Friday, June 01, 2007

Oblique strategies

impossible songs

impossible songs


Spent the evening at OOTB, some decent performances and a few quite unique acts and approaches. How about 15minutes of open mike tabla drum playing (in the Hindu style) or a guitarist who also plays bells with his feet or a Canadian visitor who proudly told us what tuning he was using for every song and which string was which? Got home in a zombie state at about 00.30, drank a yogurt and promptly fell asleep, deeply. This was in itself quite fortunate as I missed the cat bringing at mouse into the room in the wee small hours, an unwelcome but well meant present for Ali once again.


The first day of June and rain and sun were the order of the day. As I was home all day I decided to mess around with guitars and the PA and worked a few things out and practised a set for the Ferry Fringe next weekend. The dining room is a complete mess as a result. One thing I’ve realised is that you can never have enough leads and you never ever have the correct combination of jacks and adaptors that you want (unless you are in Martin’s studio in Germany).

Below are a few odd thoughts recorded for whatever reason...

Writer's block material

Watching a garden full of rain and trying to connect, internally, conceptually with whatever is going on. Trying to force myself to make a plan for outcomes undecided. Carried on this ridiculous pillow of winds that finds me ever eager to move and not wallow and still hold on to a directionless compass. Spinning magnificent plates that care little for the efforts of their spinner as they overcome their own dizziness in an imaginary universe. I gawk at the broken pieces but don’t share anybody’s guilt. These plates were never mine and I did my best for then, for a short time. In my pocket is a tube of ceramic glue, guaranteed to fix broken china. I fumble with the eager tube, I hear that song from T’pau playing somewhere in the distance and I close my eyes. Some time elapses and I’m in back in my own skin, the broken plates are in the bin, carefully wrapped in newspaper and a chicken casserole is doing nicely in the oven, thank you.

The long drive home

I packed a mental suitcase with all the odds and ends and belongings that clearly don’t belong. Some are tired, some are folded and fresh, some dirty and mixed up; all retain a degree of strained usefulness however. I shall open it up and inspect and layout the contents carefully during the long drive home. Then I realise that if I’m driving I shall be unable to open the case, doing two separate things at one time is not my forte, I don’t do multi tasking. Only one answer, heave the mental suitcase out of the car window whilst doing 80 in the fast lane (I could do 80 in the slow lane). Only drivers on my wave length will notice the debris and what’s another lost suitcase. I can claim it on travel insurance.


I drew a map of my mind. A few oblique strategies entered into me and sat quietly in no particular order at the back. I wished a list of “isms” upon myself, all the isms in the world, all the black, white and shining bright isms cascading upon me. I drew a series of lines between each one to see the connections and reveal the patterns. “Fairytale Management”, somebody said. “Or something quite like it”. Of course I understood but grinning only slightly and thinly, (to hide my lost crown) I withdrew and allowed the lines to travel on by themselves. When I woke up they had all gone, but a fine layer of golden dust remained upon the table top.

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