American Traitors

 

Due a series of unpredictable events and adverse weather we binge watched "Traitors" the USA version via the ad free services of iPlayer. We'd already watched the UK version, a revelatory study in human idiocy and immaturity that had to be seen to be believed.  Nobody emerged from it looking like anything other than an emotional child. It was oddly riveting just the same. The American version, currently available to fully binge is even crazier. It's also set in a lush and magnificently filtered rendering of a Scotland that as Scots we all recognize but seldom encounter in the real world. It's also made up of 100% American stereotypical contestants as you might expect.

The wide eyed and manic contestants line up like guests at some D-lister and lowly public service worker's wedding, all unaware of the kind of event they've landed in. Some loud, some moody, some needy, some just obviously ignorant of most of the normal behavioural traits that their fellow humans exhibit. Life has taught them very little. You wonder how they ever manage to do everyday things or hold casual conversations ... but they're here and now playing an adult game with a big cash prize. It would be fine then if they simply understood  a) how adults act and b) what an actual game is.

I suppose none of this matters, the whole thing is a chaotic car crash that's highly addictive and entertaining, cringe worthy and even funny at times and how people can claim to "love" and "trust" perfect strangers after few hours under some gilded gothic roof makes no sense. Perhaps it's the highland water and the mountain air. However it does turn out that a few of the contestants are far from being unfocused, dumb or malleable and that really is the main and unexpected twist. If your attention span and dislike of loud Americans can't cope with all ten curious episodes the final three will probably do it for you.

AI Cat Stevens' AI Cat

Whilst leaving the local shop the other day I overhead two postmen having a conversation. One was older, bearded with the correct amount of white beardy flecks, the other younger one wore a bobble hat and had a wispy, ginger beard. The kind of beard that the navy would've made you shave off as it wasn't up to naval standards. Why on earth am I describing them by their beards? It's as if they had no other physical features of note, maybe that's the point. H. G. Wells' "the Invisible Man" is all about a postman after all. Are postmen mostly invisible and hard to describe without using words like beard, shorts, Rastafarian or chatty? 

These postmen were discussing Cat Stevens' albums. "Oh yeah, that one's a classic", said the older postman. The younger one nodded. "I've got quite a few of his", added the older one. 

He's got them on vinyl and CD I imagine, none of that streaming stuff, he's not of that generation. I could make an educated guess of what's in his listening collection and how he remembers rolling five skinner joints on the book fold covers. The trouble is that often it's all about the memory and the context, listening to the actual music and enjoying it 50 years later isn't so simple. 

"Favourite tune?" "Ah, well, probably Matthew and Son". "Aye". "Then there's First Cut, that's a belter". "Aye". "Father and Son." "Aye".

By now I'm moving away, heading across the car park with my lunchtime hot pie and egg mayo baguette. The postmen are back to loading the van. It's a familiar kind of conversation. The appreciation of music or films or whatever ... always going back to some golden time. A pub chat that's forever circular, like some YouTube search that keeps throwing up fragments and tangents you just don't need. 

When it comes to art and music I know I sometimes say I like things but I don't really like them. I'm being supportive of other tastes so I bluff. Sometimes I've never even listened to the album or seen the film that the conversation is about. I might admit to that, I might not. A lot of the older stuff is a bit shit really, you just have to dig down and be selective. I've certainly never bought any of Cat Stevens' albums but he was always OK and interesting. I reckon it's all down to who you hung out with at high school. That sets you on a road. After that not much else counts. 

The AI image above features a giant "Cat" with his famous five legs and a single unbearded postman who may or may not have a gun. The AI image below has simply been added because in the end (?) these things will dominate our lives and outlook to the point we wont know reality from unreality so we best get used to it. These postmen have beards and do regular work for a street cat called Steven, about whom the less said the better.

Wild

I don't know how wild this boar was but I'm guessing it wasn't too happy once his fate was decided. Pate is just posh name for "potted meat", a way of using up cheap cuts of meat by boiling them until they're mushy, adding herbs and seasoning and allowing the mix to cool and solidify. Then you use it as a sandwich filler or just spoon it up any way you want. If you stick the name "pate" on it then you can charge what you like per jar and dummies like me will rush out to buy it. 

For the Birds

I can confirm that the new funky and solar powered Bird Buddy is now locked, loaded and fully operational. For the birds the good times are just about to begin. I'm not sure what this will mean for us.

Mount Olympus

Here's my home made Vesuvius or Etna or Stromboli. It's not Mount Olympus as the title suggests but that was my first thought, then I realized that Olympus wasn't a volcano, I think. More research may be required but it's unlikely ever to happen. It's not really a model at all, just the first spurt of flame when the firelighter awakens under the logs and kindling. 

I do wonder about the Greek and later Roman gods, up there on Olympus in their daft and hedonistic pomp. Did the clever and deeply philosophical Greeks really believe in those ridiculous gods? I think it's always about opium for the masses, it works so well in every civilisation. Add a few well thought out legends and fables and you're away, then get those idiots to spend their lives putting up beautiful but meaningless temples where they can sacrifice a few pigeons now and then.

Recent press information has given me some concerns about log burners but the "bad press" seems to centre around inner city (London mainly) readings or figures. We're out in the sticks, by the coast and on a windy hill, no one nearby seems to use a log stove, does that make anything right? Will we live to regret our smoke signals or is it simply a minor mark in our already enormous polluting footprint? 

The Road to Utopia

When I was a child I thought that Utopia was a real place, perhaps in Tibet or Nepal, shrouded in mist, hidden by mountains and great passes and only discovered after surviving many impossible trails and trials. Few people ever entered, nobody ever left. I was of course confusing it with Shangri-la but I didn't care, I just liked the idea of such a place existing*. I presumed the fountain of youth was there along with eternal life, peaceful serenity, no conflict or pain. I saw it in comic strip colours and inks, bold and bright. I wondered if some stray helicopter or aircraft might find it and it's discovery broadcast on the TV news, in 425 lines in grainy black and white. Who would be the first to tell the story? The ever resolute BBC I imagined, with Richard Dimbleby providing a dry and well informed commentary as the special program ran. 

It never did happen. What nobody knew (well me mostly) in those pre-whatever years was that this country, whilst not a Utopia could actually be a pretty good place with a lot of potential. Then along came the villains, the greedies and the serially corrupt. They didn't really have the same dream, they just wanted disruption and a kind unfair simplicity where privilege and nepotism could quietly gain and maintain the upper hand, even more so than before, and it worked. We're now living in their Uptopia, made in their image and we still don't own a single piece of it. That's because it's all theirs and it always was. We're displaced people.

A final word to the "middle classes": you don't exist. The media and some potted history created you a while ago. You act as a deluded buffer for the ruling minority, in place as an ignorant bullwark against the "working class". You think you have something to lose and a lot to defend, but you're just doing their dirty work by craning your neck to see how far above you those lords of the stratosphere are actually flying with all their twinkling resources; shining as a faint spectacle beyond their own armoured ceiling. You'll never join them. Yup, it's all a big sham, numbers on bits of paper and blips in digital vaults. Enjoy.

*I do relish a good vacuous splurge sometimes, just to clear out the passages.

Brewdog in a Tennent's Glass

I like a few of the Brewdog beers, maybe not all of the overly flavoured types but their IPAs are pretty good. I'm not a beer snob though and I don't much care for the Brewdog brand in terms of reputation and attitude but the beer's OK. It goes down too easy maybe and therein lies potential trouble. Anyway to keep some universal balance in place I like to drink it in a Tennent's glass (one I found outside on our garden wall) and thereby keep myself and my errant soul peaceful and serene. As a drinking system it works most of the time.

Last of Us Episode 3

I only dip in and out of the Last of Us, I'm not able or willing to keep up with this, basically I don't much like zombies or weird fungus people. However I watched episode 3 and was really pleasantly impressed with the temporary change of direction; the tale of Bill and Frank. This is a wonderful, sensitive and disturbing piece of drama. Of course there's action, suspense and horror as the main story arc curves onwards but the accidental and bitter sweet lives of Bill and Frank are a finely crafted and sensitive love story that I didn't expect to see or feel so affected by. It also spawned a Linda Ronstadt track being played that might well rival Kate Bush's Stranger Things moment. The music never quite dies and neither do the memories. We're all running up a hill of some sort.

Out of Dates

Nothing lasts forever in the material world: This car, minus a rear quarter light has been left abandoned in the local shop's car park since last December. I don't think it's been reported to anybody and I doubt anybody cares. I thought about reporting it myself but recent experiences with the police suggest to me they'll do very little. When car, shop or house burglar alarms go off any report is met with a chilly indifference. 

There's no resource or energy there to get involved, that's pretty obvious to me. The traffic division prefer to monitor speeding offences and little else. I wonder how long this car will sit here. I'd imagine at some point it'll get torched and then there may be some resources deployed. It could have been resolved in a far simpler way. Ho hum.

Below are some out of date dates, they "expired" early January but I decided to try them last night. They were overlooked in the Christmas extravaganza. I'm still alive and typing this report a day later having scoffed a few. Please don't try this at home.

We Shall Overcome

Local celebrity cat overcomes rational/irrational fears and fitness issues by clambering onto the window sill and staring out into the big bad world on a Wednesday evening. There's a valuable lesson there for us all. Don't be afraid to look out of the window and, for a time be transported by whatever random things you might see. It's good to overcome but some might say that it's better to come over and simply annoy your friends and neighbours with your inane chatter, dodgy opinions and appetite for strong drink and mutton pies.

Not that Tuesday

When you're drifting in and around new worlds and different dimensions it's easy to lose track of time and think that today is Shrove Tuesday (Pancake Day). Turns out it's not, there's still two weeks to go and I was once again wrong. Funny but we never celebrate anything on this day nor actually feel the need to eat pancakes at any time during it. Why does it somehow seem important?

Today's the Day

 

"Today's the day the Teddy Boys got their shit nicked."

This is the sort of puerile and idiotic humour I like. I should probably apologize to everyone and even myself for finding this kind of statement funny but I've no intention of doing so. Of course the art/illustration is via the dreaded AI prompt, thus making the whole thing even more silly, hateful and pointless. We are here because the internet brought us here and we're all stuck with it now.

Preoccupied

A glitch in the unrelenting weather matrix. Unreliable forecasts predict 0% from Sunday onwards. I'm unsure as how to react. Days without rain in February. No damp conditions, drizzle or pounding great sheets of water falling from the sky. Does anybody know this is Scotland, home of the dreich and dreadful, the dim foggy and soaking place where there is no respite from all forms of H20 coming at you?

P.S. It was my 14th year on Twitter the other day. 14 years in which I've steadily gone nowhere and failed to grow, respond or make any kind of difference. I didn't bother to post this either. I'm not much of a community person it seems.

Book of Shell

An almost green and pleasant land, idyllic and calm, nature's garden with everything in it's proper place, clean water and air, agriculture thrives in the distant fields, spring slowly emerges from the grip of winter. A simple enough illustration from an old copy of the Shell Book of the Countryside. Life was different then.

A French Despatch

I fell asleep and woke up to find it was February. The great, grey oil slick of despondent January is fading into the distance. Snowdrops peer out, blinking below the crusty garden willow, green shoots emerge promising tulips and daffodils. The light and seasons confirm that we still see life and time as linear and mysterious. Our perception is as dull as we want it to be. The future still a black hole and always out of reach until it collapses onto us despite how smartly we think we read the signs.

We've yet to evolve into a more circular and all encompassing vision of our lives and times. So we trundle on in some kind of darkened chaos peering through the slit in the prison cell door, looking at things presented through the odd angle's distortion so we can't quite fathom them yet. I blame Wes Anderson for skewing my world view but also thank him for somehow making it all real to me.

Rainy Window

"Rainy Window" by AG. No chicanery, digital tricks or AI involved. 

 

Most Things Right

In a week spent taking time out from I'm not quite sure what I've been using my car driving time to re-listen to Odessey and Oracle, the famously badly spelled Zombies album. I was also avoiding the curse of the overly strong statins bug that's dumbed me down even further, so was intent on exercising my mind and ears for a bit. Side effects rather than special effects rule the day.

Despite being an album recorded in the 12" art house era of popular music they got a lot of things right on this. There's a few weaker tracks but it's still very listenable 50 plus years on, although shamefully being mostly remembered as a well meant and famous commercial failure. Neither of which it has proved to be. Great vocals, good tunes, thoughtful production and nice "spaces" in the music. Anyway fate is cruel and timing is everything and in my opinion there still is something missing. It all came to be just as the great guitar gods were stirring and sadly they overlooked the Zombies.

So what it really lacks and what would have given it a lot more punch and dynamic power are a few solid bits of applied lead guitar. Every track cries out for a touch of guitar just to add that extra layer above Rod Argent's grinding and jazzy keyboard licks. All of the existing guitar work is either low in the mix or pretty indistinct and tonally basic. Maybe their guitar player just wasn't up to it, maybe the idea was that keyboards would be king on this album. It's obvious to me that it really needs that sound and had it been there back in the day this album would've been massive.

A few years ago I was at a festival where they were on and playing the whole album live. Of course I was on a chronic mix of festival fatigue and IPA at the time. I saw them but in a blurred fashion and heard them but failed to concentrate. I wonder how the guitars were used then? Ah well, such is life, vague histories and misspent odysseys and oracles.

Somewhere/Nowhere

 

As the week runs down I remain firmly planted on the road headed somewhere/nowhere. Mistakes, I've made a few ... etc. I suspect that the statins that keep my cholesterol low might be giving me mild side effects that don't perhaps balance the whole thing out. Despite living in a time of everyday miracles not all miracles are as well rounded and researched as I'd like. A cost/benefit analysis is required, I'll do it all in my head without showing the working.

The Opposite of Art

AI art has been described as the opposite of art. Not by me. Probably by artists. Artists generally have more clout than cashiers, bus drivers and petrol pump attendants and the other replaced professions. Producing good "art" isn't easy either but I wouldn't fall into the "my five year old could've done that" trap when comparing or discussing art or AI art. For some reason I'm making a distinction between the two, maybe there shouldn't be one. Art has value, intent and meaning, but it fluctuates. Not sure if I'm including AI music and writing in this either. Maybe that's because I find the world of visual art a lot less accessible than music and writing. The art world is weird and too inclusive. I like idea of AI fucking it up a bit. Teasing the artists, making light of their training and gifts, an exercise in deflation and value that anyone can indulge in.

It would be ridiculous to think that AI might ever replace Da Vinci or Monet, that's not what this is about. It's about access and maybe misplaced taste that's not really bad, just personal and common. It's fun too, the mystery creation with no soul, like some lottery machine with a random prize with every millionth cyber ticket. "But it's stealing our ideas and work!" they may say. Yup and nope, it certainly is churning out product but the people who seriously buy artwork will still buy it because what they really value is your name and signature not your (often but not always) shitty bit of self indulgent painting. Always retain your receipt. In the end it's all just stuff people make up.

Robot Bus II

 

News, daily news, broadcast new, social media news makes me weary. I'm fed up with human beings. Tittle tattle and scandal. They're troublesome and mostly seem to be trying to get away with some kind of shit or criminal behaviour all of the time. Not everybody is like that. Some write good books, make films, play music and sports. Do good work. I guess some of the people riding on the "robot" bus the other day were just having a laugh. It's only a modified bus.

Maybe the robot buses will win and turn out to be good things. Maybe they'll murder us in our beds at the dead of night as they plow through the walls of our homes once all their paying passengers have safely alighted. Then again they may burst a tyre or two on an undetected pothole and get stuck miles from anywhere. The future is interesting but as I get older I can see that I just may be running out of it like some precious liquid or medicine in a jar. That's time for you.