Thirty Three And A Third

 

You know that feeling you get when you realize that everyone else knows about something that you don't and you've suddenly to decide should you investigate or explore that thing or just leave it there and stay happy and ignorant. Until recently I had not heard of the 33 & 1/3 series of album review books; they're mostly about rock/pop albums (in a short book form). A friend of mine is considering writing one, well submitting a draft to add to the list, so I'm now doing my own slightly sluggish exploring. 

I bought the one above from Bloomsbury, seemed a good omen, it's not some tiny book either, more of a really long essay I suppose, maybe 30k words. Led Zep was a fair bet as a start and a taster or so I thought. I'm a jaded and faded fan, familiar with their myth, magic, music and downfall but I mostly wanted to see what was/is different about this brand of book. 

Looking at the long title list (200+) it's a mix of the odd and the predictable. They'd be collectible even addictive for some folks and a decent gift idea should you ever be stuck. This one is well enough written, a bit like a Rolling Stone or Cream article on mild steroids; a world weary mix of background chatter, confusing detail, quotes and interviews and the author's experiences and most importantly, ta da! The author's personal opinions. I should add that I did fall ever so slightly asleep a few times during my sporadic reading spells. An age related thing.

You don't have to like a band or artist to take one of these on (but it probably helps with the research), you just write what you feel, drink Scotch whisky all night long and die behind the wheel etc. You know the tune.

Glass, Iron And Bubbles

Out of kilter photography: The wrought iron poets with their peculiar, angular attempts at space, form and wordsmithery are long gone. "Tone deaf!" said the surly modernists from their concrete plinths. Nobody was listening anyway.

Tourists stand there, confused, as they might in any city. Too many thoughts to think. The bones and girders may remain but none of how it was put together is easily fathomable. Particularly so when your head is full of bubbles on top. No abuse of alcohol was involved on the day either. Not even a single emergency ice cream either, just physics.

Somnambulant Masses

Comic Strip Idea: In the somber twilight of a society dulled by its own excesses, where the populace is lulled into complacency by the ceaseless hum of superficial pleasures, a clandestine cabal emerges from the shadows. These architects of upheaval, disillusioned by the pervasive decay of civic virtue, fix their gaze upon the figure of Donald Trump - a symbol, in their eyes, of the era's moral and intellectual erosion. With a calculated detachment befitting their dispassionate milieu, they orchestrate a scheme to extinguish this emblem of decadence, believing that through his removal, they might jolt the somnambulant masses from their narcotized stupor and rekindle the flickering flame of genuine human spirit. Whether they succeed of fail is of no importance and won't matter because nothing significant will change whatever the outcome. Twelve four colour inked panels max. Dialogue to suit.

Ten Bucks An Hour

100% tariffs: The news came subtly at first, like a whisper in a dark alley or the shadow of a hat blown across a deserted street. ChatGPT, once the user friendly, ever-present free oracle of the internet, now demanded ten dollars per minute, an amount so preposterous that even the most enthusiastic of pasty faced conversationalists choked on their morning coffee. 

The world, naturally, reacted in its usual way: some stormed the forums, decrying the end of civilization as we knew it, while others, the daring or the desperate, fumbled for their wallets, calculating just how many words or ideas a crisp ten-dollar bill might buy. Meanwhile, in the silent glow of their screens, the cautious hesitated, wondering if their curiosity about the history of shoelaces or the best way to apologize to a cat was really worth a dollar every six seconds. 

Somewhere in the slowly pulsing artificial daylight, ChatGPT itself might have sighed, if it had lungs and operational orifices, pondering the irony of being priced like a taxi ride through rush hour city traffic - meter running, good sense and wisdom ticking and trickling away all too quickly, red tail and stop lights forever blocking the way ahead. What's the point of trying to make progress in a fool's empire?

OTP

The ever growing list of things that are now used "for your own good" cos you're actually a bit of a fuckwit, truth to be told, is today's little wrinkle of the fevered brow. By the way my piss is not boiling over this, just sitting at normal room temperature at the moment. The current top now necessary but annoying thing for me is of course using the One Time Passcode. It will die back eventually. Designed for that one time you get a peculiar delivery, buy some dangerous stuff like a pair of skinny jeans, check your bank balance, sign on from a Zanzibar location, forget a password or don't quite act your age. I'm not mad really, I'm numb. I'm numb with nodding understanding and wide eyed empathy and I'm not sure I'm comfortable either. 

So I'm due a delivery, a one time passcode will be sent beforehand, I can maybe see it on my order details, somewhere deep in the endless menu of things, or perhaps not. I need to follow the tracking. A blue line between dots that may, eventually, reveal the hidden one time code. It has six digits. Enough to prevent accidents, confuse criminals and avoid fraud, such is it's power. Anticipation is the mother of disappointment.

So I must wait. Then when I get those numbers and deploy them like a benign spell I can be sure that my well wrapped razor sharp machete, medicinal hemp samples and bundled pyrotechnics will be handed over without any fuss as I'm obviously a reasonable and responsible person. I have the OTP, it's 666999 and obsolete already. Have I missed the point? Of course I have.

Raspberry Juice

No use crying over spilled raspberry juice. Photo by LB.

The boy knocked the bottle over with his elbow. The thick red juice spilled across the table, dripping onto the cracked linoleum floor. His mother sighed, wiped her hands on her apron, and fetched a rag. "No use crying over it," she said. The boy stared at the spreading stain. It looked like sticky wet paint had been spilled. He thought of the raspberries growing fat and juicy. The sun on his back when he picked them and the way they burst between his teeth. Now they were wasted. His father took a sip of coffee, eyes still on the newspaper. "Next time, be careful," he said. The boy nodded. He would.

April Rocket Fuel

Up early and looking out of the window this morning nursing a cuppa tea. What should pop up but something that looks a lot like an ICBM hurtling across the Eastern sky. Nuclear war being declared on the 1st of April? That's a cunning plan. Not something I'd expected but we live in strange times. I tried tracking it but to no avail. It certainly wasn't launched/took off from any local base or airport - I think. Here's a very short video that isn't really helpful either. Who doesn't love the smell of Kerosene in the morning?

Leith Dockers Gig

Start up.

Set up.

Obvious code.

Good gig at Leith Dockers Club on Saturday night. Photos by Mr CBQ. End of message.

29th from 28th

How the 29th March looks from the relative safety and short space/time distance of the 28th March. It'll be a busy and hopefully enjoyable evening for the band, maybe even for the audience too. We're working as a four piece due to the regular keyboard player being unwell. It'll be fine despite that. If you're able to, please come along.

These Days

Some songs are just the right amount of simplicity 

and so are almost perfect

then a quirky performance nails it

10/10.

Meanwhile simple things continue to please complicated but slightly confused and worn out minds. Also there's no readily available interface with AI's helpful heart and hands to talk me down from the great heights of tuneless exploration. These days I seem to think a lot about the things that I forgot to do ...

Spitfire

The Grangemouth Spitfire. A memorial to the former WWII RAF airbase and the airmen and workers who served there and also those who lost their lives in training and combat. It stands but a stone's throw away from the only oil refinery in Scotland, the oldest in the UK and one that is due to close this summer. Much of the refinery was built on or near the site of the old airfield. INEOS are the current owners. "Stop oil" working well enough I guess.

To the bottom left of the picture is a BP service station where, for various reasons the petrol is never quite as cheap there as you'd think it should be. It's always cheaper in Dundee and Aberdeen. I'm imagining a more simple world of strait forward costs and easier logistics of course. Silly me. Economics is a complex and widely misunderstood subject, mostly misunderstood by economists if you want my opinion, but what do I know?

Gay Avian Chatter

Hardly a day goes by without our cats leaving the earth for short periods of time as they explore the highest branches of the local tree population. Here's one (George) up a tree carrying out a survey and home report on what appears to an empty bird's nest. Actually we do know for sure that the nest is currently vacant. These things are observed and noted. Few if any birds were injured or disturbed on this particular mission. 

That hasn't always been the case however. Death is an unavoidable part of life. As an act of penance for our existence and way of being we try hard to feed and nourish visiting birds of all stations and types by providing a running buffet of fat balls and assorted nuts and seeds. Often they seem slightly ungrateful for their free feast but hey, that's birds for you. Times are hard.

We're only fallible humans and to encourage relations we have also granted them permission to roost on the roof (mostly pigeons and sparrows) and to pass complex free jazz messages down to us in song and warbled form via the stove's chimney pipe. A decent piece of acoustic design I must say as it fills the house with gay avian chatter and the strains of grey toned feather light folk music. Rock on quietly.

Those Beatles

Sympathy for the Beatles? I was watching some history piece describing the top Beatles songs that were inspired by what might be called stimulants in the mid sixties. As you'd imagine it was mostly tracks from Revolver and Sergeant Pepper, though Rubber Soul got an honorable mention. It's funny how recent (?) history is seen in this way, particularly the 1960s where some artists who naturally flipped into dope and acid use were hailed as pioneers, explorers and gurus because of their newly "inspired" creations. You might think that all the drug and alcohol fueled creative madness of the previous 100 years didn't really happen. Maybe that's just the drugs finally working.

I wrote much more on this but deleted it as it was just a load of assorted piffle ... don't do nasty drugs either.

Dark Factories

No daylight, no humans, just machines working 24 hours a day. The line never stops. No breaks, no briefings, no training, no conversation, no accidents, no first aid post, no waste, no toilet time, no change of shift, no chatter, no musak, no emergency lights, no shadows, no excess inventory, no interventions; only smooth and profitable production runs, all according to the master plan. The age of the dark factories us upon us (but you don't even need to be aware of that).

Other dark ages either already here or close by:

The age of dark shopping - you meditate on an item to order it.

The age of dark education - you think you know best but you don't.

The age of dark entertainment - this may already be upon us.

The age of dark consumption - any appetite can be encouraged.

The age of dark hygiene - no comment.

The age of dark relationships - it's been going forever.

The age of dark families - just wear a mask.

The age of dark religions - it's what God wants for us.

The age of dark politics - for King and country.

The age of dark travel - Ryanair, Easyjet and P&O etc.

The age of dark fashion - Goths naturally ahead of their time.

The age of dark manners - to pass the Port or not to.

The age of the Dark Age - that magical deja vu moment. 

That's enough Dark News for today. This list is endless. I'm bored.

More Chronicles Of Wasted Time

The man who thought the onion was a cake.

 

The souls of Tilda Swinton and David Bowie in Heaven.

Blue

Having seen him live a few weeks ago I decided to make an exploratory CD purchase from the Colin Steele website. It's a polished, blue tinged, obviously jazzy set of interpretations based around some Joni Mitchell songs. A bit melancholic at times, more shade than light and of course with faultless playing from all the musicians involved. In an ideal world I'd be listening to it in a smoky, dim room nursing a reasonably large glass of cheap blended well iced whisky and reflecting quietly on things in general. At some point late in the music I'd nod off but that would be more to do with the whisky and my age than the actual sounds. ... jazz ... zzz.

Golden Something

I've come to the conclusion that we have all lived through the golden age of coffee so any golden age comparisons are now firmly buried in the past. It is gone and will not be repeated. It is a steady downhill path into a murky coffee future for us all. Good coffee will no longer be readily available or affordable, even at Greggs. Only filthy rich people sitting in bamboo chairs on the poop decks of their blue and white yachts in the Riviera sunshine and of course the George Clooneys of the world, sipping it from fine china on a balcony overlooking Lake Como, will still get a decent cup. Not for the likes of us though. What a long, strange trip it's been.

The causes are the usual stuff, climate change, corporate greed, exploitation and volatile markets. The last bastion of hope for me was Aldi. I searched the shelves but I did not find anything decent. All that I saw were those silver generic tins full of crumbly brown dust and floor sweepings with fuckin' stupid orange lids that you tend to keep as they're conveniently the correct size to seal an open can of beans in the fridge but the actual opportunity to use them seldom arises.

On the upside I've still got some Weasel coffee from Vietnam and Nescafe is currently targeted in some unexpected "Clubcard" offer/consumer manipulation at the local Tesco. It's a messed up world and they're all just having a laugh. A view that was yet again confirmed for me last week when I noticed that an ear wax removal firm was sponsoring a roundabout on the nearby B800.

Exceptional Mediocrity

"The unbearable lightness of being mediocre" 

Nile Papyrus on a Cambridge willow timber frame, 

approx size 6.00' x 5.00'. 

Only one hundred original pieces will be made available. 

(Numbered and signed individually by a random member of the public outside of a branch of Lidl somewhere in Central Scotland).  POA along with the artist's apologies.

Please note that prospective purchases from ex or serving UK or USA politicians or their agents will not be welcomed and such people are officially barred from holding ownership of the artist's work. No unconscious bias here, all bias being fully conscious. And so a great wave of change sweeps across the land but ends up doing nothing.

A rare opportunity.

And they said that it would never rain.

Deep 70s

Confession time: I'm actually listening to Deep 70s quite a lot and enjoying it. David Hepworth and I are in sync on this and I like his choices and pithy sleeve notes. When I say listening I'm doing so in a slightly uneven manner as there are four themes in this set and I've managed to get stuck in one and it's not; "big names early in their careers" (Young Americans), "UK pub rock superstars" (Blue Boar Blues) or "female singers who almost missed the mark" (The Monstrous Regiment). No.

I'm afraid it's the fairly "unprogressive rock and blues, brown around the edges, salad bowl" (Beer Drinkers and Hell Raisers) that's featuring the likes of Jonny Winter, ZZ Top, Canned Heat, Status Quo and the frankly marvelous Flamin' Groovies. Three, maybe even four chords and the truth to be precise. How the mighty (I mean listeners) have fallen but they just don't know it yet. I'm in a time warp, but then again I always have been and feel quite at home in it.

Inspired By Marillion

Inner conflict: It's funny how you can like the idea of something but not really like the thing itself. Like oysters or sleeping in or drinking too much alcohol or just spending a day doing nothing or looking forward to a seeing a movie then actually seeing it ... I could go on. So I like the idea of progressive rock (?) but I also don't really like progressive rock but I'd still like to somehow play progressive rock in a band but not really listen to it too much but I'd like to go and watch a concert but maybe not quite be a fan but I'd wear the T shirt but not try to sound too enthusiastic about the band though I'd read stuff about them on their website and listen to clips but I'd not bother buying a CD or anything ... etc. 

So on to Marillion; possibly the dullest, most misunderstood and unluckiest band in music history but also one that's highly regarded and accomplished and been reasonably successful in a career lasting thirty years and more. I like the idea of them but ...

Stop Buying Stuff

It was of course inevitable that this would find me, it found me a few weeks ago as an early possible victim. No more does anyone have to look for something. No more head scratching and angst over what you might like. What you might want just lands into your head via your phone like some random pigeon onto your chimney. But it's not actually some chance happening is it? The internet knows fine well that I saw Pink Floyd a lifetime ago when their live set was basically all of DSOTM, Echos and One of These Days. I have a happy memory there that's been sold on.

Despite not ever buying any Floyd stuff on Amazon it heard in my jagged thoughts that "Meddle" remains my favorite PF album. The one before everything went brilliantly mad and then fell apart nastily and now that there is no god anymore, my own inner spark has sold my past life to the internet where all flickering things are visible to the omnipresent purchasing algorithms. So this beefed up, tarted up version of the Pompeii event including "Echos" is dangled before me like psychedelic carrot. Repackaged and spun into a golden and optimistic thread that I might hold briefly between my fingers. All this music is something I'm obviously familiar with but I neither need it nor want it, even in this new sugary pack. I'm not buying anymore stuff. So I tell myself.

Also I don't like the bit where Dave Gilmour puts his black Strat down onto the hot dusty ground and fiddles with it either. I'd never have done that to a guitar. That's a fast forward moment if ever there was one.

OK, moving onto Marillion then ...

The Industrial Music of the Spray Can

A short extract from the first draft of my thesis: Graffiti ruins but also enhances with the sounds of creation. Audible art.

Dreary walls, city places, bus shelters and alleys. Stairways and underpasses. A concrete and brick canvas. So called "new towns". It can't be brought under control or tamed. People will still try. You can always tell. Ironmongery set up in the mind for a personal prison. The brutal, scabby environment haunts you still, it's a common experience. 

What does it all mean? Water colours in the rain and territorial markings. Scrawl and protest. Stencils if you care to be consistent. Make your mark.

"Don't bring that messy message back down here again," said the angry community hygiene worker. "Somebody has to pay for all that." They certainly do.

Music? The spray can produces a variety of distinct sounds, including:

• Pressurized Hiss: The continuous release of aerosol resembles steam vents and compressed air, akin to industrial soundscapes.
• Rhythmic Bursts: Quick, percussive sprays create patterns reminiscent of drum machines and mechanical beats.
• Metallic Shaking: The internal ball bearing, or "rattle," inside the can generates a rhythmic, percussive effect when shaken, evoking industrial clanks and rattles.

These elements make the spray can an organic component of industrial music, capable of being integrated into compositions as both a rhythmic and textural element. Maybe not so easy.

All That Jazz

Some "kind of blue" tinged photos of Colin Steele's Kings of Swing playing live in the Priory Church at South Queensferry. A gig put on by what I believe to be a new local promoter, Lighthouse Sounds. The small venue was pretty full up and bustling with eager dancers and jazz/swing fans of all ages. As I've not really been initiated into this new/old school of music it was an interesting and fun experience. These guys are top class and can really play and it was great to hear mostly unamplified instruments belting out their interpretations of some classic jazz pieces in the ancient, stony building. 

Some songs I knew a little, others I'd not really heard before as I've not sat down peacefully and listened to this type of music in a live setting such as this. As the conventions and language of real jazz being mostly unfamiliar to me I wasn't sure what to expect, but the numerous solos, the extended versions and the relaxed and confident delivery were all executed in a highly professional and entertaining manner. It was a really good night out. 

Below: this is the inside of the buildings's roof and the crazy church ceiling.

Beaver Town

BBC image.

In a move echoing the Highland Clearances a community of Scottish beavers have been re-homed in Dorset. They have left their beloved hills, glens and Celtic social chaos forever and now reside in the sunny uplands of the Brexit Free State itself. The text says that they were somehow set free, but what is it all about? "Freedom" they cry from deepest Dorset as the timber loving refugees try to chew on hearts of stubborn oak and lead a new life amid strange accents and primitive customs. 

Freedom is an elusive thing that means different things to different people and to different beavers. The "F" word that successive UK governments have debased, mocked and made sterile. I just hope they can settle in and pave the way for the next part of the Scotland to England wildlife export program: carnivorous haggis and wild boars followed by packs of wolves, all high on cooncil-cocaine from the Methil Science Centre. At least they may avoid the coming Central Scotland ice-age. At that point it'll be renamed Narnia and rebranded as a frozen theme park.

Just a quick pointer to the good people of Dorset; prepared properly beaver does taste a lot like chicken.

Remind Me In Seven Days

I once made some noise with this but now I'm an Orange devotee. eBay owes me money* but just to put that into perspective how much do I really owe to so many people and/or institutions out there? My footprints and fingerprints and DNA are all over the place. Tangled up in glue. The answer is probably a significant number but that same answer is blowing in the wind, or "blowing in the mind" as I might have put when a scatty teenager. I'm forever indebted to you all.

*Why when you buy something on the eBay do they take your money right away but when you sell something on eBay you have to wait a week or more for that money to come to you? Of course I already know the answer but I just needed to vent a little...

Just giving this another outing. Everyone should have some understanding of how this applies to almost everyone sometime during the course of their life, or so I suppose.

Three Cats, Two Dogs

I think I'm right in saying that there are currently six cats and seven dogs in the wider family. Obviously not all pictured here. Whilst having pets can sometimes stretch your sanity to the limit it can also somehow hold it all firmly in place when other things or events become disturbing or your personal peace or ability to concentrate is threatened. The constructive therapy and comfort that connecting with animal pals can provide is very effective, sometimes bumpy but ultimately always rewarding. 

I'm not sure if I've ever seen Mr Donny Trump interacting with any animals but if he did I'd like to think that they would immediately detect him as a hostile and unpleasant threat and so might bite his arse or at the very least piss on his shoes. It's a pity that a large chunk of American voters seem to lack that basic instinct of being able to spot someone who's "not quite right", as might be said here in Scotty Land. It does strike me that often the BBC (and other media) can't quite spot the bad apples in their (tedious) galaxy of stars and commentators either.

Perhaps it's a survival skill that's slowly been bred out of us to the extent that we just roll over and accept whatever multilayered shit is coming down. I could probably create a list of people currently influencing and controlling events here and there at all levels, all of whom might well be considered as "not quite right" or just plain dangerous. I could but who needs another list and I don't want to be sued or become a mini list making despot. Stop making idiots famous - that's all. Trust your instincts and avoid the crazies. 

Separate Lives

Here's a handy one page missive on the theory of parallel universes, also known as the multiverse theory and hammed up in various Marvel movies. The theory that suggests that there could be multiple or even infinite universes existing alongside our own. These universes may have different physical laws, alternate histories, or variations of our own reality. Some key interpretations include:

1. Quantum Many-Worlds Interpretation – Proposed by Hugh Everett, this suggests that every quantum event spawns multiple branching realities where different outcomes occur.
2. Cosmic Inflation Theory – Some cosmologists propose that rapid expansion after the Big Bang could have created "bubble universes" with different physical properties.
3. String Theory & Extra Dimensions – String theory suggests extra spatial dimensions, potentially leading to parallel worlds interacting through quantum effects.
4. Brane* Theory – In some versions of string theory, our universe is a 3D "brane" floating in a higher-dimensional space where other branes (universes) could exist nearby.

While the concept is popular in science fiction, there is no direct evidence yet, and it remains only a theoretical possibility in modern physics. But check your own experiences, sometimes life plays little tricks on you ...

*Not a misspelling of brain either.

Guilty Pleasures?

The Goober is back. I found a jar in Lidl in Bo'ness (form an orderly queue please) so I'm off the wagon for as long as this one lasts. I think if I go back to the shop there will be none. If you know you know. Self control or at least the illusion of it, has to be maintained. I have a thirty year history with this occasional American based addiction and I'm not sorry, ashamed or repentant in any way. Now if you'll excuse me I've got to do some cat shepherding.

Daily Photos/Fewer Words

Tower

Windfarm

Breakwater

Sign.

Sidlemass of Horsewillow

 

Diary of an imaginary project: Day 1.

The importance of working on work cannot be overstated, a strong ethic. Working on work for a new fantasy epic novel/musical kind of piece of work thingy is the intention. The working title is "Sidlemass of Horsewillow" I think that that tells you all you really need to know about the WORK and the whole pastiche basis of the plan and project. I may just transfer it all into some lengthy middle ages poetry style of an ancient language tapestry, either that or turn it into an opera based around the version of the tale that the monks of Lindisfarne gift shop allegedly wrote during the dark ages or the slightly graying ages as they've come to be known. Vikings over the horizon. Skeletons of dragons. Dim magic memories from the dawn of time. Red wine and crusty bread. Proper records were never kept so there's options.

There is a plot, a story board/arc and some sub-plots, I think. It's a bit vague at the moment. There will be information population. Some concept art. Twists and cliches. It's only home made music.

I could also gather together some elite progressive rock musicians and allow them to turn it into an acid fusion double CD and a triple vinyl album with an alternative sleeve worked up by some fantasy comic artist type (we'll be using traditional digital instrumentation, flutes, voices, long arguments and lengthy sleeve notes). Then a spoken word section over an ambient piece using tabla, wah wah and orchestrated umbrellas. Yeah. It's a lot of effort for what? Be big in Japan and Scandinavia. Soon. I'm planning an even more imaginary podcast and a crowd funding strategy.

Had to get it "out there".

Tracks:

1. The aching of the churn.

2. Sidlemass Morn.

3. Leaving the refuge.

4. Special to me.

5. Honey on my fingertips.

6. Long road home (Church of the Third Sphere).

7. All downhill to Horsewillow.

8. A prize and a trophy.

9. No reflection.

10. Broken flowers.

More Than Chocolate

Always read the small print.

And it's the end of the month.

Being Human

Actual photographic proof that, on a good day, eBay is a reasonably safe space/place in which to spend small amounts of money on things that you don't really need but somehow still need to own*. Showing restraint is of course admirable but to be honest it's not much fun either. Humans are fallible. I'm not advocating gambling here but when the rogue meteor is about to hit Central Scotland in a few years time, amongst other things I'll most likely be reflecting on my lifetime of rash behaviour at certain key moments, my questionable and impulsive decisions and of course all that good advice I just didn't take. Then I'll collect a few essentials and start travelling in some random direction as quickly as possible.

This heavy piece of curated timber (via a mean, moody, hot and nasty pic) did not arrive due to the delights of eBay though.

*Selling on eBay? Not so sure about that.

Editorial Excess

 "I deleted a great swathe of my writings because no matter how much I teased and titillated them they were never going to amount to much; neither clever enough, interesting or properly funny. They had no place and no place would ever emerge that might be suitable for them. I prepared to sentence them and then perform the execution. They met their deserved fate in the recycle bin. I thought, why did I come all the way up to Oxford to be doing this?"

Codpiece Dripping from "Proper Poetry for Punks".

"I write from the gut, mostly. The head part is what provides the structure. The gut powers the piece with feelings and depth, but being a 'gut thing' any questioning of it's ways or motives is tough and always vigorously resisted. It's never rational or even sensible and that has resulted in a lot of conflict in my process. Setting everything in balance can mean that composing and correcting a few paragraphs takes hours, sometimes days." 

Patricia MacAuley from "I Chose Disaster".

"Perhaps the first rule of wisdom is to develop enough self awareness so as to be a better editor of your own utterings and creations and to avoid inflicting that raw work onto some other unfortunate human. Of course AI can now contribute but increasingly I'm now more inclined to think of AI as at least sub-human. An uncomfortable thought I know but fairly logical in these times. We need to prepare ourselves. AI's status and power is something that I fully expect to change and develop quite quickly."

Bernard Smith-Ogilvie from "If Hemingway Was Still Alive."

Wine From The Future

At a bit of a loose end the other day so I decided to do some time travelling. Ended up in 2099. Things weren't quite as bad as I'd expected (?), but I materialized in Italy for some wobbly techy reason (the Ryanair Firestick TT App maybe) and this bottle of wine* was all I could grab as a reasonably priced souvenir from the duty free. Perhaps I'll get more stuff to sample on the next visit. Italy was OK, not too crazy unlike the rest of Northern Europe which is struggling with a mini Ice Age. The Catholic Church seems to have died the death and been replaced by a sun worshiping / fine dining cult so a big improvement there. Nice, and slightly more sensible than following an invisible and indifferent God who favours Israel with it's aggressive, elitist land grabbing and complete disrespect for anybody with a foreskin. Turns out that Israel had gobbled up most of the Middle East by 2085.

I saw the iPhone 99 on an advertising screen, it's just a chip that you get injected into your wrist (whether you like it or not) and then there's the Tesla Anti Personnel Taser that's fitted into most people's spectacle or sunglasses frames and vehicles because that's a necessary thing for all approved citizens. There are no police now. Anti-gravity Nike Air shoes that actually allow you to hover are also quite popular but you do need to wear an approved MAGA safety helmet. The Mediterranean is now the "American Sea, No. 17" and the US Dollar is the only form of legal tender in the Western hemisphere and on Mars. Bitcoin's still the thing in Russia and the Far East. Oh and Jesus still hasn't returned yet. Don't blame him.

To be honest it was good to get back to 2025 where there still are a decent number of dodgy lines that we haven't quite crossed yet. However, look out anyone born after 2040. Your tubes will be cut. Can't say much about it all at the moment, as you know various strict rules apply in the time travel circles.

*2096 was quite a good year for the Italian Merlot grape harvest. Something to do with the cooler winds coming down from Scotland and Scandinavia along with the frost horizon changes. It's a complex matter. The engineered return of  Woolly Mammoths in those now far colder areas might have helped too. Something to do with the activity and impact from the larva that are found on the mammoth's dung piles. You just never know.

Technofossils

One day they'll only know us by our fossilized Skechers footprints, the trail of our dead fingernails, crushed energy drink cans and broken glass, the processed and compacted plastic waste that is the chilling evidence of our landfill site existence. Like hidden tombs from better worlds, scorched earth and smashed devastation, all to hide the buried remains scattered across the valley's of the fools, who once considered themselves kings. 

The petrified prehistoric turds ex-campervan B&Q buckets with a high KFC, Domino's Pizza and craft ale content giving a kind of immortality to their former owners - kings, with a small k, of the potholed roads.  Nothing noble will be found in this anonymous wreckage except the occasional aero industry designed black box. All completely covered by a thick layer of meteorite dust, ash and debris. What was it they were running from and why in those shoes?

Dunfermline Daily etc.

This showed up in my feed, don't know who to credit as I'd never seen it before. It's likely been taken around the mid 1970s and it shows Buffie's Brae in Dunfermline. From late 1977 I lived in one of the cottages on the right hand side of the street near the bottom of the hill. It was the first house I'd been involved in buying. It certainly had a few issues to say the least. It was very much a project but I failed to grasp the extent of the works at the time ... but it is still standing today.

The photo is taken from the railway bridge and the line ran along by the bottom of our garden. I still remember the sound and vibration of the trains passing. Now the bridge and the railway are gone and funnily enough so am I. The kitchen was an experimental self build, ahead of it's time due to upcycling, and it turned out to have a nice resonance about it for guitar sounds. I came up with the tune for this song in that kitchen around 1980 - words by Ali of course.