Citadels of the Mind

Everybody lives somewhere but mostly we live in our minds. It all happens there. It happens there a lot more than it does in the real world. That's the power of the powerful mind. Books, films and plays have been written about this sort of thing and as I don't really know what I'm talking about here you might want to do your own research.

360 Reality Audio

Oh really? 360 Reality Audio is a new immersive music experience that uses Sony's object-based 360 Spatial Sound technologies. Individual sounds such as vocals, chorus, piano, guitar, bass and even sounds of the live audience can be placed in a 360 spherical sound field, giving artists and creators a new way to express their creativity. Listeners can be immersed in a field of sound exactly as intended by artists and creators. Music content created in this new format for 360 Reality Audio can be enjoyed through compatible music streaming services.

Enlightenment ...

 ... and a boiler gone wonky. The universe is a serious place. There's pressure and there's not enough pressure. Not enough can mean the failure of the central heating system and oops, now you're caught out. The manufacturer's instructions are gobbledygook, the installer's tiny pamphlet, hidden in the hatch, is incomprehensible, you've no choice  but to contact your virtual technical support team out there on YouTube. There's always an 11 minute video (but it'll ramble and be tough to follow), some South African bloke with a bad accent with intrusive background music or a 1:35 minute snappy alternative. Choose the one that gets to the point, you don't need travelogue with a wonky boiler. You just need to know what two tiny taps to turn to refill the pressure system and move that little dial back up to 1 Bar (1.5 Bar if you feel like taking the risk of a full on kitchen explosion). A tweak and fumble here and there. It's all over in a few seconds (?). The things fixed and I didn't even bother to like, comment or subscribe. I'm a bad person.

L’empire des lumières

L’empire des lumières will be auctioned in March and looks set to be the highest price paid for a work by René Magritte, bidding is estimated to reach at least £45m. I'm so tempted to throw my hat into the ring on this one, possibly by means of some leverage restructuring deal, a crowd funder project, an elabourate pyramid scheme or an on-line raffle. 

If you're interested in this little enterprise by all means make a contribution (details via DMs (Doc Martins)) or post a comment and my people will happily get in contact with your people, eventually.

Gilded Palace of Sin

 

Beach combing by the pale moonlight has it's limitations. The flotsam and jetsam is often obscured by shadows and criminal acts of misspelling. As a result we found nothing apart from our feet. Meanwhile the local hostelries remain dull and unvisited, some closed completely as we endure the limbo of a closed season and the UK's economic fuck-wittery on a grand scale. Victims mutter in anger and prepare plans for soft revolutions that never come. I hear the voices. The glittering palace of entertainment, illustrated above and lapped by the incoming tide's grey ooze, was also closed but the last person there had clearly forgotten to switch off the lights. You just can't get the staff these days. 

It's not all doom and gloom though, the road works, in their third full month are coming along nicely and the traffic calming measures have ensured traffic stays away. That is apart from the traffic (Ford Fiesta STs mainly) that seems intent on crossing coastal grassland presumably in a late night attempt to keep the rabbit numbers down. The Just Eat drivers also add some colour to the pulse of the streets, every conversation is loud but no doubt necessary as the troop's rations are delivered in good time for whatever Netflix stuff is tickling the hungry customers. 

Now we're home, digesting a stir fry and feeding medicine to eager cats. That was Tuesday night's stroll, pretty much as it happened.

The Early Years

Some hairy bloke and Sandy Denny back in the day. Who knows where the time goes?

Psychedelic Soap Suds

Bit of a slow day yesterday but I'm now safely home after a short spell of temporary incarceration and enforced but enjoyable DIY. My diet seemed to improve mainly due to an excess of eggs and seasonal BrewDog samples. As I was engaged in various home improvement exercises my level of fitness has also scored an impressive 7.6 on the Richter Scale. Some tortuous Allan Key work and a lot of intimate sandpaper detailing must take the credit. I'm also back to breathing in and out easily without the aid of a tight woolen jumper or a good slap on the back from a shop assistant. 

Health wise things are mostly on the up, whilst around us the general public seems to be drifting somewhat, mostly looking under the weather due to weather mainly and a lack of government advice and good greens. Speaking of diets, last night a man who looked a lot like Larry David passed me in the street carrying three plates of steaming mince and tatties on a tray. I've no idea where he came from, he just appeared bearing this traditional dish, sashaying like a skilled waiter. Turns out he was headed in the direction of the local church, a building that was shrouded in darkness. I've no idea what type of ceremony he was taking part in within that ancient and sacred space. It certainly wasn't the Miley Cyrus line dancing night or the regular Weight-Watcher's "ultra light breakfast" meet up. Religions can be confusing.

My awful taste in music continues: Mostly I blame Vic Reeves for getting me started on listening to Jonny Winter once again. Bloody comedians and their Texas blues legends, Instagraming their eclectic couch based dance moves. Well we're in this for the long run and I'll be back to my old self as soon as the effects of the psychedelic suds and the dark Ritter Sports begin to wear off. In closing here's a picture of the winter sky just outside the bathroom window right now, directly above the fountain head and local gibbet. 

Daily Nothing

Escaping the clutches of 2021 was never going to be easy, we all had to keep living or at least stay sane. That deed is done and gone. 2019 was troublesome too, in that year I massively over-blogged. I've no idea why, maybe something in the air, human bloodstream or water. Much of was dross but that's normal. So for 2021 I imposed a complex rationing system upon myself. It took skill and no small amount of discipline to adhere to it. 

I decided I'd do one post a day, no more, no less. I didn't really think much about the quality mind you, perhaps that was my biggest, most fatal mistake in a career of mistakes. Maintaining good content isn't easy you know. Well I managed the daily target anyway, 100%, despite the clearly negative thoughts of my imaginary detractors. So it is finished. I proved that I can do a post a day, all year if I have to. As is necessary now a new phase beckons.

2022 is to be a different beast. Other strange threats, new opportunities and some other mumble-worthy stuff. 2022 and all that means very little. No daily post, no longer multiple posts, just posts "whenever" or "whatever", an occasional exercise, a place to park junk, nothing in particular, no pressure, no frequency. There may still be some plagiarism of course, nothing new there.

One simple question remains ... why am I posting this on January the 9th?

Some Velvet Morning

It's raining today but it wasn't the other day. Nice early morning snap, it's reasonably safe here, Scotland's not so bad. Meanwhile, according to the progress made so far, it'll be at least 3000 years before it's safe in Chernobyl.

Night Watch

Daily dose of historical popular culture and intrigue: Rembrandt's "The Night Watch". It was originally given the working title "The Dark Phallus" because of an accidentally hidden bit of detail. The painting was commissioned by the then Pope, somebody somebody, at who's request the title was changed a number of times before settling with "Midnight Pope Hunt" which, after a Papal Bull was sacrificed, was renamed with the title that we all know it by today. Rembrandt's ghost was very unhappy about the situation and remains so to this day. The watch featured in the piece is a primitive Rolex Submariner Oyster. When I say featured I mean it's on the wrist of the fourth soldier on the left. An early example of discrete product placement.

Paranoia

Original art from an unoriginal source created by someone half asleep with questionable skills and food hygiene standards: The trope that is omnipresence.

Just another all seeing eye, sent to remind you to get your shit properly together because clearly the universe is watching you*. The paranormal brings the peace of paranoia. Governments can do nothing and don't just blame the weather.

*Terms, conditions and ridiculous belief systems apply.

Don't Look out of the Ordinary

Well that would never do. The public get what the public want except that the public don't quite know what they want so we'll decide for them because we really know what's going on and what's best for them. Poor, misinformed little people. So sad. So easy. We're best placed to judge in these matters.

Who would have thought that a film that lampoons journalists and the media might be unpopular with journalists and the media?

Only Gig in Fife

Before the dawn of all-seeing social media and useful online-dancing chatter and banter, it seems that "other things" took place that no one in my small circle of idiots was aware of. Apparently Pink Floyd played at St Andrews University in February 1969, their only known visit to Fife and of course almost my actual birthplace. 

Trust the godfathers of space-rock's management to land them a gig at a posh uni instead of some actual regular venue in the Kingdom. A proper "bare stage" set up there too, Ummagumma style I'd say. No visuals, props or extravagant PA (all things that didn't even exist at the time north of Scunthorpe).

Wary of the Warriors

Never held to account, never wrong, never close to the truth. 😉

Keypads are included in the term keyboards. Bots are not.

Upgrade and enhance your Twitter or Facebook profile by simply replying to any post you deem to be worthy with the simple term "Shit Show". 

Engage with the sorry world of the Spammer and offer support and counseling so that they might see the errors of their ways.

Like and share. As you might do with your money or your food or perhaps your partner.

Caught in a Phishing scam? Not much you can really do about that. Try sticking with face to face contacts in future.

Please don't respond to Facebook quizzes and posts that ask for your opinion or how you'd try to solve a maths puzzle unless you really know the answer.

Too good a bargain to be true? Buy it and tell all your friends!

Click-bait can be an easy to access form of wholesome entertainment if you're bored.

All the actual "news" the BBC chooses not to report or broadcast is held in large vats located underneath the Houses of Parliament. Researchers will be able to access them from 2099 onwards.

Click "Shop Now" on Instagram even if you have no intention of shopping.

English or American English spell check?

Don't forget to enter all those "free" prize draw competitions. You've nothing to lose.

An alert from the Daily Mirror.

Speaking generally I don't really like things. A milder, less specific  alternative is required.

Please insert code for a discount ... err.

Ask Google.

I've lost count of how many Tweets I've not seen.

Someone is typing ...

"For some reason Dominic Cummings always reminds me of the Apostle Paul. I imagine they've never been seen in the same room." This has never been said by anyone ever before .

The weather in your area ...

Released with free bugs.

Using on-line things for free and then complaining about the service.

And your location is?

Sound on. Watch till the end.

Outlaws of the Forth

The (bored looking) paparazzi descended on the town to capture the "Outlaw Looney Dook". The annual event, was managed and commercialized by Edinburgh Council and Underbelly until Covid leveled the playing field and banned the tourists. The "management" and £12.50 entrance fee all evaporated and we were back to the days when people just jumped in the Forth, mainly for charity or swift hangover cures. So some did indeed plunge in yesterday, about twenty brave souls, many in fancy dress. 

A small crowd observed as the giant lenses and wet feet of the eager paps took photos from every angle. However I decided to capture the rail bridge vista, the light was good in the peculiar warm air. In the end there certainly were a lot less than 500 people spectating so I doubt criminal proceedings will follow.  As for UB and ECC, they can get to fuck with their crass exploitation of dumb-ass local fun. 

Some of the Pap's photos are slowly surfacing in the media, the warm weather warning and what that might mean remains a down played aspect. Let's not let reality spoil the fun. Yahoo!

Midwestern Night's Dream (Live 1977)

Pat Metheny Group (Live in a year called 1977 for some reason). 

Proper guitar noodle-chill.

New Years Day somewhere. Take it easy. 2022.

31st December

"So slow, the time goes so slow."

An incomplete review of 2021: Looking back over the past twelve months isn't easy. I'll not bother with meaningless lists.  Aside from family joys and accounts of wonderful people getting on with life amid all kinds of adversity there's been a seriously sinister side to 2021 we've all experienced. As far as I'm concerned it's been a dangerous year that made my head and many other people's heads hurt. I hope 2022 will be safer and better. 

Maybe the BBC news service will invest in a well informed, sensible, unbiased and honest editorial team, just for a change. That might be a start.

Blame it on the Dan

Despite everything that has happened in the world (?) and in music I never seem to tire of or get past the music and lyrics of Steely Dan. Over the years I've gotten bored, forgotten or abandoned numerous bands and artists. OK sometimes random tunes return to my conscious mind in the shower or driving maybe but, like some stubborn lodger or personality trait, the Dan never quite leave. 

Those pernicious and preposterous tunes and arrangements, the luxury chords, the players and the legendary sound quality - perhaps not so much their charm or good looks. They are a virus in the soul and there's always something new to pick up. If you don't agree your just not listening hard enough. Put in the time.

So: Why has this novel never been written or this film never made? "Godwhacker" developed from a blasphemous lyric Donald Fagen wrote a few days after his mother died of Alzheimer's. "It's about an elite squad of assassins whose sole assignment is to find a way into heaven and take out God", he later explained. "If the Deity actually existed, what sane person wouldn't consider this to be justifiable homicide? This dead project needs life breathed into it. Maybe retitled to"The God Murder"?

Fraud

If it looks like a Strat, feels like a Strat, sounds like a Strat and plays like a Strat it must be a bit of a ... fraud, skulduggery, misrepresentation, fake, trickery, duplicity, forgery, deception, dishonesty, counterfeit, sham ... and so on. Nothing is real but something might be almost real. Some parts might be genuine, some features, something maybe abstract, some ghostly existence, a spirit that might be real enough. The hidden soul of the beast.

What if this guitar self identifies as a 1964 Stratocaster? It's just possible it might. What rights does it have? What if I self identify as the owner of that actual guitar? I'll leave it there and firmly refuse to cash in or capitalize, ever.

Farty Owls

Me hiding (or at least tinkering with stuff behind the scenes) and keeping warm in our partly completed renovation project. I can see the town clock from here. The beer is being served at a satisfying room temperature.