Great things in great volume

Months have passed since any attempt at a new entry and there has been a hell of a lot going on. So where to start, I’m lying in bed with a throat full of razors at two in the morning after watching Lost in Translation.

Sure signs of restlessness and discomfort I’d kill for those mint strepsils right now. Some soothing jazz piano will fit the bill for the time being, no sympathy for smokers with a nasty cough.

As of recent I’ve landed two jobs at once, made friends with the locals, dealt with grievances and split my head open after a recent assignment.

Time is a concept I can now manage more effectively, however the greater portions of it belong to the confines of a cubicle and monitor.

Not ideal but there is rarely a happy medium; be skint with all the free time and bitterly resent the price of living or work your arse off till you wonder how it’s already August.

To some degree I have control of my time off yet I also feel as though every event and interaction is brief and impersonal. This is the modern world.

Succeeding with Miller has opened up the most promising opportunities for me. After trying with the local press without so much as the decency of a reply, I now get paid to review my personal escapades and misadventure in Glasgow.

Life is now faster than Usain Bolt with a coke habit. What I could really use is a break, anywhere but here and the regular three Gs I frequent. My head has definitely not been firing on all cylinders for some time, recuperation and rest must be booked and seen to immediately.

N.B need to read more and this entry is a complete speel with no filter or spillage tray.

Kudos

Most of us are egotistical, I for one am most definitely and those who are quicker to refute this claim are usually even moreso. As I lay down last night I was tired, restless and full of antibiotics so I browsed through some Interpol videos and couldn’t believe that one was fan made. This person clearly has strong artistic attributes or a gift as some might say, for the clips I watched the comments were not filled with the usual arguements, just praise and gratitude.

The usual responses would be “thanks for the great feedback” and “keep the views up, please share on Facebook and Twitter”. I didn’t care to scour the video comments in great depth however it was apparent that the uploader has the grace to remain silent about his or her work. It builds bewilderment and intrigue which makes me think; that’s exactly what he or she wants. The allure of mystery that makes observers infinitely more enthralled in the their work – a fine job at that.

Maybe the uploader is too busy, a deep seated introvert who silently feeds off the praise which is perhaps a large part of that driving force to keep making more. I’ll give this mystery person good merit either way, world cinema and a world class band can work very well together. What more needs to be said?

http://www.youtube.com/user/Lightwerc?feature=watch

The full story?

Miller competition http://www.facebook.com/itsmillertimeuk?sk=app_148845281916058

Against the odds, against the elements and more importantly against jackets. It was Hogmanay 2010, myself and Andy were struck with a last minute dilemma of where to get wild and twisted  amidst the animosity of the rapidly approaching pre-bell chaos.

It was looking grim, so we got cracked into a few beers after work, put on some music and frantically phoned around a few friends to find out what was going on,  nothing took our interest – we wanted something better. Pendulum came on the playlist and then it all made perfect sense, everything from then on fell into place. We decided to throw the whole weight of our collective decision on seeing Pendulum rip it up at The Arches.

The time was now, with the beers polished off and some shots of Jamiesons for good measure we took to the streets at high pace with high spirits; the only path for men like us, straight to the main nerve – full commitment. It’s a unique sight in Glasgow to see the infectious youthful buzz of two good old boys enroute to a big night out, half-ripped on whiskey and beer with no violent intentions, simply feeding off of each others banter.

We queued like quivering man-babies due to our noble idea to ditch the jackets. The bouncer held all the cards now and was to decide the fate of our hopeful and untimely social crusade. With a stroke of luck there was tickets left, very reassuring for these humble fools.

We’re in! Enter the nightlife commandos, there was no time for queues so big rounds were the only solution and no fucking cloakroom antics. I heard cheers and hysteria, it had begun. We dashed for a sweet spot and got lodged into the crowd, desperately trying to keep our round intact from the pilled-out chaff in the mob. These were the real mdma freaks and and coke heads with dangerously skinny frames, mineraly deficient stubble and burt out serotin levels, good people if not somewhat spaced out or sweating on you.

The main event! Music flooded the whole room, a riptide of pure electric energy crashed down all around us and with it came an explosive reaction from the crowd. We went wild with drum beats, got entranced by melodies intertwined with esoteric lights and bass pushed through us with resonating waves of deep vibrations. We had reached Huxley’s promise land and with the right kind of eyes, you could see he him up on stage smiling intently and waiting for the right moment to hazard a bash at crowd surfing in that pre-dawn euphoria of the new year.

Transition

Mind = Blown

Weeks of unemployment felt like a complete drag, moreso than a brief period of freedom to get grounded in some serious writing. Inescapable waves of defeatest depression overcomes the mind and made any form of creative outlet very difficult to say the least. Some may relate, some may not, for me it seems the only thing to do some days is cut off contact, close the blinds and get sucked in to a serious session on the X-Box.

I had been in Dunoon too long it felt like cabin fever, I was too short of cash to make anything decent of a night in Glasgow so I settled for some dead-end antics in a dead-end town. Greenock, Gourock, Wemyss Bay and Inverkip, we had covered more than planned. In Greenock it felt like a time lapse, I was 18 and stone broke in a town where passing faces were as hopeless as a junkie’s future – no spark of life, no ambition, not even complacency, just a passive yet resentful acceptance of a doomed existence in dull mediocrity.

Bumping into old friends and aquiantances, some of whom were still ranting about the same people and problems from when I left this place three or maybe four years ago. The neds and junkies come in hordes, it was bad before, now they’re the citizens and I’m the oddball. There’s an image in my head of that typical Greenockian alcoholic in all his underbelly charm and the subsequent cycle of events depicting how many more will follow, for lack of better options or otherwise.

It’s not all grim, an unbelievable heatwave swept across Scotland and with it came Saturday’s adventure; a walk from Griffin’s house to the cut, an honest (if not skewed) journey to the hill’s peak on a fine day. I have audio recordings of the strangest and most incoherent jibberish from this event and will be transcribed in due course.

I’m certain that on that day, I had undergone an inter-related experience far greater than anything I have ever learned in childhood from the forced doctrines of fear and repentance at church and primary school.

I seen how the wind breathed life into the earth, watched distant plains of grass sway in mezmerizing patterns and witnessed strange encryptions in the sky as if it was the planetery DNA.

On that special Saturday 26/05/2012  I seen a part of life that’s beyond our everyday vision.

Post-election blues

The ride is most definitely over, the buzz of standing behind a potential candidate is all but a fond memory. We tried to win the hearts and minds of the public though we didn’t win quite enough to secure that third and final position.

After all the glorious weather we had the fortune of working with; the election itself was as dreary as they come. The turnout was better than expected – 40% give or take – and we stood as sentries at polling stations with a mix of resentment for the opposition and pleasentries for the voters, it felt wierd and something I believe only a professional government type could do.

There was exchange of words that elevated in most cases to debate between party supporters, the same old rehtoric but something that undoubtedly needs to be addressed; the man on the street still does not know the ramifications if independence fucks up and they are left in a post-seperatist delirium perpetualy being shafted by a big yellow and black placard.

To conclude the election on a short note “The old guard gets in and they don’t want to leave”.

Restless and senseless

For the past few days I’ve had a hard time concentrating, I keep coming up short on content I thought I knew about and questioning my approach to politics. I need shelter from this awful weather – this thai blood wasn’t meant for perpetual downpour and radical shifts in the current forecasts has me wearing ridiculous winter hats with summer jackets.

Weather aside I need stability and a sense of home, as nomadic and restless as I’ve been; I’ve not properly settled as I had imagined due to past workplace compatibility issues. There is a lot of tension in the air with that nonesense and I still haven’t faced the music.

Unemployed, feeling lousey, washed up, bottom feeder, no credentials and no inspiration – too old to act young, too young to act old.

I need to hammer out a draft on local multi-culturalism which is a great topic but my brain is ceasing to function due to a poor diet of coffee, cigarettes and chocolate biscuits – all the stimulants with no base fuel, a dangerous road to lethargy and high blood pressure.

I’m away on my third round of leafleting tomorrow morning with Mick and Danny, there is an interest in politics here but all the talk points to an iron clad in-group of councilors – one of which supposedly buys off elderly voters with all expenses paid lunches. Over here a familiar face may be necessary for a successful candidacy however it seems that locals are savvy to the dysfunctional council and thankfully unlike many voters, they’ve not reached apathy, they still give a damn and want to see some fresh change.

Tweed out.

I hope God isn’t a bad DJ

As a seasoned drinker there is always fundamentals to enjoying the fast paced nightlife of our young, decadent culture. Just as in a restaruant you would want your food served fresh and with good service the same general rule should be applied to a night out; good friends, good drinks, good atmosphere and good music.

For DJs, many people think they have it easy. However they have to cater to an ever changing scene and keep their audience happy. There is one belief that has served me well, the good DJs always tend to have a positive attitude, good knowledge of the kind of music they are playing, take an active interest and contribute personal input like tasteful remixes and fine-tweeking the sound levels. Try to stick with the same type of music they’re palying for example if they played a bit of the Yardbirds then you could suggest some Jefferson Airplane, if they are playing Rusko then ask for Skream – requests usually aren’t required unless you’re pretty adamant, the music they play will flow like wine. The good ones give you the time of day when you approach them – even if you don’t happen to be female.

The bad ones are the types that tend to have been a long standing male resident DJ in a smalltown and will refuse to play anything that didn’t make capital fm that month or didn’t get them a shag last week. Common characteristics include a tense facial expression, a penchant for dismissing mortals whilst looking busier at turning dials than ever before and cramped working conditions irrelevant of visible space in the booth due to their formidable egos. If you wish to take on these “goliaths” of remote nightlife then act like an expert on the matter, pretend to be a whimsical socialite on a high profile PR job or compliment his last track and elaborate on how he used a little bit of cross-fader and filter to make the music merge – he will probably agree with you even if he didn’t do the aforementioned.

It’s rare this kind of DJ has much credibility in terms of music production and will probably not have collaborated a playlist nevermind a setlist, so hound the bastard to get what you want, offer to buy him a drink, express your concern with the lack of good DJs like himself or say how “street” he looks in his pseudo-gangster attire however a folly would be to clock his phoney slang and ask him what suburb he’s from. If all fails then count your losses, with any luck you’ll be too drunk to care and be chatting jibberish to a stranger that in any other circumstance you wouldn’t have given the time of day. Compare these crooks to the inflation happy prices of a petrol station kiosk and the severe lack of other choices for miles – nasty pre-packaged sandwich with a packet of crisps at the price of a pre-theater please.

Old Dukers

I am not a Bolshevik

Graeme’s 21st birthday marked one of the best nights in the old flat, I got fired from firewater for giving him a free drink, after trying to reason with Jokey he said he couldn’t run the risk of keeping me there and returned to Kirstin and Becky’s flat feeling pretty lousy.

After sulking and thinking about how I was to go about getting another job the buzzer went, Becky picked up and there was no answer, two minutes later a freight train of fiends kicked the door down. It all happened really fast we where in the bedroom when we heard a scream and alot of bad noise, the animosity broke and entered like a cowboy swat team. Thomo dived on top of me like the Ultimate Warrior loaded on  Whyte and McKay and Graeme had Kirstin upside down and dumped in a the laundry basket; following that I was hauled out of the flat over Thomo’s shoulders like a helpless kidnap victim.

We ended up at the flat I was sober full of shock and humour from all that was going on, we then drank and discussed how I wouldn’t need the job before eventually dropping like flies. We awoke to loud gunfire and preaching from one of Graeme’s questionable game choices we thought it was the bloody apocalypse, we then lounged around the living room and nursed our thumping hangovers with Platoon on the telly and enough junk food and energy drinks to give a warcraft addict an anxiety attack.

Following recent events and changes I ended up moving in with Graeme and we worked the living hell out of Spar, it was what it was as far as those kind of  jobs go. After taking in the vastness of my first non-student flat I dropped my bags in the hall and checked out my room, the carpet was filthy, an avalanche of dust came down with each adjustment to the curtains and that night I slept without a mattress cover; no complaints, I was just kind of chuffed to have my own place.

It was an aged Glasgow tenement above Coia’s cafe and a solicitors on the middle of Duke Street, the close had loose and worn stairs that felt like a game of chance when you came home shitfaced. We had a leak from the bath/shower combo that wiped out the flat downstairs and had our water turned off during the fierce winter of that year plus the heating was useless because of the high roofs and unpatched holes; being able to see your breath inside the flat during winter was a great addition. We fought tooth and nail with our letting agent who told us all problems we encountered came under the act of God, “It’s Sue from Access Properties” she would say in a shrill piercing voice after being reluctant to answer her call.

Eobhain came to visit us, meaning of course he shacked up for a week before he went to Derby for a metal festival. One thing was certain; we needed booze and we needed it in abundance. We drank, smoked and had long winded conversations about politics and philosophy whilst pausing for moments to take in the most beautifully crafted leads  from Animals by Pink Floyd.

Memories of the old faulty and overpriced accommodation seem like only yesterday. I remember Graeme came home sunburnt and up peppered with mosquito bites from a two week holiday in Portugal resembling Dr Zoidberg from Futurama, he once cooked up a curry in a rusty frying pan which I found out after eating and wondered how long before this nasty dish repeated on us.

One of the crowning moments for the flat has got to have been when Graeme’s roof collapsed on his face when he was sleeping, it all happened before I awoke but I thought it was just Graeme mucking about and a guitar fell over, I walked in later to check if he was ready for work and noticed the corner of his roof was scattered all over his bed. He said he was lucky to roll out the way when the big slabs fell down but he still got showered with plaster dust and debris, sympathy came after the overwhelming humour of the situation.

Everything that happened there for better or worse happened, it’s these strange experiences that shape us and make us reflect on a pocket in time that might not have meant much at that particular moment but in hindsight you wouldn’t have it any other way. To anyone moving into their first flat; there’s no fun without dysfunction.

Round up 03/12

Greece

Monetary union was a recipe for disaster from the start, a grand idea that intended to ease trade but it seems that ramifications and rationality where overlooked in the pursuit of fiscal solidarity.

Greece always comes to mind amid Eurozone discussions, their economy shrank by 7% and then a further 6% has been estimated this year, it seems as though money is being funnelled from European leaders to a completely incompetent Greek government. It is feared that living standards will drop to third world working conditions.
Costas Douzinas from the Guardian has reinforced the commonly supported argument that Greece was sold out, the financial and political elite relaxed tax regulations for the rich and ran up a huge government debt with public expenditure.

To further these allegations it is reported that the collapse of Greece was the intention from the start. Greece’s economy was to be imploded and sold to private investors including land, it is speculated that England has offered to buy Corfu. It could be indications of the next stage by over zealous neo-liberals trying to rig the planet in their favour, classic divide and conquer applied to global finance.

Latvia

A resurgence of far right ultra-nationalists has been in recent news, Latvia has had fascists and WW2 SS veterans take to the streets to pay tribute to Waffen SS fighters. The majority of the Russian and Jewish  minorities have condemned these public events and held a counter demonstration in response.

With the massacre carried out by Anders Breivik resonating in many people’s memories and Latvia’s stifling economy, tensions are high in the land once caught between the Red Army and the Nazis.

Middle-East and North Africa

Tension is still on the rise with Syria’s destabilisation, Libya’s fallout and Iran’s nuclear development.
These three countries have had some considerable amount of clout from regimes, civil war and foreign military intervention (conventional or otherwise). In today’s media there is much left unanswered, rebel forces for example have been reported to have al qaeda militias operating from within the ranks. Syria’s security forces have launched attacks on it’s own citizens yet they are unable to identify other sporadic attacks across the land. The Free Syrian Army (former security force defectors) have not claimed responsibility for these actions but have been involved in several skirmishes and the Red Cross have been denied access to the Baba Amr area of Homs.

The Guardian and RT has uploaded an unverified video of Libyan rebels “forcing detainees to eat the Gaddafi flag”. The footage shows black Africans held captive and being forced to eat the loyalist green Gaddafi flag whilst being called dogs. Atrocities are to be expected in post-war country yet it still conveys an inhumane image. This is what can be expected without a contingency programme, western powers carried out these acts with humanitarian relief as their cover story.

Poor relations with Iran have escalated further, Tehran has failed to cooperate with the IAEA (International Atomic Energy Agency). India has been shamed for still trading with Iran specifically in oil which has angered the hawks of the American senate. Reza Sajjadi, Iran’s Russian ambassador believes recent actions of the west is continuing an old political agenda against Iran, expressing that the IAEA wanted to inspect the facilities before signing the protocol and in response propaganda and disinformation was spread about Iran’s nuclear capabilities. Western agenda or a regime official’s opinion; wouldn’t place much trust in either of those.
Barrack Obama addressed AIPAC (American Israel Public Affairs Committee) this month stating to Israeli leader Benjamin Netanyahu that “America has Israel’s back” and that all options are on the table in regard to relations with Iran. The Islamic republic has been accused by Prime Minister David Cameron of “seeking” to build an inter-continental nuclear weapon which could threaten the west, yet has pleaded with Israel to allow recent sanctions to force Iran to change its hand.