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This is what I should have done to start with!

WWW.ADDYSWORLD.MYJOURNEYWITHDEPRESSION.COM

This blog’s now on my own domain, just like My Journey with Depression is!

Bill Henson, controversy…and what in the hell is the world coming to?

So there I was wandering the streets of Melbourne, as I do, quite often, now that I’m back and I glance at the front page of The Age (the local newspaper) to see one of my favourite photographer’s names glancing back at me.

Controversy in the world of art, yet again!

And I stood there, dumbfounded, as I read the article…thinking, ‘What in the fracking hell is this world coming to?’

This is the image:

Image by BILL HENSON

Now I’m not all that knowledgeable on art – I’ve never studied it, I just enjoy it.

Maybe it’s just me, but when I look at this image I don’t think of pornography. I look at the image and see a beautifully composed photograph, a photograph with hidden depth and detail. A beautiful composition of light and focus all working together to create a work of art.

Maybe it’s just me but I have seen hundreds upon (most likely, very nearly thousands) of images similar to this in my life time. Whatever city I am in I visit as many art galleries as I can to see beautifully painted works of art depicting all manner of people, personas, events, desires, passions and whims.

So many brushstrokes have been thrown onto canvas to create images like this over the centuries that you can only really assume that the furour over this image is that – SHOCK – it’s a photograph. And photography isn’t art, is it? HELL NO! Photography of a naked body is PORN. It has always been PORN. It will always be PORN! No two ways about it, right?

This is PORN:

Image by GUY BOURDIN

This is PORN:

Image by SAM HASKINS

And this is PORN:

Image by ALVA BERNADINE

Or is it?

It’s really not up to me to decide. It’s not up to anyone to decide. Art it art. That’s the point. Some people like some things, others despise them with a fiery passion. Now I don’t think a shark preserved in formaldehyde is art, but it still takes up gallery space, most of the junk I’ve seen in “modern art” galleries for meisn’t art. That’s porn for the shark fiends or arrogant don’t know what else to do with their lives so I’m just gonna throw a black tile on a white wall and yay! fiends. Isn’t it?

Why all the furore over this image. You see I haven’t mentioned yet that the model was 13, and although her parents were present (according to the articles I’ve read) and although she gave consent, because she was below the legal age of consent then not only is the photographer a paedophile, but anyone who thinks this photo isn’t porn is a paedophile. Does this mean that anyone who has painted a picture of an underage girl is a paedophile (think of all those people through the ages to have done this!) or more extreme – does this mean that any parent who has photographed their child in the bath or on the toilet and then showed it in public is parading and endorsing paedophilia?

If thinking this photo is not porn makes me a paedophile.  I guess I’m a paedophile. (I’m not by the way! I’m just trying to make a point, just to be on the safe side)

This photo, to me, is a beautifully rendered image. It is evocative, emotional and powerful in ways a lot of art isn’t.

At least the good thing with this incident, this dilemma, is that it is getting the masses talking about art. It is no longer a subject for the elite, but for the wider population.

So what do you think: art of porn. It’s up to you. In the end, everything is always up to you!

Setbacks, hurdles and the inevitable

I always suspected that when the affects of the jetlag began to wane I would suffer a…retrograde step…shall we say. So much happened to me in this city last year that few people understand why it is that I’ve come back here.

Surely I would avoid it for the rest of my life?

Surely if a city and it’s people caused you so much pain you would never again wish to return?

This is my home though.

Walking around this morning in the early morning twilight it was hard not to flash back to those twelve months of intense pain I endured last year. All of the bullshit I had to deal with on a daily basis – all of the bullshit I have to deal with on a daily basis. It’s all still there, hidden beneath the surface, hidden under dustbins and benches and doorways which once were my homes, my beds for the night. Secluded beneath the smiles and lies and conversation. I thought I’d changed. Maybe I haven’t?

It’s weird. Confusing and frustrating all in one gulp.

I self-harmed for the first time in a month and half.

The early hours of the morning.

I’m not saying it because I’m proud of it, I guess I’m saying it because I need to, because I need to be honest with what’s happening to me. Even though this blog isn’t about mental illness it’s still about me – and self-harm, for good or bad, is part of who I am. I don’t even really know why I did it. Couldn’t sleep, demons rising, as they do from time to time, nothing calling them, nothing bidding them, they’re just there, always, in the shadows and the darkness waiting to pounce.

So I feel bad today. Guilty. Angry. Annoyed with myself. It’s only one setback, but still, one is sometimes enough.

So it’s a day trying to forge ahead without falling back, glance at the scars and use them to gain strength I guess. I hear the sound of the Staff Flag’s calling. A chirpier post tomorrow, surely

Rebuilding my life is no longer exiting, I’ve been trying to do it for fifteen months now – but it’s a credit to my strength and determination that I keep on fighting, surely that’s commendable? I think so. Even if others don’t.

A trip to the zoo reveals plans for world domination

It’s fairly common knowledge that one day wombats will rule the world. They’re already planning it – hell they’ve already got their plans underway, what do you think they’re doing with all that digging. C’mon, it’s sooooo obvious. They are undertaking a massive operation to construct a gigantic underground tunnel system so that when the chief wombat gives the word they’re nuclear missiles will be launched into every major country and they can then survive the aftermath in their intricately designed impressively built tunnel system.

Yep. Wombats may look all cute and cuddly, but underneath their delightful exterior lies a vicious and devious mind determined to eradicate those pesky humans from the planet. Humans with their ability to destroy and infect everything they touch.

Yep. Wombats have got it all understood.

It’s pretty safe to say that I spent the morning at the zoo. Such a wonderful zoo as well tis Melbourne Zoo – lots of wide open space, confused looking Meercats, dozy Koalas and those deceptively malicious Southern Hairy Nosed Wombats.

It’s been a long time since I went to the zoo – the last time in fact was almost a year ago to the day, a day almost destroyed by innocuous text messages constantly being hurled in my direction. But nevertheless I can say that all the animals looked utterly wonderful and delightful in every way, and the year since I last checked in on them have treated them well (the same cannot be said for me, but no matter)

There’s always been something so intoxicating and relaxing about watching the wombats burrow and forage around their enclosure, constantly checking to see if anyone is onto their scheme before wiggling their butts at the human onlookers (in obvious disgust) before returning to their masterplan.

I have to be honest I didn’t really spend much time looking at the other animals, I have nothing personally against the Giraffes and Elephants, nor the Tortoises and Spiders, it’s just the Aussie animals are so hard to find in other parts of the world. I often wonder if Australians really do understand how good they have life compared to other countries.

Both cities I have explored in Australia in great depth, as well as the plethora of smaller country towns and locales, are delightful. And yet the Aussies I meet continually moan and whinge – dare I say it – even more than the whinging poms they so frequently deride and scorn. In fact, having spent the last five months in the UK, I can honestly say that I’ve heard more whinging in the streets of Melbourne over the last few days than I did that entire time in good ole blighty.

Me?

Barely a word of whinging has passed my lips this week, most likely because I’ve spent a lot of it in a drug upped, jet lagged addled comatosed state, but no matter.

I got to go to the zoo and that’s enough to slap a smile on this somewhat beleagured state.

If you’re in this part of the world check it out sometime you may be surprised, if you’re not, then find something in your own city to be proud and delighted by. Stop looking at everything as if it’s nothing, because even a paving slab in a street often has something behind it you cannot see at first glance.

Much like those pesky wombats with their hidden dreams of world domination.

Previously in the Journey of Addy

Although this blog isn’t a direct continuation of my previous one – in other words this is intended to be more of a stand alone progression rather than a direct sequel – it occured to me today that there will inevitably be references made to my previous life and my previous blog. Thus, treat this entry as a wee “Previously in the journey of Addy,” designed to fill in the blanks as to exactly who Addy is.

I’m a 29 year old guy who was born in Leeds. I spent my pre school years in Treharris (South Wales), my primary school years in Portlethen (Scotland) and my secondary/high school years in Caldicot (South Wales). Following leaving school I backpacked around Scotland and then onwards to Canada before returning to Inverness (Scotland) where I spent a few years studying photography/film at college before beginning a long career in backpacker hostel reception/management which would span two continents.

In 2002 I emigrated to Melbourne (Australia) where I continued my backpacker hostel career before leaving this in order to kill myself. You see to understand me, you have to understand my mental illnesses. I suffer from many, and have been fighting them my whole life. That’s what the last blog was about. To strip it down to lamens terms:

I developed social anxiety when I was at school, which led to depression and self harm. All of these three illnesses grew in strength throughout my teenage years and came to a head in late 2000 when I prepared myself for my first suicide attempt. Unsuccessful in this I carried on fighting. In December 2007 I was struck with Glandular Fever, which came at just the moment I had overcome all of my mental illnesses. A series of events followed in February 2007. Over the course of ten days I was diagnosed with leukemia, dumped by text message, kicked out of college and had my study/medical benefits denied – all whilst suffering from Glandular Fever. With no income, a serious terminal illness and the loss of my social network my brain collapsed and I suffered a nervous breakdown, which I am still battling against to this day. In November 2007 I was diagnosed with Bipolar Type 1 and in January 2008 forced to leave Australia. Which didn’t help, in fact it made everything worse. So now I’m back in Australia, in the city I love, doped up on medication and fighting hard to make my life work and prove to everyone that I’m not useless pathetic fuck up – that I am actually a decent human being worthy of life. A fact which is debatable in itself.

Although this blog isn’t about mental illness I have no doubt there will be references here and there to this part of my life. I still have good days and I still have bad days, there’s not much I can do about that. As I stress however on my previous blog I am more than my depression, I am more than my mental illnesses. I am a person, full of love, life, passion, exitement and humor - I know who I am at heart, it’s just that most people can’t see past the illnesses I suffer from, the illnesses I am tired of hiding from everyone and pretending aren’t there just to earn acceptance into the lives of the judgemental majority.

So that’s kinda a brief history of who I am, more detailed information can be found through the old blog at www.myjourneywithdepression.com, this blog is more about me; my life, my passions, my desires.

To paraphrase the ’about me’ page of my previous blog; I am a self harming, frequently suicidal, manic depressive with a severe social anxiety problem. I have few friends, am terminally lonely and suffer from a terminal illness along with numerous other physical complications. The chances of me living the life I wanted have gone, I just have to make the best of what time is left.

This blog is me – sharing my life, thoughts and loves with the world.

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of Slight Dissapointment

When I was younger I used to want to be Indiana Jones…and I would be willing to lay money on that sentance being applicable to virtually every late twentysomething on the planet. Male or Female. Sane or insane. I’m sure everyone wanted to be Indiana Jones; cool, collected, running around digging in dirt. Sean Connery’s your dad, John Rhys Davies and Denholm Elliot your best mates. What else could you want for?

After seeing the Last Crusadein 1989 I used to find an empty space where I could re-enact the stepping onto the invisible bridge scene. Fortunately I decided to do this over a swimming pool and not over, say, a bottomless chasm, so if now invisible bridge were to appear I would end up falling into the water and getting a nose full of chlorine, instead of plummeting to my death.

I used to act out the leaping out of the plane on a dingy scene from Temple of Doom using my bed as the plane and a pillow as a dinghy. (I was young and lovably forgivable)

I even used to have Indiana Jones pyjamas…and they were awesome!

So after a 19 year wait, and over six months since my last excursion to the cinema, I simply had to build up the courage to get past the social anxiety to watch Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.

[In my opinion, CRAP title, but then not quite as dodgy as Quantum of Solace!]

In a way, I wish the social anxiety had got the better of me as the words GRAVE and DISAPPOINTMENT sprung to mind as I meandered out of the cinema. Sure, Harrison Ford was as cool as ever, Shia LaBouf proved his screen presence once again and Karen Allen – I salute you, you are simply wonderful. But what about John Hurt, a mite wasted IMHO, as were Jim Broadbent, Alan Dale (I will always salute you) and Ray Winstone.

Cate Blanchett on the other hand, could you pop over to my place with that costume, I’m sure we’d find something fun and deliciously naughty and kinky to do?

The whole film was just a wee bit blah for me. The story had none of the punch nor enjoyment of previous installments, there wasn’t a single surprise in the plot due to several extras lurking in the background holding six foot tall “PLOT TWIST COMING” signs…and the denouement, about as boring as this review really. No true excitement at all it was just – BAM, a few big special effects and then it was over. Hardly hair raising or inspiring.

Don’t get me wrong, there were some wonderful moments; Alan Dale, you rock! A sword fight which has entered my top 5 screen swordfights (Cate, could you bring that too) and it was nice to see Denholm Elliot living on in spirit, that brought a smile to my face.

I am of course going to recommend this film because the problem wasn’t really with the craft. The direction was as accomplished as we’ve come to expect from Spielberg, the special effects were good but way OTT in places, the Raiders March will always be one of the great pieces of film score. The problem with the film comes from expectation, which was always going to it’s problem.

It has been 19 years since the last movie, and much like the other great movie trilogy which was recently tarnished, everyone was expecting this to be perfect in every way – and few films are. So many people are going to be going to this film expecting so much from it, and it’s inevitable they’re going to come away feeling hard done by. It won’t live up to people’s expectation, not at all.

So go see it, but forget about the fact you wanted to be Indy when you were a kid and see it not as an extension of the previous trilogy, just watch it as a new action-adventure flick and you may love it to bits.

It just ain’t what I was eagerly waiting for it to be.

FINAL RATING:

   (OUT OF 5)

 (Playpus Award; for that wonderful sword fight)

Ratings Explained:

1 WOMBAT  – I would rather be beaten with a stick than watch this piece of crap again.
2 WOMBATS – What hell is this shite? C’mon folks, put a wee bit of effort into it.
3 WOMBATS – Nae too bad, kinda average, shrug of the shoulders, could have been better.
4 WOMBATS – Blooody good and highly recommended, watch this now!
5 WOMBATS – Practically perfect in every way. Could watch this again straight away.

PLATYPUS AWARD – Special Commendation for an absolutely delightful scene/performance/something

 

I am Jack’s raging insanity

 

Where you are now you can’t even imagine what the bottom will be like.
Only after disaster can we be resurrected.
It’s only after you’ve lost everything that you’re free to do anything.
Nothing is static.
Everything is evolving.
Everything is falling apart.
This is your life…
…and it’s ending one minute at a time.

My life has already been dissected in depth and thrown out there into the big bad wide old world of the web. All those years – decades – of self harm, depression, social anxiety, suicide attempts and hallucinations. You won’t find much of that here.

Been there.
Done that.
Yada.
Yada.
Yada.

You can read about it though, if ya want, if ya fancy, it’s all still there…still helping, still consoling, still enraging, still gathering misconceptions and ill conceived judgements.

All that I am, all that I ever was: My Journey with Depression

That’s where you’ll find it. If you’re looking for it. If you’re interested in where I’ve been, the things I’ve done to myself, the things which have been done to me, how close to death I’ve come.

This blog?

This is what is, what will be, what will come.

This is the next phase of my journey with mental illness and physical illness.

This is my (r)evolution.

This is my life – continued. This is Addy’s world.

Enter only if you are strong of mind, brave of heart, and don’t mind a wee bit of random convolution (and occasionally banal) commentary.

I am Jack’s raging insanity.