In between Anais Nin, found this

we keeps talking about irony...maybe I have had enough of that? But is the peak of it (the prick of it) or the everyday of it, the sunday newspaper magazine article on it ( i stole that idea) where it ends up something like this...
::::: The apartment is full of furnishings I find individually ugly - silver candelabra, tables with nooks for trailing flowers, enormous mulberry satin poufs, rococo objects, things full of chic, collected with snobbish playfulness, as if to say, 'We can make fun of everything created by fashion, we are above it all.'
everything is touched with aristocratic impudence::::: 

this is not enough, but a start. 

little tip dump stuff

Doing a twelve day working week. I think it's making me a bit gushy... It's good too. I feel efficent like I'm saving for something. And I am saving to cover rents and pay for my show. Which is now today starting to scare the bejesssus outta me. Not scare, well yes scare. I went to texticles (good) the other night and realised that space aint as little as I thought, perhaps I am not just going to be able to sneeze it out over a weekend!! and feel a bit flaky, at openings an stuff I'm the same saying """ Yeah I have a show comming up in april at TCB"" blargggggggggg cause cause I feel like I talk talk but don't do do. I keep thinking "privacy!". I know I feel like a liar cause I have been away from the studio for all these days, and The show so far is a few things I like on the floor. This show is going to be vaguer and kinda more 'beyond me' to exlain than usual perhaps.

Last year was very easy. I just need time at the studio coal face and it will solve.

I want to thank SHANKS! the peps who do blog, It can feel indulgent, it is, but reading honest stuff makes me feel closer to being in the studio. I just felt a bit 'believed in' last year and now I could trippppp/disappoint.*cry cry*

I wrang my brother and asked him to take a photo of the farm tip and send it too me. I was walking out to see it while home for xmas and collecting scraps like a little one, bring them back to my room that has been repainted, bieged out, by my mum and all my old trinkets, rocks and posters are gone. I am allowed to decorate again. But thats weird like pretending I am fourteen again. It was pre boarding school shrine.
The tip, has the faux brick cladding from my gran's house in it, like here house has been exploded into it. I would walk out and go 'hey life is a destructive thing and that's ok n' difficult'. I am always trying to come up with the summary of freaking everything! like the life is a uni lecture to summarise. But you can't, and that's good. Means there is lots to be done. The tip is a crack/ gutter in the creek with cheeky stuff poked into it.
Bro wouldn't take the photo, he said 'it shouldn't exist'.
obsessssed with Alex Vivians Farking-beautiful smoodgy hangover at Neon Parc.

going through old diaries.
...The farm is sawn outta optimism. All the inherited paintings are shit n muddy. Except for the the Parriultcha. Mum keeps asking me to get it valued.I can't get myself to follow that up. Mum is good at farm art rustica, poly pipe, wreaths, rust, rocks, she paints everthing black. This is typical, but everything is so brute macho and oversized its good.
Ripped up old lino that was over 50's womens weekleys.
There were articles about when plastic was invented. Plastic was awesome future. Snake oil to a po-mo hangover.