nemof.org blog

Don’t you hate those times when you manage to gouge a hefty chunk of flesh out of your knuckles on the corner of something sharp? ouch ita ita, says the poor nemo as he sucks his bloodied knuckles. That’ll teach him - strangling baby seals is an art best left to experts.

Well I am in a considerably better mood than when I last written’d in my blogg’d. Not to say that nemo is in a good mood, that is of course an obvious dichotomy, and I am proud to be a miserable cunt; However ignoring that it’s the end of the week and I can fucking sleep in tomorrow. Woop. A dreaming we will go. If you are offended by words like cunt, then don’t worry, just like porch monkey, I’m takin’ it back!

mmm listening to John Peel Tribute’y goodness right now. I will reminisce about Peely for a moment if I will. My foundest memories of him were listening to his ever humorous coverage of Glastonbury - one particular event involving a silly hat comes to mind. The day that I heard he had died I cried a good bucket of salty tears. I think I ended up calling my mum, sitting on my bed in my bedroom in brizzle crying my eyes out. Where were you on that day?

I do so miss him. I think that was about the time that I stopped listening to the radio, it just didn’t feel the same without him coming in over the air waves. Of course these days there are some fantastic online radio stations you can tune into, which I do make advantage of. It’s just harder to find good ones because there are so many!

One particular station I would recommend is Dirtyradio.net. It’s the radio station of my favourite band in the world Underword. It has an eclectic mix of indie and electric music and is a great place to hear new stuff. Another fav of mine is bluemars.org, if you want to chill or have something to sleep to then tune in to it’s minimalist beats ambient vibe.

The Tower

so. Still in my tower overlooking the sea. A storm is coming in. The sky is roiling with purple and grey, sharp and angry like the sea beating against the cliffs below. I’m seated on a granite balustrade, my feet dangling over a perilous drop. The green cold sea below drawls like a tongue as it edges up the rocks.

Sometimes I like to lean forward, pressing down hard on my hands. I peer over the edge and look down at the fierce waves, watch gulls diving below to snap at errant fish too near the surface for their own good. I’ll dig my hands deep into the stone, feel every wrinkle and crease. It feels like old mans skin, and if you press your face to it you can smell the years of age, of salt and moss.

Long years ago, ages before I was ever born this tower was a place of terrible deeds. Some of the hallways are still stained brown and ochre, splashed with the past. As I wonder through them today what happened is lost in time, but you can still tell the violence of these events as you see the dark scars burnt into the rock. In some places the granite has even been reduced to a blackened and menacing sheen. These places I do not go.

I can smell the storm approaching. The air is full of ozone. The wind is picking up and the birds are calling out as they sail over me, a free and easy ride. I’m waiting for the first few drops of rain, my skin is tight in expectation. You can never tell when it’s about to fall, you have to wait for the feeling of those first few drops. It’s like an angel tickling you with it’s wings.

Sometimes when the wind is just right the tower will sing, it’s like the mournful cry of a gull. The birds respond with their own voices, adding to the orchestra. Once or twice I’ve heard my tower sing as the first few drops of rain kiss my upturned face. On those few occasions I’ve felt myself melt away to be replaced by everything, and by nothing.

I’ll sit in my tower, awaiting the storm from the east. Happily smiling out to sea.

I’ve been making my way through the fabulous "Fables" series of comic books. I’ve never been much of a fan of American comic artwork, so it says a lot that I have enjoyed these stories so much. I have even at times found even the artwork delicious.

The basic premise of the story is that all the fairy tale characters we have ever imagined are real, and live in their respective lands. However a dark fearsome enemy known as the Adversary is tearing through these lands one by one, conquering them. The Fables make the decision to flee from their lands into the world of the Mundys, us. Here they set up Fabletown, a place for Fables to live amongst us in secrecy. The less human Fables are resigned to the farm, in the deep countryside.

As any town does Fabletown has it’s own rulers, none other than Snow White. The job of sheriff goes to infamous Mr Bigby Wolf.

Fables is an exciting re-imagining of all the fairy tale characters you’ve ever heard of, and perhaps some you haven’t. For anyone interested in this genre and perhaps wanting to pick up their first graphic novel I’d heartily recommend this.

Time to get excited about The Fountain. Really my first reaction to it’s trailer was ‘Meh’ but after having read this Wired article I have begun to catch the ‘oski bug. To quote:

To give you an idea of what that means, check the Film poster.

2006 has been an amazing year for Film.

NaNoWriMo - National Novel Writing Month

Elsewhere, exciting news - It’s NanoWriMo. Time to bang out that 175 page novel by the end of November. I’ve never tried this before but I’m going to give it a shot with a ‘Why the Fuck not’ attitude. Why don’t you? You might discover unplumbed depths of Stygian rot deep in your heart, the kind of stuff that makes good print in other words!

GTDMonkey

I just discovered GTDMonkey, an excellent task manager that you can download and use. It’s not actually a program, rather it’s a webpage that you download to your Computer, filled with HTML, JS and various other voodoo. What that spells though is is a great web interface to plan projects and your daily doings. What does GTD stand for? Getting Things Done. GTD is actually a type of time management strategy to help you be more productive, and I know that things like that sounds like rubbish but a lot of people who enjoy being productive have found GTD a great way to help in their daily business. Heavens knows I need to GTD, so this is a good start!

Bonus Power Up

Holy Folktronica Tunng Power Batman.

I just had a great idea for a sidebar plugin for my site. I am going to have a ‘Cycle Idiot’ and ‘Cycle Clever’ area. It will list the number of people I see with and without a cycle helmet. As I see more and more, the numbers will go up and the %error will creep down and give me and you a clear picture of what percentage of people in Bristol - a cycling city - have an ounce of common sense.

I haven’t written much on nemof.org as I have been practicing my journalistic skills on my new side project, the.wire. A Tech and Alt. Media related website on which I will be covering information and news that interests me, and hopefully you. I have started it as I was unsure about the strength of my professional writing, so any and all commentary left on the.wire is welcome. Your thoughts will help me refine my writing so as to entertain, enthral and educate.

The moon was darkening against the sky as I entered the wood, clouds scudding forwards to wrap it against the stars, The last brightness fell down on me and the wet leaved trees, picking out drops of water hanging from new sapling leaves.

I slowly coaxed my way though the barbwire fence, holding down the lower piece with my hand, carefully scooting through, watching my back not so much fearful of getting hurt simply as getting entangled, once caught in the wire it was always a titanic task untangling oneself.

Finally through I began to make my way into the woods. With the moonlight already faint and the trees overarching, new green growth cloaking the eaves it was almost impossible to see. It wasn’t just hard to make headway, it was almost impossible. The wood stood solemnly all around me, quiet and impenetrable, wrapping me in its darkness. Everything was silent and still, hundreds of shades of darkened green tickling the dge of my eyelid.

I knew where I was heading towards, even without the light of the moon to guide me. I was like a blindman who has walked the same path for many years, I just let my feet take me.I could feel the tug of bracken and brambles, soft spongy moss underfoot. My hands brushed over the surface of fallen trees and tall standing oak and sycamore trunks. As I made my slow progress the smell began to creep into my nostrils, the rich smell of plants growing and rotting back into the forests skin.

Now, just audible on the edge of hearing I could hear a faint gurgling, rushing sound. The sound always caught in my ears, making me stop for a moment just to listen. It had an undercurrent of excitement and energy, that always seemed to me, as if held back and kept it check, like a young child full of energy, but told to behave. As I got closer the sound grew to a strong murmur, a whisper that you could never quite catch.

Finally I came to the edge of the stream, it was broad and shallow. It couldn’t be quite called a river, it wasn’t wide enough but nonetheless any stranger who alighted eyes on it would forever remember it’s strong current and singing song.

The edge of the stream whirled away and then curled back like the coils of a snake, and a massive tree in reply snaked upwards from the ground. Its trunk seemed as if made from the chest of giants, arms stretching high and far. Branches snaked out, as they gained length they shrunk till at the very top of the tree tiny buds the size of peas unfurled into rich green leaves.

My frame seemed to loosen and muscles relax, and if there had been anyone else to hear they would have heard a gentle sigh as I heaved myself up onto my favourite branch. It wrapped around me like a massive hand, gnarly with age and weather. Sat comfortably there, my head in the crook of a branch I watched the sound and taste of the evening air. The tang of cold and dark mixed with the musk of the forest and I could begin to discern the sounds hidden between the branches and bows of trees, home to countless animals.