I shouldn't be blogging...
because I've been up all night, and then some.
I already called my Mother for Mother's day, and mentioned that a girl, whose brain I was picking for information on employment opportunities, was too coked to provide any useful information. D'OH!
Cards on the table: here in London, I am pretty much surrounded by drug use of all sorts. It's the nature of London. People smoke spliffs in the street, smoke crack in alleyways and snort lines off any flat surface they can find. My reaction? I keep clear of it, just like I kept clear of smack while everyone else in Brisbane was spiking any available vein from 1994 to 1999.
My reasoning is simple (if totally plagiarised from Leonard Cohen): when you spend as much time as I do trying to get your head straight, you don't want to hit it with a sledgehammer to see how well you've done.
And when you occasionally feel gun-in-the-mouth suicidal by nature of your internal chemistry, the last thing you need to experience is the phenomenon known as Ecstasy Tuesday.
Nope, like I always say: the music is the drug for me, and people often assume I'm on drugs anyway, so why spend my money on a redundancy.
Back to the story:
Went to Strength Through Joy. As predicted, danced like a lunatic.
Danced more than my friend Sean. Chemically unassisted, Sean usually dances for six hours at a time, so this would be the equivalent to Wile E Coyote sprinting around the desert while the Roadrunner kicks back in a corner, being moody.
I had fun dancing. Like I say, dancing is the most aerobic exercise I get, and it actually does put me in a good frame of mind to have some kind of productive week.
The downside to Strength Through Joy was that spring is slowly asserting itself, and as such the club was humid, hot and stuffy. And the huge fan they have used to keep air moving in the past wasn't there. And the music was way more EBM than old-school industrial.
My friend Dani was down from Milton Keynes, and she told me that she might be Merching from Killing Joke (!!!) on their coming tour.
I also ran into The Madwoman from a month back. You might remember I described her as a Destructive Force of Nature, among other things. It was her birthday.
She would play an interesting role later on:
After the club, people peeled off in their various directions. A couple of the STJ elite were going back to someone or other's flat for an after party. Invite only, don't bring anyone you don't know, under orders.
I was cool with that, since it would be rude of me to crash someone's post party.
Here's where it got weird. The coked up madwoman was definitely invited. And she insisted on bringing me along, despite my protests to the contrary.
When the four of us got to the flat, it became abundantly clear why the host didn't want any randoms at his flat: he had just moved into a swanky flat off New Highbury Park, with timber floors and a huge plasma screen.
He greeted my three companions, but when he saw me, he looked my up and down and asked the Madwoman if I was cool, or should he throw me out now?
I told him that if he could throw me out if he wanted.
'Early days yet. Early days.' He replied.
And I was in.
That's the thing about Madwomen. They have a way of getting you into places you otherwise wouldn't, for better or worse.
The price, of course, is that if you get into a place on the arm of a coked up bipolar whirlwind, you then have to spend the next hour or two listening to her nonstop chatter about how animals are better than people, how she was suicidal in South Africa, her ex-boyfriend, she's a free spirit, oh, you don't do cocaine, do you? I love animals, I'm sorry, I'm boring you, I always do this don't I... and so on.
Eventually she got up to make a phone call or hunt for more drugs or something, leaving me to kick back on the couch for a little by myself. Remember that as soon as I had walked into the room the was a quiet rumble of 'Who the fuck is he?' from those that didn't know me and 'How did he get in here?' from some of those that did.
Anyways, I managed to win over a couple of the others in the strangest ways. First of all, two girls were comparing strange flexibility things, so I showed them the trick I've been able to do since childhood, when you twist your arms behind you and back again without letting go of a kerchief your holding. Every schoolboy at ACGS could do it, but it seemed to mesmerize the girls.
Then I got talking to a half chinese girl that I had met outside the club earlier, and we wound up using my notepad (I never go anywhere without a notepad) to play that strange childhood game where you make squares out of ten by ten rows or dots. Along the way she told me about the different tones used in Cantonese, and her adventures in Italy, fending off Italian Men by saying 'I am so drunk!' in Italian (which offends Italian men, aparently).
I told her the story of someone I knew who discouraged scooter riding Italians by turning her Grandmother's engagement right around so it looked like a plain gold band. I would mention who it was, but I think I have embarassed her enough in my life : )
The half-chinese girl beat me at the boxes game. By ten boxes.
Chris D and I swapped notes on George Orwell, I told him to see V for Vendetta.
And the Host actually shook my hand and told me that he was glad that he hadn't thrown me out on first sight. Before getting all huffy when I asked what he did (which the others put down to middle class guilt).
Anyways, at this point the others were getting a taxi. I wasn't getting a taxi with them, but it seemed like a good juncture to leave. I wound up walking with the Half-chinese girl back to Highbury station. Interesting girl.
No idea if I'll ever see her again, but an interesting girl.
I jumped on the Victoria Line, getting off at Oxford Circus.
Something inspired me, as often does on a Sunday morning when there is no-one on the streets, to go find parts of London that I haven't seen before. At least not since dim distant random explorations, the kind you do before you fall into a groove of familiar paths and haunts.
This particular wander took me through the more picturesque part of the West End. Ie Mayfair and the like. Tiny little art galleries, appointment only antique shops, hole in the wall cafes. And Starbucks. Everywhere Starbucks.
Eventually I stumbled on the changing of the Queen's Guard. I've been in London this long and I haven't seen the changing of the Queen's Guard.
After that: more wandering. Eventually I decided to come home and make the abovementioned phonecall.
Now? I think I'll take the tube to Camden and look around. Might go see a movie. Or something.
As usual for a Sunday for me, the idea is that I stay awake as long as possible, then pass out early in the evening.
I have no idea how coherent this post is.
Over and out.
J
I already called my Mother for Mother's day, and mentioned that a girl, whose brain I was picking for information on employment opportunities, was too coked to provide any useful information. D'OH!
Cards on the table: here in London, I am pretty much surrounded by drug use of all sorts. It's the nature of London. People smoke spliffs in the street, smoke crack in alleyways and snort lines off any flat surface they can find. My reaction? I keep clear of it, just like I kept clear of smack while everyone else in Brisbane was spiking any available vein from 1994 to 1999.
My reasoning is simple (if totally plagiarised from Leonard Cohen): when you spend as much time as I do trying to get your head straight, you don't want to hit it with a sledgehammer to see how well you've done.
And when you occasionally feel gun-in-the-mouth suicidal by nature of your internal chemistry, the last thing you need to experience is the phenomenon known as Ecstasy Tuesday.
Nope, like I always say: the music is the drug for me, and people often assume I'm on drugs anyway, so why spend my money on a redundancy.
Back to the story:
Went to Strength Through Joy. As predicted, danced like a lunatic.
Danced more than my friend Sean. Chemically unassisted, Sean usually dances for six hours at a time, so this would be the equivalent to Wile E Coyote sprinting around the desert while the Roadrunner kicks back in a corner, being moody.
I had fun dancing. Like I say, dancing is the most aerobic exercise I get, and it actually does put me in a good frame of mind to have some kind of productive week.
The downside to Strength Through Joy was that spring is slowly asserting itself, and as such the club was humid, hot and stuffy. And the huge fan they have used to keep air moving in the past wasn't there. And the music was way more EBM than old-school industrial.
My friend Dani was down from Milton Keynes, and she told me that she might be Merching from Killing Joke (!!!) on their coming tour.
I also ran into The Madwoman from a month back. You might remember I described her as a Destructive Force of Nature, among other things. It was her birthday.
She would play an interesting role later on:
After the club, people peeled off in their various directions. A couple of the STJ elite were going back to someone or other's flat for an after party. Invite only, don't bring anyone you don't know, under orders.
I was cool with that, since it would be rude of me to crash someone's post party.
Here's where it got weird. The coked up madwoman was definitely invited. And she insisted on bringing me along, despite my protests to the contrary.
When the four of us got to the flat, it became abundantly clear why the host didn't want any randoms at his flat: he had just moved into a swanky flat off New Highbury Park, with timber floors and a huge plasma screen.
He greeted my three companions, but when he saw me, he looked my up and down and asked the Madwoman if I was cool, or should he throw me out now?
I told him that if he could throw me out if he wanted.
'Early days yet. Early days.' He replied.
And I was in.
That's the thing about Madwomen. They have a way of getting you into places you otherwise wouldn't, for better or worse.
The price, of course, is that if you get into a place on the arm of a coked up bipolar whirlwind, you then have to spend the next hour or two listening to her nonstop chatter about how animals are better than people, how she was suicidal in South Africa, her ex-boyfriend, she's a free spirit, oh, you don't do cocaine, do you? I love animals, I'm sorry, I'm boring you, I always do this don't I... and so on.
Eventually she got up to make a phone call or hunt for more drugs or something, leaving me to kick back on the couch for a little by myself. Remember that as soon as I had walked into the room the was a quiet rumble of 'Who the fuck is he?' from those that didn't know me and 'How did he get in here?' from some of those that did.
Anyways, I managed to win over a couple of the others in the strangest ways. First of all, two girls were comparing strange flexibility things, so I showed them the trick I've been able to do since childhood, when you twist your arms behind you and back again without letting go of a kerchief your holding. Every schoolboy at ACGS could do it, but it seemed to mesmerize the girls.
Then I got talking to a half chinese girl that I had met outside the club earlier, and we wound up using my notepad (I never go anywhere without a notepad) to play that strange childhood game where you make squares out of ten by ten rows or dots. Along the way she told me about the different tones used in Cantonese, and her adventures in Italy, fending off Italian Men by saying 'I am so drunk!' in Italian (which offends Italian men, aparently).
I told her the story of someone I knew who discouraged scooter riding Italians by turning her Grandmother's engagement right around so it looked like a plain gold band. I would mention who it was, but I think I have embarassed her enough in my life : )
The half-chinese girl beat me at the boxes game. By ten boxes.
Chris D and I swapped notes on George Orwell, I told him to see V for Vendetta.
And the Host actually shook my hand and told me that he was glad that he hadn't thrown me out on first sight. Before getting all huffy when I asked what he did (which the others put down to middle class guilt).
Anyways, at this point the others were getting a taxi. I wasn't getting a taxi with them, but it seemed like a good juncture to leave. I wound up walking with the Half-chinese girl back to Highbury station. Interesting girl.
No idea if I'll ever see her again, but an interesting girl.
I jumped on the Victoria Line, getting off at Oxford Circus.
Something inspired me, as often does on a Sunday morning when there is no-one on the streets, to go find parts of London that I haven't seen before. At least not since dim distant random explorations, the kind you do before you fall into a groove of familiar paths and haunts.
This particular wander took me through the more picturesque part of the West End. Ie Mayfair and the like. Tiny little art galleries, appointment only antique shops, hole in the wall cafes. And Starbucks. Everywhere Starbucks.
Eventually I stumbled on the changing of the Queen's Guard. I've been in London this long and I haven't seen the changing of the Queen's Guard.
After that: more wandering. Eventually I decided to come home and make the abovementioned phonecall.
Now? I think I'll take the tube to Camden and look around. Might go see a movie. Or something.
As usual for a Sunday for me, the idea is that I stay awake as long as possible, then pass out early in the evening.
I have no idea how coherent this post is.
Over and out.
J
posted by the.exile at 12:16 pm
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