~ underground rivers

What an unusual, extraordinary month. By chance and queer circumstance, it proved to be an authentic festival of the early eighties. Now that the floodtide from the past has ebbed away, I’m shaking my head in astonishment.

And to think … that something so wonderful was spawned in an effort to address my little [big] problem and the financial boa constrictor which travels in its wake.

It feels a like a dream. An incursion on the general ordinariness of life from the luminous underground rivers of memory. I imagine it will be the last time I have the chance to revisit the mayhem of my youth in so comprehensive a fashion. Any effort to recapture the particular feeling at the Corner on the gloomy, wet afternoon of The Ears gig would be only to risk disappointment. And to belabour what was expressed in 'Livin' in DogFood' would be sheer pointlessness.

From this point on memories will degrade at a faster rate, people will die more often. The tall figures will withdraw into the mists…

Now I must begin learning lines for my part in Lynne Ellis’s production of Shakespeare’s bloodthirsty Titus Andronicus. And there is my drug-related presentation at the ANEX conference next month. There is a piece I’m preparing for The Last Tuesday Society. There is my monthly confabulation with a philosopher-psychologist. And my secret obsession with a certainAnd my vow not to let music slide away this time. There are the finals. There is my family. And there is, of course, my little [big] problem...

~ again with the moth body

There is a most convivial atmosphere at the Last Tuesday Society. My Moth Body exegesis was given an extremely groovy reception, though perhaps the dire message behind the words was masked by the vortex of absurdity. We allowed Polly to stay up late on a school night in order to get a true picture of her progenitor’s mind in action.

Lynne, who – owing to the restraints of my costume - was acting as a human pulpit, suffered an attack of the shakes and veered in a wholly unexpected direction, suddenly demonstrating the likely behaviour of a fille de joie from the Moth Body’s ‘global voluptuary’. It was more than edifying to glance down and see a nude-suited woman in situ at my feet, although, sadly, my ‘gland’ did not function to specifications. It was my neck, rather than the audience which ‘tasted of’ the Moth Body’s ‘many secretions’


(try this facebook link for some better images by Sean Whelan)

I’d like to thank Jodie, who agreed to inquire - from the audience - if ‘intercourse with the Moth Body accords with the tenets of the Christian faith’. And my wife too, for asking ‘if sex with the Moth Body would give her a disease’. And also Justin Heazlewood [if that is indeed his name] for his very subtle and quietly strange performance on the night. His site: The Bedroom Philosopher

I love doing these strange one-offs. They’re quick and dirty and wholly different from the huge, life-encompassing projects to which I so often commit myself.

You may be interested in knowing that Tweety-Bird is no longer leaving curl grubs with indelible black ink-sacs on the shower floor. Her source, wherever that may be, at last seems to have run dry ... it’s difficult to imagine where she could have found so many of them, (I calculate in excess of fifty) - and why. Could she really be spending the night digging through garden beds in search of these horrible creatures?

Interestingly, my wife claims to have seen her trying to clean her lips of the unpleasant taste. I think it is a matter of pride for Tweety Bird that she delivers at least one item of prey to the household each day, regardless of its edibility.


About a week ago we found a large dying dragonfly on the laundry floor. Each day since, we have found a dead tailless skink. From this point on, I am going to do my best to be legal and keep her inside at night.