edward gorey tell us a story..

I love his work. Fucking amazing.

I've looked at his stuff so many times. In awe. Then forget until I bump into him again and the amazement returns every time.
meticulous weird wonderful melancholy and hilarious all at once.

Buy one buy all.

s>

tie day.

It's friday. And friday is tie day. and hat day.

Why blog

Blogs, bloggers and blogging.

A strange pursuit really. Keep your diary in a virtual space so all who chance upon it can read it.
A published narcissism. Like catching a piece of paper on a windy day and finding it to be someone's diary pages.

hmm.. This gives me an idea for an art project actually. Chain a big diary somewhere public and document what happens to it. Would people write in it? Would they draw? Would they deface it or try and steal it?

Or because I stupidly wrote this idea here will it be stolen, transformed and exhibited?

Please credit me and if you do. And send me pics and tell the stories that come from such an enterprise..

I suppose blogs work, like all successful internet content works, when it's a journal or information source for the like minded..

...to be continued...

Bad poetry. Good medicine.

Abalone farming
is simply quite charming.
Lets start this sitting
watching filters afiltering
and growing bigger profits each day.

---

Computers unlike scooters
don't have hooters
for making annoyances go away.

------

Its coffee cup is full of muck
bitter and sweet and lukewarm.
Poor luke never cold
but known to the old
and with the bitter and sweet
out of luck.

------

Thomas the tomato

Thomas the tomato swayed in the wind on his mother plant, Matilda. The sun baked down on him. He felt his tan deepening. He no longer felt so green. He was becoming a seasoned seedy thing. A veteran of the vine. A few of his compatriots had fallen already. He couldn't get a clear view (they were very far down), but Thomas assumed they were happy. They were quite still and seemed every more slouchy as if in great relaxation. Matilda always replied to questioning: "Well darling they're all brothers and sisters for me."

This always puzzled Thomas. Weren't they all HIS brothers and sisters? On Further questioning Matilda would only reply: "Beware the birds. and the worms. and stop talking. You're a tomato!"

Thomas never did become a brother or sister bush. He and a few chili friends became a very good arabiatta sauce. They were briefly aware of a greatly MUMBLING rolling around them. This turned out to be from the sea of Durum Wheat that had become Penne.

"It is GOOD!" was proclaimed by Ms Gladstone of Emery crescent in West Stanformoot on consumption of this meal. She suffered horrid heartburn all through that night. And phoned her friends in the morning to tell them about it.