David Sylvian: Forbidden Colours

Posted on April 20, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

One Listen.

Been meaning to cover this song for a while, just got to it now. Didn’t quite do it justice. Started getting a bit more into the zone toward the end, but it wasn’t soon enough. Ah well.

David Sylvian’s “Forbidden Colours” is a bonus track from the cd release of Secrets of the Beehive.

I hope you enjoy.

—

Keys rise in a silent space. All attention is on them as they play a mystery before brushing a little and creating deeper melody. And soon they are joined by other sounds, and they retract a little from the scene.

Something is now floating, floating gently, and the main melody is forming. Voice starts floating along too, adding its own bit of melody. And when it pulls away percussion comes in and the keys are prominent once more. Playing a steady flow, playing a steady drift.

The keys cede space for the vocals; the percussion remains steady, and there’s something about the sounds coming together in the way they do that makes them feel wrought with emotion.

A rising up, a stress of sorts. Stress and tension before relaxing once more. Almost like a body heaving and relaxing. And it relaxes, and everything flows along, gradually, steadily. And eventually strings take over a little, and they’re almost percussive, or implying percussion. They take the space, and soon the vocals return once more, lowering, rising, gliding along, but held close to the chest. Held close to the heart they come from.

This sort of dance in a quietened, darkened space, calling out, wrought with emotion… this thing continues on, almost lonely, or perhaps it’s self-knowing. Perhaps that’s the best way to describe it, as it all comes to a point.

When reaching that point the sounds roll and rumble with drama, with comfort, with open tears and expression, and loneliness, disappearing in anguish, wrapping in layers of soothing, of relation, and falling away as the song ends.

 

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One Thousand Word Challenge 296: Wrist Destruction Preparation

Posted on April 20, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

In a few minutes I will be engaging in wrist destruction over three hours. I’m not looking forward to it, but it’s a perk of the job or something. I don’t know. It will not be fun. It will not be easy. It will be one of the most intense things I’ve done, but I hope it can be done easily. Or rather, I hope I can do it easily. I don’t know if it will be the case. But you know, learning and all that.

So what’s the purpose of this writing? Why am I doing this when I need to engage in that? I can’t provide the answers I seek, and the answers I seek lie far beyond the horizon. Far beyond the dawn. Far beyond everything I’ve never known… I wish. Really, it’s just work.

Finally, my skills in writing will pay off. This is a good thing. Or rather, my skills in writing at a speed that is considered heinous to some will pay off.

People need things done. I am the doer.

I sometimes fear hurting myself permanently. I should not necessarily fear this, but I should be more cautious. Caution helps us get through life. Caution helps things tick away in a good way. Caution is what will protect me when it comes to danger.

What am I going on about?

I’m listening to Ennio Morricone right now. It feels like the right kind of music to have going at this particular juncture in time. Sort of tense, wide, cinematic, scene-painting music. Music that sets a tone, tells a story, or rather, helps tell the story. Music that carries us through time and scene, emphaises, does not take over, and seeks to work in harmony with everything else it is involved with. Music that builds and releases, and music that flows on and on, and only for as long as it needs. Maybe this is the soundtrack I need for an upcoming drive, or something.

So the day is starting. I’m at work, I’m doing my thing. Sitting here, hoping for the best, expecting the worst. I’ll get there in the end. I’ll find what lies beyond the beyond. What is within my bounds of reach and what falls within the reach of my bounds.

So yeah. I’m just writing to warm up as I need to. I need to be ready for three hours of wrist destruction. I can get through it. I hope to get through it. It’s gonna take time. Approximately three hours. I’ll get there, however. I’ll get through it. I’ll get to the end and then I’ll cry and slump against my seat, fall into a deep slumber and snooze the day away. That’d be great. That’d be ace. I wish it were the case.

Gotta stop this rhyming… some time in the future, of course. Not now. Right now is the time to rhyme, but I lack the thyme to do it…

What am I going on about? Why now does the nonsense need to pour? I have the cap on and yet it keeps coming. It refuses to abate. It refuses to stop. I need it to stop. I need it to cease its ceaseless attack of everything and finding the nothingness to plug with more of itself. This does not help matters. This does not help everything. This does not help anything, either. This is the pain of the matter of life, and life is finding its way. Life is finding its way to come through the gibberish and the waste of words, and it pours on through but then the nonsense attacks with greater fervour, with greater grandiloquent disquiet, and I am naught but an imposter upon this shifting landscape, all toroidal and inverse and creating malaise and unease within the great population that spreads across thickets and bunched dunes, where the atmosphere disappears to imbibe upon itself, all lavish and slovenly, and large and in charge, and… yeah.

And so on and on it goes and it keeps going, and I can just spectate. I can just iterate. I can just find my feet and find them with a solemn promise that I will find out if I really am an imposter, or if I am just feeling like one. You know, come to full realisation and all that cool shit that sounds cool and shit.

But these things happen and events occur, and you try to get through it all the best way that you can, and sometimes that’s not good enough, but does it matter anyway? What does it matter? What does it mean? Who cares? Do I care? I don’t know. I’m just floating in a world that requires me to type like a person who types really fast at times, and I don’t know if that should be my entire identity. At lest, right now it is and I am the best person for it or some such nonsense, but it isn’t really nonsense. It’s just what it is and I keep on doing it and going through the motions and flexing my lack of writing speed in order to impress myself and only myself. How the way it go when it go, and it sure does!

But I don’t know what I’m going on about at this point. I think I just need a solid rest, and that will come to me soon, but not soon enough. But tomorrow! OR today. OR at some other stage in life when I finally allow myself to be at ease with everything, and hey, that would be nice. That would be nice and good and all of those other things, and… well, yeah. What else can I say? What else can I get across that makes less sense than just saying the thing? I don’t know. I don’t care to know. And it’s all good. It’s all groovy. I just know that I’ll get there and I’ll get the thing done well.

The time it took to write one thousand words: 11:45:52

Nice to know I still don’t have it, but this was fun in some places.

Written at work.

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One Thousand Word Challenge 295: Change, Again

Posted on April 20, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

Sitting here, doing a writing in Duoly Rob for the last time for this blog. Probably not the last time I sit here. I hope it’s not.

A cold and quiet morning and it’s all nice and pleasant and all of those other things that sound good to say. I don’t know. It’s going to be a good day, I hope. A busy day. Just another day through the threads of time weaving themselves in and out of my life, visiting me here and there.

It’s nice sitting here. I feel it’s a place that will end up disappearing. I know I’ve said that before, but I do believe it. I believe it with all of my heart, and there’s just something that I can’t shake. The change in atmosphere, perhaps. The changing of the times. The Glebe Business curse, or some such nonsense that I’m making up on the spot, though a good few businesses in Glebe do close down, though I imagine that it’s not much more than in any other area you care to imagine.

There used to be this older guy who came into Duoly Rob. Maybe he still does and it’s never at the times I’m here. I don’t know. But he used to come here and I haven’t seen him in a while. It makes me think of all the lives that come into cafés. All the regulars who suddenly stop being regular. Who leave their presence here, and then never come back to claim it for whatever reason, and slowly it’s eroded away. Just memories that fray until they are indistinct, and all there is left is a vague feeling of something. I don’t know.

We come across so many people in our lives. So many interactions, so many personalities, and then one day they are gone, and maybe we don’t notice at first. Maybe it takes a while to get there, to see, to realise. You might be doing nothing with your time, or just out somewhere and for some reason they pop back into your head. You remember them and you wonder, but you never got contact details. You only know that they were there and then they weren’t.

Maybe that’s why the place you loved started feeling different. Something you couldn’t put your finger on. It wasn’t just the place. It wasn’t just the building. It was the personalities that came in and that you grew to know. You learned about their lives and their journeys, and you told them some of yours, and there were laughs and passion, but in a sort of quiet, calm way.

Maybe you never interacted with them at all, but there was something about them being there. Their disappearance, their lack of returning makes you feel it. And it’s odd. However, as always, things change.

I’ve been mentioning change a fair bit recently, and maybe it’s just where my mind is. This blog ending is change, my staying out of call centres is change. There are a lot of things that indicate change, and time passes and all that. Right now, Duoly Rob changes, but it’s still here. It still exists, even if it is not the same as it once was.

Being at this café, coming across it and deciding to get breakfast from it one morning helped me out far more than I’d like to admit, because it was a routine that I could stick to. It still is a routine I can stick to, and that’s great. I still enjoy it here, but how many more times will I come here? I know I will after today. I know that, at the very least, I have a few more visits in me. However, things tend to drift away, and maybe I am, too. I don’t know. I feel part of the furniture at the moment. Is that a good thing? I don’t know.

I don’t mind being known at a café, but sometimes I prefer a sense of anonymity. Just a brief blip, a visitation in a day, soon to be forgotten. There but not existing. Just part of the background noise. Sometimes I love to be known, to be thought of. Sometimes I just want to be visible, I guess.

But all things change, and soon I will be writing again. Beyond today. Beyond this blog. I’ll be stringing words together, trying to make sense of the world around me. Trying to get across an impression of my environment in a way I haven’t in a long time. I don’t know if I can do it, but I am going to try. Always do. Always will.

I’m not looking to write a book. Or rather, not a novel. There are pitches I have in mind for books, but I am not looking to write one. Instead, I am looking at what lies ahead. I have ideas, and some of them don’t fit neatly into From Somewhere out the Back, or into Culture Eater either. I need to see what happens, where they go. I need to chase them over time, see what they tell me, and I need to try and be quiet about it, too. Some of that may mean leaving places behind, starting over. Finding a new way through life. That could mean leaving Duoly Rob behind, and I don’t know if I’d mind. It’s a pleasant café. I like it here. However, perhaps my time is up with this place, and I’ll be a memory that gradually frays over time until there is nothing left other than a vague feeling.

This is getting a bit more emotional than I had intended, but I didn’t intend much beyond doing a bit of writing. I’ve done that, and it went somewhere, and I like that. I like the journey. I like the path. It’s a nice feeling, knowing that things are coming to a close, I suppose. And it’s sad, but it’s mine and it’s for me to follow.

The time it took to write one thousand words: 14:45:05

A bit more serous than I would have liked.

Written at Dirty Red.

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Oceansize: Everyone Into Position Draft

Posted on April 19, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

I can’t say much about this draft, but it was originally written out for something and that something didn’t materialise, in part because for the first attempt I realised I didn’t have enough time to put forward something that actually said what I wanted, and the second attempt was prevented due to getting dumped and needing to deal with that. Instead, I’m taking the below and gradually turning it into an essay, and am going to make a fresh attempt at that something.

The final version of this essay will be published on From Somewhere out the Back. If you’ve been following my stuff here long enough, then you’ll recognise the name as the title for when I write about music releases in my music collection. I’d been intending to dedicate a space for those pieces for a while, and of course rather than hold to that, the space expanded to more than just music.

The draft below is just to give an idea of progress.

—

Oceansize were a band that existed between 1998 and 2011. They spent a lot of that time touring and working on music, and that’s all that needs to be said about them here, as this is not the space to completely dive into their history.

I discovered Oceansize purely by the luck of FBi 94.5 giving me one of their singles (“Remember Where You Are”) as a prize, and then later on their album Effloresce. That was 2004 and 2005, I believe. A good few months later, toward the tail end of 2005 I was in JB Hi-Fi and I saw Everyone Into Position on one of the racks. I remember being surprised about a new Oceansize album being out, probably thinking it had been a while, and proceeded to buy it.

A good while ago I decided to spin Everyone into Position for the first time in a while. I’ve got it starting with the pre-gap track, “Emp(irical) Error”. Then it’s the opening track, and my favourite: “The Charm Offensive”. The album is flowing in a way it hasn’t for a long time. “Music for a Nurse” is a great track, and then it leads into “New Pin”, my favourite track.

The album keeps going, moving with a deft tightness, and gets to my favourite track, “Mine Host”, a fragile, spaced out, drifting piece of mood music, and a good respite in the middle of a violent whorl. Eventually the album has to finish, and it finishes with my favourite track, “Ornament/The Last Wrongs”. What a fucking song. Powerful on record; powerful live.

According to Mike Vennart back when he made use of Tumblr:

“The writing process itself was interesting, we’d bought a computer and some mics and were making decent demos on our own, much to the delight of our record company. We started writing ‘onscreen’ for the first time ever. Songs like ‘Heaven Alive’ and ‘Meredith’ were pieced together. Steve worked up a 4-track demo for what became ‘Dirty Sweet Smell Of The Summer’. I brought in the chords for parts of ‘Charm Offensive’ and we designed it from scratch as the opening song. The whole album was, from my point of view, designed as the ideal festival headline set. We all went to Glastonbury every year and had some super-drugged up experience watching Radiohead or The Flaming Lips or Mogwai or Cardiacs or whoever. We, or rather I, wanted something that would work on that level.”

Thinking of Everyone Into Position in such a way does make sense. How it dips and rises, and speeds up and slows down has that sort of riverine flow feel, but thinking of it in that manner also feels limiting, because it works as a regular main act set too. The album starts with “The Charm Offensive” which seems to brood and menace before eventually pushing out of that. It moves toward more melody and questioning, and eventually lets loose, releasing all that was from the start and throws down. It calls to action; it calls to preparation. As guitar, bass and drums cut and floor everything, vocals scream out “Everyone into Position!” multiple times. It’s a song certain of itself.

From there the album moves into “Heaven Alive”, a song of Oceansize’s that was floating around for a while prior to this album. It looks more at atmosphere in places and it takes that roaring, raging sound from the opener and turns it into something more melodic and singular. “Homage to a Shame” pushes back into intensity and seems to go on a more hardcore journey, or some sort of avant-garde metal, though I imagine the band would call it more “prog indie” or something like that. Maybe they’d refer to it as “a thought”. I don’t know.

“Meredith”, “Music for a Nurse” and “New Pin” follow after. The first two move toward a gentler, more open and atmospheric space. It’s a very sudden release in some ways, but it also feels fitting. The sounds are gentle, even when they “rage” (the term is being used incredibly loosely at this point), and there seems to be a cradling toward a naked openness. “New Pin” itself sits in an odd spot as it straddles both the more aggressive side of Everyone Into Position and the calmer, but it fits with the prior two songs quite well in lifting back into a more “direct” space without dismissing them. It also feels like one of the more experimental tracks, though the whole album is, really.

“No Tomorrow” also straddles both sides, though in a much more overt manner. It starts gentle, though not without an undercurrent of pressure, releases, and gradually moves toward a breakdown of sorts. It feels pummeling the whole way through. It’s almost at odds with “Mine Host”, if “Mine Host” had felt out of place. It offers a breather; a fragility among all the noise and loudness, and seems to hold a darkness that can’t quite be pinpointed. It’s gentle, but it’s also not.

From there you get “You Can’t Keep a Bad Man Down”, which is the least narrow-feeling song on Everyone Into Position. It’s a monolithic slab of more expansive stuff, just wide and grandiose, and slow moving. Cinematic, in a way. It doesn’t quite pummel or pound or smash, but it looms large and looms over, and seems almost like it’s going to crush, and it puts forward more heaviness in the vocals which drift in a way that is at odds whilst in complete harmony with everything else.

At that point it’d be fair to tap out, maybe. It has been around fifty seven minutes of an album moving through different moods and feels and textures, and it’s as bloated as it is lean. What else is there, other than a poignant closer?

“Ornament/The Last Wrongs” is one of Oceansize’s signature songs, in a sense; in particular, one that strongly defines them as they were in 2005. It starts small, and it grows, and grows, and it keeps on growing. Oceansize put their all into this one and it charges when it needs to. To be fair, the band did the same with earlier songs, but here everything culminates. It asks questions without trying to provide answers, and it speaks universally of a state of mind at that point in time. It’s one that’s quite relatable, and it seems though, that among it all, there’s some belief or idea that maybe everything will be okay, despite all the questions.

—

Back in 2015, Mike Vennart wrote “Everyone Into Position did not set the world alight; far from it. But it was a very important record to me when we were making it, and to this day I respect it’s ambition, it’s scope and it’s (sic) fucking fearlessness.” Mike has a particularly poetic way with words, and generally does not mince them, so I have no doubt that this is an openly frank assessment of the work.

Likewise, Everyone Into Position didn’t elicit much of a response from myself when I heard it the first couple of times. I remember listening to it and thinking “yeah that was great, that’s fine”. I know that “New Pin” stuck out a bit more than the other songs, and got a bit of play on its own, but I spun the album a few times, apparently “got it”, but I’m old enough to know I didn’t get it at all.

When the album started to actually click, I listened to “Ornament/The Last Wrongs” on repeat for two hours. I was off to one of those all-night movie things. I think it was late 2006 or early 2007. I was walking from a train station to the shopping centre where the event was being held. I had “Ornament/The Last Wrongs” on my playlist for the travel, and it came on, and it hit like a weight.

It went right for the gut, and that turned something on in my brain, and made me feel something in the sense that it resonated hard. I was the adolescent in pain and not mature enough to understand those feelings, but that song spoke to me, and so I listened to it for the rest of the time I was making my way, just walking through the night to where I was meant to be. It fucked me up then, and it fucks me up now, though the way it does now is different. I am older than Mike was when he wrote those lyrics and when they first hit my ears. I have a better understanding of why, and it hits deeper, and takes root and grows.

Living in Australia is not conducive to being a fan of Oceansize. They mostly toured The UK and Europe, and ventured outside a few times. As such, other than being quite fortunate enough to catch two of their shows when they toured Australia, there’s a lot of the experience of being a fan of theirs that I missed out on. There is live footage on YouTube, sure, but there’s a difference between watching that and being there. But them making a fan out of me was easy work. They were a band to give time to, and you’d be rewarded for it.

Over time more of EIP‘s songs revealed themselves to me, and I was drawn further into the Oceansize spell. They became one of my favourite bands, no contest. I mean, they’d have headed that way over time – Effloresce is an amazing work and it appealed to me – but EIP cemented it.

Everyone Into Position is, in some ways, an erratic album. Its mood – at least in terms of sound – is variable, though some songs hang together better than others. Perhaps not all of it strikes gold, and that’s part of its charm… maybe. It’s difficult to describe the album as an immediate one, or an easy listen either. At this point it’s difficult to offer much more beyond what I’ve said, and all I’ve really done is describe the album.

My ex has said that Oceansize don’t sound like a happy band, and in some ways that’s true. What with how EIP touches on a few different things, it can take some time to really see how it all connects and oscillates in waves. At least, that’s what I feel.

That said, I don’t know if I could wholly articulate how I feel about this album in a way that could successfully argue for why I think it’s worth listening to. What I think I can say, with confidence, is that over time, it has become my favourite of Oceansize’s releases, and might just be their best. Sure, Frames is a better album, but Everyone Into Position might just be their best.

Last year Everyone Into Position turned twenty. Twenty years of revealing itself, growing further, and aging really well. Twenty years of being part of the soundtrack of my life, and twenty years of putting forward all these interesting sounds and textures and moods, and skill in service of the music. It might not be the most known album, but it feels relevant, even today. It’s an impressive work. Sprawling and concise at the same time, technical and simple, abstract and concrete, ornate, pretty, and affecting in all the right places.

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Horsehead: Burn

Posted on April 19, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

One listen.

Here at the end I want to be writing more about Australian music. Can’t explain why and I want to be clear that there’s quite a few bits of writing to come that aren’t about Australian music. Just want to be writing more about it at the moment. I think that it’s partly due to it being home in a way, and there’s a lot of Australian music that I think is also good driving music.

Anyway, I write what I wrote below, and it kind of works, kind of doesn’t. I was feeling my way through as is the way, but  think that really comes across here.

Horsehead’s “Burn” is from Horsehead.

I hope you enjoy.

—

Dry guitar, biting, abrasive in a sense. It rises slowly, steadily in loops. Other instruments soon join and keep rising, rising, striking, steady, slow, engulfing, rising some more, howling almost before crashing in sound and locking down to something a bit more menacing and pushing. Dangerous.

The vocals move through it all, in a dark space, menacing, tense, looking to release, and they do with the sounds soon, but only a little, letting out some energy.

The sounds continue as do the vocals, and now there’s more melody. More grandeur, in a sense. All low, but dramatic in a way. Still dry, bristly, abrasive, and soon everything rises again. Rises and calls out.

Another point found to hold on for a moment, before swinging back to the familiar, then lowering and expanding once more. One guitar comes out, starts noodling away, but only briefly, and soon it’s just the bass and drums locking in, pushing, lurking, menacing. Guitar then rages, looks to light something, to start something, to bring back a certain loudness to it all.

Dramatic starts and stops, emphasising, punctuation, calling out, calling across, stirring and welling up, lowering, a hopelessness, a hopefulness, calling out, and the vocals return in full for the climax. Still dry. Still abrasive and bristly, and climactic, raging, buzzing, drawing everything in, consuming it all. Steady, slow, and yet rapid somehow. Comforting too, somehow. Comforting, reassuring, confident, strident, all wide open, all linear, striking out in the final moments before settling on a final note at the song’s end.

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One Thousand Word Challenge 294: Recompress

Posted on April 19, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

Need to do a bit of a decompress after that bit of writing that just came before this one just before this one. A bit of a decompress to recompress and then impress upon the insistence of my belligerence.

Really I just want to try and write fast but I don’t know if success is in my pocket right now. Will just have to see what happens, really.

It’s still morning. Still day. Still a bright day out there, and there’

s a bit of a breeze now. Makes it a bit nicer. That’s good. That’s kind. That’s good and kind. I like seeing it; it adds a sort of confirmation that things could be okay. Maybe not right now, but they could be. And that’s good. I think.

Of course I don’t always think, but when I’m not thinking I still am. It’s a vicious cycle and I don’t like it… until I do, in which case I do like it. How it goes, really. How it always goes. Nothing changes, but the colour changes hue, and the world changes, and what am I doing, going on about change so much recently?

I think my brain is elsewhere. Elsewhere fighting whatever, fighting demons in my mind, finding food and eating it the best way that a one person can eat food.

The dog is still asleep. It has woken up here and there, but it is asleep. A good way to be.

I’m thinking about going into the city today, mostly because I have to in order to pick up some TEA. This is just going to be another day of days, and ut’s stiff that needs to be done as I purchased it and I need it for an event of sorts, but I also don’t want to go to the city. I’m quite happy being away from it, to be honest. There’s something nice about seeing the wind in the trees and the sunlight reveal a slither of spider silk. I don’t know why this is nice, but I find it to be. That’s what I have to say about that, and so… yeah.

So a day lies ahead, I’m sitting here doing the thing that means that I’m slowing myself down, in terms of getting things done in a timely manner. Is this a bad way to go about things? Yes, yes it is. However, this is what I do better than anything else. Therefore, I must do it. It is in my nature to procrastinate and not take responsibility for my actions causing issues, and I refuse to change this. I refuse to do anything different. You can’t stop me.

Nothing can make me change and change will not be had, when all the dollars are whole and the world is an expense. Or something.

These slow days are great, however. It won’t be soon, but it will be later. It will be a slow and pleasant one, and there will be things done and things not done, and everything will swirl around in an order that makes no sense, and that will be the way it all goes. It will continue, this senseless making, and it will continue with all of the gusto and laziness that it requires.

But no, this is a slow day. Busy, but slow. Like a river meandering aimlessly, though rivers do have aims, so… I guess a kid meandering aimlessly? A kid without a care in the world, splashing about, walking upon walls, experiencing the world as a small person, with a big world small, too. But I don’t have that wonder. I have to get through things still. I still have to produce and create, and I still have to get to the end of the day in one piece. I still have to do that much.

Well, so do kids, but the point is that I’m not a kid and I don’t have that kid wonderment anymore, on account of not having been a kid for a long time.

Well anyway, I think I’ve said all that I can say. This is where this ends. Or here. No wait, maybe it’s over there. Maybe it’s not anywhere. Maybe this is yet to end and I have overestimated my confidence and ability to write in a fashion that is compelling, entertaining and provoking of the thought. Tickling the mind, the brain, those sorts of things. I’m sure I’ll work it out eventually, somehow. Somewhere.

Is this the end of this writing? Is it still over there? Am I yet to reach a satisfying conclusion? I don’t know. I don’t profess to know. I don’t want to profess to want to know. I don’t even and odd and in certain structures, with certain forms of knowledge, think that I can ever know. It’ll just come at me, one bit of bad writing at a time. How it goes, how structure forms, how things regurgitate around here. Unchanging, never flinching, but always finding the way it needs to find in order to make the point that it doesn’t need to make, and only upon greying tides and never on grey ties.

Yeah, so that was a load of crap, but it came from me so it must be brilliant. It must say something about the deep desire of people who want to find where they lie when the moors moor themselves upon the moors.

I think I really am just throwing whatever together. It seems to be working, but the end was meant to be earlier, and yet it wasn’t and so I’m still going on and I don’t like it. I want my rest. I want this to stop. It’s still going. Where are you, end of bad bit of writing? Where have you gone? Why are you not visible to me? Was it something I said? It could have been anything, and I didn’t mean to say it or hurt you. I’m sorry, really sorry.

Oh, here it is.

The time it took to write one thousand words: 12:12:63

Happy with the speed, happy with the mess. Mainly the second half, however. I feel that I was getting more in the zone and sure, it’s clear I’m stretching things out, but I think it works.

Written at Killara.

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One Thousand Word Challenge 293: Another Day Like Any Other

Posted on April 19, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

They woke up, stepped outside of their cave in the rock, walked down through the greenery and to a creek to gather water. They would then walk back, boil it, use it to clean and save some for themselves to have with breakfast. They’d then look at some images of people they once knew, then walk to the ocean’s edge. All of this was in close proximity, thankfully, and even more thankful they were for having access to freshwater.

No other land visible, no sign of human activity.

They would stare for a long time, and it was always the same amount of time, then go about the rest of their day.

Usually it was spent trying to make something but never quite getting there, and ensuring the health of the biota on their bit of land. Ensuring things were in a balance, in a state of preservation.

Come the evening, they would prepare themselves some more food and stare at the images of people they once knew, until it came time that they would need to rest for the following day, and this cycle repeated day in, day out. Always looking out to the ocean, always seeing nothing to suggest human presence. And so on it went. And this was their routine. Another day like any other, had they not broken their routine that morning.

How long had it been since they saw someone else?

The seas had risen over time, over generations, and eventually it picked up pace, then started slowing again. They were fortunate to be with a group of people who had to set sail from where they once lived, for it was steadily pulled under the waves. Boats headed in all directions, with a hope to find others, and a hope to find larger land. Theirs was the only to make it to the bit of land they came across, and it was with a small family, too.

And the years went by, and they watched the people grow old whilst they did not. They watched the children grow old and they taught what they could, but there was only so much. And over those years, one did not get to grow old. They were unfortunate to pass before they reached their middle years.

There were times when the boat was used to try and chart and find others, and at times this search would go for months, and they’d come back to the family with no success. The boat had to be used sparingly, for tools and materials for maintenance were limited, and there weren’t any more that could be easily procured from the island they found. Too many trees gone at any given time could destabilise the area, and even then, the tools would wear and eventually break. Everything had to be considered.

When the last of the family passed, leaving just them on their own., they set out once more. They set out for months, countless, and they sailed, and they saw nothing. Sure, bits and pieces of land here and there, but nothing to sustain human life, and so they headed back. In attempts to repair after, the last of the tools, already worn, finally gave. Unable to be repaired themselves, the boat was pulled out and left to fall apart and be reclaimed.

Early on they spent their days measuring the tidal levels, looking for some sort of change. A consistency over years and years, and perhaps decades, and the tides did rise, but they slowed, and eventuality found an even level. And they kept doing this until they eventually stopped.

Here and there bits and pieces of something that could be from another person washed up or passed by the island, but it was never more than anything that suggests debris making its way around the world. Nothing new, and over time less and less recognisable.

And so their days moved like clockwork, passing with the winds, passing with the tides. How long had it been? Decades? Centuries? They didn’t know. They just kept going, kept surviving the best they could, kept going through the routine, never aging and getting lucky enough to not need repairs.

They stared at the images and they longed, for everything was fresh. They stared out over the ocean, their thoughts not there, or perhaps far beyond knowing, for they were only the thoughts of their own, and they had no one to share them with.

They cleaned, and ate, and cleaned some more, and slept and woke, and on and on it went, set in routine with little variance. The island was preserved as well as it could be, and its biota kept thriving, and they were there, with only their island, the occasional passing creatures, their memories and themselves.

How long had it been since they last saw someone alive, when a boat arrived? Or at least, what looked like a boat.

It was in the dawn. For the first time in many, unceasing days, they broke their routine and came to the shore before first light. Something compelled them to come. Something drew them there. They walked down, they stood there, staring out. There was nothing. They stared, wondering, trying to discern the source of what was compelling them, drawing them to the shoreline. Nothing. But something felt different.

Gradually, over the minutes, something was different. Something faint, but being revealed by the first threads of light weaving across the sky. Something they hadn’t seen for a while, and it was approaching at a steady pace.

And it landed as dawn was preparing for sunrise, and colour was coming into the great expanse above. And it came to shore, and off it people, recognisably people, left the boat, and pointed in surprise, and ran up to them. Carrying tears, the people spoke, and in all the languages they knew, this was one new to them. And they were so overwhelmed with relief, sadness, joy, grief, with everything, that they felt nothing.

The time it took to write one thousand words: 21:49:45

Slow. Slower than desired. Could be better, but I’m quite happy with the result.

I had this idea of writing about someone who was stuck and isolated for some unfathomable amount of time, then having people in their lives again but being unable to communicate in whatever form available (in this case, verbally) due to how much language had changed. If the person just had an unreasonably long life, that’d be interesting, but here I made them more a robot than anything else. Anyway, I had this idea a while ago and finally got it down here, and yeah, it’s rough. It’s rally rough, but I am happy with how it turned out.

Written at Killara.

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One Thousand Word Challenge 292: Morning

Posted on April 19, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

Been sitting here for over an hour. Starting the writing now. That’s an improvement, I guess.

I’m sitting here with a dog. I’m sitting alone, and awake, and I’m sitting in silence. well, that’s a little lie. I’m sitting here with the sound of a clock, and the sound of Crowded House playing, and I’m wondering as to when Neil Finn will just stop. I wonder when Neil Finn will stop bringing his family into bands. I wonder… jokingly, of course.

But I’m sitting here. I’m wondering how the day will go. As always, this is one of those posts to get warmed up to, for me, for I need to warm up. I can tell that I am typing quite slowly. I can tell that I am not writing my best, or my worst for that matter. I can feel how slow I a going, but I am trying. I am trying to get the words down. I am appreciating the light in this room. I’m appreciating how dull and gentle it is. I am appreciating the dog, lying there on a dog bed, possibly awake, looking awake, just watching, and slowly closing its eyes, but not really going to sleep. Just watching.

Maybe it will go to sleep soon.

There’s a stillness in this pocket of the earth. There’s a stillness in the world, and nothing is moving. There’s… no breeze, actually. Nothing I can see, anyway. How eerie. How uncomfortable. There is no movement outside at all. There’s the sound of birds but the trees aren’t swaying, not even gently. Maybe they are and I’m not close enough to see their subtle movements. I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right, somehow.

But this is just the world. This is just the way of things. Winds don’t always blow. Things don’t always move. Sometimes it takes time and sometimes time takes itself. Time takes time to take time and all that, whatever that’s supposed to mean.

Somehow I’m going to have a day of charging through things and staying busy. Somehow I’m going to achieve what I’m setting out to do. Only a few more days and they are mine, and I need to make the most of them. Cramming a lifetime into a few days. Always do that, really. Doesn’t make much sense to do it but I keep doing it because I am a fool. I am a fool with ideas and a plan, and I plan to get them all done. Clean things up. Find myself at the end, relaxing, sleeping well, those sorts of things. It’ll be great. It’ll be good. I’ll dig it. Or I won’t. Something will happen, however. Something will be done.

Why do I keep putting myself into these situations? Why, I haven’t even had my second coffee and I’m writing, and I’m writing slowly. I’m writing far slower than I would like! My hands are too cold for this, I deserve better. I’m getting worse. I’m feeling it, and in feeling it I am feeling it. Or not. I don’t know.

So usually this is the point where I start “bringing it home”, but I’m still looking for whatever. I’m still looking for the right words, the right forms. I’m still looking for how to get to where I must, and I’m looking for what direction I’ll be taking in a few days. In a way I already know, but it’s not clear to me. Does that make sense? I hope it does. Always hoping, never sure. Such is the way that I live, really.

But now I must bring this home. I need to bring the post to roost, to rest, to finalise the start so the start can get going and so I can get onto the next thing. That is how it all works, or something. Sometimes. Who knows. I don’t. Do you? Maybe.

I’m a little amazed I got this far, and that I’ve kept some consistency going. I think over the next few days I’m going to try and get more things shared than I ever have before. It’s a significant concentration of posts, sure. It is probably too much. However, I am still going to try. I am still going to give it a go, because I think I can get it done and I just want to really end things on a sloppy note. I want to end things in the biggest mess I can muster, and so hopefully that pans out.

Really I just want to end things in a way that leaves me not feeling stressed. Only a few days, but it should just be enough. And then I am to wherever next. And that’s cool. That’s fine and dandy, as far as I am concerned.

I think I might need to use the bathroom, and that could be why I’m struggling this morning. Should be using the bathroom rather than writing. I am stubborn and all that.

There’s a sense of stillness outside, and even though there’s sound in here, there’s a sense of silence. There’s a sense f emptiness, but this space is full. This space is interesting. This space is just a little still. The world is still waking up, and that’s fine. that’s dandy. It’s just odd, but it’s relaxing at the same time. This whole world is wide and vast, and this one pocket feels odd, but I’m sure that if I were to go outside, everything would reveal itself as being lively. Everything would be in motion in some way. It’d be beautiful, but the outside world always is. That’s how it has always been. It’s great. It’s wonderful. It’s the whole wide world and everything that it offers, and we only see so much of it at any given time. We see pockets of a grand tapestry, and we have the choice to wholly, utterly embrace it.

I think I’ve said all I can say now, and the dog has gone to sleep.

The time it took to write one thousand words: 13:42:09

A low sort of writing. Lacking excitement, and perhaps as quiet as the morning, tough without the elegance, grace or wonderment.

Written at Killara.

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Grace Jone: Slave to the Rhythm Draft

Posted on April 18, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

I’d been meaning to write about Slave to the Rhythm for a while, but I had difficulty in working out how to go about doing so. I just churned this out now whilst listening to the album. It’s a base form to work with, and eventually I’ll be able to turn it into something better. It gets some of my thoughts across and that’s the main thing. There’s something to work with here.

The final version of this essay will be published on From Somewhere out the Back. If you’ve been following my stuff here long enough, then you’ll recognise the name as the title for when I write about music releases in my music collection. I’d been intending to dedicate a space for those pieces for a while, and of course rather than hold to that, the space expanded to more than just music.

The draft below is just to give an idea of progress.

—

Okay, where to start with this one?

I remember, as a child, hearing “Slave to the Rhythm”. I had a bit of variance in the music I heard when I was growing up, and I know I heard this song. I know I heard it as, a few years ago whilst I was walking around Flower Power, I heard it played over the PA and recognised it. I subsequently sought out the song, heard it and wondered why it wasn’t the same as what I heard. Then I wondered why the one that I was familiar with was called “Ladies and Gentlemen: Miss Grace Jones”.

Slave to the Rhythm is, as far as my understanding goes, an album comprised of differing versions of the same song. It kicks off with a monologue describing rhythm at the start of “Jones the Rhythm”, and it’s all high energy and just pumping stuff. Then it relaxes a bit more with “The Fashion Show”, or rather, becomes smooth and sleek, wholly embodying its title. Grace Jones sings in a way that matches the instrumentation, though there isn’t much of it, and it’s more that she’s commanding someone to give in, to submit.

The song “Slave to the Rhythm” was originally going to be given to Frankie Goes to Hollywood before it was offered to Grace Jones, and it going to the latter rather than the former was the right choice, and I might get to that later. But the main reason why is how each version of the track works in an biographical context. “Jones the Rhythm” talks expresses Grace Jones’ early days in disco, even if not sounding that way, as well as the way her music changed over time whilst preserving a certain energy. “The Fashion Show” seems to express the dichotomy between Grace Jones’ experiences working as a model, and all the conflict that comes with that.

You get to “The Frog and The Princess”, which is narrated by Jean-Paul Goude, who was Grace Jones’ partner at the time Slave to the Rhythm came out. It’s a song that seems very much about fascination and obsession, and whilst Goude does express a moment where he wasn’t sure if he was in love with Grace Jones or rather objectifying and idolising her is great, it seems very much that he’s very much interested in the idea of Grace Jones rather than the person Grace Jones. It’s not quite a vulnerable statement which is fine, but it also feels unintentionally revealing through trying to express a controlled narrative. It works, however, as an external perspective on who Jones is, and the calm swelling of sound adds to it in a sense. Something is revealed, honest, shining and fun, but we’re not told what, exactly.

What comes next is “Operattack”, and it feels very much like that. It’s a great bit of abrasive music that explores voice as rhythm, sort of digs into it. It’s a great track, just being totally uncompromising in feel, dismantling and reconstructing at the same time.

So the title track. “Slave to the Rhythm”. It starts with rich, waking melody, before switching to something with a bit more of a boldness to it, something less smooth in terms of sound, but no less in terms of motion. Just striking out stuff, it’s great. Really funky, coming back to and bringing forward what was in “Jones the Rhythm”, and seems more work-like and stiff in some ways than that track. Eventually it does let up and gets more smooth and soft, and there’s a fun in here, but there’s a weariness, too. There’s more of a telling the self to keep going, in a sense, but it doesn’t feel like words of encouragement so much as a way to cope with pressures. And then the song resumes its regular pattern, unrelenting, rigid.

Both “The Crossing (Oohh the Action…)” and “Don’t Cry – It’s Only the Rhythm” carry a sense of relief to them, and definitely more so in the former over the latter. There’s a calm, a peace. A relaxation. Pressure is released, the valve opened, and it’s all sorts of gentle and perhaps reflective. The latter is building things back up, and there’s hesitancy. As though about to step in a spotlight left behind, as though being called back in and being compelled by one’s own desire. But the hesitancy is there, and uncertainty. Alternatively, it could be seen as a track that’s reflective of the journey, excited for what comes next, and what is next is the culmination of the journey thus far. Excited about the process, excited about presenting.

“Ladies and Gentlemen: Miss Grace Jones”, also known as “Slave to the Rhythm”, starts with the words “Ladies and gentlemen: Miss Grace Jones. Slave to the Rhythm” on the UK version, and it feels much like a culmination, like all the previous parts coming together. It’s Grace Jones expressing her experiences, expressing history – indeed, it can be read as much about Grace Jones’ life and part in music as it can be read as a political statement, and perhaps that’s the point, because – like in earlier forms – lyrics are presenting in a particular way that’s shaped by the sounds underneath, which are a mix of gentle and firm, and fully fitting, and the way Grace Jones is singing. She alternates between gentle and firm also, and there’s a sense, perhaps, of age in her voice in terms of coming through a lot of crap. Her voice feels a little more relaxed in a way, a little more raw and open, but she also sings in a way that’s uplifiting, and the music matches.

The song itself seems to move through a sense of moods, and at the end of it all everything explodes into a grand celebration, but only for a moment. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, here’s Grace!”, Grace Jones sings, as though ready to reveal herself as performer, entertainer and artist, and wholly herself. Perhaps saying something about, after all this time, in a way she only puts forward what she wants, and allows herself to be marketed in a certain way, but regardless of how honest the version we get is, it’s still something everyone will buy a piece of, and so she’s no more or less free than she would have been when she was younger, regardless of how much control she had then. However, as cynical as that sounds, she’s more able to now embrace what is put forward and try to turn it into something that’s more her own than anyone else’s.

The song ends with a few sounds, and Grace Jones making a playful sound. She’s not fooling around, but she’s still going to have fun with it.

I think the reason why “Ladies and Gentlemen: Miss Grace Jones” was put forward as “Slave to the Rhythm” in single form is that it really does feel like the culmination of the rest of the album. It feels like it concisely summarises bits and pieces, but it’s still its own thing. It still carries a sense of narrative, but it’s relational narrative.

“Slave to the Rhythm” was written by Bruce Woolley, Trevor Horn, Stephen Lipson and Simon Darlow, and it almost went to Frankie Goes to Hollywood. It’s probably good that it didn’t, as it feels very much like Grace Jones’ album and song. What is here is the product of collaborative work, but Grace had to be comfortable with what she was doing and how she was going about doing it. Indeed, it is difficult to separate the song(s) here from Grace, as her presence just dominates the whole thing. It is as much her as it is an extension, a series of expressions and reflections, perhaps. It’s that presence, and the way she makes use of her voice and expresses with it, that has helped me, at the least, enjoy the work quite a lot. Had I not heard “Slave to the Rhythm” in Flower Power, I doubt I would’ve spent the time finding a copy of the album and spinning it. It’s looking at the same person from different viewpoints, different facets, and it’s looking at the various ways a song can sound whilst remaining the same song. And it’s absolutely solid from start to finish. Just a tight, punchy record when it needs to be, and low and calm when it needs to be.

But this is just what I’m getting from it. I can’t claim to know the ins and outs of how (and if) it actually does explore who Grace Jones was up to that point. There are only five people who really know, and something tells me that they’ve said all the want to and aren’t saying more. Something tells me they’d rather let the songs do the talking, and if so, that’s easily the right decision, because these are damn fine songs.

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Mercury, Part 10

Posted on April 18, 2026 by Stupidity Hole

This is the last part of this draft I wrote for NaNoWriMo. Partway through sharing, I didn’t want to keep going as it’s really, really bad writing… as though that has ever stopped me before. But I kept going because I feel it’s still an example of what can be achieved if you keep going with something, and also an example of knowing when to stop.

I was already burned out with doing NaNoWriMo every year, and I ran out of steam for this. However, I might end up wrapping it all up tomorrow. I’ll see what happens.

Prior parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9.

I hope you  enjoy.

—

Cave came running out of their room, looked at Harvey standing there, then looked at the cable on the ground. Harvey looked dully surprised, but there was something there that expressed something that suggested that they just had the same experience as Cave.

“What’s going on?”

“TV died. What’s going on with you?”

“The computer just freaked out. I was trying to gather more information and try to work some things out when the monitor started warping. Well, not the monitor, but rather what it was projecting. It became this indistinct mass and I couldn’t work out what was going on. Tried turning it off but it stayed on. Tried turning the computer off but it wouldn’t shut down. Then it shocked me really hard. Tried unplugging it, didn’t switch off… at least not straight away.”

“That’s… weird. Any lights stay on?”

“Yeah. Felt odd. Like I was being scanned or watched or something. Anyway, I think something’s gone wrong with the power.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Harvey wasn’t quite in the mood to hear it as it meant that Harvey would have to do something and that’s not something Harvey wanted to deal with. At the same time Harvey knew that it was important to hear it all as it meant that there could be some sort of link, and maybe Cave was right. Maybe there was something wrong with the power.

“How old is the place, Cave?”

“I don’t know. You know as well as I do that it hasn’t had any maintenance done in a while.”

As that was said one of the lights turned on of its own accord and started buzzing a hard, electrical buzz. The two turned to look and decided it best to move away, but before they could the light shattered outward, sending glass rocketing. Lucky for them the two managed to avoid being embedded, but it was pure luck.

“I think we should switch the power box off and head on out.”

“Cave ran about and grabbed some things whilst Harvey ran outside to the power box. They switched everything off and soon Cave was there. For the moment they didn’t feel safe being in the house and so they decided the best course of action was to head on out and just walk away from things.

They walked in silence and they walked a long while. They walked out of town and into a more rural-feeling space in that it was significantly less developed than the surrounding area, and then they walked some more to a large pond that they knew of, just to find somewhere to sit next to and away from the house, and hopefully away from any more surprises. Perhaps it was not the most rational behaviour to engage in, but they weren’t thinking rationally at the time. It was much safer where they were, at least, or so they thought,

The silence carried on over across the gentle water, and some waterfowl floated along, creating their own disturbance on the surface whilst they looked for food, though it seemed much like aimless meandering. It was hard to tell as neither of the two were ornithologists, and neither of the two cared much for knowing the motivations of birds either way. Eventually the silence broke.

“You know, it really is interesting how during Mercury Retrograde technology doesn’t work as well.”

“What the fuck, Cave?”

“What do you mean? I’m pretty sure that there is no other way to put what I just said”

“Alright, firstly, Mercury Retrograde was yesterday. It’s over. It wouldn’t be happening anymore. It doesn’t have any lingering effects.”

“As far as you’re aware.”

“And secondly, what do you define as technology? How far does it go? Are you talking about things that seem like the future? Are you talking about the digital?”

“It’s technology. That should be clear.”

“Look Cave, if you want to get technical, technology could be just about anything. It could be almost anything from the developed world. It could be your pants, your shirt. Could be your shoes. Technology helped make fast food, so could that count, or does it not? What about pens? Pens came from the use of technology and were developed by technology. What about sports equipment? What about books? Chris, our fucking front door is some form of technological marvel in some way. Does that count? I don’t see your hanky trying to smother you to death though. Mercury Retrograde has no bearing on technology.”

“As far as you’re aware, but, well you see, the thing is that it affects the most current of things.”

“You are wearing a new shirt, for fuck’s sake. That’s pretty current if you ask me.”

“It reminds us that we should not rely on the developments of convenience for they are a burden, you know. It affects batteries and whatnot.”

“Oh, so the definition only goes so far as for you to be able to make statements that are convenient for you. What about asthmatics that rely in inhalers? Are they fucked because their medicine is a form of technological convenience?”

As Harvey went on Cave grew more and more silent and almost disappeared into themselves. It was possible that they hadn’t considered the possibilities of what their words meant, and of course words used at the right time had power, but Harvey didn’t know what Cave was considering, for Harvey was too ingrained within their tangent.

“You know, that’s the thing about all that Mercury Retrograde cosmic-level woo bullshit fuckery. It’s all lines on wheels and it keeps getting moved around and bent and curved as much as people see fit so as to justify their own shitty, fucked up beliefs. Some people say that, yeah, they only have a passing interest and the next thing you know they’re talking about how some people are either filthy peasants or ruling the world depending on whichever demographic they want to target and how they feel and what the rain is like, as well as how supporting those who are “low” in stature due to being poor and whatnot isn’t worthwhile unless you open their eyes to the reality of things, bot those poor people generally know a lot fucking better than some rich crystal-riding grifter who charges a grand a head for a bunch of people to be naked in the dark, around a goddamn fire in order to scream into the night.

Mercury Retrograde. It’s a load of shit Cave, it’s a load of fucking shit. It’s just a thing in the sky and that’s all. The planet does nothing to us, it has no impact and people use it hide their shittiness. It’s easy to attract a lot of assholes with some cosmic woo, and they’re fucking good at deluding themselves about it too. The planet has no effect on us, it’s just a thing and stop thinking it is a thing because you’re gonna go down a dangerous path if you’re not careful.”

“I think you went a bit away from the topic there, Harvey.”

“I don’t give a shit. It’s all relative.”

Cave couldn’t deny that maybe Harvey had a point, but that point was too buried and obfuscated by all the stuff surrounding it. To his credit, Harvey knew that his point was there but he took power from it by going on a lengthy tangent. Maybe it was the stress or sudden shock of having a house react the way it did. They weren’t sure.

“Sorry. Probably too long and needless a rant.”

“It’s okay. We’re gonna have to go back home sooner or later, you know.”

“Yeah, I know, but can we just take a bit of a break? Maybe head back a bit later. Bit of a wild day, you know.”

And so they sat there in some silence at the edge of the pond, watching the birds. The birds didn’t have much of a problem, but they were doing their own thing, and for a moment Harvey felt envy for them. They wondered what it was like to be a bird, and realised that if they were a bird they probably wouldn’t be wondering as to what it would be like to be a person; they’d just be getting on with getting on and doing the things that they need to do to survive. Maybe a little time for play.

The afternoon was drawing to a close and a display of colour spread out across the sky, but neither of the two moved. They continued to sit there in silence, hoping that they were imagining the whole thing, and hoping that, if they weren’t, then all that would need to be done when they got home was replace a light bulb. Could they even go home? It was hard to tell, for there was a force that was holding them there, almost as though it was telling them not to leave.

Maybe they were reading far too much into it.

The sun set and as it set the sounds around them changed into something more appropriate for a nocturnal experience. It had been a long day and soon it would be a long night, but it all seemed to rush on by. It was difficult to say if anything in particular stuck out to them; it was all so crammed with crap that it was hard to tell, but surely the lingering sentiment of it all would stick out. It usually does.

The two decided to get on up and head on home. It was too dark to stay where they were, though it likely would be safe regardless. Cave brought a torch along so they pulled it out, switched it on and the two walked on back home.

As they walked Harvey thought to themselves about the possibility that maybe Mercury did have an impact on the planet and maybe it did affect technology. Surely though there couldn’t be a link between what they saw and what was happening now. Sure, some things were a bit odd but they could be explained.

Harvey hoped that they could be explained, at least. They didn’t want to be wrong about this. They hoped that they were not wrong about what was going on.

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