Brollywood - the prequel / 31 May 2015
Yeh, I used to vote Labour.
I made it through the thatcherites, but I'm not sure I can survive the camerongs.
D'you know something? Why don't they give the tree hugger a chance...I'm not for the monarchy, but he couldn't do any worse could he?
And he's not in it for the money.
OK I'm joking, but you've only got to look at his mother; she's given her whole life to this country. She's allowed to do that.
What if they actually care about real people and not just subjects in the abstract?
Christ, will you listen to me?
I've not met one single person who admits to voting for the election winners...
We're lost aren't we. Bloody hell.
This partly comedic conversation was so surreal. And parallel to my sense of overwhelmingly unreal life in Britain today - a seasonally soggy version of the equally surreal home of the entertainment industry - ideal opportunity to expand on the Con.Text formula. Plus a unique chance to showcase my broke-back brolly with other broken Objects Trouvé
I wait, unclear if I wait in mourning,
confusion, or merely disappointment;
frustration eats at me. I struggle with
impatience and everything is on hold.
Making is impossible until I
come to terms with my fear and the unrest.
The hunger that drives creativity
gnaws at me and stuff slips out of my hands.
Prototype ghosts emerging unready,
threaten my integrity, mock my lack
of practice. Experience holds me back;
my head will come good, the hands will follow,
the fear will fall silent and the need to
create will rise like a firebird; phoenix
to save me from the masked daemon
and the crocodiles of hypocrisy.
Making is where I belong, where I find
sense and reasons for not letting go. Yet.