The Gentle Art of Tramping

So I've been reading a book about The Olden Days that is a bit too long, but essentially says that up until the 1800s there was no such thing as privacy. Houses didn't have corridors and everyone would walk around talking to themselves. It also says that societies had almost no long term memory; when a stranger came to town saying "god is almighty and will smite you down," everyone would freak out, moan and cry. Then, when someone else rolled up and started turning cartwheels and doing juggling tricks, they would laugh hysterically, totally forgetting the miserable fate bestowed on them, even if it was only hours before. This made me think, as ever, about weird tramps and loons. Those who sit on street corners shouting or muttering at themselves, and how old-fashioned they are. Then it made me think that maybe when we started internalising monologues, was the moment we all started to go nuts. 

Radio

reading i did on radio show a while ago. I start like a half hour in.

http://ia600809.us.archive.org/24/items/DissidentIslandRadio-3February2012-Episode97/Dissidentislandradio-03February2012-episode97.mp3

No one who ever mentions the weather will make or break your day

This is a rare instance in which Oasis are wrong. During a quick-fire round in the pub the other day, when my mouth was running quicker than my brain, I realised the weather is to blame for everything! The wind gave people slitty eyes, which is fine and functional, but follow my drift.... the cold make black people white! From the sun not shining and not shining and not shining, I wonder how long it took.

One of my greatest problems is that my rationale would assume that people who left, the adventurers and discoverers, would be a stronger ilk of people... but from the looks of things, the runners have gotta be the baddies! (I mean look at America). Probs best to sit on your mountaintop and wait for the cherry tree to finally get tall enough to shelter you from The Rain.

P.S. When I heard it was snowing in Birmingham today I cried. Added 7th April 2012

If your life is shit, enjoy it

I happen to be a professional queuebarger. It's not intentional, I just don't see the queue until I'm at the front of it. In the over-arching metaphor of life, this is a great advantage. However,in more small-time, practical situations, it is not. I frequently end up in stand offs where I am being cursed out by scores of numbskulls, affronted. This last particular, I was on top form. Arriving in Malaga (off course), I got turned on by a line up of retired bouncers and small time crooks. "I've hit a woman for less," one said. With full support of the auditorium, an old woman took the helm, cursing me out about patience and respect. I laughed. And laughed, looking at the silent baggage carousels beyond passport control, which rendered who went through first meaningless. Giving up on getting through to me on any rational level, she turned to the boy I was with, grabbed his arm and spat, vehement, "she'll never love." She'll never love! I liked her style, so I fronted off the old bitch out. Chest puffed forward, teetering over her, I let the words spill. "I can see your scalp."

It ain't fair, John Sinclair