It's been coming for some time, but at last, at last, the fucking Swiss et al have finally been made to halt the secrecy of their banking practises. I live in a system which hounds you to the ground if you're poor (and keeps you there) and yet expects you to pay the majority of the tax burden. The system's totally bent, and it's only now, when all the dosh has gone sour, that the governments have finally decided to do something about it. Some estimates suggest we're talking about trillions of dollars/pounds of evasion. These evaders all profit from the system they refuse to contribute to; they are the same fat fuckers who charge you insane amounts of money when you go overdrawn... Thanks in part to Obama, the world may just, may, be becoming a truly fairer place.

The Guardian's been on the case. The story's HERE.

Why does it make me so angry? Well, myself and friends aren't exactly the greatest earners - we own no property, no capital, nothing really. We're self-employed and live mainly on the borderline, however it may appear. We're mainly creatives who keep our heads down; yet somehow, and I'm not alone in feeling this, we're easy prey and feel targeted for it. The system's better equipped to suck us dry of whatever pennies we earn, yet is toothless in taking money from the many rich who pay fuck all in relation to their real wealth.

I first read about the extent of how much the rich avoid paying tax in 2006 - Philip Green (£300m windfall in around 2005; tax paid: none. Why? Good lawyers) and cronies have developed the most extraordinarily complex systems of evasion that nothing seemed to be able to get done about it. Until now, we hope. The bastards have helped create a system so regressively antisocial yet have somehow managed to avoid taking any responsibility for it. This includes the self-righteous types like Bono and the U2 boys, and all the rest of the rich so-called savers of the world who tell governments to cough up pennies to save the poor with funds which they do not contribute to. Fuckers.

Rant over, steam out. Steps away from something; something. Good creative outlays are bearing fruit. There's a complete set now; for better or worse, it's pretty much done. Honestly.

Pieces by pieces. Completing, maybe and at last, the long term vision I've been working on. Hate the sheer vagueness and aloofness of it, yet it can't be spoken about before being ready. It's a weird psychology, and I'm to blame for it in many ways, yet there's a gut instinct I cannot reject. I have to trust this strange road I'm on; everytime I start preparing for final mastering places, something new comes out. I work most of the time on this, even when it's not transient or actual, the headspace continues to exist inside it.

This may all make sense some day.

....why do I feel under attack>? Damned machine's eating me alive right now. Can't seem to pay the rent et al without some bastard demanding something more. How the heck, I don't know, but somehow it's got to be fought. Up to 9 tracks, have no idea what they're like, but they seem to represent something about this bizarre time, which I guess is all I can ask for.

Why I do it is anybody's guess.

Hours spent fixing technological crappery does not lend itself to any inspiration. Truths are upon me too: after many an hour confused about it, past labours to create something of value have failed and are to be confined accordingly. It hurts, it really hurts, but it must be. I know the causes and must accept them, challenge them and reject them. I don't care about it not being heard; more for it not being right.

Life's pursuit has been good though; no longer a Toxtethonian am I - the old district finally exhausted itself of me, and now I have moved on, happily. Recent recording projects with the DK gentlemen have proved so far successful, although mid-March should give some sort of a final idea, when last EQs get applied to the works. Now I just need more of that wondrous creative space.

Now, I must attend to my old Emu EIV and Melios Echo Chamber, before it all dies on me completely.

Pictures of latest adventures enclosed, no less.

Estate agents = unscrupulous slimeball fuckers. Period.

Some excellent new photos are emerging, taken by one Ms B. I'm close to putting some sort of EP together, although it feels like it's slipping from my grasp the more I work on it. Plans to start playing live again are afoot; it's got to be chaotically melodious, so it may take a wee time to prepare. Future projects look intriguing, though. Jennie DeVoe's sauntering her way back over to the UK and I'll be honoured to hear her at work again in Moles Studio. Other sessions are in place, but I'm letting those just happen, 'cause I don't want to put pressure on the good folks involved.

For now, may life be divine, for I swear it's worth having a go.

Still, as ever, looking for more artists to work with. They're out there, somewhere, dammit...

I've just watched BBC's extraordinary 'Blue Planet' at last. It's immense. And soul destroying.

The final episode concentrates on the state of our oceans and the mess we're making of them. It's truly, staggeringly, depressing. We are quite simply out of control. Our key aims are profit from consumption, but it's so clearly, utterly blinded. Even if it was an infinite supply, I would still struggle to understand our greed; the way in which we appear so able to take what we deem of worth to us as a species with all hell to the impact it has on other kinds and our immense planet is depressing.

I fight misanthropy; it's often a disguise for cowardice, but I see something like this and can't help but feel total despair. The pressure's on, for sure, and it's going to hurt us to sort it; I only hope such a 'call to arms' will not render our species incapable. As somebody pointed out lately, we're not destroying the planet per se; we're destroying our own chances of surviving on it.

Continued creativities at least ensure this melancholy does not dictate, for now...

I hear my mobile phone is fucking bees' navigation senses. Some 70% of the foods we eat are apparently the result of the activities of bees. If they can't return to their hives, they die. Great.

Fuck it. Creative moments and Flashman's caddish wisdom makes it all worthwhile.  The old V50 continues to amaze me and  my love of raw, odd audio has returned. I feel I'm light years away still from making sense of any of it, despite best intentions, and of getting anything completed, but I'm okay with that. It's good for humility. Dodgy 70s horror movies and Chief Brody have also helped me through a time of pain; I'm not complaining.

But that's a good thing, methinks. It's funny, but the more I try to write, the further away I seem to be to where I thought I was meant to be headed. It's okay. I take solace in extraordinary funk and white trash country music to keep me going. And it humbles me daily.

And I just love this robot, one of many drawn for me by a kid junior genius, I suspect.


 



It continues.

Can't stop thinking about it. Something's up. I can't put my finger on it, but I fear my generation's getting sucked up ready to be spat out. Most people seem to be chasing rainbows that don't exist; we're trying to get on in a world of diminishing resources, one which eats up what's left at an increasing rate; Bad people appear to be letting other Bad people get away with Bad things, whilst the rest of us are too preoccupied worrying about where our next rent cheque's coming from to care.

The banks have us totally where they want us - in their debt; TV kills us off with constant offers of, well, offers we don't need; we're being turned into voyeurs, as if society wants us to monitor and correct ourselves so it can get on with the business of screwing us. We borrow apparently to pay for our parents' pensions. Then we borrow 5 times over the odds to buy a house, which have become over inflated because our parents own all the property. We're pretty much forced into borrowing because everything's so expensive. To me it's simple - the more we owe, the less we have and the more somebody else shall take from us one day. It's obliged insanity.

Everyone I know rents and scrapes a living.

I've been injured for 7 months now and I still haven't seen a specialist. I'm told it's because the welfare state can't help quickly enough. Even though my self-diagnosis from day 1 proved to be bang-on correct, I had to wait 6 months just for a scan only to be told it was what I knew it already was. My opinion stands for fuck all. So the injury gets worse. I work hard, I pay my way, yet I'm being left out in the rain.

It also worries me that my generation is so addicted. All we do is get loaded; it's all we seem to have. I'm one of the few people around who does not smoke dope. I hate the stuff. I ruins people, but it's uncool to say that. Everyone gets high; everyone is addicted; everyone is in denial. It's like we live in a haze because it's all too much to endure. And it scares me.

Despite all this, I am in good spirits. The autumn's beautiful; I have made my peace with Liverpool again; the latest project is ongoing and fulfilling me. I have also fallen in love with Aya Kato's extraordinary work:-

It gives me faith.

But it's also okay.

I'm trying to balance it all out. This new EP is taking its time. I'm not going to flog it, so help me whichever of the gods might still find some favour with me.

Can't ask for me. Just touching base. Bass?

The world's a mad place. And it continues to take us on at a mighty pace. But I'm fine. I've got a beautiful garden and curious friends. I should work harder, yet I'm struggling to. After a Sunday spent listening to teenage kids from Preston putting down songs to tape, my ears are still ringing. I salute them though, for what they did was to be applauded. Or, at least, I hope it does once I've done 'my thing'...

There's nothing like a fine time abroad in foreign shores. Can't stand this infernal UK weather. It's killing me. Slowly, but surely. I ache. I'm down. I'm complicated. I can't deal with waking up. Life is mocking me in this unforgiving country and I want away.

Soon, sénor, soon.

PS Sneak it. Ring the Changes seems an apt new track for this time. It must be taken out of my hands.

PjRichardson.

Darned it... Wasn't expecting this so soon. But it's working. Apparently. I applaud you for tapping in.

I'll spill out all the thoughts of a random Toxtethtonian as time goes on.

In the meantime, thoughts and creative outlay can be heard at My Space/pjrichardson. Come join us. We'll adore you for it.

PjRichardson.