Duncan Jones (for those who don’t know, he is the very talented film director son of David Jones aka Bowie) has whispered thusly to us:
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“I’m finally directing my first feature film, a grown up piece of science fiction starring the incredibly lovely and talented Sam Rockwell.
We have just finished the first week of production in London and the film is already looking pretty damn special. Think “some sci-fi classic from the 70s that somehow was over-looked and has only now been unearthed.”
I’ll try and stop by every week or two and give you another tidbit, if you like.
Yours, covered in film stock and very 70’s beard,
–Duncan Jones.”
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(tidbit number 1: “I will be appearing in a VERY brief cameo in an outrageous, home-grown beard!“)
(another tidbit from Mr. Jones: “The working title.. and possible final title, is “Moon”
There’s someone buried in my workload screaming, a thundercloud born again, a sideways glace whilst fire breathing. Drifting over tattered flags in darkness thinking, this must be how the Virgin Mary suffered when she felt the pull of post natal depression.
There’s someone pulling visions through the pupils of my eyes, though in truth it’s just a demonstration of her ability to pay. Still, this is where I’ll make my final stand in the furthest corners of loves drunken palace; sugar-coated always and just beyond belief.
In this hour long private taping, Radiohead performs all of the tracks from its newest album, In Rainbows. Other elements include poetry readings and diverse imagery created or selected by the band.
I don’t want to go to bed
thinking of you
in the likely slums of my mind
in that mopey nest
you’d glisten and slither and
then
memory would mill to powder
then rain would turn to paste
then dry and crack
in a cold North wind
one would prompt two and
then
…it’s no longer sporty
my lips would crack and bleed
and empathy become torn
on a neon sign that flashes
‘To Let’
I need to get across to Tomorrow
that there is sun and warmth;
places void of answers not requested
where time doesn’t harshly interrogate
my memory like this
To reflect is easier than
remembering but in the end
I must put this aching typhoon to rest
Nothing Noon
No Stop
Sunny Not
No
I don’t want to go to bed
thinking of you
