The Weekend Summary

It was the best weekend ever.

'Broken Flowers' was excellent, and I loved the references to and airplay of the music of Mulatu Astatke, the great Ethiopian jazz musician. Click here for an audio interview with the man (not in English, but has snippets of his music).

That Was the Week for Woz!

It's been a great week, walking on air, high on life and love. On Monday, I discovered that the car park at Watford's Harlequin centre closed at 7pm, imprisoning my car. But I did rediscover the joy of jumping in puddles.

On Tuesday, whilst in the grip of a foggy haze, I participated as a business expert and judge in the South-East heat of the nationwide Yomp competition held at Reading University (thanks BeckyM), where i'll be returning at some point to be interviewed for my experiences as a failed porn star and coffee table. I was impressed by the teams fielded by several universities and was very pleased to see the team from Brighton make it through to the finals. I would post the photos from the event, but I look like a recovering alcoholic in one of them (and another chap looked like a kiddie fiddler), so perhaps not.

Alas, I lost my much-adored brown flat cap. I believe I lost it while staggering to my car early Tuesday morning.

My poem 'Banana Republic Blues' is in the next issue of The Errorist - I need to supply them with a bio.

As an aside, it appears that some bovines are now doin' it for themselves

Upgrades to business class for: D & Kristof

Marriage/divorce/annulment/alien kidnapping commiserations to: the ex-wife (don't worry, there's always 3rd time lucky)

I better skedaddle and do my M25 thang.

Love, peace, respect & weekend wishes,

Fearless

Weekend Wonder

In the easybeat Friday company of the iPod Perv, I caught four films at the London Film Festival. 'Elizabethtown' was a bit too sentimental, but less so than normal Hollywood products. A wag could argue that the film was subliminally about brainwashing. 'Quo Vadis Baby?' was a cracking thriller/film noir from Italy, full of delicious film references ('Last Tango in Paris', 'M', etc) . I regret that we weren't able to stay for the Q & A with the director. 'Election' detailed the tradition of electing the leader of a Triad society in Hong-Kong. If only the Conservative Party leadership contest was handled the same way, with David Cameron bashing David Davis over the head repeatedly with a rock (note: if you are comparing candidates, remember, they are all still Tory). 'Ultranova' was a bleak Belgian gem (who remember's 'Man Bites Dog' from the early 1990s?), with Belgium cast as a grey, mindless, solitary expanse. Again, we missed the Q & A. No matter, we picked up some good CDs.

As for Saturday, it was a day of unbridled magic.

Listening to: Astor Piazzolla, Baden Powell (the late, great Brazilian Bossa Nova guitarist, NOT the founder of the Boy Scout movement) & avant garde British jazz from the 1960s.

Thinking of: someone

Something quite disturbing

I have already introduced you to Kristof, our pure, sweet, untouched (as yet) colleague. I would now like to introduce you to Simon. But on second thoughts, let me give you a view of his working environment. This is a picture of his newly remodelled garden, fixed to the office wall:



It's a lovely garden, although I am somewhat concerned by the company that Simon keeps in his home life.

However, I am mostly perplexed by the ability of the gnome in the lower portion of the photo.

That's one impressive water sprinkler.

Disclaimer: no Photoshop techniques were used in the creation of this post.

'Kicking It'


Shivering in the summer.
Tick tock tick tock tick tock...
Steel belt around my head so light
fastened oh so very tight.


Shivering in the summer.
Tick tock tick tock tick tock...
Cracking walls of reflection
with head and fists of tension.


Shivering in the summer.
Tick tock tick tock tick tock...
Shaking, cringing, devoid of willpower,
here I am, screaming silently in the shower.

Tick tock.

26th May, 2004

So!

I'm off to write some stuff - my heart is heavy with expression and my mindscape is a cavalcade of carnival images.

But until I have finished those pieces, here are two oldies:

'Two Rings'

One restaurant.
Two almost but not quite lovers.
A duo of Christmas crackers.
Two nervous smiles,
two pulls;
two plastic rings.
One laced with hearts,
the other,
with a question mark.
The entire relationship,
summed up
by pieces of plastic.

12th March 2004

and this one, just over a year old:

'Rear-View Blue'

My baby's got demons,
plaguing her
with questions
she cannot answer.
Her lack of trust
in her feelings,
instincts.
Her fear,
her past -
the memories
that will last -
and not be drowned out.

My baby's got demons.
Cringe O'clock
Cold
Scared O'clock
Senseless
Fear O'clock
Frozen
Terror O'clock
Torture
Tick-tock,
tick-tock,
as my baby
wills
her heart
to stop.

My baby's got demons,
but she won't talk to me.
I can't wield a sword
without direction
to end the misery.

My baby's got demons,
so I step over,
to the other side,
walking
amongst the shadows
of the feral, venal,
trying to grasp
an explanation
for logical madness
from the darkness.

My baby's got demons.
Baby suffers
because of me.
I am my baby's demon,
and I have to set her free.

10th October 2004

It's never the end; just always a beginning.


Listening to: Gil Scott-Heron, Nikki Giovanni, Ishmael Reed & Wanda Robinson

Looking for: my notebook

Today's Star Prize is...

Kristof - Pure & Untouched

















Activities: trying to get rouge out of my shaving brush

Listening to: the two albums by the poetry-music collaboration 'Conjure', putting the texts of Ishmael Reed to blues & jazz. Had them on vinyl for over ten years, but after 4 years of searching, I finally managed to get them on CD from Canada last week.

Mood: indigo. Off to pay my respects to a grieving family friend

The Aftermath

My nieces, Sophia & Natasha, came to visit yesterday. While it is always great to see them, I am filled with a degree of trepidation as I always wonder what parts of the house have been sabotaged or booby trapped. Yesterday the girls played with make-up. I woke up this morning to discover (a bit too late) that my shaving brush is covered in rouge.

It doesn't go with my eyes.

I also caught a few moments of the 'Heaven and Earth' show (why isn't it called the 'Heaven & Hell on Earth Show?'). They asked a Muslim lady, who had lost some relatives in the Kashmir earthquake, if she had her faith tested or if it helped. I don't quite understand the question. Isn't faith an ongoing conversation, where you challenge, provoke, test and rely, much like a friendship?

I'm not religious, but if people are losing faith, what of God's faith in his/her/its creation? Is it time for a divorce? Could a Relate counsellor patch up God's relationship with humankind?

Does it matter?

Should we instead believe in ourselves and eachother just a little bit more, and stop blaming it on Heaven & Hell Enterprises Limited?

Members only

A nice long night out with the guys. On the bus from Hendon to Finchley, we were joined by a religious nut, who shouted about God & Jesus to no-one in particular. Unfortunately, she sat right behind me, so I felt I was being personally addressed by The Power. Being unable to jot down her 'broadcast from heaven', I fumbled with my new handset in an effort to record 'The Word'. Here are some excerpts:

'Sell your possessions and give to the poor'

'Grrrrrr! Grrrrr! See? I am a demon. Demons battle Jesus'

'Jesus! Jesus needs salvation in this mad world'

'Forget about the earthquake in Asia, there will be one here!'

'We are doomed'

Fun gal, eh? As we disembarked, some wag wished the amateur golfer a happy weekend of 'swinging', and then shouted out to the fallen angel the question 'If God & Jesus are with us, how come we got stuck in f**king traffic?' I told the driver to step on it, as Jesus would take the speeding ticket.

Our Angel of Friday Night Doom followed us into Finchley Central tube. I didn't see her purchase a ticket, although she did directly address the ticket machine with a sermon.

This brief experience with 'The Woman with the Travelcard of One Extra Zone' led me to the following observations:

1. There is much trouble in the world, ostensibly because God can't be everywhere. This is mainly because he uses buses. Moral: God should use taxis, or get Jesus to drive his Cadillac
2. God is indeeed within us all, but in some people, he must be damned uncomfortable

I have been told that I will burn in Hell, but I don't think i'll get tickets to it

I tried to get Ash arrested at Covent Garden tube, after accusing him repeatedly (and loudly) that he was 'tickling his change'. While everyone laughed (always good to hear after work on a Friday night), nobody took up my offer of a citizens arrest.

After this, I can't quite remember where we ended up, except there was a 27yo strikingly attractive lady from Galway (Jenny) with a voice that reminded me of honey and molasses (perhaps I am just dreaming). But I did find this photo:

















Ash, Sandeep, Peter & Gerry (taken with a 2MP cameraphone by a drunk)

And some more:






























Next thing I remember was grinding and thrusting my hips to some latin funk in Guanabara (corner of Drury Lane) until 3am. It's good to know that at my age, I can still stay up until 5am, and get by with only 5 hours sleep after that (ooh, are those vapour trails?)

Thanks for the bed Ash (nuff said). I missed the Munch exhibition, but there is always next week.

Best thing about the night wasn't being on a bus driven by God, or the booze or dancing. It was the company of friends, where one can be brave. I tip my hat and raise my glass to the guys.

Take that, you fiend!

Prad obviously didn't get the hint yesterday, when I kidnapped his pot plant (a solar-powered toy) and left a ransom note, in revenge for a spoof text he sent me on Monday.

Today was time for more extreme counter-measures, e.g. fiddling with his chair, dumping some of the stuff on his desk into the bin, disconnecting his keyboard (I would have connected it to another system if the cable was long enough) and hiding his beloved plant pot somewhere in his desk.

We're going out for lunch tomorrow, so he'll probably poison me.

Quotes

'Build a man a fire, and he's warm for an evening. Set a man on fire, and he's warm for the rest of his life'

BBC Newsnight


'Make something idiot-proof and they will make a better idiot'

The Register


'No, I wouldn't say you have a bad past where women are concerned. It's more like, umm...unfortunate'

My Osteopath

Question: will my unfortunate way with women propel me into a different orbit, shielding me away from all harm, and alas, pleasure?

Answer: no, that'd be bollocks

A poem by someone else...

...which kind of reflects the heartscape, after several unexpected communications from previously unknown quarters.

'Woz and the Women'

I ask him why it is,
how it came to be this way-
The many lovers and
the passion, intensity
of both his love and sadness.

Being crippled, stifled
when stimulation was required.
The power games..chess-
but it was dominoes that fell.

His emotions challenged by
the rival belief of
Love as a shopping mall
where expensive packaging is all.

Being cornered, besieged,
victim of saline spells
cast to capture attention.

Sitting there without
a word to cast,
he reveals his unwavering faith,
as he throws back his head
and laughs.

By Alice Joy Stothard, April 13th, 2005

Kabooom!

Well, I have crashed out in love again, reminding me of how tender the heart truly is. But then, if you fail to get it together, then it's probably not meant to be. That doesn't make it the end of the world, it just means it's the start of something else, someplace else. The fact that life is full of more unknowns than knowns, that anything is possible, is what drives me.

It's never the end. Just the end of one beginning. On a more tangible level, there are of course benefits, like:

1. I have more time for writing (I have been hoarding some good ideas, notes, etc that have been patiently waiting to be turned into poetry and prose)
2. More time to record my poems (and D is probably wondering what I have been doing with (to) his mic)
3. There's no excuse left to avoid writing web content for Steve
4. I have a chance to perfect my patent-pending technique for masturbation (but I won't disclose it until the patent is granted)
5. I can flirt without fear or favour (but with girls; sorry to Simon & Pradip)
6. I can aggressively pursue 'Project Gazonga'
7. I have a chance to perfect my patent-pending technique for masturbation (well, practise makes perfect)
8. I can travel to certain places again

It's all groovy. So, with no time to waste, i'll crack on with item number 4, and crack one off, so to speak.

Love, peace & respect,

Fearless

Perspectives

'I covered the tsunami and the Bam earthquake, and frankly I haven't seen anything as bad as this.'

Nick Bryant, BBC Correspondent, in Muzzafarabad, Pakistan


'UK Foreign Secretary Jack Straw said the government was sending $177,000, along with 60 medical staff, emergency workers and foreign office staff. The US has promised $100,000.'

BBC News

There may be a reason why...

'Gulp!'

Oil is wealth,
but water is life,

and

as the wells
run dry,

tempers

will run high,

and
regrettably

many will die

(of consumption).

8th October 2005, in bed, contemplating a bottle of Volvic


Listening to: Bollywood funk (very early 1970s), Pizzicato Five & Joe Bataan

Planning to: write content for the website, try to unknot my back (I hate longhaul)

Another great writer dies

The American playwright, August Wilson. Click on for his obituaries in The Economist, on CNN, and the New York Times.

A man who could carry a hat with style.

South Asian Earthquake

When the Hindu Kush and surrounding area gets a headache, everyone suffers. It's too early to tell just how much damage there has been, but entire rural communities will have been wiped out, and getting help to them will be dependent on the availability of helicopters - the roads and mountain tracks are blocked. My family back in the old country, live in the Punjabi fortress city of Lahore - 250KM south-east of Islamabad. Although I have personally been disowned by the extended family in Pakistan, my parents were able to establish that the old clan are safe and sound. My thoughts go out to the folks back home and the diaspora.

Frida Kahlo

I managed to see the Frida Kahlo exhibition at the Tate Modern yesterday. I was not so keen on the self-portraits (but admired the honesty of showing her faint moustache), but was taken by her later paintings, when she was seeking equilibrium and peace. Perhaps the works that captivated me most were the drawings from the mid 1930s to the mid 1940s, especially the 'All Seeing Eye'. Something in that drawing took me straight back to my childhood - and I was left standing there, a boy of six years old.

I wonder how I will feel when I see the works of Edvard Munch at the Royal Academy next week?


Browsing: photographs of Steve McCurry, and the works of various photographers celebrating the 50th birthday of the Magnum agency.

Listening to: my heart

Some plans...

...like intentions, are just not worth a shit.

Now car-less, my world must temporarily change (or perhaps I should just adapt). JB will provide me with solace, or at least lots of Chinese food tonight, while my gallery tour tomorrow is still intact (if I can remember where Tate Modern is). I have however, had to abandon the Acton Buddhists, and i'll give Kew a miss, for I have far more exciting plans - ok, ok, I don't. I am spending Saturday helping the 'Cistern Kid' remove rubbish, furniture, corpses, etc from his house. Maybe afterwards, we'll drink beer, compare hairy man asses and try to shoot ants with air rifles.

Or perhaps not.

Maybe i'll write some poetry and prose...and write the content for the web site.

Maybe i'll just wan_ myself to sleep.

Moans, groans & Kleenex,

Fearless

I still love her...

...despite the fact she is getting old before my eyes, and is considerably more temperamental than in our salad days long since past. I wince at her desire, her needs, her sheer profligacy. I attend to her tenderly, with much love and respect, as she is waylaid by her incontinence. I remain devoted.

But I am willing to consider reasonable offers for my 1999 VW Passat 1.9 TDi 110 Sport.

To perform, or not to perform?

'Killer Funk' (aka 'Rhythm Method')

Polythene twisting,
straining,
stretching,
resisting.

Hipster jeans
spillover flesh,
sulky teens
tattoos fresh.

Gaudy
glistening
metal,
enamel,
before skies,
insulting
my eyes.

Gliding, skating
between shadows,
a different
beat on the street,
a fully paid-up member
of the killer elite.

Itchy-twitchy-trigger-finger;
let my blank expression linger -
awhile, honeychild.....

Pistol-whip-crack-down,
down you go...

I like to reach out
to you
and kill -
just a lil.

Glottal stop
punctuated -
by sound of Glock.

20th May 2004, The Oracle

'Jigsaw Piece'

Frustrating
Isn't it?
You can't seem
To get
This one piece
To fit
Everything else does
But this one piece
Its shape
Texture
Nature
Character
Doesn't quite fit
You're loath
To let it go though
You grew
Quite fond of it
While you wrestled
To fit it
Into the rest of your life
Don’t be swallowed
By this toil
One day
You will find
A more fitting piece
To your jigsaw
In harmony with
All other pieces
So it’s OK
To let this
Misfit
GO

22nd December, 2003

Waiting, anticipating...

While some speculate, I have a lust to accumulate. I'm off on Friday to the Tate Modern to track down Frida Kahlo before she departs, followed by a quick stint at the Photographer's Gallery and finally, a lecture on Buddhism, all rounded off with a trip to Tyme for some great curried goat. But what to do for the rest of the weekend? I really don't feel like writing anything. I have lots of ideas and several drafts, but want to leave them to simmer awhile. I think a trip to Kew Gardens is in order.

I need to escape my cage,
for I have become fond
of my prison of rage.


Musing over: the Adu-Matthewman-Hale writing partnership for Sade's song 'Is It a Crime' produced a poem of imperfect, unrequited love. Devastating.

Love, peace & respect, Fearless

Time stands still

'Religious mania is said to be the prevailing form of insanity in the United States'

Henry Coswell, 1839

Listening to: Os Mutantes, Jimmy Smith, Northern Soul

Reading: 'Amusing Ourselves to Death', by Neil Postman & 'And Our Faces, My Heart, Brief as Photos', by John Berger

Looking for: the additional battery for 'Coolio', my 5MP unit

Of dinner trays and turbulence

Back from China & Taiwan. Shanghai was heaving - not surprising with a population of 20 million - a city that rivals anything in Europe. I wasn't able to spend much free time there, but did spend Sunday with my old friend Masuda-san, who moved there from Tokyo about six months ago. Of course, we got a little trolleyed and spent the evening going up and down the river, past the Pearl Tower. It was hard to take any photos, as we were surrounded by a posse of Indian housewives who commandeered any viewpoint.

About 50% of the cars in Shanghai are taxis, partly because it's an easy profession to enter. Unfortunately, the oversupply means prices are low, so taxi drivers make very little money. One meeting required three taxis to get to the venue as the first two drivers took me to the wrong place - much of Shanghai's high-tech scene is in the Pudong new development, which is not well recorded by maps. The burping taxi driver with the dodgy trunk was impressive, as she managed to go round bends at speed without my suitcase flying out of the open boot. My apologies to the guy who approached my taxi as I was getting out, only for my door to open and make contact with his groin at speed. He took my apology well, despite being bent double on the ground in sheer agony. It was a shame that I was unable to spend the whole week there (in Shanghai - not standing over the guy rolling on the ground in pain), as 1st October is National Day in China.

The flight from Shanghai to Hong Kong on China Eastern was fun, combining elements of the film 'Airplane!' with drag racing.

Hsinchu in Taiwan was pleasant, although there was nothing to do in the evening - my thanks to Vivien & Belinda for their hospitality and plenty of Chinese moon cake. After relocating to Taipei, I discovered the joys of the city's famous night markets, open from 8pm - 2am. Food and clothing stalls galore, with lots of crowds. I veered off the beaten track and strolled down the backstreet residential areas, watching the Taiwanese at rest and play. I didn't take any pictures as I didn't wish to intrude. I was impressed at how they live in harmony whilst being densely packed (Taiwan has the second highest population density in the world, after Bangladesh).

Taipei was fun, although its museum of contemporary art was closed. I therefore made a beeline for the National Palace Museum - simply great - especially its displays of calligraphy & jade.

I left Taipei for Hong Kong yesterday, hours before Typhoon Longwang ('Dragon King') paid a visit. On the drive to CKS airport, one could see Longwang approaching the island, whilst people started to evacuate. The flight to Hong Kong to London was made vastly bearable, thanks to the stellar company of EmmaS.

'The Sum of All Encounters'

You said I didn't,
I said you wouldn't -
kind of agreed we couldn't,
for we both knew we shouldn't.

25th September 2005, BA169 to Shanghai

...and a very draft memory-dump:


'The King of Collegetown'

For Ravinther Sundaramurthy, and the memory of 1987-1989

The lure of liquid lightning was too great to resist, as you loosened your nuts with some Saturday spanner action. What to do, when, in the midst of post-orgasmic bliss, you were interrupted by your mother, offering you a cup of tea? Not for you the cowardly approach of 'letting the sheet take the heat', thereby losing your handful of sacred love custard. No, you chose to risk the hazards of excessive salt in your diet with hurried mouth-munchie action. But that wasn't your greatest moment. Perhaps the pinnacle of your reign came when you decided to freewheel your Vauxhall Viva downhill. To discover the joys of trying to brake without servo assistance - oh, and to panic, and instead of starting the engine, forfeiting all pretence of control, by way of shaky hand involuntarily pulling the key out, thereby locking the steering wheel. Your date with destiny set, you and your two hapless companion-hostages could admire the view, until you realised the road bent while the car proceeded straight ahead - into someones domestic idyll, a home counties dambuster.

Dares, such as picking up half-eaten apples off the floor and eating them in the presence of an entourage, did pale into insignificance - especially when after ingesting said dirty nugget, you proceeded to eject it from your system - with great haste, around the corner, away from the throng - only for all to hear the sounds of you retching.

Of course it was a treat to have an eating and drinking contest with you, only for you to lose your lunch - and dinner - whilst in the 'Cistern Kids' first car, coating an entire side of a Mitsubishi with chunky chicken and lager, thereby doubling the cars value.

It was a hoot to extort money from people - in the name of charity - all in fear of your nouvelle ManWoman look, having finished a drag contest to undress, only to discover halfway through that your everyday clothes were missing.

Never before did lipstick complement a bald patch so well - at least until Sinead O'Connor turned up.

25th September 2005, BA169 to Shanghai Pudong