We all have two choices

Be a stiff or move

Be a stranger to your skin

Or get in the groove...

Sunday morning saw blue skies and two more eggs bringing the weekly tally to an Olympian 14. The girls are on fire and I forgave Joni her recent attempt at street theatre, my embarrassment and her almost certain death. After a tasty brunch of muffins crowned with reds and yellows, I moved to my desk with a super strength latte to tinker with the Christmas playlist; substituting tracks and blending the elements to give a smooth and satisfying finish.



The process begins every year with a choice of song to open and close, and then a Rubik cube shuffle to blend sonic colours until the process is finished.

 

 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YbLS_gzxXnA

I've got a lover back in Japan
He's got tattoos, he's my Superman

I try to call him up from time to time

We can talk about the weather, "Is the weather fine?"

 

A green icon appearing on my desktop showed N to be online and my heart fluttered like one of the cliff top kestrels I see regularly on my drive to work. An 8 hour time difference separates us, and as a result we generally miss each other, but today luck was on our side. It was wonderful to see his face again and I was reminded of the electricity and connection we had back in March. Why is it that I always seem to fall for men who are seemingly unobtainable? Do I perhaps unconsciously allow my heart to open when I realise these liaisons would struggle to deliver commitment? Or is it simply bad luck? Whatever the case, N is one who I would not hesitate to move in if the opportunity arose. Despite the age difference our wavelengths are entwined like our bodies where when we met, and time effortlessly joyful. N is no MP3, but the full 48 kHz, 24 bit deal. We talked for an hour about life and distance, love and futures and I dreamed of possibilities and tangents ahead before N was compelled to succumb to ‘nature’s soft purse’ and he was gone. If only Skype could allow touch. I decided that an overdraft facility has its use and that I would fly east again next year.  

‘Teardrop’ will always remind me of N and a rainy Asakusa night when worlds collided. It shuffled on the iPod as we made love that night.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u7K72X4eo_s

Love, Love is a verb

Love is a doing word
Fearless on my breath
Gentle impulsion
Shakes me, makes me light
Fearless on my breath

 

Liz Frazer heard that Jeff Buckley had disappeared whilst she was recording Teardrop with Massive Attack. They had been lovers. ‘That was so weird,’ she says. "I'd got letters out and I was thinking about him. That song's kind of about him – that's how it feels to me anyway.’ She is haunted by guilt: for not being there for Buckley, for everything. As she puts it: "I need to forgive myself." (Dave Simpson - The Guardian - 26 November 2009)

We all need to forgive ourselves and others.

Light on stairs - Saturday 13 October 2012

Lest we forget here is Buckley in all his glory with easily the finest interpretation of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah.  Listening to the song reminded me of Alasdair W who also loved the song. We lost him this year and I remembered the teardrops of the 14th July 2012.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HKnxmkOAj88

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WIF4_Sm-rgQ&feature=fvwrel

I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

I returned to Christmas and version 7 was duly burnt for appraisal in the car as I journey to work.  It's usually cooked and ready by version 10.

 

 

Sunday afternoon was spent in Horsham again for a repeat of dressing up, tomfoolery and fun had by all. D did not show, but G observed that ‘like a Panda, he eats, shoots and leaves’ which made me laugh out loud. Maybe it was for the best because apparently he's 'straight' but get's lost occasionally. No doubt my seat in hell was dusted and my name highlighted for special punishment. Looking on the bright side, prior to the 1861 repeal of the 1533 Buggery Act I’d have been hung for my fun. Happy days…

Searching on the internet I came across this footage of the Brighton Mark Eitzel show and realised that the last song of the set introduced here as ‘Thank You, We have Two Choices’ is my favourite song from the new record. Enjoy J

http://lyricsjunction.com/lyrics/mark-eitzel/we-all-have-to-find-our-own-way-out/

A day when members of the public may visit a place or institution to which they do not usually have access...

Today was spent in a trench of repetition as the hoards descended to ask the same questions over and over. By the time I left my voice was disappearing and my head was pulsing like a quasar. But it was still strangely enjoyable to be so popular with the masses and classes.

‘Mumps, etc.’ boomed from the car stereo as I drove home marvelling at a sky wracked with turmoil, rainbows and promise.

Despite being tired I could feel my sap edging up with the anticipation of a free evening and random chances. My dark pulsing heart cracking open my chest like a bear from winter; a sex vampire needing a feed. Am I alone in this lust that consumes me sometimes? I guess I should be happy, Viagra is yet to call and I hope to be buried with a hard on J

Coquin cornée

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=47u8kSRusfE

Itching like an intern with a sunburn
For what a stone unturned covers
I don't wear rubbers and I don't wear sunscreen
I want to heat my hide, not hide under something
And I am not okay boys
No I am not okay
No I am not okay boys

Naw. I'm like pre-gay Morrissey. RT @meverything:

 

@YoniWolf i think you need to get laid

 

Home was a welcome, an oasis of comforts, food and solitude. How I love this house. Booted, I braved the garden mud to find two more eggs bringing the tally to a dozen in six days; a record for the House of Pygar. And as a reward sweet corn was scattered; a polka dot yellow chorus with the embrace of excited clucking and flapping.

Starving, I prepared a feast of eggs, bacon, grilled tomatoes and bubble before climbing up to my sanctuary to watch the sun set over Peacehaven; such beauty on my doorstep. Sometimes sweet dreams are made of this http://vimeo.com/1004092

The rain falls hard on a humdrum town

Only love, can make it rain
Do you love what you feel?
The fault is, I can find no fault in you
Silhouettes and shadows, watch the revolution
A boy child rides upon your back

To my horror when I checked in at hen central, Joni was nowhere to be seen. Initially panic and fox fear gripped as I frantically searched the garden for signs of struggle; but nothing, just Patti forlornly wandering and searching too. I eventually found Joni in fading light savouring the sweet grass of my neighbour’s front garden, oblivious to danger. Unlike Patti, Joni flees contact so the next twenty minutes were spent trying to corner and cover her with a blanket to the amusement of sundry dog walkers; slippery like some feathered Houdini. Eventually with the assistance of my neighbours at number 26 she was pincer manoeuvred in an Arum Lilly blanket trap and subdued. A reward of 6 eggs was later delivered as thanks. 

Hearts pounding
Muddy mess
Blue Haze in blanket
Stillness and relief
Love of prize cradled
Release to feathered embrace
Patti & Joni
Safe J

Normalisation

The application of a constant amount of gain to an audio recording in order to bring the average or peak amplitude to a target level (the norm)

At secondary school I wanted nothing more than to be normal; average in every way, unnoticed and invisible. But instead I had been made rotund, indifferent to sports and desperate to be lined up straight alongside the other pencils. If there had been a ‘normalisation’ tool to rid my waveform of tiresome lusts, doubts and anxieties I’d have been queuing for it.

Excerpt from a memoir – ‘Bob, it was really nothing...’

I wanted to be pencil thin, flame haired and swap my collection of chins for cheek bones. Some things never change. But my greatest desire was to wake up one day and fancy girls as effortlessly as other boys my age. To understand and feel their lust as they slobbered over the merits of Jane’s bum over Gill’s, but instead I thought of jock straps. I needed the support; it felt like I’d been created to suffer an acute loneliness and desperation I wouldn’t wish on any living creature. If there was a God, then it was clearly bitter and twisted.

 Outside of my secret raunchy thoughts I avoided the issue of sex completely. It also helped that no one wanted me as I was short, round and fair haired, which in my view wasn’t fair at all. It’s ironic perhaps that during this same period Bowie also dreamt of waking up to a ‘normal’ life and had swapped his LA diet of cocaine, milk, green peppers and cigarettes for a loft apartment and washing his own smalls in West Berlin with Iggy for company.

Larry Grayson had just taken over ‘The Generation Game’ and instantly become Britain’s favourite homo. The rank and file loved queers as long as they stayed on TV or in the pop charts and didn’t live on your street. I wasn’t one for rocking the boat but my real problem was that I couldn’t find any reference to me in the world. There was no secret society or homo coven I could find and I seemed no different to other men my age. The trouble was that I wanted to blow more than their minds.

What’s interesting to me now is that no one told me or anyone else that the ‘love that dare not speak its name’ was wrong. They didn’t need to really. The expressions and grimaces on the face of my father made it clear to me that to be queer was to be despised and isolated. ‘He should be strung up’ was one of his more friendly observations. Why the object of his derision should be hung was never explained, but the remark always followed seeing someone I felt an unconscious empathy with. It was clear that being different in that way was bad.

Nobody knew my secret lust for men because to share it was a notion too frightening to contemplate. It simply wasn’t safe to talk to anyone about the subject and there wasn’t a guide book in the local library. No ‘How to be a Gay’ by J.R Hartley was thrust into my hand by a reassuring and spectacled assistant.

Something flame haired for you...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qttXgkbRppc

Don't you want to be free?
Do you like girls or boys?
It's confusing these days

My solace was music and escape into a sonic world. Headphones would block out mundanity as spinning black vinyl replaced the Earth’s. There were so many discoveries to make and I would be absorbed for hours and transported to a heavenly place.

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZES_mkPAHfE

Why did you give me
So much desire?
When there is nowhere I can go
To offload this desire
And why did you give me
So much love
In a loveless world
When there's no one I can turn to
To unlock all this love

My week has been uneventful with nothing salacious to hint at, save a flirtatious Skype conversation with an Egyptian living in Dubai. It started quite saucily but soon drifted into a discussion about writing as our shared interests became apparent. It’s amazing how technology has shrunk the world and enabled new alliances. My new friend also honoured me by sending his work to read and comment upon. One day I will venture out to meet him and climb the tallest building in the world - Burj Khalifa.

Until the next time, I’ll leave you with my favourite Pet Shop Boys song alongside the blatant homoeroticism of the video J It says it all really...

http://vimeo.com/27877751

When I went I left from the station
With a haversack and some trepidation
Someone said: "If you're not careful
You'll have nothing left and nothing to care for
In the nineteen-seventies"
But I sat back and looking forward
My shoes were high and I had spots
I'd bolted through a closing door
I would never find myself feeling bored

Picture by the Portuguese Wind x

 

I see faces and traces of home

The girls ushered in my day with the gift of two wonderful eggs. It’s a sight that still fills me with wonder despite being routine these days and long may it continue. The death clouds of summer seem long gone now.

I met Nick as arranged by the West Pier and at 11 we set off for ‘Piers and Queers’ an engaging tour of Brighton seafront and its gay history.

Dr James Barry provided the most intriguing story. He rose through the ranks to become one of the most highly respected surgeons of his day and performed the first successful Caesarean section in British medical history. He would come to Brighton and stay at the old Bedford Hotel with friend Lord Charles Somerset and their ‘unnaturally close’ relationship led to inevitable scandal at the time.

 

The irony is that James was actually Mary Anne Bulkley and technically, there was no need for gossip or notoriety. His true gender only came to light when he died and servant Sophia Bishop whilst preparing the body discovered that he was in fact a ‘whole woman’ with stretch marks indicating child birth. The discovery also made James the first female assigned at birth to become a qualified medical doctor in Britain. What a story!

After a coffee at the Red Roaster Nick went off to look at road bikes and I bathed in bright blue skies and my city in full swing. Strolling through the North Laine it struck me how many faces I knew and how embedded in the fabric of Brighton I was after all these years. For better or worse, this must be the place. ‘I see faces and traces of home’ ticker taped across my mind as I walked. Most of the Genesis cannon buckled under its own pompous weight but the track ‘Back in NYC’ has a visceral quality that allowed it to fare much better. It’s a song I never tire of and it’s a flashlight to Peter Gabriel’s later work. He would leave Genesis soon after. Jeff Buckley also famously recorded the song and kept the same edgy pumping menace.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ke3ETJh_u_k

I see faces and traces of home back in New York City
so you think I’m a tough kid? Is that what you heard?
Well I like to see some action and it gets into my blood.
The call me the trail blazer-Rael-electric razor.
I’m the pitcher in the chain gang, we don’t believe in pain
cos were only as strong, as the weakest link in the chain.
Let me out of Pontiac when I was just seventeen,
I had to get it out of me, if you know what I mean, what I mean.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1AS4-cxhsJI

I never got to see Genesis live but I did see Peter’s first solo tour when it touched down at the Birmingham Odeon on September 25 1977. I went to the afternoon show and I remember Gabriel looking trim and sans any of costume tomfoolery that marked the Genesis years. He lurched, shimmied and preened like a new wave Jagger but there were also moments of quiet like ‘Here Comes the Flood’ which I remember vividly; a portent as my life was about to turn upside down.

 

Lord, here comes the flood
We'll say goodbye to flesh and blood
If again the seas are silent
In any still alive
It'll be those who gave their island to survive
Drink up, dreamers, you're running dry.

Extract from ‘Riding with Stabilisers’ a memoir

A couple of weeks before I’d come home from a gig to find my mum sitting at the kitchen table with just an overflowing ashtray for company. She was slumped dramatically across the shiny surface weeping inconsolably. One hand clasped her brow whilst the other stretched and curved to hold a lit cigarette which bobbed as her sobs broke like waves. Smoke drifted in fingers and dropped ashes peppered the table like molehills on a lawn. Finding my mother crying was not in itself an unusual occurrence. She cried often when my dad wasn’t around to enjoy her tears. Strong willed and bloody minded she refused to give any indication that he might be winning the war when he was at home to see it. Tonight felt different, the crying had a timbre that was new to me; deeper, darker, muted and full of fear.

I looked around for signs of battle but there were none to be seen. No smashed dishes, broken chairs or anything out of place. What could have happened to upset her so? ‘Mum, what’s wrong. What’s he done?’ She looked up, her eyes red raw from the tears that had torn from her eyes. ‘You will come won’t you? Please come.’ I held her close. ‘Come where mum?’ I was puzzled, had she been drinking? ‘Come with me, please’ she begged. ‘You will won’t you?’ Still mystified I agreed that I would. ‘I’m leaving your father’ she said. My heart skipped a beat and my eyes widened in shock. ‘Where...where are we going?’ The words fell from my mouth with all the hope of a fledging bird leaving the nest. ‘Colin’ she said. ‘Sue left him at the weekend. He’s asked me to move in.’ It turned out that mum and Colin had fallen in love and had been having an affair for months. I didn’t press for the sordid details, despite wanting to know everything. In a nutshell, whilst Sue stood in the way their passion had remained just an affair and a well kept secret. Sue’s sudden departure to move in with Bill (another mutual friend, also married) had been the catalyst needed to get the love boat out to sea. To add further spice to this shocking tale, it later came to light that my father had also been chasing Sue but sensibly she’d chosen Bill. I wondered how Noel Edmonds would have coped with this suburban swap shop. We only had the three channels back then and too much time on our hands. ‘I was worried that you’d want to stay here with your father’ she continued. My mouth fell open in disbelief. ‘Stay with him? No, I’m coming with you.’ With that I knelt on the floor, held her waist and drenched her skirt with my own tears. There really is a light that never goes out.

Don't be afraid to cry at what you see
The actors gone, there's only you and me
And if we break before the dawn, they'll
use up what we used to be.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TlRLvaXVyk8

 

Tales of the Spotted Dog

Thursday saw me return to work after sick leave, with a sinking Lusitania feeling and an inbox detonating with torpedoes of gloom.  This led me to immediately peruse the university job vacancy pages but sadly no gold to pan there. It can always be worse, and on days like these I hark back to my charity mugger days, avoided by most, spat at by some; a street leper.

On my return home I released the girls for a stroll around a garden savaged by rain and retired to my den to catch up with online messages. One from sweetness, sexiness, sexy mess & honesty revealed a raft of concerns which I shared, so an agreement was made to simply enjoy what we had and go with the flow. Watch this space.

In the evening I drove into town to meet Nick for a catch up prior to seeing ‘Tales of the Spotted Dog,’ and it was lovely to ponder on summer festivals, blogs, semi naked men running around jewellery shops, the merits of road bikes and radio before being summons to the show. A climb upstairs revealed a re-creation of a pub with tables and chairs and a bar glinting with gin and tonics.

 

 

We took one each, sat ourselves down and before long we were transported back to the infamous Spotted Dog pub on Middle Street, one of the favoured Brighton gay hang outs of the late 1950s. The Wolfenden report had only recently recommended that ‘homosexual behaviour’ between consenting adults ‘in private’ should no longer be a criminal offence but nothing would change until the passage of the Sexual Offences Act 1967. This at long last replaced the law on sodomy contained in the Offences against the Person Act 1861 which had sent Oscar Wilde to prison for two years of hard labour. It broke him and he died three years later in Paris.

Yet each man kills the thing he loves
  By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look
With a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
  The brave man with a sword!

Some kill their love when they are young,
  And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
  Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
  The dead so soon grow cold.

 

 

 

Some love too little, some too long,
  Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
  And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
  Yet each man does not die.

Extract from Ballad of Reading Gaol – Oscar Wilde

Here's a rather creepy animation, best close your eyes & listen :)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2tUZltCmfyc

 

The play was exquisite; beautifully staged, well acted and moving; flitting seamlessly between the innuendo of the Spotted Dog and the parlour of Patrick and muse, policeman Tom. I feel so blessed to live in these at least partially enlightened times. We really do take so much for granted and live freely despite Thatcher’s efforts to destroy us. The play was inspired and based upon the book ‘My Policeman’ by Bethan Roberts, which explores the lives of Marion and Patrick, both writing about the man at the centre of their lives, policeman Tom. The book was duly ordered as soon as I arrived home and I am greedy to read it.

http://bethanrobertswriter.co.uk/books/my-policeman-video/

I had my own brush with sharing when I lived in Cambridge. In 1984 I met and fell in love and lust with Rory, an effete writer who I met through an advertisement in Time Out magazine. After written correspondence we arranged to convene on a cold autumn night outside the Graduate Centre by Scudamores Boatyard. I was immediately taken by his lean muscular frame and resemblance to none other than Stephen Patrick Morrissey which whom I’d recently become obsessed thanks to performances like this http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1PV4eiDi12w

 

 

Why pamper life's complexity
When the leather runs smooth
On the passenger seat?

I would go out tonight
But I haven't got a stitch to wear
This man said ‘it's gruesome
That someone so handsome should care’

 

 

At the time I was living in halls at Newnham College and Rory was living in a house share so we went back to my room to drink tea and chat with Scritti Politti’s Cupid & Psyche 85 pulsating in the background http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qMdf1onDkxA. There was no sex on this first date and it was all nostalgically innocent. We would meet as often as we could in a covert, clandestine style befitting the times and my impenetrable closet. Rory was my first love and to all intents and purposes I lost my virginity to him.

We had been dating for about six months when Rory was made homeless. Desperate, he took up the offer of a spare room and modest rent in a friend’s house. The trouble was the friend was Carl his ex boyfriend, a tall man with a pinched face and handlebar moustache who we would stumble across with alarming regularity as we wandered the city together. To this day I am sure Carl was following us some of the time. Insanely jealous I insisted on moving in too and initially everything worked well with shared suppers and laughter. Carl was dating a guy called David at the time who often joined us but one fateful night his real agenda was made clear to me. I remember that I was preparing a red coleslaw for dinner as Carl appeared at my side with a large glass of wine.

I’m so glad that you both moved in

Me too
It’s been fun
Yes it has
We all get on surprising well don’t we?
I suppose we do, considering
And we both love Rory
Yes, I guess we do
I do miss him
What do you mean?
I miss us being together
But you have David now
It's not the same
What do you mean?
I will never love David like I do Rory
Does David know this?
He really doesn’t need to
I think he does actually
No he doesn’t, but anyway, I have an idea
What idea?
That we should share Rory
Share?
Yes, share him between us
What do you mean share?
Lovers and boyfriends.

The coleslaw never got finished and we moved out a few weeks later...

 

 

 

‘Sweepers, Bumpers and Shotgun’

Sunday was spent driving to Horsham and doing things which will hasten my journey to Hades. Nonetheless, it was worth the trip and far more fun than church. Exhausted by my exploits I settled for a simple dinner, red wine and the movie ‘Weekend.’

Last year I had the chance to see it at the Duke of York Cinema and stay for a Q&A but sadly due to calendar clashes I missed out. Why it has taken me so long to catch up I don’t know but I was simply blown away by the film. It made me realise how starved I am of meaningful representations of gay life in the media. The movie is frank, warts & all but the characters are engaging, the script tight as a drum and the acting flawless. By the end I was red eyed and sobbing and realised that despite my bravado and love of the random I want nothing more than to settle down with someone. Maybe that’ll be sweetness, sexiness, sexy mess & honesty. I certainly hope so after meeting him J

 

Monday was back to work, an avalanche of emails and moans and groans from all and sundry. My work these days is thankless and miserable and I feel like a bear in a trap. The only thing to brighten my day was the prospect of a new Scott Walker album ‘Bish Bosch’ released on December 3^rd. Only a new Bowie album would fill me with more anticipation and I pray there will be more of those too.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2012/sep/24/scott-walker-new-album-bish-bosch

David Bowie is a lifelong fan and he produced the movie ‘30^th Century Man’ which peeks into Scott’s world during the recording and the making of his last album, 2006’s Drift. He is certainly an acquired taste these days but one that never ceases to excite my taste buds and long may he furrow his own unique path. There aren’t enough mavericks out there.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JEYWGQMqC74

 

 

 

And to finish something lovely - ‘Man from Reno’ recorded with Balkans musician Groan Bregovic in 1993 - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y3YOweA72YM

Zodiac killer drains his hands and wipes away
The shadows from the walls
Look up you might even shred the stars
Look up might even stop the scars
Zodiac killer needs that crack he wants you back
He´s waiting in the bars

Tuesday was my first day back at ‘school’ and a long one. It started with a three hour lecture about ethics and film making which was fairly interesting. However after two hours I found myself fidgeting, clock watching and having serious doubts about the course and fitting in. As well as being over 30 years older than all the other students I had at least 15 years on the tutor. It felt a bit weird to be honest. The afternoon was better as it was radio focused and much more challenging and creative. I also felt able to contribute more and even came up with some good ideas which were chosen as potential ‘idents’ for Burst Radio, the university station.

Idents - the practice of radio stations or networks identifying themselves on air; typically by means of a call sign or brand name.

EXT: Mum walking down the street with little boy

BOY: ‘Mummy, I love my new balloon’

FX: Balloon bursts – sound effect

FX: Evil laughter, Boy Crying

VOICEOVER: Burst Radio

The day ended with a meeting with my personal tutor which was encouraging and I left feeling pretty motivated and full of ideas. I’ll see how I feel in a few weeks but I suspect the workload will be a challenge, more from a technical perspective than a creative one but that’s why I’m doing it.

For those who are interested here’s the ‘Out in Brighton ‘show broadcast on Saturday which I took the time out to listen to today and you can hear the much heralded Mark Eitzel interview. Coincidentally he sent me a message on Facebook which was a nice surprise.

Hey Harry - I would love to have you as a Facebook friend. Great talking to you before the show! Hope you are well xxx

http://www.mixcloud.com/OutInBrighton/out-in-brighton-29th-sept-2012/

Until the next time J