Upper east corner of Penn Beacon attic renter. If I squint, the north sea rattles the weirdoes. I hum a vague melody and pocket paper scraps and treasure found in the street. I count every magpie that I see; last tally, 10. Which is not to be missed.
When the dog bites, when the bee stings…
notebooks and scissoring ‘zines.
Collage, ginger, broccoli (steamed).
Smiling, to-do lists, sleeping.
Nabokov, camping, Lou Reed.
Spider plants, cats and dogs, the rain.
‘Horses’ is still the greatest rnr debut*
Dylan, charity shops, MF DOOM.
Anecdote, story, dream.
Blueberries, salted caramel ice cream. Cheese.
Bellerby, Eno, lighthouses, tea.
Low tide, frown lines, Tom Drury.
Berlin. The moon. Dorset 76.
Pushing paint around, overthinking,
not thinking, honesty, art
Whitman, Seinfeld, The Fall.
Rama-lama-ding-dong, beach combing, baths.
Breathing. Scrambled egg. Strong women, nervous men:
People; la dee da dee da.
Peter Cook, porridge, short fringes.
– flowers & friends. Post in the mail.
Did someone say cheese?
The truth is in the margins.
This way please > Dead Fox In Mid Seventies.
Nick Reeves as cassettes.
*Horses?! Horse shit, more like! (J.Lydon)