Thursday 5th June

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TEETH:
 
The music induced by gas anaesthetic, regaining consciousness, 
eyes trying to focus on rippled glass, shadow figures moving 
on the other side. The name of a SoftMachine track I love, 
a lyric I’ve yet to use, a metaphor, a day, a state of mind, 
Pearly white rhythms between your lips.  
 
(K)

Wednesday 4th June

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I REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE:
 
That beach at night, fires burning, sounds of industry under 
work lights, muscular calls from across the bay. Old man Einstein 
burns to midnight oil, still crazy in his attic, laughing. Dancing 
in a black tiled back street room, passing bowls of riocha between 
us, blood red, our fingers leave our signatures on glass. A velvet 
seat shared at the back of a night club, dirty tourists. Sat amongst 
rubble & weeds exchanging glass & poetry. A black patent boot, a car 
parked beneath a street light, a goodnight, a white room strewn with 
tattoos. A telephone promise, a bath of candles & me already gone, 
walking night streets in the rain, hungry for words. The last time 
I felt your shadow fall behind me or slip inside me was just before 
the rain washed it away. 
 
(K)

Tuesday 3rd May

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RHYTHM OF A GHOST:
You were the unexpected rhythm of beautiful stripped fragments
dancing on a billboard in the morning heat. Ticket machine rhythms,
smiles through glass, a picture of a parked car, a glimpse of a life
abandoned. You were coffee vendor rhythms, words half heard
repeated. Stair rhythms, feet rhythms rising & falling, the fabulous
rhythm of bands of broken yellow & steel, the curving rhythms of
metal benches punctuated by paper cups, sitting rhythms, cups raised
& lightly touched.
You were sunlight rhythms, shadow flickers through the window of a
moving train. You were the rhythm of the steely twins taking us
away into the the rhythm of the city of dreams. An unexpected young
man strumming his guitar beneath a gentle beard, underscores the
rhythm of a table, hands dance across it making shapes in the air.
The silent rhythm between cellphone rings. The rhythm of
wide eyes laughing at the thought of him & you, walking side
by side rhythms feeling lighter than in days, the whisper of
something familiar. The rhythm of waiting at ticket barrier rhythms,
counting poster rhythms, a second of reflection, a long forgotten
shadow pulls me back to earth, the rhythm of a ghost of something
dark obscured by rhythm of smiles. Descending escalators, tube train
squeals, the curve of tunnels pierced by the familiar roll of electric
snakes. Rocking head rhythms, dancing thumbs, the dog tooth nodding
corner rhythms of free papers drooping. The rhythm of distant eyes,
ignoring the names of stations offering escape into sunlight.
The rhythm of text messages waiting for us to return to reality,
traffic rhythms, throaty whispers, the microscopic stillness between
the fragments of a constant rush. The rhythm of somewhere else.
The rhythm of this moment, the curve of a street corner held close
between broken yellow lines. The rhythm of the space between us,
rhythm of the rush of silence, of loss, of something missing as I
walk away. The rhythm of a familiar shadow slipping back in behind me,
walking in my footsteps.
(K)

Monday 2nd June

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NEW EXHIBITION:
 
For several years, John Warwicker, Toru Yoshikawa & I 
have been amassing a large collection of our photographic 
work, collecting visual rhythms whilst mapping journeys 
across cities & urban landscapes, seascapes & skies. 
Our collective ensemble CEREBUS goes public at the Centre 
for Contemporary Photography in Melbourne Australia. 
Our first CEREBUS exhibition thanks to John’s relentless 
enthusiasm. 
 
(K)

Sunday 1st June

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MELT-BANANA: 
 
Something extraodinary happened last night in the  
back room of a Cambridge pub. It wasn’t on the radio 
or on the front pages of the weekend glossies even 
though it was fabulous, visceral, exciting, profound, 
the presence of the unswerving love of music. 
Melt-Banana rolled on into the night, Southampton today, 
Brighton tomorrow, 13 shows in 14 days. Travelling in 
a splitter van, sleeping where they can, unloading, 
loading, setting up & breaking down in front of their 
audiences, single minded dedication. One of the most 
powerful performances I’ve ever seen from a band. 
Last night, though I was still trashed from months 
of travel I was lifted, energised, buoyed on waves of 
electric pure-joy, back against the wall, their grooves 
coursing through my body. This is a band that John Peel 
loved and last night I understood why, his presence in the 
room last night was tangible. 
Now I want to hear them back in session on the BBC. 
 
(K) 

 

Saturday 31st May

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CHILDREN OF DYLAN THOMAS:
 
We walked to Cardiff station , buzzing on the art we’d witnessed. 
Students we’d watched cavorting on the roof of Jacobs Market, 
swathed in curvy plywood forms, gyrating to the improvised rhythm 
of a giant marimba, the four-stick groove of a delicate girl 
discretely pouting, the click of expensive cameras & appreciative 
nods. 
We walked gentle smiling, laughing, glowing, a mini bus pulls 
up alongside, door slides open. Empty beer bottles cascade onto 
the road tiny glass glockenspiels, a torrent of drunk moms 
out on the lash, done to the nines. Tight dress, long & high, 
legs & heels & wild eyes. Towering friday night sculptures of 
precarious hair towers erupt from power brows, mascara lashes 
thick as dew hung spiderwebs, ruby lips kissed by the sour wind 
of putrified ale. 
 
(K)

Friday 30th May

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RIVER SONICS:
 
Recorded birdsong at breakfast, Riechian polyrhythms 
concealed behind the cacophony of casino slot machines,
the fabulous symphonics of a NewYork Rush hour. 
What is it about the signature sound of a space, street, 
town, river or building which makes us feel good…or not?
 
I was lured to ride the train from Essex to Cardiff by the 
promise of working with open minded people willing to step 
outside, go beyond & leave the comfort of the familiar

to explore environments made entirely of sound & then to 
articulate that sound with marks of their own creation.
 
(K)

Thursday 29th May

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Cardiff 1:
 
Crawling late into bed last night, the long haul 
from Essex, the woman with the giant pink handbag 
reading HEAT. Waiting at the curb for a car, a face, 
a friend, floating on romantic memories of nights 
drowning in this city. Crawling late into bed last night, 
entering as girls with hungry & determined eyes leave 
hotels, slip into the night in skirts split up to Sunrise. 
 
(K)

 

Wednesday 28th May

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THE BOYS:
 
The Boys are casually smoking, corralled, enclosures of 
sunlit pavements cling beneath the overhang of green glass 
city towers. Heads shaved, shirts out, collars splayed, 
jeans are turned a blind eye. All points of the compass, 
staring off into the distance, no contact, nor conversation. 
I breath their carcinogenic breath in passing, moving swift 
down rat runs, cut throughs, pristine alleys, trawling shoals 
of tattooed fish, cave art drifting through dappled light 
on builder’s swaggered arms. 
 
(K)  

Tuesday 27th May

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CATWALKING:
 
Fabulous blondes balance corrugated coffee cups, stride on heels
between the cracks of city pavements. Look straight ahead with 
piercing stare, self assured as catwalk models, powered by a 
cleaner hybrid technology. 
 
(K)