Oct 2017
i remember these two particular catchphrases uttered from english lips in the early 90s: the burqa? satan's postbox; and the other? jesus is coming: look busy.
i have to admit it, jazz sounds so much better,
and i'm sure if i was writing this in
the 20th century, jazz would have abhorred me,
but more so the beatnik poetry-jazz fission,
like some godfather of rap of something -
still jazz sounds better, and even though i was
partially raised on classical music,
point being, when *batman forever came out,
i didn't buy the soundtrack with U2 on it,
but instead the elliot goldenthal score -
notably for the song fledermausmarschmusik -
times were tough, we still used to play
with action figures and were the puppet-masters
in those days, rather than monochromatic
in smartphone wizardry...
and i remember this one woman working
in our price asking me whether i was
sure i wanted the classical score of the movie,
rather than the soundtrack: and i said -
well, d'uh!
but i can't contest for loving classical music
more than jazz, esp. not during these "detox"
weeks... jazz is just that: a cough medicine,
a paracetamol, something akin to beating
egg yokes with some sugar, until a pale canary
foam forms, and then you place it on top
of a black coffee, with some whiskey to boot...
i'll say this, these "detox" weeks are best
done during the autumnal / winter months -
just enough sunshine to make a 32+ hour days
bearable...
what time is it? almost 3pm?
that's me crossing the 24h threshold of being
constantly awake...
by the time i hit the whiskey this evening
i'll be heading into the 32nd hour of being
awake, straight...
but i love these prolonged days,
the sort of days that merge into nights that then
somehow merge into the high octane morning
hours, notably looking at schoolkids pass my
house in school uniform...
you should have seen this kid (who i was)
and his first time in regent st.'s hamleys...
it was like a scene from big -
once he spotted those batman action figures
his cheeks turned into bright luminescent
beetroots...
prior to that it was the joy of
playing outdoors, throwing marbles
into a dug hole from the distance of 2 metres,
and there was also the bet: 4 marbles a game,
5 marbles go into the hole and the winner
takes it all...
and what about plasticine in the game
of kapsle, placed into bottle-caps,
and flicked around in a maze drawn on
the pavement with chalk?
girls? hopscotch...
but we used to gang
up as if the utopian version of the lord of the flies
and head into the woods, and bake us
some tatties in charcoal of a fire...
we used to look out after each other...
obviously some of the kids from my childhood,
last time i heard: became violent criminals...
but that's beside the point,
when we were young, it mattered that we
had a group ethos: no one is going to be left
behind... stealing gooseberries -
that would make these overly sweet sour-sweets
taste like honey drizzle over oats...
but that's the great thing about these "detox"
weeks, i get to experience 32h days,
half a day, the entire night, and the entirety
of the next day, and about a third of the next night...
even if you asked me how i managed
to stay awake for so long and fail to even
powernap for a quickie 15 minutes,
i'd probably sooner inquire:
so, what's the secret for those quickies you wild
kids have in the domain of ***...
last time i checked, she just perfected
her ******* before we were breaking up -
she tightened her lips...
ah, i know the youtube hysteria of:
telling personal things to strangers -
i get the argument -
but unlike the medium of youtube - writing
still has the aura of:
as one stranger unto another -
there's no greater sense of privacy,
as the privacy without a muzzle-guard of a dog...
it can be rather intimidating, to find that
however personal your content is,
it actually entrenches your privacy,
paradoxically...
don't ask me how this happens...
i guess that: if your "privacy" is merely
an intricate web of lies... i guess you'd really
want to protect your spidery-ego as much as
possible...
but when you state your privacy
among internet profiles - glass people in glass houses...
(who the hell puts up these profiles,
what's there to talk about, on the date,
when you already have an a priori picture of a person
and their interests?) -
once again, i don't know how it happened,
but by revealing my private life in "public",
i somehow managed to turn into
a right ol' hermit...
and unlike the youtube mentality:
i'm still a stranger among strangers,
maybe that comes down to my ability
to talk to old men on benches, randomly,
while having a beer and a smoke;
don't mind homeless people either -
give them a cigarette, ask how they're feeling,
and never bothering to ****** them
about the ethos of work, given that
so much of "work" these days is exactly that:
"work".
i have to admit it, jazz sounds so much better,
and i'm sure if i was writing this in
the 20th century, jazz would have abhorred me,
but more so the beatnik poetry-jazz fission,
like some godfather of rap of something -
still jazz sounds better, and even though i was
partially raised on classical music,
point being, when *batman forever came out,
i didn't buy the soundtrack with U2 on it,
but instead the elliot goldenthal score -
notably for the song fledermausmarschmusik -
times were tough, we still used to play
with action figures and were the puppet-masters
in those days, rather than monochromatic
in smartphone wizardry...
and i remember this one woman working
in our price asking me whether i was
sure i wanted the classical score of the movie,
rather than the soundtrack: and i said -
well, d'uh!
but i can't contest for loving classical music
more than jazz, esp. not during these "detox"
weeks... jazz is just that: a cough medicine,
a paracetamol, something akin to beating
egg yokes with some sugar, until a pale canary
foam forms, and then you place it on top
of a black coffee, with some whiskey to boot...
i'll say this, these "detox" weeks are best
done during the autumnal / winter months -
just enough sunshine to make a 32+ hour days
bearable...
what time is it? almost 3pm?
that's me crossing the 24h threshold of being
constantly awake...
by the time i hit the whiskey this evening
i'll be heading into the 32nd hour of being
awake, straight...
but i love these prolonged days,
the sort of days that merge into nights that then
somehow merge into the high octane morning
hours, notably looking at schoolkids pass my
house in school uniform...
you should have seen this kid (who i was)
and his first time in regent st.'s hamleys...
it was like a scene from big -
once he spotted those batman action figures
his cheeks turned into bright luminescent
beetroots...
prior to that it was the joy of
playing outdoors, throwing marbles
into a dug hole from the distance of 2 metres,
and there was also the bet: 4 marbles a game,
5 marbles go into the hole and the winner
takes it all...
and what about plasticine in the game
of kapsle, placed into bottle-caps,
and flicked around in a maze drawn on
the pavement with chalk?
girls? hopscotch...
but we used to gang
up as if the utopian version of the lord of the flies
and head into the woods, and bake us
some tatties in charcoal of a fire...
we used to look out after each other...
obviously some of the kids from my childhood,
last time i heard: became violent criminals...
but that's beside the point,
when we were young, it mattered that we
had a group ethos: no one is going to be left
behind... stealing gooseberries -
that would make these overly sweet sour-sweets
taste like honey drizzle over oats...
but that's the great thing about these "detox"
weeks, i get to experience 32h days,
half a day, the entire night, and the entirety
of the next day, and about a third of the next night...
even if you asked me how i managed
to stay awake for so long and fail to even
powernap for a quickie 15 minutes,
i'd probably sooner inquire:
so, what's the secret for those quickies you wild
kids have in the domain of ***...
last time i checked, she just perfected
her ******* before we were breaking up -
she tightened her lips...
ah, i know the youtube hysteria of:
telling personal things to strangers -
i get the argument -
but unlike the medium of youtube - writing
still has the aura of:
as one stranger unto another -
there's no greater sense of privacy,
as the privacy without a muzzle-guard of a dog...
it can be rather intimidating, to find that
however personal your content is,
it actually entrenches your privacy,
paradoxically...
don't ask me how this happens...
i guess that: if your "privacy" is merely
an intricate web of lies... i guess you'd really
want to protect your spidery-ego as much as
possible...
but when you state your privacy
among internet profiles - glass people in glass houses...
(who the hell puts up these profiles,
what's there to talk about, on the date,
when you already have an a priori picture of a person
and their interests?) -
once again, i don't know how it happened,
but by revealing my private life in "public",
i somehow managed to turn into
a right ol' hermit...
and unlike the youtube mentality:
i'm still a stranger among strangers,
maybe that comes down to my ability
to talk to old men on benches, randomly,
while having a beer and a smoke;
don't mind homeless people either -
give them a cigarette, ask how they're feeling,
and never bothering to ****** them
about the ethos of work, given that
so much of "work" these days is exactly that:
"work".
