The weekly unwanted dose of X-Factor is becoming more and more unbearable. Will it ever end? But today’s blog is not about that thinly spreaded boredom-fest. Not just because it’s boring, but mainly because I haven’t decided what to write about yet. It’s not going to be gold as I’m not concentrating. While writing this I’m listening to the Collings and Herrin Podcast (141) in the earphones which makes it almost impossible to think about anything else. Collins is speaking about funerals, and Herring is talking about fucking turkey cloacae. I’m not interested in talking about either of these things, and even less interested in... oh fuck I have to pause it, I cannot write with this nonsense going on. It’s like sitting between two different kinds of idiots, and trying to meditate, as they play squash and re-enact Prime Minster’s Questions.
Today I am mostly annoyed I cannot get down to Blank Space, roll my sleeves up, open a beer and get stuck in with the clean-up and the set-up. I feel strongly that I should be involved, and the less time I spend there the more I am missing out on. The unpleasant lumpen obstacle of work is blocking my path toward inclusion in the Great Blank Space Turnaround. Soon this unloved storage space will be a crisp hub of creativity, and I should be taking my spot on the podium alongside my fellow Blank Page/Media art botherers. As it is I can only look at the pictures on facebook, and read the news feed on the Blank Media Collective website.
Mark and the rest of the Collective (well some of them) will be down at the space tomorrow, and I can’t join them because financial constraints compel me to spend the day running around after self-satisfied middle class mums and there shitty little kids who don’t get told to cover their mouth when they cough. For minimum wage. And with only a 30 minute break in an 11 hour shift, which the boss has the delusional megalomania to try to reduce to a 20 minute break. I’m not happy; but life could be worse. I could be a member of an enslaved alien race, uneducated about my culture and cut off from my family, forced into a life of drudgery for no thanks and no reward. Actually no, I am all those things, except perhaps the alien thing (assuming you don’t buy into the theory of panspermia).
I keep trying to read Foundation by Isaac Asimov but just as I open the pages sleep takes me as her bitch. By the time the next day arise and I reattempt the read my mind is vacant of all it absorbed in the previous session and I must begin again. I also need some time to write something that isn’t the blog (how can I be a professional writer if I haven’t got a product to sell?), and I need time to put in my fair share of Blank Space work. Forget about donating to charity; donate to me, time or money. Thanks in advance.
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