Opening for a movie

The character I am drafting had this to say in his most recent monologue as he washed up a green and an orange plastic bowl. (He stared feeling an ease and a fondness that the familiarity of his vista afforded him; the three adjacent car parking spaces and the little pathway leading to the block over the road in his condominium, the worn and familiar road markings and parking space numbers- their random order a beauty to him in itself)

Im am feeding them poorly. My children eat nothing but noodles and porridge at the moment. Not together, but alternating or sometimes sequential meals of nothing other than these two packet servings... but to more pressing matters- this certainly would not make much of a blog entry, though it is indeed the sort of entry that is both prolific and XXXXXXXXXX in the 2.0 at the moment- what I would write if I could remember it is far more worthwhile, more respectable and 'blogs of note-worthy'. It is you see, about a writer (or is it an artist) whose blog is read only by two people. He knows this because he has only ever told two people where to find it. The blog is not often read- if at all in fact- because the subject matter does not deviate from what is happening (creatively speaking) in the lives of his two friends- his blog features only contributions that his two friends have made creatively- one is a writer, the other a clown or a doctor Im not sure which (maybe one is a designer...) but all he writes about is what they have said to him adn shown him. Their latest trick, or painting, or discovery- he just writes it down as though its his blog- which it is- but its him writing the lives of others... so its difficult to say if it really is his blog or theirs. But this is not a clever post modern comic book style twist like the great comics I used to read and which fuelled my own creativity- no it would have to feature articles about doing nothing things- boiling eggs, brushing teeth- thinking about nothingish things whilst waiting for a bus- no it didnt have any of those fantasticly dynamic traits. No it had awful, dull, uninspiring rambles about this new minimalist outpouring or some nuance of complexity in an inane operation, that somehow called forth zen like echoes in its execution. Such things were useless or atleast uninteresting in 2.0, in blogs of noteland, in the peaceful parking spaces where I stare.

And the staring is worrying my character too. 10 minutes ago he was talking to someone. (I cant remember who) Then quite suddenly his focus had slipped, like some slab of gelatin off the side of a pork joint, and slopped to the floor. It was as worrying as slopping real gelatin on the floor would be to a real kitchen porter. It wasnt just his gaze that had slipped, but more his consciousness- his attentive focus had fallen away, like harrison ford falling through the floor and landing in a new and unknown antique world... and it was a comparable struggle to lift himself back into focus, into cognitive reality, from his gelatin-slopped, whip cracking muse. It was worrying that his mind should fall away uncontrollably at any given time. It would explain a lot, but it was no less worrying to be so.

Shanghai Zoo

Pop Starz (edited)

New Direction

The hundred flowers of your love...

Its a strange world in which my family lives. There is spit, and strange voices. Anger isnt really anger but there is often animosity or just plain fleecing. Nobody likes to have wool pulled over any part of their face- let alone the ears. Three wise primates, following red stars to bethlehem... and everywher else.

I dont think I am going to be anyone in politics, but I doo believe in the power of Pop. Pop will lead us forward, from temptation and deliver us from evil. The monkeys cannot decipher the pop. Pop is the message- until it eats itself

More proverbs

Green Lady

Read this the other day

Read an excerpt from a diary of some unknownon the internet the other day...

"So there was this situation where after discussing with a friend the merits of LSD they agreed that the fun, or interest in the hallucinagen waned once you managed to learn how to think on acid. It's not something that would conscienciously happen - it was just that as the brain got used to tripping it would manage to form the standard logical links in the brain that acid had so much fun mingling with - as if the brain learned the sleight of hand, learned the jokes and didnt find them funny any more. This happened after about a year of regular use, but it didnt mean his aspirations were shot... "I was determined that I would break through and manage to reach that 'other side' that I would be able to taste and touch and speak and sense utter loss- utter oblivion, where reality was unanimously engulfed in lysergic myth, unreality where logic, sense, familiarity, reality were all abolished in the swell of glorious abandon..." yet the quality of the acid that they were buying at the Pub was perhaps limited- indeed maybe the method of application (shop bought tabs at £5 a pop) would not sufficient for these purposes, irrespective of the cumulative quantities used.... He had already learned that consecutive dropping was useless- taking one at 8, one at 9, one at 10 was as bad as just taking one at 8 (more or less, as far as breaking through and understanding the daffoldils was concerned*)

* Ill explain in a bit

so tripple or quad dropping was required... or indeed keeping an ear out at the sussex for what might be the next big thing... purple stars, red dragons, purple dice.... these names took on mythical proportions as life seemed to suddenly revolve around just two things- GCSE's and acid...

One night at a party He came as close as he could remember to that hallowed ground of the other side... "I remember finding myself in the garden (well to be honest someone else found me in the garden...after looking for me for a few hours...). I was stooped over the flower beds, the daffs were in full bloom. When my friend pulled me inside, (much to my distress) they had to convince me that I could no longer stay in the garden as it was too cold and I may freeze... I protested so severely because (as I was later informed) "I was so close to understanding what they were saying- I could almost make out the words- they were speaking to me, and I knew what they were saying- but they were just out of audible range - {this may have explained the close proximity of my head to the petals and soil as my friend found me} - but however hard I tried I just could not hear them...."

He tried on several other occasions to understand them, he tried upping the dossage, tried intensifying the dose or the method of ingestion, but nothing worked. He found a new master- a new voice to tune into- it was a small "pet rock" that someone had at their house where we used to trip regularly... but the problem was the same. "Every time I got close, it seemed that the voice just became that little bit imperceptibly quieter... just tantalizingly out of range. A bit like when you look at the night sky, you see stars everywhere, then when you focus on a dull or remote star you cant see it- you can only see it in your peripheral vision..."

Not long after this he gave up. He had lasted much longer than any of my contemporaries in my quest for 'understanding'- wait- not understanding but just 'hearing' what was being said to him- but even he had to give up in the face of stiff competition from other drugs."

I include this story as a post only because it somehow shows a striking similarity with the creative challenges of my surrent situation, in as much as a search for the intangible or inaudible...

A Brief respite

No Pulp today - just pulpography.

inspired

just found out via my guardian football podcast of all places, that my constant inspiration have taken the inspired decision to release inRainbows without record label, and for a voluntary contribution, not any fixed price... beautiful...

Dear John

terry fit for tomorrow, though he's usually pretty sketchy when in an england shirt. watch the injuries mount up eh!
Im aching all over played again tonight - just indoor but it was a good laff. some boys take it so seriously though.... also did another painting - just some more pulp for the portfolio but at least it was another one of my Chinese proverbs series. Im still not happy with much that im producing at the mo, except the stuff that fits into a tiny little category of 'facial portraiture from contemporary fashion' which is a practically unsaleable market to put myself in but any deviation from this subject tends to get all muddy and unattractive. Also Im yet to put oil to canvas but I feel it coming on- am working with a group of homeless, teaching english...trying to suss who would make a good portrait subject... spending time and gaining a bit of trust but not there yet... want to take em all on a picnic to claridges or something and do a bit of a performance... hmm...

Pulp II (edited)

"Crows everywhere are equally black"

This is a piece I have been working on as part of a series of interpretations of chinese proverbs. Maybe Ill upload the finished image sometime but for now im enjoying the 2am tired camera shake version...

Pulp-

Sneek peak

Over the next few posts I will be 'previewing' some of the new work I have managed to sueeze out since arriving in Shanghai. Little or none has anything to do with the environment around me, nor is it a reflection of inspiration or experiences I have felt since arriving. It is however the first and necessary stage of the creative process, in which writers block is removed by gym-like pencil or brush exercise which stops one's brain from becoming addled.

There are shanghai projects in the pipeline, but like all projects actually worth doing, they are long term, involved and complicated to undertake- as such I have learned in my recent repatriations that it is foolish to try and rush into them... so for now I stick with the 'pulp' that I am planning to showcase in full when my website relaunches in, err, a little while...

Peoples Park, Central Shanghai

The beauty of the park is paralleled not only in the way the subject wishes to have his photo captured beneath the fine statue, as if some of the virtue, honesty and vitality of the monolith might rub off on him as their images are intertwined for eternity, but in the way that a nokia n82 is the method of choice for capturing this testament to the people and to the brave. Publish Post

Peoples Park, Central Shanghai