Conscious outburst

What do you want?

I want to be more than wanted.

I want to I N S P I R E !

(So to hell with chasing tail)

I want to be strong at what I do, respecting my work so other people will respect it too.

Without compromise.

* * * * *

Mundane Update!

 

1. Still no home to call my own. Did such things ever worry P.J? My head is spinning from the ongoing search.

2. Presenting this tomorrow in class, with a view to blow minds.

 3. Joining in for a cross-town scavenger hunt on Easter Sunday, but only after viewing a new print of Robocop or something equally amazing at the Melbourne Comedy Festival.

(...if I had money to burn, I could so a LOT of damage across the bulging cultural calender of this town. I've been tempted left, right and centre by a host of events. Sadly, despite all the variety on offer, I've ended up eating a lot of fries and sauce on street corners of late. I've officially joined the hoards of mangey, indecisive students! Again, Le Student 8 accommodation gets the blame.)

4. Next week I plan to introduce my Aussie chums to Pancake Day,dutifully preforming my service as the novelty pommy bastard in doing so.

Bamboo Charcoal Bread

I'm officially addicted!

No great insights into cinema or gay semiotics,

I'm too dazed by the American team's routine!

After nothing but good word and various stints at the film festivals worth their salt, I gave Water Lillies a go at this year's Melbourne Queer Film Festival. It was well cast and with one or two striking scenes focusing mainly on the truly bizarre spectacle that is synchronized swimming. Otherwise and for the most part, it was fairly straight forward, methodical and as such, a wee bit over long. That is how most teen romances feel but I guess I'm one for finding a less long winded way to convey that. The synth soundtrack was dreamy in parts.

The audience was almost entirely lesbians couples that laughed themselves silly over next to nothing. I can only assume this was either a form of provocative flirtation with their partners or a reading of the film's more nuanced gay in-jokes that I'm in the dark about. 

Still undecided if it was comforting or depressing that so many of these movie goers fit the Lesbian style stereotypes to a tee. I suppose it's a proud uniform of sorts. It must make dating easier. I was probably sending out similar vibes by wearing big black Doc Martins. 

Part of me can't believe stuff is real, or at least that it has such hard core levels of competition. It's the camp of figure skating with all the elegance removed.

If there's a decent documentary about it, send a link my way!

As March draws to a close

• Finally settled on the bodycare cocktails to mark my time in Melbourne. Angelica! Danelion! Mistletoe! Avocado! Rose hip! Oh my!
• More film shoots. Such an amazing amalgamation of strange tasks, including: stringing together giant musical notes, chasing a man with a umbrella, coughing up a twig, a butterfly and a car key, in that order. Ah yes, the return to zero budgets and junk food catering... 
  
• Slowly sussing different ways home in the evening. Melbourne is expanding by the day.
• Beautiful houses that make me loath my current lodgings further. Peter Greenaway, home-made comics and the pungent smell of Dove soap. A boy making architecture models in a room full of pantings and fascination.
• The thought of spending time with someone kind and sharing things with the ease and comfort of lovers makes me wobble and dream again.
• Missing people all over the world. The dancer in London and the climber in Baltimore. The snap-happy Croatian with the beautiful mind. The boy with the remarkable mole in Washington, who gave up hope of a reunion months ago. My dear darling petite one, Sophie. Above all, I miss her.
• Thinking too much. Watching beautiful things as a distraction.
  

i want to be a forester

Directed my first movie at VCA! It's called "Blow up" but has nothing to do with Antonioni. Think instead a deadpan romantic comedy with an excessive number of balloons. There are copyright issues if I post it online but I'm thinking that once it's edited, I might host it on here for a day as a sort of internet exclusive. This should work but I'll need to be careful to remove it before word gets back to the head honchos at school. 

One night only! Watch this space! I might even make an indulgent teaser trailer.

One day, I'll make something this beautiful:

 

Otherwise, I'm eagerly contemplating my next home with like minded friends. Le Student 8 is a joke that isn't funny anymore. I get the official boot on the 6th of May but I'm itching to move now. This potential candidate is tempting me to ditch my current doldrum address, with or without the deposit. It's the doll house I never had! I need to smoke on that Balcony! I need to warm myself by that wood stove! I need to play house and cook again. I've forgotten what it's like to chop vegetables, so based in cans is my current diet. 

http://www.tudou.com/programs/view/-KznRmCWfxo/

&

http://www.myvideo.de/watch/3802562/Devo_Mongoloid

I discovered Bruce Conner and his fabulous rhythmic montage at Melbourne Cinematheque today.  His work was "clinically and deliriously" preoccupied with working found footage into kinesthetically engaging short films, celebrating narrative cinema while self-consciously deconstructing it. There's a lot to say about it but bed is beckoning. Effectively? There's much to dig.

Origin of my name

As we're talking about girls called Flo:

I think Kylie Minogue voiced Florence in the creepy CGI version. I once dressed up as the character for some primary school jaunt and won 2nd place!

So no, it's not the city, as much as I may have harped on that it was when I was there.

This week's creative writing? A juicy love/hate relationship!

(Not my finest piece of writing but I had some accompanying photos handy on my hard drive to tart it up.)

“Flora”

I’ve only ever met one other girl called Flo. She took it as a sign that we would be life long friends

This new and dominating Flo was the same age as me with a curt, Sloan Square accent, unruly cave woman hair (that she was forever sweeping from her face) and an impressive collection of multicoloured ethic skirts of the drop-out-beach-bunny variety. She had latched onto the idea that I was as dissatisfied with high school and the modern world as she was. Perversely thrilled but unsure of how to proceed, she made a large show of how we had the same uncommon bra size and insisted that we were to share underwear over the coming weeks of our arts summer school.

 Her strange admiration towards me grew. I can only assume it was because I accompanied her for countless cigarettes and entertained her stories of flirting with grown men and her fantasies of loving a Rastafarian. Her eagerness to do everything with me as a witness was flattering but it was fairly clear we had little in common beyond our names and measurements. Her strong willed denial prevented my opinions from derailing what she was fashioning as a perfect friendship. My wiliness to talk to anyone often left her feeling neglected and caused a rampant jealousy to develop. Her mood swings became drastic and contradictory as possessiveness crept in.

It all came to a head when our student group took a day trip to the coast to end the month on a high. The beach was deserted and the pier was rotten but we’d pinned our hopes on the venture and even the increasing drizzle couldn’t dissuade us. Despite the water being cold enough to induce coma, I managed to swim out far enough to float and bob. Flo wasn’t far behind and when she drew along side promptly challenged me to swim even further.

When we were safely removed from the group and had covered an impressive distance, I found her arms snaking around me in a sinking embrace. She dappled my face with brief kisses in what I assumed was an adrenalin rush brought on the icy water. It wasn’t until Flo kissed me full on the mouth, with the taste of dirt and salt, that I realised the significance she was investing in the moment. She withdrew to gage my response with desperate eyes. Sensing the redundancy of the act spoke volumes I was too overwhelmed to address, we only felt numbness distinct from the freezing sea. I swam away towards the others and hoped what had just happened would wash into the Mediterranean.

As soon as we retuned to town, Flo withdrew and downed two bottles of vodka. Her wretched screams soon filled the third floor of our sleeping hotel. I was reduced to hiding in another student’s room to avoid what I could only assume would be violence. All the misunderstood rage an 18 year old could possibly hold turned the building into a terrifying prison with me lined up for its firing squad. Eventually, the course lecturer intervened and Flo was practically sedated.

We barely had a month to get aquatinted but in that time we’d managed to skim the bond of friendship and a warped sort of love only for it to nose-dive into a blazing hotel showdown, fuelled by God knows what kinds of damage. We parted ways at the end of our time in Italy brittle strangers who, for all they had shared, would remain estranged out of a mixture of emotion and necessity. 

(Better memories from Venice)

Also: Best script we've read so far this semester has been from this movie. I recommend tracking down a copy for yourself.