(tuesday, Boxing day) Snort that pant dust

Monday's Dog.
Monday's dog... but it's a Tuesday! Madness. This whole blog is all a bit off kilter and way behind schedule at the moment due to the time of year. I write these things up in rough on the day and then sort of sub-edit them afterwards in the interest of quality control. I think this dog picture makes up for the fact that it's late by being such a great shot. The owner got him to pose for me and I took the picture as it looked away. Not wating to ask her to re-pose the dog I just smiled and thanked her. I was at Stockport train station at the time and the woman in question was quite striking looking, I think she thought I was trying to chat her up or something when I asked if I could take her dog's picture. What I love about this picture is it shows that dog's live on a higher level than humans do. They don't need to pose for pictures. They need to look off into the distance and see what's going on in the real world. In the now baby. The eternal now. The only reality which ever exists.

I'm ashamed to say that my gut reaction whenever I hear that someone is religious is to presume they're not very bright. I recently learned, for example, that Natasha Bedingfield is an outspoken Christian. Although I tried to stop it this was the final nail in the coffin of my respect for her. "She's an idiot, aha, it all makes sense now" went my little bigot* as I remembered the horror which accompanied the first metaphorical nail into the afformentioned coffin. The song "These Words" kicked it all off:

These words are my own

Threw some chords together
The combination D-E-F
It's who I am, it's what I do
And I was gonna lay it down for you
Try to focus my attention
But I feel so A-D-D
I need some help, some inspiration
(But it's not coming easily)
Whoah oh...

Trying to find the magic
Trying to write a classic
Don't you know, don't you know, don't you know?
Waste-bin full of paper
Clever rhymes, see you later

These words are my own
From my heart flow
I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you
There's no other way
To better say
I love you, I love you...

Read some Byron, Shelly and Keats
Recited it over a Hip-Hop beat
I'm having trouble saying what I mean
With dead poets and drum machines
I know I had some studio time booked
But I couldn't find a killer hook
Now you've gone & raised the bar right up
Nothing I write is ever good enough

These words are my own
From my heart flow
I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you
There's no other way
To better say
I love you, I love you...

I'm getting off my stage
The curtains pull away
No hyperbole to hide behind
My naked soul exposes
Whoah.. oh.. oh.. oh.. Whoah.. oh..

Trying to find the magic
Trying to write a classic
Waste-bin full of paper
Clever rhymes, see you later

These words are my own
From my heart flow
I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you

That's all I got to say,
Can't think of a better way,
And that's all I've got to say,
I love you, is that okay?

Lyrics used without kind permission.

I remember having a cheeky smoke watching MTV and drifting in and out of various music videos when this song came on. I was spellbound. I totally fell in love with this clever pretty girl who had written such a clever song. "She may be a cheesy popstar," I thought, "but she's writing her own lyrics and music so what's the difference between her and a genius like Motzart?".

The next day I got the album at Hallam FM towers and was swiftly smacked down by the following credit: co-written by Bedingfield, Steve Kipner, A. Frampton, and W. Wilkins. Right. So, it's not actually true to say "these words are my own" at all. It's a lie. No matter which way you look at it. A more accurate lyric would be "These words are partly mine and partly those of other people". It's not a case of "I need some help some inspiration" so much as "I have some help and don't really need inspiration". In fact, if you care to re-read the lyrics you'll see that this credit totally ruins every single line of the song apart from the "Whoah.. oh.. oh.. oh.. Whoah.. oh.." bit and possibly the lyric "Nothing I write is ever good enough".

I'm not joking here. I was really p#ssed off about this. I'd been totally f#cking lied to in song form. It hurt. It hurt me really bad. I felt betrayed. I'd had a moment of beautiful sublime human contact the night before via the medium of pop music only to realise that it was based on lies and decieit. I'm pretty sure there will be a fair few other people who've had exactly the same journey with that tune. It leaves a bitter taste which is hard to articulate without looking like a bit of a pr#ck. And that, if anything, makes things worse.

Part of the reason I mention this here is because I'm intrigued as to how Natasha Bedingfield justifies this deceit. She surely can't be unaware of it? Big celebrities use media monitoring agencies who routinely search the internet for references to them. I like the idea of someone connected to her falling upon this Boxing Day blog entry and perhaps making contact to explain their side of the story. It's a long shot but it might just work.

NM

*I don't know if you have one of these but I certainly do. A little bigot who says things I really shouldn't think.

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