sam shepardâs âmotel chroniclesâ, glenn gould playing j.s. bach, books, gaff-rigged bristol pilot cutters, nautical charts, the idea of lamu island and zanzibar, ilford 35mm black & white film, expressions of love in spanish, the meaning of saudade, miles davis, john coltrane, conga drums and bongoes, the backstreets of marrakesh, naples and havana, my 20-year-old leather backpack, my leather-bound pocket atlas (a gift from a woman who worked for me), my maori bone hei matau, british ordnance survey maps, african and latina women, dark skin, long legs and firm round asses,âoil notesâ by rick bass, joseph conradâs âheart of darknessâ, âthe fly trapâ by fredrik sjĂśberg, bill drummond doing what he calls âartâ and his writings about it, malcolm mclaren talking about almost anything, german-made fountain pens, noodlerâs inks, 20th century french novelists, analog moog synthesisers, joan didionâs early essays (especially âthe white albumâ), the rolling stonesâ original versions of âgimme shelterâ and âsympathy for the devilâ, ali farka tourĂŠâs modal riffs, the western isles and northwest coast of scotland in spring, the b&w photographs robert frank took in the â50s as he drove across america, richard misrachâs âdesert cantosâ, wim wenderâs âparis, texasâ and âwings of desireâ (i like his diaristic photo book, âonceâ, too), jim jarmuschâs âonly lovers left aliveâ, indian ocean sailing dhows, old boat compasses, my vintage flying boat sextant, the cheap but accurate swiss wind-up watch my mother gave me when i first went to sea, that first glimpse of the mojave desert driving east from l.a. on interstate 40, and of moroccoâs atlas mountains, at dawn, sailing through the straits of gibraltar from the west, the mediterranean sea, van morrisonâs voice, and aretha franklinâs and julie driscollâs, the ideas of john cage and of jean-luc godard, cornelius cardewâs âscratch musicâ, gorodish and alba in delacortaâs series of novels, âhaunts of the black masseurâ by charles sprawson, peter beardâs collaged diaries, steve dilworthâs visceral sculpture, the smooth stones iâve collected from beaches on three oceans, garlic, wasabi, peking duck in pancakes, ice-cold champagne (bollinger, when I can afford it, or louis roederer cristal), baden powellâs guitar-playing, samba, salvador de bahia, standing at the edge of an empty sahara, sailing a felucca up the nile, the writings of william burroughs, barry gifford and charlie smith, the history of zero, the smell of bangkok by the river at dawn, summer nights in tokyo, long periods of silence, hugging my children, playing my solid mahogany tenor ukulele (a 61st birthday gift from my wife), my fender telecaster and gibson lucille guitars, shona sculpture, an etching i have by armodio (âlâurlatriceâ), the songs of tom waits, alan ginsbergâs photos of beat writers â burroughs and paul bowles, especially â in new york and tangier, jack kerouacâs writings (even though iâve outgrown them), âthe outsiderâ by colin wilson, bowlesâ âthe sheltering skyâ, playing blackjack at caesarsâ, las vegas, in the early hours of a week-day morning, cafĂŠ tacubaâs huevos con molĂŠ in mexico city, the garden derek jarman made at prospect cottage in dungeness, jarmanâs diaries, da vinciâs notebooks, don mccullinâs photographs and mary ellen markâs when she was younger (the ones in goa), dancing alone to 60sâ soul music, the scent of frangipani, the white noise of heavy monsoonal rain, my long, old-school powell skateboard with big urethane wheels, early silver surfer comic books, 70sâ âavant-gardeâ music scores from peters and universal edition, my all-mechanical olympus 35 sp camera and my rolleiflex tlr, cecil taylor on piano, dave holland on bass, ginger baker on drums, the movie version of joseph conradâs âlord jimâ, cary grant in âfather gooseâ, david leanâs âlawrence of arabiaâ, donald cammellâs âperfomanceâ, snowdonia in mid-wales, taos in new mexico (and the sangre de cristo mountains), sailing close by stromboli on a calm, moonlit night, the smooth skin and skinny bodies of young japanese women, everything about italian women, palm trees, passionfruit, seedless grapes, mandarins, uncooked cherry tomatoes, the oakland raiders (even when theyâre losing), swimming alone in a warm pool, the bath tubs at the ritz-carlton in singapore in the 90s, afternoon tea (pg tips) with scones, thick cream and damson jam (preferably tiptreeâs), albert ayler on sax, derek baileyâs free-form solos on guitar, âcolour: a natural history of the paletteâ by victoria finlay, tom mccarthyâs âsatin islandâ, william gibsonâs science fiction, sylvie guillem dancing, van cliburn playing brahmsâ second piano concerto, keith richardsâ and john lee hookerâs grungy guitar licks, j.j. caleâs muted finger picking, the long solo voyages of bernard moitessier under sail and the writings that came from them, the voyages of david lewis and of bill tilman (aboard âmischiefâ), old tahiti ketches designed by john hanna, thomas colvinâs modern steel sailing junks, target shooting with a high-calibre handgun (like a colt python .357 magnum), watching dark frontal clouds gather ahead of a storm, the grim stillness of tornado weather in northern oklahoma, big hotel rooms, late night room service, landing in los angeles from the west late at night, yakitori at a basement place i know in hiroshima, the gharana of the tabla, welsh male voice choirs, playing scrabble, the lives of sir richard francis burton and t.e. lawrence, thom gunnâs poems, also e.e cummingsâ and mira gonzalezâs, gore vidal on american politics, sex and other writers, the stone hanko engraved for me using an old form of katakana in hiroshima, hand-tooled knives, walking through rome early in the morning, rooftop terraces in trastevere, out-of-the-way trattorie in monti, vitello parmigiano, tortellini, stracciatella, and sambuca, the amalfi coast, iain sinclair writing about his walks around london, living in los angeles (when i have money), driving north from santa monica on the pacific coast highway, big sur 30 years ago,â60s american muscle cars, joyce singing âagua de marçoâ or astrud gilberto, or the version marisa monte and david byrne did for âred, hot and rioâ, âsittingâ by cat stevens. âdumb thingsâ by paul kelly, the emotions singing âbest of my loveâ, the idea of the congo and the mekong and of rusty tramp steamers sailing to up-river jungle ports, berlin in autumn just before the leaves fall, all the works of anselm kiefer and cy twombly, francesco clementeâs exotic watercolours, âthe pugilistâ sculpted in iron by robert brennan, marilyn mansonâs âweâre killing strangersâ, smokey robinsonâs âtracks of my tearsâ, the first whiff of salt air and coconut oil at an australian surf beach, longboarding on a glassy point break at wategos in byron bay, the mexican movie ây tu mama tambienâ, almodovarâs âtodo sobre mi madreâ and âmatadorâ, cluttered but stylish old parisian apartments, any clapboard boatshed and jetty on a quiet bay or river bank, a stone cottage above a rocky north atlantic shore (in nova scotia, maybe, or shetland), solitude.
