Its actually Vin and Kenny , but that didn’t rhyme, and music is all about rhyming.

As the tape reels and the celluloid burns, more film is forged for your consumption.

My first attempt to use my new kit that I alluded to in my previous post. Further details will be forthcoming shortly. In the mean time this is a proof of concept. The lovely voice in the background is that of my beautiful girlfriend Anna-Liisa.

I’m going to start prostituting this website, the only problem is right now she’s in such a state no man would want her. I’ll drop that particular metaphor right there and get to the point. NOBODY IS READING THIS. Mostly because I’ve done nothing to encourage anyone to.

So I will be creating a kit of physical tools to create low cost high volume content and publish it, with clockwork regularity to the website. I’ll stick up a couple discreet ads, slather my cheaply created knock down crap all over youtube and those other sticky social networking websites. Drag in friends, family and acquaintances to drum up traffic and start the place rolling to a a glorious low traffic wasteland before finally giving up and going home. Still though it will be  entertaining while it lasts. I’m waiting on eBay deliveries of  some of the accoutrements  , as soon as they arrive my first post in the new idiom will involve in depth documenting of their nature and uses! With COLOUR photographs and possibly video. If I generate 1 euro from all the effort, a single solitary euro, I’ll consider it a HUGE success! I may even go so far as using two exclamation marks at the end of a sentence!

If there is anyone out there reading this, suggestions as to the nature of the additions I should make are welcome nay encouraged.

I’d driven to the beach. The day was fair, and I had too much time. A small flat rectangle of tarmac made a comfortable parking space for the three cars that had made it to this remote stretch of rocky beach. I’d driven there in my swimming gear, the day was fair but the ample sunshine warmed through glass enough to go near nude in comfort. The air bit for a moment when I stepped out but it passed quickly. Bare feet met the jagged black teeth of the deceptively smooth looking tarmac , a few winces and effeminate hops had me on the lukewarm sand. A family on a tattered beach towel with a wind barrier, were short company, I continued on. The rough rocks tasted better to my soles, but no more comfortable. I appeared in the centre of the minute cove , the interim from the car to that point forgotten. The breeze smelled blue, and the sea shined bluer. I ran a little, and paddled, old but incapable of swimming.

I dug in the sand for the love of digging and the baby skin it grew on my hands. Laying down, listening to the personalized silence, I relished the gentle licks of the breeze on my sanded calfskin feet. The silence died, no longer silence but the inability to hear. Sitting up I saw the horses, two immense ivory horses thick veined necks and windswept manes. The suns edges grew razor sharp, and a ship hiding behind the sunbeams showed bright and high lancing through the waves. They each passed and segued from reality in their own ways, a fade , ambling behind a rock, bursting into a ball of nuclear energy. My hearing returned with drumming and a tiny rivulet of blood. I dunked, and rinsed my head laughing to myself.

It wasn’t the first, and I was getting closer.

I’d walked once, alone, near the water on an exceptionally windy day. I couldn’t hear much above the gales, or see much apart from the ground while trying to stop my eyes from streaming because of the wind. I tramped in soggy socks along a tarmac running path by the sea, which was a dark purple against a darker purple sky. There were a few lights on the water, a ferry punching through the darkness with the scarce lights that it showed. There was what I picked out as a bouy, being thrown about both violently and slowly in that way unique to the ocean.

Everything appeared as a shade of black, even the people with their featureless faces pulled deep into their parka hoods. I wasn’t cold , but still hunched my shoulders expecting for the cold to arrive at any minute. The wickedly unpleasant smells from the alien masses of seaweed were picked up by the wind and presented to me occasionally as I continued on but it was all part of the texture of the evening.

I managed to arrive at the promenade before I became bored and regretted leaving the apartment. The black palette was augmented with the overripe orange of the street lights and the occasional false dawn of headlights. The benches were blown dry by the strong winds so I sat and relished the heat the throbbing of my sore feet was generating. Then the wind died, and the waves seemed to calm unnaturally. A tiny woman, quite literally tiny, no taller than 3 feet walked in front of me looking ridiculously happy and grinning like a maniac before turning the corner and disappearing from sight. I laughed and then chided myself, before realising I wasn’t laughing at her. I’m sure there was some grand metaphor my conscious mind was missing but my sub-conscious couldn’t help but find wonderfully absurd. The banality returned quickly though and I began my journey home, a bindle-less hobo in steaming wool socks.

I spent yesterday playing RTS games, C&C and Patapon. Both of which are habit forming but for wildly different reasons. Command and conquer displays the usual quality I’ve come to expect from the range, the graphics and effects are beautiful , the sides balanced and different enough to keep you interested and the strategies available wide and challenging. Patapon becomes addictive for no reason I can determine apart from the subliminal. I think the patterns beaten out on the keys worms into your mind, I know I was whispering Pata-Pata-Pata-Pon to myself for hours after playing. Which was as disturbing to me as it sounds to you .

Today to stop myself feeling guilty for spending an entire day without moving from my room, I exercised a little. Weights, and a short run, by the end of the run my lungs were burning and I thought I would vomit. That was followed by a short euphoric hum in all my muscles and finally a wonderfully inflated sense of wellbeing. The guilt has been expelled and I plan on wasting away the rest of today in the same way.

Fuck knows why I’m writing this but it may be another way to dispel my conviction that I’m wasting most days of my prime. Maybe having a written record will at least show my elder self that I may have been lazy but at the least I wasn’t ignorant.

I’d never attempt to stifle the creative spirit of anyone. I’m also perfectly aware that superficial affectations of a society do not represent the depths it can plumb and the beauty it can create. However, I still find myself cringing at the words blog,  blogosphere and the numerous other neologisms that are spawned in the birthing days of the new media revolution.

Trends have always been part of humanities way of life. Picking up on the social norms, adapting as they do, running riot with the novelties that sometimes pop out of the seething mass of mediocrity and then cringing at the memories once the shine has worn off. The central push of the connected age will remain constant, the change is so fundamental and its benefits so vast that I doubt anyone would predict it as a fad. Its the affectations, the language, that I cannot wait to be forgotten.

I’ve been around as a spectator since the internet only began to reach the mainstream. In the early nineties the internet was still the realm of nerd, and was inaccessible and indecipherable to the masses. It was always predicted it would become important, as a tool of learning, as a way of shopping, for communication.  I don’t remember anyone predicting it would end up like this, the social network. I preferred when the internet isolated people and they knew it. Now it draws them out, advertises their every thought, publishes their weaknesses, makes their personal details common knowledge and draws a great big bullseye on them for anyone with the intent to take a shot.

Its elitist I know, but I miss when only nerds, criminals and pornographers had access.

I have removed the wildlife from the header image. The flower will remain, though it has been relocated.

Graysix was lost at sea and presumed dead for months. Considering it only ever really had a half life the search for its corpse was not exhaustive. As if returning from a long fugue, it stands before you resurrect and refreshed. The theme I chose for its return began as a far darker affair, to which I added a flower, and a bunny, and a puppy and some red bits along the side. I think it quite effectively represents my personality in some abstract way.

I’d love to regale you with tales of adventure from my time spent away, unfortunately I have none with which to do so. I am glad to have my site back, although I’m uncertain why. I’m sure I’ll realise the reason soon and it will come as consciousness raising revelation.