Wednesday, 12 December 2007

Wish List

I'm compiling my wish list for 2008.It's going to be great, I can tell, as "8" rhymes with great.....and mate and date and "no wait" , "what an incredible fate" and "clean slate"....and "appreciate" and "not too late". Well my wishes are these:

1. My top ultimate wish. Must think as I don't want to squander it.
2. This is the runner up wish incase no.1 wish is impossible. Also need some time to contemplate. And it would be best kept secret.
3. This wish is for if wish 1 and 2 both fall through. In this case, I would be looking for a new genie. Just send me the compact umbrella with the company logo--the gift everyone gets who didn't win the Audi Roadster or the Cruise to Panama. Up Panama. Who wants to go there? Stuck in the locks for nine hours staring at cargo ships. Take me to Butlins...or is it Buttlins? Not sure of the spelling. Not sure if I want to go to Butlins.

Other wishes for 2008
1. Delete all the psychos from my speedial.
2. I want a silver toilet seat like the ones in Costa Coffee. Wow.
A royal experience for the common people. Where's my screwdriver?
3. Bulldoze the bedroom and extend into the neighbour's apartment.
4. Spend time at the hookah bar on Brick Lane.
5. An enhanced and enchanted social life.
6. Get flowers give cards
7. Invest more time in art making..have more shows. sell paintings.
8. Have a maid to clean the house so that I can invest more time in my art.
9. To be accident-free especially on the bike.
10. The death of a certain neighbour.
11. picnics and beach holidays

Quote of the day

That man's on my to do list

The Strumbum

This is work from a very old sketchbook 1986-87.
(Accompanied by line drawings of a boy with "strumbum" looks like a guitar)

The boy sat on the branch that wasn't there
Waiting for the next leaf to fall on his forehead
And waken him from his 100 day sleep.
There were many leaves below him.
He couldn't understand how they had all missed him.
The blue sun was turning his hair orange..
Reverse Oxidation.
His mother would be furious.

He envisioned his strumbum.
Something imperfect about it made it his.
Only he would want it.
It loomed shyly above his head
Within reach, but he didn't want to scare it away.
He leaned away to look up at it with love
And humble understanding.
He did not wonder how or if
He would ever play the strumbum.
Its prescence filled his head with green and orange
At the same time.
He felt thoughts , but no words
And felt their breath.

He missed playing the strumbum. He'd played it for 800 days
But that was 8000 days ago when his hair
Was a different shape
As was the world.
And there were two moons back then.
Now, only one.
His love for the strumbum was rekindled through lonelieness.
His strumbum sang with him,
Singing back to him like a friend returns love.
Only a few chords at first,
He played , from his head, their most favourite tunes.
The music sheets familiar but yellowed
Were like an ancient language on the tip of his tongue.
The strumbum hesitated
Like a neglected friend who doesn't know
Whether or not to forgive.

He wished he had a strumbum.
But even if he had one,
He had not the talent and feared
Not the patience to play it.
He felt heavy handed.
Gravity tugged on every limb
That only 1000's of minutes before
Had been numb.
He felt like he had lost everything he had had....
However vague an everything is.
He went on to realise he never had anything.
He was only moving through.
What was then that is not now?
What is full and what is empty?

The strumbum's voice travelled.
The music.
His hair danced to it
And woke him as it brushed his cheek.