Things be happening

This is my abode-to-be:





I think it's big, but I can't properly remember. We are at the back (obviously I can't have a mansion to myself, der. It's a flat). Plenty of space for both to work at home, though. The rent isn't that cheap but it's manageable and it's not in outer woop woop, which is a nice surprise.

I'm expecting lots of guests, all right?

In the meantime, I have a week off between jobs and will be packing up the ol' house. I completely don't know where to start with anything at all.

Huh what right uh

I think I am too self-centred for music. How eye-openingly ... I don't know. Lyrics make me overstimulated.

I am listening to a mix CD I made recently to give to a friend. It's really good. Right now I can only listen to Led Zeppelin or the Beatles or the Velvet Underground. Or quite a lot of other things. Hmm.

When I started blogging, it was this kind of free diaristic kind of thing. Now I have all these phantom audiences of readers (you know who you are! ha. I even know who you are, mostly. probably) that I consider when I 'blog'. I like having readers. My ego likes it. But now I think of the diferent audiences and self-inhibit. Not that this was ever a tell-all deep thing anyway. But maybe it might have been.

I feel that I've blandified.

Anyway. I've got to work on that.

I am moving furniture. I've been all over the shop today. Up, down, up. Unreleased energy, then tired, then antsy, then happy. Now moving drawers and shelves. At 12.30 am. Ah! Peaches is on. Must dash.

I've got a short little span of attention and oh, my nights are so long /Paul Simon

SMTD, SLT

I've acronymed the post title as it's faster.

Well, in the last two weeks I've installed two exhibitions, started a new job, and moved an entire house to a new house. It was heavy, too.

Good things are coming out of my show ... I've got group shows coming out of my ears now, studio visits. Fame and fortune to follow, fer shere. Any minute now.

*crickets*

Etc etc.

AAaaanyway.

I'm starting a book on who will win the 40,000-big-ones travelling scholarship I'm a finalist for. There are 24 of us and my money is on a top four that I've carefully assessed to be the most likely to win. It's abstract money, of course. I don't know how to run gambling so that it's risk-avoidant. Or whatever it's called. That would be something it'd be good to learn about.

My new house is also my old house. I lived here a year and a half ago, for a year. I must be growing up - now I only move house every 18 months instead of every year.

I do actually have a new apartment, actually

... except it's a federation semi in Marrickville and I haven't moved there yet. I have a garden that's like a mouth I'm gonna put my money in the same location as. I've talked so much about growing things that I better damn well do it. I have three hay bales to start me off. I went to an opening tonight that I really enjoyed. Talked to some people I know well, talked to some people I don't know well ... the little things, y'know? I find my mood is always dependent on contingencies - situations, environments, hangers-on, passers-by ... blah de blah banal. A few drinks this evening, [what's the singular of folks?]. It was a nice feeling.

Isn't the word 'blog' such a downer? some marketer should come up with a less unsexy-sounding word. "I'm feeling a bit bloggy today, I can't come to work". It must be the double g.

I wrote some graffitti in the toilets tonight. I couldn't resist; there was grammatical argument taking place. In combination with some art bitching. Not a helpful addition to the discourse but hey. Ever had that feeling that you should get off your arse and become invoolved in the discussion, only to realise that it is none the richer for your participation? Blogging and toilet cubicle grafitti: something in common at last.

There's this whole thing with the performance of blogging (especially after having lurked for so long), about who might be reading, who knows what or thinks what about what's written. The whole anonymity thing seems pretty silly to me, aside from the frankly unlikely in most cases threat of personal harm or physical stalking or whatever. Your ego doesn't go away, and you still have an identity. I guess you just have more than one. It's like when you travel to get away from whatever's going wrong; sooner or later it comes back, because you always take yourself and your problems/pattens with you.

I am so sleepy that I have to go to sleepy sleep now.