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Friday April 04, 03
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05:46 PM - Duisberg, Goole and Hollywood
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I forget to say that this is for Natsy
Closer To You
And maybe you're the Circle Line girl, trying so hard not to let on you know I'm looking at the way your toes poke out of your sandals, at funny angles to your feet, and how you know it turns me on
Or maybe you're the Spanish girl, playing with your hair as you wait for your friend in that wild octagon of mirrors the Tate calls a coffee shop . . . And oh, I can smell that hair from here, and I can see from eight different angles the way your nipples look through that thin black cotton top, reflected to infinity . . And O God it's places like that and purple-tipped prose like this, that's going to haemorrhage me girl . .
Ooh it's true:
Girl I'm only doing it to be closer to you
Or maybe you're the bay window girl in Wandsworth Town, in ripped jeans and open venetians, painting the difficult corner of an empty room white under a naked bulb, leaning across the bar at the top of your stepladder at the precise moment I'm passing on the steep street at the bottom of your garden in the gathering night . . . voyeur's delight
Ooh it's true:
Girl I'm only doing it to be closer to you
Or maybe you're the foundation painter at the Central School, looking so
fine-boned I could carry you home in your portfolio case, laced up gently
so you won't cry out on the bus on the way home, tied up lightly ,~~
because girl, how could I knowingly injure someone with your perfect lips
and wrists, your exquisite structure . . .Oh little acrylic painter, I can kiss
eggshells, I can be ginger, all the critics say I'm such a sensitive singer . .
Ooh it's true:
Girl I'm only doing it to be closer to you
And maybe you're listening to my voice now, on your Walkman or your bedsit
Dansette, letting my songs slip into you on this quiet night in with your pads of
doodles and your fingers full of pencils and low tar cigarettes . . . And the music's
light and pleasant so you hardly notice what I'm singing about in 'Paper Wraps ~,
Rock' and 'Murderers, the Hope of Women', my songs are just a sound that enters
you and leaves you just the same, and that's how I want it to stay, because . . .
Ooh it's true:
Girl I'm only doing it to be closer to you
But some of those are bitter records, records which accuse women, girls like you,
of using your attractiveness wantonly and wilfully to trap and to paralyse men
who want them and can never have them, men who sometimes feel the perverse
urge to trash the women they desire the most, who imagine they despise all those
immaculate visions... what adolescent crap, what kind of idiot would sing that?
Oh not me, because . . .
Ooh it's true:
Girl I'm only doing it to be closer to you
But you know sometimes I think that every man who writes, every man who
paints or composes, deep soul or symphonies, it makes no difference, all those
men are only making do with substitutes: Solomon, Confucius, Franz Kafka, they'd
never have done if they'd been as beautiful as you, sitting cross-legged there
with gentle music lapping around a promise, there where your thighs meet, of
fertility a million artists couldn't compete with
Ooh it's true:
Girl I'm only doing it to be closer to you
And all the time I see you there in the eye of my mind, and all that cheap macho
stuff about de Sade and misogyny vanishes in thin air and I'm moved to tears
just like any other sucker who's been bruised by all the things that weren't to be,
and yet who's ready to fall down on his knees in front of a woman and say
'Whatever you may do, whatever you may be to me, I want you to know that I
respect you, I accept you and I want you to accept me, I want to kiss you, kiss
your stockinged knee, accept the uniquely soft flesh on the undersides
of your hips
Ooh it's true:
Girl I'm only doing it to be closer to you
And when I've won you, when I've fallen down in front of you and said
'Damn Franz Kafka, damn the Thin White Duke, it's you and you alone I'm doing
this for'... When I'm through with heroes and pastiche, ('throwing darts in lovers'
eyes'), when you've let me make love to you the slowest deepest way that I
know how (when you do that for me baby) and it feels so good, that's when I'll
think of Paul Klee's epitaph: 'Here lies the painter Paul Klee, somewhat closer to
the heart of creation, but far from close enough'
And girl, here I lie, far from close enough to you...
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05:39 PM - Subvert the taste of Surrey
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I know its lazy, lame and lethargic but read this
Situation Comedy Blues
What's a laugh?
The sound of common-sense falling apart
What's common-sense? A million unthinking hearts
At the end of the working day
And who am I?
Call me the barman standing waiting for the workers
To drink their work away
I'm the man who serves the laughter
To the drunkards of disaster
After they've got plastered on the news
And I've got the situation comedy blues
What's the situation?
This man has been abandoned by his woman
What's the reason?
He's lost his sense of humour
This man is sober
And so he s gone to bed with another writer's scripts
And his wife has had to move in with her mother
And the man who serves the laughter
To the drunkards of disaster
After they've got plastered on the news
Has got the situation comedy blues
He's been devising a new series
Where the first man to appear is
Pakistani and the second is a queer
Who rings the bell in tights and biker's gear
And he tells them that he's sorry to disturb them
But the sari that the wife had on today was out of sight
And could he maybe borrow it tonight?
And the man who serves the laughter
To the workaholics after
They've got drunk on the disasters of the news
Has got the situation comedy blues
So the Paki asks the queen in to his brilliantly-lit kitchen
Where he demonstrates his do-it-yourself tools
He's the type who doesn't gladly suffer fools
But he electrocutes his finger in his biggest Black and Decker
When his wife appears in towel and rubber hat
And the bath she s running floods the neighbours' flat
I've been sitting here unhappily
Trying to write this comedy
When I hear a sudden laugh in the next room
And thinking it's my woman who's come home
I call her name expectantly and, glad that she's come back to me,
I throw away my trivialising pen . .
And then the television laughs again |~
Arthur Askeys Aunts Angst
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Thursday April 03, 03
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06:02 PM - False Advertising
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I ponder the recklessness and charm of my life and feel so calm
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Tuesday April 01, 03
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04:35 PM - ego warrior
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1. Silver Jews
2. Smog
3. Luke Haines
4. Neutral Milk Hotel
6. PIL
7. DJ Spooky
8. British Sea Power
the enemy is in front of me, it's behind me, its on my right and to my left..they will not get away this time
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Monday March 31, 03
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05:48 PM - A gluttonous panda that needs to be fed
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Today I thought about yesterday: my daughters crying , my lovers laughing. my mothers moving..its clear that middle age is the most perfect state of being.
Reg Varney
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