Sausage Joose

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I was depressed to be leaving Australia, but it's best to leave when you're having the time of your life. Memories stay more pristine that way.

The novelty of my living situation had nearly worn off as I sorted through the sausage-joose infused dishes towering in the sink. The illogical stack was almost artistic and I laughed as loogies slid from plates.

I think I volunteered to clean the kitchen because I knew I was the only one who would do it well enough to avoid a fee, but being vegetarian I don't usually have to deal with so much sausage joose.

This is a modern-art tree I snapped a picture of on a bush-walk.

It's as if all my roommates have been doing is burning sausage into pans and squeezing it over every single item in the kitchen. Liz (roommate 4), dealt with an emotional arch about the state of the kitchen, and had resorted to eating microwaved Easy-Mac MIXED WITH microwaved chicken ramen, using only our immense, stained and plastic bowl for almost every meal. On the rare occasion that meal did not comprise breakfast, lunch, or dinner, she went to unit 50 to cook in Taryn’s kitchen.

(Power Station)

In a stroke of good/bad luck Jack and I found a new set of pans by the side of the road, along with our new best friend the SUN HORSE (a giant empty corn-oil tub that emitted beautiful noises when struck). It was good luck because all of our pans have had their handles broken off by drunkards long ago, and burn one’s fingers every time they’re put to use, AKA every mealtime. It was good luck because now we won't be charged for breaking our pans. It was bad luck because we could only enjoy them for a few days, but in those few days Jake (Roommate 2) burnt popcorn and sausage into them.  

Me leaving the country

 By the time I was done cleaning caked sausage fat off of a shot glass, I'm pretty sure the novelty had completely worn off - just in time for me to split the country.

"This kitchen is so filthy, I'm leaving the country."

“The surf’s not great today, that’s it, I’m leaving the country.”

"Adhit, your puns are so bad, I'm leaving the country."

So I did. 

Intro

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“I could use a freelance shaman such as yourself to guide me through the spirit realm when I get lost following blue-lantern-carrying gnomes.” These were the words Adhit played to initiate our relationship. When we first met we went skinny-dipping in the rain and ate bruschetta. When we last met we swam in the ocean and ate bruschetta.  

The last time we met was the last time we met. Driving on sunlit mountain roads we listened to Black Noise by Pantha Du Prince, and I was happy to think this insanely detailed sculpture of sound would become associated with such scenery – that and an earlier time, lying with towels over our heads, admiring the music’s visuals. It’s the kind of music that takes your layers of stress and woe and strips them away.

Arriving at Royal National Park we found no one to take our $12, and high-fived over the saved money for beer. The landscape made me feel as if I was in a dream, so now I can finally share a few pictures from my dreams.

Adhit has begun keeping a dream journal and talked about labyrinths, ice and water. I told him about a dream where he and I were swimming in a large clear pool at twilight. Before entering the water his towels were their usual blue, but afterward they had become inhabited by dolphins.

One of Adhit’s favorite albums is xx by The xx, he says it’s a perfect album and has a sexy and nocturnal atmosphere. The first time we hung out was the first time I heard The xx. The first time I visited him in Wollongong we listened to xx across starry skies and mountain Highways.

The first time I visited Adhit in Wollongong the stormy weather didn’t keep us from the ocean, although lifeguards and violent waves kicked us out of the water itself. This time, after a week and a morning of rain the sun broke through, just in time to make everything as clear and bright as I’ve ever seen. The waves at the beach were glass and broke perfectly. After the beach we had Swell coffee. Then we went to the beach. We almost went to the beach again after we went to the beach again, but then went to the Harbor.

In between making super-dad puns and reminiscing, Adhit and I spoke about how we had encapsulated a perfect relationship. When the end of a semester comes, everyone tends to feel nostalgic for a class, reflect positively on what was learned, and almost wish it wouldn’t end. Everyone signs up for classes knowing they’ll end, but people don’t tend to enter relationships that way. That’s the beauty of what Adhit and I shared, every time we met we made the most of it because we knew the day we would never see one another again was imminent.

In the evening Adhit’s mom made grilled eggplant with zaatar (that’s the name of the new kind of sauce) and we all shared beer. Although sleep would be ending at 7:30am, it did not begin until 2:30am. 

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As always, Adhit awoke me with perfect tea and breakfast. We listened to “Intro” by The xx as we hugged goodbye.

Café Jake

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There’s a line outside the door for Café Jake. Jake will come out, eyes blazing scarlet and say: “There’s a wait of five digoreedoos for the next table.”

At least that’s what Jack imagines when ze sees two people standing outside Jake’s room.

Nemesis Necklace

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I’m going to approach sleep deprivation and give it a "nemesis necklace," (a reference I got from Jack) because it’s my worst enemy. Whenever I get a migraine it’s after a poor night’s sleep. I’m hung over after shotty rest even if I haven’t had a thing to drink.

I slouched through the rain to get to the train and hung my tail between my legs for three hours and eight dollars to go surfing in Manly. Halfway through the two-hour bus ride of broken ipod, thoughts on the negative side of the coherence spectrum, and the positive side of the self-deprecation spectrum, I realized I could not see reality. This is because I have an extra-excitable visual cortex, and when a mysterious set of circumstances combine I get migraines.

My migraines have beautiful visuals. As my migraine expanded on the bus I took note of the colors and drew a picture of the vibrant vibrating blind spot. Migraines are painful and disorienting, but it’s boring to dwell on that alone. Now my migraines provide fodder for art instillation ideas.

Once I got to the beach I told the surf instructors that I couldn’t see properly and wouldn’t be able to surf. In the light grayness those friendly guys had piercing blue eyes. One jumped around saying: “Can you see me now?” We re-scheduled for the following Tuesday.

I promised myself I would get to sleep by midnight on Monday night. I keep getting caught in the undertow of time though, and in twenty minutes two hours will pass. As I made quesadillas with the rest of my capsicum, onion, beans, garlic, scallions, cheese, tortillas and salsa an audience from “Café Jake” filtered in with hungry scarlet eyes. Jack and I entertained them with our Dadaist commentary, and I fed them the rest of my groceries.

By the blazing sun of 8:00 am I was unsure of how I could transfer my surfing skills from the dreamtime to reality, but assumed coffee would help. On the amped bus I became consumed with joy and thought about how thankful I was for the heaps of offerings Australia had bestowed upon me. By the time I was practicing standing up on the board I realized that each time I stood I would come closer to passing out. I was a messy mixture of sleep-deprivation and dehydration and had to forsake my last surfing adventure. Once again I was a stinky dog, unwanted and vulgar, tail between my legs. Opportunity gone, day wasted.

By the time I was back on the endless hours of public transit I was less dizzy and tired of feeling wretched. I decided to stop feeling bad and wrote out ideas for several projects I’m working on. Sometimes I get so attached to perfection that I forget it’s subjective, and that I am always in control of how I react to things. I try so hard to be good, but there’s no good or bad. The truth isn’t a thing. In the evening Jack and I meditated.

Now I'm Just Posting My Diary

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Too much fun too late at night.

Monday 14/11/11

* Spent the day in the music lab working on the coolest and most creative DJ set, with the best transitions in the world.

* It's that poignant end-of-the-semester time, especially since I won’t see my excellent professors, tutors, and internship supervisors again. Chris Walker said it was nice to meet me and I thanked him for his help over the semester. We chatted about music-neuroscience, and I left feeling sad that I won't be living in the music lab for very much longer.

Hair show elevator

* Ran into my black metal friend Christian at the train station. We shared a joyful hug and made plans to break into the pool late at night sometime soon.

Jack is a prince.

* I spent the rest of the day at the salon with Gen, who brought my hair back to its natural silvery-white color. Once again there was the poignant almost-the-end feeling. Gen said she would have to find a new muse once I left. I was touched.

* In the evening I did a small catwalk and reaped the free snacks and liquor.

* Jack and I decided we needed more snacks and liquor and went to Woolworth's. We had a walking picnic with white wine and an apple.

  

Tuesday 15/11/11

* Spent the day in the music lab working on the coolest and most creative DJ set, with the best transitions in the world.

Wednesday 16/11/11

* Spent the day in the music lab working on the coolest and most creative DJ set, with the best transitions in the world.

* Jack came over and we did fun stuff until too late.

Thursday 17/11/11

* Woke up with dark beasts for eyes.

* Had some coffee.

* Spent the day fine tuning the coolest and most creative DJ set with the best transitions in the world.

* Turned in DJ set.

* Spent night studying for neuroscience final, when I got bored with that I made a cake.

This is Why I'm Rich

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Remember how I was going on about scraping it kind of thin on bus fare? There are several techniques I’ve worked out for getting reduced transit prices. It’s easy on the train, because you just tell the machine you are a student and you are going to Chatswood, even though you’re going to Newtown. Chatswood costs a dollar sixty to get to with the student discount, and Newtown costs $2.30, but there are no ticket gates at Newtown, so you only need the ticket to get through on the Macquarie side. Technically study abroad students aren’t allowed student discounts so if you’re not sneaky and dishonest like me you’ll be a chump and you’ll be paying $4.60 just to get to Newtown.

It’s trickier to get a student discount on the bus because it’s easy to spot a North American accent, and you have to show a real-life bus driver a student-concession card. My first technique to evade this was to fake an Australian accent. “G’day” I would say, and I would automatically get a discount – probably because I looked like a poor American trying to get concession by faking an Australian accent. I then upgraded to a three step system: 1) State Destination 2) Hand over exact discounted fare 3) Search in wallet for “concession card” and vaguely wave some other card as I walk away to find a seat.

The best way to get discounted bus fare is a recent discovery. 1) Wear a paper crown. 2) Carry a cupcake. 3) The bus driver thinks it’s your birthday and lets you on for free. With the money you save you can afford to make more cupcakes. 

Empty Train

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That’s ghostly, an “empty train” is supposed to arrive next. “Attention passengers on platform 16: the next train does not carry any passengers, it is an empty train.” You’ve got to respect emptiness.

Blue Whale

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 I have probably dreamt about swimming pools an average of three times a month for about the past four years. Usually when this happens now I think about what it would mean if I were dreaming, and sometimes realize I’m dreaming because of that. Part of my dream the other day was that I ran into my friend, Paige, who I had known all through elementary, middle and high school. At first I was running late for swimming lessons, and my dad was giving me a ride in a VW mini bus, where instead of a passenger seatbelt there was a shower that couldn’t be turned off. A team of buff girls in bright yellow swimmers populated one end of the pool, and a rag tag bunch of average people sat waiting for swim lessons on the other. I joined the latter group and Paige lovingly stroked my hair - quite the opposite of a headlock.

In fact the first memory I have of Paige is that she got me in a headlock in third grade and said she wouldn’t let me go until I told her she was my best friend. I think the last time we were in contact was when we graduated high school together. She invited me to her party, but I had gone on tour with my band the day after graduation. I was in a tent in Los Gatos CA when I realized I hadn’t responded to her invitation. I went up to her and said: “I know this is a dream, and the real you isn’t probably getting this message, but I wanted to say I’m sorry I can’t come to your party.” The day after my most recent pool dream Paige reached out to me for the first time in years, with a picture of cursive handwriting practice we had done on a play-date in fourth grade that said: “Emily May Wingren and Paige Ashley Nicole Herrera, best friends forever and ever.” I got a kick out of that and told her about the dream.

After I left the pool I ended up in a tide pool in the gathering darkness. A blue whale was gliding toward me, looking me straight in the eye. It asked if I wanted to ride on its back. As we sailed through the deep clear water darkness fell, and I realized the whale had begun to fly through a field of multi colored stars.

Junior Fauxdult

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Living the life of a fauxdult (faux adult) it makes sense that suddenly my only cup is a martini glass. It may have replaced human clavicles as the perfect thing to drink cocktails from; it has also claimed a role as the best vessel for watering plants. There’s something so satisfying about dumping water evenly into a potted plant from a martini glass.

It’s triumphant to have the power to make yourself a delicious meal when you have a cold. Halloween is so important to me that when I realized I had been struck with the cold spiraling in my vicinity, I stayed up nearly 24 hours two days in a row instead of resting. I awoke from the tail end of these adventures saturated with dreams of family and home, with a craving for green chile soup and cornbread.

In one dream I was grocery shopping and there were these raspberries that were as big as apples. Their colors were nearly seeping out of their skins for how ripe and juicy they appeared. I wanted to try one so badly but didn’t have enough money. A girl at the register was pulling out stacks of American hundred dollar bills and saying she didn’t have very much money left. I reflected on how much money remained to my name and figured it to be about $2.30 – just enough for train fare to the city. When I woke up I found out I was correct. Because I didn’t have bread I didn’t enjoy my usual breakfast of vegemite on toast. Instead I made delicious spicy lentil stew and felt proud of myself for being such an efficient fauxdult.

Kindred Art Kid

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It is convenient for two vegetarian ghosts to go out for dinner, except when the world of wait-staff cannot perceive their presence. One Saturn’s day I ordered a “Victoria Bitter” and discovered it was just my favorite cheap AU beer “VB.” At Kelley’s, a Newtown bar that consistently holds a place for me, I asked for the finest “Victoria Bitter” and was given blank stare in return. Finally the bartender said: “There are only four people in the world who know what VB stands for, and two of them are dead.”

Jack and I swapped jackets because ze was shivering, and I happened to be wearing my pea coat. At the next pub a guy with “New Zealand” shaved into the back of his head questioned: “Who are you ladies rooting for?” Being Australian by birth, Jack reckoned Melbourne would win. Naturally, I said I was going for NZ. I don’t know who eventually won, but it was a victory for me, having always hoped to find someone to be androgynously confusing with.

I wouldn’t mind being mistaken for a couple of hipster creatures eating spaghetti out of jars with chopsticks either. Uni life has left my kitchen forkless, and with few plates, but we always have jars. Even though I have posted an insistent set of kitchen rules, the only one anyone seems to be following is the addendum created by Jack and our good friend Clarance Clancy Jr. (CCJ): “Don’t forget to smile like a powerful whale.” I escape the gritty kitchen often these days, for friend adventures and modeling gigs, but mostly to go home to the music lab, which is where I truly live. I made a DJ set looping live soda-can opening and mbira, with video to match each track and transition. I also dropped many samples of the New Mexican folk storyteller Joe Hayes. Naturally I began with quotes from the drunk coyote hiding under the table: “Ah que carai, ahora se voy a cantar, now I’m really going to sing!” I myself am quite a Table Coyote. But who wants to sit under one’s own table when one can depend on a campus of climable sculptures to drink on? Plus, all the fatherly security guards see us and offer us packed lunches with sandwiches and juice boxes.

It is convenient for two uncanny kids to drink cocktails out of one another’s clavicles. Uni life has left the kitchen cupless, and when all the jars are in use the most elegant cups are those created by skeletal structure. Of course pre-drinks and facepaint on the Hump Day before Halloween led to the missing of yet another costume contest at The Ranch, but when one has a kindred art-kid to make faces with, that type of thing just doesn’t matter.

Human memory is a fundamentally creative act, each time we visit a memory we are making that memory again. Each blog post and picture from this era in my existence as Emily is being solidified into a golden-fun-feeling. Each message in my inbox is a small poem about how much fun life is. The fields of communication are littered with happy-faces.