a blip in the noise.

i think a week or so of 5.a.m. – 9a.m sleeping patterns has done me in. Now even before midnight i'm blanked out, staring uselessly at canvasses and screens, absorbing god knows what from the thousands of art pictures on my pregnant hard drive and trying to write but only succeeding in spasms (in the head) no reports out, no cross referencing scathing, analytically focused theorems. just a 'please lets sleep' thing going on within. ash wednesday lands. a year ago this was when i got told to leave the beach and refrain from doing the tarot work because of the fundies. God''s great sense of humor. so it's been almost a year as a nomad. about 14 months as an artist. 17 months as a wanderer. sure, there's still some cash in the wallet. through the trickery and consumer machine i can probably even afford an iphone. got debts for the imac but that's solvable. an hour's reading a month should cover it. i have less space in the room but a lot more paintings. a roof over my head, magic in the blood, food in the stomach, what's there to really complain? we storm on, building the dream. have a swig of coffee, smoke branded cigarettes and at some stage listen to the 'hey lets go to sleep now' mantra and heed its advice. new sun would do us some willful good. so goodnight. soon. look out for the moon. 

Posted via email from AFTERVOLTER PRESS

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