Category: Autobiographical

The old confused brain goes on a bit of a wobbly again, thinks the government along with American billionaire’s are in it together, slowly killing off my friends one by one. What is the use of poor artists and musicians these days, in an overpopulated world? But then I suppose this was the basic plot of the still not yet finished spletzer-martin story, so no new thought there then.

The devil has also come back in the form of a very nice sophisticated man who takes me on long walks around London, to see art exhibitions and drink martinis. He wears a red shirt sometimes, looks good in a waistcoat and says he would like to be the 18 stone wife of a wealthy banker…

I am of course very sane, in so much as I write this blog as a way to present the ridiculousness of my thoughts and therefore diminish their power over me.

What if Everything originated with the circle.

The circle that is hand drawn, a stick on a rope scratching through the mud.

The perfect circle cannot exist in time, for time instantly makes it imperfect.

Life is wonderfully imperfect

Last Friday I experienced the pain of being the kitchen door, I don’t know what to do with that pain now. They call this epilepsy.

I’m tired, my cat wants feeding and it is time for bed. Tomorrow we shall talk about potential sins over wine and bubbly. Tomorrow I shall try to avoid another spider’s web. Tomorrow is a gig in Deptford, London, at Sister Midnight records, where I hope some of the spirit of Screaming J Hawkins will scream through me. Tomorrow will be today very soon. Goodnight.

It is 1pm, I’m still in bed. I’ve been lying here thinking I should get out of bed for the last hour, but it’s not happening. The cat is asleep next to me and getting up would wake her up. So I’ll lie here and write a blog.

When I grow up I’m going to be an old woman, yes I said an old an old a really old woman.

Can’t remember who sang that, but yes I will be a really old woman with extremely long white hair that slithers down my body like a snake. I’ll sit on a tree stump in the middle of a woods muttering to myself. You will visit me there, and I’ll probably spit at you and you will be pleased that I did. Though by then you will be really really old too. Unless you have had large quantities of plastic surgery to keep you young, in which case you probably won’t register as living to me, who will be talking mainly to the trees.

If then you are really old like me, bring a good red wine or bottle of champagne along with you and we can sit in the wood and drink the night away singing old half remembered songs. We will be so old by then we won’t worry about health conditions or waking up in the morning. Maybe we will take off all our clothes, so we’ll be really old and naked in the woods, and we’ll dance around all wrinkly like the trees.

For those of you in London this weekend I will be squeezing my big fat belly into a tight tight corset or other type garment and prancing around stage. Join me in some wiggling of the bottom and wobbling of the thighs at The Constition in Camden, 42 st Pancras way, NW1 0QT. This Sunday starting 8pm. Free I believe, but possibly a £2 raffle ticket.

Anyone who gets there and can say “Big Fat Belly!” Gets a free badge.

The new tables I’m on keep me in linear time, put me in a good mood, improve taste, and increase my appetite, unsurprisingly.

At first I was curious and, I must admit, a little excited. You see I’ve never put much weight on before. I was a skinny girl, a stick insect, and the boyish figure stayed into adulthood with little change. I wanted a ‘womanly’ figure, as my friend Jill puts it. At various times I had tried to put on weight, stuffing vast cakes till I felt sick, but it wasn’t happening.

Now all that has changed.

First though I have to say how great it is to enjoy food. I look forward to eating now, I plan my meals in advance. I realise I love aubergine and peeled tomato (the skins give me stomach cramp), broccoli and stilton, almonds and apricot. Before they had tasted pleasant now they taste great!

And I can eat, boy can I eat! I wouldn’t say food is better than sex, but eating a big meal and having a big full belly does make me feel weirdly sexy. I also find a full belly a comforting thing, when I was stressed working on a commission the other day a belly full of good food was a nice thing to stroke.

But here is where it all goes wrong. Friends I tell about my new love for food tend to be very negative about it, “oh you better get down the gym” they say and “diet, diet, diet! And fast one day a week”. I think this a little extreme as my weight gain isn’t even very noticeable yet.

Then there’s the internet. I start to grow out of my clothes, not that much but things are starting to look significantly tighter. I decide to buy a new outfit for teaching, I like to look smart. I go on the Internet to look at what’s available. I pick one and go to buy it, need to measure my chest, hips and waist – but my god my waist is huge! According to this Ive gone from extra small to medium verging on the large in four weeks! I don’t buy it and look for something else. Now I notice lots of adds popping up for dieting and exercise. I click one. I have never dieted in my life, do I have to now? Does this new delight for food have to be reined in?

More adds come up, now there are medical ones, talking about large bellies and the link to diabetes. I feel squeamish. I look down at my belly, it looks massive! I am a giant pregnant elephant!

I’m a psychological mess obsessed with weight for two days. I ate hardly anything which is exceedingly hard on these tablets. Then I stoped. I knew there was a reason why I avoid popular culture, it can turn you into a wreck!

Now time for a big breakfast

Begotten – created, produced, generated, spawned.

The silent cult film called Begotten directed by E.Elias Merhige and released in 1990 starts with God disemboweling himself till he dies. Mother Earth then emerges from his remains, sexually arouses the corpse and inseminates herself with his semen.

The Begotten, the band, creates the live soundtrack to this dark fantasy horror. Or at least it used to. Those that experienced these live events were disturbed in a way they could not explain nor shake off.

The peak of this was a version performed a couple of years ago with the original film recording of the 16mm film. This is where the band made their mistake. They watched this original film. Merhige had experimented with the film reel to give it an old, withered look, this included running the upshot negative through sandpaper before shooting. It was grain, it was beautiful, it was perfect for the film. Alas no digital copy of it can compare and it is only let out at a very high price.

So, this situation has generated a new type of performance. Based upon there original sounds this piece will emerge from the primitive mud to create a whole new experience.

An experiment.

A spawning

Starts 7.30pm Tuesday 30th October

Courtyard Theatre, Pitfield Street, N1 6EU

Come and be part of it.

This is a very sad blog indeed. Ugly Boy (real name Jeremy Henty), one of the founder members of the Rude Mechanicals, has passed away, I hope to a better world.

Ugly Boy was in the Rude Mechanicals before even I was a member. He bought a drum kit to distract his mind from the state of his Phd. He was an eccentric, a maths genius who got into Cambridge at the tender age of 16.  He perhaps could never quite cope with what had been expected of him. I remember him walking down Mill road in Cambridge, in the chefs trousers covered in pictures of knives and forks that he always used to wear, and a naughty grin on his face. I liked that grin.

I wish we had never lost touch, I wish things had ended on a good note, but you never can predict the future and “I’ll contact him tomorrow” will, in the end, fall short.

Below is a very old picture of the Rude Mechanicals, Ugly Boy is the man in the strange pyjama-like outfit. I’ve included the lyrics of a song he wrote for the band underneath. Rest in peace Jeremy.

You’re an ugly little boy
playing in the dirt
your friends are the bugs and the worms
and then there’s me

Oh what fun you have

Foul creatures draw near
and wipe their filthy paws
all vermin is here
because like is attracted to like

Don’t mess up my dress

Earth in my hair
and dew upon my skin
grime beneath my nails
and the ugly little boy
is watching closely

Oh what fun.

by Uglyboy 2001

The sketch is one i did a long time ago. It is of the men in the shadows, they were here then and they are here again. How to explain without seeming completely loopy?

There are men, at least they look like men, standing in the corners watching me. Not all the time, just occasionally. They have been here lately. They look like film detectives in long dodgy coats and black hats. They stand in the corners of my flat, by green bushes as I walk along the pavement, only half visible, but very definitely there.

They have taken lots of forms before though, government officials, aliens, the devil. Think I wrote a blog about them once or twice. I know it is them because there is something very sinister about them. They are taking notes on me, monitoring me. I often try to make light of them, call them friendly aliens or perhaps even Derek, and then they go away for a bit. But they always come back.

What do they want?

Where do they come from?

Do they mean me harm?

Why me?!

They don’t talk. Sometimes they open their mouths like they are going to scream, but nothing comes out.

What do they know that I don’t?

What am I supposed to do?

Is it part of a conspiracy?

The other day I was seeing them around lots. Also people’s faces were changing, collapsing. Like mercury their noses and eyes were melting down their faces.

Were they part of the same conspiracy?

yet I must pretend that they are not there, that I can’t see them, and that everyone face is in one piece and not sliding off. I must pretend that everything is ok, and so I do.