#and all of the listed above can be found in Liz to some degree.

[fuckedliar]

If I do one thing — it’s gonna be project my childhood fav girlies into my female muses. Barbie? Polly pocket? Bratz? My scene? Monster high? FUCKIN BET!

[mackenzieparker]

ok lets do this one more time, yeah? for real this time. this is it. my name is nika (she/hers, est). i like to write and hang out cool communities like this and for the last first time, i have brought a brand new muse to y’all. below you’ll find all the details on a ms. mackenzie “mack” rae parker, plucky country gal and badass babe. please love me and her and smash that like button or send me a dm (discord ichoosenikachu#4859 )  to plot.

( tw: drunk driver, death, sexism )

B A C K S T O R Y →

meet mackenzie rae parker, born august 17, 1989 in grove, oklahoma. mack (as she’s gone by since she was a kid and it won’t be changing anytime soon) was born to two loving parents Steven and Margaret Parker, the youngest daughter of three boys: morgan, matthew, and merritt. yes, her parents did have a thing for m names--and no, it didn’t help her momma remember her name any better, like they told their kids growing up. 

Maggie and Steve loved their daughter--their whole family, really--to bits and pieces. It had been Maggie’s dream to have a little girl when the couple first got together and when they had first received the ultrasound, well, they were overjoyed. When Mackenzie came into the world, there was cause for joyous celebration and laughter. Everyone was happy the Parker’s finally had a little pink bundle of joy. 

Little Mackenzie’s personality was--well, let’s just say she had never been one to shy away from an exciting situation. Her brothers’ had taught her early on that life wouldn’t always be easy so she had to be tough enough to take it head on. In fact, they made it a point to remind her whenever they had a chance. Buts she was also their little sister, and fiercely protective of her. And while it annoyed Mack to no end, she adored her brothers endlessly. 

Mack may not have been the strongest Parker in the household, but next to her Momma she was the wittiest. Her comebacks were always sharp and as she grew up, she honed her sarcastic, dry wit in addition to her own athletic talent.

Mack loved her Momma. In fact, if she had to pick favorites her Momma would have won every time. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her father. Her father was a good man--he was a local mechanic at Grove Automotive, always greeted everyone with a smile and cared deeply for his family. But Mack and him were never as close as she was with her momma. Maggie understood her daughter’s firey nature but compassionate heart and saw the way it warred within her--especially after she’d gotten into a fight with one of her brothers. 

( tw: drunk driving & death ) When Mack was twelve, though--tragedy struck. Maggie was on her back from work after parent teacher conferences; she was the local kindergarten teacher at Grove Elementary, when a drunk drive t-boned her car and Maggie was killed on impact. thankfully (if one can say that in this situation) no one else was in the car. but suddenly the Parker family had lost its matriarch and Mack, the one person who might have been able to understand her. 

She had always grown up as a tomboy--a fact that even her momma, a woman who had been raised in South Carolina to rather traditional parents couldn’t stamp out of her. But even so, after Maggie Parker passed on, Mack became even more of one, almost shunning all that was feminine away from her, as if any reminder of her mother would be the end of her as she knew it. And, for her, it might have been. It was no secret she had been the closest to Maggie--and her death hit her the hardest. Mack got rid of all her dresses, all her skirts, anything that reminded her of her mother--save for the small box of photos and momentos she kept heavily hidden under her bed. On her worst days, she’d pull the box out and talk to the photo of her Momma--it was the only time the blonde ever outwardly expressed emotions, specifically crying. 

To distract herself from the grief, Mack threw herself into everything she could in high school--archery, debate, robotics club, anything to keep her mind off of the encroaching cloud that now lived around her heart. It was in Robotics club, though, she learned she had a real knack for using her hands. She had learned early on about cars and the like--her father’s occupation and brothers’ fascination with the thing gave her unparalleled access to a number of cars being torn apart and rebuilt from the ground up. But Mack--Mack was always more excited about what flew above their heads than right next to them. A junior in high school, she had made the choice that she wanted to be an engineer--one who would eventually design an entire new fleet of Boeing Jets for commercial use. She had only ever flown on a jet once--to see her grandparents after her momma’s passing--but it had been the only thing to give her relief from her sadness that day. It’s where her love affair with aviation began. 

Mack graduated top of her class (nerd, her brothers would always joke) and soon found herself enrolled in the University of Oklahoma’s prized engineering program (boomer sooner!). Of course, she wanted to stay close to home--one, to keep the costs down but two, leaving her family felt wrong, even six years later. And for the most part, Mack loved it. She got involved in all sorts of things--engineering clubs, intramural sports, and even, yes, a sorority. It went against all the things she hated in relation to femininity, but her mother had spoken so highly of her experiences in the organization, and Mack felt a pull to join her. To her surprise, she didn’t hate it--and it was with those women she really started to learn about feminism. 

You see, when Mack would go home, all the women in town would ask her about if she was seeing a boy. Mack had never understood why it mattered so much if she had a boyfriend or not--she was getting her degree in mechanical engineering, wasn’t that a tad bit more impressive than whatever guy she might be seeing? But soon, it occurred to her that the women in town would never understand anything other than her finding her future husband at school. The fact shocked her, considering it had never occurred to her in the slightest that she’d ever go to school to get a husband in the first place. After the shock worn down, it enraged her and made her work harder. Because now, she was getting disparaging comments from the folks back home and the men in her internships and co-ops. Women can’t build things--they’ll break a nail. Why are you in pants? Your legs would look better in a skirt. Mack had never been one to bit her tongue, and on more than one occasion was able to test out what her brothers’ had taught her growing up. No one was going to tell Mack what she could or could not do. And certainly not because of her gender. 

Mack eventually graduated college--though deeply in debt thanks to all those added fees for science labs #thanksUofOklahoma--but realized that going back home would never be realistic for her. So, she packed up her truck, Betsy, and headed west. Originally, she had meant to go to Seattle or Portland--that’s where Boeing was, that’s where her dream landed. But something about Charming, CA caught her eye--and she found herself intrigued. Plus, it sure didn’t hurt that no one seemed to care when she applied to work as a mechanic in their autoshop. Now she’s been here about 8 years and she hasn’t grown sick of it yet. She still has dreams of working for Boeing, but as she grows more comfortable in Charming, they seem to be slipping to the wayside. 

Mack’s vibe is...well, she’s a loyal friend, a good listener and kind, though not sunshine and rainbows. Growing up without her mom really changed her--she still had a compassionate heart but it’s not as obvious as it once was. She’s still sassy, sarcastic and witty, but she is friendly as well. Smart too--and a bit of a nerd, loves herself some comics and documentaries. all around, she’s genuinely a good egg, just a little...rough around the edges at times. 

H E A D C A N O N S →

Mack never, ever goes by Mackenzie. In fact, you’ll never know its her full name unless she drops her ID. The only person you’ll ever hear call her that is her father--or brothers--when something is wrong. 

Her favorite food is chicken cordon bleu. She knows it sounds fancy but literally, her favorite is the one where you buy it frozen and pop it in the oven. She is a simple gal, truly. 

Her favorite shoes are her various pairs of converse, although for work she can be seen wearing docs so she doesn’t get oil all over her shoes. 

Betsy, her truck, is very special to her--she takes extra good care of it. She’s a 1967 Chevy C10 Pickup in a robin’s egg blue color--and her pride and joy.

Even though she loves her truck no matter what, the woman has worked on enough bikes for the various motorcycle clubs around town to know that if she had even gotten enough money--she’d get herself a nice bike. Flying down the road on open asphalt? Doesn’t get better than that. 

Mack loves classic rock. Like love loves it--but also the women of the 90′s like Alanis Morisette, Liz Phair, The Cranberries--she loves a good women rock group. 

P L O T S →

friends

exes

situationships/flirtationships

fwb

slowburn

coworkers

any connections to the motorcycle gang

literally i suck at listing plots out, just hit me up and i’ll be EXCITED TO PLOT!

[fly-underground]

six hundred and seventy five: 2019

The annual year in review entry. I’ve written this post nine times, one for every year of this decade. I reread the very first one, from 2010, aloud to my mother the other night. My writer’s voice is so chipper in it, so young. I had just started college. In so many ways, I had barely lived. I was about to list off all the things I hadn’t yet done, as an explanation. But the truth is, even now, having done at least a few of those things, I still have barely lived. I want to remember that, to bottle up that feeling of wistfulness for a younger self, that protective inclination to wait for things to get better and worse, because I know I still need it. There is still so much I haven’t done, so much I want to do. Ways to spend the next few decades, if I’m lucky enough to have them.

Last year at this time, I think I was home alone with Cory. I can’t remember it perfectly. The past few years have blurred together in that regard. Was this the year that Mariah Carey sang badly during Dick Clark’s Rockin’ Eve? I’ll look it up after I write this. The point is, I welcomed in the new year alone, but not really, and then received a flurry of text messages from my mother and brother and so many friends. January passed in New York for the most part. I went to my favorite bar every week, first with Liz and then with Vivian. I got bad news one night about a fellowship and the next night, I found out that my fellowship paper was selected for an academic conference. I felt like Even Steven, losing one thing, gaining another. By the time I made it back to Boston, for the spring semester, it was the end of the month. That last week became so important, especially in retrospect. I met a man from the past in one of my classes, someone I knew vaguely from my time at Swarthmore. February was about him. And so was March and April and May.

I used to keep details off my blog, because I was afraid of people reading and piecing together the truth. I wanted to be polite and coy. Now, I guess I don’t really know who is still reading this. And maybe I also don’t care. If you know me, really know me, you know what happened. If you don’t, well: in February, this blast from the past man sent me an email about coffee. I said yes and we spent hours together, walking around Cambridge, the pink sky of the new moon above our heads. Then he asked me to go to the Arnold Arboretum. We never went. Instead, we talked for hours in another coffee shop. Uncharacteristically, I asked to see his place and after I met his roommates, in-between bites of fig newtons, he leaned over and whispered: Can I kiss you? His tongue slipped into my mouth in the darkness of his living room. He kissed me again on his doorstep and my head spun on the lyft ride home. I threw up hours two hours later, from the hunger induced migraine. I didn’t eat at all that day, except for the cookies in his house and the lettuce wrapped in turkey at midnight in my bed. Of course I threw up. The next week, we went out again. Later, in my bed, wrapped up in his wiry, tattooed arms, I was just happy. That was when he told me, that he’s an alcoholic and an addict. It should have changed something for me, it should have set off an alarm. It didn’t.

Four days later, he relapsed. He had cancelled and then un-cancelled our date. I met him at a Starbucks and on the T back to his place, our legs touched. I felt bad, terrible in a way that I couldn’t name. We watched some Netflix original reality show and then, in his bed, we had sex. We kissed. He told me about his history of self harm and severe mental illness. I talked about my own trauma. It was not a good date. I couldn’t sleep after. In the morning, after he made me eggs and I realized he would not be going to his next AA meeting, I asked, trying not to cry, Will I see you again? He said of course, and then he backed me into a wall and kissed me with a boyish glee. I felt relieved and stupid. Three days later, he told me he couldn’t make it to my place for dinner. He said that he felt like he had encountered me in the wrong moment of his life, that he couldn’t stop drinking, that he was checking himself into a facility, that I meant something to him. I cried that whole weekend. I barely ate. No one could help me.

It was like this for months. Every interaction between us charmed and hurt me. When he was doing well, I was joyous. Otherwise, I was miserable. I skipped meals. I had nightmares. I cried alone in my room, on walks around campus. I lost weight and inches. I felt like I was dying. Somehow, in that strange internal darkness, I realized I was not okay. I wanted to be okay, more than anything. I felt bad all the time and I was tired of feeling bad. In April, I started seeing a therapist. In May, I started seeing a nutritionist.  I went to a support group meeting and read literature about codependency. I felt like it was my fault, my emotions, my own shit. I called my mother and Vivian and Michael. I was defensive about this guy. Addiction is a disease, an addict is not a Bad Person, but he can be a deeply troubled person. 

And then, after all of that, one day in May, he told me that he had gotten involved with someone. It was the way he said it. Two weeks before, in his bed, he had asked if he could undress me. I told him then, sitting outside the Harvard Square T stop, that he was a coward. He flinched, like I hit him. I said, I thought I loved you, but you aren’t who I thought you were. I guess, I didn’t really love you then. I also said, I’m sorry if that hurt you, I don’t mean to hurt you. And he told me, his eyes glassy, that I meant something to him. Of course, I knew that. Of course, it didn’t matter.

I skipped some stuff, or I made it seem small. In May, when I went to that support group meeting, I actually spoke in the group. I said, Every day I feel this intense pressure to try my best. I want to be kind and generous and patient and brave and good. But it’s so much work, being that way. Sometimes, I can’t do it. Sometimes, I just don’t have it in me. On those days, I want to give myself permission, to simply try. On those days, “best” is not the goal. The goal is to keep at it, whatever it is. So, I went to classes and socialized and asked for help. I told my therapist in April, that coming to therapy meant that I wasn’t hopeless, that I hadn’t given up on myself. In March, I presented my paper at an academic conference, as a single author. I was also on a poetry panel with Trista, Amanda, Cyrus, and Iain. How insane to be there with them, to be included in a family of poets.

In June, the man disappeared, moved away without a real goodbye. At the time, I was devastated. I can’t describe the feeling of abandonment, but I thought: love is not for me. I thought it through June and July. I went out with a series of inconsequential men. There’s a photo I saved on my phone, after one of those dates. He wasn’t a bad guy, just boring, just rude. I came home and cried until my mascara had spread across my face. I went back to New York in July, and in between visiting with friends and volunteering at camp, I had a hilarious summer fling, not a story just something for friends to gossip about. Even then, I was lonely. I didn’t run away from it, though. I recognized it. I thought, I should keep trying. Maybe I would find a good thing.

August had me dog-sitting and transliterating Sanskrit books and gearing up for the final year of my master’s degree and looking into various doctoral programs. It was also when I went on a first date with this handsome, funny, smart, and unbelievably kind man, who would eventually become my boyfriend— how weird that word looks here, how funny that it means something to me after all these years. It has felt like emotional whiplash, this year, loving two men. Looking back, it should be easy to say oh that wasn’t really love. But that’s not true. I loved two people this year, just so differently. If the first love made me nervous, the second makes me calm. I was on a bus back to Boston after Thanksgiving and the traffic was terrible and I felt an ugly irritation bubble inside me because of my seat neighbor. I thought about my boyfriend then, his easy smile, how he rubs my back when I cough. What a small thing, but I felt lighter just thinking about it. It sounds silly and cheesy, I know. But I don’t want to belittle it, not here. I don’t think I have ever really felt so good to be with someone before. It is so new to me, this joy, this stability. I don’t want to take it for granted.

I wrote in my journal a few days ago, that I’m not sure if this relationship is good because he is so good, or because I have done the work of trying to lead a healthier life. Is this just a byproduct of one or the other? Or, as Liz says, is this what happens when two Virgos come together? I don’t know, I loved a Virgo once before, and I don’t remember ever feeling this light. This is different. He is different.

In September, I went to Denmark for my ten year reunion camp reunion. I started this blog right after that iconic summer, 16 and strangely tan from all that northern sun. From October through December, I applied to doctoral programs. Yes, again. We’ll see what happens. For the first time, I don’t really know what I want in my future, but I’m trying to trust in the universe to guide me there. I know I want love. It’s hard for me to admit that. I used to scorn women who named that in their list of goals, but it’s important, as important as everything else. I want to feel close to someone. I want a life of meaning, even if it just means something to me. I want to write. I hate that I ever stopped doing that. I feel sometimes like I have wasted my potential there, in writing professionally. I hope that’s not true. I am not ready to give this up, this dream that could still turn into something.

Something that I said a lot this year: whatever happens, I’ll be okay. During a depressive episode a few weeks ago, I thought I was losing everyone in my life, that everyone secretly hated me. What I told myself then, was not that I was crazy or wrong, but that I could deal with it. It’s true. If that happened, I could deal with it. But I hate that response. I wish I fought more. I wish I didn’t turn over so easily. Not that I think I could change someone’s mind. But I wish I didn’t just accept the worst case scenario. Anyway, maybe it’s strange even to debate this. The truth is so far from the worst case scenario. In fact, right now the truth is I am so fucking lucky. Ten years ago, I was just a high school student whining on the internet. Today, I am a Harvard graduate student; I am an author; I have a publication list that makes professors raise their eyebrows; people care about what I write and think; there are people who love me, really love me; I am healthier and happier than I ever thought I deserved to be. I worked for this. I earned it. I didn’t give up on me.

I can’t predict anything about the future. I’m always so hilariously wrong. Mostly I hope I never stop trying. 2020 still sounds like a fiction, but it’s real, it’s happening, it’s here. It’s funny, I only ever feel that surprised by joy. I hope that never changes.

[minimonojoon]

so i was tagged by @kyut-tea (thanks, thanks a lot <3333 i love these games dfkjndgkjdn so much fun dfjgndf) and also made a banner (kyu you inspired me!). i’m tagging @94hixtape , @sleeepysugaa , @wildbeest55, @lady-shurley if you want to do it of course!! if you don’t want to, that’s completely fine <3 

last

- drink: water

- call: 4 missed calls from my dad lmao

- text: a friend on our gc where she showed me her cat (so cute dkgjndf)

- song u listened to: thunderclouds by labyrinth, sia and diplo (my current obsession bye)

- time u cried: this afternoon after a fight w my mom but couldn’t relish all the tears lmao

have u ever

- dated someone twice: nope

- kissed someone & regretted it: no

- been cheated on: no

- lost someone special: yes 

- been depressed: yes lmao i am right now, but trying to figure things out

- gotten drunk & thrown up: yes but let’s say i tried to threw up to feel better but didn’t succeed lol

favorite colors

1. all pastel colors, no matter what

2. warm colors

3. ok yes basically I love all the bright colors ok

in the last year have u

- made any new friends: yes!!

- fallen out of love: nope

- laughed so hard that u cried: oh yes fjgfd

- found out someone was talking abt u: no

- found out who ur friends were: meaning the ones who stick with u no matter what? well yeah

- kissed someone on ur fb friends list: ahah no

general

- how many ppl from ur fb friends do u know irl: most of them?? I only have ppl I know irl there

- do u have any pets: not right now

- do u want to change ur name: no, not really

- what did u do for ur birthday last year: last year was pretty chill, i went out with some friends in our favorite Korean restaurant and then we bought some useless shit in tiger; dfjkgndf sorry but this year was amazing bc I like had three birthday parties in a span of a week and couldn’t be happier, one of the three was a surprise birthday party and my non kpop friends blasted bts for me :’)

- what were u doing last night at midnight: I was watching just between lovers before miserably falling asleep lol

- what time did u wake up today: 8.07 am

- what is something u can’t wait for: get back w my friends, graduate, to move abroad (japan or australia lmao), to lose all the weight I need to, to finally be able to be happy and peaceful with myself

- have u ever talked to a person named tom: uhmmmmmm no

- something that gets on ur nerves: definitely being ignored/not listened when i’m trying to talk directly to you

- most visited website: tumblr, twitter, wordreference lmao

- hair color: brown

- short hair or long hair: short (or medium long lmao)

- do u have a crush on someone: raw nerve djkgdnf but yes

- what do u like abt urself: my eyes and being honest w others lmao

- want any piercings: no, i don’t particularly like them

- blood type: zero negative

- nicknames: let’s say on tumblr my nickname is liz

- relationship status: single

- zodiac sign: taurus

- pronouns: she/her

- fave tv shows: the 100, games of thrones, the good place, basically all the good historians tv shows and comedies along the way lmao

- tattoos: I don’t have one yet, but be sure I already have three I want to be tattoed on my skin eheh

- right handed or left handed: right handed

- ever had surgery: no

- sport: when I was younger my mom always convinced me into doing some sports, I did swimming, gym activities and idk like running and other stuff, but always left then I did dance and now I’m a runner (and I love it!!)

- vacation: everywhere, where there’s something to visit, to discover, to know about that I didn’t before. definitely best place so far visited was netherlands

- trainers: I want a new pair of shoes for running but I have to wait until December for them sob

more general:

- eating: nothing, i fucked up my diet (again) today bc first me and my family went to the beach and eat watermelon then decided at 3 pm that typical southern italian food (which is not light lol) was the best choice for a late lunch ajfknsdfj

- drinking: water

- i’m about to watch: nothing right now, but surely just between lovers or some anime late in the evening

- waiting for: losing all the weight I need to, be self-confident, be happy, to find inspiration again, see my friends

- want: read above lmao plus exercising and finish writing all my wips and post something I (might) slightly like instead of getting angry with myself and quit everything bc it’s bullshit badly written, but also (this stupid but whatever) talk to ppl here and struggle together for anythink, being bts related or writing 

- get married: if it happens, yes. marriage isn’t easy and strong and healthy relationships require patience and willpower (and lots of other things), but I’m willing to do it for the right person.

- career: i’m already struggling right now, i still don’t know what i want to do and that’s making me nervous for when i’ll have to choose my master degree but I JUST WANT A COOL JOB AND MAKE MONEY

which is better:

- hugs or kisses: both, but only from people i really feel comfortable with

- lips or eyes: eyes, if it’s kim seokjin also lips

- shorter or taller: both :’)

- older or younger: don’t care

- nice arms or stomach: idk??

- hookup or relationship: i’m too shy and socially awkward to have a hookup w someone, so…

- troublemaker or hesitant: dkjgnd forever hesitant

have you ever:

- kissed a stranger: HAHAHAHAH nice one but no

- drank hard liquor: yes

- lost glasses: not yet (…)

- turned someone down: yes

- sex on first date: no (and i don’t want to)

- broken someone’s heart: no

- had your heart broken: yes

- been arrested: no

-  cried when someone died: yes

- fallen for a friend: uhm, no, not really

do you believe in:

- yourself: working on it, but currently… big fat no

- miracles: yes!

- love at first sight: i can believe you like someone at first sight for their appearance, but love?? nah

- santa claus: wish i still believe in him :(

- kiss on first date: yes and no? idk, depends on how long you know the person you date

- angels: idk, but if they do probably mine is currently having a break down and any other laughing bc of what i do lmao

other:

- best friend’s name: i’ll say in my native language corresponds to the english daisy (yup, the flower)

- eye colour: brown

- fave movie: harry potter series, back to the future (only the first not the saga!!), the holiday, Dunkirk (I loved that movie), basically any historian well made movie, batman trilogy (directed by Christopher Nolan), marvel movies

- fave actor: BOB MORLEY OWNS MY HEART, also ELIZA TAYLOR my babe, but also Christian Bale, Hugh Jackman and idk, no other name came to my mind

[hotelbones]

Deconstructing Scores

Flux Scores

Semiotics

  Understanding Flux scores:

“They are people who are really trying to turn you on to the superlative activities you do everyday.” – Allison Knowles  https://vimeo.com/36770983

“What I want people to see is how really simply things can be done if you concentrate on that’s what what you’re doing.” – Allison Knowles

Event scores were the dominant Fluxus work, which particularly was distributed in Fluxus Boxes. One of the first of these boxes was George Brect’s Water Yam.

Dick Higgins called Fluxus scores “intermedia”, “a dialectic between media”. Intermedia is not media supported by other media, but rather media that is at the same time another media.

Dick Higgins also published scores called “Danger Music”. These scores imply both visual and audible elements. Some of them are dangerous and pretty much impossible, while some others are mundane.

“How an event score should be performed depends on its notation it uses and the degree of freedom that the score offers. While some scores are so free that one could think that a performer could do anything, this freedom often compels the performer to restrict and edit their work.” – Virginia Anderson

What details can be understood by analyzing all aspects of the score? Does the title give more context to the score than the text?

Some of these pieces attempt to transcend the objects into music and theater. As Allison Knowles does with her performances of her salad piece.

From Virginia Anderson’s analysis of scores, it seems that event scores aren’t meant for the performer to experience, but simply as an alternative to performance. I’ll look for alternative takes.

As I go deeper into learning about fluxus scores, it seems that while these may parallel games in a sense that there are instructions to follow, they are not actually games. These are in fact performances that have play-like elements. How am I making this distinction? With event scores it appears that none of them were meant to be performed by a person for the sake of performing them, but they were meant to be performed for others as music or theatre would. For this reason it isn’t exactly helpful to state that these are forms of games, but it may be valuable to view them through the lens of games instead.

This also may change with later scores.

George Brecht – “a deeply personal, infinitely complex and essentially mysterious, exploration of experience. No words can ever touch.” (Project in Multiple Dimensions)

An aesthetic form that Brecht theorized was that of the “Chance-Image”. Chance being based off the latin words taken from dice falling.

“The word ‘chance’ (with a Latin root relating to the falling of dice) can conveniently be taken to mean the cause, or systems of causes, responsible for a given effect is unknown or unlooked-for or, at least, that we are unable to completely specify it. Of course, in the real world, causes are also effects, and effects causes.” – Brecht Chance Imagery

An appeal of chance-imagery is to place the artist’s images to be equal with that of nature’s images as the mind is capable of infinite image formation. Thus making the artist’s work nothing special.

“Words only permit us to handle a unified reality by maneuvering arbitrarily excised chunks.” – Brecht Chance Imagery

“In the event, everyday actions are framed as minimalistic performances, or, occasionally, as imaginary and impossible experiments with everyday situations.”  - Hannah Higgins Fluxus Experience

Kotz and Ouzounian point out that part of the problem with Fluxus scores all being put into a single category is that their process becomes homogenized and Brecht’s work becomes known as performance.

In George Brecht’s notebooks he saw the idea of scores in other musical pieces and took note of them as study material: Anton Webern’s Symphony Op. 21 (1928), Karlheinz Stockhausen’s Klavierstücke XI (1956), an unnamed composition by Christian Wolff for prepared piano (probably Duo II for Pianists), and Music of Changes (1951). Brecht saw the number of pitches as “events” in these pieces. In some ways this could be similar to looking at event scores as games.

“My life is devoted to research into ‘the structure of experience’” – Notebook entry January 1959

George Brecht saw a really really scientific view of the world. Looking at everything from the causal and physics level.

George Brecht’s first exhibition “Towards Events” is weirdly reminiscent of my own semi-exhibition I had inside of the Statens Museum for Kunst. Objects were accompanied by instructions to be performed. There is probably some interesting things to be found by comparing my Irrational Games exhibit to this one.

“Brecht’s model of the Event was arguably an attempt to realize such an enlightenment by pointing to the chanced form as an arbitrary subdivision of the ‘unified whole’ of the universe. An arrangement of an object or objects is a ‘performance’ of this whole in that it frames moments or subdivisions within it, i.e. ‘[gives] order (physically or conceptually) to a part of the continuum with which [a person] interacts’.” – Ouzounian

“Some Event scores illustrate this concept quite explicitly. Three Aqueous Events, for example, lists three momentary states that an aqueous ‘object’ may occupy over time: ice, water, steam.6 A realization of this score entails performing (arranging, observing, ordering) these objects/states and, through this performance, revealing their condition as arbitrary points within a continuous field, and indeed their existence within a continuous state of flux between these points. In making this observation, the performer ideally realizes, and more precisely experiences, his or her own place within this continuum. Such an experience entails a kind of transcendence in which any stable sense of self is at least momentarily undermined through its connection to this larger system of flux” – Ouzounian

“In this way, an Event score not only structures occurrences, but also experiences, ones that are ultimately transformative in nature.” – Ouzounian

These event scores seems to have come from George Brecht’s interest in the systems of a score interacting with the systems of the world. Or maybe more specifically, he was interested in designing a score so that the systems of the two became indistinguishable.

Something else to consider when using Event Scores as precedents, is a lot of it was response to the forms of art in the 60’s. If I am creating something that is relevant to the field of games, ideas and theory should be translated. Again, the idea that just because Event Scores have game-like elements, doesn’t mean we should take them as games.

 What are the conditions that make an event possible? Events are produced in a chaos, in a chaotic multiplicity, but only under conditions that a sort of screen intervenes. --Gilles Deleuze, The Fold: Leibniz and the Baroque

“Events are an extension of music” – Brecht interview by Irmeline Lebeer (1971)

“Arguing against the commonsense, mass-media idea of an event, Deleuze pinpoints two qualities which will be relevant in this context: "even a short or instantaneous event is something going on," "events always involve periods when nothing happens.” – Liz Kotz

 “The best Fluxus "composition" is a most non-personal, "ready-made" one like Brecht's "Exit"-it does not require any of us to perform it since it happens daily without any "special" performance of it. Thus our festivals will eliminate themselves (and our need to participate) when they become total readymades (like Brecht's exit)” – Maciunas in Fluxus etc./Addenda II

           Intervention I by Jennie Hahn and Cory Tamler

Intervention III

So looking at modern scores, how have they continued this practice, and why have they? These interventions above were created by Cory and Jennie to reframe humans and non-humans as characters and participants in a dialogue about the ecosystem.

Why scores though? It seems like these scores are more of a personal and accessible way for people to reframe their actions, body, and mind in relationship to the environment. In the same way that George Brecht’s Word Event triggers a multitude of thoughts related to the concept behind the word “exit”, In Kinship provokes thinking about communities, objects, and psychogeography. Also similar to something like Yoko Ono’s Watch Piece I these pieces ask the performer to do something that may be seemingly illogical, but upon performing reframes abstract concepts in a new way.

                      CAConrad – (SOMA)tic Poetry Exercise

Something about CAConrad’s work really puts me off. I think part of it feels like there is an air of trying to make work similar to Fluxus and also trying to maintain the artistic elements of poetry. For example, listening to Phillip Glass on the floor, feels like a very artsy thing to do. Which sounds stupid, but idk it just seems like a bit much. However, in contrast to that feeling what I find interesting about CAConrad’s work is the communication of a personal narrative through the score. This score isn’t just for the reader to see the world in a new way, but to understand CAConrad in a new way. Thinking about the score in this way, listening to Phillip Glass may be artsy, but that is because CAConrad is artsy and they want you to understand how they felt at this point in time. In this way it is fairly reminiscent of Mattie Bryce’s EAT.

[blacklodgemusictx]

Taking off to Mars...

Bear with me.  I haven’t written a music review since covering a Midnight Oil show for my college paper in 2001.  Personally, I thought I had a unique perspective as no one else seemed to go to shows while busy being studious, but one response was an anonymous letter to the editor: “No one cares about a date Liz Green had to see a band no one has heard of.”  Fair enough, callow youth, fair enough.

Two things you need to know about me:  

 1.)  I live for music - it’s how I relate to other people.

 2.)  I reside in a town where everything I want to see or do it a minimum of 3 hours in any direction.  Every now and then something cool will happen, but there’s usually a 3-5 year gap between these cool occurrences.   You want something amazing to happen you either go find it or you make it happen yourself.  I made it happen once.  And it was stressful … and expensive.  So we prefer the seeking.

I had the good fortune to meet an older boy with similar sensibilities.  I always bemoaned the fact that there were no songs with my name in them:  Elizabeth has too many syllables, Liz not enough.  Up until this moment, I’d had to adopt “Beth” by Kiss.  He gave me a Hex song with my first AND last name in it, “Elizabeth Green, deep and serene.”  So I gave the boy my heart and he gave me his name.  Together we go out in to the world looking for the things that set us on fire.

The giving of songs is how I express myself.  Though I have a literary side, my degree is in business and my logical side tells me that someone has probably already described the things I’m thinking or feeling and has probably done it a lot more eloquently than I ever could.  The right song is out there for every situation... you just have to know where to look.  

A fight, the silent treatment from my husband, an uncomfortable car ride:  Rush’s “Open Secrets” on my iPod: “I never meant what you’re thinking.  That’s not what I meant at all.”  A friend dealing with heartache and a lying lover?  “The Wreckers” also by Rush.  Another friend’s husband passed away.  I gave her “Take my Heart” by Caroline’s Spine.  “Just in case I lose this race, I’ll always be there watching over you…”  Even if the song didn’t quite hit them the way it hit me, to accept the giving of a song is to accept the giver.

Seven months ago, two friends in tow and tickets to see Marty Willson-Piper in hand, we sped toward Fort Worth.  We were late.  A thing that often happens when work and driving and days of the week get in the way.  “It’s ok,” I assured my husband, “There are two openers.  We have plenty of time.  We won’t miss anything.”  Ha.  Prepare to eat your words in 3…2…1…

The order was Salim Nourallah, “Laish” (a British band fronted by Danny Green.  The band was absent due to the financial constraints of intercontinental travel so I started thinking of Danny as Laish sort of like Bono or Cher), and Marty Willson-Piper - Mr Willson-Piper being the former lead guitarist of the Church - my husband’s favorite band and consequently a band we’d been seeing together since 2002.  We only had tickets to that show, but after we were blown away by each performance in Fort Worth, we noticed the tour was EIGHT Texas shows long.  NO ONE gives that much love to Texas.  No one.

We proceeded to attend three more: Cactus Cafe in Austin and the two shows at the Palo Santo Galactic Headquarters - words that held zero meaning to me until I actually went there: it’s a space Salim set up next to his recording studio in Dallas.  The space accommodates about 30 and is the perfect location for comfortable, intimate shows.  Palo Santo is the independent record label founded by Salim and the similarly incomparable Sarah Henry.  

During this run of shows, I got to talk to Salim both in person and on Facebook.  I learned that he was not an “opener” for Marty Willson-Piper, he was the mastermind that made the whole tour happen.  I signed up for his mailing list and even if the name is tongue in cheek - The Cult of Nourallah - it’s spot on.  Salim is the most charismatic person you will ever meet.  If he thinks you should listen to a certain artist or album, it will appear on your chosen music player.  If he really did want to start a cult, you’d go buy whatever color shoes he instructed.  And he does it all with a calm, quiet, reassuring presence that lets the music speak for itself.

After these shows, I started listening to Salim’s albums.  All of them.  A lot.

No really… a LOT.

His style is simple, clean and straight forward.  The songs are heartfelt and often autobiographical.  Though coming from a musical background of performance and recording with his brother Faris, Salim’s solo career began in 2004 with the album “Polaroid” and has spanned the next prolific fifteen years to 2018’s “Somewhere South of Sane.”

I quickly assimilated the music from his albums in to my personal first aid kit of songs.  I recently helped a friend through a painful divorce and played Salim’s “It’s Ok to Be Sad” for her.  The idea is often something overlooked in adulthood and though it seems simplistic, the act of permission can be profound.  It’s ok to be sad.  It’s ok to mourn.  Things don’t work out.  

I ended up giving that friend Salim’s entire “Somewhere South of Sane” vinyl set.  SSOS is an album that I digested in pieces myself .  The songs feel so personal - the songwriter’s own heartbreak on public display - the act of musical consumption feels like voyeurism.  Spying through a window at people hurting each other.  It reminded me so much of my own first marriage - at a much too early age - and divorce that it was difficult to hear.  I felt well armed in that moment and profoundly grateful that Salim gave me something that I was able to pass on in the name of healing through the acceptance of grief.

While I put my arms around my friend at the local courthouse and held her through the end of her marriage, I struggled in my own personal life with a health scare that could possibly change everything.  I held on to Salim’s “Don’t Be Afraid” at this time and probably listened to it twenty times.  I’ll try not to be afraid.  I’ll try.  I’ll try to be brave… still, Salim, keep telling me.  It’s nice to hear.  Ultimately, after an agonizing length of time (agony and length only felt by the person in it), I learned I was ok.  Here I appreciate Salim’s “Goddamn Life” (Hit Parade, 2012.)  I’m so in love with my goddamn life.  It may be scary and it may hurt at times, but look at the alternative… right?

There’s a certain degree of uncertainty in being a member of the human race.  We all secretly think we are doing it differently and most probably wrong.  We toil next to each other in silence and the great tragedy is: we’re all doing it pretty much the same, but we don’t know that.  To be unsure of this, but to put it in song anyway and then present for the world to hear takes bravery I cannot even comprehend.  Trying to describe love is like trying to describe the color blue.  You put your song out there with the secret fear: what if that’s not love?  What if that’s not blue?  What if I’m doing it wrong?  What if everyone else sees things differently?  What if there’s something wrong with me?

* * *

Fast forward to last weekend - Saturday May the 4th.  I had the honor of gathering with Salim and his friends to celebrate with a retrospective show at Palo Santo.  

“If I really had to break it down,” Salim told us when announcing the event, “the one that thing that has meant the most to me is writing songs.  So it seemed fitting to spend my upcoming birthday not only with my real family but also with my ‘other’ family: my family of songs.  I'm sure you've probably heard songwriters refer to their songs being almost like children.  It's a hard thing to describe…”

But he does describe it in “Stranger in My Own Skin” (Constellation, 2009), “I’m gonna take some pain and stick it to a tune so you can sing along, get the words all wrong.”  And he did.  He stuck pain to a lot of tunes.  Pain, laughter, love, heart break, friendship, desire, despair, betrayal...  He stuck feelings to 15 years worth of tunes and more and on Saturday he indulged us in tastes from each album to commemorate another year of his existence on this planet.

The vibe was laid back and friendly - Palo Santo is like no other place you will ever experience.  It’s more like going over to Salim’s house, his face lights up and he says “Here, let me play something for you…”

The configuration was different this time than others I had been in attendance there.  Chairs were arranged on three sides, a seat and a guitar against the wall in the middle.  When Salim took his place in front of us, the small crowd immediately fell silent - not like fearing the wrath of a teacher chiding students for talking, but more like the anticipation of watching a magician about to perform a magic trick.  

And there was a magic trick of a sort:  projected on the wall above Salim’s head was suddenly the album cover of “Polaroid.”  Salim chatted about this cover and each subsequent one as he told stories about each and sang the songs he chose to represent that album and period in his life.  We were instructed to sing along and we did so - almost reverently - with Salim’s guidance.

Set one covered: Polaroid, Beautiful Noise, Snowing in My Heart, Constellation and Hit Parade (2004-2012).  We then took a break to share a fabulous cake, chat and sing Salim “Happy Birthday.”

Set two then covered: Friends for Life, Skeleton Closet, The Travoltas, NHD (Salim’s project with Billy Harvey and Alex Dezen) album And the Devil Went up to Portland, and finally Somewhere South of Sane (2012-2018).

Though Salim got to what was supposed to be the final song from SSOS, “Rainbow Dolphins” was then brought up by an audience member.  Salim just grinned and assured us he could play that too.  And he did.

I didn’t want the evening to end.  We all filed out of Palo Santo in to an absolutely beautiful, cool Dallas night.  We chatted with each other and eventually goodbyes were said and people began to wander away.  I yawned one too many times and may or may not have enjoyed just a touch too much wine.  My husband, Doug, eventually took my hand, we thanked Salim and drifted away ourselves.

The magic doesn’t have to end quite yet as Salim has put up part two of the birthday retrospective for sale next weekend (a few tickets remain and can be acquired here: https://www.prekindle.com/event/26257-birthday-retrospective-salim-nourallah-2nd-show-dallas).  This was a singularly unique event and though lightning isn't supposed to strike twice, if anyone could make that happen, it is Salim.  Next weekend will be just as magical.

Links of interest:

https://www.instagram.com/palosantorecords/

https://www.instagram.com/salimnourallah/

http://salimnourallah.com/

https://palosantotx.com/

https://www.facebook.com/salimnourallah/

https://www.facebook.com/palosantotx/

[limejuicer1862]

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger.

The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

Sue Hardy Dawson

is a poet & illustrator. Her debut collection, ‘Where Zebras Go’, was shortlisted for the 2018 CLiPPA prize. Sue’s poems and teaching resources can be found on the CLPE website. Her second, ‘Apes to Zebras’ co-written with poetry ambassadors, Roger Stevens and Liz Brownlee won the North Somerset Teachers Book Awards. Sue has a First Class Honours Degree. Sue loves to visit schools and he has worked with the Prince of Wales Foundation, ‘Children and the Arts. As a dyslexic poet, she loves encouraging reluctant readers and writers.  Her new solo collection, If I Were Other Than Myself is due out with Troika, February 2020. Look for her on Twitter @SueHardyDawson, Facebook, Poet Sue Hardy-Dawson https://www.facebook.com/poetsinschools clpe.org.uk/poetryline/poets/hardy-dawson-sue Book her with Authors Abroad https://www.authorsabroad.com/search-authors/sue-hardy-dawson

The Interview

1. What and who inspired you to write poetry?

When I was a small girl my father used to march around the bedroom reciting poetry. He grew up during the infancy of accessible radio and most people had, a party piece back then. He actually had a rather wonderful singing voice as well, but he had a way of sort of acting out the poems. He was a great fan of AA Milne and would do the Kings Breakfast and The Dormouse and the Doctor. He knew by heart great long stretches of Hiawatha and the rhythms and repetition, exquisitely crafted language I loved. He would do the Highway Man, The Green Eyed Yellow Idle, Night Mail and the now somewhat none PC Cargoes with its cargo of ivory. However I loved to listen to his voice and his enthusiasm was infectious. Of course I didn’t understand all of the words but I was mesmerised by them. I wrote a kind of tribute to Auden’s Night Mail, you can find it in Where Zebras Go.

Like myself my father was dyslexic, though I didn’t know until after I was diagnosed aged 16. He was an extremely well read man but deeply embarrassed by what he couldn’t do. I didn’t particularly enjoy school either, though like my dad an avid reader, I struggled to spell legibly and had terrible handwriting. Dyslexia was largely unheard of and little understood then. I enjoyed art though and had a vivid imagination. When I was about 8 faced with the dreaded task of writing holiday postcards I wrote a little poem. It seemed to please everyone and was something I seemed to be quite good at. When my Nana died many years later, she still had that poem in her bedside drawer.

But in the meanwhile I became disillusioned, fearful even of writing, the sheer effort of it and when I left school I didn’t write for many years. Then fate intervened I had children and I started writing poems and stories just for them. Next one of them was diagnosed with dyslexia and dyspraxia and kicked off big style, they didn’t want to be stupid like me. Computers were in fact my saviours, when I first saw one it had to be filled with binary codes, not very dyslexia friendly, but suddenly I was helping a reception class and four-year-olds were using them. I learned and went on to do a degree and yes began to send poems out.  I went to a library event and Nick Toczek put two of my poems into a Macmillan Collection, Toothpaste Trouble, 2002, my first step. It would be 14 years before I got my first collection accepted. Poetry lists for children died and came back again during that time and it was essentially an apprenticeship. Yet I don’t regret it, I think my poems grew as did my family. It was the right time for me.

2. How aware were you of the dominating presence of older poets?

When I was 14 in an English lesson I first discovered Ted Hughes, his poems were quite different to the ballad style poems my dad recited. I was struck particularly by ‘The Thought Fox’, it was as if he saw into my head. The best poetry, however simple or complex reaches out to a common experience and shows it in a different way. I think then was the first time I had actually thought about poets being people who wrote, that I might write poems. It changed my view of what a poem was and I felt I need to read as much of it as I could, to experience its constantly evolving form. From Hughes and those before him right back to 16 century and forward to the Mersey Sound, Kay, Duffy and too many to mention I absorbed them.

Many years later and two collections later, I found to my delight that I was in an anthology called A Poem For Every Night of the Year,  with Ted Hughes’s Thought Fox, still one of the most exciting things I have ever achieved.

Here also I owe a great debt older wiser poets, children’s poets, well at least those I have had the pleasure of knowing, are wonderfully kind and generous people. I have had lots of support and encouragement. I met Roger Stevens some years back and through him, Liz Brownlee, Gerard and Cathy Benson, Rachel Rooney, Jan Dean, Michaela Morgan and many, many other wonderful poets. I feel so very lucky and at first was more than a bit star-struck, poets whom I had read for years, I felt like a child at a grownups’ party. But though we span the country the internet means we can stay in touch, because writing is essentially a lonely business.

3. What is your daily writing routine?

On a writing day I like the first few quiet hours, I will take those thoughts once formed out for a dog walk, do admin on my return. Then late at night when the house quietens again I will work on until I feel my brain is too sleepy. I find that things become clearer if you put them away for a few days. So I’m always on with multiple things. If I get a block I read through old notebooks until something comes. A deadline has a great capacity to focus the mind. Essentiality, though, a good idea can arrive at any time, so I have paper pens, phone, notebook, Dictaphone always. I have a bad memory so if I lose the first line it’s lost forever. But if I scribble that even on my hand the rest will return.

4. What motivates you to write?

Everything and anything, I need to write or I feel quite lost, even if it’s not working out as I’d hoped I need to try every day. Sometimes though the best days something flies into your head and you just feel it has wings, it might obsess you for days and that for me is the best feeling, the constant surprise of not knowing quite where you are going but that it is worth the search.

5. What is your work ethic?

I write something every day, even if I don’t think it’s good, because without words on the page you have nothing to craft to work on. Sometimes a line is just shorthand for where you are going so it’s a case of don’t think too hard about good or bad just write. I will spend days, weeks or even occasionally years crafting and changing bits, for me that is the joy, the shaping and smoothing.

6. How do the writers you read when you were young influence you today?

I think immensely, first you must know what has been before so you don’t write it again, or at least provide a new way of looking at it. I think whatever you write you must read because there is no substitute for reading if you are a writer. I read once for pleasure and closer to see why it is wonderful or in some cases terrible. I unpick why and that informs my writing process. Not that I think about any of this when I’m actually writing. Writing is a bit like diving into a pool, you can control the way you leave the ground, but how you land and the bit in the middle is free falling.

7. Who of today’s writers do you admire the most and why?

I have very diverse tastes in writing, for poetry, apart from all of the above I love, Pie Corbett, Philip Gross, John Foster, Joseph Coelho, Roger McGough and not exclusively Billy Collins. Literature, David Almond, Andrea Levy, Lucy Waters I could go on for pages.

Why I like writing that transports me, I love poetic prose, essentially if I read something and aspire not to recreate it but to write as well then I love it with a passion.

9. Why do you write, as opposed to doing anything else?

Well, because I can’t stop, in a way. I do have other things that I do but nothing that fulfils me in quite the same way. I also paint and illustrate though so I have times when those things take over, but even so I have to stop every couple of days just to write something or it gnaws at me and I can’t concentrate.

10. What would you say to someone who asked you “How do you become a writer?”

I would say that we are all writers, but write what is inside yourself. Read as much as you can and not just what you think you like, writing that is bad can tell you as much about process as good writing. Write something every day even when you feel like you don’t have anything to say. Read what you write to others, draft and redraft, keep going. Write for the pleasure it gives you and because you can’t help it. If it gives you no pleasure you probably should do something else. Being a writer is a tough life because inevitably you need a thick skin. I thought when I got my first book out how wonderful, then a second later what if no one likes it? It’s not easy but if you try and keep going it’s possible even for someone like me who finds manual writing difficult.

11. Tell me about the writing projects you have on at the moment.

Well some things are still top secret, however, I have a new book due out February 2020 with Troika Books, ‘If I were Other Than Myself’, I have done all of the illustrations and I am very excited about it.

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Sue Hardy-Dawson Wombwell Rainbow Interviews I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me.

[wayneooverton]

Scuba diving Milford Sound – one of New Zealand’s greatest adventures

As the first trickles of water snuck their way into my super thick wetsuit, I felt a shiver travel all the way up my spine as I bobbed on the surface. Yes, this would be the coldest water I’ve ever dived in.

Giddy with excitement, I could barely take it all in. Milford Sound, the most iconic fiord in New Zealand, was a place I had been to many times on my travels here. I’ve cruised, kayaked, flown (fixed wing and helicopter) hiked, and even driven to Milford Sound in an Aston Martin.

But yet something was missing; there was one aspect of Milford I had yet to tick off my Fiordland bucketlist: scuba diving. And I had never seen it from this perspective before, with only me head above water, looking up at the endless mountains.

Hiking the Milford Track

Flying to Milford Sound in a tiny-ass plane

Helicopter flight to Milford

Kayaking Milford Sound in the pouring rain

Girls road trip in an Aston Martin to Milford

Cruising Milford Sound (incredibly hungover on Christmas)

Choosing between Milford Sound and Doubtful Sound

Now, to be fair, I don’t think anyone comes to Milford Sound and gives one thought to getting into that water. Not even a toe.

Far from inviting, beyond its jagged beauty, the fiord actually looks a bit dark, cold, and kinda creepy (from the surface). In fact, it’s not a stretch of the imagination to picture dinosaurs living beneath the ripples. After all, this part of New Zealand was the last bastion of many creatures thought to be extinct. And by creatures I mean birds. Which, funnily enough, are related to dinosaurs.

But I seriously digress.

Guys, there are not dinosaurs in Milford Sound (wink wink).

Wracking my brain as we boated out into the middle of Milford, I truly can’t remember the first time I heard that scuba diving here was a real thing. All I can say is that for the longest time it’s been on my big New Zealand list to dive there myself.

Every time I heard whispers of how incredible the diving was there, I would make a mental note and file it away. One day I would make this a reality.

Many of my old school Wanaka friends and South Island locals have long known the wonders of diving in Fiordland, heading down on boy trips in the boats and helicopters and checking out their craypots.

While it is far from the tropical, warm dives I’d done from Bali to the Maldives to Thailand, diving in Milford Sound is not really a casual “hmm, want to go for a dip” kind of dive. You kind of really have to want to do it to make it happen. There aren’t dozens of operators elbowing each other for the opportunity to take you down beneath the sea, only one.

You have to want it.

And guys, I wanted it.

Scuba Diving in Milford Sound with Descend NZ

And that’s how I found myself using plastic bags to squeeze myself into an 8mm thick wetsuit on a beautiful summer day in Milford Sound. Why oh why did I eat that burger, fries and shake the night before?

Ok, suck it in, Liz, you can do it. Diet starts tonight.

Seriously, the thing I always hated the most about diving was the wetsuit part, and why I prefer to five in places like the Maldives where the water temp is 30 degrees celsius and as warm as a bath.

But once it was on, it was on, and we were ready to roll, piling into the back of the Descend Dive boat, and making our way out into the fiord.

I was giddy with excitement at the possibility of seeing Milford, such an iconic part of New Zealand, from an entirely new perspective. We zoomed all the way up and back down the fiord in the early morning, as potential dive sites were pointed out to us.

I’m far from an expert diver, with only my advanced open water certificate under my belt, though I had dived all over the world. It was new for me to wear such a thick wetsuit, not to mention gloves, booties and a hood, but you need it for the 14 degree water.

You also have the option of diving in a drysuit or doing a course.

Part of what makes diving in Milford so spectacular is that the water is several degrees colder on the surface, and man when you step off that boat for the first time and get a facefull of the freshwater on the surface, boy it wakes you up!

Why does that matter, enquiring minds wish to know.

Milford happens to be one of the wettest corners of New Zealand, receiving almost seven meters of rainfall every year.

As the fresh water runs down to the fiord off of the steep mountain cliffs, it is colored darkly by the tannins from the plants creating a layer of a few meters of dark freshwater on the surface. Combined with the shade created by the steep surrounding mountains, it tricks normally deep dwelling sea life into living much shallower than it normally would, like black coral. But I’ll get to that in a minute.

What is really cool as the darker freshwater on the surface is colder, and as you descend the first few meters, you can actually see a weird blurry line where it transitions into the warmer saltwater. And its fun to bob back and forth in between the layers. Or if you’re me, you hang out in these top two meters for en embarrassingly long time as you try to figure out compensating for such a buoyant wetsuit before descending further.

Wait, who peed next to me?

Nope, it’s just the temperature change.

Milford is home to some incredible cliffs to dive along, and Descend has about a dozen dive sites they regularly dive in that are incredible.

The Piopiotahi Marine Reserve in Milford Sound is incredible and one of the best places to dive and stretches for 16 kilometers along the northern side of the fiord from the town out to the Tasman Sea.

Established in 1993, it protects one of New Zealand’s most unique ecosystems.

Here seals, dolphins, sharks, rays, crays, cod, nudibranchs and all manner of creatures thrive beneath the soft waves.

As you dive you have the chance to see over 100 species of creatures, and that’s what surprised me the most. As soon as I was underwater I was blown away by the vibrancy and life beneath Milford.

Far from the gloomy atmosphere I was imagining, it was blue and colorful and alive. My old pictures here don’t do it justice. It was clear and blue, not bright but easy to see still. It wasn’t murky or gloomy at all.

We were given dive torches to use as well, and though I’ve been night diving before, this was a totally different experience.

Once I was below, following Simone, one of the owners of Descend, I was mesmerized by life I could see here, it was so much more than I imagined.

It almost looked tropical.

We descended along the walls, marveling at the biggest crayfish I’ve ever seen, bold and huge, they had no fear of us as they poked out of their dens to get a look at these bubbling black (and in my case, ungraceful) humans.

It didn’t take long for us to get a glimpse of the legendary black corals that inhabit Milford Sound.

Normally these black coral trees (which, BTW, are actually white) grow at depths of 100 meters or more, far deeper than any recreational diver like me could ever experience. But because of the dark rainwater on the surface combined with the shade from the steep mountain walls in Milford, they can be seen at much shallower depths.

At 10 meters below the surface, you begin to see this ghostly coral trees. Bright white and seemingly fragile, they grow out from the walls of the mountains, seemingly waving at you in the gentle currents.

This alone makes diving in Milford Sound worth it. Nowhere else in the world can you have this experience with black coral.

Milford has a great diversity of dive sites, with something for everyone and every level, and you can even do intro dives there or complete your courses. If I had more time, I would love to learn how to dive in a drysuit.

I’m hooked now on what chillier waters have to offer.

So mesmerized by the first experience, I almost couldn’t believe it when it was time to make our way back above the surface for our first interval.

I had withheld all liquids since the early morning in the vain hopes I wouldn’t have to pee and therefore have to pull down the wetsuit (or worse, pull it back up) but like most women I know, I was dying to go as soon as we resurfaced.

How, body, how?! I didn’t even have a coffee!

We warmed up with cookies, lunch and hot liquids, but the strong New Zealand sunshine played a big part.

As we had to wait above the sea for our surface intervals, as our body safely gets rid of the nitrogen. We then had the opportunity to get up close with one of the iconic waterfalls, swimming out to land and walking beneath the spray.

Though it wasn’t long before it was time for round two and to see what more Milford Sound had to offer us lucky few.

Around half a million people make the journey to Milford Sound when visiting New Zealand, mostly for a quick boat cruise. Few bother to stay the night, and a tiny fraction ever get a glimpse at the world beneath the water.

Plan to stay the night in Milford to avoid the altitude of going over the high alpine pass on the Milford Road back to Te Anau.

Now I can heartily say that diving in Milford Sound is one of my favorite things I’ve ever done in New Zealand.

Unique and unforgettable, I’d squeeze back into that wetsuit in a heartbeat.

Have you ever heard of diving Milford Sound? Would you do it? Share!

Many thanks to Descend for hosting me diving in Milford Sound. Like always I’m keeping it real, all opinions are my own, like you could expect less from me!

The post Scuba diving Milford Sound – one of New Zealand’s greatest adventures appeared first on Young Adventuress.

from Young Adventuress https://ift.tt/2Kb2J6h