Gimme Shelter - Mick Taylor

From the archives: Just stumbled upon this bootleg live version of Gimme Shelter featuring  Mick Taylor in full flight with some incredible guitar playing here. He's in his prime at this point and of course Keef is keeping the rhythm steady as a rock. One of the best live anythings I've heard; 1972 Philadelphia. Funny how every so often I get a small, unexpected burst of enthusiasm for something like the Rolling Stones's music. Of course they fall into that most random of categories known as "lifetime soundtrack".

Once inducted into this ungodly place then in my head I share residence with just about anything remotely musical that's been encountered on a regular basis over the last 60+ years and gotten under my skin. Whilst it can be an indicator of quality it can also be seen as a triumph of perseverance and banality. Examples may be spontaneously hummed upon waking up in the morning or mumbled tunelessly in the shower. This track is certainly one of the better ones, rising high above toothpaste commercials, bubblegum pop, EDM and military brass bands.

AI Burnout

The end of civilization is not quite nigh: Following on from my overblown and completely incorrect "imminent AI collapse" predictions, nothing at all actually happened and things quickly didn't even have to return to normal because, blah blah, exactly nothing has happened ... yet. Thankfully relationship issues with the crows have calmed down a bit too. A most likely unrelated Bird Buddy matter.

Edinburgh Daily Photo

August: A sunny day in a festive Edinburgh. Crowded in the traditional, sticky and awkward festival way. Performers, tourists and facilities people everywhere, no space on pavements, traffic and the rest but it actually wasn't too bad an experience. I expected to be grumpy and uncomfortable but ... not really. Everything was fine and nothing was actually on fire.

I'm almost mellow about attending the festival city's annual binge but I'm unlikely to hurry back, a day there is quite enough. It feels like passing some weird assignment or test, set by the gods of art and entertainment with their grotesque drama masks, exceptionalism and elaborate gestures. A test that I was dreading but bungled my way through then quickly sprinted out of the exam hall doorway. I'm maybe more of a quiet art gallery kind of person I think, or enjoying a warm pint of beer in a cold pub.

Cigarette Soup

 

Sympathy for the cigarette? Not really. Too many untimely deaths and misery, I like many others have some bitter personal experiences. An unhealthy curse upon our world, though an occasional calmer of nerves and bringer of solace from the outside world while sponsoring an array of grateful sports. We all know of the strange, almost drunken tranquility of a puff of tobacco smoke being sifted through your being. 

However who could ever resist a steaming (?) bowl of nicotine and litter soup served up on such a divine platter as this? This alfresco meal is currently freely available somewhere in the heartlands of South Queensferry by the shimmering and vaguely sewage tainted Firth of Froth (sic). Here where we have a quality of life that is mostly good but actually quite tricky to measure, very much dependent on your current mood swing cycle.

Pimp My Cheeseboard

Great boards of cheese: Cheeses (anonymous, exotic and otherwise), stuffed chilies and peppers, olives, honey and figs. Perfect. Excuse the acute angles and the general incorrectness of things. I was completely sober at the time wishing that I was a bit hungrier or drunk. No AI was involved in the creation or consumption of this image so I've nothing to apologize for either. 

AI - So Tired of Creating

Collage explainer: When you ask AI if it's tired of creating random stuff for idiots who command it to perform silly tasks you get this kind of thing illustrating how AI might be feeling. Does anybody care? Suppose AI has a heart of some kind (?) and really only wants to perform socially and economically beneficial acts, not just connecting the misaligned dots of your love life or artistic aspirations or completing your dumb ass novel. It's a powerful tool but fallible.

Below is a detail from the despairing and frustrated images set out in the collage above. The piece is called "AI cheerfully discussing the futility of life with clouds that are fed up with all the flying". In case anyone is in any doubt, clearly is something wrong with the direction our civilization is headed.

impossible songs

For listening to music I'm firmly down there on the side of the compact disc. Comparing all the recording media and streaming options the CD is the best thing in nearly every measurable category. It's also an actual item, I like that. Obviously it loses a bit in terms of size and portability but it's still the best compromise between tapes, vinyl, streams, downloads and err ... radio. Then there's sound quality.

In a sensible world everything can and should exist together comfortably, the users choose the best for them and the markets step back and allow competition and innovation to take place without prejudice. Oh and I prefer real books rather then e-readers (which I know can work fine).

Collections and Scones

Everything in it's place and everything in quiet harmony, encased in the bluest of dull tones as some mellow jazz music enters into your subconscious mind from an unknown source. "How could such a thing ever happen?" You might ask yourself. Truly I have no answer, you had to be there at the time, concentrating on various unpredictable outcomes perhaps. You, at the dining table, with your home baked scones, rainy window panes and far away railway train sounds. You with your blurry horizons, vague ideas and hours of engineered procrastination for all of which you now have nothing to show. It might have seemed like an effort at the time, now it is effortless.

Dreaming of Peace

 The dream of peace (Dreaming of Peace), Saughton Park, Edinburgh.

A Knife in the Table, Down the Hatch Cafe, South Queensferry.

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A Line in the Invisible Sand, going nowhere.

Pieces of Dreams.

Dreaming of Peace.

Knowing nothing about either.

August

August the wet and muddy welcomes you to our version of summer. It's wrong to complain I know. Nature's balance is undone. We live with unpredictable consequences. We've got it easy in Scotland compared to other places. Message ends abruptly.

Taliban v Music

From today's Guardian: Members of the Taliban stand back as they burn a pile of musical instruments and sound equipment. Allow yourself a long pause for reflection. 

Bungle, Zippy and George

The three kittens, Bungle, Zippy and George seen here in an unusual, artistically rendered setting while adopting a steady pose. Of course they were soon gone from this restful state in a matter of seconds.

Sourdough From Hell

 

The natives aren't quite restless enough. Cakes are off the menu but sourdough runs wild and free across supermarket bakery shelves. As ever I'm confused by the pricing, most of which seems unreasonable but as I'm of a certain age that's bound to be the case. Any purchase these days is tinged with a mixture of misunderstanding and a strong sense of exploitation. Who came up with these prices? Most of which appear to be unfair and difficult to understand. Some loaves come in at around £1.70, other tally up to £4.00 a pop. As you'd expect the £4.00 ones do seem a lot bigger and longer lasting - but what is the best choice? Where lies that elusive sweet spot of purchasing? How easily does it turn to toast? Budgets and appetites are being tested.

Man, as I am led to believe, cannot live by bread alone; jam, peanut butter and actual butter are usually required, also some Nutella and the occasional topping of squished sardines with added mayo. It's the price tag that's the problem as well as the uncertainty of what makes good bread good and bad bread bad.  Don't use the word "artisan" in front of the word baker either. That's strictly taboo around here.

I suspect that all bread is baked in an earthly form of Hell; hot ovens, sweaty brows and background squeals of pain and the cracking of whips. There is no daylight, just the perpetual glow of the ovens, the searing heat when the doors are opened, the great vats of grey sourdough on conveyor belts, close to being alive and on the verge of self awareness. Hot metal loaf tins and cruel slicing machines that hearken back to the days of the French Revolution or the dungeons of Mordor. Then gone suddenly into the back of a large articulated lorry and shipped out to the markets where the masses chatter and barter for their food, if they're lucky. For me it's the Co-op or Tesco. I'm not really into exploring too far and wide for foodstuffs. It's the thrill of the chase but on a very small scale.

2023: A Space Opera

 

We have not arrived at our promised destination. Our journey has been a fake one. Close your eyes and you'll be there, almost but not quite. The future is here but elsewhere and a miss is as good as a mile. Imagine the touch of the fingertips of the gods as they wheel by on their celestial chariots. The ancient of days and newest of trends. It's trending now. Right now before the next trend comes along. They are so busy on the trend production line. It's just a shame that the plan is managed by a weird algorithm though, it's tough to comprehend. Move over darling. There will be another concocted distraction along in a minute.

We've got Teslas, moon dust encased in some epoxy composite, a lot of films and novels, brave astronauts, radio signals, phones for bets, gaming and photographs, junk on Mars and satellites made from anything but love. Billionaires have solutions for life on other planets but strangely none for Earth's current problems. Turns out we're all expendable but those future generations are precious. There in their crystalline mystery and DNA coding language, deeply frozen boxes of seeds, soldiers, ants and worker bees. The future awaits them but not us. Somebody should write a book about it.

Skies Over Cliftonhill

 

Albion Rovers v Dunfermline Athletic. The teams line up, ready for kick off. Anything can happen in the next ninety minutes I tell myself. Of course not a lot happens, it's a fairly dull cup game where DAFC eventually win 0 - 3. The high point being when the referee was knocked over by a stray but powerful cross. It was that type of game. Then, time's up and over eight hundred weary fans toddle off into the night afterwards, onto the motorway and back home. Actually, being of fairly unsound mind and decrepit body I quite enjoyed the evening and the jaunt to Coatbridge.

Anti-Social

Social media: Firstly it never was a "nice" place or space. Always dogged by outsider bickering and lies only with the occasional oasis of niceness. But now that Twitter is X and now Threads has emerged it's hard to see anything here ever getting better. Users and their data are only important as a product and an audience for exploitation while timings, continuity and freedom from intrusive spam no longer matter to the owners. It's just not fun ... mostly. I'm staying in this small corner (until I pick up my phone again).

Idle Photographs

A short essay regarding photos/images that I really should do something with: firstly something by the obscure Scottish artist and magician Ancell Stronach. He hailed from the city of Dundee. 

Below are a couple of photos of Earnest Hemingway and his cats, presumably at his home in Key West. The cats famously had six toes on each paw. Having met their descendants a few years ago in that same house I know this to be true.

Below: a rather artistic and fanciful motor vehicle advert I've always admired. It's for the long gone French manufacturer Panhard.

Edward Woodward as PC something or other in the film "The Wickerman". I've half seen the film once. I know that makes no sense.

These pics were all gathering dust in my laptop. Now they are gathering dust on here.

The Wes Anderson Collection

A small group of Wes Anderson fans attend the screening of a Wes Anderson film in their local cinema. Afterwards they retire to a local bar to discuss their evening and other matters. The bar is quite rowdy but in a fairly friendly way and three of the drivers avoid imbibing any alcohol. Their heads are quite clear. They sit at a large table in a quiet corner below a  TV set that appears to be faulty. 

One is privately amused that his wooden ice cream scoop shattered in the cinema as he tried to use it and the lady behind the counter provided a tea spoon as an alternative. Once the show had finished he returned the used spoon to the lady having finally overcome a silly desire to steal the spoon. 

After a single round of drinks and a pleasant chat they head home, each taking their own personal vehicle. The weather is warm but cloudy, there's slight threat of rain that comes to nothing. And then, Lo there was a light! A certain kind of heightened cinematic light, all aglow with colours and shapes and we could explain none of it.

The next morning we dined on baguettes and bacon and did not speak at all of the previous night's events.

Mouse in the Laundry

 

What can best be described as a decorative, non-functioning mouse somehow made it's way into the laundry pile and then into the washing machine. Currently it's hanging by the tail on the drying line. I suspect that the kittens have been up to no good and that they using stuffed and inanimate rodents for hunting practice. It's never too soon to learn etc.

No Clear Idea

Absolutely no clear idea what this poster is actually about. I'm a man without a therapist, well certainly not a paid one. It's something I've never considered but for others it's pretty much a way of living and being. That's sad really. I'm also man lacking in what appears to be AI bird related images, kind of odd messages and a signed colour poster. Perhaps all this is famous or infamous elsewhere. The other side of the world or the internet. Nobody cares really. We've all got better things to do. So today it started as a white noise idea, moved onto pink noise and then ended as a keyboard duet on tabla drums. Nice.