On Saturday night I had a terrifying dream my father had a wound which ran down his entire shin and culminated in a huge abcess above his left knee. It was deep and red and he hadn't done anything about it and I was horrified. He happened to ring that morning and was delighted that I had been worrying about him.
I then spoke to my mother, who lives in a different country to him. I related my dream. She told me that he did have a (small) abcess on his leg which he hadn't sorted out. I am very freaked out. Why can't I have dreams that tell me useful stuff, like which promoters are likely to bother reading my emails, which venues are worth playing and how to get an agent? Not stuff about the potentially failing health of my father who lives in a different country, and who like most of us has stuff he hasn't and maybe will never sort out.
Last night, however, I had a dream that I owned a rather racy big quad bike, which turned into a small motor boat when you turned it upside down.
Monday, 30 November 2009
Sunday, 29 November 2009
First post
I've been toying with the idea of a blog for a while. I can't decide if I want it to be secret or not. So perhaps I will link it to endless other self promotional web based activity linked to my band (I am a musician) or maybe I will remain anonymous and use it to think aloud, complain and ponder. At one point I had big ideas to air Important Reflections on Being Female And Creative in the 21st century. Big ideas can squash you though, so I'm not ruling them out but neither am I riding into blog world on a big ideas horse.
I live in a big city.
I write and perform music, and do whatever I can to keep roof over head. I teach guitar, I have popped out of cupboards playing Elvis songs at parties, driven vans full of grumpy boys from north london around the country, every now and then I consider landscape gardening as an alternative pastoral career path, but realistically I don't love being rained on enough for that. Obviously I'd like to be properly paid for doing musical things, and that is my objective, but along the way there is a great deal to be enjoyed, observed and experienced, and not all of that can be valued in a financial sense.
Although, I am peeved that there is an enormous waiting list to get a licence to busk on the tube. C'mon! I'm a local. I contribute music to the community, by being priviliged enough to 'showcase my material' as promoters describe it, free of charge often. They should give me a licence! I might even dress up in black tie frocks and sing jazz standards, while handing out fondant coconut confection to passers by to engender seasonal spirit.
Today I saw Jarvis Cocker do a screening of some documentaries he made on what he calls outsider art, at the amazing museum of everything, which had various extremely eccentric French men who'd build crazy houses-made of mosaics, a retired priest who'd sculpted figures on some breton rocks, a postman who gathered oddly shaped stones on his 20 mile round and build a fantastical dwelling (le Palais Ideal du Facteur Cheval). It completed a weekend in which I loved big city life for the abundance of random interesting things happening and there for the plucking.
I pressed a copy of my album into his hand and felt like a dork instantly and scurried away, completely failing to make good on the opportunity. Who knows.
I live in a big city.
I write and perform music, and do whatever I can to keep roof over head. I teach guitar, I have popped out of cupboards playing Elvis songs at parties, driven vans full of grumpy boys from north london around the country, every now and then I consider landscape gardening as an alternative pastoral career path, but realistically I don't love being rained on enough for that. Obviously I'd like to be properly paid for doing musical things, and that is my objective, but along the way there is a great deal to be enjoyed, observed and experienced, and not all of that can be valued in a financial sense.
Although, I am peeved that there is an enormous waiting list to get a licence to busk on the tube. C'mon! I'm a local. I contribute music to the community, by being priviliged enough to 'showcase my material' as promoters describe it, free of charge often. They should give me a licence! I might even dress up in black tie frocks and sing jazz standards, while handing out fondant coconut confection to passers by to engender seasonal spirit.
Today I saw Jarvis Cocker do a screening of some documentaries he made on what he calls outsider art, at the amazing museum of everything, which had various extremely eccentric French men who'd build crazy houses-made of mosaics, a retired priest who'd sculpted figures on some breton rocks, a postman who gathered oddly shaped stones on his 20 mile round and build a fantastical dwelling (le Palais Ideal du Facteur Cheval). It completed a weekend in which I loved big city life for the abundance of random interesting things happening and there for the plucking.
I pressed a copy of my album into his hand and felt like a dork instantly and scurried away, completely failing to make good on the opportunity. Who knows.
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