The Substratum Dream of a Flagpole Skater...

I am the flag-pole skater, and I’m pursuing my dream in a small, slow circle.

My dream, born from years of yearning for something different, is to skate.

To skate on a platform.

To skate on a small, circular platform.

To skate in slow circles on a small, circular platform longer than anyone ever has before.

The previous record, set in the winter of 1934 by a bear wearing a fez hat, is well within my reach.

127 hours and 43 minutes of continuous skate.

That was what that big Russian bear wearing his fez hat and his shock collar achieved before he fell.

I can, and will, eclipse that noble bear’s efforts.

Not because I’m forced to do so, not because I’m paid to do so, but because I want to do so.

Because it is my dream.

On my platform, on my pole, high above my house, I push one skate in front of the other, then I repeat.

I have done this now for over 45 minutes.

This leaves me with less than 126 hours left to eclipse the mighty bear’s effort, to accomplish my dream.

I am determined, I am focused, I will accomplish my goal.

People have often responded with curiosity when I tell them of my dream.

What? Why?

This seems to be the broader public hotel community common consensus.

This unenlightened attitude overwhelms the public sphere, yet confuses me horribly in conversation.

To properly stop, to properly think, to properly theorise, it is necessary focus on something thoughtless.

Only when one’s mind is truly distracted can it be truly insightful.

I push one skate in front of the other, and then I repeat.

The only way forward for us, for them, and for you, is to freely do what others have been forced to do.

Only then is it possible to understand, to empathise, and to change.

The philanthropic philosopher funding my mission is the only one who understands.

He bought me my skates, he paid for the platform, and he even stole the pole.

But these objects are truly mine, he says, for this is my mission, my dream, my idea.

We know my noble mission will lead us to enlightenment, to ideas, to empathy, to a new way.

Of this we are both unconditionally sure.

Since that bleary night at the Bear-Flag brothel when I explained to him my mind; we’ve both been sure.

He erected the platform on a pole above his department store, and then bequeathed it to me as my own.

He has given me his store, given me his heart, given me every available opportunity to realise my mind.

I know this will happen; I know this won’t end up being what they claim it will be.

When the 100th hour passes, and it hasn’t yet happened, I know I will worry, he has warned me that I will.
But the nobility of the mission mustn’t be forgotten; for this is a matter of utmost importance.

I look down at the inquisitive crowds of children and animals swarming in and out of the store.

I think of my designated bed in the store windows below longingly, not long now.
Only about 125 hours.

I just wish we had thought of a can or a bucket for a toilet, I really need to piss.

boy lilikoi...

Jonsi, lead singer of almighty Sigur Ros, is working on a solo album.
Producer Peter Katis, who has worked with the also-awesome Interpol and Frightened Rabbit, reckons: "It's going to be a largely acoustic guitar record but also with a lot of 'out there' string arrangements...strings, woodwinds, brass, and double bass, actually." Sounds exciting. Anything with the angelic icelandic voice of yes please is bound to be amazing.
If this first single is anything to go by, we're in for a treat..

mmmm...
You can download the track at his website here, if you join teh mailing list.

Previous Jonsi Blogerature

in a time of turgid sheen...

If you loved me you’d let me live in peace.
You love giving, the giving of grief.
I deny I’m like you but I know that I am.
I feel I’ll never act a man.

I’m thirsty for real nights.
Nights we can come to grips.
Nights we can understand, just for a second.
Seconds we can feel full,
full of the knowledge and knowing the known.
Knowing full-well that that knowledge will never last,
yet hoping that it might.
I rose from a dream, a dream of hoping that it would.

She’s and screens flicker, blur and bend.
Words rattle under the tepid towel.
I need your sense of stability.
I hate your phantom senility.
To name all your sheets you need me alive.
To frame all your thoughts you need me to die.

The loveliest lords love like nothing.
The loneliest lads lie in hard rain.
Picking pills from the pocket going fucking insane.
Wandering the city streets leaves us laying back to back.

Forming our tale in a time of turgid sheen.
We look more and find less than people past.
Simple times call for simple measures.
Complex times call for simple pleasures.
I think that I know, I know that I don’t.
Give her a tour, she’ll find it alright.

Blue blankets of apathy wrap up my mornings.
If you’re dying to be lead, you’re dying to be dead.
Hiding from the sun, hiding from no-one.
Obsessive introspection can’t become the norm.
Laying around feeling sorry and sinful won’t help anyone.
Nearly everyone else has it worse.
Wake up from yourself, wake from the troubled slumber.

Let’s pause and find our own inventions.
Find things of us, things of them.
Things of his and hers and theirs.
Stop staring at the banal and start staring at each other.

Remember when our oldest friend left us here to rot?
The phone won’t ring and loving won’t come.
Not from there, not from them.
Although we find and figure and find, they won’t be found.
Not now, not again, not ever.
To pre-empt December stains lay the blanket over the bowl.
The four-armed hat stand stares blankly at the hole.

Quantifiable evidence amounts to qualitative cock.
There’s plenty of time to know nothing and to love every minute.
There’s plenty of love in the minute corner of the clock.
Breaking off the minute hand,
making the most of the moment.

Throw caution to your mother, throw your mother to the wind.
She will find you one day, bigger and better than her door.
You will leave her and pray, smaller and meeker than before.
But strength will find you one day, strength will make you more.

A stronger sense of the sane hides somewhere in the future.
Stop with the searching and go with the flow.
The river of life ain’t as cloudy as it seems.
In the clearest of waters you’ll discover the dreams.