the venetian-blinded Sunday
a languid afternoon rare winter sun revisiting old photographs balanced by the unease of that last BoC album keeping me from the blue in-side and out of harm’s way. »
a languid afternoon rare winter sun revisiting old photographs balanced by the unease of that last BoC album keeping me from the blue in-side and out of harm’s way. »
a new year scanning a roll of film in one room an old Field Mice album plays in another memories slightly removed a chance meeting and a twinge of regret resolution is just out of reach »
a number of times lately I’ll hear a song or an album by someone from around 7 years ago and think “was it really that long ago? I never let that one sink in like I did their earlier work” and then I wonder why everything changed in those recent years? why did I stop? why did I stop enjoying things like that? The horror creeps in making awful suggestions »
after my second game of tennis in a very long time i lay down for a nap while strange music played and i drifted away on a strange little boat vanishing into mist with voices surrounding my confused, tired body. later, the album finished a familiar bassline marked a change in tack i found myself dragged mercilessly from the loving waves and back into our brightly coloured sofa. »
I’m walking down Fitzroy St in Fitzroy, when I stop to say hello to a cat. As it stretches and stands up to look at me I hear an old Hank Williams song – Honky Tonkin’ – wafting through a screen door next to me. »