yes, some more book excerpts

Oscar Wilde – the Picture of Dorian Gray:
'the artist is the creator of beautiful things. to reveal art and conceal the artist is art’s aim. the critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things. the highest as the lowest form of criticism is a mode of autobiography.
those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. this is a fault.
those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. for these there is hope.
they are the elect to whome beautiful things mean only Beauty.
there is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. books are well written, or badly written. that is all. the nineteenth century dislike of Realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass.
the moral life of man forms part of the subject-matter of the artist, but the morality of art consists in the perfect use of an imperfect medium. no artist desires to prove anything. even things that are true can be proved.
no artist has ethical sympathies. an ethical sympathy in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style.
no art is ever morbid. the artist can express everything. thought and language are the artist instruments of an art. vice and virtue are to the artist materials of an art. from the point of view of form, the type of all the arts is the art of the musician. from the point of view of feeling, the actor’s craft is the type. all art is at once surface and symbol. those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. those who read the symbol do so at their peril. it is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors. diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex, and vital. when critics disagree the artist is in accord with himself.
we can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. the only excuse for making a useless things is that one admires it intensely.
all art is quite useless.'
– p3

'why, my dear Basil, he is a Narcissus, and you – well, of course you have an intellectual expression, and all that. but beauty, real beauty, ends where an intellectual expression begins. intellect is in itself a mode of exaggeration, and destroys the harmony of any face. the moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something horrid. look at the successful men in any of the learned professions. how perfectly hideous they are! except, of course, in the Church. but then in the Church they don’t think. a bishop keeps on saying at the age of eighty what he was told to say when he was a boy of eighteen, and as a natural consequence he always looks absolutely delightful.'
– p6

'there is a fatality about all physical and intellectual distinction, the sort of fatality that seems to dog through history the faltering steps of kings. it is better not be different from one’s fellows. the ugly and the stupid have the best of it in the world. they can sit at their ease and gape at the play. if they know nothing of victory, they are at least spared the knowledge of defeat. they live as we all should live, undisturbed, indifferent, and without disquiet. they neither bring ruin upon others, nor ever receive it from alien hands. your rank and wealth, Harry; my brains, such as they are – my art, whatever it may be worth; Dorian Gray’s good looks – we shall all suffer for what the gods have given us, suffer terribly.'
– p7

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Cormac McCarthy – The Road:
(REVIEWS)
emotionally shattering..The Road affirms belief in the tender pricelessness of the here and now. in creating an exquisite nightmare, it does not add to the cruelty and ugliness of our times, it warns us now how much we have to lose.. beauty and goodness are here aplenty and we should think about them. while we can. – Alan Warner, Guardian

nameless they remain, but some connective tissue, some deep sympathy, makes them human and knowable to us, causes us to care almost beyond bearing about their fates, and so makes us read on compulsively for feat of what might happen to them. and us.
- Clive Sinclair, Independent

Cormac McCarthy’s new novel, conjuring up the end not of an individual but of all humanity, feels very real. part of the achievement of The Road is its poetic description of landscapes from which the possibility of poetry would seem to have been stripped, along with their ability to support life.
– Adam Mars-Jones, Observer

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Siegmund Siegreich – The Thirty Six:
‘i now understand,’ my mother whispered. ‘it was divine intervention.’
she nodded her head. 'the man was a Lamed Vav.’
according to Kabbalah, in each generation there are thirty-six righteous people who sustain the world and preserve humanity. the term ‘Lamed Vav’ is two Hebrew letters that represent the number 36. these people are frequently unknown and obscure but they bear all of the sorrows and sins of the world. they also appear and help ordinary people in times of extreme need. their deeds are often unrecognise and unexplained. if i wasn’t convinced that this was how i came to be saved, my mother certainly was.
– p39

i think that the lengthy sections at the end of this post are so important to read; i hope it broadens your perspective..

(www.kwangholee.com)

'if anyone has taught me a valuable lesson in what it means to be beautiful since i first moved to New York, it's my friend Francisco Costa. as Creative Director of Calvin Klein's women's collection for the past five years, Francisco drives home a clear message with his designs that applies to so many aspects of my life: Less is more. he breaks complicated ideas down to their bare bones - and always with stunning results.
when i turned eighteen and i began to understand my own stylistic choices, Francisco took over the reins at Calvin Klein Collection, so i think it's safe to say that he and i are kindred fashion spirits. i've been wearing his designs to everything from casual dinners with friends to art openings ever since. the man understands tailoring. one of my favourite pieces is a long t-shirt dress that wraps around your body like tissue paper. Francisco manages to execute the most simple of designs in the most creative ways.' - AO


(www.mischertraxler.com)

'i'm twenty-one and i'm trying to run The Row. i'm learning as i go because i've never done any of this before. it's all new to me. so it's just a huge learning process. i don't read any magazines. i really just try to stay in my world and figure out what i want, what makes me happy. i've got to trust my instincts. i really try to block out all the media and all the press, magazines, everything. at the end of the day i'm with myself, and i feel like that's the way i've been able to move forward. block out the nasty things. apart from my friends like you whose shows i go to, i try not to go to too many shows, or else my focus kind of wanders off into places where other people are going.' - AO


(www.fredrikfarg.com)

what is your favourite occupation? 'not having one, being a Gemini.'
what is your dream of happiness? 'i don't understand the question.'
what is your favourite flower? 'moss, and black magic roses.'
what is your favourite bird? 'black crows, ravens.'
how would you like to die? 'in your arms.'
what is your present state of mind? 'sarcastic.' - MKO

what to your mind would be the greatest of misfortunes? 'death.'
who are you favourite poets? 'Freud.'
who are you heroes in real life? 'DVF, Lauren Hutton, Anna Wintour, and of course - Mum.'
what is it you most dislike? 'bullshit.' - AO



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Slouching Towards Windjana:
'on 25 April 1915, when Australian and New Zealand troops landed on a Turkish beach in an attempt to capture the Gallipoli peninsula, a key location in Britain’s strategy during World War I, hundreds of young men were mown down by well-fortitifed Turks shooting from the cliffs. we commemorate this slaughter every Anzac Day. we also commemorate the end of that war, with a minute’s silence at eleven AM on 11 November, Armistice Day. but we don’t have a day to commemorate all those Australians who died not in distant countries fighting the battles of others, but on their own soil, defending the country of their ancestors.
at school we learnt about Burke and Wills, Leichardt, Eyre, Wentworth, Blaxland and Lawson – brave and sometimes blinkered explorers who ‘opened up’ the country for cattle, sheep, crops and the telegraph. we didn’t learn about the massacres, poisonings and battles that occurred as the country was ‘settled’. nor did we learn about the Aboriginal resistance fighters – Pemulwuy, Jandamarra, Windradyne, Yagan, Calyute, Dundalli and others. the natives were ‘subdued’, or somehow vanished, we were taught, yielding passively to a more advanced civilisation. it was simply ‘inevitable’. today many people still say that Australia became a nation without bloodshed.
in the early eighties i came across a book called The Other Side of the Frontier, written by historian Henry Reynolds, which painted a picture of Australian history i hadn’t seen before. in it he demonstrated that the first Australians responded in many varied and creative ways to the coming of the Europeans. sometimes accommodating, sometimes resisting. he made the case that, wherever the terrain allowed it, they had fought fiercely for their land. guerilla warefare, naturally, was more effective and prolonged in hilly country than on the plains. he also argued that because the early colonial governors were under clear instructions to ‘treat the natives peaceably’, they omitted detailed descriptions of hostilities, punitive expeditions and battles from the official record. they couldn’t say they were at war.
in this manner, Australian history developed amnesia – what anthropologist W.H. Stanner called ‘the great Australian silence’. America had its Geronimos and Sitting Bulls. New Zealand had reams of scholarship on the Maori wars. but in Australia, the blacks who used to live where our cities now stand simply ‘melted away’.
Reynold’s book shook the scales from my eyes. reading it, i remembered my brother Tony’s best friend growing up. his skin was as black as night but his parents were white. Jonathan had exceptionally good manners and spoke in a toffy English accent which we used to make fun of, but apart from that i didn’t take much notice of him.
from many others i met on my travels over the years i learnt a whole other view of the world. of growing up not knowing who or where your parents were, of massacre sites remembered and avoided, of brothers who drank themselves to death, of sisters gone missing, of nephews hanging from a rope, of a thousand little slights, of not being able to get a taxi to stop at night, of pride of survival, of deep and abiding ties to a country, of songs going back thousands of years, and of celebration of heroes past and present.
i read other books. Eric Wilmot wrote a novel based on the life of Pemulwuy, who fought on behalf of the Eora people around Sydney. one phrase in that book has always stayed with me – ‘a strange hissing tongue.’ this is how the English language first strikes Pemelwuy, whose language didn’t use ‘s’.'
– p256, Paul Kelly - How to Make Gravy

Newspaper Song:
we have amade a successful start. when the nuclear tests are completed, as they soon will be, we shall be in the same position as the United States or Soviet Russia. we shall have made and tested the massive weapons. it will be possible then to discuss on equal terms. – Harold Macmillan, UK Prime Minister.
'when Britain used Australian soil and Australian people to conduct nuclear testing during the 1950s and ‘60s, our Prime Minister Robert Menzies, a confirmed Anglophile, gave the Brits his government’s complete support. in 1956 and ’57 a series of nuclear bombs were dropped in South Australia’s desert country. the site they chose, Maralinga, was part of the restricted area the British had claimed a decade before for the Woomera rocket tests. it was supposed to be unoccupied land, but for thousands of years it had been home to the Pitjantjatjara and Yankunytjatjara people.
security at the test sites was nonchalant and many Australian serviceman were exposed to radiation. the testing-range boundaries weren’t properly monitored and people were allowed to walk in and out as they pleased. plane patrols were sent out before a blast to make sure the area was clear, but the locals hid from them. warning signs were put up in English, which they could not read.
Yami Lester, a Yankunytjatjara spokesperson and negotiator, wrote in the prologue of his autobiography:
‘when i was a young boy living in the desert, the ground shook and a black mist came up from te south and covered our camp. the older people said they’d never seen anything like it before, and in the months that followed many people were sick and many died. i don’t like to think about it now, but one of those people was my uncle, and he was very sick before he died.
people had sore eyes too. i was one of those people, and later on i lost my sight and my life was changed forever. if i had my eyes, i would probably still be a stockman. because i haven’t, i became a stirrer.’
like many Australians, i didn’t know of those events until almost thirty years later when Judge Jim McClelland was appointed to conduct a royal commission into what happened. McClelland went to England, where he interviewed the commanders in charge of Operation Buffalo, as the initial major tests were codnamed. Air Vice Marshal Menaul said, ‘we got on very well with the Aborigines. we gave them beads. we gave them mirrors.’ McClelland also went out to the lands north of the bomb site, where many survivors were living, and asked more questions. I read about all this in an article written by Bob Ellis for the now defunct National Times in May 1985.
Yami Lester’s haunting story and calm demeanour made a strong impression on the commission and its entourage. Ellis wrote: ‘the evidence that day..grew in the mind like science fiction. first there were the two big bangs. we thought it was the Great Water Snake, loudly digging holes, as was his custom. we wore no clothes in that old time. and then the Poilu, the Black Mist, rolling, oily, sticky, like black frost came. very wide it was, low on the ground..’
amidst the dust, heat and the remorseless flies, more gruelling testimony, some of it told in secret session, was recorded.
Jim, under a blue plastic shelter, heard the worst story of all – of Edie Millipuddy camping with her husband on the bomb crater itself, being captured by men in white uniforms, forcibly and obscenely washed down, miscarrying twice and losing her husband, who to prove to the soldiers he knew English, sang ‘Jesus loves me, this i know, for the Bible tells me so.’ and how the soldiers shot their beloved, irradiated hunting dogs.'
– p303, PK - HtMG

love is giving your last Rolo, evol is love backwards, i will always love you, what is love? baby don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, no more, love will tear us apart

Introduction by Margaret Atwood:
'in the latter half of the twentieth century, two visionary books cast their shadows over our futures. one was George Orwell's 1949 novel, Nineteen Eighty-Four, with its horrific vision of a brutal, mind-controlling totalitarian state - a book that gave us Big Brother, and thoughtcrime and Newspeak and the memory hole and the torture palace and the Ministry of Love, and the discouraging spectacle of a boot grinding into the human face forever.
the other was Aldous Huxley's Brave New World (1932), which proposed a different and softer form of totalitarianism - one of conformity achieved through engineered, bottle-grown babies and hypnotic persuasion rather than through brutality; of boundless consumption that keeps the wheels of production turning and of officially enforced promiscuity that does away with sexual frustration; of a pre-ordained caste system ranging from a highly intelligent managerial class to a subgroup of dim-witted serfs programmed to love their menial work; and of soma, a drug that confers instant bliss with no side effects.'
- pVII, Brave New World - Aldous Huxley

i saw ‘blame’ spray-painted onto an otherwise blank brick laneway wall one afternoon in 2010

Crying Really Impresses My Parents - CRIMP / fashion isn’t synonymous with style any more / she paints again – i’m glad she left you / you're painfully cool / the arch in your eyebrows / i would have been Judas / accessibility lacks interest / the standard pose, the standard prose / said by someone who feels old and compromised / i hate people who remind me of myself / savage body / a museum gala where high cheekbones and higher hemlines rule / bad grammar makes me [sic] / good shit just gravitates to you like you have your own personal orbit and also you are a flaming ball of bitchface / i believe in Please and Thankyou / i believe in good fonts / just like any woman, we weave our stories out of our bodies / you have your own life, now



'wow, sounds like everybody has a massive case of Tall Poppy Syndrome. you used to like these guys when they were Indie, right? its just when the Pop Kids on Nova started liking them that you all got a bit uncomfortable with the idea.' / 'c'mon guys, stop dissing Kings of Leon. its not like Achey Brakey Heart came in at #90!'
– Triple J Hottest 100 of All Time

'Anglo-Saxons consider themselves ‘normal’ and are thus without an ethnicity..for some reason, Balkan Muslims aren’t exotic enough either.'
- Stuff White People Like (Melbourne version)

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'i was burgled. they stole my valuable possessions but also my sense of security and trust in others. i was also, for the first time in my life, poor. then i won five grand. so that's nice.'
'its not every day you get to turn down the highest judge in the land for a job interview.
(a) - i probably wouldn't have got the gig. they interview geniuses, Oxford grads, PhD students, professional researches, real live scholars - deep thinkers with work ethics that'd put mine (Jewish as it is) to shame. the applicants would all be of the highest callibre. i'm good. but i'm no savant.
(b) - i've decided on my course for next two years and it doesn't involve Canberra.
(c) - i think one year of being a researcher will suffice. i don't think i need another. research is lonely.'
- enjosephine.blogspot.com

'but it's been so long that i forgot how to fix it.
i read a psychological study years ago that stated a high correlation between cityfolks with exposed brick in their apartments and overall feelings of contentedness. but correlation aint causation. so let me tell you a little something about my winter - it's cold, it's good, it's a little nervous. someone said the theme of this year should be decadence and i agree. i like winter best, i'm a winter creature, i like wearing more clothes and i hate sweat. i like seeing my breath. wearing big coats makes me feel tough and Eastern European, i like to think of everything in cyrillic and all us humans just crazy enough to brave it these few months. i like how awake the cold makes me feel. i like how the city smells clean this once each year. i like the dry sidewalks like we're in the tundra, in a cold desert where everything just rattles and everything is hard surfaces. cities are meant for the winter and so am i.'
- antifakersclub.blogspot.com

a haggared re-representation of my birthday outfit

dress by FCUK (2-3 sizes too big, belted. it was the last on the rack and i couldn't imagine leaving it behind, so oversized had to do. the sequins mean business - its weight is about equivalent to my own), shoes by Witchery, socks from travels in Turkey

'Pisces is the Sign of Dreams and Secrets; it represents much that is hidden, both strengths and enemies. Aries is the Sign of new beginnings. those born under this Sign may be fascinated with dreams and dream interpretation.
like the popular conception of the Ram, Aries are able to accomplish a lot by sheer energy and force of will, 'ramming' their way to their goals. in this way, Aries exemplifies the Cardinal quality assigned to it. Pisces, on the other hand, can be indirect and unfocused. Pisceans don't have a strong agenda; they tend to go with the flow and move where life takes them. in this way, Pisces exemplifies the Mutable quality assigned to it. Pisces/Aries are unique in the sense that they are the chameleons of the Zodiac, receptive to the needs of others, but also tending to be about self and ego rather than the balance between people. however, they are not loners.
Aries is ruled by the Planet Mars. in ancient Roman mythology, Mars (and his Greek equivalent, Ares) was the god of war. he was bold, aggressive, energetic and courageous. Mars was active and high-spirited, full of physical energy and vitality. Aries or Aries Cusp-born reflect Mars's leadership and initiative. Pisces/Aries Cusp individuals are adept at taking the ball and running with it, and projects tend to progress quickly under their guidance. a well-run project may become boring for these chameleon-like folks; they can lack follow-through and lose interest before the project is completed. they are idealistic, but sometimes their dreams are vague and impractical. when reality intrudes, they can become pessimistic or lethargic, but they are very adaptive and broad-minded so they can rework their ideals when necessary.'

'for the entirety of 2010, i worked forty hours per week in a mind-numbing job; leaving little time for creative indulgence and transforming my outlook into one of drained pessimism. the break from academic thought did, however, force extensive self-evaluation. i observed similarities between my own values and experiences and those of creative professionals – namely, Jack McCollough and Lazaro Hernandez; the creative minds behind American luxury fashion label Proenza Schouler – whom had successfully battled through tedious periods of their career (such as global economic uncertainty), as this mirrored my own life at the time.
while the prestige of Parsons School of Design would have undoubtedly aided the propelling of Proenza Schouler’s name and work out into the industry, there is a level of sincerity to the label’s sustained success that opened my eyes to the realisation that a career in fashion design is an actual possibility. having come from an upbringing of realists and a certain sense of practicality, this was a pivotal turning point.
the success of McCollough and Hernandez, at such a young age, is something that i continually reflect on for reassurance.
Hernandez once noted a coming-of-age that was experienced during the development of their brand. “we’re [McCollough and himself] growing up and we’re going through life and experiencing all these different things. it is very much a creative process. we can’t help but be influenced by our experiences.” i similarly experienced a period of maturing over the last twelve months, though perhaps on a comparatively minute scale, and observed a resulting subconscious refinement of my personal design aesthetic.
the Career Storm module highlighted that some of my key intrinsic motivations are determination, independence and a desire for recognition of my work. Proenza Schouler is a very hands-on, self-reliant label, and so we evidently share a number of underlying values. for example, McCollough and Hernandez have never relied upon advertising; the first ever editorial produced was for the season of Spring/Summer 2011 – almost a decade after the launch of the brand. similarly, nearly all of the design work is completed by the two designers. within these finer details, there is a continuous celebration of the independence of the brand.
i design more or less out of necessity as i can very rarely find garments available to my budget and locale that are of an acceptable level of quality and body-awareness (in terms of a flattering fit). i therefore admire that the longevity of Proenza Schouler’s success is based purely on the merit of the attention paid to the brand’s customer base and the conspicuous level of craftsmanship to the garments; a distinct attention to detail in tailoring that is always partnered with a signature youthful slouch and ease.
André Leon Talley claimed that McCollough and Hernandez “are not just stylists. their greatest strength is their appreciation of the construction of clothes: the tailoring, the linings, the seams—all are done perfectly, and that’s what makes them great.”
“when we started designing, it was that whole deconstruction thing. we thought, anyone can do that. we've been in school for four years. we know what construction is”
it is the range of shared characteristics between myself, and Jack McCollough and Lazaro Hernandez of Proenza Schouler, that has encouraged and inspired me to study within the Creative Industries – and to aspire to my dream career of fashion design. if i had not come across the young American luxury label, there is a large chance that i would not have been propelled into a career that is truly a personal and informed choice.' - pissy 500 word assessment #234234234.

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(i) i really hope that this transitional age from being a teenager to adulthood is absolutely fantastic and beautiful for you. i also hope that tonight is a good indication of how marvellous the rest of 2011 is going to be. enjoy the book pretty lady.

(ii) i hope you're having a wooonderful day, very excited to get fruity on Saturday night. so glad you are now living in this city with me, its totally where we belong.

(x) i hope the course is all you wish for. follow your dreams and make sure you succeed. take every opportunity that comes your way. your future is now in your hands! we will all miss you - it has been lovely to share the past year with you as you have matured into a wonderful young lady. remember, to always think for yourself and not be led by others around you. always keep the consequences of your actions in your mind. take care, have fun + stay safe.

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listening to: Dave Matthews.

forever relevant

'a billion people died on the news tonight, but not so many cried at the terrible sight.
Mama said, 'it's just make believe, you can't believe everything you see so Baby close your eyes to the lullabies on The News tonight.'

who's the one to decide that it would be alright to put the music behind the news tonight?
Mama said 'you can't believe everything you hear. the diegetic world is so unclear, so Baby close your ears.'
the unobtrusive tones on the news tonight.

why don't the Newscasters cry when they read about people who die? at least they could be decent enough to put just a tear in their eyes.

chopper

i received a beautifully wrapped pair of Acne Chopper suede moccasins in the mail this morning, they are everything that i had hoped they would be !



i probably should have ordered one size up, as they were a little bit toe-crunching at the start, but i think the main reason for the restriction was the armoured areas above the toes. i have worn them to lectures all day and they really are comfortable.

an album dedicated to a lost woman who worked in music

'your Great-Grandfather was a great lawyer and his kid made a mint off the war. your Father shot stills and then directed films that your Mum did publicity for. i saw your older Sis on the year's best book list and your brother, he manages bands.
you're keen to downplay, but you're quick to betray with one well turned out wave of your hand.
you come from wealth; you've got wealth. what a bitch..they didn't give you much else.
i heard Cuts by The Kinks on your speakers. i saw Poe and Artaud on your shelves while The Last Laugh's first scene on your flat panel screen lit Chanel that you've wrapped around yourself. you've got outsider art by an artist who arguably kidnapped a kid on your wall while your designers have slyly directed the eye down clean lines in your well-lit hall.
you've got taste..what a waste that that's all that you have.
you wrote your thesis on the Gospel of Thomas. you shot some reversal film in Angkor Wat and this book you once read says there's less people dead at this point now than those who are not.
this film we once saw was reviled for its flaws, but its flaws were what made us have fun.
it's all in your hand; like a gun, like a globe, like a grand.
this thing you once said disappeared from my head in the time that it took to be amazed. this thing you once did might have dazzled the kids, but the kids once grown up are going to walk away.
your world is going to change nothing..our world is going to change nothing.'
- Singer Songwriter, Okkervil River

'packed and all eyes turned in, no-one to see on the quay. no-one waving for me; just the shoreline receding. ticket in my hand and thinking, 'wish i didn't hand it in'. ..cos who said sailing is fine? leaving behind all the faces that i might replace if i tried on that long ride.
looking deep inside..but i don't want to look so deep inside yet.
look out at each town that glides by and there's another crowd to drown in crying eyes, and see how that light you love now just won't shine. there might just be another star that's high and far in some other sky.
we packed up all of our bags. the ship's deck now sags from the weight of our tracks as we pace beneath flags black and battered, rattling our swords in service of some feted foreign lord.
we sail out on order from him but we find that the maps he sent to us don't mention lost coastlines. where nothing we've actually seen has been mapped or outlined; we don't recognize the names upon these signs.
every night finds us rocking and rolling on waves wild and wide. we have lost our way..nobody's going to say it outright.'
- Lost Coastlines, Okkervil River

'all sweetly sung and succinctly stated. words and music calculated to make you sing along with your stereo on, as you stand in your shorts on your lawn.
get completely incorporated by some couple who consummated; their first love by the dawn, a falling star wished upon and flashed in the sky and was gone.
by the back room, the kids all waited to meet the man in bright green who had dreamed up the dream that they rest their hearts upon. he's the liar who lied in his pop song, and you're lying when you sing along.
here's the car seat so cruelly weighted, and here's the faces already faded at the end of the day when they just threw away the only good thing that they owned.
but at the food court, the float's inflated. people line up to see the man who dreamed up the dream that they rest their hearts upon. he's the liar who lied in his pop song, and you're lying when you sing along.
week by week, it climbs up and comes on. we're feeling alright, though we know it's all wrong. i'm ashamed to admit that i can't help resist what i wished was the truth, but it's not, and i truly believe we're not strong, and we'll sing til our voices are gone.
this is respectfully dedicated to the woman who concentrated all of her love to find that she'd wasted it on the liar who lied in this song.
- Pop Lie, Okkervil River

'they're waiting to hate you, so give them an excuse. they say that it changed you..i know that can't be true.
i came in the entrance the makeup girl went through and waited for ages, i waited there for you. hats off to my distant hope, i'm held back by a velvet rope and he's behind the wall the smoke machine has made between us. if he does exist, if camera clicking, green room guests swirl round the man whose real life can be touched, then i will do just that much.
hats off to my distant hope. a little lie, a puff of smoke, my street tonight's on fire with hope you'll be there, you'll see us. i've got my ear against the screen, i'll feel your feelings crackling. for every single inch of me, i'm going to make you mean it. with every single cell of me, i'm going to make you mean the words you sigh.
you lie.
goodbye.'
- Blue Tulip, Okkervil River

he gets close, but i choke.
take your shit, take your clothes and get out of my home. i want to love me or i want you long gone. you say your real name is John.
hey thanks John, go sing songs, go rock on. roll your crew on down the road to the next sold out show.
think you can get up above me? well i want you to know: you're a figure of fun to everyone beneath lone-star neon blue broken sign. they wish they were you..like i wish you were mine. what a dumb thing to do.
how come i shout 'Goodbye' when god knows i just want to make this white lie big enough to climb inside..with you.
another day lost and gone. clipping pages from the news for the Senator's son. he just strolls through the lobby and glad hands everyone. another day tossed and done.
i go home, take off clothes, smoke a bowl, watch a whole TV movie. i was supposed to be writing the most beautiful poems and completely revealing divine mysteries up close.
i can't say that I'm feeling that much at all.
twenty seven years old.
i am discussed with desire by the guys who conspire at the only decent bar in town. they drink MGDs and they wish they had me..like i wish i had fire. what a sad way to be. what a girl who got tired.
i wonder who you've got your hooks in tonight? was she happy to be hooked and on your arm..did she feel alive? her head alright?
- On Tour with Zykos, Okkervil River

'she was once mine..that smile that shines from the glossy magazine that's stuck inside the Sunday times. she was so sweet on Christmas Eve with the snow set deep when we went walking through the pines. i had just been fired and her first offer had arrived and the new year would see her flying far away from me..though i didn't know it at the time.
with out-stretched hands, now she commands a famous figure for every picture. she stands up strong and she demands, and they deliver. she's a fixture.
it's a mixture of dumb jealously and fear that i might feel should she appear, just like it hasn't been three years..and there's distance to her voice over the phone
and that's because she stands alone, while i'm still sitting here.
you won't wait for me in some secluded stand of trees some Christmas Eve some God was kind enough to set aside.
although i love you too, i'm proud of you, God knows i'm feeling really stupid now
for ever having said 'Goodbye'.
during the fight, i said, 'yeah, right,' when insisted that i'd visit, that you'd write. now i know you're working hard so i never hear from you and that's fine.
you look the same on TV as when you where mine. i walk in from the kitchen and i finger the remote control. i watch you from the distance, you go walking through the terminal. i remember every instance when you stunned me..you're so lovely, you're so smart.
so go turn their heads, go knock them dead, go break their hearts. and i know you will.'
- Calling and Not Calling My Ex - Okkervil River

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+ some images from my new home / this weekend:

some ideas on wearability

Complex Geometries Junction Dress:



CG Drape Bank Tank:


CG Laval Tank:


CG Censor Tank:



CG Split Square Tee:


CG Mega Tank:


CG Square Hood Tee:

the Designer interview where every word is so safe / guarded that you want to fling yourself off the nearest building. we call these the 'I Design for Today's Woman' interviews. (what does that even mean? do other Designers make clothes for 1912's woman?)

'i'm sorry to say there's too much corruption involved in Fashion Week. i won't take part in it. my days are very full doing what i'm doing.
i don't want to deal with model agencies. power conversations with model bookers makes me sick. those people, they talk to you as if you've known them for 40 years, but you don't know them at all.

i do not belong to celebrity culture. if people only knew what actresses are paid to sit in the front row at the shows in Milan or Paris, they would want to kill somebody. if they only knew 10% of what's going on, like brands that give bags away to young actresses and tell them to go in that restaurant on that day and leave the restaurant at 15 past 2:00, and hold the bag up for the paparazzi that will be there. this is a fact.
if you're a young actress, it's now expected that once you start making it you'll receive a bag from Chanel. it's become a rite of passage. and it works, it's huge publicity for them. but at some point what's sad about it is that the very famous Chanel bag 2.55 — which I really love, my grandmother had one and my mother had one —is all over the place. i can't look at them anymore.

it seems the people who run the luxury industry have lost all sense of luxury. Céline in ready-to-wear i think still has a sense of luxury. but if you go to Hermès and you ask the salesgirl for a notebook in box-calf, she won't know what you're talking about. it's a type of leather and if you work at Hermès you should know it like runs in your veins. and they only have ugly colours.
the Chinese can manufacture well, but I think they are the new fascists. i have to face it everyday. since they have all this cash, they buy up raw materials, all the commodities, so if you want to buy cotton it's already been bought. if i want ten tons of cotton from Egypt, the guy will say, 'i'm sorry, it's all sold. you have to talk to Mr. Chong.' and of course Mr. Chong has raised the price. it's very bad. it's like a war. it's like we've entered an economic war. i'm not kidding. it's not a conspiracy theory.

i hate fast-fashion chains. those people are very gifted at doing massive things, but what i hate is they have no problem stealing intellectual property. and when they do it, they are very clever. they decide to knock you off, then they'll trademark the design. if you have enough time and money you could sue, but even a small brand like mine could spend €300,000 a year in legal fees and only make some of it back. and you don't want to exert so much bad energy.'
- Jean Touitou, Designer behind A.P.C, Hint Magazine

i'm a list-maker in a big way. i'm a listener in a big way.

this evening i went to the Shape of Things to Come graduate exhibition (those that graduated 2010) at The Block in the QUT Creative Industries Precinct. so informative, so mind-opening (though i had to get my wonderful partner (in crime and lrv) to explain most of the artist statements to me - my brain has been in hiberation for the past 12 months and is still coming to terms with its new-found use), so eye-opening. very visually tactile. some of my favourite features are highlighted below.
afterward, i attended the equally entertaining + stimulating Indie Gets Serious talk / presentation in the same precinct with a (soul)mate of mine. thanks to the gaming industry knowledge that has been passed onto me in the past year, i understood and was able to appreciate / take a lot away from it - some issues / words of advice non-gaming related.

at the Shape of Things.. exhibition, the fashion pieces by Shenaz Engineer were arguably my favourite part - or were at least the work/s that made me gasp out loud the most. to view each up close was extraordinary, and i believe completely necessary - the attention to detail in the perfect stitching / placement of every single piece of fabric / seam / print was, for some reason, unexpected. i definitely picked up on a few Alexander McQueen vibes, though her view was still obviously quite independent - for example i think i noted a mirrored image of a washing machine / lamp-lit hallway within one of the screen-printed bodysuits - and i'm sure the fact that Shenaz partially INTERNED FOR THE MAN / HOUSE HIM/ITSELF doesn't hurt. though i enjoyed that the prints were quite obscure and somewhat unintelligable; their actual contents most likely unbenknownst to most onlookers..
as i seam to mostly love fashion that seems to have the perfect balance of masculine v feminine, hard v soft..the pieces really spoke to me.
i took some webcam-quality images on my phone, but think it is in the best interest for all involved to just reference some externally sourced images:

(detail images via)

(image via)
'this collection was based on the concept of a kaleidoscope, and basically applying that to a world perspective. not analyzing the kaleidoscope itself, but seeing things in a different perspective, and applying it to the world. a lot of the print works included in the collection are actually photographs i took on my travels around the world.'
- Shenaz Engineer
i found it a little difficult to source images of some of the floatier pieces - but they can be viewed in pretty good quality below:


i also really enjoyed the Aurelia jellyfish-inspired lighting piece designed + created by QUT graduate Interior Design students Ian Knight, Claire Mören, Kate Tuffley and Christina Willington.

'drawing on the concept of form following function, the design exploration process began with examining algorithmic and geometric patterns, both of which can have a simplistic or complex result. the process led to exploring the coral reef with its form and pattern – the inspiration to take the form of the coral reef came from Nervous Systems who takes a natural organic form and implements the design pattern with algorithmic techniques.
the design was roughly inspired by a London seafood restaurant that prides itself on its seafood-based interior design; Olivomare.

the interior was decorated + designed by Architect Pierluigi Piu, features an M.C.Escher print of repetitive fish on one wall, and has a ripple-like walled section in another area.
the restaurant also notably features 'references to ocean life [that] continue with lighting overhead that is diffused by a thin nylon net, which appears to be luminescent tentacles, evoking a stray shoal of jellyfishes or sea anemones. there is also a room divider which looks like an enlarged fishing net, and a small dining room at the back clad in a wavy relief meant to evoke the sandy surface of the beach when moulded by the wind. finally, a trip to the washrooms involves entering into a surrounding of red branches from a coral reef.'. conceptual fashion design is certainly up my alley, so there was no reason for me to not enjoy this thematic restaurant / interior design also !
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i've often thought that if i didn't choose Fashion as a career path, that Interior Design would be something to seriously consider as an alternative. i remember forever designing my dream home, draft after draft, for years in what i think i remember to be around primary school age.. though i think i would have an issue with customer satisfaction; i would want to create houses as i would like them to appear, rather than according to the tastes / instructions of clients..

SO WE TOo by Marcel Daniels was another piece that my brain needed a little helping kick-start on to initially grasp the concept behind the work.. though it was visually attractive in its own right, i was glad to understand the idea. basically (or as far as i can / could gather), Marcel wanted to communicate the impact / effect that colonisation can have / has had / does have on small, previously un-touched, villages and non-urban areas of the world.
SO WE TOo depicts '..a South African township..made from paraffin wax..the sculptures are displayed on a highly reflective acrylic sheet.' the idea of the reflectiveness was so that, as a viewer of the work, in leaning over it and looking closely, your reflection is cast onto the display - thus changing, influencing and affecting the sculpture / township. this reflects affects of colonisation.