Presumably all obsessions are extreme metaphors waiting to be born. That whole private mythology, in which I believe totally, is a collaboration between one’s conscious mind and those obsessions that, one by one, present themselves as stepping-stones.
It has been a hot, difficult summer and only now can I feel the pressure begin to drop in the air. The darkening skies and the tentative rain are not foreboding, they signal respite from the season before. Autumn is already here for the meteorologists, and not far off for the astronomers. Read the rest of this entry »
Winding my way around the backstreets near Holborn Viaduct I came across a trade entrance to one of the buildings that loomed above me. Read the rest of this entry »
In my early teenage years I would read Melody Maker and listen to John Peel, trying to piece together all this music out there, all this music that didn’t appear on Top of the Pops, that wasn’t piped through the supermarket speakers, that wasn’t in my parents’ record collection. Read the rest of this entry »
“A white moon appears like a hole in the sky”
Bye Bye Pride, The Go-Betweens
I leave home and it still feels like night. The moon looms large. I make my way towards the station, and towards the moon. There are a few other people on the street, but nobody seems startled by the size of the shape in the sky. Read the rest of this entry »
Wait until next year 