Lost Souls

Here follows yet another list of people who were clearly looking for something else when they washed up on my blog. It is perhaps not suprising that my use of the title "Blue Film" should draw attention though I had thought by not using "Movie" I would avoid causing too much disappointment. In fact the phrase, to me, seems rather quaint. A "blue movie" (this will raise heads at computer terminals on the Indian subcontinent) is a rather nostalgic phrase conjuring a more gentle, softly lit age that I'm not sure ever existed. I hope the person looking up Charlton Heston wasn't too shocked.



Douglasville, Georgia, United States
"there's a message in the storm"

Irthlingborough, Northamptonshire, "my new glasses"

Chopra, Uttarakhand, India, "blue film"

Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala, India, "blue film"

Indonesia, "blue film"

Jakarta, Jakarta Raya, Indonesia, "blue film"

Tirupati, Andhra Pradesh, India, "blue film"

Ipswich, "ben gummer"

Jakarta, Jakarta Raya, Indonesia, "blue film"

Paramount, California, United States, "Anna the vampire diaries"

Nasik, Maharashtra, India, "blue film"

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, "blue film"

Johor Bahru, Johor, Malaysia, "blue film"

United States, "caul bearing children"

United Kingdom, "faphorism"

New York, United States, "charlton Heston"

Riga, Latvia, "pearl aphorism"

An empty room

Talking to Sue Jones on the telephone made me realise just how empty my new living room is. The echo is hard and dead. My companion and I have taken measures to rectify this but the longed for soft furnishings are yet to arrive. A rug awaits collection from a depot somewhere in Claydon and Ikea have not replied since I sent certain information regarding delivery. Surely they are not preturbed by the lack of nearby parking, narrow entrance and two flights of stairs? Sue had exciting news, the Royal British Legion have confirmed their willingness to host 'Call' and it looks like 'Ghosts' which I wish I had called 'Phantoms' is to appropriately appear only at night back projected. She also informed me that Jack Hutchinson from AN had been in touch and wishes to feature my work in the June issue. Only a sofa and a rug could make my life more complete.

How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads, to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly, and brings nothing but sweet dreams.

Our first night in The Old Unicorn was mercifully ghost free. As my companion is more than a little nervous of spectral apparitions this was somewhat of a relief. In the end all that disturbed our rest was a rather flat band playing at the pub down the road. Every time someone exited the hostelry there escaped a noise so loud that I was forced by reflex to sit upright in bed. Waiting for the revelry to cease I decided to read my copy of "Arty Magick". I counted Alli Sharma's rabbits until sleep overcame me. Today I scrubbed and hoovered and wiped and buffed. My old lodgings are cleaner now than they were when I moved in. I gave my companion the dirtier jobs: the toilet and oven while I tackled the stubborn black mould on windows that frankly needed stripping and repainting. By the time I had finished scrubbing they were indeed stripped. It is eight now, we have decided to retire.

Today I have learned that carrying boxes up several flights of stairs is perhaps the most exhausting activity known to man or beast. Unfortunately I had no beast to assist me. My travails were further compounded when my companion experienced an attack of the vapours and fainted. Now I lie abed watching a Spanish Dracula film. Christopher Lee is giving some serious vespertilious action but many of the other actors (with the exception of Klaus Kinski) are frankly not up to the job. Tonight I am reminded that Dracula is chiefly a novel about moving house.

Communications from Whitstable have revealed exciting new developments. Tonight's film "Dr No" dynamic with it's beautiful (iPod stolen) opening credits reflects my mood perfectly. Admittedly I have had a drink. Sue has sent me a detailed email about the places my films may be shown. It looks as if "Call" is to be screened in the Royal British Legion. I am exceedingly excited. I am still packing for my move to new lodgings, and seem to have more possessions than could possibly fit into my current flat or the small van I have retained for tomorrow. This, my addiction for plastic storage boxes and the seeming impossibility in finding out the actual address of my new apartments are my chief worries at the moment.

Art imitates Life

Tonight my companion and I have chosen "Carry on up the Khyber" for our evening viewing. It will be a little different in mood from recent presentations. The video trailers have so far included "Dads Army the Movie" and a whole raft of Al Jolson films. This Carry On film is perhaps my favourite from the cartoon titles to dinner party denoument.





-- posted abroad

The Unicorn

It is nearly time to quit my lodgings, to leave behind Miss Brown and her nocturnal manouvers, the portuguese men (and women) o' war, and the man who sings opera in the street. The sun is gently warming me, the bins are, finally, being collected and good honest workmen are heaving timber into the little theatre opposite. I shall soon be moving into the top floor of an old Georgian pub. "The Unicorn" which now houses a charity shop, hairdressers and offices is a rather grand building quite close to my place of work. It is built on the site of an old monastery, specifically over it's cemetary.









-- posted abroad

Blue Film III

I have completed my final "Blue Film" with a kite flying trip to Walberswick. As with the second film's abortive flying experiment I instructed my companion to make a second attempt. She informed me she had never successfully flown a kite before and was delighted when it pulled enthusiastically into the sky. The film required no editing and only one take. If all goes well this and the other Whitstable films will all be screened at the Biennale between 19th June - 4th July

Bathroom Reading

My ongoing researches into blood drinking practices has lead me to the door of a strange group of people called the sanguinarians. These for the most part peaceful folk are (according to message boards on various websites) made up of true vampires and non-vampires who merely enjoy the taste of human blood. I observed one fascinating conversation in which the subject of the value of drinking one's own blood was hotly contested.

In my bathroom Christopher Lee's autobiography is nearing it's end. While I lie in my bath he talks to me of his greatest friends and the stories surrounding them. He speaks lovingly of Peter Cushing of course but also of John Gielgud's barely disguised lust for Charlton Heston; of Boris Karlof who lived next door; of Bela Lugosi who asked to be buried in his cloak and of H.P Lovecraft who never went out during daylight. My companion tells me there was a man in Aldeburgh who also remained permanently indoors during the day and when he died was buried at night.

In my toilet both Mr Frayling and Mr Copper's lay splayed like dead bats. I have finished with them. Only the illustrations interest me now. This one hurriedly recorded reminds me of my companion both in looks and attitude. Though the identity of the vampiric woman and mustachioed man elude me.






-- posted abroad

Lost Souls

My favourites of the following lost souls is the person in a library in the Bronx looking for a connection between Zizek and vampires and the obscure searcher from Ohio who was looking for "tight crouches"

Portland, Oregon, United States, "my vision of the future"

Bronx, New York, United States, "zizek election slovenia vampire"

Dayton, Washington, United States, "images of marijuana"

Banbury, Oxfordshire, United Kingdom, "my new glasses"

New York, United States, "pearl fishers April 2010"

Paintsville, Kentucky, United States, "marijuana plants"

Peterborough, United Kingdom, "glasses or contacts"

Piqua, Ohio, United States, "tight crouches"

Chambly, Quebec, Canada, "prepare you to die mr bond"



-- posted abroad

Blood and Kites

I have received interesting information from sources in New York of a blood cocktail. Thankfully it was for animal blood though I am not sure that this detail makes it any more palatable. The recipe from http://jesseacohen.blogspot.com is quoted below:

"It’s called a Squeezer. Essentially it’s animal blood drained into a glass. The safest place to obtain this red stuff is through the butcher. Remember to ask for pig’s blood instead of from a cow. With the oinkers you have less chance contracting mad cow, salmonella, and E. Coli. As a further precaution, eliminate any excess bacteria by cooking the blood on a low heat for 5 minutes. Let cool. Serve with a lemon wedge. Enjoy."

Although I am perfectly capable of eating black pudding, rare steaks and barely warmed poultry livers I find this beverage more than a little nauseating.

The reference to mad cow disease, however, is particularly apposite as, in Ipswich, our Conservative party candidate is none other than Ben Gummer. As a boy he was (I am lead to believe) fed a good deal of high risk meat products by his father John. Still I saw him in the street yesterday ruddy faced and steady on his feet.

Today my companion and I drove to Walberswick to test it's 3G connectivity and to fly a kite. The former was none existent. The latter activity was prematurely concluded when, distracted by a frisby, my companion loosed the kite which promptly headed out to sea. Before it fell tragically into the waves there was a magical moment when the sea grasped the string and through the motion of it's ebb and flow briefly flew the kite with such skill that we were mesmerised. I, of course, failed to capture any of this on camera.

Mortality

My reaquaintance with television has revealed a sort of vampire saturation point. So far this week I have seen Reruns of "Buffy", "Vampire Diaries", "True Blood", "Blade the series", a Sherlock Holmes called "The Last Vampyre" films including: "Cirque de Freak", "The Lost Boys", "Slayer", "Vampire Journals" it is all too too much. Many of the current vampire tales seem hell bent on integration an interesting development but one which might neuter the myth forever.

Yesterday I received my contract for the biennale containing promises of a healthy remuneration. It may seem remarkably unprofessional but I had been working blind. Too embarrassed to ask if, or how much, I might be paid I had resolved just to blunder forward making things and writing this blog until my time ran out. Now I know the exact figure it has engendered in me the usual feelings of fear and inadequacy.

Still no news from Bath, all is silent and foreboding. I may be forced to use the phone but I am nervous of what I might discover. Soon I must travel to Wysing with my companion. She is involved in some sort of art market there (as apparently am I). I have promised to make some live broadcasts of a series of rocket launches. I look forward to seeing how they might turn out. There is also much uncertainty in the ether. On Twitter there is a great furore over the Debill a matter which has caused me much confusion. I am given to understand that as a creative person I will be more protected and less protected and more restricted and certainly more confused. In truth I believe I will continue to ignore that which makes me uneasy and pray it might not affect me. A foolish approach perhaps but one that has served me well in the past. Similarly there is a great deal of information about what each of the political parties intend for the arts. Like creepy uncles they feign too much interest. In all my reading I have found that I have no convictions as men of my century understand the word, because I have no ambition. There is no basis in me for a conviction.

More lost souls

Valencia, Comunidad Valenciana, Spain, "cosmic mysteries monika bobinska"

Oceanside, California, United States, "marijuana"

Gloucester, Gloucestershire, United Kingdom, "pearl fisher intern"

Elk Grove, California, United States, "images of an atom"

Nashville, Tennessee, United States, "armed forces europ"

Parkville, Maryland, United States, "the pearl fishers"

Portland, Oregon, United States, "my vision of the future"

Tesco Carpark

I have spent several days in limbo. Separated from my companion and my usual routine I have achieved very little. In my new largely sedentary lifestyle, I have however reacquainted myself with satellite TV and its frightening array of televisual fodder. As I write “Murder She Wrote” has just started. Its opening scene shows a blind female sculptor forming something from clay. She looks off screen in that way actors have of signifying sightlessness and says “I see with my hands now”. I have a sense of foreboding. There is still no news from Bath in regard to the return of my work. I have determined to email a few more contacts in the hope that University cutbacks have not struck the arts programming. As far as Whitstable goes, the films are now more or less finished. I have sent copies to Sue and she has set her minions to finding appropriate locations. Yesterday I was finally able to meet with my companion again. We have been pining a little and had hoped to spend some time relaxing together unfortunately before long she mislaid her phone and much of the rest of the day was spent in its search. I finally located it in a half open drawer of an ornate dresser in the studio, but this was after dark and she had already returned to our lodgings in Ipswich. Later I received the following letter.

“Dear Darling

You are clever! Christ, how weird, I am obviously a serious candidate for senility as I have absolutely no recollection whatsoever of even going near the dresser. Thank you very much darling. I am in Rasputin’s now. I came last night but a Bond villain was here in place of the usual friendly woman with the long eyelashes.

He said “NO INTERNET. But you need a drink?” to which I misunderstood and said: “erm no I’m going to Tesco thank you”, “no a PROPER drink” etc ensued for a bit until I ran out and he said: “Don't be scared littel girl” Chilling.

Anyway I went back today and a nice lady with the hair the colour of those Alpine aggressive squirrels is here and she is telling me about her slack beauty regime.

I looked out of the window this morning and saw the pate of the man below and the pink and white hair of his lady. They are the same people. She had one of those extra large fags on the go, the kind that look like albino magic wands.

The Portuguese (the neighbours to our left) were at it last night and he must have learnt a new sound that sounds like a lion cub trying to roar. She laughed at him.

I woke up at about two and stared at the stars which soothed me and tried to hold Dougal but he is so flat now and I didn't want to risk squeezing his kapok out of his duodendal (sic?) sinus.

I re-made the Alcatraz Alex but he was a bit flat too and I knew I only had a few hours to wait for the seagulls to wake up.

Going to get breakfast in a minute maybe at ‘Sunrise’ and then get the train.

I miss you and love you. Thank you very much for finding my phone darling. You are the greatest man I know.

PS saw Jeremy Deller in a film in the Sainsbury Centre and he was vile-sinewy and creepy-I take it all back.

Lots of love Your Companion”