roughly speaking
and my heart is tired from pies
roughly speaking
and my heart is tired from pies
Hatred has fallen from him,
And desire, hypocrisy and pride.
He wants nothing from this world
And nothing from the next.
He is free.
One
Two
Three
Hangover
She’s holding it a bit like a butcher might show a rabbit to a customer. I’ll clean and gut it for you. You want to keep the head?
We are going away.
We will be there all September. Harvesting, pottering and pruning (where appropriate). I may try and build a kiln.
We will be eating healthily, of course.
The poppies will not be in flower, sadly.
But there may well be figs.
From Wikipedia:
Another tragic footnote to the Dominos story was the fate of drummer Jim Gordon, who was an undiagnosed schizophrenic — some years later, during a psychotic episode, he murdered his mother with a hammer and was confined to 14 years to life imprisonment. Gordon was moved to a mental institution after several years, where he remains today.
I wonder if Jim, as he brought the hammer down on his mother’s skull, realised he was adding a footnote to musical history. One last thing. Thwump.
For a drummer, murder with a hammer has a peculiar suitability. I only hope he threw the hammer up and caught it niftily after the crunch.
I don’t know. I don’t get it.
For one thing: why the golf clubs?
I was just listening to the extraordinary album The Dreaming, and had a little dip into the web to see what Suspended In Gaffa might be about. Turns out it’s about God and stuff. I thought it was about tape.
Tape. God. Much of a muchness.
And anyway, I came across an amazing Kate Bush resource. If I weren’t trying to cook Marlin, I’d spend the night reading it.
The first, a perfect thing of joy. I think it might well be impossible not to be downhearted when you watch this:
The second, maybe the funniest cutaway I’ve ever seen, 2 minutes and 51 seconds into a sort of brilliant / sort of absurd BB King shindig:
(BB King’s backhanded clap is another thing that’s a guaranteed cheerer-upper).
I hate everyone.
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