100 Club

Dissident live at the 100 Club. Feb 17th 2012.

shiny

Carlsbad

first day back at work

after a week off, making me feel like this:

Finitempathy.


It is just that much easier
To not read the paper
Watch the TV news
To turn the page and channel and
Other cheek

It is just that much easier to say no
Than it is to nod politely like a goddamn priest
Every minute of the day
Better to accommodate only a fraction of requests
And plead the fifth for the
Rest

And your pretence will
Not
Go unrewarded
Your empty heart will thank you
For these actions
And you will feel free
And you will be free

It is correct that no man
Is an island
We are in actuality vast continents
Countries to be won over by years of war
If we were to allow it

We are full of love and understanding
Too much
Too soon
Too far
Too quick to help
And then to regret the
Same

It is just that much easier to say no
Than it is to nod politely
Subordinately
Year in and out to the edge
Better to accommodate only a fraction of requests
And plead the fifth for the
Rest.

Not For You. [Dir. Cameron Crowe]

Angelo Dundee, 1921-2012

Real

Loving this guy at the moment.

Bones

Zero point fluctuation.

Indecision hangs all around

A rolling fog

As regular as the twelve bar blues

A metronomic impact fractures bones like plaster

The surface cracks in tiny increments

The degraded facade

And the ice comes

Low pressure

From overseas to underfoot

Under radar

The animal senses on override

They all begin to flee

Curtains get drawn

Windows boarded up

Layers of clothes added to layers of clothes

Fires stoked and candles lit

A stockpiling of all things that

Will burn

And the ice comes

Approaching like a childhood memory

An unconscious event best forgotten

It rises back up through cracks in the floorboards

And the men sense nothing

While the ubermensch knows all

And prepares

Regresses his mood

Retreats into himself

All negative energy and positive reality

Becomes null within the void

Synapse activity lessens as

The best of us become still

And wait for this season

To pass overhead

Knowing that the centre star

Will absolve us of

All this agony.

the chz

Some randoms added to the chz images blog.

My other blog that continues to lack both rhyme and reason.

Gig

Find yourself 8 quid and get down to this in February:

Several eyes smiling into the golden door of heaven.

I am in retrograde orbit

As parchment disintegrates in the rain

Drops

I am bruised fruit

And sweet and soft and living underneath

Shiny

Green apples

I am the furthest place from home

The space between as the

Space between proton and

Electron

I am the fallen mountain

The smoking volcano

I am the hours it takes to breathe in

And out again 100 times.

Skelethon

coming soon.

Have you seen them?

This'll be a good view for us old timers...

The Bones Brigade: An Autobiography

Premieres at the Sundance Festival on the 21st January



Opening today at all 11 Gagosian galleries around the world,

including two in London, Hirst's spot paintings are taking over

the planet. Hirst has produced almost 1,500, and currently has

a team of assistants working on one with a million spots that

will take over nine years to complete.

Crimble tunes

Yes it's January... I'm on the ball as ever, here are the current tunes accompanying my daily post-Xmas commute:

Good News

that's what the fuck I'm talkin' about.

GT

Poached from SkateDaily

"Next, on Exploitation Theatre...Blacula, followed by Blackenstein, and The Blunchblack of Blotre Blame!"

Just added this to the Lovefilm list...

Eve Arnold, 1912-2012

Coming up though college studying graphic design, an interest photography came later on and most of that was of a very particular style – Albert Watson and those guys that used hard lighting and a style that looked in itself quite design-based. Eve Arnold was the first photographer I discovered of a more 'traditional' output. The picture that did it for me initially was a backstage shot of Charlotte Stribling, which what was once my favourite photograph of all time. Even without the Marilyn Monroe photos, which are in my opinion the best images ever shot of her, Eve Arnold’s pictures were just something that connected with me for no apparent reason.   More here

Dark sheets of pain.


It was a joke
Intended to be funny to me
But often the water can flow in reverse
The words deciding to walk on their own
And all you can do is follow...


I walk under this sheet under cloud
Under a predictive galaxy
Full of mistakes
Arms full of silver
Slivers of acute pain
Inaction the order of the day
Through and across rain soaked cobbled streets
Twisting ankles
Slipping souls


Daylight memories vaporise like
Fog
Replaced in the ether by strangled voices
Happy words floating on ice cream sundaes
Nothing is real now
Voiceboxes causing rifts in the system
Cracks in the pavement to swallow me
Up

Names drop
Faces fall
Grins stretch across the quiet horizon
The start of this morning resonates
And reflects the beginning of this year
The end of the last life
Full of mistakes
Arms full of silver
Slivers of acute pain
Inaction the order of the day

We remain happy in our solitude
Energised by our lack of solace.

Shrigley

Seeing as I missed the Pipilotti Rist show, I'm going to make sure I get to the Hayward to see this when it opens in February. David Shrigley is hilarious, I highly recommend a visit.

Futile Devices

Nothing to report this early in the day/week/year. So this will more than suffice for now:

Happy January.

Précis

How do you summarise 12 months where not much happened? For me at least, it was pretty much by the book. Painting by numbers without straying outside the lines. I have no idea about anything at the moment... though I can say with some certainty that the world probably won’t end next year (funny how all those who unquestioningly follow Pope Gregory every day of their lives suddenly ‘believe’ in the prophetic Mayan calendar isn’t it).

That aside, there are no statements to make. No finalities or punchlines, no gong to signal time’s up. I just want to be home. Locked doors, Xmas TV, fancy booze and family. Seriously – that’s all I need. 

And some mini sausages wrapped in bacon. 

Merry Xmas.

Just. A. Ride.

Happy Birthday Bill.

Mass wasting. 

The tumult began in such a

Far

Distant

Past

We could not begin to fathom the genesis of the fall

But at least we could recognise

The fall

At the very least

The gross thundering awoke our ears

To the day’s real light

To the day’s white bleach

A bird-scaring shriek of white

A high pitched velocity of this thing

Intangibility become destructive force

Laughing

All

The

Way.