So. I am going to be blogging (hopefully) on a daily basis...as of now. I like writing, actually I love writing, and I'm hoping this will spur me into some kind of creative literary dialect that will lend itself to my art practice.
I fell asleep earlier for an hour or two, and dreamt that I was carrying an arm full of entrails to my beloved.
I was wearing white, and the slimy, wet matter, like bloodied squid tentacles, were trailing behind me. I like this image.
In two hours I will be leaving my house to get to the organ grinder, which, if I'm lucky, will be able to get away from no later than 3am. The best thing about this particular job, money aside, is the walk home on a Friday and/or Saturday night. Lincoln high street is a different world. I will leave a snippet of something I have been working on, as part of Amidst Betwixt, a collaboration between myself and artist Lizz Brady:
I have been excited about writing this article for some time now, yet still seem to find myself on an endless procession of procrastination. I suppose it’s the starting point that always gets me.
How do I begin? How does one commence when all there is to look at is a blank page for hours on end?
(Well, just start writing, you may think!)
But still, its that essence of commitment.
I can decorate this unfilled void with an array of letters and marks and punctuation, all accumulating in a leaden mass of sounds that access the brain and escape the mouth. But which narrative path is best?
So. Please. Allow me to introduce myself.
ARTIST. SOCIALLY INTROVERT. CHARMING. TOO MUCH APATHY. TOO MUCH EMPATHY. INCONSIDERATE. CARING. GREY. PERFECTIONIST. EGOTISTICAL. MY SEX IS FEMALE. MY MINDSET IS MASCULINE. SUBMISSIVE. PASSIVE. LOVING. LOVER. ALCHAMIST. VOYEUR. VANTRILIQUIST. LONER STONER. IRRIATBLE. IRRATIONAL. LOGICAL. RECRETIONAL ABUSER. LISTLESS. MANIC. X&Y. ARTIST.
I wouldn’t believe, nor would I trust, anybody who hasn’t experienced the GREY. (This word is somewhat meaningless, having a multitude of definitions in relation to each individual.) I’ve been living in my grey for quite some time now. Like a permanent seat of piss that’s constantly trickling down my leg and into my shoes. A reminder. I am here. I am not. I don’t mind being there, sitting in my own filth and floating reality. I belong there. It’s comfortable when you get used to it.
Speaking of grey, did you know that ‘sufferers’ of mental illness (typically schizophrenics and manic depressives) have up to 25% less grey brain matter, especially in the frontal and temporal lobes, than that of their peers on the ‘normal’ social rung?
Ahhhh. Normal. Nawr-mul. Normul. I like the simplicity of this word. It implies average. Bog standard. Run of the mill. No eccentricity need apply.
To have this curse would imply that one is of sound mind, body and spirit. Free from the baggage of the world. A careless cunt in a city swimming with liars.
No no. I do not believe in normal. I believe in the grey.
