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

Saturday, August 25, 2001

Pyjama pants with decent waist elastic. That's all I ask.

8:47 AM - link to this - (0) comments

I'd taken two steps down the corridor, examining my broken nail, when there was a crash-thump behind me. I turned, and there was the light casing, in pieces on the floor. If I'd been walking the other way, it would have fallen right on my head.

If I was someone else, this would probably bother me. But I'm me, so I'm hungry, and I want breakfast. Who cares.

8:26 AM - link to this - (0) comments

Friday, August 24, 2001

When I come up against blind intolerance, bigotry even, it leaves an unpleasant taste my mouth. My naivety shows though as I can't believe there are still people in the world who think it is acceptable to say and do things like that. Acceptable to despise someone for who they associate with, or love, or worship, or are descended from.

Maybe it makes me just as bad, but... You pompous, arrogant, self-fucking-righteous bastards will get what is coming to you. You will die alone, reviled, buried under the heaped-up shit you dealt out with a sneer. Use a little bit of sodding intelligence, you fascist fuckwits. Think for two seconds and maybe, just maybe, you can overcome your towering stupidity, and reverse my vitriolic disgust.

Yeah, see; I just despise people for the things they say and do.

11:43 PM - link to this - (0) comments

Forearms are sexy. Greymatter is not. This has been my day.

Not forearms bared in that 'wearing a T-shirt' way. That's just an accident. They have to be bared on purpose. That's the key. Sleeves rolled, folded, pulled up to the sweet spot just underneath or on the elbow (it varies - there's a whole erogenous zone there). Somehow, it leaves the hands, wrists, forearms bared in an intimate, sensual way.

Yes, I have weird, weird attractions.

Greymatter, meanwhile, may be very sexy indeed, but since I can't get it to work properly, I will never find out. It's just been one trial after another - first, getting the files to work, which required the usual sort of randomly stupid antics. Secondly, the use of that double-asterisk thing meant that I had file troubles all over the place. And now the archives refuse to work. See, you can store them in a cgi directory, in which case the HTML files can't be accessed, or you can store them in a normal directory, in which case the cgi files can't be accessed.

Yes. It was at about this point that Dee went beserk, and looked for something to throw. Finding nothing, she made do with screaming. In a suitably blood-curdling fashion.

But scanning is kinda fun.

I need more sleep.

5:34 PM - link to this - (0) comments

Thursday, August 23, 2001

Random opening comment designed to attract attention. Clarification of comment. A long sentence containing many multiple-syllabled words that illustrates my argument in both an erudite and amusing fashion. Short sentence providing contrast and impact.

Rant, vitriol, blah, blah, blah, stupidity. And furthermore.

Completely unrelated thought that forms an interesting juxtaposition with the previous discussion.

Declaration. Flippant comment.

4:22 PM - link to this - (0) comments

Four teaspoons of milo, machine coffee to fill, and three quarters of an inch of milk. The robot that is Dee runs on this.

1:05 PM - link to this - (0) comments

OK, I confess, I like zapping the monkey.

12:34 PM - link to this - (0) comments

Wednesday, August 22, 2001

To: The Red Star
Subject: Stunning work
"Dear everyone involved in producing this masterpiece that has hi-jacked my brain and rendered me incapable of anything resembling sensible work today.

"I stumbled across issue #6 by accident Friday of last week, and was immediately taken by the artwork and unconventional approach (and also by the publishing company, the same Image that allowed me access to my other comic obsession: Kabuki). I returned today to relieve my comic shop of the trade paperback, plus issues 5 and 6. I read them in one stretch and found it one of the most intense media experiences of my life.

"Beautiful, marvellous, brilliant. Gripping and enthralling. In the last few pages of #6, I was amazed to find tears in my eyes. No comic has ever affected me that way, and I cannot think of another character whose demise affected me so after so little actual interaction with that character. The grand sweeping scope is breath-taking, the attention to detail intriguing.

"You have captured something exquisite and visceral in these pages, and I thank you most fervently for allowing me to witness it. I await more with great eagerness."

I'm serious. This is some fantastically wonderful stuff. Get your hands on it if you possible can. You won't regret it.

6:34 PM - link to this - (0) comments

Bloody hell. I just looked out my window and saw a kangaroo. It's still there, grazing on the back lawn of the college next door.

This does not happen in urban Australia.

Really, it doesn't. Usually. It always annoys me when silly foreigners think that we Aussies ride to school on the vicious things, or just see them bouncing down the main street. I always take great pains to assure them that I've rarely seen a kangaroo, and never in an urban situation.

Can't say that any more, I guess.

5:40 PM - link to this - (0) comments

Tuesday, August 21, 2001

If you picket, it won't heal...

10:51 PM - link to this - (0) comments

More writing about writing. Yes, I am on a one-track cycle at the moment. (There's new fanfic, if you care.) I am slowly gathering inspiration and motivation and momentum for the Novel Entity, but I lack that final spark. Fanfic is easy to turn out, because there's a ready, waiting audience. It's instant evaluation, and it's easy to superficially answer the 'Why am I doing this?' question. Not so easy with the NE. Well, I mean, the answer is obvious. I'm doing this to get published. But that's such a long way away, and so amorphous, and not really specific. That's why I'm writing the novel, but why am I writing this bit at this time?

So I'm seeking some way of regulating myself, making myself write by having some method of checking up on it. Word-count and progress checks aren't good enough, I've tried before. There has to be some deadline, some physical act of handing over what I've done to impel me to, in fact, do it.

Pondering options for this. A physical writing group is the best idea, and I've found one of those, but they don't meet for a while, and they're only two-weekly meetings. I'd like something a little more frequent than that. Perhaps making a website? But that leads to publication issues. What I'd really like is a writing partner. Someone online with whom I can exchange frequent news and words. Someone who will keep an eye on me and provide company on this trek. And who, in return, I could... well, whatever they want out of a writing partner.

Cute idea, wot? Anyone interested? Or got another suggestion?

7:18 PM - link to this - (0) comments

He was dressed like me - uniform black - and strode forth with the sort of confident air I assume sometimes. I felt like I should give him the secret handshake. Then again, I'd probably be disbarred from the association for that flippant thought.

Canberra's weather is weird. Where else would I have to wipe rain off my sunglasses so I could see?

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

Monday, August 20, 2001

The question: "And who wants to be grey?"

Pause for thought. Contemplation. "Um... me?"

The more I think about it, the more I like the idea. Silver, shiny, stand-out-in-the-crowd hair. Even better if you can get the tips to fade into black. Or maybe the roots. Copper streaks? Brilliant. Twist it up on top of your head and sparkle-glitter it up for that ultra-unorthodox goff look.

I really do like this idea. I'm going to look into it. Though the cost makes me shudder, and I should probably let my hair recover from the shenanigans I've already unleashed upon it.

But, but, but... it's so purdy!

(I can't believe I'm rabbiting on about hair again. I am not a teeny-bopper. I can't be, I'm twenty-bloody-one. In an effort to redeem myself: I find it interesting that Machiavelli, beloved to realists, has deep underlying post-modern and liberal themes, even though he himself tries so hard to escape them. Could The Prince in fact be a satire? And how's that for an eclectic post: shallow hair-talk and political theorising all in the one package. And ain't that what this thing is all about?)

1:35 PM - link to this - (0) comments

Sunday, August 19, 2001

Occasionally, I find myself thinking: "That's such a good idea; I'll save it for when I'm a better writer."

And then I realise that that is a silly, silly thing to think. Because how am I ever going to become a better writer if I'm not writing. And writing the very best ideas I can possibly come up with? Because I'm not going to respect a second-rate idea enough to write it properly, and what will I learn from that?

If I do sit down and try to write my brilliant idea, it will push me to raise my writing to the level worthy of it. The problems I come across will lead me to solutions which will be invaluable as lessons throughout my writing career. All of this practice will let me come up with another idea, even more brilliant than the first one. Because, when you get right down to it, the first one probably wasn't that brilliant in reality, it just seemed that way because I was so inexperienced.

If you want to be a writer, then write.

6:44 PM - link to this - (0) comments

"It's been 12 white-hot reminders that forever means nevermore."

Yeah, that's mine. It's floating in my brain like it was when I first wrote it. Probably got something to do with my mood, which is wallowing in some sort of sheltered cove on the other side of stressed. That was the second line I thought of from that poem, the first being "posthumously stalking Trotsky". (The whole poem is rather mediocre and a part of exx, and you can find it
here if you really care.)

"I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable"

That's Uncle Walt. Also part of exx. Also a permanent resident in my skull.

I'm feeling weird. I'm feeling lost. I'm being tossed by the tide and I'm sea-sick, but too tired to throw up.

I want out. I'm serious.

"I stop somewhere waiting for you."

3:05 PM - link to this - (0) comments