House-hunting
Aaron and I have been doing so for the last two months now (almost negligibly so in the first two weeks, a little less slackened in the second two, and now like hounds on the trail for blood). We have to vacate our property by the 25th of June, as per the landlord's demand, and so far it's been rejections and we'll let you know when we know's and out-of-character 9pm sleeps, each time hoping that tomorrow might be 'the day'.
I'll keep you posted.
I'll keep you posted.
In absentia
Hello. I know I've not posted for a really long time. I'm working on a rehash to the blog so bear with me as I do.
In the meantime, some news:
- Independent Melbourne bookshop Readings has opened up an online shop, and for just $9.95 you can purchase the 2010 edition of Award Winning Australian Writing as an ebook from the site. Of course, print versions of the book are still available in selected bookshops for $29.95 and can also be ordered via the Melbourne Books website.
- Apple Cart, a zine which features one of my poems, was launched some weeks ago. Check out its site for ordering and other details.
- I'm writing the EdCommitorial for Pulp, the upcoming issue of Voiceworks. Updates to be posted soon.
Paper marks
Paper is dangerous because it leads to all sorts of permanent marks. Whether in pen or pencil or watercolour or ink, any marks one makes are forever embedded in the sheet, seeping through, tainting, staining the fibres that would once have been the alveoli of a sequoia or a narra or blue gum.
Derrida liked to talk of things he called ‘traces’, and I think these, in their simplest form, can be understood through the use of paper. Paper has limitless potential, and what it is yet to contain is ‘always already there’ — ghosts of the written word once there, ostensibly removed, but never truly annihilated. Nihil: ‘nothing’. A blank sheet of paper is never nothing. Each page is a testament to centuries and centuries of creation and destruction, to scientism and oppression and exclusive trade routes. Each page is laden with meaning before it’s even written on.
Derrida liked to talk of things he called ‘traces’, and I think these, in their simplest form, can be understood through the use of paper. Paper has limitless potential, and what it is yet to contain is ‘always already there’ — ghosts of the written word once there, ostensibly removed, but never truly annihilated. Nihil: ‘nothing’. A blank sheet of paper is never nothing. Each page is a testament to centuries and centuries of creation and destruction, to scientism and oppression and exclusive trade routes. Each page is laden with meaning before it’s even written on.
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