I’ve fallen into yarn and I can’t get out
Yes it’s true…during one of my manic episodes I knitted what could not be achieved in two whole months. I knitted till my fingers knitted themselves and I made the strangest scarf. It has several textures of wool and colours and is not the same width all along its three metres. But that’s really beside..I mean it is therapeutic. When the night seems endlessly long or not even long enough and when I have to defy that buggery bollocks alarm clock my incredible side kicks in and says ‘knit, knit like the wind’. But what will you knit dear? I don’t know, I haven’t time to consider it, all I know is that those stitches don’t stitch themselves and that purling and seeding sound so very rude it could have something to do with woolen dildos. But it doesn’t, besides they would scratch and wouldn’t really be of any use..except perhaps as a dildo holder. But I digress. And I will have to present some of these mistress pieces as evidence of this strange obsession. It’s a little like grinding your teeth except with needles and you don’t get much tooth damage.And then there’s the kindle. Listen judge me not too much yet…understand I left a great many boxes of books behind when I traveled and am so grateful that I have about 1000 books now accessible..70 percent of which I own in dead trees. But it’s been a strange ride for me and this is day four and counting. I don’t think my partner has essentially cottoned on to my manic episode that has put no-one in danger, except people made of yarn. I don’t really sleep, it seems ridiculous and obvious. Well I sleep, but fitfully dreaming of yarn and colours and who those people are yarn-bombing the city and whether they would be too cool and crafty for the lackadaisical knitted outpourings of myself. But I haven’t left the house in four days. Now if this was a big house you might understand, well yes that’s a lock down, that’s easy. But I live in a shoe-box, not a shoe. And if it was a shoe it would be a red glittery shoe–god damn it– it would be THE SHOE from the Wizard of Oz. Were they not technically the Witch of the East’s shoes? Or was it Glinda or Glenda the good witch? It’s so unfair, I mean what did the good witch do other than talk to Dorothy in a condescending matter and steal the shoes from the other witch who had been squashed? Oh and she waved her wand and helped her get home. But the other witch had flying Monkeys ( a capital M ) and a castle and she was GREEN!! not just a little green but a lot green. (me thinks I have written about this in another blog) Anyway where was I…
Oh living in a box. Well look, it’s a nice box as far as it goes and of course it isn’t a real box as in a box that is lived in by someone who literally has to live in a box. Hmm imagine being able to build houses from boxes and somehow waterproofing them, like portable tents but much roomier and then homeless people would have access to homes that they can move when they want, and are secure and safe. The actual nomadic box, let’s call it a yurt, is free to homeless people. This isn’t to suggest or to simplify the conditions of homelessness since the conditions and circumstances are often complex and ongoing and a microcosm of what is occurring within the macrocosm of society, but to offer moveable, water-proof, lightweight, comfortable and secure accommodation that is owned by the people living on the streets. In actual fact students could have them to. They could be quite big, think Harry Potter tents in one of those books, and we could paint them and decorate them and vacate them when we wanted to. Waterproof, resilient, strong, comfortable recycled cardboard houses. I know there is genius furniture being made from it. But houses…no-one to get suckered into mortgages. Aren’t they bizarre. These incomprehensibly large loans you get from the bank to buy a house to live in, but not really live in, because you are working like a sucker to pay for it and then when you own it, well that’s nice. I wonder what it would be like if land was not owned by anyone, would it be like Mad Max? or Survivors? Could we do it without a centralised government? Imagine if we lived between things, between the trees, between the buildings, between each other. We would have personal space, but we would not be owners, we would be custodians, much like the indigenous custodians of this land. But the box. Well maybe I live in a shoe box and instead of many children I have many dolls that I make.
Oh but the Kindle. Well let’s just say I’m reading about twenty books at the same time. Yes yes I am actually reading The Art of Laziness, and Alice in Wonderland, and I am America and You can too by Steven Colbert, and Latin for beginners, and Russian folk tales, and Animal Farm. My dreams are disturbed by my readings. But I have decided to make a blanket for my bed and given the dimensions of the bed and also the patchwork blanket I will make, think a licorice allsort kind of affair, I have calculated it will take me realistically about six months. In my fantasy it will take three weeks because I will be in a frenzy and my hands will kit in my sleep. I’d like to hope it’s ready for the deep winter of Melbourne. I want to wake up to the yellows, purples, blues, greens, oranges of this knitted mania. I want to feel the time embedded in it, the work, the mistakes, the beautiful surprises, the miscalculations, the warmth of its embrace. A yarn affair.