Wednesday, 21 November 2007

The Corkhill Cult

Here they come, blue by blue, the denim uninspired view.

Take a look down any busy street, and from the waist down you will see 90% of the pedestrians wearing denim jeans, most probably blue jeans. What the hell happened? Did Jimmy Corkhill descend from his scally cloud and brainwash everyone while i was asleep one night?

"Worship me, and i will provide for you in heaven. I did not die on the cross, but i went out with a rant in a blue denim jacket. Do you remember my final hour? The great orator that i am. Now pledge your allegiance to my scally but righteous way of life, and don some denim garment, and i shall know, when i look down from the faded stonewashed gates of Brookside, that you, are with me, Czar Corkhill."

Or is it an "expression" of anti-establishment sentiment, against school uniforms, against work uniforms? And what does the Corkhill cult come up with...all wearing jeans, all the time? Yet another uniform.

Monday, 19 November 2007

The Eternal Monotony of Passion

"Being sure she loved him, he did not trouble to please her, and imperceptibly his manner changed. He no longer used the tender words which made her weep, nor did he lavish on her those vehement caresses which almost deprived her of her senses...(he) contrived to hide is indifference."

Madame Bovary, Gustave Flaubert, 1856

It has been written and expressed countless times before, century after century, and still the conclusion is the same. It transcends time, geography, and culture...the circle of perpetual seduction:

"...the humiliation of feeling how weak she was, turned her to rage, which was appeased by voluptuous pleasures. It was not attachment, it was perpetual seduction."

This is coming from an ageing lonesome batchelor in a damp and breezy loft conversion on a night when the Drizzle Cabaret are in town. If you're married and happy, are you thinking "he just hasn't found the right one yet...he will...and all his untethered misery will evaporate like the drizzle that numbs him."?

Picture sensuality plotted on a graph, as a Sine wave. It peaks and troughs exponentially into the future. Depending on how you react to the above statements, will position you on the sine wave somewhere.

No more depth...this is all there is in romance. I'm serious, this is all there is to it.

Sunday, 19 August 2007

The Torment

These days, every place i play, it rains heavily, yielding a negligible and/or indifferent audience, making me feel a damned fool and sending me into a wretched state of sullenness.

To the higher power, whatever incarnation you actually take on: Why me? Have I slayed men? Have i seduced virgins? Have i wrecked homes? Do i wax lyrical about my own genius and believe every word?

None of those things, do i do. And yet, i understand the incredible fortuitous position i find myself in, a young British male with myopia being my only significant physical defect, how can i possibly raise my skinny fists to the sky and beg of you...more fortune?!