Journal Entry, 26th January 2016.

original_sailor_tattoo

 

… an eraser of love … that beat, insistent, emerging, that group, the music that rattles bluetooth speakers and personal headsets and speakers in homes and cars and the like, those personal caves people retreat into. being on the radio is weird, you’re sat in an antiseptic room talking to yourself with right wing propaganda gurning silently from the corner of the room in eighteen different garish colours, predominantly blue, like an American military blue, like Sky blue, like that tattoo fixers programme that so enchants me at the moment, all that suffering for your art bollocks, fuck it, let’s have live suicides on telly. Seen all this sort of thing before, associated it with heroin and the Velvets. Don’t wanna be trapped in any particular era, especially at my time of life. Acid house, punk rock, northern soul, 2-Tone, it was all mighty at the dawn of the day. Too much musing. Too much deliberating over what gets thrown in the blender. The trick is not to think. The best NutriBullet recipe is spinach, banana, apple, lime and nuts. Your five a day in three or fourĀ gulps. Two weeks on that, you’r enlightened. That rapper, that Flat Earth Believer, I really want to stand with that guy. Obviously don’t want to wander the same meadows of lunacy, but it would be nice to have something to believe in once in a while. Can’t stop listening to Underworld. Makes me think of being in the back of a car, before I could drive, someone’s passenger or kidnap victim, tilting around corners, the windows an upside down film, the overhead lights, all the sodium and moonglow above the city, then the outskirts, the edges, the dark back country roads and the blue and green dashboard glow. Sheffield, there’s a place. Giant steel balls when you step outside the station. Why were they conjured up? This is supposed to be done in a five minute blitz, like the blades of a kitchen machine. I’m gonna get a new tattoo, a list of ingredients …