"...thus with imagined wing, our swift scene flies..." unto the green-beach, far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.
What a spectacular and most majestic performance dids't I witness this night. For to give my all (that is to say each and every hard-earned penny in my pocket, just to hear such Shakespeare). T'was worth every shilling, yea, I would willingly be without luxury nor neccessity to take in such a magnanimous set of scenes, by such worthily requited players. All musicians, to a man. Each and every performer dids't play his (or her) part, and did it well, brimming with such aplomb as never did this tiny town enjoy so much solemnity. Aye.
Leaving both my belovèd Gurtrude lying beside dearest Lillian, in the company of Saint Laurence: giver of Moonshine. What a night! I told the good fellow I would pick up the musical instruments on the morrow in the morning, for 'tis market day, and as such, there's many a penny more to be made, for one with talents such as I...
Larry left after his favourite scenes. He hath toil in the coming dawn to attend to, the industrious fellow he is. Who else should be there, but none other than both mine old English and Literature pedagogues from Woodroffe. T'was great to catch up. The conversation went thus,
Maxy "Ahh! Mrs. Hyde, how are you? Well I trust? Oh, and Mrs. Wilson! 'Tis very good to see you again, sincerely!"
(banter ensues, Maxy continues)
"Mrs. Hyde, Mrs. Wilson, this is my friend Larry. Larry, this is Mrs. and Mrs. Hyde and Wilson, my English Literature teachers from Woodroffe."
Larry "Where did it all go wrong?! Ha ha!"
Mrs. Wilson (sternly) "Nothing has gone wrong." (casts a sharp eye down at Laurence, who sits) "Nothing has gone wrong. Maxwell, so you are at University now I hear, and that you travelled abroad for many a year."
...and so it was, that I, chuffed, proud, to be so highly gratified by my esteemed former tutors. I know from talking to Mrs. Hyde in the health-food shop on another day afore, that she loved the story my twin brother and I wrote when we were but a dozen years old. The imagined voice. A pair of buttons, one from New York city, and one from London town.
Larry has been a good friend, and shows his friendship in real-terms. I gave him a guitar today, an unnamed instrument. Anyway, his jovial manner, dry sense of humour, and occasionally goading close friends, I tolerate and take not the least bit of offense, such is the amity of the mans gentle character. Equally, I was so very bowled over by their praise. Mrs. Wilson also commended me for my writing, saying that she had n'er writ a line. My response was that although I write many poems and songs, I fear I hath not the wearwithal to complete a full novel; that I am contented with penning short stories and poesy, and that I have not yet been published. Yet...
What a wonderful evening. I was moved to tears during the siege of Harfluer. The skin on mine arms tingled with joy during the scene with the herald prior to that. Aye. Though Marlowe be the master, Shakespeare is among the greatest of our native authors, as familiar as household words.
This night makes me resolved to write more. A faithful affirmation of my creative talents gives a boost to my confidence (and already inflated ego!).
After the finalé, just as I was leaving, I spoke of the Open University song I had appropriated from our school, Woodroffe. The two pedagogues shared some insight on the circumstances surrounding the original composition. Most interesting. They also shed light on it's demise. Both teachers were overjoyed to hear that I had re-invented the tradition, and bade me send my composition (arrangement) to our old music master. I accredited the flutist and translator who helped me recreate the piece.
Maxwell.
Tuesday, 31 July 2012
In peace...
...nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility..." - Shakespeare, Henry the fifth.
Dear Diary,
We hath been looking forward to this blessèd day for months. Henry V is Larry's favourite Shakespeare play (mine's A Midsummer Night's Dream) and today is the performance, an open air venue. "The day is bright, the sun it is warm, says I, a quiet pint wouldn't do me no harm.." (Johnny Jump Up)
Except that I was brassic, skint this morning. So I took action: I took Dirty Gurty (Gertrude the Guitar) and Saint Lillian (Spanish Guitar) out for a spin. After one and a half hours I counted the amount of silver and gold, I had exactely enough for the ticket to go and see the Shakespeare play! Precisely! To the penny! Good fortune, destiny. Lady luck smiles on me.
Larry is having a clear-out, he kindly gave me a brewing kit (enough for forty pints!). I agreed to give him half the beer I brew. He also philanthropically donated me some clothes, a printer ink cartridge, a lovely old radio, and ... the entire remaining demijohn of "the special stuff"! Moonshine. 100% proof. My cheeks are rosy-red right now, after a mere sip. Aye. Life is very, very good; in spite of having no smoke or decent amount of food (just rice, perfect: monk, samurai fare).
Alas, this day bodes to be a good one. Last night we finished our group essay. This morning before departing my happy home, I typed up my timeline of the Ancient World. I was using a different Operating System (as my 'puter has no Hardrive, I must install the o/s each time I turn the 'puter on, it installs faster than windoze boots! On average!) Anyway, my Radeon Mobility is a non-standard graphics card, so it's... a bit twitchy. Unstable. I use Puppy o/s (Linux) running via Xvesa (not Xorg). Anyway, the short end of the stick is that my upgrading to Slacko Puppy 5.3 meant I lost a lot of work before I was able to transfer the file. Bugger.
In future I will be using the old version of Puppy. I only lost everything from about 530-360 BC. I don't mind typing it in again, as it means I am memorizing important dates, which may come in useful for future exams. History.
I am watching some crap on Larry's telly. The good part is it has a wicked slide-guitar track in it. I have already imitated it, committed it to memory. On the Flex. Y'all have a good day now.
Oh! I spoke to my other student when McCormick visited, he told me of a woman we know, that we grew up with. Though the piano-player and sound-engineer (my second student) explained that he knew her well and that she fancied me. Result! I saw her this morning, I said, "You're looking well, good." She replied, "You look good to." I then sang and played like a pluming peacock. In-fact several really fit women threw money at me this morning, others simply smiled. This sea-side town is full of tail at the moment; but I still yearn for my childhood sweetheart who returned the compliment this morning. Aye. Sweet love.
Desiderata.
Maximus Fleximus.
Dear Diary,
We hath been looking forward to this blessèd day for months. Henry V is Larry's favourite Shakespeare play (mine's A Midsummer Night's Dream) and today is the performance, an open air venue. "The day is bright, the sun it is warm, says I, a quiet pint wouldn't do me no harm.." (Johnny Jump Up)
Except that I was brassic, skint this morning. So I took action: I took Dirty Gurty (Gertrude the Guitar) and Saint Lillian (Spanish Guitar) out for a spin. After one and a half hours I counted the amount of silver and gold, I had exactely enough for the ticket to go and see the Shakespeare play! Precisely! To the penny! Good fortune, destiny. Lady luck smiles on me.
Larry is having a clear-out, he kindly gave me a brewing kit (enough for forty pints!). I agreed to give him half the beer I brew. He also philanthropically donated me some clothes, a printer ink cartridge, a lovely old radio, and ... the entire remaining demijohn of "the special stuff"! Moonshine. 100% proof. My cheeks are rosy-red right now, after a mere sip. Aye. Life is very, very good; in spite of having no smoke or decent amount of food (just rice, perfect: monk, samurai fare).
Alas, this day bodes to be a good one. Last night we finished our group essay. This morning before departing my happy home, I typed up my timeline of the Ancient World. I was using a different Operating System (as my 'puter has no Hardrive, I must install the o/s each time I turn the 'puter on, it installs faster than windoze boots! On average!) Anyway, my Radeon Mobility is a non-standard graphics card, so it's... a bit twitchy. Unstable. I use Puppy o/s (Linux) running via Xvesa (not Xorg). Anyway, the short end of the stick is that my upgrading to Slacko Puppy 5.3 meant I lost a lot of work before I was able to transfer the file. Bugger.
In future I will be using the old version of Puppy. I only lost everything from about 530-360 BC. I don't mind typing it in again, as it means I am memorizing important dates, which may come in useful for future exams. History.
I am watching some crap on Larry's telly. The good part is it has a wicked slide-guitar track in it. I have already imitated it, committed it to memory. On the Flex. Y'all have a good day now.
Oh! I spoke to my other student when McCormick visited, he told me of a woman we know, that we grew up with. Though the piano-player and sound-engineer (my second student) explained that he knew her well and that she fancied me. Result! I saw her this morning, I said, "You're looking well, good." She replied, "You look good to." I then sang and played like a pluming peacock. In-fact several really fit women threw money at me this morning, others simply smiled. This sea-side town is full of tail at the moment; but I still yearn for my childhood sweetheart who returned the compliment this morning. Aye. Sweet love.
Desiderata.
Maximus Fleximus.
Drunken Dinner
Dear Diary,
After not smoking anything for an æon, I wanted a cigarette. Caving-in, I headed for the shops. Upon arrival I was pleased to discover a new brand of organic tobacco. Alas, t'was my students' birthday party. As soon as I had made myself comfortable, I clumsily knocked over a full glass of vino russo into my bolognaise. Nasty.
Snail-side, once upon a time, I discovered while working on l'vendange [grape harvest] that a drop of vin rouge in the soup, gives a nice tangy bite to an otherwise bland-ish starter. It's not to everybody's taste, but I do like a drop of red in my soup ever since. Aye. Or should I say oui or "si".
So, after the dinner fiasco, a birthday sing-song was in order, and the birthday girl wasn't game, despite the new guitar pressie (a quite nice left handed semi-acoustic, steel-string, groovy). Anyway, I sat with her mother and the keyboard player, and we sang Bing Crosby numbers, the Andrews sisters, and the like. I tried to tear myself away for the assignment.
I managed to snatch a moment at the terminal, in between singing "Man of Constant Sorrow" and "Don't Fence Me In". On the Flex.
Who can compare to Maxy? My twin. That's who. I love you bro'.
Maximus Fleximus.
After not smoking anything for an æon, I wanted a cigarette. Caving-in, I headed for the shops. Upon arrival I was pleased to discover a new brand of organic tobacco. Alas, t'was my students' birthday party. As soon as I had made myself comfortable, I clumsily knocked over a full glass of vino russo into my bolognaise. Nasty.
Snail-side, once upon a time, I discovered while working on l'vendange [grape harvest] that a drop of vin rouge in the soup, gives a nice tangy bite to an otherwise bland-ish starter. It's not to everybody's taste, but I do like a drop of red in my soup ever since. Aye. Or should I say oui or "si".
So, after the dinner fiasco, a birthday sing-song was in order, and the birthday girl wasn't game, despite the new guitar pressie (a quite nice left handed semi-acoustic, steel-string, groovy). Anyway, I sat with her mother and the keyboard player, and we sang Bing Crosby numbers, the Andrews sisters, and the like. I tried to tear myself away for the assignment.
I managed to snatch a moment at the terminal, in between singing "Man of Constant Sorrow" and "Don't Fence Me In". On the Flex.
Who can compare to Maxy? My twin. That's who. I love you bro'.
Maximus Fleximus.
Monday, 30 July 2012
Gratitude
Dear Diary,
I am not such a bad stick. I know some folks around here and beyond would disagree: These are some responses I had from my leadership...
Hi Max,
Thank you for your kind words. It too was a pleasure working with you. Choosing you as our Team leader was the right move, your keenness, enthusiasm and leadership has proved invaluable. I think you have put far more time and effort into this assignment than the rest of us put together. The forum has been buzzing with your updates, direction and polls.
Fingers crossed our team effort gets us a half decent mark.
T.
Hi Max
Thanks from me too for your kind words and for being our esteemed leader. You were great and really we could not have done without you.
Many thanks
S.
Heya Max!
Thanks for the comments, it was really nice of you! I think that the group picked the best person for the job with you and I have really enjoyed my first group wiki so thanks everyone.
P.
Guys,
I know this place should be formal but I just read those last three posts and am so happy that you feel I was a good choice of facilitator. It's like hugging a carebear and having a rainbow of multi-coloured love-hearts fall all about me! smile<3 So nice to read your messages you guys. The feelings mutual. I hope we get a half decent mark too. Fingers crossed touch wood,
Max.
wiki really looks good think we all seemed to all work together really well. Max, good job taking the lead and keeping us all going think it really helped.
Pl.
Max.
I am not such a bad stick. I know some folks around here and beyond would disagree: These are some responses I had from my leadership...
Hi Max,
Thank you for your kind words. It too was a pleasure working with you. Choosing you as our Team leader was the right move, your keenness, enthusiasm and leadership has proved invaluable. I think you have put far more time and effort into this assignment than the rest of us put together. The forum has been buzzing with your updates, direction and polls.
Fingers crossed our team effort gets us a half decent mark.
T.
Hi Max
Thanks from me too for your kind words and for being our esteemed leader. You were great and really we could not have done without you.
Many thanks
S.
Heya Max!
Thanks for the comments, it was really nice of you! I think that the group picked the best person for the job with you and I have really enjoyed my first group wiki so thanks everyone.
P.
Guys,
I know this place should be formal but I just read those last three posts and am so happy that you feel I was a good choice of facilitator. It's like hugging a carebear and having a rainbow of multi-coloured love-hearts fall all about me! smile<3 So nice to read your messages you guys. The feelings mutual. I hope we get a half decent mark too. Fingers crossed touch wood,
Max.
wiki really looks good think we all seemed to all work together really well. Max, good job taking the lead and keeping us all going think it really helped.
Pl.
Max.
Ancientimes
(Remember that Before Common Era should be four years before B.C. specified dates, however Oxford have decided to match the dates BCE and BC, also CE and AD).
Key-Sources:
§ = Lempriere’s Classical Dictionary.
Δ = “...Commanders of the Ancient... World”
All others are from the Oxford Reference Archive.
ANCIENT TIMELINE II
1,088 BC: The kingdom of Sicyon ended. [Peleponnesus] §
1,070 BC: The kingdom of Athens ends in the death of Codrus. §
1,044 BC: The migration of the Ionian colonies from Greece, and their settlement in Asia Minor. §
1,037 - 967 BCE: The life and death of King David. Δ
986 BC: Samos built. §
907 BC: Homer and Hesiod flourished about this time, according to the Marbles. §
884 BC: Lycurgus, forty-two years old, establishes his laws at Lacedæmon, and, together with Iphitus and Cleosthenes, restores the Olympic games at Elis, about one-hundred and eight years before the era which is commonly called the first Olympiad. §
869 BC: Phidon, king of Argos, is supposed to have invented scales and measures, and coined at Ægina. Carthage built by Dido. §
820 BC: Fall of the Assyrian empire by the death of Sardanapalus, an era placed eighty years earlier by Justin. §
814 BC: The kingdom of Macedonia begins, and continues six-hundred and forty-six years, till the battle of Pydna. §
797 BC: The kingdom of Lydia begins, and continues 249 years. §
779 BC: The monarchical government abolished at Corinth, and the Prytanes [are] elected. §
776 BCE: Olympic games are held... in accordance with Greek tradition.
776 BC: Corœbus conquers at Olympia, in the twenty-eighth Olympiad from the institution of Ipithus. This is [wrongly] called the first Olympiad, about twenty-three years before the foundation of Rome. §
760 BC: The Ephori introduced into the government of Lacedæmon by Theopompus. §
754 BCE: The decennial archons begin at Athens, of which Charops is the first. §
753 BCE: Romulus founds Rome (according to later Roman tradition), making this the first year in the Roman calendar.
753 BC: Rome built on the 20th of April, according to Varo, in the year 3,961 of the Julian period. §
750 BCE: The Greeks make the Phœnician alphabet much more flexible by the addition of vowels. Piye, the king of Nubia (or Cush), conquers down the Nile to the sea, establishing the Cushite dynasty.
750 BC: The rape of the Sabines. §
...to be continued...
Maximus Fleximus.
Key-Sources:
§ = Lempriere’s Classical Dictionary.
Δ = “...Commanders of the Ancient... World”
All others are from the Oxford Reference Archive.
ANCIENT TIMELINE II
1,088 BC: The kingdom of Sicyon ended. [Peleponnesus] §
1,070 BC: The kingdom of Athens ends in the death of Codrus. §
1,044 BC: The migration of the Ionian colonies from Greece, and their settlement in Asia Minor. §
1,037 - 967 BCE: The life and death of King David. Δ
986 BC: Samos built. §
907 BC: Homer and Hesiod flourished about this time, according to the Marbles. §
884 BC: Lycurgus, forty-two years old, establishes his laws at Lacedæmon, and, together with Iphitus and Cleosthenes, restores the Olympic games at Elis, about one-hundred and eight years before the era which is commonly called the first Olympiad. §
869 BC: Phidon, king of Argos, is supposed to have invented scales and measures, and coined at Ægina. Carthage built by Dido. §
820 BC: Fall of the Assyrian empire by the death of Sardanapalus, an era placed eighty years earlier by Justin. §
814 BC: The kingdom of Macedonia begins, and continues six-hundred and forty-six years, till the battle of Pydna. §
797 BC: The kingdom of Lydia begins, and continues 249 years. §
779 BC: The monarchical government abolished at Corinth, and the Prytanes [are] elected. §
776 BCE: Olympic games are held... in accordance with Greek tradition.
776 BC: Corœbus conquers at Olympia, in the twenty-eighth Olympiad from the institution of Ipithus. This is [wrongly] called the first Olympiad, about twenty-three years before the foundation of Rome. §
760 BC: The Ephori introduced into the government of Lacedæmon by Theopompus. §
754 BCE: The decennial archons begin at Athens, of which Charops is the first. §
753 BCE: Romulus founds Rome (according to later Roman tradition), making this the first year in the Roman calendar.
753 BC: Rome built on the 20th of April, according to Varo, in the year 3,961 of the Julian period. §
750 BCE: The Greeks make the Phœnician alphabet much more flexible by the addition of vowels. Piye, the king of Nubia (or Cush), conquers down the Nile to the sea, establishing the Cushite dynasty.
750 BC: The rape of the Sabines. §
...to be continued...
Maximus Fleximus.
Taxy
Dear Diary,
I've cocked up. Again. Not only should I have played the gig last night, but I just sent of my self-employment renewal form to the wrong address! I don't have enough money to go see a performance of Shakespeare's Henry V tomorrow. I will have to busk up the dollar.
I am now sitting through a waiting line (eighteen minutes so far, on a mobile!) phone waiting to tell them about my mess-up.
The assignment isn't finished and it's nearly due in.
I am seriously not on the flex. I spoke to one of the regulars in town a minute ago, no other musicians were there. Harry was away at another gig. I'm all out of everything except rice and green-tea. It's all good.
Oh! I just renewed my thingy over the phone, no problems, only solutions. That's one thing out of the way. However, I accidentally sent my tax-letter with the application for financial support I sent off this morning. The bloke said on the phone that I need do a tax-return and I just kissed goodbye to my only copy of my tax-reference (I discard an awful lot of post). So. Calm down Maxy. We can dig an old letter out from the loft. It's cool. Now for the assignment. Then I must find a job from somewhere. Birds booze and bud will have to wait.
Maximus Fleximus.
I've cocked up. Again. Not only should I have played the gig last night, but I just sent of my self-employment renewal form to the wrong address! I don't have enough money to go see a performance of Shakespeare's Henry V tomorrow. I will have to busk up the dollar.
I am now sitting through a waiting line (eighteen minutes so far, on a mobile!) phone waiting to tell them about my mess-up.
The assignment isn't finished and it's nearly due in.
I am seriously not on the flex. I spoke to one of the regulars in town a minute ago, no other musicians were there. Harry was away at another gig. I'm all out of everything except rice and green-tea. It's all good.
Oh! I just renewed my thingy over the phone, no problems, only solutions. That's one thing out of the way. However, I accidentally sent my tax-letter with the application for financial support I sent off this morning. The bloke said on the phone that I need do a tax-return and I just kissed goodbye to my only copy of my tax-reference (I discard an awful lot of post). So. Calm down Maxy. We can dig an old letter out from the loft. It's cool. Now for the assignment. Then I must find a job from somewhere. Birds booze and bud will have to wait.
Maximus Fleximus.
Ancient Times
Time-line of the Ancients by Maxwell Latham.
This is a concise time-line from Antiquity and the Classical world, compiled from just three bespoke literary sources, from trusted historians. My hope is that anyone studying ancient history might find this useful or interesting.
Unless otherwise stated, all dates (Before Common Era) stem from the Oxford Reference Library. Before Common Era is four years prior to B.C. "Before Christ". (e.g Jesus of Nazareth lived between 4 BCE-29 CE) (2011, Ole Peter Grell, page 23 of A151 Book 2, "Contexts"; 2008, John Wolffe, page 74 of AA100 Book 2, "Tradition and Dissent"; also Trevor Fear, page 3 of Book 1, "Reputations").
Entries in italics (B.C.) quite often with [square bracket pages references] are drawn from "Lempriere's Classical Dictionary" as a source. §
A quote from Lempriere "...the first year of the Christian era... falls on the 4,714th of the Julian years, the number required either before or after Christ, will easily be discovered by the application of the rules of subtraction or addition. The era from the foundation of Rome (A. U. C.) will be found with the same facility, by recollecting that the city was built 753 years before Christ; and the Olympiads can likewise be recurred to by the consideration, that the conquest of Corœbus (B.C. 776) forms the first Olympiad, and that the Olympic games were celebrated after the revolution of four years..." (1788 [1845], J. Lempriere, page vii)
Dates with page numbers specified in squiggly brackets are from "...Commanders of the Ancient... World". Δ These dates are given in italics and usually indicate the lifespan of the general in question.
TIME-LINE by Maximus Fleximus (Maxy Waxy)
5,300 BCE: The Neolithic period of Egyptian culture begins in the Nile delta.
3,200 BCE: Hieroglyphic signs are used in inscriptions.
3,100 BCE: Egyptian civilization begins to develop when a patchwork of competing territories along the Nile become unified.
3,000 BCE: An easily portable writing surface is developed, from the papyrus plant of the Nile.
2,620 BCE: Imhotep creates the earliest known pyramid, the 'step pyramid' at Saqqara, as a tomb for the pharaoh Zoser.
2,530 BCE: The largest sculpture of the ancient world, a sphinx, perhaps with the face of the pharaoh Khafra, is carved from the rock at Giza.
2,188 BC: The kingdom of Egypt is supposed to have begun under Misraim the son of Ham, and to have continued one-thousand six-hundred and sixty-three years, to the conquest of Cambyses. §
2,089 BC: The kingdom of Sicyon is established. [Peleponnesus, page 630] §
2,059 BC: The kingdom of Assyria begins. [page 97] §
2,040 BCE: Mentuhotep [the second] wins control of all Egypt, establishing the period known as the Middle Kingdom.
1,900 BCE: Knossos and other such palaces are built for dynasties in Minoan Crete.
1,856 BC: The deluge of Ogyges, [page 453] by which Attica remained waste above two-hundred years, till the coming of Cecrops [pages 148-149].
1,700 BCE: The biblical account suggests that around this period the Hebrews are [a] captive tribe in Egypt.
1,640 BCE: The Hyksos, arriving from west[ern] Asia, win control of the Nile valley and rule for nearly a century.
1,550 BCE: The Hyksos are expelled and Egypt achieves a renewal of centralized government in the New Kingdom.
1,582 BC: The chronology of the Arundelian Marbles [Atlas Stones] begins about this time, fixing here the arrival of Cecrops into Attica, an epoch which other writers have placed later by twenty-six years. §
1,571 BC: Moses is born. §
1,556 BC: The kingdom of Athens begun under Cecrops, who came from Egypt with a colony of Saites. This happened about seven-hundred and eighty years before the first Olympiad. §
1,500 BCE: Hatshepsut takes power in Egypt,...a female pharaoh. The temples of Karnak and Luxor begun in the Middle Kingdom, are now greatly extended with massive stone architecture. Amun, the god of Thebes, becomes associated with the sun god Re - and as Amon-Re becomes 'king of the gods'. Texts written in the script known as Linear B are the earliest surviving version of Greek. 1,546 BC: Scamander migrates from Crete, and begins the kingdom of Troy. [pages 608 and 693-694] §
1,525 BCE: The eruption of a volcano, on he island of Thera, entombs and preserves houses with frescoes in the Minoan city of Akrotiri.
1,520 BCE: Thutmose [the first] extends Egyptian control far up the Nile into Nubia. 1,479 - 1,425 BCE: The reign of Thutmose [the third]. {pages 20-27} Δ
1,458 BCE: Death of Hatshepsut. {page 20} Δ
1,453 BC: The first Olympic games celebrated in Elis by the Idæi Dactyli. [pages 244-245] §
1,410 BCE: Amenhotep [the third] commissions the colossi of Memnon and the great temple at Luxor.
1,406 BC: Minos flourishes in Crete. [pages 413-414] §
1,375 BCE: Amenhotep [the fourth], changes his name to Akhenaten, introduces the monotheistic cult of the sun god Aten.
1,360 BCE: Nefertiti, wife of Akhenaten, is depicted in a now famous limestone bust.
1,354 - 1,224 BCE: The life and death of Joshua Bin Nun.{pages 36-43} Δ
1,352 BCE: Tutankhamun, a pharaoh aged about eighteen, dies and is buried in appropriate surroundings;
1,356 BC: The Eleusinian mysteries introduced at Athens by Eumolpus. [pages 242-244 and 258] §
1,350 BCE: Mycenæ prevails as the dominant power throughout the Pelonnese and the entire Ægean.
1,326 BC: The Isthmian games first instituted by Sisyphus, king of Corinth. [pages 330 and 634] §
1,300 BCE: The Treasury of Atreus at Mycenæ is constructed, a spectacular example of a beehive tomb. An indecisive battle betwixt the Hittites and the Egyptians, at Kadesh, stabilizes the frontier between the two empires.
1,290 - 1224 BCE: Ramses [the second] perhaps the best known of Egypt's pharaohs, begins a reign of sixty-six years; 1,290 - 1224 BCE: {pages 28-35} Δ
1,270 BCE: The city of Troy is destroyed, possibly by Mycenæan Greeks in an event remembered in Homer's Iliad.
1,263 BC: The Argonautic expedition. The first Pythian games [in honour of Venus?] celebrated by Adrastus, king of Argos. [page 10] §
1,248 BCE: A spectacular temple is created at Abu Simbel in honour of Ramses [the second].
1,225 BC: The Theban war of the seven heroes against Eteocles. [page 253] §
1,222 BC: Olympic games celebrated by Hercules. [pages 289-300] §
1,213 BC: The rape of Helen by Theseus, and, fifteen years after, by Paris. [pages 291-292] §
1,184 BC: Troy taken after a siege of ten years. Æneas sails to Italy. [pages 17-18] §
1,150 BCE: Mycenæ and other states of the Peloponnese are overwhelmed, possibly by invading Dorian Greeks.
1,152 BC: Alba Longa built by Ascanius. [page 94] §
1,124 BC: Migration of the Æolian colonies. [page 19] §
1,104 BC: The return of the Heraclidæ into Peloponnesus, eighty years after the taking of Troy. Two years after they divide the Peloponnesus among themselves; and here, therefore, begins the kingdom of Lacedæmon under Eurysthenes and Procles. [pages 296, 340-341 and 262 respectively] §
...work in progress. Max
Sunday, 29 July 2012
Fruitcake
Dear Diary,
Betwixt procrastination and getting royally sozzled before breakfast, the embarrassing visit from my folks, wasn't so On the Flex. I stood there, the resident family fruit-cake. Gawpy, goofy-looking, baked. Trancing out to the sunshine I had vacant eyes, like piss-holes in the snow. Bleary and bloodshot. Tiny pupils. I remember receiving a bag of food from mother, home-made brioch, my favourite.
I am supposed to be going to the gig today. After the jam at the Calcuttan hole, I last blogged from a bar, talking business with the boss. Very f-. Wasted. Sloshed. Boned. Outta there. Betwixt smokey-haze and strong scrumpy I manage to discern that I might be able to play today. I am thinking of bailing out. Harry lost his grandaughter (only a day old) it's a sad time for him, and he will no doubt need to channel his Catharsis moreso than I at the mo'. Anyway.
I have smoked my last roll-up. The tobacco and such are long since turned to dust. Ashen remnants from the clam-shell tray, curvēd upon the table. Still. Silent. Inert. Only a tiny trace remains, no more is the tobacco. Gone is mine good friend Henry. Alas, a sorry looking piece of paradise, hobbit-style, for the firing and consumption with good hearty fare, food, and green-tea with blueberry. I think I am going to try and give up smoking again. Hell! I've no choice now I've decided I'm not playing (ergo: getting paid) this evening.
Meanwhile, Back On the Flex. Max realizes that sloth is his enemy. His dæmon. Aye. N'owt to do but get myself together. Get that infernal paperwork out of the way, finish up the essay, and begin the next one early. Stay On the Flex Maxy. The housework won't wait. Nor will the garden. Then it's the jive band thang wi' me old-man. Lots on. Must try and focus. It's hard to see through the haze, malaise of misty pebble-dashed shores. A sunray upon an overgrown garden, full of trees, honeysuckle, and berry-bushes.
I am rambling on, wasted now. Stay On the Flex y'all, nevermind all the rest.
Max-out.
Betwixt procrastination and getting royally sozzled before breakfast, the embarrassing visit from my folks, wasn't so On the Flex. I stood there, the resident family fruit-cake. Gawpy, goofy-looking, baked. Trancing out to the sunshine I had vacant eyes, like piss-holes in the snow. Bleary and bloodshot. Tiny pupils. I remember receiving a bag of food from mother, home-made brioch, my favourite.
I am supposed to be going to the gig today. After the jam at the Calcuttan hole, I last blogged from a bar, talking business with the boss. Very f-. Wasted. Sloshed. Boned. Outta there. Betwixt smokey-haze and strong scrumpy I manage to discern that I might be able to play today. I am thinking of bailing out. Harry lost his grandaughter (only a day old) it's a sad time for him, and he will no doubt need to channel his Catharsis moreso than I at the mo'. Anyway.
I have smoked my last roll-up. The tobacco and such are long since turned to dust. Ashen remnants from the clam-shell tray, curvēd upon the table. Still. Silent. Inert. Only a tiny trace remains, no more is the tobacco. Gone is mine good friend Henry. Alas, a sorry looking piece of paradise, hobbit-style, for the firing and consumption with good hearty fare, food, and green-tea with blueberry. I think I am going to try and give up smoking again. Hell! I've no choice now I've decided I'm not playing (ergo: getting paid) this evening.
Meanwhile, Back On the Flex. Max realizes that sloth is his enemy. His dæmon. Aye. N'owt to do but get myself together. Get that infernal paperwork out of the way, finish up the essay, and begin the next one early. Stay On the Flex Maxy. The housework won't wait. Nor will the garden. Then it's the jive band thang wi' me old-man. Lots on. Must try and focus. It's hard to see through the haze, malaise of misty pebble-dashed shores. A sunray upon an overgrown garden, full of trees, honeysuckle, and berry-bushes.
I am rambling on, wasted now. Stay On the Flex y'all, nevermind all the rest.
Max-out.
Saturday, 28 July 2012
Friends and Foes
Dear Diary,
I had a couple of calls today. Friends wanting to meet up. It's nice to feel wanted. I grabbed my guitar and headed through the packed town streets to the pub. Upon arrival my friends were not there. Parking is a problem on a busy Saturday. Larry crossed the street to tell me he was in the old residency place. The other bloke has just arrived. Before my mates did so, I spied a feller who had me banned from this pub (for playing guitar, amongst other transgressions...) The villain shot me evil looks: I smiled sincerely back at him. Lots of things are happening right now.
So anyway, Maxy is proper mullered man! Oh yeah! On the Flex! So anyhow, I met up with Larry, old friend, we met some other people. I busked awhile. We went to "the Black Hole of Calcutta" and what a magnificent sight to behold. A sound. The rebound lady was there. She sang like an Angel, I played guitar like a dæmon. People.cried it was so moving, the tingling sensation about the forearms. The hairs stood up on end, amazing, sensational, almost unbelievable. Incredible. I am so glad I came out today. Now it's listening to Carol King and wistfully daydreamed into my glass with people in a dark corner of an old pub.
Maxy Waxy. xx
I had a couple of calls today. Friends wanting to meet up. It's nice to feel wanted. I grabbed my guitar and headed through the packed town streets to the pub. Upon arrival my friends were not there. Parking is a problem on a busy Saturday. Larry crossed the street to tell me he was in the old residency place. The other bloke has just arrived. Before my mates did so, I spied a feller who had me banned from this pub (for playing guitar, amongst other transgressions...) The villain shot me evil looks: I smiled sincerely back at him. Lots of things are happening right now.
So anyway, Maxy is proper mullered man! Oh yeah! On the Flex! So anyhow, I met up with Larry, old friend, we met some other people. I busked awhile. We went to "the Black Hole of Calcutta" and what a magnificent sight to behold. A sound. The rebound lady was there. She sang like an Angel, I played guitar like a dæmon. People.cried it was so moving, the tingling sensation about the forearms. The hairs stood up on end, amazing, sensational, almost unbelievable. Incredible. I am so glad I came out today. Now it's listening to Carol King and wistfully daydreamed into my glass with people in a dark corner of an old pub.
Maxy Waxy. xx
Misinformed
Dear Diary,
Let it be known that I hath the utmost respect and admiration for Universities, especially mine own (the O.U.) and have learned a great deal from them. Indeed Pangloss, another historian I know, a true savant with a towering intellect (I.Q. 196) said that no-one can claim to be an historian unless they have studied at University level. Now I have been studying for a couple of years, I have a tendency to agree with Pangloss. However, here are some facts that they (at the Unseen University) won't teach you about their syllabus...
Firstly, anyone studying The Arts: Past and Present will have no-doubt encountered the Art of old Benin. When I attended lectures, my dear tutor, God bless her, claimed that the Portuguese were "peaceful traders". This did not sit well with me simply because each time the Portuguese were depicted in the art of Benin, they sported rifles. Even the children bore arms.
I was talking to another historian on a bus the other day, and she claimed that the main source of metal for making the Benin 'bronzes' (made from brass) was in-fact the spent shell-casings discarded by the Portuguese hunters, on safari. The Benin people would shadow the riflemen, and reclaim the empty bullets, only to melt them down and re-cast them into their magnificent sculptures. This, is logic. It makes no sense to say that the manillas were traded, when the people of old Benin had a free and plentiful supply of metal.
The next module I am going to be studying is Mediæval to Modern: 1400-1900 wherein lies a case study regarding King Leopold of Belgium. Pangloss is Belgian. He was born there, his father was Belgian. As a result, he has an interest in Belgian history. In his studies, he discovered that King Leopold either didn't exist, or was an imposter. The reason for this was because the country needed a sense of cohesion, a national identity. The creation of a mythical monarch was part of this imagined notion. Alas, I love to pick-holes in the syllabus. Admittedly these two critical points are amidst a sea of truths that we study at this hallowed institution. A drop in the ocean of wondrous discoveries made at our University. Aye. I will consult with Pangloss about Leopold before I make the leap to this next module. When I have read the syllabus more fully, I will be able to make a more informed conclusion as to the validity of this dreamed-up historical figure.
Ciao for now dearest Diary,
Maximus Fleximus.
Let it be known that I hath the utmost respect and admiration for Universities, especially mine own (the O.U.) and have learned a great deal from them. Indeed Pangloss, another historian I know, a true savant with a towering intellect (I.Q. 196) said that no-one can claim to be an historian unless they have studied at University level. Now I have been studying for a couple of years, I have a tendency to agree with Pangloss. However, here are some facts that they (at the Unseen University) won't teach you about their syllabus...
Firstly, anyone studying The Arts: Past and Present will have no-doubt encountered the Art of old Benin. When I attended lectures, my dear tutor, God bless her, claimed that the Portuguese were "peaceful traders". This did not sit well with me simply because each time the Portuguese were depicted in the art of Benin, they sported rifles. Even the children bore arms.
I was talking to another historian on a bus the other day, and she claimed that the main source of metal for making the Benin 'bronzes' (made from brass) was in-fact the spent shell-casings discarded by the Portuguese hunters, on safari. The Benin people would shadow the riflemen, and reclaim the empty bullets, only to melt them down and re-cast them into their magnificent sculptures. This, is logic. It makes no sense to say that the manillas were traded, when the people of old Benin had a free and plentiful supply of metal.
The next module I am going to be studying is Mediæval to Modern: 1400-1900 wherein lies a case study regarding King Leopold of Belgium. Pangloss is Belgian. He was born there, his father was Belgian. As a result, he has an interest in Belgian history. In his studies, he discovered that King Leopold either didn't exist, or was an imposter. The reason for this was because the country needed a sense of cohesion, a national identity. The creation of a mythical monarch was part of this imagined notion. Alas, I love to pick-holes in the syllabus. Admittedly these two critical points are amidst a sea of truths that we study at this hallowed institution. A drop in the ocean of wondrous discoveries made at our University. Aye. I will consult with Pangloss about Leopold before I make the leap to this next module. When I have read the syllabus more fully, I will be able to make a more informed conclusion as to the validity of this dreamed-up historical figure.
Ciao for now dearest Diary,
Maximus Fleximus.
Ceremony
Dear Diary,
I called Uncle to offer the olive branch of peaceful amity. He had just returned from swimming in the warm sea, out of town, to go and see the Olympic ceremony. The place was packed, and Uncle was in a jovial mood.
Rather than go out to partake in the celebrations, I stayed in, reading. Leeks, potatoes, and onion will have to suffice. I have given up eating meat and beans, due to Pythagorean philosophy. Well, that my ... excretions. I was given some burgers and have not felt well since digesting them. Tonight I have a meal fit for a monk: organic whole-grain brown rice and vegetables. Empyeral heaven for Maxy Waxy.
Setting the psychological defence book aside, I return unto my studious endeavour of reading and researching about history. It is most interesting indeed. I have just read a short biography of Belisarius: a man who was tragically and unjustly treated. Perhaps the funniest part was reading about the emperor's Mrs. Theodora and his own wife Antonina. Here is a short excerpt:
"...Antonina nearly always accompanied Belisarius on his campaigns - perhaps so that he could keep an eye on her. Her background had not been unlike the empress, of whom she was a close friend. The relationship was valuable to them both. Theodora knew that she could always control Belisarius - who by now, after Justinian himself, was the most powerful man in the Empire - through his wife, while Antonina could rely on the empress to protect her from the consequences of her countless adulteries. Like Theodora, Antonina had also been brought up in the theatre and circus. Both women had a lurid past; but, unlike the empress, Antonina had made no attempt to reform her character after her prestigious marriage. At least twelve years older than her husband... [some say] twenty-two - she already had several children, in and out of wedlock, and in the coming years was to cause her much embarrassment and, occasionally, anguish; but his love for her remained, none the less, deep and enduring... [...] ...Antonina, who had not accompanied... [Belisarius on this occasion] to Italy, had embarked on a passionate liason with her godson, actively abetted by the empress herself... [...] ...Justinian... [and Belisarius] had been kept apart by Theodora, who had continually poisoned her husband's mind against Belisarius..."
The artist came round again and asked if I would like to watch the Olympic opening ceremony on her friends television (she has no 'brain-washing machine' either). I am so glad I did. It was amazing! I am so proud to be English (British) and that we won the event over the snail-side competition by four votes. Man, it was such a marvellous spectacle! J. K. Rowling. Rowan Atkinson. Amazing really.
I loved the whole vibe man. Everso good indeed. The Historical slant I thought particularly good. A friend of the artist mentioned that the Greeks nor the Chinese had no humour in there respective ceremonies. My heart swelled with pride at belonging to such a pioneering culture. Music. Film. Dance. Incredible really. The torch at the end was magnificent. The fireworks. The nations. It was amazing. I am really with the Olympian spirit right now, and I've long since sobered up, mores the pity.
Stay On the Flex,
Maximus.
I called Uncle to offer the olive branch of peaceful amity. He had just returned from swimming in the warm sea, out of town, to go and see the Olympic ceremony. The place was packed, and Uncle was in a jovial mood.
Rather than go out to partake in the celebrations, I stayed in, reading. Leeks, potatoes, and onion will have to suffice. I have given up eating meat and beans, due to Pythagorean philosophy. Well, that my ... excretions. I was given some burgers and have not felt well since digesting them. Tonight I have a meal fit for a monk: organic whole-grain brown rice and vegetables. Empyeral heaven for Maxy Waxy.
Setting the psychological defence book aside, I return unto my studious endeavour of reading and researching about history. It is most interesting indeed. I have just read a short biography of Belisarius: a man who was tragically and unjustly treated. Perhaps the funniest part was reading about the emperor's Mrs. Theodora and his own wife Antonina. Here is a short excerpt:
"...Antonina nearly always accompanied Belisarius on his campaigns - perhaps so that he could keep an eye on her. Her background had not been unlike the empress, of whom she was a close friend. The relationship was valuable to them both. Theodora knew that she could always control Belisarius - who by now, after Justinian himself, was the most powerful man in the Empire - through his wife, while Antonina could rely on the empress to protect her from the consequences of her countless adulteries. Like Theodora, Antonina had also been brought up in the theatre and circus. Both women had a lurid past; but, unlike the empress, Antonina had made no attempt to reform her character after her prestigious marriage. At least twelve years older than her husband... [some say] twenty-two - she already had several children, in and out of wedlock, and in the coming years was to cause her much embarrassment and, occasionally, anguish; but his love for her remained, none the less, deep and enduring... [...] ...Antonina, who had not accompanied... [Belisarius on this occasion] to Italy, had embarked on a passionate liason with her godson, actively abetted by the empress herself... [...] ...Justinian... [and Belisarius] had been kept apart by Theodora, who had continually poisoned her husband's mind against Belisarius..."
The artist came round again and asked if I would like to watch the Olympic opening ceremony on her friends television (she has no 'brain-washing machine' either). I am so glad I did. It was amazing! I am so proud to be English (British) and that we won the event over the snail-side competition by four votes. Man, it was such a marvellous spectacle! J. K. Rowling. Rowan Atkinson. Amazing really.
I loved the whole vibe man. Everso good indeed. The Historical slant I thought particularly good. A friend of the artist mentioned that the Greeks nor the Chinese had no humour in there respective ceremonies. My heart swelled with pride at belonging to such a pioneering culture. Music. Film. Dance. Incredible really. The torch at the end was magnificent. The fireworks. The nations. It was amazing. I am really with the Olympian spirit right now, and I've long since sobered up, mores the pity.
Stay On the Flex,
Maximus.
Friday, 27 July 2012
Solemnity
Dear Diary,
It's the opening solemnity of this Cultural Olympiad, not having a television means Maxy Waxy is missing the event. I miss out on all the joys of the 'brain-washing machine', but the only things I truly miss are documentaries. Informative pieces. (Particularly Historical documentaries)
It's all over the radio, this opening ceremony of the Olympics.
This morning, on my way back from shopping I went for a walk upon the hills about town. It was beautiful. Butterflies, dragonflies, trees and hills. I recorded a recitation of more Marlowe which will no-doubt bore anyone who doesn't like Christopher Marlowe (which is almost everyone). I think he is wonderful.
When I woke this morning, the sky was cloudy and covered. The flutist and I didn't go busking as a result. It's a shame, as the sun soon arrived and has shone all day. I am almost certainly not playing in the pub this weekend.
I bought three sets of strings this morning to string-up Dirty Gurty, Sweaty Betty, and Saint Lillian. It's all good.
I had a visit from my ex today. In light of recent events, despite her smothering frequency of phone-calls and visits, she means well. Not only is she an excellent artist (a professional) but she is mostly harmless. I am reading a book on psychological defence, to understand and protect myself from any potential mind-games that amateur shrinks try using on me. I cannot do a great deal to protect myself against hacking, I just relinquish my online 'life' to the hacker(s).
I think I am going to go out for another walk. Get some more fresh air, catch the last fading rays of the dying sun. Watching the couché de solei in all its purplish and salmon hues. It is a lovely area here. I am so very lucky.
Back in the real world, I must renew my self-employment (musician) support and also apply for financial support for my next University module (1400-1900). I have been shelving all this work in leu of focusing on my current assignment (which is now virtually finished).
Life... is good. I may even go down the beach. I can still do something constructive (read book). Who knows? I must buy some more food, because one loaf of bread (albeit 100% organic) two leeks, a bag of jersey royals, and three onions will not feed me. I did buy some electricity at least. Only one bottle of booze (perry). So anyway, I am going to head out. Adios.
Maximus Fleximus.
It's the opening solemnity of this Cultural Olympiad, not having a television means Maxy Waxy is missing the event. I miss out on all the joys of the 'brain-washing machine', but the only things I truly miss are documentaries. Informative pieces. (Particularly Historical documentaries)
It's all over the radio, this opening ceremony of the Olympics.
This morning, on my way back from shopping I went for a walk upon the hills about town. It was beautiful. Butterflies, dragonflies, trees and hills. I recorded a recitation of more Marlowe which will no-doubt bore anyone who doesn't like Christopher Marlowe (which is almost everyone). I think he is wonderful.
When I woke this morning, the sky was cloudy and covered. The flutist and I didn't go busking as a result. It's a shame, as the sun soon arrived and has shone all day. I am almost certainly not playing in the pub this weekend.
I bought three sets of strings this morning to string-up Dirty Gurty, Sweaty Betty, and Saint Lillian. It's all good.
I had a visit from my ex today. In light of recent events, despite her smothering frequency of phone-calls and visits, she means well. Not only is she an excellent artist (a professional) but she is mostly harmless. I am reading a book on psychological defence, to understand and protect myself from any potential mind-games that amateur shrinks try using on me. I cannot do a great deal to protect myself against hacking, I just relinquish my online 'life' to the hacker(s).
I think I am going to go out for another walk. Get some more fresh air, catch the last fading rays of the dying sun. Watching the couché de solei in all its purplish and salmon hues. It is a lovely area here. I am so very lucky.
Back in the real world, I must renew my self-employment (musician) support and also apply for financial support for my next University module (1400-1900). I have been shelving all this work in leu of focusing on my current assignment (which is now virtually finished).
Life... is good. I may even go down the beach. I can still do something constructive (read book). Who knows? I must buy some more food, because one loaf of bread (albeit 100% organic) two leeks, a bag of jersey royals, and three onions will not feed me. I did buy some electricity at least. Only one bottle of booze (perry). So anyway, I am going to head out. Adios.
Maximus Fleximus.
Thursday, 26 July 2012
Mentalist
Dear Diary,
What began as an amicable night soon soured. Apparently "everyone is out to kill him". I reiterated what I said, that I've been shot at thrice times, if someone shot him, he would know about it. Mentalist. I used to think I was crazy until I met Uncle and Harry. They're all f- mental. No-one around here has one screw fully tightened. Life is strange but I am not. I wish I hadn't have come here. Some BS documentary is on radio 2. What a bunch of BS. I never liked reggae or ska, I'm a Bluegrass boy. That old-timey high and lonesome sound, not 'the other side'. I also really believe in it too. The faith. So many old-timey players (such as Gulliver) love only the sound, whereas I really live Bluegrass music, mean each word I sing. No pretending. The real-deal, genuine article. A true believer.
Maximus Fleximus.
What began as an amicable night soon soured. Apparently "everyone is out to kill him". I reiterated what I said, that I've been shot at thrice times, if someone shot him, he would know about it. Mentalist. I used to think I was crazy until I met Uncle and Harry. They're all f- mental. No-one around here has one screw fully tightened. Life is strange but I am not. I wish I hadn't have come here. Some BS documentary is on radio 2. What a bunch of BS. I never liked reggae or ska, I'm a Bluegrass boy. That old-timey high and lonesome sound, not 'the other side'. I also really believe in it too. The faith. So many old-timey players (such as Gulliver) love only the sound, whereas I really live Bluegrass music, mean each word I sing. No pretending. The real-deal, genuine article. A true believer.
Maximus Fleximus.
Squealer
Dear Diary,
She threatened me with judiciary action. Aye. Just like the last time - I've 'owt to hide but the truth. Sanity check. Honesty. I hath n'owt to fear. Mine own mortality perhaps, but not she, the hell-cat. Nay. The morrow bodes a gig, street side, at the rate of a pound a minute. Anarchy. The road. Flute-player, not a boyfriend in sight, save me, single, no-one, nothing. Aye. Silly girls. Summertime. Learning the manuscript: not a bunch of words, lines, like some amateur actor: nay, the score, the notes, notation, a musicianship thang. Not tab', but the actual notes, the score, actual music. Professional class. Decent musicians, listeners.
So anyway, the sun shines, and Maxy Waxy is seriously On the Flex. Who gives a shit about some bint? Not I, that's for sure. The sun shines too bright for me to give a fcuk about what anyone thinks, besides mine on conscience. Harassing birds is not habit-forming, just as objectivity is not tantermount to slander. If truth and objectivity, (facts) be a crime then lock me up forever and a day. "In peace, nothing so much becomes a man as modest, stillness, and humility." (Shakespeare, Henry V)
Alas, I, I walk in objective impartiality. No fags, just a drink, now I am dry, out of everythang but coffee. It matters not. Let her call the police, let us see what happens. They'll check the records, see that they have a history of mental health issues, and that I have a clean slate (no record).
I was once done for "drunk and in charge of a bicycle" when I was but sixteen years old, besides that, I've 'owt against me. But why? Because I am a good man. Not a criminal. Forget it baby. All your anger, your stress, just let it go. The truth hurts, but I, with clean conscience, do not hurt at all. I am clean. Honest. An historian.
Maxwell.
She threatened me with judiciary action. Aye. Just like the last time - I've 'owt to hide but the truth. Sanity check. Honesty. I hath n'owt to fear. Mine own mortality perhaps, but not she, the hell-cat. Nay. The morrow bodes a gig, street side, at the rate of a pound a minute. Anarchy. The road. Flute-player, not a boyfriend in sight, save me, single, no-one, nothing. Aye. Silly girls. Summertime. Learning the manuscript: not a bunch of words, lines, like some amateur actor: nay, the score, the notes, notation, a musicianship thang. Not tab', but the actual notes, the score, actual music. Professional class. Decent musicians, listeners.
So anyway, the sun shines, and Maxy Waxy is seriously On the Flex. Who gives a shit about some bint? Not I, that's for sure. The sun shines too bright for me to give a fcuk about what anyone thinks, besides mine on conscience. Harassing birds is not habit-forming, just as objectivity is not tantermount to slander. If truth and objectivity, (facts) be a crime then lock me up forever and a day. "In peace, nothing so much becomes a man as modest, stillness, and humility." (Shakespeare, Henry V)
Alas, I, I walk in objective impartiality. No fags, just a drink, now I am dry, out of everythang but coffee. It matters not. Let her call the police, let us see what happens. They'll check the records, see that they have a history of mental health issues, and that I have a clean slate (no record).
I was once done for "drunk and in charge of a bicycle" when I was but sixteen years old, besides that, I've 'owt against me. But why? Because I am a good man. Not a criminal. Forget it baby. All your anger, your stress, just let it go. The truth hurts, but I, with clean conscience, do not hurt at all. I am clean. Honest. An historian.
Maxwell.
Sober
Dear Diary,
Craziness: conscience. All shrinks are nuts, this much we know. I am listening to the Herman Rojak, or "Clix" as he was nick-named (ink-blot). Klexography, poetic composition based on ink-blots. This is fascinating stuff. I have such a strong aversion to psychologists, shrinks, from a recent bad-experience from a master mind-game player. Falsity abhors me, so very much. Sue too has been burned by a mind-game player. Not nice.
Even so, I must wake up, and not just assume that anyone who wants more understanding of the mind is not simply a wish to control people. Obviously this is true in the vast majority of cases (such as control freaks) but in the case of Herman Rojak, he was wanting to discern whether people will make good citizens, parents, et cetera. The Functional Magnetic Resonance test works well with the Rojak test. Emotion. Neurology. All terribly interesting.
This morning on the today program their was a good discussion regarding foreign languages. I am so proud that I speak another language. What we here in the United Kingdom of Great Britain are missing out on in 'the international mindset'. Sue and I spoke of it yesterday. How it takes a couple of days to re-adjust before and after landing on foreign soil. How the mind actually transforms so that we think like a frog. Anarchy. Instead of thinking in English (rosbif) and then translating the words individually, one actually thinks in frog, and speaks like ribbits. Socio-linguistic anthropology is amateurish when compared to speaking, reading and writing foreign languages. It was proven some months back that speaking another language means ones brain cells are increased in stimuli exponentially, much like playing a musical instrument. Sue is one of two other people I know in this town who speaks another language. That's out of about forty thousand people...
I awoke this morning to the sound of banging, drilling, pumping (the wrong sort) and now this racket soundeth in mine ears. The glorious morning upright manhood standing to attention had nothing to do except droop and remain limp. I transmogrify temptation and turn it into my continued studies. Rather than finish the job of tidying up this morning, I am concentration on paperwork. Tying up the essay (editing, excellent) and completing financial application. I am also sorting out the visit up-north. Rock 'n Roll!
Maximus Fleximus.
Post-Script: I have given up smoking. I had the means to get either that or drink and hath resisted. This is good.
Post Post-Script: J'sait vous lire ma journal intime mon ami, j'kif vous, beaucoup! Bisous ma cher!
Craziness: conscience. All shrinks are nuts, this much we know. I am listening to the Herman Rojak, or "Clix" as he was nick-named (ink-blot). Klexography, poetic composition based on ink-blots. This is fascinating stuff. I have such a strong aversion to psychologists, shrinks, from a recent bad-experience from a master mind-game player. Falsity abhors me, so very much. Sue too has been burned by a mind-game player. Not nice.
Even so, I must wake up, and not just assume that anyone who wants more understanding of the mind is not simply a wish to control people. Obviously this is true in the vast majority of cases (such as control freaks) but in the case of Herman Rojak, he was wanting to discern whether people will make good citizens, parents, et cetera. The Functional Magnetic Resonance test works well with the Rojak test. Emotion. Neurology. All terribly interesting.
This morning on the today program their was a good discussion regarding foreign languages. I am so proud that I speak another language. What we here in the United Kingdom of Great Britain are missing out on in 'the international mindset'. Sue and I spoke of it yesterday. How it takes a couple of days to re-adjust before and after landing on foreign soil. How the mind actually transforms so that we think like a frog. Anarchy. Instead of thinking in English (rosbif) and then translating the words individually, one actually thinks in frog, and speaks like ribbits. Socio-linguistic anthropology is amateurish when compared to speaking, reading and writing foreign languages. It was proven some months back that speaking another language means ones brain cells are increased in stimuli exponentially, much like playing a musical instrument. Sue is one of two other people I know in this town who speaks another language. That's out of about forty thousand people...
I awoke this morning to the sound of banging, drilling, pumping (the wrong sort) and now this racket soundeth in mine ears. The glorious morning upright manhood standing to attention had nothing to do except droop and remain limp. I transmogrify temptation and turn it into my continued studies. Rather than finish the job of tidying up this morning, I am concentration on paperwork. Tying up the essay (editing, excellent) and completing financial application. I am also sorting out the visit up-north. Rock 'n Roll!
Maximus Fleximus.
Post-Script: I have given up smoking. I had the means to get either that or drink and hath resisted. This is good.
Post Post-Script: J'sait vous lire ma journal intime mon ami, j'kif vous, beaucoup! Bisous ma cher!
Wednesday, 25 July 2012
Travesty
Dear Diary,
Well. That was ... interesting. Sue needs to be free, independant, liberated. She wants to be friends, and I am not hedging my bets in the "do's" department. "Just friends": the words every guy dreads to hear. No matter.
Though it was nice to hear her talk on, and I waffle on too, she's aquarius, I gemini. Aye. Compatiable. It's nice to have a real friend in actual fact. I am probably better off this way. Problems with various ex's means she needs some time to herself.
The summer-breeze blows gently and warm. The scent of a barbeque lingers from next door. Life ... is good. Blessèd be a Franciscan at heart. Poverty. Nature. Piety. I am more centred than I hath been in a long while. Life ... brings strange turns and opportunities aplenty.
Maximus.
Well. That was ... interesting. Sue needs to be free, independant, liberated. She wants to be friends, and I am not hedging my bets in the "do's" department. "Just friends": the words every guy dreads to hear. No matter.
Though it was nice to hear her talk on, and I waffle on too, she's aquarius, I gemini. Aye. Compatiable. It's nice to have a real friend in actual fact. I am probably better off this way. Problems with various ex's means she needs some time to herself.
The summer-breeze blows gently and warm. The scent of a barbeque lingers from next door. Life ... is good. Blessèd be a Franciscan at heart. Poverty. Nature. Piety. I am more centred than I hath been in a long while. Life ... brings strange turns and opportunities aplenty.
Maximus.
No News
Dear Diary,
They say 'no news is good news' yet I fear for the worst. Sue hasn't gotten back to me, despite saying she may. I've dogone blown it already I expect: the worst, I may yet be pleasantly surprized. But more pragmatically, I fear for the worst. Her silence speaks volumes, and I know she is well acquainted with my nemesis. That ship hath sailed. Bugger.
On a more positive, lighter note, my old man is organising another trip up north for the five peice Rock 'n Roll band. He has just bought a new guitar for me, not the €piphone 335, 339, Casino, nor Senator he wanted to buy me, no, he has managed to get ahold of one even better, an Emperor! Awesome!
On the Flex!
Maximus.
Post-Script: Okaaaay. So I just spoke to Sue and it seems their's a lot going on. Problems with her ex, I tried to help, it was a long phone conversation, and she wanted to come to my house. I said no. (It's still untidy) so agreed to meet her at hers in an hour. I must get washed, having something to eat, and prepare for a heart to heart.
They say 'no news is good news' yet I fear for the worst. Sue hasn't gotten back to me, despite saying she may. I've dogone blown it already I expect: the worst, I may yet be pleasantly surprized. But more pragmatically, I fear for the worst. Her silence speaks volumes, and I know she is well acquainted with my nemesis. That ship hath sailed. Bugger.
On a more positive, lighter note, my old man is organising another trip up north for the five peice Rock 'n Roll band. He has just bought a new guitar for me, not the €piphone 335, 339, Casino, nor Senator he wanted to buy me, no, he has managed to get ahold of one even better, an Emperor! Awesome!
On the Flex!
Maximus.
Post-Script: Okaaaay. So I just spoke to Sue and it seems their's a lot going on. Problems with her ex, I tried to help, it was a long phone conversation, and she wanted to come to my house. I said no. (It's still untidy) so agreed to meet her at hers in an hour. I must get washed, having something to eat, and prepare for a heart to heart.
House Sitting
Dear Diary,
I am stuck house-sitting, and stupidly agreed to do so. Screaming fighting arguing crying children, all a handful, all a nightmare. Melodrama. The Matriarch of the house said she wouldn't be long. She's been a while, and tidying my house is time-critical, I should have stayed at home. This is a nightmare situation.
Luckily one of the older kids has taken them out for a walk, so now all I have to deal with is flea-bitten dogs. I think I'll sit in the sun and play Betty the Banjuitar a while.
Max-out.
I am stuck house-sitting, and stupidly agreed to do so. Screaming fighting arguing crying children, all a handful, all a nightmare. Melodrama. The Matriarch of the house said she wouldn't be long. She's been a while, and tidying my house is time-critical, I should have stayed at home. This is a nightmare situation.
Luckily one of the older kids has taken them out for a walk, so now all I have to deal with is flea-bitten dogs. I think I'll sit in the sun and play Betty the Banjuitar a while.
Max-out.
Back to Busking
Dear Diary,
This morning I went busking and straight away snapped a string. I had no replacement but had brought Sweaty Betty the Banjuitar along, so slid up an down her slender neck all morning with the bottleneck. At the very least the string held out for yesterday's recording with the Bunion Boys.
I've a house inspection today, it'll force my hand with regard to tidying up the gaff. This is a good thing.
Dadio called, he's found another guitar for me, a semi-acoustic epiphone style jazz guitar, cream coloured. We're gonna drive up to get it sometime.
I earned enough for a little bit of baccy and booze but am wondering about Sue. She quit smoking the day I met her, and hasn't smoked since. Also her last boyfriend 'liked a drink'. When I saw her yesterday I was steaming drunk already. I feel that having will-power should stand me in good stead. With any luck we'll cross paths again this evening. Who know's what'll happen. Inevitable comfort no doubt...
Maxy Flexy
This morning I went busking and straight away snapped a string. I had no replacement but had brought Sweaty Betty the Banjuitar along, so slid up an down her slender neck all morning with the bottleneck. At the very least the string held out for yesterday's recording with the Bunion Boys.
I've a house inspection today, it'll force my hand with regard to tidying up the gaff. This is a good thing.
Dadio called, he's found another guitar for me, a semi-acoustic epiphone style jazz guitar, cream coloured. We're gonna drive up to get it sometime.
I earned enough for a little bit of baccy and booze but am wondering about Sue. She quit smoking the day I met her, and hasn't smoked since. Also her last boyfriend 'liked a drink'. When I saw her yesterday I was steaming drunk already. I feel that having will-power should stand me in good stead. With any luck we'll cross paths again this evening. Who know's what'll happen. Inevitable comfort no doubt...
Maxy Flexy
Tuesday, 24 July 2012
Ever...
Dear Diary,
Yes, I am deeply in love with Sue, Yes yes yes, there were many many fit women in town today, none quite as desirable as ever dearest Suzie-Q, mainly because she fancies me, but also because she is effectively a musician. I kept staring at her hips, above that her... ample... personalities (both of them...). What a babe! Man! She needs it. Badly. I cannot wait to see her on the morrow. It will mean tidying up the house, which is of no consequence.
N'owt much hath happened since I last wrote, other than I ran out of booze, smoke, tobacco. No matter. Man, she's so fit. Completely mental, virtually sober, so very geeky, I love her, deeply. Let us see what happens. I feel like Dwayne Dibley from Redwarf when I go to see her. She comes to see me, but even then I feel prepared like a boy-scout: corn plasters, animal footprint chart, thermos, and one triple thick condom... Depending on how tye affair pans out: consequently whether I write poetry that is either tryste, or jubilant. She be so fair. We shall see...
Grant preferred mine own poesy than Marlowe today, which he found too long winded and not accessible enough. Particularly the material I had wrote when I was but fifteen. Aye. Yet no. I love Marlowe. How can one pretend to be a poet in the shadow of such greatness? They cannot. I will only ever do my best...
Radio four, Stephanie Flanders and some economic BS. I am about to have a soak in the bath, long since needed. I long for a splash in the warm water even moreso than Suzie's touch; and that is a great deal, let me tell you. Anyway, I just listened to another piece of witty banter: art vs. science. I've always liked Al Murray, and his humour, but now I really like his take on this subject. I am an artist, not a physicist, nor a shrink, nor even an IT specialist: but a musician. Not someone pretending to be a musician indoors either, a practising musician, a professional. It's what I do. My business. How I earn my bread. By definition: mine own occupation. An artist.
This morning as I met Grant for the first time in years, another superb artist came along: Mike Taylor. A fellow Scot and contemporary of McCormick. Aye. Two of the greatest painters and sculptures in the two counties. Both mediocre musicians, yet magnificent artists. It was nice hearing them discuss the quintessence of expressionism, fine-art, and impressionism. They are both great men, and I felt somewhat overshadowed as a cartoonist. Only the confidence in my musicianship kept me courageous. I love them both, as brothers.
Maximus Fleximus...
Yes, I am deeply in love with Sue, Yes yes yes, there were many many fit women in town today, none quite as desirable as ever dearest Suzie-Q, mainly because she fancies me, but also because she is effectively a musician. I kept staring at her hips, above that her... ample... personalities (both of them...). What a babe! Man! She needs it. Badly. I cannot wait to see her on the morrow. It will mean tidying up the house, which is of no consequence.
N'owt much hath happened since I last wrote, other than I ran out of booze, smoke, tobacco. No matter. Man, she's so fit. Completely mental, virtually sober, so very geeky, I love her, deeply. Let us see what happens. I feel like Dwayne Dibley from Redwarf when I go to see her. She comes to see me, but even then I feel prepared like a boy-scout: corn plasters, animal footprint chart, thermos, and one triple thick condom... Depending on how tye affair pans out: consequently whether I write poetry that is either tryste, or jubilant. She be so fair. We shall see...
Grant preferred mine own poesy than Marlowe today, which he found too long winded and not accessible enough. Particularly the material I had wrote when I was but fifteen. Aye. Yet no. I love Marlowe. How can one pretend to be a poet in the shadow of such greatness? They cannot. I will only ever do my best...
Radio four, Stephanie Flanders and some economic BS. I am about to have a soak in the bath, long since needed. I long for a splash in the warm water even moreso than Suzie's touch; and that is a great deal, let me tell you. Anyway, I just listened to another piece of witty banter: art vs. science. I've always liked Al Murray, and his humour, but now I really like his take on this subject. I am an artist, not a physicist, nor a shrink, nor even an IT specialist: but a musician. Not someone pretending to be a musician indoors either, a practising musician, a professional. It's what I do. My business. How I earn my bread. By definition: mine own occupation. An artist.
This morning as I met Grant for the first time in years, another superb artist came along: Mike Taylor. A fellow Scot and contemporary of McCormick. Aye. Two of the greatest painters and sculptures in the two counties. Both mediocre musicians, yet magnificent artists. It was nice hearing them discuss the quintessence of expressionism, fine-art, and impressionism. They are both great men, and I felt somewhat overshadowed as a cartoonist. Only the confidence in my musicianship kept me courageous. I love them both, as brothers.
Maximus Fleximus...
Dear Diary...
Dear Diary,
The sun shone, my friend came round whom I had n'er seen in ages (some years) and we had fantbulous time together. Sue turned up, much to my demise (the house is still a state). Even so, we've agreed to meet on the morrow. She has red-hair and a positive countenance, mental problems, an ideal partner, perfectly suited to one another. I love her, and I really do. She be as comely as Grant's missus, she still sports feminine hips, ample cleavage, and a wonderous personality. So correct. So fine. Marks out of two: I'd give her one. Though I don't wanna count my chickens before they hatch, one can but hope...
Their were many odd factors, her ex(s), baggage, junk in the trunk. The old lutier, Japanese puzzle-box maker, and more importantly: good friend, is a point of contestation. Apparently we must "talk about it - him - alone" sometime. Naturally, I fear she still hath feelings for him. I told her, "If I were gay I'd fancy him: a lutier?! AND nipponese puzzle-box maker, on top of that: he seems like a a good bloke?!" What's not to like?! I am as fond of him as she is. This does not make me gay. Well, maybe not. But all I'm saying is that they're both lovely people. Very cool man.
Max-out.
The sun shone, my friend came round whom I had n'er seen in ages (some years) and we had fantbulous time together. Sue turned up, much to my demise (the house is still a state). Even so, we've agreed to meet on the morrow. She has red-hair and a positive countenance, mental problems, an ideal partner, perfectly suited to one another. I love her, and I really do. She be as comely as Grant's missus, she still sports feminine hips, ample cleavage, and a wonderous personality. So correct. So fine. Marks out of two: I'd give her one. Though I don't wanna count my chickens before they hatch, one can but hope...
Their were many odd factors, her ex(s), baggage, junk in the trunk. The old lutier, Japanese puzzle-box maker, and more importantly: good friend, is a point of contestation. Apparently we must "talk about it - him - alone" sometime. Naturally, I fear she still hath feelings for him. I told her, "If I were gay I'd fancy him: a lutier?! AND nipponese puzzle-box maker, on top of that: he seems like a a good bloke?!" What's not to like?! I am as fond of him as she is. This does not make me gay. Well, maybe not. But all I'm saying is that they're both lovely people. Very cool man.
Max-out.
Witching Hour
Dear Diary,
I just realised whom my secret admirer is: one of Larry's friends. A "yummy mummy", a hippy, a nice woman with ice-blue eyes. She is a delicate flower, as are all (well, most) of the fairer sex. Aye. I recall now. Not some young scrumpet nay, but a middle-aged hippy woman. She's pretty cool actually. Slim. Wears nice bright coloured clothes, lives in a nearby town that I know 'like my pocket' (that's a froggie expression). Anyhow, it finally dawned on me as I lie awake pondering the wenches identity. I am not sure who's more desirable. Sue or her. Sue picks her at the post looks-wise, but that doesn't mean so much. Under the 'bonnet' (the head) I get the feeling that both have had a tough time, mental troubles, but who hasn't? I know Sue can be suicidal sometimes, which doesn't bode so well, but she also has a nice countenance, an agreeable personality (which is a major turn-on for me, I love her way about her) and she's also straight: no smoke nor drugs, and only a drop of drink. (Surely a positive influence, Mummy would approve).
T'other bird on the other hand is the opposite. Not at all geeky but loves getting wrecked. Hmmm. Descisions descisions. It's like that Lovin' Spoonful song "Did you ever have to make up your mind?". What a track. I used to play it with my brother when we were younger. Anyhow, this is all a bit weird. None show any real interest for what seems like eternity then two turn up at once! I'm waiting for the third. Or it might be someone I met tonight on my way home (she had a guitar with her) but she was ... out of reach for one reason or another. I tuned the instrument for her, and played a little ditty. Anyhow. I'm off to recite some more Marlowe. Whispered. As I don't want to wake the neighbours up. G'night.
Maxy Waxy. xx
I just realised whom my secret admirer is: one of Larry's friends. A "yummy mummy", a hippy, a nice woman with ice-blue eyes. She is a delicate flower, as are all (well, most) of the fairer sex. Aye. I recall now. Not some young scrumpet nay, but a middle-aged hippy woman. She's pretty cool actually. Slim. Wears nice bright coloured clothes, lives in a nearby town that I know 'like my pocket' (that's a froggie expression). Anyhow, it finally dawned on me as I lie awake pondering the wenches identity. I am not sure who's more desirable. Sue or her. Sue picks her at the post looks-wise, but that doesn't mean so much. Under the 'bonnet' (the head) I get the feeling that both have had a tough time, mental troubles, but who hasn't? I know Sue can be suicidal sometimes, which doesn't bode so well, but she also has a nice countenance, an agreeable personality (which is a major turn-on for me, I love her way about her) and she's also straight: no smoke nor drugs, and only a drop of drink. (Surely a positive influence, Mummy would approve).
T'other bird on the other hand is the opposite. Not at all geeky but loves getting wrecked. Hmmm. Descisions descisions. It's like that Lovin' Spoonful song "Did you ever have to make up your mind?". What a track. I used to play it with my brother when we were younger. Anyhow, this is all a bit weird. None show any real interest for what seems like eternity then two turn up at once! I'm waiting for the third. Or it might be someone I met tonight on my way home (she had a guitar with her) but she was ... out of reach for one reason or another. I tuned the instrument for her, and played a little ditty. Anyhow. I'm off to recite some more Marlowe. Whispered. As I don't want to wake the neighbours up. G'night.
Maxy Waxy. xx
Monday, 23 July 2012
Words
Dear Diary,
Like the poetry of love juxtaposed with 'a good hard seeing to' words come cheap. The greatest sonnets ever writ are relegated to a banality that belies modern mode. Music. That and painting, sculpture, are the true art forms that are quite rightly exalted on high. One may write and write and write and it will never be as popular as the sweet sound of someone skilfully plucking a melody, a tune. A picture too, speaks a thousand words, and if this be true - which it is - then all one's labours at scrivvening are... for nought. Would that Shakespeare or Marlowe be resigned to the rear of some dusty second hand book shop, the complete works bought for less than the price of a beer...
So. Everyone nowerdays is a writer. Not everyone. I have met students who, while being superb literary critics, hath not the imagination to put pen to parchment. The rest? A sea of wannabe writers are brushed aside by a higher art-form, that takes more than the ability to use a typewriter, however cleverly or poetically the prosaic words be arranged. Words, are too long winded. People's attention spans are shorter now. The lack of hits on the video below are testament to this claim...
On a lighter note, I had a relitively enjoyable evening watching Palin's "Ripping Yarns". Most amusing. Good night Russia, America, and you too OT: sausage side.
Maxx.
Like the poetry of love juxtaposed with 'a good hard seeing to' words come cheap. The greatest sonnets ever writ are relegated to a banality that belies modern mode. Music. That and painting, sculpture, are the true art forms that are quite rightly exalted on high. One may write and write and write and it will never be as popular as the sweet sound of someone skilfully plucking a melody, a tune. A picture too, speaks a thousand words, and if this be true - which it is - then all one's labours at scrivvening are... for nought. Would that Shakespeare or Marlowe be resigned to the rear of some dusty second hand book shop, the complete works bought for less than the price of a beer...
So. Everyone nowerdays is a writer. Not everyone. I have met students who, while being superb literary critics, hath not the imagination to put pen to parchment. The rest? A sea of wannabe writers are brushed aside by a higher art-form, that takes more than the ability to use a typewriter, however cleverly or poetically the prosaic words be arranged. Words, are too long winded. People's attention spans are shorter now. The lack of hits on the video below are testament to this claim...
On a lighter note, I had a relitively enjoyable evening watching Palin's "Ripping Yarns". Most amusing. Good night Russia, America, and you too OT: sausage side.
Maxx.
In Demand
Dear Diary,
Maxy is wanted: in demand. The public house that was once my residency had outside of it a sign, scrawled in some left-handed scribble, the need for punters to enter the house of 'blooze'. When last I had to resort to such measures, t'was because of a lack of clientele. To confirm this, I happened to cross paths with another pair of loveable rogues, one of which told me he was in the pub last night, and a beauteous maiden approached him, a fit blonde, asking after me. She was hot for me, and the scoundrel explained that she was, in no uncertain terms "up for it". Fair Sue, where art thou? In mine hour of need. No matter. Boys will be boys, and women: ephemeral pleasures. N'owt but fun for the taking. It shouldn't be this way. Licentious lust for lascivious lads, but it is. I may even have to tidy the house up, in preparation for 'a good boning'. Aye. 'Tis the way of the world. Sadly. Lamenting the fruitless reflection of hindsight that strikes a terror to my feignting soul. No matter. Love: that elusive chimæra. N'er to be had excepting for a brief moment of joyeous rapture...
I just passed all manner of folks in the street. Dodgy people, Lords whom I know, a bunch of roleplayers, 'tis good. As the last dying rays of sunshine fade from the sunset, so I, return unto my sanctuary, in bitterswet hope, yet in truth, sombre cheer. For the dying day brings with it only sorrow, mingled with the hope of base wanton touch, to feel anothers arms about you. Aye. We shall cull thee out the fairest courtesans and bring them each morning to thy bed. Yet for now, 'tis only coffee and tobacco that brings release from the pain which hath taken up residence in my soul. That, and the promise of a new dawn. A banjo player. An artist - in the truest sense of the word - and more importantly a true friend, with whom none can compare. That, and love. Sweet miseries embrace, the inevitable downfall of a lonely man, destined for musical love: which hath been his steadfast companion...
Maximus Fleximus.
Maxy is wanted: in demand. The public house that was once my residency had outside of it a sign, scrawled in some left-handed scribble, the need for punters to enter the house of 'blooze'. When last I had to resort to such measures, t'was because of a lack of clientele. To confirm this, I happened to cross paths with another pair of loveable rogues, one of which told me he was in the pub last night, and a beauteous maiden approached him, a fit blonde, asking after me. She was hot for me, and the scoundrel explained that she was, in no uncertain terms "up for it". Fair Sue, where art thou? In mine hour of need. No matter. Boys will be boys, and women: ephemeral pleasures. N'owt but fun for the taking. It shouldn't be this way. Licentious lust for lascivious lads, but it is. I may even have to tidy the house up, in preparation for 'a good boning'. Aye. 'Tis the way of the world. Sadly. Lamenting the fruitless reflection of hindsight that strikes a terror to my feignting soul. No matter. Love: that elusive chimæra. N'er to be had excepting for a brief moment of joyeous rapture...
I just passed all manner of folks in the street. Dodgy people, Lords whom I know, a bunch of roleplayers, 'tis good. As the last dying rays of sunshine fade from the sunset, so I, return unto my sanctuary, in bitterswet hope, yet in truth, sombre cheer. For the dying day brings with it only sorrow, mingled with the hope of base wanton touch, to feel anothers arms about you. Aye. We shall cull thee out the fairest courtesans and bring them each morning to thy bed. Yet for now, 'tis only coffee and tobacco that brings release from the pain which hath taken up residence in my soul. That, and the promise of a new dawn. A banjo player. An artist - in the truest sense of the word - and more importantly a true friend, with whom none can compare. That, and love. Sweet miseries embrace, the inevitable downfall of a lonely man, destined for musical love: which hath been his steadfast companion...
Maximus Fleximus.
Weirdaze
Dear Diary,
"Hannibal" stopped by needing somewhere to stay, on the flex. Seeing as he hath taken a plethora of dice from the house when staying at mine in the past, I had to say no. I did however share my precious few beers with them. 'Tis of no consequence. The inevitable guilt-trip I was sent on had no effect finally.
Uncle called up. I saw him yesterday, once cast out of the gig. I was in bad humour. Today I am feeling better, if only slightly. Reading Marlowe's masterpieces helps. I intend to record a recitation of his works for posterity. It wasn't until Larry had asked me to do so, that I realised how much recieved pronunciation lent itself well to reciting literature. Though I were born up-north, I sport the voice of a well-educated eloquent southerner. Aye. Not so sad, but true.
Maximus.
"Hannibal" stopped by needing somewhere to stay, on the flex. Seeing as he hath taken a plethora of dice from the house when staying at mine in the past, I had to say no. I did however share my precious few beers with them. 'Tis of no consequence. The inevitable guilt-trip I was sent on had no effect finally.
Uncle called up. I saw him yesterday, once cast out of the gig. I was in bad humour. Today I am feeling better, if only slightly. Reading Marlowe's masterpieces helps. I intend to record a recitation of his works for posterity. It wasn't until Larry had asked me to do so, that I realised how much recieved pronunciation lent itself well to reciting literature. Though I were born up-north, I sport the voice of a well-educated eloquent southerner. Aye. Not so sad, but true.
Maximus.
Bindweed (Prosaic Poem)
"Akin to the white flower that stems forth from the bindweed:
a beauteous trumpet adornèd with petals pure-looking,
which strangles the fruitful berry-bush;
So then the innocent looking pretty petals belie a smothered torment,
turning red-ripe rasberries to withered rot;
Aye, the knot-weed too taketh over the verdant patch, starving the other flora.
It's yellow horn so pretty looking,
yet dig beneath the surface, and an unsuspecting caretaker finds a near indestructable root.
Flame nor foul concoctive poison can stave its growth.
The gardener cuts it back with a thirsty blade,
trimming the tangled creepers away from more fruitful and deserving plants."
Maxwell Latham.
a beauteous trumpet adornèd with petals pure-looking,
which strangles the fruitful berry-bush;
So then the innocent looking pretty petals belie a smothered torment,
turning red-ripe rasberries to withered rot;
Aye, the knot-weed too taketh over the verdant patch, starving the other flora.
It's yellow horn so pretty looking,
yet dig beneath the surface, and an unsuspecting caretaker finds a near indestructable root.
Flame nor foul concoctive poison can stave its growth.
The gardener cuts it back with a thirsty blade,
trimming the tangled creepers away from more fruitful and deserving plants."
Maxwell Latham.
Bunion Boys
Dear Diary,
This morning on my way to the shop I had a message, t'was McCormick. He's visiting on the morrow. We're gonna get liquored up, smoke some, and jam. It'll be good to see him again, it's been ages since we met. The last time was at a gig in a neighbouring village.
The sun is no stranger today, just as yesterday. Tommorow should be good as well. Yesterday, and indeed the day before, I spied to a lone magpie. Today I saw two...
The lion has wandered off, now all that remains to watch this journal is the bear, and occasionally the eagle soars overhead. (The Brits have stopped following me, all I've left is Russia and America). Adios R. N. OT. MH. et cetera. Not missing sarcasm and cutting remarks on FB or the OU blogosphere, not at all!
Maxy Waxy. xx
This morning on my way to the shop I had a message, t'was McCormick. He's visiting on the morrow. We're gonna get liquored up, smoke some, and jam. It'll be good to see him again, it's been ages since we met. The last time was at a gig in a neighbouring village.
The sun is no stranger today, just as yesterday. Tommorow should be good as well. Yesterday, and indeed the day before, I spied to a lone magpie. Today I saw two...
The lion has wandered off, now all that remains to watch this journal is the bear, and occasionally the eagle soars overhead. (The Brits have stopped following me, all I've left is Russia and America). Adios R. N. OT. MH. et cetera. Not missing sarcasm and cutting remarks on FB or the OU blogosphere, not at all!
Maxy Waxy. xx
Sunday, 22 July 2012
Musings
Dear Diary,
After much consideration, I am resolved to not fret about the loss of the gig. I was playing there for weeks on end before the challenger Harry was. Between his stress and my own ability, I am assured success in any musical endeavour. This union with Gulliver means Bluegrass music. Harry is so strung out of shape, he trashed another computer this week, a mac this time. Also, I didn't like the way he tried to use the radio interview as leverage, to bend me to his will.
If I just have faith in the regulars, the boss, and myself. The two old-boys can't sing for toffee, what's worse is their playing lacks finesse.
Being in love is like having the sun shine on you from both sides. Between this very feeling and thinking on Taoism, my study of Lao Tzu and Zhuge Liang, I remain at peace. The stress and worry is all their problem, I can still play music elsewhere in "No Electrickery" and by myself. Their's also the band with Dadio. Life is sweet for me at the moment.
I am the leader of the pack in our group assignment, I am back home, no longer a roving hobo; their dawns the hopeful ray of a blossoming relationship with a woman I connect with. No matter, no mind to the stress which I am given by Harry. It doesn't affect me, because I'm in love.
Maximus Fleximus.
After much consideration, I am resolved to not fret about the loss of the gig. I was playing there for weeks on end before the challenger Harry was. Between his stress and my own ability, I am assured success in any musical endeavour. This union with Gulliver means Bluegrass music. Harry is so strung out of shape, he trashed another computer this week, a mac this time. Also, I didn't like the way he tried to use the radio interview as leverage, to bend me to his will.
If I just have faith in the regulars, the boss, and myself. The two old-boys can't sing for toffee, what's worse is their playing lacks finesse.
Being in love is like having the sun shine on you from both sides. Between this very feeling and thinking on Taoism, my study of Lao Tzu and Zhuge Liang, I remain at peace. The stress and worry is all their problem, I can still play music elsewhere in "No Electrickery" and by myself. Their's also the band with Dadio. Life is sweet for me at the moment.
I am the leader of the pack in our group assignment, I am back home, no longer a roving hobo; their dawns the hopeful ray of a blossoming relationship with a woman I connect with. No matter, no mind to the stress which I am given by Harry. It doesn't affect me, because I'm in love.
Maximus Fleximus.
Zhuge Liang
"Those who are skilled in combat do not become angered, those who are skilled in winning do not become afraid. ... the wise win before they fight..." Zhuge Liang (Anno Domini 181 - 234)
"...What Machiavelli is to statecraft, the third century Chinese general and strategist Zhuge Liang is to his country's military history. Known as the 'Crouching Dragon' ... he epitomized prized traditional virtues and skills...
...he is seen as a byword for intellect, ... who was also a statesman, a scholar, and ... an astrologer...
...he is credited with having advanced military technology through his inventions, including weaponry, mines and transport equipment. Works attributed to him outline infantry and cavalry tactics based on Taoist principles...
...In one famous example he responded to his army's inadequate supply of arrows by floating ships filled with straw close to the enemy, waiting until the enemy archers unleashed volleys of arrows into them, then getting his men to drag back into position in order to replenish his stocks...
...After capturing the rebel leader, Meng Huo, in the southern expedition, Zhuge took him on a tour of his camp before releasing him. When the rebels attacked, Zhuge ordered his men to withdraw. Meng thought he knew the camp so his army rushed in - only to fall into huge pits dug to trap them...
In another attack in the wars in Yunnan, the enemy used elephants and tigers to attack the Sichuan forces, but Zhuge set up fire-breathing machines which scared them away...
For the final battle in the south, Meng allied with a king whose soldiers wore rattan armour that could withstand arrows and swords. Zhuge sent a force to lure them into a valley where mines were detonated beneath them, setting fire to their uniforms...
Zhuge was the first commander to use... wheelbarrows to transport supplies over mountains...
Zhuge exploited the steep mountain countryside of Sichuan with its deep defiles to lure enemy forces into ambushes which became so celebrated that opposing generals altered their tactics even when they were not being set...
On the first expedition to the north,... Zhuge found himself isolated without any troops in a town which was being threatened by the enemy. He ordered all the gates to be opened, and told the citizens to sweep the streets as though nothing was amiss. He, himself, sat on the wall... playing his zither. The enemy general had been caught in Zhuge's traps before and suspected that he was being lured into an ambush. So he marched his army away."
Jonathan Fenby (2008), part of "...Great Commanders of the Ancient and Mediæval World: 1500 BC - AD 1600", pages 188 and 194.
"...What Machiavelli is to statecraft, the third century Chinese general and strategist Zhuge Liang is to his country's military history. Known as the 'Crouching Dragon' ... he epitomized prized traditional virtues and skills...
...he is seen as a byword for intellect, ... who was also a statesman, a scholar, and ... an astrologer...
...he is credited with having advanced military technology through his inventions, including weaponry, mines and transport equipment. Works attributed to him outline infantry and cavalry tactics based on Taoist principles...
...In one famous example he responded to his army's inadequate supply of arrows by floating ships filled with straw close to the enemy, waiting until the enemy archers unleashed volleys of arrows into them, then getting his men to drag back into position in order to replenish his stocks...
...After capturing the rebel leader, Meng Huo, in the southern expedition, Zhuge took him on a tour of his camp before releasing him. When the rebels attacked, Zhuge ordered his men to withdraw. Meng thought he knew the camp so his army rushed in - only to fall into huge pits dug to trap them...
In another attack in the wars in Yunnan, the enemy used elephants and tigers to attack the Sichuan forces, but Zhuge set up fire-breathing machines which scared them away...
For the final battle in the south, Meng allied with a king whose soldiers wore rattan armour that could withstand arrows and swords. Zhuge sent a force to lure them into a valley where mines were detonated beneath them, setting fire to their uniforms...
Zhuge was the first commander to use... wheelbarrows to transport supplies over mountains...
Zhuge exploited the steep mountain countryside of Sichuan with its deep defiles to lure enemy forces into ambushes which became so celebrated that opposing generals altered their tactics even when they were not being set...
On the first expedition to the north,... Zhuge found himself isolated without any troops in a town which was being threatened by the enemy. He ordered all the gates to be opened, and told the citizens to sweep the streets as though nothing was amiss. He, himself, sat on the wall... playing his zither. The enemy general had been caught in Zhuge's traps before and suspected that he was being lured into an ambush. So he marched his army away."
Jonathan Fenby (2008), part of "...Great Commanders of the Ancient and Mediæval World: 1500 BC - AD 1600", pages 188 and 194.
Nympton Gig
Dear Diary,
On the Flex?! Yes. mais oui, bien sur. J'souis... Sur le Flex. C'est sur. Alas, Maxy saw his old-man play with the fantabulous sheep-dip playboys. It was the proudest moment of his whole dang life. Maxy's heart... it swelled with pride at seeing, hearing his old man play a kick-ass baritone sax solo, through a slow number.
I had taken ample supplies of scrumpy mixed with the 'special stuff'. Moonshine. I also had enough to smoke. As a result of over indulgence, in the second half of the gig, my vision blurred, the room began to spin, I almost collapsed were it not for the sound of soul food: music. It kept me together, listening to Dadio honk that horn, the playboys were excellent musicians.
Like father like son. I dazzled them all with some nifty guitar work, after the show had finished. I earned a compliment from their trumpet player, another awfully good muso.
The sun is shining and the ride back was pleasant. I miss Devon so much, but equally, seeing the spectacular vista upon arrival in my home village made me proud, content, that I dwell amidst such a natural paradise. The drummer whom Dad gave a lift back was suitably impressed.
I texted Suzie-Q, inviting her out to dinner tomorrow night. She has flu. I will take her some local honey and a bunch of flowers. She knows I'm very fond of her, and I am likeable enough for her to remain in contact. I must be doing something right. She is really fit. Red-head. Lithe. Loveable. x
I noticed yesterday whilst gazing veinly at my reflection, that I have my first grey hair. Many friends of my age and younger went grey a long time ago. I am youthful for my years. The grey hair is nestled in a scraggly beard and barely noticable amidst a tangled mess of a beard. The hairs of which are blonde, brown, and even ginger. Testament to a cosmopoliton ancestry.
Now I must go and play the residency gig. Work. Yey! :) On my Jack Jones but I may have another blues guitarist join in awhile. Gulliver is off jamming elsewhere, Harry has moved on, so it leaves me. Today I may even see Slab' and a Welsh friend of ours.
My neighbours are arguing. The wail of a distant police siren. This is the sound of heated argument; and it feels like home...
Maximus Fleximus.
Post-Script: Well. That was that. Shortest gig ever! After I spoke to Harry last, he said could not do the gig today. I bumped into another musician in town, told him what Harry had said. As soon as I arrived at the show Harry became stressy and said, "You twisted my words Max." I did no such thing. Rather than fuel the bitterness, I bowed out gracefully. Told the boss what had happened, and departed on good terms with her at least. Oh well.
On the Flex?! Yes. mais oui, bien sur. J'souis... Sur le Flex. C'est sur. Alas, Maxy saw his old-man play with the fantabulous sheep-dip playboys. It was the proudest moment of his whole dang life. Maxy's heart... it swelled with pride at seeing, hearing his old man play a kick-ass baritone sax solo, through a slow number.
I had taken ample supplies of scrumpy mixed with the 'special stuff'. Moonshine. I also had enough to smoke. As a result of over indulgence, in the second half of the gig, my vision blurred, the room began to spin, I almost collapsed were it not for the sound of soul food: music. It kept me together, listening to Dadio honk that horn, the playboys were excellent musicians.
Like father like son. I dazzled them all with some nifty guitar work, after the show had finished. I earned a compliment from their trumpet player, another awfully good muso.
The sun is shining and the ride back was pleasant. I miss Devon so much, but equally, seeing the spectacular vista upon arrival in my home village made me proud, content, that I dwell amidst such a natural paradise. The drummer whom Dad gave a lift back was suitably impressed.
I texted Suzie-Q, inviting her out to dinner tomorrow night. She has flu. I will take her some local honey and a bunch of flowers. She knows I'm very fond of her, and I am likeable enough for her to remain in contact. I must be doing something right. She is really fit. Red-head. Lithe. Loveable. x
I noticed yesterday whilst gazing veinly at my reflection, that I have my first grey hair. Many friends of my age and younger went grey a long time ago. I am youthful for my years. The grey hair is nestled in a scraggly beard and barely noticable amidst a tangled mess of a beard. The hairs of which are blonde, brown, and even ginger. Testament to a cosmopoliton ancestry.
Now I must go and play the residency gig. Work. Yey! :) On my Jack Jones but I may have another blues guitarist join in awhile. Gulliver is off jamming elsewhere, Harry has moved on, so it leaves me. Today I may even see Slab' and a Welsh friend of ours.
My neighbours are arguing. The wail of a distant police siren. This is the sound of heated argument; and it feels like home...
Maximus Fleximus.
Post-Script: Well. That was that. Shortest gig ever! After I spoke to Harry last, he said could not do the gig today. I bumped into another musician in town, told him what Harry had said. As soon as I arrived at the show Harry became stressy and said, "You twisted my words Max." I did no such thing. Rather than fuel the bitterness, I bowed out gracefully. Told the boss what had happened, and departed on good terms with her at least. Oh well.
Saturday, 21 July 2012
Back to the Flex
Dear Diary,
La vie takes an unexpected tac. Life is good, on the up and up. I bumped into Suzie-Q on my way into town. We exchanged numbers, life is good. It'd be nice to reconnect with her, she is scrumpteous, forty something, straight, no excessive drinking, she quit smoking.
Shit! I just realised I left the cooking off then took off in the alpha romeo with the Blissful Pilgrim, bugger. Good job I remembered! Could've burned the house down! We're racing back to turn it off.
So, earlier on I was awoken by said Pilgrim. We went into town. After crossing paths with the beautiful Sue, we went to meet Slabbi and Guppy from 'Slabbi and the Storks'. An old punk band I was in way back in '94. Man, it was good seeing those guys. Slab' invited me to visit him in Spain, Barcelona again, the city that never sleeps. I love it there. He is so cool. Straightened out, he's got his shit together: just drinks socially and certainly n'owt save a 'natural high'. Life itself. Vitæ.
Anyway, we split, sought spice and special stuff, we're cruising along in the sunshine en route to the gig. The Flex. I can't wait to see Dadio again. Tonight I am autonomous.
Pilgrim hooked a dozen mackerel from the very beach nearest where I grew up, my home town, a little village beyond Stockland: the Shire.
So I brought the smelly dead bleeding hearts in a couple of carrier bags to port them, a small cooker, a mess tin. It's almost like I'm on the road again. Paradise.
Maxy Waxy. xx
La vie takes an unexpected tac. Life is good, on the up and up. I bumped into Suzie-Q on my way into town. We exchanged numbers, life is good. It'd be nice to reconnect with her, she is scrumpteous, forty something, straight, no excessive drinking, she quit smoking.
Shit! I just realised I left the cooking off then took off in the alpha romeo with the Blissful Pilgrim, bugger. Good job I remembered! Could've burned the house down! We're racing back to turn it off.
So, earlier on I was awoken by said Pilgrim. We went into town. After crossing paths with the beautiful Sue, we went to meet Slabbi and Guppy from 'Slabbi and the Storks'. An old punk band I was in way back in '94. Man, it was good seeing those guys. Slab' invited me to visit him in Spain, Barcelona again, the city that never sleeps. I love it there. He is so cool. Straightened out, he's got his shit together: just drinks socially and certainly n'owt save a 'natural high'. Life itself. Vitæ.
Anyway, we split, sought spice and special stuff, we're cruising along in the sunshine en route to the gig. The Flex. I can't wait to see Dadio again. Tonight I am autonomous.
Pilgrim hooked a dozen mackerel from the very beach nearest where I grew up, my home town, a little village beyond Stockland: the Shire.
So I brought the smelly dead bleeding hearts in a couple of carrier bags to port them, a small cooker, a mess tin. It's almost like I'm on the road again. Paradise.
Maxy Waxy. xx
Hanging
Ever Dearest Diary,
I am feeling, reeling, from the descent into relative sobriety. Hanging. Man, I over-did it yesterday, and must busk in the morning. I remember getting my old job back last night, gurning at the bar. Really quite mashed.
Before that we watched Borat. It was hilarious. I had to give my copy of the film away as I watched it too much. I haven't seen that film in ages. It always makes me laugh. The reason Larry and I found it so funny was because we've met people actually like that, from the east.
I recall Larry reading me a poem his mother had written in 2007. It was amazing. Incredible. The piece was simply called "Green" and concerned the lush fecundity of the forest flora. Beautiful. Larry is most definately a 'chip off the old block' being as gifted a poet as his old dear."
I was really loved-up yesterday and posted a quite kinky quote or two from the Oxford Reference Library regarding groins, loins, and erectile dysfunction, on the tutor group forum. Oops. It wasn't deleted at least, so it couldn't have been that bad.
Man, I was so twatted yesterday. I must eat something, all I have is cheese and tomato or cheese and onion toasted sandwiches. I ate all the meat and fish yesterday. Gulliver the fiddler can't make this weekends gig. I took Larry's steel-string guitar to the pub yesterday, and for the first time in ages, I managed to flag and flail playing it, so inebriated was I. This moment I have some of the 'special stuff' staring at me. I cannot face drinking it, or the eighth degree cyder I mixed it with. I must put something in my stomach. All I can smell is the remnants of eating a fish supper before going out. That and my socks, which hum-ding. Jesus. What a shit state I am in right now. Man!
I remember being at the bar and talking about slavery with some would-be historian. Yes. The man, while friendly, was utterly misguided as to why the abolition came about. It was the usual nonsense he spouted. I took great pleasure in enlightening the amateur historian. It kinda went like this...
Man: "England (The United Kingdom of Great Britain) was the first country to ban slavery."
Max: "No it wasn't. France was. But then Napoleon Bonaparte legalised it again, the guillotine ran for days in places like New Caledonia."
Man: "I didn't know that."
Max: "Of course. You are from this country, and haven't lived in France for years, like I have. History is another country." [...]
Man: "The reason they banned slavery is because of our moral superiority."
Max: "No it wasn't. It was to do with the invention of the spinning-mule. The vast amounts of labour were no longer needed. It only became illegal to own a slave in 1999, here in [Great] Britain."
Much argument ensued, but we agreed to disagree. The man, like so many amateur historians is not very well read, hath his blinkers on, and is conditioned by bloody television. I only wish more people read books, especially those concerning history and the arts. Though I respect scientists, I am most definitely 'of the arts world'.
I remember going into another pub where two old guys played "Old Joe Clarke" on two mandolins. I sat in on guitar, and played along. We were joined by a double-bassist. Despite being mashed on all manner of concoctions, smoked out, drunk as can be, I still managed to keep it together on guitar. Picking out the melody in the relatively unfamiliar key of D. I could have gone to that gig, but decided against it. In the interests of social misconduct. I was so fcuked yesterday. You have no idea...
Maximus Fleximus.
I am feeling, reeling, from the descent into relative sobriety. Hanging. Man, I over-did it yesterday, and must busk in the morning. I remember getting my old job back last night, gurning at the bar. Really quite mashed.
Before that we watched Borat. It was hilarious. I had to give my copy of the film away as I watched it too much. I haven't seen that film in ages. It always makes me laugh. The reason Larry and I found it so funny was because we've met people actually like that, from the east.
I recall Larry reading me a poem his mother had written in 2007. It was amazing. Incredible. The piece was simply called "Green" and concerned the lush fecundity of the forest flora. Beautiful. Larry is most definately a 'chip off the old block' being as gifted a poet as his old dear."
I was really loved-up yesterday and posted a quite kinky quote or two from the Oxford Reference Library regarding groins, loins, and erectile dysfunction, on the tutor group forum. Oops. It wasn't deleted at least, so it couldn't have been that bad.
Man, I was so twatted yesterday. I must eat something, all I have is cheese and tomato or cheese and onion toasted sandwiches. I ate all the meat and fish yesterday. Gulliver the fiddler can't make this weekends gig. I took Larry's steel-string guitar to the pub yesterday, and for the first time in ages, I managed to flag and flail playing it, so inebriated was I. This moment I have some of the 'special stuff' staring at me. I cannot face drinking it, or the eighth degree cyder I mixed it with. I must put something in my stomach. All I can smell is the remnants of eating a fish supper before going out. That and my socks, which hum-ding. Jesus. What a shit state I am in right now. Man!
I remember being at the bar and talking about slavery with some would-be historian. Yes. The man, while friendly, was utterly misguided as to why the abolition came about. It was the usual nonsense he spouted. I took great pleasure in enlightening the amateur historian. It kinda went like this...
Man: "England (The United Kingdom of Great Britain) was the first country to ban slavery."
Max: "No it wasn't. France was. But then Napoleon Bonaparte legalised it again, the guillotine ran for days in places like New Caledonia."
Man: "I didn't know that."
Max: "Of course. You are from this country, and haven't lived in France for years, like I have. History is another country." [...]
Man: "The reason they banned slavery is because of our moral superiority."
Max: "No it wasn't. It was to do with the invention of the spinning-mule. The vast amounts of labour were no longer needed. It only became illegal to own a slave in 1999, here in [Great] Britain."
Much argument ensued, but we agreed to disagree. The man, like so many amateur historians is not very well read, hath his blinkers on, and is conditioned by bloody television. I only wish more people read books, especially those concerning history and the arts. Though I respect scientists, I am most definitely 'of the arts world'.
I remember going into another pub where two old guys played "Old Joe Clarke" on two mandolins. I sat in on guitar, and played along. We were joined by a double-bassist. Despite being mashed on all manner of concoctions, smoked out, drunk as can be, I still managed to keep it together on guitar. Picking out the melody in the relatively unfamiliar key of D. I could have gone to that gig, but decided against it. In the interests of social misconduct. I was so fcuked yesterday. You have no idea...
Maximus Fleximus.
Friday, 20 July 2012
What Just Happened?!
Dear Diary,
I am walking through a tangled shrubbery, some barely trodden path, near where I live. Aye. It hath been a momentous night thus far. What with booze, sac, and the trimmings, Maxy Waxy finds himself in the Færie Forest, the Pixie Place, near to where I live, abandoned in the trail. They wanted me to go with them, to see a folk band I had already played with this night. Alas, no. This is my final port of call: home. Aye. No smoke. No more elven stardust. Just a wee dram o'the "special stuff" mingled with eight degree cyder. Aye. Let us drink deep, of what remains...
Maximus Fleximus.
I am walking through a tangled shrubbery, some barely trodden path, near where I live. Aye. It hath been a momentous night thus far. What with booze, sac, and the trimmings, Maxy Waxy finds himself in the Færie Forest, the Pixie Place, near to where I live, abandoned in the trail. They wanted me to go with them, to see a folk band I had already played with this night. Alas, no. This is my final port of call: home. Aye. No smoke. No more elven stardust. Just a wee dram o'the "special stuff" mingled with eight degree cyder. Aye. Let us drink deep, of what remains...
Maximus Fleximus.
Clinging to Dreams
Dear Diary,
I went to do some cooking and opened the wrong side of the Cayenne Pepper putting about three tablespoons full of the stuff into the pan. Needless to say the meal was incredibly hot, a bit like R. or K. Tasty. Spicey. Hot.
Anyway, whilst in between mooning over my ex, I perhaps shpuldn't text her when I'm this drunk. I just miss female company, even if all the birds around here are bitchy, with no sense of fidelity.
Right now I seek the 'Special Stuff'. Moonshine. Hardcore. Drinking from sun-up 'til she sets. Aye. We must recite Shakespeare, Marlowe, and pass out in eloquence.
Maximus Fleximus.
I went to do some cooking and opened the wrong side of the Cayenne Pepper putting about three tablespoons full of the stuff into the pan. Needless to say the meal was incredibly hot, a bit like R. or K. Tasty. Spicey. Hot.
Anyway, whilst in between mooning over my ex, I perhaps shpuldn't text her when I'm this drunk. I just miss female company, even if all the birds around here are bitchy, with no sense of fidelity.
Right now I seek the 'Special Stuff'. Moonshine. Hardcore. Drinking from sun-up 'til she sets. Aye. We must recite Shakespeare, Marlowe, and pass out in eloquence.
Maximus Fleximus.
Confusion
Dear Diary,
Just as soon as you step out of doors, your day seems to take its own tac. As I strolled happily to the shops, I was hollared, collared, by the good Larry, and Harry. Normally when I see Harry he is imaculately dressed, washed, clean-shaven, but today, he looked like one of us. "Park-bench material". Rather than being his usual.well-turned out self, he sported a two-day old stubble, leather jacket, and was smoking a fag.
Inside the pub (as that is where we instinctively drift to) I began the day with the usual. A loaf of 100% organic bread and some home-made eigth degree scrumpy. Arr. Having friends can influence one somewhat. Larry asked me to take good care of Harry, whilst he was out having another cigarette. I agreed to do so.
Times have been tough for old Har'. He's been out on his ear relationship wise. I tried to help him, be good company, we went to the studio. It was... nice, I suppose.
Alas, on our way back into town, he passed his recent ex and went back inside the pub. I'm not sure what is going on but I feel like this may bode a sea-change in the music scene whereby Maxy has a carte blanch to continue there, or elsewhere. I am not sure what is happening. All I know is that the morrow brings old friends and violins, banjos and buddies. Grant Scot McCormick, also another friend coming down: the Blissful Pilgrim.
Away to the Jazz fesitval, should be good, might be alright. Maxy returns to the heart of the beast. They lair of gypsies. Aye. Finger's crossed, prayer beads on standby. We're in for a rocky-ride.
Maxx
Thursday, 19 July 2012
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