- Mon Aug 10, 2015 11:15 pm
***big bag of whine alert***
ah, the swap that ruined me for all other swaps.
I also miss aggers. he really was my inspiration with these things.
bouncing ideas off of each other... lifting each other's game...
he was the wind beneath my wings.
ha ha... what a queer.
I'm not sure I did anything clever after this. I can't remember when I did the chav or the black watch... I remember doing the bonny jock macleod at the beginning of austrotard but that's it. I just rested on my laurels after this swap. and spoke of it to others like I raised the wonga all my goddamned self.
sad thing is now it's just a waste of energy and time.
I've had the same fucking fly in my vice for two months now. tip, tag, veiling; trying to resurrect some mostly eaten fly I can't even remember the name of.
I have contemplated on selling the lot. more often than I'd care to admit.
hell, even the vice is now a collector's item since pb rodgers died. super monkey dingo wonga.
this week I'm returning $1800 payment to a mate/client who wanted 8no. flies done.
I've had this money for two years probably and I just can't bring myself to tie them any more. there's $2400 up for grabs there... nothing to turn your nose up at... I could tie one a day and be finished in a beatles week... but the passion is gone.
at one point I was on par with the deposits. still totally dragging my ass with it but four flies completed and two more on par with the payments... and then the carpet larvae came. small wonder... carpet's 30yrs old.
and that was fucking it, hey.
so I'm going to return all the deposit. let him have the two flies that haven't been eaten as an apology for being full of shit.
I'm done. I get absolutely no enjoyment out of it other than the second I finish, snap the photo and receive a couple ''yeah, buddy's''.
...and two minutes after that, straight back into the funk wondering why I even fucking bothered.
the last fly I tied was a nelly bly. probably one of the best proportional salmon flies I had tied next to bob white's evening star.
I knew how that was going to look. I had laid out all the materials. I measured everything and in the end found myself in sigma.
just to show everybody how fucking easy it was. and the reason? none; other than sticking my chin out to people who don't care (or matter) in the slightest.
and of course they know how fucking easy it is.
but there's little chance of a one-sided and all-knowing conversation once one has seen the smoke and mirrors.
anyway... all is not lost for our wayward and terribly depressing mitch.
he's swapped one drug for another and now carves useless shit instead of tying it.
and how long will this last? as long as all the rest.
once I feel I'm making a big difference to the carving world I'll shitcan the lot and move onto something else. I'm not sure why I do this but one thing I do know is that a leopard cannot change its spots.
so fuck you, aggers.
this is all your fault.
we'll always have buffalo, sweet josh.