There was an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach as I sat in the library that morning. I put it down to the birthday party. Or the message that I had received on Instagram asking to have GANTOB back.

Knowing that I had a GANTOB deadline to meet did not help. I pulled out my sheet of paper and pen, and leant on a copy of Broughton Spurtle.

Scrawled on my piece of paper I had a few notes about the KLF song Kylie Said to Jason. I had listened to the track myself a few days before, c/o YouTube. I knew quite a few of the 1970s references, though the US TV show All in the Family only with prompting. The Good Life (we had friends in Surbiton). Another show and celebrity that have not stood the test of time.  And the 1980s – Neighbours of course. There had been no escaping that. I turned to the notes that GANTOB had given me. Channelling the Pet Shop Boys. Dance music. Stock Aitken and Waterman style intro.

Tick, tick, tick.

Jumping around time: a dream sequence, or perhaps tripping. GANTOB had explained the KLF’s hopes that this would follow their previous number one, but it had stalled well before the Top 40. All rather bandwagonesque.

“I’m going to leave this body now”. The misheard lyrics, transcribed onto one popular website. It’s clearly “party”. I think back to a song by The Beatles: “I don’t want to spoil the party so I’ll go/ I would hate my disappointment to show/ There’s nothing for me here so I will disappear”.

Against my better judgement in the summer of 1989 I conducted a Kylie and Jason inspired wedding. Ghetto blaster at the ready, Angry Anderson and Especially for You cued instead of the usual organ voluntaries, it culminated in the collapse (and death) of the bride’s uncle.

I had earworms from KSTJ nagging away as I walked home, Bill Drummond reciting, “It’s all in the mind”. Still that uncomfortable feeling. I check behind me surreptitiously at a crossing.

There was nobody at home. I avoided the cats, because it was hours until teatime. I gobbled my sandwiches, a banana and picked up my briefcase, returning to the library.

My mind was far from empty as I retraced my route. I encountered a white cat. It seemed to whisper, “She’s behind you”.

THE BENEFAKTOR

11 October 2023

Sticking with GANTOB’s rules imposed for my Birthday blog for a moment, I need to announce the winners of the Snip, Stick, Solve competition (see earlier blogs, Instagram or X for background). The overall winner, with an innovative glass table approach was DaftBrand. Highly commended runners up were LoopManiac, Missiformation and Andrew. A brave effort was received from one other applicant, but they were three centuries out.

After careful consideration, we are not going to share the solution (to avoid spoilers), but all applications will receive a prize tailored to their specific answer – especially for them. The unsuccessful applicant appears to be expecting an acknowledgement of their labours, under difficult circumstances. They should be so lucky, though I feel for them.

Which discharges my duties to GANTOB for another blog, and allows me to get back to more important business.

This morning I arose groggily, but still managed breakfast and departed the flat on schedule.

A snail crunched under foot as I opened the gate. The remains cringed under the fragments of shell. I wiped my shoe on the grass, avoiding the fox excrement that has been appearing on the lawn over recent weeks, though greatly diminished by the recent downpours. Scraping the now still tail of the snail up with a piece of slate I started on my way again, thinking about happier times in the summer when the snails had appeared, as if by magic, all over the wallflower that had run rampant on the other side of the path, by the bins.

It was only when I was climbing the recently re-opened Playfair Steps up the Mound that I realised that I had left my briefcase behind at the flat. I patted down my pockets to reassure myself that I had at least a pen and piece of paper, so I could take notes while at National Library of Scotland. I would text home to ask for my sandwiches to be retrieved (before the cat found them hopefully) and put in the fridge. But of course my phone was in my case.

I descended one flight and then another, before deciding that I really needed to get on with the day. Perhaps my sandwiches would be alright, cool enough on the flagstones in the hall. I climbed to the top, more breathless than usual, wheezy. Is this what it is going to be like to be 83?

THE BENEFAKTOR

10 October 2023

GANTOB has made rules for this blog, in the name of Kreative Tyranny. Let’s see if it works.

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Even as I enter my 84^th year, I still feel excited about my own birthday. I have a very busy day ahead. I mentally tick off the planned activities. I open my cards after a leisurely breakfast and walk up the hill to meet The Ornithologist and The Philatelist. I promise to return tweezers and magnifying glass to the latter later in the day.

Lately we have been meeting up each Monday to attend the lunch time concert given by university students at ____ Hall. Today’s concert, appropriately after the amber weather warning for the weekend past, is titled Concerto for A Rainy Day. The students pull off most of the pieces with aplomb.

Our lunch is taken after the concert, on Forrest Road. A vegetarian chilli hits the spot. We are meeting up again later, so do not linger on formalities.

Popping into the museum on the way home, partly for a pee, but also to have a look at the stuffed animals for old times’ sake. I have made this walk for decades, sharing the experience with successive generations. I remember past generations as well as experiences with my children and grandchildren, and wonder what we have done to deserve them.

Suitably philosophical about what will no doubt be much of the usual chat from family and friends, I plot a rather circuitous route, via the West End, and across the New Town to the East End and then down towards Leith.

Bottles already purchased, and speech rehearsed, I am ready for the planned jamboree.

Keeping the volume low, to listen out for guests, I pop on The Beatles 1 album, and skip to where I left off earlier in the day: All You Need is Love. I need my fix, then I’ll be ready. I think of John Lennon, born on the same day as me.

Later, after the guests have left, and we’re doing the dishes, my wife and I have some time to reflect. The cat is in the dishwasher, licking the plates, ignoring our recollections, thinking instead of the snatched strokes and snacks.

For hours after we go to bed I am restless, conversations turning over in my head, feeling the effects of one port too many. I’m counting sheep. “Go to sleep” my wife groans.

THE BENEFAKTOR

9 October 2023

Snip. Stick. Sounds dynamic, and precise doesn’t it.

In reality, progress this weekend has been glacial (at their pre-global warming pace) and very, very sticky. There is Pritt Stick tackiness everywhere: on my hands, as residue on the little “snips”, and on the previously pristine piece of paper.

I like words. I enjoy their derivations, changing meanings, and confusions.

While stuck (not physically) in my chair this morning I have been thinking about the word “sanction”. It is a word that has a very particular meaning to people navigating the cruelties of the modern welfare state, as I observe on a weekly basis in my volunteering work at the local branch of a national welfare rights organisation. But it has a directly opposing sense in other contexts, with similar contrasts whether used as a noun or verb. Take these definitions of the noun:

1. “a threatened penalty for disobeying a law or rule”
2. “official permission or approval for an action”

Try explaining the differences to somebody struggling to survive after application of the first type of sanction. A person cast adrift in the modern world, yet totally, sometimes seemingly inescapably.  stuck.

In my snipping of GANTOB’s word art (not, I must clarify, a word cloud), I am hallucinating alternatives. How about “sanction” for the negative meaning, and “sanktion” for the positive: reclaiming a word that should be cause for celebration rather than immiseration. I wonder what it would take for that change in meaning to stick.

I almost snip too far, and sometimes lose count. Luckily, I have the numbers to guide me. I dream of a control-Z function for real life. I have spent too much time typing recently.

I am also thinking about numbers. Not financial sums. But number of cuts. And not the 1,000 cuts of Chinese torture fame, but the ~1,500 cuts required to destroy GANTOB’s monstrous creation. Not Destrukting, which applies to something that you probably want to keep but know that you should give up. But Destroying, which involves obliteration or ruinous damage, whether accidental or intentional. I get stuck back in, the end in sight.

The resulting artefact will be very difficult to reproduce, and a gallery would struggle to preserve it. It is paper on paper, in three dimensions, plus a grotty layer of clotted glue, skin cells and the occasional hair. A prize for one lucky winner to stick on their wall.

THE BENEFAKTOR

8 October 2023

Yesterday’s blog (DUOS) was meant to be followed by a period of collaboration between GANTOB and me. An unemployed salesperson in the Highlands and a retired elderly clergyman in Edinburgh: an unlikely duo.

But GANTOB is not a team player. She has quite clearly been on solo manoeuvres. Yesterday she made three posts from our shared social media accounts, without prior agreement. They were titled: KORREKTIONS, KWALITY CHECK and INKOMPLETE KAOS.

A letter that I received last night, “personal delivery” but without any direct interaction, explains more. I have followed the instructions.

Dear Benefaktor,   I have enclosed a reworking of the Curt Finks exclusive that we sent to recipients of the book. This is the so called “nested re-enactment” that we alerted recipients to on the packaging. Now that copies are arriving with applikants around the world, it is time to share this more widely. I have adapted it to share on social media.   I was keen to incorporate a sense of confusion, revelation, and considered reflection. Like vinyl “crate digging”, but in words. I also wanted to learn from my mistakes. You will remember the horrors of cutting these up into 400 words for the book packages. It almost broke me. You fudged it. I found little fragments of paper – with a number and word on either side – all around The Manse for days afterwards. Some packages must have been incomplete. I have therefore built in some checks. I am keen that this is a team effort. I will share a photo of the enclosed sheet on social media, explaining the rules and asking for people to answer one question: What was the year? I will email you a high-resolution version.   We need to demonstrate shared purpose with GANTOB followers. Therefore, I ask you this weekend to chop up the original – imagine a slow-motion Banksy-inspired contraption (Kultural Vandalism?). Do this in numerical order: chop, stick; word by word.   Applikants have until 23:23 on Monday 9/10/2023 (their time zone) to complete the task. As you know, that is the birthday you would have shared with John Lennon (83 years ago for you both). I am staying in Edinburgh currently, flat sitting for my son. I will visit on Monday to give you a card and sign the completed story. This will be the first artistic output of the GANTOB/ Benefaktor duo. And the prize for one lucky winner.   Yours, GANTOB

THE BENEFAKTOR

7 October 2023

Today GANTOB has suggested that I fulfil my commitment to unpick another JAMs/ KLF track this week.

Rather in the style of Cerys Matthews on her insightful show with Jeffrey Boakye, I am going to take a couple of goes before I make my choice. I worked my way through the tracks on JAMs LP Who Killed The JAMs?” (early 1988), in the order dished up by YouTube.

I thought initially about Prestwich Prophet’s Grin, because I was intrigued to read about a new seer, but it led down a blind alley. I did like the alliteration of “read rock rags”, even though I initially assumed it was fashion advice for musicians until I saw the spelling.

Then I wondered about Porpoise Song with its mention of Jack London (I enjoyed White Fang, though am more of a cat person) and fishing references (Buckie and Macduff). I found myself again imagining that there were two Clydeside rappers, moving from the softer spoken to the more raucous with the line “The porpoise is a mighty beast”, and mention of the banks of the Clyde. But on reflection it is clearly still Drummond (King Boy D) himself as he repeats the porpoise’s instruction to “Claim your crown and join the JAMs”.

I was interested in the reference to “Old Bailey’s bank” and did some searching. It appears to be an oceanographic geological feature rather than a depository for money. But the link from The Edinburgh Geologist (issue 33, 1999) I have just shared piqued GANTOB’s interest.

She noted the references to Drummond Place and a Professor William A.S. Sarjeant, who I believe shares his name (but not the spelling) with the guitarist in a band that Drummond once managed. Could there be a connection?

I did some searching myself, and found that a completely different Porpoise Song was also released by The Monkees, a band that even I am familiar with. Though no apparent musical connection between the tracks, I note that The JAMs mention monkeys in their song, and The Monkees on their track have: “sings of castles/ And kings and things that go/ With a life of style” (Goffin and King).

GANTOB tells me that Porpoise Song is something of a Pet Shop Boys pastiche (another duo from that era), before pointing me to The KLF’s Kylie Says To Jason, which is the track that I have chosen to discuss.

THE BENEFAKTOR

6 October 2023

We heard in an earlier blog (QUANTUM TWO) that quantum entities have a relationship with the physicist observing them. They are slippery, unknowable. Unlike a Suguru, one cannot “solve” them by piecing together the information that you know and deducing the rest. Just when you think you know how it will behave, its location, it has shrugged off one identity and, pantomime style, it’s behind you, wanting to be seen.

Writing these words after over a month of interactions with GANTOB I realise that these words could be about a number of “characters” in this unfolding saga:  

1. When I started writing this post I was thinking about the paper plane – the missive that GANTOB launched, and which hit me in the spot where I have had two TLA treatments over the years: 5FU and PDT. To translate, that is two three letter acronyms (but not the TLA that you are interested in): a cream containing 5-Fluorouracil and photodynamic therapy. That certainly catalysed the meeting between GANTOB and me, though there were already forces drawing me towards Badenoch as we shall find out. Now that the plane’s job is done, it is a dried out and dusty husk, filed in a plastic sleeve in my GANTOB folder. But before that it was a dynamic and elusive presence.
2. Then of course there is GANTOB, who I have met briefly over two rather uncomfortable meals at The Manse. She was charming by email: though known only by her book’s acronym and a vague location, she was responsive, communicative, warm and empathetic.  But in person she was impossible to pin down, avoiding all discussion that could have led to a fuller discussion about all things grapefruit related. And since then, her husband reports, she has retreated into her room, armed we believe with scissors, a sheaf of paper and a Pritt stick, communicating only by text message.
3. But the elephant in the room is surely The KLF themselves, AKA The JAMs, K Foundation, One World Orchestra, or solo as Local Psycho, a local artist, The Elderly Gentleman, and any number of other guises perhaps. We can identify the two individuals, describe them, talk to them. Sometimes they are even seen together looking almost normal, relatable. But together, and “in the zone”, they have no orbit and are impossible to predict.

I am, I think, the only dependable character in this tale.

THE BENEFAKTOR

5 October 2023

23 August 2023: Continued

Yesterday’s blog ended with me picking up a piece of litter, that we now know was a GANTOB pamphlet plane.

Meanwhile, GANTOB (the person) was having a terrible day in south Kent.

Now, if this were a piece of fiction, The Observer, until recently perched on top of a taxi in Edinburgh, would disappear in a puff of feathers and mites, only to materialise in Folkestone.

But the truth is stranger than that. You may be familiar with the concept of quantum entanglement. It is “a bizarre, counterintuitive phenomenon that explains how two subatomic particles can be intimately linked to each other even if separated by billions of light-years of space”. Or even between Edinburgh and Folkestone.

To avoid “spoilers” I will not go into too many details at this point about GANTOB’s terrible day. See pamphlets 15 and 20 (the latter in Kompanion Volume) which are in the process of being uploaded to The KLFRS GANTOB page.

GANTOB printed 10 pamphlet planes, all on cheap office paper for buoyancy. They were produced to promote GANTOB (the project). My contention is that, as with subatomic entities, larger objects can also become entangled across a considerable distance. Not interstellar distances, but because they were produced in a single action, e.g. from the same printer, paper and ink, with identical wording. To support my claim, I would just say that even grapefruit are just a collection of molecules, which are simply bonded atoms, themselves presumably made up of gazillions of subatomic particles.

I think that there is documentary evidence of the entanglement of pamphlet planes. GANTOB took particular care to document her pamphlet plane performances in videos and photographs on 23 August. We see planes malfunctioning – slicing off to the left or plummeting into the sand. And we see GANTOB admitting defeat and instead holding a plane against the Harbour Arm in an attempt to reproduce some Bill Drummond inspired graffiti. We do not have times for these activities, but conversations with GANTOB suggest that they occurred at around the time the Edinburgh plane made its descent onto my head. Job done, connection between GANTOB and me made, the rest of the planes are superfluous and “fail”.

What I do not know, though perhaps The Ornithologist can help, is whether the birds in GANTOB Folkestone videos are herring gulls (like The Observer perhaps) or Folkestone’s famous Mediterranean gulls.

THE BENEFAKTOR

4 October 2023

13 August. The Observer was in a flap. A new entity had arrived in its domain, sucking up all the surrounding energy. It had been deposited by a middle-aged female human, mid-afternoon.

On the human’s first attempt to launch the object The Observer had watched from a distance as the wind blew it up into the air, crashing back onto the pavement. As the human crossed the road, dodging the tourists with their cameras and rucksacks, she refolded the object in an attempt to make it more aerodynamic. Launching it again, however, the object failed to pick up a thermal and bombed onto a ledge of the bridge, lying wanly on its side, out of reach of everybody but the birds.

After a while watching from a window ledge on one of the human cliff faces, The Observer glided down to sit beside it, turning its head on its side in welcome, checking out the competition. There was no struggle, but also no eating on it. It was like a food wrapper, but without the lingering benefits. It lay there, sheltered from the prevailing wind, occasionally soaked, but then drying out despite the lack of sun in this shaded spot.

23 August: The Observer had forgotten about the new entity. It was enjoying the air currents, flying backwards and forwards under the bridge, listening to the buses above and the tourists’ wheeled suitcases below.

There were two elderly male humans, in plain black plumage, making their farewells. One tapped slowly up the steps to Waverley, the other gathering pace as he walked in the direction of Leith. He stopped suddenly, leaning his briefcase against the wall of the bridge, and loosening his outer layers. He removed a square of cotton from his jacket pocket and, after unfolding it carefully, shaking out some fluff, he dabbed at his forehead, lingering at a scab at the top of his head.

The Observer had flown its circuit under the bridge a dozen times, taking things in, quite relaxed by the rhythm of the tall male human’s gait. But on its next loop back towards Waverley Station, The Observer veered suddenly off course, aware of a threat incoming from above. It took evasive action, landing on the roof of a parked taxi. Hawkeyed, The Observer watched as the elderly male human bent down to pick up what The Observer recalled was a disappointing wrapper.

THE OBSERVER

3 October 2023

Continues…

GANTOB tells me that Bill Drummond has been known to write about ley lines. Here is his off-the-cuff response to a journalist in a 1981 quote: “It is the interstellar ley line. It comes careering in from outer space, hits the world in Iceland, bounces back up, writhing about like a conger eel, then down Mathew Street in Liverpool where the Cavern Club – and latterly Eric’s – is”. Later in the piece (written in 2013) he identifies a specific manhole as a “gateway between the known, out-there physical world and the unknown, internal, imagined world”.

I am not sure if Calton Road has a manhole cover at the point where I first encountered GANTOB’s paper plane.

I am intrigued by Bill Drummond’s telescoping of ideas from interstellar ley lines to the internal workings of the mind. It reminds me of a book by Carlo Rovelli called Helgoland (2021). Rovelli covers a wide range of topics, from wave-particle duality to the relationships between quantum entities and the scientists studying them (the observer changing the behaviour of what they are observing), and ultimately between objects themselves. It is a disorientating read.

I think that I prefer Philip Pullman’s take on the topic in His Dark Materials, a trilogy of books that I noticed that GANTOB mentioned in her book (but in the context of the pain of being separated from one’s KLF collection). In these books Pullman writes about a material called Dust at a number of levels, but in each iteration it appears to be a sentient entity, guiding decisions, answering questions.

And that takes me to the scientific mysticism attempted by Jimmy Cauty with his standing stone project Local Psycho and The Hurdy Gurdy Orchestra. In an extraordinary claim that can only, I suppose, have come about via quantum physics, they state that “In a ceremony on Mayday the Hurdy Gurdy Song was embedded into the stone, playing it directly into the rock using powerful transducers”.

I think about this as I peer into the nooks and crannies around Calton Road, under Regent Bridge. With such outlandish assertions by Drummond about ley lines, and Cauty about encoding a standing stone with sound, is it so fanciful to read significance into the spot where I encountered GANTOB for the first time? And if so, who is who, which is which? GANTOB the particle? The Benefaktor the wave? And who is observing?

THE BENEFAKTOR

2 October 2023