Thank fuck we don't have middens*

Yep. Thank fuck.

Cos my midden would confuse the fuck out of latter year archaeologists:

Latter Year Archaeologist 1 Ooh. Look at this. He was a vegetarian.

Latter Year Archaeologist 2 No he wasn't - I've got the entire skeletons of three completely different animals here and the formation suggests that they were disposed of in a 6.75 hour period.

LYA1: No way.

LYA2: Yes way. It looks like he was a great hunter too - some of these things come from all over the world. Didn't drink that much though, judging by the 16 cases of this wine staff that seem to be around

LYA1: But the formation suggests...

LYA2: Ah yes. 6.75 hours.



Yeah. Me. Busy as fuck. Given that I lose weight when I work like this and I exercise to balance out the stress, I can EAT WHATEVER I WANT.

ALL.

THE.

TIME.

This is a massive change in comparison to normal as I can also DRINK WHATEVER I WANT ALL THE TIME and not get hangovers. Someone has to soak up the wine glut and keep all those French vignerons in business.

Unfortunately I'm also knackered. As La Pirata suggested I may be intermittently dead. Cereally. It could well be true: I slept through a fire alarm and a building evacuation last night. Wasn't the vino either. None left there.


Fun. Fun. Fun. Funnity fun.

Backdoor listings are fun. Bookshops putting Douglas Coupland in the self help section as he's used 'Nostradamus' in the title is fun.

Diving into a swarm of cuntingly devious irukandji camouflaged by wave froth is not fun.

Feeding the water dragon’s fresh from their wintry nap is fun.


So, all in all it's work now, fun soon. Suggestions possibly accepted.


* For the nuff-nuffs with no vocab.

Once was written

Steve I gotta say Thank You,
For all you've done for me.
The nights are dark and lonley,
When you're not on TV.


Except that was written about a real TV show with helicopters and guns and lots and lots of lei action and I'm referring to

So, everyone praying for the apparently annointed Steve Irwin, fuck off, leave his family alone and go back to thinking he's a twat as you did on Sunday.


Yeah. I'm well alive.

Working

So tell me what you're doin.

Another parallel

I walked through the streets full of fiveoclock Madrid seething with twilight in shivered cubes of aguardiente redwine gaslamp-green sunset pink tileochre eyes lips red cheeks brown pillar of the throat climbed on the night train at the Norte station without knowing why

I’m so tired of violets
Take them all away

the shattered iridescent bellglass the carefully copied busts the architectural details of the grammar of styles



Now this is a weird one.

I’ve been well aware of an author for a while, but haven’t felt ready.

Queue weeks of madness driving weekends of exhaustion and suddenly the time was right.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

Dos Passos.



Apart from that, I’ve been roped into having input on cultural policy. Sure, I know my yakult from my tzatziki, but what the fuck do I know about creativity. Ten or more years in commercially creative environments (read as: dealing with complete fuckwits with absolutely no clue who feel their best input can be given via negating the majority of proposals in front of them) has jaded me, for I can’t see the point in dolling out funding to potential artists.

Infrastructure, to support and encourage development, of anything - winner.

Funding that reinvents existing wheels and supports services available more cost effectively, efficiently and with better return to the wider community - Fuck. Off.

Protectionist policy has never worked outside a vacuum - so why on earth would it work for potential artists. Why would it work for potential businesses. Get out there. Create your thing. Make your piece. Fuck it up entirely but learn as you’re doing any of them.

But that’s me. What’s yours though - can creativity be created?

I'm worth a million in prizes

Fact.


Fun has been had, worlds conquered, sods turned, pages flipped, books closed, milk spilt, views espoused, calculation, miscalculation and recalcumalations made. Flutters are paying off.

I’m off to gets me a GTO.

Reasons even I think I'm crazy

also entitled Sit back and enjoy the soothing strains of TISM.

1 I enjoyed my annual review
3 Visibility dropped to 50m today, cars stopped to wait out the deluge, runoff was all over the place AND STILL I CACKLED GLEEFULLY AS I SLID AROUND ON THE WAY TO WORK, arriving 137.4% soaked.
4 The next three months are going to be hell and I can.not.wait.
1 I got everything I requested.

Talk amongst yerselves for a bit, I'll be back.

What I did with my time away

So, the gangrene set in after another sub 26 degree day, inching its way along first one then another finger, gouging life from thumb and toe alike. Nothing worked: single malt, salt water - those wigglies were gone.

After weeks of physiotherapy I'm now able type two letters a minute thanks to one of those suction cup darts stuck to my forehead. I could type faster but it builds up a bit of a sweat and the dart falls off.

This apology for my silence has taken three hours and fifty one minutes but I did it all myself.