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I'm off to be an artist tonight. Ha ha ha. Yes. My work is about community and sanctuary and faith and echoes and the traces humanity leaves behind it. Oh yes. Just in case you were wondering.
In other news, I would like to recommend these two viewing experiences:
Peter Kay Live at the Top of the Tower. If you're British and grew up in the Eighties, you'll recognise absolutely everything. If you're not and you didn't, you'll just laugh, because it's bloody funny. Could also be useful for anyone looking for a guide to English (particularly Northern English) slang, speech rhythms and general stuff.
Chuck and Buck. This is an extremely creepy, beautiful, heartbreakingly sad, and 'am I really supposed to be laughing at this' funny film, from the writer and director of The Good Girl.
And now, in the interests of procrastination and general wankery, I bring you:
The first thing he noticed was that he was experiencing the world through a localised spot in his right temple. The second thing he noticed was that what he was experiencing was pain.
**
He drifts in and out of consciousness and dreams about dancing the hornpipe on Adams' grave. Yeah, he likes that - Andrew the Scotch git pushing up the daisies and William stamping him in, make sure he was buried right and proper. Or, no - not a hornpipe, but the Highland Fling! Nice and appropriate that would be.
**
Strewn around him on the bed, the evidence of his lust winked up at him from eighteen shiny plastic cases. That was the Virgin Megastore taken care of then.
**
"For Legolas was the twattiest of the Elves, and he did... twat about Rivendell, like... a twat."
**
When he was twenty-five, his life had seemed to float on an endless tide of humanity that ebbed and flowed and carried him to where he wanted to be. It worried him sometimes - this fluid nature of people. They slipped like water through his fingers.
**
Once, he'd explained the entire plot of Get Carter to a canary.
**
The smell of fabric, of silk and wool and cotton and lace, of underwear and outerwear and wear you wore in between the underwear and outerwear, and pointless frilly things he wished he didn't know quite so much about, rolled up to him in a heavy, nauseating tide as he stepped over the threshold.
**
It may be be fifty-seven years before his birth, but he was still a middle-aged man, and by the time the 1920s rolled around, he didn't imagine he'd make much of a matinee idol.
**
"Ooh, you're a sexy bit of wickerwork. If it weren't for the missing body parts, my dear, you could be quite attractive."
**
He scans the landscape again for waiters, but they have all gone to ground. Bastards. He feels like Wile-e-Coyote going after a whole bunch of Roadrunners in dinner jackets and bow ties. There's Sean, talking to Ian. Sean has a drink. Sean has chapagne! Obviously, Billy needs to get hold of Ian, since he seems to have some kind of power over the waiters.
**
By some hideous quirk of fate, the only channel he can get clearly is Channel 5, which appears to be in the throes of some kind of Molly Ringwald season.
**
Right now, Billy wants nice bland conversation, preferably with someone's grandma, and nice bland food, with no mysterious red bits in. But most of all, he really, really, really wants a drink.
**
I feel the white world in me. Sometimes. Sometimes it's as though all of it has crept inside me and begun to dance.
**
Back in the early Eighties, Dom's mum would occasionally set fire to her hair with the curling tongs.
**
Now, I must get to the shops before they close, or I'm in danger of suddenly starving to death, mid-week.
In other news, I would like to recommend these two viewing experiences:
Peter Kay Live at the Top of the Tower. If you're British and grew up in the Eighties, you'll recognise absolutely everything. If you're not and you didn't, you'll just laugh, because it's bloody funny. Could also be useful for anyone looking for a guide to English (particularly Northern English) slang, speech rhythms and general stuff.
Chuck and Buck. This is an extremely creepy, beautiful, heartbreakingly sad, and 'am I really supposed to be laughing at this' funny film, from the writer and director of The Good Girl.
And now, in the interests of procrastination and general wankery, I bring you:
The first thing he noticed was that he was experiencing the world through a localised spot in his right temple. The second thing he noticed was that what he was experiencing was pain.
**
He drifts in and out of consciousness and dreams about dancing the hornpipe on Adams' grave. Yeah, he likes that - Andrew the Scotch git pushing up the daisies and William stamping him in, make sure he was buried right and proper. Or, no - not a hornpipe, but the Highland Fling! Nice and appropriate that would be.
**
Strewn around him on the bed, the evidence of his lust winked up at him from eighteen shiny plastic cases. That was the Virgin Megastore taken care of then.
**
"For Legolas was the twattiest of the Elves, and he did... twat about Rivendell, like... a twat."
**
When he was twenty-five, his life had seemed to float on an endless tide of humanity that ebbed and flowed and carried him to where he wanted to be. It worried him sometimes - this fluid nature of people. They slipped like water through his fingers.
**
Once, he'd explained the entire plot of Get Carter to a canary.
**
The smell of fabric, of silk and wool and cotton and lace, of underwear and outerwear and wear you wore in between the underwear and outerwear, and pointless frilly things he wished he didn't know quite so much about, rolled up to him in a heavy, nauseating tide as he stepped over the threshold.
**
It may be be fifty-seven years before his birth, but he was still a middle-aged man, and by the time the 1920s rolled around, he didn't imagine he'd make much of a matinee idol.
**
"Ooh, you're a sexy bit of wickerwork. If it weren't for the missing body parts, my dear, you could be quite attractive."
**
He scans the landscape again for waiters, but they have all gone to ground. Bastards. He feels like Wile-e-Coyote going after a whole bunch of Roadrunners in dinner jackets and bow ties. There's Sean, talking to Ian. Sean has a drink. Sean has chapagne! Obviously, Billy needs to get hold of Ian, since he seems to have some kind of power over the waiters.
**
By some hideous quirk of fate, the only channel he can get clearly is Channel 5, which appears to be in the throes of some kind of Molly Ringwald season.
**
Right now, Billy wants nice bland conversation, preferably with someone's grandma, and nice bland food, with no mysterious red bits in. But most of all, he really, really, really wants a drink.
**
I feel the white world in me. Sometimes. Sometimes it's as though all of it has crept inside me and begun to dance.
**
Back in the early Eighties, Dom's mum would occasionally set fire to her hair with the curling tongs.
**
Now, I must get to the shops before they close, or I'm in danger of suddenly starving to death, mid-week.
Switch us that big light on!
IT'S SPITTING!!
:)
xx
Re: Switch us that big light on!
Re: Switch us that big light on!
Re: Switch us that big light on!
(no subject)
Invidious selection of examples -
In the first category: "For Legolas was the twattiest of the Elves, and he did... twat about Rivendell, like... a twat." - howls of laughter and cat being very snooty and disdainful - I wonder if in another life she was Legolas' cat?
In the latter category: By some hideous quirk of fate, the only channel he can get clearly is Channel 5, which appears to be in the throes of some kind of Molly Ringwald season. - course, that in its own way is every bit as funny, but damnit it's pared down perfection and I salute you.
:)
(no subject)
*gives you cakes*
howls of laughter and cat being very snooty and disdainful - I wonder if in another life she was Legolas' cat?
You know what I think? All that stuff about going into the West, and all that? Rubbish. They all just turned into cats.
(no subject)
You bring me such joy, Shel; I love what comes from your mind onto the page.
The Legs one and the Get Carter...lol intensely...
When he was twenty-five, his life had seemed to float on an endless tide of humanity that ebbed and flowed and carried him to where he wanted to be. It worried him sometimes - this fluid nature of people. They slipped like water through his fingers.
This one is just brilliant, plain and simple.
(no subject)
I Am Nonymous.
Strewn around him on the bed, the evidence of his lust winked up at him from eighteen shiny plastic cases. That was the Virgin Megastore taken care of then.
and
"For Legolas was the twattiest of the Elves, and he did... twat about Rivendell, like... a twat."
are just so excellently funny.
This one:
When he was twenty-five, his life had seemed to float on an endless tide of humanity that ebbed and flowed and carried him to where he wanted to be. It worried him sometimes - this fluid nature of people. They slipped like water through his fingers.
was simply beautiful and kind of describes...well, me really.
And this:
Once, he'd explained the entire plot of Get Carter to a canary.
Substitute Jonathan Creek for Get Carter and a guineapig (Lily probably, she likes that sort of thing) for the canary and, whoa yesss, it's me again. Highly amusing.
Erm...maybe you should indulge more in the written arts now that you have expressed doubts over the visual, although you may like to know that the Boyfriend and I talked about your work afterwards about what it meant, how we felt, etc which I would say is a pretty good thing because it made us think when we went away.
Well, today's the last day of my holiday before going back to work and there is furniture to shift, washing to do, guineapigs to be mucked out and chatted with, CD racks to build and one more brown wall to finish off so that it stops looking like an H-Block dirty protest and becomes the rich brown expanse it's supposed to be.
Cheerio!
Re: I Am Nonymous.
Thanks, Nonymous, and thanks for coming, I really did appreciate it. :)
Hope your walls, guinea pigs and CD racks are all going well.
(no subject)
(no subject)
But anyway, when I was doing it, I basically made stuff, out of... stuff... and then put it somewhere. And then sometimes people came to see it. And sometimes they didn't.
(no subject)
If I aks really nicely, would you condescend to bore me?
And what stuff? Out of what stuff?
Re:
(no subject)