Doodlejill

This is Doodlejill

and this is Doodlejill from the other side of the paper

What it is see, is that I’m a lazy writer. No, it’s true, I know that I could work much harder and craft every sentence, every paragraph, every chapter, every verse, every simile or metaphor into something that is entirely professional and rock solid. No, I could, I really could do it – every time.

Thing is, I don’t.

Why is that?

More importantly, does it matter?

And, in any case, lazy people deserve to have their voices heard too. After all, there are a lot of them about. Yeah, I know, there are a lot more people who don’t have the skills or experience to write well, whose voices are never heard, and it’s not their fault, so you could say, so what if your voice is unheard, for every one of you, lazy writers, there are a million others who will never have their voices heard and it’s not even their fault, it’s not their choice, they just don’t have the option. They may even be illiterate through no fault of their own.

But you do, you do have the choice, and the opportunities and still you produce sub-standard work simply because you’re lazy.. And don’t try and say that you have produced millions of words, published novels, short stories, poetry, articles, opinion pieces, musings and whatever else. They are lazy words. A million lazy words are less than equivalent to a thousand well-crafted.

You could say all that couldn’t you? But, what the hell, I still say that even lazy writers deserve their voices heard or at least out there in the ethers of life in the twenty-first century.

You don’t have to listen you know.

Illustration from The Dreamer – a short story – Click to read

Table 9

19:15-Chapter

TABLE 9

It’s kinda tucked away at the side of the Café-Bar near the entrance to the Art Gallery

Table 9

A place to look

to assess

to judge

and comment


There’s a woman with her daughter slurping on soup and munching on salad and drinking diet cola


A family with two parental figures

one presents as a man

the other a woman

They are at a long canteen-style table with 5 kids

Aged from two to ten

by the look of them

(later you realise that there are three people who are presenting as parents and just 4 kids and you realise that whatever narrative you are imposing is full of your own perspective and is not a universal fact)

Their table is laden with drinks, some alcoholic, and café-style plates of food

They have screens with games


“It’s not cheap cheese”

says a young man

delivering a plate

to a solitary middle-aged woman who must have complained about the price


I’m eating dirty vegan fries – a special order they said – and a pint of some German beer, that cost me thirteen pounds

And thinking about the fish and chips I bought in 1964 for one shilling and three old pennies

before decimalisation and before, long before, I became a vegan 30 years later

but now it’s 2022

and things have changed

as they do

always


And my friend, who works here and greeted me on my arrival 30 minutes ago told me about how he came to consciousness earlier today in the void and thought for a second that there had been a nuclear war

These vegan dirty fries are difficult to eat because the melted vegan cheese sticks them together in clumps
And when you spear one with your fork it brings half a dozen of its closest friends with it to your mouth

So you have to separate them with your fingers and stuff them in or eat too many at once

so you look around the café-bar to make sure no-one is watching you being a messy dick and then you realise, it doesn’t matter it’s not real because there probably has been a nuclear war and you probably are in the void dreaming of what might have been
And your friend, the one who woke up in the original void has disappeared and you realise that you are a dot the size of a neutrino in a universe the size of . . . . . . the universe

and it really doesn’t matter – even though it really does

Message to mes

This is a message to all the mes in all the parallel universes

It’s me

You are the light

You are the love

always

and

forever

The Younger Generation

I am a member of the younger generation and I always will be

you are too

I’ll never be old

that’s what the 60’s did

for me

and for you

Beware

Beware of people

who sit alone

in the café-bars of arts centres drinking something like a pint, or a cup of tea and they’re writing in a notebook or a paper pad or on the touchscreen of an ipad (type thing), and they look up now and again and scan the room

Beware of them

They are writing about you

It’s a compromise

Croeso – Welcome

What’s it all about then?

No one’s got a clue really, but we try to do our best.

This website exists to display a bit of one person’s attempts to do their best. When I say ‘best’ I’m not sure if that’s true in the sense that everything here is perfectly crafted, because it’s not. Some of it is roughly hewn or not hewn at all, simply pointed at, but then again, maybe that’s the best I can do.

I dunno.

I reckon that less than 1 in 100 visitors to this website are actual human beings so if you’re one of them and not a bot, and have managed to read this far down the page, I hope you can find something of interest here.

Just scroll and click and search. Turn over some metaphorical stones – there’s quite a lot to uncover even if I do say so myself.

blah blah – you know the score – here’s a poem from 1999 about knowing the score

ninetyfivefive
 
 you know the score
 in a movie 
 or a tv show
 the flaws
 small flaws
 idiosyncratic flaws
 twelve flaws
 or just one 
 we’re allowed to be flawed 
 it’s ok as long as in the end 
 we’re fucking good at our job
 in my real life i’m an artex ceiling of cracks and fissures
 with some small redemption
 
 it’s kind of arse-backwards ain’t it?

More Reflections in a Bin

Here’s a short video clip set on/in a bin

Taken the same time as the photo in a previous post, i.e. March 16th, at the beginning of lockdown

Branches and Sun reflected in a bin full of rainwater

cropped

Original Photo

Ramble – Podcast

Podcast, September 10th 2022 - Sorrow

New Face – Pedro

Candigirl – acrylic portrait

here’s Candigirl

and here’s Candigirl in a frame

Nikki - Portrait of a character

It’s a collage

It’s a collage, that’s what it is, it’s a coll-fucking-age

writer or painter?

if I don’t paint I can’t write, in fact if I don’t paint I lose the plot . . . it takes a while, months, sometimes longer, but here it comes again . . . sorry, got to go and paint . . . if anything decent comes out of my forthcoming painting session I’ll post it here, you’ll be the first to know . . . back in a bit . . . . . . it’s later . . . well, that didn’t go very far, there was a fair bit of tidying up and sorting out paints and brushes and canvases, not to mention collecting all the other stuff that had accumulated in the shed and putting it out of the way . . . then it was too hot to paint in there so very little got done (painting-wise) . . . then there was cooking and generally mooching about and just being unfocused . . . and now . . . here’s the result . . .

so, writer or painter then?

neither I suppose, not today anyway

A lazy writer?

Random Words of Today Podcast

Random Words of Today

*****

and while we’re at it, this is another little random podcast from the other day

it’s called RE: Tories Left Right etc.

*****

and yet another recoded just an hour or so ago

this one is Art Light Love Universe

*****

Damn Ants

An extract from ‘To Me’

Damn Ants

June 10th, 2006

I had one of those writerly moments earlier; you know, when you have a brilliant idea for a piece of writing; something clever and insightful, something entertaining and wise, something beautiful and exciting, and all encapsulated in the same simple concept.

The words blossomed in my head, metaphors leapt about like lemurs and stunning similes smiled at me.

Right, I thought, I’m going to blog this. This’ll have ‘em dancing on their keyboards – now how do I begin? Ah yes – fantastic, that opening sentence will slay them, and then I’ll say that, and then I’ll bring that in and then I’ll end it like that – wow.

So, I hopped out of the armchair and skipped jauntily over to the laptop.

I’ll put the kettle on, I thought. Now where’s that box of cheating chai, and I’m sure there are some of those melt-in-the-mouth chocolate coated ginger biscuits left in the cupboard.

Damn ants, you only need a grain of sugar to escape from the spoon and they’re all over the place like an army of Eng-er-land supporters on speed. Better clean up a bit.

Right here we go . . . .

Um, er, what was I going to say?

Damn ants.

***