Alt14

During the early 1990s the alternative music scene took off. As did I, in a sense. In my uni years (and thereabouts), I thoroughly immersed myself in shoegazers, Madchester, grunge, industrial and too many other subgenres to mention. I bought many cassettes. I did much dancing and drinking at nightclubs. Then I sort of musically drifted for about the next two decades – even, dare I say it, arriving at the point of “not being that interested in popular music (generally).”

A few months ago, upon acquiring an iPad and easy access to YouTube, I started listening a bit again. Over the last couple of weeks, I have started to make a playlist, entitled ‘Unistalgia,’ consisting of songs I would have listened to, danced to, drunk to, in the early 90s. It has been, as they say, a trip, a nostalgic blast. And then things got a bit weird.

I started to look into what some of these bands have done since I was majorly into them. Some no longer exist. Others have have split up, reformed, split up and reformed again. And yet others still exist (or did until recently), but in a different form. I listened to some of their relatively recent tunes, from the mid to late 90s and beyond… and I felt… kinda strange.

“Stop!” cried my brain, my ageing soul, as Ride, Lush and Pop Will Eat Itself became not just Bands Of The Past. “Desist and go no further!” it insisted, as the bubble of time within which these musical entities had existed burst, spraying my self with doubt and discomfort. At first I did not understand. You would think I would be happy that these icons of my youth still existed, still produced (or had until (relatively) recently) and had not dissolved into a timeless froth of obsolescence. And believe me, part of me was! The part of me that craves continuance, persistence and longevity.

But what is nostalgia if that to which one is nostalgic lives on?

Righteous Crumbs

3mar14

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4mar14

You can never step in the same river twice.

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5mar14

Dan Ashton-Booth: “Were funeral directors in Ancient Egypt pyramid salesmen?”

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A pressure guage measures how much pressure you are under by how many Bars you need to visit to alleviate the pressure.

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Fairies Wear Boots

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The teacher dreams of tea and a peach on the beach.

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9mar14

MatrixRevolutions81-124

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10mar14

skateboard zen

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16mar14

sunlight highlights crumbs

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24mar14

If there’s no right, what’s left?

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I Want to Drive a Hover Car

I want to drive a hover car
And live upon the Moon.
I want to have a robot
And not get dressed till noon.
I want to fire a laser gun,
Repel the alien hordes,
While wearing silver trousers
(And never light brown cords).
I want a million TV screens
On each and every wall
And in the middle of the room,
A holographic ball.
I want to never have to carry
Money or a phone -
The implant in my brain will mean
I don’t need a ring tone.
I want to be a space man,
To travel to the stars,
To flit between the planets
And check out all the bars;
And when I return to Earth,
Or Pluto or the Moon,
I’ll be knackered from all the travelling
And stay in bed till noon!

Super Pixie Dust Sneeze

18feb14

I like to sneeze dramatically.

DS001_sneezing bear

28feb14

The acoustics of my hood make my vocal drum sounds resound.

DS002_drum hood

1mar14

What if the hokey cokey really is what it’s all about?

DS003_hokey cokey duck

If pixie dust makes you fly, why do fairies need wings?

DS004_wendy darling flying

The man at Stourbridge Station looked like Lex Luthor’s dad!

DS005_lionel luthor

I/Not-I

Left my wallet at home the other. Felt very discombobulated. No train pass, no money, no ID. Not that I needed the latter two, but… who are we without money or ID? We are who we are, but leads me to think how much society (Modern Western Society) requires us to ‘prove’ who we are. Not only that, but to create and establish personas, which may bear little or no resemblance to our deeper selves.

Puts me in mind of the Zen notion of detaching, removing ourselves from our selves, from our perception of our selves, in order to bear witness, non-subjectively, to reality.

My God, that’s it! That’s the metaphor!

Thankfully the nice train man got me to sign something that said if I showed my pass the next day, I wouldn’t have to pay a fine.