Pixies

Fuck you!

Huh? Have you suddenly developed Tourettes?

Fuck you! Fuck you to fucking hell. Fuckity fuck you, minor loser!!!

Oh my... where did this come from?

It's just me, remembering... remembering some old dreams I had. I had a jolly dinner last night, with a friend. He's gonna help me compose my music.

You've got the biggest smile on your face...

Yeah. This guy worked with the Pixies. He worked with Nine Inch Nails. Cocteau Twins. He even worked with Tom Jones. He's working with the next big London artist right now, which I actually have to be a bit shush about. And he's going to help me write my music. And not just him, but... others too. And, and... life is good. One door closes, but another door always opens.

You've met the Pixies, haven't you?

Yeah... I have. All of the above, with the exception of Tom Jones. Had dinner with them. Stayed the weekend at their house. So double fuck you!

Shake Baby Shake

Looking now at your famous shape... they don't make them like you anymore...

Who's That Lady?

... real foxy lady. :)

Vais Partir

The Beach

Goodbye Calico Cat

Everything Must Go, Part 2

In England, when one is presented with gorgeous weather, one capitalizes on it. So during our weeks of heatwave, domestic life stopped, and I lived outdoors from BBQ to pub to restaurant. And thus we store a bit of summer in our body fat, for the winter.

But now that the summer has lapsed again into typical pattern (tempestuous thunderstorms) I've gone inward this weekend, to attempt lots of those domestic projects that I had abandoned. And over the past few weeks, I have been throwing things away. Selling things, hauling them down to the charity shop. Nearly everything is going to go.

At first, it felt brutal. But now it feels healing. It's like my soul has had an uplift, knowing there is less in the flat to worry about. I don't intend to strip right down to a loincloth and begging bowl, but I have a visual image of a friend of mine, who lives in a beautiful modernist house. With hardly anything in it. I love the peaceful calmness of that house. One wakes up in the morning there, suffused with calmness.

Travel has also been an inspiring factor. I've gone so many places, with just one tiny suitcase. Most of my used objects are entirely digital: a laptop, a camera, a phone. Clothes and makeup make up the rest. Books come from the library, but are returned. Films are just digital bits now. And that digital streamlining, completely appeals to me. Objects... I love viewing them, but I'd rather they live in the museum or the shop or someone else's house.

And, and, and... the creative ideas have been rushing in again. Some music occurred to me today. A few visual designs for a website came to me. I'm thinking of the artistic projects lined up. Thinking of getting in touch with some creative partners to get things moving again. Clearing out the waste, it seems, has suddenly left room for the aesthetic to move in again. And that's the best feeling of all.

Lily Brown

"If confirmed, Sotomayor would become America's first racist Supreme Court judge."

She belonged to a gang called "The Intellectuals".

Don fuk wit her.

The Beach

The Westway

The Westway, ah the Westway... I used to get to this part of London more regularly, when I lived in Kilburn. Now it's more like a treat.

I wandered over there on my lunch today, it's a bit far but I needed to run an errand, pick up some goods from a specialty shop. I am always so fascinated by the business built up right under the Westway, using the flyover as their roof. Kids playing under the Westway. Posh sound studios, or wrecked gypsy caravans parked underneath. Grafitti and rubbish everywhere. The load roar of traffic over everything. Flashes of the market, as the train pulls into the station.

A friend of mine used to work for a minibus company that had offices there; sometimes I'd accompany him on his van rounds and we'd start the morning with "uma bica e um pastel" at Lisboa Cafe. I used to go to the market pretty regularly, about a decade ago, before Julia Roberts and Madonna gave the locale an entirely different aura.

But I always think of the Clash. I think of Rough Trade. Even though there is hardly any sign of what it was that influenced them, among the posh antique shops and baby prams.

The Weekend

Oh, little thing... are you crying again? Is it going to be another weekend of crying, just crying?

I can't let it, not again... I can't waste another long weekend in crying.

Look here, look here... come up here and cuddle up, and tell me about it.

Okay... it's the usual question. Why, why? Why did he abandon me? Why is he so cruel?

Oh dearest... you have to stop asking that question. There is no answer to it, you know that. Some people are just cruel. Sometimes, things just don't make any sense. You just have to stop thinking about it, and let it fade.

I know, I know... I know all these things. But it hurts still, the pain never gets any better.

Look here... do you remember one of your friends said "He was a fool for dumping you, you're a great girl"?

Yes, I remember that. That was very sweet.

And ask yourself: who are your friends? That's right, you've got good friends: old roommates, musicians, writers, film makers. Engineers and lawyers. Fashion designers and geologists. You've got a good collection of friends there.

Yeah, I have, haven't I? I've been friends with some of those people for ages.

And do you remember? Someone else just called you "sexy legs" and said... well, some rather X-rated things. Do you remember that?

Yeah, I remember... that was quite cool. Funny!

And look... you're not only a technical product manager, but you're also a musician. You can draw and paint. You can speak four languages. You can cook to chef quality. You can even build a fence, or drive an 8 seat van, or ride a horse. You can even manage a company, do you remember that, you ran a record label when you were 17?

Yeah, I remember.

And do you know what else? In a few weeks, so very soon... you are gonna participate in something so magical, so fun... it will chase your blues away. Don't forget that. You are much, much too talented to be stuck in this place for long. So just leave those losers to their minor lives, and get on with the beautiful opportunity you have. You must create, create, create, little one; everything that has happened to you has led to this moment...

I... I feel a bit better now. Thanks. I won't forget this.

The Beach

A Giant Cupcake

I really, really fancied a pasty today, so I walked over to Covent Garden to get one.

Except I forgot my plans, because today was actually Giant Cupcake Day. The world's largest cupcake, carved up and handed out for free to passers-by.

It was huge! Two women needed to stand on ladders to cut it. They had erected crowd control fencing around it. There was a queue waiting for slices, about 250 yards long.

Really, really strange seeing so many people queueued up to eat a giant cupcake. A bit like aliens waiting to enter a giant pink frosted spaceship.

Goth

This evening, I am selling my Gothic mirror to a buyer. I am meeting this mystery buyer at the Tube station.

I am hoping that it's a Goth. It would be so fitting.

PS: It's Robert Smith's Tube station. If you are a Goth yourself, you will know which one that is.

My Country

Can you remember what happened when he discovered you had been corresponding with the girl he had started to romance?

This I have very clear memories of... he had stopped emailing me or calling me for many weeks before this, but suddenly he wrote me a massive email. And the email was striking, for all the contradictory ideas it contained. Looking back upon it with the calmness of hindsight, I think he must have realized that the lies he had fed me for weeks and weeks were suddenly discovered and so... he sought to chip away at my self-esteem.

How do you mean? Even after everything he himself had suffered?

Yes, that is the irony of the situation. That he could use such tactics on another, when he himself had had his own self-esteem abused in that way. I think he must have been very desperate.

Explain further.

As I said there was one gigantic email, it contained nearly all the themes that we would revisit for the next few months, he must have spent several days composing it. In the preamble he said, and I quote this: "I think it would be an advantage to have somebody guiding you through therapy. I think it could be useful to help you deal with your current problems and overcome your present fears, doubt, confusion and general instability."

Much as he himself had done?

Yes. Although "general instability" was a new phrase, he had never called me unstable before. But in later discussions and emails this became more common: he would use terms like "unstable" or "mentally unwell" or worse terms to describe me. This wasn't so much, therefore, a friendly suggestion based on his own experience of therapy, as much as him telling me that I was insane. And that counseling was for insane and bad people. In the same email he assured me that he was only interested in getting me to be "thinking right and clearly again." But it was clear from his tone that the suggestion was purely nasty. And it's hypocritical as well. Here he was, attempting to build a case that I was mentally unstable, by twisting something as adult and self-healing as counseling. A service that he was using himself. That was a wicked, wicked thing for him to do. And I finally had to ask myself "why am I protecting his reputation, while he destroys mine?"

He wanted to manipulate you into a mindset more conducive to his goals.

Exactly.

And? What else?

He said that I should never have been talking to the girl he was romancing. He said the fact that we had chatted had "burdened" her. Or rather, it was my telling her that I used to be his girlfriend, which had burdened her. It is rather shameful that he kept it a secret from her for so many weeks, but it's even more shameful that my revealing of this fact (not a secret at all, of course) was labeled any kind of burden to anyone. It's fantastically laughable.

Please go on.

He deeply objected to the fact that I had told her things which were "personal to him." I guess, like revealing that he and I had had a sexual relationship. It was rather abject that he had never told her that, all those weeks. No wonder she was upset at him. So of course that was simply him, attempting to reapportion the blame. By putting the blame on me. In fact this girl didn't even believe me, she thought I was a construct, a joke! Not even a real person! I had to send emails to prove my existence. What a house of lies he had constructed for her.

What's the frown for?

He told me to be careful of her feelings, can you imagine? He was worried, about her being "hyper sensitive". Here he had been, stomping on, kicking, and ripping up into little pieces my heart, and he was worried about her sensitivity. No consideration for my pain, however. He even begged me... he begged me to send him an email, that would prove to her my sincerity in contacting her. He was so intent on the object of his lust, he didn't even consider how much that would hurt me, to have to provide emails that would help him build some kind of case of proof, for himself. It never even occurred to him, how this would hurt me. It was just another sign of his single-minded pursuit of what he wanted, damn the consequences to anyone else.

And?

He told me I shouldn't tell personal details to people "I didn't know." What he was implying here, is that she wasn't trustworthy enough to know personal details. If I had been her, hearing this, I would have found that rather insulting. He certainly trusted her enough to proclaim his love of her, but he advised me against trusting her. Although she proved to be a sneaky and untrustworthy person later. Perhaps he had an early inkling there. I remember, I asked him once if she could do some work for us as I thought she'd be good for one particular task (her skills seemed to suit), but he refused outright. He said "she will never do work for us."

So you had already made friends with her on your own, independent of him, and he sought to undermine that when he discovered it?

Exactly. He was convinced that he had to stop something that he perceived as dangerous to himself. Unfortunately, she is insecure and easily influenced, so it was easy for him to insinuate to her, that my motives for contacting her were less than genuine. And she of course believed this. He prayed upon her jealousy, by never really telling her what our relationship was. That was very bad of him to do that, very manipulative. She didn't need more of that kind of psychological terror in her life.

And? What else?

This was the most hurtful thing, so I must quote it. "It's a very different thing to be sending [emails] to someone that might know me or someone I know. To someone that is not in your 'circle' but in mine. You live in a different country. You come from a different continent. But there you go, sending private stuff to someone living in my country that knows people that I know, and knows me."

There is something wonderfully Donald Rumsfeld about that.

There is, isn't there? But forget that for a moment, and just concentrate on the concept. Is all that not entirely, breathtakingly self-centred? It's the thought of someone watching his life breaking free of all the carefully constructed fences and boxes he had corralled all his relationships into. It reveals the depth of his worry and panic, and worse it reveals the depth of his selfishness. He failed to consider, that for a year he had been bringing me into his circle: introducing me to his friends (he called them 'my people'), taking me to parties, even meeting his father and stepmother. It is as though he had already forgotten what close friends we were, how intimate we had been... his focus was entirely, exclusively on the new person. Deeply, deeply self-centred. Clumsily forgetful, which wasn't like him at all.

Why, are you laughing? Are you actually laughing now?

I am. Because he said I had a "misguided reasoning" that he was having a romantic liaison with this new person. There was, of course, noting misguided about it whatsoever. It was entirely true. That's just another example of the psychological games he attempted to practice on me.

So how did you leave it?

He asked me to "calmly analyse what you have done and what I told you, and figure out rational ways for you to learn with the mistakes in your behaviour that your rational analysis finds." Or, to do exactly what he had asked me to do.

And did you?

Yes. It has taken me many months, but I have rationalized that he is a prick. He is a prick, and I made the mistake of loving him. I should never have given him access to my finer feelings, or so much of my valuable time. He is deeply ungrateful for all of that.

Do you regret loving him?

Ask me in 10 years, 20 years. It is much too early to answer that question now. All I know is, how could I not love him? And he grew strong, with my love. Someday, when he is clearer, he will value it for what it was.

You must hate him.

No, I don't hate him. But I am filled with a raging grief. And I am angry, and justifiably so. I was so self-sacrificing, and I entirely commuted my rage and sadness, because he begged me to continue to be his friend, even though he had tired of me as a lover. But he lied, when he said he'd be my friend. Is what he did to me over so many months, the actions of a friend? I squandered these fine feelings on someone who proved to be entirely unworthy of them. And worse than that: he used me to get what he wanted. I want to tear my heart out and throw it in the bin. Because he ruined it. It's no good for anything, anymore.

Beach House

The Portuguese Kitchen

I just bought a Portuguese cookbook. It's taken me about 5 years to buy one, and get my hands well into cooking in this style. Even only a year ago, I was patiently taken to a bookshop in Portugal and we browsed through the cookery shelves one leisurely evening, but none seemed quite to suit. Too many pictures, not enough recipes.

I have a good selection of other cookbooks; I use them frequently. Sometimes I just look at the recipes and mentally adjust them for whatever I actually have in the cupboard. They are guidelines to a flavor theme, half the time.

But there you go: new kitchen, new impetus to cook. I have cooked since I was small, my family adore cooking and socializing, and health issues necessitate it.

I am realizing that actually I did used to have a Portuguese cookbook, many years ago. A previous boyfriend gifted one to me. He had brought it all the way from Portugal, to America. But who knows where it ended up, I probably forgot it at one of my various house shares, and for all I know it's languishing on a bookshelf still.

As this memory is recovered, I remember the book being entirely in Portuguese, with a cover of some kind of incredible 1970's relic scene, perhaps a woman in a huge apron standing behind a table groaning with prepared dishes. I remember looking at it at the time, and thinking "boy these people eat a lot of eggs." Like, at least 24 eggs per person, per week.

And The Ass Saw...

Happiness is... photo manipulation.

The Silver Surfer

No Timewasters Please

I used to think that that standard phrase "no timewasters please" appended to the bottom of "For Sale" ads was slightly odd, but now I'm beginning to understand...

I've been selling various household items via a website, and here are some of the questions I've had:

1. Where are you? (every ad shows a map of approx. where I am located), and then "where is that?" (you are obviously websurfing right now, try dialing up a Google Map)
2. Asked about some material I am selling: "do you also have shears and sewing equipment to give me?" (no, you are the one who is supposed to own those, please provide your own)
3. "Can you deliver it?" (every ad says "buyer to provide transport")
4. "I live quite far from you... could you meet me half way with the stuff?"

But by far the best one, is this one:
"Do you think I could disassemble it and put it in my front bike basket?" (asked about a huge wall cabinet to house a microwave)

Bacalhau

Quero cheirar teu bacalhau, maria
Quero cheirar teu bacalhau,
Mariazinha deixa-me ir à cozinha
Deixa-me ir à cozinha
Pra cheirar teu bacalhau

Quero cheirar teu bacalhau, maria
Quero cheirar teu bacalhau,
Mariazinha deixa-me ir à cozinha
Deixa-me ir à cozinha
Pra cheirar teu bacalhau

Teu bacalhau é mesmo uma beleza
És a portuguesa com teu prato especial
Se o cheiro é bom, mais gostoso é o cozido
É o prato preferido do povo de portugal

Refrão

Teu bacalhau, demolhadinho
Diz-mo se é da noruéga ou aqui de portugal
Mariazinha deixa-mo cheirar
Que coisa tão gostosa
Nunca cheirei nada igual

Refrão - solo 4x

Quero cheirar teu bacalhau, maria
Quero cheirar teu bacalhau,
Mariazinha deixa-me ir à cozinha
Deixa-me ir à cozinha
Pra cheirar teu bacalhau

Quero cheirar teu bacalhau, maria
Quero cheirar teu bacalhau,
Mariazinha deixa-me ir à cozinha
Deixa-me ir à cozinha
Pra cheirar teu bacalhau

Teu bacalhau é mesmo uma beleza
És a portuguesa com teu prato especial
Se o cheiro é bom, mais gostoso é o cozido
É o prato preferido do povo de portugal

Refrão

Teu bacalhau, demolhadinho
Diz-mo se é da noruéga ou aqui de portugal
Mariazinha deixa-mo cheirar
Que coisa tão gostosa
Nunca cheirei nada igual

Refrão - solso 4 x - refrão até terminar

The Beach Part 3

The Beach, Part 2

Buried Under Your Own Rubbish

I have spent a good part of the weekend trying to get rid of a fair amount of my shit on Gumtree.

And to think that people waste valuable time building up pointless collections of rubbish, when they could be living.

It will kill you in the end.

My Indelible History

You can erase my name, but you cannot erase my history.

(I think that makes rather a nice 1,001th post)

How My Brain Processes

... after I've been drinking.

- Wow, I've had an amazing life
- Gee, at least I'm not pathetically boring
- Oh my, I really do have untapped talents
- There is so much yet to come
- Life is astounding, amazing
- I have done so much quality work already
- The universe is full of magical connections

... this time, I will remember all this when I am sober. :)

The Beach

Lonely-Ball

"The new Rubik's puzzle can provide a healthy alternative to a sexual relationship and is definitely not a fetish for OCD social misfits, its inventor said last night.

Professor Erno Rubik, who lives alone in a house made of maths, designed 'Lonely-Ball' so that it takes 30 years of relentless, stroke-inducing effort to get some coloured things on it to line up."

You can, of course, read more here.

Tears Of A Clown

The Airport

Can you remember how things ended?

It was so gradual... there were many incidents, added all together, that contributed. But one I remember with particular dread, happened at the airport.

Please tell me.

I will... but I should tell you an important part of how we got together first. It was early on. I was about to take a holiday. And one day he emailed me, out of the blue, and told me "I have broken up with my girlfriend. I am in pain." It was such a shock, I had no idea he would do this. And so I went on my holiday and... broke up with my partner too.

So that was the beginning?

A kind of beginning, yes. I thought... we had reached an equal footing. I thought "This means we are together."

So it didn't go well?

It did, but not for long I admit. There were... signs. Well, more than signs. He... continued to see the girlfriend.

Did you know about this?

I did, and I didn't. He assured me that "it wasn't the same as it was before". But I was not seeing my partner anymore, our separation was extremely final.

And how did you feel?

Confused. We hadn't agreed to have an open relationship. If we had talked about it, I would have let him. And by default, he did anyway. But that kind of thing does not work for me. I thought "as long as the relationships are not emotional, I guess it's okay." But we never discussed this. He didn't want to talk, about that. He did at first, but then he wanted to keep it a secret.

Are you okay?

Yes, give me a moment... I can continue now.

Please, go on.

Early on... there was a time I had visited, and then he took me to the airport. All that morning he had suddenly become very anxious... he used his mobile a lot, walked out of the room. And as we were driving to the airport, he got even more nervous. We parked the car, and he said "I can only leave you off here, I can't come in and say goodbye to you."

My face fell... and I had to ask him "why? why?"

And he said "X (the name of his girlfriend} is coming back from a holiday today. I can't let her see us together."

"But, but..." I said. "But you've broken up!"

And his face got very dark. But he said "fine, I will walk you to the gate. But I will kiss you here." And we kissed, and it was... loving. His eyes showed deep remorse, at my departure.

And we walked to the gate. I knew, of course, that I would not see him for a few months. And I was desperate to kiss him again. And I took his hand and begged him, but he refused. And we stood at the gate, and my eyes filled with tears.

"Won't you kiss me again? It will be so long..." And he got so angry, his face filled with rage. And he, he...

What happened? Did he strike you?

He....

I am sorry, don't go on if this is painful.

It is painful, but I must say it. He struck me, yes. But what he did was... he suddenly kissed me, but he bit me, his lips were hard and it was forceful and painful. And he hissed "like that? Is that the kind of kiss you want?" Several people turned around, it was so shocking. And I stood dumbstruck. But when I could focus again I could see his face, and although it was desperately full of rage his eyes... his eyes were filled with remorse. And I stepped back and repeated over and over, softly "you didn't mean it, I know you didn't mean that, I know you are sorry..." and he got gradually calmer. But... he never apologized. He stared at me and then... he walked away. He said goodbye, but he did not hug me or touch me again. And I went through the gate, and I don't remember anything else for a while. I remember sitting waiting for the plane, and my eyes filling with tears. And I wrote all this in my diary, so I would not forget.

I am sorry for this pain.

I forgave him, partially because... well, because of what I know about him. But it's a great relief, to say the things I have kept inside for so long.

Jesus Is My Co-Pilot

Chewbacca is best known as the first mate of Han Solo's ship, the Millennium Falcon, in the original Star Wars trilogy.

In Mexico, the name "Jesus" is often nicknamed to "chucho" or "chuy". This is pronounced "chewey". It is a very common nickname in Mexico or the United States.

"God Is My Co-Pilot" is a book by Gen. Robert Lee Scott Jr. The book was made into a film and the expression "god is my co-pilot" or "Jesus is my co-pilot" has entered common vernacular.

Now, here's a video:

One Step Closer To The Cloud

"With most content being maintained already in the cloud of Web storage and services, Google ChromeOS is a reminder that after all these years the fundamental story about what is changing human communications remains the Web itself. The appliances that make Web access possible will be made more efficient via ChromeOS but it's the content and communications which they access which will continue to drive the changes in the world prompted by more universal electronic publishing and content consumption."

A very measured piece on this can be read here.

Even The Smiths Will Be Plundered For Political Gain

Or, the day that David Cameron tried to have his picture taken on the steps of the Salford Lads Club.

He was chased out of town.

Nice programme detailing the Conservative's attempt to appropriate the North for political gain. Or you can read some of the programme here.

Cheap Trick Go Old School... Really Old School

Yeahhh!!!!! But how is anyone gonna play an 8-track these days?

Cheap Trick releases an album on 8-Track

It Makes The Lounge More Homely Since I Hung It

What Should Be Airbrushed On The Side Of Your Van?

Some Nerdy Outer-Space Shit

You are sort of a dork and you are probably skinny and wear glasses and breathe through your mouth but HEY you got a van so why not style it up a little bit with some outer space shit like planets and rockets and what-not. you could 'own' the nerd thing and maybe toss in a graphic calculator or a linux penguin but my advice would be to sex it up a little bit by tossin in a naked robot chick with a mohawk and huge boobs surfing through space on a flying v guitar.