▼ SIBLING IB: (PAT GARRETT) UNTITLED #2 from "Naked On The Bleachers" CD IB
(IBCD 002) (UK) 2018
MIXES
▼ SIBLING IB + GUS GHOST: (PAT GARRETT) UNTITLED #2 from "Bleachers In Dub"
CD IB (IBCD 001 • 003) (UK) 2018
Monday, February 12, 2018
EXCLUSIVE • billy the kid's blackest bleakfast | poems r us
▼ SIBLING IB: (PAT GARRETT) UNTITLED #2 from "Naked On The Bleachers" CD IB
(IBCD 002) (UK) 2018
MIXES
▼ SIBLING IB + GUS GHOST: (PAT GARRETT) UNTITLED #2 from "Bleachers In Dub"
CD IB (IBCD 001 • 003) (UK) 2018
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7 comments:
I do declare...
It's been quite some time since I've been at this spot in the void not entirely sure why I'm here or what sparked in the grayness which proffered passage. Six years now maybe seven since we've engaged in quiet discussions on another plane, though you would recognize an avatar I've long retired. Last I remember there was little to no activity for at least a year, or maybe my perception of time is becoming diluted from age. No matter. I see you're well. Not to consume too uch, I'll bow down and out with a simple:
Hello.
Hello.
Thank you for the comment, or might I be so bold, riddle.
If your perception of time has become a tad diluted, then my own fragile grasp on times past has been scoured by shifting tides. I am at a loss. I dearly wish you'd brought that avatar out of retirement. If only for my benefit.
Another plane, you say ?
Ano. #2 ??
Forgive my woolliness. Anyhow. I am glad you did alight here.
Well, brother, you never said how the reading went???
Would that the above missing avatar was a hand signing three fingers up.
Just @eloh dreaming, I guess.
@eloh!!!
Surely not. If I missed your fingerprint, please forgive me, and come back soon. Damn. I am getting rusty. I miss our discussions.
As for the reading, brother NØ, it went rather well. Four poems and a longer piece, after the interval, I would have been breathless if I was permitted to attack the cigarettes. As it was, some wine did the trick in allaying the nerves. Once under the spotlight I was soon back for more.
Thank you for asking.
To return briefly to the subject of mystery visitors, it fills me with melancholy to dwell too long on friends lost along the way.
And there has been many.
As with a number of blogs it seems to me, much of the finest content once to be found here was contained in - but not confined to - the commentaries section. Vague alliances made. Partisan loyalties forged.
A genuine foment of chatter and thought.
Agitation.
An intention of revolt.
When I formally returned to the bleachers after my prolonged hiatus, which coincided broadly with the worst excesses of the DMCA pogroms, many regular "faces" appeared to have fled for better or for worse. Some obliterated entirely. Others simply evacuating to other platforms. Departing trains.
Which brings me to Facebook.
A service I continue to view more as a precipice to banality and pointless self-gratification than a provocative or utilitarian convenience.
I'm afraid I struggle to get my head around the concept of stabbing away at a fast-food order button like some Pavlovian tart.
Anyhow. Enough of the bile. No doubt my revulsion at all this social infection is indicative of entrenched onanistic leanings on my part. I wallow in wankery down here in der rat kellar while the greater good have taken to the bath-houses and saunas several hyperlinks above.
How quickly those dinosaurs populating the lip of the great upheaval have descended back into mud.
Set in amber as curios to adorn a desktop.
A paperweight. Ultimately as useless as a dilinquent febrile mouse.
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