Ham Meet Rye. Rye, Meet Ham

There's nothing quite like a great literary tattoo to start the week with a bang. This Bukowski comes from the hand of a friend of a friend - Lea Nahon who you can find here in all her unfettered glory. 

Lea is one of my personal top ten favourite artists in the world - proper feature type thing of many words coming your way in the next issue (#264) of the mag if you're looking for more. People can be quite vocal about Bukowski's right to be called 'literary', but you don't see many Thomas Hardy tattoos around, so I rest my case.


Out here in Lonely-Land, I'm just coming up to the end of a final draft of The Really Important Thing I've been working on these last few weeks. I'm pretty excited about it. It's some of the best work I've done - and I don't say that lightly. I'm my own harshest critic every single day of the week - and this is standing its ground on all fronts. I'll post updates when it gets where I think it's going and then... we wait.

HOW DID IT GET TO BE FRIDAY ALREADY?

My lovely small person went to see Ariana Grande on Monday night - it's OK, I had never heard of her either. It was a little odd hearing about her going to a show and then transposing my own experience of being 14 on top of it though.

At a rough estimate, I worked out that the whole trip - including tickets, travel and essential tour tshirt - probably came in at something like £120 and that's probably being generous. I was going  to tell her about my first show alone (which was UFO back in '82/'83) and then thought better of it but in my silence, figured out the sum total of that trip (ticket, travel, essential tour shirt and oddly a copy of the MAD magazine summer special found at a newsstand outside the venue) came in at less than £15. Is that comparable? The ticket was something like £4 (if I ask my friend John, he probably still has his stub and could tell me for sure) which really enabled a kid of 14 to go out and see a lot of bands. 

Seeing a band sure is steep these days.

On the plus side, she had a great time and some dude from One Direction showed up in the area she was in "without a body guard!" 

Is that on a par with Dee Snider being found playing the slot machines in a local bingo hall after their first UK show? I guess somehow in a skewed universe of strange reality, it just might be. (Quickly references interested parties on such matters to own book titled Black Dye White Noise which contains such stories).

(On which note - if you're a fan of Dee Snider, his new podcast, Snider Comments, is everything you'd expect it to be - in the latest episode he has Wayne Kramer of MC5 in the studio. People forget just how cool MC5 were. Check this out this 45 year old clip from 1969. They don't make 'em like they used to and they really fucking should:

•••

In the interview I linked to yesterday over at Infected, I mention a Bukowski book cover I put together. A couple of people have asked if the could see it, so here it is. It's not a commercial venture or anything of the kind... just a guy messing about with something he loves. Anyway... 

•••

I got all fired up when I heard Clive Barker was finally unleashing The Scarlet Gospels but now it's been out two or three weeks, I'm not so sure I should have been. The reviews from long time fans are not good. Not good at all. I shouldn't have looked but the cat's out of the bag now and I can't get back in. Maybe I'll just leave it unread on the shelf for a little while and see how I feel some day in the future. Still, Clive is Clive and if you're of the same mindset, there's a neat interview with him up at Wired in which he talks about some important stuff - particularly his comments on Anne Rice and the way some her 'fans' treated her recently.

••• 

Finally, Matt Haig followed me on Twitter yesterday. Not sure what I did to deserve that but it's kinda cool for a great writer to click a button your name is attached to. His book The Humans is a fine, fine read. He has a new book out called Reasons To Stay Alive that I haven't got around to yet but regardless of that... Matt: I'll buy you a really big latte if you can be bothered driving to Ramsgate next Wednesday and I'll shoplift your book into the bargain.

•••

Oh - really finally - if you're at a loss for something to watch on TV now silly season is over, Duchovny's Aquarius is out there. Just saying. 

The Big Sexy

I start this post with no real idea of what I'm trying to say or where I'm going with it. All I got is a vague notion to talk with somebody (imaginary virtual audience) about self image. I was reading some articles over on Medium after I posted there yesterday (you didn't miss anything, it was a repost of How To Drown The Sound Of Crying) and I came across a great post by some guy I had never heard of called Rich Roll. The article itself is worth a read, as is this second one from him - but first you must click here and see his site. Two seconds is all it will take you to figure out what he's all about. 

If you can't be bothered looking, it's basically about some guy who got tired of himself lying on the sofa and being a perpetual loser who turned himself into one of the X-Men using plants and can now run insane distances while looking sexy and podcasting about it. It's easy to be dismissive when I don't want to be those things. Actually - I say I don't want to be those things, but I'm not entirely sure of that. Would I like to be an amazing runner-type-dude with podcast episodes that people paid to listen to? Sure - why not. Sounds great. Except, that's not what I want my legacy to be. It might be sexy to some people whose own mirror tells them it's a sexy image but my idea of sexy has nothing to do with sex nor does it have anything to do with fitness.

I thought in those actual words - "that's not what I want my legacy to be". I don't want to be remembered for being able to run for miles but there is a little part of me that wishes what I saw naked in the mirror matched the mental image of what used to be some time ago. 

Which begs the question - of me, and perhaps you if you want to go down that road - "how do I really see myself and does it matter if that doesn't match what other people see."

I think it might. What if you see yourself as a successful 'take no prisoners' entrepreneur but the rest of the world sees nothing but a selfish dick whose parents didn't pay them enough attention, did you really win that war? It's one thing to not care what other people think about you but - in this example - when the weight of opinion goes against the grain, it gets out of the realm of funny and starts to have too many similarities with great dictators of the world.

So what do I want my legacy to be? What do I think is sexy? They sound very different but they're very much the same really. I guess if I pursue what I think to be sexy, then those things will be pure, from the heart and become the legacy by default. Given that you can't dictate what the world will think about you when you're gone (hell, maybe you don't give flying one about what people will think about you when you're dead but roll with it - if you've got kids, it's at least semi-important) you might as well focus on what you find sexy.

So, I ask myself again - what do I find sexy these days? I used to find self-confidence sexy but that's over-rated now that everybody is faking their aura and backing it up with proactively and continually trying to sell you something. I blame social media for that one. It's one thing to be self-confident but let's face it, a far too large percentage of the people who are out there tooting their own trumpet are, in all reality, shit at what they do. 

There have been a couple of times that I found the idea of being in great physical shape quite sexy. Maybe once after I had seen Rocky, definitely another time when I found myself outgunned at a ju-jitsu competition at Crystal Palace and maybe one other time when some guy called Scottie decided I would be a good punching bag sometime in the mid-eighties. That last one actually has a happy ending because I slept with his girlfriend some ten years later. 

I think I'm leading up to announcing here that I find writers sexy but that's not exactly true either because there are too many of them to make that declaration in such a sweeping statement. The truth is, there's a certain type of author/writer that I find sexy. That goes for songwriters and other types of artist too. 

That type is the honest artist. It was incredibly simple all along but it still took me forty-five years to figure it out. Charles Bukowski is sexy because he is bare-knuckle honest. The new album from Lissie (Back To Forever) is unbelievably sexy because it's a bucketful of her heart tipped out across the kitchen floor.

Game of Thrones is sexy because it's not pretending to be something it's not. On paper, it should be an awful show that makes me cringe but it's so hand-on-heart honest about its intentions, it's impossible not to fall for it.

The more people that I find sexy in this way, the more it feels right to be a part of that tribe. The world is not a nice place but it's not so awful either. The world is pretty funny really if you carry some salt around in your pocket. 

For honesty (and therefore, sexy) to work properly - to be honest with yourself and others - you need to be able to not stand in judgement of either. To take something and love it in the state you found it in, is very empowering. I didn't realise before that many of the things I find sexy have been with me for a long time now. That famous quote that goes "Have nothing in your house that's not useful or beautiful" reads much better as "Have nothing in your life that you don't find sexy" - we shall let it be somebody else's problem if they wish to interpret 'sexy' as the size of your chest, lips, hair colour or ability to run across the Grand Canyon fuelled only by the leaves of a Yukka tree.

Being sexy is the new black. As Lissie would have it: 

"I don't know what this game is
because I'm not even playing it"

And the only game that's worth playing is the one you set the pieces up for inside your head.