(click on the empty space space to understand)
(click on the empty space space to understand)
I’m restless this evening, and all sorts of thoughts have overflowed onto the floor. I’ve mopped them up, and will now wring out the mop onto the page of this ‘ere blawg. Probably don’t look at them. I’m mostly doing this because the short story I want to post isn’t quite ready yet, but also just because I’m having so many thoughts that I don’t know where to put them all. Just need to get them out so that they’re out. In no particular order of importance, here are some of the gloopiest/least gloopy:
That’s all. There are probably loads of typos here. I’m very tired. Sending love and stuff, anyway. I’ll try to bring something tastier soon xx
I’m a little bit in love with Martin Molin. As most of you would of course already know, Martin Molin is the GENIUS musician/ builder of extraordinary contraptions who designed and built that incredible giant-music-box type machine that makes music when you feed marbles into it ( there is a bit more to it than that, but that’s the basic idea) .
Because I’m TV free and have also largely removed myself from the world of social media, I’m ashamed to say that I only found out about the gorgeous Martin and his brilliance a few months back, thanks to my daughter’s awesome music teacher.
( If social media alerted me to more inspiring things like this, rather than petty arguments, general nastiness, endless selfies, and blow by blow accounts of people’s lunch/ train delay dramas, I’d consider going back…)
Anyway, whilst scouring YouTube for Syd Barrett stuff, I accidentally discovered a video (below) that Martin Molin posted a few days ago to mark the one year anniversary of the original Marble Machine video ( below below). It features some covers fans have done of the original track- complete with Martin’s genuinely grateful, genuinely enthusiastic, feckin’ adorable, head-bobbing, smiling, reactions to them. It’s lovely, and just what I needed this otherwise glummish evening. So I’m posting both vids below now, for those who want to be reminded of the magnificent Marble Machine, and also for fellow slowlings like me who don’t live in the actual world ( any of you out there?) but do appreciate the lovely things (and people) that can come out of it nonetheless.
Merry Sunday, and much love and inspiration to anybody who sees this. I’m going away for a bit now.
The above group of wordsicles came about thanks to this fun little thing Black Cat Alley has going. It’s called Whiteout Wednesdays ( or W.O.W.) and is basically the same dealy as a blackout poem, but instead of taking a black marker to the block of text to leave behind a previously hidden poem, you copy and paste that week’s assigned block o’text into your wordpress draft, and white-out the unneeded words using the ‘text colour’ feature. You can then reformat the words so that they’re more readable (but NOT rearrange/add words or punctation) , OR leave them all spaced out and strung out ( like I did.). This week’s text up for your literary obliteration/ creation is here. I do hope that you DOOOO EEEEET! ‘Cause it’s lotsa fun.
“But why we gotta go NOW?” asked Ripkin, who was- somehow- clutching a beer; his blue paper bum making no impression whatsoever on the stained old faux-suede couch, but feeling oh-so-comfortable nonetheless.
A5er shot Ripkin one of his “Don’t crumple with me” looks.
Ripkin sighed. The cricket was on in 10 minutes and all.
A5er was small, but feisty. And sharp. Oh yes. He could give the stiffest of bunnies a papercut with a narrowing of his eyes alone.
Marbiggles resented the authority A5er seemed to have gradually siphoned away from him over the past months. A5er had the enthusiasm, alright, but he was a cocky young buck; lacked humility; grace; class. Still, Marbiggles knew the kid was right. They had to go. And sooner rather than later.
“Bottom line is: we need some-” A5er stopped and pointed his paper paw around the room. “Look around; what do ya see?”
Ripkin’s eyes dutifully followed A5er’s paw around; the rest of his face blank as a fresh sketchbook. His blue paper bottom fluttered gently as a pocket of air escaped its careless valley folds.
“The three of us!” Spat A5er in frustration. “And that’s it. Strength in numbers, boys. And what’s our number? Three. How the hell are we supposed to rule this place with an army of three? I’ve heard word from the chatterboxes up north that the Cranes are verging on one thousand now. To say that we’re vulnerable to attack would be an understatement! We gotta get our numbers up. Pronto. I’m talking kits. Baby bunnies, gentlemen. And without being crude, I think you know where baby bunnies come from….and it’s not Ripkin’s arse, thank Christmas card.”
Marbiggles snorted in spite of himself. Ripkin continued blanking.
“So, ” continued A5er. ” We gotta Get Busy, if ya catch my drift. Find ourselves some fresh ream; get us some folds ‘n’ creases, yeah? Some mountains and valleys, ya get me? Some lady-makin’ for some baby-makin’. Some origaminion populatin’” He winked at the lads, leeringly.
Marbiggles winced at A5er’s crassness. He took a deep breath. When he exhaled, though, it was not without some staccato about it. Against his will, images of semi-transparent vellum paper and delicately patterned Washi bending and folding seductively flashed through his mind. He wiped his forehead before any lasting damage could be done.
Ripkin swigged a sip from his tinny. Beer dribbled down his front, making his chest soggy. His big, dumb eyes stared nowhere in particular.
A journey to The Stationary Cupboard sounded good in theory, sure. But…it was SO far away…..and none of them had even seen it. For all they knew, it didn’t even exist. Reams themselves were probably nothing but a mythical fantasy. And if this were the case, Ripkin was perfectly happy to leave it that way. He had origami manuals and a right paw. Why mess with an efficient system?
“Can’t I just stay here?” He implored.
With a rustle, A5er swiftly leapt over to the old couch and leant in until his nose was level with Ripkin’s. He lowered his voice to a whisper- oh, how menacing A5er was when he whispered- and, looking directly into Ripkin’s eyes said simply:
“No. You can’t. You’ll do as the rest of us do, Rippikins. Or I’ll feed you to the shredder. And by ‘shredder’, I don’t mean Jimi Hendrix…… because he doesn’t eat paper, and is no longer alive. Just like you’ll be, if you continue. To waste. My time.”
Ripkin still didn’t understand why he had to come along, but he wasn’t about to argue with a whispering A5er, especially when shredders were mentioned, no sirree. He clutched his tinny with an increasingly damp paw, and shifted the nonexistent weight of his increasingly damp, blue buttocks, wishing he could just flatten himself like a greeting card and go find an envelope to slide into for a while.
“Moving on…” came A5er’s voice- abruptly restored to its regular volume. “As luck would have it, a certain Napkin Swan (who shall remain nameless) has most generously provided us with a map of The Biglands….” He produced a rolled up document from his left ear and held it victoriously aloft.
Marbiggle’s eyes widened. A cooperative Napkin Swan… that sounded too good to be true. Was this map the Real Deal? He glanced over at Ripkin, but Ripkin was nonplussed, noticing only the rolled up map’s resemblance to a joint. Now that was something for a day like today…
A5er unrolled the map and stepped toward Ripkin. “Give us a paw, Rips,”, he ordered, motioning toward the bowl of peanuts and the empty packets of kale chips littering the coffee table. Ripkin promptly obliged; sweeping the chip packets onto the floor, and moving the peanut bowl into his lap.
“Give us that,” commanded A5er- referring to the bowl. “And that,” he added, this time referring to Ripkin’s half empty beer can. Ripkin obeyed, and A5er carefully positioned the bowl on one edge of the map, and the beer can on the other, to prevent it from rolling in on itself.
“Now. The Stationary Cupboard lies beyond Mount Desk; east of Laptop. It’s accessible by foot….. but there are obstacles. Dangerous ones. Mount Desk is littered with dead pens, and other heavy junk which sometimes tumbles down the mountainside faster than a souped-up paper fighter jet . If you’re not quick on your pads, it’s wastepaper basketville for you. Now it’s also rumoured that a giant, whiskered beast with claws as sharp as thumbtacks roams the entire breadth of The Biglands, preying on anything that moves. So we gotta have our wits about us…”
Ripkin wasn’t really listening. He gazed wistfully at his beer, which was no doubt getting warm. He figured he could at least maybe grab a handful of peanuts without causing any undue drama. It’d make A5er’s talk less boring, at any rate. He reached for the peanut bowl, but as he did so, his generous, soggy girth dragged across the coffee table- knocking over the beer can and sending its warm, lightly foaming amber contents spilling across the map’s landscape like a golden tsunami, reducing roads, rivers, and mountain ranges alike to a meaningless, smudgy blur. Utter annihilation. Total bevvystation.
The stunned silence was guillotined clumsily by Ripkin’s blunt voice.
A5er snapped, letting out a roar that almost tore his own body to shreds.
” RIPKIIIIIN!! YOU’RE GONNA GET RIPPED!!!!”
Ripkin figured that by “get ripped” A5er hadn’t meant he was gonna get killer cardboard abs and guns of foil. Especially as A5er was now hurtling straight over the coffee-table map-ocalypse towards him. This was it. He was actually going to get ripped into pieces and die. And he’d never even get to find out who won the Test Match.
“WAAAIIIT!!!!!” Roared another voice. Thunder to A5er’s lightning.
Marbiggles raised his voice so rarely that both Ripkin and A5er had forgotten how formidable he was when he did.
Marbiggles prised A5er off Ripkin, and planted himself between the two of them, his eyes wide as paper plates.
“Control yourself, damnit! Or I’ll do it for you. You’ll not touch a single corner on this lad’s head. THIS boy,” he continued, gesturing towards poor, already half crumpled Ripkin, “may be thick as 2 pieces of 600 gsm watercolour paper; as idle as a ten tonne paperweight; as useful as braille on the inside of a paper straw…. BUT! He has been loyal; like a brother to you- and a son to me- all these years. I’ll not stand by and watch you scrunch him up like some worthless supermarket receipt over some dubious bloody Napkin map! ”
Marbiggles glared at A5er- nostrils flaring. All the resentment that had built up inside him of late was rising to the surface now like the waters of a blocked toilet.
A5er – almost frozen in shock- searched for words. The ones he eventually found were:
“You- you faded, dog-eared, pamphlet! You don’t call the shots around here anymore, old boy. A5er does! I’m A5er. YOUR LEADER! STAND DOWN AND OBEY YOUR LEADER!”
“You’re no leader, ” continued Marbiggles. “No leader of mine! For all your posturing and prancing, you’re but a standard tyrant! Selfish; cowardly; without substance. Like a crumbling, overused tissue, bringing nothing but grazes to the nose that blows! You sir, are nothing but a common piece of one-ply generic brand CRAPWRAP!…….”
(And here he paused dramatically)
“…And my finger’s just gone straight through…… ”
Of course, Marbiggles didn’t have fingers per se, but the point was made- and now sharpened, as he drew a pair of scissors from god-knows-where and pointed them at the space between A5er’s eyes.
“YOU will stand down, A5er….NOW.”“
A5er quickly weighed up his options. He was expressionless for a moment…..then the evil crease of a grin stretched across his face.
“…Or what? ”
The grin widened.”…Grandmabiggles.”
It was a mistake. Marbiggles was getting older, sure, but not weaker. He was made of high quality parchment; stiff shit. A5er stood two chances: none, and jack. The scissor blades sliced him in twain before he could even process what was happening. His neatly bisected self fell, in slow-mo silence, either side of the map-mush, onto a rustling bed of empty Kale Chip packets.
Marbiggles stood motionless for some minutes as it sunk in. He’d wiped A5er like a serviette across the mouth of death. He was a murderer. Oh god! And Ripkin- the poor kid….he’d been close to death himself- then witnessed it. In cricket season no less. He’d be traumatised for life.
Ripkin- where was Ripkin? Marbiggles scanned the room. He must find Ripkin!
There’s wisdom in the old proverb: “Don’t run with scissors”. Alas, old Marbiggles- noble, disgraced, Marbiggles- in his frenzy, had completely forgotten that he was still clutching the binary blades of doom as he dashed toward the kitchen door in search of poor, dumb, Ripkin. So instead of heroically rescuing the beer-swilling bunbun, he’d tripped and fallen- impaling himself on the deathblades.
It seemed Marbiggles and A5er would have to work things out in The Great Stationary Cupboard in the Sky.
Ripkin, who’d managed to wriggle free whilst A5er was distracted by Marbiggle’s monologue, was now safely in the kitchen, cracking open a new beer and a fresh bag of kale chips, oblivious to the gore beyond the door.
A half minute later, the oblivion vanished, as Ripkin exited the kitchen with his tinny and chips, only to be confronted by the dismembered forms of his ex-bunny-brethren.
Ohhhhh, man, this was not good. Not good!
Panic set in.
It was a mess. Oh, what a mess! And oh how Ripkin hated cleaning!
But…. hey…wait a minute. Now that there was nobody around to boss him about, he didn’t have to clean…
Panic subsided; realisation dawned.
He didn’t have to clean…. and he meant not to. Ever again! He rearranged the empty Kale Chip packets so that they covered the two bodies. A shallow grave, yeah, but as A5er had always said: “paper don’t rot, bud”. They’d flatten down nice after a few kitchen/ lounge round-trips. Sweet as! What’s more- the map on the table had soaked up most of the previously spilt beer- so win win on the not-having-to-clean gig.
Ripkin settled his soggy blue bum onto the stained old faux-suede couch and took a gulp of beer. A little rivulet of it ran down his chin and onto his already soggy belly. It’d spring a leak soon, for sure.
Ripkin didn’t care. The cricket was starting. As for Cranes, they were probably just all off to a wedding or something. He munched down on some crunchy green salty kale goodness, and lovingly wrapped his soggy paw around his tinny. His damp nether regions melded lovingly with the couch- becoming one with the stained old faux-suede. It was oh-so -comfortable. Oh-so- stationary. Yeah, stationary. As if he’d ever want to be anything else.
Little dents in the ground have collected rain and become portals to other places. Better places. Distant places. I peer in at them with fascination and that familiar longing.
I wave to the tiny people I see, but I know they don’t see me. They’re the same as the big ones up here.
Unobserved, I watch; breathe. I want secret things and I know secret things. I hold the secrets of nothing and nowhere; mapping the periphery of everything and everywhere.
Needed a break from the monotony of unpacking. Decided to go for stroll around new neighbourhood; check out the sites. On way out, noticed strange fixture on hallway wall. Have no recollection of seeing this during initial inspection. Utterly perplexed.
Didn’t end up leaving the house at all. Still weirded out by this thing; need to get to the bottom of it.
It’s just a tap handle. But that’s the thing. It’s JUST a tap handle. Completely isolated upon the wall; the actual tap component nowhere to be seen.
Perhaps builder was making some type of postmodern statement. Or maybe it was functional at one point, but renovations since made, and somehow tap handle was overlooked somehow.
But why so high up? Have to get on tippy toes just to reach it. Were original inhabitants really tall?
Tap handle confusing and annoying.
Tried looking around the house to see whether there’s a tap anywhere without a handle which may correspond to hall handle, but to no avail.
Just read over all that. Maybe I need a hobby.
Time to stop obsessing over irrelevant crap and go get something done.
Am probably being neurotic, but tap handle is freaking me out. Was almost quaint and quirky during the day, but now that it’s dark, it’s taken on a sinister vibe.
Just read over that. How can a tap handle be sinister? I need to get out more.
Phoned Liam. He says not to worry about it. Says I’m being silly and that random tap handle on wall is hilarious.
Will Liam forget me now that I’m here? He didn’t sound that sad over the phone about me moving away. I bet that annoying April skank is rubbing her skanky little hands together.
Just read over that. Sounds a little catty. I can’t honestly say I’ve ever seen April flirting with Liam.
She is a skank, though.
Wanted to watch a movie then go to bed, but can’t find the DVD’s. Wish I could remember which box they’re in.
Nothing but static on telly.
Static was apparently long, boring, experimental film about getting pins and needles.
Went on facebook, but no real friends online.
Posted status update anyway. Wrote: “Am I the only one who finds this weird??” With pic of tap handle.
No responses yet.
April has new profile pic. Of course, she’s posing in a bikini. Pic looks photoshopped to me. Caption says: “My hair looks SO bad today! LOL”.
Typed “Yes, it does.”
Felt rude and deleted it. Logged off.
I hate facebook. Maybe I’ll just delete my account.
Tap Handle is still freaking me out and if Liam’s name is amongst the “like”s under April’s PP, then I’ll know he’s cheating on me with her.
Just read over what I last wrote. Maybe tiredness makes me jump to conclusions.
Time for sleep.
Maybe just one more FB check first.
April has commented on my tap pic: “Haha, your a riot, girl! 😀 ❤ “.
“*YOU’RE”, I reply.
Then feel rude; delete it. Write “haha, thx lovely; i do try 😉 Love you! ❤ ❤ <3” instead.
God, she’s such a fake tho.
Can’t sleep. That bloody tap thing. Is there a secret camera in it or something? Because I had to walk past it on the way to the loo again, and…I know it sounds stupid to say, but……I really felt like it was watching me the whole time.
Got up on a chair to take a closer look. Doesn’t look like there’s a hidden camera there or anything. It just looks like a regular tap handle….. except up high on a wall all by itself for no apparent reason.
Feel an overwhelming desire to turn it to see what happens, but am afraid of the possible consequences. What if built-in-wardrobe suddenly becomes flooded or something?
What if it was put there by spies, and turning it is some sort of secret sign to go ahead with something untoward somewhere far away? Like, what if I turned it, and the next day there’s an evil, sundried Orangutan with a basic grasp of the alphabet in charge of a whole country or something?
Ok, that’s a bit unrealistic. But why is it so…spooky? Is it normal for a tap handle to be spooky?
Maybe I’m going mad.
Maybe it’s just the stress of moving; the unfamiliar environment; the nagging doubts about the boyfriend situation.
I really want a snack, but I forgot to go shopping before so all I have is cereal and some bay leaves I brought here from the old flat. And that awful cheap champagne Tilly gave me.
Tilly’s chm,p[ange not too bAD actually.
Watched stupid infomercialses and ate cereals out of the packet. Thinking about buying a motorised swirling spaghetti fork. Takes the misery out of eating basghetti. Protects wrists from RSI, plus playS amusing tune while you eat! ( You know- the one about a meatball that rolls away) . SO cool. I’d never get sick of that. Comes with 24 free gold carrots on a necklace. And if you buy 2, you get a bath mat that looks like a face.
That guy on the ad was sorta hot too. Kinda like santa, but when he was young and sexy. He can empty his sack into my chimney any day if ya know what I mean, wink wink nudge nudge, eh? eh? ..I’m naughty AND nice, hahahaha. I liked the way he said “Aaaaand, that’s not all!”. Saucy. I’d twirl his spaghetti any day if ya know what I mean.
Dunno wht i mean
Whatevers. If it doesn’t work out with Liam I’m gonna try for a beardy fella. Never had a beard.
Checked fakebook. Doesn’t look like Liam’s been on.
Took selfie of myself holding my Aries mug full of champagne. I look actually pretty cute in my cowprint onesie pyjamas actually.
Posted selfie to Tilly’s wall with the caption: “Tillyyyyyyyyyy!!!!! Best moo-ving present EVVAAAA!!!!”
(Get it? ‘Moo-ving’- ’cause I’m moving, but also ’cause my PJ’s have a cow pattern! Hahaha!)
SEE, April? I can be sexy too! I’m sexy cos I’m confident, see? I don’t conform to ANY type of stereo- i’m above that- ijust don’t care. See? I don’t care about being hot, therefore I‘m hot! My awesome personality is what makes ME sexyy. I am NICE and FUNNY and LOVELY person. So I hope you die in a shit lake you fuckin cow.
Liam dunna ‘preciate wot ‘e got ‘ere eh. Fuck ‘im! FUCK ‘IM eh!
Feelng a bit sick
Why’s evthing so SHIT?
My head hurts an im thirsty andim just gonna bcome a NUN ffs WHY r men so suprficioal and WHO putta TAP on my WALLs????!!! Focken STUPIF.
Nooooooooo chmpgn LEFT (or right hahahahahahaa)
I wnder if the ‘C’ on th tap handel stands fr “CRAP” instead of “COLD”, and it’s turnd on FULLfull pressure and I don even know
Is not. Fwell off chair. Owchy elbow and head and hip
but no mattr – got back up turned it on to see if anthing happn.
Must go bed. Hungry, but. Wonder what happens if eat a bay leav. Evrything ouch
Not only do I have the MOST brutal hangover in history, ( and bruises everywhere-what the hell???) I just realised Tilly has her FB wall comments set to public.
Drunk in cow-print PJ’s under a fluorescent light isn’t the most flattering look on me.
Tilly has commented “All class 😉 👌 “.
Liam has commented “Dork. Miss you <3”. Which I suppose is nice.
And of course, April has commented “10/10, WOULD BANG “.
Condescending slag. What is with all this fake nice crap??? All this: “how cute are you?”, and “such a gorgeous gal ❤ ” and “I’d go out with you” and “crushing hard…. </3 ” all over my damn FB wall and photos. And generally right after Liam writes something first…..Why doesn’t she just outright proposition my boyfriend right in front of me already?? FFS.
Heaps of peeps ‘liking’ this pic though. Reassuring to know there are people out there who actually appreciate a sense of humour, instead of just being shallow bastards obsessed with boobs.
What’s this?….Someone calling himself “The Keithinator” has sent me a friend request, and a message saying ” U R Qt. 😉 A/S/(hopefully 😉 ) L?”. In his profile pic he’s wearing dark sunglasses and a T-shirt that says ” SEX INSTRUCTOR- FIRST LESSON FREE” on the front.
Another one. Calls himself ‘Big Donno’. Has PM’d: “If u need milking im yr farmer 😉 ”
Double ewwwwww. Wtf is with all the creepers??
Oh, crap. Just noticed that one of the pyjama buttons isn’t done up properly in the photo, and my nipple is showing.
So much for faith in the human race.
Pic deleted; sleazy creeps blocked. Maybe I really will delete my account.
Oh well. One positive is that I couldn’t care less about the stupid wall tap anymore. It obviously doesn’t do anything.
Going back to bed for the rest of the day. Tomorrow is a new day, blah blah, etc. etc. The world will go on as ever before, and nothing really is ever of lasting consequence.
So often, I lose contact with people. For no particular reason. We all have shit going on. But just because we’ve stopped talking doesn’t mean these people don’t enter my thoughts at all.
Here is one such person. His name is Andy, aka re/search/er. I did a pic for him a while back, which I was reminded of whilst looking through my folders for something else this evening. He’d liked my drawings, and wanted something re/search/er-ish. I don’t think he meant a pic of his cranium, but that’s what I did anyway. So instead of the very me-centric thing I was going to post, here ( above) is a very simplified version of the thing I sent him.
Please do listen to his musix – especially if you’re into Atoms For Peace-ish , Radiohead-ish, even Jeff Buckley-ish style sounds/ vocals. Or just really nice electronica. I feel his tracks have a certain cinematic quality. You can still hear him on triple J if you listen carefully ( and if you’re in Aus). If you’re in the UK , I believe he’s been played here, too. Hopefully there are more places I don’t yet know about.
Andy won’t see this post, but I wanted to pimp out his musical talents anyway. All my blogging thus far has really been about me. I know that’s just what tends to happen when a person blogs. But sometimes it’s nice to add some variety. Not sure why I should choose tonight, or this, but it seems as good a time and subject as any.
So listen below for an example of why I think Andy deserves to not only make a living off his music, but to be massively rich and famous for it too. I hope he’s doing ok.
“Happy anniversary with WordPress!” is the merry little message I’ve just received on my wordypress sidebar ( the only kind of bar I frequent these days).
As the only single 38 year old in the universe, I’m going to take this opportunity to pretend that WordPress is actually my husband ( or wife; whatever’s good for you, Wordypress ), and crack open a packet of pecans ( what can I say; I party hard) to mark the occasion of our first year of blogital bliss. And while I’m pretty sure “blogital” doesn’t work as a word, stay with me here, because I have actual THINGS to say. (see below)
Thankyou to the people who responded to my very vague ( ie mysterious) Competition Of Mystery a few weeks back! I haven’t forgotten you. A real, actual, proper, tangible prize is being constructed for whoever belongs to the name written upon the scrap of papyrus ( yes, papyrus*. Pretty retro, yeah? Have at thee, so-called hipsters) that I’ll soon draw from my massive top hat**.
I guess I didn’t really expect anybody to respond to it, considering it an exercise in ART, if nothing else. That’s not a complaint. I appreciate the participation!
I haven’t really spoken about this before, but did you know that I’m in the process of writing a book? Of course you didn’t know. Because I haven’t really spoken about this before. But I am now. Because.. I am. Writing, that is. Since clearly, that’s where I excel…
But really. I’ve been refining my plot for over a year now. That might not sound remotely impressive to most people, but for me- a person whose attention span can be likened to light being reflected off a speeding mirrorball onto a wall of mirrors- the fact that one subject has interested me for longer than 2 weeks- let alone consumed me for over a year -seems not only meaningful, but miraculous.
Sometimes it feels as though I’m not making much progress….but whilst I may be off to a s-l-o-w start, the research I’ve been conducting into various writing methodologies means that I’m learning a LOT. I’m having so many little lightbulb moments lately that I’m putting Pink Floyd’s “Delicate sound of thunder” album cover dude to shame.
It took me a while to believe it, but I actually have a solid long term goal that I feel genuinely enthusiastic about. How excitement! This has never happened before. Big chunks of my life have already been eaten away by extended periods of ill health, and my own neglect. I’ll never get those big chunks of time back. So I need to make the most of the ever decreasing chunks in front of me. I must put my serious face on.. along with my serious hair ( haha, as if ), serious limbs and serious torso. I’m so serious now.
Anyway, what I’m trying to get around to saying is that my blogging will probably become even more inconsistent from now on- if that’s possible. I can’t completely abandon the blogosphere ( or indeed, my handsome Mr. WordPress/ Mrs WordPress) , because blogging is fun. And it’s much needed outlet for my constantly bubbling mind-vomit. But it’s also bloody time consuming. ( Just catching up on everyone/responding to comments has already taken up literally half of my sunday. And I’m still not done!) I’ll always try my best to keep up, but I can’t prioritise it.
And let’s face it; writing a blog post is a very different beast to writing a booksie. It requires writing things that sound good straight away. It’s not a format that suits me well in this regard.
Sincerest apolly loggies if this post is boring the arse off you, by the way. I don’t expect my personal goals to be as exciting to anybody else as they are to me. But there are a few of you whom I now regard as bloggyfriends in this bloggy realm, so I wanted to offer an explanation for my weird behaviour- past and future.
As for you, Wordypress darling/ sweetie/ babe/ lovebunny/ glistening Adonis of a blogging platform, I still love thee! But I just need you to be ok with the fact that I’m a bit of a slapper. Happy anniversary!
*Not really. Just torn up yellow post-its. ( Ancient Egyptian ones, though.)
There must be something in the air at the moment, because no less than three of the blogs I follow here have posted today about the subject of depression and the associated crappy feelings that occur when it begins sneaking up again.
I won’t go into vivid detail about my own stuff right now. Those who know, already know. What goes up must come down, and I have to admit that I’ve had a good run of silly moods over the last few weeks, so this crash was inevitable. It will end, and I will be OK. The real me lurks somewhere in between the amplified neon version and the washed out sepia one. She’s elusive, but I know she exists. I will stop calling myself awful names, and I will feel positive and clear again, as I have done before. That knowledge helps already.
The artwork above is not new; I drew this a few years ago. But it does accurately illustrate how I’ve been feeling today ( ie. GRRR!), so here it is! People who have perused my art page will have already seen it, but most likely many won’t have done- especially if they’re “read it from the reader feed(er)” kinda people. So hopefully this will be new to one or two humans out there.
Sending a massive cyber hug to anyone feeling low at the moment. ( And yes, I know; a cyber hug is about as useful to a depressed person as an offer to eat a beret is to somebody suffering from vertigo. However, I’m hoping that my cyber hug has a touch of magick about it, and will somehow- on its way through the ether to you- convert into a real live one from someone lovely. )