Was at a loss last night & was frantically looking for something good to watch on the box. My tv is ancient & I hardly ever watch it- but I felt like ’switching off’ so I turned it on. Finally, exasperated by the same old spoon fed tripe that is clogging up the airwaves, I decided to ditch the tv for the comp & turn to the reliable value that is Bill Hicks. By that point I did’nt care if I was looking at a tiny window in the corner of the screen- the content was well worth the effort & reconciled me with my brain in the process. So, I watched a few of the late Bill Hick’s excellent sketches- enjoying & feeling privileged to watch at the touch of a button. The last one I watched held something of a surprise though which had nothing to do with Hick’s comedic stylings. We’re talking subliminal, cryptic, freaky shit here..the sketch is drawing to a close & Bill is basking in the audience’s reactions- when suddenly & very briefly, this face fades in & is superimposed on the scene accompanied by what sounded like crickets on acid. The face was lit from below like something from a classic horror movie & from the short time it flashed up on the screen,-I could also make out completely black eyes (like the contacts that Marylin Manson might wear). I went back to see if I had imagined this- but the face reappeared again at the same moment. On further inspection, the overly gothic quality of this image reassured me that this vid must have been messed about with by some bored websurfing goth kid. My initial reaction was then replaced by annoyance- ghost or no ghost- how dare someone interrupt the Hickster! Go & haunt someone who appreciates it. (oh well, it sparked a blog entry anyway)

http://youtube.com/watch?v=ZwSvO_-mG0U&search=Bill%20hicks

I’m beginning to think I have an inverted Midas touch when it comes to household chores-everything I touch turns to shit. This is a bit of a pain as it only adds to the backlog of stuff to clean up. A case in point is- the pure genius of mopping a floor, only to find you have mopped yourself into a corner & either have to exercise your long jumping skills to get back to the door, or walk over what you’ve just cleaned with your filthy feet. But then,-a brilliant idea- remove the shoes & socks & tiptoe gracefully back to dry land. So you launch yourself into a domestic swanlake- only to have the magic cruelly cut short by the agressive floor in the form of a nice splinter. There is no blood, but it hurts. So, you decide to improvise a bit of surgery on your foot. The offending item is removed but you seemed to have butchered your sole in the process- & now there is blood & enough disinfecting liquid on the freshly cleaned floor to bring a tear to your eye. Maybe things would be less dangerous if I somehow suspended the mop & moved the floor underneath it..Would have to employ a few other stupid people to help though..Reminds me of that old joke: “how many ‘Anthonys’ does it take to change a lightbulb? – 100 : 1 to hold the lightbulb & 99 to turn the ceiling.” or alternately- “none- a self help group would be set up called ‘coping with darkness’ “
It’s funny what you find amusing when you have half a tree stuck in your foot.

This spring, as every year- the atmosphere is that of new beginnings, natures awakening,skin exposing, blind optimism, the birds are singing, tweet bloody tweet. I know, I’m a miserable bastard- but at least that way if I get flattened by a falling piano today- I won’t be surprised.
There’s a stronger percentage of smiling going on,-even the guy who asked me for some change yesterday (as I had literally put one foot out the front door) had a smile on his face.- Maybe in a strange way, my morning scowl made me more approachable to the poor sod- who was used to an army of indifferent grinners. To be honest, he did’nt give me any time to be indifferent- I had barely woken up- at that point, he could have tried his luck & asked me for the shirt off my back. Anyway, I started the day feeling smug & charitable.
With the spring, the street is rapidly becoming a makeshift catwalk for all those self absorbed charm-testers. The romantic gaze into the distance is a hazardous exercise in Paris- as, even if the climate is changing-there’s still as much dog muck on the ground. Seriously, on some days- I feel I could qualify for an olympic slalom event. A few years back, you could see specially employed people on ’sucker’ motorbikes who would remove the stuff with the nonchalence of a bazooker wielding film star. Now, they are nowhere to be seen.. As you can gather, there’s been a digital camera in my life- an aquaintance has one & we’ve been playing around with it. I still have my dad’s traditional Minolta camera & I’ve always entertained the idea of doing some ’serious’ photography but never really get round to it. I must say though, even if there’s the ‘warmth’ argument etc in comparison with digital,-I’m really impressed by the quality of the digital camera & possibilities of something so portable- might get one. As I’m writing- a cloud has just covered up the sun- Ha! Bah-humbug! Bring on the falling pianos – spring, who needs it!? >piano falls on head.