Money doesn't grow on trees...

...it grows in them.

Don't forget

I went for a fantastic walk with Fire Byrd yesterday, we walked (and talked) for a good eight or nine miles, and were surprisingly unscathed by weather which could be charitably described as "changeable."

Now I could post up lots of lovely photographs such as this:












But I shan't.

Nor, even, shall I post up lots of lovely photographs such as this:













I'll make an allowance though, for the sake of artiness, and post this one up:












But really, the one I feel really should be posted up here, is this one.












It was, as you might reasonably expect, from a notice asking people to give due consideration to their surroundings and its inhabitants. I couldn't help but think of it as being some strange kind of instruction though - to remember the sheep and the birds, well, just for the sake of it.

...

Misreading The Signs (4)

Lost Cow Gym Membership

...which was puzzling to say the least, as I blearily passed it by this morning. When I realised, it was actually low cost gym membership.

That's alright then.

Notation

EeeEeeEeeEeEe
EeeEeeEeeGgGg
EeeEeeEeeEeEe
EeeEeeEeeDdDd

EeeEeeEeeEeEe
EeeEeeEeeGgGg
EeeEeeEeeEeEe
EeeEeeEeeAaAa

The above is a draft text that I saved in my phone a few nights ago - an aide memoire for a vague idea for a piece of music, believe it or not.

If it ever gets anywhere, I might post it up on here.

Behaviour of the saviour

The documentary I made reference to in the previous post, was Jesus Christus Erlöser - Jesus Christ Saviour - a film of a one-man performance by Klaus Kinski, delivering a rather impassioned monologue of his account of the life of Christ to a large audience in a rather grand concert hall in West Berlin.

There's something very stark about it, focused as it is on one man under the glare of spotlights against an otherwise dark background. Already there is a palpable air of tension as he steps onto the stage. Kinski's features are incredibly distinctive, and his face is set in an expression of determination and, seemingly, defiance. Rendered in grainy film with amazing colour saturation, the image is a memorable and arresting one.

His voice echoes throughout the hall as he begins his monologue: fervent, intense, more than a little grandiose, interspersed with heavy pauses as he casts his glance downwards and gathers himself to continue.

Pretty soon however, there are scattered murmurings and mutterings from members of the audience, many of whom are finding it hard to treat this performance with the reverence that seems to be expected of them. Kinski continues, though not before fixing these dissenters with a stare of astonishing, withering malevolence.

After another short pause as he prepares to carry on, cries from the audience are gaining momentum.

Bullshitter!

Kinski is by now seething, eyes wide, hardly containing his rage amidst such provocation, and finally explodes, barking words to the effect that they should either have the guts to come up on stage or shut the fuck up.

From thereon it continues quickly into chaos, and over the course of the next hour or so we see him variously jeered, applauded (sometimes sincerely, sometimes ironically), harangued, challenged and baited. He responds with fury, sarcasm, boiling rage, and on more than one occasion he storms off the stage.

I found myself watching the whole thing with my hands over my mouth, just astonished. I know very little about Kinski, or what his motivations were for standing alone on stage delivering the story of Christ - but it was clear that many in the audience were of the opinion that he was casting himself as a messianic figure, and this formed the basis of their umbrage. The section during which he intones/interprets Christ's words about hypocrites being a particular case in point: he must surely have known - perhaps relished - that he was setting himself up for confrontation.

To get a flavour of it - though here without the subtitles - there are some short trailers on the official site. It might not be everyone's cup of tea for a night out at the movies, but it has really left an impact on me.

Alarm

Sometimes it seems as though the alarm has been ringing constantly, for hours, throughout the night: not quite rousing me into a state of consciousness, but acting like a barb: prodding and agitating those pre-waking thoughts which serve to disturb, to ready me to face the world again.

It's when I reach over and press the snooze button that the sheer silence seems like the real alarm, shocking me into awareness.

Such a sense of fraughtness is less to do with everyday travails on this occasion, I think, and more to do with the fact that I saw a very compelling and intense documentary film last night - more of which later.

Misreading The Signs (3)

Misread on the bbc's weather site:

Wind, humility, pressure and visibility.

Make of that what you will - or won't, even.

40 is no age...

Yes this is another R.I.P. post, even though the 40-year old hasn't passed away yet: not until the end of March.

The 40-year old in question being my favourite record shop, Selectadisc in Nottingham. I was passing through yesterday and was saddened to see a poster on the window displaying the news of its imminent demise.

I've been acquainted with the place for 25 years - and particularly during the 80s, it was an immensely exciting place to go to, a different world...a world in which I could lose myself for hours. Browsing through rack after rack of vinyl: sometimes in pursuit of something obscure but sought-after, sometimes just to see what odd, weird and different bands and artists there were. Other times, browsing would be a secondary activity, my main focus being on what was blasting out over the speakers.

To choose an obvious example - for me, anyway - I'd already heard of The Fall, and heard a few tracks. But it was one Saturday morning in Selectadisc that their music effectively grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, demanded my attention: harsh, raw, clattering music at high volume with all sorts of splenetic invective being spat/shouted out in every direction by way of vocal delivery. Attack both in the sense of aggression and dynamics.

There are too many other such examples to mention. The place was simultaneously a haven, and somewhere thrillingly unsafe.

I had a browse through the remaining stocks of cd and vinyl yesterday, but left empty-handed. I wasn't going to buy something purely because it's the last opportunity I'll have to do so, as sad as it is. I also noted to myself, rather pointedly, that I've spent money on a couple of albums this week anyway....ones I've ordered on the internet.

Hitch

I dreamed that me and a mate were driving to the south coast somewhere, and saw some hitch hikers, so we gave them a lift.

Oddly, my mate - the driver - decided to let one of the hitch hikers drive.

Even more oddly, the other one - who sat in the front passenger seat - turned round and handed breadknives to us, which was their way of reassuring us that they were trustworthy.

Somewhere along the journey, my mate managed to accidentally stab me in the leg. It wasn't a serious wound, but there was blood everywhere.