No miracles, just beavers
I thought I'd been having trouble writing recently as I've mentioned. But what I realise now is that it's the entire opposite. I've been writing stories like a maniac inside my head. I could, if you were in front of me, relate you five or six just like that.
But somehow, they're staying locked in there. A creative block isn't a matter of a well being dry. It's more a brook that's being dammed by eagerly chomping beavers felling trees in my internal forest.
Time for some pest control methinks.
But for now, no miracles, just a quiet Christmas. I hope you all have or have had good ones yourselves. See you on the other side.
Kxx
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Growing old disgracefully...
Good morning. It's my birthday. I'm hungover. Quelle surprise...
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C'mon C'mon
Rock and indeed roll. My band. I directed it but don't appear. Two Jennies in a car in the Swedish forest. Spooky. Possibly the longest edit for such a short film ever. Due to busyness and crapness, not slow editing.
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I am exactly half as cool and interesting as I was last year
Not at all interestingly, two traditional measures of blogosphere ego have, in my corner, recently taken a battering akin to that meted out to Ricky "The Hitman" Hatton in round 10 over the weekend.
Ths time last year, my Technorati Authority (a measure of inbound blog links) was hovering near the 35 - 40 mark. Right now it's tumbling towards the mid teens, slashed in half over the course of a year.
In a similar vein, around about a year ago, I had 76 images in "interestingness" in flickr. Right now, scout shows that I have also halved that total, at 37 shots.
Basically I'm becoming less relevant and less interesting on an almost daily basis.
The curmudgeon in me quite likes that :)
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the backwards music station
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I'm a Musician, writer, photographer, designer, transgendered z-list celebrity. Insomniac's boyfriend. Tragic glamour and sleepless nights are my fellow travellers. Skinny jeans and pointy shoes are my mode-us operandi. I like cats. Especially the ones who talk. Oh, and David Lynch.
