{"id":375,"date":"2005-10-19T07:15:00","date_gmt":"2005-10-19T07:15:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/theothersideofeverything.com\/flip\/2005\/10\/change-the-record\/"},"modified":"2005-10-19T07:15:00","modified_gmt":"2005-10-19T07:15:00","slug":"change-the-record","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/theothersideofeverything.com\/flip\/2005\/10\/change-the-record\/","title":{"rendered":"Change The Record"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>Last time I took on a behemothic theme it was <i><a HREF=\"http:\/\/funk.co.uk\/funkblogarchive\/2005_06_01_funkblogarchive.html\">Death<\/a><\/i>. I struggled with it, wrestling at the cliff top; and by the end of the month, I was near to despair. I was then heartened by <i>IG<\/i> who kindly reminded me that the great central themes, the ones labelled <font SIZE=5 COLOR=RED>HUMAN CONDITION<\/font> we cross and re-cross. Therefore I took on <i>Time<\/i> not even intending to cover the merest scrap of it&#8217;s immense woven trailing tattered layered incomprehensible fabric, in fact, knowing that this month, of all months during 2005, I was going to be hardest pressed for time to write. I simply wanted <i>Time<\/i> to be a nail for me to hang my coat upon, and blow me, if it hasn&#8217;t cooperated.<\/p>\n<p><img SRC=\"http:\/\/www.micrographia.com\/projec\/projapps\/viny\/viny0000\/deccawb.jpg\" width=200 align=right><i>Time<\/i> started to become comprehensible to me as a seven year old child when someone &#8211; I cannot remember who &#8211; explained to me why our experience of it changes as we age. He (I recall it was a &#8220;he&#8221;) used the following explanation to show me why afternoons as a seven year old last ten years, and ten years as a seventy year old last a single afternoon. Think of a record, an old vinyl disc, spinning around. You are born in the middle. Near the centre, we travel around quite slowly. As we grow, we move at a steady speed out to the edge. See how much faster the edge travels, and yet the disc still spins at the same thirty three and a third revolutions per minute. And then we fall off, he didn&#8217;t say. But I could see that, unless someone was making the disc bigger, that was eventually going to happen. Then I would be on the living room floor, chewed by the dog, and hoovered up on Saturday morning.<\/p>\n<p>I never thought we&#8217;d be able to change the record, or the speed of its spin, or perhaps, navigate to the edge using special ropes to cross over and start to return to the centre on the other side. CDs didn&#8217;t exist, so I couldn&#8217;t come out with a precocious lazer light concept, arguing for immortality via hiss-free digital recording. <\/p>\n<p>Since then, I have spent much time on <i>Time<\/i>. I have cogitated, meditated, made art and music and written about it, dwelt comfortably upon its cushions, engrossed in the glorious detail of all it has given me, despaired at the wasting of it, wept and marvelled at its passing, as the microgroove takes me backwards inexorably towards the edge, playing all sorts of hidden messages.<\/p>\n<p>Songs become emblematic of a time. Remember the old adage, <i>Tom Waits for no man?<\/i> <a HREF=\"http:\/\/www.officialtomwaits.com\/\" target=_blank>Tom Waits<\/a> wrote his superb song, <i>Time<\/i> in 1985, which was a time when my cultural horizons were expanding hugely. It&#8217;s from the album <i>Rain Dogs<\/i>. <\/p>\n<p><font COLOR=BROWN><i>Well the smart money&#8217;s on Harlow and the moon is in the street<br \/>And the shadow boys are breaking all the laws<br \/>And you&#8217;re east of East Saint Louis and the wind is making speeches<br \/>And the rain sounds like a round of applause<br \/>And Napoleon is weeping in a carnival saloon<br \/>His invisible fiancee&#8217;s in the mirror<br \/>And the band is going home, it&#8217;s raining hammers, it&#8217;s raining nails<br \/>And it&#8217;s true there&#8217;s nothing left for him down here<\/p>\n<p>And it&#8217;s time time time, and it&#8217;s time time time<br \/>And it&#8217;s time time time that you love<br \/>And it&#8217;s time time time<\/p>\n<p>And they all pretend they&#8217;re orphans and their memory&#8217;s like a train<br \/>You can see it getting smaller as it pulls away<br \/>And the things you can&#8217;t remember tell the things you can&#8217;t forget <br \/>That history puts a saint in every dream<\/p>\n<p>Well she said she&#8217;d stick around until the bandages came off<br \/>But these mama&#8217;s boys just don&#8217;t know when to quit<br \/>And Mathilda asks the sailors &#8220;Are those dreams or are those prayers?&#8221; <br \/>So close your eyes, son, and this won&#8217;t hurt a bit<\/p>\n<p>Oh it&#8217;s time time time, and it&#8217;s time time time<br \/>And it&#8217;s time time time that you love<br \/>And it&#8217;s time time time<\/p>\n<p>Well things are pretty lousy for a calendar girl<br \/>The boys just dive right off the cars and splash into the street<br \/>And when they&#8217;re on a roll she pulls a razor from her boot<br \/>And a thousand pigeons fall around her feet<br \/>So put a candle in the window and a kiss upon his lips <br \/>As the dish outside the window fills with rain<br \/>Just like a stranger with the weeds in your heart<br \/>And pay the fiddler off &#8217;til I come back again<\/p>\n<p>Oh it&#8217;s time time time, and it&#8217;s time time time<br \/>And it&#8217;s time time time that you love<br \/>And it&#8217;s time time time<br \/>And it&#8217;s time time time, and it&#8217;s time time time<br \/>And it&#8217;s time time time that you love<br \/>And it&#8217;s time time time<\/font><\/i><\/p>\n<p>Go find it, if you have time.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Last time I took on a behemothic theme it was Death. I struggled with it, wrestling at the cliff top; and by the end of the month, I was near to despair. I was then heartened by IG who kindly reminded me that the great central themes, the ones labelled HUMAN CONDITION we cross and [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":126,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[780],"class_list":["post-375","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-funky-original","tag-funky-original"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/theothersideofeverything.com\/flip\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/375","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/theothersideofeverything.com\/flip\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/theothersideofeverything.com\/flip\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/theothersideofeverything.com\/flip\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/126"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/theothersideofeverything.com\/flip\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=375"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/theothersideofeverything.com\/flip\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/375\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/theothersideofeverything.com\/flip\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=375"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/theothersideofeverything.com\/flip\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=375"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/theothersideofeverything.com\/flip\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=375"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}