Today is the second day of my everlasting writing project, and the first day of the rest of our lives. What did I learn yesterday? Lesbians are weird (from the mouth of a reliable source); the etymology of ‘playwright’ has no relation to the word ‘write’ (‘wright’ is an archaic term for craftsman, eg Cartwright); the conspiracists who think the moon-landings were faked are weirder than I ever imagined; and, space hoppers can be extremely hazardous to 4-year olds.
None of this is that important to me, and certainly has no internal relevance. I’m still straining to decide what I am writing (or wrighting) today. I imagine that over time the transition from forced-writing to easily-flowing writing will come. At that point these blog posts should either drastically increase in quality due to the natural easy language that emerges, or plummet in quality because of the unedited stream of self-indulgent bollocks. Either way I’ll be convinced of my own talent, and go around referring to myself as a writer.
I will be putting together a string of articles on various related subjects as part of these Block Chop blog posts. One of the series will be articles about people I personally consider to be amongst the ranks of World’s Greatest Artists. Possible inclusions Frank Zappa, Kraftwerk, the NASA staff during Apollo, the pro-wrestler Mick Foley, artist Martin Kippenberger, painter Cy Twombly, cartoonist Robert Crumb, writer Alan Moore, stand-up Stewart Lee. These are very personal choices based entirely on my own preferences, but I’m open to suggestions.
Yesterday I spent an hour or so writing about the Apollo missions which, after reading Man on the Moon by Andrew Chaikin this week, have become a childish obsession of mine recently. Honestly I’m one step away from putting posters of astronauts on my bedroom wall, and building little models of lunar modules to hang from the ceiling above my bed. Fortunately I live with my girlfriend, whose chief responsibility (besides ensuring I don’t develop a mono-brow) is reigning in my nerd tendencies. Without her I’d be playing Xbox until 6am every night, watching wrestling every week, eating takeaway cheeseburgers every day, and possibly looking at my own jizz with a microscope. (National Geographic 1200x microscope; amazon wish list; xmas present; hint hint.)
Anyway, that’ll do for now; don’t want to overdo it on the second day. Keep reading, it’ll get better I promise J and if you are my postman, stop bringing us fucking bills – pay them yourself you cunt.