This journal was written on Friday morning, but it's difficult for me to get internet right now. This is also why I haven't replied to comments. Sorry!
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I wrote this last week, while on a train to Leeds. So, while a little out-of-date it may still be worth a read to a few of you:
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"I have no free will I sang and I flew about the murder."
There's something perversely sublime about listening to murderous love songs while sat in First Class upon one of the UK's busiest long distance trains. I'm surrounded by snobs, snoots, old women and uptight business men. Directly opposite me there is a mother/daughter couple of which the daughter herself looks almost fifty. I have a sneaking suspicion that she isn't at all, she's just very fuddy-duddy and doesn't really bother with any beauty routines. There's nothing wrong with that, in and of itself. Unfortunately though, for the past half an hour (since they alighted in Newcastle) I've been greeted with sneers, whispers and hand waving gestures. Even as I type now the mother , sat directly opposite, is glancing above her high fashion magazine with one precisely raised eyebrow. I think their main fascination with me started at my facial piercings. However, when I took my jumper off my brightly coloured arm caused another round of the whisper game. I'm sure they don't mean to be rude, they're probably just interested. I mean, they couldn't possibly be rude could they? They're just so proper.
"Her throat crumbled in my hands and I spun heroically around to see Caffrey rising from his seat, I shot that motherfucker down."
So, back to what brought me to my keyboard in the first place: Nick Cave. This man is a genius. Even if it's just because he can help desperate misanthropes like myself at their most needy moments. I was sitting here trying to get some work done (best make use of these torturous journeys), and I was growing more and more frustrated at those around me. The mother/daughter couple are just for starters! My hand felt around anxiously in my bag desperately trying to grab something to stab these people in the face; every one of them. Just then my hand closed tight around my iPod. I breathed a sigh of relief. Something to distract my ears, if not my eyes. I hit play, leaving it on random on my entire 25gb library. The stabbing high piano keys of O'Malley's Bar filled my ears. Slowly I felt release creeping all over my body like a slimy, bloody hand.
"...and for a moment it slipped from view... ...with confidence it knew..."
You might be wondering why I go to all the trouble of paying the extra only to sit in First Class and subject myself to this torment. You see, for someone who is anti-social in the ways that I am it's a tough decision about what exactly is worse: Sitting amongst the upper classes and wanting to scratch their stuck-up eyeballs out of their sockets or sitting with the commoners like myself whom all smell bad, have their own bad habbits and still talk complete and utter rubbish. When I leave it until the last moment to book my train journeys there's really no difference between the cost of a first class and second class ticket. It's crazy I know - take it up with the vendors. What sells it for me is the acres of extra space for me and my things, and most importantly, unlimited free cups of steaming hot tea.
"...when I shot him I was so handsome. It was the light, it was the angle..."
Now all I need to do, is sit back, look around the carriage and imagine Nick Cave walking in, gun in his hand, smile on his face.
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Two digital "paintings" I recently completed:
(Composed entirely by hand in Illustrator and Photoshop)
Click here to see a bigger version with more detail.
Click here to see a bigger version with more detail.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------
I wrote this last week, while on a train to Leeds. So, while a little out-of-date it may still be worth a read to a few of you:
-------
"I have no free will I sang and I flew about the murder."
There's something perversely sublime about listening to murderous love songs while sat in First Class upon one of the UK's busiest long distance trains. I'm surrounded by snobs, snoots, old women and uptight business men. Directly opposite me there is a mother/daughter couple of which the daughter herself looks almost fifty. I have a sneaking suspicion that she isn't at all, she's just very fuddy-duddy and doesn't really bother with any beauty routines. There's nothing wrong with that, in and of itself. Unfortunately though, for the past half an hour (since they alighted in Newcastle) I've been greeted with sneers, whispers and hand waving gestures. Even as I type now the mother , sat directly opposite, is glancing above her high fashion magazine with one precisely raised eyebrow. I think their main fascination with me started at my facial piercings. However, when I took my jumper off my brightly coloured arm caused another round of the whisper game. I'm sure they don't mean to be rude, they're probably just interested. I mean, they couldn't possibly be rude could they? They're just so proper.
"Her throat crumbled in my hands and I spun heroically around to see Caffrey rising from his seat, I shot that motherfucker down."
So, back to what brought me to my keyboard in the first place: Nick Cave. This man is a genius. Even if it's just because he can help desperate misanthropes like myself at their most needy moments. I was sitting here trying to get some work done (best make use of these torturous journeys), and I was growing more and more frustrated at those around me. The mother/daughter couple are just for starters! My hand felt around anxiously in my bag desperately trying to grab something to stab these people in the face; every one of them. Just then my hand closed tight around my iPod. I breathed a sigh of relief. Something to distract my ears, if not my eyes. I hit play, leaving it on random on my entire 25gb library. The stabbing high piano keys of O'Malley's Bar filled my ears. Slowly I felt release creeping all over my body like a slimy, bloody hand.
"...and for a moment it slipped from view... ...with confidence it knew..."
You might be wondering why I go to all the trouble of paying the extra only to sit in First Class and subject myself to this torment. You see, for someone who is anti-social in the ways that I am it's a tough decision about what exactly is worse: Sitting amongst the upper classes and wanting to scratch their stuck-up eyeballs out of their sockets or sitting with the commoners like myself whom all smell bad, have their own bad habbits and still talk complete and utter rubbish. When I leave it until the last moment to book my train journeys there's really no difference between the cost of a first class and second class ticket. It's crazy I know - take it up with the vendors. What sells it for me is the acres of extra space for me and my things, and most importantly, unlimited free cups of steaming hot tea.
"...when I shot him I was so handsome. It was the light, it was the angle..."
Now all I need to do, is sit back, look around the carriage and imagine Nick Cave walking in, gun in his hand, smile on his face.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Two digital "paintings" I recently completed:
(Composed entirely by hand in Illustrator and Photoshop)
Click here to see a bigger version with more detail.
Click here to see a bigger version with more detail.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
:cherry:
VIEW 25 of 89 COMMENTS
gem:
big kisses to my cherry xxxxxxxx
xerxes:
I love the paintings 
well done!!
well done!!