my life as a artist
a spot of bother
Friday 13th July 2007 3:44 PM
Here are some reasons why, on Wednesday night, I didn't deliver a self-indulgent, bridge-burning diatribe against the BBC.
a) I've calmed down a bit. One of the old English bantams has been unusually affectionate towards me this last week, and for the first time in my life, I've begun to experience the redemptive power and healing grace that you can get from the love of a good chicken.
b) On the morning after my no-show on the radio, I woke up with a small spot in the middle of my chest, right above my heart chakra. Over the next two weeks the spot grew, until it became a livid red Glastonbury Tor, rising from the misty chest-hairs of my off-beige Avalon chest. I got Pat to dowse it, and she discovered that it was situated on the path of my body's most important ley-line, that runs from my penis, through my navel, nose and brow chakra, over my head and down my spine, and finishes at the label on the back of my Marks and Spencer's underpants. I call it the St. Michael line.
Last Wednesday night, as I was staring at a blank screen and a blinking cursor, ready to launch my blog of wrath, my eyes were magically drawn to my little Glastonbury Tor, nestling in the valley of my unbuttoned shirt. Wishing to trace the mystical contours of its subtle labyrinth, I went to touch it with my finger, and as I did so, the yellow St. Michaels tower on the top blew off, and there was a tor-flattening eruption of unspeakable white stuff. (Apologies to anyone currently eating a walnut whip)
Dear reader, that pus was my anger! Now that it wasn't inside me, all I had to do was wipe it off with a tissue, dab the wound with the tea-tree oil of forgiveness, and I'd be free from its destructive poison. So I did and I was.
c) The respectfully full and frank apology that I received from the BBC on Wednesday morning, while not being as overtly fulfilling as the love of a good chicken, or as prophetically symbolic as the bursting of a big spot, was nevertheless the main reason behind my change of heart.
So there you have it, my faithful blog-follower. There'll be no ugly outpourings of impotent rage going on in this blog, thank you very much. Neither will it continue to be written in the style of an e-novel, with pulsating narrative and unbearably tense cliff-hangers. Or will it? Don't miss next week's wordtastic blog, here, at rorymotion.com! ( Now with added ammonium lauryl sulphate, to bring out the Goddess in you!)
Comments
Well, seeing as you won't say it ,I will.The BBC are a load of pretentious wankers who are concerned only about ratings. Good art, good music and good food (?) have been sacrificed so that the cretinous majority can enjoy their shallow existence. Goo
Posted by Les Miserable , on Monday 16th July 2007, 9:55 PM
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