The Sensual and the Dark rebel in vain
Slaves by their own compulsion. In mad game
they burst their manacles and wear the name
Of freedom, graven on a heavier chain!
Coleridge was writing about the French Revolution, but I prefer to think of the above passage as universal.
*
I am twenty-one today. I feel sour, yet glad to have something on which to anchor some kind of new life. The pain comes and goes.
The group has been booked into Armstrong’s in six weeks to a record a single. We’re doing the supports for the Snakefinger tour, and a Macy’s headline is coming up. Ian Meldrum congratulated me on Saturday night for what he said was a great performance.
Friday night was my funeral. I cried from start to finish. It was a release I needed.
Still colours cannot be properly colours. I feel alone, as what was closest is gone. The distance between me and other human beings seems much greater.
I spoke to Brian Harding on Monday night. He relieved me over legal matters. I’m free to grieve and suffer over myself.
*
Snakefinger was the guitarist with mightily eccentric US band the Residents. The outfit he brought to Australia, however, was a lot more comprehensible.
One night after a gig at Melbourne Uni [I hope I’m not presaging a later diary entry here] I had passed outside through some revolving doors. Hearing something, I looked back to see Snakefinger on the ground. He’d had a serious heart attack. He survived, but the tour was cancelled, and I believe he did actually die not too many years after of something similar.
I spoke of my meeting with Brian, Christine’s dad, in an earlier diary post. I was in my youth and had no idea how the dreadful incident would pan out legally. I had been worried that I might be charged with something, and was thankful that he cleared up that concern.
Some friends, I recall Anne Harding and Gus were among them, organised a casual celebration for my birthday downstairs at Inflation.
