Show

Watching someone lie there
Leg sticking out from under the big red bus
Life sunken in to the tarmac.
Smashed window screen.
I wonder what mangles  breath has escaped that limp body.
That means nothing.
I don't know whether this makes me feel anything.
Life gone. Is gone somewhere and I can't absorb it.
That screaming girl.
Am I just cold or is the sickness hidden away?
I push it to the back of empty ness and yes I can't get the image out of my head.
You could have been wonderful.
Why do people stare?
This is not a show.

The return of the cunt of the week

LIKE A VIRGIN (AFTER MY THREE WEEK REST?)

Jagged

THE UNICORN DREAM REVISITED

Blade runners original beautiful ending using stunning footage from THE LEGEND.

When I close my eyes
I see true beauty
My world is beyond my dreams
Somewhere out of reach
I know where I belong. 

Parasite

My swollen stomach protrudes sordid and dirty throbbing from the rasping rakish ribs.
What shape is bulging from my body in some kind of truth
Or hint at reality?
The rest of me withered and withdrawn.
Sucked from flesh into the cavernous centre as it swells and stinks.
Pain pushing outward.
Some creature born within hosts itself
Latched on to my soul. My life not it it its.
I feel this thing drain my blood
As its bulbous laugh lunges and staggers around.
Swimming in stained sensuous lies
I know not what it is or do not care to have something drain my body.
If I could latch leeches and lure it out
I would but never to understand.
Just to be released.
My legs buckle as tension tightens around
My throat and stops me from swallowing.
Stumbling at every step I still do not expect this to be here.
My breath does not feel like my lungs
They cannot bear to breathe this foul dirty air anymore.
Detachment is the key.
Ignorance is everything.
If I could rip out its heart I would and therefore feel weightless.

Beginning again... for everyone.

This formidable mecca stands before me.
Towering from this concrete craned city
The sunlight bathes it is a holy light.
Cathedral to my world.

My artist does not belong in this fashion queue.
I mouse squeak.
I mouse scowl.

The sky is bigger than reality.
Grey shining slabs of lighted stone reach out.
Squares of vastness
Squares of symmetry and structure and sameness.

This vat of creative energy potentially excites my beginning.
There is no fire.
The writing is wrong.
This will be a beginning.
To escape mouse?
To swim . see.

I know how to start but the finish line is far far away.
This sun is standing above this temple and I am wondering what will become.
Waiting and wasting is not the point.
The point is what is in my mind.

Cenrtal St Martins.
Kings Cross.
2011.

Scorpio Rising

Yesterday I got up super early to go to a viewing of Scorpio Rising at The Whitechapel gallery.
Although not my favourite of his works the grounbreaking film is still beautiful and full of complex symbolism that I find truly inspiring.

The bikes are in my mind.
I was born to be like this.
Early morning is nothing.
Late nights are everything.
The sun is fresher like this.
Leather is starving your soul.
Feeding mine.
Something is on fire.

My lack of internet

gets less and less alraming evey day. Shame I will be gaining it back tommorow.

Tiredness

I am so tired. Everything is just seeping out of me and I don't know where it  is going. The word draining is an understatement. It is like everything is beign sucked from your body and the shell hardly knows how to move any more. I don't know why I feel so tired. I think it is the grey weather. I always feel like this. Like I have to force myself to move. And I do. I am feeding an insaciable furnace. I just can't get enough oxygen. Some parasite is eating my flesh and my voice and my life from me. I can't keep up. I do. But I can't.
Everything seems ot come out and nothing stays in. I sleep I am tired. I eat and I eat and I eaty and nothing happens. I thin k my body i splaying a sick joke but it hurts. I am doing everything in my power to stay a float and I AM. Because I will never ever ever give up. Rest isn't something that helps. It is just that feeling of rotting and sufficating and everything is buzzing in my head. I don't feel like I am doing anything and I just keep on and on and on. Pne day I will have to catch up.
 I need to live in a country with constant sunlight. I think I feed of the warmth. It is just so damn cold and I don't like being in a dark hole. the wierd thing is I am happy. Just without energy. It makes happiness harder.
I want to be able to be fully there and fully with it for everyone.

Toulouse Lautrec and Jane Avril : Beyond the Moulin Rouge

"Toulouse Lautrec - A penis on legs!" His friends and contemporaries!

Jane Avril a dancer at the Moulin Rouge -
friend and muse of Toulouse Lautrec.
Mistress to the world.
Paris still better be like in my dreams.
I want to sit in the belly of an elephant.
Paint and be painted.

People

Tracey Emin

Chapman at Mason's Yard. Cliche all the way.

You may remember that I was absolutely mad about the Jake or Dinos Chapman exhibition at The White Cube in Hoxton Square so I fully expected Mason's yard to be fantastic too. What a disappointment!
It verged on the tacky, crude and gaudy. Was kitsch in a bad way and just NOT COOL. Maybe my tastes have done a U-Turn and it was still disturbing. But for the wrong reasons.
  I was quite impressed by the Bosch style painting.. the guys have talent and the drawing was almost exquisite but the model of the CLAN member with a massive hard - on. Not good.  :(
   I was impressed by the Hoxton Square show because of it' slack of cliche. Mason's Yard was the opposite. Maybe still worth a viewing... who knows. It's free...

True Love

"I like it. I'm not gonna crack.
I miss you. I'm not gonna crack. 
I love you.I'm not gonna crack. 
I killed you. I'm not gonna crack."

                                       Lithium , Nirvana

Nirvana In Bloom: Nevermind Exhibition

The Loading Bay Gallery, Brick Lane. 

Standing surrounded my Nirvana Memorabilia, lyrics, sound and video made me well up. I got hot flushes, dizziness, butterflies... I could hardly breathe. I will always be truly truly in love with Kurt Cobain. On the 20th anniversary of NeverMind (which is the same age as me!) Nirvana changed history and made themselves remembered for ever. As the exhibition put it this is not because of Kurt's history or his tragic death this is the shear power and uncontrollable beauty of his lyrics and music. It is literally breathtaking.  Watching their last gig at Reading I could not help but feel like I was in heaven. Raw emotion. That is all.

Enough said

Yesterday I felt like I was going into a  back street abortion clinic to get my "problem" fixed. The result is relief.

On ink

I can't really believe I am doing this. This means it is actually over. I feel sick. I am terified. I am sitting in a public library  (the need to write or blog without the internet at home is making me feel desperate) and I am struggling to breath. It is this bit of ink in my skin that means everything. It made you a part
of me. I am ignoring the blood. That isn't quite so visible but now it is going to be all over. I felt like I had to keep trying because of this bit of ink. A birth mark connecting me to you. I hope this is enough. I hope this is right. I have no choice but to destroy this bit of ink and be born again. A constant reminder. A reminder of all the memories but moist of all the curse that it wouldn;t work. That you that me would never change. We didn't for each other. We got killed my ink. The memories before. the memories after. The happiness. The anger. The loathing. The pain. The jelousy. The fear. The lack of trust. The escapism. The joy. The ecstasy. Everything in ink wiped clean.
Without ink I am free?
The panic I am feeling right now is suffocating. My eyes hurt. My head aches.
This is withdrawel. Cold turkey. The ink has to be the light.

Candy says...

20 Chadworth house
Home of Elizabeth Ophelia, Alexandra Randall, Tim Holloway and James Holden
2011

Raven girl

She's so sad and her bodies not moving.
Locked in her room cos her minds going crazy.
Her raven hair is shining
But her pale skin is starving.
Hidden in the darkness.
Sunken lightness.
She is so special
But she doesn't know it.
I see her music moving through her rigid elbow
Leaking from her soul.
Sound fills her world but it's all blacked up.
Draw up our love and keep fighting back.
Sun fading backwards fast through the clouds in her room.
Her large hazel eyes hold so much strung up.
Your tender and gentle I see al your fear.
Girl your so blessed but I can't get in.
Your feelings messed up
China doll you put out so strong.
Just let out whats wrong.
Your lips are quivering under red paint. Ruby red.
The girl without finger tips.
Cut off lock of hair.
Don't cry little sister.
Not without letting it go.
Run with the notes and play with the keys.
Feel the fresh air and escape to wild sea.
Follow the river.
Music run free.

Shabba-dabba-RA

Cunt of the week.. THE UGLY!

Yummy

i'D NOW at The Red Gallery

You can see the dogs tail...

"Marking over three decades at the forefront of style and culture, i-D will be ‘popping- up’ at London’s Red Gallery this September, showcasing 30 years of historic covers and laying on a feast of interactive events including acoustic performances, fashion shoots, book swaps, dance classes, coffee mornings and more in celebration of i-D NOW."

I think it is worth a look. The retrospective of covers all in one place is really quite impressive. SO many cover stars and so huge from the start. i-D has become a fashion and cultural british BIBLE. It is something we should be proud of. 

  That said.. my favourite part of The Gallery was the cutest Jack Russell...from what I can see he was called i-D. I miss my dog so much!!

Naked Lunch

SwanSong

Dappled light plays chords
Swimming swirling patterns on
The skulking listless lake.
She gazes out into mystery.
Her kissless lips seek
Uncomforting rays.
She longs for what she lost far far away.
She lost because it does not exist without her loosing her freedom.
Her feet trapped in entrancement
Beating and binding
Pointing and punctuating the uncomfortable stillness.
Her jerking neck stretching out to the remaining hopeless sun.
Bare skin.
Bare skin.
Exposed to the breeze and the shadows of the crippled trees
Watching and waiting
Whispering to the muddied earth.
She longs to love or be loved.
To feel her feathered wing to be free
To be loved by something beautiful.
Her wildness catches her breath as she swirls and sways.
Her poor madness longing and lusting for touch.
She sings wailing wishes to the watery world.
The world that holds the deep dark desires
Where fished conspire to eat and gnaw at her feelings alive.
She flairs her arms as the gasp at last life.
To feel this bound up
Last fight and flight from the such strife.
The devils last whispers of temptation and fear cast spells on her senses.
Her very last tear.

Her shoes wont stop dancing an emotional death.
Her eyes wont stop streaming
Oceans silently falling
Her turning and kicking
Dancing music of sighing.
The wind in the rushes
The doom in the sky
The love that she feels
Such a burning desire.
A furnace an explosion
Her heart burning up
To die for the love
Of an ephemeral ghost.
A moment of dreaming
To dance not alone.
The drinking of truth from her spirit by God
Her swan is a symbol
A prison of life.
She sinks into deepness
The playing doesn't stop.
Her breath failing
And stopping
Not gasping for life.
She lets herself float higher and higher.
No fighting her fate as she falls darker and darker.
Her mind is the clearest
She knows what she loves
To die for this beauty
The beauty of HER love.

Painting in petals of the past

Stalk as dry as her cracking brittle bones
Scraping at the corners of the air,
Scratching the rim of the replacement vase.
The cold shiny steel sucking the stained roses red bloodless life.
Their fragile state holds time
Moves place.
The transient shadow cast on the new greying wall wavers hitting cold damp air,
Floating through dimmed window shattered plate, pane of glass,
Bladed past.
One petal remains.
Hanging on as if clinging to some purity lost in new found innocence.
White overpowered by sordid bleeding blight.
These roses are old and belong to a different me.
There is a pink to the grisly rain and these emblems need to run free.
The petals in my palm shiver on the wind as they scatter into the swirling sea.
The earth takes on a new form
Painting patters of pain that is, that are, too pretty to see.
Sinking deeper and darker the gentle flash fades away.
Waves of pleasure hit and eb and flow in new found ecstasy of my lost found mind.

The Vorticists - Manifesto for a modern world.

"Victorian vampire, the london cloud sucks the towns heart." Blast 1

Jacob Einsten -  Rock Drill

Henri - Gaudier - Bruska : Front (head)

Back : Penis

Jacob Einstein

"Think of a whirlpool...At the heart of the whirlpool is a great silent place where all the energy is concentrated. And there, at the point of concentration, is the Vorticist." Wyndham Lewis

The Tate Britain is a refreshing change from the wonders of the Modern and it never (all though far less frequently visited) fails to disappoint. I rushed at the last minute to "The Vorticists - manifesto for a modern world" exhibition...which finished yesterday.. despite the fact that I had been meaning to see it for as long as it has been in existence. 

   Just like The Miro I absolutely loved everything about the show. The curation was (thank god) intelligent and interesting. The wording fluid and the display stunning. The Tate seems to be getting better at understanding it's audience and inspiring awe in the viewer. The work was shocking but beautiful and I found a fragility in The Vorticists work as it so apparently took on the world it was scared of. Obviously the connection with writing was a point of interest and inspiration for me. Poetry is key.. however as with the Miro. I feel inspired to make art again. Thank you. 

  Even though I of course do not take the Vorticist view seriously its rhetoric makes me smile.

"BLESS the solitude of LAUGHTER.

BLESS the separating, ungregarious

BRITISH GRIN."

then again.. maybe I am just to fleeting or influenced.. lets hope it sticks!