Monthly Archives: January 2020

Dave

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I just had an evening with Dave on the subject of Lynette, his beau.

She’s being gaslighted by her daughter for having a relationship with Dave, because her step dad had just died. Yada yada.

Oddly enough her name is Grace, a characteristic she didn’t seem to have. She’d prefer her mum remain a nun.

On the basis that all step dad’s are cunts. Which is her own experience.

When do you tell your kids to fuck off? There’s a moment when it’s in their interest to hear it straight. To grow up.

And yet, the mum, she needs to grow a pair for her own sake. Or suffer forever the life of the many. Rough.

You only have one life.

Modernism

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The BS of the artworld seems like it started in France. See exhibit below.

The artist and writers and amateur philosophers (as are all French people), threw fancy words around anything that moved, including the latest canvas.

My experience is that such word sleuthing is empty of anything of value, as is the whole French tradition of debating the toss of the cockroach.

It’s a cultural appendix that should have long been excised. And yet not.

Tones & me

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Most of the positions that I take in this blog are exaggerated for effect.

This entry is not of this ilk.

Having just completed an unintentionally discordant biography of Picasso, both descriptive and academic, my mind is racing, unfortunately.

Ignoring the fact that Picasso was bipolar well before drugs could help him merge into the crowd, this mad driven fool raged against the windmill in faux isolation.

Just like Gerard, his true motivation was of the daily nature; assuaging his own dark demons through the deconstruction of others. For this he required fame, thus his art.

I am sure there have been many that have gotten much further in the virtual game of enlightenment, but we haven’t heard of them. Nor have we met them.

False prophets are those that we hear of. But that is not my point. Demons derive from the misfit into the social; Robinson Crusoe could not have a mental illness.

But that’s mere diversion. My nihilist tendencies suggest that there is no point. It just is. An accident just as likely as any other alternative existence.

That’s a belief. The scientist in me wants to test this belief, the knowing without data.

Absorbing the journey of others has been one approach. Science another. A life with risks taken (LOL). Acting out the outsider. Joining the Band à Bondi; an unlikely Bohemian homage set in Australia in the early part of the 21st century, doomed to obscurity through the complete lack of compelling and recognisable talent of its members.

What I did learn from Bondi was the dangers of mental illness. Life is short; make it comfortable. Death is certain; make it comfortable as well.

The other matters of earnest? Sex, mind altering experiences, pleasure in good company. These things matter to me.

As an aside watching me chase chase sex must have been like watching a dog chase a parked car. And yet the dog was happy in his obsession.

The scientist in me can explain much. The nihilists doesn’t care. Then there is the little pleasure pussy, Nic’s expression for me, the one that is determined to enjoy the here and now on the basis that this is all we ever have.

And that’s all I have to say on the matter and any other matter.

Zillions mate

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There are 1 quadrillion ants in the world according to some genius.

Australia represents 5% of the world’s land area.

6 million hectares of 769 million hectares just burnt out.

By my calculations that 390 billion ants that just perished.

Ants are animals too…