sleeping on the wing
or perched precariously
on the cliff face of others hospitality
Monday, 1 March 2010
Sunday, 28 February 2010
changing the face of hippychick philosophy.
Years ago in Paris I did a great deal of drinking and talking with a guy called Antoine. He was a good looking man, an aviator, philosopher and writer.
He showed me the rough draft for a book he was working on, provisionally called the little prince. He asked me to read it and give him my opinion.
I found the book a little twee and the philosophy simplistic.
when we next met I told him this ( I am a straight talking man ) and went on to suggest a few modifications.
I remember suggesting that the little prince, when lost in the desert, uses his remaining bullet to shoot down Jonathan Livingstone seagull. Later, after eating the bird, the prince dies of food poisoning, putting a generation of hippychick thinkers boyfriends out of their misery.
Antoine did not like that idea to much.
I did not tamper with his aeroplane whatever anyone says.
Saturday, 27 February 2010
Abomination and Art
A friend asks me: 'Have you been to Westfield yet?'
I'm a bloody poet, what on earth would I want to go to that place for.
Lyin' to me was the only honest thing she done.
The one advantage of having a tooth knocked out by an angry woman is that one is able to get much bigger lies out between ones teeth.
The gaps in my teeth were never big enough for the kind of lies I had been cooking up.
Hey if you have lies inside you, let them go, exorcise them, go to liars anonymous if you have to but let them go
Freed Lies, unlike sheep, will not come home wagging their tails behind them. they just keep on moving on.
they finally come to rest in a country and western song.
If that's resting in peace then I'm a Dutchman!
Uncomfortable moments, candour, nudity and irony
Jolyon my erstwhile studio assistant came round today for a bit of advice.
I sat beside him on the sofa and patted him on the knee saying; 'Jolyon, what is the most embarrassing moment in your life?'
'Right now' He said.
Maybe I should have got dressed before he arrived but sometimes you just don't know when you are going to be surprised.
sometimes stuff happens that you have to deal with, naked or not, and nakedness, like truth, never hurt anyone except clothed prudes and liars.
I hate ironing, never do it, waste of time and always reminds me of an airline pilot i know who irons his y-fronts.
Rock and Roll, read into that what you like.but Ironing y-fronts can lead to scorch marks and scorch marks on underwear can be easily misconstrued, especially in a poorly lit room...
See where I'm going with this?
I can't.
Friday, 26 February 2010
The things we do for love
Before I left I painted Moll the bag lady's toenails.I painted them red while thinking of Titian..
I have no idea what Moll was thinking.
I guess I'll never know.
Wednesday, 24 February 2010
Dysfunction
'A spooky feeling is creeping up my spine.'
These were the words rusty used to begin another strand of his story. He went on:
'Years ago, maybe ten or so, my mother called me up and asked if I knew of a man called Tom North. I said no and asked why.
She told me that 'Tom' was my half brother, he had been the child of my fathers, born before he had met my mother. He had been put up for adoption and my father mentioned him to no-one.
Until a letter arrived, a letter which my mother opened, Asking my father if he would meet him. My father refused. Denying all knowledge.
My sisters met the guy a couple of times, knew of his whereabouts. I asked one of them for his details but she refused to give them to me.
She told me that our family was far too dysfunctional and introducing him would do him no favours.
Later she told me that his details had been destroyed in a house fire.
That was the last I heard of Tom North'.
These were the words rusty used to begin another strand of his story. He went on:
'Years ago, maybe ten or so, my mother called me up and asked if I knew of a man called Tom North. I said no and asked why.
She told me that 'Tom' was my half brother, he had been the child of my fathers, born before he had met my mother. He had been put up for adoption and my father mentioned him to no-one.
Until a letter arrived, a letter which my mother opened, Asking my father if he would meet him. My father refused. Denying all knowledge.
My sisters met the guy a couple of times, knew of his whereabouts. I asked one of them for his details but she refused to give them to me.
She told me that our family was far too dysfunctional and introducing him would do him no favours.
Later she told me that his details had been destroyed in a house fire.
That was the last I heard of Tom North'.
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
As best we could
Rusty arrived in London out of the blue yesterday. We met for a beer in the Cow. Meeting for beer in a pub is a British habit I am adapting to well.
We got to talking about our childhood; Rusty told me this tale:
'I never did have a successful childhood. I never had a successful relationship with my father. He was a bully and a tyrant. I could never be good enough, I always let him down, I underachieved, I rebelled.
I walked away in my teens. I survived as best could.
Until, in my 40's I visited him with my sons. We made attempts at conversation. As best we could.
Then, one sunbright afternoon, as we sat in the garden watching my young sons play he said: "I envy you son. You have a relationship with your children that I never had with mine".
He died shortly after that.
But we had made our peace.
As best we could'.
We got to talking about our childhood; Rusty told me this tale:
'I never did have a successful childhood. I never had a successful relationship with my father. He was a bully and a tyrant. I could never be good enough, I always let him down, I underachieved, I rebelled.
I walked away in my teens. I survived as best could.
Until, in my 40's I visited him with my sons. We made attempts at conversation. As best we could.
Then, one sunbright afternoon, as we sat in the garden watching my young sons play he said: "I envy you son. You have a relationship with your children that I never had with mine".
He died shortly after that.
But we had made our peace.
As best we could'.
Monday, 22 February 2010
Meeting Mr Bounce
In the light of recent events I felt it neccessary to take legal advice.
At a reading a few months ago a man had sidled up to me in the lavatory, Whispered: 'If you ever need legal advice' and handed me his card.
Time to pay Mr Bounce a visit, I think.
Confusing reality with fiction
Someone has been interfering with my blog, deleting stuff and adding material. I have got rid of the offending items and I hope this will be the end of it!
I never name real people in the blog unless it is to promote a film, artist, musician or writer. I do not put up photographs without express permission.
All my characters are fictitious and invariably some characteristic of a person known to me will creep into my fiction. My muses (of whom I write often) are nothing more than figments of my imagination and often are inspired by Muses of the past; Jeanne Hebuterne, Dora Maar etc.
As I am a figment of Tristans imagination it makes sense to me that all of my characters are based on him; Rusty and Flluente are obviously alter egos, Moll, Mona, Babs, Lula Mae, Ruby and the ballerina are his fantasy women all of whom could not possibly exist.
I sincerely apologise to anyone who has been offended.
I never name real people in the blog unless it is to promote a film, artist, musician or writer. I do not put up photographs without express permission.
All my characters are fictitious and invariably some characteristic of a person known to me will creep into my fiction. My muses (of whom I write often) are nothing more than figments of my imagination and often are inspired by Muses of the past; Jeanne Hebuterne, Dora Maar etc.
As I am a figment of Tristans imagination it makes sense to me that all of my characters are based on him; Rusty and Flluente are obviously alter egos, Moll, Mona, Babs, Lula Mae, Ruby and the ballerina are his fantasy women all of whom could not possibly exist.
I sincerely apologise to anyone who has been offended.
Sunday, 21 February 2010
Tony and old friends.
Yesterday was an excellent day, a rare thing this year.
The film I saw last night at a BAFTA screening 'Tony' (by Gerard Johnson) was great; proof that something fine can be made on an almost non existent budget. It is a real British film that does not rely on the gangsta genra guy ritchie porn. It is a surprising take on the serial killer thriller. Peter Ferdinando was especially good in the lead role.
Go and see this film if you can or buy the DVD from HMV.
http://www.tonythemovie.com/uk/index.php
I very rarely push anything but I think this is worth it.
Yesterday I spoke (for the first time in over 40 years) to an old friend. Worth getting old for!
The film I saw last night at a BAFTA screening 'Tony' (by Gerard Johnson) was great; proof that something fine can be made on an almost non existent budget. It is a real British film that does not rely on the gangsta genra guy ritchie porn. It is a surprising take on the serial killer thriller. Peter Ferdinando was especially good in the lead role.
Go and see this film if you can or buy the DVD from HMV.
http://www.tonythemovie.com/uk/index.php
I very rarely push anything but I think this is worth it.
Yesterday I spoke (for the first time in over 40 years) to an old friend. Worth getting old for!
Saturday, 20 February 2010
BAFTA schmoozing.
This evening I am off to BAFTA headquarters in Piccadilli to watch a movie made by a young film-maker Gerard Johnson (score by his brother Matt of The The). I intend to schmooze like buggery in order to improve my standing in the film industry.
I'll let you know about the film tomorrow.
Wish me luck.
I'll let you know about the film tomorrow.
Wish me luck.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)