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Saturday, March 12th, 2005
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2:58 am - Rockstar Egos and Cynics
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After everything has been gentrified, genre-fied, re-hashed, branded and re-commercialised, nothing substantial remains – there is little by way of new territory to cover, and for those wishing to indulge in a new iteration of night time culture, there isn’t a lot to do. When growing up, it’s a rite of passage – you venture out into night to experience things, as if for the first time. When culture is new and absorbing, it grabs and throttles your attention to the point where you lose yourself in expression. The moment, the crowd, the vibration. Some even lose themselves in the music.
Its hard to recognise the exact point where everything changes – where it all turns a corner. When there is an absence of originality, night life becomes dull, drained of originality and tired.
Perhaps its the point where you realise that the people surrounding you have become lost in the vacuous temporality of what they are living out – the ephemera of their every pursuit bearing down like a toothless saw. Everything you see has been lived - you have lived out before, as though in a past filled with more originating and pivotal founding moments.
Do you become awkward when you perhaps feel everyone around you is living out a figment of reality you can only associate with the past – where it was fresh? Being that you have lived it before, aspired before and even ascended before, to levels of recognition you somehow felt content with – you wonder whether you have the energy to do it again - to rise above and become more than just a face in the crowd to a whole new generation. You realise the flimsiness of your ego, and how a worthwhile discipline, like a stitch in time, saves nine. Still you feel that momentary regret when you realise that your past small successes were just moments in time which didn’t imbue the present with any evidence of your inner gargantuan, super-human self.
Every generation puts their own interpretation on old things. At the heart of it, culture doesn’t move quickly enough or mutate enough for one person to be part of too many successions of nightlife without feeling stagnant. Unless you have some kind of higher motive or ascension, you fade to grey. If you are part of many successions of nightlife without making a niche for yourself, in a way – you are not following your own generational arc through. You begin to wonder why you keep searching when nothing really changes. Look at your peers, where are they now? Some married, settled, some in urban burroughs, others still have developed into balanced human beings. While happily a member of the ‘balanced human being’ club – you flirt mindlessly with ephemera - with no nobler aim, and are left watching re-runs of last years house party. Bling Bling.
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| Thursday, March 13th, 2003
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8:46 am - Flowers from the Concrete Jungle
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.. Of course he had been surrounded by them all his life. The Boho. Beautiful people styled to kill. People who perhaps because they were beautiful, or, perhaps because they were somehow in possession of talent beyond mere mortals - inherently gave the air of having something more to offer.
Somehow, somewhere along the line, someone had (or more likely, they had) decided that they were above and beyond other more pedestrian individuals. Of course there were always a few key signifiers which indicated that an entity may have reached this level of ego, which also helped forge the image.
1: The two week haircut - a longtime friend of fashion doyenne and media whore alike - the two week haircut represents affluence and grooming - Note I did not say 'good' grooming, because sometimes bad grooming is good grooming. Thats why the mullet made a comeback. You didnt seriously think it was all that crap about business in the front, party in the back, did you?
2: Media Jobs - or pretensions to media jobs. These people cant pretend to be interesting when they are really car mechanics, can they. No. They need to be in the spotlight. Its all about being seen darling. Nobody will spot you under a car when you are camouflaged by lithium grease.. and 5W 50 doesnt really make a great styling aid applied to the hair. (The matted look is out.)
No, its all about media jobs. Fashion media, music media, advertising media, T.V. media - it doesnt matter. If you cant find a media job, you may wish to come the 'exiled dutchess' while working in something innane like retail. Of course if the label you happen to be selling is hip enough, or the record store happens to stock enough imported consignments, then you have obviously rated higher on the 'snooty index' and have earnt more right to be a complete hussy, even whilst serving paying customers.
3: The bullshit degree - a longtime friend of the boho, the bullshit degree gives an impression of subtance where there really may be none. You may have a bullshit degree yourself - you know it isn't hard to pass Arts - you did it with you face firmly planted at the uni bar with a bag of white powder lodged halfway up your nose while your buddy was passing you a joint. So you'll know what I mean. Damn, maybe you're a hussy too?
4: And this is a new entry, seeing as we only recently seem to have been assimilated. Local designers.. you are nothing without your local designers. Tsubi, Sass and Bide, Akira and more Tsubi where once only JPG, Versace and other euro-trash numbers would have dared to tread.
5: An insular group of friends. This is essential, because nobody is going to think you're a hussy if you dont have any friends. The idea is that if the outside world just fails to comprehend your ultimate status, your friends will be there to back you up. Of course they will all be as media conscious as you, and fulfill at least three of the above requirements themselves. Another key attribute of 'friend' is the uncanny ability to sniff out other talent, but also reassure you that you are part of the crowd baby. You can be a self appointed boho, but its unlikely that you will find agreeable participants in your success unless you have friends that tell you you are successful.
:)
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(comment on this)
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| Wednesday, March 12th, 2003
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3:25 pm - token entry
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Of course, he'd walked into this situation many times before.
Air too thick to breathe, room too crowded to move, music too loud to talk. Remarkably strange that people prefer socialising in spaces that would make a sewer rat anxious. After looking across the room from the door, he swallowed his hesitance and entered. "If I am to find find her" he thought "it wont be by standing here".
Had he counted, he would have noticed that he was nudged, bumped or elbowed a total of 36 times while traversing the room, and that of those 36 instances of contact, 5 had been attempts to gain his attention.
Attention, however was in short supply. His attention span had long been drained away by insomnia, nicotine and sweat. He paused a moment on the catwalk before circulating around the bar again.. "Where is this woman.. where is she.. has her existence ceased.. is there no divine intervention"..
Then suddenly he made out that familiar outline of black hair, alabaster skin, defined cheekbones and upturned nose.. and thunderbolts once again descended from heaven and struck his heart - that sillhouette was all it took.
The bizarre mixture of adrenaline and cortisol released by his body began to both speed up his heart rate and tighten his stomach, as a fine mist of sweat began to bead on his forehead.
There she was - in full view, in front of him - but he was unable to speak.
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(comment on this)
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2:55 pm - ... Returnz
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When Amy needed a code to start off her live journal, I realised.. "Hey, I have a live journal!" and now, I may actually write something here again.
I guess its the proper thing to do, seeing as I am officially an English Literature student again. **Nods to Tim and Kimmy**
Of course - its been ages and ages - so I should have built up some fine words to dazzle you all with, however - I think I may need to ruminate over this one.
In the meantime I should welcome Amy, because she is a great storyteller and I cant wait to see what she will have to say..
I'll try and post something new soon :)
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Saturday, February 17th, 2001
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10:16 pm - Odd Sod Dream
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Starts off a bit typically
Her eyes met mine and we locked into a riveted gaze. The moment was uncanny; her eyes sparkled in such a way ... while the incedental buzz of my own thought was at the time almost deafening, I had no choice but to stop there. Confronted.
As her image cemented itself into my gaze, my face presented her with an uncertain smile. Something about her smiled back. I cast my eye toward the rising saltwater vapour from the rolling shore-break. The first Southerly breeze of autumn was blowing everything cool again, the low sun melting the dark clouds into a light rain shower and back into clear blue sky.
She turned the palm of her hand to catch the moisture of the first few droplets. I remember the echo of a clear piano sound caught in the air from one of the houses across the road.
The straying sunlight caught her expression as the sunshower carresed her hair and she smiled, this time without reserve.
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(comment on this)
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| Friday, February 16th, 2001
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2:00 pm - Endtroducing...
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