michael crowe

main options stories art links

2010-07-06T16:08:00.052+01:00

story titles

2010-07-03T04:01:00.051+01:00

mysterious letters

2010-06-12T00:50:00.024+01:00

collage

2010-06-10T00:00:00.018+01:00

homer vimeo

2010-06-08T23:37:00.003+01:00

1

2010-05-31T14:28:00.007+01:00

links

2010-05-27T13:45:00.020+01:00

sketch up

2010-05-23T21:47:00.021+01:00

2010-04-24T15:36:00.007+01:00

Work of mine is in the new Arc magazine which is designed and produced by
current postgraduate students at the Royal College of Art.

Mo info here

grabs

2010-04-17T15:42:00.007+01:00

2010-04-10T18:07:00.004+01:00

I just found this.

Mine's the first one on there.
Preview plays the whole thing.
(Bare in mind, it wasn't written to be read aloud.)

2010-03-08T16:02:00.019Z

A 12 page newspaper of my new stories is available.
The first print run is 100 copies.

Treat yourself!

BUY HERE

giacometti robocop

2010-03-01T12:37:00.001Z

2010-02-18T19:47:00.002Z

Lonely dice die.

2010-02-12T14:16:00.003Z

shush party Gloria agreed to throw a party as long as nobody spoke throughout.

2010-01-19T03:02:00.015Z

smalls ellara woodlock our garden was a mess. we put up a poster

2010-01-05T23:56:00.022Z

No problem Some things must be done physically.

2010-01-02T02:21:00.006Z

newspaper

2009-12-30T16:13:00.008Z

art links

2009-12-30T15:42:00.017Z

photo of me

2009-12-29T23:32:00.010Z

the bellevue dead

2009-12-28T18:27:00.010Z

mini minimal minimalism

2009-12-27T12:17:00.007Z

2009-12-06T13:34:00.000Z

2009-10-23T17:14:00.016+01:00

Part 2 of Mysterious Letters (writing to everyone in the world) by Lenka and me click

American television news report click

New Yorker click

German Financial Times click

2009-08-27T17:00:00.010+01:00

I got a letter from an ex girlfriend this morning. F: I hand delivered this, I’m outside your house right now.

2009-08-25T02:26:00.009+01:00

2009-07-27T19:26:00.019+01:00

2009-07-23T00:25:00.001+01:00

2009-07-12T23:33:00.014+01:00

2009-06-22T17:35:00.002+01:00

rinse

2009-06-21T14:21:00.005+01:00

bowing alley xxxxxxx

2009-06-12T13:28:00.006+01:00

2009-05-21T15:38:00.015+01:00

2009-04-13T15:11:00.016+01:00

Mysterious Letters is a collaboration with Lenka Clayton.
We sent a personal, handwritten letter to each home in Cushendall (467) which all arrived en masse.
The letters were all positive, perky, peculiar.
The art work consists solely of the discussion between the recipients about what on Earth these letters are,
who sent them and why, etc.
On the day the letters were sent it was announced in the national press.

Read the Mysterious Letters here
More more more on Lenka's wonderous website: click

2009-04-13T14:31:00.010+01:00

I've two stories in a guide at Tate Britain now. (not now, too late.)

They ('re supposed to) help explain what "altermodern" is.

basketballs wilt michael crowe

2009-03-11T00:33:00.004Z

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2009-03-08T22:43:00.009Z

2009-02-28T02:29:00.004Z

2009-02-19T01:57:00.007Z

The field of view widens throughout the whole dream.
(Not panning out.)
After ten minutes, further width seems impossible to take in.
It continues.
Quickens.
Left side a touch faster than the right.
The dream itself is just a still landscape.
Grass, trees.
Tiny, trivial movements.
After a few hours, it rains for a moment.

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2009-02-18T21:33:00.002Z

2009-02-17T02:47:00.006Z

blank

2009-01-22T02:06:00.004Z

2008-12-27T18:08:00.009Z

google image search puffy

2008-12-07T22:38:00.005Z

2008-12-06T15:36:00.008Z

Dear Scott,

here’s the pesky email I’d promised. I hope all’s lovely with you, and the
preparations for China are ballooning along bonnily. I don’t even know if
you have lots of things to prepare for that show, I presume you do but
maybe it’s all the same clothes as the last show? I’m clueless. Clearly:
no clue. Which is this why this:

As we briefly chatted about, the characters in my stories have never had
any of their clothing described, and, since you’re an inferno of astonishing
style and a real-life, globe trotting fashion designer, I thought you might
quickly scribble something they could all be wearing. I won’t mention it in
the stories, but it’ll be understood that everyone I’ve written about so far,
and everyone I’ll write about in the future will be wearing these clothes. I
think one outfit will be enough, but it doesn’t need to be unisex, it’s
completely up to you. It could be something as simple as:

No shoes, no socks, no underwear, green jeans, white, slightly damp Garfield t-shirt.

I don’t want you to feel like it has to be some vast description, it’s
completely up to you what goes on. It doesn’t have to be funny, or serious,
or tasteful, or elegant or anything. Maybe just the first thing that pops up
in your head would be best. The main thing is, I don’t want this to be a
nightmare for you.

If I ever have my work made into a film, this clothing will be used. The only
time I’ll deviate from the clothes you pick is if I specifically need a certain type
of sock or vest or whatever to make the narrative work. Stories set deep into
the future or past will still have your choice.

To "unveil" this clothing thing I’ll just put this email on my website, word for word,
and your response, if that's ok with you. (don't worry I won't put your email
address on!) I think that's the best way to do it.

Cheerio, and huge thanks!

Michael

camera innards

2008-11-16T21:58:00.016Z

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2008-10-28T20:40:00.003Z

2008-10-12T23:53:00.006+01:00

2008-08-31T19:52:00.010+01:00

Update: All ten places taken now, sorry!

My next ten pieces require participation.
If you’d like to help and take part,
I want you to email me your phone number.
(outside the UK is fine)
I’ll email the first ten to respond a short script in return and
if you like your role
we’ll arrange a time for me to call that suits you.
My hello will be straight into the first line of the script.
There won’t be any small talk outside the scripted conversation.
Any deviation from the script and I’ll hang up.
Obviously you can read your lines any way you fancy,
but I’d like it to be fairly natural, casual.
I’ll be reading my part badly, but only because I can’t act.
I’ll record each call and put the results on here.
I won’t use the phone numbers in any other way.
It’s safe, non-toxic fun.

slowlyberserk@hotmail.com

2008-08-14T03:00:00.028+01:00

2008-08-05T00:22:00.014+01:00

2008-07-14T21:21:00.031+01:00

2008-06-25T11:23:00.005+01:00

This is a collaboration between Anna Maria Pinaka and me.
I wrote a story in English and then gave it to Anna Maria, who
translated it into Greek, making as many changes as she
wanted to, wholesale huge or teeny-tiny. I will never translate
the final Greek text back in to English to see what has been
altered. I just accept that Anna Maria has done wonders with
the story.

Μια μεγάλη γκαλερή χτείζεται για να φιλοξενήσει τα καινούργεια αγάλματα,
Το πρώτο απο τα οποία είναι ένας δρόμος δέκα μίλιων, ένα αυτικίνητο και
ένα καινούργειο άγαλμα.
Μπαίνεις στο αυτοκίνητο.
Πρόσεξε τα δάχτυλα σου. Σοβαρά, πρόσεξε τα δαχτυλάκια σου.
Η πόρτα κλείνει με θόρυβο.
Ένας βοηθός στη γκαλερή σε χεραιτάει και σε οδηγεί στο δρόμο.
Το αυτοκίνητο φτάνει τα 120 μίλια την ώρα και περνάει το καινούργειο άγαλμα
Που είναι ένα πεζοδρόμειο.
Μπορεί μονάχα να ειδοθεί στα 120 μίλια την ώρα. Έχει σχεδιαστεί να είναι ορατό
μονο σε αυτή την ταχύτητα. Ενα μίλι αργότερα το αυτοκίνητο σταματάει.
Οι εργαζόμενοι στη γκαλερί ζητάει να μάθει αν εχείς κάποια ερώτηση.
Πρέπει να ενθαρίνει τον καθένα να ρωτήσει τουλάχιστον πέντε ερωτήσεις, δύχνει
ένα πολιτιζμένο επίπεδο περιέργειας.
Οι εργαζόμενοι είναι πολύ καλά ενηξμερωμένοι.
Αν ρωτήσεις μια ερώτηση της οποίας την απάντηση δεν γνωρίζουν, θα υπάρξει
μια μεγάλη παύση που ακολουθήτε απο τα εξής μαγικά λόγια
«Πενηνταπέντε φορές καλόγερος»
Το επόμενο καινούργειο άγαλμα είναι κλειδομένο μακριά.
Ίσως μπορέσεται αλλα ίσως να μην μπορέσεται να το δέιτε.
Το ακροατήρειό του είναι συνκγεκριμένο.
Για τα πρώτα δέκα χρόνια μόνο όμορφες γυναίκες μπορούν να το δούνε.
Μία κάθε φορά, οδηγούνται μέσα στο δωμάτιο απο μία όμορφη ταξιθέτρεια.
Οι φωτογραφίες απαγορέυονται αυστηρά, .
Μετά, ίσως προσπαθήσουν να το περιγράπσουν σε άλλους - εντάξει.
Μπορούν να φτιάξουν ένα αντίγραφο, να γράπσουν ένα τραγούδι για αυτό,
να μιλήσουν στον ύπνο τους για αυτό, ότι γουστάρουν.
Και με το «όμορφες γυναίκες» ενοώ κάθε γυναίκα που έχει τουλάχιστον μία ελιά στο στήθος.
Μετά απο αυτή τη δεκαετία, για τα επόμενα δύο χρόνια, μονο δεκάχρονα με
μπαλόνια θα μπορούν να το δούνε.
Οι ταξιθέτες είναι δεκάχρονα με μπαλόνια, που οδηγούν τους δεκάχρονους θεατές ένα-ένα.
Μετά απο αυτό, για τρία χρόνια μόνο άνθρωποι που έχουν δουλέπσει
σαν οδοκαθαριστές για πάνω απο δέκα χρόνια μπορούν να το δούνε.
Και πάει λέγοντας…
Υπάρχει μια ολοκληρομένη λίστα με το ποιός μπορεί να το δεί και πότε στον οδηγό της έκθεσης.
Η λύστα καλύπτει τα επόμενα τετρακόσια χρόνια επισκεπτών, μετά τα οποία η φορά επαναλαμβάνεται.
Συνκαικριμένα κοινωνικά στελέχη δεν θα αποχτήσουν ποτέ άδεια εισόδου και θα
πρέπει να βασιστούν στις μαρτυρίες αυτων που το είδαν.
Το τελευταίο καινούργειο άγαλμα είναι ένας διάδρομος του μπόουλινκγ.
Η είσοδος επιτρέπεται σε ένα άτομο κάθε φορά.
Περπατάς προς τα μέσα και όλα φαίνονται φυσιολογικά.
Τα χαλιά είναι περίεργα και οι εργαζόμενοι φαίνονται κουραζμένοι.
Εκτώς απο δύο απο αυτούς που φλερτάρουν.
Πραγματικά δεν τους νοιάζει που πρέπει να φοράνε ανόητα καπέλα.
Είναι ερωτευμένοι.
Δεν θέλουν να τελειώσει η δουλειά.
Αυτός ο αναγουλιαστικός διάδρομος τους φαίνεται παράδεισος. Βγάζεις τα
παπούτσια σου και ξεκινάς κανονικά τις διαδικασίες.
Γράφεις το όνομά σου στην οθόνη.
Διαλέγεις μια μπάλα. .
Τότε την ρίχνεις στο διάδρομο.
Δεν το φαντάζεσαι να έχει πλάκα, το να παίζεις μόνος σου.
Νοιώθεις πως όλοι ψυθιρίζουν για σένα
Όλοι φάινονται να σε κειτάνε.
Ρήχνεις την πρώτη σου μπάλα.
Ρήχνεις όλες τις κορίνες.
Χαμογελας.
Δέυτερη μπαλιά.
Πάλι τέλεια.
Μετά απο πέντε μπαλιές, κόζμος έχει μαζεύτει.
Σε χαίρονται και σε χειροκροτάνε.
Φιλιά και αγγαλιές.
Μπορείς να παίζεις για όσο θέλεις.
Θα κερδίζεις συνέχεια.
Νοιώθεις θεός.
Φυσικά δεν είσαι.
Πίεση και αέρας διατηρούν τις μπαλιές σου σταθερές και στο κέντρο του διαδρόμου.
Αυτό το ξέρει όλος ο κόσμος
Εκτώς απο εσένα.

2008-06-11T01:00:00.019+01:00

My exhibition at the Hand and Heart gallery (Nottingham) is finished.
It was mostly writing and a few surprises.

Many massive thanks to Richard and Sophie.

2008-06-04T14:25:00.018+01:00

2008-05-31T19:01:00.030+01:00

Every gift you’ve ever received,
back in the original wrapping paper,
with the same tags,
and then:

1. I deleted number one. Wasn't much good.

2. Floating out at sea on an enormous piece of polystyrene.
The polystyrene has been cut into a profile picture of you.
Some of the lighter presents are sliding near the edge.
By your nose, and one by your chin.
Curious seagulls.

3. Tilted with twigs, so they’re looking up at the moon and the stars.
I don’t know if there's a campfire nearby but I can hear a crackling.
Your gifts mull over the mysteries of the universe.
They think of you too.
They speak to each other:
"These stars are the same stars Napoleon once looked at."
"This moon is the same moon Jesus once looked at."
"And billions of little white mice."
"Countless captivated eyes."
"All looking at the same thing."
"Some crying."
"All clueless."

4. Gently massaged.
For hours.
Until the paper comes off.

5. Balanced one on top of another and used as the new
silent/tall Queen of England.
Everybody loves her.
Every single human being.
People wonder what the top gift is.
Her crown.
The smallest gift you've ever been given.

6. In your bedroom, filling it absolutely entirely, waiting for you.
So exciting.
Spilling out into the hallway.
All yours.
All completely yours.

Now you’re sat in a cinema next to me. I bought the tickets,
it’s a classy cinema it wasn’t cheap. But anyway it’s my treat,
since you’ve gone to the trouble of reading so much. Don’t
ask for any popcorn. Do not ask for popcorn. There is none.
Yes, I've got some. I brought it myself from home. Popped
it in my own pan. You can't have any. This is my dinner. I'm
serious. Honestly I’ve not eaten anything all day.

The film starts. It’s original footage you opening every single
one of your gifts over the years. Ten seconds per gift. It’s
obvious when you hate a gift. I mean really obvious. That’s
followed by another film of each gift being originally purchased/made.
Ten seconds per gift. Sunlight coming through the shop windows
lighting the hair of the person buying.

2008-05-21T02:25:00.025+01:00

The first list:
All the things you won’t do.
Not just any old things.
Things you would’ve enjoyed.
It’s a depressing read.
Even just the first thing on there.
If you saw it, you’d be in denial.
No, no, I’ll do that!
I’m doing that next week!
With Terry.
Honestly, it’s all arranged!
No.
It’s not arranged.
There is no Terry.
I’m sorry but that’s just the way the
cookie (your life) crumbles (crumbles).
Once you’ve chipmunked through that list I’ve got another.
All the people you won’t meet.
A few billion names. (Terry’s included)
It's a pretty boring list.
I added a colour guide.
The names in blue are the people you would’ve been good friends with.
Really interesting, funny people.
Lovely people.
They would’ve found you fascinating.
If you’d met them.
They’re out there now, but your paths just won’t cross.
Nothing can be done about it.
Some of them are really very sensitive.
They cry from time to time for what seems like no reason.
They don’t understand it themselves.
They just think there’s something wrong with them.
They keep those tears to themselves.
After blue it's red ink.
The red names are the people you would’ve fallen in love with.
If you’d bumped into them.
And when I say love, I’m not going by the common definition.
I mean my definition.
My own private definition.
(Frothy.)
There are pages and pages of red names.
Gallons and gallons of cherry ink.
A little asterisk by the name means love at first sight.
Two means love at first sight for both of you.
What else?
God, there's loads.
I'd hate to bore you.
I'm boring myself.
I should skip through some.
There's yellow, silver, gold, black.
Italic names are all the people who would've written a song for you.
Using your name as the title.
Some names have their own roaming spotlight.
They're all the people you would’ve happily married.
Purple are people who would've made you feel uncomfortable.
Really, desperately uncomfortable.
They would've crushed your confidence.
Lovely to see them on this list.
Kiss those names.
And it goes on and on.
Just names.
Then finally, there’s the third list.
Probably the most important list of all.
This week’s shopping.
Which, if you enjoyed this story should include:
A reasonably expensive gift for me.
Something that's probably out of your price range.
But that you couldn't resist.
Something that's perfect for me.
I will accept gift vouchers.

2008-05-03T01:26:00.003+01:00

2008-05-01T23:04:00.003+01:00

same age sculptures

2008-05-01T01:14:00.013+01:00

This, and other projects Lenka and I have done are
in June's issue of Artist's Newsletter:

Same Age Sculptures, 2008, a series of sculptures made
when the artists were the exact same age. Lenka Clayton
and Michael Crowe produced them all blindfolded, in order
to remove aesthetic anxiety, and to emphasize elements
of surprise and play. Michael, being older by 34 days made
one a day, for 34 days. Then Lenka began, and 34 days/
sculptures later her first piece was coupled with Michael's
first piece, second with second, and so on. They explain:
"Age is frequently used to compare what two people have
accomplished, creating a winner and a loser. This work gently
throttles that belittling system. The most interesting pair of
sculptures will be cast in bronze."

Titles from pairs above:

1. Dug hole and lightbulb.
2. Monument to acrobat troupe and rose.
3. Spilt tea and yodelling.
4. Polar bear balancing fish on nose (metaphor for global warming) and little car.
5. Human on mountain and game of noughts and crosses.
6. Cat and collar and pancake.
7. Ripped up love letter and fear.
8. Lit candle and reclining Saint Sebastian.
9. A camel is a horse designed by committee and Stone Henge.
10. Hamburger with sesame seeds and Arthur Craven leaving Mexico in a small boat watched by Mina Loy.
11. Pissing cat and Alberto Giacometti dancing to Michael Jackson's Smooth Criminal.
12. Small crushed horse and a drawing pin.
13. George Machiunas in hospital and banana skin.

See them all on Lenka's website

2008-04-29T16:23:00.003+01:00

click me

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2008-04-26T10:39:00.004+01:00

2008-03-27T03:44:00.019Z

Painting palpitations

2008-03-22T17:51:00.007Z

2008-03-21T15:48:00.012Z

I’ve mispelt every word in this sentence to such an
extent that they’ve all become completely different
words and the thrilling point I was trying to make has been
completely lost.

2008-03-19T02:10:00.012Z

2008-03-18T16:14:00.006Z

Some of the things
you believe in
contradict
expert opinion.

2008-03-14T12:33:00.007Z

Somebody somewhere
looks more like you than
anybody else.
They probably looked in the
bathroom mirror today.
They probably fell in love.
Probably fainted.
Probably hit their head quite hard.
Probably on the sink.
Nice taps.
Gushing hot water.

2008-03-06T18:46:00.018Z

The next thing I write won't be going on here (ever),
I want to send it out individually.

In letters, postcards, etc.
It's a bit nicer.
Whoever wants it, wherever you are, I'll send to.
Just email me your postal address and I'll do the rest.
Really!
Don't be shy, my email is,

slowlyberserk@hotmail.com

Thanks to everyone who has responded.
I'm Michael Crowe by the way.

2008-03-06T18:22:00.016Z

I fell asleep much earlier than normal.
The set for the dream was only half built.
I was supposed to be on a hospital roof,
admiring the view, but there was no hospital,
only a building site, a stethoscope and
six pale people in purple pyjamas.
After a little sleuthing it became clear:
I had to build the hospital myself.
It was an enormous, virtually impossible job,
but it had come at the right time.
My waking life was going nowhere and I was
desperate to do something,
one thing that I could be proud of,
something I could tell my children I’d achieved,
even if it was only in a dream.
I approached a cement mixer and rolled up my sleeves.
Five hours later I’d figured out how to turn it on.
Clearly this was too big a task for one evening.
I had to return to it, night after night, dream after dream.
Years were spent just learning the basics.
Structural engineering, site planning, materials, insulation, etc.
Months of dreams just trawling through architecture textbooks.
Luminous green highlighter pens running out.
Luminous pink highlighter pens running out.
Hours of scholarly tedium,
decades of drab dreams.
Sketching, erasing, sketching.
Planning.
Model building.
Yawning.
In one of them I actually fell asleep at the desk.
I was dreaming of dreaming while dreaming.
In the dream in the dream the hospital was there.
Overbuilt, but there.
It had a fizzy moat bubbling with Pepsi.
I took a sip.
Definitely Pepsi.
Or Coke.
Which one's got the most sugar?
Isn't that Pepsi?
Anyway,
it had a crystal drawbridge.
I walked over.
It had a single neon pillar (horizontal)
Why?
It had gold gargoyles.
Unacceptable.
It also had a pile of bodies at the entrance.
At first I thought it was a sculpture.
Something controversial about death.
But no, they were dead people.
Dead architects.
They’d seen the building and decided to
review it by leaping off.
Frank Lloyd Wright, Le Corbusier and several others
far too famous to mention, all snapped and mangled.
I realised if I ever finished my hospital I
wouldn’t be on the roof admiring the view.
I’d be up there to step off.
I heard an ariel scream and looked up.
Frank Gehry was plummeting towards me.
I woke, covered in sweat, back into the first dream.
I knew what I had to do.
I put four bricks in a square and threw a paracetamol inside.
That was my hospital.
I stood on top and stepped off.

2008-03-06T16:28:00.002Z

2008-03-05T01:28:00.004Z

It nearly snows but
conditions change and
only one flake drops.

2008-03-01T01:12:00.012Z

Outside
every weather condition is
occuring simultaniously.

2008-02-27T16:00:00.006Z

Print this out on colourful paper.
Pink would be ideal.
Secretly take it with you when you go out for a drink with a friend.
When your friend goes to the toilet, take this out and look at it.
When your friend returns they’ll ask you what you're reading.
Quickly rip it up twice, wink at your friend and
put the paper down on the table.
Walk off to the toilet, whistling.
When you return your friend will have pieced the pieces together.
They will have read all of this.
They’ll be waiting for you with a hand held up, for a high five.
It’ll be one of the best high fives of all time.

2008-02-26T19:00:00.002Z

Some people think they get everything wrong.
They consider themselves losers.
They’re wrong.

2008-02-25T03:57:00.015Z

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2008-02-23T15:47:00.004Z

2008-02-22T02:03:00.009Z

2008-02-20T02:38:00.003Z

If the North Pole
and the South Pole
heard about each other
they’d melt.

2008-02-20T01:40:00.002Z

The older you get
the less time you have to
reminisce.

2008-02-18T16:46:00.005Z

The combined weight of
everything in the air
is so hideously enormous
it’s amazing any of it
got up there at all.

2008-02-16T16:40:00.008Z

We draw each other cameras as gifts.
All day we pretend to take photos.
Then we draw a picture of us taking
the film to get developed.
We have to wait an hour for them.
We wait.
Obviously they won't all be great.
I think I took some good ones.
An hour later we draw the photos.
They're great.
Really.
One or two are a bit of a blur
but that's to be expected.

2008-02-13T22:55:00.008Z

blank

2008-02-11T01:33:00.003Z

2008-02-09T18:32:00.001Z

2008-02-09T03:45:00.004Z

Little waves
power mad
shrink and expand countries
constantly.

2008-02-08T02:35:00.001Z

I made a dictionary which has
every word from every language.
There are over six thousand languages.
It’s enormous.
I really don’t know what else to say about it.
It’s hard to find the right words.

2008-02-08T00:43:00.001Z

Children wonder why magicians with
such beautiful, electrifying powers
always resort to such
fraudulent, shameful tricks.

2008-02-07T23:09:00.002Z

There is a leaf,
higher up than any other, somewhere
in my hand luggage.

2008-02-07T22:06:00.003Z

2008-02-03T18:01:00.001Z

The words you constantly misspell are
humiliated and discombobulated.

2008-02-03T03:55:00.001Z

I've written millions of
poems about snowflakes.
They’re all different.

2008-02-02T22:44:00.001Z

I haven’t much time so this is a bit of a rough draft.
A lot of the detail I'll just have to leave to your imagination.
Don’t worry, it’s easy.
The only thing I know for sure is that I want thirty characters involved.
They don’t need names, you can think some up if you want to.
Whatever names you like, I don’t mind.
You could call them all the same name.
Bert.
Thirty Berts.
Actually, I'd rather they weren't all men.
And not all whites either.
I’d never have all whites.
Not to be politically correct but there are
thirty people for god's sake.
They can only be all white if you're not white.
Or if you've got a really good reason.
I don't even know why I brought that up.
Let's just have a sensible mix.
Now, I’ve not thought of what they’ll be doing.
Not at all.
Just get them up and about.
Get them busy.
If you're stuck for an idea they could
help you to come up with one.
They could all be inspired writers if you like.
Surely you can get something good out of them.
If not then we're really fucked.

2008-02-02T01:51:00.004Z

Sculpting the pot takes so long
I have to water the clay
before I can make the flower.

2008-01-30T18:27:00.002Z

I’m going to ask you to do something at the end of this.
Nothing kinky.
Just something to connect us.
In quite a pathetic way.
Honestly, it’s nothing kinky.
I don’t want to build it up too much but I think you’ll like it.
It’ll just be a nice little moment.
Not that your life is short of nice moments of course.
I’m sure it’s bulging with enchantment.
That sounds sarcastic.
It wasn’t supposed to.
I’ll bet your life, compared to mine is astonishing.
Again, that sounds sarcastic.
Insincere.
It isn't.
I've eaten beans on toast for six days in a row.
That's the absolute truth.
I'm poor and miserable.
Despite that, I've still written this as a little gift,
from me to you.
And, if you do it, it's a gift from you to me.
This isn't about me being power mad.
I’m not power mad, I’m perfectly healthy.
I’m so healthy I know how crazy that sounds.
Really, I’m perfectly healthy.
Oh god, this all sounds so wrong.
Beans, misery, power, health.
That should be the title.
I don't know what I'm thinking with "Safe Hands."
"Safe Hands" means nothing.
Anyway, please, when the request comes, just go for it.
You’ve nothing to lose and, I promise you,
very little to gain.
Minimal gain.
And by the way, I know that some people
will be reading this at work.
Perhaps sneaking online.
Hello.
I appreciate the risk you're taking to be here.
You are very welcome.
Still, you might think that because you're at work,
you're exempt.
You're not exempt from this.
Don’t worry, I’ve taken everything into account.
Every conceivable thing.
Nobody will notice.
Ok, it’s just you and me now.
Relax.
It’s getting closer.
Just relax.
Really relax.
We're getting closer.
It's really close.
Now I'm worried you'll be disappointed.
Fucking hell, it's shit.
Oh god, it's too late.
Here it is.
Over to you.
Go for it:
Very slowly,
scratch the
tip of your nose.

20 or 30 sculptures

2008-01-24T01:01:00.006Z

2008-01-18T18:32:00.003Z

Everything reminds us of something else,
which reminds us of something else,
which reminds us of something else,
onwards and onwards
bouncing infinitely on.

2008-01-18T12:57:00.003Z

You’re here, right now, reading this.
Which means the pressure’s on for me.
Really on.
Oh god.
You might think this is awful.
Abysmal.
You might call your friends and
tell everyone I’m a nitwit.
A moron.
Which might be true.
Why else would you say it?
Oh god, it’s true isn’t it?
It’s an actual fact.
Maybe I should just delete this.
Start a new one.
Something more dramatic.
Something more nutritious.
Something that’s more you.
I don’t know, what do you like?
Something about food?
I’ve no idea.
Giblets?
I could call it Giblets if you want.
It’s called Giblets.
Maybe I’ll set it in January.
Or March.
I don’t know, what do you want?
August?
Fucking hell, I don’t know.
I don’t know what month to set it in.
I really do not know.
Fuck it: December.
Anyway, I’ll open it up strong.
Straight away I’ll use some great words.
Honky-tonk.
Puff pastry.
Orthodontics.
Jogging bottoms.
Yeah, it’s coming to me now.
I can feel my confidence rising, big time.
Wow:
Now I’ve got an image of a tissue.
A shoelace.
And a bell.
A ringing bell.
Ding ding ding.
If you don’t like that then you don’t like literature.
Ding ding ding.
Can you hear that?
Brilliant.
I can ring that any time.
No, this is great, this is really coming together.
This is really taking shape.
A good shape.
Maybe I should send it off.
Get a book out.
Giblets.
Wait a minute, more images are hitting me like crazy:
Dogs.
Wild dogs.
Mints.
No, mince.
Carrots.
Somebody's niece.
Coffee managers.
I don’t even know what coffee managers are.
That’s inspiration for you!
This is really rolling along now!
Hang on, there’s more:
I can smell frankincense where it’s set.
Where’s it set?
I can smell the dogs.
The wild dogs.
I think they’re eating something.
Dog food.
Ok, it’s definitely August.
And that’s that.
Fabulous.
Done.
Now I think you should call your friends back.
Mention what you said earlier.
Tell them you were wrong about me.
Apologise to them for wasting their time.
By all means, mention Giblets.
Maybe you could ask them what they’re up to tonight.
It’s your call.
Your phone call.
You could find out if they’re alright.
Maybe one of them is upset.
Feeling a bit down.
Listen to them.
Try to cheer them up.
Be a real friend.
Help them out in any way possible.

2008-01-15T23:17:00.003Z