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.
Filing this in the somewhat overused category known as "things that just never occurred to me". It turns out that there are people who never drink water, ever, because (mostly) they don't like the taste. So what does water taste like and what makes that taste unpleasant to some? Perhaps they have over sensitive taste buds, maybe they've never tried "real" water. Maybe they just want the attention of gagging at a water jug over a meal. Is it some sort of badge of honour amongst certain types of individual?
I don't really think water has any real taste unless it's tainted or flavoured, or stagnant. Regular tap water just tastes of mostly nothing, well here in damp and often dismal Scotland it does. It's some utilitarian thing like air or light. It's there and we use it thoughtlessly but regularly. But this is not true for some people as they obviously avoid all oral contact with it. This kind of thing makes me feel like a bit of a simpleton, scoffing food and drink with no thought or actually stopping to savor the actual product. No.
Presumably they wash in it, boil it and make tea or coffee or drink juice but hate the taste of plain water (?). They must be risking their health up to a point, kidney stones, digestive issues, dehydration and so on. Also they are missing how water just hits the spot, cleanses the palate and perks you up in the glorious slough of despond that is a hangover. Coca-Cola does that job pretty well I have to say. How do they clean their teeth? Hmm.
Fireplace, paper plane, pizza oven, the tomb of Jesus, geometric nonsense, distorted shoe box, Bessemer Converter, bedroom tissue carton, variations on the golden ratio, oblivion, Turkish Delight, sarcasm: You Choose!
I found out the other day that the term "mixed race" has been replaced by "mixed heritage". No sure how these things happen or how compliance is achieved but fair enough, somebody will be happy. Less offence may be taken albeit the multiple wrongs done in colonial history and it's sporadic invasions are sadly well beyond any kind of retrospective correction. People argue that words and names make a difference (they probably do) but there's always someone who's left behind in these academic and complex rebrandings i.e. older people like me who can't think clearly.
I however, looking back on my family history, am of an unmixed or even fixed/stalled heritage. Bordering on incestuous due to an understandable inability to travel or explore (?), the tiny East Neuk villages I hail from were ignored and uninterrupted by incomers for centuries. Family trees are often close to being straight lines. People married locally and so generations grew poorer, shorter and stupider and so on ... the unmixed heritage model built up pure but peculiar blood and breeding with no mongrel additions or invasive species. We lived on potatoes and herring, alcohol and/or periods of enforced abstinence and temperance. A few convenient world wars helped to steady the number of inbred victims and religious guilt did it for the rest by banning sex as it just might be seen as "fun".
Unnecessary footnote: Our cats (as above) are highly mixed to the point of being feral in all but behaviour. What doesn't kill you makes you strong, or at least it makes you interesting.
I quite like the idea of a slow spillage sign being applied to a stream of lava, crawling in slow motion down a mountainside and gradually thickening and burning up the ground it covers. Anyway this is about a DIY road sign spotted locally. A Sharpie written white board on an old black chair warning passing motorists that diesel has been spilled all over the road.
A short while after I'd clocked this, a wagon from Edinburgh City Council arrived and scattered absorbent material across the offending area. The homemade sign remains on station, guarding the damaged stretch of roadway. Someone, somewhere is a well loved folding chair short tonight and are unable to sit by the kitchen table. Remember them in your thoughts and prayers.
The latest exhibition, entitled Disco (?) looks for all the world like it was pulled together from the 5th year school notes of some upper class kid travelling around Europe on her trust fund in the 90s. So it's mostly full of privilege signals, absolute pish and chatty tittle tattle ("here's my first ever joint in France etc."). Some might argue that it's worthy of being put out there as a record but frankly there's no connection in there that fits with Dundee life or Scotland's art scene, not now or in the 90s. The days when you could stick Polaroids on a wall along with old DJ flyers and Sharpie notes name checking your pals and call it art have I think long gone.
I wonder how long it will last before the plug is pulled.
Well these are remains of what at one time was a full 360 degree pizza. Now sadly reduced to the cold leftover slices. Not sure about the actual goat content either as I just made that up to make the title more interesting. There may be traces there among the peppers, chilli, red onions and Greek cheese but I doubt it. It was quite tasty. Tea, supper and breakfast.
