Indeed - now this is the hard bit which will ruin
it.
But that does not matter because I learned to let go all the way.
(which of course scares the other half - oh my.... how easily they scare,
except for one that superb horsewoman... wild woman of the hills .... maybe one
day I shall come back to her, or she will come back to...me, but t'aint 'me'
... t’was always for her lass....as she saw oh my she saw... how i just went
straight for her window...not hers.... the greatest sidestep dance move i have
ever made in my life.... now. Because that is what it is about. Now)
Now I must not go into in the zone mode.
But that is what 'it' is about....
But I have a certain ditty on in my ears very loud. It to me is always the
Annik song.....
The Belgian lady
Ruined his Honour...
oops going into 'zone' mode..
Poor fella or rather poor fella's missus.
One of the greatest artist of the last century. Someone who actually
did change the gear of it all. And once he had met her, well.... of course he
couldn't come home to the nice pudgy one back home with his nipper.
Not that it is 'about' the other gender, my agenda is entirely pure - which
is what it is about....
Simple ....
Must be coherent...
Hard when there are five different platforms i doodle on. And even harder
when being a man who knows what the light outdoors is for, in lovely hidden
away rural locations to always be in it when the weather is
benign...
And thus computers were only invented to be on, or in, from extremely early
when it is still dark, and spatter a bit of it all here and there and then;
always be at the cafe by ten of the morn as that is when the nice folk may be
spied. The ones whom can actually get up in the morning heads ....even here,
not addled with last nights gin, drugs, or horse tranquiliser...Or being up in
the middle of the night ruining their children's 'mental health' by putting
crappy crap and lies about their mind on Facebook when their childrens mental
health requires them to find a way to always be abed and sweetly dream... for a
jolly good chunk o time...because your kids need you bright eyed and bushy of
tale... to tell them tales from dawn... the right story about what the lands
around are for...
learn.
You never ever know where how and when neighcher will come and bite your
arse, or your ferrit cages ....
just after the once in a decade 'refurb'....
And that was the greatest mindfulness lesson of all.
The one you cannot but with a plastic toy token from the side of your
Fortnum's packet of corny flakes...
of nothing.#
Because the flakes of wood that rattus left behind for me in those mornings –
my work so hard and diligent turned back into flakes for the fire by them and
their ‘kind’.... bastards
But what hidden kindness. In truth
That so so fuckit why bother i mean all that time weeks and weeks...
Uhhhh must i start over again.... all my so careful work just when the
kairos came along and helped me with best energy and enjoyment of every dab of
creosote
And a job so well done.
Nope... it's not about the job well done. it is about knowing that no matter
how well us mere humans may do our jobs..
Something that isn't shit can happen. And....
That, this is not well rit...
But what's in the ears is not only well rit but so goddam ... perfect.
The version where they didn't fiddle.
And I imagine Annik out front. Plotting how to take him away
from us....
Which is what it is about.
No matter what bleakness and desolation to be able to sometimes communicate
if only to onesself at dawn; as night fades into last night.
Yes... it has been the same twenty years whence of it is hence
Twenty years ago i wandered the street of that proto Hebden Bridge, Totness
or whatever theme park became the setting and said to my self "my my
how fin de siecle ferkin decadent...it still is and seems to be becoming even
more.... dilettante.... poor sheep lost.... trying to be way
they have no idea how to be...and their organs that silly newspaper and his sill
fest.... the public mouthpieces of .... hmm how exactly to describe the whole
thing, industry.... "
T’wasn’t until sixteen years later - the saddest event a person could ever befall...
except it was no falling especially when i sat on the bus a little later and
met the Ed... of the Indi.. the paper one i still believe.... and told
him the tale. And he 'got' it.... t'must not be said of or rit... because it
was certainly not her fault. As a wiser man knows.
But that is then this is pure sublime - rottin Jeffs version. after 70
years as a fairly coherent but fatally flawed human in the worst of conceit and
vanity and self pity imaginable despite lovely loyal longterm wife at home in
the perfect little cottage, probably because of his Oxford
'fellowship'
"... all i have really discovered all my life working on it..... it...
recreates itself every day.... "
Well bully for 'it'. All i care about is knowing full well at every
fading day a few hours later dozing off there is nothing more to think. And
then every dawn or most.... something jolly good fun and fairly sane an
analysis of what really happened comes a long...
And i put on Annik's fella even if she nicked im... sometimes very loud and
the 'versions' just get better and better...
