Friday, March 24, 2006

A pie, no drugs.

Reprise from Ali for all the right reasons…

A little bit of bigness
Pierces through the wall
Front line trickles crack and grow
Speed and pressures build and flow
Bowing to the greater will to change
Infrastructures rearrange
God is too large to be contained
In man made vessels bound or tamed
Who is the man who does not sin?
Benevolence and grace will win
Are judges and judged not one and the same?
Forgiveness is a safer game
Barriers and lies will fall
Who is the greatest One of all?


Recollections from before the fall,
I saw a banner in the sky that said it all,
These are the ways the wise should go
Take care of the business if you want it to grow.


What a long week it seems to have been.
The cat ate half a rabbit and discarded the rest.
Put some type two on the drive, still got puddles.
Ate fish three days this week.
Cup final fever never really happened.
Two tomato juices and two oranges juices.
The Apprentice.
Garlic in the fridge?
5 hours of sleep.
A backlog of washing and ironing.
Buddha machine.
Move the PA, store the PA.
Restrung two guitars, so much better.
Syrup sponge pudding and custard.
O’Brien’s do lunches.
Psychometric testing for all.
Buddha machine played through my mini system.
Did no remixes.
Nintendogs win prizes.
Grandsons: one with blue eyes one with brown.
Sons: three with blue eyes.
Stretched pink Caddy in Dunfermline.
Finished my PDA at last.
Thomas the Tank & Bertie the Bus.
High Fidelity & Harry Potter.
Plants die in frost regularly.
I visited a car wash by Christ.
The sky was blue on numerous occasions.
A pie, no drugs, a fudge donut.
One week.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Marx & Parks

I was never in love with Nico, but I was in love with the idea.
I was never sure about anything, but now I am.
I was never in love with Nico, but she was in love with me.
In the end, it was all adopted like an orphan's eager dream.
Whatever I may think , it could not be as it seemed.

Check me out!

Born with a name like Marx

Born with a name like Marx
With no linkage to the Vaudeville stage or the lyrics of Van Dyke Parks
A watery light shining in the dark
Floating like some alphabetical candle over all our thoughts of progress.
Through the world of modern history,
In the mists of explained mystery,
The Devil’s detail in the heresy,
But born with a name like Marx.

Fallen Fifers.

Another cup final is over,
Another afternoon in the sun,
Another day of parking problems,
At least it didn’t end up eight one.

Another Hampden Park Hamburger
Another sea of white and green
Another piece of football murder
For one more time think what may have been.

Seven Nation Army get Into the Valley
Cheerleaders and Republica do the dance
Our heritage seems so squashed and fragile
Last subdued outpost of circumstance.

Sunday, March 12, 2006

MOTs and normal stuff

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MOTs and the cat and normal things

A week of preparation for tests and test passing, centred around the pain and tension of the MOT outcome. Two Mazdas in one week, both performed well and we can now salute the skill of their Japanese designers, amazing how these machines, so neglected (well in my case anyway) for 364 days a year still manage to pass this annual eleven-plus examination. The same cannot be said sadly for my elders son’s Fiat which died this week and will not be mourned (expect perhaps for the loss of it’s Irish number plate) as it is replaced by a new Astra that I am assured has all the right toys.

The cat’s MOT took place today at the Vets surgery just of Lothian Road. He performed well also, though the journey to the vets and the arrival of two barking dogs in the surgery did not exactly put him at ease. He was fine anyway; we departed the surgery with a bag of fur-ball biscuits, worm drops and a fully weighed, sounded and vaccinated Syrus – and a bag with dirty towel. The kids came along for the spectacle and enjoyed most of it, apart from the “nervous cat” smell that now hangs in the car. Magic tree anyone?

A short hop across to Sainsbury’s at Craigleith left me infuriated. The shop was packed, chaos seemed to reign in every aisle, and the tills were awash with queues puzzling over their pin numbers and to crown it all I couldn’t get the items I was looking for. Finally getting to the head of my till queue the unfortunate assistant had to tell me that his machine had “crashed”. I could take no more and in an unusual move for me abandoned my shopping and walked out the store. I wont be back, well not for a few weeks. God bless Tesco South Queensferry, it seemed like a haven of calm and organisation after that and I got all the stuff I was looking for. Saturday lunch, hunted and gathered.

The afternoon was spent watching “the Cat Returns” a Studio Ghibli DVD. The four us sat in the lounge watching this strange Alice in Wonderland type of tale about a young girl and the kingdom of cats. I think we all found it to be an odd mixture of puzzling, amusing, quirky but always great to look at. The story never really catches fire and the dialogue is wooden, but the animation quality and the draughtsmanship of Studio Ghibli within this and all of their productions always impress me. We are not fixated with cats by the way.

Tea. Pasta and mince and sauce and wine, quite a successful combination that helps Saturday evening roll along. We also discover, courtesy of the BBC that we are a far from stupid family, if you believe in the odd measures, tests and general mixed messages about fitness and mental health they send out. We’re planning an eco-igloo now anyway, probably without a full-time TV.

Then of course the slightly off-season snowfall, a snow ball fight, cars stuck in the snow and an unusually laid-back Sunday morning (football cancelled). Works for me.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Live sleepover

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Live sleepover

Tickover, Nico on the desertshore
Past, present some time before
Grey days in a fictional attic
Punished by god for my antics
Cable-tied wrists of good humour fanatics
These are the crimes that go unrecognised
They were black and white before my brown eyes
Trouble brews in a three sugared tea
Isn’t that just like me?
I hear the holidays are over; the kids next door are home,
Next year we’ll try harder not to bother,
Another live sleepover.

Christmas Passed

Seems odd to think, that bag over there held my children’s Christmas presents once.
Now it’s full of leads, cable ties, adaptors and bits of microphones.
Forlorn by the side of the stage in a gig tray.
While somebody strikes out on the white guitar made by the Gibson Company.
The bag is a part of his audience now and as the music carries on,
I think of a Christmas past, here in early March.
A cocktail of the happy and unhappy, of making the best of things, as usual.
Panic buying, all in that bag, gift ideas that burn brightly then come to nothing,
All wrapped in that bag.

Saturday, March 04, 2006



She wants to be like Nico
Dark and slim, mysterious and dim
In love with him.
Hanging around smoking long cigarettes,
Day dreaming in cafes, learning to forget.
Drifting across the cracks in the New York sidewalks
Staying in bed till three, talking the street talk.
She wants to be like Nico
But she lives in Bellshill
She’s just failed her standard grades
And her mother is ill.
She ate a deep fried pizza and bought an NME,
Some more black eyeliner and a cup of sweet tea.
She found the old LPs in her dad’s collection
When life makes no sense, you just make up connections.
She wants to be like Nico
And ride a white horse,
She’s dead – of course.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

House + four other things

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Light the fire without firelighters
Sticks and stones, pyramids, coal and wood
Burn all the evidence
Hide the story of the heist
Hide all the trails in vapour and in smoke
Years in which to live
Years to live out a dream, watching birds raise families
And never reaching such a quiet conclusion.

Altered states

In a constant state of rebellion with gods and men
But just sit here for long enough and the security light goes off.
Watch the stars and aeroplanes; track the changes in the sky
Just you and I
Sleep in a peaceful bed; sleep sound in a peaceful bed
And I’d eat you up with a spoon
As everything can now make sense between us
Fire and water runs between us
And no further explanations are necessary.

OOTB 201

Smoking cigars with Scott Renton and David O.
Our backs are sat, to the wall
And the performers have all gone home
And we reflect, on the marks we make upon this world
The performers have all gone home
But there is still a lot to do.


Listening to Beth Orton sing
On the your small stereo by Sony that I like
No bells or whistles just music in the dark, songs spreading
All across the house and out into the dark.
Sleeping animals hear the sounds
And puzzle over man’s mysterious habits if they puzzle at all.
I must visit the bottle bank.


Just think of how little your parents know about you
How you are perceived so inaccurately
With what you let them see
A frozen image of misunderstanding
Their relative testimony so fractured
And all far away from the truth about you,
I like to think I know the truth.