1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1

Outcome #1: it works.

Outcome #2: it doesn't.

Things are simple like maths except instead of plus signs we try to do advanced algebra.

of the good kind

Hello hi. Today is the day to settle the unfinished. The unfinished will remain undone, like the rest of our stringing thinking things, dangling like tennis balls in the minds that never sleep, making the sleeping sleep dreams so real they feel like hallucinations.


welcome to the jungle

I'll say it like it is, and it might be cruel, but niceness is rendering itself useless. I have not one cabin to explore.
My conscience has become kind of mainstream. I've tried to adapt to the everyday and so the now highly spirited persona parties are just boring and useless. Not useless but in my point of view they feel like a huge obstacle to the next working day. And I knew from the very beginning of conforming that this would happen; that sticking up for the "good" and "productive" of society, or whatever it is called, would have me lose something fundamental along the way. The recklessness isn't some kind of wasteful feeling; it's youth. And if one sobers up and becomes tingly to the every effect of liberty then one becomes weak. Weak in an aspect of idiocy. And one loses the very touch of young-ness and certainty - and some kind of self-confidence that comes imbedded with not giving a fuck. Not a flying fuck to sobriety. Sobriety is evil? I don't know. I don't know. Pureness of what? Of substance? Of mind? What are we all abstaining from? What are we all so afraid of? To live as the poor? We work for money to live well. But if we didn't and we had the option of being complete fuckheads for the rest of our duration, than what would it be? If we could choose to concentrate on things other than being responsible money-breeders, then what would it be of us? Most of us would be complete turkeys, lolling about town and creating nuisance. Imagine the world filled with jobless humans. The human race would be a complete disgrace. And so I am caught in a point in which I see nothing but this, and every party that I go to, every venue and every hour, and every fun seemingly seems like a lot less fun, save if my ego is being stroked. And I guess it's because I'm conforming bit by bit, and it scares me, more than it scared me feeling like a complete outsider to the mundane game I'm now a part of.


bang on

I would really like to know what a night of astral pop, noir & future fuzz sounds like.

In other news, after immersing myself in an afternoon of MySpace music, I have realised that there is so much more local talent than there is platform and stage space. Also, I have come to the grim realisation that the best Brisbane bands I have come across are also the most ego-less and less inclined to advertise their amazing work. Or maybe I've just been hanging at the wrong places, I don't know. Maybe I've just been admiring the wrong bands for the wrong reasons. More and more I feel like I can think for myself. Influence can shit itself for all I care. I have my own taste. For example: I liked Running Guns from the minute I picked up their DIY-looking debut single release with a sticky label on it. I went home and listened to it and loved it on the spot and then was told straight away by my former housemate how shit and amateur it sounded. Just today I revisited the bloody two-tracker, and was gobsmacked at how good it actually is. Why did I even give a fuck about what anyone else thought? Music taste is a very, very, very personal arena.


I don't know where this is from, my editor sends me funny stuff like this on a weekly basis. It's called "Nancy".

another installment of fred negro

This strip appears weekly in Time Off, a free street press Brisbane circulation. I am getting really inspired by Fred's wry, oftentimes disgusting sense of humour. "Nice cock you've got in your mouth!"


São Paulo is full of cool shit like this

beach fossils

i draw letters

muse #4

I like to watch his face of repression. He sits tense and the look is of fury, pure blind silence. I don't believe it, but the customers that stroll past his booth do. That is the point, I guess. They see in him a image of themselves, which he has carved out of dilligent respect. He is brave in a way, in being so serious. His heart is soft and yet when we're here his eyes are hard and his actor-like jawline fixed on the money. I know why he does this. I do it on the bus every morning, and am practising the tactic in other places, leading the business heart. His own precious heart is soft, and when he sings, he sings justly of this brutal quietness, and he looks different - like he actually has a pulse. I see his despair creeping and sometimes I shout, in my own revulsing brain: I understand! Holy shit! I understand! But I say nothing, content in helping to quieten the volatile forces. Business as usual. Monday mornings are prime examples. The weekend emotions dissipate in a couple of days, and we're all silently glad, I think - which is healthy, and tolerable. But I particularly like it when he forgets all the rules and laughs at jokes I invent, the blood staining his thin skin.

i just wanna have fun

I made this for a promo band night thing, it didn't get used but I still think it's good because it looks like the work of an 8 year-old.

Bleeding Knees Club are such a creative duo, so worth checking them. Jordan has the smoothest blonde hair I have ever laid my eyes on, and Alex has the dirty voice of a 70's convict.