Month: September 1994

All of the noise takes me to the outside – 28th September 1994

~ shaun tenzenmen ~ 1 Comment

6th Mar 2021 – My very first passport tells me we arrived in Sydney, Australia on the 28th of September 1994. We had a stopover in Bangkok where I recall seeing rows of shanty buildings as we approached the airport and the tropical heat made it inside the plane before landing. I don’t recall anything about the wait at the airport there though. I remember a rough landing in Sydney though not certain of the time of day – I think it was daylight but also recall leaving the terminal in the twilight. The customs officers were both friendly and suspicious and once in the open air, as I was told I would, I was immediately hit with the sweet smell of lemon-scented gum trees. I believe it took 23 hours from take-off at Heathrow to touch down in Sydney and besides the expected jetlag, I was full of delirium, joy and excitement.

My first passport. My stupid signature is still stupid too.
Visa stating must get married before 12th April 1995.

6th August 2021 – At Heathrow my mum shed a few tears as she wished us farewell. We also saw Paul Weller sitting in one of the cafes waiting for a plane to somewhere.

It’s just the rising tide of mediocrity, just a sign of the times – 19 September 1994

~ shaun tenzenmen ~ 2 Comments

Stratosphere, Ionosphere, Semisphere! Up here I can see the stars, I’m touching space with my iris, black drunk peehole iris. Europe’s mighty murky down below, I’m stuck in the sun, still on alcholiday. Could be fuckin’ anything down there. We could be time warped back one whole week and we’ll meet our previous selves in a 30,000 feet mid air collision at 580 miles per hour. In the sun! In space, man!

How can I ever dream to read every word ever wrote by anybody ever worth a shit? How do we dream – such strange dreams, more and more my dreams touch reality, particularly when reality is so far removed from normal humdrum, but when, at what point does being away from humdrum become normalcy?

So I think to write to Lou, never wrote him before, but I have an idea after seeing him smash his favourite guitar in rage and whatever I can’t face how his simple songs touched hearts of thousands who come to pray at his altar now, so I’ll tell him of my holiday, how people have to exist on the double edged sword I was explaining to you about before remember? Economy of tourists. So I’ll tell him go out and play, play your music, for yourself, play what you want to hear, for yourself, all others are superfluous, ignore them. He loves us, he told us, sad man, we love him, once again, it’s all life isn’t it?

So, what I’m trying to say. Me and Broni, have worked out is, consumerism – see the connection, don’t sell out to the people who want to pay, do it for your own reasons. Greece, our island, is sold out, presenting us with what we want to see, catering to the big market, but we’re (Me and Broni), we’re small fish.

8th Jan 2021 – Bronwyn and I went to the island of Rhodes in Greece for a quick holiday. This was only the third time in my life I’d been on an airplane and only two weeks later I would be on another couple more for a 23-hour journey to the opposite side of the world!

On Rhodes we messed around on hired motorbikes, saw some ruins and historic buildings. As the Greeks seem to love to eat meat with everything I was stuck with Greek Salad for many lunches and dinners. Ho Hum.

It was damn hot too. Nice preparation for arrival in Australia. We slept with no sheets, even moving the mattress onto the balcony one night. The hotel was my first experience with toilets where you weren’t allowed to throw your toilet paper down the toilet. It was this experience that got me more closely checking what was going on down there in the cleanliness department.

We were drunk every evening, definitely experimenting with the local Ouzo. The nearest beach to the hotel was huge and deserted and mostly pebble. I got naked – why not? There was no one else around to see my little dick.

At the main beach we didn’t know that we were supposed to pay someone to sit under an umbrella and we laid our towels out away from them and Bronwyn got into water for a swim. She soon came back due to two little kids that had been sent by the umbrella owners and started throwing stones at her in the water. Jesus – they don’t fuck around for a dollar. We packed up and left and that kinda summed up much of our feeling about the island.

Rhodes

One thing Bronwyn warned me about was the beaches and oceans in Australia. Everyone loves to go there but they can be very dangerous especially for poor swimmers. Having skipped swimming classes at school for most of my life (we had to pay for swimming lessons at school and I told my mum that it was too expensive for us and to save her money but really I was just body shy) Bronwyn taught a few basic things about swimming – most Aussies appear to be good at swimming – and by the end of the week stay at the hotel I was easily doing the five metre widths in the pool! OK – we have to start somewhere.

Hotel Pool

We bought ourselves and our friends some souvenirs but the bottle of Ouzo we had wrapped in towels and clothes and packed in our suitcase didn’t survive the journey and we sadly washed our clothes when we got back home. That suitcase would soon be packed again.

Shot Away – 12th September 1994

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The filament in the light bulb above my head is broken
I cannot repair it until the everyday DIY man has spoken
And when he speaks he speaks with a lisp
Everyone is laughing – they all think he’s pissed

I don’t care what they say
Mr Repairman came to see me today
I did not laugh, he did the trick
He made everything absolutely spick
And spanner in the works – wash my dirty shirts – until it really hurts
The swallows flew the nests – they were eggs no more
I mark my card as they fly by
Kiss my friend in the eye
They were eggs no more he fried

28th Jul 2024 – Fresh Forest Cottage, some 7 or 8 years after Mum and I left and a long time before I saw again. The open window is where my bedroom was, where the howling noises all came from and a thousand cigarettes smoked and a thousand cans of beer drunk.

28th Jul 2024 – This is how I remember the garden once walking through the gate. Gillespie’s (the garage) just visible on the right where more howling and drumming was often heard. I do recall that this part of the garden had changed a lot when I saw it again some ten or fifteen years later. No surprise really. It stopped me from wanting to go in a look around though as I hoped to keep my memories intact.

All manor of thoughts – 10th September 1994

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Up at the crack, Broni way ahead, up with the tummies at 5.30, unable to sleep and kicking me around some, so she left to watch cartoons before stirring me out of fitful dreams. She frenzied herself around me, preparing everything for our holiday, while I sat and read another chapter of Tom Sawyer. Oh, I realise now what opportunity I’ve missed in my youth for my quest for knowledge – but it has brought me to this point in time anyway, eventful and enjoyable always.

So we hit road, chasing the sun as dark clouds ominously gather at our smoking tail and the time disappears behind us too, today. Not some drag of a journey as a three-and-a-half-hour drive might normally be but us in holiday mode, just happy playing dodgems on the motorway (soon to be called freeway in my new language!).

Our destination, sleepy old Drayton Parslow, for a final visit to Isobel, Broni’s cousin or other. Her house, the manor house, old, white and glorious, set in a garden a child’s playful imagination would be lost in, hiding under draping bushes on the bank up to the door, by the big dark brown barns. I took a brief second in my mind to imagine playing and running and that second grew suddenly into a whole childhood of adventure, of buried treasures and guns and bombs. In reality, I only really remember playing football and doctors and nurses in some of the gardens I grew up in!

Inside the house, the charm of things old remains. Old high ceiling kitchen, long thick table, one corner with a master’s chair at the end. Next corner, a sliding door into a pantry of surprises of homemade preserves and bean wine, 1987. A clutter of claustrophobic cans begging to be opened in this wonderful place. Opposite, a huge free-standing cupboard packed to the very gills with bone china, several sets of varying patterns and varieties, sweet pea flowers for us today.

Large cast iron candle holder hangs gothically from the ceiling and small piles of mess of papers or vegetables punctuate the spacious glory where families must have sat in their Victorian lives, leaving ghosts in the air of memory.

Each other room beholding a cob-webbed past for my eager historical mind to play in, pictures on walls of previous occupants, painted in colour, where my mental images are TV black and white and back-before-TV old paintings of whoever, probably a great Aunt Fanny, old even then, a strict woman with sad eyes and tight pursed lips, regally dressed for her commissioned painter. And I can sit here happily and dream up lives for these people whose existence may mean nought to me, but now, even in this brief moment, our paths have crossed.

A friend of Isobel’s pops in, evening time, dark outside and I sit quietly listening, exploring thei polits converse and I’m hit, oooooh – h – h, aren’t people’s lives so big, S -O – B – I – G. Each person’s story so hugely relevant to themselves, so many tiny stories, so much background, upbringing, shaping thoughts, shaping attitude, direction. So important, that lust for life, life so important, I’m hugely happy, hugely inspired.

This house, in night time, one room lit, next room black as blackest devil’s night, no invading dim dull grim light, but total darkness, like stuck on with glue, each room a separate entity, each with identity not for invasion. Wish to stay for several weeks to travel the depths of its ghostly stature.

And my dream, in dozing rapture dreams like before sleep, like, can still hear radio in back, influencing the direction of your dreaming, so I wonders if there’s ever a day gone by when no murder has been committed! And think, that like we have a national no-smoking week, maybe we can have a national no-murder week.

Well, whaddya think?

A poetic prophecy – 9th September 1994

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Nought but his today. Sneaking a glimpse of K’s poetry in the bookshelf: “Once enlightenment has come to you, you realise you’ve always been enlightened,” or an approximation of the same. A cool analogy which ties in with my own thoughts and feelings, looking, in hindsight, at my past five years. It was the first page I turned to and the only thing I read as I hurriedly put it back and left, unnerved by this prophecy.

Consciousness has plagued us and we cannot shake it – 8th September 1994

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The Dolphin Coffee House.

The first floor, walk-through coffee house, shops either side. A convenient stop off for the weary-legged customer, the long day shop assistant, the young writers brief discussions about the rights and wrongs of last week’s deal.

A comfy spot to relax with your cuppa, read some, contemplate. The brown, old ladies sit for a while, looking at the birthday cards bought for granddaughter, still in nappies. New life, old life.

The young suits come in pairs. Tall, dark, handsome, slicked-back hair, striking ties. Empties two sugars and stirs. Stirring, stirring, with a brief look around to survey the surroundings. Tapping cigarettes, preparing the soft tobacco end, smooth for phosphor ignition, sit and blow smoke sideways. The unwritten politeness.

What important discussions take place?

One arm gesturing, in control of the conversation, subliminally talking down to their colleague – the stronger voice sat back in chair, one arm draped over the adjacent seat. The other, the second suit, sat forward attentive, affirming, nodding agreement.

An older gentleman in bright blue uniform trousers and lighter blue shirt sits alone, sipping and smoking too, ruminating his garden and the weeding to be done this afternoon after their part-time cleaning jobs is done in some fancy department store. He loves his job and loves his garden. Happy that life has dealt him this hand of loneliness. Happy to be alone, at one with himself and his flowers. Peace and content reflected in each delicate petal, tenderly cared for by shabby hands.

Young mothers gossip like geese while little blue points and gesticulates, standing on chairs like only children can get away with. Mother shines, peaches and cream complexion, the rosy glow of life come forth from their loins. Shine like only a mother can shine.

A slinkily dressed young lady shop assistant sits cross-legged, clothes draping her figure with the latest cream and fawn fashion. Blond hair, neat and proper, bob-like fashionite. Resting her feet and toying with her hair, twisting it around her delicate bone-coloured fingers. Adjusts herself in her seat as her skirt fell open to show soft smooth legs, not for our eyes. She sits and waits, until heated up food is ready. She stands and takes the gourmet. Her game is up. She walks backs back to the hairdressers.

Delicate fingers, hair fanatic.

The suits are on their second cigarette – same positions.

The food and coffee counter tempt with their starry lights pinpoint huge rolls stuffed with mashed egg mayonnaise, ham and tomato. Two green-pinnied ladies run around filling cups and passing plates. The orange juicer bubbles away in back, attracting eyes from the queue. Another, younger green-pinny wanders around collecting lip-sticked cups and emptying cigarette butts into a plastic tub.

Great circular light hand from the squared false ceiling, low light. A tender background, while sun streams in the huge bay-type windows, picking up the greenness of the plastic fauna. The plants are so real they look fake. Large green pillars dominate the open plan room, holding up ceiling, pushing down floor. Not easy negotiation for the wheelchair bound. The floor swiped clean is roman mosaic marble, green calm and white calm. Not many fights and arguments in this place, I’d bet, as the eyes take in the subliminal peace and serenity.

Here I am, set to embark right into the heart of the modern world – sick as I am of it, I’m never far away. All this would be here going on, even if I was out picking fruit in the depths of central Australia. Does fruit grow there? Does anything grow there? But I’ll go and pick that fruit to gain some sense of balance, to furthermore realise the madness that young writers detailed all those moons ago, predicting the sad, mad world of consumerism and mass marketing.

Sucked in to the corporate dream by Ronald and Mickey, because it’s simply easier. All these lives wandering around me as I sit here watching. They are not sad, they are laughing and smiling and talking. All making the best of themselves against the odds, none wishing to search for a better place. A better place in their souls. I’m still searching though. If not for them, for myself. My frustration is my knowledge of better things.

My guts churn to watch young families reared on Nintendo and McDonalds – but to strike away is too difficult, trapped then and content to make the best of it. Happy with one’s lot. I’m lucky I have a sense of strength and good circumstance to act against it in my own sweet way.

With some trepidation I’m heading for the city. The biggest cattle market of human carnage and despair. With a bright smile, I’ll cheer them along. With calm words, I will sooth their tempers. With a gentle touch, I’ll invade their hearts with happiness.

So, I take it upon myself to make a difference, to make my life count. To stand for something I believe in.

The suits are still here, puffing away, choking down endless coffees and another hairdresser lady pops over for her vittles. Spotted a mile off, long auburn hair, beautifully shiny, bobbing with the sway of the cool walk, hips sexually rocking in motion. Cream blouse and chic black trouser out of the catalogue of Barbie’s house. She’s cool as an iceberg in the Sahara, confident and sophisticated, she takes no shit from her boyfriend, who come and go, unable to keep up with her requirements and expectations. Not your average woman’s magazine reader. More likely the writer of forward-thinking woman’s articles for her juniors.

Now, some joggers enter, the sports complex upstairs much be open. Tow ladies, pre-Badminton, ordering juices and mineral waters. Elegant legs, muscles tight with energy packed inside clinging lycra. Bundles of lightning waiting to explode with reflex and dexterity. Particular ladies. They imitate each other in their seats like a mirror is between them. I suspect they are in love.

Cafe

(Sickly aroma of coffee, strong and white,
invades my earth-damaged nostrils
tuck into great chunks of cheese and tomato
watch and observe, chew slow on that bread)

Green tiles, green lines, calm the nerves
of old ladies with grandchildren in tow
watch them and wonder, how they came
and later, how they go

The suited young men pontificate and gesture
to juniors, cigarettes in either hand
the sporting gay lovers imitating each other
before playing games earlier planned

Couples, lovers, single-parent mothers
the beautiful hairdressers, all stop by and eat
to put their old feet up, sit for a second
before heading back down to the lonely street.

The hum of life, the sweet vibrations, constant flow, liquid movement, the tension, the stress.

In brief, 14 tea chests packed, left on Monday, me waiting patiently outside reading Jack in the sunshine and waiting past deadline time, til little sprinkles of rain start descending earthward, teachestward, but it soon passes and eventually a lorry and it’s drivers come and take away all my precious belongings, safe journey, see you on the other side!

And day later we send more stuff via the Postal Service which costs us a ton of money but hell, it’s got to be done.

So now we have about four suitcases full of things to live with for the next three weeks, and in fact for eight more after that, as the chests won’t arrive till mid November somewhen. It’s like a relief now they are gone, we have no control over their destiny so we absolve ourselves from any worry, not that we worry much in the household anyway. Good fortune follows our good outlooks, only good things can happen to us.

Broni cracks a little, had enough of repeating the same lines to everyone we meet about our plans, she wants to be alone. With me. But we can’t get away from the people living in this house and all the appointments we’ve made, I’ve accepted that but it is somewhat easier for me to digest as I am on my lonesome during the day. I brighten her up with some love and affection.

Later, Lisa comes round with her new man friend, Jonathan, and they take us to the Bermuda Triangle Bar and we feed up on gossip and Budweiser on draft (lordy!), time rattling by we leave drunk as skunks, happy to see friends and be in their company, not sad yet to be leaving them. I feel like I’m gonna be hit when I’m there, homesick like but I’ll handle it with love and help from my angel sweetheart.

Back home, Kerry has broken her promise to herself to not drink on her own or during the week, she is very sad, missing her love in Tokyo, I feel for her but don’t feel right making her stick to her original plan knowing what she’s going through. Difficult cos I know that demon drink will spiral you downward if not handled well and proper, what can I say?

The next night our appointment is with family, Broni arrives home asleep on her feet, lies down on the couch next to me and falls away without a whisper of a word of thought. I wrap myself around her and hold her with deep love, rocking her gently to stop her snoring getting any louder, about 20 minutes later. Twenty more and she’s awake again, at least her eyes are open, I run her a lavender strawberry bath and leave her to it, fighting real rough tonsillitis and headaches.

Mother has come to pick us up, with her sister Shirley also, and we head off to cousin Sharon and Ken’s with son Mungo, their radical 18-year-old, whom they practically disowned when rejecting public school and trying out the drugs of life instead. But hell, what a nice kid he seemed to me, reminding of Steve in politeness and good looks.

A feast of English food was prepared and devoured, with the best white or red wine your choice, and port at the end, is that how one does these things properly, Jeeves? I make light of their well-to-do attitude, while not offensive, is slightly off-putting to my more down-to-earth approach to life, but nice people to go to all that trouble for us anyway, me who they haven’t seen for probably five years or more.

I drop Broni in it when I see the piano and she plays some for us, sounding absolutely beautiful and much more proficient under this pressure which I’m guilty of putting on her but interesting to see as she rarely plays for more than five seconds at a time on Kerry’s piano.

I love her, what a magician she is, we curl ourselves up, night, JimBob.

Shock brown brick clashes into the sky, grey and steely behind. Old building, sash windows, regular rectangles ‘cept the end. White, brown dirtied drainpipes slide down at intervals sucking out waste from the depths inside, like alien suckers shattering skin slurp! slurp! Blinds open, half open, half up or shut behind each window a story or a hundred stories, all personal, not to be disclosed – secret doctor-like. Pitiful short trees fail to brighten up the crowded car park, absent of leaves in the youth of autumn, but for one silver-skinned birch still magnificent in its dark green plumage, branches thrashing wildly, like mad bongo voodoo drummers, in the greasy wind.

You see, you feel, you know – 5th September 1994

~ shaun tenzenmen ~ Leave a comment

Change. All change involves a challenge. I remember when I lived with my mother I was content there, I was also fussy and finicky. A cup of coffee was only nice out of my special mug. I had particular knives and forks that I had to use, no others would do. Those two tiny things were barriers I had made to stop myself from leaving. Wrapped up in a golden blanket of security, I would dread the thought of having to use a different knife.

Then I left, scared of watching all that security get old and withered. I learnt how to use a washing machine and how to cook and I learnt that I didn’t have all the time in the world and started using my spare time to good effect instead of wasting it. I slowly discovered who I was and became content again.

Broni gets herself home from work early, now she’s finishing up things she’s on a self-admitted skive but remember back when I was telling you how hard she worked, now at last the slow down.

So with time on our hands (yes, time, that funny thing that you can never have enough of and when we feel so short of it all of a sudden we are presented with some) we take off on a whim down to Poole Quay and the aquarium which is full of fish on the ground floor, swimming around in their swimming round circles, round and round. Only the piranha seem to stay in some territorial still, and Broni sits and watches the silver dollar fish, light reflecting prism-like into her eyeballs, hypnotic, entranced.

Upstairs, crocodiles lounge like dead things in their 12 inches of water, not a blink nor a twitch, then Broni walks into a room where a man sits waiting to take your picture with a 20 foot python, 6 inches across. But Broni doesn’t see the snake until it’s rubbing her hand and she makes a quick exit! The rest of the snakes we watch through glass, most being lazy and restful. But beautiful, the nest of vipers all piled on top of each other like it was cold and were seeking warmth.

Snakes and spiders, then upstairs to a model railway which fascinates the child in me watching a little replicas stopping starting whistling shunting chuffing. A great place to go and visit despite the steep entrance fee, maybe Poole Aquarium is a bit of an odd description too.

By this time we are exhausted again and return home to comfy chairs and brief dreams for a half hour. Next on the agenda is a meal we’ve planned, so I goes with my sweet to pick up my mum and we drive with a remarkable sunset behind us up to Ringwood where we joined Kerry, Ron, Cath and Simon, drinks already underway. I wanted to come back to this restaurant, the India Cottage, as it is the first place I was introduced to Indian cuisine by my boss at the time, now some six or thereabouts years ago. We were served by two young beautiful people, both English but dark skinned. Him in bright white shirt and black trousers, the nervous and anxious to please gentleman, and her also, dressed in a tie-dye one-piece dress, dark and pretty as her skin. With seven of us all giggling away we took some time in there and the best thing was the slow service which gave us all plenty of time to digest one course before stuffing another and I, probably for the first time ever, managed to eat everything I ordered. So the atmosphere was nice and relaxed right through to the last Tia Maria.

So arrived the weekend, Broni off to get her haircut then us both over to Rosemary’s for lunch where we sit and play with Jade, kid cute, running around or having us to run around after her. I feel really good around kids, I enjoy the freedom they express and their ignorance of worry, real life giver.

Our joy takes us home for a brief encounter on the bed where we frenzy practice babymaking before diversion to Wimborne for pizza and then Southampton for our last gig there before we leave, now just three weeks away. Oh yes.

Atmosphere at The Joiners is, as ever, relaxed and exciting, but tonight tinged with some sadness for us as we say our farewells to some of the regulars, brightened up though by new people eager to get involved.

So at the end of the night, midnight we bring back Rob and Rich to Chrissy’s place, Chrissy out on the tiles but Sharon there to let us in. Rich soon leaves as the rest of us prepare to have a few drinks, Rich still on his straight edge kick and good luck to him if it makes him feel better about himself, which I’ve noticed it has.

We make an effort to wait up for Chrissy but all fall asleep dead drunk after playing every single kids game in the cupboard.

It’s light and Chrissy stumbles in, 7 am, she goes to bed and we get up and not only do we get up, so do Amanda, Luke, Sam and Rebecca, our company for the morning, four beautiful active screaming monster children. Rebecca amazes us as she is now walking herself about and saying ‘yeah’ whenever it takes her fancy. Snotty nosed Sam, quietly watching and wandering from here to here. Luke demanding to play Nintendo and demanding to play with me, and Amanda being unusually quiet and restrained today, possibly because mum is not there to antagonise, Chrissy now sound asleep oblivious to rowdy rabble.

After a while of preparation we all set off for the park, Amanda demanding piggybanks of me and Luke off Rob, Broni pushes Rebecca and Sharon looking after Sam. One child each, they will never beat us!

So how is it later on I get Sam on my shoulders, Amanda on one hand and Luke on the other and I’m sure if Rebecca could get out of her locked in pushchair she’d be demanding my affection too. But I know the kids see that I have lots of love to give them and I love ’em to bits. Sam called me dad, Luke kicked me till I wouldn’t play with him no more, Sharon then talking to him quietly and Luke coming back looking all forlorn and saying sorry under his breath, little beauty horror tike.

Amanda asked me if I remember when Steve and I took her tree climbing and I surely do, I remember it so well because it was then I realised I too, could look after kids, not be scared of that kind of future. It was something Steve showed me just by doing it and not by mentioning it. The only thing he ever said about kids was that he thought I would enjoy it, and as it made him so happy. Here I was, now free of all those old inhibitions about coolness and, ‘geez I wonder if anybody can see me?’ type thoughts that always entered my head when I was around children. My only regret is that Steve isn’t here to see that in me, because even though I realised it back then, I was still in a kind of awe of him because he was looking after Rebecca and Amanda so well.

When people die, you keep a little piece of them with you and it’s something I kept of Steve (amongst other things) and I find that particularly poignant as Chrissy said to Broni the night before that ‘Shaun is a good bloke, a lot like Steve in many ways.’ That kind of compliment makes me feel good inside, I really love all these people around me. Amanda surprised me by remembering that, maybe not sure how much a seven-year-old might remember about a year before, which is great.

I talk to her about the snakes we saw and carry her down to see the cygnets and the ducklings, then onto the swings and climbing houses where we try to wear the kids out but us with only a couple of hours sleep start flagging it instead.

Get back to Chrissy’s and cook some food, Chrissy now up and pale, looking barely alive as Amanda scoffs at her, her not liking her mum getting drunk because it makes her ‘smelly’. We force Chrissy to eat but she’s had it and at 2 o’clock or so heads back to dreamland. We leave around then too, dropping off Rob on the way, Sharon already gone with the kids to a party.

Broni sleeps in the car and I sleep on the sofa when we get back but only for an hour or so. The rest of the day slips us by slowly and gently as we slow down and let the love in ourselves roll around some and spread through our veins to our fingers and toes. We fall asleep with smiles on our faces and play with our friends in our subconscious.

The end of an era – the end of Mr Cynical? – 3rd September 1994

~ shaun tenzenmen ~ Leave a comment

Good news punk rockers, good news. A long-standing member of the scene in Southampton, is, at last, fucking off to Australia.

Unfortunately for me, I’ve known this person for many years + I’ve seen him change + for the worse in my opinion.

I’ll not be sorry to see him go that’s for sure! Now I can start coming to gigs again, knowing I won’t have to put up with his ugly smiling face + all his happy cheery positive talk. God, that guy was always looking on the bright side – I couldn’t fuckin’ stand it – it was insulting to my intelligence.

I’ve been keeping well clear of him for ages now, him + his obnoxious girlfriend. I blame her for his happiness.

Let’s face it kiddies, punk rock is not about being happy, it’s about isolation, pain + fucking shit up. About being miserable + paranoid + frustrated. These things are the fuel of the punk rock fire.

I ask you, how can anyone be happy + punk rock? You can’t + don’t argue with me ‘cos 1 should know, I’ve been like this for years.

Well, things can get back to normal now + it’s great that. I can come to gigs again. That makes me happy… erm… I guess?

Shaun’s Show

Mr Cynical happy? Who’d’ve thought? Looks like we won’t be seeing him again + you also won’t be seeing me again, ‘though you can still enjoy my future writings here + in ‘Suspect Device’. In case you didn’t know, I’m the one off to Australia. For those who don’t know who I am, I’m the guy in loud shirts, who’s been selling records in the corner at the Joiners. I’ve given THIRST! plenty of abuse when they’ve played + I’ve been too drunk to be coherent sometimes (but that describes any number of people!). I’ve been involved in the scene in one way or another for 9 years + the effort I’ve put in has reaped its rewards with great memories + new friends (still making new friends at the last gig). I’d like to thank all those people who’ve been there for me in times of need + whose floors I’ve slept on + whose memories I’ve rifled over the years. People who’ve fed me, bought me beers, given me joints, or taken me to gigs. They’ll all say they’ve seen me change over the years + welcomed + accepted that change. I know most people prefer me the way I am now, as opposed to 3 years ago. I was a cynical, obnoxious, loud-mouthed stubborn opinionated git. All those people who stood by me deserve much credit for remaining friends. I never knew I had so many. They know (as I now do) that the reward is in the giving + not in the taking. People who come to Southampton will find out for themselves just how good the scene is + I wish the best to all those involved – past, present + future. Spread the word cos the word is good. Remember ‘We Are The Magic People’.

Besides all that malarkey, there’s a couple of things that need addressing re: the STE Bulletin. First of all, is Queer Rob’s column regarding porn. Time has been against me in talking directly to Rob, so I’ll put it down here. Rob, your views on porn are ignorant + misguided. When we did speak, you asked me what knowledge I’ve had in regards to porn + unfortunately, the conversation got interrupted.

Well, a few years ago, I helped put together a fanzine that dealt with issues of sex + sexuality, one of the issues being porn. I studied the subject from all angles, so I do have some idea of what goes on and what others think of it. First of all, porn is made for men, by men. That might be a huge generalisation but I can’t think of an example of a film that was made for women.

Men make money out of it, lots of money + all over the world. Sex sells, I’m sure we all know that. It is a sexist business. Just like being a chef, you imagine all the people who cook to be women but all the top-paid chefs are men. So it is the women get to be on screen for a meagre wage, while the men get to rake in the profit.

Secondly, you say that these films are not degrading to women, because what they do is out of choice. The point here is about the way women are always portrayed in submissive roles in porn films – that is blatant sexism. I’ll give you some examples of films I have to hand. 1st: film ‘Virgin Ass’. Storyline/introduction/clothes off (2 minutes), oral sex carried out by her (2 mins), she mounts him, (2 mins), various positions that quickly reverse the dominating role ie he takes control (6 mins), anal sex (any guesses who carries that out on whom! – 2 mins), cum shot: (most cum shots revolve around her giving oral sex, again because it makes for a better film because the cum is visual. It is also a very dominating action.

If you like the sound of that, you can see just how lovely this is at home by inserting a carrot all the way into your anus, withdraw it + take a bite. You’ll notice the time will invariably be between 10 + 15 minutes, that is known as the ultimate wank time.

2nd film ‘Lesbian Trio’. 3 naked women with various sex toys, performing mutual masturbation + oral sex in various positions. This type of film is aimed directly at the male market. It is a common male fantasy to sleep with more than 1 woman, who perform lesbian acts together too. Male homosexual movies are also aimed at the male market.

Final film ‘Love Triangle’. Same as the first film, except her performing oral sex at the same time as vaginal sex, ending up with both vaginal + anal sex at the same time, ending with cum shot over face + in mouth.

Can you see the domination messages that that film is sending out to sad four-eyed five-knuckle shufflers everywhere? If people get off on it, then that’s fine but people who don’t understand that porn films are degrading to women are ignorant. That’s no crime, just a sad fact of life. Porn films make me realise that I’ve got much better things to do with my time.

Now I’ve heard it recently that people thought Rob Callen’s last column was too long + going over old ground. Well, I will say it here that Rob’s columns are by far the most interesting to read + so what if it means having to sacrifice the regular picture, maybe Rich could do away with his band listing, or start using some of the cover?

Rob is the most open, honest, selfless person amongst all the people I know in Southampton + it really fucks me off that people are always quick to knock him or ignore him. All he wants is for you to be open + honest with him, which is the very fuckin’ message he’s been saying over + over in his columns. If he’s repeating himself, maybe it’s because he’s not yet found those qualities in his friends being offered up. Think about it guys!

I hope to have a book out in early ’95, which is based on my life in 1994, which shows the major changes I have gone through in this exciting year. All your fave characters will be there + I hope when read it will encourage people to go out + grab life by the handlebars + seek out their destinies, be they in suburban Eastleigh, grimy London or sunny Sydney.

OPPORTUNITY OF THE MASSES WITH ROB

First off, I must apologise for everything that I’ll be going to say in this column because I just know it won’t make sense to anyone! Let me try to explain why:

Imagine yourself looking into the friendly eyes of some people that you’ve come to know + you see a myriad of shifting thoughts reflected in their eyes. Maybe your own thoughts are in there somewhere, because on some occasions you’ve seen what they’ve seen + have experienced the same things + had the same thoughts that they’ve had + through this slow process of getting to know them, you start to find out everything you’ve taken for granted + all the things you didn’t say because you thought it was inappropriate + all the ideas you had but didn’t have the courage to put them into practice, all came suddenly together + are brought into a clearer perspective, by talking to people who’ve showed a lot of respect + who talk honestly about their experiences + expectations.

I’m thinking about 2 people in particular, who won’t be with me/you for too much longer, for they are going home/emigrating to Australia + I think this is one reason why sometimes I tend to look at things with a sense of urgency, because it seems there are things which I do which I’m only gonna get one chance at – like playing in a band, or writing, or just talking to people, to see what’s on their mind.

Let’s talk about friends who emigrate first (!). Opportunities like this only come up once or twice, if at all, in a lifetime + obviously takes courage + a lot of thought + soul-searching to go through with.

However, even though I’ll really miss them both, for Shaun’s cool perspective on life + Bronwyn’s kind thoughtfulness, let me just say that through them (+ a few other good people I know, which included Steve), my perspective on lots of simple basic things keeps on changing. There’s not normally a day that goes past when I haven’t thought about it.

I’m not saying I’ve changed into a better person, or found “happy happy, joy joy”, cos basically I’m still the same old geezer but: what I might: have now is a stupid optimism, to look at everything as an opportunity + to not worry about problems but to laugh at them + to laugh at myself for laughing at them!

Maybe I’m getting off the point. The point is that: Shaun + Bronwyn have seen an opportunity (even if it’s rather an obvious one) + are grasping it with both hands. This is just a point that comes back to me, over + over again in that old NEWTOWN NEUROTICS song ‘Wake Up’, which goes: “Make the most of your life every day + every opportunity that comes your way”. To me these words are more than lyrics in a punk rock song, they summarise what Shaun + Bronwyn are doing + show me what you, I or anyone can achieve by just looking around the next corner, by opening up your horizons + by just making the time + effort to show people our good side occasionally.

So with keeping opportunity. in mind, let’s reconsider what I wrote in the first sentence. Maybe I shouldn’t have apologised – maybe I should have seen this as an opportunity not to put myself down but to say a big thank you to everyone who’s taken the time to look into my eyes + who has seen their own thoughts in there somewhere.

For although you might be 1,000 miles away in a new city, or new country + a new life there will be times when I’ll think of you + you’ll no doubt think about the people you knew here too, which will stir us to keep in contact – but not only with each other but with many more people that will come our way. It’ll be hard but the hardest things are sometimes worth taking chances on + fighting for. So let’s not, take this as the end but as a start of new experiences, of new hopes + most importantly of all, of new friends.

You didn’t need me to say this but I’ve said it anyway because I had the opportunity to do so. I’m not saying goodbye, just good luck!

Keep holding on to your goals + don’t let anyone get you down, for you can rest assured that in our own way, we’ll be doing the same, for we won’t be growing apart, we’ll be growing together with what is in our eyes + in our hearts.

from STE Bulletin 28, September 1994

Now I can’t show you all the things I’ve seen and I can’t make you feel anything, certainly not what they meant to me – 2nd September 1994

~ shaun tenzenmen ~ Leave a comment

It’s an exciting life. When Broni gets home I have a delicious meal prepared for her and sit yummying as we talk about our day.

Broni has been very busy at work and soon falls down dog tired but after some rumination we take a gentle stroll into the park as the sun slowly descends somewhere behind some cloud or other. We sit and watch the ducks and swans and talk about belief and good things. We realise how lucky we are, to have each other, to have this adventure and to have the future.

When I get back I have a long chat with Rob on the phone, which involves more shit flying in the Fatty department, which will bore me to death to repeat here and particularly as I am making great pains to forget all about that sad part of my life and to look towards brighter things. It is sad for me to carry a thorn in my side but now I feel able to let it go (haven’t I said this before?) Now feels different though and my future is absolutely soaring away from everything I know here, all the things I like but all the things I dislike too.

Later Broni and Kerry are talking and I join them in the bedroom, Kerry is talking like a maniac, high on life, full of herself because she finally feels comfortable with who she is and recognises her place in the world and realises her worth. She says it’s taken ten years but if you could see her bright chirpy cherub face you can see ambition and content. It was so good to hear her talking positively about life especially after my talk with Rob which dealt more with clearing out negative emotion.

So the cloud over me soon disappeared and I felt a wave of enthusiasm for life come over me and a little bit of loss for not having Steve around to talk to. Broni has me sussed pretty well though and reflects all my good points which make me feel much better and soon we are wrestling and playing in our makeshift bed on the floor.

Before we know it we are awake again, missed our dreams and she is off to work as I get up and cycle around the harbour taking video memories every now and then, through the park to the quay and back along the circuit, catching glimpses of beauty and depths through the cameras eye and hell, I feel so good inside myself today.

It is so easy to forget just how lucky you are to be alive and mornings like these bring it home that no matter what goes wrong, will still be okay.

Now is what’s happening, now is real, live for the now. I will see the sunset over a beautiful peaceful world.

28th Jul 2024 – A video shot of Horton Tower as we were passing by sometime.