i would have never guessed it that Flea would be a Sheffield United supporter, then again who would have thought that Ryan Reynolds would become the owner of Wrexham...
and sometimes: even if you're working an event and not a spectator you're still like: **** it, i need to get a t-shirt...
i can't remember the last time i owned something that did have a tag: made in China... i still have this shirt from Gap that reads made in Ireland... now i own something that reads: made in Honduras... the quality on this thing tells me... if washed properly will last about 20+ years...
when was the last time i saw them? did they just come out with By the Way? 2002... so they must have played the London Docklands Arena circa... they were great then: but today they were like the Beatles... Flea on par with John Frusciante... you have to give it bass players that are on par with guitarists if not somehow surpassing them...
back then at the Docklands... what was it? 12,500 seated and 15,000 in concert mode... today? my guess is in the range of 70,000+ they might be getting but that's when people are at their best... esp. ageing rock stars... it's this last push at greatness... i sure as **** wanted to hear Dani California live... and it wouldn't be me if i wasn't disappointed at them not playing Warm Tape...
but other things happened... i'm sometimes almost sure that my interactions with spectators do not go unnoticed by other spectators or the security team in general... now... i'm used to hugs... having selfies taken... but... i truly wasn't read for a guy to walk up to make: steal my hand... kiss it... hug me and go on his merry way... as if invited the Chillies to London... oh sure sure... yeah... i organised this event...
but it's not that: people have been really starved socially after the past two years... it shows... i'm just wondering when all this luvvy-dubby attitude of the public will return to the old complacent drunk-rude attitude... then the post-pandemic honeymoon period will end... it's bound to happen at some point with enough people having attended enough public events like football matches and concerts... when the security services will return to being invisible traffic-cone jokes... unless of course it's just me... i don't see other stewards or security officers get their hands kissed and get hugs and get asked for selfies...
then again... i wonder if i've met someone who read any of my ****** "poems"... i look at the viewing counts... if i managed to pull over 15,000 examples from my ***.. split between several websites... where on one just one has gained 48.1K traction... and i add up some of the more popular ones... i've reached viewership well over 100K... so i'm thinking... maybe some of these people approach me like they know me... or know of me...
am i being full of myself? i'm just not used to strangers kissing my hands... or playing with my beard... how much of this is post-pandemic socialisation-starvation and how much of it inherently authentic based on the ontology of individuals is: perhaps... debatable... nonetheless: Casanova could have boasted about his adventures in and outside of the bedroom... i'm hardly hurting anyone's ego by citing how... how familiar people can become... even though they are strangers... let's not get anyone's hopes up... we're not talking the complications of friendships... having drinks in a pub... talking about our highs and lows... it's not about the shallowness of these interactions... but the immediacy and the fleetingness of them: the almost democratic nature of them... "democratic": there's 8 billion examples of man / woman on this earth... and London can hardly compete with a small village, with the Archers' claustrophobia (the Archers'? this radio soap-opera on BBC Radio 4... in my most low i used to tune in... i'm not old enough to tune into BBC Radio 4, i don't think i'll ever be... i tried BBC Radio 3 for a while... i still prefer being my own DJ) -
well... i tried listening to Anderson Paak coming in... after seeing him live? i don't think i'll be able to... you need to see him... he's a performer... he's less a recording artist... his recordings are stale compared to his entertainment qualities... part James Brown part: obviously himself...
or anyone not liking what i write can just switch to something from the poetryfoundation.org, or the tabloid press... even i think this is mediocre... i'm less worried about but i was really worried whether the train strikes would mean that the transport-chain-lock would work in my favour... whether i'd get the central line to Newbury Park on time from Stratford... whether i'd catch either the 296 or the 66 bus to Romford and get one of the last three 103 buses after 12:00am to Chase Cross...
but i just bought a t-shirt from a concert and put it over my work clothes and walked with the rest of the fans grinning-like an idiot: i've been paid... and i saw a band i last saw back in 2002... and i'm going to see them again tomorrow...
sure... who wouldn't want to be a mysterious poet who dies at the age of 30 like Kathleen Tankersley Young from Lysol poisoning... who wouldn't?! the public would archive two poems by me and i'd be... immortalised... Bukowski put a nail on the head when he said: when you write into the thousands... you realise... that you have written very little...
right now anything to push me sitting up until 2am and getting up at 9am... drinking whiskey and soothing my legs from standing up for... however many hours i stood rooted... but i was smarter today... i decided to eat something on the shift... i highly recommend the steak pasties at the London Stadium... they're only £6 a pop and that's not overpriced for a London venue... i would never ingest that free-cheap-***** sandwiches provided by companies... mind you... i did manage to "steal" a free bottle of Fanta from one of the kiosk managers... or if you're at Wembley... befriend a Bangladeshi security guy... or a Somali... not stereotyping... they can smooth-talk any member of a kiosk to give you free food... or rather... the people working in the food kiosks are probably also Bangladeshi or Somali... so...
win win...
and of the people you work with... word quickly spreads... i come in bruised from a bicycle accident... obviously i had to tell people that "some ******" cut me off... that's not true... i was cycling drunk... the last time i ever did that... i lost control when the road started becoming uneven: ***-hole this swerve that... it was a spectacular accident of my own making... i flipped forward across the handlebars... even if i was wearing a cycling helmet: which i never have and never will... a beautiful looking imitation of a Francis Bacon painting... but today: some guy approached me... oh... looks like you're healing nicely...
and i am... it felt so good listening Scar Tissue live... i'm gently pinching the scab and eating it... like a dog... but i was having this conversation with Harini and about her falling off her electric scooter... how she would never get back on it... and i told her: my bicycle was sort of my fault too... but it's different with bicycles... so i started telling her about those two glorious summers when my grandfather was alive and he'd take me to Pętkowice (Świętokrzyskie Voivodeship, Ostrowiec County, Poland) for horse riding... oh yeah... i'll never own a car... i love buses, bicycles and horses too much... i will never own a flashy car... so i told her... this mare almost threw me off at full gallop... see... it's different when you have a bicycle accident and something rather different when a horse throws you off... bicycles are dead things... it's up to you to not be drunk (idiot) and not spotting a ***-hole early enough... but a horse is a living creature and has its own rules, whims...
i think i'm rekindling sleeping genes in me... i must have come from a lineage of horse-riders... after the first lesson having jumped me and this guy went into the fields and the forest for a "stroll"... my god... riding a horse at full gallop... it's almost a bit like riding a bicycle down a hill... no... it's not the same... sleeping genes of a Mongol? a ***? Winged Hussars?! who else where the great nations that heavily relied on horses?! i just remember: put right heel pressure on the horse's torso while pulling at the reins of the left hand for it to turn left... and if you want to move the horse to the right... left heel digging into the torso and right hand pulling at the reins... and if you want to gallop? both feet dig heels into the torso and the reins are tightened...
and she looked at me like: well... i wasn't expecting you to be a type that rode horses... so much for rock stars... down on the ground this is probably enough to impress...
i come home i find my maine **** readied for a nap in my bed... wake up tomorrow... root myself in... un-root myself... drink some whiskey... have two days off... wait for the boiler mechanic come Monday... then head off to Wembley for the Ed Sheeran gig... like any modern man i'm addicted to the urban landscape... although... i sometimes wish i could live on the Shetlands... or the Faroe Isles... be a lighthouse curator...
live in a cave: live in a cave: breathe like a cave when a shout shouted into it excavates an echo... i'm a terrible DJ... second night running and it's still...
i can move mountains i can work a miracle, work a miracle ooh, oh, oh, (i'll) keep you like an oath may nothing but death do us (a)part