Monday, March 20, 2006

did Anyone Get The Chicken?

This is a line from a Jodi Marten song.

I got an organic chicken yesterday to bring home for dinner. We were meant to have dinner together followed by a massage. I was ravenous so I ate a bit.

Coco, our flatmate - studying full time (like, 14 hours a day) at NIDA came home! and cooked spag bol wihth her boyfriend. Amazed!

Anna got home and we all sat aroudn the table eating, like some sort of funcitonal household.

Anna left the table early - allegedly to prime some canvases, and then the phone rang. Coc answered and said it sounded french. I didn't wnat to know who it was, didn't know how to speak to her mum, or to the head f the head called.

L:ooked for anna in the studio. Rang her mobile. She answered tipsily from the coop office. Said there's a phoen call for you form france, I'm not answering it.


So no dinner, no massage.

I dunno if anyone else ate the chicken. I've had stomach cramps and diarrhooea today.

it could be psychosomatic. My stomach has been leaping and twisting and clenching for two weeks.

I'm stupidly, masochistically on her computer. Papers are strewn everywhere with screeds of loving lusting words to someone else or from someone else. In french, written with her left hand.

this hurts so much I roared spontaneously. A hoarse animal bellow. this pain is so fucking big I can't believe it. I can't bear to feel it. Like Kath said - i just let little bits seep out every now and then. hot fast baby sobs, silent slow sobs, the odd yelp.

Note to self: don't use her computer anymore


Thursday, March 16, 2006


she says its the greatest force in the world
shes probably right
La connerie

In any case, today I did something dumb and predicateable and had a lady macbeth experience.

I scoured her hard drive, and felt my blood thicken and my breast fill with gall.

sent around the predicated email (BCC).

the first people I told lst week were my friend sHeli and Steve. I sent them both texts. I'd just stayed with Heli in finland, and Steve is even more insomnious than me. N finland Heli mad eme realise just how much I missed close female friends. and Steve, is a close male friend. the kind I can ring at 1am and sob incoherently to for 3 hours.

The first person I emailed was Texta. I emailed her in Spanish coz she's in Guatemala, and I was at uni and didn't want to sob all over the keboard. I didn't realise how fluent she'd be after 2 months (she is a genius!). I shudder to think off what todo wiht the 5 duo portraits hanging on my walls. they're behind the bed so I don't look at them.

I'm been slowly telling people face to face. Today I told the uni crowd. My supervisor - who bought me a drink, and the ex HOD who had tears in her eyes. I had to look away. Yeah, its fucking sad. Another lecturer bought me a dirnk and gave me a great pep talk. blogs are meant for name dropping - but - yeah, there are fucking limits. There are some amazing people in the world.

one of them was my girlffirend until last week.

So after 2 G&T's I'm back in the postgrad centre, typing away my angst. Its another friday night. Abel is going to a concert of our musical dykey neighbours (OK so kath isn't a dyke but she's a dykon) at the funky dykey cafe around the corner.

One of my old friends Brioney - has a great girllfriend - from Brest - and they are fluent french speakers - and abel has aksed them aroudn for dinner and fuck part of me wants to be there. Play the game, fluent francophonic dykes, I love the language and I'm going to miss it. Counter to my academic aspirations - the french I know - is more brut, more simple honest unpretentious and candid than my english. Its the language of anna's family who I love - and its like speaking with my glasses off - I'm almost blind, fragile, naked. I wonder if I'll find the words to write to Abel's family and tell them. I cna't bear to think about this in french. Spanish - yeah - english now east -but les mots for breaking up don't quite arrive. Pas encore.

Am I being too much of a Bronte? Too self denying and self suffering and puritanical for my own good?

touch is like comfort. Of course I want to hold her, have her hold me, caress, kis and maybe even fornicate. No. Not that. My twat has frozen over. I want to cooke for her. I want things to be perfect. I've been wearing Gingham all week. Where' my pink picket fence?

gone gone gone. what a stupid dream anyway.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

stories of pink bits

I wanted to call this white C U Next Tuesday but I reckon it'll get censored.

I'm reluctant to broadcast the subject of this posting; latest news, latest goss.

Originally I had an idea of sending around a group email and massive text session to everyone on my list - with a link to a long and miserable post.

But I'm interested in networks and curiosuly enough my ego seems to have gone on strike. I'm feeding out the news bit by bits in dribs and drabs to epople I see and when I respond to emails. Slowly, sadly. Its veyr hard to say. I hope its not true. Im too scared to type it. Maybe it will make it true.

I started typing on anna's computer after listening to a couple of tangos. There's not even any point searching her hardrive, scouring her SMS inbox or hacking her email account. ONly another knife in the wound.

I know it. I sensed it before, while I was away. How the fuck does that happen?

Her dreams, fantasies, her ideas, her..... love is with someone else. Who I've met. We were amicable, because I didn't realise. I thought a lust a fling a crush. Not a big fat all consuming 7 year itch. Not only her desire, her whole being that makes the love thing happen. There's nothing I can do. I feel like alexis Karenin, or Dolly Oblonsky (Shcerbatskaya). Hell, why did I leave my tolstoy in france? Maybe I shouldn't have let her read Anna Karenina? She didn't make it to then end. I hope she keeps away from trains.


So hell is a white twat. My rival is a daughter of pied noirs. I'm not sure if my rival is her or her ex girlgfirend. the firench always do tings in threes. The head rivval is a 40 something ex-junkie teckie whiz butch bar dyke, daghter of a peid noir. The body is an aex anorexic femme vegan. am I bieng nasty? Judith butler has only jsut been translated into French. the parisian dyuke seen is like sydney in the 80's. I caught the tial end of that. Think of black jeans, short hair and lots of pool tables. The body complains that dykes don't think she's real coz she's a femme. Oh for fucks sake. She's no competition. Its the head that hurts, the head rival that punches me in the guts. SHe's brilliant, teckie and knows all the cool music and stuff on the net. How cool eh? she reckons her skin is so bald coz of her polyglot mixed racila ehritage. No she hasn't got a degree in genetics. Yes I do, and yes she's full of shit. She also rekcon french colonialism isn't so bad coz it brought civilisation and romanticism, and the roevolutionary spirit and human rights to north africa. Once a pied noir always a pied noir i say. The french hare hideously unreconstructed colonisals. French cannot admit they are wrong or made a mistae. the word for sorry means 'can you speak more clearly please?" Anna's family backgroudn is algerian. She's a romantic but the heads current girlfriend is kenyan. She seemed nice. She's going back at the end of the year. Anna wants head to come to australia. I'm applying to go to NYC and bakc into the arms of the british library.

the paradox is that We had a great time while I wa sin france. HArdly faught and anna's family were wonderful. As were her stupid fucking game playing friends. Can't al quaida drop a fucking bomb on Montmartre??? please????

Shit it's not about them its about her. She sees me as aher mother. Someone safe, secure, and boring. She wants someone skinny drunk, wild and dumb. Who won't aks questions. She knows if it goes pearshaped I'll take her back. She's right too.

Though right now I'm dreaming of some nice big boobed middle aged butch dyke. I wihs princess carming would come and sweep me off my feet. Unblock my closed sad twat and make me scream.

In reality, I'm planning my social life, catching up on firends, going to the beach, eating salads, and lining up the mercy fucks for when I estimate the serious physical ache is going to kick in (I give it 4-6 months).

I've invested in hair bleach and fake tan. I look like a fright. I want to forget myself. Lose myself, not look at the spurned flesh. hell hel helll.

I walked towards the computer because vitriol filled my fingers and made them itch. But all I can come up with is banal self pity. Where's my morrissey CD?