dee - viscerate.com

GIRL
Diana Evans
called Dee
since May 25th, 1980
terrorising inner-city Melbourne
consuming flat whites
producing words, hers and other people's
contact dee [at] viscerate [dot] com

SITE
viscerate.com
consisting of personal reflections
photography by Amy Q
archives here

Friday, May 18, 2001

Oh my god, I rock. I now have a shirt that has "Spank me" written across the front in big pink letters. I am the coolest person on earth.

Or maybe, just maybe, the wonderful people who bought it for me and with whom I live are the most wonderful people on earth. THey have made this the best birthday party I have ever had. I love them. Each and every one.

But especially Jen. Go Je. You rock so hard it defies the english language to capture.

11:17 PM - link to this - (0) comments

Gj is back! There was huge secrecy surrounding a proposed trip out to Woden shopping this afternoon, and after much sneaking around and furtive looks, I concluded it must be because Gj would be taking us. I was proved right, and felt suitably smug. For about five seconds, at which point I gave it up and just stuck with feeling happy because our favourite ditz is back with us.

On that note: Hi Jeremy! Thanks for keeping an eye on her while she was over there. But what on earth did you do to her hair? It's DARK! And what happened to her accent?? She keeps twanging her Rs. It's perfect until she says something like "work" or "third" or something like that, and then it's North American all the way. We teased her all afternoon. Naturally.

But it's still very good to have her back.

7:45 PM - link to this - (0) comments

Good news? Probably won't be goodbye viscerate.com come late June. I found nifty services at RedRival that will allow me to have a domain off my account there. And it has web-based uploading (in fact, that's pretty much all it has). It's cheap too (as you'd expect). It's be even cheaper if the Aussie dollar ever climbs out of this horrible rut. I'll be hoping for it, let me tell you.

Yay me.

8:08 AM - link to this - (0) comments

I am currently engaged in a project I perform every few months. Listening to my entire CD collection in alphabetical order. Amazingly, it takes less time than I think it should. Witness: I am already up to D.

Why do I do this? Just because. Because once in a while I need to listen to the CDs I wouldn't otherwise ever get around to listening to because either they don't mesh with anything else to create a harmonious three-CD listening collection, or simply that I never feel like listening to them because I bought them back in the mid-90s sometime and my taste has ricocheted off in different directions since then.

Like Meredith Brooks. Like the Cranberries. Like Roxette too. And it's interesting having the segue from, say, Deadstar to Dope.

7:22 AM - link to this - (0) comments

Thursday, May 17, 2001

I'm swearing a lot recently. I think the stress is getting to me.

8:44 PM - link to this - (0) comments

FUUUUUUUUCK!!!

No more SOCKS server for me. Ever. Well, technically, its viability is 'under review' and anyone who lives in a society with bureaucracy knows what that means.

I'm in such a goddamn bad mood. You know what this means? No more domain for me. viscerate.com will be going bye-bye when my current lease runs out because there's simply no point in keeping it. Why? Because I can't FTP until they get the SOCKS server back up. And I've already covered how likely that is.

Fuck. Back to free servers. What's more, back to free servers with online file uploading. You know how many of those there are? Bugger all, my dears.

And to top it all off, I get up here to find some new fan fic waiting for me, but it's fucking awful shit. And what's more, it's fucking awful shit about my dearest darlingest Scott and it pisses me off!

I'm going to go and scream until I feel better.

6:33 PM - link to this - (0) comments

Quote of the day: "Unfortunately, no, there are no more echidnas. If you like, I can superglue some toothpicks to your head and you can play pretend."

11:42 AM - link to this - (0) comments

There is no such thing as wasted time. This is not a test. This is not a performance. This is life. A grand symphony. And every moment is a note of equal length and value. Every single second is an amazing experience. Every single second has something to offer. The only waste is if you choose to ignore it.

10:48 AM - link to this - (0) comments

You've never what, Shauny??? All right, that's it girl. You, me, Cafe Essen. Now. We'll drink our way through the coffee menu until we're so wired on caffeine we can't blink and we're giggling at pink butterflies no one else can see.

You think I'm kidding, don't you?

While we're at it, I'll read you selections from Hitch-Hiker's Guide.

10:32 AM - link to this - (0) comments

Wednesday, May 16, 2001

I love it when people talk about what I've talked about. Makes me feel like I'm not jus thaving a meaningful discussion with my own navel. In specific, now, this regards Lis in my guestbook (which hardly anyone ever signs, you twerps).

Optimism probably isn't the best word for what I was ranting about below. Naivety is much better. Because like we realised for Je, most bitter people are actually optimists. They've been warped by having their good hopes for the world crushed time after time by rampant stupidity. Of course, I don't think I am one of these people. I hope for good things, but know I won't get them. I am a full-blooded cynic.

Meanwhile, about the trees: The thing is, it's a small percentage of our oxygen that comes from tree-photosynthesis anyway. Most is produced by processes in the ocean. (And trees in rainforests don't even notice it's winter except that it rains a little less. There is no summer and winter in rainforests, just the Wet and the Dry.)

8:45 AM - link to this - (0) comments

Optimism annoys me. It annoys me because the people who practice it refuse to see reality. Even when they acknowledge that they are 'hopelessly optimistic', they still believe it is a good thing, and not something they should make any effort to overcome in order to live in the real world. Mostly, it annoys me because it makes me feel nasty and cynical and mean to be injuring such an eggshell view of reality.

And maybe I am, but I hate feeling like I should twirl my moustache and tie the poor optimistic blonde to the railway tracks.

Politics tutorial this afternoon prompted this sudden spill. Under discussion: Should there be a trade-off between development and human rights in developing countries? Answer from my sunny group: No. Rights are necessary, inalienable even, and they should not be compromised. Obviously, (they went on, being the Academic!Optimists that they are) this is a Utopian view, but an effort should be made to stick as close to this as possible.

Point One: People who are starving don't give a fuck about having the vote. 'But if they don't have the vote, how can they make their displeasure at starving known?' Believe me, sweetheart, if the people are in dire straits, nothing in the world can stop them having a voice. That's why god invented riots.

Point Two: There is, not anywhere even near the edges of possibility, but right slap-bang in the middle of the here-and-now, the situation whereby no matter what action is taken, the rights of the people are violated. The rights of the few, or the rights of the many? Who to shaft? Say, for example, a state with ethnic conflict, separatists running a campaign of terror. De-stabilising the government, retarding development, and since the people are living in a war zone, what human rights do they have? Should the government enforce more militaristic actions to produce stability and development, but thereby reduce the total rights of its citizens? 'Well, there should be due process for everyone, even guerillas.' And what precisely is that due process, honey? Listen to their demands, and state firmly: "Well yes, we see your point, but we can't allow you to split our already fragile and only marginally economically viable country into two completely useless parts, sorry." And, of course, the guerillas will accept that, lay down their guns, and go home.

Sometimes, optimism just makes me sick.

The rant endeth here. I'm tired, I'm going to bed.

12:41 AM - link to this - (0) comments

Tuesday, May 15, 2001

Questions that pique this morning:

If deciduous trees lose all their leaves in winter and sort of go into hibernation, and hence are photosynthesising, why don't we run out of oxygen?

Why is it so many political isms are also art movements?

How good a first line is: "They were killing her father today."? I like it. I want to use it.

When will I ever have a chance to sleep normally ever again?

How cool a name is 'Manochehr Dorraj'?

12:36 PM - link to this - (0) comments

Monday, May 14, 2001

It's amazing how much weight the threat: "I'll spank you" now seems to have when it falls from my lips. This is, I sense, not something to be bandied about, or it will lose its power. Fear is a beautiful thing.

8:18 PM - link to this - (0) comments

This is seriously going to expose my geekdom, but I find this quiz far too funny to care. I especially liked the question about the golem. And answer D to it.

11:42 AM - link to this - (0) comments

He was my kind of guy. Tall, lanky (skinny, even), dark oh-so-dark. Brooding. Intense. Talented. He was Paul Dempsey of Something for Kate and he was pouring out his soul on stage.

The concert was brilliant. Oh, didn't I mention I was going to see Something for Kate last night? Well, I was, I did, and they were brilliant. Rawly evocative. Soul-wrenching stuff. It's not even my sort of music - too alternative, not heavy enough - but it was exquisite. "Electricity" rocked my socks clean across the room. (Or rather, would have if not for the fact that I wasn't wearing any and the crowd was packed too tight for anything to be rocked anywhere.) Mr Dempsey's solo songs were heart-rending, when his band left him alone and vulnerable on the stage with just his guitar and a few hundred adoring fans.

He is, as A said, a very attractive man. Physically, but most of all emotionally, mentally. He has a beautiful soul. And I feel privileged to have peeked into it.

Backed up by Big Heavy Stuff and Adam Said Galore. When the music is loud enough, I can feel my jeans vibrate against my legs. I don't feel the music in my stomach any more, I feel it in my clothing.

10:02 AM - link to this - (0) comments

Sunday, May 13, 2001

"You ruined years - okay, months, weeks - of hard work! You corrupted my pet, and worst of all you spoiled my FUN!" Astra from X-Men #87 (Courtesy of the quotes page at X-Men Unlimited.)

6:42 PM - link to this - (0) comments

Why do I have to live at an establishment so full of moronic wankers?

Last night proceeded from the sublime to the cor-blimey (or, alternatively, from the I Rock to the Fuck You). There was a Slave Auction after dinner, and having better ideas this year than moshing around the stage screaming: "Fuck you won't do what you tell me", we decided to take part. And so, J1, myself, and the first year who had been assigned to us (not randomly, he was one of our friends) decided on a plan of action.

It was stunning, even if I do say so myself. From the top: Myself, dressed in the $5 pants (tiny hotpants of the red snakeskin variety), a tiny black top, tiger-stripe stockings and stiletto heels. I lead in, on a chain, the two boys, collared and wearing porn-star vests. We circle the room to thunderous and raucous applause and approval. Once upon the stage, we proceed to act out a little BDSM roleplay. I handcuffed our firstyear to a chair. I slapped J1 around a bit. I spanked the first year while J1 ran off to dance with audience members. And then I forced them to do push-ups until I kicked J1 off the stage and stomped on the firstyear.

The audience didn't know what to think. Watching the terror dawn on some of the more mainstream faces was a very significant part of the fun. It was good.

We sold for $50. And then later did an encore for $150.

However, later that night, after I'd gone to bed, I hear the door alarm going off. And off, and off. I stumble out of bed, thinking that someone's broken the break glass again and I'm going to have to change it, seeing as I'm on duty and all. But I get down there, and what do I see? Some prime candidate standing there with his foot in the door and his hands over his ears as above him the alarm continues to peal.

"You want to close the fucking door?" I ask, incredulous.

"Huh?" he says, still with his hands over his ears - deafened and dead drunk.

"Look, close it, you fuckwit," I snap, and reach for it, intending to yank it shut and hopefully break his leg in the process. At that point two other delightful specimens run up the stairs, come inside the door, and close it behind them.

Fed up with the unbelievable stupidity of the people I live with, I went back to bed.

8:31 AM - link to this - (0) comments