Sunday, 15 May 2016

Allow Me To Introduce The Artist Formerly Known As Indisputable Topcat.

                                Image: Jeff Davies Photographer

That "Hurt" Johnny Cash song just randomly came through my headphones and scared the FUCK out of me.

I relate to the "my empire of dirt" part. Why? Because it feels like that's all I have left - an empire of motherfucking dirt. I am dirt. I eat dirt. I got dirt for fucking eyeballs, dirt in my pen. DIRT. Just a piece of nothing dirt.

So what happens when a piece of nothing dirt starts thinking, well, if I can think then I can't be dirt because how can dirt think?

I'm not dirt. I'm a lot of things, been a lot of things, seen a lot of things ... but I'm not a piece of dirt.

This - this period of my life, this past year? Yeah. Once when I was seven years old I dreamt that I was Jesus on the cross getting crucified AT SCHOOL. And I had no clothes on. Fucking. Mortified.

A couple years back my brother died, we all know that. The big Grief is going to blow back into town soon I can feel it coming and jeez, I really miss him. My fellow scapegoat.

I don't concentrate much on him these days - prefer to focus on the living. And that is my two sons. I owe my two sons every good caring nurturing part of me and the rest of the world can go to hell I don't care what you think. I don't care what you've heard. I have bitten my tongue but remember that story a bit back about the baby elephant who grew into a large elephant who thought they couldn't get away?

I GOT AWAY. And no it wasn't a clean break nothing ever is but I'm CLEAN cleaner than some so while you're pointing out the splinter in my eye go raze your own forest. I burnt mine down years ago. Welcome to Deadwood. I was BORN in it.

Turning my anger and hate and sorrow into acceptance and forgiveness and love but jesus fuck. Learning how to namaste, oy vey.

What happened? How does a you become a you ... how did an Eden become an Eden? You know how you hold a newborn baby and they haven't done anything wrong yet? Completely pure. Well, news just in ... none of us will be that pure again. I'm sick of being scared, of keeping my trap shut, of being controlled. of hiding violence, of shutting-the-fuck up.

So. I could die at any moment - hopefully not coz I got boys to watch Walking Dead with. IT'S TRADITION AND NOBODY CAN TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME. Max I love you. Rocco you have no idea how wanted you were - so here, you guys. This one's for you.

Like Willy Wonka opening the Chocolate Factory. Because hearing one-sided stories ain't fair.

And for you, beautiful readers who I don't know where you came from it's like one day I thought I'd chuck a BBQ and ended up literally dining with the Prime Minister at Kirribilli House. I never asked for any of that shit. I don't want fame - or even fortune. So before we go any further travelling down the road of Edenland, I believe we need to take a detour to see where it all began.

Once upon a time a 34 year old woman started a blog under an assumed name - Topcat. How cool was that cartoon? And she wrote stuff. And she was frayed around the edges sure but she wrote. And a whole bunch of shit happened here have a goosey, gander - oh wait you already did.

I'm not hiding anything anymore, I'm tired. Go nuts on the fucking fizzylifting drink. I've kept my first website private for years now but here it is. For my sons. The last two people in the world I will ever love. Because fuck love. I'm dedicating the rest of my life to my creativity. I'm not giving up - I'm ok, just as crazy as ever. (Call me crazy again I love it.)

After my divorce when everybody gets set free and can get real about their relationships - well, I'm going to marry my creativity. My artistry, my strength, the core of my own goddamn self. I'm not finished .. anyway here's a blog I prepared earlier.

                              INDISPUTABLE TOPCAT

Let me introduce you to Topcat. You probably liked me better then .. I like me more now.

Bon appetit.

(I'll be back here again on Edenland real soon, because this is where I live. I'm not going anywhere, barnacle, etc.)

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Write to be understood, speak to be heard. - Lawrence Powell

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