lean out your window (cosmos, evolution, a tapestry in sound)

yesterday horsemouth was knackered (he walked back from pop(u)lar). only 4 or so miles (but probably slightly longer by waterway) but hey. yesterday the weather was wonderful. the canal looked like a vision of paradise. 

someone is trying to get to horsemouth on his mobile phone voicemail but he can't get to his mobile phone voicemail. 

horsemouth is remembering a gig he played at iona's birthday up in stamford hill 9 or so years ago. at the time he had a frozen shoulder as a result of work and so depped in rust to play guitar. they weren't really speaking at the time because of some post snatch foster band (mis)understanding so they only got to rehearse it just before the gig. (wouldn't it be wiser to rehearse before the gig suggested zali). he thinks they both played borrowed guitars. 

if horsemouth remembers correctly they did the devil song, (possibly the werewolf if horsemouth had it by then), golden hair (by syd barrett with lyrics by james joyce) and gentleman john (with nick of the snatch foster band singing on the chorus - a nice strong vocal if horsemouth remembers correctly). if they played anything else he has forgotten it. 

today john visits (he's been up at his folks in the north). horsemouth should do a run to the supermarket to make sure there's enough food in. horsemouth presumes he's staying over at graham's mostly. 

this morning the heating has miraculously turned itself on (by the miracle of thermostats - how do they work?). well at least that proves it works. the gas expensive autumn/ winter season has begun. there is (of course) a disagreement about how best to heat themselves over winter - sten is a subscriber to the heat the fabric of the building school of warmth, horsemouth is a subscriber to the heat yourself when you get cold school (otherwise known as the 'put on a jumper', 'hug the radiator', 'if you're cold then go for a walk' school). 

normally, however, horsemouth buckles first, before ian and sten, because of the frailty of his flesh (and his habit of sitting around the place doing nothng). frankly he tends to review a lot of winter from his bed.

of course work was very useful in that it got horsemouth out and about and got his circulation going (but he would also often spend the walk to the tube station coughing up his lungs). 

it is the anniversary of john coltrane recording live in seattle (30th september 1965). it's a bit of a skronk-fest to be honest, it's the original quartet but expanded. it's one of the ones with pharoah sanders on. the song titles are things like cosmos, evolution, tapestry in sound. tomorrow they will go into the studio and record om. the version of a love supreme they recorded at that gig is coming out soon too. 

horsemouth is giving live in seattle a listen now. he's warming to it. 

coming up the anniversary of patti smith's first ever gig (with lenny kaye on guitar) where she performed the poem fire of unknown origin (later used as lyrics by the blue oyster cult). various bank things (he still hasn't resolved his central anxiety). 

so like horsemouth says a trip to the supermarket today (probably).

  

it's a golden beautiful morning (but a little cold out).

a film about karen dalton is coming. there is a guardian article to herald it. 

'plaintive, earthy, insinuating, real.'

it's a golden beautiful morning (but a little cold out). 

horsmouth's electricity and gas company (one of those fly-by-night ecological ones) have sent him an email saying they will not be collapsing anytime soon (a likely story) and so not to worry and to keep paying. meanwhile every motorist with a car is besieging every garage in the hopes that there will be petrol (the better to facilitate idling while waiting in a queue for petrol). 

of course all this is really an effect of just-in-time where everything is produced and distributed to meet demand with the barest minimum of stock at any point in the value producing chain. this maximises profit (but it is not very resilient - as we are now discovering in many fields). 

interestingly the government are telling the people queuing for petrol that there is no crisis, that there would be no crisis if they just stopped acting mental and behaved normally, effectively (as sten pointed out) gaslighting  the nation. 

horsemouth has his doubts about gaslighting as an electoral strategy but hey all the opposition can manage at their conference  is to attempt to push andy mcdonald, the shadow secretary of state for employment rights, out on stage to say that no labour will not be calling for a £15 an hour minimum wage (one that would lift people out of poverty). jonathan ashworth (shadow health secretary and 'deep throat'  - the man who thinks tories are his friends, and phones them up to badmouth his current leader when it suits him (and yet still remarkably keeps his job)) is prepared to offer us £10 an hour (and maybe more if we are good).  

andy mcdonald refuses to do it and resigns. good on him. 

jonathan (somewhat disloyally horsemouth thinks) remarks that he has served under 3 labour leaders now. horsemouth is always impressed by the exceptional warmth of his self-regard (but he does not share it). 

it's a little cold out (and not too warm in to be honest). now begins the yearly game of how cold does it have to get before ian (a scot) and sten (a fake scot) will consent to horsemouth (someone from a land where coal is plentiful) turning on the heating. horsemouth (wearing his other hat(s) as eco-warrior and electricity and gas monitor) also wants to delay turning on the heating (the better not to have to pay for it and thus also save the planet). 

meanwhile vast ships prowl the oceans landing to disgorge giant containers full of crap (manufactured at great carbon expense and distributed at great carbon expense) ultimately destined to be forgotten and left to gather dust in some nook of people's houses (or traded in some kind of pseudo-economy). giant steel wind power towers arrive from vietnam to 'de-carbonise' this economy (as if that were possible).

a rare white stag has been shot dead by police after running through merseyside streets

now horsemouth can see that you wouldn't want such a creature roaming about the city (a danger to petrol queues and such like) but he doesn't believe it was necessary to shoot it. he is reminded of the stork that visited 10 downing street (perching on the door and heralding the fall of dave cameron) and the london whale. the heralds from the natural world come. they come into the cities. they come close to look us in the face.  

today horsemouth will either go to check on someone or write something he has promised he will write. 

that we always have to start from where we are

horsemouth was up later than usual (8am). he feels he deserves it. last night a meeting of the communal endeavour (conducted 50% on zoom, 50% real life. this was less of a problem than he thought it would be because people want to get to a solution).  after which horsemouth got a bag of chips on the way home and then a bottle of beer when he got in the door (he feels like he's earned it). he walked over ad he walked back (4 miles in total). 

it always reminds horsemouth of the following joke. 

there's a farmer in a field. a tourist walks up to him.

'morning'

'morning'

'I want to get to dublin.'

'HMMMM... well I wouldn't start from here...' 

obviously we always have to start from where we are (it is just that 'where we are' might not be the best possible place to start from). 

horsemouth is just listening to musicians of bremen volume four (it has been a while). 

we are in the midst of I will not go (great production work by howard). he's not convinced by the running order - he thinks amárach then wonky would have been better (fucking birds), then am I born to die? and blindspot (and then he'd probably have pagodas). he'd probably extend the wiggly record re-wind noises through am I born to die and stick some high wordless vocals on pagodas. amárach still rocks his world (he can't believe he was involved in making it). 

'nothing seems to be being said but the almost nothing there is in all words' (to quote marguerite duras)

ah well wisdom with hindsight again. 

langdon jones has died. editor of new worlds science fiction magazine, literary editor of mervyn peake, musician, early web adopter (judging by the background tiles on his website), creator of MIDI files for classical music. here's a song of michael moorcock's with him playing piano on it. coming soon the next instalment of the imaginos trilogy by albert bouchard (formerly of the blue oyster cult).  

horsemouth has finished reading marguerite duras's practicalities (la vie materielle in french). it ends like m.john harrison. for years marguerite had a serious drink problem, eventually she goes for the drying out treatment in a hospital and then back home. but her home is full of furniture she gave away years ago and hallucinated people she cannot recognise- they appear behind her carers when she opens the door to her room (like in it follows). it is not just that they are there, it is that they are obviously looking for some kind of emotional reaction from her, they are heartbroken that they are not recognised. 

her boyfriend  eventually succeeds in showing them out. 

getting on and contemplating death (the public intellectual)

'it started when michel foucault died...'

marguerite duras (getting on and contemplating death) complains about the tv news. the great figure has died. we are shown footage of the great figure talking and are told (in the voice over) that we are hearing the voice of the great figure. but of course we can no longer hear them because the news casters voice is much louder. this is particularly ironic for foucault, the one who wanted his voice to join with the voice of his predecessor. but here he is his voice joined with the voice of the public intellectual.

against the people with reasons for their actions (who are a part of history or politics or philosophy), foucault and duras placed les faits divers, the people in the true crime shows, the sensational murderers, the hopeless suicides, the senseless accidents (georges figon, lech walesa's wife, the cutter-off of the water), the events of her own life.

and she travels even into death (sending us messages back from her deathbed). of course no magical insight arises from the moments before death, merely that the organism stops working and the spirit departs.

in other readings horsemouth read of worker's research in italy in the early sixties - the quaderni rossi,  the red notebooks.

‘as I remember it, the group of young people who gravitated towards the quaderni rossi in 1961-62 were characterized first and foremost by a desire to understand the profound transformation that both productive facilities and the urban environment were undergoing; the need to master a theoretical-systematic framework by which to interpret what was happening in accordance with a marxian logic came second.’ - sergio bologna

‘each writer-speaker seems to me to be fully aware that there is something special in the telling of their life stories’ - pasolini.

yet here something will come of the work. the stories do not stay faits divers. 

horsemouth started reading hamlet (he found it on a bin in the neighbourhood). then he watched it. the lines you know as commonplaces came thick and fast. if these were poor people the story would be faits divers, but, because they are kings and queens there's the story, tyranny and usurpation. 

swear! says the ghost from beneath the floorboards, an old mole made blind in the libraries. how to overcome these times out of joint. (and so horsemouth should probably go back and read derrida's spectres of marx again). 

over in the gagarine estate outside paris (named after the cosmonaut yuri gagarin) there is a film crew. they are there to film a hopeful movie of renewal through art as the days count down the estate's demolition. (once we had dreams of going to the moon, now we have netflicks). la haine, horsemouth guesses, it's not. 

horsemouth (and his co-workers) have attempted something similar (the fall of the house of fitzgerald) but on a much smaller scale. it cannot work because the wrecking ball is coming, the estate cannot be saved. by being made in the location the film becomes complicit in its destruction. (still if you point a camera at something there may be something to see).

a friend (robert lawson) has a new album out (he has expanded himself to become a trio). it's good. as far as horsemouth can tell it continues to be inspired by the work of michael o'shea (great phasing zithers batman!) there's some nice bass work going on (at least that's what horsemouth thinks it is). 

the cottenham medley/ the cottenham pram race

yesterday horsemouth was up and out early so no blogging.

back after a 48 hour layoff  horsmouth has just polished off the first round of coffee and is contemplating the second. it's a slightly cooler morning this morning and it was a slightly cooler night last night. horsemouth had the window shut and pulled a sleeping bag ontop of the duvet. 

yesterday horsemouth was watching the suzuki method of music teaching in action. small children (with varying degrees of concentration) were attending to their studies. the parents sat in a corner (carefully masked). there was singing of the sol-fa and an introduction to bar lines and time signatures. 

horsemouth shares a clip of c.joynes playing the cottenham medley the only other thing horsemouth has found out about cottenham is this little clip of the cottenham pram race. (horsemouth does hope it's the same cottenham). the earliest pram race horsemouth can find online is the 1954 pagham pram race. (apparently they used to be big in east anglia too).

in other tasks horsemouth was instructing a small child in how to read the time from clocks - this sadly resulted in an alarm clock detonating at 2am and waking up the whole block. (er. oops). 

the clock is of course the beginning of self-discipline and of the insertion of the child into the world of production. horsemouth (as a result of careful training in the world of work) always wakes up at around 7am and begins the tasks of the day. he is never tempted to slug-a-bed. the pram race babies are of course regressing their way out of this, but here the babies push the pram also (though in fact fancy dress is acceptable in most pram races). 

today horsemouth recovers. monday a meeting of the communal endeavour. the last week of september. the anniversaries of various late john coltrane recordings up in seattle. 

'comme les dauphins, les dauphins savent nager' (the processes that economics hides)

grey morning. a friday. hail the binmen.

yesterday horsemouth listened to two podcasts - talking politics (back after the summer break and touting two books) and the grenfell tower fire inquiry (reliably blood boiling). he also listened to a radio show, former FT columnist lucy kellaway's could do better on her throwing up the journalism gig to become a maths teacher in hackney. 

on talking politics adam tooze has his book shutdown on how global capitalism handled the pandemic. in some places (china, south africa) there was a lockdown (a top-down state intervention with policemen) but in others (europe notably) there was as much a shutdown (where the people began by staying home), e.g. in spain the auto industry closed down because of wildcat strikes by the workers.

the last time horsemouth mentioned the workers he was talking it like their power was increasing post-covid/ brexit etc. and soon we would be seeing union leaders invited into no.10 for beer and sandwiches (to encourage them to encourage their members to be more moderate in their wage demands, as happened in the 70ies). to be clear, and after listening to the talking politics lot discuss exactly this in these terms, horsemouth doesn't expect this to happen. the workforce is too thinly unionised to make this possible. 

horsemouth is slightly scared. china is on the way up. the US is on the way down. the US might be tempted to use its superior military power to have a politico-military confrontation with the china to assert and thus retain its residual dominance. (this is what the submarine pact with the UK and australia is about - well no really it is about huge subsidies for a military-industrial complex - if horsemouth was the french or german he would be delighted to be well out of it). 

meanwhile lucy kellaway has thrown up her job of twenty plus years at the FT to become a maths teacher in a secondary school in hackney (and further she has encouraged loads of other near retirees to do the same). lucy proves surprisingly adapatable, swallowing the taylorised personality bypass now required to teach in a team focused way (memorably described by a refusenik as robot time).  she now sees her time in the world of the corporates and of journalism  as one of intellectual freedom and self actualisation. 

adam tooze takes as his model marx sitting in the british museum reading reports by british factory managers, researching the nitty-gritty of capitalism (the processes that economics hides), rather than the german philosophy or french politics. and here we have lucy diarising this process for us. 

horsemouth has a sorry you're leaving card from his former boss (one of the better ones - and visually quite like lucy kellaway). you can see horsemouth is not cut out for the world of work by this line already. on the one hand he takes it as his right to have an opinion on how he is managed, on the other he lacks the necessary resistance to the process (he sees their point). the card contains a number of comments from fellow workers. horsemouth is praised for his professionalism (you can make of that what you will). 

he also got on with some writing of business plans (the fantasy of development) and must get on with some more as soon as we are done here. 

tomorrow horsemouth is child minding (wisdom's alternative to work). monday a meeting of the communal endeavour. 

the libertarian self-criticism session ('our dreams are moving further out of reach each year')

the sun is up. horsemouth is up. it's roughly 7am (a decent time to get up in horsemouth's book - not too late, not too early). 

now horsemouth's political thought has always been contaminated by some libertarian thinking (he read the illuminatus trilogy as a kid) when he got to the great city he discovered the falsity of it. of late various billionaires have espoused this doctrine of independence from the state while actually filling their boots while engaged on state contracts. this is not mere hypocrisy but in fact reflects the actual position of libertarianism with respect to the state - that the state should be reduced to a minimal state offering policing services (so the successful can have their property defended) and everything else should be set up  to permit entrepreneurs a free rein (so that they may become successful).

this reflection was brought to you by a number of articles - first mark blyth's whether homes or jobs... in which just about everybody is towed down into poverty (excepting a few billionaires). secondly the welcome return of david runciman from his summer break (august) in a podcast devoted to libertarian paypall of the state steve thiel.

something strange is happening (horsemouth remarked to TG on their walk yesterday). the shortage of foreign workers caused by covid and brexit  is allegedly driving up wage levels in certain occupations (lorry drivers now, possibly fruit pickers later, but not nurses) and this (it is held) is driving inflation upwards - eroding the wages of those newly highly paid workers, as well as the rest of us whose wages have not gone up. 

this strikes horsemouth as a compensation theory (something good happens , therefore something bad must happen), horsemouth doubts the economy is actually that responsive. inflation he views as being down (largely) to gas price increases and to the sudden froth of people being released from lockdown - he expects the 'feel bad' factors to kick in pretty quickly.

to TG horsemouth remarked that inflation takes money out of the pockets of the workers meaning they have to fight the bosses for wage rises (or fight the government for higher in work benefits). it is interesting to see the return of the economy and wages and jobs as a reason why things are happening, previously you would never have suspected these were part of the process of capitalist accumulation (which seemed to be entirely composed of innovation).  

the conservative government gets to pose as the defender of the british worker and his bulging paypacket and the labour party are... er.  about to go into the post-brexit  election with the great remainer at the helm. 

back in 1981 king crimson released discipline. this is a great album but horsemouth doesn't think it changed much. it is the sound of king crimson succumbing to talking heads envy (just as signals by rush is the sound of them succumbing to police envy). but it is also the sound of steve reich's innovations meeting avant funk (7/8s crossing 4/4s). it remains very influential on horsemouth (not that he can play anything that complicated himself). 

yesterday he went to record. the acoustic guitar part he was offering up wasn't well received. horsemouth thinks the proof of the pudding is in the eating and we will see. he did however offer up a root note (and a few accidentals) bass line and that seemed to go down better. the main guitar has been rerecorded to click and the vocals are on their way. 

some good comes of it (equinox)

'salut monsieur reynard! comment allez-vous?'

horsemouth is up. he has his coffee. whilst the little machine was making the coffee a big red healthy dog fox crossed along the back wall of the garden and then returned a little later. it's a beautiful golden glow morning (sten is off to work). 

it's the equinox. the days and nights become of equal length (this actually will occur on the equilux in a few days time). but then the nights overwhelm the days. at 7.51pm in the evening the year goes dark. autumn begins in earnest. 

horsemouth here plays you a tune by orbital where they sample the equinox audio ID from a  TV science program. if horsemouth remembers correctly it was from a show devoted to the new rave culture and if his memory serves him well narrated by voice of dr. who tom baker (he thinks meat beat manifesto later had the line 'burning with ecstasy' from it for radio babylon. 

currently he's listening to orbital's  lush 3 (euro tunnel disaster '94) which is as big and ravey as one could like. 

later (3pm) horsemouth goes to record some more guitar in addition to (well actually probably instead of) the guitar he recorded the last time. he didn't record the guitar he put down last time to the vocal. if the vocal is the heart of the tune then a different guitar is required (horsemouth will take an acoustic to try and differentiate the sound out as well from the other guitar).

some good comes of it was the optimistic thought that horsemouth wrote down last night. 

the people pass by on their ways to work/ parents tow children (some reluctant and dawdling, some on wheels).  they are illuminated by the golden glow (especially the ones walking east). saturday horsemouth gets to be useful again and do some child minding. he needs to finish checking that he can get access to all his various small saved sums (to ensure he can live a life of riley). 

we are six years on from pig gate - (when we learned the then prime minister had fucked the head of a pig during a university initiation ritual). ian is up. they've started work for the day again next door (extension and flood damage). 

 

horsemouth (useful for about 50 minutes)

horsemouth likes to be useful. yesterday he was useful for about 50 minutes. (20 mins there 30 mins back - and then a walk home, three miles all told to go with the three mile walk earlier to the supermarket and back) child portage. 

the question is - is this enough activity to keep the old mule's psychic economy going? 

when he got home he was accused of being a gaslighter. 

the metaphor (gaslighting) comes from a black and white movie where the husband so undermines his wife's confidence in  herself that she thinks she is going mad. this is not horsemouth's strategy. he does not attempt to undermine people's belief in their own ability to make decisions nor in their own ability to act. but neither does he accept that for himself. 

it quite spoiled his mood for about half an hour (then he decided fuck it). 

thereafter he watched marguerite duras and gerard depardieu in the lorry. they sit around reading the script and discussing it (it is the tale of a lorry driver and a hitch-hiker). a lorry is filmed driving round the uglier bits of france. a friend has called it 'boring'  and 'minimalist' and horsemouth has to admit he doesn't think it works. he's about 3/5th of the way through it. after he will watch india song where there is live action but the dialogue and music has been performed already to see if he thinks that works better.  

duras is said not how horsemouth would have imagined it. it is said doo-RAS rather than doo-RA (once again we are dealing with the difference between real french (as spoken by actual french people) and the fantasy french that exists in horsemouth's head. 

it's a beautiful morning. horsemouth has stuff he needs to write. and he needs to do some calculations. it's the last day of the ganesha festival. tomorrow is the equinox (major turning point of the year). 

pure bad luck (and a sign of the times)

'books must be thrown away' says marguerite duras in the film version of destroy she said (but not in the book version). it gets repeated in the rivette and narboni interview with her from cahiers du cinema (la destruction la parole 1969). 

and this scandalises the bibliophiles, notably jean-claude  carriere in his (and umberto eco's) this is not the end of the book a full thirty years later.  

'I've talked a lot about writing, but I don't know what it it.' 

duras has a parallel career as a film maker (to her career as a writer) and even in her career as a writer there is a tension between her autobiographies and her fictions because they are brought so close. paradoxically for a film maker she holds that the text as read is enough.

in le camion she gets gerard depardieu do an on-camera read-through of a movie script. she comments about the characters, their motivations, her motivations, the actor does too. that's all. like colette in her proposed staging for le blé en herbe (voices from a darkened stage) she only really has faith in the words. 

once, when horsemouth was visiting paris with darsavini and denise back in the 90ies, a fashion designer had done a show based on the fact that duras always wore the same clothes, her outfit was repeated in a variety of colours (like a warhol).

horsemouth is reading her practicalities again (it is what women talk about) and reading/watching a few things online to back it up. 

two movies yesterday - a late dirty harry (the dead pool containing a betting game on who was going to die next) and flood (the thames barrier fails, london under water, british character actors look stressed). 

horsemouth has discovered that the downstairs next door got flooded during the recent rain storms  (as well as the basement flat two doors down). this is both pure bad luck (and a sign of the times). of course this is surface water run off flooding rather than storm surge flooding but it does give cause for concern. the 'seaside towns', as horsemouth tends to refer to them, are in a marshy river valley with appreciable meander and considerably tidal. 

horsemouth (as he often remarks) lives next to the marshes. 

today horsemouth must get on with some writing. horsemouth must get forward onto the front foot and state that the proposal is a good idea (rather than being on the back foot arguing that it is not a bad idea).  in the afternoon/ evening he must do some child minding. 

so horsemouth. how did it go?

horsemouth is back from the undisclosed secret location having worked with an un-named deep cover operative. (horsemouth has been sworn to various sorts of secrecy. now read on.)

as usual horsemouth hears the guitar part as 'african' - a series of finger picked repetitive patterns working around 2 chords. he added a second 'african' part of his own (just to warm up the first, more discrete than his usual charges up the neck) and a descending chord part using harmonics (that's probably not needed).

actually probably neither of them are right for it. 

what it probably needs is an acoustic guitar chunking out the 2 and the 4, or maybe the 1 and the 2. the deep cover operative has done a great wordless vocal (of the liz frasier/ siouxsie sioux variety) and horsemouth thinks this is actually the direction to take the track in. (he'll have a go at it in a bit, yeah D and G7 and similar round there horsmouth reckons). 

horsemouth thanks his host for the food.

last night horsemouth wandered back in the liquid darkness. the people are out and about but it is all still a bit subdued which horsemouth thinks is good because his advice is to stay sat down (having said that he has to admit he is more cheerful for having gone out).

later today rain (allegedly). but at the moment it is pleasantly sunny and hazy. horsemouth should probably get on with doing what he's promised. 

 

stone fox chase (old grey whistle test)

horsemouth supposes that it's the (allegedly) receding threat of death that is free-ing up psychic energy for him to feel so dissatisfied with his existence. you've survived horsemouth and you've just been given money that otherwise you would have had to have earned. 

even when horsemouth has reassured himself that he has enough to live on he will still be being anxious because, well, because he does anxious. 

last night the 50th anniversary of the old grey whistle test show. an unapologetic whispering bob harris (with 30 more years of broadcast experience) sits on the sofa with the show's producer, first presenter and mark radcliffe (as token northerner).  

but first a dryly sarcastic jo brand narrates over the talking heads (charles shaar murray, mark radcliffe, annie nightingale. etc.).

now the old grey whistle test was vital to horsemouth growing up because (good) music was rare (it was underground). there wasn't much music on tv and what there was was almost entirely pop, music that was 'serious' - rock, prog etc. was incredibly rare, but the old grey whistle test had it. 

the only way you had of finding out about new music was to listen to john peel on radio one at ten o'clock at night monday to thursday or watch the old grey whistle test (eleven o'clock at night, a few days of the year).

horsemouth grew up slightly too late for punk - but that was a big generational shift, whispering bob harris had to go, annie nightingale came in, the damned literally smash it up (rat scabies ostentatiously gobbing on the OGWT logo), there's PIL careering too cool for good taste, serious and progressive in a different way. 

two songs each in a bare studio. and after nearly 20 years of broadcasting there's this vast archive of the music - the rock, the prog, the punk, the new wave, some key reggae and soul even (bob marley, curtis mayfield etc.). 

but for the 50th anniversary show bob harris is firmly back in charge, good taste rules, why here's kiki dee and peter frampton (just flown in from nashville)  - which to horsemouth demonstrates why punk had to happen. and here we are with later with jools holland  and how many decades of that has there been? more good taste. a little of which, as oscar wilde reminds us, can be absolutely fatal. 

horsemouth just doesn't feel music the way he used to feel it. it doesn't have the explosive effect it used to have in the culture (he's probably just the wrong age), does drill really encourage gang violence? (probably). who would you have to stick on later and doing what to redistribute the roles in music? horsemouth no longer knows. 

anyway all of this was made possible by horsemouth's clearing of the living room. 

earlier horsemouth was listening to a documentary on mike bloomfield - bloomfield can seriously play and he gets himself noticed in all the right places. he's with dylan going electric at the newport folk festival but he doesn't take the gig with the band, with electric flag at monterey for example, on super sessions, soundtracking peter fonda's the trip).  but ultimately he's not in the position of jimi hendrix (who manages to take everything that's going on and turn it into sound, a look, a stage show, himself).

also last night on the news a chinese diplomat rants about the inevitable reunification of china and taiwan (jesus let's not have a taiwanese missile crisis, nuclear superpowers going eyeball to eyeball, let us be conquered through trade). 

today horsemouth goes to make some music (probably). ideally what he'd like to get is that baaba maal/ mansour seck sound and feel, anyway - what will be will be. 

horsemouth has writing duties to be getting on with. at some point he has to revive his audio-visual work. he has to work out how to punt his stuff round more so more people get to see it and hear it. 

 

so long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, adieu! (part II)

horsemouth is up (sten was clearly up and about earlier). there's a nip in the air (a pleasant coolness after yesterday). it's bin day (horsemouth can hear the binmen - hail the binmen). 

yesterday the weather was great. horsemouth walked down to the office for a chat and then back up (so a bit more than four miles all told). later he wandered out onto the marshes. later still he went to do some child-minding  (and as a result read various children's books).

so the first of horsemouth's retirement anxieties is dealt with (that just leaves the second and more major anxiety). and then he's got the thing he promised to write to write. and then there's the reason he was feeling blue around the gills yesterday - if he's making a change then things will have to change. the old projects will have to end and the new ones begin. 

how do you like them apples horsemouth? 

tomorrow. some music maybe (with catastro/FILLE). horsemouth does hope she will like what he's come up with for it. 

sunday rubbish weather (maybe horsemouth will be able to get on with his writing). 

so long, farewell, auf viedersehen, adieu!

so long, farewell, auf viedersehen, adieu! robert jenrick falls as housing secretary. 

that'll teach him to do favours for rich people and for the tories. he helps out a prospective tory donor who is mysteriously sat next to him at a tory party fund raiser (a little matter of avoiding a £45 million local infrastructure levy in tower hamlets - and don't get me wrong - the people of tower hamlets are dirt poor).

even jenrick had to admit it looked bent. 

and then boris sticks him in the toilet at the next reshuffle. (where's the gratitude eh?)

the tories know they've got to get lots of house building done (to house prospective tory voters in the south) and jenrick simply doesn't have the clout or the charm to get that through. 

so which greasy fecker is getting housing then?

oh shit it's that cheesy quaver michael gove. 

hopefully he will be too busy defending the union (between scotland and england - the less said of northern ireland the better and wales they never mention) and levelling up (the ridiculous idea that the tories are going to halt the long term economic decline of the north of england and its people by building more docklands in the north).  the problem is gove is actually smart and driven by ideology, he will actually want to understand the problem with housing (from a tory perspective) and fix it (gawdeplus all). 

who knows maybe he will actually fix the cladding crisis.  

last night a spot of helping out (and half a bottle of wine). tonight a spot of child-minding. this morning a meeting on writing the business plan for the communal endeavour. horsemouth is poorly prepared having become distracted by the politics of situation and in trying to work out what would be acceptable. 

on the re-appearance of the card 6 of swords

of course the 6 of swords card is really about change. setting off from one place and going to another. horsemouth is in such a place (the process of getting safely to the other side is lamentably slow, it brings some anxieties). he wants to finish off his projects here (or at least get their finishing off started) and then he needs to be on his way. 

horsemouth opines that the people aren't taking covid seriously any more because they are bored with it and they are being encouraged in this by the politicians (who want to get them back to work and get the undeserving poor arguments going again. 

horsemouth (not a sage or a member of SAGE) advises you to stay sat down and do as little as possible until we are much further down the disease-adaption timeline.

the stones of venice/ the reinforced concrete of the seaside towns (when the thames barrier fails)

'I don't have general views about anything, except social injustice.' - marguerite duras.

last night horsemouth watched some of damned in venice (the old rotting city goes well with vampires). 

yesterday it rained. horsemouth did not get much done (or written). he needs to get more stuff done (or written) today. in the afternoon he goes to be of some assistance. 

horsemouth checks his coffee cup one last time (that's it horsemouth you've had your coffee). 

a year ago horsemouth was back from the preparatory meeting for the making of the fall of the house of fitzgerald. the old social housing stock of the seaside towns is being destroyed (and only token amounts of housing at social rent being included in the new housing), the poor are being swept out of the city, out into the badlands of essex once again. they are being swept away to make room for the young and entrepreneurial who are in the city to become rich (triumph of the city), for the opportunities for connection the city provides. but surely that's the old dream? surely the reality is that now with remote working the middle-class knowledge workers actually can live and work anywhere?

in any event fitzgerald house has fallen. only a handful of people remain. but will the planners dream of solvent consumers all congregating to use the new (re-aligned) market or visit the cinema come to pass? in a sense it does not matter because we are already gone. 

the city becomes a tourist city (but then one year the planes don't come). the guest-workers leave (planning to come back maybe). the city's population falls (but by how much? 300,000, 700,000, a million?) there are shortages of workers in key sectors and there is talk of pay rises and inflationary pressures again. but will all the bar-work come back? the leisure economy? the experience economy?

ruskin (in the stones of venice) imagines an artisanal economy but what kind of economy works best for the whole country? or rather, what kind of economy works best for the ruling class?   

there are 30 million people in the UK over the age of 50 (horsemouth learns in the booster jab discussions). we are old.  and in ten years time we will be 30 million people over 60.... horsemouth is not due his booster jab until december. he should hurry up and register with a doctor to get his flu jab in (he can no longer get it at work).

horsemouth is further up the hill (in the non-flooding zone he hopes) back in h_____y. when the thames barrier fails it will have been a wise choice (except he's near the relatively low-lying marshes). a number of friends have inflatable boats (he won't do so badly). except he'll have to move up into the attic. a number of basement flats on horsemouth's street were flooded by rainwater during the june storms. it gives horsemouth pause for thought.  

6 of swords. horsemouth is in a punt with another adult and a child. he pushes off towards the far shore. 

at the weekend perhaps some music. horsemouth plans something like the baaba maal and mansour seck record (but who knows how it will actually go). we are one week off the equinox  (and then down the long dark tunnel of autumn and winter). temperatures look mild until then. 

rain. rain. go away.

'this book helped us pass the time. from the beginning of autumn to the end of winter.' 

- marguerite duras (and jerome beaujour) in  la vie matérielle, translated into english (somewhat strangely) as practicalities.

outside it is raining proper slate grey skies and constant fall (it looks like it's in for the day). the light is so poor that horsemouth has had to turn on the light in his room to type this and to read the notes in his diary.  everything is getting a thorough drenching and will be turned into mud. 

horsemouth is sad to see the sun go. he likes sitting in the back garden reading, with that he can make good progress on his books. 

'a novel disguised as a memoir, or a diary disguised as a novel.'

the ice monkey (m. john harrison) has gone quickly. egnaro is not the new viriconium - but it is really, beneath this seedy, grim world is a perfect world only overheard of in passing conversations or glimpsed in dreams and adverts.

horsemouth is now back with practicalities (a book of edited conversations between marguerite duras and jerome beaujour). howard has made some notes in horsemouth's copy (horsemouth did not recognise his hand writing at first). start with this he says.

'the ladies talk on the terrace overlooking the sea until dusk, when it starts to get cool.'  

perhaps he thinks the ladies of the black rocks is performable? 

later he brackets a paragraph;

'you have to move faster than the non-writing part of you, which is always up there on the plane of thought, always threatening to fade out, to disappear into limbo as far as the future story is concerned; the part which will never descend to the level of writing; which refuses all drudgery.'

this time last year horsemouth was off to rehearse for  the fall of the house of fitzgerald. this is a thing that himself, enza and catastro/FILLE did to help pass the time during lockdown. 

later he went to hide at his parents for some months over winter. he would put on his boots and raincoat and go out in the rain (and sometimes snow) up on the common (because what else was there to do).  it is the same now, it  breaks up the day. the morning is easy (because he can write). later the daytime drags. in the evening there is food to make and the tv news to be watched (or the radio news to be listened to), later either something on tv (rare at his parents) or a film/ series from youtube or daily motion. horsemouth has read less than he thought he would.

thursday morning a meeting (horsemouth has to get on with what he promised).  in the evening maybe some child-minding. saturday possibly some music (we'll see). 

a journey to the future (2034) to review somnia (the new hawkwind album). 

the hawkbinge podcast has done it for you. 

imagine if you had gone to sleep around the time of quark, strangeness and charm in 1977 and woke up to hawkwind as they are now...

the youngster had never heard hawkwind before and now he must listen to all the studio albums in chronological order and review them. but now they have sent him off into the future to review the latest album. horsemouth views it a particularly cruel experiment -there are a lot of albums, and there are (true) various phases where hawkwind get it together and produce something decent but beyond a certain point the results are dismal. the early days are strong, the lemmy years, the calvert years, hell the huw-lloyd langton years even have their moments, but then what? 

take unsomnia (the first track). the riff is not my sharona as the youngster guesses but mother sky. sorry singing dude but the vocal and the lyrics are weak, definitely  under-produced to be where they are in the mix, the distorto-guitar comes in in the wrong place, the digital keyboard sounds have not enough  character to them, the drum programming is weak. it ends nicely in some faux-floyd that's the best thing.  

horsemouth thinks the young dude will lose the will to live in about a year's time. meanwhile quark up soon, PXR5, hawklords 25 years, the calvert years, it's a good era.

 

in the gift shop they were playing my way

'it was 20 years ago today...' 

well actually it was twenty years ago a few days ago.

horsemouth has been avoiding various anniversaries. 

first 9/11 - horsemouth wasn't really surprised this happened. after the gulf war and palestine, after the end of the cold war when the US had won and become the presiding power on planet earth, it just looked to him like an inevitability that at some point someone would strike back at the US. there had even been an earlier attempt to blow up the twin towers (truck bomb in an underground car park).  there were escalating attacks on US ships in the gulf. 

horsemouth remembers where he was on 9/11. he'd gone into town to meet denise, they were going to write something together (about drum and bass) but by the time he got to bloomsbury she'd heard the news and was trying to phone up friends and family in new york.

horsemouth remembers visiting the twin towers when he was in NY in 1990. there was an exhibition about capitalism and trade on one of the top floors, sometimes the clouds would part and horsemouth would be able to see the ground, in the gift shop they were playing my way. further up, horsemouth later discovered, there was a disco. 

and what has happened since? the west has allowed and encouraged the arab spring which has resulted in military dictatorship in egypt, and full-scale civil wars in libya and syria, sanctions and invasions of  iraq have turned it into a sectarian hell-hole, afghanistan has fallen because after 20 years the west has decided it's not really that interested. 

horsemouth sees why disaffected people would latch on to these injustices. he just thinks that nothing can be done with them. refugees should be aided, civil rights 'sacrificed' to the war on terror should be re-instated. ultimately the 'anti-imperialist' struggles at the edges cannot be won, because the west can always impose sanctions or send drones and gunship helicopters. paradoxically horsemouth thinks only incorporation into global capitalism provides any hope of progress towards a better world and a better life for the people. 

within the empire you are 'safe'. outside the empire you are dead meat. 

similarly with 7/7 - he'd gone into work in the morning and been caught up in the transport chaos. eventually he made it back home and then he saw it on the news, he remembers texting a friend (laura) to get off the buses (she pretty much walked back from pimlico). the next day the police murdered an unarmed brazillian electrician (jean-charles de menezes) in a case of mistake identity, the officer who led that operation (cressida dick) has just been reconfirmed as head of the metropolitan police for another two years. soon after another friend was on a bus where the bomb only fizzled rather than exploded. 

occupy it's about 10 years since occupy NY. horsemouth has met people who'd been there. there are moments when people acting together successfully overcome the powerlessness of their existences, but these moments are rare and short-lived and ultimately on a much smaller scale than the evil they oppose. 

in many ways it was the antidote to horsemouth's quietism. there was a distinct uptick in the struggle after the financial crash of 2008 and the changes in higher education funding that placed a greater burden of debt upon the youth. but it took a while to come. 

and now it's a world of black lives matter, extinction rebellion and greta thunberg. horsemouth mostly stays home. (tbh he was staying home before the pandemic, probably since before even occupy) he's still in sympathy with movements that want to eradicate racism and stop us all dying in a climate crisis but his appetite for anything more radical than theoretical reflection, a march, a protest song or a bit of street theatre has pretty much dwindled. 

capitalism is throwing up windmills and solar panels (and mining the materials necessary to do this) to ensure its survival.

---------------------------------------- 

yesterday horsemouth sat in the garden and read in the sunshine. he read the ice monkey by m.john harrison which features a lot of disaffected protagonists engaged in drifting through existence (an existence which is harsh enough to remind them of its reality now and then). it straddles the divide between his science fiction and his book climbers. none of them takes up islamo-terrorism but you can imagine an m.john harrison brave enough to write about that (imagine four lions but not played for comedy). 

horsemouth is back at a moment of transition after 25 years inside the engine of work (thanks denise). the previous time he was here (after 10 years of off-on volunteering and the like in the anti-nuclear sector)  he got bored very quickly and his drinking increased. hopefully this time he will find a plan.  he's a calmer (and perhaps kinder) person (or at least he has been). 

horsemouth continues his celebration

horsemouth is up and awake he has a smidgen of coffee (sten is similarly up and awake and thus has a claim upon the pot). ok he's just stuck another pot on. 

last night he watched enforcer the third dirty harry film (dirty harry does feminism). sadly milius and the writers who can write have departed and we are left with villains too boring to hate and action too dull to watch. (nonetheless horsemouth watched it). even the music was dull (no longer lalo schifrin). 

before that he was out in the wilds of east ham wandering round central park with howard. they paused for a tea and a cake (expensive but nice) and then adjourned to the pub back garden for a few beers and a pizza. for once horsemouth bought (by way of thanks for howard's very kind gesture of buying food after their last drinking session). 

however seeing as horsemouth will be poor from here on in he had better learn not to spend. he needs to dial this sort of behaviour down to even more of a rarity. 

howard is busy until half term (in about 7 weeks) and even then he will still be too busy/ knackered to be doing anything musical. he is on the search for a replacement hohner guitar for the one he gave horsemouth, horsemouth has offered to give the original hohner guitar back but for some reason this won't do.

this time last year horsemouth was reading marguerite duras' practicalities and preparing for the fall of the house of fitzgerald (this is the next theme coming in). about four years ago he was rehearsing with pete holmgren ahead of their duo performance at a phoenix party (which laid the groundwork for the trio performance with enza at a later party).

horsemouth is unsure what he is up to at the minute. he has to reassure himself that all his money is accessible if he is to rely upon it to live upon-  that's the next thing. 

 the ganesha chaturthi continues (horsemouth supposes the cake counts towards it (but not the pizza)). as a theme it will run until the 21st and then it's the autumn equinox. 

it is the festival of ganesha (the remover of obstacles)

the smart god. the elephant headed god. the first transplant patient (as an eastern european poet miroslav holub in his book the rampage once put it - sadly the book seems to have vanished into the stacks or returned into the great pond of good that is the second hand book market).

if horsemouth understands it correctly the idol of ganesh should be celebrated until the 21st (sweet cakes should be eaten) on which day the idol should be submerged in water to unblock him (in indian myth ganesh flies off to spend time with his mother and father on this day). 

the rat is his vehicle as a charming indian lady informed him when she saw him reading a ganesh diary with an illustration of ganesh riding a giant rat (sadly the grumpy client prevented any further communication). 

ganesh is the remover of obstacles. horsemouth cannot now remember who gave him the statue. it sits on a shelf with the other idols - a buddha and a little musicians of bremen statue (thanks myk), a 'bug-in-a-box', 3 sandalwood balls in a circular elephant decorated box with a removable lid, some hazelnuts various white seashells/ calcified calamares. the chrome wing-mirror of a motor-scooter or car  (stolen or scavenged from a  wreck by duncan).

for a long time horsemouth regarded the ganesh as helpful with work and earning matters. it formed a part of his post-squatter life where he dropped back into the world of rent (and the work necessary to pay for it). horsemouth pursued work somewhat ruthlessly, lived frugally  and saved against the bad times (in this he is the true grandson of his yorkshire/scottish grandmother). 

three-quarters of horsemouth's existence is the rent possibly more sometimes, possibly less.  ultimately he needs to address this. 

horsemouth will now indulge in some worrying about his financials out loud (please feel free to skip this)

the good news is the works pension people have come through with the works pension (it's not a gamechanger but it will help). horsemouth can access this now, having been made redundant over the age of 55, rather than wait until state pension age. the bad news is, of course, it's not very much - about £52 a month and a lump sum that horsemouth will be taking up front. 

taking the lump sum is not a bad move he thinks in these unpredictable times (another friend has described it as classic british short-termism) - he doesn't start to lose money on this decision until he is 77. if horsemouth makes it to 77 and is still blogging he will castigate his younger self for his profligacy (assuming he hasn't lost his marbles by then and gone ga-ga, assuming the internet and humanity are still in existence). 

as one source of anxiety closes another opens. on the other hand in modern times he can't quite believe it could be so (it would seem archaic to him). never mind - now that the anxiety has surfaced it must be addressed. he needs to be confident that the resources he will be relying upon to feed him are all actually there and tap-able. he doesn't believe he can totally coast it out until his (state) pension (but he can do less). of course all this is reliant on his being able to live on the state pension if or when he gets to that (it could go of course always go like russia where one day fine day they just abolished it).

there is a distressing trend in politics to pit the young against the old - for the state to purse its lips about the largesse being doled out to the old while crying crocodile tears about how hard the youth have it (the state having made it hard for the youth by loading them up with debt while all the time failing to tax the rich or restrain capitalism and the rentier economy). horsemouth can only forsee more of this. 

today he goes to visit howard (assuming howard is not too knackered to receive visitors he's back to work on the covid frontline). it is a grey morning.  last night a pretty to look at (but not very good) french detective serial with a bio-medical bent the crimson rivers. 

horsemouth has done nothing to hype the fall of the house of fitzgerald or poplarism or his poetry or indeed musicians of bremen  in a while. he will celebrate the festival of ganesha and then he'll get on with things. 

horsemouth posts off some CDs

he did indeed ladies and gentlemen (a volume three and a volume four). such was the productive part of his day. hopefully they will arrive safely and the recipient will like them. 

last night he watched some of web of the spider a 1971 italo-horror remake that starts with a drunken edgar allen poe (klaus kinski) telling ghost stories in a bar - a 'lord blackwood' also features who tempts a reporter visiting poe to spend the night in a haunted castle on all souls eve. (halloween). kinski chews the scenery most effectively (and even looks a bit like edgar allen poe). he is suitably haunted, he knows that ghosts are real.  

horsemouth is short on material (because he is doing very little) so he will have to pad it out with some philosophical reflections. tomorrow a visit to howard (maybe). horsemouth's  ribs are still giving him a bit of gyp, he suspects its because of his bad posture when he sits in bed and works so he has swapped to the desk to type this. he's had his cup of coffee. the bin men have been.

he is reminded of the frozen shoulder work gave him. a bath would be good (but he hasn't had one in five years) it will have to be a shower. 

this morning while making the cup of coffee he watched a fox climb up on the roof of the garden shed and onto the roof of the kitchen. it was a fine healthy red beastie. it was away (presumably over the other roofs) before horsemouth could get out to take a look at it. 

horsemouth is still waiting on the pensions people (it's not a game changer but it is a help). this would be the time of year when he was heading back to work in the fields of education (and moaning about it). later today a storm and then the temperatures return to the seasonal average and we roll towards the equinox and the long dark tunnel.  

the witches of vermont making films

Transformations from VTIFF on Vimeo.

greyish morning. cool. the air fresh after the rain. 

great discovery over on folk horror revival.

shot in norwich, vermont  by a vermont collective of women led by barbara hirschfeld  (director) & julia haines (soundtrack). an experimental film  about a group of witches performing white magic.

made in 1972, it was screened independently throughout the region being one of a handful of "essentially secret films," writes swamp thing cartoonist steven r. bissette, "self-distributed by the filmmakers themselves and/or via whatever underground film cooperatives they trusted".  

horsemouth likes julia haines soundtrack - harp and women's voices. she still plays.

and in other great discoveries (thanks myk)  an early film by ravi shankar. ravi wants to teach to pass on his understanding of indian music and the westerners want to learn, but they want to learn in a hurry. ravi's understanding of indian music is that it is not just notes and scales but arises from deep within the culture (and yet here he is 'correcting' george harrison). he shows the counting, the rhythmic underpinnings of the tabla (horsemouth remembers baaba maal doing a similar thing with the talking drum). the sitar enters western pop music as texture, as colour. 

ravi began as a dancer. he wants the transmission of indian music to the west to be stabilised by the guru-disciple relationship. there's an LRB article about him based on a recent biography (philip clarke 15/07/21). 

yesterday horsemouth laundered his bedsheet and his pillow covers (it was that kind of hot dry weather where everything dries really quickly). the day before he'd put sten's circular rug from the living room through the washing machine (it was covered with dog hair and they don't have a dog). he dried it outside and in moving it seems to have pulled a muscle in his side (an intercostal possibly). hopefully it will sort itself out. 

the rug has a grey oatmeal underside that suits the room better (plus it hides the doghair horsemouth couldn't get off). 

horsemouth expects a lot more back trouble etc. from his new sedentary lifestyle that he has been practicing for the last year or so. 

today. some slouching about (not good for his back or his intercostals). friday more of same. hopefully the news on the great works pension draw down (best thought of as a month's free rent a year). he should declare a beneficiary for it in case he pops his clogs early. 

saturday 9/11 (in the american usage) . 

summertime (no diggity)

'anything can be made adjacent to anything else' remarks susan sontag in on photography.

horsemouth has his coffee (thanks sten). (or at least the first instalment). 

yesterday (as if not heeding his own advice to stay sat down and let the danse macabre rock around the clock all over europe and indeed the world) horsemouth went out for a wander with T.G. round the marshes and then up to london fields for lise's (and kevin's) birthday (he wished happy birthday to both). later he watched a movie. 

between times he had a snooze. 

on the marshes they walked about by the river in the shade (it was a hot sunshine-y day). people waded in the waters like river spirits and  the bugs were active - catepillars, spiders, slugs. the river, the river of time, flowed on. T swore one particular beastie had the face of a monkey.

upon london fields during the golden hours the sun shone horizontally across the park. there were guitars and a ukulele and a violin (there was a fine heartfelt version of summertime). horsemouth sang along a little, he played guitar a little and sang a little (no diggity), when he had his hands on a guitar himself he couldn't really think of what to play. there was a discussion of how many guitars was enough (about 11 acoustic and electric). 

it was good to see people. people horsemouth hasn't seen in a while. 

horsemouth was chatting with alice (recently back from ireland and a visit to jonnie and denise) an ex-anthropologist from UCL. both had seen contact a movie that is about sapir-whorf (the idea that language conditions consciousness)

horsemouth was praised for his writing a blog consistently - he replied that he did not deserve praise because it was more of a compulsion, that something written less often with more thought might be more praiseworthy. there was some discussion of bukowski (horsemouth can't remember why). bukowski was a barfly writing about his shenanigans, but being able to write gave him access to a better class of shenanigan. he writes well about the everyday and about having low motivations. 

ultimately, like the music, horsemouth is sorry to say that his writing is just a way of showing off. 

horsemouth is still waiting to hear if he has successfully made it into (semi-)retirement. in a bit he will check his email. first there will be an email and later an electronic bank transfer. horsemouth keeps threatening to move to portugal it's true (but first he should probably get over there for a holiday). 

it's two days since the abbots-bromley horn dance (as celebrated here by stick in the wheel). 

your soul will fly out of your body

it follows with detroit because everything is a car journey down the motorway away. it follows but the creature only walks so you can escape by getting in a car and driving away (but it will catch up to you eventually) the only thing to do is to pass it on. our young heroes (the friends) manage to kill it but they have to be sure (you cannot spend your whole life looking out of the window for someone walking straight towards you) so they pass it on.

the it can change shape but appears as a uncanny affectless doubles (nice horror touch) but only the victim can see it (though other people may see its effects). . 

things horsemouth also didn't notice the first time? - the friend reading the idiot,  the resemblance of the suburbs to haddonfield, the soundtrack he noticed (the soundtrack is genius).

the friend (a stylish nerd - a velma) has an e-reader in a make-up compact, she reads this selection out loud from the idiot about capital punishment.

'... the worst, most violent pain lies not in injuries, but in the fact that you know for certain that within the space of an hour, then ten minutes, then half a minute, then now, right at this moment—your soul will fly out of your body, and you'll no longer be a human being,'

there is a lot of waiting in this movie. 

horsemouth did notice the influence of the photography of gregory crewdson (a photography of surfaces of ordinary things lit so beautifully that only something sinister can be going on). of course horsemouth should now be sharing with you his readings from susan sontag's on photography (or perhaps bakhtin on dostoyevsky). 

the monster appears in the limnal space of sex between childhood, friendship and the suburbs and adult life and sexuality, at a moment of transition. the film offers the couple as a solution (it's not cronenberg's rabid).  

detroit is of course a city of great and beautiful ruins, a place whose memory is erased in the non-places of the suburbs (where the existence of the black population is erased also). to defeat the monster they return to the municipal swimming pool (a place they no longer go).

michael k. williams the actor who played omar in the wire is dead. omar gets to tell the court the truth (while delivering false testimony) that it's all in the game, that the lawyer who acts for the gangsters profits off the drug war as he (omar) does. omar gets to rip, rob and survive as a hero (while those around him die) but eventually he dies. shot down by a kid. 

yesterday horsemouth went up the marshes and read (and sunbathed) earlier he had walked over to the office to pick up some paperwork he'd left behind after the last meeting (so about four and half miles). later the news and then it follows.  today maybe a meet up. (horsemouth is trying to keep his contacts down, to do all meetings in the open air etc. - he looks at the grauniad pretty much all the stats are on the up). 

 

a hawk/ the maltese falcon ('from the standpoint of finality')

what does it mean to see a hawk (in your dreams)?

what is the significance of the dragonfly?

a squirrel (bearing a nut)

passes by

yesterday while he walked around the marshes (doing his best to top up his tan for the last time before the  long cold winter) horsemouth saw a hawk (a kestrel he believes) but clearly a young one (not hunting very efficiently). he decided to interpret it in terms of the eye of horus (the all seeing eye). the hawk is of course a noble beast (apex predator). 

zadkiel, sibley, freud and jung were not very helpful (he was forced to rely upon the internet). he has the jung (dreams) recently returned from enza (visual reference for the fall of the house of fitzgerald lots of men and women standing around in circular frames. jung begins by recapping freud's theories (from the interpretation of dreams).

the dream contains an idea so dangerous that it can only be expressed in a coded fashion (so that the dreamer may not understand it).  and yet it must be expressed so it is there. 

horsemouth was pleased by his seeing a hawk.

horsemouth watched the exorcist III before bedtime (but it was dull). he fiddled about on the guitar (recently he'd had a crack at astronomy singing it down on Em and D - previously he'd been up on Am and G. he continues to work on jai guru deva. he has been playing all this on the laramie in standard tuning. 

howard has been busy too. his songs are pretty much there (he just doesn't have the time to finish them off right now). they are stronger more assured (perhaps it's time for a re-run of volume two). 

horsemouth has made some progress on the communal endeavour - he has constructed a timeline with the various options/ projects events on it (and a brief summary of where each of these projects leaves the reserves and the yearly surplus). 

today. er... today. horsemouth does not know. it's the week isn't it. allegedly no reply from the pensions people until thursday. horsemouth has to decide whether to accept some work (but seeing as they haven't paid him yet for the previous lot yet he's not very keen). he's waiting for the arrival of the end of month bank statement (then he'll know for sure). 

one thing at a time horsemouth. one thing at a time.

nowhere further to fall 

such is the advantage of lying on the floor (kafka allegedly). 

horsemouth has little recollection of yesterday (and he didn't make any notes as he was going along). 

they were making horsemouth dress up in the costume of a capitalist (well a capitalist pantomime horse) and then they were hitting him with sticks. horsemouth is of course not comfortable in the costume of a capitalist (he worries that people will hit him with sticks). 

his goal (between buffetings) was to work out how much development the communal endeavour can support. it's a small little beastie (but a strong one). the sensible way to do it would be with a spreadsheet. 

he got the calculator out (well the calculator app on the computer and a mortgage interest app online). in the old days (before horsemouth) they would have gotten out a slide rule (horsemouth remembers seeing one) or the logarithm tables. he remembers his dad bringing back a calculator (to do work stuff) in the valleys of south wales in the 70ies, he remembers the school (round about then)  getting a bbc micro, he remembers a friend showing him ceefax on the tv, he remembers the first time he saw the netscape logo and logging in to bulletin boards. 

horsemouth is (as always) indebted to his opponents for enabling him to clarify his thoughts for reminding him that assumptions have to be explicitly stated and justified, for reminding him that everything has to be said all at once or carefully placed in a story such that the elements flow.  

ultimately (of course) it's not horsemouth's problem (he is already housed). to horsemouth it is a practical question,  to his opponents it is a moral one, he wishes them luck in their efforts to reform humanity. he surmises that the realisation that their fate is in the hands of their fellow human beings is making them nervous. 

the doing and the timing of what is necessary is a meaty enough problem to be getting on with. it is important that the political problem (of convincing people of its necessity and to keep going through the difficult bits) is kept separate. 

one thing at a time horsemouth. one thing at a time. 

and indeed the timing is the key thing. (that and keeping the emotional investment low). everything cannot be done at once.  we are talking about a situation that will be five years in the unravelling. while it has some components that are more immediate (end of the year say) most of them are two/three years down the line at least. 

trading misery for death (the revolution will not be photographed)

a year ago horsemouth was writing poetry following the death of the (somewhat death-obsessed) sudanese poet abdel wahab yousif (often known as latinos) who set off towards europe. from his poems it would be fair to say he was not travelling hopefully, just off the coast of libya the inflatable carrying him and 45 other refugees  turned over and he and they drowned. four of his poems survive in translation online, a few articles about him, possibly a clip on youtube, and we have photographs of him, and some of his words have made it into song (at about 15 minutes). 

off course horsemouth doesn't believe in creativity as a solution to injustice (or even as a temporary release from its pains) - he likes the rage of abdul wahab yousif's verse, he likes its pessimism. in some way the initial report of his death has the best artistic response to his death in its title - trading misery for death. 

for abdel wahab yousif

occupy heaven against the wastes of time

the silver linings

keep on coming

'don't they just'

like the clouds

like the deaths of poets

and anthropologists

Abdel Wahab Yousif

(say his name)

and now we have your poems

they floated free of the boat

(but you did not)

'die fast or die slow'

die in hospital

die drowning in the sea

die like a rat

I want you to die

I want you to die

and I want your corpse

to turn over

and look up at the clouds

and their silver linings

of democracy

and europe

horsemouth feels he is on safe ground (boom boom) calling for abdel wahab yousif's death because he's already dead (and thus it can't hurt him). looking at the poem now he should probably cut the last two lines (but on the other hand they are a strong 'pull factor').

---------------------------------------

 'recently photography has become almost as widely practiced an amusement as sex and dancing...'            - susan sontag, on photography, p.8. 

this susan confidently asserted 44 years ago (possibly even earlier in the pages of the NYRB). 

horsemouth couldn't possibly comment (he hasn't been out dancing in probably two years and as for the sex...). there's a camera on the laptop (but horsemouth never takes it out and about). horsemouth has a stupid phone (rather than a smart one) so no camera there. as a result horsemouth will often inveigle other people into taking photographs of him (and publish them here). truly his vanity knows no bounds. 

er. today... er. today horsemouth doesn't know. maybe a walk with tim goldie. more reading of sontag's on photography (a book it will probably turn out horsemouth owns already and has forgotten he owns and that has become lost in the stacks). 

horsemouth should probably get on with writing the business plan. he has been processing. his critics have made him think. they have demanded the impossible and now horsemouth will attempt to serve them the thin tasteless gruel of the possible and see how they like it). 

we roll towards the autumn equinox (wednesday 22nd september) the time to pay ghost dog (and the other retainers). in normal years we would be off down the long dark tunnel  of work and dark nights until horsemouth (like mole) would emerge blinking into the sunlight of  may 2022. 

but this has not been a year like any other and horsemouth is not clear that he wants to get back up and dance, he thinks the dance of death might be a good one to sit out. 

alles ständische und stehende verdampft (bandcamp friday)

so an instrumental version of fallen angel by king crimson has emerged from the vaults. you can hear much more clearly  the harmonics of the guitar, the flugelhorn, the clarinet. fallen angel isn't horsemouth's favourite track from off red (but it's pretty fucking great). (horsemouth is following it up with a listen to the vocal version). 

a year ago horsemouth was waiting for the arrival of the musicians of bremen volume four CDs (and when they arrived they were beautiful). now he is waiting for an email. he gets up, he surveys his email box, nothing.  he's been offered a smidgen of work too but he's not convinced by the scale of it. 

yesterday horsemouth did a little business planning (or rather he tried to work out what was going on in the world of social housing, for this is the communal endeavour's field of operations). for this he finds inside housing's podcast thoroughly helpful. horsemouth has come to the conclusion that his critics and their demands for affordability (aka. charge me less rent than everybody else) will have to be addressed. 

horsemouth (as he has mentioned before) has succumbed to the romance of development. he positively welcomes that moment in capitalism where all that is solid melts into air (as the english translation into the language of shakespeare has it). but of course the original german has it differently as  alles ständische und stehende verdampft which seems to have a pun involving two varieties of standing in it (horsemouth is indebted to a podcast about robert curgenven for this belated discovery).

of course (stockholm syndrome style) getting the hostages to identify with their captors is the big thing (thereafter the hostages will have quality circles where they will sit and discuss how they can be better hostages - did horsemouth mention the business plan). 

cafeOTO · TR176 - Triple Negative - 'Stabject Seepex Abgeist'

horsemouth's favourite band have a gig coming up (october 23rd. cafe OTO) and seemingly a new album of grit  on cafe OTO's 'record label'. horsemouth's musical outpourings are with the proles on bandcamp. 

it is bandcamp friday when they 'waive their revenue share' so should you purchase any musicians of bremen music in this period horsemouth and howard will get a few shekels extra. but horsemouth is convinced you (all of you who know him and are likely to purchase musicians of bremen's music) already own as much musiciand of bremen as there actually is so he will probably advertise other people's music instead. if anybody in the seaside towns wishes for a CD drop horsemouth a message and he will womble one over. 

in the words of eric cartman...

 'I hate you guys...' 

horsemouth went to a meeting of the communal endeavour. he presented where he'd got to with the the thing he'd said he'd do (having failed to circulate it round the people he said he'd circulate it round). it seemed to go ok. now all he has to do is write the fucking thing.

of course the entire process of it is not how he would wish it.

people want cheaper rent (horsemouth gets it. he'd like cheaper rent himself). to have cheaper rent means either having more money coming in (more properties aka. development) or less money going out (restructuring aka. cuts to services). horsemouth will be proposing both.

the key alternative is always already to do nothing (the communal endeavour's preferred means of operation). when the people whose housing is being handed back come to you for re-housing just invite them to piss off (why not?) or you could make efforts to rehouse them (or as many of them as can reasonably be afforded) - but hey no, that would be trying to do something. 

it is always tempting to let the frustrations of the process retain our attention (because it's really quite frustrating) but it's futile. 

a farewell to kings by rush was recorded in wales (well ok rockfield, monmouthshire) and released yesterday 1977. (it owes a lot to budgie horsemouth thinks)

'scheming demons rest in kingly guise,

scoffing at the multitude.

and beating down the wise...'

there are birds to be heard on it (mostly on the fake baroque guitar intro). this is of course fiercely modern and no-one could possibly have thought of it before lockdown.  horsemouth was just having a quick look at spirit of the radio. 

after the meeting horsemouth stomped home in high dudgeon and threw a few beers down his neck (and then he calmed down). 

horsemouth hopes he's got the administrations in and the tap will be turned on. 

'ieets voor allen' (something for everyone)

 'a condition of complete simplicity (costing not less than everything)' 

- t.s. eliot much gidding from four quartets (repunctuated in a hosremouth stylee).

everyone and everything and anything that changes  - there, that about covers it. 

horsemouth supposes this habit of his (of placing subordinate clauses in brackets) derives from song titling (it's where he chorus goes, the lines from the song the prospective purchaser can actually remember). 

his choice of t.s.eliot derives from listening to a michael goldfarb podcast - goldfarb is a classic american anglophile (like eliot) but 50 years later how's it looking for him? uncharacteristically in a series for the essay on radio 3 he discusses the non-hollywood films of his time in new york ending with barbara loden's wanda. 

to avoid parting company with barbara loden too early horsemouth is compelled to mention that her life forms the basis of nathalie léger's novel supplément à la vie de barbara loden (translated into english as suite for barbara loden)- in the french wikipedia entry we discover that barbara's film wanda is based on the life of real life bank robber alma malone. there is more sympathy for this case study thinking in france - think of foucault's publication and commentary on the confession of murderer pierre riviere,  moi, pierre riviere...

alma was from kansas (the appalachian backstory was loden's). the bank robbery took place on the 23rd of september 1959. it pretty much goes down like it does in the film. alma gets a 20 year jail sentence, she thanks the judge, this is the fact that interested loden in the case, but alma thought a death sentence was possible so it makes sense. alma was in  jail for 10 years until 1970. she gets out, moves to live with her sister. but then she takes up with another  wrong'un, jumps parole, vanishes and is never heard from by her family again. 

last night horsemouth watched kansas city confidential (another bank heist movie). yesterday he walked up to the supermarket (not the one in the fields) - so about 3 miles there and back. this evening he'll walk over to the offices of the communal endeavour (so slightly over 4 miles all told), he has been a bad boy and failed to do his homework perhaps the best solution is to spread the load. 

thursday maybe he'll walk 5 miles (and so on). friday is bandcamp friday. next week the 20th anniversary of 9/11. horsemouth's administrations have so far not resolved themselves.