I am a lumbering animal pacing pacing inside a cage.
There's no space, everything has already been divided up. Nowhere to go, nothing to do without money. It's impossible to actually DO anything. I am not a person

Fraud is my friend

So right now I'm working on this sunflower dress - sunflowers faces at the bottom, at the side, snaking up the back, . I love sunflowers. Allen Ginsberg claims to have heard the voice of a blakelight god whilst mastrubating high and psychotic to

Ah! sunflower, weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the sun,
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the traveller’s journey is done;

Where the youth pined away with desire,
And the pale virgin shrouded in snow,
Arise from their graves and aspire;
Where my sunflower wishes to go.

Although he doesn't mention it in his book of martyrdom and artifice (his journal) and later said he made the whole thing up. Then of course Ginsberg wrote his Sunflower Sutra

We're not our skin of grime, we're not our dread
bleak dusty imageless locomotive, we're all
beautiful golden sunflowers inside, we're blessed
by our own seed & golden hairy naked
accomplishment-bodies growing into mad black
formal sunflowers in the sunset, spied on by our
eyes under the shadow of the mad locomotive
riverbank sunset Frisco hilly tincan evening
sitdown vision.

There was a field of sunflowers near our house and one morning they'd all been slaughtered twisted and snapped and trampled and I started to cry but then I felt all sensitive and insightful crying like I was glad it happened so I would feel like the kind of person who cries when something like that happens. And whether or not that was true, the idea was there then and wouldn't go away.

i have got a show coming up *dances* on my sky series! It's going to be so amazingly awesome. I will practice for it by wearing my sexy proper art face with dark intense eyes all week.

so I'm going on a summer adventure with a few of my lovely girls. It's all a big secret though so shhh I will not be saying anymore. Just looking forward to the beautiful star flung different sky nights and many many bottles of wine

I went around my neighbourhood with my camera today taking pictures of places to set my graphic novel/ picture book type thing. I like the idea of using real, everyday places.

Went to the open mic night at the Astro Light yesterday again, the same eng lit crew as always sipping their expensive drinks and talking about poverty. Half way through another clever poem read by some guy sporting an ironic beret and ironic look of earnestness, I realised, none of us has anything to write about. So I split my drink on the table and walked out.

Today we sat out in the garden in the rain and ate rainbow cupcakes Liz and I made in the morning. Then we drank red wine and re-enacted Nietzsche's psychotic break in front of a horse in an impulse of inebriation and art student pretensiousness. Now more drinking games and fun fun fun with romantic poetry and improbable sexual trysts.

Oh, and does it bother anyone else that the smiley for ecstatic is blank eyed and passive smiling?

Just finished my purple lacey corsetish type top, super sexy makes me think of maidens in slim pale towers silent and waiting for something to happen, not knowing that the waiting, the feeling of something wholly wonderful just out of reach but getting closer and closer, is, for all their impatient palpitations, the most real, most whole and most pleasurable part of their lives.
And I've been feeling lately as though I've just been spending my life just waiting for something to happen, tepid listless grey days days, and now I realise that all I need to do is wear my sparkly new top and go out into the midnight spring cold and look up at the stars