Something brought me to this

Today I was was once again proved wrong by a drum machine. Outwitted  by some flashing silver tray and Chinese electronics. It's no wonder I've low self esteem and stupidly high white sugar and black alcohol intake (or is it the other way around?). Somebody once said that drum machines will be the death of us all, possibly Shakespeare coined the phrase or was it Ginger Baker on bad day. Anyway none of it is true and I would be unable to survive without my virtual kick drum, hi-hat, cowbell and M&S chicken in red wine sauce; all at a reasonable price and 90 BPM (that's Beats Per Masochist).

Warm Testicles

Having had the Mini Cooper for nearly a year I've somehow avoided using the heated seats feature. That may be some measure of global warming, poor circulation or simple loss of memory. Anyway today's unexpected (?) temperatures of -2C or thereabouts turned the wee car into some kind of icy tomb and a rather unpleasant place to be. Also it hadn't moved for about a week hence the high chill factor. Well the seats certainly work, almost too well. It was a warming and invigorating experience making finding space in the Tesco car park distracting to the point of almost being hallucinogenic. I hear that out there there are actual cars with actual heated steering wheels. Ooh! Technology would be wonderful if it wasn't killing us and the planet.

Cultural Normality

Another Dreamies moment

Those awkward January moments: apart from eating, sleeping and going to work much of early January has consisted on Season 3 #Vikings and Season 1 #TheAffair. For some reason this narcotic and soporific mix of cultural normality is working it's slow and potent magic. Seems that I am seasonally afflicted with unseasonably appropriate happiness and simple satisfaction factors that make no proper sense nor need to.

Shut up and play

This cigar box, slide racket requires a steady hand and a high level of concentration and some stamina. This applies not only to the listener but to any human form within hailing distance. Apropos nothing, just reminded that Jimi managed all of seven gigs with the Monkees before the whole tour fell apart. Seems like a lifetime ago.

Pudding Surplus

It's official: The Pudding Season has no obvious ending but we have a surplus of puddings remaining. Quite a few anyway and in assorted sizes and flavours. Dogged by the usual provisioning problems and poor planning our system has gone screwy and here's the result. You can't even give them away for age and health and safety reasons. They'll have to be eaten by careless and carefree volunteers who must first sign a stiff and possibly illegal disclaimer. Once done all will be well in the world and the cupboards can be put to better use.

Ghosts of the new year

This strange apparition appeared to me in a 16th century en-suite toilet almost on the stroke of midnight on the last day of what was known as 2015. I kept my cool. This was simply a result of imbibing large amounts of alcohol and beef as well as the loss of inhibitions due to the season. The ghostly time traveller / alien said very little. It just glowered from a floating position above the cistern. Naturally I appealed for world peace, general calm and scientific cooperation and any hard information on possible lottery outcomes in the near future. What he said I cannot repeat. That's because nothing was said but I think it's fair to say we had some level of rapport and understanding, at least for a short while. Funny thing is that as soon as I switched the light off he/she was gone.

Pooh what thou wilt

Winnie on a day trip and honey picnic at Boleskin House a few years ago.

Seasonal reductions time: I ventured out into the wild today noting as I passed through the bleak terrain that many unfortunate folks in both the public and private sector are being forced to work, or at least to turn up, sit in the correct place and appear to be interested.  In the supermarket, where bread and washing tablets were necessary purchases, there were many tempting seasonal reductions in that forlorn  aisle where barbecue stuff and inflatable swimming pools used to be. Now there's just lots of bargain nuts in packets, Christmas Pringles in strange flavours, wrapping paper and biscuits for cheese in sparkly tins. They'll all be gone tomorrow of course and the edibles scoffed long before next week's dazzling (?) episode of the BBC's War and Peace airs. Meanwhile, just in case you can't wait for chocolate fix a consignment of Easter Eggs has arrived from Milton Keynes via the Kincardine Bridge and are now in the place where the festive bulb planters  and neon elf hats once were. Get them purchased soon because they'll need that spot for the weedkiller, garden machetes and suntan lotion by early February.

Avoiding social media explained

I know it's now a cliche type of overkilled, over shared thing but I do like this picture, because a) it's a great natural and unstaged dramatic shot, b) it's clear and sharp in a way you'd not expect and c) it's nothing like any of my recent real life New Year experiences. This is a proper opium for the masses, expose the thick turds/working class heroes, Chavs and drunken drones of society at their best. See, this is how they behave when simply out on their own trying to celebrate the change of some numbers on a calender in non-public space in some city. So it plays right into the hands of the right wing press and media and reveals that soft and ignorant underbelly that we all love and hate within ourselves. This is Britain and frankly it's not so great. It is however honest, embarrassing and captured in that  unlikely moment in a classically artistic way. Strange things happen all the time it seems and now and then time just freezes.

Aside from the odd dip into Twitter (capturing gems as above) I've steered clear of trying to gauge my own and other's feelings towards 2016 via the web. Same shit different year I'd say and avoid making dumb promises to yourself about lifestyle or plans. Just get the next few days under your seasonally adjusted belt and life will eventually take a hopefully pleasant course as the year unfolds. That's a reasonable expectation. Ultimately it'll all make as much sense as the latest Sherlock episode, be as predicable as the Ten O'clock News and as repetitive and familiar as The Force Awakens. I wonder if it'll taste like this cake?

Bye bye 2015

I don't make resolutions, I don't start revolutions. I'm not reviewing the year or looking back either, that's for others to do and they're welcome to it. Anyway sometimes I chop vegetables for soup or stew or as a form of meditation and mind clearing, though next year most veg around here will be tastily and conveniently steamed in the new vegetable steamer. That's just a start of how things will be, I'm meditating over dropping the whole meditation thing though. I might just resort to simple medication.

Forces to be reckoned with

I'm with the popular view that the director of the new Star Wars film, "Return of the phantom force to be reckoned with and all that other geeky malarkey" had a pretty simple remit from the big boys at Disney. "OK, we have about $4 billion riding on this investment. Make a film for us and whatever you do don't fuck it up." I hope that he hasn't and I'll find out this afternoon when I finally get to see it. I suspect I'll not be disappointed, I go back all the way with this franchise as do most of my family and no doubt, come rubbish films, unexpected character deaths or the reemergence of old ones we'll stick with it. Turns out that Star Wars is for life pretty much.

Loog

Behind the times as ever, asleep at the wheel, up my own bahooki, etc. just discovered the Loog three string guitar project, concept and possible pyramid and finger injuring scheme. Naturally I'm there in mind, body and spirit. I would include soul if I had one but I think that I may have misplaced it in some previous post or accidentally sold it on to the devil or some other strange historical/pantomime figure. I might therefore become a Loog disciple or maybe even a heretic sometime in the year of our Loog 2016.

Of course all of this means something...

The Dead

Interlinked nonsense: Sometime this year I decided that "The Dubliners" by James Joyce was the greatest book ever written (albeit it's short stories but interlinked stories nonetheless) and that the "The Dead" is probably the greatest short story etc. etc. I still think that (and that). So despite the fact that we're damp and snowless those final paragraphs in "The Dead" still seem to resonate and reverberate nicely at this time of year. Nicely isn't a work you'd use to describe the effect of or the writings of Joyce, no not at all, but it works for me. Toffee and writing spring to mind. The cold and soulless moments emit a strange warmth and comfort and sense of common feeling and a sense of meaning for life and for literature. The other dead are properly dead too (despite what their website may say), the Grateful Dead; strange also to get back to liking their sometimes bland and insipid music, their irritating cultural position in some smoke filled American version of the world and their incompetency. Perfectly imperfect, that's what I must be pursing these days. Not even pursuing, more like falling into a black hole having been pushed or tripped up by some clumsy cat whilst searching for, there it in the dark. 

So there is no such thing as a dark night of the soul. It's just another trivial point on that continuous procession of stuff that you sometimes ride on, sometimes get trampled by and sometimes avoid in life's great (dark but with occasional flashlight moments) experience.

Post Christmas = too Decemberist

Now it's post Christmas and in this outpost of post Christmasness procrastination I'm being even lazier than ever about posting. That's because I'm way too busy with the seasonal stuff to think straight or straightforwardly. I haven't even seen the news or read a newspaper since I don't know when and I'm none the worse for that either. I did venture out today, not sure I'll try that again. Too busy, too frantic and too Decemberist.

Strange Christmas

When you're drifting, close on to the edge, outside of the law, far from religion and civilisation, bereft of beliefs and wandering a lonely road...or just living and existing in Fife then Christmas is a strange, disturbing time of year. (Thought not as bad as Easter). Really nothing makes sense, the meaning, the lack of meaning, the greed and industry and the pointless sales that precede and follow the great and misunderstood day. Anyway it turns out I do like raiding the fridge and pulling crackers, giving and receiving presents and so on. Maybe it's not so strange after all. So Happy Christmas, I'll say no more.

On a break for Christmas

Well actually not on a break yet, have to work a bit tomorrow, feeling a bit like the fellow in the card above. Those Victorians really knew a thing or two about the Christmas message.

This could be a tiny bird or a cartoon version of my good lady. Depending on how seasonally overcome you are you'll see what you want to see I suppose. Meanwhile here's a reminder that it's tea (drinking wine) time and some good career advice from the Guardian newspaper. Good to see that Mr Balls is putting his pension pot to good use.

More Wobbly Weather

The view this morning: blasted by a warm but wet west wind, thundering against the house and battering rain across the windows. Suddenly the sun appeared and we set about delivering Christmas cards and messages of world peace, existential warmth and the meaningful rebirth of a new style of Scottish politics across our small community. Generally all of this was well received and we came away with some sense of our house not being the most untidy and cluttered in the area. Always a good if only temporary feeling. Next there was a feast of eggy bread and burnt animal  followed by a trip up town for some sanitised stones to prevent me and the cats from accidentally pissing into wardrobes and plant pots. Not long after that I started drinking wine and eating overage chocolate, now everything is looking a bit wobbly once again. Best to stay away from Twitter and eBay then.

Crossroader

It has emerged that only the third ever (known) photo of Robert Johnson has emerged. That's quite a bit of emerging. Now the myth and the magic can be revised just a little bit. I presume the picture was taken post the crossroads incident and that he had some kind of career thing going on at this point. It may prove that despite selling your soul to the devil you still show up in photographs and presumably also have a reflection. I know that I do.

American Friday

Well not really American, no pancakes and coffee, only mince pies and tea and rain. I did however listen to Grateful Dead's American Beauty at least four times, deliberately. Well it's either that or Radio Scotland's daily gibberish. It did get me thinking if there was/is such a thing as a ten track album with no bad tracks, nothing you'd skip or get bored with. Of course that in itself is a highly subjective judgement to make and while I can think of possible contenders it's not easy (obviously "best of" albums and compilations don't count) as even some of the so called classic albums carry at least a couple of also rans. American Beauty being a good example, firstly it is a seriously acquired taste and secondly it's patchy and just carelessly played here and there. I'm actually intrigued by just how much of the Dead's live stuff (not this album) is suspiciously out of tune for chunks of time and I'm not a person who generally picks that kind of thing up. I missed hearing that amount of detail back in the day, for some strange reason.

Playing a tune

The daily problems that come from having a short attention span: For me playing a song all the way through, properly and without mistakes or taking shortcuts is a bit like swimming a length in a long tepid swimming pool or running up a muddy hill or climbing some rock face. There, that's that said. Writing a whole paragraph full of meaningful words and getting them in the correct order is also a bit of an issue. Then to make matters worth some kind of picture has to be added so as to create some sensible frame or context. That is difficult. Then there are the spelling mistakes in emails that the spell checker misses because they are words but not the words I meant to use. Ugh.

Not what anyone thinks

Our mission to reseed (or even seed) nearby and hospitable planets has begun. We've approached this task with a stoical realism and a little bit of fanatical devotion (always useful). This mix has enabled us to at least get through the sorting and packing stage whilst better and more practical minds concentrate on building the starship. I'm sure you're familiar with the plan, the hijack, the execution, the journey, the conflict, the remorse, the realisation, the illumination, the scattering of the seeds (?) and then the end credits rolling. The good news is that the mission is on schedule to be completed by Christmas, a festival celebrated on many planets apparently, so we're on course. Watch out for average standards of space catering and areas of random turbulence on the trip.