Tuesday Music Selection Mixed Bag

A truly mixd bag of stuff today -

Simon Fisher Turner - The Great White Silence (excerpt)

Chilled out blissed ambient groove bar none.

Usha Uthup - Listen To The Rain (medley)

It is a medley from the Bombay To Goa film from 1972.


Finally
John Kongos - He's Gonna Step On You Again

Enjoy

A Rant

Another visit completed and the report done. This time in Ashford/ However the bus company that use to run the service between the town and Faversham no longer does it. Regent Coaches only do the school runs between the two towns and Stagecoach are now running it. But, and is a big one, they tart earlier and yet the there is a huge gap between the one just before four leaving Ashford and the last at ten minutes past six, meaning that i miss the last bus to the village, and then have to wait thirty plus minutes for a train. Jeez

Poem Of The Week

Continuing my foray into American poets here is one bu T.S. Eliot/






Rhapsody on a Windy Night
by: T. S. Eliot (1888-1965)

Twelve o'clock.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Disolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.

Half-past one,
The street lamp sputtered,
The street lamp muttered,
The street lamp said,
"Regard that woman
Who hesitates toward you in the light of the door
Which opens on her like a grin.
You see the border of her dress
Is torn and stained with sand,
And you see the corner of her eye
Twists like a crooked pin."

The memory throws up high and dry
A crowd of twisted things;
A twisted branch upon the beach
Eaten smooth, and polished
As if the world gave up
The secret of its skeleton,
Stiff and white.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.

Half-past two,
The street-lamp said,
"Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter,
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of rancid butter."
So the hand of the child, automatic,
Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along
the quay.
I could see nothing behind that child's eye.
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one afternoon in a pool,
An old crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.

Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp muttered in the dark.

The lamp hummed:
"Regard the moon,
La lune ne garde aucune rancune,
She winks a feeble eye,
She smiles into corners.
She smooths the hair of the grass.
The moon has lost her memory.
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain.
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets
And female smells in shuttered rooms
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars."

The lamp said,
"Four o'clock,
Here is the number on the door.
Memory!
You have the key,
The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair,
Mount.
The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,
Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life."

The last twist of the knife.

Recent Snaps

More pics taken from my journeys.




Deal sea front


( More pics here )