I GOT THIS LETTER, I THINK IT MAY BE SPAM: Someone said that they had seen you coming out of a 'Christian Bookshop, whatever that is, and that Christianity is a kind of God-thingy.
Which is perfect. So this is in the way of being an offer of a contract for the a series, provisionally entitled EASTEROGEN! that we are starting up.
Lager Shanty: In that order. Another evening of wein, weib und gesang in Sordid Glasgow. And after "Gies a Tune" with DJ Malky Brogan on Radio Clype, and the flicking back and forth of the television in a yawning half-contemptuous manner, what could we do other than run up the starry path to meet Oblivion coming down? Later on, this typical Glasgow scene comes complete with the two shandied lovers slipping each others' tight leashes to go separately in the night, each to an off-sales of their choosing, for more of the Same.
King James I and VI, advice to smokers. King James Ist and 6th, for he was famously and simultaneously both — was King of Scotland as James VI from July 1567 and King of England and Ireland as James I from the union of the English and Scottish crowns on 24 March 1603 until his death.
As well as being the first big Unionist on the scene (#indyref) the King was a keen writer, and among other things, now described by academics and critics as 'minor prose works', wrote what we would now call an essay, titled A COUNTERBLASTE TO TOBACCO.
The kingdoms of England and Scotland were individual sovereign states in those days, with their own parliaments, judiciary, and laws, though both were ruled by James in personal union. I can't work it out either, although his stance on tobacco was clear.
PART TWO: The Nine of Diamonds remains the Curse of Scotland. The origin of this name is not certain but many explanations, some of which follow, are suggested. Lord Justice-Clerk Ormiston was called the Curse of Scotland and so the Nine of Diamonds (also commonly called the Curse of Scotland) was known to them as The Justice Clerk.
Some may search this, while others may re-earth this thing called consternation in the net-book of mental pages where there are displayed two stages of rage like stage one : I am introduced to sway as a young fry one day then stage two I'm getting it the hell out of me YEA I put that shit on hold : "I must welcome you to this website and bring to you an announcement of intergalactic importance .... ladies and gentleman I'm the Voice of ConBy explosive specialist Panatenda Stacks the treacherous millenial expedition chief administrator of Perpetual Freedom, and I will f**uck you executives consecutively, I will test your chests out like trampolines YEA I will make the sky roll back like I'll make it all fold four fold and f**uck the dumb shit out of you, so you may not need to get smashed in a car crash quick or beaten with a half-eaten deadbeat chicken drumstick cause Peter Burnett summoned me to photocopy your entity and carol your dying ditty where hope draws up, you will not outlast him in specious buildings, and nor can you obscure a part of yourself in illiquid earnings, hear ye hear ye obliquities of hateful ways, and Peter's maniples are fired away so hereof let your study be as clear as shit, and ken that I wrote this ruled by Mr Hit. He is my dealer . . . . of course!!"
This is published with The Combined Technical Jargon of Bev
These are all words and phrases which we have picked up from researches into the Scottish-Aberdonian way of speaking. We are three American students from New York who are in Scotland because of the unique words which they use here, and the Peter Burnett Website has let us publish what we have collected so far.
The ownership of a bank account excites a sage contempt for social morality. Customers too, I’d be the doormat of the decade if only they had a vote. And yet people had me down as this weakling, just because my anarchism never scared anybody. They were all slavering dogs, they liked to frighten people, or at least they didn’t mind. Me though, I just can’t get tough. I don’t feel the rage so much any more. I just get the anger. I’m no good at it though, really no good. Can I still be an anarchist, I wonder? You’d think then that this was the moment, but it wasn’t. How many pages have I written? I still haven’t attacked the state. How did I become such a coward?
I wish I'd heard James Kelman's Saltire acceptance speech. I read about it ... it raised an eyebrow. I searched the net but nobody had published it, though I did find this quote:
Our culture is as rich as any culture and it’s shocking to me that our children, and the likes of myself at the age of 66, have to struggle to fucking express it.
It was enough! I don't know if James Kelman said that or not, but that is what I heard.
There isn't much competition for quality writing, I mean among people that are alive. James Kelman has pretty much being holding the lot of it down, singlehanded for Scotland since the 1980s, with nobody that I've seen or heard writing anything as good.
What I mean by good I'll have to express later. I'd never thought of Kelman as struggling to express his Scottishness, and I don't know what he means about our children.
"Altogether, I think we ought to read only books that bite and sting us. If the book we are reading does not shake us awake like a blow on the skull, why bother reading it in the first place? So that it can make us happy, as you put it? Good God, we'd be just as happy if we had no books at all; books that make us happy we could, at a pinch, also write ourselves. What we need are books that hit us like the most painful misfortune … that make us feel as though we had been banished to the woods … a book must be an axe for the frozen sea within us. That is what I believe."
Yew may have heard that Dundee University is scandalously offering non-Dunds (some of whom are undootedly Papish) Ready Cash to write a novel about Dundee, the City of Discography. Dinna, right! Because I have it all sown up wi my entrance "Art of the Fugue Off" about a DJ wi a problem wi drugs in Dundee wi some mates. Nae bad, eh? My Social Worker thinks she has seen the film already, it's that good. It's bound til win, seein as how I'm a Registered Mentalist, and ma da was a cunt AND a welder. If I hear of ony other entrances into this Dundee Book Prize Quiz, I'll club them to death. Now I gotto go. I'm midway through "Swann's Way" (it's shite!)
The story is that the original planners, when they willed the giant motorway under the town, wished to dig a tunnel for the cars so that none of the domestic harmony created by the several thousand adjacent hovels on the ground would have to be touched.
Here we are at Charing Cross in Glasgow and so much for that, because they tore them down. Two birds and one stone, old hovels gone away and new motorway placed in an analytic line from North to South.
The swathe of town they cut was over 100 metres wide, and at the point where I stand (and memorise this composition) the motorway is eight lanes deep and runs about thirty metres below ground level. The noise of all these engines thrashing at once is what attracted the planners to build this . . . yes, that and the fact that it may never stop.
Slept all morning. Children's party all afternoon, Sighthill, Edinburgh. Sweet and polite group of kids. Basket scampi at the softplay. Watched MAKE ME AN OFFER (1955) starring Peter Finch, then all episodes of Nathan Barley. The most ideal weather. Last night, good company, Tadg, Andrew, Kenny. XLV: A type of gramophone record classified by its revolution speed of 45 cycles per minute. Refers also to the Jacobite rising in Scotland. One half of a football game! My boys were so pleased to see me at lunchtime. They wrestled on top of me for twenty minutes, trying to get best position for tickles. The weather is ideal, giving the day an endless quality. Turning to think of the future. Focus on completing a new book this month. 0 + 1 + 2 + 3 + 4 + 5 + 6 + 7 + 8 + 9 = 45. Counting in triangles.
Another word that has changed its meaning is the verb to humanise.
To humanise now means to turn into a machine, but this definition has become a matter of balance. Life on Earth is the fact of a brick wall neatly stacked, all the same colour and interlocked so that it does not fall down. When an object is humanised then it is fitted into the technosphere, rather than brought into the human mode.
Does it have a commercial application?
Yes, it is a bumble bee, and therefore we may enslave it for Honey Breakfast Flakes. Can it be used as a lubricant? Yes it is an essential oil can be sold to violinists to help their grip. Can we re-manufacture it on a mass scale? Yes we can, no matter what it is, even if it isa plastic or a chicken. The word humanise applies to every fowl we have so far come across, they can be bred as often as taste requires, andironic as it may sound, humanised in farms.
Animals Have Mercy for now and forever, it's the evil that men and women do that makes them come together. They winter frosted and froze you my friends but you got up again and stapled your twisted genome back on your head. Where animals snack and smack the bark, we inject the jewels to our pockets and they and meat meet mark
The Range of the Awful Hand is a range of hills in the Southern Uplands of Scotland, so called due to their resemblance to the fingers of a hand...
It's also the name of a band from Edinburgh, two members of which were formerly in Gilded Lil (check this Gilded Lil playlist if in any doubt as to the genius of that bunch.)
Download recent stuff from The Range of the Awful Hand here.
Oh, himmin, Martha, I say Martha? Bring hence the most active hallucinogens, I feel a prophecy coming on … and lo, into the land of Tim'Bhoy, cometh the Lord of Radge callest To'sh and his Dark Companion Bobo, and there waxeth pish at Ba'a, and there is much wailing and rending of expensive replica garments, some in a criminally lurid green, calleth Sh'ell Suits. But muttering so that he alone doth understand, cometh again King Ke'enny to the land of Tim'Bhoy, and riddeth the place of the forces of Pish, unto the last Tombo'yd, and buyeth Scum from the English Second Division to replace them … and now Martha, ringeth oot a Pomegranate Supper and pass me the Scrolls, on which I have doodled this forenoon, there's a good quine …
Far ere's slurry ere's sillar? Nae here. Boyndlie is an estate as opposed to a village, or you might like to picture it as a scattered community of farms and other houses.
Boyndlie House lies about six miles SW of Faserburgh, and is a seat of a branch of the Forbes family - although I know the family as being called Ogilvie-Forbes, as have been for at least a century.