I just had a thought – whenever and however I have my funeral and then there’s some music of the dead one’s choosing I’d like to cue up Lose This Skin by The Clash off of Sandinista! It’d have to be uncomfortable loud. It has a guest vocalist who I, up until a minute ago deadset thought was a woman but it’s someone called Tymon Dogg.
Being back here in the West, a first world country, I’m starting to see less reasons for me to continue being carnivorous.
I was up the hill takin’ a stroll through the cemetery this afternoon. The oldest section looks like it was established around 1850. The oldest resident I happened to notice was born in 1810. Man imagine that – a teenager in the 1820s.
Some of those really old headstones and monuments are broken or falling over. It’s all so fleeting and pointless.
Dead cat, when I first saw you lying there I thought you were sunning yourself. As I came over to give you a pat I saw a fly buzzing around and noted that you weren’t trying to get it. Then I realised you were dead.
Cut down in the prime of your youth, maybe six months old and calico in colour. I’ve heard people pronounce it Ka-LEE-ko but I prefer KAL-a-ko. Life was not kind to you in this country, and I don’t pretend to know how the universe works but I would like to think you have moved onto a better place. Not somewhere in the sky where there is nothing to do, but some place where cats get a better deal. Somewhere like Weller st Geelong West where every cat gets its own 1/8th-acre block and a kind family to look after. There, the people who pass by on the street are friendly and will always stop to give you a pat if you want it. You can spend your summers indoors, poured across the lino-covered cement, and the winters are mild.
Dead cat, you are the third of your kind I have seen lying wretched and stiff in the gutters of this town during summer. And if I could I would resurrect the Pharaohs and the armies of ancient Egypt, I probably would. It’s possible that they would get the Koreans in a headlock and not let go until receiving the promise that cats would be treated better. But let’s face it, it’s more likely that those burly 7foot Nubian slaves would slay the Koreans where they stood. Dead cat, the worst is over.
Y’know I’ve never been a huge fan of Gibson guitars, and the few occasions I come across a foto of the 1950s Les Paul man on the internet I’m struck by the unassuming look he had. I know it was the 50s and all that jazz, but I would mistake him for an accountant. If there had ever been anyone who seemed like they really did sell their soul to the devil for fame, I used to think it was that guy, but then it doesn’t really make sense that he’d only be playing jazz.
Anyway, goodbye dude. You really were an amazing player and inventor. I’ll be really grateful if my hands work well enough to still be playing when I’m 94. Here is a mini-doco on your life. Okay I’m off to btjunkie to see if I can d/load some of yours and Mary Ford’s 50s jazz stuff. It sounds sweet.
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While we’re on guitar stuff, I haven’t been buy much lately, but I did get a small pack of v picks aka plectrums. Initially one would baulk at the price that averages out to three buck US for one pick – a piece of plastic afterall, but hey whatever—I gave it a try and wasn’t disappointed.
I had been using a really thing (0.50 mm) pick for the last year, so to begin with the vpick felt way chunky – but it’s really nimble too. The thing I noticed first was how much louder the guitar sounded when playing unplugged. Also the thickness seems to encourage harder strumming which is not a bad thing. Also, the pick is something that’s always used – so $3, at least the way I see it, pays for itself quickly compared to other things I’ve bought for 100 that I only use now ad then.
I had an exam last Monday. I was over on the east coast for the last couple of days taking a much needed break from it all. I’d forgotten what unpolluted air tastes like. Sometimes my patience grows short with the people here and I got to think it was koreans – that was the problem, but I’m more inclined to think it’s actually cityfolk. Could be any huge city like this—people tend to be more in a hurry, more pushy and rambunctious, more likely to stick their nose in.
I was staying in a small seaside hamlet. See flickr for fotos. I walked past an unattended fish place, the kind that has tanks out the front with various live sea creatures stocked for eating. There was a fish flipping on the asphalt. It’d jumped out of its tank and was suffocating in the air. I walked around the place to see if one of the people was there to tell them that one of their fish had jumped out but there was nobody to be had.
I stood for a good minute or two debating what to do. Had the fish jumped out on purpose? Was it nobler to die on the tarmac than in a cooking pot, on the way to being eaten by someone? I got to wondering what Captian Picard would do eventhough I haven’t watched that show in years. In the end I decided it was better to do what I could to prolong the fish’s life now and if it ended up getting eaten later that day it was out of my hands. I put if back in the tank but maybe it was out too long because it was ‘swimming upside down’ as they say.
I’d forgotten how much people out there like telly. Everyone was watchin telly all the time. Dramas mostly, sometimes a little baseball, sometimes christian telly. It made me wonder what all the folks out there, out in the remote villages, the satellites, the two-bit one-horse towns—what do they think of yankee beef and the FTA? I don’t know, I couldn’t talk to them.