awkward things once thought
can be uttered can become
beautiful not all the time but some
then sentiment elides for my cover-
shot a cracked lamp a recurring game
of lonely landscapes (not to sustain nor
recur) but help it’s ‘pdf’ spoken aloud
no less than three times in a day &
bam no more personifying the years
like it’s 2009 like it’s also monday
in retrospect where it’s twelve dollars
for a pint twelve dollars to
wait for you & think
the scratched wooden pub
can come to be a threat confusing
the past & hammering the present
all images will become exactly
your eyes over glass like a 3D hologram
spied through the stained glass window
i can almost make out the ghost’s
disposition you’ll transition nicely
to a cute role without my involvement
or interest observation is measured
precisely in faded beaker marks
i mean i can write things & edit
then i’ll fall into a picture-like-a-painting
down a geo-cached alley again
it’s an odd thing to delve into. there’s a verse, a chorus, then a middle-8 section (nowhere near the middle), another verse & chorus, a guitar solo then another couple of choruses. it’s also at quite a speed to jam all this in together. is this the way we pleasure ourselves – quickly, partially-effectively, in an altogether non-standard manner? turning the curiosity of attraction into pop?
but for me it was always all about the meaning below the entendre, underneath the sex, the hands reaching but never quite touching. the desperation. i apologise for the mic that couldn’t quite handle what i wanted to do vocally with only one take. but i’ve always been about spitting it out. so to speak or write.
there’s more sadness than happiness making up a life. if pressed i’d put the ratio at 70/30. but then maybe some of that 70% is simply emptiness, or boredom. it’s hard to tell. you choose what to remember though. i’ve been watching a lot of long-form tv shows that involve detectives and crime. the lyrics in this track were meant to echo that and use the language as an investigative lens, repeating the images of urgently garbled radio squad car directions, and fervent leading questions posed in stark interview room (usually a green palette). but i don’t think any of that comes through. not really.
falling sick is falling into a pleasant & easy air of detachment. for a change i can drive to work without dwelling, mulling. realising ten minutes after the fact where i’ve been at. the flu seems to occupy some careful part of my brain that won’t leave the past or future alone, in perhaps a more effective way than prescription drugs. memory still exists but it’s elided, the substance of the footage slides into a mild haze, a wispy & dreamy slush pile of thought. the seasonal body invasion that is, yes, surely ‘going around’ leaves me free to operate at a slightly elevated level, above normal consciousness, observing the circular drift of cloud & the illusion of cold air paralleled in the sky’s colours, or something. i photograph it all – keeping my left hand on the wheel – & later edit for sharing. but the best bit is that an unexpected lapse in my hand’s steadiness creates an extra roil, an enhanced cloud curlicue. i go with this as a metaphor for something i haven’t discovered yet (like the people who like beautifully rendered slices of motivational text in a 1:1 ratio image, but who also like ironic commentaries on motivational text) everything is accidental, inconsistent, meaningless. but nevertheless beautiful & poignant. because why not. we catch a vision out of the corner of our eyes & hold onto it. something as simple as a shaft of ice blue sky against the late-early morning cumulus. or, particularly impractical shoes, a freeze-frame from behind, captured but untagged in someone else’s album.
continued investigations into the subject. media unspecific.
have to be lonely
it’s not /