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atonanixtlananatetcic

by Simon Aulman

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1.
restionaceae 02:41
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2.
centrolepidaceae 02:36
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3.
anarthriaceae 02:54
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4.
joinvilleaceae 01:31
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5.
ecdeiocoleaceae 02:55
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6.
poaceae 02:34
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7.
flagellariaceae 02:28
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8.
xyridaceae 02:42
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9.
eriocaulaceae 02:31
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10.
juncaceae 02:45
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11.
cyperaceae 01:22
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12.
thurniaceae 02:21
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13.
rapateaceae 02:22
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14.
mayacaceae 02:31
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15.
typhaceae 02:23
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16.
bromeliaceae 02:13
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17.
zingiberales 01:30
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18.
commelinales 01:39
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19.
xyrid 01:22
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20.
cyperid 01:40
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21.
bromelida 02:42
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22.
glumaceae 01:48
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23.
sparganiaciaeae 02:57
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24.
hydatellaceae 01:54
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about

this is half an album - ie halfway thru making it I've decided Ah bugger it just zap it out like this, no thought about the order, no second thoughts about keeping in a few tracks that really shouldn't be here/anywhere - it was going to be another long album with a physical presence and I've even done the artwork etc, the paint is dry, everything is ready - but I've chosen to wrong-foot my musical career and let the world make of it what it will - and no I am under no de- or illusions - it's Nothing of Nothing about Nothing meaning Nothing amounting to Nothing, like everything - not just everything of mine, but everything of yours and of everyone's.

My life is being so pared down that there is now only one person I can bear going on a walk with, and yesterday together we wandered roughly down/near-ish the line of pylons that run near-ish the Marchwood bypass, down to Hardley, the underwhelming Mopley Pond, Tom's Down, down into Fawley to the Falcon Inn whose website promises a wonderful menu, but the nice lady told us that they no longer do food.

Friendly people told us to try the Jolly Sailor at Ashlett and we have been there before and sure it's okay, it is fairly "real" and intimate and all that but somehow we always prefer places that are more corporate and aloof - me, I'd rather use the supermarket self-service till than talk to a real person.

So when yr stuck in Fawley and want to sit down somewhere inside and eat something hot there seemed nothing for it but to keep on going all the way down to Calshot and the Activity Centre and its cafe. It was quiet and light and wonderful, just a few tables of people who all seemed to be living in their camper vans in the car parks thereabouts, and though it is now too much of a cliche for me to ever want to do it myself, I still find them quite relatable.

We sat in the comfy seats at the quiet furthest distance from the counter and I apologise to the staff because we left an horrendous mess of mud and flakes of sausage rolls and oozes of brown sauce - nothing personal, and we did leave a big tip.

The weather yesterday (no rain) was much better than on my long walk on Tuesday (ceaseless), but I still got off the bus here in town covered in mud and quite a sight. There was a time in my lifetime, say thirty-plus years ago, when London felt like the last city in the country where you'd see eccentrics totally at ease, knowing that there were other eccentrics only a few seats away from them on the tube train or bus to make them less sore-thumby.

Nowadays I notice that London has become very conventional-appearing, it's just another tamed bland city on a planet where all the big cities look the same. It's the smaller cities that seem to have become more accepting of eccentrics. Maybe it's just the superabundance of drugs and the total lack of police (or anyone) to tut at people who are shouting to the heavens or dancing alone to the music of their own headbeat or barely dressed or amiably squatting and taking a dump in the public spotlight and I am starting to like the way this shithole nation is falling apart and this doesn't feel like the time to make beautiful precious dainty clever music, it is the time for this.

.......................................

recorded over the past few days, everything created on my wonderful battery-powered Lidl-purchased keyboard and then randomly mangled in Audacity, photo yesterday Calshot

credits

released March 22, 2024

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Simon Aulman Southampton, UK

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