A few little pictures I put together over the last two weeks - partly as an exercise of passing time but also as a means for developing the use of text within my artwork and to see if I can develop ideas in that direction a little more - I have so much writing but none of it makes much sense - it tends to just collide into itself in a contradictory fashion and negates everything it's attempting to convey... it does lend itself better to a visual image as the subject of my artwork is invariably very much all about falling into meaningful meaninglessness only for concrete normality to get in the way and allow for some kind of collection of repetitive tangible objects and people.
Capacity Avenues Unlock
My existence does feel like a story being told very slowly... what happens when the end credits get called?... does my perception simply drop and unfold as if I'm being screwed up into a ball and thrown into some blank dead space bin? A place of no stimulation as the audience of one walks away from my blank screen of nobody.
Worryingly I think it's probably safe to say that existence is exactly as we perceive it and that I'm not the only one going through this - and you are all a lot more than subsidiary mannequins and plot cyphers to my own story line. The above picture is like what I'd imagine living as everyone and everything would be like - though it is depicted on quite a small scale.
Process Void Method
In contrast this image is actually entirely about the trap of being myself and also the creative methods in which I employ and find to be ever so important. There's a prospect or hope within me to one day be able to produce artwork full time without some day job to support me... that's sometimes a frightening prospect as the motivation to produce work sometimes dwindles through the sheer repetitive nature of cutting and sticking and having to think of new ways of doing it - which is funny because the image above is quite badly put together and it depicts a lost primitive head in it's centre in the middle of it's own loss at to what it's trying to produce. It's an image where nothing gels with itself. I do think that the intention is lost in the very essence of what it's trying to convey and it does in the end just look like a bit of rubbish picture.
Turning Machine Clogs
This image is about succumbing to life and accepting the reality of everything bad and everything good and also the veering moods of my own mind as it turns over circumstance and self appraisal and analysis... life circles, spirals and then dies to become something else if only just a pile of sludge and grit and decay... but at the heart of it are cycles and repetitions that will outlast everyone - unless it needs something to observe it in order to exist...
Perhaps I'm not making an awful lot of sense, do I just write on here my thoughts and ideas hoping they are going to lead to some kind of epiphany where all lines converge away from the cycles and to a finite point of knowing? Or am I just filling in spaces hoping that these words will be enough to justify what I produce, who I am and why I am doing this? If that requires justification then I may as well continue to try as I've not quite managed it so far... though maybe one day I'll get there and all my life and thoughts will just click and clack into place with a clicking and clacking of spinning puzzle pieces fitting together fluidly. All of this preferably on a very nice table in a house of my very own.
Working on a lot of new ideas at the moment - I have an idea of producing a very long and large narrative of about 100 pages - words interlaced with imagery - probably almost a graphic novel though I would rather bring it out as a scroll as it would then flow downwards rather than page by page - though perhaps that's a symptom of blogging... it's made me enjoy creating work which flows downwards like it's being read rather than being seen all at once.
I have the layout and the idea of it in my head and it looks perfect - which is worrying because that means I've already set myself a very idealistic aesthetic which could be unachievable - though perhaps I'd achieve something different. It will be a lot of hard work and I've set it to 100 pages because there's a lot of disjointed ground to cover and also felt that there is nothing wrong with giving myself a large project which would finally try to set in stone and define exactly what it is I've been trying to do all these years.
All my work has led on from previous work and grows organically from one to the next incorporating and permutating the past into future making a uncontrolled mass of myself... which has become bad because it's become so dense and involved that everything is in there now so I feel like I'm in some kind of black hole of my own swirling incoherent mess. So it's time to bring it all together into something cohesive - understandable and personal. For an outside viewer my work probably doesn't drag you right into me but more rather into a texture and a pattern of a nothing and it's perhaps time to find out where the real me is amongst all of that and be one hundred percent open... for a long while I've been thinking about infinity and trying to find a tangibly finite sanctuary within that and the only thing that I keep arriving back at in all my searching is myself - I am the tangible object. I should allow myself to express fully everything it is that I feel and not allow my artwork to just be strange imagery with shades of myself peering out never coming to the fore fully due to fears of being ridiculed. The following images all use text in a minimal way though perhaps unsuccessfully and all display my tendency to always express something private but never actually reveal anything.
Above is an image I made in 2008 - like a lot of my work I've included fragments of my notebooks full of my feelings and automatic writing - of which I was always quite diligent in keeping. There are no full discernible sentences in this picture. The words are used in a disjointed way to convey some sense of being lost or stuck in ebbs of geometry and endlessness. Like our thought processes stream into the barriers or columns to support the world we've built.
As with this one too - though to a different effect, this time the words are falling or rising from the architecture which they conform to but also strive to escape from - this was obviously a time in which I very much desired to escape from the world... 2008... the year I talked endlessly about becoming a hermit or going away and starting a cult just because anything would be better than working for Barclays Bank or whatever terrible job positions were due to me in future.
This last one you'll what could almost be statement "Then assumption leads your motiv(e)" is describing how we fill in the gaps in our knowledge with misinformation - particularly when evaluating other people. This is then followed up with three more half sentences which don't give you the entire message but allow you to try to draw more assumptions from the not being able to see the full content... this is what we are doing when we try to read one another. Even if we are given the time to explain ourselves the way we want to it can get distorted and misinterpreted... which is sad and one of the reasons I hate putting myself out into the open... I think that now that I'm used to it though, and that I'm old enough not to care what people think (sometimes), it is likely time to do this - and it'll hopefully look really really good and not be "pretentious" or annoying at all... though I'm sure there will be plenty who may see it that way - though I'll try not to be scared of you and just get on with it. I plan to do this at the same time as producing individual pieces of artwork too - though perhaps as usual all my ideas will inform and misinform their surrounding ideas and motivations - probably with a lot of assumption too.
When I was first putting together my photocopy patterns early last year I had in mind an idea of mass production - being able to produce lots of artwork that would all look different but made entirely out of the same photocopied materials... sadly this was possibly a misguided idea as none of the work actually did look that different... I thought I could cut out the work of coming up with compositions and create a new creative method which was entirely based on permutation and that my work would randomly generate itself into new pictures... I ended up making loads of this work which was basically the same and mass produced.
So lots of this work has been lying about my house for the past two years whilst I've been doing much better things - I used the patterns I developed in different and more varied ways and used them to aid composition rather than replace it. Though I was always intending to jazz up these old framed pieces and make them look better and more individual. So for my exhibition in London next week - I was asked to submit work that I would be able to sell for under £100 - so it was time to free up some of the space in my already vast, cluttered and messy house... so I finally "jazzed up" the images that had been lying around for so long... and the results are rather good. As you can see there are examples of what each image looked like before and what they look like now... the image above is called "Splintered Converging"... which is a bit of a typical title from me:
Here's another one:
Here's another called one "Void Strata" - which is another typical title - one does find oneself being very typical of oneself... when oneself is me all of the time.... The before and after images both look good but by adding more layers each piece becomes more unique than it was when it was part of my factory line.
A void strata would be like a cutting into nothing and finding lots of different layers of nothing which is contrarily full of globdules of nothing. This one is like a some weird coagulating non flow of neon organic.... so maybe that would have also been a good title.... though I'll save that for the next time I make an image of any kind of psycho archeological pseudo limbo.
I then put together four smaller images (about A5) all of which can be seen below here:
The details for the exhibition can be found here - so if you are in London on 1st December then feel free to attend and RSVP it to the email address that's on the website. The other artists look fairly good and it's a nicely varied selection. Also it says I am "new and emerging" which sounds rather promising - I'm hoping to sell all my work and have a nice amount of money to spend - I sort of have dreams about some massive company building me a house on top of the tallest tower in London and I'll be their collage boy who makes lots of things that get better and better because I won't have to work in a normal job - I'll have all the time in the world to make much better artwork - also the world would leave me alone whenever I wanted it to - my relationship with the world would finally be perfect.
Making a submission of work to an exhibition in London where everything costs under £100 - found this which I made last year which is called "the light Nome break" - the title is a reference to the Nome King from The Return to Oz which was the first film I ever saw at the cinema when I was about about 3 or 4 - I liked it so much we had to go in twice in a row - but then, it is a very good film.
This picture reminds me of the Nome King but it isn't a deliberate homage - though the visual similarities of cracked stone and angry shifting drew me towards this title - the Nome King is pretty much the ground we all live on: angry, turbulent and forever restless in it's never ending swimming of dull immortality. I sort of related to the Nome King myself at the time - and sometimes still do when I'm feeling philosophically short sighted. This is the only framed art I've made which is 3D, parts of it rising above others.
Found these two other smaller pictures - the one on the left is called "Paramount Beacon", because at the top you can see a mountain that looks like the Paramount logo. The right image is called "Picket Tendrils" due to it looking like tendrils passing over some pickets - quite simple really and at least one of these pictures doesn't have a title inspired by cinema.
In the interests of pursuing more representational art I've produced the above self portrait.... though it's not at all a conventional self portrait - which is a good thing, the idea of being creative for me is to be make unconventional creative, and honest.
Why I'm interested in making my work representational is due to my work for many years being conventionally abstract - in pursuit of defining voids, blank spaces, pressed down eyelids of pushed light receptors... staring into the sun for far too long... so the above is an attempt of making a conventional self portrait into an honest and unconventional self portrait - which is still very abstract. In fact so abstract that I felt it required a speech bubble containing a diagram of what each part of the picture represents.
So here's a small close up of the diagram. It explains that the central figure is "me" - the left of me is the "outside" world which channels it's way through me "in"wards and builds all sorts of swirling thoughts and patterns - represented with drawings, teeth, organic forms - moving outwards through internal processes where they form an uncontrolled twist of nonsense. The bottom right corner is a fluttering, pumping, often troubled heart - and finally the red speech bubble containing diagrammatic dialogue is "speech"... As if my speech and expression are of a constant evaluation of all of the "outside", "in", "heart" and "me"... So it's almost like a simplified circuit board of my unwilling day to day construct and conduct... A self absorbed though trapped circuit board integrated into the constant motion of life itself. Possibly not as deep as I may be wanting it to sound.
So in making steps towards being more representational I've produced something mostly self representational - I think that I'm moving more towards telling narratives and showing mental connections of places, people or objects that don't go together melding into some terrifying flux of associations. I've got a few exciting projects coming up over the next year, some of which I may actually get paid for but for now I don't want to go into too much detail about until everything is finalised - in the meantime I'll be keeping this blog up to date with everything I get done.... I've been thinking an awful lot about the routine of keeping an art blog and how not posting anything on here tends to make me work towards very strict and limiting deadlines... one can get caught up in the whole pursuit of self promotion to the point where that is your primary pursuit... this is being rectified.... though as usual, there's a good chance I could be worrying myself over nothing and I should just keep going on the way I always do. Anyway I've some exciting developments coming along which I'll be sure to post on here as soon as confirmation is confirmed.
Below is the image that gave me the idea to make a new self portrait - that being my old self portrait from 2006 - drawn in biro and then blown up to a massive size which I then blutacked on my old bedroom wall.
I lik the caved in horror and the broken contortions of malaise and confusion. This was drawn in a much less settled or successful period of my life, and even though the frustration and the challenges I had then are still present - in a more evolved and charming form - it's nice to contrast and compare different periods of your life with one another and realise that things very gradually do get better and better... until you die of course, although, I've not had many reports on the afterlife it may perhaps be the best time of all.
So I feel quite lucky that things didn't carry on the way they were - if I go even further back I can remember what I felt like at school. Was it all actually worth going through that just to be doing what I'm doing now. I'll think positive and potentially deluded. Perhaps my next self portrait in 5 years will depict some kind of pompously glowing orb of total self satisfaction floating high and free over all the little people I've decided to forgive. Ha ha.
Made this last week though took a while to upload it onto my blog - simply because I spent the weekend in lovely Llandudno exploring various brilliantness. The doom and gloom of Manchester and city life in general may have eroded my spirit into a cynical inward looking feedback loop - where my self analysis and all that looping personal history, notions of identity, and every other piece of personal trash just tumbles around and around getting tangled and intertwined with everything and everyone else - until in my head we all get mashed together into one self centred conglomerate of conflicting ideas. A city isn't the best place to have this kind of feeling because you end up projecting these feelings onto other people - being sat on a bus or walking down a busy high street and wandering through observing a huge bunch of big blank heads and face traffic.
This picture is a representation of people, crowds and their containment... whether you want that containment to represent streets, buildings, houses, buses... I actually thought of buses at first but it actually makes me more of nightclubs - maybe it's the fact it's bursting with vain self possessed faces caught in bursts of overly loud colours... or perhaps I just don't like nightclubs very much. Containment in this case is in relation to everywhere you could possibly be confined to - such as a familiar route to work or a habit like my own of trying not to step on cracks in the pavement. I ran over loads of pavement cracks a few months back to catch a bus - gleefully feeling let loose and free after so many years.... then lots of bad events happened since which have actually made me think that maybe my superstitious precautions where right to follow after all.
This is the first picture I've done in a very long time that represents anything real and tangible - I'm reacting against people describing my work as psychedelic, because I always associate psychedelic art with stoners and images like this - which isn't at all my desired aesthetic. So for the moment I'd like to veer away from swirling abstract vortexes and head into the representational. In my recent installation - all throughout the wall covering abstraction there were non deliberate organic shapes - all trying to twist themselves around each other into recognisable form human or anim al form. This is made me think that maybe I should try to escape from the abstract and bring these forms into lives of their own but still retain some form of gloopy terror.
As with my previous two entries this was put together on sheets of black A3, so I've posted each individual sheet below for closer examination so you can have a closer look. Oh and by the way it's titled "Heads multiply in limited tubes of ruin".
This is the picture I put together this week, I've entitled it "Thinking fluid fragments"
It looks really small. A problem with trying to put a long horizontal image onto a blog - it's tricky to know how to fit it on screen so it can be viewed. The above shows how the work should be displayed but doesn't allow you to look at it closely. Therefore I'm posting the image on it's side, separated into it's three A3 pieces. So you can tilt your head or monitor to the side scroll down and have a closer look.
For me it's all about thought - how I'll move from one feeling of tangibility to another and feel somewhat entirely in flux adjusting and editing myself as go along. The words and colours pass through and get destroyed and rebuilt - crossed out as they pass by like busy traffic at light speed. Some elements drift along dead, silent and unused - like forgotten trivia and empty memory.
There are also the dominant traumas and the excuses I make to myself all of which create sharp stabbings and ring out as clock towers over and over again until the vibration gets duller. Thoughts move block like - falling bricks sucked sidewards by an impossible tornado - viewed from above it's like the schematic of a far away space station.
This part of me is a cell of rearranging elements. Some recognisable and comforting stream of identity and self recognition - "here I am and here are you - this is me and that is you" - I get along in a constant static of learned behaviour realising that I'm much more confident and assertive than I thought - stood by the counter talking to the civilians and all the while living in my own internal world whilst reality clicks away against my surface... an efficient if unwilling participant cog in the whole system of everything.
In my next picture I should devise some kind of chart, like a list of what every colour and pattern means in the whole scale of the image. That way I can start making very bizarre intuitive schematics of inexpressible feelings and ideas.
So I finally got around to making some new artwork - there is some massive boundary between the creative process itself and the actual finalised product in terms of my own evaluation of the work - during the process it's either the most pointless waste of time or the absolute pinnacle of genius... where I break new ground and every element of the artwork is displaying my soul set on fire ready to burn the entire world.... then I go to sleep and observe the finished product again in the morning and it reduces itself into being a repeat of what I've done every single time before - only with different aspects highlighted and other aspects downgraded. So my mind is layered with visual feedback loops - repetitive behaviours and tics. Like a composition of rearranging and gradually changing shapes. Like the theory of eternal return these elements will eventually over time drift back into the same shapes and patterns.
The image on your right is last nights image which for the moment is entitled "Living forms tunnels". It was made on 3 pages of A3 and then these were placed next to each other - I've decided I'm going to avoid working purely in normal shaped paper sized rectangles and combine pages into longer strips. I think that form of composition suits me better - and it allows one to fill it with a narrative, however abstract. I'm making a series of works - not sure what I should title the whole collection when it's done, but I'm sure it'll be similar to the way I usually title things: with a thesaurus finding combinations of the same meanings that sound best next to one another... usually a combination of three words (Verb, verb, noun or Noun, Verb, Noun) - this collection will be a fairly varied group of intuitive explanations for various internal and external processes - some of which can only really be said to be hypothetical, such as the death process and the God process - and some of which, like the work produced last night, are based entirely on subjective experience.
This work is detailing living through Forms and being processed through boxes where our emotions are contained and limited in reaction to social pressure (SCHOOL). How key facts of our lives are indexed, inscribed and imprinted through our memories so the only tangible fact of us is our dates of birth, names, and other details we spend our lifetimes writing down over and over again for the benefit of identification and processing (Date of Birth, Name, Address etc). Perhaps a very immature and adolescent view perhaps. So many people are embarrassed by their teenage angst for various reasons - though sometimes I suspect I was onto something before the world held up a dirty mirror which penetrated past the most oily of my blistering skin.
You'll see below the individual pages of the completed work.
So starting with a usual black and white line - optic blurring into grey and dark. I bought something that I would rarely ever wear - boring and usual. Was it always there to compliment it's surroundings and be worn inconspicuously - to give the feel of someone empty, thoughtless and not worth anyone's time. Slip through as a no one whilst secretly manning battle stations and building interior defenses. The closeness and the slimness of the lines did however create a radiator like effect which unfocused the eyes of the viewer into a shuddering annoyance - though this always seemed indeliberate and clumsy. And when passed on it looked very much the revolution against the right skin.
Rocks and blurs - situations and broken blocks of static - in between textures - turning inside out conveying a lost empty me - a real lost empty and also grey death hiding a flash fire of spirit bursting with escape plans (in the death scale of weights and burdens I was brimming with those ideas of retribution and thought that someday this would all come to some desperate solution... in the dark circles of everything and nothing the contradicting contractions had every relation to the rotting blemishes on the skins of fruit - and we all became confirmed as chemical sacks)
At one point my wardrobe was less full than it is now - and still behind the borders of self discovery. I loved anything which bore diagonal lines anything that would criss cross would make me happy - convergences and reflections, symmetry in asymmetry - shirts all worn down to frayed edges and holes stitched up near the shoulder blades. Holes leading to smooth pale cold flesh - the summer hangs useless whilst the winter works wonders on bringing in one more layer after another. Coverage of me and the extensions of my self propelled armour.
So anyway the relevance of this blog post is that I used some of these photos of my clothes in my collages -in fact they are still being used - I photographed all my clothes close up in order to get their textures and patterns and integrate them into an animation I was making - namely this one:
Which as explained before was used in later collages - so as always it was part of a larger becoming.
So red like the roofs of tents in festivals I never bother going to. Too expensive and I spend money on other expensive and stupid things instead. Like a red t shirt or jumper or an item of clothing so very red (or orange) but one that I can't actually remember what it actually is - it looks creased. Unlike but so like the light passing through the membrane of skin reaching through a prebirth. Words so pretentious but somehow I value being able to say them - or write them (type them). I know my own self importance has very few boundaries besides the way they rush back two steps before making one.
So as a mistake a top like a faulty princess with troll features (looks good in all forms of photograph) too many days spent in front of counters looking through racks. Money in hand wanting to be lost and an overbearing ego believing itself capable of anything - a cheap felt pattern and sleeves too short (they needed folding) - I stepped out into a world not ready or far too ready to put me in place. Superficiality exposed in the core of everyone and me.
So then the light poured through grey matter burning purple - the loose surroundings - towards broken perimeters of non shadow. There's a way of constructing uninteresting abstract sentences - the sort of sentences most won't bother reading... there's a sure method of second guessing what someone reading is going to think. These methods are completely alien to me as a complete alien but I attempt them anyway. As I have a fluid and unvaried disinterest in myself - though also a surefire extreme for too much introspection - most of which is like dead grey boring walls of the sort that I end up staring at - all the way into them to the point of some dead colourless space - maybe a pinkish cream.... though really is this situation completely unique to me? The awareness of the buzzing and bustling of others are like yawning pin holes cracking through the minutes and the passing of everything - they line up and they step past and step through and step wherever and they keep going onwards and downwards and over and over (and over).
There are lovely and dancing streams of continuity and blazes of light and connectedness - where we all seem worthwhile and the organic broken screaming dull vortex of clawing dead cells doesn't pull me down. And somehow I overlook the disintegrating reintegration of broken matter and become part of some sort of flux. Not willingly I just fade into a non awareness of my issues with everything (which actually makes it more annoying once I become aware of my issues again - so it's like swinging from one extreme to another). Though I deal with this on a daily basis. And distractions and interactions are all part of the fun.
I have the most fun finding clothes in charity shops and 2nd hand places as I like the buzzing escapism of so many patterns, colours and contrasts - like sinking into some amazing buzzing static. Looking at the ladies wear is important - especially, if not entirely the jumpers and jackets.... nothing jolts and bothers me more in my exploration than having some shop assistant trying to direct me over to the men's section - as if I don't belong in both and that I would only be interested in the stripey shirts and over sized suits and under sized hats.
Like some bizarre special effect (along the retro futuristic bend) I love glittery and well fitted things, also patterns and shapes and contrasts - making stuff match when it shouldn't match at all - I'm not making some kind of fashion statement - I just really like old vintage sci fi so to me a zip up sports top looks more like a space pirate's jacket than it does a zip up sports top. Above is a glittery girls top I found in Wythenshawe - which now has a big orange button stitched to the top corner. It's my favourite jumper on the days I decide to wear it.
So like a dotted breakdown of texture and none repetition - the alterations would be to change the height and length bringing it down to the correct level. Getting stuck inside a causal loop circling the grey and red and stuck in the threads of beige.
So on I go - a real stopping and starting cataclysm feeling like a tape recording over itself again and again in the same structures - then remixed into tighter and more cohesive patterns. If I've learnt anything over my life it's how to turn everything I've not learnt into smaller and smaller threads of inconsequence.
Which is probably why I'm quite fond of repetitive patterns - check for instance......
Bought together when keen on developing a familiar silhouette. Some broad integer of identity screeching with unsubtle wheels in random copycat motion to it's opposite side. Texture of seat belts. A rotation between the two both separate and operating as one mechanism no matter the distance. Like some clockwork nothing that needs the momentum of personality and embellishment with florid sentences and character imposed prison bars. Moving from one side to the next - could almost be representative of cages - full of smoke and the obscure.
So overlaying this with an eventual swooping and long ego boost. Winter jaunts became protected with thick textures and patterns - the evenings would roll by with a skip and jump and a constant moving.... no wonder I began to hate public places of sitting down - the pubs where you can see strata of age and devolution in the faces of barflies - my own snobbish superiority coming into play and the disgust of the surrounding decay and the need for comfy and boring escapism - huddling away from the cold weather next to fire places in drinking houses - waiting for their lives to come to a dead thump...
All these stripes in themselves are like the constant streaming of continuous everything though when placed next to each other in various combinations they create a circling like the wheels turning in the static on television screens - some optical buzzing fun. So colour matching doesn't really matter and allows for almost any combination of abrasive line contrast joy. I'd love to become like one of swirling wheels of static - passing through the tangible and growing larger as I roll across the real - picking up little bits of people and objects as I blur the world into my own fluctuating roundness. Like a buzzing sphere of scribble wavering over all the surfaces of seriousness. I'd probably have to take myself a little less seriously first though - I don't half think a lot of myself sometimes.
So the world alternates between me seeing it as flowery and pretty and then seeing it as gestating, crazy and a non-stop infinite hell. I think it probably depends on whether I'm getting my own way or not. But it's also the trappedness. The way we are locked in our boring bodies unable to touch anyone and anything properly as our spirits are sunk in a quagmire of our own sense of being - and there's no off button, except death and that's probably not an off button it's more of a reset - where you get put lower in the hierarchy of the universe - and also end up having to fill in more and more forms. Control systems are set into place we have no idea about. I think. Though it's not easy thinking about it. Much less doing anything about it.
So I've looked over this entry... over and over... I've added, subtracted, destroyed, reiterated, repeated, continued to go on with the same things even though it's unnecessary and entirely to my detriment - there are some real concerns expressed but mostly I'm just encouraging the repeat patterns of my life - when really I think it's time to throw some kind of spanner in the works and jolt myself out of whatever causal loop I've found myself. Find myself in another one perhaps - because it's not like I don't change my patterns and constructs every single day, it's just that there's no reverse switch - and why would I want to reverse - back into school, back into nursery, back into birth. Here is the best place I could possibly be and I should stop being negative about it - reevaluating oneself is of core importance to self maintenance.
Whatever key facts I choose to live my life by it's probably worth realising that whatever I perceive is real -even if it is in my head doesn't mean it's less real, just means it's not going to integrate my reality very well with the reality of others. So everything I do, it seems, is an attempt at integration and progress - the creative impulse is a growth... like a series of cells reproducing into finer survival systems... this has nothing and everything to do with everyone else and I'm completely at terms with that sort of contradiction - opposite factors blending together into a grey area where the truth is - and the truth slips terrible around like the rattling of a small living brain in a decomposing, dislocated skull. I've managed to build some connective tissue around it - archways, doors, causeways, floors. My cathedral is still under construction. It also looks quite messy - time for a tidy.
