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(no subject) [Sep. 14th, 2016|12:22 am]
I felt so peaceful and happy today. I realised how rare it was for me to feel like this these days.
Set off for Hornsea fairly late as I had to rush back to go to the loo at my parents' house as I have a bit of a tummy upset.
But it was so amazingly warm for this time of the year. Our main reason for going was the fact that there are loads of cool pokemon appearing at Hornsea for some reason. Caught about ten new ones including two Pikachu.
They're mainly centred around the memorial gardens. It's so funny, there's crowds of people milling around with their phones in this tiny park.
Had chips and sat by the sea for an hour. Sonya had ice cream too. I could have neither because of my condition :(
After this about 7pm we drove out to Ulrome. There's a spot there by the sea I really like. It's just by a camp site where I used to stay with my parents.
The drive there was cool. It was starting to get dark and there was a lovely mist which made the country lanes look all ethereal.
I got a shooting happy feeling...I used to feel that way often but haven't had it in ages.
Ulrome was so lovely. THere was still some warmth in the air and I got my chair out for Sonya so she could sit near the cliff.
Made a cup of tea on my stove in the car.
I was amazed to see that the viewing area had completely fallen into the sea.
THere was a great feeling there though. Just sad that this will probably be the last really warm evening of the summer.

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The night before we were at the Humber Bridge until about 1am looking for pokey men

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(no subject) [Sep. 2nd, 2016|01:15 am]
What's up, gang?
I'm sure there's still a gang out there.
Thought I'd record the days so I can remember.
Done these drawings in the last few days:
Edgar Allan Poe....
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William Burroughs....
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They're all part of a body of work for my Etsy shop. I need to make some money.

On Monday (bank holiday) it was quite warm so went and sat a while on the Westwood. I like this place as there is lots of history there. It was granted to the people in 1300 by Edward 1st and has been common land since. This preserved the ancient prehistoric landscape... froze it in time, pretty much.
There are a few rare iron age Celtic square barrows there with a Celtic warrior buried beneath. There is an older bronze age burial mound. There is a Roman road and a Roman enclosure. The place has a nice feel to it.
I went for a walk in the trees. The sun through the leaves cast incredibly intense shadows.

The shadows of leaves in this pic spiral my pineal gland. Look at the dappled shadow behind me too.
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Rain on the Westwood a few weeks ago:

I was walking through narrow little paths through the trees and bunnies scurried out of my way as I went. It was all very fairytale.
I felt inspired to draw the day as a single page in the middle of a graphic novel that will never be finished.
So I began work on that today.
No point in writing anything else so here are some more pics from the day.
Below is "Golf Henge" There is a golf course on the Westwood. It feels so out of place.
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(no subject) [Aug. 12th, 2016|01:28 am]
In my bid to become a self-employed artist I tried to make some pen and ink drawings which I could make available as prints online.
The top one is Pikathulhu.
The middle is my favourite obscure Edwardian occultist and artist, Austin Osman Spare
The final one is of course HP Lovecraft.

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(no subject) [Jul. 8th, 2016|02:36 am]
Hi there, Livejournal land.
My course at Park Street College has ended. Indeed, Park Street itself has ended. It is to be sold of and then god knows what will happen to the lovely building.
I took A-levels there in about 1991. Horrible, dark and troubled days. After many years of nothing muchness I took an art course there which cemented my belief that I am in fact most definitely an artist and eventually I got a fine art degree.
So saying bye felt odd.
Here's the final drawing I did at Park Street. It's called "Square Root"
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No idea what I'm doing. I'm unemployed. But I'm turning it into art and using it as a contemporary art performance as the Unemployed Artist. I've recorded a song and made field recordings inside the job centre. I'm printing 6 singles, each will have the song as the A side while each B side will have a different field recording. I'll illustrate each cover by hand with a sketch of inside the job centre.
I'm off to see a man about becoming a self-employed artist next Friday. Where will all this end? Will I become a successful artist? Or die in poverty?
I'm also boarding out my loft to create storage space to free up the floors upstairs. It's hard sweaty work and I'm tired.
When it's done I'm going to turn upstairs into a gallery for my art for our Hull 2017 City of Culture status.
All my work is about this place and the 1960s social housing and I think it will be a special and personal thing to exhibit it all together for the first time in a small 1960s council house.
Had a nice evening tonight. Went to Beverley Westwood and cooked a curry. It was so warm and peaceful.

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Beverley Westwood is ancient common land granted to the people in the early 1300s by King Edward the 1st. It has loads of cool stuff like Romano-British enclosures and bronze and iron age barrows.
After a while the sky began to cloud over...
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And we were struck by a huge downpour!

On the way home we spotted a tiny baby bird just standing in the middle of the road. I pulled over and received a honk from the taxi behind me. I threw a blanket over the bird and put him beside a hedge which he hopped into.
He was sooo cute!
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I pray he's OK.
Ah well, I'm tired now. Off to bed.
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(no subject) [Jun. 18th, 2016|03:31 am]
nowhere fast
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Drawing and Nothingness [Dec. 14th, 2015|09:53 pm]
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My most recent Dent Road drawing featuring the sign.

I see magic everywhere, especially here where the bricks and mortar butt up against the fields and scrubby trees of the greenbelt. You see, I'm a spiritual kinda guy. Most people roll their eyes and/or run a mile when they hear this, but it's a term I've always used to describe my outlook. Yet, when I stop to think about it, I have no idea what the term means. I've always felt incomplete and cloudy and this is a nice, vague term. Oh, I don't particularly believe in god or follow any religion, but I am SPIRITUAL, man. Haha. There is some mystery tied up within the contradictions of consciousness and being. I'm searching for something, some new way of seeing that resolves all of the turmoil and the confusion that I feel. Some people turn to religion. Some become committed, faithful atheists. I'm not sure there's a name for what I turned to. Maybe that's it, I TURNED, and I kept on turning. I'm spinning in constant revolution. A circle, measured from any point, as Charles Fort used to say. That circle, at this time, is represented in my own "spirituality" by Dent Road. Dent Road is a very boring road and boring for me has always equalled PERFECT. Boring is a blank canvas, an empty screen for me to project my shit onto. Also, Dent Road is the perfect metaphor for Hull. It doesn't go anywhere. It goes round in circles. It's sort of ugly but when you get to know it you begin to love it. You have to live here for a long while to understand.

Newspapers love to print reports about crap places to live in the UK and Hull generally features at or near the top. People here get worked up about this, but not me. Who wants to be somewhere near the middle? Somewhere just sort of OK. Like Milton Keynes? No, Hull exists at the EXTREME end. It is extremely fucked and it's full of extremists like me. The people with potential fuck off down south, leaving us here to dream and drown in the crappest town in the UK. The type of people who compile these reports are my enemy. They are the fucking clueless idiots who Wilde denounced as knowing the price of everything but the value of nothing. They are the unmystical fuckers who fucked off down south to become successful. These are the high priests of uncool, and these are the people who will be the herdsmen of Hull's 2017: City of Culture.

Hull's ordinariness is its secret strength and this is the inspiration for most of my cultural creations: ordinariness embodied by the roads and the walks around the Bricknell Estate where I live. Since leaving university I've focused my lens to an even more narrow depth of field: I'm now studying DENT ROAD. Dent Road, as I've already stated above, doesn't actually go anywhere. I've been walking around it in circles for years. My first clear memory of the road dates back to about 1979. I'll probably write about that someday, it's a pretty boring story though.

I have a theory that if you loop round and round a familiar public highway consecutively many times you will walk away a transformed man or woman. This is my own method of suburban ritual magic. The number of circuits you make is up to you. You'll know when it's time to leave. You just have to make enough revolutions so that you feel like an idiot, begin to ask yourself what the fuck you are doing and hope that no one has noticed. This is the point at which the transformation begins. The most successful such ritual for me was the day I drove round and round Fairfax Avenue's roundabout for an hour. I'll probably write that up here one day. It's pretty boring though.

So, walking round Dent Road, I noticed a signpost that doesn't actually have a sign -- another cool metaphor. It doesn't say STOP DOING THAT BECAUSE IT IS ILLEGAL. It doesn't say anything, it just stands there signifying nothing, nothing but its own redundancy. To me this seems cool because I myself have been redundant for a long time now. I identify with this sign, man. Then I noticed that there are in fact three of these signs on the Dent Road circuit and they're actually quite beautiful. They are decades old, battered and rusting as layers of dull council paint flake and erode away. They resemble a two barred cross and look to me like religious symbols of a lost culture. Their meaninglessness appeals to me and over the last few weeks they've become totems of my damned quest.

I researched a little into this two barred cross for any possible significance or meaning it may have, hoping to find some deeper communication from the universe. Apparently, the first time this symbol appeared was in ancient Sumeria where it represented a shepherd's crook. The "shepherds" were the high priests, or controllers, of this society... and we were the sheep. So its first appearance was a symbol of our "civilisation", or domestication, quite appropriate for a council housing estate. The symbol came to represent the fundamental Hermetic occult maxim: as above, so below. Presumably the two levels of the cross corresponding with the "above" and the "below", the spiritual and the physical. There is ultimately but one truth and this is the quest of Hermeticism, the resolution of the spiritual and the physical, thought and matter, man and god. The universe is god and god is man and man is god. What is true above is also true below. Far out shit. It's also been a symbol of the Templar crusader knights, those nice chaps who murdered lots of people in the middle east, and is still used today in Templar freemasonry. It became the alchemical symbol for sulphur and Anton LeVay took it as the symbol of the Church of Satan. The two barred cross's most recent and interesting deployment is as the symbol of the NABISCO GROUP. Yes, in a beautiful poetic ring we come full circle... to COOKIES! Maybe that's what all this is about? Cookies: the circle of life. Such beautiful, cosmic poetry to contemplate as I walk the Bricknell estate and her cookie-cutter, council-built houses. There is actually a conspiracy theory that says that the Nabisco Group was set up by satanic templar freemasons. Well, I've tracked them down to Dent Road and I'm closing in on The Answer.

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(no subject) [Mar. 15th, 2015|03:55 am]
Sup freaks.

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This is the image I'm using to create a painting for my degree show.
It has a lot of personal symbology that I won't bother you with.
The bridge in the background is near where I've lived my whole life but for some reason I've never crossed it.
The spaceman beneath it is sort of supposed to be Major Tom.
The first song he featured in, A Space Oddity, was released the year before I was born and mum remembers listening to it while pregnant with me as the first men were walking on the moon. Also dad used to play it in his band.
I now write songs on his old 70s Telecaster.
The last song Major Tom was namechecked in was Ashes To Ashes, a song which sort of heralded the beginning of the 80s--the decade in which I fell apart mentally and physically.
Tom by this time was a junkie and had hit an all-time low.
I always thought this was a sad way to end his story so I hoped to write the final chapter in song form and give it a positive finale.
I was too shit to pull this off so i'm using a painting instead.
Some say space is the final frontier but me and Major Tom discovered otherwise.
The final frontier is our own consciousness and the highs and the horrors which lurk there.
The painting is probably going to be called Cyclepathic Jihad Austerity.
The "Jihad" refers to a personal crusade for enlightenment and also as a mark of solidarity with the Islamic world (Palestine, Syria, Iran, Iraq, Libya etc) currently under assault by our psychopathic death-obsessed rulers.
They know who they are.

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(no subject) [Jan. 8th, 2015|04:55 am]
I went to an auction today and picked up some interesting things.
One item was a trunk which happened to be full of personal effects: documents, letters, photographs etc.
It was from some kind of house clearance presumably of someone who had recently died.
It all dated from around 1905 to 1960.
The stuff all referred to the same family and the same lady appeared in many of the pictures.
A few of them showed very happy family scenes in the garden of a large farm house. By the fashions I would say it was Edwardian, around 1910.
The family during this time seemed to be doing well. There were photographs and post cards from all around the world.
They seemed to focus on Glasgow and Buckinghamshire, England, but the later ones were from Hull, where I live.
A few of the older early 1900s photos were from visits to far-off countries such as the USA and even Cairo, Egypt.
But the letters tell a sad story. One finishes with the line "I'm sorry that my life didn't turn out better" after the lady had alluded to sad personal events.
This was around 1930.
Another letter explains how the family had fallen on hard times due to failing investment in stocks.
Reading them gave me a chill. I wasn't reading some novel, this was someone's life, almost a hundred years ago.
One letter was from an accountant dated 1934 explaining that investments made in the 1920s had collapsed and all assets were lost.
My brother pointed out that this was the very period of the great depression.
It all adds up to a really interesting but sad historical document.
There are registration cards for the first and second world wars and hospital cards for "the poor".
There are wills, marriage and death certificates.
I originally bought it to sell and make a profit but I don't think I could do that now.
I was thinking of tracking down the relatives and giving it to them.
Or the contents could be worked into a great piece of art.
This idea excites me but also makes me a little uncomfortable.
I don't know.
I may scan and post some of it here.
I felt quite invasive and uncomfortable as I sifted through it all but it also gave me an incredible insight into the transient nature of life.
In 100 years no one will give a shit about any of the junk I have accumulated. It will at best be a commodity to flog on eBay, or whatever it is they're using in the space year 2115.
I will have passed out of living memory and into the ripples of cause and effect and the new generations will struggle with all the little concerns of their lives.
It's tragic and it's inspiring.
We must make every second count.
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(no subject) [Jan. 4th, 2015|03:27 pm]
In lieu of a journal update with words and stuff.

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Because sometimes words are not enough.
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(no subject) [Jan. 2nd, 2015|05:32 pm]
In truth, I feel a total wreck. I'm lost. I don't know where I'm going or who I am.
I'm terrified that some day I'll find out.
2014 felt empty. I'm struggling to think of something important I learned or achieved.

Maybe it was one of those "laying the groundwork" kinda years.

At the back end of the year I taught myself to play Alone Again Or on my guitar.
I want to write a song as great and as beautiful as that.
I was philosophising on creativity and the nature of reality and all that shit.
I was thinking that there was a point where that song did not exist and then a few hours later it did. All it took was for a guy to sit down with his guitar.
And since then millions of people have enjoyed it, been touched by it, had their worlds altered slightly by it.
Because it exists the world is now a different place. It's a kind of magic, as some glam band or other once sang.
I was thinking about the perfect circle (not the lame goth band) and how the concept is somehow hardwired into the universe. As are all other geometric shapes.
Yes, they are abstract concepts but they are absolute and are not subject to change. They exist whether we do or not, whether we imagine them or not.
An alien race 2 billion years from now will discover them because they are.
So when the first thinkers conceptualised them they were not inventing them, they were somehow pulling them from the ether, from the pool of knowledge held within the universe.
When Pythagoras first wrote his formula, he was describing a concept which already existed, yet he is known as its inventor.
Could the same thing be said when a great song is written?
The author is somehow channeling information from the universe. A sequence of chords and progressions which already exist within the realm of infinite possibility.
You could say this about anything, but that doesn't make the idea any less valid.
Something to ponder over for 2015, perhaps.
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