A long time ago, on a blog far, far away, I started something called the Tuesday 200s.
After my Keith Haringmeltdown in Paris last week, I decided I needed to get back into some kind of regular creativity swing, and so I registered a new domain. Because you know, like the ADD bookclub (you can’t only just be reading one thing at a time; rules are rules), we might as well start up with the ADD blogging as well. Also, I decided on a separate space for the creative work rather than blend it all into the old blog or into this one (because clearly I’ve been so prolific since my arrival in Barcelona).
I revisited some of the old stories tonight. I don’t remember writing most of them and, to be honest, some took me by surprise. Sometimes a cringe, sometimes a chuckle and (not to toot my own horn … oh go on, Bob, toot away) a couple of genuine LOLs. There were a few twists I didn’t see coming (which is strange, since to the best of my knowledge I did actually write them), and oh my … I did go to the dark place a few times, didn’t I? So many little deaths in so many little tales. And the ones I did remember were pleasant little reminders that you can turn snippets of real life into little stories that actually didn’t happen. I guess that’s what they call writing fiction, innit.
No idea where this next batch will go, but that’s all part of the fun, isn’t it? A little structure, with some self-imposed deadlines to spur on the creative process. And at least I’ll feel like I’m starting and finishing something, be it good or bad, over however long I keep it up.
Anyway, here’s the new site in its early form. Now I reckon I should write something new for it. By Tuesday, at least.
I went to the US Embassy the other day to renew my passport. The one I only use to get back into ‘merica when needs be. Because in Europe, using a US passport involves all kinds of scanning and cross-checks and mad-skillz keyboarding at the immigration counter. Show the same officer a UK passport and it’s like handing a transfer to the bus driver; they just wave you right through.
I had filled out the necessary paperwork online and printed out the form. Most of the fill-in-the-blanks were drop down menus, so it was fairly idiot proof, but I’m just the guy to put such failsafes to the test. The Spanish lady (who was lovely, btw) behind the glass window reviewed it, stapled my picture where it needed to be, looked at me, looked back at the form and then said, “Why did you put gray has your hair color?”
Those of you with a certain theatrical bent will know that Diana Goodman missed the mountains.
I could be her Sherpa guide these past few weeks, and today was an all-day pass, ride as much as you like (and then stay on a little longer) on The Beast of emotional roller coasters.
Today’s brilliantly curated Keith Haring exhibit pretty much did me in. Sometimes a piece of work will press a few buttons, maybe even strike a chord or two. This was more like a symphony of memories, fears, dreams, hopes, triumphs, failures and insecurities.
Creativity. Art. AIDS. Racism. Sex. Injustice. Lost time. New York. Anger. Protest. Love. The dichotomy of making money while protesting capitalism. The 80s. Working with kids. Using your talents to help spread a message. Education. Compassion.
He died when he was 31, just a few years after being diagnosed. He created so much work, and it was so much bigger (not just in size, but in scope as well) than I had ever imagined. I don’t think I could create half as much if I lived another 31 years.