This termination of my current living arrangements is giving me a kick up the arse too! Hurrah! This morning I cleared out the two boxes I’d been keeping under the desk, so I could give em to me flatmate, and lo it only took an hour to get em emptied and everything tidied away! Hee, all this time I’ve been putting it off, as well, shame on me. And I gave all the shelves under the desk a tidy-out too, so there we go, Usefulness ahoy, menial activity achieved, and now the sub-conscious is satisfied and will let me get on with something more fun.
So I got fired into this drawing for the Well-‘ard chick so I could clear my feet for this ‘exquisite corpse’ thing I promised an old mate (who I will call… Cognac – wow, she predates the Chronicle of Nonsense!) that I would collaborate on. It is a measure of my complete lack of cultural awareness that when Cognac suggested an exquisite corpse, I thought, Oh god not another corpse, I am still struggling with the intestines of the current one (because I refuse to google for dismembered bodies I’m drawing for someone else; which of us will look like the psychopath here, eh?)
Turns out, an exquisite corpse is where a bunch of people do different parts of a picture/ story etc. Ho hum. Bet everyone else knew that.
But first, we have Bawbag Bellend to draw. This is, er, a rip-off of a well-known character by a famous fantasy author, neither of which I have to name. The Well-‘ard Chick was recently encouraging people to write a collaborative – not to mention somewhat dirty – exquisite corpse of her own on the internet, there we go, there’s a lot more of it around than I thought, and asked in passing if I could draw Bawbag Bellend (yes; but I draw the line at ‘the Dark Rides’.)
It only took a few hours, woohoo, this ‘drawing naked peeps on a time-limit’ is paying off already. I had in mind some sort of evil gnome with an evil smirk, one finger up his nostril and his other hand shoved down his dungarees (with a name like that, of course he’d be doing it). Unfortunately, he turned out rather more like a sleazy version of Willow. Your Honour, it was completely different in my head, I swear.
I also photographed some previous ‘art’, being on big mission to finally Put My Stuff out there and see if it sells. I bet it won’t, for there are many far better artists out there than me (with access to scanners and no problems with the sort of camera flash I get, hee) and the most I will get is a punnet of punters complaining that I suck (hopefully in language that is hilariously colourful, but I ain’t holding my breath). However. Are other people Putting It Out There? Yes. Are they all better than me? Probably not. Is life short? Yes, it is. Therefore what better way to spend it than having random punters telling you that you suck?
Anyway! The latest of the myriad things my flatmate has complained about is that I do all these drawings for folk for free and it ‘makes her sick because she has Friends who are Artists who are trying to get paid for it’. And, presumably, I’m therefore Ruining Things for everyone, though I remain unconvinced that anyone would actually part with cash for an artist’s impression of Bawbag Bellend. (And I do wonder, if I did make a decent income from drawing, would this make things better? Or would it just be beyond the pale too?)
Well, we will have to continue to wonder, for my money’s on nothing coming of this but harsh language.
(Ooh, finally I will learn to Grow A Hide. What a shame I didn’t start this process decades ago, before the internet was invented and millions of people decided you no longer required the power of Biting Wit to justify being rude to strangers about their efforts. Ah, in the old days, all I woulda had to do is keep out of Oscar Wilde’s favourite salon…)
Besides, it started to rain, so that was the light ruined.
Now there was a rather good gig on at The Vale tonight – Hippykiller, who I used to go see regularly before I ran outta cash, and Bunny and the Misfits, whose debut gig I caught, and there promised to be a whole raft of people I know there, though some of them are ex’s and some of em are going out with said ex’s, and essentially the whole evening has such fantastic capacity for being awkward and miserable and studded with hilarious* interactions, how on earth could I not go?
Because I have No Money, is how. Alas, alack, etc. So I spent the evening sitting in and working on this exquisite corpse thing. Hee, and didn’t I start off in the wrong media and everything.
(*To other people).
But it was okay, because even though I was sitting in by myself, I still got to have a hilarious and awkward interaction! Man, if it is meant to happen, it is just Going to, what. It took the form of a phonecall, out of the blue, from someone I ain’t laid eyes on in a decade. Wanting advice on tentacles.
Tree-roots? I said, confused, although rather a lot can change in a decade. For instance, this time two years ago, I would hardly have had experience of digging the bastards out, myself, and therefore not bitched mightily all over the internet about chopping tentacles with a diameter larger than I can encircle between thumb and forefinger out of my supposed topsoil. But no – this was psychic tentacles, big mix-up.
I couldn’t work out the sub-text of the phonecall, until we exchanged news on what we’d been up to, and I mentioned the parting of ways with the current flatmate. He became rather excited about the prospect of taking her place, which I thought was a little forward. It’s not like I’ve even offered-
Oh, shit, I have, haven’t I. I used Psychic Mail-order Flatmates, which is a hilarious alternative to Gumtree, easily used (just sit down and daydream hard), and which allows you to specify traits you most certainly would not get to demand on that site. The only downside to it is that you get exactly what you asked for and it is utterly unsuitable; for that is how Narrative works. You can ask for as much as you want, in order to try and circumvent this, but the more you ask for, the less suitable the outcome will be (did you remember to specify ‘not wanted by the police?’ I thought not.)
Lo, I specified, ‘blond, cute, tall, nice, pays by direct debit’. And I completely forgot, when I did so, about this guy. Does he fulfil all the above criteria? Yes. Is he horribly psychic? Yes. Is this why he seems a bit confused about why he called? Possibly. However, he just, while lovely, isn’t suitable. I was thinking of someone a little… less…
I’m not insane, he said. I just hear voices in my head, and they’ve gone away now.
Yeah. That’s why, despite my not having said any of that out loud, you replied anyway.
Sigh. Lovely chap, but if someone can read my mind over the phone, from across town, I don’t think they need to be in any closer proximity to it. There is room for only one batshit crazy person in my flat, and that is me. And telepathy would guarantee there will eventually be two, even if there weren’t before.
I think it is time to abandon Psychic Mail-order Flatmates. At least I haven’t given in to the urge to use Psychic Mail-order Boyfriends. Shudder. Only once, years ago, and let us never speak of it again except to say, jeebus, that went horribly wrong.
Now let us never speak of it again.