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The new release from London pop-rockers Goldhawks is the single Where In The World, following the release of Running Away in December 2009.
Where In The World was released yesterday (29/3/10)
I had the pleasure of seeing Goldhawks live; supporting The Courteeners at the Picture House in Edinburgh, with my better half, who not only supplied the tickets but shelled out an astonishing £3.60 for two tins of Pepsi. I’m going to be honest, to begin with I wasn’t really to keen on them but I gave them a chance and listened to them whenever I had the opportunity and now, they are fast becoming one of my favourite bands.
The Single: It’s quite a slow song to begin with but by the time the second chorus comes about I defy you to sing along, even if you don’t know the words you’ll make something up that fits. There is just THAT much energy in the song. Its infectious, it gets under your skin and just stays there and every time you play or hear the song it pops its little head up and does a little dance in your pores. You know you want that feeling, you do, and I can see it in your eyes that I can’t even see! THAT’S how much I know you will love it.
The video is on YouTube, just search Goldhawks – Where In The World.
You can hear a little snippet of the single here: http://www.goldhawks.co.uk/audio.php?id=4
Strange Feelings of a Stranger
Over the last couple of days I have been plagued with a feeling of impending doom mixed with a really sickly feeling in my stomach. It’s really starting to get on my nerves, its affecting my life in stupid ways.
I can’t sleep because I constantly feel anxious even though I have no real reason to be, I’m a moody tit because I feel sick... I'm basically just not a nice guy to know at the moment.
I feel sorry for people who have to put up with me just now, not only that there is another health scare on my part but I'm keeping that to myself as much as possible, the good news is that it seems to be better than it was a week or two ago.
Back to me being a grumpy, anxious turd. It’s really not at all fun, and I'm sorry for being a dick. I don’t like being a dick but it comes across when I don’t know how to cope with the way I'm feeling. It’s really not fun at all, I'm not nice to be around but I'm working on it.
Much Ado About Not Doing Much
Over the years there have been lots of people tell me that I’m no good, not good at anything and should basically just give up.
Recently however, I have started doing more and more things that I used to do that I loved to do, I have started writing again “properly”, started drawing more than doodles on my wall or on my arms, and every now and again legs; and much to my surprise, I’ve been really enjoying it again.
Those people telling me that I was no good and should just give up wont get to see my newer “work” as I have, either A) cut them out of my life or B) stopped showing them my “work.”
That’s why I enjoy blogging, it puts my work out there for a wider audience than the people more inclined to blam it into the ground or the people who will like it just because I wrote it, it lets people I don’t know read it and see it. That’s one of the main reasons I’m putting a book together, so I can say “I’ve got this at least, what have you got?” to the people who hated everything I done. I can look at it, the book, filled with all my own work, maybe even some sketches thrown in there for good measure, and to pad out the page count, and think to myself, this is what I wanted to do and I done it off my own back”
Sixonesix tees came from that school of thought, knowing what I want to do and putting it into a corporeal form, giving it weight, the same weight that I felt squarely on my shoulders and that weighed heavy on my heart when all I heard was “Is that the best you can do?”
Recently however, I have started doing more and more things that I used to do that I loved to do, I have started writing again “properly”, started drawing more than doodles on my wall or on my arms, and every now and again legs; and much to my surprise, I’ve been really enjoying it again.
Those people telling me that I was no good and should just give up wont get to see my newer “work” as I have, either A) cut them out of my life or B) stopped showing them my “work.”
That’s why I enjoy blogging, it puts my work out there for a wider audience than the people more inclined to blam it into the ground or the people who will like it just because I wrote it, it lets people I don’t know read it and see it. That’s one of the main reasons I’m putting a book together, so I can say “I’ve got this at least, what have you got?” to the people who hated everything I done. I can look at it, the book, filled with all my own work, maybe even some sketches thrown in there for good measure, and to pad out the page count, and think to myself, this is what I wanted to do and I done it off my own back”
Sixonesix tees came from that school of thought, knowing what I want to do and putting it into a corporeal form, giving it weight, the same weight that I felt squarely on my shoulders and that weighed heavy on my heart when all I heard was “Is that the best you can do?”
Feeling the Pressure to Perform on a Regular Basis
Having to come up with a new topic of discussion every week is starting to turn my little head’s lonely innards into a grey puddle.
But I suppose I shouldn’t complain, it gives me a chance to do one thing I truly love, and that’s to write. To write about anything I can think of, to let my imagination take flight and throw off the shackles of this plane and float somewhere, listless in the ethereal void, all these images bombarding me.
Images of Cats being stung my bees on acid, visions of acorns with imaginary friends, small glimpses of girls in boats looking out onto a bank to see a ghoul wearing her father as a suit. There are other images of course, ones that may make more sense or tug more at your heart-strings, these images are more often than not turned into stories, the most recent of which being a short story called “The Lake” which I may or may not put up here, its gonna be in the book so… either, either or, eh? I don’t want to give the whole book away for free… you people gotta pay. *maniacal laughter*
Coming into college on a Tuesday after having the whole week since last Tuesday to come up with a topic and I’m still at a loss for words. Like I said before, I don’t care if I don’t have anything to write about just now, something will come to me, drifting in nothingness and I will jot it down, you can read it then we can get on with our lives and be happy for a week, before I start bombarding you with nonsense again, talking bout acorns, cats, beavers who don’t have a proper name so it changes all the time, girls in boats and the odd, occasional proper blog post, like this one that isn’t a short story.
What’s your preference?
But I suppose I shouldn’t complain, it gives me a chance to do one thing I truly love, and that’s to write. To write about anything I can think of, to let my imagination take flight and throw off the shackles of this plane and float somewhere, listless in the ethereal void, all these images bombarding me.
Images of Cats being stung my bees on acid, visions of acorns with imaginary friends, small glimpses of girls in boats looking out onto a bank to see a ghoul wearing her father as a suit. There are other images of course, ones that may make more sense or tug more at your heart-strings, these images are more often than not turned into stories, the most recent of which being a short story called “The Lake” which I may or may not put up here, its gonna be in the book so… either, either or, eh? I don’t want to give the whole book away for free… you people gotta pay. *maniacal laughter*
Coming into college on a Tuesday after having the whole week since last Tuesday to come up with a topic and I’m still at a loss for words. Like I said before, I don’t care if I don’t have anything to write about just now, something will come to me, drifting in nothingness and I will jot it down, you can read it then we can get on with our lives and be happy for a week, before I start bombarding you with nonsense again, talking bout acorns, cats, beavers who don’t have a proper name so it changes all the time, girls in boats and the odd, occasional proper blog post, like this one that isn’t a short story.
What’s your preference?
These Things Happen (or That Bastard Cat)
Here's A Little Story From The Memory Banks, Originally Posted on ProjectMhareo
It was a cold day in mid-July, the mist hung low in the air, faint squeals of a mixture between pleasure and pain could be heard in the mid-morning ruckus of the quiet suburb.
Under a rose bush, two cats living in sin where having an "intimate" moment... well as intimate as cats can be, did you know that male cats have like... hooks on their dingus so the girl cat can’t run away? Bet you didn’t, well, you do now.
These cats were a Mr K.Davour and a Miss D.ico, the pair had been having feline carnal relations for a solid 15 minutes, and if there’s one thing I can say it is Mr Davour sure does have stamina.
As long as a cat pregnancy takes later, Miss Ico was blessed with a gorgeous litter, unfortunately only one of the kittens survived, surprisingly, it was the runt of the bunch, Miss Ico decided on a name for her new kitten, she would call him Cal.
As the years passed and Cal grew up without a father, he began to ask questions on where his daddy was, his mother would tell him that his father was a marine off fighting some crazy war, Cal did not believe his mother, she had a tendency to lie, one time she told Cal not to drink out of puddles or eat yellow snow, what’s wrong with puddles and who doesn’t love the taste of yellow snow? Stupid woman he thought to himself.
SO! Cal took it upon himself to go find his father, given no clues by his mother who since having Cal and losing all the other kittens had developed a crazy bad Methamphetamine habit, so really she was no good to anyone anymore.
Cal left his little kitty home and set off down the street. A hobo pack on his little back, a head full of dreams and a head full of Kitamine, which is Ketamine for cats in case that joke was lost on you.
Cal's journey seemed to last for weeks and weeks, which it did, Cal had not eaten very well over the time of his trek so he stopped at a lake and had some laps of water, all of a sudden, a little bee buzzed past Cal's head and landed on his nose.
The bee looked at Cal with a certain obvious distaste. Cal looked back at the bee, bewildered by what he saw, the bee looked back at Cal and the two just stood staring at each other until the bee spoke,
"I am... Teh Funneh B. I'm not your average Bee. Heehee
I’m high on acid; my bee-schlong is flacid
Why the hell are you staring at me? Heeheehee"
Cal looked back at the obviously deranged bee and spoke himself,
"My name is Cal Ico, I’m looking for my father, but I don’t know how I will recognise him... my mother didn’t tell me anything about him, I’ve basically just been wandering around for weeks"
The bee, obviously touched by Cal's woeful tale, stung Cal in his nose, killing himself in the process.
Cal awoke weeks later, surrounded by singing little cats playing harps, Cal stood up and looked around, he had little kitty wings and a little halo, can you imagine that sight? Apart from it being a dead cat, don’t you think a little cat with wings and a halo would be really cute?
*collective awwww*
Cal took three cat steps forward and was greeted by a loud “OOOOOOOOHMYGODDD!”
Cal, bewildered, looked around and noticed an older looking cat, who looked like what Cal would look like in a couple of years, Cal smiled to himself, let out a squeak of glee and shouted,
“Daddy!?”
The older cat looked at Cal, and said, “Don’t be stupid ya stupid.”
Cal passed out with disbelief.
Minutes later Cal awoke to his mother’s concerned face looking down at him, Cal looked up and sighed…
“Mother, I had such a wonderful dream”
“Oh... what was it about?”
“I… I can’t remember”
“Oh well son. These things happen, now go to the hospital and have them remove some of your organs so I can sell them for Meth”
It was a cold day in mid-July, the mist hung low in the air, faint squeals of a mixture between pleasure and pain could be heard in the mid-morning ruckus of the quiet suburb.
Under a rose bush, two cats living in sin where having an "intimate" moment... well as intimate as cats can be, did you know that male cats have like... hooks on their dingus so the girl cat can’t run away? Bet you didn’t, well, you do now.
These cats were a Mr K.Davour and a Miss D.ico, the pair had been having feline carnal relations for a solid 15 minutes, and if there’s one thing I can say it is Mr Davour sure does have stamina.
As long as a cat pregnancy takes later, Miss Ico was blessed with a gorgeous litter, unfortunately only one of the kittens survived, surprisingly, it was the runt of the bunch, Miss Ico decided on a name for her new kitten, she would call him Cal.
As the years passed and Cal grew up without a father, he began to ask questions on where his daddy was, his mother would tell him that his father was a marine off fighting some crazy war, Cal did not believe his mother, she had a tendency to lie, one time she told Cal not to drink out of puddles or eat yellow snow, what’s wrong with puddles and who doesn’t love the taste of yellow snow? Stupid woman he thought to himself.
SO! Cal took it upon himself to go find his father, given no clues by his mother who since having Cal and losing all the other kittens had developed a crazy bad Methamphetamine habit, so really she was no good to anyone anymore.
Cal left his little kitty home and set off down the street. A hobo pack on his little back, a head full of dreams and a head full of Kitamine, which is Ketamine for cats in case that joke was lost on you.
Cal's journey seemed to last for weeks and weeks, which it did, Cal had not eaten very well over the time of his trek so he stopped at a lake and had some laps of water, all of a sudden, a little bee buzzed past Cal's head and landed on his nose.
The bee looked at Cal with a certain obvious distaste. Cal looked back at the bee, bewildered by what he saw, the bee looked back at Cal and the two just stood staring at each other until the bee spoke,
"I am... Teh Funneh B. I'm not your average Bee. Heehee
I’m high on acid; my bee-schlong is flacid
Why the hell are you staring at me? Heeheehee"
Cal looked back at the obviously deranged bee and spoke himself,
"My name is Cal Ico, I’m looking for my father, but I don’t know how I will recognise him... my mother didn’t tell me anything about him, I’ve basically just been wandering around for weeks"
The bee, obviously touched by Cal's woeful tale, stung Cal in his nose, killing himself in the process.
Cal awoke weeks later, surrounded by singing little cats playing harps, Cal stood up and looked around, he had little kitty wings and a little halo, can you imagine that sight? Apart from it being a dead cat, don’t you think a little cat with wings and a halo would be really cute?
*collective awwww*
Cal took three cat steps forward and was greeted by a loud “OOOOOOOOHMYGODDD!”
Cal, bewildered, looked around and noticed an older looking cat, who looked like what Cal would look like in a couple of years, Cal smiled to himself, let out a squeak of glee and shouted,
“Daddy!?”
The older cat looked at Cal, and said, “Don’t be stupid ya stupid.”
Cal passed out with disbelief.
Minutes later Cal awoke to his mother’s concerned face looking down at him, Cal looked up and sighed…
“Mother, I had such a wonderful dream”
“Oh... what was it about?”
“I… I can’t remember”
“Oh well son. These things happen, now go to the hospital and have them remove some of your organs so I can sell them for Meth”
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