Random stuff

1 – The Burroughs book that my colleague was holding when he said “Look, it’s Matt…”? Turns out it’s subtitled “A book of the dead”.

2 – I am desperately struggling to edit a story I love. I love it but know that it doesn’t work as it is. Now I have a new end visual in mind and I am working towards getting there, but it’s a bit grr. 
3 – I am getting a bit fucked off with reviewing. Instead of choosing what to read I am constantly having to read. It makes such a huge difference. Obviously there are books I am delighted to review but then there are the others. The ones I read for the bookshop, 3 or 4 a month, and they are usually not what I would choose at all. I thought it’d be a good way of opening up my reading, but no, it has just confirmed that I am right to be so picky. Plus, gah, it’s taking up so much time.
4 – Possibly hurrah news to share by the end of the month on a new publication.
5 – Summer. Hate it. Sun. Ugh. Heat. Ugh. And no, I’m not one of those who complain whatever the weather. The sun honestly makes me ill. 
6 – I have been listening to Linkin Park and Jay-Z Collision Course and LOVING it so much. I figure I should be embarrassed about it, but wow, so good. I can’t work out though if it’s just a magic mash, or if I’d like them individually. 

Weird…

Matt loved William Burroughs. Matt loved cut ups. I don’t really understand either. Matt was hugely enthusiastic about Burroughs, and frequently referenced him. Rubbishly I have never read him myself so pretty much all I know is what Matt has shared with me. Matt also used cut ups throughout his life, musically (literally splicing tape), creatively…I’m not sure exactly.

Anyhow, I haven’t told anyone at work about Matt, I’m too wobbly, too likely to dissolve, so I just go in and get on. Yesterday my colleague shoved a book in front of my face and said “It’s Burroughs, it’s cut ups,” or some such, and then he said “It’s Matt isn’t it, look, it’s Matt” which was really the most bizarre thing. I think I must have looked a bit stupid, he then elaborated “The cover was all shiny, now it’s matte.” 


Struggling, not writing, grief

I don’t know if I should write this or not.  I pretty much keep feeling that. I have so many thoughts and emotions spilling out of me because Matt has died that I clamp my lips shut and don’t speak at all. I am nervous what may pour out, I can’t distinguish between what must stay private and what it is appropriate to say. This is my writing blog, not a place for personal woe. But fuck it eh, in my description over there it says writer, mother, bookseller, human. Death is part of being human. And I feel as if I have to let some of this out before I explode messily with it.

Thank you to those of you who left a comment here, at our LJ, or sent an email. It honestly meant a lot to me that you took the time. I know there’s not much that can be said, but saying something is good, definitely.

I feel so much more lonely now that he’s not here. There are things that have happened that are darkly funny, and I would like to share them with Matt, because he’s the person that would find them amusing. 

Even opening my Mac is a lonelier experience because Matt and I emailed so frequently or left comments around the net for each other, that the absence of his words baffles me. I click from email to internet, site to site, click, click, but I don’t settle because I can’t find what I am looking for.

I try to write, that is always my way of dealing with anything, but although my mind is writing, fictionalising as I go about my day, when I sit and try to type words there’s nothing there.


Matt Kinnison 1965 – 2008

Love, loss.

Matt Kinnison died on May 7th.

My world is a much lonelier place.

He was a musician of enormous, astounding, jaw dropping talent; seriously amazing with whichever instrument he chose to play (Bass, Trumpet Marine, Yayli Tanbur…) He was in bands (Bunty Chunks, Cindytalk), but also worked alone (His beautiful album of Yayli Tanbur “Evenings of ordinary sand” is due to be released.)

Music was his passion and focus, but he was multi talented, had creativity in abundance, and was also an artist, and a writer.

He took great care and time over all his work. He designed his cd sleeves, handmade birthday cards, penned elaborate hieroglyphs and strange cartoons, he made his own wrapping paper, scanned images that caught his eye.

He was sharply smart, uncompromising, stubborn, and hilarious.

He loved coffee possibly more than anyone else ever. He drank so much of it (from beans that he ground himself) it was ludicrous. He was also keen on dinosaurs, buns, soft toys, elephants, robots, komodo dragons, Lindt chocolate and The Hoobs.

He was an intellectual who managed to get hooked on “Neighbours” for a while.

He was very stiff upper lip, but sang songs to his toys.

He was super polite, but could be ultra withering.

I love words, and his, spoken and written, were extraordinary. Emails from him were a joy: lengthy, thoughtful, fiercely funny and witty. He had a real way with words: as clichéd as that phrase is, for him it rings true.

We had a joint Live Journal for which he occasionally wrote bonkers pieces that made readers who didn’t realise that we were 2 different people assume I had lost the plot.

I also had him open a Facebook account, just so that we could play scrabulous. He became rather addicted to it; we often had a couple of games on the go. We still have two unfinished.

He had a pain in his shoulder which got increasingly severe. The doctors thought it could be a strain. We assumed it was too much time hunched over that bass. They sent him for physio, acupuncture, blood tests galore. It took them several months before they discovered it was in fact a tumour on his lung. He endured radiotherapy and chemo. Then more pain. The cancer was aggressive and fast, it invaded his bones. 

I thought we had more time, but it all sped up. 

He was so supportive of me, my life, my writing, he was my very own cheer squad. He was insightful, helpful, and generous. 

I really wanted to try to honour him here, but I have no words for this loss, this ache. 

He was truly unique, quite eccentric, and it was a real privilege to be his friend.

In one of his emails he told me that “We must clang on, sad faced or not.” And he is right, we must. But I am so sad faced, and so sad hearted. 

He has been part of my life for over twenty years, it is going to be very strange without him.

I will miss him always.

Rest in peace and in love Matt. 

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