Tonight is delicious curry night! DELICIOUS CURRY!
Things that are good:
DELICIOUS CURRY!
Four day work weeks.
Idealism.
Independent art.
Being heard.
Things that are bad:
Eating too much DELICIOUS CURRY!
The week following four day work weeks.
Realism.
Independent artists.
Being patronized.
Wednesday
Monday
Sunday
So, here's a story. This post has been spurred by a series of recently acquired recurring dreams. I'm not sure I've posted this to my blog previously, so forgive me if I repeat myself.
About a year ago I had gotten this whim to visit the house I'd grown up in. For the normal individual, this involves a slow drive by in the hopes that the new occupants don't notice your interest and call the police. However my situation is a little different.
My home was built and owned by my grandparents. Of the two, my grandmother was the last to pass on. This left a house with no owner. Nobody in the family actually wanted the house, and it was decided that it would be easier to sell it to a real estate company and then divide the monetary gains between those mentioned in the last will and testament of Dorothea Biastock.
It took a period of time before someone actually purchased the four acres of property, and the house attached to it. When I had been notified that closing procedures had begun, this prompted me to go check out my old stompin' grounds.
It was an overall melancholy experience brought on by the changing countryside around the house, as well as the changes in the protective bubble surrounding my childhood recollection. At this point the house seemed more like a memory than ever, even though I was standing beside it.
As it turned out, the house was unlocked. The power was still on. I believe the water was still running, too. All in all it was a veritable squatter's paradise.
There were some areas I didn't dare visit. My reasoning at the time lost all ration. But I did bring my camera with me, and I did document the majority of my visit. It might not be as uncomfortable for the casual observer, but I could feel the figurative ghosts of the house pulling at me throughout my visit.
I haven't gone back since. I imagine that the house has been destroyed, and the land surrounding it has been paved over. Pipes and concrete having reshaped the ground and unearthed treasures long buried.
As I lived there, I hated that house and the daily frustrations associated with it. But when you spend over fifteen years in one location, it becomes indelibly marked upon your subconscious. If I had the ability to do so, I'd purchase everything and leave it to decay naturally. A sort of museum of remembrance.
About a year ago I had gotten this whim to visit the house I'd grown up in. For the normal individual, this involves a slow drive by in the hopes that the new occupants don't notice your interest and call the police. However my situation is a little different.
My home was built and owned by my grandparents. Of the two, my grandmother was the last to pass on. This left a house with no owner. Nobody in the family actually wanted the house, and it was decided that it would be easier to sell it to a real estate company and then divide the monetary gains between those mentioned in the last will and testament of Dorothea Biastock.
It took a period of time before someone actually purchased the four acres of property, and the house attached to it. When I had been notified that closing procedures had begun, this prompted me to go check out my old stompin' grounds.
It was an overall melancholy experience brought on by the changing countryside around the house, as well as the changes in the protective bubble surrounding my childhood recollection. At this point the house seemed more like a memory than ever, even though I was standing beside it.
As it turned out, the house was unlocked. The power was still on. I believe the water was still running, too. All in all it was a veritable squatter's paradise.
There were some areas I didn't dare visit. My reasoning at the time lost all ration. But I did bring my camera with me, and I did document the majority of my visit. It might not be as uncomfortable for the casual observer, but I could feel the figurative ghosts of the house pulling at me throughout my visit.
I haven't gone back since. I imagine that the house has been destroyed, and the land surrounding it has been paved over. Pipes and concrete having reshaped the ground and unearthed treasures long buried.
As I lived there, I hated that house and the daily frustrations associated with it. But when you spend over fifteen years in one location, it becomes indelibly marked upon your subconscious. If I had the ability to do so, I'd purchase everything and leave it to decay naturally. A sort of museum of remembrance.
Friday
More new things! I've also added a photo gallery to the site. This can be viewed under the Showing link. I've gotta get uploading!
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