berlin lanes by Simon Aulman

A couple of weeks ago one of my alter egos Sonja worried that she'd die before she got famous so she rushed out 20 "albums" in a week, all called "lane", numbered one to twenty and of various values from nought to five. The good things - you wanted them to last forever. The bad things - not and never. Obviously no one heard them over there and I thought it'd be a good idea for no one to hear them over here = so here they are, over here. Except a lot lot lot shorter. And two of them were so awful that there not here at all. And four others were "remixed" before appearing here. What does it mean for a lazy luddite to "remix" anything ? - I've just made them a bit more piercing and harder to listen to.

Several decades of earwax have solidified into a configuration in my head that makes lots of these things sound quite good - I like distortion and clipping and I wish I'd been braver and done it all to destruction. Only worth hearing at max vol and then some, and then a lot more, and thank you for your kind offers to pay for this music but the money would be better spent on drink for you - max vol and then some, and then a lot more.

Yesterday I walked to Palestine, which is a small strange village near a bigger village called Grately, which is about halfway between Andover and Salisbury. It's in or on the edge of Salisbury Plain and it is definitely on the very edge of a Prohibited Site military range where booms filled the day and I imagined tanks running around beyond hedges - it was a lucky day when I just felt so energetic - in all the hours outdoors I said hello to a dog-walking couple, a cyclist, and a man in Palestine itself who directed me precisely to the station - I lost my map when I snacked near Mottisfont and it must've fallen behind me but that didn't matter, I knew it was just north north north all the way, really easy - I just didn't know the layout near the station.

While I sat for the 40 minutes till the Salisbury-bound train arrived I did that big daily waste of time of wondering if I was wasting my time. The deep deep happiness (nearly enough to make me cry sometimes) was as real as anything could be to me. But walks vanish. And I could've stayed at home and made music instead - added more bytes to this and that on/behind this screen. But this only makes me happy when I am drunk, and that only makes me happy when I am sober, and I want to be sober forever, or until I fall over and cannot walk again, and then I shall drink and fall over and do this all the day long, disasters are the only things that make anything happen.

recorded this month, photo this afternoon