Sinister: i lost my shed to a starship trooper

[ian]

a patch of scorched earth.

in films, a patch of scorched earth always means something.

if i was fox mulder, and this was the x-files, i'd touch the ash, sniff it,
and pronounce it evidence of some government conspiracy.
fuck that.  i've got all the evidence i need already.

the local newspapers have reported mass-sightings of a unidentified flying
object over selly oak some time on thursday night.  as i headed down to
london to see saint etienne (of which more in a later post, i'm sure..),
something looking suspiciously like a garden shed lifted vertically into the
sky above the fair city of birmingham.

and then, it vanished.   along, it seems, with sister janice slejj.

sister janice turned up a while ago, and i kindly allowed her to reside in
my airing cupboard, and then in my shed.  now, she appears to have gone,
leaving only a hole; a pile of batteries and what looks suspiciously like a
bag full of jarlsberg rind behind her.

accept it, ian, go with the cosmic flow.  it has been that sort of week:-

over the past couple of weeks, i've been enjoying what i thought was a
lively and interesting correspondence with a texan 243 piece band called the
polyphonic spree.  today, i received this letter from their management:

'Dear Mr. Anscombe

Consider this your final warning, before legal proceedings are instigated
against you.  Do not attempt to contact my clients again...blah blah
blah...inappropriate...blah blah
blah...threats..blah..genitals...yawn...witter...witter...do not, and never
have, indulge in the type of behaviour to which you refer...blah
blah....artists have a right to privacy and  entering their homes in the
middle of the night, dressed as a frenchman and asking them to feel your
baton is a serious contravention of this...blah blah...not as if you can
even play an instrument - the maracas really aren't that hard to
master...blah blah... nipple clamps; erection; meringue; stimulation of the
pancreas.....'

on and ON it goes.  goodness, some people have NO sense of humour.
and, anyway, its not even as if its true..i wasn't dressed as a frenchman, i
was dressed as marlene dietrich.  some people see a beret and jump to all
sorts of conclusions..

under neath ze lamp post
by ze da da da..
darling i rem-em-ber
the way la la la la..

some artists don't seem to understand that, underlying their worldwide
success, has to be some modicum of RESPECT for their fans.  its just like
the time i stuck my hand down jarvis cocker's trousers in a crowded lift.
when you become FAMOUS and a CELEBRITY, you must accept that people are
entitled to DO that to you.. and THEN there was the time that...

no, enough of past horrors..memories have a way of crashing into each other,
don't they?  you start off climbing into a seemingly innocuous one, thinking
you know where its going, and before long you're involved in a 28-reverie
pile-up, buried underneath a multi-layered mash of mental metal.

and this is the worst time of year for memories.  the darkness, even in the
day time, drives us within ourselves.  we go inside ourselves instinctively,
knowing the darkest days are yet to come and the strength to face it full on
has to be sought deep within.

this year, though, i'm going to try and smile at the dark, rather than wish
it away.  it has its own beauty, so much more subtle and fascinating than
that of the sun.

perhaps that means staying away from memories, focussing on the now.  some
people would tell you the now is all you've got.  but i don't feel like
talking about them today.  a cold philosophy, that, the idea that the past
must die every second.  if we don't have the past, we have nothing to build
the present on.

and everything needs foundations, no matter how insubstantial.
if my garden shed had had better foundations, it might not be whizzing
around the galaxy right now, with an excommunicated kleptomaniac nun in it.

(then again, it probably would.  at some point in their life, MOST people
will find a member of the clergy stealing attempting to steal a wooden
outhouse from them.  i'm sure it has already happened to most of you.
you've been around.)

they know this already, ian, there's no need to tell them.

smile at the dark, toss the rejection letter into the bin, plant bulbs in
the scorched earth.  allow something to grow from the mistakes of the past.

i shall start my own cult.  we shall wear WHITER ROBES and play BETTER MUSIC
than the polyphonic spree.  i shall practice looking at my memories, but not
allowing them to overwhelm me.  i shall look inside myself for strength, not
for weakness, and admire the beauty that even bleakness has to offer.

and i shall make sure i don't let any more nuns in my house.

i hope this will make me happier.

have loveliness, my dears

xx
ian

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tomorrow will bring happiness
Or at least, another day

Phil Ochs
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


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