I'm sitting in Ikea reclining on a sofa placed on a raised platform watching my very own personal parade. They've all shown up, samples from everywhere, every nation, every suburb, every brand of deodorant.
Grizelda and I came here looking for a chair named Jeff to place on the Peach Deck but I am so pleased by my very own personal people parade that I am sat here nodding mildly at the masses. This might be my ideal office. I can imagine myself sat here typing happily, I might periodically relocate to an office desk or a dining table and if I become tired I might nap in the pretend flat.
I like these nowhere spaces, where there are no obligations now. There is room here to think about the weekend and what has transpired. On Friday I was accused of being a lesbian when I told a man named Scrubber that no, I did not want him to exercise his "civic duty to make all women feel loved by making them feel sexy". I was standing in the same rehearsal space that I'd sat in watching Tex Perkins and The Cruel Sea rehearse before going on tour but everything was different. Some people were dressed like pirates but underneath you could smell their suburban skins, their organised kitchens and the spaces where ideas should be. Last time I was staring at Tex Perkins while he howled into the microphone, this time I was telling a man named Scrubber, who was wearing deck shoes, that no, I did not want to feel sexy.
In the bottom of my handbag I have the NYWF anthology, I bought it last night at the launch party, Benito Di Fonzo wrote "At least wait until I'm dead before you call me a cunt (again)" in the front of it and signed his name. Artboy appeared wearing a t-shirt and benito stooped forwards to read the small text on the front of the shirt while I thought this isn't right, this moment is as bad as exploding kittens with the power of thought. . I leant back against a brick wall, as far as I could, until I bruised my shoulder blades, and sipped from my bottle of water.
So I'm sitting in the in between space of Ikea on a mustard yellow chaise longue watching my own personal people parade with a book in the bottom of my handbag, two bruised shoulder blades and twelve kinds of memory. I think I kind of like it here, I might stay.
Grizelda and I came here looking for a chair named Jeff to place on the Peach Deck but I am so pleased by my very own personal people parade that I am sat here nodding mildly at the masses. This might be my ideal office. I can imagine myself sat here typing happily, I might periodically relocate to an office desk or a dining table and if I become tired I might nap in the pretend flat.
I like these nowhere spaces, where there are no obligations now. There is room here to think about the weekend and what has transpired. On Friday I was accused of being a lesbian when I told a man named Scrubber that no, I did not want him to exercise his "civic duty to make all women feel loved by making them feel sexy". I was standing in the same rehearsal space that I'd sat in watching Tex Perkins and The Cruel Sea rehearse before going on tour but everything was different. Some people were dressed like pirates but underneath you could smell their suburban skins, their organised kitchens and the spaces where ideas should be. Last time I was staring at Tex Perkins while he howled into the microphone, this time I was telling a man named Scrubber, who was wearing deck shoes, that no, I did not want to feel sexy.
In the bottom of my handbag I have the NYWF anthology, I bought it last night at the launch party, Benito Di Fonzo wrote "At least wait until I'm dead before you call me a cunt (again)" in the front of it and signed his name. Artboy appeared wearing a t-shirt and benito stooped forwards to read the small text on the front of the shirt while I thought this isn't right, this moment is as bad as exploding kittens with the power of thought. . I leant back against a brick wall, as far as I could, until I bruised my shoulder blades, and sipped from my bottle of water.
So I'm sitting in the in between space of Ikea on a mustard yellow chaise longue watching my own personal people parade with a book in the bottom of my handbag, two bruised shoulder blades and twelve kinds of memory. I think I kind of like it here, I might stay.
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