Møvin †

Friends, Im packing up and heading over to wordpress -

You can find me at www.edwardeke.wordpress.com
starting with a new secret weather vol4

Stay happy,

ee

Born on this day, 1906 - S.B

Go where never before
No sooner there than there always
No matter where never before
No sooner there than there always
- 1988








So things may change
No answer
End
No answer
I may choke
No answer
Sink
No answer
Sully the mud no more
No answer
The dark
No answer
Trouble the peace no more
No answer
The silence
No answer
Die
No answer
DIE screams I MAY DIE screams I SHALL DIE screams
Good

- How it is, 1964

Born on 9th March - Samuel Barber

" Dear Mother: I have written to tell you my worrying secret. Now don’t cry when you read it because it is neither yours nor my fault. I suppose I will have to tell it now, without any nonsense. To begin with I was not meant to be an athlete. I was meant to be a composer, and will be I’m sure. I’ll ask you one more thing .—Don’t ask me to try to forget this unpleasant thing and go play football.—Please—Sometimes I’ve been worrying about this so much that it makes me mad (not very). " Aged 9.

long live the new flesh

On my way back from Germany i sat on the train with a bottle of cava, a large pretzel and a quarter bottle of cheap vodka that i had bought at a U-bahn stop the night before. I began to write about my trip, pages of the stuff, feverishly, driving pen and oiled pretzel salt into the page, dribbling cocktail with a smile and letting my head deafen and wool itself as the train flashed in and out of tunnels. I made a solid document of my travels from berlin, down into bavaria and ending by the lakes. It was written on the last pages of a notebook, the last blank pages of a book on witchcraft, and on the tissue paper that the wine had been wrapped in.

Somewhere between Kings Cross and my bed the pages were lost. Of course these mislaid pages were mesmerising, vital nuggets of wild, transcendent literature completely reinventing all written matter and changing the course of the universe for good BUT they are lost, gone forever. So instead, i am going to be brief.

And say this:

Of all the films that i saw at the Berlin Film Festival, the one that i enjoyed the most (and that the cineastes hated) was 'Long Live the New Flesh' by Nicolas Provost. Try and seek it out. It will, how do you say, fuck you up.

Also, try and track down 'Geliebt' by Jan Soldat - a documentary love story...between man and dog. its pretty colourful.

I will be back here shortly.

Packing to Secret Weather no.3

I woke early this morning. I raised the blinds and turned on the radio. I considered going for a run. The street below was quiet and in the process of dawn; slow and stuck in its daily routine. I stood at the window letting the radiator burn at my legs. A lady on her way somewhere looked up as a first hint of snow began to fall. Dvorak's 'Song to the Moon' started up in the room. From the opposite direction a lone runner was en route to cross paths with the lady, who had now stopped and held out her hand to feel the drifting flakes. The runner crossed the road under my window. Lycra - rubber - shine hood - velcro leg - sweat relief 2050xk; he had splashed out. "I'm not that kind of runner", i said aloud.

Instead i sat in my kitchen and listened for the kettle to boil on the hob. When it boils the steam blows through a small whistle shaped as a bird. It takes about 5 minutes and i make myself a strong black Kenyan coffee - taylors of harrogate, cheap and good. I turned on the radio in the kitchen and listened to a man complain about the possibility of possibly running out of road grit, possibly. I yawned and switched it off and decided i should pack for my trip to Berlin - i am leaving at 5 tomorrow morning.I relish the thought of being away, if only for a couple of weeks.

I wanted to pack light so i slumped on the bed and eye up various clothes laying about. Some boots, 2 pairs of trousers, shirts, jackets. Into my rucksack i threw a camera, notepad, a discman and a packet of mini cuban cigars that i found on my table (left by my friend charlie - he wanted to talk 'oil' after a documentary he had seen, i guess he thought cigars were appropriate) they could work as a gift or ice breaker, i thought. I put in a small pile of books i planned on taking with me: Seamus Heany's '66-87 Poems'; 'The selected letters of Rimbaud'; Arthur Miller's 'Tropic of cancer'; and a biography on Brecht, who is buried in Berlin. On the side, on top of the jiffy bag he had sent it in, i saw my friend Tom Chivers' new collection ' How to build a city' - i threw that in the bag and strung it up.

I took a walk - the street was busier now and schoolchild shaped balls of woolen tottered with satchels and folders along the street towards the local primary. I skirt the pond to avoid any screeching and walk the back alleys in silence. I think about my 9 hour train journey via paris. I think about the route out of Paris, past Reims, through the Ardennes and up towards north east germany. I think about murnau's films and about walking to other countries on foot. Breaking the silence i find myself diving into a shop to avoid a guy who thinks that i owe him money - i don't owe him money but he is unable to shake off the belief that i owe him at least something. I carry on in silence, walking in the light settle of snow and relish the thought of being away - if only for a couple of weeks.


SECRET WEATHER no.3 (Berlin film festival edition)

Listen:

1.Bobby Vee - Tears on my pillow
2.Gingirikani marimba band - Malaika
3.Neubauten - Ich Hatte Ein Wort
4.Syd Barrett - Love you
5.A place to bury strangers - I know il see you
6.B.J.M - Going to hell
7.Keb Mo - Im so lonesome
8.Tom Waits - Im still here
9.Lonyo - Summer of Love
DOWNLOAD HERE

Watch:

UZAK by Nuri Bilge Ceylan - HERE

and

Dog Tooth by Yorgos Lanthimos - HERE


Read:

Dark Star Safari by Paul Theroux

and

How to Build a City by Tom Chivers

BUY IT HERE

Born on 16th January - Susan Sontag

Born today in 1933. Susan Sontag: great writer, essayist, theorist, activist.
She died in 2004.
Three great moments:
1.She wrote at length on photography and the image, about how the camera has affected the human race and our moral codes, in 'On Photograpghy'. BUY IT HERE

2.She directed 'Waiting for Godot' in Sarajevo during the Bosnian war.

3.She wrote brilliantly about the work of Antonin Artaud. BUY IT HERE


Great essay on 100 years of cinema - written in 1995.
A Century of Cinema



"To take a photograph is to participate in another person's mortality, vulnerability, mutability. Precisely by slicing out this moment and freezing it, all photographs testify to time's relentless melt. "

"The only interesting answers are those that destroy the questions. "

"Existence is no more than the precarious attainment of relevance in an intensely mobile flux of past, present, and future. "

"I envy paranoids; they actually feel people are paying attention to them."

SECRET WEATHER VOL.2

Ears:

1. Caruso - Addio Dolce Svegliare, La Boheme
2. E.S.G - UFO
3. Matmos - The Banjo's Categorical Gut
4. Pavement - Stereo
5. Haunted Graffiti - Every Night i Die at Miyagis
6. Fever Ray/Fuck Buttons - If i Had a Heart
7. Johnny Otis - Poison Ivy
8. Faust - The Sad Skinhead
9. Can - Mushroom
10. Atlas Sound - River Card
11. John Cale - Heartbreak Hotel
12. Bullion - Young Heartache
13. Arthur Russell - Let's go swimming

Download HERE

Eyes&Ears:

Les Blank - Burden of Dreams HERE

Clare Denis - Beau Travail HERE

Aki Kaurismaki - Ariel HERE


Eyes/mind:

Henry Miller - The Time of The Assassins HERE ( life changer alert!!!!)



Roberto Bolano - Godzilla in Mexico
Listen carefully, my son: bombs were falling
over Mexico City
but no one even noticed.
The air carried poison through
the streets and open windows.
You'd just finished eating and were watching
cartoons on TV.
I was reading in the bedroom next door
when I realized we were going to die.
Despite the dizziness and nausea I dragged myself
to the kitchen and found you on the floor.
We hugged. You asked what was happening
and I didn’t tell you we were on death’s program
but instead that we were going on a journey,
one more, together, and that you shouldn’t be afraid.
When it left, death didn’t even
close our eyes.
What are we? you asked a week or year later,
ants, bees, wrong numbers
in the big rotten soup of chance?
We’re human beings, my son, almost birds,
public heroes and secrets.

Serpentine Poetry Marathon

Here is a small doc about the poetry marathon i performed at in October that Serpentine have just put up on their website HERE

Look out for yours truly doing my very best to string a coherent sentence together. It was a great event and i think they are putting a book together documenting the event. Il post something on here if i hear about it.

SECRET WEATHER no.1 - a virtual mixtape

(here is a new monthly mix of music to cry or get high to, some books/essays/ poems to woo potential lovers with, and some films/interviews to dive into..its a guide for lazy people or its just a few of my favourite things)




For the EARS:

1.CARL ORFF - GASSENHAUER
2.BROADCAST - TENDER BUTTONS
3.ROCKIN RAMRODS - BRIGHT LIT BLUE SKIES
4.ARTO/NETO - PINI,PINI
5.PSYCHIC TV - THE ORCHIDS
6.ARTHUR RUSSELL - THATS US/WILD COMBINATION
7.PERE UBU - WASTED


For the EYES:

Georg Trakl - Eastern Front (page 24) HERE



For the EARS and the EYES:

Nam June Paik HERE

Harry Smith talking in NY HERE

Querelle by Fassbinder HERE

hybrid nightmare

Only fair:






Dear Cineworld Head Office,


Yesterday evening I, and two companions, paid for three tickets for the 21.20 showing of Jane Campion's new film 'Bright Star' at Cineworld Hammersmith. If I am honest, when I first read about the film I was not immediately impelled to go, however, after a few good write ups, the tickets were purchased and there we were.

'Bright Star' – a film set in the early 19th Century. A subtle and quiet film, with a soft and peaceful rhythm set in a bucolic Hampstead Heath around 1820. 'Bright Star' – a film documenting the brief yet powerful love affair of a poet (John Keats) and a student of high fashion (Fanny Brawne) that commenced nearly 200 years ago. 'Bright Star' – a period piece that slowly unfolds a graceful and delicate narrative of, what is on the whole, quite a sweet and gentle English love affair. So you can imagine my amazement when, during leading actress Abbie Cornish's first important monologue, where she reads a letter from Mr. Keats ( Ben Whishaw), she is accompanied by the bass line of the late King of Pop Michael Jackson's 'Billie Jean'. Interesting, I thought.

Moments later, as Keats' brother dies a painful death after suffering badly at the hands of Tuberculosis, an extreme bout of cheering and whooping and “Go Michael, Go Michael” ing permeated the room. Strange, I thought.
As Keats' own health began to deteriorate and he and Fanny realised that their love affair was coming to a heartbreaking end, an end that spelt out the poet's early death and the start of his love's agonising bereavement, a pivotal climax in the film, a moment where the two hold each other close and whisper odes of love, the slow and creeping intro of Jackson's 'Thriller' rises and as Whishaw moves his mouth it seems as if he is grunting and shrieking and hollering and hooting and then there is the preposterous moment when Whishaw moves his lips to say his final goodbye and says:

'Cause this is thriller, thriller night
There ain't no second chance against the thing with forty
eyes, Girl!'

What is Campion up to? I think. This can't be right.

As I walk out of the cinema I notice the sign on the next screen along:
'Michael Jackson; This is it! '

Last night was like watching two different universes collide and the result was messy. I dont feel like I actually watched 'Bright Star' and if I ever attempted to again the absence of The King of Pop's cameo appearances would probably now leave a gaping hole.

So, Cineworld, this brings me round to the point of my letter. I think that it is only fair that
we are compensated with three free tickets to a film of our choice. We would like to see Michael Haneke's 'The White Ribbon' but I am not sure that film would be shown at a Cineworld (would it?). So perhaps, just an open ticket would suffice.

Please do reply to this letter as issues like these most definitely need to be addressed.

Yours,

Edward Eke.





I now have 4 tickets to cineworld. If only they had an interested programmer.....

okt

working on the launch of O DREAMLAND film society. Keep watching for further details. First event announced soon.

have also invented a new sunday afternoon game.


stay put, EE


Automne malade - Apollinaire

Autumn ill and adored
You die when the hurricane blows in the roseries
When it has snowed
In the orchard trees

Poor autumn
Dead in whiteness and riches
Of snow and ripe fruits
Deep in the sky
The sparrow hawks cry
Over the sprites with green hair the dwarfs
Who’ve never been loved

In the far tree-lines
the stags are groaning

And how I love O season how I love your rumbling
The falling fruits that no one gathers
The wind the forest that are tumbling
All their tears in autumn leaf by leaf
The leaves
You press
A crowd
That flows
The life
That goes

Letter to you two ( after watching all night)

Morning, Friday 9th October 2009

To Benn and Jonas

(letter to be read listening to arvo part, of course!)

i can see it!
watching these films i can see it!
immediate images/breaths of life, joy/sorrow,loss,love regained,faith(when it seems impossible)the poetry of cities and villages and fields which are chambers of nostalgia even if you are a citie baby. of food and celebration, of intricacies of nature and the horrid naked scream of war. its all here and for that i am excited.

Tarkovsky said 'Whatever it expresses - even destruction and ruin - the artistic image is by definition an embodiment of hope, it is inspired by faith'

Yes! and you can see it here.

This is optimism as a power , as a power to expel the miseries of this century that we lived in. we must regard the small wonders of life and for ignoring that (many times a day) i am guilty. But seeing these images changes this for me.

I saw Benn in London today, and it was bright and cold and we sat in the gardens of St Pauls in Covent Garden and spoke about our plans and he showed me his book of Basho and i felt like traveling and thought about the time i spent in japan and couldnt even imagine the japanese countryside - that country, full of electricity and mass media overload! How could it possibly have a countryside!

It is cold in my new flat but it warms me to know that there is work to do. I hope that Lisbon and Paris are as bright and clear as London is this morning.

Will film next weeks event, i am just working out how to express EVERYTHING in 15 mins. They should give me the whole day!

Anyway,

Much love,

E

p.s Have you noticed that Wayne Rooney is growing into a respectable young man, i think that he might have a brain after all.

More news from the banks of the thames

Away above a harborful

of caulkless houses

among the charley noble chimneypots

of a rooftop rigged with clotheslines

a woman pastes up sails

upon the wind

hanging out her morning sheets

with wooden pins

- L Ferlinghetti, 'Pictures of the gone world

I am moved in to a new flat, 2 mins from the last, still moments from the river, w/ high ceilings and red carpets and walls made from some kind of crumbling biscuit..which has made hanging pictures a sport, but i am happy and have a desk that looks across to a church and a (now sadly closed down) legendary recording studio. the main room, we have turned into a workshop/studio with 3 long desks on trestles placed along three of the walls,its cold as we have no hot water or heating yet but i like sitting indoors wearing outdoor clothes and have a constant flow of hot drinks coming my way. there is a pet shop, book shop, film shop, betting shop, cafe and off license below so that is good.

I have been writing many new songs, i will be making recordings soon and in time will let you know my new plans.
Ages ago i wrote a piece for an anthology called Punk Fiction which was released thru portico ( im sure you can get it from their site) - like a fool i didn't read the edits made after the proof read and there were some changes made so in time i will post the correct piece here. do buy the book though,it had a deal where the money went to a cancer charity.

I have also just written for a Berlin based journal. info here taken from Declan Rooney's website:
'Oh, Don’t Get Carried Away'

KP Poetry Journal Volume 1

September 2009

(A zine I am publishing with new commissioned work by Are Blytt, Stefano Calligaro, Hsiao Chen, Sujey Colon, Drawing Guts, Edward Eke, Edvine Larssen, Thurston Moore, Donata Rigg, Ama Saru, Antonio Serna and Susanne Winterling)

www.kunstprojects.com
Declan is a great artist who works in many different mediums. Look at his website:www.declanrooney.com

( connected side note: i have just found that my new neighbour downstairs is a one D.Rooney )

Some more news for you:

Next week i am doing a performance at the Serpentine Gallery. www.serpentinegallery.org

It is part of the Serpentine Marathon series ( so far they have done 'Interview marathon' ' Experiment marathon' and 'manifesto marathon') .
This year is the poetry marathon and i am collaborating w/ the great Jonas Mekas and Benn Northover.

Jonas

Benn


We are doing a performance of Jonas' work 'Requiem for the 20th Century'. We are in the process of working out how to present it, will update shortly.



Also, for those of you in New York Citie
http://poetryproject.org/project-blog/jim-carroll-memorial-reading.html


signing out singing,
ee

JIM CARROLL 1/8/1949 - 11/9/2009

Jim Carroll died on Friday at his desk at his place in Manhattan. He had a heart attack. Its very sad - there was word that he had finally finished the novel he had been working on for so long 'The Petting Zoo'. i hope that that is the case and it is published posthumously. i loved Jim carroll's poems and diaries - it wasnt an originality that made him special - they called him the american rimbaud - but it was the ferocious hard work that he put into his writing and his street-rat poetic that he sharpened and defined from an early age. his teen story is the great american coming of age story. well thats what i think.

read: 'living at the movies' or 'forced entries' or his most popular diary 'the basketball diaries'
listen: 'people who died'

There will always be a poem
I will climb on top of it and come
In and out of time,
Cocking my head to the side slightly,
As I finish shaking, melting then
Into its body, its soft skin
--Jim Carroll, "Poem"
from Void of Course (1998)

out of town

Im in Bretagne, just west of the now ugly St Malo, in a little town called Pleurtuit - sleeping at a B&B on a farm which has the curious added touch of an airfield occupying the rear land behind the house. Each morning i sit eating breakfast in the front garden with all manner of light aircraft lifting a few feet above my head. At 7 am there is a ryanair flight to southern england that feels as if it is going to take the roof of the house with it. The hanger at the foot of the runway houses a number of 2 seater planes brandishing delicate wings decorated in mustard yellows with deep burgundy stripes or military green with silver stars. They tear into the sky one after another, dipping west almost immediately to travel along the coast. It is straight off the page of a Ballard novel.

At breakfast i smother sweet breton honey on pumpernickel bread. i take this with bitter local coffee and orange juice so sour it leaves my taste buds weeping. The days are spent driving along the coast to small villages, stopping off at flea markets along the way. It is easy and slow here. There is a film festival in october so i hope to return then.

Moving down the country on Saturday, right down at the bottom, to spend a while in Seillans where Max Ernst stayed in the last years of his life
- need to put things in order, have many ideas/projects to be realised fully but lack of time and no patience at all at present
- i. make a grid. ii. fill it

Watching - Beau Travail, Claire Denis
Listening - Screaming Jay Hawkins 'I put a spell on you' and Miles Davis 'Moon Dreams'
Reading - Imagining Reality by Kevin Macdonald

j ~ s ~ a

aaron mckay, pirate, poet, polysexual and soon to be married



JSA
I counted the hours that i had had the pleasure of sitting in the council's plastic chairs. We were certainly up in the teens by now. i stared out the window and a great muted ashen slab of borough wall stared back in.
My officer, Sarah, was a channel 4 documentary's wet dream - the archetypal single mother that bourgeois TV film producers salivate over monthly - all 6 stone, glassy half shut eyes, itching jaw bone and the odour of a primary schools changing room. she smelt as if she had wet herself and as she stared around my midrift and nodded off i wondered what i was doing there.

' Have you found any work then?' Her voice was like a rusty machine gun spurting sporadic nasal whines - her words chugged along in one tone, her voice was an amplified wasp on downers.

'No' i replied

'Have you been looking?'

'Very much so'

'Well, what jobs did you log in on your declaration sheet? were they broad keywords?' She paused and took a few minutes to blink.....

'Completely' i finally answered when she had re-focused

'What were they?' she croaked

'well, let me see...they were, Stuntman, Firearms officers' assistant and Killer.'

'Killer!?' she looked at me as if i was her ex-husband.

'Yes, pest control and all that evil...its not really my thing but i figure i can break them apart from the inside etc..'

She winced. 'Oh'

A long pause.

'How would feel about stockroom at heathrow airport?'

I stared at Sarah. i stared at her long and hard and took a deep breath in from my gut - held it - and slowly let it out. i could smell her all about me - i thought about taking her out of there and plonking her in the local swimming baths but i knew she would turn the water purple so i stood and walked to the door. I turned and watched her head drop and decided i was better off hungry.

dead end

Last weekend TPIA played at the southend fringe festival. we played in this piano bar that looked out across the estuary to some island - i think it was canvey or maybe not - i dont know what was going on but to me it seemed that the island was buzzing away in the distance, alone, no inhabitants , just machinery screaming at each other some kind of post nuclear floating gomorrah oozing black tar and yellow smoke. i stood there for ages. staring.
i quickly snapped out of all that and got some bleach and made some tee shirts.


there was this guy in the corner - he really made an effort



t p i a played solidly and the spirit of the surrounding landscape was definitely heard - you could hear it in the drums - it was swelling in the bass waves -

We drove home in this rickety old van - i didnt mind i was lost in a cloud vodka & badnesses $$- everyone was asleep and i stared out onto the empty A roads and B roads and felt alone


as i rolled about on the floor i found a hole that went straight thru. i stuck my camera on countdown and dangled it under to see what this van was all about and to see how friendly the road was at 80mph. these are the results of my research.







i tried to poke my head down the hole but got an eye full of dust and grit. i wanted to see the mechanics of an aged tour van. id reminded myself over the last week of the mechanics of touring - the long, empty journeys, the rattle of sound check, the catchphrases, the anti climaxes and the unexpected highs. i went on a health kick the week before we started playing, i hadnt looked after myself completely over the last 18 or so months, id started to lose inspiration, memory, focus, drive - everything was a fog but this short tour secured me back on course and i now sit here looking out of the huge open window above my desk onto the busy summer street below and feel alive and thirsty. i have new songs and new ideas and im grateful. im about to begin a very exciting film/music project with a truly inspiring man.

tpia tour 5ive

We had a day off. i spent it nearly being knifed by some street rats in an alleyway near my flat and then met with keating and his brother arr shaan. shaun had come to visit and fed us stories from 'the site' in his hushed kilkennian tones. Ben celebrated his brothers visit by cutting up a variety of his best moves.

1. the tangle shirt ( i have a more explicit version of this particular move)

2. the suicide hump (open window essential)

3. the elephant


Unfortunately B's finger started to bleed for a long time so now i had two invalids on board.

slightly wrecked from the week tpia brothers went to winchester on a sunday evening.




so we played a show - i forgot photos again.
later, our friend ryan threw up in the back of our van into two of those petrol pump gloves you get at gas stations. the huge ones. he filled two. he blamed it on motion sickness. max blamed it on 12 stellas. before it got too 'brits abroad' we were home and i made everyone a pretty psychedelic dinner.

tour - day 4

so after a rather boozy breakfast at bernies, we made our way to leeds.
aaron always disappears in service stations - i now have fresh surveillance footage of where he sneaks off to.



we got a few silks and furs to go to lunch in.




these shades had the shortest life - i bought them at about 2pm....







and by 2.10 they went completely off the radar - i paid £.80p for every minute i owned them



the show in leeds was great. im really enjoying playing at the moment, touring can sometimes become a monotonous drag but i am enjoying this set up and approach...
winchester tomorrow