When Shit Hits The Fan – Swarms ( Part I : Brie )

You can tell a lot about someone through how they react to a situation. Yes when shit hits the fan that is when you can sus a  person.

The Sweltering Mexican heat dries out the moisture of the unfinished house. She expected the place to be finished when her friend offered to her to stay unaccompanied there, but it wasn’t. There was a mouldy mattress on the floor, unpainted walls and unfinished rooms in the windowless barred up trap. Just about ‘un’ everything. There was no working toilet, and water could only be found down 400 hundreds steps in a well. But she made do. She got a local man to get her a mattress. And she painted. She created art throughout the day letting the heat dry every stroke as quickly as they had time to seep into canvas. The windowless-ness of  house allowed the mountain air to pass through it and create a tunnel of cold familiarity to a Viennese woman. Months she spent in this half-American Half-Mexican town ; its only claim to fame was being featured in ‘The Night of The Iguana’ . She of course took residence up north in the Mexican quarters tirelessly creating pieces of Art for an exhibition .Flurries of Papers and notes spread across the plain floors all with ideas all  with inspiration. She would spend hours consumed in creating.She spent days of effort. She spent weeks in preparation.

And life being the dickhead it was sent something to really say ‘Fuck you’ . And in this un-everything town what an artist needs the most to have an ‘un’ come before it is PAPER EATING MOTHS. Yes, what life should have maybe not done if it wasn’t such an arse is send swarms, literal clouds of paper-eating fucking moths into the windowless un-shuttered house of an artist with piles of art everywhere ; and life should especially not pull this shit before a looming deadline.

And all the lone Viennese women had as a warning was seeing the mother fuckers fly through Mismaloya straight towards her shithole. She was officially fucked. Life had officially checkmated her. Life: 1 Brie: 0

But then under the pressure Brie found a spring. She managed to find plastic from all over the place and layed it on top of nearly everything and as she ran desperately covering every sketch and piece in the large unfinished house with packets of food , bubble wrap as the swarms came towards her door. Out of breathe she sat in the corner hoping for it to work , closing her eyeas and covering her ears. She covered nearly all of it. The large moths came through and searched all over her house as she sat in fear…

After what seemed like hours they had left. She opened her eyes. There where casualties : of course but on the most it was okay. She had fucking done it. When life had five jacks in hand she slipped her hands in to the deck and made herself a full house (of course  the analogy makes no sense , I don’t gamble.)

When shit hits the fan; Brie she solves it.

Part  II coming tomorrow . A story about me.

Paris.

You can tell your excited when your packing your bags early. Not only literal bags but mental bags(?) Even through the overwhelming stress of the last few weeks; the  “YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT ART IS, I WAS TRAINED ”  type of stress, the “2 days to finish off 25% of your biology” type of stress and the “Essay in one night” type of stress. But even through all the shit of the past few weeks I have packed my bags early. The subconscious always finds time for the important to it. And what my subconcious is screaming for is Ice cream , I scream , you scream, we all scream for ice cream. But , also what it needs is a good touch of pointlessness, because right now I have had to many points in my life. 

I am already in the mindset. I have already picked the songs I will play, and the book I will read on the train. I am already gone. Yes, I am ready to lift myself out of one city and into another.  Paris. I don’t have a fucking clue what I am going to do there. I am tired of knowing what to do , because after a while that brings you down. Tomorrow I will be on the train and the bags are already packed. 

Checks weather. Fuck … I’m gonna need an umbrella. 

Terminal Laughter

So the family was arguing again, I think this time it was about the news. Such a heated debate that everyone got involved. “Revisionist History”, “Terrorism” ” War”. Dead serious. Beans looked so engaged in the stupid argument she took both of her headphones out of her ears and tucked away her phone. Then she gets fully involved and tries to act all intelligent and better than us.

She moves to get up. ( She always likes to make big points before she leaves).

But I tell her to stay . She rips my hand off her belly “Stop Laughing Hiefer . This is …” and mid sentence she swang her whole body of the sofa. A phone came flying out of her breasts and flew straight towards my mum , the headphones disconnected and ‘You don’t now your beautiful’ bursted out on full blast “…Serious”

Ahhhh how I love politics

The perfect kind of procrastination

It’s late, and once again I have left it to the last minute to do a mammoth of work. 

Brie checked up on me.

I think she knows I will be awake all night. 

Then I came to thinking if it wasn’t for deadlines, I doubt anyone would do anything of interest. I found myself ironing a dishcloth, making neat the peanut butter in a jar so it was all in line, listening to rain as though I contained a philosophical brain,searched Amazon for wild angle lenses even though the only camera I have is attached to my phone and created a blog.

I love to avoid things that stress me , probably because I am a perfectionist. What the use in trying if it can’t be perfect. ( a logic far from shrewd).

Yes what would I do if it weren’t for deadlines. 

So I sit here philosophising realising the greatest deadline of it all.

Death. Yes that is the deadline we all avoid. 

Life all in all is a procrastination , just doing random things that if you where any other species make no sense whatsoever like travelling to another country, buying a house, watching a video on YouTube, all before the deadline we try so desperately to manoeuvre ourselves around.

And so, I found a force inside me scream. I tensed. I realised I am a perfectionist and just like my work ethic, I could either be doomed to being mediocre or be the best ever. See perfectionist are the people that either create the greatest shit ever or create an excuse for why they have no homework. I have too paths for my life, either I live the dream or I become a bitter old sod that pretends he could care less about everything. I am afraid that is the curse and gift to the perfectionist and when the deadline comes I would liked to have tried.

Then I realize I have done it again. I have just procrastinated. I have just wasted precious minutes. Oh well, being a bitter old sod doesn’t sound to bad.

Beans, Brie and Saffron

At first I considered my family members food names to be something traditional and classic like the holy trinity (onions, carrot and celery) but they just are not . They don’t click like that. They don’t click at all. Yes, even though we have spent nearly all of our collective lives in each others presence  ( apart from Brie ) we still feel like total strangers, put together so weirdly it was as though the same producers of Big Brother made a spin-off and choose people with polar personalities to live in the same house together and more importantly be a family.That sounds fun; well yes it is. But much like the later episodes of Big Brother it gets annoying as fuck ( for anyone that is not brain-dead). I wouldn’t argue house life is like the Truman show, but more like an episode of Shipwrecked. Through fate inevitably getting bored of causing huge natural disasters, she decided to fuck around with something on a less epic scale; the family dynamic, and so we end up with circumstance paying our family a little too much attention. It’s circumstance that has brought us all here, not only through making our sperm win the race. But, also stopping everyone leaving and continuing with there own journeys. Circumstance has left us all in the house when the only ones that should really be here are me and Brie.

But ultimately house life is an interesting experience and one that I am not sure if I even hate.

Brie, Beans and Saffron are such apt anonymous food names for all the family members. Because if you squint your eyes and forget about your conceptions about the three tastes you can somehow imagine a dish where they work, deep in the chasms of ones subconscious a dish exist where they all marry in harmony, but sadly you can’t pinpoint the exact recipe and all other combinations taste like shit. Circumstance is a little chef in this mortal coil, and we (people) are all his ingredients to play around with. Yes, Circumstance is a gastronomical mother fucker but even for him our relationships need a good simmer, and as are development is arrested,it is circumstance through his gastronomic ways that is slowly thinking up that perfect recipe.