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.
Division Bell: The design always did remind me of Robo-Cop though I didn't really ever put the two together properly until I saw this. That's certainly not Ely Cathedral in the background either. I'm 65, occasionally I might wear a Pink Floyd T shirt and feel no shame. There you have it.
The gift of a pie: The holy trinity of pie ingredients encased in a light, shortcrust pastry. A layer of haggis and a layer of turnip topped with spiral cap of creamy mashed potato, all just crispy enough on the outside and soft and moist on the inside. Served hot, 10/10. If you want to know where you can purchase a pie of this sort I'm sorry but I'm not telling you. However if you're guessing somewhere in the colony known as Scotland then you're probably not wrong.
Of course WOS is a provocative read and not exactly balanced or accurate at times, but then neither is life or politics so ... so what. It arguably has a bigger readership than anything else within the Scottish media, the civilized side being bunch of turncoats mostly. Truth is that the SNP and the Scottish Parliament badly needs a kick up the arse now, maybe the high energy and pointed writings of Wings is the tool to use as Holyrood remains stuck in a mire of their own making; fat, happy (?), complacent and icily detached. Every one in ever party ... well almost. And of course Westminster is about to administer a slow dose of economic strangulation and the long screwdriver of interference. Time to protect your MSP pensions folks, your days are numbered.
Whatever happens in the Sturgeon v Salmond wars there are no winners; Scotland just looks foolish again, incompetent and weak. Infighting isn't a good image. Westminster is exactly the same but is well protected by a sympathetic media that tolerates the bad behaviour of certain types, all bought and sold. Scotland remains as bouncy as a burst football, easily kicked over the hedge and ignored or brought out as a colourful and comic distraction when it suits. Our comparatively decent record on dealing with Covid is squandered by these distractions. Strangely there was a flurry of people actually joining the SNP last night, according to Twitter anyway. Sympathy for Saint Nicola I guess or just some faithful bots?
But right now the SNP have certainly lost my confidence; last year's insulting exams catastrophe, the waste of energy and puff on Brexit, the current AS muddle and the putrid investigation, the lack of political ownership and most worryingly the morphing of the party into a tight and inflexible, inbred community cult where disagreement isn't tolerated. It's all rubbish really and I'm marooned with no one to vote for. 😕 None are fit for purpose. Where do we go from here?
Below: a newly deconstructed kitchen probe lands accurately on the earth, right planet but in the wrong room.
Publicity shot: I've never owned a Citroen but if I did it would be a 70s DS. I say this purely based on the composition of this artful advertisement. That's reason enough. Modern car ads are complete rubbish in comparison.
Some short seemingly non-existent paragraphs from a short non-existent novel based around a Guardian feature I didn't read.
Machines: Not fully aware robots, AI, androids or kitchen blenders are all around, but any lack of obvious sentience that doesn't mean that the dishwasher hasn't negotiated some form of strange alliance with the freezer, those hive minds are expanding all the time, cutting deals and performing in surprising ways. Always close the fridge door gently, as if someone inside was a key worker and a light sleeper. Switch on and off with care.
So there I was, some time ago, sitting in the pale autumn sun having a coffee and a puff outside Temple Meads railway station in Bristol. It's probably my favourite station because of the smell of fresh cooked pasties and the whole Great Western thing or experience. I was puzzling over the arrangements for my long trip home and what citizenship of Bristol might mean should it ever happen to me. You see I was at that time a person of perpetual grievance. There was always something getting or about to get my goat. It's not healthy state of mind. Mechanical, trigger sprung like and always ready to resent.
I thought that I might have some genetic disorder. A proper propensity to be aggrieved by life in general, by not living in Bath or Bristol, by the death of steam trains, the lack of common order in life and coffee served in inappropriate crockery designed by people who had clearly only ever drunk from a teat. There was nowhere to turn so I turned away. At that point the sun emerged from cloud cover and warmly kissed my cheek.
There was a screech of brakes, I looked up. A cat had nearly been run over by a taxi. The taxi had come to a halt in the middle of the road having clipped a bollard and a cyclist. The driver was now out of his vehicle, bemused and looking for the cat. The cyclist had fallen from his bike. The cat had however run off at great speed like some black flash, behind the bus stop, along the top of a stone wall and now away across a car park. The fright released a disproportionate amount of energy to which cat could only succumb and fly like a furry missile to safety. I saw the whole thing as a study on and an explanation of classical physics. There were no visible injuries but there was potential.
All that is in the past now, it took place five minutes ago and the traffic and the people have all moved on with barely a ripple. I look across at the grim facade of the station. The comings and goings. I would have liked to be travelling on a train but I'm just killing time before the airport bus. Better to sit here in a watery sun, dream of stone and metal than wander the overpriced and soulless alloy and plastic corridors of crowded check-ins and departure lounges where safety cutlery and steaming microwaved excellence prevails. The avoidance of full blown grievance situations and their troubles is a highly sought after skill in this particular century.
It was about then that I awoke. There, safely strapped into my seat onboard some silvery spacecraft which was, according to the information screen, heading directly into the sun.
*You should not use any information contained in this website to initiate the use of philosophical supplements, super vitamins, soft drugs and social media products or home made medicines, and other badly described products prior to consulting first with a physician or a progressive rock music provider of some sort. Impossible Songs disclaims any liability based on information provided in this website mainly because it's all just made up in the shower and then processed via accidental selection methods (a bit like the way the SNP currently do things).
By way of further explanation: The words, "Can only have been revisited and doctored by a madman", are inscribed in pencil in the top left-hand corner of the painting. This statement is only visible when viewed sympathetically through the eyes of Edvard Munch, not an easy viewpoint to simulate for the beginner. In future please try to keep most of your anxiety to yourself if possible. I'll try to do the same albeit I have this blog as an occasional outlet.
David Attenborough suggests that we should all go out (as conditions allow) into the woods or countryside and just sit still and watch that world for a bit. Stay relaxed and focused and after 10 minutes or so you will start to see all sorts of wildlife and natural events that will surprise and delight you. I've tried it, he's right. It was mostly noisy passing birds and common cloud shapes I saw, some slugs and simple things like leaves dropping etc. Choosing a good location does help with the overall quality of this exercise, maybe try the Serengeti or Yellowstone next time .
You made be interested to know that as I don't name my screen shot files they are allocated numbers automatically by my laptop (I take screenshots with my phone but that's different so let's not confuse things). I don't take so many and as the file numbering resets back to 1 after 100 my total screenshots at the moment are about 150ish, but this, for the avoidance of any doubt is No.44 in the folder though it's also the 144th shot. 144 is also 12 x 12 but that's a discussion for another day.
