the last week saw our action hero ride south west,swim an ocean and arrive safely easyjet-style in barthelona. barthelona(best said in a tapas munching,siesta takin-even in winter, drunken spaniard in a bull ring kinda way),oh what a gloriously beautiful city.it has shyte parts too,but thats all the burnt crust on a great slice of toast.
a hostel, first stop,Gothic point. i meet chuck , a gulf war war veteran over bowl of dry muesli.we'll ride together.let us go.
placa espanya, the bull ring, the Rocky 1 stairs,i look right.i know i seen you boy.amaf*ck,barcelona pavilion,it was my guiness beer.it aint no ordnary building, no siree.it is the architectural haj. gleaning walls of marble-ooh in my eyes, cruciform glinting colums,her statue cradled in a pond.i shed a tear.i drooled litres, swam away to the next location. montjuic, the home of the olympic games,it was high,high up in ths sky,chucky nearly died,but i soldiered on,i wasnt carrying him,no sirree.this aint vietnam boy.he was built like a brick sh*t house.
the stadium ,a little japanese man drew it,tadao ando. its domed with a segmented roof, its skinned in fabric, im sure its cool.
perched on a lower tier, the calatrava telecommunications tower, its tangible like a shell,.it was so sharp and glistening i nearly pricked my finger.i snapped and i skecthced,we got back on our horses and to the medieval castle we rode.
the horizon,yonder, the blue ocean sits., i see barcelona and and its glorious.
joan miro,was in a white washed building, i paid my tom and stashed my bag, i moseyed around.he uses colour, he uses free hand, he uses sculpture,he's crazy and i like it.
barcelonetta, johan told me it was toit, 'take your skateboard boy', to get there its down la rambla- a strip heaving with fat bastard tourists, with muggers and a sewerage stench.its good for macdonals, burger king and a subway too.its seedy its busy, it just aint for me. a walk along the beach, a quick stop in the Catalan history museum, 'im the boss,do i really need this info?'.back on the streets of the barcelonetta,its working class, her clothes hang from her buildings. its huddled by the sea, it has long narrow narrow streets, theyre tall too. through little nooks, through the little cracks, i see a spaniard or two. coderch,a residential block is perched at a corner,its facade is like a paper fan,be careful it might cut you.
a tube of biscuits and a cupla bananas,i munched them on the beach,ooh how i miss the beach. in the distance sat frank gehrys Pisce and his 'scraper .i didnt have to peel the sticky pages of a university library book, it was there and i could touch it. and then there she was most gorgeous girl id ever seen.i had to stare,i drooled and swam away.i emerged ffrom the wet and began to walk,to walk until i bled,i wanted to see so i continued. but i couldnt take it any more, i didnt have the power,the sun was a setting and an hours walk back would see me home,home for a kip.
the nights i did ride.my posse kelly,yesim,danielle and will.we drank and we walked. its a night city its a heaving city,its a lad with a six pack selling a can.
i had met a few good folk in hostel number one,but since they were leaving, then this lone ranger he must ride.
so i rode until i found myself a hostel. Kabul was its name,it was no war zone, but anarchy,it did reign.it was absolutely carazy.they had a bar,and we drank,they had beds and we slept alittle bit,they had a pool table and i didnt play,i watched a middle eastern lad nearly tear the felt.they had showers and i did shower,they had breakfast,-an excuse for corn flakes and they had dinner-not as good as my moms bolognaise.they had beer, litres of it for 3 euro.it was great and id do that again.
the journey continued with picasso in a former palace,he too can paint,in blue and in pink,he doesnt know where the ears go.he scribbles and he scratches ,from bulls to matadors to footballers.i bought a post card,i bought a case,theyre signed picasso,what a good lad.i saw a gaudi, 3 of them, casa batllo-it scared me, its alien facades, its mosaicing,its elasticity,its a wee outta place: casa mila-she was large, she sits on the corner, her plastic form imposing on carrer de garcia.shes a monolith, crested in sculpted, twisted turrets,chimneys and framed views .i visited her attic,her bowels, it was bulbous, free flowing, her parabolic arched form intrigues. and parc guell, her lines are not straight,where was his ruler? its a park,a massive park, it has grand paths and it has lil paths,its pocked with stoned tunnels and alcoves and colums of sculpted rock, it has jazz players, it has a plaza,it has edge trim.its mosaiced seating is a comfort. this aint no ordinary park,a dragon sits at its very entrance.now that lad is cooked. it was then a hard ride, a ride that was good for the soul.and oh what a sight it is,Sagrada Familia.its a cathedral,it towers the land,its a mutant i tell you.its dynamic its evolving,its 50 years on.i climbed the steeple,and vertigo kicked in,i climbed my way down,oh crikey i gotta blow.this building this thing its just not the way things are meant to be. its chaotic, it has order,it is art,it is math.it is light, it is height,it is a wine bottle cascading candle wax, 'ey little kid stop peeling it'.
i saw an olympic park and i threw my bottle top in the bin, i saw a massive solar powered panelled canopy above and a blue traingular hertzog and de meuron forum just to the rear..and a skateboard.through la ribiera,its dirt,its filth,i see it, its richard meir and his museum of contemporary art,its a white cube its shiny,its integrated.its a museum its a skatepark.i sat there for a while.itd be great to return.i continued to walk until my feet they did ache,i never ate a tapas,but i had a subway sandwich or two:).i bought trousers i bought tshirts, i saw with Deano the Nou Camp, it aint old trafford, but itll do, i saw easy jet and i flew.bbut what a holiday it was,but i think i need another goo goo cachoo.
that wee lil rendezvous left the chaito man limp as banana thats been beaten silly by a mob boss.hmm now back in london town.
london town,wow all of a sudden my mojo has totally evaporated, im trying to regain the hours of sleep that i had misplaced most pleasantly in barcelona. at the mo im uber slow, its taking me gazillions of hours to do simple tasks like dress myself and tie my own shoes, eat my corn flakes and whistle the tune to the 'sound of music' in G-minor.
not much activity at the mo, although i went to the chemical brothers concert saturday night.i had planned this wee lil excursion like 3 months ago.this time i made sure i had ticket in hand and a few pennys only in pocket.cos brixton aint no ordinary lil ttown.its scaery really scary,so be afriad be very afriad and i was,but now im cool. now these lads are arguably my favourite band,theyre the spine of my cd collection ,theyre the rock of modern religion, they are the extra cheese on your pizza hut pizza. but no it wasnt to be.
so i go to the concert which stated on the ticket, at 8pm.i mixed a wee lil concotion of russian bear hunting vodka and grape ribena, and onto the tube i did hop.before i got into the stadium i punished that lil gummy berry juice hard, obelix style.so im in the venue, brixton academy.ooh what a venue, the floor slopes, and if you have vertigo you might just toss cookies and watch it run.its a teeny venue with a gallery upstairs, and chewing gum stained downstairs.its decked out in this sorta classic feel with statues and ,i think, false trees.within the standing area they have these balustrades that you can hang onto should the crowd begin drooling.so thats where i stood.the shyte support band pulled through at like 10,so around 11 i gripped my last beer before the brothers emerged .by now i had sobered up and become weary and just tired of standing.then finally the chem bros decided to do their gig,they entered the arean jumping around like oompa loompas.and behind the 'turntables' they did go. hmm it saddens me to say it but id rather have been killing ants with a magnifying glass.they were alright,not what i expected.its a lil cheesy just watchin 2 oaks turning nobs.i reckon they just played the cds and we all went ape for it.i dunno.may my future concerts that i attend be far more unruly.
i go for the second haircut of the year, i wasnt even expecting to go for one, but hey a lads gotta maintain, he's gotta get that garden cropped botanical style.so i checked this place in soho a cupla weeks back.it was 5 squidders, so i thougth 'hey,thats a saving and whatever happens my bush, itll grow. so i pull into the place and on the door it says, 'for big breasted lady and good time' ring bell.riight and all i wanted was a haircut.so i realise theres 'another' door.i check inside, there are two japanese chicks, doing absolutley F-all.so i think for a few minutes wheteh the right descision had been made by me, then i decide F*ck it, ill just go balls to the walls and whatever happens ill still have short hair.so i sit down,not much english going on in these parts.so i show her my all famous student card picture and choon her to do it like it is sugar..so she grabs my hair, gently and makes a wee incision,so im like gsus f*ckin hell.so i ask 'have you ever chopped a lads hair?' and she responds in not so good engwish 'yes, my fathers'.somebody hand me a shotgun.all of sudden i bacame afraid,very afraid. basically i was now at a point of zero return,it was do or die.but then as the night rolled on,i eased up and let her take control.she snipped gently ,it was proper bonsai manoevores that she was pulling.this wasnt freestyle.this was controlled execution.i shall return to my japanese snipstress,cos shes fine ,very fine.
my cousin the other day pointed me in the direction of the columbia road flower market.so it was a sunday after i chooned 'adious' to doctor dave over a mean and nasty fry up that i visiited it.its a wee road down in the east of londres.its chockers full of uber babes and flowers.it was the first time that i had ever seen xmas trees on sale,weird,really weird. there are these big beer guzzling lads punting their pansies and violets and bulbs and what not.its good for a stroll and a pic i tell you.
yeah i did some skecthing, it stiil looks like im this kindergarten kid scratching on the toilet doors.but hey only time will improve it.
hang tu foh far flung ones, from the scracthings of an exhausted lad
the chaito man
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