@ Friday, Sep. 26, 2008 – 16:02:31
I'm up to no good. Or will be. In an hour or so.
It's been a while.
This could be the last time. Life looks like changing. For the better.
I'm treating myself. It won't be company. It will be a crowd. Don't judge me too harshly.
I am weak in the presence of beauty.
Will you want details?
@ Monday, Sep. 22, 2008 – 15:51:09
A few weeks ago, but only a post or two away, I wrote of falling pianos, of endings, of slow beautiful deaths.
But that was then. And this is now.
It's a funny old world. You put yourself out there. Network. Communicate. Stay in touch. But nothing seems to be happening. And you question your impact. Am I invisible? And the silence thunders in your head. Like the drums. Beating, always beating. And then...
Three buses turn up within moments of each other. Bus No. 1 takes you North By NorthWest. Running through a field being shot at by the plane, but, hey at least the plane has noticed you and he's paying you to be his target practice. Bus No.2 is one you've caught oh so many times before and it's frequent and on time and, well, frankly, boring and predictable. But, it always, and like clockwork, drops you off by the ATM with a debit card and PIN.
But then Bus No. 3 hoves into view. Hand held out, while he's still on the horizon, he starts to indicate and slow. If he stops and picks you up, then he'll drive you to a safe and sunlit upland, the like of which you've never known, but have often dreamed of. But will he stop? Will you get on board? On Friday, the bus will slow to a crawl, and the driver and I will compare notes on journey times, fares and destinations. If we can agree that we could agree, then I will be allowed on board to meet the conductor. And then?
So many times over the last decade, running this business of mine, I've had the noose around my neck and the hangman's hand has been on the lever only to be saved by a last minute reprieve. This time not only a reprieve, but the chance of parole too. The sun is shining on that green pastured upland. Birdsong is calling. Or could be Sirens beckoning me to the rocks. But the change I talked about before, could be upon me and could be better than I dared hope for. We shall see...
Talking of Sirens, I do need some. I need to be seduced and seduce. I need to give and receive...but mostly give I think. I've not partaken of the flesh for too long, although I did have a wonderful solo moment yesterday. But I need a partner (or two) in crime now. Anyone?
@ Wednesday, Sep. 17, 2008 – 20:21:01
Oh and thank you one and all for all your lovely supportive comments re: my divorcees support group post.
I don't think I am that great, but I appreciate you all saying such nice things.
Divorcee number two visits this Saturday, so the support work goes on. No rest for the magnificent, eh?
On other fronts the business is still teetering on the edge like Michael Caine's bus at the end of the Italian Job...but unlike Charlie Croker, I don't think I have a great idea...maybe I should just blow the bloody doors off
@ Wednesday, Sep. 17, 2008 – 20:14:48
Just like to say I've been banging on about Elbow in this blog on and off and never was there a more deserving Mercury winner.
Every one of their albums is perfect. There's no better lyricist in Guy Garvey's generation right now. Just listen to The Bones of You or Shattered Black and Whites or Fugitive Motel. Utterly beautiful. If his ability to wrap you up in the melancholic memories doesn't mesmerise you then frankly you're not of woman born.
And he's a perfect front man; all charm and wistful, funny anecdotes. Off to see the boys for the third time this year next month and I can't wait.
@ Tuesday, Sep. 09, 2008 – 13:18:14
Several years ago, my brother's wife left him and I spent weeks, months being a shoulder to cry on, a voice of support on the end of a phone at 3 o'clock in the morning.
A couple of years ago, my best friend had an affair, left the marital home, and proceeded to fuck his life up big time. I spent hours supporting him, helping him through, sticking with him, whilst he did his best to cut out everyone he knew.
Last week, I found out that a couple to whom I was best man twenty odd years ago, have separated. Tonight I meet him for a drink.
What is it with me? I should set up as a therapist and form a support group.
@ Friday, Sep. 05, 2008 – 15:24:37
The piano hangs mid-air, its weight causing the already frayed rope to slowly unravel.
I can see it now, as it gives in to gravity. Too much downward force and no longer enough upward to prevent the inevitable.
And when it falls it will be slow and beautiful and silent.
And the collision between instrument and earth will be musical, artistic. Not an end, but an event. The opening chord in a new song, not the slowly dying chord of "twenty years ago today".
Peace.
And then something new.
Change. And not a moment too soon.
But before then...something for the weekend sir?
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