Rewind to when I was aged 19 or 20, living in Hobart, leaving art school and working in the bookshop. Two guys came in and I watched them. I’m sure one of them stole something. They were acting really weird and laughing – total retards. I saw them out at a club or in the street I dunno – all the same vibe back then – and I ripped shreds out of the taller one. It turned out that he really fancied me and was only in there with his mate to check me out and to work out how he was gonna ask me out.
So welcome into my life everyone, Nicholas Dunn.
As he was my first love, of course I turned myself inside out for him. Also, this was the first time in my life I met ‘the dark season’ which happened on the day of the bush fires, but that is another story. We lived in houses full of rats with shitty landlords together, he would try and coerce me into jumping the back fences in the neighbourhood to go skinny dipping in peoples pools [err when they were still obviously at home], we would go and stay on his mothers farm and walk around wearing nothing but Wellingtons in the morning sunlight eating blackberries from the canes and saying hello to the sheep. His mother made the best mixture of tea leaves Orange Pekoe and something – I wish I knew what it was – and she was Hungarian. She was a good cook.
Sounds pretty perfect huh?!
For this idyllic life as I joined adulthood, this is the price I had to pay:
We listened to Revolver, Lush, Mudhoney and RIDE ALL THE TIME.
Listening to this makes me want to throw myself from a fucking bridge. But I was only too happy to be wearing oversized corduroy shorts, flannelette shirts and pig tails at the time. I have a Marjan Pejoski shirt now that makes me think of me then. It is the same colour as the Stussy woolly hat I used to have.
Nicky had ideas bigger than his ability at that time and totally not practical and 200% idealist. Someone had to pay the rent. I got a job.
Then we broke up and I had to leave the house we shared – even though he had no way of paying the rent. His sister left her boyfriend for a woman and his other sister was off in the jungle somewhere.
Last time I saw Nicky, he was in a hounds tooth suit looking pretty pretty good. But that was about 10 years ago in Tasmania. I would like to see him again.
I is past two in the morning and I can’t sleep. Mostly because I am thinking of a way to come to Paris – I need someone to tell all my secrets too. For the most part, my blog is wonderful but there are always other things I want to write about as well. That is why I like to talk with you. I know you are a bad father but Bunny will always climb on the knee of Europe’s greatest Parisian Jew and whisper in your ear. God… I feel like I’m going a bit stir crazy tonight. What do you suggest?
I spent the day in bed watching Almodovar DVD’s. Today it was Kika. There was a scene where a rapist who has escaped from prison breaks into the house of his sisters employers, fake ties up his sister and goes into the bedroom to find his sister’s boss sleeping. He sticks pieces of a clementine into the pussy of the woman to taste her on the fruit. For some reason it made me think of XXCENSOREDXX and want to be lying in XXCENSOREDXX parents bed under the nude portrait they have of themselves looking out the window at the sun on the wall.
I also got an apology from XXCENSOREDXX, but XXCENSOREDXX can keep his two fingered half hearted tap on the shoulder to himself while he pretends to be all goody goody. The sad thing is, there is nothing going on and I miss his big jokes like crazy. It is so stupid. He just has an insecure girl riding his nuts.
Then there is XXCENSOREDXX. XXCENSOREDXX is my secret. And XXCENSOREDXX is who I think of the most and would be the first thing I would tell you all about. And the second. And the third.
Do you remember when we ate Burger King? I just remembered walking down Holloway Road.
D’accord. Moi je suis fatigue – ENFIN. Je vais au pieu. I hope I don’t have to see that ugly boude boudin any time soon. Save a seat for me at that nice restaurant we went to last time. I will meet you there as soon as I can.
So I haven’t heard much from The G.A. of late – but it seems it was my turn to get in touch with him anyway.
Bored to tears. Sick to death of aged wittering twats of ‘THE DUMPED ELDERS OF THE COMMUNITY’ God help us we don’t contribute much to current events. Penty of hot air, but what else to do? Ofcourse one can wait patiently for a word from an errant daughter. Word to know she has eaten enogh to subsist, that she has a quid to pay for necessities and that some bastard hasn’t done the wrong thing by her—apart from your best friend the Tin Tank, of course! I think of him as the Crunt from Chigago. Still, as you have told me a million times, what goes around comes around. And even you must admit poor old Dutchy DeJong suffered a bit? pOOR DULL BASTARD. Still I would be lost without his Grand Daddy’s big arm chair in which I plant my bum most days for a bit of private reading time. And I hide things under the cushion from prying eyes. Lunch is up, kid. Luv yer to bits. Hope things are bearing up and all? Love DadXXXX
I wish The G.A. didn’t say that about the Dutch Boy because I still think of him and wonder where he is and what he is doing and if he will ever talk to me again. Dad is right – I wasn’t the greatest. I’m sure he wouldn’t even want to hear me say sorry. But some of my happiest memories are with this guy. And some of my biggest regrets. I didn’t think he was dull. As for the ‘Crunt from Chicago’ next time I hear from Dad he will have a go at me about something mean I did to him as well. So fickle! So I take that with a pinch of salt. As the crunt should too.
I was thinking about this on the walk home from the tube station today, rather than trying to take photos of yellow things in the rain.
As a point of note for all guys, it is almost 85% certain that your girlfriend knows your password. And she knows it in the same way she knows where you left your cheque book / keys / belt. It is deeply mystifying to males how females do this [specially as we are always losing stuff.]
However girls, if your boyfriend has any brains at all and is a bit techno savvy, he will be well aware of keystroke capture software he will be able to install on computers you use and learn all your secrets. It isn’t hard. Monsieur Raide was expert at stuff like this. And a German I knew.
I’m stuffed from dinner with my favourite Mr Pink at The Duke Of York on Doughty Mews. He really is so funny. Our most current joke involves a story about the look on his old dog’s face when it licked a wee in the street and Mr Pink prancing around calling out random disses like he was a Kingston dancehall queen. He also had some great stories tonight about riding in a rickshaw with Pete Burns round Soho back in the 80’s and Daryl Hall allegedly having a wooden leg. But I can’t go for that. No can do.
Some people [like my nephew] have been having more fun than me lately. He’s six and already burning round on a jet ski!
I found an old song Lektrogirl song I wrote that I doubt anyone has heard and I decided that I will make a video for it to post on my blog. I decided to have a go at messing with the video a little bit like Sven König has done in a few pieces and Paul B. Davis also used in a couple of his video pieces. It isn’t hard – just mind boggling.
You have to search through a massive list and get all the hex numbers for key frames for your video.
Then you have to scroll through gangs of numbers to delete the key frames you want to dissolve.
A lot of it is variable, and can achieve completely different results. I’m at a point after completely the first round of removing key frames deciding if the means was worth doing for the end.
I found this cool video along the way though of Sven König explaining this sampling project that in a nutshell plays snippets of video triggered by his voice. He can explain it a lot better than me. When he gets to the live performance part though [with long hair to note!] there gets to be too much laptop face and lone German man on stage raving for my liking. However I had considered writing a post as to why Sven König should be my next boyfriend. Funnily enough, my ex said the same thing. Although Sven König ticks a lot of boxes for “my type” on his MySpace he wrote he is a smoker [before I actually saw him smoking in the video] and that is a definite NO for me. Even though Rami smoked. Or maybe that was just weed? Anyway so I won’t be writing a post about Sven König being my perfect man any time soon.
You should however check out the Depeche Mode Personal Jesus video my non future boyfriend made. I really think it is great.
However, my first big depression ever came on a day that the video for Personal Jesus was first shown on Tasmanian television, there were bush fires and the air was smoky and the skyline was hazy, my boyfriend was in the kitchen talking about love and suddenly I felt like I was walking through molasses carrying a lead box. A few weeks later, my boyfriend took me on an adventure through peoples back gardens looking for a swimming pool to go skinny dipping in at midnight.
I have a nose full of dust and hands that feel dry. I have been going through cupboards and boxes going through things that are up to 18 years old. Best of tapes from 1990 and compilations that my sister and I made with the most ridiculous names: Beak Beats, Beats Up The Arse Loud and Strong, Love the N*****. Even more shocking that the last name of our compilations, there are even old tapes of Richard H. Kirk CD’s I had/have[?], Autechre, Aphex Twin – all the old IDM for listening to on a Walkman. How hideous.
It has been so great though going through everything getting rid of stuff from people who don’t belong here. Memories that are too old to be bothered with. Some hilarious stuff!
I found a letter from Noodles about his drunken antics. I’ll never throw that out. He goes on about someone who is into steam engines. I cried laughing. And being so drunk, falling over in a new lemon Fred Perry sweater. That wasn’t the first or last time for Nicky Noo Noo I’m sure!! OH GOD!! I just remember the time Noodles came over to Monsieur Raides and got so drunk together I puked noodles in the bath for HOURS and Monsieur Raide’s and Noodles ran out to Commerical Road with their trousers off together to flash at the cars. Or something. I was too wasted to really remember what went on. I can just remember having to lock Noodles out of the bathroom cause I was sure he was going to molest me.
There was heaps of old “Lektrogirl” ephemera. Songs on cassette tapes, notations about sequences, double density diskettes.
Back then, my boyfriend was Monsieur Raide. And Brains thinks he had a hard time…
Monsieur Raide told me that he had some ‘thing’ with a girl at Pizza Express. I sent Monsieur Raide a message on a sheet of A1 drawing paper with the address and telephone number of every Pizza Express in London. I told him that if he was gonna mess around with a girl from Pizza Express I was gonna go find her and give her a piece of my mind. Though I wouldn’t really know what happened there.
Monsieur Raide gave me a very nice typewriter that I still have in my cupboard. I would never throw that out. After he gave it to me I did another picture, this time about the typewriter.
I considered it lucky after some of the things I had been through and I used that typewriter a lot.
After while in my life, I didn’t write or draw or make music or paint or anything. I don’t know what happened.
I guess I just have too much junk in the cupboards.
The boots cleaned me out until I get paid in a couple of days. Sad thing is that they don’t match my Marni bag, but I worked round that with the APC raffia bag when I went to meet Cardinal today at the pub on Junction Road for a gastro lunch. It was the worst one we have had in the area, the potatoes were horribles, the staff rude and our puddings were on hot plates and cold in the middle. And no full length mirror in the bathroom so I could check out my outfit properly.
I was a bit worried when I showed them to Nameless tonight – he just started laughing. For a second I was worried I was never going to have sex again! But then I showed them [via Flickr] to my hot secret lover man who said that he thought they were hot! This is the same guy who said that now that I’m single he would be happy to have casual sex with my behind his girlfriends back [she is HOT HOT HOT FYI] because the sex with me was so incredible. Tek weh yuself! Talk about ego boost.
Anyway – enough about that cause I also found out my father reads my blog from the old man’s home. Fuck me. The thought of my father reading about my fanny is enough to make my vajayjay dry up and dessicate like coconut.
Here I was in the Shopgirl Damart office about 8 years ago. Just FYI, they are Earl Jean skinny 29 inch waist jeans. I would have toruble getting an arm in the leg now.
In this picture, I am wearing a jumper that is called Frenchy. That jumper features in a song on the album I wrote released on Rephlex as Lektrogirl. It also used to belong to my old boyfriend Daniel.
Daniel de Jong and I were together when I was living in Tasmania in 1997-98 and I regret to this day ever breaking up with him. I still have the plaster chess pieces his Uncle carved as practise scrimshaw. I regularly Google Daniel to find out what he is up to. All I have been able to confirm is that the rumours about him hand making guitars is true. Daniel – if you ever read this, I was vile and I’m sorry. Walking around the Cornelian Bay Hockey fields with you was some of the best times I had. And there are still some of your records I wish I knew the sames of…
I broke up with Daniel after sleeping with a guy called “Slack Nuts”. When he lay face up on the bed with his legs apart his nut sack was actually resting on the mattress. He said part way through like “I want to be your protector.” Suffice to say it was a one night thing.
Then I went out with this guy:
Monsieur Dimanche. Going out with him was a massive mistake BUT his is a hilarious person and I had a lot of fun with him. Good times. He just wasn’t a good choice of boyf for me. I hear he is very happy in America now dating some girl he calls The Midget. Oh Antoine is a great dancer! So funny!! We were always make trouble together.
Then this is the guy I married:
Which I still don’t know if it was a good or bad thing.
Today I’m spending my Saturdy afternoon doing book kepping in the Katharine Hamnett studio. On the way here though I stopped off at the second hand shop. I’m not going to tell you which one cause that would be giving away some vital information top secret but to every girl in this office. I mean – already a lot of people know it, but why invite more. I didn’t need to go there cause Katharine gave me the jacket I was eyeballing all week that she bought back from Dalston cause I loved it so much. Katharine is the sweetest most generous person sometimes. And JoJo bought back the most BEAUTIFUL brooch on earth for me. But it might have been cause I made an old man happy. Private Joke. Anyway I bought 5 dresses at the 2hand shop – one of which is an Austrian dirndl. My tits look massive. Well I guess I won’t get a German boyfriend wearing one…