Banana skinning

As the clouds scud across the autumn sky, their myriad interlocking tendrils occasionally opening wide enough to let a ray of sun shine through, I pass the roadside shrine of broken flowers and hear the fluttering of tiny wings – do the old give comfort with their wisdom? Or does age mock those less fortunate? Is the stone hag a witch with poisoned apple? Or a dear old love:

….with a plastic glove and a banana skin?

In the meadow, the mellow yellow vibe:

mushrooms:

but by the road a hedgehog is dead and in the pavement lost souls:

listen to the clown:

and as I walk through my doorway to the strange & beautiful music of Tim Hecker, Tony Robinson is talking of finding evidence of the last Roman cheesemakers!

Pack drill?

A misty morning, wet with anticipation and leaves pawing at my legs. I follow the suspect and his dog, but there is, of course, absolutely nothing suspicious to report, apart from the beware low flying branches ruffling my hair (installing the implant?). I get a sudden picture of a soldier’s son and a faraway look as the dad goes off to war…..slightly more prosaically, I notice some honeycombed little balls of joy have joined their good friends the discarded bag full of crisp packets, which i saw on a previous walk (the bag of crisps not the balls you understand), even the sandstone is not talking to me with any clarity….is that a mutant donkey or a girl’s (I think) face?

Brain scan, wrecked bloke’s face (I think) or delta?:

Ornate patterns abound, some faces but no pack drill in my psychedelic heart:

Oh, and I’m really rather enjoying Gene Clark‘s epic ‘No Other‘, particularly ‘Some Misunderstanding‘, somehow all the disparate elements blend so beautifully….now where was i with that investigation!

A darkness of poppies?

I’m back! Although it actually feels more like I’m in holding mode (holding my knackers, kissing my arse goodbye and waiting for life’s next kicking (nothing like a bit of the old ‘ultra-violence’!), or a dose of the rays of hope & tears of joy – speaking of which I have just watched the last quarter of Gladiator….and gushed at the end as usual!:

Anyway, where was I? Due to the vicissitudes of modern life, I have been tied to my computer in less enjoyable, but entirely necessary pursuits , but have managed to map the weeks away in terms of pictures of my various discoveries while walkingz.

Pt 1 was free as a bird (but no beatles) & three is a bird:

One, the number of blackbirds seen (almost enough for a pie…and so many committed relationships);

Two, the beautiful stork which I saw twice (and sadly disturbed when drinking (the stork, not me) the second time) and

Three, the sparrow tree (a skittering mass of birdies bundling in and out, flying off and back en masse, a rolling ball of energy (& sometimes adornment), that made me feel tired just watching!)

Pt 2 started gently…..on both sides the shadows were rising:

and just out of shot Tintin’s Snowy was advancing fast, could the day be saved…did it need to be in that gorgeous early morning sunshine? Hot already……but not burning in the fires of hell like some places we once ‘owned’. Why do people do that to each other? Fucking why? Nothing makes this right. It was naive, but give peace a chance! Hate is not an inherited trait, please god tell me this is the case! The shades of the sandstone are beautiful whichever way round the weathering makes them (and no matter how sad, demonic – or not – the face revealed):

It’s just nature:

so remember, when you’re in the dock, the one eyed alien is king!:

A boy waters this vegetation (now with ‘added embarrassment’), but when exactly is the cut off age above which this becomes flashing rather than plant endanger/encouragement?

Perhaps the first efforts of a pavement artist in the making (or of a pavement seen through art):

Like stars seen through a rip in your space:

and up above lies the eyelash sky:

Pt 3: Is all that glitters gold (well if you take it at a snail’s pace, perhaps?):

My daughter was being haunted by a ghost (or was that just ‘near’ and ‘far away’ land?):

Then I found Punch hiding in the shadows:

And close by the lady of the hydra hair:

What are their stories, can I read the patterns in the grass (x 2)?:

Sun leaves:

My heart:

Are clouds electric?:

Up above the fake tornado rises:

While I find myself ‘in clink’:

Pt 4: A trip to the seaside:

White out! Everything is bleached white by the suns rays, like a coating of snow, only more see-through, today everything seems a little crushed, heat exhausted…so I deal an old sunset cooler:

but the sun glitters off waves that are not there, retina explodes, in the distance a beautiful lady sunbathes, seiz(ur)ing the day. The sand beguiles:

Do I see the elephant in the room? Is it white? Is it me? I am one with Pachyderm (Robert Antony Remix):

Those who know music will know they will see the unexpected, hypothetical, be-spectacled bear (never before seen by this observer) – note my slightly out of focus background, is it significant?

We play spot the difference:

For I am lost, I see horses gallop through my wooden thoughts:

My kingdom (don’t make me laugh! No, please don’t, for I fear I will cry, wallowing in better times half forgotten. Why let the truth get in the way of a good story, no matter how bad it got, was it still better?)

I feel straight jacketed. Could I just throw it off and walk away from conformity? Or is conformity what is real? The rest is just a fantasy, a dream (UK koala bear adoption programme last night!), put tantalisingly out of reach. The dream to aspire to, to keep me going, slogging on, crippled by doubt, what is a life? What makes it worth living? Is it the little things? Do they deflect attention, massage away the big questions….

In the distance the scream and roar of super bike gear changes on the top road complement The Resurrection and Revenge of the Clayton Peacock (Michael Chapman) perfectly, as I traverse Orion (perfectly sketched on the pavement by the impact of falling stones from a collapsing wall) and later also:

Most recently (Pt 5)…..as I pass the fallen pine cones under an apple tree (?) and kick up a cloud of dirt, I am reminded of being a super hero in my youth. Picking out the finest lumps of dried dirt that would explode around my ‘super villain foes’ (although all this was knocked on the head following the completely unrelated stone-skimming-is-dangerous blind-in-one-eye brother’s incident).

There’s, how you imagine yourself to be (a kite flown Tibetan monk, high above butterfly filled meadows, who can hear his eyes moving in his sockets) compared to how others see you (a fat freak, wandering around in oversized blue headphones, modelling a nice line in self depreciating, self pity). The two do not frequently collide, but when they do it’s just awful (beware mirrors and always have a strong dose of AC Acoustics at hand for emergency administration – preferably in a sweaty venue under the railway arches (memory will do, but the tender ministrations of mp3 will help). Alternatively I’m quite happy to have The Argument with Grant Hart (one hell of an argument!!)

High above the dragon flies:

but down below I feel a darkness of poppies:

Cherry blossom

It feels like Cherry Blossom county; pink perfection nestling in evening calm, bathed in that strange, beautiful half light which I’m sharing with Lucy & the Cloud Parade (a wonderfully synergistic relationship)….and some grass:

My first butterfly of the year flutters by. It’s a Cabbage White (is that a shade of green, or of white?) and from the markings, a male. It’s delicate progress across the field is in stark contrast to its destination; an allotment shudders in fear!

Close by Mr Blackbird, all yellow beak a-gleaming, is walk-hoping carefully down the earth path; absolutely no deviation into the greenery until I was upon it, then spectacular right angle flight.

……. further down The Path:

I am well met by the female of the species – more deadlier? hell no! – so laid back it was virtually horizontal; total disinterest in me (is there such a thing as a domesticated blackbird….and why do I even care?).

I emerge from nature’s jungle:

sometimes an alien:

land, to….

Is it a face or is it a reindeer?:

Elvis quiff:

Monkey eyes:

Some ticks (that advertising gets everywhere, doesn’t it!):

Something hidden, A Rubble Face:

and behind The Balaclava:

The cherry blossom is in full bloom and we’re nowhere near Cherry Blossom Falls (why I think this is a real location I do not know), industrial, sludgy, river bottom…..well perhaps!

Sheep’s clothing?

Enjoyed my walkingz in the company of the ‘Wolf People’ today; progressive folk that you don’t have to ‘Fain’ liking; it’s got a very modern feel, old head on new words (strike that, reverse it) sung sweet and propulsive, effusive & quite beautiful guitar playing.  ‘Face’ (below) the music (I almost danced!):

Baby face:

 

Little face:

 

Over faced:

 

 

 

Staring at the ceiling

Mark Kozelek & Jimmy LaValle RULE OK!! No, I won’t visit Bon Scott‘s grave either (but several blood clots, lungs heaving, the so afraid of loosing someone so precious, love of my life = doesn’t matter one iota). I did willingly face ‘Perils from the Sea’ and listened to ‘Ceiling Gazing’…and cried…and walked…and saw faces, all around me:

in nature, it’s my nature….

This one need’s a leap of faith, I’m seeing Afro lady + separate teeth:

Even the gate was staring at me:

while I adored (definitely not ‘Liked‘) ‘Amores Perros’ by Skint & Demoralised (a band with ‘The Bit (very firmly) Between The Teeth’!); his dark materials! Any ho, the Merchandise was of the highest quality (just what I was looking for, especially ‘Totale Nite’;  although I couldn’t help waiting for someone to pop up Ringo-like and shout out a signature:

‘I’ve got blisters on my fingers!’ . Not sure why, but today I hit the wall on more than one occasion:

 

A stone warm classic!

It’s not very often that you discover a fossilized skeleton hand:

and a stone bunny rabbit picture:

in the same day (if ever!!), but today I have….and with the added bonus of sunshine (backed admittedly by fairly continuous, drippy rain), but much more importantly – now my ear buds are waterproof – allied to, at least relative, warmth in place of the brain-numbing cold of the last endless weeks; a heady 16 degrees if you can believe that! Has Spring finally sprung? I’m taking Flopsy rabbit as a positive sign! Mind you, the broken tree pitifully waving……

& traffic beacon victims……

…of last night’s fairly ferocious winds might disagree!

Anyway, I had very enjoyable walkingz, listening to a combination of 2 new backing tracks that I’ve been working on (which I think are fairly tolerable to the human ear) but, much better, another run through The Flaming Lips ‘The Terror’ (a lucky 13th album that I am liking A LOT, A LOT!)

 

Eventually the green, green grass of home

Week before last:

When the Cat in the Hat came back, he should have realised that all he had to do was wait for the snow to melt – like it was doing, admittedly very slowly, now – and the pink (or in our case now multiples shades of brown) snow problem would simply evaporate away….a Lazarus moment:

leaving only:

1) Suspicious frozen tire tracks:

and later on:

2) Chalk (?salt) marked crocodiles:

and

3) Sound waves:

behind (I’m sure someone can explain the latter two (or even all three) scientifically……but does 2 + 3 mark out the death of the snow?)

Anyway, in today’s icy cold arctic wind I’m listening to ‘U.K.’; not, you understand, the sounds of the country around me, but the prog of ‘U.K.’, which has always seemed a glacial type of record; even with the mercurially incendiary avalanche of blurred notes that marks out the totally unique guitar playing of Allan Holdsworth – perfect for today’s environmental conditions…..and missing footpaths:

Along the way I note the icicles hanging from the bridge waiting for the next victim (who is prepared to put in the effort of standing under them…..probably for quite a while):

Then there is the bag of empty spirits bottles (not shown due to the potential impact on impressionable youth) left next to a dog pop bags bin…..gives a whole news meaning to recycling?

Last week:

Sun shining, snowman’s head on flattened body, no firm footing on ‘the path’, snow grey melt, slip sliding away and ‘The Terror’ of (The) Flaming Lips in the still cold air; lurching audio scientists at work on a project of exquisite beauty (although I’m  currently, metaphysically, down behind the settee as the 70s Dr W alien monster is about to appear)…and all set against a different and altogether more multicoloured-poo-bags bin:

I think:

Wayne would be seeing the funny side of entropy and now revealed, white blanket pulled back (in camouflage pattern), the (somehow still) green, green, grass of home:

Fine rain

It was that ‘fine rain that soaks you through’ and I didn’t even have any ‘garlic bread?’ to stave off the melancholia that was afflicting my afternoon constitutional walkingz. It was, admittedly, made much more beautifully bearable by John Grant’s dulcet tones (looking out for those ‘Pale Green Ghosts’ in the murk), but not even the five leaf leaf (beautifully laid out in the shape of a four leaf clover) and the tenacity of a pretty little outcrop of snowdrops, balanced somewhat precariously on the edge of a precipitous fall, helped dispel my somewhat negative view of proceedings; mysterious tyre tracks (shouldn’t have been there), crash jewellery & cigarette butts (somehow so sad) included:

In the distance, as always, there was the hint (just the faintest) of a past beautiful (if a little icy) sunset:

Clinging on

Today’s walkingz is punctuated by:

1) A desperate battle for survival:

the last few patches of snow clinging on to that sheer, heartless rock face…….in the winter of our discontent’ there is no time to reminisce on happier days and past heights of icy achievement:

2) One alien object from last week:

now disappeared, but another freshly formed and going native:

3) Another discovered forest art installation:

and 4) all surrounded and lovingly embraced by the stupendous heart, beauty and soul of John Grant‘s music old (‘Queen of Denmark’) and new (‘Pale Green Ghosts’).