YES! it's the Fourth of July! the Day of Mai Indypindenz – mai 4th anniversary of the 1st full day i'm living in England! *preens in a shouty manner* anyway, i'll get to teh State of the Slum(p) a bit later but i took above on one of my first times out on the balcony four years back after thwooping some excellent reefer from our last trip to Maastricht. you can't go by the colors, but i was trying to capture the huge purple wisteria bush, kinda off-centre at bottom of pic, amidst the wrought-iron scrolly things enclosing the balcony. over the last four years, this bush has bloomed its gorgeous purpleness anywhere from late may to mid-june. here's a gooderer pic with the wisteria showing up better but still not reflecting the intensity of the purple.
it hasn't bloomed at all this year which AFAIC, is a huge pity. i've heard of perennials and dirennials and such, but never heard of a plant that blooms every year but the fifth. is there a word for that? still not woken up enough to Google for this info and in all truth, i don't care apart from i miss the gorgeous purplenessity. but it occurs it's poisoned or something... prolly my paranoia. to get my mind off said paranoia, here's another i took right after my ass was firmly and legally esconced in England, the view from out our, whoops, soz, Babe, the view from what's now MY kitchen window.
this never fails to amaze me, that i'm living in such a place, the likes of which i'd never be able to afford back in that hellhole i once thought of as home. as i've said here recently, i used to go round with a magic marker (or Sharpie as they call them here) writing on every availaable horizontal surface i found in NYC: '
We shall not act civilised in this fuckin' city' and i meant every word of that shit. back to the good stuff, i'm living in a place in which all it takes is a 3 minutes walk to see things like the next, up at the top of Bellevue and Lower Clifton Hill.
it gives me quite a non-sexual orgasm to even see stuff like that and i rid myself of any such thing by getting all shouty e.g., 'OMG! this is like normal for those born here...' and as i've said countless times here and in meatspace, the only thing i find affordable in England is my rent, yes including the exhorbitant Council tax and then people look at me as if i were nuts but it's true. i was paying way more for a shithole (large as it was) in Brooklyn, a teeny bit of hell in a way fucked-up 'hood.
OK, this next is one of the first pix i took of the gorgeous skies here... i still can't believe how dif they are from NYC. Chris says it's cause i've never lived in a maritime climate before. however, Bonn has a maritime climate but i never saw such skies over there. anyway, i prefer to think of it as more proof of the glorious difs between the UK and the States. here's the calm before the (six second full-blast) storm which occurred right after i took this:
and during the fullblast storm which above clouds brought along with them was my first experience of horizontal rain. here's the balcony whilst it was occurring. as i took it, my tongue was kinda hanging out in disbelief mixed with delight.
OK, having totally failed to check my post yesterday since i was like more than half-asleep, i see its formatting has totally fucked up and now, i've neither the time nor desire to change it, apart from the fact it offends my very high AQ (Aesthetic Quotient), with that black font in bold and all – ugh, not my style.
OK, back on-topic. today's exactly four years since the first morning i woke up in England, the land of my dreams and hoorah for that.
FOUR YEARS LIVING IN ENGLAND is amazing to me and i have Chris to thank for that and whoa, i owe him plenty for making my fondest and oldest dream come true. that's the good bit. oh, one other good bit: i slept for a total of 16 hours since posting last; slept straight through but missed Mark's latest txt. but before posting that i shall upload a coupla pix taken of him recently.
apart from Alabama 3 headlining Glastonbury last friday, the Acoustics flavor of the band played Glasto the night after. big thanks to Cuba23 from whom i stoled this photo:
and big thanks to Chester The Molester, otherwise known to us at
FreeA3 as Mississippi Outlaw. he and his wife Jeanne flew up to catch the band in NYC. can you feel me seething? anyway, he took this of (L to R) Piers (The Mountain of Love), Mark (Rock Freebase), Jake (D Wayne Love) and Rob (otherwise known as Larry Love). please click on each for way huge details and other such engorgement.
OK, the txt i missed and i'm pissed i missed it cause i would've dissed him to death in a timely manner:
'Summerfest was great, made a load of new fans. Stayed in Milwaukee, driving to Chicago now'.
*snigger* reading between the lines of that
'stayed in Milwaukee, driving to Chicago now' bit can only summon up one eight letter word to describe his behavior cause knowing him as well as i do, there's no other reason why he missed the bus, so to speak. hint: starts with an 'M' and ends with an 'e'. well? to quote from The Big Lebowski,
'Am i wrong?' LOL, Mark, d00d! as y'all must know by now, we all love you ANYway so don't you dare get all pissed at me for stating what those in the know, are totally aware of as obvious. day-umn...
as i just txtd back, after sorrying him to death that i'd missed his txt, i'm verily pleased he's having the fun for which this past Winter had so given him an IOU; i'm VERY happy he's having fun (in a Freebase kinda way) which he so sorely deserves after the bullshit that went on, in his personal life. and just cause i wanna, i'm posting one of my fave pics of Mark as Rock Freebase. why? cuz i can. :-)
OK, back to The State of teh Slum(p): it seems i'm not only sleep-typing (as my non-awareity to my last post's fucked formatting shall attest) but unfortunately sleep-doing other stuff as well. this troubles me and muchly so; i mean, with my vivid imagination, i can see myself dropping some Morning Don't Mean Ass and going down The Hatchet, grabbing the first cute young dude i see and taxi'ing it back to my flat, posthaste. and then not having any memory of doing it.
my way-too-vivid imagination paints the picture in my head now, the morning after: 'who the fuck are you and what the hell are you doing in my flat, much less my damn bed?' him:
'Wha? you found me at The Hatchet and went "wanna fuck?" and then we broke our asses getting back here'. me: 'holy shit, i don't remember this. was it good?'
him:
'Fuckin-A! "good" doesn't begin to cover it...': me 'oh. well, that's all right then...' *snigger* LOL at myself. but really, this is quite troubling, especially if stuff like this keeps on happening, the above made-up scene might just really happen and then i'd be really fucked not just proper fucked, but my sterling rep here in Bristol would be fucked beyond repair. anyway:
here it comes, the most recent State o' the Slum, adding a teeny bit – fuck it, in truth, it adds muchly – to my fear of my quickly approaching oncoming senility. when i woke up just before, totally refreshed and for once, not reloading my still drugs-laden head, i bopped into the kitchen and was aghast to see my bottle of nail polish remover only like an eighth of the way filled, cap missing (last time i saw it, sometime this friday morning before i crashed, i'd gotten the urge to re-do my nails and it was halfway filled).
now what's more than a bit alarming is, i have no memory of doing this, no memory of beginning to take the old nail polish off my nails nor of moving the bottle over to the sink cover, something i never do cause there's no need. what's worse is, when i found it, the damn bottle was totally upright, not on its side, where i could understand how the missing liquid had dripped down the sink, but no. and the cap? bloody hell, nowhere to be found.
this troubles me muchly but wait – there's even more! after i pushed the button on my coffee machine, i searched for the kitty spoonrest my sister gifted me with years ago.
first i looked in the usual places: the dishrack for drying wet things and the cupboard for when i'm not too lazy (hah! a really rare occurrence and only happens when guests are to be over) and that's when i actually put stuff away. but no; it was nowhere to be found. about the spoonrest, when given me, i totally loved it but ri-moaned to my sister: 'couldn't you have found one that resembles Peter?' (tiger-striped kitty).
she cursed me out in return mail, accusing me of never being satisfied; her mail kinda went like
'You fucking cunt, wouldn't a "thank you" have done?' and yup, she's right. but i HAD to ri-moan, i mean, i wouldn't be me if there were no complaining going on. even she knows that, dammit. anyway. the thing of it is, as things worked out years later, it's a veritable porcelain image of Hunter. back to when i finally came to late tonight, in near-desperation, i opened the fridge and saw this:
and there it was, on top of a stack of Cheddar cheeses, still holding yesterday's coffee-stained spoon. i have no memory of putting it in there and why in bloody hell would i do that anyway? i mean, everyone knows a large bit of me is my total anality e.g.,
'A place for everything and everying in its place'.
i'm losing it (prolly lost it already) but we already knew that. but still, on this day alone: the entire missing nail polish remover whilst the bottle was vertical (i found the cap in the shelf i keep Hunter's food and snacks – WTF? and WHY?) and the spoonrest found in the fridge; they're both totally a mystery to me. fuck knows what was in my head when putting them there; i mean, i'm reality-grounded enough to know that even i know where these things belong.
i instantly removed the cap from the cupboard, screwed it onto the damn bottle and put the spoonrest back, where it belongs, next to the coffee-machine for easy access. here it is on the kitchen floor cause there were too many reflections for it to come out goodly next to said coffee-machine.
see below for what's blasting; i think i'm playing this muchly hoping the 'satisfied' bit rubs off on me. *to self* i wonder if this is like the beginning of the end: like, more proof i can't be trusted to take care of trivial things in my flat, much less, as everyone already knows, i still can't take care of my own bad dumbass self.
preferably a live-in minder and ideally some cute young dude to take care of my daily wotevers or at least stand by my side, bugging me to death so i take care of 'em myself. this would be someone who cooks like a pro and loves doing so (e.g., cooks on a par with both Chris and Mark, both of whom, just the memory of the meals they so willingly cooked for me, bring a veritable fountain of drool in my mouth). right, and this personal minder must be all obliging and stuff as far as serving me hand and foot.
duties and perks: first off, if you thwoop, i shall be more than happy to keep you ripped 24/7 and even give you take-homes. and i totally neither want nor need anyone else to do the cleaning (cause i dig smoking hash or whatever other kinda thwoop and cleaning myself) but i shall need someone to hold the ladder cause i'm about to do the three ten-foot windows (which haven't been cleaned since four years back when i first moved in).
other perks include an undetermined number of hours a week (was kidding about the 24/7), y'all get to hang with me in Brixton but only if you wanna; if i require accompaniment travelling to London, at certain times you'll be free to take off cause i totally want you to have a life outside the confines of my reclusivity. oh, you can consider this next a perk or a job to be reluctantly done (i personally consider it a perk, but that's just me, your mileage will prolly vary:
i shall expect you to bathe me each day or night you're here, lathering me up and scrubbing my back and the other hard-to-reach bits and such and paying particular regard to what's left of my chestal area. and here's another perk: unlike in
The Man Who Wasn't There, i shall be more than happy to shave my own legs.
as well, said minder must have a strong stomach for the nearly impossible chores on the To Do for SG list i shall bestow upon him – stuff like going to London for me when i'm too lazy to score (read: always). y'know, stuff like that. believe me, it'll be fun fun FUN! well, at the very least, i can assure there'll never be a dull moment round here, what with my constant demands and such. nb: potential minder does not need to be a drugs-doer (which'll mean more for ME). drinking's cool, straight's even better. just sayin', like. :-)
what's blasting:
Praise God I'm Satisfied by
Blind Willie Johnson – again with big thanks to Jeremy and Logical John. *love* i've played the shit outta this so many times since i got it, along with the Bessie Smith i uploaded the other day.
once again PRAISE JEBUS AND THANK CHRIS I'M LIVING IN THE LAND OF MY DREAMS for the past four years. sometimes i think i'm gonna wake up to some kinda fucked reality in a parallel universe, only to find myself still calling Brooklyn 'home'. if that shit happens, i can only pray to my godz that i have no memory of the last four, no, counting DE, the last almost seven years outta the States.
personal note to Wil/The Coat: fuckin' bloody hell, dude, i was just going through my DVDs and two out of the few having no proper covers; y'know they're in paper sleeves –
'and that's cool...' – but i had two in my hand and with my ever-emerging anality leavened with the home-type OCD i find myself getting blissfully lost arranging and rearranging the more than 200 DVDs (last count was about six weeks ago and since then, i've gotten at least 15 more, mostly found at thrifts shops – thank fuck!– oh wow... that's the Asperger's expanding on above post's ADD).
anyway, right, it's not really a topic directed towards you alone; it's an ask so AFAIC now it's cool to be in here. OK, Wil. *clears throat*
THANK YOU SOOOooo MUCHLY for the DVDs with which you've gifted me over the years. i can't put into words how much delight they've given me not only for the viewing but cos of the first hand, most believable proof that all factual accounts must have. in particular i've talking about that great gig with D Wayne and the S.A.H.B. in Glasgow in 2005. this shall be one of the many which'll be bits of my future book chronicling the Alabama 3. if i have the misfortune to be alive, that is. *whispers* come and git meh, Basement Kitteh! pleeh! ASAP!
anyway, i wanna be the one to tell the story of the band to the tiny-teeniest detail but after 2000, it'll all centre on me, of course (since we all know i cannot approach ANY of my fave topics like Usability without it being from a first person POV, kinda like Hunter S Thompson's Gonzo journalism but worser. Mikey once said,
'You're the most self-centred person I've ever met'.
i immediately asked Chris to hardcode it into my real site's template cause, i mean, it was the total truth. i am and i'm extremely up front about it. i mean, why lead people on, them thinking i'm all giving and generous, when i can't stand most of them? but thinking a bit, in all troof, i'm totally with Charles Bukowski:
'I don't hate people. I just feel better when they're not around'. *nods head in a childlike but emphatic manner*
whoa, more ADD and Asperger's, soz ppl. back to my request to Wil, d00d! i had it in my hand along with Rob Love's Ghostflight DVD and other DVD'd moments of Alabama 3 history but since i'm all old and shakey, i dropped them and i can't tell the dif cause they're all unlabelled and i don't have to time to stick 'em into my increasingly cranky DVD player cause i'm scared the next time i use it'll be the time it quits working. so please people, keep sending me A3 shit and i'll be more than happy to pay for postage and proper DVD and CD covers.
back to me on people, there are some i love, compared with the boring asswipes of TRW to whom good manners dictate i must be all polite and interested, that's the time for The Frozen Smile Perfected. about the rest (all Alabama 3 fans – coincidence? i think not), i love them all. that is, the ones i'm speaking to – just about 99.999999% of them. and when i say 'love' i mean 'love' in the 'will do anything to help them out and/or share Alabama 3 stuff as long as it's not on sale' and to the about ten i rilly know *reluctantly includes Traitor Dave* i'd practically die for y'all. nb: my Aspie can't lie thing compels me to admit if the mode of dying was a nice shot o' smack, i'd fucking die for any of the boring masses as well. soz, fellas, i ain't gonna lie.
wait – what the hell does all that have to do with Wil? oh right, look blame it on the ADD and the Aspies (for details! bah...). as Chris says in exasperated semi-shouty fashion:
'The HEADLINE, dammit!'right, please people, when you send me bootlegs and historical stuff, please include a proper CD and/or DVD cover, the plastic kind? i'll even forego waiting extra plus very willing to send youse cheques, not only for the postage but for the material within. i'm putting this in here cause i'm about to being looking through my 17 unread mails, having put it off since i got up cause i've been cleaning, futzing around the flat and playing with Hunter ever since i woke up about midnight. y'know, just thwooping and cleaning and '
Just havin' mah coffee'.
05,17: what' blasting now:
It's Nobody's Fault But Mine (Blind Willie Johnson). yup, y'all can see the frame of mind i'm in so it's time to give my mind a hol and film out whilst having dinner... nah, i think 5 hours after waking up's known as lunchtime, hoorah! tonight is a toss-up between
Lonely Hearts (ooh! total escapism and no thinking required! fuckin-A!) and The Shawshank Redemption which MS Freebase recommends so highly, it's on
his profile page at U-G. :-)
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