Saturday Morning – Opposites

Late sleeping, I opened the pages of the notebook to make my reminders, and stared at the numbers at the top of a new spread and otherwise empty double pages the colour and size of bread.

132.850

134.425

For a moment, still sleep-boggled, I thought they were coded new ATM passwords, then remembered they are the only two frequencies, Hz-wise, I heard anything on, on my Radio Shack PRO-71.

Whenever I write Hz, with my bad arm I think of Everything Hurtz, the song a part of the last Fall album I truly, honestly loved. Magnificent, I think of that collective I define, neatly a decade, ‘83 to ‘92, from Perverted By Language to Code: Selfish. O, brother, here we go:

Perverted By Language
The Wonderful and Frightening World Of
This Nation’s Saving Grace
Bend Sinister
The Frenz Experiment
I am Kurious Oranj
Extricate
Shift-Work
Code: Selfish

And that although I kept on buying and proclaiming, in my heart really knowing, well, I know it’s over. What is that, when you walk out on a band you adored? When you have all you need; when you keep that and ask for no more.

I drew up the blind to snow I’d forgotten about, and instead of them flying upwards in a flap like they usually do, all the birds in the garden stayed put; chief among them the winning male blackbird, jet and slick against the snow, his mango-yellow beak working at some butternut squash, the last of the last of pie season in our house.

a fat, warm blackbird

in a cold and spikey tree

was a piece, a doodle, I did at Jacob Kramer, Leeds, Leeds College of Art, as bid by Patrick Oliver, tutor, whom I’d earlier watched hissing and fizzing with joy at his memory of the opposites of

a hot cat sitting

on a cold stone wall

and knew I wanted to interpret that, and made the observation of this blackbird. Then, just as now.

This is not the piece, but is similar, and I found it in the portfolio under a bed. The other one is up in the eaves.

This is not the piece, but is similar, and I found it in the portfolio under a bed. The other one is up in the eaves.

© Steve Mitchell, Fisher Lane

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About Stevie Mitchell

I come from a long line of cartoons and beer. I was once peed on by a tiger. Hoping the resultant super-powers are yet to come, cos if these are they, then, grrrr....
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