Thursday, 31 December 2009
Wednesday, 30 December 2009
A short excerpt from a short story I'm working on at the moment.
It’s blurry but I’ll do my best. He reminded me of the boy from that comedy about aliens, 3rd Rock From the Sun. I wouldn’t have been surprised if people asked him about that programme. He had the same straight long brown hair and milky looking skin. Basically picture that kid and you’re pretty much seeing what I saw.
He said he was 18 but I think he could pass for at 3 years younger, possibly 4. I think I believed him. He’d probably stay looking like a teenager way into his 20s. Some people are like that. Some people stay youthful until age has to force itself to catch up with them. When that happens though, it can be ruining. It can crash into them unexpectedly with such force that they become haunted looking overnight; their faces suddenly clued in on the sort of sad physical news that most people are given gradually one day at a time. For those who’ve somehow escaped it for so long, the accumulated grief and sudden slam of such is devastating. Their eyes, cheeks, lips, expressions: whole faces rendered as permanent graveyards.
I carried on thinking of death as I tried to figure out his body. As a rule bondage didn’t do it for me. It represented something, seemed cheesy. But I liked seeing bodies stretched out and as he was too wasted to hold his arms above his head for any length of time without them flopping back down again I’d been forced to use the belt that I’d slipped loose from his tatty jeans to attach both of this arms to the rail at the top of my bed. I thumbed his nipples, trying to keep them hard. And over and over I’d place my hands at the points of his elbows and bring my palms and fingers (which started to feel more and more clammy) slowly down his outstretched arms, down onto the sides of his ribcage, then his barely-there stomach, then his somehow-there hips (which I realised were only visible when he lay down). Next I’d clumsily paw his blobbed balls and semi-hard dick with an uncertainness that was making me panic.
He said he was 18 but I think he could pass for at 3 years younger, possibly 4. I think I believed him. He’d probably stay looking like a teenager way into his 20s. Some people are like that. Some people stay youthful until age has to force itself to catch up with them. When that happens though, it can be ruining. It can crash into them unexpectedly with such force that they become haunted looking overnight; their faces suddenly clued in on the sort of sad physical news that most people are given gradually one day at a time. For those who’ve somehow escaped it for so long, the accumulated grief and sudden slam of such is devastating. Their eyes, cheeks, lips, expressions: whole faces rendered as permanent graveyards.
I carried on thinking of death as I tried to figure out his body. As a rule bondage didn’t do it for me. It represented something, seemed cheesy. But I liked seeing bodies stretched out and as he was too wasted to hold his arms above his head for any length of time without them flopping back down again I’d been forced to use the belt that I’d slipped loose from his tatty jeans to attach both of this arms to the rail at the top of my bed. I thumbed his nipples, trying to keep them hard. And over and over I’d place my hands at the points of his elbows and bring my palms and fingers (which started to feel more and more clammy) slowly down his outstretched arms, down onto the sides of his ribcage, then his barely-there stomach, then his somehow-there hips (which I realised were only visible when he lay down). Next I’d clumsily paw his blobbed balls and semi-hard dick with an uncertainness that was making me panic.
Tuesday, 29 December 2009
Monday, 28 December 2009
Loop
Chris didn’t say hello even though we definitely made eye contact/ Stuff like that doesn’t bother me but it always registers nevertheless. We shared one mutual friend and just a couple of mutual acquaintances, so there were no great demands on either of us socially.
The last time I’d seen him was when he’d been browsing the Early 90s/Shoegaze sectionof Vinyl Exchange. I’d recommended a Loop LP that I’d never actually heard because I wanted to try and establish some kind of common ground, and at the time that had stood out as the less transparent advance towards that.
He paid for a drink and sat down at the table in the corner of the room, which I would have sat at had a couple of students racticing their Spanish not been occupying it when I first arrived. Chris produced a small red memo book from his pocket and started scribbling in it which for some reason agitated me.
When the friendly slacker guy who worked behind the counter took his coffee over to his table Chris barely looked up at all. If anything, the outside distraction seemed to tighten his concentration even more.
I hated myself for wanting to trade places.
The last time I’d seen him was when he’d been browsing the Early 90s/Shoegaze sectionof Vinyl Exchange. I’d recommended a Loop LP that I’d never actually heard because I wanted to try and establish some kind of common ground, and at the time that had stood out as the less transparent advance towards that.
He paid for a drink and sat down at the table in the corner of the room, which I would have sat at had a couple of students racticing their Spanish not been occupying it when I first arrived. Chris produced a small red memo book from his pocket and started scribbling in it which for some reason agitated me.
When the friendly slacker guy who worked behind the counter took his coffee over to his table Chris barely looked up at all. If anything, the outside distraction seemed to tighten his concentration even more.
I hated myself for wanting to trade places.
Sunday, 27 December 2009
RIP Vic Chestnut
I just read the very sad news that the musician Vic Chestnut has passed away. Really sad news. RIP.
Saturday, 26 December 2009
My favourite film of the year: Up
There were moments while I was sat in the cinema during a near empty late night screening of Up, when I felt convinced that I hated the people – whoever they were – behind the film. How could they, I thought, how could they choose to make me feel like this? Why would anyone want to make me feel this sad? There are also moments when I felt convinced that I might be looking at one of the best pieces of art this year.
Either of those feelings maybe an exaggeration, or a mistake. You see, Up left me feeling confused. Before the film started I knew very little about the story that I was going to watch. I’d heard a couple of people say very complimentary things about it, but for whatever reason media coverage, reviews, analysis of the latest Pixar production had on the whole passed me by. In other words I didn’t have any expectations of the film. When I left the cinema I felt broken – my throat was sore from holding back streams of tears. I was also amused – I remember laughing at how my emotions had been utterly ambushed by a brightly coloured kids’ film.
I guess it’s sometimes hard to not to take your own emotional baggage into a cinema (or into any piece of art for that matter) and inadvertently project it onto the characters on screen, have it bounce back, and then again, so that you end up with a constantly bouncing reflection that relays back and forth between whatever emotions are currently testing you and the emotions that are being played out on screen. I’m guessing that that might be some of the reason why the movie affected me so much; although not entirely. A large part was also the subtly wonderful writing of Up.
Carl Fredricksen is a widow stuck in the boredom and sadness of bereavement. I know – I just read that sentence back and thought to myself: kids’s film??? He lives alone in the house that he and his late wife proudly bought when they first married. Alone for the first time in years Carl realises that his days have become nothing but lonely, boring, predictable routines. Each morning he wakes up, gets dressed, goes outside onto his porch, and just sits. He has nothing else to do but sit and ponder the dreams and goals that he had as a young man, that have now vanished.
Either of those feelings maybe an exaggeration, or a mistake. You see, Up left me feeling confused. Before the film started I knew very little about the story that I was going to watch. I’d heard a couple of people say very complimentary things about it, but for whatever reason media coverage, reviews, analysis of the latest Pixar production had on the whole passed me by. In other words I didn’t have any expectations of the film. When I left the cinema I felt broken – my throat was sore from holding back streams of tears. I was also amused – I remember laughing at how my emotions had been utterly ambushed by a brightly coloured kids’ film.
I guess it’s sometimes hard to not to take your own emotional baggage into a cinema (or into any piece of art for that matter) and inadvertently project it onto the characters on screen, have it bounce back, and then again, so that you end up with a constantly bouncing reflection that relays back and forth between whatever emotions are currently testing you and the emotions that are being played out on screen. I’m guessing that that might be some of the reason why the movie affected me so much; although not entirely. A large part was also the subtly wonderful writing of Up.
Carl Fredricksen is a widow stuck in the boredom and sadness of bereavement. I know – I just read that sentence back and thought to myself: kids’s film??? He lives alone in the house that he and his late wife proudly bought when they first married. Alone for the first time in years Carl realises that his days have become nothing but lonely, boring, predictable routines. Each morning he wakes up, gets dressed, goes outside onto his porch, and just sits. He has nothing else to do but sit and ponder the dreams and goals that he had as a young man, that have now vanished.
Without giving anything else away – or at least anything outside of the film trailer – Carl manages to make an attempt at living his dreams. He manages to lift his house out of the every day (and the clutches of a development company who plan on bulldozing it) by inflated thousands of balloons (before retirement he had made his living on a balloon stall). Aided by a local little boy – a Wilderness Explorer – called Russel (who happens to be standing on the porch when the house lifts off) – Carl finally manages to make the trip of a lifetime towards South America where he hopes he will be able to land on Pacific Falls – a place that he and his late wife Ellie used to dream of.
In terms of the story – I’ll leave it there. There is of course the usual mix of bad guys, chases, close calls, jokes, etc that a Disney film needs. But what stands out is the classiness and depth to some of these elements and the way in which they are utilized. When we came out of the film my friend Sian commented on how she thought it was really good that a film like Up was made. I couldn’t agree more. This film deals with sadness, loss, death – i.e. the big ones. I guess animated films have always done that (think Bambi’s mother being shot in the skull), but with Up, for some reason, you just really, really feel it. The attention paid to the minutiae of all the characters’ personalities is evident. In a single tired, creaky walk you can feel so much for Carl Fredricksen. You feel sorry for him, at times you feel frustrated by him, the main thing is: you genuinely care about him. I found myself caring about Carl Fredricksen in a way that I rarely do feel about characters in films.
In terms of the story – I’ll leave it there. There is of course the usual mix of bad guys, chases, close calls, jokes, etc that a Disney film needs. But what stands out is the classiness and depth to some of these elements and the way in which they are utilized. When we came out of the film my friend Sian commented on how she thought it was really good that a film like Up was made. I couldn’t agree more. This film deals with sadness, loss, death – i.e. the big ones. I guess animated films have always done that (think Bambi’s mother being shot in the skull), but with Up, for some reason, you just really, really feel it. The attention paid to the minutiae of all the characters’ personalities is evident. In a single tired, creaky walk you can feel so much for Carl Fredricksen. You feel sorry for him, at times you feel frustrated by him, the main thing is: you genuinely care about him. I found myself caring about Carl Fredricksen in a way that I rarely do feel about characters in films.
Up also messes around with the usual ideology of kids’ films. It raises questions about the idea of heroes. Fredricksen finds out that his own personal idol is in fact a mean selfish brute who will stop at nothing to achieve his goals. However even within this there are some interesting narrative twists (the reasons behind the villain’s evilness are things like pride, the expectations of others, his inability to live without the validation of others). There are several hints at other worldviews which the filmmakers seem to have slipped in also, for example, the head of the construction company that wants to bulldoze Carl’s house is the personification of the notion of a faceless large corporation – his face is completely free from expression or physical features.
One of the things that really saved me with Up (and also convinced needy old me that the filmmakers didn’t actually hate me) was the humour. There are points in Up when I laughed out loud. Within the sadness that the film manages to conjure – I felt like I really needed those laughs. I felt like I owed the dogs big time–the lovable Dug especially. After you’ve been feeling so sad, the laughs are like ecstasy or something.
I’ve managed to go through the whole thing without saying just how lovely the film looks as well. But yeah, there you go – my favourite film of the year
Friday, 25 December 2009
Thursday, 24 December 2009
Beware
There’s a TV with a broken aerial
Whispering fuzzily to itself in the
Background////++++++
An album cover with a genuinely
Pretty girl grown up way too quickly
But happy and loving the bullshit
Trauma of it all, side on, looking
Over a bare shoulder posed in a way
That evokes memories, of soft skin
That you never got to feel but thought
About falling into nightly.*********
+++++++++++++++Relieved you crouch
Back into a sleeping position and listen
Hard to a song that you’ve trying to
Remember the words to.==========
When you come to that point that
You realise you’ve lost me, or at least
What you could have had had you let
Me have what I wanted us to have
Then you’ll see that all I was ever
Trying to say to you was beware.
Whispering fuzzily to itself in the
Background////++++++
An album cover with a genuinely
Pretty girl grown up way too quickly
But happy and loving the bullshit
Trauma of it all, side on, looking
Over a bare shoulder posed in a way
That evokes memories, of soft skin
That you never got to feel but thought
About falling into nightly.*********
+++++++++++++++Relieved you crouch
Back into a sleeping position and listen
Hard to a song that you’ve trying to
Remember the words to.==========
When you come to that point that
You realise you’ve lost me, or at least
What you could have had had you let
Me have what I wanted us to have
Then you’ll see that all I was ever
Trying to say to you was beware.
Wednesday, 23 December 2009
Night like nothing
They jumped the fence.
It was dark enough for them
To not worry about seeing
Anyone that might scare them.
They found a spot,
Threw an old spare coat
Onto the snow, and
Leant against each other
Letting the silence warm
Their faces, perfect chilly
Pill rushes spinning through
Them, night like nothing.
It was dark enough for them
To not worry about seeing
Anyone that might scare them.
They found a spot,
Threw an old spare coat
Onto the snow, and
Leant against each other
Letting the silence warm
Their faces, perfect chilly
Pill rushes spinning through
Them, night like nothing.
Tuesday, 22 December 2009
The Idealists
He made a collage using pictures of tigers
Torn from out of date encyclopaedias,
Added some rainbows and a few fleshy
Tones from porno mag’s then sat back
And admired this newly formed almost
Delicate recontextualised jigsaw puzzle.
That song by Iron and Wine that made
Him think about friends that weren’t
Around anymore made things feel
Magnified beyond the late morning
Hours, and the way the curtains shivered
Too; well this is how things always
Tend to begin.
A new snap of a girl with a ponytail
Wearing a polka dot dress like
Something out of
A French New Wave Film,
Anna Karina but indie;
He got lost inside idealism
He got lost before anything was found.
Remember them when
You realise your own time is passing,
And when you feel like
You’re getting tired,
Try to get lost fast.
Torn from out of date encyclopaedias,
Added some rainbows and a few fleshy
Tones from porno mag’s then sat back
And admired this newly formed almost
Delicate recontextualised jigsaw puzzle.
That song by Iron and Wine that made
Him think about friends that weren’t
Around anymore made things feel
Magnified beyond the late morning
Hours, and the way the curtains shivered
Too; well this is how things always
Tend to begin.
A new snap of a girl with a ponytail
Wearing a polka dot dress like
Something out of
A French New Wave Film,
Anna Karina but indie;
He got lost inside idealism
He got lost before anything was found.
Remember them when
You realise your own time is passing,
And when you feel like
You’re getting tired,
Try to get lost fast.
Monday, 21 December 2009
A troop
A white dress the colour of
a blank Microsoft Word document,
that looks like a rectangle
with limb holes, with a
mat yellow circle
sewn into one of the
cubed hips. Who’d have
thought that would
be sexy? Well it is, so
let’s not pretend it isn’t.
Remarkably sexy in fact.
The sort of sexy that just
makes you want to rip off
her clothes off and fuck
her on the floor. Doesn’t matter
which floor. Whichever she’s
standing on.
Listen – I’m going
through hell and
it feels like I’m going to die.
I feel like somehow you made me
lose my mind and
I’m in a constant process of trying
to get rid of so many
tiny
joins
and
hairline
stitches
that
you
worked
into
my
thinking.
Now that you’ve told me
that you’ve got to leave …
I’ve only just worked out
how much you led me on.
Blue and white
-striped socks,
--really long but
---pulled down in
----a hump over high
-----heeled white shoes.
------The sluggishness of the
-------pace is expertly concealed
--------– the long glossy legs and tall
---------treading could throw anyone off the correct trail.
You catch everyone’s eye at once.
a blank Microsoft Word document,
that looks like a rectangle
with limb holes, with a
mat yellow circle
sewn into one of the
cubed hips. Who’d have
thought that would
be sexy? Well it is, so
let’s not pretend it isn’t.
Remarkably sexy in fact.
The sort of sexy that just
makes you want to rip off
her clothes off and fuck
her on the floor. Doesn’t matter
which floor. Whichever she’s
standing on.
Listen – I’m going
through hell and
it feels like I’m going to die.
I feel like somehow you made me
lose my mind and
I’m in a constant process of trying
to get rid of so many
tiny
joins
and
hairline
stitches
that
you
worked
into
my
thinking.
Now that you’ve told me
that you’ve got to leave …
I’ve only just worked out
how much you led me on.
Blue and white
-striped socks,
--really long but
---pulled down in
----a hump over high
-----heeled white shoes.
------The sluggishness of the
-------pace is expertly concealed
--------– the long glossy legs and tall
---------treading could throw anyone off the correct trail.
You catch everyone’s eye at once.
Sunday, 20 December 2009
I decided to not try & narrow things down to a top ten list; instead, here are some brief notes about some of my favourite albums of the year
Jarvis Cocker - Further Complications
Off the top of my head I'm struggling to think of someone else who can write about lust, aging, romance, regret and popular culture better than Jarvis. A worthy follow up to his magnificent first solo album.
Jim O'Rourke and Loren Connors - Two Nice Catholic Boys
I already dedicated a post to this album if you fancy typing the name into the search box at the top.
Gossip - Music For Men
I knew that Gossip wouldn't let fame get to or spoil them. Very fun, very urgent.
Wolf Eyes - Always Wrong
Maybe a couple of years ago when noise was the hippest thing you could possibly claim to like, Wolf Eyes had what their day in the sun. It's a shame that now people with an ear for fashion have trotted off to other places (maybe "psych folk" or whatever has slipped into "cool" this week), because for me, Wolf Eyes have just released one of their strongest pieces of work to date.
Sparks - Exotic Creatures of the Deep
Turning pop music inside out and back again the way that it needs to be, Sparks carry on their resurgence of recent years with another collection of perfectly measured songs.
Animal Collective – Merriweather Post Pavilion
Couldn’t remember if this came out this year or last, because it came out in the first week of January. Carrying on from the evolvement they started with Strawberry Jam, AC reach new spine tingling heights of intoxicating joy and confusion. They make me feel good.
Antony and the Johnsons – The Crying Light
Seeing this stuff performed live was almost too much. Painful. Evoking. Beautiful. Full of ghosts and the better for it.
The Pains of Being Pure at Heart – The Pains of Being Pure at Heart
OK, so like you’ve read already I’ve done a top ten album list this year. However, if I had done that I think that this record would probably take the top spot. I think I’ve probably listened to it more than any other album released this year. It feels kinda perfect. An exciting start to what I hope is going to be a favourite band for a while to come. It’s sentimental, happy, melancholic in places, very jangly. It sounds like what fuzzy indie music is meant to sound like.
Sunn O))) – Monoliths and Dimensions
Like I think I said earlier in the year, this album takes the steps forward that Sunn O))) needed to take, and then some. A massive and important feeling album.
Pacific Blush – Skeletal Gardens
Again I’ve already gushed about how great I feel Matt Marcure’s Pacific Blush project is. See the interview I posted on this blog a couple of months back for more information. Get your hands on this and then get ready for the impending release of Fashion Chrysalis – PB’s forthcoming follow-up.
Morrissey – Years of Refusal
Morrissey always manages to hit the spot. I also had really amazing sex listening to this album.
Sonic Youth – The Eternal
So consistently great that I do think people sometimes forget.
Atlas Sound – Logos
Bradford Cox’s second release from his Atlas Sound guise is as dreamy, lucid, and gorgeously textured as you’d hope.
Therapy? – Crooked Timber
Therapy? were the first punk band I ever really started listening to when I was mega young. Because of that I’ve always followed their career. But the thing is – it isn’t that reductive. This isn’t just a loyalty thing. If they’d stopped making good music then I wouldn’t still be listening. They’re a band of music fans, and it really shows. Every album feels fresh and fired up. This one is loud, very sad and desperate in places (in the good way) and very, very enjoyable. No one comes up with strange riffs and tempo changes like Andy Cairns and Michael McKeegan – something that I think is criminally overlooked.
The Horrors – Primary Colours
I thought their first album was dull and kinda uninteresting. They just didn’t click with me. This album really took me by surprise. Uplifting, romantic and energizing. The Horrors have really created something very special with this album. You need to hear it. Definitely one of my top albums of the year.
The Mountain Goats – The Life of the World to Come
John Darnielle continues his enviable work rate and productivity with this new Mountain Goats album. Compared to the anthemic Heretic Pride, this latest LP feels very scaled down, stripped bare and isolated. The lyrics are always dark, but this time they feel painfully private also. Maybe the best songwriter in the world.
Jim O’Rourke – The Visitor
AT LAST!!!!!!!!!!!! Jim O’Rourke doesn’t disappoint. I can get so easily lost in this thing.
Fuck Buttons – Tarot Sport
Dancey, droney, noisy, melodic, hypnotic, goose bump inducing.
Lotus Plaza – The Floodlight Collective
A perfectly dreamy affair.
Former Ghosts – Fleurs
Freddy Ruppert who used to put music out under the name This Song is a Mess But So Am I, gets the always awesome Jamie Stewart from Xiu Xiu and Nika Roza (from Zola Jesus) to back him up with his heart on the sleeve synthpop tragedies.
Freddy Ruppert who used to put music out under the name This Song is a Mess But So Am I, gets the always awesome Jamie Stewart from Xiu Xiu and Nika Roza (from Zola Jesus) to back him up with his heart on the sleeve synthpop tragedies.
Saturday, 19 December 2009
Kurt Cobain
While she watched Kurt Cobain’s
Blue eyes glowing embedded inside
Youtube she smoothed two fingers
Inside her vagina and started to
Fantasize about this guy that her
Friend had recently introduced her
To that reminded her of Kurt Cobain
Because he dressed a little grungy
With old tatty jumpers and Converse
Trainers and seemed like he’d been
Teleported from some point in 1993.
In the video Kurt was standing with
Water in the background (maybe it
Was Portland –she was sure she’d
Read something about Portland being
Surrounded by water – oh shit, yeah,
So it’s actually in the name Port Land
Yeah – that makes sense). It made his
Bleached hair that little more blonde.
The guy she was picturing, inspired
By the archived alt rock footage had
More of a dark brown tint to his hair
Than Cobain but there was still a lot
Of similarities. She’d never seen him
Undressed but she imagined a mixture
Of scrawny but firm, not much hair,
But still kinda rough – holding herself
Over him, holding onto this sense
Of something – not romantic, but
Almost so, only a little more sleazy,
A little more precise. The next time
She’s sees him she’ll feel different.
Not too much – it would be worse
If she’d had a sexual dream about
The guy because when you’ve
Fucked someone in your dream then
That can completely transport the
Way that you see them without
Choice, although if you chose and
Fucked someone in your day dream
Then it’s more conscious, less of
An instinctual dizzying addition to
A relationship. She finished off ate
A plate of crisps with melted
Microwaved cheese on top and
Then closed her eyes and hoped
That maybe now her mind would
Decide where it wanted to go
Without her libido burning a path.
Blue eyes glowing embedded inside
Youtube she smoothed two fingers
Inside her vagina and started to
Fantasize about this guy that her
Friend had recently introduced her
To that reminded her of Kurt Cobain
Because he dressed a little grungy
With old tatty jumpers and Converse
Trainers and seemed like he’d been
Teleported from some point in 1993.
In the video Kurt was standing with
Water in the background (maybe it
Was Portland –she was sure she’d
Read something about Portland being
Surrounded by water – oh shit, yeah,
So it’s actually in the name Port Land
Yeah – that makes sense). It made his
Bleached hair that little more blonde.
The guy she was picturing, inspired
By the archived alt rock footage had
More of a dark brown tint to his hair
Than Cobain but there was still a lot
Of similarities. She’d never seen him
Undressed but she imagined a mixture
Of scrawny but firm, not much hair,
But still kinda rough – holding herself
Over him, holding onto this sense
Of something – not romantic, but
Almost so, only a little more sleazy,
A little more precise. The next time
She’s sees him she’ll feel different.
Not too much – it would be worse
If she’d had a sexual dream about
The guy because when you’ve
Fucked someone in your dream then
That can completely transport the
Way that you see them without
Choice, although if you chose and
Fucked someone in your day dream
Then it’s more conscious, less of
An instinctual dizzying addition to
A relationship. She finished off ate
A plate of crisps with melted
Microwaved cheese on top and
Then closed her eyes and hoped
That maybe now her mind would
Decide where it wanted to go
Without her libido burning a path.
Friday, 18 December 2009
Never asleep
Head pounding from the same
Three day old argument, no
More coffee because it’s getting
Too late to start worrying about
Not getting to sleep again.
Words locked into well worn paths
Trails cutting friction marks over
And over like motion sickness
Forcing along uncomfortable fears.
Loose idea about breaking something
Glass so that they might have to
Think about something else,
Don’t tell me you’re happy or
That you were and that’s why
You’re not on top of things now.
Jolts you like something you
Never thought of, when you’re
Shoved out of not quite being asleep.
Three day old argument, no
More coffee because it’s getting
Too late to start worrying about
Not getting to sleep again.
Words locked into well worn paths
Trails cutting friction marks over
And over like motion sickness
Forcing along uncomfortable fears.
Loose idea about breaking something
Glass so that they might have to
Think about something else,
Don’t tell me you’re happy or
That you were and that’s why
You’re not on top of things now.
Jolts you like something you
Never thought of, when you’re
Shoved out of not quite being asleep.
Thursday, 17 December 2009
Alignment
She’d say random strange things
Which I think is the stuff people
Would refer informally as babble,
Like asking us if we thought her
Health had begun to get a lot worse
Since her best friend died
The year before.
Perhaps it was a way of dropping
Hints and aligning herself, or
Projecting a certain alignment
At us: i.e. her and death.
She never really ever got close
To saying anything that she
Actually meant, like, or maybe
Not like the times when she’d
Give a few brief lines about
Running home from school in
Tears when she was a child
Because certain members of
Her class had made fun of her
Weight and set off these fires in
Her mind that she’d never ever
Get to put out even when she
Was fifty five and featured
In a weight watchers magazine
Getting her slimmer of the
Week award.
Nothing like letting us know
What was really going wrong.
Nothing like telling us that
She and we and she had a
Limited time left that she was
Determined to not let us know
About so that when it was done
With all we’d have was memories
Of bravery and those weird
Passive aggressive comments
About “well I guess you’d
Rather see your friends than
Spend another day
In the hospital ward” because
“It does look like a
Really nice day outside”.
I guess it wasn’t from then on.
Fuck it I still can’t work
This shit out.
I’m going to build anymore
Monuments, knowing better
About the stuff I’d guessed
Poorly about back then.
Nothings healed because
You never shined a light
On those bruises.
Which I think is the stuff people
Would refer informally as babble,
Like asking us if we thought her
Health had begun to get a lot worse
Since her best friend died
The year before.
Perhaps it was a way of dropping
Hints and aligning herself, or
Projecting a certain alignment
At us: i.e. her and death.
She never really ever got close
To saying anything that she
Actually meant, like, or maybe
Not like the times when she’d
Give a few brief lines about
Running home from school in
Tears when she was a child
Because certain members of
Her class had made fun of her
Weight and set off these fires in
Her mind that she’d never ever
Get to put out even when she
Was fifty five and featured
In a weight watchers magazine
Getting her slimmer of the
Week award.
Nothing like letting us know
What was really going wrong.
Nothing like telling us that
She and we and she had a
Limited time left that she was
Determined to not let us know
About so that when it was done
With all we’d have was memories
Of bravery and those weird
Passive aggressive comments
About “well I guess you’d
Rather see your friends than
Spend another day
In the hospital ward” because
“It does look like a
Really nice day outside”.
I guess it wasn’t from then on.
Fuck it I still can’t work
This shit out.
I’m going to build anymore
Monuments, knowing better
About the stuff I’d guessed
Poorly about back then.
Nothings healed because
You never shined a light
On those bruises.
Wednesday, 16 December 2009
Tuesday, 15 December 2009
Reconsidering a specific
An athletic torso and one broken headlight
Trembling reducing as the crash turns
More and more into the past.
I’m glad to see people reconsidering
The sort of things that I always felt were
Important but they never seemed to.
Pin pricks of light wobbling their brittle
Beams in vague directions, flaps of black
Non-light dissected with the jerky
Movement like a kid with an Etch A Sketch.
Trembling reducing as the crash turns
More and more into the past.
I’m glad to see people reconsidering
The sort of things that I always felt were
Important but they never seemed to.
Pin pricks of light wobbling their brittle
Beams in vague directions, flaps of black
Non-light dissected with the jerky
Movement like a kid with an Etch A Sketch.
Monday, 14 December 2009
Two sides of the same sad story
\\\\\
“I met someone today. Then I realised that he was the person that’s going to kill me.”
“What was he like?”
“I dunno. He was ok I think. He seemed lonely. I don’t really care about him.”
/////
“So I met him today.”
“Woah. What did you do? You mean you just met as like an … introduction? I don’t know but that doesn’t feel like the right word …”
“Yeah. Just so we both knew that the other one was for real.”
“What was he like? Did he seem scared?”
“Scared isn’t the right word. I get the feeling that there was definite bond between us. There was something intense. I could tell he felt a connection with me.”
\\\\\
“I met someone today. Then I realised that he was the person that’s going to kill me.”
“What was he like?”
“I dunno. He was ok I think. He seemed lonely. I don’t really care about him.”
/////
“So I met him today.”
“Woah. What did you do? You mean you just met as like an … introduction? I don’t know but that doesn’t feel like the right word …”
“Yeah. Just so we both knew that the other one was for real.”
“What was he like? Did he seem scared?”
“Scared isn’t the right word. I get the feeling that there was definite bond between us. There was something intense. I could tell he felt a connection with me.”
\\\\\
Sunday, 13 December 2009
Unfolding
bigblackmeat said:
welcome to the unoffical timewasters hall of shame ceremony and our first inductee is hairobsessed, who thinks its ok to set up a meet and 4 me 2 turn up and then say hes doing his hair, then tells me to wait in the cold and rain for over an hour and after that not answering his phone.so guys AVOID HAIROBSESSED AT ALL COSTS HE IS AN OFFICAL TIMEWASTER!!!!! AND A MEMBER OF THE TIMEWASTERS HALL OF SHAMEi want this to be the most discussed topic on this site's history and i want all of u to name and shame any guy on this site u have met who is a timewaster so we can name and shame them.i have had so many wasted meets it time to make a stand against these people.
---
hairobsessed said:
bigblackmeat came to my house told me he was sum1 else. then i sin him, guys why tell me your sum think eles, and then you look like a crack head. and then i told him no. and he put his foot in my door way,and try to come in. we had a little fight at my door. i told him no lads and he, the dirty skank tramp. was still trying to fuck me, anyway lads i have report him to the police and sqirt as us gay guys cant put up with volents. was so scared for my life. be carefull lads and his profile will not be on here much longer? i no he has too profiles. jus be carefull lads. thanks,
---
bigblackmeat said:
this is 100% not true, i do not know why he has said this but this is not true he is either making this up or it was someone else who did this. i would never do this. i am not that kind of person. how dare this person say these things about me its sick and discusting. i am telling you the truth i did not do this it is not my fault u did not meet with me you have no right making accusations against me which are not true i will not be treated like this you cant do this to innocent people.
---
welcome to the unoffical timewasters hall of shame ceremony and our first inductee is hairobsessed, who thinks its ok to set up a meet and 4 me 2 turn up and then say hes doing his hair, then tells me to wait in the cold and rain for over an hour and after that not answering his phone.so guys AVOID HAIROBSESSED AT ALL COSTS HE IS AN OFFICAL TIMEWASTER!!!!! AND A MEMBER OF THE TIMEWASTERS HALL OF SHAMEi want this to be the most discussed topic on this site's history and i want all of u to name and shame any guy on this site u have met who is a timewaster so we can name and shame them.i have had so many wasted meets it time to make a stand against these people.
---
hairobsessed said:
bigblackmeat came to my house told me he was sum1 else. then i sin him, guys why tell me your sum think eles, and then you look like a crack head. and then i told him no. and he put his foot in my door way,and try to come in. we had a little fight at my door. i told him no lads and he, the dirty skank tramp. was still trying to fuck me, anyway lads i have report him to the police and sqirt as us gay guys cant put up with volents. was so scared for my life. be carefull lads and his profile will not be on here much longer? i no he has too profiles. jus be carefull lads. thanks,
---
bigblackmeat said:
this is 100% not true, i do not know why he has said this but this is not true he is either making this up or it was someone else who did this. i would never do this. i am not that kind of person. how dare this person say these things about me its sick and discusting. i am telling you the truth i did not do this it is not my fault u did not meet with me you have no right making accusations against me which are not true i will not be treated like this you cant do this to innocent people.
---
Saturday, 12 December 2009
Friday, 11 December 2009
Thursday, 10 December 2009
1991
Pocketed growls lifted jerseys
First dreamt about a riot make
Sure you undermine each last
Thoughtless parallel adjustment
I’m sick of being surrounded
By broken people who aren’t
Doing a thing to fix themselves
Had a bunch now take the
Rest silently counting twitched
And this sounds something
Akin to memory
“oh yeah” is hard to even
Tell when you’re being sincere?
She doesn’t like voices
That sound like her own
No one else has made me feel
Worse than that
Wants that moment of
Privacy with everyone
Try and work out how
To fit like damp nails
Don’t turn me on
Just let me the fuck go
First dreamt about a riot make
Sure you undermine each last
Thoughtless parallel adjustment
I’m sick of being surrounded
By broken people who aren’t
Doing a thing to fix themselves
Had a bunch now take the
Rest silently counting twitched
And this sounds something
Akin to memory
“oh yeah” is hard to even
Tell when you’re being sincere?
She doesn’t like voices
That sound like her own
No one else has made me feel
Worse than that
Wants that moment of
Privacy with everyone
Try and work out how
To fit like damp nails
Don’t turn me on
Just let me the fuck go
Wednesday, 9 December 2009
Just some dumb thing that I wrote sometime for no other reason than to amuse myself
There was something about the air conditioning unit that made Jake think about the films of David Lynch. It was a whirring sound. He watched an interview on the DVD extras of Inland Empire where an interviewer asked David Lynch about a reoccurring motif in his films – a shot fuse of electricity, that buzzed, crackled. The journalised said that it appeared in a number of forms throughout Lynch’s recent body of work and suggested his theory for this. Lynch answered “No” and the journalist, the audience, and Lynch all smiled or laughed respectively.
Thinking about Lynch’s rebuttal of the journalist’s theory, Jake felt excited. Cool, if he doesn’t want it then I’ll have it. He wrote a small screenplay in which the buzzing drone of a central heating system played a pivotal – perhaps the pivotal role.
Every time someone had sex, every time there was a violent act, every time anything went wrong the audience where reminded of the central heating unit. Shit man, it’s like Orson Welles or something. Jake felt proud. He uploaded his new short to YouTube.
He got into an argument with someone in the comments section.
Thinking about Lynch’s rebuttal of the journalist’s theory, Jake felt excited. Cool, if he doesn’t want it then I’ll have it. He wrote a small screenplay in which the buzzing drone of a central heating system played a pivotal – perhaps the pivotal role.
Every time someone had sex, every time there was a violent act, every time anything went wrong the audience where reminded of the central heating unit. Shit man, it’s like Orson Welles or something. Jake felt proud. He uploaded his new short to YouTube.
He got into an argument with someone in the comments section.
Tuesday, 8 December 2009
Monday, 7 December 2009
No problem
“ Hello there sir, I wonder if you can spare just a couple of minutes to answer a few questions so we can see whether or not we might be able to improve your current mobile phone package?”
The only reason that he’s approached me is because I’ve walked past the shop where he works about seven times already, each time staring a little less subtly. It’s not the sort of thing I’d usually do but I’m high and speeding pretty badly so I’m not acting with the same manners that I’d normally try to. He’s probably thinking: easy pickings. Although if he were to know about the amount of drugs in my system, then maybe he’d be more wary of starting an interaction like this – not that I’m dangerous; I’m just very obsessive. Lonely, too.
“Yeah no problem.”
“Oh great, cool. So can I start off by asking you which mobile phone network you’re currently with?”
I tell him, although it takes me two attempts to get the name right, which he raises a friendly eyebrow at. He then asks me the details of the contract that exists between me and the mobile phone network. I shut off. I talk without thinking. I’m thinking about getting a hand up inside him. Fingers first, but moving onto my entire hand, with haste – no gentle working my way in or anything like. Again, it’s not the stuff that I’m generally inclined to think about – or at least not with the intensity that I am at the moment – but the combination of things that I’ve took is making me hyper aroused in this really dizzy spun in a circle too many times semi-awful way. If I could make it back home or to a friend’s place then I might be able to knock back a couple of sleeping pills and put an end to the day until I’m feeling a bit more together.
“Sorry?”
Shit, I started slurring my words. I repeat the same thing and hear myself like I’m listening to my voice on a cassette player – embarrassing and … affected? I want to force him against the wall so he can feel my dick stabbing into him.
“So do you like your job?” The way I said that sounded a little accusing, like the way you start a verbal attack on someone whose job has somehow irritated you or annoyed you – like someone ticketing your car or handing you a fine. I try and shift the tone of my voice back to whatever the fuck I was trying to make it sound like.
“I mean – do you enjoy this? You must get to talk to a lot of people.” I sound retarded. From the look on his face it looks like I’ve stepped too far outside the social outline that he’d been trying to keep to. He answers with a noticeable lack of … anything.
“Umm yeah. It’s ok. I don’t like having to work at the weekends.”
“Yeah, the weekends, man. How do you spend your weekends?” Thinking about scraping my teeth over the tip of his prick, pulling the foreskin back and forth roughly, stinging him enough so that it pricks his pain senses but still makes his cock get harder.
“I work at the weekends. Like I just said. That’s why I don’t like my job.” He’s realised that the person who he’s talking to is fucked up in some unidentified way. Actually, it’s pretty obvious I’m high – I’m sure he knows the signs. I can tell that he’s going to try and end this. “This”. Like “this” is actually anything.
“Umm, anyway. Thanks for answering those questions.” I’m surprised that he doesn’t just try and pounce on my disorientation and bully me into buying the most expensive mobile in the shop. I dunno. Maybe I’m just freaking him out too much.
“No problem. Listen – you probably noticed. Fuck. Ah fuck. Listen. You probably noticed or maybe not but probably because I think that’s why you started talking to me, but I dunno. I’ve been staring at you.” Where do I go from here? Explain the things I want to do him. Try and reason? Just say that I’m fucked up on drugs, really horny and he fits a sort of ideal when it comes to my personal sexual interests? Nah fuck it.
I walk off mid whatever it was and find a bench to sit down on. I call my friend. She doesn’t answer. It’s lucky because there’s no way that I could really explain why I’ve spent my day off in the way that I have. I think I fall asleep. I’m totally awake the whole time though. So there’s a mixture of people going past me and then flashes of violent, sexual images that my dick seems to be telegraphing up my body.
I’m woken up by the sound of a wasp and the smell of disinfectant I think from someone cleaning the concrete or something like that. Whatever it is, I get up and get the attention of a taxi which pulls over on my side of the road. I barter with the driver but I know how futile it is as I don’t even have half of what the fare would usually cost. I think he tells me to fuck off after I nod out holding the open door of his car.
I’m surprised when I hear my front door slam behind me. I don’t make it up the stairs. I get as far as my computer and crash down in the swivel chair that I got a friend to bring me when the office that he used to work in shut down.
Whatever it is that I was trying to forget seems to have forgotten me.
Sunday, 6 December 2009
Widower
Talks loudly into his mobile to a
Wife that’s been dead for about
Five years now
Standing next to racks of clothes
That are identical to each other
To him to his to everything
Turns in the direction of other
Saturday morning browsers,
And pretends to ask his wife
A question about sizes of t-shirts
Says that the medium looks
A little on the small size so
Maybe he should go for a large
Leaves pauses so other people
Think that he’s listening
To someone which would
Be a novelty as he can go days
Without talking to a soul
Unless he budges his way
Into an overheard conversation
Two people talking on the bus
The worst part is when he hangs
Up, there’s the inevitable “I love
You” and then a stuttering
“Bybbbbye, yeah bye, yeah bye”
Trying to sound cute, playful when
All he wants to do is to be able
To know exactly what’s happened
Where she went after she left him
And how he can get there too.
Wife that’s been dead for about
Five years now
Standing next to racks of clothes
That are identical to each other
To him to his to everything
Turns in the direction of other
Saturday morning browsers,
And pretends to ask his wife
A question about sizes of t-shirts
Says that the medium looks
A little on the small size so
Maybe he should go for a large
Leaves pauses so other people
Think that he’s listening
To someone which would
Be a novelty as he can go days
Without talking to a soul
Unless he budges his way
Into an overheard conversation
Two people talking on the bus
The worst part is when he hangs
Up, there’s the inevitable “I love
You” and then a stuttering
“Bybbbbye, yeah bye, yeah bye”
Trying to sound cute, playful when
All he wants to do is to be able
To know exactly what’s happened
Where she went after she left him
And how he can get there too.
Saturday, 5 December 2009
They'll call this monumental
An experiment for something that I was trying out, that I tinkered with and turned into a short story:
My friends have the best intentions. They’ll kinda hate me when they read this. Some of them anyway. I hope that passes. I guess it won’t matter too much to me if it doesn’t – not in a bad way; that’s just me being … realistic? They know what sorts of thing that I’d want to happen. They know the sorts of things that I think would be crass or not my style or whatever. Not that this is a big plan or anything. We’ve just talked about this stuff. I think they know – maybe we were all too stoned. I have to have faith in people now – that’s not meant to sound religious. People just have to believe in themselves I think, but like I say, for me that’s another thing that I guess will just disappear into the air or something. I’ve written a couple of lists. They’re in the inlay of a punk rock album that I pretended meant a lot more to me than it did, which made me feel sorta dumb only not as dumb as I would have if people didn’t believe that I understood or got it or felt the same religious experience that they used to say that they got when they heard the distortion and the shouting and thought about skateboards and fucking and politics and whatever else was meant to important – the nothingness, I think. I think I always felt that that nothingness was vague, but if I didn’t pretend that that nothingness meant something big; well … More air. Dust. Haha – yeah, let’s say dust. One of the lists is full of passwords: they can get into all my social networking sites – even the fake ones that I set up to spy on people that I was too scared to talk to, they can shut those down for me or put out a bulletin saying what had happened to me, or maybe just turn the pages into memorials that can float in cyberspace until the internet is just one big digital graveyard of people who died, got bored, or both. I wonder if it’s possible to haunt the internet. I’m hoping that by now someone will have got the password for my laptop and deleted all the pornography and pictures of my cock that I’ve sent out to people that I’ve met online. I need to stop my parents from ever seeing that stuff – it just wouldn’t be in their best interests of in the interests of the memory that I’m trying to leave traces of. All this is because I’m impatient: I don’t want to have to wait for things to get better, because people have been telling me about that for so long that I can’t believe that it’s true anymore. I’ve never met anyone that’s happy in the way that I’m supposed to believe it’s meant to be. I’ve never seen one couple that’s happy together – I mean like totally happy. I’m convinced that my parents are only together because it would be more bother to not be. Not of my friends treat the people that they’re with properly, and my own pathetic attempts at being with people always fucks up because I’m too jealous, paranoid and insecure to even admit half of the things that I’d like to let them know I feel for them to myself. It’s too late to change things and too early to warrant waiting around to sort stuff out. People would probably blame that sort of stuff on Youtube if I said it out loud; people like to simplify others so they can complicate themselves. I think I meant adults when I wrote that, but my friends like to feel complicated too. We’ve got this whole thing about being smart. I’m pretty sure that we’re smarter than most of the other fourteen year olds that we know, but there’s still this competition … we’re not trying to make each other look bad though, so I guess that puts us one up on our parents. My parents start nodding before I’ve even finished a sentence. My dad says “I know” or “yeah” when I try to tell him something, like he knew it already, or sometimes he tries to interrupt, but when I carry on talking he just waits till I’ve finished and completes what he had already decided to say. There’s a big difference between hearing things and listening to things, and he just doesn’t get it. My friends have weird ways of describing certain situations. I can’t really predict how they’ll take this. I don’t know. It depends how stoned they are. A couple of them, I know they’ll feel really bad, but it isn’t like I want them too, which is why I’d better write this next bit: this is so not your fault, I promise you that. And I wouldn’t say things unless I meant them – I probably have in the past, but not this time, because this is the first time that I’m trying to be one hundred percent honest (and just for the record – it’s fucking hard!!! Even just being honest with myself feels like I’m trying to catch water in a net). They’ll call this monumental. Maybe they won’t call it anything. I’m mainly hoping that if they hate me then it won’t last forever because that would be unfair on them, and doubly so because I wouldn’t even have to live with the guilt. I guess that’s why I’m going to leave certain secrets exactly how they are as well, because it wouldn’t be me who would have to sort the pieces out when things started to feel broken. Even stuff about fucking – I almost wanted to write a list of who had given the best head, or something dumb like that, until I realised what a dick it would make sound – no pun intended, if there was one in the first place … I forget. There probably wasn’t. I also wanted to make a list of the nicest and the most important things that people have ever said to me. In some ways I thought that that list would be a better idea than the blowjob list but it would still come down to the same thing, with both of the lists, certain people would end up wishing that they’d done more. I worked out that it’s for the best if I just leave memories just as they are right now. Memories are totally untrustworthy anyways, and me doing what I’m going to do as soon as I finish writing this might change everyone’s memory anyway – like the last time we got stoned on top of the old metal bridge in the woods – maybe that would stop feeling like boredom and whatever else it feels like now and turn into ... the last supper? I’m laughing because I’m thinking of what we’d all look like on a painting like that. It’d probably look really cool … we could always Photoshop it or something. I wonder if people can Photoshop death. Maybe that’s what has always happened. It’s just easier for us to retouch corpses if they’re online. I think I might be trying to say that every photograph is death. What would that make me and my friends? Morticians? I think we must know death pretty well. We’ve put so much of a slant on pictures of us that we’ve removed pretty much any life we had in the first place and replaced it with something else. I think I read that it’s called the parallax – but I lost interest pretty quick. But basically it’s all about there being a gap between what we want the photographs to be and what they actually are. Maybe it just means that we’re failures. I’m probably not even finishing this properly. But thinking about my friends makes it seem a lot more – I was going to say real and then I realised how stupid that sounds. If you don’t know what I mean by that then fuck you. You’ll never understand and I’ll never get to explain it to you because this is it. If you think that this is for you then it is and if you’re not convinced that it is but wish it was then pretend that it is because that’s cool too. Fuck it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all of this.
Friday, 4 December 2009
Thursday, 3 December 2009
Tim Dlugos
Photo borrowed from the fantastic http://poetryproject.org/ website.
More and more in recent months I've found myself returning to the writings of Tim Dlugos. I found out about Dlugos a couple of years back through his associations with Dennis Cooper and the New York scene of writers that seemed to be frothing with so much incredible work in the 1980s. The only book that I own of Dlugos's work is Powerless a collection edited by David Trinidad in 1996 that drew from what the editor saw as the four main parts of Dlugos's career.
The book begins with work taken from Entre Nous, which was published by Cooper's Little Caesar Press in 1982. Powerless ends with the painful and yet transcendent pieces the Dlugos created towards the end of his life when he was suffering with AIDS, which tragically claimed his life on this day in December 1990. These later works include the rightfully renowned G-9 poem, which stands as one of the greatest poems I can remember reading (see the bottom of this post for a link to read it).
I've read recently that a new complete collection of Dlugos's work will be released soon, thanks again to the work of editor David Trinidad. Just thought I'd spotlight Dlugos here and say how much I'm looking forward to the book. If you haven't checked out the poetry of Tim Dlugos then I strongly recommend that you do.
LINKS
Wednesday, 2 December 2009
Blood in the sink
There’s blood in the sink,
Smudges on the mirror
From somebody breathing;
Maybe the outline of lips,
Like someone has tried to
Kiss themselves or just
Try and look sexy, practicing
For someone else, trying
To understand just how
Someone else sees what
They claim to see.
Smudges on the mirror
From somebody breathing;
Maybe the outline of lips,
Like someone has tried to
Kiss themselves or just
Try and look sexy, practicing
For someone else, trying
To understand just how
Someone else sees what
They claim to see.
Tuesday, 1 December 2009
Snipped
Took it upon himself to
Stage the whole thing
Make it look like he was
This thing, this in control,
Out of control creation
Of his own making.
Tube of Colgate a tooth
Brush, a comb and a
Face cloth in a heap
Like a fake bedsheet
Ghost that just got its
Strings snipped.
There’s always going
To be a couple where
The light isn’t on your
Side or you can’t force
The same sort of look
That we usually like to
Get from those eyes.
But fuck it, I’ve never
Got to tell you who I
Really am and I hope
To hopes that you’ll
Never ask me.
Stage the whole thing
Make it look like he was
This thing, this in control,
Out of control creation
Of his own making.
Tube of Colgate a tooth
Brush, a comb and a
Face cloth in a heap
Like a fake bedsheet
Ghost that just got its
Strings snipped.
There’s always going
To be a couple where
The light isn’t on your
Side or you can’t force
The same sort of look
That we usually like to
Get from those eyes.
But fuck it, I’ve never
Got to tell you who I
Really am and I hope
To hopes that you’ll
Never ask me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
