Monday 26 October 2009

Not Fair on Erik

'and another one gone, another one gone, another one bites the dust'

No more Corsaro's and now no more Buells, the only Harleys that seems really fullfilling and that have a little more kick and more importantly a grin factor, a shame to hear though I have yet to hear what the plans for MV are, I suppose you could argue that an MV is more desirable bike across the board. They're just a shit load of money.

I only had one real ride of a Buell but I have to say I loved it, quirkiness an' all. The roadtest is somewher in this blog's back archive thing.

Motorcycles aside,
I picked up a copy of New Model Army's new album, 'Today is a good day'. What a corker! I thoght 'High' would be really hard to beat as I judged it probably the best since Thunder & Consolation, but this new one is absolutely awesome.

They don't really break too much new ground, but they just get better and better at what they do do.

Lyrics I wish I could have written, passion, fire, and an absolutely awesome band keeping the Sullivan ship coursing ahead.

They have to be for me the archetypal proper English band ever, fuck the Beatles and the Stones, nod and a tip of the hat to Zeppelin and the Who,They are not still producing but this lot are.
Brilliant album, go buy and listen!!!

Wednesday 7 October 2009

Lament for Morini

I read today in the trade press the merest snippets of information regarding the future of Moto Morini. Creators of the fang tasticherissimo 1200 Corsaro Veloce.

It would appear that despite selling 15% more machines in the year to date (more than the entirity of 2008 year), they cannot and have not made ends meet.
If any bike needed an airing to a wider audience, this was one of them, superb motor and great styling. A real fucking header of a bike, glad I rode one before they were no more.

KTM manufacturers of my equal first most desirable road bike to a penurious pocket and puddle sized eyes of desire have also slipped by 40% in brand sales. That is a fuck of a lot of toasters to sell to make up the difference.

Mr. KTM I will personally sing the praises of an Orange meanie throughout the land if you wanna give me one. Hell they aren't any good sitting in the factory gathering dust and spider's eggs!!

Talking of orange the sodium lamp opposite my garret window sheds flaming drips of rain, whilst the blue lights of Der Polizei, flash down the hill chasing some itinerant drunk who appears to be waving a fire extinguisher about.
I can almost hear his last gleeful cackle into the rainy sky before the batons rain down quick sobriety and enforced penitence, the blue lights blinding him. Could be a her I suppose?

It's a million laughs a night here in Mega City One, Home of the homeless, denizen of the desolate, The lost and lonely ones, the crazed and foolish, deceivers, believers, the vain, the mad, the sick and the craven.

Oh yes my friends in Etherworld, hear my laughter.

Monday 5 October 2009

Another sleepless night

I'd almost forgotten that I had a blog. There certainly hasn't been much motorcycle action of late, well the last year really. Dark circumstance has overtaken my waking hours, no bikes to speak of just sedentary desolation.

I've always scribbled on a reasonably regular basis, mainly about bikes, mainly because they have been a constant throughout my working life.

When I had no bikes and the dredds gripped my soul and squeezed my heart, only wine, the keyboard and a whimsical semi autobiographical tale about a sentient statue I have been constructing in my head kept me alive.
I vowed to vanity publish this collection of vignettes one day. I've written fifteen, this will form the basis of the next one. It's incomplete as I have not yet weaved in the Statue or in fact much of it into the story/plot.

Friends are kind, they tell me my writing is good. (I have my doubts)but as I haven't put anything on this for practically a year, I thought I'd create some space and then fill it up with some dark vision or two.

I'm desperate to finish but can't concentrate at the moment, been looking for a filip for months to kick start the next page or two. This could be it. Amazing what pictures worry, anxiety, bitterness and loss can do for the mind.

It was just a dream, ('cept it was a powerful one.)

Psycoanalysts requiring patients sign up here. What does it all mean..... crumbs!!!!

Goths, EMO's and lost children of the night read on.


A dream whilst enduring another sleepless night.




Pushing through dense woodland, tightly packed, akin to mangrove. Broad trunked and saplings alike forming a formidable barrier to progress. It’s not that the progress is hard , though it isn’t effortless either, it’s just that progress is slow.

I can’t remember entering the woodland mangrove forest. It’s remarkable by its clean monochromatic aspect, all greys and blacks and silvers and smoke, no other colours to bleed chaos into the symmetry of shades in evidence before me.
I don’t know how long I have been walking. It could be days. I’m not tired or hungry, I am not apprehensive, I am just pushing steadily through the dense wood, Where to I don’t know. I rack my brains.

When I look up I see the leaveless upper boughs poking into the metallic graphite sky, all black, all crooked, skeletal. Should I see meaning in this?

I see the shadow of the great black bird. It shimmers fast but purposefully across a screen of trees ahead. I wonder how I have seen this, the trees are so tightly packed. Nevertheless I did see it and I saw it clearly.

I look up through the bony screen of upper boughs again. Those accusatory fingers, some pointing some imploring to the graphite sky. The smooth, unblemished, airbrushed sky, almost lit from behind in the absence of perhaps a chrome sun or silvern moonlight.

My only view of the sky is a narrow circle above and slightly to the front of me, I see no great black bird wheeling around. I look down and see the shadow once more.
I push forward again curious, should I follow the smoky silhouette as it shimmers in black against the black trees ahead?

Where to giant Corbett? Illusory Albatross?

There is no wind, not a breath, no leaves to sussurate. No wind, that cannot be! The wind is always somewhere.
There is no sound, not a twig cracked underfoot no protestation from the trees as I pass through. I can only hear myself breathing from inside, the tree’s are absorbing sound.
I and the shadow are alone

The only sign of life are the trees (I can’t tell if they are dead or alive, I surmise that they are dead as there is no foliage or fall from them).
The trees could be stone, smooth stone.
How could I push past stone? How could I push through a wood as dense as this with no snags, no briars. They cannot be stone. They are however ageless, they’ve always been like this, this place has always been here. How did I get here? Still following the Raven.

How much time has passed? I don’t recall. No sunset, no sunrise, no variation of temperature, still no wind, still walking, pushing through the mangrove.

I have no shadow, the bird has flown on ahead or dissipated between the trees.
Still walking with only the space inside to think. No real room outside of me.
Just me, the trees and the sky now. Still walking, wandering, wondering.

DT 30/09/09
 

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