Robert Forster has published a book, 'The 10 Rules of Rock and Roll'
The cover features my portrait of Robert, taken in 2008.
This is a very awesome thing.
www.blackincbooks.com/books/10-rules-rock-and-roll
www.robertforster.net
Go forth and fill your libraries with media.
Seriously, thanks to everyone for being so amazing and patient. You are the reason I love Vox.
I was just told that the Amazon Conduit will be fixed by tomorrow. I will post here as soon as I get word that it's back up and running.
I know this has been frustrating and I am sorry there wasn't more I could do to make it less so. I really appreciate your patience though.
Cheers,
Bad news. As many of you have probably noticed, the Amazon Conduit was not fixed in the last week's release. Unfortunately, there was an undetected bug that is preventing the conduit from working.
We are working on this bug fix and hope to have the Conduit back up and running this week.
I will keep you posted.
Thank you for being so patient.
Blog Action Day is every October 15th, when blogger are asked to post something about a single issue to show our strength and conviction as an online community. It's a great way to feel connected to the greater good, and the participation of so many bloggers to support the world's leading non-profit organizations is something you can do to help, right now. By blogging today, you're supporting some of the world's leading non-profits and sharing your voice for change.
This year's topic is climate change, and we'd love to read your thoughts on the topic. If you participate, leave us a link to your post in the comments, so we know to check out your post!
Go to www.blogactionday.org to learn more, get a badge for your blog showing your participation, and see some ideas for your post on climate change.
Can't wait to read your posts!
~ daisy
This morning when Gregory got up before the alarm, the sky was glowing orange. "Must be a bushfire", he said. But it was a duststorm. When he went down into the batcave (basement) to the car, it was covered in dust. He says when he put on the windscreen wipers to clean the windscreen, mud came out.
When I left the house, the sky was a glowing dirty white, like an old oyster shell. I walked to work in dusty wind, peering up buildings dissappearing into a chalky haze, and my eyes were full of grit all day. I could smell soil on my skin. Mid afternoon the sky cleared.
Michael's michael posted this on facebook. I love it.
On our walk tonight, a cool wind blew. Whe we walked up Mary street, the wind blew hard, but dissappeared when we turned up Foveaux. The little men were out on Fouveaux, digging up the road with diamond tipped drills and making a terrible noise. "I'd hate to be living here with this going on!" shouted Gregory. We walked up Fouveaux discussing how to sail against the wind by tacking and using the power of triangles.
Outside the youth shelter was parked an old stationwagon with an aboriginal dot painting on the side. We looked at it and remembered the chalk drawing that is usually somewhere on the ground outside the youth shelter. Sometimes it is really big, in different colours, with many decorations. Other times it is smaller. All this time I thought it was a turtle, with a sort of long neck. But the version on the car made it clear: Its a goanna. We discussed our love of goannas and lizards. Around the corner outside the youth shelter, the chalk drawing was closer to the driveway, and scuffed by shoes. Its neck seemed to have many rings around it, like an african lady. But it wasn't very easy to see tonight. Maybe goanna had been blown away by the wind.
Most of the dust was gone. Except in corners and cracks and grooves. The streets and surfaces had been blown clean. In front of the Citigate Sebel I found some golden dust in a crack and showed Gregory. Not that we needed that to see dust. Our balcony is covered in it. Including the load of clean knickers I hung out late last night.
They were coming next to last, but they have wond the last 9 out of 10 games or something. Tonights win puts them one game away from the final. So Gregory is mad with pride, and the streets outside are full of mad happy parramatians waving fan-hands and leaning on the horn. Foveaux is the last stage of the walk from the SCG down to Central Station and there were 30,000 fans at the game.
(subtitle: Posted for Ben)
Many laps have passed underfoot since we saw Uncle Kev, and I haven't reported any of them. Mainly because some stinker slipped into the flat and nicked my laptop and purse while we were asleep. Took a month to replace the laptop, a month long fight with Dell the details of which I would rather forget than recount here. And then I got moving on writing for the old PhD. You get writ out.
But I am back, because I must mention Daniel Johns.
First things first. We took Dad on our four laps, when he visited for my birthday in June. We showed him the pubs, the buddhist temple, the huge oversized whisk in the kitchen supplies shop, the oversized jar of nuttella in the fruit and deli on the corner. We told him about the poo which was on the pavement one night: intact on the first lap, an end flattened when we came past on the second lap, a smear by our third passing, detectable by smell and stain. We showed him where the boy had threatened to jump off the youth shelter roof onto passing traffic (but didn't). We showed him the brothels, and the converted church, and the youth shelter, and the alcoholics shelter, and the salvation army, and the taxi refueling station.
In early July I went for tea with Ben, and was amazed and delighted with his wonderfull short hair. Ben from Barjarg. Electric soundscapes Ben. Has short hair. If I have any readers other than Ben, they will probably know Ben, and perhaps this will be the first and last peice of juicy gossip to appear on this blog. I was delighted because I recently cut my own hair off (I got a hairdresser to do it really) and am so happy with the results that I advocate short hair for all men, women and children.
I took Ben for four laps, because he was so keen to see the sites I have described. I showed him the pubs, the buddhist temple, the huge oversized whisk in the kitchen supplies shop, the oversized jar of nuttella in the fruit and deli on the corner. I told him about the poo which was on the pavement one night: intact on the first lap, an end flattened when we came past on the second lap, a smear by our third passing, detectable by smell and stain. I showed him where the boy had threatened to jump off the youth shelter roof onto passing traffic (but didn't). I showed him the brothels, and the converted church, and the youth shelter, and the alcoholics shelter, and the salvation army, and the taxi refueling station.
He showed me that the hairdressing salon we pass four times a night is the place he got his amazing haircut. And he can walk fast. There was no tiring Ben, not even on the steepest slopes going up Foveaux.
The night before last, Gregory and I were walking past the Excelsior as he told me about the things said at work that day. There is always a crowd smoking on the pavement outside the Excelsior, they are usually cool and young, or dangerous and grunge and older, but always very credible. They often have obvious talent. Sometimes they are watching bands whose names I am starting to recognise by the posters outside. One band which is easily remembered are called The Beards. Another name which I remember from grungy days in Brisvegas many years ago is the Six Foot Hicks. Anyway we pushed through the cool smokers (horrid young people!) and crossed the side street, passing more figures sitting on the wall. I looked at them as we past. "She said to me..." Gregory was saying. I said to him, "Was that Daniel Johns back there sitting on the wall?". He didn't know. We'd passed already. We walked on. "Anyway, so I said to her,... " said Gregory.
On the next lap, we pushed past the
smokers, and although there were fewer people on the wall, there he
was, the shining boy himself. I looked at him, but I was on the street
side. Gregory was on the wall side, and Daniel looked back at Gregory with that shy observant look he has. We walked on. "Yes." said Gregory. "That was Daniel
Johns". We walked on, discussing how one might go out as Daniel Johns,
and the mechanics of being recognised on streets. And of course what we could have said: thanks for this song and that.
The whole affair is tinged with a little sadness for me at present. "They" have put our rent up, again, starting November. We can't really afford it no more. We could, I guess, but we know we would be being gouged. Do we move into the suburbs? Do we find a place where the dining table can come into the living room off the balcony, so that we can use it in winter and we dont have to eat tea on the couch using plastic stools as tables, spilling things everywhere and swearing at each other about the size of this stinking shoebox? We could move into a place with a spare bedroom! Where will we walk at night then? Dulwich Hill, walking up and down Old Canterbury Road at night? It might have some kind of vibe, some sort of action to look at. But will we see Daniel Johns sitting on a wall in the dark?
I doubt it.
On four laps last night, a cool night, we turned Crown street and felt the first warm breeze of Spring. In the pub with no name, happy drunken heterosexual males bawled along with Queen. You get a glimpse of tv screens as you pass. In a boxing ring type venue, surrounded by a darkness of screaming fans was Freddy Mercury, gleaming white, shirtleess, wet chested, white faced and fabulous. "God knows..." sang Freddy and the drunken freckly red heads at the bar. "God knows I want to break free!"
The Amazon Conduit will be working again on October 15, 2009. Thank you to everyone for your patience.
Have a great weekend,
daisy, Team Vox
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