having spent the last three days painting solid
from 5am till nightfall (i live in the 1920's)
and with little, nay, nothing to show for it
other than a single canvas of abortions...
my back finally gave in.. i hadn't realised that
standing doubled over for hours on end seriously
fucking hurts.. and all for precious nothing..
i decided to take the day off from painting..
my brother took me with him to collect his brand
sat in the rather gleaming honda showroom i looked
down to notice that my fingernails where a rather
fetching shade of prussian blue with a hint of
cadmium yellow hue...
add to this my general designer 'pensioner chic'
i wondered how long before one of the employee's
(all of which seemed to be called miles with
haircuts costing more than my house)
would ask me to leave..
i just sat there patiently waiting.. drinking
coffee from a logo emblazoned cup that was out
of my price range..
i don't belong in this everyday world..
i belong in my garage with paints and trauma
and radio 4.
i rather liked my brothers new car though,
beautifully designed, looked like some kind
of 'h r giger' creation, all clean and mean
lines.. very cool..
if i could afford a car i'd have one...
on that note, here is a picture by van gogh
i'm kinda of in love with at the moment..
sorry, that was two minutes of your life
you will never get back..