الخميس، 31 ديسمبر، 2009

Inspiration



I found alot of graffiti books, so i sat on the floor of the shop, and wrote notes all over my arms...the streetart-sketchbooks called (blackbooks, because they have to be hidden from the authorities)...

the Illustrations by famous graffiti artists like Blu, have helped me so much; they've opened up, a loser way of doodling, and I've begun creating types of doodles, that are highly in fashion, this decade, onto the new one...so, I have

cheap lined hard-back notebooks,

I have a redbook, a pink book, even a 'brun' and 'turquoise' books

I've spent the last two days, 'cup-of-tea' crawling around london, with a new expensive set of felt-pens, drawing people, special buildings, and imaginative stuff, I got a little high, on the amount of sugar I use, three per cup, I even got one tea for just 45pence...two days ago, I hung around from 1:oo til 8pm at night, because I don't like the atmosphere in the house, yesterday, I tidied my room without being asked and threatened with another send-off...and...

I bought tons of spray-paint cans. I've gone late 80's and early 90's mad...acid house/ravers/typography used in magazines...that's when I was a kid, I was mad on 'acid-rave', 'hardcore house' was shit, because it was like a sped-up casio keyboard, and tinky beats, and generally white-noise in squeaks, I bought 'acid-men' faces stickers, of all different styles with Dali covers on the back of the non-sticky side, so, they went up all over my door, and I knew about the rave-festivals on illegal sites, where millions of riot-police would turn-up...that I really wanted to join a rave, hoping they'd still be around when I grew-up...I think clubs are so shit now, around here anyway, I have some 'smiley' faces ready to be painted in gouache, in 80's colours like lemon, pale blue, and faded pink...I used a 40cm high, and 2m long very cheap canvas, to practice on, it dripped too much, and dirtied the wall, even with newspaper up...shit.

I've felt like crying all through the christmas holiday, and painting has turned to

shit.

but for, a sprayed jade green, metallic blue black and white abstract for my cousin's son, two long thin strips of thick card (bought in a collection of about 20 fro a pound), with black felt scribbles, and ball-point pen doodles of flowers, stuck onto a board painted in black, together with a white frame with black and green stripes, including the glass, which cost me; 1 pound 50p...

I also have a 55metre, mural to design, for a competition, and a win of 1000 pounds, for an old fishing fleet...I got the idea on the bus, so that's what I'm doing for the New Year, we had one party, a pretty big one, for the family...who I drew throughout the evening. No one, made comments, about my new look, grey mens' shirts, baggy trousers, very short hair, I rarely had my hair cut, until a year ago, never really, perhaps once every two years, so by the time I made to the mental hospital, it was all shaggy...I got bangs cut by the hospital hairdresser, all wonky, then, I was allowed out once a week, so I always bought records, and a coffee, and began to make friends with a girl there, until one day, I was just moved off to a rehabilitation house, for being skanky. That's where I began taking a heaven drug, and writing my books about aliens...

I had bad trips in the hospital, I kept see-ing, women with hairy dicks, hiding behind curtains, one of whom, an huge african girl, who would steal everything, because every item said: "This is Mine!", I left her alot of old records that I treasured, so, and a giant monster above the ceiling, with giant clippers...

I like tea-blotting, stamping the wet teabag on a page and then closing the book, inking images, faces around the blots...I like drawing chinese commnunists.

I've fathomed what kind of Indian Goddess, I would be, my colours, what I would hold that would suit my charcater, not something shit, like a brush or a mug of tea, I have a sword!! I wear 8 bindis (marriage spots) on my forehead, white spots above my eyes, I definatly have a nose ring, because I had my nose pierced when I was 16, (it 'got snorted up my nose', in the hospital, and they 'were giving me esctasy pills in the mdeication') which does have beads, because thats what I used to put in my ear-hoops...I'm green, with blue hair..one hand is held forth, in neon blue...I have sapphires under my eyebrows...I wear silver...

there was something else I wanted to write, but I've forgot.

I watched Autobiography of a Princess, with her...about the fall of the last Royal Indian family, and the princess, who lives alone in exile, in London, and invites a tutor, ebglish with a Indian surname, and an odd accent...to watch slide-show memeories, it's mixed;

with live footage, of interviews with the MAhrajah's family...and shit! I saw the first man, a prince, and flipped;

I said: "Why do I hate this dark man, am I rascist??" All through the beginning, where I was feeling sick on the just taken mediaction, I could hear, the woman, talking directly to me...

"Why put dirty men near Indian clean?"

"Indian Queens, we sing them in our sacred songs, you are too clean..."

I thought; "Who is saying this to me, do yoo mean the jewish clean??"

--- She hated him too---

We looked; both of our eyes, turned bright red...

"Because they were Devil-Blood?"

Her eyes said; "You have defied, you have sinned."

Mine said; "You are not our people's King. You hate Dalit, you sell blood, because you hated give...you are killing Him..."

She turned off, even though it was soothing. I made one mistake. I thought of Buttar. and I said her name, they heard it. What do you think of this, was she always going to be murdered? Did they remember that name, did they plan to kill, as though she was the one arriving like the Messiah?

ليست هناك تعليقات: