*Ø* Blogmanac | Scrimmies
"According to Jo, no one knows if the art of incising living human bones was practised in Australia before she had the first, when her femur was ‘scrimmed’"
Scrimmies
A modern cult revealed
Who are the scrimmies? And why do they practise
this strange art that goes beyond tattoos and piercings
– the bizarre body art of carved, living, human bones
It was an appropriately unsettling entrance to the world of the bonecarvers – lost on my first visit, on June 12.
I must have walked past the door marked with the torn Greenpeace sticker and an incoherent bit of graffiti (something about Mariah Cary).
My informant, Justine, had told me to “knock on the blue door near the Leb shop”. Had she forgotten that in this part of Sydney’s inner suburbs, every other shop is owned by Lebanese?
One of Sydney’s ethnic quarters, definitely. The blue door was actually squeezed hard between a Chinese-owned store and a pizzeria (to give more details would break my promise of anonymity to the scrimmies and Justine).
Considering the neighbourhood is so cosmopolitan, I was surprised that the scrimmies were so Anglo-Aussie, except for the Mexican, Serge.
I twisted the ancient bell knob on the grimy, chipped door and waited. And waited. And turned the knob again.
“Yeah?” came a woman’s voice, that one syllable betraying a broad Australian accent.
I introduced myself and she remembered that Justine had said I would be coming to interview the scrimmies.
‘Hannah’, reluctantly it seemed, led me up the steep, narrow staircase. The air was cold, gloomy. At the head of the stairs was a small landing with threadbare Westminster carpet. On the wall was a framed airline poster of that famous fairytale castle in Europe.
Hannah led me, or, rather, I followed her brisk pace into the book-lined, messy room with its untidy plethora of computer equipment, but I had to introduce myself as she dumped me and headed for a small sink in the corner where she made herself a cup of lemongrass tea.
The ‘scrimmies’ I met in that room, with its two kinds of worn carpet, and a flyspecked paper globe lampshade askew above the centre, had not assembled for the benefit of this pariah of the press. It seems that this apartment/office/clubhouse regularly holds a dozen or more lounging or websurfing scrimmies ...
Source: Scrimmies
"According to Jo, no one knows if the art of incising living human bones was practised in Australia before she had the first, when her femur was ‘scrimmed’"
Scrimmies
A modern cult revealed
Who are the scrimmies? And why do they practise
this strange art that goes beyond tattoos and piercings
– the bizarre body art of carved, living, human bones
It was an appropriately unsettling entrance to the world of the bonecarvers – lost on my first visit, on June 12.
I must have walked past the door marked with the torn Greenpeace sticker and an incoherent bit of graffiti (something about Mariah Cary).
My informant, Justine, had told me to “knock on the blue door near the Leb shop”. Had she forgotten that in this part of Sydney’s inner suburbs, every other shop is owned by Lebanese?
One of Sydney’s ethnic quarters, definitely. The blue door was actually squeezed hard between a Chinese-owned store and a pizzeria (to give more details would break my promise of anonymity to the scrimmies and Justine).
Considering the neighbourhood is so cosmopolitan, I was surprised that the scrimmies were so Anglo-Aussie, except for the Mexican, Serge.
I twisted the ancient bell knob on the grimy, chipped door and waited. And waited. And turned the knob again.
“Yeah?” came a woman’s voice, that one syllable betraying a broad Australian accent.
I introduced myself and she remembered that Justine had said I would be coming to interview the scrimmies.
‘Hannah’, reluctantly it seemed, led me up the steep, narrow staircase. The air was cold, gloomy. At the head of the stairs was a small landing with threadbare Westminster carpet. On the wall was a framed airline poster of that famous fairytale castle in Europe.
Hannah led me, or, rather, I followed her brisk pace into the book-lined, messy room with its untidy plethora of computer equipment, but I had to introduce myself as she dumped me and headed for a small sink in the corner where she made herself a cup of lemongrass tea.
The ‘scrimmies’ I met in that room, with its two kinds of worn carpet, and a flyspecked paper globe lampshade askew above the centre, had not assembled for the benefit of this pariah of the press. It seems that this apartment/office/clubhouse regularly holds a dozen or more lounging or websurfing scrimmies ...
Source: Scrimmies
Pip Wilson posted item above at 3:17 PM | Permalink
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