Saturday, 22 March 2008

Dead Can Dance to the vernal equinox

Years ago I photographed Lisa Gerrard of Dead can Dance, never heard their music though. Did some really nice pictures of her which I'll post up sometime, when I find them...
Last night listened to their whole oeuvre and Lisa Gerrard's solo stuff... amazing. She can sound Indian or African or medieval...
Really atmospheric. Especially while roasting in front of a black iron fire graven with hieroglyphs, apples, and globes...
What a full-on spring solstice it's been... head and heart wrecked...friendships erased, new ones begun...humiliations suffered, eyes opened to duplicity...

I remember Howard Sasportas, my much-missed astrologer, who died, talking about Ereshkigal and Inanna, tales of the underworld...
Drinking Lazy Lizard red wine to the cosmic hum of the full moon...
My teenager ensconced in Wimbledon for the weekend, me alone in Clerkenwell...
Later, walking along Islington High St feeling unloved and sorry for myself, I saw an old woman outside a charity shop, in a wheelchair. Homeless person, I thought. On closer inspection, I realised it was my friend from Rhythms of Resistance. Two years ago, this woman was a surdo player, an activist, an initiator, an organiser, a blonde husky voiced strong woman who could still 'pull' ... turned out the huskiness of her voice was an initial symptom of Motor Neurone disease.. the same thing that Stephen Hawking has. Then she started to drag one leg a little... I remember being with her, when we played the Tolpuddle Martyrs festival, and trying to hold back the tears while she confessed "I'm so scared" whispering " I don't know what I've got but it doesn't look good". Now she cannot speak at all, she has to communicate through a little computer. Her long blonde hair is grey, her teeth stained and her face lined. She cannot eat spicy or hard foods.
Her friend and her were looking for a place to eat in Islington that has ground level access and a disabled toilet. Very difficult.
Further along The Angel, Chapel Market, I saw Trine, Danish siren of the band. "Hello Trine", I said, "How are you?" She made to walk straight past me, and at the very last minute fixed me with a stony stare bleating out one syllable 'good', then walked on. Sheesh. What a nutter! Beautiful, with chiseled Scandinavian cheekbones, but completely barking. Poor Scorpio's...( I always remember people's signs)

2 comments:

  1. Well, that was definitely some wild solstice night....as we sat drinking vino in your kitchen, some moon-crazed nutters were busily smashing up my Genesis Flyer (£300) frame bike....in Exmouth Market....I ignored my instinct to hide the bike away in your corridor. Why is it that we, as women have such strong instincts and yet, we often fail to follow them? Are they simply dulled by city-living so that we become disconnected from the raw initial impulse? I know that my instincts are often spot on, so why do I frequently ignore them? This was an instance of lunar madness, when there was something in the air (as there all too often is) and I should have heeded it. But at least they weren't professionals, I still have the detachable wheels, the shimano gears and the saddle!

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  2. so sorry puddleduck...
    I hope my cinema treat went some way to make amends...
    Instincts, yeah I so often ignore mine too...
    Give me a sign! I plead then go right ahead anyway, especially when it comes to men, lol.

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