School has started, but I am not there. We still have to do Covid tests, so I wonder what else?
I bumped into one of the kids on the way to the Co-op yesterday. He said, 'Hello, Sir,', and I replied 'to his enquiry, 'How are you?' with the completely disingenuous 'Not looking forward to going back to school.' But he would have found the more truthful, 'I can't wait,' as sarcasm of the lowest order. The pandemic has just been too disruptive. I need routine, not to mention money.
I guess it is all about the grass being better on the other side. And were I to suddenly achieve notoriety and financial success as an art-producer would I really be that much happier? Unfortunately, I see everything as a poisoned cup at the moment. There is no light at the end of the tunnel; indeed, there is no tunnel.
I have been churning out those ink blurs on wet paper for a fair few days now. They work well. I recently learned that creatives with their brainwaves monitored have two systems operating that are normally self-exclusive: the autopilot we descend to when doing nothing much, slobbing out on the couch, and the higher analytical focus. I could have probably told researchers that beforehand if they'd asked me. But it's nice to have it confirmed experimentally.
All this stimulated by father's ridiculous telephone question, 'What are your prospects?' None, mate, none whatsoever!