Friday, 8 August 2008

Artists are Dickheads

I wake up at around 5-6 o' clock every morning, partly from an excitement of something unformed and looming on the horizon, partly from pure rage at any number of petty household problems - but most of all from the Godawful cacophony of a Balsall Heath morning. It starts with a pigeon or two alighting on my chimney, some two or three feet from my skylight. The COOO COOO comes down directly on my head like a bag of hammers, I get up, grab a balloon and shove my hands out of the window and give the said airbag a royal scrape with my fingers - the resulting rubbery screech usually sees them off. More than once I've seen a startled, almightily pompous expression on their birdfaces - almost as if they're saying (in their heads) 'How dare you!' It almost makes me laugh were my eyes not so heavy and my frayed temper fraying to the point of unwinding altogether.
Then, Christ preserve the ignorant for their follies - the cats start. WOOOOOOOOW! A grey fucker with tip ex in his eye where he was probably whapped for his amorous pursuits with his tiny barbed penis. This warrants it's own sound effect - usually a giant PISSS or GEERRRROUUT OF IT! I neglect to mention there was a female involved - when isn't there? There he was wooowwwing away at this tabby atop a fence. What a touching scene - two mangy fuckers making all sorts of noise, tails swishing - he, enraged at her manifest lack of interest, she pointedly looking down at him from her queendom. Gone were the echoes of your ancestors who purred in the laps of Pharoes, or had sphinxes built in their honour. Instead the pathetic reality of two loudmouth quadrupeds at 6 in the A.M. Je suis trop exhaute!
Then, whyever not? Let your bastard dogs out. I love dogs with all my heart. It's the owners I hate, because quite simply dogs can be easily trained to behave. But no, you biscuit heads refuse to take a few simple measures and as a result off your dogs go on a two hour barking spree, peppering the silence with a wonderful array of sleep shattering WOOOOS / WUUUUUS /WEH'S! Fucking nut!

Wednesday, 6 August 2008


It's not fair that you make me feel this way. I cannot take it. Brave, or so I thought I was being. The great disarming effect of  a touch, that simple deception, the ego overcome to realise something missed. A powerful feeling - a dark flapping shape like a pirate flag over a dark dark wood - flashes of silver and diamonds of white, blood red gold, this old feeling groaning back into life like Lazarus; the murmur of my heart; the full pulse of blood around my heart. Swimming in dark pulsing lakes of rippling unctuousness. Putative feelings, simple moment - hard to keep unbound my fears my face flushing to the dark hue of the carpet. The high cathedral notes - the strings in the ceiling! Or a copper eye wrought of reams of copper - looking down at our place in the world. Callous universe, this. Only you make it worthwhile, somehow. You, fucker! x