bangbangdotdot

i am creating a new blog titled 'bangbangdot.com'

just a new place to put my pics up, a fresh start for the year fast approaching. keep an eye out!

an impression of bowie

model: sam littlemore

fast food international

after having an incredibly eye-opening and somewhat confronting day, i watched and even more incredible eye-opening and very confronting movie, Fast Food Nation.

This morning our extremely aggressive and obtusely macho landlord called to say he would take possession of all our household belongings if we weren't out by 2pm (that gives us three hours to call, book and have removalists come and transport the collections of clothes cds, books, photos, pots and pans and everything else that sums up our lives in physical form)

i might add here that a week ago all of our flatmates literaly packed up and ran, after he and two thugs with crowbars stormed into the house to switch off the electricity over a dispute of an alleged missing $2000.

my boyfriend dan and i, thinking that surely if we were reasonable with the landlord, he in return would treat us with respect. we had continued to pay our rent until we packed a suitcase and moved to his dad's temporarily while we wait for our new house to be available. we left our boxes at the warehouse, locked in our rooms with a very polite note asking the landlord to call us if he needed our stuff out earlier than our departure date, the 8th june

and so we got the call this morning, with a generous three hours to get out, or they would take our stuff as theirs.

after speaking with him i reasoned a 24 hour extension.

and so we went to the studio to pack our remaining stuff. i the dark, no electricity you see. our playstation had been taken (perhaps a present for the landlords niece) and there he was with his two thugs, treating them with as much aggression and derision as he did us.

now this landlord, was not actually the owner! he was apparently a middle man, a heavy, hired by the owner to act as boss and do all the dirty work, and i tell you, this guy was one piece of dirty work. the other two were somewhat odd, but were sympathetic to our situation, though i must say, these scavengers were straight out of a Dickensian novel, i could see them scouring around the tip in 'Our Mutual Friend' taking gold teeth out of dead bodies found in the Themes (great book by the way!)


these poor tip rats were being screwed over by him too. he was getting them to remove and dispose of all the leftovers in the house, from kitchen cabinets to 80s romance novels to pot plants, and in return they could sell it. honestly, put together, the rubbish that everyone left behind would have summed up to maybe $30? the amount of work these two men would have to do would be at least 2 days worth, no, 3 seeing as they seemed to be quite intoxicated.

and so, here i come to my point. after watching Fast Food Nation tonight, the heavy feeling i have in the pit of my stomach has just got a whole lot heavier.

what we experienced today, the helplessness, powerlessness and abuse is a microscopic model of daily life all over the world. and whats worse, is that this abuse and misuse, and lying and cheating is what keeps this world clock ticking, its what keeps the pay cheques keeping on coming, the cheap clothes and cars and holidays and computers cheaper, and extra large beef burgers ever larger.

i cant help but feel that we are at the parallel to the fall of the Roman Empire. The orgies and gluttony are suffocating us, and starving the rest of the world. And i know you could say that its really the US who in this case are the Romans, so really they are going to fall, but, sorry to say, the whole damn world is pretty much a part of this empire, watch the dominoes fall.


sorry to be so bleak, its just everyday i (and most other people) carry on happy in my little life, but every now and then you cant help and just say SHIT!



ps. i think i may just have to go back to vegetarianism. (minus chorizo, thats not really meat is it?)


xc

free reign of free range chickens

i went and photographed chickens for Pace Eggs last week. and i must say, i thought i would never eat chicken again after witnessing the life of a battery hen, but to be honest i was pleasantly surprised.

the chickens were healthy and shiny and air-conditioned and overall well treated. this was not a battery hen farm, i am not sure how pleasant that would be

Cybele's Photobooth: Destination 1 PURPLE SNEAKERS

I have started working on a new concept, where i travel around to different parties and clubs in Sydney, setting up a photobooth and snapping the night away.

from indie, to rock, to rave, to trash nights, me and my camera and trusty multiblitz lights will travel far and wide throughout the nightscape of sydney.this will hopefully evolve into a body of work that i will exhibit at the end of the year.

it seemed appropriate to start this magical traveling photobooth spectacular at Purple Sneakers, one of the first places i started taking party photos at, almost two years ago!

enjoy.....










for more pics from last friday's purple sneakers, come this way

a new day, a new year, same old shit!

an A bomb cant kill a cockraoch, but i'll tell you what can.

last night i found this ugly leggy thing above the bed. it looked as though it had two incongruous bodies.

after putting it in a glass and inspecting it under the light, i saw that it was a thousand legged creature (centipede) sucking the life out of a cockroach. it was just sitting there sucking. gyrating against the glass (quite gross).

within a few minutes the vile creature had ripped off all the roaches legs (apparently he collects legs, thats how he's got so freakin many).
he looked quite like the specimen below...a tinsy bit smaller though.

in the morning, the cockroach was a pair of paper thin wings. the cetipede had had its feed. scary!...

ARAIS covershoot

i had lots of fun with the kids from drum and Jade Mcrae, Beau(Starky), Dan(Hilltop Hoods) and Toby(Human Nature) got down and dirty at Blue Murder Studios for another Drummedia cover. it was also used for WA Drum and Melbourne's Inpress.







best of luck to all you guys, and to everyone else, looking forward to the universal afterparty!!!! hopefully i'll get some more candid shots there...

shesaidhesaid

a meeting of minds.



me and my dear friend bobby have decided to combine our powers; me as a photographer, he as an amazingly talented writer and come together in blogform. as the spice girls once said when two become one.

basically each week i will post a photograph, and bobby will reflect this in the written word. the following week he will write a piece which i have a week to create an image in response to.

she said he said will be an outlet for our creative yearnings, where we spur eachother on in unknown directions, kind of like our very own choose your own adventure.

so keep an eye and an ear clearly posted to this exciting hybrid site.

placebo ii

placebo @ horden pavillion 2006

white ghost

Young And Restless

JJJ interview

Some really wonderful opportunities have arisen recently through my recreational photography, one stemming from taking photographs of peoples shoes at Splendour in the grass. my friend Nick Findley suggested Claire Frost from JJJ artscrew do an interview on me, so here it is! follow the link and you can hear the audio recording too. scary to hear your own voice through a speaker.





J ARTS CREW :: Splendid Feet
By Claire Frost
NSW | 14.08.2006

Splendour In The Grass is as much about footwear fashion as it is about the music. Cybele Malinowski caught it on camera. Cybele Malinowski likes to take photos of people’s feet. “When I was a teenager I didn’t look at a boy’s eyes, I didn’t look at a boy’s hair or his shirt. You look straight to the feet." The Splendour in the Grass weekend just gone (or ‘Splendour in the Mud’ as it has been affectionately named) featured some of the most impressive, innovative and diverse displays of festival footwear fashion you could ever hope to see at an Aussie music festival. So it goes without saying that Cybele had a field day, and spent most of her time with her camera aimed towards the ground. “I was at Splendour last year as well, and the shoes really got me! The footwear! And I must say this year, compared to last year, it was phenomenal! I saw, literally, 500 different styles of gumboots. It was insane!”

“I think that feet - or more so, shoes - explain a lot, not only about a person, but about a situation. I mean where else would you see thousands of people walking around in fluro gumboots. It’s so novel. And honestly I’ve never seen so many gumboots in my bloody life!” There were gumboots to suit every personality. From the tragically fashionable animal-print designer gumboots selling at one entrepreneurial market stall for $100 a pop; to neatly buckled Gucci numbers; to colourful kiddie gumboots suitable only for very little people with very little feet. There were bright yellow galoshes with matching raincoats; painstakingly home-decorated white gumboots complete with glitter, fluro faux fur, pom-poms and posca pen doodlings. And at the other end of the spectrum were the daggy-but-practical, all-terrain black gumboots - a highly sought-after commodity purchased from hardware shops along the Pacific Highway from Sydney to Brisbane.

“I think perhaps one of the other reasons I was focusing so much on people’s gumboots was because I didn’t have any myself. I left mine at home and I was a bit gumboot jealous.” Gumbooted festival goers were at the top of the footwear food-chain, casting smug looks down at cold, wet feet struggling through shin-deep mud puddles that swallowed up flimsy thongs and made sure that the ubiquitous canvas Dunlop Volley would never be quite the same shade of white again.

Occasionally discomfort sparked innovation: “There was a man in bare feet - he’d obviously got his feet completely drenched in mud and crap - and he’d got plastic bags and tied them around his feet, so he was walking around like a space man. I captured that one.” And some punters just wanted to get back to nature: “The bare foot man. This guy was a hippy. Lovely guy, very friendly. And his feet almost become part of the ground. It was quite beautiful - they almost looked like branches of a tree."

When Cybele isn’t taking pictures of dirty feet at festivals, she’s in her Sydney studio doing product, design, architectural and fashion photography for big clients. At 25 she’s already been working professionally for two years and runs her own business, Blue Murder Studios. “That’s really exciting and scary and hard, but there’s so much possibility. And it gives me the freedom to direct my photography in the area that I want to be in, rather than working for somebody else. I’m really trying to make my social photography and my music photography financially viable.”

On a typical Friday night, Cybele grabs her camera and ventures out to local bars and clubs and grimy underground rock and roll venues, in search of indie kids with attitude (the bigger the ego the better the photograph) and looking to “capture the raw youth and sexual energy that comes out with alcohol and night time and music.”

When she first started taking 'crowd' photos she was firmly in the minority. “There would be about 20 cameras focusing up on the stage and I was the one who was roaming around the dark corners at the back." But things are changing. "I think many websites, and street press as well, have realised the value of taking photographs of the crowd. Because if you think of a magazine, every week kids go and look at that magazine to see if they’re in it. There are a lot of photographers who photograph bands and they do a great job of it, but there’s so much happening off the stage that people miss. And I think it's really important to capture that. And of course the people in the photographs love it too.”

Cybele Malinowski’s photographs are published across a range of media, including music magazines and street press, on music and social websites, on the online photo-sharing site, flickr, and on her own website: Blue Murder Studios

Lily Allen @77

The procession of punters awaiting the Lily Allen show traverses down William St. Where around 700 eager fans wait in vain to squeeze into the underground bar with 150 capacity. The guest-list alone almost reaches that figure, despite being cut earlier in the day. It’s a small venue for a small girl who has exploded in an even smaller amount of time. The irony of having such a well publicised, well choreographed pop success in the humble walls of 77 is rather fitting. A product of underground hype funnelled through the internet into the mainstream.

Talk about hype! A 21-year-old myspace boom child. Pushed from the ordinary to the extraordinary in a matter of weeks. “Thankyou Australia for all your support over all these…year…….over all this year” she corrects herself. Topping number one in UK for her latest release ‘Smile,” she grins at the crowd as she sips on her cider and puffs a cigarette.

Her sweet yet somewhat satirical lyrics, ‘mockney’ accent, teamed with a beaming smile, big baby eyes and angel voice and shining white air max sneakers are a recipe for success. Backed by a band consisting of two ultra Brit pop looking fellas, one on base, the other on the laptop and keys, the whole crowd sings along to her contagious lyrics, and laughs along between songs when she muses about her quick success. She almost talks more than she sings. Unaffected by her new fame, she smiles and makes eye contact with each member of the crowd. She’s won us over.

This girl is cool. A much more appropriate teen idol than the Paris Hiltons or Nichole Richie’s, she has made it through her talent and proverbial balls. She is one cool girl, with a healthy and feisty attitude towards life, a great big, unaffected smile, and some beautifully uplifting songs to boot.

After 8 songs she is finished. When the audience calls out for more, she laughs “I’ve only got the one album! I’ve got nothing more.” But the crowd is hungry. As soon as she walks off stage three people jump at her abandoned lighter, and two girls almost break into a fight over her set list. The people are hungry. The media is hungry. I almost had a punch up with an over eager photographer who thought I might get in the way of him and his money shot. Is this the start of something big? Will we, the lucky ones, be saying in ten years we were there? We were there at 77 with Lily Allen.

16, 17, 18 candles....

i just realised i am almost 25. eep!

Come Together 2006

i had the pleasure of photographing these rockers for the cover of the drum for the upcoming come together festival .







it was freeeeezing! dan and i had to jump around like gogo dancers until the lads arrived for the shoot, and by the end of it, i had stripped down to a singlet as we raced these boys in dodgem cars. a fun day out indeed

evergreen terrace

my mother, brother and i went and visited my granfather, poppa on easter friday. when we arrived, there were signs over all entrances stating 'DANGER. CONTAMINATED ZONE.' we buzzed the nurse, no answer. 'well, they're clearing out another one' said justin as we watched a large trolley approach. we followed the trolley into 'evergreen 3' (the minimum security dimensia ward at RSL war vets, narrabeen). a small man tired with age pulled himself up a wheelchair ramp. i watched the energy and life exhasuting out of him, while performing such a simple task, and it was as i thought 'gee, at least poppa isn't like this' that i realised this was poppa.

his toothless smile gaped open and he hugged us all with more strength that a man at the peak of his life, and i squeezed back, with all i had. there was a faint smell of dencorub and urine.

we spent an hour showing him how to turn on the tv, which he insisted was broken. i looked around the room. so sparse. a framed painting of my mum, regal and untasteful. black and white images of my grandfathers past placed haphazardly on the wall. a chair. a bed and a set of drawers. he had four times this, four times the photos, but over the past year, he has thrown most of his possesions over the balcony.

there were some beautiful plants outside, made moist from his daily urination into the wild.

we walked for about 50m. he was overjoyed. though i noticed he winced when he saw my brother type in the unknown security code to 'escape this place.'

arm in arm we walked. he couldnt hear us. but that didnt matter. he was happy. happy easter.

by the time we got back we were practically carring him. and this time when justin typed in the security code, he was not at all interested in memorizing it. we were home.

we escorted him into the dining hall. everyone slowly looked up. men on one side, women on the other. poppa walked over and sat with the girls. (he was always a bit of a ladies man). as we left i called out 'happy easter!' and everyone chanted it back at me. one old gentleman dressed as a bunny, jumped up and screamed 'bye!' while a little lady stared at me, unyielding, lips pursed shut.

Ultimo Siege. 2400

twenty four hours after the escaped prisoner was found hiding out in a flat in Pyront, they settle in for a long night. (apparently, a cop told me, they are getting payed over $600 for the night shift. not bad )

Ultimo Siege

so, i have a near crash with a vespar, right where i had my crash a few weeks ago, which has taken my beloved car, mercury off the road for five weeks!

and then, after the motocyclist slinks off the scene, we turn around the corner, and there are 50 cops, with guns and knee pads and even more press pestering around, and even more residents gossiping and marvelling over the exitement, as a man, a supposed escapee from long bay jail back in Nov 05, hides within a housing commision apartment, fifteen hours have passed since neighbours alarmed police of this man's hiding. he still waits, protected by a cream brick wall. waiting. for what? we'll see. the police mumble on their walkie talkies, the journalists jot down residence's words, and the ex-prisoner waits.

and its only 9.30am.

Love Boat rocks the tides of Sydney Harbour!

you know those days when you sit back for a second, and look around and breathe in the joy and think, this is how i will remember my youth (or in my case, quickly vanishing youth!). well during this whole balmy cruise, as i sipped on cheap alchipops, and danced to the mares, and sang to the valentinos and screamed and jumped to the presets, it was there. already sentimental for the moment i was in. never wanting it to end.

congrats purple sneakesrs and spectrum, and all the cool cats who came aboard, it was one great party.

RIOT rages through Purple Sneakers, She's Lost Control and Gimme Gimme Gimme

A night of wild delights, with djs from Purple Sneakers, Gimme Gimme Gimme and She's Lost Control; some of sydney's coolest nights joined forces to try out the new PA at the Havana Club on Oxford St.

(aparently the Kings of Leon were kicked out by the bouncer, unawares of their indie fame...sadly i got no shots to prove it, as i was too busy snapping away at these hotties)

we built this city!

this city does kinda rock dont it!

HAPPY CHRISTMUKAH!!!

happy holidays everybody!

i am off from work, ie photography, photoshop, computer,internet, blogger, flickr! for the next week or so;

swimming and eating and drinking and singing and visiting melbourne! and pearl beach! and sunbaking and laughing and dancing and sleeping and talking and reading and eating and drinking and did i mention eating! and drinking! cocktails by the summer seas?!!

so, anyway, love you bloggers, and miss you, and HAVE A RAZZLE DAZZLE OF A FESTIVAL time Xxxx

dollywood dosshouse

i stopped the car, three times, after driving around the block four times, slowly trying to build up the courage to stop and photograph an amazing site; a hobo with a home made up of thousands upon thousands of tidbits, all catagorized into a neat mayhem underneath the bridge at Kings Cross.

the sun (which had been hiding for days) was shining through the concrete pilons, saturating this mans home in a treacle coloured sunset.

each time i drove past, the bum smiled a little more, through his antiquated beard. a teethy grin jsut visible beneath the grey forest of whiskers

this welcoming grin was the clincher. the photographer in me ached to capture this amidst his sunset home.

i stopped the car. again. walked up the windy pavement of New South Head Rd and there he was. amassed beneath his threadbare blanket. his face buried, escaping the sudden bitter wind.

the treacle glow had gone, the fire in the hearth was out, and what was once such a 'home sweet home' image had turned into the harsh reality of life on the streets.

i did not, could not disturb him. he was gone. hibernating, harboring the warmth that was quickly retreating as the sun clawed its way over the sketchy Sydney horizon.

depleted....i took this shot on the way back to the car.... dolls frolicking 4metres away from this homeless man. i want to give him a print. to put on his make-shift wall.

boudist

tribute to the boud .



Xx i'm smitten as a kitten!

just another day at Blue Murder

i was at the studio today, photgraphing childrens nursery goods, and as i was shooting these mosquito nets, i quickly toot off my top, and jumped in the shot. i would have loved to have spent more time, and used a brunette model, but hey, you gotta do what you gotta do! dont worry, i put my top back on right in the nick of time!



its somewhat frightening putting my semi nakedness up on the web, but i cant help but feel its less revealing than words. thats where the truth can really seen.

COP IT! hipster of sydney hip hop

featuring Chasm, Ozi-Battla, Melbourne guests Microphonics and the O.D of cool; Bingerthinkers, the only thing that could outshine the enraptured crowd were the magnificently D.O.P.E performers.

with a show like this:



and this:


the crowd went off, like this!




and this!



i honestly cried, it was so elating. with these boys being our friends, boyfriends, crushes, haters, since the early days of high school; i watched my beautiful friends watching them with such pride, joy, love, as these boys, now men, showed what it means to rock&rule.

love

another beautiful wednesday

sometimes the world just comes out and kisses my eyes with such beauty.

Halloween in hell's version of heaven

one two freddy's after you







three four he's at the door




five six grab your crucifix



seven eight stay up late



nine ten, your a gonna my friend






HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

follow me this way for more pics of Nat's farewell slash Liv's party slash Halloween slash debut of WHEN CHIMPS ATTACK!

decoding decoder ring

each time i see these talented artists perform i remember why i love music. honestly, decoder ring pierces through the everyday and reaches a point of sublime truth. it just feels so human. so animalistic. so alive.

close your eyes, and the music seems louder

lenka floats

(photos from Decoder Ring & Expatriate @ the Metro. 21st Oct)

bernie. the rainman

as i drove through the relentless rain the other morning (thankyou justin for the new windscreen wipers!) a fluro orange apparition came into view. i drove past, the hint of a smile hid beneath his brilliant hue. and so, i raced to work, picked up my camera and umbrella and made my way back to this glowing man.




bernie is his name. 26 years he has worked on the sydney roads. building them, uprooting them; the taste of bitumen running through his veins. he's been hit by a car 8 times. he's got lines that show it, eyes like you would't know it.

he offered me some witches hats, so i could park anywhere, anytime with RTA emergency immunity! being so caught up in the excitement of taking photos of this fluro man, i forgot to take them!

he came over to the studio today, to look at the photos. i gave him my card to email me for the. he doesnt have an email address. so humble. such a smile. the fluro man.

like moths to a lightbulb

its been almost three months since i quit, and looking at the desperate need of these kids, i must admit, it feels so great!!!! really, its not the cigarette they need, its the light; the spotlight.

i was walking around ruby rabbit the other night, shooting for RIOT. wow! and as i sloshed around, snapping the hotties, there were these three particular kids, who kept catching my eye.

now i must add here, its hard to stand appart from a room of ridiculously goodlooking people, particularly when you too are ridiculously good looking. but for some reason, they just kept catching my eye.

and now, looking at this photo it all becomes crystal clear! that little tinsy deposit of nicoteen, trapped somewhere between my last cigarette, and my first hypercolour drag at the tender age of 12 was ensnared by the zippo glow.

my eyes dilate, nostril flare, mouth forms a pout; pre-light-up stance. and there they have it. within a split second i am over there, pushing past the throngs of rival scenesters, to capture this moment of harmony, as lighter sparks, cigarettes drawn attention to the rouge lips, the flash of my camera, and exhale.

once a smoker always a smoker. with, or without you, my sweet cigarette.

wee love wee

did somebody say ice cream cake??? that can only mean one thing... its elo's BIRTHDAY
one year ago to the day

23

24!!!

happy birthday darling

it's friday, i'm in love! (with work)

remember me and the stick insect i called Ruby? well, here's a photo of her delightfully crazy owner; Keith. he is amazing!!!! as a jeweller, he collects the most incredibly odd and fascinating little artifacts, and fashions them into the most whimsicle pieces of art.

for example, look at these spectacles!!!! he wanted to see just how small he could make his lenses before they became impracticle. and here we have it. at about 15mm in diametre, they're rather obscure!!!

the night was a blur

last night was jsut like all the others. & to be frank, that's jsut teh way i like it

mercury's price-rising

this morning I found my car, my little mercury raped. violated.

last night I went for a walk. a beautifully uplifting walk through centennial park, down through Paddington, to rushcutters bay. as I walked back up the steep hills, my lungs sucked in the smells of home cooked dinners (being in the eastern suburbs, these were made by blue ribbon prized housewives, trained by the June dally Watkins and Donna haye no doubt). as I reached my doorstep I squealed with delight as my cats Powderpuff and Geraldine raced out to greet me from under the warmth of my car. I thought to myself 'I feel so safe, so happy, so calm, so proud to live here.'

this morning, feeling a little less blissed out, I raced to my car, in the desperate attempt to get to work on time, (well, relatively speaking, with post long-weekend in mind) as I opened the door and jumped into my blissbuggy mercury my heart jumped and quickly made a dive for my stomach.

the whole steering wheel front had been torn off, half my dash board was now on the floor of the passenger seat, and there was a general stench of fishy business. I sat there in disbelief. and then I cried.

I cried not so much for my steering wheel, or the lollies wasted and strewn throughout the car, but for a general feeling of disbelief. why had this happened? who did this? why did they? how could they be so angry in their inability to tear out my stereo, leading to the vicious rage that caused them to tear out my steering wheel instead? smackies for sure. but what lead them to being smackies. an abusive childhood, a great family tragedy? Social inequality? what has this world become? or has it always been this way? nature can be vicious.

walking up the street in a vain attempt to find my steering wheel, I noticed something odd. amidst all the untouched mercs and bmws there were three other Toyota corolla ascents. all broken into. all with a now warped passenger door. all with a tampered steering wheel. all Toyota corollas. all other cars were untouched.

I wrote a note on two of the other 'victims,' as the lady on 1800crimebusters described me as. and I spoke to another victim, Bruno. we were perplexed. I suggested it was ford or Holden getting revenge for corolla's unparalleled success as small car of the year. we both shook our heads and raced off to work. late.

my darling brother Justin took little mercury off to the dealership to get it fixed. he still wont tell me how much it cost to repair, I am near tears almost 12 hours later. you must understand mercury was my first love. He was the first man to show me the dedication, and blaring love ballads, and moonlit drives and warmth that I always dreamed a man would give me.

He also explained that this is common. This is not desperate smackies in need of money, food, a hit. This is organized crime. Smash repairers. At $1000 a pop for the safety airbags, it’s a lucrative business. Steal them for nothing (maybe a minor fee for a crim to do the dirty work) and then watch the suckers roll in, to buy a replacement one. On closer inspection, I apologize for instantly assuming it was a junkie. My mistake. its just another dirty trade

here are some photos of my beloved mercury, whom I now think I may have to sell. its been good little merc. but I’m just not rich enough...yet

RIOT MAG LAUNCH

this hot little mag mad a hottt little party. unfortunately i was so busy photographing the so hot rights nows, i barely got to wet my valves with allll the freeee booooooze. damn shame really.

FRIENDS SEASON 11

karaoke krazy!!!!

lalalalalala....



hanging at picnic rock

click here for more fleur loving

bananrama plays at purple sneakers!

more fruit this way

NANO! suddenly the world seems so much smaller... or is it larger?

game of mini tennis anyone?

ok so here are some shots to clarify how tiny this hottt little pod is. i'd have to say its as sexy and small and sleek as the new aston martin



shortest, well, smallest phone conversation ever




on a diet? dont worry, just have a teaspoon of nano. now even sweeter tahn nutrisweet!



the hugest key to the smallest car in the world



BARGAIN BIZARRE! 4 gigs for the size of two!

I, cybele. Ipod, NANO!!!

its a bird, shaped like a pencil
its a plane, yes, a black concord
Ney! HARK!! ITS AN IPOD NANO!!!
finally i have succumb to the mac world. an adiment organic apple lover only, the shear size and sleek black sex appeal of this little minx has won me over

VIVA LA PUSSYCATS

the pussycats and some other stray cats and pups came to the Rose on Sat night, to celebrate the birth and day of the two darlings soph and arya. there were drinks, there were laughs, there were tears (of laughter) and there were those 'i love you man, no i really do!' moments. and the love-in was relocated to 'Cop It,'
where we danced and loved and luaghed and screamed, and apparently, this hoolabaloo continued till 5AM!!!!! geeeezuz, thats a whole lotta loving we got in.

heres some pics to remind us of the times, and why we have stuck together for so long, viva la pussycats!









feel free to perve some more......come this way for more picccies





happy birhtday soph and arya!

as a matter of fact i got it now

i can't wait till the weekend. i'm thinking cocktails by day (bondi, how i miss thee) and cocktails by night.

oh, on that note, i am adding here that the judgement bar is the new gaslight is the new jbar is the newer jbar is the....

anyway, we are moving onwards and upwards. away from the social tides, washing us in and out of these establishments, what ever way the new smoking rules or big brother tides carry us. i want dry land. COME!!! i see it ahead, just past that puddle of vodka, and stream of (once was) beer (now fluro yellow strem from mans pants)......

alas, i do not know the name of this new land of booze,
1.without the D grade socialites like myself.

2.where one can go into the powder room without having to wade through a haze of white dreams (i would be fine with this crack house haze if people were more generous!)

3.where a simple bacardi squash and pineapple doesnt cost $8.00 because the bar maid claims she must open two fruit juice bottles for this exotic bev.

4.where pulp doesnt blare out of the jukebox so many times that i start cursing all the common people, coz hell! I LOVE THE COMMON PEOPLE!!!

so prey thee, tell me, where oh where is this paradise, this haven, this kokomo.

once was the jbar, then the gaslight, the jbar, the gaslight, the jbar, the jbar? where oh where is the new beloved jbar???

contentment

when things are going right, and life smells oh so sweet, i got nothing to write.
the tragic russian in me is starved of inspiration. here's hoping i never write again?!!

i went to photograph a competitor in this great Australian event yesterday. now firstly, 60 000 people up before 9am on a sunday, make that 60 001 including me.
secondly, all 60 000 (60 001 minus me ) fit, shiny happy people were about to endevour on a 15 km run, through the hilly eastern suburbs of sydney. and they were all so happy!!!!! and fit!!!!!!

people were stretching their refined limbs, rubbing down their smooth smooth aqualine legs, and there i was photographing it all. i gotta say, this was almost as good as having a camera out on north bondi on a summer weekend. minus the coconut oil.

i got some great shots, i got one of this crazy man strutting around in a garbage bag , and then another one of more crazy men and women strutting around in garbage bags ..and then i realised i was too far out of the athletic world to understand this new phenomena. next there'll be nike garbage bags.

anyway, sunday morning 9am, what a great time to be awake!

by eleven i was back in bed, asleep

its snowing in Sydney!!!!

Snowing on Sydney Sand


Snowboarding at Bondi By Night

the sun melts through the clouds Day 3.

work hard. play hard. photoblog day2

tonight i shoot the workshopped opening. an exhibition of young and vibrant; virile designers, such as Danny Cheung, Adam Goodrum, and Tommy Cehak to name a few. exquisite objects, beau monde people (arty celebrity magnet) in one of Sydneys most elegant and timeless buildings, The Strand arcade. work can be so fun!

take a picture, it'll last longer. day 1.

pretend these tracks in the sand are the tracks of a black stallion. i am on the stallion. riding into the sunset. racing it. chasing it. always just at the edge of its shadow. tring to beat time. i never wanted that day to end.

today, i chase the moon of last night, galloping backwards in a futile attempt to flip time upside down.

dancing with the stars (byron II)

Tom Williams, winner of dancing with the stars, and the best part about getaway2. the sweet boys from Cut Copy tried very hard to disguise themselves in fluro sunnies, mod rock cuts, and outfits impecably non-chalant.Lenka (Decoderring) and Ali at the Splendor Afterpartry.
this story is to be continued in my Myspace blog.


aim of the day: snap as many stars (and stripes) as possible. it was tough, and the scars from the trials and tribulations and humiliations of this quests will always remain. but so too will these here piccies.

star struck.

ah the stars were in my eyes at splendour.

the sweetest of sweethearts from bloc party Kele Okereke

the humble but oh so handsome Matt Tong, also from bloc party

its a moby sandwich! may i add here, after i called him a goddamn hippy when he let me know my camera was still on, and then dan said he prefered moby's blog to his website, moby danced away from us
carlos , interpol.... so much to say, a seperate blog is in the works
dog

packing it

stuff to pack for Slendour!!!!!!

1. gumboots

2.swimmers plus Benny Hill 3.camera

4.vodka

5.weeeeed

6.friends

7. a spare pillow, just in case the kids from bloc party and queens of the stone age pass out from the party at my house, MY HOUSE

8. itinerary for slendor festival

9. a compass, to figure out how to stagger, stagger, crawl, crawl back to our love shack, in the drunken, hysterical, delerial state we will no doubt be in

yoga and fish bowls and wetsuits.

all in a day at Blue Murder Studios

the world according to blog. no one ever suspects the spatchcock

so last night i gatecrashed a VIP dinner, attended by some of Sydneys hottest bloggers (on and off screen) to date. i had to dress up as a spatchock, with garnish all, just to get on the table... i was told the answer to a question that has plagued my mind since i wrote my first entry on blogger.

WHAT MAKES A STAR BLOGGER. WHY DO SOME CUT IT, AND SOME JUST DONT. and, six months down the track, i still had no answers, and no comments (if you exclude the 3 comments i bought through sex and bribery).

i post the same amount of entries here as on Myspace, and there, the land of hundreds of friends, thousands of lovers and millions of fans. i think my friend netwrok there is at about 4000000. here> maybe one. Myspace. its great, when i feel low, just log into myspace. there'll be ten commnets added, remarking my cunt, my tits, my sick sense of humour (little do they know, i'm not laughing). feeling a dash bored? fine. log in, there'll be three men, one woman and at least six boys from all states and colonies of the USA proposing marriage, porn opportunities, and manage et trois? menage et quad? never a dull moment on myspace. the instant ego boost.

but here! blogging? i'm realising theres more to it than tits and ass. because hell, i put that up here, and nothing! on myspace, put up a pic of some hotttt gals with fishnets and mirrors and (un)class, and watch the kids come a running, instant self gratifcation. and if no one has read your latest blog entry on myspace, just send out a bulletin notice "sexxxy new pics up, come and leave comments NOW" and hell, your set.

why oh why not here? at first, i thought the lack of interrest in cinammoncybele was my ramblings, my vain attempts to write something.. anything. tried some crap poetry, hell that died in the ass. tried to write about a big hardcore band, your know, the old namedropping trick....nope, nothing. then i thought, fuck it. maybe follow the myspace method, and jsut stick up some sexy pics of hotness. still nothing.

at a loss, i snagged a tip of where the coolcats of sydney bogging would be dining, and i snuck in, (no one ever suspects the spatchcock) and after the entre, and a couple glasses of red, these geekgods were ready to chew me up and shit me out. and so, as they chewed, with the razor sharp whit that we have come to revere them for, i slid down their tobacco stained throats (smoking. a must for any great writer, commentator or critic). as i start to enter into the digestive system, where all the news and gossip and filth of the day is consumed, processes and shat out as an insightful, bitter and twisted and more often than not enjoyable bog....ooops...bLog!

anyways, i just escaped the opening to that ever hungry cavern. i shudder to think of the indigestion and severe diorrhea i would have caused the blogger if they digested me (still as spatchcock). and then, i saw the light. a vacuum of light. sucked me in. and there i was. a beautiful place. perfect in all senses of the word. it was clean. and bright. and fresh. and open. and smooth. and ready. nothing. just waiting.

a blank page, waiting for the next blogger to come along and start writing, or thinking or drawing or screaming or complaining or loving or slaying or betraying. pages and pages, word after word, filling this blank space with stuff. we've stuffed the earth full with waste, and the air with gasses, its the natural progression to conquer the eternally expansive space of the internet. fill it with words. fill it with images. thoughts. dreams. dramas. contemplations. specualtions. interpretation. attention. whatever the drive, there is one reason. because there are few greater things in life than giving. or at least getting rid of. and thats what we're doing. throwing this thought out into the world, and hey, if someone catches it, cool. if not, whatever, theres plenty more space for plenty more crap. and hey, you cant spell blog without bog.

SMOKE&MIRRORS

9 Purple Sneakers: opening night
Originally uploaded by cybele_malinowski.

finally, i have done it. and gone through that door with the stick figure lacking a triangle skirt. yep, thats right, the BOYZ toilets!

i had the sensory pleasure of visiting the forbidden land with some lovelly gentlemenly lads. kisses to you guys. and thanks for leading me into this cavern...
it took place at the newest and greatest night to rock sydney in a while PURPLE SNEAKERS. here are some pics from the infamous Boudist

'just going to powder our noses'

hottt hottt hotttt. what happens behind closed doors.

whats girls do

what boys do.

revealed.

look out for me and my camera in your favourite pubs and clubs.....

cybele? photographer? (fuck the social pages)

I think that this year is the year. My year. The year of the rooster. The year of cybele. I think that this is the year that I finally realize that my life does not start until I am ready to say go. And fuck, here goes…GO GO GIRL!


It is morning. Early morning. My dreams are awakened by a thick amber light, coaxing me out of the delicious slumber. A kookaburra reminds me of the autumn showers, seeping into the summer hours. He laughs, I laugh, me and the kookaburra.

Yoga to Lovage. Bending into the music, stretching as far Mike Pattons voice can throw. Fuck life is oh so sweet.

Downstairs I find my little kittycats, waiting for dinner, pawing the glass doors, like a vertical treadmill, only fifteen more hours to dinner pussycats.

The juices of my morning mango wash off my skin, leaving a trail of sweetness in my shower.

I walk to work. Here I am. Sothebys. My last day. I’ll miss this. The door delivery of the most yummy soy cappuccino with the sweetest of honey, courtesy of Agustini’s, the fruit salad with a dollop of yogurt, yes that’s a dollop. The fruit man will give you a bucket of yogurt if you say anything other than dollop. Spoonful, scoop, dash, tad, they all result in a very expensive, very obese, very ‘I’m never eating again’ kinda breakfast.

And, according to tradition, first to the newsagent, finally, after two years of this routine, on my last day, I no longer have to ask for a receipt, Jimmy the newspaper man just starts printing one out as soon as I walk in. I tell him its my last day, he says it’s a shame, he was starting to warm to me, I had passed the initiation and I was now, finally a Queen St local. In Sydney, that means you’ve made it. You are one of those people.

Fuck the social pages in the Sunday Herald. Come here and you see the aftermath of those A-lister boozeups. Yes no matter how much money or collagen or general pampering these elite brats get, there will always be something to bond ‘them’ and ‘us’. THE HANGOVER. Sure, they can try to hide their bloodshot eyes behind their fendi shades, or rest their weary head on the shoulder of their yachting zillionaire, or ease into the day with a nice Penelope Sach tea, Faberge teapot and all. But my dear girls. I know something that you don’t. We share the same toilets. I smell your poo. I see your spew. Sparkling with chandon and diamonds maybe. But it’s still spew. Very different nights we may have had, but hey, they both end up down the same toilet.

And now here I sit. Rewie has left the building, the air-conditioning is blurting out some winter chill factor song, my time is almost up. No more Saturday mornings. No more four hour working week.

Yep, I am a working girl now. Working nine to five. Five days a week. Saturday is now my sacred day, Sunday is once again the day that you dread to come, coz that two-day window from monotony is closing.

I am finally living that dream that has been worming its way into reality for some time now. I am going to be a fully-fledged photographer!!!! I shall be taking over my brother's photographic studio for six months. Corporate shots, design shots, architectural, product, advertising. This is the real deal. No longer shall i sit at my architectural table, pining over my lost path of photography. I’ll be the apprentice to my magicians, Wee Gee and Dorothy Lang., Man Ray. This is it. This is the year that I realize. What I realize, we shall find out.

Snap!

i voodoo doll?

on that same cursed holiday where my camera was stolen, where my fingers were squashed in a Victorian double hung, iron weighted window, blue black and swollen and broke, and my wallet was even more broke...

when i sighed, thinking, at least nothing worse could surely happen....

...my tears had finally dried, me and dan were walking around Melbourne on our last morning of this cursed trip, me walking round with my arm high up in the sky, to ease the constant doldrums throbbing in may hand, my brand new camera in the other (top of the range, Kodak disposable )...

my brother called. he had that tone in voice. that one that makes me regret answering my phone...

the big fuckoff macro lens was busted. we broke the two pins... he was angry, he had found this out in the middle of a shoot... not cool. very angry...

(this is where that jewel of an angel should have come in)

i burst right back into the floods of tears that had finally subdued, he was sweet, told me not to worry, about my camera, my hand, and most importantly his lens, they’re only things right?

yes, its true, they are only things. but in the vulnerable state i was in, i couldn’t help but see these as a series of signs, warning me to stay away from photography.....

...well a couple hundred bucks later for the lens (my brother insisted on us not paying), and still $1400 in debt for my lost camera (I KNEW I SHOULDNT HAVE GOT IT ON CREDIT!) and a still very sore hand, i got my photos developed from the disposable camera....AND SOME OF THEM ARE GREAT!!!! and it was fun to go back to old school style. no cheating, learning to be patient, restricted amount of shots, and best of all! the excitement when you go to the printers, and see all those photos, having no certainty of their final state.

i squealed with delight! i was so happy to see these shots, a month after the cursed trip, all these images still virgins to my eyes... a sacred moment trapped on this one moment of film

HAIL SLR!!!!!!! i'm stripping it back, to its purest form, pulling out the old Nikon srl....

GIRLS ON FILM!

slipkNOT

.

backstage at slipknot at the horden pavillion, thanks hatebreed kids (xX). busy taking photos while i hide on the side of the huge stage, thousands of jealous teenage eyes staring at me rather than the moronic masked hicks on stage. and these very hicks took me from behind. stopped playing and came over and poured water over me several times. as funny as these inbreds thought it was, detroying a girls hair, make-up and camera, i was wet and refreshed. we hastily left there to le tigre, snapple and vodka courtesy of the tour manager, looking like the thousands of tenneagers, wet and furious.

Flickr

This is a test post from , a fancy photo sharing thing.

manic impressions of melbourne

(Diary of a retard)
+_+_+_+_+_+_+_

Saturday 22nd January 2005
“No. I will not. I shall not drink. I am going to Melbourne tomorrow and I have a hangover larger than my somewhat numbed brain can begin to grasp……”
Two hours pass….oh my god! This toilet bowl is mimicking a soft, friendly pillow. Maybe if I just rest my head for a little while…….
Sunday 23rd
“Shittttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt. BUT I CAN SEE THE PLANE, IT’S OVER THERE! I CAN EVEN SEE THE SADISTIC SNEER ON ALL THOSE PROMPT AND PUNCTUAL DRONES ON THE PLANE ALREADY!!!!!!!! LET ME GET ON! PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE!.. no, there’s no need for security, and yes, I understand that the plane is moving already, but it’s still on the ground! It’s not flying!!! & honestly, I don’t think you are cunt, well, I do…. But it’s a term of endearment from where I come from….(fine, heres your fifty dollars. There are no highways in the air, so why does this smell of highway robbery) ”

FINALLY. IN MELBOURNE

We (myself and my little monkey Andres and his live-in lover Liege) sneak a bottle of blushing pink champagne and our cheeky little selves into the movie Alexander……drunk, asleep, agonizingly bored we walk out of the cinema with a slight hunch that the banal, blah, ow, this is so dull it hurts 3 hours that we just sat through was somehow caused by some karmic hand of wrath at our sneaking in. if only I knew this was the beginning of a week of bitter wrath. I would have hid myself in a bomb shelter with nothing but the bible and purified water…..only to find out that I am stuck in there with none other than Clarke Gable (whose notorious bad breathe would suffocate me), and if that didn’t kill me, I would realise that there is no God, and my Russian thirst for drama and tragedy would spur me on to drink the Evian elixir of life, and prolong this bad breathed, ungodly hell.

(more entries to come, I just have to go and cry and scream and smoke) +_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+

"the kiss"

if a kiss can speak, you scream into my tongue-tied mouth
"i lick you. i like you.
i need you. i feed you.
with this kiss, i adore you"

when you touch me, your fingers caressing me,
an invisible ink that only my heart can de-cypher

a trail of your lust burns bright
in the darkness of night

my body glows with the tattoo of you.

fuckatecture

drunk love