Grey skies. Beating heart


The sea was angry that weekend, eager to thrust up and meet the rain even as it fell, threatening to swallow up the town, peeling paint, rusted signs, and faded children’s characters and all. The scent of salt and someone else’s  thirty-year-old childhood holiday memories mingled with this desolate backdrop, fraying the edges of expectation and hope. Something narcotic and bitter spewed from the winds, tempting us into belief that this is, infact, not the edge of the world, that reason had not abandoned us completely after all, even after the covetous seagulls seemingly had the good sense to move on. The cruel air whipped us senseless so that we retreated into battered denial, and hoped that there was something glittering here still, that deserved more attention than the congealed food from someone else’s long-gone meal.

In the shelter of the venue lingered the scent of years of ground-in hotdogs and vomited pick-and-mix, melded in with stale beer and that unmistakable fragrance that only ever originates in a crowd of sweating humans. The lights too garish to leave even a corner in questionable mystery. Flashing and squealing arcade machines begged for our attention, drawing us away from their unwanted, untended and dysfunctional siblings. Artless, vacant images hung in a grotesque attempt at glamour, fall too short even for another century.

And then there was the music.

Aural art washed over us all and the collective mood shifted. The brush of ambience tinting over the tatty paint, granting a spell promising to make us forget. The voices of the instruments, human and otherwise, telling intricate stories, one by one, of their lives. The stages shifted from delicacy to aggression, fury to candour, and all the while, taking us further and further into the abyss that we were brought here to experience. Three days of pulsing lights, throbbing with each beat, tapping out a code, a key to survival. The wild and restrained coalesced and in that moment, we were all alive. Spiralling relentless and earth-shaking bass lines that left us feeling like the world around us had liquified and drowned itself, and even in the afterglow we hear the lapping of the current overhead where the gales had every right to be.

Get out of my way, you fucking moron!

That’s what a cyclist yelled out this evening

“get out of my way, you fucking moron!”

I can only assume that someone took a dump in his desk drawer at work today or something. I’m not sure if this comment was intended for me, or the bikes coming the other way, or the stars, or the headlights but either way it seemed a bit unnecessary. I reckon he could do with listening to a bit more Jewel. I’m having a Jewel kind of week so far…despite the undeniable religious over, mid and undertones of many of her songs, the lyrics that don’t involve god, often provoke a sense of serenity and quiet introspection. Hands for example opens with the  following:

“If I could tell the world just one thing
It would be that we’re all OK
And not to worry ’cause worry is wasteful
And useless in times like these”

I find the sentiment both charmingly simple and culturally sagacious. It makes me think. We spend so much time and effort worrying and stressing, fretting and waiting for the sky to fall that we miss out on the good stuff. jewel declares that she won’t be idle with despair, and sometimes I need to be reminded just how wasteful it IS to just sit around being depressed and letting the whole damned world beat you up.

I’ll bet mister pottymouth on a bicycle has spent way too much time worrying, possibly about the lingering smell of the aforementioned hypothetical turd, and forgotten that sometimes it’s OK to give way to someone else, and sometimes you just have to sit back and enjoy the ride.

Jewel is right about a good few things, and the importance of kindness is right up there. We spend our depressed, egotistical little lives scratching at intruders and causing each other pain, when a little pinch of kindness would go a long way.

I’ve also justfinished reading the invisible man and frankly am disappointed…I think the reader is supposed to feel some empathy towards the invisible man, but he’s such an intolerable prick that frankly, I was releived when he died and I didn’t have to read about him again. I’ll try the time
Machine and work out if H.G. Wells just isn’t for me….

PS no I am not on any new exciting drugs, unless you count salbutamol as exciting…its hardly recreational.

Winter already?

Something amazing happened. A CD arrived for SO (in itself utterly unremarkable and de rigueur), but for once it was something that I actually liked! It was a band called “comes with the fall”. Check them out.

Today’s cycle ride had quite a few blank moments. I did think about all those people I should be contacting, who I WANT to contact, but something always gets in the way. I even thought about writing here what I want to say to them, but that is probably the most pathetic and pointless idea I have ever had. I had a stare-down with a pedestrian who couldn’t decide if they were going to walk on the cycle track or not…I went to go around her, but then she changed lanes, so I broke and went around the other way, only to have the same thing done again. She stared at me like I’d just thrown dog turd in her face…clearly my fault for not having my psychic cycling sensors on high enough. Silly moo….lucky she didn’t get an earful of FFS!

We lost 10 degrees c in 24 hours and my bum didn’t like fact it went on a feeling strike, so affronted was it that I hopped on my bike without thermal longjohns on.

“So this is how it feels to be insane
The world looks like a movie always playing”

Scraps of subconscious meanderings


I’m going to try to remember and document some of the discussions I have with myself. Things that I ruminate on for some 30 mins during my cycle to work, that just evaporate into the ether when a alight.
I reckon there are some eureka moments on those journeys but just too forgetful to realise. Let’s see how that goes…

An eventful dream
Last night I dreampt about guineapigs that ate baby rabbits. It was terrible, there was blood everywhere and the little guineas didn’t understand why I didn’t want to give them a cuddle.  I had to stay in the house with them and this creepy socially awkward middle aged man who wouldn’t leave me alone to sleep. I managed to get out of that place and moved to a house in Birmingham….now…I’m not sure whose house this one was but it comes up in my dreams a fair bit, only this time it had no toilet (brain realised what fingers wrote on blog and played a trick. I recognised a guy who lived there from years ago but I don’t know who he is. The house is on a hill, on the right hand side going up. It has a wooden front porch with yellowed white paint. As you enter the house there are coat racks to the left, followed by a living room…on the right are the stairs and straight on is the kitchen. I checked the post for an address but my brain got in the way and it said sesame street. But of course. At least I didn’t see big bird.

One day I’ll figure it out.

I’m not sure why I love to quote lyrics from songs. Presumably I want to share a feeling of have about some music or those words but you’d be surprised how many people just brush it off as crazy or derivative behaviour (depending on their outlook). I’m not egotistical enough to quote my own poetry, nor do I want to share those feelings, but if you quote a song. I think people immediately peg you as largely artless. It’s rare for someone to tell me that after they read a quote I wrote, say on Facebook, that they actually listened to the song to which I alluded. People don’t have time to join the dots for themselves these days. Regardless I think I like the idea of ending my posts with a lyric.

“I don’t look too good for someone who’s been telling the truth”

Could I be Walking Higher

Have you heard the song ‘Walking Higher’ by Heather Nova?

it’s so beautiful. seriously.

From the delicate finger-picking intro to the lush harmonies and breathy backing and strikingly clear lead vocals with the relentless drive of the rhythm – like a heartbeat through the whole song. I was going to just post my lyrical highlights but really, every word is pretty darned perfect – and as a  poem and a song it just leaves this shimmering residue of hope but longing. The magic of transferring emotion through time and space  – what an incredible skill to perfect. I just love the image of old buried bones feeding the new trees, so true, so inevitable, so natural and peaceful – the separation of the bodily chemical composition from the being that is the ‘self’. Just – breathtaking.

“I carry you with me,
A ghost inside
And in these shattered arms
You’re still alive.
I carry you with me,
A holy shrine
And dogs and angels follow
Right behind.

And could I be walking higher,
Could I be right beside her ?

The bones they buried
Will feed the trees
But every word you ever spoke
Is still in me.

And could I be walking higher,
Could I be right beside her ?

And I will feel for you in the music.
And I will send that river home.
And I will cry for you sometimes
When the night is down.
And I raise my head up to the mountains,
Talk to the birds and I fly
’cause the spirit lives on,
When the body dies

And could I be walking higher,
Could I be right beside her?
Could I be walking higher
Could I be right beside her?”


Another song that makes my tears well up!

I had a dream some weeks ago that I met Heather – she invited me to her house and she and her Husband made us sandwiches and chatted away with us – it was so surreal but later found that none of the photos I took came out 😦 shame it was only a dream – bit it was a good one 🙂


i am totally obsessed with this song at the moment!/s/Gladiolas/2X9hoP?src=5

I am willing to forgive the improper plural of gladiolus too. Of course it should be gladioli…

On the way to California
See my sister Carolina
Looking out on South Dakota
At a field of gladiolas
Gonna sell it in the summer
leave behind the floods and winters
Letting go of what they suffered
Let it fall away like rain across the plains

From a payphone on a corner
Making plans for our departure
I could wish we’d rush right over
Looking back over my shoulder
Cold December weather
Not keeping us together
It’s New Years Eve forever
We’re flying down the turnpike in the night

Looking out to the horizon
Anyone could see the swelling of your heart
All the lights that shine before you
Looks so helpless, and so far to see

Someone’s always running faster
Towards the anchor that you need
You forget again and ask her
Why the light, it had to leave
An echo in a footstep, a whisper from a portrait
Shows us all the stars you see