Hall of Mirrors & Blog Posts


I took these creepy, funny mirror pictures for a particular something recently and I feel like they're a perfect representation of a bunch of things right now. I love the warped, distorted shapes made by the strangely shaped mirror, and the marks and scratches all over it that create a kind of complex grain, made over time. You can even see that part of the mirror is broken. And beyond that, the lights creating little halos and leaks, and the sort of dull-yet-saturated colours of these images, all combine to make the perfectly weird, perfectly incidental strangeness.

They're me but not in any direct sense. They're not an accurate representation in terms of real shapes, but somehow they feel so close to me. They feel like they're a very real representation of me. Who is this warping, pink in the dark sort of person? There's something happy about them.

It kinda represents a lot of how I feel. How things are and how I like to talk and make things. Everything's strange and wild, wacky and sudden. A light bulb swinging back and forth. It's like this blog too, or what I want to do with it at least. I like posting a bunch of paintings and talking about them, and I like posting wishlists of dresses or Pompompurin merch I've been looking at, but more and more I like this place as a rambling spot. A place to put nonsensical collages of pictures, streams of consciousness, and diary entries.

It's weird, this is the place I write the most long form content, but it's also almost the most secretive place, in that it's not read that much and it's such a jumble. An endless online memento box. And I like most when I look back on things and it feels that way. I like the open-ended endlessness of it. I can just write about anything, upload a poorly lit mirror selfie, and I'm done.

And it makes so much sense to have this be some place I can go to stream my thoughts out through keyboard presses. A little cave where nothing matters. I could just post 7 cute pictures of Paul Anka accompanied by my assessment of some cheesecake. And that's sort of the beauty of it. That warping and moving of everything. Visually, and in your thoughts, that's the most beautiful thing somehow. That everything is twisting and turning and shimmering and dimming all the time.

Also, yes I have been listening to Paul Anka today. But not eating cheesecake. That'll come later.


Fallen Sail / Cloud of Bats

Why does that odd little feeling come around every so often like a less popular cheese on a Lazy Susan? That feeling of missing something. That feeling that there's something I should be doing, or that maybe I'm stuck underneath a huge fallen sail, right in the middle of the fabric which has fallen down around me. I don't really know what it is. It's less than a worry, but it's like a nonsensical stress dream. Those I have sometimes where something silly happens, something that would never happen and that doesn't matter even, but my sleep brain takes it too seriously and I wake up with my brow the most furrowed that a brow can be.

It's like blasting open the belfry doors and letting the bats fly out in a screeching rush. Where are they going? I don't know. They're just going out to fly. They don't have any directions in mind, just screeching and flapping in the night. But really, any feeling can be like that. I suppose you just have to throw your hands to the sky and urge bats to stretch their wings. I guess that's it. But how strange. When did we get bats?


I wish I could have bats for real. Not streaming from opened windows in the side of my head, but a big flappy family near the church who are ready to taste some fruits.

I feel as if everything is happening, but also that nothing is happening. There's some kind of disconnect, like the delay and echo of an international phone call playing to cathedral walls somewhere. I've filmed some things in the woods recently, and it's nice taking the long walk there and back. It's nice being out there in the changing trees and the increasingly cold woodland. I saw a green bird land in a tree above me, maybe a parakeet, and I did this face (:-o).


It's been really great to film some stuff outside and I definitely think it is good, and also daylight is truly the most flattering possible, which is helpful. And there's so much space outside? Wow, who knew? But now that it's extremely almost winter time I think I'll have to avoid being in the woods for a while. It's so cold, I've gotta balance my camera on a tree, and I'm gonna get leaves and possibly bugs in my hair. So you know, all in moderation. But I love the wider scope of footage and nice shots I can get somewhere outside. It's just a shame that filming outside means navigating some way around... other people (who might see me - unthinkable).

But my hands turning red in the cold does something to that feeling. That strange fallen sail, cloud of bats feeling.

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A serene landscape stretches out below, as far as the eye can see. That's weird. There are floating hearts everywhere. Seems like they're coming towards you. This is fine.


Here are some lazy paintings. I think my brain had turned on its screensaver when I made these. That's the best way to do anything creative though, sometimes. Just switch your whole brain off. Throw it away. You don't need it.


I'm slowly progressing through a few journals, and I think one of them is getting pretty near to being full now, which is exciting. Ah, the endless cycle. I love finishing a journal, it's such a good feeling. Then you throw it from a helicopter, as is tradition. Safe and fun!


But until then, a mountain of paint shall lie before me, like the piles of gold from the cave of wonders in Aladdin. That's my life but with tubes of paint piled high. I'm sitting amongst them and cackling at all times.

Stargazers


Oh what's that? Some bunnies? Surveying planets and standing in fields? Yes. Well, those are the greatest activities, really. We all know it. Stand amongst the flowers, catch a star in your hand. You may as well.


The planets keep turning, and the flowers keep blooming, and the stars keep shining. So I suppose they'll watch forever.


Meet Me Here


Here are the pink things. The rusting, dusty windowsills and the faded flowers. The blood sitting close to the skin of your cheeks. An eyelash sitting there like a cow in a field, reclining. The old papers stuffed haphazardly into a file, and the stickers partially worn away, pieces of glitter and a decade still casting a tiny glimmer across the shelf.

Here are the things that provoke some feeling like happiness, but pressed into a clear plastic folder, taped into a diary. A note. A memo. A gentle question not heard. A question hidden underneath a layer of sand. And the grains that cling to a wet foot go to strange places, just like you. They can't come back. But would you want them to?


It's just you, and the ocean, and a cloud of worry. And me, by the window, rain tumbling and flowers growing thick in the cracks of the brick. Weeds climbing the walls. Fog on my glasses. A condensation that you feel in your chest, like a healthy dog's nose nestled somewhere in there.

Come someday, quickly and at night, like a fox under the stars. They'll be there. They remember. Their sparkles a beacon beckoning us, we'll meet there and trace veins with fire, knuckles with new cold. Blood and blue. Me and you.


Blob Recommendations


I'm pretty sure this cat is acting out the "alas, poor Yorick!" scene from Hamlet with a star. Just a normal Friday night activity. You float into the sky and perform some Shakespeare. Good fun. She's a terrible actor, but it's okay. She's having fun.


Here's a bunny, surrounded by blobs. Mysterious, possibly glowing, the blobs seem to make good friends. Make friends with a blob, that's what I always say.


Blobs all around. They're everywhere. They're so reliable. I recommend them.


Blobs & Black Holes


Check out these super blobby paintings. One day, long after being painted, all of my paintings become one huge blob. That's my prediction for the future, and also a horror movie I'm making. It'll be beautiful, haunting, terrifying.


But truly, I love the watery, blobby feel. It's free, it's unpredictable, it's strange and wild. Just like me when I get my hands on some Amaretto.


Here's a dog looking curiously into a black hole. The dog's name is Carl Sagan.


Here's a serene cat. Love emanates from her. Pretty nice.


And here are two friends having a nice time. Good for them. Good for everyone. Please clap.