‘yes but its not going to happen is it ?’

”and why not then ?”

‘well, I mean to say’

‘well perhaps you may be right’

‘it ain’t gonna happen’

‘improbable really, its nothing, don’t know what you’re worried about’

‘i mean, ‘whats the chances ?”

‘she’ll be right mate’

‘go’on get on with it~’

‘yes but it ain’t you doing it is it ?’

‘so what are you going to wear then ? You know.. smart casual, business casual, cocktail ?

‘what’s wrong with what i’ve got on — right now — i mean ?.

‘well its interesting isn’t it’

‘.. the belt..’

‘it’s buckle is a jade dragon head, a friend of mine in China gave it me’

‘…and the boots ?’

‘Texas Boots, also with a curious design but really soft leather’

‘…but the shirt is strange too..’

‘sheer clear polyester’ totally see through… but somewhat electro-intensive’

and the hat ? Why the hat ?  It’s way past sundown.

‘the hat is keeping my thoughts at bay.  I find that’s important at these events’

‘why ? what’s the worst that could happen, not wearing a hat ?’

‘any random thought might just escape, while i was not thinking for a minute.’

‘that’d be highly improbable.’

‘Maybe so, but even one highly improbable random thought if it escapes unnoticed, it can really mess up a conversation.  People all stop and look at me and say ‘What’s that got to do with anything ?’

‘and the jade bit ? on the belt ?’

‘That’s actually to catch them, ..

.. the random stray thought that mightn’t escape.

‘Yes, this jade dragon, has it’s head open, and can catch any stray thought’.

‘mmm.. not so sure about the belt… it’s not really cocktail is it ?’

‘No… yes it is, she’ll be wearing a bracelet of some kind, right ?.’

‘Yes, ok’

‘it might probably be jade right ?’


‘So !… I’ll just flash me Green Jade Dragon head belt and offer her the same !.’

Charlotte Gainsbourg – Stage Wisper – CD Experience

Borrowed a CD from the Library.. It’s a rather old CD.  Old liner notes, played often.  Sight unseen.  Let’s see what it sounds like.

Terrible Angels:

Dreamlike the sounds of the buzzing electronica to a march.  Just looking for a protest of song.  Lyrical colors of protest change.

Sounds a bit like Icehouse, don’t know why, probably the 2/4 beat with an offbeat guitar against a rather sweet voice on the Paradisco track.

All the rain:

how very appropriate after all the rain we’ve had here on the East Coast of Australia in the past weekend.  Try to stay.. what ? anyway sounds like 2 bars one of 2/4 then a 4/4 follow up bar, repeated, again Charlotte seems to like having the voice against the basic drum beat, once again with synth in the background.  Simple and colorful, nice like the way if the rain is soft it could cover you, providing not too cold, heavy or torrential.  Somehow I think thats not the way it happens here in Australia these days.  We had about 210 millimeters of rain in one day filling up the Otto recycling bin.

White Telephone:

Well its a nice calm introduction in a slow trudge lazy style of thinking.  Waiting as usual for someone to talk on the phone.  Just like what happens when the robots call you up for telemarketing efficiency, though I doubt that is what Charlotte has in mind.  More actively, how do you feel ? Feel when someone actually never picks up the phone.  Like they somehow don’t understand or don’t actually want to talk to you right now. Gone just like a ghost. Just in the dark end of the empty phone right there.  These days you don’t need a white telephone, although that is somewhat evocative of telephones in hotels.  White phones in white rooms with no real pictures on the walls.

Anna :

Nice name – a bit quicker, happier with Anna of course.  This one has a slightly difficult to follow chorus.  I’ve often wondered re – chorus lines – in songs.  Yes, I believe the strongest chorus or refrains are those that state and re-state the conclusion of the argument. Examples of proof abound in the actual verses, then the chorus comes through sung by multitudes of disciples who actually agree.  Still – not too sure what Anna really thinks.

Got to let go :

Like the idea of the lyrical argument in this one.  It’s about letting go… knowing when to give up.  Of course my own feeling about giving up is … never give up… but we know that is pretty unrealistic… love is a wrecking ball, and I guess if it hits the solid edifice of life you have around you… bits and pieces are going to crash down around you after all.  Go on … do it !!!!  No … no… not the gun… you don’t need any revolver to help let go.  Not sure about this song really .. the argument fails… oh well… never mind.

Out of Touch :

Sounds like a letter… dear friend… plaintive sounds of being out of touch… do you call, text, skype, or write a letter.. what kind of paper would you use.  Lined and fat with thick paper from wallmart.  Sensitive thin paper, the kind you might use sitting on a yacht somewhere ? O I think the paper is important, since when getting back in touch it’s the paper that the reader feels the writer sent.  Yes the paper is what is about.  Could though you send a blank piece ? Probably not, the reader’s mind would get interested, then curious [where is the missing piece] — being out of touch – – got to start somewhere.  Who are you out of touch with ? try getting a nice piece of paper and write something on it — perhaps print an email out and send it… since you may have forgotten how to write neatly.


Interesting analogy where we have a nice boat sailing into memory .. delivering the body for memory — the body is memory –.. I like it in a kind of unknowing way.  So why give yourself to anyone here… why keep replacing relationships with anyone — will anyone at all really do ? Could you really be anyone ?  Not too sure about that..

IRM (Live) :

Love the synth getting a real 3D feel to the song.  Like musical poetry, scans a bit like RAP way before it’s time.  Like the electronic semi-dance feel to it.  The drummer gets a bit carried away with the mechanical torture of the rythm and tries hard to break out momentarily, but the synth cuts him off in the end. I guess a sojourn in an MRI machine is noisy but brief.

Set yourself on fire [live] :

So polite Charlotte – I don’t think these days people would be so polite in the way they ask to set on fire.. Still I like this one.  Sounds kind of progressive, leaning into a reasonable synth backing with some nice rythms.  Kind of pre-punk – anything would be about setting oneself on fire live.  I think bands should try hard to avoid singing about matches and fire and stuff, particularly after the disastrous fires we have recently in nightclubs.  Nightclubs on the other hand really need to think about having emergency exits that automatically OPEN when a fire breaks out. [Re Kiss night club fire in Santa Maria Brazil Jan 2013].


Jamais is French for NEVER – and I love the word Jamais.  I nice 8/8 rythm with the 3rd/7th beat in charge of a kind of question statement. A dialog about a story.  What’s that interesting synth solo in the middle.  What I like is the music is very uncomplicated and allows you to think over other things while you listen.

O Charlotte, your tracks got me wondering about a few things.  Travel, music, wondering, memory, identity. Childlike simplicity.  I think all in all, the sparse music is just enough to highlight a beautiful voice with interesting stuff to think about.

Thanks for a pleasant half an hour Charlotte. Will listen again on big speakers soon !.

See Saw Marjery Daw

This story is about how people meet, and discover and bounce off each other, each on their own way to somewhere in life. Happens a lot when people travel, this kind of thing don’t you think ?

His speed and risk taking had been no bother to other drivers, he really enjoyed life, and loved pushing the limits, almost testing life to see how it might end, even at the end of a working day.  There would always be tomorrow to try it again. So gunning the car into the drive, found a park, turned off the radio, got out, slammed the door, opened the back, got laptop, slammed other door, pip-pip’ed the car lock, walked into the hotel portico, through the auto doors, out of the sun, and into the cool of the lobby run.

Tired of thinking.  Past desk. Press button. Up elevator. Into room, change clothes, get down to the spa… sit on the edge. How brilliant, how frustrating the second last day, at the office by the bay.  Tomorrow at least he would check out and be on his way elsewhere.

The spa was quiet the water was ripply with the sun, in sunset over the fence and the parking lot beyond.  The fence now enclosing them in a pool bbq area.  She smoked and had a cup by her side.  Not dressed for the pool, but like she should have been, with her smile and look and now a question parted her lips in his direction.  She had on a nice shirt, shorts, but maybe looking for peace and quiet to chill for the evening. They were doing the same now, sitting on the other side,. her with her bare feet and red toenails waving under the surface of the still warm spa, in shorts and T-shirt, with book, and drink beside. Him, his legs, poking out of silly shorts with business shirt and strange fast social habits, and mobile phone besides.

Clock ticking, heart beating, what do they say ? what do they say ?  see-saw marjorie daw.. tick tick tick…boom boom boom … tick tick …

He took a breath, then another one, staring down into the spa pool. After the day had begun and ending, he thought it might be nice to just be quiet and relax a bit, however the presence of another there messed him around and made him tense. His mind constantly on the next task, the next job in life.  He ran a race, constantly in motion, against himself.  Whenever faced with an opportunity to connect to another, he tried to fit it into his task oriented life… perhaps he might spend half an hour playing with the person on the other end of the see saw in the spa.

Yet there she was, having hoped to say goodbye to the cruel world quietly, goodbye to the silly job she had for thirty years, and goodbye to other things as well.  She had come down to the spa pool, in the nearing darkness, having checked into a hotel, far out of the way of others, with a cup of wine, and a smoke, and a determination to just chill.

“What are you reading”  He asked

“Oh, just filling in time”.  She told him,

“I’m an engineer” He said,

“Me too”, She said,

“Long day” He said,

“Right, and not over yet” She said,



“Wrong, it’s over for me at least” He said,

“Short day really”, She said,

“You look like you are taking it pretty easy ?”, he asked,

“they don’t like me drinking here in the pool area”, she brandished the blue paper coffee cup as if she had fooled them for at least one more evening.

“My name is Fernando”, he said.

“Christine”, she said, “would you like a beverage ?” she asked. She got up, and dried her legs a bit, setting off to the hotel lobby.

It was getting dark and the light was far less when Christine returned, and this time with two paper cups of wine.

The evening wore on, the more Ferdinand talked with Christine, and the darker it got, the light and the conversation both.  The darkening and the wine brought with it an edge to the conversation, gradually developing to one of individual fears and tragedy, bad break ups, sadness, stories, and still with the sparring of bare feet together under the water. Christine, about having to stop, and take measure of life, about having a vacation, what is a vacation, why keep working, why not go to the continent, and meet someone handsome to lie around with for a while, and sit in sleepy cafes on the boulevardes of Paris or the vias of Roma. Ferdinand about stuff he had no idea about, feeling more and more out of depth.  The conversation was not the usual see-saw, but had become a slippery slide, down into the depths of a soul, down into the tragedy of the other. He did not know how to pull out, how to just lightly say good bye, nice to meet you etc etc, how to say, why not just come up to his room, and have some adult fun perhaps.

It was Christine who decided that enough was enough, there was in her meeting with Ferdinand a kind of tilting in two dimensions at once.  On the one hand, she had gone to the pool, to wait for the moment, when she would return to her room, her departure from the world intended, but now she was no longer sure about that.

It was Ferdinand, who woke the next morning, dressed for the day, down the elevator, into the lobby, laptop in hand, and blackberry buzzing, who grabbed a paper, and looked around, to see Christine again, at breakfast….and expecting to see Christine at breakfast, found no trace, although he had dreamt that she had promised to be around.

Corpus Christi Carol

This as I walked on Sunday morning, in  Foxboro, MA. USA.  Past rocks and springs, and green grass, past houses of wood on foundations of stone, ready for the frozen ground to come, but shining in the light summer air that day. I had a short conversation that morning.

“hello” – said the american woman, as I came by her house.

“Hi”, – I said, the Aussie wondering..

“How are you ?”, the woman answered, digging out a tree in her garden

“I’m well” I said, the stranger walking by,  “looks like a fair bit of work for you”…

“Yes”, “The kids are away …”

“OK well It’s good that it is not raining then” as I continued on past..

Sunday can be like that, far from home, a whole day can be spent with just occasional short conversations.. which take on a significance due to the lack of other conversational noise of the day to day.  As I continued walking I thought I might write something of Corpus Christi, what is it all about etc..

Corpus Christi Carol, I really like the tune, the way Jeff Beck plays it, the way Hayley Westenra sings it, the way Benjamin Britten wrote the music, the way somebody wrote the ancient lyrics some 500 years ago.  I feel there is scope to extend the lyrics a few more stanzas…I guess these stanzas look at the continuation of presence by faith and power in the Eucharist, something relevant to the feast of Corpus Christi.

Corpus Christi Carol – additional stanzas

And this is the method his story is told

not symbolic, but real life fold-ed

Corpus Christi, he gave us to share

Bread and wine Christ made him there

How can it be, that this bread is He ?

How can it be, this wine you and me ?

in our lives, his love transforms

and by our faith, his word informs,

And told the priest that he had the hour

To continue the simplest miracle power