#321: Solitude

Oil on canvas.  Pictures of the solitude experienced at different times of life.  Some scenes show good times, some not so good, some bad, of people being alone on purpose and being alone, or isolated, without wanting to be.  Every side of solitude is shown: playing as a child - operating my train set, playing in the garden, kicking a football around pretending to be other people, walking to school through the park, all the dreams in my head, listening to songs, reading on a beanbag, writing in the University libraries, reading or listening to music or watching the world go by from the commuter coach and train, walking through London, listening to music in the car, reading on the sofa early in the morning, reading on the train, reading on the bus, working from home, living in Wing Island, a mother at home with a new born baby, a prostitute waiting on the street, a prisoner in a cell, a housewife working, a crane driver, a train driver, a lorry driver, an old person in a chair, an old couple sat together, one of whom does not remember the other, a person in a crowd,  ….

#320: Either ignore it or celebrate it (What is to be done?)

A collage of all the worst events and people in the world, both now and throughout history, underneath which are the following words:

'Either ignore it or celebrate it.' What a fucking futile attitude. Don’t say anything bad, just ignore it or celebrate it. So what about fascism then? We don’t like it, we’ll just ignore it.

(I ask you again what is to be done).

Nicky Wire, The Quietus and 30-Year War.

#319: You have to do the work to earn the rest

Oil on canvas.  A painting of a man in an armchair reading a newspaper.  Behind, his wife can be seen hoovering, making dinner, cleaning the windows, making tea, dusting and other jobs.

#318: Masking Tape Reminder

Take a reel of masking tape.

Stick lengths of it along the edge of a shelf, or shelves, across your headboard, along a wall… somewhere you look at a lot. 

Write a meaningful message for yourself along it.

Preserve. 

Refer back to it whenever that message is needed.

Along the shelves in my imaginary office-slash-writing room:

There She Goes, My Beautiful World by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

The wintergreen, the juniper

The cornflower and the chicory

All the words you said to me

Still vibrating in the air

The elm, the ash and the linden tree

The dark and deep, enchanted sea

The trembling moon and the stars unfurled

There she goes, my beautiful world

There she goes, my beautiful world

There she goes, my beautiful world

There she goes, my beautiful world

There she goes again

John Wilmot penned his poetry

Riddled with the pox

Nabokov wrote on index cards,

At a lectern, in his socks

St. John of the Cross did his best stuff

Imprisoned in a box

And JohnnyThunders was half alive

When he wrote Chinese Rocks

Well, me, I'm lying here, with nothing in my ears

Me, I'm lying here, with nothing in my ears

Me, I'm lying here, for what seems years

I'm just lying on my bed with nothing in my head

Send that stuff on down to me

Send that stuff on down to me

Send that stuff on down to me

Send that stuff on down to me

There she goes, my beautiful world

There she goes, my beautiful world

There she goes, my beautiful world

There she goes again

Karl Marx squeezed his carbuncles

While writing Das Kapital

And Gaugin, he buggered off, man

And went all tropical

While Philip Larkin stuck it out

In a library in Hull

And Dylan Thomas died drunk in

St. Vincent's hospital

I will kneel at your feet

I will lie at your door

I will rock you to sleep

I will roll on the floor

And I'll ask for nothing

Nothing in this life

I'll ask for nothing

Give me ever-lasting life

I just want to move the world

I just want to move the world

I just want to move the world

I just want to move

There she goes, my beautiful world

There she goes, my beautiful world

There she goes, my beautiful world

There she goes again

So if you got a trumpet, get on your feet,

Brother, and blow it

If you've got a field, that don't yield,

Well get up and hoe it

I look at you and you look at me and

Deep in our hearts know it

That you weren't much of a muse,

But then I weren't much of a poet

I will be your slave

I will peel you grapes

Up on your pedestal

With your ivory and apes

With your book of ideas

With your alchemy

Oh come on

Send that stuff on down to me

Send that stuff on down to me

Send that stuff on down to me

Send that stuff on down to me

Send that stuff on down to me

Send it all around the world

'Cause here she comes, my beautiful girl

There she goes, my beautiful world

There she goes, my beautiful world

There she goes, my beautiful world

There she goes again

Or: Keep going, keep finding things, keep writing, let people know.