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Books of Albion by Pete Doherty

1999:

Recent films seen: [Nil by mouth], [O! Lucky man], [The last days of disco], [Velvet Goldmine], [My Fair Lady], [Funny face]
The first is a very absorbing look at a dysfunctional as they come South London family. ..... & frightening and wonderfully acted and filmed. A film that exists with an autonomy and would probably stick 2 fingers up at anyone who claimed to either love or loathe it. It is hard to write about a film that is so convincing. O! Lucky Man is Lindsay Anderson's classic psychodelic romp through 60's english consciousness. Bawdy, batheic and brilliant clothes colours & accents. Clint Mannering black with boot polish, Malcom Madowell perched on a ledge quoting Hamlet - trying to convince a suicidal housewife that life is worth.... the 3 hour showpiece of surreality, Alan Price songs and an England close-up that will never be seen again. The lost days of disco is dire - as is the mind-numbingly stale 'Velvet Goldmine'. A wanky pestide of the 70's glam era - forbidden to use any Bowie songs the creators have a mountain to climb from the start: they shouldn't have kept base-camp. Redeeming features include cameos by Eddie Izzard, Donna from Elastica & the surprisingly diarismatic Placebo, but generally the chance to capture the sleazy aesthetically super-charged splendour of that era (in all its sexual lushness of intoxicated head-fuck freakiness) has still not been grabbed at by deserving hands.

One wonders if the Britpop era will era be looked back on with any affection. I sincerely doubt it. Spending some time with the likes of Johnny 'Mewsewn' & Sheila Chasterton (ex-elastica), many heroes of the day are now washed up on a desert island of ill-lack and obscurity. Everyone agrees that Blur & Supergrass have written their best stuff in their later albums - and the 2 most coveted bands of the 90's era (Radiohead and The Verve) had nothing to do with Britpop. Pulp is a little less clear-cut. They excelled - and probably came to define Britpop - with the 'Common People' performance at Glasto. Not so much with the song (a song with no merit compared to much earlier, and indeed much more recent work), but with their capacity to gather the attention of all who watched the lookly of junped on and fell off the bandwagon.

xxx

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot.

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.


LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare 45
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

. . . . .

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

. . . . .

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”

. . . . .

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

AAABBBBCCC

Still happy about it!
Oh, I forgot to mention, my grade in sociology was upgraded to an A!!

XX

Together

Golden smiles
And twisted styles.
Mystical ways
And lonesome days.

Sitting side by side
Looking through the night sky
Straining to see the world beyond
Knowing that we will before long.

Two stars
One from Venus, one from Mars
Coiled together in a fashion so old
One so timid, one so bold.

They stand the test of time
They get along oh so fine.
Their lives entwined
Their love is defined.

Kissing A Fool by Michael Buble

You are far
When I could have been your star
You listened to people
Who scared you to death, and from my heart
Strange that you were strong enough
To even make a start
But you'll never find
Peace of mind
Til you listen to your heart

People
You can never change the way they feel
Better let them do just what they will
For they will
If you let them
Steal your heart from you
People
Will always make a lover feel a fool
But you knew I loved you
We could have shown them all
We should have seen love through

Fooled me with the tears in your eyes
Covered me with kisses and lies
So goodbye
But please don't take my heart

You are far
I'm never gonna be your star
I'll pick up the pieces
And mend my heart
Maybe I'll be strong enough
I don't know where to start
But I'll never find
Peace of mind
While I listen to my heart

People
You can never change the way they feel
Better let them do just what they will
For they will
If you let them
Steal your heart

And people
Will always make a lover feel a fool
But you knew I loved you
We could have shown them all

But remember this
Every other kiss
That you ever give
Long as we both live
When you need the hand of another man
One you really can surrender with
I will wait for you
Like I always do
There's something there
That can't compete with any other

You are far
When I could have been your star
You listened to people
Who scared you to death, and from my heart
Strange that I was wrong enough
To think you'd love me too
I guess you were kissing a fool
You must have been kissing a fool

Sadly inspring story.

In my frist lesson of the day (theological reasoning) we had to do a presentation on places that we wanted to goto in the future or really really liked. Me, Laura and Kayleigh did a presentation on New York City, yep. Itwent well. There were also presentations on Australia, Alaska, New Zealand, Finland, Peru, Russia and Lebanon. The las presentation was by Stephan. He wanted to go to two places, the first place was Turkey because he loves it there and the sencond was Romania. Now, I thought he wanted to go there for fun because Dani had chosen the obscure Lebanon and Adam had chosen Peru, oddly, so I just dismissed it. That was until he started going on about how he would like to meet his birth mum and dad. He was adopted from Romania with his brother at the age of 4 months and has never been back. Me and Kayleigh sat there aghast, not quite beliveing this. I felt so sorry that he had never know his real mum and dad and that he could have had a completely diffrent life in Romania if it wasn't for his adoptive parents. I started wondering about how children just like him in Romania really need help because the orphanages are apalling over there and poverty is common in Romania. These children need to be adopted otherwise they could go into a life of crime or even die atr a young age due to poverty. It also got me thinking about how his parents must have been in real trouble to give up both their children, as far as I know they are not the same age. For all he knows his parents ould be dead and he will probably never know. It makes me so sad that there are children out there who may never have a loving fmaily and there are that lucky few who escape their destinies with the help of adoption or forstering.

I just....
Yeah...
It's a tough subject to dwell on.
XX