On - Being Social

Rough notes - billowing around my head this morning.

There are approximately 5.2 Billion Social Media users among the Human population of Earth.
That is roughly 64% of the total global Human population.
Across the planet, the average time spent per day per person on Social Media is 2 hours and 23 minutes.

Social Media is not "anti-social", in spite of its serious deleterious effects on a significant proportion of its participants. In many ways it is the ultimate expression of Socialism - Being 'Social'.

It is also one of the most effective, accessible marketing tools ever invented.
It is a publishing medium par excellence. This needs re-iterating. Social media is a publishing platform - with highly toxic, highly radioactive levels of feedback. It is a publishing platform.
A gateway for those seeking attention, validation and sales.

§  This is the POV shift.  §  This is all I need it to be.  §

When your identity is not being constantly reflected - projected back [on] to you through the perverse lens of the screen, you regain more significant control of your Self. One's Identity is one of the most important, primary psychological foundations of Being Human - Homo Sapiens.

Control of Choice - Identity is Yours - it always was actually.
Privacy is not loneliness.
Silence is not emptiness.
Playing For the audience is not the same as Playing To the audience, in the same way as Identifying AS, is not the same as Being identified AS, or Identifying WITH.
Identity is a state of Being. Identity is Conscious Self Knowledge AND UnKnowledge - Curiosity - Who Am I? I Am Not You.

How wise is it to publish/broadcast/expose your UnKnowingness to the gaze of Humans everywhere and expect their response to be anything other than illogical?

The phrase "Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not" originates from the novel "Saturday Night and Sunday Morning" by Alan Sillitoe, published in 1958. The protagonist, Arthur Seaton, expresses a sentiment of individuality and defiance against others' perceptions of him.

A Performance is simply that. Alice Cooper is a character created and played by the performer Vincent Damon Furnier. Batman is a second level character created by the artist Bob Kane and the writer Bill Finger in the 1930's as the alter-ego of the fictional character Bruce Wayne.
Daniel Radcliffe is not Harry Potter. 

Refusing to reduce or diminish your existence to reels, shorts, highlights, captions, likes, comments - refusing to publish, to expose your Self to all the poisonous, carcinogenic feedback, does not mean Being Insignificant. Just because the world doesn't continuously acknowledge your presence, does not mean you don't exist. In fact, exactly the opposite of that is the Truth. You continue to exist IN Spite of the continuous lack of acknowledgement. And that is a very, very 'Good Thing'!

On - The Way To Work

Down by Asda carpark,
Over the roundabout,
Between the new housing estate,
And the dual carriageway,
On the last patch of green space
Behind the billboards advertising
Prime building land with planning permission in place.
Where the dog-walkers circle parade
While their charges defecate,
The trees hang heavy with ripening bags of shit.

Down by the gully
That runs through the site,
There's a movement in the long grass.
A badger, up late,
Rolls like an excited puppy.

Overcast grey dawn,
Low clouds and high tide
Meet before the open water
At the end of the bay.
No detail, no depth,
No sense of distance, space or time.
The scent of wet rocks.

The tide is high but turning and still.
The surface of the water smooth as chrome.
An odd bird bobbing low in the water
Among the regular Oystercatchers,
Geese and Gulls,
Has a hat on.

Same scene two days later,
Two Swans emerge from the mist.
The stuff of Arthurian legend.

Sparrowhawks (plural),
Plucking plumage in Waitrose carpark.
Scattered pigeon outside the front door.

Two Red Kites, low over the Big Yellow Storage,
Between the building college and the Holiday Inn.

Buzzard on the ground in the carpark at Selco,
Spooked, takes breakfast off into the shadows
Of the treeline to eat in peace
Behind the builder's knackered van.

Cormorants at high tide,
Skimming the creek at Portchester,
Doing that wing thing on the upturned carcasses of
Dead boats drowned in the mud.
Is it a Cormorant? Is it a Shag?

Purple Plover on the seafront at Southsea
On the concrete foreshore by the Castle.

Kessies over The George Inn
At the top of Portsdown hill,
Hounded by Crows.

Magpies roost with the Woodies at the back of 
The car door mirror factory.

A Rook bathing in the dew on the grass.

Today, I heard an Egret call.
It's not right for such an elegant bird
To sound like a Duck being choked.
Little Egrets, bloody Egrets everywhere!
Non! Je n'Egret rien!

Uncountable Foxes, tamed by their proximity to
Human detritus. Lulled into a sense of 
Tenuous security, cocky but cautious.

In the middle of Langstone harbour,
Slobbing about sunbathing on the sandbanks,
Grey Seals nobody sees without a telescope.

And I'm chatting on the phone at the side of the 
Square Tower, at the entrance to Portsmouth harbour,
Another Grey Seal casually bobs along in the grey-green surf below,
Watching me watching.

And, Grey Seal in the bay at Portchester Castle,
Just a few yards off the sea wall at Southampton Road.
Tides running out, but the Seal has a school of fish
Herded into the shallows. 
Surfaces now and then to slap one silly on the water
Before chewing on it like a dog with a bone.

Off the motorway embankment, under the trees,
On the gravel track by the fishing lake,
A scattering of wild Rabbits rummaging in the undergrowth.
A couple of Kestrels quarter the lake side.
Magpies, Moorhen, Coots and a flotilla of
Canada Geese populate the fringes of the reed beds.
Drift a little into open water.

A shocked Green Woodpecker yells startled green abuse,
Racing off to find another quiet spot to drum up lunch.
And a pair of Jays in pink and vivid blue
Add some spicy colour.

Down by Mountbatten, at Tipner Lake,
Occasional Godwits and Redshank turn up between
Hordes of Egrets. Oystercatchers, Gulls, and
Great Grey Heron. 
A pair of random Curlew stop by one evening.
Still there next morning, and a couple of days later
At Portchester bay.

One Friday in mid-November,
Eight Cormorants, a Black Backed Gull and a Grey Heron
Share the raft at Tipner.
Along the receding tide-line,
Tucked away among the Brent Geese,
A handful of Shelduck splap about in the mud,
Exotic and filthy.

Plucked a bewildered and bedraggled
Red Partridge from the sea at high tide
At Portchester bay. 
She was missing a dog-sized mouthful of feathers
From her back. No skin broken, she was shocked but alive.
We hid her away to recover. 

In the small brown bird ranks,
Dunnocks simply outnumber Sparrows,
Now rare in our gardens and dwindling to extinction
While their niche is filled by,
Well, other small brown birds.

A swarm of Wagtails
Flitter, picking tidbits in the lurid algae-green
Pebbles at the shoreline as the tide runs away.
Never more than a foot away from the other,
A pair suddenly tear away into an aerial display
Of rollercoaster swoops and dime-turns, 
Skater eights and vertical rocket launches
That put the Swifts to shame.

Blue Tits and Goldcrests bring the glitter,
Robins bully and berate
Blackbirds busy at the break of dawn.
Starlings shimmer in everything they do.
Their whole existence is a world of shimmering,
Song, flight, plumage and antics.

Parakeets, wild on Farlington marshes.
All Robin Hood green with radishes for noses.

Still on Farlington marshes, a Barn Owl
Floats across a backdrop of cattle in hazy sunlight
And vanishes in a puff of Hawthorn.

___________________________________________

I've been commuting to work for many years. I've had many conversations in that time about the things that I've seen and encountered en route, through urban and rural landscapes - largely of the "What do you even look at?"

So this is a poem about my failed attempts to spot wildlife in the kinds of 'pure', natural habitats you see on 'Spring/Autumnwatch' and elsewhere on the telly. It started off being about wildlife without the rose tinted long lenses, in built-up, urban, industrial landscapes, in closer proximity with us than we often realise, often so close that the great majority of us barely register it. Over time, I think it has changed somewhat. Evolved, you might say.

This piece is by no means 'finished'. It grows each time I see something extraordinary or beautiful on the commute from home to work each day. I cycle everywhere, though I'm not one of those 'Lycra Princesses' with all the gear, pretending I'm in the Tour de France everyday. I'm a cruiser, a meanderer. I'm interested in the texture of the journey. I have no desire to reduce it to a snap, nor to isolate myself from the experience plugged in to any artificial distraction. I want to exist in and experience the living world, not the dead world of the digitally dull, virtually non-existent. Can't touch it, can't feel it, don't know if it's real or fake. In the words of Robin Williams/Adrian Cronauer in 'Good Morning Vietnam', "What's the weather like today? You got a window, open it!" Well, now it's me saying, "You got eyeballs and a mind! Open 'em!"

On - Big Rain

I'm no Shelley, Keats or Byron,
No Hughes or Cooper-Clarke.
Just a speck on a spectrum.
The boy with the cardboard heart.
So I'll do this my way,
Be my own beacon in the dark.

Unstable as Uranium,
Gonna crack your cranium,
Put a short circuit in your brainium.
'Cos I'm firing on all cylinders.
Inspirin', it's tirin' and my busy fingers are dyin'
And I'm sick of fucking tryin'.

Collecting the uncollectable,
Forgetting the unforgettable,
Repeating the unrepeatable.
Every statement of status a state of explicit complicity
That believes in itself so seriously.

And the rain falls like suffering,
And suffering is truth
And it's a big, big rain
On a small, small town.
It's a big, big rain
On a small, small town.

You came like a crack in the ice.
Not who you said you were.
You wore a mask of integrity.
Your painted eyes, bitter lies,
Tattooed on your inner thighs.

You needed my dreams manifest,
The better to beat me with.
Pierced in the heart so your
Golden thread could drag me around,
Lead the parade, show me off.
Your broken prize from the merry-go-round.

You burned your brand on my arse.
Another tattooed barcode,
Kissing up to this paranoid farce.

And the rain falls like suffering,
And suffering is truth
And it's a big, big rain
On a small, small town.
It's a big, big rain
On a small, small town.

They say walking is the fine art
Of falling without crashing.
Well I started late 
And stumbled every step of the way.
But I threw myself wilfully,
Into the abyss of obscurity,
Laughing and screaming like a madman,
At the on-coming rush of anonimity.

And if every landscape is a condition of the soul,
Then I am a man of mountainous shadows,
Great, dark forests shrouded in the depths
Of Winter clouds.

Where the rain falls like suffering,
And suffering is truth
And it's a big, big rain
On a small, small town.
It's a big, big rain
On a small, small town.

____________________________

Another piece written entire by recital on my cycle commute to work each morning over several weeks in 2021?-2022? I like to ride along and recite out loud because it gives me a much better, clearer understanding of the "feel" of the words. I also find it easier than trying to just 'think' them in my head. Hearing the lines out loud in the open, somehow is just easier for me to remember them. Yeah, I know... I only actually wrote them down and editted them later, once they were more or less 'completed' by recital.

On - Simple Pleasures and Farlington Marshes

Simple Pleasures
Simple Pleasures like
A spliff and a can of Red Bull,
And walking the dog on Castle Field
Chasing gulls and crows for shits and giggles.

Clarence Pier keeping dry.
Abandoned buildings,
Dodging security and getting up high
With a bag of fat caps, burners and paint.
Tagging walls and comedy cocks.

Simple Pleasures
Simple Pleasures like
Dan's all-night parties,
Minesweeping shots,
K's and tequila, Jager bombs.

Off our tits, chased by cops.
Chatting up girls in Guildhall Square
- Getting nowhere....
Late for work, no surprise.
Hanging like a bastard - telling lies.
    (Ad Lib - "Some bullshit excuse")

Simple Pleasures
Simple Pleasures like
A can of Stella and a stolen bike,
Sitting in the sun having fun with the passers-by.
Try and blag a dollar for a Ginsters pie.

Back round to Dan's, he's got some weed
That helps the day go by.
Cheap Prosseco and a E for tea,
I'll tell you why - none of your business,
But I'll tell you why.

Simple Pleasures
Simple Pleasures like
Watching the sunrise over Farlington Marshes
With a spliff and a bottle of JD.

Lay back in the long grass
And listen to the birds sing,
As the dawn breaks.

Lay back in the long grass
And watch as the stars fade
And the sky turns from dark to light,
From pink to blue,

And the tide rolls in,
Bringing back memories of you.

And the tide rolls in,
Bringing back memories of you.

And the tide rolls in,
Bringing back memories of you.

_______________________________

Subject of the piece I painted for the Look Up Portsmouth paint festival in 2023. Written over a few weeks in 2021/2022 (?) on my cycle commute to work. I had the 'Can of Stella and a. stolen bike' line from seeing a bloke riding a bike the other way carrying a quite large flat-screen tv under his arm at half six one morning...

The process for writing this was reciting the line out loud to myself, repeatedly, and adding lines to it. There's something about speaking the lines out loud that embeds them more easily than trying to remember them for long enough to get to work and write them down. The metre was developed from the rhythm of the first line I came up with. The timbre of the last lines, 'Bringing back memories of you' is intended to be bitter sweet. Memories that just won't fade... 

On - Process

Having watched me working almost my entire life, I deeply love 'Process'. Whether it's printmaking, letterpress, typesetting, film/darkroom photography, bike maintenance, diy, making books, music, recording or playing an instrument. A significant proportion of the time the process is far, far, faaarrr more compelling and enjoyable than the outcome. The outcomes, are obviously important. But more often than not, are secondary to the process - if we're talking about 'What are you even doing that for?' I love wrestling with processes. I love mixing up and blending processes. I love knowing just enough about a process to be able to make it mostly work - and then working out the rest by investigation and experimentation. I love not really knowing every little detail of a process or how it will affect the outcome, but doing it anyway. There are things I Can do 'properly' (I used to teach them!) - but I just don't -why do I need to? Where's the fun in that? 

There's an old Monty Python skit about learning to play the flute that goes "You blow in one end and move your fingers up and down the outside". And that's it. That's really all you need to know.

There are pedantic people who get really deeply upset about other people "not doing it right/properly" - Like, properly offended. As if you've been rude about their mother by ignoring some intricate detail of the process be it whatever. Hm. Some things are important - others, just ain't. And here's a thing - my aesthetic is very definitely linked with my identity - probably in a more significant way than you would imagine on the surface.

It's all about the process. It is a Natural Sensibility too. By which I mean something key within the evolution of consciousness - as the brain of an animal gets better at processing (*not necessarily 'bigger'), evidently the functionality of the senses expands, awareness and 'imagination' seem to grow. One of my biggest questions about being a living H. Sapien is "Where does this fundamental urge to "make stuff" come from? What part of the brain, and how does it work?" (Right down to the level of Quantum Mechanics of synapses and the structures of neuro-proteins needed to make this shit work, right? - I have questions Prof. Jim Al-Khalili - local Southsea resident.....) (Next time I see you in Waitrose mate....)

We're unquestionably not alone in this. There are fish, birds, mammals, that build elaborate, temperature controlled, aesthetically attractive, highly camouflaged, secure nests - and decorate them, to the level of removing unwanted detritus - prospective mates judging what's good or 'better'. Rivals eyeing up their handiwork and nicking all the best ideas... Many, many animals build protective shelters for sleeping, breeding, raising young, storing food... There are insects that create sophisticated well-organised, socially structured, environmentally controlled earth mounds... 

What was the evolutionary trigger? What practical, evolutionarily advantageous function does an aesthetic creative ability, the ability to imagine an artifact, a state, a sound serve. But then also, the ability to work out a process by which that animal (*includes us - H Sapiens, monkey-boy) can identify and gather suitable materials, not just for the artifact, but for the tools and the method to make it. And to have a clear enough understanding of that process to be able to pass that knowledge on to others. 

I've tried to have this conversation with many people over the years, mostly hitting a wall where they cannot understand that we are just one of the other animal species filling an evolutionary niche. (We are just another one of the animals folks.) And the algae and bacteria waaay outnumber us. And that's just on this planet......

And yet... For sure, we've carved ourselves a pretty big niche. The iPhone is just the latest iteration/extension of this same functional process. The application of the conscious ability to imagine a thing and to work out how to make it. We have iPhones, cars, health care systems, multiple cures for multiple cancers... We have so much good shit going on. And it's very very easy to get distracted and forget that in the current geo-political climate. But we need to remind ourselves, and to remember, that we also have the inate ability to create some truly wonderful things.

We are H. Sapiens and we are the last of our kind.

On - The Walls Of Your Cage

This is not a state that
Gives a fuck about its people
They'll arrest you for the slogan on your shirt

Where is the integrity
The honesty of purpose
When Fascist legislation bears your name?

Naivety weakens
And threatens your authority
Your childish angry outburst set in law

Is a vain attempt to legislate
Against emotional responses
Against people feeling vulnerable and threatened

Well you're making an assumption
'Cos your ego leads your judgement
Like your opinion is the only form of Truth

And you believe your actions
Speak louder than your words but
Empty words and hollow gestures weigh the same

And there's a bigger picture
You're unpicking thread by thread
A tapestry of Natural Time and process

Where the voice of opposition
Is the catalyst of Progress
And incremental Evolution is the way

But every point of view is valid
Even though it's not correct
And something else is better written here

'Cos Democracy is beautiful
Like mathematical equations
Tho' beauty's rarely pretty, never pure

And there's an inner rage
That's dying to engage
And bring a revolution to the stage

And when the revelation hits ya...

Don't be afraid
It's just a picture on a page
And the surface of the image is your cage

Don't be afraid
It's just a picture on a page
And the surface of the image is your cage

Don't be afraid
It's just a picture on a page
And the surface of the image is your cage

Don't be afraid
It's just a picture on a page
And the surface of the image is your cage

Well it's Fear As Entertainment
And it's Fear As Entertainment
They love your Fear As Entertainment
They want your Fear As Entertainment

But I guess I never had that kind of Intelligence
I guess I never had that kind of Intelligence
I guess I never had that kind of Intelligence
Well I just never had that kind of Intelligence
_______________________________

There is an instrumental track for this piece on Bandcamp…

One of the characteristics of corrupted corporate consumerism is its ability to commodify the emotional voice of the opposition and to sell it back to its 'believers' so that they feel they have a 'voice'. Bought and paid for. (**Just because you paid for it, don't mean you 'own' it...)

It takes courage, strength and determination to stand outside of that circus. First you must gain distance from it. When you have distance between you and it, turn around and squint to see the bigger picture. 

On - Being Idealistic And Pretentious

Before Eno, there was John Cage.

And in 1993 a couple of things happened. Exact Change brought out a new edition of 'Composition In Retrospect', and I started Uni at Portsmouth. 

'Composition In Retrospect' is a fabulous tour of John Cage's ideas and methodology. The book is written as a series of poems based on mesostics, but the key part for me was the introduction to the second section, 'Themes And Variations', where Cage lists one hundred and ten ideas laid out in some of his other books - 'Silence'; 'M'; 'Empty Words'; 'A Year From Monday'; and 'Virgil Thomson'. 

These hundred and ten ideas were the spark that set my motor running. Not just the ideas, but the format. The simple, minimalist lay out, with no explication. Just let them stand on their own merits and explain themselves for themselves - and if they don't, or require some unpacking, then that is work for the reader to do. I love that. So I began to formulate a bank of such ideas for myself. 

Many of these stock statements I've come back to repeatedly. Some have bubbled up to the top, burst and sunk or evaporated, others have solidified into foundation strata that underpin parts of my output over the years. The rest make up the mountains, rivers, flora andd fauna of 'Dave World'. The landscape that I live in is largely made up of statements like these - in no particular order then, this is the Los Dave Matrix.
____________________________

Continuity and Change

The surface of the image is your cage

Be the pebble in the flip-flop of consciousness

Liberate our minds by any means necessary

Liberation does not always lead to Liberty

Everything - in moderation

Stand back and squint

Learn to listen

Listen to learn

Talk big; act small

There but by the grace of good fortune, go I

De-commodify the populist conception of 'creativity' in favour of the biological foundation of the urge to decorate 

Simplify, codify, unify

Arrogance and ignorance, or innocence and unsophistication?

Capitalism embraces and legitimises H. Sapiens' natural tendency to corruption

Everything is Not fair game

Some things are important, some things just ain't

All of this will have soon all turned to dust

Other timescales exist

Schemes and dreams, promises, platitudes and propaganda

Anti-propaganda is still propaganda

Conform to your own codes

Repels in a slightly attractive way, attracts in a slightly repulsive way

Live vicariously, live precariously

Choice is a privilege, not a right

One man's freedom is another man's cage

One man's freedom is freedom for all

Freedom by proxy is not freedom at all

The system of lies and hate? It's taught me what truth and honesty are

People come in two flavours; sweet and unsavoury

Even food poisoning has its benefits

Sometimes enlightenment is found in the darkest, furthest corners from the sun

The triumph of the irrational over the implausible

Learn to live

Live to learn

Just 'cos it ain't true, don't mean it's a lie

Not my camels, not my train

It's not just ok to not know, it's ok to admit you don't know

Learn the difference

If you want to know the answer, ask the question

Fewer statements, more questions

This cracked and fissured landscape

As far as possible do no harm

Not all of the days are equal

Truth don't give a shit about your dumbass opinion

Collaborate and compete

Don't be afraid to say no

Not my sax solo, not my jazz

Impossibility of knowing the unthinkable

None of this is important, none of this is permanent

True things are true irrespective of you

There's two kinds of opinions - informed and uninformed

Value is as value does

Buried amid a storm of words

Compliance is conformity

Conformity is complicity

Complicity is corruption

Anger is an energy

Grasses and saplings still stand when the wind has broken many great oaks

Knowing what questions to ask

Not my cherries, not my pie

Caught in the undertow

You are in high speed wobble. Hold on tight and enjoy the ride

All the words in the world won't save you

It all cuts both ways

A spear without a point is just a stick

It is, until it ain't

What's next?

You say the words without digesting their meaning

Think about it. Don't over-think it.

There are more ways to get answers than just asking questions

Why do you need to know? 

Just pick it up and play it

Ritual and circumstance

Identify as, identify with, not indentified by

Rebel and conform

The establishment wins by subsuming the rebellion

Simply shouting down your opponent is not the same as winning the argument

Commodify the spontaneous

It does, until it don't

Minimalism is refinement by distillation, not a hatchet job

Context is everything, except when it ain't

Everything is a commodity

Context is a commodity

Humility and humanity

What matters?

Mindful mindlessness

Last night it did not seem as if today it would be raining

Once there were no borders, no boundaries

The unwavering path crosses the river many times

The alternative is unthinkable