Just hanging out.




Slotted in here:

Open 'til we close.

There's a light in the window of night.
I've been deep in the sewers of the night and thought that it would make sense to get back to you. There's much to discuss and I've been hungry to pass so much of it along to you. I've been deeply inspired by going to see the recent retrospective of Derek Jarman's work at the Serpentine Gallery. It was one of the most inspiring journeys I've been on in ages. It has made me want to push every aspect of my own work further including the PRUDE record. I'm also aware that it's high time for me to go back to painting, collage building and releasing some of the physical shards of my work that haven't had a forum in recent years. I'm debating book building as well as part of me feels that perhaps my lyrics and other randoms deserve a home more physical than the binary stream. I'm building and painting memento mori boxes again and I've thought of possibly putting them out into the world as well, but that's currently out of the range of vision. Jarman's creative life was so off-kilter, so divinely decadent and utterly driven, without a care about convention or what the rest of the art and film world was doing. He was in a profoundly fascinating position, pioneering film and video techniques (and their nexus with painting), questing without maps or precedents as he was really so far out ahead of the curve that it's taken years for the rest of the art and film world to catch up to him. No one was doing what he was doing when he was doing it and he loved that as it allowed him to just make up the rules as he went along. It gave him great freedom of movement. Brutal beauty. As ever, in the face of this caliber of incandescent talent far greater than my own, I stand in awe, but Jarman's artwork in particular I find both energizing and humbling as I see so much of what I've always attempted to do in visual art all the while knowing that I'll never be talented enough to even come close to his genius. Not that I'd ever want to replicate him, but I'd be happy for a fleck of that creativity to color my water.Instead, I'll just continue to thrash through the underbrush in my own inimitable and careeringly fucked up way.
In the shadow of the sun indeed.

It’s incredibly tricky, this balancing act we failingly attempt as we plough the furrow. The wait clicks on, the wait clicks off, the weight settles and unsettles again as weathers shift and drag us restlessly on. We lunge in each new direction without heed or care, often tumbling down the jagged embankment, snapping the branches of chance as we slide, finally
“found away from my world,
feeling for foothold through a blank profound,
along with unborn people in strange lands.” *

There’s a dead bird in the backyard today. Actually just a gay pile of feathers lightly catching the tips of the breeze as it edges in off the water. There’s no heraldic husk and certainly all of the fires are out.

Must be a day to turn back over. Let sleep pamper me like a familiar, salty lover who always has a new delight with which to surprise her jaded lover.
Swim tenderly down and succumb.


* The quote’s from Browning though possibly a forgery.

Also, from my favorite Machine Rock'n'Rollin' Freak, Nina over at the ever-burgeoning, constantly mutating and creative Fabryka Industrial Rock online-zine, there are the updated links for older interviews.

It ages strangely, but her questions are always diamond-tipped.
A rare quality indeed.

http://www.fabryka.darknation.eu/php-files_en/readarticle.php?article_id=40
http://www.fabryka.darknation.eu/php-files_en/readarticle.php?article_id=185