According to the ancient law of Aries, the leader of the flock. “You are an initiator and your impulse is to meet life’s challenges head-on, without thought for the consequences.

‘I AM’ is the motto for Aries. You are the first sign of the zodiac and you put yourself and your desires first. However you do it with a childlike innocence that is very disarming. You stand for brave new beginnings and are frequently the one to get something off the ground.

You are fearless and courageous and will fight passionately for what you want. Your energy and enthusiasm are contagious and you are a keen competitor. You are ardent in love and won’t hesitate to make the first move.

You can also be impatient and outspoken. Your eagerness can seem pushy and your assertiveness can easily become aggression.”

Never before have I held with the stereotypical zodiac mumbo jumbo supersticious stuff, but re-reading this blog text from last night, I am beginning to accept that perhaps these are promenant aspects of my personality!  As a kid, my parents most most commonly directed the proverb “look before you leap” in my direction. Foresight is NOT my forté… and neither is maintaining my confidence when it comes to matters of the heart. I thought long and hard about whether to copy and paste, but I began this blog writing about how I feel and it seems stupid to start hiding things now. If I had had internet at home it would already have been published. At least now I have 24 hours consideration and and introduction!

Yes, my behaviour is far from perfect. I take responsibility… but not all of it!

When I begin to care the age old routine kicks in again and I forget to protect this little one inside. Alround stupidity dictates protection of the object not the self. Who wants this tired body? It hauls arround imperfections, imbalance, insecurities and fat. My insides tighten. It’s a knot. Self-disgust and jealousy. I want to reach out and touch. To feel comfort in physical presence. But I am tied into habit and act out only that which remains.

It has been ten years since I went under the first knife.

I still feel the scars.

There is something missing from my past and it is called exerience. A void. Three thousand days. Isolation. Can not relate. ”You do not belong here” and neither anywhere else. Sometimes I wonder if something was destroyed. Internal turmoil. I am terrified. I may never be able to maintain the balance. I am lost. I am swimming.

…Who swims? Fish swim. Fish meat!?! Fuck that! Double sided hypocracy. You know it! Call culture your cucoon and let the rest of us mutate. I’m tired of the ’say what you mean’ and do something different bullshit. This little lamb (read ram) is pigeon holed. In the corner. Not least because it jumped in and tried to swim upstream again. Must remember to take lessons next time… There is too much at stake.

Did I force an unwilling hand? If so, then talk straight! How bad can a sheep bite? This one is young and still needs nurture. Is it insecurity that breeds this jealousy? Or vice versa? All I know is that they co-exist and the compound sum is greater that it’s two parts. Perhaps on the back of their prickly green wings I have been carried to a misjudged conclusion. I am not altogether convinced that my addition is accountable. Perhaps I have been equally involved in creating unease.

Somewhere in these books, there is a dictation that says; when Clover cares for someone else she forgets to care for herself. Experience had taught her that she is unwantable. She must either alter or admit defeat.

Alteration is dangerous. It destroys the soul. Yes, I believe in that! (And who knows, maybe even the zodiac mumbo jumbo has some right!) I can not suppress (in other words - regress.) I was there before and the memory is excruciating. I hold my arms down tight. Locked by my side. I don’t reach out for fear of your flinching. Repulsion at my physical touch.

^^you eat too loud, you smell too bad, you look too strange, you sound too dumb, you are too fat, your hair is ugly and you ideals mean crap^^

Echoes.

You may feel my confusion. Frustration. Anger. I am still too scared. I would rather admit defeat.

The bloodsucking fiend harassed me all night. With the lights on it conveniently disappeared into the woodwork, but once darkness descended again that electric buzz was back in my ears. Today my hands are covered in red swollen bites and my eyes ringed in purple. I needed to sleep.  I over slept.

I need a day without people. Time to collect my thoughts. Feed my brain as well as my belly. Now I have missed Mahgol. We haven’t spoken for so long. I am doing this and she is doing that and before we know it another week has passed without more than five minutes conversation time. She is studying and I have a social life. I guess we should be glad! And really, I am. Seeing the stress slowly slip from her face is a pleasure - as is getting to know these unusual friends of mine.

Somewhere in between this chaos I have managed to make some KAOS of my own. I am almost finished my first piece for next years exhibition. Some experimenting, new toys and cloth. Oh! What fun to play with paints again. Sitting on the bedroom floor in long black socks, a myriad of coloured possibilities spread out in front of me. It is proving more difficult than expected to create related works. Interpretation is everything and it is harder to dissect a picture than words. I never thought I would say that. Jag, the great believer in pictorial art. Ahh, but we are talking about digital reproductions. A cheap snapshot photograph recreated in pixels can not evoke texture, taste and smell…

Today I shall listen to Wish You Were Here. There is something on my mind, it’s eating at my insides.  I want to let it out.

Patience is a virtue.

Through who's eyes?

When there is something to be done it is amazing how many other things it is possible to do! After food shopping, applying another coat of varnish, some cutting out, clearing my desk, organising a Scribbling Society meeting,  feeding the frog, making a couple of sketches and sanding down the table a little more I finally sat down and wrote my CV. Eugh. Not fun in one’s mother tongue, but down right bothersome in another language. Anyway, it is done, along with a cover letter, plus or minus some editing.

I have been wondering recently whether it would be possible to paint a park bench in daylight. If I dressed up as a commercial decorater and took along the right tools, would anyone say anything? There are a myriad of benches arround this town that could do with a little TLC. If they are done tastefully and professionally, who is going to complain? Is it worth the risk to make the place look a little more welcoming? My reasoning for doing it during the day goes as follows… only people doing something ‘wrong’ paint at night. So if someone comes accross you painting during the day they will assume that you are supposed to be doing it. Paint a bench at night and if anyone sees you no doubt the police will be informed. Surely painting a bench is not vandalism if it improves it’s appearance? Jag ska fundera lite mer.

Oh yeah,  I decided to organise a Scribbling Society meeting despite having heard nothing about funding yet. I had a lovely day recently with Hubert and his little family, picking cherries and making pie as a diversion from International Presence Exhibition work. Reminded me how nice it is to have a house with people in it. Check out www.vscribbling.blogspot.com for more info.

Tomorrow is another day.

Baldie strikes back.

There is a blog dedicated to the late great romantic Mr Gainsbourg, and they liked my melancholy little drawing

Spreading the scribbling!

Je t'aime!

Gerald is oline! Check out the million giraffe project here.

A day of organising pictures. Woken up far too early by an unfriendly sit-on lawn mower. Aching from yesterday’s exertions. Transfered my notes on sleep and PMS from my diary to calendar I found… wondering if perhaps I should be doing something about it. Training again later (woopee) and I am going to draw a few giraffes for this guy.

Clover is back on form.

To my complete amazement I managed to pull hungover self out of bed, take a shower, feed myself and get my ass into town to train capoeira this morning. Further to this, it was actually great fun! Spent a large portion of the time standing on my hands, and a fair del playing minute long games with Jens and Nikki. After an hour I had completely forgotton about the elephant sitting on my eyebrows. Then off till Bäkby to purchase some more creepy crawlies to feed this currently hyperactive frog. Cooked and ate a delicious salmon and new potatoes lunch while reading some more Svensk HP. Laundered, swept, cleaned the bathroom and washed yesterdays dishes. Sorted out my month’s reciepts, drank tea, and browsed a few fun websites. Had an impromptue website planning msn meeting. Repeat the cook and eat part, and then did this for www.thescribbleproject.com.

http://www.vscribbling.blogspot.com/

Thanks to TG for all the help with the Swedish side of things!

http://www.kaosgruppen.blogspot.com/

http://www.cordao.se/public_html/Start.html

I spent a summer, many moons ago, reading Mervyn Peake’s ‘Gormenghast’ trilogy. I told myself then that I would read it every ten years, just to see. To see what exactly I am not sure. How I react to it having now had more experience, a wider range of memories from which to draw reference? How much of it had stuck with me? Or whether I even still enjoyed it? Anyway, I happened upon a 1970’s boxed set edition in the charity shop for 50p last time I was in Chester. It seemed like fate, and so I embarked upon another mammoth read.

I stand by my original observation that these books are wordy. There is a lot of (perhaps unnecessary) language. But trawling through those lengthy sentences is worth it. Every so often there is a passage, a sentence, a description, that is so beautiful, so powerful, that the previous half an hour of laborious reading is forgotten. Yes, these stories are as captivating as they were ten year ago, if the fact that I was compelled to stay up reading until three last night is anything to go by! Much of it had stuck (although I was not conscious of it) and some of the text does take on new meaning. But mostly I feel like I am visiting my other family again.

It is bizarre, but not to the extreme. It is gothic, but not beyond belief. It is allegorical, but not preaching. Fuchsia is still a girl, and now a woman, in which I see so much of myself but also a warning of what it is important not to become. Titus I still love like a little brother, and Steerpike… a beguiling, devious man I both lust for and feel physically repulsed by. The beauty of Peake’s writing is that, although there is rarely violent description, I still feel sick to my stomach when reading of Steerpike’s descent (or is it his ascent?) into bloody evil.