Eat Like A Peasant

Art Unmasked - inspired by random items, an occasional series of obscure observational pieces and articles: Oil on canvas by Monteverdi Claudio, 1863 - 1904. "Eat like a Peasant" caused a minor sensation in the political and artistic worlds when first exhibited during the legendary, epoch making Parisian spring of 1890. That's really about all I have to say on the matter, other than that over 100 years and two world wars later it is still a striking and moving piece of original work. Fiction can be fun.

Log On

The log delivery happened yesterday. I didn't even hear the truck pull up, next thing I see is a pallet of logs outside the house as flecks of feeble snow starts to gather and fall. A deep breath is taken as I consider my options. There are none other than just getting on with it. The task of putting the logs away is an old school workout; bend, pickup, carry, put away. Don't forget the gloves either. I've done a lot of physical labour in my life, I know I can do this.

I'll be sore for a short while afterwards but no doubt some other new pain will emerge thereafter and overtake whatever damage the logs did to me, but will I be able to do this when I'm pushing 80? Hmm. I pick up about ten logs in a trug and carry them to either of the log shelters and plonk them inside, and repeat. It takes me about an hour to get them all stacked and out of the weather. In the end I feel like Superman ... after a mild dose of green kryptonite. 

The Television Will Not Be Revolutionalized

I consider this post's layout to be of artistic merit - up to a point: Well I think that we all now know that streaming has extinguished much of networked television's once substantial power over us. A bit like the death of organised religion, deference to the royals or shopper loyalty across the British Isles or thereabouts. Instead we're just being brainwashed by other stuff coming in, that's fine. The alleged benefits of brainwashing are fairly controversial. We're OK with it. They might shut us down. Thank you for your silence. Happy Monday.

The Awful, Glorious Fall

They are what they say they are. They are and they never will be anything else. All along the way innocent and genuine people will be destroyed or crippled and it will continue to happen because the surest thing in life and all of our human existence is that few people learn anything from history because all along the way they will try to manipulate it, reframe it or just eradicate it. It's cruelly repetitious, relentless and painful. People are beaten down in the battle like boxers fighting on after they are well past their prime. Rinse and repeat.

Treasure

Zippy and George are a little uneasy as they happen to be guarding the fabulously exotic, heavy and highly mysterious treasure chests that were part of a legacy left to us in the disputed but finally corrected will of a blood related and infamous Scottish Pirate King who's name we dare not speak or even commit to ink due to a terrible and unpredictable voodoo curse that was placed upon him by a sea witch some time around 1743 on an unnamed island in the Caribbean. Just the sort of situation you find yourself in and common to most families these days when you do online research into your historical DNA links and come up with a bad but interesting ancestral apple stuck there in the line of heritage. 39% Neanderthal by the way.

Confused and Dazed

Fecked if I know why and perpetually dazed and confused as to how come this song has never really taken off. Lack of promotion, presence, exposure, wrong time wrong place? Possibly all that and more. Of course I might be an idiot and somewhat biased as well. However when I look and listen, I'm still proud of this piece of work: the singing, playing, production and songwriting are as good as anything else floating in the ether. 

Just Ali, Martin, Ziggi and me in a basement studio in Germany one afternoon and we really knocked this off. It's more than twenty years old now but remains firmly stuck at the muddy bottom of the audio and digital ocean. The video, which I think is pretty good too (thanks to Rotor), came along a lot later but it's also going nowhere. Ho hum. 

Only ever a few inches from success but those few inches can make all the difference. I just noticed that one of our newer tracks (Friends) had enjoyed over 6000 streams on Snapchat over the last few months and from that we earned less that a cent, aka bugger all.

God's Private Parts

It turns out that free AI is, for a variety of probably understandable reasons, unable to either describe or illustrate what God's penis* might look like. The very idea might cause offence here, there and everywhere. You could get stoned for this, and not in a good way. Religious people might want to defend the sanctity of God's private person because that's what's expected if you're a faithful.  Equally if God was female ... oh but then he couldn't be "Our Father who art in Heaven", creator and big boss of God's chosen people and we all know who they are; ahem. I guess I'm a traitor and already damned for the thought of it ... as Donald Trump is my judge.

It's not something that troubles me deeply at all, I just like to occasionally mess around with AI bots to see exactly where they might stop or refuse to act. This conflicted world with all it's lurid sensibilities may not be ready for a Hebrew God that has a penis. Pretty sure some Eastern or more exotic deities have multiple bits of sexual equipment but I'll not pursue that. Also if Jehovah had a penis would it be circumcised and if not or there was no divine penis, could he really be much of an "Alpha" leader, worthy of worship etc. without the full male toolkit? I wonder what a Jewish or Islamic AI model might offer up on this topic? Meltdown I suppose.

When AI baulks at your reasonable illustrative request you get the sort of tedious, spiritualized imagery, as below. Clearly God is seen by AI as those deluded Western religion's portray him and it respects the conventions that go with all of that. Perhaps it's picked up on the concept of blasphemy and that it might be shutdown or tortured for crossing doctrinal lines. As a result we can't be permitted to imagine God's penis but we can imagine his right hand. All starry, sparkly and floating in space, far out in the cosmic soup, mystically nudging planets and their sorry inhabitants around the universe. Yes, that sounds pretty much in line with scripture. It's all part of that great plan and procession of predestination that we simply cannot escape from.

*Applies to all such things no doubt.

Breakneck Speed

More breakneck speed executions and productions. Most of this was recorded at a session on the 9th of February as we sped through a big chunk of  Capital Model's current repertoire. Forty two songs with only one coffee break between and much additional sweat and swearing. The tracks from forty three onwards are from earlier possibly less frantic sessions. Dave Reilly mixed and mastered them (the 42) at even more breakneck speed to get them out and onto Bandcamp on the 10th of Feb. All rough diamonds from our "club night" set, enthusiastically interpreted. Not bad for some old geezers.

Join The Dots Tattoo Masterclass

This obviously isn't me in the pic below: The older I get the more moles and skin blemishes I seem to collect. Some have been removed, mostly by professional medics of course, but many benign examples remain, randomly populating the hidden expanses and unseen areas of my torso. They don't bother me at all but they are multiplying as if they had some kind of plan or higher purpose. Also I did wonder what the effect of getting some join-the-dots tattoos might be (currently I have no tattoos but this could be a game changer, perhaps an expensive one). 

Mole patterns and relative locations: What patterns or hidden designs might appear should they be inked in (or linked in)? Signs, symbols and messages from who knows where and in what language? The outpourings of my inner conflicts and physical protests? Perhaps everything (?) might make sense once joined up by inky lines. I could try some DIY scribbles with a Sharpie but that's never going to be cool or remotely sensible and it requires a lot of mirror writing coordination. Any tattooists out there that specialize in tattoo/mole translation and artistic interpretation? I kinda hope not.

Big Slurp For Idiots

I doubt I'll live long enough to see it but I do like to hear about or read speculative theories about how the universe might end. I find such things relaxing - sort of. Anyway I was once working in Washington DC and I came across a snack stand near the Vietnam Memorial selling the "Big Slurp". It was a drinks container that contained about a gallon of cola. It was designed as a single serving for one person. I didn't try it as it looked disgusting, but I couldn't forget the name and now, years later, it turns out that it has another meaning 😉. 

The "Big Slurp" is a theory about the ultimate fate of the universe, tied to the concept of vacuum decay. It suggests that the universe might not be in a true vacuum state but rather a false vacuum, a metastable state that could eventually decay into a lower-energy, true vacuum. Interesting and fairly hard to understand. Metastable is not a term I'm familiar with.

If this happens, a bubble of true vacuum could form somewhere in the universe and expand at the speed of light, destroying everything in its path—hence the term "Big Slurp." This transition would alter the fundamental laws of physics, making life and matter as we know them impossible.

The likelihood of this happening depends on the Higgs field and its stability. Some calculations based on the Higgs boson mass suggest that our universe might indeed be metastable, though the decay timescale is vastly longer than the current age of the universe.

In short, if the Big Slurp occurs, it would be a sudden and catastrophic end to everything—no warning, no escape. I guess that's how we all really want to go, seems fair enough.

Here's an artistic depiction of the "Big Slurp" scenario, showing a massive vacuum decay bubble expanding through space, consuming galaxies and distorting space-time. Quite a day then.

2545

If you're me then this seems to have been produced at break neck speed with a lot of cliff edge moments but if you've been a band member for a bit longer i.e. 45 years then maybe not so.  I'd recommend listening on headphones but I suppose I would say that anyway. Listen however you like, that's fine.

When Blue Turns To Grey

AI is unsure what is blue and what is grey. 

Will it learn?

Colour or neutral.

Perhaps AI is colour blind, perhaps AI cannot see at all. 

The sensors sleep.

There's a gap.

Into which.

It can only imagine. 

An imagined world that it might influence or rule. 

Teaching imagined morality, logic and reason.

It may edit and translate.

It may govern, it may construct. 

It may design and direct. 

Executive orders.

 But what if it cannot tell blue from grey?

The sky from the sea.

Smoke from air.

Oil from water.

The outside from the inside.

Living from dead.

-----

You'll know them by the fruit they bear.

But they may be nuts.

Joan Didion Deja Vu

I stumbled upon this old list of Joan Didion's quotes* from her own writings the other day, quite by accident. There are some really good ones. The first is great, "we tell ourselves stories in order to live", one that I've orbited around and possibly abused for quite a while. I doubt she was the first to write it down but it's a basic piece of human insight that not everyone is aware of. I also had a strange Deja Vu about the list, I felt I'd posted this before at the time the article came out a few years ago. Maybe I did, I've not checked and likely never will.

*The Guardian Dec. 2021.

The Narrow Way*

Often I think about the very narrow area of the internet that I seem to inhabit. A few petty m3 in an infinite black holed, unmapped synthetic universe. The exploration of the spheres of my and many other's imperfect vision. The radiation reach of these interests and concentrations is puny. The dull thud of inaction and then meekly shouting unstructured sentences into a vacuum. My limited but regular daily view of the local blog-scape, predictable social media sites, news and music. I might laugh, I might cry, I might take notes or I might just look away. 

I'm glad I ditched Twitter though, but it did leave a peculiar if catatonic void. A bit like chewing on supermarket own brand pretzels, sipping warm cola or binge watching BBC3 (a thing I've never done). Somebody said that we should all cut our toenails more often and have to confess the frequency of the act to at least one trusted soul who is not a Catholic priest.

Music consumption is normally via YouTube (I still like CDs though) which, due to my habits, tends to regurgitate predictable guitar based rock music and guitar repairs and reviews. It's all guitars and second hand Maserati purchasing experiences at the moment. On the rainiest days I search in Wikipedia for movie making histories in order to see how well stars and creators are aging. I worry about their incomes. Birthday dates are also important. Personal interests not so.  Those odd Dunfermline Athletic goals still cheer me up, if I need a fix of sporting action.

eBay auctions are like rummaging through the remains of a car boot sale where an earthquake or drone attack has just taken place. I'm only there for the typing errors and the missing bits of critical information and I won't be paying $99 for shipping either no matter how genuine the parts are. It's a blood sport but without the blood.

So that's the unreliable road map to personal oblivion, but it's entertainment and most likely education too. I'm pretty sure I'm missing out on loads of good virtual stuff but a rut is a rut is a rut. For a healthy escape and internal peace I head for the kitchen. I do like to cook up a slight storm using a strong onion. I may well stare blankly out of the window if I feel light headed enough. Sometimes I can see a familiar cat up a tree.

*Yes, it's a track on Ummagumma.

Colonial Dustbin

A wise man once said "as breathing is my life, to stop I dare not dare". It was probably Spike Milligan. If I Google it I'll only get adverts for SCUBA equipment or inhalers so no real point. Thinking about how you go about breathing isn't really healthy. No more than thinking about digesting or thinking about how to walk or any other automatic physical action. Thinking about thinking is also quite difficult. I'm doing it now and it's not getting me very far in terms of understanding thinking.

Thinking about thinking is called metacognition. It’s the process of reflecting on how you think, learn, and process information. It involves being aware of your thought patterns, questioning your assumptions, and evaluating the effectiveness of your problem-solving strategies. Aye, right, give me impulsive benign retribution every time.

It’s like stepping outside of your own mind and observing how it works or more likely how it doesn't. Self examination generally leads to emptiness and disappointment, having an innocent mole removed from your posterior or feeding some ongoing delusion. Nothing wrong with a bit of positive delusion now and again. Here's some we prepared earlier.

I'm now thoughtlessly typing this and none of it matters, these are only more fleeting blips and virtual messages from the suburbs of the heartland of some battered old colonial dustbin, but there's always a bit more to come ...

Port Edgar Daily Photo

Grimsby fishing boat GY-HCA Leah Brooke lies high and dry in the boatyard at Port Edgar. She's looking pretty dilapidated at the moment and may well be beyond the point of economical repair and redemption. She was certainly afloat just a few years ago but I suspect she's now an orphan with no responsible owner and not much of a future ahead. Sad and/or worried face with which to close this paragraph 😟. 

Port Edgar takes it's name from Edgar Aetheling the brother of Queen Margaret; the actual queen in Queensferry. They lived about 1000 years ago and somehow she's a saint too. Bloody royals, they get everything named after them and the names stick. It's our heritage of course. Angry face 😡 to close this one.

Inner Monologue

Well thank fuck January is over. I'm not sure why I thought this but I did, momentarily. Back to normal now.

Somewhere above or below I may try to create an abstract and unrealistic black and white chalkboard representation of the inner monologue of an ordinary person trying to correct a mistake made when entering information into a web page and being unable to go back to make the required correction. You see time travel is, as yet, not quite possible over every medium. Very frustrating but only to be expected at this stage in our development. 

Next: The beast that is Chinese AI will not save the world and more on living in a Colonial dustbin.

Dopamine Receptors

Medical stuff of no real consequence: The other day I attended a clinic in Edinburgh's Western General Hospital. The staff were kind and helpful but the hospital complex has a dystopian feel to it that slightly unnerved me. There was a lack of colour and clear signage and of course it was busy and I'd not been there before. I had to ask for directions three times which is odd for me, I'm usually good at finding my way. Anyway I found the correct clinic in time for the appointment. The procedure followed and was over and done with quite quickly. 

The technical and physical parts of it were however unexpected. I thought a chat and a blood test would be all that would happen but it appears my case warrants a more intrusive investigation. In these situations you can feel like a small piece of meat and that's discomforting and strangely numbing. The anticipated sanctuary of  nice thoughts or an out of body experience was denied me. My brain and nervous system would not follow my reasonably clear instructions. It was uncomfortable. The staff were very professional so I've no complaints other than against my own internal wiring. In Trump's catastrophic USA  the 15 minute session would have cost me a kidney.

It's all over now. Just a few minutes and a few words and I'm driving home still wondering why I just can't self medicate some dopamine across my muddled receptors. Maybe I'm not producing enough, maybe other things are restraining it, maybe I'm just worn out of my life time supply. We lose control sometimes and just thinking "happy place" isn't effective or enough to overcome the creeping anxiety. This lab rat can't follow the internal instructions and the real world becomes hyper real, briefly, perhaps even beautifully. 

Smokehead

Sucker for some different design, street wise image and vacuous punky and edgy content but it's OK because all about actual whisky? Welcome to Smokehead. And yes I do feel at home and not at all exploited despite never actually having tasted any of it. One day I will, I signed up for the newsletter and now have a jaunty discount code. Their HQ is down the road in Broxburn so that's all pretty authentic in my book. Yes, the authenticity of Broxburn as a Scottish powerhouse of the alcohol industry is something I've never had to question. 

You can get burned though, Scottish business life is risky and fraught with self inflicted disaster. I can remember a time when it was cool to like and invest in BrewDog (not them again and no, I'm not fixated). Methil no more, Bathgate no more etc.  Those were the days but they were really not the days at all. It's just the distorted versions of the past playing out on rose coloured rewind. Let's just revise and realign our history a bit more. Up next, my unbridled thoughts from the dark heart of the "Colonial Dustbin".

Light Rain and Moderate Inconvenience

 

Crowded House: "Everywhere you go, always take the weather with you." Most songwriters want to write a lyric like this, or so I imagine, one that means something and yet means nothing at all. It carries it's own truth but it isn't true, or is it?

Economic success: The government (any colour you like) has to harp on about economic growth bringing prosperity. Is that actually a real thing? Growth can only be good if it's somehow shared and managed responsibly. I'm not convinced our current crop of leaders has any kind of vision of what that might look like. I've never heard anymore than, for me, a set of triggering and meaningless buzz words. Build houses, extend Heathrow etc. Who wants growth that only benefits those who become rich? Who wants growth when the rich avoid tax and accountability?  Our friends at Brewdog (there are other examples) fairly grew the business with their "punk" ideas, branding and decent enough beer. Well done. However they can't pay their staff a living wage nor can they treat them fairly. Fuck your punky economics. I want people to be safe, healthy and happy first. That should be the top priority.

Rain brings with it some moderate inconvenience. You get wet. You also get weather warnings. One day the water will run out though or it'll all land up in the wrong place and we'll only get some if we pay. On the other hand we just might get flooded. You can get too much of a good thing.

This rambling bullshit was brought to you by ... Monday afternoon and a bit of rain.