three bound mice

running the gauntlet in newtown: luke, kelly & i. will this relationship work? we're out to explore it & play. there are several jokes made through the evening about our polyamorous relationship on this experimental intiation rite. 

we're pretty chilled, leave freaky tiki, arrive at our second designated spot, make introductions & start tying up the waitresses...

a delightful handful of like-minded fetishized souls. we like to create our own entertainment. it's a perfectly good arrangement.

besides it's my friend steven's birthday & what better way to celebrate his burgeoning shibari skills than bind beautiful women to him over a bottle or two of red wine?

this seems to make sense to everyone. resistance is futile. steven's rather a dab hand with that specially hand-hewn softened rope. we like to watch. or be tied up. and vice versa.

steven & i have been in secret shibari talks for awhile. i've moved from model to filmmaker. although there's no reason not to do both. but i've already been naked in my own film, it's someone else's turn. self-voyeurism isn't really my thing. masturbation is better with friends.

cue photo of friends. 

the gauntlet successfully negotiated with flagellation through the laying of rope survived, we cut loose hitting successive locations thereafter under a cloud of more red wine with friendships more taut than the day before. and one happy birthday boy.

i wake up in the morning fully dressed, make-up smeared, blonde hair everywhere from the night before after the other two late night amorous mice have quietly tip-toed tailless out the door. see how they run. back.

and you know she's half crazy

got my mojo workin'

gen Z heliocentrism

pierre et gilles meets david la chappelle kitsch this could be sans bush & with somewhat altered production design. this pose makes me want to add glitter, halos, saturation & more but i uncharacteristically restrain myself. this is my idea of a perfect family setting. 

the child iconised before the parents who sit back & bask in adulation at her entirely self-aware mischievous glow. she doesn't know about heliocentric cosomology yet. diametrically opposed to copernicus: she is the centre of the universe.

meet my latest muse: this is ruby. she was born to be in front of the camera in a scary way that gen Z can manipulate a camera indiscernible to the naked eye like a sniffer dog from twenty paces away. strike a pose, there's nothing to it - vogue. 

naturalism, the rare reward of a studious sniper in a constant tug of war meets hide n seek. not for the impatient.

ruby & i recently shot a film together in the australian museum which took a brief post production hiatus while i melted down & reinvented my personal wheel. with renewed vigor & clarity i'll go back to it in the next couple of weeks & redress the water monsters children mash-up. 

she kind of stole the show so in the edit my task is to redress story balance yet to paint a picture which i want to share with deference to the energy contained within the frame. ruby practically burst through it. she's an imitable force.

we're in the mountains for long weekend with a handful of our favourite people in a delightfully mellow meander, untempered by tech issues which could conceivably shut down any other enterprise. just add more mulled wine, easter bunnies & stir. who needs piped-in water & chainsawed wood anyway? chillax is key.

our happy tribe kick back on top of the mountain taking in the last amber rays from the sky & our beer bottles, a little late for the oft stalked magic hour but in time to watch the grand spectacle of the end of the day in a place where no other sign of human habitation can be seen. we have our own civilisation here.

as the sun sets low in the sky, ruby's energy also wanes & we steadfastly make our way down the hill orbiting around her toward the evening bonfire, the celestial sphere's hold still true until the moon frees itself from the horizon. eventually even stars have to sleep.

alien footprints

 

so apart from running amok & falling in love with aliens lately i've been 'shrooming. the mountains at this time of year with the cooler nights & snappy mornings provide perfect parameters for fungi heaven. if only there was more cow poo... but perhaps the power of the digestion process of the wombat or kangaroo shouldn't be overlooked quite yet. and i could always introduce it.

australia has a number of native edibles & hallucinogenic fungi which precede the introduction of agricultural animals like cows which are traditionally viewed as essential to provide the appropriate conditions for certain mushrooms. still it's easy to see why the cow is considered sacred in indian culture -- those trippers with their blue deities. india is one giant cow paddock...

fungi are an indelible mystery which provide gateways to either mind or flavour expansion. that's without even getting into their industrial or biological applications, their uses are practically endless. food for thought.

limited mycology repositories in australia make absolute ID of species difficult. there are some books & as my research takes me closer to unveiling alien life beneath my toes more information is surrendered, but there's no one real centralised index. still based on information gleaned, next time i go to the mountains i'm going to make my first spore print which is one method to ensure correct species identification.

some wonderful resources do exist online to aid the mycologist in trainer-wheels/wings.

my personal faves are:

erowid

shroomery

fungal biology

the fungi bank

bill leithhead

mushroom expert

i tried to join the australasian mycological society but their online subscription application is from 2008, and who sends cheques in the mail anymore? i guess they don't get too many queries... the NSW arm doesn't seem too active either. if anyone can direct me to other local mushroom lovers your input is welcome.

this speciman [i think] is suillus luteus although typically it grows in pine forests and these are all growing in eucalypt woodland in forest litter. it is an introduced species being native to the northern hemisphere. and is edible. i haven't eaten it yet but will try next visit if there's stll some about.

i recently bought some at marrickville markets which i frequent on sundays, where the mushroom man often sells freshly gathered fungi. they look the same: the pores underneath are granulated as opposed to open gills & old gold meets orange/brown sponge. it is recommended to peel the skin as it does give some people stomach upsets.

originally i thought it was suillus granulatus which deviates only slightly but there seems to be a visible ring which makes this specimen commonly known as slippery jack a popular edible known to be found in the southern highlands around easter. ching ching.

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slimes and swallows of outrageous fungi,
Or to take arms against a sea of Suillus,
And, by opposing, end them.

though we're apart, you follow me still

sometimes a nanosecond or even one night of perfection is enough thrill to last at least one lifetime.

by the light of the glowing mushroom

postcard for sonja:

we walked up the hill, you and i. you marveled at my sense of direction but i merely followed the light emanating from beyond the hill in soft pulsing rays as you walked blindly towards me extending your strangely familiar flailing hands as our laughter echoed through the sponge-filled edgeless night.

all that had to be determined was where exactly we wanted to go. a light for every direction the blackness lit up like an airfield, different routes for different destinations. the worlds our ancient playground. all of them. 

we walk to the waxing temple of the cat & fire. we question if we will arrive on the same plane. it doesn't matter.

then the multiverse converged as the space changed & wormholes opened around us. our white hole grew bleeding into the others & led us to the hill where the mushroom entities spoke to us, glowing with bioluminescence without moonlight to reflect upon.

there were infinite worlds, some of which we stumbled upon in our crude choreography as we delightedly remembered the moves & traveled upward. the faeries & forest creatures following our pied piper pilgrimage.

pic: copyright www.oyombu.com

witnessing the cosmos through the roadside fluro fungi we reached out & it touched us first like a moist dark welcoming tongue, the sensation confusing to the senses. i wanted to lick it but instead gazed in close, alice through the looking glass peering with wonder into an organic dollhouse which mirrored the activity of an anthill. it was milky clear inside, i saw into the mushroom universe's soul & drank from the well of knowledge. you held onto my hand tightly & together we glowed. aliens.

we passer-by gods, alzheimer's prone tourists without accident. us two age-old inter-dimensional time travelers, retracing comedic synchronised dance steps performed over aeons through realms, some remembered, others forgotten. and i realised that i'd always loved you. and you me. even if you would hide from it in the morning.

it's difficult to trust the impossible. even when in the thick of the caressing bramble bush before it yields to set you free into the enveloping embrace of the space beyond where i waited.

the theory of everything is merely the unraveling of a string which connects us. magic is everywhere & now quantum physics has reduced time travel to the realm of possibility. impossible is void.

conjured mussels steeped in red wine framed by a parsley forest & wizened chilis disguised as false tomatoes feasted on before the benevolent feline deity are testament to this as the peep show vibrating curtain lent glimpses into a parallel universe outside & the tripping cat led you back safe into our pulsing bubble.

now the door of perception is open. waiting softly for the breeze to be filled by our collective mirth & next far flung adventure. the only limitations the baggage of language, the language of baggage. existence is mutable.

when the aliens arrive

my gym speaks to me. just me.

so i haven't been for a couple of weeks. i admit it.

i live practically right next door. they know my... interests, my weaknesses.

this on the telegraph pole outside my house today.

almost as good as being abducted. you don't get this at fitness first.

see you at my gym next week. really.

sexy noises. make some

the countdown is on. hot sauce committee part 2, the beastie boys much anticipated new album is due out very very soon preceded by the lead single - make some noise. the album will launch complete with 30 minute long short film on may 03. 

are these guys still relevant twenty five years on? they're certainly still bringing the units home to roost with commercial longeivity two generations on from when they were skinny ass punk kids releasing polly wog stew.

but i love that they've returned to their experimental roots & ultimately they were transmedia pioneers way before this somewhat overused naf term was part of modern day vernacular. it is a luxury they can now well afford. but does the softness of distance and age produce too many round corners...

cooky puss is still one of my alltime fave hiphop tracks. gold.

mike D, MCA & ad rock were always masters of in your face parody, especially of themselves. these guys are hard wired. even punk hip hoppers can succumb to middle-aged spread -- this doesn't need to dilute the mix. even if they do outsource a chunk of their material & rely on gen scouts to keep their hand in what's hip. it's called delegation people.

here's a taste of what's to come via a mishmash of released "leaks". there's no mistaking that sound...

i played with them backstage in the late 90s in london. don't remember where. we all got up to late night shenanigans in their hotel room talking shit until the small hours. my GF at the time landed DJ hurricane. in fact she used to always bag the managers or whatever when we were backstage as if she were collecting stamps. 

i was happy to stay celibate & soak up the vibe without the need to put out. the whole almost famous methodology has never been on my menu. groupies are a necessary evil to some extent but from the early days of running events/bands i always had a slight disdain for the system. it's amazing how many chicks will put out for a band. even the roadies get lucky. the sweet stench of rock and roll an aphrodisiac for many.

1964: in pride meets horror my grandmother in christchurch witnessed on new zealand television my teen mother & her older sister disappear into the beatles car fanned by thousands of hysterical girl fans heading straight for their hotel. eventually they were returned home simultaneously illuminated & disheveled with various autographed items which have become mythological family heirlooms. afterward, no cherries were ever seen again. i guess someone had to do it.

thanks to my dear friend james scott for introducing me to the beastie boys all those years ago & really fostering the love of skate punk culture & sounds as championed by the ill communication ilk. may there be another twenty five more years [at least] to go. let's make some noise.

easter punk bunnies

gone chasing easter bunnies amongst the magic mushroom circles lying in the sultry depths of the mystical forest in my wintry space suit with a bunch of usual suspect punk monks. 

we come in peace. we bring light. and harmless recording devices [we use our power for good rather than evil].

alice spacedoll album release... mmm hmm.

back late next week. with photos. video even. promise.

if you're at regrowth, maybe we'll cross paths. in some dimension or other.

no, you hang up.

love me two times

children of the colour wheel

inner children could not be contained within the confines of the youth festival closing party, & well into the shrinking night we continued to play with toys & motivation generated from the psychedelic inspired event & quietly let our collectively exhausted hair down at the conclusion of a successful fest.

we're all kids at heart. some more wild than others.

kaleidoscopes, spinning tops, UV torches & bubbles mandatory mainstays for any lively party mix. the macro-cosmos of an urban living room slowly revealed. we muted with the changing light as like clockwork it slowly spun, spanning the entire colour wheel. rinse, repeat, recycle.

the bubbles flew. and the bunnies started to eat the cardboard walls as the roller rink adjacent slowly relinquished in a slow collapsed murder under the incessant drill of jack hammers. sun ra had serenaded the advent of a new day. magic.

and the last bubbles floated out into the morning sky as the revolving matmos light steadfastly rotated inside, deep violet hues slowly fading to bright.

i'm a child

inner and outer 

reconciled, 

the child alive 

embraces wholeness.

...and the dancing 

rainbow shrew 

remains untamed. 

dare to dream 

once more,

more!

more cautious 

on slippery 

floors

when wet

arabesque over 

eggshells broken

in time will be

one with earth.

reticent suppressors 

forever banished 

to 

distant shadows

now reduced.

the future

spinning top

cosmic spirals

in phi swirls

now mine.

i'm the last splash

want you, koo koo, cannonball.

space is the place

anywhere else is in between.

you've undone it. you've undone me.

wretched girl! have you no shame?

feel alright now

:)

flower zombie girl

i was recently at some dance party & took a brief respite outdoors with my wonderful friend [other] vic, to teach the bored bouncer/security guy ballet against the wheelchair cramp rail [as you do].

he was extremely confused & bewildered but really got into the spirit of things & by the end of the sesh we had random strangers lining up as we repeated this ad hoc choreography in an unintentional "the sweetest thing" style beauty salon dance scene homage. a good night.

...then i met her. and fell in love. my flower zombie princess. she let me take photos as i directed her as she bled barely there into the dark night. her blossom halo separating shadows. isn't she beautiful? i don't remember her name...

and it made me think of this:

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rage at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

- dylan thomas

shadow puppetmasters

the shiny new punk monk experimental interact projection breakaway faction[ky, nick and yours truly] play shadow puppets on the pine street wall as kate, alex, clare and mel bathe us in liquid light. meanwhile we project back down onto the expansive floor beneath at their feet. it's a projection off!

this quiet little article in city news who covered the opening event on the night pays a little homage atop a well curved and pink covered before and after bum. dirtyland. that's us.

meanwhile i manage to twist not so very hard, salubrious graffiti artist & festival co-director craig bunker AKA bunkwaa to come join us to demonstrate the mechanisations of flipbook & ad hoc paint programs with a well placed projected crab. the kids go wild. especially us.

this lively punk monk collaboration lives on into the smart arts closing night party this friday april 15 at red rattler where punk monk propaganda play with alice spacedoll & the divine knights with freestylin MC UN-1 playing evening MC. look for more light, live animations, a nano fanzine and things to skew/enhance your vision during and after. ALL FREE.

then you'll find us at the closing party on tuesday april 19 for hugely successful jurassic lounge at the australian museum bleeding interactive love onto gemstones by night. dance on & with us. while around the bend, our liquid light alchemists will bathe the museum in trippy coated goodness.

and if you're not sick of us then punk monks can also be found at the regrowth festival for alice spacedoll's album launch combining work, play and plant growing over easter weekend.

that's april pretty well bombed.

:)