'the news from other countries might just as well be from other planets, so far away did they seem now...' - doris lessing, memoirs of a survivor.
in kilvert land (1872) queen victoria has been attacked in buckingham palace by arthur o'connor.
here (in the wilds) an entirely written in the morning blogpost.
last night, before he fell asleep, horsemouth was reading the WIRE review of 2024 and in particular their archive/ re-released category. as usual, of their many records, he only recognised a few.
at number one there's alice coltrane's the carnegie hall concert from 1971 (hail alice, in what was the year of alice).
at number five there's emahoy tsege mariam gebru's souvenirs, at fifteen a creation rebel compilation, at twenty seven nusrat fateh ali khan's chain of light and at forty-eight dorothy ashby's afro-harping. broadcast get two look ins.
in terms of new music there is literally nothing he knows.
march begins
'shipwreck everywhere' cheerfully remarks the triple negative calendar (in a lift from petronius' satyricon).
it is another month with a friday the 13th. (though after this there will not be another visitation until november). there will be a bandcamp friday.
a solid day for horsemouth yesterday. he mucked out the henshed. he walked into ewyas harold across the common (and didn't fall over) for the hereford times. he changed the battery in a clock and got it started again. he started on filling the new raised beds. more on that today.
so far a dry morning but the weather forecast predicts off and on drizzle (and a surprisingly decent week thereafter).
tomorrow, his diary has reminded him, one of the two jackson c. frank days. tomorrow is the anniversary of his birth. the day after will be the anniversary of his death. here he is from later on in his life. you can hear his ragged breathing.
