3/23/2007

Good T-shirts and A Call To Arms

Hello,
If the quality of this post seems low. It's only because fucking, bloody, bastard blogger deleted the first version for no apparent reason and I'm now struggling to recreate the passion, a second time. It's a bit like having sex with the same person twice in quick succession. It's alright but not as good as the first time. A fresh rush of blood to the head is as good as fresh meat in the boudoir. Blogging is immediate, it's very hard to do the same thing twice in a row, especially when one just blogs of the top of ones head after staring at an empty screen for a time.
Anyway excuses out the way, let me begin again.

I recently purchased a fabulous T-shirt from these fellows . The print is pinched from some French revolution pamphlet or another and I'm very taken with it. Best of all the chaps at Carp as they name themselves are on something of a mission which makes my blackened, romantic old heart soar beyond the heavens to somewhere even better. Look:

'...CARP, a bunch of reject graphic designers and artists based in Birmingham in the U.K on a probably hopeless crusade to save the world through t-shirt graphics, or perhaps just offering an alternative to the usual crap on every high street.'

How lovely that they all found each other. I've always wanted to be part of a gang of young bright eyed idealists but everyone I meet is far too sensible to hurl themselves against the wall with the force required to make even the slightest crack or worse they have a family.

Old Cyril was right (I didn't know him, I'm just being over familiar to look important), 'There is no more sombre enemy of good art than the pram in the hall'. I'd chuck in the modern obsession with home ownership and dull responsibility in general. While I'm at it why not lob in the naive idea that the current government are so in love with, that we can or should be made perfect happy, healthy people by legislation. Smoking bans, ASBOs, parenting classes, citizenship classes, education. It may be me getting it all wrong as ever but every time the government mention education my blood runs cold. It either means they're going to devalue it by setting exams a dead snail could pass, price it out of the hands of anyone who could use it or come up with an appalling initiative to make make us all better people. Add that to the dreadful moral conservatism of today's youth and the future looks like a Tupperware box with rules.

The above in a nutshell explains why there have been no great female artists. Tons of good and even excellent ones but none worthy of the genius tag. Women are always worrying about other peoples moral welfare or worse housework. If Carry Nation was reincarnated as a nubile size zero babe babbling about sex education, she'd get by very well these days as long as she wasn't slutty, drunk or on drugs. That said one's sins can be cleansed in rehab.

Only today in work the ladies were all gasping in horror about the behaviour of a drunk, scantily clad, divorcee at some dreary function they had attended weeks ago. Apparently she went home with some chap she'd never met before! Good God! I have no doubt the sky fell in shortly afterwards. Not a word of criticism was directed towards the chap. Do you see why I never socialise with these people?

What is at the root of the female obsession with housework? As a lady of slovenly habits I have had one too many lectures about my poor housekeeping skills. Why is it when a man is untidy everyone chuckles indulgently and coos about him needing a wife, whereas an untidy woman is making a cry for help or is somehow disreputable? I neither require help nor am I Satan incarnate, well not that often. I just have better things to do like scapbooking, knitting, origami, fortune telling, meditation, dreaming, walking, prayer, museums, reading, writing, watching telly, making things, knitting, taking pictures, blogging and going down the Theosophy Society, which lives in a big damp Victorian house. Decaying grandeur - I love it.

It's plain for all to see that if women gave up housework, then men would invent something after getting tired of the mess. What is required is an affordable mechanical slave. That would leave the rest of us all with better things to do.

Here is my proposal. Women fuck housework, marriage and career. Abandon your children and your narrow prisons. Hetro, lesbian, bi or something none of us ever dared dream of. Let's get together and mud wrestle or knit. I'm not fussy. Let's make banners and badges. Let's call ourselves the Havishams. Miss Havisham will be our sister and our symbol. Anyone that can turn being jilted into an art form has potential. Let's form a movement, wear tatty second hand wedding dresses, bang dustbin lids, hold marches with no aim, loaf, create and run wild and realise that potential.

Now stand back and watch the indifference.

Cheers

7 comments:

iLL Man said...

So, the original post...It was better how?

Manifesto's in the making don't come any better.

paddy said...

"The Havishams"....well if you lost your drift you couldof fooled me but I know exactly what you ....it has happened to me; it's dreadful; makes me want to cry.T "T-Shirt Crap" (on a mission) I guess you are talking about comminity. (to leave out thr perambulator in the hall; I don't know about that; it's too complicated to dismiss it just yey; anyway)Yes the government (business as usual -especially when everything runs smoothly.
Exams snails could pass- I personally think schooling should start with different types of work to find what suits each individual.(Ivan Illich "Deschooling Society" Ha I must read it sometime.
Yes I hate the "perfect families" idea SHOOT Dr. Phil Charge him with conspiracy or ....! O fuck it I loved your post I could go on but I'm tired now I'll call again if I may. Paddy

ZinZin said...

The spirit of punk.

lism. said...

I read somewhere that the average home requires fifteen hours a week of housework. My arse. Today we cleaned for the first time in six months. Flat looks lovely right enough, but there's plenty of things I'd rather do with that fifteen hours.

Katy Newton said...

I'm not mud wrestling with anyone, or at least not until I've lost about eighty two stone. I say we eat cake instead.

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