Severe Jam Damage

Went to Copenhagen for a few days last week. Its a nice city, although I didn’t take as many pictures as I normally would - or rather I wasn’t very happy with a lot of the ones I did take so just a small set on flickr.

I’ve a couple of rolls of film to get developed as well on the fisheye so hopefully there’ll be something worthwhile there. Copenhagen is a nice compact city much like Dublin. Easy to walk around and safe enough for the most part. Went out to Christiania one afternoon but no pics of the experience as the place was littered with No Camera signs.

Some cities are more conducive to photo taking then others, I don’t know if it was the atmosphere or my own mood. Although I took the cameras with me I didn’t feel like using them that much, happier just to soak up the atmosphere and remember what its like to just wander a city and breathe it in. Perhaps I just needed to see with my own eyes rather than through a lens.

Stage directions: 1001 STANDS in the corner wearing a BLINDFOLD, beside a BOWL OF BANANAS. 1010 SITS on the floor PICKING LINT from a JUMPER.

1010: The sky is pink with yellow polka dots
1001: Its not blue?
1010: Its not blue.
1001: Make it blue?
1010: I’ll make it purple.
1001: Make it purple then.
1010: It won’t be easy.
1001: Do it.

1001 EATS a BANANA. 1010 LAUGHS.

1001: Is the sky purple?
1010: No
1001: No?
1010: I can’t do it.
1001: you can’t?
1010: I can.
1001: you can?
1010: No, I can’t.

1111 WALKS across the stage, MOANING. Exuent.

1001: What colour is the sky?
1010: It has not changed. See for yourself.
1001: You mock me.
1010: Yes.
1001: You mock me?
1010: No.
1001: Is the sky purple?
1010: No.

1001 EATS a BANANA. 1010 LAUGHS. 1111 SCREAMS OFFSTAGE.

1010: The sky is purple.
1001: Congratulations.
1010: The sky is not purple.
1001: The sky is not purple?
1010: It is pink with yellow polka dots.
1001: You did not change it?
1010: I cannot.
1001: Who can?
1010: I can.
1001: Do it.
1010: I cannot.

1001 EATS a BANANA. 1111 WALKS across the stage and PICKS UP discarded BANANA SKINS. Exuent.

1010: The sky is pink.
1001: With yellow polka dots?
1010: With yellow polka dots.
1001: Congratulations.
1010: Thank You.

1111 WALKS across the stage with BANANA SKINS on HEAD.

FIN

The Good
The food - Not just a bloke in a burger van. Gourmet burgers, homemade pies, burritos, chunky chips, crepes, roast pork buns, falafels, chicken teriyaki, yum!
Secret toilets - flushable loos! With HOT water and mirrors and soap and CLEAN! Down beside the comedy tent if you missed them. We only found them on Saturday night.
The music - too much choice!
Body and Soul - what a fantastic area
The Atmosphere - chilled and friendly and safe. Lots of people wandering by themselves to various gigs, but no-one was really alone if you know what I mean. People didn’t look askance at you if you started a conversation or butted in to theirs. Lots of chatting with random strangers.

The bad
Toilets - the porta-loos in the festival area were only pumped out ONCE a day. By 6pm they were mingin’. As for the ‘troughs’ in the campsites they were virtually unusable for the entire weekend. There isn’t a word to describe how disgusting they were. This REALLY needs to be sorted out for next year.
Parking lot - traffic control after the festival was awful. There were only two tractors available to pull people out of the mud and everyone was being directed to ONE exit. Resulted in people sitting in cars for 2 or 3 hours not moving an inch. We heard of another exit that was ‘quagmire’ but took the chance and made it out to the main road in 2 hours.
Stewards - Not sure what happened, but the stewards were only given maps of the layout the night before electric picnic. Half the time you asked them something they apologised and were unable to provide any info. Would appear that organization and planning fell down somewhere along the way.
Rain - although we got lucky and it only rained the once. But that was enough as it BELTED down. I’d imagine a lot of people who had camped in the lower areas of fields ended up in their cars that night as there were a few tents that appeared to be floating.

But I don’t want to leave it on a bad note. Electric Picnic is a great festival, the bad things are all down to planning (except the rain) and if they fix it for next year it’ll be even better. I had such a fantastic time. There is stuff there for everyone, lots of music, lots of shows. Lots of places to chill out, or dance your socks off, or drink cocktails, or smoke from a hookah, or knit, or get a massage, or play dress-up, or take a yoga class, or learn the charleston, or watch a burlesque show, or make a yurt, or, or, or…

So some of you are thinking ‘Jeez, she missed LOADS of bands that I would have gone to see.’ And yeah you’re right, not only did I miss(catch) a lot of music there was also LOTS of performance art and other things going on - again this list is in vaguely chronological order.

Strange Fruit - ‘Spheres’ @ The o2 Blueroom. THIS was amazing, balanced on 4 metre poles above huge paper spheres lit from underneath they swayed and bent and literally flew. Actually just go here and watch the promo video for an explanation.
Silent Disco - silent disco tent. Two DJ’s, a pair of headphones and two channels to flick between. The only sound from outside was the crowd singing along.
Disco Fiasco - The Village Green. Possibly the worst disco I have ever been at and its deliberately done like that. Loads of fun.
Lost Vagueness - The Asylum. Some familiar faces from the Tassel Club here (Sarah and Miss Epiphany) and some just weird acts. We watched a guy dance on broken glass. The Asylum itself is as the name says. Furnished with hospital beds, medical chairs and other pieces of ‘equipment’ - the ketamine simulator proved of especial interest to some of our party. At different times people in doctors and nurses outfits would abduct people from the dancefloor, tie them to a bed, stick a leather strop in their mouth and whip them. Normally you’d have to pay for treatment like that.
Lucent Dossier - Dolab stage in Body and Soul. Burlesque ballet set on a pirate ship by men and women dressed like (dead) extras from Pirates of the Carribean. Stage was set in about 5 inches of water, I assume it was warm as the nights were cold. We went to the 2.30am show. Utterly fabulous stuff.
Lovely Girls\Lads competition - The Village Hall. Just like Father Ted. Lovely girls, Lovely lads, Lovely Garda, Hunky Priest, Nosy Nun, etc. The villagers were great, they stayed in character for the entire weekend.
The Carnival - They had CHAIROPLANES! I hadn’t been on them since I was 12. Sooo much fun. Also an old style carousel where we met a couple of bananas.
Tower of Truth - this was supposed to be burnt at 12am. However the gards moved the barrier out for safety and it was delayed till 2am - the rain started at 1.50am.
The tower once it was eventually lit took about 45 minutes to burn and fall, we were soaked through by the end of it despite my poncho.

Once again I haven’t mentioned lots of stuff: the Chai bar where we were too late to get a hookah and smoke some shisha. Chilling on a bed in Bollywood. Knitting with some of the Gin Lady’s friends in the Zen Garden. Drinks in the SoCo bar and the wee Mardi Gras parade (I’ve got enough strings of golden beads to make a half decent Mr T costume.) Bacardi and cranberry in the sun at the Bacardi B Bar. Many, many, many pints of Heineken. Swinging in the hammocks in Body and Soul, watching the waterfall in the Dingly Dell, drinking Miz Rabbits champagne bought for 15 quid in Tarts&Tease, Y’s vodka with the weird twig\herb in it, swigging wine from a milk jug…

I done signed up for that damn thing so. Anyone interested in the minutiae of my life can folly along here. Christ knows how long I’ll keep it up before getting bored…

@ Whelans the Village.

The email was terse as usual. It was an order, not a request.

‘Mick Harvey @ Whelans tonight.
The Barfly is back!’

It had been a while since I’d seen the oul souse, so I agreed to meet him at the bar. He was propped up in the window leering at the passersby.
‘Get down outta that, or the manager will be over to bar us for scaring off his customers.’
As it happened it didn’t much matter, the place was empty - a building site actually. The gig was moved next door to the Village.
‘Sure we’ve plenty of time, lets have another beer.’

I needed beer, the last time I was in the Village I’d been to see Warren Ellis - another of the Bad Seeds - with the Gurrier and his troops. The venue still held bad memories for me, images of the Gin Lady mixing cocktails, and that thing hidden in the Bastard Kesey’s trousers. I shuddered and kept drinking.

By the time we managed to crawl upstairs it was standing room only.
‘Ya fuck.’

I got more beers in and the Barfly disappeared into the dark shadows. Fucker was always doing that, leaving me standing with two pints. A familiar shape loomed in front of me. Blather and his missus, figured they’d be here. It was exactly the sort of seedy shithole they liked.
Blather was babbling, I couldn’t make out what he was saying. Snatches of sound from his lips ‘Fortean…’ then ‘Apocalypse’ and finally ‘Paddy Casey’. This last with tears in his eyes.
‘What about Paddy Casey?’ I ventured.
‘He gives me a pain in the bollix.’
‘Ahhh, Um.’
I turned away for a bit, waiting for him to leave of his own accord - grown men shouldn’t cry over half-rate singers. On stage there was a girl with a guitar.
‘Christ, not another one.’
But then she started singing and we all fell in love with her a little bit.
‘Fuck me’ said the Barfly who had appeared at my shoulder.
‘No thanks’ I replied.
‘No, I mean her, she’s fucking AMAAAAAZING.’ His eyes were twisting in their sockets, rolling like a galleon on the high seas.
‘What’ve you taken?’
‘Nothing, I’m in loooooooooooove.’
I’d seen him like this before and in the past it had never turned out well. I bought more beer, in an attempt to get him so blind drunk that he’d be unable to storm backstage and accost the poor girl.
‘Want More’ chanted the Barfly.
‘Shuddafuckup, Micks coming on stage.’

Half an hour into his set I was singing and dancing around. The Barfly was in a strop.
‘Want the girl’
‘What have I told you before? You can’t HAVE the girl.’
‘Not fa-eeeeeeeeeh!’ as he stumbled across the floor and fell crashing to the ground. Behind him the Goth stood in an old ratty coat.
‘Answer your goddamn phone!’ he shouted. ‘I’ve been sat next door for the guts of an hour.’
The Barfly grunted, pulled himself up extracted a shard of glass from his hand. He was covered in beer and broken glass.
‘What’s that on your face?’ I asked, trying to quell the impending violence.
‘What?’ said the Goth pulling at his cheeks.
‘That… thing? Is it… fuck me… is that a smile?’
‘Uh yeah. It’s new do you like it?’
‘Eh, I’ve seen better.’

An hour and numerous pints later the band finished up.
‘That was great!’
‘It was very samey, not enough Bad Seeds’ said the Barfly.
I was too drunk to get into a fight with him about it.
‘Going home now.’ I said and stumbled down the stairs.
Behind me the Goth and the Barfly were making plans to sneak backstage and kidnap the girl. I left them to it.

So yes, a few things to clear up. I’m still here, just not here if ya get me.

Besides the normal things like breathing, sleeping, eating and working I’ve been busy with other stuff, some of it net-based, some of it not.

In the ‘real-world’ category I went to London about a month ago for a few days, where I met up with Mr. Birdbath and Miss Rabbit. I’ve also been getting to grips with my new camera (a Nikon D80) and I’ve just bought myself a gorillapod. The weather here has been shite so there have only been a few evenings in beer gardens, but they’ve been bad enough to knock me out for a couple of days afterward.

Online stuff…
I’m still doing the 365 thing on flickr although I’m missing out days here and there more and more often. The Friday flickr fiction which some of you may remember ignoring here on SJD, has now been moved to a dedicated site on ning.com - We are now all over here if you want to continue to read my attempts at flash fiction. I’ve also gotten myself an account at Warren Ellis’ Club of Mars, but I really really don’t know what to put there, so its a bit dead at the moment.

I’m going to post here when I can and when I actually have something to say. Right now I’m up to my uxters completing this project and can’t wait to see the back of it. Only a couple more weeks… hopefully.

So I know I don’t talk to you often, but seriously like…

Where has our summer gone? This weekend was the last summer bank holiday and I spent the time indoors staring out into murk and rain and water. I briefly considered building an ark but then realised a.) there are no animals I would want to save and b.) I don’t particularly want to be stuck on a boat with other people either.

This morning it looks bright and balmy but that’s absolutely NO HELP as I am stuck in a stuffy office.

So please God, get your finger out and give us at least ONE nice weekend this summer.

Yours,
a very bedraggled
Eli

What I do has no meaning. I do not produce anything, I do not make the world a better place. No ones life will be saved because of what I do. I will not feed anyone, nor clothe them, nor make them laugh. I do not heal, I do not entertain, I do not build, I do not break. I produce nothing tangible, I help no one. I bring neither joy nor chaos to people’s lives.

It has taken me thirteen years to realise the futility of my career. To realise that THAT is the crux of my problem - or at least a very big part of it.

I stopped this last month because it seemed the best thing to do. An attempt to loose myself of the black dog by agreeing and signing up for anything and everything that I thought would distract me from its wolfish fangs resulted in draining me of all creativity and energy. And I finally just snapped and shut down. I gave up SJD and scriptfrenzy and ficktion and 365 and I stopped talking to friends, stopped replying to emails. Instead I focused all that (lack of) energy on work. On the job. The one that I loathe and despise.

I started getting pains in my stomach, like the onset of ulcers. I had a permanent headache. Monday mornings became a challenge, I found myself leaving the desk and sitting in a toilet stall for 20 minutes crying for no particular reason.

And its taken me until now to figure out that I did it the completely wrong way round. When I decided to cut things out of my life I chose the wrong things. The things that calmed me, that make me think, the things that I actually god damn well enjoyed doing- they were all gone. Excised because I thought it was the right thing to do. The lack of creativity, of spontaneity I had thought was down to the pressure of having to come up with something new on a daily basis was actually down to the pressure that I was feeling from work. It was the total lack of motivation that was a drain on me. With nothing to focus on, nothing to distract me, nothing to enjoy the job became my disease.

Last week I went sick and stayed in bed for three days. I haven’t been right for a few months, but you learn to hide it - the odd outburst every so often - but generally people don’t notice. For three days I ate nothing, I spoke as little as possible and I hid away in the back of my mind. It had been coming for a long time. By the end of the third day I disgusted myself, lying in my own pit of despair I felt pathetic. I got up, remade the bed with fresh sheets, had a shower and sat on the edge of the bed. And it slowly came to me - this thing that was in the back of my mind but that I hadn’t been able to acknowledge till then - that nothing is worth that much grief. Nothing is worth feeling this way. Its not the first time I’ve found myself here - you grow to recognise the symptoms and pray to god that you can drag yourself up before you crash all the way (so very far) down.

So I’m back now. I’m slowly getting back into doing the stuff I enjoy - and I’ve stopped pressuring myself . If I don’t feel like doing a self-portrait for 365 it doesn’t mean that I’m a failure. If I miss out on a weekly ficktion effort it doesn’t make me less of a writer - although perhaps more of a procrastinator. I’m not perfect - none of us is - and I know I have a good few wobbly days ahead of me. But work is now very low on my list of priorities. That’s not say I’m going become a complete slacker, I’m still going to do my job, but I’m not going to do that bit extra. It’s not appreciated, nor even noticed most of the time. I’m still living on a one-day-at-a-time basis, but I’m hoping that soon -not tomorrow or next week, but soon enough- the good days will once again outweigh the bad.

So that’s it, that’s all I wanted to say.

Total drama queen and attention whore.