Monday, January 20, 2020

Self portrait

Shopping: I'm not much of a patriot, or a parrot, not much of a portrait painter either, stunted by never really learning to paint much other than ceilings and bathrooms. A bi-product of sleeping in the art class on sunny afternoons. It was a simple reflection selfie gone wrong. Sombre, reflective. The kind everyone does and posts to get their fix of likes. I chose another route, unplanned and for some reason I look like I'm wearing a dog costume, maybe it's how I am. Now there's champagne, flowing free as I squint into the screen and not the lens. In some bling encrusted shop, on my way to buy not one but two shower heads. Once home I applied my regular dose of distortion to the mix. All for reasons of personal hygiene and a pale kind of vanity. 

Still shopping: I was stopped in my tracks by the tacky normality of what appears to be fashionable to cram into your home or living space. None of it reasonably priced or reasonably designed. Perhaps it's fun, fashion or just desperation, no rules but to follow the herd. As if not knowing what to really do until reading an Aldous Huxley postscript and realizing the power of bright, shiny things to invoke other worlds and godliness. A Catholic conspiracy cooked up by drunken bishops. The transport of the divine glint, how to get away from it all and with it all. Cheaper than mescaline and without the psychosis or headaches or unintended consequences. Everyone wants to find the short cut to eternal life, it's here, simply follow the light.

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