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being dulled by the monotony of daily physical labour... or maybe buzzed at turns by fresh air and sunlight, or wreathed in two-stroke smoke as the woods take shape, writing has become less-and-less a priority. at first, i thought that the subject matter was less than noteworthy. in fact, whenever i closed my eyes, it wasn't words that came to mind... just the mental image of the interlaced, arcing, brown, spiky blackberry vines that occupied my attention for hours on end with their destruction. standing back when the work was over, it was sobering how the horizon had changed, ever so slightly, from the obscurity of nature's concertina wire to a scene where you could actually imagine a house occupying it. but, without images to accompany, it just sounds pretty boring. in the meantime, worlds collide. bombs detonate. fires ignite. courses change. one small insinuation of the straight line, at least for me, came Thursday afternoon, when i decided to make good on a promise i'd made to myself: to take a short break from the radio station, at least until sometime in May. one thing i've never wanted to do, even before i started announcing/programming twelve years ago, was become stale... or go through the motions without my heart in it. so, naturally, that's what i'd been doing for the past few months. not making a mental list of what songs i'd play until the morning of the show... just like putting off your homework until the day of class. the straw that broke the camel's back was the last show of the rock marathon. after not resorting to punnany-gun-Benz&Bimmer-gangsta lyrics for al this time, the rock dept. manager asked me to do a dancehall show for the fund raiser, the programming of which i put into the hands of my old alternate (while i took care of the announcing/begging for pledges). as if ordained by the gods, that's all he spun for two hours straight. what the fuck ever. just as importantly, time had to be made to take care of the homework, at home... and by "homework," i don't refer to the joining together of man and wife... as menopause seems to be the excuse Yoko uses to abandon sex entirely. still. no, this means land clearing, pumping a few more miles into ailing vehicles... making my way back to the drawing table (house layout/band logos/book illustration)... and every other nagging little project that was so easily pushed aside with the show as an excuse. consequently, the homesite is becoming a reality... but after watching nothing but cooking and home repair shows for the past four years, Yoko has no input as to what she wants the house to be... or how the kitchen should be arranged. nor does she set foot on site unless dragged bodily. am i being bullshitted, here? seems so... as she received another tearful call from her daughter: ex-husband was holding out on her mail, which included warnings from the credit cards. now, it's bankruptcy for her... yet pregnant (by her live-in boyfriend) two boys to take care of. makes you wanna suck the barrel. so that's where she spent the weekend... again. me? i visited Biggles and family on Saturday night, after another day on the mountain... for dinner, beer and Arsenal footie. on top and in search of the treble. the weekend concludes, work ensues. i open the door to the Diva's apartment, last night... and there appears Akebono (his euphemism). freshly tossed out of his home by his wife, doing the sofa circuit. i believe the entire world has gone mad while i've been escaping to the hills. but there is no escape. really. |
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