Tag: writing

Just a fly (Outwardly we’re lying, inwardly we’re crying) – 24th November 1994

~ shaun tenzenmen ~ Leave a comment

Sorry if this seems just a bit disjointed to you. It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like this. It must be experienced. It is not something that you can plan. It just happens, flows. The experience is quiet now. Try not to induce the experience with drugs. Drugs can cloud the memory, therefore disposing part of the experience. Drugs can increase the awareness of the experience as it is happening, please be careful.

So she read on the side of the bottle of small green and purple capsules. Shit, maybe she ought to take them, looks like dust had been gathering on the bottle for a few weeks at least. What did she need them for? He walked into the room, sat down and collected his thoughts. ‘Fuck!’

He started eating the toast. Imagining he was a fly in the room watching himself, envious, eating the toast. The radio breaks his concentration. Something about people dead. But he’s heard that one.

Walking towards the window, toast in hand, the fly bangs his head. Slowly he lifts the net curtain. The sky is blue and white and black. People get on the waiting bus. ‘Two to town please.’ ‘£1.50.’

Sat down in the sideways seats, the vicar and the whore talking about world domination. Falling up the stairs stupidly, a blind man, two boys with hands in his pockets. The coat a sort of grey/green checked affair, made of that weird shit material you ‘normally’ associate with old people. Use the word normally carefully. Use the word carefully normally.

The boys laugh at the girls for liking flowers because they just like their guns. The boys laugh even harder at boys liking flowers. Well it’s just not natural is it? Fucking laugh. Ha ha ha ha ha. Can’t fathom the feelings you’re feeling. Really screwing with my head. Don’t want to take no shit but keep in touch with sense because of love, because something feels right and in them thar bones. Can’t talk to you sometimes but I’m glad I haven’t got a diary. I finally get off the bus. Wonder what the vicar was saying? Only heard the whore’s side of the story. Can’t imagine it was all true.

Walking to the shopping centre being chased by chip wrapping paper tapping my ankles in the wind. Black girl on opposite side of road looks happy. Don’t see many round here, especially not happy. But you mustn’t cry. Something will happen to make you laugh, so just be happy waiting for it. This feeling is so intense. It is encompassing the whole of my brain. When I am away from you, I try to see through your eyes without having any idea of what you might be looking at. I want to be inside your head.

Pass the record shop, kicked the habit years ago. That’s a lie – I just keep it a secret now. I know, I know – no secrets. So I shall have no secrets in the search for trust and truth. But when I get to heavens gates will they refuse me entry? Whose decision is it and why? My feelings are from the heart – my emotions are often stupid and derelict – please try to ignore them, for they are not important. I have violence in my hands but restrained. Prefer to do constructive things.

Walking onwards I could see it coming.

Hey. Wait. Don’t. Step. Out. Oh. Shit. Too. Late. The. Lady. Hit. The. Bumper. Now. Her. Blood. Decorates the road. Pollock style. Single colour. Walk away. Try to see through the crowds eyes. No need to watch in horror in person. Like a prison inside their minds. So easy to get in but so hard to let out. No imagination.

Long, long green fields on a warm day with a sprinkling of clouds to add a bit of variety. I can imagine it and I know I’ve never been to that particular place although there are certain places it could be. The mind is a wonderful thing. Use it. It’s Friday lunchtime. Free from all forms of addiction for nearly a week now. Constant barrages of noise infest the brain – self-inflicted though. A change in patterns and waveform varies the mundanity. A true eternal worrier. Don’t get pissed off with it for me. See it through and I’ll be as good as I can. Sometimes it would be nice to talk without laughing. Sometimes the laughter seems like riddles. But I don’t know if it’s just me imagining me imagining me imagining things, if you can sort of understand?

The skies turn blue, pink, purple and white. So vivid he thought. The street lights at night though seems so cold. I seem depressing. Walking back from work onto the housing estate, everything quiet, he gets so depressed. Just sits down, eats his tea, watches telly. Lost. No stimulus on the nerve endings in the brain. Dead to the world. Seems like a government plan to me. Gentle, subtle persuasion. The fucking mind games seems so obvious sometimes but it just can’t be real. Which leads to doubt. Complicated stuff.

Focus your thoughts on one particular subject. Little, minute, stupid – any subject, no matter how irrelevant. Work your mind around it totally. Examine its structure, how it formed, its purpose. If it has none to be seen, invent a purpose. Wrap yourself in your thoughts, become the subject. See from the inside. New perspectives. New concepts. New beginnings. One day you will die. Do you wish to spend from now till then with me? Or is there something you would like to do? Don’t laugh at me because I may feel hurt. Laugh with me and we can rock together. There is nothing sinister in my urges.

Trapped inside his own bubble. His own space. Pushing against the sides. They stretch forever. Never near a breaking point. Sits down quietly and contemplates a strategy. Wait. People stare at you in the avenue. What could they want? What could they see? What makes them think they’re so great?

So the story continues although it was never a story. More of a gut feeling. An explanation of intent. There is no flow at the moment. Something close to me as interrupted the patterns in my mind. So easily distracted sometimes. But I can rest assured the thoughts shall return. Life is usually stranger than the drugs you can use to help you find your reality. Could we be addicted to life? How can we give it up? Some people look at you like you’re a freak. They suck and I won’t let them get me down. The people in the minority are the survivors.

“Head colds are bad for the memory, darling” she whispered sweetly in his ear. What was his name? Not darling for sure. “You lay there and I’ll get you a cup of refreshing tea. Maybe that will revitalise your energy. It won’t clear this stinking headache. Substitute the word ‘fuck’ with ‘freak’.

She rolled out of bed. It seemed empty and cold now. Lacking security, as the monsters gather. Whimpering cowardly. Ain’t it good to be alive? Here is a box marked confidence. It isn’t a trick. Open and see. The world and his wife rushed out like a Spielberg special effect. All over the goddamn room.

He finally woke up and got up. Scaly teeth – brushed clean. Someone died on the pavement. Someone is happy. Someone is making love in the flats opposite. Someone is pouring milk on their Weetabix. Someone is racing in an ambulance to hospital. Someone else is driving the ambulance. Someone is on telly. I don’t wish I was someone else. I am someone else.

6th May 2021 – Not sure of exact date of writing. Pages were stuck in the 1994 diary. The title “Just a Fly” got me thinking about the Thatcher on Acid song ‘Fly’ but I couldn’t find any lyrics from it to use as a title here but whilst searching I found this other ToA song title which seemed to suit perfectly.

You can’t expect too much from two braindead brickheads – 2nd November 1994

~ shaun tenzenmen ~ Leave a comment

Pic: Lawnsmell at Phantom Records 1997

These entries are a bit less frequent for two reasons, two opposite reasons. First is that we’re pretty damn busy doing crucial things like sorting our lives out! Second is that we’re not doing much, like in particular, like nothing really worth writing about. Occasionally, I’ll think of things that would be cool to write but it’s usually at a time when I don’t get chance to write it down and my memory, better it is getting, but it’s so jam packed with things, new things, new learning processes, that I inevitably don’t remember.

Something I do remember though is going to sleep a couple of nights ago, there was a big thunder storm, Libby came over with Reg and Gough, we walked them back up to the railway station and stood at the park, on the hill, waiting for the train and watched the huge swirling masses of grey thick air meeting with the light delicate coastal air and the clouds made faces like the gods that were controlling them, all this happening right within our eyesight about a mile away, great shots of lightning burst across the sky or down to the ground in a spectacular style, big drops of rain fell but only a few lonely globs of wet, it did rain hard after we got in and the fireworks had finished, though about an hour later another rip of darkness came over with some more shorter bursts of fire. It fell dark and the air smelt dank and musty and powerful.

So after all this and later when we was dropping off into that land of madness, it was deadly silent, no wind rushing through the huge gums outside our window, no bow and creek of the wood in the sway and no footsteps and no cars, no airplanes coming into land, no goods trains running through the station, no sound and I started to wonder if outside was still there and if it still existed and where it may have gone, I wondered if the hall outside the bedroom door was still there, if we were trapped inside this room like a strange Tardis, where would we wake, hmm I fell asleep soon and forgot about it until now.

And today has been a good day, with the pursuit of information about a college type course in computing, a mad fuckin’ Englishman gave us details in his own peculiar manner, he couldn’t stop his mouth and couldn’t stop his brain, listening to all the conversations going on around him and putting in his own two-penneth worth, interrupting his conversation with us or whoever he was talking to, he was keeping three of us going at once on the counter at the information desk, mad chatterbox, organiser, know all, friendly type weirdo, we ran out and laughed our heads off.

From there I went to the city to introduce myself to a guy called Joolz, or maybe Jules, or I guess even Jewels, who runs the record shop Phantom Records, and he was a sound bloke with lots of interesting stories and information and I asked him to let me know if there was any openings in the shop in the future.

You know there was lots of other stuff in between like walking through the city and getting on the train and stuff but it’s starting to feel a lot more normal to me now and not worth mentioning, like I would never used to write about work because even though it was half interesting to me when I was there, like the internal politics, it’s not something I’d want to look back on in years to come and think about for a second time, it would be cool if i can get into some job that is interesting to write about and remember in my twilight, here’s hoping. (or maybe I’ll just do some job that earns me enough money to take the time to go off and do interesting things -ha ha the catch 22 of life and work).

And yesterday I sat and read a book from start to finish, man, lazy old day, cool, man.

Ripples – 17th September 1994

~ shaun tenzenmen ~ 3 Comments

Chuga-chug-a, weee, neeeerrrr!
The noisy breath of our transport,
a bicycle made for two (but only just!),
tackling long straight roads
lined with eucalyptus and lime trees,
swishing in the wind of dusty old lorries,
up and around, twisting roadways,
over the next brief, brown, barren mountain,
at the crest and into the wow of the valley,
lays at our feet, begs our descent,
come see, come see!

But we know there’s nothing more than dried out dust,
white stones, sunwashed white
and yellow cactus plants a-plenty
though some valleys hold green groves of growth,
desperate for water – come flow from the seven springs,
the gift of life,
make your rocky way
so odd to see big tall trees
pointing to the sun with accusatory finger,
a hand in the air!
Look at me, I’m alive!

Onward we go, whirring along
til next top summited and wow!
Our life, miles view down to sea green bay, to our left,
such bright comparison to the rubble hills of dust and stone
but across this valley and up into the hills,
distant on the hazy horizon, up and then wow! again,
ancient acropolis stands ruined but magnificient
above white brick town,
populated by tourists of old Greek ladies,
witch-like by our cultural standards,
selling lace under trees, cutting up beans,
‘is cheap, is very good, you buy 5000, ok 4000!’

and from high place we spectate out
thousands of miles across blue ocean misty
where sky meets water,
waves crash far below our castle lookout
onto rocks, craggy, brown and black,
this ancient temple, time-battered, sun weary,
still majestic in it’s brown piles of stone,
sun beats down, never raising or waiting
for cool breath to dry sweat from eyes.

The town bustles busily on foot, no roads here,
park at the square and all buildings encroach,
small walkways like old English mazes back home.
Back again, and away from sad tourists (yes, I know!)
via old roads and real Greek villages
where dead cats lay strewn by the road,
bamboo grows along in the lime groves in the valley,
while rock tops look at us tony specks down below,
so, to the beach,
yes, that’s what we’re here for!

Heads down, dive in, cool and slow this beach,
a real paradise, soft sands under our feet,
calm waves lap our bodies as those mountain look still,
cliff top monastery proud white,
set against the deepest azure,
as lush green trees feed the black goats,
all up the side ’til here turns to sand
for our greatest of pleasures, flowing,
lost in time and space, water overwhelms our senses,
like a cool glove, fit tight on your fingers,
like the most gorgeous ice cream and cool draft beer
at a bar found in the desert, no illusion, but reality,
it hits us and we smile for no reason, broad beams,
inside ourselves,
we know.

We wash out the sun in the pool,
let darkness shroud over us
like a blanket of grey haze.
A half moon hangs half across the night,
a hole in the blanket,
almost yellow, the ferocity of the sun on its face.
It’s cool reflection here on Earth
touching tips of sea ripples directly below.
Imitating the sun, but on low power.
Each ripple, made of drops of water
that have played in the ocean since time began.
Each ripple sent from the other side of the Earth,
cause and effect, on an endless journey, gyroscope-like.
Each ripple a mind soothed, a heart stolen.
Each ripple aches and bows, wave forming,
charging towards the terra,
crashing in the silence when there’s no one to hear,
us asleep under thin white sheets
dreaming about brand new days
which soon come with the sun and the heat
invading each pore, each corner touched
by the light of the morning,
smacking that weary head,
‘Here I am, get up and face me if you dare!’

Now in full shimmer effect on the blue waters
made crystal, twinkle like diamonds
multi-fractured mirror
in God’s old kaleidoscope.

All manor of thoughts – 10th September 1994

~ shaun tenzenmen ~ Leave a comment

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?

I’m going for the jackpot, boy, oh boy, oh boy – 14th July 1994

~ shaun tenzenmen ~ Leave a comment

I was in the post office this morning and on the shelf were stacks of paper, writing paper, jotting paper, drawing paper and you know, I was tempted! I have paper here coming out my ears, but the blank piece of paper is like history waiting to be written. With the right manipulation and approach, the stark white could be turned into something of fortune, depth and beauty. I’m just fascinated by paper, I always have been and now I realise that it was my way of finding out that I wanted to be a writer. Like life telling me, destiny tapping on my shoulder. Of course it’s only now I’ve grown inside and have been able to see this.

With all the mad happenings here let me remember Monday briefly. It was another beautiful day and for the second day in a row we went to the beach, John and I took the tiny pathways route through the woods and as I took a corner there was a split in the path, split by some bracken. In two minds I thought I’d make it through the bracken, it not being far to the other side, not knowing that concealed within its green ferny leaves was a 2 foot round log (used for blocking off roads). My front wheel took it straight on and so it was, I flew through the air with the greatest of ease, landing twisted and facing the other way, partially stunned, as John came careering up behind me just managing to stop before running over my head. I wish I’d seen the accident and not been in it! Suffered cuts and bruises but more seriously, hurt my back and neck which now ache some, whiplash style.

Not to be deterred, we pedalled on down to the beach, stopping as we had the day before, to decide what action to take about Julie, housemate from hell. As it turns out I was finding more and more of her lies cropping up, even playing us off against our landlord/agent!

Onto the beach where Mike turned up – Mike may be moving into our room when we leave. He seems like a decent bloke, nice and quiet– just the kind of person it’d be cool to live with. John discovered he works at the same place as Fatty and said to Mike, “Oh, I expect you’ve heard what horrible people we are from him,” and Mike replied “don’t worry – he doesn’t like anyone!” Good that he’s not been put off.

The sea tonight was amazing – long slow waves, not crashing but just rumbling. Broni got right stuck in and we played ball for ages and roared helplessly with laughter at the fun we were having. John-boy joined us and we played several silly games. Later John and I had a great time throwing the American football up-and-down the beach getting some wicked spin and bullet throws and catches together. All this fun was just too much and slowly we made our way back up through the woods, John crashing and totally wrecking his pushbike in the process.

Now John’s new motorbike, there’s a story! He handed over £300 pounds cash for the bike and doesn’t have the guys address or any documents and realises two days later the tax disc is a stolen one. Luckily (!) the guy turns up a week later, John laying into him verbally because the bike is such a heap of shit! He says to call him “John ‘Gullible’ Ryan! I think he’s getting it sorted out now though. And sort of by now, Kind of, we are at yesterday and see my brief entry. Well, Julie turned up and John and I laid the law as such and told her to leave (her still telling us lies to our faces!) by Friday. No amount of tears and bullshit changes our minds and though it was a horrible thing to go through I feel quite pleased with how I coped with it. Of course, she hasn’t actually gone yet and I hope we don’t get any retaliation from her and her ugly brute man friends. So it is that I’m at home (Wednesday, today and tomorrow) to look after the house – just in case. It’s also giving me a good chance to catch up on things (Ha! Do you think I will?).

Despite staying up till three last night watching Brazil beat Sweden, Broni got me up at 8:30 and here I am, sunny backyard on the sweetest of days. And Italy beat Bulgaria and my prediction of some three weeks ago has come true, of a Brazil-Italy final and may the best team win on Sunday.

So it is, I kiss the lips of life and tasted sweetness. More, more, I want more.

We got sent some maps of Sydney yesterday and also a close-up roadmap of Allawah, the area we may be able to move straight into when we get there. And as I said then it hit me, like a 4 x 2, in two months I’ll be there and this map will be my hometown. You can imagine all the differences in the changes I am making, but try, really try to imagine being somewhere, know and understand one day and the next you are somewhere else, alien, not to be able to return for a good long time. Can you feel that 4 x 2? Scary and exciting!

A note here for my beautiful baby who has put up with me so well as I endeavour to watch every game of football I can at all hours. She was a little sleeping beauty last night as I crawled in next to her and showered her with deserved kisses and she unconsciously turned to let me in. I cuddled her to sleep and woke wrapped in her embrace once again and we talked about our dreams and our future. So lucky to have found one another (not that luck had anything to do with it but you know what I mean?). To be able to operate together and keep each other’s souls satisfied. And in our happiness, we will miss this place despite the urge to go.

But of course, we also remember that winters!

Enough for now, the day is young. Enjoy.

The time is so little, the time belongs to us – 28th June 1994

The Chase
~ shaun tenzenmen ~ Leave a comment

What a sad affair yesterday’s entry was but now it is written the emotion has passed. If you’d like to know, writing things down helps you to sort things out, makes things clear – hell, you probably know all this already.

But now let me tell you about the sky. Oh sweet sky, sapphire desire. Last night I happen to glimpse the sky at what must’ve been a quintessential moment in time, just as Saturn went through Jupiter (or some such nonsense). I could see miles onto the horizon where the blue was hazy, light and white, like a faded blue, sunbleached by time. And up, slowly becoming substantial, deepening, a brief flurry of fluffy white and on and up til oh, so deep the colour, like eyes, big, deep pools of the vivescense (if there is no such word – imagine it, goddamn) and my breath was taken away. I looked and looked and loved and my attitude changed. I filled up on good feelings and daydreamt about Australia and blue and water and life. Soon these dreams will turn into reality – easy!

Well, besides these things I can tell you the following that destiny threw at me and I faced proud and strong (god, Shaun, you are dramatic). Here’s some tiny things I did!

Munched out at the Thai restaurant with both the women in my life, my sweetheart and my mum! Being the only customers, we were waited on hand and foot by the whole staff (could have been the whole family) and served up delicious delicacies, beers and dessert. But remember to speak slowly and in sign language or better still, learn their language. They were sweet and willing though.

Of course, there’s been fucking tons of football on and I’ve been watching as much as possible. Too much to tell you about here – buy the video!

Broni fell off her bike in the middle-of-the-road – luckily not the busy one but I watched in despair as she keeled over unable to put her foot down, her laces being wrapped ’round the pedal and so sweet, her baby crying face as she sat, dumped on her back, on the tarmac. A couple of bruises to show now. You know, she bruises so easily – I have to be very careful when I pick her up and turn her upside down.

I was thinking anyway, about us, and fuck, there’s magic between us. I think some of the more cynical of you out there might think we’re like soppy sloppy teenagers but I reckon you just haven’t come across this feeling before (and fuck I love this feeling, I just want to suck it all up, more more more). But you know, you’re all okay too. You can guess we’re both still madly, badly in love with each other. If that makes you sick, you make me sad. I still have faith in the human spirit. Some of my friends out there give me that faith.

Hell, went to see ‘The Chase’ too, with Henry Rollins playing some meathead cop (total fucking irony – who said Americans don’t understand irony!), with a soundtrack featuring NOFX, Bad Religion, Down by Law, Rancid and a ton more. You know it’s punk to go to the cinema, don’t you! Yes, it’s true – everything you do with your life is punk.

You know me, I probably did a million other things though now I’m not in such a fucking hurry. Taking it easy up until launch date – no stress for me and my baby. As always will keep you informed.

The horse and the ass – 7th May 1994

~ shaun tenzenmen ~ 1 Comment

The horse and the ass.

A fine horse, proud of his rich trappings, met an ass on the highway. The ass was heavily laden and moved slowly out of the way.

“I can hardly resist kicking you, you stupid animal!” said the horse in a tone of great scorn. The ass held his peace and made only a silent prayer to the gods.

Not long afterwards, the horse became lame and was sent by his owner to the farm where the ass lived. The ass, seeing him drawing a dung cart, felt sorry for the horse, who in the days of his splendour had lost the friendship of one who could have helped him in bad times.

Revenge.
Resist revenge.
What goes around comes around.

The ass and the grasshopper.

An ass, hearing some grasshoppers chirping, fell in love with their voices. He wanted more than anything to be able to sing as well as they did, and so he asked the grasshoppers what kind of food they lived on to give them such beautiful voices. They replied, ‘The dew.’

The ass decided that he would live only on dew until he could sing as sweetly as a grasshopper. In a short time, he had died of hunger.

One man’s meat is another man’s poison.

Want, wanting – learn, practice patience.
Remember:
What goes around comes around.