.there were always three songs from the 80s that we, more or less elusive... since i wasn't someone who frequently listened to the radio, i'd hear these songs - on an off perhaps once a year - at a particular time, notably travelling - or there would be some modern revamp to suit the trance-kids... midnight oil's - beds are burning, men at work - down under - well... not so much... the best example would have to be... 1984s... nik kershaw's - the riddle... i mean the lyrics are mind-boggling: near a tree by a river there's a hole in the ground where an old man of Aran goes around and around and his mind is a beacon in the veil of the night for a strange kind of fashion there's a wrong and a right but he'll never, never fight over you... well the song is primarily about the Irish immigrants that went off to h'America - blessings of Babylon - the arms, the guild of hammers and sickles and all that to boost an honest's man honest's wage for labour... what else? the old man of Aran is a ref. to the 1934 Robert J. Flaherty documentary: Man or Aran... for i see no reason to celebrate this song in a modern fiasco... the tune: if you only like the tune... you might as well tell me... that d.j. Tiesto is going to revamp chris the burgh's - a spaceman came travelling... because that's just gonna happen! although i imagine myself writing the odd scribble about... a young man and his storm petrel - of Tindhólmur...
it really has been this sort of day - to be rudely interrupted by still clinging friends of the family dropping by, for the hey! surprise at 8pm on a Monday evening - staying up till after 10pm... distorting the plans of me cutting down on drinking... you don't just drop uninvited - not scheduled - perhaps in a war torn part of the world like Iraq... and you're the U.S.A. pilot of a drone that killed the son of some wisened Mesopotamian who offers you tea with tears and he doesn't understand your words and then the grandson runs in and wants to sell you all the eggs... because the old man just didn't want the money like that... but that's a cruel situation... not in England, not in Germany do you just appear on someone's door at 8pm with covert blah-blah to reach a ****** of the real reason for the "happy dropping by"... it's a Monday... a happy happenstance can occur in a cafe - on neutral territory - not when - it's polite to serve coffee and tea and cakes... it's a Monday! there are no excuses!
now i see it... how i will ever stop drinking as much as i have... there is simply no satisfaction from a good night's sleep anymore - it needs to be corrected - i had to start thinking that my insomnia is a prerequisite for my brain to explore foreign lands of... what will become of this verbiage... until i come to last conclusions... hardly alcohol widthrawl symptoms - but you can just imagine - a sensation of a ghost of my cat that i suspected was killed by my "neighbour" jumping onto the bed and making gentle indentations in the cotton of the bedsheats... not quiet alseep - somehow sleeping - more hallucinations of the Mengu /おもmen頬yoroi/ - i will not even delve into something i know nothing about... read: error... had to look for... the simpler japanese i know exists... i don't even know whether the stated kun'yomi looks any better to the on'yomi メン... and the wikipedia entry for (yoroi) doesn't even exist! but that's how the insomnia brain works it seems... it needs to be somewhere between borderline sleep deprivation and no sleep at all... or at least pseudo-sleep and pseudo-dreams: hallucinations - not visual or auditory as such... imagine the sensation of a cat jumping onto your bed and feeling the gentle indentations of him walking next to your lying body? you can't exactly find the right sort of amount of sleep... sometimes stretches of 8 or so hours leave you... exhausted the next day - with a sort of vocabulary that should be waiting in line for a retirement home and pear pulp and a mash and roast beef milkshake to slurp up! too much sleep is no good for the brain... but then too little is no good for the body... it's a fine balance... if i find it... well...
to take a beer for a walk at night - the 2nd day of frost - to see the stars with more lucidity of them being exfoliated by the endless prism of frost on the cold and hardening concrete... paparazzi camera epilepsykrieg of a red-carpet... under the most visible constellation of Scorpio
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illuminations of the tsade... and ayin (ע)... mah-zahl akh-ravh - oh i'm sure the hebrews to treat the H as surd akin to the sacred raj hindu of sanskrit... what saved them that would have never saved the "red" indians? the "blue" indians had sanskrit and... a culinary arsenal of spices... which was appealing to some little people of Norwich and Bristol who became just became bored of rosemary, thyme - parsley and dill.
words can at best become merely co-ordinates... you would have to walk these same streets at these specific times of the year - the second frost of winter - a clear sky - dogs barking in the background - foxes if... are rather exotic when they start performing: mate-calling... the odd crow insomnia that croaks in flight at night... this suckling vacuum of air exploring a near infinite distance of astmophere coming into a horizon with the nothingness of space and the celestial mechanics of the orbs - the traffic of Eastern Ave. toward Southend in the background - no wind... the sound of a kosher goat taking another glug glug from a bottle of beer - the gentle scortching of smoked tobacco in a cigarette being dragged (inhaled)... perhaps a very distsant sound of a train chuggling along - the dogs barking at the cold... the dogs barking at the cold... the inability to hear one's own footsteps... a mania for the night and all the seven if not more delights of taking a walk alone at night.