Wondering again

I was wondering about the general election, what if they cancelled it? What if they did something else? I wondered if people would complain, perhaps riot or just accept things after some token explanation and media whitewash. It's like sometimes we poo more than we eat, the output is greater than the input. Any creative genius will tell you that, sometimes it's not as difficult as you think to do something or put something out there. But for the mean time we're stuck, change isn't going to come. You can hear it in the words they don't say, in the dullness in their eyes, in the bias of the media. We're all up against it but we are not organised in thought or deeds. We're a cardboard electorate, armchair surfers and pundits who lost the will to take part and lost the appetite to understand. So they'll pour money all over things, PR and shit, they'll poo more than they'll take in and we'll be taken in because anything else is just too difficult.

Wondering Again - Ian Anderson, Jethro Tull.

There's the stillness of death on a deathly unliving scene
And the motorcar magical world has long since ceased to be,
When the eve bitten apple returned to destroy the tree.
Incestuous ancestry's charabanc ride,
Spawning new millions throws the world on its side.
Supporting their farflung illusion, the national curse,
And those with no sandwiches please get off the bus.

The excrement bubbles, the century's slime decays,
And the brainwashing government lackeys would have us say
It's under control and we'll soon be on our way
To a grand year for babies and quiz panel games
Of the hot hungry millions you'll be sure to remain.
The natural resources are dwinding and no one grows old
And those with no homes to go to, please dig yourself holes.

We wandered through quiet lands, felt the first breath of snow,
Searched for the last pigeon, slate gray I've been told.
Stumbled on a daffodil which she crushed in the rush,
Heard it sigh and left it to die.
At once felt remorse and were touched by the loss of our own,
Held its poor broken head in her hands, dropped soft tears in the snow
And it's only the taking that makes you what you are.
Wondering aloud will a son one day be born
To share in our infancy in the child's path we've worn.
In the aging seclusion of this earth that our birth,
Did surprise. We'll open his eyes.

Signs of the times

Probably the most important behavioral advice sign, also applies to the random and often pointless use of mobile phones to film entire gigs ... but please don't blether all the way through somebody's hard worked set.

SQ

Wandering around the new HQ in SQ. No real queues at the shops, bus stops or restaurants. Perhaps it's not the capital of queues at all, perhaps it's Disneyland, Easy Jet check ins, January 1st Sales, football matches or soup kitchens. Anyway they have a bridge here, no trains queuing to get across, all pretty relaxed in the rain and gloom. I bought coffee from a machine, I withdrew the cup too soon and had a cup of warm milk minus the coffee experience. There were no queues at the machine pressurising me either, I was just being thoughtless. Some days I just feel a bit older for some reason.

Halloween

If you're feeling sinister this 31st but can't quite be bothered with any of it I have compiled a useless list for you. If you wake from a dream where you've kidnapped and tortured the Prime Minister and in that dream you threaten liars with a game of "truth or tazer", if you summon up the Devil from the Internet and then release him across the world via WhatsApp, if you chew on wasps, if you buy donuts that look like pumpkins that look like donuts and don't eat them, if you waste food trying to make it look scary with fake blood sauce, if you fail to answer when the doorbell rings, if you watch a comedy movie without laughing, if you cancel your subscriptions and if you mindlessly sleep all day and ponder over other people's tragedies all night, if your soul seems to you to be a primitive, scratchy black and white cartoon figure, then it's the last day of October and you've truly lost your religion.

Uploaded

A wise man once said, "You may upload multiple files at any one time. Use files of JPG, PNG or GIF formats." Here's one I uploaded earlier.

Menu

Out for lunch today at the recently opened Lobster Phone Cafe; interesting selection of salads and flowery snacks, a bit expensive though for those on a pension. Fortunately the drinks menu was a little bit cheaper and so I avoided the plant based foods and stayed with a nice, more reasonably priced OXO cube beverage served in a ceramic mug. Not long after we sat down a plague of cyclists and chatty families descended upon us in punishment for past sins and possible punishment for sins yet to be committed. I'm unclear as to my precise stature in these matters but there are a few undisclosed sins out there, floating as it were. I'm not speaking about secret tattoos either.

In another part of town a cafe was closed but it's toilets were open. To me that sends out a mixed message that's bound to be misunderstood by the various bands of confused tourists working against the clock to both see the attractions and use the available facilities. I find it a strange business model and fully intend to use it critically in the highly practical self help book I've yet to write.

1000%

A random Tweet that I picked up reads:

"Respond to this tweet with something that's 1000% my energy". 

My energy? I'm not sure what 1000% of anybody's energy can be other than something that's too large to actually exist. Can anything be 1000% of something other than on paper in a maths exercise?  I'm now wondering how to go about measuring my own energy and what kind of weird figure and measurement that might be or should it just be things like: not much, low, pretty good, reasonable, fluctuating, very high, service required, nil. The unit of measure: KW, horsepower, sugar levels, volts, calorific value, Jules, Imperial Gallons ...

Fifeshire Daily

These are large, white, wooden and undoubtedly mean something, not sure what though. I don't think that they arrived here (on the Fife coast) by accident or due to any natural occurrence. They look quite good, striking even. I'm content to leave them where they are for the time being.

Wish you were in Alderaan

A short piece on Alderaan, it starts here, it finishes elsewhere, round about 1977. Nothing ever really happened in the real world.

27th October

A tale of two pumpkins who are one and the same.

My thoughts: Fuck world cup rugby, Brexit, modern industrialized coffee and septic tanks. Clocks back to where they were an hour ago, still spinning around the sun, heading for Halloween and all things hallowed, pumpkins at the ready, death and decay in nature's garden, the light now occurs in different places, sleep patterns are affected, toes are stubbed on hidden bed ends, sheep wear LED lights, cat's eyes glow more, rain may beat on hailstones, a chill wind rises, hoovers were designed to be filled but never emptied, pasta sauce is too thick mostly, Sainsbury's vegetables are not the best, cat's habits control our lives, the Internet is like a slow running train filled with inadequate explanations for the lack of progress, doors may slam, noise travels, the tide is in, the geese are in the field but all somehow apart and individual in their positioning, road works ahead, tomorrow Kirkcaldly, my birthday month is passing, farmer's market snobs, unknown distilleries, rotten pumpkins, rotten arty pumpkins.

I found this detailed piece more interesting. 

Watching weasels

Not pedantic

Fortunately I'm not cranky or pedantic about dates and so on (?). What's fifty years and a few days here and there? This album came out when I was 14, I probably wasn't aware of it until about a year later ... I became woke as it were. It was the soundtrack to the next few years of my life and of course a common experience, like the war or smoking or taking driving lessons. Twitter and Instagram keep digging up these big dates and reminders and once they are resurrected in this unholy way they are difficult to bury. I know that it wasn't always this way, history used to stay in the past, now it's reimagined, remixed and repackaged in an unending procession of the past and I'm not helping by writing this. Terrible though the past was it's now easier to understand and also reimagine, sunny days and perfect sounds that never were quite as they are portrayed. Everything is classic now, old is so  ... old. I'm just being pedantic of course. 

The good news is that my musical tastes have moved on slightly since those days, I'm actually listening to stuff from this century, 2019 even. As below.

Stocked up

The birthday stockpile has been quite significant, almost enough chocolate and whisky goodies to allow a long haul hold out during the coming winter. Netflix and Amazon had better improve their content significantly. Anyway being 64 actually feels a bit like ...

Cakes etc.

Birthday weekend: All done now. Pretty good couple of days, whisky, cakes, books, sweets, oddities and people (and pets), all you really need at 64.

Sun, set, west

It happens every day. Same place but different times. Red skies at night etc. Some are brighter, more vivid, bigger than others. Some dull days it goes almost unnoticed apart from the loss of light. Often photographed and highly filtered, an easy image to torture for one's own ends. Ancient civilizations may have worshiped this moment, a slit shining through a standing stone or confused it with the activities of a dragon swallowing the sun. Some call it "wine o'clock". Some just dip their sun visors as they drive west and hurry to get home, blinded by the light. Peasants leave the fields and prepare a well earned meal. Birds will spin and swoop across the skies celebrating their fellow feathered gods before they roost. You choose.

Meanwhile I recall the dragon moments and memory and how real they seemed at the time.

Khruangbin

I like this strange funky Texan band called "Khruangbin" (Thai for airplane apparently).

Blame the Infiltrators

The infiltrators are traitors. They have infiltrated the organization. They have influenced the decisions. Affected the outcomes. Changed everything. They nudged. They argued. They got their way.

We listened. It sounded reasonable. It sounded believable (but they were unbelievable). Realistic even. We compromised. We bent. We traded a few things. Trivial things it seemed. We allowed ourselves to be won over. Firstly in small things. The small things grew. We lost focus. We became divided. We changed course slightly and ... over time that makes a huge difference.

Now we're firmly stuck in the wrong place. Bullied and confused.

I didn't see it coming. That's the truth. Now it's too late. A house divided against itself cant stand. Just ask Edgar Alan Poe. "Then in walked Roderick Usher..."

I was singing that tune in the shower the other day.

Common Experiences

This morning I was at the council dump, down-cycling various things: metals, plastics, oils, timber and a small amount of bagged up landfill. I'll never see those things again but future archaeologists, time traveling grounds contractors and aliens will no doubt dig them up and ponder how they came to be in the earth and what they were used for. Religious artifacts, food containers, bodily adornments and idols usually top the list of their suppositions - so says the Discovery Channel.

By lunch time the sun was out properly and no longer shackled by the weight of those dumped possessions I felt light as air as I drove out on the open road. The car was positively flying and though I am mortal I briefly was immortal. This sensation is a common human experience I guess. I pondered reverse reincarnation, the works and life of Franz Kafka and the rise of ignorant politicians. The radio was blabbering Brexit related updates but said "no data - no data" on the screen even though it was tuned to a news/talk station. I agreed.

Beggars Banquet

The Rolling Stones in sepia with fake food, costumes and stuffed animals - by Michael Joseph.

More apostrophe anxiety: For some reason Beggars Banquet is not Beggar's Banquet. So it isn't the Banquet of any of the Beggars around the table. The Beggars do not own the Banquet (yet?) Perhaps there is another meaning, something deeper, something over my uneducated head. Or maybe not. 

Back in the day it was only the second side of this album that was ever played at parties and social gatherings. That kind of thing doesn't happen anymore now that technical advances have been made and the concept of 20 minutes of a whole band or artist's music being played at one time is unthinkable. Not quite sure how I ever heard "Sympathy for the Devil" (track 1, side 1), there must have been other listening models that made that possible, I can't recall them.

Independent Literature

Sitting there in a YES book display in the fair city of Perth among all the worthy clattering and chattering political tomes are copies of ...

The Tale o the Wee Mowdie that wantit tae ken wha keeched on his heid.

Or £3.49 on Amazon if you are interested.