Recently came to my notice that the Taliban are covering their tanks in a thick layer of dope plants because of marijuanas heat screening properties.
Weed tank..Thats scary.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Guy and madge slob
Madonnas recent child procuring exploits remind me of the Harry Enfeild " The Slobs" sketch where Waynetta tells Wayne; "But I wanna li'il brahn baby, jus like the other girls on the estate".
Fucking white trash all.
Fucking white trash all.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Stage presence
Last week I had the privilege of interviewing Barry Adamson, King of the soundtrack genre.(The interview will be published on the Big City Redneck site and in hardcopy early November).
Having followed the mans work for most of my life, and seen him live more than once, I anticipated the dark charisma, the lounge lizard criminal charm.
What I encountered was just that, very friendly, but despite his easy, affable manner his was a presence that was nothing short of astonishing in its dimensions.
Experiencing this dark wit, and measured, unassailable cool whilst I fidgeted with my cigarettes and notes, sweating like an Alabama rapist, it occurred to me how much physically larger he appeared in person than when I had seen him onstage.
Onstage Barry is a fairly solid guy with a shaved head looking like he stands at about six foot. Stage presence? -Of course. Cool? -Oh yeah.
But sat behind a table in a cafe in Notting Hill he seems particularly HUGE.
I racked my little mind for a while....Surely a stage exists for the purpose of elevating, lighting correctly, and presenting /projecting an "act"? Surely the five men stood behind him bolstered his presence somewhat? And the music?
Arn't "performers" supposed to look bigger ON stage?
I think I witnessed a role reversal. And gained a bit of insight into the performer/ audience relationship.
On Tuesday night he was facing the two thousand eyed monster of which I was a part.
Psychic vampires all. Consumers.
But today I was the rabbit in his headlamps.
I'm fucking glad, in fact, that I didnt let my ridiculous presuppositions apparrant. Had I done so I fear I would not have elicited such a freindly response.
And It was supposed to be me interviewing him...
Afterwards he said he liked my questions, (yeah, I bet he says that to all the girls) and that he appreciated not being asked about Nick Cave.. He said that when interviewers ask him that, he replies; "well, the last time I saw Nick he had a moustache"..
I am now going to go and force bamboo splinters down my fingernails for a little while to remind me not to be such a barely concealed fanboy. Whilst feeling fairly smug for giving a reasonable account of myself.
"It may have been my mission but it sure as hell was his damn boat" Capt. Willard.
"Apocalypse Now".
Having followed the mans work for most of my life, and seen him live more than once, I anticipated the dark charisma, the lounge lizard criminal charm.
What I encountered was just that, very friendly, but despite his easy, affable manner his was a presence that was nothing short of astonishing in its dimensions.
Experiencing this dark wit, and measured, unassailable cool whilst I fidgeted with my cigarettes and notes, sweating like an Alabama rapist, it occurred to me how much physically larger he appeared in person than when I had seen him onstage.
Onstage Barry is a fairly solid guy with a shaved head looking like he stands at about six foot. Stage presence? -Of course. Cool? -Oh yeah.
But sat behind a table in a cafe in Notting Hill he seems particularly HUGE.
I racked my little mind for a while....Surely a stage exists for the purpose of elevating, lighting correctly, and presenting /projecting an "act"? Surely the five men stood behind him bolstered his presence somewhat? And the music?
Arn't "performers" supposed to look bigger ON stage?
I think I witnessed a role reversal. And gained a bit of insight into the performer/ audience relationship.
On Tuesday night he was facing the two thousand eyed monster of which I was a part.
Psychic vampires all. Consumers.
But today I was the rabbit in his headlamps.
I'm fucking glad, in fact, that I didnt let my ridiculous presuppositions apparrant. Had I done so I fear I would not have elicited such a freindly response.
And It was supposed to be me interviewing him...
Afterwards he said he liked my questions, (yeah, I bet he says that to all the girls) and that he appreciated not being asked about Nick Cave.. He said that when interviewers ask him that, he replies; "well, the last time I saw Nick he had a moustache"..
I am now going to go and force bamboo splinters down my fingernails for a little while to remind me not to be such a barely concealed fanboy. Whilst feeling fairly smug for giving a reasonable account of myself.
"It may have been my mission but it sure as hell was his damn boat" Capt. Willard.
"Apocalypse Now".
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Message to solipsistic twitterers with God complexes;
THE CENTRE OF THE UNIVERSE IS A VERY CROWDED PLACE.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Daedelus and Theseus..Rising and Falling.
As a child of seven or eight years, I had awful nightmares...
Possibly caused by the coctail of drugs that were at that time prescribed/ administered for asthma.
I.V ephedrine, amynopheline and adrenaline.
The doctor would visit in the small hours, my mother hysterical, myself turning a heavenly blue, and administer the injection (as I was basically asphyxiating too badly to use an inhaler) then leave the room, turning off the lights as he left.
I would lie there in the dark, listening to my own heartbeat.
Many nightmares followed, but one of the most terrifying involved me (presumably in the role of Theseus)in the Minotaurs labyrinth, tunnels that were contained by walls composed of stringy copydex phlegm like/ glue like strands..Lit intermittently by a sickly orange cough syrup glow emitted by large pieces of Amber set into the walls..I followed the thread.Always anticipating with mortal dread my confrontation with the monstrous minotaur.
The anticipation.
The Athenian Daedalus, son of Metion and the grandson of Erechtheus , was a famous architect, inventor, and craftsman. Among his inventions and creations were the wooden cow he constructed for the queen Pasiphae, the Labyrinth at Knossos, artificial wings for himself and his son Icarus, and he was even said to have invented images.
Daedelus's homeland was Athens. For a short time, his apprentice was his sister's son Perdix. When Daedalus feared that the boy would surpass him in talent, he murdered the boy by tossing him from the Acropolis of Athens. He was then tried at the Areopagus and banished from the city.
He fled to Crete, where he began to work at the court of King Minos and Queen Pasiphae, in the magnificent palace of Knossos. There he constructed a wooden cow for the queen to hide in to satisfy her amorous longings for a white bull sent by Poseidon, and by which she became pregnant with the Minotaur.
When the Minotaur was born, Daedalus built the Labyrinth to contain the monstrous half-man, half-bull. For years Minos demanded a tribute of youths from Athens to feed the creature. Eventually, the hero Theseus came to Crete to attempt to slay the Minotaur. Ariadne, daughter of Minos and Pasiphae, fell in love with Theseus and asked Daedalus to help him. Daedalus gave her a flaxen thread for Theseus to tie to the door of the Labyrinth as he entered, and by which he could find his way out after killing the monster. Theseus succeeded, and escaped Crete with Ariadne. Minos, enraged at the loss of his daughter, shut Daedalus and his son Icarus into the Labyrinth.
To escape, Daedalus built wings for himself and Icarus. They successfully flew from Crete, but Icarus' wings melted when he flew too close to the sun, and he drowned in the sea. Daedalus buried his son and continued to Sicily, where he came to stay at the court of Cocalus.
Minos then went in pursuit of Daedalus, hoping to trick the great inventor into revealing himself. At each city he visited, Minos offered a reward to whomever could thread a spiral seashell.
Eventually, Minos came to Camicus in Sicily and presented the contest at Cocalus' court. Cocalus knew of Daedalus' talents, and gave the shell to him. The clever Daedalus tied the string to an ant, place the ant at one end of the shell, and allowed the ant to walk through the spiral chambers until it came out the other end.
When Minos saw that someone had solved the puzzle, he demanded that Cocalus surrender Daedalus.
Cocalus promised to do so, but he persuaded Minos to take a bath and stay for some entertainment. Minos agreed, and was murdered by Cocalus' daughters.
Possibly caused by the coctail of drugs that were at that time prescribed/ administered for asthma.
I.V ephedrine, amynopheline and adrenaline.
The doctor would visit in the small hours, my mother hysterical, myself turning a heavenly blue, and administer the injection (as I was basically asphyxiating too badly to use an inhaler) then leave the room, turning off the lights as he left.
I would lie there in the dark, listening to my own heartbeat.
Many nightmares followed, but one of the most terrifying involved me (presumably in the role of Theseus)in the Minotaurs labyrinth, tunnels that were contained by walls composed of stringy copydex phlegm like/ glue like strands..Lit intermittently by a sickly orange cough syrup glow emitted by large pieces of Amber set into the walls..I followed the thread.Always anticipating with mortal dread my confrontation with the monstrous minotaur.
The anticipation.
The Athenian Daedalus, son of Metion and the grandson of Erechtheus , was a famous architect, inventor, and craftsman. Among his inventions and creations were the wooden cow he constructed for the queen Pasiphae, the Labyrinth at Knossos, artificial wings for himself and his son Icarus, and he was even said to have invented images.
Daedelus's homeland was Athens. For a short time, his apprentice was his sister's son Perdix. When Daedalus feared that the boy would surpass him in talent, he murdered the boy by tossing him from the Acropolis of Athens. He was then tried at the Areopagus and banished from the city.
He fled to Crete, where he began to work at the court of King Minos and Queen Pasiphae, in the magnificent palace of Knossos. There he constructed a wooden cow for the queen to hide in to satisfy her amorous longings for a white bull sent by Poseidon, and by which she became pregnant with the Minotaur.
When the Minotaur was born, Daedalus built the Labyrinth to contain the monstrous half-man, half-bull. For years Minos demanded a tribute of youths from Athens to feed the creature. Eventually, the hero Theseus came to Crete to attempt to slay the Minotaur. Ariadne, daughter of Minos and Pasiphae, fell in love with Theseus and asked Daedalus to help him. Daedalus gave her a flaxen thread for Theseus to tie to the door of the Labyrinth as he entered, and by which he could find his way out after killing the monster. Theseus succeeded, and escaped Crete with Ariadne. Minos, enraged at the loss of his daughter, shut Daedalus and his son Icarus into the Labyrinth.
To escape, Daedalus built wings for himself and Icarus. They successfully flew from Crete, but Icarus' wings melted when he flew too close to the sun, and he drowned in the sea. Daedalus buried his son and continued to Sicily, where he came to stay at the court of Cocalus.
Minos then went in pursuit of Daedalus, hoping to trick the great inventor into revealing himself. At each city he visited, Minos offered a reward to whomever could thread a spiral seashell.
Eventually, Minos came to Camicus in Sicily and presented the contest at Cocalus' court. Cocalus knew of Daedalus' talents, and gave the shell to him. The clever Daedalus tied the string to an ant, place the ant at one end of the shell, and allowed the ant to walk through the spiral chambers until it came out the other end.
When Minos saw that someone had solved the puzzle, he demanded that Cocalus surrender Daedalus.
Cocalus promised to do so, but he persuaded Minos to take a bath and stay for some entertainment. Minos agreed, and was murdered by Cocalus' daughters.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
My naked city
Futher back, and faster...
Early eighties now when my job was to stand with a couple of Italian girls outside West End clubs and entice passing innocents inside...
I looked like "A faggy little leather boy",(Stones; "Memo From Turner")Nilsen bait, with my Billy Idol hair and the girls slutty but sleek..
About two I would go into the club and get fucked up on the drink tokens and speed we were for the most part paid in.
I would then spend the remainder of the night, until about 5 am alternately grinding my hips and teeth.
At five I would go hang out in a park or square for an hour, then when it opened around six I would get onto the circle line and go round about four times for some sleep.
Yeah, I was effectively living on the tube..For my hygiene and food I would rely on the kindness of homosexuals and women..
At that time there was a guy loose on the underground, stabbing people at random.
People were afraid.
One late night underground train ride to "work", and I'm sitting in an empty carriage when a big quater caste guy gets on.Dressed wierd..
The carriage is empty but he sits NEXT to me.. Examining me..
Then I see it...A hospital bracelet on his wrist..Not a good sign.
It had been posited that our stabber was a mental hospital escapee.
At the time (Laugh at will here...Oh the visscitudes of fashion) I wore a cascade of cheap bangle things on my wrist..
My travelling companion is eyeing them intently.
Finally it speaks.. "They silver?" he says..
"Nah mate, stainless steel", I reply.
He makes a quarter turn and looks me in the eye. "Youre lucky", he says, "'cos if they were I'd have your hand off"...
I never believed anyone so absolutely in my life.
The doors were closing so I leap up and fling my skinny frame through the gap , and walked the rest of the way out West feeling luckier than I had done for months.
Early eighties now when my job was to stand with a couple of Italian girls outside West End clubs and entice passing innocents inside...
I looked like "A faggy little leather boy",(Stones; "Memo From Turner")Nilsen bait, with my Billy Idol hair and the girls slutty but sleek..
About two I would go into the club and get fucked up on the drink tokens and speed we were for the most part paid in.
I would then spend the remainder of the night, until about 5 am alternately grinding my hips and teeth.
At five I would go hang out in a park or square for an hour, then when it opened around six I would get onto the circle line and go round about four times for some sleep.
Yeah, I was effectively living on the tube..For my hygiene and food I would rely on the kindness of homosexuals and women..
At that time there was a guy loose on the underground, stabbing people at random.
People were afraid.
One late night underground train ride to "work", and I'm sitting in an empty carriage when a big quater caste guy gets on.Dressed wierd..
The carriage is empty but he sits NEXT to me.. Examining me..
Then I see it...A hospital bracelet on his wrist..Not a good sign.
It had been posited that our stabber was a mental hospital escapee.
At the time (Laugh at will here...Oh the visscitudes of fashion) I wore a cascade of cheap bangle things on my wrist..
My travelling companion is eyeing them intently.
Finally it speaks.. "They silver?" he says..
"Nah mate, stainless steel", I reply.
He makes a quarter turn and looks me in the eye. "Youre lucky", he says, "'cos if they were I'd have your hand off"...
I never believed anyone so absolutely in my life.
The doors were closing so I leap up and fling my skinny frame through the gap , and walked the rest of the way out West feeling luckier than I had done for months.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Coshadelic
Memories of a mis -spent youth surface ..In the mid eighties I was stumbling around the post punk squat scene in N.E London..Shooting speed.Pink hair..Often barefooted...Making a nuiscance of myself.
One night we had to get from a squat cafe in Islington back to Hackney...
Loaded on LSD, we decided it would be a good idea to jump (evade) a minicab fare.
With us was a guy from my school, call him Andrew Heels..From a grotesque and infamous Irish Catholic family with an unhealthy interest in each other. (One of the brothers had done time for messing with his kid sister...At school we used to sing; "The Heels are alive, with the sound of INCEST".But not to his face ..)Horrible fucking youth he was with a pre-Mullet and heavy inking from the age of 12.A bully..White trash, basically.
Somehow this evening he had insinuated himself into our group.
So we get in this cab, five,-two girls.
All of us screaming tripping shambolic, and I look at the driver -a big, swarthy fucker and just KNOW this isnt going to go right..
This was tears before bed-time stuff.
I look at my mate and can see he shares my reservations.Tonto.
Sooo, we drive in silence through the blackness and blurred lights, anticipating the imminent chaos.(Obviously no-one had any money).We are transmitting so much reeking fear I just KNOW this guy's picking up on it.
I light cigarrettes..Act casu.
We get to the Estate and almost before Geoff shouts "go" we explode from the still moving car..
Heels is much the worse for wear vis-a-vis the Acid, and instead of running into the estate, runs off down the road..
Mr Fuck-you-up cab driver in hot persuit..
Some half hour later Heels is at the door.He should be a stretcher case but the fucking idiot does'nt even realise it cos he's tripping too hard.
The guy had chased him down and kneecapped him (both legs, whilst tripping, mind,)with a weighted rubber cosh...The resultant swelling has split the seams of his jeans on one side.This is baffling him...
Oh how we laughed.
One night we had to get from a squat cafe in Islington back to Hackney...
Loaded on LSD, we decided it would be a good idea to jump (evade) a minicab fare.
With us was a guy from my school, call him Andrew Heels..From a grotesque and infamous Irish Catholic family with an unhealthy interest in each other. (One of the brothers had done time for messing with his kid sister...At school we used to sing; "The Heels are alive, with the sound of INCEST".But not to his face ..)Horrible fucking youth he was with a pre-Mullet and heavy inking from the age of 12.A bully..White trash, basically.
Somehow this evening he had insinuated himself into our group.
So we get in this cab, five,-two girls.
All of us screaming tripping shambolic, and I look at the driver -a big, swarthy fucker and just KNOW this isnt going to go right..
This was tears before bed-time stuff.
I look at my mate and can see he shares my reservations.Tonto.
Sooo, we drive in silence through the blackness and blurred lights, anticipating the imminent chaos.(Obviously no-one had any money).We are transmitting so much reeking fear I just KNOW this guy's picking up on it.
I light cigarrettes..Act casu.
We get to the Estate and almost before Geoff shouts "go" we explode from the still moving car..
Heels is much the worse for wear vis-a-vis the Acid, and instead of running into the estate, runs off down the road..
Mr Fuck-you-up cab driver in hot persuit..
Some half hour later Heels is at the door.He should be a stretcher case but the fucking idiot does'nt even realise it cos he's tripping too hard.
The guy had chased him down and kneecapped him (both legs, whilst tripping, mind,)with a weighted rubber cosh...The resultant swelling has split the seams of his jeans on one side.This is baffling him...
Oh how we laughed.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Letter to Paulette (excerpt)...
Thanks for your comment on "Wrapped". You are one of the few people to
have EVER picked up on my duality hang up...It stops me making sound
judgement calls, so I tend (as is my nature) to go to the illogical
extremes, out of frustration. anger and a prenatural gravitation
toward the antagonistic..
What I'm trying to dig now is trinitarianism..An idea that came, I
believe out of the notion of a destructive force, a creative force,
and a unifying (although I'm also digging DIVISION as opposed to unity
at the moment-as every good thing the human race has achieved has come
from individual thought and action, every bad thing from the
collective..Shit- f-in duality again...) force acting as a balance or
mediator between them.
So yeah a trinity, a duality transcended by the fact that in three
the two(male/ female.Or good/evil, for example) are made one by the forces of interaction (love/war) that are the mediators..
That is the expression of the never ending total love/war interaction
between..God /Satan. Good/evil. Waltons/Mansons etc.
Yeah..Trinity baby..
BE the process.
have EVER picked up on my duality hang up...It stops me making sound
judgement calls, so I tend (as is my nature) to go to the illogical
extremes, out of frustration. anger and a prenatural gravitation
toward the antagonistic..
What I'm trying to dig now is trinitarianism..An idea that came, I
believe out of the notion of a destructive force, a creative force,
and a unifying (although I'm also digging DIVISION as opposed to unity
at the moment-as every good thing the human race has achieved has come
from individual thought and action, every bad thing from the
collective..Shit- f-in duality again...) force acting as a balance or
mediator between them.
So yeah a trinity, a duality transcended by the fact that in three
the two(male/ female.Or good/evil, for example) are made one by the forces of interaction (love/war) that are the mediators..
That is the expression of the never ending total love/war interaction
between..God /Satan. Good/evil. Waltons/Mansons etc.
Yeah..Trinity baby..
BE the process.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Ressurrection, maan.
Soundtrack: (Early, s'il vous fucking plait...)Ants; "Christian D'or"
Nice positive (?) quote to set the new tone.....
"All the happiness you get in this world is when you listen to your music. That's it."
Unknown Negro, N.Y.C...
Nice positive (?) quote to set the new tone.....
"All the happiness you get in this world is when you listen to your music. That's it."
Unknown Negro, N.Y.C...
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
F- this...............
Sick of playing to mice with nothing to say, or who talk shit then when they get it back scurry away and hide..
Yeah, computer people..
Every bit as recessive and emotionally stunted as I suspected.
Yeah, computer people..
Every bit as recessive and emotionally stunted as I suspected.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Oh the comedy
I feel like / see a vision of myself as John Cleese playing the chef in the Monty Python "Dirty fork" sketch...
(Head back.Eyes rolling absurdly)"IIIT -MAAKES -MEEE -SOOOO -MAAAD!"
(Head back.Eyes rolling absurdly)"IIIT -MAAKES -MEEE -SOOOO -MAAAD!"
4.45 am G.M.T....Great Massive Thing crawling all over me.
Sountrack; Current 93; "And so this Empire is nothing"..
And what the fuck is all this "BLOG" nonsense anyway?
I thought I talked and pissed people off too much already?
What am I? A toilet wall scrawler?
A whore who gives it away?
Really, I just dont know sometimes..
And what the fuck is all this "BLOG" nonsense anyway?
I thought I talked and pissed people off too much already?
What am I? A toilet wall scrawler?
A whore who gives it away?
Really, I just dont know sometimes..
Monday, September 11, 2006
There's a ghost in my house - I cant hide.
Soundtrack; Current 93 "Imperium"
A man entrusted with the care and maintenence of the most priceless treasures of the Empire puts his hand on my shoulder..He feeds me, entertains my neuroses and soothes me with his truth.
But when I return, cabin fever sets in...
Spirits flit around my tiny flat; applying make up, shooting drugs..
I can hear the bottle singing my name in a dypsomanic nursery rhyme eminating from the fridge..
I can feel the deaths head inked into my arm so many years ago grinning mirthfully.
Feel the collective weight of the lives contained within the five -odd flats above my own bearing down.
I smile internally. Secretly relishing this delicious manic opera.
A man entrusted with the care and maintenence of the most priceless treasures of the Empire puts his hand on my shoulder..He feeds me, entertains my neuroses and soothes me with his truth.
But when I return, cabin fever sets in...
Spirits flit around my tiny flat; applying make up, shooting drugs..
I can hear the bottle singing my name in a dypsomanic nursery rhyme eminating from the fridge..
I can feel the deaths head inked into my arm so many years ago grinning mirthfully.
Feel the collective weight of the lives contained within the five -odd flats above my own bearing down.
I smile internally. Secretly relishing this delicious manic opera.
People
How I loathe the insincere.
I single out for special attention those who can genuinely convince themslves of their earnest belief in -what -ever -it -is they are saying....At the time.
I would like to cleanse thier treacherous souls with fire.
I single out for special attention those who can genuinely convince themslves of their earnest belief in -what -ever -it -is they are saying....At the time.
I would like to cleanse thier treacherous souls with fire.
Letter to Drillbitch (excerpt)..(cos' shes a lady...)
Drugs are just tools that are particularly easily abused due to their mercurial nature...
You can stab yourself in the head with a screwdriver, but (unless you
get very lucky) it wont make you feel "better" whilst you do it..
You can stab yourself in the head with a screwdriver, but (unless you
get very lucky) it wont make you feel "better" whilst you do it..
Friday, September 08, 2006
A Bad Moon
" But you, Zarathustra, you still love and seek out those dark places, like the roots of the pine"
Nietzsche.
Soundtrack;
Whitehouse; "Great White Death"
Why must I actively seek out confrontation?
Is it some kind of parasitic spiritual voodoo that I attempt? Perhaps I aspire to perform some kind of psychic vampirism in which by subjugating other men I can somehow steal their energy-but all that bleeds from them is their pain, rage and hatred, blending with my own into abominably toxic and explosive compounds.
I wake as usual afer less than five hours (after doing a sedation job on myself that would have hospitalised Keith Moon,) horribly alert and lucid yet still drunk and with a head full of pictures of frightened male faces.
No hangover, as usual..No physical damage to my own person (only financial HAHAHA! I care alot....)or any others.
Thankyou, Odin, for protecting myself and others, again (and again).
How? Am I so terrible that I cant even get into a fight? I doubt it..(I am not large in the physical sense, but quite tall and very slim, not unlike a Buchenwald case at times)
The stabbing hand, poised again.
Horrible..
As in HORROR.
And so fucking INFANTILE. Where is cunts sense of decorum?
Some people,( usually male -thankyou for your wasted efforts, Martin..) can see the bloody murder in my eyes and attempt counsel, but a thorn caught in my mind seeks only to terrorise.
I am a terrorist. In the worst sense...
People let me down so I must then seek to let myself and others down even further.
The takedown....
A memory surfaces of the Bishop and myself four floors up on the roof of the studio...Saturated in alcohol as I was, this f-er (one of my oldest and most trusted assosciatess who KNOWS WHICH BUTTONS TO PUSH) points heavenwards to a chimney on the roof edge and suggests that "there is your seat"...I rise to the bait and there I am, crouching, perching like a gargoyle, four floors up, bathed in moons milk.
The moons cycloptic eye looked down- and I realise it was the eye of Odin looking down and laughing as I twist and shout in howling alcoholic lycanthropic deraingement.
Later a taxi driver has the temerity to enquire as to whether I have the money for my ride(??I am wearing an H Boss suit??) as I get into his vehicle and after a breif interaction his glasses are removed and destroyed.
The memory disagrees with me like an undigested meal but I feel no remorse.
Not for him or any of the other cattle that got hit(not physically) with my electric stick last night.(except perhaps Camille (sorry, sweetheart..People like me go with the territory of tending bar), although as a rule when I run on Ethyl autopilot women are generally spared the worst of it, they just get to watch a man raised by women behaving like a beast (in a vain attempt to escape the pain of being a man)).
Seems so apt that I get up and drink bitter lemon from the fridge.No milk for strong sweet coffee here..
Quinine is said to sooth Malaria...Mal Aria...Bad Air.
The beautifil and mistreated Hotsygirl phones and offers to take me out for coffee.
Her words are cool hands on my feverish brow...
I weep at her kindness.
After describing the degree of distress I am in she says she is coming over..She lives just round the corner....
I wait..Hurting..Needing coffee, food...
FIVE hours later (I exaggerate not) she finally graces me with her presence, arriving smiling, at my door..
When I mention that I was intending, upon posting this, to go out alone having waited half the day she takes a call from her girlfreind outside then disappears.
When I wtf call her she says "you pissed me off"...
I am now seeing a side to her that EVERY person I have EVER met who knows her (obviously many in the Biblical sense)and has warned me of, that she is the most terrifyingly self centered individual ever to convince herself that she has a fraction of compassion for others.
Who or what exactly does she think she is? (See prev. post for more thoughts on women.)
Libertine? Free spirit?...Monstrous is the word that springs to my mind.
I go out and buy vodka..
I am an alcoholic..And as such I have NO freinds, only contacts..
Otter
Nietzsche.
Soundtrack;
Whitehouse; "Great White Death"
Why must I actively seek out confrontation?
Is it some kind of parasitic spiritual voodoo that I attempt? Perhaps I aspire to perform some kind of psychic vampirism in which by subjugating other men I can somehow steal their energy-but all that bleeds from them is their pain, rage and hatred, blending with my own into abominably toxic and explosive compounds.
I wake as usual afer less than five hours (after doing a sedation job on myself that would have hospitalised Keith Moon,) horribly alert and lucid yet still drunk and with a head full of pictures of frightened male faces.
No hangover, as usual..No physical damage to my own person (only financial HAHAHA! I care alot....)or any others.
Thankyou, Odin, for protecting myself and others, again (and again).
How? Am I so terrible that I cant even get into a fight? I doubt it..(I am not large in the physical sense, but quite tall and very slim, not unlike a Buchenwald case at times)
The stabbing hand, poised again.
Horrible..
As in HORROR.
And so fucking INFANTILE. Where is cunts sense of decorum?
Some people,( usually male -thankyou for your wasted efforts, Martin..) can see the bloody murder in my eyes and attempt counsel, but a thorn caught in my mind seeks only to terrorise.
I am a terrorist. In the worst sense...
People let me down so I must then seek to let myself and others down even further.
The takedown....
A memory surfaces of the Bishop and myself four floors up on the roof of the studio...Saturated in alcohol as I was, this f-er (one of my oldest and most trusted assosciatess who KNOWS WHICH BUTTONS TO PUSH) points heavenwards to a chimney on the roof edge and suggests that "there is your seat"...I rise to the bait and there I am, crouching, perching like a gargoyle, four floors up, bathed in moons milk.
The moons cycloptic eye looked down- and I realise it was the eye of Odin looking down and laughing as I twist and shout in howling alcoholic lycanthropic deraingement.
Later a taxi driver has the temerity to enquire as to whether I have the money for my ride(??I am wearing an H Boss suit??) as I get into his vehicle and after a breif interaction his glasses are removed and destroyed.
The memory disagrees with me like an undigested meal but I feel no remorse.
Not for him or any of the other cattle that got hit(not physically) with my electric stick last night.(except perhaps Camille (sorry, sweetheart..People like me go with the territory of tending bar), although as a rule when I run on Ethyl autopilot women are generally spared the worst of it, they just get to watch a man raised by women behaving like a beast (in a vain attempt to escape the pain of being a man)).
Seems so apt that I get up and drink bitter lemon from the fridge.No milk for strong sweet coffee here..
Quinine is said to sooth Malaria...Mal Aria...Bad Air.
The beautifil and mistreated Hotsygirl phones and offers to take me out for coffee.
Her words are cool hands on my feverish brow...
I weep at her kindness.
After describing the degree of distress I am in she says she is coming over..She lives just round the corner....
I wait..Hurting..Needing coffee, food...
FIVE hours later (I exaggerate not) she finally graces me with her presence, arriving smiling, at my door..
When I mention that I was intending, upon posting this, to go out alone having waited half the day she takes a call from her girlfreind outside then disappears.
When I wtf call her she says "you pissed me off"...
I am now seeing a side to her that EVERY person I have EVER met who knows her (obviously many in the Biblical sense)and has warned me of, that she is the most terrifyingly self centered individual ever to convince herself that she has a fraction of compassion for others.
Who or what exactly does she think she is? (See prev. post for more thoughts on women.)
Libertine? Free spirit?...Monstrous is the word that springs to my mind.
I go out and buy vodka..
I am an alcoholic..And as such I have NO freinds, only contacts..
Otter
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Touch and go..
In todays society the beautiful woman and her conduct is irrefutable proof of the inescapable fascism of nature.
A hot girl or woman will make this painfully apparrant to the most insensitive male.
Just because she can. And probably should.
The north face of masculinity was conquered in the middle of the last century.It is now a health and beauty spa.
Twenty first century gal is an ungovernable force to even the most detatched and hardened male..
She WILL take you down asshole, as is her prerogative, and walk away smiling..
But hey, It's all good, and if you cant stand the heat.....
The dumb ass thinks-with-his-dick male has had it coming for centuries.
Obviously, advances in technology and "civilisation" have rendered our "masculine strength" obsolete in the most terrifying fashion.
Emasculation, you redundant fuck...
We barely have anything to offer in terms of gender. And if we try to excercise any physical authority, well, my deluded friend....
I'll either visit you in prison or offer you condolences in your hospital bed regarding the nine m.m. she lovingly placed between your vetebrae..
Look forward to an army of male neurotics..Supine tarts obsessed with "grooming"..
You did this to yourselves, boys, you made that bed, now lie in it sobbing hysterically and holding your shrivelled cock.
"True force; all the Kings horses and all the kings men"..."Taxi Driver"
"She went through me like a pavement saw"...Big Black.
A hot girl or woman will make this painfully apparrant to the most insensitive male.
Just because she can. And probably should.
The north face of masculinity was conquered in the middle of the last century.It is now a health and beauty spa.
Twenty first century gal is an ungovernable force to even the most detatched and hardened male..
She WILL take you down asshole, as is her prerogative, and walk away smiling..
But hey, It's all good, and if you cant stand the heat.....
The dumb ass thinks-with-his-dick male has had it coming for centuries.
Obviously, advances in technology and "civilisation" have rendered our "masculine strength" obsolete in the most terrifying fashion.
Emasculation, you redundant fuck...
We barely have anything to offer in terms of gender. And if we try to excercise any physical authority, well, my deluded friend....
I'll either visit you in prison or offer you condolences in your hospital bed regarding the nine m.m. she lovingly placed between your vetebrae..
Look forward to an army of male neurotics..Supine tarts obsessed with "grooming"..
You did this to yourselves, boys, you made that bed, now lie in it sobbing hysterically and holding your shrivelled cock.
"True force; all the Kings horses and all the kings men"..."Taxi Driver"
"She went through me like a pavement saw"...Big Black.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Joke for today
"People always ask me about being a christ-killer, and I say; the death of christ? -It was just one of those parties that got out of hand..."
Lenny Bruce.
Lenny Bruce.
The stripper as guardian of the gene pool
Enjoyed the company recently of a lady who shakes her little ass for a living...
An old (our relationship, not her), and very close friend.
Discussing this, we came to the conclusion that her punters, men so wretched they can only get a look at some pussy by paying for it, and who really should, (and otherwise probably would) get a life and try talking to some girls.
Instead they choose to watch hotsy girl then go to the toilet or home to dribble their botched D.N.A and are thus being actively prevented from pissing in the gene pool.
Personally I would issue them all with an O.B.E- One Behind the Ear, that is....
But thanks girls.
I appreciate the importance of what you do.
An old (our relationship, not her), and very close friend.
Discussing this, we came to the conclusion that her punters, men so wretched they can only get a look at some pussy by paying for it, and who really should, (and otherwise probably would) get a life and try talking to some girls.
Instead they choose to watch hotsy girl then go to the toilet or home to dribble their botched D.N.A and are thus being actively prevented from pissing in the gene pool.
Personally I would issue them all with an O.B.E- One Behind the Ear, that is....
But thanks girls.
I appreciate the importance of what you do.
Friday, September 01, 2006
Frost flowers
All pleasures are recieved in pain..
We live and die alone.
And there is NO peace.
No more sleep.
No respite.
I shall march on toward the new ascetecism.
"Still I rise....Who the fuck else? Show thyself!" Barry Adamson.
We live and die alone.
And there is NO peace.
No more sleep.
No respite.
I shall march on toward the new ascetecism.
"Still I rise....Who the fuck else? Show thyself!" Barry Adamson.
Midnight
When I sat down to write it was midnight and the rain was beating on the window..
It was not raining.
It was not midnight.
Samuel Beckett ;"Molloy"
It was not raining.
It was not midnight.
Samuel Beckett ;"Molloy"
In vino veritas......
Soundtrack; "Here Come the Warm Jets"
Alchohol is in my genetic code...I was also bottle fed along with thimblefuls of gin..
I made my friend cry last night.."Each man kills the thing he loves"-"Salo" Bunuel .
When I hurt myself others around me feel pain...Three weeks dope clean and I'm wrapped too tight for London...Viet Nam even.
Last night I ran in a nightmare West One carousel... Red and white tracers in drunken black lights.. The stabbing hand emerges... Barely supressed..
Ethyl alcohol is an icepick of a mistress and should be an activity confined to one's own gender..ie I will now only drink with men....
Er, yeah, three odd weeks clean and I have to screw it down... Achieve some measure of discipline over my thought patterns... To the Northern European Ethyl works well... Except when one (like myself who has poor refusal skills) tries to screw it down too tight...
And, in the manner of an OVERTIGHTENED screw, the thread is stripped...
And the screw starts to rattle....Overloose, dysfunctional.........
Follow the frayed threads here soon...
With thanks to Mikey H.
Alchohol is in my genetic code...I was also bottle fed along with thimblefuls of gin..
I made my friend cry last night.."Each man kills the thing he loves"-"Salo" Bunuel .
When I hurt myself others around me feel pain...Three weeks dope clean and I'm wrapped too tight for London...Viet Nam even.
Last night I ran in a nightmare West One carousel... Red and white tracers in drunken black lights.. The stabbing hand emerges... Barely supressed..
Ethyl alcohol is an icepick of a mistress and should be an activity confined to one's own gender..ie I will now only drink with men....
Er, yeah, three odd weeks clean and I have to screw it down... Achieve some measure of discipline over my thought patterns... To the Northern European Ethyl works well... Except when one (like myself who has poor refusal skills) tries to screw it down too tight...
And, in the manner of an OVERTIGHTENED screw, the thread is stripped...
And the screw starts to rattle....Overloose, dysfunctional.........
Follow the frayed threads here soon...
With thanks to Mikey H.
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