I’ve tried to write so many things and realised that I truly ain’t got shit to say about ANYTHING at the moment. I’m big chilling so no cause for alarm on any fronts, i’m just having a grand total of one thought per minute and none of those thoughts are literary genius. Most of this newsletter is just from the bowels of my brain. It’s actually always just from the bowels of my brain, it’s never literary genius, who cares.
It’s deep winter but the solstice has come and gone which is excellent news. I spent that night at a doof (rave! ! !). It was perhaps the coldest I have ever been. The night seemed like an eternity, I was out there, shivering, waiting for sun to rise or the music to stop. My socks were wet, my feet were cold and my spirits?? Surprisingly high, I had a nice time.
Other than that I’ve just been on my usual shit; working, walking, dogs, wrestling my thoughts into submission in hopes of a brighter future. I’ve been very silly, shaking ass, feeling mostly comfortable to be myself in every scenario. I keep telling people this is the happiest I’ve ever been and I think I mean it??
cosmic timing or am I just paranoid
From the age of fourteen, I noticed a pattern in my life. It’s either confirmation bias or cosmic timing on a yearly rotation. Something always happens around my birthday that makes me feel really funny (not in the good way). Every single year without a doubt. A challenge for my new age, a lesson to wrestle into submission (weirdly into wrestling analogies atm). This years offerings are all exterior so i’m not too burdened by riding out my yearly rotisserie. I’m just a whole chicken, roasting away in the Coles deli. I’m going around and around soon to be bagged up and sold to the masses. I’m fully ready for my outsides to congeal into weird jelly in the fridge.
It’s definitely confirmation bias by the way.
Imagine if it isn’t?!
j-hole
I’ve found myself unable to listen to new music for such a long time, which has been pretty sad. I’m pretty sure this is an everyone thing. Sometimes I just don’t want to hear a song I haven’t heard before. For me that period lasts over a matter of weeks to months and i’m stuck listening to my constant rotation albums again and again and again and again. I think it’s a comfort thing.
I’ve been in such a mood to seek which has been a huge relief. It’s nice to feel passionate and curious about finding new music again. Nobody can really join you on a seeking journey, it’s all personal. However, I think album recommendations pillaged from a seeking journey are always worth sharing and talking about. My friends don’t really care though, to them it’s just me on my weeb shit again, which is very fair.
For so long I singularly rinsed two albums by Haruomi Hosono, Hosono House (his 1973 debut solo album under his own name) and HOCHONO HOUSE which is a 2019 reimagining of his first album. I say reimagining and I mean it. Both albums are so disparate and so lovely in their own special way. I went on a mission to understand more concretely how point A became point B some forty years later, got distracted and went on a lovely winding fun journey.
I started with chronologically listening to all of Hosono’s solo albums from 1973 to 1990, then started listening to albums that he has producing credits on. It really spiralled from there and i’m still making it through the treasures. There was nothing to do but make a playlist, I love to make a playlist. The playlist is for me, but it’s also a gift for you, if you want it? It’s not done yet.
I also really rate these albums that I have found thus far on my journey
dip in the pool- dip in the pool
godzilla
I hate when i’m at the pub and a topic comes up that I can’t participate in what-so-ever. I hate not knowing stuff, so have had to wrestle with my innate passion for discourse and my indifference to ‘boy movies’. ‘I don’t give a fuck about Godzilla’ is not enough to scratch my itch of fun discussion. I’ve decided to give a fuck about Godzilla, retroactively. Not enough to actually watch any of the movies but enough to unpack whats going on there.
Godzilla began it’s life as ゴジラ or Gojira and remains as such to Japanese audiences. These characters mean gorilla and whale which is kinda missing the mark but I understand the spirit behind the gorilla-whale mashup. I mean I don’t understand it, but I do appreciate it. Godzilla isn’t really a singular creature, and has been replaced and succeeded many times. Godzilla even had some kids. How nice.
Godzilla is the key figure in the genre of Kaiju. These are monster movies where the monster is really big (epic). The IP of the character Godzilla is owned by a Japanese company Toho, so all Godzilla property in existence has been licensed out under strict guidelines. The narrative of Godzilla is deeply random and kind of insane (ie. there is no overarching narrative). It’s best to talk about the Godzilla movies in eras, the four Godzilla eras so far are Showa (1954-1975), Hesei (1984-1995), Millenium (1999-2004) and Reiwa (2016-current) with American productions sprinkled between. Most of the Godzilla movies are sort of canonically tied to the first, but the easiest way to conceptualise canon in the franchise is to follow each era as a stand alone narrative. Sometimes not even that is useful though.
The lore present through the original Showa era presents two indisputable facts. 1. Godzilla is a giant prehistoric semi aquatic reptile and 2. He was awakened and changed by nuclear testing. Hesei offers a time travelling aliens twist which conceptually i’m pretty down with. In the Millenium era, Godzilla is a mythical creature with a complete disregard to previous iterations. For Reiwa, each film is generally a standalone with it’s own Godzilla origin and lore…from what I understand. It’s all genuinely so confusing. I’m sure it would clear up if I actually watched Godzilla. He’s also died at least once in every single era, including at the end of the first film which seems kind of cracked to me.
Godzilla is known to be an allegory for the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaski. The people of Japan could relate to the ever present threat of total destruction, a force as unstoppable and unpredictable as a big angry lizard demolishing everything in it’s path. The original Godzilla film was inspired by an event following the two bombings which set further ablaze an already roaring fear of nuclear weaponry. This event*** became the genesis story for the awakening and empowerment of the monster. Another reading of Godzilla is as a metaphor for the United States.
Regardless of Godzilla the metaphor, Godzilla the big green guy is deeply cemented in popular culture both in the west and the east. Godzilla to this day is the cultural ambassador for the Shinjuku ward of Tokyo (such ward has been flattened in exactly three Godzilla movies). Real life dinosaurs have been named after the monster, he even has a star on the Hollywood walk of fame. To be honest, I really gave a fuck about Godzilla… can I go now?
***Over the span of twelve years, twenty-three nuclear tests were conducted by the US government at Bikini Atoll in the Marshall Archipelago with a combined force equivalent to seven-thousand times that of the Hiroshima Bomb. In 1954, a boat of Japanese fishermen working outside of the restricted area were exposed to radiation due to nuclear fallout following the detonation of Castle Bravo Bomb (the largest thermonuclear weapon ever detonated). These fishermen suffered and died from illnesses connected to the radiation they were exposed to on that night. Alongside the fishermen, the inhabitants of surrounding islands were greatly impacted. These islands were furthermore considered uninhabitable due to persistently high levels of radiation.
the doof dichotomy
I was raised through my adult life understanding raves and doofs as two very separate things. I wouldn’t be caught dead at a doof, I would be caught dead at a rave. I understand the usefulness in separating free DIY events from established events at a venue. It doesn’t stop the churning in my stomach when I have to say doof.
A doof to me is in the middle of fucking nowhere. Everyone there loves psytrance, hates techno and is probably on meth. They’ve been there for three days in some outfit that was at one point hanging on the sale rack at tree of life. They’re all hippies, but the boogada boogada I break through on DMT sprinkled cigarettes, smelling like B.O, unwashed hair and burning plastic, white guy with dreadlocks types. It’s all french backpackers and my first ever boyfriend Andy (and his older brother Steve (both Psytrance DJs)).
A rave however? the girlies and I take a twenty dollar Uber to the beach. I’ve dug a hole to throw up in but I don’t mind because they’re playing some cunty remix of a song I can sing along to. Everyone there is dishevelled but chic. It’s usually pretty gay, there are some dumb turbo dudes but they’re off somewhere i’m not. The music is intelligible, the crowd is mostly well showered and dressed fine. Nobody is freaking me the hell out.
It’s all a difference in nomenclature I guess, like the verge side pickup vs hard rubbish situation. A doof in Melbourne is the equivalent to a rave in Perth. I think I need to get over it. But when someone regular and fine who grew up in Melbourne says they like psytrance i’m a little confused. It’s a cultural difference I guess.
back hurts
After an all consuming spasm of my back in early February this year, and recurring but smaller ones on a regular rotation since.. I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that I might just be a sore hip and back girl, maybe forever. The pain is constant, either a small and present itch to a debilitating ache. If I wear the wrong shoes or try to return to glute workouts I’m in the danger zone. I had to give up the gym (probably for the best), I had to give up my short lived running career (sad). If I try to do any exercise other than walking, stretching and playing frisbee (????) I’m done. I have to sleep with a pillow under my knees every night, I wake up every morning to my mobility exercise regime. I cannot throw it back with reckless abandon like I use to!! It’s dangerous.
I know the exact moment this all tipped over, a weighted back extension was my final undoing. Weird nerve twitches during glute exercises beforehand; simply a warning for my final boss. My mission was having a fat ass and the result is a considerable tightness to my hip flexors, hamstrings and glutes which in turn sends my back into a seized up useless mess. God, I want to be incredibly buff. I want to have an ass so fat…These material designs are not meant for me. Perhaps I should have stretched and warmed up reliably. It’s all my fault. Insolence towards the old meat sack. Pain is my cross to bear.
I look at candid pictures of myself and I look like someone who has a sore back. No natural curve to my spine, no comfortable tilt to my pelvis. This has not helped my overall uncomfortable relationship with my physical existence whatsoever. I look like a robot with eerily human skin. My torso rotates like it’s being controlled with a joystick with only a horizontal and vertical axis. I must move about unsettlingly and constantly, stretching pointlessly for hours a day. I flew too close to the fat ass sun. Somebody please help me.
etymology of munted
Perusing the great halls of Piedimontes (I write about piedimontes so much) I found myself locked in mutual wonderment and conversation about the origins of the word munted. I love munted, I think munted is holistically useful in many arenas.
The etymology is unclear but it’s one of three options, I will order them in accelerating delight. Firstly germanic and danish language, the word munter meaning merry or lively. It is somewhat related to how one would feel if they were munted, but one can also be munted but not merry. I personally feel like that one does not have legs.
Secondly, scottish and gailic ‘mùin’ which means to urinate. Comparable to getting pissed. Possible but doesn’t fill me with delight.
Thirdly; it is proposed to be a blend of two important words: monged and cunted. How beautiful, the availability of two such beautiful words and the birthing of their love child into my mouth and ears. Stunning. I think this entry is a crowd sourced wikipedia entry, so I can’t trust it but it doesn’t mean that I can’t fancy it as reality.
It’s clear upon intensive research that the actual origins of the word are mysterious and unwritten, however munted gained traction in the 1990’s.
Munted is one of those things in a box with Russel Crowe, pavlova, Crowded House, and Phar Lap (big horse) that Australia has taken from New Zealand and assumed as it’s own.
With joy, munted is present in the Collins and the Oxford dictionary. The usage flip flopping between two similar but I think distinct definitions.
Munted • /ˈmʌntɪd/
adjective
informal
under the influence of alcohol or drugs
informal
badly damaged or ruined
the achilles heel in my mission to be friendly
I don’t know if it’s a result of not actually looking people in the face or if my brain storage system is just whacked but I’m really bad with faces. Unless someone has a particularly memorable haircut or insane overall vibe I’m probably not going to recognise them after a first or even a second interaction. I want to be friendly and go up to have a chat with people I’ve talked to one time but I honestly couldn’t pick them out of a lineup. I can remember a conversation and what place it occurred if reminded but can’t for the life of me remember what anyone looks like. This extends to actors. Don’t bother asking me what other movies an actor was in, I probably don’t know. Even if i’ve seen the movie before, I don’t know.
This even extends to regulars at work who I serve on a weekly basis for months until I can recognise them. The only regulars I recognise with ease are the ones with dogs, but only because of their dog and not them. A regular who has been coming in on more than a weekly basis for over a year came in the other day without her dog and I didn’t recognise her until mid way through our interaction.
I’m constantly self conch about seeming really rude and dismissive when people I don’t recognise say hello. It’s not that I don’t want to be having the interaction, it’s that I’m really anxious of them finding out that I have no idea who they are and if i’ve met them before. I have one of two routes to deal with this situation:
Pretend I recognise them and give a vague and friendly hey not informed at all by previous interactions.
Give a long speech about my bad facial recognition that spirals into my (valid?) concerns regarding my degrading memory function with examples of neurocognitive disorders present in my family tree.
Obviously I don’t know if the person would be on board with the second option because I have no context on any previous interactions we’ve had, so for safety I lean towards number one.
To help me on my journey here are some things I am asking everyone I’ve met once or twice to do:
-Wear the same outfit every day
-Have a really whack haircut
-Wear a name tag at all times with your first and last name
-Offer an interesting fact that is relevant to my interests while staring me straight in the face
- Say something so funny and cracked that I will remember the exact moment in full detail and think about it for weeks.
whats on the chopping block?
songs:
Rock Your Baby- Emerson Kitamura, mmm
Spring is Coming With A Strawberry in the Mouth- Operating Theatre
I Hear Them All- Dave Rawlings Machine
albums:
go listen to the others albums I recommended… i’ve done enough