horsemouth has been caught wishing it were may already (freudian slip - oops) - this is largely because he fails to make proper use of his time - last night he failed to invite someone up the pub (and failed to suggest that someone should put their comments in an email). over the weekend he failed to go out and meet people (wandering round pop(u)lar instead) or engage in any music. neither was he in hereford for the weirdshire weekend, nor at stick in the wheel’s do at cafe OTO (for which someone had some spare tickets), nor at the nominees in paper dress vintage.
on the plus side he may have sorted out a gig invite...
he did however read violette leduc’s in the prison of her skin (small town french childhood misery memoir by a lover of sartre - and serious threat simone de beauvoir thought) and he has started on another life by yuri trifonov (soviet era novelist in touch with the 19th century style of deep and satisfying characterisation). sadly though he has become immediately distracted by dave van ronk’s the mayor of mcdougal street -(NY chancer makes it big on folk scene and becomes the inspiration for llewellyn davis). dave was big and clumsy (and left-handed) as a child - so much so his irish grandmother said he’d been swapped for a swede up at the hospital.
bernie wrightson has died (one of the few comic book artists horsemouth could tell you the name of) (ok er... frank miller, dave gibbons, stan lee (?), matt boyce, sean o’connor, dan barker). horsemouth only really knows his work from swamp thing (which dan lent him way back when) and there’s a classic book’s frankenstein - wrightson’s work is dark and big and busy and epic.
the king is gone but he’s not forgotten...
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