"A poem is never finished, only abandoned."
- Paul Valéry
Well, I'm back. It took almost a month, but I've finally returned to this here blog. Its not because I don't love it - or love you, all five (if that) of my readers. Its probably because life has been too full on for me to stop to write about it. Which, most of the time, is the way I'd like to live, but I have to admit that its good to be back here again. A breather and a little self-expression were both definitely overdue.
So what have I been up to then? Well, I was on a boat there for a bit, saw Hawthorn narrowly miss the finals (grumble), attended an EP launch as well as a healthy amount of gigs I've since reviewed, got my shit together with uni and documentary stuff, and... well, yeah. That sums it up well enough. I do plan on going into more detail at a later stage. For now, other writing endeavors continue to demand my attention. I'm actually reviewing a few Melbourne Fringe Festival shows. My articles will probably turn up online eventually, and I certainly hope they turn up in Beat, a streetpress publication I'm obviously fond of. Anyway, tonight I'm doing a write-up of Mark Watson's Fringe show, and I can look forward to seeing Arj Barker and The Bedroom Philosopher, among others. So, combined with the documentary taking flight, its pretty much full-on at the moment.
Equipment pick-up for the gum-wall documentary.
Yup. Pretty much a bitch to carry.
Our first shooting location: a filthy city alleyway
that had a distinct stench of urine about it,
among other odors. Good times.
Never fear though, I do have an interesting tidbit before I end this post in a hideously abrupt manner. Today, I was leaving The Glen, finally making the journey back home. The Glen is basically Glen Waverley's insipid excuse for a shopping centre. If you've ever been there, you'll know why I chance it with Knox, despite the grief it inevitably gives me. But here I'm flogging a dead horse; back on track now: I encountered a small piece of notebook paper flittering about in the wind. Initially, I walked over it. However, as I did, I noticed what seemed to either be poetry or lyrics scrawled upon the downtrodden, mud-stained sheet. It sparked my curiosity. I couldn't help it: I turned around and picked it up. I don't know whose it is, or where it came from. I haven't even read it yet. But I have it in front of me now. So let's check it out.
He can only hold her for so long
The lights are on but no one's home
She's so vacant, her soul is taken
He is what she's running from
How can he have her heart? When it got stole
Though he tries to pacify her
What's inside her never dies
Even if she's content in his warmth
She gets pained with urgency
Urgent kisses, the miss misses
The man he longs to be
Now how can he have her heart
When it got stole. So he tries to pass it by
Cause what's inside'll never die
As he tries to pacify her, cause what's her never dies.
Well, there you go. In case you were wondering, its in a girl's handwriting. I guess that's not too surprising. I'll leave you with what is, in my opinion, a fantastically poetic song. And, that aside, a generally brilliant track.
MUSIC: The Beatles - Across The Universe
'Til next time, hopefully soon.
So what have I been up to then? Well, I was on a boat there for a bit, saw Hawthorn narrowly miss the finals (grumble), attended an EP launch as well as a healthy amount of gigs I've since reviewed, got my shit together with uni and documentary stuff, and... well, yeah. That sums it up well enough. I do plan on going into more detail at a later stage. For now, other writing endeavors continue to demand my attention. I'm actually reviewing a few Melbourne Fringe Festival shows. My articles will probably turn up online eventually, and I certainly hope they turn up in Beat, a streetpress publication I'm obviously fond of. Anyway, tonight I'm doing a write-up of Mark Watson's Fringe show, and I can look forward to seeing Arj Barker and The Bedroom Philosopher, among others. So, combined with the documentary taking flight, its pretty much full-on at the moment.
Equipment pick-up for the gum-wall documentary.Yup. Pretty much a bitch to carry.
Our first shooting location: a filthy city alleywaythat had a distinct stench of urine about it,
among other odors. Good times.
Never fear though, I do have an interesting tidbit before I end this post in a hideously abrupt manner. Today, I was leaving The Glen, finally making the journey back home. The Glen is basically Glen Waverley's insipid excuse for a shopping centre. If you've ever been there, you'll know why I chance it with Knox, despite the grief it inevitably gives me. But here I'm flogging a dead horse; back on track now: I encountered a small piece of notebook paper flittering about in the wind. Initially, I walked over it. However, as I did, I noticed what seemed to either be poetry or lyrics scrawled upon the downtrodden, mud-stained sheet. It sparked my curiosity. I couldn't help it: I turned around and picked it up. I don't know whose it is, or where it came from. I haven't even read it yet. But I have it in front of me now. So let's check it out.
He can only hold her for so long
The lights are on but no one's home
She's so vacant, her soul is taken
He is what she's running from
How can he have her heart? When it got stole
Though he tries to pacify her
What's inside her never dies
Even if she's content in his warmth
She gets pained with urgency
Urgent kisses, the miss misses
The man he longs to be
Now how can he have her heart
When it got stole. So he tries to pass it by
Cause what's inside'll never die
As he tries to pacify her, cause what's her never dies.
- Anon
Well, there you go. In case you were wondering, its in a girl's handwriting. I guess that's not too surprising. I'll leave you with what is, in my opinion, a fantastically poetic song. And, that aside, a generally brilliant track.
MUSIC: The Beatles - Across The Universe
'Til next time, hopefully soon.
