April 26, 2005

  • In my imagination right now I’m in a converted warehouse. I’m in a sort of loft thing that’s been built over the main floor.

    Down on the main floor is a stereo and it’s got Damien Rice and Richard Thompson on shuffle play. And it’s really, really loud, but the big space and the high quality of this stereo means that loudness doesn’t hurt, it’s just a pleasant happy feeling in your gut.

    And I’m up in my little loft with the remote controls, and I’m writing. I’m typing away at a laptop which exists solely for the purpose of writing. Real writing. Writing that doesn’t just play footsies with the audience, but writing that’s a deep, full-body down and dirty nasty. Without condoms.

    A shot of single malt. A moment. A sip of water collected from glacial run-off at the top of Mount Baker. Why Mount Baker? Why the hell *not* Mount Baker?

    Then it’s back to the kind of writing that makes the bed squeak and groan in sympathetic vibration. Not just a mindfuck like Philip K. Dick (who, incidentally, wrote himself into many of his works, with the name Horselover Fats, a de-Latinification of his name), and not just a body fuck like, well, whoever. But the kind of thing where just reading the first letter of the first word is expression of interest, come on, making out, torrid affair, being chased by someone’s spouse, furtive running through the night, marriage, divorce, resentment, nostalgia, pregnancy, birth, and baby’s first word all at the same time.

    Which saves on typing, I suppose. But in my imagination, I’m writing that, and I’m tossing back the Scotch, and I’m listening to dueling Irish traditional crossover songwriters, and I’m living in a big, dingy, ancient, dark warehouse. Let’s say in London just to stay on the emerald Isles. And I’m doing that, forever and ever.

    If anyone wants to make this dream take shape, you can start by sending me some Oban. Lagavulin is good, too, but the Oban… Man… It’s a four letter word.

    I’ll work out the warehouse and the writing part myself.

Comments (6)

  • thanks for the comment on my site…i want to work on choosing to be both, since it doesn’t come natural.  but i really appreciate the comment!

  • No, say Liverpool or even Southampton so you’re in a real port town, it just builds the symmetry better.

  • Somebody get this man some Oban…….Stat!

  • if you can write yourself there- you can write anywhere… so can’t wait for the end result!

  • Mmmm. Oban. (Although I prefer Ardbeg.)

  • If you want to come scout for a UK warehouse space you’re welcome to visit us! There’s even a co-op here that might fit the bill, but Cambridge might be too refined for what you’re wanting. Listening to: John Wesley Harding and Nick Drake while nursing my tits off. xoK

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