Old City, Jerusalem. Near to Damascus Gate, somewhere on Al-Wad Street.

5 year old boy, a mop of hair like Mowgli is wandering around. His Mother is busily chatting away to her friends over the dried fruits and the largest, most bulbous, spring onions I have ever seen. The boy is bored of the talking and so begins to spin around. He aims his toy Kalashnikov with its blazing orange muzzle high and low, scaring the cats, and forcing them to scamper by quickly to avoid retribution for war crimes committed in a past life. He pounds the street with his bullets, shattering the glass and non-discriminatory camaraderie of the houmous shops, ensuring that the Kanafeh is inedible, smoking holes destroying the cheesy layers and a Real Madrid flag once flown proudly, now resembles that of a crumpled wet paper towel. He wastes none in his pursuit of an unimaginable enemy. His eyes are scanning, spotlighting any unpredictable movement as he descends misery and murder upon all he sees. He is soaked through in his rage. He’s ready to take on the whole of the IDF, if he was aware of any of that. I may be jumping a touch. Let him stay in his John Rambo days, he has no need to grow up yet, better to imagine war than have this boy witness, experience and write another chapter of this well versed and spiraling tale. But just as he’s ready, having cleared out another bloody quarter, securing the territory and acquiring reinforcements, about to step an inch into no-man’s land, his Mother, all knowing, all watching, takes him by the scruff of his shirt and brings him back down to Earth. No longer a soldier of fortune and seeker of eternal glory, but a boy with a Mowgli mop and a plastic gun held uselessly by his side.

 

D33J- Scattered Ashes

Link to music video.

I found this to be quite haunting. The sparse vocals unintelligible, groaning, lulling, summoning you forward to what end, one is unsure. This is a constant underlying presence that has been overwhelmed by a progressive, feedback- heavy beat. It makes you want to roll your eyes into the back of your skull and give yourself, body and soul, to an entity that creeps amidst the shadows.

21 Savage- ISSA (Featuring Young Thug & Drake)

Link to music video.

This song was supposed to tie in a pretty bow 21 Savage’s debut on a major label. However, due to some untimely leaks he decided to shelf this song and leave it to gather dust in the forgettable folders of his Mac. I imagine right next to the nudes. I was initially unsure of 21’s ability, was he going to be just another SHOCK n AWE rapper, I mean a crucifix tattooed on his forehead doesn’t suggest long-term stability and provide curious bystanders a chance to warm to an artist as he commences his journey chameleon-like on what kind of artist he wants to be. Follow what’s hot and add your own spin on it, I guess. But, I’m happy to say he surprised me. I like his deadpan monotone, the fact he can rap beyond the actual guns and Patek Philippe co-sign and when he describes the destructive violence that plagues so many communities globally, instead of the wanton glorification of this lifestyle he portrays it very rightly from the perspective of those feeling the consequences of such action, how the pain and suffering committed unto himself and his loved ones has ruined lives. I would recommend listening to “Whole Lot”, voice cracking as he recollects the loss of family. So, to this song. I had heard rumours of this collaboration and was intrigued with the possibility of meshing three very differing artists stylistically onto a track.  So, a little research later and I came across this. The beat has this Yeezus-feel to it, sonically abrasive, quick, industrial shifts into different directions and then returning to source. It suits 21’s processional delivery, apathetically telling us the facts of life. Young Thug’s scale-defying voice, pirouetting and spiraling, up and down like a trapeze artist, his adlibs are perfectly timed, and he always possesses such flair in his delivery, you never can anticipate what words or schemes he will follow. There’s such a joyous spontaneity to his music, forward thinking and somewhat maladjusted in all the right ways. And Drake. Well he’s still in the cut when they round up the troops. He adds his perfectly cultivated Drakeness to proceedings.

Faces- Flying

Link to music video.

This is all about the lean rooster Rod Stewart’s voice. He howls at the wind, lamenting the sorrow of life. The instruments are tight, well oiled yet there is such an easiness to their playing that comes with such supreme control and talent. You think it could at any moment fall into sloppiness, but they restrain themselves, stiff upper lipped, and craft this breath-taking piece of music.

Lady Lamb- Bird Balloons

Link to music video.

I enjoy the ebb and flow of this, the combined bipolar sequences that make this such an interesting song. The comings of fierce power and fight, then proceeding to take it down a notch, her voice at perfect compliments with the strutting guitar. The build-up, her voice hopping alongside like two dancers quickstepping, feet bouncing off the floor, but one is never able to witness this interaction, it moves too quick, suggesting intimacy, hidden movements, subtle stroke, flitting. Stop. Guitars take a second. She sings unaccompanied. Then they reunite. Process repeated. Sweet, wag your head left to right, bopping like a 50s girl to that cute guy Elvis. My limbs, my love. Guitar takes over. Building patiently. Voice returns, playing along with its game. It is taken up a notch, suggests tension. Voice strapped, reclining, the dance is reaching its apex, floating away from one another as the clock strikes 12. And you were my friend, angelic chorus lalalala in the backdrop, you were my friend. The ode to the one that got away. As you forget the joy this person once gave to you, we give into our base instincts of violence and terror, angry, mad at this person for leaving. Fuck YOU!!!!!!!! Guitars see us out, ferocious. And I’m spent.

I think its time for us to abandon ship.

The American Freak Show has blown outta here!

There’s no catching, no reasoning, no trying to rationalise anymore.

They dominate our conversations,

Our news sites and think pieces.

Kanye did this.

Kim wore that.

Donald got pissed on by who?

Our Cultural Zeitgeist.

They love this.

They adore this.

Me.

In the light.

In the middle.

In front of everyone.

Lives under the microscope.

The cameras purring.

Capturing these crustaceans.

Make sure to immortalise  their fat white dentures.

The epicentre of all that lives, breathes and shits on this big blue.

But now, it is time.

Time to call them out.

The land of the free,

Land of opportunity,

Land of dreams and anyone-can-make-it fantasies.

This time has slipped away.

We must ignore them.

Let them fight out their petty squabbles away from the light.

We must.

We must show Courage

Strength

Morality

To show them.

This is not what we expect.

Or what we want from the self-proclaimed world leader.

Let us not follow them into the bog.

We mustn’t.

For all our sakes.

Walking on the 19th of December 2018.

• It is cold but not deathly. I’ve got two jackets on, I feel that I have layered well. One of these is a black overcoat, whereas on my inside is a dark brown denim jacket. I like the feeling of the material, toughened, textured rather than a smooth sheen and when it is buttoned up to the top.
• I’m walking during the night time.
• I’m walking along a road. The cars are driving too fast. That scares me a little. If they don’t see me in the unlit path with my dark clothes on, I fear they will lose control, mount the pavement and drive straight into me. I have my headphones on over my ears. But as the cars accelerate onwards, the sound of their revving off into the distance completely masks and distorts the music flowing from my phone. I can’t hear any of the words. Just a rough outline. This is a waste of time. I may as well just let the flow and symphony of the sugar plumb motor vehicles continue uninterrupted.
• I love breathing in the fumes of the vehicles. There aren’t many trees or green spaces along this road, so I wonder how much oxygen is entering my lungs now.
• The interior bright white lights of the 142 double decker bus. The light is piercing, I feel like the inhabitants are about to be smite by the power of the Lord, eviscerated and then absorbed, sucked, Dyson-like, to goodness knows what, into the unseen dustworld that flits arounds us.
• I wander past a fancy restaurant. A big window at the front gives a full immersive view into its world. Those treating themselves tonight have maxi-watt smiles. Dolled up in their finest apparel. I would love to stand with my nose resting against the window, feeling the warmth from the inside, absorbing all the beautiful energy that is radiating from all these wonderful people, but feel that I would scare the patrons. They wouldn’t like the riff-raff interrupting their glass and crème trimmings.
• I stroll past pubs. The different strokes and strands of life mingling, characters in their own biopics, sharing the setting with other protagonists. Like some weird, money hungry crossover film. X-Men and Marvel, are they the same thing?? The fanboys and fangirls would be fapping.
• Houses with their curtains drawn. Lights on. Christmas twitches. Just to let you know that it is here again, are YOU ready for it? You can’t help but peer in, human interest after all. But what would you do if you saw someone getting murdered?
• Number 15. Deep purple light. Lots of neon going on. Either they are conducting serious scientific discoveries, calling out to extra-terrestrial beings or hosting swingers’ parties. I hope the latter. Yuletide themed. Hope Santa doesn’t get handsy in the hot tub.
• I worry about things going on in my head. I worry about jobs, family, relationships, places to live, what I want to do who I want to be. All these sharing space in the confines of my cranium, crammed 700 worries to one cell, like a Duterte drug prison. The new worries sleeping standing up, they haven’t done the porridge necessary of the big-time fears to warrant living arrangements, those that have been around for a while, no chance of ever facing re-trial and the possibility of fucking off, they just lounge about in the cell, happy to have a home, safe, warm with a constant source of paranoia to feast on and affect. Institutionalized. Never going to go.
• I remind myself to be confident and keep going. To not get so down about things and cherish the life I have around me. This works.

Bakar- Unhealthy

Link to music video.

The only thing that irritates me about this is that I wish it was longer. I really enjoy how one can hear how he appropriates different classically English styles and tones of delivery. I can hear some Joe Strummer in his spoken accent, as well as the vein of the song, Hip Hop with indie sensibilities, discussing life as a young person and the woes of that, feel very reminiscent of Jamie T. The beat is processed, earthly that plods on nicely and gives his vocals and words the platform in which to strike its audience. His word play in the beginning is clever and topical “Xans in the rain now I’m always rowdy, Xans on the brain now I’m always cloudy.” But the thing I most enjoy is the second part, focussed on telling a story, with this casual, garrulous nature to it, where you can picture the same scene happening across the country and over countless phone calls, pubs, parks, coffee shops. But the poetic structure of this monologue and the patterns of words selected, the stressing and unstressing of syllables, bestow upon it an inherent rhythm which his delivery is capable of showcasing.

A. CHAL- To the Light

Link to music video.

A.CHAL is the bollocks. This guy and the particular sound he creates, is probably my favourite thing to listen to. The way in which he transports from singing to spoken delivery, Spanish to English, moving between this sensitive falsetto to this cocksure, carnal drawl, all of this over woozy, looped strobes, makes for fantastic listening. This song, To the Light, finds our protagonist in the midst of a break-up. I feel that the ‘light’ it hints to is about approaching the ending of that recovery phase when one realises there is life beyond, wriggling, scrabbling oneself out of  the submissive despair and self-inflicted agony. Or to make it sound less painful, when you wake up and feel like life will just continue and you no longer require that person to make you feel better about everything. A.CHAL feels like he is taking one last look as the other, them crossing the bridge, their mind already consumed with their day, with you a distant distraction amongst their thoughts. Now you will do the same. You smile to yourself, turning away from them and start to walk to your destination.

Stwo- Fill the Void (featuring Amir Obe and Daniel Caesar)

Link to music video.

A voice echoes in and around you. You are uncertain of its providence. Delicate, refined. You feel unsure. Confused. You are moving unaware into the abyss, where and who you might see, is unsure. I really like Daniel Caesar’s part to this song, I appreciate Amir Obe’s strength as a rapper and the energy he brings to the beat, it has a preppy and pulpy feel, which is cool in how it runs counter to Caesar’s warblings. But to be honest, I think I’d have preferred if this song was entirely Daniel Caesar’s. I would love to see him go to town on this beat. Breaking it down, taking his time, dealing in possibilities, the faintest of touches, speaking only when necessary, no obligation, and how this would drive your mind mad, reeling at this loss of control, as you contemplate it in the  silence of the breaths of a beat floating away.

 

Have you ever wanted to, wished you could fuck someone up?

The older man said to the younger man.

The younger man pauses. He thinks about all the instances he’s wanted to decapitate an individual because they may have slighted him in some way.

Yeah, he replies.

He has a laid back, casual expression on his face. As if committing grievous bodily harm on another was the most natural and easy job imaginable.

When was the last time you wanted to? The older man continues, unwilling to relinquish this particular bone from his slobbering lips.

They clink their glasses unceremoniously together, out of habit, social etiquette, to commence the night’s proceedings.

Last week, the younger man starts off.

What was it over?

Someone called me Harry Potter.

Ha. The older man can’t keep it from peeping out.

The younger man looks down. Avoids eye contact. Downtrodden, shamed.

Continue. The older man probes gently.

Younger man begrudgingly continues, I was walking through a pub with…and was looking for seats. It was absolutely rammed. Friday night, what do you expect, As I walk up the stairs, I walk between two guys. Both mid-to-late 20s, dress like teenagers, bum fluff everywhere. Think they were drinking Strongbow Dark Fruit too.

Cunts. The older man says flippantly. What a waste of such a word.

Exactly, The younger man is finding his groove as he revels in being the centre of the conversation, So I walk between them and one of the guys says, I think I could hear his brain clicking into gear to manufacture coherent sentences, ‘Ah, Harry Potter init.’ To the joy of his mate who laughed uncontrollably.

How did you respond?

I said yes it is. And walked away. With my tail between my legs.

How did it make you feel?

Like I wanted to ram something into his eye.

Oh. Serious.

Or wait until he went home, follow him and beat his head in. I felt embarrassed and hurt. But what do you expect? No one ever wants to bring you up, do they?

Silence. They both take sips. Long, deep sips. Pray the awkwardness away. Couldn’t get deep now could we? But then, how do you respond to that honest brutality?

What about you? The younger man turns high inquisitor.

Oh, all the time. The older man crosses his arms. He takes a long, hard look at the bar. Scouting his surroundings.

Pray do tell. The younger man cordially invites him to the floor.

The older man adjusts himself. Recollecting details and structuring the chain of events into something resembling coherency. He takes a good sip. Courage.

I was at traffic lights. In the right hand lane. It was a road of two lanes but the left hand one was joining to make one.

Yeah. The younger man reclines, eyes curious and prompting him on.

To my left, the older man indicates, is a reasonably nice car. Inside said car, is a group of 4 boy racers.

As I am waiting, ready to drive off, watching the lights go from red to orange to green, at green as I’m about to accelerate off, the boy racers have suddenly cut me up, overtaken me and left me slumped there, foot clinging onto the brake pad trying to stop a fucking accident.

Dangerous move. The younger man said. You’d have fucked them if you hadn’t been on guard and you’re praying that you haven’t been rear-ended quite traumatically because of their idiocy.

Absolutely. Luckily there was no damage to the car.

My, you must have been irate at their lack of consideration. The younger man, mock-horror, is taking the piss.

Fuck off Potter.

Silence. As the bitterness is swallowed and they mellow out a bit.

Okay then. What did you do. The younger man plays United Nations Peacekeeper.

I stayed behind them for a while and kept flashing at them.

How did they respond?

I don’t think they got it for a while. Or they were just giving zero fucks. But at the next set of lights. The driver, I think finally pissed at the distraction I was trying to cause, decides to open his door and start having a pop.

What was he saying?

Firstly, he looked at my car, up and down, inspecting it. He shouts “Who the fuck are You?”

I flash again and raise my hands, reminding him of his previous transgression, all of 4 minutes ago.

He laughs. In a way that was so condescending. His mates are craning to have a look through the back window and are saying something to him.

“What are you going to do with your shitty car”, “Fuck off old man”, “Go back to the care home you fat fuck”.

Charming.

He gets back into his car, and I’m met with a chorus of saluting middle fingers from the whole gang as he drives off.

That’s it? says the younger man.

Yeah. But I wish everyday that I’d just accelerated and taken the fucking door off.

Pause.

Maybe driven them off the road and used a hammer on their heads.

Jesus.

The older man finishes his drink. Right, another?

Without waiting for a response, he is standing, heads to the bar, let’s a gentleman pass who is convening upon the restroom and begins to queue orderly, patiently awaiting his turn and counting the coins he has in his pocket.

The younger man is left to muse. Just watching the interactions of those within this microcosm. A look of disconnection unfortunately fastened to his face. He realises that the ubiquitousness of this scene could be recreated inch for inch across the globe. There aren’t many smiles on show this late afternoon. People don’t really socialise with those outside of their group. All steadfast in their section. Defined. No cross-purposing.

The older man returns and sits.

The glass moves across the table to the younger man. It is picked up, clinked and sipped from.

Silence. Watching the world pass them by.

Why do we think like this? The younger man speaks now inquisitively.

Like what, the sage responds.

Like, we want to be tough, capable of responding to any crises with physicality, brutality. And this is what we want. Gone is the idea of reasoning and peaceful resolution.

I don’t know. The way we are programmed perhaps.

Don’t you think it is fucked.

Possibly. It’s fun though. Like a fantasy. Makes things more exciting.

In all honesty, who could and would do those things?

A psychopath. The older man chuckles.

Well, neither of us are that, the younger man with a serious, world weary tone.

John Wick.

So you have to have training, capacity to kill, strength of mind and body to do so.

Yeah I guess.

In realising how the younger man is reacting to this discussion, the older man tries to bring him back from the brink.

Listen, it was just a bit of fun.

There’s a problem with it though. You see that right? The younger man is unwilling to move on.

Why do we need to pretend to ourselves that we are tougher than we are?

Yeah. It’s a hunter, gatherer sort of thing. Maybe we’ve lost it and through our imagination we perceive our return to this, when strength, ability to wage war, hunt and provide for a family, was the only thing men were defined by. Now look at us! We harken back to the simplicity of life you could say.

Silence.

The older man looks around, takes a glug. Conversation halted.

I like the look of Arsenal’s Torreira…

Anderson Paak- 6 Summers

Link to music video.

You are listening to a ‘Dear Trump’ public announcement.  Bluntness personified as he rages about the evils plaguing his nation, in particular gun control. I like the fact he’s taking on this subject matter using his platform to voice his opinions and outrage. It may be safe for the money to sit on the fence but everyone needs to take a stand when they find something they are passionate for. You are first contacted by this recurring bass. I like how in the first part of the song, as it seems to be split into two parts, first seems a more spoken word declaration and second nihilistic RnB, he drawls over the instrumental, elongates sounds, sharpening his delivery to adapt to the eccentric waves of compression and rarefaction. His flow in the second part is so natural, there is not that kind of rehearsed polish that comes from constant repetition, it just comes out so relaxed, as if it is being freestyled completely off the top. I can imagine him just standing there, laying out his message with no emotion, neutral,  to the shock of the audience that this subject matter and the way in which he describes, in a quite derisory fashion, seemingly resigned,  the harsh reality they find themselves in.

Alto Aria- I See You

Link to music video.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. A malfunctioning beat appearing in the midst of a meltdown. You can imagine it in the introductory montage of a Gen-X James Bond. Alto’s voice salacious, a forked tongue darting from inside of her mouth, detecting her surroundings, reading your inner most thoughts, she knows all, everything about you. Her voice and presence cooing you with the promise of the world, but every time you reach out to take what you conceive as rightfully yours, you are always one step out of time, grasping into the void.

The Bacao Rhythm & Steel Band- PIMP

Link to music video.

A cover of the 50 Cent behemoth. Featuring steel drums. I think it is really cool. It reminds me of this shitty imitation of the aforementioned irrepressible beat that I had on my phone when I was in the early days of high school. I was so excited about it. I thought it would definitely level me up in the popularity rankings, but my phone had no camera so I was back to square one.

UNKLE- Restless (featuring Josh Homme)

Link to music video.

Josh Homme. He’s good in everything he does. He can really carry a note and oozes confidence and cockiness. It feels like strutting music or I can picture John Wick beating someone’s head into this. The electronic drum pattern is cool and gives it drive and impetus.

HunBjørn – In Vacuo

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=odNKha2Rq5E

It sounds like something that would be used in a climatic scene within a David Attenborough documentary, there is something quasi-Sigur Ros about this song. The lions have rebuilt their pride, defended themselves from those snarling fools the hyenas, there is optimism for their future. Until the humans get in the way and start laying poisoned bait. Anyways, I like the arrangement of vocals and the array of instruments utilised. It feels like they have afforded both parts space and opportunity to breathe, to exist and be valued as its own entity. There’s a real beauty to it.

 

 

Adaptability. Perseverance. Ability to apply self reflection and advice. Happy to work independently and as part of a team. Resourceful. Keen to learn and bring positive energy…

Shall I go on? Job hunting. What fun. The possibilities endless. The “CAREER” trajectory bound for the stars. Just got to get there first. And work out what it is you want to do/want to be. How do you balance your job hunt? Do you apply for everything or just the jobs you want. Which is the right option. Spreading your net wide or limiting your scope and going for the jobs that really tickle you. But then I worry. Will that approach set me back? One’s dream job doesn’t come about everyday and you’ll be fighting tooth and nail with thousands of others, the exact same as you, who want that one role. I don’t think there’s any one answer or one solution. You’ve just got to go for it and see what life brings. I have come to the realisation that I may end up doing something that originally I’d have never envisioned for myself, but I hope that having given it a go, I may wake up one day and have that all important moment of clarity where I conclude that I love this job, this was my calling, and it could turn out that I’m actually quite good at it. Which I guess is all you can ask for at the end of the day.

To be honest, I’m just desperate for the pay packet and the security offered by working a 5 day week.

I’ve signed up to job agencies, sent my CV to recruitment companies, come at me, give me everything. The arrival of emails stating that they’ve found a job that is just so YOU, you’d be a fool to not go for it. You read the title, mmm sounds interesting, could be something I could sink myself into. You look at the specifications, what they desire in any new recruit and ahh. I don’t think I’m the most suitable candidate. I don’t think any of the skills I have managed to muster to date correlate with this particular pathway. The premature joy I was feeling in imagining my first day of work, suited and full of vivre and hunger to succeed, are vanishing. I sit back in my chair, confused and embittered at not being able to do the things they want, rearranging my balls in my pajama bottoms. I need to re-assess. I want a job, want to be seen to be applying for work, get into good practice, banish the torpor, optimistic for the heady days that await me once I get my foot in the door. By hook or by crook I will be. So even though I don’t think I fit, I’m going to go for it and give it my all. And I’m going to make sure I come across as a guy it would be foolish, nay imbecile, to ignore. We need this guy in the trenches! We need him in the boardroom! Delving head first into the murkiness, the post-Brexit utopian sludge.

My Curriculum Vitae’s feathers are ruffled and in full display, shock and awe mood, I want to dazzle them with my life experience. Just got to change my header, my biography condensed into a few deeply revelatory sentences and hitting all those important buzz words. I love the one, “in play”, makes work sound such a joy.  In doing so I help my potential employer to discover instantaneously WHO I AM/ WHAT I MEAN/ WHAT THEY ARE GETTING. We’ll keep the glue sniffing out of it for now. Just got to change the line about how I desire to learn more about….industry. How embarrassing would it be if I fucked up?! If they knew that I was ready to whore myself to whatever company would give me full employment and a free coffee every morning. I’m so passionate about the agricultural services and the role technology will play in its future, to every fintech company within East London. After making sure this was all sorted I move onto my covering letter. How I hate writing them. I’ve got blocks that stay the same. And then bits that get substituted in and out on a regular basis depending on the lay of the land and what the job requires. And then its just about filling in the fodder so you can really hit the terminology that the company specifically asks for when advertising for their perfect company man or woman. And not just a spiffy collection of Ralph Lauren shirts for those dress down Fridays. I think it looks okay. It flows nicely, good balance of short and long sentences. I think I come across as a pretty decent chap. Very convincing. I would hire me. Email prepped, commas tidied. It’s sent. I don’t think about it anymore as it passes through Drafts and into the big, wide world.

 

Frankie Paul- Strange Feelings

Link to music video.

Good morning world! Open your blinds, cometh the day! Enjoy this with a good breakfast.

Future Islands- Candles

Link to music video.

This band are real performers. Unfortunately, I have not had the pleasure of experiencing them in real life, but Youtube has helped open my eyes to their craft and showmanship. This is of their most recent album ‘The Far Field’, which was an absolute belter 1-12. This song takes us in the backseat, stripped down. Voice dropping, oscillating, crooning to a rhythm that makes you slowly swing your hips, doing your best Hawaiian Elvis impression into any form of reflective matter. Or if you are lucky enough, hold your significant other, enjoy their smile, absorb their lithe body movements in response to the music and cherish it.

79.5- Terrorize My Heart (Disco Dub)

Link to music video.

Chilled, heraldic funk. In keeping with the upbeat flavour of these recommendations. I enjoy the cyclical nature of the beat and chorus with the disco-tint, leopard print optional. The dreamy wind instrument acting as bridge brings about verses that seem to freshen the song with a change of pace, almost like gliding you into the next room of a club where the change of setting has taken the audience and song to a very 70s girl band groove, their voice prioritized, centre of the mantelpiece. It’s highly enjoyable and I look forward to hearing more from them.

A compilation of the things that get forgotten. The moments, instances when you divigate from the RIGHT PATH, the continuum of everyday, a mind obsessed with its needs, where you need to go, who you need to be. All well and good, this pullulating life force keeps the cogs turning, the machine cranking onward and upwards. But what if we just keep ourselves open to the other things. Visually, sensory. The softer, subtler textures. Thus, providing a chance for us to marvel and enjoy this lapse from the rhythms of day-to-day-to-day-to- day-to-day-to-oh cool weekend, and through this, perhaps satiating an appetite for the opulence and joy of the colossi of green, blue, plastic and lovely bubbly crude oil warming our toes. So through this I hope it will remind us of the beauty that is always around when we just keep our eyes open to it and our brains receptive.

It would be cool for everyone to try this. I will be doing it for Saturday 10th November 2018. Pick a day yourself and see what appears in front of you.

• The stretching out of your lower back as you wake up. The fuzziness fills your ears and helps to kickstart the day.
• Showering and cleaning your penis. Rigourously. In the aftermath, the smell of soap on a shoulder, light, clean, airy. I take repeated, thorough sniffs. Like a dog and a new poo in the park.
• Music is on in the background. It is CHINAH’S new album. Great pop music. It makes me think of the influence Jai Paul had with such minimal exposure. It gave artists a sonic blueprint and style in which to follow and elaborate upon. My favourite songs were ‘Drown Me’, ‘Yeah Right’ and ‘Give Me Life’ which sounds almost like Justin Timberlake and Timberland back in business once more.
• I see a picture of a person wearing odd Yeezys. One is zebra-print and the other given the heady title on the website as Semi Frozen Yellow. It looks more like squashed banana. I respect the outrageousness. And admire the thin line being tread between genius and madness.
• Spittle falling. Dead autumn trees shell-shocked by the swift, immemorial change in season, next to immature, coatless saplings who are positioned upright in their infancy by supporting, paternal logs. In the background, the greyness of the sky fades into one with the greeny-grey of the incoming waves.
• Autumn leaves, all orange, green and yellow.
• Moesgaard Museum. Designed by Henning Larsen. From the earth it rises. It resembles an entrance to a subterranean realm of malefic beings. Purgatory or hell, or maybe both. The land excavated and upon finding a pit or tafone,  has been dragged into the light of the above, like an unwilling, succulent oyster. Your biceps and triceps shaking in duress as you break the confines and chemical structures that millions of years have forged within the rock and soil, that this nation has been built upon, until now it hangs open, vast, suspended, hanging. Which you fear at any moment one will bear to witness to its collapse unto itself, vanishing from all existence, closing the portal to a world we have no business or should have no wish to visit or know.
• Learning about the life and times of Harold Hardrada. As my father texted me ‘Battle of Stamford Bridge. 1 crack at the world title.’ Historical humour at its best.
• Damian McKenzie’s inside line for New Zealand’s try. An attacking move that you imagine has been drilled into their minds ad nauseam. Through the tiniest of gaps amid a well marshalled, aggressive, scrambling defence on the verge and so at its most ferocious, he cuts through, taking the deftest of passes from the smarmiest of artists, with that casual aloof air, slaloming between two blocks in White and falling penitently to the turf.
• Dads entertaining kids, deploying all methods of sneaky tomfoolery to compel them to eat their vegetables. In this instance, he was aided by a furry, moth bitten rabbit who looked like he’d quite possibly seen the bowels of hell in his time on earth. He danced a mighty jig on the table and the child lapped it up, unaware of the incoming mouthful of delectable greens being smuggled into his mouth by his mother. A well-executed operation.
• Lights on in warm houses.
• Uniform apartment blocks. More wide than high, slumped Sumos, sedentary, rotund with all manners of light and life captive within their guts, bursting at the seams of the loin cloth.
• Duck with boiled potatoes fried in sugar and butter, sweet potato, a slice of roasted parsnip, orange, pomegranates and finely chopped almonds. Mouth fuck.
• Traffic lights, bus brake lights, buildings, advertisement hoardings, all blurring neon, red, as rain continues to fall and the night reaches its peak darkness.
• You ignore the fact that life is truly, oh so loud. No halt, cessation, arrest, no moment to seize upon, a respite, a refrain, a fucking white flag and declaration of peace. You are consistently and constantly met with noise. Serenaded with it. And you almost forget it is there as you are so used to it. So when the silence does come, in its rare, infrequent blips, it seems like something other. Where has everything gone. A plague has ravaged all of WO MAN kind, the cars, the motions, movements that makes up everything. Gone. Except me. The silence is nice, it feels nice. Submissive, submerged to the stillness. Forced underwater. Yeah, that’s it.