Friday, 21 January 2011
Nujabes
Thursday, 20 January 2011
They're trying to take my history away from me
The allotment is about twenty minutes away on foot, through field and woods. On my way back I stopped at Kite’s Nest hill and looked out over the Blackmore Vale. First I saw a muntjac, which I’d never seen before. Then I saw two cows madly chasing after a fox. Cows can run really, really fast.
There's a lot of rolling farmland and a few scattered houses, most of which ugly. I imagined what the land would have looked like with less human interaction. The human race is very arrogant. It made me think of a lyric in a Levellers song “Got to move these mountains because they’re standing in the way. It’s in the name of progress, son, we can make it pay.” We’ve lost our place in our world and we’re playing at God. What is all this “progress” for?
Here is the song.
Some other lyrics that strike a cord with me are:
Is this just some small price that we have learned to pay for your social insecurity,
They're trying to take my history away from me.
I feel that way often, that these politicians are trying to take away our history, to rip apart the story of my life and force me to conform to something totally separate from the land and my origins. There is another Levellers song that relates to this; Sell Out.
Do I belong to some ancient race?
I like to walk in ancient places,
These are things that I can understand.
I don't believe in your modern way,
Don't care about the things you say,
Your policies have failed the test of time,
'Cause you sold them down the river.
A lot of stuff has changed since then. A lot of stuff has stayed the same. Interesting.
Wednesday, 19 January 2011
Elation versus Panic
This is a freewritten short story called Elation versus Panic:
There she is, standing at the apex of the roof, looking down at the pavement, slick and wet below. The rain slaps around her, cold with a hint of almost-snow.
She closes her eyes and sees rainbows spiral out with jangling stars, shapes of hazy distinction and skidding glitchy sounds.
People below her gather and shout. She opens her eyes and looks down at them gesturing with panic. They think she is going to jump. She is not interested in jumping, only in looking and feeling. Sensation rushes like a beautiful buzz.
People are always asking what why who when?
She doesn’t care about these questions. All she cares for is the rush, the changing unfixed unmeaning sensation.
She likes their panic. She shares her rush with them. They interpret it with panic. Panic or elation; they are all sensation and they all put notches of experience onto our souls.
Tuesday, 18 January 2011
Wednesday, 12 January 2011
Dada Poem

I was making bookmarks from old maps and books and music sheets found in a charity shop. I cut out random chunks of text from the book (a Sharpe book by Cornwell) and arranged them in no particular order. This was the result. I am yet to finish making the bookmark.
Friday, 7 January 2011
Short Story Idea Bank 2
Mike is like a Philip Lorca diCorcia photograph. On the surface he seems spontaneous and concrete and real. Take some time and you will find Mike is highly constructed, a master of illusion, far from spontaneous or real.
Appearance ideas:
Androgyny and make believe.
The creation of a persona to form the constructed illusion behind which s/he hides.
It is the shoes of this photograph that interest me. The pose is also interesting, being very closed and shielding.(These two images are by Vladlena Sevelova.)
Character theme ideas:
Mike is a Rubik’s cube master. Some similarities to Brain from Brick. (Image from Rian Johnson's excellent Brick Novella.)
Theme idea generation:
It's unfortunate that when we feel a stone
We can roll ourselves over 'cause we're uncomfortable
Oh well, the devil makes us sin
But we like it when we're spinning in his grip
Wednesday, 5 January 2011
Short Story Idea Bank 1
When the ego has been made a "seat of anxiety," someone is running away from himself and will not admit it.
So far as we know, consciousness is always ego-consciousness. In order to be conscious of myself, I must be able to distinguish myself from others. Relationship can only take place where this distinction exists.
Hysterical self-deceivers, and ordinary ones too, have at all times understood the art of misusing everything so as to avoid the demands and duties of life, and above all to shirk the duty of confronting themselves. They pretend to be seekers after God in order not to have to face the truth that they are ordinary egoists.
The foremost of all illusions is that anything can ever satisfy anybody. That illusion stands behind all that is unendurable in life and in front of all progress, and it is one of the most difficult things to overcome.
I have a month or two to write the short story, so I will add to this ideas bank over the coming days and weeks.




