run

Whenever I need to find myself some motivation to write, I always find it helpful to go for a run. Running not your thing? Don't worry, it's not mine either, I promise. But when I actually stop complaining about it and get up and do it, it's excellent. Endorphins are the shit, a kind of morphine that is naturally injected into your body during exercise and other activities like eating spicy food, being in love and having an orgasm. Sounds like going for a run is a pretty good idea yeah? But there's more!

The best thing about running (or walking, for that matter) is that it clears your head. There's something very meditative about going for a run. Not on a treadmill in a gym, but through a park or along the beach, somewhere where the air is fresh and can cleanse your body. I think half the ideas I have about my writing are come up with on a run. And there's a way you can specify exactly what you think about without actually thinking... does that make sense? Let me reword it. There's a way you can still let the mediative aspect work, and let you subconscious tick along, but force it into thinking about a certain mood. Use music. I will always run with my iPod, it helps me completely escape into my head while I'm exercising. I've used classical music to help brainstorm ideas, but when I run I love listening to this:

Something epic!

How moving...

Thanks to Miss Canada Clements for helping my discover those tracks.

Now obviously I've just focused on huge sounds like this, and that's good for fiction; fantasy and adventure, but I have lots of different sounds to help me get in the mood and to get my imagination flowing. So give it a go! Get out and run or walk around a park, listening to something that will get you thinking.

I'll leave you with this, it's not really something to listen to when you run, but I'll come back to how CocoRosie helped me another time. Give some of their other songs a listen to, if you're game.

Candy Land

there's a light over at the frankenstein place

Janet?! Dr. Scott?! Janet?! Brad?! Rocky...?

I don't know where to start. Maybe I'll just say Richard O'Brien is genius and leave it at that. I would if I could, but I need to explain why The Rocky Horror Picture Show is so good, and why The Rocky Horror Glee Show was so terrible (like it even needs to be said). 

That's Dr. Frank-N-Furter,the complete star of the show, played by the amazing Tim Curry. Those of you who didn't know, Tim Curry was the jerk from the hotel in Home Alone 2, the voice of Nigel Thornberry and even played IT in Steven King's movie adaption of, well, IT, obviously. Tim Curry is the most talented person ever, which is saying something seeing as also in the cast is Meat Loaf as Eddie and Susan Sarandon as Janet. 

I honestly don't know how the film of musical production ever even got off the ground. I wish I could be there watching Richard O'Brien (who played Riff Raff in the original British Stage show and in the Film)  pitch it, in my head it goes like this: 

'So this newly engaged couple, right, get a flat tyre by a mansion, which it turns out is filled with a crazy transvestite who is making the 'perfect man' from scratch, and it's all going well until the dead ex-boyfriend comes out of the freezer. So he kills him and later eats him. And oh yeah the couple get corrupted in there sometime too and everyone gets turned to statues and then back to people ad they put on a show all in fishnets and corsets and the swim in the pool and then the house flies off into space.' I guess in show-biz it really is who you know (not that Richard O'Brien doesn't know what he's doing)

For all of you who have never seen it I suggest the your first time as Rocky Horror 'virgins' that you go and watch the film in a theatre. For you Melburnians, I know the Astor Theatre plays in every now and then (and if you do go look out for me there!) The deal with seeing it live is, you have to dress up like transvestites. And when the Time Warp comes on you have to dance. And everytime the name Janet is said you have to scream out 'SLUT' and every time the name Brad is said you have to shout 'ASSHOLE'. And when it's raining you have to cover your head with newspaper, and at the party scene you need a party hat. Also, bring some toast for when Frank says 'A toast!', so you can throw is at the screen. It's actually the most fun I've ever had in my life.

I think if anything, the lyrics from Fanfare/Don't Dream it, be it speaks for the show:

'Give yourself over to absolute pleasure

Swim the warm waters of sins of the flesh

Erotic nightmares beyond any measure 

And sensual day dreams to treasure forever'

I hope I didn't ramble too much, I feel I could go on forever. If you didn't read or couldn't be bothered, I'll let this Sweet Transvestite speak from him/herself

an oldie

This is one of the first stories I ever wrote (and was proud of). It's almost two years old now, which isn't very old at all but more on that another time. I hope you enjoy it, if you dont, I'll be posting something more fun later. Enjoy!

Jenga!

I stare out the window with a broad smile. Even the mutilated ghost gum doesn’t piss me off. The rain is falling harder than ever, with big, bullet-sized drops smashing into the ground. As the lightning dances in the distance, thunder screams right above my head. Weather like this suits me perfectly, not in a poetic “I’m so dark” bullshit kind of way, but because now I don’t need to make excuses for staying inside all day. I can rest easy knowing my dad won’t ask me if I want to go kick the footy with him. I draw my attention from the window and look to the plethora of flashing lights and LCD screens. I turn it all on, everything. My thumbs and fingers are working frantically pushing buttons and flicking switches, filling my room with light and noise. In one fluid movement I snatch the PS3 control and slump into my soft-as-cloud chair (not before grabbing a 2 litre bottle of Coke out of my personal fridge, that is).

Before I start, I take a moment to review the endless entities of entertainment awaiting my day. Until my door flies open.

“You can’t be using so many machines when there is a lightening storm outside” my father says.

I think that’s what he said. Actually, I’m not too sure, I wasn’t really listening but my guess is he said something incredibly annoying/stupid like that. To avoid complications I’ll just use a standard answer:

“Yep”

He opens his mouth to retort, but thinks better of it and walks out, leaving me in my paradise of light and noise. I close my eyes to continue my reflection and the noise stops. I open my eyes to darkness.

***

It’s a frigging blackout. I spend a few minutes composing myself, and then leave my room on a mission to find answers. I walk down the hallway and out into my lounge room where my family are sitting. My Dad, Sister and a guy with a disgusting try-hard moustache (who I assume is My Sisters latest boy friend, whose name just doesn’t seem important enough to remember) are all hunched around a weak battery powered radio listening to an emergency broadcast. My Mum is the only one who seems uninterested. She sits reading her Mills and Boon romance novel surrounded by candlelight. My Sister and Disgusting Try-Hard Moustache are discussing how romantic their candle lit day will be. I suddenly feel very ill. Dad gets them to stop talking (he’s not totally useless) so we can find out when the Dark Ages will end. The boring drawl of the broadcast begins. Thankfully due to years of practising selective hearing, I don’t listen too hard.

“Power out… lines down… high winds… undetermined amount of time”

Undetermined? Kill me now. With nothing to distract me, I accidentally tune into my Dad and Disgusting Try-Hard Moustaches conversation.

“Shame its such a lousy day, we could have made some progress outside” Dad says to Try-Hard Moustache.

“Yeah I know!” he enthusiastically replies “we were gonna take those last few branches off the ghosty!”

The “ghosty” is a stupid dead tree right out my window, which I despise. The reasons I hate the gargantuan stick are twofold:

1.     Every day I look out my window to see this alabaster post awkwardly sticking out of the earth. It’s actually the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen; and I would rather eat kittens for breakfast than have to stare at it every morning.

2.     Watching Dad and Try-Hard Moustache proving how manly they are with a chainsaw has totally ruined how cool Leatherface from Texas Chainsaw Massacre is. It should also be noted Try-Hard Moustache loves helping my Dad get wood.

That is why when that tree is finally gone, I might just finally be happy.

***

I’ve been staring into my kitchen cupboard for about ten minutes now. I’m not even hungry, not a little bit. Staring into my cupboard looking for food is the only thing I do in this house that doesn’t require electricity and that aren’t time-based events like sleep. As my eyes roll over the Milo tin for probably the hundredth time, my sister comes and stands next to me, filling her wine glass from the $9.99 Yalumba Classic Red cask.

“I have to drink it or it will go off” she jokes, then winks at me.

Not even worth acknowledging, I leave the cupboard and stand surveying the room for something interesting to do. Mum is lucky, I decide as I look towards her. With 50 new Mills and Boon book published per month, her entertainment will never end. I wish I could read, however, due to early exposure to television my imagination was destroyed. As I stand failing to conjure an image, Dad walks into the room holding the root-of-all-evil, Jenga. This terrible game is the worst thing that could happen to a bored family.

“Who wants to play a good old game of Jenga?” Dad asks the family.

“Wow! That sure sounds like fun!” replies The Moustache.

This remark caused me to concentrate very hard on not punching The Moustache in the face as I pass him on the way to my room.

***

There are 213 floorboards on the floor in my room. I finished counting them for the third time, just to triple check. I consider tearing half up to make myself a coffin because so far, the power has been off for one hour and thirty three minutes, which I’ve been keeping count of on my mobile phone. The phone is my least favourite item of technology. Another upside of never leaving my house is that I don’t have to waste anytime with “friends”. Therefore my phone is basically useless. I feel like I will go insane any moment. I can’t sleep because its too early, I’m not hungry so I can’t eat and there’s no way I could handle trying to read right now. What can I do? Why is my life so sucky? And why is this house so god damn boring? I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I think it is time. Time for me to throw away my beliefs on spending time with family, and go out there and play some Jenga.

***

“You joined at the right time” my Dad informs me, “We’re one layer off my all time Jenga record!”

“And its your turn” The Moustache adds, looking murderous that I get to break the record, and therefore receive Dads praise.

However I don’t think I can do it. I reach for the Jenga block and pause. Jenga, the most wicked of all games is about to beat me. With my eyes closed I reach for the block, and a bounty of noise hits my ears. I open my eyes to an array of lights and screens booting up. The Blackout is finally over. I’m not the only one, however, who is excited by the re-illumination from the Dark Age. The Mo’ is so excited that the power has returned he jumps in excitement, knocking the table. As the table wobbles, the Jenga Tower timidly begins to fall. In fantastic slow motion, the tower tumbles down, knocking My Sisters wine glass over. Red wine spills all down her front, and she begins screaming at The Mo’. My Dad looks like he is about to cry, his dreams of beating the Jenga record gone, he also turns to The Mo’. With two people screaming at him, my smile from this morning creeps back onto my face. Mum doesn’t look up from her Mills and Boon.

***

I’m back in my room. Everything has booted up again, and the comfy-as-cloud-chair is better then ever. I pick up my control to restart my day of almost-full entertainment. I close my eyes for what I hope is the final time. An enormous crash interrupts what I had hoped to be the final reflection. When I open my eyes, I find it hard to look at the mess before me. My wish has finally come true and what was supposed to be the happiest moment of my life, will probably lead to my death. The fucking ghost gum has fallen through my room, crushing my television, computer and stereo, landing millimetres before my feet. The door flies open, and my family rush in (Mum is still clutching her Mills and Boon). The family stare in total shock, nobody can even say a word. So of course, the world’s biggest moustached nobody does.

“Jenga!”

I turn to him to scream all the abuse I can muster, however I am silenced by a flying image of The World Most Beautiful Man. The Mills and Boon bounces off the corner of The Mo’s head, and we all turn to my mother in surprise.

“You are such a wanker,” she mutters.

My smile is back.

when it was easy

I have an excellent imagination. I don't mean to sound cocky - to be honest I don't even know if you can be cocky about an imagination - but mine is up there with the best. Ok, that does sound cocky, let me rephrase. When I was a kid (I still am a kid, but when I had no hair on my chest) everyone wanted to play with me. I had Street Shark toys, a tonne of LEGO (that's not a hyperbole, it was so close to being a tonne) and best of all, enough Matchbox tracks to make a highway from my Melbourne home to Sydney (that one is a hyperbole). But it wasn't about the sheer number of toys, it was about how well I could use them. I made up intricate plots, with each toy having their own personality. Don't sue me for defamatory remarks Disney/Pixar, but my playing abilities with Street Sharks and Dragonball Z toys were better than Andy with Woody and Buzz.

My very first Street Shark! Pull
his arm to make him bite.

This went on for a long time, but slowly, without me realising, everyone else started to grow up. Soon all the kids at my school were playing with Gameboy's and talking to girls. I refused to believe that no one would play with me, and for a few years I became a bit of a loser (I'm out of the woods now, don't you worry). After a big emotional struggle (blah blah), I soon ditched the toys and got myself a Gameboy - I'm not complaining about that. Since then, however, I'd like to think that I've kept my imagination intact, and I'd like to tell you how. I'd also like to show you work of professionals and friends to get your creative juices flowing! If you don't think I sound to cocky that is...