Touching Wood

Just an update for all those you check out my other blog http://www.schvtrn.com/elementary/blog/ which is the novel "Touching Wood (Part 1 - Stories for boys, 1977-1980), well it is now all there... well almost... there were 6 or so chapters that ending up being dumped and I haven't got around to finishing them, so I have just uploaded everything I've got, with notes for the unfinished chapters.
Hope you enjoy this unfinished piece as much as I have enjoyed not finishing it.

eve o problems

Just thought I should let you all know that the recent flurry of activity on this long forgotten site, was due in part to the rediscovery of the artwork I did at college back in 1994/5. If any of you know the work of the brilliant artist Tom Phillips, you will no doubt immediately see that I have ripped him off hook, line and sinker. I have no shame in that. When I first saw his "book" A Humument in 1992, I almost shat myself it was so good.. so fucking inspired. If you don't know it, Tom took a book called A Human Document and painted it; actually painted the pages of the book, painting over the words on the pages, but leaving interesting phrases untouched, which when put together would be interesting, funny etc. Tom is a staggering painter, so when you see his work, you'll look at mine and snigger politely (his pages can be found here.. http://www.tomphillips.co.uk/humument/0/001010/index.html please look and see how this type of painting is supposed to be done).
However, as limited as my painting skills are, I did find that a lot of interesting phrases would come out of this, words that I wouldn't necessarily put together if I thought about it, suddenly were in a line on the page, and suddenly I was writing differently, unconciously... it was uplifting and very liberating.. more so than the famous cut ups, because with this way the words were being provided by another (in my case a book called The Wabash Factor by E V Cunningham, first published 1986 - I pretty poor detective novel to be honest, but it had thick pages and it was only 50p in a charity shop in Hanley). Anyway, I got a lot of good songs out of this.
Recently, I rediscovered the work I did at college and scanned them in to share with everyone. I have painted about 115 pages (although a fair few of them are shit), but it does get very difficult, especially when your artist skills are limited after 100 pages, particularly when you get a few pages with no interesting words or word connections. I'll be putting up the best ones over the next few weeks, so please look in when you can
Anyway I hope you are enjoying these pages, and please visit Tom's site to see a master at work.

you're beautiful death, I love you

I had a fascination with death from a very early age; an unnatural interest, almost an eagerness to understand what death is, and worse, what it would feel like to die. I was also obsessed with the way other people communicate their feelings about such a taboo subject.
"Goodbye Michelle it's hard to die, when all the birds are singing in the sky," is where it started I think. That Jacques Brel song delivered by Terry Jacks in 1974, when I was about 5 years old. While everyone else was singing the chorus with the altered lyrics about flicking bogies at the sun, I was contemplating suicide.
Then there was Bobby Gentry's "Ode To Billie Joe"; the beautiful song about young BJ throwing himself off the Tallahatchie Bridge (it's strange but until today I always thought Billie Jo was a girl, and I don't know why because it's quite clear from the lyrics it is a boy), anyway, I loved the attention that was given to Billie Joe's demise, the gap he left in everyone's lives and particularly the fact that he was remembered in song... I thought that was so cool; to be remembered like that. I wanted songs written about me.. but instead I wrote songs about death.
I embraced death, never really knowing during those tender years what it actually meant. Death in songs is always romanticised, it is almost glorified, made for an audience of teenagers, who full of self-pity, love nothing more than moaning and pretending to be depressed, in a vain attempt to appear more interesting and therefore more attractive and appealing to the opposite sex.
For me it was always about the music. I love the way songs can change moods, like a mind altering substance, it can plummet you to depths of despair for 3 minutes. The trick is knowing when you've had enough; it was easier in the old days because the needle would lift off the record at the end of the song, now you can leave iTunes on and it will play for weeks, ploughing through a library of wristslashers.
I see death now as a deadline; literally. I want to get everything done that I can before I skip off this mortal coil. If no other fucker will write my requiem, I'll do it myself. Death has made me live. I don't believe in the afterlife, or rebirth or any of this shit. I am sure you have one go at this living lark, and after that nothing. So here I am, and I am not going away.

tears, I've shit 'em

When future generations look back at the beginning of the 21st century, they'll be looking for points of interest; you know, amazing works of art or literature. They'll be seeing what contribution our generation gave to history and the future. Do you know what'll they find...? Nothing. Absolutely fuck all. And why is that? Because this generation of decision makers, only decided to make money.
This is a generation where "celebraties" are given a platform; but the hollow fuckers have nothing to say about anything except themselves.. ie. this is where I buy my £400 shoes, this is where I went on holiday, this is my swimsuit, this is me going to a premier, this is me on the tele.. etc. totally fucking vacant, and not even pretty - this is very, very ugly. Frankly, I find the way they flaunt their wealth fucking offensive... doesn't anyone else see it this way, or I am fucked up?
There are people around today who express themselves elegantly, intelligently, beautifully, but they are not footballers, models, TV presenters, gameshow hosts or manufactured popstars... but publishing deals are being given to these pricks, for their live story ha ha! Some of these fuckers are not even 20 years old yet.. let them live a little first please! Otherwise all they can produce is a fucking pamphlet, not a novel, not a saga.
And all the great writers of our age will be silenced.. and their work will never be seen by anyone but themselves. This is a great loss to our age and future ages.

My two cents (sense)

Loud, fast music is no longer punk rock; it is now a part of the establishment. Everything John Lydon worked so hard to turn on its head, is now on its head, but it's being used by the same cunts who were in charge in 1975... the fucking middle classes. So where to now? Back to basics... give them the last thing they'll think off. Give them something they won't like... yet.
There used to be too many protest singers and not enough protest songs... now there are no songs and no singers. There was rock n roll, then that became vacuous, it was manufactured and it was fake; what followed was the opposite... Bob Dylan; quiet songs, with loud sentiments. Then there was the Beatles, who floated between the two poles during their whole career, but always publicly safe; then there was Lennon who tried to be controversial, but could only find justification when selling lots of records. Then there was the Pistols.. does anyone remember how different they were, and how much ill feeling they produced in this country at the time? Does anyone remember what followed...? Well we're living in the shit now, big business has taken over and big business was frightened by bands like the Pistols, because they showed that the working classes are intelligent and can fight back.. big business just wants us to believe that we need aerosols to stop our shit stinking like shit.. take a look down your local supermarket aisle and see how much crap is for sale.. there are 2 aisles of fruit and veg, 2 of chilled fish and meats and about 20 full of toilet paper, aerosols, shampoo, creams, hair gel, smelly plugs, microwave meals, crisps, coloured paper plates etc etc.
It is so much worse now than in 1975, because no one cares anymore; at least then we were fighting. Now we just sit back and give our acceptance willingly.
John Lydon is the sanest person on earth. But he is only on TV because "it's John being controversial again"... the middle classes love it, as long as it doesn't invade their comfort zone. You only had to see the Lottery this weekend; the presenters were shitting themselves when protesters peacefully invaded the set... that fat prick was so fuckin smug, forgetting that moments before he was pushing the female presenter out of the way to get away from protesters. He was probably thinking about the payment from reruns on the bloopers show (what a waste of fuckin time that is anyway).
John we need you again.... oh wait, we need someone like you, someone like me - you always maintained that we need to develop our own order and not accept what is around us... question everything. Well thanks for the inspiration.. we can take it from here.

god and I at one

Just for the record, me and god have a very on/off relationship.... very off now, and it has been that way for many years. I just think that in the absence of proof of god's existence, we must take on the responsibility of behaving as if he wasn't there.
I do believe that we choose to believe in a higher power to deflect any responsibility we inherently have as human beings: responsibility for ourselves, our planet, and our brothers and sisters across the continents... it's easy to be a jobsworth and say, "that's god's job; I'll just passively praise and wait for my reward in the next life". The next life! Are you fuckin mad? This is fuckin it people.. stop waiting for things to get better, or be put right... it's our fuckin jobs to do it, right now.
Anyway, I have sat on both sides of this argument. I did believe in Jesus. There is still part of me that believes in the human being Jesus, who was born to a carpenter; the man who tried to make people understand that resisting evil only breeds more evil... (but then he never met anyone from marketing or advertising did he? He never knew the inane incarnation of drivel that is Noel Edmonds. He doesn't have to suffer that talentless twat Robbie Williams, who justifies his existence by the size of his bank account).
The way I see it, we are all made out of carbon - the universe is made out of carbon - the universe is a result of a massive explosion - our solar system is made of carbon deposits coming together - our earth is made of carbon deposits, gases and moisture - we are essentially pieces of the universe, mixed up over generations and evolved. So we really are the world ha ha! Maybe it is this fundamental fact, buried deep within our psyche, that we associate with god; and because we can't possibly be god, we look outside ourselves for our creator.... but we all are literally, god and I at one. The same way as every other organic carbon compound in the universe... it's nothing special.
However, our individual lives mean everything, because we are a part of history, and lessons learned now will help our future carbon compounds (whatever form they take). There really is nothing beyond this life, and that is why we need to stop this repugnant and offensive distinction between the haves and have nots. There needs to be a greater degree of fairness.. money needs to be spread about a little bit better than it is at the moment.
What we need is a bit of understanding; we as purchasers need to stop purchasing.. stop giving the fuckers our money, they have enough, they need no more. You are gods, you fuckers, remember that... we are all gods, however, we (the working classes) have stronger backs and greater imagination; they only imagine bigger pillows and smaller phones... our resources are greater, we need to let them remember that.

the smell of rain on warm concrete

I have a good nose; I am like a dog in that respect I think.
As well as the smell of rain on warm concrete, I also love the smell of fresh cut grass; the Body Shop's White Musk; giraffes; petrol; cigarettes; vinyl records, especially 78's; charity shops; the sea; fish and chip shops; and my own farts.

I know grief at least, I shouted

I haven't cried since my dog died. I think I need to watch Casablanca and drink until I can't see anymore.
I always feel a lump in my throat everytime I hear Leo Sayer's "Moonlighting".. I went to Gretna once you see, with a girl I wanted to marry. I thought it would be a good story, I thought it was a romantic thing to do... but we didn't, we just laughed at the idea, and drove on to Edinburgh. We spent 2 weeks in a beige Lada estate, travelling around Scotland. It rained a lot and we spent one night sleeping in the back of the car after the tent became soaked through and was letting in water. It takes a lot to remain friends after 14 days living like that; but we did... and we eventually grew apart. She grew up and I didn't; not until later anyway. I cried a lot when I found that out, I can tell you.

I love you

The first person I ever loved (well what I believed was love when I was 10 years old) was Rachael Lloyd, or is spelt Rachel..? That was the question I asked when I was 10, and that is when I knew I was in love....
It was Valentine's day 1980. I wanted so much to give Rachael a card expressing my devotion (we had been kind of going together for a few weeks). The problem was, when I wrote the card out, I was unsure of the spelling of her name.. was it Racheal, Rachel or Rachael. I wrote it the first way, and knew it was wrong, and the card was spoiled.... I tried to change it to Rachael, but it just looked like two blobs of ink. I wrote out the rest of the card anyway and sealed the envelope. I walked to her house in the early evening and waited.... I don't know why I didn't post the card or hand it to her personally... I just waited around the back of her house, hoping she would just happen to walk by and I could hand her the card. I probably had reservations about giving a sub-standard card; or maybe I was afraid to show my feelings; maybe I was afraid of being laughed at and the kiss we had shared, was just an experiment to test the water for her, until she went scuba-diving with bigger boys..... anyway I stood around singing "It's Different For Girls" by Joe Jackson to myself, for an hour in the dark, and eventually slumped off home.
I didn't get a card off her anyway.
She moved away a few months afterward, and I remember the day she left clearly (we had stopped kind of going together by this point by the way). I saw her family packing the car and I saw the car drive away, I caught a glimpse of her dark bobbed hair in the backseat; I was standing in my living room playing "You Say You Don't Love Me" by the Buzzcocks, over and over again... I kept hoping she would come to my house to say goodbye.
She didn't, and I never waved her off. I was happy making myself depressed.
What a sack of shit I was then.
I think this experience pretty much describes my dealings with girls for the following 15 years; sitting in my room playing records and conjuring up events in my head about what I should have been doing for real.
I don't know if you've ever read Steppenwold by Hermann Hesse, but there is a section about this very experience (a boy's hesitancy to approach a girl which affects his later experiences with the opposite sex..) which in the story, the narrator has the power to correct and this one moment in time, now altered, changes everything.. the boy is no longer shy, he's able to interact on equal terms with those he desired, unlike me, who like a wallflower has let many an experience go by..... my only regrets are the things I didn't do or say, I don't regret actaully doing anything, good or bad, everything I've done has shaped me (just as the things I didn't do).
Anyway, if you're reading this Rachael Lloyd... I love you.

art is the whorehouse of the tourist

For me, art cannot be compromised... and it is happening all the time. Artists are becoming whores.. well it has been that way for a long, long time. The paintings we see in the galleries today (accept for maybe Van Goghs and a few others) were paid for by the ruling classes of the day, and were compromised for that very reason. It's the same with the music of the previous centuries; it was written to please the kings of Europe. The joke now is of course that the beneficaries of art now are the fuckin multinational companies and their advertising and marketing department.. they want to promote their product so they fund films or music or television programs. Do we not see this? At the moment I would be happy never to see another studio film, television program, blockbuster, best seller, chart hit... I want something real, and that only happens without a compromise.
I wish for one day, the working class of this country would not buy a glossy celeb magazine; a top twenty CD; not buy a ringtone; the no 1 besteller; a lottery ticket... not listen to anything but podcasts or indie radio... not watch anything on TV at all.... not go to a multiplex... not be fooled by an advert...not be conned by a piece of cardboard masquerading as a burger. I wish for one day we could all be Bill Hicks (after he quit smoking, but before he died obviously); there was a man who never gave up his integrity. Then maybe after that one day, we would see that the day before we had been cruelly deceived and we really do not need the shit they are selling us... maybe then the working classes would stop being screwed... just remember that without our backs and strong arms and legs, and without our money, nothing in this world would happen. We indirectly and directly support everything that is manufactured, bought and sold in this world... we should remember that. We should remember that the middle classes are spineless and idealess... it comes with living in a permanent comfort zone, you get so very, fucking lazy.
This may sound like some Marxist rant. It's not, it is an anarchist rant; I'm just very tired of being cheated... join the club people... it's free... in fact I encourage everybody not to spend... I advocate putting any money you were going to spend on the above, and put it in a jar... leave it there.