Wednesday, 30 March 2011
photoblog
ok, it's not love but being hit on by a weird fucker on my photoblog HelloHow are you?My name is Aishatzu I saw your profile today and became interested in you, I will also like to know you the more, and I want you to send an email to my email address so I can give you my picture for you to know whom I am. Here is my email address(aishatzuharuni@yahoo.co.uk)I believe we can move from here! I am waiting for your mail to my email address above.Aishatzu baby (Remember the distance or color does not matter but love matters a lot in life) Contact me here (aishatzuharuni@yahoo.co.uk) I am looking forward to hear from you soon.Take care your Aishatzu
Thursday, 17 March 2011
entropy
in quantum physics the definition of time is a tendency towards entropy. why then does so much energy get spent on contriving order? its only ultimate outcome can be a descent into dis-order ... or madness
Sunday, 13 March 2011
Costco is rubbish
On Friday I entirely bollocksed up joing Costco, the (apparently) very popular wholesale supermarket.
I need to buy supplies for a number of upcoming events offering refreshments and hospitality to many people: Costco I thought might be a good single source of wholesale goods. I was quite chuffed with myself at having got together the necessary paperwork for a trade membership. I signed up, though balking slightly at the £20+Vat membership charge but thinking that £2 a month would show dividends buying goods over the year.
I acquired my ID card with faint crappy photograph and also my superwide trolley and felt I'd joined an elite crowd of shoppers. Everyone looked well pleased with their trolley load though slightly harrassed. I immediately lost the plot, getting distracted by the TVs showing images of the tsunami sweeping through Sendai; I had heard only radio news and hadn't yet seen the images. So I stood crying in the aisle whilst others carried on looking at price labels; it reminded me of 11th September 2001 when I saw the first TV images of the WTC collapsing in Jarman Park leisure centre to the accompanying sound of laser games and bowling and kids matching disco steps. I pulled myself together and resumed shopping.
I mentally compared prices of photographic equipment and decided I could buy cheaper in any number of well-known retail park outlets. But I wasn't there to buy cameras. I headed for the toilet paper. I suppose it was "cheap" but I had to buy 144 rolls at a time; I was fazed by the storage problem and also that I wasn't organising Olympic shitting events but needed a couple of extra rolls on a couple of occasions. I declined the toilet paper.
I went to to the juices; I found giant Ribenas taped into pairs. I put some into the trolley for personal use though wondering again where in the house I was going to keep these and whether my daughter might possibly have left home before using these up. I also put a tray of lunchbox orange juice in the trolley, then took it out again, worried by the lack of variety and that my daughter currently needs fresh Vitamin C for iron absorption. The big juices, likewise, I declined because it seemed boring to buy large quantities of juice that wouldn't really be fresh. I moved on to the wine via the canoes; I was tempted by the canoe, also the 24metre long garden marquee, not that I am planning either an excursion to the Rockies or a wedding, also I would have to cut down all the trees in the garden, though they did have the equipment for that.
The wine counter was a disappointment: wine was cheap if bought in multiples of six ... but what if the first taste was crap and then you had to carry on drinking five more bottles of crappy wine? Single bottles were, without exception, all more expensive than even the most expensive of the well known supermarket chains; I know, I am an expert on wine prices. Dithering, I selected three multipacks of wine (one of each colour), total price £78. And a pack of polystyrene cups for hot drinks.
I tasted some jellybear vitamins for kids; they were quite nice, but I don't have malnourished small children. I felt the need to shop so I put some eyespray in the trolley because I'd seen it advertised on TV.
I then walked round and round in that state of "tharn" (what happens to rabbits in 'Watership Down' when caught in car headlights) that sometimes descends on me behind a shopping trolley. I totted up what my trolley load would cost and was appalled by the total; it was supposed to be cheap. My own shopping of late has gone down in cost with a son away managing his own weekly outlay; at home I've recently switched off the second fridge and the freezer, deciding not to store unecessary items of food at home and waste electricity when shops are a short distance away in every direction and items can even be bought singly. I realised I would never want to buy anything in bulk in this store and that, even for event shopping, this was not a good economy and I couldn't see how even the £24 membership outlay would be recuperated.
I looked around at other shoppers' trolleys loaded with giant boxes of strawberries and trays of a dozen iced buns and microwaves and gardening gloves and women desperately searching through dull piles of exercise clothing they would never wear ... and I knew what I had to do.
I abandoned my trolley (I am ashamed of this) and made my way back to the membership desk. "I want to cancel my membership", I said. "You are the first person in ten years who has ever asked to do this."
I need to buy supplies for a number of upcoming events offering refreshments and hospitality to many people: Costco I thought might be a good single source of wholesale goods. I was quite chuffed with myself at having got together the necessary paperwork for a trade membership. I signed up, though balking slightly at the £20+Vat membership charge but thinking that £2 a month would show dividends buying goods over the year.
I acquired my ID card with faint crappy photograph and also my superwide trolley and felt I'd joined an elite crowd of shoppers. Everyone looked well pleased with their trolley load though slightly harrassed. I immediately lost the plot, getting distracted by the TVs showing images of the tsunami sweeping through Sendai; I had heard only radio news and hadn't yet seen the images. So I stood crying in the aisle whilst others carried on looking at price labels; it reminded me of 11th September 2001 when I saw the first TV images of the WTC collapsing in Jarman Park leisure centre to the accompanying sound of laser games and bowling and kids matching disco steps. I pulled myself together and resumed shopping.
I mentally compared prices of photographic equipment and decided I could buy cheaper in any number of well-known retail park outlets. But I wasn't there to buy cameras. I headed for the toilet paper. I suppose it was "cheap" but I had to buy 144 rolls at a time; I was fazed by the storage problem and also that I wasn't organising Olympic shitting events but needed a couple of extra rolls on a couple of occasions. I declined the toilet paper.
I went to to the juices; I found giant Ribenas taped into pairs. I put some into the trolley for personal use though wondering again where in the house I was going to keep these and whether my daughter might possibly have left home before using these up. I also put a tray of lunchbox orange juice in the trolley, then took it out again, worried by the lack of variety and that my daughter currently needs fresh Vitamin C for iron absorption. The big juices, likewise, I declined because it seemed boring to buy large quantities of juice that wouldn't really be fresh. I moved on to the wine via the canoes; I was tempted by the canoe, also the 24metre long garden marquee, not that I am planning either an excursion to the Rockies or a wedding, also I would have to cut down all the trees in the garden, though they did have the equipment for that.
The wine counter was a disappointment: wine was cheap if bought in multiples of six ... but what if the first taste was crap and then you had to carry on drinking five more bottles of crappy wine? Single bottles were, without exception, all more expensive than even the most expensive of the well known supermarket chains; I know, I am an expert on wine prices. Dithering, I selected three multipacks of wine (one of each colour), total price £78. And a pack of polystyrene cups for hot drinks.
I tasted some jellybear vitamins for kids; they were quite nice, but I don't have malnourished small children. I felt the need to shop so I put some eyespray in the trolley because I'd seen it advertised on TV.
I then walked round and round in that state of "tharn" (what happens to rabbits in 'Watership Down' when caught in car headlights) that sometimes descends on me behind a shopping trolley. I totted up what my trolley load would cost and was appalled by the total; it was supposed to be cheap. My own shopping of late has gone down in cost with a son away managing his own weekly outlay; at home I've recently switched off the second fridge and the freezer, deciding not to store unecessary items of food at home and waste electricity when shops are a short distance away in every direction and items can even be bought singly. I realised I would never want to buy anything in bulk in this store and that, even for event shopping, this was not a good economy and I couldn't see how even the £24 membership outlay would be recuperated.
I looked around at other shoppers' trolleys loaded with giant boxes of strawberries and trays of a dozen iced buns and microwaves and gardening gloves and women desperately searching through dull piles of exercise clothing they would never wear ... and I knew what I had to do.
I abandoned my trolley (I am ashamed of this) and made my way back to the membership desk. "I want to cancel my membership", I said. "You are the first person in ten years who has ever asked to do this."
not qualified
Dear Anna-Marya
Thank you for getting in touch.
The Scheme has no age restrictions, just that you must have graduated from your first degree in 2009 or 2010. The aim is to support those who have just left university or college to help them get their start in a career in the arts.
Best wishes
Kate
Thank you for getting in touch.
The Scheme has no age restrictions, just that you must have graduated from your first degree in 2009 or 2010. The aim is to support those who have just left university or college to help them get their start in a career in the arts.
Best wishes
Kate
Friday, 4 March 2011
and March gets off to a good start
Dear Anna-Marya,
Many thanks for your proposal for the 2011 artist residency programme at Luton Hoo Walled Garden.
I regret to inform you that on this occasion your submission was unsuccessful.
The selection panel was very impressed with your proposal and the quality of your work, however, we felt that at this stage in the development of the residency work that was more specific to the Luton Hoo Walled Garden would be more suitable.
We received a tremendous response to the residency with over 70 enquires. Thank you for your interest and we hope to see you at future Luton Hoo Walled Garden art events.
Best wishes,
Suzanne
Many thanks for your proposal for the 2011 artist residency programme at Luton Hoo Walled Garden.
I regret to inform you that on this occasion your submission was unsuccessful.
The selection panel was very impressed with your proposal and the quality of your work, however, we felt that at this stage in the development of the residency work that was more specific to the Luton Hoo Walled Garden would be more suitable.
We received a tremendous response to the residency with over 70 enquires. Thank you for your interest and we hope to see you at future Luton Hoo Walled Garden art events.
Best wishes,
Suzanne
Wednesday, 23 February 2011
February drawing
My thoughts in composing these life drawings were about disruption of the human body, having just read and considered the work of Nick Danziger in relation to former Yugoslavia
Escalator2
Wheels within wheels ... or whatever inept aphorism
The Escalator retreat was about failure and unrealised projects; somehow I thought I stood a chance.
The Escalator retreat was about failure and unrealised projects; somehow I thought I stood a chance.
Escalator
Dear Anna-Marya,I am writing to tell you that selection for the forthcoming Escalator assembly Unrealised - Unrealisable has taken place and unfortunately on this occasion you have not been selected to attend.Unsurprisingly, as one of the few fully funded programmes of its kind in England, Escalator is oversubscribed and competition to attend Escalator events is fierce.We are committed to keeping access to Escalator an open process, however what this means is that due to high levels of interest in the programme we are unable to give individual feedback to those not selected. In general, the reason is simply that on this occasion others were able to articulate the urgency of this assembly at this moment is time, and how work their work is appropriate to the theme.Thank you for taking the time to apply and I hope you will continue to consider future Escalator opportunities.With all best wishes,Gareth Bell-Jones
Tuesday, 1 February 2011
oh one oh two two oh one one
I've just turned over the first page of the calendar I bought in Switzerland last summer. The picture is of mountains covered in glistening snow under a bright sun in clear blue Alpine sky. The middle ground has an airborne snowboarder flying into the picture. The whole experience causes me some confusion.
I've always had a "Swiss calendar", something I inherited from my mother: each year she would acquire a calendar from Switzerland, often a linen (made in Ireland) printed version that converted to a teacloth at the end of the year, decorated in rustic furniture or gentians or Alpine cartoons. I still have these grotty teatowels and the year - 1969 ... 1972 ... 1980 - recalls this or that memory.
When mother's mother was still alive they would arrive as a gift. Then we lived there, then we visted each summer and brought one back for the following year, then my aunt would send one - usually the free one she obviously got from her local garage - but the year was coloured Swiss: mountains, lakes, chalets and little villages, goatherders and alphorns coming round like proverbial clockwork.
The calendar I have on my wall this year? I bought it in Basel last summer; I was there to close the bank account that I inherited from my mother, no great fortune or secret horde but ordinary pennies, the diminished money left from her own inheritance. It was her reserve, her escape money, it served to pay for holidays and travel over the years, paid for my own family to visit the country.
But the Swiss don't want poor bank guests; for a non-resident they were about to hike up the fees in such a way that would purely have eaten the money away, so I closed down the account and used some of the cash for a two-day stay in Basel, and was appalled how expensive everything was. That made me feel thoroughly like an outsider and brought back memories of how poor my mother was when we lived there, how we lacked every basic amenity, how we eventually found a room in an apartment cheaply because my mother looked after the landlord's resident and dying stepmother, a Miss Haversham presence who occasionally shuffled out of her deathbed down the corridor to the lavatory and didn't make it and left little white turds as footprints. The Swiss didn't like poor guests back then either and my mother's circumstances were as difficult as they could be and it all went very sour.
My mother nonetheless missed her "home" country and went back to Switzerland with me each summer but the "holidays" were strung out on a shoestring, living in Salvation Army hostels.
I look at the calendar picture and smell the snow; snow has no smell but yet it comes with a very particular olfactory sensation ... clear air? It is a potent nostalgia. As was the snow we had here in December last year, it is a sensation of light, of danger, of safety.
I bought the calendar in a department store, wandering around with my daughter, and this is the finest bit of the association: I hated being trailed around Switzerland all summer with my mother and maybe last year my daughter wasn't dead excited either, maybe it was a little dull for her but it was very precious to me, to know that a mother and daughter can do something amicably together.
I don't understand the skateboarder; he (it looks like a man) intrudes into the picture, both literally, flying into the image, but also metaphorically. His presence tugs the timeless landscape of little houses and churchspire into the twentyfirst century and this is exactly what I don't want; I want to stew in a dream of unsullied memory, to gloss over the reality of even my own real experience of Switzerland and I want to believe in the myth. Here the source of objection to minarets.
I've always had a "Swiss calendar", something I inherited from my mother: each year she would acquire a calendar from Switzerland, often a linen (made in Ireland) printed version that converted to a teacloth at the end of the year, decorated in rustic furniture or gentians or Alpine cartoons. I still have these grotty teatowels and the year - 1969 ... 1972 ... 1980 - recalls this or that memory.
When mother's mother was still alive they would arrive as a gift. Then we lived there, then we visted each summer and brought one back for the following year, then my aunt would send one - usually the free one she obviously got from her local garage - but the year was coloured Swiss: mountains, lakes, chalets and little villages, goatherders and alphorns coming round like proverbial clockwork.
The calendar I have on my wall this year? I bought it in Basel last summer; I was there to close the bank account that I inherited from my mother, no great fortune or secret horde but ordinary pennies, the diminished money left from her own inheritance. It was her reserve, her escape money, it served to pay for holidays and travel over the years, paid for my own family to visit the country.
But the Swiss don't want poor bank guests; for a non-resident they were about to hike up the fees in such a way that would purely have eaten the money away, so I closed down the account and used some of the cash for a two-day stay in Basel, and was appalled how expensive everything was. That made me feel thoroughly like an outsider and brought back memories of how poor my mother was when we lived there, how we lacked every basic amenity, how we eventually found a room in an apartment cheaply because my mother looked after the landlord's resident and dying stepmother, a Miss Haversham presence who occasionally shuffled out of her deathbed down the corridor to the lavatory and didn't make it and left little white turds as footprints. The Swiss didn't like poor guests back then either and my mother's circumstances were as difficult as they could be and it all went very sour.
My mother nonetheless missed her "home" country and went back to Switzerland with me each summer but the "holidays" were strung out on a shoestring, living in Salvation Army hostels.
I look at the calendar picture and smell the snow; snow has no smell but yet it comes with a very particular olfactory sensation ... clear air? It is a potent nostalgia. As was the snow we had here in December last year, it is a sensation of light, of danger, of safety.
I bought the calendar in a department store, wandering around with my daughter, and this is the finest bit of the association: I hated being trailed around Switzerland all summer with my mother and maybe last year my daughter wasn't dead excited either, maybe it was a little dull for her but it was very precious to me, to know that a mother and daughter can do something amicably together.
I don't understand the skateboarder; he (it looks like a man) intrudes into the picture, both literally, flying into the image, but also metaphorically. His presence tugs the timeless landscape of little houses and churchspire into the twentyfirst century and this is exactly what I don't want; I want to stew in a dream of unsullied memory, to gloss over the reality of even my own real experience of Switzerland and I want to believe in the myth. Here the source of objection to minarets.
Friday, 28 January 2011
deepest gloom
Depression has a powerful narcissistic aspect. (No wonder it is the territory of creatives; all artists are egoists.) Its effect is to draw the self into the self: I am so miserable, my misery is greater than anyone else's around me, they cannot understand, my misery is special, my very own personal sump. It's horrible to admit it but there is a perverse pleasure in giving in to this lure of thoughts. They are insidious, compelling, and they drown out generative thought. That is what I fear most: the disappearance of thoughts. The nothingness. It's the most horrible state of mind, and it has an almost physical attribute; because of the inability to escape the sheer internalness of the experience, sanity begins to drift apart and floating in the void of unthinking becomes present reality. The inner vision is more compelling than real surroundings and colours everything with darkness. So lame then to realise that there is nothing special about the experience but that it is common, and January is a bad month for it. Today blue sky has broken through. The extra light is enough to show up how dirty the house has become and has shamed me into hoovering.
Tate ...
Dear Anna
Thank you for calling into Tate in relation to our current vacancies. Please do keep reviewing our website, http://www.tate.co.uk as we regularly update our vacancies and if you do see any position that you are interested in, please do not hesitate to apply to us.
For further help with your job search you could try the Recruitment and Employment Confederation (REC) website on http://www.jobseekers-uk.com , as they hold a list of other recruitment agencies which you may find useful.
Sorry we have been unable to assist you on this occasion, however I would like to thank you for your interest and wish you well with your search for suitable employment. Yours sincerely
Thank you for calling into Tate in relation to our current vacancies. Please do keep reviewing our website, http://www.tate.co.uk as we regularly update our vacancies and if you do see any position that you are interested in, please do not hesitate to apply to us.
For further help with your job search you could try the Recruitment and Employment Confederation (REC) website on http://www.jobseekers-uk.com , as they hold a list of other recruitment agencies which you may find useful.
Sorry we have been unable to assist you on this occasion, however I would like to thank you for your interest and wish you well with your search for suitable employment. Yours sincerely
Wednesday, 26 January 2011
what do I know?
If I know the maiden name of a friend's mother, is this knowledge? Is it something I have learned? Should I have learned this kind of information in school? And if I had, would it have served me as well? What shall I do with the things I know? How do I know that they are as they are? Which knowledge means anything?
Saturday, 18 December 2010
deliberate failure
Yesterday while I was not around in the house I depended on my other half to let in the plumber to deal with (hopefully) the final adjustments to the disastrous plumbing and to make the bathroom usable on the eve of the house having extra people in it and more demands on our only working bathroom; but he failed to let the plumber in. Now this may have been a genuine mistake ... or was it deliberate? Was it a deliberate refusal to have a man/professional in the house to do a skilfull job because it's a challenge to male pride? Whilst I can't seriously accuse him of this kind of paranoid suspicion, nonetheless my justification is my father's behaviour which was the same: if my mother called someone in to get something done my father would give them hell, and her as well for "wasting money" when he could do it himself. My father did most things around the house until eventually it looked entirely botched from top to bottom. Our house is beginning to acquire this hallmark. I used to do a lot of DIY but I have run out of energy; I physically can't do the things I would once have tackled and my other half is just no good at them, he doesn't have a natural facility with materials and spaces. Over the years I have really come to not trust any DIY job being done by him; I have learnt to silently adjust things after he has "finished" - or there are ones I can do nothing about, like the ethernet cable that was strung across the bathtub and out of the window for two years, snipping it would have put paid to work communications; every time I dried myself and swung the towel over my shoulders it would snag on the cable. Doing anything together is beyond awful because I am not allowed to say anything, even pointing out the unsafeness of how he usually organises ladders. This is an epic area of domestic tragedy that runs and runs. As possibly also the water that continues to leak in the bathroom; I've no confidence that we can all use the bathroom over xmas without it leaking.
Thursday, 9 December 2010
decorous
Having put aside all ambition to be employed for the time being either gainfully or in a creative capacity, I essayed some renovation and decoration in the home, long, long overdue, judging by the slut's lace in every nook.
I "did" the bathroom and felt reasonably satisfied with the effort; even though the plumbing is antediluvian it managed to pretend to be a real bathroom. Then I turned my attention on the kitchen, likewise grotty and outmoded but at least cleaned up and ready to receive visitors willing to be distracted by xmas decorations. I re-papered the corner of the wall that had shreds hanging off it since October '09 since the flooding from the bathroom, painted the ceiling, including the umpteenth layer over where the orange juice exploded.. I began the process of cutting fabric for draught excluding curtains ... then the stain appeared on the ceiling ... and another ... and some more. An inspection of the floor under the bathtub upstairs revealed that water seepage was so extreme that not only the floor but the entire outer wall were soaked, really drenched to the heart of the mortar with pebbles falling out of the pebble dash. So I had to rip out the entire bath facing, lining, disarray the shelves and ... I'm exactly back to where I started:
Having put aside all ambition to be employed for the time being either gainfully or in a creative capacity ...
The nub of the failure here is not the deteriorating plumbing but stubborn wills battling in a failing marriage with neither party willing to invest money in a house that will quite soon cease to be a home.
I "did" the bathroom and felt reasonably satisfied with the effort; even though the plumbing is antediluvian it managed to pretend to be a real bathroom. Then I turned my attention on the kitchen, likewise grotty and outmoded but at least cleaned up and ready to receive visitors willing to be distracted by xmas decorations. I re-papered the corner of the wall that had shreds hanging off it since October '09 since the flooding from the bathroom, painted the ceiling, including the umpteenth layer over where the orange juice exploded.. I began the process of cutting fabric for draught excluding curtains ... then the stain appeared on the ceiling ... and another ... and some more. An inspection of the floor under the bathtub upstairs revealed that water seepage was so extreme that not only the floor but the entire outer wall were soaked, really drenched to the heart of the mortar with pebbles falling out of the pebble dash. So I had to rip out the entire bath facing, lining, disarray the shelves and ... I'm exactly back to where I started:
Having put aside all ambition to be employed for the time being either gainfully or in a creative capacity ...
The nub of the failure here is not the deteriorating plumbing but stubborn wills battling in a failing marriage with neither party willing to invest money in a house that will quite soon cease to be a home.
Wednesday, 8 December 2010
community art?
who coined that phrase?
and why do it? for the love of it? mostly for money ...
somewhere lost in the mists of idealism I remember wanting to do art FOR people ... and have achieved many projects that I know left people thrilled with what they made but overall, I really couldn't give a toss - what community?
and why do it? for the love of it? mostly for money ...
somewhere lost in the mists of idealism I remember wanting to do art FOR people ... and have achieved many projects that I know left people thrilled with what they made but overall, I really couldn't give a toss - what community?
Monday, 8 November 2010
You know when your bush needs trimming ...
You know when your bush needs trimming when someone knocks at the door and offers to do it, as happened on Saturday; I declined and immediately regretted it, thinking of the hours of getting twigs in my face and of the mess of clearing up which is often worse than the task itself.
With darkness approaching I sawed the last few branches but retreated before it was too dark to see as I value my fingers and eyes.So it turned into two days' of work and totally at the mercy of the weather - one weekend lost, not to speak of the damage to my back and hands ...
Well, the embarrassment of the unsolicited knock at the door combined with a sunny autumn day after a wet Bonfire Night, got me going: ten minutes into cutting down the laurel bush separating us from the neighbour, I chewed through the Alligator cable and shorted all the fuses. Forty minutes later I was back in business after rewiring the cutter with its shortened cable, that is after going to the shops to buy new fuses, of which there were naturally none in the house. Some hours of dirty work later and with the onset of dusk the chainsaw dislodged and Alligator had to be taken into the garage and I had to discover its entire construction to access the chain positioning and, for some reason, one securing nut was fractionally larger than the other, hence one fitted neatly into the ring spanner and the other didn't and I chewed off the corners ... grrrrrr
With darkness approaching I sawed the last few branches but retreated before it was too dark to see as I value my fingers and eyes.Saturday, 6 November 2010
Artist: Years Around The Sun lyrics
Title: Failing At Art
Set your heart at ease or it will hold you under
Set your heart at ease and your soul
We got to believe in last chances we can't count on the world today
We'll listen to the radio and sing to the songs we hate
And we have been on the road all day
And we are still on the road tonight
And we'll listen to the radio as we stare in the Devil's eyes
We'll sift through the ashes the embers burn bright
Collect all we stole vanish in the night
We'll sleep with the masses, but stay out of sight
We stole our wages
Send "Failing At Art" ringtone to your mobile http://ace.jamster.co.uk/c_red_v2_dyn/?pid=19&artist=Years+Around+The+Sun&title=Failing+At+Art&tduid=38fe5d1e5e3779d144bf7f73c5da64ef&affId=1568252
Set your heart at ease or it will hold you under
Set your heart at ease and your soul
We got to believe in last chances we can't count on the world today
We'll listen to the radio and sing to the songs we hate
And we have been on the road all day
And we are still on the road tonight
And we'll listen to the radio as we stare in the Devil's eyes
We'll sift through the ashes the embers burn bright
Collect all we stole vanish in the night
We'll sleep with the masses, but stay out of sight
We stole our wages
Send "Failing At Art" ringtone to your mobile http://ace.jamster.co.uk/c_red_v2_dyn/?pid=19&artist=Years+Around+The+Sun&title=Failing+At+Art&tduid=38fe5d1e5e3779d144bf7f73c5da64ef&affId=1568252
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