Blue Saturday

unseasonably mild and sunny weather had me thinking of mid-afternoon drinking, but friend i got in touch with is away and gf up to other stuff and it’s all feeling a bit hemmed in and spurs 1 burnley 1 at the moment.

xps or yknow not

lol where are u watchin it fizzles

At work, counting down last 45 mins then going home to shave the beard off, don a Hawaiian shirt and pastel blue sports jacket and attend a birthday party

i’m trying to do *writing* so just following it on the mbm. i approve of the Noodle attire. think i’m going to knock this fairly abortive session on the head and go and get a glass of wine in the sun like a colossal prick, maybe even take some poetry with me for added effect.

a line from a poem, “all the flowers of the heart turn to ice flowers”, itself a lift from Kierkegaard’s diaries, has been running round my head and has confused itself with Petrarch’s line “in a net I gather the breeze and in the ice flowers” and now i want to read Petrarch which is what put the idea of reading poetry in my head. it’s a confusion tho because its predominant meaning is “and in ice i gather flowers”, tho i’m assuming the ambiguity here indicates a pun.

still, the reason i’m maundering so is the original eberhart poem seems v blue saturday:

"Mysticism Has Not the Patience to Wait for God's Revelation"
Kierkegaard

But to reach the Archimedean point
Was all my steadfastness;
The disjointed times to teach
Courage from what is dreadful.

It was the glimpses in the lightning
Made me a sage, but made me say
No word to make another fight,
My own fighting heart full of dismay.

Spirit, soul, and fire are reached!
And springs of the mind, like springs of the feet
Tell all, all know, nothing wavers there!
All the flowers of the heart turn to ice-flowers,

Heaviness of the world prevailing
("The higher we go the more terrible it is")
Duplicity of man, heart-hate,
The hypocrite, the vain, the whipper, the cheat,

The eternal ape on the leash,
Drawing us down to faith,
Which the Greeks call divine folly,
The tug of laughter and of irony.

2-1 wtf

im sure ive posted it a dozen times but the quintessential blue saturday poem for me is kinsella:

The day dawns, with scent of must and rain,
Of opened soil, dark trees, dry bedroom air.
Under the fading lamp, half dressed - my brain
Idling on some compulsive fantasy -
I towel my shaven jaw and stop, and stare,
Riveted by a dark exhausted eye,
A dry downturning mouth.

It seems again that it is time to learn,
In this untiring, crumbling place of growth
To which, for the time being, I return.
Now plainly in the mirror of my soul
I read that I have looked my last on youth
And little more; for they are not made whole
That reach the age of Christ.

Below my window the wakening trees,
Hacked clean for better bearing, stand defaced
Suffering their brute necessities;
And how should the flesh not quail, that span for span
Is mutilated more? In slow distaste
I fold my towel with what grace I can,
Not young, and not renewable, but man.

poch out

look at that fucking rhyming scheme tho

if our back line was half that tight

Walking down Holderness Road this morning and we suddenly heard piano music out of nowhere, genuinely magical and weird, there was an old guy outside a cafe playing a charity piano sesh busking old 30s/musical hall-ish numbers, it was engagingly Hull.

look at that fucking rhyming scheme tho

if our back line was half that tight

there’s the odd pub in london where you can be walking down an alley and hear piano coming from the open doors and damn if there’s anything more evocative, half jaunty and humourously *there* half bygone and insubstantial.

Yeah it came right out of the mood of the weather and the day

Aaaah god I don't wanna be alive and sober.

Not that I'm doing well at either.

Stood bar-propping achy and wrong day but too much rubble in my head and have to build a shelter of something

hi there

place worse without you

worse without everyone rly*

*within reason

place is doldrumy nicht war?

Probably not best-placed man to blow those away right now, but give it a couple of pints :D

couldn't poss encourage you in yr vices obv but please god come back roaring in a few yes

so many threads to post "i wish i was dead" on

i wish i aa

was dead

Hitler documentaries und wishing i was dead

love u boo

*emoji for wan teary grateful half-smile*

Lol trailer for "Hitler's Most Wanted" seemingly presented by some blond beastly looking motherfucker

Fuck's sake cunts keep saying "lebensraum" with an ee sound

that piece from Ein Deutsches Requiem on the intro to nazis: a warning from history is really powerful, but also sort eerily chest pumping nationalist marching music.

Nazis were all about the emotional frisson isn't it unless you stopped to think for two seconds or were already a racist cunt with barely-suppressed murder urges which unfortunately yadda yadda

Think I'm gonna keep drinking until organs shut down feels like a plan of sorts

also gonna keep sticking "For What's It Worth" on the Secret DJ because a) why the fuck not? b) pingy guitar noise c) International breaks are the scourge of a godless fuckiverse

throw in he got game every fourth spin imo

Good call

Dit's cd

I wwishi was dead

hang in there tho, eh.

still love u boo

Stay with us & talk to us NV.

Just seen a back garden union jack sun-bleached to the point of having quite a lot of black in it

makes u think

it might be nature's way of saying "allahu akbar! you imperialist infidel scum!"

maybe it's different in other countries but when i see back garden flags they almost never look like symbols of pride but more like symbols of paranoid aggression, plus grubby and weather-worn usually

not that i care much. the blue of this flag had become strikingly, comically black, and i'm in full disconnected daydream mode, and here felt like as good as anywhere to mark the moment.

i sort of want to ramble externally to try and clarify the swirl of nebulous sadness inside me but eh, i don't know, and it probably won't be less nebulous the more i throw imprecise words at it. my evanescence must be indistinguishable from lazy helplessness from the outside. i do want to live but i don't know that i can carry on living like this, and i don't think the world outside me cares to offer alternatives. like some side plot character out of a Victorian novel who ends up too effete to deal with the necessities of survival and just fades away, or pops.

i don't know where this vast gentle pretty sadness that i float in comes from, i just think i prefer contemplating it to any alternative i can envision.

Just paused in Huddersfield station with half a bottle of Malbec to keep me going on the way home. Hi calz!

passing through "the big city" eh? Howdo!

even though I'm pure Heavy Woolen District* these days!

* well sounds better than saying ..erm somewhere near Dewsbury.

or as it is these days The Heavy Drinking, Bed Manufacturing and Karen Matthews district

Train line from Manchester to Leeds is one of my favourite vistas tbf

once you get past Stalybridge and into those ancient moors it is rather beautiful.

or was Staly bridge after? I've not been transpennining for a couple of years!

City of Manchester stadium is a fucking eyesore.

Xxp Yeah except the inevitable tunnels

(this post delayed by huge tunnel)

I mean i like Leeds to Hull stretch for all sorts of reasons too but it lacks the drama

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