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10.6.07 ||
Guess which lane I occupy
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Courtesy of a couple of the best people in the world.
-krring
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31.5.07 ||
Keeping up past a week
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This is what it comes to - notes from a notebook:
"He persisted from an earlier time, so now he finds himself... in the present. Retro gone wrong!"
"Listen, son. If you love me, they are, and if you don't love me, then get out of my boatshed."
"Stale sandwiches are, in some states, actually enjoyable. In other states, they are illegal - in the lovely state of Georgia!"
"Well, love, you look like a troll, but I'd still let you under my bridge."
-krring
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20.5.07 ||
Cobbling on the go
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I been a-fixing my shoe and giving place to my new lily. The day has felt like another miniature carved in the ever distinctive but not quite distinguishable flow of the past week-and-a-bit. Exams have chanced across me timelily and all forms of gathering play themselves out fully and well. I've figure-eighted round the social circles, caught in their ongoing Specsavers overlap. I am finally able to embrace that which steers me any which way. My existence is now not so much drifting - the steam is all my own - but perhaps unmarked.
I fix my shoe and I place my lily, but not to take pause or stock, not to double take. Today is not needed for that. My step gets an extra click, is all; the trappings of a night's adventure are accommodated. It feels as though today is merely for watching an improvised life settle in. Lily has trudged through town while shoe dropped loose in the excitement. Attending to both, I can just smile at all those events of late.
-krring
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12.5.07 ||
I feel better with proof that I'm creative
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This is a wanky expansion on one particular brainstorm. I used it for my folio. Might as well fit it here.
Ode to a Candle
You flicking glimmer!
Casting witchcraft, devilry atop atmospheric gloom
Flanked by shimmers, your fiery tongue
Nests a craggy charred fang of wick within.
Harsh silent chatter and primal dance
Curse the room to occult transformation.
You jerking blaze!
Out from conjured illumined shards
Spring puppets flailing, haphazard, untamed.
The sinister progeny of your feverish gaze
Merge and divide into shocking shapes anew.
They creep and retreat from a darkened haze.
You shifty, winking shine!
A mere tenacious spark outgrown its proper lifespan,
You wane as you wax, snacking air
And licking away a sapped white trunk.
A toast! To a war so blindly toiled ‘gainst gust and gush:
Elements more prudent, less flashy than you.
And yet, crazed combatant, marauder that you are,
Your war is commendable – waged at pure glare
And the sage need for pragmatism.
No constant bulb nor deluded diode
Deserves the awed hate you provoke
So light your flaws in the face of the new. Fume off!
-krring
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Well, I have been scouting entirely in your service, to bring you a modest trail of stuff that isn't mine. In our times, reference is a form of creation. Just as well, because without the referential rebirth that a blog as sophisticated as this provides, this guy would simply drown in a pool of vulgarity (he's not even Hendrix enough to befall vomit). I wonder just how ridiculously empowered he'd feel in a hall of mirrors.
Let us pair his all-too-speedy fingers with this spot of fine art comic relief. Found on David Byrne's journal. He makes nice radios, too.
Suck in that lazy string of links.
-krring
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30.4.07 ||
It has been a slow day for good thoughts
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The shameful highlight is a Radio 4 maths-based comedy quiz show: "Quate Equate".
I'll balance that with one from erstwilderness. Have you ever synthesised your taste with your hearing? I suddenly started eating a dark chocolate truffle in perfect harmony to Faust, and what an experience. A food-music combinations night is in order. Liam doesn't want to know what band would correspond to oatcakes - any suggestions?
-krring
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27.4.07 ||
Longing for the pilau rice!!
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Rejection of words and musical discovery... it all leads to an inevitable follow-up. I present you the man of sweet unheard wordage. Cheesily-edited immortal Jap craze and legend:
 Damo dwarfed the silly German main act with a 30-minute wonder about pilau rice. Frenzied stamina and screeching saxophonists by his side, he moaned and growled the whole time. Later on, I shook his hand but failed to say anything of use. I didn't even ask whether his lyrical theme was actually grainy. Nonetheless, I don't want to harp on. In conclusion - best gig. An experience unjustly unshared.
-krring |
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I would call this "wordy association"
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As the blossom strikes the ground, it strikes a stroke into one particular populace; the stroke not of a note, though spring does dominate struck notes, but one induced by stress; the stress of the ticking away of school hours, ticking towards the stroke of some very ominous hours indeed. Exams! (and their deadline brethren)
My particular imprisonment these past weeks has been a wordy one. 4500-strong, those words have sputtered their way onto pages destined for stern eyes. Some of them have even been a bit clever - linking Kafka's lengthy paragraphs to his overriding theme of implicit guilt and other such manufactured truths. However, my nostalgia has been roaming elsewhere. Perhaps I have been pushed by all this verbosity. Perhaps it's just a logical annual connection. Whatever it is, I have found myself looking back more and more on the more visual side of past panics, and now in the middle of some people's unlucky brush (as it were) with artistic dogma, it seems appropriate to mention.
Art and its assessment has been the backdrop to much of note. Incidentally, many a note struck then if not now, struck harsh and hard. For musically, it conjures that milestone of thinking when Trout Mask Replica first revealed itself to be more than just noise. Creative boosts abounded in that happy time. Lost on the other side of opened doors. Scattered designs amongst shattered rhythms. Socially, a time of some hope and latterly one great shock to the system. (Harrison-based. What directions that could have gone in...) And in these times, such remembrances drive me to hurdle over the words still to come, and spend some proper time on things properly seen not read.
But clearly I just can't shake off words, can I? Just look at that lot up there.
-krring
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11.4.07 ||
A melodious 100th
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"Rigid is just an F away from frigid,
So don't F around with me no more.
Punchy is the best kind of groovy;
Why don't I just punch you in the face?"
This is a song. Perhaps Harrison could contribute the tabs for it one day. It is a song from the depths of an eye-stabbing smoke den under the minimous influence of Clueless buzzing out of the 'no buffy' television. And I'm a four-line man. Such are the conditions for this one too many of droppages.
In order to make this an indiscriminately audio-textu-visual centenial blast, I include selected shots.
Of our harshest critic:
And our softest comrade:
-krring
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7.4.07 ||
The glaring side of the visual side
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That place can really haunt a lens, but only at exposures of 6 seconds and up. Sometimes, a spot of tasteless glare is necessary.
-krring
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i'm a 16-year-old living in glasgow. a great fan of the mighty boosh, led zeppelin, pink floyd and douglas adams, i like doodling, playing piano and insomnia binging. on the rare occasions that i can be arsed, i make animations and games.
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