I haven’t really been up to a lot the past few days that is worth writing / reading about. I am in the process of repainting the inside of the house I live in so that I can bear to continue living in it for a while. I spent yesterday emptying furniture from one end of my living area and piling it up where I could at the other end – I live in an 1860’s worker’s cottage in inner Sydney, it’s 3.10m wide by 11m long with a triangular bedroom in the roof cavity and an outdoor toilet (yes still in this day and age). In my world space is a valuable commodity.
Anyway I’m having my coffee this morning before finishing the taping and starting with whole cutting in then painting process for the day and thought I haven’t posted anything for sometime. So here is a journal entry that I wrote in 2000 that I still quite like, I have changed the name of the person – just in case.
10th May 2000
You know those profound moments you have occasionally when the proverbial penny drops. Somewhere in the back of your mind a huge spotlight, like the ones they use to light up a football field, switches on and catches one of those brilliant ideas that you concocted and exposes it in all of its naked glory. The funny thing is that that spotlight has the same effect on that thought as does waking up sober next to the thing that did look human, last night after the “I lost count” schooner. It’s ugly. Suddenly you can see every design floor in it, every hairy, scary bit, all the extra folds and the grime behind its ears. Problem is you set that brilliant idea into motion and you’re going to have a fucking hard time stopping the bastard now.
Well recently I had one of those beautifully profound moments. ‘Living with Kathleen’! Now I feel like I’m caught under that spotlight with that brilliant idea that I concocted, that would be living with Kathleen, and coming face to face with it in a boxing ring. The problem is that ‘Living with Kathleen’ doesn’t have a problem with striking below the belt. You see Living with Kathleen never did sober up the next morning or the one after or even the one after that. So she has the benefit of irrationality without the sober brain asking “What the fuck is that?” the next morning. Whereas I on the other hand have the lovely down to earth, practical and at times slightly capitalistic but very sober morals instilled in me from birth by my well-meaning parents. Don’t get me wrong I love my parents to bits but Jesus I wish they’d taught me to fight dirty.
So here I am under a hot, harsh unforgiving spotlight with Living with Kathleen who fights dirty and I’m still running around dazed by the brilliance of the lights. The fight or flight knight just came by, sized up the situation, turned and shook his head, and ran off without me. Now what! Do I run after the prick thinking he probably has the best plan of attack, or do I stand and fight and try to prove him wrong?
For the record I did ‘run’ a couple of months later and never looked back.
- Anatomy of a Knight (thetemplarknight.com)
- Meditation on the Knight of Air (andrewbwatt.wordpress.com)