Nobody told Caravaggio

Martyrdom always makes for tricky death circumstances both for the martyr and those caught in the fallout. There can be no clear sense of the depth and meaning of it all at the time and the big award (?) can come way too quickly. Whether you're an innocent, a terrorist, a politician or a "legitimate" target doesn't really matter and being dead there's not much you can do about it. Other agencies take control. Man is not an honest beast.

They twist the facts: Tragedy strikes like a thief in the night but that doesn't mean reality, experience and truth need to be somehow re-calibrated to fit this unexpected twist in the narrative. You are what you were.

Lives lived in the spotlight are often distorted by untimely death. A golden glow can descend and the martyr is made up for the pretense that is eternity. "He was a man of the people", "one of us and a good sort", "resilient and honorable", "never had a bad word", "queen of hearts" etc. There's all that and then there are the actual records of deeds, good and not so. Then there's the uncensored persistence of memory.

Nothing and nobody is ever just black and white, there are shades of grey and beyond, family grief and knowledge being the most balanced measures, not the medias'. A life is a story, if other people write it, based on an emotional wave or some circumstantial colours, it's unlikely to be balanced or accurate.

I doubt Caravaggio was bothered by the reputation or status of his subjects or of his sponsors other than it allowed for a fee commensurate with whatever that might have been and whoever wanted to cough up for the spiritual and social cosmetic enhancements his paintings could provide once displayed. 

Then there's the thousands that have died of Covid in the UK ... martyrs of a different kind?

Inspirational Messages

 

When you've had enough of the horseshit served up by the media and politicians you might just want to go somewhere beyond the lies and arguments where a more educated overview of things might be taken. We are all a strange mixture of participants and spectators in our own lives; participation often consists of either taking or dodging punches and kicks coming our way from the depths of the mad shadows. So it could be that a bit more studious spectating can be helpful in order to get some clarity of thought and maybe apply a bit of a challenge to firmly held beliefs or opinions. Then you can happily drop into a quiet but uplifting despair and lose yourself in Netflix or whatever your poison is for however long it may take to get yourself fixed.

At school I read a lot of Huxley, I'm not sure if I ever recovered. Those varied, incoming early messages of revolution (in art, music and literature) tend to go deep.

Confidence

 

What product confidence looks like in Korean burger marketing.

I think that they may have a good point but, for numerous reasons, I am unable to prove it. As if that might matter.

In My Own Personal Space

“Everything that needs to be said has already been said. But, since no one was listening, everything must be said again”. (André Gide)

Not Neutral

Sometimes I worry that, despite what my thoughts seem to say, based on received messages and processing,  I just don't feel strongly enough about things that are clearly important. Having said that I probably feel too strongly about things that, in the great scheme are trivial but more personal. 

When it affects you personally it makes all the difference, when it doesn't you can be comfortably indifferent. At the same time some people are really being affected, ruined indeed by something you are indifferent to. Perhaps it's not you or me, just somebody else who we don't know or haven't even seen. Owning and keeping a wide ranging, accurate, operating empathy radar system is hard work.

The word "important"when applied to things in life is tricky to pin down in a relevant way because it's meaning really slides according to circumstances, well being, comfort and danger. Today in Scotland, we, the Scots are completely all over the place with "important" conflicting ideas, shifting beliefs and panic based priorities and that is one reason* why we're screwed and will continue to be so. We're a nation of frightened rabbits, mostly. Governments like that.

This also applies across the rest of humanity but the Scots have a bad case of it. Words to describe it might be a fuzzy, watery, self induced  schizophrenia of some sort - the Scotland Syndrome.

*The other reasons are both current and historical but I can't be arsed listing them.

Made in Govan

A thing of beauty: Made by Holland Coachcraft of Govan, Glasgow. Built at a time when Art Deco vehicles were in vogue, never mind actual ship building and the heavy engineering that went with it. Back in the days when knew how to design and manufacture, they being the Scots. The problem is of course that a lot of pain, grief and exploitation went with all that. We don't want to return to those days but some green, modern, Electric Vehicle like this would be fantastic to see on the roads.

Cats and Squids

The significance of small things: 

1. Today marks a calming down on what seems like an interminable struggle we've had with one of our cats having a bit of a bowel problem. When I say a bit of a problem I mean a nasty combination of diahorrea and vomiting that's been troubling him and us for weeks. After visiting the vets, a little too late probably, he was put on medication and we've pretty much revised both his diet and the portions he gets. 

For years, because we were both out for hours at a time working each day, we simply provided a running buffet for the cats and they grazed peacefully. Things have changed but we didn't change this. Now portions are small and regular and more varied. The meds seem to be working too and he's returning to his old self and seems a lot more at ease. 

At age 15 (a geriatric cat almost) you can't expect a quick recovery and habit changes to be easy but I'm hopeful we're through this now. Early morning bouts of his sickness etc. were hard to handle and the overwhelmingly bad smells a small cat can produce in a small space are hard to believe. I didn't enjoy collecting stool samples either and then dutifully handing them like illicit drugs packs into the Covid fortress that is the local surgery.

Mornings and evenings are med times for them both now and we thank the stars for Lick-e-Lix, a genius invention of the highest order. Anyway we now float in a calmer and less smelly sea for the time being, resting better with cat crisis stress down a notch but still knowing that at some point some other feline health problem is bound to happen.

2. Last night we reached the end of Squid Game after nine mind boggling episodes. For some reason this TV series really got to me and encroached into a lot of my head space, quite a large area I'll have you know. I find people on the edge (and over it) are fascinating, particularly when you're a bit back from the edge yourself. It's helpful if they are fictitious too. Never an easy watch, it jumped from terrifying and sudden violence to moments of tender care and pathos along with some forced and culturally stereotypical plot lines ... but it really worked for me. 

The Squid Game universe now exists and with Series 1's final episode over I can guess only a few of the numerous directions it could be all headed towards in S2. Of course it's raised a load of difficult social issues, mostly in Korean cities I imagine. Then there are the wider, common philosophical points, human dilemmas and actual problems it highlights, they remain quite fascinating but always unsolvable. Those and keeping up with the quickly scrolling sub-titles (an actual joy in my book) were a mindful exercise in themselves.

I wonder how different groups of real people would perform in their own versions of the game; academics, engineers, politicians etc. when placed in such circumstances? Also a more diverse group, not just Koreans but a mix of races and classes. Who would come out on top? It hardly matters. 

Gladly none of this is real (yet), it's just what passes for entertainment now and to be honest I found it a lot more entertaining than most of the "world class" sporting events that are forced down our throats on a regular basis. It's finally come to this, back in the early seventies we were keen to "stamp out reality", looks like we actually did it or at least ground it down a bit. Now we just have the Squid Game Syndrome to deal with.

Sgnos Elbissopmi

 

From the Greek: It's just a screen shot of a short video playlist so the buttons don't work, you need to look elsewhere i.e. YouTube Music. Then toggle on down to videos.

P.S From somebody called Simon Kuper who writes for the FT, "I now understand that Japanese wives refer to their retired husbands as "sodaigomi" (oversized rubbish) or "nure-achiba" (wet fallen leaf)." Hmm.

Houseplant of the Week

Not really any kind of competitive thing, just about recognition really. We all need a bit of that from time to time to help smooth out the bumps on life's poorly maintained, badly designed and underfunded roads. Why not nominate a family member, a colleague, a pet, a particular beverage or indeed a humble house plant? You will be rewarded eventually but it's not certain when.

The Main Ingredient

 

I'm doubtful this is correct but if it is thank you very much, as I'm double vaxed I'll be doubly demonic I guess. What I need is an extra dose right now, to finish the job and the virus. As Jesus might have said, flesh and blood did not reveal this truth to me or you. 

Firth of Froth

 

Local brew, two and a half pints in. In the pub. Ferry Brewery with glassy fingerprints and beery overtones. We live at the dirty end of the river, where the silt is visible in the water as it travels downwards and outwards, the colour of cloudy beer mostly. Great brown particles and shoals of whatever silt is made of, passing our windows and litter bins with each tide. 

I often wonder when, after all these years of outpouring, Scotland's silt will run out and what may happen then. The waters of the Forth might be clear and drinkable for all, until that is they finally meet the rowdy and uncouth oily, salt and vinegar flavoured H20 of the North Sea. 

The silt exporting and processing industry* may no longer be a viable business and many jobs will be lost and once bustling waterfront communities will die. I may not live long enough to see that strange, unfortunate but sparkling day, but I can still imagine it because it's a common experience.

*For dyslexic folks: not to be confused with Scotland's slit industry.

Why has no pub or brewery around and along these coastal parts not used the title "Froth of Forth?" There probably are good reasons.

Sucker!

 

File under Old News: Always a sucker for a good, almost plausible conspiracy theory, that's me. This tale is about the fuel "shortage". Some say there isn't one. There's a fuel glut brought on by low sales during lockdown so the oil companies need to accelerate demand (petrol and diesel have a shelf life) to move static stocks. What better way to quickly empty the storage tanks than declare a mythical shortage (because of convenient HGV drivers issues) and so create panic buying in order to turn over stock that's aging? As a bonus you can up the price (supply v demand etc.) and make a tidy profit along the way. Nice.

Also raised are the regular questions about supermarket fuel quality against the quality of actual big oil petrol stations. Some say the supermarkets sell nearly out of life petrol in the same way that Wetherspoons buy/sell their (?) beer, nearing the end of it's life. Lots of anecdotes about vehicle fuel systems burping and coughing on recent Tesco/Asda/Sainsbury's petrol fill ups. Just watch for that little blip on your rev counter when the engine is idling, followed by poor performance no doubt.

Do I actually believe this? It certainly fits with the Tories jingoistic resetting history narrative. Well I've just been to the barbers and blah blah blah.

Cleanse Your Soul

1. Days away from the internet, ration style phone use.

2. Read any book, play a musical instrument, sing to yourself.

3. Wear comfortable and practical clothes.

4. Walk whenever possible.

5. Sleep without any alarm device nearby.

6. Eat yogurt, fruit, milk - lay off coffee.

7. Reflect on past decisions, take a journey in your mind.

8. Nap when you feel the need to.

9. Limit TV viewing, avoid newscasts and serials.

10. Spend time outside, watch the weather, study the sky.

(Then wake up from that pleasant enough dream and have a good moan to yourself about trivia or nothing really, get bored with Twitter and shouty headlines after thirty seconds exposure and then go out and step in some dog shit and sniff the pungent unpleasantness of a nearby blocked drain as some idiot growls past you in a Ricer modified Honda painted purple and a man standing in a bus queue spits into the gutter and throws down some litter.)

Time moves on as it must:

"When that fragile moment of cleansing finally arrived it was more spectacular and magical than I could have ever imagined."

Rainbows all over your blues

The daily rainbow: I remember rainbows, invented by Noah, then  hijacked by LGBT flags or whatever groups, My Little Pony, unicorn arty stuff and cheap Chinese toys, pop festival types, questionable woolly jumper choices and so on. We reached peak rainbow saturation point some time ago but still there is no clear sign of the once heavenly sign receding in popularity and over use. Poor exhausted, misunderstood rainbows. 

Mr Roy G Biv has a lot to answer for with his pre-rain messages. His pelting downpours brought via global warming with their flash floods will lead to a plague of malignant rainbows eventually. Instead of signifying God's fairly dodgy covenant with man it'll become a sign of warning, imminent danger and destruction with the possibility of drowning in fast flowing muddy waters. Or not as the case may be but I'm pretty sure Jackson Browne said the planet would be washed clean one of these days.

South Specific

Evidence of ongoing rotten leadership whatever happens next: Down there in the beautiful south* you can be sure the Metropolitan Police Force will prevail, untouched and unchanged in their attitudes and behaviours. Institutional misogyny, racial prejudice, corruption, cover ups, it's all in there somewhere, festering away nicely. The reasons the Met is safe are simple, they hold a lot of information, dossiers, accounts of historical abuses of power and have first hand experience of the antics of the so called "elite". 

All of Boris Johnson's lies, indiscretions, violent outbursts, exploits and crimes (petty and otherwise) are known and recorded. Along with his grubby history, information on all the creeps, paedophiles, fraudsters and gangsters in the House of Lords, Parliament, the Royal Family, the ruling classes and media controllers is in the same soup pot there. 

This is how things stay in balance, how the wheels are greased, how the machine sustains itself. Always has, always will. So calm down and choose your battles carefully.

*May also apply in Scotland and elsewhere within these septic isles.

Squid Game v Bake Off

 

Back to back TV watching creates a consciousness confusing genre mash-up that's both entertaining and thought provoking. The juxtaposition of competition, games and challenges with real or imagined circumstances and effects. Some people fail to bake a good cake and are eliminated, others fail at a Korean kid's street game and are eliminated. Some succeed in life, other's struggle.  Actors playing realistic parts, real people acting. Whatever the mix there is always drama and consequences. Destruction is always entertaining. Which reality is real I wonder?

Accidental Kitchen Flowers

Flowers in transit. Stopping by in the kitchen for a short time. A staging post and watering hole. Soon they will move on. Placed in a space in a vase and regarded, positioned, watered and in the sunlight. Maybe far away from this grey kitchen. And then what? ... Chill time.

Pasteis de Nata

I made these myself ... heated them up myself. There, from the middle of Lidl, the mythical, strange, fantastic place where nothing is quite what it seems or is ever quite the same again. A portal once crossed and uncrossed it can never be returned to in the way that it was first explored or entered. Thins appear, shape shift and vanish. I hope this makes sense. Abandon hope all ye who enter here. I'm assuming hope well might be abandoned should you forget or omit to purchase some handy fresh frozen pasteis de nata (in a six pack) when visiting this legendary and shimmering market place.

Uptown Top Cat Funk

It's the 1st of October! Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you possibly the greatest piece of written/choral music ever, along with some of the best lyrical content, with the added bonus of some old school hand drafted animation artistry coupled with brilliant characterization. 

Top Cat!

The most effectual!

Top Cat!

Who's intellectual!

Close friends get to call him "T.C.,"

Providing it's with dignity!

Top Cat!

The indisputable leader of the gang.

He's the boss, he's a VIP, he's a championship.

He's the most tip top,

Top Cat.

Yes, he's the chief, he's a king,

But above everything,

He's the most tip top,

Top Cat!

Lichen and Stone

Looking out into the west, over the stone wall of the cemetery across the dark loch's troubled surface. Already the waters are eroding the old wall, the rock barrier between the graves and the cold blue/black of the loch. The waves lap, they pound, they hold back and then they pull forward. The graves and their hidden, ruined bodies can do nothing, they are simply there, old and overgrown, weathered and stuck down in the clay and dead among the boulders. The long tussle for power goes on daily. When will the wall tumble and wash away as the loch finally passes over and across?