Archive for February, 2009

twenty eight

28/02/2009

It all happened at once.

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twenty seven

27/02/2009

As a young boy, hunched over my desk beside a CD/Radio, the late evening airwaves provided quite some comfort. I revelled in an inside world, soundtrack selected by people who knew better than me.

twenty six

26/02/2009

From a certain vantage point – long ago beside my shoulder as I draw and listen to the radio – you can see in the distance a fork in the road. There is a girl stood at it. _________________________ There is always a girl stood at it.

twenty five

25/02/2009

I have always been impressionable.

twenty four

24/02/2009

Superheroes have been lauded as the mythology of the twentieth century, a bank of stories in which the feats of the fictional mighty form a collection of core morality tales, characters reverting to type for the commencement of a new saga. In reality they divert the minds of impressionable boys the world over.

twenty three

23/02/2009

My first girlfriend, Lottie, moved away to America when I was five. It could be argued that this left me with unresolved issues.

twenty two

22/02/2009

I will comfortably skip past the scars on my knees to pick over scabs left by heart on my sleeve.

twenty one

21/02/2009

I won’t begin with Warhammer.

twenty

20/02/2009

Veselka’s came to me as if in a dream, looming out of the intermittent snow and demanding I slip inside for a coffee. Johnson didn’t like it: “A greenhouse for the self-celebrating liminal classes”.

nineteen

19/02/2009

“Matthew is a serious pupil”
– Mrs Lockley, 1997

eighteen

18/02/2009

Mark ‘E’ Everett and Damon Albarn could, in many ways, be seen as paternal figures to a young boy in the mid-90’s. Their observational perspective was a dangerous lesson to learn so early though.

seventeen

17/02/2009

Britpop summed up in an instant: Sitting in the back of Mum’s car on holiday on the Isle of Wight listening to ‘Parklife’.

sixteen

16/02/2009

The chubbiness turned to scrawniness almost overnight. From that point on I was pretty lucky: I would never be the fat one.

fifteen

15/02/2009

I was nine years old when I got my first hangover.

fourteen

14/02/2009

I had been dancing to Coolio’s ‘Gangsta’s Paradise’ and sipping relative’s drinks under the radar as the wedding disco carried on. Shortly afterwards I began to vomit.

thirteen

13/02/2009

The first albums I learned by heart were Psyche by PJ and Duncan A.K.A and Spiders by Space. I owned them on cassette.

twelve

12/02/2009

I haven’t always had a fear of flying.

eleven

11/02/2009

I have three vivid memories from the second house I grew up in: watching Sesame Street on a black and white television; getting into a bath wearing Thomas the Tank Engine slippers; being given a toy plane by Dad after he returned from a business trip.

ten

10/02/2009

Three vivid memories remain from the second house I grew up in, none from the first.

nine

09/02/2009

Privatisation ruined my youth, and would splinter the politics of my young manhood by creating a conflict between familiarity and idealism.

eight

08/02/2009

He wanted to be a yuppie. The affair was a part of that.

seven

07/02/2009

It is no accident that World Information Society Day would later coincide with my birthday.

six

06/02/2009

To my knowledge I was not named after minor celebrity Matthew Kelly.

five

05/02/2009

Cypress Hill, Inspiral Carpets, King Missile, The Lemonheads, Manic Street Preachers, N.W.A., No Doubt, Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, Pixies, Radiohead, Salt-n-Pepa, T’Pau, The Vaselines, The 5.6.7.8’s ____________________________________________ those that survived are as old as me.

four

04/02/2009

It is likely that someone, somewhere, was dancing to ‘The Chicken Song’ as I came into the world.

three

03/02/2009

Six years to the day before my birth Ian Curtis returned home for the last time. In sympathy, hours later, Mount St. Helens erupted.

two

02/02/2009

I could be described, on reflection, as the product of Bruce Springsteen and Joe Strummer.

one

01/02/2009

“The dimension of time has been shattered, we cannot love or think except in fragments of time each of which goes off along its own trajectory and immediately disappears.”

– Italo Calvino, If on a winter’s night a traveler