Back in Guatemala City
Posted on July 3, 2009
I am back. One day, three capital cities - London, Mexico City, Guatemala City.
Here are some pictures from in and around a traditional Guatemalan home.
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Revolution of talk…
Posted on June 25, 2009
Face down in the grass under warm sun at the base of a tree.
Face down in the gutter under artificial light at the base of a pyramid.
Thank you Clive, for the day, and for what the day was not.
Tomorrow, the train, the hippies, bound for Glastonbury, me, bound for Tamworth.
My main stage features not Bruce Springsteen, some famous has-been, but my dad, who is a never-was.
Wait. Sometime around 1988, my dad stopped being The Most Important Man in the Universe.
My universe, suddenly exploded. My dad, stranded, on a distant planet, receding slowly into insignificance.
And now, from beyond the beyond, again, to visit, to be, to leave.
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Dartmoor
Posted on June 24, 2009
Out with Alasdair, out with Clive, out in nature, out in green and blue and gray, out on Dartmoor.
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Airport to railway station…
Posted on June 23, 2009
Enough material arose from the arrivals lounge of Exeter Airport to Exeter St Davids for a short story.
But it won’t be pretty.
The climax was an old man wearing a belt that was similar to my own Guatemalan one, and a man who appeared some kind of idiot savant (or maybe just an idiot), who spoke at length about whatever was passing through his mind, referencing all kinds of things, generating spontaneous lists, recalling specific dates, etc. When I broke away to speak to the old man, he started just making a loud noise that was neither a cough, nor speech, but simply a loud noise, evidently to signal his disgust / desire for more engagement.
I don’t feel I belong here, people try too much. I don’t try. Unbrushed untamed hair, unshaven, tired eyes, old clothes. Perhaps my good watch, iPod, and expensive travel bag creates too much discord. More likely, nobody gives a flying fuck. Sat there, staring out, disconnected.
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Dublin day 5
Posted on June 23, 2009
Coughing after the fire. Augustus Pablo and Captain Beefheart and Bert Jansch and Matt Molloy…
Good times. I was an ingracious guest of a gracious host. I am chastened, too late, naturally.
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Dublin day 4
Posted on June 22, 2009
The ideal image of today would be a photo of my lungs, blackened.
Last night, at around 2 a.m., the room downstairs caught fire, a fact that we registered via clouds of smoke that poured up through the floor. Stood on the street and watched a naked unconscious man carried out by the fire brigade, looked very serious.
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Dublin day 3
Posted on June 20, 2009
A walk into the city. No fun. I asked for Thomas Bernhard novels in Hodges Figgis bookstore, the girl working there completely ignorant of him, inexcusable, unsurprising. Found a copy of his debut, Frost.
Here is a shot of a Wilde statue that stands in Merrion Square.
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Dublin day 2
Posted on June 20, 2009
Today I wasted two hours on a railway platform at Greystones before swallowing a fly and watching a dog having a shit.
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Dublin day 1
Posted on June 18, 2009
Basically, yes, getting the hang of it, aren’t I?
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So sincere in their support for the people…
Posted on June 17, 2009
It is great to see so much media sentiment directed towards a people realising their goals of overturning the powers that be. I look forward to seeing the way the news media is covering events in Iran being extended to cover similar mass movements that will sweep away the governments of Western powers.
But, as ever, Kingfelix will not be holding his breath…
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