stalking back from Paris

Décision éditoriale: ce blog va devenir bilingue. Vanille-fraise. Frog vanille et rosbif fraise. Enjoy! (et pour les in-between, ce sera pastel...;)

Ok, so let's start with Shakespeare and co: Mayhem got badly stalked after she innocently picked up a butch dyke at the slyfox for a one-night-stand-and-more-if-you-don't-read-lotl a couple of weeks ago. Bad fishing: the one she now calls psycho-bunny stalks her so much she gives her the shakes with her fucking inco ideas and dégueulasse syntax. (check the smses on minoumayhem.blogspot.com, they're worth their weight in banana peels...)

So if you have nothing better to do or feel like practicing automatic writing CacA-style (manifesto about to be published in these pages in frog AND rosbif, so come back soon), just go for it and send your creations to: (+61/0) 422 522 533. Pass the word around!

... et maintenant, la tradoc, pour le grand théâtre de la langue de Molière:

Mon ex se fait envoyer vingt textos par jour par une butch qu'elle a malencontreusement levée il y a quelques semaines de ça aux soirées queers du slyfox hotel à Newtown, le quartier gouin de Sydney. Des textos vraiment débiles, incohérents, agressifs, à peine compréhensibles à travers la syntaxe hachée menu. Comme un dentier qui aurait des caries. Aperçu?


You know what? You'll never b like me sweetie. so don't use u as an exsample of who i am. as u dont even know me at all. sorry hon but I thought? U had more class than that?. 24/11/06 @ 00.50


found u a s a sensual lustful sexy women. and did'nt think 2 b so wrong about someone like u. I was so wrong. thanks 4 the time we had and 4 the awareness of girls like u.im a happy easy going kind of girl that works hard and love's life and people. theres no shit in my life 4 the moment. and thats how i like it. Thanks girl and say hi! If ever we cross paths.x 24/11/06 @1.39

je ne sais pas pourquoi, mais je renonce à traduire ça. Dur à rendre. Comprend qui peut.

Bref, si vous ne savez pas quoi faire ou si vous êtes fana de l'écriture automatique, ben, envoyez des messages à l'indélicate que mon ex appelle psycho-bunny, la lapine psycho; écrivez tout ce qui vous passe par la tête, pourvu que ça n'ait pas de sens, au +61 422 522 533

Au nom de la solidarité sacrée entre les peuples.

Turn your cat into an mp3 player!

Hello bloggies,

here is the Caca question of the day: what's the worst aspect of summer for you? The mozzies? the surfies? the BBQed tvp bolognaise without salt your neighbour overcooks right under your window? Let me know because I'm going to winter in nine days now and I feel I'll be missing something here; and I wanna make sure it won't be anything pleasant.
My answer is: for me, summer hell is cats fucking noisily in the garden when I'm just about to go to sleep. I don't object to them having sex, except for two things:
1°) Just like humans, they reproduce. I'd gladly leave condoms in the gardens around, but...
2°) Just like birds, they emit sounds. But birds sing so harmoniously you feel like chirping with them in encouragement, whereas cats miaw and bawl so much like broken frying pans you feel like throwing them bucketfuls of icy water, or burning hot acid, according to how much sleep they're depriving you from.

You can also put them in your washing machine and see if they resist better than mp3 players. These little electronic devices are probably more resistant: mine went through a whole cycle of 'average dirty- warm water', with battery and earphones, and after a good drying on the line with the rest of my clothes in the sun, it went on singing my favorite songs again.

Could a cat be that smart? Dubito. Ergo, let's get rid of'em! (Postmodern Cartesian statement).

xx

Hell d'enfer!

2ème épisode de ma manifestation individuelle entre NAS et COFA. Version bilingue.

I turned up on the NAS campus with my bed, my mini-kilt and my fluffy white gorilla, Manilla, who's a vanilla dyke, and we started performing dutifully.

At that point, some members of the staff came to me with soft smiles and asked me if I was going to stay there long, that maybe I could move, hum, before the Honours Degree Show opens at 6pm? Please? And why not right now? No?

This is a rock, a peak, a peninsula! (to quote Cyrano de Bergerac) Un comble, puisqu'il faut parler frog! I tried to contact these people during a week for them to tell me what would bean appropriate time for my perf to take place, and no-one told me THAT? Ouh là là là là là là........

Never mind, ça ne fait rien. I went on and tried to engage with students and passers-by, to try and raise questions, statements of opinion, et coetera. I got a few amused encouragements, a lot of indifference, and giggles galore. No-one seemed to take the matter seriously. ARe we so used to the masks and screens that we ignore the faces and real world behind? Are NAS people so blasés about my humour?

You want my word? I think the whole Caca thing is way out of their cognitive field because they believe in good taste, les c...s.

So off I went, je suis allée me faire voir ailleurs, namely at COFA. Believe me, pushing a hospital bed on Oxford Street at peak hour is fun. Now I've got the six packs and each time I laugh, my abds hurt as hell! Thank you RTA for the bus lane. But not for the hole in the bitumen each five meters.

At COFA, which is to some NAS people what Saddam is to George, I had a better welcoming. Not only did the students there cheer me and engage seriously with me, but the head of the marketing department and the dean himself insisted on dialoging with me. I don't think they got the Caca humour either, but well, as Gertrude Stein said, "There is, was and always will be the official art, and the art." And heads usually are on the official art side. Nevertheless, the dean invited a few students and myself to have an impromptu conference in his office, during which he exposed his vision of the future if COFA takes over NAS.
As a matter of fact, he was speaking about it in the indicative future, giving us the impression the merging had already happened. Maybe it's just like the cross city tunnel, it HAS already happened but we don't know it yet, we'll wake up one morning and there'll be twins towers instead of the good old chapel. He looked really confident and radiated with good will.
But he was still heralding the disappearance of one more art school in Sydney and finding it would be a good thing, R.I.P. National Art School.

Manilla started sobbing and I got scared she'd get upset, so we shook hands and anded the dialog.

Don't miss the next episode, "Cockatoo Island by night"

Yer Fluff

Hell, l'enfer et Denfert

En général, la vie est plus que frénétique à Sydney, mais là, à la fin de l'année universitaire, on atteint des pics à vous mettre sur les rotules. à condition de maintenir ce rythme fou, la vie se fait exaltante ici-bas.

Ou peut-être n'est-ce que moi qui essaye de m'étourdir pour me convaincre que oui, la vie vaut le coup d'être vécue. Au coeur de la moelle la plus riche du monde, il y a des trous de gruyère qui vous laissent face-à-face avec le vide, le bide, livide au lieu du solide. Solidarité alors, est ce qu'on peut espérer de meilleur, non?

trève de philosopholie à deux balles. J'ai l'appétit, je vis, et j'en fais même de la poésie. Parfois.

Ce n'est pas une poésie oridnaire, avec pieds, rimes et tout le barda. Vous connaissez Dada, eh bien Dada est mort, (comme dirait André Breton), vive Caca.

- Caca? Kekseksa? m'direz-vous.
- Eh bien, vous répondrai-je, c'est un groupe de Citoyens Australiens Concernés et Alertes. (Remarque métalangagière, entre rosbif et frog, vivent les palindromes et autres trucs invertibles). C'est un esprit aux ailes de papier (Q) et au rire rabelaisien, ubuesque, lautréamonique, batailleur. Une bombe déglacée. Un cornet de frites au ketchup intitulé cerveau. Une ou deux laisses anti-moutons de Panurge. Un truc aussi profondément humain qu'une erreur. Et bien d'autres choses encore, sans compter tout ce que Caca n'est pas, pas.

J'ai donc décidé de faire une manif à moi toute seule, de représenter un campus de 450 personnes (enfin, je ne les ai pas comptés) étudiants, profs, bureaucrates et autre personnel inclus. J'ai demandé à l'assistant du directeur si je pouvais, il m'a dit d'aller voir le directeur, qui m'a dit d'aller en parler au directeur des études , qui m'a renvoyé au directeur du département de peinture, qui s'en est gentiment lavé les mains en me disant que j'étais libre. C'est déjà ça. Merdre!

(La suite au prochain numéro, c'est un feuilleton à épisodes)