Black Rock

    He climbed down the steep bank to the rocky beach below. Sea gulls squawked over head. The tide rolled in gently almost up to his feet. He breathed in deeply, and sighed. Looking out across the water to the distant horizon. He glanced down the beach at the rocks and sand, large bare trees hanging over, clinging desperately to the grassy embankment above. He turned right and began running down this beach. Leaping from stone to stone as fast as he could. The stones rolling and jerking beneath his tattered sneakers. He kept his eyes ahead, singling out one stone after another. His feet moving faster and faster as his confidence grew. He hurtled across the stony beach, no, glided across the stony beach, his feet merely brushing over each rock.
    The wind pushed the long mess of hair back off his forehead. Tears began running down his cheeks but the wind quickly grabbed these too, pushing them back towards his ears, into his hair. His vision blurred, and the quickness and unexpectedness of this caught him off guard. In full flight and in mid stride he lost track of the stones in front of him. His right foot already descending upon a large rounded stone, glanced off the side of the stone and he stumbled, his arms flailed as he tried to regain his balance, his left foot caught on another stone and he tumbled through the air. He landed hard on the rocks and stones in front of him, the impact punching the air from his lungs.
     He hit the side of his head hard. He lay still for a few seconds, trying to find his breath. His ankle throbbed, his elbow throbbed and his head pounded. He rolled over and sat up awkwardly. The side of his face was warm and wet. Blood ran down into the neck of his shirt. Trying to clear his head, he glanced around and his eyes stopped on a large grey mass fifteen feet up the beach.
     Squinting, he stood up carefully, wary of his ankle. The large grey mass didn't look like any rock he'd ever seen. He took a step forward and his ankle buckled. He redistributed his weight to his other ankle and regained his balance, slowly hobbling forward. Four or five steps later he stopped. His tears forgotten. He starred at the huge grey mass in front of him, and his heart grew heavy.
     Just in front of him, on this rocky beach lay the grey/black mass of a whale. He didn't know what kind of whale it was, but the stench rising from its body made him wince. He hobbled around the side of it. Its big sad eye watching him unseeing. He sat down on a rock,wrapped his arms around himself and starred at the whale. Time faded into nothing. Days and nights seemed to pass. The wind grew strong, and dropped down. And grew strong again. After a time he felt no cold and no hunger. He forgot what cities were. And couldn't remember the faces of anybody from his past. He was alone with the whale.
     Centuries seemed to pass. After a time he looked up from the sad eye of the whale and out at the vast ocean before him. The tide rolling slowly in and out. He could no longer remember his own name, he couldn't remember language or words.
     As he watched the ocean, his eyes suddenly fell upon a tiny brown spot that had broken the horizon. He starred without wonder or concern as the brown dot grew. The only sounds, the tide, the wind and his breathing. As he watched the brown spot grew into a wooden boat. The boat approached slowly.
     As it grew steadily closer he could make out the shape of a man. The man had his back to him and was rowing slowly but steadily. He watched the boat and the rowing man, and another century passed. Night rose and the stars appeared. The stars faded and night fell. And as the dawn of the last day grew brighter, the clouds parted and the sun broke the horizon and rose into the sky. It had been so long since he had seen the sun, that he no longer knew what it was. But he knew it was glorious. He stood up and lifted his face to its warm light.
      Finally the man and the boat reached the shore. The edge of the boat coming to rest softly on the sand between the rocky beach and the waters edge. The man lay his oars gently in the boat, stood up and turned to face the man on the beach.
     The man on the beach, after a time, looked away from the sun high up in the blue sky. He looked briefly again, at the whale, and turned to the boatman.

Weird and wonderful.

Charlotte Gainsbourg - Heaven Can Wait from Charlotte Gainsbourg on Vimeo.

A great video of Beck performing way back in 1993, his hair is magnificent.

"Teenage Wastebasket" Live 1993 from Beck Hansen on Vimeo.

modern guy

    Gonna get a tattoo of a moth on my face. Gonna start wearing suspenders and ride a bike with one good tire, everywhere. Gonna listen to jangly british indie pop circa 1994 and a smidge of psych folk circa 1971. I'm only gonna talk to Asian girls with green eyes. Gonna drink Labatt 50 and get an undercut. Gonna look down on people with pets, only quote Allen Ginsberg and live in a tree.

Gonna buy a fake leather jacket and stop eating bread. Gonna walk around with an empty guitar case. I'm only gonna wear discontinued Reebok hightops from 1983. Gonna keep all my John Grisham novels wrapped up in sleeves from old socio economic text books. Gonna hum Japanese pop songs and only eat Captain Crunch cereal. Gonna throw old batteries at people and preach about the new world order.

Gonna key car doors, grow my hair out and shave my head. Gonna buy an umbrella and set it on fire, then laugh at the self image you project because it's boring. Gonna wear old beat up cowboy boots and sigh at you in a condescending manner for not getting my obscure references to psych folk circa 1971. I'm gonna buy a couch and sit on the floor. I'm gonna stand by a pond and cry into my own hands.

...static...transmission...

...blood......blood.....blood.......blood....blood......blood.....blood.......blood...

...

Somewhere around the age of sixteen, I bought my first Leonard Cohen album. It was a vinyl copy of either Songs From a Room or his Greatest Hits. I'm struggling to remember now. I probably purchased it from Discovery Records on Queen Street East. Though I may have purchased it from the long gone Eargasm Records that used to be located a few blocks from Discovery Records at Jones Ave and Queen St East.
    I remember looking at that album cover, it was the backcover that really caught my attention, for the first time and being completely enamoured with it. Before I had even got the record home I had fallen in love with it. It's a pretty romantic image for a sixteen year old boy just discovering great music. A boy in love with rock and roll, who dreamed of becoming a writer.
   Fourteen years later that image is just as powerful. The impact when I look at it now exactly the same. The front cover is a simple black and white photograph of a young Leonard Cohen standing in a small room tightening his tie in a mirror. The backcover is a simple black and white photograph of an old room, sun pouring in through the window. The room empty but for a single bed, a table, a typewriter and a girl, sat at the typewriter. That's it. What a simple beautiful idea. I mean, you listen to a song like Bird on a Wire or Suzanne while looking at that record sleeve and it moves something way down inside of you.
    To me that image represented an ideal. Truth. Something to strive for. It was pure. Like reading On the Road for the first time. Kerouac always gave me that same feeling. So did a lot of the songs on Lou Reeds album Transformer. But that image on the back of that Cohen sleeve was always first I think? That idea of living so simply. And the idea of being moved in such a way by the artwork on an album sleeve.
     It's an image and an idea I still hold on to. I have a lot of memories of myself on Sunday afternoons sat with a stack of vinyl, listening to music, closely examining the record sleeves of albums by bands like Pink Floyd, The Beatles, Neil Young and the Allman Brothers. It always added to my enjoyment of the music, to the emotional impact of the songs.
    It's something that's been lost in music today. In this age of digital downloads. I don't listen to albums much anymore, I listen to songs. I listen to songs on playlists and I listen to songs on shuffle. And it's fucking tragic. But maybe I'm just being nostalgic. Maybe I have no one else to blame but my own lazy ass? Maybe it's a bit of both? Either way I guess I'll always have those memories.