Paint, print and automatic ink

More space and my need to express makes painting over unsold works easy. But then there’s that bad camera taking low resolution images in odd light, somewhat blurred ah... I can’t get the shine away, can’t just call for the powder puff. Okay. Lost that image.

Painted over, “Does anyone listen?” And now I’ve got this sepulchre/ hand tree coming back into my pen. The same happened when I painted over the naked ladies in a cave. Some things just don’t want to be covered up.

If all I’m left with is a blurred image I can’t even use it for printing and if it wants to exist, my automatic hand will show me what persists.

I like the print media, I could worry about the environmental aspects and the safety of the human labour involved, but at this point I’m prepared to be a cog in the wheel of possible disaster, because everything can seem like a disaster waiting to happen. And, I cannot deny myself everything, or I wouldn’t be doing much at all most probably. Unless someone really is screaming in my face that I’m hurting them. That’d stop me. Just hope they can then give me some good directions so I don’t have to sit numb.

I hear and sense a lot of stuff. This isn’t my psychology, it’s rather transmissions I’ve received that I’ve unpacked and loaded onto the page, capturing them and arranging them. I’m not into snobby rules. I’m full of farts and snot anyway, so I’m sucking cess through a straw if I think I can make it as a door nob.

People like to have elite divisions though. It was the same in acting – selling out was going and doing soapies and television ads. But really it was only those who “sold out” that ended up getting most of the theatre work. People pretended that they were holding out for “real acting work” when really TV just didn’t think their mug was interesting enough to sell their product. Now, I’m happy to see someone drink out of a mug with one of my pictures on it. And to have them wearing my stuff… why would I see anything wrong with them being wrapped in my art?

Ah, but my automatic hand. It picks up and senses something out there and tries to make sense of it, probably offending everyone and everything that means something to me. I cannot stop it, for then I would be nothing. If I've got the flu, like I have now, it probably influences stuff as well. Puts the whole mind into paranoia attack mode.

Trouble, that’s what automatics are. They don’t always say what I want them to. But if they did, there would be no drama and story to draw. This one followed a topic for an IFN post: Hang me out to dry. My picture is all wrong, but that’s because I couldn’t draw the real picture, which was a place I didn’t want to go to. I was never even able to find 80s horror movies funny, let alone the stuff of real protest. Foolish card eh? The laugh wears off, the jokes fade away. If none are there, then how can we play?

Sabotage and the holey leaf

I put a hole in this ceramic piece so people would get the picture that I don’t want any of my vessel works used for people who suck and blow and flick.
I have a nasty habit of sabotaging my own work. This blog is probably based on self-sabotaging habits. Everyone gets to see how I work. They get to see the fumbling beginning of things and how this develops. Obviously there is something wrong with admitting my working didn’t just spontaneously appear.
Should I try very hard not to sabotage, I will end up doing even more damage than I normally would. The main reason being: If I follow what others think is better, I’ve got to be smarter about how I follow. For I am not them. I can only sense what they want me to do as far as they give me. Seeing the trick is not enough, for it must be rewritten to have any consequence, or they will just use me for whatever purpose they deem fit, even if it goes against my ethics.
And besides, there’s a lot of competitive rubbish out there. People bringing others down, so they feel better. Making out that there is a need to do sht to fit in. Needing to stay awake so other people won’t feel embarrassed that they’re boring you: so drinking coffee (major cause of um “women’s problems”, changes the blood flow see, causing debilitating pain). Needing to drink alcohol and other drugs, because then there’s an excuse for being yourself. Needing a cigarette, because you really need a break from what you’re being forced into.
Where is the dancing/yoga break? Where is the I need an OJ fix? Where is the point where people can accept creativity and oddities as human nature, rather than as induced by drugs? Why do people make gods out of drugs? Where is the point where a psychiatrist would recommend art therapy or a better diet, over some forsaken drug that kills creativity and ability to stay positive and function without twitching and constantly needing to oversleep? Oh no not that, that would empower people, rather than crush them and make them humble.
Chemistry is all very interesting, but I don’t think it is the messiah. Not that I have another one for you either. That would be sabotage. Just this though: You are all those things you love. Appreciation varies from person to person. But anything that you like about yourself, you should attribute to yourself, not say that it was the drug that did it. Because all the drug did was poison your body, so your system had to go into safety mode, making you let go social boundaries, so that it could deal with the poison.
The minute we start believing that we’re ill and have to swallow a pill to get better, I’m thinking that’s just a fetter. If the leaf has a hole in it to stop it from being used in the wrong way, then there’s nothing wrong with that. And yet, it could just be perceived as useless. And seemingly useless things could be perceived as “psychotic”. When psychiatry finally becomes as redundant as phrenology, someone who still wants to mind-minimalise, will be perceived as psychotic. It’s all about the current kind way society sorts its sabotage. We’re still in the chemical age. Hope we can hurry up and get over its “nobility”.
Thought I’d give you some rantingly nice uncontained Friday night damage.

When Tinsycat first met Goldi

Beings: etiquette of guest greasing

(Yes, more Tinsycat & Goldi soon, I promise!)

Smothering

I'm allergic to most kinds of smothering. I think most people are. Can't go far when you're being gradually suffocated to death by cupcakes and honeypies.
I also have a tobacco allergy that means I swell up, can't sleep and I want to pluck up my eyeballs and scratch the sockets to get the itch away, when I've been exposed to a room full of puffers. (Is it the GM tobacco?) Anyhow, that generally means no parties. However, since June last year, I've been able to go out to pubs.

How did I first find I had this allergy? Four years ago when I was going to a poetry gig at The Dan O'Connel hotel, I drew a series of pictures in my sketchbook. Automatic doodling while I listened to the many brilliant poets on stage. Some of these pictures ended up being about the heavy smoke around me. My automatic pen knew what was going on before I realised why I was getting sick and had a talk to a GP. She said stay away from places with smoke. I insisted that I couldn't do that. So I got steroid nasel spray. It worked for a bit then na... besides steroids have problems of their own, even in small doses. (And I'm not talking about hairiness. That sort of thing doesn't bother me.)

Anyway, I got used to the idea of not socialising and made a really rough animation out of the automatic sketches.

Anomalies/ having problems with other's problems

IF they can sell their products to you, they want you… on a you buy us, we buy you basis. Then they can direct you: Oh no you can’t do this, you can’t do that – you can’t – should they want to make your choices seem less than theirs.

And following that agenda, I could apologise to the chair when I stub my toe on it. I’m not sure if the chair can hear me though, because it might be in hibernation mode, which means that it’s amorphous and has no sense of the nasty kick I accidentally gave it. Unlike my little pinkie toe that’s carrying on about its pain. Pinkie-toe is a hypochondriac. It’ll scream itself blue about how the pain is so unbearable it just wants to die and threatens me it’ll turn gangrenous if I don’t chop it off immediately… And then, I could chop my toe off. But, why would I want to do that?

Anomaly
Obscurity
Relativity
Greeting you and me
That’s when we start to see
And I get that part where I’m moving
To a grove that senses its own trove
Of test and treasure the best.
Obscure the big view
Butter the meaning through
And get to the point where
We’re eating the page
Which case studies its own rage.
For denizens are made of switched up sop
And it’s here they're about to drop.

Tinsycat & Goldi: Gaining sense

Kittens are generally curious. But they shouldn’t walk into a sleeping dragon’s mouth, unless they want their whiskers singed.