Daye 28 / An Afternoon In A Field Of Poppies

always spent the early mornings dreaming
in the back of my daddy’s car
sometimes it would take forever
just to reach our destination
to pass the time I’d count all the cars
either those driving north
or those with silver alloys spinning very fast
or I’d gaze at all the tall glass buildings
as we travelled through the cities
then I’d close my eyes
and dream some more

once on a hot summery day
he skipped work
and we spent the afternoon in a field of poppies
and everything is turning scarlet and grey
there are butterflies everywhere
me with my head on his chest

we drank some pink lemonade
must have been contaminated
and we lay down
and talked until we both fell asleep
me with my head on his chest

when I woke up
I wandered off
to explore the field
but I didn’t stray too far
from my sleeping daddy
always made sure that I stayed within a safe distance
so that I could either hear his breathing
or else see his chest rising up and down
amidst the poppies
found a bright little copse at the field’s edge
where the birdsong sounded really echoey
bumped into puck
the oldest thinge in england
he of pook’s hill
told me some made-up stories
about people from the past
sounded like those
that my daddy read to me
from the golden book
beside my bed
then puck pointed up at the silvery afternoon moon
that was now arisen
and asked questions
which made me feel funny inside
like “what is it that we are part of?”
or “what is it that we are?”
or “who is dreaming this?
your mummy? your daddy?
you? or I?...”

Daye 114 / Kenneth Grahame

as if in a dream
he found himself
somehow
seated in the drivers seat
as if in a dream
he pulled the lever
and swung the car around the yard
and out through the archway
and as if in a dream
all sense of right and wrong
all fear of obvious consequences
seemed temporarily suspended...
he chanted as he flew
and the car responded with a sonorous drone
the miles were eaten up under him
as he sped he knew not whither
fulfilling his instincts
living his hour
reckless of what might come to him

Daye 113 / Volcanic Ash Over C.o.M.

airport is closed
due to a cloud of volcanic ash
from eyjafjalljokull

i wonder about pompeii
what it must have been like
to be buried under that cloud

not here in
beautiful sunny C.o.M.
on a hot april afternoon
when the summer is coming
continuing to record
and write
the new album is coming along v. nicely

Daye 112 / H.P. Lovecraft

Daye 111 / Hook

how your future is altered
if i could read the stars
i wouldn't know if i should
I wished I could hold you
now i don't know if it's you
no i don't know if it's you
and i don't know if it's you i want

Daye 110 / 17th February

Daye 109 / The Psykick Sea

the psykick sea
is coming over me
and from the moment my head
was penetrated
by the storm
i wished that i had taken
on this form sooner
though my ears cannot hear for ringing
and you say to me
ah, that is the seasickness
and it will last forever
you are at the psykick sea

the psykick sea
is coming over me
and from the moment
your bony little finger
pushed itself into my hide
well, i knew that i must fly
and you could show me mountains
and you could show me the backside of the moon
you could show me the stars
you could show me the shadows
you could show me the deep ice
you could show me the vampires and the lice
you could show me the up and the down
you could show me the nowhere
you could show me the nightmares
you could show me the angels
you could show me the wondering
you could show me the pearls
you fill me with lust
you could show me the thrust
you could show me the thrust
show me the thrust

Daye 108 / Theme From The Big White House

you know i told you
that most of the last album
was recorded whilst we were
in our beds
oh, you didn't know?
well it's was!
we are continuing to record
in this manner
as it makes for a really relaxed atmosphere
and anyway it's snowing outside again
and as brion cannot afford to turn on the heating
recording in bed is the only way to keep warm
in the big white house

we are making lots of noises
and having fun in the process
we have all agreed
not to listen to any other music
for the whole of this month
but i am finding it hard
to cut myself off!
to help me remember
k has stuck a yellow post-it note
to the lid of my laptop
the note says 'no outside influences'

some of us have travelled away from C.o.M.
for the remainder of the winter
(the tft are in wales)
but we are continuing to record via the internet
song-parts disappear into the ether
and then reappear here
in a different form
my job today is to put all of these parts back together
without knowing the original intentions of the others
yeah, sometimes it mightn't work
but you won't hear those bits will ya
not all of 'em anyway
occasionally i might edit a bit of a failed xperiment
into a finished recording
just to be perverse says harin
(a couple of these appear
on 'there was a crack')

this morn hitch emailed me from cerrig-y-drudion
to tell me that today's theme is 'time'
(surprise surprise)
so any song-parts that arrive here today
will have to have the timing messed about with
or 'compromised' as lucy likes to call it
yesterday's theme was 'freeze'
chosen by under-leary
and tomorrow's theme is 'the colour blue'
as chosen by aurora

Daye 107 / The Lady Of Shalott

on either side the river lie
long fields of barley and of rye
that clothe the wold and meet the sky
and thro' the field the road runs by
to many-tower'd camelot
and up and down the people go
gazing where the lilies blow
round an island there below
the island of shalott

willows whiten
aspens quiver
little breezes dusk and shiver
thro' the wave that runs for ever
by the island in the river
flowing down to camelot.
four gray walls and four gray towers
overlook a space of flowers
and the silent isle imbowers
the lady of shalott

by the margin
willow veil'd
slide the heavy barges trail'd
by slow horses
and unhail'd
the shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
skimming down to camelot
but who hath seen her wave her hand?
or at the casement seen her stand?
or is she known in all the land
the lady of shalott?

only reapers
reaping early
in among the bearded barley
hear a song that echoes cheerly
from the river winding clearly
down to tower'd camelot
and by the moon the reaper weary
piling sheaves in uplands airy
listening
whispers " 'tis the fairy
lady of shalott."

***

there she weaves by night and day
a magic web with colours gay
she has heard a whisper say
a curse is on her if she stay
to look down to camelot
she knows not what the curse may be
and so she weaveth steadily
and little other care hath she
the lady of shalott

and moving thro' a mirror clear
that hangs before her all the year
shadows of the world appear
there she sees the highway near
winding down to camelot
there the river eddy whirls
and there the surly village-churls
and the red cloaks of market girls
pass onward from shalott

sometimes a troop of damsels glad
an abbot on an ambling pad
sometimes a curly shepherd-lad
or long-hair'd page in crimson clad
goes by to tower'd camelot
and sometimes thro' the mirror blue
the knights come riding two and two
she hath no loyal knight and true
the lady of shalott

but in her web she still delights
to weave the mirror's magic sights
for often thro' the silent nights
a funeral, with plumes and lights
and music
went to camelot
or when the moon was overhead
came two young lovers lately wed
"i am half sick of shadows" said
the lady of shalott

***

a bow-shot from her bower-eaves
he rode between the barley-sheaves
the sun came dazzling thro' the leaves
and flamed upon the brazen greaves
of bold sir lancelot
a red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
to a lady in his shield
that sparkled on the yellow field
beside remote shalott

the gemmy bridle glitter'd free
like to some branch of stars we see
hung in the golden galaxy
the bridle bells rang merrily
as he rode down to camelot
and from his blazon'd baldric slung
a mighty silver bugle hung
and as he rode his armour rung
beside remote shalott

all in the blue unclouded weather
thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather
the helmet and the helmet-feather
burn'd like one burning flame together
as he rode down to camelot
as often thro' the purple night
below the starry clusters bright
some bearded meteor, trailing light
moves over still shalott

his broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd
on burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode
from underneath his helmet flow'd
his coal-black curls as on he rode
as he rode down to camelot
from the bank and from the river
he flash'd into the crystal mirror
"tirra lirra," by the river
sang sir lancelot.

she left the web, she left the loom
she made three paces thro' the room
she saw the water-lily bloom
she saw the helmet and the plume
she look'd down to camelot
out flew the web and floated wide
the mirror crack'd from side to side
"the curse is come upon me" cried
the lady of shalott

***

in the stormy east-wind straining
the pale yellow woods were waning
the broad stream in his banks complaining
heavily the low sky raining
over tower'd camelot
down she came and found a boat
beneath a willow left afloat
and round about the prow she wrote
the lady of shalott

and down the river's dim expanse
like some bold seer in a trance
seeing all his own mischance--
with a glassy countenance
did she look to camelot
and at the closing of the day
she loosed the chain
and down she lay
the broad stream bore her far away
the lady of shalott

lying robed in snowy white
that loosely flew to left and right--
the leaves upon her falling light--
thro' the noises of the night
she floated down to camelot
and as the boat-head wound along
the willowy hills and fields among
they heard her singing her last song
the lady of shalott

heard a carol
mournful
holy
chanted loudly
chanted lowly
till her blood was frozen slowly
and her eyes were darken'd wholly
turn'd to tower'd camelot
for ere she reach'd upon the tide
the first house by the water-side
singing in her song she died
the lady of shalott

under tower and balcony
by garden-wall and gallery
a gleaming shape she floated by
dead-pale between the houses high
silent into camelot
out upon the wharfs they came
knight and burgher, lord and dame
and round the prow they read her name
the lady of shalott

who is this?
and what is here?
and in the lighted palace near
died the sound of royal cheer
and they cross'd themselves for fear
all the knights at camelot
but lancelot mused a little space
he said, "she has a lovely face
god in his mercy lend her grace
the lady of shalott"
~ Alfred Lord Tennyson

Daye 106 / Joe Meek

Daye 104 / Jan XXX

what a week
my days and nights
have been spent
counting CD's
& checking boxes of CD sleeves for spoilage
life
is one long de-pack / re-pack
ahh, the perils of d.i.y.
i am constantly on the telephone
or replying to txts
or emails
or messages
messages from above
or i am driving somebody somewhere
for an important meeting
some days i manage a short walk
along the quiet river
which gives me an hour or two
to think
and
to listen...

so some songs
have been born:
hook
the brown dwarf
can't doo right...

0:00
C.o.M.
bye ta-ta
p.
xxx

Daye 103 / Jan XXV

a friend
asks me
where i've been
for the last month
why i've been to the moon
i say
but january is where i think i am now

jan is always such a cold month
she says
and all the terrible disasters
involving astronauts
have happened in january
with february just around the corner
why is that?
that i cannot answer
i say
smiling

on pemberton street
in the fog
a boy walks up to us
and asks if we would like to buy
some plant food
i tell him not to bother us
he shrugs his shoulders
and wanders off
to bother somebody else instead
the big freeze
is not over
there's no more snow or ice
but it's cold cold cold
and there ain't a drop
of hot water
in my hot tank
the shower runs cold
so does
the blood
recording recording recording
is the only thing that keeps me warm
during the long nights
but once it is finished
i can no longer listen
to my songs
for all i can hear
is the imperfection

Daye 102 / Edward Ka-Spel

Daye 101 / This Is Not A List

1) swell maps: a trip to marineville
2) a walk through organsdale field, 1885
3) carnival of souls
4) yoga on the wii fit
5) some forteana
6) ''...here is a list of incorrect things..''
7) january 18: r. stevie moore, oliver norvell hardy, rudyard kipling
8) f-sharp on a yamaha electric baby grand
9) who goes there?
10) a glass or two of green ginger wine
11) somewhere in deep time: on his deathbed, my great-grandfather confesses that he is a white witch
12) in a dreame: climbing up the eddisbury hill
13) a series of clickkkkks. the blue screen. then nothing.
14) what we left on the floor of our flat at a___ road: a bunch of withered flowers; st b's bamboo mouth harp
15) some dead mice under the floorboards
16) the weather forecast = light rain, 4°c, wind 13mph, 73% humidity (oooh, bryter layter), sore throat and tonsillitis to follow
17) now we can go out for a jolly
18) somewhere in deep time: on her deathbed, my great-great-great grandmother confesses that she is a serial bigamist. she has families in edmonton (middsx), kilkenny (or kilarney: she forgets), calcutta and jo'burg. to my great-great-great grandfathers eternal bemusement, members of these other families turn up at the funeral...
19) a sunnyday fine. driving in st b's austin minor sprayed so midnight blue it’s almost black. wide wheels and silver alloys. dark windows rolled down. don't touch that dial & june 1 1974 blaring from the tinnitus inducing speakers under the dashboard..

20) ...gill heslop, a girl with beautiful red hair, waves from across the street.
21) here is the wow and here is the flutter / himalayan balsam
22) is he dead? (somebody asked)
23) is he your guardian angel? (somebody else)
24) 1985: fireballs over manchester spark 'war of the worlds' panic
25) the best bit of the 'film' - maggie, denno and grimmo and i are sitting in a field talking about gurls
26) and timon is singing “you’re heading east girl but it’s all gone west”
27) beasley street, salford
28) tatlin's tower
29) ''..the secret decree issued by the uk section of the нео sovnarkom included plans to wipe the calendar year of 1976 from the memories of all the inhabitants of ____. the experiment is already well underway...''
30) you know too much
31) patty the opera singer (my cousin once removed)
32) the peterloo massacre
33) the manchester guardian
34) i want to go back....i want to go back....i want to go back to adelaide
35) goosey green. it was always sunny. the old cobblestones glitter after the rain
36) mama cradle me again
37) the drake equation, N = R^* x f_p x n_e x f₁ x f_i x f_c x L
38) lyme park: a spectre haunts the long gallery of the house therein

39) the zoological collection at the madchester museum
40) the psykick sea is coming over me
41) when i was a kid #1: i unwrap the orange cellophane from a bottle of lucozade original. it squeaks as i hold it up to my eyes to look at the trees and the sky
42) 279 miles. another restless night in boleskin hse
43) and this is how i remember 2009: august in north walsham
44) when i was a kid #2: saturday afternoon late in the summer. we stand under the front porch to watch a thunderstorm. the lightning darts along the telephone wires. i hold my daddy’s hand.
45) swallowed lots of dem little yellow pills and played all thru tha night at the piccadilly plaza. this is when sweet pea still thought we wuz the next beatles
46) rochdale first time in the studio i’m either very cold or very nervous. my teeth chatter
47) the weather! the leather! the weather! the leather!
48) if i was a witches hat sitting on her head like a paraffin stove
49) we were high...walking down the street listening to bob fripp you burn me up, i’m a cigarette on his silly little cassette player...eeeeeeeeek the handle suddenly starts to melt in my sweaty palms
50) “...open the door!”/(scratch)\“...open the door!’’
51) thermonuclear blast #1: the volans, exo 0748-676
52) words, eh? you can either cut with them or drug with them
53) spent part of the evening watching
54) the bitter thoughts of little jane are locked away and will remain unspoken
55) driving across b.c. two beautiful sunny kids in the back of a car. in the front seat the light is streaming through my love's sweet brown hair
56) over the frosty moors with todmorden katie and the somaboys. we are wearing the most ridiculous hats
57) no one really knows she wants to die / she’ll find her place / she’ll find a head to pound on
58) by the time we got to swansea it was getting dark
59) sitting in the leigh darkness my friend peter anthony greenwood and i: the world turns we don’t get what we want (please please please let me get what i want this time)
60) sixteen is a magick number
61) thermonuclear blast #2: making music that makes me homesick for something i never had and never will have
62) stop to feed the ducks on the pond
63) this is how i remember 1995: one cold november after another
64) music is everybody's possession: only publishers think that people own it
65) when i was a kid #3: that funny feeling i get in my stomach whenever i hear “georgy girl”
66) we are lying on the grass at stamford park listening to nico's “chelsea girls”. it’s summer (yeah i know it’s ALWAYS summer but that’s the way i remember it!). boop and mandy and little sue are feeding cola cube’s to somebody’s dog. nicky bonfire and st b are there. mex and z are there too. nicky's in the middle of a bad trip. his pupils are huuuuge. little sue and the st b peer into them for a moment before sue declares one of the pupils to be “...like a supermassive black hole..” which is a bad move 'cos now nicky thinks something is wrong. freaks. gets up. waves his arms. runs across the park. we chase him around. it's a a keystone cops movie. a sketch from the benny hill show. nicky's much too fast for us. climbs a tree that he somehow just can’t avoid. coils himself around a thick branch like he’s a snake. hisses down at us. spits. slips. falls. lands on his back. he’s winded. can’t move. thinks he’s dead. the fall has jolted him out of his trip. ("you've done something to your brain..."). now he thinks he’s a hobbit and st b’s not helping ‘cos he’s yelling “lie down little baggins” and laughing madly while boop tries to hold nicky's head still and mandy attempts to get the straw from ribena carton into his mouth. his lips are white and he's frothing at the mouth. mandy finally gets the straw in and the froth becomes all purple and psychedelicised
67) in the background nico is still singing “i’ll keep it with mine” and “i’m not saying”
68) nicky doesn’t wake again until we hit penrith
69) take this kiss upon the brow / and in parting from you now / thus much let me avow / you are not wrong who deem / that my days have been a dream / yet if hope has flown away / in a night or in a day / in a vision or in none / is it therefore the less gone? / all that we see or seem / is but a dream within a dream / i stand amid the roar / of a surf-tormented shore / and i hold within my hand / grains of the golden sand / how few! yet how they creep / through my fingers to the deep / while i weep / while i weep! / o god! can i not grasp / them with a tighter clasp? / o god! can i not save / one from the pitiless wave? / is all that we see or seem / but a dream within a dream?
70) shock ending: “...oh god!” he cried, dying on mars
71) nicky gets so drunk that he cries like a baby. insists that mex’s dad kenny must join the band NOW or else he’ll “pack it all in and get a 9 to 5!”
72) learning to meditate / south walsham 1999. i feel myself beginning to vibrate. i panic. get dizzy. have to lean against something. reach out my hand. see sparks falling from the ends of my fingers. my hand goes riiiiiight through the wall
73) now i see aura's everywhere
74) summer in flash...darkest skies i have ever seen...walking thru’ the valley after an evening out. i look up. i can feel the weight of the milky way pressing down on me from above
75) pareidolia / is the psychological phenomenon / in which people see shapes or hear sounds / which they consider to be significant when they are not / (and in some cases don’t exist at all) / the most common example of this / is the alleged hearing of phrases when playing records backwards / it is also frequently the cause of so-called miracles / in which religious figures appear / in toast, or clouds, or stains on every day objects
76) “i had a lover / i don't think I'll risk another / these days / these days / and if I seem to be afraid to live the life that i have made in song / it's just that i've been losing so long / la la la la la, la la....”
77) winchester
78) love that involves suffering is not heroic
79) but some people need a lot of drama in their lives to feel totally alive
80) monday 16 june: the day is over by 5:30pm / angiemac dances up the corridor to singspeak patti smith at me / “...i would rather smell the way boys smell oh those schoolboys the way their legs flap under the desk in study hall that odor rising roses and ammonia and the way their dicks droop like lilacs...because you see its the monotony thats got to me every afternoon like the last one every afternoon like a rerun..” / i pack up my things for the last time / hand in the key to my stinking locker (no.82) / won't kiss the bosses arse / sign myself out (already a p.a.u.l.) / say goodbye / meet some workmates in the bar nextdoor for a farewell drink / lori ignores me and won’t look in my direction / sue is drunk and tries to put her tongue down my throat as we kiss goodbye / my friend dominic laughs “fuck good luck! from this point you are on your own” / dotty roger and angiemac just smile / never saw 'em again
81) the milky circle; llwybr llaethog; camí de sant jaume; la voie lactée; bealach na bó finne or slabhbra luigh; melkweg; vintergatan; vinterbrauta; mliječni put; ngân hà; triq sant' anna
82) widdecombe-in-the-moor
83) february 1708: a previously unknown london astrologer / named isaac bickerstaff published an almanac / in which he predicted the feverdeath of the famous rival astrologer john partridge / according to bickerstaff / partridge would die on march 29 of that year / partridge indignantly denied the prediction / but on march 30 bickerstaff released a pamphlet announcing that he had been correct / partridge was dead / it took a day for the news to spread / but soon everyone had heard of the astrologer's demise / thus on april 1st partridge was woken by a sexton outside his window / who wanted to know if there were any orders for his funeral sermon / later as partridge walked down the street / people stared at him as if they were looking at a ghost / or they stopped to tell him that he looked exactly like someone they knew who was dead / as hard as he tried / partridge couldn't convince people that he wasn't dead / it transpired that bickerstaff was a pseudonym for the satirist jonathan swift / his prognosticatory practical joke upon partridge / worked so well that partridge was forced to stop publishing his almanacs / because he couldn't shake his reputation as the man whose death had been foretold.
84) somewhere on the sylvan avenue. i spend a long lazy summer practising reading listening drinking smoking laughing. at twenty years old i finally learn to write songs. whenever i pass the house now i hear ghostly guitars coming from the back garden
85) dark matter ---> dark energy ---> white holes
86) this is another tale from the greene valley / the white hart / the blue pig
87) thats me off the hook then! (part i): it is possible to accidentally plagiarize something / cryptomnesia is a memory bias in which a person believes / they have conceived of a new idea / when in fact they are simply remembering someone else’s idea / sometimes this even finds its way into literature / “friedrich nietzsche’s book thus spoke zarathustra includes / an almost word for word account of an incident / also included in a book published in about 1835 / half a century before nietzsche wrote / this is neither considered to be purposeful plagiarism nor pure coincidence / nietzsche’s sister confirmed / that he had indeed read the original account when he was 11 years old.”
88) "please don't confront me with my failures...i have not forgotten them!"
89) i took a trip in the golden sphere / the gir the alikmahrati / to see the ruins on the moon / only to find / the moon is made of glass / it is in fact a looking-glass...(“actually the moon is made of cheese. how else do you describe the holes and the yellow colour? how can it be cheese? it makes perfect sense” – albert einstein)
90) when i was a kid #4: when i was seven years old i wanted to be an acrobat an astronaut an archaeologist an astronomer & an actor (so many a’s...)
91) now i am all of the above +
92) ...but (really) i just want to love you

Daye 100 / City Of The Cobralingus

somewhere sideways in time east of the swamp---cobralingus simister is breakkkking up---C.o.M. is shadowy green, underwater---first reddened by the itch then blackened by the virus, the mancs are now weeks without drinking water---this is the first bloody now---the roofs of tall buildings can be seen waving from side to side just beneath the surface of the salty sea---muir eireann has swollen and flooded the nw of england---not much longer allowed---where down had been is now up---left is right and vice versa---the names of the first---the leftside industrial estates---scenes from dry land---underwater coastline---i am learning to slide type---those counties that are landlocked and those counties which are fogbound---the too once the is---the englande and all that it be---we have become numbed---from what once was---which now disappears under the waves---from the quayside---those that were tallest---swept them away---the days---the small towns---all that is left of the pennines now slopes down towards the new coastline to tug at the under-sea---what was once the world's first industrial city is now the world's first underwater city

---as in the clouds above---as if we were expecting them to disappear---the names of the towns and the cities---are forgotten---the ends of my fingers are hardened from too many hours spent typing---heaton park is a coastal swamp---at low tide the fingers of the city poke upwards---the answer to the riddle of the exploding star (cassiopeia a) is in yer dna---but where?---you have to look harder, girl---look up in the clouds---or the set below the sea---or under the skin---over the amm---we set the surface alight---(why don't you just give up?)---i've had band members calling me all day---in tears---my career is over---very small particles can pass through this space---this is the subliminal boy calling---i was off to see the family---but i am being redirected---by emopunks from venus---my brothers davy stevie and marty---some small alterations---knee-deep in the december snow---hiroshima and nagasaki---gravity's rainbow---master master this is recorded thru uh flies ear 'n you have t' have uh flies eye t' see it---some while later there was a knock at my door---it was she---i pretended i was not at home---i pretended i had the flu---i had changed my mind---it was the last time i saw her---people of m_________ you have been dosed!---sos---save our souls---p.a.u.l.---peace and universal love (yeah sure!)---he touchs her knee under the table

---paul---it's sooo bright!---here in the city of the now cobralingus---alexander---little green men in the streets---my appendix is still in---my tonsils are still in---ulysses---we must try to map what is left of the city---lawrence---the shadowy green underwater streets---your words have been wiped clean---the recorder is set---the re-order is set---the tape is blank once more---so where will we go now?---yours sincerely---the earth (still revolving)---these cd sleeves are fucking useless---ruined---i'm fading away---i will be evicted in six days---that's around 6.72 billion retinal images---new low-price pleasure yourself genuine sex ads from space---courtesy of the lady p xxx---she has comedown here to earth---pasted onto the inside of an old red telephone box within a certain area---the gone looks---at the third beep the time will be 10.02am exactly---beep---a message from the alice kettle---we all say hello---beep---a message from azalia snail---this is petal metal---beep---a message for astronaute 16680---it's all gone and that is that!

---the fabric of time is splitting---we're up to white nancy and i can see all the way to the atlantic---which ain't so fucking far these days is it?---y'see ireland is no more---ireland is the new atlantis---the rest of the british isles will follow---pretty soon now---london is drowning and i---i live by the river---what a song---by some anonymous artist---a message for the automated alice---yes it's high (jeff) noon---turn it down!---where was i?---ah yes, the earth is in a state of emergency---hmmm it always seems to be---floods earthquakes tsunamis tornados hurricanes volcanos global-warming the greenhouse effect comets and asteroids pandemics alien invasions---fucking hell---man-made all of 'em every last one of 'em---here there be sonicinducers & weatherbusters etc etc---and at the third beep the time will be 10.03am exactly---beep---a message from the needle aliasing corps---beep---you should have read the manual first! the answers to your questions are in here---beep---you were supposed to wait forever!---beep---fifteen years of wondering is not puzzlement enough

---my sisters juliaandcatharine know---the third world knows---the afterlife knows---the elves and those other entities know---god and the angels and the saints all know---(''does that include st b?'' asks little sue)---the universe knows---the multiverses know---the dinosaurs knew---the peoples of the future know---this is THE mass-hallucination---and it begins there---and it begins here---the landing of a craft from another galaxy---somewhere sideways in time and west of the swamp---C.o.M. is still beautiful shadowy green and under furth(u)r deluge

Daye 99 / The Elephant And The Blind Men

a number of disciples
went to the buddha
saying "sir, there are living here in savatthi
many wandering hermits and scholars who
indulge in constant dispute
some say that the world is infinite and eternal
and others that it is finite and not eternal
some say that the soul dies with the body
and others that it lives on forever
and so forth
what would you say concerning them?"

the buddha answered
"once upon a time there was a certain raja
who called to his servant and said
'go and gather together in one place all the men of savatthi
who were born blind... and show them an elephant'
'very good, sire' replied the servant
and he did as he was told
when he had assembled the blind men
he said to them
'here is an elephant'
and to one blind man he presented the side of the elephant
to another its tail
to another a trunk
to another the ear
to another the tusk
saying to each that that was the elephant

"when the blind men had felt the elephant
the raja went to each of them and said
'tell me what sort of thing is an elephant?'

"thereupon the man who had fallen against
the elephants broad and sturdy side
answered 'sire an elephant is like a wall'

"and the man who had observed and seized
the elephants swinging tail replied
'an elephant is like a rope'

"the man who had been presented with the elephants squirming trunk
spoke boldly thus
'i see that the elephant is very like a snake!'

"and the man who chanced to touch the elephants ear said
'even the blindest man can tell
that what the elephant resembles most is a hand fan'

"and the man who had felt the elephants tusk
cried 'ho! what have we here? this wonder of an elephant
is very like a spear'

"and the blind men began to quarrel with each other
and dispute each others claims
shouting 'yes it is!'
'no it is not!'
'an elephant is not that!'
and 'yes, it's like that!'
and so on
until they came to blows over the matter.

"the raja was delighted with the scene
just so these hermits and scholars
holding various views blind and unseeing
in their ignorance they are by nature quarrelsome
wrangling and disputatious
each maintaining reality is thus and thus"
then the buddha
the exalted one
rendered this meaning by uttering this verse
"o how they cling and wrangle
some who claim
for preacher and monk the honored name
for quarreling
each to his view they cling.
such folk see only one side of a thing"
~ Ancient Indian Parable

Daye 98 / The Pennine Spitter

eventually you vanish up your own backside
but with formidable ease
i seemed to pass that by
i'm stood on my doorstep
the moons full on
the roofs are wet
i shin up a drainpipe
the pennines are in range
i slipped back down
to my life in this town
my god i'll end up breeding whippets

i'm shinning up the drainpipe
the pennines are in range
i consider it memorable
how easy i'll be forgotten

i am a mere mancunian
of no fixed abilities
and i'd turn on a sixpence to be led astray
my only claim to fame
is i can spit with an exquisite aim
and once i stood on the end of a pier
and thought
well eventually you just vanish up your own backside

i shin up the drainpipe
the pennines are in range
i consider it memorable
how easy i'll be forgotten
~ Charley Keigher

Daye 97 / James Joyce

Daye 96 / Phosphorus Light Night V

1
we are in a garden
we are on top of a hill
somewhere out in the countryside
i can see the lights of the city
golden in the distance
it's early evening
it's cold bitten
it's frosty
green curtains of light are moving slowly
across the sky
and we've only just now learned how to live
in the ephemeral city
after thirty years
and i'm glad that you happened to be here tonight
i 'd feel uncomfortable otherwise
it's too quiet
it's too dark
i am too empty
it is too regular
too much to take in
the garden seems to have no boundaries

2
i was always half-asleep
before we...
i mean before tonight
and now here we are and
you're as clear as phosphorus light
and i never saw you this way before
i never told you how beautiful you are
but then i never really noticed
the way that the light reflects off your dresses
or the way it ripples as you move about

3
once long ago
in the middle of the first night
or in the middle of your dream
i awoke you
to say i love you
and i imagined that you smiled in the dark
or that you had muttered something reciprocal
before you fell back asleep
i imagined that i'd heard you say
something about me having an odd sense of timing
but now i think that what you must have said was
"you have an odd sense of time.."
which is something else entirely
and i never understood just what you meant
until i discovered that we are all living in a loop
which is the way that love is
when it appears
it makes you feel giddy at first
and then it just makes you feel...

4
you hold up objects
in the night
and i try not to look at them
too closely
for in the darkness
they glitter
or else they only reflect back the darkness
or they reflect back whatever is out there in the garden tonight
or whatever it is in you and i
that we are always trying to forget

5
now here we are
and you're clear as phosphorus light
and i never saw you this way
nor did i ever tell you how beautiful you are
or that i love
the way the light reflects off your dresses
or the way it ripples as you move about
or the way it ripples as you move about

Daye 95 / Frostiana

this is a history of
the river in
it's frozen state

the frost fayre lasted for seven days
all were there

a belle vue elephant was led across the river below
jackson's bridge
the skies became slate grey
people looked up
and dragged at the dread distant moon with animal paws
the king and queen appeared
in a puff of smoke
which coiled around them
like a serpent
in the cold air
they smiled and waved
and blew kisses to the crowds
the queen bought a souvenir bed
king-sized of course
constructed on the river
and made of ice and glass
and signed by the artist
mk weirdstone
skeleton dogs roamed the edges of the fayre
digging up old bones and dead exotic plants
pulling up the greens
feeding on the mountainous heap of carcasses
deer, birds, fowl and fishes
which had perished during the cold spell
the stink from the heap and from the stalls
and from the smoke and from the crowds
was unbelievable
I could hardly breathe


2

it had snowed briefly again in the night
and there is a hoarfrost forming
on what's left of the vegetation
there are beggars
and lovers
everywhere this morning
the beggars know
and the lovers know
that the world may never be as cold again
the ice on the river is fifteen inches thick
and i see there are drill holes all along the icy thoroughfare
riders on horseback clomp clomp clomp backwards and forwards
carrying carts full of food and drink and goods
and bales of coloured cloth
and trinkets and other junk
but my boys will not walk on the ice today
because there is dogshit and horseshit everywhere
and yesterday an old couple fell through a hole in the ice
that had been left unattended
for a moment
and had partly frozen over
the couple were swept away by the currents
they were still holding hands
when their bodies came to rest
a few hundred yards away
under a much thinner glassy layer of ice
now some creep
has erected a large marquee
over that part of the river
and is charging £15 a head
to look at the dead couple
hand in hand
under the clear ice

3

by three o'clock this afternoon
the ice had disappeared

Daye 94 / St. Nicholas Hall

st nicholas hall
sends greetings to all
of the lambs who have strayed from the fold
a message sent
from sister content
you remember her as your dean
she is mean
and incredibly old

give to the building fund
the chapel’s ramshackle and small
god’s in his home on high
we are not afraid to die
we need new text for zoology
heaven’s equal and free
there’s a banquet
for the missal-mart
the menu will be a la carte

the lutherans hell
is threatening as well

all the ignorant orphans in spain

our mission there
is draughty and bare

tho’ the sisters never complain

not one convert will go there again

but to help the preists
in the scandalous east
i have asked just a few of you girls
god’s glorious kingdom surely is not of this world

blessed are the pure in heart
we need a new organ by june
blessed are the merciful
the old one’s badly out of tune
blessed are the peacemakers
please send us the money soon
sincerely yours in jesus
your dean
~Judy Henske

Daye 93 / An Alternative January 7th, Beefheart vs Meatball Fulton

what if yesterday
was a day spent lying in bed
forgetting and remembering
not as previously described
who would know
except me
who would care
other than me
what if
with a pen and paper
i called into being
a whole world
spent much of the morning
locked indoors
or in my big bed
writing & watching
the monkees tv series
and the beatles cartoon series
it was gently snowing outside
and whenever i had to get up
to change a dvd or a video
or grab a coffee
or a bite to eat
i felt that bitter cold
when the t.f.t.+ arrived
minus p.a.u.l.
who was lost in the snow somewhere
and molloy
who was in a sulk
or lost in his thoughts
somewhere else
i turned off the heating
opened all of the windows
and the curtains etc
had to let a little bit of the outside world in
to keep the t.f.t. on track
and in a state of w.t.f flux
p.a. u.l. informed us via telephone
that the cold was
blowing in from the urals
(some sort of in-joke)
and that only his voice would be present
at todays session
before we started recording etc
i read aloud sam beckett
('...did he not seem rather
to have issued from the ramparts
after a good dinner
to take his dog and himself for a walk
like so many citizens
dreaming and farting
when the weather is fine?..')
an attempt to empty the songs
of any plot
or descriptions
or scenes
or characters
then p.a.u.l. (his mind cracked like custard)
read a page or two from
a beefheart biography
via the telephone on loudspeaker
donnie van vliet
locking the magicband in their shared house
for months on end
feeds 'em once daily on naught but soya beans
until they learn how to play his songs
the way he wants 'em played...
~ B.M.E.

***

meatball fulton:
do you ever think of leaving the country?

don van vliet:
do you mean the earth? You mean the country, the united states? I don’t think they even know i’m here now.

meatball fulton:
(laughs)

don van vliet:
better not laugh too much if we want to get this on the radio. they’re likely to get us for breathing with all our holes open!

meatball fulton:
(burts out laughing)

don van vliet:
you know they’re about to poke their genitals in our cream cheese moon right now. what do you think about that? that’s my eye.

meatball fulton:
what do you mean ‘your eye’?

don van vliet:
the moon. it’s part of me.

meatball fulton:
mmmm...i don’t understand.

don van vliet:
why don’t they poke it in the sun, man? are they afraid to do that? they might get burnt up, right? they’re not very daring are they?

meatball fulton:
what do you think about that?

don van vliet:
err, if they’d cut the nose off the rocket, you know, i think it would be a little more natural, do you know what i mean? if they could get up there without having the hole in the front closed up, i think they would enjoy it more or i’d like them more. you know what i mean?

meatball fulton:
yeah...no, i don’t.

Daye 92 / Tempest Drive, Muireadhaigh, The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock, Ellie G.

would've happily spent much of the day
locked indoors
avoiding the bitter cold
which is blowing into ae
from across the urals
[in-joke for harin]
we'd wrapped ourselves up for the journey
which took two hours longer than normal
due to the amount of snow on the roads
when we arrived at tempest drive
brion had turned up the heating a notch
closed all of the windows
and drew the curtains and blinds
aurora had flushed away all of her drink and druhgs
announcing she would be 'clean' forevermore
and hitch
in an attempt to get us to empty the songs
of all plot
descriptions
scenes
and characters
read us some samuel beckett
('...did he not seem rather
to have issued from the ramparts
after a good dinner
to take his dog and himself for a walk
like so many citizens
dreaming and farting
when the weather is fine?..')

then i read a few pages from
a beefheart biog
y'know the bit where the captain
locks his band in the house on ensenada drive
for weeks on end
while feeding 'em naught but a cup of soya beans once a day
while they learn how to play
his songs
the way he wants 'em played

recorded remixed edited
some words & music & songs & noises & speech
for the next one
which was begun 16th december
several titles recorded so far:
shock o'kontacte
another galaxy
couvade II
can't doo right
unheimlich / north is strange
can't be certain can i?
mello
a mouse is not a votel
astronaute 16680 / spiral galaxy
phosphorus light night III
muireadhaigh
the psykick sea

wonder which of 'em will make it through...

***

i'm muireadhaigh
i can't deny
mind centres itself
in this large round head
allows me to look out
onto the soft january universe
which folds itself in against the eye
shall we go
you and i?

the light falls across you
and in your eyes i see myself
(i can't deny)
reflecting back at me
a dreamer dreaming in a half-sleep
for one phantom minute
in the cold january
of a long ghostly winter
(i can't deny)
i am haunted by some things
memories
mysteries
the light and the darkness
my past and
the future which blinds me with it's bright magnesium flash

***

'let us go then, you and i,
when the evening is spread out against the sky
like a patient etherized upon a table;
let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
the muttering retreats
of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
and sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
streets that follow like a tedious argument
of insidious intent
to lead you to an overwhelming question . . .
oh, do not ask, ‘what is it?’
let us go and make our visit.

in the room the women come and go
talking of michelangelo.

the yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
the yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
and seeing that it was a soft october night,
curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

and indeed there will be time
for the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
there will be time, there will be time
to prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
there will be time to murder and create,
and time for all the works and days of hands
that lift and drop a question on your plate;
time for you and time for me,
and time yet for a hundred indecisions,
and for a hundred visions and revisions,
before the taking of a toast and tea.

in the room the women come and go
talking of michelangelo.

and indeed there will be time
to wonder, ‘do i dare?’ and, ‘do i dare?’
time to turn back and descend the stair,
with a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[they will say: ‘how his hair is growing thin!’]
my morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
my necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[they will say: ‘but how his arms and legs are thin!’]
do i dare
disturb the universe?
in a minute there is time
for decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

for i have known them all already, known them all—
have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
i have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
i know the voices dying with a dying fall
beneath the music from a farther room.
so how should i presume?

and i have known the eyes already, known them all—
the eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
and when i am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
when i am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
then how should i begin
to spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
and how should i presume?

and i have known the arms already, known them all—
arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[but in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
is it perfume from a dress
that makes me so digress?
arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
and should i then presume?
and how should i begin?

. . . . .

shall i say, i have gone at dusk through narrow streets
and watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . .

i should have been a pair of ragged claws
scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

. . . . .

and the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
smoothed by long fingers,
asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers
stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
should i, after tea and cakes and ices,
have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
but though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
though i have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter
i am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
i have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
and i have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
and in short, i was afraid.

and would it have been worth it, after all,
after the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
would it have been worth while
to have bitten off the matter with a smile,
to have squeezed the universe into a ball
to roll it toward some overwhelming question,
to say: ‘i am lazarus, come from the dead,
come back to tell you all, i shall tell you all’—
if one, settling a pillow by her head,
should say: ‘that is not what i meant at all.
that is not it, at all.’

and would it have been worth it, after all,
would it have been worth while,
after the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
after the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
and this, and so much more?—
it is impossible to say just what i mean!
but as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
would it have been worth while
if one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
and turning toward the window, should say:
‘that is not it at all,
that is not what i meant at all.’

no! i am not prince hamlet, nor was meant to be;
am an attendant lord, one that will do
to swell a progress, start a scene or two
advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
deferential, glad to be of use,
politic, cautious, and meticulous;
full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
at times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
almost, at times, the fool.

i grow old . . . i grow old . . .
i shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

shall i part my hair behind? do i dare to eat a peach?
i shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
i have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

i do not think that they will sing to me.

i have seen them riding seaward on the waves
combing the white hair of the waves blown back
when the wind blows the water white and black.

we have lingered in the chambers of the sea
by sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
till human voices wake us, and we drown.'
~ T.S. Eliot

****

(sings)
happy birthday to you
happy birthday to you
happy birthday dear ellie g.
happy birthday to you
xxx

Daye 91 / Syd Barrett & John Lilly

Daye 90 / January 5

massive snowfall in C.o.M. overnight
not seen as much snow hereabouts
since i was a little kid
...blah blah blah...
global warming...blah
we've fucked up our planet..
blah...
snow continues during the day
satellite tv off the air
terrestrial tv been off the air
since the big switch
blah blah blah....
first day back at school after xmas hols
but the schools are closed
...blah...
no trams no travel
..blah...
more snow forecast for tomorrow and thursday
...blah blah blah...
every thing is white
'cept the sky
which is dark grey
i am beginning to feel uncomfortably claustrophobic
tried to dig the car out with a snow shovel
but it will not budge
went out for a walk with the kids instead
i kept seeing things
out of the corner of my eye
sometimes i'd see dark spheres
or something which gives off sparks
moving about near the trees
at the bottom of the hill
or else i see shapeless
glowing lights in the dark bushes
and there was nobody else around for miles
as we walked about
just us four
yet when i looked behind me
i noticed we had left five sets of footprints
wow i feel like a character in
peter straub's ghost story
nothing else for it
must spend the rest of the day
writing and recording

Daye 89 / A Little Song

as yesterday ended
a little song
came into my head
like a new galaxy forming itself
in the universe
i knew i had to get it down quickly
before its stars had burned out
wrote a few words
sang it to myself softly
in the dark
examined it
recorded the bits that could be recorded
and left out the others
deleted the parts that i didn't like
i imagined how eno might have recorded it
in 1974
or bowie in berlin
in 1976
pulled it to pieces
and put it all back together again
differently
popped it into my big box of songstuff

this morning such a wonder
came over me
that i had to be outdoors
and for the first time in an age
a stranger smiled and
came over to speak with me
in the park
life and its cycles
god and his religions
the planets and the cosmos
what we are doing on earth
with all our pasts
and presents
and futures
and music
and words
and songs
that are floating around down here
just waiting to be
dreamed into being
i was only half dressed
and had dark lines under my eyes
dirt under my fingernails
holes in the sleeves of my coat
he said that
always something shines from within us
which i already knew
'cos i had felt it all this morning

we certainly must have been shining brightly
because soon the birds
in the park
mistook us for other birds
and flocked around us
nor were they scared off
by any sudden movement or exclaimation
and the animals in the park
must have mistaken us for other animals
because they came and played nearby
or slept at our feet
which is most mysterious

Daye 88 / Sealine Via Star

snow falling again when we get up this morning
and every
thing is white
so we make our way to angelsey
via star
almost as soon as we arrive on the beach
somebody finds a small iron sphere
embedded in the sand
little d. pokes at it with a finger
picks it up
we pass it around
it's heavy
it's dimpled and pitted
like an iron-age golf ball
no, it's a meteorite
it's come from out there
b. tells little d.
pointing up past the clouds
it's asymmetrical and imperfect
and cold as the ice
afterwards we all notice that our hands smell of sulphur
and we are itching
we take a dip
the coast is dark
the ice and the rocks are especially sharp
the sea is cold and green and beautiful
and this song is running through my head

***

the minute the sting penetrates your finger
you're strapped to the pain
like an angry stranger
the moment the rain freezes in the gutter
come the flaming birds
and their hideous matter
the second the claw lifts up your chin
i'm alone in your head
and you can't get in
somebody said
that it's all for you
it's a miracle
let it alter you
but I will not follow you to the sea line
somebody went and turned it on for you
revelation baby
you're beautiful
but I will not follow you to the sea line
the instant the transfer hits your account
and it's deep in the black
and just one way out
the morning the storm rolled to the coast
we were down to the shake
and our silent throats
the evening the trees lash at the window
the roots curl up
strangle the candles
somebody said
that it's all for you
it's a miracle
let it alter you
but I will not follow you to the sea line
somebody went and turned it on for you
revelation baby
you're beautiful
but I will not follow you to the sea line
to the sea line
it's a miracle, let it alter you
revelation baby, you're beautiful
~Steve Kilbey

Daye 87 / January Nightsky

it's nine o'clock
almost time for bed
i'm lying on the bench
in my back garden
half-dreaming
half-away
thinking about the
stars up there
a blue moon leans down at me
from the cloudless january nightsky

behind the garden wall
i can hear the neighbours talking
susan
who has always been here before
and emma
whose outlook is as crooked as the fence that separates her from susan
it's time that you were
out on your own lovey
says s to e
and i think to myself
ah susan
your words will waste and decay
emma doesn't hear a word you say
and five doors down
out of my sight
up a dimly lit path
two dark little shadows
meet and converge
while
young mr east calls out from his sleep
now i have another mouth to feed
and i give in
and i give up
and i am unoriginal
and i will not write
and i can't earn a living from writing alone
and his father's ghost
who is himself now a writer
on the otherside
and always has been
and who watches over him at all times
reaches into young mr east's dream
and appears before him
saying
son there's no money to be made
from writing poems or stories or songs
but don't believe it's all been done before and better
write for the love of it
write to be heard
and young mr east heard this
and i heard this
clear as day
as i lay on my bench
half-dreaming
under the cloudless january nightsky