Lately I have been almost obsessed with late seventies culture and style. I sit on youtube for hours watching old music videos, movie clips and interviews from this era lately. Rainbow colored backlighting, soft focus lenses, melodramatic swelling synthesizers. Featherd peroxide blonde hair. I love it I love it I love it. I could almost scream right now here in my small sky-bound apartment. The late seventies – when saying ‘fuck’ really meant something. When political correctness was but a budding flower. And lo- the cocaine.
Life right now is pretty grand. Even the blown head gasket in my car and the apparent stones rattling around in my right kidney causing awful pain havent really got me all too worried. I dont mind walking to work and about town save for when it rains – which is often in this island town, something about our position between the ocean and the mainland I have heard acts as a ‘cloudbuster’ and thus magnetizes humidity – but as February approaches the rain subsides. Thanks, el-nino.
And as for the kidney stones.. well, what can I do? Save for keeping on popping these wonderful little blue pills that make not just pain but the world outside a 20 meter radius slip away into a milky fog. To be honest Im not all that worried as of yet but Im sure I will be once I feel the little 4 milimeter shards trek through my urethra. Untill then, its Valley of the Dolls… party on, Neely.
Although Im quite pleased with my current surroundings, these feet grow more and more restless by the day. The metropolis is beckoning me away from this patchouli laden hipster paradise. Intentional compost information groups, 100 mile organic dieters, swami sartha hurdy gurdy dance troups, and kale munching mustache adorned hemp seed activists… no more. I crave concrete and skyrises. Vancouver -ho! I want to be enrolled in classes this fall. And I want to be settled and secure on the mainland before then. Ive always been very much goal orientated so thats what Ive done. I have just over 90 days to secure my shit and hop along over. This island is sinking anyway (Although from what I have heard this accounts for the lack of an asian population here which is so prevalent across the shores. Hemp seeds for rice bags.. a questionable trade up, but one Im willing to take.)
Im still smoking. This is a real cunt of a motherfucker for me. Every time I look in the mirrior or brush my teeth or sneeze or get tired or winded I think of those little orange butted white bastards that I love so much. I made another short lived attempt to cut the addiction last week. Short lived I lasted not 24 hours. Myabe I need to set a goal in this aspect much like I have for my change of residance. Nonethe less Im thinking about it daily and hoping that this is preparing me on some level.
After five finished products deemed unsuitable and given away, I have finally done it. Prototype #6 – the perfect handmade toque. classic grey striped with charcoal grey felted alpaca yarn. Success. The next mountain Ill climb is going to be a cardigan.