November
2006
Odyssey
There was once a creature of immense distaste, he was made of lace.
Although he led a catholic and virtuous life, his penchant for wallowing was regarded in certain circles as one to disregard or to raise ones eyebrow.
This creature as such played in eddies of social awareness for many months, one month neatly sliding on top of the next month.
With mottled and distended skin, he occasionally climbed apple trees and chewed the bark. He did this one time too many:
“Bubble up in oil, oh my various pierced genitalia, for I am the never-do-well, the misbegot!”
And so, with heavy heart, our hero slumps himself downwards, frostily opens this door, sinks into heavy armchairs.
As the smoke starts to rise, like smoke would rise on occasion, an irksome thought would wallow and upset the grey lines of guilt.
What if all the colours were one colour?
(That little telltale tooth that bares, thinning rips coiling into a smirk)
What if!
With a vile and characteristic gream of zealously protected charm he fingered up to a run and clamped down upon every shade that so rebelled with his sentiments. It was an uncomfortable time, yes, but a delicate charm frothed over the surface.
Back up in his fruit-bearing cross lies fate, and out creature hastens a hasty meat.
Slowly and surely we tighten the gate, our little creature all made out of lace.
The one artist whose output and general existence are inextricably and fruitfully linked to my own. Bubble Up In Oil!