Sunday, Sunday

All the leaves are brown
And the sky is grey

John Phillips is a man who has become disentangled from the world. With this, of course, he has freed himself from society's shackles, how else could you write an ode to Monday? However, with this freedom he has become a prisoner. He has disentangled himself from the worldby tangling himself to himself, the only member of the world's largest cult, the paradoxical cult of the self. For all his alienation he may as well be on the moon. That was the name of the musical that he wrote in 1975, Man on the moon.

I'd be safe and warm
If I was in L.A.

He is dreaming all the wrong dreams. Any transcendence he has achieved is merely escapism, a quick fix. You have to dream your way in, not out.

Stopped in to a Church
I passed along the way
You know I got down on my knees
And began to pray

The knees he kneels on are the same knees as the moustached man's knees in Visions Of Johanna who exclaims Jeeze, I can't find my knees. They almost may as well not be there. It is just profanity. One thinks of Slash exiting a church in the middle of the desert and banging out a comically grand meaningless solo. He is taking the easy way out. You don't make up for your sins in church, you make up for them on the streets. The rest is bullshit and you know it. As Jason Molina puts it Real truth about it is no one gets it right. Real truth about it is we're all supposed to try. 

The Natural Bridge

passing an abandoned Drive In
with ivy growing on the screen 
it's like I caught Hollywood sleeping 
sleep without the dream

It's an album which may well be best appreciated on a cinematic level. Cinematic in its imagery and cinematic in the way we are guided through the space and time that it occupies. In a similar way to David Lynch getting in to film because he wanted his paintings to move, David Berman seems to have gotten into making music to make his poetry move. To make it more physical. There are at least 2 explicit references to architecture, the second being

all houses dream in blueprint 
our house, it dreams so hard
outside you can see my footprints
I've been dreaming in your yard

It is in this dreamscape where the album works best. When Bunuel criticised Italian realism he did so on the back of it  not allowing a certain dreamlike element into the films. For him this prevented the films from being truly realistic. Life isn't all it appears to be. It's more or less something else. For kitchen sink realism to be truly realistic it has to let in a certain amount of kitchen sink surrealism. In part, this is the appeal of art, its unclear verisimilitude. Which is the only verisimilitude there is. Clear verisimilitude being a contradiction in terms. All mirrors may look the same, but only to one set of eyes. Berman knows that when he is trying to reach something truly recognisable, approaching on real, he is at his best when he dream(s) all day and write(s) at night. The verisimilitude that he is aiming for is encapsulated in the line

guard my bed
while the rain turns the ditches to mirrors
by evasive carnations from central Ohio
where the looking machine can't hear us

There's a cartoon in The Portable February in which Berman draws the the state of Texas and then replicates the shape drawing a few clouds within it and calls this shape a map of the sky above Texas. This is the America where the album resides, the space between America and the universe (recorded around Louisville). So although the looking out point is a specifically Southern American, the real location is far more universal

in space there is no centre
we're always off to one side
in space there is no centre
we're always off to one side

The themes, too, are universal. Ultimately it is an album about light in its myriad forms, both physical and ephemeral. The light comes from a dark place, a world who's attachment to surface value is too consuming, self deceptively buying into the emperor's new clothes, how do you turn a million steers into buildings made of mirrors? It asks as the make up girls make out with the mannequins etc. However, it ends with the stars shining into our eyes. So, though you cannot stop the night from coming in, there's a twist, maybe you cannot stop the light from coming in either

don't cha know God stays up all night

Berman tells us in Dallas, ending the song

some kind of strange magic happens 
when the city turns on her light

A wise Monk (Thelonious) once said, "it's always night or else we wouldn't need light". I wonder if that's what's going on in the painting on the album's sleeve.

Untitled Poem

Northern River Song

Meet me at Hebden Bridge train station in the rain

You can get there in about half an from Leeds train station on the 12.21 train

It’s OK to be a lil off time

We’ll discuss last night’s desert island discs

And your poor old alabaster wrists

In ribbons

And how now Mark Rothko paintings make ‘em sting

We’ll have a laugh

By the grave of Sylvia Plath

Be wary with your ankle

Watch not to twist it in the so called devil’s foothole

On the walk back from the cemetery in Heptonstall

The sun’ll go down

On us all and this Northern town

The mini cab office is looking for rivers

Maybe we could spare ‘em a couple of tears

By the water’s edge

It’ll bob           bob along

                bob         

In its old sweet song

And if the meaning of life is weather

Here’s the rain having a lie down

And round here it stays in beds round here for days

Dreaming its dreams in streams

Of mountaintop swims

And remember when you asked the Aire what made it so blue

And where it was off t’

If only we knew

Will you call me when you get there?

And remember that time where I told you I was worried that cats were in danger of becoming overrated

So you to told me that you prefer kittens

And that it’s not exactly like we’re in ancient Egypt or something

The last train’s bout quarter past

So we’ll say our goodbyes fast

And as nothing lasts

Only the past

I’ll walk home

After midnight

With no particular place to go

To smoke tab ends religiously

Which is the only way to do so

To do so

     to    do    so

         to    do     so    

             to     do    so

Thinking  bout nothing particular

Thinking bout what’ll I do

Thinking bout blue

Which is the only way to do so

To do so

     to    do    so

         to    do     so    

             to     do    so

the compassion model

telling someone to pull themselves together and stop being such a pussy is for pussies\\

as I sometimes think, the best revenge to take this on this being a cruel world is surrounding yourself by good and kind people

http://lazenby.tumblr.com/post/61731269206/you-said-self-pity-is-considered-a-kind-of

and when you kissed Robert Mitchum

playing After Hours at the restaurant the other day Tabi said of it that it sounded like a nursery ryhme, which of course it does. I counselled her to listen to the lyrics and then started talking about I'm Sticking With You

There's a reason this song has endured. I think it's because it nails something that doesn't really get nailed too often and although the twee indie that populated the indie charts in the 2000s aped it aesthetically they couldn't replicate its heart as it were. There's the paradoxical beauty of Moe's singing voice which wonderfully mirrors the paradoxical beauties in the songs. It's a good adjective to use about love, sticky. It's not something one can wipe off easily and it is slightly socially unacceptable because it takes you out of society a bit. There's a vulnerability to it as well as a kind of valour. Have you ever noticed how all children are invariably somewhat sticky?   What is really at the songs core is the savage tenderness of love. One of the motifs Lou uses in the lyrics is highway robbery and one can't help but think of Dick Turpin and Black Bess and the sacrifice involved. I'll do anything for you, anything you want me, I'll do anything for you, ,oh oh,I'm sticking wid you. One can't help but think of Bess ridden to death just outside of York. It is like a nursery rhyme but a Grimm one. There's a line Saw you hanging from a tree and I made believe it was me. If that's not love I don't know what is.

When we swing we hang past right and wrong.

Bob

We called him Judas
He didn't believe us
He said 'They refused Jesus too'
We said 'You're not Him'

the stillness of a beating heart

We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars
-----
I believe that stars are the headlights of angels driving from heaven to save us to save us, they're driving from heaven into our eyes
------
Under stars of violet
Under stars of green
Under stars of silver
Under stars           of you
---
Fly me to the moon, let us gaze upon the stars
------
the moon's not romantic, itz intimidating as hell
--
The moon's not only beautiful, it is so far away
----
Why don't we all just take a flying fuck at a rolling donut? If successful, perhaps we should take a flying fuck at the moon...
------------
will you call me when you get there?



Lazenby's Mooon


cosmic Harmony Korine's 'Act Da Fool'

open letter to Rona

Just after writing this letter I was walking to a bus stop when an old timer asked if me I could spare any change and I automatically said no, sorry. Then I thought what am I saying and turned around and gave him some nice coins. In return he took me by the hand and got God to bless me and told God to go with me and finished off by saying I've got nothing and I told him I could see. With that he got God to bless me again and I got God to bless him too and walked off. His eyes were such a light blue. If I wanted to I could have easily started crying in the streets over it. But I didn't want to.
   By the time I was giving some nice coins to a little old lady outside a church I thought to myself what the fuck have I gotten myself into. 
   That street has made a couple of impressions on me over the years even though I've only walked down it a handful of times. The other impression was these two bums sitting in a shop doorway, shitfaced drunk, singing their hearts out You Can't always get what you want! You can't always get what you want!! But if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need!!!



Dear Rona,

My mind's rambling sporadic a bit at the mo
Differing thoughts running as eclectic as the sounds blaring out of the multitude of speakers blaring differing musics in to the air of a traffic filled Camden Road
They blend in to some kind of semblance by making their own semblance of course
The semblance of a cacophony
They have to
Me too
Hopefully
We'll See

I'm trying to be less scared
Eating seems to be an act of courage at times
I'm trying to fill my head more with things I like
There's always beautiful girls waiting outside the tube station
I wonder what that's like
All of these streets signs above our head
You can't help thinking this is what Damocles musta felt like

I dunno, when someone dies I just want to give them a lil hug
and wish them good luck
But you can't do that, can you?
It's how I felt when Chris accidentally killed himself by overdosing on smack last week
I just wanted to give him a lil hug
call him a silly bugger
ask to borrow a tenner
and wish him good  luck

Zach was talking about doubling rice on his chess board again
so I told him infinity pales in significance in comparison to inevitability

Rona, I remember you wondering whether the liking of neon light was enough to justify going on existing
Well plants are canny things
and they sure like good light and good soil
and they're right, these are things which will help you grow
We'll see
Shall we
and you'll always have existed

There's a petition online at the moment trying to get Iain Duncan Smith to live on 53 quid a week
It wouldn't be any good for the petitioners if he did
Because he'd do it
As he'd just have to
It's what we do
Kurt Vonnegut Jnr said to his son, Mark, after he got back from a protest protesting against the Vietnam war that they may as well having been throwing cream pies
for all the good it did
All this petition does is show everyone how principled you think you are
Which may have some worth
Though possibly not as much worth as you think it does

People!People!!
You've got to start relying on the government less
And relying on each other more
When the welfare drops
The kindness of strangers has to rise
it just has to

I know being on the side of kindness
you are on the losing size
I saw a fat man aggressively honking his car at someone and knew this
But, fuck it, you've got to be kind
You've
       got
          to
           be
             kind
you just have to

Rona, it fills me with a great sense of national pride that tart cards adorning the phoneboxes of central London are a national institution
Does this make me an asshole?

Love,
     Sam
           x

The Strong Silent Type (a short extract from Off Centre Piece)

and the she wolf howls at the moon
trying to eloquate her dismal solitude
but, hey, it comes out wrong
as, I've got you babe
her silent companion
reflectin light, purple, across the canyon
and it's nice enough to make a she wolf weep
but she don't weep
sure as Charlie don't surf
and it gets to the point in the evening where Johnny Mac can't remember his fave song

the grace of a corpse

the dead do not talk
the dead don't walk
the dead do not drive
the dead don't arrive
the dead do not play
the dead don't delay
the dead do not dissipate
the dead are never late

I can't tell you exactly what it is that the dead do
but they do it very well

Upcoming

So I've got a gig coming up. Here's the facebook events page, right here. I'm gonna be doing a lil' reading, don't have a show as yet but I do have a name. Rolling Stone, Vogue it's called. With a name like that you don't even have to have a show but hopefully should do by then. Time will tell. It inevitably does. See ya there.


--------
The Unwelcome Blues

There once was a lil' blue welcome mat
Who fell in love with the drop of a hat
Everyday hearing it's soft brown lil' felt pat
She didn't know why she loved it but she loved it and that's that
Blossoming, Blossoming underfoot

But one day there came one day
That that soft brown lil' felt pat went away 
What once was brown had now turned grey
The welcome mat feelin' like a heroine in a tragic play 
Dismay, dismay underboot

So Mr Caraway's welcomes became unwell
Though she read BLESS YOU her lil' heart was goin' through hell
Cos' o' how much she missed her lil' beau, or her lil' belle
Entering the house was different, why Mr Caraway couldn't tell
But felt it in his soul and on the soles o' his feet

I can't help falling in love with you

I've always loved this song, I can't help it probably. It's a song about inevitability. There's a difference between inevitability and inevetibalities. There's something reassuring about inevitability, it means you don't have to struggle so much. It just flows. There's something crushing about inevitabilities, it means you will have to struggle more. You get stuck in your tracks. Damn. We are born in to inevitability, inevitabilities are thrust upon us. Inevitability has grace, inevitabilities, if you're lucky, willl give you grace.  
  Inevitability is things like the sun coming out tomorrow (or not), the river flowing surely to the sea, just those things that happen or not. This song is about the inevitability of love. Some may find the inevitabilty of love to be a romantic notion. It's not really. Everybody loves somebody (or something) sometime and romance has fuck all to do with it. It's just part of life. As long as life exists love will exist in 1 or 2 or whatever ways of its various forms.
  As long as life exists death will exist in 1 or 2 or whatever ways of its various forms. In Slaughterhouse 5 after somebody or something dies the author writes so it goes. In this song when someone falls in love the singer sings darling so it goes.
  Some things are meant to be. Or not to be. Also, some things were meant to be.Or not to be. There's solace in that.

" 'Even now,' she thought, 'almost no one remembers Esteban and Pepita but myself. Camila alone remembers her Uncle Pio and her son; this woman, her mother. But soon we shall die and all memory of those five will have left the earth, and we ourselves shall be loved and forgotten. But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead, and and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.' "

Thornton Wilder, The Bridge of San Luis Rey

The Astronaut Model

“What problems are young people having today?” I was asked at a harmless social get-together at the home of the dean of admissions.

  The problem for young people today is the Harvard Medical School admissions committee. People this bright and accomplished shouldn’t have to be begging for a job in medicine. It shouldn’t be so hard. There should be more clearly defined, simple paths for people to be of use. That so many young people want to be doctors speaks well for the families producing intact applicant and for medicine for attracting them, but I can’t help feeling that there should be a broader array of choices. People that intelligent who have worked that hard should be able to be doctors if they want to. What exactly is the point of producing an abundance of amazingly capable people if we don’t have things for them to do? Two hundred years ago being able to read and write a little, being healthy and having a work ethic, meant you could do well at just about anything.

  It shouldn’t be so hard for people to figure out what to do with their lives.

  “What the hell are we going to do with Timmy?”

  “I don’t know. Do you think we could get him into med school?”

  Every Nobel laureate was once a goofy sixteen- or twenty-two-year-old whose family worried about what the hell or she was going to end up doing.

  I have had heartbreakingly accomplished patients kill themselves or become heroin addicts. It’s not enough to play an instrument perfectly or to get a full scholarship.

  As soon as a new hurdle is set on the path to getting into medical school (organic chemistry, higher and higher GPAs, higher and higher board scores, extracurriculars, community service, moving personal stories, et cetera), the ability to clear the hurdle spreads through the applicant pool like the ability to resist penicillin spreads through a petri dish. Everybody is throwing a lot of pasta up against the wall hoping that it will stick. Any essay that works will be reworked and reworked and reworked some more.

  Some applicants were accused of trophy collecting. It wasn’t enough to be a concert pianist, work in a first-rate research lab, or save a small South American village. It had to come from the heart.

  After watching so many candidates I liked go up in flames I suggested to the dean that each committee member be allowed to advance one applicant a year to the final pool without the usual debate. He thought it was a good idea and would bring it up to the committee.

  Is a doctor really that special a thing to be, or are we making too big a deal of this? It’s like we’re all scrambling to get to a place a little higher up on some slippery pyramid because we don’t know how high the water will be when the tide comes back in.

Mark Vonnegut M.D.

Just Like Someone Without Mental Illness Only More So