sleepy as hell this morning after a big day on the bike in the hills in the sun yesterday. at this time last year i was riding my gravel bike in the some cold scottish forest in prep for a trip to gran canaria. and i was riding some new wheels.
earlier trip this year so yesterday i was lost on the road bike on a gravel track lost alone in lanzarote having a meltdown and shouting expletives.
late post today, i did a big bike ride with my pals here in lanzarote. i went off ahead by myself and got lost. had to cut across a gravel path. i was shouting fuck fuck fuck etc. saw an egret.
this line refers to a visit of my friends m. l. and s. l., who are brothers. and i didn’t tell my barber. i suppose ultimately she had no right to know. the image below is intented to evoque memories of diane from twin peaks. rip david lynch.
ah well yes. i can’t be typing hmm? at the start of all my text messages. i don’t know when i acquired the ah habit. it’s still going strong. ah thanks for this useful new information / ah that is funny / ah well isn’t that lovely / ah i suppose the funeral will be expensive / ah i just stepped on a wasp
i have a few noises i suppose. i must have been hmming a lot in early february. sadly i left last year’s diary at home this week. but noises come and go. i pick them up from odd places. echolalia from the television and jip like this.
a sort of deep throat sigh that i can’t explain verbally. a sympathetic groan. a palette cleanser – due to my autism, i struggle to speak if i haven’t anticipated the situation. words honk out wrongly. a long hmm gives me a little time to process maybe.
and in this case its a non-answer to the question from the previous line. i’m saying hmm but the image is of the aegean water i surely will drink.
still tired! heading out on a 90km hilly loop after breakfast though and excited to ride the bike.
this line continues the greek tragic allusion. should i allow myself to be led into temptation? but that’s not really what i mean. am i ready to drown for love is more what i’m getting at. (dear reader, the answer is yes.)
i’m exhausted. in lanzarote. up at 5am. was meant to be up at 4. anyway, here now, dehydrated. unpacked. about to build up the bike. then a shower and an early night i think.
this line builds on the if from the opening line, which itself was a reference to kipling, and is intended as a mashed reference to the greek god hercules, the philosopy of rousseau (man is born free, everywhere else he is in chains) and descartes (cogito sum, i think therefore i am). i guess the idea is that the societal structure we live under necessarily limits the scope of our imaginations, and nothing can overcome that.
i remember an old school friend, a.r., describing our music teacher, mr h., as a ‘solar powered sex machine’ when we were about 14. thanks, a.r., i am still laughing. maybe that makes me very immature. mr h. thought ratm were pro capitalism ?! wasn’t a regular smoker but got through 40 on a night out.
this is a spectacularly bad screen grab. but i’m running with it as i have a busy day. going on a bike holiday tomorrow. exhausted. need to pack.
stanza 2 – february “witness/1 dope”
if all bald men are solar powered sex machines
and if hercules in chains is free to believe in himself
should i drink aegean water when i hear my siren call?
hmm? a doubtful interjection. beginning my each phrase
yet ah is how i start my whatsapps—it’s a bit more generous.
an unexpected trip with treasured brethren
of which diane was not infomed
cold, wet, gravel, ice… and light new hoops.
pant leg micturition is a viable system
jerk foul, jerk fish, take the pineapple express
to morrisons partick, hover on a ba’ sac,
re-up on buddha and kippers
the king came with the bangers, we stayed for the ballads
my airpod uneared into a drain so i chanced an upgrade
cursed inadequate chuck-sticking, can’t hold cash either
story and sensation is all there is, between the end and the beginning
singsong paraphernalia and assorted phrases for sale
ahm a wan can wee dram ama-drama cry baby
ubuntu, our humanity, sister, brother, heal me please
and i will heel to you:
we all rely on the good souls who forgive us.
don’t text yer ex, drunk dialist splitting violence
hullo its jie p. (eftir ra pope) wi’ thi shy pee
multi-pizza two score and a spare bon-anniversaire
spotting louder nearly home, millhouse coming up everything
you trust me again, you always could, that love is unconditional
and universal, and specific, and ebbs and flows throughout
the systems, internal and external, that are of us.
you notice another of my bizarre intolerances—at last we have a term for it.
a nearly new horizon lost, for which i missed legs day at the gym
a stressful jealous night by my [] smartphone
another shoe that never drops, no leg too short to scorch the earth
are we a puzzle, a riddle to be solved, or are we pupils
flawed and inconsistent and driven by unchosen passions,
forced to plump for either irony or idiocy since the dawn of the h bomb?
suffering rotating chair formalism of a gently absurd nature
as impenetrable references abound the conference room (apologies: all mine)
…so i fly out of town
covid mask memories per explosive phlegmy cough leotard geriatric
i am triggered resolutely
by a king of the morons tailwind and a tornado of dust
braking and hard-pedalling and fighting the headwind
(for one bequeathes the other, and the scary shunts from across the shoulders)
oil slick sneaker sandstorm set back, sliders for the subsequence
grill on the hill was a thrill when even the slider nearly blew away
santa lucia, bocadillo con queso, cortardo y cerveza it’s great to be back
sunbathing stoned on the balcony avec joan of arc in lossless quality
thinking maybe capitalism is not so bad:
ah well, we all rely on the good souls who forgive us
skelly wean, have you tried the toblerone?
it’s very expensive, and different but not nicer
I have a theory that every generation knows completely different stuff
different, but the same
i suppose i still had burns on my mind from the burns night celebrations. i had been at a friend’s for a haggis supper. i had hoped i might get a chance to recite some poetry, but it didn’t seem to be the vibe.
i like that there are some elemental homophones going on in the line. burns, like fire; air, like wind; and wll ice is water. and burns are also water. i don’t think the good people of compton celebrate cube suppers yet though. maybe in two hundred years?
january is the worst month of the year. 2025 is only getting better now. stanza 2 ‘witness (1 dope)’ is live on youtube/insta/the blog from tomorrow and is already up on apple music, spotify, etc
so ostensibly this line is about post-brexit toblerone. prices have indeed risen and qualify has dipped. whether it is toblerone widing its valleys, or cadbury changing its recipe.
but its also about brexit. and about late stage, hyper unequal, billionaires and paupers style capitalism. we privatise, financialise, put the price up and reduce the quality. the trick might have worked in 1979. but that was a very long time ago.
the love epochal. n.n. benn 