Struck Down in Her Prime

I’m sitting at my writing desk in my sweet little flat in Paddington (Brisbane) and listening to the dulcet tones of the man beneath us hosing his perfectly clean cement walkway and the cerebral delights of the girl next door sqwacking to her boyfriend about the dark color of her hair roots while they play acid wash rock at a volume that ripples the air in a 2 block radius.

What I should be doing (as delightful as these forays into the Brisbane elite are) is doing my frickin literature review which is due tomorrow. <

. . .Oh god, the wanna-be rock opera fusion singer has started doing scales upstairs. He sounds like The Fat Lady swallowed Robbie Williams.

Anyway the old Ishmael Syndrome has struck in a big way. My essay sits before me, gleaming with perfectly referenced quotes, elegantly written and complete but for the intro and the GODDAM FIRST LINE.

So, if you have any ideas about how one can introduce gender landscapes within the context of Moby-Dick and Jonah and The Big Fish while dissecting the feminine absent and the fear of submergence, please email me at leviathan@StickaForkInMeI’mDone.com.au