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Double-You Oh! O.D. I'm a Moody Should Be ...

Sleep, after reading Mark-P's latest e-SP-istle, and then a few pages of Walter Benjamin on Karl Kraus (intra-changeably, the Theorist and the Journalist), and then a few grains of this or that, and then the usual pre-sleep human+feline threesome amidst the loving arms & whiskers of Buckley and Belle... and then this strange uncannny dream ... a copy of Aretha Franklin's Greatest Hits, a spoonful of blood, German bread and Trappist ale (midnight snack of grainy Heidegger and liquid theology?)... then a story of a boy... stretched over lazy hazy decades ... starts out a Stalinist punk ... plays a few gigs... disappears ... then on and off down the years ... retreat/advance retrait/advance ... always the cusp of potential ... before retreating back into solitary refinement ... never quite fulfilling the expected potential but always hints and traces of what could be... hints of some sublime Song or text to come ... but also always rumours of drugs and other excuses or do I mean excesses or the Other way round ... white powders and PUBlic discourse ... all those hours spent hanging around, dredging around, throwing it down ... all those winters of smoke and mirrors ... when you should have been working a way back (through Cuts, Tracks & Bruises) ... back to ... who? OK, always a few acolytes longing for your return, convinced you're onto something... but each time I forgo work and fall into a lullingly comfortingly artifical sleep, I feel suspended like Aretha Luxemburg...

...and I wake, pen poised in hand like the lightest unlit cigarette... ready to take down the latest dictation... something about a DIALectic of sound ... and the difference between David Sylvian's Blemish and Scritti's Bread ... but it's gone, gone like a gold disc to the pawn shop ...

I dont know, but why does this boy's own story sound or feel so familiar ...?
Is it me, or -?

posted by Ian 7/12/2006 12:56:00 PM

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