Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Winter Solstice Shenannigans 

Curious? Please join us for a multi dimensional psychogeographical exploration of Manchester. We’ll be making a spectacle of ourselves, finding magick in the mancunian rain, listening to cracks in the pavement and probably getting a wee bit lost…. We like to make our own maps not follow them.

Gather at The Basement, 6pm December 21st 2005
Wrap up warm we’ll be off on an expedition

Need direction? Email boredinthecity@hotmail.co.uk or call me to find out where we’re from


Thursday, December 08, 2005


Mobile phones are severing the connection between souls. There used to be space for yearning but daydreams are being drowned by beeps and blips.

I thought about this on Tuesday. I was waiting for the band* when you crept into my head and wouldn’t go away, I knew you were at another gig in another city and the thought made me smile. Parallel lives converging with desire; an entwinement more precious because of the space. I’ve always feared the suffocation of everyday domesticity. I don’t want to discuss telephone bills and washing up with you, the silver line should not tangle with mundanity in case it becomes stretched and looses its sparkle. It is enough to feel it and know I am not alone.

And yet. Temptation lurks in my pocket and I could not leave it at that.

I sent you a text, just a short, unambiguous flirtatious greeting that I knew you wouldn’t resist and thus something was lost. True, I treasure your words and passion lurks within the brevity but I dwell too much on each syllable and feel a pang of loss with each deletion. Later, phones were held aloft to share distorted glimpses of tunes, I didn’t succumb to this, but still I was not fully present anywhere that night, my energy dissipated and my heart distracted by etheric messages and clumsy code words. Speaking and showing is not always communicating and a digital interface can be a mask. Sometimes I hide behind technology and noise.

I want to lie with you in silence.

*(josh t pearson of lift to experience. a transcendental swirl of psychedelic guitars, apocalyptic rage and redemptive howls. Later he asked me what can be done to save us; possessed by something I said we’ve got four righteous weapons: music, laughter, beer and prayer. If we keep faith and keep loving then all will be good…. He shook my hand and then hugged me and thus ended my self imposed exile from the retro bar)


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