Archive for March, 2010
190310 – 32. I’ve gone and bloody dreamed a dream
Dearest her, the one that got away,
And the rest of you,
I hope all is truly spectacular.
It’s Friday evening and I’m at my little desk, in my little room, listening to the very soothing Dan in Real Life soundtrack and about to write a smattering of words about dreams, my dreams, and the things that happen between my ears and behind my glazed eyes when I’m talking, talking to you, but mostly to them. Here goes.
Someone I know called me a ‘dreamer’ recently. Before this incident I’d always imagined, or rather dreamt, that I’d be extremely impressed if faced with this almighty compliment, like my life’s work was finally being recognised, almost like winning a Nobel Peace Prize but without the cheque or anything relating to a prize, except in my mind. It wasn’t though. It wasn’t meant as a compliment at all. No recognition, no cheque, no peace, no mind prize, just a massive fat reality slap to the kisser for dreamers everywhere.
But is it such a bad thing to dream? I mean Martin Luther King Jr had a dream didn’t he? And Supertramp, they dedicated a whole song to one particular dreamer, surely a first rate dreamer. Shit, Mama Cass wanted me to Dream a little Dream of her for fucks sake, and that’s Mama Cass. With so much good dreaming in the world how could being called a ‘Dreamer’ possibly be a bad thing?
You see, it’s hard for me not to dream. I spend most of my waking hours off in Fiji, killing zombie’s in the last great Liverpool resistance, zapping big green aliens with my trusty ray gun or smoking a cigarette at the bar next to some dusky maiden, who is also a Russian spy. The bitch, and she doesn’t think I’m on to her, ah ha!
Alright so none of the above is strictly true. What I do dream about is my future, scenarios that haven’t happened yet, acted out in my mind with the characters from my life that are likely to be there at the time of these imaginary scenarios. I guess you could say that I spend most of my life living in an imaginary future in my mind. Shit, that is a little weird isn’t it?
Well no. It isn’t weird at all. I like to day dream, it makes reality bearable. Ok, so maybe I could apply myself a little more to tasks that matter in the present but I’ll always have a little day-dream as I’m doing it. Asking me not to day-dream is after all, asking me not to think, at all, and if I didn’t think at all, I’d never be a pirate ever again.
I mean it’s not like I’m totally fucking oblivious to the things that happen around me on a daily basis and I’m not in a permanent psychosis as I suspect Derren Brown’s wife is. I know for instance that the world that I make up in my mind, although very similar in many respects to the one I live in, is a damn site better. Where I live, there is no need to label anyone a ‘dreamer’, or label anyone anything for that matter. Where I live its ok for me, and you, to just sit and read of an evening and not be in the local boozer trying desperately to get balls deep in someone or other because that’s what men my age do. Where I live, money doesn’t really matter, or at least not as much as say, anything else. Where I live, it’s ok to think, even if like me, ‘You’re not paid to think’. In my world, it’s acceptable to say a big ‘fuck off’ to reality and dream of a better one.
I also know for instance that I really, really want to be a proper writer, and I’m fully aware that if I don’t just get on with it, keep dreaming, ignore the labels, and make it happen, I risk being called a ‘dreamer’ for the rest of my life, and not in the good way of my world.
With that in mind I’ve decided to reach far into the future world my mind has created and write the following Oscar acceptance speech for my successful screen play project which I’m yet to write. It’s much more fun in my world. Right, Oscars, me winning, surprised face, hugs and high fives, up to the stand to collect my Oscar, a wave, a small pretend trip up the stairs, laughter and applause, a funny with a long roll of paper after I mention that “I really didn’t prepare a speech”, and then:
I really didn’t expect this. Pause for laughter as I look down at the pretend 20 foot roll of pretend speech again. So, who to thank? Who to bloody thank. Well I’ll start with my parents, and brother, and family, and friends, and cat, and all the authors that write books of any sort, and musicians who make any music, and artists, and film-makers, and poets, and playwrights, and actors, and everyone else. I’d particularly like to thank that bloke who called me a ‘dreamer’ for making me realise that my reality is better that any other reality because its mine. Pause for laughter as my trousers fall down and I trip over them trying to pick them up. Note to self: don’t wear belt but please for the love of god wear underwear. Pretend to be embarrassed. Run of stage pretend crying. Run back on to pick up Oscar. ENDS.
Right, on that dreamy note folks I’ll be off now to do a little dream, have a read, listen to some more dreamy music and enjoy what’s left of my Friday evening before a weekend of screenplay research, more reading, more dreaming and more dreamy music. I’ll return soon with a list of the films that made the me. Until then, thanks for stopping by to visit and remember,
Dreams are nothing more than wishes and a wish is just a dream, wished to come true.
Take the good care,
Andrew Beattie
120310 – 31. The music that rocks the me
To you who is right there,
I hope you, specifically you, are mighty fine, comfortable and ready to read with vigour and diligence. You are after all, nothing if not vigorous and diligent. I have always said this about you.
And so, why the hell am I here? Well I decided last week after writing about the good books of my life, which you have surely perused, that I should really follow up with a little piece about music and more specifically, the music that I love.
Music is my chief aid during a good writing session. Take tonight for example, I am currently writing these very words, at 8:30 on a Friday evening at my desk, whilst singing along to Rocky Racoon. It’s a pretty poor example as I’ll not be able to concentrate in around 5 seconds. And there it is guys, a jaunty little bar room piano piece. Hang on a minute. Right, that’s much better, a little pleasant background noise provided by The Mamas and Papas, wonderful. Now where was I?
There are times when I can’t bear to listen to music as I actually write/type the words, those infrequent moments do exist. I’ll always have music on standby though because once I totally lose my trail of thought, become extremely frustrated and need to smoke, I’ll usually take 5 to relax with a little happy song by, well Mamas and Papas or similar, then I’m right back at it and the endless bullshit just flows and flows.
I’ll stop now before I describe every song that I’ve ever listened to and you leave me here talking to myself and instead write you a little list of my go to music, a selection of albums that I love above all others and the music that when all else fails, no other music excites me and I am ready for the proverbial crack pipe of life, I can reach out to safe in the knowledge that it will either a) sooth my weary soul and mind or b) pick me up and shake me back into some form of life. Ready? Onwards then to the list:
1. James Taylor Greatest Hits Volume 1 – James Taylor
It’s not difficult for me to see how my Dad could have fallen in Love whilst listening to the songs on this album. The soft guitar picking, James Taylor’s gentle and subtle tones, some quite astonishing lyrics and effortless delivery in the likes of ‘Something in the Way She Moves’ and ‘Fire and Rain’ are quite simply unbelievable. There are words to describe how I feel about this album, I just can’t think of any good enough. Love will have to suffice.
2. All Things Must Pass – George Harrison
As far as I’m concerned All Things Must Pass is one of the greatest albums ever written. There I’ve said it. I’ll also say, just because I’m here and you’re listening, that I firmly believe George Harrison to be the best melody writer of all time and I await your comments on that one with interest. There isn’t a song that I don’t like on this double album but ‘All Things Must Pass’, ‘What is Life’ and ‘Ballad of Sir Frankie Crisp’ stand out as my favourites. I’ll listen to this in the morning with a cup of tea and a cigarette in the Garden whilst I contemplate life. Let it roll.
3. Djangology – Django Reinhardt
My go to album when I need inspiration and nothing else. I have been but a husk before listening to this double album of genius at times only to be transported into the corner booth at a smoky Parisian nightclub on a balmy summer night in the early 1930’s, in my mind of course, by the incredible dancing Guitar of Reinhardt and irresistible Violin of Stéphane Grappelli and I always come out the other side with my mind refreshed and with a head dancing with ideas and thoughts – Wonderful music, wonderful artists, wonderful album.
4. Dylan – Bob Dylan
Bob Dylan: Wilbury, Poet, Wordsmith and Genius. Anyone who doesn’t like or rate Bob Dylan, in my opinion, is a fool. I’ll not go into detail as to why this 3-CD, self named, collection of his greatest works is, well a collection of Great Works as I’d not do it justice. Instead I’ll listen to ‘A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall’ and then possibly ‘Hurricane’, smug in the knowledge that I am right whilst I wonder again if it’s actually possible for one man to write lyrics like this – Bob Dylan: Force of Nature.
5. Rumours – Fleetwood Mac
A faultless album from start to finish and the album I’ll generally listen to in bed as I arise on Sunday morning with a cup of tea, watching the light creep into my room gradually through the blinds, wishing that every morning could be like this. I actually think this way as I listen to this album, Fleetwood Mac will do that to a man, and I’m glad of it. Don’t stop.
6. Aerial Pandemonium Ballet – Harry Nilsson
I’m a big fan of Harry Nilsson’s work and there is very little that he ever recorded that I don’t like. I think it’s the fact that the songs of this album swing so drastically from the random crazy lyrics and upbeat big-top circus type music of ‘Daddy’s Song’ into the classic ‘Everybody’s Talkin’’ with twists and turns around every corner that makes this one stand out for me. None of the songs match but the albums seen to flow perfectly, and all of them are like this – its crazy happy brilliantness and one is the loneliest number.
Those that never made it but came damn close: Abbey Road – The Beatles, Buena Vista Social Club – Buena Vista Social Club, Travelling Wilburys – The Travelling Wilburys, The Jim Croce Collection – Jim Croce, Forrest Gump Soundtrack – Various, Déjà Vu – Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young.
It’s a very difficult task to pick just albums and one of my key selection criteria and yes, I did have selection criteria, was that I had to be able to listen to the albums from start to finish on a regular basis, which is tough on some of the other nearly men and women that will no doubt be horrified to have missed out on the list. There are literally hundreds of songs that I love from albums that never made the list and hundreds of artists that I listen to regularly who are also absent from the big-bad 6. Paul Simon for example is absolutely nowhere to be fucking seen despite me now listening to, and enjoying immeasurably, ‘Me and Julio down by the school yard’ from the impressive Negotiations and Love Songs. The problem is that I’ll almost certainly turn over before the next song and am just as likely to put on some tracks from the Reservoir Dogs soundtrack as I am to listen to Louis Armstrong or De La Soul next time round. At some point this weekend though, I will listen to one of my top 6 picks from beginning to end and that Ladies and Gentlemen stands them head and shoulders above the rest.
I’m eternally grateful every day that I have music. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t kneel by my bed at night in my Green Day Pyjamas throwing up a small prayer to the Gods of Rock and Goddesses of Roll, for my ears. On that Leona Lewis-esque high note I’m off to listen to the albums and songs from artists that never made it so that I can torture my sleep with ‘I can’t believe that never made it’ dreams in which I am beaten to death by Ray Charles, Ravi Shankar, Johnny Cash, Buddy Holly and The Beach Boys. Until next time,
Remember ‘Dream’ for me, I’ll mention why when I return.
Stay lucky,
Andrew Beattie
080310 – 30. De-cluttering behind my face
Hello you.
I assume that’s you anyway or else shit, this could get a tad awkward. Oh it is you, thank Christ for that. He gets thanked for a lot Christ doesn’t he? The big question is though, does he really deserve it? Please leave any comments regarding my eternal damnation at the bottom.
So, I’d best start with an apology and not for what I’m about to write, there is plenty of time for that. It’s an apology for not writing to you again yesterday as I said I would. The 4 visitors to my blog yesterday, of which you are no doubt one, deserve better. Good luck with that.
It’s high time I did a little clear out. I’d been pondering this all weekend as I flitted from one meaningless task to another and so I decided yesterday afternoon that I’d have a life de-clutter so that I can move forward, sideways, or whatever way one goes when he is without a map, with a spring in my step and as little baggage as possible. Purely metaphorical baggage of course, I carry all I need in a black leather satchel and I rarely require anything bigger than this to carry half a pack of cigarettes, 1 little smug filofax, a weeping diary and a bankrupt wallet. What I’m actually talking about then is. What I mean is. You know I have no idea. Right, into the mind we go.
Well I think I’ve taken too much on for a start this year; little writing projects, planned holidays et cetera, et cetera, and it is starting to burden heavy on me. I spend all my time at work trying to decide what I need to do, or want to do, after work only to be lodged firmly between two tasks stuffing my face full of mints and trying not to look my goading filofax in the eye. There is this one little project which excites a great deal though so maybe I should crack on with that but then what about the other projects, what will they think when I don’t strike them off my list. I could always burn the fucking list but then I’d forget what was on there and what if someone else does them because I’d forgotten to? I don’t want anyone else doing the stuff that I wanted to do but never did because I couldn’t think what of the stuff I wanted to, I wanted to do the most. So that makes me selfish. This has not worked out well so far.
You’ll have to also excuse my talking in strange tongues about the things that I have planned. It’s not that I don’t trust you with my little ideas and thoughts, it’s just that if I fully disclose ideas on here then I’m putting further pressure on myself to do them and in de-cluttering terms that would little use. And I don’t trust you. I will say that the thing I think I want to do the most is a screenplay and I’m co-writing it with a friend, it’s historical, and it’s not about Jesus, or his brother Julio. So it’s decided then, that’s the one I’ll do. The rest of the resolutions remain the same but in terms of my writing, this is a real breakthrough – blogging and a screenplay, that’ll do fucking nicely.
Right, I have nothing more to add to this as writing aside; everything has been going pretty much ok of late. I appear in some strange way to be moving ever so slowly forward and considering I’m coming off the back of a few years of work, life and personal regression I can’t really complain much. Cheers for popping by again. You must insist that next time round I tell you about my planned trip to visit family in Cheltenham and London at the start of next month and also explain what happened that time on the Orient Express in the Summer of Love. Until then,
Be kind.
Cheerio,
Andrew Beattie
050310 – 29. The books that made the me
Dearest people,
I hope you are just damn swell.
It’s Friday evening, I’m sober, and at home and my mind appears just about clear enough to get a smattering of words down onto this little blog/diary thing that I do every once in a while and so I’ll grab the bull by the horns, and pull its fucking head off. Jesus where did that come from? Where does any of this shit ever come from? Ole.
World book day, a day that before this year I never knew existed. A day that a couple of years back I’m not sure if I’d have cared existed. Evidently, a couple of years back I was a massively ignorant twat, because the way I see it now world book day is possibly the best day of all, after Christmas. I do love me a good book.
I don’t really remember reading a great deal, not nearly in the same ferocious manner in which I do presently, before around this time last year. I mean I read before then but only very occasionally, holiday times with my ex-girlfriend spring to mind but then that may have been just to fill the many hours of extreme tedium. Around this time last year though, at least that’s when I seem to remember it, something changed. I was suddenly transformed into a book whore, a hoarder of the bound works and words of great authors and some of the not so great also but most of which I’d never heard of at that point. I had changed and seemed to be spending money almost constantly on amazon.com to acquire new reading materials. I was suddenly doing, on average, about 2 new books in a week and I haven’t stopped. When will this stop? For the love of God, when will this madness stop?
So when I remembered that yesterday was world book day I decided almost immediately that I would dedicate my next little journey into the very depths of my fractured and cluttered mind to books. A website about me, and by me, literally would not be complete without it.
What follows from here then is a little list of the books that I truly, deeply love, the books that have changed my perception of literature with each reading, the books that have inspired me to write more than any others, and the books which I treasure the most amongst the others on my shelves. I’ve also included a little explanation and a link to amazon.com so that you can buy them immediately. Here we go:
1. Peter Pan – J. M. Barrie
This is my favourite book and story of all time. A boy who could fly and desired never to grow up, pirates and Indians are just a few of my favourite things. Buy this and you’ll read it cover to cover in a couple of days. Then buy Peter Pan in Scarlett and support Great Ormond Street Hospital.
2. On the Road – Jack Kerouac
I had been told by friends that I wouldn’t like this book and after reading the first 5 pages 20 or so times within a couple of months I was inclined to believe them. We were both so very wrong, I know this now. Pure prose and energetic poetic commentary follow Jack Kerouac’s Sal Paradise across 1950’s America along with Dean Moriarty (Neal Cassady) in a tale of Jazz, booze, sex, drugs, love and longing. I could write all day about it. I won’t. Just go buy it. See also Howl, Kaddish and other poems by Allen Ginsberg.
3. The Smoking Diaries – Simon Gray
The book that took my 24 year writing block away is an autobiographical, memoir, diary, and the first in a 4 part Series by Simon Gray. The thing I love about this book and series the most is Simon Gray’s absolute honesty to his story which make the book hilarious in parts and moving in others. This book is absolutely the reason that I do this blog at all and is a must buy for any collection.
4. Exploration Fawcett – Percy Fawcett
I read this book almost immediately after reading the Lost City of Z by David Grann which is an account of both the story of our hero Percy Fawcett’s pursuit of what he believed to be the centre of an ancient civilisation deep in the Amazon, Z, and the subsequent failed attempts to find it. Exploration Fawcett then is the actual diary kept by Percy Fawcett in the build up and during his failed adventure which cost both his life and the life of his Son Jack and his friend Raleigh. I’m not sure whether the book appealed mostly to my inner child’s sense of adventure or whether it’s the era and story that I find most interesting. Either way, it’s a ‘wonderful’ adventure story. A new version of this book was released this year but I’d strongly suggest buying an old copy as its both cheaper and its age, for me at least, adds a little something to the story.
5. The Rum Diary – Hunter S. Thompson
Hunter S. Thompson’s Paul Kemp, Puerto Rico, a failing newspaper, a few crazy journalists and a shit load of rum – I was always going to love this book long before I ever read it. The story is both twisted and fast paced and so I can almost guarantee that you will blast through it in minimum time on several occasions for the rest of your life. I will anyway. See also, me being super excited about 2010 The Rum Diary Film starring Johnny Depp as Thompson’s Paul Kemp.
6. I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell – Tucker Max
A guilty pleasure that I dip in and out of on a weekly basis and I consider myself very fortunate indeed to have picked up on the last day of a holiday in Canada a couple of years back. There are a million reasons why you or anyone shouldn’t like this book, or rather the stories it contains, but a million more why you will probably laugh out loud in between wincing at the Stories. The true stories are written by Tucker Max, about Tucker Max, and are probably best summed up by the product description found on Amazon. If you are easily offended then do not buy this book but I would strongly suggest that you get a fucking life then pick up a copy.
The books that never made it but were gosh darn close: Three men in a boat, The Vesuvius Club, 20,000 leagues under the sea, The Glass book of the dream eaters, McCarthy’s bar, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.
And so there it is guys my little list of books that I love. The thing I think that excites me the most about books is that there are a million more in existence, and even more unwritten in the minds of the world, that could, would and will make this list in future. The reality, for me at least, is that I’d love to write one myself that make’s someone else’s. In fact, I’m going to.
And so, what’s left in store for me this weekend. We’ll I’m going to try and make the most of the sober head and mind and get some more writing done. I’ve one or two little projects on that I will reveal to you in fullness of time that will require my mostly complete dedication. As such, I will sleep now, then have a fry up and go to the cinema to watch Alice in Wonderland before I start tomorrow. I am nothing if not dedicated to my cause.
Thank you for stopping in again to read. I promise I’ll be back before the weekends out. Do check back as I’m going to attack religion and politics next time and tell you a story about a polar bear in a trilby. Most probably anyway. Until then,
Go read, and do it every day.
Yours,
Andrew Beattie
P.S. I make no money from you clicking the above amazon links and buying the books so if you find them cheaper elsewhere then get them there. The amazon comments I’ve found to be pretty useful though in the past although not always 100% accurate.
010310 – 28. Drunk no more
Hello and white rabbit’s you big cool bastard you.
So it’s Monday night and I’m at my desk in my room listening to a soundtrack I haven’t heard for many, many years, it’s 106 minutes till I’m in bed, I’ve got a full belly of gas, just eaten some homemade pizza, and three cigarettes, I had four until about 5 minutes ago when I smoked one in the garden, its dark and I need glasses, hit it. I love the Pulp Fiction soundtrack; I’ll listen to it more often I think.
As I may have mentioned on a previous little ramble here on my blog, I, Andrew Beattie, am a very remorseful drunk. It’s not the getting drunk part that’s strictly the issue, although it kind of is, as I show no remorse whatsoever as I drink myself into oblivion, a place where I am king of the world and can talk endless amounts of utter bollocks to whoever is unlucky enough to cast me even the most fleeting glance, it’s the following days that are the real problem, days in which nothing, literally nothing, happens as I deal with my hangover, some serious self loathing and deep regret. Taking anything positive out of last weekend then was going to be very difficult.
I had some plans man; I had some fucking plans last weekend. Nothing massively important, nothing that had to be done absolutely at the weekend, just plans, a very smug brown leather Filofax full of plans. And it started so well. Friday after work I specifically had to go and visit my cousin Jennifer and partner Marianne in Liverpool, I specifically had to eat Pizza and I specifically had to stay the night in the flat afterwards. It said this quite clearly in my Filofax under Friday, all except the specifically which is just taken as read once it’s in the Filofax. Nowhere in my Filofax did it say ‘Drink half a large bottle of Rum’ or even ‘Drink any amount of Rum’. I didn’t plan for this to happen but it did happen, oh it happened, and it happened right through till around 5 in the morning when I distinctly remember celebrating wildly as Canada won a gold medal because some crazy bastard threw himself down a snowy hill in Lycra and a helmet faster than some other crazy bastard wearing Lycra and a helmet who was presumably not from Canada.
The rest of the weekends plans, a little writing here, meeting up with a friend for coffee, reading, thinking, eating sensible adult portions of food, going to bed a reasonable time, liking myself, all now out the fucking window. The hangover I can deal with, that is entirely my fault; it’s the sheer weight of guilt about not doing the other stuff, the little things that I actually enjoy doing, that’s the real issue for me.
And so, today whilst walking to the shop to buy some lunch today I decided to give up alcohol for good. As of 5am on Saturday morning there will be no more booze for me ever again. Never more will I suffer from an epic hangover, the weekends shall be mine again and so I’ll take this opportunity to say a heartfelt; “Fuck off Whisky, Rum and all the other really tasty drinks that I’ve loved, thanks for the lack of memories, I’ll miss you but not the way you make me feel the following week.”
So maybe the weekend in a very strange way did have something in it after all and by not doing anything at all I actually did a great deal. I’m clutching at straws here guys but then if you think about it, in a roundabout way I have ticked one of my new year’s resolutions off haven’t I? Christ, this is amazing, the first new year’s resolution of the year and its only the end of February. Yes, yes I am clutching at straws, but I’m also right its right there, look:
8. Learn to drink or stop drinking.
I rule.
Right, I must go now as I promised myself I’d start The History of Mr Polly tonight before bed and it is way, way past my bedtime. Remind me next time to tell you about the time I got caught having sex with an ex-girlfriend by her Grandmother. Until then,
Please don’t offer, I’ll just say no.
Speak soon,
Andrew Beattie