Insomnia self-portrait with bed hair and falling-off mouth (with bonus demon not worth facing)

notlookingmeagainBedHairMou

*black biro ( not looking) and watercolour pencils ( looking)*

I can’t complain about not sleeping tonight, as I had a great sleep last night. Also had a fantastic dream that as I lay in bed, a garden of sumptuous, jewel coloured satin and velvet flowers began growing upon the ceiling. The flowers looked like butterfly wings under a scanning electron miscroscope, but much bigger, and as I watched, they began growing faster and faster- extending down the walls in glorious stained-glass-vivid vines. It was so beautiful that I felt I must get out of bed and show someone. But then the thought crossed my mind that the flowers- now growing at quite a pace- might grow over the doorway- locking me out if I left….. or, alternatively- if I stayed- trapping me within this  butterflyflower garden all by myself, with nobody to share it with. As I had this thought, some large ants, (which were running for cover from the flowers) trickled down the wall, and to my horror, one jumped into my bed. I woke up brushing invisible ants off me.

 

A Wintergatan Wednesday….On Sunday

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 now-quite-famous Marble Machine;  an 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 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.

Smoochies xx

Paperclip Down

rabbits- acrylic on wood

“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.

“Oops.”

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.

***

Researching

andywip

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.

 

 

 

T.I.P.P.P. (Things I Phind Phunny on Phriday)

Laughter. Is it better than sex?

I’ve always hated that question.

You can have a good laugh, and bad sex. Or a fake laugh, and real sex. Or a fake sex life that makes your friends laugh. Or a real laugh that makes your fake friends horny. Or electric sex. Or sexy electricity. Or drunken sex. Or sexy, funny, alcohol that’s powered by electricity. Or excessive amounts of chocolate, because they say chocolate’s a substitute for such things. Or a chocolate rabbit which, upon removal of its foil wrapper, has an amusingly phallic shape, which makes you laugh, because you’re drunk, but also leaves you oddly disturbed; causing you to ponder the Freudian meaning behind your laughter. Suddenly the lights go out. Somebody’s high-powered sex toy has shorted out the whole neighbourhood. Would would Jung make of this synchronicity?

I sort of forget where I was going with this, but surely these relatable situations serve to demonstrate that some questions just don’t have objective or definite answers.

One question I can with all confidence ask AND answer, however, is: Are funny things funny? The answer is, of course, YES.

So, in lieu of my own creative blog ideas, let me today begin a perhaps-regular-but-possibly-not-regular friday theme, in which I just talk about something somebody else did which makes me laugh and brings me joy.

Today, the laughter and joy inducing thing that I am reminded of is ‘The Micallef P(r)ogram(me)’. It aired in the late 90’s and early 2000’s, starring, as the name may suggest, the wonderful, exceptionally attractive, Shaun Micallef.

(Incidentally, Shaun Micallef has done- and still does- a bunch of great things, which I feel I should talk about…but I can’t as I need to stick with dis ting oim wroitin, roight? Roight.)

My favourite parts of this p(r)ogram(me) as a teenling were the brilliant physical comedy sketches in which Shaun’s characters seemed to be governed by bizarre, irregular laws of gravity. These still make me do one of those accidental snorty things that happen sometimes when you laugh really hard.

See below for an example of the thing I mentioned above this sentence. ( the comedy- not the snort. P.s. unfortunately, the title is a bit of a spoiler, so don’t read it) :

Or, if regular gravity and cats are more your thing, this clip from an earlier show  ( not the one I’ve been talking about, but a different one featuring Mr Micallef)  may appeal:

Note: I do feel a bit naughty linking a EweChewb video of this here, but my justification is that almost  EVERY comedy DVD I’ve bought over the last few years is actually due to me stumbling upon clips of it on The Internet first.  I neither watch nor own a TV ( those two facts being somewhat related), and rely entirely upon word-of-mouth and the interwebs to direct me to new laughs. But  lack of idiotbox or not, I am surely not the only one who utilises the internettles in such a way. Surely the worst thing that could happen here is that my linkage results in one or two new Micallef fans.  Either that, or your computer explodes and kills you the moment you click on the link, making me indirectly responsible for your death. Either way, it’s just nice to think that I may have made some sort of difference.

.

It’s raining agate slices again…

Typical.rainingagate

I didn’t look at the page until it was time to add colour. Today is a day of head hurtiness and scribbles.

P.s. I do wish a happy holidaisies upon everybody ( if you do indeed get a holidaisy), and a merry new near and things. To be honest, this is not my favourite time of year..not just because of the financial stress and pressure associated with being expected to be chri$tmassy, but because for us poor southern hemispherians, it’s combined with summer- my least favourite season. Ugh. But it ends eventually, as does everything. So that’s good.

Anyhoo, thanks to the teeny handful of people who have taken even the slightest interest in the things I have written, drawn, and said over this year- my first year as a WordPressington. I’m not sure how long it’s supposed to take for more than 3 people to give a shit about stuff you do on the on The Internet ( or in general) , but I’ll give it a wee bit longer before I give up entirely.

Having said that, I do vow to focus less on internet matters next year, and more on getting over my phobia of 3-dimensional people. There is both a theatre and an Arts Society a stone’s throw away from my new place, so I really have no excuse not to get involved. (Maybe I could just go in a disguise? ).

Anyhoo. Avvagoodun. ♥

Drink & blog #1 Things and stuff and crap

GoodnightHello!

So. I don’t have to be anywhere tomorrow, and my kidly is having a pre- chri$tmas fun minibreak with her Dad.  Conditions are ripe for a drinksies. I was going to watch a DVD, but for some reason I thought it a better idea to blog. So here we go:

Firstly, let me say that getting shitfaced isn’t my aim. That wouldn’t be amazing for my health. Or yours. ( espesh if you read this).  But if i do happen to get shitfaced, then I won’t be stopping me.  Anyway, I’m only on my 8th 3rd brandy .  What better time to do a “not-looking-at-page” drawing than now!

P.s. I just ate a piece of smoked cheddar off the carpet. (Five minute rule!)

You have to guess who this picture is. Of. Here:

Here:

notlookingsherlock

( I coloured it with looking  ie my eyes, but only the coloured bits)

I bet you’ll think it’s The Mad Hatter.

Anyway. A few brandies have elapsed. How fucking cool are top hats??? Please, someone cooler than me please make them fashionable again.  I have one. I had a bigger head at the time I got it, due to my massive hair .  Without sounding too vain, I looked fucking great in mine. But now that I wear my hair short, my head is less voluminous, so my top hat falls over my eyes. I don’t know what to do. Maybe I could cut eyeholes in it. That’d be sexy.

Insomnia sketch: Crow Knows

crowknowsWeb

*watercolour pencil on black paper*

Crows are fascinating creatures. They are intelligent, fearless, and hilarious. I rather adore them.

This wasn’t always the case, though. I used to find them… disconcerting. I remember one night, having a dream that a Crow was rushing towards me; trying to get into my house through my open door. I tried to close the door in time, but Crow got in, right at the last minute. I woke in terror.

My superstitious side worried about the implications of it getting in. It bothered me for weeks. What was it now doing- down in the dark recesses of my subconscious? What did it mean?

Over the years I’ve drawn my own conclusions  (and I won’t bore anybody with that here) , but the Crow dreams continued. Curiously, as the Crows became increasingly amusing and sweet in my dreams, I began warming to them In Real Life.  Now I’m at the point  where my Crow dreams put me at ease. I can’t help but smile when I see them in the waking world. They’re like old friends.

I’ll leave you with some footage of some crows playing in the snow. So bloody cute. Also, here’s a lovely little vid of a Crow snowboarding, just to illustrate one of the many reasons why I just can’t get enough of them.

P.s. For those of you interested in learning about how Crows think and behave, I highly recommend reading Gifts of the Crow by John Marzluff. I’m only about 1/3 of the way through it, but so far it gets an enthusiastic thumbs up from me!

P.p.s. For anyone who clicks that link to the book description, notice how before you click on “more”, the line “They mate for life and associate with relatives and neighbours for years.” has been shortened, so it initially reads: ” They mate for life and ass” .  I wonder if that was intentional……. Anyway, sorry. Immature giggly times. Carry on..

Tetrachromat sees (or hallucinates) a Mantis-shrimp strawberry

It wasn’t there before, and now it’s here- languishing in the fruitbowl, listening to Planet Caravan by Black Sabbath on repeat. Where did it come from?  Maybe it was there all along…:

waterberryWeb

*watercolour pencils ( with water and brush, obviously)*

I’m not as happy with this as I could be, but it took me all evening, so I’m posting it.