Aaah, the first hunt of the season. The one after which I usually look like I've been dragged twice around Troy. Yes, I did get lost and ended up in full Sleeping beauty-land, so entangled in thorns, I am now literally perforated over all parts of my body bar torso, which was clad enough. From neck, ears, to my fingertips - at the time in gloves, mind, and my head was in a hat - all covered in tiny stab wounds. I've a bruise and a thorn in the middle of it, right above my knee. The dog got lost towards the middle, failing to follow us across a wet field, so she kept going back and forth the first forest. We had to look for her afterwards, and did find the poor old thing frantically trying to find us on the trail, so exhausted she couldn't make it up the stairs as we got home. The forest is packed full of mushrooms, even some edible ones, I think, I just didn't have anywhere to put them. Some truly majesty moments, walking onto moss-covered clearings, or some small grassy swamps, or wonderful leaves-covered forest roads. Everything is orange and ablaze. SO beautiful. The General argued, as I was in a bad mood because they managed to shoot a bunny, (our time-old argument about me being a hunter who refuses to hunt and a soldier who refuses to follow orders) if it bothers me so much I will opt-out in the future. I asked if he agrees to come explore the woods for six hours every Sunday, which of course he won't. So, alas, I have to suffer through the gunfire to enjoy it, searching, wishing we cross paths and have secret sex. Ironically, I did come into his range today and he could see me, but I couldn't see him and couldn't properly hear him whistling. That's what you get for catcalling a deaf chick. 

The prodigal princes of Batch 6: Old Iron, Illyria and Fire

 

Batch 6 is here

 

I'm in love. He's been dead for about a 100 year or something, and albeit I am categorically against men wearing make-up unless they are a thoroughly-body-shaved Arnold Vosloo in a gold loincloth coming down a dune in a swagger, I am making exceptions these days. His name was Connie, he was a silent movies actor, German, I think, and he is magnificent. He's just as striking as Klaus Kinski, just not quite as psychotic, and he's utilised masterfully in some of the early horror flicks - when I say early, I mean the first. I need to implement some of the Dr. Caligari and Man Who Laughs scenes into the garden nightmare where Morphei and Kay confront one another. I think if Morpheus looked like that, I'd shit myself. Damn, but Germans made good movies once, a long long time ago ...

Plus you can't tell me that dude wasn't gay. I know a gay boy German ballet dancer in tragic makeup and tight black costume when I see one. 

LoL, dad was telling me how when he was a kid, his cousin and himself got their hands on some machine guns and ammo from some revolution or the next and were messing around, target practising... But the cops found them and took the guns. So my dad, the cocksure genius that he was, came up with a plan, citing his standing as a prominent member of the cultural youth community, walked into the police station and said he is putting up a tribute play and needs props. The cops gave him four bigger machine guns, two of which were perfectly functional. (But where did you get the ammo, man? Oh, Hungary was just undergoing another one of their civil wars, you could get baskets of ammo from the streets...)

Never mind dad doesn't exactly have all his fingers - how the fuck did that kid survive into adulthood? 

 I watched, I think after 20 years, Indiana Jones again and damn but is that a reckless sense of dealing with archaeological artefacts. And what's with the gold? I'd suck my own dick for a shard with glyphs from Vinca, even if it was made of dry dung. When Josie gives me palaeolithic shards to work with, my hands shake. Gold is such a petty, prissy metal, meant for nothing but cosmetics. Give me iron a lock-and-key mechanism from 800 BC and I'll literally see treasure. 

A fan!

 Someone wrote me a fan letter! Like, a properly unknown individual who read my book wrote me how much he liked it. I had no idea people actually did that! I just like to print my shit! Never expected anyone will actually read it!

Fuck, I had two great ideas for short stories, plus and interesting sex dream, but I just have no time. I wake up and mull, eat, nap, wake up and mull, mull, mull some more, G goes to work, I drink another coffee, muuuuull. I made SO much new paint. I have more. I ordered more supplies. Should have posted by now, and really must as I am running out of money, but I am just loving it. Haven't even gotten to the 'school grade' yet, yet alone the shimmers. Fuck my hands are cracked so badly and my eyes are a mess. I weep like a little bitch every night to wash them out, watching shitty puppy rescue videos or something. 

It just occurred to me I have never been to Louvre. No idea how that happened. I think I may have just forgotten such an obvious mishap. Emotionally extorted G into promising to come with me. I think of all the shit humans do, cause, promote, cash in and sign themselves under, once, just once, art is a tribute to a pursuit of grace and elevated beauty. Even if half the art depicts slaughter, rape raids, conquest and trickery. 

 I think my biggest worry about buying a Roomba, in case we ever build our own house and it will have a flat floor, and we also have one of the out-door self-charging electrical Roomba grasscutting robots, is that the two will fall in love, but will never be able to actually meet. I worry I would come home one day and find them parked sorrowfully against a glass. One should consider building them a neutral ground, where they could meet. 

Yes, I have been inhaling pigment over the past three weeks. Pigment and coffee. I aimed to mix 9 orange paints and ended up with seven orange and about thirty brown ones. But also, humbabalugamop. 

Wear a mask, kids. Pigments puff.

2:22

I'm SO tired. I am getting a lot of work done, but fuck I'm tired. My forearm muscles - showing - are beginning to warn me, and a tiny capillary in an eye popped. Don't think it's the fact I'm mulling all the time; it may be the fact I am mulling larger piles. 

A few seconds before happyness

My eyes are so dry from spending whole nights working with pigments, the only thing that helps is watching 'puppy surprise' videos on YouTube, of kids weeping like little bitches when they realise they got a puppy. The overabundance of sheer joy is so funny. I should know. I cry like a little bitch if I get books in my mail, let alone a warm fluffy creature. (There are only so many you can fit into a downtown apartment.)

Needless to say this is one of my favourite photos of all time. "A few seconds before happiness". There is no metric to describe the bond a boy and his dog develop, like it's the most natural thing in the world. No other animal achieves this, either. There may be bonds, but ... nothing compares.