Whipping through the country west of London on what feels like a model train on a felt and plastic landscape, propelled by a large hand; find myself checking the north leaning shadow the curve of a wrist or knuckle bumps. HORLICKS. SIMPSON. LIVING WORD. So this is Slough. Someone made a town of the leftover bits. And then a velvety green, some stone, some water, and at last a little rise off a ways mounted by a steeple, a spine, static electricity, ball lightning. A yellow field, metallic, flickers over there. Hedges and gates, a cluster of petrifying husks of automobiles, bright pink tennis courts. My side aches from a rough night of sleep. REGUS. ORACLE. HP INVENT. A marina, tesco extra, an inflatable estate development.
"And the face, although still hers, was not a face: it had no outer surface, it was hollowed or sharpened, almost concave. The eyes were independent of it, staring straight ahead, like those of a robot. Her body seemed to be hanging from her gaze, and its stiffness suggested a superhuman determination, as if thought could no longer act upon it, only gravity."
Hello David, I really appreciated your interview with the Quietus. You're an inspiration to me and I'm obsessed with your music. Okay! I got that out of the way! What are some of your favorite books? I'm interested in your literary influences.
BOOKS! (my favs in descending chronological order)
• just finished this one a couple weeks ago and haven’t been able to read anything else since. An ambitious and demanding read. If you’re not intrigued by the end of the first chapter, you’re probably not gonna like this one.
• Found Slouching Towards Bethlehem in a dollar bin at a library while on vacation - attracted to the neon orange cover. Two thirds of the way through reading that volume, I’d purchased the entire collected works of Didion’s non-fiction. The White Album is my fav, but Slouching is a close second.
• I read this while bed-ridden and feverish for 10 days while working on Heavy Ghost. Those days were spent reading and rereading passages and listening to Mary Margaret O’Hara’s entire catalog. Ten of the best days of my life.
of a body being obliterated by a plane’s fan blade just outside my window; terror rose like a breeze, my skin went transparent and soft and tearable, wet old leaves, I fluttered at the shock, a rock of ice slid up from my liver to my brain, a frozen river. Visions like these, daydreams really, come every few days, a drizzle at last on a gray day, expected, barely sufficient, but that lightness in the air afterwards always enough to secure the reality of the event in memory. But with just a window between, I had straddled two converging courses and I felt the panic at nearly being pulled both ways.
Heading to Utrecht today to Le Guess Who (Saturday at the Gallery) and then on to London for new tune blowout with Ben Hillier! I have all these new songs I’ve written over the last couple months to work on with him. If you’re in London, let me know!
And thank you thank you to Spew Pork Spitty for an excellent mess of a couple months. Living in Brooklyn is a hilarious nightmare and I love it.