Duke Ellington

1) A few weeks back a blackbird went nuts while I was out in the garden contemplating my handiwork. It was perched on the veg trellis and making a racket. It didn’t budge even when I came up close. I assumed it was annoyed at my presence and wanted to eat my produce (although their taste for runner beans was news to me). I was on my guard and ready to shoo it off. Ten minutes later I overheard mutterings that next door’s cat had just found its way into a blackbird nest and tortured/ate whole one of the chicks there residing. Said loquacious feathered creature wasn't pinching beans. It was communicating sadness at the loss of its baby – all to no avail because of my ignorance of bird-ish. This was confirmed by a bird of brown plumage (mum?) sitting nearby on top of the wheelie bin and looking very much aggrieved. The protest made by (dad) blackbird was not the sound of a thief. It was the noise of mourning. I'm humbled. 2) Sitting on back doorstep listening to Duke Ellington. With wine. 3) Nobody’s perfect.

Black Sabbath 13

GO OZZY!

Glazunov Saxophone Concerto

Playing chess against the computer is like having a conversation with yourself. And losing.

Meic Stevens - Ghost Town

When I was thirteen I got up in front of school and performed a solo violin piece. It was a really obscure choice. I remember the music teacher's look of deep concern. As if up till that point I had possessed a certain degree of respect, and was about to put it in the shredder. I did it anyway. The applause at the end was forthcoming, but uncertain. Like the old Hawkwind song "we took the wrong step years ago.." I feel that this was the first of just many stupid ideas. But then social conformity was always elusive to me. Like that sad realisation that being counted as 'gifted and talented' in school is not a blessing. It is in fact an early signpost to a lifetime of feeling lost and confused in a world where anyone who is even slightly different will be stigmatised. "Sometimes it's better to conform." A friend said this to me recently. She has a point. Sometimes we have to sacrifice ourselves to the flow even though on reflection it isn't what we'd decide given time. I don't know whether at school I was deliberately obtuse or whether it really was impossible to fit in. A bit of both maybe. I used to get called lezza because of my clunky boots. That wasn't deliberate -- I couldn't afford better boots. Interestingly the jeering subsided almost to nothing when I invested in a pair of mainstream branded trainers; which shows you how cheap the elites of conformity are. If I went to school now I'd be classed as autistic. I read somewhere that some people with autism display difficulty in following rules and aligning themselves socially. Is it progress to find new labels for people who think differently? Or just another way of controlling unruly children who happen to have a mind of their own? Whenever you read studies on Autism there seems to be some sort of grey area in between arguments that Autism/EBD is an illness and that it is a brain type. That's a big difference. One wants to treat the 'sick' child who is being afflicted by bad thoughts. The other embraces the child as a victim in a system in which their intelligence and way of thinking are unlikely to ever be accepted.

Morton Feldman

Can't remember what the piece was called. It was short, apparently dedicated to his piano teacher. It sounded like the sky. Well timed radio schedule - just in time to scare the ghost away. You might think I'm making it up. I'm not. There is a spectre thing which comes into my room at night. It tugs at my duvet like a patient calling for the nurse. Maybe it wants to talk. Maybe it wants to be alive again. Not what it's cracked up to be though living, is it? As a ghost you could have more fun turning invisible and scaring chavs. A few hours later bedroom door slammed shut. Would have cacked pants except Dilly was there. I jumped and she sat bolt upright. Strange how a small furry animal can make you feel less alone. She's a really stupid cat but does have an amazing talent for spotting when I'm down. If ever I start descending into the hole of doom she appears as if to say, don't look at that look at me. It's far more exciting. Makes you wonder though, are people with depression weak? Watched a bbc thing a week back. It was about what happens in your head when you get the more severe forms. Apparently part of your brain shrinks and you lose the ability to process normal emotions. Nice. Reassuring in a way. I never felt it was right to tell a victim of clinical depression to 'pull themselves together.' But it's understandable. Sad really. Like the bit of the brain that used to believe in something has been crushed. How do you cure something like that? Part of living here has forced me to recognise my limitations. I am poor, and not 'good' at anything. I'm just dull. What happened to me in the past was a result of me trying to exceed those limitations. I wanted to prove a point. One up against the truth. It went very badly wrong. I wanted to believe that there was something better out there. In fact there was, but even the slightest glimpse came on sufferance. I paid the price. Now I don't even feel better, because all that I could have had is gone. Ignorance = bliss. Those were the days. I've accepted my origins, my history, who I am, and actually it's okay. I'm not good enough. I'm constrained by my own selfishness. Probably always will be. I tried to be good, but one day woke up and realised that I have never been good my whole life. I take after my parents, and that says a lot. At best I consume, at worst I thieve. That little part of my brain that once made happiness just can't anymore. If it feels anything like I do, it's exhausted.

Jaga Jazzist

Unpacked about half of my stuff. Still minor breathing problems but otherwise allergy seems to be subsiding. I think the reason it persisted in my childhood was the horrendous black carpet of dust on top of the wardrobe next to bed in spare room. It had somehow slipped mum's radar and passed unnoticed, gradually amassing troops of dead skin and cat fur to form thick regiments of klller dirt. I can only suppose that it had once existed as the regualr, recognisable type that you find on top of the tv. This new strain required holding a scarf over my mouth with one hand while scraping the dirt into a rag with the other. Perhaps I should get a gas mask. That's the least of my problems though. Main source of trouble comes in the form of a ghost spirit that is unwilling to share its quarters with me. It has the indecency to wake me up at 2am just so it can plague me. It's like water going down the plug in the bath, only the water is the air and the bath is the wall. Luckily putting the little lamp on seems to scare it off. It came too close the other night though. And it wasn't coming on a social visit. I'm not normally the 'metaphysical' type. I enjoy philosophy on many things, but that doesn't normally extend to the paranormal. I am, however, open-minded and wouldn't rule it out. Especially if that particular spirit was trying to eat me. I think thus far we have a cordial agreement. It will resist consumming me if I respect its superiority. The other thing that spooked me at about 4am that same night was a discussion between two birds in the tree opposite the window. Bare in mind that Natnwich is REALLY silent at 4am, so birdcalls will cut though the air. There was a distinct pause of about four seconds in between each call and response. They were talking about something. I wish I knew what. It sent a shiver up my spine. There were other birds present but they were not participating. They did eventually -- after about 20 mins -- as part of usual dawn chorus rituals, but not before these two protagonists has had their say. It was about something important. I wish I knew what.

Karlheinz Stockhausen

My shitty job sacked me so I'm moving to Nantwich. Their reasoning was apparently my "not being suited to customer service roles." Laughable; it's almost like saying, "due to your being so feral we've decided you should leave this place and return to your hole." I think the actual reason was that I don't smoke (thereby losing valuable fag break gossip points) and my boobs are too small. Or that I just didn't fit in. I probably should have left Sheffield sooner. The stranglehold of the welfare state has been slowly but surely suffocating my oxygen supply for three years now. It feels frightening to be a newly fledged non-doler. It will be refreshing if people stop looking at me in that way. No need to make a song and dance I suppose. Will have to nip back for gig needs. Maybe once or twice a year. Did consider possibility of canal boat. I had a dream about folk on the boat. It was a pleasant dream until more experienced and worldly friend pointed out that I'd want £20,000 for something remotely more than floating shoebox. She reckons caravans are the way forward. She probably right. Part of me still wants to grab Sheffield full throttle and embrace it in the heart of my averagely endowed bosom, part of it is paralysed by doubt. Perhaps if I was more well endowed in the bosom department it wouldn't be so much of an issue. I understand the half baked sentiment though. I feel the same. I should go somewhere where the embrace is less half hearted. I may become perhaps the second or third busker of Nantwich. I may also make some less shoddy business cards for some lessons to small people. However, this thought terrifies me. I have no idea why I should be scared of children. No doubt an older person would say that it is because I am still like a child. Perhaps. I think condition definitely worsened when I volunteered in a Primary School and someone asked, "Are you a psychologist?" To which a witty nine year-old replied, "No she's a psycho." That summed it up really. I was like the hanger on at a kids party. Even the saddos didn't want to talk to me.