Do you relish the butter-melt of a baked potato? The feel when each crystal sticks, minutely, into the whorls of your tips? An article about sensual joys, and the creep of machine-like regimes.
Gogarth as the best theatre on earth. Poems and chunks of prose:
Head West, always. As the Joad family in Grapes of Wrath or Otis in Dock of the Bay. Adventurers, pioneers and runaways. The dreamers and desperate. Years ago, hitch-hiking the deserts, flagged a ride with New Jersey kids jumping bail. Headed to California. Drive West. Leaving Llanberis, light rain closing in on the windscreen, peppering the glass. Not forecast. But there it is. Nature of the mountains. Keep driving. Roundabouts. A bridge, squat and self-promoting. Irksome to the island, one would think. Centuries of the Menai Straits thwarting casual visitors and conquerors. Drive over. Look at the state of the tide. You’ve checked online. But seeing it, the mud or gleaming water, confirms the iPhone’s information. Drive on. Through the town. Beyond all conurbations. Beyond fields and into heathland. Sea beyond the passenger seat. Sea ahead. Only sea, and the end of the track where the road runs out. The Western edge of Wales. Crumpled cliffs, high cliffs, red cliffs, yellow cliffs, mud cliffs, crystal cliffs, lichen cliffs, loose cliffs, clean cliffs. It’s all there. You can reinvent yourself, out West. Be whoever you like. Be who you are. Start again, each time, and hope for better results.
Thanks to UKC for supporting poetry on World Poetry Day: https://www.ukclimbing.com/articles/features/poetry_-_song_of_bare_blabaer-11834
The buildings amphibian
Half in water, half on land
Decks and jetties project into the
Kitchens dangle over water
Yachts and motorboats
Lashed alongside as
Fifty percent of the accommodation
Onshore, the structures
Teeter on frameworks of granite
Whilst seaward sections
Prop on top of
Seaweed-covered, rotting, wooden poles
And corroded metal piles
Listing and murmuring and dripping
Between each semi-diurnal dunking
And so the houses balance
On the edge of the sea, the edge of stone
Never quite belonging
Dwarfed by the mountains and the Arctic Ocean
The Salty Dance Floor got a Highly Commended! Sat next to Sandro at SHAFF and it was fun and everyone was friendly and the panel was great. As is this ace quote from Niall Grimes, one of the three judges:
“I love it when people try to do something different. What made The Salty Dance Floor stand out for me was its attempt to express an emotion that I have felt as a climber…and it used the medium of film to not try to explain or verbalise this feeling, but to put the feeling across. What was the film saying? I have no idea, but I understood it”.
So Sandro came up to me in Bloc and said Let’s make a film and we went to Pembroke in December in 48mph winds and pouring rain. AND THEN THE SUN CAME OUT!
All the films are up on BMC TV right now…
Photo credit: Mandi Dodson
Article out in this month’s online-only edition of Climb Magazine. Sailing, climbing, Abba lyrics…
Today in Algebra of Owls.
the other night at band practice we
had a whole discussion about the exclusivity of
velvet and how corduroy was the
string of the king
the beanbag was my throne
wide velour stripes off-white king of the desert like
ozymandias on the beige
carpet of my loft
brand new just carved i filled it myself with
a helper its not easy two vast bags of
polystyrene balls getting everywhere going everywhere
the cat sleeps here it took her a while to get used to
the way the sides shift she experimented with
steady backsliding progress and
huge astonished leaps
two days after i locked the catflap exit by mistake
she came all the way to the top of the house to
do a giant shit on my beanbag. The king is dead!
long live the queen
Dob Dob Dob is kicking off Bristol HUM this Friday 5:30pm at the Surrey Vaults. Spoken word/glitch loops set on Tinder and dating.