About Me
I 'd like to let you in on a little secret. It's not my secret you understand, or else I wouldn't be telling you this. Please don't take offense, it's nothing personal. Suffice to say that when it comes to secrets, people fall into two distinct categories; those who keep, and those who share them. Personally I'd like to think of myself as a keeper. I guess that may make me sound a little selfish. It's just that I really dont feel that secrets are something that should be shared with other people. That would make secrets more secret handshakes than secrets, and I suppose they wouldnt really be secrets at all anymore would they? Hmm...I've only just started writing and I've already contradicted myself havent I? Oh dear! Well, I suppose what Im about to tell you isn't exactly a secret at all, just something that people dont really like to talk about. I guess thats a little different.
Well, it has since been proven that the earth is indeed spherical. However, the structure with six sides of equal dimension, and eight vertices, which rotates around the earth nurturing all those satellites like a giant greenhouse is much less talked about. Who did you think looked after all those orbiting stations and satellites we sent out there to fend for themselves? The robot who lives in the greenhouse of course. He's a tall robot with extending arms, long enough to mist and tend the leaves of tall trees inside the greenhouse. However, the robot doesnt get lonely because there is a handful of people who live out there on the edge of the world, looking down at this melting raspberry ripple ice cream that we call home.
There's a house with no windows at all sitting on the edge of the world. A man used to live in that house. No one know whether he owned it or was just renting, but that's where he lived anyway. Just like you might live in a house or a flat, so did he. Unlike you or I he didnt welcome visitors around to take tea or watch a football match with him. There are rumours about where he came from: some people believe that he used to be an international darts champion, others swear they have seen him and that he sports a large cowboy hat, and enjoys dressing up in womens clothing. One guy I got talking to was convinced that the man was in fact Django Reinhardt. I met an agreeable fellow called Brian in Sacramento train station last year. He was sure that the mystery man was the original Dean Torrence who had been replaced on earth during the first human cloning experiment, following the notorious car accident of April 1966. However, the most frequent rumours in circulation tell of a quiet young man who worked on an Alaskan fishing trawler before loosing an eye to a vicious salmon. The salmon unsuccessfully tried to make off with the guys wallet and the chap in question was never seen again.
However, if you've ever wondered where all of those perfect songs come from, it wont surprise you to learn that they were all written by one man. The man I've been boring you with stories about. In fact he's probably written all of those songs you've ever shaken your ass to on a dance floor, or bedroom floor for that matter. All those tunes you listened to on your own whilst worrying about stuff, the ones that keep you company when youre down, yep he wrote most of those ones too. Talented fellow huh?
Once the songs were finished, he'd send them on to other bands and musicians. They'd arrive in the post like a birthday card, or a telephone bill. Or so they used to. This guy quit his job a few years ago. Since then people have been out writing music on their own. Well, that certainly explains why music has started to suck so bad, and why things are constantly being re-packaged, re-mastered, re-mixed and re-released. The record companies didn't know what to do after his disappearance. So of course, they started sticking together bits of his good old tunes together, in the hope that they would also sound like brand new good tunes. They also hoped that people wouldnt notice, however, that plan didnt work out so good.
On the door of the house with no windows there's a handwritten sign which simply says;
Sinking ships
Supposedly the man used some of his record company royalties to purchase a hot air balloon. These days he spends all of his time floating around the world sinking ships. Quite literally, sinking, not sailing, but sinking. Thats SINK, S..I..N..K! Sinking, as in sunk!
Maybe he just decided that he didn't really like people after all. Or perhaps he's actually trying to track down the salmon who stole his eye, and the ships were just in the way. Anyway, thats where we come in. The League of Sinking Ships was established to track him down. For no reason other than we miss the fellow. We miss the tunes that tap toes, drum fingers, nod heads and tingle ears. Wed just really like to know why he quit his job and make sure hes okay. We keep trying to write songs, but they mostly end up being about him...mostly. In any case they're nothing like his songs. How could they be? That's HIS job, it's what he does, and he's fucking great at it. Or at least he was!
So please...be on the lookout. Reports of ships going down or suspicious balloon sightings are always welcome.
