Wednesday, 2 December 2015

16.10 - 8.11

16.10 - 18.10

Was sent this photo from a few years ago of a monster of me created by my friend Helen Makes


She can make one of these of anyone you like so you can order members of family etc.   Maybe for Xmas.

19.10 - 20.10 

= + = = = =

Everything can seem to stay the same.  Interminable except for the gradual sliding into deeper decay and the upward lifts into hope for prosperity and conquest.  Though things sometimes happen to remind you that things do change very abruptly and very interestingly.  This is called winning.  

21.10 - 22.10

The world I live in at the moment is a cartoon world.  A colorful but deeply self important cartoon.  The larger political events are mere backdrops of world building to make my environment more realistic and immersive to the viewer.  Most of the other humans are mere non player characters.

This is the lie that I manage to sell to very stupid people.  I sell it to myself.

It makes things feel a bit more epic.

23 - 25.10

The man asked me for money.
I told him he didn't need it. The world of matter and substance will never make him happy. To attain true happiness he had to search within himself. He must go towards the divine light of every creation myth from the Demiurge to the Big Bang. All forms are shadows from a fire of which our souls are but impermanent and dancing embers... encircled in darkness.
The man asked me for drugs.

The Cloud of Unknowing

26.10 - 27.10

Winter doesn't ever seem to arrive and I like winter.


So instead I take very cold looking photographs.  And I look at cold diagrams.

28.11 - 1.11

William Brady wanted to fulfil his genetic imperative and have lots of children with lots of different women. He very much liked the popularized opinions of Richard Dawkins. Unfortunately though, he was psychopath, and had intimacy issues, so he didn';t like to engage in physical relationships. Even if he was only touching people with his hands he preferred to do it whilst wearing rubber gloves... also he preferred to punch and kick people.
William decided to utlize modern technology in order to spread his genetic code across the world. He visited as many sperm banks as possible and deposited samples with them under many different aliases. Within 20 years his sperm was probably about 25% of the entire worlds sperm bank supply.
Many thousands of women gave birth to the children of William Brady. All these children were slightly lacking something in terms of affection and joy. They all felt as if there was something unanswered about them... that they needed to discover themselves. They also felt the need to crush humanity into the dirt.
At the age of 64, William Brady was visited by increasing numbers of his offspring. The were always so happy when they learnt what a swell guy their father was. It seemed to explain everything. As the years passed more and more of them started to move to William's bungalow. Tents erected all over town for the many who couldn't fit themselves in. William and his children hatched plans and within 6 months most of the non Bradys of the world were destroyed. The Bradys killed us all with germ warfare, guns, bombs but mostly clever spreading of disinformation and panic through social media. At first, William Brady could not decide whether to call his new world order "The Brady Bunch" or "The Imperative". In the end he went for the latter. Less glib.
At the age of 94 William Brady, encased in an iron lung, finally dies. His children still weep for the "All-Father" many generations later. The brothers and sisters rut on the streets over the skeletons and dust of the dead. William Brady's statue looking over them as The Imperative expands year by year.

2.11 - 3.11

My new favourite shirt.

3.11 - 4.11

The oldest statue in the universe is of The PeaceMaker. It stands in the centre of Athens, the capital city of the cosmos where everyone is free to sit and think and do nothing. This is because there is no threat of war anywhere. There has never been any threat of war. If you were to threaten me with war then The PeaceMaker would appear in the air between us. Poised in his tight jeans and check shirt and cowboy hat... he would circle around his antique revolver ready to shoot, looking us both in the eye and working out which one of us was a warmonger.
Then he would shoot you.
The PeaceMaker is never wrong. He travels up and down the time streams gunning down any person, thing or group that would like to have a fight. I believe he is from an alternate universe, one which is full of death and destruction and big, terrible weapons.
Every night I thank The PeaceMaker for keeping us safe from one another and for killing those of us who have big ideas about themselves.

6.11 - 8.11

Maggots hatch discreetly from his carpet. An implausible reaction to a lack of insects. They must be living somewhere underneath the surface. The atomized polymer barrier of between spaces. He pours a large pan of boiling water all over the carpet but none of it reaches the floorboards. It absorbs into the underlayer of pizza crusts and eggs. The heat boiling the insect foetuses into a subtle holocaust of squelching stench.
Stood in the kitchen, he turns off the oven. It is empty.


Sunset on the summer.  We will now gradually decline into restlessness and dark and tell ourselves that it is the fault of winter.

Saturday, 7 November 2015

28.9 - 15.10

28 - 29.09-----------------------------------------------------------------

My consumption of things is more varied than people imagine.  I do enjoy cancer creating processed meat but I also smoke cigarettes and eat Subway.  I have a relatively active lifestyle managing to fulfil a full time job and also make lots of artwork and patterns (when I can be bothered) and also write short stories.  I get plenty done on my bad diet and consumption of evil goods.  Perhaps this will reach a point in which I get very ill and will regret consuming these goods... but I feel that the power of my ego and artistic integrity somehow lifts me above such bodily concerns and even if the polymers of my physical form are quite strained I am somehow powered by this ego and integrity... this need for conquest is the perpetual motion engine of my zombified but Herculean body.


30.9 - 01.10 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Very much enjoying listening to the History of Philosophy Without Any Gaps podcast whilst doing my data entry.  The pre socratic thinkers came up with some really imaginative ideas.. before everything became too academia-ized.  

2 - 3.10 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I went outside. 

I'd not been outside for a few days. 

I didn't have any canned fish left. 


The world didn't look different but the people did. 

Everyone had these perspex spheres on their heads. 

Not clear perspex but a very glossy dark gray. 

The darkest of gray. 

Not black. 

Almost black. 

The people were dancing. 

All of them. 


There was no music.

I saw myself reflected in the sheen of their orbs.

My face was that of a primitive human.

I just wanted to get my fish from the shop. 

Then get back home.


In the supermarket I used the self service machine.




I am one quarter of the way through my saving plan.  Only another 9 months to go.

5 - 6.10 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Above is the poster that was made by my next door neighbour The Onion Widow for his gig I saw on Saturday.  It was something to cut up and fill a diary page with.  This year is almost over now which is a relief as it means the end of this all consuming and hard to avoid diary project.

Look at what happened by mistake when I was making patterns on photoshop...  I was using the below photographs from around my office building.  The above looks like the sort of artwork I should be making.  I should really at least be making some sort of artwork.  I am fairly confident that I am approcahing a phase of mass production.. unstoppable organized creation.  I love winter.

7 - 8.10 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A muted paradise.  Desaturate the sensations of the body and create an elitist realm wherein knowledge becomes a hierarchy.  Create a philosophy to prove that you and your privellaged mates are right or more entitled to an opinion.  Then walk around with sympathy for those who are lower than you due to their sad circumstances.  Look knowingly at all the horror everywhere and think that it is all just mere matter.  Circumstances.  Circumstantial.  The way the matter falls from the central point it is inevitable that some of the fire of the main source will fall into the cracks on the pavement.  Go back to university and write a thesis about it.  Treat them as mere tropisms.  Dumb growing mould cultures of sticky credit cards.

9 - 11.10------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Most Useless Thing On Earth Prize 2015 is awarded to:
Humanity has won this award for 200'000 consecutive years. 

Don't you all feel proud? 
So carry on with your building and your culture and your sports.
Remember that nothing in the Universe needs it. Not even you. 
You are a hindrance.
See you next year. 

12 - 13.10 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two theoretical models of the known universe:

Garry Lavender was returning back to Chapel on the Frith from his visit to Buxton. He sat on the quiet evening train. Garry was very anxious of people so the quiet gave him plenty of time to transcribe today's thoughts into his large leatherbound notebook.
Garry's solitude was interrupted, however, when the train stopped at Manchester Piccadilly. A group of men boarded the train, they were about Garry's age, in their late 20s/30s and they were all wearing Manchester Cityshirts. Even though Garry was alarmed by their drunken pig like faces he couldn't help but notice that their shirts were the same colour blue as five of his pet budgies.... also that there were five of these horrible men... walking down the carriage towards him. Coincidences?

"What the f**k are you?" said one of the men. Sitting down next to Garry. "Think we've found ourselves a queer." said one of the others.
Garry flinched backwards towards the window, lifting his pale hands up to his face to cover up his shaking expression. But how can he cover his shaking hands? He wasn't just shaking in fear but in anger. Anger that such men would judge him. Garry knew that this was the nature of man. To draw conclusions from the merest of appearances.
"Look at what he's wearing."
Garry hunched up his legs and buried his head behind his knees. Becoming a ball of constrained kinetic fear. Dressed in a pastel pink blazer and a pair of flowery ladies trousers from Primark. He started to mumble.
"Self expression is vital! In order to ascend to new levels of u-u-u-u-u-u-u-under-standing.. and sitting." said Garry from between his knees.
"He's mental." said one of the men. Looking through Garry's notebook. "This is full of pigeons."
"BUDGIES!" yelled Garry with a trembling lip. "and I've also drawn some flowers and written many notes!" Garry lifted his head from his knees. Garry was angry they would compare his beautiful summer bird friends to the poor unfortunate pigeons.
Garry was then saved when the conductor appeared and told the men to leave him alone. As they were ushered away they were saying Garry was "next level" and "f**king tapped". The men sat on the chairs on the opposite end of the carriage. It was still too close for Garry... regardless of this he returned to his notes.
"The Unascended Man is not evil." he wrote. "only primitive. He needs a shepherd."
Then Garry wrote this story using third person perspective.

"Vision of the Angelic Hierarchy" from "Liber Scivias," 1150-1175 C

14 - 15.10 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Look at how much money I've won at gambling.  £350.   That has definitely sped up my saving plans for the next 9 months.

Though to put a downspin on everything.  What about Cicero.  He did really well at life.  Then...  he died.

Encapsulation of the life of Cicero follows (he read books, achieved stuff, then he got proper dead):

some stuff about patterns below:

And to close things off here are some patterns.  People have been looking at my patterns long after Cicero's death.