Blue Saturday

don't scan

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clerihew

tsk, philistines

just cos some cunt named a thing don't make it a thing imo

eh apologies lapsed into the c-word vernacular there

so we're back here are we?

i live in a new house now.

work internet filter wouldn't let me open this thread cos of "adult content".

too hungover to be useful today but the hangover is a hangover from old me cos i swear leaves have been turned. and today feels too early to be back tbh.

oh and it feels nice to have SB back :D

i remember when sb etc etc

wb imo i never really warmed to julie lagger tbh

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ESdn0MuJWQ&ob=av3e

guilty pleasure but the sky's so blue today

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E2UriAMDuwA

also feeling this, fucking ludicrous 80s video aside

fucking blue moon saturday

ridin solo owns!!!

Tiredness is a constant I could do away with if I slept more regularly. But the hours I’d have to put into sleep come out of my hours, the precious stuff that I don’t sell to somebody else for the means to live.

Four hours of possession in a partied house, bar-tending or gigoloing as required.

The potency of cheap music and old adverts and no imagination. Reading about the Zulu nation at a loss, really. In weak sunshine and massive arrears of chores and a fragile sense of grubby peace that cd pop like a soap bubble any moment now.

otm

trying to ignore the gnattering that hums inside my own discontent, however much I want to hear it outside me. Ever feel like there is something utterly significant hanging in the air around you whilst people – peg-sized from up here in my overlook window – just follow oblivious insect trails around the city?

At least a misanthropy that recognises it’s wrong. Sorry if you’re annoying me I know really somewhere I’m annoying myself.

But only because I could eat up all that space, own the stillness and futility if I didn’t have to eat sometimes, stay warm, show up where people need me.

I guess I don’t need to broadcast this but I don’t know why/not

ah shit sometimes gnomic is easier than working out what you want :-)

http://s0.geograph.org.uk/photos/01/97/019779_bf851ae7.jpg

feel like Scott Street's dead, unlowering bridge is doing solid metaphorical work here

"academic language" made me realise that there is an unlowering bridge between some of us that no experience will ever close? similar-looking creatures living in parallel worlds that superimpose over each other so we look like we're moving in the same space but from our own vantages we're just looking outwards at peg-sized Sims following invisible clockwork ley lines

There’s a book from which one can learn many things, entitled Sexual Life in Ancient China [by Robert H. van Gulik (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1961)]. This book shows clearly that manuals of love and manuals of military strategy are indiscernible, and that new strategic and military statements are produced at the same time as new amorous statements.

a life boiled down to eroge and hangovers is at least still a life

"For me, gothic art (art gothique) is simply a corruption of the word argotique (cant), which sounds exactly the same. This is in conformity with the phonetic law, which governs the traditional cabala in every language and does not pay any attention to spelling... Moreover, dictionaries define argot as 'a language peculiar to all individuals who wish to communicate their thoughts without being understood by outsiders'. Thus it certainly is a spoken cabala. In our day, cant is spoken by the humble people, the poor, the despised, the rebels, calling for liberty and independence, the outlaws, the tramps and the wanderers. Cant is the cursed dialect, banned by high society, by the nobility (who are really so little noble), the well-fed and self-satisfied middle class, luxuriating in the ermine of their ignorance and fatuity. It remains the language of a minority of individuals living outside accepted laws, conventions, customs and etiquette. The term voyous (street-arabs) that is to say voyants (seers) is applied to them and the even more expressive term sons or children of the sun.
Tradition assures us that men spoke it before the building of the Tower of Babel, which event caused this sacred language to be perverted and to be totally forgotten by the greater part of humanity. Today, apart from cant, we find its character in a few local dialects, such as Picard, Provençal, etc. and in the language of the gypsies."

Fulcanelli: The Mystery of the Cathedrals

donnez-moi une autre pétard...

so blue.

Harold Budd - By the Dawn's Early Light
Various - Starving But Happier!
(The) Pentangle - Basket of Light
Lal & Mike Waterson - Bright Phoebus
June Tabor - Abyssinians
Tangerine Dream - Stratosfear
Joni - Clouds & Song to a Seagull
Hood - Cold House
Bonnie Prince Billy - Beware
Vinicius Cantuaria - Samba Carioca
Thanksgiving - Cave Days and Moments
Philip Glass - Mishima
Various - Katawa Shoujo Enigmatic Box of Sound

and here i am, frozen aged 17. which isn't a good look in yr head for 43. fixating on things that are almost certainly not out there, or unreachably far and unlikely like travelling to another star.

i shd weed the little ugly patch in front of the house. i shd go and buy rum. i shd move away from the computer, ma'am.

blue, blue saturday.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v165/noodle_vague/home.png

you can (just) see my house from here

ha, I have pissed against that wall. sorry :-)

but if next time I'm passing I hear Basket Of Light, I'll surely tip my hat in that direction.

oh i'm further down no worries

the last couple of weeks i've become obsessed with the sadness of not being 20, unhealthily sad about it i think. because of wanting the romance that's possible when you're young, but feels insurmountably difficult when you're 40-something.

i'm kind of amused by the subtle refinements my brain seems to find to re-express its horror at mortality. and there's just the faintest tinge of pleasure to this overwhelming sadness, something to do with at least touching the shadow of what i can't have. but still this isn't great, to be this sad every day.

dunno what i'm saying, i just had to try and read that in black and white.

Maybe you're growing up, again? Things that changed direction at a certain point in life have to go back to that fork in the road and take the other path. You see the familiar surroundings, differently now, but you'll pass them in some kind of order, I imagine, and end up somewhere new eventually.

That's probably indefensibly twee. Sorry.

no i've pondered the same thing myself. like i've rewound to the point before my last relationship began. i'm feeling indefensibly twee about 80 percent of the time right now *bitter lol*

i dunno. i pontificate a lot about change but i ain't changing very much.

I've been hanging out with earth mothers, I can't help myself. Give yourself some credit and some space for the journey that you're on, is all I'm saying.

:) thanks

You have rewound! Because in relationships each person cedes things to the other one, each one becomes the keeper of certain kinds of things, memories, tasks, ways of being. You're remaking yourself, you know. It's not a small thing.

There's probably a rebirth story in there somewhere but now I'm just making up a mystery religion based on a walk in the woods.

i'm just hungover enough to be too fuzzy-headed to concentrate on anything, and just sad enough to not know what to do with myself, feel lumpen and old and ugly and pondering the mysteries of how do you meet people and how do you make life move forward without going to a pub because the only person i meet in the pub is drunky noodle and his shambling amnesiac decline, and now to take the piss "Endlos...Endlos" is ringing out of the speakers...and it's a sunny day and i can do whatever the hell i want and the world is outside and i am stuck, stuck

Europa Endlos
Wirklichkeit und Postkarten Bilder
Europa Endlos
Eleganz und Dekadenz

end. loss. hahahaha ffs

A man that builds a prettie house in sweete and holsome ayre,
With goodly rowms and choise of place, and windows large and fayre,
Shall heer his neighbour streight disprayes the seate and eek the fraem;
Yet hee that praets wants wealth and wit, and cannot mende the seam.

At the High Crosse, in a disguised manner, stood FAEM, very orderly set forth, and spoke as followeth, by an excellent boy:

tendency to follow rabbit holes further and further down for want of anything better to do but at bottom not so much wonderland as earthworms and rabbit shit

lookit now

There's plenty lumpen and ugly (and getting there, oldwise) of us that do ok. And we do it without being brilliant- an advantage you have, afaic. Sure, maybe not as cranky, tbf, but i mean cranky works for lots of ppl ito friends/lovers. Not saying 'gtf out there' or w/e but i might be hinting at 'don't be an ass'

it's a sheer question of practicalities rather than moxie, i fear

moxie, afaict, seems to be an ability to ignore the odds

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q0ZBaZoBCaA

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v165/noodle_vague/431577_10150795255683696_566688695_.jpg

i don't even

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v165/noodle_vague/420323_10150795381993696_566688695_.jpg

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nCq8jx49nDU

fucking love this so hard

was gonna post brenda lee's im sorry and then evan lurie's track on the trees lounge soundtrack but you know

this

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fCG26OvcMP4

seriously this is prob nowhere near the best ron trent record but the piano at 3:41

i enjoyed that

such a religious hangover today, the world so vivid and tactile around me as i secede from it. booming around work evidently still hammered and surfing on warm "one of us" tolerance tho i'm fully aware i need to start topping the booze tank up asap because when this wears off and i sink into properly hungover it's gonna hurt hurt hurt...i am gonna sail like Bas Jan Ader until you and you and you can't see me but krishna it's so beuatifullll