Favourite blogs for Rashomon Imperative
November 28, 2006
September 28, 2006
babe i’m on fire
candles wax my books
waning they will wean their way
babe i am on fire
the athlete with his hernia says it
i can’t think of it
of anything to say i’ll
say this anyway
picasso with his guernica says it
my days march dazed too much i
fill valentine time
my wife with her furniture
sunning my punning
what time, what rime for my rhyme?
sunned entwined and done
fifth verse same as the
first verse dirth, amass àmatt
bam bas bat see that?
September 26, 2006
next time our lonely inn was interupted at 3am by sanity knocking on the doorbell..
we fought with giant tegenaria gigantea/domestica after cleaning the house (domesticum) and eating steak for tea (gigantic teaum).
we played halo (this is halo, but it won’t hurt you, said blur, but they were wrong). now i have lit candles in a sacrifice for my sanity, and snap my hands – rolling my thumbs – towards the overlarge mosquito which moves from my blog to my candles and back again. so strong, so bright was the halo-urge, that pete doherty’s clanging, dying soiled monk snapshots were put on stop. “we have to hear the gunshots”.
and then, despite my most seductive velvet bag, scrabble was turned down. for after immersing four young minds in another violent world for hours, it was deemed that words were too much for them.
and even though we are all lethal killing machines in this/that/which universe, the carbon dioxide has convinced me to go green. my descent into madness is at least subjective and temporary – states and parts of states. i promise not to be bad to the world for ages, whereas i only promise not to pick up my sword and split the screen for two days.
tomorrow will surely bring more gigantea/domestica…
and i know that she is wise and she’s the apple of my eye
September 05, 2006
where do i live? at the moment i can hear the rag and bone man passing by my front door, classily ringing his bell, and neglecting to yell “raaag nnn booon” (“something big is going to happen…”)
yesterday as i jogged around the river, a man with three teeth and a micky, or perhaps minnie, mouse t-shirt accosted me as i ran. i extracted one of my headphones and cocked my ear his way – “i don’t mean to be nasty”, he said, “but there is a reason there is a path here, and a road here.”.
“don’t worry about it”, i replied,”i’ll be ok” and ran on for a long long time – though not fast enough to duck or to dodge his rejoinder: “fuck you”.
and then my friends and i played board games and discussed all of the things that young men discuss – philosophy and gilrs, reading books, sporting activities, bohemia, pubs, coffee. we were interupted at 3am by a girl ringing the doorbell:
“do you know alison?”, she asked
“it’s just that i think she has gone off with my boyfriend”
“sorry, no-one knows who alison is.”
she apologised, the door was closed, and we expressed incredulity before heading to unmade beds.
what denizens there are – hopeless wandering girls, tooth-lacking pedants, men self-effacingly seeking rags and bones. it makes you want to play the swordfishtrombones.
September 04, 2006
but then the microbiological denizens of my guts rebelled, and compelled me to stay at home. the revelation to stay at home came when i gruesomely packed a sickbag in my backpack.
if you remember this, then you have an insight into the pattern that my brain is currently processing the world with.
is it cooler to play a sci-fi-epic-game with expensive models painted by my own hand, or to do it on a computer? the computer messes with your mind when eyes are closed, or not paying attention to what is actually there . when i look at the imperfections of some wallpaper, i actually see (“will this go away”, fred interrupted, “when i get off substance d?”)
luckily, i have jolted my mind back into a snug fit with the world with some movies:
separated at birth?
September 02, 2006
today we journey to the coast, for to say farewell to a fond friend. just like the beatles, he desires to turn his lp to the other side, and hear the sitars as he seets thar under thee stars.
in between i sit and read. it is reading in the afternoon, learning in the evening, perusing in the morning, and re… in the night. i also see if i can survive neil young and leonard cohen for a whole album. leonard remains impenetrable, as the cd tracks do not align with the tracklisting. joan of arc does not dwell in a chelsea hotel.
and i was sitting in the pub, and “heroes” came on. it was brought to my attention, and i responded in an inverted fashion. miming a mime with my mirey mimicry (it was never going to succeed). and there i was thinking that i could remember standing by the wall, while the camera flash flashed.
August 22, 2006
dance on splintered screens
you radiohead fragments
like my sodden shoes
at the Vfest, the divine comedy, beck, radiohead, bloc party, we thank you kindly. keane, there is still a chance that we will forgive you, but it grows more and more slim, as slim as the book marked "time for the soreing chorus" grows fat.
as we waited for beck, i clearly had found a hat, which i used to wear when i had less hair and fewer brains (fewer hairs and less brains / lesser brains and few hairs). george didn't seem to have his, so i was unable to steal it, which is traditional (i.e. we would like that). i stole george's photo instead, which is becoming traditional (i.e. i would like it, and maybe we all will grow to)
radiohead played a song called 'nude', which is utterly beautiful. beautiful in a different way was 'charge' by the divine comedy, whose innuendo i have only recently begun to fathom…
caught in your barbed wire
going bang bang bang bang bang
bang bang bang all night
August 18, 2006
tomorrow, in the city of radio, i head to V..
it reminds me of the last time i went to see radiohead, in manchester. i was picked up by my fellow 'radio–heads' on campus a few hours after we had agreed because of a wrong turning. we drove through birmingham in the rushhour, listening to jimi hendrix, nervously straining against our seatbelts.
we parked in a mysterious wasteland area around the back of some buildings to avoid paying for parking, and ran up to the entrance of the apollo, considerably late. i accosted the security feller, "excuse me, where do we pick our tickets from?". he responded, "all the way over on the other side of town mate." our faces fell, we panicked and tried to work out which way to run. and now? the punchline – "or you could just go into the ticket office, mate" quipped the security man. we could hear 'there there' beginning, and so there was no time for me to question this man about his motives.
i can only assume that he hated radiohead, and 'radio–heads', very much indeed. though the whole experience was very fitting as a preview of their criticisms of alienated subjects and idle destruction. thus:
first, however, i must choose which hat to wear… perhaps george will lend me his? until tomorrow…
as radiohead would say, deciduously:
what would i do? what
if i did not have you?
open up and let me in. lets go down the waterfall
think about the the good things
and never look back and never look back and never look back
the waves go out come in again
August 16, 2006
wherever you go
you are what you are player
(worth eighteen points there)
even when in france, playing european scrabble, blogs are utterly relevant.
do you feel alive
watching my five seven five?
you should five seven jive
i made it to france, and had a wonderful time in an old farmhouse:
our gang of eight arrived, attracting the attention of the local mayor's wife, who feared for her bebe. we responded with humorous mafia jokes – "don't worry, just because we ride in black citroen cars, we are not the mafia" – and she invited us to have dinner. an offer i have only just, after three weeks, remembered.
then we danced under the stars, which we did not notice until three nights later, to songs by and called peaches. i performed a forward–roll upon the lawn, while everyone made themselves at home by creating carnage on the dancefloor.
the week continued in that fashion, getting increasingly fun, until we had to go home. everyone either agreed that it was their favourite holiday, or took too long weighing up their answer for it to be easily remembered.
at the moment i am writing an essay, and feel as though the way i am writing resembles the guardian's 'diary of a genius', sans horror. i am barely more coherent than a game of european scrabble (any european language can be used):
writing an essay can take it out of you, and leave you feeling as if you have been kicked in the head: luckily, when the room was completely black, i kissed her and she kissed back, which is much more therapeutic than expressing yourself in wordly form ("...no doubt this nervousness is heathy, something to be incorporated unconsciously like the joyous bouncing of my right leg’s energetic calf…")
on saturday, some of us philosophers of mind are to V in the very chelmsford that is my hometown. i shall carry a warwick umbrella so that you can all recognise me on the television as we sing along to radiohead (and dance along to beck) in the rain.
i am dry and fly
'neath the chelmsford sky and my
July 23, 2006
i am almost finished with barcelona now, barcelona has almost finished me. the q–bar where we drink fidel castros for 3 euros is insidious and invidious to my frame, but spurs and pricks the bar–loving mind.
and so tomorrow, to france i shall go, on board two aeroplanes in one day. cowering twice at the takeoff – the most dangerous part of the flight! friends, family, and a certain fille i shall see, and i shall see bohemianly.
i write in an internet cafe around the corner for 1 euro an hour, though the price may be raised by my misguided clicks which store my cunning password.
i will see you all soon, all you folk that pass onto this barcelona page. spinning and grinning. for old times´ sakes.
stepping over cracks
fresh plastered amid plaster
circular in bars
in a catalan exam
July 11, 2006
Writing about web page /adriennecooper/entry/i_been_workin/
Writing about an entry you don't have permission to view
…thus, for a verificationist, there are two very different kinds of thought which one can have about an object: those for whcih a one–step verification procedure is appropriate, and those for which a two–step verification procedure is appropriate…
ONE: in the case of demonstrative thoughts, the subject's knowledge of what is in question will consist simply in his diposition to regard certain events, whose occurrence he is immediately in a position to recognise, as decisive of the truth or falsity of the thought.
TWO: On the other hand, when the subject is not in a deciding position vis–a–vis an object, his knowledge of what is in quesiton when he entrentains the thought that a is F will consist partly in his capacity to recognise, when confronted (in a deciding position) with an object, that it is a. Hence a two stage verification procedure will be appropriate: one stage would issue in the judgement 'this is a', and the other stage would issue in the judgement 'this is F.'
CONCLUSION: let me see you one two verification step, i love it when you one two verification step.
meanwhile, life goes on as philosophy pages me
i agree with joni, that while wine leaves me floored in a trailer park, i could drink a case of you
as a sensitive soul, i have been put into a disastrous psychological state by this movie..
i would happily take the hangover back.
no more 18s for me. i may have bought a dvd that i will never finish watching – too many things behind the sofa, and morally compromised characters.
the next dvd i watch shall be a room with a view or something. where is the humanity? that's what i want to know.
phew. to add to the list of things not to do? 1. excessive wine. 2. excessive violence. 3. excessive blo
July 10, 2006
last week, there went neil hannon's guitar solo. it went up to the flight path of gatwick airport, and down and around the wasp on the guitar tuner device.
dancing fever was particularly evident, as were clapping hands like motherfuckers. despite the besuited rock and roll gestures, the old–fashionedness of the edwardian house shone through, as did the old–timey songsmithery, which remains incomplete without gestures:
afterwards, i withdrew from the roamers and predators of the streets to hibernate in bedrooms above, composing songs of love desperately and happily
over the rambler
over the lawyer
over the dancer
over the voyeur
July 09, 2006
a wedding, where young ed got himself married.
a reception, with friends and clans of family
a throat ravaging series of conversations
a short–circited brain, with the bad half of the red wine still in it
a garden bench, and a maldon walk, where my side became entangled in unusually unfriendly thorns
the crystal cafe? caffenated complaining
never let it be said that wedding photos are in any way formulaic. now to bed to get my head down
June 29, 2006
it shakes and quakes me, it master–slaves me
…let it thunder to the tune of green–sleeves, hail kissing–comfits and snow eringoes, let there come a tempest of provocation
kissing comfits: did you ever try dunking a potato chip in champagne? it's real crazy!
June 21, 2006
i have been frozen and moulded in statuesque cat form these past few days.
now i shall step down from my papyrus pedestal and resume sleeping near fires. seven thousand words constitue a fragile and undesirable pedestal – hastily baked, i shall bake myself fully on flagstones.
what fine chisel could ever yet cut breath?
sleep is a luxury i can't afford
the man in the moon is my bed and board
June 20, 2006
emerging from the cocoon, i am a hokusai butterfly. i have sufficient leafs for wings, and now all that remains is to etch them. soon i will be able to bask them on a bigger leaf than me, but for now, i flutter…
when i said i needed coffee, i forgot that i also needed jason peirce's band. and now to rest my infra–red eyes. what effect will i have? tomorrow i forecast hurricanes and rain.
June 19, 2006
the task is epic, the figure lies sleepy. unlike the depicted, who sleeps the sleep of the just, or of the exhaustedly adapted corrupt. to remedy my bleached eyes and tingling head, a cafetiere. oh me! how large is my canvas, when i have seven thousand words to play with?
i shall sit and think fondly of sleep while i write. acutely aware of absence, but i shall not absent myself. the task at hand is in hand, in good hands. perhaps we shall convene again when i have dreamed.