exodus...

When the factory horn sounded, the streams of navy-overalled people flowed right up my street.My friends and I used to wait for May, who would give us each a kiss. I'm not so sure why we went through this daily ritual, but we did and it was fun. May was always smiling and seemed glad to see us.
I remember the smell of tobacco smoke marinated with the smell of oil coming from the workers as they passed continuously, never ceasing for a full fifteen minutes - then nothing. Just the odd noise of traffic and rain. Just a fierce Ulster sky. Monotone. Threatening. Grey. No People. Like a Death.

I hail from brown furniture, from ashtrays on stands, from velvet wallpaper, from Player's No.6, from vests and pants, from sentimentalist country and western music, from drunks giving me money, from the smell of alcohol, from foul-mouthed, hollow beings,.... from the mental sewer otherwise known as 'The State'.

By 'The State' I mean a complex system of behaviour governed and policed by us all. 'The State' is an unwritten code of social laws that have built up over the evolution of man. It is a series of restrictions rather than allowances.
'The State' Laws apply at all times, but they can be exempt when we are alone with ourselves... and in those times of being alone with your secret self, there are no ties, or restrictions, or people to answer to, or bills to pay, or no suits to wear. It's just YOU.

..."that's not what your wife told me..."

Eight years old and playing paramilitaries. Sitting in drinking clubs. An Ulster tradition was force-fed to me. The importance of the desire for money was the focus given to me. Stereotypical behaviour was encouraged. Do NOT break the mould was the order. We are the herd. We do not belong anywhere else except with the swill and the swine.

The doors opened with seeing the works of Christo, the films of Werner Herzog, reading Carlos Casteneda and George Orwell, hearing the music of XTC and Bowie. These people let me know through their works that I was not alone in this world.

From that, the only escape routes I knew of were through music and reading to educating myself, and that is what I did. I continue to do so and haven't visited the bowels of society in a long, long time.

and I left the old house...

Leaving the old house was not easy. But I did - for three years of hedonistic, emancipated bliss in London Town, which speedily evolved into yet another form of madness. An existence which could not continue, else I lose my purpose. I was wise enough to return to Ireland, and here I am still.

I do know that if the escape from 32 Ravenhill Avenue had not been executed, I would have fallen into enemy hands. The Pubs, the Clubs, the circular, meaningless conversations, the Machismo, the Beer Gut, the kept Anger. They all would have taken me prisoner in the end. And THAT is Death.

electric.music.magic

My work began in the mental sewer. Building sites. Circular, meaningless conversations, the Machismo, the Beer Gut, the kept Anger. My genetic father landed me my first job. I had to scrape shit just like him. It's what Men do. It took seven years to escape that torment. Music is the Earthly work I do. Magic is Magic.

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