Jury Pelvis

By King Frictionless, posted on 6/12/2008 11:38:02 AM

Got to put stuff on here. These words are cheap and I can in effect say whatever I like until I say something I shouldn’t say. Not that anything I say is the sort of thing that is the sort thing that you shouldn’t say.

Things are plodding along. My voice is nearly recovered enough to sing a whole song, but not quite. It has been an irritatingly long time. Dom Veron is getting a band together again so I will be doing some moonlighting. Nice to get out of the flat and do some music again. Monica has nearly finished her essay so maybe I will be able to get her bass playing talents to grace the new songs before she has to start the next one. There are two new songs by the way.

Good to see that our government can’t win the argument over the 42 day detention of terrorist suspects without roping in members of the DUP. Deals in corridors and down telephone lines will lead us further down the path to illiberality. I posted my membership form to Liberty this morning to make myself feel a little less impotent. Monica suggested we emigrate to Canada yesterday and I say why the hell not.

I went to see McCoy Tyner at the end of May with Lee and Matthew and it was wonderful. I love the jazz me and not having played any of it for so long means I can actually listen to it as a fan these days. Of all the sorts of music I can think of I think jazz is the best to listen to if you are a musician because it as much about being a musician as it is about the music. Do I need to clarify that point? Probably.

The vaunted book, the book the book always writing never written, has topped (estimated) 20,000 words. More than half of these are still handwritten so I need to get typing. It’s not going too badly and is a lot easier than previous attempts. Probably because it is a simpler story and I have a set time everyday when I have to do it and I have a much better of how it will end than anything I have attempted before. I am still quite prepared for it to be mediocre derivative shit, but at least it will be my shit derivative mediocrity. In the modern world where everyone is a poet or an author or a composer or a freemason or a rally driver or a cockwrangler you can do what you want as long as it is yours, which may or may not be the case, or, on the other hand, quite the reverse in fact.

Like blogs. Everyone’s blog is funny and witty and ace. Event the ones where the words are all wrong and the pictures are all cleavage, even those are great. Mine is a bit tame in comparison. The book is a bit tame too like the music. Tame like a chaffinch. A wild chaffinch which you found on the side of the road with a broken wing and you took it home and made it a splint and its wing healed and then one day it was time to say goodbye to little Miss Chaffinch so you opened the window and went to work and when you came back your house had been burgled. And there was chaffinch shit on the ottoman and the chifferobe and the sideboard and the dresser.

I once saw a rat bite a goat on the tit. No shit.

Should I end it there? I should round it off with something topical. Here goes then.