Birdsong of The Spoons.

Despite having spent an age arranging the blind so that she could sit on the rug with her back to the sofa and watch the morning lighten within their slatted lengths, she found herself under heavy cloud, brewing, quite unable to play. She laid the cold horn on the sofa, scooped up her shades from … Continue reading Birdsong of The Spoons.

re: ancient civilisations.

this autumn morning, the same, almost so, as several in childhood, spent trying not to watch the bowl of oats and milk cooling on the sill. "waiting," he told me, "is a patient game." watching vapours reach for the ceiling.   "the ancient greeks made shields from porridge. or was it the polynesians?"   he … Continue reading re: ancient civilisations.

Old Man Grinner

They’ve bottled the old man Grinner. Caresses ya throat as it passes, it do. Good as gold it is, too. Takes ya right back, that’s what a good drink do. Takes ya right back to the old days. Helps ya remember. Helps ya forget. Or somethink. They've made a commemorative cider of his home-brew scrumpy. … Continue reading Old Man Grinner

Run As Fast As You Can, Bear.

11/08/19. Short on time, the brilliantly monikered Esprit de Corpse finish the evening with a frenetic set. Jarvis is a great frontman, rather like a (more) ghoulish John Cooper Clarke; greasy two-piece, bubble hair, scuffed Cubans, yesterday's eyeliner, candle wax flesh. Bent beneath the polystyrene, he wrings the Telecaster's neck and spit-kisses the mic, "WHYDONCHAKILLME? … Continue reading Run As Fast As You Can, Bear.

Mirror (7): Three Christmas Mornings.

7      [postcard]: portrait photograph of Walt Whitman (credited to Mathew Brady, 1860) Casey A thoughtfully sent this from Seattle. In the border frame she has written, brilliantly - v v Double ewe u u w Thoughtfully, because she is a good listener and, brilliantly, because marginalia is where she blends her work into … Continue reading Mirror (7): Three Christmas Mornings.

Mirror (6): Distant Bells.

6      [business card]: Kelly Jayne, BA, MA. Artist. Art Psychotherapist.   *   Distant Bells. Parade of grave shoes. Their shadows shrink and loom. He believes he sees them, so he sees them. He watches them askew. They hover and pass, never ending. The shadows were drawn to this place, he imagined, by … Continue reading Mirror (6): Distant Bells.