tourgay

So, I should be sleeping, that is the truth. I've just come off tour and that sure does affect you, physically and mentally. I'm used to getting to sleep at 4 or 5, this can't last.

Anyway, tour was fun. Much more than fun really. To say something is fun is such a trivialisation, really hardly anything is fun. We played to a lot of empty rooms and a lot of full rooms, sold quite a few CDs, slept on a lot of floors, met a few terrible people and a lot of wonderrful ones. Tour was ok.

I'm constantly bewildered by Action and Action's ability to play so hard and tight and with such passion on a nightly basis. Even when its a poor environment or everyone feels awful they just seem to pull something out from buried deep in their rib cage and set fire to it. I really can't help but feel like we have no right to play alongside them on such a regular basis, but I'm constantly motivated and inspired by the reality, that we have been presented with such an opportunity.

I'm in a weird mood, contemplative I suppose. I feel a bit like maybe Psyche Out is just riding on novelty, the whole volume and chaos thing. Also, seems like no matter what you try to do artstically, it always comes out seeming contrived. Just wanna make something that actually means something. Some pure, white, genuine, eternal heat. Something that I can be proud of.

I love this band, I love the people in it and I love the music we make, just feel constantly constrained by the eternal world and by the perceptions of others.

I feel like I just want to get away and hide somewhere without any technology, no static to distort the signal. Then maybe I can focus and create some concentrate y'know, some real strong liquor to wash down the underachievement.

Whatever, i'm just talking now, not speaking. Like the words are evaporating as soon as they come up, too quick for me, before i'm ready to let them go. Its not good.

The clocks have changed, not sure exactly what that means. I know it means I have no idea when i'm supposed to wake up.

Maybe I'll just sleep.

war inside my head

So, I'm at my parents house, just found this poem i wrote ages ago, seems kinda dumb now I read it, like this clumsy awful giant with too many limbs. Still, its kinda interesting, in a way. I think so anyway.

1. ‘The Civilian’

I killed a man today
In the town square
The village said
A silent prayer

I was a hero that night

The fight was raging and the people were helpless
But I forgot how to be a man
And now they believe I’m Jesus

Men cry bloodied tears
Screams escape covered ears
The people realise their wildest fears
And my family have disappeared


2. ‘The Soldier’

I’m just a man
Just doing a job

As a kid they said to me…
‘For you son it’s the army or the mob’

The gods asked my assistance
And the country needs my life
I was sent to fight resistance
And I’ll fight them until I die
But the angels tell me that
Resistance is born right here where I lie


3. ‘The Conscience’

I have no family near me
And I’ve never seen this gun
I live in a house in England
And from no one must I run

The people call me Jesus ‘cos the people aren’t alive
When I feel guilt I feel uneasy because what I feel’s a lie

I didn’t protect that town and I didn’t protect that state
Its time to realise this truth and resolve to face my fate


The Story

Soldiers attack a village to root out some kind of insurrectionary group, ‘The Civilian’ stands up to the army to protect his family and kills ‘The Soldier’ This makes ‘The Civilian’ feel guilty and remorseful. However, the townspeople see him as a hero despite his own self-loathing. Because he killed ‘The Soldier’ he is falsely branded as an insurrectionary leader by the authorities and his family is kidnapped and killed.

The Reality

Both ‘The Civilian’ and ‘The Soldier’ are the same person/do not really exist. They are characters in the imagination of a of a mentally ill war veteran. The three characters in the song represent ‘The Civilian’, ‘The Soldier’ and ‘The Conscience’ of the war vet trying to come to terms with reality. The song suggests that even completely different people or actual enemies are essentially part of one human consciousness and have far more in common than most people realise. It also alludes to the idea that reality as we know it is actually a fabrication. The last line depicts ’The Conscience’ realising this, being unable to deal with it and killing himself.

lexicology of a wasted youth

Words fall
Like train tracks to the sky
The creator has a plan for this
But he forgot to let us fly

These people have a feeling
That makes them seem more strong
We all know hope is an atavism
That helps us get along

The placards are a noble lie
To keep the populace alive
The face on them is not to blame
For the propaganda we distain

The drummers keep on drumming
Whilst the soldiers find their hearts
The people in the Starbucks
Take to the pavement and begin to laugh

Because what you feel is freedom
And what we want is here
We won't win much approval
But for the oligarchs' deafened ears

This isn't a tidal wave with a destination
Because we've nowhere left to go
But the means becomes the reason when
You're surrounded by the flowers you wish to sow


I don't like to rhyme, but I did, I wrote this after an especially tame demo in London, I guess its about the intrinsic value of resistance, even when the odds are against you and even when it feels like you are just acting out a part in a massive theatrical puppet show that you've lost control of...

vegkiarusitas!

I've spent most of today contemplating my future, seems like I don't have many choices. I don't think I can survive on JA, I wouldn't want to, I don't like relying on others. The other thing is, I'm constantly aware that not everyone has the same cultural capital that I do, I'd feel like I was mocking these people if I took it for granted. Anyway, what kind of anarchist lives off state hand outs? Sooo... I'm considering just buying and selling shit on ebay to supplement a part time job. Its all money though innit, and it is all still exploitation. Makes me feel ill, makes me feel like I just want to hit the road and keep on going until I don't have to pretend to care about numbers and productivity. Thing is, I can't hack 9-5 work. In fact, I can't really deal with work at all unless it is work towards something that feels like its kinda authentic and positive and real. Work for the sake of work just makes me ask questions. Then I get into arguments.

Seems like maybe most work is based on humiliation, I feel humiliated at work anyway. Those who best internalise the humiliation do prety well for themselves and those that ruin the illusion get the sack. The bosses aren't there to work, they are there to maintain the illusion, there IS a team, we ARE doing something important and constructive. If you humiliate the bosses, you totally destroy the illusion, I guess thats my problem... Maybe i'm just an obnoxious little middle class prick that is too lazy to do anything for himself. I hope not.

Sorry this is hardly Down and Out in Paris and London but hey, I had to rant.

insomnia/freedom

I've had a lovely weekend, seeing some faces n that. Watched a lot of films too, something I'd like to do more frequently. I thought of a bunch of interesting stuff that I should write about, but I was high and now i'm just tired and I have a headache. Maybe it can wait. I ordered the Benga album off of Amazon today, probably shouldn't be spending money but some things are too important to be rational about.

Anyway, here is the thing. We've got company. By we, I mean me. There is this little wanker of a mouse thats cotching in my room, he keeps running back and forth, poking his head out in this timid manner that would be kinda cute if he wasn't so annoying. Coy little rodent fuck. He'll pay. Obviously, not literally, but maybe in a karmic sense. Hopefully.

fighting water

well, our tap has been limping for a while now and it just decided to call it a day, cue chaos. I was trying to boil water for tea. The kitchen decided to get vengeance, I think I deserved it, I don't treat our kitchen very well, too much mess. Anyway, I got covered in water, the tap broke, for good. Then there was just water, lots of it. I got the tea I wanted, but I also got a swamp for a kitchen and a slightly miffed landlord. Henry seemed to enjoy the spectacle, he lent a hand by snapping the copper mains tap using a wrench. Henry is a tough guy, tougher than me. He looks like Miyazaki's Totoro when he yawns, that means he must be tough. Tough enough to break a tap, possibly tough enough to fight the sea. I wouldn't fuck with him.

plenty, sister!

so, its nearly 4am, i'm not sure how. Turns out, spending the evening reminiscing about arnie films and Bruce Willis' singing career isn't the best way to combat your low productivity.

I've been thinking about olives. Apparently they are a fruit, or...they are to some. I think of them as a unique entity. An olive is an olive, a cherry is different.

Anyway, maybe things are grouped according to arbitrary biological distinctions. You need to think about fruit sociologically, understand the cultural context.

Then olives are just olives, not savoury cherries.

Much less stressful.

music, therapy

The Shape of Jazz to Come always makes the hairs stand up on my neck, when Ornette plays, sounds like he's making the sax laugh, going on journeys through the ocean, but always got an anchor, thats what I like about Ornette, he takes you places but he always knows where he is and he sure as hell knows where he's goin. The sax still sounds like laughter to me though and to be honest i'm in no mood for that. Maybe From Ashes Rise will help...

Hello

Hi, I've had this thing for a while but I've only just decided to start using it on a regular basis. Hitherto, my blog displayed cringeworthy pseudo-political rhetoric, sorry.

I guess this is all because I feel like i'm stuck in a rut and i'm not really being as productive or as creative as i'd like. I'm currently writing a dissertation about the non-hegemonic resistance in the post-Fordist economy and its kinda sucking all of my soul out, its good but I just feel like maybe its my only release and I could use something other than the view into my back garden and hourly tea making missions to occupy my dead time. So now perhaps some of the time spent procrastinating at this laptop will go towards something, anything, rather than just chasing my tail until I fall over.

I guess I was inspired to get out of bed (literally) and do something for two reasons.

1. The latest Burial lp, everything else by Burial, Kode 9 mixing Burial for the Breezeblock, reading interviews with Burial and just the whole aesthetic, I haven't been so inspired by a musician since...ever.

2. A Charles Bukowski poem called Roll the Dice, I've always felt an affinity towards Buk's characters and the language he uses, this one just seemed perfect right now. I can't be bothered to type it out, you should read it though, its nice.

The third mini-reason is JFK, but I don't want to talk about him.

Ciao