Propounded imbroglio, sub rosa.
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2004-11-08 - 2:36 p.m.
I feel I should start with an apology, for yet again failing to be consistent. BUT. Today is not a good day for me to write. I feel lonely, bored, pissed off. If only the sun would come out and be my friend. When I went to Wellington, my friends and me all danced around in our panties to Natasha Bedingfield. The reason we were all in our panties is because I had spilled sparkling white wine on both Karen's and Kirsten's jeans (at the same time) and they had to take them off and dry them by the fire. In a show of solidarity, everyone at the party got pants-less. The sun is not over the yard arm yet, but only because the stupid sun is not out. So that means I can have a beer though it is only 2.36 pm. Take that, world. I'm reading all my old favourite Salinger stories again - they help me to feel glorious in my absurd patheticness. I have been to lots of exhibitions lately. One of them was a Bonsai exhibition. It smelled nice. To view my latest offering, visit http://www.artbox.org.nz/everymanarembrandt.htm I apologise for being too lazy to make that into a link, and therefore this entry is cosily snuggled up between a parenthesis of apologies.
But wait! A latte later and I feel ever so much better. Not entirely better, because I still need to find a new house to live in and that's a situation that is worrying and boring. In my mind, it's an open space, above street level, very clean and with barely any amenities. There I'll live like a Sim, doing my dishes in the bathroom sink, feeling pleased when I look at a big potted plant, gaining creativity points when I do my work and getting happy when I take a shower.
Walking down London Street the other day we had a conversation about how flowers in art work are always read as being vaginas. I said to him, "But why? Why can't they be read as depressed, beautiful men who want to commit suicide?". That made him laugh and I was glad but I was being serious.
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