quietly messing about with video tools while exploring the depths of how Star Wars has ruined / greatly enriched my life. if you know, you know.
a processed and layered and trashed scene from Lost River by Ryan Gosling featuring Ben Mendelsohn (and Christina Hendricks!) paired with F**kin’ Problems by A$AP Rocky- as the good lord intended. (you so very are welcome.)
under the pixel trash you can see Mr. Once-a-dancer-always-a-dancer, Mads Mikkelsen killing it in Druk by Thomas Vinterberg paired with a dance challenge version of Bitch Better Have My Money by Rihanna (may Mads always be Riri’s bitch) and ambient techno layers resulting in this sloppy drunken travesty.
voice: a Ewan McGregor sound clip stolen from his reading of The Little Matchstick Girl. (this is the line in the story that guts me most every time.)
You know you are in tune with something in the universe when- on a whim- you call your new journal book for the year Lilac Viper and then see that lilacs are featured in a new (but not so great) Nosferatu movie that keeps making itself known in my social media feeds.
I connect. It connects…
And that is neat, but pointless- The point has shifted to a line that connects, you see –
A line scribbled by the non-dominant hand of a three year old ~
~ The child is uncomfortable~
It’s fire season in SoCal.
David Lynch is dead.
My human (partner) continues to paint and paint (NOW IN COLOR!) and hopes a broader population will do more than stand back and gawp the work-
While we both internally scream:
BUY THE WORK.
BUY IT.
IF YOU LIKE IT, THEN BUY IT.
How hard is this?! FFS, guys…
BUY THE ART.
And neither of us are greedy for a life of excesses. We aren’t anywhere near that sort of existence!
We are in need.
Is that clear enough? Is the word need confusing?
One sale less than every third blue moon doesn’t make it exactly easy to live on this planet within these ridiculous human constructs you like to wrap yourselves in.
Work, work, positive press, and praise- yet!- for example-:
When can I live in a proper house?
Am I not a delicate modern humanoid who could benefit from having a reasonable place to call home… and not be in debt for it?
I am already so uncomfortable in my body and I can’t even have a comfortable place to rest myself?
I am doing to be dead before I ever know the comfort of a my own proper living space?
“But Ther-,” a voice says,
“You are being overly dramatic. Any one else could ‘get by’ just fine. Suck it up. Quit complaining and take on another two or three jobs. Never mind that you have been grappling (suicidal) with mental and physical health issues for six sparkling years… Surely, you can ignore all the distress you are in and put yourself out there more. Work harder. That will fix everything.”
And I can hear an ever crueler translation of that voice say,
“You aren’t worth the effort. You aren’t worth anything. You are a mere nice thing so just shut up; bend over again and be taken for the nothing you are.”
Yes, I do hear such dark things in my head.
So this is my call to action:
Prove the voices wrong.
Take action.
Buy art. All the art.
Support artists.
You who have means, show me with swift and useful actions that you know how to stave off the dark.
I am not sure what to write about this month anymore. I considered writing about making art no one wants, or dermatillomania- or more about trying to openly obsess over fictional characters- or quite real humans….
Then I find out my father has taken ill and had to go to the hospital to get sorted out. I’m confused by the whole matter more than scared or worried. I don’t have enough information to be worried. And I don’t want to get angry for not having enough information either. When other people have enough information and the wherewithal to tell me, they will do so. If they don’t, then I can get angry, perhaps. Because it’s not like there is anything I can do to help. I’m on the other side of the continent. Unless my dad wants to do some medical tourism, I don’t know how I could be of service.
I don’t know what the best thing for me to do is.
At all.
Ever.
I’m not ending this year on a down note. Not really. It’s just a very blue note. The song needs to keep going for any of this to make sense… or not… everything is like free jazz around here.
