A friend mentioned Sirens in passing, discussing Sam flicks as we were, and Victorian arts movements, attitudes to sex, etc. My Bro is the best one to talk to re kinky Victorian arts movements, truly he is - grin. I've always been fond of Norman Lindsay et al, not for the art, which I find rather pedestrian, but just for the sheer FU attitude to what he referred to as Wowsers. Quite Punk, really. I used to quote Norman in the early days but these days I'm more Sid Vicious in my comments to my detractors - grin.
Australia, however, has always had a seething underbelly of bohemians, always. I mean, Europe and Canada exported their worst radicals to us in the early 19thC and we shipped a good deal of them back in the late 19thC (and onwards). Afterall, some of the best Bohemians in Paris were Australian, which is why only Baz could make Moulin Rouge. :)
Sigh, everyone else sounds so intellectual in their ljs as compared to me. I don't quote or footnote pretentious texts half as near enough - grin. It took me a great long while to lose my academic voice (I had to, I was being bullied at work), and now I can't get it back, dammit.
Had another stange dream, thanks in part no doubt to me snarfing every damn painkiller I had lurking in the bottom of my bag (I was desperate). It started out as the usual everyone being really cruel, obstructive and destructve dream and a storm blew out the walls of my bedroom and I lost everything bar this pet horse that insisted on following me everywhere. Me and my job parted brass rags and my posh relatives all sat in condemnation of me and my failures but I ended up running a juice bar with this gorgeous and affable ice blond backpacking norseman who spoke no English yet we didn't really need it, working on a juice bar and all, and a rather half arsed juice bar at that. We were friendly with the Greeks in the coffee shop next door and we were busy eating the profits, raspberries and melty icecream, but it was going to be thrown out anyway. This middleaged Vietnamese woman came along to totally verbally trash our operation and it was here, and my middleclass aquaintances will be happy to know that even my subconscious knows its place, it was here that I realised I was one of those coarse common characters in a Shakespeare play with only one or two lines. Immediately after this revelation it was announced that King Ferdinand and posse had arrived. This'll be good, I thought, ready with a saucy line or two, but the alarm went off. Bugger.
Endured yesterday, somehow, and my only meeting was with a colleague similairly afflicted and we bonded in super achey I can't wait to get home and take some real drugs and pass out sisterhood. In fact in seems even the gods themselves softened a little for two bars of chocolate (promised for some unpaid overtime as a favour, not that I accept bribes and I defy you to find the evidence now) managed to make it through the internal post, when cds and signed documents never do. So I had a little sugar to help the medicine go down. You've no idea how excited I was to open up the envelope and find chocolate instead of more work. It's the small things, always.
As I made good on my promise to myself to take some real drugs and pass out there was no tv or books or even magazines to speak of, though I did update the collage on the wall above me. It's either that or repaint it as a lifetime's worth of blutak has taken its toll on the existing paintwork, no matter what the product claims. Alessandro now gazes down upon me with a blankly beatific smile.
It's a mild improvement on all those glaring Biehn pictures which angried up the room. He wanted the room to suffer - grin. Also added some Orlando so it's non threatening boy a go go, unless I can get my hands on some early, slightly menancing Sam (suitable for printing), and I don't fancy my chances.
At least it's better than when I happily brought home all those potrait shots of my Brit Boys from a trip OS (you can't buy such things here) and lined them up all neat in a row, thinking it looked cute and miminal (as opposed to the usual serial killer collage I have going) and Bro saw it and sneered that Jude on Thunderbird Five was trying to contact me. Exit row of portrait shots, resumption of serial killer collage.
It's just something to stare at, when I'm bored, afterall.