As expected November kicked off spectatularly on a bit off a downer -people just not being on point and stuff and all the wolf at the door business as per usual I really make a note of those people who are really helpf ful and those that hinder.. It is at these low ebbs soemtime s that my mind starts whirlign away with ideas thick and fast or slow and random seemingly disjointed but I know there are all connected somehwhere if I caa just find the structure to hang it all on. I fidn my memory mso preocious a these times, I think it is like a flat pack you look at certain times and places and it all expands out throwing out all sorts of things in your face that you kind of forgot but you didn't - just like the way approach making music I think of writing the same like making food in this case a particualrly excellent soup. my stock is the structure to support everythining to come - it will hold the form regardles of what ever tasty morsels I dream up to put in it. Imagination as part of loneliness, as tool, as escape, fleeing reality, self referencing, coping strategy or as another life of potency, potential, possiblities, opportunities, richness what shall it all end up being ? I want more than social history, I want the honesty and authencity of intense human emotions, feelings the alongside stunning contrariness of a life lived in a particular with certain circumstances and happenstances......a uniquely artful life perhaps ?