Monthly Archives: August 2006
I had a really good conversation with MW#1 today; he showed off the capabilities of his new Evil Empire laptop and I got to enjoy his artistic bent… at least I think that’s what you could call it (bent). “Hello !” handwritten courtesy of MSPaint is hardly Caravaggio, but I appreciated it nonetheless…
We had a good type ranging from sweet, sweet obscenities to serious issues… There are a few more things on my mind I feel I need to talk to him about, but I guess I’ll try and bring them up casual, like (ha) when I next invade his place to get me some wrestling. Tuesday it is. Just gotta keep myself from combusting in some horrible friction-based accident ’til then…
Strangely appealing prints from Espira that if I had any spare money I would love to hang on my wall… (yeah, when I shack up with that millionaire)
Practically all of yesterday the area below my left eye twitched uncontrollably and unfathomably. Of course, being a qualified Doktor of Medicine and Psychiatry I consulted the internets about said affliction- apparently it usually occurs when the sufferer is “…worried about something or have something on their mind…” BBC Ask the Doctor
Super, just super thought I… I thought I wasn’t particularly stressed out but maybe only now after three months everything’s starting to get to me… I proceeded to spend as much time as possible trying to not think of my spaz-ing eye and take my mind off things by reading poetry whilst propped on my giant comfy pillow. It was a really interesting day of biological feedback in that I would relax, and read, then suddenly realise that oh, yay, my eye is not twitching, but then once I realised, it would start up again.
When I awoke today for my trip to the ENT the twitch had finally disappeared. Hooray. I was feeling fairly down about things what with my eye, my unemployment, potential homelessness and dwindling funds, but a fun visit to my consultant, a course of interesting new meds (ooo tiny squeezy bottles), listening to a pleasingly balanced debate about the ridiculous new anti-porn law (more on that later) and getting turned on writing to MW#1 about what I would do on a webcam (answer: quite a lot for his pleasure- and profit, the pimp) have left me feeling a little happier.
Speaking of MW#1, I am currently struggling with a barrage of filth in my head… it is proving a struggle not to send him dirtily descriptive text messages of what I would like to do if I had a few hours alone with him…
… but of course, I must NOT send them, and I MUST try and curtail ALL inappropriate thoughts…
I also had a chat with Nitram and an online chinwag with Dave. I am concerned about Dave’s well-being; she’s in a situation familiar to myself and aquaintances: an environment that is unfullfilling populated with people that just seem to exacerbate the situation.
Yes, depression is due to chemicals swirling round your brain, but everyone I know was living through some depression-inducing scenario of one sort or the other, so it is hardly suprising when an already fragile mind begins to cave.
She’s also considering getting back on the bronco that is psychiatric medication… I have been on anti-depressants twice in my life for one month at a time; they are like self-harm pills- I have never felt so ill or so artificially insane in my entire life. Alone in my room I was climbing the walls- I lost my mind one Summers night yes, but that was down to my own chemicals and not through the interaction of outside agents.
I felt sick, shakey, hot and just plain ill; I also found it incredibly difficult to get off- and that is one of life’s natural mood enhancers and very important to me. I would steal into the kitchen at night and take a knife back to my room, whereupon I would lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling and watch it pulse before sitting up and dragging the knife slowly across my arm. I also felt like throwing myself at the walls in an attempt to climb them- it made sense at the time.
Feeling alone and emotionally abused helped me down the spiral to depression, but popping a pill and then almost losing my mind was a completely different experience. Which is why, if I ever in my life get to a stage where I simply must take psych medication, I will NEVER take it unless I have someone who cares who will look out for me- but if I have that support and am in good environment, I will probably never have to take the horrible stuff in the first place.
Ooops, bit of a rant there about psych meds and i’ve comparitively little experience. The experience I have had has been plain fucking awful, so I just hope Dave gets on and off the things as gently as she can.
Delicate layered prints from Kirsi Neuvonen
Crime scenes recreated using Prada High Fashion Crime Scenes
Totally NSFW PeresProjects.com Selected Works: Bruce LaBruce
[Monky], temporary Marketing Admin role available starting 6/9/6. Interested & available? Call Martina on [etc]
Hi this is Monky. I’ve just been sent a text message by Martina about an admin job and would like to find out a little bit more about the role.
Oh, the marketing job?
Yeah…(no thinks I- admin is the important point here)
Okay. Do you have any experience in marketing?
Are you a graduate of marketing or the like?
Oh well the client would like someone with marketing experience or ability, so perhaps this role isn’t the most suitable for you.
For the love of God- LOOK at my motherfucking CV you monkeys before you get in contact! Jesus motherfucking Christ CAN YOU NOT READ
I wonder how much David Brent charges an hour for consultancy fees?
Microsoft training video “The Office Values” Part 1 & Part 2
|Song: To My Inconstant Mistress
When thou, poor excommunicate
From all the joys of love, shalt see
The full reward and glorious fate
Which my strong faith shall purchase me,
Then curse thine own inconstancy.
A fairer hand than thine shall cure
That heart which thy false oaths did wound;
And to my soul a soul more pure
Than thine shall by Love’s hand be bound,
And both with equal glory crown’d.
Then shalt thou weep, entreat, complain
To Love, as I did once to thee;
When all thy tears shall be as vain
As mine were then: for thou shalt be
Damn’d for thy false apostasy.
Dark corsage I can’t
unpin, I’m stuck with it,
drawing wry comment
for days, however I hide
this stamp that approves
the boundary, proves that you
stop short of blood, all jokes
aside. But note
how readily my veins
leap up: a little harder and
the whole heart would follow,
I’d turn inside out, bleak pocket
for your rummaging,
magician’s hat. And yet
I don’t; I let you pass
like this small stormcloud on
my white, impassive throat.
They can be things to meditate upon- words and ideas to ponder, to find meaning in, to find kinship, to gain understanding. Like good artwork they stimulate thought and it is sometimes comforting to be reminded that many others have trod a similar path.
These two poems were the most immediate- a tale of loss and betrayal and an ode to the delights of bruising. I know the bruises mentioned were created via mouth and not touch but I just love the way the badges of affection are perfectly described…
I was most disappointed to find that aside from a couple of splinter-thin rosy lines, I am completely unblemished from my weekend. I was hoping I would have some nice marks on my wrists too- yeah yeah, from trying to beat up MW#1, nothing else. You pervs.
Oooh. UFC underwear… genius. All they need now is the shampoo and duvet cover and their marketing juggernaut will be all-conquering.
So I prettyed myself up as best I could and went round to MW#1’s lair. I admired then critiqued his Tomb King army-in-the-making and we watched some UFC. After watching the replay about four times I finally spotted the obviously delightful sight of Tim Silvia breaking both the radius and ulna in his right arm whilst attempting to escape an armbar courtesy of Frank Mir. Ak.
MW#1 fed me vodka and orange juice and drove me crazy in a variety of devious ways as I stretched out on the sofa. A contest to try and hold a conversation as he ran his fingers through my hair was nigh on unwinnable. I must admit it was quite a struggle to remove myself from his terrible grasp to go and meet Leia Ewok Village and Woods, Tiger for birthday drinks- It was tough, but we managed somehow. En route of course I had to stop to adjust my heels, attempt to correct my dorky walk following the instructions of MW#1 and multitask managing my billowing skirt that threatened to remove all my dignity.
We met up with Leia and Woods in a hideous Young Professional hang-out. It was excellent to see them both with Leia looking most fabulous after her day getting painted, massaged and tended to by some beauty fascists. Me, Leia and Woods had a really good slightly inebriated chat about things and it once again reminded me of how we really should meet up more often. MW#1 tried to insinuate that I had been most inpolite when inviting him out last Friday but other than that I got the impression that he didn’t find meeting people too stressful…
With some assistance from me, he showed his prowess at drinking three bottles of beer at the same time- I know i’m easily impressed and all, but that was a pretty dumb but good party trick. No Flaming Lamborghinii of any sort were consumed Thank Christ. The following excellent exchange took place on the way back to his place:
MW#1 slides his arm round my waist…
I’m a bad girl
Yeah. Leia Ewok Village says I’m bad…
Cos I hang around with you…
Because I’m bad, or because you “could do so much better than me”?
No- not at all. They just don’t want me to get hurt.
Ah, they think i’ll kick you to the curb? Right?
Yeah… something like that.
What I should have said is something along the lines of –
“Everyone thought you were great; you seemed to care a hell of a lot for me- but of course everyone knows what happened, and they were all just as shocked as me. So they don’t want you to hurt me again, which they’re worried about and so am I. Savvy?”
But of course I couldn’t articulate that at the time.
It’s slightly unnerving behaving in one way when no-one’s looking and another in public; I feel I have to be careful that whatever is going on doesn’t turn into something similar to the thing with The Monster- used in private, disowned in public.
So we stumbled home via a close encounter with a lavender bush and a close brush with the removal of my dignity to Snake in the Eagle’s Shadow of which I paid as much attention as I could muster whilst curled in MW#1’s lap, though I did manage to get fairly freaked out by the cat noises Jackie Chan would induce whilst pouncing the evil betrayer of his master.
And so to bed.
In the morning I spent some highly enjoyable time being pawed by MW#1… he’d apologise and go “I’m sorry, i’m going to have to manhandle you now” queing laughter from me as he rolled me over, accessorised with very wide grin too of course.
I spent a long time ensconced under the duvet watching him paint his figures and listening to him talk expansively about Magic: The Gathering. This might sound dumb, but even though I did not understand the vast majority of what he was talking about, I just enjoyed hearing him be so passionate about something. Dumb, I know.
After a cup of tea in a Lita mug for me and a packet of Hula Hoops for him we went our separate ways after stocking up on junk at McDonalds. On our way there MW#1 went on a rant that left me feeling fairly confused and concerned… I don’t know whether it’s me at issue and the uncertainty of everything makes things difficult; I just want to try and help him to rest easy within himself… but is all my care misplaced and am I heading for yet another fall…?
Heal well my friend… I’d rather miss you than mourn you
“…the deadliest pirates in the seven seas, and although they were wee men, they had big swords and were known for gutting many and leaving few alive the captain knew they were heading towards the sandwich islands to pillage the giant ham farm. The captain knew what he must do, and this is his story.”
Aquabats – Captain Hampton and the Midget Pirates
There is rum (RUM), rum on a pirate ship
If you drink too much the ship will tip
Drinking rum (RUM), rum on a pirate ship
You’d better share you’d better share
Captain Bogg & Salty – Scurvy
download them both through the magic of YouSendIt and have a wild weekend on me…
Arrr.net Sea Shanties and Drinking Songs
Christ this week is dragging. I think my anticipation of Saturday night is adding to my spaz-ing; a night flaunting myself in virgin heels and a dress is something I rarely get to do.
It’s not like I haven’t had distraction this week- Of course there was the whole car saga; I went to see A Scanner Darkly with McCy and SOAP with CP#1, I wandered around town coralling all the money I could get out of various accounts into one (and realised just how little I have remaining), I smirked at the skanks in town for the festival, sorted my car insurance out and got turned down for another job I really wanted. I listened to CP#1’s problems and comforted her as best as I could, I bought a card for Leia Ewok Village.
I returned some books, paid a fine and got some more out, I read and greatly enjoyed Kate Remembered (now there is a woman of stature), I got my hair cut and (I would never think I would say it, but) dyed it a shade of red that is just a little more intense than I would have liked, spent a few minutes each day trying to get my hair looking acceptable (to my eyes anyway) and not really managing, and I tried on eight different black bras in the fruitless search for the perfect inky lingerie.
I spent time thinking dirty thoughts about a certain individual and wondering what he thinks of me, and whilst trying on underwear I wondered what bra would give my assets as good a showing as possible (answer: none) and whether he has a favourite style or colour. I concluded that he would probably like me even if I was wearing big, grey knickers and a skanky vest because, after all, I’m underneath, but is that rating myself too highly or saying he’ll go for anything…?
So it’s not like my days are empty and it’s not like I have no company; I just feel a bit blah… and I am really looking forward to this weekend, but i’m always worried that, like in the rest of my life, if I hope too much I will be let down.
I just want to spend a night relaxing somewhere dark with MW#1 and cross paths with Leia Ewok Village and (fuck it, i’m tired and can’t think) KP to provide my usual high standard of self-depreciating entertainment. Is that too much to ask? We shall have to wait and see…
“I am sorry you were not shortlisted for an interview for the position of Museum Assistant”
“We had a large number of applicants and returned application forms for the panel to have to sift through, sorry you were not one of those selected for interview.”
What is wrong with people? Will anyone ever wise-up to how totally fuckin’ fabulous I am? Arrgh.
MW#1 starts a new job next week working at the dark satanic mills of Microsoft. Typing “Microsoft is evil” into Google you come up with some interesting pages…
Everything2: Why Microsoft is evil
Wikipedia: Critcism of Microsoft
A personal view of Working at Microsoft
This is the best page. It contains the following interesting parts:
“… Some employees forget that most of the world doesn’t have broadband wireless networking, high-end consumer electronics, luxury vehicles, and enough money that they don’t need to live on a budget. Some employees spend so much time using Microsoft products, that they forget about the competition and/or lose touch with typical customers’ needs.” – See MW#1 already has all those things apart from the “luxury vehicles”, so we’re okay there.
“Microsoft also suffers from a phenomenon that I’ve seen at other companies. I describe this as the “personality cult,” wherein one mid-level manager accumulates a handful of loyal “fans” and moves with them from project to project. Typically the manager gets hired into a new group, and (once established) starts bringing in the rest of his/her fanclub. Once one of these “cults” is entrenched, everyone else can either give up from frustration and transfer to another team, or else wait for the cult to eventually leave (and hope the team survives and isn’t immediately invaded by another cult). I’ve seen as many as three cults operating simultaneously side-by-side within a single product group.” – I’m sure MW#1 would see being worshipped as a job perk.
“… these “cults” are a direct result of Microsoft’s review system, in which a mid-level manager has significant control over all the review scores within a 100+ person group (so it’s in your best interest to get on his/her good side), and conversely needs only a fraction of that group’s total support to succeed as a manager (so it’s in his/her best interest to cultivate a loyal fanclub to provide that support). The cult gives the manager the appearance of broad support, and makes the few people who speak out against him/her look like sour grapes unrepresentative of a larger majority. After a string of successes, the manager is nearly invincible.” – Nothing that going a little Terry Tate couldn’t fix.
“…cafeteria and company store prices have increased” – For unemployed bums like myself, this would be a problem, however for newly minted employees of the Evil Empire, it’s of little consequence.
“I sometimes joke that the day Microsoft stops providing free soft drinks, I’ll quit. At least, everyone else thinks I’m joking.” – This eventuality is easily covered through the use of military-grade Camelbaks.
“… the people Microsoft hires tend to be driven and a little socially dysfunctional. So employees already tend to screw up their relationships with others and focus on work to the exclusion of everything else, without any encouragement from Microsoft.”
Oh good gawd. Do we really need more dysfunction?
Of course, I would go work for them just for the food available, as I’ve heard from family up in Washington state that it’s pretty good and available 24hrs. So basically, my stomach triumphs over any moral objections that could possibly surface; somehow I see this as being more morally justified than working for them for the “luxury vehicles”.
That he finds interest, enjoyment and recognition in his new workplace is all that is important; a frustrated, unhappy MW#1 is not something the world ever needs…
“…I reside now
In the colliding airs that make up
The light and the clouds,
My steps perilous, far above ground,
On a lordless, flockless migration,
Away from love, but following songlines.
This is what it is like to be a bird.”
The Mighty ‘Ding – Migration
For once I had a good night’s sleep, managing to crawl into bed before 2.30 and only taking around a half hour to get to sleep. I hovered between sleep and wakefulness this morning having another dream about loss and betrayal…
I come home from work to find My Love well-fortified with Dutch courage, which is needed because he goes on to tell me (with a look of desperation in his eyes) that he’s gotten someone knocked up and oh yes, he has had a bit on the side for a few months. He thinks that he needs to “do the right thing” and leave me for the ever growing half of his DNA.
Or I come downstairs from sorting some bills to get a drink of something and as I pass the living room I catch a glimpse through the half-open door of My Love’s hand running slowly down the arm of his work colleague who is round to help him finish a project. I get my drink, return upstairs and go numbly to bed. When he finally comes to bed he slides his arm around my waist and tries to pull me close but all I can do is cry.
I have dreams of a similar nature every couple of months or so; sometimes they happen when i’m going through a hormonal storm, sometimes because i’ve been thinking about things, and sometimes out of the clear blue sky in my mind. They are infrequent and are totally outweighed by rememberences of great kindness and care shown to me, but they still greatly unnerve me.
I know all these scenarios are complete fantasy; I think they’re the product of personal relationship traumas and are my brain letting off steam. They suggest abandonment issues… I would like to think that I do not behave like I have abandonment issues when I am intimate (though I’m just a little biased), if anything I would say I am too slow to speak up when there are any things I take issue with. Then maybe striving to ensure that the person I care for at the time does not think I am the crazy sterotypical (girl)friend leads to me appearing distant? I have issues other than abandonment.
I’m still tired; I would like nothing more than to curl up on a sofa with someone who runs their fingers through my hair and over the hollow near the nape of my neck… but then there are many kind gestures I would like someone to bestow upon me, and I upon them, but the eternal cynic in me doesn’t think I will ever properly get the chance.
I’m only a cynic because i’ve learnt from past bitter experience; if you chip through the icy layers of my heart at my core you’ll find i’m deeply romantic.
NYT: Venom Runs Thick in Fish Families, Researchers Learn
A season of piratically-themed films (sadly in Calfornia but a good reference list nonetheless) Arr, Matey: Pirates and Piracy
Lusty Lady: Why I’m happy with “the cleavage situation” – just cos it’s on display doesn’t mean it’s on the menu (but we want you to look)… (and sometimes it is on the menu)…
Excellent article about the realities of being an upscale masseuse in New York: Nerve.com – Body Work by Stephanie Serizy…
Post-9/11 businessmen who would pay to cry on their massage table, how men take to the news that their significant other gives the occasional handjob to pay the bills etc.
I spent most of the day trying to find ways to pass time in town as I waited for my car to get MOT’d, fail it’s MOT, then be impossible to fix so I had to return to move it 25m across a yard so that someone could charge me an extra 30 quid for the privilege of looking at my car’s wiring. Deep breath.
I wandered around Primark, missed seeing Harsh Times so went and ate my standard McDonalds junk by the riverside, discovered whilst getting my hair cut that I should have done an NVQ in Hairdressing instead of six years doing a Foundation course, BA and PGCE as they were looking for stylists…
…spent some time doing that “new hair” thing of trying to catch sight of myself in shop windows and feeling slighly odd and bought accessories for the upcoming Night of the Flaming Lamborghini (I can at least enjoy feeling like I’m the sole object of someone’s affection for a little while, even if the evening crashes and burns)…
…before catching the bus back to the garage, moving my car, getting mistaken for a bloke (I love my new hair), waiting half an hour, paying, and then driving home.
This would count as an eventful day in this unemployed bum’s life.
A most excellent friend of mine has started her first tentative steps out into the blogosphere at The Mighty ‘Ding. It’s a mixture of poetry and life and redheads.
I remember writing odes to Reading football players, and mocking teachers and the like when we were at school together; she however has continued to be poetically creative, albeit in a slightly more constructive manner.
She’s going to be published soon too and although I know she is a highly intelligent, creatively-minded individual, I was completely blown away by the quality of her writing. One of her poems is copied here- to me it is wonderful, sort of painfully beautiful:
Sit for me
Sit for me, though I cannot paint,
For I see the ancient marks
Of boundary lines in your face,
The sweetness and pollution
Of a sky-blue haze in your eyes,
The soft fall and rapid rise
Of a ship’s wake in your chest.
I have seen all of my country,
This surfeit place, in your body.
So sit for me, and let me paint.
I set a personal best for cider consumption last night… a bottle of Savanna Dry 6% (crisp and light), a bottle of Westons Organic 6.5% (rounded and spicy), a large bottle of Priors Tipple 7.2% (tasty but tart) and half a pint of Strongbow 5% (battery acid). I woke up with my eyes gummed shut and my head full of gunge. Eugh.
I had an excellent time with Leia Ewok Village and person who I cannot think of a good codename for right now (my head hurts) and I got quite uproarious towards the end. It was so good to have a proper chat about things.
When I showered this morning I noticed I have a small bruise on my right wrist. Thumbsized.
Oh, for an evening when I could properly explore…
“… you start talking about puppy dogs and ice cream and of course it’s going to end up on the friendship tip.”
This is my thinking. Do men need women to be a sufficient distance away from themselves in order to appreciate them? By distance I don’t mean metres or miles, I mean distance from their interests and their behaviours. Maybe the men I care for have an image in their lizard brains of a pristine, ultra-feminine woman and they can’t help think back to that when confronted with something outside the norm i.e. my good self.
We are brought up to believe that men and women think differently and to a certain extent that is true, but I would say we it’s down to us prioritising differently for a variety of cultural and biological reasons. However, we’ve all got brains with needs and desires, and I don’t think at our cores we are very different. We all want to be cared for and all have a nuturing/protective streak within no matter what our sex; it just manifests in different ways. The prioritising again.
I never feel suficiently culturally feminine in my thinking, actions or appearance to be sufficiently different. Does my unexpected behaviour mean that potential partners are thrown because I am too much like them? Of course, they all love the girl who can be ‘one of the guys’ but I think thats just the age old wife in the kitchen, whore in the bedroom scenario.
Am I never anything but a friend because I am too intimate with them? I am not feminine enough? I don’t behave in the expected ways women are supposed to and am not interested in finding the perfect eyeshadow?
The whole iceberg label bothers me too. I figure that if I had someone who would tell me that they cared and that they’d stand by me like I would stand by them, I would open up. I think that there will always be a part of me that stays closed but on thinking about it- isn’t that the same for everyone? No matter how intimate you are with a partner, you are not one person, you will always have a private side as otherwise you would lose your mind.
The men I care/have cared for usually discuss their relationships with me, we talk and I proffer opinions; inside however, I am reigning myself in and pretending everything’s just peachy. I sit in their houses and in bars with them and I laugh whilst behind the comedic banter sometimes I feel like I’ve been kicked in the chest. Maybe it’s down to friendship? My men have always seen me as unthreatening because I listen and care and don’t make with the expected sexual behaviour?
Whenever it’s the choice between me and another woman I am always passed over or am always the bit-on-the-side there to provide what their girlfriends can’t (intellegence, commitment-free sex, a bed for the night, etc) … only for the male to then go on about how their relationship is unsatisfying and how “I need to find someone like you” who would be much more suitable.
But thats it, isn’t it? They never actually want me, just some fantasy mash-up. The Monster’s “I’m not ready for a relationship with you… it’d be too perfect and I don’t think I could handle it…” or Mid Atlantic’s “I think I could be in a relationship with you, but I don’t want to ruin what we’ve got…” I call SHENANIGANS
Some men tell me how much they like aspects of my personality and my body, but then their behaviour completely nullifies anything they say, no matter how much I want to believe. If I talk about commitment, I sure as hell don’t mean marriage- I just mean plain and simple care and loyalty; being partners means you are in partnership after all.
Mid Atlantic was very kind towards me but proceeded to break my heart through a simple lie… The Monster used me for years and I now class our relationship as an emotionally abusive one… MW#1 is of course fantastic… he treats me with consideration and kindness, but i’m unsure whether he’ll ever consider me as anything other “than just another friend”, no matter how much I hope (just another notch in the bedpost)… I simply care too much. It’s not like I enjoy torturing myself either…
I’m rambling. I just have this idea that I will forever be left on the sidelines and it’s stuck in my head. Eugh.
I recently went to see Howard Hodgkin and Constable: The Great Landscapes at the superior of the Tates (Tate Britain).
I have never particularly liked any of either Hodgkin or Constable’s output. I thought Hodgkin was just some guy whose gimmick was that, shock, he painted over the frame, and whose work was a favourite to hang on the wall of a boardroom or in the rooms of pretentious novelists.
Constable on the otherhand was a victim of overpraise and overexposure being printed on the front of biscuit tins and laminated shopping bags- a cliche, with nothing of interest except clouds. The exhibitions have changed my opinion of the two. Well, changed them a bit.
Hodgkin first. This was my favourite work which I have colour adjusted as best I can to capture the colours I remember seeing as opposed to the print colours:
Fishermans Cove 1993 28.3 x 38 cm
Mmmm… colour. It’s a small work, small when compared to the other works on display but it encapsulates my new found appreciation of his work. Yes he’s painted on the frame, but the electric green and the kingfisher blue and the tiny sliver of orange are not just smeared in a swathe across the canvas.
Looking at all the works I found myself analysing what colours and textures went on in which order and why the artist made that decision. Why did he decide to put that opaque lozenge there? Why that veil of red across that curve? Aside from the beautiful array of colours I think this is what I enjoyed the most- the mechanics behind the paintings. Painting on the frame of course gives the impression of the colour spilling out of traditional containment yet it serves at the same time as added interesting form and texture and highlights the piece as required.
However, when I look at a work by for example the artist I simply love to hate Leonardo Da Vinci, I do not find myself wondering how he constructed the painting. Sure, he did studies, plotted his composition etc and drew pretty, unchallenging pictures. Both artists made work that illustrated something- a place, an event, an emotion. However the outward simplicity of Hodgkin’s work forces me to think about how it is put together and how does this earn value; the value is different.
It requires more contemplation than the quick payoff of representational work, of course you can project your various thoughts and emotions onto the “blank” canvas. But then I would say that, wouldn’t I; she of the conceptual installation. I also love thinking too much, and non-representational works to me are more challenging.
Of all the works in the Constable exhibition I only liked one finished painting:
Wivenhoe Park, Essex 1816 56.1 x 101.2 cm
Writing about art- What the hell is wrong with me? This is more Dave’s cup of tea.
I woke up today with a sore back. It hurts when I breathe and when I move. Maybe it’s because of the art.
A giant cleaning out of randoms that have held my attention for a microsecond:
A trip through my childhood utilising YouTube… Pigeon Street, Button Moon, Knightmare, Look & Read : Dark Towers (pretty scary on the carpet at primary school), Kids In America by what was the only celebrity sharing my birthday (Thank you Owen) and last but not least Pob.
Growing up and out and supposedly maturing… I have a particular unfortunate liking of They Way You Work It by EYC ~ Express Yourself Clearly!; disco hatred courtesy of Scatman John Scatman.
Photographs by Terence Nunn of disappearing London.
A cute as a button Roborovski hamster getting a little carried away on it’s wheel: Hamster Wheel Gone Wrong – Google Video
Editorial: Social scientist examines merits of the “wrestling causes violence” study being revisited this week
Two lovely ladies: FuckKill
Norman Rockwell’s The Problem We All Live With
The Only Art on the Moon
Instructables.com Step-by-step guide to make your own Lacerations
Dumbed down television it may be, but I do enjoy gaping at Around the World in 80 Treasures
Excellent collections of photography at Photomuse from the International Center of Photography
NSFW Super-hot photography including this delightful orgasm-in-progress from Samantha Wolov.
Eugh. My mind is overrun with dirty thoughts these days.
Denis Leary finds his way into the Boston Redsox announcers booth and hi-larity ensues.
Denis Leary: Now, Youkilis, is he a Greek kid?
Jerry Remy: No, I don’t think so.
Don Orsillo: I think he’s Jewish.
JR: He’s Jewish, yeah.
Lenny Clark: Really?
DL: that’s fantastic. That’s one bottle of whiskey away from being Irish Catholic. They got the Manischewitz, we got the Jamesons. It’s the same guilt, the same bad food. That’s fantastic, we got a Jewish first baseman! I didn’t know that. This is fabulous. …I’m so proud to have a Jewish first baseman. i didn’t even know!
YouTube: Denis Leary Tells Mel Gibson To Shove It
YouTube: Samuel L Jackson on The Daily Show
Well I think everything works. New commenting and error pages and an easier time of managing everything. Back in business… phew.
I’m pondering taking linktrawl down as it gets no traffic. I will sort this later.
As Sixapart have made the latest version of Movable Type free for personal use I have decided to upgrade to the latest release. Thusly this blog will be incommunicado until everything is sorted.
Sometimes I wish I could stay wrapped up in bed all day… gah… warm and fuzzy goodness.
I spent a while this morning smelling my skin, taking a sensory trip around one shoulder and along my collarbone.
You know things are just not right when your skin smells not of yourself but of other and you take a moment when alone to take some deep breaths and take in the foreign scent covering your warmed body. Mmmm…
Taken from the delightful literary tome that is Dave’s LJ…
An open letter to all MOTHS.
My breasts do not emit or reflect a particularly large amount of light, they do not resemble the moon in many ways, nor are they noticably similar to any night blooming flowers that I know of. Why, then, do you insist on following your bizarre spiral flight paths right into my cleavage?
Are you all perverts?….
Cracked Magazine- Sean Crespo Will Teach You Satire:
How to tell if your child has been molested or your house is being haunted based on the crayon drawings of your children
Nacho Libre was weird. Good, but it was very odd watching fake wrestling- it didn’t have anything like the drama and interest of proper “wrestling is fake” wrestling. I now so want to get a mask and put on my ring outfit and wrestle. Grrrrarr.
Of course being me, I don’t just want to wrestle for the pure elemental fight between two well-matched human beings; I want to wrestle because it means physical contact. I daydream about wrestling in an empty arena with my (male) opponent pinning me by my wrists whilst I struggle in vain to escape. I get mad and spit at my well-armed opponent (good upper and lower arms you see) who leans into me until I am completely immobilised by his weight, only able to move my head.
I still squirm and try and break free even as my opponent pins my wrists above my head using one hand and pulls my vest up with the other. I only give up when he begins to slowly lick my stomach. Things progress from there and my parting gift is a nice set of bruises on my wrists. Hot. To my warped self anyway.
I will be getting a hit of wrestling next week and I am greatly looking forward to it. I’ve been deprived. I get all het up, as you may be able to tell from the previous couple of paragraphs.
This video by OK Go is fucking awesome- Choreographed treadmill dancing ahoy:
Here It Goes Again
It’s nearly a full moon. This must be why i’m feeling crazy.
This evening I spent a good ten minutes contemplating the scalpel lying amid the lucha mask detritus on my desk. I’m going to put it down to my lack of decent sustainance- six peanut butter sandwiches does not a good meal make.
I finished Hard Rain today and am now onto An American Dream; I’ve been finding it hard to lose myself in the words of late, concentration is proving difficult- the relentless speculation about my future and someone important to me is unhappy and i’m concerned I contribute to their woe. I’m not feeling depressed, it’s more of a jittery anxiety that seems to be hitting. Ak.
Update: I’ve consumed hot consumables and had a little type to The Monster and I feel better.
In the past seven days I have read the following: Black Rain by Masuji Ibuse, Girl With A Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier, One Hundred Strokes Of The Brush Before Bed by Melissa P. and The Death Of Men by Allan Massie.
This is a total of 922 pages; 131.714285714285714285714285714286 a day, not so many when you look at it that way. I am currently on Hard Rain by Janwillem van de Wetering and have Norman Mailer’s American Dream remaining.
I signed up with my local library in a state of desperation; days doing nothing but sitting in my room with nothing to do but think of inappropriate things was eating away at my sanity. As much as I am attatched to the internets via a telepathic unbillical, there is only so long you can spend looking at things. Really. I can spend hours at a time browsing Wikipedia but there comes a point where your brain starts to need something else to process.
Wikipedia: Black Rain
Bookslut: A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall – Black Rain
Crosscurrents: BLACK RAIN – Reflections on Hiroshima and Nuclear War in Japanese Film
Wikipedia: Japanese Literature
A Pronunciation Guide to Dutch Names and Terms around Vermeer
Wikipedia: Category:War novel stubs
Women feel anger more frequently than men and when not being watched are more likely to take out their anger: Economist.com Differences between the sexes | The mismeasure of woman
The Nature Boy defends the USA from the Red Menace: YouTube – Ric Flair VS Nikita Koloff – Great American Bash 1985 Pt. 1
YouTube: Homicide vs. CM Punk fight in a strip club
No hay mas de temer que una mujer despechada.
Edit- NSFW stuff removed due to attack of self-doubt.
I thought long and hard about the style of my mask; I felt that it would be bad form somehow to copy a luchador’s mask design and there’s no particular masked wrestler that I particularly support. So I decided to take an aspect of my life and go from there to create my in-ring persona and therefore my mask.
My backstory is that one day my character had her heart broken one time too many and she couldn’t take it anymore, deciding to abandon her life as a supermarket checkout girl for the purer pursuit of fighting. She fights to try and gain peace, hoping that one day she will have exorcised her demons, found a technico who will love her and have found true happiness.
I think she would be kind of like a Kane-type character- a bit of a ruda– but for a reason. A babyface/heel tweener who the crowd would hate at the beginning but as the weeks went by they would grow to love and accept her as they understood her sometimes bad behaviour and her need to fight.
So I dressed up in my homemade mask and ringwear and went and consumed all the free food and drink I could manage. I was quite popular as I blundered about the garden in my reduced-peripheral-vision mask and skimpy outfit; when I took a last look before heading out the door I have to admit I looked pretty darned good- maybe even hot in a wrestling type of way. Is that hot? Erm… Anyway, it was great to see friends I see far too infrequently even if I had no-one to put any moves on.
Flickr: The Technicos vs. Rudos
Flickr: The Luchas On The Loose