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

Thursday, January 10, 2002

Bad fantasy inspires me to write, buoyed up by the knowledge that even on a bad day, I can write better than that.

Good fantasy inspires me to write, driven by exhilirating encouragement.

But there is some fantasy that is so gripping, is so singularly, unbelievably spectacular, so unique in its unanticipated vision, that it leaves me burnt, broken, completely unable to put pixel to screen.

KJ Parker is one such, so a lesser extent. But the master is Guy Gavriel Kay.

No other brings tears to my eyes so easily, with a bland sentence and an understated point. No other draws his works together with such inexorable beauty. No other sees it, rationalises it, distills it to its essence and renders it into delicate prose.

I'll never write like him. The man is brilliant.

(I just finished Lord of Emperors, the sequel to Sailing to Sarantium. Kay's work surpasses the noun 'vision' and requires something larger. Something broader. Something with light and movement and magic and a sense of the huge tangle of the immense and the minute and the ways in which lives encompass both. Perhaps the word I'm looking for here - badly used and abused and misused previously, but oh-so-apt here - is 'epic'.)

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Wednesday, January 09, 2002

There are flying ants crawling down my cleavage. This is unacceptable.

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I know that some people (not naming any names at all) are a little bit enamoured with a certain hobbit in a certain movie. For my part, they could have called it Elf of the Rings and I would have been a happy little girl.

Ninja Elf - Mrow! (And no, gilmae, he does not have a mullet.)

Yum!

Well, actually, I'm kidding. About everything but the yum part. It was darn nigh perfect as it was (I will never admit to perfection, because nothing ever is) and everything about it was great. But that is an eminently edible elf.

This is me grinning smugly at all the people being annoyed at me right now.

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Tuesday, January 08, 2002

It is with great relief that I announce that I will, in fact, be doing Honours this year.

I knew invitations were going to be mailed out, and not having received mine yet, I was starting to get a little bit worried. I was wondering if maybe I was going to have to spend the year working and writing, but the biggest worry was where I was going to live in Canberra if not in college. However, a phone call has calmed all my worries. I have an invitation. I can do Honours. Rah!

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Sunday, January 06, 2002

Ole Gunnar Solskjaer would have made a good hobbit. There's a sort of faintly ethereal sharpness about his features, plus he's got that lovely curly hair.

Oh well. He's a damn good footballer, anyway. Go Manchester. (But where's Giggsy?)

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Every so often, I sit down and watch some music TV program, just to make sure I'm not missing anything in popular music.

I'm not.

Someone called Michelle Branch, who I've never heard of before, but by one of those weird twisty quantum fate things, lo and behold when I visit her site the pirate-loving crack whore is talking about her. Anyway, Ms Branch is kinda cool. Nice voice. Belts it out. Too soft-hearted and poppy for me to buy, but she gets the Dee tick of approval anyway.

Linkin Park might actually be worth listening to if they ditched the whole 'rap' thing. Blerk!

As Justy so correctly pointed out, everytime we wipe out one boy band, five more spring up. Blue can't even dance.

Garbage's new stuff might actually be as bad as Yogi and co were telling me it was. Mind you, I think they've been going downhill since the first album. And what is with the Cherry Lips film clip? Could they want to be Transvision Vamp any more?

So now I'm off to listen to Rammstein, Snake River Conspiracy, and my Christmas-present Muse CD, to cleanse myself. Icky pop vibes, be gone!

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