August 26, 2014
“All the things that have ever deeply possessed your soul have been but hints of it—tantalising glimpses, promises never quite fulfilled, echoes that died away just as they caught your ear. But if it should really become manifest—if there ever came an echo that did not die away but swelled into the sound itself—you would know it. Beyond all possibility of doubt you would say “Here at last is the thing I was made for.” We cannot tell each other about it. It is the secret signature of each soul, the incommunicable and unappeasable want, the thing we desired before we met our wives or made our friends or chose our work, and which we shall still desire on our deathbeds, when the mind no longer knows wife or friend or work. While we are, this is. If we lose this, we lose all.”
—The Problem of Pain
August 15, 2014
‘To him that hath, to him shall be given.’ These words from the Scriptures the writer may safely restate as: ‘To him that hath told much, to him shall much be told.’ Nothing is further from the truth than the only too common notion that the author’s fantasy is incessantly at work within him, that his invention has an inexhaustible and continuous fund of stories and incidents upon which to draw. In reality he need only, instead of setting out to find, let himself be found by, characters and happenings, which, in so far as he has preserved the heightened capacity for observing and listening, unceasingly seek him out as their instrument of communication. To the person who has over and over again tried to trace human destinies, many tell their own story.’
—Beware of Pity
“Stop! Stoppit! Don’t! Don’t do it!”
The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)
Dir. Wes Anderson
August 7, 2014
D lies along the windowsill, pressed firmly up against the glass. She curls herself around a decorative boulder in the sculpted garden. Encircles the spiral staircase. Bends herself around a wall corner. Sits under a table. D loves this house (the central London former home of Modernist architect James Melvin).
D is an artist interested in the relationship of things to her body.
D is emotionally vulnerable but is closed off from H, her partner, also an artist.
D is obsessed with the idea of being exposed to the unknown, standing virtually naked in front of the windows running her fingers up and down the blinds, thus she is seen and not seen.
D sits quietly in her office/studio making investigations, while H makes his presence known from his office directly upstairs, loudly rolling his office chair across the floor and thumping around.
D and H have started the process of selling this beloved home and D, in a kind of grieving process, explores its spaces like an intruder. Tiptoeing around, peering into cupboards, so sneaky sneaky. H has gone away. When he returns someone has parked in their private space. There is a discussion about private and public space and what differentiates them. Plus some shouting and swearing.
Tom Hiddleston is handling the sale of the property, and reassures them that they can vet prospective buyers so, even as they leave, they can be assured the house will be safe (almost like a beloved pet they can’t take with them to wherever they’re going next).
Change is never easy.
It’s that time of year. I’m a week in to the Melbourne International Film Festival, and this morning I finally found a film I feel like I have things I want to say. Joanna Hogg’s Exhibition, an examination of public vs. private, internal/external, thought/action/emotion, came along just at the right time.
July 23, 2014
Two of Gotham (Melbourne)’s finest creatures of the shadows: Nightwing and Poison Ivy (aka Dick Grayson and Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley aka Nathaniel and Caroline) have made the move away from the city centre and into the leafy suburbs.
Here on an otherwise unremarkable street hides one of Gotham’s darkest residences: Arkham Asylum.
You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.
In other words, our lease was up, we were tired of not having the internet and all the other little niggley problems we had put up with for the past year.
Something had to give.
A friend of mine from work went overseas with her boyfriend for about four months, leaving a very large room vacant in their household of seven. Usually I would never consider moving into a house with this many people (especially after the joy that was MacMurray Road), but the other inhabitants have very different schedules and are rarely seen and seldom heard. And the house is more than ample to accommodate (despite having only one bathroom–it defies logic, I know).
It means Caroline and I are sharing a (like I said, very large) room, but considering we did for five months when we first arrived (hostels and Alice’s living room) that is hardly an issue.
At the end of October we’ll start looking seriously for somewhere new.
May 22, 2014
He lay in bed, in the dark, and scrolled the Internet on his phone. He saw a GIF from a romantic film where the leading man was kissing into the leading woman’s neck over and over and over as she laughed and turned her head away, baring more of her neck to his embrace. In his head he switched himself for the leading man and the leading woman for her, imagining a world in which this could be his reality. His stomach dropped, then clenched and released and his vision wavered slightly. He realised he was terrified. What if it were truly possible? For several weeks, every now and then, he had been allowing himself to imagine such a thing, but in reality it seemed so far off as to be almost insurmountable and he kept shutting the thoughts away in order to protect himself.
March 22, 2014
There are minor dis-satisfactions in life, which, while they remain unknown in their particulars, are nothing more than a vague and intangible gnawing in one’s subconscious.
He had been feeling one of these for at least several weeks, and in a quiet moment at work had stopped to examine it. He was feeling… stuck? No, that wasn’t it exactly. But almost. He hadn’t left the city in over a year. Hadn’t ventured further than several kilometres out of the city centre. Not since arriving. The last time he had driven, really driven, was on the way to the airport just over twelve months ago. He realised he missed it. Maybe he did feel stuck. Restricted by the distance only his own two feet and public transport could afford.
He sat at work, selling tickets to films, and realised that in bringing this idea from his unconscious into his conscious thoughts he had only amplified the gnawing. So what was he to do next?
He sold another ticket to another film.
He wrote his thoughts down.
He would mull it over.
He sold another ticket.
February 8, 2014
Sorry I haven’t been posting on here. It’s tough being without ready access to the internet on my home computer, I can’t upload pictures easily, I can’t write posts easily. If I want to post something it takes effort and planning, and clearly that hasn’t been working for me.
In any case: I’m doing really well. I love Melbourne despite the over 40° heat (which is actually not as bad as I expected). I think humid heat like we get back home is much worse. Work is good, church is great. Caroline says I don’t spend enough time with her because I spend too much time with Jesus (aka church stuff).
Not having the internet is literally the worst thing I can say about my life here. That and the fact that I haven’t left the city since arriving, which is coming up on a year in a couple of weeks. But while I want to travel a bit and see things, Melbourne is more than diverting enough to keep me engaged and entertained.