These shots surfaced when I was trying to safeguard against losing all my shit when my computer finally, inevitably, goes into its mother electronic arrest system meltdown.
When the fuck-up hammer finally smashes down.
Because my life is a series of incidents involving leaking battery acid, melting cables, smashed lenses, and shit just not working.
I had a bad morning with the dryer, computer, ipod, camera....
Anyway, introducing Aston Street.
A singlet so good it was pinned to the wall until it had to be used to soak up one of many JD spillages.
Because a JD cap is too small to do shots out of.
Laptop in its hey day, meaning when it still had the functions of a laptop and was portable.
Pint of goon in bed is right too.
Bitemarks. He's psyched.
During this time we compulsively listened to this:
It reminds me of getting wasted on my bed, watching my pet geckos Biggie and Pac eat bugs that were caught in the white curtain, getting up at 5am with the brutalist of hangovers, and getting psyched as love got bigger.
Also on the playlist were Ratatat: 17 Years, Biggie: Party and Bullshit, Fleetwood Mac: Crimson and Clover, The Shins and Hendrix pretty much nonstop, burning Nag Champa and kicking back.
Camberwell Markets in Melbourne. What a fresh day.
Marvel Street Byron Bay.
It is basically just goon punch, cigarettes, gossip mags, and Dylan gasping 'Oh my God!' like the raging homo he is every two minutes.
It is love.
Sometimes, do you get the feeling that you've made a really bad decision in leaving the past behind?
Or is that just what nostalgia is?