Friday, 1 November 2013

Wolf Tattoo

A grey crazy house filled with monster guitars and Fender Les Pauls, funk machines and Gibson Stratocasters and Henry Ibsens and just general shit like that, it was a total drunken nightmare but I wasn't even drunk at all, young sir. I repeated the phrase several times until it made no sense. A common form of behaviour I cannot quite explain.I found that in moments like this that stretching out my grey matter helped me with my writing and my writhing quite a lot. It was all pretty random stuff (as I reflected upon it all later). Those guitars strung out on the walls or every room were really stringing me along and just plain buggin'. I wanted to pick one up, just to send out a tune, scrape my finger on the strings and turn up the amplisander and loudestspeaker type things but sure enough the cables remained tangled like in a bad dream of entangled situations. Cables and confusion, all those songs in my head and nowhere to put them, can you imagine what it's like? Nothing is ever tidy, it's all very hungry and ragged. It wasn't as if I really liked guitars, it was more about how I'd been brought up by them, raised by them as if they were a family of wolves, howling and snapping in a pack. (A good guitarist would probably tell that's exactly how it is and what they do. Guitars sniffing you out and then ingratiating themselves in weird ways so that you have to have them, trap them and then squeeze the living hell of some kind of sound out of their dumb wooden bodies). But anyway I was comparing them to wolves or wild animals or things that have a bit of a mind of their own – even when, as has happened, they get serious, copied and turn into their own versions of themselves within the establishment. It's the establishment that brings everything down, tumbling onto your head, the crown of creation, glittery things, the snarl of that wolf pack, the howl of some distant discordant guitar playing away in a bedroom or kitchen, closed behind a door, noisy but afraid of it's own voice. That sums it up – afraid of it's own wild voice and there is this huge pile of words and guitar shapes I've go to work my way through.

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