When I Close My Eyes I Hear Music
On my way to work I saw people spilling out of a club. Drunk men of such ugliness of the spirit and face I knew sudden violence was imminent. And bouncers who didn’t care: stood like Michelin Men in front of the gaudy facade of the club that didn’t care what crimes its patrons commit. Drunken men my age and older, out for a shag or a fight. This is Ivegate now. This is Bradford now.
Work is full of people younger than me and women who watch Soap Operas. Ambition is measured in the acquisition of jewellery. I pride myself on doing my job well. I like most of the people around me. But I stand apart. As much as I am one of them I will never be one of them.
As I get older I listen to the Rolling Stones more. Chart music seems to be ever shallower, karaoke iterations of bland truisms sanded down to remove any interest. Is Lady Gaga really that good or just the sole purveyor of music with intelligence amidst a sea of mediocrity?
I should have my current course pretty much completed the week after my birthday. Christmas will be relaxation ready for taking two more in the new year. When the economy rebounds I want to be best placed to take advantage.