Art is not what you see, but what you make others see.– Edgar Degas
Been in Beijing the past four days, and Thailand for the next four. Lucian Freud, one of the greatest British painters of all time and son of Sigmund Freud, died on the 20th of July, the same day I visited his exhibition in 798 (fuck, did I kill him by accident?!) Also mourning the passing of Amy Winehouse, who had a truly remarkable talent whatever I thought about her music or personal habits,...
I, the escapist. You, the _____?
I’m not very good at dealing with reality. When things get too hard, or even when things are easy, I escape to my dreams, my thoughts, my delusions. I find myself incapable of dealing with this grief that arises out of over-thinking, remembering, possessed by a killer nostalgia that hurts my heart. I speak about my dog’s death quite plainly and calmly because it hasn’t truly...
sometimes grief can't be expressed.
My dog passed away in the early morning, about an hour or so ago at 4:00 AM. My mother was inconsolable. She seemed only to be asleep; why won’t she wake up? It is easy to stifle your grief until you remember all your happy and now bitter memories of her. I will be surprised if I can even see anything in the morning. At the moment, I am numb. The men of the house are sleeping on the sofas,...
do you subscribe to the monster theory?
Ever since I was a toddler, like way back, y’know, when Pluto was still a planet, I’ve subconsciously structured everything I do according to the monster theory. What is the monster theory, you ask? It basically consists of always making sure you are in the middle of two other people, be it sitting in class, waiting in line or flailing your arms in a haunted house. That way, if a...
Just a major pet peeve: teenagers, stop referring to yourselves as writers and artists. You can write, you can draw. But until you earn genuine money through your talents as an actual profession, you have no right to label yourself with such a title and you simply sound extremely pretentious, especially when your “art” and “photography” is just half-arsed amateurish work -...
Everybody has a secret world inside of them. All of the people of the world, I...– A Game of You, Neil Gaiman
Comptine d’un autre été, Yann Tiersen
And sometimes I row out to the grey lake and watch the Watcher watch. It is times like these that I tremble and the Weirdness stirs at the back of my mind and yawns a little, swallowing me whole and it is times like these that I wonder who I am. Again. And that little voice at the back of my mind, maybe me or her or the Other, the Weirdness, it says to me, you are what you are. But what is the me...
Boy, why are you crying?– Peter Pan, J.M. Barrie
Life is a disease: sexually transmitted, and invariably fatal.– Neil Gaiman
Humans were made to be lonely.
Bluemoonfox — The earth wasn’t put here to nourish human loneliness, humans evolved into sentient beings who became lonely, and began to expect the earth to do something about it, rather than do it themselves. Hence: humans were made to be lonely. That’s very true; thanks for the insightful comment on a wistful but rather illogical quote. Human beings are very lonely creatures, often...
The Merry-Go-Round-of-Life, Howl’s Moving...
Why do people have to be this lonely? What’s the point of it all? Millions...– Sputnik Sweetheart — Haruki Murakami
Rimbaud: I found it.
Rimbaud: Eternity. It is the sun mingled with the sea.
the classical sex
There’s this creative piece I’ve been writing about sex (gender) and androgyny, like I often like to do (check out also Nowhere Man and Dorian on the side bar for more short stories dealing with the question of identity and gender), but I can’t really figure out where it’s going, and how to end it. It deals with gender identity specifically in the East, in China, where...