Mar 02, 2012 01:08
But for now, my life sort of has been going like this:
Art art art / art art art / Imaginary-Real-Detective / kitchen wenching/
social failure - don’t tell ‘normal’ people you like insanity and TB, they don’t get it/
TIRED / art art art / FUCK no money I’m so up the creek I can’t even care /
February 29th - the day girls traditionally prepose - heh - I’m owed a ring /
invited to Hockney exhebition and lunch, try to refuse, told am going /
real-imaginary-detective has real-imaginary-consequences and perfectly coherent story/
Hockney - sort of like Vincent’s less talented little brother/
Raven in almost managing social polite coherent intellectual conversation shocker/
TIRED to point of brain death / Must sleep so there can be more 'art art art'...
I think I want to werble about coincidence and stories. About investing enough thought and time or belief in something it becomes animate. About how monsters are real when you’re little. About how I believe lots of things in general, but I need a spark to make them true….
But I’m stupidly tired. So an essay on the veracity and reality of Imaginary/Real things will have to wait ‘til I have more than one conscious brain cell.
Dreams, faffing, incoherence and fondness,
Corvid
x
update,
neurons