Tuesday, November 11, 2014

You have reached the end of 37 Dagon Street.

The funny thing about family life...
Is that when your children finally leave home

There is all this

Dagon Street is now closed.

I've moved to:


I resent the term Empty Nest.
I don't like Bullet journel, either.


Monday, November 03, 2014

Through the key hole.

There was this....

War stone.

It was Halloween
We went to a coffee shop after closing..
Ate chicken Kiev
Watched The Haunting.

Strange film...
Daphne du Maurier-esque.

Told from the point of view of someone who thinks that she is being haunted.

The other story
Inside this film
Centres on Professor David Cameron look a like...

Man with facial hair and a tie

He had concocted a plan
To be alone with
'Highly strung'

He has done this before
I expect he is writing a book....

His psychology shenanigans are upset somewhat by the presence of curly hair man, and latter, his wife.

At some point
Half way up the spiral stair with dodgy fixtures and fittings
He realises that his game has gone too far.

Well acted
But boring
Because the supernatural is pretty boring...

The better story would be
An exploration of the kinky mind of Dr Markway.

Yesterday we returned


War in Heaven
A dreaming of Chronos.
Of Nephilim...

Was once the hoar stone

From Middle English hore, from Old English hār (“hoar, hoary, grey, old”), from Proto-Germanic *hairaz (“grey”), from Proto-Indo-European *ḱēy(w)-, *ḱyē(w)- (“grey”). Cognate with German hehr (“noble, sublime”).

A portal stone to Niflheim
The stone is on the edge of the cemetery. Sand had been quarried and left a hole in the side of the hill. So, it was reconstructed as a new estate- for the dead.

There was some trouble.
With smell...

Lead coffins
Coffins sealed with pitch
Were required.

The graves are neither used or unused....

Some of the doors had holes...


Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Grey skies.

Trees drooping
Heavy with berries and fruit.

More CO2, more heat, but less sun.
Should get plants with larger leaves.


A trip to the in-laws.
Oh my...
Was much improved by going to eat at Topokki
Good memories

What is there to do
Or say
The visit

The question is

What explains
Inertia that goes

What is
As if
A force field

Preventing movement.

It isn't ignorance...
Plain inexplicable!

Sister-in-law stays in bed 24/7.
Central heating is on.
She has an electric fire.
Doesn't leave the house.
Told her dad to get her some tights.
Swore at him because he brought back the wrong colour.
Oh my...
Mother-in-law confined to chair, squirms because of pressure sores.
Can't sleep because her one remaining foot on one remaining leg hurts.
Confined to chair, confined to one room, to one TV, to one bed, to one commode.
In other room three carrier bags worth of meds.
No way out because they live in a house that has steps down to road.
Couldn't move out because.....he said she agrees with me.

Thursday, October 23, 2014

Hourly the eye of the sky enlarges its blank dominion.

Is it that bad?

Writing here is difficult.
There was that morning when I woke up to hear democracy has returned to parliament a personage belonging to a repellent party.  There was also the Oktober fest which I didn't go to. Parking would be a nightmare, but I wanted a taste of dark tourism, more than worst or beer. Images from Caberet came to mind.

Today I wake up to the new king of the NHS promising to convert GPs into lugals; allowing them to buy in which ever service they feel is cost effective best.

Apparently we in the community (and which community is that exactly?) trust GPs and the Post Office.

So that's good then.
All is fine.
TTIP will simply facilitate
Every thing getting better and better and better,

Once upon a time, GPs were gods
Then the NHS came along.

I'm not saying that giving more power to GPs is part of dismantling the NHS.

I don't need to say it.

Writing here is difficult.

I could keep it to a list of my perambulations.
Not all is doom and gloom.
The conversion of bank cards into Oysters, so I may swipe my debit card and be done with waiting for the ticket machine.

Is good.

Calling it priceless is hilarious.

English in the 60s and 70s defined priceless as:

Tuesday, October 07, 2014

Saturday matinee, tritone.

At around 2:30 Saturday afternoon, we shuffled into a tiny dark room to be flattened against the wall by the plutonium weight of infra-sound, that is Doom metal.

A puja for the wrathful gods.

Over a year ago now I guess...
Whilst waiting for white Hills.

Saw Opium Lord

Before then
The thrash aspect of Heavy
Had left me cold!

Just plain too fast and not

Dark enough.

In my youth
The cover of Black Sabbath's album

Had promised much.
Black is dark
Sabbath would be mumbling and shrieking and wearing velvet, a Game of Thrones kind of thing.

Put it this way
I thought the image on the cover was Borley rectory...
The most haunted house in England.

Why is it always a ghostly nun?!

But the music was mild.
And Borley was Mapledurham Watermill.

Safe as milk.

You know you want to sing along :)

Tony Iomi's tritone
The tritone is a restless interval, classed as a dissonance.
Was born.

From late night Hammer Horror faux medieval music.

Though it is said to be Giuseppe Tartini, rather than Tommy Iomi who has the first claim on the Diabolus in Musica.

On a sunny day
A Saturday matinee
At Temple of Boom



Then Slomatics...
who were     s  l  o  w       e  n  o   u    g    h.

Wednesday, October 01, 2014

Sugar is a necessary fluid.

  1. (redirected from Surrealist Art) 1. A 20th-century literary and artistic movement that attempts to express the workings of the subconscious and is characterized by fantastic imagery and incongruous juxtaposition of subject matter.

Monday, September 29, 2014

Empty nest.

Youngest has taken his duvet and gone to university.
Today he received his loan, so in theory


...all is progressing in the right direction.

Yesterday, sat in a Korean restaurant
As I was eating the second chocolate mochi
I checked my phone.

Youngest wasn't making sense
Something about needing £2016.85p
The day before his loan.

My phone was almost out of battery.
I rummaged around in my bag for my long-life Nokia
Whilst I was searching
Husband rang son on his phone and handed it over to me.
I tried to work out my son thought that he needed £2000+

The expected charge for accommodation had been £1700 so I'd put that into his account
And why was he going to an ATM anyway?
I'd given him £100 in cash.

Just in case you thought that anyone could send their child to a London university and not need at least £2000 already saved....

Most of the time he was silent
Which was pretty annoying
Since I just wanted to know if I needed to do anything.

Why tell me if there is nothing to do about it?

It wasn't quite as bad as...
The mochi turning to ash
But it felt pretty bad.

And it didn't get any better since it is the latest instalment in a week of panic about things not done, things not said and statements from him that make us feel as if we have done something wrong.

Finally at around 10 pm he returned our calls to say that he had been out the night before, hanging out with the bassest from The Jesus and Mary Chain.

Poetic truth
Or truth?

But, you know what?

Why it felt so horrible to be taken from our previous night of bad sci-fi, good cider and next day of excellent dolsot bibimbap, and chocolate mochi.

We want time to ourselves.
Thirty years 'on call'.

I want time off!