That's Aldous Huxley. Been listening to this on the last few mornings in. Seems a lot mellower than the last few, but great stuff as usual.
16 Feb 2011
15 Feb 2011
Laura said Bullshit.
I don’t know why it was funny, or why it still is, but when Laura said bullshit 20 years ago it stuck in my head until now. Laura was posh, like proper, and was thin with quite dry skin and the world’s most boring haircut. I liked her – she was genuine – but she was also about 3 years away from her first twin-set and pearls combo. She was working at the Mint when we were introduced by a friend who knew me pretty well, but for some reason thought a really dull middle class girl would be a great match for me.
Craig and me needed to be outside. It was a Friday evening, and Friday evenings were the time young men were supposed to be out living it up. But there we were sat in a darkened room in front of the TV. We had the bikes but it was mid-winter and didn’t much feel like wandering the roads with no end in sight. Craig was moaning. I was either going to throttle him or have to think of a destination, to get us out of my room for the night.
I don’t think me and Laura ever actually went out. The Mint was 5 minutes from mine so she’d walk over each night to sit around in my room. Things were simpler back then. I only went to her house twice, that night was the first time we rode up there, almost to the edge of the Kent countryside in heavy snow. My balls were just about kept warm by the bikes engine - 2 pairs of gloves didn’t make a lick of difference to my numb fingers and every half mile or so we’d pull over to warm our hands up before starting off again. The 2nd time I went there was when Laura called bullshit. It was less that she said it, and more how she said it. Her vowel sounds were so plummy that all her ‘I’s’ came out ‘Ah’s’ or ‘Uh’s’. Hence the classic ‘Yaah.’
It was the last house at the end of a close – a large white cube, a carbon copy of all her neighbours. After arriving that first time, we sat in a darkened room in front of the TV. We sat with tea, the 3 of us with nothing to do or say to each other. Her parents were out or we wouldn’t have been there in the first place. The front room door opened and a girl with wet hair and bare feet walked in, sitting herself in a big corner chair without saying a word - all teen attitude and petulance. Craig looked over at me with a grin that lasted 0.5 of a second and yet said: girl/wet hair/shower. We both managed a sly glance and realised she was about 14. We were only a little older than that, but it was still out of bounds.
‘...thuht’s my little sistuh.’ Laura said without looking up. Usually this would initiate some kind of begrudging nod or acknowledging look, but we simply sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, only the tinny voice from the TV filling the space until deciding well, time to get going. I could still feel Craig’s’ look of ‘you chose the wrong sister’ as I grabbed my crash helmet and went for the door, departing with a peck on the lips. It was only ever a peck on the lips with Laura. She was older and posher than me and because of this I felt, maybe a little out of my league at times. But there she was coming to my house most evenings after work regardless, and at the same time I felt like she was saving herself for marriage. And not that I had any expectation at my age, but all that pecking got old pretty quickly.
We warmed the keys with a cigarette lighter, slid them into the ignition and started up, blowing as much warm air into our hands as we could before setting off. The moment we pulled out of her dead end road I remembered the tape. In all our youthful optimism, we’d thought prior to leaving mine, we’d get there and she’d maybe have some booze - we’d sit around have a drink see what happened. So with this in mind I took a mix tape with an album on one side that I had just recorded the day before. And now, as we sped along dark icy roads trying to avoid frostbite and oncoming traffic, it was sitting on the arm of a sofa in the front room of a girl I had absolutely no intention of ever seeing again.
She called me the next Monday as usual. I ignored it and didn’t call back. I knew she wouldn’t just turn up on the off chance I wasn’t home and have to do both the walk back and wait at the bus stop alone. This might make a normal person feel a little guilty or possibly like a bit of a shit. But I had my own rules, and at that point in my life I knew far better than anybody else.
Weeks passed and she got the message. The message was that I was an asshole, but also that we were over. I guess because I never considered us a ‘we’ there really wasn’t much there to needed closure, so I moved on pretty quickly in all areas but one – I needed that tape back. I tried to get into the mindset of an adolescent girl to figure out how long I’d have to wait for her anger to subside. I decided 3 weeks was plenty and so we rode up to her parent’s house for the second and last time.
Suddenly as we turned into the close, my heart was beating in my throat. I discovered, momentarily at least, that maybe I was human after all. Craig remained sat by the curb as I left my engine ticking over and approached to press the doorbell. She answered, and after nearly a month of no contact the immediacy of her bemusement was clear. Swirling within the red anger of her face were the standards; what/where/why..?
Listen... I left a Big Daddy Kane tape here... do you still have it?
Where have you been? Why haven’t you called?
Sorry I have been so busy and there’s loads of crap going on at home.
That’s Bullshuht - Bullshuht!
Sorry. I don’t know. Did you keep the tape?
She disappeared inside for a second and came back holding the tape which I had assumed would be in pieces or totally unspooled. But there it was, fine in the case. Untouched.
Thanks – uh – I’ll ring you.
Bullshit.
Craig and me needed to be outside. It was a Friday evening, and Friday evenings were the time young men were supposed to be out living it up. But there we were sat in a darkened room in front of the TV. We had the bikes but it was mid-winter and didn’t much feel like wandering the roads with no end in sight. Craig was moaning. I was either going to throttle him or have to think of a destination, to get us out of my room for the night.
I don’t think me and Laura ever actually went out. The Mint was 5 minutes from mine so she’d walk over each night to sit around in my room. Things were simpler back then. I only went to her house twice, that night was the first time we rode up there, almost to the edge of the Kent countryside in heavy snow. My balls were just about kept warm by the bikes engine - 2 pairs of gloves didn’t make a lick of difference to my numb fingers and every half mile or so we’d pull over to warm our hands up before starting off again. The 2nd time I went there was when Laura called bullshit. It was less that she said it, and more how she said it. Her vowel sounds were so plummy that all her ‘I’s’ came out ‘Ah’s’ or ‘Uh’s’. Hence the classic ‘Yaah.’
It was the last house at the end of a close – a large white cube, a carbon copy of all her neighbours. After arriving that first time, we sat in a darkened room in front of the TV. We sat with tea, the 3 of us with nothing to do or say to each other. Her parents were out or we wouldn’t have been there in the first place. The front room door opened and a girl with wet hair and bare feet walked in, sitting herself in a big corner chair without saying a word - all teen attitude and petulance. Craig looked over at me with a grin that lasted 0.5 of a second and yet said: girl/wet hair/shower. We both managed a sly glance and realised she was about 14. We were only a little older than that, but it was still out of bounds.
‘...thuht’s my little sistuh.’ Laura said without looking up. Usually this would initiate some kind of begrudging nod or acknowledging look, but we simply sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, only the tinny voice from the TV filling the space until deciding well, time to get going. I could still feel Craig’s’ look of ‘you chose the wrong sister’ as I grabbed my crash helmet and went for the door, departing with a peck on the lips. It was only ever a peck on the lips with Laura. She was older and posher than me and because of this I felt, maybe a little out of my league at times. But there she was coming to my house most evenings after work regardless, and at the same time I felt like she was saving herself for marriage. And not that I had any expectation at my age, but all that pecking got old pretty quickly.
We warmed the keys with a cigarette lighter, slid them into the ignition and started up, blowing as much warm air into our hands as we could before setting off. The moment we pulled out of her dead end road I remembered the tape. In all our youthful optimism, we’d thought prior to leaving mine, we’d get there and she’d maybe have some booze - we’d sit around have a drink see what happened. So with this in mind I took a mix tape with an album on one side that I had just recorded the day before. And now, as we sped along dark icy roads trying to avoid frostbite and oncoming traffic, it was sitting on the arm of a sofa in the front room of a girl I had absolutely no intention of ever seeing again.
She called me the next Monday as usual. I ignored it and didn’t call back. I knew she wouldn’t just turn up on the off chance I wasn’t home and have to do both the walk back and wait at the bus stop alone. This might make a normal person feel a little guilty or possibly like a bit of a shit. But I had my own rules, and at that point in my life I knew far better than anybody else.
Weeks passed and she got the message. The message was that I was an asshole, but also that we were over. I guess because I never considered us a ‘we’ there really wasn’t much there to needed closure, so I moved on pretty quickly in all areas but one – I needed that tape back. I tried to get into the mindset of an adolescent girl to figure out how long I’d have to wait for her anger to subside. I decided 3 weeks was plenty and so we rode up to her parent’s house for the second and last time.
Suddenly as we turned into the close, my heart was beating in my throat. I discovered, momentarily at least, that maybe I was human after all. Craig remained sat by the curb as I left my engine ticking over and approached to press the doorbell. She answered, and after nearly a month of no contact the immediacy of her bemusement was clear. Swirling within the red anger of her face were the standards; what/where/why..?
Listen... I left a Big Daddy Kane tape here... do you still have it?
Where have you been? Why haven’t you called?
Sorry I have been so busy and there’s loads of crap going on at home.
That’s Bullshuht - Bullshuht!
Sorry. I don’t know. Did you keep the tape?
She disappeared inside for a second and came back holding the tape which I had assumed would be in pieces or totally unspooled. But there it was, fine in the case. Untouched.
Thanks – uh – I’ll ring you.
Bullshit.
10 Feb 2011
the 'Halle Berry is an Idiot' Quote of the day
'I think what I came through is great, but my son can take it to another level, not having to fight racism. His mother's a Norwegian and I'm mixed up four or five times, so he can face the world.' James Brown
'Black women don't have the same body image problems as white women. They are proud of their bodies. Black men love big butts.' Tyra Banks
'Black women don't have the same body image problems as white women. They are proud of their bodies. Black men love big butts.' Tyra Banks
9 Feb 2011
3 Feb 2011
2 Feb 2011
How are you?
I feel a sickness arise and repel the twisting vision so as not to lose control. Everything is fine. Fine. Middling and calm like a car at the stop light – engine out of gear but still ticking over. I swallow what used to be my pride, but has since been replaced by something far more sinister. Gulping it down to the pit of my stomach. All this talk of organic flesh and blood, earth wood stone and fire, as though the fact that it all came first makes it all superior to the cold steel and circuit board world that centres us every single day. Some nostalgic comforter – older is better - I can sleep now. It is a facade. Like the small white tips of a wave fizzing away into a million million grains of sand. A weakly silent lie to keep us believing we are in the middle of something relevant. I’m fine. Fine. How are you?
For now
For now I write directly into the heart of things
a spear in flesh with no way to escape
I think clearly and sharp dreams pierce the core of the atom
the space inbetween fills and empties
flicks
and jumps
here to there
causing ripples across the world
minor flaws created out of harmony
rage balanced by the ladybirds wing
mistakes remain and art is burned on the bonfire
all at once worthless and priceless
and even at this depth
I remain happier than
you.
a spear in flesh with no way to escape
I think clearly and sharp dreams pierce the core of the atom
the space inbetween fills and empties
flicks
and jumps
here to there
causing ripples across the world
minor flaws created out of harmony
rage balanced by the ladybirds wing
mistakes remain and art is burned on the bonfire
all at once worthless and priceless
and even at this depth
I remain happier than
you.
Guns are cool
So an English version of The Killer may be on the way. In 3D (what?) Ok, John Woo is involved but I'm still witholding judgment - you really can't fuck with the classics. And not to sound all 'oh we were all over this back in the day - blah blah' but before every student had a Resevoir Dogs poster on their wall without knowing the genesis of the black suit/white shirt/2 handgun standoff steez - we were all over this, and A Better Tomorrow, back in the day:
14 Jan 2011
Poems are never finished, only abandoned.
(to paraphrase someone or other...)
Sanity: £1.99
It is always raining
As old men and
Old women slink out of their holes onto the grey streets
They jump at their own shadows
And pass each other by to run towards the money
Eyes clamped like a big cat just hours away from
Starving to death
Weakness
Not even the raindrops can muster real strength
They are pathetic and dying
Useless as they come to rest upon eyelids and cheeks
I walk past a pile of clothing on the pavement
2 shoes
Police tape
And feel the walls around me grow higher
There is no one here worth a damn
And the best we can manage is to be
Pleasant and agreeable
Nice
Blending in to the point of fading
Away
Nice is a blunt razor
Nice is the death howl of a cat under the car tyre
Nice is grit in your eyes
Cremation dust thrown into the air
It is walking a fine cotton thread long past
Breaking point
Yet here I am still balancing
No clue as to how or when or why
It is always raining
And the paving stones and warm soft tarmac
Treacle black
Dissolve within the monstrous winter
A bite is taken out of the moon
And the smiling crescent looks down at me
Sipping my expensive coffee
And hiding away to keep dry
There is no one else left to prove anything
To.
Sanity: £1.99
It is always raining
As old men and
Old women slink out of their holes onto the grey streets
They jump at their own shadows
And pass each other by to run towards the money
Eyes clamped like a big cat just hours away from
Starving to death
Weakness
Not even the raindrops can muster real strength
They are pathetic and dying
Useless as they come to rest upon eyelids and cheeks
I walk past a pile of clothing on the pavement
2 shoes
Police tape
And feel the walls around me grow higher
There is no one here worth a damn
And the best we can manage is to be
Pleasant and agreeable
Nice
Blending in to the point of fading
Away
Nice is a blunt razor
Nice is the death howl of a cat under the car tyre
Nice is grit in your eyes
Cremation dust thrown into the air
It is walking a fine cotton thread long past
Breaking point
Yet here I am still balancing
No clue as to how or when or why
It is always raining
And the paving stones and warm soft tarmac
Treacle black
Dissolve within the monstrous winter
A bite is taken out of the moon
And the smiling crescent looks down at me
Sipping my expensive coffee
And hiding away to keep dry
There is no one else left to prove anything
To.
Quote of the Day
Without work, all life goes rotten. But when work is soulless, life stifles and dies.
Albert Camus
12 Jan 2011
NASA
Yes another YouTube clip - apologies. But when someone writes a really heartfelt piece, I like to acknowledge that by passing it on to everyone I can...
11 Jan 2011
Wax on - Jacket off
GOOD:
RUBBISH:
After a few days of pondering to avoid any rash statements, I have produced the worlds shortest ever movie review:
The 'new' Karate Kid tries to be too deep, has a love interest plotline with kids so young it borders on uncomfortable, and has been (sorry about this) urban-ised.
Mr Miyagi, the final fight and everything else aside, the original Karate Kid had Cruel Summer on the soundtrack. Which is a massive tune. The end.
RUBBISH:
After a few days of pondering to avoid any rash statements, I have produced the worlds shortest ever movie review:
The 'new' Karate Kid tries to be too deep, has a love interest plotline with kids so young it borders on uncomfortable, and has been (sorry about this) urban-ised.
Mr Miyagi, the final fight and everything else aside, the original Karate Kid had Cruel Summer on the soundtrack. Which is a massive tune. The end.
I hate wall rides
I hate trying them - FS or BS - and not even getting high enough to slam properly, just running off them and feeling like I only started skating a month ago instead of 20 plus years... pah.
7 Jan 2011
OutOfStockwell
Check out the Out of Stockwell blog, for updates on everyone’s favourite South London skatepark. Cheers to Adam for the link up.
4 Jan 2011
So, the 24 month countdown to this begins
...if you believe in that sort of thing. Though I suppose it's no less fantastical than a guy with a beard turning water into wine - or a guy with a beard landing reindeer on your rooftop. Today's 2 commuting albums were a bit infra red/ultra violet:
And to see if I can get my synapses firing back into fiction mode, I'm going to start tucking into this at lunchtime:
And unless someone wants to donate me a whole new setup so I can actually get out of the house and skate, that is all.
23 Dec 2010
21 Dec 2010
TWS
Apparently some people don't like Transworld - not sure why because I don't really hang out with the cool kids. Anyway, they have a nice link here of best online skate vids of 2010.
There's classic and there's CLASSIC
Aside from 2 or 3 songs - Yo Bum Rush the Show is possibly one of the greatest albums of all time. And not just in Hip Hop, but overall.
It could be argued that if it was just a recording and not performed live - or if PE didn't have that particular image and 'mainifesto' - the record could really just be a Chuck(y) D solo album produced by the Bomb Squad, for all of Flavor and Terminator X's input on it. But that would be enough, Hank Shocklee did things on that record that were/are just minblowing and literally timeless. And Chuck has rhymes for days that, due to his particluar style and subject matter are real genius and massively original for 2010, nevermind the 80's ('...the po-etical / -itical / lyrical son...'). All of this is obvious and 'yeah yeah yeah' when you say it out loud - but people tend to forget, have shit on their I-Tunes forever and maybe skip over it. But listening to it again on my way in this morning (something about hearing it while on a train through a city covered in snow just fits perfectly) you fall into the sound of it and wonder how they even came up with some of those ideas - the 'chorus' of MiUzi Weighs a Ton for example seems simple but the overall structure of the track is crazy. Maybe because of this album alone I rank the Bomb Squad up there with PR and Primo etc etc, in the best Hip Hop producer list.
This is all written off the top of my head so excuse any ramblings within - just trying to express my thoughts on something while it's fresh in my tiny brain.
I had this on tape back in 88:
20 Dec 2010
Jeffers
Why does insanity always twist the great answers? Because only tormented persons want truth. Man is an animal like other animals, wants food and success and women, not truth. Only if the mind Tortured by some interior tension has despaired of happiness: then it hates its life-cage and seeks further, And finds, if it is powerful enough. But instantly the private agony that made the search Muddles the finding. Then search for truth is foredoomed and frustrate? Only stained fragments? Until the mind has turned its love from itself and man, from parts to the whole.
14 Dec 2010
Geek points
Saw this guy sitting down to breakfast in Soho this morning:
I literally glimpsed him through a window for a moment and recognised him right away
Unremarkable until you consider this is how he's better known:
The idea of Pinhead sitting about to tuck into eggs benedict or somesuch did make me giggle.
I literally glimpsed him through a window for a moment and recognised him right away
Unremarkable until you consider this is how he's better known:
The idea of Pinhead sitting about to tuck into eggs benedict or somesuch did make me giggle.
10 Dec 2010
9 Dec 2010
old stuff.
Some sketches of ideas of things I never finished. Hence the low-res. I'm trying to find the original files to re-post, but put these up in the meantime as - well - I'm impatient.
nine-zero-zero
Been killing the free download made by these guys over the last week or so:
It's been the perfect soundrack to my zero degree, red-sky, white ground travels.
It's been the perfect soundrack to my zero degree, red-sky, white ground travels.
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