125 "It's hard to dance with the devil on your back; stuff that dreams are made of..."

Pumping ourselves full of alcohol so I can talk your shit and stand there attempting to behave like a "normal" person. You may no think it is very real but sometimes you have to put on the mask to get to the essence of what it is.  At the end of the day we are all human... all spewing and sicking up the crap that got squeezed into us in some kind of attempt to give some meaning to this social sickness. Maybe it is just a way to be human. I just want to have fun and forget about the pointlessness of it all. I can't be guilty of smiling and singing and dancing.
  If we pose for the camera. Flash my face. Flash my teeth. I'm grimacing at that little bit of ego and spitting in their faces. Fuck. I know I look good (or I feel good - for once)  and YES it is disappointing - and we wish we weren't like that - but I want people to see you here with me. Maybe. Just maybe pretending is reality and if I take it far enough I forget myself and we can just LIVE. If it all for nothing we might as well do IT ALL. you know who I am.
   Disco Balls. Disco ball. My body likes to dance and it is me when I am free.
Walking past the paparazzi. Maybe they are a "star" but today I feel more and maybe we are just young and beautiful . You mean more to me and that is what counts.
  The devil calls us in. Snaky grin in this den of antiquity. If we squint and drink all those suited booted twats disappear and it is just you and me, the gold and the dancing.
    She twisted in the sky. There visions will be gone in the morning but this is feeling. At this point in time I can do anything.
   I suck up the champagne from her mouth filling me up with light joy. I am she. Candlelight does not compare but it glows enhancing the euphoria.
   This is a game of russian roulette but tonight I am on top and the blood does not stop moving. They are watching. Everyones watching. Bare foot dancing. Stamping and Swirling. That arrow shoots right through in to my heart and I am flying. Wrapping myself around you shuddering... up to the stars?
  This is not a dream. This is what I am feeling right now. The truth. Snippets of pure sight.

Ethics in art: What it means to be a good artist? I just have to speak the truth.

What does it mean to be a "good" artist? I don't really think ethics is relevant.
If we think or believe that we are all (or should be)  morally structured and built in some pre - destined, generic and good way then to be a "good" artist can be a desire or an aim whatever "good" may mean? If we have a universal and internal demand to be "good" is this relevant to our practise? Is art part of the "ethical experience" and does this even exist? What if ones main goal is not to protect life?
   For me art can't really be given any ethical reasoning or at least any ethical responsibility. That is "my art" cannot. Art can be what it wants so there are no rules... I don't really want to protect any ethical cause or moral code with what I consider to be the most selfish part of my soul. Art can be "good" and it can "'do good" but first and foremost art just is. The art is just hanging there in space - because it's purpose is to exist  - this is not my desire to appeal to or help "the other human face" but a selfish internal drive disregarding of traditional morals or ethics. My art is born from a desire to exercise my mind, body and soul - a way to push everything out. I don't think the artist within us has a responsibility to the moral world. Wouldn't that be too pretentious?
  Yes art can focus on moral issues - we can be political, revolutionary, make a point, show a belief but art doesn't have to do any of this. And even if it tries it doesn't have to do it RIGHT. I'm pretty sure art can also be "bad" and who says it shouldn't be. Art is about a truth. The artist might disturb, be called sick, whatever... we never said we were going to do what our parents wanted. Our minds don't necessarily have to comply with what is considered humanly right. Morals are a bit stuck in the mud. Saying an artist should have an ethical responsibility could mean anything from they have to focus on recycling to spreading the "word of GOD!" Aren't we meant to be opening our minds. If i ditch convention I have to ditch ethics. Not to be evil or wrong. Just to absorb the world and learn things again. To be amoral means not to judge and we are all full of human faults. An artist doesn't have to hide them?
  Being ethical would surely mean tackling the big issues but wouldn't that make me a bit full of my own self importance. I don't even think I have a right to begin sharing things I don't fully understand. All I can project is my mind and what I see. I don't know whether that is "good".
  If "good" is a form of morality - this "goodness" cannot be responsible in the role of artist. We are not searching for completeness for the right reasons. Artists are selfish - not "bad" or "good". I make art. That is my role. . . but i could be doing something more "right!".
  All I am getting at is the truth. That is what I believe. My truth isn't necessarily yours.

Pink daze

In the pink dress
She hovers floating above the sea
An ephemeral future.
My dreams are all the time
If only they could fill all the grey and  stop to breathe.
Reality doesn't matter to my soul but it inflicts my body.
If I could escape the monotonous daze.
The repetitive repetition of existence.
The over and over and over and over of the pointless
Materiality of empty existence.
Time flows and is wasting the thinking
Freedom tied and bound and suffocated in the lesser mundane
Life running through wasted water.
Ged rid of this burden.
Society sells the sun to the soulless.
And be free.

To be an artist

To be an artist means I can be everything I ever wanted to be.
I can be an actor, a writer, a dancer, a poet, a performer, a painter, a designer, a muse, a model, a star, a director, a lover, a painter, a singer, a daughter, a mother... and nobody can tell me I am doing it wrong.

My (very un-) surreal thoughts.

My surreal thoughts at this very moment are not very automatic. Fairly obvious. The mouse. the mouse running across the floor means a lot. I hear a constant rustling. Constant dirt. Constant bits. Bits all chewed up. Dry bits. Wet bits. They all seem to resemble wood. Maybe the house is crumbling under this one gargantuan mouse. The mouse now is associated with bright bright orange. Plastic bag. Mouse. Wooden bits. House. Maybe even recycling. Does the mouse eating my rubbish mean I am recycling?
Penny.
USB stick.
Vodka.
I can't get the sheet to stay on my bed it always peels off on the corner I sit on. Oh well. It is all pretty dirty and uncomfortable anyway. Changing the sheets makes it worse. The sheets are stained.
My life seems to be all piled up.
Piles and piles of things. Dirt. Things. Dirt. Things.
Maybe I will al be piled up. I feel a bit piled up. My cells all piling together. Stuck. Sometimes my muscles feel so stuck. What happens when there is no more space in the ground to fit everyone in? Will we just be an earth of piled rubbish and dead people and things? Walking on a crust of .. well something.
I never lock my door. Maybe I should. It has three locks. I am so scared of getting locked out though. No thats not it. I am just lazy about the careful things.
The rubbish needs to go out other wise this mouse makes a mess.

White space (which would be the wrong description)

I am sure I have been dead before. Whether this means I have lived before I don't know? Not that I know what constitutes living?
As I get older I get more disconnected from my past. By my past I mean that time when I didn't yet exist as this body.
Saying it is a memory would be wrong. I don't know what happened. It is the ghost of a feeling you see out of the corner of your eye. Something that makes you or I feel uneasy. It is a noise I can't describe. Like "white" noise but NOT that. It doesn't exist here. So I can't explain the sound. The colour is the same. Stare at a bright light for too long and you see those circles. Circles of light but it is a colour. It isn't that. Like a glare of a glow. Blink too much and you almost see it... but you don't. Or surround yourself with snow and the sun. Any how it is a colour or a light that I can't describe but I know it and I remember it and when I go to this place I know I am living somewhere else.
It doesn't feel nice. It feels tense. Tension. I DON'T like tension.
But whatever it is. It is because it is not in the now.
I am not sure it would feel so bad if I could catch it and stay there. Maybe because it is non existence. Or as close as to that you can get. Because like I said. It is a before or after. An eternity. Not that I know that.
It is like floating through nothing. Not in a body. I can't see my body. And it is more a suspension that a feeling of movement. Or maybe moving too fast to feel it? Or feeling it a bit like when your stomach jumps in a lift. Falling. Falling. Falling.
I am more disconnected now. The day is too busy and my mind too blank or bleak. I can't quite reach my childhood.
I think I used to be able to fly. I am not joking. I just used to be able to lie back and propel myself around. Hovering above the floor always backwards. I seriously believe this and remember it. In my old house. The one I first remember.
I can't do it anymore. I don't know when I stopped . This makes me sad.

Brief Time. . . No description involved.

Some moments don't seem to fit.

The happening is so stark that your body hits a block and shudders reaching a flash of light or falls in a fiery frozen flush.Just the briefest time spent with someone and their single action effects your soul with so much meaning.

Stranger singing is no abnormality.

No shock in the voice. It is the coincidence that is so consequential. Voices are eternal. Half the time I don't know what the breath is saying even if the sounds are full of meaning. It does't mean anything. The distance is too great.

Displacement from a particular setting is the disturbing item.
I can't describe what I heard even though I am sure you will find the sounds familiar. It was the timing that mattered and that is far gone. Lost in the past.

One has to ask is this an omen?

Reality

Not what I wanted or expected
This dream is one
Colourful
Hazy
Reality.
Sorry for the pain
the slashing burning stabbing pain for you and me.
Because it is over.
Has to be . had to be. it remains.

This happened becuase of
love?
One could die
or love the stars to much -
The night fucks it up.

It wont stop but this is one scary beginning.
Running out or into control
Who knows?

Turning round and calling quits
Beautiful day.
Lightness
Never forgotton.
That which is always scarred in my skin.
Branded past and future.
Young love? Beautiful

I am smiling. Smiling at rainbows before it is too late.
Dancing
Dancing
Dancing
For you.
For our happiness.

Slaughter over and peace will last.. maybe?
Yes or no
Yes or No
Yes or NO
Running out of time running with the wind
The memories remain in their space .

Don't step away.

surreal dreams or reality?.. and the case of the stabbed heart....

I always have vivid dreams.. always have (hopefully - because what would life be without them?) always will! Even so, recentley my dreams have taken a far more obvious turn. My daily life is all too apparent. Every night without fail my dreams are heavily linked to my reality providind a macabre twist on the real and presenting the worrying question of why? ... Is my brain fnding the every day too hard to handle? or is my conscious and subconscious intertwining evermore into a world filled of madness.
Anyway mostly these dreams have been interesting/ disturbung / odd but perhaps usual/ handleable / not that affecting but one of them is sending my mind on a turn for the worst. This however may not be the dreams fault but the reality. ..
Ok so now for the case of the stabbed heart. I live very near an extrememlet large sainsbury's and visit it nearly every day. There is an archway that you walk through to get to it. I walk through this archway normally battling heaps of people, tramps, rain... ok it is not the nicest of places but a couple of day ago I was walking through and there on the grate beside me was a heart. A very large real hear onnected to several other organs from god knows what. It lay on the gate dripping blood looking like this great heaving mes and in the centre sicking up out of it was a knife, a silver knife. Now the heart didn't suprise mett much thre are llotsof halal butcer around and I frequently see trucks full of carcsses and here the meat knives grinding bones. All teh same it was a stomach churning view and I quickly hurried by hoping it would be cleared up. However, this image is haunting me! The next day it was still there (yesterday) and I seemed to be the only one that noticed it, a big puddle of bloody rain around it. It seems so symbolic, the question is raised is it really symbolic? Is this a message? Who knows but to me it seems an incredibly bad omen!
Anyway last night was a tough one. The fire alarms jammed and they wouldn't sto. My sleep was broken and frequent and I had many dreams all obviously connected to my day. The wierdest and most haunting however was one hard to describe. I was in a world though surrounded by vains and throbbing muscles and membranes thy wher alive and swallowing peopleup. Thehart ws spreading with all it's sinewy tissue everywhere and was a thing of great fear. Cannibals reighned and people walked about like zombies. I was on some kind of quest that I cannot remember clearly but one things for sure. This heart is affecting me. I can't go to sainsbury's, I cant stop thinkning about it, I feel contantly nervous sick and on the edge and have a strong sense of impending doom. I am even beginning to question whether it was ever actually there?
.... After all impailed hearts wouldn't exactly be all that alien to me. My art having a strong link which I do not fully understand....

people

Is rather upset and confused to be honest. Maybe irrationally.I don't know it seems rather odd but hten it was obviously going to make me feel uneasy.

But then at least my mind isn't so irrational as to have a reason or a need to shoot harmless people.
Everytime something happens like this there are many sides to the story. The awfulness for the people who have had their lives cut short, the horrible torment for their familes but what about the killer. What possible pain could they have been in?
We as mere people are so fragile. Our emotions hurt us too much and we take that pain and it turns and affects our behaviour. Maybe our minds are too advanced for the stupid situations we find ourselves in. The feeling is far more powerful than the situation and it is so harmful.
Few people are so strong. Few people take everything in their stride. WQe can;t tiptoe around the world but just pray that we can remain on top of things.

A moment to think about those killed, the families and the killers in all mass shootings.

Maybe we should re- read I think we need to talk about kevin

flying

You make me feel like I am flying ( no cheesiness implied ) it is just real. This is the closest thing to bein superhuman. Love conquers all

Marc Chagall
Le branche

conscience

Does the mind rule the body or the body rule the mind?


I think they are insperable. The mind is the body. Pain is always physical whatever the cause. We love becuse of physical things and yet we do things that feel.
I can be won ovr by physical things, yet, I always no what I should be doing... I chose to ignore it. When one is ill the other one doesn't work.

Without a body you can't have a mind and without a mind ou can't have a body. Who even knows what these two things are. We are just beings. We aren't seperated. Sante is both.
But sometimes it is head or heart...
Do we have to decide?

Obsession

I seem to be utterly confused in what i beleive in all the time. Maybe because I believe in both, or becasuI am desperate to understand things. I just am obsessed or seem to be obsessed; everything seems two come down to these two things...

re⋅al⋅i⋅ty  /riˈælɪti/ [ree-al-i-tee]
–noun, plural -ties for 3, 5–7. 1. the state or quality of being real.
2. resemblance to what is real.
3. a real thing or fact.
4. real things, facts, or events taken as a whole; state of affairs: the reality of the business world; vacationing to escape reality.
5. Philosophy. a. something that exists independently of ideas concerning it.
b. something that exists independently of all other things and from which all other things derive.
6. something that is real.
7. something that constitutes a real or actual thing, as distinguished from something that is merely apparent.



fan·ta·sy (fnt-s, -z)
n. pl. fan·ta·sies
1. The creative imagination; unrestrained fancy. See Synonyms at imagination.
2. Something, such as an invention, that is a creation of the fancy.
3. A capricious or fantastic idea; a conceit.
4.
a. Fiction characterized by highly fanciful or supernatural elements.
b. An example of such fiction.
5. An imagined event or sequence of mental images, such as a daydream, usually fulfilling a wish or psychological need.
6. An unrealistic or improbable supposition.
7. Music See fantasia.
8. A coin issued especially by a questionable authority and not intended for use as currency.
9. Obsolete A hallucination.
tr.v. fan·ta·sied, fan·ta·sy·ing, fan·ta·sies
To imagine; visualize.

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I think the two can live hand in hand though. I'm not sure the definitions are quite correct. It's whether the fantasy is genuine, then it's a reality. It isn tmake believe anymore. Someties it's more real.