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2006/04/25 12:24 - SELL/SELLING/SOLD/UNSOLD
"He always kept on working...it was, though, like swimming. Sometimes you'd see him, waves splashing, surf all over the shop...othertimes, you'd think, 'That muthafucker is gone. Its finally got him. The oceans taken him'...but nah, it was he was swimming underwater see...'

"Sure he liked trashy TV. But it had to be GOOD trash, you know? 'Minder'. Miami Vice...Oh, he loved 'Two and a half men'..Loved it...but by then he was pretty far gone, what with the pills, the drink and the euh..circumstance...he could never get the title right. Always called it 'ten and a half men' or soemsuch...But sure, he liked carlie sheen..he was intruiged by people who had put themselves through hell...why, how they coped...didnt charlie sheen have a hole in his throat because of freebasing'?

"Oh, its true that the more dissapointed he became with...people, the deeper his love of animals and nature. But then, we are nature..as he was..y'know, part of it. He would cry sometimes when he thought of his beloved cats dying. Bilyl was his favourite. A big beautiful long hair. Sure, hed get weepy soemtimes, thinking about Billy getting old..not jumping as confidently as he had...he said that hed seen the face of god when he got up close to Billy...'

"He went through phases. And when he was into someone, that was it for a few weeks. Nothing else. he'd have to read every book, see every chat show appearance, track down the spoken word version on CD....the dodgy pop record they inevitably made. It was a kind of ..syndrome he had, he realised that. A fetish. A disorder'.

"Soem wine. good food. trashy TV. A reward for getting through the day, for working every day, even when there was no pay. Well, not in his lifetime anyway. of course, its rollig in now. but at the time,,,there were periods when he was beyond broke. That caused a lot of stress. A lot of trouble. As it does for anyone. but soemtimes, peace would find him. hed tried to smoke about..he started smoking about 3 times but could never get into it. toward the end, he had a fondness for cigars. And if the balance of the day had been tuned right, then maybe thered be 15 minutes of pure peace jusy before he lost consciousness. he looked at such times, it seemed to me, like a saint. A lost saint'.

2006/04/16 09:37 - Fiction as autobiograpHY

Started reading further fiction. 'Ficton'. I haven't read this stuff in a long time -but I used to.
It is in part, I think, a reaction to my lack of immediate culture and social life. if I could have afforfed it, I would have been around Europe and parts of America in this last month. But I've been held here by Zeroes, by a lack of Zereos in my A/C.

I've fallen out of Love with PKD for the time being...each succesive book has held less appeal than the previous. In fact, my favourites were the original Biography by Lawrence Sutin and Dick's own 'Do androids...' I followed this wi...these...with 'Palmer Eldtritch' which was confused and confusing...and Im abandoning 'Confessions of a crap artist' because I dont care about anyone in it.

But I'm bewitched by Paul Auster. I found a copy for 99p (amazing we dont have euros here) of 'Oracle night' and although I thought the ending was rushed and flawed I enjoyed it.
I'd forgotten the unique spell fiction has, the waking dreamy of it.
Am now reading 'MoonPalace' as part of his 'Collected ovels, Vol I'...

But how much can you read a day? I think of it as medicine, to be taken throughout. Ive never really been able to read in the morning. My feet are too busy.

Scavenged some parts of the hundred year old...hundreds of year old..Oaks that have been felled on our horses farm. Very sad. Chainsaws: The most hated sound. the common man's penis inadequecy taken to a violent extreme.

We've taken in two new strays. There names are 'Bi Bi' (Dame Tweebs') and Harvey. Both filthy and matted, suspicious and wary. Ive spent some time combing their dreads out, snipping and trimming. Harvery's head smells of urine.
But they're coming round, their eyes lighting by the day, putting on weight.
Photos in a min. I'm too tired to go and take pictures and then load them onto the PC blah etc

Annoyingly, they are stinking up the 'gym'area, so I havent been able to wok out for a week and when I shaved friday I was horrified to see that Ive become a giant Grub.
Again, photos later.

Easter today...I loathe bank holidays.

I have a MIR scan Tuesday and circumstance means I have to go alone, which is a drag...

Also, my glasses broke in my hand. £250 for a new pair...
The indignation of it...

Still, Doctor Who was good...

Cold, ruthless and grey outside of my Cell window.
'Where's the poetry'?
Didnt you promise me poetry?

2006/04/02 19:31 - MOON THOUGHTS

In the Satellite’s interior it was neither hot nor cold. He moved across the plastic/grey/metallic décor and opened what was sort of like a window.
And there was Earth. Looking perfectly apt in the black surroundings hardly changed in its blue white swirlyness now from when it first became all that time ago.
He moved the mouse and zoomed in. Within minutes he was looking at not a beautiful blue mass, but uncouth details. People. Streets, concrete, buses. Islington. Angel. London.

He sat back, poured another glass of Vina Mara Rioja. ‘Where does this wine come from’ he wondered. He didn’t know. But it was always there. In the hamper at the foot of his bed. He’d stayed awake to watch the hamper – to see if someone sneaked it in - but he had invariably fallen asleep. And when he awoke. There it was. ‘You don’t always get what you want’ he hummed. ‘But you…something or other find what you need’.
Were they still going? The Rolling Stones?
He watched the people in the sort of like a window. They became boring to see, so quickly, even now, when dead and in Space. The faces so bland. Not even ugly for fucks sake.

He dialled up an orgasm from the Trub phone. It was over in…moments. Hadn’t St Theresa been stuck in Orgasm for years? Anyway. It was a temporary relief. A bit like a toilet flush or resetting a computer. He sank back in a 70’s beanbag and watched the Islington people without seeing them.
Years ago he too had moved among those hordes. Had been a player. Oh yes! He’d done the whole shebang. Had fallen in Love, hurted, hated, fought, strived, worked, abused, all that bullshit. Born into a kind of wealth, considering, relatively anyway, and then on he had moved promptly up the evolutionary ladder and then hit a wall. Although, even calling it a ladder was not true exactly. And in fact, he had found, wasn’t the point of evolution to do with going back to the beginning but knowing you were back at the beginning? And then it began in earnest. Buying ribena in corner shops. Flying. Getting high. Composing. Puking. Empathising with friends. Putting on deodorant. Whistling while walking past a stranger on a country road. Smashing someone’s face in on a Friday night. Feeding the dog under the table. Kneeling. Saying prayers. Brushing the hair from her face in a picnic sunlight. Violins. Snazzy trainers. A tank rolling across the desert. First editions. Having an itchy eye when the good part of a film came on.

It was a rotten wheel. And he wasn’t off it yet. Rather in limbo. He was stuck.
He looked around the room. Outside was space. Moons, dust, comets and dead stars. Even some living. Stars.
Inside, an old record player played Elvis and Miles, the tiffany lamps glowed dragonfly green and the wine was never ending.
His glands felt puffy. Already he felt the stirring of another hard on. Did he miss other people? Truly? In his heart? He wasn’t convinced. It was more like something he’d outgrown. Like an elephant and fins.
He still loved drumming and drummers though. Didn’t that count?
Nah. Not exactly.
He flicked off the view of Islington and gazed at the cold dead stars. Poured another glass. And winced as he heard footsteps behind him.

2006/03/29 19:24 - DRUFT

sPENT much of day listening..wrong word...experienceing(?) Scott Walker's THE DRIFT.
His first since...really, 'TILT.

I was kindly send the Vinyl double promo by Chris Sharp (a trillion thankyous, sir) of 4AD.

Anyway. I'm writing a review for STOP SMILING so I'll hold off here.

Suffice to say that parts of it make TILT sound like 'PRETTY GIRL'S EVERYWHERE'.

Its...stunning and ...horrible..and...majestic...and...repellent...and...voluptous (spelling)...Its...it has soemthing of a 'Snuff Movie' about it. it makes me feel as a man how i felt as a boy when i saw THE OMEN and THE EXCORCIST...

So..wait for the June ish of SS for my full thoughts.

But its gonna make and break a few hearts...

Whats doubly disturbing for me, is on reading the sumptious booklet credits...
It was as ever, recorded by the sublime PETER WALSH -who produced My first album. The Artwork is in part by Chris Bigg of V23 who also did the cover for my 'To Stars' album. The intro to the booklet is written by IAN PENMAN weho wrote the first major review of yup-my first album. (its in the press/discography section of this site)..
And finally , the album itself was sent to me by teh chap who did the press for my second Jaxk album..THE JAZZ AGE..
So youn see whats happening...

Scott is now a ANTHONY REYNOLDS wannabe...

Ha ha..sure he be...

Its enough to turn me to the Kif Pipe...

2006/03/18 12:37 - Oops.. so sorry...
taster EP forthcoming on : http://www.chaffinchrecords.com/

2006/03/18 12:34 - TRY SOME BUY SOME
Moved my studio into , aptly, 'The music room' out of the dank dark garage.

Like czukay's tudio where living and work and interwined...chickpeas boiling while a flute solo goes down...

http://www.czukay.de/

Writing strange pseudo religeous oriental songs and recording Springsteen and folk covers for forthcoming releases...
inspired no doubt by The buddah of Suburbia on tamazapem...

Somethign soon, as taster on:

www.chaffinchrecords.net

'Horses make the scenery more beautiful'.

2006/03/11 12:12 - beauty fetish
Beauty finds me...as sound, as an act, as a smell...as a combination of all and some...

of late its coming at me as objects...

...buildings....landscape...

beautiful objects that make beautiful sound...

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