Pre-Pentimento

Wednesday, 23 June 2010

Isn't it good...

the carpenters tale.

(With apologies to Lennon and McCartney)

She sat opposite me and said:

You are seeing someone else

you don't love me any-more

you are never here

you are always distant now.

I sat opposite her and said:

Sometimes a piece of wood sings to me

I found a piece of singing wood six weeks ago

it sang of your beauty and grace

it sang of my love for you

it sang of our happiness.

Since then I have spent every waking hour

working with that wood

making you a table

I built into it your beauty, your grace

I built into it my love for you

I built into it our happiness.

That is why I have not been here

that is why I have appeared distant.

I then brought the table to her... There!

She said:

You do not love me any-more

You are seeing someone else.

That table is in the fucking Ikea catalogue... Sixty quid.

She left me then.

I lit a fire

Isn't it good. Norwegian wood.

Good grief a goal... Live from the Tabernacle

The Slovenian secret weapon

England have scored in the world cup. Whatever next?

Tuesday, 22 June 2010

Depression.

In the news right now due to some stupid remarks made by the ghastly Janet Street Porter in the equally ghastly Daily Mail.

Depression: Described as a modern illness, described as a trendy illness, some times described as not an illness at all.

Depression is real, it is both an illness piggy-backing on the sickness that is present day life (Sloppy analogy here: Modern society is a very unhygienic and badly run hospital, depression is a virulent secondary infection that haunts the wards and operating theatres) and its own symptom.

The sun is shining, things are seemingly going well, I have much to do yet I am stopped in my tracks by an invisible barrier.

Time for drastic action: Depression is a bully; fight back.

Tristan is performing a few new things at the Island, London W10 on Wednesday night... It is an open mic thing, no one will know him there, and he is petrified.

Thereafter he is doing various smaller shows prior to Port Eliot. All leading up to the Event in September.

Depression may seem an immoveable object but there are ways around it...

I hope.

Sunday, 20 June 2010

The farmer's wife.

She keeps bantams

has no faith in god

no faith in art

no faith in science

put all her faith in one man

all her eggs in his basket

The tired ploughman.

I've been ploughing this furrow for too long. Each time I look up from my toil the end of the field is still not in sight save an oak tree on the horizon; when I set out that tree was a mere sapling.

The seagulls that dog my wake have given up on fat worms ever being exposed and now eye my soft parts greedily. they swoop in ever closer.

Time to release the old horse from her traces (smack her on the rump and watch her trot back to her pasture) leave the plough mid furrow mid field (already rusting it will soon enough blend in visually and then soon enough decompose and vanish).

If I walk quickly I will make it to that tree under which sits a little old lady who has many stories to tell me.

I have forgotten what I was going to sow in this field any-way.

Hot chestnuts maybe.

Thursday, 17 June 2010

Sunset.

Sebastian Horsley is dead.RIP.

What is going on in Soho?

Too many people are dying.

There has been a fantastic amount of interest in Sebastian since he died; some of it negative but the majority positive... I did not know him well; I met him once or twice in Soho, but I do know that he was for all the criticism, an original! He will be missed.