Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Why I'm just ashamed and saddened. Why you can't help thinking you're going to die in these sort of situations.

It's really not good enough, I mean, is it? Really?

The baby Jesus & his mum, yesteryear->>>

That last blog *post*. And I use the term *post* between co-dependant starry *things* for no real reason. Becoz that's wot u do round here, right? But, I mean, who do I think I am? What am I on about? Art, was it? Art? I know more about farts than I do about arts. Honestly. 'Onest Onions on the table here. Listen: here is a nutshell guide to my art criticism style:
  • That running about art thing at Tate Britain: funny. Bit odd. Not sure. I do like watching running, so I am biased.
  • This new Frannie Bacon art show thing at Tate Britain: ooooh. Bit gruesome. Body bits n that. Bloody paint n weirdy body parts n wrestly men. Mmmmm. Put me off my dinner a bit. Not my scene really. Bowls of fruit n naked Spanish lookin ladies, ever thought of doin a picture of them, Francis Bakon? Or a lovely image of da baby Jesus? Hmmm. Dead are you? O.
  • Tate Liverpool. Do we really have to go? O, if you insist. I'll promise to look interested, can we go and have a photo taken next to a Beatles statuey thing after? Can we? Can we get pizza. O, art. Yeh. Errr. Who is it again? Klimt? Isn't that an intimate lady body part? No. Flowery ladies. Yeh, that's more my style. Give it too me. Just, y'know. Just a couple. A little dull, really...
No. Rubbish.

I hereby resign from *art* criticism. I like it all - a tiny bit or a quite big bit. Or else I don't. That's it. That's that. No more. No idea. No cleverness. I'd
be better off going back to the old *blog* staples.

<---A nice painting included as an *example* for modern art artists to have a copy of, if they's ever passin by these ways. !!!NOTE!!! It is a COMPLETE co-incidence that this is another breast feedy picture & not an indication of any fetishy obsessiveness. Ok?

What I will have to *post* about instead: the 5 core *Blog* topic staples
  1. My life. I had soup for tea! Burnt lots of toast! Flames coming out of the grill! Got distracted looking at the floorboards in a nearby room!!! Set the fire alarm off. The house stinks of burningness. Hilarious!!! True!!! [smiley face thingy - put it in later]
  2. Politiks. Serious shouty violent hatred talk [unhappy face emotion: note search on wiki for suitable ascii dobber]
  3. Reviews. Opinions. Advice. Recipes. My individual knowledge distilled and spilled out everywhere for probably loads of people to take notice of. And thus love and admire me. [ambivalent smiley face - a bit like this ;0/ - but better]
  4. Lists like this. But more interesting. Best of stuff. Damn, what else do people do? People that don't actually have a great deal of specialist knowledge or useful stuff to impart?
  5. Struggling. Honesty. That's the thing. No flippancy. Just honest *salt of the earth*ness.
So it leaves me with *MY SO CALLED LIFE*

Yes, it's a toss up between reviewing old telly shows (starring Jennifer Love Hewitt & Neve Campbell) that haven't been on in a gazillion years, or talking truthfully about the excitement that is my existence on this earth.

See, as a for instance I said in the shamefully inaccurate previous *post* that I had been running in London in the recent past.

Not true.

I have been to London. I have been running. But not both at the same time, for a while. Since my recent operation. See that's the thing. I've mainly been sitting down and lying down asleep a lot recently. All a bit dull.

So here's the thing about operations and death... No. No. No.

God, the other thing is, my *posts* are so chuffin long. What am I doin? I could be watching Reaper or How Not To Live Your Life or Scott Baio Is 4o & Single. I need to keep it personal. I need to have something interesting to say. I need to include more photos of breastfeeding. Or Spanish looking ladies.

I need to do all this, all of the time. But next time definitely.

What? 15 *posts* in and another nervous breakdown? A midblog crisis?

I was gonna say something about when you're having an operation - you sort of think you're gonna die. A teeny bit. Just in case you might be right and do actually die. Coz you'll need to prepare. Think about what you're gonna say to God/the Devil/the worms. You tidy up a bit. All your stuff. Put things in perspective etc, before you *go*.

Then you wake up gibbering rubbish at a bored nurse & you're BACK IN THE WORLD!!! Where were you for an hour? Not much happened really. O, yeh, to you it did. To the world: not. You've got bits of stitches etc.

Question: what is the single worst thing that anyone can say to you? [after *we need to talk* & you're going to die/someone else is going to die/when I press this button nucleur war will commence. After those things.]

For me, it's the moment when the doctor is sat on the end of the hospital bed and he's explaining how he's going to stick wires in your [body part] and leave them there.
- How long for? During the operation?
- Err, no. Afterwards as well.
- For days? Weeks?
- More like months...
- A wire. Stuck in my [body part]?
[And then some other things as to what the wire thing will do and why it is needed. How it, yes, well, yes, it will hurt. Deal with it, boy, etc. Ouch.]

That right there is why they don't let you eat for 12 hours before. So you don't go chuckin your guts up at that point. Blimey. My [body part] and wires stuck up. They wouldn't even do that to you in Soho - unless you paid them really loads...

So. I'm not gonna go on about that. Keep it short, stupid. Don't try n be clever either. No more art. Normal topics.
  • Why cockroaches something something my house. Mice, slugs, my food etc.
  • Why the colour white something New Kids On The Block something disgrace.
  • Why the film *Leatherheads* that I have just watched on dvd is about 2 hours too long. I mean, really, it's longer than your gran's nightgown.
  • Why Sarah Palin is nude bla bla on occasion probably when sunbathing under the golden sun or when she's having a shower bla bla. Jokes about famous people, see. Ha her ha .................... [insert here: smiley of a face during onset of v. bad bout of angina]
  • Why the previous line was put in purely to bring in some internet *traffic*. As was the photo of JLH. Clearly. Apologies to my imaginary reader. She don't like flippancy.
  • Why those photo searchers are never gonna read these words anyway. And boy are they not really missing out!
All of those things NEXT time. Especially the first two, coming soon. Unless I have some much betterer ideas in the mean *time*...

1 comment:

  1. flippancy's good, but the rest makes good reading :-)