American Idiot

Well it has been a while...again.

I am Stateside and it has been a busy couple of weeks since I landed at DFW what with reacquianting with not-so-old nearly-friends only partly known and all through Rose but a couple of them no less sincere for all that but for the most part I am tolerated and humoured as an extension of Rose, a part of her and her life or rather her life-to-be, the other half of both of our lives, the unseen and overplanned part, our tomorrows, beginning again together.

What have I been up to? Damn good question.

Well, there have been the not insignificant matters of a bunch of new shows and a gallery opening, and the hosting of an award-winning artist arrived for six days fresh from LGW and replete with that drainingly British dirge in his heart before gradually lightening up as I fed him more margs day after near-interminably entertainment-filled day. For the most part it was do-able and occasionally flashed with enjoyment.

Plus I've done the Labour Day BBQ thing with a bunch of art-dykes (c'mon you've gotta laugh I mean at least one of them would...I think) of varying degrees of interest and/or misandry

...or should that be typo-ed to misnadry - a hatred and distrust of all things with nads?

and just generally tossed about, fucked around, done lengths of both hotel pools and around hotel rooms, before settling down Chez Rose for the daily drag. She is back at the grindstone I am variously checking email, making plans, eating, growing compassion fatigued with the saturation coverage (ha ha!) of Katrina, thinking about writing, avoiding it, wanking, arguing, sitting on the step only to grow immediately too hot. You know the kind of thing; think of a typical day off when you plan to get a load of 'stuff' done but achieve little more than Olympic standard clock-watching and general guilt.

So here I sit, a working class boy from a no horse town via the once horse drawn city of Manchester, in a very bourgois two university town with a shitload of art stuff behind me and some pretty poncy dinners to look forward to this week before much more of the gallery thang in Dallas for most of Saturday. The scary thing is that I'll be back on that non horse this time next week, still talking to you, still writing the novel, still striding forward with the master plan, but all the nearly-friends, the new people, the contacts made, the chats with artists, curators and collectors, the invitations, the private viewings, the dinners payed for and bought, the heat, humidity, light, the life, will be behind me, as will the dull open flatness of northern TX, as will mi corazon. I'll be facing that over-busy, chintzfest wall typing like a demon, avoiding mother smoke and father shite and so the loop will begin again; recover, regroup, wank, reconnect, refocus, wank, review, rethink, wank, wank, replan, reset, repay, wank, replay, rehope, reprospect, drink-think-wank, reknow.

And so it goes. And so it goes. And so it goes.

Until when?