Where There Were No Doors

Follow your bliss and doors will open where there were no doors before - Joseph Campbell

Sunday, March 05, 2006

All over now, baby blue

All good things must come to an end. And yes, even the not so good things too. This is the last post.

But fret not, dear reader. For as one thing fades, so another blossoms.

Please join me on The Quiet Road.

(oh, and update your links and bookmarks and whatnot if you get a moment).

Farewell.
Full post...

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

A round up

Well, I'm off to Dublin in a little over four days. All a bit hectic to be honest, and I don't really have the time to write much just now (I did write a great piece about ID cards last night... one of my better essays; succinct, funny and devastating; as is always the case when your browser crashes and you lose the bloody thing!) I don't have the time to rewrite it, and I doubt I'd recapture some of the better turns of phrase anyway. Sorry about that.

I've also got a long essay about the 'Muhammed cartoons row' in the works. Unlike many of the bloggers I regularly read, I find it to be a fascinating and very important story. My article has already wandered off on several tangents... the potential for idolatry to act as both cultural powderkeg and cultural safety-valve depending upon the historical context... the role of symbols in shaping human behaviour... the nature of religious belief...

you get the picture. Let's just say I'm unlikely to finish it very soon, given how little time I can devote to blogging just now. However, should you find yourself in need of some fine web-based writing, then you could do a lot worse than read some of the best of recent blogging:

It almost goes without saying that Harry Hutton has written the funniest thing about the Dick Cheney hunting accident.

Meanwhile John Reid (Secretary for Violence Against Foreigners) is neatly skewered and roasted over at Chicken Yoghurt. Justin hits the nail right on the head when he writes,
It's almost as if he's saying, if you want us to respect your religion you need to accept that our lads may want to give one or two of you a kicking now and again and be expected to get away with it.

David Byrne recently published a piece on a subject that's been on my mind a lot lately. Go read Selfless if you're in the mood for something philosophical.

Joel has written another excellent piece.

The Curmudgeon reveals the revelling of Rifkind in the notion of limited military strikes against Iran. After all, Iran is more serious than Iraq was wrongly claimed to be.
Full post...

Saturday, February 11, 2006

I Heart Zoe Williams

While I waste time droning on about Orwell, or semiotics, or emergent intelligence, Zoe Williams manages to completely eviscerate Reality Television with a few short paragraphs about children's fiction.

Go read House of Cards now.


- End -
Full post...

Friday, February 10, 2006

Eighteen (9 x 2)

It's a blog meme thing. If you're looking for something highbrow to read, check the Orwell quote in the previous post. Quality stuff. I'm planning a big essay on why the essays of George Orwell should be compulsory reading for everyone between the ages of 14 and 18. We'd have to set up some sort of surveillance system to make sure everybody complies of course...

But back to the matter at hand. Merrick (of the Orwell essays) completed the 7x7 blog meme thingie that I'd tagged him with. However, he decided to expand it to make it the 9x9 blog meme. Then he requested (in the comments) that I complete the additional two questions. Which I'm doing now.

Nine Things I've Only Done Once And Don't Expect To Do Again

  1. Build a soft-drinks factory in Saudi Arabia.
  2. Spend three days driving around the UK in a van with my best friend and three big bags of cash desperately trying to find somewhere he could buy a fake passport because he had pissed off both the police and some quite violent drug dealers.
  3. Run naked across one of London's major bridges.
  4. Get shot at (expect? well, it's more a fervent hope).
  5. Datura.
  6. Vote Labour.
  7. Laugh derisively and call someone "a sad fuck" when they proudly show me their new tattoo.
  8. Lose my virginity.
  9. Get arrested and interrogated by the KGB.

Nine Songs I Don't Think I Could Live Without

  1. Madame George - Van Morrison
  2. Listening Wind - Talking Heads
    (This song is from the first album I ever bought - Remain In Light - and it holds within it almost everything that's made music such a central part of my life. It deals with politics through the poetry of magical realism and reveals a timeless wisdom... all the while keeping you mesmerised by the rumbling music behind Byrne's imagery.)
  3. All Is Full Of Love - Björk
  4. Life on Mars? - David Bowie
    (I just can't imagine never hearing that lilting "It's a god-awful small affair..." opening again.)
  5. Back to the Old House - The Smiths
  6. It's Only Love - The Beatles
  7. Tomorrow Never Knows - The Beatles
    (To be honest, there's about a dozen Beatles songs that spring instantly to mind when I try to imagine "songs I couldn't live without". These were merely the two that muscled their way to the front and provided a good cross-section of the band's music. Lennon's gloriously ragged voice on the chorus of It's Only Love gives me goosebumps nearly every time. And well... Tomorrow Never Knows needs no justifications from me.)
  8. Until The End of The World - U2
    (from Achtung Baby when the band were at their peak. For those of you who can't see past the whole 'Bono' thing, it really is your loss. During the early 90s, for about about 4 years, U2 made truly sublime music. And this track captures the whole period perfectly. It also drags me right back there... to a very groovy period of my life indeed. Ace.)
  9. Gloria - Patti Smith

Full post...

Read some Orwell

My friend Merrick recently gave me a very lovely gift... a weighty tome entitled 'Essays' by George Orwell. It is 1,300 pages of the finest, wisest, most insightful writing of the last century. Indeed, ever.

Every essay in the book; whether a newspaper column from the war years or a one page review of a long-forgotten book or a lengthy piece assessing the cultural impact of the work of Charles Dickens; every one of them contains within it at least one line or idea that forces you to think in a new way about something you'd previously taken for granted.

That's the essence of great political writing. Indeed, for me, Orwell is easily our finest political writer. Certainly he didn't have as great an impact as some others (Marx springs immediately to mind), but I'd argue that may be because - ironically enough - he's far more revolutionary. I don't have time to write my big "Read Orwell's Essays!" essay just yet, but I came across this wonderful paragraph and I felt compelled to share it with you...
Marx's famous saying that "religion is the opium of the people" is habitually wrenched out of its context and given a meaning subtly but appreciably different from the one he gave it. Marx did not say, at any rate in that place, that religion is merely a dope handed out from above; he said that it is something the people create for themselves, to supply a need that he recognized to be a real one. "Religion is the sigh of the soul in a soulless world. Religion is the opium of the people." What is he saying except that man does not live by bread alone, that hatred is not enough, that a world worth living in cannot be founded on "realism" and machine guns? If he had foreseen how great his intellectual influence would be, perhaps he would have said it more often and more loudly.
- George Orwell
Notes on The Way (April 1940)


- End -
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Saturday, January 28, 2006

7x7 blog meme

In the name of all that's sacred, I said I was going to be busy for the next few weeks! So what makes you think I have time to be doing this 7x7 blog meme thing!? Honestly Justin, it boggles the mind.

Still, if that's what people want to read, who am I to blow against the wind? I guess it's just one of those crosses we bloggers must bear. It's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it.

I wanted a blog post, and for my sins they gave me one, and when it was over I'd never want another.

Seven Things To Do Before I Die

  1. Fall in love one more time.
  2. Write something that sets off the same imaginative fireworks in the head of one reader, that Vineland by Thomas Pynchon set off in mine.
  3. Meet David Bowie.
  4. Rent a car and drive down the west coast of America.
  5. Grow my own food and learn to live sustainably.
  6. Become God-Emperor of earth and rule the planet as a benign dictator bringing an end to needless suffering and ushering in an Age of Enlightenment.
  7. Come to terms with my mortality.

Seven Things I Cannot Do

  1. Speak Russian.
  2. See the words "Aloe Vera" written down and not think 'Allo Vera in an exaggerated cockney accent.
  3. Eat red meat (or broccoli or cauliflower).
  4. Surf.
  5. Lift trains.
  6. See any way of affecting - via democratic means - the political, economic and structural changes that will be necessary to shift our society towards sustainability.
  7. Catch a falling star and put it in my pocket.

Seven Things That Attract Me to... (a woman)

  1. A pulse.
  2. Well whaddya want? I've been single for a long time!
  3. Anyways, what is this? Some kind of online dating meme?
  4. SWM WLTM SWF GSOH LSD CND BBC. I ask you!
  5. Intelligence, compassion, decency, anti-authoritarian outlook, wit, sincerity and creativity. What did you expect?
  6. And look, I'm a man, so yes it does help if the person in question is easy on the eye.
  7. Most importantly though... someone who enjoys my company and considers me easy on the eye. Those are very attractive qualities indeed.

Seven Things I Say

  1. Oh bugger!
  2. Well, it's like what Einstein said...
  3. Groovy.
  4. Bong anyone?
  5. Shush! Everyone be quiet! Check out this bit... the way the guitars kick in...
  6. Well, it's like what Orwell said...
  7. WHAT?!

Seven Good Books

  1. Vineland - Thomas Pynchon
  2. Love - Mahalia
  3. Relativity - Albert Einstein
  4. 1984 - George Orwell
  5. Stone Junction - Jim Dodge
  6. Tales of Ordinary Madness - Charles Bukowski
  7. Vermillion Sands - JG Ballard

Seven Good Movies

  1. Dolls
  2. Down By Law
  3. Office Space
  4. Serenity
  5. Zoolander
  6. Waking Life
  7. Amelie

Seven Blogs To Tag

  1. Bristling Badger
  2. Goldfish Nation
  3. Kerosene Oyster Hell
  4. Vertical Blue
  5. Jezblog
  6. Pigdogfucker
  7. Random Speak
Full post...

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

... and a Happy New Year

It's like the old gag about the guy with the New Year's Resolution "to stop procrastinating". At the end of January a friend enquires as to how it's going. The guy replies "Ah, I'm too busy at the moment. I'm gonna phase it in sometime in March".

Anyways, better late than never... The "so that was 2005 then? hmmmm"-post

Yes indeed. Another year over. And what a thoroughly shit one it was too. Mind you, it was keeping me an extra year from the grave, so in that respect I'm sad to see it gone.

I'm aware that Her Parasitic Majesty, The Queen of England made a similar observation about the general shitness of 2005 in her traditional Chrimbo Speech (she used that very phrase in fact... "general shitness"), and I don't want to appear as though I'm jumping on the royal bandwagon (a crime still punishable by death if done within sight of Windsor Castle), but all the same... 2005 was a shit year.

Leastways it was for me.

Of course, it was much worse for lots of people. Billions of people in fact. Whether it was hurricanes or earthquakes or war or famine or recovering from tidal waves, or just not having enough, there's no question that my year was significantly better than the 2005 experienced by many - indeed most.

All the same, I'm going to write about my year. The best teacher I ever had gave me some advice 'on being a writer'. He insisted that every human life was interesting enough to read about, so long as the person living it was a good enough writer. And I believe that to be true. I also believe that - on my good days - I kick ten shades of shit out of Martin Amis. And he gets on telly and everything.

Anyways, this is my blog, and my readership is self-selecting. So I'm sure that neither of you will be too put out if I prattle on a while about my 2005. I'll also fill you in on my plans for 2006 with regards to this blog.

2005 II: The Prequel (2004)

At the end of 2004, I said to myself (and to anyone who would listen) that I'd had a crap year and that 'oh-five would be an improvement. Life is a succession of peaks and troughs and I was convinced that 2004 was the bottom of the trough I'd been sliding into since the turn of the century. "2005 will see me heading in the direction of the next peak... it will be the year I turn things around". That was the theory.

And what a lovely theory it was too.

But it was wrong. Deeply deeply wrong. 2005 saw me continue my downward progress. Not only that, but the bastid slope got steeper.

Summer 2004 I discovered that I was ill. For several years I'd been "feeling like crap" (apologies if you find the medical jargon confusing), but attributed it to a general malaise. Depression even. I was in a deep blue funk and concluded that I'd emerge from it when I was ready - emotionally speaking. But in 2004, I was persuaded to consult a doctor for the first time in a decade. And a saga began.

Brain scans, body scans, injections, x-rays, surgery (minor), hospital stays and a shit-load of pills. Doctors with concerned looks on their faces consulted test results and shook their heads with a mixture of puzzlement and disbelief. Complex pieces of equipment were recalibrated and their readings were called into question. It was unsettling.

In the end, I made a temporary deal with The Man and I'm now dependent on Merck and Pfizer and Wyath Laboratories to sort me out with my daily fix. I find myself consuming pharmaceuticals in daily doses that make even my university years look tame. And - sadly - these ones don't allow me to see music. Or to intuit the fundamental interconnectedness of all things (though thankfully that one sticks with you). In return for downing these prescribed drugs, I have been "stabilised".

For most of 2005 I felt a tad gloomy about this. A dependency on The Man is not a sustainable state of affairs. Even if the large pharmaceutical corporations don't succumb to the coming global economic meltdown (in my view, they have a rather slim chance of survival) and specialist medications don't become the preserve of the powerful; I'm certain it's far from ideal - biologically-speaking - to take a handful of powerful drugs every day for decades.

I spent most of last year under the impression that this situation was fundamentally unalterable. Chances are, so long as I kept taking the pills, something else would eventually kill me. (It might be a bus. Tomorrow. We are none of us guaranteed anything.) But if I stopped taking the pills... well... "eventually" would almost certainly not be too far away.

I dunno... here's my thing... maybe it's all a big scam... maybe the 'doctors' are actually agents of Merck feeding me weird experimental psychoactive drugs and I'm really a 72-year-old woman living in a top-secret institute on the shores of Lake Lafayette in Tallahassee staring blankly at a screen detailing the events in the life of a 34-year-old man in London. Ever consider that? And if that's the case, the question that immediately springs to mind is why the hell aren't they changing the channel?

What with all those shows about millionaire playboys solving crime and sleeping with beautiful women. Or as Edward Ka'Spel might say...
We're the spectres on your screen
We murmur sweet transparent lunacy
Anyways, 2005 got a bit grim for a bit. But then suddenly a degree of grooviness and light. A possible route to actual health, as opposed to chemically-simulated health. However (and what a "however" this turns out to be). Amongst other things, it involves a fundamental change in how I live my life. Which brings me to...

The Future

As a result of all this and for lots of complicated reasons, I have decided to get the hell out of the city. My time in London has finally come to an end. I am moving to pastures new. Or rather, old.

I'm off to Dublin. The city I was born in, but left as a child. I've not spent more than a couple of weeks in it as an adult. My visits back to Ireland have always been to see my parents in West Cork. So although I've spent a few weeks in the country since my childhood, it's always as a tourist. A visitor. And almost none of it in my home town.

Of course, the city of my memories bears little resemblance to the Dublin of today. Which is no bad thing. I have no fondness for those memories... no nostalgia about Dublin in the 1970s. Indeed when I look back at my life, the decision of my parents to emigrate represents a massive liberation for me. Those who meet me today may be tempted to mutter something about frying-pans and fires.

In response allow me to point out that you get burnt by both, but at least the fire is interesting to look at.

The place I'm moving to is basically as far south and west as you can get in Dublin while still being on the transport system. Rathcoole to be exact. Intriguingly, within easy cycle-range of an area densely populated with prehistoric sites... burial mounds, tombs, stone circles and the like. I suspect if the Irish economic boom were to last another decade, Rathcoole would no longer be a relatively rural area on the edge of a big city. It would become a city suburb.

However I don't imagine that will happen (not that I plan to be in Rathcoole very long... it's very much a stepping stone... possibly to somewhere even more rural). No, my regular reader can probably guess the kind of odds I'd give on the Irish economic boom lasting another ten years.

See, although Ireland would be one of the least badly affected Western economies were a shortage of fossil fuels to play havoc with global capitalism, it's very much a relative thing... the difference, say, between a really really really hard kick in the balls and a really really really really hard kick in the balls. An altogether academic distinction to the man sobbing on the floor.

Home from Home (or: I Guess I'm Already There)

I left Ireland when I was twelve and I called seven countries on three continents "home" before I'd finished university. I've spent most of the time since university living in London. Living in nine separate places, though never south of the river. Of course. During that period I had extended stays living / working / travelling in Saudi Arabia, Germany, Brazil and the US (I spent almost the entirety of 1998 in Chicago). All that time though, I kept a flat in London. So by default London became the place I called "home" when I was living in hotels or tents.

It's the place I'm most familiar with. The place I have the longest uninterrupted connection with. It is my home. And now I'm leaving it "to go home".

Which, frankly, is all a bit fricking weird. When a cousin telephoned out of the blue and told me we'd have to go out for a drink "when I get home" I got a strange urge to whistle the Twilight Zone music.

All the same, Dublin is incontravertibly my "home town". I was born there, and lived there until the age of twelve. I was educated by the christian brothers and steeped in the unique mythology of Dublin at school and home alike. When I first set foot in Greece, I was definitely a child from Dublin. And so, for quite a few years I've known that one day I'd have to live there as a adult. Not for any exorcising demons bullshit (though there may well be a few ghosts lurking here and there), but simply because my understanding of who I am as a person will be forever lacking an essential component without a greater understanding of the place I came from.

Then I can piss off to the sun again.

Well, who knows? Neither my childhood memories nor my more recent short visits give the impression that it's a place I'd want to spend my life, but a confluence of external factors have made Dublin a good place for me to spend a year or two, so it makes sense to take this opportunity and learn a bit about the place while I'm there.

What about this place?

Well, there's a thing. To be honest, with my emigration / return being a shade less than five weeks away, I expect things to get a wee bit hectic and blogging to be light. Not that it could be much lighter than the past couple of months (I know, I know, I'm sorry... but I like to think I offer in quality what I lack in quantity. Matron.)

However I'm giving some serious consideration to reinvigorating my blogging efforts. Redoubling even. I have this hazy idea of tidying up my writing (just a very little bit), losing the nom de clavier, and focussing somewhat on Ireland (as seen through the eyes of someone who spent their childhood there, then spent 22 years all over the place, then came back).

Anyone who objects by saying that a switch of focus from the UK to "little old Ireland" might result in my writing becoming somehow less relevant, or less accessible, will be soundly beaten to death with a copy of Ulysses. Wielded by Shane MacGowan.

Not really. I'll do it.

I've no doubt that the same staggeringly destructive short-termism that I delight in revealing in British politicians is amply illustrated by their Irish counterparts (and if it isn't... well, that'll be a story in itself). And I'm curious to discover just how much damage the Celtic Tiger has done to the nation, how deeply the roots of Catholicism still go, and whether the spirit of a long and extraordinary history still lingers enough to be savoured without commodification or mediation.

We shall see.

Anyways, that's roughly the shape of things. Expect little activity between now and - say - the end of February. Then I'm going to launch the new site (probably using WordPress) with the new agenda, and threaten to firebomb the home of any bloggers I know who don't put me on their blogroll and big me up.

So yeah. Happy new year.
Full post...

Saturday, December 24, 2005

Merry Christmas!

It's that time of the year again; when paganism, christianity and consumerism collide. And just like a three-truck pile-up on a motorway, even those of us without a great identification with any of them find ourselves slowing down and taking in the spectacle.

Paganism

To be honest, I don't really know what this word means. According to the charming dictionary people of Oxford, a pagan is synonymous with a heathen... which means simply "someone who isn't Christian, Jewish or Moslem". Obviously this isn't very satisfactory. I feel certain that whatever unites Buddhists, Hindus, African Animists, atheists and modern self-styled pagans is too ephemeral to be considered worthy of it's own word... let alone two of them.

Yet, being a friend of several self-proclaimed "pagans", there seems to be a great deal of disagreement amongst even them as to what the word means. The beliefs of one pagan don't often match the beliefs of another, and indeed often seem rather more fluid and ill-defined than the dogmatic / sacred-text religions against which the nice folks of Oxford would contrast them.

So would it be fair - therefore - to describe paganism simply as "spirituality without the dogma"? Religion without a book? Again though... it's hardly satisfactory... it still lumps Buddhists and Hindus and Animists and self-proclaimed Pagans together (only the strictest of atheists escape), and I don't feel there's enough to unite the beliefs of all those people beneath a single banner.

Perhaps we should merely extend Oxford's definition... pagans are those with a "spiritual belief system" who are outside the Big Five (Christianity, Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam and Judaism). After all, surely Animism can be considered a form of paganism? Can't it?

Well, no. It can't.

Modern paganism - thanks to the lack of ancient texts, the only paganism we can truly know anything about - is a very different beast to traditional animism, as still practiced in much of Africa, parts of America (north and south) and Asia. Modern paganism has no tradition and is instead a set of individual beliefs derived primarily from the speculation of 18th and 19th century English academics and poets, and informed by the modern environmental movement.

This is not meant to denigrate paganism in particular. A spiritual belief based upon the speculation of 18th century Romantic poets and current ecological theory is just as valid as a spiritual belief based upon the writings of 1st century or 6th century or pre-Common Era mystics.

Christianity

On the surface, this appears to be an easier one to define and understand. But as the many disagreements with my flat-mate demonstrate; appearances can be deceiving. Having had a strict Christian upbringing (within the Roman Catholic tradition) it's my view that Christianity is found in books. A Christian is essentially a person who follows a set of rules and beliefs laid down in specific texts (and not merely "the bible" either; Catholicism - for instance - is a form of Christianity informed both by the bible, and the bible as interpreted by certain theologians... Saint Thomas Aquinas being the foremost of course).

My flat-mate (amongst others), however, would argue that Christianity can be better defined as the amalgamation of beliefs and behaviours of those who consider themselves christians. It isn't, therefore, what's found in the texts. Rather it's the visible manifestation of those texts.

Whilst studying theology, I always found the distinction between 'sacred-text' religions and other belief systems to be an essential one. Indeed it is the primary distinguishing feature of Christianity, Judaism and Islam. Individual interpretation is irrelevant to these religions, which makes it possible for a christian to act in a non-christian manner. So long as a modern pagan doesn't openly admit to contravening their own belief-system, it is impossible to describe them as "unpagan"... for "pagan" is simply what they define it to be. A modern christian, however, who fails to "turn the other cheek" is clearly acting in an unchristian manner for example (cf. Dubya Bush, Tony Blair, et al).

There is a clear set of rules which must be followed in order to be acting in a christian manner. And failing to follow those rules ("forgive us those who trespass against us") means that one is betraying one's christianity. Just because Dubya Bush claims to be a Christian and claims to have God on his side, does not make cluster bombs "christian". Sacred text religions allow a person's actions to be judged against an ideal. That is what makes them what they are.

Consumerism

Now this one is uncontroversial. Let me restate that... the definition of this one is uncontroversial. Consumerism is a modern socio-cultural system derived from the economic system known as "capitalism". This is not to say that a form of consumerism couldn't have developed out of some other economic system. But historically we have what we have.

In essence, consumerism tells us that the consumption of products and services gained through economic exchange is a primary function of individual members of society. Indeed it goes further; it implies that such consumption is one of the primary purposes of individuals within society, and confers fulfillment to those individuals who engage in it.

The Collision

There's no question that a dedicated capitalist-consumerist cannot at the same time be a good christian. There's far too much decrying of material wealth and attachments within the sacred texts of christianity to allow a life dedicated to the consumption of economically-derived products and services to be considered anything other than unchristian.

Similarly, modern paganism - though undefinable - is clearly informed by modern environmentalism. And one cannot be a good capitalist-consumerist without doing unnecessary environmental damage.

And finally, it's clear that Christianity - whatever else it is - is a rejection of all forms of paganism. By locating itself within a dogmatic text (or texts) christianity refuses the individual's right to define their own spirituality. The only interpretations considered valid are those provided by a qualified or appointed member of the clergy. "Picking and choosing" those christian rules which best suit the individual is not the christian way.

As mentioned at the beginning of this piece, however, this collision of three entirely incompatible belief systems is a culturally special time, even for those of us who fail to subscribe to any of them. It's a time of hope; a time when our common humanity - whatever our beliefs - should be celebrated; a time of peace and goodwill to all men and women.

So please dear reader... have a very Merry Christmas!
Full post...

Thursday, December 01, 2005

The whirlwind

Hallo there my loyal reader. I'm surprised you're still here to be honest; I've not been online very much of late. I find myself in ill-health and it turns out that medical stuff both takes up a lot more time than you'd give it credit for, and also makes a person less interested in prattling on about top ten albums or the utter idiocy of those in power.

Please don't feel too sympathetic though... if anything's to blame for this, it's my own mis-spent youth. So I am merely reaping what I've sown.

This, sadly, means somewhat sporadic blogging as I'm not turning this blog into "Jim's Health Journal". I can't imagine anything less interesting. I do have a piece of writing in the works about the phrase "History will be my judge" (and just how much it annoys me), but you'll have to wait a wee while longer for that. Be good.
Full post...

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Two items for your consideration

The main news is that Joel has started to blog again, though as he mentions in his email, "blogging may be seldom". Nonetheless, even a solitary post per month from Mr. Biroco is probably more than the internet deserves. Head over there and read the only blog I wouldn't hesitate to describe as "literature".

Next. I know I've said this before, but it bears repeating. Astral Weeks genuinely is the finest album ever recorded. If you don't own it then you're going through life in a strange, empty shadow-world. And I pity you.

(there's nothing below the fold)
Full post...

View my Last.fm playlist


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