Something fell out of my head again. I wish that’d stop happening without warning. I think I must be in a slightly M R James sort of mood today.

—-

As the sun slid behind the hills, and the sky turned the colour of freshly-spilled blood, the old man told us a story of the devil.

This story wasn’t like the others. The other stories of the devil are stories of passion and pride. Stories of lust and conflict. Stories of a star that burnt itself black.

This was a different story. It was calm, and it was quiet. It invited reflection, and left those who heard it with a sense of peace, with the knowledge that there is an order to things, and that even the devil has his role to play.

It was a good story, but afterwards, walking home through the deepening twilight, I wondered about it, “what if it were true?” Suddenly, the devil didn’t seem like such a remote figure.

The moon was high in the sky when I reached home. It was a cold, cold night, and the moonlight on the frost made it seem colder still. I closed and locked the door behind me, and settled down by the hearth.

Several times during the night, I was woken by a sound outside. A crackling, wheezing, spitting sound. A spiteful death rattle torn from the throat of a dying animal. The sound stalked around the outside of my house. I had the sense of something watching, waiting…

I lay there, and stared into the glowing embers of the fire, afraid to move.

Oh, wait, no, it’ll kill time. Time. That’s what I meant to say.

Being nice has never actually killed people, unless you believe Jim Jones, and he was a kool-aid swilling motherfucker.

Yes, I’m doing that “leave a comment, and I’ll say nice things about you” notion that’s doing the rounds. Of course, this being me, I’ll probably decide halfway through that sticking to the factual truth is boring, and get ludicrous about the whole thing, for laughs.

Still, if you’d like me to say, or possibly make up, nice things about you, leave a comment.

Shamelessly thieved from childeric, because I’ve run out of gigs, and in the absence of music-fuelled excitement, I need new things in my life.

(I admit, I include this one in the interests of seeing how the general tone of the responses goes, given Simon’s and my different friends-lists. Also, you know, salaciousness and laughs. All answers kept strictly confidential.)

Edit:

And in childeric style-ee, some responses to the hidden question:

burge: She wasn’t there. There’s no justice.
cathuk: Whichever you’d rather, although one is funnier, obviously.
charlieinmcr: Exactly what is it you think I’m endowed with?
meetpaulblack: 2 problems – 1) That’s plainly impossible. 2) Even if it were possible, I fear it’d make me feel inadequate.
stu_n: You’re the second person to suggest that, but I can’t recall the last time I had a free Friday…

Made of wet boots and rain/and shiny black ravens/on chimney smoke lanes

zoo_music_girl will probably appreciate this one, if she hasn’t seen it already, and I’m sure there are plenty of other people on my friends list who might like it.

http://www.seventypercent.com/ – a chocolate reviews/tastings/shopping site, including imports that it might be hard to get elsewhere. I can see myself winding up with a list of new things to try…

Yes, it probably will be very bad for any diets, but sod it, it’s the festive season soon…

That moment when the town wakes up. The opening drumbeat from a lone pair of feet on the pavement. An eyeblink in the grey morning light, as pupils used to darkness contract to pinpoints, then flare again. It’s 5am on a weekday morning, dancing with the last night’s chip-wrap and carrier bags on the back street breeze.

It’s the rumble of the train, a rail-bound titan moving down the hidden conduits of the metropolis, on secret paths known only to the initiate, the brotherhood of engineers and trackmen. A topography that intersects with our own only at intervals, at the places where the walls between one geography and another fray and grow thin.

It’s the tone of the radio alarm, a signal web of information spreading from broadcast tower flashpoints across the urban sprawl, bringing us to conciousness with a dance of information amid the dead-air static. A synchronisation of reason in our minds to begin the day.

It’s the pin-and-tumbler rattle of the key in the lock as we leave our residences behind, and step out into the larger world. As we put away our private selves for another day, and strap on our day-faces, like a ritual for some forgotten sun god.

It’s the moment where the world comes on.

Among the many subjects that anw and I disagree on, we find music.  I don’t just mean we like different styles of music, or different artists, you understand.  I mean, there are some artists we both like.  Joni Mitchell.  The Tiger Lillies.  Others.  No, one of the things we disagree about is volume.  Andrew has said, on more than on occaision, that he doesn’t enjoy loud music.  Doesn’t see why it needs to be loud that “I can hear that comfortably”.  (I approximate his views.  I’m sure he’ll tell me if I’m wrong.)

I on, the other hand, believe that there is an awful lot of music out there that is meant to be played Extremely Loudly.  That playing it at comfortable volumes does not show it off to best effect.

Case in point: Tonight.  Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds, Brixton Academy.

I had worried that Cave had forgotten how to be Loud.  The Boatman’s Call, No More Shall We Part, Nocturama – these albums are not Loud Music.  Good, yes.  But not Loud.  Well, OK, bits of Nocturama are Loud, but a) it’s just not that good compared to the sublime stuff in The Boatman’s Call, and b) when I saw the Nocturama tour, he did not play the Loud Bits.  Or much of anything Loud.  It was a bit shit, really.

Abattoir Blues and The Lyre of Orpheus sounded like they had promise, but so, like I say, did bits of Nocturama.  I need not have worried.  Nick Cave has not forgotten how to be Loud.  From the opening drumbeat strut of “Abattoir Blues” itself (and I’d just like to say how much I love that title, and the writing in that song itself) to the crashing joy in “My Beautiful World”, and the bitter shriek of “Hiding All Away” (good on record – a return to a much earlier of Cave’s oeuvre, live), this was a Loud night.  Oh, there were breaks, here and there – “Babe, You Turn Me On” and “Easy Money”, and a couple of others, but mostly, this, like all the other reviews I’ve seen have said, a return to form.

(While I’m thinking of it, “Babe, You Turn Me On” is a good example of why I like many of Cave’s lovesongs, by the way – they’re a celebration of love without being saccharine or romantic.  They’re direct, and accurate about what being in love can be like, inculding the physical.  There aren’t enough lovesongs like his.)

And the slight re-workings of his older stuff to take advantage of the gospel singers (who certainly give the impression of having the time of their lives with Cave’s material, by the way – there was one in particular that was really getting into it, which was nice – a gig’s always better if it looks like the band are enjoying themselves up there) are also fucking brilliant.  “Deanna” and “Stagger Lee” were particular stand-outs.

And they came back for a second encore, and we got to leave to the tortured howl of “The Mercy Seat” that way it should be done, rather than the limp-wristed sub-Cash effort that we got on the Nocturama tour.

I wonder if I can get hold of a ticket for Friday…

New job began yesterday, then gym and coma.  Quiet night tonight.  Nick Cave tomorrow (anyone else going tomorrow, or is everyone going on Thurs/Fri?).  Parents Thursday.  B-Movie Friday.  Haircut, then Andrew’s birthday do of some stripe Saturday, possibly followed by ill-advised clubbing, given that I’ve got a game to run Sunday.  (I had decided that I wouldn’t go out late Saturday night, but I caught myself idly wondering about maybe going clubbing during a quiet moment this afternoon, which is a bad sign.  I know what I’m like.  I write this in a hope to double-bluff myself out of going.  I think.  Maybe.  Now I’m just rambling.  Ahem.)

Now I think of it, next week looks reasonably quiet until Friday, when it’s Flogging Molly, likely followed by Synthetic Culture.  I am slightly concerned about the amount I’m out clubbing of late.  I have this terrible suspicion that I ought to be doing something more grown up and responsible, but I have no idea what.  Still, I refuse to even slightly contemplate Saturday-night clubbing that weekend – I have gigs on both the Monday and the Tuesday of the following week, and I’m buggered if I’m going to be less that perfectly-rested for either of them.

Oh, and one of the techies among you: Cut for the benefit of non-techies

Do I:

a) go clubbing, dance for hours, and generally have fun, but come home exhausted in the morning?
b) stay home, have an early night, and be generally well rested, but miss out on potential excitement?

As of Monday, I’m employed again.  So, that’s the end of my free time.

What worthwhile things have I done with it?

Well, I’ve seen a few films :
SAW: enjoyable serial killer horror.  Cary Elwes gives an excellent performance, some genuinely horrible bits.  Hits what it’s aiming at. 
AVP: Complete rubbish, but enough to keep my attention for as long as it asked for it.  Felt a bit cheated by the ending. 
THE INCREDIBLES: The best Pixar film yet.  Serious contender for film of the year.

I’ve read a few books:
JONATHAN STRANGE & MR NORRELL: excellent, imaginative stuff, thoroughly recommended.  The ending felt a bit sudden, although not rushed or unsatisfactory.
UNDERGROUND LONDON: One of the best books on the topic I’ve read – not perhaps as in depth as some, but it covers a great breadth of stuff, and does it without ever becoming dry, as plenty of other books do.

And I’ve been out and about a bit.  Hadn’t realised that the National Gallery has what is possibly my favourite painting on display, so that was a nice surprise yesterday, and I spent quite a while with that.  Finally managed to see John Dee’s bits and bobs at the British Museum, too.  Must’ve taken him a hell of a time to carve that wax.

If it weren’t for this lack of money thing, I could really live with unemployment.  As it is, I’ll be working for Sanctury Group as a web programmer.  Click around under “artist managment” on that site, if you’re at all curious about which acts are with them…