...lord above who is this?
don't know why i didn't finish that last little irrelevent smatteration into the concaternation of worldwide crapperating...
Juneish...twenty twenty... Bozza has told, demanded the neurotic London-set, freakedoutophobe at every bug and smell, mad atomised nation " Be family... 'ts all yer got.."
No hope...
But .. three months in to becoming a true Troubadour - ( no one will listen, i sat in a dusty gaolyard in 2003, the HOTTEST death-summer in European human history... and we listened to a true one - an actual man who earned his bought bohemian look, and dusty cowboy boots and twirly moustache.. a pukka actual oppressed Troubadour .. strumming his guitar for us in that yard..of NO mad people, no lost-their-dignity tramps and illfolk... unlike the equivalent UK demographic)
From March 2020 .. upstuck finger.. every day in that glorious perfect 100 days of unbroken sunshine and less Solitude than for years...
Out on my very old bike.... avoiding Mrs RAchman... and then developing a superb new byway technique of chatterating up the neuroteratti...
" Boz just put out an edict.... anyone meeting someone in the lanes must stop and talk for half san hour at least...ideally Neruda's compulsory hour before a conversation 'begins'......"
ang on.... how did i miss that:
Decision made, having got it out....
And at last had the kairos time ( fuck Oggle and all their useless data for their pighead AI and now powered by 'Kairos'nuke... the smartalecs try and steal the best words that define the impossibility of ever knowing anything, ever...or even when kairos may come and unintelligently bite you on your bum and smile i wun...)
I must die in .. there....
So, a brief superspeedtyped hour of predawn battery...
The Fargian Sky News addicted weirdo ex muso, 'bigot' but so sad his only log chopper is in fact an immo Kurd... relative-by-marrige, almost the only person whom will talk to him and do his bidding when his ailments make him sulk...
He such a creep.. except me who performed his last rites, getting his music online for him even if he never understood " copyright is GONE!,, character only, in lieu of some timeless Sublime harmony ...
"now gets clicks.. like Terry Reid decades on, almost the only one, i want to hear him speak he just MAY have something useful to say about this real human condition..
" and he learned to let go....all the way... you got a LONG way ...to go
Not even a long story... as no muso ever has anything to say that's sane or unmuso.. about musac... 40 years ago i knew... and anyway all said 'neighbour'ly detritus merely moaned at the simply paradise Woodlanders setup all around...
Back to the 15 may 1886... his great book.... revealed every day from 2013... on warped drive...
(down one)
anyway there we were Juneish Year of Our Lord told everyone to slow down...
Except they just moaned... and watched Sky News (and the bug tickertape) driving themselves madder...
And one day coming down from a day forgetting about them, in the hills...
A ... well one cannot say the 'n'word or even refer to woodpiles..which was a splendid neutral boys in the wrong hood kind of expression...until Big Brother went and had a sex change...
. But "WTF is THIS?"..
" A brown man in Mister pretend performative racist's back garden..."
Followed the one most extraordinary telepathic minute of my life...
Cos i don't goad big beefy brick shithouse builders....
Being a 100% confirmed Miss Anne Thrope: all neighbours so mad NO ONRE could even be relied upon to feed the ferrits AND always double check cage closed behind... and none actually care about nature, even the cygnetbaby Swans murdered in the ponds around by mad tyrannical yooof.. the otters double murdered by neighbouring fascist landowner good-ole'-farmer-boy Charlie...
... nor waddle their fat arses to track the otters from Sheepwalk to Flintsham... an extremely easy bit of obvious tracking the ottercideres... just had to sit and wait... one evening after their pub
But....
Telepathy
" fuck this shit.. prod my beefy beefness to see if i am real.... if you want ..... yes i know what you are thinking... whatzz one of me doin' ere...at anti-immo central TV addict slophouse.... so.... you don't care about DEATH either.... lets...play..."
two years of true...love....
jihadderism to the death.. by word ... the 'jost'.. their horrid smartphones....
Anyway.. fast forward a few weeks...
From then..
" look Mister red spot ... merely taxi driver to the actual real hippy babes down to their Black Bushe whereas i was there at the front swooning over Joan.. then scarlet... you hangin' round the bogs in the mud hustlin' for your next fayre.... now you know i am a tech supremo and even speeded up your virus addled and porn afflicted, Dell 1525... defrag / glary / and ten hours all it took... god the underclass really are pathetic when it comes to basic maintenance and fixin'... please listen to ONE piece of info, only.... your tinny awful ifone piece of world ruining crap.... is your business, even if not here as we never had signal here... nor will.... but you say or probably lie about this too that you like musac.. please .. never ever listen to any through these horrid music stealing devices... all of them dire... without a ..and there are only about 5 left in the world... the masses aren't entirely stupid sometimes, everyone bought, and bought off ebay first generation.. BOOSTEROO.... despite the pathetic hipster-surfie spazname as usual.... they WORK.... they BOOST.. the tinny horrid sound from your
I phone
therefore I am
(ooh i like that i am on good form thismorn never ever a second of aforethought nor second to pause and think)
Of course, 'arrogance' is a strange thing - in this awful land basically is simple: i am from the city, you are a yokel and not. Which is the ultimate in absurdism as they all BOUGHT .... MY country acres and paddocks.... they lust for the 'Good Life'.... they seem to venerate and value..it
The simple rural life...
BUT they simply cannot EVER ..listen to the person who actually became that three decades ago, once more...
A supremely interesting 'equation'
Hark after 'goodness' in a simpler rural place, which obviously also means living there will sort your head out... and THIS those living there - largely there though in my own case 5% elsewhere reticently (only, quite quite deliberately to go off yonder and seek non English womb, then show child the world) over 30 years...
So.. you encounter, meet, find, someone who has managed to be more or less only OF these 'Good Life' places... even he had lockdown busted to come and visit....
And then you completely ignore theior sagely wise advice.. when one is rural ... one doesnt bullshit, doesnt ever charm or fake it ..it is about only ONE thing: what WORKS...and what does not...
And thus spake Zarathustra .. a load of silly neurotic bile as most city neuropnuters usually do..., rather than listen to.. the Rockman...
Be rock.. years of nothinfg.. no one nothing in depopulated of REAL people, rural fringelands means only one thing: you dont waste time lying or saying ANYthing for effect...
There is no point.
And thus....arrogance is such a curious word. Basically it merely means of the city.
Or built up suburbs such as Pastylandshire..
In the real rural places there is ONLY 'information' - about what works, which garage is still vaguely honourable and "human" - none in Powys or Herefordshire once the yuppies moved in.. resentment is a strange thing...
And the city man... well in my book he isn't really a 'man' as men of both sexes know one thing: you need reliable info to just persist...
Which brings us to....
Now.. music is of little interest really and at least one human listened "i educated myself via Saint Joan De Baez. fact...."
But how did i not see that....
Because on these awful little screens... laptop out today predawn as jihad cometh...
soon
'twas left on open tab... from when i was last at her place.... of books.
I had no idea they had so aged and look quite pasty faced and shrivelled from when...i woz thereabout age 22 in the front ... ears still hurting from the loudest of them all.. by far.. then
But....silly me... only one 'human' ever had me paying my own money to go to S Am....
("ohh... fuck: google Bolivia, poorest country in S Am.. oh well gonna get stabbed within two paces of the airport..if we make it to the airport their air transport has such a bad record.." within one minute at said hairy port.. " hark....what is THIS.... it cannot be.. i hear above in the mezanine... laughter.. REAL laffin..like real BELLY laffs... i havent heard that decades and these taxi hustlerdrivers.. dont even care who comes out the front door to hustle.. theyr all laffin.... whats this weird saudade place")
It's the faces.. you just have to look at the real actual UNCYNICAL joy on the faces...
of the crowd, who can dance to kindom come you dont need any controlly TAngo teacher to herd them... purest modernity at its purest best... girlies too sweat pouring from under their armpits... sweat not of "do what i say to the rhythm" all infected with here....but
freedom
pure
and living in the actual real moment, now...
I only ever saw in S Am.... cos the next in olden days of Thatcher's buddy Pinochet...you may be dead
Never ever forget.. fuck even slightly cynical Karl Ove's Europe.... THE place to die - there is only one....
And with the boosteroo... back there in the front row. Poor man...so called 'man' couldn't listen...can any English? ever.. i wonder not
Meanwhile back to now.. now.. now....
And the Year of Our Lord .. they never listened to your slow down...
But some at least made the most of their time finding old tapes...
Even i am quite amazed even if theres nearly no good Roches .. the truest greats...
Quite extraordinary how the one pretty uncynical .... i think you gotta to be uncynical yet also Miss Anne Thrope for the right reasons (yes requires education - real educations ) to
actually become an ever better axe man... smiling..... a real smile....
Funny that I haven't looked that one up for a while....
Indeed only thistermorn
And though sadly some people one must orphan onself from forevva... and never think of them... evva....
Define sad lost conceit...
( i never think of i was merely pondering i would like to change my name to VAn...something )
A certain uncle was in fact as good...
Once....
And... Edward Van...RIP.... i reckon years of lookin' at Samuels's silly pink trousers doin' the splits on MTV
Learned the only lesson there is.... we are laughable...at.
SO
so stop and laugh
at wetoo...
And then, he got even... better.
