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August 4th, 2005

"In 1979, Brando proposed to film director Cammell (Performance) that they collaborate on a China Seas pirate story. Brando improvised scenes and Cammell wrote a 165-page treatment; in 1982, Cammell worked the same material into an incomplete novel. Brando dropped the project, but Cammell's widow revived it after Brando's death, and Knopf's Sonny Mehta hired Thomson (The New Biographical Dictionary of Film) to gather the extant materials and finish the book."

It's called Fan-Tan.

Shiny Hollow Things

I'm bored, once again.

I flip through boredom like a channel surfer resting on something they don't like. In other words, it comes, it goes, but lately, it comes a bit more. I did my first classes of Uni tutoring, and that looks like it'll keep me entertained. The University itself is like a long dull concrete stain, however, but maybe it's because I spend most of my time in an office. There appears to be people outside it, but you can never be sure about that. They could just be empty shells constructed by illegitimate powers and placed around me to give the illusion of population, when in truth, I'm it.

That'd be depressing.

At any rate, this post: rambling nonsensical shit.

I am currently reading Richard Dyer's White. Here's a quote: "White people have power and believe that they think, feel and act like and for all people; white people, unable to see their particularity, cannot take account of other people's; white people create the dominant images of the world and don't quite see that they thus construct the world in their own image; white people set standards of humanity by which they are bound to succeed and others bound to fail. Most of this is not done deliberately and maliciously."

This blog has readers from Peru and around the World. The main colour of the readership here, however, would be white. How many of you, then, think about that in your day?

Part of me wants to go and see The Island because it's a failure.

On the train yesterday, I watched a man pull out tobacco from a pouch. Instead of rolling a cigarette, he took the bristling brown threads and placed them at his nose, where he sniffed away. He was a jittery guy. Couldn't keep still. In case you're wondering, he was white. The Asian guy in front of him looked a little uncomfortable, truth to tell.

It's Thursday. I took the following photo last Thursday, standing on George Street, Spring starting to push its fingers through Winter like a surgeon with a scalpel through skin. Still waiting for Springtime Blood, but it'll be a while yet. For those outside Sydney, George Street is one of the main roads to travel along in the centre of the city, and I thought the Sparkle Girl poster spoke nicely to the slowly evolving multicultural face of the city.





"A white person is taught to believe that all that she or he does, good and ill, all that we achieve, is to be accounted for in terms of our individuality. It is intolerable to realise that we may get a job or a nice house, or a helpful response at school or in hospitals, because of our skin colour, not because of the unique achieving individual we must believe ourselves to be."