The Fine Art of Falling Apart: still here

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About

This is what it could look like when one completely deconstructs a life as one knows it, and how to build from the ground up. Alternatively, this is a fresh look at an old story. The fine art of falling apart.

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I'm Gish. I guess this is what one can call the remnants of a pre-mid-life crisis. I listen to too much music and read too many books, and it all means nothing. Abrasive, I smoke too much, drink too much coffee and hardly sleep. Alive. Be sure to check out the new links to blogs, photos, music and other sorts of good stuff at the very bottom of the page.

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still here

Stamped: 4:51 PM

Every time I sign in somewhere, I hold my breath until I'm logged in. I'm almost always sure it's the wrong password, or maybe I don't exist in the internet world anymore.

But no. I'm still here, figuratively speaking at least.

Whole wheat pasta and sauce today. Not hungry. The rain is cold and I just want to lounge in the 1000 threads per square inch egyptian cotton sheets I ordered a few months ago. They came yesterday. White sheets. Perfect to be a ghost in.

The flavoured water is a constant. and some blue pills. Two different kinds now to go numb. Today is a good day to be numb.

Haven't painted anything since the show. Tired of being on the Island like some kind of private mental hospital in my mother's home. And I've got some art in my mind, someone else's. So honest that it shocks me. It's not the subject manner, it's the honesty. With everyone to see.

I wonder if I could pull that off.....

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