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December 2018

the other side

By | choosing between versions | No Comments

even though that’s supposedly sorted already. That’s what this blog is for.


So I will put up this gallery too. What’s going to be tricky is choosing, of course



sometimes creativity is closer to a curse

By | real fuckin' life | No Comments

I mean, I seem to complicate everything to the nth degree.

I set about yesterday to make a bookmark to get printed and send some to the new venture in Toledo, and some for general purpose publicity.

I ended up with a few variations, and now it’s time to try to choose between them.


three days in a row. I admit there’s not much actual content

By | real fuckin' life | No Comments

and that’s definitely a problem, but beggars can’t be choosers, as they always say.

So I will go with the post I scrawled this morning, sans editing again.

I did do a lot of other things today, but I know it was an inadequate day, just as usual.

anyway, this

so, the dogs

I am an accidental dog rescuer. I mean I rescued my first dog at five years old. Me!, not the dog.

The dog was an indeterminate age, but as she lived with us for twelve years from there… maybe she was five as well.

We called her Pebbles, as in Pebbles and Bam-Bam from the Flintstones, for anyone young enough to have missed even the later movie.

I didn’t so much as find her, as have her fall into my arms. She was dumped, is another way of putting it.

I lived in Oakey on the Darling Downs at that particular moment, and we had a lot of freedom then as kids. I mean it was really truly a different world.

I was playing on the edge of the highway, a la Pet Semetary, but this doesn’t go down that route.

We lived in the second to last house on the Toowoomba Highway, just inside the town border.

For a while there the world seemed big and empty to me.

This is where my first memories date from, and I usually can only try and temporally locate my memories by geolocating them. We lived in a different place every few years, at least until my high school years.

I had started my adventures on this planet even further from the centre, (although literally much closer to “The [red] Centre”), but a much bigger town, although I have no memories of it. I lived the first two years in one house in Mt. Isa and then the next two years in another.

I have no idea if they were near each other, whatever. I could ring my mum and ask but that would sidetrack the process too much.

And the writing is still secondary part of my thing, although the margin has narrowed a lot.

Once I am doing the visual work, I could call her up, if it’s not too late for her by then. There’s about nine hours of time difference between us.

I suppose at least my girlfriend is in the same timezone. That’s something. Although my friend in South Africa that I talk to on the phone is in the same time zone too, but may as well be a continent away.

Ok, so back to the story. But of course which.

I would rather continuing to describe the accidental dog rescuer part, because that’s where I might end up learning something. After all, if I am doing this, it is writing for learning. Otherwise I suppose I would work on the writing that needs to get done.

Later on I could talk about that for a bit.

And I am afraid, that even though I am completely conscious of the fact that writing is the same as drawing, it needs to be sketched out first, and then later worked over to make it sing. I am completely conscious of the fact that this writing is only a first start, it’s only trying to get back to the daily habit of doing so.

I never had a daily habit, I always resisted having same, but resistance is futile, and here I am. It really started when I was I was making my bid for steemit fame, before I looked behind the curtains at what was really there, and had to admit what I had seen.

Too much to go into here, but needless to say, there was no point going on as I was, and it certainly didn’t seem worth going on making less effort.

But all that being said, I have a need to get to the point where these several things are happening.

Well, the funny thing is, of course, this writing as therapy, this writing to try and justify myself to my self is not the writing that needs to get done. Same as yesterday’s work on the painting of Nina, wasn’t working towards the new thing, but rather the previous thing.

I am this, very flawed human being.

Very very flawed.

So, is it on me, the dog situation?

You can make the argument that it is, but I can counter with some pretty devastating facts and figures to show that only people who are not cursed with compassion can avoid it.

Which makes compromise difficult, because the enormous majority of people are not part of the solution, whether they themselves are part of the problem. The problem is a much smaller group of people, but still big enough to cause massive damage.

Help me get some solid resources behind me and and I will attack the problem, that much is sure.

Well, I have reached one thousand words, and I really feel like the (new) work is demanding my attention before the day gets away from me. When you wake as late as I do the day gets away pretty damn fast.

so, same time tomorrow.

here we are again

By | real fuckin' life | One Comment

somewhere someone softly weeps

not so strange

they play for keeps

are these the words of a song?

or cryptamnesia from hits on the bong

the sounds of the sirens softly rings

much too late I think these things.

I am sure some of these words

are not mine they are of those

New York guys in those sweaters

the one called garfunkel which is to me, a bloody strange name

simply Simon is not the same

I suppose that’s the key to the whole thing

makes us grab it and therefore…

the words trail off there are no more

This is not what I came to do, but then I think screw you

But I take that back of course

I am just being real, as time goes on I hope to heal

and these words are no big deal

I am sure soon enough I’ll have said much worse

My reader would be shocked

if they only understood

and won’t that would

it won’t it won’t it bloody won’t

even if by now it boody should.

and it was good, he looked around

and it was good

surveyed his handiwork, and it was good

Ok, so I have come in as part of the ongoing process. Trying to establish these habits, that are so talked of. Because I am out of time completely now. I have spent some time today talking to people, (four different people plus two text connections) and I have this internal battle, where I can recognise that I feel different, probably better, than I do on the average day where I only connect with one other person. (always the same person, but we are into a vicious cycle of not actually being very good for each other. I know I am not very good for her etc. Since she is the reader in question, well, she knows how I feel about this question.)

So don’t worry babe. It’s just me airing our dirty laundry.

I suppose I shouldn’t.

But it’s not personal.

She is the greatest girl. But she’s not here.

She’s there, a long way away, and that is not working already. It’s only been years. Like heaps.

But at the same time I have the very strong feeling of having not gotten very much done today. That feeling in one sense is false, but in another very real way, it is true. So I certainly didn’t get any writing done towards this new pile of writing that I am to build.

And I suppose I am making it plain, that as I get things under control, I am leaving myself a lot of work going back and editing out all the shit that I never should of said in the first place.

I think the correct English grammar is should have, but fuck English grammar, to the extent that I am going to let it change me from the ignorant country bumpkin that I purport to be.

On that note, the insane, unnatural stillness of the loungeroom/studio/office has to be getting near to the point of being considered a freak of nature.

All I have to do is something that seems like a finishing up action, of any description and the spell will be broken, as it is now well into the time of night that they call theirs.

And once that happens cleaning up and posting will be a real chore.

Be aware of how privileged you are reading my unedited brain regurgitations.

I really feel, from here at least, that that is the only way I could possibly add value.

So, although I reserve the right to change my mind, and change my plan, you will hear from me again

I will try hard to show, a little bit of all I know

what I think would add value.

In the end that’s up to you.

If you are just starting to try and imagine trying to transition as a (¡¿failed?!) artist to being a money making t-shirt designer well so am I. I hope you come along at some point in the future, when there is a bit of value already built up.

Or maybe you will follow along (mum) (only kidding, my mum’s not on the internet)

I am going to try and add value with this blog.

But that ain’t started yet.

Anyway, this is it for this second step in a row.

Non-post, and maybe it won’t be the last.

But I am going to go over it only once and publish. And I am not going to take out that personal stuff. Unless the shit hits the fan, but I doubt that.

It’s the only thing I am continuing to promise, as yesterday.

The truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth, to the extent allowed by law. And common decency, to an extent.

But if your idea of common decency doesn’t include the ability to say


many fucks were given

once in a while, maybe you won’t wanna follow along.

Yours truly

el bicho