Mr Godfrey Norton, dark, handsome and dashing.

I'm not entirely sure if this was a video actually authorised by the band (that sounds so formal and official) or not, but it's a pretty cool video nonetheless, and a great song.

I was thinking about Women because Heather asked if Clash had actually put the last interview I did with them online yet, which they haven't. I'm very sick of Clash by this point, but it's unlikely that I'll stop writing for them because:

A) It's good practise.

B) Free CDs, many of which are pretty excellent (Women, for example).

C) The possibility of a reference.

So even if my pride is constantly being injured, common sense (and Heather) tell me to stick at writing for them. If they'll let me now, I haven't done any reviews for them for a while.

I went to class this morning only to find that there was some class about carbon or something in the room where mine should have been... Very suspicious. Also, the people sitting down inside shut the door in my face, at the behest of the tutor. I was too tired to be indignant though.

I went to my 4 hour creative writing workshop also, which was a mixed bag of enjoyment, productivity and extreme annoyance. But I think I wrote a pretty cool piece, it's very atmospheric and kinda scary, so it's something I might try working on again.

Anyway, carrying on the theme of posting random artworks that I greatly admire, as I fumble around trying to get some sense of what I've been missing by focussing entirely on literature for the last 4 years or whatever, here's a well known and perhaps lesser known work by Rene Magritte:

The Song of the Violet:



The Treachery of Images:



The first is related to the Jackson Pollock I posted the other day in that the primary colour used is grey, which could also be said to be the absence of colour. Magritte's petrification images are pretty cool - part of his way of making you look at something everyday in a different light. To me, these men in suits seem lifted to the status of something eternal and natural, rather than simply being business men that you can see in any street (well, in the 1950s anyway, dressed like that).

The second is obviously the more famous one - the texts translates as "This is not a pipe", ie, it is an image of a pipe rather than an actual pipe. No matter how close to realism you come in painting, you never capture the actual object - painting, and poetry, are lies.

Ah fack, I was trying to find a poem to post at the end but it's taking too long - I was looking for something by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Gregory Corso or Ginsberg, but I could only find poems about bombs. Maybe I'll find something for next time, for now it's getting pretty late.

Cheery bye!