Boris Johnson – Elvis on Mars

I know this is probably going to be unpopular, but I rather like Boris.  Boris shares many characteristics with my former muse, David Wolfe.  (you knew I would sneak you in somehow)

 

I have mentioned before that I managed to have an argument with his sister Rachel some years ago, as she is so far removed from everyone else’s functionality that she lacks the ability to converse or accept advice from anyone.  I was attempting to assist her in finding a new identity for The Lady magazine, a publication which I used to carry in the belief that I would be identified as someone who rated integrity above the usual concerns of self-aggrandisement and remuneration.  Little did I know that these negative attributes also apply to people who should really be above them due to their significant advantages in life.

 

I imagine that this gives me some insight into Boris.  His career to date would make anyone without an inflated sense of self and importance blush, but not Boris.  Boris cruises through life, is extremely well paid for being himself, and still we continue to forgive and encourage him.

 

I was considering a comparison with Dick Whittington, but I think Boris has now exceeded poor Mr Whittington’s achievements, and is likely, despite some unpopularity with certain Conservatives, to continue to exceed them.  Apparently the sky is the limit for this flawed but charming chap.

 

And now, it seems that our own dear Boris will be running for PM and leadership of the Conservative Party.  I have my doubts as to whether he is capable of dragging the party back to a position of popularity with anyone but the slightly more fortunate, but given his position, slightly outside the prefecture we have not enjoyed in the slightest, I am sure he would make a popular and entertaining PM, were the party to consider it.

 

Alas, the Conservative party like their candidates a little grey, and so I wonder if they will select him.  He seems to be a tad abrupt with those who actually work with him, despite the pleasing dishevelment and quick wit.

 

So, in order to endorse Boris, despite his repellent and extremely rude sister, I would like to suggest to the Conservative party that in order to be considered for any further terms, they should appoint the adorably grey Gove as Chancellor, ditch the appalling trio of Cameron, Osborne and Duncan-Smith to whichever Tory hellhole that most closely resembles a jobcentre, complete with terrified and hostile staff.  There they can enjoy the fruits of their own labours.

 

I am of the opinion that Boris planned to lose the referendum, and this is another in a long list of charming accidents.  I said in my previous post, and I will say it again IT IS NOT NECESSARILY A BAD ACCIDENT.  Like Boris, Britain is dishevelled, inventive, and fast on its feet.  Like Boris, Britain is well capable of making the best of a difficult situation, and like Boris, Britain is not always nice to those assisting as the country blunders its way through history.  He represents the country perfectly, and short of Scotland rescuing England from the risks involved in Brexit, he is the ideal solution to a problem voters created by opting for a risky but optimistic future.

 

In a future where the population is likely to become considerably more engaged and educated about politics, it will take a strong, charming person who admits and learns from mistakes, not a blustering, arrogant pair of giggling twits like Osborne and Cameron.  Whether you like it or not, we are well rid of the pair of them.  I move we go for the entertaining option, with a side order of sensible economic policy which benefits the people who have suffered most under a system which has bled small and medium sized business and domestic spending in favour of fat savings, fat business, and skinny prospects for most of the people in the UK.  We now have an opportunity for optimism, and I would like to see this optimism, this vigour and stimulation for growth which touches real people as soon as possible, so I say, let us encourage the wise fool. Boris is the best option England has got.

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EU referendum postscript

EU referendum postscript

So, yesterday Britain went to the polls to vote on whether we wanted to be in or out of the European Union.

 

The campaign on both sides was pretty woeful, Boris appears to have taken the job as leader of the Brexit campaign in order to bluff the population out of voting Brexit, a fact that most of the media has ignored. I have never seen Boris make so many errors as he did during the campaign, which leads me to believe that he took it on as a favour to Cameron.

 

Meanwhile the Remain campaign, headed by David Cameron himself, was just as lazy and complacent as their assumption that we in Scotland would be too lazy to consider running our own country.

 

Hilariously, England and Wales have voted out, and everyone else plus London and the richer cities have voted to remain in.  Boris probably had about fifteen minutes to write his speech this morning.

 

Nobody appears to have planned for a vote to exit, and nobody seems to be able to imagine the UK without the EU.  Younger voters have been tweeting all day about the selfish old codgers who supposedly ruined their futures by voting to leave the EU. They have been trained to find someone to hate in response to news that they do not like.  Who should it be this week?  The fat, the old, the smoker, the drinker, the ehead, the junkie.  Whatever floats your boat, it is no fun to actually look at the truth, and it probably takes more than 30 seconds.

 

There do not seem to be many people willing to discuss it that actually remember what the UK was like before we joined in the first place.  In 1975, there was weeks of discussion over whether it was a good idea, huge resistance to doing it, and a large number of people and industries have suffered in order to benefit a few large companies and extremely rich people. These same younger voters know nothing of Britain’s fishing industry, eating British produce when it was in season, or actually being able to get work when you were looking for it instead of endless temporary work whilst you wait to get a job that you are actually trained for.  I am by no means suggesting that Britain was paradise, but it was certainly easier for my older siblings, who all benefited from the pre-EU economy, to find gainful and permanent employment than it was for me. Marks and Spencers, for another example, used to sell classic styling made in Britain.  We generated domestic income by promoting things ACTUALLY MADE HERE, and people had work.

 

Driving around Scotland, you can see traces of the industries that have been destroyed since then, by a combination of Westminster policy, EU rulings, and the ability to easily move jobs thanks to a more advanced system which meant that company owners no longer needed to care if they were destroying an entire region by removing thousands of jobs.  Kilmarnock made carpets, Port Glasgow had shipping services, Rothesay was the holiday destination for railway workers.  All over Scotland you can marvel at the astonishing amounts of money we once had to build incredibly beautiful buildings, and the people now housed in cardboard blocks of flats, who once earned a decent living and spent money, sustaining everybody around them as they did so.

 

Whilst the porridge wogs are, of course, of no importance to the English and Welsh voters who have now decided to revive the old UK, (they hate everyone with equal venom)  they have now noticed similar desertification of their own areas, and they are angry with Westminster.  Scottish people are just whingers, of course, but these proud English have expressed their anger by demanding that Britain exit what is seen to be a controlling EU, which somehow manages to induce the Conservative Government that these same people voted for, to create policies which kill the disabled through neglect and welfare punishment, invite an underclass of immigrants to undercut the fake minimum wage, and – shock horror – reduce their local services.

 

Does anyone seriously think that their favoured Conservative Government is more trustworthy with human rights, the environment, TTIP, TISA, CETA and promoting a healthy economy which benefits everyone within Britain?  No, I do not think they do.  I think they are more like my neighbour, who does not want Scottish independence in case he has to do some additional paperwork and refuses to understand that people are dying BECAUSE HE VOTED TORY.  I think they have, like the young, been trained to hate, and they have chosen the traditional English way out – it is Johnny Foreigner’s fault.

 

With my economics hat on, I forsee interesting times.  I do not forsee a return to ‘Buy British’ or the heyday they seem to think they will return to, but a country that allows you to make a living and allows the fishing boats to fish their own waters would be nice, so it is not the end of the world.  The pound going down is not so bad either, since it will create a demand for the goods nobody sees the point in making any more.

 

It may also interest the disappointed youth to know that nobody was prevented from going on holiday before we joined the EU.

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Shun the weak

One of Harry’s favourite sayings, when I was still with him was “Shun the weak.”  It usually referred to people who confused me by being a bit lame, but since my recent conversation with him, I now realise that he thought that I was the sort of person who does this, despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, including my relationship with him.

 

As someone who has attracted many weak men, I now have quite a bit of knowledge of them.  People have different opinions as to what constitutes weakness, of course – I am sure a go-getter like Wolfe would think it was weak to look after a disabled person, for example, but as someone who has actually done it, I can tell you he would not have the foggiest idea what he was talking about.  Rehabbing a person back from stroke and multiple bereavements takes a kind of strength people like him know nothing about.

 

So, let us begin by deciding what I mean by weak on this occasion:

Intense jealousy
Unwillingness to accept the knowledge or kindness of others
Inability to think for themselves without reference to others
Desire for the positive opinions of others, however transitory
Contempt for people not in their social circle
Driven by acquisition or ‘putting one over’ on others
The wish to prove the stupidity of others
Inability to accept that other people have opinions or requirements independently of them
Need for admiration
Inability to admit when they are wrong
Inability to make decisions without a reference point involving the opinions of others

I was aware when I spent a lot of time with Aldous, that he believed that people only rated in relation to social worth, and since I do not choose to spend time with groups of people, I came fairly low on his idea of the pecking order.  He was most surprised, when we travelled, that I had a wide range of friends in fairly far flung places, that although I did not see them often, knew me extremely well.  It amused me intensely that I went up several notches in his estimation, purely on the basis that a bunch of people he didn’t even know liked me.

 

I doubt that he even considered that having met his friends years before, I preferred to spend my time alone actually doing things other than drinking or smoking weed.  I doubt very much that he consciously thought about it at all.  He was probably busy filing reasons for disliking me away in his little cabinet, a habit his brother also clung to.

 

One of the first things I noticed when it came to Wolfe, that he was basically an Aldous or Harry who has happened to make some money.  This puts him into a secondary or tertiary category when it comes to his immediate social circle.  It is probably just as well he keeps himself busy, or he might actually notice that he isn’t as popular with them as he might think.  It takes time, confidence and a lot of introspection to get to the point where you no longer need anyone’s approval and you can afford to let go of things like jealousy, the desire for blind faith etc.  No realistic relationship consists of people admiring each other to the point of mutual and public masturbation, which is why Ina is necessarily a fairly spiky character.

 

Personally, I am very guilty of being too polite, overcompensating for people’s feelings if I determine that there is something I can do about it, and putting other people before myself.  This is a different kind of weakness.  Whilst I have no problem with confrontation, I am well aware that other people do, and so I take measures accordingly.  Not everyone has the benefit of ten years working under extreme pressure and getting the job done, so they often prefer to bitch behind your back.  My advice is let them, shrug it off and get on with whatever you want to do. Generally speaking, if you do this, sooner or later someone else will come along and join in, slowing you down considerably. It is up to you whether you allow this or run away, but running away sometimes has unintended consequences.

 

Try starting your day by affirming that there is nothing wrong with you.  If you find that other people have a problem with that, try ignoring them.  If this does not work, try moving away from them altogether.  Jealousy is useless to you.  If someone wants to be with you they will be with you.  Nobody admires you 24/7, so stop seeking that out.  If someone says that they do have blind faith, get rid of them because they are probably stabbing you somewhere you just cannot see.  Life is not that simple, but you can simplify it considerably by dropping the boring baggage.

 

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Damaged people

Further to the previous post, I have taken some time to think about damaged people today. I am sure most people do not bother to consider why people act the way they do, but as someone who is easily confused by crap people, I have spent a long time considering damage.

 

Sometimes people cannot help the way they behave.  One friend of mine is continuously manipulative, constantly looking for weaknesses to exploit, and when he finds a way in, takes it to the max.  He does this to make himself feel in control.  It is not much fun being at the receiving end of this, but the other 80 or so percent of the relationship is fine, so I tend to let myself become extremely depressed by the time I point back towards the boundary he has crossed.

 

It was extremely out of character for me to fight back when Wolfe ate me up and spat me out as worthless 6 years ago.  Normally I would have absorbed a considerable amount of pain and been very unhappy.  Instead I created Ina.

 

My life really ended at 33, when my father moved downstairs in the course of his battle with dementia.  This meant that my going out at night would have been inconsiderate, and my mother’s heart problem and refusal to get treatment meant I was quite frightened to leave her alone in the house in case I came back to find her expired.

 

Since then, I have been continuously attacked by both friends and relatives, for a variety of reasons.  I am no angel, but grieving for five people was seen as an opportunity to pile as much pain on as possible.  In the case of my friends, they were fairly damaged people to begin with, had hit middle age, and thought they would come back and do whatever they liked to make things worse.  In the course of this, they were sometimes quite helpful.  Harry, for example, was very helpful with my mother in the weeks following her stroke, staying in the studio so that she did not become confused, enabling me to continue working for some years whilst caring for her.

 

My relatives were the real shocker.  They refused to pass on information, they refused to help, they refused to acknowledge their parents’ illnesses, they told me that life would be better if I didn’t exist, and then they tried to use badmouthing me to rob their own parents.  As you can imagine, I was pretty shot up by the time the Wolfe incident happened. (see welcome page for a sanitised Wolfe friendly version of this.)

 

Basically by the time it got to the strangely devastating first blocking – there have been about nine, between his personally blocking me and his dumb staff doing it – it was a case of fighting it or losing my spirits entirely.  As I was dragging mother through the worst period of her life, losing my spirits was not an option, and besides, Wolfe doesn’t have much of a clue about anything other than how to make money out of health food.  You cannot be a genius at everything.

 

Every piece of information people have tried to pass to me about Wolfe paints a picture of a horrible, selfish person who assumes that being nice to him means they are stupid.  I do not believe this picture, from the scanty information I derived directly, Sam, whilst being a cleaned up version, is closer to the mark in terms of general cluelessness. Personally, from the few interactions, I preferred him when he was a bit fed up and laconic, but you will be lucky to catch him in this more appealing and less exuberant mood.

 

The key to this mode of personal presentation is a fear of seriousness, so as you can imagine, a fat academic woman is not something that he finds particularly appealing as someone to waste five whole minutes on.  Wolfe has hit a mark of popularity and brevity which yields maximum results.  Seriousness is neither desirable, nor an option if you delve too deeply.  This was key to Ina’s development.  I wasted years worrying about hitting a mark nobody else would even know exists, in terms of my academic and artwork.  So, it was entirely appropriate to start banging out lots and lots of new forms of the work I had been developing for years.

 

So, when I dissect Wolfe, flatter Wolfe, or decide to finally discard Wolfe, it is because I mean it, not because I have ulterior motives.  This is not something he is likely to ever understand, because he has no time to understand anything beyond the question of whether there is money or girls involved.  That is OK.  Once the book and third section of the artwork is complete, it leaves the game to be completed.  This is still a couple of years worthwhile work, for a person who neither gives a shit, nor shows any sign of growing out of a petulant sulk he has maintained for five years now.

 

I sincerely hope he finds the airhead beachbum that considers it worthwhile to lose her figure sitting on her ass working as hard as I have worked for no results at all in terms of attracting the slightest bit of fucking respect or courteous behaviour.  Then I hope that he jumps off the nearest cliff.

 

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Time off is dangerous

Time off is dangerous

As with my career in catering, now a long time ago, caring is a full-on thing to do.  You are basically on-call 24 hours a day, for a person who if they are human, will not appreciate what you have had to give up for them all the time, and who does not rate you much higher than a vacuum cleaner, if they even remember what that is.

 

My mother’s time in hospital this time has been very different.  Nobody is interested in her medical background, they apparently believe that she went from fully functional to late stage dementia in one giant step, and even as I try to inform them of the background information they need, they continue to tell me that I do not matter.

 

Now the I don’t matter thing is normal.  My mother has told me many times that I do not matter.  The department that tried to take her house told me that I do not matter, my siblings have been at great pains to declare that I do not matter, and the inadequate males that I have wasted my life on have all decided that I do not matter after many months of being assured that they do.  The I don’t matter thing is a central theme in my life.

 

It is one thing to be strong and generous enough to discard this and carry on regardless, and it is another when your health is starting to fail because you too have decided that you do not matter.  Every time you allow your friend to stand in your kitchen and tell you that you are selfish for wanting to eat properly and therefore do not want crap food in your house etc out of politeness you too are agreeing that you do not matter.

 

There is only one problem with all of this.  I do matter.  Without me, my mother would have been dead years ago, the house and money would have been gone, nobody would have maintained or looked after anything, and my lengthy queue of guys that could not be bothered thinking for themselves would be in an even worse state than they are already. My siblings and a few of my exs would all have a criminal record and my cats would be split up and rehomed elsewhere.  If I decide that I matter, then everything falls apart for pretty much everyone around me.

 

Now it is the hospital that are deciding what my mother needs, based on no knowledge of her at all apart from recent testing, and they are telling me that I do not matter.  I am supposed to meekly agree to having the house invaded by strangers several times a day and allow access to my lunatic sisters, who will use this opportunity to have me under continual investigation for whatever deranged garbage they trump up this time.

 

I am now seriously considering refusing to participate in any of this, which means that my mother would have to be put into care, my siblings could take their bullshit somewhere else, and I do not have to wake up petrified every day, looking for other things (like Wolfe) to care about rather than address any of this.

 

I am tired of people so full of shit that they cannot spare the two minutes of flexibility to consider what they are putting other people through.  Inflexibility is a strong marker of poor health and aging.  These people apparently need rings through their noses, so they can be led by some patient person to stare at the blisteringly obvious and be told what to think, because apparently they cannot manage it.

 

The continuing situation has been killing me for some time, it killed my son, which upsets me every day, and I do not think any of these people deserved anything like the quality of care that they got.  Wolfe is a cheap scumbag, my exs mostly took advantage, my mother was a cruel, irrational and unfeeling woman who watched me weep day after day and refused to address the issues with the family she seems to think she did not need to parent.  At no point has anyone considered what I have been put through.

 

My goodwill has run out. I doubt it ran out fast enough for my health.

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Blocked again sigh

Hi David,

Have no idea how long ago you blocked me on Twitter, assumed you weren’t lowering yourself to look at my thousands of hours of work anyway.

 

yada yada bitter and twisted shite

 

 

 

Ina

 

 

 

 

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The sad tale of Marco Pierre White and son

msrco youngHere is Marco Pierre White, in an iconic black and white picture taken in the late 80s, before I started cooking.  He was an early influence on me, not because I particularly appreciated his cooking, but because he was initially famous amongst chefs for walking out of catering college when they attempted to force him to learn how to use a stock cube.  Back in those days, stock cubes were not good enough for Marco.  He wanted to learn how to cook, and went from this rebellion to becoming the most well regarded chef in the UK in a remarkably short time.

 

He was also well known amongst chefs for his hatred of women in the kitchen, as he had decided that it was a brutal job.  Some chefs like to play this game, humiliating people into learning tasks quickly to avoid either crying or being fired.  I have worked in these types of kitchen, in addition to the more serious, religious style of leadership, and I have to say when I ran my own kitchen, the rough-and-tumble style of leadership was something I grew out of very quickly.  It is tiresome having to replace weeping chefs on a frequent basis, so you might as well give them some time and space to make errors.  Errors are not only instructive for the chef, they sometimes result in more interesting results.

 

The third piece of information that I got first hand from people that worked with him, was that he was fond of employing young male Scottish chefs, as they would be unable to pay the trainfare home until they had been forced to work for him for two weeks or more, so he could behave as badly as he wanted to.  He liked to keep the meat in the garden after delivery, so that it was well rested, and presumably weathered by the time it got to your very expensive plate.  One of my favourite recipes of his, was his water vinegarette, which was one of those confidence tricks that you pull at the top end of the catering trade.  If you develop sufficient panache, you can eventually pull off presenting an almost empty plate, a good lesson to learn for your future creative exploits.

 

marconow

 

This is a more recent picture of Marco Pierre White, who is now famous for advertising stock cubes.  He apparently believes that everyone, like the fawning media, has forgotten his initial claim to fame.  The Dorian Gray picture to absorb his having sold his soul for money has apparently been lost.  Perhaps his son sold it to pay his bills.  As you can see, he is not a happy man, but he is reasonably well off.  This is not a good advertisement for giving your life up entirely to your dreams, and it is not a good advertisement for years of creating top end dishes.  He is only 8 years older than me, and I can honestly say he could easily be confused as being my father, the difference is so marked.

 

marcoson

 

This is a picture of Marco Pierre White Jnr, whose current ambition is to create Marco Pierre White III, as he can think of no other way of pleasing his unhappy father.  He has no idea how to please him, because his father has spent all these years chasing glory at the expense of loving his son, who has recently been suckered into a TV appearance, to pay off bills that he ran up running wild as a result of his exhausted father taking his credit and debit cards away.  He does not have to work at anything, he is under pressure to maintain the family name, and he has absolutely no idea how to do it.  He speaks in a breathy, Marilyn Monroe voice and attempts to please others by filling in the silent gaps with tales of boyish glory as he has no idea how to command respect or earn any genuine admiration from others.  What this young man needs, is a father who does not obsess about his own need for admiration, and who is willing to spend some time giving him some self worth.

 

What he does not need, is publicity whilst he grows out of doing the sort of stupid things chefs do in their time off because they have extremely limited time to come up with a good story to bring back to work.

 

Raymond Blanc did it, David Dempsey, Gordon Ramsay’s late chef, did it, hundreds of talented chefs have destroyed their own lives doing it.  Relieving stress by performing the sort of stupid male stunt that only other men even smirk at as they go about their long and sweaty day, is not particularly smart.

 

Working people 80-140 hours a week is also not smart, because as someone who has actually done it, despite the misogynistic views of people like Marco Pierre White, I can tell you that you completely forget how to function as a whole person.  It takes years to get a sense of perspective back into your life.

 

People are not machines, and Marco the father needs to drop everything to give Marco the son the time and reassurance he clearly needs to grow into a whole person.  Right now he is confused, worthless, and will not live long without some actual love from his father.

 

Discipline is not always the answer, but in this case, spending some time on a small island with no facilities would do the pair of them the world of good, because the evidence suggests that neither of them retain any connection with reality, and their tiny place in it.

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Mandala Magic

So, mother is in hospital, and this means I am running about, crazily doing all the things I have no time to do when she is at home.  I do not know if she will be returning, but I have created a self contained annex in case she does as her children have shown no signs of ceasing the usual poor behaviour and attacks. It is much safer to put a locked door between me and them, meaning that she will have to live in another part of the house.

 

In the meantime, I have taken delivery of another pile of materials to move onto the next phase of Sheep in Wolfe’s clothing, which will set the section up for future additions in the same style.  As I said, I am extremely bored with Wolfe, so I am starting a new collection, which is antique inspired, whilst I await the next muse, or muses, to appear.  The plan is to expand the Short Misadventures section with people from the public volunteering to muse for new pieces, which should be interesting.  I will need youtube videos, personal bios and possibly an interview with these people, but beyond that it can be fairly superficial.  This will be next year or so, after I have completed the artwork and books for Wolfe, and kicked off the Ballantine collection of antique stuff. Plenty of time for a press release and more extensive campaign to advertise the opportunity of having your name on a piece of artwork/story etc.

 

Tonight, as part of my finale grouping for the basic Wolfe collection, I have been researching Mandalas.  Wolfe probably likes mandalas.  If some big hairy guy made one for him, he would probably become extremely excited and say how far-out and marvellous it was.  Since it is me, he will say absolutely nothing, which has become extremely boring.  I have learned from my research so far, that I do not like mandalas.  I do not like foot jewellery, I do not like knitted bikinis, I do not like hippy artwork, I do not like anything about this scene at all.  But Wolfe probably respects Mandalas, so I will make him a mandala and call it Dipshit Hippy Crap.  This is entirely in keeping with the rest of the collection and I am sure I will enjoy it slightly more with the perversity of putting work into something I have no interest in at all.

 

Trying to sort yet another 900 balls of wool is extremely tiring when you have to grade it into shades in your studio, knowing full well that you won’t see much of it for months as you are busy on other things. The more arty the collection becomes, the more impractical and stupid you feel doing it, but in terms of development, the more you do, the more you want to do, so on a personal basis, it is still worthwhile.

 

Am very much off writing the blog at the moment, as I am too worried about my mother and since I am anxious, I like to combine eating badly with sewing.  I hope to have the book finished soon, but I will probably put a new artwork on the cover, so it may be delayed depending on what feels right.

 

The game will also still go ahead, but I have to get through the next few weeks the best I can, which means a lot of anxious sewing and planning for potential disaster in the form of yet more personal attacks from the family.  I also have to think about income streams, so things are a bit up in the air.

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The ego and creativity

The ego and creativity – Wolfe’s kiss farewell

Today I had an extremely offensive conversation with one particular friend.  He has some very strange ideas about creativity, so I am going to address these ideas very slowly, in a format that he is very welcome to absorb in a space where he cannot commit an assault.

 

There is a chasm of difference between developing an idea, and developing a marketing strategy.  We can see from our television channels that shooting for the lowest possible denominator in the hope of viewing figures is not the way to achieve quality.  We can also see from many arthouse movies that self indulgence does not always produce something that you would want to watch.

 

My friend, who makes arty movies which he does not bother to market, likes to prevent me from speaking at all by attacking me verbally whenever I try to explain to him that he has his priorities a little confused, making it impossible for me, as an extremely patient and understanding friend, never mind anyone else to work with him.

 

Today, it was a possible sit com that became impossible to even conceptualise, because he imagines that finding a marketing person that will make the magic exposure problem go away is more important than developing a product.  This means that you cannot even develop your idea sufficiently to make it worthwhile, never mind discuss it to the point that you get any actual work done.

 

I have previously tried giving him simple open ended tasks to complete alone, with the idea that if he is left to complete something himself, I will not be at physical risk, and he will gain the satisfaction of moving a project on a stage.  Even this has resulted in such a strong stress response that it is not possible to get anything done, and so two projects so far have had to be abandoned.  He then likes to tell me what he thinks I asked him to do, which is nothing to do with what I actually said, because he was not listening in the first place.

 

Now this problem is caused by stress.  In particular a fragile and super-stressed ego, so today I tried using myself, and then Wolfe, as an example of how other people work.  In my case, as money is not an issue at present, I like to spend one third of my time on the piece of work, and two thirds of the time allocated on marketing the piece of work, whether this is over a month, a year, five years really does not matter as long as I have the time and space.  Therefore there is a fairly consistent flow.  For someone like Wolfe, for whom money is very important, he spends maybe 5 minutes out of an hour doing the work, and 55 minutes out of the hour telling the world that he has done the work.  This can be done by passive or direct means, but whether you believe him to be a loudmouth Yank or not, he is certainly more successful, in a very niche market, than anyone else.

 

You cannot market a product that cannot exist due to temperament.  In order to market thin air, you have to be a convincing person with a track record of actually achieving what you set out to achieve.  Your cheaply made arthouse movie can do this for you, if you actually bother to develop your skill to the level where you are presenting something watchable.  In order to do this, you have to consider the wider public rather than trying to sell yourself to a ‘marketing person’ who probably doesn’t exist.

 

700 people a month look at my artwork on the website.  I maybe tweet it twice a month to achieve that, the rest of the hits coming from the relatively unrelated blog.  This is a good use of time, develops my writing ability and expression, and gives me time to dream up more complicated versions of my work.  I picked up a lot of information from Wolfe in this respect.  Worrying about what people think of you, or failing to promote yourself is not useful to you. Insulting your friends by preventing them from helping you and telling them repeatedly that their views are irrelevant whilst they try to give you the information that you need is also not useful to you, as they will simply stop trying at all.

 

A master of an art is not an egotist, too frightened to input feedback.  Very much like a British academic, they will listen to the most obscure information related to their interest area in an effort to improve quality, improve audience figures, expand their area of interest.

 

In my case, since my work is usually produced when I am wounded in some way, annoying me is what usually gets you a piece of work in the first place, which is why Wolfe was such an excellent candidate.  He lacks understanding or respect for other people, however, which is why it is now more interesting to me to find some fresh meat.

 

I cannot help my friend with the knot he has tied himself into.  I am just not putting myself in that position again, which means conversation is now likely to be severely limited.  If I acted towards him the way he behaved this morning, I would now be in hospital. The great pity is that I doubt a single word I said went in, and so nothing will change.

 

If you are a creative person, bear in mind what I have said.  Even if you do not like your work, it is important to either bin it or promote it to allow others to feed back to you.  Otherwise you could find your passion drained by circumstance, and unless your spark is as self-healing as mine, you could end up bitter, hostile and unable to access your own genius.

 

Thank you David, for being careless, rude and a bit sexist and stupid.  Without you, none of this would have been possible.

 

 

 

 

 

The post The ego and creativity – Wolfe’s kiss farewell appeared first on Ina Disguise – Author.

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Tired of the dislikes, Wolfe.

It has been nearly ten years, since my mother’s stroke, a month before my father died.  I have reached the end of my productive adult life as a female, in terms of having a career or having a child before it is too late (not physically, I am unlikely to trust anyone enough to procreate before the time is up, given my slow burn mentality.)

 

I frequently cry about this, I pretty much started crying as soon as I saw Wolfe.  Not for the obvious reasons, just the polar opposite, confident male version of me.  These are not all good qualities, given the errors in plain sight etc. He makes me feel very battered.

 

I did wonder, for a long time, whether there was envy involved in my interest in him.  I also wondered why, as someone considered very knowledgeable by even my drinking buddies, I would seek what would be considered to the untrained eye a ‘himbo.’  These people would not understand as I do, the amount of time and commitment Wolfe has had to put in to make his extensive knowledge of natural health look superficial and effortless to the jaded European passing interest eye.

 

I have been horribly bullied since childhood.  I wondered, as a child, why I got on better with my teachers than I did with my own family. I remember at ten or so, having to leave the room because my sisters were shrill, inane, and extremely nasty.

 

Last week I tried to notify one of them of my mother’s impending operation.  Her response was that this was not good enough for her.  She only really sees things in terms affecting her.  The fact that she had already had a letter explaining the operation had escaped her, because apparently my ability to write frightens her.  Were I to describe a summer’s day, she would find it weird and patronising.

 

So, as you can tell, I am not dealing with brains of Britain.  My mother used to tell me I would have to look after them after she was gone.  I thought this was very odd, given that I was a small child, and they were ten and sixteen years older, and consistently nasty.  Now I am less surprised. My mother, herself pretty unpleasant until her stroke, was identifying the stronger party.

 

Being strong sucks, however.  You get dumped on, everyone expects you to cope on your own, and they think it is quite alright to attack you over and over again.  I am a bit fed up, to say the least.  I have had to say to her, in all seriousness, that either I have to now demonstrate some form of parental discipline, or she will have to go into care as I am not safe from my own siblings, who have proved themselves to be greedy, dishonest, extremely nasty and extremely ruthless in their pursuit of role playing power points and financial entitlement.

 

I did not take care of their parents for reasons of power-mongering, but this is what they have always been so scared of, and which is now a horribly self-fulfilling prophecy, and the only way out of it, it seems, is for my mother to live elsewhere in  case they want to visit. (in my brother’s case, the visits are now every five months, so this seems like an expensive waste)  I am not sure that I see a way out, other than our moving so far away that they cannot visit at all, and this would be complicated by my mother’s progressing illness, leaving us open to further legal attacks from her own children.

 

So there we have it, the opposite of a go-getting, driven, confident and rather slutty male, is a shy, harried, equally loquacious but somewhat different female that gave her life away for a family who neither deserved nor appreciated it.  I have distracted myself from misery, by investing myself in amusing my opposite, who remains unamused.

 

I do realise that part of the reason that Wolfe hates everything is to let me know he has seen it so that I can take it down, and I also realise that I am insufficiently worthy of note to really affect him at all, but it still pisses me off that I could not even manage to get a sensible conversation out of him in the first place.  He spotted me, and then apparently made several incorrect assumptions, based on erroneous ideas about worth, purpose and interest.

 

I just wanted one thing to go right.  I wanted one thing to be appreciated and used appropriately, and I wanted to make something of a life that had already been taken away.

 

You could say that something else was created, but whether it is worthwhile beyond comforting a few thousand other emotionally scarred people, I don’t know.  At least it got me writing in the first place, I guess.

 

It is unlikely that my family will notice that they have messed up until they have lost everything.  It makes me very sad that other people cannot even let my mother die the ways she wants to, and that I am becoming less committed to fighting them. Being strong sucks, and being kind sucks even more.

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