tramping through mission control i'm looking for a book. now this is akin to looking for a needle in a haystack, because mission control is stacked full of volumes, here there and everywhere. so i'm negotiating the stacks that form a maze, attempting to start in some logical point of order but abandoning myself to the randomness of it, i come across some stories i wrote, each one seemed to be about a particular woman i was involved with. each story has a different feel and i found myself travelling along my memories getting the kind of idea that perhaps it's possible to compile a book of short stories about ex girlfriends. maybe i will post some up here and see what happens.
another old manuscript i found was a first draft of a novel i wrote about 14 years ago, again a true story but a very dark one, a complex one to read and to write. but that's there, almost finished, it just needs an editor to tidy it up, some chopping around and reorganising, it's a film i tell you, a brilliant film in waiting.
anyways i never found the book i was looking for. it's upset me.
so at work i took the clients to 'vivid', a festival lou reed is curating in sydney and it's on the harbour, lots of nice lights, costumes, people wandering around with kids, music and the smells of cooking, the people all seem happy in their scarves and hats, lots of tourists and colour. but it dosn't really do much for me, i'm a grumpy disillusioned old man. i look at the fire dancers and secretly wish they would ignite, i look at the woman dancing in a black suit with light bulbs and hope she gets electrocuted, the juggler, mmm let's see, maybe he will fall backwards into the water or one of those stick things will fall onto his head and knock him out, those clowns on stilts should topple over and squash some pensioners out for the night, maybe the light shows projected on the buildings will malfunction and melt all the buildings like some weird simpsons cartoon, maybe baby.
i want to go home and sleep for a thousand years.