Friday, July 30, 2004

Are you excited now ? I AM ! ! ! ! !

Well it is exciting, isn't it ? Well, isn't it though ?

Here comes the full moon in Aquarius. Now I have given up astrology - as Henry Miller said, I've thrown the map away - but I still know where I am even without it. This is always a big one for me. I have Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Mercury and my Ascendant all in Aquarius, and very close together, all opposite Uranus in Leo (no sniggers please). It means.. well.. it makes for a lively life at times, unpredictable even. One reason I crave stability I am sure.

Now then now then. It's been a beautiful summer's day, and to my surprise I am slowly adjusting to being without my beloved, although I feel strangely incomplete still, the rawness is lessening and I even sleep more than 3 hours at a stretch. Last night I managed 7 and a half hours at once !

I must be mad - I watched most of the Kerry speech online today - will he oust Bush and will it matter ? I fucking hope so.

God bless him and his patrician pants.

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Monday, July 26, 2004

I Dream of Ashley




At the moment my subconcious is providing me with night after night of dreams starring my friends and last night was Ashley Slater's turn.

Ashley was doing a gig with A. N. Otherbloke, both playing brass, he on trombone, bloke on soprano sax. Ash was in a small hall, maybe a large room, Victorian, and in need of repair, somewhere seemingly in North London, but with a twist, not quite the London I inhabit. The stage was badly illuminated but bright, just one directional light rather low, throwing angular shadows. There was too little room to stand up and play with any ease. Despite this Ashley was playing majestically and without regard to the disbelief of the audience. He was not just playing the bone - he was singing, moving and playing, and speaking beat lyrics.

I was down the front involved in some way, debating in my mind whether to join in with the mad gorgeous improvisations. At the side of the stage the hall was in such a state that I could exit the building there. Outside it was dusk and I could see down the side of the hill, streets, houses, the city just lighting up. I found an old light-blue case and inside it a very thin metal tuba. I took the tuba out of it's case, wondering if I should play it. It was like a 50s vespa made of tin, with valves, some canvas attachments, a little dented. I decided to sit astride it and started running with my toes cartoon-style to use it as a scooter. it was fantastically effective - I went really fast with very little effort and zoomed in to the performance rather spectacularly and then zoomed out again and off up the road.

The road I was on was a long straight multi-laned slow up hill, like the Holloway Road. There was some quiet Sunday traffic, but I totally ignored it, along with the traffic lights and road junctions, knowing that since I was in fact riding a musical instrument they really didn't apply to me. In a matter of a couple of minutes I had gone a couple of miles up to a place that looked like a bit like Highgate, a pre-North Circular kind of affair. On my way up I heard a radio broadcast coming out of shop, in which a journalist which was decribing the gig I had left behind - his smug review was saying that it was anachronistic and boring. I thought to myself, that's really not true, even though it is crazy, it's a lot of fun and actually rather good.

I was exhilarated, having fun, the evening air was cool and pleasant and recent rain made the road surface slick. I was a little anxious that the tuba would collapse and so I stopped to adjust it and my seating. Some guy came over to chat about my incredible vehicle but I didn't stop long, just did a U-turn and zoomed on my toes back down the long gentle hill to the venue.

When I got there the gig was over and Ashley was decorating the walls by pouring bright paint over the backstage wall so that the place would be more wacky and colourful for the next gig. Ashley seemed very calm and satisfied with the way everything had gone.

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Saturday, July 24, 2004

Summer

Well it's back.. hot and sweaty and the kids are all off school and I can hear shrieking until 2am in the night streets of where I live in London.. I am on my own suddenly after months of being around people and the first thing that I have to do is decorate the flat. I may start a Blog just for that.

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Wednesday, July 21, 2004

Comedy Turncoat

You'd think that it would be great idea to write when you wake up at 3am and you can't get back to sleep until 5 or 6am. But at that time of the morning my brain is like fudge, soft and gooey, and good only for chewing. What I need to be doing is dreaming, not staring at a computer screen. The last three nights I have been in the same pattern.. I get to sleep early enough, usually between 10.30 and 11pm, and then once the body has rested enough, up and awake comes the mind like an over eager puppy ready for a walk, or a senile old git thinking that night was morning, my sane mind deaf to it's own protests of common sense telling myself I'll be too tired in the morning to think straight and I need to sleep. Generally if I can't get to sleep for 30 minutes I get up and watch tv or listen to music until I am tired again. It's a stress thing.

My beautiful girlfriend has gone to Palestine for a month and I am very disturbed by this, beyond rational counter-measures. Anything I do to sleep will not work - exercise, meditate, drink warm milk, take pills... I just need to adjust. My love is in a fascist warzone. It's not actually, it is occupied territory though, with checkpoints, bombs and unpredictable violence. I am scared and although the days are a model of coping the nights are revealing my true feelings.

SoI have decided to become a comedy turncoat and deny the splendour of Bill Hicks. I am aware that this is a pointless way of distracting myself - in fact Hicks is a comedy genius - but I like the concept of comedy betrayal so much that I will from now on make it known that he is like my mood - a raging uncontrollable mess of despondency. Bill Hicks - you suck. I'm glad you died. Take your sick ranting to hell with you. Give me back my dreams.

Maybe I will become a monk.

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