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L L O Y D S T E V I E A TRAVERSE IN MEMORYKEEPI N G LINEARNOTES


L L O Y D S T E V I E A TRAVERSE IN MEMORYKEEPIN G LINEARNOTES


WHEN WE TR AV E L , WE FEEL STR O N G LY O B L I G ED TO RECORD O U R J O U R N E Y. WE PHOTOG R A P H, W E SCRIBBLE M A D LY I N T O OUR FRESHLY B O U G H T JOURNALS. T H E T H O U G H T OF SUBMITT I N G S U C H CHERISHED T I M E S T O MEMORY AL O N E I S REVOLTING THAT UNREL I A B L E B E A S T


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ARRIVALS M MEMORY MAMMARY MISTAKE MIGHTY MAIN

Does the thought of keeping up with what has happened wear us down?

N NOCTURNE NUPTIAL

The following pages are a response to a trip that I took to Paris with Melissa Levy.

O OVERGROWN ORIGINAL OUTRAGED

These are my observations, interpretations, responses, collections and attempts at turning the thoughts that were circulating through my head at that time into some kind of graphical explanation.

P PERHAPS

Is it time to move on?

Is the appeal of the unknown attractive to everyone?


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From the top we could see it all laid out before us it seemed final. It is hazy and hot up here but I want to keep looking down. Lets push past the crowds and the sales people selling their little ticks and tricks.

IN PIECES. TINY PIECES AND LOTS OF THEM. THATS HOW MEMORIES FLOAT ABOUT INSIDE WORN-OUT HEADS. TIRED HEADS THAT NEED SIESTA’S AND SUCH. LET ME REMIND YOU THAT THESE INFORMATION ARTICLES CANNOT AND SHOULD NOT BE TRUSTED.


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A maze of cobblestone streets with semi-permanent stores selling every imaginable junk. Most of it antique or vintage. From anvils to personal letters from 100 years ago to furniture and plastic babies. It was all there. My eyes were stuffed with things to spark my imagination


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HAVE YOU MADE ANYTHING TODAY? FIG. 12’00”

An helpful young man is


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TODAY, I AM GOING TO MAKE SOMETHING

Even when we force ourselves to create then we are doing the mind a favour. Most of the time inspiration and the desire to be in some way creative come down like juicy raindrops into the palms of my hands. But, there is the occasion when that inner rat-on-awheel feels kind of fat and lazy. I once wrote that forcing creativity

is like pushing a log up a hill eventually we tire and the log is going to roll right back over us. I still think this holds some truth. But now I feel like I would rather be flattened by that log so that I know how to avoid it happening again. As opposed to keeping my hands clean.


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We best believe that the best is yet to come. Be there rain, pain, sunshine or sublime. Yes sir. It’s coming. So be patient.

The other evening we met with our friends at Anvers station. We were now armed with a French-speaking local. They took us to a cool little bar in Piggale. As we were walking all the local men had eyes that were popping out of their heads. I must have looked like the luckiest guy alive walking the streets of Paris with three very tall, striking and exotic looking girls. One of the men quipped "Three Spice Girls and one Naughty boy!" We all fell apart laughing. We sat at the bar drinking and sharing stories. Our two friends were planning to head to party on a barge and wanted to know if we were in? Of course we were in. A cab ride erratically got us to some point along the river. We are hustled 'on board' as soon

as we arrived. Having friends pays. We all start really getting stuck into the booze. We start to get crazy drunk as we watch the shimmering twilight river before us. After a while we head down into the hull of the boat where there is a much more serious party going on. They had a full blown club set up down there - and it was going gang busters. The music was very french and very electronic. There was a strange light show, lots of people on all kinds of drugs, animalistic dancing. Kind of industrial in a party way. I remember that the toilet seats were covered with remnants of white powders. No one was speaking in the club. The music was abusing that luxury. The dance


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THE HOUNDS OF LOVE ARE CALLING


12 One afternoon we decided to take a walk to the cemetery in Montmatre. It was hot that day, I remember. We stumbled through the cobble-stone streets until we found the entrance. The sun was low but far from setting, the shadows exaggerated the unusual shapes within. Large stone boxes with statues projecting into the air, old trees aching their way up and out, catching glints. Then we spotted the resident black cats, it was perfectly ironic to see them there.


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THE BURIAL And the sequence of events that follow.

They buried her there. Amongst all her other relatives. All laying next to and on top of each other. Like sleeping travellers in train carriages. They visited her there. Everyday for the first week that she spend below. They thought she might have been lonely, spending all that time in the darkness but eventually she might get used to it. After the initial and frequent visits, her mourners started arriving with less vigour. They had things to do you know? Plus flowers were expensive. Then there was the awkward silence that came over them as they would stand there gazing at the place where she lay. The same kind of muteness comes over people when they stand in places that are supposedly holy. It is

a kind of self imposed stupor that people think they need to activate. They say that death is the only factor that gives life any meaning whatsoever. Without it (the ticking clock, the possibility of it all coming to an end at anytime) we would fear nothing, want nothing, feel nothing and appreciate nothing. She wished that her visitors understood this more. It was her life and now it was over. She felt uneasy about the forced sense of attachment that her visitors had to it. Of course she appreciated the sentiment. But for now she just wanted to feel the warmth of the suns muted rays from where she rested.


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IN THE BEGINNING, MAN CREATES A REPLICA


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FIG. 13'00”

The cost of leaving

FIG. 14’00” Associated costs


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IN THE COOL OF THE EVENING


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IN THE HEAT OF THE MID DAY


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SUNDAY WAITS PAIR IN PARK

Luxembourg, afternoon

I talked to a guy on an old barge. He was a music producer of sorts and his English was patchy. He told me that his city bored him to death. Travelling afar and intermediately returning were the only things he could to do keep the fire burning. It was funny because he had been living in the part of London that we were going to. London was fun he said. Too fun. He had to get outta

town to have a little fun, shake a leg. It wasn't so much the city but the people that went there. The people that don't stay. Just passing through. Taking what I can. Seeing the sights. Filling a romantic illusion or idea. All of them think that their experience is unique to everyone else's. Of course they are unfathomably wrong. Summer was the worst.


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FIG. 15’00”

Distorted light one

FIG. 16’00” Pyramid

FIG. 17’00”

Distorted light two


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FIG. 18’00�

Afternoon leaves

I woke up early this morning, two minutes before I was supposed to start work. Perfect. My brain had ignored the alarm. I stumbled out onto my small balcony and BAM! The world was fluorescent orange. The sky looked like it was on fire! The air was hazy and tasted dry. It was so striking that it actually made me laugh. Perhaps I was half dreaming? It was very surreal. My other idea was that there were bush fires or maybe it was ARMAGEDDON. Fun, I thought. Despite my lateness I wandered around dazed and confused "dopely" snapping photos. You can't imagine how everything was glowing! It was like planet Mars. The streets were empty and there were lots of sirens in the distance.

The radio in the taxi on the way to work said it was a fluke dust storm that had moseyed on in from the South West. The rising Sydney sun was catching the Dessert sand. You could hardly see ten meters in front of yourself! Throughout the day TONS of red sand dumped itself on the city. All the way from the outback it was turning the shiny city filthy dirty!


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IM GROWING UP, ACTUALLY

OPEN, I REMAIN OPEN

I can feel myself getting older, not in the numerical sense, the years that are counted and attached to my identity mean nothing. And certainly, it is not my body that is feeling this change. As my time goes further, my decisiveness growing and my taste getting stronger. Little by little I am getting closer and closer to who I want to be and where I want to be. In a way, it feels like I have lost control over these notions. Most of the time I like this.

Oh, I wish I had a boyfriend I wish I had a loving man in my life I wish I had a father Maybe then I would've turned out right But now I'm just crazy, I'm totally mad Yeah I'm just crazy, I'm fucked in the head And maybe if I really tried with all of my heart Then I could make a brand new start in love with you

And I am in love.

Oh, I wish I had a suntan Oh, I wish I had a pizza and a bottle of wine

Oh, I wish I had a beach house Then we could make a big fire every night Instead I'm just crazy, I'm totally mad Yeah I'm just crazy, I'm fucked in the head And maybe if I really tried with all of my heart Then I could make a brand new start in love with you C'mon c'mon c'mon Kayda


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ABCDEF GHIJKLM NOPQRSTU VWXYZ1234 567890 FINISHED DEPARTURE END'D

The author would like to thank LLoyd Stevie for coming to him with the Idea for this project. His creativity and ingenuity can be an inspiration to us all. The author would also like to thank Melissa Levy for her ongoing love and support. Who makes no judgement of the authors imaginative projects that many would deem useless and/or stupid. This document was created using an illegal copy of Adobe InDesign, from the CS4 suite. The author would like to apologise for the use of an unregistered copy of the aforementioned software. All of the photographs within this document were taken with a Cannon 30D that was set on a manual setting.

The scanned articles within this document were scanned using a Cannon PIXMA MP250. The original document was designed for the A4. This document and the contents in their entirety are a copyright of LLoyd Stevie 2010.


LINEAR NOTES  

LLOYD STEVIE

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