Busty St Clare
Ex-Bluelighter
I guess my hobby is waking up each day worrying less about how everybody else lives their life and more on not wasting each and every hour I have here until the worms consume my body .It makes it easier that I have two awesome kids who open my eyes to even the seemly mundane. Art becomes less about a message and more about a feeling in your chest. If we collapse on their bed at the end of the day and I ask them what was the best thing we did today and I get Cameron Fry response of "nothing good" then I know I have failed them.
Life for me is for shits n giggles. I refuse to work more than 4 days a week and my minions know all they need to ensure is there is enough milk in my tea that I can drink it straight away and return to my next patient. I have no real interest in politics or inequalities in this world. Politics are nothing more than useless filler in my morning paper on the way to the sports section. I was once consumed by tuning my body to inflict and take pain with a bladder filled football under my arm, but at least then someone was paying me, I had a purpose and people cared about the result. Now days as my shoulder creaks and my knees stiffen each time I run I get a sort of cathartic pleasure in sending a spiralling torpedo kick 45 metres to land on a small water bottle then roll inch perfect to finish 2 feet from a corner post. I used to get applause from a large crowd now I only punish myself with 50 push ups when I get it wrong. Simple things for simple minds maybe.
Well that and peaking on acid amidst a dusty dance floor hundreds of kilometres deep in the subtropical bush.
Life for me is for shits n giggles. I refuse to work more than 4 days a week and my minions know all they need to ensure is there is enough milk in my tea that I can drink it straight away and return to my next patient. I have no real interest in politics or inequalities in this world. Politics are nothing more than useless filler in my morning paper on the way to the sports section. I was once consumed by tuning my body to inflict and take pain with a bladder filled football under my arm, but at least then someone was paying me, I had a purpose and people cared about the result. Now days as my shoulder creaks and my knees stiffen each time I run I get a sort of cathartic pleasure in sending a spiralling torpedo kick 45 metres to land on a small water bottle then roll inch perfect to finish 2 feet from a corner post. I used to get applause from a large crowd now I only punish myself with 50 push ups when I get it wrong. Simple things for simple minds maybe.
Well that and peaking on acid amidst a dusty dance floor hundreds of kilometres deep in the subtropical bush.
