Art Intimidating Life - The Ruins of my Mental Empire: Part One Hundred and Twenty-Five

im the kind of questionable character who takes his daughter into a bottle shop, and makes her enjoy it - she instantly wants to go into the cool-room, so we sneak in there, instantly telling each other how cold it is and finding it hilarious - i drag her to the beer fridges and grab a slab - careful to hold her hand tight to ensure she doesn’t go running down the aisles, catching a glimpse of some cartoon-gimmick craft bier-label that catches her eye, knocking over a derryn hinch amount of of red-wine in the process - the dude at the counter likes my style, or my daughters, and is happy to help us deconstruct the slab of beer and jig-saw it into the storage areas of the pram - with much difficulty - i get momentary pangs of guilt and shame for holding up a line of sensible mothers in fleece jumpers and their net-balling daughters, and my dirty denims and sunglasses aren’t helping - but we get all 24 cans packed into the pram, and my daughter jumps into the seat as happy as a tic-toc biscuit - we head home and make the most of the wind and fly a kite - i think about how many people can see it flying, as we reach the limit of the string and take a seat, letting the wind do all the work - it was a beautiful feeling, and a quiet, loving and thoughtful moment between us i hope to remember

my story won’t be released until im awoken into death

wow - that was a trip - everything makes sense now

how silly - the calming swallow, green and purple blankets

warm denim

tired eyes

no need to pray - just worship sleep

at anytime, it is anytime

the days of the week don’t exist

months, they don’t exist

years, the don’t exist

i measure my life in by the rules and obligations i ignore

not money

not stuff

not advertising

at least once a day, im silent

i move soft in a hard world

though when it rains - the mud is soft

and makes a sound as i walk through it

im covered in mud most of the time

earth-paste

i move closer and closer

the music is getting louder and louder

everyone else - behind me

one or two say goodbye

i read no message - i see no signs

though i feel it all, i explain nothing

every step sweeps through micro-seconds

universal possibilities, and only one is chosen

a continuing infinite never realised

(that is what they mean when they say - all is one)

a constant moving mess of existence

but we’re burning out, casting shadows

we’re nothing but a big bang’s echo

fading, with each wave of realisation that overcomes us

and i brace myself - eyes closed, head tilted sky-ward, limbs loose

whatever, i say -  it’s not a dismissive attitude, but all-embracing

whatever comes - whatever goes - whatever is

soak it up warm and deep

the soul is a magnetic-mist, mauve and faintly fragrant

they can move, meld, dissipate

the soul never leaves paradise

however, the mind wanders

i wish my commute to work resembled a simon and garfunkle song, but instead it’s a consistent example of why i distance myself from my generation-delegation, and people in general - my disappointment used to stem from the buzzing-best-selling childrens books my peers were reading, but now i just wish more people were actually reading - now it’s just a meat-freezer full of people scrolling through junk-mail on their phones - and those reading are doing it electronically, for reasons i don’t understand - but im sure a sales-person has given them good reason - however, it doesn't stop me listening to simon and garfunkle - that makes me feel good - until i see someone mentally strong enough to simply sit in this dragging-peak-hour scenario without book, headphones or anything other than their thoughts - some people never bend with the downfall

im waking up jazzed - these days have me hanging, over and over - i open the curtains and think of global warming - i should put some more clothes on - instead, i scan my music collection and can’t decide on anything to play - it was so much easier when i only had 9 cds, and somehow an album for every situation -  i don’t sleep, i hide - now, with thousands of albums surrounding me, i can’t decide what to play

ringing a door-bell holds such power - the thin line between party-starter and party-pooper - americanisms go without saying, mostly because they are all cliches - this is my husband simon - this is my house-mate and wife, i say - my thoughts sink and my mind drifts into a silent solo-game of would-you-rather

a duck chased me away from her ducklings - it’s attack pumped a shot of adrenaline through my system - later that day when i returned home along the same path, the mother-duck got shocked by my presence and ran away, in front of her ducklings - it made me feel horrible

memories spill like a ripped bean-bag, and competitive living will kill you

Art Intimidating Life - The Ruins of my Mental Empire: Part One Hundred and Twenty-Four

i first started listening to Mazzy Star in 2004, I think - It would’ve been in relation to my love and discovering of The Brian Jonestown massacre, who presented themselves to me a year or so earlier, very late one night while home alone - This was a time of creativity for me, and the world was definitely opening itself up, like a well-prepared yet drunk host - Surrounded by friends who were going through a similar experience, as well as a few other who were already well involved, and in far too deeply - I couldn’t wait to join them

Mazzy Star was played late at night, boozed and hazy with a true appreciation for red-wine - Whispered secrets swirled around my head gently - Purple paisley smoke and pillows and blankets encouraged me fly, and soften my landing - They had three albums and I devoured them - I remember riding on a bus through the desert of northern Mexico with She Hangs Softly playing on my discman - I remember sitting at a computer late at night while So Tonight That I Might See just played on repeat - And i thought I was the only one who liked Among My Swan, my favourite of theirs

They were quiet both on the record, and off - Didn’t release anything for a decade or more, until Seaons of Your Day was announced - Coloured vinyl the sticker on the plastic covering read - “I wondering what colour it is?” the girl behind the counter asked me - “Purple, I’m guessing” I answered like she was the dumbest piece of shit in the world - I was excited

I never even considered the possibility of seeing them play live - They just didn’t do it anymore - The new fourth album was miracle enough, I simply wouldn’t dare to ask or even hope for more - I had their music in my back-pocket, and that was more than enough

My heart skipped when it was announced they’ve be playing - yes - their first ever Australian shows, and their first shows in 5 years, soon after my birthday in June 2018 - The inevitable nervousness around getting tickets, and the adrenaline of it being an “whatever it takes” type of situation - I had the post-it note at my desk for weeks, reminding me to buy the tickets - Mazzy Star 9am - I lashed out, 5 rows from the front and centre - I treated myself to a couple of extra days in Sydney - Then pushed on with time until the date of the show/s came around - Allowing myself only one listen to each of the 4 albums between now and then

Airport drinking is the best - it’s always allowed, no matter where you’re going, or what time it is - Depending on whether you’re coming or going, it’s either full of anticipation or full of reflection - The sideways glance to a fellow drinking makes it all okay - A beautiful 9am Sunday morning pint of beer before the flight - I board and drink another beer on the flight, reading Dave Graney’s book “Workshy” while listening to his music, and sitting in the emergency-row - Potentially responsible for the lives of hundreds and I floated away

As planned I went for a run around the gardens, Opera House and across the bridge and back, and my natural highs were equalling any bought on from any boozy mindfulness - The sun shone and I sweat in the cool winter air - I spun some spells as I circled the Opera House and looked at it from the bridge, thinking thats where it would all take place

I went record/music/book shopping all day and found some bargains, and some rare finds - Marty Willson-Piper’s Spirit Level, The Church’s Sometime Anywhere, The Stems first album, a neo-psych Beatles tribute album, Philip Glass doing Bowie/Eno - I saw Ricky from the Brian Jonestown Massacre in Redeye Records, and it didn’t even really come as any surprise to me - I knew they were in town - I quickly said hello, and was honestly a little chuffed for him to recognise me - You’re from Melbourne aren’t you? - What are you doing here? - He was interested in what I was buying and I was proud (/relieved) I was buying some stuff by old friends of his (Stems/Church) - I was able to buy The Imajinary Friends album off him on the street outside and have a little chat - That felt good

As a true master and experienced music-man, I strategically drank and toileted to ensure I’d be fine throughout the gig without any discomfort - I took my seat, sitting down with a beer or two and letting my mind relax and settle - I tried not to think and just sat - I then saw Anton and half of the Brian Jonestown Massacre take a seat 5 rows behind me - I was to be sitting in the middle of a psychedelic eclipse, set in motion 15 years ago - Quite a while for a 36yo human man

Sometime throughout the show I decided to buy a ticket for the following night’s performance as well - I wasn’t doing anything and didn’t have any plans, and couldn’t really do anything else knowing I had the opportunity to see Mazzy Star again - I booked a strategic seat, knowing where and how the band would be positioned on stage, and which direction Hope Sandoval stood and sang - It was the best seat in the house - If you were to film the show, you’d put the camera on my lap - i soaked that gig up deep - next to me sat a young guy who reminded me of myself maybe ten years ago - super fucking excited, about seeing Mazzy Star and the seats - his girl-friend reminds me of Loz also, at least in her tolerance in his over-the-top excitement - he’s a little loose, but in a good way - and so am i anyway - i overhear him plead that they play “wasted”, and that makes sense to me, and my thoughts of him - of course, they play it and he loses it for a little while - it’s a great song - but hell, im deep in my purple and black mist and fog - my senses are safely snug, deeply relaxed and finally home

there is an early 2000’s feel about the Brian Jonestown Massacre concert at the forum - sold out with familiar faces - im in a strange situation and state of mind, and i choose to enjoy it thoroughly - it fascinates me that one of the most fascinating things of the show for me was seeing Anton play facing the crowd front on during Drained (i think) - i later find out Jane takes a great photo of Sam and I engulfed in the encompassing-psychedelic-wilderness 

i cash in my christmas present on my birthday, and Loz takes me to hobart for Dark Mofo - little hugs for little people, and we’re off - sky-bus bound - soon after landing we find ourselves in the best pub in the world, the new sydney hotel, and saddle up at the bar for lunch - Loz and I buzz and fuzz with excitement as we order lunchtime drinks and lunchtime food and anticipate the long weekend we have ahead of us - we talk fast and answer quickly, about the pending gigs, shows, concerts, friends, family and the things we’re gonna do next - it’s the first of many open-fires i meditate on

i see Blixa, and Loz sees Archie - we eat Ethiopian under the neon inverted crucifixes and my hot spiced ginger cider almost matches her hook-turn-gin-mixture - nothing beats the mutual haze of two mellow minds indulging in time and toxins together - outside it’s freezing cold, so we catch some fire and pocket our way to bed

the best friends in the world point out second-hand book shops to you - and this one was a beautiful one, i over-hear the shop-owner say he’s stuck there 7 days a week to stay cruising - he openly admitted he’d die there, in his book-shop - we dig our own graves he says, mid-70s at least - his passion seeped into the 90 genres of books his shop contained - he unfortunately caught me browsing the history section - not my area of expertise, but within 5 seconds of his spiel, im lost and have to be honest with him - i am lost - but i’ll be back in time

i wonder grounds of the night-mass - it’s rainy and muddy and the twin-peaks room and music tick my box - im alone and equipped with some beers - weird scenes behind lydia lunch - the bondage room was tough - lazer-devil-minx a fine line between freaky and funny - red-painted pussy stamps a collectors item - im safe an anonymous in my black hood and shadows - some people talk to me and it confirms my suspicion of good vibes in an evil place - the best kind - the best kind of kindness - anonymous

Loz and i go and see einstürzende neubauten - i see garath liddiard at the bar before the show, he supported Mazzy Star both nights, so i sense another connection of inconsequence, linking my endeavour together - neither Loz or i really know what to expect - i tell her that i was sitting in these exact seats the night before watching some bloodsport wrestling with a few hundred drunken night-massers - possibly chanting “lover-boy’s a cunt - lover-boy’s a cunt” - neubauten come out and construct - loz points out that i resemble one of the men in the band - unfortunately it isn’t blixa - where is zoe when i need her - they are a beautiful menace - slow and/or industrial, the rickety old hobart theatre was both shook and upheld by some new and obscure constructions 

in the rain afterwards Loz tells me she would never have seen an act like einstürzende neubauten if it wasn’t for me - at once i get both a warm-loving and a sick-psychopathic sense of accomplishment -  im glad she dug it as much as i did - and it makes me think maybe i’ll end up being an alright father after-all - we rush to see them dig up Mike Parr and enjoy the ridiculous anti-climax of the performance and the media frenzy - we pocket our way back to our bed 

i see and make eye-contact Dylan Alcott at hobart airport for some reason, as Loz and i wait for our flight home, at hobart airport - i sip on my last tassie-beer for a while watching the visuals of an andre rieu concert on the miserable  muted airport-tv - the concert disgusts me, and im saddened to see anthony hopkins in the audience -  i have my book closed in front of me, knowing i’ll fall asleep at any attempt to read - loz is deep in hers - so i just close my eyes and drift away - when all else fails, i close my eyes and drift away - and then im flying - always drifting - sometimes thinking - never stopping