Safe House, Islands, The Journey

A full day today, working on new music for the Synaesthesia remaster. Safe House was a short track of largely sound effects, which I've remade by ear. I couldn't rip the samples easily (I originally recorded them live from a medium-wave or possibly long-wave radio, which I don't have any more) so I loaded the whole file as 'raw' into SoundForge, and voila, I could extract them.

The Journey was another short 'audio scene' had two very different versions. The 1999 version was all television clips. The 2001 and 2015 versions included a disturbing drone and wailing child, like the 'hell' background sound I used in my 'Seventh Circle' exhibition at The Cubby Hole. For the new version of The Journey I've used television clips again. Finding free to use ones was difficult in 1999, but now the Internet Archive contains lots of public domain television clips from decades ago.

I've also reworked Resurrection. This was the most catchy track of all. The 2015 version was okay, it was one of the two that I recreated back then, but the balancing needed some tweaking. Generally this meant tidying some of the muddy bass sounds. Bass sounds need to be punchy and cut off sharply. Gentle hums are okay too, but often decaying, fading bass sounds are to be avoided. Even when bass drums reverberate with power (as in Islands of Memory) the reverb tail needs to have the bass attenuated.

Deb called to deliver some goods but we couldn't meet due to the isolation restrictions, so we had to see each other from afar.

A long day ends. I feel exhausted and ready to sleep. I'm avoiding television, radio, books, or any social contact, so am working optimally. I like this. I am generally, these days, filled with positive energy and inspiration. I have lots of ideas for future work of all sorts and working full time to make them happen. Tomorrow I need to work on the final track for this: Waltz of the Ghosts. Then I can work on the album art, and move on to new work rather than reworking this old stuff. Happy though I am with it, this music is still very old and not my contemporary style at all.

And I must find time to promote Burn of God.

Refuge, Termination and Shopping

Much more work on Synaesthesia yesterday, focusing on Termination and Refuge. Refuge has an immense and multi-layered climax consisting of drums, bass, piano, string chords, high-pitched sweeping strings, brass fanfare and distorted guitar-style power-chords. Managing these forces wasn't easy, but it's a matter of balancing each instrument it its place. The new version sounds so very much better than the 1999 or 2001 or 2015 versions (they were identical - I've not reconstructed this before).

The more I work on this, the more I dislike the 2001 (and 2015) versions. It seemed that, in my rush to digitise, I've killed so much of the fragments of original feeling in the 1999 version. In this 2020 version I've restored a lot from the 1999 version which had been removed: The sweeping and sad lead in Space Infinity is back; the beeps in the 2015 version were certainly less evocative. The heart beats at the end of Islands of Memory are back, replacing the breaths.

Termination was radically worse in the 2001/2015 version. The monotone bass of the 1999 version was replaced with a more melodic lead, which repeated on loop forever throughout the song at steady pace and volume. Many of the tracks did. Dealing with this while keeping some spirit of the original was tricky; I don't want to completely re-write this album like Mike Oldfield did with Tubular Bells II, but this tune so lacks variation that I've had to add something. First I've stopped the excessive repeated loops. These have some importance though, because this is essentially a Trance track. I've made the main sweeping lead monotone again rather than melodic. The 1999 version of this track is relatively short at 2:36, this one is over 4 minutes. I've essentially tried to eject some drama into the four dramatic parts: The first fall to F Major (although this is more natural, it seemed odd to make this too dramatic, it's primarily a cue for its second appearance later). Then a crash to silence, where I've removed most of the instruments (the 2001/2015 version removed almost nothing). Finally the second fall to F Major, which is the true climax, and then the end.

In the afternoon I needed to go shopping. Mum insisted on coming too, which at first I was somewhat anxious about; as ideally we are supposed to act alone, yet, we are in the same household, and actually her help was most welcome because we had five big bags to carry back. I would have struggled on my own. I arrived at Tesco to find her sitting on the floor on the car-park, at her place in the extended queue. We didn't queue for long outside and were allowed in 5 or 6 at a time. There were few customers in the shop, less than the last time I went, ten or so days ago. More stock was on the shelves too, including chicken this time, although no pasta, which was about the only thing notably absent. Many checkouts were active with no customers or queues, to limit crowding around certain checkouts. Good work by Tesco all round, I think.

I raced back home; this is a primary exercise source these days, passing hardly any people. I only came within two metres of one person on the journey, taken by surprise at a corner. With advance warning I could have easily crossed the street and passed nobody for the whole two mile round trip. Got home, unpacked, then washed hands and arms with a rich lather of soap, then face, then decontaminated anything I might have touched with my mix of alcohol and hydrogen peroxide: bags, phones, money, etc. then washed hands again. Mission accomplished.

Lockdown and Termination

The end of the first week of the government's 'social distancing' measures, colloquially known as lock-down. I've hardly been out but will need to go shopping soon, as many food supplies are running low. Food shopping, alongside going to work, and 'once-per-day' exercise, are the only permitted reasons for being outside. I went for a quick trip on Friday evening but it was too busy for me. I'll be ready next time. Things at supermarkets are unusual; queues outside with clearly marked 2M zones for each person. One let in only when one emerges, to limit customer numbers in the shop. This is safer overall but feels more intimidating due to the herding of people. These times must be awful for people with claustrophobia, and probably unexpectedly difficult for the retail staff.

For the first few days people seemed a bit more lax at the new rules, judging from online activity. Here, there have been very few people about anyway. By the end of this first week people seem to be complying and staying in. Dog walkers make up the majority of pedestrians although at times there seem to be as many cars as ever. I haven't seen Deb in over a week now and I miss her. I hope that I can see her soon.

Music continues. I've decided to try and tackle the most difficult tracks to see how those go: Termination and Refuge. Many of the tracks on the album follow the same course, creating drama by dropping from a drone of (almost always) A minor to F major. Termination has squillions of layers, I had layer-itis back then. I've got a bass, a filtered saw wave dancing about, high pitched strings that sound like an alert, a sweeping siren, a powerful filter-sweeping distorted guitar, a distorted bell that reminds me of the lead in Orbital's The Box. All of these are playing a different looping melody, and all over the top of each other, plus up to 5 extra tracks of drums. The contemporaneous Arcangel Soundtrack used a similar structure; looping layers, added and removed.

The trick with filter sweeps is to compress them to keep the volume consistent, or simply avoid too many melodies in them. That said, the massive echoing sweeps in Cellular Automaton on Animalia aren't compressed, yet work fine. That was one of the easiest tracks to mix despite sounding extremely complex. Nowadays I rarely use filter sweeps at all. I became more interested in melody and the fundamentals of music than pretty sound effects.

Synaesthesia History

Busy working on music still. I'm toying with the idea of re-recording Synaesthesia, my first album. I've already recorded this three times in total. The first version in 1999 was sequenced using Octamed (possibly on Amiga, though this may be unlikely) and used only my Yamaha SY-85 synth in one take, so had a few technical restrictions. I made about 10 of these on CD-R with laser printing and a few were sold by a tiny record company called Rev Records.

A couple of years later I decided to re-record it using NoiseStation, the first version of my music software. Musically this second version was generally similar, but far from identical. The sweeping wail of loneliness from the 1999 opening track became a single sine-wave beep. I also used some of the 1999 tracks on the 2001 version: Refuge and The Waltz of the Ghosts were simple enough and worked better on the synth than in the crude NoiseStation. NoiseStation game me more power and more tracks, but it didn't have reverbs and generally had a harsh, electronic sound. I recorded only three albums using it: Synaesthesia, The Incredible Journey (which has never been released, I didn't consider it worthy, partly for reasons of sound quality), and the first version of The Spiral Staircase, which I subsequently re-recorded to greater effect.

So for years, the second Synaesthesia album was the only album of my ouvre that used this technology. In 2015, I decided to remaster it, mainly because it was about to be released digitally across the modern music platforms. My priority was polishing what I had rather than remaking the album. I re-recorded two tracks: The Runner and Resurrection, but used the older 2001 tracks for the others, and even some of the original 1999 versions. This made Synaesthesia 2015 a hybrid of everything before, and not a clean beginning. Listening to it now, I'm not that happy with it.

This is my only album from that era with these, for me, quality issues in the mixing consistency, and overall album unity. The, even older, Arcangel Soundtrack, has a nice warmness, partly because of the simplicity of the music. NoiseStation 1 was always very 'harsh' in its sound.

Now I feel it's a good time to make Synaesthesia for a fourth time for a few reasons. I have good tools and abilities now, and the recent remaster of Animalia has inspired me. Like that album, Synaesthesia is very much a Jean-Michel Jarre inspired album, and it would be nice to have a standard set of these in consistent quality of music and art. Perhaps I could even work on a sequel (I have so many sequel ideas! One for this, for The Spiral Staircase, for Animalia). Additionally there is no 600dpi artwork for Synaesthesia, and I might consider having a few physical CDs made; and finally, the country is in Coronavirus lockdown. Making music indoors is an efficient use of time for these weeks.

This, my first opus, should at least please me in quality.

I've spent today reprogramming Prometheus to make it import NoiseStation files (well, only the notes, not the instruments). This should alleviate some of the tedium of converting some of the more complex tracks. I will see how things go over the next week.

Animalia 2020 Artwork

The coronavirus situation seems to be more settled, simply a matter of waiting. I am ignoring this for the moment and avoiding the news. This makes me far happier. Think how terrifying the Black Death would have been if it had been on television.

I've spent yesterday and today finalising the music for the Animalia remaster, and redesigning the (potential) CD artwork. I'm not sure if I will have any CDs made; I hardly sell any, but having physical items is an incentive to do something with them, it adds value to the artwork itself.

In musical terms, Animalia 2020 is almost identical to the first version, as I had expected, but there have been slight tweaks to most of the tracks. Paragon, the most complex track, has benefitted from louder strings in the chorus and more cleanliness and punch in the bass area. A lot of mixing problems are best solved by reducing or removing bass frequencies, always removing rather than adding or boosting. I keep equalisation to the minimum; in fact, I never use it, I prefer to change the volume and timbre of the instruments themselves rather than process an instrument track, or, shudder, the whole song.

Mantle has had similar, very slight, tweaks. Nectar is one of the few tracks that is audibly different, it's a simple idea: a piano tune played very slowly but with a very strong echo, so that the echoing notes add to the current melody. Over time this builds up to form a dance of notes, rather like a dance of individual bees making up a hive; hence the title. The 2004 version of this track tends to fade out rather quickly though. It is three minutes long, but at least the last minute is silence. For this version I've boosted the feedback to extend the music. This was to be the gentle ending of the album, so drifting into silence isn't all bad; the last track, Cellular Automaton, was sort of a secret bonus track. I've added a little bit more to Cellular Automaton too, an intro which fades in at the end of Nectar. That's it for the music.

The art was a secondary challenge. I had already designed two covers for Animalia. The 2004 album was my first to use an actual painting. I decided to paint it on steel, a 50cm metal plate. Priming it with cheap acrylic primer from The Works made it rust and turn browny pink. So I primed it again, and again it rusted. So, fed up with this, I slapped on a good coat of emulsion paint, perhaps 3mm thick! This stopped the rust seeping through but did give the panel a deeply grooved texture like Rhino skin. I'd only just begun painting in 2004, so learned a lot from that one, but it's an awful painting compared to my current work.

In 2007, I redesigned the cover for a new digital release, but only designed it in 300dpi, and limited pages. My practice now is to design album art in 600dpi, and for an 8-page booklet. The 2007 cover is fine, so I decided to copy that, and I have enough of the source files to recreate it in 600dpi to a good standard, so here it is:

It's almost identical to the 2007 version, but this notably lacks a buzzard in the top left. I could include him, but I think the image balancing works fine as it is, and the are no buzzards in the music (well, there are few gulls either, but they do screech a little in Oceanic). For the inner art, I've used the motif of the hexagons, which I created algorithmically using the fantastic software Genetica (which is sort of like a graphic version of how my music software works on audio).

I've used occasional animals, like the monkey here, and a mix of white and black hexagons.

I'm pleased with this and, as I always was, with the whole album. It is truly in the style of Jean-Michel Jarre's 80s period; albums like Magnetic Fields, Rendez-vous, Zoolook, yet more conceptually focused. Revisiting this over the past few days made me wonder if I should create something similar, perhaps a plant-themed album... could I revisit this ancient style of mine? Also, what would be my incentive?

I feel at the top of my creative powers, that I can create any piece of music, art, poetry, literature, to a good standard, and can choose any of these at will. It's just a matter of time and resources; so, what to create? Something that will have a lasting impression on global culture? Something that future historians will see as reflecting these times? Something deeply touching and personal? Something groundbreaking and that, centuries from now, will be seen as wonderfully as William Blake's work is now?

I doubt anything I do will ever be popular or lucrative, but even if it were, acclaim or money cannot be an artist's motivation, those slippery snakes are never certain. My nature is to do the opposite of what is requested and expected by society. All I really have to do is what I want, what I love, and do that to the best of my ability. That is all we can do.

Curfew and Prometheus v1.60

The first day of a nationwide curfew. I welcome this, like many people, and think, like many people, that it should have been done much earlier, weeks ago, as early as the Irish Prime Minister instigated tough sanctions there. However there are many economic consequences and necessary preparations, so perhaps doing that weeks ago would not have been possible. Even now, many people object to these restrictions.

To me it seems likely now that, rather than gradually infect everyone, the strategy will become global containment; that China will stamp out infections as they occur rather than intentionally, gradually infecting its population with the hope of granting widespread immunity. I hope that world governments will understand this aim and attempt this. It would be an incredible achievement, a first time in human history that a pandemic was stopped in this way. For me, it seems like the best solution, far faster than a vaccine anyway.

People on the news had been flaunting government guidelines. The park, even here, on Mother's Day was apparently very busy with groups. It seems to be a necessary step to introduce and enforce tougher movement restrictions. The graph of daily infections in Britain seems about level. Perhaps we are even near a peak. There would naturally be some growth now, due to those who became infected before the restrictions, but the experience of other countries indicate that these 'social distancing' measures will work, and perhaps, across the globe, rates will die down.

I'm feeling more settled at the curfew and feeling ready to work. I had a shopping trip to make, so did this. It was also a good chance to exercise, something I miss. The streets were very empty, as expected; I probably didn't get closer than 4 metres to anyone at all when walking. Tesco was also very empty of shoppers and new (welcome) restrictions on spacing between customers were evident at the checkouts. Staff were wearing surgical gloves. One entrance was closed to restrict movements. The shelves were a little more full than last time, the produce creeping back. Still no pasta or chicken, but almost all other goods were there to some extent. I hope that too much food isn't wasted, though I fear it will be. If people make less trips the fresh food, like the lovely berries and fruits, might not remain fresh.

In work, I continued to work on Animalia and have remastered all of the tracks now. I spotted a software bug though; I noticed that the delays in Cellular Automaton were not correct, and loaded the original file to find them still faulty. I thought that, over the years, I had tweaked or changed the file somehow, but it turned out that this was a bug.

My last update checked if any parameters were out of bounds, and if so, reset the engine (engine: a sound creating plug-in) to its default values. This was the source of the problem, especially when using parameters based on beat-time rather than seconds, because the tempo can vary, and thus put the beat-time out of range easily, or have it appear out of range when it is in range. A perfectly valid engine was being reset.

The simplest solution is to stop checking things and just import the existing values. This fixed things, but I had noticed that I'd been loading in old files and saving them out again, corrupting them with this bug. The bug has only been in place since Prometheus v1.59 so November last year, so hopefully not much damage has been done. I looked back and the old Animalia files and fixed those, and added a few more features to Prometheus; a feature to delete all of the notes of the current instrument on the current track (useful only for tracks with a mix of instruments, which is rather rare).

Also I've added guide tracks; these are tracks that are always muted, never played, but processed as a normal track in other ways. As the name suggests, they are useful for melodies or other note data that can be used as a guide or skeleton to the general sequence; notes in a midi track for example, or the melody to sing for a song. These aren't played in the final sequence, but are useful to have alongside the music. I can use a normal track and just keep it muted, which I have been doing, but it looks ugly and it can create uncertainty as to whether a track is to be played in the final mix or not.

I've also ordered my author copies of The Burning Circus. I made one change since launch day: The Accident poem referenced Perseus rather than Pegasus (an easy mistake to make!). I think though that one single copy has been sold and shipped with the Perseus mistake. This copy is unique. It will no-doubt be priceless one day, if it survives. It's probably already worth more than it cost.

Remastering Animalia

I'm still somewhat struggling with latent anxiety, but managing to sleep. I am perhaps not unique in this, in these times. I remind myself that my distress and vigilance is for the sake of others. One trick to relax, or change any aspect of your self or being, is to imagine someone else in the situation to desire, someone who looks like you. Picturing a relaxed doppelganger seems to work better than trying to convince your own body to relax, perhaps because it is something external to focus on.

I spent an hour or two last night listening to old music, on Minidisc, often from the 90s. How nice it is to reminisce. The tunes have a similar structure to each other, often quite simplistic, normally a few shifting chords and many layers of melodies (why have a countermelody when you can have four!) over those chords. I have enough unreleased tunes on there to make a complete album. I'm not sure what the artistic merit would be, but it's an idea for the future.

I thought this week would be a good time to work on a few simple jobs, so decided to work on a remaster of Animalia. The music was largely fine for this 2004 album, but a few tracks could be improved in the balancing, the album was never mastered in 32-bit, unlike my contemporary albums, and I didn't produce a CD or much artwork beyond a cover, so I thought I'd spend a few days working on this. Most people will not notice any difference, the musical changes will be that subtle, but keeping the production quality high and consistent for my entire back catalogue is important to me. I might even tweak Synaesthesia again.

I tend to dislike 'remastered' albums by other artists, mainly because its become a byword for compressing everything, making everything sound louder, as if reducing the dynamic range is somehow 'better'. I hate this use of compression. My tweaks will be very subtle changes to a select few tracks.

Mothering Sunday

A first, more relaxed, day in a long time but one of stomach agony, crushingly cold and pale weakness, and inability to eat, after a night of the same, almost a complete standstill of my digestive system. This happens every so often.

Work must go on. I began by reviving and promoting ArtSwarm for a special show or two, this seems an ideal time for it. I've used Religion as a theme, the theme chosen for the live ArtSwarm events. I think it's quite a tricky theme, especially for the live show, so it feels good to use it here.

The government has closed the pubs and social venues, but images from London and elsewhere online (can these be trusted?) show mass gatherings on beaches and in parks, almost careless crowds of people; and yet here I worry about going to a largely deserted park.

It seems that Amazon are restricting non-essential deliveries, which might include my poetry book.

The sun is lovely, although the day is cold, on this Mothering Sunday tainted this year with sadness and foreboding. Our wolf spiders are awake and were sunbathing in their groups. It's curious that I am arachnophobic yet rather like our wolf spiders; we've had a colony in the garden for years. These social spiders somehow seem friendly, even cute, and not too big. They will be here on Mothering Sunday next year without care or concern for human affairs. Who knows, we may all still remain in uncertainty and isolation, even then.

Something's Burning

I have a new respect for soldiers. With threats of virus all over the place, going to the supermarket today felt like going on a mission in Vietnam; always edgey, alert, vigilant, making plans and strategies.

I've gradually tried to refocus and calm down, and have largely worked on promoting and posting things about The Burning Circus. This evening, I paid tribute to Kenny Rogers, who died today. When I was very small, perhaps 6 years old, certainly before any computer game music entered my psyche, I remember playing a record over and over called Something's Burning. I was pyromaniacal then and also used to eat the red tips of matches, and I'm sure the lyrics appealed for that reason. Today, I found the music online and played it for the first time since my young childhood, and wow, what a great, dramatic song it is.

Just as back then, I played the music on loop and sang along.

10 Years Ago

It is a curious irony that my first poetry book, 365 Universes, was written, started to be written, almost exactly 10 years ago. It turned out, by chance, to be a partial reflection of an 18-month period of extreme hypochondria driven anxiety, over a year of hell; weakness, sickness, inability to eat or sleep. And today, my second poetry book is released at a time when the same affliction is back, although a little different. Now I worry about others more than myself; something yet more beyond my control.

My state for the past week has swung between constant vigilance, pains across my back and chest as though being watched by a cold spectre, and panic, although I seem to be getting more rest than in the first few days. Perhaps the dramatic changes to the country this week would inevitably cause similar disruptions to many people. We are all part of a unit, a whole. The feelings of the bees reflect the feelings of the hive, and vice versa. By the same token, our cells perhaps feel the same, aggrieved at our bodies disruptive chemistry. We worry for ourselves, our loved ones, our country, our world, our universe. Is this worry active, that we create worry for these echelons; or passive, a sympathetic response to the disruption elsewhere? Anxiety is merely the breaking of connections, so that new ones can be formed. It is the burn of its acid which is uncomfortable.

My sleep patterns seem to involve falling asleep at 11pm or so, waking in a panic as though from a nightmare at 2am or so, remaining awake until 6am, then sleeping again. I noted that this, excluding panic, is typical for me anyway. I read that, in pre-industrial times, people used to naturally sleep twice per night. I've only slept throughout the night for one night this year. One strategy is to extend the time before I wake for the first time, and shrink the time before I sleep again; closing that 'hole of sleep' in the middle of the night. I've used this in the past to good effect.

Deb said something useful, that anxiety is always there, it's part of our personality. Trying to make it vanish only makes it worse, we much instead accept it, and accept its benefits.

My parents have gone out. I don't know where or why. Their exposure to danger unnerves me. I feel too dysfunctional today to do much, but will press on with distant launch duties for The Burning Circus.

Perhaps my experiences of 10 years ago were training for this moment.

But no, we attach our ego and will to actions which occur and would have occurred anyway. The phrase 'everything happens for a reason' is born of ego; we see patterns where there are none. The notion of cause followed by effect is a similar egotistical manifestation. We decide that which is a cause; yet if were are merely leaves on the stream, how can we live? Is ego necessarily strong and weak, able to grow and shrink in some evolutionary dance of the relative interactions of existence?

Burn of God Launch Day and Political It's a Knockout

I began to film a test video the The Self-Isolation Blues last night, the first time in days I felt somehow normal. The night wa still rather anxious. A strange, pervasive, irrational anxiety. Do we all feel it now?

I managed enough snatches of sleep and deliberately got up late, to rest and dispel these anxiety aches. The day is lovely, the first day of spring, very sunny, though cold.

My first job was to announce the launch of Burn of God. I'll send off some review copies as soon as I can work out the postage, and how. Are Post Offices open? I could print out the postage but it is a little troublesome for tiny envelopes. I wrote another poem, Elvis, and recorded a second Blues' video, still not great, but better than nothing. I can't really spend days or weeks on this little thing. I'm pleased with the music. The piano parts were essentially three live takes: the intro, the verses, and the solo part in the middle.

I'll go to the shops later, and more shopping for the house tomorrow. Mum said to buy less than we need, to counteract the effects of the panic-buyers. A good idea.

I try to resist criticising the government too much, I must trust that everyone is trying their best, and not only that, they're all a bunch of idiots and fools that I can't remotely influence, so getting too involved would lead to unnecessary distress. However, they do seem to be doing the wrong thing, not learning from the Italian experience at all, and trying half-measures. Ireland seemed to do it right from the start; a total lock-down, emulating China (who, at great cost, had already worked out the best strategy), only then can restrictions be very gradually lifted in a very controlled way. Exponents are so difficult to control, and moving slowly, to learn about the virus properties, to build ventilators, develop treatments, build testing equipment, new hospital beds, new trainees; that can only be a good thing. I suspect that these half-measures will cost far more economically. Perhaps it's time to move to Ireland.

The economic impact is unimaginable, but all fiat economies are relative to each other; if the whole world's money fell by 50%, everything would be the same, it would merely feel like a crisis during the steps of fall, so perhaps it won't be as bad as it seems. Unlike a World War the infrastructure remains intact. The political situation now feels like a crazy quiz show, ‎like an It's a Knockout of countries, each desperately racing to 'win'. It would be funny if so many people weren't dying, or facing its prospect.

The Self-Isolation Blues

I keep darting between many emotions: a sort of rational focus, panic, resignation, a constant hum of anxiety across my back, and anger at the injustice of those who will escape this virus untouched and are now hiding, anger at the hoarders, the bunker-nut cowards. This was today.

There are currently 8 cases reported in Cheshire East. I would estimate about ten times that in actuality, still a small few.

I must try to avoid the news and move into some sort of more productive routine. One thing I did today, was record the words to a song, The Self-Isolation Blues. I'll make a video I think and put it online then.

The Self-Isolation Blues

I got no shine
on my blue-suede shoes.
I got my weeping red eyes
on the bad news,
and I can't sleep,
or visit the sunshine outside,
I got the self-isolation blues.

My ears are ringing
the bells of two flus.
There ain't no pleasure
in this year's cruise,
and I can't sleep,
or see any ending in sight,
I got the self-isolation blues.

My fortune's joking
but I don't feel amused.
The credit of my soul
has been refused,
and I can't sleep,
my thoughts are a heavy-go-round,
I got the self-isolation blues.

Coronavirus and Hay Fever

I wondered if, in this year when I might catch coronavirus, I should take my antihistamine for hayfever, or whether this would be a bad idea. Based on the Chief Medical Officer's public testimony, coronavirus causes a fever, five days of relatively normal immune response, then in about half of patients an extreme inflammation reaction which causes the most severe symptoms, and that by that time the virus is generally gone so that antiviral medication isn't effective.

In short, it appears that the answer is yes, an antihistamine would help. I can't be sure without official advice of course, but I'm sure enough that I will take my normal antihistamines this summer. I looked further.

I spent a few short hours reading up on inflammatory responses in lung viral infections[1], and it appears that lung damage in severe flu and other diseases is often caused by an overreaction by mast cells, a type of white blood cell. It appears that many fevers that cause problems due to inflammation seem to be caused (or at least correlated) in some way with an overreaction by mast cells. I was intrigued by the Dengue Fever description here: https://www.frontiersin.org/articles/10.3389/fimmu.2015.00238/full; that mast cells were beneficial in the first stages of the disease, but harmful in the later stages due to this inflammation response. Importantly, an antihistamine called ketotifen limits the action of mast cells in terms of inflammation, and in examples that I quickly found, seemed to almost always be beneficial.

Of course my scientific training boils down to one year of a 6-year degree course which only covered the basics of cellular biology, and my ideas are based on a few quick internet searches, but if I were a doctor today I'd try ketotifen as a coronavirus treatment during this later inflammation phase.

A Tale of Two Kitties

A first day with come creativity yesterday; refined a few poems and spent a few hours recording the piano parts to a song, The Self-Isolation Blues.

Mum dusted the room in a manner which had echoes of the Steptoe and Son episode where Albert burned all of Harold's clothes. She wanted to wipe everything down with vinegar and water. I said that isn't effective against coronavirus (or probably any), that bleach and water, or pure alcohol is recommended, so I made a 100% isopropyl alcohol spray to wipe things down. Actually, already useful for my monitor and my, as yet unused, spectacles. I thought of adding a dash of hydrogen peroxide to make it more powerful, and realised that this mix (when pure) was the formula for rocket fuel in the 40s and 50s.

A rough black cat, something of a local hobo, entered the garden. Apparently, our cat, simply named 'Cat', was kicked out of her home, our garage, by this cat on the previous night. We found Cat in October 2003. Mum and I were walking home after a shopping trip to Tesco and heard a desperate meowing. A tiny kitten was on top of the railway bridge on Mill Street, meowing right at us. There were no other pedestrians, as usual, just a stream of unfeeling cars. I coaxed the kitten down and grabbed her. She struggled and free from my arms and darted into the road, causing a car to emergency stop. I grabbed the kitted again, more firmly. She continued to loudly and constantly meow. We took her to the vets on Edleston Road as we walked home, still also carrying shopping bags. The vet gave her a check up and said she was healthy and about six months old. She wasn't micro-chipped. He noted her description in case anyone asked about her.

We took her home, buying a tin of cat food on the way. Mum said not to give her too much, she was clearly starving and in danger of gulping down too much. In the end she ate almost a whole tin. We kept her in for a few days, gradually allowing her to explore, then explore the garden, and soon she was ours. We each had different name ideas; mum liked to call her 'Moto' after the 'Hello Moto' advertising slogan for Motorola phones. I had too many ideas. Officially, for veterinary reasons, her name is Suzie but she's always just 'Cat' here and responds to it each time with a meow. She was always rather talkative, and anxious about being left on her own.

Exactly a year later, October 2004, was the month I painted my first ever painting, the start of my life as an artist, so I've always considered Cat a partner, a spirit-guide if you will, of my artistic journey. She is 17 now, about 60 in human years, and getting too old to do some things like climb stairs. At this time of human anxiety and great turmoil, she is of course oblivious, instead enjoying the coming spring. Her primary concern would be the presence of that other cat. If she is perplexed at the apparent silence of these empty streets, she doesn't show it.

I always feel a little on edge, but after a relatively calm day, I became more anxious last evening, perhaps because my mum wanted to eat in the same room as I, and I'd prefer, for perhaps paranoid, biosecurity reasons to eat in a separate room. Deb remains at home. I wanted to see her and worried about whether it was the right thing to do, as the government is apparently telling people off for non-essential trips. What is essential? A times I feel at near-panic, and have an almost constant sense of vigilance. Some rest is essential. I went to see her and was pleased at the blissful, restful break. How heavenly a few months of isolation would be with her, or even alone. It's the presence of my elderly, 'at risk', parents in the home which makes me anxious.

Mum went out this morning, a cycle ride, and to some shops. The supermarkets have a '70s and over' hour, or something like it. It was apparently cram packed with people, itself, in my opinion, unsafe. Are the staff all over 70? Are they assuredly healthy themselves? It doesn't seem right. The safest option, I imagine, would be a steady stream of one or two people with two metre gaps between them.

She, by chance, saw Bogi, her twin sister, on the way home; also isolating herself. Bogi recommended the local shop instead, and that was empty.

I feel anxious now, a low level anxiety, an ever-vigilance. I know that this is due to the sentinel in me, the self-protective part of my psyche. It is giving warnings, which grow when ignored, and perhaps it gives too many, so that even if acknowledged these cause anxiety, like an engine of wheels, ever turning. Dali, yes, a motor which is always running. I try to spend time to deliberately, consciously addressing these anxieties, assuring my sentinel than I am aware of their warnings, thanking them, and assessing their concerns.

Now, I must try to do this, commune and conference with my worried cells, and start doing some creative work.

Danse Macabre

Here is (the latest draft of) one of the poems I've written over the past week. Events are moving so quickly that any commentary on the current situation feels out of date, and organising any art into a structured whole is impossible while doing it 'live', however I think sharing the odd footstep of this is useful, a reflection of changing moods and feelings. I wonder if war-art was shown during the appropriate war? I expect not. These times are different due to the internet, the sheer quantity of war artists.

Danse Macabre

Teeth clack like typists.
Cockroaches scatter at his match strike
Blood is in the air.

Knives of rust-fingers claw at the plaster
to lance the crack of bone.
There is child-meat behind the wall,
engorged with a frightened fluid.
Eyes of birthdays
are shot with star's arbor.

The clock coughs a dust of black moths.
It requests a drink for its sad minutes,
flakes of history, tracks
for the dust of churches
in decay,
for its sour prayers,
to a father.

Danse macabre.

Clown-onavirus

A surprisingly calm and peaceful night. At one point I dreamed of an information video that featured a clown dancing with his arms wide in a forest of dark monoliths; the floor an ash. The camera moved up and the clown became a black outline of a man on a white background, then many men, then, as we moved further away, the tiny black dots formed the shape of an ear, then a face. So, coronavirus is a clown. A joke, or a part of the psyche like my up-and-coming clown poems.

I feel guilty at my anxiety yesterday, penitent to my poor cells and body for the unnecessary stress. I was careful to thank the part of my mind for warning me of potential danger, for keeping me safe, and that their message is acknowledged. This is an important part of removing worry.

My peace came from several strands. Firstly, I was worried that I might be infectious somehow invisibly. This is my main worry generally. I care less about getting coronavirus myself, more about passing it on. It appears that the World Health Organisation consider it highly unlikely that anyone without symptoms can pass it on, and I feel healthy, I definitely don't have symptoms. Even my recent sniffles are now, joyously, at last gone completely.

Secondly, I reasoned that there is a reasonable chance that nobody in Crewe or Nantwich has coronavirus at all. London, the news said, is 'weeks ahead' of the rest of the country. Cheshire is one of the lowest places of incidence in the country, and even then the bigger towns of Macclesfield, Warrington, and Chester are far more likely to contain cases. Now that the country is in near lock-down, anyone who might have it will almost certainly be staying in too.

Thirdly, I started to care less if I did get coronavirus. What can we fear from the natural course of things? I realised the ironic injusice that the young, fit, hard working, and most productive in society were being asked to face financial ruin to save the old, unfit and unproductive, and financially secure. If inequality was a social problem in 2019, it will really become one in future.

The wheels of the country and economy are grinding, inexorably, to a halt. A friend is now unemployed indefinitely. A quarter of my life savings have vanished into smoke this week. I heard that there were two suicides on the railway yesterday. Shops are starting to shudder into sleep.

Boomerang

Perhaps sadness is primarily a result of former happiness, if so today was sad because it was happy. My parents went out briefly; my father to the newsagents, my mother to have her hair cut. I felt that they should stay in, safe, but wasn't sure. Exercise is important.

I started to make the barest of plans for art and the year.

Deb, restless, called to ask if I'd like to join her in a shopping trip. I thought the exercise would alleviate anxiety, so we went to Tesco to buy a few things. This actually resulted in more anxiety, it felt like having a picnic on a battlefield, visiting a cold cathedral full of invisible poison. I kept feeling the urge to not breathe too deeply, and to keep away from everyone, and not breathe too much near Deb, either, in case I was invisibly toxic. This hellish thing, it is the not-knowing that is worst. If I had an electronic 'instant infection detector' (I'm sure they're developing them) everything would be easy. If we could see those 'blue' people, the infection could be easily controlled. We need something like that, some camera, x-ray, augmented reality detector. I've heard though, that even now the swabs only detect coronavirus in those who have developed symptoms, that a negative test can still mean infectious people. I wonder if this is true.

Many of the shelves were bare but most were not. I looked at the fancy foods from across the world and paused for a moment at whether they really would continue to be here. Home Bargains had no medicine at all, every shelf empty including my hayfever medication which will be important for summer.

To escape the tension, we went to the park. Joyous. I brought my boomerang, a Christmas gift and threw it a few times for the first time. The park was expansive and empty, we ran until breathless over the field in the spring sun, used the fitness equipment, felt invigorated.

I've decided to release The Burning Circus on World Poetry Day. It's clear that holding out for a public launch is a forlorn hope, so one must merely be delayed.

The news seems less panicky, but no less serious. The current plan appears to be to clamp down on the infection sharply then very gradually lift restrictions, so that the health service can cope with cases as they emerge. Of course, this plan will still mean the inevitable deaths of the susceptible, that everyone would be exposed.

This is probably overly negative thinking though. When the virus is too short of hosts, it will vanish. I had the idea for a remarkable option: that the 'containment' phase that countries try with one or two cases can be effectively extended to the entire world, that the world will hold its breath, one singular time, a suspended note, when everywhere in the world is in lockdown and every single household compliant. After two weeks of this, the virus would run out of hosts everywhere and be eradicated.

This, relatively short term, health crisis will become a medium term economic one. The country, the world, will effectively need to be put into hibernation. To me it seems that there is only one option, that every company will be offered loans that will pay for all costs for a year or two of hibernation, and that those loans will be paid back once the company is back up and running. The political question is whether the loans should be subsidised and by how much, and which industries are to be given them. There would have to be similar measures for individuals though: small businesses, the self-employed; everyone affected, and these make up the majority of the economy. Perhaps, the companies like Amazon, set to benefit from the locked economy, could be taxed to subsidise the relief of those companies who would otherwise be taking Amazon's business.

Enough pipe-dreaming.

I remain concerned about possibly being infectious, that I must protect my parents and Deb. Every trip out, every visit to Deb, is an exposure to potential risk, and I feel that this must stop. I feel an underlying anxiety, muscle spasms, heart skips, tingles due to hypoxia, but lesser than the panic I felt a few days ago. I feel unable to relax, always vigilant, in case my exhalations are harmful to others. Every so often I feel unexpectedly tearful.

I feel blessed to live in this quieter area of the country. Those in the major cities must feel far worse.

There is an Edwardian air everywhere, caused by several things: the echoes of the 1918 Spanish Flu pandemic, a war-time spirit, a Wall Street crash, but also War of the Worlds. The B.B.C. adaptation, screened so few months ago, seemed to echo this reality in some strange way.

Day Two?

Day two? I feel like these blog titles at this extraordinary time deserve a dramatic title, perhaps even setting a target date, 'Day 1, 365 to go!', for example, but what date? People seem to be clinging to an idea that this will last a few months, or a year, and blow over, when it will last until a vaccine is developed, tested and administered, which will probably be many years. There is a uniquely massive effort and incentive for speed in this case, though. Perhaps my stoicism can lead to pessimism at times. I am prepared for a three or four year timeline.

I felt calmer yesterday, more settled and certain about future events. Mum went shopping in the morning for some supplies, which were panic-bought out the day before. I went to Aldi myself at 11am or so, for my regular soya milk. It was packed full; itself not hygienic at these times. People were not 'social-distancing'. Everyone was buying more than they need, and some stockpiling, buying huge amounts. I, with my three milks in hand, was the only person with less than a trolley full.

It felt a little unnerving to be among so many people. I was constantly aware of each of my breaths, my touches of which surface, and of my face, but, my rational mind knew that here in Cheshire at this early stage, Coronavirus remains rare. It boosted my confidence itself to be around people in such a way. I returned home in the lovely spring sunshine, washed my hands, then face, then hands again. I don't mean to brag or anything, but I've been doing this for years and have a Howard Hughes-like attitude to hygiene; I already have my own specific cup, plate, towel, etc. This might explain why I've only had about two colds over the last decade, and I'm sure that my recent sniffles (cold two of two) were not caught from someone else but somehow endemic and released by the complex mine of my avaricious tonsils. Now I wash hands more often, after times of potential infection. Maybe this is a good habit anyway. I wouldn't use 'hand sanitiser' or bactericidal chemicals or anything like that. Ordinary soap is effective as well as satisfying and enjoyable in sensation terms.

I came back and rested in the garden bench, sunbathing. It was actually hot enough to do that. I has imaginings of my grandfather who, apparently, had T.B. and recovered in a sanitorium in circumstances like this.

I spent (wasted?) a lot of the morning and day on social media, perhaps trying to help people. The social media experience didn't make me anxious, although the television news, which I tried to avoid, did. Death rates; though interesting in a morbidly curious way, and certainly to historians, are not remotely useful to us potential victims. I think they should stop reporting them.

Perhaps they will soon because I appear to be ahead of the action curve. After my complaints that the government were invisible and bad at communication, leaderless; the prime minister yesterday announced that he would give daily briefings, so I apologise for my slurs of Boris Johnson in yesterday's post. He's still not inspiring in a Bill-Pullman-in-Independence-Day way, or a Churchill way, or a Kennedy way, but, he, who knows, might become so.

It was announced that we are to avoid gatherings; pubs, theatres, museums, cinemas. I predicted that would be a good measure - this virus is so very pervasive because it can infect people for up to five days before any symptoms appear. Imagine if everyone you've met over the past five days turned blue, and if everyone they meet for the next five days turned blue. How often would it be before the 66-million strong country turned blue? A few short weeks.

It was probably sad news to every landlord and café owner, every actor, theatre manager, and musician, but at least the staff would be safer, physically if not financially. Ordinary people are to stay in, except for essential trips; I could go shopping. I anticipated this two or three days ago. The shock of me having to suddenly take over the household, of which my mum is the bedrock and mistress, was the cause of my anxiety. From Saturday, those in vulnerable categories, like my parents, will be asked to stay in. I will have to stay in too, though this doesn't bother me at all. I hardly left the house in February anyway. If anything, I'm likely to go out more now, after a lifetime of never really going out. I always seem to be the opposite of everyone else.

I did little in the day but reflect and rest. I had a bad headache due to lack of sleep, so found it hard to do anything. In the evening I went to see Deb, the first time in weeks. I wasn't sure if this was technically a 'necessary' liaison, but seeing one other person is hardly social gathering, and she will stay in too so I can be sure, but never certain, that we are both uninfected. Even in the most calm and casual and intimate of settings, I feel we need to keep a distance. I expect that, at work, she will have to stay in with her clients.

I deliberately walked to her house, aware of the need to exercise, and avoid an unhealthy 'hide away' mentality. I did feel a little nervous at this though, the cool, damp air conjured in me scenes of dancing virus particles, multiplying in tiny water droplets. I guessed that I would see nobody during my 15 minute sojourn, I rarely do anyway. Everyone is locked in their hideous cars. I saw three people, all walking dogs. We drew little circles of a metre or so as we passed on the narrow pavements.

My sniffles are still with me, but only a tiny fragment, when walking outside in the cold especially. This made me sniffly when I arrived at Deb's, and my recent anxieties made my chest ache and made me imagine a tickly throat and the need to cough, but I did my best to relax, aware that this was probably fabrication.

I awoke sweating in the night; a fever? It was probably anxiety. I slept again for the first time, but still feel a mild pervasive anxiety. Today I'll consider new art of some sort.

I listened to Brahms on Radio 3 (I never really liked Brahms, his musical emotions feel forced and fake, rather than natural expressions of his feelings). I became aware that regular annual institutions like The Proms, like Wimbledon etc. will be cancelled this year. Then I became aware that it might well apply to next year, too.

Crystal-Rainbow-Knob Day

Happy Crystal-Rainbow-Knob Day! My glass crystal door knob is so positioned that the sun will strike it twice a year, at spring and autumn, and today it's filling my room with rainbows.

I had an anxious night, again hardly sleeping with these virus worries; health worries, always my worst sort. Perhaps I've lacked confidence in my health because as a child my father told me that I was 'fat and lazy and would die of of a heart attack before I was thirty'. In fact this fear has plagued (excuse the word) my life and continues to do so. My confidence in my health waxes and wanes, but I know that I am fitter than most people of my age. This pandemic has a worse emotional effect because it is about the health of my family and dearest Deborah rather than merely myself, and I am dependent on them.

The news media is not helping. I think about wars on the news; about past reports from Israel, Northern Ireland, how those places seem dangerous because the news focuses on the dangerous part rather than the overall truth. Coronavirus is a bad virus, but the vast majority of people recover from it, so why worry? Life is Roulette. The government have lock-down plans and unprecedented measures which are dramatic and war-like. People are afraid (again, there is a real lack of reassuring and inspiring messages from our so-called leaders) but I can understand that these measures are to control the number of infections so that those who need medical treatment don't overwhelm the hospitals at once.

I know from sound processing that playing with exponents is so difficult! Numbers can jump sky high or to zero with a slight adjustment, and this is the knob-twiddling the government is attempting, aiming for a steady regular rate, at something like 50% of the health service capacity, over several calm and peaceful months. Of course, this is impossible (those jumping exponents), but this is the ideal.

Now it is here, most people will get coronavirus, if not in this wave then over the next three, four, five years until there is a vaccine, and I expect that, judging from the uptake levels of the measles vaccine, at least 90% of people will need to get it if the remaining 10% (or so) are to be protected, and therefore that it's best than the most in danger of dying are in that remaining percent. Coronavirus may mutate and re-infect people who have had it before, or possibly fade away, like the SARS virus, but this virus is so, well, virulent, that it will probably always be in some country, and so keep coming back every so often.

Either way, it's an extraordinary time to be alive, and my initial denial and fear is turning into pragmatism and even some romantic excitement at being a witness to these historic events. I've also been tearful at the thought of losing friends and people I know who are in a precarious health position (not yet pantomimingly gleeful at the potential death of enemies, we must look for bright sides). Are there any monuments to the 1918 Spanish Flu Pandemic? I expect there will be many to this one. I must work on one.

I feel weak and cold and tired now. Angry at myself for night-worries. Enough of them. Time for some lovely spring sun and crystal-rainbow gazing.

Extraordinary Times

Yesterday's family meal was special. My sniffles are, at last, on the wane, this cold or infection so long and annoying. I am starting to feel well, and so pleased at this. This seemingly eternal infection at a time when the news is full of nothing but infections. Perhaps this was a virus, but very unlikely to be COVID-19; I had sniffles since mind February, but no cough, no headache and barely a sneeze for the last three long weeks.

Going out like this is strange. People notably gaze at me as they might a leper, if I so much appear to sniff too strongly. There is a definite feeling fear in the streets. I had a delivery yesterday and the deliverer was flighly and handed my parcel at a notably unusual arm's length.

I'm still anxious about the Coronavirus situation, but less afraid, more accepting. I hardly slept, although I've probably only slept through the night once in the past four months anyway. I feel that our government is doing the right thing, and that I understand their strategy, but this government is really poor at communication, to the extent that this itself creates panic and anxiety. Morale is so very important at moments of crisis; this is called leadership. It can be the most important part of leadership; being first at scenes of crisis, being there to reassure, to inspire, lead by example, etc. Boris Johnson done none of this. He is evasive, appears untrustworthy and is generally completely absent. If hie is doing anything, he doesn't even want to take any credit for it, apparently, which itself it remarkable for an autocratic style of leader.

Boris Johnson seems to be evasive and secretive by nature; he hasn't released the so-called 'Russia Report', or said why. He hasn't discussed, consulted or publicly disclosed any aspect of our position in the Brexit negotiations. He won't even reveal how many children he has (or how many mistresses, one would hope that a French leader would be proud of such disclosures, but I suppose times have changed even there), and he is an egregious orator, the very opposite of someone like Winston Churchill or Barack Obama.

In the night, the prime minister's words that we should 'many of us should expect to lose loved ones' kept repeating, and I realised that this consciously unacknowledged phrase was probably the cause of my anxiety. I became angry at the stupidity of the words, it seems to be the worst political speech or aphorism in history. This is no 'We shall fight on the beaches', no 'I have a dream', no 'Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country'. Even Jones from Dad's Army's 'Don't Panic!', or Fraser's 'We're Doomed' is better than 'many of your loved ones will die'. Even Darth Sidious from Star Wars, pantomime embodiment of pure evil, with 'Wipe them out. All of them.' had a more positive and inspiring message to deliver than 'many of your loved ones will die'!

I'm determined to get over my focus on Coronavirus, but this is not easy, and might be impossible to escape this year. I now, more reasonably perhaps, expect that things won't return to normal until 2024, simply because that date has rung in my mind as a good one for some years.

In the morning I found and printed a leaflet for my parents of advice on how to stay safe; generally social distancing and washing hands. Older people not on the internet might not be informed at all about these basics. I found it difficult to find any printable information, so found a leaflet by the European Centre for Disease Prevention and Control and changed it in Photoshop to make it easier to print.

I went for a brisk walk, eager to feel healthy, and ready to remake plans. Then heard the news that the government are planning to confine all people over 70 in their homes for 4 months. My mother is 69, my father is 71. My mother, though a lifelong smoker, is very fit and cycles or walks at least 5 miles each day and performs many physical and mental exercises. My father is lazy and unfit with a heart condition, and would ignore any advice about hand washing or anything else, even if hi life did literally depend on it; so he is at high risk. I am pleased that he will be kept safe because I can see that his habits are dangerous.

I expect I will have to look after them to some degree now, for the next few months.

In art I will try to get some done, of some sort, some how, some when. Burn of God is released on Friday. I have delayed the official launch of The Burning Circus book until the end of the year. My short story book is ready for proofing and I have the room plans for Nantwich Museum. I have, or had, so many other plans, but these are now on hold. All performances are cancelled, apart from possibly Knutsford Music Festival in June as this is an important one, but this may be cancelled too.

Where were you when Elvis died? ...on nine-eleven? ...in twenty-twenty? We here, we many, will remember this year forever.

Poetry and Golden Anniversary

I'm finding it difficult to write meaningful poems about the Coronavirus Epidemic. Perhaps it is too raw, too powerful and prescient, too uncertain. There are no stories, just feelings, which have overwhelmed me recently. These words came to me in the night, they are more like a meditation or personal prayer than a poem.

I am afraid today,
but I know that others are more afraid
and with more cause.
And that they need me.

If you are afraid,
know that others are more afraid,
and with more cause.
And that they need you.

It is fifty years and one week since my parents were married, so I am going for a meal with them and a few family members. I'm finding the emotions of everything quite hard to cope with, I must news-isolate. I still have sniffles, still annoying, slowly, ever-slowly receding. I am defying government advice by going out with these symptoms, but I will be careful. I don't have a cough or even sneezes, this infection, now weeks old, is very mild, if persistent. This day will be unique and special.

Resignation

What times.

I remain annoyed and angry at the British Government's unique global position on Coronavirus, one that defies W.H.O. advice, about a 'herd immunity', when this doesn't appear to be real-world evidence based. The Chinese model, for me, remains the ideal solution; highly pro-active, focused attack. If I were Prime Minister I would change the country, and world.

That this problem will probably grip the world in anxious isolation until until a vaccine is developed, which, I expect might be 18 months away. I hope that the government's wrong view is effectively annulled by the actions of normal people.

18 months would be fast for any vaccine, but Coronavirus is so very disruptive to the world that there is a massive incentive to develop one, and try even an experimental one en-masse. Even after a vaccine, poverty will ravage the developed world for a long time to come.

For me, every event for the next 12 months is cancelled and paused. I can hope that in December, for my solo exhibition in Nantwich, this plague is gone; but if not, I'll hang it, leave it, remove it, and lament the lack of the many fantastic events, musical creations and other, which might have been. At times I feel I am cursed with the worst luck, but what can we do but push on, in hope, and strive to do our best, with our best energy and best humility.

This unique coming year in human history might create unique and special things. Coronavirus has united the entire world more than any single event in human history, which is one positive thing, and has helped, and will help, the climate and natural world immensely too. I expect carbon emissions this year to be a record low for modern times.

More than anything though, I pray that my friends and family survive it in good health. My life is nothing without them.

Coronavirus Hypothesis

My sniffles continue to improve and clear.

Coronavirus remains my current obsession. Rather than push myself to work on the Clown music, I've decided to simple pause and do what I want for a few days, a holiday of sorts.

I'm somewhat disturbed and annoyed at our idiotic government though. In some countries: China, South Korea, Italy, where extreme measures have been imposed, incidents of the virus are reducing. Our government has openly stated that it has no plans to reduce the virus, instead allowing it to grow in intensity to induce a 'herd immunity'. A completely stupid idea.

Well, we can ignore governments. I read a report today in The Guardian online that the virus appears to be most infectious before symptoms manifest, and that the symptoms may in fact be a sign that the virus is conquered by the body. This led to a hypothesis about why it is so deadly to the weak and elderly almost to an exact correlation.

The hypothesis is that the virus is simply not easily detected by the body, and that in those with weaker immune system it grows too much before being detected. It is this growth phase that is the pre-symptomatic phase, it is accumulating in the body without being recognised as a pathogen, yet is still infectious. I've also read that the virus is worse for those with repeated exposure, that there is an accumulation sort of effect, so this would match this hypothesis.

What conclusions can be made from this?

First. A good immune system is important to naturally combat this (or indeed any) virus. There are proven ways to boost immunity and stay generally healthy: Relaxation (lack of stress), Exercise, Sleep, Healthy Diet, and Vitamin D. Vitamin D is the only real food supplement that seems to have any evidence of effect in combating diseases. The effect is small, and Zinc might have a negligible effect too, but all vitamins tend to be beneficial to health only when diet deficient in them.

Secondly. We can speculate that those with auto-immune disorders would be more resilient to Coronavirus than one would expect. I wonder if somehow activating the immune system is possible; a sort of 'alert vaccine'. Most vaccines are nullified or harmless variations of the infection, but this idea is an actually harmful one, so that the body recognises that something is wrong and becomes activated. Perhaps, I could wildly speculate, getting SARS or catching another Coronavirus, might by a cure for Coronavirus. If this is true, then please post my Nobel Prize by Special Delivery.

Thirdly. That isolating oneself, which might negatively mood and sleep patterns, might be less advisable than expected. Being active and outdoors, though away from people who may be infectious, would be better. Also, buying and eating fresh foods would be better that stockpiling foods with poorer nutritional value.

Fourthly. Those with weaker immune systems might become infection factories. If an elderly person in a care home became infected, they could easily infect their peers silently, resulting in mass transmission.

Phlegm and Music

A hot bath last night seemed to help clear my airways for the night, but gradually today the annoying congestion in the back of my nose and difficulty breathing has returned. I still feel that the worst of this affliction is over, and generally have energy, but this congestion is dragging on. This time last week I had a sore throat/back of nose, that symptom is gone. I could try a decongestant medication but I generally dislike any medication, even analgesics, I want to know of the pain and conquer it. I haven't had a prescribed drug in ten years.

I awoke late and added a few old ArtsLab radio shows to my MixCloud account, this means that all of the shows apart from the 'training episode' zero are now online. Zero is lost forever as neither I nor RedShift have a copy; but it's not a serious loss.

Too little music was done. I've completed refinement of Knife Thrower, which is now one of the better tracks, but minimal progress was made on the others. I have 11 prospective tracks now, but 3 are solo piano pieces. Many sound similar, dreamy piano tracks with strings. I need to inject more variety. To combat this, I've listened to the tracks, imagining a path and where it might lead. I'm also listening to other music which might provide inspiration, extra data. I must enthuse myself and make this music my main focus, a joyous obsession.

In other news I've received the first batch of Burn of God CDs. These look amazing. The CDs I'm producing now are the best of my lifetime in every way; graphically and in music terms. I'm sure this progress will continue. These can be ordered from my website to U.K. addresses even now, for £10 plus £2 postage.

Falling, Knife Thrower, Blood In The Wind

Still annoyingly sniffly today. I feel generally more well than the past few days, but nose and throat remain congested and breathing remains difficult. I generally feel like I did exactly a week ago. I can only hope that things get better rather than remain in cycle. It appears that I can overcome this infection, I could hardly trouble the medical services in these difficult times, but the sniffling and congestion remains an energy sapping annoyance.

Anyway, cultural developments. I watched the first half The Passion on Anna last night, one of my favourite Bergman films. I watched it in tribute to the great Max von Sydow who died yesterday. If any actors were the face of Bergman; Max and Liv Ullmann were, with Erland Josephson and Bibi Andersson making up the classic quartet. Max von Sydow's performance in The Virgin Spring was brilliant, that film was one of Bergman's most Shakespearean.

I found it hard to breathe at night and woke at 1:30 or so, staying awake until 5am or so. I use this time mainly for mental exercise; I rarely read or listen to music, and never get up. I sometimes mentally practice piano or guitar, and often consider the next day's work, in this case the music for Mister And Mrs Knife Thrower.

I got up and got myself into music mode by listening to the last thing I played and recorded; a piano improvisation in C-minor, which I thought was good enough to set some words to. I added some words and strings to it, the words of the my circus poem Falling. The mood is gentle and romantic, like some of the dreamy Fall in Green tracks. This music is easy, but pleasant, so worthy of inclusion. I hope that over time, my playing of it, my sophistication will improve. The recording was done by 12pm.

I went out, shopping for things beginning with 'ch', and felt better for the brisk walk.

I then played a finale to the Knife Thrower. The extant music, also dreamy in feeling and somewhat lacking in melody, needed more melody and structure, so I used the timing of the first part to create a more melodic climax. The mood of the poem itself is dreamy, so everything works appropriately. The creation of art is deciding the feeling, then manifesting it. I now feel a need for more variety in these tracks.

Most of the emotions of the day have been anxiety about Coronavirus and its potential effects of my family and friends. I feel I must document these times artistically and will. Here is the first draft of an opening poem:

Blood In The Wind

There is blood in the wind,
hand over tumble,
the crack of dust,
its iron terror
is coughed at our gums.

The rats writhe, wide eyed.
The maypole is wrapped in rags,
useless flags.

The horizon burns.
The air hangs with strange screams.

We cower and wait.
We cower and wait.

Website Update Complete, and Coronavirus Outlook

Have spent most of today finalising the update to my online poetry, almost all of my 1200-ish poems are now online, sorted broadly by period and book, if published.

My sniffles continue but I feel that the worst is over, though I rarely sneeze, and this infection or virus feels rather mild and long. I hope that it is indeed fading rather than becoming a long term problem, as the virus in the news might complicate any potential treatment or, indeed, prognosis.

The world's money is in turmoil due to 'insecurity' over the future, but for me the future is relatively certain. I expect that Coronavirus will afflict most people in the world, that a cure or vaccine will be developed by July 2021 but that, until then, health systems, and all sectors of the economy will grind to an almost complete halt; travel and tourism, luxury goods, concerts. After that, the economy will start to recover.

This said, my optimistic predictions have often turned out to be wrong, particularly over Brexit. Everything in Britain, and the world, seems to have got worse after that vote, 4 years ago. It was an instant turning point downwards from which we have far from recovered.

If I were the prime minister I'd probably be extreme and 'lock down' Britain itself, stopping all international travel and keeping all gatherings to a minimum until a vaccine is developed. This would be very costly, but probably save the most lives, and not necessarily be any more costly than riding the storm of the next, stormy, 18 months.

Such developments remind me that art that comments on current trends or concerns is quickly out of date.

I'm full of creative ideas. Perhaps this is partly due to the energy of crisis. I must hammer at the Apocalypse of Clowns music until that is complete.

Copy and Paste

Am spending all of today copying and pasting my poems into my website, I'll probably organise them afterwards. I have about 400 to 500 to do and can manage 100 an hour optimally. It feels good to revisit these old things, I can see a progression from the early poems to the ones in 365 Universes. My poems from the past couple of years are far better, I think; I'm more pleased with them. This is due to contact with more poets (did I know any in 2010?), reading a lot more poetry, and more social contact and experience generally, so I have more themes to play with and better command of written language. I will continue.

My cold marches on and I woke three times in sweats from fantastical dreams.

In the first nightmare I was chasing, or hiding from, an armed man in a cluttered house, like a maze of debris and narrow corridors and no ceiling, something like the trash-compactor in Star Wars but outdoors, and maze-like.

The second dream was the most visually striking; a night street with dark clouds during a wind-storm. A distant cyclone, in white, grew closer, then violent lightning strikes appeared around us (I was with a second, undefined, person), then, from the raging sky, huge flaming rocks, of black and magma, drawing trails of black smoke, fell all around. One wooden house near me was hit and burst into instant flame as these boulders, some the size of cars crashed all around me. I feared for the people in the houses but saw no living thing. My casual mood grew to anxious, then worry for my life.

In the third dream, calm by comparison, I met the band Whitesnake after being pulled towards them after I saw a Tweet by them. I talked casually to this band of rockers who seemed like school-boy friends. I spoke to one of their wives who confirmed that they hadn't grown up. A strange dream as I barely know of Whitesnake. They seemed like nice chaps in the dream, I thought of them more as equals there.

Despite illness and tiredness, a plague across the earth, injustices aplenty, and stock market and general financial calamity, I feel positive and energised; inspired and ready for (angels' willing) more decades of creativity. Seeing my old work has indicated a clear line of progress and reminded me of a steady path of success. I will continue to work at my maximum pace to serve humanity artistically. Mel Woodend asked me what art means to me, I replied that art defines civilisation; it is that which is beyond mere survival, it is the ultimate battle; to do our best, like a sport that is beyond rules, a self-training program for personal mastery. Art makes us the best we can be.

Poem Admin

Not in the mood or of sufficient fitness today for creative work, but have spent a few hours adding some of my poems to my website, several hundred in fact, copied and pasted with a html line-feed at the end of each line; a very tiring and tedious job. I aim to put all of my poems on there.

I've also added all of my song lyrics and new categories for these.

Sniffs and Songs

Another very sniffly and sore-throated night and couple of days but able to work, if not do anything involving vocal performance. This annoying thing has been dragging on since a blister in my mouth appeared on February 17th. May it begone quickly!

Meanwhile I'm writing song lyrics and working on music with remaining energy. Working on the Clown album bit by bit, plus another four albums in progress, although most are re-workings or re-masters of existing material.

The two Flatspace Soundtracks and the Flatspace IIk Music Pack 3 are also approved today. These will need a little publicity.

God, Birkenhead and Bullet Trucks

Delivered two paintings for judgement today to the brilliant Williamson Art Gallery in Birkenhead. I've entered my God Being Killed painting, the painting that became the cover of 21st Century Surrealism, in its new and very glittery gold frame. The painting has rarely been exhibited (only, I think, in my own solo exhibitions, and at the Macc Art Lounge) and the new frame has never been publicly exhibited; it was one of my last major sculptural projects, so I hope that it passes the judges grade.

I've also ordered the first batch of Burn of God CDs. I've said it often; physical music, especially high quality albums with beautiful printing etc., are more important than ever these days. I'm reminded that everything I spend is an investment (or a bill). Art is a long term investment but I know it will easily return handsomely.

I found a tiny white feather at my my feet. The angels are with me.

In other important news for humanity, I was thinking about the canal system, how it revolutionized Britain in the 1800s, now we have trucks, trains, aircraft, and cargo ships. I thought that a better option would be a full automated tube with rails all round which would fire trains of freight, like bullets, across the country underground, and internationally. A purely robotic 'hyperloop' for goods. These could be fired at high speed, inspected by machines, and powered electrically to stop the environmental damage of current transportation systems. This is clearly a superior system for the transportation of goods than the current one and would revolutionise the economy. With current technology, from tunnel boring machines to robotic inspection systems, this is more than feasible, it is easily done.

Flatspace Music Pack 3

Last night's Judas presentation by John Lindley in Congleton Library was inspiring, a talk with videos and slides about a crucial few years in Bob Dylan's life. Dylan was a born musician and performer, and yet, when he switched to electric instruments, continued to perform against a tide of criticism from fans who didn't seem to understand him as an artist. He had a public perception as a folk singer, a protestor, a messenger of youth, yet, none of that image his doing, it was an incorrect perception by a press who prefer sound-bites and pigeonholes. He was a composer and performer like any other, wanting to move on and showcase his latest work, not his older work, and yet many fans wanted the older work; a problem exacerbated by the re-release of older records alongside newer work. One thing he particularly didn't do is communicate this; he didn't seem to explain why he was doing what he was doing to the audience. It seems he didn't care at all, about his perception, the audience, his fame or fortune or lack of it, just wanted to sing; yet an artist's job is partly to communicate with his audience, and even 'theatrical' type performers tend to need to do this to succeed.

It was nice to see many relatively recent friends at the library too. I feel blessed to know such people.

I felt a little weak and cold-filled yesterday (I defied W.H.O. rules by going!) and am still every bit as tired and sniffly today, perhaps less sore inside. Onward we push.

I completed the music for the Flatspace IIk Music Pack 3 today, I added a special edit of Paragon from Animalia. I struggled to balance that track originally, when I composed it in 2004. Today I made a few swift tweaks and it instantly sounded a lot better. I find this engineering side of music much easier now. I would like to go back and remaster/rebalance many of my old albums. Some, like The Spiral Staircase, I'm happy with, but I feel I could improve almost all of them now.

This ache to correct old artwork is unpleasant, it feels like a pointless, neurotic obsession, even if the desire to improve these old things is a true feeling that may have merit. An artist should be creating new work. I rarely used to care about such things, instead inspired by the next wonder, but then my writings and poems were considered complete in one draft. I know now that more drafts often improve things. Everything takes longer, but it must, if it is to be better. There is no point in producing work that is merely as good, or even similar, to that which has come before.

I've also created a document about the music pack and completed the technical set-up for a future release on Steam.

I've also worked on The Intangible Man book, after receiving a foreword from John Keane, so a few things of good quality are ready for some future release.

Next I must work on the Clown music... but part of me would like to tweak old work.

Flatspace IIk Music

Still feeling rather ill today, sore inside. The global COVID-19 anxiety doesn't help feelings of fitness. I fondly remember the last months of Beethoven, images thereof from the excellent Anguish and Triumph.

I've had the energy to create, and played and recorded two new pieces of (largely piano) music for the forthcoming Flatspace IIk Music Pack 3. Flatter Space is a gentle variation of the main Flatspace theme, and The Dying of the Stars is a dramatic piano piece with strings, these will contribute well to the new pack. Other tracks on there will include an edit of Jellyfish and a version of The Palace of Skeletons from Burn of God, also both done today.

I'm off to Congleton this evening for a performance in the Library by John Lindley. Perhaps I'd feel more comfortable in bed resting, but my 10-year old affliction, though it is at its worst at the moment, will not infect anyone, and my mood might be better raised by going, and I want to support John and Mike.

Determinism and Will

I've been thinking recently about the nature of free will in a deterministic universe, so have spent a few hours today putting this together.

I believe in a deterministic universe, one where the future is pre-set, laid out. If the past exists for certainty, the future must exist too. If time is a dimension, then the future is no less real than a distant location. If time is a dimension, then the universe is necessarily one, multi-dimensional sculpture, and we, as beings, appear to be flying through time from past to future (although this feeling of motion is illusory, I've written on this briefly before).

This creates problems for will, our sense that we are doing something by choice; that we can change the future, make decisions, and are responsible for our actions. I postulate that all aspects of will can be explained in terms of ego, our sense of self-importance; that when things happen, we sometimes attribute these actions to us, and we consider those actions wilful, but that those actions, in reality, occur irrespective of us: the aspect of will is an ego-driven belief which occurs after the act, not a cause to the effect of the action.

We act in many ways. Some things we do are considered wilful, conscious choices. Some things we do are not wilful; unconscious movements, autonomic functions beyond our control (eg. our heart beating), acting without thinking, or doing things without thinking about the consequences. It seems that some actions are considered more wilful than others. We might carefully consider doing something before doing it, or make a quick choice, or do something without the notion that we are choosing to do it. Importantly, everything we do changes the universe, but only a small number of our actions are considered wilful by us; actual choices or activities that we, ourselves, have done.

In a deterministic universe, every action is inevitable, so I postulate that for willed actions, things that we think 'we do', we consider that we have made that thing happen after, or during, the effect. Crucially we haven't caused the action at all, but we egotistically consider that we have. We like to feel in control, empowered, and that empowerment is not a fundamental attribute of the universe; no one part of the universe has more power or control than another, we merely feel powerful as an egotistical and social construct. We might feel others are powerful too, but there is no intrinsic power over any action. Power is a belief.

Consider an example. We might want to raise our right hand, and then do so. Firstly; the desire to raise a hand was first implanted. We might see, from that initial suggestion, that we are already going to raise a hand. We might internally argue that it was our choice to raise it, or that we are otherwise happy to do so. We don't consider the hand, or the concept of its raising, or the person or faculty who suggested that we raise it, our master. We feel in control. When it raises, we consider that we did this.

In a deterministic universe, the hand was always going to raise. We, as people, use complex arguments to convince ourselves that we were responsible and in control of this act. If we did not raise our hand, this again was inevitable, and we would convince ourselves that it was our free choice. Every wilful act is one of self-deception.

There are other types of will. We might feel that we are pressured into doing something. This social action might have no direct physical link. 'He made me do it' in a moral argument is considered weak because we are considered to have more personal will than social will, but I would argue that this social will is identical to our personal will. We are composite beings ourselves, and we consider some of our actions more wilful than others. Our feeling of being coerced might genuinely be stronger than our own will to do something.

We feel in control of certain things, such as the ability to raise our hand, and less in control of others. We might feel free to change job, or move to a new country, but perhaps this feeling of control is less strong than the feeling of our ability to raise our hand; we are less confident (confidence is a social construct of relative empowerment). We might feel able to complete a complex task, perhaps with help from friends. We rarely feel able to cause the sun to rise, but if it did rise, we are able to feel that we caused it, if our ego and feeling of empowerment were large enough. Events can happen that we feel that we have caused in which we have had no impact or ability to cause; this itself might be the origin of mental illnesses such as post-traumatic stress, or a guilt complex. Events might also occur which we are unaware of, but which a third party might think we have caused in some part. One could say that a new exhibition of van Gogh paintings was caused, in part, by Vincent van Gogh, even though he would, in his life, could never have been aware of causing this exhibition.

To reiterate; things occur as they always would. For some events, we consider that we made them happen, we attach our will, our egotistical credit, to these. Perhaps this is a factor of humanity, that we like to feel powerful, and will itself is an expression of this. Our importance is relative to our feelings of being in control, of feeling powerful, of feeling wilful, yet this is all illusory, as we can attach or detach our will to any action; even raising our hand. If someone else should take our hand and raise it, we might feel that we are letting them, but that we remain in control, or we might feel that they are in control of the situation. The action is identical even though the feelings of will are different.

What of choice? We are sometimes faced with a choice, perhaps a life-choice such as what to subject to study in school. The choice, I would argue, is always destined, and we convince ourselves that we willingly made it. Each micro-argument along the long path of a complex decision like this is made and set, a winding path of arguments and conclusions, each bend of this path is self-credited to our will, even though its course was inevitable.

Of course, there are many implications to this.

In morality, free will is of paramount importance. The difference between a murder and an accidental death is only one of will; a murderer wants to kill someone, a person responsible for an accidental death didn't. Consider a criminal, who in court argues that his crime was inevitable, that he had no free will, that his fate was to become a criminal, and thus deny responsibility. This might be a valid argument, but the court itself is a unit of ego and social power, and, believing itself to have power over the universe (in particular over the criminal, and the whole populace), its social arguments would defeat the criminal's wider philosophical ones. If the court should accept the criminal's argument that determinism exists, then it would also have to accept that its own free will does not exist, and so a judgement either way is unimportant, and that the criminal justice system itself is pointless.

The court, however, is part of human society, a social construct, so its actions are socially made; not based on physics or the fundamentals of universal truth. Court decisions are social decisions based on social truth, which are ultimately the feelings of morality in a population.

These same feelings are inherent in us, which is why we feel guilty, responsible for our actions, and empowered, even if in actuality, these feelings are not a reflection of reality.

Our feeling of being in control of any aspect of our actions is simply a feeling. We feel that other people have more or less power than ourselves; also mere feelings. If we wish to ascribe the rising of the sun to our will, we may. This is no different from the belief that we can raise our hand, as can be illustrated by the burden of proof: can anyone prove that any act is due to will? This very question has never been answered and has mystified philosophers, yet here, I argue that its lack of proof proves that will does not exist except as a social, egotistical construct.

Let's consider another of the many implications; on physics and multiple universes. In a deterministic universe, everything can be calculated, yet quantum events are fundamentally unpredictable. There are theories of multiple universe, each of which represents a different possibility. For me, the universe has a solipsistic element; if time is relative to the observer, then space is also, knowledge is also, and reality is also. If we could travel through time then the universe experienced by us would be necessarily unique to us. Every viewpoint is necessarily unique, so each viewpoint must necessarily depict a new universe, of sorts, but, crucially, this is different from a universe of possible actions; each of these universes of viewpoint would be deterministic, total, pre-set, and finite in quantity. This view is not in conflict with a universe devoid of will.

There are several similar writings on philosophy, science etc. on my website.

Text

A rather sleepless night, throatsore and sore inside, this regular thing. Must push on.

Have listed Burn of God on MusicBrainz, an essential filing activity, and converted the new book to ePub format; somewhat early, as it's not been proofread yet, which will certainly mean making some changes later. However, this conversion job does need doing so might as well get done now.

Book Work

A long day, adding the illustrations to The Intangible Man book, and converting The Burning Circus for Kindle, both rather time consuming and exacting tasks.

This month marks the 10 year anniversary of the infection that so devastated my life back in 2010, though it was hardly serious, it has remained with me as recurring sore throats, sore chest and sniffles in cycles of three or four weeks, never too harmful, but a constant drain on my energy. Perhaps this is a positive, an adversary to fight. I can never rest and today it is the sore phase; it will be transition soon.

I'm very pleased with The Burning Circus, as a poetry collection and artwork in itself, but poetry books rarely change the world so I'm not inclined to make them for any reason except as an exercise in writing, or a showcase of what I have written; which is still better than hiding such works away. Perhaps these are the raw rock face of art for that reason; more than any other artform, it is one that anyone is capable of doing, so is the most difficult as well as the easiest.

Today feels like a trudge, despite the lovely spring weather, truly the best two days of what seems like months of drear. I feel that I have no friends, only a panoply of enemies and silent monoliths. I feel the need to move on. Smash the ironclad foes beside me, wrestle free from the crowd, and run free, alone to new pastures while my legs are able.