About - Artists & Downloads - Video
Current / Previous
Sun 15th Jan 2012 |
Sun 15th Jan 2012 This week opened bleakly, and many memories were conjured to the fore, but now I can't wait to be shot of the past once more. The past is shit, and you can quote me on that, though you'd p'raps do better in your GCSE's with Shakespeare's: "And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death." I'm still in London, gonna play some shows with Jeeps next week & then fuck off back East for a while. But before then I got a little surprise for ya :p |
Sat 14th Jan 2012 
|
Fri 13th Jan 2012 |
Thu 12th Jan 2012 Remember Modern Toss? 'Course you do you fackin' donkey. It's back: |
Wed 11th Jan 2012 It's Memory Week on Tea Tone, so I thought I'd share a little of the past with you. I'd never had a pet before 2005, save for a fistful of goldfish & a couple of hamsters that my sister got one Christmas. I used to slide them down the handrail between the wall & the staircase with the genuine belief that they loved it. I still kinda think they might have got something out of that, but people tend to disagree. This is one of the rare cases where people are probably right. Sorry about that little guys, if the road to hell is indeed paved with good intentions then doubtless I'm on a waterslide to way down low. In any case, I had no idea what animals were, really. I still don't get it - they're hungry, fluffy maniacs with sharp teeth, who are crazy for love, for the most part, and so sensitive that I've no idea how they ever survive in the wild. I suppose the teeth help in those circumstances. Anyway, one spring morning I was sitting at home, with the windows & doors open, listening to Joni Mitchell, and suddenly I felt an alien weight next to me on the bed. Nervously I glanced over, and there, close-by, was a mass of life, breathing softly & staring back at me with what can only be described as the face of a cat. Cat eyes, stupid weird cat nose, twitching cat ears, all amounting to a giant fluffy cat head. I was too scared to move, and he seemed comfortable enough to stay, so it was stalemate for over 30 mins while we both listened to Joni Mitchell until the record ended & an awkward silence spun to a start. When he got up & left, I felt an all new kind of lonely. I found myself thinking about his ludicrous face much of the following morning, and I played some Joni Mitchell to try to make sense of what had happened, and almost immediately the docile domesticat strolled in the back door & sat next to me again. He must've been lonely too, I guess. I struck up the courage to stroke the thing, and it purred lightly, breaking my heart in places I didn't know existed within me. The next time I was in the supermarket I passed through the pet food aisle, as usual, but once I'd reached the end I felt a pang of guilt about my new friend. Who did he belong to? Where & what does he eat? I bought two tins of catfood, and when I got home he was meowing outside my front door & jumped through the gap the moment I opened it. He remained my cat until his death two years later, and was known as Catface for the duration of his happy stay. I mean, we had our ups & downs, but that's another story. |
Tue 10th Jan 2012 (Emily Bronte. 1818-1848) Remembrance. COLD in the earth - and the deep snow piled above thee, Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave! Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee, Sever'd at last by Time's all-severing wave? Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover Over the mountains, on that northern shore, Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover Thy noble heart for ever, ever more? Cold in the earth - and fifteen wild Decembers From those brown hills have melted into spring: Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers After such years of change and suffering! Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee, While the world's tide is bearing me along; Other desires and other hopes beset me, Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong! No later light has lighten'd up my heaven, No second morn has ever shone for me; All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given, All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee. But when the days of golden dreams had perish'd, And even Despair was powerless to destroy; Then did I learn how existence could be cherish'd, Strengthen'd and fed without the aid of joy. Then did I check the tears of useless passion- Wean'd my young soul from yearning after thine; Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten Down to that tomb already more than mine. And, even yet, I dare not let it languish, Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain; Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish, How could I seek the empty world again? |
Mon 9th Jan 2012 The Man With The Flat Head Christmas Day, 1966. I was in the police canteen, tucking into my turkey sandwiches & mince pies. There were also four other, older officers in the room playing cards. Suddenly the canteen door swung open and a finger pointed at me, and spoke: "There's been a serious accident in West Ealing, I want you to deal with it." I grabbed a mince pie, took a swift slug of my coffee, and headed out the door. It took only five minutes to arrive at the scene. I was confronted by a dead man lying on the road, covered in blood. A double decker bus was parked stationary, directly behind him. The bus driver was sitting on the kerb, muttering "I couldn't avoid him." I gave him a few minutes to stop trembling and calm down. I sat beside him, and quietly asked what had happened. He told me that he had been travelling East along the Uxbridge Road when suddenly, and with no warning, a man had stepped out from behind a parked car and into the direct path of his bus. I got up & went over to the cadaver sprawled lifeless in the middle of the road. His head was squashed completely flat, and covered in congealed blood. I walked to the nearby bus, and looked at the front & rear offside tires. They both showed thick bloodmarks, and it didn't take much thinking to deduce that the bus had gone over his head twice. A few more minutes passed, then the ambulance arrived. I accompanied the body to the local hospital, where he was placed in the morgue. A few days later I was summoned to the hospital to attend the post mortem. As I entered the examination theatre, there was a sight to behold. A beautiful, young nurse in a white uniform, with notebook in hand, was standing behind the pathologist. He, with a scalpel, was cutting up & bringing out what I can only describe as organs from the dead man's chest & lower body. As he was leaning over the body, I couldn't help but notice that he had a long, lit cigarette dangling form his mouth, the ash of which kept falling into the lifeless, open torso. He beckoned me over to the steel trolley on which the body lay, his hand still holding some innards. He peered over his glasses, looked up at me and said: "Is this the same man you saw at the accident & brought to this hospital?" I looked down at the bloodied corpse with the entrails hanging out, and then stared at the squashed head. It was totally unrecognisable. "Yes", I replied, "This was that man". "Thank you officer", he replied, and with that I left the building. By Gordon Strachan, 2011. |