Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Post Cards from the Eternal Child

I know I don’t post here enough. To tell you the truth Ive thought about retiring this blog. For the last few years I’ve been simultaneously contributing to another blog called Fabulist Savannah but alas that too has seemingly waned of late. Mainly due to the originator and senior editor having some personal struggles that have lead to his being non-communicado for months on end.

The problem for the Den Done Did blog is finding the time and inspiration to write about blog-worthy occurrences in my life. What is blog-worthy? If this was a blog about recipes I suppose that would be an easy question…or perhaps if it were a blog about cats I could just fall back on the photos I've snapped of cats around the world (Now there’s an idea). Or if I’d thought of a great blog idea like Monkey Punch Dinosaur before Adam Ford did…I might’ve done that.

Often it’s a case that I don’t know how to frame something that's happened, or one naturally worries whether an anecdote or everyday tale will be interesting enough to anyone other than me...but perhaps that’s the real point for a blog like mine. It is supposed to be a slightly esoteric and random window into my life and thoughts…but only a window. The blog isn’t me so I guess I shouldn’t laden it with such importance and expectation all the time. Ive written things recently and have been advised not to post them to a “mere blog”(not my words)… I dunno, in case they get stolen or something. Good problem to have I suppose. But in the spirit of this ramble here is a slightly esoteric string of events that is in its way indicative of who I am and the sort of random day-to-dayness that I have been known to appreciate. Ok, Disclaimer over.

I was working on a rubbish removal job recently when I found a bundle of old postcards and photographs from the 1940’s. I couldn’t countenance seeing them go in the bin so I saved them for later investigation.
There was a stylish 1946 Christmas card sent from the owners of the Red Hart Inn in Worcester, England. It was still in good condition so one morning I got the idea to type a quick letter and post it to the current owners of The Red Hart Inn. I wrote “I found this card from 1946 while doing a garage clean-up in Melbourne. Alas I have no idea who the card was sent to. I just thought you might get some enjoyment out of seeing it. Maybe put it up in your bar….funny to think of it returning to its place of origin after 60-odd years”

Rubbish removal guys are always waxing the lyrical about their altruistic recycling activities. A friend of mine Amanda was about to take her kids camping to the Grampians. I said to her “I’ve got show-&-tell items for you to share with your kids” I gave her six photos of the Grampians in the 1940’s. To me that is a pure form of lost-object-found recycling.

I guess I’m trying to be the sort of random act of every-day fascination that I want to receive. That’s the way isn’t it? I often act on these sort of quirky impulses. I put a proverbial message in a bottle and toss it out to sea. I hope this invites the world to reply in kind.

The late gentleman whose postcards I rescued was named, funnily enough, Jim Melbourne. I have done a couple of brief Google searches and can’t find anything about him. Based on the old papers I saw I think he may have served as an aeronautical engineer in England during WWII. Extending that further I imagine that after the war ended he went travelling in the UK before returning to Melbourne. The majority of his postcards are from the UK in 1946. He wrote a lot of postcards that never got posted, including this classic:
“Dear Mum, Another couple of postcards that I haven’t sent previously. Love Jim”

Anyway let’s hope Jim would understand my love of sentimentalia or lost-object-found ephemera or whatever the frack it is that I’m doing here.

A Den Done Did first:


I have 18 random 1940’s postcards. I am going to make a limited edition, first in best dressed offer

If you would like to be a part of the life of this blog, I will Post to you (That's snail mail kiddies) your very own, probably one-of-a-kind, 1946 post card. Just leave a comment or send me an email with your postal details and I’ll flick one your way! Lovely-Jubbly

Listening to: Foals - Red Pugie

Sunday, May 09, 2010

The Things You Own...

“Sooner or later we all became what Tyler wanted us to be...” - Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk

My heart has been heavy all day with the knowledge that the things that I have collected will not save me. The memorabilia, souvenirs, keepsakes, forget-me-nots, pet rocks, post cards, birthday cards, toy lions, toy T-Rex’s, old bottles, cricket games, books, pictures, CD’s, Band T-shirts, old letters and on and on…all this that I have carted around these many years will not alter the fact that one day I will, in all likelihood, die. I say ‘In all likelihood’ because I still cling to the possibility of a Kurzweilesque technology spike. A singularity event that might give me the option of uploading my consciousness into the digital heavens. Then I could flit around in a virtual reality environment like Second Life or maybe, even better, be downloaded into a new body. I guess that casts grave doubt on whether or not I believe in an afterlife doesn’t it?

Today I tackled the onerous task of unpacking and sorting through the boxes from our most recent house move. It is worse than packing in my opinion. I couldn’t find anywhere to put most things. Assorted random objects flowed out of the boxes like a river of shapes. I tried different drawers but the drawers quickly filled. I moved furniture around but each new move created five smaller moves. It wasn't so much the functional items like tools and stationery that were disturbing me, although I've definitely hoarded too much of that stuff, it was more the personalia: An old love letter, a movie ticket, a little rock I picked up whilst driving across the Nullarbor.

As each new article of personal memorabilia appeared I began to feel worse. I felt the old emotional conflicts rising: Where do you keep them? How do you store them? How do you honour the memories correctly? As the boxes emptied I felt like I was loading weights onto my shoulders. Finally I couldn’t take it any more, I had a long cathartic rant to Eli about how I was feeling strangled by my possessions and then I quit the process for the day.

Overnight I experienced a satori.
I have to let go. What has been upsetting me isn’t only about collecting and hoarding possessions it’s also about accepting that life is passing. It’s a bitter concept for me to digest. I am still coming to terms…think of me as a white belt novice earning his second belt on the long road to mastery.

"Latent form is the master of obvious form" - Heraclitus

My oldest friend died suddenly in August last year. His death has shocked me into acknowledging that our collections will outlive us. I can no longer place the same significance on carrying around collections of sentimental souvenirs. Trying to find cupboards to fill them with, feeling guilty anyway because it might not be the appropriate forum for a piece of genuine Denny memorabilia --then I’m swirling lost again because there's no Show-&-Tell ceremony at which to flag the significance of the items to the world…and even if there was what good would it do for more than a few minutes… maybe an hour?

Lasting change does not live in icons and statues. It might visit. It might cling residual for a few moments to the site of a great victory or linger like smoke around the edges of the podium as we hold aloft the trophy. But then we are all gone home. The game is finished and the time has past. Day's end and trophies gather dust in the night. What good is a memorial if the precious thing we are trying to honour in form doesn't live within us? ---the lights go on and I'm alone in an empty room. The room is stark white and filled with a brilliant light that doesn’t sear my eyes. You might think it’d be lonely. All that empty white space yawning out. But it isn’t. Everything that matters is here. Everything about matter…because It's me, I'm there. I'm the memorial… I am the article of faith.

In the end the things we own are but the worshiping of false icons. If I don’t come to the conception that it's all within me then I am choking, distracted --weighed down…belabouring the idea that If I have the best stamp collection in the world that I wont die. I will become the stamp collection.

I’m far from free of this paradigm. Well short of mastery. I just know that I have to try and let go. I cannot go on filling the attics of our future with stuff. I did a job last month in which I had to clear out the back shed of a deceased gentleman. Half a tonne of marble stone off-cuts that he had duly gathered hobby like from work-sites and hard rubbish piles over the years. I’m not saying that’s wrong. Because he built things with some of the stone and I hope that collecting and neatly arranging the pieces of marble gave him much pleasure. I was just struck by the fact that in the end it was his sons who were left to wonder...what to do with it all. The sense of guilt they felt as they watched us throw it in the back of a truck destined for landfill. So I asked myself: If it’s ok for it to go in the bin when I’m dead maybe some of it should be destined for the bin now?

The memories live in me. I am not my stamp collection or a box of cricket cards…I am no closer to my late Father for having carted around some of his clothes for the last 15 years. I drive past the old houses of our childhoods, the old haunts, the old parks -- We’re not there, it’s not there…It is not the place or the thing is it? It’s you and me. We are the articles of faith.

"And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea."

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock - TS Eliot

~ Footynotes ~

[1] Ray Kurzweil
Theory that one super computer builds a superior super computer which builds a superior super computer and on and on until technology advances exponentially in an unimaginable acceleration or spike. And that then Den can get a fully body transplant if he wants one...
[2] “Ending one minute at a time” – Tyler (Fight Club)
[3] Listening to: Roots - How I Got Up

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

My Cat Left Me

I meant to post this two years ago. Better late than never I guess.

In 2003 my cat Emery Henry Bird went missing. I tried hard to find him. I went to the lost cat & dog home, posted flyers around the neighborhood and searched high and low. To no avail.

Just prior to his disappearance I had shifted house. He had not taken it well. Things grew worse when my girlfriend at the time introduced a new kitten into the household. Emery freaked out. He started disappearing for a couple of days at a time. Not long after that he simply never came back.

So forward four years to 2007 and I'm not living in Melbourne anymore. But I'm over for a visit and my ex-girlfriend tells me how she thought she caught a glimpse of Emery late one night whilst walking home. She couldn't be certain but she was fairly sure it was him. It quite surprised us because we had both assumed he was long dead. So a short-while later I found myself down on Wellington street Clifton Hill near where she had made her sighting. I saw a cat sitting right near where she told me she'd seen him and as I drew closer I knew that it was him. He walked toward me then shied away and trotted over to the edge of the road. He regarded me with suspicion and what could only be described as awkwardness. It was as if he was saying "oh...its you. What are you doing here?"
I drew closer and crouched down before him. He let me pat him for a moment and then he moved back just out of my reach. I said his name "Emery...Emery?" Then I did our little cat whistle that nobody else does. My Dad used it with all our cats when I was a kid. Emery seemed perplexed, turned to leave and then rolled over in the gutter playfully as he might've done years ago. I got my mobile out and took a photo. He turned and trotted up the street. I called out to him but he ignored me. That's cats for you I guess. I followed up the street a little. He reacted there was nothing else to say.
I said goodbye to him. Wished him well and continued on up Wellington street.

So there its is. My cat wasn't run over by a car or poisoned. My cat left me. Found himself a new home.

Listening To: Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Boba Fett

And thus ended my drawing career in 1981. I think the Picture Of The Year star was an in-house award ;-)

Listening To: Foals - Spanish Sahara

Friday, March 12, 2010

Corey Haim

I really want to say something about the death of Corey Haim... but I cant think of anything clever to say so I'm just gonna write whatever little homage I can: I always liked him when I was a kid. Other friends of mine thought he was a dick but even knowing in the back of my mind that it was sort of true I remained loyal. I loved the idea that the two Coreys became buddys because they shared the same first name. I saw an interview Corey Haim did in the mid eighties, he referred to Corey Feldman as the "Feldog". The Lost Boys is one of my favorite films ever. I dont care that it was uncool to like him. Corey Haim reminded me of good times from my childhood. He like Feldman represented for me a sort of mythic-nostalgia --An 80's that I probably didnt even really experience...but its the way I like to remember it now.
I watched the dreadful "Two Coreys" reality-tv show a couple of years ago and came away convinced that Haim was in serious trouble with prescription meds. I made a Google news alert for him in my email account. For the last couple of years I'd been reading sporadic news reports about the latest B-grade film he was working on. B-grade films, but working. Hope springs eternal.

Anyway I've got nowhere to go with this. No punchline or neat ending. I just wanted to put his name on my blog and acknowledge that I liked him and that I am sorry that he has died...way too young.

Corey Haim
Corey Haim Pictures

"Look at your reflection in the mirror. You're a creature of the night Michael, just like out of a comic book! You're a vampire Michael! My own brother, a goddamn, shit-sucking vampire. Oh You wait 'till mom finds out, buddy!"
- Sam Emerson (Haim) The Lost Boys

Thursday, March 04, 2010

Memories of Max

This is the blog my Mum wrote for Max recently:

My first memory of Max goes back to Shenton Park.
I don't remember where, or how, Max and Denny first met, but one day he turned up in our backyard and was a welcome fixture in our Onslow Road home for all the years we lived there.
He was snowy haired and barely eight at the time. A right little "fireball".
Over the next ten years, Max all but moved into Denny's room. Sleeping Over endless nights. Playing cricket for hour after hour in the side street. Summer days spent swimming in the backyard pool. Summer evenings spent putting snags on the BBQ at Shenton Park Lake. Winter brought its own delights. Keeping the fireplace in Denny's bedroom going for days on end while they, and other boyhood friends, played Dungeons and Dragons well into the night.
The fireplace in Denny's bedroom must have had its own special magic because
one memorable winter they managed to feed into it our entire stock of wood in a roughly seven day period!
Max was so much a part of our family that my store of memories is massive.
However some memories are so sharply etched in my heart and mind they will be with me forever.
Max ordering a Hamburger, at the Jolly Friar on Onslow Road, is one such gem:-
"Hamburger please mister -
Hold the lettuce
Hold the tomato
Hold the onion
Hold the pickle"
Max's aversion to anything "green or salad like" stayed with him well into manhood.
But perhaps my most poignant memory of Max was six weeks before he died.
We had caught up for coffee in Subiaco.
We spent a lovely couple of hours together enjoying the reminiscence of times past. Talking about his life and job in Melbourne and just generally "Chewing the Fat".
I remarked later in a phone conversation with Denny, how well I thought Max looked and, even more importantly, how contented he seemed.
How could I possibly have known, that as I dropped Max off at his Mother's home, turned the car around and waved goodbye, that Max would, shortly, "exit stage left" from my life.
God Bless you Max. I pray that your soul has been freed for new adventures.

Sue Carr

There are more comments for Maxie on a previous blog entry from November 2009. Or you can click HERE to jaunt straight there.

For more photos of Max Flory or to contribute a photo please visit this flickr page

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Shooting the shooters

Ok so this is a fairly crass thing to do in Phnom Penh and I'll take the blame for it. I'd always wanted to fire a machine gun and David was keen too. It would also be fair of me to mention that Eli didn't want to do it at all.

We paid our penitence However. As soon as we'd done shooting we went and visited the Killing Fields. A sobering experience and the perfect contra-distinction to the narcissistic pleasure of firing a gun.

Also quick note: Our stand in camera guy didn't put much stock in might say he was more of a 'point and shoot' sort of fellow ;-)

*Originally posted on my Flickr page

Listening To: Cambodia Rocks - Various Artists

Saturday, February 20, 2010



We march in protest. Our small venues and community must be protected, empowered and respected.

Assemble at the State Library, cnr Swanston and Latrobe Sts.


This is a peaceful protest. Families welcome and encouraged to join the march.

STRICTLY NO ALCOHOL. It’s illegal to drink in the street and important to show the broader community that WE ARE NOT HIGH RISK.


is Save Live Australian Music, a non-politically aligned, independent entity made up of musicians and music-lovers.

In a bid to address street violence Liquor Licensing Victoria (LLV) has introduced sweeping changes with unintended consequences for the local music scene.

LLV should admit its mistake and make simple changes immediately, acknowledging that there is no link between live music and high risk. The Tote is gone, who’s next?

On 23 February, coinciding with the 34th anniversary of AC/DC’s famous ‘It’s A Long Way To The Top’ film clip shoot down Swanston Street, S.L.A.M. is protesting in support and celebration of Victoria’s music scene, where new liquor licensing laws threaten to pull the plug on live music.

Meet at 4pm outside the State Library to make your way along Swanston Street and up Bourke Street to Parliament House to hear guest speakers from 6 to 7pm.

The RocKwiz Orchestra with guest performers will lead the rally, repeating the three chords from ‘It’s A Long Way to the Top’ in the back of a flatbed truck as we follow – ALL 10,000 PLUS OF US – holding placards and instruments chanting down these ridiculous laws. Over the famous riff new lyrics will be created, such as ”So the Tote’s been shut down, send Sue MacLellan [LLV Director] on her way”.

Lack of support for this precious industry has gone on for too long! Celebrate the diversity of Victorian music. Be one of the thousands of musicians and music supporters who will make this a day to remember!

Music means many things to many people, but the most important is that it IS passion, creativity, happiness and life for many people. So please come and help support one of the best things that Australia has to offer: live & local music.

Invite everyone and if you can’t attend please sign the petition. If you are reading this you love music. Keep it alive by keeping it live.


Friday, January 15, 2010


If you are upset about the Tote Hotel closing then register your protest by contacting the following people:

Emailing is good but letter writing and phone calls are best...faxes too!

Please feel free to email me with any alterations or additions.

Richard Wynne MP

State Member For Richmond:

Postal PO Box 1474 Collingwood 3066
Phone 03 9415 8901
Fax 03 9415 8918


Minister for the Arts:

* PLEASE NOTE : it may not be worth writing to Lynne Kosky since she announced her resignation today. A new Arts Minister will be announced soon.

Suite 603, level 1, 2 Main St. Point Cook Town Centre, Point Cook 3030

(08)9395 0221

FAX: 9395 3061


Victorian Minister for Consumer Affairs and the Minister for Gaming:

Electorate Office Address

9 Blackburn Road, Blackburn, 3130

Ph: 9878 4113

Fax: 9878 9135

Ministerial Office Address

Level 5, 1 Macarthur Street

East Melbourne 3002

Ph: 8684 1400

Fax: 8684 1444


Director of Liquor Licensing:

Phone (03) 9655 6600

Fax (03) 9655 6978

General inquiries Liquor Licensing:


Victorian Civil and Administrative Tribunal General Inquiries:

The Victorian State Premier John Brumby:


Ministerial office –
Level 1, 1 Treasury Pl, Melbourne 3002
Tel: 9651 5000
Fax: 9651 5054

Electorate office –
145A Wheatsheaf Rd, Glenroy 3046
Tel: 9300 3851
Fax: 9300 3915

Your Voice Victoria "Contact The Premier":


The Victorian Deputy Premier &

Attorney General

Rob Hulls :

Email: au.

Electorate Office Address:
473 Keilor Road, Niddrie VIC 3042
Ph: 9379 5879

Fax: 9379 4434

Ministerial Office Address:
Level 3, 1 Treasury Place
East Melbourne VIC 3002
Ph: 9651 1222
Fax: 9651 1188


Thursday, January 14, 2010

Gallaga 1981 Kicks Darkness

Hit my PB (Personal Best kids!) on Gallaga at the Tru-Mould Factory tonight! I Was never much chop at the game when I was a kid. Rich Giliberto loaned a vintage cocktail table edition of the game to the Tru-Mould factory a couple of years ago. Tone tells me that it is a first generation 1981 edition.
For some reason the fire-button and joy stick are back the front so we play with our hands & wrists crossed over and overlapping.
Anyway this is my second retro computer game post. The previous one was from 2007 when I was taking on the Bentley Tavern staff at Bombjack and had also just hit a PB (and finally crushed my main rival's ambitions...teehee thanks Callum!)
Tonight I txtd my high score to Maxie's mobile too...of course his phone number is still in my phone and shall remain for the remainder of my life. I know he wouldve appreciated my 'knock' on Galaga tonight. We played many such games together when we were kids in Shenton Park...(Vale the Jolly Friars and the old Onslow road deli) Alas Max is not even the only dead person in my phone contacts list. My Dad is in there also.
All things must pass: Even the Tote Hotel as it happens, which I have just heard is closing its doors due to the ongoing pressure that Liquor Licensing Victoria has placed on it and the general lack of support from the Victorian state government -- the fucktards at Yarra city council and the various undead yuppie scum-zombies who have invaded this fair city and beguiled it with their tedious white bread desires and horrible mainstream sensibilities. Fuck you all. "When I am king you will be first against the wall" Or as my friend Robbie wrote on Facebook tonight "farewell another rock god on our road to banality"
I will do another post about the demise of the Tote but this ere' bit blogged off in that direction of its own independent free spirit so. Bop be it.
Remember when we were young and Brunswick Street wasn't only for the wealthy? Ahh those heady days of cultural diversity (Vale the Punters Club & the Evelyn indie band room)
But enough of this tangent, heartfelt joy kicks darkness though it maybe, I hit 325,750 on Gallaga tonight and got to stage 37 and saw a Challenging Stage that I'd never seen before and Tommy Rushford witnessed the whole glorious innings, my finest and according to him, one of his favourites.

"Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince; 
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest"

- Hamlet - Horatio, scene ii

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

"Diggers Abroad"

~ Photographic Highlights ~

...An ongoing retrospective

Available for your viewing pleasure


Peace in 2010 Friends.

Listening to: Jenny Wilson "Like a fading rainbow"