Sunday, October 24, 2010

~ something eldritch

My lovely, though sometimes worryingly anaemic psychologist is arranging for me to have a 'neuro-assessment'. It’s a legal thing, but it might be interesting. I do like to count things. For instance, and for your edification, I eat 12 strawberries, 5 dates and 5 prunes daily, together with many other things in precise amounts. When I exercise - which I must do to avoid shrivelling - I presently do 18 laps of freestyle, 4 of breaststroke and smaller numbers of kickboard etc. Whenever I address a task, I try to control it with numbers.

But if you look at my office, or my bedroom, it’s a study in entropy. Whatever I’m concentrating on is usually nice and ordered, but everything on the periphery reliably degrades to merde. I also once put my shoes in the fridge while contemplating something else. And both of my most recent long-term ex-girlfriends tell me I have some symptoms of asperbergers.

Admittedly, all things considered, I must sit somewhere on the scale between eccentricity and outright madness. Outside of the obligatory depression and anxiety, I’ve never really considered myself mentally ill, but I suppose it makes sense to have a professionally-produced document to give the judge some sort of clue as to what he’s dealing with.

If I disappear suddenly, though, it may mean they’ve put me away. But don’t worry, I won’t be so stupid as to wear a pink shirt at any point in the near future.

Now, in answer to a query from a friend of mine:

Do sperms die if they’re not used? Or do they build up, increasing their numbers without limit? And, if so, where is this expanding reservoir of reproductive material stored? Do the testicles grow larger and larger as they are forced to harbour increasingly large amounts of flagellating microbes?

Well, the answer is elusive. People generally seem more concerned at how long sperm live outside the male body than within: including on hands, in washing machines and on toilet seats. Thankfully, sperm do have a limited lifespan within the male body. One source says 74 days. Another source says they take 65-74 days to develop. Another says that once they are ready they only last a few weeks, so lets say about 80 days from start to finish. But there are cells, stem cells I would guess, which are constantly shedding off new infant sperm - these cells, I gather, live as long as their host and if they die he becomes sterile.

So, here's a picture of something eldritch which was generated by the mind of a young boy whose mother, Susan, is a friend of mine.

Till next time.

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Wednesday, October 20, 2010

~ the pittance

I’ve been finding it difficult getting back into a routine with these blog posts. I think, perhaps, it’s because I’ve been so focused on work lately, trying to make every hour of every day count before I have to immerse myself in my legal defence.

With regards legal matters, there’s been some good, perhaps very good news. The DPP has thankfully dropped the most severe of the charges: the one that forced the matter of The Crown vs Sam Sejavka up into the County Court, necessitated a 3-4 day trial with a jury and made the seizure of my house a distinct possibility. I don’t quite know what’s going to happen now; it’s still serious, but not quite so doom-laden. I'll find out in mid-November what the new schedule will be. [as for details of my transgressions, I think the ‘REGARDING DONATIONS’ link gives the details]

I managed, finally, pay most of my five figure legal fees (It’s a pre-paid system) though now I’m saddled with outrageous debt and am having to teach myself to survive on a pittance. Not that I haven’t been in this situation before...

Another individual in dire financial circumstances is Steve Lucas (of X) who has some kind of agonising back problem which can’t be solved without an influx of cash. On Thursday, December 2 at the Gershwin Room there a benefit. There are eight bands including The Ears so make certain to put it in your diaries.

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Wednesday, October 13, 2010

~ exquisite corpse

For the first time in a very long time, I've sat down, picked up a guitar and written a song. I'm not sure what to blame it on. Perhaps a reduction in some of my medications ... More likely the gig I attended Saturday night at Ding Dong. I really enjoyed the simple, straight ahead style of SK and Ricky Maymi from the Brian Jonestown Massacre. And this after spending ninety minutes entirely inert on stage imitating a corpse in a show called The Real Inspector Hound. (I suffered some exquisite torture during that seemingly endless play, and learned some very dark secrets about myself.)

Since the Crystal Ballroom show, The Ears have been rehearsing fortnightly at our drummer Carl's place, and enjoying it mightily - though I expect we'd get more achieved if alcohol consumption levels were reduced just a tad.

We're generating new songs too. About four or five since our recohesion. I was a little leery about this at first, thinking of the Ears as some ancient artefact which audiences wouldn't want to see change. But I've altered my thinking. Against the odds we've become a living band again, and living bands produce new material. Also, in these latter days, wonderfully, it doesn't seem to matter what inestimable age you might reach - you just keep going till you drop.

So about this song I've written. Those creatures of the upper air, who pass through my dreams, leaving clues for plots and dialogue and melodies, have intimated strongly that its title should be Basking Shark ...

We'll breed a Basking Shark for you.

A last! A Basking Shark for you

I do worry that it might seem obscure, inaccessible, even meaningless. I know I have a tendency to alienate potential listeners, readers, what have you, with my love for the arcane, but trust me, I have integrated the basking shark into the lyrics in a way that makes good and proper sense, that may even, ultimately, tug on your heart strings.

Anyway here's a photo of Donald, Nurin and I at Ding Dong last Saturday night

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Tuesday, October 12, 2010

~ a sacred kingfisher

Here's Cathy and I after the Ding Dong show. If I've ever had more fun on stage, I can't remember it.

First off, thanks to Amanda for getting me back to this blog. Obviously, I've fallen out of the habit of updating it, though not of writing generally - of course. Ambergris, the play I've mentioned often over time, needs just a little polishing before it's complete, and I've been working on a couple of novelettes which will soon be in need of publishing.

But first things first. I was walking Polly to rainbow guides this afternoon when I saw a flash of colour in someone's driveway. Colour and movement. Now, being somewhat of a birder, and having a pretty good knowledge of the birdlife around here, I was astounded to see an absolutely gorgeous male sacred kingfisher, flopping about on the concrete, unable to fly, presumably injured. Polly helped me capture it and we brought it home, boxed and watered it. Thankfully, it is not the kind of bird that drops dead from shock. Rather the opposite. As you'll notice from the picture, it has a reasonable amount of fight left in it.

It's presence in Mt Waverley is really quite a mystery. Polly, strangely, named it The King of Switzerland.

Next, for anyone interested in the long delayed re-release of the Beargarden album, let me raise your hopes once more. Bruce Butler and I had another meeting today. We have sworn to a schedule and both the Beargarden and Ears albums will be available well before the end of the year. Nothing will stop us this time, though they are likely to be online releases initially.

I'm just dipping my toe in the water today, so that's all for now.

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