Na - 26n sounds fantastic, and certainly would like to play along! I really liked today's post - a haunting, slightly disruptive ambience which reminded mew of an album called 'Knive' by Svarte Greiner. I did actually attempt to post this up on your blog, and to reply to you earlier which brings me to...
...for some reason I can't post comments at the moment - on mine or anyone else's blog - It just keeps telling me to choose a profile. I am determined to work this conundrum out, so please bear with me.... (and wish me luck, solving technological puzzles is never my forte...)
Tuesday, 4 January 2011
Monday, 3 January 2011
Equations involving Nine Years
Everything is January. January is everything.
On this, the last day of the Christmas break, I took a walk down the seafront. Made my way there down the forgotten roads between Western Road and the Kingsway (?). The light drained of all depth, an horizonless day. A winter tree, all spiky and dead, nestled in a street corner. Gloomy front gardens backing onto gloomy front rooms. In one, I saw a middle-aged woman sat on her bed, a look of despondency on her face, surrounded by piles of rubbish. Cluttered towers of things that made no sense. I only glimpsed this private view, and quickly turned away. There was something too intrusive about it all.
The grey of the sea. Sluggish tides, and skies that belonged nowhere. I sat and looked at the waves, a part of me wishing I still smoked. People and dogs passed me by. The dogs, as ever, seemed immune to the somehow pleasing glooms of January.
Back in the bedsit now, listening to Orplid on the stereo, an album I bought nine years ago this year. 2002 is now nine years ago. My obsession with making equations out of the past is beginning to tire me now. An unconscious habit, it carries on; so when I bought the Orplid album, that would have been halfway between now and 1993, when I started Langley College, and nine years from now, I'll be 47, and today will be halfway between buying that Orplid album and whatever I'll be doing nine years from now...
On this, the last day of the Christmas break, I took a walk down the seafront. Made my way there down the forgotten roads between Western Road and the Kingsway (?). The light drained of all depth, an horizonless day. A winter tree, all spiky and dead, nestled in a street corner. Gloomy front gardens backing onto gloomy front rooms. In one, I saw a middle-aged woman sat on her bed, a look of despondency on her face, surrounded by piles of rubbish. Cluttered towers of things that made no sense. I only glimpsed this private view, and quickly turned away. There was something too intrusive about it all.
The grey of the sea. Sluggish tides, and skies that belonged nowhere. I sat and looked at the waves, a part of me wishing I still smoked. People and dogs passed me by. The dogs, as ever, seemed immune to the somehow pleasing glooms of January.
Back in the bedsit now, listening to Orplid on the stereo, an album I bought nine years ago this year. 2002 is now nine years ago. My obsession with making equations out of the past is beginning to tire me now. An unconscious habit, it carries on; so when I bought the Orplid album, that would have been halfway between now and 1993, when I started Langley College, and nine years from now, I'll be 47, and today will be halfway between buying that Orplid album and whatever I'll be doing nine years from now...
Sunday, 2 January 2011
Oil Wells and Asparagus
In the first few hours of New Years Day, a spontaneous trip to Andy's, who had elected to stay in. Walked with Em from the expensive and busy Temple Bar along Western Road, then turned right onto The Drive. Passed by the old nightmare flat I lived in over 9 months of 2009. I usually avoid the road, some kind of lingering, irrational superstition. Looking up at my old room, watching the old flat, the blank windows and undrawn blinds. All that darkness staring down.
The place looked deserted. Abandoned.
I remember that strange spaciousness of The Drive, the houses that reminded me of a Brooklyn I have never seen, and the tall posts of the street lamps.
The latter always reminded me of oil wells and asparagus. I don't think I ever had a reason why.
New Years Day spent at Em's place. Mostly anyway. There was a short trip into town where she bought my Christmas present for me - Electric Wizard's 'Black Masses' album. Then back to her place, where an afternoon nap took us past nightfall. Upon waking, we watched the rather excellent 'Let The Right One In' on DVD, which was far superior on second viewing than when I had first watched it back in autumn.
Autumn is now last year.
Strange to write that.
In the last few hours of New Years Day, a sudden restlessness led us onto the seafront, along Hove Promenade and to the BP petrol station by the King Alfred swimming pool. Petrol stations on cold winter nights are places of odd nostalgia for me. That strange desolate buzz of the fridges, the pinging of the tills when a petrol pump is activated, shelves full of overpriced drinks and tattered remnants of the days papers...
There was a basket of cheap Hallowe'en toys for sale. I bought a plastic orange ball, made to look like a pumpkin for 50p. There were any number of sweets and tiny toys inside - a miniature yo-yo with a cartoon of a random anime character on, a page of stickers with random words in 'spooky' typography (Creepy! Haunted House!) and a black plastic amorphous mess that may or may not be a bookmark.
I was particularly pleased with a badge of a spider, which is now on the lapel of my jacket.
I wonder how long I shall have it before I inevitably lose it.
Perhaps it will be one of those things which will follow me round forever.
The place looked deserted. Abandoned.
I remember that strange spaciousness of The Drive, the houses that reminded me of a Brooklyn I have never seen, and the tall posts of the street lamps.
The latter always reminded me of oil wells and asparagus. I don't think I ever had a reason why.
New Years Day spent at Em's place. Mostly anyway. There was a short trip into town where she bought my Christmas present for me - Electric Wizard's 'Black Masses' album. Then back to her place, where an afternoon nap took us past nightfall. Upon waking, we watched the rather excellent 'Let The Right One In' on DVD, which was far superior on second viewing than when I had first watched it back in autumn.
Autumn is now last year.
Strange to write that.
In the last few hours of New Years Day, a sudden restlessness led us onto the seafront, along Hove Promenade and to the BP petrol station by the King Alfred swimming pool. Petrol stations on cold winter nights are places of odd nostalgia for me. That strange desolate buzz of the fridges, the pinging of the tills when a petrol pump is activated, shelves full of overpriced drinks and tattered remnants of the days papers...
There was a basket of cheap Hallowe'en toys for sale. I bought a plastic orange ball, made to look like a pumpkin for 50p. There were any number of sweets and tiny toys inside - a miniature yo-yo with a cartoon of a random anime character on, a page of stickers with random words in 'spooky' typography (Creepy! Haunted House!) and a black plastic amorphous mess that may or may not be a bookmark.
I was particularly pleased with a badge of a spider, which is now on the lapel of my jacket.
I wonder how long I shall have it before I inevitably lose it.
Perhaps it will be one of those things which will follow me round forever.
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