I am being haunted by blood.
I woke up in a film of sweat, clutching a tissue which I was convinced contained blood. First horror; confusion. I searched frantically for the origin, but was unable to locate it. As consciousness dawned, the red faded and what had once been so offensively vivid was grey once more in a world without colour.
A. was meant to give blood, but her appointment was cancelled. The blood had, however, already accepted its departure from her body, it seemed, and so chose to exit it another way. A series of nosebleeds. M&S Lingerie Department. Kitchen. En route.
I am not squeamish, usually, but something about the nose I find particularly nauseating. Noseeating. Instead of helping I had to turn away, hide amongst hats.
Is this the way dread manifests itself? Even the book I am reading is dipped in red; “the color of blood, which defines us.”
Do I fear what I expect?
Moschee [Ort der Niederwerfung]
The city is sticky. clichés glow orange, inscrutable.
lately dreamless, a living sleep.
corners, a vista’s refraction.
to smell is to shiver. salt and bitter. bitter and salt? and always damp. earthy.
Jazz down tiled tunnels -
closeted air, rushing.
“If you care, don’t let them know.”
a distraction from…? falling in time. familiar, and yet and yet.
I want to,
there is a building opposite my office where the sun always shines. no matter how dark or overcast the rest of the anonymous blocks may be, this white building is always bright in the sunlight. i wait for the kettle to boil and stare at the building as if into space. an eternity. at the top are decks and below, windows. on the top decks are plants and chairs; glass and metal. below that is a window onto a room full of books, which is always lit as though by a fire. below that ..? the angle of one window is such and the tint of its glass is such that smoke rising from the building opposite - out of my sight - is reflected as though it were clouds passing by and the building were flying through the sky. a spaceship. the building is reminiscent of a ship, like houses on the sea front in seaside towns, faded glamour of victorian facades. i used to wonder if they were in fact ships which had travelled so far and grown so weary, that they had crawled up onto the beach and put down their roots to become houses, and rest at last. there is a flagpole at the stern but no flag. there is a building where the sun always shines. but today, it is switched off.
there is a building opposite my office where the sun always shines. no matter how dark or overcast the rest of the anonymous blocks may be, this white building is always bright in the sunlight.
i wait for the kettle to boil and stare at the building as if into space. an eternity. at the top are decks and below, windows. on the top decks are plants and chairs; glass and metal. below that is a window onto a room full of books, which is always lit as though by a fire. below that ..? the angle of one window is such and the tint of its glass is such that smoke rising from the building opposite - out of my sight - is reflected as though it were clouds passing by and the building were flying through the sky. a spaceship.
the building is reminiscent of a ship, like houses on the sea front in seaside towns, faded glamour of victorian facades. i used to wonder if they were in fact ships which had travelled so far and grown so weary, that they had crawled up onto the beach and put down their roots to become houses, and rest at last. there is a flagpole at the stern but no flag.
there is a building where the sun always shines. but today, it is switched off.
words appear in front of my eyes as if projected on a screen. a nonsensical and arbitrary sequence. (paradox?)
feeling disjointed and displaced. back home in LDN, it’s as if i have changed shape while away and don’t slot back in properly. missed my bed, my ukulele and my pumbaa most of all. a full house has now been emptied and only bottles instead of people remain. my feet are dirty but there is no one here who will clean them. i miss JJ. on the verge of sentimentality.
the changeover into a new year seems generally advocated as a time for reflection. january is named for the roman god janus, characterised by his 2 faces so he looks both forward and back. but resolved to do only the former, despite being surrounded by others’ meditations on 2011 and ring-fenced by people from the past, mostly but not exclusively old friends. so blinkers on, dread and schemes and excitement combine.
in the International Players Anthem (I Choose You) andre 3000 says, “Spaceships don’t come equipped with rearview mirrors”. not sure how andre came to be such an expert on the design of vehicles used for spaceflight, but something about the lyric endures. the internal rhyme makes it somehow beautiful and ridiculous. i look forward to space.
how memory works. why do we celebrate on anniversaries, birthdays etc? why is it only accepted to commemorate one’s birth on one’s birthday? is it that arbitrary? individual reflection on events can take place whenever, but communal remembrance only seems possible on that one date. is it conversely also necessary to remember events at some point during their anniversaries?
today memories follow like a flock of birds. now and then they appear in peripheral vision, but turning to look makes them disappear. in attempting to out-run the birds, i’m only more aware of their presence. an active prevention of remembrance is impossible, because the act itself is a reminder. obviously. what a sticky situation we find ourselves in! other people’s actions only serve to remind you more, if possible, but ironically their actions only demonstrate the extent to which they have ceased to remember.
a song. a word. a place. a thought. a photo. am i being forced to remember or forcing myself?
Dory: No. No, you can’t. …STOP! Please don’t go away. Please? No one’s ever stuck with me for so long before. And if you leave…if you leave… I just, I remember things better with you! I do, look! P. Sherman, forty-two…forty-two… I remember it, I do. It’s there, I know it is, because when I look at you, I can feel it. And…and I look at you, and I…and I’m home! Please…I don’t want that to go away. I don’t want to forget,
Marlin: I’m sorry, Dory. But I do.
i want some porridge.
So, I hear you ask, what pointless task did I stay up late doing this evening in a foolish and futile attempt to postpone the coming of tomorrow and my own personal hell in the office? Well, I’ll tell you… Are you sitting comfortably?
So, a couple of months ago I found this site called RapGenius which is kind of like a Wikipedia for rap songs. So, like, if you’re listening to some rap choon and you wanna find out what some of the lyrics mean or just some fun hilarious stuff about it, then you can look it up on the site. Like, I KNOW RIGHT. As you can imagine, I was enthralled and super excited.
I’ve been wanting to contribute to the site for a while, and so today there I was.. just maxin’ relaxin’ and listening to Lethal Bizzle’s Police On My Back. So I decided to see if it was on the site and if there were any enlightening comments about it. It wasn’t and there weren’t. So I bit the proverbial bullet and fucking added that shit! You can check it out here. Yeee boiiii!
The song is basically an old school anecdotal style rap about how Lethal used to be a full time criminal before he was a serious grime rapper. Cos he’s from the streets yo! He keepin it real! Although it’s essentially a tongue-in-cheek and light-hearted take on his own misspent youth, some of the overarching themes do tie in with some significant and relevant issues for the UK at the moment, including juvenile delinquency in general and the recent riots in LDN in particular (about which Lethal actually has some proper insightful and intelligent shit to say - I’ve tweeted about it before but here’s the link again. He also called David Cameron a donut - I mean, can you get any fucking cooler?!). The causes of which include, but are not limited to, enmity towards the police (or boydem, if you will) and the whole ‘consumerism + lack of material wealth => people stealing shit they want’ thing (in the song, Lethal sells stolen cars to people in his local area).
Mainly what Lethal is saying is that politicians should listen to grime artists like him, as they act as mouthpieces for what’s actually going on in the streets. The disenfranchised youth do not have their own voice, so people like him are speaking for them (cf. also Devlin’s Community Outcast, where D is representing for people who cannot represent themselves). With the riots, all the rappers had been talking about the violence, crime and general lack of opportunity in those areas for years, but no one had heeded them and in some cases they had even been blamed for it (which, let’s face it, is fucking retarded).
Anyway this has all gone on a much deeper turn then I had originally intended. A brief scan of the RapGenius website reveals that many Dizzee Rascal songs have yet to be explained, so I guess I know what I’ll be doing at work this week… in the meantime, I’m gonna go jack the shit out of some cars and fully intend NOT to co-operate with the ensuing police investigation! Cos Lethal told me to innit.
So I’m in my Punto, yeah, an’ I see the boydem in the rear view. An I’m thinkin, “Shit! What’mI gonna do?! This car’s slow, s’only a 1.2!”