A certain cocaine jesus invited me to contribute to his handsome music review site "music to grow old to." Never one to miss a musical opportunity I gladly accepted and began by remembering the classic Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars.
26 December 2005
24 December 2005
"They're tearing the Buick City Complex down
I think we're the only people left in town.
Where you gonna move, where you gonna move,
Do you wanna mess around?"
16 December 2005
My office has steadily reduced in numbers over the last year yet the martyr remains stubbornly tied to her stake. Once she played to a full house of seventy plus and although that sympathetic audience has dwindled to a small matinee attendance, the quality of her performance has not diminished. Once a mere lieutenant, she has risen by default to dizzy heights and now seeks condolence in the full glare of the spotlight.
Each day brings cause for a new pained expression. Etched on her face is the statement “I really shouldn’t be here, I think I have double pneumonia. But someone needs to make the effort or this office will simply fall apart.” There is a danger that colleagues will forget how gravely ill she is, so regular reinforcement is crucial. Accordingly frenzied bouts of sneezing are interspersed with lung-shredding coughs and laboured breathing.
Sceptical observers of this phenomenon know it will be hard to maintain the illness at “touch and go” status. Sooner or later patience will be rewarded and the mask will slip. The phone rings, trill, trill… our martyr’s plaintive voice greets the caller, cracking and stuttering through strings of phlegm. Sentences are punctuated with exaggerated sniffs, yet as the call proceeds, a curious and remarkable recovery begins. Thirty seconds in, the conversation is running smoothly. Vowels and consonants are pronounced with ease and eloquence and the slow, sorrowful tones replaced with enthusiasm and giggles…
Similar speedy recovery from dental treatment is equally astonishing. Much clattering and banging draws attention to a late arrival. “How did it go?” we inquire politely. The response is barely intelligible, delivered through a mouth evidently still numb from invasive treatment. Speech is managed with almost no discernible jaw movement. There is considerable mumbling and lines of dribble keep mysteriously appearing thereby prompting frequent dabbing of the lips. Clearly there have been multiple extractions and probably root canal fillings. However, within the hour she is heard explaining to a colleague with startling clarity, “yes I was little late, I had a dental check-up...”
On occasions this heroic devotion to work reaches an astounding level of commitment. Movement from desk to photocopier is achieved only with strenuous effort and a good deal of grunting. The left leg proceeds normally but the right is dragged behind limp and lifeless. Incredibly there has been no steady onset of this condition, surely she must have suffered a massive road traffic accident over the weekend. The useless limb is hauled along like a suitcase on wheels as she attempts the return journey to her desk. A subsequent trip to the fax requires the same effort, yet smart onlookers note the tragic injury has now afflicted the left leg while the right is good as new. Later the signs are of only a slight limp and even more perplexing is the mid-morning sight of our martyr positively sprinting to the coffee machine...
The stench of burning martyr hangs heavy in the air…
07 December 2005
“The paper holds their folded faces to the floor
And every day the paperboy brings more.”Pink Floyd – Brain Damage