Heroics

Is there a problem that can't be fixed with gaffer tape? And has this board lost its former glory, or does it look somehow more glorious having 'dinged' and living to tell its tale, bearing scars with pride? (On a body-conscious note, those who lament the presence of dimply thighs, apply the same principal - every dimple is testament to an important conversation held over cake/coffee/beer. Don't tell me this theory doesn't work for you!)

[Agh! As I type, have just knocked a cup of tea over on a new cream rug, christening it to stained perfection. Hot water, fairy liquid, towels, that didn't even see the week out and the poetry kills me.]

If there's a problem that can't be fixed with gaffer tape/string and a little lateral thinking, it's probably documented here, or there - displays of genius, and truly beautiful.

Moral of the story - don't let your repairs betray the truth of a great life thoroughly lived!

And talking about displays, today has been a practical sort of day, and one which has required a very well presented outcome in which this image plays a part. See my News page for the full story. Here's wishing you a held-together-at-the-seams-with-gaffer-and-initiative-but-doesn't-it-make-us-look-herioc weekend.

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And whilst we're talking poetic timing, trying to remember the name for T's ST, and at that moment it started up on the radio, thereby saving my dimpled bacon.

{Today's Soundtrack: Frank Turner - Try This At Home}

@lizzieeverard

So, today I have mostly been spinning from all the new things that are pouring in to my brain via the medium of Twitter: friends, writers, musicians, campaigners, lobbyists, pioneers, artists, athletes and workers. I do confess, @tritwins, I do appear to have a mild addiction (@sonjajefferson and @jennybee to thank for intros to...), but then there is something precious about Twitsville for the sole-trader. For those of us who spend long hours working alone, this is the office banter that I miss - making post-it note beards and letting each other's office chairs down, as well as light discussion over the things that get to us and a shout for the inspirations and triumphs too.

Since adopting this habit of the tweets, contrary to how it may come across I am challenged to get on with my work and have something to contribute! Very sceptical for far too long, this is a one way street and I'm dedicating today's post to all my new tweet-pals who are enriching life and making the days of sole-trading a vibrant and rich experience.

Sorry if this is all so yesterday - I'm always slightly resistant to new technology. Right then, back to my stoneage life pre-twitter and the Flintstones coffee machine...

{Today's Soundtrack: Vampire Weekend - Contra}

Littered

My path is littered with love. I must stop looking at my feet.

{Today's Soundtrack: Sleepy Sun - Marina}

Dirty Old Town

{Today's Soundtrack: Black Rebel Motorcycle Club - Dirty Old Town}

You Got The Love

I absolutely promise, I am utterly, truly not making this up. Last night's walk home blessed once again, twice! Please, will someone tell me, for this to persist is there something I am not getting into this pretty little head??

On another note, today, this is a fantastic biography for Illinoisian singer-songwriter William Fitzsimmons. I came across him on last.fm, his music having the effect of making me stop whatever else I was doing. Reading about him turned up this extraordinary story about the home he was born into, which rewrites the rules most of us take for granted. I was inspired, I hope you will be too - put yourself in those storytelling shoes for a second:

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William Fitzsimmons is one of the oddest people you will ever meet. Born the youngest child of two blind parents, William was raised in the outskirts of the steel city of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Due to the family's inability to communicate through normal visual means, William's childhood home was filled with a myriad of sounds to replace what eyes could not see. The house was suffused with pianos, guitars, trombones, talking birds, classical records, family sing-a-longs, bedtime stories, and the bellowing of a pipe organ, which his father built into the house with his own hands. When his father's orchestral records were not resonating through the walls, his mother would educate him on the folk stylings of James Taylor, Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, and Simon & Garfunkel. By the completion of his youth and schooling, Fitzsimmons had become well-versed at a variety of instruments, at the minor expense of social standing, interactional skills, and a knowledge of proper shaving technique. [Read more]

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Get involved with WF. His communication is a thing of beauty.

{Today's Soundtrack: duh... }

Hair Theory

I have a theory about hair - that it reflects externally what a person's state is internally. (Yeah, alright, just go with me on this one...!) Have a look around and ponder this, see what you notice. Of course, this is often harder to discern on our gentlemen friends, and more generally, I would hate to imply that those without much hair, male or female, are without a beautiful and sensitive, or indeed a complex yet beguiling inner-life. And facial hair too - how does this impact my theory? Go on beardy, chew this one over! I bet your choice of beard/mutton chops/moustache does actually tell us something about your inner harmonies after all, eh?

Today, my own wild, wiggly hair today is in such rebellion it needs trapping under a very large pair of headphones, and double measure, wound around a pencil for restraint. That I have run in a million directions away from the grown-up jobs I had decided to tackle today leads me to obvious conclusions. What more is there to say? The hair theory is borne.

* Obstacles to progress shall be named & shamed: twitter, cake shop around the corner, texting a friend on holiday, coffee shop up the road, twitter, reading interesting project ideas in old journals, twitter, feeling a bit post-birthday and searching for entertainment on youtube, chatting to mates in next door studio, tinkering with phone capture and Photoshop illustrations, music blogs, and twitter.

{Today's Soundtrack: Arcade Fire - We Used to Wait}

This Is Real

Q: Was this shot made at night or in the daytime?

[Ooh, guess who's digging the light-when-you-thought-it-was-dark poetry in this one, readers!]

Today, I dedicate this short post to things not being what they seem yet still believing – being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we don't see, and being captivated by what's right in front of you all the same, however mixed up and unresolved it seems. Confused? Yup, me too. How about sitting with the image for a moment, just in case it helps take you somewhere?

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Listening to Beach House today... 'boom, boom, boom'. Lovely clip for this link, it's a beautiful track. I think it's about being frightened of falling in love and – like that crap phone shot that isn't what it seems – may lull you into feeling things you weren't expecting. Making me smile.

{Today's Soundtrack: Beach House - Teen Dream: Real Love}

Liminal

A thoughtful little angel scribed this instruction for walkers in a Bristol park recently. I found it surprisingly helpful as I strode home from the studio, pondering what to do about certain things, shifting sands and the like.

It's about perception. Are we sitting under clouds (Numbers 9), or standing at crossroads? Maybe both.

'Liminal space' is a threshold between history and future. In this space, we are disconnected from our old identity, have let go of things we once clung to, and yet to be reformed in a new guise. The liminal space describes us as indescribable, in a place of disconnection, covers stripped away, pillars crumbled, handholds removed, awaiting new forms. By definition, in the transition state nothing much is familiar.

If you find yourself in a prolonged state of transition, be brave and take heart. You are you, right there. You are waiting, but not for life - you already have that, right here. It's the fruit of that life that you're eager to discover, and fair enough, but it takes time to grow. Assume and apply the gardener's patience in liminal space. Standing at a crossroads, there is much to ponder, and it's all about you - you unsullied, not him, or her, or them and what they turn you into. All that has gone. This is a chance to take stock, weigh up your options, salute your dreams, gather your strength and make some onward moves. Just don't forget to breathe.

{Today's Soundtrack: Aaron Strumpel - Elephants/Vespers}

{Today's Soundtrack}

A bit more on the soundtrack of the day - {Aaron Strumpel} and his Elephants and Vespers.

Recently, totally mysteriously to me, I was invited to hook on to a social network based in the states, Love Is Concrete. I still don't know how, or through whom, or why on their part, but I'm really glad this happened because of today's music-maker.

I gather–but could be wrong (Aaron, correct me!)– that this man lives as hermit in the mountains of Colorado. If so, this is the best advert I have found amongst my contemporaries for choosing a life of solitude and contemplation, in order to ensure that what you do contribute is pure, unbound, captivating and wholly to the point.

'Vespers' is an EP just released, inspired by the Psalms, expressed by a human who seems to be utterly engaged with all that means. It is much softer than 'Elephants', as you may imagine evening prayers to be, but no less real for that. In fact, at times, this music is heartbreakingly vulnerable. It is truly devotional, without a trace of schmultz.

On 'Elephants', again many beautiful sounds weave lovely but vulnerable, heartfelt pining in and out of gentle contemplation, and you feel as though you can breathe again. If you are listening properly, this is quite empowering. Hold on to your hats at this stage, as the Elephants are about to throw out a throat-ripping scream into heaven! You may find–at the point you are most disarmed with their bassy gentleness–that something else kicks in helplessly: fists clenched, eyes tight shut, mouth open and...

It's like you've been welcomed into a spacious place, listened to, calmed, then encouraged to let out really what's going on. This music is very special, and is what prayer really is. If you want to pray, but don't know how, you could do a lot worse than pick up this music and let it play, but beware: this is not music to have on in the background. It demands your all, and rightly so if you care about anything on this planet.

Underfoot Poems

It's happened again, and again, and again. Scuffed sequins, strewn and trampled underfoot, crushed petals and rough stones, glinting, tiny treasures that I can't even pull into proper focus.

"Scuffed and grubby. She pointed out that hearts in that condition are even better to love because there's no pretending from the offset. Rough with smooth. What you see, you get. In a way that makes things easier, doesn't it? You're allowed to come with your story."

[from Feb 11th]

The story in these little underfoot poems reminds me–repeatedly–that we are to be loved for the quality of our hearts, not judged for the way we look. We can take on the disguise of 'looks right, so I approve', and go along with being judged for how our lives appear. However, real love, and therefore, life, is about getting down and dirty with all the grit, comfortable with a helpless, public playing out of our vulnerabilities. Don't get me wrong, this is really hard to let go to! But In the face of things done and said that are inherently judgemental and diminishing, it becomes even more important to remember this. The judge who throws you out on the basis of your looking a bit messy–colouring outside the lines–is actually behaving out of their own fears. Steer clear.

We have all been scuffed and strewn, all have moments of shining or being crushed. Are we brave enough to believe that in the honest state we will be honestly loved, and further, hold out for this?

{Today's Soundtrack: The xx}