Sail Sale Sell

 

 

I still remember that summer of 2022….

It was so hot that I decided to go down to the creek & take a dip but the swimming hole was dry so I decided to fish …. then I heard my sister yell at her friend across the street that aliens had landed at the strip mall on the edge of town … I guess intergalactic fashion is a season behind here since the clearance sale started today …. it was good to know someone out there in the wild blue yonder still appreciated a good bargain

 

 

 

 

Words and image TERRENCE SYKES

 

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A Strategic Plan for the Digital Age

Goals will be perfect and achievable; they will be inclusive, fostering a sense of shared purpose and reasonable identity, and they will be flexible within agreed parameters. Agreement will be subject to ongoing review. In order to move forward in an equitable manner, appropriate ideals will be adopted forthwith. A period of consultation will follow. To ensure openness and transparency of process, blood will be drained. It is vital to all that individuals should feel empowered within robust and precisely defined frameworks. Voices will be heard. There will be inspiration. There will be innovation. There will be a virtuous circle of inspiration and innovation. In order to achieve and maintain this state of grace, it is vital to adopt robust and precisely defined reporting and monitoring procedures. To this end, silos will be demolished, individuals will be shared and, to maintain sustainable relations, agreement will be flexible. Perfection will be inspirational, innovative, and subject to ongoing review. Goals will be achievable. Intelligence will be artificial.

 

 

 

Oz Hardwick
Picture Nick Victor

 

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AFTERMATH

Petals of platelets flee
the husks of skin and hair
emptied of liberty,
leaving our garden bare.

No gardener was maimed,
we were only sleeping.
While we were entertained
the mob stole our freedom.

As our shining Red Sea
flows among the tombstones
engraved with guarantees,
grinning skullls and crossbones
of grim politicos
inspire the patriots,
deluded, and yobos
to rampage and riot
behind the strobe smokescreen
of media disguises.

Smug pundits smile and preen
and replace sense with lies.

Under the loud bleachers
our scarlet roses fled
while the unbowed preachers
trampled our sweet seed bed.

 

 

Duane Vorhees

 

 

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Alan’s Old and New Music Summer 2022

 

Alan Dearling shares some of sounds he’s been listening to during and after the UK’s hottest-ever weather.

Elton John – Regimental Sgt. Zippo

Just out now out on CD and in stereo for the first time, this is the mildly interesting ‘lost’ first album from Elton John when he was 19 and still answered to the name, Reg Dwight. It’s very sub-Beatles, overly reliant on lots of la-la-las and rather turgid orchestrations. Sounds to my ears like Hollies-Light or even the Bee Gees.  There’s even a track on it entitled, ‘Sitting Doing Nothing’. Hmmmm. It’s mostly very poppy, bouncy music, especially on tracks like, ‘Angel Tree’ and opener, ‘When I was Tealby Abbey’. ‘Tartan Coloured Lady’ is probably my favourite track. It’s more mellow and less formulaic ‘pop’.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4OFqlbR8jfI

‘Regimental Sgt. Zippo’ is the most obvious hit, and sounds most like early, Elton John, and a mocked-up, psych-period, Beatles-ish track. Personally, I’d suggest that you go back and put on your ‘Sgt. Pepper’ album instead. Nice cover art!

Miraculous Mule – Old Bones, New Fire

Swampy, pulsating a cappella, swirling blues-styled rock ‘n’ roll music. Think voodoo. Invocations of deities with good and bad intentions. Probably a fair bit of sympathy for the devil! Hear them as the self-styled, “group of Anglo-Irish honkies who dig African-American Gospel, prison/work songs and Hillbilly music”, who have returned to the roots of their original ‘Deep Fried’ album. It’s an immediate, in yerr face, very rough and ready, raw sound. I’ve seen Miraculous Mule play in London in the past and they are a great band to see live. The new album reminds me a bit of a stripped-down version of Alabama 3 performing with the Staples’ family. Here’s a seven-year old video of the band for Rockpalast:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pwxAei-o8OM

Jack White – Entering Heaven Alive

Jack has been pumping out new music of his own and for mates at a prodigious rate in recent Covid and post-Covid times (this is his second solo album of the year). There’s always been a darkness in his music. There’s a child-like simplicity too, although this album includes some more piano and quasi-orchestral arrangements on some tracks like, ‘Help me Along’ and ‘A Tree on Fire from Within’. The album kicks off with ‘A Tip from me’ which could almost be a vehicle for a sneering, Mick Jagger. Jack is still experimenting, which is good, and there’s a lot of relatively quiet acoustic guitar playing on ‘If I die tomorrow’ and ‘Love is Selfish’ which is soft and melodic. On a first couple of spins, this album seemed a little laid-back compared with the riotous venom of his days in the White Stripes, but the ‘bite’ and the staccato ‘edginess’ is still apparent, even on the funky jazz and Mellotron of ‘I’ve got you surrounded’. The album feels a bit unexpected, a bit naked. It’s all comparatively mellow for Jack White, kind-of a lilting, Dylanesque sound, even Gypsy-jazz, but I think it will grow on me, if I give it enough listens. Here’s a video of his noisy album release party, but it doesn’t sound much like the sounds on the actual album (at all). It starts off as a loud, electric affair. Maybe he’s changed his mind about the best way to play the new songs. In fact you don’t get a track from the new album until 8 minutes 22 seconds, ‘If I die tomorrow’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X3_Ow6uZSQw

Rim Banna (with Bugge Wesseltoft) – Revelation of Ecstasy and Rebellion (2013)

This is hauntingly beautiful. Absolutely ‘new-to-me’. Crammed full of an Arabian panoply of sounds and gorgeous instrumentation. I had just seen an Al-Jazeera documentary about Rim Banna, her life, her Palestinian roots, and her death at just 51 in2018 after a long fight with breast cancer. And thus, armed with a little information, I went in search of her music. How very pleased I am that I made this slight effort – but it’s hard to locate here in the UK. Sadly, I had to resort to downloading this album from Spotify into my virtual library. I don’t understand the words, but Rim’s voice is universal – these are emotional ‘stories’ of love, sorrow, suffering and exaltation. Listening to the album a second time, it reminded me very much of Gaelic singing with the many high-flying swoops and emotion-laden cadences. This album was produced by Norwegian, Bugge Wesseltoft, a major jazz pianist and arranger. Overall, the content and styles are wide-ranging from simple traditional folk music to dance and even hints of rap. Go search her out – it’s worth it! It’s a new personal favourite. Actually, much of it is jaw-droppingly, exquisite.

‘Stranger in the gulf’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OC792E7k4og

Here’s a short video of Rim with Bugge in Tunisia 2012: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b6_qCz_BTp4

Horace Andy – Midnight Rocker/Midnight Scorchers

I’m always up for some classy reggae, and Horace Andy is one of the best toasters/singers from this genre. From dancehall to deep dub, and even some pulsating psychedelic sounds on the title track, ‘Safe from Harm’, which features the midnight rockers’ line. Great track revitalised.  This album rocks – there are plenty of tracks to please. “There’s no such thing as easy money”, Horace sings, “Money, money, where did you go?” Horace doesn’t hang around and Adrian Sherwood has also revamped and produced a Sound System version of the ‘Midnight Scorchers’ sessions, including ‘Feverish’ from Studio One days, and a contribution from dub producer, multi-instrumentalist, Gaudi. Gaudi told me: “I’m feeling honoured to be featured also on this amazing album with my piano, mini-moog, stylophone and backing vocals.”

Strangely creepy video from ‘Midnight Rocker’.  See what you think: ‘Safe from Harm’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ETTEW8kQhu0

Religious Overdose – Strung out on Heaven’s High 1980-82

Not really for me, this outfit, but good at what they did. Music in Monotone. Experimental and elemental drum-bass heavy pounding. Sounds to accompany lobotomies, they originally played alongside The Fall, Bauhaus and Theatre of Hate. Germanic, kraut-rock electronica, synth and guitar and grungy vocals, moaning and groaning, often disappearing into the ether.

Their final track, recorded on a cassette, is kind of interesting and bizarre: ‘The Girl with the Disappearing Head’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9PAiZfyCvJ4

Neil Young with Crazy Horse – Toast

The backstory of this ‘missing’ album is interesting. Here is ‘Toast’ just being released in 2022, but recorded back during 2000 in San Francisco’s Toast Studio. We are told that it was just too personal for Neil. Too sad. It’s all about love and break-ups. “I miss you loving me, like we used to. Disappointment.” But it ain’t really maudlin. There’s much fuzz, distorted guitar from the Horse. There’s more than a hint of ‘Smoke on the water’ in ‘Standing in the light of love’.  It’s rough around the edges, but feels like a proper album, not some kind of bootleg, or left-over from the studio cutting-floor.  Some powerful rockin’ songs and sounds. Much of it is very good Neil, not quite the pinnacle, but too not far off. ‘Goin’ Home’ is a particularly powerful song. ‘The openers, ‘Quit’ and ‘Standing in the Light of love’ are very good indeed.  In fact, we have heard ‘Quit’ and ‘Goin’ Home’ before. ‘How ya doin’?’ was titled ‘Mr Disappointment’. They appeared on the Neil and Booker T and the MGs’ album, ‘Are you passionate?’, as did ‘Boom, boom, boom’. The last two tracks on the album are relatively downbeat, and meandering, but for a lost and now found album, it’s pretty coherent. ‘Goin’ Home’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?vkrkdMTgTaIg

 

The Gymslips – Rocking with The Renees

Tub-thumping, incendiary punkish ladies. “One, two, three and up your bum”. Full of impish humour and lady-fun. Naughty, irreverent. If you’ve never heard these three ladies, Paula Richards, Suzanne Scott and Karen Yarnell, they liked fast, furious vocals, speed-guitar and riffs. They were also pretty tuneful. They only released one album. Full of catchy punk songs. I kept on hearing echoes of ‘Cherry Bomb’ mashed-up with vocals from the American girl bands from the late fifties/early sixties. This is their original album, reissued for 2022. Drummer, Karen told the NME, “…a Renee was a girl who got as much shagging done as a bloke while matching him for pint-drinking, fag-smoking, nose-picking, farting and wearing of skinhead style double denim.”

Sing-along songs, ‘yeah-yeah-yeah’!

Here are the ladies in 1983 with ‘Dear Marje’.

https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=317769498903486

And to end, ‘Waiting for the Man’ from two lost, RIP greats: David Bowie and Lou Reed: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W4VEXl4vsq4

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The Man Who Collects Putin’s Excreta

                        I trust no one, not even myself.
                                                –Joseph Stalin

He wears a bespoke silver suit with a zinc-gray tie to make you forget you once saw him washing his hands with a small bottle of vodka in the baggage area at the airport.  Last week, a reporter claimed she saw him at an oxygen bar in Moscow—shoelaces loosened, head back, eyes glazed.  It’s said he doesn’t like narrow hallways, the smell of rotting apricots, vowels that elongate the mouth.  It’s said he’s always followed by three aluminum hummingbirds.  Before he sits down, he scrubs the seat with an antiseptic wipe, looks to see who’s watching, then scrubs the seat again.  It’s said his wife wears a diamond made from the thigh bone of a bioengineer who tried to emigrate to Germany.  It’s said his teenage daughter has cotton-candy-pink hair and has had all her teeth replaced.  If you happen to see him stroll by, a black briefcase attached to the chain around his waist, three aluminum hummingbirds trailing him, best not to smile or nod.  Best not to even think, What does the great leader do with all those packages of his waste?  Does he have them incinerated?  Shipped off to Siberia to be stored in a mine?  Or does he stroll each night, barefoot, in his pajamas, to feed his desiccated feces to the blushing roses.

 

 

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John Bradley

 

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SAUSAGE LIFE 239

 

Bird Guano’s
SAUSAGE LIFE
The column which is both charming and offensive at the same time

MYSELF: Hola lectoras! Here I am reclining on a deckchair by the pool at my villa in M*********, reading a pointless book and keeping an ear out for the reassuring clinkety-clink of Hideo, my Japanese butler approaching with a gin & tonic. By Jove, it’s hot enough to fry an egg on the bald head of a divorced welder.

READER: Well lucky old you, but what’s with the mystery asterisks? Why don’t you just tell us where you are? Is it Majorca?

MYSELF: No it most certainly is not Majorca. In any case, do you really think I want the likes of you turning up with your copy of yesterday’s Sun, your PG Tips and your six pack of HP sauce?

READER: Rather than take offence at that remark, I will give you the benefit of the doubt, and assume you are drunk.

MYSELF: At this time of day? I most certainly am not. On the contrary, I am utterly judge-like in my sobriety, although I am not wearing a suitable wig or gown.

READER: If you really were sober, you would have remembered I only buy The Daily Mail. Anyway, which holiday blockbuster are you reading?

MYSELF: Well since you ask, I am currently reading The Theory of Unintelligent Design by David Ike (Shitster & Sheister 12.99), and Mexican Sneeze a biography of my favourite guitarist, Tit Bingo of Meat Raffle.

READER: Tit Bingo! A very naughty boy…..didn’t he go to prison?


MYSELF:
 Yes, he’s currently doing 22 years in a Oaxaca penitentiary for smuggling baby armadillos out of Mexico concealed inside barrels of cocaine. His counsel unsuccessfully argued that he suffered from monophrenia, the inability to lie convincingly, but the sober old judge wouldn’t buy it.


READER:
 It’s alright for some. I wish I could lie around reading all day.


MYSELF:
 You don’t know the half of it. I am also learning how to make wallpaper paste out of badger sweat, and teaching myself to play one dimensional chess.

 

THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF HOLMES & WATSON
No. 357: The baffling case of the unnatural pomegranate

The crackling log fire cast a warm comforting glow over the cosy study at 221b Baker Street, as the famous detective and his companion Dr. Watson enjoyed a quiet night in. Holmes grappled with a 10,000-piece jigsaw composed entirely of cloudless blue sky when Watson, perusing the latest issue of The Tatler suddenly became animated.
“Good heavens Holmes, an old friend of yours has been involved in a terrible accident. You remember Friedrich Nietzche? Didn’t you go to school with him?”
The detective’s knitted brow indicated that he did indeed remember the irritating German philosopher who had been his fag at Eton and was forever spouting inflammatory nonsense and half-baked theories. Holmes had frequently given the younger Nietzche a beating, sometimes for spending too much time in the Physics lab, sometimes for not putting enough jam on his crumpets, or misaligning the creases of his dress trousers. His pipe, as though in agreement, belched a black cumulous cloud of foul- smelling acridity which insinuated itself into Watson’s sensitive nostrils. After a short sneezing fit, the Doctor felt able to continue relating the Tatler story; “Listen to this Holmes. We all knew about Nietzche’s fondness for modern machinery but according to Tatler, he had become completely obsessed with the new-fangled electric machines which clean carpets by employing enormously powerful suction and had purchased one in order to make the life of his domestic staff a little easier. No one knows exactly what happened as he is still in a coma, but evidently he was found by his butler face down and unconscious, with his head right up against the infernal machine’s inlet duct. The poor blighter’s lips had been entirely detached and sucked into the dust bag”.
Holmes, deliberating over two pieces of identical sky-blue jigsaw, was to all intents and purposes barely listening to the doctor’s story. Inside his complex brain however, resided an irresistible well of mischief.
Detecting the tiniest, revealing twitch in Holmes’ left eyelid, Watson made a valiant effort to cover his ears and sing lalala, but the sleuth was far too quick for him.
Without looking up from the impossible puzzle, he removed his pipe and spoke;
Nietzche adores a vacuum”, he said flatly.
Watson, ever dignified, stood up and left the room. For a full hour afterwards he could be heard weeping softly into his pillow.

DO TRY THIS AT HOME
Following formula one racing can be an expensive and time consuming hobby. Here’s a cheap and easy way to enjoy the experience without going out.

Trap a handful of wasps in a Lyle’s Golden Syrup tin (make sure there are air holes in the tin, and no traces of syrup!)
Light a cigar, and shaking the tin vigorously, blow some smoke into it before attaching it to your ear with an elastic band.
Place a cardboard box over your head, and in your loudest voice shout Max Verstappen! over and over again until you have a sore throat.
Enjoy!!

ASK DR. GUANO
Due to lack of space, the editor has ordered me to deal with this issue’s mailbag of misery more efficiently, by printing only my replies:

Dear Martha Gluck (Mrs) of Herstmonceaux: I have to inform you that you are both wrong. It was the Swedish clarinettist Lars Vondervondervonder.De
ar Norman Rhodes of St Leonards: 
I am sorry to disappoint you, but since 1975, all the white dog faeces has been exported to China to make toys.


Dear Rev. Richard Hummous of Cockmarlin
: Covering yourself in goose fat in order to go shopping is no substitute for sensible warm clothing, and it will almost certainly reduce the resale value of your bicycle.

PUB QUIZ
Q: Which Geordie scientist discovered the theory of relativity?
A: Why Einstein of course

READER: Hang on a minute, Einstein wasn’t a Geordie!


MYSELF:
 And neither, clearly, are you. Smart boy wanted, apply within.

Sausage Life!

Colin Gibson • Emmet Ives • Anita Makris



SAY GOODBYE TO IRONING MISERY!
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Take years off your smalls with Botoxydol!
CAUTIONMAY CAUSE SMILEY FACE T-SHIRTS TO LOOK INSINCERE


Vote For Countryside Alliance
by The Hunt Cult. Click for video
https://vimeo.com/501269086

 

 

 

 

 

SPONSORED ADVERTISEMENT
“Sometimes you just need a tool that doesn’t do anything”

By Colin Gibson

 

 

 

 

 

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The little typists

brand new material from those enigmatic overlords of nottingham’s electronic underground, the little typists.

scribbled down on a poorly discarded napkin on the holyhead train, whilst enjoying the view over the dee estuary, this one pretty much wrote itself.

don’t go leaving your empty drinks cartons, paper straw included, on our table.

 

 

“available now, along with other hidden gems, at thelittletypists.com

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Swing

Turbulence, a whiskey splash
A minute away.
Homecomings
Wet with inner child
Kites run wild
Spree of freedom and sinking feet.
A deep cajoling
A wide open night 
A slow moving jazz beat 
A trinket of fairy dust 
Shadow’s dreamcatcher isle
Doodling over a white blanket
Mistakes and eraser
Our mothers know the way 
Protect like a key chain.  
The last rushing crawling
Deaths and little dinosaurs
Crayons, fabricated, sprinkled off. 
An Opal shaped halcyon phase
Dwindling steps 
A little swinging floor
Russet and rusty
An infinite way 
To love from above
A little push at the back 
Cherry kissed jumping off
Little bit of dare 
A little fear, a small red map over knee
A smudge from the elders
As if carrying little wildflowers
Inside a basket
Experienced insides of adult bones
Dilly dally fall 
Over the window
A little trinket of shower
Purging
A cathartic growth.

 

Sayani Mukherjee

 

 

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Arboriculture for beginners

Overnight a sizeable area of dense woodland had appeared and it now blocked both carriageways of the motorway. The first driver to encounter it was on his way to deliver fuel at a nearby service station. The emergency services raced to the scene, diversions were put in place, and at first light government scientists arrived to take stock of the situation. The ecologists quickly agreed this was mature woodland with evidence of various protected species in residence and there was no way legally it could be removed.

While the group of officials were debating what to do, a knight on a white charger rode out of the wood accompanied by his page. He looked bemused at the scene on the carriageway, rode slowly around the vehicles parked there, prodded a squad car with his lance, and spoke to his page in an incomprehensible dialect which everyone assumed was Old English. A senior official questioned the knight but he appeared not to understand.

A literature professor was flown by helicopter to the scene in the hope he might be able to communicate with the knight, and perhaps shed some light on the origin of the wood. The professor turned out to be in his early 30s, with a second career as the bass player in an indie band called Grendel and his Mother.

As the professor approached, the knight removed his helmet and everyone recognized the Icelandic actor Gunnar Gunnarson. He apologized for pretending not to know English but said he had been wanting to meet a professor of Old English since he was four, and the present opportunity had seemed too good to miss. The professor, who happened to be a fan of Gunnarson’s, gave the actor a CD of his band’s latest album.

Gunnarson said they’d been filming the day before, a remake of a 1970s B-movie called Guinevere and the Hermit. A director known for his sexually provocative films had long wanted to ‘update’ this salacious tale . That night Gunnarson had dreamed of being lost among trees, in a scene very like one in the film, and when he woke up he found he was riding through a wood, accompanied by the actor playing his page, who also couldn’t remember how they had got there.

 

 

Simon Collings

 

 

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Ed Cross interview

 

In this interview I talk with gallerist and curator Ed Cross. He is owner of Ed Cross Gallery near Barbican, London, and he also represents some of the most exciting artists, sculptors, and photographers on display. 

Ed Crosss inaugural Summer show 14 July – 17 August 2022 featured some of the artists, photographers, sculptors he represents. 

It included PABI DANIEL, ERMIAS EKUBE, LEAH GORDON, MÁRIO MACILAU, ABE ODEDINA, SOLA OLULODE, ERIC PINA.

Above image is by Abe Odedina

Second image is portrait photo of Ed Cross next to work by Ceser Cornejo

website for Ed Cross
www.edcrossfineart.com

 

You lived in Kenya for 20 years. Describe this time and how Art made an impression on you?

I was drawn to go and live in Kenya partly because of the sheer beauty of the pristine natural world there – the intensity of the colours and the light, the way people improvised so creatively to make their livings, with an environment like that – art can struggle to compete with life. Over the years you could see humanity encroaching on that natural world in inevitable ways.

You have been involved in collecting since 1988. How did you become a collector?

I am not really the collector “type” I am an incidental collector really – it is a shame not to acquire some of the art that passes through your hands as a gallerist – if you possibly can.. otherwise I am generally more interested in the artists as people and often friends as much as their art – which of course I love too.

You yourself are an artist and sculptor. You focused on this mainly between 2000 – 2007. I want to know how you as an artist labored over your art?

My interest in people fuelled the portraiture side of my art practice but in the end the “loneliness” of the artist’s path was one of the reasons I didn’t continue with it. My driver was intuition and that remans my driver which is why I found it so easy to transition to being a gallerist.

In 2005 you begin curating and exhibiting. You established Ed Cross Fine Art to promote and sell contemporary art from Africa and diasporas in 2009. Alongside this you co founded with Richard Branson and his partner at Virgin Robert Devereux the Daraja collection. In your own words describe these stages and functions?

I had never been comfortable about selling my own work – the last thing I wanted to do was to commercialise my practice – so it was a relief to me to step back in the world of commerce but driven by a passion for something beyond business. Daraja gave me the opportunity to travel and seek out new artists and get to know Senegal, Benin and Zimbabwe in particular in addition to countries like Ethiopia and Tanzania that I had visited in my earlier life in book publishing. In the end it boiled down to my passion for what I was doing which kept me on track through difficult times when art from Africa was often just a curiosity for many.

I visited your gallery today to see the current exhibition, inaugural Annual Summer Show (14th Jul – 17th Aug). The combination of artists and photographers like Leah Gordon is amazing. I’ve been trying to see a Leah Gordon piece for a long time so to see a Mário Macilau Photographic print on archival paper at the same time next to incredible works of art by artists I mentioned in the introduction is really something special. Speak to me about your interest in photography?

I am interested in photography partly because it has the ability to bring the experiences of unsung anonymous people to the world. Leah’s Haiti work celebrates the creativity and determination of people leaving under near impossible conditions – largely the result of centuries of colonial exploitation – to find trenchant voices to challenge abuses of power. Her work about British folk traditions tells the story of cultural threads that have survived over centuries in the face of ruthless economic interests. Mario Macilau himself has lived experience of destitution whilst growing up and a deep empathy informs all his work, taking the trouble to capture the essence of people and situations on the edges of mainstream society. Deep empathy informs all his work, taking the trouble to capture the essence of people and situations on the edges of mainstream society.

 

 

 

Joshua Phillip 

Rorschach Art Publication 
rorschacharchives.blogspot.com

 

[email protected]

 

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Whims of Nameless-ness

I am not  yet dead; un-touch me.

Let not the bees or the rats

Or the sunken darts loot our pollen.

I am not yet dead; adhere me.

I wish that the Mother with tall wrinkled trunk talks me,

With branches of feathers, with breeze of chill blanket me,

On the green river rise me,

In the earthen bath bake me.

I am not yet dead; ear out me.

With the unsung chirpings, the unseen peaker’s craft,

Snakes forgotten scales left back, to dry,

Decay and buried undesired.

Howl’s the echoes of fallen ears out.

I am not yet dead; amidst unseen existence of me.

For the blood in me the State shall see,

My eyes when they point me,

My letters when they note me,

My identity exist in the ruled lines of sectioned ink.

Stamped and sealed with the print of unspoken words,

With the lost statistics never mentioned the graved ones.

I am not yet dead; hunt the nameless-ness within me.

In the land I must grow and the shelter under which I just have taken rest

When the sun strikes notch of the hills

Looted and shredded down,

And hackled me to be born with a sound.

The bureaucrats trapped me

And laughed when tried to talk

The long pointed nose of those skin shades

Pun upon the nameless-ness of graven dens.

I am not yet dead; call name of me.

I was born during festival of Holi,

So I was called Phagonia (the month in which Holi is celebrated)

I was born tall,

So I was called lambu ( hindi word for a person who is tall)

I was born when flowers bloomed in my yard,

So I was named pholia ( flower)

I was born on a Saturday and my mother passed away while giving birth,

So I was named sanichara ( inauspicious).

I am not yet dead, hear me.

I climb the core of the cracking peddles

Like the arms of hours about to meet

But they dive and uncovered my skies

They came and un-wheeled my chain

And named me upon there dead tails.

Scratched my walls and altered my dates

And name the days that,

Never floats in my veins.

My being was coloured,

Which was alien to me.

The crucified wooden idols

Where hanged upon the walls

And the wood was taken from

Our half trunk-en God.

The Joseph, Merry, John

All named from a foreign land.

The un- earthen soil was stamped upon

In name of mercy we were doomed to be aliens,

Upon the soil of one’s own.

How to get through this mystery?

How to dive in the river were we breed?

How to rewind and un-wheel the imposed History?

And palm out the graved grimmer History of one’s own.

Let’s unlearn to learn back the routes of one’s own.

As am not yet dead; rejuvenate me.

As the veins talks me to:

My rain, my land, my name, my ways.

The pebbles stones crawls back under my feet,

To strike me back to my speaking tongue.

To mark the unsung names of History to it’s being.

As am not yet dead, breathe Me.

 

 

 

 

Author- Sonali Gupta
Picture Rupert Loydell

Gumla, Jharkhand, India.

Twitter handle- https://twitter.com/_Sonali_Gupta__?t=YKEKdayvFw2N6M0QgJhWS
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100004868226417

Bio- Sonali Gupta has currently completed Master’s from Centre for English Studies, JNU New Delhi India. She’s a poet from Gumla district, Jharkhand,India. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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An American Prayer


 
 
Our Father, who’s armed in heaven,
hollow-point be thy name.
Blow us today to kingdom come,
on earth, where we love our weapons. 
Give us today our daily dead
and forgive us our indifference
as we ignore those who gun down our children.
Lead us not to sensible legislation,
but deliver us from reason.
Amen.

Alfred Fournier

 

 

.

 

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Conjugation of Poetry

what tense or what tension of time
what thyme or sage advice is scribed
letters scattered in rows
like seeds in a garden
with expectation of harvest
or mere longing for love or autumn
as the seasons conjugate
words sleepwalking
across the parchment

 

 

 

Words and image TERRENCE SYKES

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Speaking with a Snowy Owl

Doesn’t surprise me. Offensive? No, not even startling. Wings are dense. Your feathers soothe the rain, brush away cinders, ice crystals. Sheen on the water. Miraculous bronze glow. It covers your heart. Intensification of color when you stretch towards the light. Wings are dense. Remove the sting, the memory of axe and fire. Nothing else to be done. Doesn’t surprise me. Offensive? Yes, when the sun burns out its core and the ice floes shed their strength. Yes, offensive, but wings are dense and your feathers soothe the brain, bush away embers, bring back amber, bring back blue. Haze around the core. No fog. No moisture. Saturation of anticipation. You can’t read the night sky. It isn’t there anymore. It isn’t even possible.

Andrea Moorhead

 

 

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RON’S ON

 
 
Ron Jeremy could now rot for the rest of his life;
Rotund, ruined. Founder of a luxurious legend, now
He will languish with a one handed refrain for all time.
The daily fuckings long done, as memory maps
Masturbation, and a morning glory comes after crying
Over spilt milk and semen and an ever widening chasm
 
That no fat man his age could now climb. His was a kid
In a sweetshop like life, despite bland beginnings;
Women at all corners and in all doorways, too. Tits
On tap. A celebrity carved from cock, with the ability
To come on a countdown, as well as enough girth
And inches to compensate for the features
 
That managed to evade beauty’s trap. Refered to
As a sweet guy by men but as a predator now
By women, perhaps decades in indulgence colluded
To corrupt true insight. For his was a transactional world.
Sex was currency. Women, likewise. And it would seem
That his lack of foundation in terms of wife and family
 
Smeared what’s right.  And so, he played a part
At all times; the funny fat clown, cool with fucking.
But as with kids and candy, the sugar you spend
Can soon crust; losing all sense and taste to create
Sick sensation, just as the bar broke beneath him,
To reform just as quickly in order to imprison
 
His crimes against trust. Though this is
A particular case. He’s been playing in porn since
The Eighties, if not before. Like the famous,
This must remove Ron from the real, hourly. And yet
What to do Ron, but time so as to listen too late
To friends’ warnings, as he wakes, wanks and whimpers,
 
The sex that surrounds him will be a matter
Of pricks pulled and pointing away from fame’s
Pleasure and straight towards infamy. What is Ron on?
A precipice, from this angle. And wherever a fouled
Fate now takes him, he learns the last lesson;
That loneliness and separation are porn for prisoners
 
At all moments, and always consuming. This is
Particularly true for the shameful, whether
Or not they are free.
 
 
 
 
David Erdos 15/8/22
 
 
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Lament / Seaweed Soup / What Fred Said

.

LAMENT

It has come to this –
The world is forsaken
for want of a kiss.

For want of love
murder is rife –
We have slit the naked
Throat of life.

.

SEAWEED SOUP

In the cathedral of life

My walking is my only prayer.
So I made my way to your home
In a glowing mood of expectation.
Thus it was that again
I gazed upon your form & face
& that your smile obliterated time & space,
While my sublime contemplation
of your breathing, existing self
Gave flight to earthbound thought.
The seaweed soup was steaming,
Briney broth brimming with butterbeans,
& as I left, the constellations gleamed
& the moon, ah yes! the moon,
With delicate illumination
Saw me safely home.

.

WHAT FRED SAID

Fred said:
“I will turn the glorified garden shed
into a temple 
of transcendental homeliness
by keeping it simple.
Lacrra’patroness
Of fruit and flower’
Will tend to the weeds of wilderness,
& I will minister to bird and bee,
Milk honey from the hives,
Ensure that Mother Nature thrives
In vine & grass & all that’s green,
Pay homage to what survives
The depredations of human & machine.
Long live
The Alternative
Society!”
That’s what Fred said.

 

 

.

Charles Graham

 

.

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Fishing For The Meanings

The gutter blares cheerily
after the rain.
The man known for his
fishing in the rapids
lifts an accidental spear
fell from a tree.

Because I see nowhere
as far as I look
I watch the man’s collapsing
muscle jab black water,
the nothing that he pierce,
corpses of the saplings
and limbs of the evergreens
whirl away. I watch until
rain arrives again.

 

 

 

 

Kushal Poddar
Picture Nick Victor

Kushal Poddar lives in Kolkata, India

@amazon.com/author/kushalpoddar_thepoet
 Author Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/KushalTheWriter/ 
Twitter- https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe

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Bippety and Boppety Talk Party

– I’ve been invited to a party.
– You have my commiserations.
– It’s a birthday party.
– That’s no less awful than any other kind of party.
– The invitation says there will be a cold buffet.
– There is worse food in the world, but offhand I can’t think what it is.
– It also says there will be dancing long into the night.
– Oh, it’s an S&M party.
– I don’t know what that means.
– Songs and music.
– Well anyway, I’m allowed to take a guest. Do you . . .
– Don’t even think about it!

 

 

 

Martin Stannard

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WEEK TWO OF THE 75TH EDINBURGH FRINGE FESTIVAL

 Done to Death, by Jove!
Reviewer: Kevin Short

 

A murder mystery cast are stranded on the M6. The only two who have made it to the theatre, rather than disappoint, explain that they alone will play all the roles. What follows is hilarious and quite brilliant. The super-talented twosome assume various guises, even playing scenes holding multiple hats, representing the absentee cast. Holmes and Watson (their main roles) become a multitude of characters and, sometimes, it’s hard to know what is impeccably rehearsed and what is impishly improvised. Either way, they act their hearts out. The sweat pours, the laughs roar, and the audience give a well-deserved standing ovation. Equal plaudits to Gavin Robertson and Nicholas Collett, who brilliantly saved the day. If you can only see one show at the Fringe, see this. Excellent, by Jove! 

Aug 15, 17, 19, 21, 23, 25, 27 (1hr) £11.50 (£9.50) the Spaceuk Triplex Studio Venue 38


 

John Otway
Reviewer: Kathryn S Kraus

 

Beginning with his number one hit ‘Cor Baby, That’s Really Free,’ all the way through to his encore of ‘Headbutts,’ the standing room only crowd was blown away by the soon to be septuagenarian’s explosive energy. He puts his heart and soul into every performance, and old fans (and new) love him for it. The highlight for me is his performance of ‘Josephine.’ For all the craziness on stage, this song shows that he is truly a poet. He calls himself ‘Rock ‘n Roll’s Greatest Failure’ but he’s wrong. He’s had two hit records, two books, over 5000 gigs, a movie made about his life, and I hear on the Otvine that he is soon to have a great honour bestowed upon him (stay tuned, because it’s a humdinger). Bravo, John!

PBH Free Fringe Voodoo Rooms

 

Kevin Quantum: Dark Matter
Reviewer: Kathryn S Kraus

 

350 people filled the extremely hot ballroom. Extensive lights, video screen, live camera and pyrotechnics led me to believe this was going to be a spectacular show. Wrong. The tricks aren’t original, the delivery monotone, and with a name like ‘Quantum,’ there should be more tie-in with science. However, my problem isn’t just the show, it’s what it represents. Quantum packed the house because he’s a reality show star. Hundreds of Fringe acts dream of such crowds but will never get them if big venues keep producing these hollow money-makers. A known act in an ordinary show can’t compete with an extraordinary unknown at a smaller venue. Save spectacle for Vegas, support performers handing out flyers on the Royal Mile

Aug 17-22, 24-29. (£15 £14) Gilded Balloon – Teviot Debating Hall.

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I (still) miss The World Of Twist

Alistair Fitchett on ‘When Does The Mind Bending Start?’ by Gordon King

I miss The World Of Twist. I’ve got the t-shirt, picked up along with the expanded reissue of the group’s single LP ‘Quality Street’ a few years back. I hadn’t known that the artist Jeremy Deller was a fan though. I’d always had a lot of time for Deller and his love for The World Of Twist merely cemented that opinion. He opened the sleeve notes for that reissue with a few lines saying how he hated writing so that all he could say were that The World Of Twist were the Roxy Music of his generation. Which I suppose (since he was born a couple of weeks before me) means my generation. Or even My Generation. Whatever.

The line about Roxy Music opens up ‘When Does The Mind Bending Start?’, the newly published biography of the band from guitarist Gordon King. Since the demise of WOT King went on to be a key element in Earl Brutus and The Pre New, both groups who, you know, if you know you know. Both made brilliant records and both were deliciously wild and weird. But still, they weren’t The World Of Twist, and King’s book, which is effortlessly engaging and remarkably evocative of the times, almost acknowledges this fact. He knows what we all lost.

The times, in case you need getting up to speed, would be the (mostly post) Madchester era of the late 1980s and early 1990s, and whilst the book is certainly peppered with references to the likes of Stone Roses, Happy Mondays and their ilk, it’s clear that for King and his gang of like-minded truth seekers, World Of Twist were always travelling a path apart. Outside of time and space, The World Of Twist were all about creating their own universe and mythologies. It’s clear, reading King’s tremendous book, that the ley line leading to the temple of Twist passed through the likes of Roxy, Eno, Hawkwind, Genesis, Yes and all points Prog before racing through key punctuation marks of the Punk and post-Punk deviants such as Sex Pistols, Buzzcocks, The Fall, Magazine, Clock DVA etc. It’s a lineage that makes a lot of sense to me now, although at the time I would have sneered naively at the Prog references, locked as I was in the myopic, mediated falsity of a Punk Year Zero. No Elvis, Beatles or Rolling Stones… blah blah blah. Being some years younger than King and perhaps immeasurably more naive, I had no concept of much music prior to 1977 when my mates started buying funny coloured 7″ singles at Speed and talking in riddles. So when The World Of Twist covered The Rolling Stones’ ‘She’s A Rainbow’ on the flip side of ‘The Storm’ 7” I could see by the writing credits on the label that it was a Jagger/Richards number and that by rights I should hate it, but… man, it sounded divine. Assuming that this was some groovy take that sounded nothing like the original, it was a bit of a shock some years later to discover that it was in fact a very faithful facsimile pulled off with love and affection. Similarly, it took me years to realise that ‘This Too Shall Pass Away’ was a cover of a number by The Honeycombs, they of the magnificent ‘Have I The Right’ that for years I knew of only from the Dead End Kids, of all places. Says it all, and which I’m sure makes it obvious too that I was never hip enough to catch The World Of Twist playing one of their psychedelic extravaganza live shows. Hence, it wasn’t until that expanded reissue that I picked up on the fact that they played The MC5’s ‘Kick Out The Jams’. I mean, of course they did. It made perfect sense. How could they not?

King makes it clear in his book just how important theatrical elements such as Brother J.C. Crawford’s evangelical on stage introductions to the MC5 were to the formation of The World Of Twist (and indeed, to Earl Brutus and The Pre New). In an early chapter entitled ‘Bill Nelson’s in His Tube’ (and incidentally, there is a massive 6CD reissue of Nelson’s Red Noise ‘Art/Empire/Industry’ set coming later this month on Cherry Red) King outlines his nine-point plan for forming a band. Point eight is: “Conceptualise. This is essential. Amazingly, it’s the most neglected, overlooked part of forming a band, but you skip this step and you are doomed.” I suspect there is more than a touch of irony in there, as World Of Twist, Earl Brutus and The Pre New were conceptualised to the point of Fine (Pop) Art and were all, for the most part, doomed to the peripheries of ‘success’. Which, perhaps, is why there were all so interesting, ‘success’ being entirely defined by the criteria one chooses to apply after all. Certainly in terms of Chart Success, it was World Of Twist that came closest, with singles hovering tantalisingly close to breaking into the top 40 before falling away, deflated and sad like wrinkled balloons at a birthday party. They did the TV circuit to an extent too, with their performance of ‘The Storm’ on The Word being a particular triumph, enjoyed enormously by Holly Johnson at the time, as one would rather hope and expect. But if World Of Twist were, commercially speaking, not as successful as they (or their label, Circa) would have liked, conceptually they were worlds apart from the run of the mill humdrum of the rest of the charts. Conceptually they were way ahead. Conceptually they were the best band, the greatest gang on the planet.

The gang element was played out most perfectly on the photograph that graced the inner gatefold of ‘Quality Street’. Composed and shot by James Fry (younger brother of Martin Fry, he of New Pop Pioneers ABC) but conceptualised largely by King, it is a photograph that contrasts magically with the Georgian period-drama costume extravaganza of his main cover shot. From the Pantiles in Tunbridge Wells (I always thought it might have been Bath) Fry moves the group into some backwater back alley and captures the group looking like something from ‘Bronco Bullfrog’. ‘Iconic’ was made for images like this and King rightly proclaims it as “the greatest rock band photo ever shot”. The photo shoot appears in the background of the video for ‘Sweets’, where an impossibly young (and incredibly cool) looking Bob Stanley wanders past, Bob being the central character in the video playing the group’s biggest fan. It was hardly acting, for Bob was certainly a long-standing fan. His CAFF label would release a World Of Twist 7″ and his Icerink imprint would give Earl Brutus their first outings. Later, Bob’s group Saint Etienne would write and record ‘Train Drivers in Eyeliner’ for their 2017 album ‘Home Counties’ in tribute to Nick Sanderson. Indeed, Saint Etienne were one of the few groups contemporary with The World Of Twist that one might have mentioned in the same breath. The mighty Intastella, with whom World Of Twist were almost inextricably linked at the time, and Denim also spring to mind. Maybe Luke Haines’ Baader Meinhoff and Black Box Recorder, although they were much later of course but imbued with the same spirit for sure.

Hardly the typical Rock Biog, ‘When Does The Mind Bending Start’ is nevertheless peppered with Amusing Anecdotes, but these are often delivered with a self-deprecating air of almost apologetic bemusement which makes it very easy to warm to King and the group. My favourite is one where King misses out by a few hours on joining the rest of the group as cameos in the background of a Rolling Stones video, although his tale of meeting a drunk Kris Novoselic runs it close and is typically good natured and measured. There’s a typical lovely warmth to his conclusion to this anecdote: “I never really got Nirvana, it all sounded a bit like The Police to me, but Kurt Cobain, for the few seconds I spent in his company, seemed like a nice lad. What happened to him was really sad.”

There’s no bitterness in the book towards the record label or to managers or ‘suits’ who tend to come off badly in these kinds of stories. There is even little irritation shown to The Media who, inevitably, turned on the group that they had previously championed. Indeed, King proudly includes scathing reviews of their final single, that cover of The Stones’ ‘She’s A Rainbow’ that initially appeared on the flip of first single ‘The Storm’. King even professes to the Melody Maker piece, which concludes that this is “A song for swinging-losers” being his favourite piece of WOT press. By this point in the story of course King appreciates that it’s all but over for band, the brief window of opportunity closing before their eyes. It might be the benefit of age or the calming balm of distance, but the book is imbued with a lovely sense of peace that is often missing in such things. A recognition that It Wasn’t To Be. That life moves on and that we take what treasures and pleasures from it that we can. Making things precious, or whatever.

It’s abundantly clear too just how much love King has for the characters who accompanied him on the journey with The World Of Twist, several of whom are tragically no longer with us. David Hardy, the band’s manager and, as King points out in the initial outline of characters, “the only adult in this story”; Martin Wright of Intastella and the incomparable Laugh; Nick Sanderson, who drummed with World Of Twist, Clock DVA, Jesus and Mary Chain and The Gun Club amongst others, fronted Earl Brutus and was the inspiration for the aforementioned ‘Train Drivers in Eyeliner’. And of course, there is Tony Ogden, front man extraordinaire with his leather shirt tucked into white jeans, massive belt buckles shimmering under the mirror ball and fighting his way out of a tinfoil underworld, like Lou Reed boxing his way out of Warhol’s Factory. If there is a regret in ‘When Does The Mind Bending Start’ it is perhaps that King and Ogden grew apart towards the end of The World Of Twist and that, in some ways, robbed us of some particularly special possibilities.

So I’ve got the t-shirt and now I’ve read the book. And I still miss The World Of Twist.

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HEAVY TABLE

 

A person at the party is

The poet Leonard Cohen but

‘No-one’ quite believes it to be him   –

A poet perhaps   –

A ‘Leonard’ or a ‘Bernard’ as may be   –

These seldom seem a ‘someone’

To compose an elegiac first L.P.

Of which some speak because

Poets found at any given party

Incline to inspire to aspire

Flights of fancy into tight formation

Of ‘recognition’ ‘money’ and ‘success’

To modestly impress attractive people

They have ‘at last’ ‘become’ ‘someone’

In whom all might ‘believe’

 

The person at the party Michael

Horovitz assured me the next day

Had been Canadian poet Leonard Cohen

‘No-one’ had expected him to be

Recovered from the framed self-conscious sitting

In the photo on the cover of his C.B.S. L.P.

 

We sang a song from this new album

As we moved a heavy table

To the top room of the house in Notting Hill

Another ‘Porter’ (Cole) said of his song-craft   –

‘I aim for poetry then swing a left’

 

There’s always a heavy ‘table’ needing moving

Sometimes there seems no-one else around

To help you  –  but The Desert

Fathers who advised

‘G-d attends on all who call upon Him

But He LOVES the ones who sing His Name’

 

Michael meant to make this anecdote

A poem ‘sometime’ long ago   –

Now his table is Eternal Light and

Leonard is G-d’s favoured

Singing Cowboy

 

 

 

Bernard Saint
Illustration: Claire Palmer

 

 

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Zephyr Sounds Sunday Sermon No. 88

Steam Stock.

Tracklist:
Ennio Morricone – The Strong
The Staple Singers – For What it’s Worth
Teitur Magnússon – Kollgatan
Spiritualized – Out of Sight
Sonic Boom – On a Summer’s Day
Primal Scream – Carry Me Home
The Go! Team – Everybody’s a V.I.P. to Somebody
Percy Sledge – The Dark End of the Street
Irma Thomas – Anyone Who Knows What Love is (Will Understand)
The Raveonettes – Dead Sound
The Velvet Underground – Stephanie Says
Björk – Unison
Nirvana – About a Girl (live)
R.E.M. – Star Me Kitten
The Byrds – Turn Turn Turn
Al Green – I’m so Glad You’re Mine

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Title:- Lonely Heart!

 

I am ailing without you

You are the one who spreads

Strength in my lonely heart.

Come and heal me

By caressing me all over.

With your fluttering eyelashes,

You captured my heart.

Let this heart of mine

Beat forever for you.

In your touch I forget my worries,

In your smile I melt like ice.

When you smile

A thousand of roses bloom in my heart.

Then with our merger

And Heaven’s blessings

Fairies sing a reborn love sublime!

 

 

 

Monalisa Parida
Picture Nick Victor

 

 

 

Bio:- Monalisa Parida is a post graduate student of English literature from India, Odisha and a prolific poetess. She  is very active in social media platforms and her poems have also been translated into different  languages and publish in various e-journals.

   She has got 80 international award for writing poetry. Her poems have been publishing international e-journals “New York parrot”, “The Writers Club” (USA), “Suriyadoya literary  foundation”, “kabita Minar”, “Indian Periodical” (India) and “Offline Thinker “, “The Gorkha Times “ ( Nepal), “The Light House”(Portugal), “Bharatvision”(Romania), “International cultural forum for humanity and creativity”(Aleppo, Syria), “Atunispoetry.com”(Singapore) etc. And also published in various newspapers like “The Punjabi Writer Weekly(USA)”,  “News Kashmir (J&K, India)”, Republic of Sungurlu (Turkey)” etc.

One of  her poem published an American anthology named “The Literary Parrot Series-1 and  series-2 respectively (New York, USA)”. Her poems have been translated in various languages like Hindi, Bengali, Turkish, Persian, Romanian etc.  And she is the author of the book “Search For Serenity”, “My Favourite Grammar”, “Paradigm”.

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Vox Aestatis

 

Whatever it was, it was swaddled in cotton, eyes wrapped in polarised glass and rasping like a sleeping dog. It carried a case of understandable confusion, packed tight with dizziness and stomach cramps, and it hummed a tune like thirst and sluggish summer nights. I was ready for its call, in the way that a forest is prepared for fire, or that a proud ship is steeled for sinking; and I reached to shake its treacherous bargain with a meeting of blistered hands. Roads rippled like remembered rivers. Sweat fell like salted diamonds. Beneath loose cotton, I felt desiccated flesh and brittle bones. Whatever it was, it was serious and unprecedented, and ice cream wouldn’t melt in its mouth. It claimed that we had an arrangement and whined like a dog as it swept its arm to take in the whole sad world. It said it was just the messenger, but I shot it anyway.

 

 

 

Oz Hardwick
Picture Nick Victor

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You are Beautiful and You are Alone: The Biography of Nico.

You are Beautiful and You are Alone: The Biography of Nico

By Jennifer Otter Bickerdike    (isbn: 978-0-571-35002-5)

Thoughts on this new Faber paperback book by Alan Dearling

Serious, meticulously researched, but fascinating and sometimes downright, rough and murky and too!

Nico – the Icon, has frequently been seen as mysterious, dark, melancholy and ultimately a mix of high-end art, unlistenable music, and a life characterised by a drug-fuelled descent into a bleak, nihilistic END-game. In many ways this book adds detail to that tapestry of the life of Christa Paffgen (or Schulz, her father’s surname). She was one of the first photographic-supermodels, working with the likes of Vogue and Coco Chanel, and, as an actress in Federico Fellini’s film, ‘La Dolce Vita’. She is largely portrayed as aloof, imperious and headstrong. But to that, her biographer adds the perception that Nico was seriously wounded, frightened and lonely.

Bohemian, and mover and shaker in the USA, Danny Fields, sums it up in an interview for the book:

“She was very scary…she was so impressive to look at that boys feared her.”

Her extraordinary looks – her Germanic, striking features – brought her to the attention (and beds) of many musicians such as Chet Atkins, Jim Morrison,  Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen, Brian Jones, Jackson Browne, John Cale, Lou Reed, and actors Jeanne Moreau and Alain Delon, whom Nico claimed was the father of her son, Ari, born in 1962. As the book clarifies, Ari was ‘parked’ out around the world with Nico’s mother and grandmother, at times with Alain Delon’s mother, and even left with Dylan for a while during a holiday in Athens. At other times, Ari was at Nico’s side, especially during her brief time with Andy Warhol and his Factory full of rather wonderful ‘outsiders’, freaks and all-round dodgy characters!  Her attachment to Andy Warhol’s band, The Velvet Underground, didn’t prove popular with the band members. She was an appendage rather than a full member. She was only featured on the first album. But that has proved ground-breaking. Apocryphal! The biography isn’t particularly focussed on her music/albums. It really is much more about Nico and her gradual self- and sometimes mutual-destruction of all around her. Probably ‘All Tomorrow’s Parties’ was her finest Velvet’s moment.

Here’s a scary version of Nico, cigarette in hand, performing the song. It’s very indicative of her persona and presence. An ice-goddess:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_KiU5P4ihIQ

The book is crammed full of original interviews which paint compelling vignettes of different images of Nico. But drugs, sex, travel, touring, disintegration and sometimes regeneration, coupled with Nico’s own determined ambition to be a major singer, are significant elements in the complex story of Nico’s life. As Paul Morrissey, film-maker with the Factory, said, “She was spectacular…she had a magnificent deep voice. She was extraordinary looking. She was tall. She was somebody.”

Personally, I saw Nico in a solo show at the University of Canterbury around about 1970. It was a low-key show in the bar area of one of UKC’s colleges, featuring her ‘Marble Index’ material, accompanied by the drones of the ever-present harmonium. Bleak, spectral, haunting and haunted. Also, about this time I also watched MC5 and The Velvet Underground perform in Canterbury at a live theatre show. The Velvets seemed to be just going through the motions, whilst MC5 gave a noisy, messy performance. Post, The Velvets, her first solo album, ‘Chelsea Girl’ is perhaps her only cursory nod towards the mainstream, orchestrated world of pop music. For some, like musician, Mark Lannegan, “I think it is one of the greatest records of all time.” Nico was never happy with it, saying in an interview, “I can’t relate to it all.” I think it is rather naïve and quirky, but interesting, especially as most of the tracks were written by her former lovers, including Lou Reed, Jackson Browne and Dylan. At times, it actually reminds me of Nick Drake. Here’s the track, ‘The Fairest of the Seasons’ by Jackson Brown and Gregory Copeland:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XXet5x6U7_s

Nico’s life was raw. The book is populated with accounts of her living in dingy flats in Manchester and Brixton. Yet she seemed to thrive on cigarettes, drugs and alcohol, swirls of depression, even visits to local English ‘local’ boozers. But she was perhaps closer to her friends in England than elsewhere in different places around the world and her dalliances with more eminent ‘stars’. She was always tinged with more than a hint of the ‘heart of darkness’. By the completion of this detailed story of her life, one is saddened. Uncertain if this was the creator who failed, or, that she had become a victim, who was failed by others around her. One senses that she was scary and lonely to the very end of her life, even though she was off heroin towards that somewhat inevitable conclusion, more involved with her singing and writing at the point, when she died of a cerebral haemorrhage in Ibiza in 1988 at the age of 49.

Possibly her version of Jim Morrison’s ‘The End’ is a fair epitaph of her life and death as a prophetess of doom. She was a ‘one-off’, and this book is a more than fair bookend to her life and death:

The End, Nico in concert: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IVaaj6ZlECw

Nico: “I realize that one does not die and then is dead. It continues, only in a different form. There is no escape.”

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A One-legged Bird

 

How content you are,
O tiny tweeter!
Like a glass half filled
And not called half empty.
Still you hop for bread crumbs
You can take a jolly flight.
My garden is blessed when you hop
And tweet.
I have built a nest for you;
I carry your heart in my happiness.
The green grass calls for peace
Your twittering music is the muse
Of my ecstasy.
Your single leg, can walk above
The earth of clay.
And it does not put you to rest.
You hop and hop
You make music with air
You do not walk the path to goodbye
With your one leg.
You make my mornings take flight
And rise beyond the red sun.
You shine every day in my courtyard
Like the music of nearness.

 

 

Sushant Thapa 

 

A Nepalese poet from Biratnagar, Nepal who holds a Master’s degree in English literature from Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, India. He has published three books of poetry namely: The Poetic Burden and Other Poems (Authorspress, New Delhi, 2020), Abstraction and Other Poems (Impspired, UK, 2021) and Minutes of Merit (Haoajan, Kolkata, 2021). Sushant has been published in places like The Gorkha Times, The Kathmandu Post, The Poet Magazine, The Piker Press, Trouvaille Review, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Impspired, Harbinger Asylum, New York Parrot, Pratik Magazine, The Beatnik Cowboy, The Dope Fiend Daily, Atunis Poetry, EKL Review, The Kolkata Arts, Dissident Voice, Journal of Expressive Writing, As It Ought To Be Magazine and International Times among many. He has also been anthologized in national and International anthologies. His poem is also included in Paragon English book for Grade 6 students in Nepal. He teaches Business English to Bachelor’s level students of BBA and BIT at Nepal Business College, Biratnagar, Nepal.

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Songs From Before

 
 
Certain songs take us back to a place beyond living,
Transporting on hearing the unseen soul to the dark
In which the known world is closed so that the dreamt
Can now open, and where what was vanquished
 
Can once again leave its mark. These songs need not
Represent general taste, preferred bands, or different genres,
But under their spell, notes are magic, as alchemy
Alters through sound what you know you were,
 
And what you are now as you listen, while the singers
Grown older regain the fist blush of youth to confound
Any sense of natural order. Instead, lumpen men
Lease the lonely, to explore the graced corners
 
That former light dazzled in. And we rewind back
To lost loves and to the resurrected dead to start over.
The need for this feels illicit, as if a love of the past
Were new sin. The First Picture Of You by The Lotus Eaters
 
Is my choice. Along with (Feels like) Heaven by Fiction Factory.
Both songs colour air, and are assessed like wine,
Gifting vintage, which I gulp down, denying what surrounds me
Now, practically. Such listening becomes all. In fact,
 
It becomes science-fiction; an act of time-travel, in which
Peter Coyle’s ‘sacred hour’ is re-lived endlessly.
Just as Kevin Patterson’s voice moves from baritone
To falsetto; verse is earth, chorus, angel, and troubles
 
Sit soothed, peacefully. I also get the same sense
From watching 1978’s ABBA In Concert. Agnetha Faltskog’s
Black mascara and the way that she sings and looks lifts
My heart. These shards from the past, these flashes of joy
 
Make mind-splinters piercing me who would be (if choice
were safe) catatonic, lost to love and a dream life
Where separate to this I could start from the point
Such stars shone. If only the days we shape had that talent.
 
When I first heard these songs life seemed simple.
They should be simple still, despite art. Which expresses
The need, even if it does not always deliver. As I will not
Meet that Agnetha, and of course both bands broke up.
 
And yet somewhere strange, by a stream, as Narcissus
Stirs Dali’s water, and Orpheus strums his lyre, I, Kate Bush,
Theresa Russell and others gather youth’s fountain
Into a clean, clear glass, or a cup, which I raise in my reverie
 
To my lips, in order to imbibe love’s first picture. It does indeed
Feel like heaven. The lost light gleams. The soul sups.
 
 
 
 
David Erdos 7/8/22
 
 
 
.

 

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After the Assassination Attempt on Salman Rushdie

 
It is not yet the world to be
footloose and fancy free.
Eternal vigilance is still 
the price of our freedom.
 
Imagine a twenty four year old man
stabbing a seventy five year old man.
Stop. It actually happened.
The victim is on ventilator.
 
The youth had the strength to cut 
through the skin and the flesh 
to reach the liver after 
puncturing the neck.
 
With his strength and his reach
Hadi Matar could have been some-
where else. But he chose not to be.
He chose his path through the author.
 
Just a day before his country
celebrates seventy five years
of independence at midnight
the author may lose his eye sight.
 
How poor is that freedom
which is under vigilance!
How poor is that nation
where authors have no vision!
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Amit Shankar Saha 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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Amongst the Yellowbellies

Edge of England, Derek Turner (Hurst and company, London, 2022, 446pp)

The dust jacket of this book gives a pretty good idea of the hybrid text within: a conventional fen view, all stratified horizontals, rendered in psychedelic, matt colours. This is a book with one foot in the old Robert Hale topographical guide camp and the other in amongst newer, psychogeographical readings of the landscape. Turner’s range is wide – he is as unafraid to quote Geoffrey Hill as Geoffrey of Monmouth – and it stretches historically from Anglo-Saxon events to more recent occurrences such as the Spalding Tulip Hall gig of 1967 (which featured Hendrix and Pink Floyd), the latter now as near-mythical as the former. The poet Roy Fisher used to give as one of the reasons why he wrote about Birmingham that it had never really been seen, and this could also apply to this book, subtitled as it is ‘Landfall in Lincolnshire’.

To the outsider, Lincolnshire appears fenny and an agri-prairie in places; the little market-towns do not automatically welcome you; the locals can appear grudging and suspicious. Generalisations about the place can be dangerous and misleading, however, and as he meanders around the county, Turner provides plenty of evidence of the malcontents, the iconoclasts and the eccentrics that have called it home over the centuries. In particular, there is plenty here about the historical confrontations between church and state, in the person of the monarch, and also various branches of clerical enthusiasts. Lincolnshire towns such as Crowland and the county town itself have often harboured religious zealots and mystics, and Turner carefully uncovers their stories and examines the still surviving physical traces of their rantings, uprisings and confrontations. Some of his best writing is on the more unloved corners of Lincolnshire: Grimsby and the towns clinging to the banks of the Humber allow for more detailed, careful introspection. At times, Turner’s prose can descend into alphabetical lists – an annoying stylistic tic – but he makes a genuinely curious guide and his personal experiences often feed into entertaining tales of hunting, shooting and antique-sniffing in dusty corners.

In his travels, Turner rounds up many of the local artists and writers who have lived in, originated from, or explored Lincolnshire: you’d expect to encounter Tennyson, John Clare and Betjeman, but other figures such as Paul Verlaine, John Wesley and Henry Newbolt are more surprising inhabitants. Turner is not credulous in exploring some of their lives and reputations: Wesley is revealed as a harsher figure than you’d expect, and George Borrow, author of Romany Rye, is painted as a literary fabulist, rather than a reliable chronicler of the travelling life. As for the establishment figures, Lincolnshire is particularly rich in Tory eccentrics, unreliable saints and virulent, raving parsons. Here are mystics biting and stealing relics, the fanatical composer John Taverner burning crucifixes and genuine one-offs such as George Boole, the driven Victorian mathematician who propounded Boolean logic, the system underlying all computer programmes. Clearly, there is something about the fens and the wolds that regularly brings forth such characters.

Manic, driven, stubborn – such adjectives fit many of the individuals whose lives are seen against the backdrop of this wind-blown, underpopulated place. And, so, inevitably, one comes to Grantham and Thatcher. Feelings still run high about the grocer’s daughter, as illustrated by the popular egging of the recently erected statue of her in her home town. Mercifully, Turner only devotes one paragraph to her, generously describing her as ‘a complicated as well as a divisive person’. He has, by the time he arrives in Grantham, given plenty of examples of other complicated individuals, motivated by strange, obscure beliefs and doctrines, most of whom added to the vivid tapestry of the drained fields and ruined churches. Finishing his odyssey in Stamford, Turner fittingly finds a town like the Georgian movie-set it so often becomes. Rather than denying this, or seeking to re-invent itself, however, the place has become an in-demand location for lavish Austen film adaptations and other BBC costume dramas, a shrewd and profitable move, driving up tourism. It may be looking backwards, but it is doing it on its own terms.

Turner concludes that Lincolnshire is ‘the England the rest of England half-forgot…a place that escaped.’ As someone who lived at the southern tip of it for over twenty-five years, I would agree that its distinctive character is becoming more and more eroded, but would perhaps shy at the plangent, soft-focus lyricism of his phrase.  The place is not preserved in aspic, but continuing to change: one obvious omission is a discussion of the effects of some of the recent trends –  the undercurrents of poverty (alongside evident wealth) in some of the towns, for example, or the influx of an Eastern European working-class culture in old ports like Boston. These are important recent developments with far-reaching social implications, and one might have expected a nod towards them, however awkward it might have been to patch them in.  Despite this caveat, this fairly exhaustive tome is full of fascinating passing anecdotage and does bring an idiosyncratic, overlooked area alive. You won’t easily persuade the tight-lipped locals to explain Lincolnshire to you: luckily, Turner can. 

 

 

 

M.C.Caseley

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Chase

A bark of rifle fire and podenco whip whistled through
   the hooded Badedas wood.
              Domingo. Trigger.
No horse put its head through the bathroom fly screen:
   the cones snapped, crackled, popped and fell afoot.

[when he had disembarked the boat from Africa in camp khaki
he had been placed immediately under house arrest]

In Santa Inés de Corona
the white church welcomed black widowed weeds.
              Domingo. Chime.
He knelt, palm pressing on the oiled hierbas
    sweetly sluicing his hungover insides with pining.

[the women had come from the still night of the interior
rattling the stiff local lettuce with hard yellow-green lemons]

He had longed long time, now the bar beckoned.
                 ‘Juanito!’
First perhaps a pastis, milky as her eyes had been in ecstasy
that last night before she’d disappeared.
                 ‘Juanito!’
His eyes were yellow, oily like mature manchego.

[memory was based on smell as well as sight
small cakes of green or yellow soap wrapped in brown paper]

Loneliness flew down the hillside,
    a bird bearing a bullet.
Another stab in his Sunday guts.
                  ‘Juanito!’
In thirty-six degrees of ten a.m. heat
the vanishing point was chill,
registering her not yet never return.

[behind the counter like an altar beyond the stark shelves
sides of bacon hanging in the darkness from the rafters]

His white shirt was starched and damp,
       an airline pilot bereft of bearing
       but forced into flight.
Where was that blasted boy?
                    ‘Juanito!’
Ah, Magdalena and those blessed months.
The refreshment that had beckoned twenty minutes since
      was now necessity.
Sober terror inspected his manicured nails.

 

 

 

 

Julian Isaacs
Art Rupert Loydell

 

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Till All are Free

 

International Week of Solidarity with Anarchist Prisoners 2022
23-30 August

The fact that capitalism does not focus on our needs but on profit, is demonstrated with all its brutality in times of climate crisis, the Covid-19 pandemic and the collapse of socioeconomic systems all around the world. Those who profit from capitalism enrich themselves through times of disaster. But with ongoing crises we are also experiencing a new era of uprisings from below.

Resistance to the war in Ukraine, Sudanese protests against military rule or the social revolt in Chile are some examples that not only show us the possibilities of organizing and collective struggle. They also highlight how important it is for social movements to learn from each other and support each other in these times. Not only outside the walls but also behind them.

Since the outbreak of the Covid-19 pandemic, we’ve seen fierce struggles against imprisonment, reminding us that incarcerated people are the ones most affected when everything goes down. Breakouts from Brazilian and Italian prisons, people in jail setting fire to a prison in Thailand and ongoing hunger strikes like those we see in Greece or in polish refugee detention camps are examples of the courage people in prisons are showing to smash the walls.

In all of these struggles, anarchist ideas and values are the fuel for collective resistance. Unsurprisingly the repression against anarchists is increasing and solidarity is needed more than ever. The capitalist system of domination can function because of the continued isolation between people, endless competition, and overlook our real needs and desires. We need solidarity within our friendships, at work, in the neighborhood, in our communities. Those outside and those inside their walls.

Let’s break out together! That is why we are calling again for International Week of Solidarity with Anarchist Prisoners. Do some action of solidarity! Write letters, organize speeches or film screening, make our comrades visible on the streets with a banner drop or a graffiti and let them show that they are in our hearts and that we are fighting together.

Let’s remember those who fought against this injustice and paid with their lives.
No one is free, till all are free!

 

 

Republished from Solidarity International: https://solidarity.international/

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Working Methods

 

Wasp Honey, Martin Archer, John Jasnoch, Sarah Farmer, Lee Boyd Allatson (Discus CD 138)

The Cartography of Dreams, Walt Shaw, Jim Tetlow (Discus DL 139)

 

You could be forgiven for thinking improvised music does not exist outside of what Ben Watson refers to as the Oto/Wire/Resonance Triangle, but there have been thriving regional scenes in existence in the UK for decades.

Martin Archer’s Discus label is not confined to releases from Sheffield but it does feel like a crucial piece of infrastructure netting a milieu together. Wasp Honey brings together musicians who met at the Birmingham Improvisors Orchestra (although Archer and Jasnoch have worked together in previous collaborations in Sheffield). It is an interesting showcase of the variety of working methods that  contemporary improvisors use. There are three compositions by Archer for the quartet, characterised successively by swagger, dread, and whimsy; four solo interpretations of a graphic score by Walt Shaw, and three quartet improvisations. This certainly gives some welcome variety to the set.

I haven’t heard John Jasnoch on bass before but he brings the mastery and thoughtfulness to it that he brings to all his work. He is certainly the heartbeat of this group – occupying the lower frequencies and providing a rhythmic and harmonic node for the line up. Archer plays woodwind and Farmer violin, while Allatson is a nimble and lightfooted percussionist, so there is a role for an anchor.

Shaw and Tetlow met at a Leicester improvisers session. Lockdown led to online collaborations – processing and mixing shared files rather than live sessions via Zoom. Both use electronics, with Shaw using a mixture of conventional and found percussion while Tetlow adds radio and field recordings. The result is a polished album of electroacoustic improvisation – I particularly enjoyed the gamelan sounds of Canticle From the Crypts of Leiberkuhn and the buzzing reediness of Mycorrizhae.

 

 

 

Discus Music is at https://discus-music.co.uk/

 

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Wowie Zowie!

 

David Bowie in Comics, Thierry Lamy, Nicholas Finet + various artists
(176pp, hbck, NBM graphic novels)

A biography in twenty chapters, each featuring a different comic artist, each prefaced with a brief and informative contextual page or two of writing accompanied by photos. The book quickly moves from ‘The Plastic Saxophone’ of 1950s David Jones through his early bands to the moment ‘When David Jones Becomes David Bowie’ and then Major Tom lifting off with his hit single ‘Space Oddity’.

We are introduced to Angie, relive Bowie’s casual embrace with Mick Ronson on Top of the Pops, and then watch as Ziggy Stardust conquers the world, becomes Aladdin Sane, gives his friends Lou Reed and Iggy Pop a musical boost, tries to write a musical based on 1984 and goes to the (Diamond) dogs. Then Bowie jumps on the soul train, becoming a young American who wastes away into the Thin White Duke. In Berlin he makes the most radical albums of his life before turning to pop and dance.

A film career and Tin Machine are in the mixture, as is Iman, drum’n’bass and the 21st Century silence before the final comeback, where Bowie lays the ghosts of Ziggy, Aladdin, Major Tom, Pierrot and all the others to rest before embracing New York jazz to surprise us all one last time with The Next Day, the play Lazarus and then Blackstar and a final disappearance into death’s dark wardrobe.

You know how it goes, everybody knows how it goes. Everybody has a different favourite Bowie album, but everyone has a favourite Bowie album or a Bowie album in their favourites. What you haven’t seen before are these stunning comic strips in all their colourful glory. Bowie’s chameleon presence and personalities are well suited to this kind of graphic depiction, and each and every artist seems perfectly picked for the chapter or story given to them.

There’s a seemingly simplistic start, with childlike wonder; bold colours for Top of the Pops; and nods to many of Bowie’s music videos throughout the book. Berlin is a ghostly shade of grey-green, Iman is sexy as hell, New York its dirty self, and the final chapter is mysterious, illuminating and low-key. This is David Bowie re-invented again, re-drawn and revered. It’s a marvellous, kaleidoscopic biography and if you like Bowie or comics you should buy it.

 

 

 

 

 

Rupert Loydell

 

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Landscopes

Landscape with Barcode – Jan Woolf, 2022.

 

Landscape
Landscope.
We scape and we scope it.  Both as a way into ourselves, and a way out of ourselves. Constable said that landscape was ‘another word for feeling.’ Mother Earth. Congealed energy.  I got drawn into painting again last summer. Depressed after the long haul of lockdown (another form of congealed energy) I took a walk in the South Downs and ‘All at once I saw a host of golden – CORN.   Ha – I thought, landscapes are corny, no?  NO.  If you paint what you feel internally as well as externally – you plant a part of the world inside you forever.  This is the dialectical opposite of Rupert Brook’s rather Imperialist ‘If I should die think only this of me, that there is a corner of the world that is forever England.’  Since I seem to be peppering my piece with the work of others – here is Susan Sontag.

‘Not waiting for inspiration’s shove or society’s kiss on your forehead. Pay attention. It’s all about paying attention. Attention is vitality. It connects you with others.’

That’s what happened, attention as vitality. Painting Wheatscape on a breadboard  (below) re- stored the vitality that lockdown had drained me of.  I’ve been doing them for a year now – just the land, no one in them except invisible me.  Wheatscape now has other owners, sold to people who ‘got it’.   So they got it and made me happy with my first sale of this series. We drag our past with us into new work – and so we should.  My art student/teacher past gave me skills, but the pith of my past has been writing and activism.  This most recent one – (see thumbnail) is painted into the lid of a Macbook Air box – Landscape with Barcode. There it is, just inside the lid. A nice bit of art bollocks might say ‘referencing the neo-liberal pre-occupations of the local demographic’ – or some such.   There’s the image of writing there too, like a mineral seam in a mine. I use photographs taken at the scene and print them on the reverse sides of pages of writing. I’ve got a recipe – for now.   Clock the place. Take the photos. Print the photos, wet them, lay them on the board, box, wood – whatever. Peel them away and watch the water-soluble printing ink bleed into the surface. Season maybe with some crayon or oil-pastel.  Draw into it if you like. And I like – always.  Rip up the photos, tear into ribbons, collage them down, see what you get. Bake lightly in your brain for a few minutes – not too long mind, as the brain can spoil anything. So can the mind, but not consciousness.  (Ooh, hark at her)   Walk away from it. Go back. Squint – look at it sideways – intuit what else it needs from you. IF ANYTHING.  My teachers Desmond Healy and Gianinna Delpino are supporting this process. Facilitating it.  Rip – smudge – scribble – disrupt – turn it upside down. Thanks. 

Wheatscape – Jan Woolf, 2022.

 

 

Jan Woolf

 

 

.

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Don’t Resist the Moment



Resist bad government but don’t resist
the moment you’re in.  Those stalled intervals
of waiting, try to inhabit them — inside
the skin of your impatience is a wine
of living pressed from the grapes of every
moment leading up to this one.  Don’t push
yourself out of the picture, try instead
to widen the frame.  Don’t go flying into
hating where you are, for you may miss some
opportunity for unexpected love.
Don’t refuse to occupy your body
even for a second, because life in
the flesh is the crown jewel of the universe.
Don’t shove down thoughts, neglect feelings,
or redact the only page of time on which your story
is written.  Stay awake to the present
and don’t get stuck sideways in some door
to the future.  Resist much, obey little
Whitman said that.  I say, don’t miss out on this
one time when all your trillions of cells
have gathered to throw the party that is you.

 

 

 

—Thomas R. Smith

 

.

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WEEK ONE OF THE 75TH EDINBURGH FRINGE FESTIVAL

 

Eric Davidson’s Super Daily Spin We Gaily Ukulele Ceilidh
Reviewer: Kevin Short

 

What can I say? Mr Davidson must be a Scottish institution I have over-looked in previous years. A poet, raconteur, master ukulele songsmith and, above all, an original talent who keeps his razor-sharp humour up to date. Keeping it fresh in performance by simply spinning a giant wheel containing the various strands of his show, we, the audience, shout ‘Stop!’ and wherever the pointer stops is where our entertainer goes. Perhaps, a brilliantly crafted song, a topical joke, or a super-quick-fire ode that might make even John Cooper-Clarke eat his heart out. In short, go see this marvel of a show, it’s raw, funny, and inspiringly unique.

Aug 5-21 19:25 (50m) £12.00 (£10.00) theSpaceuk @ Surgeons’ Hall Venue 53

 

Truth/Reconciliation
Reviewer: Kevin Short
 

‘This is Good Theatre’ is a slide at the beginning of the piece. What follows is exactly that. Two actors (Hannah Morrison and Jake Felts), pulsating from the torment of their professional aspirations whilst simultaneously coming to terms with their past relationship, play out their stories against everchanging filmed imagery at break-neck speed with some impressive tongue-twisting diction. Writer/Director, Matthew Gouldesbrough, who also participates unseen whilst working the show from the control desk, should be applauded for his vision of the actor’s infernal dilemma. My only hope is that Mr Gouldesbrough continues to explore more universal themes beyond that of theatre, because his Berkoffesque approach to multimedia is top notch and holds infinite possibilities. Highly recommended.

Aug 12-20 14:00 (50m) £12.00 (£10.00) ZOO Playground Venue 186

Walk it Back
Reviewer: Kathryn S Kraus

 

It’s the thoughts that run through our brains when we try to go to sleep. Should we have turned left instead of right? Had we turned left, what would our life look like now? This spoken word piece, written and performed by Nick MacCormack, explores those moments. You may look and think that this young man hasn’t had time enough to question those life changing decisions, but he proves to be wise beyond his years. Through the clever use of coloured strands of paper, and historical analogies, he illustrates how one’s decisions weave themselves through not only your own life, but the lives of those in your social and familial circles. What makes this piece so relatable, is the delivery, and the metaphysical connection between performer and audience. We can only hope MacCormack never walks back his decision to write and perform, because I personally look forward to his next creation.

Various dates & times (40m) (£7 or pay what you want) GREENSIDE @ Nicolson Sq. Venue 209

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All The Known Birds

We’re talking here about
a man alone in a big city
but it’s all about leaving
space and this is where

ornithology began. “Relaxed,
considered and beautiful,” she
said. Sometimes we still think
in terms of albums but it’s

good to access ‘the best of’
on occasion. “It’s a blood-
soaked play about murder,”
she said. Critical acclaim may

be desirable but the fragility
of life is our major theme
today and this is a society
built on law. “I’ve been getting

away with it forever,” he said.
Can we afford to pull out completely?

 

 

.

Steve Spence

 

 

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I’m a Ukrainian Socialist. Here’s Why I Resist the Russian Invasion.




I’m writing from Ukraine, where I serve in the Territorial Defense Forces. A year ago, I couldn’t have expected to be in this situation. Like millions of Ukrainians my life has been upturned by the chaos of war.

For the past four months, I have had the opportunity to meet people whom I would hardly have met under other circumstances. Some of them had never thought of taking up arms before February 24, but the Russian invasion forced them to drop everything and go to protect their families.

We often criticize the actions of the Ukrainian government and the way defense is organized. But they do not question the necessity of resistance and understand well why and for what we are fighting.

At the same time, during these months, I’ve tried to follow and participate in the discussions of the international left about the Russian-Ukrainian war. And the main thing that I now feel from these discussions is fatigue and disappointment. Too much time being forced to rebut obviously false Russian propaganda, too much time explaining why Moscow had no “legitimate security concerns” to justify war, too much time asserting the basic premises of self-determination that any leftist should already agree with.

Perhaps most striking about many of these debates about the Russian-Ukrainian war is the ignoring of the opinion of Ukrainians. Ukrainians are still often presented in some left-wing discussions either as passive victims who should be sympathized with or as Nazis who should be condemned. But the far right makes up a clear minority of the Ukrainian resistance, while the absolute majority of Ukrainians support the resistance and do not want to be just passive victims.

Negotiations

Among even many well-intentioned people in recent months, there’s been increasingly loud but ultimately vague calls for negotiations and a diplomatic settlement of the conflict. But what exactly does this mean? Negotiations between Ukraine and Russia took place for several months following the invasion, but they did not stop the war. Before that, negotiations on Donbas had lasted for more than seven years with French and German participation; but despite signed agreements and a cease-fire, the conflict was never resolved. On the other hand, in a war between two states, even the terms of surrender are usually settled at the negotiating table.

A call for diplomacy in itself means nothing if we don’t address negotiating positions, concrete concessions, and the willingness of the parties to adhere to any signed agreement. All of this directly depends on the course of hostilities, which in turn depends on the extent of international military aid. And this can speed up the conclusion of a just peace.

The situation in the occupied territories of southern Ukraine indicates that Russian troops are trying to establish a permanent position there because they provide Russia with a land corridor to Crimea. The Kremlin uses the grain looted in these territories to support its client regimes and simultaneously threatens the whole world with famine by blocking Ukrainian ports. The agreement on unblocking the export of Ukrainian grain, signed on July 22 in Istanbul, was violated by Russia the day after it was signed by attacking the Odessa Sea Trade Port with missiles.

Meanwhile, high-ranking Russian politicians, such as the former president and current deputy chairman of the Security Council, Dmitry Medvedev, or the head of Roscosmos, Dmitry Rogozin, continue to write that Ukraine must be destroyed. There is no reason to believe that Russia will stop its territorial expansion, even if one day it becomes beneficial for the Kremlin to sign a temporary truce.

On the other hand, 80 percent of Ukrainians consider territorial concessions unacceptable. For Ukrainians, giving up the occupied territories means betraying their fellow citizens and relatives, and putting up with the daily abductions and tortures perpetrated by occupiers. Under these conditions, the parliament will not ratify cession, even if the West forces the Ukrainian government to agree to territorial losses. This would only discredit President Volodymyr Zelensky and lead to the reelection of more nationalist authorities, while the far right would be rewarded with favorable conditions for recruiting new members.

Zelensky’s government, of course, is neoliberal. Ukrainian leftists and trade unionists have organized extensively against his social and economic policies. However, in terms of war and nationalism, Zelensky is the most moderate politician who could have come to power in Ukraine after the 2014 annexation of Crimea and the start of the war in Donbas.

There’s been some misunderstanding about his own record, too. For example, many authors now blame Zelensky for the nationalist language policy, centered around restrictions on the Russian language in the public sphere and including restriction of secondary education in the languages of national minorities. In fact, these language laws were adopted during the previous term of parliament’s just that individual provisions of these laws came into force after Zelensky took office. His government has repeatedly tried to soften them, but each time backed down after nationalist protests.

This was evident after the beginning of the invasion in his frequent appeals to the Russians, his invitation to the Kremlin to negotiate, and his statements that the Ukrainian army would not try to retake the territories that were under Russian control before February 24 but would seek their return through diplomatic means in the future. If Zelensky were replaced by someone more nationalistic, the situation would become much worse.

I hardly need to spell out the consequences of that outcome. There would be even more authoritarianism in our domestic politics, revanchist sentiments will prevail, and the war would not stop. Any new government would be much less restrained from shelling Russian territory. With a reinvigorated far right, our country would be dragged ever deeper into a maelstrom of nationalism and reaction.

As someone who has seen the horrors of this war, I understand the desire for it to be over as soon as possible. Indeed, no one is more eager for the war to end than we who live in Ukraine, but it is also important to Ukrainians how exactly the war will end. At the beginning of the war, I too hoped that the Russian antiwar movement would force the Kremlin to end its invasion. But unfortunately this didn’t happen. Today, the Russian antiwar movement can only influence the situation by carrying out the small-scale sabotage of railways, military factories, and so on. Something bigger will be possible only after the military defeat of Russia.

Of course, under certain circumstances, it might be appropriate to agree to a cease-fire. But such a cease-fire would only be temporary. Any Russian success would strengthen Vladimir Putin’s regime and its reactionary tendencies. It would not mean peace, but decades of instability, guerrilla resistance in the occupied territories, and recurrent clashes on the demarcation line. It would be a disaster not only for Ukraine but also for Russia, where a reactionary political drift would intensify and the economy would suffer from sanctions, with severe consequences for ordinary civilians.

A military defeat of the Russian invasion is therefore also in the interests of the Russians. Only a mass domestic movement for change can open the possibility for the restoration of stable relations between Ukraine and Russia in the future. But if Putin’s regime is victorious, that revolution will be impossible for a long time. Its defeat is necessary for the possibility of progressive changes in Ukraine, Russia, and the entire post-Soviet world.

What Socialists Should Do

It’s worth acknowledging that my focus has been largely on the domestic dimensions — for both Ukrainians and Russians — of the current conflict. For many leftists abroad, discussions tend to focus on its wider geopolitical implications. But in my opinion, first of all, in assessing the conflict, socialists should first of all pay attention to the people directly involved in it. And secondly, many leftists underestimate the threats posed by the possible success of Russia.

The decision to oppose the Russian occupation was not made by Joe Biden, nor by Zelensky, but by the Ukrainian people, who rose en masse in the first days of the invasion and lined up for weapons. Had Zelensky capitulated then, he would only have been discredited in the eyes of most of society, but the resistance would have continued in a different form, led by hard-line nationalist forces.

Besides, as Volodymyr Artiukh has noted in Jacobin, the West did not want this war. The United States did not want problems in Europe because it wanted to focus on the confrontation with China. Even less did Germany and France want this war. Although Washington has done a lot to undermine international law (we, like socialists anywhere in the world, will never forget the criminal invasion of Iraq, for instance), by supporting Ukrainian resistance to the invasion they are doing the right thing.

To put it in historical terms, the war in Ukraine is no more a proxy war than the Vietnam War was a proxy war between the United States on one side and the Soviet Union and China on the other. And yet, at the same time, it was also a national liberation war of the Vietnamese people against the United States as well as a civil war between supporters of North and South Vietnam. Almost every war is multilayered; its nature can change during its course. But what does this give us in practical terms?

During the Cold War, internationalists did not need to laud the USSR to support the Vietnamese struggle against the United States. And it is unlikely that any socialists would have advised left-wing dissidents in the Soviet Union to oppose support for the Vietcong. Should Soviet military support for Vietnam have been resisted because the USSR criminally suppressed the Prague Spring of 1968? Why then, when it comes to Western support for Ukraine, are the murderous occupations of Afghanistan and Iraq considered serious counterarguments for aid?

Instead of seeing the world as being composed solely of geopolitical camps, socialist internationalists must evaluate every conflict based on the interests of working people and their struggle for freedom and equality. The revolutionary Leon Trotsky once wrote that, hypothetically, if fascist Italy pursuing their interests had supported the anti-colonial uprising in Algeria against democratic France, the internationalists should have supported the Italian arming of the rebels. It sounds quite right, and this did not stop him from being an anti-fascist.

Vietnam’s struggle did not just benefit Vietnam; the defeat of the United States there had a significant (if temporary) deterrent effect on American imperialism. The same is true with Ukraine. What will Russia do if Ukraine is defeated? What would prevent Putin from conquering Moldova or other post-Soviet states?

US hegemony has had terrible consequences for humanity and it’s thankfully now in decline. However, an end of US supremacy can mean either a transition to a more democratic and just international order or a war of all against all. It can also mean a return to the policy of imperialist spheres of influence and the military redrawing borders, as in previous centuries.

The world will become even more unjust and dangerous if non-Western imperialist predators take advantage of American decline to normalize their aggressive policies. Ukraine and Syria are examples of what a “multipolar world” will be like if the appetites of non-Western imperialisms are not reduced.

The longer this horrible conflict in Ukraine goes on, the more popular discontent in Western countries could grow as a result of the economic difficulties of the war and sanctions. Capital, which does not like the loss of profits and wants to return to “business as usual”, may try to exploit this situation. It can also be used by right-wing populists who do not mind sharing spheres of influence with Putin.

But for socialists to use this discontent to demand less aid to Ukraine and less pressure on Russia would be a rejection of solidarity with the oppressed.

 

 

Taras Bilous

Reprinted from Jacobin, a leading voice of the American left, offering socialist perspectives on politics, economics, and culture.

https://jacobin.com/

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Iron willed

Lands amass governed.
A midnight stroke
Pitfalls along cultural heritage
A heavy pitch forked.
Nuisance in common parlance
A slap for uniformity.

Layers and order
Multiple realities
Flags, food, roof cased eye
Lying under the earth
Big men have blind eyes.

Eyeless gazes over the deep purple
A earthy tenacity farmer like.
Starry scape a brownish mudhill
Penalty if crossed borders
Blurred lines
Keep it political.
Correct.
Nodding.
Suck among the armchairs.

Keeping my binoculars sane enough
Every night
A burnt scooped meal
Iron willed masculine hardness
Migrations and penniless
A boy with a brush palette
An opera of the mind
Shadows scoop over shadows
Waiting for autumnal bliss.

For now,
Rituals and a tunnel vision
A long haul at the back
Waiting and trying
Keeping the wheelbarrow on
For his dotted waiting
A feminine ending
He knows, she knows.
Her silenced fall
Watery depths
Lethal, lethe driven drive
Taboos, a rotten slacking hill.
Never seen enough
Still for now
Rituals, a safe promise
Iron willed like independence.

 

 

Sayani Mukherjee

 

 

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Secrets

This landscape guards its secrets well,
trusting them entirely
to the mockingbird, who sings
while the rocks
are transformed into a mountain, the saguaros
into candles, and the mesquites
become thirst with roots that go down
into the memory of water. And
continuing day
and night, the singing
is to sound what rain is
to the earth.

 

 

David Chorlton

 

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Mack The Knife lyrics

Kurt Weill –

Album: Threepenny Opera

Oh the shark has pretty teeth dear
And he shows them pearly white
Just a jackknife has Macheath dear
And he keeps it out of sight

When the shark bites with his teeth dear
Scarlet billows start to spread
Fancy gloves though wears Macheath dear
So there’s not a trace of red

On the side walk Sunday mornin’
Lies a body oozing life
Someone sneakin’ round the corner
Is that someone Mack the Knife

From a tugboat by the river
A cement bag’s droppin’ down
The cement’s just for the weight dear
Bet’ya Mackies back in town

Louie Miller disappeared dear
After drawing out his cash
And Macheath spends like a sailor
Did our boy do something rash

Suky Tawdry, Jenny Diver
Polly Peachum, Lucy Brown
Oh the line forms on the right dears
Now that Mackies back in town

Oh the shark has pretty teeth dear
And he shows them pearly white
Just a jackknife has Macheath dear
And he keeps it out of sight
Just a jackknife has Macheath dear
And he keeps it out of sight

 

 

 

With thanks to Jeff Cloves

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James E. Lovelock. GEOPHYSIOLOGY, THE SCIENCE OF GAIA.

Originator of Gaia theory and inventor of the electron capture detector RIP

By James E. Lovelock, Coombe Mill, St. Giles on the Heath, Launceston, Cornwall, England. Copyright 1989 by the American Geophysical Union. Published in Reviews of Geophysics 17, 11 May 1989, pages 215-222.

Abstract. The Gaia hypothesis postulates that the climate and chemical composition of the Earth’s surface environment is, and has been, regulated at a state tolerable for the biota. This notion was introduced in 1972 and 1973 (Lovelock, 1972; Margulis and Lovelock, 1974; Lovelock and Margulis, 1973). The wording of these early papers was sometimes poetic, rather than scientific, but Gaia has matured and might be better stated as a theory that views the evolution of the biota and of their material environment as a single, tightly coupled process, with the self-regulation of climate and chemistry as an emergent property. It is a theory that makes “risky” predictions, for example, that oxygen is and has been regulated during the existence of land plants, within ± 5 of its present level; it is therefore falsifiable. Numerical models are used to illustrate the potential for stable self-regulation of tightly coupled systems of organisms and their environments.

Introduction

There is growing recognition of the inadequacy of the separated disciplinary approach for the solution of planetary scale problems. To understand even the atmosphere, which is the simplest of the planetary compartments, it is not enough to be a geophysicist; knowledge of chemistry and biology is also needed. It might seem that research teams that include experts in each of the different disciplines would resolve the problem, but anyone who has attended gatherings of experts knows that each expert speaks but does not or cannot listen. What might help would be a broader-based general science, or a scientific operating system, that provides an environment within which the separate disciplines could interact.

Contemporary concerns have developed from the consequences of changes made by humans in the composition of the atmosphere and the nature of the land surface and biota. In many ways these modern concerns echo similar concerns about the human body early in the development of medicine. In the late nineteenth century the sciences of biochemistry and microbiology were well advanced but largely disconnected and not very helpful to those with disease. Advances in medicine were, however, vastly enabled by the existence of the general science of physiology. This science was transdisciplinary and also recognized the essentially emergent properties of a living organism. If one is interested in how our core temperatures are maintained at 37°C, a biochemical approach to a solution of the problem is fruitless. Temperature regulation is a systems control problem. But by starting with physiology, the biochemical aspects involving, for example, oxidative metabolism naturally fit into place. The main purpose of this paper will be to put forward an analogous Earth science, geophysiology, as the transdisciplinary environment for planetary scale problems, particularly those involving a wide range of disciplines. Where it is postulated, even though not proved, that emergent properties exist, it may be useful for practical purposes to consider the Earth as if it were a living organism.

Before the nineteenth century, scientists were comfortable with the notion of a living Earth. One of them was J. Hutton, who has often been called the father of geology. Hutton [1788] likened the Earth to a superorganism and recommended physiology as the science for its investigation. He belonged to the circulation society, a scientific society that was inspired by physiological discoveries which explained phenomena such as the circulation of the blood and the connection between oxygen and life. He applied these ideas to his view of the hydrological cycle and the movements of the nutritious elements of the Earth.

Hutton’s wholesome view of the Earth was discarded early in the last century. I think that this may have been a consequence of a growing interest in origins and in evolutionary theories both for Earth and for life sciences. For biologists there was Darwin’s great vision of the evolution of the species of organisms by natural selection.

For the geologists there was the wholly independent theory that the evolution of the material environment was simply a matter of chemical and physical determination. The divorce of the Earth and life sciences in the nineteenth century was inevitable. There was a rapid increase in the supply of information about the Earth as exploration and exploitation developed. But the techniques for looking at organisms were very different from those for looking at the ocean, the air, and the rocks. It must have been an exciting period of science. There were few inclined to stand back and take a broader view or try to keep alive Hutton’s superorganism. What is remarkable is not the division of the sciences, but that two distinct and very different theories of evolution could coexist even until today.

The reason for endurance of the division is, I think, a mutual acceptance by Earth and life scientists of the anaesthetic notion of adaption. Biologists have assumed that the physical and chemical world evolves according to rules laid down in the geology or the biogeochemistry department of their university and that the details of this material evolution, although interesting, need not concern them in their quest to understand the evolution of the organisms. Biologists have been comfortable with the notion that organisms will adapt to whatever happens to the environment.

In a similar way, Earth scientists were happy to accept, without question, their biological colleagues’ idea of adaptation, because it freed them of any need to constrain their Earth models on account of the needs of the organisms. After all, there are organisms living in hot springs at 100°C and others at the freezing point, a wide enough range for climatologists.

Adaptation is a dubious notion, for in the real world the environment, to which the organisms are adapting, is determined by their neighbors’ activities rather than by the blind forces of chemistry and physics alone. In such a world, changing the environment could be part of the game, and it would be absurd to suppose that organisms would refrain from changing their material environment if by so doing they left more progeny. In his time, of course, Darwin did not know, as we do now, that the air we breathe, the oceans, and the rocks are all either the direct products of living organisms or have been greatly modified by their presence. In no way do organisms just “adapt” to a dead world determined by physics and chemistry alone. They live with a world that is the breath and bones of their ancestors and that they are now sustaining.

It was not until the present century that a minority opinion led by the Russian scientist Vernadsky [1945] saw that the separation of the Earth and life sciences had become too extreme. Vernadsky was the father of the modem science of biogeochemistry. He and his successors, like Hutchinson [1954] and Redfield [1958], recognized that life and the physical and chemical environment interact and that gases like oxygen and methane are biological products. Their theories differ from Gaia in that they still accepted, without question, the dogma of mainstream biology, which is that organisms simply adapt to changes in their material environment modified by the organisms themselves. Vernadsky’s world view has been developed and expanded in coevolutionary theory and in biogeochemical models. Coevolution is rather like a platonic friendship. The biologist and the geologist remain friends but never move on to an intimate, closely coupled relationship. Coevolution theory includes no active regulation of the chemical composition and climate of the Earth by the system comprising the biota and their material environment; most importantly, it does not see the Earth as alive in any sense, nor even as a physiological system.

Earth as a superorganism

Like coevolution, Gaia reflects the apartheid of Victorian biology and geology, but it goes much further. Gaia theory is about the evolution of a tightly coupled system whose constituents are the biota and their material environment, which comprises the atmosphere, the oceans, and the surface rocks. Self-regulation of important properties, such as climate and chemical composition, is seen as a consequence of this evolutionary process. Like living organisms and many closed loop self-regulating systems, it would be expected to show emergent properties; that is, the whole will be more than the sum of the parts. This kind of system is notoriously difficult, if not impossible, to explain by cause and effect logic, as practicing inventors know to their cost. It is doubtful also if the fashionable and trendy use of Popperian falsification tests, so valuable for theories in physics, are really applicable to such systems. Consider, for example, the problem faced by someone unfamiliar with Earth-based life of designing a test to show that a Lombardy poplar tree was alive. These trees are all males and hence can be propagated only by cuttings, and 90 or more of a fully grown tree is dead wood and dead bark with just a thin skin of living tissue around the circumference of the wood. Then there is the question, what does the word alive mean? Biologists studiously avoid trying to answer it.

When biochemists examine a live animal, they know that many of its reactions and processes can be adequately described by simple deterministic physics and chemistry. But they also accept the legitimacy of physiology. They know that for an intact animal, homeostasis, the automatic regulation of temperature and chemical composition, although it involves chemistry, is an emergent property. Such properties require physiology for their explanation and understanding. I think that the same can be said of the Earth. If it is a superorganism, then its explanation requires physiology as well as chemistry and physics.

Models of Gaia

The first mention of Gaia was a brief paper by Lovelock [1972] (see also Lovelock and Margulis [1973] and Margulis and Lovelock [1974]). Earlier work in connection with the NASA planetary exploration program had suggested that atmospheric compositional evidence could provide prima facie evidence for the existence of life on a planet. Briefly, a dead planet would have an atmosphere characteristic of the abiological steady state and not far from chemical equilibrium. By contrast, a planet with life would be obliged to use its atmosphere as a transfer medium for waste products and raw materials. Such a use of the atmosphere would introduce disequilibria among the chemical components, and this might reveal the presence of life. When the terrestrial planets are compared. Mars and Venus are found to have atmospheres dominated by carbon dioxide and close to the abiological steady state. Earth, by contrast, has an atmosphere in which profoundly incompatible gases such as methane and oxygen coexist. This disequilibrium reveals the presence of life. The persistence of the disequilibrium, at a steady state, for periods much longer than the residence times of the gases suggests the presence of an active control system regulating atmospheric composition. As we may soon discover, the unregulated injection of methane could be seriously destabilizing. Figure 1 illustrates the fluxes of gases through Earth’s present atmosphere in comparison with the fluxes expected of a dead Earth.

Until the March 1988 Chapman Conference on Gaia, Gaia theory had received little or no financial or other support from the scientific establishments. About five scientists worldwide worked on the topic part time. In such circumstances it was not practical to strive hard to develop tests for the existence or nonexistence of Gaia systems. Inspired by the predictions from the theory, it seemed better to go into the world and collect information. Whether it was right or wrong seemed to matter less than that the quest was objective. A good example of this was the 1972 expedition aboard the research ship Shackleton. Traveling from the United Kingdom to Antarctica and back, the researchers looked for the presence of sulfur and iodine compounds in the ocean and observed how these elements were transferred from the sea to the air and hence back to the land surfaces. This voyage found that the gases dimethyl sulfide, methyl iodide, and carbon disulfide were ubiquitous throughout the ocean environment. It is relevant to note that before the expedition, peer review committees argued that the search for such compounds was pointless. This was a time when research funds were freely available, yet the expedition was not supported.

Figure 1. The fluxes of gases through the present atmosphere compared with the fluxes of the same gases expected for a dead Earth. The vertical scale is in logarithmic decade units of gigamoles per year.

A more practical approach is to make models of Gaia and then see how well these models can be mapped onto the observed systems. But the feedback loops linking life with its environment are so numerous and so intricate that there seems little chance of quantifying or understanding them. Late in 1981 it occurred to me to reduce the environment to a single variable (temperature) and the biota to a single species (daisies).

Imagine a planet like Earth that travels at Earth’s orbit around a star of the same mass and composition as our Sun. This planet spins like Earth, but its atmosphere has few clouds and a constant low concentration of greenhouse gases. In these circumstances the mean surface temperature is given by the Stefan-Boltzmann expression of the balance between the radiation received from the star and the heat lost by radiation from the planet to space. The albedo of the planet determines its temperature. Assume that this planet is well seeded with daisies whose growth rate is a simple parabolic function of temperature, that it is well watered, and that nutrients are not limiting. In these circumstances it is easy to predict the area of the planet covered by daisies from a knowledge of the mean surface temperature and equations taken from population biology. Figure 2a illustrates the evolution of this simple system, according to conventional wisdom, when two differentcolored daisy species are present, one dark and one light.

The upper panel of the figure shows the response of daisies to temperature; daisies do not grow below 50°C or above 40°C, but grow best at 22.5°C. The lower panel illustrates the smooth, monotonic increase of the mean surface temperature as the star increases in luminosity. In Figure 1b the same system is modeled as a closely coupled physiology. When the surface temperature reaches 5°C, daisy seeds germinate. During the first season, dark-colored daisies will be at an advantage, since they will be warmer than the planetary surface. Light-colored daisies will be at a disadvantage, since by reflecting sunlight they will be cooler than the surface. At the end of the season, many more dark daisy seeds will remain in the soil. When the next season begins, dark daisies will be flourishing and soon will be warming not just themselves, but also their locality; as they spread, they warm the region and eventually the whole planet. The figure illustrates an explosive growth of both temperature and dark daisy population. The spread of dark daisies will eventually be limited by their decline in growth rate at temperatures above 22.5°C and by competition from light-colored daisies. As the star evolves, the dark and light daisy populations adjust according to the simple population biology equations of Carter and Prince [1981]. The planetary temperature moves from just above the optimum for daisy growth at low solar luminosity to just below the optimum at high solar luminosity. Eventually, the output of heat from the star is too great for regulation, and the plants die.

Figure 2. Models of the evolution of Daisyworld according (a) to conventional wisdom and (b) to geophysiology. The top panels illustrate daisy population in arbitrary units; the bottom panels, temperature in degrees Celsius. Going from left to right along the horizontal axis, the star’s luminosity increases from 60% to 140% that of our own Sun. Figure 1a illustrates how the physicists and the biologists in complete isolation calculate their view of the evolution of the planet. According to this conventional wisdom the daisies can only respond or adapt to changes in temperature. When it becomes too hot for comfort, they will die. But in the Gaian Daisyworld (Figure 2b) the ecosystem can respond by the competitive growth of the dark and light daisies, and it regulates the temperature over a wide range of solar luminosity. The dashed line in the bottom panel in Figure 2a shows how the temperature would rise in a lifeless Daisyworld.

The simple model is a graphic illustration of a geophysiological process. The only criticism received so far has been the suggestion by biologists that in a real world there would have been daisy species that “cheated.” That is, some daisies would use the solar energy to make the dark or light pigment required to take over the planet and return the system to the model illustrated in Figure 1.

Figure 3 is a model where daisies having a neutral color, that of the bare planetary surface, are included. In this experiment, even when the neutral-colored daisies were given a 5% increase in growth rate, there was no indication of a planetary takeover and a failure of regulation. At low temperatures only dark daisies were fit to grow; at high temperatures only light daisies were fit. Neutral daisies grew only when there was little need for regulation. An important point here is that Gaia theory and coevolution are not always mutually exclusive. Organisms do not strive ostentatiously to regulate their environment when regulation is not needed.

Figure 3. The evolution of the climate on a three-species Daisyworld with dark, neutral, and light daisies present. By comparison, the dashed line in the bottom panel respresents the temperature evolution in the absence of life.

Figure 4 illustrates a model that included 10 different-colored daisy species, their albedos ranging in evenly spaced steps from dark to light. The regulation of the mean surface temperature (bottom panel) is more accurate than in the two- and three-species models. The middle panel shows the populations of the different-colored daisies, and the top panel indicates the diversity index of the ecosystem as the model evolved.

Figure 4. The evolution of the climate on a 10-species Daisyworld. The bottom panel illustrates planetary temperature, where the dashed curve indicates no life present, and the solid curve represents daisies. The middle panel shows the populations of the 20 different-colored daisies, with the darkest appearing first (left) and the lightest last (right). The top panel illustrates diversity, seen to be maximum when the system temperature is closest to optimum.

The stable coexistence of three or more species in a population biology model is contrary to the experience of modelers in that field of science. Models of the competition of three or more species, like the three-body problem of astrophysics, tend to be unstable and chaotic. The stability of Daisyworld is even more remarkable, since no attempt was made to linearize the equations used in the model. Not only is the model naturally stable, but it will resist severe perturbations, such as the sudden death of half or more of all the daisies, and then recover homeostasis when the perturbation is removed. The models can include herbivores to graze the daisies and carnivores to cull the grazers, without significant loss of stability.

Another scientist like J. Hutton was A. Lotka, the father of theoretical ecology. Like Hutton, Lotka saw the science he founded develop in a way that he never expected or intended. The unwise isolation of biology from geology has led population biology into a mathematical cul-de-sac where the phenomena of complex dynamics are investigated, rather than ecology. For over 60 years, theoretical ecology has ignored Lotka’s wise advice. Lotka [1925, p. 16] said,

This fact deserves emphasis. It is customary to discuss the ‘‘evolution of a species of organisms’’. As we proceed we shall see many reasons why we should constantly take in view the evolution, as a whole, of the system (organism plus environment). It may appear at first sight as if it should prove a more complicated problem than the consideration of a part only of the system. But it will become apparent, as we proceed, that the physical laws governing evolution in all probability take on a simpler form when referred to the system as a whole than to any portion thereof. It is not so much the organism or the species that evolves, but the entire system, species plus environment. The two are inseparable.

Daisyworld as I have described it is just an invention, a demonstration model used to illustrate how I thought Gaia worked and why foresight and planning need not be invoked to explain automatic regulation. But as we shall see when the details are fleshed out, it becomes a generality and a theoretical basis for Gaia. I would like to think of it as the kind of model Lotka had in mind but could not develop, because in his day there were no computers to carry out the immense task that the hand calculation of even a simple daisy model requires.

Watson and I [Watson and Lovelock, 1983] described the mathematical basis of Daisyworld. But at the time, neither of us realized its unusual properties or the extent to which it is an expression of the general theory of Gaia. The essential mechanism by which homeostasis is maintained is as follows. The Daisyworld thermostat has no set point. Instead, the system always moves to a stable state where the relationships between daisy population and planetary temperature and that between temperature and daisy growth converge. The system seeks the most comfortable state rather like a cat turns and moves before settling.

Inventions often work well but are difficult to explain. Engineers and physiologists have long been aware of the subtleties of feedback. Homeostasis is only possible when feedback is applied at the right amplitude and phase and when the system’s time constants are appropriate. Both positive and negative feedback can lead to stability or instability, depending on the timing of their application. Theoretical ecology models, notorious for their intractable mathematics, would not surprise an engineer, who would see them in his words as “open loop systems” where feedback was applied, or happened by chance, in an arbitrary manner. By contrast, geophysiological models, such as Daisyworld, include feedback, negative and positive, in a coherent manner. As a consequence, the models are robust and stable and will happily accommodate any number of nonlinear equations and still prefer to relate with stable attractors.

Figure 5 compares the unstable and chaotic behavior (bottom panel) of a model of an ecosystem of daisies, rabbits, and foxes according to population biology with the calm stability of the same ecosystem (top panel) when feedback from the environment is included as in a Daisyworld.

Figure 5. Comparison of (top) the stability of a “Daisyworld” that included rabbits to eat the daisies and foxes to cull the rabbits with (bottom) the instability of a population biology model of daisies, rabbits, and foxes. The model in the top diagram included environmental feedback; that in the bottom diagram did not.
But what of biogeochemical box models? Are these any more stable? Experience suggests that biogeochemical models are also prone to chaotic behavior and to an unusual sensitivity to the choice of initial conditions. Geophysiology seems to be a way to avoid these distractions.

The concluding model is taken from the end of the Archean period when oxygen first began to dominate the chemistry of the atmosphere. During the long period of the Archean the biosphere was run by bacteria, the primary producers were cyanobacteria, and the oxygen they made was almost entirely used up to oxidize reducing compounds such as ferrous iron and sulfides present in, and continuously released to, the environment. The organic matter of the cyanobacteria was most probably digested by methanogens. In the Archean, cyanobacteria would be like the white daisies of Daisyworld, tending to cool by removing carbon dioxide, and the methanogens would be like the dark daisies, tending to warm by adding methane to the atmosphere. A geophysiological model constructed this way settles down to a constant climate and bacterial population and sustains an atmosphere where methane is the dominant redox gas and where only traces of oxygen are present. The continuous leak of carbon to the sediments and perhaps also of hydrogen to space would have slowly driven the system toward oxidizing until quite suddenly oxygen would have become the dominant atmospheric gas.

Figure 6. (Solid curve) The effect of oxygen on the growth of organisms and (dashed curve) the effect of the presence of organisms on the abundance of oxygen. The point at which the two curves intersect is the level of oxygen at which the system regulates.

In this model, as in Daisyworld, a key factor is the function that sets the bounds of the environment for the biota. The same parabolic relationship between growth and temperature was used as in the daisy models, but in addition, a similar function was introduced for oxygen. Figure 6 shows how the growth of an ecosystem might increase as oxygen rises from zero. Oxygen increases the rate of rock weathering, and hence the supply of nutrients, and also increases the rate of carbon cycling through oxidative metabolism. Too much oxygen is, however, toxic. The bounds for oxygen in the figure are set by two simple exponential relationships describing nutrition and toxicity.

Other bounds, such as those set by the limitations of pH, ionic strength, and the supply of nutrients, could have been included. Hutchinson [1954] saw the niche as a hypervolume negotiated among the species. In a similar way, I see the physical and chemical bounds to growth form a hypervolume whose surface intersects that of the hypervolume expressing the environmental effects of the species.

The model included geochemical data on the CO2 cycle taken from Holland. [1984]. The rate of weathering was assumed to be a function of the biomass as well as of the abundance of oxygen and carbon dioxide. The bottom window of Figure 7 illustrates the regulation of the temperature. It remained constant during the Archean but fell to a lower steady state in the Proterozoic after the appearance of oxygen as a dominant gas. The fall in temperature was due to the removal of most of the methane greenhouse effect. The middle window shows the abundances of the three gases methane, carbon dioxide, and oxygen during the evolution of the model. The top panel shows the populations of the three main ecosystems: cyanobacteria, methanogens, and consumers.

Figure 7. Model of the transition from the Archean to the Proterozoic. The bottom panel shows climate with (dashed curve) a lifeless world compared with (solid curve) a live world. Note the sudden fall of temperature when oxygen appears. The middle panel shows the abundance of atmospheric gases, (dashed curve) carbon dioxide and (solid curve) oxygen and methane. The top panel illustrates the changes in population of the ecosystems as the transition is entered and passed. Note how both photosynthesizers and methanogens increase when oxygen first appears and how methanogens fall back to a steady level when the oxygen-breathing consumers (dashed curve) become established.

Like Daisyworld, this model is just an invention and is not intended to describe the real world of those remote times. What it does illustrate is the remarkable mathematical stability of geophysiological models. Climate, three ecosystems, and three gases are regulated simultaneously while the model is being continuously perturbed by an increasing solar luminosity. The stable homeostasis of the system is independent of a wide range of initial conditions and other perturbations. The values of the environmental quantities, temperature, and gas abundances it predicts are always realistic for the organisms. My purpose in making the model was to illustrate how I think Gaia works.

I do not disagree with those who propose that some, or even a large proportion, of the total regulation of any chosen Earth property can be explained by deterministic chemistry and physics. Living systems use chemistry economically. They do not strive ostentatiously to do better than blind chemistry or physics because there is no need. The purpose of Gaia is to offer a new way of looking at the Earth and to make predictions that can be tested experimentally. Had it not been for the curiosity stimulated by thoughts on the mechanisms of Gaia, none of the important trace gases dimethyl sulfide, carbon disulfide, methyl iodide, and chloride would have been sought and found when they were (see, for example, Charlson et al. [1987]). To conclude, Gaia theory provokes us to think about three things:

  1. Life is a planetary scale phenomenon. There cannot be sparse life on a planet. It would be as unstable as half of an animal. Living organisms have to regulate their planet; otherwise, the ineluctable forces of physical and chemical evolution would render it uninhabitable.
  2. Gaia theory adds to Darwin’s great vision. There is no longer any need to consider the evolution of the species separately from the evolution of their environment. The two processes are tightly coupled as a single indivisible process. It is not enough merely to say that the organism that leaves the most progeny succeeds. Success also depends upon coherent coupling between the evolution of the organism and the evolution of its material environment.
  3. Lastly, it may turn out that the gift of Gaia to geophysics is the reduction of Lotka’s [1925] insight to practice: a way to look at the Earth mathematically that joyfully accepts the nonlinearity of nature without being overwhelmed by the limitations imposed by the chaos of complex dynamics.

Acknowledgment

Ann Henderson-Sellers was the editor in charge of this paper. She thanks J. G. Cogley and P. Boston for their assistance in evaluating its technical content.

References

Carter, R.N., and S. D. Prince, Epidemic models used to explain biographical distribution limits, Nature, 213, 644-645, 1981.
Charlson, R. J., J. E. Lovelock, M. O. Andreae, and S. J. Warren, Oceanic phytoplankton, atmospheric sulfur, cloud albedo and climate, Nature, 326, 655-661, 1987.
Holland, H. D., The Chemical Evolution of the Atmosphere and Oceans, 582 pp., Princeton University Press, Princeton, N. J., 1984.
Hutchinson, G. E., Biochemistry of the terrestrial atmosphere, in The Solar System, edited by G. P. Kuiper, Chap. 8, University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 111, 1954.
Hutton, J.Theory of the Earth; or an investigation of the laws observable in the composition, dissolution, and restoration of land upon the globe, Irons. R. Soc. Edinburgh, 1, 209-304, 1788.
Lotka, A.Elements of Physical Biology, Williams and Wilkins, Baltimore, Md., 1925.
Lovelock, J. E., Gaia as seen through the atmosphere, Atmos. Environ., 6, 579-580, 1972.
Lovelock, J. E., and L. Margulis, Atmospheric homeostasis by and for the biosphere: The Gaia hypothesis, Tellus, 26, 1-10, 1973.
Margulis, L., and J. E. Lovelock, Biological modulation of the Earth’s atmosphere, Icarus, 21, 471-489, 1974.
Redfield, A. C., The biological control of chemical factors in the environment. Am. Sci., 46, 205-221, 1958.
Vemadsky, V., The biosphere and the noosphere, Am. Sci., 33, 1-12,1945.
Watson, A. J., and J. E. Lovelock, Biological homeostasis of the global environment: The parable of Daisyworld, Tellus, Ser. B., 35, 284-289, 1983.

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Who was James Lovelock, what is Gaia theory. RIP

James Lovelock near a tree looking to the side
James Lovelock, who has been described as the “ultimate polymath” and “connoisseur of nature”, died recently on his 103rd birthday.(Getty Images: Eamonn McCabe/Popperfoto)

For someone like Professor Pitman, who studies the interaction of climate and vegetation, it’s obvious that living things play a key role in regulating Earth’s climate.

“If it wasn’t for life, we would have cooked long ago, because life sucks the carbon dioxide out of the atmosphere into the land,” says Professor Pitman, of the University of New South Wales.

The Earth is seen almost fully illuminated by the Sun against the pitch black of Space.
The ideas pioneered by Professor Lovelock eventually became Earth systems science.(Supplied: NASA)

But when Professor Lovelock first went public with his idea that the Earth was a giant organism that could regulate itself (including its climate) by using feedback between biological life and the rest of the planet, it was seen as rather radical.

“It was just so out there. It wasn’t taken very seriously by many,” Professor Pitman says.

 

Robyn Williams celebrates the life of James Lovelock on The Science Show on RN.

But that was back in the 1970s — and today, even though many of Professor Lovelock’s ideas remain controversial, his Gaia theory underpins a whole field of research called Earth systems science.

“I cannot overstate how profoundly transformative his contribution was,” Professor Pitman says

“There are many people who think he has had more impact on our understanding of the Earth than any other singular scientist through the 20th century.”

Life on Mars

Professor Lovelock, who died last week on his 103rd birthday, has been described as the “ultimate polymath” and a “connoisseur of nature” for whom “intuition and feeling” were just as important as science and data.

“My role has been to bring separated things and ideas together and make the whole more than the sum of the parts,” he once told The Guardian.

James Lovelock at work in lab in 1960s
James Lovelock doing research work on a NASA grant at the University of Houston in the 1960s.(Getty Images: Don Uhrbrock)

It all started back in the 1960s when Professor Lovelock, while working for NASA, designed an instrument to measure the chemical composition of Mars’s atmosphere.

After comparing his measurements with those taken from Earth’s atmosphere, he concluded there could be no life on the Red Planet.

Professor Lovelock argued the Martian atmosphere did not contain the signature balance of gases including oxygen, which is a sign of life on our planet.

“He basically was able to demonstrate without sending robots to Mars that there was no life there,” Professor Pitman says.

The findings changed the way we understand Earth’s atmosphere and its relationship to the rest of the planet.

Mars
The absence of life on Mars was clear to Professor Lovelock, who analysed its atmosphere.(Source: Planet-volumes/Unsplash)

In 1987, Professor Lovelock and colleagues proposed that phytoplankton in the ocean helps regulate the climate by giving off a gas, especially when it is sunny, which helps form clouds that shade the Earth, and bring rain that helps forests grow.

While scientists still debate how these cycles work, it was complex planet-scale interactions like this — involving biology as well as physics and chemistry, and the recycling of nutrients — that were key to Professor Lovelock’s thinking.

Professor Pitman likens the feedback processes central to Gaia theory to what happens in our bodies to regulate temperature — we sweat when we’re hot and shiver when we’re cold.

He says Professor Lovelock’s writings were “essential reading” for his own PhD back in the 1980s, and a vast amount of what we understand today is the result and direct consequence of such work.

Like minds with a planetary perspective

The idea of using the name Gaia — the Greek goddess who personifies the Earth — originally came from a chat with novelist William Golding of Lord of the Flies fame. And a Pentagon consultant by the name of Dian Hitchcock also appears on an early scientific paper of Professor Lovelock’s.

But his key long-term intellectual collaborator was the evolutionary theorist, microbiologist and fellow maverick Lynn Margulis, who overturned our understanding of how life on Earth evolved.

James Lovelock and Lynn Margulis standing in the garden looking at camera
James Lovelock with Lynn Margulis in 1983 at Lovelock’s home at the time (next to a statue of Gaia).(Supplied: Betsey Dexter Dyer)

Professor Margulis also had a planetary perspective on things, says Bruce Clarke, of the Texas Tech University, who is a co-author of Writing Gaia, a new book that analyses 300 letters exchanged between professors Margulis and Lovelock between 1970 and 2007.

“She understood life as a global or planetary phenomenon,” Professor Clarke says.

That’s not surprising given that Professor Margulis was once married to cosmologist Carl Sagan, who knew Professor Lovelock, and suggested his wife connect with him.

“Lynn believed Gaia is run by the microbes,” Professor Clarke says.

As well as collaborating on ideas, professors Lovelock and Margulis (who died in 2011) supported each other, in justifying their opposition to mainstream ideas, he adds.

And during the ’70s and ’80s it was them against scientists like Richard Dawkins, who was reducing life to a “molecular gene-centred vision” that made living organisms all “lumbering gene robots” at the mercy of their environment.

“For the longest time, Richard Dawkins was their mutual nemesis.”

Gaia myths and climate prophecies

The fact that Gaia had mystical or spiritual connotations that resonated with many in the New-Age movement undermined Professor Lovelock’s ideas in the eyes of some scientists.

So he spent a lot of time explaining that Gaia was not some kind of benevolent Earth mother, but it would take care of itself first, even if that wasn’t great for humans.

As his collaborator Professor Margulis said: “Gaia is a tough bitch.”

James Lovelock was a campaigner as well as a scientist. (Getty Images: Ben Birchall/PA Images)

Professor Lovelock is also well known for warning of the dire consequences of human activity pushing Gaia to the limit.

At the age of 86 he published a book called The Revenge of Gaia, which predicted destructive extreme weather from climate change would be the norm by 2020.

He even thought the COVID pandemic might be “a Gaian negative feedback mechanism to reduce human pressure on the Earth system”.

At the same time, he argued humans were part of Gaia, and needed to use their consciousness to “give her a hand” to stave off the worst of climate change.

Professor Lovelock shocked many environmentalist fans, for example, by advocating the use of nuclear energy and then geoengineering as solutions to global warming.

His recipe for human salvation also included human retreat to megacities and artificial intelligence controlling the climate.

A free thinker

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Whatever you think of James Lovelock, he will be remembered for being a truly independent scientist, which, Professor Pitman says, is “a very rare” thing in this day and age.

“He was a free thinker who thought outside the box … and had hard core scientific credentials.”

Professor Lovelock was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society not long after his first paper on Gaia was published, and has received many other honours.

And it seems he was able to be so independent because he funded his own work, with the help of the income from no less than 40 patents from inventions he had created over the decades.

In 1960, James Lovelock developed this highly sensitive detector for measuring air pollution.(Getty Images: Science & Society Picture Library)

These included the electron capture detector, which ended up detecting ozone-depleting chemicals.

Professor Lovelock’s protégé, Tim Lenton, a professor of climate change and Earth systems science at the University of Exeter, believes his mentor’s ideas on the interconnectedness of Earth’s systems will help humans build a more sustainable future.

“He will go down in history as the person who changed our view of our place on Earth,” Professor Lenton says.

“We need Jim’s way of thinking now more than ever, if we are to get out of a climate and ecological crisis of our own making.”

James Lovelock, at age 94, with one of his early creations, a homemade gas chromatography device.(AP: Nicholas Ansell)

 

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Centipede: Septober Energy

Centipede: Septober Energy – Expanded Edition( Cherry Red/Esoteric)

Centipede was a 50 piece orchestra convened and led by Keith Tippett from 1970 to 1971. Following Tippett’s death in 2020, Esoteric have worked with Julie Tippetts and Sony to remaster the original tapes of this album. There is no additional recorded material but there is a comprehensive booklet with notes, interviews and images.

The album has a somewhat hallowed status (and I am mindful to avoid the stock cliches) – partly due to the size of the band, partly due to the range of players from the free jazz and psychedelic music scene, and probably mainly due to the fact that Robert Fripp produced it. Consequently, Esoteric are to be congratulated for their restraint in releasing it as a double CD rather than as an overpriced vinyl bauble.

Tippett had already released two discs on a major label as leader and had guested on King Crimson sessions by the time he started to bring Centipede together. The birth of the band arose from the confluence of the strands of music making and the social networks that the Tippetts intersected, and also from the attitude of the record companies at the time. Whether this was sheer opportunism and a willingness to take a chance when they really didn’t know what was going to be the next big thing, or a golden age of music friendliness and enlightened curation is moot point. Certainly Tippett viewed the project as a chance to bring together musicians from a variety of genres and scenes – a utopian view which sometimes resulted in kitsch disasters when public school educated prog rockers relived their organ scholarships.

In a 2012 interview quoted in the notes, Tippett recalled the excitement of the RCA executives who had signed him and Julie:

            they thought of us as the Johnny Dankworth and Cleo Lane of our generation

and adds:

Centipede was started very innocently. I would say 90% of the people were all friends, musically and socially. It was only some of the violin players who were recruited through a friend.

The band started with a 20 piece line up and then toured in the winter of 1970 before recoding the album in June 1971. There aren’t any live recordings that I am aware of, and memories are understandably patchy, so it isn’t clear whether the full 50 piece toured or whether it only came together in the studio. There certainly aren’t fifty people on the original centrefold photo. Violinist Wilf Gibson remembers:

No two performances were the same because there were great sections of it which were improvised. There were other parts that were like signposts, there was a filling in between signposts which were improvised. Some of it was written down but it was very free in places. You had these ostinato figures where you’re going round and round with improvisation going up against it.

Hence – without a conductor or orchestrated score – we are back to the big band formula of solos, riffs and beats to structure and organise such a large grouping of musicians. So although Septober Energy is the name of the piece played by Centipede, given that they didn’t seem to play anything else, it could equally be the name of the band.

This certainly shows in the studio version where Tippett and Fripp turn the piece into a suite. Bass player Roy Babbington recalls:

If your part came up then you were required to be at the studio. Conversely, if there were things you weren’t involved in you were expressly requested not to be at the studio. This was obviously for reasons of efficiency and economics. That side was policed by the Ronnie Scott’s guys. There were two or three of them and they were making sure the right people were in the right place at the right time. So we’d slide in to do our bit and we were then asked to vanish (laughs). Fripp was pretty efficient when it came to doing things like that.”

The review download which I had does not have any indexing and it will be a shame if the release does not have it, as some of the episodes in the piece are more compelling than others – there some beautiful subgroupings of percussion, voice and brass, but there are some larger groupings where, behind the solos, there is a lot of riffing and some lumbering rhythms which haven’t aged well.

That said, this is well curated and presented and a valuable addition to both the Tippett discography and the wider archive of British jazz in the ‘70s.

 

 

 

 

 

Stuart Riddle

 

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Geometry of Love

 

We share the space in a circle
with the people my mom called Square.
She lives beyond and here, and we
live in the intestine of a serpent.
Sometimes we know where we live.
We call the reptile Ouroboros. This morning
I dialled my wife. “Come sharp.” I urged.
She said, “Tears magnify desire.
Here near my maternal house
a choke berry tree hosts the fatigue
of evening’s avis.” I uttered, “Oh!”
I added a trivia, “In Mumbai lives a Birdman.
He saves vultures.” The circle of the sky echoed
my words. The path is covered with feathers.
We have been having this conversation
for two or three, may be four generations.

 

 

 

Kushal Poddar
Picture Nick Victor

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Crack Cloud

Alan Dearling writes: “I was sad, frustrated, and a tad pissed off when this gig was cancelled at the last moment at Trades Club, Hebden Bridge…”

Crack Cloud are very much on the ‘band-to-look-out-for’ radar at the moment and are supporting Pavement at some UK gigs.

Are they, Musical theatre? Story-tellers extraordinaire. Punky rappers – possibly inheritors of the musical-mantles worn by Michael Jackson in ‘Thriller’. Or, Devo and Sparks…who knows (or probably cares)… but they seem to have stepped out of pop into a diverse range of stage sets, populated brim-full  of teenage angst, and rebellion. Weird hipster youthful shit. A kids’ version on Arcade Fire, perhaps? Innovative and obviously ‘out there’… and just made for the video internet age!

‘Ouster Stew’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XaZHifM0qGo

Syncopated, staccato, strikingly individual. Sometimes darkly menacing, skewed, uncomfortable and at times ‘challenging’. But fascinating. Here they are live from Paris in 2019. ‘Drab Measure’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Q5Vm_dt_9w

Here’s their latest seriously deranged video for the track, ‘Tough Baby’, a full-on production that veers between teen-harmonies and Prodigy-grunge. From teen-bedroom dreams to cavemen hallucinations: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iuiApNB8Ug0

It’s a prelude to their new album, which is, in words of pundits: “eagerly awaited.”

To date, they have released one studio album, ‘Pain Olympics’ (2020) with their follow-up, ‘Tough Baby’ is expected to be released September 16, 2022.

Wikipedia: “Crack Cloud are a Canadian musical and multimedia collective based in Vancouver, British Columbia, formed by drummer and frontman, Zach Choy. Alongside the group’s core musical members who perform live as a band, a large number of multimedia artists are also associated and operate simultaneously as an in-house production studio within the group, due to the project’s strong focus on visual storytelling.

Formed in 2015, Crack Cloud started as the solo project of lead vocalist and drummer, Zach Choy while living in Calgary, Alberta. Soon after, the project moved to Vancouver in 2018, where most of its members met through various addiction recovery and mental health programmes both as participants and as support workers. Choy stated that the purpose of Crack Cloud is a ‘healing mechanism’.”

‘Please Yourself’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BteWnj3vr1o&t=363s

Very much a video and song from another teenage-bedroom-opera, or, TV ‘soap’. Art and music exploring depression, mental health and finding your own identity.

Sadly, I didn’t get to see them live or take my own pics of them. Crack Cloud are video film-makers, an Art-Punk outfit, and a music collective to watch out for!

I’ll end with a link to a noisy, experimental 2021 live show for Netherland’s Radio displaying their avant-garde jazz-punk intentions to conquer all the musical genres in the universe! Drum, organ and sax-led musical metal violence. A bit Rammstein even, certainly a tad Teutonic.

‘Costly engineered illusion’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PKsSgbRddZg

 

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Bippety and Boppety Reminisce

— Do you remember when?
— Probably not. I forget so much these days.
— I think it’s the future that matters, not the past.
— You know you don’t really mean that.
— Don’t really mean what?

 

 

 

Martin Stannard

 

 

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 Unsatisfied Desire!

Your loving care and charismatic look,
Invite my heart to dwell in you.
In your enchanting eyes
I love to swim
Even till tired and weak.
In your cuteness
I forget myself
I love you more than my life.
But you don’t know
The depth of my love.
You take it as a joke
And ignore my love.
When there is nothing left
And nowhere to go
I run to you fast
For some solace
For your warm embrace,
And our love echoes through the breeze,
In our dream world.
An illusion,
A dream,
And an unsatisfied desire!
I wait to hear your heart’s avidity,
Like no one would,
Your ardent love
Make me captive for life.
I don’t want to escape.
I smile,
You laugh,
What a love it is!
Like spotless love.
Please love me today, evermore and eternally.

 

 

 

 

Monalisa Parida
Picture Nick Victor

 

 

Bio:- Monalisa Parida is a post graduate student of English literature from India, Odisha and a prolific poetess. She is very active in social media platforms and her poems have also been translated into different languages and publish in various e-journals.
She has got 80 international award for writing poetry. Her poems have been publishing international e-journals “New York parrot”, “The Writers Club” (USA), “Suriyadoya literary foundation”, “kabita Minar”, “Indian Periodical” (India) and “Offline Thinker “, “The Gorkha Times “ ( Nepal), “The Light House”(Portugal), “Bharatvision”(Romania), “International cultural forum for humanity and creativity”(Aleppo, Syria), “Atunispoetry.com”(Singapore) etc. And also published in various newspapers like “The Punjabi Writer Weekly(USA)”, “News Kashmir (J&K, India)”, Republic of Sungurlu (Turkey)” etc.
One of her poem published an American anthology named “The Literary Parrot Series-1 and series-2 respectively (New York, USA)”. Her poems have been translated in various languages like Hindi, Bengali, Turkish, Persian, Romanian etc. And she is the author of the book “Search For Serenity”, “My Favourite Grammar”, “Paradigm”.

 

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Movements Through Time and Place

Shalimar. A story of place and migration, Davina Quinlivan
(169pp, £16.00, hbck, Little Toller)
Ghosts of My Life. Writings on Depression, Hauntology and Lost Futures
(252pp, £13.99, Zero Classics)

Davina Quinlivan’s non-fiction book is part memoir, part geography, part family history, part philosophical self-exploration. It is moving, lyrical, personal and immensely readable. The book moves from Burma and India to the London suburbs, on to Surrey and then Devon, where the author is currently settled with her partner and children. En route she explores place and considers when that becomes home: how to become adopted by a new place and different culture, how to negotiate difference, in all its forms.

What emerges throughout the book is that we are made from and contain our past. Quinlivan carries Asian memories, stories and attitudes despite having been brought up in West London, and these merge, change and inform the places she adopts. So her father may have picked mangos as a child, but she has to negotiate a suburban apple tree and later learn the names of the trees in the woods near to her home. Yes, there were temples and Indian communities in London, but there are also myriad other races and religions all (mostly) jogging along together. And this is not the case the Devon villages: she is aware of being other, even as she is accepted by and engages with the community.

Sometimes her familial stories are strange and awkward, almost asides about distant aunts or perhaps imaginary memories, told to the reader third hand. Sometimes, as Quinlivan digs into herself to express how she feels about things, she adopts a magic realist style, where the Green Man is as likely to appear as a Devonian neighbour or Hindu god. Everything is made strange, seen anew, or considered in almost hyperreal way: Quinlivan teaches and writes about film and cinema, and brings a sense of that medium to her writing.

Mostly, she is able – just as films facilitate – to travel in time and place, combining strands of thought to reflect on the juxtapositions, the differences, the way we live our lives. She is self-aware and an author who pays attention to each and every thing around her: nature, others, history and how place is affected by everything. And how each of us, including herself, responds to place, how each of us carries a familial and cultural history with us. She may have not been able to return to Shalimar, the name of an earlier family house, but she has recreated it for herself and found a kind of peace, migrant though she proudly remains.

Mark Fisher’s work continues to gain critical acclaim and readers, even though he is dead. Zero Books have reissued his 2014 collection of essays, Ghosts of My Life, as a Zero Classic, with a new introduction and afterword. I expect Fisher to be canonized at any moment, his cultdom having already been established by the publication of k-punk, a vast gathering of collected and unpublished writings, and Postcapitalist Desire a planned and unwritten book he was working on through a series of lectures; the book is based on his lecture notes.

Facetiousness aside, I don’t think this is Fisher’s best book. I’d muddled it up with a later volume, The Weird and the Eerie, a much stronger work. Reading this through again it feels very much of its time, and very much a compilation of previously published articles and reviews. A lot of it seems like enthusiasms from the time as Fisher discusses the TV programme Life on Mars, David Peace’s novels, the later music of John Foxx, and enthuses about The Caretaker, Burial and other dubstep and jungle artists. Even a serious piece on Jimmy Savile now seems dated and somewhat obvious, even though it develops a coherent and powerful argument about celebrity, power and nostalgia.

These are all themes Fisher returns too throughout his writing, and when he considers music or films or books that seem more established or lasting, – such as Patrick Keiller’s films, Joy Division, Sebald and Le Carré’s Smiley – he has lots to say, and lots of critical and contextual material to work with. Elsewhere he sometimes resorts to enthusing and recycling political opinion, or using the then hip lens of ‘hauntology’ to discuss his subjects.

What is excellent though, are the two new essays, although there still seems an element of backslapping going on. Matt Colquhoun’s Introduction contextualises Fisher’s work and makes a strong case (even if I disagree) for Ghosts of My Life being a foundational book for the author. It also acknowledges the ‘paradoxes and contradictions of Fisher’s thought’, which he suggests ‘weave a psychedelic and atemporal tapestry’ that engage with spectres of lost futures’ are sent to us from the past.

Colquhoun, who edited Postcapitalist Desire and wrote a book on ‘mourning, melancholy and Mark Fisher’ after his untimely death, has helped sustain what Simon Reynolds in his Afterword calls ‘the Fisherati’; however, both authors were in dialogue with Fisher, and Reynolds concept of nostalgia and revisiting the past arriving sooner than ever, and the resulting book Retromania, informed some of Fisher’s ideas. Reynolds is not scared to criticise Fisher’s work as he attempts to understand the despair and social and political decline and despair that drove Fisher to suicide, declaring that readers must ‘find new ways to balance pessimism of the intellect and optimism of the will, the need for realism and the imperative to dream a new reality’. It is, he implies, what Fisher would have wanted, and what his ghost talk continues to facilitate.

 

 

Rupert Loydell

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Why we need a Plant Based Treaty

 

Fossil fuels and animal agriculture are the driving force behind runaway global warming as well as extensive biodiversity loss, large-scale deforestation, species extinction, water depletion, soil degradation and ocean dead zones.

Addressing fossil fuels alone isn’t enough – we need action on food systems too; that’s where the Plant Based Treaty comes in. The three main greenhouse gases – carbon dioxide, methane and nitrous oxide are at devastatingly high levels and rapidly accelerating.

Animal agriculture is also driving Indigenous land theft in the Amazon; subjecting racially and ethnically marginalized communities to disproportionate amounts of toxic waste from factory farms and slaughterhouses as well as exposing workers to toxic chemicals, hazardous working conditions and severe trauma.

Find out more here:

Why do we need a Plant Based Treaty?

https://plantbasedtreaty.org/

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Late Night Shopping

Dog-shaped shadows snap around the food bank, worrying hearts and heels, cranking up the fight-or-flight into tight fists, raising bile, and barking up the sharpest anger from where it’s been lying forever with one eye cocked open. When the light of care or opprobrium hits, shadow teeth bite deep, like a cartoon of a yelping postman which, when you tilt it, is the headline from a local paper concerning a baby whose sobbing parents turned away at precisely the wrong moment. Contested lines are scent-marked challenges, stained with dogged conflict, where all tins and packets look the same, each one a reminder that human flesh can pass for veal and that the vegan option is beggars-can’t-be-choosers. Dog tired, it’s a long way from home, and everything will taste of shadows.

 

 

 

Oz Hardwick
Picture Nick Victor

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All Roads Lead To Roam

tea leaves
read another
steeped line
of words
woven like
that tapestry
upon this
stained parchment
before the stars
fell from
sky below
then prevailed
to another
latitude
&
longitude
all roads lead to roam
carry me to
islands countries
galaxies beyond
where I shall
never migrate
in this existence
while I pour
another cup
of tea

 

 

 

 

 

Words and image TERRENCE SYKES

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Zephyr Sounds Sunday Sermon No. 87

Steam Stock
Tracklist:
Ennio Morricone – The Strong
David Crosby – Laughing
The Beach Boys – Pet Sounds
Terry Callier – It’s About Time
Little Esther – Summertime
Brian Eno – On Some Faraway Beach
Beck – Totally Confused
The Rolling Stones – Heaven
Aretha Franklin – Daydreaming
DJ Shadow (featuring Mathew Halsall) – Ashes to Oceans
Beastie Boys – I Don’t Know
Earth, Wind and Fire – That’s the Way of the World
The Edwin Hawkins Singers – Oh Happy Day
Tom Waits – Swordfishtrombone
Nancy Sinatra with Lee Hazelwood – Summer Wine
The 5th Dimension – Aquarius/Let the Sunshine in

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SHADOW OF A HAND

(listening to Evan Parker)

 

sweet warble

sycophant reduction

hinge strain

oscillating engine

sound on fire

spectral hiss

fingers breached

imaginary solution

nothing to hold

conformative refusal

shadow of a hand

mouth on fire

.

© Rupert M Loydell

 

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‘Dancing Out In Space’

Blackstar Theory. The Last Works of David Bowie, Leah Kardos
(239pp, £21.99, Bloomsbury Academic)

In his final years David Bowie managed to not only regain critical acceptance but make a surprising high-profile comeback after a decade of silence, with two albums, associated singles and an experimental play. He also seemed to orchestrate the presentation of his own death, achieving what Leah Kardos calls ‘remystification’.

Bowie of course was known for mystification and the use of personas, from Ziggy Stardust to The Thin White Duke, but from the mid 1980s onwards he had appeared to simply or mostly be David Bowie, popstar and nice guy, even when experimenting with drum’n’bass, or writing characters for 1. Outside, his reunion project with Brian Eno, who had been a major accomplice on the Berlin Trilogy of albums (Low, “Heroes” and Lodger).

In this readable and discursive book, Kardos shows how the music, lyrics, art work and videos for The Next Day and ★ (known as Blackstar), and the play Lazarus,  drew on a rich variety of established Bowie interests and ideas, along with the new, to explore what Keith Ansell-Pearson calls on the back cover ‘the nature of identity, creativity, chaos, transience and im/mortality’.

Kardos is excellent at following networks of meaning and picking up Bowie’s clues, as well as contextualising his lyrics and music within literature and Bowie’s back catalogue. She is also interested in the notion of  creative ‘late style’, influences and originality. Bowie’s listening habits, collaborations, writing processes, occult and Buddhist reading are all used to intelligently inform and deconstruct here. There are also some brief technical music discussions of various tracks, but these are thankfully short interludes and if – like me – you are not a reader of music, they don’t spoil the flow of the book.

Blackstar Theory starts by backtracking, with some critical nods to previous albums such as Reality, Bowie’s writing and editorial role at Modern Painters magazine, the rise of digital technology, and Bowie’s seemingly settled life in Manhattan. Alongside a consideration of ‘late style’, Kardos discusses the Bowie Is… exhibition, Tony Visconti, and Bowie’s preference for confusion and complexity. She also warns against reading everything as autobiography rather than revisitation, reconsideration and reflection. Bowie, it seems, was still playing games with his listeners and fans.

The Next Day was recorded in secret and issued at short notice, with the news swiftly going viral and sales going through the roof. The cover, along with tracks such as ‘Where Are We Now?’ suggested that Bowie had been looking back at his life. The cover photo from “Heroes” was blanked out with a white square, the video for ‘Where Are We Now?’ revisited Berlin, with black and white films of the city flickering behind two mannequins with faces – one of Bowie singing – projected on them, all within an artist’s studio. The music seemed nostalgic and sad, full of longing and dissociation.

Lazarus, meanwhile, picked up themes from The Man Who Fell to Earth and helped Bowie fulfil a long-held ambition of his to write a play. The alien who is stranded on Earth is here older, alcoholic, delusional and alone. He lives within an anonymous apartment (possibly in New York) where apparitions visit, and Bowie songs are re-arranged and revisited as a musical commentary on longing, separation, obsession, mourning and humanity’s violence and self-destruction. I saw the London production and wasn’t impressed: it felt like a bad student project, but I am glad I saw it.

Of course, by the time the original New York play opened, Bowie knew he was dying. He attended the opening night and took a bow, but had been forced into non-attendance of later rehearsals and recording. What he had done, however, was make some new musical connections to musicians he would use to record Blackstar, a strange mix of rock beat, freeform jazz and mysterious vocals.

The songs, especially following the news of Bowie’s death, seemed poignant and laced with references to death and mourning. Images from the Kabbalah and other occult sources such as Aleistair Crowley and Egyptology, along with ideas from Nietzsche and trickster mythology, and musical references from previous songs. The videos are full of disconnected images and allusions: Major Tom seems to have become a corpse on another planet, perhaps as a result of his junkie phase during ‘Ashes to Ashes’; a crucifixion scene; scarecrows; surrealism; German expressionism…

The past and future merge or are perhaps the same thing. An unseeing Bowie (playing his ‘Buttoneyes’ character with bandaged eyes) retreats into the cupboard he emerged from a few minutes before. He is dressed in a suit reminiscent from the Station to Station era, and although he can move it may be that he is lying on his death bed and it is a spirit leaving. Or returning. Or both. Or neither.

Kardos skilfully unpicks the science and imagery of black holes and blackstars, moving from a conversation between Bowie and Burroughs, via 2001: A Space Odyssey and Chariot of the Gods, to the fact that we are literally physically made of space dust. What’s great is she doesn’t try to pin anything down, just offers possibilities, prepared to embrace the fact that, as he always did and has done, Bowie’s work leaves us wondering and in a state of wonder.

This is a clever, entertaining and informative book, one that is thankfully miles away from rockstar biography or beard-scratching musicological treatise. It is thoughtful, wide-ranging and well-researched. In fact, it’s simply one of the best books about Bowie I have come across.

 

Rupert Loydell

 

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DREAM OF ALDEBARAN

A Vision of The Space Age

Blazing red star flaming eye
Taurus Alpha following
Images of opaque objects
From the Hyades to the Pleiades.

Nine bright stars that rule our sky, with
Nine ladies and three dark sisters,
Space tourists, or
Mystical figures who control our destiny:
Calliope, her epic screams create terror,
Clio, her revelations paralyse thought,
Euterpe, the sound of her flute chills the blood,
Thalia, her laughter is an antidote to death,
Melpomene, her tears flood the universe with pain,
Terpsechore, her ritual chanting is the dance of the stars,
Erato, Angel of Eros, her lyric passion excites the senses,
Polyhymnia, her devotions define the limits of the possible,
Urania, her science is the word of truth.

Just turn the lights out – this is a chapter from
The Book of Storms,
The Primal Dream of Three Uncanny Sisters
(Melete, Mneme, Aoide) – no Fates these,
Three Dark Stars in the shadows hidden
From the advance of Orion.
     As the galaxies expand,
Surreality is disclosed in moments of distraction.

And these are the Nine bright stars of the dream:
Aldebaran, the burning eye
Capella, so much brighter than the sun
Castor, twin star so far, far away
Pollux, hero of the hour but so far, far away
Procyon, you rise before the dog
Sirius, source of Sothic Mysteries
Rigel, you dominate the mirror world
Bellatrix goddess of war, you are deadly nightshade
Betelgeuse, you tower over all, but
The blazing red eye feasts on human flesh.

 

 

 

 

A C Evans

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SAUSAGE LIFE 238

Bird Guano’s
SAUSAGE LIFE
The column which is less than the sum of its parts

READER: Why are you so down on Nadene Doris, the minister for abolishing culture? I mean fair play, she’s an ignorant bigoted Nazi with a penchent for fat blokes who went to Eton but surely a girl’s got to to do what a girl’s got to do.

MYSELF: Strange, she doesn’t actually look like an ignorant, bigoted Nazi. Well not much… although maybe quite a lot come to think of it. I mean when the light hits her in a certain way, do I detect the merest hint of Hitler’s famous je ne sais quoi, combined with that inscrutably sexy Goebbels pout? Anyway, she’s in favour of privatising carbon-free renewable energy, and in the long run, that’s all that counts in these chastened times

READER: Perhaps, but tell me this; what happens when the carbon-free renewable energy supplier goes out of business?

MYSELF: Simple, we use our common sense and switch to another carbon-free renewable energy supplier. Duh!

READER: Of course, how stupid of me. The Conservative Party will always pull us through a recession, or my name’s not Vaselino Rabinowicz III.

MYSELF: I have had that information tattood on my forehead. Backwards of course, I’m not stupid

POETRY NOW
BREXIT THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS
By Louise Dodgeson

All Mimsy were the Boris, Gove,
Nigel, Jacob Slithy-Tove,
their Ja war nein
their groß war kleine
their je ne sais pas underlined
Their no’s are yes’s
feeble guesses
beamish boys with dyed blond tresses.
Four Brexiteers,
two gins, two beers,
pigs in dresses, Eton messes,
wallowing in their worst excesses.

ASK DR GUANO
Self-taught expert. All subjects covered, non excepted.

Dear Dr Guano,
My peripheral vision is virtually non existent during the day due to a bad childhood experience with a ventriloquist. Because of this, I unwittingly purchased volume XIII of How the Otto Cycle contributed to the development of ride-on lawnmowers in Western Europe 1929-1937 (Winker Wanker & Wenger £31.99), when what I actually wanted was Russell Brand’s new self-help book 1,000 Things to Put on Facebook When You Haven’t Got Anything to Say But you Just Can’t Stop Yourself (Babcock & Pillock £14.95). Should I return the book and ask for an exchange? Or swap it for that digital burglar alarm with the bloke on Ebay who says he’s a big fan of the history of ride-on lawnmowers?Lamaar Tabernacle
Hasmat-on-the-Tween

Dear Lamaar,
There are certain things worth bearing in mind when acquiring a pre-loved digital burglar alarm. For instance, will it work underwater or when your pets are in season? This man could be a scam book dealer posing as a burglar alarm reseller. Times have changed. When I was a lad you could buy New York for a handful of shiny coloured beads. Avoid commitment until you receive some answers.
Dr Guano
The Chambers
Port Gulag

OYOYOYOYOYOYOYOYOY!
Speaking of alarms, what the flying squad is going on with police sirens? I nearly had a cardiac arrest the other day when one of the latest batch of sociopathic paddy wagons screamed past me, blasting out what sounded like the shower scene from Psycho. Luckily I managed to jump back into my skin quickly enough to avoid any lasting damage. Who is the super alarm salesman who has this strange power over the police? 
THE BELLS, THE BELLS
Once upon a time the emergency services only relied on bells to warn you to get out of the way, and they were hyper efficient. You knew where you were with a bell. There was nothing that could possibly be hurtling towards you at speed ringing a bell, except a police car, an ambulance, a fire engine, or if you live where I live, an unhinged morris dancer on crystal meth.
So how have things progressed since the passing of the bell? Are we much safer now? No. The thing is, these days they not only want you to get out of the way, they want you to defecate as well. so they came up with the Da-da. A panel of experts concluded that the Da-da wasn’t scary enough, or loud enough, or stress inducing enough, so they replaced it with the woowah. The woowah was a great favourite with rookie policemen who would employ it to disperse traffic in order to get home in time for their tea at the end of a shift. This practice was frowned upon by chief constables and hastily replaced by the ear-splitting weeweewee, which was so obnoxiously shrill it could actually fry an egg or down a small helicopter. Someone, somewhere thinks that the psychosis-inducing Oyoyoyoyoyoyoyoy – the skinhead of emergency vehicle sirens – is more tolerable than the weeweewee. I put the blame squarely on Elon Musk, American TV and deaf policemen. 

NOSTALGIA PORN
Everyone is talking about season 1 of Are You Being Serfed? the Netflix costume drama set in a department store during the middle ages. The $25million dollar production stars national treasure Roxanne Druncan as the pussy-loving vassal Mrs Hokum, and Nathan Umbrage as Mr Handsfree the rebellious woollen tunic salesman with his camp catch phrase shoot that lord!

READER: Nathan Umbrage? Is he still alive? I knew his uncle, Bill “Hoff” Hoffman, who was Joe E Brown’s body double and worked as a stunt man for Columbia Pictures in the forties, before marrying Emily Wildebeeste who played Clarissa in Fifty Shades of Grey starring Sabu the elephant boy as the Sado Masochist Sinbad and Stewart Grainger as Mercury, the fleet-footed messenger with winged trainers and a heart of gold.
MYSELF: Fifty Shades Of Grey? Isn’t that what dogs see when they are trying to choose paint from a Farrow & Ball catalogue?

 

 

 

Sausage Life!

Colin Gibson • Emmet Ives • Anita Makris



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From Retrievals & Interventions


Trawling the Archives      

These retrievals Trying to understand the trajectory that took you from voice of conscience to hedge fund. A breach. Design or default. The fault is always mine / as I chase you through the archives. Remorseful. I need to trawl through all the myriad missed signs and signals. The scapegoating / or misplaced blame. Gifts / blessings / misunderstood / by the authorities. Ticked different boxes.  Gateway or blockage. The old newsletter / might as well be in Latin & best left alone. (Question of survival) One (the) remove. Remote now. But force myself to read it. Ancient, alien discourse. 

 

The Dormitory / The Dickens    

By some law or decree boarding school dormitories had to be uncurtained. And then the snoring, grunting, shouting. (‘For his country, sir’), What the…? Certain minor indignities – a meeting of the Clothing Committee had been convened – who knew they even existed? What then embargoed? The legacy; of curtains closed / to the car park or churchyard in daytime. Tented intimacy once – mis-spent youth. My parents doing the spending – but I paid also. From a different, richer, argot, the blues three different ways. (Plus – they profess to love Dickens – but have they read him?) 

 

 

Stephen Middleton

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AUTOMATIC/SHEEP

 
The biological factory
Produces bright young things
Becoming dead-dull things
Slowing the assembly-line
 
Call ‘Quality Control’
Speed toil with scraps of banging songs
Who remembers poetry?
 
That’s just our janitor
Attempting to remove the manhole cover
Filthy and iced-over
Who can hope for diamonds in a sewer?
 
Come to London!   Bump and jog around
Illuminated coffins on The Underground

 

 
 
SHEEP
 
The city is a worn-out rug
Of matted wool
Which incubates the rich
 
Raise a mortgage on a dump
Rent it back ten times its worth
Pig out on your profits at The Ritz 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Bernard Saint 
Illustration:  Claire Palmer
 
 
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Bippety and Boppety Discuss the Baton

— I think I’ve taken things as far as I can, and need to pass on the baton to the next idiot.
— Life is not a relay race.
— Actually I think it is, and I’m quite out of puff.
— But you are still a relatively young man. 102 is no age at all these days.
— Tell the lasses in the clubs and literary salons that.
— Are a few of them not consumers of your written effusions?
— It depends. Some of them have been.
— And what did they make of it all, dare I ask?
— It’s difficult to say. None of them have spoken to me for a very long time.
— But you have admirers. Not loads, it’s true, but if we booked a coach for a fan day trip to Skegness and sold tickets we would probably break even.
— Are you sure about that?
— Yes, if it’s a small coach and we do it outside the peak holiday season.
— Would I have to go on the trip too?
— I think it would be expected.
— I don’t like Skegness.
— It doesn’t have to be Skegness. Mablethorpe has a lot going for it, or so I’ve heard. I’ve never been there.
— All this sounds too far outside my comfort zone, which is basically my house. And I’m not completely comfortable there, either. Anyway, we’ve drifted off the point. I have a baton, and I need to pass it on. Do you know any idiots that might be contenders?
— None that compare, to be honest.

 

Martin Stannard

 

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The Collapse of Government – The Rise of Resistance

Wherever you look in the world today, governance is failing and governments are falling. And even where governments hold-on, premiers, prime ministers, presidents and parliamentarians tumble around them; disgraced and exposed for one seedy scandal after another.

Be it money, sex, fraud, despotism, embezzlement or quite simply a pandemic of lies. It barely matters, over and over again the inimitable lust for power takes precedence over the responsibility to earn the trust of the nation.

So widespread has this ‘failure to govern’ epidemic become that one is justified in asking whether the electoral system – which supposedly underlies ‘democracy’ – has any merit left in it at all?

Well, you might say “It’s not the system it’s the quality of the candidates that’s the problem.” And clearly that is a big problem, as evidenced by the pandemic of failure to deliver.

But isn’t there something wrong with expecting unaware, uninvolved and unsuspecting members of the general public to choose who should lead their countries? Isn’t this a receipt for chaos and corruption?

Yes, quite obviously it is. Bye and large, whoever is chosen to take on this leadership role turns out to be a mirror of the mentality which put them there.

This seems to come as a shock to most. The electorate appears to want someone on the platform who miraculously rises above their own moral, intellectual and visionary shortcomings. They want a bold, brave and bright Moses figure to lead them out of the desert of their daily afflictions, which, they believe, must have been caused by the previous ‘useless leaders’ they had such unreasonable hopes for.

So the merry-go-round continues. Each time getting more surreal and more systemic in its inability to address the real needs of the country, its people, or any fundamental sense of direction and purpose.

Here we are.

But the laws of the universe strongly suggest that anything which becomes fundamentally incapable of evolving into something better, but lingers on in a state of abject sterility, lands up in – or as – a black hole. An inwardly collapsing gravitational graveyard.

The only way such an outcome can be circumvented, here on earth, is by many people becoming individually aware enough to take back control of their destinies; while recognising that – together – they can run their lives according to another formula.

We are all faced with this choice, never more starkly than today. Either get sucked into the black hole which awaits all those who do nothing/take no action – or – form aware, decentralised, autonomous groups with the determination to act as a responsible governing body at the neighbourhood and community level.

The key words are ‘aware’ and ‘responsible’. Without awareness no action can serve the cause of breaking free. Without accepting a level of responsibility, no action can become reality.

What exactly is this ‘awareness’ I refer to?

Quite simply, it is a condition in which recognition of the endemic levels of falsity and deception in society – and particularly in the political sphere – lead to the realisation that one must stop mindlessly obeying authoritarian voices of destruction and take action to establish a better and more just way of life.

You see, this is where so many submit to the coward within. Instead of following their heart led instincts to rebel, they submit to their ‘false intellect’ whose judgement is always “that’s not possible because we can never be more powerful than ‘them’.”

So Mr and Mrs X, who have moaned almost ceaselessly about the corruption and inept performance of those they elected (or didn’t) into office, take the standard position that in spite of witnessing their elected representatives being incapable of dispensing justice and common sense, the only thing to do is wait for the next election and once again try to get their candidate/party into office. This is, let us not mince our words, a direct route to the black hole.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, there will not be another ‘election’. This sham is over. The entire tragic-comedy has already imploded. If you think in terms of ‘democracy’ and ‘governance according to the will of the people’, the unaware can’t, or won’t, believe that this ship has sunk to the bottom and cannot be salvaged.

But for the aware, it’s no longer about choices. We must take the tiller and face the music.

It’s not a lullaby or a sonata, but a hand to hand grappling with those who want to destroy us. Which, in some cases, includes those indoctrinated ones who live amongst us and follow orders. Orders that emanate from such devious old hands as Klaus Schwab, head of the World Economic Forum and his fellow henchmen. Orders that are passed-on and repeated by the brain frozen bureaucrats and technocrats whose jobs depend upon being proper robots.

There are no more bona fide ‘governments’ in existence in this world. Just a facade of fake interest directed towards those who put the elected members on their pedestals. While these members, enjoying their apotheosis of parliamentary power, have their minds only on the next election, defection or rejection. That’s called ‘government’.

While that stuff will no doubt continue to be played-out on the world stage for a while longer, it is simply a facade for our distraction.

This planet is the territory of ‘The Great Reset’ now. An instrument for enforcing what is euphemistically called ‘net zero’.

What kind of gibberish is ‘net zero’? Does it mean anything?
No, actually it doesn’t. It is simply the reductionist algorithm (Al-Gore-rythm) and digital way of getting around having to say ‘zero carbon’. Because ‘zero carbon’ has been exposed as meaning ‘zero CO2’. And ‘zero CO2’ means zero life on Earth. The black hole.

Yes, under Herr Klaus Schwab’s Fourth Reich, we will be disposable. Since, in some circles, it has been known for years that depopulation and the reprogramming of those that remain, is the true meaning of the two words ‘Great Reset’. And ‘The Fourth Industrial Revolution’ is nothing less than the techno-binary control mechanism for the digitalisation and robotisation of human kind.
The ‘Transhuman’.

For the aware, the time for debate about the nature of what lies ahead, is passed.

The aware are ‘The Resistance’.

‘The Resistance’ is a four dimensional energetic force, operating on physical, mental, psychic and spiritual planes. It encompasses a rising consciousness and capacity for universal vision and action.

The enemy of mankind operates on just two/three dimensional planes. It lacks any warmth or empathy. It is devoid of spirituality. It is coldly wedded to the material world and deeply fears the manifestation of spirit and human courage. It knows not love at all. But does know ‘how to smile’.

‘The Resistance’ is the new government. It will not need to be elected, it will simply come to be.

It is already apparent – and is growing. It is you and I, God and the future of Life on Earth.

 

Julian Rose

Julian Rose is an early pioneer of UK organic farming, writer, international activist, entrepreneur and holistic teacher. Julian’s acclaimed book ‘Overcoming the Robotic Mind – Why Humanity Must Come Through’ is vital reading for this time: http://julianrose.info/

 

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SAUSAGE LIFE 237

Bird Guano’s
SAUSAGE LIFE
The column that believes a horse is only a cow with privileges

READER: Was that you I spotted being detained in handcuffs by armed security guards near the customer service counter of Morrison’s the other day? I told you you’d get caught eventually.
MYSELF: I was not shoplifting; I’ve put all that behind me now. What actually happened was that the facial recognition CCTV software malfunctioned and mistook me for absentee Hastings & Rye MP Sally Ann-Hart, on one of her rare visits to Hastings.
READER: Oo-er, that’s harsh, although you do look a bit like her when you forget to shave.
MYSELF: I won’t be doing that again in a hurry.

BOY’S HEAD FOUND IN SANDWICH
Carlton Mangrove, headmaster of St. Bodolph’s Academy for Boys, who has been missing for several weeks, has been found by police in Kent, where he was discovered hiding in a concealed tunnel under the pelican enclosure at Sandwich’s famous zoological attraction, World of Beaks.
“Once it got out that I had faked all my qualifications,” the principal confessed to our reporter Imogen Sandcastle, “my headmastering world caved in”
“On top of all that when the job I was offered as head tosser at the Deal branch of Pancakes R Us failed to materialize, and the two Nigerian gentlemen to whom I had handed over my passport and £2,000 in cash simply vanished, I panicked”.
 Mr. Mangrove, 56,  who still lives with his mother Nancy, a former cocktail waitress from Piddinghoe and has to wear surgically corrective sandals which chafe when he runs, was remanded for psychological reports.

BIG FIGHT: GLOVES OFF AS HYSTERIA MOUNTS
Since Boris “Spaffer” Johnson hung up his gumshield, the much anticipated heavyweight bout between challengers Rishi “Fishy” Sunak and the Liz “The Hernia” Truss is shaping up to be the brawl of the century according to Sunak’s manager Georgiou Falafel. “My boy’s a psychopath with a sociopathic chip on his shoulder” he told us, “The Hernia’s in for a shock. She doesn’t stand a chance. Fishy’s sparkling teeth and dazzling choreography will mesmerize Truss. I predict a knockout in the first minute.”
In the other corner, Truss’s manager Nadene “Bellend” Doris retorted angrily; “Fishy? I’ll give him one round. He’s a nobody. My kid’s a hurricane with boulders in her gloves. She’s a killer. Her feet are like whirling dervishes at an Irish dancing contest. One right hook from the Trusster’s fist of fury will knock him into the middle of next week or possibly the week after.”

ALCHEMY, ALCHEMY, THEY’VE ALL GOT IT ALCHEMY
Hastings’ resident boffin Gordon Thinktank has perfected his latest invention, a revolutionary machine which turns low fat milk into yoghurt, using only the recorded voice of former Tory MP Anne Widdecombe played backwards through a  40’ organ pipe.

READER: That’s impossible. No one has ever heard Anne Widdecombe’s voice.
MYSELF: That’s the whole point. Only dogs can hear it. And milk.

His other recent patent applications include a heated waterproof shell suit for taking cold showers in the winter, a clamp for holding down frisky parrots, a revolving gas powered toothpaste dispenser, a hand knitted ashtray for smoker’s cardigans, and square hula hoops which glow in the dark during lent. 

NEW SOCCER SEASON: WARRIORS OFF TO CALAMITOUS STARTCockmarlin Thunderbolts 8 Hastings & St Leonards Warriors 0
Frustrated Warriors fans who accompanied their team on a pre-season tour of Greenland were spotted moping around like recently bereaved widows this weekend, and with good reason. After a comparatively successful trip during which they soundly thrashed Greenland’s only competitive football team
FC Qaqortoq Penguins
, they returned triumphant, alas only to suffer yet another humiliating result. 
As one angry supporter told us: “Recently appointed Italian manager Giovani Fuctivano (The Goalfather) has got to go. He has not only insulted the fans by renaming historic Warrior Park La Casa Nostra but has also sold Nobby Balaclava, our best player, to a male escort agency.”This is what the bottom of the Nuclear Waste Disposal Solutions League (South) looked like after the final whistle blew on Friday:
                                                    P   W   D    L    F     A     Pts

Upper Dicker Macaroons                 1   0    1    0    0     0       1
Hastings & St Leonards Warriors     1   0    0    0    8     0       0

After the game, Hastings’ Georgian (“Don’t say Russian”) owner, Oliver Garki, spoke to our reporter.
“Mathematically we should have won. Fuctivano is a soccer genius. His tactics were faultless. The lads couldn’t have been more magnificent. If it hadn’t been for Nobby Balaclava’s inflamed groin and dyslexic Tourette’s sufferer Craig Cattermole’s sending off in the first minute for calling the referee a wakner, we would have walked it. The Thunderbolts’ pitch was a disgrace. It sloped from left to right in the first half, and then from right to left in the second, so we were kicking uphill for the entire match. The ball was too round, and kept rolling away from our players.
The referee just happens to be the Macaroon’s manager’s brother–in-law and owes their Colombian striker £300 for cocaine”.
“Cockmarlin’s German goalkeeper Deiter Klansmann had a spider in a matchbox which he waved about to frighten Nobby Balaclava our centre forward every time he got into the six yard box.”
“Obviously we are disappointed, since our main task this season is to strengthen the squad, gain immediate promotion from the Hobson’s Denture Fixative League (south), and put us right back in the top flight where we belong”

READER: Do you actually get paid for this rubbish?
MYSELF:  An absolute fortune, every penny of which goes to my favourite charity.
READER: Oh I’m so sorry! Me and my big mouth! Which charity is that, if I may be so bold as ask?
MYSELF: Guard Dogs for The Rich.
READER: Fair play, you’re a saint and no mistake. I stand corrected, as the satisfied customer said to the orthopedic shoe salesman.

 

Sausage Life!

Colin Gibson • Emmet Ives • Anita Makris



SAY GOODBYE TO IRONING MISERY!
When added to your weekly wash, new formula Botoxydol, with Botulinim Toxin A, will guarantee youthful, wrinkle-free clothes.
Take years off your smalls with Botoxydol!
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A ‘No’ Today

 

I wake up with no song in my head,
try to reminiscence what’s forgotten,
but I have no memory today, not yet.
The birds leave the tree nearby. Early coffee
sounds like a jet trail, not the plane itself,
but what remains when something leaves,
a weal amidst the clouds that we can see.
A solitary bee carries the soul of everything
I have obliterated. One read a book,
‘How to rescue a bee’. The best is to leave
the box we live in and let the windows eat
away its walls. I have no wall today. Not yet.
..

 

 

 

 

Kushal Poddar
Photo Nick Victor

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Love Me!

 

I am free as the breeze,

Free to wonder where I please,

But my world is in your hand,

Couldn’t call me away, if I could stay.

 

Love me……..

In the Springtime,

When all green and blue.

In the Summer,

When the sky turns blue.

In the Autumn,

When the leaves turning brown.

In the Winter,

When the shadow is falling down.

 

The Moon may rise and Earth may turn,

And let my heart yearn,

But you are mine, I shall never forget.

 

 

Monalisa Parida

 

 

Bio:- Monalisa Parida is a post graduate student of English literature from India, Odisha and a prolific poetess. She  is very active in social media platforms and her poems have also been translated into different  languages and publish in various e-journals.

She has got 80 international awards for writing poetry. Her poems have been published in international e-journals “New York parrot”, “The Writers Club” (USA), “Suriyadoya literary  foundation”, “kabita Minar”, “Indian Periodical” (India) and “Offline Thinker “, “The Gorkha Times “ ( Nepal), “The Light House”(Portugal), “Bharatvision”(Romania), “International cultural forum for humanity and creativity”(Aleppo, Syria), “Atunispoetry.com”(Singapore) etc. And also published in various newspapers like “The Punjabi Writer Weekly(USA)”,  “News Kashmir (J&K, India)”, Republic of Sungurlu (Turkey)” etc.

One of  her poem published an American anthology named “The Literary Parrot Series-1 and  series-2 respectively (New York, USA)”. Her poems have been translated in various languages like Hindi, Bengali, Turkish, Persian, Romanian etc.  And she is the author of the book “Search For Serenity”, “My Favourite Grammar”, “Paradigm”.

 

 

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10 Terrible Leftist Arguments Against Ukrainian Resistance

by Oksana Dutchak

Discussions with some on the (mostly) western left can be extremely hard. Some of their positions are disheartening to hear. Others seem hypocritical or cynical. There are, in my opinion, certain positions that are far from left principles. These points are not always expressed directly, so I want to briefly dig into some hidden messages underlying positions held by many on the left. 

Disclaimer #1: I want to stress that there are also a lot of leftists who take the position of solidarity and will have zero to do with these claims. However, here I am not writing about them.

Disclaimer #2: It really matters how some of these messages are voiced as this draws the line between, on the one hand, points of concern and discussion, and on the other – the central pillar of one’s predetermined and unconditional political stand against Ukrainian resistance. This text is about the second case. I won’t discuss nuances here. This is a polemic opinion, not an analytical article. 

Disclaimer #3: I’m frustrated, angry and, hence, often sarcastic here. And yes, I have the right to be so. And yes, I use this piece to channel my frustration and anger. 

***

1. “If another country attacks my country, I would just flee”

Well, I’ve done the same because I have two children. The unvoiced full version of the claim: “In a hypothetical situation which is highly unlikely, but which I still project on you, I will not support any collective resistance to the invasion and because of this projection I oppose Ukrainian resistance”. This claim is mostly expressed by people from countries without any modern history of being subject to nor under the threat of imperial domination. But we are not in an abstract war here or in any version of your projections. It is a very concrete imperial invasion backed by the rhetoric of total submission. Sometimes it also reaches the level of genocidal rhetoric. A Marxist should have a triple facepalm hearing that the war against imperial oppression is not worth fighting. Of course, if something like this ever happens to you, you can choose the option of not resisting and I would never judge you as long as you don’t use your individual choice to condemn the collective defensive struggle of others in a totally and structurally different reality.

2. “I would never fight for my government”

The unvoiced full version of the claim: “1) Ukrainians are fighting for their government, 2) I think so for no reason and I either have not checked this claim with Ukrainians or 3) I don’t think Ukrainians’ opinion should be taken into account anyway”. Well, quite obvious – this war has nothing to do with our shitty (like many others) government. Check the fucking opinion polls which some leftists like so much when they support their point and immediately forget about when they undermine it. If this war ever had anything to do with the Ukrainian government, the government stopped being relevant the second Russian propaganda started to talk about “the solution of the Ukrainian question” and “denazification” of the population, en masse. 

The second part of this unvoiced claim is tied to a total detachment from material reality and disregard of it – a very materialist approach, indeed. The third part of the claim has, of course, nothing to do with left principles and is, unfortunately, like many other points, an obvious manifestation of west-centric, patronizing or arrogant “leftism”.

Probably the most stunning variations of this position are “analyses” of the war with numerous factual mistakes by people who know almost nothing about the region and manifestos “against the war” without a single Ukrainian signature. Being a left academic “superstar” is a guarantee many people will still take your text seriously, despite the desperately lamenting material reality and human bodies buried under its rubble. 

3. “Our government supports Ukraine and I can never take the side of my government”

The unvoiced full message of this claim is: “In fact I do support my government in many instances, but in such a way I justify my stand against supporting Ukrainian resistance and/or rely on identity politics instead of materialist principles to make my life conformist and simple”. Of course, these people support their governments on some occasions and criticize and oppose it on others. Reality is complicated, you know. Sometimes even shitty governments do the right thing, especially under pressure from popular progressive struggle. It is like opposing migrants and refugees, which the government decided to “let in”, because it was the government’s position. (I know, I know that some do this under the slogans that “they will take our workers’ jobs”). An illusory principled opposition to one’s own government is simply used, again, as a justification of opposition to Ukrainian resistance. Seriously supporting this claim means relying on identity politics based on blind universalization instead of an analysis of the material reality facing Ukraine. 

4. “Ukrainian and Russian workers, instead of fighting with each other, should turn their guns against their own governments”

The unvoiced message here is: “I prefer to do nothing in this situation where there is no direct or indirect threat to my life, I’m opposing Ukrainian resistance and I want to find a nice, leftist-sounding justification”. Yeah, we should better pretend to be stones and wait for a global proletarian revolution. Well, I’m afraid at some moment such people will even claim there is no need to wage any social struggle until the global revolution (I know, I know that some almost do). This position, however, is (often) the position of a privileged individual which hides ideological egoism behind nice rhetoric. It is also a product of the years-long decline in left mobilization and the global system’s many reactionary turns. A very good and universal shit, if somebody wants to do the shitbath, I recommend this one.

 5. “Who benefits from this war?”

The unvoiced message is: “I know that some parts of the elite capitalist class benefit almost from anything in this world, because it is how the system works, but I still use this question (which is not really a question) to express my opposition to Ukrainian struggle for self-determination”. Opposing such a struggle because western elites benefit from it is like opposing industrial action because a capitalist competitor benefits from it. Another variation of this claim is part of the NATO weapon discussion (though, of course, I know the discussion is more complicated). Sorry, but we live in a world without a progressive state of the size required to provide material support to a struggle of this scale and benefit from its victory. Unless you consider other imperial powers like China to be progressive. 

This shithole is also a good one to go for as it is a deep one and can contain many variations. Most of the discussion about the “spheres of influence” falls into this shithole too in one way or another. Taking this position seriously means taking the side of the reactionary status quo we have been living in for decades. It also often goes together with denial, devaluation or even favoritism of Russian (or any non-western) imperialism. Sometimes it also hides all the other thoughts, like supporting any cannibalistic regime against western imperialism. On the part of some leftists from the Global South it can hide the lust for revenge – this lust, though being far more understandable than the conformist identity politics of western observers, contains a nasty disregard of Ukrainian people on whose expense the revenge against western imperialism must be waged.

6. “What about the far right on the Ukrainian side?”

The hidden claim here is: “I use the far right problem as a fig leaf to hide my opposition to Ukrainian resistance”. Yeah, there are far right groups in Ukraine – like in many other countries – and yes, they have weapons now because, surprise, we are at war. But those who voice this claim mostly don’t care about the far right on the side of the Russian army or the general scary far-right path of Russian politics with respective implications for its internal and foreign “affairs” (like, yeah, the row of wars). They don’t care that some left political scientists from Russia now call their regime a post-fascist one. They don’t know about how big is the participation of far right in Ukrainian resistance, they don’t care about participation of other ideological groups and the general scale of the resistance, they don’t know how the empty signifier of “nazi” is used by Russian propaganda to dehumanize whoever they want. It is just a fig leaf which, thanks to Russian propaganda and some other factors, has grown into a colossus.

7. “Russia and Ukraine should negotiate. Upgraded version: here are our propositions for a peace deal”

This claim has many hidden variations, which depends on the propositions of a peace deal those people voice. Depending on these propositions, the unvoiced message can be: “1) Ukraine should capitulate or 2) we are detached from reality and think our relatively reasonable propositions of a peace deal are realistic now”. The first option is the same good old “peace by any means”: the propositions basically presuppose that Ukraine should give up on newly captured territories and follow almost all the absurd political demands of Russia, giving up the country’s independence and people’s self-determination. Very leftist, indeed. In the second option the proposed peace deal is close to the one that was on the negotiation table in spring, when the full scale invasion just started. One of the main points of the proposed peace deal is that the Russian army must retreat from the newly captured territories – to the border on the 23rd of February. This point makes the whole proposition useless at this moment of time and the proposers cannot give a reasonable answer to the questions why should the Putin regime do that on this stage, who and how can “persuade” it to do this.

There is also the uglier version of the unvoiced message: “we are sane, knowing our relatively reasonable propositions are unrealistic at the moment, but we still voice them to show that those stupid Ukrainians don’t want to negotiate”.

8. “The West should stop supporting Ukraine because it may escalate into a nuclear war”

The hidden message: “any nuclear country can do whatever she wants because we are afraid”. You know, I’m also afraid of nuclear war. But keeping to this position is supporting the reactionary status quo and facilitating imperialist politics. And what is missing from this discussion are disastrous consequences of Russia’s attack for the global movement for nuclear disarmament. Now I can hardly imagine why any country would give up its nuclear arsenal voluntarily being afraid to follow the “destiny” of Ukraine (google “Budapest Memorandum”). And this is not the West to blame here.

9. “We won’t even talk to you because you are for weapons”

The hidden message: “we don’t care about the material reality of this war and sorry-not-sorry that you were unlucky enough to be attacked by a non-western imperial country, just do not make uncomfortable interventions into our imagined monolithic unipolar and west-centric internationalism”. This is, of course, an intersection of many of the previous claims but I’ve decided to put it separately because this is a brilliant manifestation we, Ukrainian leftists, hear sometimes and wonder about solidarity, internationalism, attention to the structures of power inequality, anti-imperialism and all that, you know, important things, thrown into the trash at broad daylight in front of our eyes.

10. “Good Russian resistance vs. bad/inconvenient/non-existing Ukrainian resistance”

And last, but not least – actually this one triggers me the most. This shit triggers me immensely and brings some irrational emotions I’m ashamed of. There is no hidden message here. One of the extreme examples is when the left meeting is addressed by a Russian anti-war activist and everybody listens, but when the same meeting is addressed by a Ukrainian left with basically the same messages, some people demonstratively leave the room and boo. The Ukrainian leftists can be questioned as if they have no right to participate in a discussion about this war if no Russian war-opposer is involved – even if just in a few days they participate in another discussion with Russian anti-war representatives. How dare the Ukrainian leftists speak about Russian invasion without the Russian leftists, right? 

These are only extreme examples, but there is a sea of moderate variations: supporting and admiring Russian anti-war resistance and being numb about the Ukrainian one. Spreading some messages of the Russian anti-war movement and ignoring the messages of Ukrainian leftist. Pretending Ukrainian resistance does not exist. Writing about brave and strong Russian war-opposers and, at the same time, describing Ukrainians only as civilian losses, refugees, poor victims.

Russian anti-war resistance often voices similar claims and supports the Ukrainian left in relation to the war: they demand weapons for Ukrainian resistance, they want Russia to lose! Puzzling, that this similarity doesn’t matter, right? However, the explanation is simple. Russian anti-war resistance is comfortable, it corresponds to many hidden claims and messages.They are against their government. They don’t have guns in their hands. In the end, they are brave and worth listening to, unlike poor/stubborn/nationalistic/militaristic – in other words, inconvenient – Ukrainian left, who refuse to be comfortable victims. You know why this difference between Ukrainian left resistance and Russian anti-war resistance appeared? Because it is not Russia which is under imperial attack, and it is not the Russian opposition which is waging a defensive war for self-determination. 

***

I know some hidden claims and messages are missing. Some of them are so obviously bullshit to discuss, like “but the USA has done much worse”, “socialist Russia”, “nazi regime in Kiev”, “14000 civilians, killed by Ukrainian government”, “don’t be so emotional”, “there is nothing good to defend in Ukraine” (yes, this is a real one!). There are also some points which are too painful for me to discuss now. 

I know that internationalism and practical solidarity are not falling apart for the first time. But you cannot even approach (again) its reconstruction, ignoring what is behind the hidden messages: idealistic delusions, structures of political power inequality, reactionary currents and all the other shit which allows so many to look away in the face of Russian imperialism and Ukrainian struggle for self-determination.

Reprinted from Commons, a left-wing Ukrainian journal about economy, politics, history and culture, founded in 2009.

https://commons.com.ua/en/

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The Buffalo Monk

That hotspot of grazing delight, the soul dyed with life

In gazing the grazing fields, ink of the sky unfolds its wings

Those solemn threads of lingering thoughts, commend all days long

The aged walking feet, sat like a banyan tree

On the border of the green

Opened eyes, inaction sighting the actions in lead

No falsified hopes daunting the gazing sights and grazing feet’s

Or in contemplating perch of glee,

Through the winking tails of munching buffalo’s in the greens

The lane muddy and the wind remain steady

The sun flips backs the clouds in an adventurous trail;

And the eyes face upwards for inspection.

The aged man with his trunk-en feet’s, waits

It took the whole ramp of the walking sun

To brunch the munching buffalo’s to return

The gravity shunts the dung, awaited field with returns

The wagging tails and slow parades

Starts to bind their creation all in their living bones

O monk with walking roots follows them

Moves from the green, getting blurred with the passing blues

Farsighted the churning glimpses of moving river

Of past patience, or passing daylight, or the cold night to come.

His bodily sack of natural things, hold a wooden stick

And a black tall umbrella hangs at his back shoulder, as a moving rack

It knows not what its like; and gathers them

To restrict the knocks of hunger again.

Once the mud turned concrete, they shall never pass

To keep the breathe alive, the walking roots wonders around the escaped greens

O the buffalo monk as the Vedic sanjeevani makes

The wheels run, to keep the drowsy state awake;

To the humans and central pyre of capital firms

Of what is walking by is flesh, bones with lives

Caught in the sights of neglect

The words from the buffalo monk,

Innate by his un-aged buffalo intellect.

 

 

 

 

Author – Sonali Gupta

Gumla, Jharkhad, India.

 

Glossary –

Sanjeevani – A herb that brings life, that is native to India. Sanjeevani translates as “one that infuses life” and derived from a plant that appears in the Ramayana.

Twitter handle- https://twitter.com/_Sonali_Gupta__?t=YKEKdayvFw2N6M0QgJhWS

Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100004868226417

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Stab

     .

Army surgeons fixed a metal plate
across the gap blown in Dad’s skull.
2 decades later he died, his body
cremated. Weeks after his memorial–
the red-hot steel bar of rage Dad
and I shoved between us
not mentioned–my younger brother
and I visit Mom. After breakfast,
she passed me a box the size
of my fist. I lifted out a thin oblong
of gray, blotchy, pitted metal
the length and width
of my first two fingers,

which lay cool in my palm.
   . .

Old, he sits patient
for a holiday dinner in his house,
asks about my work,
frowns at my answer, then beams when
my two brothers arrive. Yet leaving,  
I kiss the forehead over eyes I once
shrieked at, he yelling at mine, Mom
rushing in to say David, your heart!
Preventing a killer last heart attack
and lifelong guilt I’d murdered him.
   . . .

But I no longer have to visit  
Dad’s house, where damned
not to anticipate what
anyone there might not say,
or know, they needed,

yet never him, paralyzed
by the sniper’s headshot.
Months pass I don’t
think of him except
Mom and Dad’s image
on a shelf in a hallway 
stabs me. Or when
I ask my wife
three times 

in a morning
What’s wrong?
Or my son
Everything alright?
Or I forget to ask them
so think
I should be shot.
   . . . .

What drove him to run
through a gap blown
in the farmer’s rock wall
bullets splashed? 
Soldiers’ bond? Justice? If glory,
he didn’t want to know.
His marred speech
and frozen right arm
and leg. Couldn’t I know
I left college and quit writing

to save him, a journalist
before the war, from envy
and despair? Shames me, thousands
of streets and alleys I walked,
a million instant cruel thoughts  
I tried to stop, not knowing
all this doing and thinking
distracted from rage at Dad
able to say You can do anything—

what’s wrong with you?

 

 

 

George Shelton

 

.

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Folly Panic

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Escape From The Island

The Islander. My Life in Music and Beyond, Chris Blackwell with Paul Morley
(408pp, hbck, £22, Nine Eight Books)

You can sum this book up very easily: ‘wealthy posh man gets even wealthier selling music’, but that would do Chris Blackwell a disservice and ignore his great ear for music and his seemingly generous and supportive nature. He would stick by the musicians and bands he signed allowing them to mature and slowly gain ground, although the reverse was not always true; many would in time sign to major labels waving large amounts of money under their noses.

Blackwell grew up on Jamaica in a family who mingled with the likes of Ian Fleming – whose Goldeneye estate Blackwell would later buy – Sean Connery and other wealthy socialites, before being sent to Harrow School, from which he was expelled. Returning to Jamaica he became a jukebox filler, delighting in the music he found around him, not least the massive sound systems. Wanting to share this music, he set-up an import and export record business, before facilitating the release of Millie Small’s massive hit single  ‘My Boy Lollipop’.

He also signed the Spencer Davis Group early on, which would mean he released later albums by Traffic and Steve Winwood’s solo efforts. He also signed Free, Cat Stevens, Robert Palmer, John Martyn, Nick Drake, Tom Waits, Richard and Linda Thompson, Marianne Faithfull, The Slits, Bob Marley and U2, the last fairly reluctantly, failing to spot what others had seen in the band early on. He would also produce albums (although this seemed mostly about giving musicians room to do their own thing), set up recording studios and offices in London and Jamaica, pull together the Compass Point All Stars (featuring Sly & Robbie) to work with numerous signings, not least the mighty Grace Jones and Tom Tom Club, the Talking Heads rhythm section.

Bob Marley was, of course, a major project for Blackwell: how to market and release reggae to a rock and pop audience rather than the niche reggae markets that already existed. Marley became Blackwell’s friend and trusted him, which is why the brighter production and introduction of more rock orientated instruments worked so well, since it wasn’t foisted on the band, even if critics and dissenters sometimes laid charges of sellout. Charges easily refuted by Island’s long-term commitment to reggae evidenced by albums from the likes of Burning Spear, Aswad, Steel Pulse and Linton Kwesi Johnson.

As you can see, Blackwell had an eye for musical talent (although if you look at the label’s full discography online there’s plenty of crap there too), but he admits that, with the exception of U2 and Bob Marley, most of the bands and artists he signed aren’t global superstars (or weren’t when signed to Island). But for me, what is most interesting about Island were the 1970s releases from people like John Cale, John Martyn, Jade Warrior, Roxy Music, Eno solo and Nick Drake. Despite being labelled an entrepreneur, Blackwell seems to have overspent at various points, mostly in property purchases and development, and had cashflow problems. He would eventually have to sell part of Island to U2 in lieu of unpaid royalties, and then later sell the whole company.

The story told here is  full of anecdotes and intriguing biographical details, but even the very wonderful Paul Morley can’t make this book interesting. It is a story told by a well-spoken chap being nostalgic, self-deprecating and polite, and is one of the most boring books I have read in a long time. There’s little sense of passion or any other emotion here, it’s all cool detachment and polite distance. I’m surprised how much and who or what Blackwell funded over the years, but the best thing I found out was that if I’d been paying attention, I might  have spotted some famous, or soon-to-be-famous, musicians in Hammersmith’s Black Lion pub when I drank there. But, of course, I wasn’t.

 

 

Rupert Loydell

 

 

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Hermetically Sealed

(i.m. Robert Chapman)

 

Even the sky
                             engraves her tears

salves old wounds
                             proves our
                                                baptismal upgrade

Interred
                   hummocked
                                      your ultimate bedding:

Come all ye young men
                                                & lay me down

in Carrickfergus or Long Sutton?

Not quite as Van sang
                             in his or your
                                                Celtic New Year

Now as an enigma
                                      hermetically sealed

you out-Houdini Houdini
                             as invisible icon-maker

A mystery manchild
                             & self-ordained hermit

composing your clefs
                                                in the silence

as a clandestine
                             escape-artist
                                                          soi-disant 

With the cunning
                                      of Elven craftsmen

you glyph-incise
                                                indelible runes

on your embossed grails
                                                your carved chessmen

Analepsis:
                             it recalls your stylus

as it sharpened
                                      into intenser flame

And the teary welkin
                                                engraves her passion

your omega-cum-alpha
                                                          inscriptio

filling up with
                                                precipitation

& your cup brimmeth over . . .

                                      but you’re well gone           

 

 

 

 

 

Mark Wilson
painting by Samuel Palmer:

Mark Wilson has published four poetry collections: Quartet For the End of Time (Editions du Zaporogue, 2011), Passio (Editions du Zaporogue, 2013), The Angel of History (Leaky Boot Press, 2013) and Illuminations (Leaky Boot Press, 2016). He is the author of a verse-drama, One Eucalyptus Seed, about the arrest and incarceration of Ezra Pound after World War Two, as well as a tragi-comedy, Arden. His poems and articles have appeared in: The Black Herald, The Shop, 3:AM Magazine, International Times, The Fiend, Epignosis Quarterly, Dodging the Rain, The Ekphrastic Review, Rasputin and Le Zaporogue.

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New psalm

On the hill
are coming together
ravens
They count their feats
Who has translated how many souls to the afterlife

White doves below
on the square
Messengers of the Holy Spirit

The balance of the universe
is recovering…

 

 

 

 

Dessy Tsvetkova
Bulgari

Photo Nick Victor

 

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The Baion by various artists

 

 

The Sound Of Shellac Norway

https://thesoundofshellac.bandcamp.com/music

 

Christian Strøm

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Gridlock Nation

 

Shipping containers pile up on blocked motorways, their primary colours ringing like a child’s toy. They have been here so long that they have begun to evolve into simple crustaceans, their rudimentary tentacles exploring a world gone flat. They can be seen from space, or on social media, their milky eyes swaying towards light as they wait for the gods they will conjure in a millennium or two. For them, it’s a grey world, a silent world of felt vibrations, as their steel carapaces slide and grate like Tetris, or a Rubik’s cube twisted slowly in bored frustration. Keys on a tin piano, their mouths pop and slime, miming hymns of future religions, anthems of germinal nations, their motorcycle hearts purring their metamorphic need.

 

 

 

 

Oz Hardwick
Picture Nick Victor

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Madalitso: European tour 2022


In review from Alan Dearling

Live on tour. Lots of smiling faces. Happy music!

Yet another interesting and eclectic evening upstairs at the Golden Lion in the Calderdale Valley last night. Thanks are due to Harry Wheeler for the invite. Madalitso are a duo from Malawi. Currently just finishing their tour in Europe. Their sound is propelled by the guitar player’s foot tapping against a sit-on African drum – a literal kick drum. Single string slide, ethnic guitar. Rhythmic repetitions – a kind of trancey, African folkloric techno! A swaying dance floor…which, by the time Madalitso performed, was pretty hot and sweaty…

The promoter, who hails from Kent and London, but lives now in Malawi, Neil Nayar, provided (in almost darkness) a comedic set of personal break-up, love found and lost, and lustful personal and mostly humorous songs.

Neil and New Vibration: Grandmother Butterfly: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UOyHNTocIe0

Madalitso Band – Ndalakwanji: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PSWc1Ca2-3M

Malawi duo on tour: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YDS_HszgBHA

2021 single: ‘Katangle’…‘Let’s talk about corruption’.

Filmed while harvesting maize at the Madalitso Small Farm on the outskirts of Lilongwe. The other  location is in front of a Baobab Tree near the lake in Senga Bay: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rCNvd39v-NQ

https://www.facebook.com/madalitsoband

Watching and listening to the likeable duo, I was reminded of other African dance-oriented outfits I’ve enjoyed over the years, in particular, Nigerian, King Sunny Ade with his brand of West African high-life music, and the anarchistic Congolese players, Staff Benda Bilili. Very much dance syncopation.  Indeed, Sunny Ade’s band was known as the ‘Synchro-System’ and later the ‘African Beats’. Ebenezer Obey was his main musical competitor.  Konono No 1 are another live sound system from the 2000s that are worth checking out, but are very different with fuzzy electronics mixed with kalimbas and snaking percussion lines. Here’s a recent video which demonstrates the interloped, high-life rhythm patterns: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jmwZqp0npBk

This photo is from ‘Today at the Beeb’ for music planet which will be aired on BBC radio 3 in September.

Here’s what Harry Wheeler wrote about Madalitso:  “Judging by the energy in the room, we can’t fault the BBC’s description: ’Uplifting and Vibrant’. Spirits were raised and there were big smiles all round. The duo were discovered busking outside a shopping centre in Lilongwe, Malawi in 2009 with their trusty babatone – a home-made instrument creating the traditional Malawi banjo sound, that takes up the lower frequencies, meanwhile the higher frequencies are taken up by lead vocalist Yobu Maligwa an incredibly pure sounding voice backed up by Yosefe Kalekeni which combine to create a sound that is intuitive, authentic, and full of ruthless rhythms sure to get your feet moving.”

We read on-line that up until 2017, they hadn’t left their native Malawi. The decade was spent roaming the streets as a pair, and perfecting their home-made instruments and vibrant playing style. It really seems to have paid off. Now they are darlings of Europe, WOMAD, the UK’s BBC Radio 3 and 6 and 100s of venues across Europe.

It’s an authentic, quasi-traditional sound – mix of dance rhythms and vocal harmonising. Neil Nayar says: “The traditional duo from Malawi, who in the last year have been featured on BBC Africa, and performed at such festivals as WOMAD in UK, and Roskilde in Denmark, were first discovered by a local producer busking outside a shopping centre in Lilongwe in 2009. The connection that the musicians gained with each other through living this way for 10 years is evident in the way they burst onto the scene, after their very first performance outside Malawi, in 2017, at Sauti Za Busara in Zanzibar. 6 months later and they were on an aeroplane for the first time in their lives, to do a 2 week European tour, and wow audiences with their down-to-earth nature, and raw on-stage energy. The following year the tour was extended to 5 weeks with 22 shows, and in 2019, reached 9 weeks with 42 shows!

A second album has spread the music further afield also, giving listeners a sense of the band as they would sound on the streets of Lilongwe. Wasalala, was released in March 2019 under Bongo Joe Records, a label from Geneva, who instantly fell in love with the Madalitso ethos, when the music inside is so strong that it says, ‘Why should we buy our instruments, when we can build our own, and get the sound we want.’ The music inside Madalitso Band is SO strong, and it comes out effortlessly, full of syncopated rhythms, lush harmonies and a solid back beat.

Two nice guys from the village in Malawi, smiling their way around the world and bringing dance-floors to life. What’s there not to like about that.” 

 

 

Dj Nat#  (left) is a visual and sonic artist. She provided the vibes from the DJ booth. She said she was “…bending our ears into different demotions via Sega and moutya music from her Seychelles roots and then notching it up a level to get our dancing shoes on via Otim alpha / ata kak/ la Roche/ king ayisoba and lots of stuff from nyege nyege.”

Nat#: https://linktr.ee/Lonetaxidermist

And another: https://www.facebook.com/AOHRARMI/

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Zephyr Sounds Sunday Sermon No. 86

Steam Stock
Tracklist:
Ennio Morricone – The Strong
Tom Scott – Today
Patti Page – Old Cape Cod
The Turtles – You Showed Me
Donovan – Sunshine Superman
Lorrie Collins – Another Man Done Gone
Count Victors – Peepin’ ‘N Hidin’ (Baby, What You Want Me To Do)
The Ad Libs – Giving Up
Dolly Parton- Jolene (33 rpm)
Simon and Garfunkel – El Condor Pasa
Jefferson Airplane – White Rabbit
Rotary Connection – Like a Rolling Stone
Bob Dylan – All the Tired Horses
Weyes Blood – A Certain Kind
Paul Nicolas – Run Shaker Life
Lee Evans – Cinnamon and Clove
The Beatles – Oh Darling
Lulu – To Sir with Love

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My letter of resignation to the Labour Party  

 

Sam Tarry’s sacking from the front bench by Starmer means that I can no longer be a member of the Labour Party.  Not In My Name – Sir Keir.  Continued membership would suggest collaboration with a party actually blocking working class unity – a party founded on this principle and from which the Trade Unions emerged. This sacking is disgraceful, begging the question – what’s the party for?  I’ve heard the ‘offending’ interviews. Sound fine to me.  And yes, I get the thing about party solidarity…er…SOLIDARITY?  Right!  A fundamental value that formed the party in the first place.  Politicians should also understand strategy and tactics.  As a strategy this is as dumb as it gets, for there will no doubt be a flood of resignations. Will I vote Labour at the next election?  Of course, but tactically.  Is this the end of the Keir show?     

Jan Woolf  

 

This is reminiscent of my maiden speech when I became a Councillor on Oxford City Council in 2002. I was approached by a member of UNISON to speak on their behalf, as the Labour Party were refusing to allow leave for some members to attend the TUC conference (which was well within their rights). It transpired it was Blair’s orders issued from above rather than any opinions from the gathered Labour council members.  I still have the speech in a notebook and to quote from it: “If the Labour Party won’t protect the rights of working people, then who will?”
As I stood in that council chamber, I wondered what my life-long Labour supporting Grandad would have made of it – me beseeching that same party to support the very people who helped form it and who put them there from the outset.
All these years on and it seems Labour have abandoned many other core voters too.  Huge swathes across the country have been left adrift in terms of representation, seemingly due to the party campaigning on what they have no doubt been advised is on trend. In other words, issues which matter primarily to London-based voters and those in the Metropolitan media bubble. And they wonder why the Red Wall crumbled. It’s pretty obvious neither party is interested in “levelling up” and uniting the country. Just more power and money for the political elite, business as usual.
 
 
Claire Palmer

 

 

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‘Ain’t Nothing Country About a Condo, Kid!’: says Aaron Raitiere

 

After writing thousands of songs, Nashville’s Aaron Raitiere finally gets to issue his own debut album, ‘Single Wide Dreamer’. And he has some great tales to tell. An interview by Andrew Darlington

 

Kat from the PR complains her hair has been blown around. Aaron’s dark hair is magnificently entangled. Being shaved to the scalp, I don’t have that problem. ‘Well. I’m sure it’s around the corner for me at some point’ Aaron laughs supportively.

What’s it like in Nashville today? ‘The sun is shining, it’s about forty degrees’ he glances past the photos tacked to the wall towards the window. ‘My car gets hung-up if it’s super-muddy or freezing. So I’ve been drawing and painting and reading. It’s supposed to be seventy degrees on Wednesday.’

Nashville songwriter Aaron Raitiere doesn’t do soundbites. He tells tales. And he laughs a lot. Rummage through his videos, and he’s onstage at the ‘Basement’ club wearing a Mickey Mouse smoking-a-joint T-shirt and he’s telling a convoluted joke about three mice in a bar as Anderson East tunes up for their ‘Devil In Me’ joint composition. Elsewhere you can find Aaron equally at ease doing Anderson’s ‘I Ain’t No Zebra, I’m A Bumblebee’ to an audience of preschool kids at the Lexington Avenue Baptist Church.

I was in Nashville some time ago, where even the buskers on the street-corner are scarily impressive. It’s a fiercely competitive place. ‘Yes, you better be good, if you say you play guitar, you better be able to play the guitar’ he says. ‘I don’t go around town claiming to be a bunch of anything, ‘cos wherever you are in this town there’s definitely somebody better than you. Including the busker on the street. I used to busk downtown though, that’s still a pretty good job in the right place. The thing is, last time I was down there, if you sit on Broadway, or one of the corners there, four hours, you can make $150-$200. I mean, there’s a trick to all of it, you gotta put two dollars in your guitar-case, then once you get about twenty bucks, you got to empty that out, put it in your pocket, go back to two dollars. Always keep just two dollars, yes, so everybody thinks you’re right there. And then you can always do fifteen-second songs, ‘cos people are only walking by for fifteen seconds. I used to just sing ‘I know my Momma wouldn’t like to see me here’ – and I would just keep singing that, and that’s it, ‘I know my Momma wouldn’t like to see me here’ (he sings the line, and it sounds mighty fine). Naturally, if somebody stops I would sing them a song, but usually if they turn and look at you they throw you a dollar just for looking at you.’

Country musician Brent Cobb performs a live namedropping ‘When Country Came Back To Town’ – proving ‘simple truths in music.’ Brent talks-in the song with a dedication to Aaron’s four-years-in-the-making debut album ‘Single Wide Dreamer’, about how ‘if ever there was something that wasn’t ‘for the birds’ it’s this album’ – before he and Aaron sing the co-written ‘If We Never Go’… which, as it happens, is not on the album. Unlike ‘For The Birds’ itself, which is, and lists the things he’s anti – ‘confrontation’, and the things he’s for – ‘conversation’. There are few frills, it’s straight-ahead good music with a ‘tweedle-eedle-di’. Aaron’s record is rammed full of such talking verse, sing-along chorus, agile down-home wordplay, anecdotes and tall bar-tales, in fact, you have to play it again – then one more time, to pick up on the lines you missed first time around, lines about ‘a preacher or professor of high-falutin philosophy,’ or the lines about ‘he pays cash and respect to Merle.’ Aaron is a poet and a know-it-all and a pleasure when he’s stoned.’ On the track ‘Everybody Else’, he uses just pen and guitar to carve characters out of exhaust fumes and dope smoke, he doesn’t like being by himself, so he’s out with the roughnecks and a Motorcycle Mama with a butterfly tat. ‘I smoke my grass and I cuss when I’m mad, though I wasn’t raised that way.’

He’d been around the Nashville scene a while, living in a camper-van, writing, co-writing, singing and sharing stages with various high and low-profile friends, until when they offer to make a debut album on him, Aaron simply goes along with it. The time was right. It was the logical next step. Ever since those initial studio sessions the enterprise managed to retain its casual charm, even as the guest list expanded. Co-producers Anderson East and Miranda Lambert (fresh from her own album ‘The Weight Of These Wings’), appear alongside Nashville musicians like Dave Cobb, Natalie Hemby, Ashley Monroe, and Waylon Payne, as well as Robert Randolph, Foy Vance, and Bob Weir. Two years down the line, Anderson and Raitiere got together in RCA Studio A, ultimately ending up with eighteen tracks in all, razored down to twelve. ‘I think the record kind of made itself, and that was the vibe I was going with,’ Aaron considers. ‘It was just a bunch of friends getting together trying to help me create something, because they thought I needed a record.’ Now it’s time for congratulations on a fine album. ‘Thank you. I’m excited to have it out, it’s been a long time coming. I mean, I’ve written thousands of songs, and I don’t know – I didn’t make a whole lot of decisions on the record, it was kinda like a group effort actually. Yes, it’s cool to have it finally come to life, and for people to get to hear it. It’s like a joke you’ve been telling that you know is hilarious, because you’ve been telling it for ten years, and now everyone around you has heard it for ten years, but the world is hearing it, so the joke is brand new all of a sudden! It’s like telling a new joke to a new crowd. And then I got a pocketful of other jokes.’

When I was in Nashville there was a big door-guy on the street who says ‘we got clean washrooms,’ so I go in and I’m in this bar just off the main strip and they’re playing Elton John, Beatles and Queen, and I say to the server girl ‘look, I’ve come all the way from Yorkshire to Nashville to hear country music and all you’re playing is Elton John, Beatles and Queen!’ ‘So which country star you’d prefer we play?’ she smiles sweetly, I say ‘Waylon Jennings’, she scrunches up her pretty face ‘…who?’

Aaron laughs. ‘Nashville is changing pretty fast. I mean – I’ve been here about sixteen years and it’s totally different from when I got here. When I got here in around 2008 – that’s about fourteen years!, so maybe… 2006? I just remember the guys I was hanging out with, and one of them said ‘you missed it, man, you missed it,’ and then he said that when he’d got to Nashville that’s what all the people told him, like ‘you missed it, it already happened.’ It’s like going to New York City and looking for Bob Dylan. It already happened. So, you go down on Music Row right now and it’s a bunch of construction sites and Condo’s, and there’s a few historic studios left but even then most of the sessions are either done remotely or at other studios – y’know, it used to be Music Row was like an assembly line kind-of-thing for the music industry, like, you need a fiddle, let’s call Bill, he’s right down the street, we’ll go over there, you need a tuba let’s call Fred, he’s right down the street, we’ll go there. Now, if you need a fiddle or a tuba you just get on the internet, somebody can do that for you over in Austria and send you the track. So you really don’t need Music Row like you used to, but you do need Condo’s ‘cos more people are coming down ‘cos they wanna see Music Row, so they gotta get a Condo. Yet – for as much as it’s turning into a big city, there’s a lot of new talent. Like you said, it’s pretty incredible going to some of those Writer’s Nights and listening to sixteen-seventeen-year olds, twenty-two and twenty-four-year old kids singing REAL stuff. I think there was a point where you listened to Country Radio, and it got kinda ridiculous there for a minute, and now the Waylon Jennings kind of writing seems like it’s coming back around a little bit.’

He stands and walks around grinning a wide grin. ‘I don’t know if you’ve heard Dillon Carmichael – he’s a guy out of Burgin, County of Kentucky, about fifteen minutes from Danville where I’m from. But he’s been singing on the Grand Ole Opry, and his uncle is Eddie Montgomery from the band Montgomery-Gentry, but look up Dillon Carmichael is all I’m saying, you’ll love him if you’re looking for some Waylon Jennings. And it’s like… with those kind-of people, there’s hope. Brett Cobb, he’s a good friend of mine. He’s another guy. Brett just wrote a song called ‘When Country Came Back To Town’ – and he just namedrops everybody that he knows, and he just sings ‘I was there when Country came back to town.’ And it’s pretty true, there’s Sturgill Simpson. There are people there keeping that spirit alive. I don’t know if what I’m doing is necessarily Country. Lately I’ve been leaning more towards just talking too much. I think…’ he laughs, hand on his head, ‘I think I just talk too much. But I’ve just been a lyricist, a writer – you know, most of my life. So, it’s different now being in the Driver’s seat with my own album.’

Maybe I should have gone to the ‘Basement’ Club in Nashville where some of Aaron’s videos were shot, it seems like a great place. ‘Yes, the ‘Basement’ has all sorts of stuff. Then there’s the ‘Basement East’, it’s like the Big Brother where they have a bigger stage for bigger bands. But the ‘Basement’ is kind-of a piece of Nashville history. Metallica played at the ‘Basement’, I think. Yeah – and I mean it’s kinda like a Ryman Theatre of sorts for Rock bands and – bands who play in basements. You don’t like Metallica? Listen back, you might be into it. Or Megadeth – if you’ve never listened to Megadeth? You’d be surprised, one of the bands you may actually love, is Tool, T-O-O-L. I mean, that band – I’ve only recently met the drummer in a hotel hallway, the drummer of Tool, and I didn’t really care ‘cos I didn’t know who he was or anything, and then somebody came up to me and said ‘that guy’s one of the greatest drummers alive, he’s the drummer with Tool’. So I started listening to some Tool – and it’s like classical music. If you listen to their fifth studio album, called ‘Fear Inoculum’ (2019) – what a title for a record! But it came out in 2019 and it’s on Spotify and if you listen to it – listen to it straight through, you’d be surprised. I used to think I didn’t like a lot of stuff too, and then…’

When I agreed to interview Aaron Raitiere, I never anticipated that we’d be talking about Megadeth and Tool! ‘I would say Tool is what I listened to most this year, ‘cos it just – I don’t know, I was born in 1982, and learned to play guitar listening to Smashing Pumpkins and Nirvana, and Mudhoney – and, like the Pixies, the Breeders, it was all just Grunge Rock around my place. That’s weird, I still listen to the same music I liked in eighth-grade! I’ll skim through some stuff, I love some old-time Bluegrass music like IIIrd Tyme Out or The Seldom Scene or some of those bands, but they’re like classic Bluegrass. Five-part harmony stuff.’

When he first arrived in Nashville Aaron famously lived in his Camper Van, where Brent Cobb talks about how he’d met ‘this homeless Dude with a ponytail down to his ass-crack.’ ‘HaHa. I would say – by choice. By choice’ he laughs. ‘Living in my van by choice. But yeah, I was just… for two years I didn’t stay anywhere longer than two weeks, I’d get somewhere and I’d stay for a while and then I’d say ‘alright, we’re gonna take off’ and I just kept riding around. I think everybody thought I was living out there ‘cos I was homeless. But homeless by choice is a different thing than actually being homeless. So yes, I took showers at the YMCA and all that – (he breaks out in rich head-back laughter), I did that thing. I had a little camp-stove. I was making lunch in the Park. I was on an eternal camping-trip for about two years. But I was probably like twenty-two to twenty-four, so it was just convenient, more than anything. You know, there’s still a lot of people sleeping in their vans in Nashville. It’s a whole culture. Nashville doesn’t really charge for parking either, so you can rent an office on Music Row – or you can park an RV (Recreational Vehicle) on Music Row for free! Which people do. And then they just go – right into your RV, or go to one of the publishing houses. But yeah, I was really fascinated with it… I loved the thought of a van-life. And it’s really come a long way, there’s $150,000 vans that are four-wheel-drive, they have showers and toilets and queen-size beds and living rooms and kitchens. You can park ‘em on a beach or in a field. I’m single and thirty-nine, I don’t have any kids and I don’t have any thought of them, I’m like, I’ve really considered doing it again is what I’m saying. I think I could do it alright. My apartment is super-small and I’m never home. The only thing I don’t like about it is the thought of your vehicle and your home being connected, ‘cos technically your house can break down. The thought of if your house breaks down on the highway, you’re like, oh man, this is the problem. If your car breaks down you can leave it. But if your house breaks down you don’t want to… so – so – ah, yes, I don’t know.’

What has always struck me is that Country – or Americana, respects its history. It has a continuity that goes back to the 1950s, and even before that. ‘Country music, you mean? I think – for me, I don’t know. I was talking about Tool and Grunge-rock. I love Country Music – whatever Country music is, and I grew up in the country. I went to public school in Central Kentucky, I was around all that stuff, and – I don’t know. Like you said, I still go back to Waylon and Merle Haggard and some of those other guys. I think what Country music is now is something totally different. It’s something that’s being written and performed by a bunch of people that was raised on Hip-Hop in suburban parts of the world, y’know? So they have a cul-de-sac and a three-car garage and a sub-woofer, and there’s not a whole lot of Country. There’s nothing Country about a Condo. There might be a Country song there, ‘Ain’t Nothing Country About A Condo, Kid!’

He does the jumpy Rockabilly ‘You’re Crazy’ with slap stand-up bass, descending bass-line and novelty scat-vocal effects that recall Roger Miller’s ‘Dang Me’. ‘I love Roger Miller’ he concedes. ‘Oh yeah – Roger Miller does a bunch of stuff with ‘Doo-doo-doopy-doo-do’. Dang me. Dang me – Yup. I think when we wrote that song we just didn’t really have anything else to say, except we were trying to show that this person was crazy. How do you say you’re crazy, without saying you’re crazy? And that might be a way. But then it just would up being… when I play that song live it just winds up being so far out and funny, ‘cos there’s not a whole bunch of people just losing their minds, on a microphone! On the recording it’s one version, but the live version I’ve just been boop-boop-boop-booping out of my mind (he breaks down laughing). You start going – and I mean, it’s ridiculous. I got a buddy named Charlie Pate and me and him have written a bunch of songs with a whole lot of boop-boop-booping in ‘em, and when we get started the two of us we’re booping, we start boop-boop-booping in harmony.’

Then there’s ‘At Least We Didn’t Have Any Kids’, which is an almost traditional Country song with that wry break-up humour-bitterness that Country does so well. ‘Oh man, it kinda gets right to it’ he agrees. ‘At least we didn’t have any kids. And she actually did get the dog and I got the canoe, and I can’t wait for her to hear that song. It’s about my ex from – like, a decade ago. We wound up with tattoos of each other’s names. And I got her name tattooed on me. And then I wound up getting it covered up with another tattoo – of the State of Kentucky. ‘Cos I’m from Kentucky. So that’s the line ‘covered up with the State of Kentucky’ – ‘you got the dog and I got the canoe.’ And then there’s a line in there, ‘redneck white and blue’ – I would have changed that line. To be honest that’s probably my least favourite line on the whole record. It says ‘redneck white and blue,’ and I got twenty other ways I could end that song. But it just kinda gets to it, I guess. But otherwise, I wrote that song with Anderson East, that’s the one song on the album that he’s a co-writer on…’

What is it about that line that he don’t like, it’s patriotic overtones? ‘Yes. Yes. I don’t know. I don’t – didn’t have a major problem with it. I just figured, no, I thought I could do better. But you know, I think that’s the truth of every song out there. It could be better. There’s some part of it that could always be better. It’s like – when do you finally walk away from a song? And say hey, that’s done? I said it was done, and then we paid to get it mixed, and then we paid to get it mastered, and then I said, ‘hey, I don’t know if it’s done,’ and they said ‘is it worth $3000 not done?’ ‘cos it would have been three-grand to go back and change the lyric. And I said ‘no – it’s done!’ Just to get the same quality recording and all that, but – yes, I don’t have a problem with the lyric, if anything I think it’s a distraction, there’s a lot of other songs with ‘red white and blue’ kind of stuff in it, you know. It’s just that I feel like I’m a better writer than that. But – it’s there, so. And it’s not bad or anything. I don’t know why I’m giving my own song a hard time?’

Striving to get better is not a bad thing! ‘Well, they can all be better. Every single one of them could always be better. But I have lived with this record for a minute now, and it’s comforting to know that that’s the only line that bothers me on the whole record. Usually, when you create something, if you’re painting, or you’re in a business or something, and you look back on it four or five years later you think ‘maybe I would have done…’, usually you’d have done some things different. Everyone would, for whatever reason, ‘cos you learn. But I don’t know if I would have done it a whole lot different. This record just kinda made itself. That’ll be it. That’d be the one change on the whole record. I’d change that one line, then everything else is pretty-much exact.’

The album sleeve is a blue background, with a profile photo-shot of Aaron. But he’s a painter too. Why not paint the sleeve-art? ‘I have been painting a whole bunch of stuff’ he concedes. ‘I just dropped off some sketches of flowers. Everybody’s buying some flower sketches for their sweethearts for some occasion. So I’ve got an advertisement on them saying ‘I’ve Got The Flowers That Will Never Die.’ ‘Flowers that will never die,’ I hope I don’t have to write that song, but yes, if you draw them and hang them on your wall, they’re always there!’ The way his lubricious drawl spiels out and wraps around the ‘Flowers That Never Die’ line is a lascivious delight!

If you can usually find Aaron in the bar with everybody else – according to his song, that ‘everybody else’ would theoretically include songwriter Shel Silverstein. ‘Oh man – one hundred percent! I used to sing his songs and his kids poems at Bars. I remember singing ‘Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too’. It’s not a song. But I would just sing it, ‘cos his poems are written like songs…’

He sings it…

‘Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too
went for a ride in a flying shoe
‘Hooray, What fun
it’s time we flew’
said Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too’

Of course, Shel had Dr Hook to take his songs into the Top 50, but Aaron’s doing mighty fine, thank you, without them. ‘And then he’s got ‘A Boy Named Sue’. Shel Silverstein wrote that song. I’m surprised there aren’t more boys called Sue. I think if I had a boy I might name him Sue, for ‘the gravel in ya gut and the spit in ya eye.’ He wrote some other big songs too. He was amazing. And he drew, he was a sketch artist. There’s a bunch of books on him. That’s one person that I’d have loved to have met.’

So let’s end with a summing up. ‘I don’t know. I’ve just been saying how I’m creatively relieved, feels like it’s just good to have something out there finally. Because I’ve written thousands of songs, I’ve got hundred of songs out there for other people, helping other people get their songs out. So it just feels good to have a little bit of this off my chest and outta my heart… kinda thing.’

Bringing Country Back To Town? ‘Well, thanks. I hope so. If that’s the case, I can get with it. ‘Cos it’s G, C, D, E, A, B and the occasional F. Those are all you need. That’s all you need. Three chords and the truth. But probably one chord and the truth would work. Hell – just the truth. I don’t even know if you need chords anymore. Just tell the truth.’ He pauses and grins. ‘I hope you got everything you need. I hope I didn’t just talk nonsense for too long…?’

SINGLE WIDE DREAMER’ by AARON RAITIERE

(2022, Dinner Time Records DTR25519CD)

(1) ‘Single Wide Dreamer’, talking verse, sing-along chorus, agile down-home wordplay, anecdotes and tall bar-tales. With its laid-back, speak-singing delivery, ‘Single Wide Dreamer’ immediately conveys Aaron’s contentment in living a low-key life. And although every song on the album could be considered a love song in its own way, what really ties them together is his observant writing, which is sometimes reflective, sometimes irreverent, but always inspired by his own experiences.

(2) ‘Everybody Else’, a pen and a guitar that carves characters out of exhaust fumes and dope smoke.

(3) ‘For The Birds’, by focusing on everyday pleasures like sleepy old dogs and ice cold beer, an optimistic tone elevates ‘For the Birds’, a feel-good tune he wrote with Miranda Lambert (who has also recorded a version of it). With a nice slide with a beer-can in the video.

(4) ‘Cold Soup’, he’s a down-&-out sitting on a Park bench ‘voices in my head and a police file,’ eating hand-outs from the Mission, where ‘you best friend is a hundred-proof. Charles Bukowski would be proud of these lines.

(5) ‘At Least We Didn’t Have Any Kids’, ‘he has her tattoo beneath his skin, but he covered it up with the State of Kentucky.’

(6) ‘Dear Darlin’’, a searing (and sort of funny) letter to an ex, with a simple cartoon video, a talking letter, a slow bitter-sweet goodbye of poignant humour, ‘cigarettes and pizza’, ‘cussin you in cursive, hope this letter makes you cry.’

(7) ‘Your Daddy Hates Me’, an apologetic love song that invokes a girlfriend from when Aaron was eighteen, ‘he’s gonna always be your Daddy, I’m gonna always be your man,’ it is what it is, ‘I ain’t what he had in mind,’ but it ain’t ever gonna change.

(8) ‘Worst I Ever Had’, prettily tinkling piano with a La-da-da chorus that offsets the beat-up lyric, ‘living in a trailer that needs a coat of paint, pick-up truck on blocks, my baby’s on the pill, bourbon on the rocks.’

(9) ‘Can’t Rain All The Time’, with delicious instrumental interplay, the bad times won’t last forever.

(10) ‘Tell Me Something True’, slow, stripped and slightly echoed. He’s a tramp shining. A battered beauty, ‘even if it’s out of tune, go ahead and play it,’ a human depth is here for the taking.

(11) ‘You’re Crazy’, there’s also a live version performed at the Nashville ‘Basement’.

(12) ‘Time Will Fly’, even when he’s ruminating on life’s inevitable conclusion, Aaron’s going to have the most fun possible in the meantime, simple truths, ‘time will turn us back to dirt,’ with little organ ripples.

 

 

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Upon hearing of a report advocating NHS charging 

 

I must make a declaration, confirm continuation 
Of healthcare free at point of delivery 
Universal availability 

Look at the above acrostic 
Makes me sick 
An IOU 

Keep your f**king hands off, American Pharma 
Conservatives and their capitalist drama 
All they are interested in is profit 

Who was the Prophet? 

Called it out warned us all 
Objected to its’ organising 
Remonstrated for a failing 
Berated budgetary forecast 
You said he would not last 
Now shit has come to pass 

 

 

Andrew C Brown

 

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Electioneering


 

We pigeons 
coo and nod on 
the raven’s  
coy oration.

 

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Duane Vorhees

 

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Bippety and Boppety and Listening to Birds

— I’ve lost touch with Biff. I think he’s miffed by my political, religious and philosophical opinions, which perhaps explains the anonymous death threats.
— And nothing’s been heard of Daisy, “Hazy Daisy”, since she set off for that “Weekend of Contemplation” across and beyond the sands of Dee with, who was it? The Children of Something,  or Someone. I misremember.
— People go missing.
— It happens all the time.
— Biff might be a fascist. Some people are.
— And Daisy is perhaps even now rotting in a ditch somewhere.
— That’s not very nice.
— People go missing, and it’s easy to lose track. Which is why I often imagine I’m listening to birds. You should try it.
— I don’t really see the connection, but I’ll give it a shot.
— You won’t regret it.
— I’ll let you know.

 

 

Martin Stannard

 

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Cosey Fanni Tutti: Re-sisters

New book from Faber about the lives of: medieval writer, Margery Kempe, BBC Radiophonic Workshop arranger, Delia Derbyshire, and musician and art-pornographer, Cosey Fanni Tutti.

In review by Alan Dearling

This is a surreal, strange, and sometimes aggressive read. It’s like an Art Manifesto. In fact, that’s pretty much exactly what it is. A call to arms by self-proclaimed individualist, Art, Sex and Magic supremo, Cosey Fanni Tutti. A mash-up of three lives, three women, three ‘outsiders’. It’s a frantic art-piece – these are ‘Resisters’ – three pre- and post-feminist, Re-sisters. It’s about music. It’s about sex. It’s about being a woman and misogyny.  Ownership of one’s own body, exploitation and societal mores, rules and condemnations.

It is also a rollicking, roller-coaster read. And it frequently hits men and their views below the proverbial belt. I didn’t really know what to expect from the book, but it’s much more cerebral, challenging and fun than I anticipated!

Cosey’s contention is that there is a significant umbilical cord (and sometimes chord) that links all three women’s lives. Their ‘otherness’. Their being ‘fringe-dwellers’. It is easier to perceive in Delia and Cosey, less so in the strange life and world of Margery Kempe. But it just about ‘works’ as a loose concept for one of the main themes of Cosey’s book: women as outsiders. Women living in ‘sidereal’ time, outside of the norm. She herself has been an industrial music rebel in Throbbing Gristle and as half of musical and sound and art experiments with Chris Carter.

Oreanda from album, ‘Tutti’: https://youtu.be/5rGWSfNK-Co

‘Sin’ from Chris and Cosey, Carter Tutti, (reminds me of Suzie): https://youtu.be/uVda7eWDLtI

Delia Derbyshire, Margery Kempe and Cosey Fanni Tutti were all ‘resisters’. They resisted the control by men, and patriarchal society and organisations. Margery (1373-1439) had 14 children in the fourteenth/fifteenth centuries and probably many more miscarriages and still-births. She then refused to honour her marriage vows to husband, John and became celibate. She also wrote about it in her autobiographical book. Hers was a subversive spirit. She’s a sinner and would-be saint. Margery went on many pilgrimages, was interrogated many times by church elders, and conducted a marriage with God! She also claimed to have heard ‘harmonic sounds of heaven’ played by angels. So, there is a musical connection too. And like, Delia and Cosey, she lived a life, lived ‘to excess’.

Delia Derbyshire’s music is hard to obtain. She was regarded as a technician/arranger of music and so the vast amount of her ‘works’ are archived, essentially ‘buried’ and subject to copyright. But she was probably far more responsible for the original ‘Dr Who’ theme than composer, Ron Grainer, who is credited with the composition. According to Cosey in this book, he only provided some concepts such as ‘swoops’, ‘sweeps’, and ‘wind cloud’, which, “Delia interpreted in Ron’s notes as white noise, and ‘swoop’ as sine waves from valve oscillators.”  Delia painstakingly turned the images into electronic sounds, spliced together in the BBC Radiophonic Workshop. It became one of the earliest and most famous electronic pieces of music, the ‘Dr Who theme’. Delia was something of a legendary eccentric, using snuff and alcohol to feed her mind and works, and bisexual, like Cosey herself. But so much of her work has drifted into obscurity, despite being called, ‘The Godmother of Techno’ by some for creations such as, ‘Dance from ‘Noah’ ’, a 1972 schools’ radio drama. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hw7VNHbxtU8

Cosey, we believe, will release ‘Delia Derbyshire: The Myths and the Legendary Tapes’, her original soundtrack recordings for Caroline Catz’ acclaimed film about Derbyshire, in September 2022 via Conspiracy International.

From Wikipedia: “After Derbyshire’s death, 267 reel-to-reel tapes and a box of a thousand papers were found in her attic. These were entrusted to the composer Mark Ayres, who had salvaged the tape archive of the Radiophonic Workshop, and in 2007 were given on permanent loan to the University of Manchester for preservation. The tapes consist primarily of material from Derbyshire’s freelance projects (e.g. works for theatre productions, films and festivals), some of her BBC work (the majority of Derbyshire’s BBC work, including the original version of the Doctor Who theme, is housed in the BBC Archive Centre at Perivale), off-air recordings of interviews with Derbyshire and recordings of music by other composers and musicians, including Karlheinz Stockhausen, Krzysztof Penderecki and Can. Almost all the tapes were digitised in 2007 by Louis Niebur and David Butler, but none of the music has been published due to copyright complications.”

Actually, my over-riding memory of the ‘Re-sisters’ book will be images of Delia Derbyshire and her life on the margins, including the ‘magic gloves’ she wore to hide miniature bottles of rum and brandy within! I also learned more about Delia’s contribution to one of my all-time favourite album’s, ‘An Electric Storm’ by ‘White Noise’.  Here’s: ‘Love Without Sound’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tpf8_zn-xDs

 

An interesting, and apparently inspirational musical homage, is the duo, ‘Delia Derbyshire Appreciation Society’, which is Garry Hughes (Bombay Dub Orchestra) and Harvey Jones. They’ve produced two albums so far: ‘Delia Derbyshire Appreciation Society’ and ‘Wow and Flutter’. Here’s the ‘She brought the Sun’ track: https://www.facebook.com/sixdegreesrecords/videos/1542868622504656/

A lot of the tracks have also been re-mixed. Here’s a dubby, spacey one from Steve Hillage and Miquette Giraudy, performing as ‘Mirror System’: ‘Cloudface’: https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=1685045541585082

Cosey Fanni Tutti: ‘Re-sisters’ is essentially an ‘Ideas Book’. Subversive. A triumph of will. Cosey ends the book:

“On looking for (Delia’s) will amongst all the paperwork about her house, her partner Clive came across the document in a brown manila envelope. It was clearly marked in large black lettering not with ‘WILL’ but with the word ‘WON’T.”

And the original Dr Who theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=75V4ClJZME4

 Defiant to the end. Recommended.

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Swift Visit 


 
‘We live in a world where we are being sold things
every hour of every day, but the things we truly
value are not the things we are sold, but the things
we discover. To that end we are content to be discovered.’
   
 – The Revolutionary Army of the Infant Jesus 

 
West coast fog in New York streets 
the bottom half of the skirt is blue 
 
search for the jingle jangle 
breakfast any time 
 
gather the holly for the table 
oil the gates 
 
a fox crosses a quiet main road 
at dusk 
 
celestial lens flare over the mountain 
in winter rely on stored goods 
 
Washing will dry in 24 degree heat 
harmonium playing in a deconsecrated church 
 
simple noise 

 

 

Andrew Taylor

 

 

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Power of Soul

If you could float above the Earth,

And watch the ripples swirling around you,

You’d never ever question the magnitude,

Of your spirit and the power of your soul.

Because,

Your eyes speak a lot more than you do.

I don’t have the power to change,

What you have been through.

Trust me,

Love me,

Hate me,

Fight with me,

Laugh with me,

Cry with me,

Play with me,

But just don’t leave me

You are special to me.

 

 

Monalisa Parida

 

Bio:- Monalisa Parida is a post graduate student of English literature from India, Odisha and a prolific poetess. She  is very active in social media platforms and her poems have also been translated into different  languages and publish in various e-journals.

She has got 80 international awards for writing poetry. Her poems have been publishing international e-journals “New York parrot”, “The Writers Club” (USA), “Suriyadoya literary  foundation”, “kabita Minar”, “Indian Periodical” (India) and “Offline Thinker “, “The Gorkha Times “.

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Realism


An aid worker travels for two whole days to reach an isolated village. The journey, involving a bus, a river taxi and many hours of walking along the edges of rice paddies, is documented by the filmmaker in long takes in which little of moment happens. The only music on the soundtrack is from a portable radio picked up by the mic. The footage includes images of the passing scenery, people dozing, or gazing vacantly into empty space, a close up of insect bites on the aid worker’s leg. There are lengthy sequences showing rain patterning the grimy bus window, of verdant, impenetrable forest bordering the river, of a member of the boat’s crew smoking a cigarette. These are interspersed with brief moments of activity, food vendors clamouring at the bus windows, a woman breastfeeding an infant, a pair of dogs copulating.

A single take lasting 8’ 44” focuses on the swirling eddies of the river’s surface, the slow, almost imperceptible changes in the light reflecting off the rippling water, clumps of floating vegetation occasionally passing right to left across the frame. In the background, the voices of passengers and crew are sometimes heard, and always the steady pitch of the engine, the slap of water. On the final leg of the journey, the camera follows the aid worker over muddy dykes, along dusty field paths, and up a stony forest track.

Some critics argue that the length of the film and the absence of obvious drama is a metaphor for the grindingly slow legal processes which surround a huge development project threatening the future of the village. The director when asked about this says the movie is long because the journey is long. None of her films, she points out, is shorter than six hours, and one runs to 11 hrs 23 mins. If the audience’s attention wanders, or they fall asleep, the director says she’s fine with that. The viewer enters the film in this way, becomes like one of the people on the hot and crowded bus, like the passengers aboard the launch. This is how life is. When the aid worker eventually reaches the village she is offered a choice of dog sausages or dog stew.

 

Simon Collings

 

 

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DOORS

What I love about doors
              is what’s waiting inside
What I hate about inside
              is the emptiness of rooms
What I love about rooms
               is the comfort of bed
What I hate about bed
                is the alarm-clock next day
What I love about day
                is how it turns into night
What I hate about night
                is the delusion of dreams
What I love about dreams
                 is waking up in the morning
What I hate about morning
                   is when its third letter is ‘u’
What I love about ‘u’
                   is your ‘o’ and your ‘y’
What I hate about ‘y’
                   is its puzzling questions
What I love about questions
                   is being right now and then
What I hate about then
                    is how it may have been once
What I love about once
                     is twice – then three times
What I hate about times
                      is the multiplication
What I love about multiplication
                       is how it’s never enough
What I hate about enough
                       is it’s hardly enormous
What I love about enormous
                       is the size of this city
What I hate about this city
                        is it’s so far from home
What I love about home
                         is the opening of doors
What I hate about doors
                         is what’s waiting inside

 

 

Phil Bowen

 

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On the Right of it to Rain During War

 

King Lear could have a view on this – if extrapolating from the self (not that there’d be an internal hook from which to start). Without realising weather warfare is a thing, the right or wrong is a moot point one can still debate for the hell of it. There are those who claim ‘great’ battles have been fought in inclement weather. Where would a competent war film be without thunder & lightning, mud & slush, slipping & sliding, and blood running in rivulets? General Patton’s call for a quarter of a million prayers to end the rain; when in ‘Operation Popeye’, Vietnamese clouds are seeded with spinach. Oh Little Ice Age and the 500-year-old meteorological sting in your tail.

 

Mike Ferguson

 

 

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LOVE MOOD SWING by Rizwan Ali Khan and Muazzam Ali Khan 

 

With echoes of the great Nusrat Fateh, Rizwan & Muazzam Ali Khan take the Qawwali song further. Produced by Youth, whose electronics enhance their ethnic urgency, as music from Pakistan is informed by the western, and the Love Mood Swing EP introduces four new ways to feel free.  Zafir Ali’s Tablas power forth, pushing the new wave stamp of this music. While Rahat Ali and Zubair Ali Khans Harmomiums weave rich texture, colouring space that the production collects in a vibrant galaxy of invention, as emotion’s far orbits circle and stun ceaselessly. Composer Rizwan Ali Khan shares vocals on these far from earth journey songs with Muazzam, as this band of brothers in every sense of the word chart new paths. For there is drama and drive, and a punkish new Wave thrust to Love Mood Swings, while Burning Flowers’ staccato synth and spider like tabla pattern create a riot before electronica’s dark explosion inspires frenzy, as music ruotures the dark. Here, There, Everywhere celebrates the universe of shared feeling. One can hear the communion as electronic swathes seal the deal. Youth’s remix of track one, Moody Love Swings Dubbed trips star paths as intricate sounds elevate us. It is there love is captured. In these bright, sacred quarters, hear the Qawwali soul spark the real.   

 

https://suriyarecordings.bandcamp.com/album/love-mood-swing

 


Suriya Recordings

Suriya Recordings is a unique new global beats label.
It is the brainchild of Youth in partnership with PRSSV Institute
of Performing Arts and Heritage, a charitable organisation
based in London, and United Sound Entertainment.

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The Cost of Everything & the Value of Nothing(part 2)

The whole world is governed by the fetishism of one symbol. 

The cost of everything

Capitalism’s value is increased by raising price whilst lowering cost. That’s easy for us to grasp. But what happens to the value of something when it is given? Think about this for a moment before reading on.

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The dollar is nothing more than a fictional symbol, as it no longer depends upon being backed up by things of commercial or natural value. It has no intrinsic value other than what is promised or contracted by its governors. Even that can be circumvented. Its functions are constantly variable, as in its value is NEVER SET, thus the things valued by it differ from moment to moment, by artificial means otherwise known as global capitalism – the power and value PLACED UPON money.

It now acts as the human-forged golden Canaanite idol of the Hebrew Scriptures – MOLOCH or MOLECH – that had to have a constant fire burning, fuelled by child-sacrifices, not to be displeased in the minds of its creators. Insanely absurd that they created their own genocide, no?

 

(above: Canaanite God Moloch / Molech was said to have weighted arms that lowered the child into its furnace)

What happens to the value of things when they cease to have monetary value, or their ‘value’ becomes so astronomical it ceases to have any rational advantage? (Such as in times of hyper-inflation). How does that affect global monetary capitalism? We see a shift not only in practice but in social behaviour and mental perception. So what if ALL commodities, assets and services ceased to have any monetary value while the monetary economy still exists? Is it possible for that to happen and how? Well, look around, we are drawing ever closer to that prospect, not through hyperinflation, which is a constant threat, but by excluding political tactics of the elite.

Many commentators have proposed we are close to the possibility or necessity of a zero-cost monetary economy, which would help. Also, governments are planning centralised crypto-currency systems. But none of these would radicalise the possession and abuse of economic and political power without catastrophic public revolt. Campaigners barking up the tree of the elite wealthy are doing us no favours. It’s the wrong tree.

If the dollar has become nothing more than an abstract symbol, in practice outweighing the sum total of all its global assets (like all the oil reserves, the gold reserves of Fort Knox etc), and if governments are turning to a virtual economy that reduces fiscal burden; why is it not possible to devise and exchange a public virtual currency that has no intrinsic value, is given no value and represents no value and hence does not exchange for anything of perceived value, except units within the same system? It is possible and it has been done many times. What is lacking is any significant effect on capitalism and money that can rapidly grow to global scale of influence and something that is readily accessible to everyone without permission from external sources,

Since ALL value of commodities and services is artificially asserted by a process of mental assessment and negotiation, it is very easy to divest them of that value, by exchanging via virtual zero-value units. It is perfectly possible to create this from nothing and have it run parallel to the monetary economy in order to acquire goods and services that are concurrently available in the monetary economy.

Now what happens to monetary capitalism? Some will say it leads to the collapse of capitalism, but that is not calculated thinking, since capitalists can also benefit from this zero-value exchange mechanism if they comply with internationally agreed caveats will prevent misuse of the PNME. This way the PNME can make the right industries way more profitable and generate the rapid expansion we need to tackle global issues and revolutionise global and localised trade.

The word ‘exchange’ must become de-coupled from the word ‘value’ even within people’s minds. This is essential if we are to ditch the habit of a lifetime, the history of economics that has led us here and needs to alter rapidly. No value-based system will transform how commerce forces us to treat each other and the planet. And no-one that is sitting pretty thinking money doesn’t need to change will initiate this. So how can we do this without necessitating a whole new education?

 

The value of nothing.

 

As a species, we often consider the value of nothing when in receipt of, or offering, kindness and generosity; people responding to emergencies; some thoughtful consideration that costs the provider. Commercially, we are familiar with loss-leaders and charitable hand-outs reducing tax burdens, or costs / losses used for producing favourable publicity, (or even individual tax-declarations); but they would not exist except as profitable strategies. Capitalists are almost constantly calculating the value of nothing.

So what happens if we create this parallel ‘symbol of exchange’ that has NO VALUE or ‘THE VALUE OF NOTHING?’ Not the value of children or any material thing. 99% of the economic population are currently acting like a lone farmer telling Monsanto “get off my land!” But they form a significant instant economic market, if they collectively adopt alternative and outperforming means that can dictate real terms.

In the Parallel Non-Monetary Economy (PNME), things would still be acquired by ‘currency’ (a misleading term) or more accurately a fictional symbol that is accounted for. If it is a numeric system, the numerals do not need to equal the perceived or economic value of the goods and services. They do not need any nature or features. As virtual valueless accumulating symbols, they do not exchange for any other thing or increase any value whilst static. When you dial or punch in numbers to open a safe containing what you regard as valuables, the numbers have no correlation to the objects at all.

This is what radically alters the mentality of ‘exchange value’ and commerce, for the first time in human history – even since bartering. It interrupts that process whereby we perceive goods and services have some exchange value; that in order to secure that value suppliers and consumers, employers and employees have to constantly compete against each other’s interests. Some say people will never think of things as valueless. This is not what we need to concern ourselves with – the idea that people can, all of a sudden, exchange things for valueless units they automatically self-generate is an easy concept to grasp.

Of course things will always have value to people, but only capitalists assert exchange value is necessary and essential for acquiring goods. Remove value from any exchange and what do those commodities transform into? Since the PNME accounting exchange unit has zero value and only unlocks access to exchange goods and services (which will more likely become regarded as simply sharing or giving), it is no longer the goods and services that are exchanged or hold economic value. They can be accessed freely by the automatic exchange of the PNME units, without any material means necessary. Much the same as when you scan a piece of plastic for something you want. Scanning by use of personal biometrics, magnetic, GPS and other current technologies will remove even that necessity. Now we are getting closer to what it will feel like. The accounting goes on unseen and all has zero value. It is just numbers adding and subtracting on glass data disks. The value of what those numbers acquire is radically transformed.

And most crucially, what if the PNME is not a hand-out from some benefactor or system but comes directly from inside of you, controlled only by you as your self-contained power to generate this symbolic valueless income? No one can take it from you. Contrast that with what any previous ‘exchange value’ could ever do. Think of what it opens up – for everyone, including capitalists.

For one example, since the units are self-generated and employers will no longer be wage-payers, they will no longer offer employment, it will be offered to them by employees. Think of how this single radicalisation will alter industry, production costs, labour standards and the control of commerce. And this is not the only contrast with the monetary system.

Of course, to have any accounting system, even an abstract numerical system will need to associate numbers to people’s chosen activities, in a flexible way. Access to goods and services will also need to be associated to the numerical system but it is wrong to assume this means another form of money. It is radically different to EVERY previous economic model. The valueless PNME can be set by society to perform anything they prioritise as essential industries, offering far greater incentives, since it is costless and not generated from existing budgets. It will accommodate every field of human activity that constitutes work, including education and parenthood. The rapidity of self-generated units will far surpass anything requiring monetary consideration, so, when PNME units are exchanged in an invisible automated accounting system – the numbers will hardly be in the minds of the people spending them; and since the PNME unit is as fictional as the cost/price imposed on monetised goods and services, it can always react to attempts at market control and profit-boosting, so the practice becomes impotent, (as illustrated by the monetary economy during times of hyper-inflation). So, the PNME is inflation-proof. It does not come from and is not controlled or restricted by any pre-existing centralised controlled account.

The only scenario where PNME units will be limited and in the consciousness is in its early stages, from infanthood, or when someone chooses how they wish to accumulate the units to meet a large acquisition; or if someone persistently chooses to max-out their earnings, or limit their activities supported by the PNME in favour of expanded leisure time, (this is hardly conceivable as all abstract labour and some leisure will earn PNME units).  

In addition, the PNME renders all monetary production costs to zero. So, even within the monetary economy that initially benefits from boosted profits, the imposed associated monetary value of things is rendered nothing, of no economic consideration. Think of how this will affect industry, locally and globally. Do the sums.

___

 

SO – to sum up…

The differences with the PNME are: 1 – no exchange value is involved; 2 – the goods and services are not what are exchanged; 3 – the source of the generated abstract PNME accounting unit is not the same as any previous system; 4 – the control of that accounting is self-contained and transparently monitored by a global collective (as in blockchain systems); 5 – the perceived ‘wealth’ or ‘prosperity’ is a) invisible and b) so rapidly exceeds the conceived monetary value of things exchanged (which will be invalidated anyway) that the idea of swapping things for any economic value will become laughable, (except for the mechanics of the exchange and what they practically achieve).

All of this is only a necessary stepping stone to pacify the accountants of this world, who will temporarily enjoy a rapid expansion of activity before their near extinction. It will achieve the inversion of what neoliberals undermined: that Marx and Engels proposed would eliminate pricing and “radicalise the bourgeois economically” – “the abolition of the material grounds of the concept of abstract labour”.

To understand how the PNME will work, feel free to download the illustrated supplements to the book ‘A Chance For Everyone: The Parallel Non-Monetary Economy’ –

1) Turning Costs To Earnings: How the PNME works and for how it transforms industry and politics 2) Resolving The Money Obscenity. (enter ‘0’ in the price box).

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Parallel Realities

If you’re inclined to dismiss all this as ideological fiction, look around you and see the effects of what it is already doing in the fictionalisation of monetary capitalism and financialization, generated at will, out of thin air, by the greedy and unscrupulous, already tried and tested psychopaths placing the $ before our children and all life.

More importantly; think of the sheer scale of the existing parallel non-monetary economy and what it achieves amongst the billions of people around the world ALREADY divested of any economic power or value – the value of nothing – that is worth far more than any money. Value that capitalists have exploited for only marginal surplus value – an alternative to ‘labour surplus value’ that no longer affects price – as a trade-off for monopolised control.

So why should we not make the PNME an economy that has economic power for every living individual WITHOUT needing the artificial monetary system, any exterior source of generation, or ANY imposed associated ‘value’? Imagine, seriously, what ALL agencies could do – education, health, government, charities, NGOs, campaign organisations, green industry and agriculture, environmental and species regeneration – relieved of the limitations of monetary dependency. 

It is not money that is our biggest problem – it is our fetishism of it as our only saviour. EVERY INDUSTRY & INDIVIDUAL that practically asserts money is our only saviour are PART OF THE PROBLEM when they could become a massive part of the solution.

And this new virtual symbolic zero-value ‘currency’ doesn’t need to replace money or even compete against it. It simply has to exist. It can eradicate poverty tomorrow, if we grasp it now.

Before dismissing the claims above as dream world and burying our heads in the sands of human history and BEFORE THE COST OF EVERYTHING RENDERS EVERYTHING THE VALUE OF NOTHING – please examine the PNME.

 

http://achanceforeveryone.com

(Available for free or pay what you wish in download versions).

 

 

 

 

 

Kendal Eaton
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FIVE YEARS AND COUNTING

 
 
I missed your deathday this year, ensnared as I was
In pet projects. But I will write to you again on your birthday
And as I do now, bound by touch
                                                                    of thought
To the keys and in the smoke and stir
Of creation, in which you always fired the kind of flame
Art can clutch. Just as you did to life, until your last moment,
 
Which you would have rhymed, Heathcote with all
Of the fast times before; the days of action and verve
In which you shook buildings from chimney stack
 
To foundation stone, seeking a Huxley like open door.
From Beiles to Burroughs you roused, from BS Johnson
To Beckett, from Percy Bysshe Shelley to Pinter,
 
You were the Wolf Henry housed, writing AC/DC
While ensconsed in his and Susan’s Sloan Square walk-in
Wardrobe, filling a Victorian ledger with the pyschedelic
 
Stains drugs caroused. Grand book closed far too soon,
You are now a work of translation. The words you left
Welding onto and through memory. As we think of you now
 
We renew the force your form gifted. We, the still grounded
Are landlords keen to give your shade tenancy. Where are you?
Write soon. Sign a slow, sly cloud. Colour rainfall.
 
Whisper to the wind that stacks stanzas like a column of air
On gnarled trees, whose branches I pass, thinking of your hands
At the writing, as if in each park, street and garden, you were
 
Reaching out ceaselessly, to shape what we see,
While encouraging a new way to express it, in which
Reach rhymed with reason and in which death
 
In the very best sense meant release. It has been five years
And you are in the same place as Merlin, another past,
Cast magician who is sleeping now under earth
 
While being part of it, to stir on, as the buried waters
Beneath river England, moving through soil and rewriting
The Kingdom we thought was lost, to seek worth.
 
You are now part of that change, whether as dust,
Or as spirit. Five years on I think of you, as I did as a child,
As a myth. And then as a man I got my grail and befriended
 
You: one of my first inspirations. Today, the legend lives on.
We still love you. The scope of our embrace is galactic.
It is as high as the sky. Arms are open.
 
Look, they are as wide as the world.
 
Feel that width.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
                                            David Erdos 26/7/22
 
 
 
 
 
 
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TO THE UNKNOWN MAN

 
                                             
                                           For Vangelis
 
 
Your special textures soothed all, as if synthesised sound
Clothed air’s structure. Your surprisingly thick fingers
Stitched the sheen of the stars to plugged pulse.
 
The cosmic frequency caught steered all manner
Of craft from blurred backgrounds, as your themed
Dreams echoed the astral from how black and white keys
 
Can consult. You played how men run, through both
Legs and the spirit. You played the accurate sound
Of a spiral, and a replicant’s unmatched cry.
 
A panorama of sounds which stem from your own
Sun-stirred Greek Island, where as a four year old
Child you could soundtrack the rhythm of clouds
 
On clear sky. Set against the Aegean display
Of surrounding glissando waves sourced before you,
You would have placed fat hands into water, as if
 
They were conducting the tactility of the tide.
Later machines allowed you the breadth and scope
For sound oceans, but even on early piano and organ
 
The textures you scored opened wide what song
Could achieve by alchemising electrics. 666 does this
Grandly, Aphrodite’s Child’s great LP. Prog Rock at its best
 
And from the same sands that Sophocles walked on,
Which the Four Horseman trampled down by ensuring
That the Seventh Seal trapped the free. It is still ahead
 
Of its age; a truly a startling album; diverse, strange,
Transcendent, undisciplined, yet refined. It breaks ancient
Ground, as well as the waves sent to soothe it. And was
 
The first of your musics to score the heart and soul, air
And mind. From then, your own Earth, and the first
Of your soundtracks. Chariots of Fire, Bladerunner,
 
Antartica, Alexander and 1492. The Friends of Mr Cairo,
Of course, contains all Noir movies, and the albums
With Jon Anderson play like angels forming a band
 
To sound true. You seemed to play endlessly, as if
Music flowed through. Lifeblood and heartbeat, set in
5/6 or 4/4. But with each sound secure, set and aimed
 
By an expert, as in Anderson’s anecdote of you, firing
An arrow straight down a Parisian corridor.
Your music is missed. Despite anyone’s taste, it still
 
Flavours the sound and sense of the future or the mist
And mystery of the past. Nobody seemed to know
The true you. You hid worth with girth and behind
 
Your ponytail and piano. Evangelos Odysseas Papthanassiou
Now stars play you. May you find your way home.
 
Your quest lasts.
 
 
 
                                        David Erdos 25/7/22
 
 
 
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In Her Kingdom by the Sea Part 5 – The Platinum Jubilee Distraction

                         
Retired at last!  Heysham Road,  2nd June 2022 

 

Despite that the long-standing title of this digression – In Her Kingdom by the Sea – may suddenly have appeared topical, I can safely state that in no way, shape or form, consciously or unconsciously, was I referring to Elizabeth the Second. This Kingdom may have been suggested to me by Mrs Lucy Muir, Annabel Lee or The Spirit of Heysham[i] . . . or I may have just made up its shifting boundaries. In any and every event, it has nothing to do with ER II.

One of 500 tables for the Morecambe Platinum Jubilee party. According to The Guardian’s report [ii], the tables stretched ‘1.6 miles (2.5km) along the seafront and organisers expected about 5,000 people to come. “We are relying on the patriotism of Morecambe residents today.”’ 5th June 2022 

 

            Pomp and pageantry have always made me queasy, Nationalism and Patriotism too.

            A dash may help survive a war but the rest blusters, poisons and destroys

            Places, feelings, traditions – they are all leaves in a book whose bittersweet pages I           
      
           
like to turn and mostly try to laugh

            their shelf gets higher and higher . . .

            For reference only.[iii]

 

Solitary patriot in the no-man’s land between Morecambe & Lancaster, 2nd June 2022

 

                                          Classless, free and a view of the sea . . . Twemlow Parade/Whinnysty Lane,
                                                                                         Heysham, 4th June 2022


Events of which I had indifferent prior knowledge have hijacked not only my title but the varying moods of everything I intended. Pomp and pageantry in their intentionally impure form have always either bored or dismayed me . . . yet celebrations, parties, anniversaries, these recurring patterns within time, also contain some essential atmosphere, and however anti-monarchical my personal feelings, they do not prevent me admiring or being interested by all sort of historical figures caught up in this ongoing farce – that chain descending from whichever thug long-ago sneaked up on another and bashed them over the head[iv]

A commoner bows to the Queen at Morecambe’s platinum promenade party,
5th June 2022

 

You can’t have too much of a good thing . . . Longlands Lane, Heysham, 4th June 2022

 

Similarly, there are many films[v] which use jubilees, and other ‘royal’ events as a deeply fascinating background . . . as long as you fast-forward the pomp and ceremony. I’m even impressed by all those people who in 1953[vi] could be bothered to wait around all night, or from very early in the rain, to maybe catch a glimpse of the coronation coach trundling by – despite that (especially in black and white) this coach[vii] is baroque or rococo to the point of stomach-churning. It looks like it could have been spewed up by a sea-monster and then gilded over, barnacles and all. A strain on the horses, it was no surprise for me to learn, that – perhaps deliberately – it’s far from relaxing as a method of transport.

Ultima Thule of Morecambe’s promenade party – beyond Aldi in the West End,
5th June 2022

For a good example of truth being stranger than fiction, see the end of this passage taken from the Wikipedia page referenced by the last link given above:

            Queen Elizabeth II referred to her coronation journey in the coach as “horrible” 
            and “not very comfortable”, which is possibly why it was not used for her

            Diamond Jubilee when she was aged 86, having previously featured in
            her
Silver and Golden Jubilee celebrations. It was brought back for her Platinum
            Jubilee
celebrations, where archival footage from the Queen’s coronation were
            used to make her appear as a hologram waving to crowds from the coach.

 

Morecambe’s platinum promenade party, 5th June 2022

 

By royal command: drinking alone, 5th June 2022

Does anyone really love the royal family that much?[viii] Many people must do, or did – including multitudes of my older relatives now mostly dead . . .  Charitably, I try to believe that all the various jubilees have just been excuses for a party. Any party. All of us fiddling while the planet burns. Is it a better or worse excuse than the World Cup or the Olympics? I can’t say. In their (inevitably) impure state they all mean nothing to be – but I cannot but be affected by their background ambience, the light-heartedness fleetingly created, the brandished symbols and the transient joy of participants, the lost hopes rekindled and then drowned in cakes and alcohol. As with Christmas or Yule, all the history of our culture, positive and negative, can be inexplicably heightened, brought to the surface.

A fine display. Cakes and sandwiches defy the grey. 5th June 2022


Almost time to go home, 5th June 2022

 

From an email written in the lead up to June 5th:

“Been out all day feeling conflicted by flags and bunting waving in wind and sun . . .  always deeply atmospheric, despite my dim view of ‘the royals’. Was trying to get some photos to further explore this enigma (explored many times in the past without satisfactory conclusion). I used to ascribe the feeling to some summer London throwback but it’s obviously far wider, plus I discovered yesterday that my eldest daughter seems to have inherited a similar complex which she also relates, at least initially, to London. While I have the buried ‘excuse’ of having lived there until age 3 or 4 and frequently going back to see working-class, often distressingly patriotic relatives, she grew up entirely in Devon and Northumberland . . . coming across no-one knee-deep and cheering in union jacks, princes, queens, royal purple, sceptres, swords, crowns or jewels – not to mention certain relatives (nameless even after death) who would have nicked and flogged any of the above if they could’ve got away with it. I might have been welded to London, its myths, legends, and social history, at birth, but she has no such excuse!


Morecambe, 5th June 2022

                                                                                              5th June 2022

Although time is a compulsive and comprehensive illusion, to be fair it often seems to want to disrupt our (inadvertent?) obedience – as though to say: “you take me too chronologically”. Fortunately, I’m always open to these cheerful or insidious whispers, no matter what short-term gloom or sadness they might appear to lead to. Long before I even knew my so-called Kingdom by the Sea, I had – still have – the notes for another Digression: The Aylesbury, Honiton and End of the World Digression. Flags, bunting and the ‘London Feeling’ were some of its cheerleaders, along with a haunting if overcast memory of 1977s patriotic street parties – but its driving force and a clear view of the new land beyond the portal still eludes me . . .

Hilton Avenue, Aylesbury: Silver Jubilee, June, 1977[ix] – I was 14 and tried to avoid it.
This is one of the parties I could have been at.
The absence of cars is very appealing.

 

            Even without sun and breeze to shift the bunting

            in black and white the festival breaks the frame

            Street parties – smiles fixed for hundreds of years – call me in

            though at the time I was thankfully over the fields.

            Strange to think that most of the children here will be grandparents

            and all the grandparents dead

            Was general community really a thing then?

            A hangover from the war and gladness, an expression of the exile’s freedom,

            away from London,

            on the edge of the fields.

            Did I just want to go further, reverting towards some rural ancestor?

            Or have the fields and landscape only ever been symbolic of away?

Morecambe’s clock tower rarely bothers with time – to quote from Bombed Out (in Morecambe)[x]
its ‘four faces offer four different times, all correct twice a day’, 
5th June 2022

Back in chronological conformity, on June the 5th 2022, I ventured down to Morecambe’s promenade to see what was aiming to be a world-record-breaking street party[xi] – all “in the name of Her Majesty”. It was grey and fairly chilly, the sombre sky darkening to occasional spits of rain, but even at 3 pm the well-wrapped picnickers and other muted revellers were defying the elements.


Last table left in a line,
5th June 2022

 

Disintegrating atonal symphony under a homeless sky, 5th June 2022

I assume they broke the record despite the weather – though if so, what record? – considering that a 37-mile-long street party was held on a stretch of autobahn near Dortmund in 2010[xii]. The world record for a street party held in Morecambe perhaps? The world record for overcastness at a street party . . . held on a Sunday on the shores of Morecambe Bay between Noon and 4p.m when the moon was in the ascendant? Seriously, who cares about such records? I just felt a bit sorry for the organisers. Given the unnaturally high number of hot spells we’ve had recently, it seemed a shame that they got one of the chillier days inbetween. Perhaps the climate is antiroyalist? As well it should be. Bright weather might have made the experience more poignant, or heavy rain, more notoriously memorable.

  Cheerful May display, Seaborn Road, Bare, Morecambe, 31st May 2022

Controversial title sequence of The Spongers[xiii] a seriously grim but good Play for Today of 1978

 

Going back in time, The Spongers depicted in a more urban setting (Middleton, Greater Manchester) the world of council estates as I remember them from 1966 to 1979, growing up. But rather than try and sum up the play myself, I’ll quote instead this superior, user-submitted review under the pseudonym blacknorth, from the Internet Movie Data base (IMDb):

 

The Spongers is one of the triumphs and one of the shames of British television – triumphant because it succeeds in presenting the true state of social affairs in jubilee Britain, shameful because none of its frightening lessons have been learned by our society.

Jim Allen brilliantly demolishes the social consensus with his very simple conceit, comparing the British royal family to a poor single parent family in 70’s Britain. And it is painful and harrowing to follow the fate of this family at the hands of social services against the background of nationalistic fervour created by the jubilee celebrations.

The ending is probably the most shocking event in television history, but was  eclipsed at the time by tabloid uproar over the opening titles of the play, which (super)imposed a picture of the Royals beside the word Spongers. This controversy itself demonstrates Allen’s concerns and serves to illuminate his lifetime themes and specifically the themes of this sadly almost forgotten play.

 It appears British television no longer has a social remit and, though I hate to admit it, this play is probably partly responsible for that – it’s just too powerful, too awkward, all too true. I hope someday it finds its way back into public consciousness.

 Required viewing for every human person.

 

 

Even the bin joined in, 5th June 2022

 

To do my bit against the Jubilee of 1977, using borrowed high-quality printing ink on borrowed sticky-back vinyl, over a couple of evenings in my bedroom, I secretly hand-printed three or four-hundred STUFF THE JUBILEE badges. Discretely distributing them around school for friends and others to stick on their uniforms, they proved more popular than I could possibly have imagined.

 

”Don’t care what you say, Battenberg cake is exemplarily British!”[xiv] 5th June 2022

 

Though the school Gestapo tried hard – grilling scholars caught wearing the badges, liberally dishing out detentions – they never succeeded in discovering their source. Eventually, via a absent tube of expensive, oil-based printing ink they traced the operation’s origin back to the art block. There, the trail went cold. 

Breeze and tide, 5th June 2022

 

Despite joking rumours of blindfolds, torture, and dawn shootings, it quickly became too risky to wear these “unpatriotic and disrespectful” badges on blazers and jumpers around school – leaving them to adorn noticeboards and fire doors, home time coats and lampposts around town. The vinyl was very hard to remove from glass and metal, and the ink, once dry, indelible.


Stronghold of revellers near the clock tower, 5th June 2022

 

Back in 2022, if I wasn’t mistaken, the wind had veered northerly, and the tidy-up patrols were out collecting litter and tables. But where the people remained densely-packed the revellers remained plucky and undaunted, filled with Dunkirk spirit:

 

Good-humoured spirit of Merrie England, Marine Road Central, 5th June 2022

 

We shall go on to the end, we shall party in The Pier, we shall drink on the seas and sands, we shall party with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our Island, whatever the cost may be, we shall drink on the beaches, we shall drink on the landing grounds, we shall drink in the fields and in the streets, we shall drink in the hills; WE SHALL NEVER GO HOME . . .[xv] 

 

© Lawrence Freiesleben

Cumbria and Morecambe, June 2022

[email protected]

 

 

NOTES    All notes accessed between May and July 2022

[i] See Part 1 for an ‘explanation’ of all three: https://internationaltimes.it/in-her-kingdom-by-the-sea-visionary-seaside-suburbia-part-1/

[ii] https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2022/jun/05/morecambe-lancashire-queen-platinum-jubilee-lunch-party#

[iii]  Extract from the 2nd stanza of The Gravediggers Blast and Bless 

[iv]  https://internationaltimes.it/in-the-night-my-mind-blossoms-you/

[v] Film review from October 2020: John and Julie (1955) This potentially sentimental family comedy-drama, despite having way too much pomp near the end, was quite anarchic. The scenes and the 50s colour are incredible. And all the school kids going along virtually on the roof of a bus . . .  What has today’s health and safety conscious world come to!

    Poster for John & Julie (1955) – “Come behind the scenes for the Greatest Spectacle on Earth!”

Beaconsfield circa 1952 – Facing north at the corner of Station Road and Burkes Road – See also: https://www.reelstreets.com/films/john-and-julie/

Synopsis: “A charming, heart-warming story about two children who run away to London because they are determined to visit the Queen.”

Writer/Director: William Fairchild

Stars: Colin GibsonLesley DudleyNoelle Middleton

[vi] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coronation_of_Elizabeth_II

[vii] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gold_State_Coach

[viii] And if so, is this a weird cultural throwback to earlier days, like the national mourning that seems even more pronounced in Japanese culture – a strong background theme to the subtly devastating film Kokoro (1955) https://www.imdb.com/find?q=kokoro+1955&ref_=nv_sr_sm  (dir. Kon Ichikawa) I was watching yesterday, in which mourners are bowed to the ground all over Tokyo on the 13th September 1912 at the funeral ceremony for Emperor Meiji. They seem personally struck down, or is it their own descent through time at the “End of Meiji era” they are mourning? 

[ix] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qc9bFS1DZBE&ab_channel=jasonblackman 

[x] Bombed Out (in Morecambe), November 2021

[xi] https://www.lancs.live/news/lancashire-news/morecambe-jubilee-street-party-incredible-24150851

[xii]https://www.worldrecordacademy.com/society/longest_street_party_Still_Life_sets_world_record_101790.htm

[xiii] https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0216230/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1

[xiv] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battenberg_cake

[xv] https://winstonchurchill.org/resources/speeches/1940-the-finest-hour/we-shall-fight-on-the-beaches/#       See also: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/We_shall_fight_on_the_beaches

 

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There’s a Harvest Moon

 

 

 

                                          Few clouds and a hare
                                          That leaps ahead on a rising path
                                          Strewn with shadows.

Beyond that, a derelict cottage,
Roof tiles sliding, windows gone
And supposedly haunted by some
Poor girl, insured then cruelly throttled.

Step through the gap between fence posts
That lean together like drunken pals,
High-step brambles that nip at your heels.

Once you reach the tree, pluck a peach,
Bite deep and as its juice deltas your chin,
Pick another, feel a skin-tightening chill

As a mare’s tail cloud dims the moonlight,
Branches creak, shadows grow and you know
You’ll remember this moment that was etched
Into your bones lifetimes ago…

 

 

 

Kevin Patrick McCann
Picture Nick Victor

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‘A cyclical Requiem’

by Alasdair Ogilvie and The Red Propellers

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Talk about the Met. Police

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Winners in the Propaganda War

 

If everyone’s complicit in a lie, we call it fiction or myth, depending on its age and the degree of comfort it offers. Take, for example, the national spirit of pluck and bunting, of chirpy cockney karaoke, of losses delivered by a whistling lad already cultivating a stiff upper lip. I have never joined in communal singing in a makeshift air raid shelter, and would be hard pressed to name more than a handful of the 1966 England team although I’m old enough to have watched the match on a black and white TV. Just as there are more millionaires by the day, everyone’s a hero sooner or later; after all, Jesus, St George, and King Arthur were Englishmen, and we’re all of the same blood. And if everyone’s complicit, we call it fable or truth, depending on whether there’s a moral to be learned. Take, for example, the trust we place in millionaires and heroes to take care of themselves and/or others. Or the new ham actors, flanked by flags, fluffing their lines between quiz shows and scripted reality, assuring us that not only are four legs good and two legs better, but that everyone has as many or as few legs as they need, that we are manufacturing and removing more legs than our European friends and neighbours, and that the Office for National Statistics leads the world in leg counting. The World Cup’s on hold, but the bunting’s out for King Arthur’s return, and I know we’ll meet again some sunny day.

 

 

Oz Hardwick
Picture Nick Victor

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SAUSAGE LIFE 236

Bird Guano’s
SAUSAGE LIFE
The column which thinks that once fame has eluded you, notoriety is your only man

CHAPTER ONE
Bellicose thunder rumbled, forked lightning crackled and fizzed; the firmament was visibly upset – downright distressed, if you want the truth. The brooding, bloated, slate-grey sky spilled its miserable tears on a thousand impotent, protesting umbrellas. Suddenly……
READER:  Hang on! What’s all this?
MYSELF:  It’s my novel, it was a new year’s resolution which I am just getting around to.
READER:  A novel! That’s more like it! What’s it about?
MYSELF:  Well I don’t know yet; I’ve only done the first page.
READER:  But surely you know what it’s going to be about?
MYSELF:  Obviously I won’t know what it’s about until I’ve written a bit more.
READER:  Why not write the last page next? Then all you have to do is fill in the bit in the middle.
MYSELF:  Thanks! I hadn’t thought of that.
READER:  Any time. And while you’re at it, a few laughs wouldn’t go amiss.
MYSELF:  I’ll get on with it.

SOCCER TRAGEDY
As Hastings & St.Leonard’s Warriors fans celebrated the financial windfall of Billionaire Russian Oligarch Vladimir Nosferatu’s recent purchase of the club, which they hope will rescue them from the doldrums of the Nuclear Waste Disposal Solutions League (south), a reminder of the club’s troubled past reared its euphemistic head. 
Mr. Chorizio, The Warriors’ former mascot, appeared at Cockmarlin Crown Court last Friday charged with being drunk and disorderly whilst dressed as a salami.
The jury heard that Mr Chorizio  had been engaged by the club’s former manager, flamboyant Spanish sausage manufacturer José Pypebahn, against the wishes of Warriors’ fans, many of whom had decided to mock him on a specially set up twitter account named “Sack The Sausage”. Karl Spüunbender QC defending, said that Mr. Chorizio, (real name Norman Rhodes), had asked for 517  similar offences to be taken into consideration, and wished to apologise to the court for his irrational behaviour, claiming “something very odd happens, when a man is forced to wear a sausage suit for a living, particularly when suffering from the kind of anxiety caused by being the butt of penis-related jokes.” Lord Justice Percival Badwigge adjourned the proceedings pending a social report and remanded Mr. Rhodes in custody. 

STOP PRESS: Rumour has it that Elton John has just asked David Furnish to take a paternity test, claiming that “he couldn’t remember being pregnant”.

TEDDY BOYS IN BLUE
Police in Estonia have been issued with teddy bears. The cuddly toys will be equipped with 30,000 volt taser guns concealed in the arms and tiny teargas launchers built into the eye sockets. Not to be outdone, Hastings’ Chief of Police Hydra Gorgon has reportedly ordered 500 pocket-sized copies of Harry Potter and the Policeman’s Balls which all constables will be obliged to carry after 8th August ‘22. Questioned about exactly how much of a criminal deterrent that would be, she replied enigmatically, “The last two pages are missing”.

LANG MAY YER TRUMP REAK
Donald Trump, from his reinforced bunker at Mar-a Lago has revealed that he is partly Caledonian.The member’s bar, The Nineteenth Hole has been wallpapered in the distinctive yellow and orange McTrumpie tartan and renamed The Scorch Room.  The family coat of arms of a golden eagle laying an extra large free-range golden egg is now displayed prominently in the baronial dining room, replacing the bust of Adolph Hitler. Donald’s grandparents, Hamish and Dougal McTrumpie, made their fortunes manufacturing mildew-proof woollen condoms and midge repellent for troops in the Anglo-Scots wars of 1066, and are believed to be the masterminds behind Hadrian’s Wall which was erected to keep out illegal British immigrants and Muslims. The great bard Rabbie McTrumpie allegedly wrote his tender love poem Ae Fond Squeeze, from a lap-dancing club hidden deep within its fortified battlements. 

DICTIONARY CORNER
Many people have asked me to clear up the difference between oxymoron and tautology. For the record, an oxymoron is a figure of speech in which words with opposing meanings are used together, often for effect. Example: Tracy Emin, artist, whereas tautology is the study of ancient educational techniques.

Rudiments (n,pl) menthol-based sweets embossed with smutty slogans.

 

NOT CRAFTY ENOUGH
How on earth do we expect run down south coast resorts to become Shoreditch-on-Sea, when they are so clearly out of touch with the world of modern retail marketing? In Hernia Bay for example, one is forced to buy candles and cushions at separate shops, which are on opposite sides of the road. How much spare time do they think we have?
Is it any wonder that people are deserting the high street en masse and flocking to online retailers like www.candlesncushions.com?    

AT THE THEATRE
The first night performance of Dame Labya Thrush’s seminal play The Song of the Goldfish (reviewed elsewhere), attracted a star-studded audience which included Hastings’ eminent inventor, Professor Gordon Thinktank.
During the interval, he took to the stage to demonstrate his latest contraption, The Theatrical Periscope. Powered by compressed air and concealed inside a mechanical hat, its patented adjustable height feature affords the user an unobstructed view when seated behind a very tall person, or one who declines to remove his enormous hat.
“There are teething problems,” the professor admitted, “one of which is that the device itself is housed in an extremely tall hat. Effectively, this means that the person sitting behind the wearer will now have his view obstructed, forcing him to resort to his own Theatrical Periscope, with the the height adjusted accordingly. Inevitably, this will result in a sea of periscopes, each one taller than the other, which will stretch all the way to the back row.”

Sausage Life!

Colin Gibson • Emmet Ives • Anita Makris



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Everything You Wanted A Band To Be



Themes for Great Cities: a New History of Simple Minds, Graeme Thomson
(360pp, £20, Constable)

I know I am not alone in experiencing the formative music of Simple Minds, live and on record, when they were playing alongside or on the same gig circuits as Magazine, XTC, Talking Heads and Wire, as innovative and exciting. Thomson rather hyperbolically sums it up early on in Themes for Great Cities, a new book about the early work of this band:

     Before the Sound of Young Scotland and before The Smiths,
     pre The Jesus and Mary Chain and Creation, long before the
     waves of Manchester, rave and Britpop, Simple Minds were
     everything you wanted a band to be. Experimental, eccentric,
     evolving, curious and mysterious.

I might quibble with the eccentric but the rest was certainly true. I first saw and heard them supporting Magazine, and was captivated by their sub Velvet Underground songs, particularly the song ‘Pleasantly Disturbed’ which was given a long extended and improvised workout, all vibrato guitar, synths and jagged violin. It was one of the highlights of the first album, Life in a Day, although Thomson suggests it ‘was outdated before it was even released’.

The band would quickly move on, spending time jamming together and creating songs out of loops, riffs and textures. Their second album, 1979’s Real to Real Cacophony, came in a textured blue sleeve and was jerky, noisy, awkward and mesmerising, partly because of its sense of incompleteness. The music critic John Gill suggested that whilst he was ‘not saying Real to Real Cacophony is a masterpiece […] Simple Minds have come up with an album whose experimental successes far outweigh its flaws.’ He went on to note that the band were now ‘expressing their own style to a greater extent’ although he later mentions David Bowie, Peter Hamill and Eno in relation to the ‘completely off the wall’ and ‘shocker of an experiment’ song ‘Veldt’.

For impressionable (and of course discerning, ahem) teenagers like me at the time, desperate to find interesting new music, and seduced by music writers such as John Gill’s and Paul Morley’s literary and critical name-dropping and pretentious musical comparisons (Gill even squeezed jazzer Anthony Braxton into his review because they shared the Arista record label!), Simple Minds somehow combined new synthesizer technology, progrock ambition, krautrock experiment and post-punk rhythmic assertion and attitude to create fluid, dynamic and exciting music. Thomson is more succinct, noting that Simple Minds began ‘making the music they hear in their heads.’

I was hooked, and would remain so for the next three albums: Empires and Dance (1980), Sons and Fascination and Sister Feelings Call (both 1981). James Dean Bradfield, in one of several strange and sometimes out-of-place chapters written by named guests, recalls – with reference to the band live – that

     [in] this band everybody is playing a different part. They’re like
      a succubus for the music, it is just flowing through them. They
     are doing what the unit they have formed demands of them.
     When you’re a band you become some weird symbiotic organism.
     When a band clicks you just know it, and it’s beautiful. 

This symbiosis was reflected in the recorded songs on 1980’s Empires and Dance, which Thomson suggests contains ‘music, voice and words perfectly in lock step’ to create a ‘European psychodrama’ which drew upon memories of Jim Kerr and Charlie Burchill’s hitchhiking trips as well as more recent band tour experiences. Travelling, place and the blurred experience of scenery and time passing by would also inform the band’s two 1981 albums, although by then America was as much in the mix as Europe.

In his NME review of Sons and Fascination and Sister Feelings Call, critic Chris Bohn was not totally enthusiastic. If the music ‘is at times claustrophobically close, at others sharply descriptive of great yawning landscapes and the imminent excitement of approaching cities’, he goes on to suggest a gap ‘between lofty ambition and banal realisation’, suggesting that the band have

     exhausted their capacity for new experiences in Europe, as
     these disjointed travelogues suggest they were too
     overwhelmed by the old/new world of America to do
     anything other than report what they saw, folded in with
     what they’d heard about Americans elsewhere. Naive
     amazement would be enough if they were willing to settle
     for expressing just that, but they rather pointlessly present
     the knowledge they gained as some enigmatic voyage of
     discovery without letting on the location of the departure
     point.

‘It is at this point in the narrative where traditionally they [Kerr and Burchill] are accused of participating in the great stadium rock sell out’ writes Thomson, and it is also where I parted company with the band, unable to accept the shift from experiment to pop band that was immediately evident on 1982’s New Gold Dream (81-82-83-84). (Thomson seems unsure of what he thinks, not knowing whether to embrace the band’s success or to criticise, finally trying for both, noting that

     Simple Minds finally reached a mass market, deservedly so,
     and the beautifully calibrated machine music with a human
     twist lost much of its nuance and sleek edges.

and trying to justify it through a kind of pop sociology, suggesting that ‘[i]n many ways, this big, open-hearted version of the band was a more honest portrayal of the group of young men that made the music’.

I’m never sure how a word like ‘honest’ can be used in the arts. Are novelists expected to be honest? Actors? No, so why should musicians. It’s a question I ask because Thomson is clear that this enthusiastic and informative book is mostly reliant on interviewing the band memories, mostly in recent times, a good 40 years on from when this all happened. Even his criticism is mostly muted, and the band seem to wallow in a warm glow of fellowship and camaraderie they share with even previous members (with the exception of original drummer Brian McGee who ‘asked not to be quoted in the book’), not to mention managers and graphic artists. Sleeve designer Malcolm Garret ends his guest chapter by proclaiming that the band ‘never lost their down-to-earth humanity’, and that he thinks the band

     had put themselves into a privileged position through hard work
     and talent, and never lost a sense of humility about that. They
     were always real people, and I count them among the nicest,
     friendliest and best people to work with that I ever came across
     in the industry.

The book covers one more album, 1984’s Sparkle in the Rain, noting the band’s ascendance into chart success, stadium-filling fame and money, but also offers a Coda where Thomson, Charlie Burchill and Jim Kerr reflect on what has happened since then. Simple Minds’ 5 x 5 tour in 2012 found them revisiting and playing five tracks from each of their first five albums live (with the twinned 1981 releases counting as one album). Burchill notes that ‘the sound is still interesting’ whilst Thomson is clear that ‘Kerr understands that, for many fans, the early Simple Minds albums will always contain the best music that the band ever made’, adding that ‘[t]he knowledge doesn’t eat away at him.’

The band are at peace with their success, and Thomson seems to buy into that, declaring that

     Simple Minds earned the chance to find out how far they could
     take it, and they did not waste it. No Scottish band, before or
     since, has so successfuly exported their music around the world.
     […] Simple Minds moved fast and travelled far.

If at times Thomson seems to allow his interviewees too much slack, and backs away from serious comment and critique, Themes for Great Cities is nevertheless a welcome chance to revisit and contextualise the original post-punk version of Simple Minds before they willingly became something else very different and, to these ears, far less interesting.

 

 

Rupert Loydell

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Spider Time

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Wisdom of the River Cobra

Under the wrinkle of fading starts

It’s our grandmother’s kingdom

It’s like

Wondering in rainbow slides

Swinging alone

In the echoes of mystic tales

Rumbling with images

Fonting the slides

The talking lips, would kiss

The prayers on the forehead

Bowing to the breaking stone

In this hill of dying history

In this hill of falling mystery

This broken stone of Naga dynasty

In this lost threads of tales

We weave together

And avoid despair

Gathered on this bay of vast river

The eyes stretch to the sky

As the eternal hill

Surrounded with thick sheet of lantanas.

Of the graved tales of hills

The falling river only

Of cobra’s den.

Here we go around the pebbly narrow lanes

Lost and chocked lanes

Here we walk the muddy train

Here we amble at morning O’ four

And the tip resides the reality

The essence of binding spirituality

Between the bones

And the blood

Falls the beat

For land of ours

Between the fall

And the leap

Between the tails

And the sights

Falls the cobra river

As never ending weaver

Of mystic talks

As the neck leans back

The flashing water slides the sky

Pouring the Ganges

From the omnipotent locs

The Shiva resides at the top

The devotees rise to thick

As monsoon need to stick

The prayers registered upon the lips

Bowing heads, hopeful hands

Roll back to ground

To sow, grow and bond

This is the way the nature tells

This is the way the load guides

This is the way mother nourishes

The same way

The temple at hilltop

Resides under the hood of

The river cobra: land of Jhar

O Cobra shape! Esoteric essence! With black beauty

Of rock showcase the nagvanshi’s thoughts

With river shores and sandy sheets

Thou, silent fall, with heart thriving beats

This is green land

This is forest land

Are raised, here they breathe

The tails of cobra river whispered

Echoes the mind

Our tails of lea,

Our history of trees,

For the land, the rivers, the hills

For the breathe, the prints

We need to read, write and imprint.

As trail of tails will be now

Noted, jotted and transported

To every cloud of thoughts,

Wonder alike in the rainbow slide.

Form thine nagfeni(river cobra),

The river from land of Jhar.

 

 

 

 

Author: Sonali Gupta
Gumla,Jharkhand,India.

Glossary:

Jhar- forest

Nagavanshi- An ancient Indian dynasty which ruled the parts of modern day Jharkhand during much ancient, medieval and modern period.

Nagfeni- A village in Gumla district where a river falls from a big rock shaped as a snake, is named after the nagvanshi dynasty, located in Jharkhand,india.

 

Twitter handle- https://twitter.com/_Sonali_Gupta__?t=YKEKdayvFw2N6M0QgJhWSg&s=08

Facebook-

https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100004868226417

 

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Work

Maria and I mop floors
at the hospital, dump
buckets of dirty water
swirling a drain
in the janitor’s closet,
and nurses in white shoes
glide on our long, shiny,
pale-green hallway. Maria’s
almost Aunt Caroline’s age.
Her second son, big energy
but the one well-behaved, at 15 got
quiet, then angry, then missing.
Police can’t find him. No tub
of cash for a private search.
2 years on, Maria thinks
she seems cuckoo ­­– nuts –
sitting on a break
in she thinks
her gone features.

 

 

George Shelton

 

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Three poems by Sheila E. Murphy




The Ping of Code Words

Ungentle campaign speech exhaled into the bulbous head of microphone. Why so thin a crowd? Anxiety about the look of weeds beside the stands. Refraction of adulthood by way of repetition. Speech planed across the surface to convey an imprimatur. The fossil has nodded. Obsequious barbs conveyed the requisite nodding. Inelastic prodding of a notion made to seem belief.

Crushed cellophane, a holding pattern, ephemeral white speech.

 

Uninterrupted Screen Time

Which is heaven: a bespoke bot assigned to curb your enthusiasm or uncensored free play leading to incessant fixation on the lingua franca of hypotheses? Snap out of it! The proxy doll dovetails with the delicately fresh face you winnowed from the culture as you framed it: peachy little mood of resuscitated inference, let’s say. Who needs authority by a self-appointed clown with cobbled cred? How is leisure different from lesions and ingrained poverty of heart?

.

His Each Morning

He likes the agitation to come
From him he thinks up lateral moves
That move the lemmings (they’re all
Lemmings) in and out of danger
Nonsense and various he voyages
Through villages and major megalopolises
Splintering a previously orderly seen
Locus into willed chaos what does his each
Morning seem what does it bring except
Repeated playground images in which
His lack of popularity would show
So brazenly he needed to smother
That first truth with all kinds of new
Noise

 

 

.

Sheila E. Murphy
Picture  Rupert Loydell

 

 

.

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Aftershock:

 

The final poem of British Standards,
the third and final book of the ‘English Strain’ Project

Monitoring Adam Mickiewicz’ first Crimean Sonnet: The Ackerman Steppe

Who sails the arid Ocean
of the steppes in his Skoda,

ploughing through, plunging
into, green expanse, the wheat-waves?

Whatever flower of the
flood grows now is picked for its rhyme

in these variant
translations, for I am not there

No light. No road. No stars.
He searches the skies for a guide,

but it pours fire in his eyes
from the East (all translation

is stunned into cliché). Is this
the end of curfew? the dawn?

the ancient lighthouse
of Bilhorod-Dnistrovskyi burning,

or the city, burning? They are near.
Stop! Listen! He hears cranes or goats

flinching under hawks or falcons. I
translate them into Ukrainians and

Russians, Molotovs and missiles,
militia wriggling in the mud and

snaking tank columns stuck on the road. In
the hush he listens for voices from the West,

but there is only the hush. Bo boasts
our refuge record, the sanctions we sanction;

he’s still thinking of those party bottles
that will never be filled with petrol.

3rd March 2022

 

Robert Sheppard

 

.

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THE WAY IT RAINS ROUND HERE

A memoir of Munsaab’s last win in a UK horse race

It is one of the joys of modern technology that one is able to start a short story these days by directing the reader to an internet video link. I intend to do that here so that you can, as I have just done, refresh your memory of that startling day at Cartmel Racetrack on M ay 27th 2017 when Munsaab – the horse that loved the mud – won his last ever UK horse race.

No need for me to describe the ‘teeming rain’ and the ‘perfectly horrid conditions’ the race was run in. The pictures and the commentators do that so much better than I can. And they can also correct that impression that my memory was left with of the race. Namely that Munsaab came from miles off the pace to win once the rain got seriously heavy – cloudburst quality to be precise. In fact he was always up with the pace in second or third place and only gave the impression of coming from miles back because there was a power outage at the delightfully named ‘caravan corner’ on Cartmel Racecourse where an extra camera is placed in order to cover that part of the track which can never be seen by the naked eye – hidden as it is behind trees and parked caravans. Just as that camera went down on this day, Munsaab was looking in trouble as you’ll see when you follow the link below and his jockey, Henry Brooke, was starting to work mega hard to counter the third coming past looking to be going much better than Munsaab. Munsaab looked beat. The commentator apologises for the power outage and states that when we see them again, the horses will be coming into the home straight. Lo and behold, Munsaab is in the lead. He battles hard to stave off the attentions of those around him and wins heroically enough. But not at all as I remember it with him trailing in last after the final fence and then speeding through the slush like Red Rum on Southport beach whilst all the other horses came to a standstill as the wall of water fell around and into them.

And wall of water it was. Not unusual in life around modern day Cartmel following the Storm Desmond floods of 2015 and the various other ones of that period which saw me driving through a mini tsunami wave one night coming up G range Fell Road and saw my Audi A6 all but swept off the Windermere Road another fateful night. It was a minor miracle I didn’t end up down the embankment and marooned on Lindale Bowling Green which was itself an extra Lake District mere at the time (only one lake in the Lake District. Most of them are meres!). Flood waters bubbling up from underground storm drains is a regular sight these days round here.

And you’ll gather from that perhaps that I was not in Cartmel on the day of Munsaab’s last ever win. Actually I was living down in Redditch caring for my father in the latter stages of his Parkinson’s disease. So I saw the race live on the same internet feed you are about to watch if you follow this link:

https://www.racinqtv.com/videos/watch/horse racinq repIavs/12451-unsworth-s-yard-brewe rv-intermediate-handicap-chase

Good stuff wasn’t it? And if you were following BOZmail at the time you backed it seeing as how I knew how much Munsaab relied on the weather to win his races. Like the racecourse, I had prior warning of the severity of the forecast weather that day (‘Monsoon like’ was how the BBC put it) and I used that prior knowledge to gain us a few spondos whilst the racecourse authorities used it to put some special measures in place for the attending crowd given that the day’s meeting was planned for the Spring Bank Holiday as a special Family Picnic Day. Come have a picnic in a Monsoon! Special experience unique to new Climate Change Cartmel!

What I learned afterwards constitutes the main part of this story/memoir of a day I did not attend but on which my imagination has run riot ever since! I have imagined Munsaab imitating Pegasus flying through floods not with wings on his back but a couple of oars instead! M unsaab rows his way to his final racecourse victory up the now flood bound Cartmel run in! Meets Noah in his Ark half way up and whinnies at a Hippopotamus!

Except that that replay footage also reminded me that the deluge during the Munsaab race was not the worst of the weather that day. The cloudburst that you see was only five or so minutes long that first time and had stopped pretty much as the race completed and never started again for another hour during which time another race was deemed fit to be run. Won by Wisty with no sign of the constant whinnying that I hadn’t known about either on the day that affected Play The Ace during the Munsaab race causing James Bowen to pull his horse up to save him the distress of running in that kind of scary adverse weather.

The really serious persistent deluge started after the 3-55 race that Wisty won and continued for at least another hour during which time the racecourse put out some announcements over the tannoy to the effect that the final two races might be delayed whilst they waited for the rain to stop again (it never did!) and that people might now like to make use of the plastic ‘pacamac’ style raincoats that the authorities had dished out to those that wanted them as they entered the course at the start of the afternoon – knowing what the forecast rain was going to be like as they did. If you look back at the internet link again, you’ll see little rows of people on the rails wearing their pacamacs already. What that video doesn’t show is what I heard about later when I arrived back up in Cartmel which has had my imagination reeling ever since.

The main gist is that the rain got so bad from then on that the rest of the racing was reluctantly abandoned but not before the authorities had waited a good hour in the hope that things would improve. During that time was seen levels of water in Cartmel not dissimilar to that of Storm Desmond weekend when the village was marooned for over a week. I was part of the rescue effort in that spell seeing things that have never left me like the whirlpool of abandoned automobiles spinning round the Sedbergh traffic island (under the Kendal bypass bridge) in a vortex a good twelve feet deep at its peak. I assisted the AA in the following few days recovering vehicles that had been flung over half a mile downstream toward Morecambe Bay from the middle of fields six feet deep in flood water. And in Cartmel village itself, a steel garden table had been swept into the main brook that runs sedately (normally) through the village centre and the circular table made a perfect fit under the main bridge acting as a bizarre bathplug where it wedged causing the raging torrent of water to have to go up and over the bridge prevented as it was from going its normal route under. That source flooded the Michelin star restaurant and the entire rest of the village. The Paddocks around Cartmel’s Medieval Priory (the reason why there is a racecourse in Cartmel as the Monks fleeing Henry the eighth amused themselves by holding donkey races on what is now the racecourse) became a Moat for the first time in living memory.

Back to the racecourse and that hour before racing was abandoned when many people got so drenched that it started to become urgent that they get out of their soaked clothing and resided in the pacamacs now being dished out by rescue workers to those that hadn’t already got them. There hadn’t been time for most people to get back to their cars before the drenching got them. It was that bad. Like being dipped in a well somebody described to me. Instant total soaking. No way for cars to leave the scene either now. Roads off the course were all raging torrents. A tannoy message came over that all those now caught with drenched clothing could come to the grandstand building and collect a pacamac if they didn’t already have one and they were advised to change clothing into the dry pacamac immediately for the good of their own health and safety. Those already wearing their pacamacs were ok of course. Their clothing underneath was still dry. They could stay as they were.

It dawned on somebody at some point that you could see the clothing of those already in their pacamacs clearly under because the pacamacs were transparent. See Through!
Nobody told those getting out of their drenched clothing that this was the case and before you knew where you were you had hundreds of racegoers all wandering round in the now slightly relenting rain wearing see through pacamacs and nothing else! Carrying their wet clothes in their arms many of them! Young and old, men and women all wandering around dazed seeing each other in some sort of dystopian Peter Sellers Pink Panther film. You know the one where he gets stuck investigating in a nudist colony and they won’t let him in whilst he is wearing clothes himself.

The accounts of what happened next do vary. The version I like is the one where most people decided to have a good laugh about it. You know, the way the British do when they have been through communal adversity together. We laughed during the Storm Desmond rescue as we pulled the guy out of six feet of water at a dip in the Lyth Valley Road as he tried to push his stricken Transit Van out to safety. We could only see the top of his bald head and he wasn’t coming voluntarily. He didn’t want to see his van sail away and was urging us to help him push. We pointed out the waterfall happening to his left about to make the six feet of water ten and wrenched him back to safety thereby preventing a drowning. We found his van the following day nearly a mile from that point! Boy did we laugh!

The racegoers formed a circle in front of the grandstand prompted by the skiffle band that always play live ragtime music at Cartmel meetings and, holding hands, they started singing Christmas carols. Good King Wenceslas last looked out and all of that. Their all being visually as naked as the baby Jesus was the joke I’m told. Wrapped in plastic pacamac swaddling! Don’t know about you but I find that hilarious. One version of the story has Lord Hugh Cavendish himself – famed owner of the Racecourse and direct cousin of Her Majesty the Queen – in a pacamac and nothing else dancing in the middle of the circle with his Morris dancers pole in his hand (make of that what you will!). Believable if you saw him singing along with Cliff Richard’s rendition of ’The Young Ones’ that started at the Racecourse Live Pop concerts the year before. Or if you’ve had cause to taxi strange men and women in white costumes to the middle of Holker woods in the dead of night as I have. After the 2016 Referendum result when his Lordship had cause to celebrate following his campaign in favour of Brexit to the tune of 60 feet posters all over the Crown Estate land urging the locals to vote Leave. 350 million quid extra we could give to the NHS. You remember all that? From a direct member of the Royal Family who are of course honour bound in their political neutrality. Not a political matter argued Hugh. The man has no shame.

I rather like the image of him stark naked in the centre of a Whoville like Xmas Chorus encouraging the community singing. That’s an image from Doctor Seuss’s The Grinch Who Stole Christmas ­– the anti the commercialisation of Xmas story where the spirit of community is more important than the presents you give and receive.

Can’t argue with that. Nor with the revised memory of Munsaab’s last win on a racecourse. The first day perhaps when the real seriousness of climate change hit home. When the weather caused the abandonment of racing. And the Christmas spirit came to Cartmel seven months early!

Seasonal greetings and best wishes to one and all. BOZ

.

Gary Boswell

.

Back to the racecourse and that hour before racing was abandoned when many people got so drenched that it started to become urgent that they get out of their soaked clothing and resided in the pacamacs now being dished out by rescue workers to those that hadn’t already got them. There hadn’t been time for most people to get back to their cars before the drenching got them. It was that bad. Like being dipped in a well somebody described to me. Instant total soaking. No way for cars to leave the scene either now. Roads off the course were all raging torrents. A tannoy message came over that all those now caught with drenched clothing could come to the grandstand building and collect a pacamac if they didn’t already have one and they were advised to change clothing into the dry pacamac immediately for the good of their own health and safety. Those already wearing their pacamacs were ok of course. Their clothing underneath was still dry. They could stay as they were.
It dawned on somebody at some point that you could see the clothing of those already in their pacamacs clearly under because the pacamacs were transparent. See Through!
Nobody told those getting out of their drenched clothing that this was the case and before you knew where you were you had hundreds of racegoers all wandering round in the now slightly relenting rain wearing see through pacamacs and nothing else! Carrying their wet clothes in their arms many of them! Young and old, men and women all wandering around dazed seeing each other in some sort of dystopian Peter Sellers Pink Panther film. You know the one where he gets stuck investigating in a nudist colony and they won’t let him in whilst he is wearing clothes himself.

The accounts of what happened next do vary. The version I like is the one where most people decided to have a good laugh about it. You know, the way the British do when they have been through communal adversity together. We laughed during the Storm Desmond rescue as we pulled the guy out of six feet of water at a dip in the Lyth Valley Road as he tried to push his stricken Transit Van out to safety. We could only see the top of his bald head and he wasn’t coming voluntarily. He didn’t want to see his van sail away and was urging us to help him push. We pointed out the waterfall happening to his left about to make the six feet of water ten and wrenched him back to safety thereby preventing a drowning. We found his van the following day nearly a mile from that point! Boy did we laugh!

The racegoers formed a circle in front of the grandstand prompted by the skiffle band that always play live ragtime music at Cartmel meetings and, holding hands, they started singing Christmas carols. Good King Wenceslas last looked out and all of that. Their all being visually as naked as the baby Jesus was the joke I’m told. Wrapped in plastic pacamac swaddling! Don’t know about you but I find that hilarious. One version of the story has Lord Hugh Cavendish himself – famed owner of the Racecourse and direct cousin of Her Majesty the Queen – in a pacamac and nothing else dancing in the middle of the circle with his Morris dancers pole in his hand (make of that what you will!). Believable if you saw him singing along with Cliff Richard’s rendition of ’The Young Ones’ that started at the Racecourse Live Pop concerts the year before. Or if you’ve had cause to taxi strange men and women in white costumes to the middle of Holker woods in the dead of night as I have. After the 2016 Referendum result when his Lordship had cause to celebrate following his campaign in favour of Brexit to the tune of 60 feet posters all over the Crown Estate land urging the locals to vote Leave. 350 million quid extra we could give to the NHS. You remember all that? From a direct member of the Royal Family who are of course honour bound in their political neutrality. Not a political matter argued Hugh. The man has no shame.
I rather like the image of him stark naked in the centre of a Whoville like Xmas Chorus encouraging the community singing. That’s an image from Doctor Seuss’s THE GRINCH WHO STOLE XMAS – the anti the commercialisation of Xmas story where the spirit of community is more important than the presents you give and receive.

Can’t argue with that. Nor with the revised memory of Munsaab’s last win on a racecourse. The first day perhaps when the real seriousness of climate change hit home. When the weather caused the abandonment of racing. And the Christmas spirit came to Cartmel seven months early!

Seasonal greetings and best wishes to one and all. BOZ

 

.

Gary Boswell

.

Gary Boswell has published the BOZmail daily since January 12th 2010 as a private subscription email for readers who share his interest in making a living from betting on sports events. He blends in regular ‘creative’ writing (and occasional photography) as a doffed cap to 25 years previously spent as a poetry animateur in the UK, Canada & Europe. School visits a speciality. Then David Cameron got elected and he needed to find a new job! THE WAY IT RAINS ROUND HERE was his December 2021 Xmas offering doffing the cap once more to his old namesake. He of Christmas Caro/ fame.

 

.

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BIPPETY AND BOPPETY TALK eBay

— Do you like your oil diffuser with essential oils aroma air humidifier aromatherapy purifier?
– If I said I am speechless with delight it would be paradoxical, would it not?
— I am tempted to say that once again you are talking good scents, but I shall resist.
— For which we are all truly thankful.
— In other news, I have ordered a new teapot.
— Indeed.
— Yes. I’m thirsty, but the teapot will not arrive until Thursday.
— I hope you can hold out that long.
— I will come to your modest palace for liquid refreshment while I’m waiting.
— Well, you could, but I believe rain is forecast within the hour.
— Oh. In that case I will go and lay down on my back in the yard and wait. I knew there was a reason for buying that set of plastic pouring funnels (small, medium and large).

 

 

Martin Stannard

 

 

.

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Symphony of Sky!

First time I look up,

I fell in love with the sky

My heart reaching higher,

The only desire is to fly.

Yes,

I am a bird flying high and free,

The rain fall from the sky,

A bolt of lightning, I never shy.

A river, in a far off land.

A plethora of pebbles in bed of sand.

The call of wind is in my sail.

To progress to unknown land.

A song, a silence and a whisper make my symphony whole.

 

 

 

Monalisa Parida
Photo Nick Victor

 

 

 

Bio:- Monalisa Parida is a post graduate student of English literature from India, Odisha and a prolific poetess. She  is very active in social media platforms and her poems have also been translated into different  languages and publish in various e-journals.

   She has got 80 international award for writing poetry. Her poems have been publishing international e-journals “New York parrot”, “The Writers Club” (USA), “Suriyadoya literary  foundation”, “kabita Minar”, “Indian Periodical” (India) and “Offline Thinker “, “The Gorkha Times “ ( Nepal), “The Light House”(Portugal), “Bharatvision”(Romania), “International cultural forum for humanity and creativity”(Aleppo, Syria), “Atunispoetry.com”(Singapore) etc. And also published in various

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When we are gone…

Robert Montgomery

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The Dogs of Love and War

There are no dogs here but their absence is howling to be let out. When the Inspector calls to check for bombs and pets, I turn up the radio as an obvious distraction, but the DJ’s in cahoots with the trapped idea of animals, and it’s Hound Dog, Puppy Love, Seamus and Old Blue, and I have to fake a coughing fit to stop myself from joining in. The Inspector runs her hands across the rail of leads and collars, and I explain that I’ve been moonlighting as a gimp to battle the cost of living crisis, and when she opens the cupboard to countless cans of Chappie, I panic and tell her that I read online how they’re a safe bet against the imminent nuclear winter. I immediately regret my improvisation as she turns to the bomb in the centre of the room. The awkward pause resembles a clumsy puppy. The DJ plays Who Let the Dogs Out and no amount of coughing is going to stop us joining in with the Who? Who? Who? The bomb vibrates like an egg about to hatch and the Inspector takes out her phone. There are no dogs here but their absence is howling to be let in.

 

 

 

Oz Hardwick
Picture Nick Victor

 

 

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Steam’s Groove – (episode 18)

Steam Stock
 

Tracklist:
Junior Mance – Don’t Cha Hear Me Calling to Ya
Cymande – Bra
Lou Donaldson – Who’s Making Love
The Skorpyons of Jamaica – Think About It
Booker T and the M.G.s – Melting Pot
Skull Snaps – It’s a New Day
The Miracles – Do it Baby
Don Blackman – Deaf Hook-Up Connection
Bernard Wright – Master Rocker
The Chi-Lites – Are You My Woman?
Bobbie Gentry – Mississippi Delta
Earth, Wind and Fire – Moment Of Truth
Sly and the Family Stone If You Want Me To Stay

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Jeddah Summit: US-backed regional bloc against Iran passes under the radar

Photo copyright of AFP

Listening to BBC World Service radio (English language version) is increasingly bad for my health. Yesterday and today I struggled in vain to hear anything about the Jeddah Security & Development Summit (JSDS), which launched a bloc of nine Arab states with the USA, other than en passant references.

Feeling like you are in a parallel universe is arguably an affliction of modern life, given social media-related siloing of our news and identity reality. However the ‘JSDS’ was important, even if it was not totally ground breaking. I did hear a lot via the BBC’s overall radio and TV output over the weekend about the Biden-MbS fist bump, and even some reflection on what the formal US-KSA bilateral meeting produced in policy terms. Well, I heard a one-line reference to the Saudi agreement to the full opening of its airspace to Israeli civilian (over) flights. This Saudi concession to Israel was almost bizarrely stated by the BBC as a US ‘win’. To the average Joe Blow in the US, it wouldn’t mean diddly squit. Cutting the cost of gassing-up would.

The great bulk of BBC reporting on the US-KSA bilateral meeting, and the almost total absence (to my ears at least) of analysis of the content and output of the JSDS, reflected the BBC’s focus on an American president doing what he said he would not do when he was in the middle of an election campaign: meet with the Saudi de facto leader, MbS.

Why? Well the BBC obviously concluded that the real meat of the US President’s two days in KSA was simply him being there. The BBC’s remit to ‘inform, educate, and entertain’ (note the official order) led it to focus almost entirely on Biden’s abandonment of outrage at the Saudi state’s murder of one of its nationals.

I knew Jamal Khashoggi and regarded him as a friend. In his capacity, first, as media advisor to a senior Saudi prince, and then as the manager of a media company owned by another senior Saudi prince, Jamal was very helpful to me. I therefore do not say the following lightly. Jamal’s murder was by minions incapable of acting without the direct and express authority of their political master. However this long-established reality was not, by a long chalk, the most significant aspect of Biden’s weekend sojourn to Saudi Arabia. For their own reasons BBC reporters and their editors judged it differently. After all, Saudi Arabia is an established BBC bête noire, and Jamal was, almost, one of their own.

In truth Jamal was murdered by the Saudi state because of what he represented politically. This one- time Saudi political player – at least as far as any foreign journalist/writer on Saudi Arabia was concerned –  had turned. Jamal had never been shy about suggesting political reform was needed in Saudi, and had been allowed to use semi-official platforms and his various media positions to gently push that particular envelope. However under MbS’ rule Jamal judged it was safer to advocate such arguments from outside of the Saudi tent. Having upped the strength of his critique, the rest, as they say, is history. And that, I am sorry to say, is probably what it will remain.

Meanwhile, back in Jeddah, major events have been happening. The US-KSA bilateral on Friday, and the JSDS yesterday, were not the US announcing it was ‘back’ in the Middle East, even if Biden seemed to rhetorically imply as much in his address at the 10-state gathering. The JSDS also featured the six Gulf Arab monarchies and sheikhdoms, gathered under their Gulf Cooperation Council (‘GCC’) flag of convenience; Egypt; Jordan; and, a little oddly, Iraq.

The Biden White House, in cahoots with Saudi Arabia, planned yesterday’s meeting of what had been widely dubbed in Arab media a would-be ‘Arab NATO’, with Israel, against their bête noire: Iran. Israel wasn’t actually invited. Not yet at least. It didn’t need to be anyway. Cynics would argue that it had its cheerleader in chief to represent it anyway. That’s the US President by the way, not the UAE. Biden had just come hot foot from Israel. In Jerusalem, Biden’s expressions of US fealty to Israel were so extreme that they communicated political weakness, as opposed to supposedly hugging close a country where US fealty is assumed, not earned, and all too easily compromised by its friendship with Russia and China.

The JSDS did not produce a formal 10-state defence alliance against Iran. This was never on the cards. However this ‘GCC+3+1’ meeting took place at a time when the US has recently been firming up its extant bilateral defence and security commitment to each of the six Gulf states, reinforcing its political and security embrace of the Egyptian counter-coup under Sisi, reasserting its commitment to offsetting Iranian strategic claims in Iraq, and doing very little in substance to reinforce Hashemite rule in Jordan.

Biden had arrived in Jeddah forearmed with a Congressional bill advocating a US-led regional alliance against Iran. In recent weeks the US has also reinvigorated extant US-led regional missile defence shield ambitions, and, acting in line with their own ‘Normalisation’ deal, Israel and the UAE have reportedly begun installing in their own countries the radar detection props of that planned defence shield. The JSDS though put a kind of rhetorical icing on the cake. Its 10-state closing declaration included shared acknowledgement of Washington’s commitment to the security and defence of ‘US partners’, while the US-KSA bilateral the day before had included reference to the US’ ‘strategic commitment’ to Saudi. None of this is exactly new.

The US has long had explicit and formal agreements to militarily defend five of the six Gulf states (as have the UK and France). However, that Saudi Arabia is once again being emphasised as receiving a US defence commitment, is a shift from the mutual doubt in the aftermath of the 2011 Arab uprisings and from the ad-hoc stance of President Trump. That said, the US’ entrenched position in the almost literal infrastructure of Saudi defence and security has been firm, if periodically reconfigured, since 1991. In Jeddah the US and Saudi bilaterally agreed that Saudi naval capabilities (such as they are) will be formally integrated in US-led regional security architecture. The latter, led by US CENTCOM in Bahrain, home of the US’ 5th Fleet, already incorporates Israel in the US’s Greater Arabian military outreach.

Oftentimes western and Arab media preoccupation with what aides of Gulf leaders spin as their boss’s doubts about the US’ commitment, is just a bid for even more advanced US kit, the strategic symbolism of more US men on the ground in uniform (if discreetly in Saudi), and a desire to get the US to more effectively contain Iran on their behalf. In a sense that Gulf spin got its desired result in the launch of the GCC+3+1 in Jeddah.

It will now be a regular event, presumably touring each of its regional members’ capitals. Holding it in Baghdad is possible. However, unless Iraq is able to be fully incorporated into the US-backed missile shield against Iran currently being set up, including the intel-sharing component, then Iraq will be more a nominal pact member than a substantive part. The JSDS’ final communique did not mention Iran explicitly. However it made plenty of references to things that unite all 10 states in their concern about the Islamic Republic, including a helpful, for Saudi especially, reference to the Riyadh-orchestrated Yemeni political leadership seeking to set up shop in Aden, an assertion of Lebanese sovereignty that includes a shared commitment to its (US/French-assisted, Qatari-funded) state armed forces, and a strong commitment to Libya and ending the role there of ‘mercenaries’ (code for Russian, Syrian and Turkish-organised ‘volunteers’).

The long-dead ‘two state solution’ to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict was given a higher billing in the JSDS communique though. This was partly cover for MbS, given the defunct Saudi-authored ‘Arab Peace Plan’, and partly to mollify Jordan, the perennial victim. Jordan’s internationally sanctified ‘protection’ of Jerusalem’s holy places, mentioned in the Communique, gives its ruling family meaning even if it has little power to effect what actually happens in the Holy City.

Just prior to the JSDS, King Abdullah said publicly that he wasn’t opposed in principle to the mooted ‘Arab alliance’ but that any military focus would have to be explicitly stated. Jordan has separately indicated that it cannot countenance that public focus being Iran, even though (or precisely because) Jordan fears an Iran that effectively sits to its immediate north and east. Nobody actually expects the ‘two state’ reference to lead to anything, least of all Biden who told Palestinian Authority (PA) president Mahmoud Abbas, whom he visited in his isolated Ramallah redoubt, that now wasn’t the time for the US to actually do something about it. Ironically or not, the PA is also a de facto part of this so-called ‘moderate’ Arab state alignment with Israel against Iran. The PA’s funders and ostensible political backers are opposed to, or are at least fearful of, Iran. That doesn’t mean that the nine Arab state members of the GCC+3+1 would ever agree to the mutually obligating defence commitment of a NATO-type alliance against Iran, whether underpinned by the US, and sotto voce including Israel, or not. As the Saudi foreign minister observed at his JSDS press conference, there is no ‘Arab NATO’ being planned. There is though, he said, the ongoing work of building an intra-Arab security structure. That work has been ongoing for 70 years, albeit with some periodic nominal reinventions and tweaks. It remains as meaningless as ever.  

Jeddah’s two key meetings did not directly help Biden’s prospects in the Congressional mid-terms, although the JSDS communique arguably suggested some further potential oil production increases might be wrought from the compromised and cynical ‘OPEC+’ (including Russia) structure that the communique actually praises. Whether this will bring the oil price down substantively or not, is another matter. Media, including but not only the BBC, often assume that this supposed sole reason for Biden being in town will, if granted, lead to the desired outcome. The complexities of a fungible oil market, OPEC+ politics, Libya’s volatile output, and limited global refining capacity amidst cautious investment, are, as ever, best left aside.

That said, Biden may well eventually get the further output cuts he definitely wants. He has also helped create a new public forum for a wide range of US regional friends even if they cannot, yet, all sit in the same room. Iraq is ostensibly bound by a recent legislative reinforcement of its traditional no engagement stance with Israel. Oman, at one-time enjoying diplomatic relations with Israel, has of late been spouting more strongly Arabist, even on occasion anti-Semitic, vitriol against Israel in the semi-official Omani press as the Sultanate positions itself against distrusted Gulf neighbours. Qatar is friendly with Iran and Hamas, making it a useful Israeli conduit to Gazan leaders but not, as yet, a likely Normaliser. Kuwait still revels in its rejectionist-in-chief posturing; its semi-official media extend this to a reinforced refusal to even print the name of the Jewish state. Saudi Arabia is happy to semi-clandestinely engage with Israel in the areas that matter: security and intelligence – its bilateral meeting in Jeddah with the USA included reference to cyber cooperation that inevitably extends to Israel. Of course the expected regional missile defence shield would of necessity connect all the Gulf states, as well as Egypt and Jordan, with Israel. That means Kuwait, if its often awkward but sometimes slow parliament get round to grasping it, and Iran-friendly Qatar will be sharing Iranian missile intelligence with Israel. Probably all a manageable circle that can eventually be squared.

Israel enjoys the symbols of Arab state Normalisation. Hence the normalising of Israeli civilian airline overflight, poo-pooed as largely international business convenience by the Saudi foreign minister, is excitedly trumpeted by the new Israeli PM as part of Israel’s burgeoning relationship with Saudi Arabia. Israel though doesn’t need the GCC+3+1 to become a formal military alliance, with itself as an official honorary member. For his part, MbS doesn’t need the headache of Israelis getting close to the Haramain (the statelet of Neom will have its own rules). Israel continues to deepen its bilateral security relations with official Normalisers and with the key semi-official Normaliser (KSA).

The US is underscoring its defence of Arab allies, something that it had recently reinforced in the KSA and UAE when missile strikes by Yemen’s Ansarallah were significant. In other words, Washington is not so much ’back’ as politically more focused on the Arabian Peninsula. This reflects an increased desire to weaken a Russia that had advanced in Syria and Libya, and whose war on Ukraine has helped drive up energy prices. This is the substance of Biden’s Jeddah weekend, and the regional military and political components of it are the real story.     

 

 

 

NEIL PARTRICK
https://neilpartrick.com/blog/jeddah-summit-a-us-backed-regional-pact-against-iran-passes-under-the-radar

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The Basin Street Six – Farewell Blues (1950)

The Sound Of Shellac Norway

Christian Strøm

https://thesoundofshellac.bandcamp.com/track/the-basin-street-six-farewell-blues-1950

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Confused and Questioning

Conversations with Diane di Prima, ed. David Stephen Calonne
(233pp, $25, University Press of Mississippi)

Although recognised and remembered as a radical political and feminist poet, Diane di Prima (1934-2020) always questioned what was happening and chose what to engage with. Having read and reviewed a recent complete edition of her Revolutionary Letters I wanted to find out more about the author, and this new book offered just the opportunity. On the very first page of this book, in an interview from Grape, a magazine published by the Vancouver Community Press, we get this:

     Grape: You mentioned earlier that you’ve stopped reading underground papers. Why is that?
     Diane: Because I find that level of information just isn’t giving me anything I can work with at
     this point. It’s not interesting to me. All that’s happening on that level is a kind of sick ‘history
     repeats itself’ piece of nonsense as far as I can see.

Which seems, in part anyway, a rational response to the popular and fashionable revolutionary discourse of the time, but is somewhat undermined by the writer’s statement later on that she goes ‘for information to things like astrology, things like . . . whatever . . . like the I Ching’, the first of which gives her ‘concepts of form, a feel of energy nodes, of vortexes and how they might interact’. She talks of stepping back and giving herself time ‘to find out about more of the things that were going down.’

What was going down, according to di Prima, is the fact that she thought there was ‘a lot more black magic involved in the manipulation of the planet that’s been going on.’ She chose different areas to investigate, including those mentioned above as well as homeopathy and self-awareness (rather than science), desiring ‘intuitional leaps’ rather than ‘slow understanding’.

This, of course, is as much of its time as what di Prima was questioning. She doesn’t have any answers that will mend society or heal the planet, but she states that what she is basically saying ‘is that we were all taken in by a bunch of bullshit.’ This includes the counterculture options of back-to-the-land farmers, reclaim-the-wilderness games, commune dwellers, the acid tests, the Diggers, and much else which – along with schooling, ‘food, television, fluorescent lights and the whole trip’ – is resulting in ‘[a]pathy and cynicism’, people who ‘don’t believe anything’.

It’s scary, depressing reading, both diagnosis and di Prima’s answers, and that’s only the first piece. She declares that people must be strong, physically and mentally, and find out how their bodies function, and then ‘find out as much as [they] can about what people used to know’ and start taking ‘things literally like myth and symbol. Just believe ’em.’

Myth and symbolism have informed much of di Prima’s poetry, most of which is not at all like Revolutionary Letters but more complex and difficult. She clearly continued her personal explorations and remained suspicious of much we take for granted, asking if the web actually reached people or facilitated informed learning and thinking. She’s right of course, but at times throughout this book, she seems inflexible and stubborn rather than wise.

On various pages she buys into the ‘my work is my life’ shtick, and evidences her engagement with a pick’n’mix hodge-podge of new age beliefs, picking bits from magic, psychology, alchemy, Buddhism, occult texts, and meditation (etc. etc.) as suits her; but she also gets stuck into working with children and students to try and counter, indeed subvert, the educational norms of 20th century America. Although she repeatedly states that her poetry has no solutions, only ideas and information, she seems more obsessed with personal action and the content of her writing, rather than any engagement with radical poetry and poetics.

That is disappointing for this reader, but it’s good to be surprised. And if some statements annoy or seem naive, there are fascinating sections in here about di Prima’s surprising friendship with the poets Robert Duncan and Ezra Pound, Allen Ginsberg’s Naropa Institute, small press publishing, 9/11, gender, feminism and political correctness, painters and painting, and – however critical – some great reminiscences about the alternative cultures and communities in San Francisco and New York. Contradictory, confused and questioning, di Prima is nevertheless revealed as a fascinating, opinionated interviewee, offering optimism and possibility, despite herself.

 

 

Rupert Loydell

[This review was first published by Tears in the Fence]

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ESSENTIALLY ERSATZ or Hail The Muse of Chaos!

 

It is just too easy to confuse narrow-mindedness with integrity when judging artistic and musical matters. The most significant aspects of aesthetic experience are ‘intangible’ factors such as tone and style, elements with a protean, perhaps even chaotic, capacity to mutate – elements that may well mutate into strange, new modalities at variance with conventional expectations.

It is certainly too easy to equate personal taste with qualitative values, basing  reactions on a very narrow range of likes and dislikes, disparaging the involuntary, visceral frisson nouveau denigrating the products of mass consumption on the one hand or deriding  non-proletarian ‘elitism’ on the other. Yet, perhaps strangeness is the hallmark of ‘quality’ – after all anything ‘new’ will appear strange at first sight. You might say this is a hackneyed truism – perhaps, but there is always a tendency to equate the familiar with the good – timid souls respond favourably to the accustomed, often rejecting ‘originality’ as tasteless, inept or unpleasant. It is a fact that taste is conservative, encouraging stagnation of the sensibilities. This is usually the case despite a craving for novelty.

Of course much of that which claims to be ‘new’ is just luvvie-chic, essentially ersatz. Some discrimination is needed to separate the ‘true’ from the ‘false’, especially when these may appear interchangeable categories. It is too easy to sneer at the decorative, ephemeral or the derivative, praising an inferior ‘original’ in the name of authenticity. It is too easy to dismiss fashion, our hyper-cultural ‘post-postmodern’ lingua franca, (where style is everything) as facile. It is so easy to take the line of least resistance – clinging to outmoded, even ascetic ideas of cultural worth in the name of so-called ‘values’. Today it is most likely that an inversion of value will take us to the heart of the ‘real’. Street fashion may be more ‘authentic’ in this regard than – for example – the gallery-culture of the ‘fine arts’.

What can be more cringe-making than the rapt attention of an audience at a ‘classical’ music concert, or the worthy pronouncements of critics on the latest ‘good’ film?

Hail the Muse of Chaos!

 

 

 

A.C. Evans

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Obituaries

At night peeling off the sweaty bedsheet
from my back seems inevitable,
time and again, I have dreamt a moveable eclipse
devouring the constellations of conscience.

My father waned bleeding through nose
and mouth. I cannot deny the fact that death
reverses strains. This is a chestnut tree.
Father taught me, albeit I learned only –
the shadows shorten to lengthen underneath the Sun.

Night turns into a milk bottle. Dawn gains
sharpness on the blade of a bilingual letter opener.
I sigh on my arm, a bad luck as my father would have
uttered; now how can I wipe it out? Skin
hymns to the wind. Every sigh, I tell myself,
is a whispering, and every whispering is vesper.

 

 

 

 

Kushal Poddar
Photo Nick Victor

Kushal Poddar lives in Kolkata, India

@amazon.com/author/kushalpoddar_thepoet
 Author Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/KushalTheWriter/ 
Twitter- https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe

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His Lordship (and friends)

Alan Dearling muses on ‘charisma’ and ‘pizzazz’

Wow! What a performance – what performers! This was a show – absolute Rock ‘n’ Roll circus and theatre.

HIS LORDSHIP is the latest project helmed by singer, guitarist James Walbourne (The Pretenders, The Pogues, The Rails) and Kristoffer Sonne (Chrissie Hynde, Willie Nelson), with Dave Page on bass (as part of the live His Lordship trio) live on the first night of their latest UK tour.

From the very first bass-line, a searing screech of lead guitar and clattering rumble of drums, this outfit announced their arrival like a behemoth, Old Skool train arriving hissing venom and steam at an unsuspecting station platform. James strikes every rock pose in the rock singer-guitarist photo book. Likewise, the slightly geeky, Kris who frequently stands behind his drums, like a heavy-weight, Buddy Holly on speed. As an audience, this a jaw-dropping experience. An Audience with His Lordship, indeed.

This is Old School. Harking back to Gene Vincent, Link Wray and early Dr Feelgood. Ripping it up with rock ‘n’ roll covers with a punk edge and a slew of their own new music. ‘All Cranked Up’ captures their charisma, style and pizzazz. A barrage of high NRG. Rather than waiting for a full album, His Lordship have already released their first two EPs: ‘Rock ‘n’ Roll Volume One’ – a live album of incendiary music. A blast from the past delivered with aggressive passion.

‘Wild One’ live in Copenhagen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HMtXfb7CfiA

And now, their second EP features single, ‘All Cranked Up’ – a collection of six of their own songs. It’s raw, unbridled, a classy barrage of noise…punky, rock noise. It takes me back to watching Mick Green playing loud and dirty with The Pirates. And I’m told that it features a photo-cover from photographer, Red Saunders, one of the original founders of Rock Against Racism in the 1970s.

 hislordship.net

 ‘All Cranked Up’, has been released along with a lively and exuberant accompanying video, directed by Nadia Marquard Otzen and starring Thea Carla Schøtt, out now: https://li.sten.to/hlallcrankedup

Speaking about the single on-line, His Lordship says:

“It’s 5am. All cranked up with nowhere to go. Here we are again. Jerry Lee Lewis and Iggy Pop wrestling in the hallway. Englebert Humperdink trying to break things up. Little Richard swinging on a chandelier, laughing. Through the haze I get up to make a cup of tea and trip on an overflowing ashtray. The music is loud, the options are few. I’m all cranked up with nowhere to go.”

On line, we can hear from, Her Ladyship: Chrissie Hynde (James Walburne also fronts the R&B outfit sometimes featuring Chrissie, ‘Her Mother’s Little Helper’, a precursor to His Lordship):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5d8tEaIn120

“Hey everyone!

Look at James Walbourne’s other band, ‘His Lordship’. So cool and so needed in these:

songs by committee /auto-tuned/ multi-layered vocals / over produced / whinging / in it for the money / tits and ass age we’re in. Rock ‘n’ rollers don’t feature spreads in fashion magazines or awards or inclusion in halls of fame.  Remember Lemmy. Never complain and never explain.

Thank you for the music His Lordship.”

Post the gig, Ratfink, Ratty – previously a major part of the mind-warped, ‘Alien Sex Fiend’, wrote to me: “His Lordship… fucking sensational… what a treat… dynamite… drummer Kris absolutely bonkers… Jimmy fucking incredible guitarist.”

And, here’s a blast of info from ‘Say it with Garage Flowers’ on-line blog.

“Now you’re back playing live, how have the His Lordship shows been going?

JW: Brilliant: we’re a live beat combo – that’s what we are and that’s what we do. We’re dying to get out there.

Where did the band’s name come from?

JW: We got the name from… [laughs]. I don’t even know how to explain it. We were playing a gig at Goodwood House – where the cars are…

The Festival of Speed?

JW: Yes – the Festival of Speed. The backstage area was in the house. It started as a joke – I started calling Kris ‘his lordship’ and it stuck. It was a nickname, but then we thought, ‘actually – it’s good. Fuck it – let’s use that!’ And there you go…”

Support came from the guitarist-singer from The Hazy Janes, who had to limit his set in the absence of his drummer partner. A real shame as his noisy guitar breaks on electric guitar reminded us of Jack White, with or without the White Stripes:  facebook.com/thehazyjanes

Hazy Janes, ‘It’s been a pleasure’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O2L58xBHHOM

Plus, ‘I find it hard’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S9vYhUJ2nhE

Back elsewhere in the Planet of Music that is Todmorden, with my brain still numb from His Lordship and my ears a-ringing and a-singing, I was able to relax downstairs at the Golden Lion with a glass of apples and enjoy a slice of the Open Mic Night. Here was Rik Simpson’s debut on the Tod stage. Gentle and whimsical relief from the sensory battering! https://vimeo.com/728093012

And just a few days ago, traditional acoustic bluesman Dave Speight played a few doors away at the Three Wise Monkeys. So much musical soul-food to savour! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WfEAEyuITpI

 

 

 

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SAUSAGE LIFE 235

Bird Guano’s
SAUSAGE LIFE
The column which thinks that inside every atom is a bomb

MYSELF: So the finest minds of the Tory party have narrowed it down to two blokes, one of whom is a woman.
READER: Don’t beat about the bush, which one?
MYSELF: Never mind. One of them said this: People think I’m smug. I’m not smug, I’m just stupid and ambitious in equal measure, which is why I am wearing this badly misjudged expression.” – who was it?
READER: A quiz! Brilliant! Let me see…. billionaire Rishi is obviously ambitious, but clearly not stupid, Liz on the other hand is thicker than a metric tonne of condemned mince but mysteriously, also ambitious. They are both smug but then smugness is endemic to conservative cabinet ministers. This is a very difficult question. It could also be Jacob Reese-Smugg or Nadene Doris or Priti Patel or……
MYSELF: Now steady on! Nadene Doris is the bees knees, a fragrant rock and a possible future dictator and I won’t hear a word said against her. Only Ann Widdecombe has more stature, grace and eloquence.
READER: Was it Lars Vondervondervonder the Swedish trombonist?
MYSELF: If you say so. 

USED CAR MART
Hatchback for sale: Top of the range Howayman Wagawagawagon 2017. 23,000 on the clock, runs like a dream. Aircon. Full SH. Leather seats. Panoramic sunroof. Whitewall tyres. To see is to buy. Any trial. Regrettably have to let this beauty go at the bargain basement price of £3,500 ono, due to dead body in boot. No timewasters please.
Kia Starmer MK 2 (2022): Red. No engine, hence low low price of £256.32. Suit enthusiast. Buyer collects 

TITERATURE FEST
Jus Teat, the Upper Dicker Spanish milk bar co-owned by Lord Haha of Beyondenden and Professor Gordon Thinktank the eminent Hastings Inventor, hosted the Upper Dicker Literature Festival 22, now celebrating its fifth year. Festival-goers queued for hours at the professor’s book signing where his autobiography Give Me An Envelope Large Enough and I will Post the World was going like hot cakes. The book covers all of Thinktank’s comprehensive catalogue of ingenious patents, including 1992’s King Tut the pyramid-shaped tupperware container, which not only kept soup hot even in the fridge, but also sharpened razor blades. His ubiquitous Panting Dog Hand Dryer, which won the 2014 Ecology Now prize for innovation, remains, despite some major drawbacks, the inventor’s favourite. “The Panting Dog Dryer was environmentally sound,” he told us “having no energy source apart from dog food, which compared to fossil fuels is cheap and plentiful. One minor disadvantage was the time factor, as a pair of wet hands could take up to three hours to dry, provided the dog could be persuaded to stand still long enough. Unfortunately, in this time-dependent era people have come to expect things like hand drying to be convenient and quick, an attitude which I have consistently warned will result in the decline of all life as we know it, and the eventual domination of the Earth’s ecosystem by deadly microscopic bacteria by the year 2537″..
The festival was curated by Jools Holland, who announced at the opening ceremony:”After the incredible success of my autobiography Plink Plink Plonk I’m going to start writing more books. The BBC have already commissioned my idea for a book program Literator with Jools Holland, where I have famous guest authors who let me write a bit in their books”. Amongst other notable publications were the long-awaited third volume of Celia Kanth’s trilogy Dark Satanic Mills and Boone and performance artist Bandy Sponk’s  lavishly illustrated treatise Art with a Capital R. Also on show were excerpts from Sponk’s acclaimed exhibition at Upper Dicker’s Pink Triangle Gallery of the handwritten set lists of rock bands which he has collected from all over the world. This one is from Platonic Bomb’s legendary farewell gig by at Tokyo’s Fukuoka Karaoke Gymnasium the night before it caught fire:

 

COCK GENIE
MONDO LARGO
ESKIMOES DON’T SMOKE
PENGUIN ENCHILADA
WHISPERING SCIENCE
UGLY PURPLE STRIPES
TOAST IN MEMORIAM
WAITING FOR THE TEA FAIRY
IT AIN’T ROCKET SALAD
NEWT DESCENDING STAIRCASE
ENCORE: NO SUCH THING AS A FREE LYNCH/CLONE DANCING

RITZ HOTEL TO BECOME OCEAN-GOING LINER
Cunard announced today they have completed the purchase of the Ritz Hotel Piccadilly for £600m, and intend to convert it into a transatlantic cruise ship.

an artist’s impression of what the HMS Ritz might look like sinking on it’s maiden voyage

HORSES DEMAND EQUITY
Actors wearing horse costumes clashed with real horses outside the Upper Dicker Hippodrome yesterday as the row over pantomime rules escalated.
Mr Ed, leader of the Pantomime Horse Union (PHU) has rejected demands from the equine performance community that real horses wearing pants be used instead of the traditional two-man horse costume. Mr Ed has criticised the demands on the grounds of safety, citing the 1864 London Palladium pantomime tragedy which resulted in several fatalities after the horse in Dick Whittington sent the audience into a panic after leaping from the stage. “That was why they introduced the pantomime horse we know and love.” he told us, “In this business we call show, safety is always paramount. The PHU’s view is this: as well as providing employment for two actors, the pantomime horse is one of the safest traditions we have, since the actor ain the rear also doubles as a guard.”

 

DICTIONARY CORNER
comes this week from the US dictionary, Webster’s           

Cooter (n)

  1. One who coots.
  2. (superlative) More coot than……Example “My douche-bag is cooter than yours”

I am against the word douche, which is of course, from Amerika. It is unnecessary as there are plenty of words associated with cleansing the front bum area which originated right here in England’s green and pleasant land. Wordsworth never used the word douche, because he preferred the word daffodil. Shakespeare, similarly, totally avoided the word, as it gave him headaches.

 

Sausage Life

Colin Gibson • Emmet Ives • Anita Makris



SAY GOODBYE TO IRONING MISERY!
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Vote For Countryside Alliance
by The Hunt Cult. Click for video
https://vimeo.com/501269086

 

 

 

 

 

SPONSORED ADVERTISEMENT
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By Colin Gibson

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Youth Manifesto [France 2022]

To be twenty years old in 2022.

It means telling yourself that the future, like the present, has sealed exits: things promised, things owed.

It means to be educated and to have been, to report and to give account everywhere whether we are compatible with the world of actual life, of which we have been told since childhood, and which now greets us from afar.

It means hanging at the endpoints of the network, being connected and already gasping for air.

It is the end of the month every day.

One wonders where the real life has gone that was spoken of yesterday.

You have to make plans for a comet that doesn’t yet exist or is unreachable and may have already been colonized.

It means being forced by the good intentions of all powers, families, schools and governments: We are trained like fighting dogs and treated like donkeys.

It means being asked to continue living that way, under the obligation of definitively mutilating imperatives.

It means having to bear, as a vigilant citizen, the whole burden of the bullshit that has ravaged this earth.

It means to guess that an excess of attention towards us has prepared something like an extinction, a complete excision.

It means that the soul is marked from a nameless horror.

It means feeling responsible, punishing yourself and wearing all the suits.

It means to hear the word war, to hear the word war again and again, these are the dead in our heads, visions of dead, millions and many more in our hearts.

It means counting our fellow human beings who have barely outgrown childhood and mutilate themselves, hang themselves or plunge out of windows.

It means asking ourselves if we will still be standing tall tomorrow.

It means to state the unreasonable and diffuse belief in the disaster scenario that some of our unwanted fathers had pushed while our older sisters and brothers were coming into the world.

It means being deprived of the possibility of realizing a life that seems desirable and acceptably livable to us.

It means that we have to live within the narrow framework that is imposed on us everywhere, that we have to continue to trade while everything that belongs to the good life dies or is missing.

That is, soon they will be trading our dreams, our currency will be quantum mechanical, we will be trading our dreams for a right of way in a pretty closed world.

It is our youth, this beautiful adolescence, kneeling, hands behind the head, eyes on the ground, it is this image of bodies lined up.

It means being a suspect since kindergarten and being under general suspicion.

It means watching our bodies afflicted with autoimmune diseases, our bodies already aging, our souls, those little accessories silenced with sedatives, our spirits resigned to a form of death maintained and nurtured by the various palliative treatments offered to us through the daily updates of various absurd and incapacitating applications.

It means taking the form of the tools we use.

It means to say that wherever the drought of stones spreads, we look for the shade in which we can rest.

It is said that a series of devices were developed for us, which in the end were only the nightmare of our fathers.

In reality, we are much wiser than our mothers, our fathers, our sisters and brothers, and perhaps it is our wisdom that clears the way for everything that oppresses us, be it people or the exo-powers of people who have been turned into machines that are now given the task of controlling us. Our wisdom is not wisdom. Our wisdom is a dejection.

It means that we have been taught to want to be self-entrepreneurs, just as we have been taught not to know our rights by any means, let alone claim them.

It means to claim that we are sincere, with our children’s eyes in this unjustifiable world; if someone attacks someone, someone will attack someone.

It is a confirmation that we will not be fooled: We will not make eco-friendly capitalism sexier with the help of Cotillard and similar tricks. We are also aware that the identities that are a product of the liberal world mutilate us, divide us and complete the long road of censorship that has been lurking for many years.

We are for an offensive and irreversible, joyful and liberating strike. We call to discard the dejection in which they would like to keep us, we call to discard the morality and the gloom that work on us like the weight of a long sentence. We call to distrust all censorship and retreat, we call to act directly wherever that which destroys humanity still dares to show itself. Let us share our knowledge and insights and then show them to beware of drowsy waters.

 

 

 

Originally published by Tous Dehors. Translated by Riot Turtle. Translated from the German version on Sūnzǐ Bīngfǎ. Taken from Enough 14.

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Salford Mad Pride

Free Family Fun Day

 

Saturday 23 July, 11am-5pm, Victoria Park, Swinton M27 4UR

 

Come and join us for a day of family-friendly fun and games, whilst we speak out about mental health and celebrate the creative talents of people who live with mental health issues.

Bring a picnic and browse the stalls from local community groups, youth groups and support services, before settling at the Mad Pride Main Stage where there will be an array of performances from local musicians, poets and even a sneak preview of a local play about mental health and knife crime from Youth drama Group ‘Up Ere’. 

There’s something for all the family with the WUU2 Youth bus, climbing wall, bouncy castles, hat making workshops and Lego garden where kids of all ages can help us build our own working fun fair with the Mad Hatter and all his friends!!

If you prefer a quieter space you can join Greater Manchester Mental Health NHS team in the Wellness Zone, take a mini health check or get involved in short taster sessions of Reiki, Tai Chi, Yoga, Ageless Grace, Trauma Tapping and other holistic therapies for all ages. 

Take a moment to reflect or remember those who can’t be with us at the Sea of Hands, leave a message in the Tree of Hope and explore our Labyrinth in The Secret Garden.

Mental health is something we will all struggle with; some just struggle more often than others – we want to reduce the stigma people face because of their mental health issues and we hope you can join us to show people they no longer have to suffer in silence.

More details at https://salfordmadpride.co.uk/mad-pride/

 

 

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Dutch Farmer Protests – THIS is why it matters

 

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LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT

To the rooms he will drag his heels
in vacating, he bequeaths
his excruciating lack of taste.

To the gardens fertilised by a mulch
far less dank or acrid than his words
or deeds, the ghost of a treehouse –

a never-was earmarked for the chequebook
of some obsequious acolyte.
To the economy, pissed away

on cronyism and knee-jerk spaffing,
the balance sheet earmarked
for the ruination of the underprivileged,

he bequeaths a lack of remorse.
To the Covid dead and their mourners,
robbed of closure, robbed of justice,

a lack of shame. To the world stage
and in full view of the cameras,
a vulgar word daubed on the walls

of parliament and palace, ugly
in its colouration of piss and bile.
To his successor, he bequeaths

division and the normalisation of lies,
also a handful of mouldy volumes
assembled for snob value

that might one day form the basis
of the Donald Trump Memorial Bookshelf.
To foreigners, he bequeaths contempt;

to gays, contempt; to Muslims, contempt;
to women, contempt and the aftermath
of his leering priapism. To the electorate

he should have served, contempt.
To democracy, contempt. To legality,
contempt. To dignity, contempt.

To morality, contempt. To the truth,
a kicking-in down the back alley
of his grotesque and still-visible shadow.

 

 

Neil Fulwood

 

Neil Fulwood has published three collections with Shoestring Press, ‘No Avoiding It’, ‘Can’t Take Me Anywhere’ and ‘Service Cancelled’. A collection of political satires, ‘Mad Parade’ has just been published by Smokestack Books. Neil lives and works in Nottingham.

 

 

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An empty hall

 

                                       An empty hall
                                       no audience.
                                       But the actor
                                       is giving performance.
                                       He made plenty
                                       rehearsals
                                       and he is prepared.
                                       But the people
                                       are somewhere
                                       outside
                                       watching their phones.

                                       He plays,
                                       like he is the last artist on Earth.

                                       This is what he can do.

                                       Until the last theatre exists.

 

 

Dessy Tsvetkova
photo Nick Victor

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