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Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Mack Truck HeavenI'm gonna drive me to Mack Truck Heaven
Where the smokies are all down in Hell,
I'm gonna drive me to Mack Truck Heaven
Get them truck stop girls all to ma self
Gonna ride that truckin' convoy to the stars
Where there aint no goddamn godforsaken cars
Gonna ride that truckin' convoy to the stars
Where cheap women serve cheap beers in the bars
Oh lord I'm in heaven now at last
The sweet gasoline's a flowing by so fast
Pretty rainbows in the grease, now I've got some blessed peace
And my speed, whore, trucking days are in the past.
sketched by dweller at 10:07 pm1 comments
Take one salt cellar.
Fill with glitter.
Cook a banana soufflé.
Add a squeeze of maple syrup.
Sprinkle with glitter.
Then shove it up your shitter.
Squeal with delight.
Let it all back out.
Onto your box of lego.
You will feel like a winner.
sketched by dweller at 11:26 pm0 comments
writing half asleep.
Half undone, bottoms off.
Quiet bar the fan hum.
My ears are closing the helmet pressure
a suppressed yawn.
A late one again,
but this is my time.
Block the neurotic thoughts,
blank and free as the sleepy lobes
wait patiently for me to hit pillow
and free up their ghost.
the interest lies in the space and
the interface , the panetary system,
the ants nest and the jam jar.
the clues are inside and the ability to
bear the mundanity and not fight against it.
I criticize all,
I cannot relate,
I feed myself,
for feet and arms and head and teeth
the eyes the uniform the standing spine,
the bounce of walking ...
sometimes it feels free,
but lately it is forced into a
fakeness I never thought I would occupy.
Well, perhaps it's good for me after all.
You dear reader won't get this,
but then it's not for you.
It's late and sleep is here.
Muscles are telling me,
they keep me company,
my aches and nerves are silently chastising.
Okay meat, lets sleep.
sketched by dweller at 12:49 am0 comments
Here is the first installment of Ween outtakes and
unreleased rare tracks, remastered, generally souped up and
released on the band's own label chocodog.
Click on the picture to buy.
sketched by dweller at 9:19 pm1 comments
I trusted the banquet givers. their quiet ways, and kindly smiles.
Could she even have thrown my keys against the windscreen that night, were it not for their tender encouragement
discuss my ass
the bullshit replies. get off my tongue Jackass
I'll tongue the hell out of you honey
And with this knife stuck in your ear I dont think so, huh?
Abilities I admired in her, such coarse and treacle sludge.
She knew I was pissed, it was always raining and nighttime.
C'mon sucker drive me lets drive vrummm baby c'mon stick it in
Aw hell I've been set up, trapped but you know they knew I had it coming. Here goes towards the hedgerow get the wipers wiping ok
son of a beech. Misting up big time, get yr hand outta my pants and open tha window. Fuck this shit, country road big old night and RAIN coming from the darkness, stuck in the Ford with her and our baccy brewery stench. Cursing them again, she aint listening just giggling
Tease me tease me tease me baby you can tease me til I cant take no more. Wheels braking I reverse into a field gate siding mud pit with wet cows over the fence. She's fallen asleep by now; lost interest when we both got silent back there in the night. I'm gonna snooze up til morn. I got peace again seeing the murky dawnlight. And sweet baby breath's gonna lullaby my pissed ass goodnight.
sketched by dweller at 10:03 pm0 comments
Attempted flight I flew
A machine of sorts I’d built
In a milky glass to share
Bonded by the indigo fruit
Dreamt by your eyebrow hair
I collected my spare wings
And all the other pretty things
Took them up above the clouds
Where fruit and blues are nowhere seen
Showed your sweet brow view
So that awakened you knew
Take in the broader scene
Where you and I have always been
A place unreal and without doubt
A vineyard empty of all woes
Where wine is drunk by few
And the light is seldom blue
sketched by dweller at 11:55 pm0 comments
The dead time kilburn high road ,
3 am jump off a night bus,
even the silverhaired supertees are in bed,
their wives restless while they snore.
I am walking past the last closing kebab windows,
I am not drunk. I am not singing.
I have a destination in the streets behind Iceland.
Where mums never go.
The once wooden trap door of a pub cellar long shut down 30 years before is levered open.
I climb down into pitch dark, lower the lid and flick the switch.
I slump down on the mattress.
I try to make this moment feel as exciting as the first time.
But that sense of safety and freedom has recently gone.
Someone knows I am here.
And if one person knows,
imagine how many others also do by now.
sketched by dweller at 9:13 pm2 comments
It was written by a survivor of the Picadilly line bombing.
It was posted on the urban 75 bulletin boards
That is a very public forum which anyone is free to join,
so I have posted the story here.
I personally am still waiting to hear from my best friend and
his wife who were travelling to the united states on thursday.
(Update: I got an email, they're fine)
here is the post
"I was on a crowded train to work - it was 8.40am when I boarded the rammed Picadilly line train at Finsbury park. Normally I board half way up the train, but the train was so full, I walked up to the front of the train to board.
I was on the first carriage, the one behind the drivers' carriage , by the doors; it was absolutely packed, and even more people got on at Kings X making it what felt like the most crowded train ever. Then as we left Kings X, about 5 to 9, there was an almighty bang and everything went totally black.
Then clouds of choking smoke filled the tube carriage and I thought I had been blinded. It was so dark that nobody could see anything. I thought I was about to die, or was dead, then I realised I was choking, the smoke was like being underwater, but gradually I could see, a little, as the emergency lights in the tunnel kicked in. The glass was smashed so air started to flood in, we were ok.
There was silence for 10 secs. Then a terrible screaming.
We all tried not to panic, we said to each other 'ok, stay cool, stand up if you aren't injured, hold hands, don't cry, stand up, hold on, we'll get out , the driver is trying to talk to us'
Some people screamed, some groaned, but we kept saying, 'shh, we'll get out, stay cool, the driver is talking to us, let's listen to him'.
The driver said 'I've got to go forward a bit, then I can let you out, but first I need to make sure the track isn't live', so we all shouted the message back into the darkness. It got passed down the train into the darkness. Then after about 20 - 30 minutes we started to leave the train.
It was choking on there so we were trying not to panic because we knew that would be curtains.
We tried to keep each other calm, I remember saying 'if anyone's boss gives them grief for being late, we know what to say to them, eh, girls?' and people laughed. We kept saying 'not long, it's the long walk to freedom, nearly there'. I knew, if we panicked, we'd trip on the
( possibly live) tracks and things would be hopeless. So we just tried to stay cool, and trust we'd be safe soon. We'd escaped from the smashed carriage, we just had to stay calm and escape from the dark tunnel too.
We walked carefully through the semi darkness - we didn't know if the tracks were live so we walked between them - the emergency lights were on -in the tunnel - we walked in single file to Russell Square station and after what felt like half an hour we were lifted off the tracks to safety, and I was in a lift, euphorically calm, then in the station foyer, surrounded by filthy blackened shocked people, someone handing me water.
My mouth was so dry. My lungs were full of choking dirt, it felt. I was aware then of a huge bleeding gash full of glass in my wrist and that I could see the bone in my arm, and I then felt sick. I realised I needed to clean it, it was full of grit, and I was bleeding , so I held my arm above my head and breathed in and out hard.
But I also knew I didn't need an ambulance; it was a nasty gash, not a maiming. So I staggered about for a bit, outside the tube, and no-one seemed to know what to do, least of all me, then I called my friend who worked in Shaftesbury Avenue and she came in a cab and she took me to the hospital ( UCL).
We shouted, 'does anyone want to get a lift to the hospital?' but people seemed too shocked to respond, and I started to faint. I just wanted to get my wound cleaned and stitched and GET HOME , I was feeling sick and worrying much worse casualties would be coming later.
In casualties I was 'walking wounded', not really badly hurt, and I felt almost bad for having survived and got off so lightly. I knew others behind me were so much worse off than I was. The hospital staff were so lovely, I kept wanting to cry. But I knew I needed to stay calm and get home.
I got treated, my cut cleaned of glass and x-rayed - hours passed, I felt even more calm and light-headed - people started to flood into A&E at UCL covered in glass and blood.
The police talked to me and gave me a forensic bag for my clothes. I felt like I was out so fast and into hospital so fast the emergency services staff hadn't quite got geared up into 101 mode yet. I was so very lucky. The emergency staff were clearly shocked, yet doing all they could and rose to the occasion so bravely. I can't thank them enough. They were magnificent.
Anyway. They kept me in for 4 hours with shock, they stitched me up, then they wouldn't let me go, cos I had gone deaf and they weren't sure if I had broken my arm. X-rays proved it was just bashed. Eventually I got out and met my partner and walked to Camden ( no buses/trains, desperate to get home). Seeing his face was wonderful. I started to shake with the relief of being alive.
In the pub I found out that there had been many bombs.I went into shock. I probably still am in shock. It took another 2 hours to get home; a friend eventually managed to pick us up in her car.
I am very lucky. I feel euphoric. I'm sure I'll 'crash' soon, but right now, I'm so glad to be alive."
sketched by dweller at 8:10 am3 comments
new visitors checking out the London scene,
I've hardly seen the news today, being at work
My class has fifty percent Israeli teenagers
on their first visit to London.
Some of them have experience of bombings back home
and then they come here and this happens.
Anyway as I said I hardly noticed the bombing story unfolding being in the midst of school
I received a bunch of text messages which I replied to.
Nice to know who cared and how rapidly news spreads.
I still don't know all the details and I live in this city.
I had been working until very recently just by Kings X tube and am often near Russell Square and Edgware Road,
So really, it could so easily have been me.
I'm not at all afraid though.
I'm more worried that the kids haven't improved their English
due to my poor teaching. Honestly.
More later when I wake up,
visit other blogs for the breakdown,
I'm too sleepy.
No CIA PSY OPS stories from me for tonight,
may the dead rest in piece and the foolish
killers be forgiven.
May innocents on all sides not be punished for the vainglorious
history making mythologizing string pullers fetid stinking self righteous egos masking their incredibly simple humble and deeply misguided fleshy intelligence.
sketched by dweller at 9:56 pm0 comments
She was an outlaw. He was just out. Five years in the slammer. He turns up on her doorstep. Rings the bell the door opens. Hey honey, suprised to see me? They let me out two months early. -You should not have come around here. Do you wanna know why? I'll tell you. I've gone straight now. I whittle bows and arrows with my machete for the kids on the reservation. The kids go out to the woods and hunt hogs. I gets my share. I'm an independant woman and I don't need anymore of your shit. You get me? So just go on git yourself out of here. We aint got nothing to say. -Listen wait honey, I don't understand any of this and you've said your piece so at least let me say mine. -Okay shoot, but dont expect nuthin'. -I been busy in jail honey they get you doing all sorts of things. See here in my sack let me just grab hold. there's a couple. Here honey see? See? -All I see is two wooden bowls. What in the hell is that supposed to mean? After all the shit you've put me through and you show me bowls!! -No honey you don't understand I made them. They're not bowls, they're scalps honey, little wooden scalps. I made 'em honey with my own hands. -(They kiss she drags him inside and they shag like rabbits then a gun is shot. He is dragged down to the cellar) -I never could resist your sense of humour.
sketched by dweller at 9:03 pm0 comments
Finding just the right thing to activate them.
The photocopier in the school doesn't work
so I'm using up all my paper and ink at home.
Tomorrow I will stumble around in
my usual fashion and they will gaze at me with their
private knowledge that I am a shite teacher.
And my beautiful lesson will fail miserably.
The little cunts.
sketched by dweller at 9:40 pm1 comments
I just started my first ever teaching job.
The school has assigned me to teenagers whom I have never taught
I am too ill to design interesting and fun lessons for them.
I am just working thru a tedious boring content workbook.
Some kids are fast and keen. They want to jump up a level.
But really, if I were them, I'd want to change class. Who wants a sickly spaced out novice teacher?
I don't want to be this way.
Sick as fuck on my first week.
It should all be so different.
A super chilled mixed nationality
friendly bunch of studes.
Lovely keen students enjoying life.
Instead I have a package tour of kids
I can't relate to from two different countries.
sketched by dweller at 4:15 pm0 comments
'Uuurgh whats this disgusting jar in the back of the fridge mum?'
'What let me see ... Oh that's dripping.'
'Its gross, its like wax. What is it?'
'Its the fat from the pork chops. I pour it out of the pan into the jar and it solidifies, then I can use it again to fry up more food.'
'Is that why I feel dizzy? Is that why I'm dancing like a crazed loon? Is that why I'm smiling at all the girls? Is that why their arses all look so fantastic in their skirts? Is that why I can feel the blood pumping into my fingers and toes and then back up my arms and legs? Is it? Is it? Is it? ... Is it? ... Is it? ...'
'Are you alright darling? You must have feinted in the kitchen, I'll tuck you up in bed. Come on now give me a cuddle. No? Oh please. No? You used to be such a cuddler. So affectionate. Remember I said to Chrissie that you'd be popular with the girls when you grew up? Alright then just a kiss. Night night see you in the morning.'
'Night night.' ... (shouts) 'Mum can I have Fluffy?'
'Sorry darling I think she's out in the garden.'
sketched by dweller at 8:45 pm0 comments
Let me first not answer this and expound my spontaneous theory.
The earth gives off invisible forces which can be very good for us if we could feel them. However human beings also give off invisible forces that although we are not always directly aware of, have a much more profound effect on us because we have been brought up and socialised amongst other humans.
I get my earth forces in remote beautiful places, like mountainous regions (Scotland, Nepal) or windswept ancient landscapes such as the Orkney Islands. I can even pick up on it in a city park or garden. However this is usually easier AFTER I have been to a remote natural place. I think these earth forces charge you up _or_ rid you of the surface techniques you use to get by in an urban lifestyle, thereby exposing your own subtle energies.
Once you have stripped away the verbal trick bullshit that disguise us and protect us we can feel free. We can then pick up on others invisible forces and respond to them in a much truer way. Plus they will pick up on you too. Yippee.
But watch out because the city can eat you up and spit you out and you'll have to go thru the whole damn process again.
sketched by dweller at 10:49 pm0 comments
How does it feel to be a smug semi-successful almost cool English bastard male? You use your ability to be nice in order to fulfil your own motives. Then you use your commanding air of self confidence to dictate and direct by pushing the right buttons of vulnerabilityon your female subjects. 'Yes he's right' never turns to 'no I'll do it my way' due to your slick skills of manipulation. The steady deep voice, all knowing. I wish I could stop people from admiring you. They will in the future. Just you wait and see. But you shouldn't play games with people that like you. Its the voice of an English man with power over a select few. You wouldn't try it on anyone else you coward. Just those that already love you. That abuse of power is the lowest of the low. Its dishinest its sneaky its a mind power trip. You scum. Mess with me and I'll fuck you over.
sketched by dweller at 12:20 am0 comments
This is my reggae junkie cd of the summer.
Love the old roots sound. I listened to this over and over again on my recent trip to Mallorca.
Click on the pic for the amazon link.
sketched by dweller at 4:04 pm2 comments
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