Gotta love the peeling paint., rusty padlocks and faded glory., almost as much as an empty zip line.. Once you get to the other end, the whole turn around and walk back INTO the wind and flying sand that stings like (I imagine) a wet frigid winter's weekend in Siberia..
1.5 mill for a penguin enclosure., a couple of pieces of metal and I'll still be navigating through chip and vinegar smells inhaling undesired secondhand smoke and dodging lines of open blue bins.. The same puddle that is now haunting me continues to sit right there.
yep., the sounds of boards clattering off the now broken step reminds me that the Pavilion's ocean view deck (?) sadly ain't all that from any of the four sides..
Have you ever wondered why arms seem extra long in winter.? Oversized gloved hands hanging down to the knees., Shoulders hunched upto the ears... Long sleeved coats hiding bunched up hands.. Sleeves being wiped across noses, occasionally polite handkerchiefs stifling sneezes., noses red, cheeks red., then a spit from the person infront flying agonisingly close to your stride.. and 'hi, my name's ------' as I have to quickly decide how to respond to the extended hand.. ''I'm sorry, but I may have a cold I don't wish to pass on to you.'', sounds pretty darn feeble.., but..
I'm not sure why, but maybe you can wear that t-shirt., but at 8 degrees not including the wind chill coming off the water which probably lowers that balmy number to an even more seductive 6 ish, I need my layers.. man..; I'm not that 'hard'...That WD40 should do the padlock trick., and having a dog does mean 'picking up' after you.. Walking in a straight line, especially at the beach must be more difficult that I thought.. and certainly way harder than suddenly changing direction.. Signs, signs, signs.. Toilets 100 meters., amusements., ding-a-ling goes the train., ripped jeans.. and tiny dogs..; better check that runners watch AGAIN because I'm sure that last stride must have taken at least 15 minutes..- oops, check it again dude.. Phone text, eyes down.. The Walk is obviously where it's happening.., or maybe I just missed it., or I'm too early., or maybe it's next weekend., no, next month..; wrong season., wrong decade.., buh., buh,,, BUT, isn't this where it all goes down baby.. The fountains up and running., the Commodore's trying and the washing's being blown around in the cold damp air.., but yes, the fountain's working it's magic.. Ahh., The Walk.. and it's Bandstand.. I guess it's safe to walk through it's brown coloured excuse..- Community
Sights of those sitting on wet ground in doorways, cans of beer
a new 5* hotel casting it's center's shadow
A silver street performer sans mask and taking his smoking break stands a handful of feet opposite the stationary gold one. Surreal.. No one laughs, no smiles.. There's a strong feeling of dank depression in the air.. The old stone clad surroundings are long weather stained and the mix match architecture causes me a great deal of confusion. Where am I, what time am I in and who signed off on this.
death, blue anoraks and instinctive inspiration
I'm good if I need to place a bet
I'm good too if I'm into brown
I'm good if I want a tattoo, a piercing
I'm good if I want a phone
I'm good if I need a coffee and I'm good if I want to walk up a hill
but what I'm not good for is any culture
I can get a new pair of glasses
I can marvel at the number of patchwork'd surface repairs
but I can't find me any art worthy of the word
Patagonia., promenades.. and A surf shop.. Blue flags and mobile/archaic 'facilities'.. Car parks where ya can actually open yer car door and git oot without taking a chunk outta the car next doah.. Did I mention chips.. I wonder if I can get just the one more flat roofed bedroom up there.., or infact squeeze another wheelie bin onto the path.. Kerb appeal., what's that.
Hmm., maybe I could scratch off., or spray paint over that street sign as seems to be the fashion.; no.., but maybe I could leave a sofa outside and someone MAY take it.., or not.. Maybe I could kick some sand., but I can't wander art galleries, I can't take in colour or sculptures.; I can't take in modernist stuff, impressionist stuff., I can't take in Plein Air. or expressionist stuff. Where's the pop art, photographic art., I can't take in studios and I can't take in an art walk.. I can take in brown, but I can't take in culture.. I have no clue how it feels to be suffocated., but man., I can't breath..
The Town's Brown
Please mister., can I have some more
''please sir I want some more.''
''WHAT., what., WHAT..!''
Dickensian .., the Riviera and home of the blue flag boy..
Now, go git yerself an ice cream and put some money in the amusement arcade machine..; the one with the pennies in it.., just like the old days.. and soon we'll have the dodgems working to the sounds of that 'teddyboy' music; that rock 'n' roll stuff you still like .. ''rock around the clock'' dude.., you young teddy boy.. Arthur Askey..
2015 1963., box rooms and back to the future Marty..
The home of noir and black night
people who make
and to those
Rock on dude
shame on y'all
''thank you for the
those endless days,
those sacred days you
I'm thinking of the
I won't forget a single
day, believe me''
KaliphorNknee Eye A
taking the blue train
Thanks this week go/goes to August - Sofas - Vanuatu and Imagination