Yep

This is pretty much me all the time, these days.

( appropriate rage face )

Evaporation

When the Digicon mailing list was in its heyday back in 2000-2001, we always had a Song of the Week. One week, the song 'Evaporation' was featured. Very rarely did I offer up my own interpretation of any songs when presiding over the mailing list. I left that to everyone else. But that week, Derk posted the SOTW, so I felt more comfortable letting my thoughts be known, especially since it was always one of my favourites. I did not realise that the archives are still present online, and I found the interpretation that was written in April, 2001.

I hear this song and am now reading the words for the first time…..and am stricken with a feeling that can’t properly be verbalised ~ but I’ll try..For me, ‘Evaporation’ is a tapestry of the bittersweetness of the undeniability of Love and how it so often comingles with Death or the idea of Death.  It’s the drawing into something else as the origination dissipates…becoming and unbecoming simultaneously. A love that kills the self by letting the adored one inside the essence of You, making you more whole than ever imagined, but releasing all that you are into Everything. Light within the deepest Dark, a blinding shelter ~ content with silence since touch is the most intimate and honest tongue, and one needs no other sense in the arms of desire. The spark of Life in the stillness. Something so extreme that it transforms into its own opposite and, in so doing, neither polarity exists but in the other.  The ascent of joy into the realm of Death as defined by passion (la petite mort ~ the infamous ‘little death’) ~ a succumbing to the natural proclivity for union and the immersion of Self in an Other ~ there’s no choice but for us to love and release and die in order to love again. It’s as certain as a bird will take flight.

Apparently, someone sent the interpretation to Barry. It was probably Derk, since he was only one of two people with whom I shared Barry's email address. Barry emailed me, saying that he read the interpretation and that I got it right. Then he offered up the background of the song, saying that he was mellowed out by a bottle of wine and the words that had been shared with him. So, this is what he wrote. It ended up on the site, with his permission. Most everyone thought it was pretty groovy.

Evaporation

It was 82 and Viv and I were living at Burghley Rd (Carl and Jo upstairs).

The basement was inhabited by Mr. Paul Scrivens (a very old man indeed - with an old man's name - a watchmaker and heavy smoker). Mr. Scrivens had been finally moved out to some place where they could keep an eye on the poor old sod. He'd started pissing on the bedroom floor because his legs were too dicky to make it to the toilet down the corridor. Viv - a keen collector-of-things - wanted to get down there upon his leaving and I was curious about his set-up down there. Neither of us was disappointed: there were many objects recalling Paul's non Old-Bloke past - long locks of his ex-wife's hair laid on the mantelpiece - a book of Shelley with a sexy (for 1940) dedication..all his watchmaking gear - he was a skilled geezer - oh loads of stuff. The local squatters kept up a steady ant-like procession through the back windows for a week or so after. We got some nice little crystal bottles; a few books. And there he was gone. He was precarious at the time - there's no way he's still alive. It was a moment of Looking at It: Death. Love. Loss. All that. I had a night job dismantling shelves up in Hendon and while Viv slept and I organised myself to go to work at midnight I stooped over the cassette machine playing the groove from the studio (working title: 'quizzical little bastards' because we thought the toms sounded like curious prairie dogs in a wildlife doco) and I wrote 'Evaporation' full of Mr. Scrivens' life and death and lost lovers - the huge vacuum beneath us in his vacated flat, which you couldn't help but picture yourself in at some much later date. The night, the empty rooms - only dust and rubbish left, really now. It doesn't take long to disappear. That was it.

I'm still really pleased with that tune ~

Lee Perry was the presiding spirit, of course (Dub that you can't dance to - you can only lie down to) and the tune could be Ecclesiastical or Celtic - killer combination. And the smouldering vocoder which flickers around the voice and allows me to sing a melody I'd otherwise be embarrassed to sing. We played it to Groucho Smykle, the Reggae producer who did Jam Science and he turned it up on the big speakers at Island so you could really feel Dave's huge bass-line (all the huger for being so gentle) and he said approvingly 'dis ya Bad Music'. Bad and Sad, I thought. That's the human condition for you..

~Andrews (6 April, 2001)

He very rarely offered up explanations to the songs, preferring people to draw their own conclusions, so this was a pretty important departure.

I don't think I ever wrote another interpretation of a Shriek song.

Disintegration

If I don't get some sleep, I am going to lose my mind.

:(]

He's back.

I will never get to sleep in peace.

Hell

I am going to bust it wide open for my indiscretions when it comes to this man. Seriously. Satan is gonna pack up and leave, out of fear of me.

Photies!

I have three photos. One is just beyond cute, one is another dead tree, and one is just pathetic.

( clickie dammit! )

I'm out of my head from exhaustion. As it stands now, I have been away 29.5 hours...and counting. I think I might be going mad. Have a nice day.

When Worlds Collide, Part OHDEARGOD

In my head, the Roth and Clive Barker are inextricably connected, despite my belief that there was no realistic connection at all.

I was wrong.

I finished watching Made in Britain and thought I recognised one of the actors, but didn't really think about it. Then I decided I would check out Tim's commentary on the movie, since it was his very first one. At one point he's talking about playing ping-pong with one of the actors, one Sean Chapman. Then he laughed and said, "Yeah, he's the guy from Hellraiser."

What?!

Then I remembered. The actor I recognised played Frank Cotton, Pinhead's very first onscreen victim.

I can't wrap my head around it. I just...can't.

Insomnia Invades

I have now been up for 34 hours. Needless to say, I am getting absolutely nothing of any worth done today. I had planned on some marathon writing, but I can't get my mind on it because it's so exhausted. I hate it when this happens. And I can't get my Ambien until Thursday, which means I had to take two to actually sleep at least 6 days this past month. That is not good.

Insomnia really takes it out of a person. Especially when that person gets keyed up over the smallest little issue that may arise. I'm too skittish. That's what Riddick said about the Narc Crew taking him to Crematoria. Skittish.

I'm looking back on the video I made just a couple of months ago compared to the ones I'm doing now, and I really wish I had waited to work on any of the Shriek/Barry/Illuminati material until I had developed some level of Mad Skillz. The other mindless stuff like the Tutorials have been very instructional on how to actually make a viable video. Like the Candyman video I made this morning, or the Kicking Giant Arse epic from the other day. Synching up the images or movie clips to the beat of the music is a mathematical art I didn't think I was even remotely capable of, being a series suck-meister at maths of any sort. But it has happened, and I'm amazed at that.

Still running like scared wee fox from the hounds that haunt me on Facebook. I should never had asked that Question, then I would be blissfully ignorant about being watched. But, no, I can't leave well enough alone.

I've been a cooking fool today, making some chocolate candy and some chicken rice. Both turned out really well and I stored them in exactly the right size of bowls. This is miraculous because I never could do that when Aunt Tudi was alive. She used to laugh at me, at my incompetence at such things. I was incompetent because I figured she'd just do it better, being the domestic side of our arrangement, and I could continue being a mindless git. That's not the case anymore, and I'm really surprising myself.

I have mixed myself up a gigantic screwdriver in the hope it will make me sleep instead of pee uncontrollably. With my luck, I'll spend the evening the water closet, wishing that I could just close my eyes for five minutes. If I don't get some sleep soon, I will surely travel beyond madness and straight into Sparta.

Metric Fuckton Load of Rothian Pictures

Tumblr is giving an endless variety of Rothian Goodness. There's a tribe of individuals over there who have befriended the Tutorials, and subsequently share with me all manner of drool-worthy photies. This is a photo dump, for anyone who may be interested. If you aren't, well I am. My journal, my rules. BAAHHAHA!

At least I'm putting all this insane sexiness behind a cut, except for the picture that has become my ultimate favourite photie of The Roth. I am a sucker for a man in makeup. I'm a child of the 80s, it's kind of a requirement. If you were a male, and from Britain, you wore makeup. It was decreed by god. Even the Shrieks did it. Just look at Nemesis.



Dear Lord, ain't he pretty? Now for the rest.

( I could be really evil, and NOT cut this gigantic entry )

Now...was that not majorly intense? I think I need one of Roth's cigarettes now. WHEW!