2019 - Year Of The Cripple

2019, January and I was bed-bound for six weeks as the most crippling of pains burnt, pierced, scraped, smashed, needled and electrocuted their way through the path from my neck to my left arm and finally my hand, leaving me with a half-paralysed grasp when it finally subsided after a chiropractic visit that took away the perma-pain.

This was my welcome into a brand new year.

6 weeks in bed, ditching the complex-care work I was doing and now up to my neck in bills with no occupation.

The neurologist was succinct. 

Half an hour of electric needle tests and he said you've got brachial neuritis and we don't know what causes it.

Six fucking weeks and I got a name to call it by, and nothing else except bouts of pain for the rest of my life and a gammy typing hand after decades of effortless writing.

That's when I realised I'd fucked up and not written the book I'd mulled over for half a century, while I could still touch-type.

Too late buster.

Had it...

Lost it...

Serves you right. 

Som nom naa (gala hua jok) as the Thais say. 

Anyway, that's why I haven't written anything substantive for a long time.

So here I am, 2019... year of the cripple and bashing something out before I throw an iMac through the window to keep the neighbours entertained.

Ya hear me?

Good. 

I'm just beginning.

Stevi Loves 2 Love U Xx Edits/XX Edits

Stevie Loves 2 Love U

from XX EDITS Volume Three by XX EDITS

How Great Thou Art

This work filmed in New York reminds me of a conversation I heard repeated recently between an American and a Pakistani sometime in the late 60's or early 70's I guess. The American, squashed in the back of the pedal powered cab  listened as the Pakistani driver said.

"You see, we here in Pakistan understand the problem. Progress he exclaimed! Progress is the problem".

It sounded funnier in audio but it touches on a some thoughts I've had recently and which I've no answer for. However this is the second piece of art in a week which gives me permission to hope that maybe our artists are emerging from an understandable but frustrating inertia of everything goes, compounded by never quite leaving when its time was up.

Too early to call but this work is not inconsequential is it?

The flip side of the progress coin is a dawn shot of New York that someone tweeted the other day, and which left me in no doubt of the city's prowess as the definitive skyline of progress. 

It's this that awes me about New York. On weird days the abstract creativity of Wall Street spits in my gravity cautioning face. But for the record. I'm anti gravity. 

Sort of.

Real or not real?

Charlie Gower over at Tantramar and I visited the Ephemera fair a few weekends ago and it was brilliant. Lots of classic printed material such as in-flight magazines from the 50's or telephone marketing from the 1930's and more. We met a bunch of faces we knew including Cookie from Made In England, who I recognised by his mustache as you would expect. I also met the fine chaps Rory and Mark from Fairbrand who kept us company down to Brick Lane after, where Charlie and I were up for a curry. I like this area of London at the weekends.

In the restaurant Charlie pulled out his fake hand waving act which I managed to catch on camera. You gotta be quick as Charlie only does this on special occasions. Is it real or not?

Then we ducked into Rough Trade Records to check out the latest DJ Kicks by Booka Shade who I'm usually nuts about, but on this occasion it wasn't floating my boat, particularly since that DJ from the lost weekend pointed out that Booka Shade is (slow drum roll) 'slow Trance' (Gulp). Fortunately the Pan Pot Panorama were working their magic so that compensated nicely.

By the time we bailed out of Rough Trade, it was looking darker and feeling even more vibrant at night. This part of London is seemingly fully loaded with Japanese and Koreans, which suits me just fine. Or at least appeals to the Orientalist in me.

It wont be long now but London really is a special city as I hope this quick panorma over the Thames suggests. I'll miss it no doubt, but only in the same way that old friendships are always enjoyed so much more after some time away. If indeed I will ever really come back. (Cue sentimental music)