This is the beginning. The honeymoon of the project. Everything is possible today. When you read you begin with ABC when I pot I begin with THC. Kidding not kidding, kidding. Treacle Horse Cock. But seriously, I am bristling with enthusiasm today. Like a slimy mischievous leech I have latched onto Sin Tax which is the government kick back scheme for allowing the legal sale of cigarettes, alcohol and other harmful substances in society. The political position is that if it's bad for your health it's illegal unless the government gets a cut. As a dependent of alcohol which I use as a crude braking system for my overactive mind I am pleased to contribute my share. I am under no illusions as to the negative effects drinking has on my health although my wife says that I am a better person when I am drunk. She will often leave a couple of beers in the letter box and insist that I drink them before I'm allowed in the house. The transition between the mad rat energy of the studio and the warm sloth nest of our family home must be carefully managed. Domestication is a game I struggle to excel at or even understand. Cattle prodder rotter burns beige bureaucracy. My spirit animal is not a couch! Netflix is a bitch. In the fridge: cold cans call my name. Excess comfort deflates my reality. And by this I do not deny that I like a hot shower and a clean bed to sleep in but simply that there is a tangible balance to maintain and that the balance is tricky.
Making goblets and an ashtray. I never thought I'd have cause to make an ashtray in my lifetime. All the smokers I know have either quit or died. It felt like fashioning a noose for a stranger. Nina Simone blissfully revisited. A harrowing black angel fills the pottery with an aching for justice. Sometimes I find the suffering of others cathartic. It's certainly great potting music. I adore the freedom of the studio. Safe from hokey pokey wokey dokey politics. Right wing wankers, left wing spankers, centralist cock fags and bitches. It is a great privilege to be able to think and speak freely. Nothing is sacred. Veneration is a hidey hole for bigots. Spew forth your truth and let me taste your tolerance. An inability to listen is more dangerous than an inability to speak. Jack Knives Splatter.
I miss the lockdown. Those months of isolation tore away the superficial busyness of my life. More hanging out with the kids and going to the beach. I realised how much of my life I spent doing shit I don't actually give a fuck about. I generally find most people dreadfully boring. Not you of course, the other people. The tedium of trivial drama eats at my pickled tiger penis energy. It is probably better for me to take up smoking than associate with sheeple. School pickups. Supermarket shopping. Sportswear mummies and the fucking mall. Frankly I'd rather choke to death than pretend to give a rat's cunt about elastic pants. I get it, you're fat but you want to feel athletic. Plastic porridge sacks strain lower backs. I'm a little overweight myself at the moment. I can tell because I get breathless putting my shoes on. I'm not exactly sure how I gained the weight but I suspect it may have something to do with my poor, high fat diet and not doing any exercise at all, ever. I bought a chin up bar but because I'm so fat it's impossible to use. Imagine an obese, toothless tyrannosaurus rex trying to do a pull up on a tree branch with its tiny weak arms and massive sugary undercarriage. Elastic pants are a licence to be lazy. I am still wearing maternity pants and my youngest child is nine and I don't even have a womb. I am a fat lazy bastard who identifies as a vegan endurance athlete. If it helps you should know that I’m writing this while day drinking alone at the pub.
Let me begin
From a binge
Vomit in your fringe
More important Information: I am definitely going to hell and not just for fat shaming either. I've also been making pottery pipes and it's like working at a suicide factory for cowards. Being asthmatic has prevented me from truly embracing smoke culture but as a fire aficionado I have always felt a bit robbed. I think I would be an excellent smoker given a chance. I've got all the moves. Smoking is so cool and so dangerous. With fifty percent of smokers dying from smoke related disease you've actually got a higher chance of survival playing Russian roulette. I'd be happy with fifty percent myself but because of my asthma issue it's more like one hundred percent and I just feel like there's less painful ways to kill yourself. Imagine if tea was as lethal as smoking. Imagine if smoking was a combat sport. Regardless, if I ever get a terminal illness I'm definitely taking up smoking. Bung lung bums smoking gun.