remote cards

“YOU” the makeshift envelopes say. Every time. I’ve found 3 so far. I wonder how many I’ve missed. The last couple have been little brown paper bags, kind you’d maybe get with buying a postcard. The lip folded over, stapled shut. A stamp over it “YOU”, and this latest one the picture of a bird, a swallow or something. I think the last one had something, but can’t remember what. Each time I’ve found them its been in Mono – the vegan café bar, along the shelf with flyers and booklets, along that front edge between the Mono bar part and the Monorail record shop part. I had to push by the table football table, with its glass top, and its cigarette burns from years before. We sit at the table all night, the brown paper envelope sitting under the book I was reading before A arrived, with the others after him. When I get home, I tear it open, and it starts like all the other “Dear You”. It’s a letter, hand written, with scribbles, and scores, and spelling mistakes, just as it was intended, an A4 lined sheet of paper, torn out, and photocopied once done. Folded, a pile of them, and slipped into the bag. She talks about various things, though they are never signed, I am sure it is a she, just from the context. Before she talked about hitting a certain age, and where she and her friends were with their lives. Then about her zine, and how someone ripped off one of her texts without credit, and how upset she was by this. This one talks about how she does her zine, how important it is to her, even if it isn’t to anyone else. I wonder about her zine, since there is no evidence of a physical magazine, or a link to an electronic one. But then, it does offer the answer, this is the zine, these pieces of paper released into the world for random people to read, unsigned and uncredited. At one point, as I go back and forth to the bar, there is a girl at a table, sitting by herself, long light brown hair, writing, little bits of paper, piles of bits and pieces. I wonder, is that her? Writing her latest? But without a photocopier to mass produce them right now? I check for more after she has gone, but only that first one I already picked up still sits there. Its that kind of place though, people in corners, with laptops, with art pads, with books, people coming in alone, or in groups. The acoustics are funny in here, so you get fragments of conversations – the girl that has to take photos for her scrap book, and then explain beside them why she took the picture. Two guys talk about unsigned bands and demos, about a gig here and there, the grizzled words of veterans who have been there done that, on the small scale you understand. How are You? Where are You? I wonder.

Labels: bar, cafe, envelope, glasgow, mono, monorail, vegan, writing, you, zine

My brother missed his flight, so he texted me to see if I wanted to meet him after I was done at work. So I got in, and we got tickets for a film, but still half an hour to kill, so we decide to grab a snack, with intention of  eating properly after the film. Its 18 degrees, the warmest its been in a few weeks now. It’s the school holidays, its home time for a lot of people - so this corner here of Buchanan Street and Sauchiehall  Street is mobbed. A crowed has gathered round the steps at the concert hall, those street dancers doing their robo thing, their breaky thing - I don’t get the fuss, I’ve seen them before, they never seemed that good. We nip into the shop, get a bite, a drink, and come back out, and the crowd has dispersed, mostly. So with the mild weather we decide to sit on the steps, eat, drink, watch the world go by. The Royal Concert hall hasn’t always been here, it was built in my life time, with its three layers of stone steps up to the main entrance, where people always sit around if the weather permits. So we sit there, weaving by the stragglers from the dance crew, by a couple of girls looking around, and various others. Two pairs of police officers come up the stairs, they quiz the groups of kids. They seem to pick out certain kids in particular, from experience, it would seem. The two girls we passed move up from first set of stairs to second set of stairs, they are dressed casually, but are clearly not part of any of the other groups that are sitting around, though they are waiting for something. One of them is a brunette, the other her hair is a lighter colour, both have long hair. The darker haired one decides to make a call, or something, I only half notice, until they move. There is another girl, sitting on the other side of the steps, on the other side of the arc, one I am only half conscious of, out the corner of my eye. The dark haired girl darts towards the other girl, who stands up. Two strangers at an allocated meeting point. The other girl is holding a black rectangle, a wallet, which she hands to the brunette. The brunette produces a small bunch of flowers which she hands over in exchange. The brunette’s friend catching up after a moment, a witness to this curious conversation. And its clear, the girl lost her wallet, got a call from the other girl to say it had been found, and they arranged to meet here, with the flowers as a thank you. We finish our food, look at the time, better get round to the cinema.

Labels: concert hall, exchange, girls, glasgow, wallet

I’m getting the train from Linz to Vienna on a Thursday morning. Getting on I am surprised to find that the train is split into small compartments. Which strikes me as being something that is particularly old fashioned, and not the layout of a regular train. This throws me some, and I’m unsure about how I tell what is free and what isn’t, where I can sit and where I can’t. The corridor here is narrow, there are other people blocking it with their bags, making calls, making my life difficult as I try to get past with my own bag. As such I admit I find the first mostly empty compartment and go in, I lurch in, hefting my bag up onto the high level shelf. There are two people in the carriage – man and a woman. He has obviously been on the train for a while; she is like me, settling in having boarded in Linz. He sits by the window; I sit on the same side, with a seat between us. She sits opposite him, with him sprawled across the tiny table emerging from the wall. She fumbles with the seat, frowns, and seems that there is something wrong with it, so she switches to the middle seat on that side. There is a bit of a conversation, and while I don’t speak German I get enough of an impression that they are discussing whether these seats are reserved or not. The conclusion would appear to be that they are ok, so I settle down with my book and MP3 player for the journey ahead.

The guy is a character. He clutches a can of lager and reads a magazine, which looks to be heavy metal and tattoos, and the like. His eyes have that heavy disposition which suggests he is reasonably drunk. He makes comments to us every so often, mostly giving the impression of trying to be helpful. Though I mostly have little idea what he is talking about, and remain as non-committal as I can. He wears a base ball cap, turned round, baseball shoes, baggy trousers, and a towel around his neck. As the journey goes on, he sprawls across the table, half asleep, fading in and out. As he nods off, his hat falls off, clatters to the floor of the carriage. Each time this happens he wakes up again, lifts the cap and puts it back on. The fact that this means it will fall off again in five minutes is obviously beyond his power of rational thought at this point in time. So indeed, five minutes later, the cap falls off and he does it all again. The woman looks at him with distaste on a number of these occasions as he fishes his hat from her feet.

She is fumbling with her bag when I arrive. One for the shelf, one beside her, fishing out a magazine which she reads for most of the journey. Her hair is brown, perhaps with a shade of red mixed in from a bottle. Its short, but big, sticking out from her head in a flaring crown. She wears a sleeveless white blouse, with high wasted black trousers. She wears complicated black shoes, which lace up on top, while having open toes and heels, the heel is a couple inches, striped black and white. She has a green velvet smart jacket, which she has folded beside her black hand bag, out of which I can see an umbrella handle – a clear plastic duck at the end of the grip.

Part way another woman comes in with her pug dog. She takes the seat the other woman abandoned, by the window, across from the other guy. The dog sprawls out across the floor, sandy coloured, happy to be there. She digs make up out of her bag, applying it while using a pocket mirror. She layers on heavy foundation, in that unfortunate fashion where she leaves a clear line of delineation along her jaw, pale and white below that line. Once she has done this, she plumps up her heavy brown hand bag, rests her head on her arm on top of the bag and dozes off until we reach Vienna.

Upon reaching Vienna the guy and the blonde are out of the carriage at the outskirts, getting off before the train terminates at Wein Westbahnhof. As we pull into the last station the first woman sits, poised, on the edge of her seat, ready to get off, waiting for the train to stop. She says something to me, I have to make my apologies, sorry, can’t understand you. She smiles, switches to English, nods, in a never mind fashion. Then she decides to ask where I am from, and we discuss visiting Linz, where she is from, and visiting Vienna. I tell her I am only here for the weekend, and she tells me that isn’t really enough, but its ok when I tell her this is my second trip here. She is here for the shopping, she says, there are some better shops in Vienna and she likes to come for the shopping. She indicates the bigger bag, which she intends to fill. She is going on holiday as well, a trip to Indonesia is imminent. The train arrives, we grab our bags and she tells me to enjoy myself, and I say similar to her.

Labels: inter city, linz, train, vienna

We’re in Forbidden Planet, going through the new releases, when these two American guys brush by. There are a handful of flyers for a spoken performance by Kevin Smith, on the flyer it says “director of Clerks 2 and Zack & Miri”. The first one says - woh, Kevin Smith! The second looks puzzled, so he clarifies – you know, guy directed Clerks 2! You know, guy who did Bob & Doug! I mean Bob and Silent Jay! Now they are both getting confused, so the first guy decides to finish the conversation – well, if you know him you know him! The inference clearly being that a man like him knows his Bob & Silent Jay, even if you don’t.

Labels: bob and silent jay, glasgow, kevin smith

Across from the cinema there is a corner shop, maybe one of the 24 hour ones, or at least a late night one anyway. A lot of the people who go to the cinema come here to get snacks and drinks, rather than being tied to the over priced brand restricted stuff you can get inside. That’s what I’m doing here, its what the couple in front of me are doing. He has just asked her something about her relationship, to which she responds - it depends on my mood. He is taller than she is, shaven head, a bit stubbly, a smart jacket over totally casual clothes. She is short, wide, long red hair, a skirt and bright red tights. She shrugs when he repeats her words, he adds - that doesn’t sound too good. She laughs, well, I’m thinking about dumping her. But yes, I am that bastard, she says, I’m trying to decide whether I’ll sleep with her one last time before I dump her. He makes a sound, she shrugs, laughs, I am that guy, she says, that bastard we all love to hate.

Labels: cinema, girl, glasgow, guy, hate, love, red head

There is a couple at a table in the outside part of the café, it’s a warm day, we’re sitting out there. He is sprawled. Brown trainers kicked off on to the ground. His legs across a neighbouring chair. Black socks, blue jeans, a t-shirt. He has long hair, straggly, tied back. A beard to match, a dusky, sandy kind of colour. His arms are covered in tattoos, long ones, extending all the way across his hands, right up to the knuckles. He smokes and drawls in conversation, utterly relaxed. She looks a little more “proper” in her manner. A black dress, casual, a red cardigan. Her hair is bobbed, jaw length, straight – like a librarian slash dominatrix. She has a stud in her nose and no apparent tattoos. She leans on the tables, her elbows, seemingly hanging on his every word. She smiles, and laughs when it seems appropriate. They are there for a good while, just hanging out. Till eventually they leave, he cycles by 2 minutes later, that blue vinyl courier bag over his shoulder, absent minded making his way to wherever.

Labels: ars electronica, girl, guy, linz, tattoo

I’m trying to park, it’s a Sunday, so parking is free. But its getting harder all the time to find a space. I find one in Hope St, in front of that bus stop where S parks all the time. The space is big enough, but traffic is heavy, so I make a mess of getting into it. Ideally I would come out and try again, but with the buses, and traffic, its easier to make stop starts back and forth till I’m in. A bus stops killing my visibility. A bus stops and people flood off, wandering around me, behind me. So I have to wait till they clear, till I can be confident I won’t hit anyone. I’m touching curb, and I’m not happy about it. Nothing I can do about it till its clear. The two shuffling old women getting off the bus stop at my car and wave at me, they point at the curb, they think they are being helpful. I throw my hands in my air, in a yeah, tell me about it fashion, and mouth I KNOW! They smile and wander off, and I can get the space to park properly. That done I wander off. I go to see a film, I buy some books, I have dinner, I go see a film. I come back to the car, hours later. Its dark now, late, the street is clear. Just my car, and the bus stop, and a couple. He is standing in the road, about a car length behind my car. She is standing behind the glass of the shelter, and you can hear her a mile off. She is shouting, a familiar scene, one I’ve seen too often - I want you out of my life! I’m sick of you! I want you to go away! I don’t mean for now! I don’t mean till morning! I mean forever! I want you to fuck off! People stop at the junction and look down. I get in my car. I lock my doors. I drive away.

Labels: bus, bus stop, couple, fighting, glasgow, old women, sunday