Whatever comes to mind before I alter it with the overpaint of time. Mostly satire, poetry and fiction but occasional unreliable fact, as all facts seems to be today. From deepest Notting Hill. London.
Sunday, 13 September 2009
holiday romance
Baltimore, Ireland. 1970
We talked of red roses
we talked of sorrento
while the other kids drank to their pledge
We walked to the beacon
then out at the beacon
held hands and then
went to the edge
she told me she loved me
I told her my fears
we talked of red roses
we talked of Sorrento
Her name was Penelope
the same as my sister
which smacked of incest
each time that I kissed her
On the well rounded bottom
of an overturned inflatable
and all was in reach
but how far was debatable
down there
down on the beach
Under a mans checked shirt
we talked of red roses
we talked of sorrento
we parted agreeing no contact was best
On a postcard weeks later
she wrote of red roses
she wrote of sorrento
she wrote of red roses on a card from sorrento
Without a return address.
We talked of red roses
we talked of sorrento
while the other kids drank to their pledge
We walked to the beacon
then out at the beacon
held hands and then
went to the edge
she told me she loved me
I told her my fears
we talked of red roses
we talked of Sorrento
Her name was Penelope
the same as my sister
which smacked of incest
each time that I kissed her
On the well rounded bottom
of an overturned inflatable
and all was in reach
but how far was debatable
down there
down on the beach
Under a mans checked shirt
we talked of red roses
we talked of sorrento
we parted agreeing no contact was best
On a postcard weeks later
she wrote of red roses
she wrote of sorrento
she wrote of red roses on a card from sorrento
Without a return address.
Saturday, 12 September 2009
Another Event
Thursday, 10 September 2009
Lyric for a punk jesus christ superstar
Gabba gabba ho sanna
gabba gabba hey sanna
Gabba gabba sannah sannah ho
Gabba gabba sanna hey sanna
Gabba gabba hosanna
Is it true nancy
that you died for me
Gabba hey
Gabba ho superstar.
Tell the clash to be quiet
I anticipate white riot
this common crowd
Is far too loud...etc
gabba gabba hey sanna
Gabba gabba sannah sannah ho
Gabba gabba sanna hey sanna
Gabba gabba hosanna
Is it true nancy
that you died for me
Gabba hey
Gabba ho superstar.
Tell the clash to be quiet
I anticipate white riot
this common crowd
Is far too loud...etc
gosh thats hard work. Tim Rice really earned his squillions.
Memories of Bob Marley
Viagra and the photographer
I tend to wear a lot of blue these days. I think that i am being subliminally driven to this by the colour of my Viagra which i am encouraged to take by my various muses.
I am particularly pleased with this jacket and converse ensemble.
As i was sitting in the gutter outside the Portobello Gold my old mate Daevid Baley came along.
Hello I said, any chance you would take me photo Dave?
He said: 'No problem matey'. he took my camera, fiddled with the settings for affect and took the above.
A particularly fine example of his work. I think you will agree.
Wednesday, 9 September 2009
Hastings with Warhol
Back in the sixties andy came over to britain; he needed to get away from the lime-light and assassination attempts ('these fifteen minutes of hell' he would call it).
I took him down to Hasting to get away from the pendulum that London had become.
Andy always enjoyed going some place where he could take his wig off and not be recognised.
We often walked on the beach, photographing the fishing boats and talking about shit. One day I said: 'Andy, why don't we do some screen prints in strange colours?'
So we did... That is what it was like back then.
I took him down to Hasting to get away from the pendulum that London had become.
Andy always enjoyed going some place where he could take his wig off and not be recognised.
We often walked on the beach, photographing the fishing boats and talking about shit. One day I said: 'Andy, why don't we do some screen prints in strange colours?'
So we did... That is what it was like back then.
jim Morrison, modigliani and Patti Smith
Babs calls from Coeurd'Alanes Idaho, I think she has the wrong number, I think she thinks she is talking to Rusty.
She says; I read this in the paper today, listen to this...
PATTI SMITH SAID: Actually, the first time I visited Pere Lachaise cemetery was when Jim Morrison was still alive. It was in 1969 and I was 23. I went to honor the painter Amadeo Modigliani and his tragic lover Jeanne Hébuterne, who lies in the grave right next to his. Back then I wanted so much to look like the models in Modigliani's paintings...
Then Babs says; Didn't that old bastard Nieupjur Know someone called Hebuterne?
I am lost for words, I hang up trembling, thinking of a muse long lost.
She says; I read this in the paper today, listen to this...
PATTI SMITH SAID: Actually, the first time I visited Pere Lachaise cemetery was when Jim Morrison was still alive. It was in 1969 and I was 23. I went to honor the painter Amadeo Modigliani and his tragic lover Jeanne Hébuterne, who lies in the grave right next to his. Back then I wanted so much to look like the models in Modigliani's paintings...
Then Babs says; Didn't that old bastard Nieupjur Know someone called Hebuterne?
I am lost for words, I hang up trembling, thinking of a muse long lost.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)