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.

Listen to the Silence - George Russel

Got spotify. Had it once, but shunned fbook then comp got asthma and died. By the time got round to downloading it again it was all newfangled and I didn't get it. That'll teach me for turning my back on networking websites, and not cleaning my desk. Anyway, this time it worked, and though it pains me to say it, I'm content. Missed it as was previously dependent on sites that were great for the new and unknown, but no good for entire albums. Sound quality seems much improved too. I tend to use this blog as a way of keeping track of decent music. If it made the post title it's because it pleased me in some way. I don't want to be a music critic, nor do I want to write for the hell of it if uninspired to write. Whenever the music does not warrant unnecessary wordiness I tend to go off topic. It's more fun. Lack of comment doesn't mean the work was unworthy though, more that no words spring to mind at that particular moment. What I'm listening to now is a good example. It literally has everything. There's groovy percussion, big-band brass, orchestral strings and choral singing. It doesn't fit into a category. Maybe it's modern classical, but that seems a loose term for something so rhythmic. It could be some shade of experimental sound art, but that's too non specific and flat. So, if forced to categorize I'd call it 'operatic jazz', but probably not to it's face.

Jackie Oats - Dream Angus

It's International Women's Day. Phew! So pleased. Will be celebrating by ------ not celebrating. The reason I hesitate before cracking open the fizzy stuff is: I don't believe in it. Call me jaded but, much as I'd like to, I don't feel that progress has been made regarding women's empowerment. Save perhaps my own personal journey (sexist jokes don't bother me as they used to, but I'm practised at it by now; I am what you'd call a bookish rather than sexy woman). Yup tis true that education is the key to equlity, and I don't mean attending school in a blazer, fountain pen at the ready. I mean getting out and doing stuff. A while back I heard someone say that if it's Women's Day today, it's men's for the other 364. I'm inclined to agree. Not sure a single day in which I'm revered for my gender was what I had in mind. Would have preferred good solid respect the year round as a normal hard-working citizen, regardless of what's between my legs! Men get better pay, don't have to bother with maternity leave and are more likely obtain positions of power. Indian males don't get drowned at infancy. Something to do with arranged marriages and dowries. Does it matter??? It's enough to make your blood boil. I happened to catch Nawal el Saadawi, a feminist writer from Egypt on the radio a few months ago. She gave a very moving account of what she went though, such as being told as a girl that, "one man is worth ten women." I remember thinking, "Yea but what if he's a useless c**t." ---- I'm not going to have a rant about men. For one thing, most of them do not displease me. And for another, I cannot be arsed. It does make me wonder though, "Are we feminists just experiencing a bit a bad pmt, or, is it just really f**king hard being female???" I've added Richard Dawkins to my twitter account, being a fan of modern atheist philosophy. I thought nothing of it until one of his tweets popped up on my newsfeed: "Blessed are you, King of the Universe, for not having made me a Gentile." "Blessed are you for not having made me a woman." A copy and paste into google later I could conclude that this was something he himself had written. I found myself feeling angry, then scolded myself for being stupid. It seemed disheartening that a modern scientist and philosopher should make such a seemingly narrow statement. Then again, maybe he was just showing sympathy. An open acknowledgement that women have it tough. I haven't filed a complaint yet. :)

John Cage

As I sit in my room listening to static noise I become aware of the horrible futility of existence. It doesn't matter what I do. What I go in for, went in for, set out to do, will be forgotten and swept away like sand in the wind. My thoughts are flecks of dust on a clean mirror. They don't exist. Where should I put these thoughts, this noise? This image? I cannot touch it. Like light it changes upon reaching my eye.

Justin Hinds - The Higher the Monkey Climbs

The Dicktionary ---In which all various shades of stupid dick are arranged alphabetically for your convenience. A is for Arse. Dicks speak a load of arse. B is for Bad behaviour. C is for Chaos. Fools rush in they say, which is why dicks and fools have a mutual understanding. Chaos ensues from running dicks. Even if the meadows are fresh and green. D is for Disaster. The product of unrestrained dicks. E is for Eventually. He'll get it...eventually.... F is for FFS!!! G is for Grinning. Inanely. Completely oblivious to the trail of debris behind you. H is for Hiding. A stealthy dick is a healthy one. I is for Imbecile. J is for Just hold that thought. K is for Kick. As in KICK them. L is for Leash. Dicks shall be kept on a leash at all times. M is for Mild case of dick. N is for No. Just no. O is for Oh. P is for Please stop being a dick. Q is for Ps and Qs. Dicks have a habit of forgetting these. R is for Reckless dicks. S is for Silent. My phone was on silent. T is for Total dicks. U is for Untethered. All dicks shall be tethered. V is for Viciousness. The result of dicks. W is for Why? Why choose to be a dick. Why???? X is for Xenic. I detect the presence of bad dick bacteria. (Go look it up) Y is for Yield. Never yield to dicks. Z is for Zoos. I would rather spend time with the chimps in the zoo than with dicks.

Cyril Tourney - Sally Free and Easy

"Sally free and easy that should be her name When my body's landed hope she dies of shame." Well that was a sinister ending to an otherwise lovely song. In other news I'm reading about Genghis Khan. Hope you're sitting comfortably children. Genghis Khan was a kindly, warm-hearted, well meaning man born on the border between Mongolia and Russia in around 1155. It is said that he was born clutching a blood clot, an omen to the coming of a warrior who would be a great leader someday. As a boy he was expelled from his home tribe along with his mother, his three brothers and his sister after his father - the chieftain - was poisoned by a rival tribe. They roamed the plains hungry and lost. One day his brother stole some food for himself, so Genghis killed him. And thus a warrior was born. Miraculously he escaped exile and returned to the clan of his childhood sweetheart. They met, it was deemed a match, and they were blissfully married. Shortly afterwards the lucky lady was kidnapped by a rival clan. Genghis dutifully whisked her away home. By which point the beautiful newly wed was too knackered to even bat an eyelid at her knight in shining armour's numerous wives and concubines that popped up about the place. With a new tribe to support him, Genghis was unstoppable. Enemies were forced to flee or die, and word of his bravery spread throughout the land. Genghis created laws for his people and anyone who did not obey was severely punished. And these punishments were original. I don't mean boring old solitary confinement or a day in the stocks. I'm pretty certain that if I were at risk of being launched into some boiling oil, having my head removed or getting [my personal favourite] "tied to horses and dragged over miles and miles of rough terrain."* I wouldn't show much resistance either. That said, even brutal dictators have a sweeter side, and in paintings he is said to be portrayed with a long grandfatherly beard and "laughter lines round his eyes."* Furthermore he was apparently humoured by sycophants that were in a state of perpetual terror greatly esteemed for his fondness of religion and philosophy, and he was against bigotry. Well if you're going to massacre people I suppose you may as well not be fussy about it. *The Most Evil Dictators in History, Shelley Klein, Michael O'Mara Books Ltd 2002

B B King

A strange day. Went to practice. Went to art class. Left footprints in some fresh snow. Strangely satisfying. We invented an ode to art class using words that rhymed with the name of the class. Potentially all rhyming words will be thrown in a collage to be swapped around according to poetical preference. A bit like the fridge magnet game, but better. A good day. Can't put my finger on the feeling. New. I used to be afraid to turn up late. Now I start when everyone has finished. Seems to work for me. Time is relative. I guess that's why hippies don't get jobs.