Sunday, August 30, 2009

Sunday 30 August 2009

Dream: I am in London with my parents doing the tourist haunt thing. There is a Disney gimmick to proceedings and soon we have ditched each other to go do separate things.

This morning I wake up feeling let down and messed around/about by people.

At this moment in time I am horribly unfocused, unable to cobble together any kind of strategy or scheme to my life.

I wake up around 7.30AM, which sadly constitutes a lie in for me.

After pottering around, attempting to write but instead watching a variety of video files I have download I eventually sit down to watch the Guerilla: The Taking Of Patty Hearst documentary. For some reason at the moment I am fascinated with such things as the Symbionese Liberation Army and why the happen and what their motives are. Perhaps it was reading the Luke Haines book and his descriptions of Baader Meinhof that twigged that part of my memory/conciousness, especially at a time where the world seems ripe for such a new organisation to begin creating chaos. I know we have terrorism from the Middle East but those guys just are not “cool”, their PR is shoddy and amateur and it is impossible for a person to see any real purpose and reason to their efforts and plight. Dressed up in the right clothes/fashion, some silly little liberal white middle class group such as the SLA or Baader Meinhoff do appear to have the media manipulating smarts to create something interesting and altogether more intimidating.

There is a danger of romanticising such movements as being like Robin Hood so it is pretty good when this particular documentary is thorough enough to show the reality of the group, of its accomplishments and failings and its ultimate consequences and the hypocrisy in how Patty Hearst was granted eventual pardon due to her class status while four members through guilt decide to take on delayed post event punishment. The closing footage of Hearst being interview by Gabby Roslin while four members rot in court is quite a revealing gulf.

The concept of Stockholm Syndrome has always been one that fascinated me. You see it at all levels, most definitely at school when/where developing minds are being manipulated but also I have seen it in the workplace and in social groups throughout the years.

From here I waddle across TV stations to find Johnny Cash appearing in an episode of Columbo. This is quite the vision.

In the afternoon I meet up with Mark at the Hospital Arms. As I had walked to the pub I had passed a very attractive Boho girl that looked completely out of place walking up Crouch Street and also looked pretty disgusted as we exchanged expressions. Remember her.

At the Hospital Arms we sit in the beer garden shooting the shit. I have a flat pint of some ghastly bitter called Explorer and the fucker immediately gives me a headache. What was I thinking straying away from the usual, from what I know.

Mark tells me the latest movements on Leytonstone and finally seals a “no” on the suggestion/proposal for me to have the spare room. I have to admit this completely serves to gut me as I had been giving it strong consideration recently and to get away from the commuting, even if it was for just six months, was something that I thought/felt might help rejuvenate the batteries on some kind of lasting level. Alas now it seems it is not to be. Sadness accrues.

While we talk the Boho girl turns up at the table next to us with a pint in one hand and notebook in the other. As she pulls out a cigarette she begins scribbling in the book as if she is French. It looks pretty out of place in this stuffy old people’s pub and after the one pint she disappears to leave us to go back to our indie music discussion (that old chestnut).

Eventually after a number of drinks we knock the session on its head and chip off.

Tonight on TV is The Office evening. I toy with the idea of watch it, it being one of my all time favourite TV programmes but when it becomes evident that there isn’t really going to be much in the way of any new footage or input added to proceedings it doesn’t really hold much in the way of appeal or anticipation. As ever annoyingly a Ricky Gervais product only serves to remind me of my American friend, which is not necessarily a healthy train of thought for me to be harbouring at anytime. Ghastly.

Quickly I fall asleep early into proceedings. What a waste.

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