Viking death clean

Typical clear out fodder.

As an actual pseudo  Scandinavian with DNA generated and confirmed by the TV series "Vikings" I've been slowly adopting some of their better practices. That doesn't include the usual rape, pillage and the shouting of "skol!" at every opportunity, nor listening to death metal in a broken down SAAB. Death is involved though but only as a kind of abstract and far away target to aim for, I'm mulling over my death cleaning routine. A better term might be to declutter, it's more accurate but lacks the resonance and finality of a good old death clean. The rules are simple, you're going to die and nothing is sacred so slim down. Whilst the dustbins and the local recycling centre are obvious ports of call I'm also hawking odds and sods on eBay. Not my favourite web space but it works albeit postal costs, packing materials and eBay and PayPal fees knock the returns down significantly. Whatever ever way I'll likely die a poor but reasonably decluttered man who'll enter Valhalla with broad grin and little or no baggage.

Argus again

Took some time out today to do a rare thing (or a thing I probably only do when driving)...listen to a whole album all the way through. In this case it was one I hadn't listened to (all the way through) for more than 40 years. That seems like a pretty strange thing, it was played to death between 1972 and 1974 and then faded out of my life with only the odd track popping up as a diversion or by accident in all that time. Of course it's dated now, unsophisticated and just a bit wearing but nice enough to revisit for one hearing and I can't quite fathom how I've overlooked it for so long. In it's day the guitar playing and the mock-fantasy theme were all very attractive. The noble savage or soldier or warrior or whatever the theme, it was all vague enough to mean anything and obvious enough for a dumb teenager to catch some kind of restless meaning. They were also one of the few bands I followed that I never did see live and frankly I've no desire to see whatever mock-up, tribute, aging versions there are trotting about on the B-Grade circuit now. It's all in the past, a decent place to peer into but not a safe place to reside in (well not for the love of this band anyway). Did I ever say that I hate the term "Classic Rock"?

Glasgow: Daily Snapshot

We spent some time yesterday wandering around Glasgow in the bitter cold (Brrr) and refused to leave the the well beaten track. I always encourage companions to look up in cities, the best stuff is always above your head in building details and design, of course it's harder to photo because ... it is. After a while warm coffee shops (also know as cafes) and bland malls become very attractive in February no matter how many layers of clothing you have on. 

So above we have the spiral staircase in the "Lighthouse" gallery. A stairway that takes you to a tiny platform where you can see right across the city and get blasted by the chilly winds. Many levels below are art gallery spaces that never quite seem to be fully utilized but form an interesting diversion. Below is one of the cleanest, coolest VW vans I've seen in a while. I know this hardly sums up modern Glasgow but you're never going to get proper artistic or architectural opinion on these pages, just trivia, whimsy and fluff. I was also  too cold to bother with taking a chain of photos.

Life's too shortish

People say that's life's too short for distractions and diversions and stepping a little out of line. Most times I'd agree with that. Life is short so why bother...etc. But maybe it's good, once in a while to:

Watch a TV show/film you'd never consider watching.
Try food that you normally don't enjoy/avoid.
Listen to music that belongs to a genre you can't quite understand.
Go out in the cold when you'd normally huddle up in the warm.
Visit a place that you've avoided or just seems unattractive.
Strike up a conversation with a stranger (in a safe space!).
Ride on public transport (if that's not something you normally do).
Get to bed early.
Read a book that's just not your type, preferably one with bad cover art.
Follow some "off the wall" folks on Twitter for a while...what are they saying?
Go to the exhibits in art galleries and museums that you'd normally miss out.
Look around charity shops and markets.

And so on...

Not anytime soon

Today is eBay day, in this household anyway. Rumour has it that the bottom is falling out of the on-line, virtual and otherwise abstract custom guitar business. There may be some truth in it. I wouldn't really know. I'm just flooding the market with genuine fakes and recycled cardboard packaging.

Keeping it all empty

I was loitering without any intent in a doorway in Dundee when I came upon this worn out piece of signage. Apart from the long gone businesses there's the print of Edwin W Smith, now removed to 83 Victoria Road and the whole world knows it but none of us know why. Was it forced, was it an opportunity, was it a step up or a step towards oblivion? I could research this but I'm not that type, I prefer just hanging on and allowing myself the idle fantasy of what might have happened next but probably didn't. God bless you Edwin, you are not forgotten it seems but your soul and story has shifted into the vacuum of emptiness that is graffiti history.

IMTB

I miss that boy / I missed the point?  Maybe it's only a long lost song, maybe nobody cares. But then again what does Spotify tell us? Often stranger things as we view listeners pickings. This song for example seldom gets just one play when streaming, it gets a few at a time. Sometimes six or seven. Then there's silence for a while and then along comes another batch of similar plays forming a tiny, emotional spike. In Italy or Holland perhaps, where there's somebody or some folks who puts this on repeat and pace the room, or slow dance or just stare out of the window as it plays and the rain pours down the misty glass, as they reflect, I guess. They could also be doing the ironing.

Digitized music allows us this look into the world and listening habits of anonymous, faraway consumers (?), an invisible audience with whom there's no real connection other than the sharing of the song. I doubt if any listeners are interested in us or how the song came about. No Tweets, posts, comments or feedback to reflect that. I can say this because I'm a bit like that myself, there's no need to understand the artist these days to appreciate the song. Not much point in interacting over a single, far away song, and you may be mistaken for a stalker or an oddball super-fan. Of course it wasn't always that way, there were times when an album was like a private diary or log or extensive personal back story that, in all it's creative forms (look, words and sounds) was opened up so as to mean something to the listener. I believe we refer to these creaky, monochrome tinged times as some kind of golden age of music, or even humanity. 

Austin Brexit

Are cars as boring as politics? Nobody knows but secretly I like both as guilty and stupid pleasures. Word has it that the US car building industry is about to collapse, not enough proper buyers, too many leases and stagnation, 60% of the car loans/leases are regarded as sub-prime. You know what that means...a deep shit filled hole may be ahead, one that the UK and European markets will follow American markets into. Add to that the prolonged chaos of Brexit and the reliance we've placed on non UK manufacturers for the industry here and we're headed for a fine mess. 

I think I've only ever owned three British built cars; a Wolseley 16/60 a Rover 100 and a Mini Cooper (but the Mini was built by BMW and had a Brazilian engine so not sure it really counts). Yeah, British built cars, so near and yet so far, no major players survived the 80s really. They just couldn't compete with Japanese, Germany, French and Italian imports and when the Koreans got involved that was it. We in the UK just suck at building and marketing but strangely we design and develop well...but it's all history now. So much for loyalty, customers couldn't stay with the home grown rusty and unreliable motors and chose the (foreign isn't a good word anymore) more attractive rusty and unreliable options from elsewhere. 

Once Brexit happens none of this shit will matter, we'll all be back to bikes and powered skateboards from China because no one will have the cash to buy a BMW or a Honda or fuel it up to run it. We'll be on our royal arses. So petrol or electricity? Makes no difference when you're down.

The universe has big ears

Ready for an audition for Black Metal Cats

By that I don't mean that it's because Noddy wont pay the ransom either. It's the way things knit together, those happenings, unintended consequences, collisions and coincidences. They happen all the time via the power of speech, actions and sometimes just thinking, (maybe thinking out loud). Our fate is not completely in our own hands, it's being manipulated by the others, the weathers, the spirits and the ether, just as the Ancients always said in their ancient language. So we have these moments, those experiences where we've lost control but the universe has our backs, or, more likely kicks us up the arse.

Burden of Dreams

Pretend snow day: Watched "Burden of Dreams" a documentary about Werner Herzog's filming saga on "Fitzcaraldo", disturbing and mesmerizing in equal measure. Doing things the hard way for art's sake and the pursuit of a dream (not my dream though). A watery, steaming, jungle, mudbath of a nightmare where persistence gets you everywhere and creates and perpetuates  myth upon myth in the chaos of the Amazon. I'm not made of the right stuff to be a film maker or actor in these circumstances, not enough chunky Kit-Kats or decent super/after market coffee on offer. The sprinkling of snow and the chilly temperatures here are hardly that much of a bother after all, so a healthier perspective is easily maintained but the output isn't the same.

Knee Jerk

My latest composition - for sale on eBay, there and available for art lovers everywhere for a small but reasonable fee. Or you can just browse for sweet nothing. Your choice.

Mirror images

Back in the 70s veiled references to parallel universes were all the rage using cleverly reversed images. That and vaguely pornographic shadows and tiny hidden meanings. What a time to have been alive.

Woke up...

..this morning and lo and behold there was the Usher Hall sitting right across the road. A bastion of art and performance and a reminder of a once famous brewing family that fueled the thirsty hearts of Scottish industry. It must be Edinburgh somewhere. Fortunately I wasn't just sitting on a bench or in the gutter having having had a long session in Brewdog. No, I was in a swish hotel room checking the weather and noticing the rain. There's also some kind of castle up there in the background.

More shameless self promotion

Don't do "walk ins"

Sometime before v sometime afterwards.

I decided to celebrate the end of the long and dreary month that is January by indulging myself with a full Turkish Barber haircut and shave experience. Being a Wednesday the barber shops were pretty much empty so space and waiting was not a problem. Strangely though in the first shop I wandered into (which was clearly empty), I was met with a polite but robust "we don't do walk-ins" rebuttal. I made out like I understood what a "walk in" was and tried not to look too much like a victim as I exited. Clearly I wasn't hipster enough for a stylish barber's shop named "Bearded Bastards". Things have changed in the few short (?) months since I last had a haircut, I may have the power to drive away custom. Perhaps I should've gone in and just demanded a "fucking decent haircut!" and they'd have accepted me as some kind of deranged but savable hipster. Anyway, just to spite the bearded bastards (and any other white male oppressors out there), I went to the next barber shop two doors down and sought help. This Turkish guy wasn't prejudiced, looked reasonable and "walk-ins" during blizzards seemed like an essential component in his business plan, so he set to work. 

I settled into the chair and we had a brief conversation about clipper numbers, beard removal and money, I think I came out of it well. As I squinted to watch a TV show about the Burmese Railway and how to cross paddy fields with the incorrect materials using only elephants as tools, he chopped away at my ragged glory, shaved my eyebrows and scraped his cut throat razor across my pink but steady facial flesh. He used the hairdryer a lot to blow away the numerous hedge clippings and plastered spicy oil and hot towels across my sagging and now hairless features. There were raw flames as he tackled my ears but very little pain and not a single cut or release of blood. Then, via a strange piece of electrical equipment I was massaged in the top body area in a tough but soulful enough way, just to prepare me for standing straight again after spending 45 minutes pinned down in the frequently readjusted chair. I thanked him, paid him and left the shop feeling like I badly needed a coffee and a time of rest and reflection, so I went to the nearby Tesco cafe. It seems I'm no hipster (Tesco coffee tells you that!), not even close, just grey old bloke looking lost in a snow shower and in need of a good tidy up. At least I know my place.

Surreal Pieces

Sometimes it's good take objects away from their natural setting or situation, take away any evidence of their use or purpose and place them elsewhere. Shift the context or mask it altogether. Here on a pale, vague background where size and location and lighting hardly matter objects might just become something else or just become next to nothing.

The History of Rock and Roll: Part One

One star out of a possible five and that was a few years ago. We are witnessing a steady decline, perhaps the history of rock and roll is now just history. Of course they say and they sing that "it'll never die" but tell that to the Grammys and the general public. Ponderous, repetitive and aimless?

Cheese and Ham Saturday

Cheese and ham sandwich label. It expires on Saturday, unfit to consume etc. thereafter, maybe ok to stick under the grill and toast though? Would a "toast by date" for sandwichs help? Well yesterday was Saturday and that was when I ate the sandwich so there were no further problems.

Most days...

That fight or flight moment.

...I'm not quite sure what I'm doing. Maybe it's because I've recently watched a few of Jordan Peterson's* performances and remained a mixture of baffled, on the fence and impressed (and worried). Also for the first time in my life I understand the term cognitive dissonance. It's as if a mirror somewhere in my soul  has cracked or there's been a great outcry far away in the universe that the Force has transmitted to my inner being. The good news is that I don't feel a failure but I don't really feel like I'm a success either but that's because I'm a lazy reader man-child kind of person who has been hurt (a little) but refuses to hurt in return but sometimes does unintentionally hurt but possibly on purpose. The other problem is watching the slow decline of "Vikings" on Amazon Prime (or watching the slow decline of Amazon Prime on the Vikings). A bloody, battle scarred soap opera where the characters seem to exhibit a great deal of cruelty, stupidity and cognitive dissonance. We're in Season 6 now and civilization seems a long way away. Is it still the Dark Age or something? Perhaps there's just a continuous Dark Age rolling on and on riddled with moaning misunderstanding and, you guessed it, serial cognitive dissonance and we're all doomed to hike through it's battlefields as we trudge towards Valhalla, which as it turns out is in Iceland.

*Jordan Peterson? Yeah...not so sure right now.

The Fall - Victoria (TV 1988)