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Acting With Grandeur:

30th April, 2007. 2:58 pm. ANGEL WITCH

Someone called me a faggot the other day?
Where?
This guy just shouted at me from a car. He said, "Do you like Metalica? FAGGOT!"
Ha! That's hilarious! You're a metal faggot!
A maggot!

*LOLZ all around, curtain closes*

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10th April, 2007. 10:10 pm. IF I COULD ESCAPE

This morning I woke up with Bikini Kill's Rebel Girl stuck in my head. I sang it in the shower.

This afternoon I had Gwen Stefani's Sweet Escape stuck in my head. I sung Akon's wonderful 'wooh-hooo yeee-hooo' high notes walking across an overpass out of the Sheraton Marina Mirage where I had just enjoyed an illegal dip in the swimming facilities.

Retiring for the evening with a cup of tea I find myself singing Anita Ward's Ring My Bell (you know the one, "You can ring my bel-ell-lll, ring my bell..."). The first two songs I can explain. But where the fuck did Ring My Bell come from? There are thousands of songs lurking neath the waters of our subconscious but every now & then one pierces the surface for no good reason & strolls up the shores of our conscious thoughts. The whole thing strikes me as weird, dear readers.

Must off to finish my tea. (*Ambles away softly humming Ring My Bell...*.)

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Tsk, tsk, tsk, I just found this on YouTube

This could have gone either way with me. Fake jugs can be a scream. But there's something about the harasment of this innocent cat for the enjoyment of two easily amused menfolk who, through the magic of static electricity & pink balloons, think they've stumbled across the party trick of the century; frankly, it's distasteful. Do they have a fetish for animal cruelty & perky breasts? Do they masturbate to this? So many questions, so little time.

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3rd March, 2007. 9:37 am. GIMME SOME OF THAT GOOD STUFF

LOL. Last night I dreamt I was in the B52's, I was one of the male members, hopefully I was guitarist Ricky Wilson (RIP) who is some of the most perfect dream date material to ever ply six strings:
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We were playing a basement show, shimmying along, when I noticed the percussion & female vocals had stopped. Walking back to find out what was happening I saw that both Katie Pierson (who you may remember dueted with Iggy Pop on the wonderful Candy) & Cindy Wilson (sister of dreamy Ricky) had abandoned their posts. Furious, I marched to the dressing room & banged on the door, "Girls, what the hell are you doing, we're playing a show?!"
"Go away," replied a shrill, somewhat slurred voice.
"What are you doing in there? You have to get back on stage?"
"Just leave us alone for a minute!" came the response. At this point in the dream I recognised the voice to be that of Cindy, this was very specific:
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"YOU HAVE TO PLAY THE SHOW," I continued, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
"Maybe I'm high. Maybe I'm fucking high," she answered, sobbing in a weary, defeated tone. I hung my head, crestfallen that heroin had taken a hold of these bright young things.

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*Footnote: I really don't think any of the B52's ever had a drug problem. Bless their beehives & polyster socks. Cheque out this clip! Look at Ricky Wilson on guitar in the background! *Love*

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25th February, 2007. 11:01 pm. LOU SAYS

Oh I do believe
You're are what you perceive
What comes is better that what came before

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23rd February, 2007. 5:52 pm. I HATE TO INTRUDE, I'M OUTSIDE YOUR HOUSE, I HATE TO INTRUDE: I'M ALONE, I'M ALONE, I'M ALONE

Britney Spears went to Kevin Federline's home last night but when she wasn't allowed to see her kids she started raging on a white SUV with an umbrella.

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22nd February, 2007. 7:28 pm. A THOUSAND WORDS

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The deepest of empathy.

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16th February, 2007. 11:23 am. VALERIE LOVES ME

The SCUM Manifesto, authored by the fascinating broad who shot Andy Warhol -- Valerie Solanas -- is the single most rousing piece of writing I've ever read. I mean, this surely takes the cake as the most AMAZING opening sentence to a piece of writing ever:

"Life in this society being, at best, an utter bore & no aspect of society being at all relevant to women, there remains to civic-minded, responsible, thrill seeking females only to overthrow the government, eliminate the money system, institute complete autonomy & destroy the male sex."

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ZING! Did you know (according to Wikipedia, and we all know we shouldn't really trust the veracity of Wiki's vaults) she was released from prison in the '70s? Cheque it:

"After her release from prison in 1971, she was regarded by some as a martyr. She persisted in stalking Warhol and others over the telephone, however, and was arrested again. An interview with her was published in the Village Voice in 1977. She denied that the SCUM Manifesto was ever meant to be taken seriously.[3] Solanas drifted into obscurity and was in and out of mental hospitals. During the 1980s, it is believed she was living in California, supporting a drug addiction through prostitution. In 1988, at the age of 52, she died of emphysema and pneumonia in a welfare hotel in San Francisco."

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15th February, 2007. 1:40 am. TELL ME BABE, WHERE DID YOU SLEEP LAST NIGHT?

Livejournal, I'm having an affair. I don't care if he's text-lite & thrives on vanity, we're in love. His name is MySpace & this is where we screw: http://home.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user&MyToken=79b3f7ad-52e2-4842-be95-1ec579faaa6f

In other news, Dolly Wilds attempted a cover of The Human Leagues 'Dance Like A Star' last week. I just want to be in a covers band in fact; riding distinguished '80s synth lines & doing homoerotic covers of '60s girl group hitz. Anyhow, this is my lyrical reworking on 'Dance Like A Star', recontextualised at the Gold Coast, cuz I'm still obsessed with the Gold Coast.

Come to the Gold Coast baby
and take my hand
Down to the glitter strip
Dance with the band

Dance, dance, dance, daaaaaaaaaaance

We'll burn down Cavil
cuz I'm your man
Pump that grind harder
Your in my plans

Dance, dance, dance, daaaaaaaaaaance

Chapelle's outta step already
Board her boogie ship
That's dancing like a star
On the glitter strip


Dance, dance, dance, daaaaaaaaaaance
(Repeat to fade)

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5th February, 2007. 12:28 am. GIN ISN'T SO MUCH A DRINK, IT'S MORE A MASCARA THINNER

G'day khunts. I'm not even gonna work under a premise that this entry is going to be held together by some unifying crux, cuz it ain't. All I can promise is dizzing gush of beautiful diatribe. Been in much better spirits the past few days, not sure why, well, I can think of a few reasons, the Peaches concert was amazing last week, so, so, so inspired, it really meant a lot to me, which sounds dicky & ridiculous but it's true, I don't think there's anyone else messing with femininity/the theatre of rock'n'roll like she is (AND I got to meet her afterwards, well I was too starstruck to say anything but I smiled and mouthed 'hey'). Also I'm going to see Scissor Sisters this week, which should be brillo (all this for free! Viva la music-press gravy train (I also get free tix to Golden Plains... it sorta makes up for my amusingly low (below-minimum) wage. Went to my friend Lisa's 30th last night, she made paella & I picked out the chicken & went nuts with the mussels (reminder: don't use a figure of speech that denotes a type of food in a sentence about food, it confuses the readers). Anyhow stuck around there until two, all the people at the party left were dedicated pissheads, but then all these 30 year olds were sorta getting a bit touchy feely on the couch across from me -- I'm talking partner swapping kinda touchy feely -- I truly believe the party was one drink away from descending into group sex, it was grossing me out a bit, so I left to go to my ex-boyfriend's house for the mega-warehouse party they were having. Got to see Spider Vomit play and they were AMAZING as I suspected, then I turned into the 'mightily drunk/slightly mental ex' & started accosting poor R.. all fun & games, no hard feelings on either side. In fact, I'm nowhere near the achey-breaky-hearted wretch I was a month ago (okay, two weeks ago, okay, a week ago), I dunno, it's all for the best, to throw a gloriously banal platitude onto the heap.

Actually, I forgot some of the joys of being single. I have heaps more time to read, I have heaps more time (full stop), ummm, I can't think of many other benefits, actually being single is a crock, but hey, I look forward to devoting more unconditional love, support and companionship to myself. And I have this strange urge to read really weighty, challenging books, which will mark a clean break from my crippling affliction for sensational biographies. Also I forgot how great getting to perv on hot people around town is, there were quite a few hotties at the party -- it was ridden with hipsters in fact (& I love a good hipster, as long as long as they can back it up with brainz).

Yes, so looking forward to being more productive in the coming month as opposed to drinking gin at home, smoking cigarettes on my porch (why did I take up smoking again? I can't remember) listening to songs like ABBA's The Winner Takes It All & making-believe that my malaise is deeply engrossing, unique & captivating. It's a waste of time & now that I have my brain (& relative sanity) back I intend to use it. That's all I really want to say.

PS,


(Whatever happened to that delightful Anne-Marie Biggar, I always thought that woman had charm & spunk, she deserved a better career on television.)

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1st February, 2007. 5:06 pm. DAY 16

Day 16 on the Isle of Fabulesia. Went down to the wreckage again today, looking for any supplies I might have missed. Nothing there, saw Kuli's body washed ashore, the smell was deafening. Have discovered a new edible fruit, it's white and pulpy with a rich ochre sap inside, it dribbles like blood and I was sacred of eating it at first, but have seen some of the native monkeys devour them so I followed their lead. The monkeys roam in packs. They're not at all like monkeys from Disney films. They're tetchy and vindictive. I wash the monkey scratch wound in the ocean every morning. Beyond hunger it's the lonliness that consumes and erodes. I try to talk to myself and the things around me as if we're all friends. More than that, it's this limbindous lust that sweeps across me, like the waves to the shore, like the sun to the horizon, like the moon through the heavens. I'm still constructing my hut, a gusty storm blew threw last week & toppled the previous one. There may be savages around the cliffs, there appear to be old fire tracks by the dunes. I can't tell if it's 1932 or 1933 as there is no time here but the changes in the day.

I no longer believe in God.

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