Brighton
26/04/2014
"If you're not jaded, you're either shit or successful," ... This he ses to me in Bognor, the night before the gig... saying about how most of the kids he teaches don't listen to music... swimming in a deluge of shite... a something made worse by the fact that I'm contributing to it... Idiot.
"Time's it all start?" a man spoke at the top of the stairs.
'Supports at 9, main act at 10.'
"We'll go downstairs for a drink then."
Bastards. No matter. I go down myself, stand around feeling awkward, tryna catch the eye of the girl in the Unknown Pleasures T shirt - I won't, but if I do, I'll probably pretend I know a lot more about Joy Division than I actually do.
Twat... I go outside for a cigarette, disgusted with myself.
'£50?'
A man trying to bribe the doorman so he can get into the gig.
How did I end up doing this? I think to myself as I listen in to another man's conversation.
"Turns out she's my mate's ex girlfriend. So I took her back anyway."
Cute... Mind you, I suppose I understand it. You're still a prick though, Mr Man smoking a small cigar, relaying your night before to your stupidly attentive friend.
And who am I..?
Just another judgmental know nothing writing down your conversation in his phone... Not sure which is worse... Liar...
I feel like not bothering, but I manage to convince myself to go back inside... It'll be good for the profile, yeah? Contribute to the deluge, yeah? Piss in the open spaces. Soft cases, expectant grimace on work shy faces. All of them and us, sat around an empty hole, unwashed, pissing into it... I made this. NO, I made this. NO! You don't understand, I made 'this.' Lovely. Don't care...
'There's people from the NME here tonight,' he ses to me. I know, I heard him say it on the door. Later they'll refer to me in their website as a 'poet' and I will read it feeling drastically misunderstood; remembering that girl who said 'he's a poet and he hasn't read Frank O Hara.' I never said I was a poet. And I have read Frank O Hara, but it's too far back now for me to quote something clever at you...
I take my shirt off and get down from the stage. 'Do you know what I mean baby!' I bellow around at the faces of people waiting for the main act, specifically the man who I know is the journalist. He smiles back blankly, the word poet running through his brain, most likely.
Stop for a photograph. It's not important. A man seems amused. Too much time spent trying to get it across. Singing. That's not singing. Did I say it was singing. Stop.
'The gig tonight has been cancelled.' Something about the singer going awol the night before and he hasn't been seen since; news of this coming straight after my set. This making me seem ever so slightly foolish. But fuck it, what else was I going to be doing on a Saturday night.
The noise goes up: disappointment. A man bellowing at the back, exasperated. The phones out immediately. Articulate your displeasure on the internet. I am not apart of this species. Surely not.
'Do you know anything about it?' a man asks me on his way out.
Me? No idea... Don't even know why I got the gig in the first place, let alone where the man is I've never met before. I do think it's kinda funny though. I can say that. Mainly because I haven't got an audience to upset or offend.
'Have you ever doffed a gig?' the promoter asks me afterwards.
I reply in the negative.
Bull shit, I say to myself, in my head. I've doffed loads. Sometimes I can't be fucked. Not that I'm saying he couldn't be fucked - like I said, I don't know him - but I certainly can't be fucked sometimes. This monologue leaving me to wonder: have you ever called in sick? ... Aye, me neither... Maybe it'd be different if I had people to let down. Maybe not. I then noticed that the drink was starting to take effect. Fueled by this and my own stupidity I went downstairs and said something stupidly embarrassing to the girl in the Unknown Pleasures T shirt - After this, I left.
But what about the rest of it..? Yeah, yeah...
A pilled up girl in the Royal Sovereign rubbed her arse on me. I was sick in the Bees Mouth. I ate a jumbo packet of Nik Naks. We went back to some guys house. Had some coke. Got hold of the music. Put Animal Nitrate on. No excuses: on drugs, in Brighton, playing Suede; subjecting people to my own queer brand of nostalgia; reliving my Shine tape cassette collection, some time, 1998.
I didn't sleep. Train and bus home. Nervous panic sensation. The singer didn't turn up. People venting on the screen about how the singer didn't turn up. It didn't bother me so much. It's important to me that the singer didn't turn up. Main reason for this being that it pisses you off, ranting about it on your screen.
Don't say it: 'I want my heroes flawed.' I can't help it. It's almost true. He fucked up. Like my Dad does. Like my brother does. Like I do, all the time. Like this bit of writing is a fuck up. I relate to that. It makes sense to me. You get it right all the time do ya? Aye, me too; still up from the night before, sat on a packed East Midlands train, avoiding anxiety like somebody sitting next to me.
And you can read this and think whatever you want about it cos I want out of your shitty little system. Perhaps you choose to disregard the noise I make because of it. If that's the case then that's fine by me.
Music. Promotion. Cock sucking. Rock n Roll behavior. Yeah yeah.
Disappointed, aye me too, gutted actually, as I'd been looking forward to it/worried about it for months... Mind you, I can't deny that I was amused: not turning up when the gigs sold out and the music press are going batty for you after years of obscurity and plugging away at it. There's something in that which appeals to me...
Then again I am a contrary little shit... Lost it. Fucked it. Didn't turn up. Upset the people who work for the local Brighton music rag - Sod the local Brighton music rag. I will take selfish amusement in your displeasure.
I doubt it was meant in the way I'm implying, though. But that's besides the point. This is my impression of it, and it can be as I want it to be; this is my reality and I will draw it as I like. You don't like it. Go do something yourself.
'It's not on,' he ses to me on his way out.
Of course it's not on. I'm sure he knows this. Sod off down the road and watch so an so band who always turn up. 'At least they're professional,' he ses to me.
Aye, and don't they just sound it.
'I've never missed a gig,' he ses to me.
Heard that a bunch of times from a bunch of well adjusted, pro muso's; ones who do it professionally - in the pubs, local band reform, professional. Pro. Pro. Pro. Well put together. Business decision. Sensible. Pro. Pro. Pro. I've got a mailing list and a five year plan. Suck up, suck up. Nothing to say. Pro. Pro. Pro.
The press turned up and the singer didn't show. I stood at the back and wanted to talk to the girl in the unknown pleasures t shirt, but I didn't; I just wrote something in my phone and showed it to her over the bar on my way out. I'm an idiot.
But it's important that I say what I think isn't it?
Don't end on questions Mark, that's bad writing...
I know it is.
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Prologue bit tagged on the end to defend my saying about how I was amused he didn't show.
I shouldn't really look at it as i've looked at it, yes that's true: he should have turned up. But, at the same time, I can't deny that I didn't take a sly, selfish, satisfaction in it all; that, that was one of many reactions; that I liked the drama of it all.
I'm not related, it isn't my bubble about to be burst. I watch it like the death of somebody's relationship: detached and feigning disappointment at what doesn't affect me.
This might be wrong and it might be over thinking it, but then again I over think a lot of things. I don't think it was some grandiose statement but I can't deny I thought it was amusing. That's my impression. It might not be yours. But that's the do with personal impressions, isn't it?
Disagree? Let's meet up and compare notes over coke and suede records at 6 in the morning soon yeah. That'll be fun won't it?
Brighton. I've got to stop staying with Chefs...
Gig Diary
March 2014
Been and being still causing me problems
Intro
Sometimes I get the call from above - sometimes it's God, sometimes it's not. Sometimes it's the people at the big time magazine asking me to write about my travels in a way that'll perhaps titillate the general public into buying their whatever it is. At other times it's a wrong number, I assume has halted the big time magazine from asking me to write about my travels.
'Use a few cultural references,' they say to me, when they finally get through. 'Rip off a style or two, it's easy...'
You know the do... Except I know more about it than you do. Or I don't, i'm not sure...
Either way, that is all by the by. What is not by the by is the fact that I know that you think you know where this is going. Or you don't. But that's not important. I have no choice where it goes and you can either discard this knowledge or let it sully your reading experience.
Below is an attempted travelogue on my recent travels away from the place which people know down South because of the museum about the raping and pillaging Nordic swine, from years before. I say attempted in the sense that I'm aware that it doesn't work in the way diaries usually work. This is either a stylistic trait or a way to cover up my lack of story telling ability.
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The line of madness is a stupidity to walk along... I am wondering if you will buy me a drink before you start talking or if you will make me listen to your interminable babble minus a beverage...
As per, I find that it is the latter...
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I wanted it to work in a way that would be brilliantly legible so that you could take great pleasure in reading it. Unfortunately it is as it is - A bit of a mess. I am not apologising. I am accepting my short comings and allowing them to shape the thing as it is at this present time.
You don't like it? Go read Gullivers Travels. This isn't high art. This is a low day for the art form and I am not even sure if I mean that or not. Probably not.
Note from the controllers: 'shut it Wynn, and get on with it...'
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This is a diary of events that took place at the start of March 2014. I didn't keep it very well. Some of the notes got lost. You will judge this any which way you want to. I am sure of that because I am aware of how it works: that is that and this is something else. Not a word of what you say was worth the price of that drink I just took off that table.
Gigs. I had to stop at the end of last year. I couldn't face doing it anymore. This person was talking to that person and they were both full of shit, and I couldn't even bring myself to finish anything half the time. With this in mind, I stopped it.
I didn't make the decision though - My body decided it for me. It told my brain to tell my voice to tell my mouth to stop sodding talking. My mouth, however, being the obnoxious gob hole that it is, asked why, and in exasperation the legs did reply:
"keep it to yourself gob hole, but if I have to stand around in one more room, surrounded by the people you will fail to satisfy, trying hard not to walk away from the dull conversation you feel obliged to listen to, one more time, I may just throw us all in the river."
Strong words from the spindly legs, the voice thought as it cordoned off the area where the bullshit tended to spout. This area becoming filled, causing my mind to be over run with various thoughts and stupidities like you have never seen, because they are in my brain.
I didn't want to stop, it seemed stupid that I couldn't do it, but I had to. Tragical musical sound from the middle part of a rock movie about me. Yes, but of course. A man walked up and asked me if the rights for my autobiography had been secured by anyone. I replied that I would write and publish it myself: 'Cut out the middle man baby; do it good and proper; scream what them people scream from their book covers... Made you do it, did they? You can only hide behind contractual obligation so long. I know what you're really saying: I'M A SELF IMPORTANT TOSSER. THIS IS MY SHITE LIFE. I WROTE IT DOWN FOR ALL TO SEE. OOH WASN'T I SO VERY DARING.'
Blah blah blah... It's getting away from me, I know it is... I'll bring it back...
After some time though, a part of me which had forgot how dull it was previously, suddenly decided that it wanted to be back in the room with the people I would fail to satisfy. Reluctantly I allowed this to occur.
'How?'
"'Shut up," I replied from behind the dark glasses. "I'm getting to it..?"
'No your not...'
"I know I'm not, but that is besides the point..." I seated myself back down in front of the screen and began again.
To begin with I booked some gigs. This I did by asking some people I didn't know, and some that I did, if they would 'have me on' in their place. A few replied and I felt excited; I was doing something. Eventually though, it dawned on me that I would actually have to go and play these gigs - Bollocks. I thought about cancelling them but decided against it - No, it was me who'd got myself into this mess and it was me who was going to have to get myself out of it.
At news of this my many selves scattered. Some playing dead or feigning illness, whilst others went on forgetful benders and became incomprehensible. Eventually though, I got a hold of myself - or at least one of them.
The self in question was one of the more durable and personable. Pleased with my find I locked him up at home, telling him that on the 1st of March I'd let him out. Angered by this he spat at me often as I passed, chained as he was (in the front room), to the mirror and the razor blade... I denied him any privileges though. And instead invited around many of the local art cognoscenti to discuss their future plans, so as to wind him up.
"I can't take this waffle anymore," he would scream as we sat around discussing our ideas into non existence.
Staying around the same place and just making things for the hell of it that was what I was interested in at the time. It seemed a lot more natural than trying to flog something to somebody when all they wanted was a quiet pint and a flirtatious conversation with the bar maid, before walking home, not getting involved...
Eventually though, I gave in and was forced to admit that I would have to let myself go.
When the day came I sat on the curb and watched as the bus rounded the corner and was gone. Feeling unsure of whether I'd made the right decision I turned back home and thought that it didn't matter really matter either way - there were still dishes to be done, Idiots were still going to pretend they were otherwise.
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Some time passed. Something else happened. It was probably really good. I can't remember.
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Nearing Shenfield I struggled to read Dostoyevsky and threw the book across the train... Later on I woke up on the living room floor, busting for a piss but too afraid to go in case I'd encounter one of the other occupants of the house. Instead I lay and listened though the floor to the sex act being perpetrated below.
Next morning I mentioned what I'd heard and was informed that this was the man below snoring. That's some strange snoring, I thought to myself, as I collected my things to leave.
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"Mark, you'll be jealous of this: Dave's son hugged Mark E Smith in a bus stop outside Fibbers." Possibly untrue setting, but still, I am not so sure it interests me as such. Perhaps it does but I want to think about something else.
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I got up from my seat and made my way down the carriage. Exiting the underground station I walked into the street and the oncoming traffic. I did this because I am forever blind to oncoming traffic when I am aware that shortly I will find myself, drunkenly writing imitative verse on a fold out bed in a basement in Mile End. After this I fell asleep.
Waking up I noticed a screen nearby. An image flashed up of a man sat at a desk. The man stubbed his cigarette out and made his way to the front of a stage where a voice began to question him.
Name: that is of no importance.
Occupation: avoidance.
Martial status: disappropriated.
Sex: don't be so bloody stupid.
What happened: I walked here, I walked there... The people spoke to me and I replied back what it was I thought they wanted to here... It all got a bit confusing after awhile, everyone seemed to be out of it constantly... After this, it ended as it had began: I was waiting for it to change, it stayed the same. I saw a someone I hadn't seen or spoken to for a long time, it didn't go so well. The place had the people in it. A man said that that was the most fun he'd had at a folk night in years. I thought at how I wasn't even aware I'd been at a folk night.
Turning on my heel I found myself seated in a booth getting agitated. Someone else was present, refusing to accept that I though pretending in conversation was quite a normal thing - or at least, presenting only so much of yourself to someone, whilst keeping a good amount in reserve, is a natural safety mechanism when engaging in conversations with a past time.
I didn't do this once or twice, now I do it all the time - or at least I try to. And when I sit on buses, I read about Picasso and try not to think about them exploding, or the man who says you must look after yourself... 'But I want to be the one they worry about...' This you think to yourself 7 years ago... But you don't; but you do. And I do too... Either that or you're as anesthetized as the rest of us and passing judgement on this is giving you a divine sense of superiority. Perhaps. Yes. But of course. You are a horrible person and so am I.
But what is this? You may ask. This is nothing. This is my mess and not yours. This is an attempt at documenting something which I think occurred but I can't quite recall it so well, because it's after the fact. This is how it felt, perhaps not how it looked, I don't know. This should probably be something else. I probably should be saying something else. But i'm not, so leave me alone and dig your own little hole, this is mine and I will fill it how I like.
"The tour complete, the culture unaltered, I am godsgift to anonymity..."
This a phrase I wrote in my phone and thought it was clever, outside a bar in Leeds. After which remembering a place in Kent the night before when I overheard a man say to another: 'they probably understand him better up North.'
Not so sure of that, baby...
Place is an irrelevance... I am perpetually coming and going, shouting at the wall, speaking what makes perfect sense to me and maybe someone else also... Is that you? ... You make me sick... And we are forever in the place of all the people, stood around, looking at all the other people, stood around; the ones who thought, before they came out, that they looked good but now they're not so sure...
In the bathroom not being in a movie, she leans in to me and ses to me: 'stop pretending you're above it all.'
Okay, I suppose you're right... I like it when people speak like this to me... I feel vulnerable and exposed... I feel like a child would understand but he wouldn't know how to articulate it... Perhaps he would... Apparently my nose is thin at the top... I was not aware of this, though I was aware of the fact that someone who stays out of it is liable to be accused of being aloof... Nah, I just can't be bothered engaging with you, that's all...
The movie in my head, the one I am working on, is nearly complete. This is my unfinished masterpiece. I think of you and I think of she... You are pulp fiction crossed with an old art book with the pages ripped out... She is from Cleckheaton... I am an idiot...
I am a lot of waffle and a man child who stands at the back of a room, doubting anything but the movie in his head...
And that is the image which ends this; this bit which didn't come to fruition because I was engaged in something else which was occurring at the same time...
Editors note: there is no editors note... you are expected to fill in the blanks; to do your own thing and write about it badly... Oh wait, there is an editors note: somewhere near the start there is a reference to this being a reading experience... Make of that what you will... I think i'll just stay home...
Some shit hole
Somewhere
23/01/2014
I arrived early... The place was a shit hole and all the locals were drunk and good looking...
I asked the bar man if there was a gig on... He dragged his gut across from the pumps and aimed it in my direction: yes, there was a gig on... Thinking what occasionally crosses my mind with a lot of men and most women I wondered what it would be like to fuck him... No..! I located my tobacco and went outside...
Stood smoking a man came up and asked what it was I did... I explained that I wrote about my own stupidities in the hope that by fucking them on a piece of paper I might learn something from them; or at least be able to sell them; or enjoy the process; or increase my own self esteem...
In the small overview I gave him I neglected to mention that I sometimes do it because if I didn't do it I'd have to do something else, and that would make me think of all the people jacking off over pornography, right at this moment, who then clean themselves up and post their latest musical offering or whatever it is onto the technology (if you've just jacked off before reading this I hope it was good and that the sinking death feeling isn't hurting you too bad: don't think about it and don't tell her. That's sensible isn't it?)...
He said that was a strange way to spend my time... I agreed and asked him how he spent his... He started to tell me but my mind went off somewhere else... The place it went was deserted - no people, no nothing. There was a bar stool though. I sat on it for a while... Initially it was enjoyable but then, when I wrote something about it, I realised that there was no one to show it too. At this I became sad and began to cry like a child who doesn't want to be held down while they put the thing that they know will hurt, into his eyes aged 7 in York pissing bastard hospital...
The man looked at me... Realising that he'd stopped talking I nodded and smiled... Later I was informed that he had been explaining his frustration at his inability to make a living out of what he referred to as his 'art'... What a strange word I thought to myself later as I remembered how he'd walked off aggravated, looking like he was the kind of person who got frustrated at his inability to make money from what he referred to as his 'art'...
Sat outside the place, looking at the street, I thought about the person who wrote 'bums goats' beneath my name on one of my posters, recently... How should I react? I thought to myself as the cars passed... One way would be to write 'yes I do' beneath it... Another would be to leave it - provocation unrewarded hurts almost as much as having to listen to you spout off endlessly about what you plan to do in the near future, but I know you won't because I know you're all talk, and you do too but you won't admit it...
After much speculation I wrote 'yes I do' beneath it and wondered at what I couldn't quite remember from the night before about the way I was ejected from the place I didn't even want to be in in the first place...
From inside I heard a band starting up... I went in and watched... They were boring and the audience appeared disinterested... This seemed to annoy the singer, who, after a few songs, began to insult them. This he did by making incomprehensible comments about them into the microphone.... As he did I thought about his childhood bedroom and wondered at who he pretended to be in front of the mirror when he was 15.... I decided that it didn't matter... Regardless, he'd failed to be himself...
When it came my turn to play I decided to leave instead of playing... The promoter didn't seem that bothered and neither did the audience...
Sat on the train exiting the place I opened my book about the boy who makes it all up because it's boring, even when it isn't... He seemed to have lost his way of late and was trying to take control of the situation... A lot of voices were talking at him and he couldn't get a word in edge ways... To combat this he'd decided to write about it instead.... I thought it was a very empty way to spend your time and turned on the technology instead to see what the rest of the world was up to...
Surprisingly enough this made me feel better: everybody was angry or they weren't... A lot of things were being born... Many teeth were being pulled and in every confined space there was a boy completely disbelieving of the idea that at some point, someone had tried to organize all this into something other than what it was: a mess.....
When I got off the train I thought about going home, for a moment, before deciding to go get shit faced... Following this I walked home... On the way I put my hand in the bin near the Mirchiz food place and thought about how to influence people I don't like into purchasing the things I make, which are often written about the people I dislike anyway...
I didn't think I was a good person...
Luckily that was yesterday... And today is another opportunity to avoid your face and walk around with my head up my arse...
Either that or I'm still asleep and this is a very dull dream...
Yeah probably....
Rexes Dive Bar
Belvington West
01/12/2013
"I wasn't tired... I was just sick of feeling like I was going to throw up."
This the boy spoke to himself as he sat down and gazed out of the window... Somehow he'd booked himself into first class... We weren't sure how he'd achieved this either: sometimes though the artist will move in ways which are inexplicable, even to himself...
As we watched, he began to fiddle with the light on the table... The light came on... At this the subject was audibly surprised... 'Fuck,' he spoke as he opened his notebook... After a short time scribbling he disappeared off to the toilet... The following we photographed in the notebook, which he left on the table:
"The people around the center began to move away... Outside a light was falling from the sky and in it's place a dark expanse was forming in which you could hide all your transgressions and mistakes... What does that even mean? ... I have no idea... They no longer pay to get in... They won't buy the beer... Something is wrong when a man won't shut up and the posters on the wall are all expensive to produce and promote nothing new or relevant to a person who has given up on being reached by anyone but himself..."
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Someone is following me... I'm not sure who... Probably it's something to do with how you send a bit of something to someone but they don't pay any attention to it because they're already occupied by a bit of somebody else's something or by something they created themselves... Either that or I look really good from behind when I walk...
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Gig diary...
I arrived in Belvington West in the cold that is oppressive and the coat which was unsuitable... As I got off the train a woman smiled at me with a mix of sympathy and disdain - she didn't seem sure how she felt - which she seemed to be leveling directly at my hair...
Editors note: Mark has reached a new low in the abuse of hair which grows upon you... The night before heading to Belvington West he got obscenely drunk and cut his hair with the kitchen scissors... On the day in question it looks as if he has alopecia or something similar... Either way Mark seems to be enjoying his hair like this... People are nice to him on trains because of it and no one can say he sounds like Bob Dylan, purely because he has curly hair...
Arriving at the venue I'd played before and vowed never to return to, I looked in through the ground floor window.... The venue was in the basement of the bar and I could see the people setting up for my arrival... Through the glass they looked to be all bent and twisted by the running of this event once a month for the past 56 years... I felt bad for turning up...
Inside I was greeted in that formal way that carries a weighty implication: don't fuck it up like you did last time, rolling around on the floor babbling like some drunken half wit... I inquired if they had any drink tokens and moved away from their complete lack of understanding...
Upstairs I purchased a drink and sat down in one of the quieter rooms... There were pictures of ships on the wall and on the backs of the seats there were the names of the dead people who used to drink in them... I felt in the center of nothing inparticular... At this my mind began to fall in on itself:
Image of a past time... Walking through the old town and all the lights are off for some reason.... Waking up in a different place not wanting to be leaving... Having breakfast... Can we have it in the lounge area?.. I'm sorry, it is not permitted... I thought that was the only way things were allowed to occur anymore... And then she looked at herself in the mirror and I thought that I didn't know anymore than I did before, but at least this time I'd remembered my tooth brush and I knew what I'd be doing for the rest of the day...
Pulling myself away from this I went downstairs and began to interact with my public... Many of them seemed still to be confused by my previous performance earlier in the year... This I noticed in their reactions towards me which had changed from before, either that or my perceptions had changed... I couldn't tell... I moved away from them and made my way to the managers office...
"Show me the money baby.." I spoke as I sat down on his desk... The manager produced the briefcase containing my fee...
"Open it," I spoke coldly from behind the kind of aviator shades that make it really hard for anyone to know what your thinking (I don't like them either, I only wore them because I wanted to see how it felt to be impassive and in control of a conversation... I soon realized though, that the only reason to wear them is that you can look where you want to look without people noticing; they are enablers for an impulse you can't carry out unless you are wearing sunglasses... And that sir is something I never wish to indulge in...)
As he did I snatched my fee - £20 and a copy of Black Spring by Henry Miller... I then left his office and made my way to the stage... As I did the crowd began to move away from it... At the front however was a women in her 40's who kept on trying to interject after each song... She seemed to have some advice she wanted to pass onto me... I kept my eyes shut and thought about sex until the end of the set...
When it was over I put my guitar down and mentally vowed never to return to Belvington West ever again... Behind the curtain (yes there was a curtain) I lay down for sometime and felt the cold of the tiles enter into my spine... After an hour or so I stood up and walked back into the empty room... As I did the woman in her 40's reappeared...
I inquired if she was going to give me any advice... She replied that she wasn't before advising me that I should open my eyes when I sing. That way I could look at her as I sang, which in turn would get her to understand what I was on about, or so she said... I told her I thought that was a little self centered of her, and what about all the other people in the room?
After this I left on an apology...
On my way home I sat in the car I didn't own and listened to the chart radio station... Behind me I could see head lights approaching... I ignored them and thought about a girl who runs for a train in December and doesn't even know what it means to be seen through the eyes of another... I then fell asleep behind the wheel and woke up in a field of blue grass...
Controllers notes: The subject seemed preoccupied this evening... He sang without any real feeling and then berated the audience for not feeling or understanding anything he was saying as he continued to be incomprehensible and attempted to be misunderstand...
Idiot...
The Blues Bar
Harrogate
13/10/2013
Drunk MEN...
"Slow it down a bit."
"I can't understand a word of it."
(STOP FUCKING TALKING THEN)
Finishing...
"What the fuck was that?!"
"Got some mental problems that guy before."
A man buying me a beer... "What's wrong with you?"
Nowt as far as I can see, Mr man buying me a pint...
Taxi driver talking about his son: "His mate's say he's selling out... Fuck 'em... He's gonna get paid for it... Keeps saying how he's an artist though (statement followed by bursts of laughter)..."
"He was on breakfast TV, sold six thousand albums off the back of it..."
'Did he make any cash off that,' I reply...
"No..."
I sat back smug and subdued by another free drink...
And then I fell asleep fantasizing about chucking myself in the river...
Dewsbury Socialist Club
Dewsbury
12/10/2013
"Sir?" the woman spoke, as I tried to get into the drivers car...
'What baby?' I replied.
"You're not allowed in this area of the train."
'I know I'm not, but I'm really good at driving these things yeah," I spoke, as I forced the lock. "Plus, it's packed full of cockendish piss-cans... I don't think anyone would mind a little Saturday Teatime, twatend cull, now would they?'
--------------------------------------------------
Sat in my seat, surrounded by the aforementioned cockendish piss-cans, I opened my book and began to read... A few pages in a man across from me, leaned in and asked what I was reading... I looked up, infuriated as always by this question (I'm not reading anything now, I'm telling you what I'm reading and you are pulling that face at me like a dog being shown a magic trick is a good analogy for my barren sex life)... He then passed comment on my footwear, something to do with my shoes looking like shit... I observed back that his expensive looking shoes looked like shit also... At this his ugly wife told him to leave me alone...
Just then a drunkard in a ballerina outfit came stumbling down the aisle... He barged his way into the toilets and closed the door behind him... 10 minutes later a friend of his made his way down the carriage and began banging on the door...
"We've just left Garforth mate; we'll be in Leeds any minute." he spoke into his hand, half cupped against the toilet door....
At this the door swung open and the man staggered out... As he did the train suddenly came off the tracks and the man fell into me... Knowing that, in all the commotion of the train been derailed, no one would notice, I took the opportunity to rifle his pockets and belt him round the head a bit with my pent up aggression at the whole world being populated by pricks and sickeningly sweet, past time recollections...
"That's right ya bastards... Now I'm in control... Who's Driving Your Plane..." I spoke from up front in the cockpit...
For some reason the train had turned into a plane...
Not liking planes and now being aware that I was on one I grabbed a parachute, smashed a window and clambered out...
Parachuting down to Dewsbury Socialist Club I hoped that no one would see my landing as my landings are still a bit ropey - a constant source of embarrassment for a pro such as myself...
On entering the venue I thought that I probably looked like I'd just jumped out of a plane. I made my way to the toilet to sort out my face... The face looked bad... I did some structural engineering and tried talking myself into going back outside:
'You can't stay in the toilets of Dewsbury Socialist Club for the rest of your life, ya know.'
"Yes I can."
At this my 3rd self kicked the rest of us back into the bar area...
Finding myself at the bar I removed the money I'd stolen from the cunt on the train and ordered a pint of beer... I then went and sat down at one of the tables and pretended I was Mark E Smith... I removed my notebook and wrote the following:
"Loonies on the band stand... Overhearing a man outside saying his mate can't have crispy bacon no more... I walk across the floor, spy the kid; wonder if it's the same kid from before.. At the back a man walks in and waves... I saw him earlier near Lidal... On his way to 'the dodgey fag shop,' he said to me... At the bar not being able to tell if the old woman who called me sweetheart has blue hair or if i'm just hallucinating - possibly a combination of the two... He's a real inspiration to me: He Died."
After the gig we walked to the station... As the train pulled in I spied myself grinning manically in the drivers seat...
Round 2: time to cause some discomfort on some more of these swine...
As we left the station a man leaned in and asked what I was reading...
"For fucks sake," I spoke as my imaginary self smashed his head off the fold down table and spat in his undignified mush...
"The death of your imagination, fuck off..."
Supporting Terry Reid @ The Duchess
York
01/10/2013
"Smiling is an obligation."
'Really?'
"Nah, not really."
Sat down feeling out of place, I moved away and found myself sat by the waters edge... "What are you doing here?" I spoke to myself, standing on an oil can. 'Just looking at the water,' came my reply, looking through the central sphere of my vision, thinking it could do with a little wipe on the lens area maybe...
"Cool, can I sit down?" ...
'Yeah, but you gotta sit over there.'
"Okay," I went and sat over there...
As I sat down I remembered some bloke out of some band "racking up lines" in the girls toilet in someplace, when I was 19 and I desperately wanted to do something about that need to be with that somebody else, even though they weren't interested at all so I just hung around feeling stupid...
Where do I put it? I thought to myself...
"Put what?"
'That need...'
"Oh yeah."
Can I just send it off somewhere until everything cools off like in some kind of gangster film... Can I keep it to myself and hope it fades into something much less extravagant? ... Can I tell it to cock off and expect it to understand?
At the time non of these options seemed to be available to me... With this in mind I decided to ignore it as best I could...
Standing up again...
"Can you see that?" myself speaking...
'What?' ..
"The movement between places which causes the clarity required..."
'Yes I can...'
"I think you should pursue it."
'Okay.'
Folding myself away I decided to go back to the downstairs room... A person was speaking loudly... Some others close by were smiling, appearing to be happy and content... There was no blood on the steps... One of the cubicles didn't have a lock on it... I thought about how you might be feeling about your new surroundings... I didn't know if contact was the correct thing to be doing at the time... Would the thief who is now dead have an explanation for this...
I didn't think so...
The Black Swan
York
30/09/2013
"I thought you were on drugs..."
Nah
Rex's Dive Bar
Belvington West
28/09/2013
I am not dancing... The music is causing me some agitation... Outside in the beer garden there is a dog which isn't allowed in because it once bit someone in the pub and it might do it again... I think that is a good reason to remain indoors...
A scene plays out in my minds eye:
Mr Dog, looking in through the patio glass, saying to his imaginary dog friend:
"I'm gonna get that skinny bitch."
'Which one baby?'
"The one over there by the fruit machine... Skanky looking mother seems to be sulking about something..."
'Probably the fact that he's playing another gig in Belvington West,' the other replies.
"Yeah."
On viewing this I retreated to the toilet to decide whether or not the dog conversation I'd just heard was a reality or something put in by the controllers to cause me distress and make me not enjoy being away from home and all the other stuff that goes with it... I then thought that maybe it was a message from the converters... Maybe they're trying to tell me something....
"Mark!"
"What?!" I replied, as I steadied myself on the toilet seat I was stood on, looking for the stuff a man said he'd left in the cistern...
"Get the fuck out of that cubicle! You're on!"
"No way baby, i'm staying right here. I'm not leaving until I work out just what them imaginary dogs were on about; I can't just break away from it now can I? Especially not for a cheap buck"
"Cheap buck?! Fuckhead... Your not even getting paid... You're the one who asked if you could come play here, not us..."
Previous evening confusion cut in to cover up the physical violence perpetrated on the proprietor in the gents loo of Rex's Dive Bar:
Question: why has my set being curtailed? and why does the man who is playing after me appear to be pleasing to the ear of everyone in the room apart from me?
Engage the technology, forward projection: I am stood on stage playing with the band in Bridlington; suddenly I feel the need to blow my nose, this I manage to do in my jumper without anyone noticing (they might of but this is my story so fuck you). I then get back to standing around, avoiding looking at the girls dancing in fancy dress, thinking; you know what you look like; you know what you're doing to every bloke in this room; get your fanny out of my face... Inferiority becomes me...
Meanwhile, back at Rex's Dive Bar...
"Look mother fucker, I'm not going on until you get them two talking dogs chained up upstairs... They're ruining my vibe, man..."
"Right, that's it, get the fuck out of my place. You can't talk like that around here... Vibe? What the fuck does that even mean, anyway.."
I was escorted out...
Later on I was walking through the dark streets of Belvington West, picking up takeaway boxes and eating the contents when the two dogs appeared once more..."Hey you," one of them spoke...
"Huh, me?"
"Yeah you, get over here and scratch my belly..."
Reluctantly I walked over to scratch the belly...
I know my place.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Fuel Bar
Manchester
26/09/2013
Note from the controllers:
Dear reader
The following is a transcript of an audio tape (blah) we received from Mr Mark Richard Wynn (rip off merchant) this afternoon whilst we were in a state of pure repose, sipping cocktails and watching our new interns shooting Wildebeest...
We feel it is conclusive proof of the subjects inability at good sense, taste and continuity...
However, admittedly, perhaps we are not the best judges of this questionable character's work. With this in mind we have added an in-depth analysis from one MR Nick. E. Rush...
You may proceed...
"I don't listen anymore... Who said that? ... You... Oh yeah .. Voices spoke into phones and train doors closing... I am using aspects of your character to protect me... Due to this, when I stand around and overhear them saying what I was expecting them to say, it doesn't even bother me... This is because I am allowing you to inhabit my whole being..."
"Using this method I can remove myself almost entirely from a situation, simply by adopting the aspects of your character which contain that what I am lacking... Things like: stance, the way you hold your mental state, the sound of your voice when it leaves your mouth and covers over bad memory like a boulder is big, unless it's small... Using these things I can escape into you and away from what is harassing me..."
'But it's not just one person is it?'
"Oh no, there are many different persons who are utilized... For instance, there is Mr 'New haircut, I'm glad my mate arrived or I would have gone for the clippers' ... Then there is Mr 'Went up to Edinburgh to sell Polaroids to tourists' ... Mr 'Took four cans from the supermarket up the road and rang his mate who works in another branch of the same supermarket and told him how easy it was' ... Mr "I decided against time with you, stop calling me on the phone.' And so on..."
---------- Transcript break... Gibberish expressed... Baby... Regained after toilet excursion ---------
"Today, against the image of this person I am referring to, I placed what I woke up remembering: a piece of information that angered me... Against this image however, the information fell off into meaning less than not much at all... It became nothing more than an ugly reflection of what once was and now is not... Reflection: I am not interested, you can call it what you want and I will still be here, stood around, not listening..."
This ends here due to boredom... It was getting a bit samey don't you think? ...
----------------------
Yes... And now, below, we present you a brief synopsis by the aforementioned Mr Nick. E, Rush...
'In his current mental state, Mark is adopting different aspects of the characters around him - Ingesting them and then utilizing them to form some kind of fictional shield against reality... This is the reason he sat on a train last night reading The Theif's Journal, looking out into the black of the glass, trying to see a something of someone else in his pale face and bad hair frame...
It's entirely normal behavior in confused young adults...
With this in mind I recommend the medication to be maintained, a change of his scenery often and that the good reading material be kept close to hand at all times...'
Bollocks... Here is a final selection... He's clearly just off his tits...
"Imitation is imitation... I am stealing from a thief... Therefore nothing really matters, you can do what the fuck you want and I will stand over here ignoring it all... Nonsensical step forward, I am trying not to listen when you speak..."
I rest my case...
Your's in misery and aural ejaculation
Mr Manilla
CEO of boring cunts anonymous
Established way before you were even born.
---
The Railway Hotel
Southend on Sea
24/09/2013
"Here comes trouble..."
'Did you just say that?'
"Yes I did..."
'Cock...'
Walking in through the big doors... Do I know anyone here? ... Oh I remember... Yes I think this is the place... But of course...
At the bar I lean up against my own insecurity... We are feeling distant and at the same time, closer than before... I put my hands on the wooden bar top... A man offers me a drink... I accept it with the look of a someone who did not expect it but was secretly hoping it would occur...
Moving away from the bar I make my way to the toilets...
In a continuation of the bed bug saga, I apply the cream in the cubicle... Earlier in the day, having read something that mentioned it may instead be something else, I recalled been a younger child and how you whispered in my ear something about a time when all the goods were great and I kept your picture in my pencil case... 'I didn't have one though?' you replied... "Aye, I know, and I didn't either..."
'Excuse me, are you the cleaner?'
I'll be around shortly... Just hold your horses...
I stood on the raised bit and looked over the spaces of people thinking intently, as my mouth began to make movements... I was not convinced my words were reaching you well... In mind of this speculative-nothing-blah I spoke until I slept... After this I waited patiently for the train to arrive to take me back to a place where I could sit in a room and speak with someone who might understand what it is I kept from myself for so long until I couldn't keep that secret anymore...
Condensed version: arriving I turned up, after this I went to bed...
P.S.
Oh fuck it.
The Bedford
Balham
23/09/2013
From the top... Now let me explain...
When I am sat on the floor, in the back room of someplace, ingesting hairspray whilst itching my insect bites, and I am drinking from a can of Carling (multi tasking) and I hear the phrase:
"there might be some industry people here tonight."
I sometimes get this uncontrollable urge to lash out - at other times I recall how this information would affect me a long time ago, and how it would only make me pay more attention to what I was doing, causing me to cock it up and give a toss, care about how I look and stand, and play as if someone in the audience could really provide me with something I didn't already possess: difficulty and complications - can you help me please, I am trying to impress my art and soul on a stranger who may or may not have heard of Nick Tosches...
(Snob)...
I then realise that I've only just heard of Nick Tosches, myself... With this in mind, maybe I should be the guy in the audience; the one causing the guitar player to screw it up, making him prance and preen and lay it on nice and thick until there is nothing left to be taken in but this image of a desperate shell, smiling through indifference, deluded and thanking the audience for coming out tonight, guys... Yeah, thanks for coming out tonight, guys... Yeah, thanks for coming out tonight, guys...
Guys?
Fucking guys!?
Who said that?
Remove yourself from my line of sight please, I have an unfortunate admittance to make:
I am only aware of what I have just relayed to you due to the FACT, that, at one time or another I may or may not have acted in such a way myself; one time before I realised that all I am ever trying to do is impress people, and that in writing this down - in the basement of a block of flats in London, sat talking to the cat - I am also, seeking the approval of a someone I don't even know.
The only difference being that I am doing it in a different way; one that is still the same even though it is not. A fact which becomes even more evident the longer you look at it...
Therefore we are all the same and I should shut the fuck up...
Yeah okay...
I miss you...
Penarth Songwriters Circle
Penarth
21/09/2013
Sat on the train a man across from me answers his phone and refers to the man on the other end as George... 70's cop show music played... And I think that I would like to be talking like this... But I'm not, instead I am reading my book hoping no one sits next to me, causing me to have to scrunch my legs in... Tough out here on the road...
After this exciting exchange I get off the train in Manchester and pass a billboard that says something about George Best... I can't remember exactly what it said but I was amused by it... George Best' face all over the place, staring back at me, making me want to see that clip of him dancing to the Rolling Stones, again... Simple movements... 'Uncomfortable yes, but I'm still fucking your sister in black and white in 1964...'
Next train, time passage... I find myself in Cardiff looking into one of those windows that is a mirror, thinking: I hope no one can see me on the other side as I'm "doing my hair;" the same hair that keeps getting shorter every time I get in drunk and catch a glimpse of myself... At some point there'll be non left and I'll just have to shove the scissors in my eyes... Until that time I will keep trimming unsteady, pretending that I'm not putting anything in my hair because when I don't and it's this short, I look like I'm going for a job interview...
Random recollection from last night just come back to me: I was walking home in a dress with the phrase "fancy dress" written on my chest, when a man outside Barclay's bank said that I must be a "faggot." because I was wearing a dress... I tried to explain, in my drunkenness, that this was a very amusing logic... Thinking: who decides that a certain piece of clothing signifys someones sexuality... If that's the case then that pair of shoes - the ones that are kind of trainers but are also shoes - signify something back to me also. Not about your sexuality though, no, just the fact that you're a small minded cunt...
After awhile his friend got bored of him calling me a "faggot" and ushered him away... At a safe distance I called him a tosser...
Big man...
Arriving into Penarth I decided to go find the sea... Initially this proved difficult as it was hiding, but eventually I found it...
On the pier I had a cup of soup and sat looking at the sea... It was nice... There were some kids shouting and running about... "Mathew stole my so an' so..." Shut the fuck up the seagulls screamed... I put my pistol back into my pocket and walked further along to get away from them... Along the way I over heard an old woman saying something like: I love the sound of the waves, shame when you look down they're brown. Wouldn't it be lovely to look down and see some kind of azure blue; shut your eyes and you could almost be in Greece...
Hearing this I think at how I'm always shutting my eyes, feeling like i'm almost in Greece, imagining the brown to be the blue and the old women know it alls are all falling off the end of my imagination, bringing me up to the top of the hill and into the place I'm playing...
"Hello..."
The conversing with the promoter bit occurs, and then, a few hours later I am getting a beer in a room full of strangers, sitting down to read the following, in my book: 'not only his prick, but all of Lucien was mine...'
What you reading there?
Ah fuck...
After this I played and then went back to my B&B (luxury) to stay up far to late, watching trashy romantic comedy crap, wondering why the girl with the black hair isn't in the leading roll, flicking around with the control until eventually I reach a point where I have to turn it off and lie down in darkness trying not to think about anything but pushing an old lady off the end of Penarth pier...
It's for the best baby, honest...
Stop it Marko...
Okay...
Fulford Arms
York
20/09/2013
Staring at the wall, again with a different face on... How did I get to be here, tied to this chair?
A man enters at the back of the room... In the reflection of the tv I notice that he has something in his hand... As he comes closer I see that it is a rather fetching floral dress... He plants it on my lap and begins to untie me...
From somewhere within I feel a sense of recognition... I am aware of what it is I am expected to do... I remove my shirt and pull the dress over my head... I then remove my shoes, socks and jeans...
Once I am ready I am then led downstairs... Half way down the man informs me that today I am expected to play at a fancy dress party for another man, hence the fancy dress. The man is called Steve.
"Okay baby," I respond, "But I just need to know one thing..." 'Yes?'
"Do I taste like Christmas?"
At this he slaps me in the face with his pistol and snarls something about how I shouldn't be talking like that, especially on a Saturday...
Why on Saturday, specifically, I ask...
He explains that stupid people say even stupider things on Saturdays, due to this the recording technology is extra sensitive on this day of the week...
Seemingly satisfied that I understand he them leads me into the room...
After this it all got a bit strange...
Well, not really that strange...
I just got shit faced in a dress...
That was all...
Knavesmire Beer Festival...
York
19/09/2013
Turning up, I am asked the question that amuses me sometimes: are you the musician?
Erm... I might be...
Filmed recollection at Christmas: sat around trying not to be sick, Johnny Thunders face pulled at the prospect of sitting in that room talking in a way that is false but you have to do it or you don't...
I am then led through the giant-tent erected for beer... All this for booze, I think, as I stumble on the grassy bit, wishing I hadn't just used the standard line about the weather with the organizer man.
This is the stage... There's a microphone around here someplace...
I look around the room at the people with their lists, ticking off the ales they've drunk and deciding which they're going to sample next... I suppose someone has to love beer this much, if not it wouldn't taste very nice would it... Beer...
Do you have any beer tokens... Two appear in my hand and I go off looking for something dark mild like... Unfortunately there's too many and I end up with a lemony pale type booze... Bollocks... Why didn't you just say you didn't like the sample, I think as I take my first manky swig...
Look left to avoid eye contact... £50... Say something... Sing blah and memory loss... Vision of a man outside pissing into one of those outside pisser cans looking very content... Bastard... Hair scruff... Can I stop now?
Removed from this I get ready to leave... On the way out I avoid the stumbling of a well built men, clutching a half pint of dark looking booze, who looks like he's ticked plenty of his list already...
Walking to the entrance which ses no exit, I ask one of the stewards where the exit is... Pointed in the right direction I walk a little further...
And then I am: semi-pissed, walking over the racecourse, telling myself something about something else, remembering playing football on here and how freezing it was, thinking that i'd love to own a cat and be walking to the shop on a sunday in 2011 once more, hungover and hungry like a mother swine...
Editors note: mother swine's are often known to be hungry...
The Habit
York
18/09/2013
Speaking into the technology... A need to be convinced... And I just saw something which said, something along the lines of: it's cool here, look at all these cool people, we are all cool together, listen the media, believe what I say...
I stood outside the place and sank into myself once more... Looking up at that large industrial light that highlights my indecisive need to be spoken to and appreciated often, I thought how I disliked the self congratulatory in the whole thing but it's not really my problem... Mine is to ignore it and get on with my bit...
Also, why am I being such a cunt about something like that... Stop looking at these things... Okay... Besides all your doing is seeking approval anyway... Oh yeah...
Excuse me... Questions... What are you on about? ... Does that even mean anything? ... And are you still reading that book?
No, but I did have a dream last night about eating arrows made of lead in the Bison Coffee House... That was strange... Even stranger when I woke up with the leaden taste still present... Nothing to do with the late night, of course... Oh no... Quality time...
Anyway... Yesterday I walked around with that song stuck in my head... Luckily it went away... Previous to this, I sat on my bed and thought about going into the kitchen for something to eat, but then I thought that this would break my "thought process," so instead I sat in the cold, wanting a cup of tea and wondering at not been able to put the words in order...
There was a can on of Stella on the side though... I looked at it for a long time before confirming to myself that: yes, I have no idea where that came from...
In town I went to Dusk and put up a poster... Andy the owner-man said something about me being a strange one... This on account of the posters I put up; not on account of my dickheadish drunken behavior in Dusk most nights of the week ... Nope, it's entirely normal to stand on your own in a room full of strangers thinking about what you'd be doing if you'd just gone home instead... That is normality...
Editors note inserted: Mark does not actually do anything particularly dickheadish in Dusk; usually he just stands around avoiding conversations until it's time to leave... At other times he pays for tequila with a ten pound note and then insists he actually gave the bar man a twenty pound note... Big Man...
Dynamic entrance to bring you back into what actually occurred... I could see myself standing in the doorway of the Habit place... Smoking a cigarette and looking dead mysterious an' that, I gazed up and down the street reflectively, overhearing the shut up sounds coming from afar... Drunken men - tons of them - all in lycra-type gym wear accompanied by drunken women in combat gear... Gym versus combat type comment inserted here but removed because it was boring...
After the music bit I hung around and overheard a man saying something about how he was going on tour to get inspiration for an album... I think I did that once, to my own embarrassment... Forgot to notice that the shock of the new just becomes the same after a while and that running out of things to say is probably a good thing....
Shut up Marko... Go have another cup of tea...
Okay...
Cleveland Hotel
Redcar
17/09/2013
Get out of the van... It didn't really happen on this day but I had to write it down later for some reason... Stick up the mirror... It points in a different direction... Mark, turn around! ... I was walking the wrong way...
'Fuck, sorry, I wasn't paying attention...'
Mind obscured somewhere beneath a large mast near the M1, just off Jagger Lane... 'Transmitting station, really? ... Transmitting what?' ... It's not important, continue... 'Okay..'
This one with the band... Taking the stuff into the place, a man at the door saying: "GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY, THE BAND ARE COMING IN" ... Confirmation of our existence from the man on the door... Inside we put the stuff on the stage and began plugging in wires...
Previous to arriving I'd fallen asleep in the back of the van and woken up in a massive bod... To combat this I attempted to read my book some more... It didn't make sense... It later turned out that on this day I was actually the book, so I had no need to be reading it because I was already experiencing it... General confusion...
After we'd set the stuff up we had some drinks... A couple of drunk people said it was too loud during the soundcheck before leaving in a stumble... I really liked their stumble... I liked it so much that I attempted to imitate it myself on the way to the bog... On returning I had to admit I wasn't up to their level of stumbliness... No matter...
Distraction: sausage rolls on the side... What's the etiquette? Can I have one? Is it right to be indulging in the free food if we're the band? What would Robbie Robertson do?.. Never ask that pissing question ever again... It is of no interest what he would do... I took a sausage roll...
Was this wrong? I don't think it was... Why are you even asking? Why didn't you just ask the person who's party it was? Ah, I would of but I was more amused at watching him prowling around with a cake, offering it to people and then slamming it into their faces... Yes baby...
After the gig we drove home... Steve bought a shitty burger and I drank some cider in the passenger seat, feeling a combination of broken TV and last nights Evening Press... Half way back someone turned on the radio... Bob Geldof was talking... I wanted to jump out of the van....
Oporto
Leeds
16/09/2013
The night previous, ingesting things and babbling foolish like... I thought I gave you twenty quid..? He goes off to check the CCTV... The man to my left explaining that I'd only given him a tenner... Fucker... I go upstairs to explain...
Back again... Where at? ... In that place of interrupting and not listening... But actually, if you look closely, you will notice that this is not that different from the way things usually are when straight... Would you like some food? ... Hmm, perhaps another time...
Next day waking up, cleaning the place and then back to the upstairs room... How long can you take an interest in staring at that part of the ceiling?
A long time it seems... More sleep... Mix of dream and realist fiction... I apologize for not having been in contact and wait to be scolded... Did you read this... William, was it really this bad always?..
Have some food... Okay... This tastes brilliant... No you're just very hungry... Oh I see... Backwards reflection... A young girl wearing next to nothing crossing the bridge: "It's too cold," she ses... Yes it is...
Split down the center of the thing... On the train... Phil is that you? ... Over and out... Looking out of the window... No it's not... The man with the trolley stops at my seat.... Trapped... Unable to escape... I take a Twix as compensation...
Fictional account... 'Rob just discovered a freezer in his house he didn't know was there...' A powerful occurrence... These things which we were unaware of are always there it seems... Have you being dreaming again?. ... Yes... Tarted up you look good yes, but you'll only end up stuck in front of the tele box eventually... Who said that?
Not me... Is that you again? ... I'm not sure... Can you explain this to me... Repetition... Playing the music... I am offered some more of what we had yesterday previous... No thank you... I am in control... No need anyway; my mind still sat watching a train return and exit in the continuous always, thinking of Tom Courtney, not at all sure if i'm communicating this well...
Keep looking into the middle distance.. Perhaps they won't notice what I'm trying to hide; exposing myself beneath the lights; there where I am surrounded by imagined occurrences and all the things I can't attach myself to, so I do something else instead...
I can't end it... It doesn't matter...
Supporting Patrik Fitzgerald at The Basement
York
12/09/2013
Arriving to question's about what or why... Why does nobody come to these things anymore..?
I suppose I know but I don't... And I am walking down that really long street with you like before; that time when it was raining and we were looking for a flea market or something but we couldn't find it; and I know I keep writing you into these things but I just can't help it... I am trying at this... The night before and the after effects... Agitation... Overactive reflexes... Shallow breathing... There's some beer in the fridge...
Walking out of the back room I see that my brother has arrived... I go say hello... Later I will snap at him for no real reason at all... Thinking on it now I suppose there is a reason, but that will only sound like this: currently I am a selection of different people all at once, sometimes they get confused, especially when you arrive in autumn, red hat and green coat, and I want to take you away from all of this forever but I can't, so I don't...
And then I clean the toilets downstairs with the usual feeling in the chest area... Go away usual feeling in the chest area... Go away...
Putting on my face again (I removed it previously to discuss something with myself) I walk back into the room... The people who's face's I can't see, I suppose they would like to be explained but I decline them this opportunity... A man plays who, it appears, is attached to a something previous in the eyes of others... I suppose this makes sense... My alarm rings in my pocket... Was I really intending to be waking up at 9.30pm? Perhaps that would have been a good idea... Leaning against the wall at the back I think about something until it goes away... This works for a short while and then I have to try it again... After this I walk home...
And this ends with an ambling back, sceneal (new word) observation - I saw a man walking home in a t-shirt in the cold. Ah you're regretting that t-shirt now aren't ya, even if it does make you look really buff...
Shivery man you are such a massive turn on...
Go away...
The Cookie Jar
Leicester
07/09/2013
I just bought a duvet... Aldi allowed this... I was meant to take Sid shopping but I didn't take Sid shopping... Sorry Sid... My self obsession leads me to be walking around on my own, buying Junkie for a friend...
After this, and in the backwards way of going forwards, I went to Leicester... Arriving I asked where I was meant to be... I went downstairs... I stood around for a bit and then I went back upstairs (glamour)...
Outside the place I stood next to the giant bouncer, he made me feel very small... Put into my place I went back downstairs and spoke some blah into the microphone, whilst looking blankly into the middle distance, with that "I know what I'm trying to say, pursued by insane lunatic people, go away, go away, go away" look on my face...
After this we had some booze, and then a man said that a man from The Beautiful South was over there...
'Oh really...'
'Did he hear the song? '...
"No, of course not," came his reply... In trusting of this information I placed my hands onto the wheel, both of the buggers... Then I sat down and had the wine with the man who lives in the place next to the hospital... After this I fell asleep on the sofa... Next to the sofa was a computer... I woke up with my foot on the monitor...
L.A.M.F.
The Inkwell - Cassette Store Day
York
07/09/2013
New introduction...
More to the point? ...
Unlikely...
Do you think it feasible I might be able to know a certain piece of information? ...
Yes, I think that can be arranged...
The sign on the corner of the screen: something may be at risk, buy now before it's too late...
I don't trust it...
At the back of the room I watch the door drinking from a paper cup (intentional), feeling very unsure at the possibility of what might occur... Mr Manilla walks in... I adjust my stance... Play it cool, I think to myself as he approaches...
"Can't we all please just get along..."
Who said? My eyes scan the room... Someone seems to have adjusted my reality... I notice a man downstairs who has missed his train... I ask him something, even I can't hear for my own mumbling... He raises a finger to his lips...
Walking away I think I understand what I've been misunderstanding now for so long... It seems to make sense... However, at the corner, before reaching the music place, I pass a young girl of the 'Saturday shift, hair scraped, cigarette and text message' variety... I imagine I am that age again, waiting on that text...
At this all my previous logic disappears... I am back where I was previously, unable to explain or comprehend anything; walking round aimlessly remembering the night before and someone telling me that Postman Pat has a mobile phone.
Excuse me?!
I don't like it... I want a cup of tea... Someone is moving around the room... I think I might be attracted to him... Perhaps not... Are you listening? Have you noticed anything strange about this? Is there even anything strange to notice... Can I have my mind back please?
A man to my left hands it over... He then passes me an envelope... I open it outside and read the following: sing now; you're not as confused as you once thought; the shipment is incoming, don't worry about when, you will be informed; open your eyes, try not to repeat a standard line; affection is a simple thing; yes you can where a dress on Saturday, you just need to find some cat ears first...
After this I sat on a train leaving the place... I wasn't content but I did have a cake in my carrier bag that Mike gave me before I left... Thank you Mike, it was very nice...
The Basement
York
01/09/2013
Spot on my lip, nowt in to eat and then Steve gives me a box of out of date crisps... Sometimes the planets align in such a way... Remove it... The method involved will become apparent at a later date - keep yourself to yourself, know for sure that they know and that they're are laughing at you because of it, control of your situation; pick the reason for mockery. Walk down the street with the tape machine hoping the police think you stole it and then when they stop you, you can say that you didn't and feel all powerful in the eyes of the law...
"I know my shit baby, want a bag of out of date crisps?"
Arriving at the Basement I suddenly realised I wasn't going to be able to hold it together, neither was I going to be coherent (no change there then)... I don't know what it was, but something told me... Perhaps it was the uncomfortable stone in the shoe feeling, knowing that the night before I required everything and got sod all; not even a biscuit consolation prize...
"Who dishes out the biscuits anyway?"
The audience stared back at me blankly...
"Sorry, I thought I was writing about this ten days after the fact..."
The thing progressed, it was alright... Alcohol... I put the chairs on the tables in some cafe in Paris... Excuse me sir, could I have a cup of tea? Yes baby, for sure... If you'd like to take a seat I'll bring it out as soon as I've finished dealing with the ego and cleaning that baby elephant...
"Come on baby, get clean..."
Later I was outside and I was shit faced, and I knew I had to find my way to the foot of some stairs and explain myself into the banister, climbing and descending until something happened and then I went home, against my will, correctly aware that I didn't know anything at all about how or why; wishing that I did...
VW festival
Knavesmire, York
31/08/2013
Fuck...
What's wrong?
Go away...
Turning up in a field... Ask the security man if this is the place... Eyed with contempt... Smart ass maybe... Possibly not... "Cock off" ... Who said that? ... Me... Okay, cool... Why am I scratching so much..? Ring worm..? Fuck... I hope not... Ask the internet... Life threatening... But of course... And then I'm recording at the place and there's a builder walking around with no shirt on... Resist the urge to reach out, touch and wink... I just want some affection mister builder man, that's all... He refuses to understand...
Meanwhile in the field, I am walking around trying not to think; but that's an impossibility isn't it? I don't know, let me think... Gavin! What's in chai tea? He doesn't hear me... He's sorting out all the people around him with the words and the whatevers... I walk away... Phone conversation: the builder getting out of hand... I'll be over right away... At the bottom of the street, reach for his blinding hanger... "Right you, cock..." Forced affection... We are copulating beneath the scaffolding...
"Mark?" ... What? "You're on" ... Sod that... I decide instead to stay in the place of bland impossibility and let one of the other selves do the show... Later inquiring how it went... "Well, you just kept on shouting and shouting until eventually you stopped.." Sounds about right... What happened next... "Well, you walked around the field not at all too happy in the mind-heart-head bit and then you belted the fuck out of someone elses instrument, drunk looking gorgeous..." Good work self number 6...
After this exchange I walk aimlessly until I end up stood with the last of my on person dosh, in liquid form, in the place of dead eyes wanting to go home but I can't for some reason...
Are you next door?
Am I even bleeding bothered/listening/paying attention...
Yes you are...
Fuck...
Hackness Village Hall
Hackness
30/08/2013
Questioning of that thing... The image; a necessary, apparently... Previous to discovering a total lack of knowing what to be doing, I sat down at the back of the place and gazed up at the ceiling...
How did I get here? And why did I think this was a good idea? These, the questions you may ask... But not myself... I never cared so I didn't bother, but that's a lie...
Disconnected paranoia slipping into the old place... I walked away...
The bastard came, the bastard went... You sat by his side offering him that what you'd collected from the shop below... Previously waking up on the first floor... "Don't leave," you speak into the walled recording device... Then you walk home... Then you walk home... Then you walk home... Constantly fuelled by that what you cannot get into words, then you walk home, again... Fuck you... Then you walk home...
At some point after this you notice a cat in the room... You walk over to it... Crouched down you ask how it'll be when you collect the things and take them to the drop off point... The cat speaks... You think that it's strange for a cat to speak... "Well why did you ask the pissing question in the first place then?!" the cat replies before fucking off... Before fucking off... Before fucking off... Constantly fuelled by that what you cannot get into words, before fucking off...
Later on there was being afraid of the dark Mark, walking back into town... But he wasn't real... At least not when he viewed the photographic evidence; leaning over limitless possibility, still staring at the wall... No, he was purely fictional... And you were too... In your own little way... So please stop talking at me...
Outside the place I had to leave... And I'm sure it means something... But I don't ask you questions anymore... At least not when I'm incapable of repeating the sentences I had prepared but somehow I lost the cheat sheet...
Oh fuck, now I have to say what comes to mind...
A limited sketch... And no way out but to run, very fast to someplace different...
Jims Cafe
Colne
26/08/2013
"Are you walking up and down thinking of the way to change all this but you can't?"
Yes, possibly... Why you ask?
"Well, if so, you need our new product thingy what's it called..?"
Really?
"Yes, you can pay it off in installments and it will change your life..."
Thanks, but no thanks...
I reached for the remote control, unfortunately the buttons were all busted in by mister fat fingers... Bastard that he is... I thought to go find him and cause him some physical pain to dull out the mental anguish... I then decided that this would be unfair... Slipping out into the street I got into the blue van... My seat was in the back... A deck chair as it happened... Glamour lifestyle...
Later I was stood next to Wilko just before he went onto play with the new hot things or something... They were okay I suppose, but I just couldn't be bothered with it... Earlier sat around as they ambled past in their suited finery; I tried that jacket, I thought to myself, it fit me bad, so bad... And then by the side of the stage, looking up I just couldn't care less if he meant it or not; clinging to the mic stand in white winkle pickers saying all about "ooh I need you baby..." Ooh I need you baby, bollocks and roll off the end of my imagination more like... I moved away slowly...
Arriving at the cafe I did the thing... A string broke, my voice cracked; at this I went off into my imagination somewhere and found myself to be sat by the river, previous to passing an over flowing bin, holding onto something like there was nothing more important I could ever wish to be dealing with at that present moment. Later, it felt good walking past the Post Office Club... And I am falling asleep recalling something which is between you and I, beyond explaining...
Coming back from this I looked up... Shit, I'm still here... I fumbled a few songs and then a woman came up to me explaining that there was someone I should meet... Declining this I made my escape... Unfortunately this required another few drinks... No matter though, I thought as I ordered, at least there's nothing too strong knocking around... At this a packet of Tramadol occurred in my hand space... What the fuck... "Ah there brilliant, but the after bit's a bit brutal..." Okay, man of the stuff... Thank you very much...
Later as we drove home I leant my head against the window of the van and looked out into the middle far distant whatever's... It was a strange route to be going, I thought... But I probably didn't... I know what I thought and someone else did too... I was just trying to collect myself...
And then to be removed from this, your presence embraced, beyond what I could ever explain at the foot of you're stairs or with flowers picked drunk from behind a bus stop making my way to your old place, years ago...
And I wasn't even joking when I turned back the last time....
Galtres Festival
23/08/2013
Helmsley
Usual situation: confused dream followed by strange alarm sound: you are required Mr Wynn, back in the real world... Fuck, really... Yes, unfortunately sir... Stop calling me sir... Okay... What's the do anyway? ... The do, as you so elegantly put it Mr Wynn, is as you will see in the briefing below...
8am - Walk to New Earswick and wait in for a bed to be delivered from the hospital (we know it's not your usual but we believe you can handle it...)... Write a Jonestown rip off and drink some tea... Listen to The Kinks at an inordinate volume, let that affect you and look in the mirror and tell yourself straight what it is you require with the leaking eye grimace and the hair all different lengths..
11am - Walk back into town discussing it out with yourself... Go to bookshop, purchase book called The Thiefs Journal, dig that thang... Walk to Bison, order food, admit that you have yet to wash the t shirt you were given the other night whilst under the influence which hadn't been washed for a long time previous to you receiving it... Walk to place and have shower...
1pm - Get in car of the man called Paul who is driving to the festival... Look out the window... Fall asleep.. Wake up and ingest boiled sweet... Sit in back reading about a man discussing fucking his lovers, Vaseline and kissing in the street... Hope no one will ask what it is you are reading...
3pm - Arrive at festival... Feel sick in the back of a car moving (dead) slowly down a dirt track... Go to artist check-in... Question the use of the word artist... Jump the queue (art)... Agree with Mr Blackwell that you were definitely still under the influence the night before previous in the Basement... Acquire wristbands and card that has money on it...
3.15pm - Walk up to a food stall and ask for water, questioning if it can be paid for via the plastic card you received previously - they will say yes, it is important that you realise this is a good thing; you do not want to know it's actual cost... Walk away with water... Pass specific person in one of the numerous queues along the way... Think at how, out of all those people, only one holds significance to occupy you all the way here, there and back - admit this as a fact and refuse to let it disappear...
3.45pm - Introduced onto stage to the sound of 7 and 7 is... Fumble back and forth, adjust microphone stand... Look up trying to locate the form of that which you cannot ignore... Three songs from the end notice her arrival... Forget numerous words at this instance... Lights flash... End with the line: I have nothing left to say... Think later you would have liked to have said something about Panda's...
4.15pm - Numerous interviews with the assembled music press (but of course)... Decline the drug and drink scenario... Explain you are off the stuff and readjusting your insides to see correctly once more... Notice the person near by.. Speak and explain what it is you are feeling, circled and watched closely... Walk off for food... Return... Clasp hand and say something else, beyond explaining... After this, leave like there is nothing else in the world you want less...
5pm - Finance office confusion... Hand in papers for inspection - one incomplete, not your fault (hopefully)... Create elaborate bus excuse to speed up process... Possible fictional account... Accept payment, walk away...
After this you will catch the bus back to York and go to play music in The Habit... From here we cannot direct you... The Ebor race meet being beyond our understanding...
Extra details:
There will be minor embellishments to your task (we will inform you of these as the day progresses), but, as it stands, the majority of it will be in the "walking around contemplating that what you wish you could change and bring back" vein... A simple task it is not, but we feel you are up to looking at it straight on until something becomes clear and you are walking once more where you always wished to be walking previously.
The Basement - The Habit
21/08/2013
York
Waking up with the face still being swallowed by that what I found in my pocket previous tog being completely in the other room at 6am, I attempted to lift myself from the sofa...
Someone was moving around the kitchen... I made my way to the bathroom... In the mirror I saw I was wearing a t-shirt that was not mine... What the fuck... Where did that come from?
The voices in between answering speculatively: confused I suppose but yes, one should not question arising in new clothing, especially when these things which you clearly cannot control have left you in the other place. Take it as it comes you moronic fool...
Well, I will then...
Into town... You're not all here are you... Who said that? ... To my left and inpursuit, a something I could not control... Get away from me now... That occurred and then I was in the shop... Sudden realisation: I cannot escape this inside feeling... Shit... I retreated to the back of the place...
Feeling the need to escape the after affects I clambered over some boxes and curled up on a leather sofa... This is not required, I thought to myself in the dusty light... Someone was present... Desperate need to be hearing what they were saying and holding their gaze...
A few hours later I awoke... Moving out into the street I watched as a big lorry drove past with something like: all our products are freshly baked in our shop, written on the side of it... Really? Why do you need that big fuck off lorry then?!... They didn't reply... Beaten by the windscreen and the distance once more, at least this time minus the rain and the next day knuckle ache looking at yourself in the mirror trying to understand who it is your're pretending to be...
I decided to go to the Basement...
Arriving I cut to the chase with the organizer person: "Got any booze baby.?" I spoke with my gob horn... Yes we do... I was directed into the back... Reading the set times on the wall a few images began to occur between the numbers.. .Two street drinkers singing satisfaction in a doorway... A suited man passing by discussing the Kaiser Chiefs gig on the race course with another suited man... Red wine and cider, and a man sinking into the sofa, having earlier ingested something much more than would usually be appropriate for a Tuesday night, 10 minutes before your mother arrives... Alright mam! (fuck)...
I played the music as best I could... The paws refusing to work, I passed through it, looking into the lights and imagining the world around me wall facing. And I am growing out of it calmly as I can... After this I went to the Habit... Things continued... I was unsure of what was really occurring and what was created by my insides for their own amusement.... Someone played something while I was thinking something else... These two things became entwined... I went outside unable to handle the two together...
Across the street I saw that the people were getting on with it... I didn't like them... Nor did I like the ease with which they appeared to be doing it....Fuckers...
Later I walked home, calmly abandoning anything but the idea of at some point working out what it was I required and how to escape it, simply...
Behind The White Door All Dayer @ The Fulford Arms
17/08/2013
York
A man tumbling out of the car: "what do you mean I'm not gorgeous?!"
Who is that dickhead, I spoke, stood to the side feeling ill... Erm, that's you... Really? Oh dear... Yeah, calm your beef baby...Okay... Can I have some crisps? ... Yeah I suppose...
Above me the sky began to darken...
Where am I? ...
The inside of your mind folding in on itself, a voice spoke... Baby, this place needs some kind of a make over...
It certainly does...
Combination clause of a late night phone call which made it all go away and I was just sat staring at the wall waiting for the next thing to occur, knowing there is nothing more inconsequential than waking up in magazines trying to sweep the yard and some mad greyhound wants to play... I see it though, I am pretty fun to be around... Lie face...
And then at some point in the day I was being musically educated by a man called Mark who explained to me that The Flamin' Groovies were really good... I didn't know this... I do now... Enlightenment... And then outside the place I was offered a packet of Hula Hoops... Spectacular belly relief feeling... I moved around as it started to rain... And then just as I was about to require some sleep, the man Mark came up and asked if we were going to town... Yes Mark we are... Okay Mark...
Sometime previous to this there was a gig... There was jam also... I bought some, it was good... And I didn't fall down any stairs... And if, in relation to this, I could say what I was thinking then this would prove much more interesting than it is. But as it stands it is now currently as simple as a dog jumping up and you tell it to stop but it won't...
Reflection on this, I walked around in the stumbling requiring some kind of a hole in the wall to place myself back into that guitar solo bit in Blank Generation just before they make me think of Runaway Boys and the whole of it in my top pocket crawling cross the floor, closing the curtains and ignoring the outside world on the first floor for a long while otherwise...
The Habit
15/08/2013
York
Awoken at six... What are you doing? .. I'll tell you what i'm doing, i'm climbing out of this pissing window, that's what i'm doing... And then, when I'm out, I'm going to go get my head stoved in by a big man with a bent nose and a beard, who likes to kick in car wing mirrors on his way home when he's not tying slim arsed skanks like myself to chairs in basement rooms and belting them senseless with chair legs and fence posts... Okay cool... Four weeks later I woke up again... Tied to the chair I thought it best to go somewhere else and eat something...
After this I arrived back at the place... W'here have you been?' they spoke as I arrived ... 'Nowhere,' I replied... Tight lipped tosser... I beat him with a stick - mentally that is... After this I played some songs... I then thought about how I can't work out anything at the moment, due to this I need a man from Boro to walk me round the clothes shops, just so I can sit down comfortable without the fear of it all falling out at once...
And I keep seeing this friend of mine... And it's really starting to grate on me... So last night, when I was in the place, I put something in his drink and told him straight, to his face: 'stop fucking around, I can't be doing with it...'
At this the walls began to recede and I could see past them... Unfortunately all I could make out was a short man in a corduroy jacket with a big sign that read: NO CHANCE SON.. THERE'S MORE... BETTER DEAL WITH IT...
Bollocks... Sickened by this I walked away to the next place... Danny was there and we sat discussing every fuck head we weren't capable of understanding while they ordered drinks and got on with their lives and we got on with our collective nothings but at least when I walk down the street you can't make out what I'm thinking when I'm overhearing the phrase: "Magnum opus," and someone is playing that pissing Wagon Wheel song and I want to throw myself through a window...
Either that or go to bed... Bed time baby... Oh yes...
The Woolpack
York
19/07/2013
Say what?! The big man explaining to me his previous heart condition... Really? ... Fuck... Never trust them doctor peoples, I thought to myself... Nah, never did anyway... Not since I was dragged from the womb... 'This is life sunshine, get used to it... And don't fuck it up, because if you do we'll be on you like a ton of bricks...'
What? This is it? Rule plus the regulation and no space for error? Really? But I'm piss filled with shit and stupidity... Where is the space for that?
'We'll get you in touch with a specialist...'
Specialist by whose authority?
'Our's...'
And you expect me to believe that gunk..?
'Yes...'
I got up to leave...
Outside the breeze was blowing the booze fiends into town... Do I look pissed? one of them said to me as I passed... Do I look like a good judge of character, came my inward reply... I took one giant step over reality and found myself making absolute sense to myself and, what seemed to be, no one else...
Removed from this I put the smoking paraphernalia back into my case and made to leave indefinitely... On the way into town I passed the shitty sports bar I might have mentioned before... "Do you know who I seen in the gym today - fat as fuck.." Alright, calm down baby... No need for that... I put my oil painting face back into the box and engaged the legs...
Occupied by strangers, I moved into the crowd... Smoking out here is not permitted, she said... I accepted this and looked round the room... Time had marched on, much quicker than I could ever have comprehended... I was watching as they wheeled me out... At back, everything I'd ever done or said was filed away into a giant filing cabinet... I felt a strange detachment... This lasted for a short while and then the spell was broken by someone using the phrase "air me mary." ... I didn't know what to make of it...
Back in the space occupied, the time come to leave... I watched as a man dumped a cigar into a green bottle... I then thought that I would like to be somewhere else...
On the way back, the walk home beat me half way... Fuck it, I thought, as I sat down to converse with a hedgehog I found by the side of the road - our conversation being more than you will ever know...
This went on for sometime and then he deserted me for the drugstore, shouting the following over his shoulder, as he went:
"You didn't find me, fucker... I was already here, you were just too busy getting back there to come back here, to even notice me... Whore bag.."
I agreed because I had no choice... He was most definitely right...
Either that or I need more sleep... Yeah, probably...
The Habit
York
17/07/2013
Finding myself to be all hung upside down of my surroundings, I moved away from the window... As I did the walls began to close in around me... I asked them to keep their distance and they took this simple request and doubled numerous times...
Sat in it, all I could now see, for miles and pissing endless miles, was this great expanse of incommunicable nothing... I went this way I went that... Eventually I gave in; marked and scarred by my own misadventure I began to dig into the sandy colored dirt below...
This I did for a while and then a man behind me asked if this was the place... "Depends what you're looking for," spoke a voice to my right... I looked round to find only empty space... We were not where we should be... The more I dug in, the more the contrast of colors around me began to grow... I didn't know what that meant so I just kept going... Eventually I hit something stiff-headed... It was a scene from another time, possibly earlier in the week... I could see myself... The movements were all wrong... It was impossible to change it as I viewed it from above...
One of the men handed me a wrench... I began my attempt to break through the glass... My other self looking up at all the commotion... I tried to communicate what it was I was trying to say but it was useless... As my other self disappeared from view I gave it up and threw the wrench away, thinking that at some point I would have to awake from this... I just had to...
After this I arrived and then left the place to go to the other place to be told by one of the staff that I should leaver the place and go to another place... I agreed with him, but refused... A German girl came and sat beside me... She said she didn't like people... I agreed and then got up to leave...
On the way home I ate the sweets I found in my pocket, simplicity bit me between the skull and I went down like there was no coming back ever again....
Wednesday...
The Woolpack
York
12/07/2013
Awake and in the different place. "What am I supposed to do?" spoke the man leaning in from the upstairs window, looking at me in a strange way, as I was walking backwards down the corridor thinking at nothing.
"You," he said, "gig tonight at the Woolpack."
Yes baby, I replied, peeling away the layers of drunken sleep and confused what the fuckness, swearing at myself in a mirror and contemplating a total lack of anything but disconnected blah...
"Come on," he said... "You're mumbling bollocks again. Get a shower and we'll go to the gig..."
Yes baby...
On arriving at the gig I turned to ask who he was... "Lenny Kravitz' he replied... Really? "Yeah, I'm that picture of Lenny Kravitz that's on the wall in Gibson's, what used to be Montey's, what used to be Scruffy Murphys or something... I am that man... And now I must leave to oversee other people failing a life.."
'What you on about Lenny,' I spoke as I pushed him outside... 'Get away from me you fuck... All of you...' Outside there were hundreds of him, all glaring, judgementafizing on my discarded self...
I slammed the door... The three people in the bar looked round at me... 'Look, just because you've only got one dullard reality, doesn't mean I have to as well...' Robert Plant poured me a beer... Shall I stick that on the tab Marko? ... 'You can stick it on your tab more like Planty, you absolute man whore...' Yes baby...
Later I played... The people were there... It got warm... I wanted more beer... I had some more beer... The toilet was like an airing cupboard... Someone mentioned it was the wrong day to break my balls... Some other people made the dirt noise... Jack played a Ty Segall record... Danny leaned into the mic... Someone swallowed some stuff... I left to go walk around town... Half way down the street I turned back for my keys...
That night I didn't sleep very well... Not with a hundreds Lenny Kravitz' roaming the streets, I couldn't...
I went out to sort it out. It's a dirty job but someones got to keep my imagination in check before it gets too predictable and Lou Reed turns up also.
The Habit
York
10/07/2013
Walking up and down, I keep feeling like i'm going to be sick... Eventually I convince my self to get down from the top tall buildings and "go play a show man..." It's what's needed I suppose; much like a carpet burn or an elephant, entering a room.
"Get the fuck out of my house you foul beast!"
'Don't be cruel Mark...'
"Fuck off Presley, who asked you anyway?!"
'Ah come on,' he said, standing in my kitchen, 'Hows about you have a few of these...'
"And what are they Elvis-Presley-in-my-kitchen? Them same things that did you in?"
'Nah baby, these are vitamins; you take these to make up for not holding down the hot stuff.'
"What are you talking about Presley baby, get back in the box. Anyway, I've get to go to the dentist..."
Dentist arrival... Hello, I'm Mark Wynn. I'm here to lie down in fear whilst miss so an so has a fiddle with my gnashers... Yes Mr Wynn, take a seat... Half way down the street with a swively chair, pursued by the receptionist... "You did say take one ya nasty purveyor of pain strapped down..." At the corner she gave in... I'm a lot lighter when not scoffing...
Arriving at the Habit I decided to off load the chair onto a man outside Tesco, gazing dumbfounded at the girl behind the counter... "Here, take this," I spoke with enthusiastically... He thanked me and then continued to look into that what he could not comprehend... I walked away feeling strange...
In the place I set up the equipment... Convinced of the imminence of what little I'd eaten coming back to inform me I needed to keep my mouth shut, I decided to sing... It wasn't good, luckily though there was no exiting of fluids...
As the night progressed I attempted to retain the standing up position... A man said I could stay on his boat if I wanted... I thought about that, and then wondered at waking up to feed the ducks sugar puffs in the morning like I did once when you were around...
Forget it... I moved away... Some people played some songs... A couple of which convinced me that I could go stand over there and not feel disconnected and dead - at least not for that moment anyway...
Later I walked home feeling light and confusion... My heart racing as I paced beneath the clock attached to the press office, bouncing in and out of the gutter to the rattle of a bicycle chain... When I reached the place I stood across the road and spoke into the warmth of the air that once was frozen stiff and hard to pass but now not so much... Turning back for a second I then unlocked the door and bounded upstairs, feeling dead and discontent...
At some point I slept... This I am quite sure of... Either that or I have been awake for days... The connection is gone... I can feel a static sensation coming on like a man laughing at clothes drying in the bathroom just before I go make myself something to eat which I probably won't be able to eat anyway...
But what is it?
It's summer time, and I am walking around confused and absolutely convinced of nothing at all.
The Habit
York
06/07/2013
I said something terrible to someone at the back of the room... He thought about it and then continued... Deciding that I couldn't find anything of use to be saying, I stopped mid-song and backed into one of the five corners of the universe - it was cocktail hour you see and I wanted a drink...
As I took the first sip, a man to my left asked if I could taste it's delicate flavour's... I put it into his face... Get away from me you fuck... It didn't interest me...
Outside, and below street level, I could see the people moving around; burnt from too much sun, they were applying the cream... Those who weren't were queuing on the motorways to get to the edge of it... Speaking of the sea, I swam back up through the murky depths...
Back in the Habit place, a man asked me what covers I did... I informed him that I didn't really do any... He looked at me confusedly with one of those 'if the wind changes you'll be stuck like this' expressions... You don't do anybody else's songs.? he repeated... No, sorry...
I could feel the heat rising up in my chest and behind my eyes... His face paggered off something near by... (Is this confusing. I didn't really. Am I not correct?) I felt the last of it leave me and then I walked back into the bar to get a drink... As I waited for it I imagined his past life and mine; the distance between, then as is now... I didn't like this thought though, so I put it to the back of my mind and went to stand outside...
Across the street a hen party was passing... One of them was carrying a large inflatable penis... A man to my left offered that it was a very large inflatable penis... I agreed and then went back inside... A woman at the bar said it was very hot.... Yes it is, I replied...
What with the wisdom flowing so freely I thought it best that I slip back into one of the five corners... After this, and when it was all over, I collected my money and left...
On the way home I thought how the distance between was something I couldn't work out... I also thought about other people, but that only made me feel worse... At home I had some more to drink and then went to bed thinking about that what was chewing me up... At this my whole body began to overheat; I could tell what it was liked being acknowledged... Bastard thing...
As I lay in bed, I watched as the walls began to melt and flow through me, just as if they were one great spear of light... It was all so simple, I thought as I fell out of consciousnesses, I had everything and nothing all at once... And then I remembered what Danny said to me the night before: it's not a competition...
Good job really, cos if it was I'm fucked...
The Habit
York
03/07/2013
Waking up to the sound of the electric drill, 7.07am... I went to the window to investigate... Outside I could see a builder man, the aforementioned drill in hand... Clothed on the top half, I began to articulate my displeasure to him by beating on the window... The builder turned... "7 in the morning baby," I yelped... After this I went back to bed... Grease fucker... Eventually I got back to sleep...
Later I awoke again and tried at life once more... This time it seemed more feasible... I fumbled round the house in search of the kettle; somehow, the night before it'd found it's way into the bath... After finding the kettle, and drinking the last of the tea (sorry Syd - yes I live with the Barrett baby: take that Television Personalities), I collected my things, ready to go into town.
Laying them on the floor to make sure I had everything, I checked off the following: Guitar, Book, Notebook, Cynicism (in the bathroom also - messy night) and Keys... The inventory complete I jumped out of the window and made my way into town (I didn't really but it's my story and I'm the hero of it so fuck you)...
Down on the street I saw the face's that shine... Iggy tried to hustle some shit off me... Back off baby, I spoke as he leered, I ain't got no time for your stuff... I pushed past him as he fell into the gutter, his manhood falling everywhere... This image haunting me all the way to the post office...
The queue was endless... A long drawn out process... The woman's password wasn't working on the machine... Shit, I thought, the pigs are on to me this time (that's street talk baby.. Yeah, I know what you're thinking - stop thinking it)...
Eventually, I just couldn't take it no more... "Look lady, I've just seen Iggy Pop's cock and the juxtaposition of that and this is hurting my eyes and mind... Post my stuff please..." She leaned over the counter and told me where to get off... Okay baby, no problem... I got off at Danny's house... He was playing the drum for me...
We set up in the front room... Him with a snare on a chair and me on the sofa... We laid it down... All very old timey for some reason... Probably the mustaches... See I'd told him, when we first decided to do some rehearsing together, that I only rehearse with people who wear stick on mustaches and trilby hats... Luckily, he talked me out of the hat bit... Them beasts are pricey don't you know...
After this I went into town... On the way I passed a book store; on seeing the book 'Accordion Crimes' my pace began to quicken... Fuck, that can't be right... Freaked out and half way to The Habit (always) I saw a man who I knew... We had a conversation... Then another man I used to know passed in a car... "He owes me money," the man I was stood with spoke as he passed, "and he broke my banjo."
Pleasure...
And so to the gig...
Some people came down... A man singing a country song dropped his lyric's, stopped the song and explained how it would be a fools mistake to go back... Yes, I thought, I am in agreement with the man who drops heartache written by dead men... Someone gave me a packet of cigarettes (I felt 17 again turning the first one around and reinserting it into the pack).... Some more people played... Danny arrived with his drum... The people who had either bought me drinks recently or I owed money to all seemed to arrive as well... I bought the halves... The last person played... It ended...
After this I went to Dusk... There were a lot of people there... A drunk man in a tuxedo with medals on it attempted to touch me inappropriately; I backed away, the stamp on his hand signifying his recent visit to Yates's (I did hang around long enough to see if he might buy me a drink though, I'm not that stupid)...
Outside I saw a man I knew, talking with a lady... She was blathered... I hung around for a cigarette and then the man said the following: "Mark, you know that place you have to be..."
This I understood and I went back downstairs... Strangely, he beat me there; probably something to do with my climbing over the roof, because i'd never been that way before... Anyway, we had some more words and then he said something about re-engaging and forgetting his soul... Good luck that man...
And then, walking home, I watched a drunk women follow a drunk angry women up the street as she tried to convince her friend to come back: "but George is there," she spoke.
The other women's reply being: "I know George is there, but I'm done with this town, it's full of wankers..."
Observing this, I thought it best to go back and look for George... Perhaps he had the remedy, or the cure, or whatever.. Can't think of the right word now...
Blah....
The Pelton Arms
Greenwich
27/06/2013
Moving through the street, I came to the place I'd been before and vowed not to return to... I'd been indoors all day so the outside seemed strange and unnerving... On entering the bar I put my stuff on the stage, said hello to the man and went back outside to sit by the river... In my pocket I had a bottle of beer, this I drank whilst watching the water...
In my head the following occurred: blurred image of 16 waiting for a bus to leave... Broken guitar in bits... Sick someplace far off... A revolving pistol which fell into my lap each time I thought of going back... Foxes and rats in the bushes... Lying down under a bridge... Bad shoes... The end sequence of some movie...
That last one was a lie, I didn't think that; and I want to get as far away from that as I can; sat by the Thames, looking into the water, feeling a selection of things all at the same time, not coming to one conclusion, ever... What conclusion?
Exactly.
After the beer, I walked back to the pub.... Some kids were playing a ball game in the street... I passed them thinking about you and then dropped the bottle into somebody's bin...
Entering the bar I walked around feeling out of place... I rolled a cigarette and went outside. Passing the people sat around in the beer garden I went around the corner. Still within earshot, I overheard a man reeling off a run of weak jokes, to which those around him laughed politely. I looked up at the buildings above to see a man leaning out of one of the windows smoking a cigarette... I thought that we must look very small and inconsequential from where he stood... It was probably true...
Walking back in, I put on my booze binoculars and began to lay down the boogie; mentally, that is... Some people just can't help themselves but I had it under control, sort of... I sat at the bar and then I stood up... Some people I knew arrived... We did the conversation thing, and then the drink began to flow... My heart from within screaming something about being fit to burst - I checked myself: calm down, go outside... A woman out there: "did you take Charlie for a walk," madam, what are you insinuating.? A lengthy conversation ensued... I ignored all realms of time and space... Then I left...
The walk back along the river? It was nothing... I thought about Rimbaud as I passed the big buildings, like a twat... Two men were drinking by the banks on a bench... Their trajectory was clearly not mine... I passed them and then crossed the Thames via the underground tunnel bit... At the center of the tunnel I spoke the clearest thing I could think to speak at the time; and then waited for my words to bounce back at me... They came back all garbled but I knew what I'd said...
This I thought to hold at least some relevance, so many meters underwater and miles from you...
At least I hoped it did...
The Bedford
Balham
26/06/13
Pulled apart from sleep, I made my way downstairs... Expecting to see the man asleep on the floor at the bottom, I was surprised to find that he was absent... Looking around I confirmed that he was nowhere to be found... I collected my things and made to leave...
Outside the holiday people were doing their usual holiday thing: slow walking, eating ice cream and gazing at the world through cheap sunglasses, smiling in that weird way that they always do - the shock of the new, darling: cock off... I dodged past them...
On the way to the station I bought a piece of watermelon for a pound... Bits of it were nice, some not so much... It ran down my fingers, pisslike, attempting to escape my judgement... I got on the train...
There was a man sat behind me, facing the opposite direction; I thought about smashing his head through the window... Memory recollection: I broke another door, it wasn't my fault, she made me do it. After this I collapsed on the floor and waited for things to get worse before they got better... That's how it works isn't it? ...
This distracted me from the thought of smashing his head through the window... Not that I would have, but I certainly wanted to. And that's sometimes almost as bad.
Towards the end of the journey I became overcome by thirst... I attempted to ignore it; but after a while, sitting there, drowning in heat and nothingness, I decided to pay a visit to the food bit...
"Could you do me a cup of tap water?" I spoke in the bleakest voice I could muster...
'No, sorry,' she paused for a moment and then smiled knowingly, 'Is it for taking medication?' she spoke...
"Yes it is," I replied, conspiratorially... Slyly, she handed me a bottle of water... All very surreal I thought as I walked back to my seat... Who were we hiding this from? I didn't know...
Off the train in Paddington I went to get the tube... It was delayed... We queued up like the good little people we were... Eventually it came... The tannoy spoke to us on the train: customer service update, it said... I am a customer, apparently, here to be updated...
Eventually I found myself back at the place... On entering, the cat greeted me, he was sat smoking a pipe on the settee...
"Hello Mark, and where have you been?" he spoke removing his pipe...
'Tenby,' I replied...
"Oh really," he said. "My family and I used to holiday down there when I was younger, lovely place. In fact, think I have some slides."
Bollocks... He set up the projector as I thought of ways to escape...
After three hours of cat slides - this is us on the beach, us outside our chalet, me being sick outside Sands Nightclub, open till 3am - I informed him that I had to be getting off for my gig...
The gig that night was in the Bedford... I like playing there... Although, as it's only two songs each set, I usually end up screwing up at least one of the sets... Does it matter? Not really... Do you? Yeah, okay...
Beer, I thought as I waited to play, I need beer... I went down the road to buy some cans and then came back: professional... Some people were playing when I returned... I wanted to explain what I could not say but decided against it... I just can't understand how some people do what they do and don't die of it, right there and then... Mind you, I suppose I understand it... "I ain't dead yet ma," the voice spoke. "But I sure do feel it sometimes..."
'Who said that?'
Some cliched gun slinging cowboy man beside me... It was I, he spoke emphatically... Get the fuck out of my face, I snarled... He refused... I told him to remove himself from my presence or else "shit" was gonna get nasty... He declined my offer.... I kicked him down the stairs... After this I went back to the place I was staying... The cat greeted me wildly at the door... "I've found more slides," he spoke, much amused...
Bastard knows what he's doing, I thought... I'm sure of it...
The Lifeboat Tavern
Tavern
25/06/13
I woke up on a sofa bed in the back room... Collecting my things I thought at the stupidity of travelling 200 miles to Tenby, only to come straight back the next day... Need to have a word with my agent, I thought as I prepared myself for the journey...
"Who booked this show?" I spoke into the microphone in the center of the room, seated on a spinny chair smoking a new brand of cigarette, created just for me (Wynn's silk slut)... 'You did,' came the reply... "Oh..."
When the chair stopped spinning I got off and made my way to the door...
Outside the sky was forming it's own special kind of ugliness; the type reserved solely for this time of year: that of the festival and the tennis... Passing the taxi men leering at the young girls walking around, I dropped down into the underground station...
On the train I opened my book.. The facts struck me hard... The walls were all ice cream and I was a god because I was not..., The thing, the reaching, the pretension involved: I swallowed another glass of water and looked to my left... Lou staring back at me... "You wanna watch it on that stuff, kid," he spoke soothingly... 'Okay Lou,' whatever you say... I moved along the carriage to get away from him...
Eventually (Hammersmith and City) I was spat out into Paddington station... I found my train and boarded.
As I walked along the length of it I looked at the roof and thought of all that wiring hidden up there... In one of the carriages there were even TV's in the backs of the seats... Fuck, I thought, how very strange... After a full inspection of the train I informed the driver that, though there were certain issues regarding the possible harm to the mindset, we would have to proceed regardless: Tenby needs me baby, I spoke as a complete fool on a train on a Tuesday...
Three hours later I got off to change in Swansea... During the wait for the next train I put on my blue suit, bought some chocolate and went out front for a cigarette... Outside there was a man laid on the ground with no top on, drinking a bottle of Lambrini... I thought at his seemingly complete lack of sentiment and his total command of that bit of earth climbing out of space, time and blah and then I went back into the station to get on the train... Vacant feeling... More wine...
Arriving into Narbeth I was greeted by Malcolm... I was doing a radio session for him up the road... We drove there in his car... When we arrived I noticed that there was a skip outside - it's a make or break with me when it comes to people and skips... You're either in the skip, grabbing at the useful stuff, or you're not... Malcolm was right in there... Good man... 4 packets of paper and a cardboard cut out later and we were in the studio... Malcolm made the teas and I overheard a conversation about some knob-head bloke doing something knob-headish recently... Morons all over it seems... I placed my pistol on the table and began to play... The session was good and then afterwards, Malcolm drove me to Tenby...
Arriving, I thought of how I liked Tenby... I then remembered a childhood holiday here, once when I was younger. A time when the woman who owned the hotel we were staying in accused my mum of pinching a bed sheet; something to do with me pissing on it and it needing to be cleaned... Thankfully, things have changed since then: my mum no longer a thief and me able to hold my milk a lot better.
Forgetting this I walked up the street to Nick's... Outside I pulled out the technology and attempted to made contact with him... 5 minutes later he appeared, half naked, at his front door, speaking with the vocal tones of a man just awoken at 7pm... Yes baby... We went inside and then everything began to speed up imperceptibly...
What followed went a little something like this:
Cat love... You know how it is... Drug of choice... A short stroll to the venue... Booze... A young lad waiting for his girlfriend to finish work... Songs... Television off... Blank looks... More booze... I have some money... Lets go up the road... He's a twat... I never realised... He's more McCartney than McCartney... Next bar... Jukebox... I was in the army... Chef... Doesn't know how to react... Flip flops... But what eyes... Bad joke... Back to the place... Wine and more wine and then the stumbling around the kitchen, trying to get the food in the correct orifice... The man-falling sound.... Attempt to revive... Not interested... Leave me here... Okay...
Upstairs I found the bed and began the attempt to sleep, not knowing if I'd done the right thing, or if anyone can do that, ever...
Probably not I thought as I fell asleep on the top floor, wondering what would happen if it all came down.
End...
Country Soul Sessions @ Nambucca
Holloway
24/06/13
Fictional account: I heard you sing, had to leave... And then, when in dream I awoke, I found you at the end of the runway... I didn't want to but I had to get on the plane... Luckily the last of that stuff was still around... I put on an old record and collected my things... I'm out of here, I thought to myself as I made my way down the stairs...
Leaving is a thing... Sometimes it stings, sometimes not so much... Climbing onto trains and watching it all dissipate, now that is a something which should be cherished...
If it's feasible I would probably say: best to avoid contact with the other human beings, make your way slowly and cling to the romance of the thing; at least while it's still around... Pretty soon it'll be off and all you'll be left with won't be worth bothering with, especially when the walls get small and all you have are questions... Place your luggage in the overhead racks and "hunker down" away from it all... Forget this is happening, ignore the advertisements, don't read the newspaper.... There will be a something soon a coming... At least that's what he said...
All of this confusion leading me to be getting off the train in Kings Cross station... They've been ripping it up now for ages: installing new roofs, moving bits of it around... Each time I arrive a new adventure in the ever evolving mould of 'where the fuck did they put the pissing toilets this time' ... Luckily I wasn't in need of bladder relief - I was in need of the underground system, though...
A little while later I arrived in Holloway... I passed the people as I walked up the street and they passed me... I was free of the thing... I was walking up the road and I didn't care, but I did, because I always do...
Closing their windows as I went I saw the people get interested and then feel it wrong for being so exposed. Their windows remained closed.
When I arrived at the bar I said hello to a man I thought I recognised... I got it wrong... I wondered at why and then I looked around the room... Old festival posters on the walls from the 90's... Feeble comfort found in wondering where all those bands got to... Same as reading old music magazine: these bands who were the thing, and now nobody knows or cares... It's a disgusting impulse in me and I'd like to remove it... This however, could take some time, I thought to myself as I continued walking...
In the toilet before performing I spoke to myself whilst pissing all over my shoes... Oblivious, the man beside me asked if I'd ever been to the end of it and back, all in one day... Get the fuck away from me, I spoke into my muzzle... There was a short interlude for more conversation and then I sang some songs... To my right, while playing, there was a cut out of Roy Rodgers... At that moment I felt just like Roy: locked into it, cold, blank and cardboard faced...
After playing I spoke to a nice man with glasses (there's always one, you just have to look closely).. Can't quite recall what we spoke about, although I do recall that half way through the conversation I suddenly noticed that there were chips in little bowls on the bar... At this I suddenly realised how hungry I was, and the conversation ended... I then began to make my way around the room, stealthily liberating as many chips as possible and making minimal conversation with each person who stood, gate keeper like, in front of the food...
After this I went to Mile End...
Mutual empathy and a feeling of not wanting to go to bed just yet in case I have one of those dreams again with the plane and the runway...
Beverley Folk Festival
Beverley
21/06/2013
"But of course," I slipped them into my bag and made for the exit. The thing about leading numerous separate lives is that sometimes they crossover; only, that is, if you're a disorganized idiot. Luckily, one of my six selves is not. Disposing of the goods I made my way to the bus station.
I like catching the bus, a man spoke to the woman next to him... I looked at him in the glass of the bus stop, wondering when was the last time he had a good look at himself. Probably quite recently, I thought, but with these people you never can tell if they've bothered to take it in or not, so you have to ask... Did you take it in numb nuts?! ... Yes... Good, thank you.. I was just checking.
When the bus arrived I got on and tried to bribe the driver, but he was having non of it - Bastard. I paid the full fair and made my way to the back of the bus to sleep between the men gazing out of the nobody... Nobody sleeps quite like me, I thought as I made myself comfortable between them...
A little while later I awoke to the sight of Beverley approaching. I collected my things and moved down the bus. As the bus slowed the driver asked me where my tent was, to which I responded: "who are you, the fucking tent police or something." It turns out he was not. I told him to mind his own business and got off the bus.
And there I was: Folk festival... People... Sun burnt... Relative sunshine... Food stalls... £1 potato salad...
I approached the food stall... "I have a pound, can I purchase your potato salad?" ... The girl looked me up and down... She then informed me that I had one of those faces, a fact which entitled me to a kids hot dog, usual price £1.50... Waves of extended pleasure... I moved away from the stall carrying my bounty (i'd picked one of them off the counter n'all)...
Noticing the time I made my way to the tent I was playing in... On entering a man asked to see my wrist band (they're always trying to get a glimpse of my wrist band)... I told him I didn't have one... He frowned and looked at me with a look I thought only my mother could project... You'll have to go get one then, he said, not at all too pleased... Sod it.. I snuck in round the side of the tent... Sneaking into my own gig... Thug life...
A little while later, I was in the back bit by the side of the stage... The organiser man passed and I inquired after the booze... No booze apparently... Probably for the best... A no smoking sign was then put down on the table... This is for you, the man spoke... Thank you that man, I put it into my bag...
Later I sang some songs, a man let me drink a bit of his can and I had a conversation with myself which lasted a bit longer than it should've... After this I got off the stage...
Outside the tent, like some kind of gorgeous mirage, stood my friend Carl... He was driving me back to York... I greeted him and then we went to find his car.... This was that and then we came down that hill where my dad told us, as kids, you can see the Minster on a clear day... Still think you're fibbing dad...
Arriving into York, I went to the Duchess... A band were playing that I wanted to see (The Babies)... At the bar I tried to buy a Guinness... The person behind the bar couldn't hear me so I had to point... Power of the paw... Then the lady arrived... This was good... We had some more booze and then The Babies began to play... You dance like a dad, she said...
I agreed and continued to dance.
The Bent Brief
Southampton
15/06/2013
Sometimes I wake up with the impulse... Not often though, when I'm away, is it so easy to pursue this impulse to it's inevitable conclusion: A bad haircut by my own fair hand. Asking for a pair of scissors in another's house is not always the best way to ingratiate yourself to your hosts. Luckily, on this day, there was a pair of scissors in the bathroom of the place so I didn't have to...
I began the process... Looking into the mirror I thought about a lot of things: coach travel, going home, food, Nabokov (not really), videos, the limits of my own appeal to people I have no interest in knowing, sleep and so on... Once the act was complete, I went down stairs, made my good byes (composed of relative truth and flat out, what you wanted to hear, fantasy) and then left by the front door (professional)...
In town I went into HMV... Something immensely satisfying about seeing Jamelia's 2003 album 'Thank You' (clever title) in the bargain bin. That very same album that we used to sell by the bucket load in Virgin when I was a 17, sneaking off to the toilet to sleep a little bit, sticking security tags in the bags of people I took a disliking too (such a wild and reckless youth I had on the high plains of the Designer Outlet food court in the early 2000's).
After this I walked down Southend High Street to the station. The train boarded, I made my way into the London... At one of the stops a bunch of blokes got on laughing and jeering; something to do with one of them and some "bird" the night before... I reached out and inserted a pencil into the main offenders left ear... He turned and went for me... I avoided his advance with a click of my fingers...
Vaporous sound - image of a baby penguin in Sunday newspaper magazine.
I then awoke on a National Express to find the girl in-front of me having a panic attack... Her friend got the bus to stop and we waited for the ambulance; the people behind me showing a maximum of no compassion... Wankers...
Again I fell asleep and then I woke up in Southampton... A man directed me where to go... I got lost... I thought to go into Asda and ask a member of staff... 'The Bent Brief?' she sneered mechanically... Oh fuck it... I bought a 6 pack of cereal bars and left in an unnoticeable huff...
Six cereal bars later I arrived at the venue... The gig was good but my mind walked off half way through to someplace different... When finished I went outside to find it... 'Would you like some MDMA?' someone asked... Erm... I'm not sure that would be the best idea... Have you seen my mind?
I then spent the next three sodding hours thinking about asking the man if I could have some MDMA, whilst trying not to sing the Pixies.... I know it's not the best idea but fuck it; with this hair any kind of personality enhancement, however vacuous, is most welcome...
Luckily I avoided indulging... It was then time to leave... Outside Tim offered me some bread... Yes baby, I would like some bread... A little while later we walked through "that street," attempting not to make eye contact... Humanity in all it's glory, fucking itself senseless with the booze and the food; hanging off the cash machine's, all exposed and sneering violently at any "fucker" who "looks at mi bird..."
"Excuse me sir... My eyes are averted... Remove yourself from my viewpoint..."
And then, later, after fucking around with a banjo badly (sorry), I fell asleep on the floor, in a room with the men and the takeaway boxes strew around like something poetic, but I had no words left to say so it ended like this...
Preview Club @ The RNA
Southend on Sea
14/06/2013
Waking up with the need to leave. I did, and then, upon boarding the bus, I fell asleep again and did the dose all over William Kennedy... Not that he seemed too bothered by this though. He just kept wheeling out the wisdom stuff every time I would drift back into wakefulness from some disgusting, nightmarish dream: You are on the bus to a place you have been before. Contained in your bag are more books than you can read and all you can think about is when you'll be coming back... Dream reality smudge of a thousand dull, tap out of time, talk to loud and get in my way, face fucks...
Getting lost are we?
Yes...
Train time and then I arrived into London, with it's spittified gob of confused tourists, travelling kids and ambling crazies... I seated myself in the internet cafe and began to type the previous... After this I went for the tube. In pursuit, as always, were the fans.. Snarling, I turned on them: "Get the fuck away from me..!"
On the train I watched as they disappeared from view... Sudden feeling of being unloved... I decided to stop the train... Finding that I could not, I thought it best to sit down and just continue with the thing... Seemed like the right thing to do... I then overheard someone trying to sell something under the pretext that their mum likes it... Fuck... Not my mum I don't think...
Your mamma...
Arriving into Southend I found the wife in The Railway... I grasped at his potential aura and then made to leave... On the way out a man informed me that it would be better for the both of us if I stayed... I think he was under the impression that I was unsure of what I was letting myself in for... Been there done that... Get away from me now...
At the Preview I did the thing... A drunk man asked if I needed any lead guitar... No thank you... He wouldn't let go of my arm... I imagined doing something damaging to his person...
Luckily I can control these impulses... Either that or I'm permanently stunted by this continuous will to express myself physically, whilst having to endure the dullness of people who impose themselves on me when I am someplace far away, staring at the floor, avoiding eye contact. I suppose it's fair enough though; makes up for all those drug induced blahs I put on the people when I was off my tiny little box, in the living room of a someplace, far off, where the walls were plastered and we were too...
Cheap line...
Your outline... It's all I can see... Step into the light... Clarify this piece of information... I am sorry but I just can't take it anymore... Slumped outside BHS... Surrounded by the peoples... Completely loose on that aching need to fuck it all into next week...
Afterwards we went back to the place... The question of why I didn't play the blues anymore, came up: 'It gets them into it, breaks the set up.' Okay, yes. I agreed, reluctantly (disengaged from the conversation I was in Paris making a mess of myself on the boulevard so an' blah, drinking wine, wearing no tie)... Limited appeal... I attempted to put it to bed... Upstairs I sank into the sheets and thought fuck all about doing anything for anybody ever again...
Ended recollection... I forgot to mention the disco upstairs... It was Lynne's 50th (It's always chuffing Lynne's 50th isn't it?!)... I strayed in and thought about the possibility of blending in at the buffet... No chance... I turned back and noticed an old woman casually tapping her feet, looking lost in front of a paper plate and a plastic glass of something or other... I thought it was my mother... Luckily it wasn't... I didn't really fancy asking her what she was doing in Southend...
I walked away feeling something cold, not forthcoming...
I didn't want, and so I didn't do, over a glass of cheap whatever, when the sky is all black and bored of itself and you are walking through some Spanish place with the flowers and the whatever which goes on as it goes until it stops...
The Blues Bar
Harrogate
13/07/2013
This one with the blues band... I was collected in the van... Intro...
In Harrogate we arrived... Dipping into my bag of tricks I produced the new magazine... Have one of these, I said.. We've already got one, they said... Not this one you haven't... Oh, okay...
Apparently there was a Doors tribute on up the road... That's what the people said... Little did they know, I was actually the one who was fronting the Doors tribute... I was doing my usual "walk on, gyrate, mutter something nonsensical into the microphone and stagger off for a 50 minute keyboard break" bit... Now, I know it's probably not quite as it was, but I like to see us (the doors tribute) as a natural progression of the band, had Mr Morrison not done the dying thing...
But that's all a cover up anyway; he's not dead, he lives in my new house... I know this because I can see him right now as I'm writing this... Currently he is sat watching The Munsters in his pants... Slacker...
Anyway, due to this, I managed to do two gigs simultaneously... Worked okay I think (got paid twice if anything)... And I kept overhearing the people who had been at the Doors tribute gig, saying all about it been rubbish or something... Luckily they didn't recognize me... I took this as as sign that they hadn't really been there - give it some time, 20 years from now, they'll all be walking round saying how they were there, in the back of some bar in Harrogate, taking notes, forming groups, witnessing history...
And then, in the aftermath, all that'll be left will be innumerable bands with absent lead singers, endless keyboard solos and drug addictions, populating the pages of our least favorite music rags which we read anyway because we're sadistic like that; especially when we're away from wherever and lost somewhere; but I can see Tesco so at least I can read up on the decline of the whatever; and that'll make me feel better...
Won't it?
The Habit
York
12/06/2013
Falling out of mind and into the place once more, I decided against most of it... At the side a man was playing piano... He was of the "loud and what's it called" variety; I decided to ignore what he said... He was probably a nice person really but I had neither the time nor the inclination to get to know him... My fault really... Another great link in the chain of network fuckery, on the route to obscurity, averted... Get out of my life...
After this I began to play... It was passable and then Alex played some; he of the man face and the stature. I retreated to the back to assemble my thoughts... At the bar I noticed Mr Power... Hello Mr Power, I said... He replied in a similar kind of greeting manner... Shit, maybe this conversation/human interaction stuff isn't as hard as I previously thought... The conversation continued... It was good, and it made me think that some people are wankers and some people are not... I then realized that this was impossible...
Outside there were people doing the outside thing... I reached for the ale and ambled in the direction of the exit... At the door I saw a sign, in my minds eye, that read: "Gavin has some kittens for sale in Heworth," I made a mental note to remember this, even though I can't get a cat - but I will do one day... I need me one of them furry swine... I then thought that I should update the media... Let the fans know... Build a personal relationship... I then sought some understanding in the man who wouldn't go away...
At the bar I was told to lower the volume... I did this and then threw myself on the floor... On hitting the "deck" (man speech baby) I began to writhe in that way that only I can do... Then someone handed me a magazine and I read the following: I can make a lot of noise with my voice and a good piano... At this I reached for the piano and began to "rip the shit out of it..."
"Calm down Lidal," someone said...
"Excuse me," I looked up, wide eyed and made up... The people around me not too impressed...Obviously they'd not seen my alter ego #56: Lidal Richard, before... Balls... I began to snarl... The big men arrived... I thought it best to leave...Mr Power handed me my leopard skin coat and we made our way to 1331 to be served and not to be kicked out for the past offences.. It was glorious...
And then I woke up, next day, with the following, scribed on my hand in black biro: 21st September, there'll be butties and everything...
Everything you say?
I'm there...
Long Division Festival
Wakefield
08/06/2013
Picked up, off the floor that is... Sam was driving, which was nice, and every time I had a cigarette I'd catch my own eye in the wing mirror like a massive tosser... So hard not to do this for some reason... Not intentional though... And then I remembered when we were in that band, driving around in that blue van, and it was all exciting: Saturday afternoon driving through town...
What happened to that? I fucked it up.... Course you did...
Anyway, I like playing in Wakefield... You say this and people think you're lying... But it's true... I don't know why really... Limited explanation: it just is... Job interview face expressed at five in the morning trying to sleep it off...
When we arrived, Sam parked outside the place and began to take the equipment into the venue.. As he did, I asked him what to do, he told me to watch the car... Okay, I said... Outside the place there was a bouncer person... He looked at me funny... I attempted to avoid eye contact... He then said something about: we'll watch the car if you want to help out your mate... Oh, okay, I replied... I didn't know what to do... Blind panic... Slowly I began to take stuff out of the car to appear busy... What do I do? Do I do leave the car or not?! The risk involved... Luckily Sam came back... I asked him what to do... He told me to take the stuff out of the car... Okay...
Awkwardness and then, with the equipment in, Sam went to park the car... Abandonment... I went upstairs and spoke to the lady in charge... She paid me some money and pointed out the free drinks..
In the room next door I could hear a band starting up... I decided to go and investigate... Noise filth and a man tied up in a microphone lead... I lowered my top hat and went off for more booze... Along the way my stomach began to question when the eating would occur... I told it to wait... Needy little shit...
Just before it was my turn to play, Sam produced some free pie vouchers.. Oh lord, I think I said... The stomach also emitting a sigh of relief... I accepted them and then went off to get ready... Make up applied, cocaine ingested I made my way to the stage...
I began to play... Looking up I saw some faces that I knew and then, later, me and Sam went to the pie place... Along the way we heard a rumour that they had run out of pies... On hearing this our pace quickened drastically: having a free pie voucher and not being able to redeem it seeming to be a near catastrophe... It still is now, if I'm honest; but I'm not, so it doesn't bother me...
Nurse!!!
As we entered the place of pie it became clear that it was all true... Despair... Luckily though, the women who was running the record stall gave us each a free fairy cake... In retrospect it was no compensation for a pie; but, whenever I am offered something for free a mild euphoria always takes over and I can deal with almost any situation... Fairy cake pie buffer...
After this upsetting ordeal we made our way to a place called Warehouse-something-or-other (a number as I recall); The Fall were playing and we wanted to hear them... This occurred and then afterwards we were stood outside - paid, confused and sweating profusely - when a young girl came up and asked for a drag on my fag: reluctantly I obliged... Not so bad except she drunkenly walked off with it... Pissed off I began to pursue her: "Give me back my fag," I quaked...
School flash back: End of field... Bag stolen... Despair... Helpless nothing blah... Improved reality untruth: I removed my bowie knife and held it to his throat... Spineless fuck... I kicked him in the balls and waited for him to stagger to his feet, before I had another go... Prick...
And I wasn't playing in The Stooges; and I wasn't excited by the doormen; and I definitely did not expect, when I was 15, to be 26 years of age, playing a festival in Wakefield, and to be completely unable to hold a conversation without saying the word baby, continuously - even to a complete stranger...
And we end with what I've just received: an email from a reviewer person, saying: "I think I may have stretched things as far as I can now with reviews for your prolific output, having run out of things to say."
Crushed beneath the weight of nothingness blah, another man from the midlands declines to pass judgement...
Probably for the best..
Comrades Club
Heckmondwicke
07/06/2013
Sat in the room waiting to move the things... I didn't know how else to begin, late with sleep and the feeling that I should be doing something else; I played that Grandpaboy song one more time... After this I picked my way downstairs... It wasn't my house... Someone had come to pull up the carpet... I heard them, and then I heard the dog begin to bark... Downstairs I explained to them that the dog was okay... One of them looked at me, not entirely convinced... I know that look, I thought... Oh he's fine... What? That thing with the teeth and the murder in the eyes? Oh yeah, sure...
After this exchange I went to catch the 843 to Malton; I was going there to film a video, Sam said it was the place... I said okay... When we got to Malton we went into the supermarket and I began to do the dance...To the side there was the man with the tape recorder... I asked him what he was doing: picking up the vibe, he replied... Moron...
Once the video had been recorded we hung around and had the free food... The thing about hanging around is that sometimes things just happen... Depends where you're standing though I suppose, luckily for us we were standing in Malton (New sentiment expressed)...
Food done, Sam drove me to the bus stop - I had a big gig in Heckmondwike that night, you see... On the bus I sat next to a man. At some point he got off; or maybe I did, either way, I'm pretty sure neither of us were wearing Joe Strummer masks... I'm near certain of this fact...
In the venue I did the usual:
Hello, I'm Mark, sorry I'm late, nice place you got here, sorry I came (for you, not me, maybe me), if I stand here will someone buy me a drink, no takers? Okay, outside for a cigarette then...
The men on the steps, things getting interesting (vaguely): my family used to own this pub in London (famous one I can't recall), Shane MacGowan, blah blah blah... Suddenly though, it began to go all wrong and sordid (the conversation that is)... Bugger... Shall I laugh along? Yeah I guess so... No pride... Pure shame... I am a horrible person...
After this it was my turn to blah some songs to the people... "Spoken word stuff is it? I'll add some delay.." Smoke Machine behind to punctuate and add a little atmosphere... Definite taste of a mid 20's jazz club.. I think to order a Tom Collins... He arrives, soaked in booze... Tom, get the fuck off my stage...
Done, the crowd goes mild... A man buys me a drink.. And then I am back on the train, reading Lolita, approaching Leeds station, hoping that there won't be anyone I know who gets on the train... How's it going? What you reading? Two questions I wasn't crazy about answering about at the time...
When I got into York I walked home... On the way back I saw a cat and noticed all the expanse of everything was in it's little paws as it crossed the road... I was glad about this...
The Habit
York
05/06/2013
Fictional beginnings... We all wake up with the limitations.. At least that's what he told me... Personally, I denied it to myself...However, on discovering it was all my fault, I had to go back, head in hands, explaining that when I said: "no more, no more," I actually meant: "don't stop, on pain of death do not stop, even if no one is that bothered and all the books on your shelf make you want to curl up and die, don't stop..." But he was gone before I had the chance... Isn't that always the way?
Yeah I suppose... Anyway, last night I played in Wakefield; but right now I need to recall Wednesday, for no reason other than it's something to do on a Sunday afternoon...
Wednesday... I did the arriving thing... Gav was at the bar... He gave me a piece of leather to patch up my jacket... I accepted... He then called me a scruffy cunt... I agreed, recalling the night before, in dream, shouting the word cunt, very loud, into some kind of endless nothingness...
Strange that, I thought... 'Possibly prophetic of your future,' she said.. Who said that..? 'It's me, Debbie Harry...' Debbie, what the fuck are you doing out of the house. I told you, it's not safe out here "on the street..." 'Oh shut up Mark, I can do as I please...' I know, I'm sorry, I just get very protective of you baby; people can be right bastards you know... 'Fuck sake Mark, of course I know that, I fronted a band called Blondie in the 70's, been there done that...' Sorry Debbie... 'That's okay Mark...'
With that she evaporated and I set up the PA...
Later some people played and then we had to stop... I told the people of this fact... They demanded more noise... I looked down at the floor and then up... Strange wish to be swimming through a vat of treacle screaming: I wanna wanna be a male model... No, sorry... A woman told me that I was a joke... I agreed and then I walked home remembering the jackdaw (or whatever it was) I saw. walking backwards up the motorway the night previous...
When I got in Debbie was no where to be seen... Probably down the Willow with Michael Stipe again, I thought... The thought of this upset me... I wanted someone to talk to... Fuck it... I made some tea and went to bed...
Next day, Debbie was still no where to be seen... I thought to inform the authority's, and was just about to, when a sudden banging at the door stopped me in my tracks (smack tracks)... I opened it... And there was Debbie, on the back step: "I forgot my key," she mumbled mildly... 'That's okay Debbie, never you mind... how was your night?' "Rubbish," she said, "Michael cut out early and went to Fibbers with some whore he met in Dusk; while I ended up at a house party in the Groves, snorting coke with some kid with a floppy fringe who said he really wanted to get into the 'industry'"
'Oh Debbie... It's not safe out there...' "I know.." 'Next time I see that Michael Stipe I'm going to give him a piece of my mind...'
Slip Inn
York
02/06/2013
Dead inside? No thank you...
"Got me thinking; are you guys going for the big push?"
Guy's? Why thank you for noticing... There are many of me and we are all menly men... Menly? Is that a word?
Yes... However, at present, certain things prevent me from taking you up on what it is you are offering... I do apologize... I'm sure there are others you could pursue, around the youth clubs and such... Your's graciously Mr Nick E Rush...
Sunday
I arrived at the Slip Inn with the usual trepidation... Definition: feeling of agitation at something that may happen; a trembling motion (definition via the internet, my dictionary missing the necessary page due to me eating it recently, for a video in Whitby), one which prevented me from blending into the back ground... "Who is that trembley man?" they said... 'Get away from me you bitch whores,' I replied, 'I have a condition...'
The fear was getting to me, I went out the back for a smoke... Outside there was a big dog off the leash.. About turn... Dog's freak me out; as do a lot of things... Sudden realization: the toilet is outside, if I am to take my necessary piss before playing I am going to have to pass that dog... Luckily, I have no shame and decided to walk up the road to The Swan for a piss...
On arriving at The Swan I found there was a big dog there also, right in the doorway... The shame... Gingerly I stepped past him and made for the toilet, head down so as to avoid eye contact with the bar staff...
"What are you doing boy? Using our facilities?" ... 'Ever so sorry sir, only I'm playing a little music in the pub down the way; and, well, how do I put this, there was a dog blocking the route for the toilet you see, and as I'm of a rather nervous disposition - and a little scared of dogs, I might add - I just couldn't face passing the aforementioned hound so that I could use the lavatory before my performance.' ... "Get out" ... Indignant I decided to leave - the trials of the artist...
Luckily though, they didn't see me...
A little while later I was back in the Slip... People came, which was nice... Dave, who purchased me a booze, he must have known the death-lack-in-the-soul-contemplating-dissipation that was my mindset at the time; either that or he's just a nice bloke... I give him a bit of both, intuitive mother swine... Joe Coates: gorgeous whore... Them Fawn Spot brothers also; they tried to steal me away - offer of cheap thrills and momentary blood rushes - I declined, did they not see I had a job to do, one to be done with dignity and restraint?
No they did not, and neither did I for that matter...
And last night the man from the gig (not this one), he laid the advice on me... And I did the thing; the nodding thing; the: yes sir, no sir, I agree with you sir, thing... It wasn't good... The advice not upholding I watched as he informed a few of the younger ones what was what...
Turning back to me: You're a bit different to last time you came here...
Yes sir... And you're exactly the same...
The Fulford Arms
York
31/05/2013
"In the strictest sense, and even with it all stripped back, you still sound like a shit." Someone said that... I wasn't even around but they did.. I know this because I engaged one of 'the boys' to follow him round...
Who said that?
"You"
No I didn't,
"Yes you did"
I deny it profusely...
"Get off the fridge..."
No, not that man... Trying to pull this one together... A sense of place, necessary...
The Fulford Arms.. Pub, on the road out, with a stage.. I arrived before I began; and then, when the people began to appear, I just sort of lost all ability to not fall into the void of the nothingness blah which is the home, often, of the one who forgot what the point was in the first place, so yeah.. Luckily, Gavin, the man from Boro, was going to the supermarket... I tagged along...
In the supermarket he asked aloud where the sandwiches were... Bowie at the side: 'I think there over there mate.' "Shut up David, when was the last time you ate anyway; we've read your press, we know your ways." He smiled and then held out both fists: 'palms up gentlemen..' He then dropped a wrap (not that kind) into each of our paws... What's this... 'The good shit baby, no sandwich necessary...'
After this it all descended into shit and stupidity; but that was okay.. I didn't really have much else to do that evening... Nothing that made any much sense anyway...
Would have hated to be our taxi driver that night...
Dullards...
The Victoria Inn
Colchester
29/05/2013
Having been to places before it's often nice to return to them, sometimes though though it's not... Colchester is one of the places I like to return to... Powerful intro material once again...
Yeah, but what happened?
In the morning we woke up to the sound of John Fogarty returning from the shop.... He'd just bought all the sausages: 25 (estimate) of the bastards....
Now, most 'men', confronted with this much meat in the morning, would generally shrink away in despair (a true fact, one I just made up) but as me and Daniel are professionals we showed no fear and made light work of the beasts... After this we left...
An hour later we arrived on the station platform, hungover, still attempting to digest the meat... Never again, said I... Leave the pig be.. He has done nothing to me and yet still I use him to fuel my own obscurity, often... I'm sorry pig...
When the train arrived, we got on to it (professionals).... We were headed for The Victoria Inn, Colchester... I like it there... The people are nice and they provide the food for the muso - not that I was in need of any at the time but still, it's nice to know someone is going to food you up... Probably make a better job of it than I usually do anyway; a fact proved in Brighton a few days previous...
Random insertion of possible interest: I am what I would like to forget, often, and when the time has come to go do the thing, I just end up sitting down, half way into town, looking at the street, thinking it would all be so much simpler if I had some money and a panda suit...
Blah...
That night we played to the people... A drunk man attempted to imitate Daniel's voice... I fought back with my own imitation of the imitator's voice (Geordie)... At this point things turned ugly... I told him to back off... He told me to calm down and get off the fridge... What are you talking about, what fridge? (I was on the fridge)...
Eventually Daniel managed to coax me down... "I've found more booze," he said... 'Really, what flavour?' "All the flavour's," came his reply... I tried to explain to him that this couldn't be the case... He laughed and then punched me in the face...
Next day I woke up on a train back to York... Fear, confusion and a lot of strange things written in the notebook...
Old Queens Head Open Mic
Brixton
28/05/2013
Waking up on a floor in Brighton, I could hear the rain outside...
But there was also another sound...
Now before I proceed I should just say that, in my previous word thing, I completely forgot to mention that accompanying me on these gigs was Daniel Lucas, AKA: Mr Boss Caine, GT Turbo, the voice that launched a thousand low flying aircraft...
(Really? Well it might have... I can't be everywhere all the time, now can I? Even though, whilst writing this in York, I am also in Paris: smoking cheap cigarette's on the Rue whatever, playing hell with the waiter's, bellowing at the top of my voice: where is my gin you cheap baby swine, bring me my gin?!?)
And he, of such a voice, was the other sound I could hear that morning... Powerful tone's emanating from that lump, beneath the blanket on the sofa... Hello Daniel... I got up and quickly ushered Rod Stewart from the room.. I know that sometimes Daniel finds it unnerving waking up to The Rod himself, in the room with him... Never a good sight first thing in the morning... "Don't worry Daniel, I'll deal with it..."
Having removed The Rod I then said hello to Michael.... We had the coffee and then he produced the festival rain mac things... We put them on and then headed to the station...
When we got into London we went to Camden... Spring roll for me and Daniel, and then I remembered coming here as a kid and how excited I was by it all... I also remembered some bloke off the tele buying me a drink in The Enterprise... Fame and glory... He was probably just trying to get into my pants though... There all the same these TV people; they think it's all about the lower region's but they never once look you in the eye and say: 'what's it all about Mark?' .... Oh I'd tell ya baby, but then I'd have to kill ya... Not at all softly, neither...
Enough of that, after the Camden excursion we went to someplace in South London on the train... We were staying with a man called John Fogarty... Yes, the one and only... On arriving we said our hellos and then Daniel went off into the other room to make the beautiful music with John, whilst I stayed in the living room and tried to work out if you really could see Wembley from his window, and that if you could, if it actually interested me... I decided that it did... Strangely...
Later we went to the bar in Brixton... I felt about 12... Free pizza for the performers and there was a drunk woman who kept apologising for her drunken boyfriend.... "Don't worry baby," I said in a haze of intoxication. "Some people just can't hold their booze." It was at this point that the walls began to melt... Looking up I should have known it from the start... The place had 'melty wall bar' written all over it (strange way to decorate a place, I thought)...
In fear of this I went outside for a cigarette... On returning I was told to play... I did my bit and then afterwards we went back to John's... The street looking different at night and all the people at the bus stop not seeming to be of this earth, even though that they were..
When we got in we had a beer and I demanded my shoes to be dry by morning... In retrospect I should have known that this wouldn't have worked; but the time though I thought it was worth a try, what with the walls been all drippy and the fact that we were staying with a bloke called John Fogarty, I figured I could instruct my shoes to shed moisture.....
The Ranelagh
Brighton
27/05/2013
I was on a bus. Arriving into London, I got off. Usual train kerfuffle. Great intro...
On arriving into Brighton I went around the shops and pubs putting out copies of Dirty Work (issue 3)... This, and they, got me some very funny looks... That was alright though, it's to be expected... Besides if they'd looked interested then that would've really freaked me out... "You wanna read it? ... Fuck!"
After this I decided I was hungry... To fend this off I went into each shop I saw that I thought would have a reduced to clear section... As usual this took me about an hour and a half... It's not quite 'bow and arrow hunting on the high-plains, slay a beast and take it home for tea' is it? But that's alright, I like to see myself as more of a forager anyway... My masculinity not needing to be proved... Although I did have to beat an old lady off of a 'down to 55p' prawn salad in the co-op (we've all done it, don't lie... That's mine!)... Tough out here on the road...
Anyway...
As I walked up St James's street I passed a man doing a drawing on the floor... It looked good... I thought to tell him so, but that's a lie.. Not sure why I wrote that... What I actually did was walk past him eating reduced to clear chicken, feeling ill and sentimental... Further up the street I arrived at the Ranelagh...
I didn't want to be there and I couldn't be bothered... Curse my stupid fucking ego, I thought to myself... No one is going to get it... I am going to stand in the corner of this room and bellow my nonsense at 15 (at best) strangers who are going to look straight back through me as if I've just poured lighter fluid into there dish washer at five in the morning, wearing a blond wig, singing the Maltese national anthem when they weren't expecting any visitors... 'Jeremy?! What is he doing!?'
Hang on... I thought you didn't want people to like it? Erm... Sorry... I just need to confer with my stupid self... Of course I do... Why not make it more palatable then? Erm... I'm not sure what to say...
Move along...
It's a nice bar though the Ranelagh; beer and stuff; also they have pictures on the walls of dead blues guys... On entering I said hello to the bar staff and stuck my stuff in the corner (liar, it's a wonder they even knew you were there)... 10 minutes later three "lads" walked in.... Drunk as very drunk things they ordered three drinks...."Don't you think you've had enough," said the bar lady... 'I never go into a pub drunk,' the loudest one replied... Personally I'm near certain that that was an outright lie... Backed up at the time by his handing over ten pounds for the drinks, saying keep the change... The round costing £11... A fact the bar lady took great pleasure in mentioning... Dumb fuckers...
But enough of that... Lets finish it off... Here is what happened:
I played... Some people came down who I knew (good people)... A baby screamed (not my fault)... A man said that he didn't understand a word of it... I wished myself away... The beer began to flow... Toilet trips... Awkward conversation... Another man said he didn't understand a word of it neither (really? not a word of it)... The night finished... Payment... I accepted the money with an apology... We flagged a taxi... I looked at the light's on the sea front from the car, they looked nice... We indulged in one more beer... Went to Mike's... Listened to The Replacements... Passed out on the floor...
Glory...
Platform 3, West Riding
Dewsbury
26/05/2013
I awoke to the burning sensation... Someone the night before... The trick played again... Pretty sure also that I didn't get in till quite late... This I could tell by the manner in which the clothing was strewn around the room...
Upside and down I reached for my glasses... One lense fell out, I scrambled for it, the other hung, cold and calculating... Bastard... Next I reached for the phone... Missed call's from Dave... I began to type: 'Dave, what time do you want me baby...' He replied... I got up and showered... Catching a glimpse of my face in the mirror looking dead eyed... You horrendous egotist fiend... Flash back to night before...
Dancing (sort of) in crowded bar-type club.. Man with camera... Who, what and why...
Deary me... There may be evidence... I checked the media... Non so far; but these things they have a way of coming out at a later date - often when you are most at a distance....
'What on earth have you been reading?' ... Me? ... 'Yes you...' ... Oh, a bit to much of the man who keeps it clean... I'm not so sure it's quite my thing really. 'Nah me neither... Proceed.'
After the usual I did the next; a non too brisk walk into town (I'm always running late). Plenty of time to begin with - so much so that you let it slide - and then you end up like this: puff eyed and hobbling, frantic to make the thing before it gets too late, cursing your own lack of commitment to the cause... I made it though; just in time... Thank Christ (or something similar)...
On the train I got seated by the window... A lady asked what was in my carrier bags... Everything, I replied as I handed her a copy of Dirty Work (the zine thing I'd just started putting out at the time)... She attempted conversation... I declined... She then began to read it... Half way through the journey, having finished skim reading as much as she could take, she handed it back saying something incredibly non-committal in reference to it... I imagined myself away and found myself, 31/05/2013, on stage at the Fulford, not wanting to continue and looking up to see all the faces that I knew but I just can't do it today...
I brought it back, no need for that...
Arriving into Dewsbury, I looked from the window... The week ahead stretched out like one long list of excuses kept hidden; impotent until they were needed... I got off the train and went to find something to drink... In the bar I recognised some of the faces... Others that I did not recognise looked through me strangely...
Outside, the face's were absorbing the sun... I sat down at a table.. A lady asked if I was there to play... I said yes... She asked what I played... I struggled, as usual, to explain... Then the band began to make the noise... The man going off on one about being in Blackpool and a shark fighting a wrestler bloke... At the back I caught a glimpse of the kid... Look on his face: confused disgust... I'm not so into you neither baby...
After the band it was my turn, I 'took to the stage...' 8 songs in - going okay but the majority disinterested (always the way is it not) - a man came up and suggested I play a Bob Dylan song to get the audience on side... I thanked him for his advice but declined... I doubt it would have helped... I was too far out in the murky waters... Besides I wasn't sure if I wanted the audience on side anyway... What a confused statement that is Marko... Yes it is... Try living with it...
Later on, two one-man-bands who played Beatles covers, played... After them I decided to make my escape... I got the train and made my way back to York... Bank Holiday Sunday or something... The streets filled with innumerable knobheads, takeaway boxes, piss cans and bin bags exploded; red faced couples copulating furiously, short skirts and blokey blokes - the whole bit...
I disappeared into the deluge...
And then, 5 hours later, drunken and incomprehensible, I went up to the lady and said: I'm ruined, can we leave.. She gave me that look...
The prospect of a National Express at 9.50 not looking too good...
The Habit
York
25/05/2013
Bollocks, and then I woke up... Drunk... Dragged from sleep, the arse end of... Strange dreams... I made the move into town, once again thinking how long to be sleeping..?
At the corner I exchanged fluids with the man...Limited exposure will produce lasting effects, he said... I should never have read that book on Johnny Thunders...
Arriving...
On stage, and then I realised it was not... A few of the crowd to the right... They left... I guessed it was important... The drink began to flow... And then Gav at the back said everything as it was... I thought this was a good thing...
Afterwards I left to drink some more... Someone put something very hot on my hand... I was instructed to lick it... It was a strange time and then I ended up in one of those nightclub places (possibly incorrect definition), dancing to something bad and watching as everyone left without saying goodbye to each other...
Later I got into bed as it got light...
It wasn't quite as I'd read, before in the books....
Fibbers
York
23/05/2013
Limited sketch... The man behind me sounding to be commentating upon the action on the screen..
'Are you playing?' I was asked... "I was..." 'Ah, we missed you...' ... And then it was discovered that the main act had overlooked the free food... We made to rectify this mistake....
Afterwards I walked home drunk, probably telling my self that it was important not to stop... Importance and then I tripped... On a curb or something... And all the house's looked the same...
The Habit
York
22/05/2013
I walked from the house and made my way into the town... That's what I did... On the way I thought about doing less and the advantages... I didn't bother with the old stuff; instead I clung to the idea that you just make the thing over and over until it's no more...A man from across the street agreed... Thank you Henry... Would you like to be involved in this one?.. No ta... He pedaled past on his three speed racing bike thing on his way to the coast... I wished him luck... He did the sign behind his back... Bastard...
Hitting the town I explained to the man, when I arrived, that I'm always late... 15 minutes is the usual but I couldn't tell him this beforehand or else I would have been even later still... I also apologised for the use of the phrase 'hitting the town,' "I suppose it's just a cheap trick," he surmised... Good word... But what does it mean..? He walked away... I felt ashamed at my lack of knowledge... I sometimes wish that more people would feel the same... Feel same... The grammar book put away...
Later at the bar that night a man instigated a conversation which saw me stretch the limits of my own pretension to breaking point .. It wasn't good.... I was embarrassed about it even this morning when I awoke... Awoke been the archetypal word (possibly misplaced)... Did I swallow a dictionary last night... No that was me, Michael replied... But one thing I did stick to was the idea of not getting too precious with the thing... Enough dullards in this world without paying too much attention...
I dashed it off, posted it on the social media and hit the town... I didn't care that it wasn't important... Soon enough it'll come to me...
And that is my problem...
Shut the far cupboard @ Odd Bar
Manchester
19/05/2013
Shit fuck what? ... Yes... Welcome... "What are you doing here?" 'I'm not sure...' Christ... Wait... I reached for the made up correspondence... Scraping lettuce leaves from my teeth I recited the following:
Bradford post office people recently breaking into one of a selection of A5 envelopes, sent to one Mr Mansfield of Bradford... I guess they thought they were suspect... On opening one they found 7 copies of a leaflet thing called Dirty Work... Having disposed of the contents they then sent the envelope on with a note of apology... Proceed at will....
I gasped... Reserving the right to not give a toss about anything what is not in front of me, because I am a selfish bit of 75 percent water (maybe) on a floaty circle rock in a place called 'space' (who named it that anyway, I think it deserves a grander name), I decided to ignore it and go to Manchester....
Editors note: Getting to the point is not one of Mark's strongest points... A trait he believes is acceptable on account of that Miller blokey... At some point we plan to lay the beast in his grave... Give us time...
Arriving into Manchester I went to find the record shops... In one of the shops there was a man asking something about the thing he was buying... I've forgotten what it was... He probably said: 'yeah, I really dig the cultural context of this piece. Hey aren't you Mark Wynn?' ... I ran away... Can't get no peace out here on 'the road' (the road.. oh yes, the sodding road.. tough out here on the road)...
The man from the record shop pursued me... At the corner I took him down... 'Goddamn stalker swine... I've got a question for you... Do you like Slade?!?' I screamed into his lughole... He responded mutely... I thought not... Why will people not realise that there is more to Slade than that one Christmas song... He began to get freaked out... "What on earth are you taking about you fuck..." I let go and he ran off... I think I went too far... No matter...
Later on I arrived at the Odd Bar... There were sandwiches for the acts, incredible behavior... After over eating on the food, I went outside and lit a cigarette... A man of the ruined variety came up to me and said that he thought I looked like Leo Sayer... Thank you very much... He then asked me if I would go get him so water.. I ignored this and asked if he liked Slade.... He responded incorrectly to my question... I took him down...
Someone has to teach these swine a lesson... Mark.? Yes... You're on... Oh... Terribly sorry... I went back upstairs to play... After the show I went to meet the train... We met awkwardly and then we were gone... Strange movement at the edge of the picture... I adjusted the set... Something was wrong with the connection...The phrase: it's an empty world innit, flashed up on the screen... I decided it was time to leave and go outside...
Things were continuing at an alarming rate...
The Bull and Fairhouse,
Wakefield
17/05/2013
Hello Paul.. This one in the place it was best not to be...
I seated myself at the back of the train and looked out of the window... As we arrived into Leeds a few people got on the train with shopping bags and babies... I shuffled in my seat and recalled before when I had been sat reading aloud from a black book with a yellow cover whilst the woman from the coffee place cleared up around me...
Getting off the train in Wakefield I decided to go take a piss... I could have waited till the venue really but something told me that it would be more newsworthy if I went right away...
Possible proof: As I walked into the toilet I saw a slumped man in one of the cubicles... He looked up and spoke the following: 'Can I help you..?' ... "Yes I think that you can," my reply obscured by the passing trains outside... A few minutes later I left the toilet fingering my booty (make of that what you will)....
Removed sentence re-inserted for clarity: Strange to find Mr Burroughs in such a way, at Wakefield Westgate station, on a Friday evening mid-May with all intentions of getting drunk and forgetting all about it......
As I arrived at the bar I took a deep breathe, once more... On entering I saw a few people I recognized... At this I began to the averting eye contact... Ordering a drink I tried not to draw any attention to myself... Not so simple that though: gangly frame and mincey walk considering... Fuck it... I attempted to get back into my book... Safe passage is assured but you must be willing to take that leap... I am Henry!.. Please...
Suddenly feeling a hand on my shoulder... Mr Miller, thanks for coming... 'I thought you might need some help Marko,' he spoke into his shirt sleeve...
Editors note: Mark continues to insert imaginary encounters with his literary influences into his 'work.' His reasoning for this is unknown... At present we are amused by it, however, if it continues we may have to set him straight...
Passing of time and then I was told that I would be on in fifteen minutes... Henry told me not to worry... These things always come out in the wash, at a later date it will all become clear... Ya cryptic fucker, I thought to myself...
I went outside for a cigarette... A man walked in and out three times... Was it a sign?.. At the bar a nice man who was seated next to a not so nice man attempted to explain to me that he was not friends with the notso nice man... I said that I understand...
The not so nice man was doing that 'int Carling class' thing... I imagined doing a selection of things to him and then the barman told me it was time to play... Henry seated himself at the bar and began to come onto one of the loudmouth ladies I'd forgot to mention...
I began... Half way through it was going bad (for me)... I couldn't get it out... The bar noise increased... I looked up for a familiar face, reassurance .. Henry was looking straight at me from the opposite end of the room... I saw him mouth something... It reached my ear: "fuck it..."
On the way back I asked him how he managed to throw his voice like that... His reply: I'm Henry Miller, I can do whatever I damn well want...
I thought that was a good point; well made and concise... At York station we separated .. He said he had some business to attend to in The Groves...
Don't we all...
The Habit
York
15/05/2013
'Alright alright... Yes I know... Stop...' I'm stuck once more in the check out queue... Down into my carrier bag I lean, in through the outside window and there we are; in line to take another... Stop... The man from behind is pushing me with his fist... You want some buddy... Who is it..? Mr Morrison... Hi Jim, what're you doing here..? I figured you might need some spiritual guidance... Suddenly, across the way, hundreds of men in white trench coats began running by outside...
Jim told me not to worry... Shit like this is always happening and it's always over before you know it... What you doing tonight anyway? he asked... Playing in The Habit Cafe bar, I replied... He slipped me a pill... See, what I like to do is be here and there, all at the same time man... Yeah Jim, you certainly do... Here, take this... He handed me a bull whip... Thanks Jim...
Excuse me, can I play some songs tonight... I am singing something and keeping my eyes closed whilst trying to communicate... Why this is I do not know... And I wonder why I am making little headway...
The bull whip cracked off the pavement, mid summer in the back streets of Paris... Jim pointed out a car that we could liberate for our needs... What did we plan to do?.. Swim to the moon, he replied... I suggested we visit his grave instead but he seemed to think that that was a strange idea...
Outside the Habit, sucking on a cigarette, a man in a flat hat arrives, another with a beard, and one with a nose ring... Inside a man is singing about slavery... I toss my cigarette into the gutter and then Ollie tells me a good joke...
65 miles per hour through the streets of Paris... Jim don't you think you should take it easy on the wine... No way baby, he said.. The world is all swine dog trash anyways, you've got to do exactly as you please.. He lowered his shades: Hey, are you terrified..? He spoke into the tape recorder... Yes Jim, I am... He produced another pill... This will calm you down Marko... Cheers Jim...
Back in the Habit but something had changed... Ray Manzarek at the back looking immaculate and making me not feel so bad about wearing the glasses or sitting down when playing the instrument... The audience turned... They all looked right through him... I tried to explain it but they couldn't comprehend...
Cash register, newsprint and it got obscured once more... Trying to get at the thing but it's proving difficult... We pulled into a little side road and began to take an inventory but Jim stopped us when he realised that we were edging into rip off territory once more... Don't get bent by these fools he said... Look up...
Myself I saw, in the broken amber light, with that whole neon sixth street dream thing but we were in York... Jim was there too... He asked me about my father... Hey baby, keep away from my daddy... He then moved onto my mother... At this point I decided to leave him be, ambling on down the hall for an eternity... As usual he'd started off well but disappeared up himself.. He told me that that was the price of reaching for a thing... Much like Henry... I decided to agree but turned down one more drink...
Can't drink the wine Jim, it makes me grumpy....
Bison Coffee House
York
11/05/2013
Management on the blower... Yes yes yes... I understand your concern but I'm just not interested in breaking into the southwest... It's too far away... Yes... I know... I'm sure Ilfracombe has a really good scene and every body there would love it but I just can't... Penznace I could do again... Yes... Even if it means, maybe running into that man again with the stories... No not Rob... He's a good man... A loft conversion also... Always trust this kind of man.... Look, I've got to go... Bison this afternoon... Yes that's a kind of animal... Big one at that... Just please don't book me in without my knowing about it... Yes I know about the kid... Well I'm just not interested in that side... He's a reworked version anyway... I couldn't care less...
I hung up the phone... Bastard management getting on my ass... I looked up... Flash of the image... Time Magazine journalist... CW Jones... Sucking on a cigarette... I apologise... The camera gets away and I decide to get in touch with Mr Lennon... Plan: a little smack date in the back of a cab in London rain street 65 or something... 'Isn't that a bit staged Bob?'... "Dammit Lennon... The whole worlds a stage and your griping about the credibility of the shot... Hey driver!.. Drop me here..."
I got out of the car... Hello Gav... He produced the dough... Thanks very much.... A man called Mr Stewart came up to me... He relayed his message... I thought at the quality of his shoes... Later I was out on the street... Saturday night stumbling between the bastards and the morons, thinking to myself at the possibilities of which they were endless... And then someone said something about the possibility of getting in for free... They gave me a leaflet... Some new death cult... Cheap drinks and bad music... I turned up the familiar street, went to the usual place and proceeded to drink myself stupid.. They can all get off on what there after I thought... And besides I don't need anymore distraction...
Then the roof fell in... I asked the bar man for a dust pan and brush... My hands began to elongate... He gave me a cigarette instead and told me to go home... The man would be here soon enough to rearrange the tables and it would not be necessary for me to be around... I thanked him and then left...
Somehow I got home... But the rest of it got lost in the teeth of the thing... These are the fragments...
Fibbers supporting Dick Valentine
York
02/05/2013
The road... Out upon it... All the time... Road dog...
But where did you find yourself.? I mean really...
I was just crossing the road one time; on the way to Fibbers.... I'd been informed a few days before that I would be opening for Mr Valentine... I kind of knew the informer - as much as you can know your informer - and so asked if there would be any drink... He assured me that there would be..., I took the milk out of the fridge and poured myself a tall glass... Big business...
On the day of the gig I arrived, late as usual.. Random recollection: outside, distraught against fence, too much booze and that time I dropped a touring band's drum; a man in a baseball cap with a beer gut who snarled at me because of it: get on the bus boys, the big time awaits... Later on, before the doors opened, the informer offered me a piece of home cooked cake or something... I ate it down and then The Doors took to the stage... Mr Morrison on the screen getting his so and so out... Play something we know Jim... He came off the stage and took the candy from this baby... Swine.... Fair enough though...
Next it was my turn... I played and told the crowd of our most recent house guest: Debbie Harry, afraid of stairs but a touch of class she is... After myself, Mr Valentine took to the stage... The crowd crept forward... Later a man asked if I wanted to go clubbing; I think that's what he said... I was flattered... Don't think I've ever been asked that before... And then, predictably, Mr Valentine came up and asked if I wanted to go to a gay bar... I turned him down... Sorry baby... Maybe next time.. I left to walk home.. Debbie would be worried sick if I was out any longer...
And this ends with what I overheard just before leaving: 'don't you wanna stay and do the funky chicken with me.'
Always, but I am engaged elsewhere..
Thank you...
The Habit
York
01/05/2013
It's not who you know, it's who you blow... All the information...
On the way home today I saw a man in a mini JCB digging up his garden... There was no need to comment... All I felt was concern... And then we weren't taking part in the quiz in The Snickleway.. 'Closest number wins a bag of sweets...' Yes it does... I dropped my drink and stepped out into next week...
Hello the Habit... I walked up to the bar and ordered a tall glass of water... Jo the barmaid offered that a tall glass of water might me too much for my skinny frame... I agreed... Make it a short... She then asked after the baby... Oh he's fine, been dead now since 1997... What was his name again.? Bill... Cute name, very good at the cutting and sticking I hear... Certainly. I told him though, if you're going to write books like that you've gotta get a good suit... That way people will dig you just on account of you looking good.... She nodded... I stepped away, looking like shit...
"Hey you" (muted whisper)... Who me?.. "Yeah you, Mr Derivative. Come over here. I wanna show you something.." We stepped out into the street.. He then produced a street map of the nothing much in particulars, lower east side, across from the Henry Miller institute.. "Look, why don't you get out of town for a bit..." Nah I've got work to do... "I understand..." Hey, do you know anything about the phrase: It's not who you know, it's who you blow... "Why yes, it's an old hag muso trick, designed to get you into bad experience. Don't worry about it."
"See, the key is that you don't actually have to do anything. It doesn't matter. It's your choice. And if no one is paying attention, all the better. Just make sure you don't lose sight of that because if you do it's a slow-long inevitable slide into knowing nothing and meaning every word..."
I stepped back... He was gone... I decided to keep myself to myself for a while... When I got to the bar the water was gone... I ordered another one and pretended it ended well...
The Fulford Arms
York
29/04/2013
"Some cats just don't know how to get down... These are the ones you've got to watch out for."
This, the first thing I thought to as I woke up, Monday morning..
The night before I'd played in Crouch Hill... Good gig and then I'd com to my friends flat in Mile End, to sleep...
As I looked around the room I began to feel uneasy... For some reason it didn't feel right...
From behind the door I could hear foot steps and a rich/deep baritone... Odd, I thought to myself as I clawed myself up from sleep... I opened the curtains... Sight of messy garden's and a grey sky... The room illuminated, exposing a wooden floor and high ceiling... Shit, where am I?
Suddenly it hit me: I'm at Graeme's in Glasgow... I went into the kitchen to investigate...
"Hello Graeme. What the fuck am I doing in Glasgow?.."
'You turned up last night at 4 saying something about a place to stay and too much of the other...'
"Goddamn," said a man behind me... I turned around; it was Isaac Hayes... 'What are you doing here?..' "Just 'long for the ride." he replied.. Free loading mother swine... I asked him to leave... He refused... Graeme snarled... Bye Bye Isaac...
"So Mark..."
'Yes, Graeme...'
"Bacon roll?.."
'Oh baby...'
He put the bacon on and asked if I wanted to see the latest additions to his knife collection... I said that I would... They looked good... He then he began to explain the glory of the real Scottish morning roll; it has to be a certain type or something... Graeme knows his rolls...
During this conversation I suddenly remembered that: I was due to play in The Fulford Arms that night... 'Grameme, what am I going to do?..'
Calmly he put the knifes away: "don't worry you skinny, rat headed, waif and stray; I'll drive..."
'I didn't know you could drive?'
"Neither did I but I read a book on it this morning and I had a few spins round the block in Jen's mum's car earlier on, in anticipation of you fucking up: I think I can handle it."
'Cool...'
"We'll need a good car though: high performance, low top, good sound system..."
I agreed... He turned off the hob and put my bacon roll on a plate: eat that and be ready to go in 20 minutes... I sat down and contemplated the possibility of ripping off yet another of them writer people that I like...
Half an hour later and we were belting out of Glasgow in a green mustang...
'This looks a bit like the one Steve McQueen drives in Bullit...'
"It is..."
'Holy shit...'
"Don't ask, Mark..."
'Okay, hey, shouldn't you be working on that novel thing?..'
I'll do it as we go... It was at this point that I noticed the following on his lap: dictionary, laptop, tape cassette of In Utero, bottle of port and sunglasses... 'What's the port for?..'
"Bribes..."
'Oh yeah...'
As we crossed the border, blaring Francis Farmer, I began to get nervous: our speed was increasing alarmingly and it was clear that Grameme was becoming agitated with the technology.
"Fucking spell fucking check telling me that realise is spelt with a z when it fucking isn't.."
'I know baby, just keep your eyes on the road for a while...'
Suddenly there were flashing lights behind us... Graeme pulled over...
"Afternoon officer, how you doing...?" he spoke as he wound his window down
'Can I see your license sir..'
"As it happens I left it at home, sorry about that, fancy a glass of port...?"
'Don't mind if I do, no respect for the law nowadays, tough out here on the road...'
"I know sir, no respect." At this he pointed in my direction. "Hey, are you aware of the Waif?.."
'The Waif?!' he yelped. 'You have the Waif with you?! Jesus...'
"Yeah he's right here. Say hello Waif.." he spoke as he elbowed me in the ribs, holding the policeman's gaze...
'Hello Waif,' I mumbled joyously...
The officer collapsed...
We took this as a sign from God and sped off...
An hour later we arrived into York... As we sped down Fulford Road, Graeme reached into his top pocket and produced the cocaine... "You won't be needing this but it may add to the experience..." I agreed... "Now at the next lights, you jump out and I'll be off, I've got to get the car back to Steve by midnight..." 'Okay Grameme...' As we pulled up he passed me the port and I got out of the car...
Noise of movie star car engine on fulford road on Monday 9pm...
I went inside... No waving though... I hate goodbyes...
Kiss The Sky
Crouch Hill
28/04/2013
What do you mean Batman wasn't a super hero...? Lowers head cautiously... Apparently he wasn't... I think to demand an explanation but fear this will only draw more attention to me... Not that it should bother me really: being as I am Batman... Well, not really but I was once as a child... Had the outfit and everything... Not the car though... My friend Ben had that, I was jealous... I always wanted that bastard car...
Anyway, ever since then I've always been in secret competition with Batman; ever since I was small enough to notice that a man could be in a cartoon and a real life film thing, all at the same time, on separate channels... I always thought that was quite a skill... This I remembered on Sunday...
And so, when I got to the gig, I thought I'd pretend that I was Batman cartoon and Batman real life all at the same time: thought it would be a good test of my something or other... Not sure if it worked but people did approach me cautiously... Advantage...
And then I was walking around Camden looking for a pub that I thought a man would be in but he was't around.. So I sat down and looked out of the window, thinking that if I stand up now and walk into the wrong toilet cubicle (the ladies) it would be a bad thing... And yes I did it wrong, my brain wouldn't engage... So I left, feeling foolish and arrived in Mile End to find Mike re-configuring the computer system and lighting ALL the candles... This I liked... And I was offered a biscuit and a beer... Things were looking up...
And then Mike put on Weird Science which I hadn't seen since I was a kid in bed on a Friday night bouncing between channel 4 and 5 in search of you know what... I then remembered that i'd found a fiver on the floor earlier on in the day...
Everything was cool...
I had mild nostalgia, beer and a batman fixation which I made up on Tuesday just before I went out to see Dave for his birthday...
Baby...
Dusk
York
26/04/2013
Laying down the boogie; it's what the world needs... But can you?.. Yes sir...
Yesterday I found myself on the National Express in the traffic... Mr Arden was present also... I went for a piss...When I got back to my seat I explained that he shouldn't wash his hands as the water in the bog was foul... He said it wasn't a problem for him... Obviously a higher being... I dug into my book... The bus began to pick up speed (don't sing the song)...
Suddenly we broke fast... No harm done though.. Nothing except my seat belt which refused to loosen up... This annoyed me... I thought: I'm going to be stuck here for an eternity, trying not to sing the Divine Comedy - not that I'm not always trying not to do that anyway...
I pulled a face... Arden suggested I change seats... I agreed... As I sat down in the other one a very starey man said that I should put my seat belt on... I told him to mind his own business... But I didn't really......
Later on we arrived into York...
This breaks here as I can't do anything nowadays without messing around on the internet a bit... A man in Hong Kong... Newcomers mocking the locals... I feel a telephone conversation coming on... The fear...
And then was in Dusk trying to make sure everyone got a beer, overhearing someone say: do you mind if I dance.? ... And I thought: you call that dancing? I may have to lay out some moves, but I did't... Outside I talked to a couple who had to leave on account of too much food... This I dug... I also "dug" the confused face's at the noise upstairs... And every time John puts his jag type guitar behind his back a surge of jealousy ran right through me: hot swine...
Later on someone came up to me saying something about: there's no music up here... I suggested that it's all relative... He attempted to take me down... Luckily I'm quite the scrapper so it ended swiftly... And besides, I wanted to watch The Hangnails and had no time for petty brawling...
By this point I was pretty drunk... I had a conversation with a man at the bar about class... It was pretty good... Conclusion: yes I am class... And I think that that will be the video concept... Just me holding a sign, in Dewsbury, saying 'I am class...'
And then the shout from the back: play something we like... I looked them up and down (whatever that means)... I didn't think it would be possible...
Baby... But what's it all about? It's all about the boogie... And the buff men in vests holding out keys of the new drug, for me to decline, at 4 in the morning, in the toilets of vanity... Forever in the toilets of vanity...
Yes sir...
Boogie woogie...
The Habit
York
24/04/2013
Just pay the man and get out...
Last night occurred... I couldn't sleep... Earlier in the evening there was a strong stench of the substance... A new method apparently; this was evident, the demeanor was slumped.... I went outside... Thinking about not bothering to do this I came back inside... Looking over my shoulder I saw myself in London, spieling into the technology... It was of no interest... I gave it up..
I began again... Last night occurred... I couldn't sleep... I awoke to find myself wanting to explain away the night before... But I couldn't... The technology kept losing it's whatever's... It didn't matter... I looked up...There was a man at back who didn't say anything... I attempted to look right through him... Something stopped me... I accepted a dark ale from a man in a good shirt... I informed him of this... He said he found it recently... It smelt of the substance...
Later on I was where I am now... And Mr Arden out in the street... He is taking this down for some reason... I am not sure why... But I am... It's necessary... Why?... Because this isn't your reality... It's mine... And I've just made that up... And I am going to get drunk.. Which depends on you... And you are not around... So it doesn't matter...
But it does...
Sort of...
Oporto
Leeds
22/04/2013
"Did you see Kev tonight" - "I saw him briefly"
Sat on a train back into York, I would like to interject but decide against it... It's for the best... And besides, I don't know Kev, what would I say:
Yeah I saw Kev... He was face down in a pool of his own self pity outside Nation Of Shopkeepers. We scored some hot shit and then ended up doing the funky chicken till about 3, in Smokestack... I left him there though... He was getting aggressive and wouldn't stop patting my behind... Usual night out with Kev...
They stared at me blankly...
And I was speaking to a man in Jumbo (it's a record shop in Leeds)... He was nice and didn't pull a confused face when I asked if I could leave some freebie, gig diary magazine's, on the counter... He was actually interested... This doesn't happen very often, I thought... At this point I questioned to myself if they were actually any good... I never usually have to look that far ahead... And we had a conversation, this I thought was very strange... I am usually terrible at the conversing... "Henry Rollins used to come in all the time..." Really?.. That's mental... But what I really wanna know is... Are you gonna go my...
Yes, it was at this point that things became a bit predictable... Luckily I realised that I never was, nor ever will be, Lenny Kravitz... It's a thing I have come to terms with... Due to this, those spangly, cuban heeled, boots will have to stay in the wardrobe... A shame because I look amazing in them...
And I amused a man in Oporto; explaining about my vinyl vanity project and my mothers reaction, he laughed from a far... I thought it was funny also... The real life fear issues usually are... "Get them boxes outta my house"... A business incentive if ever there was one...
But tell me: did Johnny Thunders really live in Leeds...? I have a record that says this is true... What a glorious possibility... And I was playing in Oporto, doing that looking into the middle distance thing because the lights were bright... The compere put some tobacco into my pouch... It was a moment... And then I saw Johnny Thunders slink in at the back... He winked at me and then fell through the ceiling...
And you can't put your arm around a memory, that is true, but you can imagine them into your evening time life in Leeds, when you feel uncomfortable under the lights at half past nine and you have just enough beer tokens in pocket to get relatively distant of sober....
This book is fucking stupid... It certainly is not...
Dusk
York
21/04/2013
Today my internet tells me not to miss cheering on Jenson and Sergio... Don't worry, I think to myself... Not for all the money in the world would I miss that... But first I must write this... Why?... It makes me feel like I'm doing something... Really? ... Man you need some help... And you sir need to get out of my head and go down the shops for some eggs... Baby, I'm hungry and you is clogging up my air... Goodbye... Yeah...
Time inversion...
I went to Dusk last night... That was fun... And I just broke this off to ring up the national express helpline... Please wait for one of our agents to become available... Your agents?!.. That's amazing... Where's my baby Burroughs when I need him... "Back of the room you old scrote," came a voice from the shadows... I like it when Bill comes down to my gigs, he always makes me feel more at ease...
I went over... He suggested I buy more beer and try not to make eyes at the camera... Yes Bill, but it's so hard not to... "I know Mark, but that's how they want you to feel..." he spoke before skulking off, saying something about the Willow and a swift one with Michael Stipe... 'Okay Bill,' I spoke as I fell back into it...
Arriving back it was my turn to play... I picked my way through the debris and made up a song about how gorgeous I am... I suspect that it was probably tongue in cheek, although maybe not... I couldn't tell...
Later I bumped into Alex in the bogs... He said I should come downstairs and meet his dog... Okay, I spoke, thinking: Fuck, I hope it's not a big dog, I've ran away from one of them beasts once already today... Turned out to be a right nice placid beast though... And all was good until he began to get a bit hot for the lady who was present...
At this point I decided to leave and made my way to the Willow to look for Bill and Michael (there's only so much rabid dog humping rejection I can endure)...
As I made my way across the dance floor I spied Bill among the people; he was break dancing... I pulled him away and explained the randy dog situation... At this he removed a pistol from his pocket... "I'll take care of this," he spoke as he edged out of the crowd
And then I woke up at my mums house with a prawn cracker in one pocket and a can of stella in the other... Standard line...
The Inkwell - Record Store Day
York
20/04/2013
"She came down like a bad habit, lost her chicken fillet"... A man explained this to me in Bridlington last night... I didn't understand... With this in mind I decided against telling him about my afternoon - hanging around a record shop, avoiding eye contact whilst attempting to make an impression... I doubt he would have understood....
Anyway, I like the Inkwell... It's a record shop in York... Recently someone wrote: pretentious twats, on the door... I thought was funny, being as most things are pretentious to someone at some stage... This is why I'm going to call my next album: "check my blog, my next LP is going to be called: vinyl cash tape splice, you can't buy it because your not in my gang, oh well, whatever, nevermind, sarcastic tongue flavour in cheek, there is no narrative, it's confusing; that is the point. and wouldn't it be so sodding boring if we all did the same whatever, and all things were of a certain quality. Who cares, I've just written a word thing about how I am actually Phil Lynott, sometimes, even though I'm not. And probably only 20 people will read it but I did it because it was fun and it probably is pretentious but I actually am Lou Reed; and being as you're John Cale you'll always be a bit in my shadow, even if your not, ha ha yes, you're not listening, I'm glad" the album.... Yes...
Having just read that back I would like to remove it but I need to get this done soon so it will have to be left in...
So yesterday; in five minutes, fill us in.... Okay, so I arrived... And there were people there... And I'd completely forgot to put copies of the new record in the shop the day before... This meaning, that on record store day - possibly the best chance to shift some all year - they're weren't any copies in the shop till 3pm... Oh well... (Don't tell Bjorn)... And I had to go to the post office; when I got there I decided to use the machine which makes it quicker... It took my money and informed me I would have to go to the counter... Bastard thing...
I then ran back... Time to play... I couldn't open my eyes... I drank some beer... The man with the camera was there... I saw the book I wanted... "I stepped out onto the street"... Some cat's were laying down some rock n roll... I was tempted to say: lotta soul he said, but I held my tongue...
Later on in Brid I found some Grolsh bottle tops in my back pocket... It felt strange and when I didn't find a chip shop I had a crap takeaway burger instead and thought that it didn't really matter because my rocks are off; all the time, even when they're not...
Maybe not yours, but mine... Yes you know who you are... That's because I told you, but don't take it for granted, because I do and someone needs to steady this stupid ship once in a while... Especially when I'm all hung up about no one knowing what I'm knowing, and I'm writing down "all the trees which look like cauliflower leaves" in my phone as we come down Garraby Hill at 2 in the morning in a blue van with no punctuation and a whole lotta blah blah blah...
Yeah baby...
The Fulford Arms/The Habit
York
17/04/2013
Bish bash bosh... That's board room speech baby... I know this because I met up with the members of the board just today... They said I was taking them for a ride... I didn't understand... They told me to open my eyes...
'Holy shit, I'm driving a ford mustang...' Yeah baby...
I ask where it is we are going to... The Fulford Arms apparently...
We park up... The suits get out and go directly to do the bar... Scum suckers... Chewing on my expense account... I retreat to the toilets and begin the mirror ritual...
Don't say anything stupid... Be cool... Try and open your eyes... Make conversation... You sound stupid when you do that... What will they think... Shut up... I am ace... I'm so beautiful... Oh my god, look at my face.... You filthy beast... I am so cool... You suck... Deep breathe...
I exit the toilet and do the stage thing... Henry introduces me with the words... At the bar I notice the suits ignoring the show and chatting up the bar maid - limited gin blossom regression is all I can think to imagine... It ends... I don't want to leave... I want the noise but have no choice; I require the dough... I signal to the suits... We file out the back and get in the mustang...
On arriving at the habit they produce the cocaine... I choose not to indulge... But that is a lie, or a fictional truth... And then, all of a sudden, I'm at the bar telling Ollie that we need to get beards... He says that he has a bag of mustaches at home.. For some reason I get interested... He then begins to reel them off... The Mexican... The diplomat... The man about town... The investigator... 'That's the one!' He agrees that it's my style and we arrange to meet, later by the Lowther, to make the exchange... I cannot wait to strap on the investigator...
Later I parked up the mustang by the river and went to bed... It had been a long day and all I could remember was walking past the bingo, earlier in the evening, looking at all the ladies outside sucking on cigarettes, wishing that I could put them into song but wouldn't that be sucha cliche, and anyway, if only I'd gone for the crime doctor (mustache) then non of this would have happened...
A lesson learned...
The Basement
York
12/04/2013
I think someone used the phrase "I plan to live out my days" last night... As far as I can remember, they had the look of someone who planned to do that also... At least they did, in the window I was looking into, with my back to them... And once again I found myself in a beer garden attempting to convince myself that it was warm, even when the sun went in... Danny was there also... He bought the cocktail boozes... He then demonstrated the correct shake for them; it moved me... I accepted my drink and denied to someone that it looked like sick - I'd seen my own sick the week before; there was a only passing resemblance... And besides, their drink didn't look much better... Mentally I removed myself from the situation...
Stop...
I wake up... The room is quiet.... I am in front of some lights in the basement... Somewhere from the back of the room a man mentions that I have a professional veneer to maintain... I agree and place the tape cassette into the player... It is at this point that I realise I cannot be chewed... John asks me what with... I snap his head off...
Start again...
Pretty soon Eric The viaduct were on stage... And I was receiving text messages asking where I get these people from... "Where do you get these people from more like..." Who said that?... A tall man to my left holding a telephone... I picked it up... "He is not appreciated..." I put down the receiver .. The tall man asked if I recognised him... I said of course not... He then informed me that at one time we played football together as children... Clearly he was under the influence... I disagreed and sloped off, thinking that sometimes it's not even worth opening the blinds some nights - this, the reason I had them taken down and removed by Kelly Jones of The Stereophonics when he was on some "down time...." (I never liked that phrase neither)...
Later on he told me that he'd seen me dancing to Meat Loaf in Thomas' after the gig and that my dancing was pretty terrible...
I agreed, but refused his "sad cow give me a tip" eyes...
Bloody scrubber...
The Habit/Fulford Arms
York
10/04/2013
I had an ice cream yesterday... The lady bought me it... It was a mint chocolate one with bits in it and it was ace... Earlier on in the day we sat outside for a bit and pretended it was summer; that was fun... And I don't understand how there can be this many idiots in one place... Either that or my perceptions have been distorted again... Summer of 69... We lean up against the games machine and get the capital of some-wherever all wrong... It doesn't matter....
Later on I'm walking home and there is a man I recognise stood outside Asda... And I think that this is all I am ever doing: stood outside Asda... Sometimes though, there are people around in that place and they would like their friends to play... And they move as a group so you can't control it, so you don't...
I played at The Fulford Arms the other day... But I really don't have anything to say about that because I was sat in that place that someone said was shit... And I was looking out of the window and I wasn't that man in the doorway on the phone... But I was that doorman who looked like he wanted to go home... And so I went to discuss this with myself in the toilet cubical... And then I was looking in the mirror; feeling just a a bit confused at the sounds exiting my mouth but at least I didn't have to wear one of those silly hats... And then the thin man behind your eyes is not becoming of your aural presentation... But wait... Oh no I said too much... Michael Stipe at the next table... We make eye contact... He says our differences are brushed aside and then he makes a "W" sign with his hands... I can't believe it... He wants to go to the Willow (kind of nightclub Chinese restaurant thing in York)... No Michael... Don't do it... But it's already been decided...
Later on when I walked home again, a man stepped in front of me, I wanted to do bad things to him like in the movies, but I couldn't because I'm not that tough so I just walked home and shut out the light and turned on the radio and thought about Simon when he was sometime before; listening to Bowie in the front/back bedroom, on headphones, trying to escape or something like that...
It didn't look correct but it was warm in my head so I fell into unconsciousness without much effort..
The Hop
Wakefield
04/04/2013
Time: 15.35... Date: 11/04/2013... Your a bit late writing this one aren't you Mark?... Yes I am Mark... Why's that? Well, that's because I've being really ill ever since I played the gig... That's no good, whats being up?.. I had that stomach bug thing... Oh yeah, I've heard about that; lots of puke and ill feeling in the stomach isn't it.? Yes it is, but at least I didn't have it at both ends: my dad on the other hand (no pun intended) was not so lucky... Who are you anyway?
Me?... Oh I'm nobody... Just some guy....
So tell me about the gig.. Well, if i'm honest, I can't really remember it very well... I know that Sam drove and it was in Wakefield, so it must have been good... You like playing there don't you? Yes I do, but please stop this; it's getting creepy... No I won't... Okay then... Good. Tell me, did you write down any overheard conversations in your phone when you were in Wakefield?.. Erm... let me check... Yeah, these two things:
"I thought If I grew my hair I'd have the perfect novel..."
"Don't Look Back In Anger: I wonder what Liam is doing behind the back of the stage while they're playing that. He must feel like that's all he's ever doing"
That's some true insight you've got there... Why thank you... I was being sarcastic... Sorry..
So anyway; Mick Hucknall Sings American Soul is sold out at the Barbican. How's that make you feel? Pretty good. Why? Well, I am Mick Hucknall. No your not. Yes I am. Hey, you wanna know the original title of Holding Back The Years. No. Holding Back The Beers. It was all about how I needed a few drinks before I got on that big roller-coaster thing in Blackpool....
Your an idiot...
Yes I am
Kitchen Flashback 6pm
York
03/04/2013
In the - I can't be bothered, let's go get leathered; I didn't cook, I read a book, I bought a life, I sold my wife, I bought something simpler and now all I want is a bag of broken biscuits thanks mam, mindset - I sometimes find that I get these "flashbacks", often to times previous, like in other lives... This one happened to me recently...
I was at home, washing up in the kitchen, when suddenly I realized that I wasn't; I was actually on Folsom Field in Boulder, Colorado... The date was 04/10/1981... I was on the Tattoo You tour with the Stones; six day's in... Turning to my left I locked eyes with a man who looked almost exactly the same as me: it was Ronnie Wood... He was writing his memoir... I asked him when it would be done... He said a few years - yeah right flakey, I thought to myself.
Next thing I knew, I was on stage doing that falling over towards the mic stand thing because it was my turn to sing... We started the song... And all was good until about half way through when I thought I was going to forget the words... Luckily though, I remembered them just in time:
"The little bitch got soul".
Oh yeah, that's right... We're grooving and I am singing my song to the people in the field... Preaching my blues... Telling them the stuff they need to know... The Little Bitch - Got - Soul...
All very strange... Sound of hot water and old radio... And then I'm back, washing up in the kitchen... Looking at my big crooked fingers all strange and soapy in the hot water, saying - The Little Bitch Got Soul - over and over to myself and freaking out my mother... She didn't like it... Luckily though I snapped out of it... My first words on returning being: Dandelion is no name for a child...
And then it ended on a completely unrelated phrase that Dave said the other night in the Duchess...
"I watch kid's TV with ma nippers and then go to the pub and people are knobbers"...
Baby...
Spoonful of poison open mic
London
01/04/2013
Sometimes I wake up, these are the days I recall.
Yesterday I woke up and thought:
"no, I'm not getting on that National Express to London today to play that 15 minute open mic slot I booked months ago when I was in a good mood and didn't feel so horrendous..."
Nope... With this in mind, I messaged the guy and told him that I'd lost my marbles a bit the night before and that I wouldn't be able to come and play... He told me that this was okay... I was surprised... Really I should have gone but then I thought that this is my life and I don't want to (I've done this before, it's not a nice trait, don't book me for a gig)... Mind you, I've seen a few bands before and wished that they'd not turned up neither, so maybe I saved someone (hero).... Maybe this was a good thing... Maybe I should turn up less... Perhaps that will create a mystique. But that's bollocks: if I'd paid to see a gig and the act didn't turn up I'd be pissed off... Although I suppose people weren't paying for the gig yesterday, nor do I think that anyone was going specifically to see me (there are advantages to being unknown), so I guess it didn't matter...
Anyway, I didn't go... Instead I moped around my mothers house... I drank some tea... I took a shower... I cut my hair and I wrote a few wordy things; one of which was about cutting my hair (art)... I also watched a lot of John Lydon interviews on the internet (I really made use of my time)... And today, when I woke up, I didn't feel so bad, which was a good thing... I wrote some word things and I watched a video of a poet man called Mike Garry.. I then tried to read some of my wordy things but just ended up sounding like I thought I was John Cooper Clarke, so I gave it up... After this I went to the shop and the post office and then I came back and did the washing up whilst listening to Mark E Smith interviews which I couldn't really hear anyway because of the washing up.... Time well spent... I've been meaning to do that washing up all week...
And now, to what must be the point (there must be a point to this mustn't there?)... Occasionally I have spoken about music like it's a job... But that all depends on context... At some times it is.. At others it's not... It's all about bending the rules to suit your own needs isn't it? ... At least that's what I've learnt from the world around me; and TV... And so yesterday, as a product of my environment, I didn't turn up for work... But I wasn't getting paid anyway so I suppose it wasn't really work... It was more of a marketing exercise to drum up more interest around what I'm doing... Let's try that again: And so yesterday I didn't feel like doing a marketing exercise to drum up more interest around what I'm doing... So I didn't... It's not a good thing but I don't think it mattered... However if anyone did go (I doubt it) I'm very sorry that I didn't turn up and I will be more than happy to come and do my marketing exercise to drum up more interest around what I'm doing, in your front room or wherever you would like...
Final statement..
BUY MY RECORD...
The Screwdriver Club
Scarborough
29/03/2013
I didn't want to go... It was on the itinerary and I didn't want to go... I called my manager... He answered and told me that he wasn't actually my manager... I then tried to get in touch with my agent... He answered and told me that he was actually a she and that I'd never been on her books ever... Confusing... I called everyone I could think of... Eventually, I came to the conclusion that I'd booked the "show" myself... This was a crushing blow... I took it badly... Noise of typewriter I do not own and smell of exhaust fumes...
Later, Keef called me on the phone asking if he could support... I hung up on him... And then I was walking around the diamond mini market (which is a shop) trying to sell my soul.... No one wanted to buy it... This I could understand but I didn't like the obvious rejection so instead I called in sick...
The Screwdriver club were not best pleased...
It didn't matter....
The Habit
York
27/03/2013
Question: what is the root cause of most every problem you have ever encountered.
Answer: it's usually something not being correct, either that or it's someone being a dick head... With this in mind I shall begin...
Excuse me sir, can you please stop that... "Are you two lesbians?" No... "Can I play happy birthday on your guitar..." No... "Can I sing it..." I'm guessing not... "Fuck it then we're off to Dusk..." Good...
Phone excerpt - "I'm on the train to 'Harrogate' in a giant bunny suit".. Aren't we all...
Stop.. But what do you like?!
I like to read Mojo music magazine when I'm eating my tea (not smash hits)... Anything of interest?... This: "All I wanted was the adulation that comes with performing"... Of course you did... But what if, like me, you want it without the performing part... Now that is the real test... This, I think, I displayed this last night...
A man asked if it was 'really' a sharks tooth on a shoelace around my neck (sarcasm evident)... No it's a cheap piece of plastic toss that holds sentimental value; of course it is (not really)... I like your sweatshirt though; two parts Christmas and New Year... Leave me alone...
Earlier in the evening... Taxi driver recollection in the pub when I only wanted a half but got a pint (speak up Mark, explain what it is you require from THE MAN)...
Spike Milligan in my taxi saying how he wouldn't give an autograph... Slaying Woody Allen on Parky with a line that's okay... The taxi man told me that he spoke through his mentor... Really? Are you sure that is correct? But I didn't ask that... And then a man came in at the back of the room... I do believe the description "coked up knobber" was applicable last time our paths crossed... Probably he is thinking the same of me... Correct... But I plan to reform in ten years time... And then, when they demand the hit's, I will give them what they want.... All of it... And we will snort cocaine in the dressing room of the Leadmill...
Looking into the mirror eating the sandwich's; we will not be forgotten... And we will pay off our mortgage... And we will put our kids through college... And our memoirs will remain unpublished... And we will do this.. And we will do that....
And a voice from the back of the room... End it now...
Okay I will...
New Earswick Swimming baths
New Earswick
27/03/2013
I've done some strange gigs in my time, but non quite as strange as this one... How I got this booking I did not know... However, I am near certain that it had nothing to do with Paul McCartney...
Anyway, I was booked to play for the 10 minutes or so when they retrieve the rafts from the water... Sounds good don't it? ... On arriving I got that sweet smell of chlorine right between the eyes... Immediately it brought back odd recollections...
Held under... Bright lights.. Diving for inanimate objects...Goggles...? Goggles are for girls... My dad managing to make the middle of the pool without coming up for air... How much piss? So much piss...
"Hello.." (what?)... Oh, hello... "You must be Mark.." Yes I am... "Follow me Mr Smith.." Okay (surely he doesn't really think that i'm...?).. "Yes, we're all big fans of your work.." Ta very much... "Did you bring your granny?" Erm, no... "Mr Scanlon?" No, sorry... "Oh well, I'm sure you can pull it together.." I suppose so... "Now, there's a crate of Holston Pils over there, we've read your press and we know what you like. Anything else you need just give me a shout... We aim to please here at New Earswick Swimming baths.."
Ta very much, will there be a PA?... "Yes certainly.." I was led down the side of the pool... On the way we passed drummer Jack... He was on the phone to Gav; something about meeting him outside New Earswick swimming baths for a fight... Strange, I thought to myself as I was shown into the changing rooms... I closed the door and lit a fag.. I then put my suit on... As I exited one of the staff came up to me... He muttered something about me not being able to sing and how instead I just shout... I ignored him... Suddenly the intro music started... He ran off in a panic..
And as he and the other staff began retrieving the rafts, I spoke into the public address system...
"Who makes the Nazi's!"
It was a normal day...
Interview With A Vampire
New York
26/03/2013
I arrived at Lou's management office early... They told me he was out... At this I sat down on one of the leather couches and told them I would wait.... Apparently though this wasn't feasible as the couches were due to be shipped out to their new office in Delaware any minute... Amused, I asked them if they'd seen the film... They said no... I contemplated filling them in on the details but decided against it... Instead I lowered my shades and smiled knowingly...
It was at this point that I realized I actually was Lou Reed... Not that this surprised me really... I'd always had a relative inkling I was Lou Reed; ever since I was a kid in school and I realised that I really did want to play football for the coach... That and the time outside the school gates, when I was dressed as a mirror, talking to Little Joe about how he'd never give it away, not ever, not once, not even if someone asked nicely... No way, he always said, they'd have to pay and pay... (Nah I never thought that made sense neither)...
Anyway... Yeah... We were never destined to be friends... And I suppose I'd always known about being Lou Reed... But these kinds of things you have to deny for a while... Especially to yourself...
And so I think what I'm really trying to say is that, at that moment, sat on that couch - soon to be shipped to Delaware (the couch, not me) - I realized I was never going to be afraid ever again... I was going to be Lou Reed all I wanted and no one could stop me; not nobody...
And if I couldn't hit it sideways... Well fuck it, cos it's just like Sister Ray said...
And that doesn't make sense neither... But I'm Lou Reed... And I don't have to answer nobody's questions...
Yes baby.
Rex's Dive Bar
Belvington West
24/03/2013
Not again... I keep telling myself I won't be coming back here... But here I am again..
"Hungry..?"
A voice from the kitchen...
Yes... Yes please... "And there will be no interval tonight Mr Wynn..." Thank you Clive... Back again.. Where have you been...? "Where haven't I been....? Down the back alley... Five or six years ago... Ambling past that couple politely rutting up against the wall, sometime late at night, by the Trafalgar Bay ... The simplest thing to say... Alright mate..."
Mate... Stop saying mate...! Sorry... Excuse: it's just how I speak... No it's not... You think it is but it isn't... 7 years old, taking boxes from Netto to make forts with: cheers mate.... No no no... Stop... I put on another LP... Skinny Jim... Mr Cochran... "Loving your work"... Upstairs in the old house... Falling asleep with all the lights on... Listening to the loons below... After the "show"... Walking home... Ruined... Hello... Good night?
Yes please....
And as I climbed over the fence... The jeans split... Snagged I think.... Waking up on the sofa with the black goo on my paws... Conversing with the cat while everyone else was at work... Later, answering the door... I'm from the blah de blah... Yes!.. Hello!... Do come in... Here, take my wife... Would you like something to drink,,, Money?.. We might have some... Let me check... Oh wait... You have to leave... I have somewhere to be...
Good evening... Good night... And then I woke up with a bad head, in the basement of a theme hotel in Brighton the sun was setting already and I couldn't find my shoes and I kept telling myself that rearranging their faces was still the only right thing to be thinking of at the time; even though it wasn't...
In retrospect, at least...
The Basement supporting John Otway and Wild Willy Barrett
York
22/03/2013
And then someone said, in song, how you've got to hold on... A phrase.. Tired of being told that... Onto record contract more like... What do you think Rod...? No comment... Of course no comment.... And he is going away to some place... And the PA is in the upstairs room... And as the true savior of rock n roll I would just like to let you in on a little secret... Wait... What is it?... She said that was original... See... I can converse with my public... Sat down outside I spoke to a man... One month or so, he says... I'm not a good man... I cannot indulge in a conversation without feeling it incorrect... Say what you see... A man apologised for not holding the door open for me... My genius is being acknowledged... Tomorrow: Huby.. Tonight: further on... Buy sandwich... Eat in doorway of Office... Sneakers are for dirty, apparently.. Marketing campaign... Here is mine... I am the true savior of rock n roll and I would like to explain something to you... I did not pay for that... Free... My genius is being acknowledged...
And she has taken something.. Can we sit down..? Certainly... I am the true savior of rock n roll.... There is not a good way to be... Unleash the hounds... Laid off... Good luck... But I don't think you mean it... The man in the shop knows my name... My genius is being acknowledged... And there are still 4 other selves trying to be heard in head... And as the true savior of rock n roll I would just like to say that your swagger is an adopted trait (mine to) and that Simon Armitage's favorite albumb by The Fall is Grotesque... At least that's what he told me... Allegedly...
These things and more you may or not understand but at least my genius is being acknowledged and I still have to get to Huby, somehow...
----------------------------------------------
The Donkey
Leicester
06/03/2013
Leicester... One way system... Got the train but still I know... Library... It's now moved... Found myself looking for it whilst eating a pound baguette that I thought was going to be a pound but was actually one pound twenty nine in the end but I was too much my usual self to ask about this and so paid what she said... I really should have been more assertive... Like when I got to the venue... I ordered a drink but failed to mention I was there to play... Good move that... Useful whilst "on the road"... Neglecting to tell people of your arrival... Sat cold, wondering how many conversations you'll fail to keep afloat in the next three hours...
And oh how I love to get lost in strange city's... Asking for directions... Getting sent the wrong way... Looking over my shoulder every five minutes... An easy meal... Crossing the bridges... Hearing the raised voices and feeling about twelve... Agen... And this man who just bought me a drink is telling me some about when he was burgling in Harrogate... Interesting... And then there was problem with people or drugs so he sorted them out... Pit bull or something similar... And he used a word for time in prison like Porridge or something like that... And I nodded knowingly... Cos I know about shit like that baby... Yeah...
And then Tesco is shut... And there is no where else apparently... Not in Leicester.. Oh well... Travel lodge... Oh really... And I attend to the matter of the extra duvet... And there are only two tea bags.. It's a wonder I don't lose it out here... "On the road"... Paying too much for crisps... Pissing in public places... Surrounded by men... Forgetting my tooth brush and then luckily Tim bought two today...
Gazing into the mirror...
Contemplating a hair cut...
The Fox and Hounds supporting The Bootleg Beatles
Newmillerdam
05/03/2013
You make grown men weep .. They told me about it last night... Where? ... In the street of course... And I was running up to that house but I couldn't get in... And so I arrived at 6pm.. And they'd just finished sound checking... And they had all the moves, the suits.. And there was a man hanging around at the back who kept on trying to get me to take him home... I said no... I've only just arrived... And then there they were...
Live...
The mop tops... And I began to gyrate... And then the drink just kept getting stronger... And I asked if it was wrong to shake in this way... They said don't worry.. And then George sang money... Lead vocal... And I felt this wasn't part of the show... They said it was a new direction they were going in... Bellys out and protest in... Not my scene I said and then left...
And I forgot to even pick up my fee...
Knob head
Shepherds Bush Empire
Shepherds Mush
04/03/2013
And there are references to you in all the magazines... And all the missionary's .. But I could not bring them back and so we arrived to find the Empire in a state of mild undress... You went outside to do your usual cigarette parking meter trick and I contemplated all of them people... The main act arrived... I shook his hand... Averted my eyes... It was at this time that I signed on for about 6 month's (maybe more)... Good pay and the bunks are made up each morning regardless if you make it...
I went out for a salad... Came back in... There was still nobody around but I could just about see you in the shadows at the back... In the cheap seats... The crowd arrived... I went onto the stage... About face and I was blowing kisses to all the baby's .. Baby... And then later on at the bar... After the show... I was apologizing for using the word show... I couldn't help it... And mister big shot kept on trying to buy me drinks... I said no and asked if he'd heard of the kid.... He said that he did... But he kept it...
Hid... I didn't like the way that he did... And when the main act finally arrived centre stage and flailing I just felt so disconnected that I went out into the street and arranged to have all my destinations placed in chronological order... That way I'd never have to come back this way again... And there would be no more mix ups with who's dressing room is who's and when will I be able to turn round and not see his stupid face smiling back at me...
Agen
Dusk
York
03/03/2013
So please she said... As I emptied the ash trays... Again on a whole other level... Are you receiving me? And the speakers may be some where else... But do not worry about a thing... There will be drink... And strange men... And horrendous examples of over exposure to television... Magazine... But I could not talk... Staring blankly... Into space... Discussing the inside thoughts and the things that cannot be spoken... Bastard...
I arrive and then about face... I cannot listen to this... Even in an ironic sense of the word... I collected my something or others and wondered at where all them benches on the high street had come from... Straightening up I decided against it... The market was empty and the microphone was being attached... I spat into my hand and then turned around again... And I saw your brother... And his shirt... I nearly lost the thread (I know, it's so funny, isn't it)... And if you are reading this then I apologize profusely for never remembering that apologize has a Z...
Does it...? Should it...? And then he got a taxi down... And his amp... And his whatever... But I didn't know... Should it? Outside and I was saying something... Trying to feel good about myself and then the time got somehow to 02:46 and I was at that railing again... Without even thinking of it... But not into the wind... Because that would only be a little less obvious... Though I was wearing suede type shoes... And a man did once piss on John Wayne's...
Allegedly...
The Habit
York
02/03/2013
Breakfast - An extension... And I was doing the usual... Listening to bag pipes on the lap top... Look I just don't understand she said... And then he said so and so were the cats pajamas and I just couldn't bring myself not to do what I was thinking to mention so I didn't... Apologize .. Far too much of this and not enough of that... But we mean it... Man.
And then Habit... York... You've seen the place perhaps... Heard the word... And arriving, with no interest but to do the inevitable structured abuse on the face, a man pulled me to one side... He said I could do a lot worse than try... And another man took his photographs and from afar a man from Stockton (maybe) made me laugh face first into my booze which was in keeping with the "I can't make sensible decisions until it's to late" times...
Meanwhile the shouty slappy woman with the face was making her way to the bar... Oh dear god I thought as she arrived... And then it began... The words... The tone... The emptying of himself into the bottom of his shoes and the Lost Hippy Time Traveller doing the song I heard them doing the other night in Keystones as I passed but I couldn't go in as I was engaged some where else of that evening where all was as it should be and she just wouldn't shut up...
Agen...
Shuga Buddha @ The Fishbowl
Brighton
27/02/2013
Speaking as a person who is unsure of himself often I found it strange that I should start this and have nothing to say and then continue until something falls out of my head for that would be good and amusing wouldn't it possibly... And it is, not the night after Brighton... And after that when you get onto your 13.15 train from Euston station and attempt to get at the magazine stand but the man is stood in front of it (yes, that man, you know the man don't you?) and then you board onto it and write into words into a notebook just before you arrive in Manchester where you go for the beans on toast option and try to avoid eye contact, wishing there were some cheap reduced sandwiches in boots but there aren't and then remembering the night before in Brighton or Hove eating one whole massive pack of something or other and he fell asleep "stoned" like in one of those movies and I put that yawns album on and was told not to piss in the bedroom piss in the bathroom and so I did and speaking which is not in a room and with people and a man asking if this is actually the CD he would like to buy... Oh but I just don't know... And oh but I just don't know and then my friend saying that we couldn't get a hold of the MAN (that man) again so we didn't and then I woke up still with a little money in my hand and ran to meet my train at the station because I thought it would be so lonely for it to arrive with nobody around but you and just some form of someone who is telling this into the internal whatever which doesn't care and never should do, not ever...
And no I don't want your cowboy mouth...
Leave me alone
Bacup Folk Club
Stackstead
25/02/2013
Bacup... I kept mentioning this place to people... Not one person I spoke to had heard of it... North of Manchester I would say (because I had no idea)... It's north of Manchester... Great, so is Carlisle... The arctic circle also... Turns out in the end that I wasn't even playing in Bacup... Stackstead was the place... Confused... So I woke up on Monday .. 200 and some miles away from where I was meant to be... And I made my way, via the bus and the train, to Stackstead... The highlight of this particular trip being the boarding of the train in London with the men who stare at balls... Oh how graceful the men who stare at balls...Puff eyed, still pissed, hobbling onto the 13.05 from London to Leeds looking like shit...
Enough of that... Anyway, I arrived... Stackstead... Lost... Confused... Heard of a street called...? Nope... Ask in there.. (with this wig!?)... Off license . Heard of...? No... Outside... Yes up there... Thanks... Burger? No... Hill climb... Imaginary map in head... Sure it was on the left.. To the right... Looks like a scout hut... Can't be... Can be... Open door... Men... Oh dear... Long walk to bar... Think of manly drink... Adopt man accent... Guinness ta... Cheers "fella"... Tosser... Sit down... Men play snooker... Skin up then lad... (shit)... Erm, I don't smoke... At least not when I'm playing... Fair enough... (I am so full of shit it's untrue).. Pies behind bar... Hellooo... Horse meat... Fuck it...
Keith arrive... Keith is "sound" (see, I can do the lingo)... "Now then" Keith (I'm like a "fucking" chameleon me)... Back room... Man arrive... Banjo... Swapped licks... Did we hell... Outside.. Cigarette... One bar heater... Huddle round... More men... Stick that in your pocket... (what is it?)... Ah cheers... Yeah, I'll smoke it later... Not while I'm drinking... Sends me wappy... Songs played... Another pie... And a random recollection from the night before (or somewhere)...
Played one of your records when I was getting "down to it" with a lady the other night... Had to turn it off though because we were cracking up...
Mood ruiner...
I am sorry that man....
The Victoria Inn
Colchester
24/02/2013
What? Oh dear... Hello... Where am I...? Eyes around... Above the mantelpiece... Big massive painting/print of Paul Weller... Really? I'm doubting my hair to be as "together" as his... Luckily as I arise, fully clothed, there are no mirrors... Water!.. Aha... Last nights pint of, "I'll drink this and it will make up for all that booze", water... Tastes not unlike piss... Retreat... Down the stairs of the Railway Hotel... Into the front bar... Survey... Time.. 2pm... Shit... Train.. Walk along high street... Look left... Bakery.. Hello baby... Search... Where did them buggery pound baguettes go?... Sucked in by the promise of what once was but now ain't... Train! Oh shit... Run...
Now on train... Woman behind me... Yeah I'm at Hockley... (No your bloody not, we've just left Prittlewell ya fibbing moo)... Out loud she ses something about her husband at Rayleigh... Delightful... Read book... No chance... Change at somewhere... New train.. Two dogs in red matching outfits... Owner in wax jacket and fishing hat with badges... That's a whole lotta love I'm not sure I wish to witness at this hour... Get me off!.. Freedom... Replacement bus service... Oh dear... Subtle edge to edge of crowd... Get directed onto bus... It's all very school trip all of a sudden... Confused stressed adults, bellowing kids and the random i'm sat next to emanating a bad smell... Admittedly it's probably me... Success...
Bus trip... Arrive... Double success... Hello... Do you do tea? Yes we do tea... Triple success... Outside I go... Beginning to itch... No shower this aft, last nights pajamas, questionable mattress... Oh dear... And once again I feel tricked by the Rolling Stones... Rock biography's... Refuse at all costs... Back inside... Owners arrive... Very nice... Food?... What?!.. Oh my... Itching increase... Think to ask for usage of shower... Crush this impulse... Shame on your skanky ass... Play songs... Rob the Liar plays some... The vagina song... Kids are present... A child repeats... Cover ears... No the dinosaur song, dear... Play some more... Begin to lose marbles... Mention this.. Come off at end... A man gives me a bag of marbles... Surprising...And then I read an article in the paper about Ronnie Wood, written by his ex wife... And wonder if it wouldn't be a bit confusing, your mother exchanging that rude word for dinosaur at that age...
Probably not... More beer and then that famed pint of "I'll drink this and it will make up for all that booze" water...
Yeah, you keep telling yourself that marko...
Rook & Gaskill York, 7pm
Southend on Sea The Railway 2am
23/02/2013
Waking up on a train coming back into York at 10am from Kettering I got this strange inkling that the day ahead was going to be a bit of a long one... And it was, funnily enough... Who'd have thought it... Two gigs.. One in York... One in Southend on Sea... Never in a million years (stock phrase)... Idiot that I am (less stock but still applicable)...
God damn I'm such a trooper aren't I....? Nope... Your just an unwashed cretin with one of those kind of ego things that won't allow you to take a proper job, make some actual money and buy that bike you were going to buy her... Aha! There we are... Martyred bodily organ... Anyway...
Rook & Gaskill - Nice place - Dark ale - People - Cigarette's - Shoelace stuck just before "hitting the stage" - Feeling funky - Mumbley mumbley - Nosnibor - Spectacle envy - Very nice - Check time - Train at eight - Run baby run - Beer for playing? - Yes please - Bottle open - In Jacket run - Lager all over - Get to train - Miss my train - Fuck! - Not my train - Thank Fuck! - Here's my train - Sit down - Stand up - Move away from woman with child - This was a mistake - Quavers - Two packs...
Railway Hotel - 23.45 - Hello Tom - Beer - Yes please - Italian man - Recognize me - You write that rubbish gig diary blog thing don't you? - Not really - Projected insecurity - Anyway - Lock in - Down stairs - Basement - Slur along to Passenger with very drunk man - La La La La - Upstairs - Food! - Hello food - Clamber over man - Collect food - Eat food - Get more food - Drunk now - Booze - Time to play - How is it 4am? - Go on then, sing?! - Oh dear...
Time...
Can I sleep now? - Yes - Here is mattress - Thank you...
So much easier falling asleep when pissed isn't it...
Godlike
Kontra Roots
Finedon
22/02/2013
Changing trains eating pasties buying cigarettes skim reading magazines in shops thinking about nothing much in particular reading brave new world on the train getting pushed around on the tube catching the train to wellingborough waiting for a lift taking a piss thinking that your going to get mugged smoking a cigarette meeting a stranger for the first time - drive arrive - amble around the inside of bar by football ground with no stands go outside smoke cigarette in cold come back in ask woman behind bar for scissors "will a knife do" it won't matter didn't work read magazine nick cave on the cover red faced talk to a man talking about being ill with cold - the world arrive in cars sing and make limited sense a man speak before and say he saw Boss Caine the other night and bought the split cd tell him it's a bit different now to that afterwards he agree another drink move to rum - gig over get lift back - Kettering with sound-man stay at his house fall asleep wake up in middle of night afraid at something grabbing at leg just the imagination up at 6.30 for train eat toast and let the world fall up itself again.
The Farmers Arms
Penzance
21/02/2013
Bit late doing this one but no matter... Let's see what I can remember... I woke up... Yes, that occurred... And I had myself a shower, that occurred also... And there were three cats in the place... I like cats... Didn't use to, a big white one used to follow me around when I was a kid doing my morning paper round... Very unnerving if your a moron like me... In fact it got to the point where I would post the paper through the wrong door if said cat was in front of the letter box... The shame...
Anyway, the three cats were cool... Specifically a gold coloured one who's name escapes me... I'll refer to this one as beastly number one... Beastly number one apparently pissed on a guest once... Really?... Minutes after receiving this piece of information, said cat was perched on my lap... Oh dear I thought.. He then reared his arse at me... Not good... I nugged him off... Bit mean really... I apologised to beastly number one and then me and Rob went mooching around Penzance... T Rex were discussed, as were Slade... And then onto the bus to see some other bits... And we met a woman on the bus who gave me this fact... The reason the water in Scarborough is brown is due to the clay whereas in Penzance the water is clearer due to the granite or something....
I don't know, maybe that's just bus bullshit but I hope it's true... Not sure why... Anyway, then to a bar which has been around for 500 years... Long time that... And the woman behind the bar was trying to get some pasty from a man on the other side... And there was a reference to "a bit of meat"...
Gorgeous exchange...
Oh and I did a gig... Farmers arms... Cool bar... And a man there who liked it, he did that hand fist touching thing in appreciation... I felt awkward... Had some rum... And then we were gone...
Glamour
The Lamp & Whistle
Penzance
20/02/2013
Didn't even bloody make it... Set off at 10 am from York... Delays... Arrived at 10.30pm... Oh the things we do for our art... The crisps consumed... The Pissing on your shoes by mistake as the train shakes it from you hungover... It's all part of the thing... And then at 11am... There is congestion at some station in the midlands... And this old french lady asked me what was going on... We're being diverted... Get off in Grantham... Catch a bus... Get a train to Nottingham... And then the shameful thing occurred...
As we were pulling into Nottingham late, the old french lady asked what was going on... I said we would be getting the train to London from Nottingham .. And then I saw the train... And then I forgot all about the lady I was helping and ran like no ones business (what a toss phrase) to catch the train... I missed it... I didn't deserve to get that train... Pissed off I was and then the old french lady appeared... And then the shame... And then the train into London... More crisps... Onto Penzance... 3 hours late... Rob meets me at the station... He takes me for beer... We drink beer and go to his to eat and watch Dr Feelgood on the video machine... Rob is ace...
And then it's bed time... And I go to sleep thinking that I am sometimes not a very nice person...
Supporting Michael Chapman @ The Duchess
York
19/02/2013
Walking to gigs... It happens... The anticipation... The inner monologue .. The outer monologue .. The distaste... The funny taste in the mouth... The toothpaste down your top you didn't notice... The scheme you come up with and then trip over a paving thing... Back down to earth... The Shania Twain song that gets stuck in your head... Hello Michael Chapman (man I feel like a woman... shit!)... Michael Chapman has cool shoes... He is also rather badass... A phrase I'm sorry I mentioned... Beer...
And then the gig... Oh dear... The words in all the wrong orders... The stupid things said (mens shirt short skirts) Fuck off!... What, sorry...Did I say that out loud... Oh my... Outside... Cigarette... Boss Caine play... Michael play... I walk home... Feeling suspect... Reach park... Piss... The age... The necessary on route piss... And that text message earlier in the evening... "Your nearly 26, you really need to sort your act out"...
Ah yes... The Glory...
(man I feel like a woman)
------------------------------------------
Attic Records/Slip Inn
York
16/02/13
My mate had another baby the other day. I thought that was pretty cool. A boy and a girl they now have - excitement. And I'm guessing that they're currently doing something heavily baby related and important with the human being they just created, yes. I, on the other hand, am currently struggling to scribble a blah about yesterday whilst making the tea. Think I'll stay away from the baby's for now. It's for the best. Yes baby.
So yeah, yesterday was fun. Played in a record shop. Wore a dress (any excuse really), wasn't quite ideal for my figure but still, sod it. And I got a bit of beer, in and around the mouth. I also got Thelma and Louise on the vinyl, big score. I stood around being cool and then the sweat came. I think I was playing at the time that the smell truly began to seep. If you were there, I apologise. Still wearing the same gubbins today. I am such a catch.
Later, me and the Joe Coates took some speakers back to The Habit. I like Joe, he isn't a wanker; at least as far as I've seen. On the way to the Slip I bought a reduced to clear, cheese based, salad thing, for 50p... Oh the art of it all... Skip forward a bit and I'm slightly sloshed in the Slip, clinging to a mic stand, making up a song about how I am Rod Stewart (someone asked for a Rod Stewart song I think), apologising for those wank crooner albums I make at Christmas and bellowing on about being sexy or something...
Yeah... You know... I also wrote Wonderwall n'all but we don't talk about that one...
The Bedford
Balham
13/02/13
Dig... On the road baby... Coming down to London for one gig and then going back home: calling it a tour... Tough out here on the road... You know how it is man: soaking up the scene, eating the sandwiches, meeting the people (cat man baby man). Tough out her on the road... Got to keep your wits about you on the road... Watching out for pedestrian crossing's on the road. Sometimes crossing the road sometimes not crossing; the road...
Yeah... Bought a 7 inch pizza last night... Cost me a pound out here on the road... That was good... I was excited... Writing about that pizza right now on the road... Hey Mark, anything interesting happen out there on the road? Well, I got the train down and it wasn't snowing in York and then it was further down the country: that was pretty exciting whilst on the road. And I stayed in an old office block last night, a friend of mine from the York lives in it. Something to do with squatters getting in... So essentially, living there makes him a security guard for an abandoned building. Pretty cool I thought. Felt like I was in that book: High Rise, except there weren't any rabid dogs or burning things.
And this morning when I woke up I had the beer-ming-mouth-taste on the floor with my eyes sown shut. And I could hear some shouting downstairs; in the car park to be precise, a woman leaning in, shouting at a man sat in a car, something about slags and her not wanting to know about his. Nasty I thought. Lots of reversing and then I left; left to come here, to sit down in this internet cafe, here to be writing this pointless toss, looking out the window at that Scala building, trying to remember if it was there that The Stooges played years and years ago...
A.W.W.I.D ( And What Would Iggy Do )
Smash some shit and try and sell me some car insurance: but that is sod all to do with me...
Tough out here on the road
BBC 6 Music thang
London
09/02/13
Sam Smith's pub's; I like them, pissed away many an hour in them beasts. And there was one on Portland Street just near the studio place. It was done out all old and in the toilet there was a sign that said something about: If you see anything amiss please contact a member of staff... Amiss!! Brilliant.. Anyway, what happened...? Well, we went into the studio: did the gubbins, couldn't work the coffee machine, I got locked in the toilet (high art) and then we left... Mr Arden was also present, filming it for some documentary thing... The face got red... I had to hide....
Afterwards we went back to the Sam Smiths pub. I talked some toss and then off; down into the underground station (pretty standard stuff really)... Later I got to mile end. Drank some Stella. Read some Miller (such a poet) and fell asleep... But balls to that... What is really news worthy are Mike's breakfast skills - I stay with Mike sometimes when I am down here... He knows his onions (or some other food based blah). And he needed some ingredients... I went to the shops... Nearly got ran over... Enjoyed not wearing my long johns though, during the walk; leg freedom... Got the stuff... Came back... Had to go back to get some tomatoes... Did that... Got back again (not like McCartney though, get some shoes on to go with that suit ya swine mother)... Went back one more time for something else... And then we ate...
Sod it. I can't think of anything to say. Stomach is a bit stuffed (tough out here on the road) and I just rubbed my bastard eye with my hand. Chilli fingers (Arse). One good thing though: it has reminded me of someone I know getting a little close with someone else some time long ago and how it wasn't the eyes that were distressed; that can't have been very nice...
Yes Mark... Good ending...
(Poet)
The Swan
Liversedge
03/02/13
Timeliness: it's not one of my strongest points... Neither do I think that it is a word... Although I doubt that matters...
Now, to the point... I tend to spend most of my time when I am not running for trains; running for trains... I don't know if that makes sense but it does to me... And it amuses me that I have only seen one person I know during one of these train runs - puff eyed, sweating, hobbling all over... This a fact that surprises me...
It is also a dull start to this and I need to have it done in 10 minutes as we are due to go to town at midday,,, Okay... What happened last night?.. Well, Simon came down... Haven't seen him for ages... He gave me a Rollins book (very nice)... He also commented on the shittiness of my shoe's... I had to agree... I feel a bit daft in them... Pound from the car boot though, shouldn't moan... He had the spiked hair.. I said "Simon, you've got the spiked hair".. He said "yes I do"... And then he was gone...
I went back into the bar (i'd already been in and come back out but I'm trying to abbreviate)... There were lots of people... Pie and peas in plastic bowl's... A band played who were very good... A man tried to get another man to dance... The other man was reluctant... I went for a leak... A man in the toilet said how hard it was to button his fly with a broken wrist... I agreed; not knowing from experience but meaning well... (I nearly offered to help... I then thought that maybe that wouldn't be the best thing to be doing in a strange town... Sensible sort of...)
Then I played... I stopped playing... A man played after me... He played the blues... He put the strings to his teeth.... At this point the PA stopped working... I made to leave... My taxi was late... I shared a taxi with another man... He questioned where I was from... York I said.. He then questioned if I'd "really" come all the way over from York just for this... I said yes and gave him a fiver contribution to the taxi fair... I think he said that I was bonkers... He might not have... But that'll do to end it... Post office beckons and I quite fancy a pasty...
Oh yeah
The Habit
York
02/02/13
Saturday felt like Saturday this Saturday... I was at my mum's house... My dad was watching the rugby... It felt like a Saturday... I liked this... I got my gubbin's together and then walked into town... On the way I stopped off to have a baked potato with the lady... Oh baby... It was good... The printer was broken though... I can never work them out, I said... Then I went to the Habit...
On the way to the Habit I hoped it would be good... I thought that was a wise thing to think...
On arriving, someone said: "I recognize you.. we went to school together"...
Really? (get away from me).
Yeah I was mates with so and so... Oh yes, I remember (leave me alone).. I set the shit up... Hips of Steel played... Some drunk old woman danced the drunk old woman dance; that was pretty funny... Then I played for a bit... Then Vinnie played... Then I played some more... And then a woman asked if her friend could play a song; he used to be in the so and so's... Yeah no worries... He played... I think it was a Teenage fan club song... I packed the shit down... My friend came up to me... Should I interject... I said I didn't think so...
And then Colin arrived... It was his birthday... He played my guitar for a bit... Some woman noticed this and asked him to play Blackbird... He was going to but I said I needed my guitar back... She wasn't to happy about this... Can't he just play Blackbird? she said...... Sorry, I've got to go... At this she became more unhappy... I tried to explain... I felt bad... I was the route cause of her sad face... I decided to leave...
And then later I went to Dusk and denied to some woman outside that I was from Manchester...
She didn't believe me...
I don't think it mattered...
The Cockpit
Leeds
01/02/13
As an artist I tend to find waking up to be the most essential part of my day, after this all else tends to pale into insignificance (stock phrase necessary due to lack of fluids). Other things that are essential for the artist are: remembering birthdays and being able to handle battered sausages, half cut, in the glorious takeaways of Leeds...
Yesterday I feel I proved my worth at both... However, only just, as I did nearly manage to forget my Grandmothers birthday... Luckily my Dad reminded me... Big man...
Sometime after this exotic feast of excitement I made my way to Leeds... On the way there I sat on the train and tried to remember some words... When we arrived in Leeds I walked around lost, for some time, looking for the venue until eventually I found it...
On entering I said hello to George, who'd booked me... George seemed like a nice guy... George offered me a beer.. I accepted, wondering if I'm too easily pleased and form opinions on people based on very insignificant things... Deciding that I was I went outside for a fag...
At 7.30 I 'took to the stage'.. At 7.31 I was informed that I was actually on at 7.45 (this I was pleased about)... I had a few more toilet trips and then took to the stage once more... There were noises, a few yelps, shit got "heavy" and then I abandoned the stage, drank some more beer and left for 10 minutes to deal with the aforementioned battered sausage... On returning there was more toilet time and a man outside told me all about when he was in the air force - Jimmy five belly's, just add water, that makes shit explode... He seemed quite nice... After this I left...
And then I was sat on the train reading the book I hadn't touched for a week wondering why Michael (the main character) was being taken into custody with a needle in his buttock and why he had to apologize to Charles Tobin..?
Questions...