A Little Bit of Me

Jottings and Writing, miscellanous misgivings

Archive for October, 2011

Unfocussed rubbish

Random Impertinent Thoughts

 

**Disclaimer: This is a total fluff piece. It is completely devoid of anything educational, inspirational, or helpful to anyone.

 

Scene: Early morning. Traffic has just started to break the silent pre-dawn. The wind gently rustles the leaves of the autumnal tree lined avenue. A lone figure stands erect in the darkness of a chilly kitchen.

 

I will wait until everyone has left the house and then I will get it. I remember where it is kept and I know where the ammunition is. Then go into the bathroom and get into the bath and pull the shower curtain. Don’t want splatter all over the room. Then I will have to summon the courage (some might say the cowardness) to unlatch the safety and put the thing to my head. Do I put the cold barrel in my mouth or do I stick it in my ear? I’ve heard of people missing and ending up as vegetables rather than dead. I want to die.

Also, I may have peed myself a little.

 

Scene: A few days before. The same man sitting in front of a coffee table, a half glass of amber liquid at his elbow. He is reading from a colourful book.

 

Boy, is this good stuff… according to “The Psychopathic God”
byR.G.L.Waite, Hitler was obsessed with maschochism and coprophilic
thoughts….He carried a whip, but he was only observed to use it on
himself, especially when frustrated by women. Of the seven women
suspected to have relations with little Adolf, six committed suicide, or
seriously tried to do so. His niece, Geli Raubal shot herself with
Hitler’s own gun. Supposedly he was pressuring her to commit such
perversions, that she would rather die ( note that the History channel hinted that Hitler liked Geli to squat over his face and urinate on him) .There are also hints of
autoerotic asphyxiation, not to mention lots of black leather and shiny
boots. It is well established that he only had one testicle, and was
frequently described as having very feminine gestures. He seems to be
both obsessed with sex and incapable of intercourse.
He refused to dance.
As for homosexuality, his best friend, and prison roommate, Rudolf
Hess, was known as “Fraulein Anna” to a select few, and some think that
the famous flight to England was the result of a lover’s spat. All I
can say, as an old hippie, was that a fat joint and a B.J. might have
saved the world a whole lot of trouble……Steve w.

 

Scene:  darkness. Night sweats have woken the man. His thoughts turn to – black-and-white thinking, catastrophizing, emotional reasoning, discounting the positive, faulty comparisons and false expectations.

 

Inchoate – An inchoate offense, inchoate offence, or inchoate crime is the crime of preparing for or seeking to commit another crime. The most common example of an inchoate offense is conspiracy. “Inchoate offense” has been defined as “Conduct deemed criminal without actual harm being done, provided that the harm that would have occurred is one the law tries to prevent.

 

Scene: Skip the night and the same man is now in the lightening drawing room to the front of the house as the early morning sun streams through the break in the curtains.

 

So, back to me. I hear the sounds of the neighbourhood as I hold the cold metal to my head. They seem amplified; as if by making this decision I have somehow enhanced my senses. My urine certainly smells bad. My whole body smells as if it is rotting from the inside. I remember from my

 

My work explores the relationship between acquired synesthesia and life as perfomance.

With influences as diverse as Nietzsche and Andy Warhol, new tensions are created from both explicit and implicit layers.

Ever since I was a student I have been fascinated by the ephemeral nature of meaning. What starts out as hope soon becomes debased into a dialectic of greed, leaving only a sense of what could have been and the possibility of a new reality.

As spatial forms become transformed through boundaried and personal practice, the viewer is left with an impression of the possibilities of our era.

 

Nahhh!!!

My work explores the relationship between emerging sexualities and emotional memories.

With influences as diverse as Kierkegaard and Frida Kahlo, new tensions are generated from both traditional and modern layers.

Ever since I was a teenager I have been fascinated by the theoretical limits of the human condition. What starts out as hope soon becomes corrupted into a tragedy of temptation, leaving only a sense of what could have been and the possibility of a new reality.

As spatial forms become transformed through emergent and personal practice, the viewer is left with an insight into the edges of our era.

 

Scene: Later

Bone chilling cold. He stands, gazing out of the window. The man who stares back at him has the face of a stranger. The face was aged; lines running across the forehead and down the sides of already plumped jowls. The eyes were narrow, pinpoints in the reflected glass. He thought “they make such a fuss of the little things – a trait of small countries full of under achievers.”  He thinks to himself as he turns away “if you were a gesture you would be a shrug”

 

Scene: a year earlier.

 

She was heavily insulated against the cold, face swaddled in a red tartan scarf; she sucked in great breaths of air and exhaled – her breath like water laden exhaust smoke on a frosty morning. She waved at me and, momentarily, I forgot the nature of my relationship to her. Had I dreamt the intimate sharing of details of the best-left-unsaid or did we just sit, voiceless, in that room? I started to walk away when her high, thin, reedy voice cut through the still air

“Help me – please help me “

It had always been a tempestuous relationship. She, as a tow headed seven year old had worshipped him but as she matured that turned into a kind of Mexican standoff where they alternated between mutual admiration and mutual hatred.  It is said that fathers and daughters a like this. He hoped that the other part of the myth was also true – that the bond was never broken.

 

 

Scene: an indeterminate time earlier – restored and retrieved from the brain

She left me. There was a note on the kitchen table that read ‘I have left you. When you read this I will be thousands of miles away. I am not going to tell you where I am going and I don’t want you to try and find me. We are finished. I can no longer bear to be in the same room as you. In the last six months I have told you that unless you stopped drinking this would happen. You haven’t, and it has. Goodbye.’

I put the note back in the toast rack that served as our filing system. Alongside the telephone and insurance bills. The constant reminders of our life together. My first thought was a tall glass of ice-cold vodka and tomato juice from the refrigerator. Maybe Estella was right but I quickly pushed that to a part of my mind that also held memories of my father and dead daughter. Our dead daughter.

I put on my reflective sunglasses in preparedness to venturing outside. Someone once said that if a person is doing that to repel the outside world, imagine what is going on inside their head. I detest smart people like that. People who are what I call superficially secure in their christian-values worlds.

 

 

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