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