The sea was coming in, so I climbed back up the ladder and there were tunnels and little rooms, where searchlights stood. I looked out to sea from there, watching the ferries sail out from the port of Dover.
The sea was coming in, so I climbed back up the ladder and there were tunnels and little rooms, where searchlights stood. I looked out to sea from there, watching the ferries sail out from the port of Dover.
Reflections
Apr. 21st, 2009 07:08 pm
In Port Melbourne, I found myself looking at diagrams of the stars, contemplating buildings that turned pink at sunset, tip-toeing amongst the jellyfish, staring into the ocean and at the skyscrapers of Melbourne that I could see opposite.
I remembered that in the shop at the art gallery on Sunday, they had a pencil that was "surf the web" coloured. I was curious and opened up the box to see just what colour it might be. Dark blue.
Last Thursday
Mar. 12th, 2009 03:09 pmI'm re-reading Microserfs, to help with a project for Douglas Coupland, and last Thursday, I sat in Starbucks, reading the book, and drinking a tall mocha with soya milk, without whipped cream, to escape the rain outside. I realised I could be anywhere right then.
Yes, the caffeine was infiltrating my mind, but it was more Microserfs that was making me think and made me want to blog more. Oh, it always does.
I am squirmelia@livejournal.com (in this LiveJournal post, at least). If my life was a game of Jeopardy! I still wouldn't know, even now, after all this time (14 or so years since I first read Microserfs) what my seven dream categories would be. I'm not sure what that says about me.
A year or two ago, I was a tester- a bug checker, in the UK, and then I studied usability, interaction design, ergonomics, and now I'm on the opposite side of the world.
From the tram window, I saw a man, laughing, and carrying a small black and white rocking horse.
When I first moved to Melbourne, I used to write down the words I saw on the walls, the pavements, the shops, and the pages of random words and phrases in Microserfs, reminded me of this.
I decided to visit an art gallery: the Rosalie Gascoigne exhibition at the NGV. I looked at doll heads, eyes on garden forks, eyes in shells, art made from roadsigns, bits of found wood (weathered, and it made me think of Dungeness somehow).
And then, I headed to the beach. The sky was grey. It was cold and I wore a long black coat and beret. It could have been Montauk. It could have been England. There were windswept lone trees; waves; sand dancing; a red bridge, but also turquoise jellyfish and windsurfers.
Yes, the caffeine was infiltrating my mind, but it was more Microserfs that was making me think and made me want to blog more. Oh, it always does.
I am squirmelia@livejournal.com (in this LiveJournal post, at least). If my life was a game of Jeopardy! I still wouldn't know, even now, after all this time (14 or so years since I first read Microserfs) what my seven dream categories would be. I'm not sure what that says about me.
A year or two ago, I was a tester- a bug checker, in the UK, and then I studied usability, interaction design, ergonomics, and now I'm on the opposite side of the world.
From the tram window, I saw a man, laughing, and carrying a small black and white rocking horse.
When I first moved to Melbourne, I used to write down the words I saw on the walls, the pavements, the shops, and the pages of random words and phrases in Microserfs, reminded me of this.
I decided to visit an art gallery: the Rosalie Gascoigne exhibition at the NGV. I looked at doll heads, eyes on garden forks, eyes in shells, art made from roadsigns, bits of found wood (weathered, and it made me think of Dungeness somehow).
And then, I headed to the beach. The sky was grey. It was cold and I wore a long black coat and beret. It could have been Montauk. It could have been England. There were windswept lone trees; waves; sand dancing; a red bridge, but also turquoise jellyfish and windsurfers.
Walking along the pier, past the fishermen, she wondered whether there would be a funfair at the end of it, or perhaps reindeer. She did not find any rollercoasters, but what she could see from the edge of the pier, when she stared into the twinkling water, were stars.
Folkestone
Feb. 12th, 2008 09:08 pm
In Folkestone, I bought fake leather trousers and artificial pot plants from charity shops in the high street before descending to the beach. As a child, my favourite shop was the joke shop, which is now closed, like most of the other shops on the cobbled street down to the harbour. There are signs around the town that mention regeneration and of creative quarters, so perhaps it will regain popularity.
My childhood memories of Folkestone are mostly from playgroup coach trips: of the smell of the stalls on the way to the beach selling pots of fresh seafood, of building sand-castles and rivers, of sitting underneath the arches and drying off from paddling in the sea, of eating sandwiches that were always a bit sandy, of finding pretty shells on the beach.. the usual kind of things that you might do as a child, when the beaches were crowded and full of brightly coloured swimming costumes, wind-breaks and buckets and spades.
On the beach in Folkestone last week, I walked through a number of the arches. Most of the arches were dotted with litter and some with graffiti, and looked somehow sinister and decayed, and not quite like I remember as a child. The beach was empty apart from a few people walking a dog, and a child on a bicycle. I couldn't see the sun itself as it set behind the other side of the harbour, but the beach glistened orange and the waves began to look mostly unreal, and that was what made Folkestone beautiful on that day - the sun and the sea.
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