Evaporation from 2001

Hi Angelina

all the catalogue no. business is Mart's territory (who you copied, if there's no joy tell me and I'll chase him)

Apropos 'Evap' the song of the week , thank you so much for nice comments. It's a really great to know that someone 'gets it', sometimes.

In fact, your thoughts (aided by a bottle of not totally horrible six quid Chardonnay) prompted me to bit of of controlled reminiscence which you're welcome to deploy wherever you think it might be of interest.

 EVAPORATION

It was 82 and Viv and I were living at Burghley rd (Carl and Jo upstairs)

The basement was inhabited by Mr Paul Scrivens (a very old man indeed –with an old man’s name-  a watchmaker and heavy smoker). Mr Scrivens had been finally moved out to some place where they could keep an eye on the poor old sod . He’d started pissing on the bedroom floor because his legs were too dicky to make it to the toilet down the corridor. Viv –a keen collector-of –things wanted  to get down there upon his leaving  and I was curious about his set-up down there. Neither of us was disappointed: there were many objects recalling Pauls non Old-Bloke past –long locks of his ex wifes hair laid on the mantelpiece –a book of Shelley with a sexy (for 1940) dedication..all his watchmaking gear –he was a skilled geezer- oh loads of stuff :the local squatters kept up a steady ant-like procession through the back windows for a week or so after. We got some nice little crystal bottles; a few books. And there he was gone. He was precarious at the time –there’s no way he’s still alive. It was a moment of Looking at It: Death. Love. Loss. All that. I had a night job dismantling shelves up in Hendon and while Viv slept and I organised myself to go to work at midnight I stooped over the cassette machine playing the groove from the studio (working title : ‘quizzical little bastards’ because we thought  the toms sounded like curious prairie dogs in a wildlife doco) and  I wrote ‘Evaporation’- full of Mr Scrivens life and death and lost lovers-the huge vacuum beneath us in his vacated flat, which you couldn’t help but picture yourself in at some much later date.The night, the empty rooms –only dust and rubbish left, really now. It doesn't take long to disappear. That was it.

I’m still really pleased with that tune-

Lee Perry was the presiding spirit, of course (Dub that you can’t dance to –you can only lie down to) and the tune which could be Ecclesiastical or Celtic –killer combination. And the smouldering vocoder which flickers around the voice and allows me to sing a melody I’d otherwise be embarrassed to sing. We played it to Groucho Smykle the Reggae producer who did Jam Science and he turned it up on the big speakers at Island so you could really feel Daves huge bass-line (all the huger for being so gentle) and he said approvingly ‘dis ya Bad Music’.  Bad and Sad , I thought. That's the human condition for you..

 

that's it. Have a good'un too.

best wishes

barry

The Psychologist's Date part 1

I got a tad side-tracked and never posted the final date story here. Yeah yeah, I know, 'The Final Date' was supposed to be my final date, but things happen. This is the last one but, chronologically, happens after 'The Goth Chick's Date (aka the One that Got away)' because J has his iPod (from the dentist), but he doesn't have his hedgehog yet. I never formally introduced Sidney. Since this was my only chance to do so, I did. Sidney was originally conceived as a one-shot character, based on Sidney Poitier. Mr. Poitier starred in one of my patriarchal grandmother's favourite movies, Lilies of the Field. The movie was about a fraggle of nuns and how Poitier's handyman character helped them out one Summer. When I wrote 'The Nun's Date,' the first thing I thought about was this movie; thus, the existence of Sidney. There'd been so many people who were fond of him, though, I kept him around much longer than the Joker ever would have.

Uhm...disclaimers. If you're easily squicked, don't read this mmkay? I don't know what else to say. Oh, it's probably full of typos and whatnot because I was in a mad rush to finish this Monday night and had no time to proofread. And I still haven't because I've been too busy with other stuff. If you notice anything hideous, give me a shout so I can change my file. I doubt I'll change it here because HTML makes it very difficult to find the offense in question.

One thing's for certain, writers' withdrawal sucks. This is second day and, already, I'm missing this character. If I can make to Saturday, though, I should be okay and can turn my attention back to The Blood Crown. I've no doubt I'll make it without giving in this time, though. Fellow J-fic aficionados: consider Tin officially retired with this story. Whee!

Props go out to Kanike, who helped with the word association therapy and with naming the psychologist. Oh, and many thanks for the therapy in general. It’s a difficult job being a psychopath…..on paper that is. Ha.

Also many props go out to Gunslingaaahhh, Masquedbunny, MsManagr, RevClaudia, Opal Lynn, and Mldrfan, who offered support and suggestions regarding the Heath references and phobias. Special props go to Guns, who offers up all manner of Heath education I did not possess prior to this operation. I swear, J would never have a date if it weren’t for his harem of willing supporters.

( cut for fake courtesy )

The Psychologist's Date part 2

Thanks to rancid_rainbow, a special disclaimer needs to go with this part of the story. She and I engaged in a word association exercise where she presented me with a word and I'd give her the first word that came to mind in response, which is how it works. She thought it would be amusing to throw Joker Blogs-associated words in my direction since she knew our exercise was going into the story exactly how we played it out in IM. I have an especially hard kick reserved just for her if I ever meet her face-to-face. First I'll hug her, then I'll kick her. That's the plan. That said, the word association you're about to read is, funnily, word for word. ::kick::

Also, don't go any further if sex and violence freak you out. What do you expect, though? This is, after all, a date night. Sheesh.

( fork....you )