Monday, April 18, 2011

A Monday

I see a man with cut hands, maybe they're burnt? There is no way to tell. Homeless people, all of them men. Drug addicts, students and empty suits. The Fortitude Valley train station. I wonder why the Valley can't be cleaned up? What's it waiting for? It's better how it is anyway. It still has it's secrets. We leave the station. Bowen Hills. Train yard. Pretty girl undoing her hair. She yawns and I get a clear look at her. She is painfully lovely. It's raining, I'm on a train to Redcliffe. The fluro light overhead flickers. I'm on my way to do a favour for a friend who now lives overseas. There is something a bit heavy and silent about today and it feels as though I'm waiting for an eruption. Of what I'm not sure. Clarity? Meaning? Love? Love. Perhaps, but if I'm lucky I'll dodge that particular bullet for a while longer. No to love. Yes to work. I want work. Clear, defined, predictable. I want it to keep me focused and safe. This said, I do know that the work will not save me. I also know that making visually interesting, inanimate objects is no substitute for sweat, flesh and emotion.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Thursday, April 7, 2011

I am Dear Fuckhead

I asked a girl out a little while ago. It took me quite a while to get the courage up to ask her out. She is quite lovely. It also took us quite a while to actually go out and even then she brought a friend. But a drink did happen! I don't think I made my intentions very clear. Silly me. Anyway that night, after the friend had left, I managed to ask her to dinner. She said yes. Only after she admitted to me that I made her feel inadequate. Wasn't really sure what that was all about? The rest of the evening went well, had a drink, put her in a cab thinking that I had secured a wonderful dinner companion and possibly a new friend. About four or five days later I get a message saying 'No thanks to dinner', 'Christian, you don't think much of my life or me and I don't want to hang out with someone who thinks that'. Fair to say I was a little confused. Then I started to go over the drunken evening of drink in my head. A point through the haze became clear and I began to recall a rant. A rant, by me, about making art and not fucking around. About not dithering or being wishy-washy. I may have said at one point, 'dont be average'. This perhaps was the wrong rant to include in a conversation with someone who hadn't done anything yet with their (Art/Film and TV) degree. I do get a bit intense about that sort of thing. So it seems my well intentioned ranty rant was interpreted as a judgement on someone quite a bit younger than me and at a point in their life where they needed simple support over the more difficult 'get your shit together support' that cranky old cunts like myself tend to deliver. Guess I'll have to shelve that particular line of conversation next time I go out with someone I'm interested in. Then again best to get the ugly bits out of the road first. I'm not much of a liar. I'm terrible at it. And really, I have little tolerance for fart arseing about when it comes to art. But I am pretty disappointed that I couldn't hang out with her a bit more. Guess one can only choose to be something to a point, then you just have to be what you are. In my case, on occasion, it's an intolerant prick who wants to be something else, yet isn't.

Boring beautiful children

All the good adults are taken.

I don't have much in common with contemporary children.

Children all (Sexy sexy tourist ninja)

Too much TV. I'm a manifestation of a shallow parody in real life.

Now I'm cheating on my wife with ten Japanese prostitutes. I'm not really married.

Snorts cocaine.

Costly. I can't afford this shit.

Everyone is a fucking ninja. Sexy fucking ninjas. Sexy ninjas fucking.

I want to have the speed and rhythm of a ninja.

Dancing. Dudikoff. Disunity.

I really wish people would stop using the word 'like' instead of pausing and thinking.

Ninjas don't use the word 'like' unnecessarily.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011


Painting painting painting

blah blah blah

prime C on DICKS