horsemouth is back from the gig at cafe OTO with triple negative, sunik kim, and al karpenter.
triple negative were their usual grimey selves. if it didn't feel quite as apocalyptic as the last time (then it felt like one (last) moment in annihilation's waste) that's probably because times have changed. the plague has become a cold (if not technically over), the sick are no longer to be treated with sympathy (like something out of samuel butler).
has horsemouth had it? he doesn't think so. which probably means he hasn't. he does hope he doesn't get it (that would be annoying - and possibly fatal).
sunik kim brought the noise, al karpenter brought a kind of improvising rock/ butthole surfers take on the protest song.
horsemouth said hi to matthew and anja (and nodded to denis). he tried to engage matthew in conversation but couldn't really hear his replies. eventually they settled on excoriating university funding and the destabilisation of the category of student.
following that (having walked to the gig) he walked back with TG.
sadly (having parted company with TG) as he crossed chatsworth road he was aggressed by some youths in a car. (they seemed to take objection to the colour of horsemouth's jacket). he gave them an expressive wtaf dudes type shrug and crossed in front of them. horsemouth was worried they would follow (but they didn't). this is why horsemouth doesn't place much faith in the revolutionary army of the youth.
curiously TG had been less than enthusiastic about horsemouth's cut through routes and horsemouth was earlier in the evening remarking that he has always been lucky.
and of course you are always lucky until you are not. but overall horsemouth has not had much trouble and escaped lightly from most situations.
this morning horsemouth has a cough. but it could easily just be a cough (caused by the seasonally cold weather). outside it is bright and sunny but cold. horsemouth does not know what he will be up to.
he has finished reading catface and started reading bohumil hrabal's the little town where time stood still. a novel assembled from two novellas beginning with rabelasian pig butchery followed by lustrous hair washing. .
in the novel the buds hrabal fictionalises his battle with the censors thus;
'a cab driver drove me this year from the barrandov studios, and suddenly he asked me laughing,
'you're mr. hrabal?'
I said. 'well I am.'
and he said. 'heh-heh. so they've outsmarted you, haven't they? you wanted to be a poète maudit, and they've turned you into a socialist-realist...' '
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