It just doesn’t stop
A breakthrough!
Ahhh friends. The power of 2011 hey.
Blogs are working, social networking a new phenomenon…
I write with a breakthrough. After a few photoshop photos, smug comments and an emotional outlet finally, a breakthrough.
Donated: 1x pair of Lee black denim jeans, supatube, high yoke and a broken belt loop… from a source wishing to stay anonymous.
Keep upright Pete, we’re a-comin!
Simon
If I were playing a card game, i’d shout “uno”
Day 9. Tubular.
It’s been pretty beige thus far, let’s not kid ourselves. These nine days have seen a plethora (what a stellar word) of blog related faux pas, social faux pas and just general disappointment.
It’s been described as lame, I’ve heard sentence strings such as “get over it” and “what the fuck are you doing anyway” and I battle against it, denim clad (albeit with a lot of stains uni friends can only hope are toothpaste).
My jeans stink and so does my attitude. But I’m not throwing in the towel, no matter how much it could do with a wash. Yergh. I persist, with a shitty attitude, off-kilter legs and hair without texture.
Here’s the disappointment. Niente. Nada. If I were to make a card game analogy I’d shout “uno”. Most generally just don’t give a shit, which I get too… given not much gets a rise out of me these days apart from standard things such as porn, long distance bus trips, making forts on the floor to watch a movie and the thought of Anne Hathaway’s career ending up as a “toothpaste stain” on some poor mans jeans.
I’m lemon, I’m lime and I am bitterly disappointed. Please regard this as a lament over:
1. My generally poorly received blog (let’s not kid ourselves, I’m generally poorly received all round).
2. The lack of support garnered in relation to its cause, be it “shithouse” or not.
3. My distaste for the word ‘shithouse’ when there are much better words out there… most of which I won’t go into now, I might look into having a sealed section like Dolly magazine does when they talk about dildos and big dicks. Those people kid themselves to think that nine year olds can’t perforate or get online?!
4. The lack of chargin, good old fashioned black denim I have either:
a. Found in stores, and given I’ve only recently been gainfully employed from a long stout as “in between jobs” and “focusing on uni”, these have all been op-shops.
b. Been donated by the good people of Sydney.
After a parade of shameless self-promoting on Facebook, and a stern sit-down from a particularly media savvy friend about the benefits of Twitter, LinkedIn, and what I can only now describe as “blog bombing”, I realize that I’ve done it all wrong. This is about to change as DenimForTheDumb begins it’s spiral towards fuck knows what. But the blogs, they are a-changin’.
Simon
The start of something dumb
I call on your assistance below… a man in need is me indeed.
So here it starts. It may be the start of nothing, on the other hand it could be something special. So, as it generally goes, let’s start at the very beginning (a very good place to start). The fundamentals:
1. Me. Well, who do you ask and what would they tell? In basic terms I’m Arthur, I’m Martha. I’m the bouncy ball you lost down the drain as a child. I’m a dreamer, a loser, magical and albeit pretty beige. I look at myself as many songs, many films but it all comes down to this: I drink too much, smoke too much, am worried about too many things that don’t matter and nothing that does. The story thus far is Matisse sober, Van Gogh touch yourself, Pollock in the dunny and not Ken Done’ing it. You all get it.
2. Blogging. What is it, who is it? Facebook is without a face, MySpace is done for so really, it’s nobody’s space, Twitter sounds like something you go to the beautician for and really, the best thing I know about blogging came from a Meryl Streep film and last week’s initiating blog by one dear friend with a cause (both of which I can only aspire to be).
3. Obsession. This is the easy bit. Pete Doherty: g enerally pretty awful. The kind of man who’ll sing to you at 3:00am between the sheets only with a spew bucket and whatever change is in your pocket. The man who doesn’t care, nor need to. A pillar of fashion. An exemplary example of recklessness who holds the only sort of escapism that one with a severe knock to the head can hope for. The women fell, the bottom of the bottle still unconquered and here I sit waiting. Waiting.
So, with the above fundamentals sorted, this should be taken as the beginning of my cause. “Our Pete” is in jail. Prison. This can be seen as a time for reflection, writing songs, wearing orange, soap on a rope, various porno’s I’ve loved, a few tele shows others have liked. I myself call this justified, fair, warranted and law abiding imprisonment outrageously stupid. Where will I draw my life inspiration from?
I now dub it “Junk for Jeans and Jeans for Junk”, or “Denim for the Dumb”. I’m not sure. It’s a written and visual (an all-rounder) account of what I call my cause. And this is where it starts. I’ve decided to, for the entire duration of Our Pete’s stay in prison, wear black denim every day. Six months. This is not really a stretch, given I’ve started with three pairs of jeans and, save for a cino here and there, black denim is generally my outfit of choice. However, Our Pete has been sentenced to six months’ prison, and I give up at the drop of a hat. I’m a towel thrower…. not this time.
So here’s the clincher… I am using this blog to call on you for your assistance. I am appealing to your mothers, your fathers, your sister, your brother, the one that you keep in the attic, the second cousin you pashed that you weren’t supposed to… I want their black denim and I want yours more. To carry my skinny little bitch body all the way to six months I’m going to need some things on recycle. Go into wardrobes and don’t come out without anything black denim. I’m even paying for the postage so take that with your steak knives.
In any event, to the only follower I’ll probably ever have: SOP! You nabbed that one.
Yours
Simon
