Tuesday, 29 September 2015

Two Wheels Fonky

The love of my life is made out of steel. It has 21 gears. Three don’t work. Two I don’t use. And one is my personal favourite. My gear. The middle chain ring, two down from the top on the right lever. The gear I’m always in when life is singing to me.

I love my bicycle for one reason above any other. It puts me in places that make me scream at the sky. But for the birds who scream back or scram because the screams scare the shit out of them, they go unheard. My bicycle takes me to places far away from humans.

It shows me the world in a way that nothing else in the world can. It’s a reciprocal agreement. Without me it gathers dust in some darkness in need of air for tyres and oil for parts. Without it i'm more ignorant, more angry, more narrowminded, more impatient, more stubborn, and definitely more sad.

Six weeks of being in nature, staredowns with sunsets, high-fiving daybreaks with frozen fingers, struggling to the tops of mountains, free-wheeling into ravines, getting lost and found and lost again. Of silence you can hear. It takes me to places and gives me experiences and happinesses I can’t find anywhere else. All of this from the simple revolution of pedals, the teamwork of man and machine.

My bike is my favourite teacher. Lesson one: go and see the world. It is not a second wasted. It is an extender of time. It is food for thought. Oxygen to lungs. It is seeing the back-end of other countries and their cultures, seeing the turn of nature, in the continual throes of movement. So much more than crossing a land-mass on a bicycle.

Tuesday, 22 September 2015

Among The Pines

One morning in Rome last summer, a boy led a girl off a track into a wood, and under a canopy of pine trees recited her a poem he'd written. It culminated in him asking her to marry him. She cracked up, and said yes. In a castello in Tuscany this weekend those two very beloved people got married.

The poem was called Among The Pines.

Shit was real.

Friday, 18 September 2015

Return Of The Mac

Shout out to the camera crew who followed me around europe.

Mawney shots don't come cheap yo.


In-depth reportage once finger fully removed from derrière.

Thursday, 6 August 2015

Everything Is Okay

Still the best way to pass a day on God's Earth.

Everything is okay.

Monday, 3 August 2015

In A Bit

Robert Frost said

Sometimes the only way out, for the time being, is... out.

I wrote something about happiness recently. 

The vague gist of it was to disregard happiness, and perhaps aim lower. I don't know if i believe absolutely in what i wrote, but something seems clear to me now. When you're wandering the Gobi desert of positive emotions, a drink from the oasis of happiness seems like a nice pitstop. I'm off on my bicycle. Seeing the world from a bike is my favourite thing in the world. It doesn't give you all the answers. If you go away for just this purpose you might fall short.

Answers won't magically appear lying in wait over the crest of some hill.

But more than anything what you find is the space to ask the right questions.

To add to this, you realign yourself with some really fucking fundamentally important things that you so easily lose touch with, things that if we're not careful we're in danger of not realising we were ever without. Nature, daybreaks, sunsets, solitude, silence. And many things in between.

t o u r i n g  t i m e

My friend Laura's father sent her this letter, which she gave me permission to share.

If you do nothing else, watch this.

Don't worry about me mummy. Before you're old and grey i'll make you proud of me.

Love, before i'm old and grey i'll do you proud.

Lyndawg before we're old and grey we'll go for that fucking beer.

Kiss Me Kate

 Any birthday kept in the company of Kate makes getting one year older extremely painless.

Last tuesday i went to see her in the fine company of señorita Skye.

She recited an entire book of her poetry, off the top of the dome. 

Without looking.

This poem is called...

These Things I Know

Language lives when you speak it. Let it be heard.
The worst thing that can happen to words is that they go unsaid.

Let them sing in your ears and dance in your mouth and ache in your guts. 
Let them make everything tighten and shine.

Poetry trembles alone, only picked up to be taken apart. 

Instead of an elephant, roaring and shaking its ears,
it's one of those handbag dogs, yapping and scared of the rain.

The clever folk talk in endless circles and congratulate themselves on being so untouched by passion.
But since when did the clever folk ever know anything?

Sometimes things are as simple as they seem.

It's as much about instinct as it is about intellect
And if you feel it, it's alive.

Let it be magic.
These are not engines we're making.

Wherever you come from is a holy place.

Do not love the idea of life more than you love life itself.

The world is a terrible place for sensitive people
but the closer we come to losing our minds, the harder we'll work to keep them.

If you're not fighting for it, you don't want it.

Taking things for granted is a terrible disease. We should all be checking ourselves regularly for signs of it.

Sensitive people are frequently beaten up by things insensitive people can't see.

If you've been beaten up, good for you.
If you've never been beaten up, good for you.
If you get beaten up all the time, you should take up boxing.

It's ok to feel alone.
Usually you are.
That's what poetry's for.

It's good to care about things so much you feel exhausted.

Don't read women's magazines. They're bad for your stomach.

You've only yourself to blame when someone half as talented as you ends up achieving twice as much.

If people judge you badly and misunderstand you, 
it's good for you.

Fame is the worst thing that could happen to your reputation.

If you want to know your worth, ask your lovers.
Especially the ones who don't talk to you anymore.

You can't be a good person and treat your lovers badly, 
no matter how much you give to charity.

Better to have been a dickhead and seen it,
than a cunt all your life and not know it.

A thousand fans screaming your name is nothing compared to one lover who whispers it and knows what it means.
Although of course both would be nice.

The world is getting stranger every day; you're not strange for noticing.

You don't have to be young to be good at what you do. You just have to be good at it.

There's nothing wrong with dogs being dogs and baring their teeth at each other.

The pain of having fucked things up so bad will never leave us.

If you say something funny on Twitter, it doesn't matter.

If you've been an arsehole today, acknowledge it.
Try not to be one tomorrow.

Never underestimate how nice it is
to make someone a cup of tea without them having to ask.

If you have a shit job and you don't love your girlfriend and your life is killing you, take a fucking risk for once.

If some people don't hate your work, you're not doing it right.


It made Skye cry, twenty minutes after the gig finished. Chicks man.