then pulls back, with a smug look on his face. SIENNA simply looks bored. JUDE notices.

JUDE - What?

SIENNA - What?

JUDE - What's with the face?

SIENNA - What's wrong with my face? Are there...(whispered) lines? Where? Take a photo. It'll be a lot easier to work from

JUDE -This face. (He mimics her bored expression). What is that all about?

SIENNA - Nothing. It's...It's nothing

JUDE - Was it the Daisy joke?

SIENNA - It wasn't a joke. I'm just...I'm distracted. I haven't had a proper movie role since /

JUDE - Ever. (laughs)When have you ever?

SIENNA - Oh, ok. So your career is so shit hot lately?

JUDE - Pap at 9 o'clock. Kiss me

They lean in and kiss each other. Both try to cover the other's face with their hands. When they pull apart they continue to talk, but maintain smiles.

JUDE - It hasn't. But I think I've probably peaked love

SIENNA - Peaked? The lofty heights of "Sky Captain"?

JUDE - Shut up. Stupid bint. You don't know anything

SIENNA - You can't preach to me Law. And at least I don't have any ropey ex-wive's causing me grief

JUDE - Yes. No ropey ex's for you. Cause Rhys was hunk of the year, right?

SIENNA - I didn't marry him, did I?

JUDE - No. Perhaps if you'd kept your knickers on for five minutes, one of them would have married you

SIENNA - I'm a free spirit

JUDE - Slutty-ena

SIENNA - Fuck you. (beat) Damnit. 10 o'clock and 12 o'clock

JUDE - Shoulder embrace?

SIENNA nods. JUDE reaches in and hugs her. They look into each other's eyes with love

SIENNA - You're a prick

JUDE - Well you've had your share of "pricks" haven't you love?

SIENNA reaches out to smack him but he grabs her hand and kisses it all over. He lovingly touches her wedding band. She returns the adoring look

JUDE - Best day of my life

SIENNA - Same. It felt like I'd won an Oscar or something

JUDE - But better as it was all about me. The whole day

SIENNA - Maybe...Maybe we should renew our vows?

JUDE - Darling...That is a great idea

Pause. JUDE suddenly looks ill

SIENNA - What is it?

JUDE - Were the paps following you here?

SIENNA - Of course. But there were some tagging you when I got here. Did you not see them?

JUDE - Let me just preface this with saying...for the next five minutes do the best acting work you ever have

SIENNA - Why? Jude...why?

JUDE - About the cigarettes....

Freeze frame on the couple. A series of pictures. Smiling. One picture belies the slightest frown. Then a series of snogs and smiles, each more loved up then the next.
Black.

Arthur Russell - This Is How We Walk on the Moon

2011-06-11T01:16:00.000-07:00

Rounding up my music trilogy posting for the day is the surreal, haunting folksy disco genius that is Arthur Russell. Very much not appreciated as widely as he deserves to as he is someone who creates music that is other worldly and quite frankly, weird. But in a good way

Kurt Vile - Baby's Arms

2011-06-11T01:14:00.000-07:00

My friend Dave has broadened my musical taste as of late by piling a hard drive filled with all different aural gems. This lovely man & his equally lovely tune here is one of my favourite discoveries. A rich voice with a soulful morning after the hard night of whiskey before type vibe. Beautiful

Duran Duran - All You Need Is Now- Official Video - HD

2011-06-11T01:12:00.000-07:00

At first I questioned the necessity of this song...but it has proven itself to be a grower and not a shower...Not up there with the hey day for sure, but definitely up there with "Come Undone" etc

The Don

2011-06-10T10:54:00.000-07:00

The other night I had a rather elaborate dream involving Dominic West, Jon Hamm (as Don Draper)* and Easyjet.
They were three separate situations and the aspects worth noting here was that I was Betty Draper and was much more into my husband than on the show. In addition the dream changed and the Easyjet portion, involved a rather surly woman at checkin who, after initially refusing to let my dad & me onto a flight, relented and let us go. Even though we were technically late and she had already given our seats to other people. Unrealistic dreams…being married to Don Draper or Easyjet cutting people some slack…I think we all know which is less likely to happen in reality…
This isn’t the first Don Draper dream I’ve had, despite the fact I’ve not been recently watching the show. This is, I believe, the fourth. Thank you, oh kind subconscious!
Aside from the man being incredibly pleasing on the eye, I do wonder why it is that it’s always clearly Don in the dream and not Jon (never realised the rhyme there). The Draper is a selfish, cold and fairly insensitive character who can’t open himself up enough to care for anyone (barely even himself). He drinks too much, cheats on every woman he is with, is arrogant and doesn’t communicate AT ALL. Yet there is something so attractive about this 60s bad boy that has indelibly marked itself on many women…Gosh, that sounds dodgy!
At any rate, I put to you my spirited and amazing blog followers…what is it about the Don? Or who is your “dream” man?

Gratituitous Joe Orton Shot

2011-06-09T12:10:00.000-07:00

Stars (1) -Scratchings

2011-06-09T12:02:00.000-07:00

The motel room has no lights on but she sits with the curtains drawn so that the neon lights and passing cars cast a temporary glow on her.
She sits on the floor, leaning up against th bed. She knows he is up to something but isn't sure what. Or maybe she knows exactly what.
He comes into the room, almost seeming surprised to see her, although she is clearly who he was looking for.
"Hey. You ok?"
"Fine"
"Um...I uh...I haven't got to the cash machine yet. Could you lend me a little bit of money? I can pay you tomorrow."
"Sure. Whatever. My wallet is on the dresser"
He walks to the dresser and she asks "What do you need it for?"
As soon as she says it, she wishes to have not said it. Because she suddenly knew the answer.
"There's a...There's a girl. A woman...Um...she's a hooker."
"It's ok," she spoke quickly, scrambling up to her feet as she did. "I don't really need to know."
"It's not sex. I...It's just a blow job."
"It's ok. I...I don't need to know"
.....

Not that kind

2011-06-09T12:00:00.000-07:00

You have perfect lips
I never knew I'd notice lips
or yours
Until they were on mine
and you were on my mind
You littered my thoughts
and catch in my breath
But for now
Now I see the imperfect
and it makes it easier to know
Your perfect lips
are over there

Double/Single

2011-06-09T11:56:00.000-07:00

Every moment I'm not in the moment at all
I'm somewhere else. Somewhere in a different frame of mind
A different me
Your bed holds your shape; just yours
A hollowed up space with only room enough for one.
That's rich, isn't it?
You held me. You kissed me. You undressed me. And it means
nothing
And everything
And actually all the in between
It's not love. It barely got a chance to breathe.
Be a friend to me. A real one
Let one hold hands before the fuck.
Do it right for once.
And be present
Not simply trying to fill in the gaps

Dubstar - Stars

2011-06-09T11:55:00.000-07:00

From Here to There

2011-06-09T11:47:00.000-07:00

I should be wary of saying things I’m planning on doing here, seeing as the ratios to things actually done and things suggested is not great but I figure my following is minimal (but amazing) so I can proclaim all sorts of stuff here with the gay abandon one hopes for when blogging.
But here goes ….
I’m going to rewrite a short story I wrote (which at the time I was convinced was a novel and I enlisted about 7 friends to help me type up the mighty tome…all 14 pages or so of it) when I was about 13. I heard the piece of music that inspired it and realised the idea still really appealed. I was hoping to read the original one I wrote again so I’d be able to neatly contrast the same story through the eyes of a child to now someone A LOT older but so far searches to unearth the story have failed. I went on a big mission to find it when I was at my parents in New Zealand and had no luck. I actually think it might have been saved on a floppy disk so will possibly go by feel. Still, that’s the plan. Would like to use it as in a way, it’s just for me. Ultimately think it’s a film…but first things first. (ie. Write it first. Right?)

I've just posted the link to the song in a separate post...Though Youtube seems to be being weird and only doing the link....maybe something has changed...

Writing but not writing

2011-06-09T11:46:00.000-07:00

Each and every writer appears to have their own approach to their work and ideally, their own style. Some styles are clearly better than others, whilst maybe others are just more suited for a particular taste. I quite like my style. At least when it’s pared down and properly edited. It’s my approach to writing I have issues with. Or more specifically, my penchant for time wastage and general avoidance tactics.
I had said to myself that last Saturday afternoon I would spend the day working. I had several projects (or pieces I suppose) I wanted to get my teeth into and make some real headway with. These were (in no particular order):
· The Television Show (look at my involvement and the proposal etc)
· Turning Two Hander (a 45 minute stage play) into a ten minute film
· Arranging and Selecting poems and other pieces for my show in two months & getting it locked down. Perhaps even starting to rehearse/ figure out my exact approach to the material
What I did was typed out some poems and mini plays that I had on free hand on loose bits of paper as well as in a small notebook. I cut and pasted the pieces I think I’ll do. I read Two Hander again and made some notes as to the main action points and themes. I then wrote a piece for a show that the company is doing later in the year.
Then I drank some Prosecco and watched some of Season 2 of SATC. Like I’d never done that before.
I feel like I trap myself in this…well, trap. I don’t get anywhere with the pieces I want /need to, because I want it to just appear on the page, in a puff of smoke, without actually investing the time. Because as much as I love writing and know writing is part of me, it’s often hard. And slow. And the writing is often bad. But I read this book which addressed the whole issue of thinking everything you do must be good. Sometimes it’s important to make the bad art. To just do the work. There’s no way you can reap the rewards without it. This is a mantra I have been really thinking of. But still not doing a load about. This is not a post to vow to change. A post to say, from here on I will chain myself to the desk (as such) and get it done. Because that’s all talk. That’s empty words. And that’s the very time it’s best to not write. The proof is in the action.

Monday

2011-06-09T11:45:00.000-07:00

I wrote a novel once. It wasn’t very good. I made sure the word count was of novel length though, so in that sense alone I still feel quite proud. I’m only slightly ashamed that I took the “why use one word when you can use” five approach to fleshing out the story. Still… it was an experience and once I found play writing, not one I have ever felt desperate to return to. But sometimes I do think on it. On actually trying to write one again and working on making it actually readable. There is a worldwide “event” for want of a better word, whereby you sign up to write a novel in a month. If I remember (it’s in November) I wouldn’t mind trying it. Yes that’s a massive word count to churn out in a short space of time but I think it could be liberating as you don’t have the time to self edit. Although clearly self-editing is what I should have been doing first time around…

Spaces Between

2011-06-04T12:28:00.000-07:00

Vera - What are you doing?

David - Nothing

Vera - Come on

David - What?

Vera - What are you doing?

David - I'm not doing anything

Vera - You are

David - Oh. Okay

Vera - Dave

David - Vera

Vera - Tell me

David - Tell you?

Vera - Yeah

David - Tell you what?

Vera - For fucks sake. Why do you need to make things so hard?

David - I'm not

Vera - You are

David - How? What am I doing that is so reprehensible?

Vera - Oh just...You never used to be like this

David - Like what?

Vera- What?

David - How am I like?

Vera - Forget it. I'm going to go

David - Don't do that. You just...why do you do that?

Vera - Why do I do what?

David - You plant and then...Why not just tell me what I'm meant to be saying

Vera - Not that...Definitely not that. And it never used to be like that

David - Do you know what? It probably was. I just loved you too much to say the wrong thing

Vera - What? Now you don't, right?

David - Just go then, yeah? Maybe you should just go

Vera - You'd like that

David - What?

Vera - You'd like that, wouldn't you?

David - I don't know

Excerpts from "Closer"

2011-06-04T12:27:00.000-07:00

Quotes to live by...

"It made me realise I could be famous fat but I didn't stand a chance skinny"

"Fans started daring me to eat four big pizzas in one sitting or five litres of ice cream and custard"

"Eating herself to death"

Halfway down the stairs

2011-06-04T12:24:00.000-07:00

So it transpires that it's the middle of the year and I last wrote on here in January...All my readers must be adrift and consumed by a massive sense of loss...Apologies. Here I am...Worth the wait as always
I could make my all too familiar claims to write on here every day and MEAN it and commit some real regularity...I'm not going to do that...But maybe I will. Actually write that is. What a novel idea (literary pun unintended...)

Beautiful words -love this song- Have A Little Faith

2011-01-10T11:53:00.000-08:00

I don't care if this song is actually about something completely unlike what I think it is. To me this is about having faith in yourself, even in those dark times / but it's also about just believing; in yourself, in someone else, in the light at the end of the tunnel being a brighter day. Yay. I've also posted the song too (so you can hear it!)

When the road gets dark
And you can no longer see
Just let my love throw a spark
And have a little faith in me
And when the tears you cry
Are all you can believe
Just give these loving arms a try
And have a little faith in me
Have a little faith in me
Have a little faith in me
And when your secret heart
Cannot speak so easily
Come here darling, from a whisper start
And have a little faith in me
And when your back's against the wall
Just turn around and you, you will see
I will catch you,
I will catch your fall
Just have a little faith in me
Have a little faith in me
Have a little faith in me
Cause I've been loving you, for such a long, long time
Expecting nothing in return
Just for you to have a little faith in me
You see time, time is our friend
Cause for us, there is no end
And all you gotta do, is have a little faith in me
I will hold you up, I will hold you up
And your love, gives me strength enough to
Have a little faith in me
Hey hey
All you gotta do
Is have a little faith in me

Hoff Tastic

2011-01-09T02:09:00.000-08:00

Today one of the greatest actors of the 20th century graces the English stage. Probably.
But I'm going to see David Hasselhoff take on the challenging and layered role of Hook in Peter Pan. Behold! I live in hope that he will wear a similar costume and be completely bonkers. Brilliant.

The Other One

2011-01-08T10:36:00.000-08:00

For anyone keen my other fave is a poem called "Richard Cory" by American poet Edwin Arlington Robinson which coincidentally also inspired a Simon & Garfunkel song (one of my fave bands) called "Richard Cory" ...Here's the poem below (the lyrics to the song differ)

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich-yes, richer than a king-
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

Poem Corner - thanks Robert Frost

2011-01-08T10:25:00.000-08:00

I have two favourite poems and this is one of them. It's so beautifully written and so so true. I think it may have to be my 2011 (poem) anthem

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear
Though as for that passing there
Had worn them really about the same

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less travelled by
And that has made the difference.

Little bit

2011-01-04T12:27:00.000-08:00

Man Boobs
A London squat. A sun drenched room. A beautiful but covered in dirt painting hangs above a fireplace filled with over spilling bags of rubbish and worn down candles. Newspapers (The Guardian and The Sun) litter the room, spread out across the expanse as though caught in the wind. There is an inflatable double mattress with one sleeping bag on it and someone inside and another single mattress, stained beyond belief.
Felicity walks into the room with a thermos. She is someone who could literally wear a sack and be breathtaking. Not necessarily beautiful but has that elusive "something". She sits at the edge of the double mattress. She then gets up and turns on the radio. Flicking through the stations loudly, she settles on some easy listening 70s rock. She sits back down on the air mattress. The body in the sleeping bag speaks.

Wally - Flic, for fucks sake

Felicity - What? (beat) Do you want a tea?

Wally - Can you sit on Skin's bed? Every movement is like the fucking Titanic

Felicity - God Wally, settle down

Felicity stands and looks at the single bed

Felicity - You've got to be kidding

Inside the Squat

2011-01-04T12:25:00.002-08:00

Minus the guy in the cap but it's this type of carry on I can see in the main room

Skins

2011-01-04T12:25:00.001-08:00

Mr Bad Boy

Mr Banbury

2011-01-04T12:24:00.000-08:00

The idea

Manboobs

2011-01-04T12:11:00.000-08:00

Pictures for reference - The Squat

Skins/Gary Oldman

2011-01-03T12:09:00.000-08:00

I'm working on a play at the moment and rather helpfully (although it does have it's own unhelpfulness)I'm envisioning a young Gary Oldman as the main character. "Skins" is the ultimate bad boy - he looks a bit shifty...is actually far more than just a bit shifty (I'm kind of seeing him as pretty much a moral vacum) but he has a real sexual magnetism which is how he's got the other characters under his spell so to speak. I've long been a fan of Gary but it's quite odd as I had a couple of dreams about lately (as you do) and that did some youtube looking (as you do) and I realised he's how I see Skins. A bit dirty, not a suave sweet talker but a sort of you hate him but are drawn to him. I'm still only early days with the play (about page 15) but it's helped to have that kind of visual catalyst - I guess it's only unhelpful if when the play is finished when you go to put it on I think you want to shake any physical ideals of a character that are too fixed. Anyway below is a link of Gary being sort of "Skins" (but way way more - Skins isn't a psycho!!)
PS- There's a lot of fan videos put on on Youtube of images of Gary with well soppy music playing. There's always weirder fans out there. This reassures me

Poem Corner

2011-01-03T11:47:00.000-08:00

A moment

A candle flickering sweetly
A bus at the right time
A smile from the right person
A just hot enough coffee
A hug
Walking across London Bridge when the sky is clear
Sheer, uninhibited laughter
The friends that have become whanau
Hope

January 4 - This is it!

2011-01-03T11:37:00.000-08:00

It's long been said that January 1st is possibly the worst day to start off with your good intentions and pre-planned New Years resolutions. It seems apparent that they're going to go woefully unfufilled unless your resolutions involved waking up with a splitting headache, a overwhelming sense of embarrasment and a complete lack of energy and spark due to the ridiculous amounts of wine you drank the night before. Which ok is a pretty savvy way to ensure you always keep your resolutions but seems kind of defeatist all the same. So I've allowed myself those extra couple of days and feel my proper intentions will begin in earnest tomorrow -January 4 - or the unofficial beginning of the new year. I'm not being super hardcore and creating a lengthy list of intentions from which I'm doomed to fail but hopefully just a slightly better approach to things. I gorged myself on all sorts of crap food in December to the point it doesn't feel exciting or even like a treat so I'm hoping that will assist in my motivation (as is the drive to get rid of my "food baby" - that term care of Sunitha Ram (in my NAB years). I won't list what they are here - not to give myself an out if I fail but just because I think resolutions or New Years goals are either fairly generic or someone's own little personal goals - I think mine fall under both. That drive to stop putting off things; where we say "One day I'll do that. One day I'll make the time to do that" I'll have days where I don't do the right thing for myself -that's a certainity -but I do like this time of year for the fact most of us have this belief; We won't be the ones who pike out from gym going two weeks in; We won't be the one who still drinks too much on a Thursday, Friday and Saturday: We'll do it. So to all my many many many blog followers (you know who you are you super peeps) I wish us all the best of luck with our good intentions and hope we become that little bit more shiny in 2011