Tutti frutti, awrooty – evening mix
Please don't make me change too much. It's taken so much time to learn so little. Surface in Heaven, Pierce Turner
Monday, December 29, 2014
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
life on the edge
A myocardial infarction, say the learned folk – a heart
attack, say you and me.
It starts with a twinge, such as the Fool had become used to
every now and then, a fleeting stab as from the point of a knife, which
immediately disappeared. Only this time the knife stayed in. I rode the scooter
home from the swimming session, and climbed the stairs. And the knife was
twisted. I told the Begum and the Princess that we might have to go to the
hospital, but my composure was such, apparently, that they didn’t immediately
take it in: “If you want”, they said. I wanted.
Down the stairs again, and a few steps to the car – and they
stuck in another knife. And twisted it. Then the cold sweat broke out, and the
Princess burned the red lights like a pro, and we were at the hospital in five
minutes. Whereupon she went and snatched a wheelchair from the hands of a
startled assistant, the Begum somehow manhandled the Fool into it, and in we
went, making a beeline for the ER entrance. A recepcionist tried to stop us:
“You need to register admittance first!”, she cried. “Yeah, yeah!”, said the
Begum, “Sure we do”, said the Princess, and we barged through the doors.
People ask me if I felt fear, or was scared, or saw my life
flashing before my eyes, but the Fool is one of those simple souls with a
touching faith in Western Medicine – like a little boy’s absolute belief in the
magic of a Band-Aid. So, just crossing the threshold into the ER put me in the mood
of “relax, you are in the hands of professionals”. Plus, one knows how men’s brains
are not geared to multi-tasking even at the best of times. And what I felt was
pain. My mind was pain. No room for anything else.
They connected their tubes and their wires, and confirmed
their diagnosis, and started pumping in the drugs and initiated the prepping for
a catheterism. First, 2cc of morphine went in. Then another 2cc, and another
2cc … I think they went up to 8 or 10 cc (afterwards, the Begum said, my eyes
were bright and merry like Christmas lights; I felt nothing. Honest). And then
they did their thing – aspirating clots, inflating ballons, and inserting
another two stents to add to the two already in my possession since 2007 (at
this rate, my arteries will soon become continuous tubes of titanium mesh). And
that’s how it was.
Now I’m waiting for new life instructions. Guess I’ll have
to cut down on extreme physical exertion – perhaps I’ll stick to pruning roses,
and call it exercise (in the way some people call chess a sport). And potter
around the base of the Hill, and call it a brisk walk. And sit back on the boat
while friends pull all the ropes, and call it sailing. Ah, well.
And I wonder if I shouldn’t pin a yellow warning roundel to
my clothes – inscribed “Damaged Goods” (or perhaps “Bionic Man”, on days of a
sunnier disposition).
Monday, December 22, 2014
the soundtrack of lost love
I hope that I'll find what I'm reachin' for
The way that it is in my mind
I hope that I won't be wrong anymore
And maybe I've learned this time
The way that it is in my mind
I hope that I won't be wrong anymore
And maybe I've learned this time
Someday I'll get over you
I'll live to see it all through
But I'll always miss dreaming my dreams with you
I'll live to see it all through
But I'll always miss dreaming my dreams with you
But I won't let it change me, not if I can
I'd rather believe in love
And give it away as much as I can
To those that I'm fondest of
I'd rather believe in love
And give it away as much as I can
To those that I'm fondest of
Someday I'll get over you
I'll live to see it all through
But I'll always miss dreaming my dreams with you
I'll live to see it all through
But I'll always miss dreaming my dreams with you
Someday I'll get over you
I'll miss dreaming with you
Someday I'll get over you
I'll miss dreaming with you
Some day
I'll miss dreaming with you
Someday I'll get over you
I'll miss dreaming with you
Some day
Dreaming My Dreams With You, Cowboy Junkies
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
motoring life – pride
Street Fightin' Man – Landie Melo comes to town. |
Thus far the Fool had only driven the Landie intermittently
– mostly for short trips, mostly on dirt tracks –, and it's only in the past
two or three weeks that I've been putting it to more normal usage: driving it on
errands, interacting with other traffic, even taking it into town.
And the thing is: it's an inducer of Pride.
Years ago I had a Range Rover as a company
car, so the feelings of superiority engendered by moving around on a
higher level (or "y" coordinate) than the common motorist are nothing new to me – hell, even the current, modest, VW Tiguan provides a rewarding experience
in that regard.
But the Landie is quite a few steps higher. So much so, that even regular SUVs have become objects of derision to me. No matter how hard I try no to
look down my nose at them, beneath all the benevolence
or sympathy I may affect there always lies the innate contempt for
underlings of one who dwells on a higher plane. Of one able, as it were, to stare
a truck driver in the eye and not blink (I'm even considering buying one
of those license plates beloved of truckies, to prop
on the dashboard against the windshield, announcing their name to the world: "MELO”).
Pride, quoi.
Saturday, November 1, 2014
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
the soundtrack of the hopeful life – aural sex
She may be the face I can't forget
A trace of pleasure or regret
May be my treasure or the price
I have to pay
A trace of pleasure or regret
May be my treasure or the price
I have to pay
She may be the song that summer sings
May be the chill that autumn brings
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day
May be the chill that autumn brings
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day
She may be the beauty or the beast
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into a heaven
Or a hell
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into a heaven
Or a hell
She may be the mirror of my dream
A smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell
A smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell
She who always seems so happy in a crowd
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud
No-one's allowed to see them
When they cry
She maybe the love that cannot hope to last
May come to me from shadows of the past
That I'll remember 'til
The day I die
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud
No-one's allowed to see them
When they cry
She maybe the love that cannot hope to last
May come to me from shadows of the past
That I'll remember 'til
The day I die
She may be the reason I survive
The why and wherefore I'm alive
The one I'll care for through the
Rough and rainy years
The why and wherefore I'm alive
The one I'll care for through the
Rough and rainy years
Me I'll take her laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I've got to be
The meaning of my life is she
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I've got to be
The meaning of my life is she
She, Charles Aznavour
life lessons that are priceless – oral sex
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,
Is tir’d with standing though he never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven’s Zone glistering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,
That th’eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime,
Tells me from you, that now it is bed time.
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals,
As when from flowery meads th’hill’s shadow steals.
Off with that wiry Coronet and shew
The hairy Diadem which on you doth grow:
Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread
In this love’s hallow’d temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes, heaven’s Angels used to be
Received by men; Thou Angel bringst with thee
A heaven like Mahomet’s Paradise; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know,
By this these Angels from an evil sprite,
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
Licence my roving hands, and let them go,
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O my America! my new-found-land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man mann’d,
My Mine of precious stones, My Empirie,
How blest am I in this discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds, is to be free;
Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.
Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee,
As souls unbodied, bodies uncloth’d must be,
To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
Are like Atlanta’s balls, cast in men’s views,
That when a fool’s eye lighteth on a Gem,
His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them.
Like pictures, or like books’ gay coverings made
For lay-men, are all women thus array’d;
Themselves are mystic books, which only we
(Whom their imputed grace will dignify)
Must see reveal’d. Then since that I may know;
As liberally, as to a Midwife, shew
Thy self: cast all, yea, this white linen hence,
There is no penance due to innocence.
To teach thee, I am naked first; why then
What needst thou have more covering than a man.
To His Mistress Going to Bed, John Donne
Sunday, October 26, 2014
life in the country – toys for boys
Thursday, October 16, 2014
life lessons that are priceless– guilt as an incentive to creative work
"First things first: some serious procrastination. I tidy my
bench, and in the process more distractions appear: something to repair, or a
half-finished project that demands attention. When the sum of the guilt of not
getting started is equal to or larger than my ability to stall, I start the
proper work."
Two Turtle Doves, A Memoir of Making Things – Alex Monroe
Me, I hang the laundry out to dry, move pencils around,
switch the order of books on shelves, check my emails, and then check them
again … Any excuse to put off the moment when I finally have to, HAVE TO, trace
the first fucking line on a sheet of paper. Agony.
Monday, October 6, 2014
Sunday, October 5, 2014
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Monday, September 29, 2014
the soundtrack of the loveliest season
Leaves of brown they fall to the ground
And it's here, over there leaves abound
Shut the door, dim the lights and relax
What is more, your desire or the facts
Pitter patter of rain falling down
Little gleam of sun comin’ round
Take a walk when autumn comes to town
Little stroll past the house on the hill
Some more coal on the fire if you will
And in a week or two will be Halloween
Set the page and the stage for the scene
A little game that the children will play
And as we watch them while time away
You look at me and take my breath away, hmm
You'll be smiling, eyes beguilding
And the song on the breeze
Will call my name out in your dream
Chestnuts roasting outside as you walk
With your love by your side
The old accordion man plays mellow and bright
And you go home in the crispness of the night
A little later friends will be along
And if you feel like joining the throng
You just may feel like singing Autumn song
You just may feel like …
You'll be smiling
Eyes beguiling
And the song on the breeze
Calls my name out in your dream
Chestnuts roasting outside
As you walk with your love by your side
And the old accordion man plays mellow, mellow and bright
And you go home in the crispness of the night …
A little later friends will be along
And if you feel like joining the throng
You just may feel like singing Autumn song
Autumn song
It just may break out
You just may have to lose control
‘Cos you got it in your soul
You just may, you just may have to break out
And I hear the church bells chime
Way out in the distance …
Autumn Song, Van Morrison
It's so peaceful inside
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
the soundtrack of lovely water
Half a mile from the county
fair
And the rain came pourin'
down
Me and Billy standin' there
With a silver half a crown
Hands are full of a fishin'
rod
And the tackle on our backs
We just stood there gettin'
wet
With our backs against the fence
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Hope it don't rain all day
[Chorus:]
And it stoned me to my soul
Stoned me just like Jelly
Roll
And it stoned me
And it stoned me to my soul
Stoned me just like goin'
home
And it stoned me
Then the rain let up and the
sun came up
And we were gettin' dry
Almost let a pick-up truck
nearly pass us by
So we jumped right in and the
driver grinned
And he dropped us up the road
We looked at the swim and we
jumped right in
Not to mention fishing poles
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Let it run all over me
[Chorus]
On the way back home we sang
a song
But our throats were getting
dry
Then we saw the man from
across the road
With the sunshine in his eyes
Well he lived all alone in
his own little home
With a great big gallon jar
There were bottles too, one
for me and you
And he said Hey! There you
are
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Oh, the water
Get it myself from the
mountain stream
[Chorus]
And It Stoned Me, Van Morrison
It rained today on the Hill. And it stoned me to my soul.
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
life afloat – more seabirds (and a pair of waders)
A selection of seabirds, some of which I couldn't identify (other than to call them "gulls") even with professional help.
"What does the old geezer want with me? Better leg it ..." – herring gull (Larus argentatus). |
Gull |
Mediterranean gull (Larus melanocephalus) |
Gull |
Standing guard |
"Hey earthling!" |
Gull |
Beautiful symmetry – herring gull (Larus argentatus) |
"Hey motor boatman, I'll race you" – Mediterranean gull (Larus melanocephalus) |
Casting pearls – Mediterranean gull (Larus melanocephalus) lifting off in a trail of droplets |
You beauty – oystercatcher (Haematopus ostralegus) |
Pair of oystercatchers |
Sanderlings alighting – (Calidris alba) |
Poetry in motion – Cory's shearwater banking (Calonectris diomedea) |
Sanderlings wading |
We have lift-off – Mediterranean gull (Larus melanocephalus) |
In the glow of the setting sun – Mediterranean gull (Larus melanocephalus) |
Toeing the line – Cory's shearwater (Calonectris diomedea) zipping across the horizon |
A bird of a different kind flying over the anchorage |
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