dear bloggers
are you sure you have time to read this?
time speeds up
smooth acceleration
pentium energy
rapid access memory
techno progress
no spiritual retreat
ultra this
mega that
turbo what-not
blink and you'll miss it
in a heartbeat
squeeze the schedule till the pips pop
everything narrows and contracts
deadlines rush forward to meet you
pills obselesce sleep
email obselesces conversation
foreplay forgone
premature ejaculation prevails
life in the fast lane blurs the scenery
rats race
hamsters scamper in their wheels
tiny ants scramble for morsels
whhoooosshhhhhh!!!!!!!!
the wide-angle lens zooms in
myopic eyes focus up close
but why watch this space when another one is appearing?
speed up only to be left in the slipstream
pay-rise outpaced by inflation
the jones have moved to a million-dollar pile
in a gated community
marketing opportunies galore
energy drink and vitamin supplement
caffeine explosion and amphetamine jive
intravenous adrenaline drip
prozac for the grown-ups
ritalin for the toddlers
the waitress clears the table before the diners finish their meal
newspapers are binned before they are read
slash and burn
crash and burn
forests pulped and asphalted
to supply advertising space
fish are trawled in enormous nets
the oceans dry up
the petrol pump digits spin
who cares about tomorrow
when the present can be burnt into the past?
synapse-popping current levels
send the circuitry haywire
"arrived at office this morning
found him slumped over keyboard - no pulse
third one this year"
open all hours
remote access
24/7 commitment
seconds shrink into microseconds
microseconds shorten into nanoseconds
chronos is a merciless god
beware for he will smite atrophy
and strike down anachrony
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Monday, January 29, 2007
SHE X INFINITY
G5 Dsus4 Em7 Dsus4
standing on the platform (6:41)
G5 Dsus4 Em7 C2
waiting for my train
G5 Dsus4 Em7 C2
when suddenly i see her
G5 Dsus4 Em7 C2
and nothing is the same
G Dsus4
oh she rides and she glides
Em7 C2
and she grips my insides
G5 Dsus4 Em7 C2
oh she's tearing a piece out of me
G Dsus4
and she floats and she gloats
Em7 C2
and she coaxes and pokes
G5 Dsus4 C2 G5
oh she multiplies infinity
and i stare at her reflection
condensing in the glass
she abandons all convention
i don't have the strength to ask her name
and she reels and she wheels
and she steals and she heals
oh she's tearing a piece out of me
and she moves and she grooves
and she kicks off her shoes
oh she multiplies infinity
and so i wait there on that platfrom
each lonely day for three long years
but that lady and her magic
never once reappear
and she teases and turns
and she needles and burns
oh she's tearing a piece out of me
and she stares and she glares
and she sets off her flares
oh she multiplies infinity
standing on the platform (6:41)
G5 Dsus4 Em7 C2
waiting for my train
G5 Dsus4 Em7 C2
when suddenly i see her
G5 Dsus4 Em7 C2
and nothing is the same
G Dsus4
oh she rides and she glides
Em7 C2
and she grips my insides
G5 Dsus4 Em7 C2
oh she's tearing a piece out of me
G Dsus4
and she floats and she gloats
Em7 C2
and she coaxes and pokes
G5 Dsus4 C2 G5
oh she multiplies infinity
and i stare at her reflection
condensing in the glass
she abandons all convention
i don't have the strength to ask her name
and she reels and she wheels
and she steals and she heals
oh she's tearing a piece out of me
and she moves and she grooves
and she kicks off her shoes
oh she multiplies infinity
and so i wait there on that platfrom
each lonely day for three long years
but that lady and her magic
never once reappear
and she teases and turns
and she needles and burns
oh she's tearing a piece out of me
and she stares and she glares
and she sets off her flares
oh she multiplies infinity
OLD FLAME (PART TWO)
The train slows to a halt and she's out and walking along the platform. I launch myself forward and stagger through the doors just before they snap their jaws shut. She's already about to disappear round the corner and up the stairs when I call after her. My voice sounds strange, not like me.
'Hey, Star, aren't you even going to say hello?'
'Don't call me that.'
I've caught up with her now and we're both a bit breathless and disorientated. It's draughty down here on the platform and our breath pours out in clouds.
'Where are you going, Star?'
She doesn't reply and heads up the steps. Her legs are wrapped up tightly in dark leggings, revealing the sexy shape I suddenly remember. Then she relents. 'I'm meeting someone.'
'Who?'
'None of your business!'
'Sorry. I mean, can't you...er...un-meet them? Tell 'em your busy.'
'God, you've got a cheek!' She stops on the landing now, turning around so that I can see her burning cheeks.
'OK.' She lowers her guard a little. 'I lied. I'm not really meeting anybody... I just didn't want you to get off first. From that look on your face, I thought that's what you were gonna do...just leave me sitting there feeling foolish.'
'Oh Star, let's go for a drink, for God's sake.'
We nestle over a couple of pints at a table in the corner of the pub and slowly catch up on the events of the last decade. I can't get it out of my head that the whole thing is like some kind of silly BBC drama unfolding on the box except for the fact that I'm in the middle of it like some fucking witless leading man!
'Married?'
'Was. Divorced.'
'I'm sorry.' I genuinely am. 'Any kids?'
She looks away and shakes her head.
'What about you?' I laugh, but it sounds awfully hollow.
'Where did it all go wrong for us, Star?' I'm surprised at the emotion in my voice, and I'm expecting some kind of 90's record to start playing on the jukebox - Don't Look Back In Anger or Girls & Boys or something, but it doesn't. In fact, I don't think they even have a jukebox.
'So what are you up to these days - the great animal rights campaigner?' she asks skittishly. 'Director of some NGO, I'll bet. 'Save the Piglets'?'
I chuckle, but something resembling a pang of regret cuts through me and the chuckle quickly dries up.
'Flattered by your high expectations of me, Star, I really am,' I manage. 'Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm still teaching people who don't really want to be taught.'
'Oh, right...' I'm quite taken aback both by her tone and the genuine look of disappointment on her face.
'What about you, Star?' I ask quickly, not wanting to dwell. 'Let me see. Manager for Tescos?'
She smiles, looking suspiciously pleased with herself and silently pulls out a name card. My heart misses a beat, much as it did half an hour before when I sat down opposite her on the train. Then it plunges into my stomach.
'You? Greenpeace? Fuck!'
'It's a bit ironic, isn't it?'
'Shit!'
'Fancy another one?'
I really need to get my head round this. I mean, talk about role reversal. This is a lot more than I'd bargained for. But too quickly she's heading back from the bar with some more drinks.
'I mean, it's not like I agree with everything they do, but it's a kind of activists' pinnacle, isn't it?' I mumble. Star doesn't reply.
We knock back a couple more drinks rather too quickly and the alcohol starts to do its work. Suddenly, we find ourselves both laughing hysterically, an infectious kind of laugh that's impossible to supress. Both of us have tears running down our faces.
'Star, it's getting late. Can we go back to your place?'
No sooner are we through the door than we fuck greedily, crudely, impatiently, with the exhilaration of new lovers on the edge of a precipice. Afterwards, we collapse on the bed, drunk twice over.
'Star, let's go and do something crazy?' I hear myself murmur. 'Something we'd never have dared to do when we were younger.'
She sweeps a swathe of chestnut hair out of her eyes. As she lies there in a daze, half-dressed in the half-light, she looks dreamily gorgeous. 'We've already done something crazy, that we'll probably regret in the morning.'
'No, Star,' I say, pulling her face around to look her in the eyes. 'How often do you get to relight an old flame? Let's do something really mad and crazy, something neither of us will ever forget!'
And now she's looking at me more seriously and more intently with those big brown eyes.
'Go on then. Try me.'
'Hey, Star, aren't you even going to say hello?'
'Don't call me that.'
I've caught up with her now and we're both a bit breathless and disorientated. It's draughty down here on the platform and our breath pours out in clouds.
'Where are you going, Star?'
She doesn't reply and heads up the steps. Her legs are wrapped up tightly in dark leggings, revealing the sexy shape I suddenly remember. Then she relents. 'I'm meeting someone.'
'Who?'
'None of your business!'
'Sorry. I mean, can't you...er...un-meet them? Tell 'em your busy.'
'God, you've got a cheek!' She stops on the landing now, turning around so that I can see her burning cheeks.
'OK.' She lowers her guard a little. 'I lied. I'm not really meeting anybody... I just didn't want you to get off first. From that look on your face, I thought that's what you were gonna do...just leave me sitting there feeling foolish.'
'Oh Star, let's go for a drink, for God's sake.'
We nestle over a couple of pints at a table in the corner of the pub and slowly catch up on the events of the last decade. I can't get it out of my head that the whole thing is like some kind of silly BBC drama unfolding on the box except for the fact that I'm in the middle of it like some fucking witless leading man!
'Married?'
'Was. Divorced.'
'I'm sorry.' I genuinely am. 'Any kids?'
She looks away and shakes her head.
'What about you?' I laugh, but it sounds awfully hollow.
'Where did it all go wrong for us, Star?' I'm surprised at the emotion in my voice, and I'm expecting some kind of 90's record to start playing on the jukebox - Don't Look Back In Anger or Girls & Boys or something, but it doesn't. In fact, I don't think they even have a jukebox.
'So what are you up to these days - the great animal rights campaigner?' she asks skittishly. 'Director of some NGO, I'll bet. 'Save the Piglets'?'
I chuckle, but something resembling a pang of regret cuts through me and the chuckle quickly dries up.
'Flattered by your high expectations of me, Star, I really am,' I manage. 'Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm still teaching people who don't really want to be taught.'
'Oh, right...' I'm quite taken aback both by her tone and the genuine look of disappointment on her face.
'What about you, Star?' I ask quickly, not wanting to dwell. 'Let me see. Manager for Tescos?'
She smiles, looking suspiciously pleased with herself and silently pulls out a name card. My heart misses a beat, much as it did half an hour before when I sat down opposite her on the train. Then it plunges into my stomach.
'You? Greenpeace? Fuck!'
'It's a bit ironic, isn't it?'
'Shit!'
'Fancy another one?'
I really need to get my head round this. I mean, talk about role reversal. This is a lot more than I'd bargained for. But too quickly she's heading back from the bar with some more drinks.
'I mean, it's not like I agree with everything they do, but it's a kind of activists' pinnacle, isn't it?' I mumble. Star doesn't reply.
We knock back a couple more drinks rather too quickly and the alcohol starts to do its work. Suddenly, we find ourselves both laughing hysterically, an infectious kind of laugh that's impossible to supress. Both of us have tears running down our faces.
'Star, it's getting late. Can we go back to your place?'
No sooner are we through the door than we fuck greedily, crudely, impatiently, with the exhilaration of new lovers on the edge of a precipice. Afterwards, we collapse on the bed, drunk twice over.
'Star, let's go and do something crazy?' I hear myself murmur. 'Something we'd never have dared to do when we were younger.'
She sweeps a swathe of chestnut hair out of her eyes. As she lies there in a daze, half-dressed in the half-light, she looks dreamily gorgeous. 'We've already done something crazy, that we'll probably regret in the morning.'
'No, Star,' I say, pulling her face around to look her in the eyes. 'How often do you get to relight an old flame? Let's do something really mad and crazy, something neither of us will ever forget!'
And now she's looking at me more seriously and more intently with those big brown eyes.
'Go on then. Try me.'
Sunday, January 28, 2007
DOMESTICS
i have reached an unhappy conclusion
my family and i are never going to see eye to eye on musical taste
over the years j has always summed up my record collection as 'noisy'
while i cringe when she tunes into bland k-pop ballad radio
now h has learnt a few tricks with the hifi system
like how to turn the volume knob down to zero
and how to press the stop button
she is following in her mother's footsteps
inexplicably ahe takes exception to the unassuming musings of jake thackray
the poor man has no sooner launched into 'the little black foal'
and he is being turned down to zero
and/or terminated by a three-year-old
my own music also gets the collective family thumbs-down
on the rare occasions it gets aired
for instance when i'm trying to get the mixing right...
another A major bone of contention around here previously broached on this blog
is the domestic mess quotient (DMQ)
the DMQ in this place consistently reaches life-threatening levels
were government inspectors to set foot across the threshold
they would close the house down
and evict us and our shit out onto the streets of mangwon-dong
worse, the eye of the hurricane tends to converge on my music studio
aka the spare room
which, like some mountain pass in wintertime, is frequently impassable
i try desperately not to let this get to me
what would the bhudda do in this situation?
he would try to understand and thus feel compassion
but it still bugs the shit out of me!
rant over
my family and i are never going to see eye to eye on musical taste
over the years j has always summed up my record collection as 'noisy'
while i cringe when she tunes into bland k-pop ballad radio
now h has learnt a few tricks with the hifi system
like how to turn the volume knob down to zero
and how to press the stop button
she is following in her mother's footsteps
inexplicably ahe takes exception to the unassuming musings of jake thackray
the poor man has no sooner launched into 'the little black foal'
and he is being turned down to zero
and/or terminated by a three-year-old
my own music also gets the collective family thumbs-down
on the rare occasions it gets aired
for instance when i'm trying to get the mixing right...
another A major bone of contention around here previously broached on this blog
is the domestic mess quotient (DMQ)
the DMQ in this place consistently reaches life-threatening levels
were government inspectors to set foot across the threshold
they would close the house down
and evict us and our shit out onto the streets of mangwon-dong
worse, the eye of the hurricane tends to converge on my music studio
aka the spare room
which, like some mountain pass in wintertime, is frequently impassable
i try desperately not to let this get to me
what would the bhudda do in this situation?
he would try to understand and thus feel compassion
but it still bugs the shit out of me!
rant over
Saturday, January 27, 2007
OLD FLAME (PART ONE)
A ghost from the past stares back from across the crowded carriage. It takes a few moments for the two ghosts to recognise each other. She's changed - and of course I have too. As our eyes lock and the mutual realisation hits, her cheeks flush and she suddenly looks away. Neither of us knows what to do or say, especially surrounded by a crowd of fellow commuters. I focus momentarily on her features - imperceptibly different from before. Her hairstyle is a bit different - a little shorter. Perhaps the odd crow's foot or two around the eyes that wasn't there before. But the ravages of time have been kind - she looks remarkably similar to the way I remember her all those years ago.
I struggle to think exactly where it all went wrong. Christ! - it must be nearly ten years since we went our seperate ways. As far as I recall, there was never any big blow-up or fight - in fact maybe it would have been better if there had. It was more a case of drifting apart until we'd pretty much stopped communicating beyond the level of superficiality. At the time it reminded me of Paul Simon's The Dangling Conversation - 'And she reads her Emily Dickinson and I my Robert Frost, and we mark our place with bookmarkers, that measure what we've lost'. Eventually, despite the sex always being better than good, the relationship succumbed to apathy and one weekend neither of us bothered to pick up the receiver and call, and that was pretty much that.
We had met at a weekly meeting of green campaigners. 'Slim attractive brunette, 28, fun-loving and fashionable, GSOH.' was how her personal ad might have read. Just what most of the other women I met there weren't - dour humourless frumpy types. While we sat and discussed an Early Day Motion on wildlife conservation, I immediately had the hots for her. To my surprise, within three weeks we were lovers. That winter we spent lazy weekends over at her place - long lie-ins, reading the papers together over brunch, walks in the park, cuddling together over a beer in the pub. Her name was Jenny but I called her Star, for a reason which now totally escapes me. And for a while, Star was in the ascendant, before my - and her - attention waned.
As I remember, a major bone of contention was that she was losing faith in the power of individuals to change the status quo - she just couldn't understand how I could keep up a belief in the power of activism to make sweeping changes to the way the world is run. Her interest in what had brought us together started to wane. I think she wanted to take off the hairshirt and enjoy a bit more of the good life. She could cope with vegetarianism, but when I insisted on going vegan, she was unimpressed and told me to stop taking everything so seriously, for God's sake. She couldn't understand me, I guess, and then she couldn't stand me.
It's my stop and normally I'd be up and heading for the exit door by now, but something in me just can't walk away for a second time. Were we fated to meet again like this? What's she thinking? Is she biding her time, planning how she can make a gracious exit with the minimum of embarrassment? (Star always had a certain sense of poise and self-possession.) Is she hoping I'll get off and save both our blushes?
We rattle through another couple of stations and I'm still not sure what to do. Her expression isn't revealing anything - strangely inscrutable. She doesn't look pleased to see me, but then again she doesn't seem unduly perplexed. I realise that the carriage is slowly emptying and we're nearly at the end of the line.
Suddenly she's up, throwing the strap of her bag over her shoulder and heading for the sliding doors...
I struggle to think exactly where it all went wrong. Christ! - it must be nearly ten years since we went our seperate ways. As far as I recall, there was never any big blow-up or fight - in fact maybe it would have been better if there had. It was more a case of drifting apart until we'd pretty much stopped communicating beyond the level of superficiality. At the time it reminded me of Paul Simon's The Dangling Conversation - 'And she reads her Emily Dickinson and I my Robert Frost, and we mark our place with bookmarkers, that measure what we've lost'. Eventually, despite the sex always being better than good, the relationship succumbed to apathy and one weekend neither of us bothered to pick up the receiver and call, and that was pretty much that.
We had met at a weekly meeting of green campaigners. 'Slim attractive brunette, 28, fun-loving and fashionable, GSOH.' was how her personal ad might have read. Just what most of the other women I met there weren't - dour humourless frumpy types. While we sat and discussed an Early Day Motion on wildlife conservation, I immediately had the hots for her. To my surprise, within three weeks we were lovers. That winter we spent lazy weekends over at her place - long lie-ins, reading the papers together over brunch, walks in the park, cuddling together over a beer in the pub. Her name was Jenny but I called her Star, for a reason which now totally escapes me. And for a while, Star was in the ascendant, before my - and her - attention waned.
As I remember, a major bone of contention was that she was losing faith in the power of individuals to change the status quo - she just couldn't understand how I could keep up a belief in the power of activism to make sweeping changes to the way the world is run. Her interest in what had brought us together started to wane. I think she wanted to take off the hairshirt and enjoy a bit more of the good life. She could cope with vegetarianism, but when I insisted on going vegan, she was unimpressed and told me to stop taking everything so seriously, for God's sake. She couldn't understand me, I guess, and then she couldn't stand me.
It's my stop and normally I'd be up and heading for the exit door by now, but something in me just can't walk away for a second time. Were we fated to meet again like this? What's she thinking? Is she biding her time, planning how she can make a gracious exit with the minimum of embarrassment? (Star always had a certain sense of poise and self-possession.) Is she hoping I'll get off and save both our blushes?
We rattle through another couple of stations and I'm still not sure what to do. Her expression isn't revealing anything - strangely inscrutable. She doesn't look pleased to see me, but then again she doesn't seem unduly perplexed. I realise that the carriage is slowly emptying and we're nearly at the end of the line.
Suddenly she's up, throwing the strap of her bag over her shoulder and heading for the sliding doors...
BUSKERS
a bit annoyed with myself today
been showing up at the page every morning this week
a couple of times at 4am
to write my 'morning pages'
thirty minutes of stream-of-consciousness prose
the idea being to nurture the creative process
and make it an essential part of the day
rather than something i try and fit in if i have time
so five times out of five i have managed it since munday
but this morning is a complete failure
i switch the alarm off
return to the nice warm sack
and finally show my face at 11:30
sheepishly go and make a big pot of coffee
and sit and sulk at the breakfast table over brunch
while hannah e has her maths lesson with her teacher...
but things look up this arvo
the three of us go to see a musical duo called the 'classic buskers'
an accordian player and a flute player
both multi-instrumentalists
who play well-known classical pieces in a comical style
and manage to get a tuneful sound
out of all manner of weird and wonderful instruments
flutes, recorders, whistles and pipes
hannah really likes it
though she gets a bit sleepy halfway through
and dozes on my lap
they play a bit of vaughn williams
fantasia on greensleeves
a lovely haunting piece
afterwards i chat to one of 'em
a friendly fella called michael
who impresses me and the audience
by having learnt enough korean
to introduce all the pieces
been showing up at the page every morning this week
a couple of times at 4am
to write my 'morning pages'
thirty minutes of stream-of-consciousness prose
the idea being to nurture the creative process
and make it an essential part of the day
rather than something i try and fit in if i have time
so five times out of five i have managed it since munday
but this morning is a complete failure
i switch the alarm off
return to the nice warm sack
and finally show my face at 11:30
sheepishly go and make a big pot of coffee
and sit and sulk at the breakfast table over brunch
while hannah e has her maths lesson with her teacher...
but things look up this arvo
the three of us go to see a musical duo called the 'classic buskers'
an accordian player and a flute player
both multi-instrumentalists
who play well-known classical pieces in a comical style
and manage to get a tuneful sound
out of all manner of weird and wonderful instruments
flutes, recorders, whistles and pipes
hannah really likes it
though she gets a bit sleepy halfway through
and dozes on my lap
they play a bit of vaughn williams
fantasia on greensleeves
a lovely haunting piece
afterwards i chat to one of 'em
a friendly fella called michael
who impresses me and the audience
by having learnt enough korean
to introduce all the pieces
CLICHE
the lustrous sheen of her hair
the bright glow of her skin
the delicate arch of her brows
the dark wellpools of her eyes
the sulky pout of her lips
the sunny warmth of her smile
the carefree dance of her laugh
the graceful arc of her neck
the sculpted countours of her collarbones
the soft bounce of her breasts
the slenderness of her waist
the soft caress of her fingertips
the seductive sway of her hips
the gentle roundness of her buttocks
the sweeping curves of her thighs
the smooth backs of her knees
the taut muscles of her calves
the sweet scent of her presence
the dull ache of her absence
immortal soul
restless spirit
genetic blueprint
evolutionary footstep
chemical cocktail
electrical circuitboard
two parts water
one part bone skin and tissue
food for worms
the bright glow of her skin
the delicate arch of her brows
the dark wellpools of her eyes
the sulky pout of her lips
the sunny warmth of her smile
the carefree dance of her laugh
the graceful arc of her neck
the sculpted countours of her collarbones
the soft bounce of her breasts
the slenderness of her waist
the soft caress of her fingertips
the seductive sway of her hips
the gentle roundness of her buttocks
the sweeping curves of her thighs
the smooth backs of her knees
the taut muscles of her calves
the sweet scent of her presence
the dull ache of her absence
immortal soul
restless spirit
genetic blueprint
evolutionary footstep
chemical cocktail
electrical circuitboard
two parts water
one part bone skin and tissue
food for worms
Thursday, January 25, 2007
DREAMCATCHER
Ever had one of those dreams where you wake up too soon? When something deliciously exciting is happening - or about to happen - and you're snatched away at a particularly critical or pleasurable moment? A time when the morning alarm rudely intruded, the telephone rang, or you were suddenly and miserably shaken awake by your wife or your dog? Perhaps you were in the middle of meeting a famous person or hero - sitting in on a recording session at Abbey Road and chatting with Lennon and McCartney. Maybe you were transported back to a momentous moment in history - VE day, the 1966 World Cup Final, the fall of the Berlin wall. Perchance you were in the midst of a romantic assignation, or magically resuming a tragically interrupted love affair with an old flame who you've never fallen out of love with...when somebody pulled the plug and the whole damn thing was aborted. And, lo and behold, you were pitched unceremoniously back into the mundanity of everyday life.
But what if you could bottle those dreams - to be released, replayed and continued at your convenience? What if I told you that I knew a way to catch your dreams before they slipped away into the ether, lost forever? You'd probably think that I was crazy - but I'm not. Because I know someone who can help you - I call him the dreamcatcher.
The dreamcatcher has no fixed abode, as far as I can tell. His past, present and future, indeed his whole existence, is shrouded in mystery. You can call him to arrange a rendezvous, but you cannot visit him. Each time I see him, he wordlessly passes me a card with a new handwritten number on it. The dreamcatcher is of indeterminate age - small, slight and nondescript. In the mind's eye, he appears to be colourless or sepia-toned like an old photograph - a human anachronism out of time and place. Like a chameleon, he blends into the background so well that you would hardly notice him even in an otherwise empty room. He is at ease in a nervous kind of way. He talks softly and efficiently in an otherworldly voice, not wasting words. He fires questions at you like a gentle interrogator, skilfully probing hazy memories, recreating vaguely-recalled events and drawing out meaningful little details. He betrays no emotion. He is the height of discretion. He swiftly wins the trust normally reserved for old friends. He eschews small talk and formality and doesn't stand on ceremony. He accepts his modest fee and, slipping his card into your hand, vanishes into the crowd without taking leave, just as he arrived minutes earlier as if out of nowhere.
That night you will always receive a call some time in the small hours. When you answer, the dreamcatcher will murmur a codeword before wordlessly replacing the receiver. If someone else happens to take the call, he will immediately hang up to ensure confidentiality.
The rest is easy. Once back in bed, as if by magic you will drift back into your interrupted dream and continue where you left off. You will thus be reunited with Lennon and McCartney, delirious crowds of celebrators or your old flame.
If you wish to employ the dreamcatcher's services, I will gladly supply you with his number, but not without a word of warning. Be very careful how you use his powers, for I have heard tales of poor lost souls who have taken refuge in their fantasy dream lives to the extent that they cannot bear to return to reality. These dream addicts must return more and more often for their next fix. Floating aimlessly through their days, they crave the relief from their cold turkey that sleep and its dreams bring them - only to awake early the next morning to the cold empty light of day. They have learnt the hard way to respect the dreamcatcher's awesome powers.
But what if you could bottle those dreams - to be released, replayed and continued at your convenience? What if I told you that I knew a way to catch your dreams before they slipped away into the ether, lost forever? You'd probably think that I was crazy - but I'm not. Because I know someone who can help you - I call him the dreamcatcher.
The dreamcatcher has no fixed abode, as far as I can tell. His past, present and future, indeed his whole existence, is shrouded in mystery. You can call him to arrange a rendezvous, but you cannot visit him. Each time I see him, he wordlessly passes me a card with a new handwritten number on it. The dreamcatcher is of indeterminate age - small, slight and nondescript. In the mind's eye, he appears to be colourless or sepia-toned like an old photograph - a human anachronism out of time and place. Like a chameleon, he blends into the background so well that you would hardly notice him even in an otherwise empty room. He is at ease in a nervous kind of way. He talks softly and efficiently in an otherworldly voice, not wasting words. He fires questions at you like a gentle interrogator, skilfully probing hazy memories, recreating vaguely-recalled events and drawing out meaningful little details. He betrays no emotion. He is the height of discretion. He swiftly wins the trust normally reserved for old friends. He eschews small talk and formality and doesn't stand on ceremony. He accepts his modest fee and, slipping his card into your hand, vanishes into the crowd without taking leave, just as he arrived minutes earlier as if out of nowhere.
That night you will always receive a call some time in the small hours. When you answer, the dreamcatcher will murmur a codeword before wordlessly replacing the receiver. If someone else happens to take the call, he will immediately hang up to ensure confidentiality.
The rest is easy. Once back in bed, as if by magic you will drift back into your interrupted dream and continue where you left off. You will thus be reunited with Lennon and McCartney, delirious crowds of celebrators or your old flame.
If you wish to employ the dreamcatcher's services, I will gladly supply you with his number, but not without a word of warning. Be very careful how you use his powers, for I have heard tales of poor lost souls who have taken refuge in their fantasy dream lives to the extent that they cannot bear to return to reality. These dream addicts must return more and more often for their next fix. Floating aimlessly through their days, they crave the relief from their cold turkey that sleep and its dreams bring them - only to awake early the next morning to the cold empty light of day. They have learnt the hard way to respect the dreamcatcher's awesome powers.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
SARDINE
rush-hour crush packed in a sardine can
robot faces betray no emotion
eyes stare straight ahead to avoid accidental contact
pressed up tight against complete strangers
tipped off balance as the carriage lurches and swings
whiffs of perfume and sweat
incessant tinkle of earphones
entertain erotic fantasies about demure office girls
check for texts
skim the ads
recheck for texts
a thousand journeys
from a to z
appointments
meetings
assignations
crises to overcome and crosses to bear
single files and double lives
destinations about to unfold
robot faces betray no emotion
eyes stare straight ahead to avoid accidental contact
pressed up tight against complete strangers
tipped off balance as the carriage lurches and swings
whiffs of perfume and sweat
incessant tinkle of earphones
entertain erotic fantasies about demure office girls
check for texts
skim the ads
recheck for texts
a thousand journeys
from a to z
appointments
meetings
assignations
crises to overcome and crosses to bear
single files and double lives
destinations about to unfold
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
FOLLOWER
and i follow her down the subway steps
to the draughty platform where the lovers wept
and watch her little vanity check
her eyeliner and hair
and i follow her through the railway van
the rush-hour crush in a sardine can
past the hopeless drunk and his broken family
the rhythm of the rails
and i follow her out into the night
through the jostling crowd and the elbow fight
and she wanders in and out of sight
and almost shakes me off
follower pursuer hunter viewer
and i follow her through the bloodless streets
down the grimy alley where the lovers meet
past the peeling walls that spill no secrets
mystery in the air
and i follow her into the old cafe
where the sweethearts idle time away
where no-one cares what music they play
and she stares into her glass
and i follow her up the creaking stairs
past the wasted girl and her jaded wares
past the huddled men and their vacant stares
to a seedy neon bar
and i peer inside the smoky room
and watch her vanish in the gloom
now i am the object of pursuit
the tables have been turned
blinded by the light shining in my eyes
trailed by the electronic spies
photographed and scrutinised
data filed and analysed
followed pursued hunted viewed
to the draughty platform where the lovers wept
and watch her little vanity check
her eyeliner and hair
and i follow her through the railway van
the rush-hour crush in a sardine can
past the hopeless drunk and his broken family
the rhythm of the rails
and i follow her out into the night
through the jostling crowd and the elbow fight
and she wanders in and out of sight
and almost shakes me off
follower pursuer hunter viewer
and i follow her through the bloodless streets
down the grimy alley where the lovers meet
past the peeling walls that spill no secrets
mystery in the air
and i follow her into the old cafe
where the sweethearts idle time away
where no-one cares what music they play
and she stares into her glass
and i follow her up the creaking stairs
past the wasted girl and her jaded wares
past the huddled men and their vacant stares
to a seedy neon bar
and i peer inside the smoky room
and watch her vanish in the gloom
now i am the object of pursuit
the tables have been turned
blinded by the light shining in my eyes
trailed by the electronic spies
photographed and scrutinised
data filed and analysed
followed pursued hunted viewed
Sunday, January 21, 2007
FLEETING
dawn bus journey
or film short?
budget fixed
cast recruited
sets assembled
soundtrack scored
director in chair
clapperboard
opening shot
dimly lit interior
huddled figures bundled in overcoats
slouch in the half-light
destination unknown
but about to unfold
bum-freezer seats
dawdling driver
takes his time
forever crunching through the gears
forever going nowhere
vibrating engine
rattles the old bones
joints need oiling
hanging handles slap-slap on ceiling
hop off #16
taste the petrol exhaust
hop on #602
lights come on
fleeting corporate hoardings clamour for attention
blinking orange neon left over from the night before
over-urgent announcements grate
in two languages
neither of them my own
clumsy commercials take their cue
queue of rank taxis stretch out
waiting for a fare
fair wait
i'd say
‘i hate bush’ graffiti
(please don’t hate him – he’s only a weak man
why not do yourself a favour
and pray for the redemption
of him and his friends?)
a pretty face
a shapely behind
lovely young things shake their booty
old grandma in surgical mask
hollowed out eyes
bags of refuse
refuse to be collected
police enforcement zone
unenforced
texas bars
one two and three
nodding donkeys on the desert skyline
construction sight
glossy hair
pouting lips
lurch for the doors
step out
in2 the cold morning
or film short?
budget fixed
cast recruited
sets assembled
soundtrack scored
director in chair
clapperboard
opening shot
dimly lit interior
huddled figures bundled in overcoats
slouch in the half-light
destination unknown
but about to unfold
bum-freezer seats
dawdling driver
takes his time
forever crunching through the gears
forever going nowhere
vibrating engine
rattles the old bones
joints need oiling
hanging handles slap-slap on ceiling
hop off #16
taste the petrol exhaust
hop on #602
lights come on
fleeting corporate hoardings clamour for attention
blinking orange neon left over from the night before
over-urgent announcements grate
in two languages
neither of them my own
clumsy commercials take their cue
queue of rank taxis stretch out
waiting for a fare
fair wait
i'd say
‘i hate bush’ graffiti
(please don’t hate him – he’s only a weak man
why not do yourself a favour
and pray for the redemption
of him and his friends?)
a pretty face
a shapely behind
lovely young things shake their booty
old grandma in surgical mask
hollowed out eyes
bags of refuse
refuse to be collected
police enforcement zone
unenforced
texas bars
one two and three
nodding donkeys on the desert skyline
construction sight
glossy hair
pouting lips
lurch for the doors
step out
in2 the cold morning
EARLY BARD
sun day morning
set the alarm clock to 6:15
then succumb to a lazy lie-in and get up at 10:30
indulge in a long leisurely sun day brunch
two large mugs of freshly ground coffee
ricecake left over from h's performance last night
piles of toast spread with rice oil and satsuma jam
j in bed with flu
h watching telly
but i don't breakfast alone
for the atrophied record collection
has received a welcome boost this week
with the arrival of 'jake in a box'
a compilation of songs by jake thackray
bless his dear departed soul
witty n quirky tales of yorkshire life
from the late 60s / early 70s
accompanied by lively rhythms on classical guitar
lyrics delivered in a droll yorkshire noel coward intonation
lines like:
'when we had so much to delight and distract us -
why did we cherish a perishin' cactus?'
and: 'a right soft pillock i looked with my cod and chips'
the self-depracating humour warms me
this man already feels like a dear old friend
though h has taken an immediate dislike to his voice!...
after a couple of hours
i finally pluck up the courage
to brave the spare room elephant trap
the piles of books literally collapsing their shelves
the photo album skyscrapers
the magnetic notice board
plastered with doctor's and dentist's receipts
endless mysterious boxes of who-knows-what
j's uncontainable storytelling materials
bits of h's toys and stationery and stickers
all multiplying like rabbits
extending into the four corners of the room
like octopus tentacles
engulfing my modest little recording studio set-up
my malfunctioning keyboard
smothered with photocopies and felt creations
my guitar effects pedals
swamped with mischellaneous litter
cluttering up space and mind
crazymaking
this is what the artist must contend with...
since coming back from tie-land
been experimenting with some new ideas
to nurture creativity
involving getting up early in the morning
to write the 'morning pages'
three pages of stream-of-consciousness prose
at the start of the day
innermost thoughts and confessions
to unblock
to get the creative juices flowing
to let it all out
but not to be shared or published
so can't share any of it with you lot!
this week i manage a spectacular two days out of seven
though i do at least crack the dawn five times
(up with the lark at four am on chewsday!)
the other experiment is an 'artist's date'
a weekly indulgence
a solo excursion of my choice
to pander to the creative whims of 'the artist within'
for the first week
i search for inspiration
among the rambling stalls
of seoul's namdaemun street market
inspecting the multifarious wares of the vendors
while keeping moneyclip well stashed in pocket
despite only partial success this week
i feel encouraged by what i've done so far
hoping to take things a little further next week...
two proud parents last night
see h's first performance
in the annual kindergarten show
h strutting her stuff on stage
dressed in a variety of little costumes
a few tears
when the straps of her ballerina dress keep slipping off
and her three-year-old partner
spins her around a little too brusquely
but the show goes off well
and we capture it
on the grainy video
of our snapshot camera...
set the alarm clock to 6:15
then succumb to a lazy lie-in and get up at 10:30
indulge in a long leisurely sun day brunch
two large mugs of freshly ground coffee
ricecake left over from h's performance last night
piles of toast spread with rice oil and satsuma jam
j in bed with flu
h watching telly
but i don't breakfast alone
for the atrophied record collection
has received a welcome boost this week
with the arrival of 'jake in a box'
a compilation of songs by jake thackray
bless his dear departed soul
witty n quirky tales of yorkshire life
from the late 60s / early 70s
accompanied by lively rhythms on classical guitar
lyrics delivered in a droll yorkshire noel coward intonation
lines like:
'when we had so much to delight and distract us -
why did we cherish a perishin' cactus?'
and: 'a right soft pillock i looked with my cod and chips'
the self-depracating humour warms me
this man already feels like a dear old friend
though h has taken an immediate dislike to his voice!...
after a couple of hours
i finally pluck up the courage
to brave the spare room elephant trap
the piles of books literally collapsing their shelves
the photo album skyscrapers
the magnetic notice board
plastered with doctor's and dentist's receipts
endless mysterious boxes of who-knows-what
j's uncontainable storytelling materials
bits of h's toys and stationery and stickers
all multiplying like rabbits
extending into the four corners of the room
like octopus tentacles
engulfing my modest little recording studio set-up
my malfunctioning keyboard
smothered with photocopies and felt creations
my guitar effects pedals
swamped with mischellaneous litter
cluttering up space and mind
crazymaking
this is what the artist must contend with...
since coming back from tie-land
been experimenting with some new ideas
to nurture creativity
involving getting up early in the morning
to write the 'morning pages'
three pages of stream-of-consciousness prose
at the start of the day
innermost thoughts and confessions
to unblock
to get the creative juices flowing
to let it all out
but not to be shared or published
so can't share any of it with you lot!
this week i manage a spectacular two days out of seven
though i do at least crack the dawn five times
(up with the lark at four am on chewsday!)
the other experiment is an 'artist's date'
a weekly indulgence
a solo excursion of my choice
to pander to the creative whims of 'the artist within'
for the first week
i search for inspiration
among the rambling stalls
of seoul's namdaemun street market
inspecting the multifarious wares of the vendors
while keeping moneyclip well stashed in pocket
despite only partial success this week
i feel encouraged by what i've done so far
hoping to take things a little further next week...
two proud parents last night
see h's first performance
in the annual kindergarten show
h strutting her stuff on stage
dressed in a variety of little costumes
a few tears
when the straps of her ballerina dress keep slipping off
and her three-year-old partner
spins her around a little too brusquely
but the show goes off well
and we capture it
on the grainy video
of our snapshot camera...
Friday, January 19, 2007
FORGET YOURSELF
the bhudda warned us about it in his teachings
delusions of grandeur
bloated ego
self-importance
introspective navel-gazing
worrying what others might think
in competition
jostling for position
the need to be flattered and feted
applauded and admired
emulated and desired
a road to ruin
a road to nowhere
a perennial losing battle
the buddha also taught us mindfulness
to constantly strive to keep the ego in check
meditation as medication for the soul
to forget ourselves
to appreciate the rich flood of sensory stimulation
images
sounds
smells
textures
flavours
that would so easily sate us
if only we would pay attention
the sudden warmth of the ground
beneath the soles of the feet
as we emerge from the shadows
the happy laughter of our dearest ones
the smooth caress of their skin
the fragrance of the woodland
the taste of wild blackberries
the long walk home
the colours in the sunset
of a day that will not come again...
delusions of grandeur
bloated ego
self-importance
introspective navel-gazing
worrying what others might think
in competition
jostling for position
the need to be flattered and feted
applauded and admired
emulated and desired
a road to ruin
a road to nowhere
a perennial losing battle
the buddha also taught us mindfulness
to constantly strive to keep the ego in check
meditation as medication for the soul
to forget ourselves
to appreciate the rich flood of sensory stimulation
images
sounds
smells
textures
flavours
that would so easily sate us
if only we would pay attention
the sudden warmth of the ground
beneath the soles of the feet
as we emerge from the shadows
the happy laughter of our dearest ones
the smooth caress of their skin
the fragrance of the woodland
the taste of wild blackberries
the long walk home
the colours in the sunset
of a day that will not come again...
Friday, January 12, 2007
RECONNECTION
open-air internet cafe
a backstreet courtyard
banglamphu
bangkok
thailand
i reconnect
a portrait of the thai king gazes down wisely on proceedings
james bond tumbles through a chase scene
up on a giant plasma screen
backpackers take nonchalant swigs from their bottles of beer
and check their email
the strange intonation of thai voices assaults the ears
and a fan blows cool air across the courtyard...
en route to south-east asia
my jacket lapel badges successfully break the onboard ice
'what do they mean?'
asks a second korean passenger
i patiently explain the significance of the mod symbol
(nothing to do with the raf)
then attempt to demystify the rainbow heart
'it symbolises love' i say
'what kind of love?' asks korean missionary suspiciously
'erm...whatever kind of love you want, i guess' i reply hesitantly
korean gentleman looks even more suspicious
and i quickly change the subject...
bangkok
a fragrance pervades the humid tropical air
an indelible cocktail of burning incense
coconut milk
lemon grass and kaffir lime
petrol fumes and sewers
the smell rolls back the years
i was twenty-two last time i was here...
teleported from the hurry-worry of seoul
life here seems to function in slow-mo
no-one in any particular hurry
people hang out
dally by the roadside
nibble on snacks
play with their kids....
as a bright orange sun sets over the city
i attempt to burn off some calories in the hotel pool
then relax in the jacuzzi and gaze at the sky turning a deep plum-red
a colour i have seen nowhere else...
a bouncy riverboat on the chao phraya
and i'm following the herd down to banglamphu
checking out the khao san road backpacker freak-show
the fake dreadlocks
the greasy headbands
the smelly flip-flops
the stick-on tattoos
the bangle collections
funny how conformist it all looks as an 'outsider'
(last time i was here i was a part of this scene)
some of these dudes dropping out of one form of conformity
only to take on another kind
stereotype grizzly western men
wrap their arms around the narrow waists
of voluptuous long-haired thai women
i wonder why this east-west bonding
fails to work in reverse...
up early tomorrow to check out some chedis and stupas...
sawat dee krap
f
a backstreet courtyard
banglamphu
bangkok
thailand
i reconnect
a portrait of the thai king gazes down wisely on proceedings
james bond tumbles through a chase scene
up on a giant plasma screen
backpackers take nonchalant swigs from their bottles of beer
and check their email
the strange intonation of thai voices assaults the ears
and a fan blows cool air across the courtyard...
en route to south-east asia
my jacket lapel badges successfully break the onboard ice
'what do they mean?'
asks a second korean passenger
i patiently explain the significance of the mod symbol
(nothing to do with the raf)
then attempt to demystify the rainbow heart
'it symbolises love' i say
'what kind of love?' asks korean missionary suspiciously
'erm...whatever kind of love you want, i guess' i reply hesitantly
korean gentleman looks even more suspicious
and i quickly change the subject...
bangkok
a fragrance pervades the humid tropical air
an indelible cocktail of burning incense
coconut milk
lemon grass and kaffir lime
petrol fumes and sewers
the smell rolls back the years
i was twenty-two last time i was here...
teleported from the hurry-worry of seoul
life here seems to function in slow-mo
no-one in any particular hurry
people hang out
dally by the roadside
nibble on snacks
play with their kids....
as a bright orange sun sets over the city
i attempt to burn off some calories in the hotel pool
then relax in the jacuzzi and gaze at the sky turning a deep plum-red
a colour i have seen nowhere else...
a bouncy riverboat on the chao phraya
and i'm following the herd down to banglamphu
checking out the khao san road backpacker freak-show
the fake dreadlocks
the greasy headbands
the smelly flip-flops
the stick-on tattoos
the bangle collections
funny how conformist it all looks as an 'outsider'
(last time i was here i was a part of this scene)
some of these dudes dropping out of one form of conformity
only to take on another kind
stereotype grizzly western men
wrap their arms around the narrow waists
of voluptuous long-haired thai women
i wonder why this east-west bonding
fails to work in reverse...
up early tomorrow to check out some chedis and stupas...
sawat dee krap
f
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
NEAR-DEAF EXPERIENCE #2
this happened in sydney
a long long time ago
when i was 21 years young
that morning
i was up at 4:30 as usual
breakfast alone in the pre-dawn darkness of 'the jolly swagman'
bleary-eyed
out onto the streets of 'the cross'
drugged-up hookers wobbling against lamp-posts
sharing the pavements with the street-cleaning brigade
down to central station
to be picked up by crazy roscoe and his lorry
by that time
i'd grown accustomed to roscoe's insults
a constant stream of offensive filth barked in a thick sicilian accent
funny what you can put up with
when the occasion demands
like being in the army i guess
today however is different from before
when we get to the carlton brewery
we don't load up with the usual crates of beer
to be delivered to pubs and bottle-shops
the length and breadth of fair sydney
from coogee to mudgee
this time crazy roscoe backs the lorry up to a huge conveyor belt
and tells me to stay on the back
while he jumps up and starts greedily grabbing big metal barrels
and rolling them at me
like ten-pin bowling balls aimed at a skinny skittle
these aluminium cylinder babies are like missiles
with razor-sharp edges on the handles
that cut your hands to ribbons unless you wear tough gloves
i'm not
roscoe is yellin at me to start moving these seventy kilo mothers
i manouevere about three of em into position
and i'm already knackered
the wretched handles are tearing chunks out of my fingers and nails
taking a momentary break from the conveyor belt
roscoe shows me he how to lift a barrel
and stack it horizontally on top of two others
i can barely get the thing off the ground
the whole time
roscoe continues his abusive tirade
to which there is no answer
but to let it wash over you
like traffic noise
or the buzzing of a fridge
somehow
dodging barrel bullets
like a latterday houdini
using every last ounce of strength in my muscles
i manage to get em all pretty well stacked
there's hardly any more space left on the lorry
as i manouevre the last barrel
i step aside to make room
and plunge over the side
landing on my back on the tarmac
for a moment time stands still
then i'm contemplating a seventy-kilo barrel
spiralling in slow-motion through the air towards me
it might have helped to let go of the barrel as i fell
i hear a scream from dear old roscoe
he's paying me cash-in-hand
and undoubtedly not insured
for the demise of an employee
just then the barrel decides to land
crashing to terra firma between my speadeagled legs
the next day roscoe tells me not to turn up for work anymore
a long long time ago
when i was 21 years young
that morning
i was up at 4:30 as usual
breakfast alone in the pre-dawn darkness of 'the jolly swagman'
bleary-eyed
out onto the streets of 'the cross'
drugged-up hookers wobbling against lamp-posts
sharing the pavements with the street-cleaning brigade
down to central station
to be picked up by crazy roscoe and his lorry
by that time
i'd grown accustomed to roscoe's insults
a constant stream of offensive filth barked in a thick sicilian accent
funny what you can put up with
when the occasion demands
like being in the army i guess
today however is different from before
when we get to the carlton brewery
we don't load up with the usual crates of beer
to be delivered to pubs and bottle-shops
the length and breadth of fair sydney
from coogee to mudgee
this time crazy roscoe backs the lorry up to a huge conveyor belt
and tells me to stay on the back
while he jumps up and starts greedily grabbing big metal barrels
and rolling them at me
like ten-pin bowling balls aimed at a skinny skittle
these aluminium cylinder babies are like missiles
with razor-sharp edges on the handles
that cut your hands to ribbons unless you wear tough gloves
i'm not
roscoe is yellin at me to start moving these seventy kilo mothers
i manouevere about three of em into position
and i'm already knackered
the wretched handles are tearing chunks out of my fingers and nails
taking a momentary break from the conveyor belt
roscoe shows me he how to lift a barrel
and stack it horizontally on top of two others
i can barely get the thing off the ground
the whole time
roscoe continues his abusive tirade
to which there is no answer
but to let it wash over you
like traffic noise
or the buzzing of a fridge
somehow
dodging barrel bullets
like a latterday houdini
using every last ounce of strength in my muscles
i manage to get em all pretty well stacked
there's hardly any more space left on the lorry
as i manouevre the last barrel
i step aside to make room
and plunge over the side
landing on my back on the tarmac
for a moment time stands still
then i'm contemplating a seventy-kilo barrel
spiralling in slow-motion through the air towards me
it might have helped to let go of the barrel as i fell
i hear a scream from dear old roscoe
he's paying me cash-in-hand
and undoubtedly not insured
for the demise of an employee
just then the barrel decides to land
crashing to terra firma between my speadeagled legs
the next day roscoe tells me not to turn up for work anymore
Monday, January 08, 2007
NIGHT VISION
a jet of scarlet fluid
spurts out of the pig's neck
as the swine emits a blood-curdling high-pitched scream
an unrepentant knife glints momentarily in mid-arc
the machinery clanks and throbs
greasy cogs and pistons turn and push
as the conveyor belt carrying davey dream
ascends steadily through the filth and the stench of the factory floor
cows hanging acrobatically upside-down from hooks
leer horribly
their faces contorted into grotesque death masks
faeces splattered everywhere
suffocating every surface with a stinking brown film
abruptly the conveyor belt reaches its apex
then roller-coasts downwards
in gut-wrenching freefall
tossing davey dream into a cauldron of boiling liquid
a shrill sound pierces his terrified ears
as his limbs flail in frantic spasms
and the outer layers of his skin peel away
he watches aghast as his flesh turns a ghastly orange
a huge pair of tongs bring him out gasping for oxygen
and deposit him on an enormous lettuce leaf
meanwhile
across a barren featureless plain
millions of sunken-eyed refugees
survey the sky
awaiting the rotor-blade thud-thud
of the helicopter
a father cradling a dead child in his arms
scansthe far horizons
and falls to his knees
bowing to the parched earth in supplication
the helicopter swoops low
and heaves away its load of heavy grain bags
as the hollow-faced people scramble in the dust
davey dream sits up bolt upright
drenched in a cold pale sweat
and shivering in the chill halflight of his room
blinks silently
as he faces the dawn
spurts out of the pig's neck
as the swine emits a blood-curdling high-pitched scream
an unrepentant knife glints momentarily in mid-arc
the machinery clanks and throbs
greasy cogs and pistons turn and push
as the conveyor belt carrying davey dream
ascends steadily through the filth and the stench of the factory floor
cows hanging acrobatically upside-down from hooks
leer horribly
their faces contorted into grotesque death masks
faeces splattered everywhere
suffocating every surface with a stinking brown film
abruptly the conveyor belt reaches its apex
then roller-coasts downwards
in gut-wrenching freefall
tossing davey dream into a cauldron of boiling liquid
a shrill sound pierces his terrified ears
as his limbs flail in frantic spasms
and the outer layers of his skin peel away
he watches aghast as his flesh turns a ghastly orange
a huge pair of tongs bring him out gasping for oxygen
and deposit him on an enormous lettuce leaf
meanwhile
across a barren featureless plain
millions of sunken-eyed refugees
survey the sky
awaiting the rotor-blade thud-thud
of the helicopter
a father cradling a dead child in his arms
scansthe far horizons
and falls to his knees
bowing to the parched earth in supplication
the helicopter swoops low
and heaves away its load of heavy grain bags
as the hollow-faced people scramble in the dust
davey dream sits up bolt upright
drenched in a cold pale sweat
and shivering in the chill halflight of his room
blinks silently
as he faces the dawn
Sunday, January 07, 2007
NEAR-DEAF EXPERIENCE
standing on a bridge in nepal
a great big sky above me
frothy rapids scrubbing the smooth rocks clean fifty feet below me
teetering on the edge
backpack throwing me off balance
as the mule flings itself at me...
1991
trekking in the himalaya
the difficult bit is over
crossing the thorong la pass at 17,000 feet
in driving snow
and slippery doc martens with no grip on the bastards
we come down the other side
hands and feet all swollen from the altitude
election fever in the air
red n blue party symbols daubed
on the walls of stone villages
first all-party elections in nepalese history
me and my buddies are about to cross a rickety wooden bridge
across a steep river gorge
when we see a mule-driver and his train
heading the opposite way
on t'other side of bridge
mule-driver blows his whistle to stop his beasts of burden
gareth and walter make their way across
as i follow the first mule charges at me
heavy bags of grain swinging from its sides
the bridge is so narrow that i have nowhere to go
i move left but there's no rail
my heels teeter on the edge
my backpack pulls me outwards and over the precupice
i cling to one of the mule's grain bags
and think my time has come
if i can think at all
somehow i keep my balance
then throw myself to the ground
just miss being trampled underfoot
suddenly the mule has gone
and i'm still on the bridge
picking myself up
bemused and shaking
but alive
and left to fight another day...
a great big sky above me
frothy rapids scrubbing the smooth rocks clean fifty feet below me
teetering on the edge
backpack throwing me off balance
as the mule flings itself at me...
1991
trekking in the himalaya
the difficult bit is over
crossing the thorong la pass at 17,000 feet
in driving snow
and slippery doc martens with no grip on the bastards
we come down the other side
hands and feet all swollen from the altitude
election fever in the air
red n blue party symbols daubed
on the walls of stone villages
first all-party elections in nepalese history
me and my buddies are about to cross a rickety wooden bridge
across a steep river gorge
when we see a mule-driver and his train
heading the opposite way
on t'other side of bridge
mule-driver blows his whistle to stop his beasts of burden
gareth and walter make their way across
as i follow the first mule charges at me
heavy bags of grain swinging from its sides
the bridge is so narrow that i have nowhere to go
i move left but there's no rail
my heels teeter on the edge
my backpack pulls me outwards and over the precupice
i cling to one of the mule's grain bags
and think my time has come
if i can think at all
somehow i keep my balance
then throw myself to the ground
just miss being trampled underfoot
suddenly the mule has gone
and i'm still on the bridge
picking myself up
bemused and shaking
but alive
and left to fight another day...
Saturday, January 06, 2007
SNOW JOB
my seeds
let fireseed lay a little allegory on you
after weeks of unseasonably mild weather
seoul hit by cold biting winds
and a sudden blizzard
h n j n i
wrap up nice n warm
and go over the road to h's kindergarten
where the snow has stuck to the decking
and build a little snowman
a painstaking team effort
a lovely little fella
well sculpted
with buttons down his tummy
an hour or two l8er
fireseed pops out again to buy some holemeal
and guess what?
some destructive little sod
has only gone n smashed our little fella to pieces...
near the breadshop
i come across a shop i aint seen before
'beatles optical'
a beatle-themed optician's
with a big pic of the abbey road record sleeve
up on the wall
and one of the anthology episodes
showing on a plasma screen in the window
the fab four returning to liddypool
in grainy black n white
being greeted by the mayor and thousands of hysterical teenagers
paul lovin' every minute of it
john lookin' mighty sheepish
almost enticed me in for an eye test...
one day back in december 1980
my dad comes into my bedroom
early in the morning
tugs my leg
and says 'john lennon's been shot!'
didn't mean much to me at the time
think i just rolled over and went back to sleep
but in the days n weeks following john's demise
twas nothing on tv but beatles, beadles, beetles
all the footage
the songs
the films
that christmas i got 'beatles 1962-66'
the red album
and couldnt stop playin' it
at first the early ones stood out
the 'i feel fine's and the 'she loves ya's
it took me a bit longer to dig the more mature stuff
on sides 3 n 4
the whole thing was a revelation
a revolution in the head, no less...
before that it had been TOTP
queen 'don't stop me now'
police 'message in a bottle'
john revolver and olivia neutron-bomb
n the hits from grease
i remember being furious
when my little bro
trod on and broke my 'sandy' single
but the beetle boys were something else
got me into playing geetar
the whole songwriting thing
for a while i even formed this comical band
among the local kids
called 'the destroyers'
a few of us strumming classical geetars
and banging on saucepans n biscuit tins...
a few years and about twelve beatle albums later
discovered the byrds
in some encyclopedia of rock in the local library
'america's answer to the beatles'
well, not really
although of course everybody was influenced by the moptops
'fifth dimension'
and that whole gorgeous psychedelic folk vibe
still love that chiming stream-of-notes guitar sound
vying for tops with 'revolver's saturated guitar sound
the three-part harmonies of course
and the songs themselves
the crosby-clark-mcguinn ones
rather than the dylan covers...
by 1986
twas about time
i got into something contemporary
my rem phase
in particular the peerless 'murmur'
u2 'under a blood red sky' and 'joshua tree'
great at the time but where are they now?
more enduringly, the church
an obscure aussie band
by an amazing stroke of luck
firseed just happens to pick up a free music mag
by the name of brum beat
at the midlands arts centre
and sees a review of 'heyday'
buys 'the blurred crusade'
'starfish'
three gems
borrowing a little of that classic 60's vibe...
so there ya have it
whether ya wanted it or not
a whirlwind tour
of ripeseed's most enduring musical influences...
changing el subjecto completely
(secaturs flying over the hedge)
something exciting coming up next week, seeds
ripcord off to bangkok for a phew days
(is it gonna make a hard man humble?
or a marred ham mumble?)
sixteen years since ya fave blogger last explored the thai kingdom
heady days
a bit of tropical heat will certainly not go amiss
despite misgivings over the C02 emissions
courtesy of thai airlines n saudi crude
so watch this space for the thaiseed blog...
enough seeds, cords, chords and whatnots for today
see ya again soon on...
the fart of living
over n out
direfees
xxxxxx
let fireseed lay a little allegory on you
after weeks of unseasonably mild weather
seoul hit by cold biting winds
and a sudden blizzard
h n j n i
wrap up nice n warm
and go over the road to h's kindergarten
where the snow has stuck to the decking
and build a little snowman
a painstaking team effort
a lovely little fella
well sculpted
with buttons down his tummy
an hour or two l8er
fireseed pops out again to buy some holemeal
and guess what?
some destructive little sod
has only gone n smashed our little fella to pieces...
near the breadshop
i come across a shop i aint seen before
'beatles optical'
a beatle-themed optician's
with a big pic of the abbey road record sleeve
up on the wall
and one of the anthology episodes
showing on a plasma screen in the window
the fab four returning to liddypool
in grainy black n white
being greeted by the mayor and thousands of hysterical teenagers
paul lovin' every minute of it
john lookin' mighty sheepish
almost enticed me in for an eye test...
one day back in december 1980
my dad comes into my bedroom
early in the morning
tugs my leg
and says 'john lennon's been shot!'
didn't mean much to me at the time
think i just rolled over and went back to sleep
but in the days n weeks following john's demise
twas nothing on tv but beatles, beadles, beetles
all the footage
the songs
the films
that christmas i got 'beatles 1962-66'
the red album
and couldnt stop playin' it
at first the early ones stood out
the 'i feel fine's and the 'she loves ya's
it took me a bit longer to dig the more mature stuff
on sides 3 n 4
the whole thing was a revelation
a revolution in the head, no less...
before that it had been TOTP
queen 'don't stop me now'
police 'message in a bottle'
john revolver and olivia neutron-bomb
n the hits from grease
i remember being furious
when my little bro
trod on and broke my 'sandy' single
but the beetle boys were something else
got me into playing geetar
the whole songwriting thing
for a while i even formed this comical band
among the local kids
called 'the destroyers'
a few of us strumming classical geetars
and banging on saucepans n biscuit tins...
a few years and about twelve beatle albums later
discovered the byrds
in some encyclopedia of rock in the local library
'america's answer to the beatles'
well, not really
although of course everybody was influenced by the moptops
'fifth dimension'
and that whole gorgeous psychedelic folk vibe
still love that chiming stream-of-notes guitar sound
vying for tops with 'revolver's saturated guitar sound
the three-part harmonies of course
and the songs themselves
the crosby-clark-mcguinn ones
rather than the dylan covers...
by 1986
twas about time
i got into something contemporary
my rem phase
in particular the peerless 'murmur'
u2 'under a blood red sky' and 'joshua tree'
great at the time but where are they now?
more enduringly, the church
an obscure aussie band
by an amazing stroke of luck
firseed just happens to pick up a free music mag
by the name of brum beat
at the midlands arts centre
and sees a review of 'heyday'
buys 'the blurred crusade'
'starfish'
three gems
borrowing a little of that classic 60's vibe...
so there ya have it
whether ya wanted it or not
a whirlwind tour
of ripeseed's most enduring musical influences...
changing el subjecto completely
(secaturs flying over the hedge)
something exciting coming up next week, seeds
ripcord off to bangkok for a phew days
(is it gonna make a hard man humble?
or a marred ham mumble?)
sixteen years since ya fave blogger last explored the thai kingdom
heady days
a bit of tropical heat will certainly not go amiss
despite misgivings over the C02 emissions
courtesy of thai airlines n saudi crude
so watch this space for the thaiseed blog...
enough seeds, cords, chords and whatnots for today
see ya again soon on...
the fart of living
over n out
direfees
xxxxxx
Friday, January 05, 2007
NO COMMENT
seeds
tis a funny business
this old blogging game
eight months down the line
much time spent tapping out entries for ya
and i still aint quite worked out what to make of it
some pros...
it gives you a stimulus for writing and thinking
and an audience for your thoughts
(always assuming that someone's bloody reading)
publish and be damned...
its instant
you type
you upload
you save
you go live
just like that
out there on the big dubyadubyadubya
you got peeps reading your stuff all over the world
in at least four continence...
its interactive
readers like you
my dear seedlets
can post comments
create a bit of a community
empathise
acknowledge
sympathise
commiserate
disown
disavow
castigate
be downright rude
leave a link
even be a nonny mouse
a shrinking violet
if it so becomes ya...
theoretically
blogging keeps ya in touch with folkies and loved ones
(assuming they have come-pew-ta and internet connekshun)
specially handy if you are far from home
like your peripathetic f-seed...
and now the cons...
blogs (well at least mine) dont get many comments
one or two here n there
if arm lucky
mostly deafening silence
evaporating the interactivity bit
witch can be disconcerting...
is nobody out there
among the world's exploding six million
actually reading this damn thing?
is this stuff simply too dull for ya?
have you switched to a more sexy blog?
or wood ya rather email me in person?
anyway, fireseed aint gonna dessert ya just yet
so if you're bent over your computer screen
waiting impatiently
for the next instalment of
the art of living
dont despair
its coming right up
firebeef promise that gaping hole in the autumn blog schedule
will not be repeated
so if youre passing by
be sure to post a word or two
and give your neglected faithful blogger
a bit of cyber tlc
au revoir
hasta luego n anyonghi kaseyo
con amor
fireseedo
tis a funny business
this old blogging game
eight months down the line
much time spent tapping out entries for ya
and i still aint quite worked out what to make of it
some pros...
it gives you a stimulus for writing and thinking
and an audience for your thoughts
(always assuming that someone's bloody reading)
publish and be damned...
its instant
you type
you upload
you save
you go live
just like that
out there on the big dubyadubyadubya
you got peeps reading your stuff all over the world
in at least four continence...
its interactive
readers like you
my dear seedlets
can post comments
create a bit of a community
empathise
acknowledge
sympathise
commiserate
disown
disavow
castigate
be downright rude
leave a link
even be a nonny mouse
a shrinking violet
if it so becomes ya...
theoretically
blogging keeps ya in touch with folkies and loved ones
(assuming they have come-pew-ta and internet connekshun)
specially handy if you are far from home
like your peripathetic f-seed...
and now the cons...
blogs (well at least mine) dont get many comments
one or two here n there
if arm lucky
mostly deafening silence
evaporating the interactivity bit
witch can be disconcerting...
is nobody out there
among the world's exploding six million
actually reading this damn thing?
is this stuff simply too dull for ya?
have you switched to a more sexy blog?
or wood ya rather email me in person?
anyway, fireseed aint gonna dessert ya just yet
so if you're bent over your computer screen
waiting impatiently
for the next instalment of
the art of living
dont despair
its coming right up
firebeef promise that gaping hole in the autumn blog schedule
will not be repeated
so if youre passing by
be sure to post a word or two
and give your neglected faithful blogger
a bit of cyber tlc
au revoir
hasta luego n anyonghi kaseyo
con amor
fireseedo
Thursday, January 04, 2007
MY LITTLE RED BOOK
fireseed been catching up on a bit of reading
over the festive period
in between the dizzyknee cartoons
the late-nite recording sessions
the lazy lie-ins
the trips to the shops n playgrounds n dentists
one of my most useful recent purchases
is the little bookstand i got on our kitchen table
perfect for accompanying a lazy brekky
with a bit of intellekchewl stimulayshun
while i was doing me xmas shopping
picked up 'the end of oil' by paul roberts
a very good read if ya take an interest
in the politiks and economiks
of ye olde blacke golde
and energee sauces in general
ripeseed now re-reading 'age of consent' by george monbiot
a very clever bloke is our george
he just wrote another hole new book about climate change
i tried to order it online but it seems to be out of stock
the aforementioned 'age of c'
is our george's manifesto for a new world order
yet more politiks and economiks, my seeds
these kind of subjects used to bore the shit outta me
but not any more!
cos if nice people like you and me get out there
and shout and make a fuss
and make some tough decisions ourselves
you can bet that some nasty bastards will do it for ya
label it a 'free trade agreement' (what could be nicer)
and before ya know it
(as seems to be happening in sk right now)
you can tear up your nhs card
and you'll be having a steady diet
of gm food and trashy hollywood movies
shoved down ya throat
whether you like it or not
problem is t'is a complex old worlde out there
which is why ya gotta clue up on all this stuff
'porridge is nower' as george w probably once said
at a press conference
which takes me back to the other georgie boy
and his 'age of consent'
i gotta quote a good bit that monby lays down about democra$y
what he calls the 'least-worst political system'
(in comparison with anarchy and marxism)...
"The argument for democracy at the national level then seems to be - if not exactly robust - more compelling than the argument for any other system, or, for that matter, the absence of a system. But if we can - as most people do - agree that democracy is the best way to run a nation, it is hard to think of any reason why it should not be the best way to run the world. Indeed, it is surely demonstrable that many of the most pressing global and international problems arise from an absence of global and international democracy. The way in which states engage with each other is much closer to the anarchist model than the democratic one. The US government, like that of the superpowers before it, has seized the domestic mandate provided by its people (the 'autonomous community') to assert an international authority to rule the world. It expands its dominion - just like any powerful and well-armed community in the anarchist model by means of violence and expropriation, in those parts of the world which do not form an alliance with it against lesser powers, succumb meekly to its demands, or successfully resist it with violence of their own. The democratic restraints within a state, in other words, do not prevent it from attacking weaker ones."
...i like it, george
you can come round to fireseed's to play any time
see ya later
f
over the festive period
in between the dizzyknee cartoons
the late-nite recording sessions
the lazy lie-ins
the trips to the shops n playgrounds n dentists
one of my most useful recent purchases
is the little bookstand i got on our kitchen table
perfect for accompanying a lazy brekky
with a bit of intellekchewl stimulayshun
while i was doing me xmas shopping
picked up 'the end of oil' by paul roberts
a very good read if ya take an interest
in the politiks and economiks
of ye olde blacke golde
and energee sauces in general
ripeseed now re-reading 'age of consent' by george monbiot
a very clever bloke is our george
he just wrote another hole new book about climate change
i tried to order it online but it seems to be out of stock
the aforementioned 'age of c'
is our george's manifesto for a new world order
yet more politiks and economiks, my seeds
these kind of subjects used to bore the shit outta me
but not any more!
cos if nice people like you and me get out there
and shout and make a fuss
and make some tough decisions ourselves
you can bet that some nasty bastards will do it for ya
label it a 'free trade agreement' (what could be nicer)
and before ya know it
(as seems to be happening in sk right now)
you can tear up your nhs card
and you'll be having a steady diet
of gm food and trashy hollywood movies
shoved down ya throat
whether you like it or not
problem is t'is a complex old worlde out there
which is why ya gotta clue up on all this stuff
'porridge is nower' as george w probably once said
at a press conference
which takes me back to the other georgie boy
and his 'age of consent'
i gotta quote a good bit that monby lays down about democra$y
what he calls the 'least-worst political system'
(in comparison with anarchy and marxism)...
"The argument for democracy at the national level then seems to be - if not exactly robust - more compelling than the argument for any other system, or, for that matter, the absence of a system. But if we can - as most people do - agree that democracy is the best way to run a nation, it is hard to think of any reason why it should not be the best way to run the world. Indeed, it is surely demonstrable that many of the most pressing global and international problems arise from an absence of global and international democracy. The way in which states engage with each other is much closer to the anarchist model than the democratic one. The US government, like that of the superpowers before it, has seized the domestic mandate provided by its people (the 'autonomous community') to assert an international authority to rule the world. It expands its dominion - just like any powerful and well-armed community in the anarchist model by means of violence and expropriation, in those parts of the world which do not form an alliance with it against lesser powers, succumb meekly to its demands, or successfully resist it with violence of their own. The democratic restraints within a state, in other words, do not prevent it from attacking weaker ones."
...i like it, george
you can come round to fireseed's to play any time
see ya later
f
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
TEETH
teeth
pearly whites
gnashers
canines and incisors
molars and pre-molars
milk teeth
second teeth
wisdom teeth
rotten teeth
false teeth
no teeth
toothless
a bit long in the tooth...
teeth have always given me trouble, seeds
ever since i can remember
ive been having 'em out
having 'em pushed about
having 'em filled
capped
root canalled
when i first came to sk
i even got a couple of 'em re-root canalled
cos they hadnt been done properly in england
a year ago i had a wisdom tooth out
and felt sick as a parrot all day...
these days they're sensitive to
a) hot
b) cold
c) acid
d) sugar!
hannah sometimes asks me why they're 'yellow'...
in spite of all the careful brushing and flossing
and ripeseed's minimal intake of sweets, choccy
and all those other sugary things
off the vegan menu
i can never ever get away
with just a quick hop in n out of the chair
today's visit being no exception
even though scale and polish gurl tells me i dont need one
cos my teeth are so nice and clean
rotten old dentist tells me my rotten old fillings need redoing
worse, fireseed got a couple of cavities at the front that need filling
and has to go back again in three weeks for the pleasure...
just to rub it in
my little brother's always had great gnashers
my wife gets a clean bill of health every time
(though hannah's just started a worrying trend)
granted a lot of it is self-inflicted
the prolific quantities of fizzy pop and mars bars and choccy
i used to consume as a kid
didnae get me off to a great start in oral hygeine
come to think of it
i had a shocking diet as a kid
its a wonder i aint a four-foot adult dwarf with rickets!!
when i was about thirteen
with a mouth already half-full of amalgum
i started visiting this 'orthodontist'
who was supposed to be straightening out my crooked incisors
seemed to me like a right old con
month after month
me and my mum trailed across the city
to this guy dr harry's clinic
to add insult to injury
i was given this horrible appliance to strap around my head
linked to a brace by two little elastic bands
i was supposed to wear this odious contraption
about fourteen hours a day
all the time i was in the house
including in bed
though thankfully not at the old grey school!
and the thing was that my teeth never seemed to move
the damn things always looked the same!
i guess everybody's got their strengths and weaknesses
their achilles heel
now you know one of mine
(and i got a few)
keep 'em clean, my seeds
love
me
pearly whites
gnashers
canines and incisors
molars and pre-molars
milk teeth
second teeth
wisdom teeth
rotten teeth
false teeth
no teeth
toothless
a bit long in the tooth...
teeth have always given me trouble, seeds
ever since i can remember
ive been having 'em out
having 'em pushed about
having 'em filled
capped
root canalled
when i first came to sk
i even got a couple of 'em re-root canalled
cos they hadnt been done properly in england
a year ago i had a wisdom tooth out
and felt sick as a parrot all day...
these days they're sensitive to
a) hot
b) cold
c) acid
d) sugar!
hannah sometimes asks me why they're 'yellow'...
in spite of all the careful brushing and flossing
and ripeseed's minimal intake of sweets, choccy
and all those other sugary things
off the vegan menu
i can never ever get away
with just a quick hop in n out of the chair
today's visit being no exception
even though scale and polish gurl tells me i dont need one
cos my teeth are so nice and clean
rotten old dentist tells me my rotten old fillings need redoing
worse, fireseed got a couple of cavities at the front that need filling
and has to go back again in three weeks for the pleasure...
just to rub it in
my little brother's always had great gnashers
my wife gets a clean bill of health every time
(though hannah's just started a worrying trend)
granted a lot of it is self-inflicted
the prolific quantities of fizzy pop and mars bars and choccy
i used to consume as a kid
didnae get me off to a great start in oral hygeine
come to think of it
i had a shocking diet as a kid
its a wonder i aint a four-foot adult dwarf with rickets!!
when i was about thirteen
with a mouth already half-full of amalgum
i started visiting this 'orthodontist'
who was supposed to be straightening out my crooked incisors
seemed to me like a right old con
month after month
me and my mum trailed across the city
to this guy dr harry's clinic
to add insult to injury
i was given this horrible appliance to strap around my head
linked to a brace by two little elastic bands
i was supposed to wear this odious contraption
about fourteen hours a day
all the time i was in the house
including in bed
though thankfully not at the old grey school!
and the thing was that my teeth never seemed to move
the damn things always looked the same!
i guess everybody's got their strengths and weaknesses
their achilles heel
now you know one of mine
(and i got a few)
keep 'em clean, my seeds
love
me
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
FILLING
who's this?
it be little davey dream
up way past his bedtime
in the wee small hours of a quiet seoul night
the house still and silent
the way i like it
except for the humming of the computer
and the peaceful breathing of j and little h fast asleep in the next room
took h to the dentist today
to get her molars looked at
yep, sad to say that our little one already has a hole in her milk teeth
dentist fills up nasty cavity with white stuff
so at least you can't see the filling
h squirms and sobs and makes a big fuss
poor little sausage
everywhere she goes
around and about
people offer her choccies n sweeties
cakes n biccies
lollipops n ice-cream
astonishes me the amount of the stuff that people of all kinds carry around with 'em!
once an old lady on the subway fished out a whole packet of biccies
and just gave 'em to our little treasure
the koreans simply find h's angelic appearance too cute to resist
those exotic-looking semi-european features
that mark her out from the crowd
it really shocks the punters when h reels off her fluent korean
for some reason they only expect her to speak the anglo-saxon lingo
just like when i wow 'em with my purrrrfect pronunciation!
well, sort of...
hi-ho! hi-ho! it's off to bed i go
(definitely too much dizzyknee recently)
bfn
love
f
it be little davey dream
up way past his bedtime
in the wee small hours of a quiet seoul night
the house still and silent
the way i like it
except for the humming of the computer
and the peaceful breathing of j and little h fast asleep in the next room
took h to the dentist today
to get her molars looked at
yep, sad to say that our little one already has a hole in her milk teeth
dentist fills up nasty cavity with white stuff
so at least you can't see the filling
h squirms and sobs and makes a big fuss
poor little sausage
everywhere she goes
around and about
people offer her choccies n sweeties
cakes n biccies
lollipops n ice-cream
astonishes me the amount of the stuff that people of all kinds carry around with 'em!
once an old lady on the subway fished out a whole packet of biccies
and just gave 'em to our little treasure
the koreans simply find h's angelic appearance too cute to resist
those exotic-looking semi-european features
that mark her out from the crowd
it really shocks the punters when h reels off her fluent korean
for some reason they only expect her to speak the anglo-saxon lingo
just like when i wow 'em with my purrrrfect pronunciation!
well, sort of...
hi-ho! hi-ho! it's off to bed i go
(definitely too much dizzyknee recently)
bfn
love
f
Monday, January 01, 2007
HIATUS
not the most auspicious of starts to the yew near
fireseed awakes this morning feeling like trash
dull headache and blocked nasal passages
maybe a cold coming on
can't sleep it off
that glass of aussie shiraz last night
one glass too many it seems for poor old ageing fireseed
wander round the local neighbourhood
in a dogged search for some wholemeal bread
but it fails to clear the head
(the walk not the toast)
coffee and painkillers don't help much either
watch 'bambi' with hannah
try to explain what happened to bambi's mum and why
then bail out for an afternoon nap
[hannah interrupts to proffer playdough biscuits]
h is in good spirits today
she's suddenly turned five in korean
despite being only three and a half according to the western calendar
koreans already a year old when they're born, see
then they age another year when january comes round
guess that means a baby born in december
is already two a month later!
as for fireseed
well n truly in hibernation mode
lazy days
constantly craving sleep
everything feels like too much trouble
not sure if that's a good or a bad thing
but it always happens every christmas n new year
not the ideal time for revolutions maybe
but here goes...
*keep 'the art of living' alive
*arrive early for appointments and meetings (recycled from last year)
*challenge conformity and abandon certainty
*nurture creativity
*replace hate and anger with understanding and compassion
*get back into regular yoga
*remember: positivity and constructiveness at all times
hasta banana
love
f
fireseed awakes this morning feeling like trash
dull headache and blocked nasal passages
maybe a cold coming on
can't sleep it off
that glass of aussie shiraz last night
one glass too many it seems for poor old ageing fireseed
wander round the local neighbourhood
in a dogged search for some wholemeal bread
but it fails to clear the head
(the walk not the toast)
coffee and painkillers don't help much either
watch 'bambi' with hannah
try to explain what happened to bambi's mum and why
then bail out for an afternoon nap
[hannah interrupts to proffer playdough biscuits]
h is in good spirits today
she's suddenly turned five in korean
despite being only three and a half according to the western calendar
koreans already a year old when they're born, see
then they age another year when january comes round
guess that means a baby born in december
is already two a month later!
as for fireseed
well n truly in hibernation mode
lazy days
constantly craving sleep
everything feels like too much trouble
not sure if that's a good or a bad thing
but it always happens every christmas n new year
not the ideal time for revolutions maybe
but here goes...
*keep 'the art of living' alive
*arrive early for appointments and meetings (recycled from last year)
*challenge conformity and abandon certainty
*nurture creativity
*replace hate and anger with understanding and compassion
*get back into regular yoga
*remember: positivity and constructiveness at all times
hasta banana
love
f
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