Been having some fun with Google. Just discovered that you can right click an image and one of the menu box options is 'Search Google for this Image'. Do it and up pops about 30 similar looking images. Really enjoying seeing what similar colour schemes, shapes Google's mind finds.

I've noticed that many of my images correlate with comic covers, breakfast cereal and lolly packaging, as well as CD, book and magazine covers. This is not a surprise really as these are the things that I used to spend time visually absorbing when I was developing - especially comics and books.

My brothers and I had a collection of comics in the thousands and yet when we went to the second hand comic shop in Roppongi, I was able to sort through the incoming availables and know if we had it or not, by going through my visual filing system. It was such a beautiful and fulfilling experience to collect (and read!) comics. A true visual education. Serene, soothing, engaging. Each one held a new series of images and words that would transport you. Given the choice I would much rather read a pile of comics than watch anything that TV had to offer. So much more variety, craftsmanship, invention in a comic. Magic little things.

Sometimes, it's hard. Fifty years plus on the planet and what do I have to show for it?

A cold, tiny room w just a mattress on the floor in a share house, a fifteen year old car on the verge of breakdown, $140 in my account to last for 10 days. A storage unit full to the brim of unsold paintings - remnants from my last 20 shows. No wife, no kids. Family far away...

I don't know whether I am living in poverty because I am an artist or whether I would be anyway and being an artist is my salvation that allows me to escape/express myself/focus/be dilligent/feel satisfaction with life.

Either way, poverty sucks.

It has been suggested I get a thing called a job. But this has proven difficult for me at the best of times. I don't like authority. I don't like rules. I don't like time restrictions. In short, I am not the ideal employee. 

So, I just carry on, year in year out, doing my work, having shows, creating pictures and comics and paintings. Hoping that one day I will fall out of obscurity and uncover a way to make a decent living. 

I am an outsider, really. I don't belong or function well within the system - specifically the economic system. And, sadly, that is the dominant system of our time. Money rules. Greed prevails. Corruption, cheating. Morality and compassion while high on the list of many is suppressed and disregarded by those with power and money and lust for it.

I shrug, I whimper, I sigh. I am relegated to the outskirts. I quietly continue to follow my own truth, my destiny - humble, simple, honest. A constant struggle. 

And still within it, there are moments of glorious freedom, joy, discovery, laughter and wonder. I interact with nature, people and the unfolding mysteries of each day. I make the most of my time here on planet E, keep my head above water and my face to the sky. The sun is out today. Time for a swim!

Funny how the internet works. Machine gun effect. So much stuff from all over shoots out from your screen. You sit there waiting for the next hit that will resonate, intrigue, ignite...

I got one the other day. Bang! A forgotten memory revived. The picture above - a geisha girl holding an album by The Bay City Rollers - a Scottish band from the 70's.

It was 1978 -  I was seventeen, having fun on weekend nights in Tokyo. Discos were everywhere. My favourites were Mobius, Another World, Giza... all in Roppongi. Somewhere along the line I hooked up with this cuddly Japanese girl called Sachiko. She was a bit older than me - around 24 or so. We met in a disco and immediately she really liked me. She was glamorous and gorgeous, private and a little offbeat - a good combination in my books. I was thrilled by the attention. I think she worked as a high class escort/hostess but I didn't ask too many questions. She would always pay for drinks, club entry, everything - including the room cost in Japan's famous 'love hotels'. 

We didn't see each other all that often but when we did it was fun and exciting. She was like a pussy cat, very sensual, low key, but in control. 

One afternoon she rang me up and said that her and he friend, Noriko, were downtown in the Ginza at a 5star hotel. They had a suite there. It was where the Bay City Rollers were staying and she and Noriko had hoped to snag a shag with the one or more of the band. They had done the year before but it seems this year they were passed over for some new talent. 

She wondered if I'd like to come down and party with them for the night. And could I bring a friend? This was a unique and uplifting invitation. Even then, at a relatively young age, I knew that this kind of thing would not happen often. I cooly replied in the affirmative and began considering which one of my friends would be most appropriate in such a situation. The lucky winner was the son of the Spanish ambassador to Japan. His name was Luis. We were relatively new friends but I always liked his quiet confidence and his Latin charm. He was delighted by the invite and I picked him up from the embassy on my motorbike and we hurled ourselves towards the awaiting activities with anticipation and delight.

Sachiko came down to the lobby to meet us. There were a hundred or more Japanese groupies between the ages of 18 and 28. All of them looking to get a bit of Scot crooner action under the futon covers. Sach and her friend, realising the odds were not in their favour called in re-inforcements. Us. Some of the other girls got a little stirred up seeing two young foreign lads - but Sachiko quickly coralled us into the elevator and up to their suite. 

Noriko was not what I exprected. She looked like a cross between a goth and and a geisha. Her face was painted white and she had her eye area painted black. Her scarlet red lips where tiny and sensual, her hair was bound. She was dressed in sexy, bondage-looking white dress. She didn't say much - she was almost robotic - reminiscent of Daryl Hannah's android in Blade Runner. Luis and I were both impressed. 

Sachiko, ever the congenial hostess, kept the drinks flowing and it wasn't long until it was time to get naked. There was only one king size bed. We decided to partner up. I was keen to be with Noriko - exotic species that she was, and Sach and Luis were happy to get to know each other intimately. We each took one side of the giant bed. There was never any thought or suggestion of group sex - it wasn't of interest. But we were going swapping partners. (We were using condoms.) For me and Luis this was a first and rather thrilling. Both of them were extremely attractive.

Now. This is where reality came in. As much as I was aroused by Noriko on a visual level, it became quickly obvious that we had no chemistry. Her mouth was kind of dry and her kissing clumsy. She was the opposite to Sachiko - who was warm and squirmy, tactile and sensual. I couldn't help but feel disappointed. We went through the motions but it was going nowhere. Before too long, I suggested we swap. And we did.

Back in the familiar embrace of Sachiko, I felt relieved and reinvigorated. Ahhh. Much better. Meanwhile, Luis was getting into Noriko. I was sitting on the side of the bed with Sachiko straddling me, so I wasn't watching. To be honest, it was of no interest to me, I would have rather we had seperate rooms. From the noise, though, specifically Noriko's ever increasing moans - it became apparent that the two of them were a good match. She had gone from the Mummy to a screaming banshee. Sachiko was watching from her vantage point and enjoyed the show as we did our own passionate dance.

(This is starting to feel like I am writing a letter to Penthouse Forum! Speaking of the 70's - remember that?)

So..! What is my point? Why the sex confessional in the art blog? Well, it was a memorable experience at an formative age. I learnt that when fantasy and reality interact the result is usually a hybrid/compromise. No reality is ever as good as pure fantasy. Reality is just too gritty, messy, unpredictable, surprising. 

I also learnt that you can't fake - or make - chemistry with a woman. It's either there or not. Later that year I slept with a absolutely stunning half Japanese/half American model and it was a fizzer. Then I was seduced by a wild spirited, exchange student from Greece who was not great looking but absolutely blew my mind in bed. 

It's all about passion. Going with the flow. Adventure. Communion.

I've been in Mullumbimby (pop. 3,129) now for over a month. I used to live in Byron Bay for seven years before a recent four years in Sydney and one in LA. Now, I am back in the area. It feels like home. I am very aware of my surroundings and the environment, geographical and social. It's the small pleasures in daily life, I have discovered as I get older, that bring the most joy. I've been jumping off bridges into the river, going for discovery bush walks, enjoying the long, long stretches of unpopulated beaches. And just breathing in the dense, almost tasty, unpolluted air - courtesy of the thick clusters of native trees and plants. Aaahhh....

One of the things, though, that I noticed quite quickly is that because the pace is slower and the intensity and pressures are less than in the big city, people have time to stop and talk and enjoy each other's company. Even small interactions - in cafes, pubs, with shop attendants, at the petrol station (where they fill it up for you!) - there's a true joy in communion. And always a good laugh.

I've also come to once again, appreciate the old school Aussie spirit and character - which is alive and kicking in the yet to be 'internationalised' areas of regional Australia such as this. It's significantly on the decline, lacking, fading in places like Sydney due to a massive influx of multiculturalism. There's no turning back the tide in the big cities - and there's plenty of upside to the mixed bag of nationalities - but I have found it refreshing to be back in a place that still vibrates with an old school Australian type of character, behaviour and humour. 

It reminds me of the country I grew up in. It reminds me of the uniqueness of the classic, laconic spirit that used to prevail. To find it still existing, to be immersed in it again, is an added side benefit to the other natural positives of life in the Biggest Little Town in Australia. It's a river that runs deep and is an element of this nation that gets dissipated and forgotten amongst the progress and demands of the big city life. It's a dry, wry, hard-nosed kinship, at once stand-off-ish and embracing, that is unique to this land and a great joy to be part of once again. 

Nostalgia time.

One of the reasons I enjoy facebook is because things will pop up out of the blue and spark memories of once loved activities and things. Case in point: on a liked page called Tokyo in the 70's the above picture - menko. I had pretty much forgotten about them for forty years. Even though, at the time, when I was ten, eleven, growing up in Tokyo, I thought they were the best thing ever.

What is menko? It's a two player game where each player uses Menko cards made from thick paper or cardboard, with one or both side printed with images from anime and manga. A player's card is placed on the hardwood or concrete floor and the other player throws down his card, trying to flip the other player's card with a gust of wind or by striking his card against the other card. If he succeeds, he takes both cards. The player who takes all the cards, or the one with the most cards at the game's end, wins the game.

My brothers and I each had a collection of hundreds. We would swap and trade and win and lose. I remember you could scrape the edges against the road to give your card a better chance of sliding under the opponent's card - making it yours. We would play against local Japanese kids almost every afternoon. As well as baseball, soccer, chasings, hide and seek - all in the tiny alleys and streets around our house in Nishi Azabu 3 chome. 

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When I was a little older -17 - I purchased something a bit bigger for myself. The Honda MT250 Elsinore. I was sitting in a cafe in Roppongi - a cute hole in the wall, max 12 seater type place - when the waiter, with whom I was friends, mentioned that he wanted to get rid of his old bike. Because it was pretty beat up and in it's last days, he only wanted 10,000 yen for it  - which would be about $100. Wow! I went out and had a look and fell in love. It was a beast. I'll never forget driving home. It was a gutsy, wild creature with a mind of it's own. I already had two bikes by this stage; a Yamaha TY50 trial bike and a Yamaha RD125 road bike. Luckily I had been riding the roads for over a year and was competent - cause it was like riding a crazy horse. I pretty much held it together with masking tape and often had to kick start it for 15 to 20 minutes to get it going - but once it started to growl - with it's single cylinder 250cc engine - it would take my high! and far! and fast! Just what you want when you are a seventeen year old boy.

'The best way to know life is to love many things.'

I was playing poker last night at the local RSL club. At the final table I was inbetween a 22 year old apprentice mechanic and a 70 year old local bloke who was a matured mix of tough and kind.

The kid was full of swagger. He was upbeat, cheeky and fun loving. The older guy was patient and thoughtful, enjoyed interjecting with the pithy quip now and then. I enjoyed my vantage point. Come from one place, heading towards the other. Part of me wanted to give advice to the young fella, about what to expect, how to ride the highs and lows, how to truly relish the halcyon days and wonderful shared experiences that youth peppers you with. But, nah, he'll find it all out in his own time and way.

Then I thought about the amazing voyage that life is. You make it to fifty and you really have seen plenty of action. Both sides of the coin. Good and bad in all it's variations and shades. Experience truly is the greatest of teachers. You learn by doing. Getting in there. Getting dirty. Taking those hits and tumbles along with the sweet rides and the barren stretches, mouth parched and nose bloody.

I felt at peace there, at the table. The old fella dropped out and the young gun and I ended up sharing the victory - split the cash and the glory. Poker is one of the many things that I love. And so are people. And life - with all it's twists and turns, challenges and delights. It's the greatest game there is.

I'm all in!