I wrote two songs yesterday. One is a really rotten synthetic horrorcore robo-sex landscape, and one is a massive pop song about collective consciousness. This is the way we ball.
“You don’t really want it with Dizzy I get busy.”
Jeff and Phil rang me at 7am, having just seen my boys The Eighties Matchbox destroy Texas, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I didn’t go straight back to sleep, but arose, like a sleepy phoenix, and plugged myself into my music making machine, where I now sit, pondering my latest creation, writing to you.
I wonder whether I should stay here until tomorrow, and make more music, or go home and record vocals, and maybe see someone or other.
Hey, remember a long time ago, I told you about a polish animation about a life I’d seen on an aeroplane, that made me cry but I didn’t know what it was?
My little brother Ally discovered it recently, and you can watch it online. It is just as beautiful and sad and wonderful and amazing as I remembered, and it is called Harvie Krumpet. You can watch it here
I forgot to mention, did I not, that as I’m playing Fabric this Friday, they’ve asked me to take over their blog for the week. So I have. Given their reader’s don’t necessarily know me, I’ve adopted a slightly less random tone than that which I adopt here, and have so far covered subjects ranging between intelligent mice, the Iraq war, Mormonism, Gonzales, Feist, Brave New World, and love.
You can read it here, but you have to join their club. It is worth it though, as they have tons of audio and things. Currently I am grooving to a set Alkan did late last year. It is fucking smart.
Regarding Brave New World, all I can say is that it was thoroughly brilliant, and thoroughly depressing. I ended up relating most to The Savage, tragically. He meets a sad end. Dearie dearie me. I do wish he’d boffed Lenina though. Just once.
In other news, this afternoon I made the illest bit of electronic music I ever have.
This morning I write to you from my mother’s back yard in sunny Hampshire. Birds twitter away about me, a man is doing something loud with a chainsaw down the road, and Keith is defragging my laptop, which he cured of AIDS yesterday. It seems to be pretty speedy again now, praise be, so I can set about making songs and replying to your email a little later on.
The above picture may or may not have something to do with Ozzy Osbourne, but I think it looks like John Robb from behind. Lady Flan Flanagan did it. Pretty awesome, non?
I would like to thank you for the unprecedented amount of delirious mail I have received regarding ATD11, and the Five And A Half Songs About Love EP. It is very encouraging, even you, Karlosbryte, who wrote:
I love your mixtapes, but why put fucking Chesney on there man? That is not hip-hop, and neither is fucking Paris fucking Hilton, Jesus.”
Perhaps I woke up a little too early today. But at least I did. I awoke with the light itself, just as it started to do away with London’s orange night, and I lay in bed a little while, like normal folks do, gathering my thoughts.
I went out into Stoke Newington at 6:40, and the shop that sells me fresh baguettes wasn’t open yet, and neither was the coffee shop. Undeterred, I bought a Mars drink from the grumpy swine next door to Jeres’ gaff and took my copy of Brave New World to the park, which was still locked up. So I sat in the neighbouring graveyard (above) and read, occasionally stopping to muse on the decrepit state of the stones, the rubbish that peppered the patchy grass, and the fact that the vast majority of the detail on the stones has been eroded. Most of them lie at queer angles, illegible in their markings and covered in moss. One I could read said it marked the passing of a man called Damian, who passed in 1887. A hundred and twenty years is all it takes for your memory to crumble. No flowers adorned any of the stones.
I shall cook myself some eggs now. I made my first scrambled eggs ever yesterday. It is piss-easy.
Leo is fucking sick man. This tune is brilliant. Best song about ejaculation ever. Swear down.
Above is a picture of He-Man, Battlecat, and the samurai dude who came with the best, most thoughtful birthday present I ever got off a girlfriend, which was a Bruce Lee chess set. They live on the bookshelf I made out of planks I founf on the road and old video cases. They are happy.
I can see the most beautiful moon out of my window. It looks pretty full. I wonder if it is hollow.