Listen, read and learn -

by Phil Mershon(September 2001)Around 1980, my friend Julia had invited me over to listen to a compilation album by a singer named Phil Ochs. I was a college senior, trying desperately not to graduate, and she was a grad student, an amateur musician herself, with a fondness for folkies. I didn't expect much. First of all, I had never heard of the guy and secondly, it was probably just more recycled Gordon Lightfoot crooning and moaning about how cold it is in Canada in the winter time. But sexual imperatives being what they were, I sat on Julia's couch with a big expectant grin and tried to think up generic praise for the folksinger I was about to hear.
Ninety minutes later, I was on my feet for the third time, demanding that she play certain songs again. Before long I was off on a rant about how great it was to live in a country where you could go to the store and actually BUY this stuff. Julia and I debated about whether this music was actually folk. She maintained it was. I argued that it transcended categorization and was so wonderful that it should be located in a special Ochs section in the record store. In fact, there should be several aisles of Ochs product for people to buy. That excited utterance reminded me to ask, "Why haven't I heard of this guy before?"
Then she gave me the bad news, the news I'd heard too many times before and since. Someone whose work had--in the span of a few hours--changed my life forever was dead. She told me he had died in the mid-1970's. It had been a suicide. I could borrow the album, if I wanted.
Since that evening, the songs of Phil Ochs have never been far from my reach. And I found out over the years that I was not alone. Ochs has been the subject of two biographies, Sean Penn talks about making a film of the singer's life, and there have been more posthumous releases of his material than albums issued during his lifetime. At last count, there were twenty-one different titles available. It still bugs me that these are invariably filed in the "folk" section.
By the time Phil Ochs was recording Pleasures of the Harbor with producer Larry Marks in 1967, the singer had transformed from a gentle writer of fierce topical songs into a poet whose mind reinvented what his senses passionately explored. It was his first time working with Marks. The producer was determined to desert the barren and stark non-production Paul Rothchild had provided Ochs' first three albums, which had been recorded for Elektra. The new label, A&M, as well as the singer himself, sought to make the music relevant to the lyrics. With only a few exceptions, this resulted in an unfortunate swash of strings and waves of swirling orchestration that buried the singer in a typhoon of cacaphony. Some of his best songs were rendered unlistenable. And yet the album did have its strong moments. Phil had heard the story of Kitty Genovese, the New York woman who had screamed and pleaded for life while her neighbors watched in the shadows as she was brutally raped and murdered. Some of the more than two dozen people who witnessed her destruction even admitted to turning up their televisions to drown out the disturbing sounds. Ochs responded with "Outside of a Small Circle of Friends." Lyrically, the song's verses set up opportunities to exercise social responsibilities and provided one-line rationalizations for ignoring them. Musically, happy ragtime piano mocked those excuses while giving the song commercial hooks. Lacking heavy guitar riffs, it was ignored by the rock audience just as folkies found it too musical for their standards. "Outside of a Small Circle of Friends," released as a single, still managed to chart in Los Angeles, Sacramento and especially New York, where Phil's fan base had always been its strongest.
His second home, though, had to be Los Angeles. His brother Michael had already moved there to work on photography and music promotion, and Phil hired him to be his manager. Just east of Beverly Hills on Santa Monica Boulevard was a club called The Troubadour. It was owned and operated by a tall, skinny longhair named Doug Weston. Phil played The Troubadour regularly and became friends with the lanky owner. Weston wanted to produce a Phil Ochs concert in Los Angeles. The singer was ecstatic. Back in New York he'd played everywhere from Gerde's in the Village right up through Carnegie Hall. But doing a concert in L.A.? That was a new level. Having already toured in support of the album, Phil was sure he could fill the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium. Michael and Weston weren't so sure. Wouldn't it be better to play a smaller venue? they asked. Better to turn away a few people, they reasoned, than stare at rows of empty seats.
Phil got his way. His manager and producer had been right. The auditorium was less than twenty-five percent capacity.
In those days, before the Chicago riots, defeats could still leave him optimistic about both his career and about America. To that end, he behaved and reacted as if the success of his career and the health of his country were inexorably connected, perfectly correlated.
The former Ohio State University journalism student dropped out and moved to New York City in 1960 with designs on becoming a guitar-playing singing sensation. If Bob Gibson, Faron Young, Johnny Cash and Buddy Holly could become stars, there was no reason why the young Ohioan couldn't do the same. Mike Porco, who ran Gerde's Folk City, gave him his first paying job opening for John Hammond. To make the best use of the opportunity, Phil wrote and performed a song specific for the occasion. "The Power and the Glory" could have been written by Woody Guthrie, except that the set up of the final verse was more strategic, the delivery more impassioned and the pace more compelling than was accepted in Guthrie's day. After describing all the Whitman-like details of his beautiful country, a shadow of stern caution warned, "Yet she's only as rich as the poorest of the poor/Only as free as a padlocked prison door/Only as strong as our love for this land/Only as tall as we stand!"
Having developed by now a bit of a reputation, Phil managed to get other work in the city, primarily at The Third Side and at Sam Hood's The Gaslight. But where he fell under the gaze of the larger audience for folk music was in the pages of a mimeographed magazine called Broadside. In addition to articles, editorials and profiles, the magazine, published by Sis Cunningham and Gordon Friesen, printed the words and music of folk and topical songs written by Bob Dylan, Pete Seeger, and--suddenly--Phil Ochs. This recognition landed him an invitation to perform at Newport '63. Newport was far and away the premier showcase for folk singers. Phil would be in the company of Dylan and Seeger, as well as Tom Paxton, Joan Baez, The Freedom Singers and lesser luminaries. Phil's performance--throughout which he was battling terror and nausea--included the aforementioned "The Power and the Glory," as well as "The Ballad of Medgar Evers" and "Talking Birmingham Jam." An album of the festival was released the following year and featured two of Phil's songs. Mainstream newspapers announced a new sound in folk music.
The two major record labels that handled folk acts at the time were Vanguard and Elektra. Vanguard had a good roster that included Baez, Eric Andersen, The Weavers and Pat Sky. But Jac Holzman's Elektra offered Phil a zero dollar signing bonus. And if that wasn't flattering enough, he would be label mates with Judy Collins, Tim Hardin, and Tom Rush.
The first album, All the News That's Fit to Sing, was evocative of its title, a virtual What's What of headline stories and young smiling radical analysis. Topics included U.S. involvement in Vietnam after the death of President Diem, a social worker named Lou Marsh, the separation of a Hazard, Kentucky coal miner from his wife, a reporter named William Worthy who ran into trouble with the State Department for visiting Cuba, the Cuban Missile Crisis, and the assassination of civil rights leader Medgar Evers. There was even a lovely musical adaptation of Edgar Allan Poe's "The Bells." Future Blues Project member Danny Kalb filled out the sound on second guitar. In between promotional appearances and concerts in support of the album, Phil began what would become a life-long involvement in social activism.
It began with a number of benefit concerts for striking miners in Hazard. From there he was on to the Mississippi Caravan of Music, a consortium that staged concerts to encourage blacks to register to vote, which just happened to coincide with the discovery of the bodies of three civil rights workers slain by the Ku Klux Klan. Soon after his second album, I Ain't Marching Anymore, was released, he hooked up with Jerry Rubin and participated in the Berkeley teach-ins by singing between speeches. This was Ochs' first association with the anti-war movement that was by that time eclipsing civil rights as a national issue.
His greatest force for social change, however, remained his music. With a few exceptions, the liner notes to the second album were more insightful and entertaining than the songs themselves. Not so with the follow-up, Phil Ochs in Concert, recorded at Carnegie Hall. It was and remains among the greatest acoustic live albums of all time (despite the fact that much of the music was re-recorded elsewhere to make up for the taping defects). In addition to songs about book burnings and invasions of Latin American countries, there was the self-described "cinematic" "Ringing of Revolution." Ochs even named the actors. "John Wayne plays Lyndon Johnson. And Lyndon Johnson plays God. I play Bobby Dylan. A young Bobby Dylan." There was even one hysterical satire called "Love ME, I'm a Liberal," wherein Ochs exploded every cliché the near Left ever used. "In every political community there are varying shades of political opinion. One of the shadiest of these is the liberals. An outspoken group on many subjects. Ten degrees to the left of center in good times. Ten degrees to the right of center if it effects them personally. Here then is a lesson in safe logic." The album even contained a first: a Phil Ochs love song--"Changes." Amid a context of philosophy, politics and movies, that song lifted the performance to the level of Art.
It was a level he would either approximate, maintain or excel for the next few years. Despite the nearly grotesque overproduction of Pleasures of the Harbor, beneath all the noise was a song called "Crucifixion," which the sailor from the sea described as his greatest achievement. Indeed, it was high art, easily on a par with the best of Dylan's work. It was also ambitious, abstractly symbolizing political assassinations from Jesus Christ to John Kennedy. Alliterative, imagistic, accurate and terrified in tone, it is heard to better effect on the retrospective Chords of Fame in a crisp acoustic version.
And the night comes again to the circle-studded skyThe stars settle slowly, in loneliness they lieTill the universe explodes as a falling star is raisedThe planets are paralyzed, the mountains are amazedBut they all glow brighter from the brilliance of the blazeWith the speed of insanity--then he dies! The combined total sales of the first three albums had been less than 50,000 units. Phil Ochs and his new label--A&M--were optimistic that a change was needed. Pleasures' orchestration was chosen. A&M publicist Derek Taylor sent a copy of the album to President Johnson. Time, Billboard and Variety all conceded that the recording had its positive moments. Broadside, naturally, gutted the recording as a sellout, which was silly. The only thing the singer was selling out was concert tickets. The publicity worked. Phil's first A&M album outsold all three of his Elektra recordings combined.
While on a promotional tour for the album, Ochs became even more active in his opposition to the Vietnam War. One such manifestation was his organization of a "War is Over" celebration in New York's Washington Square Park. The idea behind the rally was that if enough people could come to believe the war was over, it actually would be so. It was also an opportunity to mobilize people through tactics of street theatre, tactics that were also being used to some effect by his friends in the newly formed Yippie community. By now Jerry Rubin and occasional collaborator Abbie Hoffman had learned how to use the media against itself. Aware that photographers had a tendency to focus on anyone with long hair and bare feet, the Yippies used humor and charm on reporters to ensure their media contacts wouldn't find the parades and marches altogether unacceptable. And so the "War is Over" celebration attracted thousands and allowed the Yippies to promote their upcoming gathering in Chicago. Phil did the same at all his public performances, while at the same time campaigning and playing benefits for the candidacy of Eugene McCarthy.
In between charity benefits and political obligations, Phil found a free week in which to make the album Tape From California. Again Larry Marks produced. But this time the lush orchestration was harnessed, when it was used at all. The title track actually had electric instruments and sounded suspiciously like rock and roll, albeit old time rock and roll. Unquestionably the best thing on the album, though, was "When in Rome," a song inspired by film director Elia Kazan's Viva Zapata. Calling the song brilliant, critic Bart Testa wrote "The song does nothing less than symbolically rewrite the entire history of the United States as a chaotic and apocalyptic epic, with Ochs playing all the lead parts in the first person."
Back through the ashes and back through the embersBack through the roads and ruins I rememberedMy hands at my side I sadly surrenderedDo as you please.The setting for the disaster that Chicago would become seemed nearly preordained. On March 12, 1968, Eugene McCarthy announced his candidacy for President. His platform was "Get Out Now." Four days later, Robert Kennedy announced his own candidacy on an anti-war ticket. Together the two men captured sixty-nine percent of the popular vote in the Democratic primaries. Lyndon Johnson's heir apparent, Hubert Humphrey, achieved a mere two percent. Before the primaries were over, Kennedy was assassinated. Abbie Hoffman suggested the Celebration of Life form a counter-convention where their attendees would all wear VOTE FOR ME buttons and each person would nominate himself. The aims of the Celebration were a blending of the philosophies of the Old and New Left, a gathering of radical organizations, a model of an alternative society, the politics of ecstacy. As Phil Ochs put it, the Yippies "wanted to be able to set out fantasies in the street to communicate their feelings to the public." A number of memorable slogans were coined, mainly as a way of publicizing the upcoming event. Sure that the more outrageous the phrase, the more likely the media would be to repeat it--and hence bestow the gift of free publicity--the Yippies declared they would "Burn Chicago to the ground! Acid for all! Abandon the creeping meatball!"
A few days before the Democratic Convention began, Phil Ochs, Stew Albert and Jerry Rubin found an Illinois farmer willing to sell a large sow for twenty dollars. Since Phil was the only one with any money, the honor of the purchase went to him. The Yippies had found their own candidate. On August 23, 1968, they held a press conference outside Chicago's Civic Center and announced their "Pigasus for President" campaign. The press was duly amused and the police hauled the group in, charging them with disturbing the peace and bringing livestock into the city.
What Phil witnessed over the next few days would forever alter the attitude he brought to the creations of his songs. It would in fact alter the very thought processes that went into writing altogether. His hope and optimism were shot full of holes. His faith in his childhood visions of America were destroyed, leaving him with the gut pains of introspection.
The night of August 24 brought 7,500 demonstrators to town, all of whom needed some place to stay. Many had plans to sleep in Lincoln Park. The police had other ideas. They attacked the Park with tear gas and beat the revelers as they left. The following night, the cops removed their badges to avoid easy detection, following Mayor Richard Daley's admonition: "The policeman isn't there to create disorder. He is there to preserve disorder." The message was understood. The police force attacked the press, local residents, paramedics and protestors with equal fervor. Plenty of network TV cameras filmed the massacre, but the rest of the nation wouldn't see it until days later because of sabotaged transmissions.
Humphrey accepted his party's nomination on August 28, as the day ended and the scent of tear gas wafted up Michigan Avenue to the nominee's suite at the Conrad Hilton. The worst violence was about to begin. And the New York folk singer would be right in the thick of things. The protestors had gathered in Grant Park to hear a series of speeches before marching to the Convention Center. The Chicago Police attempted to contain the group by surrounding the Park. One after another speaker addressed the crowd. In between speeches of men like activist Dave Dellinger, poet Allen Ginsberg, and comedian Dick Gregory, Phil would stand in the back of a pick-up truck and sing for the crowd. Shortly after he sang a rousing version of "I Ain't Marching Anymore," he saw a young boy climb the Park's flag pole and pull down Old Glory. The was all the provocation the police required. They grabbed the kid, beat him with their nightsticks, and tossed him into the back of a squad car while the more agitated onlookers threw rocks at the arresting officers. Press cameras filmed all this for posterity and even broadcast one cop commanding "Make sure you show them throwing rocks!" While Dave Dellinger attempted to lead a nonviolent march to the Convention Center (and was blocked from doing so), others took advantage of an opening in the quarantine and thousands of young people marched toward the Hilton. Enraged at being distracted, the police charged up Michigan Avenue, firing tear gas canisters and clubbing everything in sight. When clubs failed to subdue, they stomped. And when that proved ineffective, they kicked, shoved, punched and beat. The crowd shouted "The whole world is watching!" As Phil Ochs and the others would soon come to realize, most of the whole world didn't care and among those who did, many felt the cops hadn't gone far enough.
Back in Los Angeles, Phil began to question his own approach to politics in America. While the Yippies and other radicals had been creating and recreating their own counterculture, they had alienated the American working class along with Middle America. People who were already involved, Ochs reasoned, didn't need to be converted. Nixon--who would ride to victory above the shattered remains of a splintered Democratic Party--called these frightened Americans 'the Silent Majority.' Ochs knew that if this majority rejected the members of the New Left, they would in turn embrace the solutions of men like Nixon and George Wallace. Frightened by those prospects, the songwriter began to detach himself by degrees from the journalistic approach to his craft. The resulting music spoke with broader, more universal tones. As he's done in "Crucifixion," two or three lines could speak entire chapters while a whole song could fill libraries. One last time, Larry Marks would produce. This time they both got it exactly right.
Rehearsals for Retirement is among the most beautiful and powerful recordings in any musical genre. Backed by a real band, featuring Lincoln Mayorga (whose piano had been the stand out feature of the Pleasures album), Bob Rafkin on bass and guitar, and (probably) Kevin Kelly on drums, Ochs delivered the performance of a lifetime. The cover itself was a photograph of a tombstone Phil had had made for the occasion. The headstone bore an oval picture of Phil standing in front of the flag with a Revolutionary War rifle slung over his shoulder. Beneath the image were the words: Phil Ochs (American). Born: El Paso, Texas 1940; Died: Chicago, Illinois 1968.
The album led off with "Pretty Smart on My Part" which in four crisp verses not only gave an hysterically funny analysis of the reactive behavior of the machismo mentality, it tied the vignettes together with a pair of lines--twenty-four years before Oliver Stone would do the same--asserting that John Kennedy had been assassinated to allow the U.S. military the pleasure of frying the people of Vietnam. Before the impact of that assertion could sink in, Mayorga's piano introduces "The Doll House" with a sound of someone lost and wandering in a surreal environment of someone else's making. The singer himself is lost amid this ambience, a world of soft confusion and amazing pressure. It all unspins with the plateau: "The ballet master/Was beckoning ‘faster'/The ballerina was posed/In the fragile beauty she froze/Let go! Let go! Let go! Let go! Let go!" After that uncommercial interruption, Ochs is back in a narrative that begins and ends in the third person and yet clearly is also the first person narrator in between, a police officer, defensive about his responsibility to "keep the country safe from long hair," hateful of the students and minorities he brutalizes, yet unable to understand what it is that his enemies don't understand about him. Ultimately he can only utter a variation on Descartes: "I kill, therefore I am." The song "William Butler Yeats Visits Lincoln Park and Escapes Unscathed" is possibly more worthy of praise for its inventive title than its descriptions of Convention Week. The same cannot be said for the album's centerpiece.
Smack dab in the middle of Rehearsals for Retirement is "My Life." In the same way The Beatles permanently altered the way they would be understood by their audience with Rubber Soul, Phil Ochs made his breakthrough with this song. The Beatles' album took the public perception of their product from dance music and love songs into a perception of themselves as a highly complex group involved in the process of creating some mighty fine artwork. Ochs' album, and this song in particular, revealed the artist as a culmination of all the characters he'd created, each the victim of its own vulnerabilities but not necessarily hugable and endearing.
The intensity does not lessen with "The Scorpion Departs but Never Returns," explicitly a song about the missing nuclear submarine but implicitly a strong metaphor for the performer's view of his own position in society.
Sounding bell is diving down the water greenNot a trace, not a toothbrush, not a cigarette was seenBubble ball is rising from a whisper or a screamBut I'm not screaming, no I'm not screamingTell me I'm not screaming. Perhaps sensing he'd revealed enough for the moment, Ochs took his audience on a brief road trip from Eden to Los Angeles--"city of tomorrow." Then soon enough, we're back, engulfed in the personal drama of "Doesn't Lenny Live Here Anymore," a song that was not only obviously inspired by Bob Dylan's "Like a Rolling Stone," but could easily be the long awaited response from the unseen character Dylan had been lecturing. Peppered with spicy lines like "You love your love so much that you'd strangle her gladly" and "You search the books in vain for a better word for lonely," the song climaxes with the narrator coming upon an ex-lover's emotional suicide in process.
The galloping horseback rhythms of "Another Age" unite Tom Paine, Jesse James and Robin Hood in search of a stolen election. Then suddenly the horse can run no more and the title track walks the final lap of the course. The end is near. Though still tinged with vibrato, his voice struggles to contain the moan beneath it. With a fade of piano and bass, he is gone.
He lies on his back on the couch in the Canyon house. Awake, he closes his eyes and imagines he is dreaming. He sees his paternal grandfather lip-locked beside the radio, listening to FDR speak reassuringly, while his grandmother fries eggs in the kitchen. His father comes in, wide-eyed and despondent from days without sleep. He sees himself hiding beneath a desk in Miss Jocelyn's classroom during an air raid drill, teasing his younger brother, being softly scolded by his older sister.
A chill comes in through the living room window, so he pulls the remembered images over himself like a patchwork quilt. A match flame of exploration in the dark; a faint smell that never leaves the walls; the taste of buttered popcorn at the movies; mastering scales on the clarinet; his father staring at the newspaper without reading it; shooting himself in the leg while showing off for a friend; a green sign welcoming the world to Columbus, Ohio; James Dean's red jacket; Fidel Castro marching into Havana; a pencil snapping between tight fingers; the strum of a guitar he'd won in a bet; a belt tied in a loop with a buckle supporting his own weight.
The idea of the gold suit came to him after seeing Elvis Presley perform in Las Vegas. The only hope for America, Phil decided, was a revolution, and the only hope for a revolution in America was for Elvis to become Che Guevara. Since the young man from Tupelo was unlikely to make such a conversion, Phil Ochs would have to become Elvis as Che himself. The first step was having Nudie the tailor make him a gold suit. That was the first mistake.
The second mistake was his next album. The songs themselves were fine, but if Larry Marks had buried Ochs' tunes under a sea of swash, new producer Van Dyke Parks placed some very good tunes behind a Spectorian Wall of Sound, with timpani drums and backing choruses that would have been more at home on a Ronettes album than on Phil Ochs' Greatest Hits. That title was his third mistake. Intended sarcastically, the title (and the reverse legend declaring "50 Phil Ochs' fans can't be wrong!") was easily misunderstood as being what it purported to be.
His last mistake was in the way he chose to promote the album. He was scheduled to play Carnegie Hall again. He showed up, but this time he was wearing the gold suit and had his band with him. He might reasonably have expected to be about as welcome as Dylan had been when the latter had gone electric at Newport. As if to guarantee a hostile reaction, his set was weighted with other people's songs. After beginning with a up version of Conway Twitty's "Mona Lisa" and his own obligatory "I Ain't Marching Anymore," he introduced his rendition of Merle Haggard's "Okie From Meskogee." Everyone assumed that gesture was intended as irony, but how could anyone tell for sure? The real trouble, though, came when he performed medleys of hits first by Buddy Holly and later by Elvis. The first set received such a hostile response that the singer gently lectured the crowd. "Let's not be narrow-minded Americans- You can be a bigot against blacks, you can be a bigot against music." After another pair of his own songs--neither from the new album that needed promoting--he did the Elvis medley. Although his voice was heavy with reverb, he still sounded magnificent and just as the crowd was won over, Carnegie Hall cut the power. The audience shouted "We want power! We want power!" Electricity was restored and the concert was completed.
Phil begged A&M's Jerry Moss to release the tapes of the concert as an album. Moss politely declined. Eventually A&M did issue the album--in Canada. It would be more than twenty years before it was available in the United States.
Over the next few years, Phil became more isolated from his friends and spent most of his time drinking, watching TV and traveling to other countries. In South Africa, he was robbed by three men. In the process, his vocal cords were ruptured and he lost his upper register. Convinced he would never sing professionally again, he fell deeper into bouts of manic depression and paranoia.
Does anybody know my name or recognize my face?I must have come from somewhere but I can't recall the placeThey left me at the matinee and left without a trace.Ticket home--I want a ticket home! His nephew David found him hanging from his own belt in his sister's bathroom. He was thirty-five years old. I can make no case for martyrdom here. There is nothing noble about suicide, regardless of how that suicide may have been the result of social forces or diminished expectations. Had he lived, I doubt Phil would have made any new songs, and if he had, they probably would not have compared favorably with his best work. But it remains a fact that whenever I read about some ludicrous injustice or monumental hypocrisy, I wonder what Ochs would have said about it, how he would have summed up the situation with an acerbic line or two. And I wonder who

To my mind the greatest songwriter of the 20th century and In The United Kingdom only a few remember - sad!
Gord.

Proudly displayed in Barca's museum = a pennant presented by The Blues to Barca in 1957. Birmingham City F.C. the first club ever to get to the final of a major European cup final. See it at Kamp Neau. 

Off to Argentina for a while - staying with the Peron's

- no not Eva, dear readers, she was a bitch - these are nice folks. Hope to ride some trains and some horses. In the meantime a final wish - let us win back The Ashes.
Gord to Argentina!

The Internovella continued -

He sat and thought, his head bowed by life and the pain of harvesting success and failure, the life in him, but also running away from him. August now, a strange month, sure was; 'cos he had been born on the 2nd - full of thunder and sunshine heat and tears - a time for picking fruit and digging up vegetables - but not yet time for harvesting the wheat.

He had to move fast, choices to make, but he was a reflective soul, some said lazy, who seized the moment or let it drift away - usually the latter. But he had made his decision that day, and, by golly once his mind is made up no firmament in the stars moves faster. He was going to

The bugge'rs on holiday - nicked from Fat_Budha

I Don't Know What It Is
So off we trotted, about 26000 of us, down to St Andrews for the first home game of the season. There's nothing quite like the first game, all the past misery is forgotten and we proceed to the ground jaunty of step, light of heart, cheery of countenance, convinced that this is the year we make the great leap forward. What a triumph of hope over experience; we are all fools. Man, we are so full of hope and optimism, just like children and every year, eventually, we realise that all our hope and optimism is futile; to have your hopes dashed so early though, it's bloody cruel.
According to Nishiren Buddhism there are ten life states that we all live through, moment by moment, and you will be very aware of the buggers if you support the Blues.
1. Hell
- Misery and suffering. Fear, grief and destructive rages or depression. A feeling of being imprisoned by one's circumstances. Some fans might experience these emotions over the course of a season, we Blues fans experience them game by game.....day by day in fact, whether there is a game on or not. Our whole history is characterised by misery and suffering, any fool knows that and we are most definitely trapped, imprisoned in Bluenosehood, with no escape. By the end of Saturdays game, I had become quite depressed, depressed at our inability to create a clear cut chance, grief struck over our basic lack of awareness, enraged at the referees refusal to give us a penalty, deserved or not, and fearful for what is coming next.
2. Hunger
- Being dominated by desires or cravings, both physical and mental. Clearly, we crave success, we crave moving on to the mythical next step, we are desirous of becoming the next Bolton or Charlton, we crave a goal, a point, a bloody performance.
3. Animality
- Instinctive behaviour, lacking in reason. Fear of those who seem stronger and bullying of those who seem weaker. The 'law of the jungle'. Well, of course we lack reason: James is useless, Barton a thug, Mills a brainless moron, Cole past it, Vassel a useless ex viler and has been: instinctively, we know we are going to beat this shower of shit. Every decision the ref gives against us is unreasonable, unfair, they get away with stuff, we don't; everybody hates us.
4. Anger
- Feeling superior to others and wanting to show it. Aggressiveness. Feeling in conflict with others. The world of self-centredness and ego. As above, we know we are better than them, our team is better, out fans are better, our pies are better. We chant and clap as the team comes out, we try to intimidate, we shout and we gesture and the more the game goes against us , the more outraged we become at the injustice of it all.
5.Humanity, or Tranquility
- Constant inactivity, laziness, passivity. This refers to that post half time torpor and is characteristic of the players as much as the fans. They don't run out together, as a team; they do not look purposeful....... they stroll on like rag tag and bobtail, you could be forgiven for thinking that they are the ballboys. Similarly, the passion goes out of the crowd and we all fall asleep.
6. Rapture, or Heaven
- Short term gratification when one's desires have been achieved . Can quickly revert to hell, or hunger. Obviously, a goal is scored and we are in raptures, or Gray puts a cross in, or Pennant does something remarkable, or Taylor gives the ball to someone in a blue shirt. Very short term, especially down at St Andrews; we quickly find ourselves back in hell.
7. Learning
+ Learning about life and oneself from others and from existing knowledge. We learn about ourselves and we learn about Buddhism every day as Blues fans. We learn that life is suffering and we learn about impermanence. We learn that we keep the ball only for the briefest moments, we learn that for every yin, there is a yang, we learn that we are destined to suffer, through many many lifetimes.
8. Realisation
+ The wisdom or insight where we gain an understanding of an aspect of life from our own observations and experiences. We realise, from our earliest days, that we have condemned ourselves to a life of frustration, we understand this, so we look upon our many miseries almost as friends. We understand that although there is almost always disappointment, there is always another game, another small death to look forward to. On Saturday I realised, after about 75 minutes that the game was up and so was able to relax, and wait for it all to end.
9.Bodhisattva
The word consists of bodhi (enlightenment) and sattva (beings) and means someone who seeks enlightenment, for themselves and others.We all seek enlightenment, we all look for an answer, we all ponder upon how we can gain more of a cutting edge, how we can learn to not keep giving the ball away and we are all only to happy to share our wisdom, through blogs, message boards, phone ins, petitions, and loudly from the stands. Through all our suffering, man, we are enlightened.
10. Buddha
An ordinary person awakened to the true nature of life, and experiencing absolute happiness and freedom within the realities of daily life. Indestructible joy, unlimited wisdom, courage, compassion, creativity and life force. The sad fact is, no Blues fan will ever achieve this happy state.
Actually, I am not despondent. We started well and even Gray seemed determined to take his man on and beat him. Forsell and Pandiani looked they could strike up a mutually beneficial relationship and we seemed committed to getting men forward. So much for the first seven minutes! Cole looked very sharp and caused our defenders loads of trouble,as did Vassell, but at half time I was still confident we would win as we had their defence floundering loads of times.
It all went tits up in the second half and it is hard to understand why. Gray reverted to his usual hesitant, almost fearful self and lacked the confidence to attack Mills. Taylor kept hoofing the ball back to the other buggers; it all became disjointed, uncoordinated and bloody painful to watch. Even so there were occasions when we played the ball, rather than hoofed it and again, briefly, looked the part, not very often, or for very long though.
Our defence struggled against the pacy Man City strikers and I am beginning to wonder about Upson. He seems to have really bulked up and he now resembles a brick shithouse, which is all well and good but he appears to have lost a bit of fluidity and grace in his movement. Our midfield (such as it was) seemed to lack awareness and were completely outharried by their opponents, what got me was that they always seemed surprised to have an opponent niggling away at them as soon as they got the ball; they wanted time and space, but the Mancs weren't having any of it and we could not cope with their tenacity.
It was a decent game actually, quite open and I like the cut of the collective Manchester jib. The result was depressing but we showed in patches that we can play a bit. The performance was poor, but not disastrous and can easily be put right. Jarosik might make a difference, who knows and if Dunn can maintain fitness when he returns we will have some creative thrust, which is direly lacking at the moment Pennant excepted.
Middlesbrough tomorrow, and I am not confident. If we insist upon giving the ball to them, they will murder us. I saw a thing on Mourinho the other day where he said the one thing he insists on above all else is keeping the ball and it's a strategy that seems to work pretty well for his team. We have decent ball players throughout the team, we could pass it from the back if we wanted, so why we insist on banging it forward at pace, so we only have about a 50-50 chance of retaining the thing is beyond me.
The real thing is at - he keeps changing his URL.
Gord's perspective retrospective.

The mensturation song.

How do I sit on my motor sickle?
When I have my monthly cycle?
I met her at a dance and she said okay -
But I'm on my cycle-
No probs, says I, you go ahead
And I'll follow you on my moped - dopehead!
Gord - never cud understand women.

Sean Penn and Phil Ochs -

pardon me if I'm sentimental when we say goodbye.
But now and then,
There's a fool such as I.

It is alleged that the former is making a film about the latter. In which case, may I humbly suggest. as someone in the street said today, "Ochs was a druggie and a drunkard" - to which I replied, "and what drove him to those depths - his inabilaty to change a wicked, wicked world".

Don't do a film of despair, of a happy and caring young man, taking to something to sterilise his soul, to blank out the despair and the end of hope.
Phillip still lives amongst us all - his atoms exist in all of us. Make it a fim of love overcoming hatred. Phil is now my age - roughly 61/62 - show him still touring the halls, the pubs the parks singing and saying NO - you have to change - this dying world is your responsibilty, your last take - do something about it - and laugh along the way.
Respectfully Gordon

The internovella continued

And what of Jo - sure a man, but with a man's angst and doubts. Failure is more certain than success - but there is the beer and the loose women- momentary comfort - but not the bond, the eternal protection and love that a man wants to give to a woman - one special woman.
But women like fun and fucking and don't care -, I generalise here , for there are many saints AMONGST WOMEN, BUT ON THE WHOLE THEY ARE OUT FOR A GOOD TIME. They take thier sex to town - and that hurts a man, demeans him and he cannot cope and suicide beckons

Hoots might like this - myself Ni comprendo!

http://www.fluctuat.net/blog/article.php3?id_article=2030

Gordon

Poms thrash the Ausies again -

Acid test - to pass the ... Said of someone (stinky Ponting) or something - the Aussie team that has beeen subjected to a severe or conclusive test (match) . . Australian slang for , " Meaning to exert pressure on someone when asking for a loan" . Buddy can you spare a dime. No we are thrashing you. Poms forever!
Gord in his moment of Triumph - three humps on a camel!

Belissimo Giovanni - the finest Italian food in the U.K. in Tavistock Pannier market - on a Saturday. 

Phil Ochs

At last - Have finally made contact with someone in the UK who not only met him, but gave him a room for a couple of nights. They stayed up till four in the morning listening to Buddy and Elvis and the one thing my friend remembers was Phil's burning sincerity and his wicked sense of humour. So what went wrong - why did the US of A poison him?
Gordon Wondering!

New Labour? 

Steve Brucie. 

The internovella continued -

I would injure and kill a fly - 'cos they spread disease and I hate that frantic buzzing sound that they make - so curled up newspaper in hand, I squeeze the bastards on the window panes. Then I get kitchen roll, to wipe off the blood and stains , usually, cream, red and black and throw it in the bin - disgusted with them and disgusted with myself.
And then along came Mary - they say it takes six seconds to fall in love, but sister Josie will confirm this , it was nano seconds. The happiness in her soul, the joy in her - the zest in yes - the sparkling eyes - local farmers say that a calf with sparkling full brown eyes will always produce the best milk. Oh my Mary my beloved Mary what nuclear fision happened in that nanosecond ..

General Ward V.C. 

The internovella - continued

Okay - so, I was twice beaten, at Gunny primary - whipped no less for saying that I was fearful of confined spaces - the mines - but they then, did not know that, what is now written in history - I was drowned as an engineer, in the engine room of the Titanic -many level below the upper deck. You see I should never ever have been below ground, let alone the waves. At least I went early - no prolonged agony for me - I don't think that I even drowned, the force of the icy cold water knocked my head onto one of the boilers and I was gone.

But in the primary school at Gunny, my two offences are still listed ... just like the big ship listed that night ... but both lists are on the record, but mine should be wiped off 'cos ...

Perranporth. 

Aha - spot Annabelle! 

Nuff said! 

Interesting dude this Kernow / American -

Thursday, May 26, 2005

Ten years later.
Nguyen Van Duc lit a solitary candle in honor of Buddha, then relaxed in his favorite armchair and raised a glass of quoc lui to his lips. He very rarely drank, but today was a special occasion, an anniversary of some proportion. As the warming liquor flowed from his mouth to his throat, he remembered the day, exactly ten years ago, when he had dragged himself, his throat burning, his lungs pleading for air, into the emergency room of Hanoi's French Hospital. He hadn't needed to be a second year medical student to know that he was suffering from avian flu. What scared him almost as much as his inability to breathe properly though, was the fact that he'd had no contact with birds, or any animal that he could think of. In less than an hour he'd been isolated and they were giving him the anti-viral drug Tamiflu. Soon after, a flood of masked health workers descended on his bed, asking questions; had he been in proximity with chickens or ducks, or with pigs - they'd been especially concerned about the contact with pigs - had he seen anyone sick near him, where had he been in the last two days, how many people had he had close contact with? After a while the guy who seemed to be in charge, an italian as far as Duc could tell, came in and repeated all the questions, not just with a tape recorder but with a sense of urgency that scared Duc.The Tamiflu had helped, but the questions proved too much, after a while the fever took hold and he passed out. By the time he awakened about twenty hours later seven more cases had been confirmed in Hanoi central. Being in good shape, Duc recovered fully within the next couple of days, and, being the only person in Hanoi to now have natural immunity against the virus, he immediately volunteered to help the international health teams in the city in any way he could. It was not just that he had immunity, but also that he had to keep himself busy, had to keep his mind off the feelings of guilt that seemed to be growing within him with each confirmed case. After a week the schools and universities in Hanoi were closed, and without classes and schoolwork, Duc now immersed himself 24/7 in his volunteer duties. He would assist in the collection, transport and, after a while, even the analysis of blood samples. He would communicate information about new cases, deaths, changes in symptoms to the relevant health workers, scientists and officials. He soon became as knowledgable about the flu virus and its spread as anyone.Yet he couldn't escape the deep, eroding sense of guilt that ate away inside him. He'd been told so many times that, because he hadn't had direct contact with animals, he almost certainly wasn't the first to be infected with the new strain. Yet they couldn't assure him with certainty that his body had not provided the host for the last step in the mutation of H5N1 into the highly infectious Hanoi strain. As far as he was concerned they might as well have called it the Duc virus. Each day he watched, with horror, the news reports of new cases in new places. He would see only the eyes of those infected and of those in fear of infection, the rest of their faces covered by masks, usually home made from whatever they could get their hands on and totally useless.Sometimes those eyes seemed to be looking at him through the camera, accusing, pleading, hating.Within a week of Duc walking into the hospital, 107 cases of flu had been confirmed in Hanoi, 12 had died. Within a month the number of cases in Vietnam and neighboring Laos, Thailand and Cambodia had risen to seven to eight thousand, it was becoming increasingly difficult to accurately gauge numbers. Over the course of the next month the pandemic gained momentum, spreading through the Asian subcontinent like a wildfire; China's previous experience with SARS proving useless in the face of the onslaught. By the end of the third month, despite the early grounding of all commercial flights out of South East Asia, flu cases had been confirmed in cities overseas; Kyoto, Cairo, San Diego, Vancouver, Buenos Aires, the number of cities the virus had hit and the distance it had travelled increased day by day. It was now officially a global pandemic and by the end of the fourth month virtually every country in the world had been stricken. Nation after nation proved unprepared for the onslaught of the pandemic.Pre-existing vaccines were no defense against the new flu strain. The United States had stockpiled enough antiviral drugs for barely 2% of its population and the distribution of these limited reserves to a select few resulted in social unrest and violence to a completely unexpected level; the world's greatest economy was brought to its knees in a matter of weeks. Western european nations had been somewhat better prepared; the United Kingdom had enough antivirals for more than 30% of its population. But it was in the developing world that the virus unleashed the full ferocity of its nature. It would not be until long after the pandemic had run its course that the world discovered the full extent of the unimaginable devastation of human life in most of Africa and parts of Asia.The first effective vaccine became available in the US six months after Duc had walked into the French hospital. By that time more half a million Americans had died. The vaccine was soon available in other countries rich enough and with the industrial base to support its production. Those countries vaccinated their own populations first; most of the world's poorer countries did not receive any vaccine until after the pandemic had run its natural course. The pandemic was declared over about ten months after it had started - the virus would of course return, but the world's population would then have natural immunity to fight it.The 1918 Spanish flu pandemic had killed about 40 million people worldwide. By the time it was over, the 2006 Hanoi flu pandemic had killed an estimated 45 million.Duc continued to work within the Vietnamese health authorities and in close liaison with the WHO to find out as much as possible about the origin and spread of the Hanoi strain. Soon he turned his attention to the prevention of the next pandemic, whenever it may come. Eight years after the Hanoi pandemic he had become South East Asia's leading expert on flu epidemiology and prevention and was highly respected throughout the world's health and medical organizations. Few knew that he was the first documented case, the index case, of the Hanoi flu. But he did and it would weigh on him for the rest of his life."Blow out the candles honey!"Molly leaned over the ten candles on the cake and drew in a big gulp of air. As she did, Dave's mind flashed back to the day she was born. He had been in Vietnam leading a multi-discipline team tracking the course of the avian flu virus H5N1. He'd desperately wanted to be back in the States for the birth of the twins, but things were getting scary and there was no way anyone on the team would be able to go home for a while. Unlike chickens and ducks, the natural hosts for H5N1, pigs could be infected with both "bird" and "human" flu viruses. Pigs provided a melting pot in which the "bird" virus, which could not be transmitted between people but which they had no immunity to, could recombine its DNA with "human" flu viruses that had already infected humans, i.e. that were capable of jumping from person to person, but which humans had immunity to. Dave's team had two major goals; 1) track the changes in the DNA and animal hosts of the virus to try and predict where and when the most likely outbreaks of human transmission might occur and 2) if a human infectious virus strain did emerge, to rapidly analyze its DNA to (a) determine if pre-existing vaccines might be useful and (b) provide a template for production of new vaccines.The phone rang, Dave quickly looked at the number - Susy was due - but it was another number he knew well."Paolo, hi.""Dave, we have a walk-in case with no animal contact, full symptoms, credible history, you need to get over to Hanoi central.""Okay we're there Paolo."Dave flew ahead to Hanoi by helicopter while the rest of the team quickly readied the level 3 mobile containment lab, one of only three in SE Asia. By the time Dave arrived in Hanoi they had another case, things were getting really bad. Fortunately Paolo was really on the ball and had blood samples ready to go, they just needed to wait for the containment vessel.Within a day they'd ascertained that pre-existing vaccines would probably be useless against the new strain. They now had one goal; determine the DNA crossovers that had occurred between viruses to provide a vaccine template. Working around the clock they got the template in four days. Breaking the unofficial world record by about a month came as no reward to anyone in the team; making the vaccine would take a lot longer.Dave had spent years arguing that vaccine production needed to be ramped up - implement reverse genetics so that vaccines could be generated only with DNA fragments, change vaccine production from chicken eggs to vats of tissue culture animal cells and, most importantly, actually get the companies that made vaccines to actually make them in sufficient quantity. The night before he'd left for SE Asia, Dave and Susy had had a few close friends over for a cook-out. Dave and Stan had gotten into the same old argument."Dave, can you give me any reason why a Pharmaceutical company should be compelled to produce sufficient drugs or vaccines to cover EVERYONE in the world? They don't possess sole pole position in the conscience race you know.""I understand that Stan, but look at it this way. If the US Government wants a bunch of stealth bombers made, they don't go to Lockheed and say 'If you build us a dozen B-2's we'll pay you for them if and when we need them.' No, they go ahead and pay them in advance to build them. So why doesn't the Government do the same with Pfizer? Why pay up front for weapons that kill people and pay in hindsight for weapons that save people?"Now all Dave's worst forebodings were coming to fruition - antivirals were inadequate in supply and efficacy, vaccines were a long way off and he was stuck in Asia in the middle of a deadly flu pandemic.He was finally able to fly back to the States once the pandemic had spread there - there was no longer any point in excluding them. Before he left Vietnam he phoned Susy;"I'll be home before you know it - can't wait to see Molly and Melanie!""We can't wait either hun."She didn't tell him the twins were coughing a little - everyone was these days, nothing to worry about.By the time Dave's plane touched down Melanie was dead. Molly would pull through, as you already know, but Dave would never see his other daughter alive.Molly leant forward and blew as hard as she could on all ten candles. They all went out! WooHoo!"What did you wish Molly?" asked Susy."That's my secret Mom!" said Molly, smiling through her tears.Susy and Dave both knew that Molly had made the same wish she'd made the year before, and the year before that, and the year before that, and.........Duc placed the empty glass back on the table. Extinguishing the candle between his thumb and forefinger, he stood up and started walking toward his study. There was work to do.Next time they would be ready.

He only posts twice a year but when he does - duck - Steve at www.scienceexplained.blogspot.com

Gord night

The internovella continued -

if you undo my chains will I strike out again?

No - ney never - I am not the wild rover = I love where I live, I earn respect and, I respect
those, whom I respect. Why would a tin miner, bound for New Zealand, become an instant killer?

I have a stalker!

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GCHQ Spy Hoots!

I think I support China! 

Steve Bruce? 

Stop, says the caption! 

Anyone expain this to me?

Jouets intimes: superflex grip
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Straight Gordon

Bastard Aussies - up to every trick in the book -

during the "DRINKS INTERVAL" after tea they were eating pies, crumpet and toast. Healthy eating methinks not - the bastards were after smearing the ball with grease to make it squirt better.
Gord Fuming

Just outside Stoke City's ground - best pie shop in the country.

Last visited it in 1962 but I am reliably informed that it is still going. Anyone know it's name?

Gordon the pie eater.

Skinner's Cornish Knocker

Known as the Tin Mine Fairies, the Cornish Knockers used to guide the miners to the rich veins of ore by knocking. With the demise of mining, over the years, many knockers have , "returned to grass" where,, in disguise, they help with their brewing off their ales!

Gordon Brewing

A perfect English summer.Read more on Kernow Knocker above. 

Ebay sucks -

Two of us have been ripped off recently - but, surprise, surprise - instead of, "Leave Feedback" - there is "View payment details" - comment is, "They are rip off merchants".
Gord do not buy ebay or sell ebay or use paypall= prostitues all!

The intenovella continued

that, when that boot studding moment arrives, you are not alone, at least not alone spiritually.

Brave people like N or Louise have been beaten - physically and mentally - by illness or man - but, like all of us, have learnt from that experience, for the worse or the better. The zenith is to recoil but walk away with dignity, head held high, like Bobby Moore - or to sink into the abyss from which, you may never crawl out.

So why the knife to the wife, easy - and suddenly sirens - the cops in their usual stealthy way had arrived to take him away. How do you plead they said, I plead to be released from these 'cuffs but ..

All of the photos on this site courtesy of Nikkon.

Plymouth - six miles away. 

Sailing on the Tamar Estuary. 

God's country - Kernow. Who would want to live or love in New Zealand? 

Some pickies of Stratton car boot sale today.

It's been a long day! 

It's been a long day - knackered! 

For sale - still - offers please! 

Happiness, Happiness the greatest joy the wold posess! 

"This one is very nice = �1.00 only" 

Blairs Ian and Tony - recruiting sergeants for Al. Q.

The internovella continued

totally change direction. If you are in fear of someone or something then walk, with dignity, away from it. Take control, dear reader - it is your life - do not live it in fear or hatred - just say fuck off I'm orf. Then suddenly your life is flooded by people, who do not wish to threaten you, but will embrace you, with their words and thier love. Not physical but mindful, 'cos they care - these people are rare, Mo Mowlem was one; I dear reader watching your inerlself, and every word and every movement, from my lofty dundgeon am one. A fallen angle determined, though drained, to ensure ....

The internovella continued

Chairman Mao said, something along the lines, of, "Give me the boy from 3 until 7 and I will give you the man". I agree - sure genes play their part, but it is upbringing and life's experiences that mould us. But, dear reader, where the hon. Chair and the geno's, who are trying to manipulate our world are wrong is that the University of Experience can make you change track, bin old ideas, as well as ideals and make you think anew.
If you are stuck in a rut then ...

I hear Seb Coe bleating -" We must have foreign

coaches to get the best out of our athletes for 2012".

Rolex = we must make our athletes and our footballers starve, instead of getting huge lottery grants, and fans hard earned money. which they squander on the good life. Pay for play - medals - give 'em the money - wasters nowt!
Prudence

Matthew Arnold

The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits;
on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone;
the cliffs of England stand;
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of sprayWhere the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.
Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the A gaean, and it broughtInto his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
The Sea of FaithWas once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hearIts melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

Nuff said
Gordon

Full Moon rises over England. 

MICROSOFT, IBM all have agreements with the Usa

Gov. that allow spyware on all of their software. Beware thet are following your every keystroke!

Gord and Bennet

A slab to be avoided at all costs! 

For Gawd's sake don't press the wrong button. 

For the technically minded amongst you. 

Kernow's pride!