Thursday, August 31, 2006

fest fotos the first

last night, ricky (he who says he never reads blogs, nay, in fact hates them, but allthesame is known to drop by here every once in a while, presumably gagging with aforementioned hatred as he goes) supplied me with 1000 photos he took at the weekend, yes that's 1000, with permission to my faves post here. while i try and select a few to share from an amazing collection (900 of 'em are keepers) here are a few of mine, hot of the press from the developer's...

chris, my big brother by choice, or indeed, by grace

DF...a special kinda hero

Pete the performer hangs with Pete the philosopher...

i'll post more later...
LB, x

i know i'm right

these lyrics have been running through my head for the past couple of hours...
i could hear it in the back of my head as a few sat and talked late into the night about
our early experiences of faith and where we are today.
not sure why. maybe all our talk of belief and fundamentalism.

this is for ricky, willow, mccleary, gail, and jonny:
nice discussion folks. you keep me guessing...


one time
by lies damned lies

I made my choices too young

My time has come and gone
These castles you have built
Have never been my home
Just listen for a moment
Don’t put me down
I’m finally realising
I’ve been messed around

And this one time I know I’m, right
I’ve been listening to you too long
Get ready for a fight
Just this one time
One time

You tell me that I’m nothing
You make me feel ashamed
I hope you’re satisfied now
If I’m the one who gets blamed
Somehow I feel stronger
Now I’m not afraid
Everything will be clearer
As the memory fades

And this one time I know I’m right
I’ve been listening to you too long
Get ready for a fight
Just this one time
One time

One time


LB, x

Wednesday, August 30, 2006


see here for what the 'congregation' saw as they took their seats, (along with comments from jonny baker)

a glimpse of our view of the 900 or so folks that turned up...

jayne and i made this...

ricky led us in worship to open the service.
right hand screen continuously showed a film of someone tearing up a bible...

this year's 'gift'... every one unique...

more words and pics later...

first few reactions are up at ship of fools discussion boards...


Tuesday, August 29, 2006

post belt

hola hola

too tired to post other than to briefly say,

it rocked.
in my top 3 'belt expereinces by my reckoning.
amazingly blessed by camp company, partners in crime in ikon, and new friends made.
ikon 'service' was an experience and a half.
loads to tell.
very little sleep.
after all the intensity, am in the quiet of the house.
dinner in oven.
dvd good to go.
hot bath awaits later.
gonna chill and let the riot of emotion of the weekend settle for tonight.
way too much to process in one go.

converted? perhaps...

will post wednesday...


Thursday, August 24, 2006


packing for the 'belt but struggling...

it's been a packed day. in work early and madly busy trying make up for the fact that i'm not back til wednesday... but, got a load done and left feeling like i'd made progress...

my pater visited from dublin today and so the afternoon saw us walking downtown and me doing a combination of work errands and last minute gb errands (purchased a pair of black trousers for ikon service and a load of travel size ablution accoutrements)


feeling very well fed after a seriously amazing meal in dean's on bedford street.
we sat and convivially picked our way through the spread and chatted away.

le menu...

starter: spring onion pancakes served with gravalax and shredded cucumber
main: we shared a charcuterie board (chorizo, italian ham, salami and bread) and a veggie platter (3 great cheeses, artichokes, tapendade, asparagus with pesto, baby new potatoes dressed in creme fraiche, sun dried tomatoes, bread, olives).
dessert: flourless chocolate torte topped with a sweet beetroot ganache (yes, you read that right the first time, it is an amazing combination) served with creme fraiche.

all washed down with a rather nice pinot noir merlot.

yum. and indeed yuuuuuum.

now i can hardly move.


in the course of prandial chat, was floored to realise it is 18 years since i was last in the town i grew up in...18 years... how did i get old enough for it to be that long? must make a trip... here


am getting collected at 7.15 in the morning and my one saving grace is that my travelling companions are well aware that at that hour of the morning (well at any hour of the morning pre-caffeine) i am monosyllabic... in truth i know dan and jonah's excitement at the airport is gonna cut through the fog of tiredness... dan has been counting sleeps, bless him...

talked to jude tonight on the phone. she's already on site. racked up the anticipation...

if you haven't seen it already, check out pip's greenbelt prayer. paul beat me to it and posted it on his blog. see harbour of ourselves over on the right there. made me weep. in the best way possible.


so. the dining table is piled up with all the essentials. i'm gonna have to redefine essential. i swore i'd pack light this year but it just ain't happening.

right that's enough procrastinating - must get packed up and bathed...

one more sleep...


LB, x.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

because we know we're right

"so is the plan here to fuck with people's heads?"
"no. we're gonna fuck with our own."


well, that's it. we've had our final meeting. all other prep now happens on site.

this is a pretty ambitious service. i hope we can pull it off and maintain the sense of vertigo we have typically tried to achieve. pushing a/theism boundaries as ever, this time we're pushing our own and it remains to be seen if that will translate.

the worst thing anyone can say about an ikon "service" is that they have no opinion on it, and yet it's always a hard line knowing just what will be a meaningful provocation for one and what will be merely
meaningless pretension to another...but we welcome either over apathy.

i've escaped from having to do the kind of confessional writing i've done for the last few greenbelt outings but there are some elements of this one that came out of me saying quite literally, if i was gonna be thrust out of my comfort zone then we'd be doing...and everyone said, let's do it. and as a consequence of our imaginings and indeed my own playful self-provocation, i am aware that there are those who i respect and care about whose boundaries are also gonna be pushed to the limit in their contribution. my heart will be pounding for them on the night, as i am sure their's will be. but i can't wait to hear our plans in action, to hear familiar voices doing things unfamiliar.

i'm getting stretched in a whole new way this year, and i look forward to the stepping up to the plate, and the losing of the self in the moment...i hope i can go there. my favourite ikon moments have been those where i have been shaking one minute and in the next i hear my voice speaking and i feel nothing but calm...note: that does not include the communion of champagne and chocolate cake upon which i choked and those present thought it was "cool performance art". someone told me afterward they thought it, "clever. powerfully ironic." it may well have been. just not planned that way and a touch too close to an act of unwilling martyrdom.

but then i guess that's it. ikon is theo-drama. and the drama, in a performance sense, is method acting. when playing roles or digging deep and pulling out our souls in acts of public confession it is always intended to be an act of authenticity.

to those coming to ::fundamentalism::, please hang around after if there isn't something on the programme you're desperate to get to... i have no doubt the belfast crew will be heading for a pint after the gig... so at least hang on to find out where we're headed...

i hope 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 = 7.
maybe there will be weeping. maybe anger. or reconcilliation. or irritation. or maybe you'll chuckle nervously while thinking, i don't know quite why i'm creeped out, but i am...
i hope you don't feel apathy. i hope you feel a little unsteady on your feet and unsure which way is up. that's where we plan to be...

or maybe we're just messin' with ya... you'll have to trust us...

see ya on site buds,

LB, x

and on that tree there was a limb

word up.

this is a mental week with a level of stress i haven't felt in ages - too much to do, too little time. hence escaping into a world where intrigue, deceit and conspiracy reign...

much still to do for ikon gb06 prep. jayne and i worked on visual media last night and more stuff needs to be done tonight...

so i'll not be around this way much for the next week but things will be less insane after the festival and i hope to return in more reflective mode and hopefully will be in a better position to let you in on a couple of potential projects that may or may not be in the offing. until then here's some brief musings of a far lighter note, which is all my brain can cope with right now...


i've covered this ground before but loyalty demands i retrace my steps...

the wicker man remake trailer is now available:
2006 trailer

i'm not gonna let you see a trailer for the original cause it gives too much away of the plot... but needless to say, the 2006 version shows how much movie making has changed... the pace of this is slick, whereas the original has an eery slowness to it... those who know the original will see in the trailer some obvious changes of motif. what's with the bees?

something tells me this remake will not make the audience giggle nervously or indeed hysterically the way the original does... as in, i'm freaked out right now and i'm not even sure why... people singing folk songs in scottish accents should not be this weird...

TWM is classed as a horror film, but that should not deter you. the '73 version is a classic piece of low budget film making that has to rely on script, acting and directing rather than speical effects to work. it's not a blood and gore fest (in fact i'm not sure there is any blood or gore to be had in the entire romp, certainly none that springs to mind) but it is strangely horrifying. a masterpiece examination of isolation, fear of the unknown, otherness, fundamentalism and religious faith in practice. it's been called the citizen kane of the horror genre...mixing the creepy, the funny, the musical, the downright unforgettable. this is one of those films one can't help but be evangelical about. it is in the truest sense, a cult classic.

so, post greenbelt, i'm gonna do what i've threatened to do for ages and organise a viewing. lynn, you will be there. cushions will be provided. :0)

this is quite possibly the film i most want to watch with david dark. because hearing him laugh nervously is one of my favourite audio memories... i cannot think of the twin girls in the corridor in the shining without hearing that man's chuckle in my head...

it is no wonder i love the league of gentleman - several moments in the first series were in loving homage to this film. a must must see. please please do not see the remake without watching the original.

invite to a screening will be posted post the 'belt.

LB, x.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

tread this...

thanks to steveO for sharing this lil gem... tuesday group autumn activity perhaps?

Ok Go


LB, x

the one armed man is king...


one alter ego is just not enough anymore.

here are your mission specs:

basic ops:

1. your day begins not by opening your computer and connecting to the server but by "hacking into the mainframe".
2. your boss will only be known by one letter, or, by a longwinded descriptive title, such as record spinning man.
3. your colleagues are now operatives. fellow spies are agents.
4. all others you encounter in a professional capacity will be known as contacts, informants or assets.
5. your office is now HQ.
5a. (if you work for a national broadcasting agency, you are now, working inside the shadow government.)
6. all times will now be in military standard speak, as in "i'm leaving at 1800 hours."
7. all meetings are conferences. all are an emergency.
8. use acronyms as much as possible.
9. never say goodbye when you answer the phone.
10. persistantly glance over your shoulder.
11. every item on your workspace is a potential weapon. note: only to be used in self defence.

advance level ops.
1. speak only through gritted teeth with a low whispered growl.
2. when going to the bathroom, kick the door open.
3. when answering the phone, ask, is this a secure line?
4. frisk everyone you encounter.
5. learn how to pick the lock on your front door rather than using a key.

your first mission:
1. get a coffee, without anyone poisoning it.
2. select secret ops codename.
3. invent the first major lie in your back story. remember a lie is best concealed between two truths.
as in, i was born in moscow. my father was a tailor. i joined the national ballet when i was 11.

i was born in moscow. i did join the ballet at 11. but the tailor's workroom my father ran above a st petersburg brothel was a front for a top secret KGB operation.

good luck agents. from now on assume everyone is out to get you.

Agent Joycek.

(that's pronounced
joycheck. i will not tell you again.)

Monday, August 21, 2006

genesis 1:27a

zippy ben departs for NYC this week to see his sweet little nymph of a girlfriend, sarah. god will be missed.


just for fun. utterly meaningless enjoyment to take the hard edge of of life for just a moment...

last night i watched Spy Game with jayne and ricky over a pizza...

never seen it before. what can one say? my tongue was trailing on the floorboards at the time and so i really was without speech for most of it. not since SATC has there been so much sartorial admiration in the room.

and as for mr pitt. well. some months back, designing our pin-up calendar of the year, (12 months divided amongst those present, pick your 'pin ups', be prepared to justify your choices using pie charts & graphs as necessary, no repeats.) i filled 3/4 of the year without taking a breath. this man was one of the 'well, duh!' men to be included. no discussion needed. at least one of the queens of light & darkness (TM mccleary), aka mo and lynn, included robert redford in the the time i conceded that as representative older male he was a fairly fine example. great actor, a talented director and a good head of hair. an icon. but, all things are relative. all i can say is, ladies, if you should think there is any actual competition to be had,
this'll cure ya... even monsieur depp can't compete with this... i'm sorry... i'll wash myself in holy water for that bit of blaspheming... mo, pass chris a paper bag, he's hyperventilating.

spy game is quite frankly a cinematic masterpiece. evidence is below.


ricky contemplated that life might be more exciting if we bought ourselves some water pistols, sychronised our watches and just started living like we were spies. a compelling proposition. i asked if we might all choose code names. affirmative. sweet.

less than an hour later, and with no code name even yet selected i had my first mission. an agent known as the poet out in the field (okay, edinburgh) was lost in alien territory and texted with their location to ask me to pull up some online schematics and find them a route to their safe house. it took me less than a minute. life kicks ass when you live like you're a spy.

let the game begin. no one knows the day or the hour. but one of these days, mcquillan, of these days...


thanks to MB for some new additions to my collection...

hope of the states - the lost riots
low - the great destroyer

LB, x

's up


without all my carefully placed italics but ah well, it's done and up and time to start working on the next thing, whatever that may be...


biblio - graphy

Paul's playing tag and i have to answer a ::meme:: - i've looked this term up on wikipedia and found two defs and i still don't understand what that means.

i'm gonna keep updating this post as i think what to put in. and yep, i just know the rules are gonna be broken.

oh, and Paul - red rover: wrists are burning at the memory...


One book that changed your life:
Generation X: Tales from an Accelerated Culture - Douglas Coupland
where evangelical christianity would fail, coupland would triumph. X became the most important letter in my alphabet. vancouver joined seattle as the font of all cultural significance. i probably consider this the most important book in my life story... it launched my adulthood i guess. i prefer life after god and girlfriend in a coma but this is ground Xero. i got me an i.d. tag in these pages...

One book that you have read more than once:

One book you'd want on a desert island:
i hate this book? i'm not gonna say the bible or the works of shakespeare. too many variables... i'll assume i'm gonna be on my own and thus a strong contender is delta of venus by anias nin. (raises right eyebrow in a femme fatale manner)

or, my favourite children's book, in powder and crinoline, which alas i think got lost in a move somewhere and which is probably the book i most covet but would cost me a small fortune to replace. the reason is the kay nielsen lithographs, which i used to spend hours pouring over...

will most regret not taking the idiots guide to surviving on a desert island by man friday.

One book that made you laugh:

One book that made me cry:
the blind assassin by margaret atwood. immediately after i finished it. in public.
special mention goes to chapter 2 of the artist way by julia cameron which made me sob uncontrollably. and i mean uncontrollably.

One book that you wish had been written:

One book you wish had never been written:
mein kampf?
the atomic bomb instruction manual?

One book that you're currently reading:
jPod - Coupland
eleven minutes - paulo cuelho
vein of gold - julia cameron
about to start, i know why the caged bird sings - maya angelou

One book you've been meaning to read:
God. where to begin...


Saturday, August 19, 2006

hey babe the sky's on fire

When the day is done
Down to earth then sinks the sun
Along with everything that was lost and won
When the day is done


it's saturday night. i'm 32 and 3 quarters. i'm a free agent. so what am i doing sitting here on the back step with a mug of satisfyingly 'wet' tea, having watched a crimson sunset listening to my favourite playlist for evening time (which sadly is now competing with death metal coming from nearby windows)

i guess i'm just enjoying the relative quiet... the coming week and gb06 will be busy and packed with people and i guess i'm getting some hours alone in now...storing up some :me time:

i've eaten dinner, read a little, surfed a little...heated water for a bath...pottered about doin' close to nothin'...


soundtrack to the evening...

i love this mix. it fell together with a delicious ebb and flow some months back...the common thread of these songs is that most start quiet, crescendo a little, and then drop back down, as does their lyrical themes, emotion and musical mood... hence the title, which makes me think of a chest breathing in sleep...all treasured jewels in my collection, some of which held significance in holding me together over the winter months of this past best with the lights out... who needs armour of god pj's with songs like these on the stereo?

::hope undulates in darkness::

Goin' Back:: Dusty Springfield
Tonight, Not Again:: Jason Mraz
Overcome By Happiness:: The Pernice Brothers
Resplendent:: Vigilantes Of Love
Black And Blue:: Counting Crows
I Still Cry:: Julie Miller
Carolina In My Mind:: James Taylor
Day Is Done:: Nick Drake
Growing Old:: The Big Geraniums
On The Mend:: Foo Fighters
Heaven Help:: Lenny Kravitz
So It Shall Be:: k.d. lang
Deep Wilson:: Kristin Hersh
Romance:: Beth Gibbons & Rustin' Man
Suffer In Silence:: The Frames
Carriage:: Counting Crows
Finding Your Feet Again:: Denison Witmer
Home:: Sarah Masen*


aaaah. death metal's ceased. kettle's boiling, time for a hot drop i think.

* i wish i could remember everything cool...


the Way brought us to this...

sent my way by jonny:

there are no words

except maybe, 'call social services'


we may catch fire yet



invisible fingers are intermittently drumming on a table in the back of mind until such time as :an x i'll mark: goes live...slivers of birthing and coming out...wanna get past the waiting and be able to say, "i made this. da da DA. dada daddle da DAAAA."

feel like i can't move on til it's done. want to to do more. say more. feel more. express more.



got an incredible surprise yesterday. made me wanna skip and leap and do cartwheels in the street. made me wanna chirp and clap my hands.

waaaaay back when last autumn, phil h. volunteered to sire me a website. with genes this good it was a must do. we registered the domain and the wait began. he's a talented father and i told myself to relax into a long gestation period, knowing the offer of his skills was worth a dose of patience...

so, here's my rambling reaction from the home page viewing...

getting a site designed is kinda like having your portrait painted, or having a new house designed by an architect. you get to say, this is what i like, this is who i am right now, this is what inspires me, but you are letting another tell you how they see you...
the mood treatment board i gave phil at the start of the process was a dark smouldering canvas... it expressed how i felt in the moment... the part of me that was dressed in velvet, lips whetted with port shots. it had the mood of a bordello... but it also featured photographs of my friends sitting on cushions in padraig's kitchen by candlelight... spoke to the cocoon i needed... and greeness coming up around the a dark place, the promise of hope... it was all about contrasts...

you can't live in peace staying drunk in a bordello and out of that dark space i began a journey to find a refind a me that is happiest curled up on the sofa or sitting under the blossom at the cafe surrounded by familiar voices sipping specials and feeling loved and wanting to connect with the joy and beauty of the folks in whose midst i spin...

he's painted that kind of LoserBaby, created a space that feels friendly, relaxed, chilled out but with just the right dose of cheeky word play...yesterday he presented me the design he's been playing with... quirky, shades of a soft genX 50s retro cool, battered sneaker girlie rather than saccharine...just a touch of sexy in a :you're wearing jeans that are hanging off ya and an old t-shirt that's worn and soft: kinda way...colourful but not gaudy...clean and tidy but not cold or clinical... it's just damned lovely... the kind of place i wanna hang out in with a cuppa coffee and then stay for a cosmo or three...where we'll forego household chores for a while cause someone's picked up a guitar... where we bring our tearss but we'll not let them define us...

colour me in kelly green and a touch of pillar box red, shimmying with excitment and gratitude... soon :the laundry room: will be open for business...LoserBaby's gonna have her own home and the door will be open to'll bring a whole new meaning to washing your dirty linen in public...

so. unexpected but by no means unwelcome work for today is coming up with section titles...i'm gonna let my mind float while i play with ma clay...


6 days to gb06.

much to be done. must get this arse movin'.


(title is stolen from an old dd blog posting. a cool expression of burgeoning hope and creativity. i'm gonna use that. somewhere. and soon.)

Friday, August 18, 2006

rule 1: there are no rules

word up.

i'm feeling energised and relaxed in equal measure, so if you don't mind i'm just gonna shoot the shit for a while... ie. ramble away to myself about what's buzzing under my skin tonight. i might raise my head in a meerkat kinda way every now and again and give you a nod, but otherwise assume i'm going into journal mode and the space i'm in is neither profound or reflective, just wanting to check in with myself and find my centre of gravity for the coming few days. (ie this'll likely be rather dull if you're not me).


i rocked out for a while with my headfonze on and i think i've hurt my right thumb (glad to be a southpaw). must have knocked it off something while in the throes of aural passion. i'm sitting at the back door just out of the rain, which is making lovely plip-ploppy sounds off the leaves in the yard.

a girl was singing and playing guitar next door... i'm guessing they had the back doors open. i could see candle light flickering. i went out and had a smoke in the rain. stood down by the back gate and listened for a while. considered putting a note through their front door in the morning saying how much i liked it...kinda beth orton feel...


i really kinda love thursday evenings and this one, well, it matched up pretty well i guess...they don't always turn out the way one might hope but, in theory, thursday night at it's best is filled with anticipation of me-day (aka friday)...letting ideas float through my brain to be used in the creative playtime i'll have and turning my inner compass toward time with sigmund, the themes of the week, although in reality i guess i usually end up telling him about the first event of import that comes into my head and we follow the path it opens up...

went to an exhibition opening - ben jones' first gallery show... some great urban photography.
if i were to invest in some artwork anytime soon, then this collection would be a strong temptation... i was impressed... having really gotten into the whole negative space thing ricky does with his urban stuff...really strong converging lines and geometric shapes, i found myself appreciating a totally different quality in this stuff ben's been doing...i think it was colour, a richness, something like textural softness rather than structural (?)... nice to see how different styles work in contrast... the different moods or perspectives that come through different eyes...each sees the world in a different way...and when you really look you can see it... feel it...see the person in the picture... the eye that was observing...jayne'd see something else again. another take. same with bananie. or jude. or paul c. i'd see something else too i guess. maybe. fuck i know some seriously talented and above all creative humanoids. so inspiring. which is so much better than intimidated... although walking into that gallery was still as ever a kind of daunting experience... a sea of faces you don't know and everyone looking to see who's around...loved the way the images were mounted... must find out how it was done... note to self: some kind of block mounting thing. what's the process? find out.

jonny was dj-ing. some seriously nice stuff going on in the mix, and it was almost a shame to have to make conversation and not just sit down in the corner, close my eyes and let it wash over...that said, i had some nice conversation...

went for a delicious indian meal with susan and her 3 incredible offspring and jayne and i ate a massive plate of chicken tikka garlic. well done me. makes up for foregoing food for duke special yesterday...

there has been incredible response to the :5 women in luke: service that susan organised two sunday's ago... it really struck a chord and she's been getting lots of unsolicited feedback...she's suggested tonight that we revisit the collaborative approach again...i like this idea. i like susan. i feel safe and encouraged and inspired in her presence...yay for her.

went down to clements and despite the cooling air sat outside on the pavement tables and just watched the world go by and intermittently read most of the latest issue of Attitude. felt really relaxed in my own company. wow. i wrote that? ha. there's a mark of progress made. sat inside my headfonze and just slipped into a detached observational mode... allowing my eye to notice people, how they carry themselves, their clothes, their purpose other than to let the busyness of the street act like a long drink for my senses... not analysing what went into my head... felt really good...


i started on my first collage tonight... made the first mark. and it felt good...
just enough so that when i wake in the morning i'm not faced with a blank 'canvas' reading julia cameron's :vein of gold: as a guide for the process. most important lesson (i paraphrase): switch off the skeptic voice. or defy it. resist your resistance. just do it. she's a big fan of creating sound scapes in this book to get you in the zone... ah, a woman after my own heart...

the collages are each gonna be accompanied by a cd walkman providing a soundtrack to the images, and i've just constructed the basic running for each...they can be a soundtrack for creating them too...

man oh man, the month of september is gonna be a busy one getting ready for this... i need to focus on ikon preparation over the next week... need to start righting some stickies for my desktop so i keep on top of it all...


jayne gave me a beautiful gift today. she turned up at the office and presented me with a 2.5 kilo tub of modelling panicked text later and i am as feared led to understand the only rule is: there are no rules...yikes. my boundaries are gonna be stretched. gonna see if i can find my inner playfulness or rage...

i'm gonna miss her in september. she's going to texas for most of the month and i realise as i write how good she is at reminding me of the need for safety nets when i go to the place where i draw on darkness... at the heart of one of my pieces is an act of self defaced portrait...maybe i should ask her to make signs to put up on my walls... reminders of the mantras and nets i need when i go down the dark corridors to meet with broken memories...makes me think of that freaky squeaky voiced medium in :the poltergeist: she was like 4 foot nothing or something and had really gigantic glasses, or is that my imagination...go towards the light... ha. she's so committed to making time for her own work is j, gets me of my ass...gets me some discipline...


been thinking a lot this past 24 hours about the significance in my small world of getting the gb piece published... feels like a landmark moment... steve-O sent me a cool text earlier, having read the hard copy... i read some kind of quote earlier today in :vein of gold: that went something like:
what you get paid for is a job. what you live (love?)to do is your work.
said, consider myself a writer. getting paid is not the purpose. he got to the end and thought, i want there to be a next one... i value his opinion. i value him. i was ready for any kind of critique he wanted to throw at me... but the massive pat on the back was really cool... wow. and dear mo... i've gone back again and again to her text from yesterday. she's like a fuzzy blanket of cosiness and love. so damned encouraging. she's a walking smile of care and good spirit. another talented two...

on days like these writing feels like my work... it's like breathing these days...i feel like i'm getting to know myself...creatively escaping my anxiety?... want to discuss...see if we can't find another feels like a... dunno...need to articulate that thread of thought, where's it going? and i'm trying so hard to learn cameron's lesson that you just have to keep doing it. don't worry about doing it well. keep writing. keep creating. and do it as unselfconsciously as possible. free yourself up. leave the critic at the door. it feels good right now to be able to write stuff that isn't angst laden. i felt like i poured my heart the other day pulling the strands of that piece was draining i think. or maybe just tiring. but it also made me feel so vitally alive...

now i've got me a hunger to play evaporated by :ben folds five: yay. sometimes you just gotta sing...:)


What I've kept with me
And what I've thrown away
And where the hell I've ended up
On this glary random day
Are the things I really cared about
Just left along the way
For being too pent up and proud

Woke up way too late
Feeling hung over and old
And the sun was shining bright
And I walked barefoot down the road
Started thing about my old man
It seems that all men
Wanna get into a car and go anywhere

Here I stand,
Sad & free
I can't cry and I can't see
What I've done
Oh God...What have I done?

Don't you know I'm numb, man
No I can't feel a thing at all
Cause it's all smiles and business these days
and I am indifferent to the loss
I've faith that there's a soul somewhere
who's leading me around
I wonder if she knows
Which way is down...

Here I stand,
Sad & free
I can't cry and I can't see
What I've done
Oh God...What have I done?

And I poured my heart out
I poured my heart out
It evaporated...see?

Blind man on a canyon's edge
of a Panoramic scene
Or maybe I'm a kite
That's flying high & random
Dangling a string
Or slumped over in a vacant room
Head on a stranger's knee
I'm sure back home
They think I've lost my mind

Here I stand,
Sad & free
I can't cry and I can't see
What I've done
Oh God...What have I done?


love that track. love it so very much. i think that might just be the song i'd most like to sing with pete. sitting in some dingy bar at a piano...level five segues into that... ha. there's a dream...


homework check:
1. get hold of a copy of 'i know why the caged bird sings'... must do that tomorrow
2. dialogue with the super-ego monster...ask it what it's purpose is if it shows up?

didn't feel like it showed up much this week... maybe the threat of conversation pushed it back a little... well, except for in the intense doubting moments while writing... and it's no doubt behind my nervousness at the thing going live... my only response was to keep reaffirming the honesty of it... the voicing of it all... and that i wrote myself into a place of hope...and if nothing else that's a really good thing... no, it's fucking great... i didn't just escape anxiety, i went forward toward something good that i had been struggling to find...and if someone else gets something out if then that's cool too... and that dark shape was there just now when i let my imagination get wistful and wishful, lurking, telling me little dreams are pointless exercises. ok. why? what harm does it do? it speaks to what i love. what wants to come out... the bit of me that wants to express...and i have no doubt it'll show up if i play with clay tomorrow morning... maybe i've been avoiding it... ignoring it? hmm. maybe it's the voice of such self doubt...regardless... need to be vigilant... it'll be easier to do the pain collage even if it's there... i'll let it speak through me, no. no. that's not it. need to let it fuel my anger...use it to fight with. i have a story i want to tell. to say it like it is. i'll be damned if it stops me. but then i need to answer it with overspilling of :me: into the joy piece... letting the lush green push up and pour out... that's gonna be a lot harder... need to get me some nourishment...feed the some fun... be playful... finding the balance between the two pieces is gonna be a real challenge... but i so want to do it...i can...i can. i can.


head's up

a tad overdue but the other week i spent a delightful laughter filled couple of hours at the cafe with susan enan, jayne and their good friend emma. i hadn't seen nor been in contact with susan in ages, not i think since she moved to new york...she mentioned she stops off here to get my news (i get her's via jayne), of which i was entirely unaware ... so, "hey susan. welcome. nice to know you're in the neighbourhood." she's rather talented this gal... as you'll discover here...


sheesh! 3am. time for zzzzz.

may these next few days be ::creative. enjoyable. productive.::


Thursday, August 17, 2006

ikon podcast

ikon calling....TESTING 1 2 ... 1 2

nice one jonny. only just heard this today so sorry for delayed reaction...
more to come...?

fun on your own

and it's free!

become a rasterbator

seriously addictive self pleasurement...get your creative juices flowing...

speaking of addictive, it's 1pm and if i don't get some coffee in me it's gonna get nasty...


post script:

one crappy cup of coffee in the local pub does not make a happy LoserBaby...

in bank across street from work. looooooong wait to deposit a euro cheque into the work bank account. so long that by time i get to the counter the bank is closing.

teller: are you a signatory to this account?
LB: no.
teller: this euro cheque needs to be signed on the back by one of your account signatories.
LB: you've never asked for that before
teller: it's been that way for nine months.
LB: but you've never asked for this before. we deposit cheques in here every week. i've been coming in here for the organisation for nearly 2 years.
teller: it has to be signed. by a signatory. i'm sorry. (fake smile)
LB: (deadpans) no problem.
in LB's head: Well I'm a mushroom-cloud-layin' motherfucker, motherfucker! Every time my fingers touch brain I'm SUPERFLY T.N.T, I'm the GUNS OF THE NAVARONE.

anger issues? moi?

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

like a sacred heart, or a code that cracked

i'm tired tonight... my sleep pattern is, well, fucked quite frankly...

i so need to get myself into a better routine...i seem to recall saying back in the dark ages of 2005 :i am so out of routine, it's routine: well, here we go again. ack. something's gotta give...

after a productive and hilarious ikon meeting in which we took delight in coming up with... ah, no, think i'll save it...

where was i? yes, went with jayne, ricky and cazi (ikon's newest team member) on a last minute trip to lisburn having unexpectedly got on the guest list for the sold out duke special gig. thanks jayne, thanks duke.
it was in a theatre setting. no drinks, bar water, allowed in the venue. audience seemed to be full of a certain type of christian. the girls were all pretty dressed up. there was lots of lip gloss and perfect hair. the guys were all indistinguishable. all a bit stepford. i was in my usual slouchy workwear and suddenly i felt like a slob pulled through a hedge backwards. oh well, love is found on the inside as good old mark koselek sings...dunno why i should let that kind of thing bother me. not like i would have wanted to be dressed any differently given the choice.

strangest thing was that nobody moved. audience was frozen in their seats. i find it near impossible to not move a body part or 10 when there's music playing, even when sitting down... i've seen more movement in a cinema...anyways... rant over.

that said the sound was amazing and the guys were tight as to hear a lot more detail in the orchestration than at the gigs in the empire(including some incredible clarinet playing) and hear every lyric... and what struck me (admittedly not for the first time, but with raw poignancy) was how painfully sad so many of the lyrics are...ballad of a broken man was heartwrenching... and no cover up very nearly broke me in two...

i found the whole thing both strange and moving...none of the usual whacked out drunken celebratory euphoria of other shows...

sitting in the back of the car on the way home, it was only fear of a broken neck by seatbelt that stopped me from curling up in the foetal position and weeping while ricky played iPod dj, so i just pressed my forehead to the glass and quietly sang along...

sullivan street (live) - counting crows
love is a series of scars - duke special
somewhere over the rainbow - eva cassidy
lay me down - the frames

gonna lay me down and see if i can't find me some peaceful dreams...some nights you just gently ache to have someone curl themselves around you in silence and keep you warm...


coming soon...

yesterday's energy was spent mostly on trying to pull my threads of thought into a coherent whole and submitting a fairly lengthy reflection to paul c. for :insights: in the :communications: section of the gb website. it'll be up fairly soon i imagine.

it spans back over several months...and it was a real battle to try and write with the freedom i desire while outside of the relative safety net i feel on these pages...i can't hide behind relative anonymity, the piece will be published under my real world identity and that is a small shift in many respects but also a major one...quite a headfuck in covers a lot of familiar ground for LoserBaby visitors, and i wanted to say thanks to those of you who not only visit but feed back to me with your thoughts... as i pushed on through the fear barrier to complete it i kept reminding myself that there are those who seem to like how i write and have told me so, and that if i could just stay in an LB frame of mind while thinking of you folks i could do it...but confessional honest writing is not easy when you know that the universals you are trying to express are universal because they arise out of very real and often painful particulars of experience... not only my own...but those of others... and thus it was a grief stricken process in its own way... but not one without hope... the :insights: section of the gb site is meant to be light theological reflection... i doubt my piece could be described as such... but it is a heartfelt expression of what redemption might mean in our narrative... of how we find the kingdom when we are in the desert, and even in a life that seems to be :after God:...

in addition to quotes from coupland and buechner, dotted through the text there are unackowledged snippets, turns of phrase if you will... from padraig, sarah masen, david gray, glenn hansard (post script: and chris, and (i think i'm right in saying) judee sill by way of shawn colvin and adam phillips, ha, way too many heroes)... and to the :stranger who is no stranger:... you know who you are... without whom this would not have been written, and for that, you have my deepest gratitude...for your words, your encouragement to accept the challenge in the first place, and most importantly for the honesty of telling me your story and giving me space to tell mine...

work has been pretty busy and it was hard to step into the headspace i needed to be in...i stole away to the pub for a couple of hours and with a cup of coffee and a few smokes tried to immerse myself in the landscape i was describing... and there i did find hope...i got a part of me back i thought i had lost...

anyways, it's done. after a nervous overnight wait, paul likes it. and if no one else does, well, i did what i set out to do.
i hope i might get the opportunity again, and that the next things i might write will come more easily and with less angst... the first cut is the deepest i guess...

i'll let ya know when it's up on the site. and i hope it's worth your time...


in other news, saw :the squid and the whale: last night at tuesday group :movie nite:
loved it. so much.


Monday, August 14, 2006

that's just fabulous...

or, the blog that just keeps on giving...

aka, in a fucked up world we all need a fairytale blanket or two

"No matter who broke your heart, or how long it takes to heal, you'll never get through it without your friends."


Jude, Jude, Jude

something rather special happened last night...

jayne took away the SATC boxset. she's only ever seen, in her own estimation, 20secs of our beloved gal fest... she gets to watch it all from the beginning...

made me feel all nostalgic... for the shoes i could never wear while vertical let alone afford, the clothes, the one liners, the laughter, the tears, the bad dates, the good men, the gay men, the assholes...the show that launched a thousand cosmopolitans...even the reverend steve stockman approved.

so, what? this makes ya feel all jittery, did you say?

what? you mean this?

can't wait to see you so soon. got me the pre-seeing-jude-at-greenbelt'll be our seventh anniversary, lovely...

jayne... enjoy every god damn girlie minute.


"these flowers were meant to say, 'i'm sorry, we love you'. not 'you're dead, let's disco!'"

soundtrack to this post:
confessions on a dance floor :: madonna

Sunday, August 13, 2006


the pod is back...breathing without life support, all tunes intact.

praise be the Lawd!

note to self: iRip iPod collection onto external hard drive. and soon, dammit!

back it up? (for keli and jude)

LB, x

Saturday, August 12, 2006

channelling patrick bateman*

my dear housemates left this morning, only to return... their lunchtime flight to BC will now be leaving at 2.30 or 5am, depending on your source...ack!
still, at least tony b seems to be enjoying his holiday.

good progress made on my collage construction i now own a nail gun, which has been supplying me with some power tool catharsis. (*metaphoraphically speaking)

also good: got my hair cut. alas my plan to stride home with that just-stepped-out-of-the-salon kinda euphoric confidence was struck down as soon as i realised my iPod had frozen...we is not amused...

currently playing on the stereo is the gloaming by radiohead - the DJ shadow remix...

as it always does, this is making me think of jdd in a double whammy kind of way. which reminds me i wanted to give 'em a ::blink::, has he and sarah have joined the land of just know this is gonna be good...



MULDER: Modell psyched the guy out. He put the whammy on him.
SCULLY: Please explain to me the scientific nature of the "whammy."
Pusher (s3ep17)

Friday, August 11, 2006

beauty in imperfection

when david and sarah got married they gave guests a gift - a heart made out of metal and attached with ribbon was a strip of card... on each was a subject line from the emails they sent each other as they got to know one another (at least that's how i remember it) - mine says, sometimes you just gotta sing... it is one of my most treasured posessions...


on tuesday night, chris created a reflective space for team fury as ben calls us... this family by choice...

chris played this track. he said he could play this every day... it's a hymn...

it reminds me of days at least a decade ago... of the many nights spent in whelans in wexford street, when playing every few weeks in dublin kept food on david gray's table... playing to a devoted and faithful few hundred who came everytime, intimate spaces...

i think of the evangelical worship nights i went to and the disconnection i felt and i wonder if it is great part because in whelans, with a pint of guinness in hand, i found my prophets... david gray... glenn hansard... jeff buckley... mark eitzel... shawn colvin...the song writers and performers who were my worship leaders... where i felt connected...

i have a copy of white ladder signed to me by david gray... i was there the night in whelans he played the new material, using the looping tracks nervously... that was the last time i saw him was all about to change... soon he played in the point theatre to an audience of thousands...but those of there that night shared something... as with glenn we were the ones who knew that record companies treat you like shit, who loved the message, the music, the person... there was such intimacy in that venue... as stox says of the frames... you only understand when you experience the crowd... the audience is the experience, of the bridge that exists in a great dublin gig... the mutuality... the trust...the intensity of emotion... singer pours their heart out and the audience does the same... gives it all right back...

this track takes me back to the place where i worshipped... to that den of sin and beauty... 300 crammed in jeek to jowl... there i found god... i felt god... where a part of me was being drawn out... where i loved with authenticity... where i understood...


i am a non-religious person looking for a religious experience...
::chris carter::


Weight on my shoulders
but I’m walking so tall
out into the new horizon
wonder in everything
no matter how great or small
howlin' like the midnight
howlin' like the midnight sun
and this ain't no pale reflection
this is the real thing
new horizon
new horizon within

And your heart ain't yours to control
no matter how tight the reigns
love will find it's own direction
a time to reap, a time to sow
and many a time to cry in vain
but now the time to celebrate
the glory of this imperfection
same thing that's scrawled across the stars
is written under our skin
new horizon
new horizon within

Things come too easy, I get suspicious
things come too slow, I get bored
if it don't work out I get superstitious
but if it does, oh my word

So I’m gathering all the remnants of beauty
from this wilderness in spin
and now I’m gonna light my own flame
'cause I’m charged with the radiance of the dawn
that's been so long breaking
now there ain't nowhere
there ain't nowhere I won't write your name
there's a time to search for understanding
sometime you just gotta sing
new horizon
new horizon within

Baby there's no need to get precious
when you know that everything must change
complacency, it can be so vicious
turn this love into a cage

Same thing that's scrawled across the stars
is written under our skin
new horizon
new horizon within

New Horizons, david gray, from Flesh.


out of the darkness...

this is my journal... the pages i let others sneak a peek at... sometimes it's a coded message... sometimes a confessions... sometimes it's something like prayer... last night's post was as about as honest as it gets... sometimes these pages are the only way i know how to say what i dare never say with my voice back here in the real world...when i can't find a way to Level5 it in person this is the where i feel safe...and sometimes i write knowing someone is looking in over my shoulder... so,

thank you Mo.

both those quotes are beautifully expressed and the intent behind them is a gift...

you are much loved.

i slept a really long sleep. chris says lack of sleep messes with your perceptions of reality... a couple of days without enough food and a couple of drinks and isolation are a bad cocktail...

so i feel better. i read my words and i feel like the person who wrote them was reaching out into the dark... and the word that floats up in my senses is bereft.
not sure why. not a word i use very often. not a word anyone seems to use very much.

just read the dictionary definition just to be sure... i had no idea quite how pertinant it was...

of a person: lonely and abandoned, esp. through someone's death or departure.

language fascinates me. words amaze me. how do we learn what words mean? i've never read a dic def of that word in my life... when did i learn it? how did i learn it?

right now i'm listening to josh rouse... this track has been floating round my heart since i woke...

i don't know if you have this but this track is so damn beautiful... it's not so much the lyrics, well it is, but it's more the mood... it's filled with such longing for something better, in such a soft and gentle way... the kind of track you wanna dance, no, sway to... it's an embrace... of shared pain...

and i wonder... what hurts more... wanting to be cared for, or wanting to care for...?

i look at those quotes you gave me... and the nouwen one... definately. how else to say it...?

the desire for intimacy... or as Sigmund puts it: in. to. see. me. the tug and pull of that desire. the pain of the risk. of knowing what it feels to lose it. the fear compunded to ask for it. to even want it. it gags you, that fear...inside you're drowning...

anyway, here's josh...


She was feeling nineteen seventy two
Grooving to a Carole King tune
Is it too late baby?
Is it too late?

That boy was always up to no good
Smoking pot and playing pool
In the afternoon
Unemployed and high

We're going through the changes
Hoping for a replacement
Untill we find a way out of this hole

Spanish girl with the tatoo
Working nights at the drive through
And she asks herself
Could this be all?

Screwing in a motel room
Watching news on channel two
Victoria tell me
Is this your dream?

We're going through the changes
Hoping for a replacement
Untill we find a way out of this

We're going through the changes
Hoping for a replacement
Untill we find a way out of this
A way out of this hole

1972, Josh Rouse.

thanks too to RD. i've no idea what brings you past this way and i don't know what to do with that... but you are appreciated...

right, coffee is drained, i need to get out of pj's and hit the afternoon.. there's ikon shopping to be done for this year's gift we'll be giving to the gb 'congregation'; i need to buy a staple gun, superglue and cork board; there's a therapist to be seen and there's creative expression to be unleashed... and somewhere in all of that there's food to be eaten and healiing to be had...

julie, if you're here... i'll be playing your music as i start creating my stuff for the installation... and i'll be writing... thanks for reaching...

it's friday. a new day... the show must go on...


Thursday, August 10, 2006

no one gets to come in...

tunes spun and my feet tapped but inside i felt fatalistically alone where i thought delusional happiness would bloom...

is loneliness a choice?
on days like these it feels like a learning curve
a painful transition
as one learns how not to feel...


on days like these, with too little sleep to be able to hold up the facade, and nothing close to real human interaction... no honesty, but only fake pretence and shallow exchange... loneliness is sitting by yourself in a bar, walking home with absentminded silent tears blurring down, stepping out into streets without even really looking, letting down one's guard because if someone wants your iPod well fuck it, let em have it, you'll make it easy, body limp, take the beating...

on days like these, loneliness is giving in and giving up...


someone says their door is always open.
another offers something like something like prayer.
another says write if you need someone to listen.
another asks for forgiveness.
another offers advice and reminds you who you once were.

with only my own thoughts for company i know there's no point pretending i can dare trust...


love doesn't hurt. it is unlove that hurts.
the only way to survive unlove is to stop wanting love in the first place.
to accept aloneness. to no longer care if one is cared for.

humanity is parasitic. how can i dare let anyone come near...?

if i was a fragmented shattered thing before, i am on days like these a hollow shell... in the pieceing back together i dared to stay open and trust... i allowed myself to believe it was always worth caring and being cared for, even if it meant being vulnerable...

on days like these, i cannot bear the reminding that trust is a risk...and gambling is a fool's game...

i tell myself, i will never believe the lie again...


therapy is little more than prostitution. prostitution is perhaps a more honest game.
no one pays a whore expecting anything more than physical connection. it doesn't look like love. doesn't pretend to be something like care.

my whore always asks me, what does it feel like?

on days like these, with despisement dripping, i will reply,


i am a hollow shell. a ghost. invisible.

roddy doyle said somewhere,
I see people in terms of dialogue and I believe that people are their talk.

on days like these with no dialogue,
no meaningful encounter,
when one might as well be in a silent movie
there is only the promise of the next trick.
i pay so i don't have to trust.
i can hate and hurt...
the whore won't mind.
a vessel for all i have to give -
it's a transaction.
instead of fucking, i talk.
i pretend that how i feel actually matters.
a delusion to bridge the weeks
of loneliness
until my heart has hardened sufficiently...
until i am sure that i have learnt my lesson.
once and for all.


we tell ourselves love is real so that life feels less like existence.
we tell ourselves god exists so that we have someone to fall back on when humanity fails to give us what we want.
we tell ourselves there is a redeemer who will come again so that there is a perpetual promise of something better coming towards us out of the unfolding and always uncertain future.


expect nothing
get nothing
give nothing
feel nothing
want nothing
need nothing
hope nothing
love nothing
grieve nothing
regret nothing
be nothing


on days like these, in souless bars and empty streets, in disconnected isolation and aloneness,

one realises the greatest lie you have believed
is that you are actually worth something

it would all be so much easier if one could let go of this delusion...


watch this living cadaver, disected, opened up...
the fragile thing in peices cannot bear being hurt
and so hardens bit by bit
and the fragmented pieces that still feel hope are
beaten into submission:
stop loving
and you will
stop hurting


this is what days like these feel like.

after some sleep i will wake to another day. perhaps another like this. or perhaps i'll have enough energy for pretending i don't hurt... the mask will go back up and my shell will be a little stronger... i'll pick up my feet and move on...

but a fragile hurting (brave?) piece of me will perhaps grieve today... because a little more of me got lost in the battle with mistrust...

LB, x

one word


3 more:

how. i. wish.

love my job.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

hard to type with a knob in your hand

made the first of five compilations for the cafe today... jon and ben were both feeling frustrated at the sameness the cafe cd selection... so here's the first of my selections from my iPod favourites. some of these tracks are unashamedly uncool - this is the kind of stuff i sneak on when no one's looking and i need to remind myself what it feels like to be youthfully optimistic and fuzzily loved in the style of a kylie/jason (or indeed joey/dawson, mulder/scully, maddie/david) montage... so even if no one else is, i'll be delusionally happy at least...

A-pop-a-lypse Now! (19 songs to make ya feel good)

1 Video Killed The Radio Star :: Ben Folds Five
2 A Thousand Miles :: Vanessa Carlton
3 And She Was :: Talking Heads
4 Tell her about it :: Billy Joel
5 Something About You :: Level 42
6 Into The Groove :: Madonna
7 You get what you give :: New Radicals
8 The Remedy (I Won't Worry) :: Jason Mraz
9 Cigarettes And Chocolate Milk :: Rufus Wainwright
10 If She Wants Me :: Belle & Sebastian
11 It Looks Like Love :: Josh Rouse
12 Englishman In New York :: Sting
13 There She Goes :: The La's
14 Top Of The World :: Shonen Knife
15 Borderline :: Madonna
16 No Stopping Us :: Jason Mraz
17 The Great Beyond :: R.E.M.
18 Maybe :: Emma Bunton
19 Everyone's A V.I.P. To Someone :: The Go! Team


i carry my joy on my left and my pain on my right...(thanx to bjork for inspiration)

i shall be listening to my own copy of this selection as i work on the cheerier of my two collages for the cafe installation. stu acted as woodwork teacher yesterday and i built my two frames (both 2and a 1/2 feet high by 6 feet wide). i now know how to use a big mofo of a circular saw and a power drill/screwdriver.


i have just been presented with a set of amazing glass door knobs for my bedroom door, thanks to a trip made by my land lord and lady to a reclamation yard... very classy, very sexy, very cool... i'm overcome with a fixtures&fittings fetishistic feeling...

which isn't a bad way to end a Wednesday...


Tuesday, August 08, 2006


morning mark and paul... i look forward to seeing you in the crowd at the ikon :fundamentalism:... would love to tell you what we're gonna do, but must resist...don't want to spoil the impact that will arise from unknowing...


HoMo No Mo

am in the middle of drafting a post arising out of Belfast Pride week...

in the meantime, still on all things pink, came across peterson toscano on the GB website...
video intro to the piece he is performing here
click :see video:

i hope i get to see this.


one for the mac geeks...

yesterday, steve jobs (CEO) gave the keynote speech to kick off the Apple annual Worldwide Developers Conference (WWDC). before he made his speech, the PC guy from their recent ad campaign (there are now 9 in this genius series) made an introduction of his own... imitation is the highest form of flattery mr gates...

switch to a mac. you'll never go back... less like a business, more like a religion...


and just in case that's all too upbeat, a bit of red house painters will bring ya back down...

:Song for a Blue Guitar:

when everything we felt failed
and some music soft in distant sails
but it don't sound like it did before
then i know i'm left with nothing more
than my own soul
when pretty pictues face back
but your coats aren't hanging on the rack
and blue water turns to
a place that i can't get to
a place that i can't
in a room all i feel
is the cold that you left
through the air all i see
is your face full of blame
what's left to see
what's there to see

in the room all i feel
is the cold that you left
through the air all i see
is your face full of blame
what's left to see
what's there to see
what's left to see


Monday, August 07, 2006


i know the feeling...

to be fair, despite feeling like shite my spirits are relatively good. i'd just love to be curled up in bed right now and not surrounded by several hundred pieces of paper all needing to find a home...

my laundry is up to date
my room is close to spotless
the 5 women serivce at city church went really well
ikon meeting was decisive and creative in equal measure. the look, the sound, and the content are starting to come together and if we can pull it off this looks like it could be a really strong service, pushing our boundaries (and everyone else's) with a good dose of provocative honesty and heresy...the music is gonna kick serious ass and jonny's gonna have the kind of sound system to play with he's always deserved... i'm starting to look really forward to it... some of the elements give me chills just imagining what they are gonna be like to witness... quote of the meeting goes to padraig, who asked, "what happens if the Holy Spirit turns up?" ha.
i spent some nice time in company of good people.
all in all a good weekend.

but. god. do. i. want. a. nap.


Saturday, August 05, 2006

i could be, i'm right

this track fucking rocks... if i could do this for a living i wouldn't need therapy. ;0)

thanks to mark lamaar, this is playing on radio 2 right now... this is for ewan... one of our faves from Hits 4...

video here

turn it up to 11...


I could be wrong
I could be right

I could be wrong
I could be right
I could be black
I could be white
I could be right
I could be wrong
I could be white
I could be black

Your time has come
Your second skin
The cost so high
The gain so low
Walk through the valley
The written word is a lie

May the road rise with you
May the road rise with you
May the road rise with you

I could be wrong
I could be right
I could be wrong
I could be right

I could be wrong
I could be right
I could be wrong
I could be right
I could be black
I could be white
I could be right
I could be wrong
I could be black
I could be white
They put a hot wire to my head
Cos of the things I did and said
They made these feelings go away
Model citizen in every way

May the road rise with you
May the road rise with you
May the road rise with you

Anger is an energy
Anger is an energy
Anger is an energy


it could just be me, but that track might just sum up the ikon ::fundamentalism:: service at greenbelt in a mere we prepare for gb06, this other fave keeps running round my head... if you are a regular visitor here then naturally by now you'll know this is from burn the maps, which will be a staple in your album collection...


Happy, ::the frames::

come help me out i'm sick from the fight
from inserting a laugh where there's none
show me where this joke got tired
tell me you know cause i'm slow catching on..

you're trying to break me down with your tuneless song
that kept me up all night
take me to the fair where the lifeless singers
will let you ride up beside them sometimes

and you're putting a line
where there should be not a line
and you're building divides...

come cut me out i got caught in the wire
from believing the filtering downs
show me where the stakes got higher
just goes to show how slow we've become

and you're putting a line
where there should be not a line
and you're building divides
and putting a line
why are you building divides?
is it some failing in your life?



the squirrels made it seem less lonely

saw the trailer for this last night, i very nearly applauded...head to the website and you'll find the trailer by going to the ::access map::

deliciously creepy and phantasmagorical... (heck it's not often you get to use that word)

LB, x.

maybe if i close my eyes i'll wake up inside your dream...

post script
wonderful article in the guardian...alice in wonderland meets psycho

Friday, August 04, 2006

friday's my day


1. treat yourself with compassion.
2. treat yourself, and savour it. fill your week with the things that make you feel calm and nourished.

so, having enjoyed a sizeable brownie and a special (and duly savoured it as instructed) i was off to my 3rd solo trip to qft in a week. with the bonus that jayne decided to venture down with me, i could not only be pleased at my continued venturing into bearing my own company with something like ease, but then got to enjoy having her's. needless to say, we were not disappointed:

qft's latest season is kickin' ass... tonight's offering:

loved the lead performances
loved the soundtrack
loved the story
loved the cinematography
(i recommend you know as little as possible about the plot before seeing it)

and here's a lil' extra somethin' for the weekend...this counts as homework, right? it'd be quicker to count the boxes in my head this guy doesn't tick...

he da man

saturday will all be about the pink: purchasing me some dark pink oriental lilies as a treat, and to all heading to belfast pride 06, have a safe and fun day...



also highly recommended from the past week's qft viewing:

::36:: french. fast. furious.

Thursday, August 03, 2006

The boat, the bleeding…

Through the night the boat hummed and heaved and she lay restlessly mere inches beneath the ceiling in a tight upper bunk. Bound in, the cabin: a cell.
Underneath the sea rolled and the passage of the boat left the past behind. Ahead a future waited with the grey dawn, without fanfare or welcome on the shore to mark this foreign arrival.

And within? What was happening within? There too, a new beginning. The old of youth being left behind and an arriving at the borders of adulthood. It too, unfamiliar… unknown. Yet, such significance was overshadowed, a mere footnote within their migrancy of the collective body. So much change on the outside, her changes within were buried, overlooked. No fanfare or ritual here either. Awkward glances were the welcome of this bleeding.

It was merely understood and expressed as a by-product of the intense stress of this passage - her adulthood, her womanhood, beginning on the eve of departure. If it should have been an immense moment, it was lost. Lost in the greater swell of change. Now her body was a cabin moving forward without bidding, beyond her control. She could no sooner leave her body than she could this boat. But truth be told, all of this would bring loss of control. But neither she, nor they, could see in the act of passage the unravelling that lay ahead, of the endings that would outnumber their beginnings, of the trials that would be their undoing.

And so here she lay in the dark of a silent severing. Faced these changes of nation and body in fear as tight as the fist that gripped the stiff sheets. Did she know which rite made her heart pound harder? As if to underscore the loss of childish familiarity she found herself on the boat with no mother present to care and advise. No female hand to reassure or comfort.

Thrust into the uncontrollably insecure as an adult-becoming there was only the unknown.It was a foretaste of the journey to come. This pioneer resettling was the start of a life in which she would perpetually fear futures from which she could not turn back, of things set in motion that she could not master. From here on in nothing would be the same. Was it a shared experience? Did her father and brother in the bunks below carry fears like her own? If they did, it was not uttered. She wanted to cling to them but instead trembled alone.

Her mother would follow and she would leave something of her sanity behind in the passage across the sea, just as the daughter left her childhood. How alike they were, both gripped by fear, both clinging and shrinking back from the new, always smiling and pretending to be coping when inside they were screaming. Not wanting to disappoint and never uttering how frightening the unknown-ness could feel.

The sea was rolling and heaving. It was making her queasy. But the boat would not stop. The change would not stop. No captaincy of one's destiny; someone else was always at the helm. The only known was the persistent unstoppable arrival of an invisible, unknowable and unfamiliar future. In the open water, the boat. In the boat, a cabin. In the cabin a bed. In the bed, a body. In the body, a girl. Within and without there was nothing but unstoppable splitting and breaking.


written in mid May, 2006, this reflection was an attempt to describe the early hours of 1 september 1987 - the night i emmigrated across the irish sea. i began menstruation hours before leaving my family home for the journey. i was 13. it is of no surprise that it is written in the third person... it marked my first spoken honest acknowledgement of the overwhelming nature of the experience... of its significance in my narrative, in real and symobilc terms... it is unlikely to be the last...


blood line

Once upon a time there was a prostitute called Maria. Wait a minute. 'Once upon a time' is how all the best children's stories begin and 'prostitute' is a word for adults. How can I start a book with this apparent contradiction? But since, at every moment of our lives, we all have one foot in the fairy tale and the other in the abysss, let's keep that beginning.

eleven minutes :: paulo coelho


reading that paragraph for the first time tonight had me breathless, and in the opening scene coelho captures the essence of the adolescent transformation into womanhood in a way i didn't imagine a man could ever grasp with such beauty... so deliciously written i want to lick the pages...

coelho is one of the few authors for which i feel a little guilty, or no, ashamed for not having read... and i rarely feel ashamed for not having read any author, or by the same token, listened to a musician, or known an artist... these things all find their place and time in our lives when we are ready for them...and a messenger to deliver the good news...belated thanx are due to zippy ben for the josh ritter recommendation and finding girl in the war on my ipod...

so, very present thanks to susan, for passing this book on to me following an evening of planning for this sunday's service at city church...(yes padraig, this is indeed become something of a habit)... i've been asked to write and narrate the story of tamar. alongside susan and 3 other women, including dear willow, we each will be telling the tale of one of the 5 women mentioned in the genealogy of jesus as given in Matthew 1...tamar, rahab, ruth, bathsheba and mary...

we spent a couple of hours discussing the tales and the links between these women and it was a beautifully humanising and intriguing evening...trying to connect with these women and their place in the story of the messianic line...

it's amazing how you can give up so much belief and yet allthesame find so much to wrestle and embrace...these are stories worth hearing...and women worth knowing...i accept them as a gift...


awhiles back i wrote the narrative of my own passage out of childhood... the boat and the bleeding... only yesterday, having spent some time in the company of tamar, i revisited my account...and tonight i find coelho's version of the same tale... and as much as each is as unique as the girl, they hold universal truths... a red chord runs through them all...

the intricacies of life are where the beauty lies... the divine, not the devil, is in the detail...