COYOTE-BOAT

Busy busy week so far. been working on stuff for Newcastle, and been working on pitches, glass signage, magazines and postcards. I've been stitching, painting, cutting, sticking, drawing, rubbing out, clicking and dragging and scanning and stuffing. Haven't got any images to show, and this is the first evening this week that i've actually sat down and thought...

About what..? 

I don't know. I think this blog may have to be some old writing thrown about, as I haven't even been looking at anything interesting on the internet. In a couple of weeks we'll all be down in London for a meeting at CAS offices in Bloomsbury, regarding an exhibition in january. Don't know much more than this at the moment, but it is exciting...

Also, today we received our copies of the Sing Statistics 'We are the Friction' Publication that our friends Jez Burrows (no relation) and Lizzy Stewart are responsible for. It looks great, and it is a pleasure to be featured in a book with Spencer Krug, Carey Mercer and Tao Lin among others.

Last week I watched the Twin Peaks film late at night. Having not seen the second series, I couldn't be bothered waiting any longer and plunged wight in with the film. I didn't expect it to be so dark, seen as the first series is often funny and beautiful as well as surreal and horrible and scary. The scene in the film where they are in the bar and the dialogue is barely audible is amazing. Films don't oftern transmit that kind of feeling across, but the length and the tension and the lighting of that scene and the horrible-ness of it all really came across and I thought it was pretty incredible, if a little harsh friday night viewing. Good to see Harry Dean Stanton in there too...

Ok so here is a lump of old writing that I haven' shown anyone yet. It is the first chapter in a story I haven't been able to get back into for ages

PART 1

The snow was big at that time of the year; fell in chunks and swallowed up the cars in hours. My apartment was on the top floor, and when the hail came it sounded like somebody hammering on an old typewriter by the window.

The room was small, with painted white wooden floors. I had a chair and a desk by the only window, looking eastwards out over Downtown, and a small single bed in the corner, over which the ceiling sloped down towards my feet.

I didn't have many things with me. Some blank books and a few clothes, melting out of a green canvas holdall in the middle of the room. I'd left in a hurry.

Often i'd go and take a walk in the mornings through the crisp air you can feel filling your lungs and chilling your insides. And the snow is lying all around and the sun reflects off it and everything is brighter. I'd weave up St Laurent past the coats stuffed with people, past the inevitable line-up outside Schwartz's, and turn right onto Duluth or Roy and spend hours getting almost lost (because how lost can you get in a gridded city?) around the Plateau. The multi-coloured apartments and balconies i'll probably never own and the Portugese chickens turning in the windows and maybe stopping for a coffee and then home when the cold starts to seep through the mittens. I used to look for bicyles buried under mountains of snow, maybe just a handlebar or pedal sticking out from an icy whiteness, and wonder if anyone would come back for them before they were eventually released, aged and bended, in the Spring thaw.

The winter wore on. Tapped at my window. I stayed at home most days, drinking tea and trying to write. Occasionally i'd watch a matinee at the cinema down the road. There was a particular point, at the top of the stairs, where all the various smells of the foyer congealed in the air; warm popcorn and cleaning fluids. Sour milk and sugar. It had contours, that smell. Sometimes i swear I could feel it brush my face as I walked by. Even later i'd catch it around the apartment, spilling out of coat pockets or sweating from ten dollar notes.

So anyway that is where i'm at, if anyone can be bothered to read it. Maybe i'll serialise it up to where I stopped. Anyways i'm past knowing or caring if its any good. It fills a blog-hole though...

If anyone's in Edinburgh this month go see the We are the Friction show, if anyone's in Newcastle next week come to the Massive Contact show, and if anyone is in London between 19th and 22nd August come and find us...we'll probably be in Atlantis.

Ta-da