I need to shoot.
I have a 'doodle-book'...I added little ideas for sculptures, I have one more art-show. I wanted Sepia...I'm supposed to talk, and I say it's Sepia. I walk with and explain; I use a word, you should never use;
eclectic. that means everything I make is different, and I have no special style, unlike every other artist in existence. I know what I want. So I doodled, a table, planning to cut out many lines, and fill the lines with dark brown varnish, add just two legs, with old-fashioned lion claws.
So I grabbed, pieces of wood, and began cutting out words, written backwards, the first words that came into my mind, about the teacher. Sepia lost...I filled the words randomly with black and red paint, and wash a little over, the plan flipped, it died...then it looked . I wanted a school-desk, I'm to add more words with a blue , I got a little piece of wood for the leg, with a diagonal cut, and because I can't even milk a cow, hammered in a huge nail, it stands on its own with just one leg. Then I put some blue ink over it...then grabbed a huge piece of paper, with a magnificent idea, which I couldn't translate...I explained what I was doing.
I think odd.
"piece of this...add space..."
I drew a school girl, with a tie, and a line of school-girls, squatting and bowing, I got a pen, and began writing words, from every memory I had of school, in the spaces, where there were no drawings.
I should be having fits. I said, to the girl ; " ? It's sane hate..." She souled; "You speak, evil, languages..."
What do the others think?
I cut my finger, ran to get me a plaster, it was bleeding a lot;
"Quick, before I get aids, the yellow-man, tell him fail, before they give me aids..."
She does a lot of running for me.
I'm a danger, a few months ago, I went out in my apron, to smoke, I like dropping ash on my jeans and burning little holes, I forgot...I had to get something from the office, I smelt burning.;
"I think your heaters broken..." I left the office, then smoke billowed around in the classroom, I looked down and a huge hole was burning through the apron, the teacher noticed. Nothing. No words.
hates that we;
"Don't know..." She looks angry, we're all a bit loser. One girl is amazing, she knocks off quick portraits, in oils, and they are so realistic, her latest one is a woman lying on the floor, with a boy-ghost kissing her head...amazing white transparent boy-ghost...
I don't like trying to catch up with my mind, I can't be bothered. I'm going to end, end it all, end this blog, its become a diary not a story.
Aliens. Wondered about aliens, the project is still the same but I've ditched the comic, the comic was sick, I was ill, I drew a hand with a razor, cutting up some huge testicles in watercolour. A man with tubes and bugs inside, a butchered body under icicles, a brain being cut open...it was supposed to be sweet.
I've gone nowhere, now I'm drawing arabesque weeds with flowers. the mosque book, is full of nothing. God says I'll get the class I want, for an hour I didn't want it, and I want smokes, chains of smokes. I thought I was God himself, I was calling into my own soul, I thought every woman was a cloud, and they part away from the sun (WHICH IS ME) to make light, on earth, some souls are trees, other onions, one is sure to be the Moon.
I must be God, because I made a mountain.
I want kill. I'm lucky enough to be alive in , later I might be killed. There was a scandal, it's over, I'm awful, sang the Hells.
My best friend, my only friend, is Lady Buddha, I sent her a coin.
Help me, Help me...
Jo Daemen cover designs
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