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.
The place where kitchen, scientific and sexual equipment almost meet.
...to have great books you have to have great authors and libraries and book shops or on line providers or e-books: simple really. So...
Today the lobster car is parked and at rest, temporarily, or is something else going on?
That "just lost 50 Grand and I can't find a decent crash helmet" look.
Typical English signage
The sun goes down on a village where no one lives but everyone shops.
A rare outing and gig in the Kingdom last night - Dan Arborise in the Abbot House (house) in Dunfermline. Dan mumbles a lot and is awkward and very hairy and has discarded his shoes. This is so he can ping a number of foot pedals and so wring a few marvellous sounds out of a mid-range Yamaha. The vocals are drunk Dave Gilmour but this man has a good brain and can memorise where he is in complex loop patterns and delay sequences, skills I admire and frankly covet. Hours, days, weeks and months of practice have clearly passed and been rewarded. He re-tunes a little too much and is a straight up the fretboard player, no cross over licks or four finger runs but some twiddles that are nicely developed. The gay geek boys down the front were salivating at some of his turns and turnarounds. I waited patently on the slide and echo passage but it never came, what he did bring was a marvelous layered crescendo piece that really hit the spot. A good night out in a peculiar, quirky and fine little venue.
This is of course cartoon Locke from cartoon LOST which I presume is another time/dimension/hell/heaven place that any day any one of us might end up in, if you ever happen to step mistakenly onto a cartoon aeroplane.
As a proud and 100% genuine Fifer I was pleased to see that the remains of one of my ancestors has been discovered trapped in stone along the rocky edges of Fife's golden coast. Quite a strong and striking family resemblance I'd say, just look at the dark lazy eye socket and the slightly squint grin, light on the feet also. Probably would be quite nice lightly steamed with a portion of chips and some salt and vinegar.
It's not cool to worry. Cool people do not worry, they are impervious and resistant to and above the slough of worry. They float above the clouds of worry or sometimes just for the hell of it they dive down into those same dirty clouds and inhale and on the other side emerge with no worry. No worry, injury or consequences; for the ordinary and mortal there are consequences, for the cool there is only continuous progress and the shining light of being right.
Nice weather recently, shows up all the muck on the windscreen thought.
Tiny particles from the core of the earth
More conclusive proof that I live in a musical, cultural and social vacuum - the late, great personal discovery of the Warr Guitar, about 20 years after it's invention (thanks to Norman for the tip). If I ever learn to play the normal (Peace?) guitar I might consider taking up the Warr, maybe one fine day. I also hear that somebody's invented a mobile phone, another launched instant noodles and that threepenny bits are no longer legal tender. Wow.
...because the current one is clearly falling apart and sadly the Conservatives despite their manifesto promises are as clueless, inept and irritating as their Labour counterparts.
Hard to believe that this pathetic image is the cover of the Labour Party Manifesto 2010, the contents are worse, don't go there. So young families everywhere appear to be heading into or being led into either a nuclear explosion or the Golden Dawn (the darker significance of the Golden Dawn may have been lost on Gordon B) , how daft and uninspiring. This is from the party of "reform" who sadly haven't managed to reform anything despite numerous chances since about 1946. It should've been completely different, I was once a proud Young Socialist - but that dream has died and I'm an old cynic.
...but not by doing this sort of thing. One life affirming, positive step is to avoid the current crop of TV advertisements. Another good move is avoid the chronic, patronising glossy ads in the Sunday sups (but you cant), anyhow the top X crap ads at the moment in my humble opinion are:
I was dreaming of cheesy pasta in that dumb, unthinking way you dream of things you badly want to like. Not sure why I really want to like cheesy pasta at all but the spark of misguided suggestion is in there somewhere. Eventually the feast was prepared with the addition of some hot dog related items, ones that were on the cusp of freshness and possible botulism. It ate it because I was hungry but I knew I wanted to feel different about the pasta but that I didn’t, it was pasta and not very good pasta. It’s always the worst kind of disappointment to experience, wanting badly to like something because you like it in some under served, abstract and unenlightened way and then facing up to the plunging kick in the balls that reality invariably delivers. There are some leftovers for later, maybe about half past six or never.
Once again a popular theory has been debunked and defrocked, confusing and disillusioning the chattering classes. All that awful fruit stuff I've been eating for the last 8 years, 5 a day, 35 a week, 1820 a year: a grand total of 14560 crispy, stringy, juicy, sticky, yucky bits of coloured fibre. I so wanted to live long, prosper and avoid cancer and this was the keystone of my strategy. I feel badly let down by the governing powers and I am considering voting Conservative and going on a Port, sweet cured bacon and Stilton diet, at least till 6th May.
...and green buses wait for the arrival of their missing cargo the clouds gather as clouds do. Elections, Popes and pop songs come and go and who can tell what difference the really make to the man, woman or animal in the street? Anyway I'll do my duty as a good, upright citizen and vote but not for the Pope or any pop songs. Four weeks of impotent media hell and fiery hailstones are about to break over us all, so wispy, blue and undiscovered islands of remote lonely pleasure with no TV or newspapers beckon. Could this private bus take me part way there?
