A place to park those random thoughts, stolen images, hidden conversations and incoherent babble from beyond the wall of sleep. Odd bits of music and so-called worldly wisdom may creep in from time to time. Don't expect too much and you won't feel let down.
Fancy a pub argument? What the people want* (?) are proper cars. No more of these bigger on the outside smaller on the inside SUVs designed by marketing men and cost consultants. We need "fuck off" estate cars and station wagons. Cars you can fill up with couches, lawnmowers and dump runs and do all sorts of shit without breaking your back getting stuff over the rear lid lip. We need value for money volume instead of height and bulk that's practically useless so don't talk to me about road presence either. Oh, and only an idiot would buy an EV when there's no proper charging infrastructure. As it turns out I don't drive any of these vehicles, I just like to moan in a reasonably constructive way.
*Extensive research has been done but I'm not quite sure who did it.
Next time you're near one, pop into a branch of Guitar Guitar and have a listen to what's going on in there. It's probably music but it's hard to be sure. Maybe it's something else, something greater and higher, something that's progressed past the audio appreciation of the common man. I don't know. You have to experience it at least once in your life. Then you can die happy.
The seasonal gloom descends on the close knit community that is SQ. Shrouded in some self inflicted mist and at times horizontal rain we cleave together secure in the knowledge that we're slightly better off than those unfortunates freezing in the American Midwest. Mind you they have automatic weapons, big trucks and copious amounts of weak beer with which to battle their extreme weather. I'm still happier here for the time being apart from getting upset by the regular Facebook bulletins that tell of lost cats and dogs and people trying car doors in housing estates.
Our supplies are less volatile and mostly consist of flat Prosecco, snack foods and slowly discolouring leftovers. In fact the humus sticks are about to be placed in the oven. We'll consume them soon. Our oven is so right on that it has an actual setting for humus sticks. Humus also means "vegetable mold", a fact I've just discovered. Yum.
It hardly seems like two whole days since it was Christmas and we'll have to wait another 363 till the next one. I am considering setting up a petition or a crowd-funder to lobby for Christmas only to be celebrated once every 5 years. David Bowie wrote a song about that very idea, or am I mistaken? It'll probably just generate unintended consequences and the "festival of excessive landfill generation" (as I like to call it) will likely just be driven underground and become even more powerful.
"It's been a wonderful Christmas here in the Kingdom of Fife. We all received lovely new outfits and hats from the Christmas faerie-folk's visit. Later we took a walk in the snow and then released the hounds into the village streets. It was such fun, we'll probably do it all again next year if we're spared. Did I ever mention to you what was prophesied for 2023? Never mind if I didn't, it'll catch you soon enough."
.png)
It's a great (OK reasonable) advert. It certainly worked for me. I'm a simple kind of a soul.
As Christmas approaches I find it difficult to resist falling into the trap of grumpy cynicism when I consider this tarnished and exploited season. A festival of capitalism and joyful misery combined. A machine that has carried us along on it's greed and religious pointlessness for our entire lives as we became happily brainwashed and ground down. The good news is most of it will be over by next week and we've only to endure the shallow optimism of new year celebrations.
Small penis, large salad. Also stop posting dull photographs of nondescript foods that don't reflect your actual lifestyle.
.png)
So today's lucky (seasonal) central heating boiler fault code is number 228. If you, like us, are the recipient of such a code message sent out from your boiler and visible on the control screen then ... well maybe you're not so lucky. The good news is of course that temperatures should not drop below zero for a few days and that a repairman may call by on the 23rd. Can he fix it? I've no clear idea. First world problems.
.png)
As we quietly stand by
They say it's something of little importance
I don't understand why.
Would Scottish independence transform this delusional paradise? Bail out the fabled Athens of the North though it has more economic woes than present day Greece? A nice idea but I doubt it. Politicians can't deliver miracles or traffic solutions and God clearly hates us all at Christmas and you cant blame him for that. On the bright side I did see these interesting and 100% natural ice forms and I also had the pleasure of purchasing the world's smallest latte and largest pain au chocolate for a measly £5.50, this is known as street food now and is all the rage apparently.
Are there any people out there who don't like or appreciate geometry? There's a bit of the golden ration going on here, in a less developed form. You could of course apply this to any piece of composition. That doesn't make it any less interesting. So hardly a month goes by without me making some cheap and predictable reference to the work of Caravaggio but I can't help myself. Elon Musk, inventor (?) of the burning Tesla also likes this, that doesn't count as any kind of Musk endorsement or supportive message from me. Since he bought Twitter it's become ... a bit different. Either that or I've just flip-flopped into following other types of accounts and it's been more interesting. They've reworked some gears behind the scenes. Upping the character limit to 4000 is not a good idea either. Nobody wants "long" Twitter. Nobody wants change. 😉
To be honest I found eating this chocolate bar to be a bit of a disappointing experience. I may include it in my thesis about why modern generic chocolate is all a bit shit really.
Blethering on about Angus made me remember Argus. Good, tuneful stuff from Wishbone Ash, a band I occasionally think about or sometimes even listen to. They probably are still chuntering on in some form here and there but I think this was when they hit their high water mark. Happens to us all. They're like musical granola, a touch now and then keeps the system clean and regulated but you don't want to over do it.
Maybe I'll be buried in Angus to the strains of Argus. Buried by a red Kubota mini digger, dragged up the glen's winding roads behind a Transit pickup truck. Not by a team of silent workers wearing flat caps and blue dungarees one of whom is holding a Clydesdale horse steady as the work progresses. Then again they might all be convicts sent out on a forced labour trip to dig out my one and only grave. They work on in the hole with little concern over who might occupy it. That really doesn't matter. My executioner has already walked away from whatever the scene was. I just hope the ground isn't hard frozen at the time. This is quite a strange line of thought for a Tuesday morning. All very Wednesday Adams.
Meanwhile artists are getting annoyed by AI high-jacking their stuff and remodeling it as even worse bits of tacky art. It's a fair if slightly Luddite styled objection. Those hard working artists may down tools and leave us to stew in our AI juice and where will we be then? Eh? We all want recognition and credit even after the destruction and corruption of what we believe we built. Future researchers will study the rubble to check for AI jpegs covered in dust and cobwebs and try to decode their source and muse about "what it all meant" and "what kind of people were they?" We'll look down from our ageless matrix homes, groan and whisper "None of this matters, you should just concentrate on finding a decent, straight, well potted Christmas tree for the house."
