Monday, December 12, 2005

Ecstacy Song

I've seen you swimming
and I want to fake it

but it was a reflection
and I know I can make it

we are all just visitors
nice to be here twice

I'm teasin'
the kick is pleasin'
but administer to the lack lustre
coz my brain buster

is shining from beyond
a dazzling moonlit pond

its the answer to a question
"how can I dance forever?"

written 1997

Intro/For me/For you

Conduct the dropout phase print
A style of two princes natch
Phone off the hook
A comedown precursor
This is about reality buddy
My cascade okay
Then slope the pimp roll
Stroll control be bold

When your finger is on hold
There are forces at work
And you'll never grow old
Fine child in a prism you'll glance
Crumble torture house blues
Emotions are strong before the bomb
Cheesy grins after a hugged embrace

Magnetic ecstacy at the headstrong portal
Crisp lager and shouts
A resounding denial of worth
Bass clatter drum melody 3D fade out
A drizzle sun rainbow wind calm
Is of the factor
The warmth between olders and youngers

written 1997

In the sequence of time and motion

In the sequence of time and motion
a stone is cast
And crevasse cracks a benign field form rips
Rent across and an eyelash back
Elephantine memory of the protein valve
The thorax squeaks cheery waves to a man
And moon dust thrives when the door knocks come
Grinning faces and a wide spectacle slips the tag
Collapse ashes Oh to stack more on
A nerve quake and quivering bleached bones
Remembering reveries Tree stump forever
Do or die the cry of my psychic whiplash
Enigma speech and I'm thrilled to wake weary

Voodoo trench coat cats tail wander
Tree branch owl on a back flight prey hunt megamission
The bones of mice in its shit
Television mist breakdown
Tulips from...
A spoon full of.....
Brown girl in the.

Tra la la la la

written 1997

hello dere

Hallo Joseph Tonmore,
I trust ye are keepin' well,
with yr goode womane beside ye at all thymes.
I frankenly be incensed by the mardy myrhhh.
And be driven almost to blindnesse in whipping the
stonybridge milestone.
Thanking numerous incandescent heavenly bodies
that predicaments are not further seriousnessed for all
of usses and our otherses.
May paths ways crossed by sunshine ingottes be.
Adieu dear frende and tille we have sightinges bold and berry.
Quickening thyme does not allowe the pleasures of ages,
thoughe crackes of light and the glow of splendour can
be sighted and pursued wherever they are ablest.
Beste be to yrs and yr neighbours.
James Kinge.

Sunday, December 11, 2005

give me back my money

So you work silly hours for silly money do you?

Something in digital arts tech print management marketing
fashion finance

Well, I don't believe in superfluous unneccessary jobs like that.

I think it is obscene that this city gives money to these purposeless timewasting nothing jobs.

And a lot of you bastards drink to excess.
I know, I've met you.
You are uncomfortable deep inside,
why are you being paid so well and working so hard for something
completely ephemeral and pointless.
You will pass the south american cleaners in the office corridor.
You will take the cappuccino from the guy who smiles and is
always friendly in that cool little coffee bar. He's been there since 4 in the morning and he hates you, but you wouldn't know it.
This city is a joke, its a tower of champagne glasses,
all the booze is drunk and only the piss trickles down to be cleaned up by those below.
But hey, you're doing a trendy job in a fucking hard working
hard playing environ, its such a BUZZ.

Keep rambling on, keep the tone of your voice high energy
positive and deeply insensitive.
Cut off from accepting the disordered world your choice of career is engendering and the society your actions help to justify, you
waddle around, with your bunch of pissed up cunt mates.
You don't even read anything intelligent anymore, no time.
Don't think about things that might get you down.
Keep it happy, keep saying your happy, this is like when I was
younger, this is how it was always gonna be, yeah it's all good
It's all good.

Fallen , you've fallen, everyones fallen.
For the stanaic trickster , the merry prankster,
the laughing dancing skeleton,
the hip bones connected to the thigh bone.

Eat up, it's another lunchtime,

yummy yummy yummy I got love in my tummy

But your shoulders are hunched,
the diving trip, aren't those colourful fish wonderful.
Diving and skiing, little worlds away from
facing it, facing it all the uncomfortable truth.
You are a slave and a master.
You help to complete and perpetuate the chain.
It is all around us.

Sunday, December 04, 2005

Snowy Farr

Happy Brithday Mum

If there was one number for each of your years,
there'd be fifty.
Stay away from the rocking chair and you'll be fine.
Love Matt.

(mum died aged 57)

Saturday, December 03, 2005

Gener's Lament

Gene’s Lament

Transcript of the end of a Ween gig
Ft. Lauderdale

……..after Poopship…..

I’m gonna lick your pussy tonight, ohh-aaaahhhhaa
Oooooooo – Oooooooo – Oooooooo – yeaaaah
Dean: “Got something to say Gener?”
Oooooo – OOOooooo…….
Claude: “Talking ‘bout the Poopship, talking ‘bout the Poopship”
Gene: Destroyer
Poopy poopy dooo
Ooooooo – Ooooooo – Ooooooo – yeah yeah yeaaaaah
Claude: Riiiiiiiide on the Poopship
Gener: Smoke some crack, and lick a some pussy tonight
Tonight I’m gonna smoke a little crack, and I’m gonna eat a little
pussy tonight
Give it to me
I want to eat some pussyyyyyyy
Ooooo – ooooo – oooooo
Girl, you know, I appreciate you commin out to the Ween show. And I
like the fact that you’re into Ween.
Yeah, maybe I wrote that song, Baby Bitch. But you know, I wrote it
for you.

Listen, I’ve been on tour for a long time. I’ve been on tour for a
long, long, long, long time. And tonight, I think I’d like to take
your panties down, go home for a little while, you know what I’m
saying? After I smoke a little crack…..

Can you guys give it to me?

Oooooo- oooooo – yeah

You know, ‘cause for Gener, it’s very tough being on the road
sometimes. I’m a very complicated man

Claude: Complicated baby (sung in falsetto)

Sometimes I get so strung up in my own thing, I don’t know where I am
any more. And it sucks.

You know I’m a Pisces. I was born on St. Patrick’s Day. And you know,
sometimes that’s hard, being a Jew, ‘cause that’s what I am. I go to
the Irish bar and I don’t got nothin’. They fuckin’ kick me out.

Claude: You can’t get no loooove

You can’t get no lovin. But sometimes, somehow, I get some love. I
get some love somehow. I don’t know where it comes from. Maybe from
God above. Thank God for the woman who loves me…….I love you to. You
see ‘cause the woman is a very special thing. She feels beyond the
realm of dreams. She feels, she feels things than no man can

Don’t you be booing my ass, you bitch!

I know, I know it’s a pain in the ass. Believe me, nobody knows better
than I.

Give me some!

Ooooooo – ooooo – yeaaaaaah

Fuck that.

But when I’m in Ft. Lauderdale, I see all these fine people, all these
beautiful people, and I love each and every one of you. You know
‘cause sometimes it’s hard being Gene Ween. It is. It’s tough.
‘Cause, I just wanted, I just wanted to go back home, you know?

But I realized that I’ve got a job to do.

Claude: Man’s got work to do, man’s got work to do

Hey Mick, give me that fuckin’ Jack Daniels. Yeah. And I want to play
for you. And you know, I’s a professional.

Give me one more, give me one more

Claude: Brother wants to testify, brother wants to testify to the

Oooooo – ooooo

And you know when I see you fuckin’ people, it makes it all worth
while, ‘cause I’m just a man, I’m just a man, and I love you so much.
Thank you. I love you so much.

When I go back to the tour bus tonight and smoke a little more crack,
I’m gonna think about you people. And I’m gonna think about how good
you were to me tonight. Hanging out with me.

Give me a little somethin’


It’s not easy, it’s not easy being green. And I am green. And I love
you for that, I love you for that. Because I think you’re green too.
My brothers and my sisters, thank you.
Claude: I want to tell you ahhh yeah

I’m gonna let my friend Glen, Glen MeCeland, speak for me for a little
while. He smoked a lot of crack, but I think he’s coming down, I think
he’s alright.

Basically, what I’m tryin to say is that I just love you people so
much. Hey Glenn, give me a little somethin’. It’s a brand new day. A
brand new day.

Glenn: I feel the full moon

The sun is risin’. The sun is risin’ up. The sun is RISIN’ UP!

Give it to me! Give something to the people.

Ooooooo – Ooooooo – oooooooo

This man’s got the love. If one man’s got the love, it’s Glenn.

Now Glenn just smoked a lot of crack.

Claude: I want to give it to my brother Geneeeer, yeaaaaaaaahhhhhhaaa

Glenn: He’s got the feelin’ Papa Gene, that was beautiful. I know
you were tryin. I know you feeling it. You’re wonderful

Claude: Brother Gene was testifying.

Glenn: Everybody Gene Ween tonight , Gene Ween. Gene Ween on lead
vocals. Gene Ween. Testifying for you all night long tonight. Pouring
his heart and soul into the show just Ft. Lauderdale. Dean Ween, after
seeing the Perfect Storm with me, we had a tear in our eye after the
move, and we managed to pull the show off. And it’s a beautiful thing
everybody. We love you.

Gene: Thank you guys tonight. We’re out of here. We’re gonna go
party back stage. Thank you.

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

so much thing to say right now

is that a bob marley wig
u are wearing
or are you just
police to see me.

Yes yet again you stumble here
expecting nuggets of blogger wisdom,
flashes of joyous cheeky wit,
palmfuls of fluffy wanking spanner growth,
teary thimbles trembling on a stack of pickled spam jelly

You stumble in here,
your eyes on their red veiny stalks
they see past the glow and they
aim to focus on the irritatingly small typeface,
and do they read this far,
or do they shuffle off for the next hit,
this time I know it's for real
god knows I've got to break freeeeeee.

But that next page you look at will
be an empty shell, all flashing lights and
robot shit for brains, a life fed on a steady
diet of showing off.
Insecure Wilmas calling their menfolk in for din dins.
Ripped gayboy with his dumb dolces and ordered othodoxy.

So just stay where you are right now, tap the screen with
the nail of your left little finger and repeat after me
"I am not an internet Sheep"

Did you do it?
Good, I knew you were'nt an internet sheep.
here's a picture for all you
attention deficit surfers

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

child without an iPod

this is the name of my new
blog which will be the repository of
ultra cool podcasts or mp3s as they're more
usefully known.

this is the link to the blog

this is the link to the inaugural
downloadable dj set named folking hell

here are the tunes you can hear therein

ween - stacey
arbol - son todas putas
ween - belvedine
cosmic cretins - reggae junkie jew
duncan browne - in a mist
ewan macoll - van dieman's land
mae west - a guy what takes his time
pierre henry - breath
rhythm and sound - mash down version
simon finn - jerusalem
stereolab - soup groove #1
television personalities - seasons in the sun
ween - boys club
ween - tuffy mufffy
the drum club - u make me feel so good
vashti bunyan - against the sky

Saturday, October 29, 2005

if i needed someone

you're the one that I'd be thinking of

so sir,
yes sir,
thankyou boss,
drat and double drat
clinker the rig master
youngsters in circle master haystack
ol' scarecrow hour is at hand
dark doom and rotten apples on the lawn
sniff runny nosed
listen to the elastic band
arrrrr me hearties
Tintin is afraid and his little
Snowie is all matted and piss-soaked.
Great Gigs is disguise
girl on girl
boy on boy
beast on beast
the firey sky
the crackling sulphur
dark deeds,
gunshot kilburn car window.
all in aid of
black pride.
ya get me
dja get me
peace brah
stab im up
stab im up
dja get me
asians sellin us illegal skin bleacher
dja get me

oh I get you against a brick wall,
deejays shadows, enoughs enuff
I want to lie down with
your beauty
Black Beauty
hearing sirens in my sleep
not a peep or a wink
but the sound of the man
interferes and demands
give up your dreams and
share them with the world.
From your tower high perch,
you are a slave to all you survey.

Saturday, October 22, 2005

this post kills pigs

yeah baby yeah,
sugar and spice and
all things nice,
flowers and peacocks too
shells and bells
penguins and butterflies

too sharp to last
the Jamies are deadly

momma knows best

can you give me a bunk up
over that wall?

Monday, October 17, 2005

This man came down the road

This man came down the road and thought that he was an idiot when the complicated reasons for his existence never worked out that well, and there was absolutely nothing that he could possibly do about it. After a while he dedcided to embarrass the others by serving time on a ship and cooking all the food and cleaning up afterwards that was extremely kind of him and I wonder if there was ever anyone quite like him in the world before. So anyway , eventually the robots saw what was happening to the other young beings of light and they substituted the necklace for the pearls and split the frequencies up just when they were becoming most dangerous to the system. However a plan had already been hatched to counteract this terrible setup and so the young frankensteins were not able to foresee this eventuality and could neither predict what was going to happen next nor stop it. The gang waited until the beatings and interrogations were over.

This is the feature film

This is the feature film,
Starring harry fintknapper
The screw turning modulation controller
With extra fine sheen tights and invisible plastic panties over the prickly blotched meat
Off turt club lahk
Vizualize the freekin’ cold wet night#
But I feel hot and shivery , fuckin voddy and redbull that,
Dressed like a slapper, thed never know oo I was
Me Harry Flintknapper
Screw turning modular arranger extroadinaire.


Thursday, October 13, 2005

buenos tardes amigo

( this is a classic tale of Mexican Justice 2002 stylee)

Mexican village buries both the crime and the criminal

In the remote Mexican village of Dios Rios, justice is meted
out by the town elders. When one resident killed his cousin,
he was delivered a truly gruesome punishment
Teofilo Gonzalez Cano stabbed his cousin to death with two
quick jabs to the heart. They had been the best of friends,
growing up together in the same mud brick house in this tiny
village in southern Mexico. But one night they drank
themselves nearly blind on homemade grain alcohol. An
argument about nothing got out of hand, and soon Vicente
Gonzalez Santiago lay dead in the dirt

Teofilo ran. They found him at dawn, sitting in a forest
clutching his empty bottle. The local farmer who served as
village constable, another cousin of Teofilo's, bound his
hands behind his back and brought him in. The whole village
was waiting, more than 300 people. They forced Teofilo to he
facedown next to Vicente's corpse. They shouted at him,
called him a murderer. His mother sat in the dirt next to
her son, pleading for mercy.

The nearest police were more than two hours' drive away and
there was no telephone in Dos Rios, hidden in rugged
mountains 180 miles southwest of Mexico City. Justice in
this backwater belongs to a half a dozen town elders, who
stood over the two cousins in their early 30s, one dead and
one accused, and debated the punishment that day in 1999.

Finally they agreed.
"They said the two of them. Should be buried together," said
Catarina Cano Santiago, Teofilo's mother.
According to Cano, other Dos Rios residents and human rights
investigators, the elders enlisted villagers to carry out
the sentence. Some of the men hacked a grave in the rocky
soil of the village cemetery. Someone banged together a
flimsy wooden coffin, and the villagers put Vicente's body
in it. They hoisted the box and began a procession down a
narrow cow path to the graveyard. Others dragged Teofilo
by the arms. Women and children followed, marching under a
hot sun past fields of dead corn.

They placed Vicente's coffin in the hole, then threw Teofilo
in on top, with his arms and legs tied together. He screamed
and begged for his life, calling out to his mother, "Please
don't let them do this to me!" She tried to help him, but
her neighbours and friends held her back. The law had
spoken, and no one would stand in its way..
Twenty men started throwing dirt into the hole with shovels
and sticks. Teofilo, screaming, tried to climb out His
14yearold son, Felipe, ran to him and tried to hug him and
pull him up. Someone tossed a lasso around Teofilo's neck
and jerked him back into the grave, ripping him from his
boy's embrace. They pulled the crying youth away from his
father as the dirt piled higher and higher on top of him,
until he disappeared into the ground.
'When they finished," said his mother, "you could still hear
him screaming under the ground ..."

Fewer than 400 people live in Dos Rios, in a cluster of
softbrick huts baked by a close, heavy sun. There is no
electricity, not a light bulb in town. A priest comes once a
year to say Mass in the crumbling Roman Catholic church. It
has been months since a police patrol passed through

There is no formal accounting of how many people are killed
in Mexico's rough rural justice every year. But human rights
groups estimate that hundreds have been killed and hundreds
more beaten over the years in punishments meted out beyond
official scrutiny. Barrera said at least 10 people a year
are killed in the region around Dos Rios in a form of local
justice ...

Francisco Estrada Rojas, who teaches at the elementary
school, said the elders ordered Teofilo to he buried alive
to "teach a big lesson".
Estrada said that when the police arrived a day after the
murders, they wanted to dig up the men to see for themselves
what had happened, and to put the two men in separate
graves. But local officials told the police that no one in
town would help them ... There is a widespread belief here
that the officers were paid a bribe forget about the whole

They didn't arrest anybody," Estrada said. 'Because they
would have had to arrest the whole community."

Kevin Sullivan In the Washington Post March 15

Thursday, October 06, 2005

let your fantasy shine

Crystal Heart
the greatest "legwarmer" movie ever made

Saturday, October 01, 2005

TV Personalities

I'm going to see the TVPs.
After all these years.
Last year we heard bad news about
Dan Treacy
Thought he was gone for good,
now he spends time in the public library.
Not the one I work in.
They're gonna play in Kilburn,
There hasn't been gigs there
since the National got turned into
an evangelist church.

Out of all the wonderful songs
that Mr Treacy has written
the one that catches me in the
back of my throat
transports me to some time
in Glasgow in a sunny wind of
memories is The Dream Inspires,
I just have to think of that song in my head
and I can hear the chorus
and I feel this feeling
that they managed to put into that recording.
Very powerful stuff, unbelievable.
When Dan first sings "dreaming spires"
I feel tears well up and just want to abandon
An all encompassing transcendent emotion.
More than 8 miles high.

"Stand amid the dreaming spires,
see the dream go higher and higher"

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

my good friends

blessed be the reader
for she shall see in the bean of coffee
the mind that is withering

for who would have thought that kind hearted
sweet bird and badger watcher himself Bill Oddie
would suffer from the black soul apocalypse that is
known as depression.

alas and alack,
sometimes it is the misfortune of those
soul soothers out there to absorb the pain of
others out of the ether.

I'm sure our billy oddie (a goodie mang)
is built of strong absorbent material and
a few splashes of bird shit from on high
won't knock him off the path to glory,.

so I sit and plastic rots and rays collide and
the subtle jelly of my eye lenses residing beneath the protective
cornea are bent and battered and dried out once again.

ah sweet murderous keyboard,
deliver me from nature
deliver me from the ability to exist
deliver me from the right to a life,
for tis my role as the Oddie
to simply abash and abate as the
immensity of the collective human conciousness
with the force of all the Earths oceans
renders me helpless and lost in its confused selfish tides.

I was away for ten days
in sunny Sicily
where the ice creams make all
other ice creams taste like shit until death.
Until death the ordinary pleasure of life
will taste like shit for me,
for I have tasted the worldly ice cream that
is mortal sin.
Shall I never truly be again?

Thursday, September 15, 2005

saul roit

saul saul roit now,
ah been owt fer a drink
wi mah good pal,
and now everyting saul roit

hello hell o o o o o o o o o oo o o oo o o

yooo hooooooooooo
yoooo hoooooooooooo

sprechen sie Deutsch?
SPrecht deutsch nein oder ja?
nur ein bisschen
nur ein bisschen
donde estan los allemagnes?

yyooooo hooooooo
yoooooo hooooooooooo

vielen dank
feeling dank

turkish bath
are you having?

the painted tiles crack
grout all rusty crusty and
luke warm

getup offa that thing
work infronta the screen
I have a cup of tea
another cup of tea
another flick of the key
and gaze into the scree
tv was never like this
it never took your whole soul in this way
it never felt so bad
it never destroyed the heart so bad
at work at home at night in the day
before after and instead of meals
your routine will die
your routine is anew
follow me follow
down to the hollow
what is here
unshareable everything
Pandora's unbottleable fart
the news the latest
read up comment
show off
but you are the fool
succubi feed off you
the never ending feeding frenzy
and you feel like you suck and drink
and nourish yourself,
but no IT drinks you IT sucks YOU dry.
you are left without the power to be
the one you were before.
Your speed, your vibration
is all altered,
you ain't the same
you ain't the same.

so what are you gonna do?
give it up?
wha wha wha?

nah? no way yr gonna do that.

Anyhow where would my readers be and
hey my page would have no more posts.
So stay around awhile,
but don't be fooled.
This is shortening your life,
as bad as radiation,
you're now a much less interesting person,
even if you feel you know more.
You have experienced less.
THIS is not experience.



Tuesday, September 13, 2005

years and yaughter

leers and farters
clears a shafter

ray a light
madonnas peach
nightlight gold
wine cellars of dry clay
bays of dark stone shelves
in shadows rest the barrels

the palette is all mango lassied
feelin' nauseous
was that the cricket match,
the emptiness of all within and out me,
or the stale rose wine?

gobbling mints to freshen the tongue,
but the glutinous beige sensation will not be budged,
fooking shite eh?
Where's fookin Uncle Sam when yer need 'im eh?

Thursday, September 08, 2005

fixin' to die

fixin' to die

watch my film and then make yr own,
it's as easy as pie

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Sunday, August 28, 2005

It's the closest thing to crazy

Watch my credibility ratings sink without a trace.
Last night I pitched up on Hampstead Heath to
have a few drinks, smokes and food just outside the
Kenwood House concert starring sub Snora Jones crooner Katie Melua.
She started out with Canned Heat classic On the road again, so that wasn't so bad. Then it became the slow dinner jazz crooning I expected, but it was great to be on the Heath, warm night, kids running about, people having picnics and relaxing. She did play the odd bluesy rocky number just as you were about to nod off for good. All in all it was a good night.
Walking back through the darkened heath was a real treat. Addled by too much Pimms and Lemonade and spliff we sauntered through the peaceful misty fields forests and hedgerows.
Was this really London?

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

I was a goody mang

I was a goody mang
a tree top tumble weed
super grip action man
with webbed feet
and heli-vision
swinging tarzan flight
glide and trip
climb and jump
sleeping to wake

I was a goody mang
turning tricks
and moaning first
loudest winning the
idiot's paradise with
kid's pride as prizes
the number is forgotten
the pack reshuffled
and we start anew

I was a goody mang
today in this adult world
hoping for applause I
belt out tongued actions
deception of the crooked voice
illusions of kindness and wonder
implying feelings of Mr. Goody
right by your side
and if by chance
you see through me
a bent double little
boy you'll see
who lost a game
many moons ago,
who now has only
quick lips to show
he is a survivor of
the racing masses,
a fitter inner in
this world of
mad manacle devices,
of cruel games to
lock up competitors in
a game of
Death Mask Hide
and Seek

But Mr Goody Mang
is with me and
I'll serve him to you
with a smile and
some tea. For despite
my cheating I still
am a Goody Mang.

Monday, August 22, 2005

Justice Invocation of Maat

Justice Invocation of Maat

Great Mother of the Sun
Descend into the arms of the earth
Winged Goddess of balance
Come unto me who cry out to you
For justice and truth and strength
Help me find Balance in the world!
I call upon you to help balance the energies
In my life
I call upon you to bring the truth
Into all I do and say and feel
I call upon you to give me strength
To persevere on all levels in healing myself
On all levels
In organizing, in uniting
And in bringing a halt to all destruction!
I invoke
The black free-standing feather of Maat
The crystal star gleaming within
The outpouring of interstellar energies
Flowing and snaking through the earth
Filling every living thing
With the will toward harmony
And balance.
I invoke the point of equilibrium
The force of momentum,
Gravity and electron-spin resonance
Filling us with the song
Of balance.
I invoke the law of the universe
The innate justice
That governs all things
May I channel this energy in my work
May I be a conduit of the black flame of justice
And the silence of truth-in-action
Many we I unified with all living beings
Through the breath of Maat
And may her heart-beat fill my ears
As the sound of a singing healed life!
O Maat!
Mother of infinity
Goddess who guides the sun
The planets
And all the ever-moving stars
Guide me now in my our hour of need!
Great Cosmic mother
May it be so.

Tua Maati!
We invoke the black haired Goddess
Who balances the souls of all beings
Who, weighed with the heart,
Reveals all things.
May I enter the chamber of truth
And stand before the great power of justice
Maat, crowned with the feather
Reveal yourself in all your manifestations
We call forth the center of truth and justice
From within and without
We name this power Maat
And we manifest it here and now
As knowledge, will and action
Through the strength and energy of our arms
May the balance of Maat
Be done!
Through the clarity of our minds and loins
May the balance of Maat
Be done!
Through the black flame of justice in my heart
May the balance of Maat
Be done!
Tua Maati!

Thursday, August 18, 2005

I blog after hours

I should be asleep.
I should be asleep.
I'll send you to sleep,
with my clackety clack on the keys.
Shhhhh my neighbour is just through the wall right there.
Hope I don't wake her.
I swam yesterday and today up in the pond
on Hampstead Heath. Lovely it were.
Ducks for company, blue dragonflies mating.
Moor hens feeding their young by the side of the pond,
as we gently swim and float about.
Gazing up at blue sky and green trees.
Of course there are other human beings there too.
They are all crammed into a small area of lawn by the pond.
Towels are laid cheek by jowl. It all makes for a very intimate setting. You can't avoid overhearing your neighbours
conversation and you can't avoid making a very good estimation of the vital statistics of every bloke's girlfriend.
That's part of the charm of the place I suppose.
We are social creatures after all...
My favourite pastime is watching those who are afraid to jump in.
They fear that the water will be too cold. The body language they adopt really cracks me up. I get disappointed when they give up and sometimes I'll send out a cheer when someone finally plucks up the courage and jumps in.
I wish I could do the cool looking dive;
I just hold my nose and jump in, surface, get rid of the air bubble from my trunks and then breast stroke
up to the warmer sunnier part of the pond, where the wildlife
is busying itself.

Well now it is late and I have a lot of things to do
which I have avoided doing for the past two days.
Will I make it a record third?
I'd better go to sleep and find out...

Friday, August 12, 2005

I'll teach you English

I'm pretty good at it if I do say so myself.
I'll take the next flight out of here.
I'll bring some teabags with me.
We can drink tea, eat biscuits and you will
be speaking like a native in no time.

What are you waiting for?
This is your great opportunity.

I am your teacher.
Just put me up, so I can rest my bones.
Let me walk and talk, roam around a bit.
I'll pitch up and teach you for sure,
but I'll still be slopin' and scopin' around.
Trust me it'll be worth your while.
Like Marvin the Paranoid Android,
I have a brain the size of several planets.

Dig it on out, cover it over, the test tube will be carbonated.
For real, baby, for real.
I'll cover the lot.
Lot the cover will I.

Just say the word and we'll let the babel fish
start it's sacred work.

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Is it a blog, is it a plane, no it's CWOAI

Yes siree,
wilkommen meinen freundligen leuten gespielen.
Du bist abendzimmer nur was ist los??????

Can I lick it? Yes the pan.
Fried not burnt.
Overturned and the monkey is drinking tea again.

Heimlich manoevers all over the place.
Beer and peanut cacophany.

Searching for the serachingf or het
metal mickey's calling my name.
Fuckin' old codgers in the funfundzwanzig century.

still still srechinga orf ehr
stiill slist herching ser rof
oh I give up. just bring her out on a silver dish,
tongue lolling as the servant lifts the cooking lid.
she's mine now,
time to feast, ah that's better, licks lips,
crackling on the crinkly cheeks, done to perfection.

++++++++Hold on hold on,
that's enough of that sillyness. This is a
respectable blog I'll have you know.
Mr Tumnus may have been an inquisitive fawn, but he did not stoop
to molesting Lucy now, did he?

So the usual sunday swirl, the sweet sunday berry jane climb down
apologies and excuses, a walk in the park, a paper delivery boy
once again.
Never mind me, mind the gap, page the diamond.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

he's leaving home bye bye

Yeah it's almost that time again,
Time to pack up and leave my home.
Simply 'cause I can't afford to live here.
I'm working round the clock,
but for not enough dosh.
Yes I will have to leave this place of history.
A Landlords life for me.
My measly income will be boosted by
the monthly pay of some rich tenant or other...

Where will I go this time?
I dunno , but all suggestions gratefully received.
A house sit somewhere, I'll be there,
I'll feed your pet, water the plants, keep
out the dust and the burglars and I'm a non smoker to boot.
Willing to travel to any part of this blue green planet.
Email me at the link above, cheers!!!

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Mack Truck Heaven

I'm gonna drive me to Mack Truck Heaven
Where the smokies are all down in Hell,
I'm gonna drive me to Mack Truck Heaven
Get them truck stop girls all to ma self

Gonna ride that truckin' convoy to the stars
Where there aint no goddamn godforsaken cars
Gonna ride that truckin' convoy to the stars
Where cheap women serve cheap beers in the bars

Oh lord I'm in heaven now at last
The sweet gasoline's a flowing by so fast
Pretty rainbows in the grease, now I've got some blessed peace
And my speed, whore, trucking days are in the past.

Sunday, July 24, 2005

A wicked plan

A wicked plan of mine goes like this.
Take one salt cellar.
Fill with glitter.
Cook a banana soufflé.
Add a squeeze of maple syrup.
Sprinkle with glitter.
Then shove it up your shitter.
Squeal with delight.
Let it all back out.
Onto your box of lego.
You will feel like a winner.

It's late again

Another late night,
writing half asleep.
Half undone, bottoms off.
Drained fluid.
Quiet bar the fan hum.
My ears are closing the helmet pressure
a suppressed yawn.

A late one again,
but this is my time.
Block the neurotic thoughts,
blank and free as the sleepy lobes
wait patiently for me to hit pillow
and free up their ghost.

the interest lies in the space and
the interface , the panetary system,
the ants nest and the jam jar.
the clues are inside and the ability to
bear the mundanity and not fight against it.

I criticize all,
I cannot relate,
I feed myself,
for feet and arms and head and teeth
the eyes the uniform the standing spine,
the bounce of walking ...
sometimes it feels free,
but lately it is forced into a
fakeness I never thought I would occupy.

Well, perhaps it's good for me after all.

You dear reader won't get this,
but then it's not for you.
It's late and sleep is here.
Muscles are telling me,
they keep me company,
my aches and nerves are silently chastising.
Okay meat, lets sleep.

Thursday, July 21, 2005

Shinola Vol. 1

Here is the first installment of Ween outtakes and
unreleased rare tracks, remastered, generally souped up and
released on the band's own label chocodog.
Click on the picture to buy.

Monday, July 18, 2005

Well This Is How It Began

Well This Is How It Began

I trusted the banquet givers. their quiet ways, and kindly smiles.
Could she even have thrown my keys against the windscreen that night, were it not for their tender encouragement
discuss my ass
the bullshit replies. get off my tongue Jackass
I'll tongue the hell out of you honey
And with this knife stuck in your ear I dont think so, huh?
Abilities I admired in her, such coarse and treacle sludge.
She knew I was pissed, it was always raining and nighttime.
C'mon sucker drive me lets drive vrummm baby c'mon stick it in
Aw hell I've been set up, trapped but you know they knew I had it coming. Here goes towards the hedgerow get the wipers wiping ok
son of a beech. Misting up big time, get yr hand outta my pants and open tha window. Fuck this shit, country road big old night and RAIN coming from the darkness, stuck in the Ford with her and our baccy brewery stench. Cursing them again, she aint listening just giggling
Tease me tease me tease me baby you can tease me til I cant take no more. Wheels braking I reverse into a field gate siding mud pit with wet cows over the fence. She's fallen asleep by now; lost interest when we both got silent back there in the night. I'm gonna snooze up til morn. I got peace again seeing the murky dawnlight. And sweet baby breath's gonna lullaby my pissed ass goodnight.

Saturday, July 16, 2005

In the sweet orchard blue

In the sweet orchard blue
Attempted flight I flew
A machine of sorts I’d built
In a milky glass to share
Bonded by the indigo fruit
Dreamt by your eyebrow hair

I collected my spare wings
And all the other pretty things
Took them up above the clouds
Where fruit and blues are nowhere seen
Showed your sweet brow view
So that awakened you knew

Take in the broader scene
Where you and I have always been
A place unreal and without doubt
A vineyard empty of all woes
Where wine is drunk by few
And the light is seldom blue

Friday, July 15, 2005

I imagine a scene

I imagine a scene,
The dead time kilburn high road ,
3 am jump off a night bus,
even the silverhaired supertees are in bed,
their wives restless while they snore.
I am walking past the last closing kebab windows,
I am not drunk. I am not singing.
I have a destination in the streets behind Iceland.
Where mums never go.
The once wooden trap door of a pub cellar long shut down 30 years before is levered open.
I climb down into pitch dark, lower the lid and flick the switch.
I slump down on the mattress.
I try to make this moment feel as exciting as the first time.
But that sense of safety and freedom has recently gone.
Someone knows I am here.
And if one person knows,
imagine how many others also do by now.

Saturday, July 09, 2005

words from the tunnel

This wasn't written by me.
It was written by a survivor of the Picadilly line bombing.
It was posted on the urban 75 bulletin boards
That is a very public forum which anyone is free to join,
so I have posted the story here.
I personally am still waiting to hear from my best friend and
his wife who were travelling to the united states on thursday.
(Update: I got an email, they're fine)

here is the post

"I was on a crowded train to work - it was 8.40am when I boarded the rammed Picadilly line train at Finsbury park. Normally I board half way up the train, but the train was so full, I walked up to the front of the train to board.

I was on the first carriage, the one behind the drivers' carriage , by the doors; it was absolutely packed, and even more people got on at Kings X making it what felt like the most crowded train ever. Then as we left Kings X, about 5 to 9, there was an almighty bang and everything went totally black.

Then clouds of choking smoke filled the tube carriage and I thought I had been blinded. It was so dark that nobody could see anything. I thought I was about to die, or was dead, then I realised I was choking, the smoke was like being underwater, but gradually I could see, a little, as the emergency lights in the tunnel kicked in. The glass was smashed so air started to flood in, we were ok.

There was silence for 10 secs. Then a terrible screaming.
We all tried not to panic, we said to each other 'ok, stay cool, stand up if you aren't injured, hold hands, don't cry, stand up, hold on, we'll get out , the driver is trying to talk to us'

Some people screamed, some groaned, but we kept saying, 'shh, we'll get out, stay cool, the driver is talking to us, let's listen to him'.

The driver said 'I've got to go forward a bit, then I can let you out, but first I need to make sure the track isn't live', so we all shouted the message back into the darkness. It got passed down the train into the darkness. Then after about 20 - 30 minutes we started to leave the train.

It was choking on there so we were trying not to panic because we knew that would be curtains.

We tried to keep each other calm, I remember saying 'if anyone's boss gives them grief for being late, we know what to say to them, eh, girls?' and people laughed. We kept saying 'not long, it's the long walk to freedom, nearly there'. I knew, if we panicked, we'd trip on the

( possibly live) tracks and things would be hopeless. So we just tried to stay cool, and trust we'd be safe soon. We'd escaped from the smashed carriage, we just had to stay calm and escape from the dark tunnel too.

We walked carefully through the semi darkness - we didn't know if the tracks were live so we walked between them - the emergency lights were on -in the tunnel - we walked in single file to Russell Square station and after what felt like half an hour we were lifted off the tracks to safety, and I was in a lift, euphorically calm, then in the station foyer, surrounded by filthy blackened shocked people, someone handing me water.

My mouth was so dry. My lungs were full of choking dirt, it felt. I was aware then of a huge bleeding gash full of glass in my wrist and that I could see the bone in my arm, and I then felt sick. I realised I needed to clean it, it was full of grit, and I was bleeding , so I held my arm above my head and breathed in and out hard.

But I also knew I didn't need an ambulance; it was a nasty gash, not a maiming. So I staggered about for a bit, outside the tube, and no-one seemed to know what to do, least of all me, then I called my friend who worked in Shaftesbury Avenue and she came in a cab and she took me to the hospital ( UCL).

We shouted, 'does anyone want to get a lift to the hospital?' but people seemed too shocked to respond, and I started to faint. I just wanted to get my wound cleaned and stitched and GET HOME , I was feeling sick and worrying much worse casualties would be coming later.

In casualties I was 'walking wounded', not really badly hurt, and I felt almost bad for having survived and got off so lightly. I knew others behind me were so much worse off than I was. The hospital staff were so lovely, I kept wanting to cry. But I knew I needed to stay calm and get home.

I got treated, my cut cleaned of glass and x-rayed - hours passed, I felt even more calm and light-headed - people started to flood into A&E at UCL covered in glass and blood.

The police talked to me and gave me a forensic bag for my clothes. I felt like I was out so fast and into hospital so fast the emergency services staff hadn't quite got geared up into 101 mode yet. I was so very lucky. The emergency staff were clearly shocked, yet doing all they could and rose to the occasion so bravely. I can't thank them enough. They were magnificent.

Anyway. They kept me in for 4 hours with shock, they stitched me up, then they wouldn't let me go, cos I had gone deaf and they weren't sure if I had broken my arm. X-rays proved it was just bashed. Eventually I got out and met my partner and walked to Camden ( no buses/trains, desperate to get home). Seeing his face was wonderful. I started to shake with the relief of being alive.

In the pub I found out that there had been many bombs.I went into shock. I probably still am in shock. It took another 2 hours to get home; a friend eventually managed to pick us up in her car.

I am very lucky. I feel euphoric. I'm sure I'll 'crash' soon, but right now, I'm so glad to be alive."

Thursday, July 07, 2005

hit London hit my blog

So whassup?
new visitors checking out the London scene,
via londonbloggers.
I've hardly seen the news today, being at work
teaching English.
My class has fifty percent Israeli teenagers
on their first visit to London.
Some of them have experience of bombings back home
and then they come here and this happens.

Anyway as I said I hardly noticed the bombing story unfolding being in the midst of school
I received a bunch of text messages which I replied to.
Nice to know who cared and how rapidly news spreads.
I still don't know all the details and I live in this city.
I had been working until very recently just by Kings X tube and am often near Russell Square and Edgware Road,
So really, it could so easily have been me.
I'm not at all afraid though.
I'm more worried that the kids haven't improved their English
due to my poor teaching. Honestly.

More later when I wake up,
visit other blogs for the breakdown,
I'm too sleepy.
No CIA PSY OPS stories from me for tonight,
may the dead rest in piece and the foolish
killers be forgiven.
May innocents on all sides not be punished for the vainglorious
history making mythologizing string pullers fetid stinking self righteous egos masking their incredibly simple humble and deeply misguided fleshy intelligence.

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Scroll (Part nine of nine)

One day in 1996 in Glasgow I wrote on the back of a Michelob Beer poster. I decided to fill it up from top to bottom with spontanaeous writing.

She was an outlaw. He was just out. Five years in the slammer. He turns up on her doorstep. Rings the bell the door opens. Hey honey, suprised to see me? They let me out two months early. -You should not have come around here. Do you wanna know why? I'll tell you. I've gone straight now. I whittle bows and arrows with my machete for the kids on the reservation. The kids go out to the woods and hunt hogs. I gets my share. I'm an independant woman and I don't need anymore of your shit. You get me? So just go on git yourself out of here. We aint got nothing to say. -Listen wait honey, I don't understand any of this and you've said your piece so at least let me say mine. -Okay shoot, but dont expect nuthin'. -I been busy in jail honey they get you doing all sorts of things. See here in my sack let me just grab hold. there's a couple. Here honey see? See? -All I see is two wooden bowls. What in the hell is that supposed to mean? After all the shit you've put me through and you show me bowls!! -No honey you don't understand I made them. They're not bowls, they're scalps honey, little wooden scalps. I made 'em honey with my own hands. -(They kiss she drags him inside and they shag like rabbits then a gun is shot. He is dragged down to the cellar) -I never could resist your sense of humour.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

teaching update

So I've spent ages preparing tomorrow's lesson.
Finding just the right thing to activate them.
The photocopier in the school doesn't work
so I'm using up all my paper and ink at home.

Tomorrow I will stumble around in
my usual fashion and they will gaze at me with their
private knowledge that I am a shite teacher.

And my beautiful lesson will fail miserably.
The little cunts.

teaching English to teenagers while I have a fever

I've been running a mild fever now a few days.
I just started my first ever teaching job.
The school has assigned me to teenagers whom I have never taught
I am too ill to design interesting and fun lessons for them.
I am just working thru a tedious boring content workbook.
Some kids are fast and keen. They want to jump up a level.
Moan Moan.
Hassle hassle.
But really, if I were them, I'd want to change class. Who wants a sickly spaced out novice teacher?

I don't want to be this way.
Sick as fuck on my first week.
It should all be so different.
A super chilled mixed nationality
friendly bunch of studes.
Lovely keen students enjoying life.
Instead I have a package tour of kids
I can't relate to from two different countries.

Ugh ........

Sunday, July 03, 2005

Scroll (part eight of nine)

One day in 1996 in Glasgow I wrote on the back of a Michelob Beer poster. I decided to fill it up from top to bottom with spontanaeous writing.

'Uuurgh whats this disgusting jar in the back of the fridge mum?'
'What let me see ... Oh that's dripping.'
'Its gross, its like wax. What is it?'
'Its the fat from the pork chops. I pour it out of the pan into the jar and it solidifies, then I can use it again to fry up more food.'
'Is that why I feel dizzy? Is that why I'm dancing like a crazed loon? Is that why I'm smiling at all the girls? Is that why their arses all look so fantastic in their skirts? Is that why I can feel the blood pumping into my fingers and toes and then back up my arms and legs? Is it? Is it? Is it? ... Is it? ... Is it? ...'


'Are you alright darling? You must have feinted in the kitchen, I'll tuck you up in bed. Come on now give me a cuddle. No? Oh please. No? You used to be such a cuddler. So affectionate. Remember I said to Chrissie that you'd be popular with the girls when you grew up? Alright then just a kiss. Night night see you in the morning.'
'Night night.' ... (shouts) 'Mum can I have Fluffy?'
'Sorry darling I think she's out in the garden.'

Saturday, July 02, 2005


Describe the ways in which your life is affected by invisible forces you don't understand or are barely aware of.

Let me first not answer this and expound my spontaneous theory.
The earth gives off invisible forces which can be very good for us if we could feel them. However human beings also give off invisible forces that although we are not always directly aware of, have a much more profound effect on us because we have been brought up and socialised amongst other humans.
I get my earth forces in remote beautiful places, like mountainous regions (Scotland, Nepal) or windswept ancient landscapes such as the Orkney Islands. I can even pick up on it in a city park or garden. However this is usually easier AFTER I have been to a remote natural place. I think these earth forces charge you up _or_ rid you of the surface techniques you use to get by in an urban lifestyle, thereby exposing your own subtle energies.
Once you have stripped away the verbal trick bullshit that disguise us and protect us we can feel free. We can then pick up on others invisible forces and respond to them in a much truer way. Plus they will pick up on you too. Yippee.
But watch out because the city can eat you up and spit you out and you'll have to go thru the whole damn process again.

Scroll (part seven of nine)

One day in 1996 in Glasgow I wrote on the back of a Michelob Beer poster. I decided to fill it up from top to bottom with spontanaeous writing.

How does it feel to be a smug semi-successful almost cool English bastard male? You use your ability to be nice in order to fulfil your own motives. Then you use your commanding air of self confidence to dictate and direct by pushing the right buttons of vulnerabilityon your female subjects. 'Yes he's right' never turns to 'no I'll do it my way' due to your slick skills of manipulation. The steady deep voice, all knowing. I wish I could stop people from admiring you. They will in the future. Just you wait and see. But you shouldn't play games with people that like you. Its the voice of an English man with power over a select few. You wouldn't try it on anyone else you coward. Just those that already love you. That abuse of power is the lowest of the low. Its dishinest its sneaky its a mind power trip. You scum. Mess with me and I'll fuck you over.

Friday, July 01, 2005

Mighty Diamonds - Deeper Roots

This is my reggae junkie cd of the summer.
Love the old roots sound. I listened to this over and over again on my recent trip to Mallorca.
Click on the pic for the amazon link.

Wednesday, June 29, 2005

Kew Gardens flowers

These photos were taken by me.
Please do not use them for commercial means
without my consent.
If you want to take a copy of them for personal
enjoyment or to use them for
your not-for-profit website please feel free,
but do credit me, and let me know at the email address
above and provide a link to this page if possible.
Matthew King.

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

Scroll (part six of nine)

One day in 1996 in Glasgow I wrote on the back of a Michelob Beer poster. I decided to fill it up from top to bottom with spontanaeous writing.

'Now as far as I can see Mister Hayes you have never worked in an office before; your only previous employment being that of a petrol pump attendant. Tell me what qualities you possess that would help you assimilate, stimulate and propagate excellent efficient team management profit coordination in this open plan, open mind, hitech modern office bio-neon environment.'
'I give good head. No sorry that was just um sorry slip of the tongue whoops sorry there I go again. Sorry I'm making a mess I'm all over the place Oh Jesus can I start from scratch?'
'Certainly Mister Hayes. Your qualities if you remember?'
'Yes qualities now. I can tease children just to the point where they don't quite cry and tell their mums.'
'Good, good ... and?'
'Er ... when I play football I spit. I'm a very good spitter. 45 degree angle good volume fast direct spit you know what I mean? ... anyway qualities, right, here I know I can beat people without leaving bruises, I tan without burning first, I love bitching backstabbing ganging up on people, kicking them when they're down; I feel that if you need underbrained yes-men with a mean streak who will follow management like the pied piper without any concern for the service provided or the conditions of the other staff, many who have had long dedicated careers before the new efficiency drive was instigated and new bosses brought in, then I am your man.'
'Excellent Mister Hayes. You don't seem to have a shred of common decency to your name. Finally, do you have any real friends who are so close that no matter what the pressure you would stand by and defend them to the end?'
'Fine, now if you'd just like to step round to my side of the desk ... that's it now kneel down and prove your quality.'

Monday, June 27, 2005

The Stag's Head

This pub was a home from home.
The landlord Bert sold up and moved back to Ireland
last year.
We all miss the place like hell.
London pubs are so shit, and the Stag's was so good.
Lock ins, great music, fires, the Thai food, the pool table.
The smoking back garden, the tables out front.
The friendly regulars, the insane St Patrick's nights.
All gone.
And now Richard Whitely's heart packed in.
Maybe Bert's has too.
I hope not, I like to think he has got a wee pub somehwere in
the country full of the all the Stag's posters, trinkets and other memorabilia which I know he
was shipping back to Ireland.
Maybe his heart will pack in whilst serving a pint,
but at least it'll be at home.
That bloody Bill Clinton poster, the making love with wild Irishmen article and all the rest.
As you drank and chatted and laughed,
you never thought the day would come when
the doors would close for the last time.
It was a death we denied, but had to eventually accept.
Now where is the music played, where do you go?
Where are yers all?
Is that it?

Jack be nimble

Scroll (part five of nine)

One day in 1996 in Glasgow I wrote on the back of a Michelob Beer poster. I decided to fill it up from top to bottom with spontanaeous writing.

Behold Isaac beloved son of some other twisted Old Testament nutcase. It is your destiny just as Noah, Moses and Abraham before you to hear the booming voice of God talking to you from the great bulbous fluffy clouds up above.

Friday, June 24, 2005

Scroll (part four of nine)

One day in 1996 in Glasgow I wrote on the back of a Michelob Beer poster. I decided to fill it up from top to bottom with spontanaeous writing.

Bah, Tiffin, and all that jolly old humbug. A spleen sandwich is too good for them I say. (Enraptured by the sights and sounds, an intrigue of nature's beauty qf Van the Man). Then this chap came over all queer don't you know, saying all sorts of odd chatter. He is manifestly quite mad. He said that he lives by the ticking of his watch and the high pitched drone of the mosquito. He said he follows the magic trails and pays respect to hidden stones and wells that only he knows of. I asked him how he knew where these things were. And he said that no map can ever be drawn to show them, you have to be there and allow yourself to be shown. Then it all went quiet. I didn't know quite what to say. So I walked close up to him and stared into his eyes. He didn't flinch. I struck a match and moved it closer and closer to his right eye. No tears were shed. Then he suddenly reached out as if to hug me, so I kneed him wham in the goolies. He bent over double. That got him I thought. Then came the shocker, he slowly straightened up. his hands clasped together as if he was holding something. Raised the up to my face and opened them up. Damned if his wedding tackle wasn't sitting in his palms. I broke out in a cold sweat; another deadly silence as his prick stared at me in a most accusatory manner. He closed his hands again, then quickly clapped and the illusion was gone. he started to laugh, and for the life of me I don't know why, I started to guffaw as well. After a couple of moments he bade me farewell and headed down the valley and into the woods. Queer fellow giving me a fright and all that, but I have heard of his sort before. Noone knows where they live. If you go looking for them there is no glimmer of a chance of finding them. Bloody darn shame that as well because it was only after I'd watched him disappear into the gloom, with a fair old spring in my spirits I admit, that I noticed that the blighter was away with my gold watch.

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

Scroll (part three of nine)

One day in 1996 in Glasgow I wrote on the back of a Michelob Beer poster. I decided to fill it up from top to bottom with spontanaeous writing.

She had what is known as 'Klieg eyes' (eye strain due to the excessive brilliancy of incandescent floodlighting lamps. qf Collins New English). She screwed her eyes up because merely shutting couldn't halt the painful glare. She put her head in her arms and folded down on her chest. At last the pain subsided. It was then that they started on her ears. But it wasn't unpleasant. Like a church organ but with all the notes playing at once. Dad would have hated this obscure Kist'o'whistles. Karen had asked for it. The Truth is Out There posters on her wall, her favourite song, Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft by the Carpenters, was never far from her tape player. she was basically a UFO nut. One of thousands if not millions around the Earth. 'This is it', she thought on the third second which had passed since she had abruptly awoken from her nights' slumber. Unfortunately others thought differently,'Acute brain haemorrage Mrs Macgregor, it's very rare in such young people, I'm so sorry but it would have happened instantly and Karen would not have felt any pain.'
A massive bear hug 'Oh its so good to see you Karen, but why did you ask for it at such a young age?' 'I missed you Dad.'

Monday, June 20, 2005

Scroll (part two of nine)

One day in 1996 in Glasgow I wrote on the back of a Michelob Beer poster. I decided to fill it up from top to bottom with spontanaeous writing.

No I said LARGE chips'n'cheese. And with that a genie the size of a pin head for all these hunners of centuries grew into the size of a man. Now he wasn't your average Ali Baba style genie. He actually looked alot more like Father Christmas. He peered down at the wee kiddie,"Aye ah know son", he said in a crap Glasgow accent,"but your parents can only afford small chips'n'cheese and you don't want to end up a fat fucker do ya?" The back of a hand swiped across Scots' face destroying the vision of Santa. (Scot named after Jason Donovan's character in Neighbours). The slap felt good. A sting quickly turning into a warm glow. Scot's now bowing his head looking ashamed and sorry. Dad's thinking 'you've gotta be cruel to be kind; I dinnae want a hooligan when he's a teenager.' Mum thinks 'Its a bit harsh but it seems to have made Scot see what's wrong with nagging and wingeing for more and more.' Wee Scot's saying in his glowing rattled skull,'Sorry Santa.'

Saturday, June 18, 2005

Scroll (part one of nine)

One day in 1996 in Glasgow I wrote on the back of a Michelob Beer poster. I decided to fill it up from top to bottom with spontanaeous writing. Here I present the first part of that experiment. Parts two to nine will follow shortly.


The tenth disciple said unto his parched flock in the city of Ayrab,'visit me only when your cause is just; repent before me like lying Judas beneath the altar of Behemoth and I may just find in my foul pink heart the slight sensation of tolerance and charity. If this occurs I will lay you before me like the singing swinging baboon that you are, and tattoo our lord's cross on your Butt ox for our great father to gaze upon with the righteous delight of an omnipotent being, supreme in his hovel called heaven.'

Is it coz I is a cunt?

I love to say “duh” or “huh” or “woah” or “easy”
or “heh” or “meh”.
Is it coz I is a cunt?
Damned straight it is.

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

She Unclasped Her Fist

She unclasped her fist. A pea size time capsule. Swallowed - think time zero. Now an unshakeable tension. 'I'm rising Daddio'. Pin prick pupils to a full planet saucer engulfing black hole. 'Oh Daddio I'm coming home'.


Read the rest of this superb future/past
micro scene post fi sci storey at the
hippest new fictional blog space

Setting Fire To Photographs


Monday, June 13, 2005

Deez Nuts

Cock and Ball,
Ball and Cock

My nuts are your nuts,
Your nuts are my nuts.

The spotty waiflike Victorian echo child
joins me on the station bench.
A dead South Hampstead, last stop before Euston.

He is a bored 17 year old of Irish descent
from another part of north west London.
He was going to Euston station and back
to relieve his sheer boredom.

We chat. The sun shines. I explain that I live on my own,
no girlfriend at present. The last one I had to leave because of
communication difficulties.
Plus she liked to play Enya tapes every night before we dropped off to sleep.

So this street urchin proceeds to tell me of his Psychology classes.
How his favourite lesson was when a gay man came into class who looked like a
tough muscle-bound body builder. The class were surprised when he told them of his sexuality.
The chimney sweep boy then told me how they learnt of phases we go through in psychological development: when boys of 17 can have homosexual feelings and be interested in men of my age.

I carried on chatting to this quietly spoken stray,
not able to make up my mind, whether
it was a quick dick sucking he was after on a lonely Saturday morn, or whether
we were just chewing the fat. The fact was this kid was bored and lonely. He seemed poor and deprived. He had a good head on his shoulders. Its likely people didn’t listen much to what he had to say. Plus he probably fancied the pants off me…..

As we were on the train, I got a missed call message on my phone.
It was from the Enya playing ex.
She must have picked up on our sensitive little tete a tete.

Sunday, June 12, 2005

don't be good

"ya, great seeing you, be good"

"Bye thanks"
"mmm, be good"

This "be good" phenomena is catching on round these parts of
the Western Hampstead north London young moneyed set.

Luckily no one I know has yet said it to me,
but I am waiting for it to spread to the overall subconscious
set of shite things people start to say without realizing it.

I mean I dealt, with "good, good" the other year without too much
distress. It was a fairly innocuous tic of a phrase.

I succumbed myself to the classic cliched goodbye of "all the best"
for quite a while.

But "be good" is just so goddamned nauseating isn't it?
To me "be good" is about money, its about going for three skiing holidays a year, taking some winter sun, some summer sun.
Poncing around in expensive shades.
Raising your voice outside a
horrendous bar full of like minded "be good"ers.
Yes the ubiquitous use of "be good" lets everyone listening in
know that these bastards are relaxed and friendly and think the best about their immorally financially enhanced fellows.
The point is that these fuckers, who will buy
the latest 60 gig I - Pod and then only be able to fill
a paltry 2 gig of it with witless Keane albums,
shouldn't be in charge of so much ready cash.
They don't know what to do with it.
They'll spend it on all the great financial institutions and
corporations that gave it to them in the first place.
It's all so unimaginative.
They're not setting up new foundations based on interesting ideas.
Outdoor pursuit centres for city kids, ecological skate parks.
No they'll drink in an overpriced bar, buy overpriced clothes and escape the dreadful city on endless fuel burning city breaks
and jollies wherever the next jet will fly them.
This cycle of money doesn't involve or unify or
create imaginative new ways of life or help in
joining communities. Creating a sense of solidarity.
No, it'll never happen while you remain in your private car,
in your jubilee line crush.
In your 02 centre fishtank, you avoid the real.
Is that what you mean when you tell your pals to "be good".
Be good, don't think, don't imagine, don't explore, don't talk to anyone in a tracksuit.


Next time I will examine why every
over-subserviant foreign lackey working in a local corner shop, kebab shop or barbers shop
feels the need to refer to any man that walks into the place as "Boss". This phenomena, I suggest, is part of the new London Apartheid system we've all been collectively forging in this hoax of a city.

Sunday, June 05, 2005

good god I'm off

back to mallorca I go for a few days,
see you all later my lovely readers......

I am a wanderin and waiting
my backs a gainst the wall
its a book that can't be opened
as their isn't any key
only you can set me free.
you never wanted me babe
and that's plain to see

thru yellow walls that shine like silver

Wednesday, June 01, 2005

books I've read this year (part one)

Weathercock by Glen Duncan

I picked this one up from the Library.
Seriously good disturbing paranormal, sexually morbid
British realism. For those that like desperately upsetting crashes from happiness to hell.

Empress Orchid by Anchee Min

Berlioz the poet recommended this to me.
The first half was good, but there is then a post coital comedown
I couldn't get past.

Texts of Taoism: v. 1 edited by James Legge
It has that I ching feel. Read it to understand yourself
through abstract parables about god knows what. Those chinese are
a weird bunch.

Authenticity by David Boyle
This started off promising, but it drifted into a justification
for caring capitalism. Snore.

Journey to Ixtlan by Carlos Castaneda
This is a nice book. Very escapist. I found it in the street, thrown out in a box of old books. A good find. Much better than his "wow I took loads of peyote" books.

The R Crumb Handbook by Robert Crumb and Pete Poplaski
Picked this one up from the library. Great stuff.
I haven't bothered with the biographiocal sections.
It's all about the comics.

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

last of the great...

I hate these things, these stupid quizes.
Half of the questions here were completely unanswerable.
Badly written loaded questions giving no room for free
expression or alteration. That's how these pieces of
shit blog games usually work.
Anyhow I am happy with the results,
I am a wanky north London cultural creative after all!!!

You scored as Cultural Creative. Cultural Creatives are probably the newest group to enter this realm. You are a modern thinker who tends to shy away from organized religion but still feels as if there is something greater than ourselves. You are very spiritual, even if you are not religious. Life has a meaning outside of the rational.

Cultural Creative
















What is Your World View? (corrected...again)
created with

el dorado

He sido pensando sobre muchas cosas
importantas y trivialas.
Sobre temas como lenguas y
la vida despues y antes de esta vida
¿Cuando dormimos y soñamos a qué sitio viajamos?

Busco las repuestas, pero no las encuentro.
Imagenes aperecen delante de los ojos.
No pueden decirme nada.

La cabeza está vacía.
Veo pero no pongo pensamientos juntos en una linea logica.

Y bueno,
entonces pienso en ti. En ti. Que te quiere.
¿Donde estás?
Pienso en ti.
Sentimientos que me escondan.
Sentimientos perdidos.
Lo parece para siempre.

Ahora puedas ayudarme.
¿Cuál es el asunto importante y cuál es el trivial?











Monday, May 23, 2005

another post out of my mind

stepping out and back in,
the kidney infection that rocks the packet of juice.
The carton of cranberry, unzipped and sold on to a
shifty Korean hospital.
Chopped up and left in a suitcase by the side of
a motorway in the north of England.
Villains, mental disturbances,
dvd sessions, police raids. The crook escapes.
I am left here in the suspect's hideout.
Where he crafted his defences, the master manipulator.

This film is too close to home


Monday, May 16, 2005

360 records

I've just discovered this incredible Japanese
record label. 360 records

Incredibly beautiful electronic ambience abides here.
And I love the organic titles of the tracks.
In fact there are some other interesting looking artists at the other
label pages linked to this site.
I think I'll dl all the mp3 samples to create a great collection of 2 minute musical wonders.

Saturday, May 14, 2005

listen to this and you'll die

Well continuing the theme of death for a moment.
We're going to play another fun little blogging game.
Anyone seen the cute Japanese film named Ring?
Or perhaps the shite US remake.
Well the premise of those films was that
if you watched a certain video then
within a week you would die.
Well well well,
we here at CHILDISH eYEsless ness wouldn't
want our readers to feel left out.
Therefore using all the magical power summonable
by the inhouse expert team of artishamans
we have conjured up a track of music that has
the same effect on its listeners as the
dreaded video from the movie RING.

All you need to do is listen to the track linked
below and you will be magically transported to
the world of death within a week.
Of course you may not want to take the
great journey yet and will therefore have
the choice not to listen.
You also may not believe in these kinds of
supernatural powers and will want to listen
to this music as an act of defiance or bravado.
So whichever way you lean, please leave a comment
and tell me if you listened.
If you don't report back within a week then
we can safely assume that the ChildWithoutAnEye
death-inducing composition has been a success.
We thank you for taking this opportunity to travel with us.
Please invite your friends, neighbours,
colleagues and relatives to freely use
this conduit to the beyond.

Click on the red die below to listen to the track.


Ron Sukenick died - last year

Okay so I am a bit late,
but it's news to me.
My here of the OUT frame

anyhow in tribute to the passing of this great artist
I will present a letter I emailed to him.
It didn't deman a reply from him so I nev heard back
until I re read it today. Felt like he wrote it to me.
Will I take heed of teh advice Ron?i wrote

+ + + + + + + + + +

Tell me its not true again repeat,"Its a lie I swear"
So foulmouth it to me again you fibbing brute, "slobberonmydickyoubitch" says the Serb whore.
Another ball in my canal barge. Trip out trip in.
Yorr gonna flunk zed grade buddy boy. And so on.
Then never is my time. My fucking never world. I'll hang in here with my doggies. You can espresso coffee yerselves to death for all I care in yer soft uni Hyper isms.
So is it a lie? Repeat. "yes Matt, just testing you OUT"
Huh, I Yank you by the tweedy tie and stuff you thru the Hubble Scope. Oh boy we are thru the hoop, "are you coming with me Matty?"
Crikey she wont let me go. Shee-It Mattyboy go it let. these letters will suprise her loosen her anchor okay sunny
rising swing it gyro spin now drop thru okay repeat... we have the momentum, we are sailing. But where going us?
Morning day, s you loosing yer time just fuckin around.
Hello but I look for the shafts, and I try to make the rays.
You need a good slapping mattyboy. Sure there aint no rush but DONT BE A LONE crone cripple fall with bad veins and lingerers from your nappy crappy period stop it dude.

Find me in Mae Sariang

Here is a challenge for all you docile
motherbloggers out there.
I challenge you to go to Thailand, travel to Mae Sariang,
find this wee fella and take a photo of him.
Then post a link to that photo here.
You will receive a special "I got off my arse" award
designed and created by the Child Without An Eye team of artisans.

A clue to his whereabouts - Watch out for the red ants!

Good luck.

saturday is tiswas day

the scrawl imprint,
the lug held for a bouncing baby with stars all around,
yet not yet a gain.

insiders smash it
lego builders unstick it
back to bits and no bits
ons and offs

puff in a puff of puff
dead eyes
6th eye or 7th eye
spilling my guts out of my Nthe ye
* marks the spot

shit talks shit sees shit touches shit smells

carry on carry on,
I've said it before
the souls of our feet,
the fundament where resides our sacred eye.
we lean on lean on,
rest on, thump on push down on, repress
and what do we protect and savour?
the petty eyes that see,
the hungry hole that devours,
the tongue that opines excess static,
and those fiddling fingers that meddle,
ten aspergers ganging up on an innocent world.

but the thud of feet, the smear of shit,
these unappreciated, derided aspects
I've said it before
If shit could TALK it would speak
of a journey, an earthly journey,
a cycle ride, a warm wormy waddle,
and the feet the toes that talk and
smile at you if you let them,
Hallo toes , talk to them ,
just try it, you'll see their smiles,
neglected babies finally acknowledged.
With that experience under your belt,
Its time to undo your belt and commune with
the fecal wisdom.
The turd of ages, listen and learn.
Become the ringmaster of your own inner circus.

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

King Henry

Let never a man a wooing wend
That lacketh things three:
A store of gold, an open heart,
and full of charity;
And this was seen of King Henry
Though he lay quite alone,
For he's taken him to a haunted hall
Seven miles from the town.

He's chased the deer now him before
And the doe down by the den;
Till the fattest buck in all the flock
King Henry he has slain.
His huntsman followed him to the hall
To make them burly cheer,
When loud the wind was heard to sound
And an earthquake rocked the floor.

And darkness covered all the hall
Where they sat at their meat.
The grey dogs, yowling, left their food
And crept to Henry's feet.
And louder howled the rising wind
And burst the fastened door,
And in there came a grisly ghost
Stamping on the floor.

Her head hit the roof-tree of the house,
Her middle you could not span,
Each frightened huntsman fled the hall
And left the king alone,
Her teeth were like the tether stakes,
Her nose like club or mell,
And nothing less she seemed to be
Than a fiend that comes from hell.

“Some meat, some meat, you King Henry,
Some meat you give to me,
Go kill your horse, you King Henry,
And bring him here to me.”
He's gone and slain his berry brown steed
Though it made his heart full sore,
for she's eaten up both skin and bone,
Left nothing but hide and hair.

“More meat, more meat, you King Henry,
More meat you give to me,
Go kill your grey-hounds, King Henry,
And bring them here to me.”
He's gone and slain his good grey-hounds,
It made his heart full sore,
She's eaten up both skin and bone,
Left nothing but hide and hair.

“More meat, more meat, you King Henry,
More meat you give to me,
Go fell your goss-hawks, King Henry,
And bring them here to me.”
And when he's slain his gay goss-hawks,
It made his heart full sore,
She's eaten them up both skin and bone,
Left nothing but feathers bare.

“Some drink, some drink, you King Henry,
Some drink you give to me,
Oh you sew up your horse's hide,
And bring in a drink to me.”
And he's sewn up the bloody hide,
And a pipe of wine put in,
And she's drank it up all in one draught,
Left never a drop therein.

“A bed, a bed now, King Henry,
A bed you'll make for me,
Oh you must pull the heather green
And make it soft for me.”
And pulled has he the heather green
And made for her a bed,
and taken has he his gay mantle
And o'er it has spread.

“Take off your clothes now, King Henry,
And lie down by my side,
Now swear, now swear, you King Henry,
To take me for your bride.”
“Oh God forbid,” says King Henry,
“That ever the like betide,
That ever a fiend that comes from hell
Should stretch down by my side.”

When the night was gone and the day was come
And the sun shone through the hall,
The fairest lady that ever was seen
Lay between him and the wall.
“I've met with many a gentle knight
That gave me such a fill,
But never before with a courteous knight
That gave me all my will.”

Traditional, adapted by Steeleye Span "Below the Salt" .
(Child #32) From The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, edited by Francis James Child.

Listen to this version by ween.

I'm keen on your disaster.

How is it?
Fresh and young?
Your disaster.
Or did it age?
Fade and gag.
Unsound and stickers.
Noun verb end in the sex.

I'm keen on your endlessness.
The doom in your trodden marks.
You can't resist, you can't give it up.
Lashed to the gear. Hunker down.
Serve it fresh. Or old and stale.
Black to white in a blink.

How is it now?
Still there I expect.
Forget to remember the next time.
It will be back and you will respond.
You have lost it lost it lost it forever.
And that's what fascinates me.
You died and now all you have is the
disaster. You died a long long time ago.
Curious, very curious.
I am keen to see this through.

Saturday, April 30, 2005

One from the Akashic Records

I just captured one from the astral plane,
brought it down and stuck it in the box
for your perusal.
Of course there's always static in the attic.
But listen and feel it anyway.

I'll blog til I friggin' well drop

Ya Boo
Keep it fresh
like a bowl of pooh.

Found an egg carton in the front garden
Full of human shit
Someone must have tossed it
Over the hedge

Couldn't you try drinking warm milk
It's a cure for insomnia
the Devils Disease
torrent blackened eyeball craters
lungs radiated
balls all gone a sterile
limp dick porn drained
shrinking night by insomniac night

music is my life and it sends me thru the vibe
thru the vibe

zooming in on a daisy stem in the garden
little hairs tiny hairs bending flower
stem hairs
the grass is warm, sky blue
a few seconds of smells sounds and birdsong
then back to this screen glued
back glued back
tap the keys
be transhuman what a great future
inhuman inhuman
blog with the inhuman bloggers
again and again
more and millions more
do it repeat it
fuck it fuck it fuck it
what is the result?
what is the result?
what is the result?
zero zero zero.
just do it again
and again and again
something is sure to happen.
there is life in this somewhere.
the bloggers hope against the
dark knowledge that this is all
some satanic plot to keep the synapses
occupied while the world is divvied up.
the real airwaves and telepathic physical
subtle routes that have served humanity for millenia
are left by the wayside as we are channelled
into this poppy scented poison world of blogging, torrenting
, recording.

dweller gusta el sol

dweller gusta el sol

Thursday, April 28, 2005

Twangle Frent

Just listening to Twangle Frent by muziq.
Until now I never knew it was called Twangle Frent since my
old black label vinyl copy had no track titles.

Getting flashbacks to the mid 90's.
Ach there's a wee tear forming in the corner of
my dried out monitor ray-bruised eye.
It makes me think of pacing around grey streets in Essex towns.
Chelmsford in 1994, and Colchester in 1998.
Not much going for me there.
Even less now I am sat arse stuck, inner tyre, no vent,
constricted gullet, switched off, brain dead, caged beast,
to and fro, like those lemmings went back and forth, til I set off the nuclear blast.
But I wasn't to know that then.
It makes me feel all Twangle Frent.

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

This is my theory of the state of the art.

This is my theory of the state of the art.
If you wanna be one, then go out and do it.
But what is it you want?
Immortality? Superiority? Admiration?
To be an art person you have to show off.
Bubble and squeak in a diamond casket.
Trails of your arse wipe psychobabble in a
glistening stream around smoothed pebbles.
Touché away with flame thrown beyond our
city's ether.
A goblet of the finest red wine in the
hands of the slave drivers. Is that what it is
to feel like an artist? Those beings of taste
with their cash and deadly abandon of
values. Do you make pure smooth fascistic
art for them? Is that your ambition?
No, but that is your action. To turn from
the false energy of hate is one thing, but
to be apathetic, and accepting is a curse
we must escape.
My children and characters be vibrant
and calm. Add colour and mind into your
spontanaeous expressions. Deliver them to
the people. Dont use galleries and the
patronisation of fascistic advertising
agencies. That is not your medium. You
have been kissing too many toads.
Are you grasping the vacant modern?
Or are you seeking the rich disguise of
our past's failures? Dont be ignorant of
your careless falls from grace into the
realms of ridiculous contradictory

Matt King 1998

Matt King's unbelievable hype

PART ONE: My underpants witnessed a future zombie implosion. A text transmission from a velvety boxer pair. Lying crumpled on a duvet while I am away slaving,Sound vibrations felt by my m+s grundies, "MMMMIIIIAAAOOOWWWW" followed by, "WWWOOOOOFFFF WWWOOOOFFF"

PART TWO: Mint aero eggs are not gewy. A vile division of green bubbles. An egg which always cracks straight down the middle. Oh what lack of vision.

PART THREE: Your imbecilic gesture turned me on. I was agog and humoured and finally enflamed by you and your behaviour. Your po mo grin brought out the razor in me.Thanks for pampering my delusions.

CLEVER CRAP she asks and I strike back with this...
Do you nerd trip wasters batter me ever in waster zones unseen? Are your unkempt weed grown philosophies a sack cloth full of bricks while the kitten squeals in pain by the canal side? And shame on the banquet givers. Your glorification of past's neglectors and false sufferers steam over your second eyelids.I'm gonna fuck you over with a kick jerk fist fly swivel dance moveconnecting and newtons third law as our precise but improvised rebounding energies show us the way hey and when we are rolling where are you at? Is it still a game, a style niche for you. Grow up and be clear sighted through your still present young eyes. An eternal state with no ups and downs. Man o man you can and blast the balls with the womb keepers. YYIIPPEEE,MMMIIIAAAOOWWW WWWOOOOFFFF and I'm outta here. Love matty king the unbelievable hypster. 1998

La luna del otoño

Autumn Moon

My complaint of the winter curse
Seas gentle,
A peace within.
Turbulence above the still deep.
Coloured fish,
Black in the inky dark
In verse this waning disc,
Transports me to and fro.
And I shall will it to cease,
With one fist clenched to earth,
The other open to sky
And my eyes one closed and one open.
But until then the travelling disc,
In movement shades the striking contrasts,
As we shuffle on,
Obeying its mighty joy.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Juana Molina is a Genius!!!

I just came back from seeing Juana Molina at the Queen Elizabeth Hall , London.

It was a really great show, she plays like a one woman band
acoustic guitar and synth/keyboard then recording loops on keyboard guit vocal and then getting them looping and doing more singing on top, using voice filters and everything.
Really individual singer song writer, definitely worth checking out, quite a mellow sound but underneath it she is well off the wall.
Suddenly starts barking like a dog and going all over the place. The songs from the albums really get expanded on and changed in a live setting with very different endings and new musical experiments.
Its a quiet quirky sound but very well controlled ; she is in control of the sequence of all the songs adding and subtracting the sounds from the mix mid-song using footpedals and the like. Really impressive shit. She will be touring USA and Canada soon, so go and check her out.
That really was a cool show, and she was sick as well.
Her voice was a bit messed up but she battled thru.
Here are the upcoming dates.

April 26th
Hanbury Ballroom
83 St George Road - Brighton

April 30th
St Bride's Centre - Triptych Festival
Orwell street - Edinburgh

May 1st
Tron Theatre - Tryptich Festival
Albion St - Glasgow

June 7th
Underground at Stage Two
202 Market Street - Harrisburg

June 8th
Andy Warhol Museum
117 Sandusky Street - Pittsburgh

June 9th
Joe's Pub
425 Lafayette - New York

June 10th
Museum of Fine Arts
465 Huntington ave. - Boston

June 11th
Max of Eastman Place - Rochester Jazz Festival
24 Gibbs Street - Rochester

June 12ve
Legendary Horseshoe Tavern
370 Queen Street West - Toronto

June 13th
31 E. Balbo - Chicago

June 15th
The Tractor Tavern
5213 Ballard Avenue NW - Seattle

June 17th
Knitting Factory LA
7021 Hollywood Blvd. - Los Angeles

June 18th
2501 Kettner Blvd. - San Diego

June 19th
The Parish
214 E 6th Street, Austin

July 8th
Club Soda - Montreal Jazz Festival
1225 St. Laurent - Montreal