Archive for December, 2009

three hundred thirty four

31/12/2009

“I came away to kind of think about myself, think about what I wanted to do next, maybe make something on the way.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah… it sort of happened, not as expected though…”
“Yeah… yeah”
And we don’t have to say much more to get that it’s been a strange few months for both of us. When we both go home it’s going to be to something temporary, a stop gap, and it might be a couple of months before we get ourselves together.

three hundred thirty three

30/12/2009

The Girl has abandoned the crossroads, and wants to build a home.

three hundred thirty two

29/12/2009

Somewhere Marc is thinking about the future. I’m beside the sea.

three hundred thirty one

28/12/2009

Echoes of Greenfield on meeting Katie (whose breasts are famous on the internet); starting to know the people I think I’ll know forever. Of course, all this way above the docks at San Diego, a vista of parking lots and heat.

three hundred thirty

27/12/2009

BANG.
L.A.
friends are nice but this city makes me dislocated and sick and I don’t feel the need to stay here any more I want to be taken to ink and paper and booze and the bit where I make new friends and speak to people whose words have sat in books in boxes for something less than a lifetime but a little more than a shopping trip

three hundred twenty nine

26/12/2009

Jeck is too fragmented and beautiful to make it onto a coffee table.

three hundred twenty eight

25/12/2009

No snow.
We’re walking up the mountain, hours before more flights, and surrounding us is the snap-sparkle of a thousand tiny fireflies. It’s breathtaking.

three hundred twenty seven

24/12/2009

Somewhere I stumbled over the headstone of an ex-, or someone like her, and got distracted by Animal Collective.
BOO!
(open up your, open up your, open up you throat)
(MATT!)

three hundred twenty six

23/12/2009

There really is enough Whiskey. Quite the embarrassment.

three hundred twenty five

22/12/2009

“I’ve been thinking a lot about The Idea of Kate Jackson”

three hundred twenty four

21/12/2009

Storm roiling through St. Laurent, they appear to be on a houseboat. It is good. Stevie Wonder leers in the distance, gurning slobber attracting vicious interference.

three hundred twenty three

20/12/2009

A little shot of energy from the Far East, that a Lost Boy thinks of as sacred; ‘I know I’m not at rock bottom if that stays sealed.’

three hundred twenty two

19/12/2009

Somewhere around Parc I begin to relax.

three hundred twenty one

18/12/2009

An idea in the shape of a decade where forgetting what you were and pretending this is the fully formed article that existed forever is, essentially, as common as breakfast.

three hundred twenty

17/12/2009

To our eternal disappointment The Idea of Kate Jackson does not appear at a table in Veselka’s, clear of our breakfast dishes, set to stand atop it and belt out “Nostalgia”. H.S.T., crown King Gonzo, passes me the flask and I’m away after one huff.
A lot of ideas as we make for the door. He tells me I should do the things I have to until they hurt.

three hundred nineteen

16/12/2009

Field agents; assets; resources; friends; co-conspirators; the right team for the right job.

three hundred eighteen

15/12/2009

In a moment’s notice images change context; Adam Cadwell’s pencil creates upheaval, repositioning The Idea of Kate Jackson into a position of power she wholly deserves.

three hundred seventeen

14/12/2009

Marc throwing stones in the water, “What are we doing? I mean it, what are we doing?” and I’m thinking ‘What do we want to do?’ And I’m not sure either of us know, but the sea is a good place to think about the future, talk about the past and throw stones.

three hundred sixteen

13/12/2009

A little less B. S. Johnson, a little more ‘notebooks targeting the collapse of artistic writing, pointing knife-like at the throat of my to-do-list’.

three hundred fifteen

12/12/2009

Somewhere over the Atlantic there are two hundred ‘zines making their way to the house of illustrator Ben. Somewhere in MontrĂ©al Aanand and Quintin are making new lives. Somewhere in New York Matthew is falling in love. Somewhere else in New York there is an awful lot of booze gathering.

three hundred fourteen

11/12/2009

Oh, toner.

three hundred thirteen

10/12/2009

Persistent references to The Auteur’s ‘Fear of Flying’ do me good. There’s spit and spite and special restraint there, all of which I would like, some of which I would argue I need.

three hundred twelve

09/12/2009

Bouncing between Sutphin Boulevard and a hotbox. Sweat and tears. Mostly sweat, for all the right reasons.

three hundred eleven

08/12/2009

And, yes, the water’s running into his shoes, but Coney Island looks great in the rain.

three hundred ten

07/12/2009

Somewhere in the sky she’s curled up, head in his lap, her mind somewhere else altogether, her foot throbbing in pain. Metal sky bucket fling them toward America.

three hundred nine

06/12/2009

Of course, every trip will always be shorter than expected.

three hundred eight

05/12/2009

Harried: The Girl books flights not long after The Boy.

three hundred seven

04/12/2009

I probably aim at North America wondering if, each time, I might bump into Lottie.

three hundred six

03/12/2009

Letter from me to Lottie:

You wouldn’t even know me anymore. I mean, I wouldn’t you, but sometimes it’s a few seconds before you realise the changes time’s made.
So, I last saw you something close to eighteen years ago. We were children. I think it was San Francisco you were heading towards, I’m not really sure. I stayed in Hedge End. Not sun tan my end, that much is true, and school changed a lot too. I haven’t got that Turtles poster anymore. I haven’t got those Thunderbirds bedsheets (I wish) and I haven’t got that micro-machines goodbye present you left me. I don’t live in that house anymore. I don’t wear shorts, or baseball caps, and I don’t have a uniform. And I’m older now too, which counts for something, right?

three hundred five

02/12/2009

So, the faded ghost of Ian Curtis reminds The Boy that he never quite made it to North America.

three hundred four

01/12/2009

Cut, again, way too close.