12:01 AM And The Clock Strikes Twelve!
Screw posting in order! My New Years’ Eve wasn’t anything spectacular. They usually aren’t and that’s pretty much how I like it. A bottle of creaming soda and a good movie with a good woman is fine and dandy by me (she, fine; I, the dandy). And, also, behaving as a New Years' Adam and Eve under the fig tree out the back would be nice for us to do. There were 240 arrests made in Melbourne this year - but you know they probably weren't for anything as pleasant as outdoors sexual intercourse. We were in the city centre but the crowd was rowdy and banal and we were actually in a cab homewards when 12:01 AM struck and then it became 12:00 AM suddenly again – all to do with the need for the planet to catch up with the sundials this year or something, as those goated chronologers tried explaining to those of us less aware of solar clock-hand resynchronism.
My New Years’ Day was something else, however, but I’ll post about that in the very near future, when a relevant accompanying photograph can be taken with Shantoozy’s new digital camera (a Xmas gift, from her Mum).
Now Rupert is over, sleeping on my couch. He is an idiot. (Hee-hee.) He wants to enter the Archibald Prize for portraiture and he doesn't even paint. He wants to enter a painting called, 'Sperm On White Canvas: Portrait Of An Unborn', or else another equally white work entitled, 'Portrait Of God.'
He chuckles as I read him that.
No, he actually does have a serious idea for an artwork and I want him to create the piece. It is a clever idea. He says he will start it when he moves house next month. He had better!
Well, well, well, what have we 'ere to say else than that? Nothing for now. It's 4:30 AM. Fluid is drizzling down my nasal passages and my brain feels like vinyl with migrating plasticizers. I start coughing. Oh, bloomin' heck!
My New Years’ Day was something else, however, but I’ll post about that in the very near future, when a relevant accompanying photograph can be taken with Shantoozy’s new digital camera (a Xmas gift, from her Mum).
Now Rupert is over, sleeping on my couch. He is an idiot. (Hee-hee.) He wants to enter the Archibald Prize for portraiture and he doesn't even paint. He wants to enter a painting called, 'Sperm On White Canvas: Portrait Of An Unborn', or else another equally white work entitled, 'Portrait Of God.'
He chuckles as I read him that.
No, he actually does have a serious idea for an artwork and I want him to create the piece. It is a clever idea. He says he will start it when he moves house next month. He had better!
Well, well, well, what have we 'ere to say else than that? Nothing for now. It's 4:30 AM. Fluid is drizzling down my nasal passages and my brain feels like vinyl with migrating plasticizers. I start coughing. Oh, bloomin' heck!
posted by S. Gregory | 4:17 am
3 Comments:
Now now... Beautiful Rupert is not an idiot.
You have allergies? I say allergies because it's summer there, dammit and it's cold and icky here and i just got over the flu.
Shantoo needs to take pictures. And you need to take pictures of Shantoo. I WANT PICTURES! ;)
Darkneuro: Whenever Rupert or I or our close friends do something purposefully silly the other/s will often counter with a friendly "You're an idiot." I'm pretty sure you knew that anyway but Rupert was just concerned in case you didn't so I thought I'd clarify just in case. You'll probably want to call me an idiot and I'd very well deserve it and LOVE it, oh, yeah! :-)
Pictures will be taken but this current camera is crap.
Number 1 fan: You flatter as only I deserve to be flattered! And you!!! ;-)
I am laughing at you, Dear s.gregory... I posted that before Shantoo did about the camera being crap. ;)
So in other words you don't mean 'idiot hahahaha' you mean (picturing my great gramma's accent, "Ohhh. Ye mean idjit!"
In which case, you're both idjits ;)
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