Betty Page

Gah, intense bout of insomnia.

You know how sometimes you read so see something that does your head and makes you feel sick and adles your emotions, well I can do that to myself with my eyes shut.

I found myself at a loose end on Sunday night, well, the whole weekend was a loose end, but with laundry done and three hours to kill I set to work doing an animationy thing, its what I do, and fed up with rifling through pron, I found some videos of folk dancing and Betty Page prancing.



The music, I couldn;t quite decide which obscure up and coming indie band to gift five thousand viewers to, so I hopped to Last.FM and picked the last thing any friend had listened to, The Besties.

Sometime on Monday I need to post the video up on my post it note nuddy site, along with words. So in my head this dark November night is Betty Page, and The notorious Betty Page the film what I saw in Edinburgh and those times and those feelings. Christ, someone off of the internet, what chance did I have, being in real life and all that. Folk off of the internet, you only see the weeest fraction of so your heid makes up the rest on its own, the internet words hint at one thing one trait and your head fills in the rest compared to reality, where what you get is what you get. Sometimes your heid gets it right, and sometimes it doesn't. But the only way to be sure is to rust reality.

What am I getting at?

And why did drawing thirty or so picture of Betty Page fill me with anger towards David Kitchen?

Something to do with monkeyspheres.

The human brain has a monkey sphere of about 150 people. Thats how big your tribe cane before before you start writing off people as them and us, before you pigeonhole people and forget them or disabuse them.

You can say "fucking students" or "fucking forign folk" and not count the ones who you actually know or are friends with, cos they're in yer monkeysphere and 'the rest aren't. If you're inside a messagebaord then you're inside the monkeysphere of everyone on it no matter how far away they are, or how close they've been. It makes it so much easier to forget.

And so the rage, for being excluded from the monkey sphere of those who were once so close, and no matter how hard you fight and how hard you try, youre still fighting harder and trying harder than those on the inside have to. And its so much easier to appear to slip away.

God knows what the academics ave to say about folk who force their way into your monkeysphere, but I bet there a classication for them. Its just rude, its not pleasant. But Its not their choice. I as just trying to stay alive, to stay friends.

Time passes and I wonder if I can ever get back.

I still can't sleep, I just see video clips, youtube ones that stop to buffer every feew seconds. I've had no human contact all weekend, and even the Loves, The School, The Fischers show wa a lonely experience. I can't type up my notes from it, it doesn't do justice, whatever the gig was like for peple there, wasn't what I saw.

I saw cider drinkers feining taking photos of each other, but actually taking pictures of one of these folk I know off of the internet, without him seeing. No good can come of this.