Made by my head
Music, Ireland. Grey, name. My name. A step ladder. This house was built in a bog. Music is the window. I fell off a step ladder.

Saturday, November 04, 2006


Music. Saso.

My brain is grey. There are things in my brain. It's easy to define them as 'things' because that could be anything, but then that isn't really defining them at all. Defining is pinning them down. When I think of pinning things down I think of those things running around the noticeboard in my head, and using coloured pins to pin them to a certain point and say, "You belong at that point. Stop going over to that point and kicking that thing in the shins." But that sounds painful, especially if I'm doing it in my brain. Thinking hurts enough. There are drawers in my head, and some of the things sleep in drawers. Some of the drawers have labels. At night when they're all asleep I can read the labels and say, "That's what you are. You belong there." But they could be anywhere by day. The weather affects my head. Autumn makes me stand still and stare at things. The falling leaves provide all the movement I need. Things enter my brain when I see them. Objects in the world around me release their spirits, who possess a small space in my head, possibly moving into a drawer and displacing something else, and they think they own the place until I can stick a pin into them. Sometimes these ghosts get married in my head and have kids, and I can release the kids into the wild through words. The words 'a cow?' are the off-spring of two ideas I acquired when I was looking at an ice cream. Windows have a certain appeal and so do Martians, and knowing these things could prove useful if you're thinking about shooting a Martian. These thoughts are the children of something I saw in a box.

Band: Saso

Album: The Middle Ages

Saso are a publicity-shy band from Dublin who are loved by the critics. 'The Middle Ages' is their third album. They're better than wearing a coat. Most other bands are worse than realising that your coat isn't dead yet.


He shoots, he scores, he glues himself to a lilac tree. Let's kick him.

A walk in the rain - Poetry. Ireland. Reading the news with no trousers.
Very Slight Stories - Very short stories.
Henry Seaward-Shannon - Slightly longer short-stories.

More blogs about music.


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