The Pork Shoulder Experiment

Currently Listening To :: Greatest Mistake :: Handsome Boy Modelling School feat. John Oates & Jamie Cullum

I woke up this morning in a bed that wasn't my own, but a bed that wasn't unfamiliar. But before you ask, yes, I was alone. And yes, I was fully clothed. But far from a sad ending (or beginning to this entry), the sun was shining, and as I wiped the sleep from my eyes, my mind thought about the few nights just passed.

I began to wonder what it would be like to have a dampened sense of physical feedback. They say that when you lose one of your five senses, the remaining four become even more acute in order to compensate. Stevie Wonder. Beethoven. Waste management specialists the world over.

So what would happen if everything I touched was only a quarter as sensitive to my body as it normally was? How about half as sensitive? Three-quarters? If I could no longer feel the glow of a hot shower, the coarseness of beach sand on the soles of my feet, the smooth skin of my lovers lower back, would I be better off dead?

If I couldn't feel anything in a physical sense like I used to, does that mean my emotions would be heightened? Would these overpowering emotions destroy me before I could find a way to control them? When I drink the alcohol that dulls my senses, that makes me impervious to the cold, do I feel any less on the inside?

I thought about that on Friday night as I casted a glance across the room at Privilege and sunk back yet another rum and coke, my body screaming for sustenance as I waited for my mind to open up and absorb my newly heightened emotions like a sponge.

Not this time. Maybe another night, but not tonight.

I'm typing this as I wait another 5 hours for my pork shoulder to slow-cook. With any luck, midnight should bring me a heady mix of pork roasted in brown sugar, paprika, coriander, onion powder, salt and pepper.

If that doesn't open my senses, well, I might as WELL be dead.

Visual Izms

Currently Listening To :: Sha Tan (Blue Moon - Accapella Version) :: David Tao

Thanks to the good people at xtn.blogspot.com, I don't even have to say too much today. Enjoy some snippets of my life right now - any generalisations derived from these pictures are at least patially true.

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No North and Definitely No South

Currently Listening To :: I'm Sorry (I Don't Love You No More) :: Craig David

Sunday just past, I realised that I hadn't been to Newtown for as long as I could recall. I have always had fond memories of the suburb - when I was in University, it was the hub of all things I wasn't. It was so far removed from the suburbs that I grew up in, yet I slowly became accustomed to the strangeness, and over time what was once foreign became comfortable, loved even. It was my touchstone with the City, just as the cross streets of George and Liverpool had been during my High School years.

Strolling down the sunny streets of Newtown, I headed for my favourite cafe, taking the same way that I always had. But from afar, something seemed amiss. The usual bustle surrounding it was not there, the traffic that stopped in to take in the traffic strangely absent. As I drew closer, I was shocked to see that the doors were shut, but not just shut as if they would once again reopen, but closed for good.

The glass doors that I had peered both in and out of were boarded up, and I could no longer catch a glimpse inside. Frantically, I tried to see if there was an opening, a hint, and indication that once again the cafe would reopen. When at last I managed to find a crack in the boards, and as I patiently waited for my eyesight to adjust, I was crestfallen to see that there was nothing inside. It was a shell of its former self.

The leather couches where I had once relaxed my weary self. The subdued lighting that made me feel so comfortable. The staff with their mannerisms that infuriated yet you couldn't help but like. My earliest memories of what a cafe SHOULD be, one of the first cafes I called "mine", introduced others to, discovered chai latte's at - it was all gone. I felt listless. As I stood there on the street, I felt as if a part of my Newtown experience had been stripped away.

When I left that night, I turned it over in my head again, like flipping a pancake in my mind. A part of me felt cheated that time had moved on without me. How dare it?!? In my minds eye, I had blinked and it had disappeared...perhaps I was enjoying what was in my mind, not what was real. Maybe they didn't receive enough business? The owners decided to trade in for something better? Perhaps it was just a refurbishment, and I would be able to return to something new?

Driving home, I couldn't help but think of other things I'd lost, and my thoughts shifted to my red ski jacket. History repeating itself? Maybe. Lessons not learned? Disappointingly yes.