Now, 'tain't their fault....
As Poliakoff harbingeringed, in his 98 The Tribe, a load of tribes cults whatdyerknows which would 'flow' into every workshop, clique and gang of fools in the world moves over to the safety of the SW.... and any sane person had left their theme parks way before, as i did, even 1992 as they spread out from Fulham rd., potion sales operations all over, slowly dribbling up through The Cotswolds in parallel with 'family assassinations' and all that which only come along when the big expensive SUV with 5k personal monogram on the front, can't be paid for any more... and thus 'identity' is nomore....
none of my business as any sane person in fact heard in 1979 my ohh my that year, we - my thensane wonderful tribe which included Princess DI later the drug dispensary, we had on loop the great album, and the great allegorical thingumybob just a word picture of the really rather stupid book, that tried to hard to be the bible of the ones who heard the great album and didnt get it: "youtoo"
in other words if you have only skimmed one rather silly showoff 'surreal' book and then buy some little cottage off the tramps of Stroud, Hay, even in time Presteigne... Gweek all these places they later (much later than me who had run away only to escape them 15 years earlier, about 2007 being the big year...
all going on about some 'milennium bug' End Times...or whatever they obsess around...around,na decade earlier hadn't worked so they were bored of melodrama and decided to go and seed it elsewhere, the keyword, melodrama... drama queens... or just bored OF themselves....
Anyway thats all impossible real history as they are so plenishingly abundant they cannot allow any real history....
Such that all 'this' the magnificent poet chubby Kev saw through nearly fifty years ago! ...and you will still have the tribes of HAtefilled smilers gathering now on Gweek park pretending they actually have some 'community' in any other way than transactional, and wanting to be prettier than the next Whickerine flouncer.... so that they can fang-sink, them into Rupert's antique landrover which like;ly jhas a few million quids worth of mummy's L'Oreal shares exchnaged for somewhere to park a few 'patinated vans' (he LOVED that yesteraft another refugee, from Wadebridge this time, and fine artist making jokes about the 'ancestrors' who had a real funky sense of humour in 500BCE as he showed me at great length " god it got SO greedy and fake i had to run away..."
Thing is about the Pretty ...parkers..parkups.... they can't laugh at THEMselves any more which is the definition of a clique and also the worst workshops ever ... and basically fascismtoo....
None of which interests me other than maybe over time weave something just a tad tenth as good as The Count's Resurrection " but tear out the last two seditious pages!!"
Being i don't think there is any other book or thinker who thunk better on how the 'working' class are their own exact realised whatnots and some guilty aristo who tags on to save his own soul should be told to stay in his own posh compartment of the gulag train.... as " im quite alright without you thank you very much on your cross... furthermore i am in love with this splendid smelly tramp who i snuggled up to lastereve to prevent myself from dying of cold...but you can be our friend if you want until you get bored of Siberia..."
Anyway .... nobody ever can even think of any joint humanity here there and everywhere...in The LAnd of only self 'realisation' that invaded my last territory 20 years ago.... funny thing not one know what happiness is. (never mind a rare honest artist, perhaps because he was so 'ugly' in a nonmutable way, and so must never be mentioned as so, and thus couldnt trade on prettiness )
Or see what you do NOT see is so interesting - often moreso than what you do....
" ehh so what do you call a gathering of fools, a clique?" (there is a backstory to that notfornow...)
I should have blurted out " a business!" as twas on my mind.... " like a business of ferrets [BIGSMILE] ...one difference they cannot be bought..."
anyway an evening of foolery ... not one had bought along any man.... it never occurred that i would be sat in a room of only woman 'artistes'...
But of course when every word for decades (" ehhh avante garde theatre was invented like a hundred years ago nuthin new...") is rather 'seperatist' they get what they want..... (in Lower Sourcetown this is) a room where theyre all separated forever.... except well i did intro myself AS The Fool....
me whom thought one smile was real.... (long long knew that one! god every single incursion upon simple humanity you had thought they had invented twofacery the smugness and revelry in... 'passive aggressive' bad manners via being ghhostly! )
Anyway if only they knew: what eight magnificent hours shut eye no matter what unless i am busy with the minor flotsam after their gunboats have been at it as so often for several decades...
I adore it the way at 0600 faces even if double sided that one met a day or two ago, at dawn after eight hours shuttersdownsville come back in absolute high fidelity...
( i wonder if she saw me atchin-here.... quite deliberately?? ...
she liked to speak quite sincerely...
some things cannot be faked nor sold, even for free)
