Not random. Ranting

Today’s meeting: Minutes

members in attendence: 10

Idea: watch while i swing slash all your wrists, ( I know how badly you need your wrists ), and then brag about it… there will be books writen about me, about this- most likely writen by you.

 STRONG Disclaimer. I am easily affected, mentaly, by sudden weather changes. It’s autum. I have no idea how/when that happened. I AM possibly/hopefully, HIGH . ‘Been excitedly smoking (inhaling) the hotish, coldish air.

minutes for Member numero uno

 NAme: she sexy – talented artist, driven/motivated, intelligent, great ideas, exciting project  

but still…damn she be sexy: and this what she brought to the table

My idea is.  I think . I believe…

I magine. I don’t know. I have. My contacts…

I don’t need help. I don’t want to do (or even really merge) with (your proposed project)

exposure, artists, the rest of the world, people, [ Centre Goerges] Popimduo, Tokyo art museums (name forgotten…she was speaking too fast by here)



MY PROJECT, MY WORK, DONE MY WAY, SERVES ME. YOU CAN EITHER  SIT HERE AND LISTEN TO ME OR GO HOME AND…LISTEN TO ME. or, I will throw a tantrum and beg you all to save my project just so it doesn’t end in the same waste basket in which your own project, all six of you, ended. 


REACTION: (phybs). wtf u going on about. I speak not so many languages. actually I speak dialects of just one language…Go over it again, another three noise filled hours please. Or I pee on myself and wet your luxurious shoes………………………………………………………………………………………………

Mensa...this is not a COKE advert
Mensa...this is not a COKE advert

Another day at the office (‘takes students a year- that’s all many get here- to explain to family, friends and nosey neighbours, that  Fabrica   is not exactly a school).  So any way, yeah; It’s another day at the office, and after a whole month (August) off, one would imagine, even to one’self that this being our second week back, we all bursting with excitment and energy, breaking knuckles, bursting air balloons.

Although, if am to be fair (which is unlikely), the last 12 days have been swell …excitement in the air; the summer is finally gone(mostly), and finally, FINALLY, phoebe can catch her sleep as easily as everyone else (insomnia is a £ bitch.  The stickyness of the oh-so-humid nights is even a fatter- gum chewing- long red lips-nail biting BITCH! -sorry mum. 

 There’s been smiling faces in the halls. Animated chats on the bus-(an all-Italian nightmare is/must be/should be that Linea 1 bus that Fabrica students take.

Nothing would ever push me sO far off the edge- if I were a [Treviso]Italian, as an 8.40(am) bus filled to the hinges, with annoyingly dressed, incredibly loud young/lost/confused foreigners speaking a language (ENGLISH) foreign to even them;  the painful to comprehend accents, makes you (a fascist Trevisan) wonder why nobody volunteers to teach sign language at that noneschool.

For all of last week not a single one of us has paid any attention to the mountains; noticing the times, like we did before August, at which they reappear , keeping up with their (mountains) little hide and seek joys.

 Not very many have mentioned the delicious tomatoes ripping well into the road, or that cornfield about which I can’t stop fatansizing being caught “red handed”, lying flat on my butt in the middle rows, listening to the leafy corn-stalks  speaking in whispers.  Saying prayers to She who is Holier than I. Hoping that the greeness they hold, that which then sorrounds me  will sanctify me, carrying me, my spirit, closer to She.

There has noticebly been, for the last 1 week, and for obvious reasons, loud & explicitly descriptive recitations of the many European cities, romantic towns in the south, countries in North Africa (aka Morrocco), the elusive cents and pennies all those things that everyone of the batch managed to squeeze in the last 31 days. 


blankblankblankblankblankblankblankblank ineedtogoslowonthemushrooms mushroomgetpeoplehigh  ineedtogoslowonthecoke. cokegetspeoplehigh ineedtogotobed thispostisgottoend


mine. yours.ours
mine. yours.ours

Every one person’s holiday seems much better than every one person’s holiday; especially those who had a no funds, no budget holiday. There was the smell-the-coffee game in Sicily, carrots for lunch in a different, yet more exotic location et al. September had never semeed so promising (with the august allowance collected in sept!).

 Two weeks now, and yeah… the Biennale is gone and done with, just like the summer and the tourist that come with both. Venice is Back to the small old town, floating on the Adriatic sea. which it actually should be allowed to be (films and advertsing, hollywood- tell the truth about venice coz you know it. You have literally given away all the charm…another day, another post) 

A new season is coming, contracts end and new ones begin. My human fairies prepare to fly away, and the cornfield is yet to be gone.    Work is still great, only it sucks even more. 

And now i have no idea when/why I switched tones, to sound like a pink fluffy, feathery diary.

 Oh Well.

photos by me.

6 Comments Add yours

  1. tumwijuke says:

    That picture of the mountains i beautiful. Post a bigger one. Make it your header.

  2. phoebe says:

    @Tumwi, thank you.
    oh, you can click on it to view the bigger version.

    …yeah, i intend to post the scenic photos, they are my first trials and am still suffering that “first timer shyness”

  3. antipop says:

    gwe. the first part of this post is beautifully written. deep. blank. deep.lost.deep.dreaming.deep.somebodystopme.deep.

  4. 31337 says:

    goooly. this post inspired me. dont ask i shall not answer.

  5. Miss Cheri says:

    Am I the only person that has been lost by this post…?

    Somebody find me!

    Yesterday was summer’s last day. As if…the weather was horrid all summer round. It’s a wonder they even call it that.

    I always think to myself that if God gave the British bright summers days (like those in Uganda) all year round/long, they’s have everything they ever need. Maybe I’m wrong.

  6. phoebe says:

    @Cheri: we have an on-going series of jokes about the British weather:

    one is about the how easy it is to live in England because you can always tell what the weather is going to be tomorrow, or the coming season :::::: Rainy!!
    no surprises, no need for Stoned weather forecasters

    And another one has something to do with “thank God England is/was an empire. Coz otherwise it would be this small weird RAINY country, where nobody ever wants to visit….ALOT LIKE SCOTLAND actually

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s