Songs of October 2006 at Elementary Funk
Supanova
Preview night and the feeling that there is no chance for easy navigation of Sydney Olymic Park. Certainly not in the dark and when signs are not quite clear for the walk about. From Exhibition Hall to the seminar room, under a big tree, nondescript for the most part, the mulch covering nicely a wayward mandarin. It's the tree that throws in a round trail, passing people carrying away chairs to some other location.
Cosplayers out in force even this early into the weekend, and the Friday night is just starting. Slimey Things come and gone, no more than that. Sounds? What sounds? Not even in the anime pit, where even at night the fade of the drop screen intrudes the visual with sounds none too clear or loud.
Making a path through Tomb Raiders, a Leelo, the Tenth Doctor and a few other cosplayers, the line is long. Summer Glau commands a queue that takes an hour to journey from one end to the other. And at the other, only after an hour of wondering and watching the people make use of the windows as mirrors, the stooge at the line lays out the details an costs of the line.
Glossies picking up from $30 for a touch and come with a bit of that Summer Glau autograph glisten. Personal items fare no better, taking a hit the same from the base no matter what. Stare down against the volunteer and it's a case of trying to see which case rules the other. Walking off is not what he expects, thinking that any body waiting in line for an hour will most certainly pay the charge at the end if given no prior warning.
Wrong.
Tuesday, 31 October 2006
BTC 36: Blank faces, null traces and empty cases
Dead streets outside on the Sunday. Relaxing affair for the leaves blowing about the police forecourt. Little else beyond straining to keep the eyes open. And this is merely holding down the fort as the rest of the army are away attacking the atmosphere that is Supanova at Sydney Olympic Park.
Dehydration looks well beyond desperation of energy. The effects of time pass slowly in watching the clocks jump back and forth an hour. Daylight savings, curses on looking in the past, it's the future stills that arrests the body and leaves it staggering for a hit of slumber.
Sunday, 29 October 2006
BTC 35: The missing and forgotten
Oh the stories they will tell if given the opportunity to spin lies and fallacies into a web of entertainment. For entertainment's sake mind. After all, part of the joy in casting notions is the creation of their base ingredients and the spin they muster.
If the end result and journey toward is fraught with much pleasure for all concerned, then it's a net gain.
Only one soul bothers to question the weekend swap of personnel. Every one else walks in and walks out with nary a second thought about the masked man and pirate manning the decks. One aforementioned does bite and the reel is thrashing about wildly with misinformation. Elaborate in its simplicity the shock is enough to cover
But when nobody cares enough to even ask, is it as bad as being asked about without a name and merely by a general, "the other guy"?
Saturday, 28 October 2006
Hooters and Tomb Raiders
Strategically manoeuvring into the night lights of waiting lines, the service at Hooters proves slightly different to that of the first visit. Polar opposites for the table, end result looking to keep the civility in what can only look like the servicing of a tip.
Under six people and that's not a given. So the work is on to prove more than that's worth. Waiting an hour for the mains to come on the same pass as the hooterisers, not hot at all. And gnawing through ribs is as messy as eating with fingers will ever be. That's the expectation, as is the wailing of the people on chairs making their own entertainment.
Cosplayers from Supanova traipse for a quick eyeful through the place. Two Tomb Raiders throwing a stylistic challenge toward the skimpy outfit workers of the restaurant.
Carrots and celery, the joke is on. Then again, the stomach feels a bloat and they all call it quits on the other side. Half a shot on the burgers, it's not right to call that a meal for one when it's too much for two.
Saturday, 28 October 2006
BTC 34: Fresh brains for the independents
Cast into the lock and hold of rolling with the coins all alone, the opportunity to introduce new faces to the newness of the comic book world presents itself near close. From earlier in the day, returning to keep close to the shelves, the pair cast more than just a cursory glance at the Dark Knight and Gotham City's protector, Batman.
So many titles, so many reasons to choose one over the other. Each flavour making the point of showing a different aspect of the billionaire playboy vigilante. DC heads would fare little problem in figuring out which of the sticks stands better for the first timer.
Moving away from either stable over the years means a better feel on the independents, and those outside the super heroes.
Hesitation, however, opens an avenue and before it's done, the introduction to the dark section is on. Tim Burton, of all directors, proving the pivot point to flex and bounce the gaze toward the gothic section, hidden near the horror and masks.
And so with a little coaxing, and without the intervention of the spandex crew, another touches a bit of the indy side.
Friday, 27 October 2006
Thank God You're Here - Chew green
Hand bag in the mix from the audience, or from one of the players, not sure. They rifle through with much joy and zest however. Pertinent to the whole mood of the prep. Bit of edginess starts to peek from under the lapel of the Brit comic fly in and after that, they're all warm and fuzzy for the first.
Peter Rowsthorn, of the naturally big ears, is too comfortable handling the questions. Pressing the flesh against the press on a panel type inquisition, he is all over it with a pancake hand. Fat kids beware, for this pollie is looking to slice the rate of obesity woes with a mix of more capital punishment for the primary years of education. Sedate if anything.
Jimeoin, not of the big ears naturally, wears his pith helmet in such a manner that he catches a lot of the wind in his lobe sails. Popping up from beneath the set of an Egyptian tomb, he's caught off guard from the very first second. On and it's just a slide into working in a curse that robs people of the ability to think of a witty line at the right punch time. Smooth operator if not for the holes and gaps in the processing.
Mixing up the age, staggering in with a bottle in mind, Robyn Butler as a woman who never left the parent's home is logical, paced, and somewhat flat. Dealing out the desperation and distress in dainty amounts, the sudden jerk into loud can't lift the scenario high enough.
Word up on the sexual innuendo, down shift on the execution, Stephen K. Amos as an animator shilling for a snake snuff film. Losing the British in his voice for a stride, it's hard to fathom working any magic left from strangling the sides. Brutal is only there for the inflection, a cause overall of not much concern.
Cutting to Ten News with Sandra Sully and the finance report reads smarter than ever. Or at the least with the same level as the ordinary version, with whichever chump is holding long on the season of late night news reporting wit.
Lost as they ever are the all-in group challenge at the headquarters of a radical green group is yellow on the sides. Uncle Sam and the big koala taking a lot of the air with their presence. A lesser shine from the two decked in T-Shirts. Flattering for the plateau, Jimeoin taking the blue door.
Thursday, 26 October 2006
MOY 30: Chill out and freeze the locker
Temperate conditions outside see the people walking about stream up a sweat in their suits and slacks. Over the black roads and faceless buildings for the homeless, those wearing layers on layers start to feel something along their brows. Moisture for some, dreary expectations and the feat of defeat for others.
On the inside, where the cold is a condition of contracts, the climate falls prey to the tweakings of various fingers fighting for the right to rule the thermostat. Rule they must, for it is a declaration of war on anything that may seem uncomfortable and loose from the practice of zen.
Along the city's streets it's warm and rising. Not wanting to face the degrees, the carpets and desks of the floor flip it over and unleash a deluge toward the single digits.
Too far down they go though, as the lips on the people quiver with constant remarks about how cold it is on the inside and questioning the whereabouts of a few degrees, not seen in a second with the drop to cold and dive to freeze.
Wednesday, 25 October 2006
Kings char grill the Razorbacks
Long time coming back at the Kingdome with missing out on the first home game of the season over a month ago.
New outfits for the cheerleaders, new "other" mascot of a lioness prowling the stands and a newish mane on the Lion. Even new is the logo for the Sydney Kings and a new sponsor behind them. All new with the new names on the players on the Kings squad changing by any other fraction to make quick spotting the work of those with better score sheets.
Loose on the out, the floor squeaks less with the soundtrack and more on the shoes. Razorbacks are not much of a threat against the Kings. They play well for a team trying to keep up. Showy dunks from the Kings slam up the visitors and keep them on the chase all night long after leading the opening.
Half-time entertainment from 7 Flavours has time to wait around. No need for quick change with the spectacles trying to hold up their own. Player, player, player, move with the flavour.
No sign of a fight at all from West Sydney, thrilling in the thrashing and the mighty walk across hot coals is all over beach pebbles. Kings beating the Razorbacks 142 to 99. Thrashing too harsh a word.
Monday, 23 October 2006
BTC 33: Double dare on the spare
Three on the four with the extra hanging to divide a family that the man with white hair is unable to comprehend. How many years on the back of the counter then? Ticket master by banner only, nowhere near in name or profession.
Pocket of three in the hang, the cautious game of prod and run sets to sting the reaction. One looks wary, shaking the head and the one under the light knows not of where the lead is going. Fortunately, despite the full court press, it's still three on four.
A backfire is very much a cause for concern. Limit the call, play it big and walk so close to the line that it seems like slipping in the range.
No cards, no chips, no felt on the table. This is a game of social invitation.
Saturday, 21 October 2006
Onyx Spirit
Clark Kent returns with the rest of Smallville and there is not a sign of Veronica Mars with her Neptune crowd on the line for it. A casual glance sees nothing too far advanced into the future to declare this appearance of one to be the cause for mutual exclusivity in appearance against the other.
Hope is a glimmer of green rock and with the magnifying glass under the hot scope, things don't look too clear for a long running duel side-by-side.
Possessions and body splicing, two similar concepts back-to-back and the mirror crashes on the floor. Soap likes that. Likes it a lot.
As if the personal demons aren't enough to deal with internally, there's facing them in the feast of flesh and bones that brings in another aspect of personality altogether. Switch sides, spin the tide of emotion and empathy and watch out where the water stops.
Saturday, 21 October 2006
BTC 32: Taking the stairs and making the jump
There's a skittle in the right hand of a clown walking down George Street. Two on the ledge watch another pair attempt to clear the first set of steps at the library walk up. There's discussion between trying to figure out the mechanics of the jump, and what exactly is happening.
Tentative with all fingertips on toes, the two school boys keep taking a shot at the lip. Both for reasons strange and unseen lead in with open hands, ready to clip the tip into somersaults over dozen or so steps. One makes the jump on his fifth attempt. The other is far more timid and takes a round about run on the attack.
Pulling his pants up daintily like a dress, or for the fear of ripping legs sticking in the heat, there are a few times when his feet are lazy enough to send him toppling over the stonework. Legs better than that keep his head up high and skin free from shedding into scratches of blood.
Psyche out is the hold back and there's no hope facing down fear if fear is tying both shoe laces together. Now, jump without the run off and it's a clearer stride. Make it look more fearsome than it is and that holds things back. Busts knees either way if the roll down mid air takes time to float.
Friday, 20 October 2006
Thank God You're Here - Gathering hairs
Set up for nationalities is enough for a paltry joke, and it's one that doesn't really eventuate. Thankfully. Three of the four guests plug their wares, DVD for two and one on the radio. Two freak on with what could possibly pass for LEGO style hair cuts, skull fitting and round.
Forty-two seconds is all it takes for the first guest player to dress up, rushing at the collar before the first door.
Tahir Biljic as a thoughtless husband is away outright from hostility and favours choice sly lines. Gathering steam, the roll into the segment is promising save for the lower end as it drops a beat and loses focus. Still, even with that infraction, it starts the night off well and in a tone of up.
Flashman is Tony Martin, a caped crusader who looks quite the pensioner he battles as his archenemy. Stings on the jab at John Howard, a pin hole assassin's shot with the acuity of a sense of humour. Throwing him out, the side cast actually includes one Mrs Jenkins, his sidekick and though there may be no hope of a flourishing superhero career, it's hilarious watching it burn.
Cooking with table not sea salts, the four are hitting the kitchen skills with Ann-Maree Biggar on 9am with David and Kim. Defence is up and the guards are working a bit with Arj Barker sniffing silly on the white powder. Food? Cooks? No plates are seen and it's a hungry lunch for those bating with utensils.
Cal Wilson frocks up for an appearance on the Miss Universe competition as Miss Caicos. An accent pops out of nowhere and carries a lot of the game. Alan Fletcher, Kimberly Davies and Matt Welsh pop on as the beauty pageant judges. Infectious with a smile that appears at once delirious and malicious, the Wilson act is bubbly sharp.
Laid back to the point of stoner acid jeans, Arj Barker in a share house works the Californian in him to deliver lines with a calm seemingly second nature. Stylistically, it's a guarded shot without any real ill will, keeping the spirit clean for the most part. For the most part that is.
On the set of a sequel to a particular picnic at Hanging Rock, it's a Wilson and Barker show. Their misdirection and digressions overshadowing the rest of the cast to the point of painting new legs on a white horse.
A reunion special brings the four, on a show that dregs the past for the good of killing time. Evasive and extremely wary, the play up in this fact and walk about with crushed eggs underfoot. The wind is gone for the most part when they break into the fictional theme song, a wincing send off that delivers the curiousness all the way to the end.
Wilson's manic and maniacal turn as a throat gunning Miss Universe contestant sashays her way across to pick up the prize door.
Thursday, 19 October 2006
Absolute Sandman
Three others wait by the wings for the doors of Books Kinokuniya to open. Off in look, they split and into other sections of the store when the glass finally parts on the morning.
Earlier, in the day's night previous, the help desk mentions again that the start of the week is merely the guide and not a concrete indicator on when things will drop. After all, they're not a comic shop and as such, street dates are a guess with the best of them.
Fifty slabs on the side, riding the left of the graphic novels and comic section. The Absolute Sandman Volume 1. An oversized hardcover of glorious proportions and craft. Lush is another adjective that floats about this tome.
Freshly laid, the selection process is quick. First one off has a kick in the shin, crumpled by the wear of travelling in freight and shipping. Another looks set to fray, gaping at an edge. Next, the third and last for there is only so much time before void is the day, and it's one back and forth before at the register.
First ten are beat, and being the very first, a tenth anniversary statue is in the pocket for the casual beaver stake out ahead of the midmorning rush.
Lugging around the two makes the day of walking that much harder. Immense is the weight on one hand, cumbersome the other. Low and close to the ground, the scraping bottom nearly touches and it's a trick and tip of the mind to carry the weight all the way, all day before exhaustion takes over and leaves a surveying beam.
Now comes to wonder if there should be another, as a reading copy.
Wednesday, 18 October 2006
TNC 3: Tamana's North Indian Diner
Mexicans on a siesta, Vietnamese out cold, the option between lies in India. Sign on the counter is out of the way and watching others order is all that it takes to jump into the line.
For a regular plate, mango chicken, butter chicken and aloo matter mushrooms over a ladle and a half of white rice. The woman reassures that there will be sauce despite polite requests to cut down and have just the meat of the matter.
There is still bite to the chunks of chicken, shy of being utterly tender and depleted of coherence. Sauce isn't a problem, fear of flooding not even coming into the frame.
For mild, it lingers on being rather staid, still knows how to work a sweat. This more of personal conditioning than spices in the food.
Wednesday, 18 October 2006
Blue Eyes and Heels - Darlinghurst Theatre
Back to the black streets of walking through Kings Cross to reach Potts Point and it's a case of finding a tide of time waiting for that bell to signal the walk into the theatre. There are no bins out on Greenknowe Avenue, and no reason clear as to why outside it not being much of a commercial walk.
Wrestling is front and centre with a ring set up as the focus of the stage floor. An aging wrestler, an eager associate producer and the assistant. Small with a pace for brevity and clarity.
Playwright Toby Whithouse, who wrote the reunion episode of Doctor Who, clearly writes out his thoughts with the characters all fighting for their aspects and visions on good taste. Whatever that happens to be. And from the looks of things, that doesn't have to always lie in a mutually exclusive relationship with what's popular.
For a ratings game between the old and the new, where the new are all into their trash TV, it's a question of integrity that lies at this heart.
Sleaze and the smarmy attitude of the young upstart Duncan is the kind that makes wringing necks all the fashion. It's a grating experience to watch him in action, the conniving little grease. Emma, working the ring like a set up for a slam, is at times distracting with her inability to really know if she's setting up the padding correctly or not. Victor rounds it out as being the most pitiful, bringing with him a core not seen as much in the others.
Feels like a hanging rock waiting for that chair to crack across the back. Wrestling may be the combination of drama, athleticism and violence, but this play feels like it's missing something known as excitement beyond the intellect.
Wednesday, 18 October 2006
MOY 29: Accusations on a bead of strangulations
Take to task the task of taking the task to turn, turn, turn. Every single reason for a burn on the aspect that is trust. So very shady in the static cling of pausing to read. Wheels of the mind rise up on the suspicions before actions.
Watch the words and spy upon the actions, it's like a police state wherein the state only folds out as far as the breadth and length of the kidney barring sections of the floor. Easy to sling, far more difficult to contain the fire.
Call a stance and there'd better be a stand to deliver it full force. With the conviction of neither one being in the wrong it's all a case of both not really reading the other right.
And yet, like every other situation, there's always one inherently coal-faced from the event, but unable and unwilling to even reach up to wipe away the soot.
Tuesday, 17 October 2006
Hyde Park Barracks Museum
Possible solutions can present themselves walking around on the first two floors. Turn a corner to face a phantom stair case and that's it, the chase falls into the void and into history the gravel will roll. So it is that renders the second guessing of time, the passing glance and a future walk.
Shuffling boots on loose gravel stirs up the kinds of things that makes the eyes wince when standing down wind. And those black cats that seem to occupy what are now two of the museums of the Heritage Houses Trust do really mind.
Quick flash of the Tickets Through Time and it's a swing into the Hyde Park Barracks Museum. Of the convicts, by the convicts, for the convicts. At least initially, and then the decades churn out differing uses and occupations of the landmark building and grounds.
Carving out the old and walking over the new, the interjection with intersections leaves an hour dead and on the floor, undone by the sheer mass of text combing with back stories, asides and timelines.
Across the spectrum, the artifacts range from cold to even colder. Standing over the air vents cools the arms, freezing them to the reset point. Feet above on the second and third floors tip in some more of that dust. Looking up isn't the best idea.
At the counter they suggest an hour for the entire walk and survey of the rooms and holds of the Barracks. This doesn't, perhaps with all time, count the copious slabs and slabs of text choking out the second floor. Over two and a half hours later, not everything manages to find a way in.
Monday, 16 October 2006
Beerfest
Poms in for the Aussie contingent and it's a slew of beer drinking games in Beerfest. Decaying cinema walls still finds the two girls who sit a glare with their mobiles. Looking for attention and not wanting a wolf whistle seconds into their ears. Deafening, it's switching one annoyance for another.
Right into the first and the beer drinking games start with Quarters to unleash a loose but free flowing script. Over the course of a few kegs, picking up the set up is watching on as game after game hits the screen. Each one more intriguing than the last.
Jokes are plentiful and low brow in most cases. Not for everyone if crudity is an offense to their sense of humour and how they receive the punch lines. Few of the gags are bland enough to waltz through, the majority of them cutting sharp with the blunt edge.
Brain dead comedy, and without a hint of caring to take it any higher. Not that taking it higher actually makes it better for the environment.
Sunday, 15 October 2006
BTC 31: Drop it like it's hot
Thermometers on the outside surrender and blow their loads across the board. Stiffing a hand to humidity, clouds of cold circulate the carpeted interior. Holding off against the lack of an air curtain, the kind that makes everybody feeling like walking into a diving cloud, it's a swing of a bolt and the door is shut.
Clasping at the air within, the world out there figures a passing glance that can easily see to swing another time against open. Walk on by with no peep inside.
Hence a sign to sit on the front door.
On the size of a current age backing board, it's quick to draw attention from the art supply store below. Ducking in to shoot down the sign an hour after propping up, he leaves without saying anything else. And nothing else.
Sunday, 15 October 2006
Susannah Place Museum
Not once enough for the walk along with a Ticket Through Time, a return alone to Susannah Place Museum starts off with a sense of resetting the clock.
Previously, one week ago, with but an hour to spare and peruse the four terraces of dank and rank mould and whatnot, the comparison over that with an extra half hour is barely considerable. Even longer perhaps.
Sifting through the chipping sands of time to capture and soak once again in the glory days of a decrepit and crumbling living museum, there's a twist of balance which occupies the mind.
Catching the step over doors between that late afternoon trickle and well away from school kids otherwise in classrooms spins some more alone time. With not another soul in the day, its losing the time keeping an eye out for dust and creaking floorboards whispering the threat of falling out from under.
Four of the terraces in within the hour, and tiptoeing around a comatose cat asleep in the third, the flashy skin of tourist shorts, local and international, begins on walking out.
On the perimeter, taking shots back in over the yard, a white haired residential passer-by is unsuspecting in trying to perform the impromptu duties of a custodian.
Turn around and it's all gone.
Friday, 13 October 2006
MOY 28: Hanging on a soap box
Pool of pink liquid soap, the kind like spit and saliva come together after a hefty dose of fairy floss, is apparently no longer a problem smearing the counter of the toilet sink.
At least in the men's toilets. A corruption of plumbing in there the necessary impetus to surveying the set up in the women's on a visit.
Squeezing a dispensing colon and watching a dollop of soap hit the counter after a sample is no more. A clear box suckered onto the mirrors and only the slightest depression on the button yielding its soapy goods.
Unfortunately, it's the same type of soap. The kind with a lethargic thickness to it that requires a creative application of air into and between the hands during the lathering process.
Friday, 13 October 2006
Thank God You're Here - Sister2Sister
Pop a lock and the right shoulder swings into the back with a strain feeling the pull of movement. Rotation rips a fibre or two and it's just that time of the twisting month. Careless in the dislodging, no gain from this pain.
Without a doubt the best to ever appear on Thank God You're Here is Josh Lawson. Overlord of the scenes and situation, the man knows how to shiver the spines of the ever talented support cast. Again they find themselves trying to think double speed in order to catch onto his wind. As a fire Marshall who loves karaoke and with a huge ego Lawson burns down the house scorching from the get go.
Dancing the floorboards, but actually in the trenches of war, Alan Brough touches on the "don't ask, don't tell" aspect of the military. No, he doesn't touch, he rams it right in their pie holes. Slightly off course, the men in the bunker are put into stun with the answers he comes back with. A sharp take.
Taxi driver interrogation for the four keeps cranking out with the funny. Laid back they may appear to be, the whole process of lying in the face of the situation is not without the genius of a poker face.
First timer Andrew G hits the locker room trying to fend off the parents of his loser team. Fair fare from the man with all that hair. Coping well under pressure, G keeps on the right side of the game, not letting too much fly by for the others to have to fill in.
Nervous is all over the face of Jo Stanley. Another debut, she kicks off the robe into the bedroom and quivers to the show. With liberal attitude in parenting, Stanley keeps on delivering the lines even into the dark. Awkwardness stems from the shoving of the kids into the bedroom. Standing there, without a response in their eyes, wanting out more than the kid in the locker from the previous set up.
Jessica Skarratt helps out again with a Totally Wild segment. Quizzing the quad on the zoo, their lack of knowledge isn't really a hindrance as their enthusiasm makes up for it in dollops.
Swinging the habits out with much to show of their legs, the night ends on a high. Admittedly, it starts with a fart joke from Brough and swills about with pop songs in the mix. Yet it's one that continues to carry on the waves set up earlier in the night. Hard to do, and yet it comes off as a strong session. Lawson without a doubt the winner of the door prize.
Thursday, 12 October 2006
Sea of dry sauce in a Hooters booth
Taking an initially east bound route to Parramatta is still early enough as the shaky wagon carrying the bulk of the Comic Shop makes it into the car park of Hooters ahead of the other.
On the table, the plan of attack for the weekend of Supanova later in the month. Where chaos will surely fall with varying degrees of results. Pages and papers and it's all going the way of figuring out the mess from the action.
Luisa, the waitress/hostess, is barely audible over the din against no one else at the restaurant. Dead quiet over the loud TV sets, and before the rush as the sun works its way down for another day.
Sticky remnants of mustard, barbeque and tomato sauce all over the tables and menus leaves the lean of elbows in a dangerous angle of any fashion.
Buffalo platter of the Hooterstisers is quick and leafy on leafy with the crumbed chicken and prawns going quick to fill out the stomachs for the night. Two drops of the dipping sauce, however, manage to join the front of the outfit with a mysterious blood stain from last year. Mild is really mild, even non-existent, so it was all on sucking down a lemon for a hint of that lip curl kick.
Steak, medium-rare with the little stick, chews on the side of medium-well. Ribs, perhaps, the better choice with the sauce that registers hardly anything in the thick of the meat. Better on a bone says the ribs man. Least with no bones, and a moderately sizeable chunk, the stomach isn't going to face the night alone with the filling hooterstisers.
An afterthought is what transpires for the slide of the dessert onto the tongues. Quick glance shows up a kiddie's dessert as a slight tightness stares back. Mini ice cream sundae reading with about the same dress as the Huge Hooters hot fudge sundae.
Running over the half before hitting the table, the dollops and scoops are melting like the invisible sweat off the brow. More soup than ice cream, the slurps are loud for effect and it's just like a chocolate milkshake, only with nuts.
Walking away, from the buxom buffet, nothing holds down the ribs or gut to cripple the walk. Two shots to the midsection the only lasting marks.
Monday, 9 October 2006
Buckshot and the sharp of turned pages
Heavy is reordering the mind in the pursuit of diving into prose. Any time away is long enough and the crank of imagination works hard to hold up the visuals unseen but for the scape in the mind's eye. Shoot that clause right there, it's a hack to the back of the ankles, looking for that relief in letting out the red.
Ultimate Spider-Man #94
Sparkling moves, quick change up on the action and it's a rollicking swing of blasts and metallic limbs flying off the torso. TV gets its own and the whole world is a mess of revolting developments. Hate is a state and slaughter for fun stinks as bad as a pot of herbal medicine gone on for a few days in. Action rushes forth and pushes it all to an end that leaves a question mark dangling over head. Long time since that.
Shaolin Cowboy #5
Expansive is the scope of dust which flies up on a donkey's kick. Wherein the land lays out and stretches the pages beyond what looks like it is capable of. Endless feeling of desolation and flailing around, clinging on the words just waiting to see what path they take. Eyes dart back and forth trying to take it all in, and it's never quite sure of the fact. Never sure of anything like that in the least.
Kabuki #6
Swim in the idea space and it's clear that there are so many ways to think. And to think about thinking. Not only that, there are ways to envelope the mind with ideas and notions in what represents itself as reality, fantasy and the fine line of perceptional breaks. Pause for a second and watch the universe expand and contract before it kneels down to stand.
Sunday, 8 October 2006
Doomsday
Oh and they do make a glorious pair don't they, The Doctor and Rose? Planets, universes, aliens and all sorts of fantastic voyages through space and time, together by each other's side.
Alas, even great partnerships find a conclusion.
On the white walls of Torchwood, it's clear from the overhanging flash and call forwards of previous outings and adventures that this end marks the end of her time too as a travelling companion.
Brightness is casting an ear on the battle between Daleks and Cybermen. Both sides shouting our their catchphrases as the smoke of metal burns a few hairs in the nose. Contrast this to the tickles with that charm of David Tennant and it's a solid range overriding an underlying fear of the unknown.
Metal on metal as it may aesthetically be on the rim, the heart of the matter wrings out a tear-drop of emotion. Separation never looks more painful than the slow fade away without a last chance to say goodbye.
Sunday, 8 October 2006
BTC 30: Challenge the scoreboard to topple EKO
Lull and quiet continues to favour the joystick gyrations of 48 classic games on the one arcade machine. Variations are on three basics with the classics like a single shot at the modern day polygons.
Angry gorilla throwing down the barrels to an ever climbing plumber. The maze like grid with pellets and such to be gathered or eaten. The running around in dirt or a mansion trying to gather fruits and squash enemies.
And so it turns back and forth to Mr Do's Castle. A sequel on the original exclamation and far better a follow-up than another one involving diggers, monsters and a pump.
Hot and in the crazy mind fields of snapping and slapping the joystick and button, the climb straight up to number one is an affront to the others around. They may pose their challenges, wage battle on the points, but in the end, come away just shy of the overall win.
Current play card reads something close and on the nose to four against one. Five in total, hazy in details, glorious nonetheless in holding the crown.
Saturday, 7 October 2006
Sketchy homes with sketchy hours
Double down on double passes; preview weekend on one and an inseason on the other. Sketches of Frank Gehry, unravelling for a reveal on the process of Gehry's process of scribbles into stark designs for buildings and projects.
With intent to soak, now undone by a slight clash to crash hours in the weekend day. A comparision of the slight difference in copy on the back leaving its mark to save both into the archives where use is nothing but an unspeakable action.
On the edge of this, the fried folks of Home Sydney break out a winners list forgetting the concealer. Spilling all over with the addresses, the exact lead-in details of the competition "one" by those listed appears to be the only thing not making an appearance.
Saturday, 7 October 2006
BTC 29: Fortified face off against the four
Dropping in with a hefty look of Bertrand Russell on the spine, Napolitanke nougat with bits of Croatian script with the glossy fine print. Light and wavy from the drop touch, it's a deceptive looking package of anything resembling a comforting prospect.
Challenges, however, especially of self-imposition, rarely walk away easy and on solid ground. No others to face off in the munch-off, as they already look of taking ill with their fill.
It's a solo effort ready for watching against the time display on the transceiver. Time trails are the best.
Foil packaging is only for show. Each dryer and staler than the last, the biscuits and their chocolate innards break up on impact with air. Minute crumbs fly all over the place with each movement of the jaw. Dusty is the scene not long after breaking into the first.
On the third pair, bearer of the blue asks about the expiration date. One well four months back in the year. No problem, such details matter not in terms of chocolate. (Here's hoping at least with a frog from Haighs sitting on a year and a kilo block.)
After two minutes it's down for fourteen from twenty wafers when the game is done. Post-match proceedings call upon a mushy and sickly looking frozen banana to wash away the dry with a slimey feel.
No swinging effects on the inside after thirty minutes indicate all is well. Another battle won.
Saturday, 7 October 2006
Gnawing away at the liver
Spewing forth after the wet step from another part of the carpeted area, the intensity of the situation for the Stargate crew starts to really bend tense after scanning plans and blueprints.
For in Ethon, the mess grows and grows with each side of the battle unwilling to back down. German looking quiver lip is much cause for concern, his eyes from the onset belie any other sort of communication, that of non-verbal and otherwise with the hyper-erratic flickering of malice.
Now with the series facing the Ori as the big bad, there was only one really big show for the splash to clear out the meaning behind the severity of this new situation. Glorious in defeat, magnificent in memory, the farewell in question is a sore twisting point. Such a waste, but then in war there are no free saves.
Choosing to forgo the early night is rewarded with witnessing a major blow to the SG fleet. Unbelievable.
Friday, 6 October 2006
MOY 27: Enveloping sounds of cold water
Locked in battle with the head gone baking inside the clouds with other commuters, the ring of pain holding onto a neck leaves but at least a bottle within the grip. Thankfully up and above ground level, ready to make service where its previous brethren have disappeared after lingering overnight.
Touching on the base, with levels that deplete as the warm wears in, the water cooler turns out a trick for the overlapping sounds inside. Against the empty and the black, the quiet grumbles mumble loudly and twist about with certain disregard to the other organs.
Over and following a single slice of chicken made into luncheon meat for too white a sandwich, it calms and upsets at the same time. Chills, thrills and no signs of pills.
Placidly enough, it's about the only real feelings close to even remote tinges of oddness for the entire month long period. One that seems to sustain an air of paranoia, derailment and erratic logic over the course of deprivation.
Thursday, 5 October 2006
Thank God You're Here - Sunday scoreboard
Sun on the late afternoon low balls a pocket to the title screen, where it's been a long while since. Tom Gleisner confronts the issue of having the hot looking set on either side of his judging table. Promises of hideous freaks for next week most likely only a joke where there may or may not be listeners breaking at the chance to score a fright.
Feeling for The Other Side, Akmal Saleh slips on the guru silks and barely talks in the way of communication. Hammering the piece are the cast players, offering too much for Saleh to not actually bounce back off. Senses are waning and it starts early with a touch of running into a doze.
Lab coats standing around big prop drug bottles offer Hamish Blake the chance to let rip. It's a slogan or two here and there and the test is wearing the skin a little thin. Marketing is key in such a presentation, but knowing not of how far things can go limits the chances of broken ribs.
Anthony Field sashays in as a martial arts sensei where there is no cause for respect. Much like a man with no tongue, Field is lost within the dojo slack jawed at the explanations. Either or for the night, Field works in The Wiggles with a skivvy and those fingers. Cheap and easy laughs, and it's clear away time at the table.
There's no play with Kate Jenkinson standing well outside the time period as befits the clothes and huge hoop gown. Time jamming goes awry but fights a mighty flash of the woman's knee to shatter the sensibilities of the time period. Whichever one that happens to be.
Between the stages, the four tackle a lighthouse tour and commentating the diving. Former funnier than the latter, there's a cause for concern as the interactions turn perfunctory and disinterested. "Listen with your eyes," says Fields as both his parting advice for diving and then later in the night in front of the costumed black belts.
For the all-in, it's Blake who takes charge and runs the field ascreamin' and ashoutin' from the swivel of his chair alongside The Blue One. Saleh sneaks a quip on the behaviour of a rugby player but then that's about it. Flat and fetching stale air, there's not much to watch outside the stacks-on as played out by the donuts left on the studio desk with Blake behind the rings. For what it's worth, the Wiggle takes the crown.
Thursday, 5 October 2006
MOY 26: Shrinking down the curvaceous blonde
Three quarters on the pants and the height takes a dive. Smoky mirrors play no part, raw red eyeballs even less so.
For the angles of perception, glancing at the stock starts a short shock. Ever by the increasing hours of the day, a lessening of the top plane. From the riffs to the hooks, its growth is measured by the end of the locks. Where the flowering reality is that it suffers not to tower but to cower in the wake of a shadow.
Back and forth across the floor, as though the burn in the carpet creates a ditch and groove to feature ankles at the level of other people's feet.
Thursday, 5 October 2006
Cropping comics off the top of dead soil
Steinbeck writes a novel thick and heavy on the mind. It's back a chapter to stand ahead with the perception of time passing faster and slower at the same time. Makes no difference in the scheme of things, it's all about the mind and keeping atop the game. For in the dark there is nothing worse than falling over a year.
Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man #8
Takes a turn for the "What If..." as Uncle Ben is the one that survives that fatal period in the young burgeoning career of Spider-Man. Nowhere does he utter the oft-wrought line about power and responsibility as his tub hangs a little on the overflow. Petulant little brat this Peter is, from the way things are going. Finding out where the mystery of reality ends into the harsh face of speculative probability is a tough and intriguing hammer on the nose. Smells like the door needs to be closed.
Futurama #24
Cracking out the wise, is there anything else the Planet Express crew does do beyond that? Not that that is a bad thing, but it could be an overhanging thing. Over into each other, it's a jump into Arthurian times that isn't entirely. Zingers fly out mad in the end pages, all over with the computers and slight tweaks on the centuries old legend.
Archie and Friends #100
Infuriation is reading this fold over tale where The Veronicas and The Archies are in a battle of the bands only they find themselves both out of the race when a greasy goatee pops up out of nowhere. Three stories and none of them really feel full to the point of a run into a smooth pace. Best thing about it is that they do finish in a few pages, cutting the wait time for the next issue to zero by the close of the back cover.
Wednesday, 4 October 2006
Army of Ghosts
The Torchwood Institute makes its grand appearance as a unit whole when The Doctor and Rose come back for a visit. Applause on his arrival looking rather comedic for a grand scheming organisation intent in appropriating alien technology for its own devices. Much like the Men In Black with J, K and Z.
Those 3D glasses that just pop up on the face of Tennant really makes for the comfort highlight of an otherwise strangely off affair. Where the push askew comes from the entirety of the hidden and that which lies ahead with no telling of its true origins.
Then again, it is the unexplained and the unknown that drives curiosity to endless limits of exploration. It's also the kind of thing to neck a fate for those following the trail into the black of white. Worlds collide and there is nothing that is safe to hold.
Sunday, 1 October 2006
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