It haunts me.
Hangs in the air beside me, an apparition that seldom leaves me.
Holds me, holds me back.
Last night I couldn't sleep.
I sat up til about midnight listening to Malcolm Middleton, and then reading Batman Incorporated and then just before turning in for the night I decided I'd treat myself to some art that had caught my eye that then wouldn't allow me to choose to ship it to the UK from America.
This made me a little sad.
I clicked around the artist's website for a little while, and then clicked on to his blog.
Which is probably why I couldn't sleep.
I felt alive just sat around spending an hour or so just doing something I enjoyed doing, and then I felt inspired by the honest words of one man.
I lay in bed, just thinking. I wasn't tired.
I lay for quite a while, never quite losing myself to sleep.
Life seemed too rich to waste it just drifting away into the ether before another daily grind begins.
So I did something I'd thought about for a long time. It had been an idea that had bubbled around, resurfacing on occasions, yet I'd never fully committed myself to it. I'd grasp at fizzing thoughts but let them pass me by once again, but not this night.
I sat up and I wrote my honest CV. Not the CV that has been tailored to fit that role you have seen advertised and will tailor again for the next role. Not the CV that condenses and crams all that stuff you've done into a handful of measly bullet points. No, it's nothing like those CVs that everyone tells you to write because they are what everyone is looking for. In fact it is barely a CV at all.
There aren't any jobs I'm looking for right now. But life can change, and it probably should change, we all know that... Why am I not being myself when I am 'selling' myself. Why am I not looking for something out there that makes me even more of the me that I really want to be.
Who knows where it'll go. Hopefully somewhere. And who knows what I'd honestly want to say about myself in a months time, or maybe even just a week or two.
But at somewhere around 2 o’clock in the morning I felt content that those 2 sides of A4 say more about me than any CV ever has before.
I find my tiny slithers of passion tend to frolic in snatched hidden moments.
And so this is the genesis for my first new music in some time.
The intention is almost always present, but the opportunity is often a little more elusive.
Something new for the new year, I thought.
And then I thought 'when?'.
A few moments messing around in an ipad app and I had created a rudimentary beat impulsively, in between downtime spent reading graphic novels and half watching 80s movies on the TV.
It wasn't perfect, but within minutes my idea had a fair chance of existing, heck, it actually did exist in some form, when ten minutes previously it had wallowed in the washing up bowl of my mind.
An empty house later, a lasagne composed of leftovers in the oven and the king of procrastination was purveying the world from his favourite thinking throne when the words began to flow...
Spoken aloud, uploaded, downloaded, hacked up, chewed up, spat out. Happy New Year.
The death sentence has been passed, or more accurately the short-notice eviction papers have been served, and another of London's live music venues faces closure.
And although no crossrail development plans to steal a historic and culturally recognised site from fans this time around, the impending loss of the Buffalo Bar in Islington cuts a little closer to home.
The statement released a little over a week ago thanked all of the bands, promoters, and DJs that have played a part in the venues success, and I can proudly count myself among the DJs that have found myself battling with those cranky old CD decks...
The truth is that I can't actually remember now the first band that I went along to the Buffalo Bar to see (although I'm sure I still have the flyer tucked away in a box of memories somewhere), but the subterranean cavern style is something you don't soon forget and it was an honour to be asked along by fellow North-Londoners, upstart aggro-punk group turned reality TV stars, Ginger Bread Men as they too made good on the 'indie-darlings-curate-clubnight' ethos that was thoroughly prevalent at the time.
Bubblegum Stomp drank, danced and messed up on unfamiliar equipment, we dropped three Will Smith songs in a row as we donned Will Smith masks, we got a confused indie crowd to let loose to our own irreverent style of DJing, we upset the usurping DJs (standard procedure when you are rocking a dancefloor and someone wants to take over with an obscure Smiths' b-side) and we turned the Buffalo Bar into our own little decadent party for a short while.
All Teeth soon outgrew us (or perhaps couldn't handle us) but we kept returning regardless, as friends and as fans rather than as DJs, as the monthly night developed a unique personality and reputation of its own, due to its live music policy of passionately persuing and cherry picking some the most eclectic and outrageous performers to ever hit the venue's tiny stage, and perhaps in part to the mysterious and infamous free Krunk Juice that would be dispensed into the mouths of punters, eager or otherwise.
It's sad to see Buffalo Bar depart the London scene, and bittersweet to see All Teeth descending upon its old haunt for one last hurrah this Wednesday, with old personal favourites Those Handsome Animals and the return of Ginger Bread Men, whose own farewell gig was well attended at the very same venue many moons ago.
It may not be too late tho... for those wanting to keep the faith and fight the good fight to the very end, be sure to follow the link and sign the petition to try and keep Buffalo Bar open.
If there is one thing I hate, it is becoming everything I'm not....
My passive nature in almost all aspects of my life has mostly been a sea of tranquility that I have been more than happy to bathe in, yet others have found it frustrating.
And nowhere else is this more obvious than when it comes to money.
Financially, I have always felt rather stable. I have always felt that I can afford to do what I want to do most of the time, I don't earn a lot and I don't overspend and that has (for the most part) been enough for me...
Whether it has always been enough for others is up for debate, but in our society money seems to be a taboo, or perhaps it seems to be a taboo for those that are not making money. I've had this discussion plenty of times, and often I am the only one on my side of the argument.
Why is discussing money so frowned upon? Typical British reserve comes into play and the stiff upper lip stifles all valid conversing on the matter.
But if someone earns more than me, would it not be better to not keep this secret so that I can value my own worth and my own work? Tight-lipped pay packets only really serve to build a sense of distrust... secrecy and secret handshakes... a lack of transparency only makes you wonder what is being hidden...
Before my redundancy a few years ago I tried not to let these things bother me, and then thrown into a whole new world of employment I began to bare witness to this Masonic power struggle, and then choosing to switch from retail to office work I found myself more disgusted by the clearly unfair weighting of wages.
And then I found myself disgusted with myself.
I don't want to care.
I don't want to feel an ache in my stomach when discussions turn to someone else's job role and their speculative pay packet.
But then I don't always spend all of my time in the real world.
Maybe this is really how people choose to feel and choose to live their lives most of the time.
I've never been a fan of real life.
And I hope my flights of fantasy can keep me safe from a world I don't want to be a part of.