ANY OTHER DAY:
Starting at Barking Wimpy, coffee & Tuna toasties, cellphone
to the ear, fielding calls from the far side. Barking market,
Barking Creek, River Road. Squeezing between bent & rusted
gates, dubious items of clothing scattered along paths
to the river. A twisted pair of jeans next to a park bench,
a sports glove impaled on a security fence, walking boots
scattered drunk between discarded milk containers. Polish
fishermen smile in passing, wave, climb the sea wall & disappear
into the tidal mud flats. Rust, decay, razor wire, blistered
graffiti, the beautiful marks you leave for me to find.
A chemical wind we breath all day, grows stronger with time.
Dagenham market, deserted except for a yellow digger scratching
holes in the black earth. Lunch at the Bata shoe factory
post office, something wet with something sweet. Drive to
Coalhouse Fort, meet a Pilot of the river, smiling, shaking hands,
generous, looks good for the camera standing at the river’s edge
telling stories as huge chunks of metal float out to sea.
Bell Buoys ring their lonesome chimes out in mid stream,
black dogs bark, fast walking husbands dressed as security guards,
shaved heads uncovered in a freezing wind, hard stares,
Plastic things washed up along the shore, eroded wartime
concrete, rotting timbres held together with wedding bands
of rusting metal. Standing in the marsh, our feet sinking
into ooze, counting Piebald ponies grazing ferrel on
landfill next to the power station. We slip our heads through
holes torn in chain link fences & listen to the wind.
Gulls glide onto the surface of the river at sunset.
River like glass where concrete barges languish like the
half sunk carcasses of animals at the end of war. Birdsong like
Trim phones, sun set like a Rave Laser, graffiti masterpieces
stenciled onto brutal concrete flood defences & a luminescent
light that makes everyone smile. We gasp, standing at the
river’s edge, looking back up to the lights of the
Emerald City, chill to the bone, but happy.
(K)
Karl Hyde 
Speaking of Barking I was listening to “barking” track 7 to get an idea of the sound you’re going after with your new telecasters, it seemed that was the closest I could come to in reference to your post. Personally I’ve always appreciated the barbed wire, raunchy sound of a punk guitar…like Johnny Thunders, New York Dolls…the valve amp is a great idea, smoothes out the edges, and creates warmth without taking away the essence of the sound….smart. In between the rush of living, I actually had an opportunity to work on a mini mix for myself yesterday using an APC40. It took a little getting used to but I think I got it down. Anyway, we had a cold spell here last night which is something we’re not used to in Miami…it went down to 45 degrees last night…it seems funny to people who are used to living in sub zero conditions…but, when weather changes from 80 to 45 it’s pretty intense. With cold weather and the wind blowing hard, I grabbed my coffee and started listening to Gregg Allman for this laid back Sunday…seems to fit the vibe…All the best. Cheers.
Karl, I love the spelling error – rotting timbres – which is a fantastic description of some form of sound mixing/distortion. I am going to use it in a poem! Best wishes, Tim