Will's Blog

Trouble at the mill.

2011-08-16T00:38:00.000-07:00

"Create a society that values material things above all else. Strip it of industry. Raise taxes for the poor and reduce them for the rich and for corporations. Prop up failed financial institutions with public money. Ask for more tax, while vastly reducing public services. Put adverts everywhere, regardless of people's ability to afford the things they advertise. Allow the cost of food and housing to eclipse people's ability to pay for them. Light blue touch paper."

It's been a week today since trouble down in Manchester. Me and Rick were making our way out for a nice meal on one of them groupon voucher in one of Manchester's best rated restaurants 'Vertigo'. The table was booked for seven o'clock, so after a quick pint on Deansgate, we made our way round the corner passing this patisserie with the window smashed.

It was such a strange sight as nothing else was happening, no police or gangs, just a battered up cake shop.

We arrived at the restaurant, was shown our table by angsty looking staff, promptly ordered the house wine and perused the set tasting menu of six courses we were about to enjoy. Of course we took a window seat and watched small groups of scallies wondering past.

No sooner had we popped the cork and began on the tomato consume, we were asked to leave the building by the Police. We were informed Manchester was going on a 'Lock Down' Rick wasn't best pleased.

In just a small amount of time, the city had become deserted. We made our way across town via Cross Street towards our place in the Northern Quarter area. Riot police were guarding the bottom of Market Street, gangs of youths began to move out of the side streets too. One of them bumped into me, lifted his top to show a kitchen knife down his trackies. It was a bit sexy and scary at the same time. We took it calmly, and they went one way, we carried on the other.

We arrived at Exchange Square area of the city near the Print Works. Again completely absent of the usual city folk around at that time. Just lots of riot police with dogs. As we calmly walked home taking in the sights a riot police officer and a ragingly angry dog came aggressively towards us. 'MOVE MOVE MOVE' he shouted at us. Which was strange as we were moving. I pulled out my camera as I was convinced we were going to be attacked by him.

'I'll set the fucking dog on you now fucking move you fucking idiots' he continued.

Somebody on the other side of the street caught his eye. Diverting his attention from us and I snapped this shot, the officer in question is on the far left.

So, in just a few minutes walk I had been accosted briefly by scallies and threatened by police... our crime? Walking home?

When we did arrive home it felt no safer. News reports on the telly and internet showed images of marauding gangs seemingly doing whatever they see fit and absolutely none of the police presence I had seen and with my own eyes stopping them. Where were these officers? probably busy harassing and threatening people leaving work and other innocent people caught up in the craziness no doubt.

As the evening wore on, quick glances outside my window where looters with arms full of recently stolen goods walked by. Gangs and gangs of hooded kids checking out cars in the car park and even two making what looked like petrol bombs by my neighbours front door were spotted.

My friend Richard arrived. He had been caught up in it too. Our hearts went in our mouths when we heard his frantic banging at the front door (which leads directly onto the street) fearing it could be the worse. All of us a little heightened emotionally by our experiences, we decided to arm ourselves should anybody try and gain access....whilst Rick and Richard did that, I decided to lighten the mood by making toast.

Toast actually calmed us all down. There is something strangely homely and comforting about the smell and taste of toast.

Internet reports of gangs on Oldham Street (the adjacent street to us)

We could hear all the chaos and shouting from our balcony as the scenes above just happen yards away from our place.

Reports on people being attacked and mugged came in too, lots of lovely concerned friends contacting us to see if we were okay.

We decided to interpret the night via a captioned photo shoot that we believe succinctly expresses the mood of that volatile evening.

We present our photo caption story....

Got One!

Inside he comes...

I take control!

Maybe have a little fun?

It's all a pain in the arse....

Teach them a lesson! Hanging is too good for them.

But on reflection...maybe it's all my fault?

Thank you X

Hindsight.

2011-07-22T00:40:00.000-07:00

We all like to think we are not dumb or completely stupid don't we? Not completely anyway.

Whenever we get those unwanted phone calls now and again inviting us to pass on bank details to some shady person on the end of the line, we usually pride ourselves on seeing through the shenanigans and though a half smile we even enjoy letting them know where to go. We replace the receiver complacently and with confidence that you would have to get up pretty early in the morning to catch us out with them old and pathetic overused scams.

Or them equally dodgy emails telling us we've won the Ugandan lottery, or an Uncle has died and left you sole benefactor to an empire of millions....well, most of us would hopefully agree that those emails are laughable and instantly identifiable as trademark and rather worn out scam routines.

Yesterday I got an email from my friend who I shall not name for I feel she has been through enough already. My friend lives in the states, but travels extensively throughout Europe as she is a musician. Often I hear she is in Rome or London performing gigs, and on the odd occasion enjoy attending more local gigs and getting together for a catch up. Failing that, we keep up with news from each other via email now and again.

When I got home around lunchtime yesterday, my friend had sent me an email. Excited to hear news, I made myself a coffee and settled to read and reply back. To my horror, my friend was writing in an obvious panicked state. She relayed a nightmare on how she how she had just arrived in Madrid alone in preparation for a concert on the 24th she is booked for. On her way to the hotel, she she had been held up at gunpoint, had her bags including cash and identity stolen as well as her mobile phone. My heart completely sank for her.

The email continued to say how she had been in touch with her bank and the best they offered her was a new card which could take days to arrive at the hotel. In the mail she pleaded for a wire transfer just for a plane ticket back to the states, upon her return home she would immediately refund the price of the ticket.

I leapt into action, I myself have barely two coins to rub together, but I did make calls to see if someone could or would be willing to buy a ticket on their credit card for her safe return. I just kept thinking of this middle aged woman, alone, shaken and in a terrible state desperately needing a friend, a helping hand. My attempts to help turned up negative, so I emailed back expressing my sorrow for her plight and told her my efforts. I sent her my home number and asked her to call me. I have friends with friends in Madrid and was hoping to at least direct her to a safe place until someone in a better financial situation could help her.

I really worried for her. It sounded such a terrible predicament and I felt helpless.

As the afternoon went on, no calls or replies to my email, I wondered if another friend had come up trumps and she was now at least in possession of some money to either get home or stay in the hotel from where she said she had emailed from. No news came back.

Later that evening, I received another email written on behalf of my friend. The email warned me that my friends email account had in fact been hacked, and the emails sent to individuals were bogus. My friend wasn't even in Spain, but back home in the USA. It seemed that there was at least one person who received the email from the hacked account that went ahead and sent money for a flight home for her.

Hindsight.

Such a beautiful vision. With hindsight we can see the trails above our emotional responses. The turn of phrase that subconsciously registered in the email that with the all glorious hindsight seems obvious that my friend would not have used. The fact that my friend wouldn't even know an emergency number or her home number to her partner? so damn obvious...in hindsight.

We all like to think you would have to get up pretty early to catch us out. But this has situation has served me a warning about my own complacency when it comes to such matters. There are some smart cunts out there that will play on your good nature in so many ways. Be warned. Be ready for them.

Marina Abramovic

2011-07-16T04:05:00.000-07:00

I've been a very lucky punter this week as I've managed to get to two showing of a most superb performance of 'The Life and Death of Marina Abrovovic' that has been showing at the Lowry theatre in my home town of Salford for the annual Manchester international Festival.

...and what a festival it's been. I've pretty much been lucky enough to see many of the highlights from a rather intimate Bjork concert to a Brothers Quay performance with accomplished violin soloist Alina Ibragimova. This was all via Wagner concert by the Halle and Damon Albarn's Dr Dee opera. Quite a stunning line up.

Marina has stood out the most for me though. Joined on stage by Antony (from Antony and the Johnsons) and Willem Defoe, the whole production was carefully executed by the Avant Garde director Robert Wilson. A legend and a visionary and certainly not someone you would expect to come across in Salford.
Wilson is a fantastic collaborator and has worked with the likes of Burroughs, Philip Glass, Ginsberg, David Bryne, Lou Reed and Tom Waits. He can perfectly juxtapose music and imagery to create a deeply fulfilling sets of imagery which is akin to being within an art gallery staring at masterpieces. It's art that lives! and you live within that art for the duration of show.Completely immersive.

Below is one of the show stealer moments. A dreamy landscape is created in front of our eyes, the music is by a couple of guys called MATMOS, a rather interesting electronic sound scape which compliments the performance rather than swamps it.

Willem Defoe is such an emotive actor, fully immersed within his role and very at home. He manages to drift from narrator to characters within the rather turbulent life of Marina. A life shadowed by a rather over bearing and strict Mother who's own mental health hang ups pass down directly to her daughter via systematic physical and emotional abuse.

What was it that Philip Larkin once said? 'They fuck you up your parents do'

Marina is now in her mid sixties, she looks comfortable and at ease with her own performance. I wonder if reliving such personal moments is a kind of cathartic therapy? It can't be so easy that's for sure. When she was quizzed about a play about her life, she replied that she has problems with 'Plays' as such as they are an interpretation of real life, where her performances ARE real life.

I like the idea of that. Performance being a reality rather than an interpretation.

Antony is used sparingly, thankfully. He's a massive character and presence as it is, and although a complete joy to watch, it could have been a performance that resembled a surreal Antony show that could have easily taken away from the original subject matter.
Still, it was lovely to see him perform and become part of something rather than overshadow.

I'm not sure I will ever see anything quite like this again. I felt privy to occasion, as if this was theatre that belonged somewhere else, not in a suburb of Greater Manchester. I think that's why I made one of those rare decisions to see something twice. Just so it sits longer in my head and I can absorb it from a different perspective.

Finally, I will leave you with another favourite scene from the dress rehearsal.

Another year older.

2011-07-13T07:48:00.001-07:00

On Monday I hit the grand old age of 41. I celebrated hard and had simply the best time. I suppose I started celebrating last week when we were invited to stay with friends Richard and JC in their Shoreditch apartment. East of that London.

We arrived on Thursday and had a fabulously hectic few days absorbing art and performances starting with the wonderful Justin Bond. Below is a candid snap I took of Mx Bond with actor/artist Bette Bourne as they met and chatted after the show.

We got to see lots of London's East End I'm unfamiliar with, visited the grave of William Blakc, the house and studio of Gilbert and George and an amazing Malaysian meal somewhere Hackney way. This was punctuated with a wonderful trip to the Tate Modern to see a wonderful Diane Arbus exhibition. It was a marvelous few days and we both enjoyed the company and the trip immensely.

Back in Manchester and it's now Monday. The big birthday boy is treated by Rick to a show at the Lowry in Salford 'The Life and Death of Marina Abromovic. The performance includes Marina playing her overbearing and somewhat shadow-like character of her own Mother, Antony (from Antony and the Johnsons fame) who sings a handful of songs and a brilliantly lucid and animated Willem Defoe as the Narrator.

A completely stunning direction from Robert Wilson, a well respected theatre visionary steers the play that literally had me hanging off my chair in parts. This month is the Manchester International Festival and I've seen quite a lot of it, but this production is in a different league. It's David Lynch meets the theatre of the absurd. Wonderfully challenging and visually stunning.

We head of to our local back in the city, a bar named Fringe. We met up with friends Megan and Robert at the performance earlier and good mates Richard and Geraint are waiting for us in the pub. I am overwhelmed when my wonderfully gentle friend Richard, an amazing artist, gives me a painting of a rose, which now proudly hangs in my home as a birthday gift. I love Richard's art and he is an incredible and interesting person and I am even prouder to call him a close friend.

As many of you know, I moved into my home in the centre of Manchester only seven months ago. It's dramatically changed my life. I'm much more outgoing and social than ever. I love the city and seem to be meeting interesting and new people everywhere I go. There is a wonderful vibe at the moment, positive and encouraging that I am tapping into. People want something more. Something a bit sacred and individual, yet a shared intense experience. I'm all for it. The shackle of a three year depression feels behind me and I am motivated in new and exciting ways. Collaborations feel important. Confidence grows as excess luggage and negative people fall away and spin out of my life leaving room for growth and time for people who deserve it.

I'm a year older sure, and I feel a year wiser for it too. I do love birthdays and age. The time we have defining us all. Age gives me the push I need to go on, complete tasks and be simply creative. The shadows of friends and loved ones gone who won't make another birthday firmly planted inside me, gently reminding me of the life span we all have and the importance of our own happiness.

Happy birthday to me! happy birthday to me....happy birthday dear meeeeee, happy birthday to me.

.....and happy it was.

The omen of a blackbird.

2011-07-01T03:02:00.001-07:00

Are you superstitious? I am, a little. I think most of us have something within us that defies rational thought. Some strange rituals we perform which have no grounding in rationality. Not walking under ladders, avoiding smashing mirrors or cracks in pavements etc.

A few weeks ago, after returning back from the pub with Rick and our dog Eric, we found a baby Blackbird hopping on our doormat. It seemed hell bent on getting inside our home. As wild bird lovers, we were naturally worried for the poor mite and concluded the best course of action would be to get the little lady blackbird over to the other side of our home into the relative safety of the back garden.
We opened the front door, and the bird casually hopped through, then up the stairs, through the kitchen and onto the veranda. She then fluttered down to the garden below where she was met by her father and mother who seem to have a nest there.

It got me thinking about an old tale my Mum use to tell me when I was little, that it was unlucky to have a bird inside your home. I casually Googled 'Blackbird and superstition' on the net to see if I could remember precisely what my Mother actually believed and was passing onto me. I didn't find anything really, but what I did happen across was a site sharing the symbolic meanings of a Blackbird.

Apparently, the bird is a wonderful omen, and to be involved in the protection of it bestows good fortune. Primarily they are symbols of Higher Intelligence, Higher thoughts and ideals. They are linked to mystery, magic, secrets, the unknown, pure potential and non obvious perception. Obviously I can identify with those qualities.

It's all an interesting theory and like reading a horoscope provides entertainment on a level. But in tough times, when you are pushing your own creative energies, coming across your own insecurities as you do, you sometimes just can't help but draw inspiration. Even from the irrational.

Old Friends

2009-03-17T04:44:00.000-07:00

Old Friends

Well isn't facebook a modern wonder?

The old relationships we can now plunder

Like pirates of past seas ,and when I got poked

I thought it was a joke to see your school photo

Smiling back at me

So we met up for an afternoon catch up

Over a biscuit barrel and a mug of tea

There's so much to get in, I don't know

Where to begin, it's been decades

Since each other we did last see

You give a run down of your life

Swap pictures of the wife, the offspring

The jobs with faces full of glee

Then the chat runs aground

The lull heightens no sound

And the smile aches as you

Make a bid to be free

Disaster Strikes!

Your old friend is a stranger

The bubble burst, in danger

Of showing what you can truly see

You turn to the weather

And the endless chasm of never

That stretched far between you

And me

Reality dawns fast, it's errors unsurpassed

As you acknowledge somethings not quite right

Old faces from personal history

Sometimes better left a mystery

To ponder in a more mentally idyllic climate

But this present is real! and the next moment you steal

An excuse for farewells and goodbyes

The traffic, the kids, the dental appointment barely missed

Give you reason to delve back out of sight

You wave bon voyage, and promise to be in touch...soon

But you know your promise is as unstable as the night

Driving away, it's easy to say all things right and polite

But never again will I visit my own grave

Lest old friends remain in my own burial site

Old friends are old ghosts, old skins and old hosts

Take those who walk with you now, love and hold tight

Nostalgia is a blunt tool don't trust the old school

Relish the past in this last of the rose tinted light

Will Youds 2009

Old Friends

My Digital Self

2009-03-17T01:28:00.001-07:00

My Digital Self.

My digital self taps out a heartbeat

A disjointed tick of plastic keys

Thinks in the code of binary

Suffers from computer freeze

Where everything momentarily stops

The cyber sound of silence

Engulfs and torments me.

But when I'm connected I swiftly move

Send out my essence to the moon

Float upon the ethernet

As holy as a commune

Release those ideas that for years

Have pinched and been earth bound

Find courage to express

My giddy attempts at the profound

A poem, a rant or a video song

Which one will I possess today

Project my residual life

Justify my earthly decay

Some may read with a smile

Some with bitter and scorn

Most with indifference

My digital self passes on

Will Youds 2009 01:21:00 by Slammer Delete

Publish SelectedDelete Selected1 – 1 of 1

Forgotten

2009-03-13T00:43:00.000-07:00

Forgotten.

Across a languid chasm dusty with chalk

Gilded sweet talk with nothing enthralled

I could have sworn we were okay with each other?

Wrecked my brain wondering if I did something wrong

Scorned myself for an age until an epoch dawned

Then all at once I kinda knew, it wasn't me

That had forgotten... it was you.

Buttered language for the toast

Is what you served best

Your swollen emptiness

Vile bitterness within unrests

The laughter behind the aggressiveness

Making me out to be the worst

Whilst you couldn't even care less

Will Youds 2008

Broughton Cliff

2009-03-13T00:38:00.000-07:00

Broughton Cliff

The Cliff descended in the twenties
Crying homes down it's face
Land sliding into ancient trees
Breaking Bury Roads embrace
Below the rapids of the Irwell
Gargling twigs and time
Elements of nature and man together
Succinctly in natural rhyme

In the daylight it is solemn
Dignity and peace prevails
Birds chant it's harmony
A polish man drinks his ale
In earnest and alone
The sounds of river drone
Echoing out across the vale

At night terrors grip
The branches rap their fingers
And fear can take you down
Towards the deep dark river
A low wind rides the brambles
The ancient trees do creak
Gloomy shadows slowly move
From the shoreline to the peak

The Salford souls that have gone
Flow by the rivers edge
Floating by Broughton Cliffs
A handshake from the dead
Taken by a suicide pact
Between poverty and unrest
The babble of the supernatural
Coloured by the moonlight red

Words: Will

Images: Rick

Salvia Leaves

2009-03-13T00:34:00.000-07:00

Salvia Leaves

In a flimsy world
Of cake and cream followed
By fifty bicep curls
I lie and instill

Dumb voice, male, familiar
And unknown
Drifts down my aural telescopes
Were was once my mind
Salvia leaves flood inside
And I wonder if
It's
Mental illness
Or just my salvia spliff
That give me two dimensions
Gently brought together

In

One

Long

Embracing

Kiss

It's this magical leaf that
With just one inhale
Sends me to places
I've only seen
Through my pre-teen eyes

I remembered the ice cream van counter swirls
My blond boy curls as I funnel out
Of this reality
A matter of formality
When imbibing such sensuality
Yet, theatrically with congenial abnormality
I forget about my homosexuality
Which has become part of the great unreality
I slip beneath these sheets all too easily
As consciousness eases me back to normality

Will Youds 2008

Cock and Cocaine

2009-03-13T00:22:00.000-07:00

Cock and Cocaine.

City chancers and moonlit dancers
Glittered forked tongues that stab at you hard
Eyes more pointed and sharpened than darts
Sniffling noses from the small metal hoses
Taken in pub toilets...and this is fun.

Nineties raver casualties, no longer
Dispensing with druggie niceties
Now in their forties still chasing some sun
Angry bastards, just can't get hard ons
So they become bitter and poke
Fun, Fun, Fun.

Oh, sweet fun, do you remember hun?
Before we got old, before that sourest of cold
Before you got bought and re-sold.
What was your price? well it's no longer being nice
That lets down your guard and 'they' rush in
Oh! rush in 'n' pushin, taking all of your nothing
So you make a vow, decide never! no how!
To allow these morons in their minions
Take what little is left, leave you bereft

Each man kills the things he loves

So I'm told

But you should see the state of the things
Each man hates, a mirror reflection
in a murky canal, a dirty old cow
That has lost her diamonds
Pray, who will even be inspired to step up,
Who can even be bothered to save us now?

There is a happy hour soon
Another oh-so-happy-clappy hour
Drowns out the screams and noise
I'll go out singing with all the boys
And repeating things
Whispered mantra things
At the top of my voice
Rejoice! Rejoice!
It's cock and coke time
In the ole town tonight.

Will Youds 2007