Proper Moral T

When I was home I fell into a disgusting state of stagnation and excess, said Burroughs. I looked up and that was all. Sweat and smell arose from my hopes.

Did you know the imagination leaves the gifted amongst us hopelessly adrift? You say there are no creatives except those with original ideas. Who on earth can claim the original idea from which all sprang? I don’t think it was my neighbour. He growls at moving the bins.

Was it God? If he existed he never had an original idea because he never wrote His own story. Sometimes it pays to pay attention to the heap of clothes in the doorway. There’s originality in the brutality purist sense.

Very few people have empathy or any real courage to create something nowadays. It’s all status and property: a tomb one works for day in, die out. Never upset the rhythm or you’ll never own your own crypt.

A cross word is all it takes with Lichtenstein to get you in the cell. There’s no lawyer, only the Judge – and their book is full of morals no-one else has heard of. You’d get better legal advice from the heap of clothes.





For a long time it’s been clear it will be difficult to suppose another “ism” in art that is universally acknowledged. I guess it’s simply because the world and everything happening in it can be accessed as quickly as it is forgotten.

There’s a dating website where people flick through possible suitors as if they’re on a supermarket shelf. I mean, that’s really not cool. Why anyone would willingly reduce themselves to a product…if your labels or branding don’t catch the eye, to the bargain bin you go!

That’s one of the problems of contemporary life; we forget substance and it’s too often abused and never used.

I guess one of my problems is that I’m an observer as well as a participant and I find it difficult to sift through the muck. Lots of people are media-savvy, which is good, but this also blurs the understanding in how time is necessary to create something meaningful.

I thought I’d die, willingly, at 27. Join that club, you know? And then 27 came quicker than I ever did, and I’m now 38. I’m middle aged. I’ll definitely be middle-aged on 1st February 2016 if the tattoo on my neck and my year of birth has anything to do with it: 77.

Now I hope I live until at least my 70s without being affected by some form of illness that renders me incapable of thought and loving action (ahem). If I am, I’ll find whatever I need to see it out with a huge fucking smile on my face, but I’ve always said I’ll do that anyway.

Contrary to what many people say, Life is a party and you’re the fucking host. Welcome the guests and make sure they have a good time too.

If that ain’t an ism, it fucking should be.