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Written on March 17, 2007, and categorized as Secret and Invisible.
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I’ve not been able to write much recently… how many blog posts start like that? Not Blog of Funk, which has managed a consistent 3.26 posts per week since June 2004, and that average doesn’t take into account the other blogs I’ve written along the way. Not that I am blowing my own prolific trumpet. I have on several occasions wondered why the hell I am still blogging… what pleasure do I still get from this activity, which once provided me with such reward?

I used to feel connected through blogging; to myself, as I checked into my journal, reviewing and remarking upon things present and past; to others, as reactions came in to something I had written. But as podcasting and blogging have become more central to work, the freedoms of expression and to simply be able to speak my mind and be myself have diminished, and these have been replaced by a growing sense of responsibility which runs counter to art, and to maintain verbal output comes to seem a necessity rather than a natural product of my interests and enquiries into the substance of life. Leaving it alone for a while is always an option.

With so much verbalism channeled elsewhere, and being on the go for many more hours of the day than usual because of what the purple people call exciting projects, time to blog like this is rare over the last couple of weeks. I fell asleep last night before 9pm, I was so physically tired from moving boxes and furniture. The move has been delayed, the new house is gone. I had to face facts: I am stuck here for at least three more months.

Disappointing as that may seem, it’s less stressful than being homeless or jobless. I had to get a load of stuff back out of storage and reassemble my living space. Things I thought would never return to the flat had to come back up the four flights of stairs. On the other hand, the hospital gave me good news: Come off the meds. They don’t think I need them anymore. So that’s good since the drug I was on can affect both liver and bone marrow, as well as put your white blood cell count down. Now, I’m to be off the meds for the next three months prior to a total re-assessment, it remains to be seen whether I’ll drift back up into hyper-thyroidism. If you see too many posts written at this time in the morning, then that’s probably a sign that I need re-adjusting again, like an old clock.

GGF has taken all this hectic activity in her stride, in fact, considering she’s a middle class girl with a tendency to avoid strenuous work, she actually seemed quite impressed that I was able to shift so much clutter and move beds, tables, chests of drawers etc. unaided. I didn’t want to seem churlish, reminding her that despite my medium build, advanced age, sensitive hands and artistic tendencies, I have been physically active and fit for the last two decades. I kind of wished that events hadn’t made me demonstrate my physical stamina not just once but twice within the same month.

I’ll never never make decent builder, because, like my dear sweetheart, I also love to watch other people work; and I was a lazy sculptor, preferring temporary solutions always, video screens and lighting effects to mighty iron or stone monoliths with their great lumpen illusion of permanence. But, give me brushes and put me in front of some decent paper, a canvas, a fresco wall, the roof of the sistine chapel, and I’m your man.

Which brings me to my next project – I am going to paint the second half of a painting. This is the result of having recently retrieved a large, empty canvas as a result of all this pre-moving boxing up of things, and in a spontaneous gesture of inspired community spirit, passed it to my artist friend Loose Mutton and urged her to paint the first half. How this “half” will be distributed across the canvas, I have no idea, but I am pledged to finish the painting as she has started it.

It’s about this big.

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This thing has 3 Comments

  1. Indigobusiness
    Posted 17 March, 2007 at 1:25 pm | Permalink

    How is it the shadowplay in that picture parallels the edges of the canvases? Must be a picture of a painting?

    And who is Norman Lundin, and does he really not know how to spell London?

    By the way: Everyone knows hyperthyroidism is machofying, but take it easy…for crying out loud…you’re disturbing my great lumpen illusion of impermanence.

  2. Laurie
    Posted 17 March, 2007 at 5:30 pm | Permalink

    Glad they took you off those meds! Happy St. Patrick’s Day!!

  3. {illyria}
    Posted 24 March, 2007 at 5:08 am | Permalink

    finally, a post that describes the general state of affairs in the blogging world. thanks for that.

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