January 2002. Third colour white, it had to be done. Bit
of a mindwarp, the intoxication speaks for itself. I was going to
re-do parts but decided to leave it as it came out last night. The
title is in the masculine, though the doctor is female - there's
no French feminine for the profession. I hope you .. like.
Spent the chimes of New
Year at a Finsbury Park lock-in. Total de-tox dreamed of but massive
sore-throat cold means Solpadeine. Feel
the need for a total makeover of mind body spirit life lifestyle
politics website dna ..urrgh..
December 2001. ..like
Part two, it feels to me. Normal twisty-turny service resuming next
year. Have a marvellous one.
miranda sawyer you're joking house eights and fours no way miranda
sawyer's horny man drink oxide are pure islington dinner party drum
and i fold bass where do you stand on miranda sawyer gonzalez ok?
i fold oh drink definately miranda sawyer would get it two pair
kings and nines hang on spliffdrink this is an islington drinkspliff
too many..hangovers ..headfunny
..must ..tryto.. thinkcomplete..sentences..
updatesite.. head .. funny..
what.. did it? ..feel like an open book so here's a love
story - of sorts - that's just made up. Nothing festive as such.
Just RAM sweet RAM.
and so forth. It's
been a wild year, no? Stressful and momentous, terrible beauty and
tenderhooks. But I hope you had some good moments and that next
year will bring many more. Bring's not the right word. Anyway, I
hope you're inspired and find/make success, happiness, peace. Americans,
of course, have a constitutional right to the pursuit of happiness
- a lovely poetic notion we could all adopt. America, I fear, is
going to get all insular on our rest-of-the-world asses, the military
Santa-like, I want to
find out where you live, shin up your drainpipe, slink around your
house, grab you unexpectedly, chase you - shrieking - in, around
and out of several rooms, wrestle you onto the sofa and kiss your
eyes for just giving this website a look-at. Might make this a resolution
for two zero zero two.
Two weeks at mach zero:
of depth in this restaurant two house red be warned they've got
a toilet attendant and no-one tips less than two pounds the vanilla
brulee's ok but the accompanying biscuit tastes like human skin
blue after shock lunacy juice in rush hour underground curiously
touching introspective folk version of sonia's you'll never stop
me from loving you stops me in my tracks taking it's toll is it
i can't do several nights in a row any more drinkdrink hello it's
freezing out there who's been taping tv go home so you put the raclette
under here drinkdrink and it melts why did you fold you had two
pair what do you think about the kevin mcnamara thingy yeay the
tvgh book thank you dancedrink drinkdrink hello mum i don't think
i'll get back this year how's everyone i'm recording and writing
everyone on the dancefloor my shrimps taste
funny pint of old brewery please god i met a bloke in san francisco
who said the eurodollar as he called it should have a picture of
sinn fein on it drinkdrink and thought sean finn was a person no
not after shock it's mouthwash i haven't heard compton for years
house jacks and threes did you know ice cube's dad was a lecturer
spliff drinkdrink clementine and almond cake it's nigella lawson
mm very tasty i fold what are you doing on the 29th alice coltrane
was john coltranes wife i'm still a millers crossing man even after
fargo spliff i couldn't understand a word they were saying but they
haven't made a bad film really hudsucker proxy was the nearest they
got to spliffspliff bollocks how much would a taxi be from here
spliff might as well finish off nigella i go millers oh brother
blood simple i go fargo lebowski arizona what are you doing 29th
Last week - Robots
In Disguise, whom I met two years ago wandering about a field
in Fu Manchu moustaches. "Coupla posh birds in Covent Garden
clobber," grumbled colleague Paul. Well, I was pleasantly swung
by their kooky brand of do-or-die DIY art pop.
Then I popped down to
enroll at a course covering the legal and ethical implications of
publishing. I haven't a foggy notion, like everyone else on here.
The worst web sites are CVs In Disguise, hopefully this one stands
on it's own two twisty feet as a piece of work, and despite the
fact that it's democratic drift more than wot's wot, and even feels
more like thought at times, material on the internet is - I read
- 'unquestionably published', though 'the extent .. can be judged
by the number of visits to the web site'. Haven't checked the official
stats for a bit. Phew. Me, myself and a coupla stoners quickly
disappointed by a lack of dwarf on donkey action. As Pornland
remains yer favourite piece, try this:
In the news this week
- 'Fucking nigger typist'. That's what Michael Fawcett, valet
to Prince Charles, called Charles' former personal secretary, Elizabeth
Burgess, at a meeting in Highgrove to discuss staff procedures.
Once, as a McJobber in an investment firm, another (phrase in context)
fucking nigger typist told me of her ambition to work on the front
reception, ambitions persistantly denied. 'What gives?" I asked
the boss off-hand. "I'm not a racist," he explained, adjusting
his tie in the lift mirror, "Really I'm not. But we have clients
- Arabs, the Japanese and so forth. They come to London, they want
to see something blonde or Liz Hurley."
Let's face it, the pull
of global markets means a lot of giving sway to the world's lowest
moral denominators behind the scenes but it'll sink till someone
says no. My advice to fucking nigger typists is to take that gun
in their head back home and type about it as best they possibly
can. Faster and more accurately than most.
2001. Ah! The winter
Sunday. I can't find a clear reception on Xfm, pirates swing aboard
the frequency - shouts to tha' Holloway crewww
- so I'm listening to William Hague on Desert Island
Discs. Man hung his boots up surprisingly quickly. Since relinquishing
the responsibility of leading the Conservative party he's had the
"time of his life" .. Chopin's Predule no 4 in E minor
.. you were inconsistent .. "Both Ffion and Seb Coe are jazz
fans" .. did the dirty on Michael Howard .. was image the problem?
.. "I have a problem getting people to see what I'm really
like. The press are so obsessed with perception, they thought everything
I did - marriage, judo - was only to enhance my image."
"Do you still practice
in front of the bedroom mirror?" Sue Lawley asks. "Speeches,
you mean?" asks William.
Apologies for sporadic
updates, the reasons are tedious. I read other people's weblogs
and there comes a point when one asks 'what is this?' and one wonders
who people feel they're writing to. I've always guessed they were
writing to whatever was absent from their lives. That's where you
come in. The world is full of sex objects, love objects, muses and
make-dos. I sometimes want to thank you for casting an eye, but
thank-yous suggest a close to something.
inspiration. Bit of a 'wow' moment in the midst of recording. I've
been wondering what to do if and when the Show is over. I'm pimping
choons, just doing stuff - but a sequel struck me, or a main course.
Dunno. As I explained to pal Joanne, two years ago I complained
of being bored somewhere deep inside, despite heaps o' fun happening
across the surface of my life. Now I don't feel that so much. I
can't go back. I miss playing music live but to have taken four
months off to cobble and keep together a band, rehearse and do the
toilet venue circuit - would have felt like slowing down. Impatience.
November 2001. With many surrealists I'm not a taker, but
I like Paul Delvaux. What's seductive is that he seems to concentrate
on the relationship between archetypal points of his own consciousness
- so one is left with the sense that he's not using his imagination
as much as mapping it at a particular time. Almost by-passing the
details of any specific dream, which will never mean much to you
and I as third parties, the spectator is given a framework into
which they should add their own content. To me it's therefore more
personal and surreal than the morphing of elephants or a brooding
Ernst which end up as daytime guessworks gone monumental or can
even feel more like grouchy sleep deprivation at times. Drift into
a bit of Delvaux, won't you?
this week I bumped into the marvellous Joanne, whom I met whilst
at art school. It's strange meeting old friends, interesting to
see if they've 'moved on' in the ways we'd have imagined. She has
a two year old daughter and now works as a successful 'life coach'.
Here's an article
about her work, if you ever need 'lifestyle' 're-engineering' or
wish to 'resolve' 'issues' with your 'partner'. You're so cool.
- girl's gonna get me arrested. .. excuse me ..
As every liberal parent will tell you, kids don't really benefit
from 'faddish' materialistic gifts for Christmas, they just need
prolonged hugs with overdone words of love. Alternatively, the whole
family could get down to Battle Royale. Flyer link, though it's
still clay on the wheel to an extent. Hence working titles - as
per the previous two flyers.
No real site entry as
such, that's it. It's hard to toggle between song and prose etcetera
sometimes. Have a nice week.
Been trying to find a book that someone said I have to read, mostly
as the story begins while the main character is giving up smoking.
Confessions Of Zeno by Italo Svevo.
Currently doing nicotine
cold turkey. Bought an inhaler but it looks creepy, quite frankly,
like you've just ate a pen. However it should usher in a fresher
tang to garb and gob, some capital and life expectancy, sensual
heightening, energy. And of course, time. How much time have I frittered
on nicotine? Getting up to go to the all night garage, nipping out
of meetings. At heights of cigarette insanity I've shaved half my
face, taken a fag break, then sauntered back to finish the job.
But the most inelegant of all was sharing an embrace with a young
lady across a choppy English Channel, both of us having been cinematically
enamoured by Paris or just thankful to have escaped the shabby carnival
of souls that is Porte de la Villette bus depot. But memories of
this romantic, student moment are also of the two of us continually
sparking up over one another's shoulders, like a game of relay snog
and puff. Shocking waste of a moment.
Over in France some geezer,
right, is knocking out a novel by installment plan on the internet.
September 11 he was so gutted, see, all he could post was a blank
page. Read it and weep, it's how he feels. Not sure there's
a benefit to firing traditionalist or even conceptual tomes up the
pipe. That said, natter long enough and some truths will out, if
truth's your thang. Writing on the net, you have to learn to deal
with interpassivity and paranoia - "That thing you wrote, it's
about me isn't it?" - yes yes it is. It is.