RAE STREET

Damn! Caught myself just about to google “how high is my ceiling”. 

Internet-dependence FTL.

(I estimate about 3.5-4 metres.)

Things there are a surplus of here:

• Wine
• Bibles

I like it best when phenomena can be explained with sociological or psychological theories. It takes all the pressure off of wondering why you’re feeling or acting a certain way, or even just relieves you with the assurance that it’s all part of a system: something larger than yourself is partly (wholly?) responsible. But that reduces personal responsibility to the identification of—and thus resistance to—these systems of human behaviour. For now, I am okay with this because it suits my purposes.

Having a new emotion develop, and watching it do so in an unnaturally detached manner. Observing the circumstances that surround it, inducing (in the logical sense) what makes it intensify and what makes it wane. At the same time, wondering why it’s developing, and if I am using this veneer of calculating observation indulgently; an excuse to feel this feeling.

Sitting here trying not to form an opinion of a friend’s ex singing along (knowing all the lyrics!) to a saucy rap that’s playing on YouTube. There are accompanying rap gestures, too.

Okay. First person to rig it so I can control the lights in my bedroom with the iPhone wins: my sleepy gratitude.

Cats. Or else: very, VERY drunk twins. Latter implausible.

Can’t tell if what I’m hearing is cats in heat or drunk people crying.

Oh, dear lord! In a few days I will be catching a ferry to Tasmania, driving from Devenport to Hobart and straight back again, and then catching a ferry to Melbourne. Approximately 36 hours will pass between leaving this stronghold and arriving safely back from that island of incestuous, inbred cannibals (Kidding! They don’t eat people.).

We made some fairy floss this morning, intending to present it to the owners of the local café. Left two webbed cones of the stuff on upright chopsticks in the kitchen while we were at breakfast, and returned to find two chopsticks of coloured sugar crystals. Put it down to oxidisation or something like that.

Only just occurred to me to wonder if they were instead attacked by rodents.

tien:

Narco-Biopolitics.

The terrorists who carried out the most recent attacks in Mumbai were found to have taken cocaine, steroids and LSD before their rampage.

We have entered the next stage, the techno-future of terrorism: chemico-bionic humans as weapons. Now what we have to fear most is not the human body-cum-explosive device but the physical body as a different kind of weapon: one whose murderous capabilities are fully realized through chemical alteration. It is terrifying beyond belief.

The use of LSD in carrying out the attacks adds another confounding dimension. Are we reading about terrorist-shamans, who have entered altered states not to practice divination and healing through contact with the divine but instead to access super-human abilities so that they can carry out their fanatical intentions? It is ritual at its most corrupt, and the homo sacer stripped to the barest of life in service to extremist religious ideology.

Me: Your [car] tires need pumping.
B: Do they?
Me: Or I’m just fat.
B: Or *I* could be fat!

Beat.

Me: Are we talking logical possibility…?
B: P-H phat, yo!

Not writing here for fear it’ll turn into Waiter Rant.

Now is an incredibly bad time to have insomnia. So. Is it better to spend this time in activity (reading, etc), or in the futile trying for sleep? Is trying to sleep going to be better for my body/sanity than reading is, when it comes to the grueling shift I have in a few hours? Is trying to sleep wreaking as much damage as reading a novel?

This is one of the times opinion must make do because science has yet to provide quantifiability with which to compare trying to sleep and reading a novel because you can’t. I look forward to the answer!

Meanwhile, birds are newly woken and the hiss and clang of the garbage trucks is about to drown them out.

Cheese on toast, and wondering why the bread has that astringent smell I so detest in alcohol. No matter! Hold my nose and eat it anyway.

I made hot chocolates for B and myself, heavy in the chocolate. Halfway through,

Me: I think there’s actually too much chocolate. Do you get that?

B: I can see through time.