by quivion

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It’s not like I knew him that well, but when I got the invitation I felt I had to go along. Maybe he had no one else.

The last time I saw him was in the shop and we walked home together. He was upset with how things were going for him and wanted to get away from it all. I guess we all feel like that sometimes.

I don’t remember what it was all about to be honest because, as he walked, he kept trampling on worms. It had been raining. It made me uncomfortable though - didn’t he notice what he was doing? He did tend to plod along at the best of times. It was awful really, I just couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying.

In the end, he said he was selling up and moving away. Some sort of collective where you were left alone to be creative, apart from when you had duties like looking after vegetables and fixing things. In a set of cabins in the woods somewhere. Couldn’t have been round here.

I told him that I didn’t think it was such a great idea, just to hand everything you had away to a group of people he didn’t know.

Anyway, that was the last time we spoke. I had forgotten about him if truth be told, but when I got this concert invitation from his collective, I felt I owed it to him.

I went along and sat there with a few others. From the collective probably, judging by the look of them. He came out and had a bunch of old machines, like tape players and an old drum machine, all wired together. I recorded it on my phone. What I heard sort of told me a bit more about John, if that makes any sense.



released April 20, 2014



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