Anne Collier at Galerie Neu
i don't do bad sauce passes
occasionally subtle
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Today's Document
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2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

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@secondgradefresh
Anne Collier at Galerie Neu
“Art cannot be modern. Art is primordially eternal.”
I’m in Melbourne next week for this concerto and other stuff…
Russell St. Bombings is Al and Zephyr from Total Control, Terry and Eastlink. There’s inklings of members other bands such as the moments where Lower Plenty enters into murky early Dead C territory, Zephyr’s clever-yet-subtle guitar deviations in Eastlink and a similar mystic vibe to Al’s fantastic SNAKE cassette, but really this album is a different kettle of fish. The outsider folk of Skip Spence and Pip Proud collide with wonky keyboards, Martin Rev’s rhythm box and some one chord Velvet Underground chooglin’. Apparently they have added a funk song to their inventory. “I enjoy the recorded music of Russell St. Bombings.” - Henry Rollins, Rollins Band “Tbh this is my favourite band Al and Zephyr are in and I’m not saying that just to seem interesting” - Nic Warnock, Music Expert https://soundcloud.com/smartguy/russell-st-bombings-homicide-squad PHONE is Daryl Prondoso, Carmen Juarez and Nic Warnock (Bed Wettin’ Bad Boys, Ruined Fortune) merging hi-tech and primitive electronic and “live band” instrumentation. Think Chrome and/or Sunday Painters for the Footwork generation (R.I.P. DJ Rashad). One audience member said Phone reminded them of Crass meets The KLF, another audience member said they remind them of UK technopop-alt-rock group Republica, best known for their 1996 hit Ready To Go. https://soundcloud.com/phonephonephone/003a
Hey Melbourne
When it rains it pours
BWBB JAN 2017
Cool poster for upcoming Bad Boiz shows by bad boi Joe. Piccie by yours truly. Particularly keen for Friday 13th show. 🤘
Yes
EMERALD
The Capricorn Highway is a two lane highway connecting central Queensland and its agricultural and coal fields to the sea. It’s where i grew up and anyone who grew up in the area knows of the anti-beauty - the endless fields of lucerne, cattle, the firing of rifles into the necks of kangaroos, dirt roads, the utes, electric fences, the opening and shutting of gates and the bales of hay held tight with bailing twine.
I’m lying on my side and I’m bleeding from just below my eye. It’s early afternoon, rolling onto my back I see dappled sunlight through a tree into the cloudless dome that is a beautiful country Queensland sky. I’m somewhere near my mum and her boyfriend’s place. I have just failed at killing myself at the age of 9.
I remember staring up at the rotting and jagged wood. The bailing twine in a flaccid noose around my neck. I look back up, fucking wood broke - why did it break - why am I still here? Pretty good knot though; I tied it real good just like my grandad taught me. Not the best knot. Terrible in fact. I’m pathetic and it hurts to breathe. I need to get up at some point. I don’t have the energy to try this again. My neck is bruised and red and I’m a fucking failure. I get up and walk down to the footy fields and lay in the dry grass. The sun is high above me and it’s still early in the afternoon.
That’s the thing - when you’re from a rural community and you wander to or from wherever you’re supposed to go - the empty oval, the weir at the end of the street, the bus stop, the ploughed fields, the pig pens, the dams and the sunflowers - It’s just so incredibly lonely. You’re always by yourself and when you have parents like I did, like a lot of us did, a mum that just kept quiet about it, and a distant father that told you to be embarrassed and ashamed about how you felt, about your mental illness, then the loneliness burns as slow as the sun sets - into the rows of irrigation channels, the cotton fields and the silhouettes of empty coal carriages. You sit by the highway and stare into the headlights of road trains as they pass by - the mosquitos briefly departing your skin and it’s at this moment you enjoy the Capricorn sky.
And that’s that and ya kinda live on: us lucky ones accidentally become older. Daily challenges become somewhat less challenging and then you wind up in Sydney or Melbourne or Berlin if you’re a cunt or wherever really and people will probably constantly laugh at you but you’ll learn to work hard if ya care and you’ll figure something out. And eventually you’ll be sweet and that horrible sadness will begin to disappear, please trust me on this one.
The feeling will briefly and routinely return, however, and you’ll remember those days when you’re on your back. Or by that highway, burning, eyes closed, toes to the edge of the bitumen - that passing road train soaring towards you. Holding your breath, inhaling; all you want is to take that step forward into the eternal white heat of conclusion. But that will pass and you’ll feel the warmth of the second chance. Gazing through the dust at those broken rafters, how did it snap? And you won’t care. All you’ll remember is wiping the splinters of treated wood from your eyes and today - not then, but today - you’ll just be happy it broke. You are you, and everything else and everyone else is just totally unimportant and you will have no choice but to become the amazing person you deserve to be.
Hey! I’m playing a show for the first time in 10 years hahaha come watch our new band!!!!
swer
wah
Feeling good feeling rad. Looking forward to feeling feelings for someone again. Sydney gimme some love. I move Valentine’s Day.
Hehehe Sydney more than delivered >>>>>> this is me rn 😍😍😍😍😍😍💘💘💘💘💘🐒💕
Te veo
My butt is an actual gift
Honey is Sweeter than Blood (1941) by Salvador Dalí
Feeling good feeling rad. Looking forward to feeling feelings for someone again. Sydney gimme some love. I move Valentine's Day.