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| Splice-Free, RTomens, 20-? |
That's an 'old' print. How old, I have no idea...all track of time been lost with no record regarding many pictures...so what? I used to think it mattered, now I don't...they're images I made through living time imagination dreams improvisation spontaneity and chance and even in this small room I could not find Splice-Free, probably...such is the disorder of my art...so much piled up paper...
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I'm waiting for the blog revival...but not holding my breath. Blogging died when Twitter took over the world and shrink-wrapped text, along with Instagram, which did away with words all together. Emojis speak for us - life's too short to spend even writing 'I love this' when one click does the same thing with a symbol! Ye-e-e-s! We're too busy doing nothing in particular to wrote bloody words!
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Ian Brown's a crap kisser. Don;'t take my word for it, just ask the drunk woman who was telling blokes outside The Torbay Inn., preceding it with a sweep of the arm, finger pointing, saying "Stone fucking Roses!". When one of the men suggested she was a bit young at 14 to be kissing Ian Brown she said "If you're not streetwise by the time you're twelve in Salford, you have it!" I'm sure she's right.
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An old, plump, black woman was asleep on the 91 bus this morning. OK. Trouble is, one leg was outstretched, resting on the base of the seat opposite. I stood staring for a few seconds until I realised she really was in a deep sleep. So I stepped over her leg and sat behind her. A few stops later a young girl gets on, faced with the same dilemma and doing the same as me. We exchange smiles. Just before my stop I turned to see how the old lady with a big bag of stuff (her belongings?) was fairing. No sign of life. I got worried. Was she dead? I contemplated telling the driver...but just got off instead. I wonder if she's still there?
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