There are gaps in my mind Where love has melted away Now that I can see through the gaps in my mind What is out there today
There are gaps in my mind Where love has been eaten away By monsters in the sand weed sun And the sea-fall avalanche of clay
There are gaps in my mind a thousand years old And walls an oblivion thick And rapids of love between the cracks And the light switch of life that goes click
Lonely politicians sit like rabbits As the cleaners push their mops and buckets down the hallowed halls Where Tudor kings with huge bellies write up the morning’s executions
Lonely politicians sit like rabbits Eating newspapers and sending out their shadows To sit at normal breakfasts In prayerful neglect
Lonely politicians sit like rabbits And talk all day – on railway trains They catch up with themselves At prize carrot competitions
Lonely politicians sit on chairs like rabbits Inside ice cream vans Where black snakes are gathering to ask for light To radiate from the heads of crows
Lonely Politian’s, who sit like rabbits Chewing manifestoes like cabbage Talking like children locked in toilets To gingerbread men in throne rooms
Lonely politicians who sit like rabbits in glue Folding their faces into magic wallets Releasing balloons over bonfires
What if I am a shadow Chasing after the man who ran away What if I am a shadow Badly balanced on a tightrope What if I am a shadow Chasing after the chicken hatched from an egg Or running through the electric wire fence What if I am a shadow Running down the handle of a cheap spoon Or leaking through the hourglass to a ground covered in animal traps What if I am a shadow That runs up and down a zip like an empty cable car on the moon What if I am a shadow Chasing after love in the prison of the world
A journey on the DLR line from Poplar going east. It was a summery day and i tried to record the development going on along this stretch of the railway. Years and years ago Canary Wharf was built near me, since then it has been growing and growing. Canary Wharf Tower has the big corporations taking over the floors inside.
When it was being built i worked for a year in the canteen inside canary wharf tower when someone dropped a girder. As it fell clanging down the tower every one in the canteen raced for the door convinced it was going to land on top of them. Then it thankfully bounced off of a fixed girder away from the canteen and every one calmed down.
Monty begins in the city of Trieste, close to Italy’s border with Croatia, to visit a public garden first created by an obsessive royal plantsman more than 150 years ago, which is now being carefully restored. He then heads down the Adriatic coast through Croatia to pick up the trail that the Venetians followed, ending his journey on the beautiful island of Lopud, near Dubrovnik. Along the way, he discovers spectacular natural lakes and wildflowers, is given a tour of ancient olive groves, discovers a nursery where over 200 varieties of Iris – the national flower of Croatia – can be found, and is allowed into one of only two monastic gardens in the whole country.
Monty Don’s Adriatic Gardens – Friday 8pm on BBC2
I saw episode 2 with a national park, 600 year old trees, reclaimed land turned into wonderful gardens. Catch word was land equals food.
This lovely song is by Todd Rundgren from his album “Runt” 1971. Todd Rundgren produced artists at the Bear Studio owned by the legendary Albert Grossman in Woodstock.
Lyrics I was born this very morning And my brother he was also born, In our first nine months we learned to speak And we have been listening since early morn. I love no one but my brother Who spent those months with me I hate no one and no other has so far hated me But it isn’t yet the afternoon, And things are still to be, And when evening comes we all will see.
I am not very old and I won’t live long. I was born this very morning singing this here song
Now I feel the worst for older people Winding out their friendless hours alone Seeing lives like plays at final curtain Looking out to find everyone has gone home. Is there something I can pray to? Some offering I can send? Or some ear that I can play to, to help him find a friend? And maybe then redeem myself to keep me from that end For the evening comes and who knows when.
Oh, my brother, where is our mother? Is there no other to live together, To be our lover?
Songwriters: Todd Rundgren
The artwork is by Bob Zoel.
Zoell’s art is formally disciplined, yet slyly self-mocking.
In 1970, he began exploring Abstract Reductive Formalism and representational painting, however he first gained attention for his counterfeit parking signs with oddly cryptic messages installed on Los Angeles streets. Critical acclaim soon followed for his minimalist abstractions that combined elemental geometric forms with evocations of “smiley” faces, stick figures, and other rudimentary imagery
Exploring a book called Small Town Talk by Barny Hoskyns. About Woodstock the town outside New York and discovering some fab albums. This from an album called Holy Moses, Holy Moses, they sadly only made one album, but what a great album.