Monday, 8 May 2017
In which I'm wondering...
It was residing in an art cafe in Cornwall. The cafe closed. They didn't return it to me despite knowing my address.
I'd like it back. I quite like it and would like at least one of my paintings on my own wall.
Anyway it's out there somewhere.
Today was an uninspiring day that didn't really get off the ground. It's given me a pain in the heart and soles.
I'm too old to dash about like a tete-less poulet.
Surrounded by lithe young workers inhabiting their useable bodies I drag my portly flubber around in pain and envy as I stalk the corridors of SoP House attempting to breathe through my ears.
Lovely young women appear compelled to shave their heads almost completely and dye what's left of their hair pink or blue or some other unnatural hue. Not only that they're all illustrated with the most ghastly tattoos.
Why do they do that to their lovely young flesh? Don't they realise that they too will be old one day?
But that's one of the perks of being young: you're never going to die, you're never going to get old...
But, if you're lucky, you do...
Imagine the care homes of the future: baggy flesh covered in blue, fading tattoos, stringy pink/blue/green hair and gaping holes where piercings used to be.
I wonder where the care workers will come from? Romania will be empty by then. Mars?