wrapped too tight

Grab yr Gats kids!

2007-12-29T19:14:00.000Z

Boys in nursery schools should not be discouraged from playing with toy guns and other weapons, the government says.
"Although noisy for adults such imaginary games are good for their development as well as good fun"
Beverley Hughes
Children's minister.
I come from a Methodist, working class family, and was from an early age forbidden toy guns. The problem was, that every time my sisters and myslef were taken to the park, every stick we picked up was a submachine gun, rifle or pistol.
It wasn't until we started cutting our morning toast into pistol shapes and capping each others asses with our bread-based firearms that my mother finally and dispairingly capitulated..
Heheheh.

La Luna...For J.Whiteside Parsons.

2007-12-25T21:56:00.000Z

Tabula Rasa

2007-12-23T16:26:00.000Z

Satori via the Jetsons

2007-12-11T15:58:00.000Z

Was speaking to the good Mr T (Lazysnakes old landlord again) about the way that during the 70's "the future" was marketed to us..We would all take holidays on the Moon and zip around in jet-packs enjoying our limitless leisure time.
In fact, the only difference betwen 2007 and the 70's is the internet.
And what the fuck do I find myself DOING with the internet most of the time?
Looking up dumb-ass 70's TV programmes to watch...

Jesus wept...

Ascetecism

2007-12-05T11:40:00.000Z

Stop boozing and smoking.
Unthinkable yet inevitable.

The long way back again. Again.

2007-12-02T04:43:00.000Z

Emerging anew from the darkness of the tunnel I had crawled back into.
Free finally from a long overdue gestation in the foetid maw of the whore whose womb has been my tomb.
No more time submerged and weightless in that dark fremitus.
The caul is now broken.
Cold air fills my lungs once again.

Retribution

2007-11-30T08:36:00.000Z

Returning to health so my mind has turned to evening the score a little..
If two wrongs don't make a right then try THREE.

Still I rise! Goddammit! Who the hell else? Show thyself so that I may be at peace once more!

2007-11-27T03:14:00.000Z

A review I just did for a friend. Just to show I'm still about.
See www.bigcityredneck.co.uk/articles/Barry_Adamson_%40_The_Southbank/69/9/1

Synchronicity

2007-11-22T16:50:00.000Z

punk on the london w-e show
Uploaded by adrien_fournier

Was watching this video, when-check the interval-I realised it was made 31 years ago to the day.

Nothing to see here...Move along now...

2007-10-30T12:55:00.000Z

Of virtually no interest to anyone(as is my assumption)is the fact that I am in a previously unparalelled state of self disgust and contrition..My pathetic inability to deal with my addiction has meant I now have to present myself, temporarily but wretchedly broken at the feet of a govt. agency.

Congressman Bud Dwyer. An American hero.

2007-10-30T09:36:00.000Z

Someone who chose to face death on HIS OWN terms..Instead of years spent rotting away in a stinking cell, he chose the route of the truly heroic and spectaclular, and enriched all our lives.
An inspiration to not enough people.
An act of utter purity and of final truth in a dishonest and tainted world.
Thanks Bud.

Glory glory halleluja, you'll get what's comin to ya...

2007-10-19T09:13:00.000+01:00

No more about the creeping scum-trash that judge,and seek to harm me...Theyre going to get their wagons fixed and, hey..It doesnt make for good blogging.
Thanks to all who stood by me and didnt just think it all the product of a horribly drug-warped mind. It wasnt.
A new day is rising..I feel strong. Stronger than ever.
L.A.M.F.
Otter

When you REALLY stare into the abyss.....

2007-10-14T15:24:00.000+01:00

You get a fit of the giggles...

Doug P.

2007-10-09T10:50:00.001+01:00

God I miss my cat.

Kali help them..

2007-10-07T21:06:00.000+01:00

They have tortured me long enough.
I feel like an animal in a cage that is poked with a stick every time it seeks sleep or any vestige of peace.
I am on the point of a complete breakdown of control over my actions and (already questionable) sanity. Suicide? no. They genuinely seek this end, but I guarantee that if any life is lost, it will NOT be mine.
I am a human bomb that has lain hidden deep in the clay that forms the baisin, the crucible of this city.The stillborn progeny of a Stuka that screamed me into existance...
Now what was for decades a latent, passive energy that would one day corrode into history, once again sits primed, increments away from (I cannot even add the "possible" caveat)inevitable detonation.
Those who would toy with the unstable, understand not the implications of what they have
unearthed.
I sit here..
Ticking.

Watch me.

A confession..

2007-10-07T10:35:00.000+01:00

My confession:Been doing the deca-dance with the gear for a few months..The constant hell Ive been getting from my upstairs neighbours, (who have made it clear they have a camera, f- knows how, on me by delivering a running commentary via the non-existant soundproofing between our flats, on WHATEVER it is I am doing, WHEREVER I may be..) hasnt helped.
My long standing mental health issues have returned, and I expect them to try to use the information they spend ALL their time collating against me.
Even now she's/they are winding me up with whispers that come either from a speaker she dropped into the wall cavity or via the tv or computer speakers.(have to look into this..)
Now, reader, this may sound utterly schizoid but after a conversation with a tech guy from my net provider,it was explained as being utterly and emanantly possible.*
What upsets me is that I have done NOTHING whatsoever to these people that could justify their concerted attempts to ruin my life...
They are justifying it by invoking a flame job I unwisely did on some septic tank (yank)months ago.
However, if they expect shame or embarrassment on my part, they got the wrong bloke.
Started the day with a stiff dose of meth, and look upon the absolutely inescapable prospect of withdrawal with a sense of utter dread.
Also I have financially ruined myself, just to put a fucking cherry on it.
Wish me luck, I implore you.

*Addend..The tech guy at bulldog explained that my neighbours apparrant ability to gethis/her voice to come out of my tv/comp speakers is done by "cracking the freq." apparrantly..

"I have such nightmares, and you're ALL in ALL of them.. D.Tibet

2007-09-24T08:30:00.000+01:00

This is a draft posting I did before those upstairs/I (through tech ignorance) crashed my comp...

The cold black wind blew through my bones last night...First very dopesick one for some time..I stood my ground, ignoring the gurgling of the meth djinn in the fridge trying to force his way out of the bottle and slither coldwarm into my stomach.
Blessed 9am is coming and............I hit the streets to score.
Of course, being a day when it is imperative that I score fast and w/out hass, no-one is about. I ride my mountain bike down through sheets of grey rain, past the peeling billboards on the Caledonian road, down to Kings Cross to make my connection..

No.

2007-09-22T21:18:00.000+01:00

I'm NOT having the "Dont tell me dont" dog slime shit-cunt(see comments "a cornered animal")line thrown at me. Not on these pages..Thats wifebeater shit..(Take it from me, I know. And I speak from observation, not experience).

;-)

2007-09-20T14:52:00.001+01:00

"If I were given the opportunity to start up the next Holocaust, I would definitely have more lenient entry requirements than the Nazis."
M Moinihan

And suddenly the sky blew off....

2007-09-19T12:49:00.000+01:00

.....Millions dead...(Crying) "There was nothing anyone could do.." ..

12:49
Something got to me today..Is this circus REALLY the centre of the universe? It takes exactly the same number of molecules to make up the human body as, in terms of mass, it would take human beings to make up a star...Are we really the at the centre of the vortex? Midway between the molecular and the celestial?
Oh shit.

Demystification

2007-09-19T12:27:00.001+01:00

Dont come round for me unless you got what I want.....

Palindrome

2007-09-19T09:12:00.000+01:00

In girinmus nocte et consumnir igni

"We turn in circles in the night and are consumed by fire"

Beautiful.

Seriously feel at the moment like turning on the gas jets and jumping in a Taxi to Heathrow and then on to Sao Paolo.

They have pushed the wrong person too far.

"Peace? I hate the word" Tibalt , "Romeo and Juliette"

2007-09-19T08:21:00.000+01:00

Couple of thoughts relating to my comments debate(See "a cornered animal")with Ind the peaceful.
1. Nothing ever (really) gets done until someone is prepared to kill for it.
2. I will speak in favour of AIDS, AK 47's, Car crashes, anything that thins out the mass of potential plantfood that walks this orbiting mudball.

Also
My personal war against those in my building who (Literally) stand on moral high ground and throw excrement at my clean laundry..

Revenge;Sweet but not fattening...

Barbaras story.

2007-09-18T10:25:00.000+01:00

Prob. shouldnt divulge but she is well ite of my life now, and never looks at computers.(She was never really in my life, just an acquantance) this is the story of one of the most damaged individuals I have ever met.
She is Italian, and as a teen complained of noises in her ear...Misdiagnosed as Tinnitus,(it was, in fact schizophrenia) some greaseball quack had some kind of implant put in her head..She then shortly after went to see NON/Boyd Rice (extreme industrial noise artist) in Milan which caused this implant to shift and actually resulting in permanent Tinnitus, just to go with her schizoid problems...Doctors eh? Wonderful...
She then moves to London, rents a flat, defaults on the rent so the landlord sends round four black guys to evict her...
Except they dont evict her. They hold her prisoner for five days, raping her continuously in every way imaginable. To hear her recount this tale is beyond heartbreaking.
There is no god.
Or if there is he is a CUNT.

MMMmmmmmethadone..Yum.

2007-09-18T09:15:00.000+01:00

Meth and valium only now..No weed, workin on the booze. Eating, working out a little...
I weakened myself with drugs, fool that I am, and although I should be at liberty to do so,this is the only reason the cunts upstairs managed to cause me any distress.
All change.

"I'm back,I'm back I'm on the attack" etc etc..

2007-09-15T13:42:00.000+01:00

Last post (toooot toot) was a clumsy attempt at the "fake it to make it" ethos.. Works sometimes...
In fact, I just got out of the loony bin (Waterlow, for those in the know), missing a 28 day section by the skin of my dick...My smart mouth saves the day again...
" There's nothing wrong with me, I'm NORMAL" (Chas..."Performance")...
Had the best dream about Paulette...She said something sooo funny ...Can't seem to remember it tho....Something about the photoshopped pic of her on her site where her cheekbones look like.... oh fuck I dunno.Just well strange...Bless her.xxx
Sleep has his house.
Soundtrack: The Jam; "Down in the tube station at midnight"...Thoughts of getting mugged by skins once at Camden Town....

Resurgam!

2007-09-03T18:53:00.000+01:00

RESURGAM!
PEDURABO!
SOL INVICTUS!

A Cornered Animal.

2007-09-01T18:05:00.000+01:00

Give sanity a longer leash..For some of us have sharper teeeth.

"Retrograde attack strategy"

2007-08-31T14:50:00.000+01:00

Is what the Japanese army called/ used as a euphemism for retreat, as no word for the concept exists in Japanese...
Fuck...I displayed my inbuilt and (theres a better (medical)word but I cant be f- to do the Thesaur. Thing..) peurile childish disobediance like a good 'un today... Jesus Christ wept into a bucket.
Oh well, thats me, always crossing the line...Well that was too much and feels like a juncture.

Addend.
"Neotrophy"

Easily pleased, seldom satisfied...

2007-08-30T21:08:00.000+01:00

Met a hot girl yest anyway..Into deviant sex too.. For real..Wears good clothes too..
Said I'd hook up when things are a little more in order.

hoodo that voodoo

2007-08-30T03:16:00.000+01:00

This morning it was some dumb -ass little spear chucker chanting some kind of curse at me in full veiw from the other flat involved in their ridiculous attempts at persecution. I had already put up a 3x return/protection spell so he's fucked...
Tell you th whole story (all the details) soon..

ind

2007-08-29T15:45:00.000+01:00

"Something" stoppin me from publishin yr comments..Nothin personal..

The long way back again

2007-08-29T14:05:00.001+01:00

Started today with some metha and doing the filter collection I hid away from the house after a fuck up yest of comic proportions...I was jus doin a sml hit, but Barbara wanted rock... I capitulated and called her guy to meet me... They tell me to go outside when hes nowhere to be seen, so I'm in and out like a dogs c##k.. Then the dick delivers Brown, not White by accident, so has to return.. He also has to give me change which he forgets, calling for another return visit..
About as subtle as a nine pound hammer... This is of course, immeddiately noticed by the witch hunt, who have their mates hanging around outside (as if that would dissuade me)and a guy in a car who parks up 20 yds in front of me, then when I walk towards him to ask his business fucks off..
This mornin I think, "well fuck any pretence, I just did my filters in plain view..And threw away th trash.
Fini.
Managed to cut it down way faster by reducing my gear habit drastically first, rather than some protracted methadone thing.
People are startin to say I look better ( less ugly as sin?).
Mad Barb is here.. Theres a story in itself. Very damaged.
Odin be with me.
Love under will.
IAO!
SOL INVICTUS!

satori

2007-08-27T20:18:00.000+01:00

I previously thought of myself as a sadistic, amoral peice of shit..But the attack made on me by these cunts is beyond me...I mean, why are these blokes, who dont even know me
prepared to participate in such a concerted campaign? Just fr th smell of narnie? (sorry girls) jesus...
Got the drug thing way more in order. Just meth tmrw..V litttle today.
Got to be strong... (although when derainged its like those women who lift cars off their kids...I have this absurd strentgh to weight ratio which when I am psychotic is multipled by a factor of 20...).

Paranoia will destroy ya...Ind, i need to ask a favour.

2007-08-27T20:10:00.000+01:00

Postings shit at pres.. Am under seige..
Indigo, question for you as lazy is out of town, how are my neighbours upstairs able to transmit sound thru my tv /comp spkrs, block (and i think eavesdrop) my mobile and landline and even f- with my media player(ie-make it f- up) ???

Fr F-s- sake

2007-08-25T21:02:00.000+01:00

Jesus how many times do I have to say it to make it clear..I am not a racist. I hate all races equally, the white perhaps more.
Its just I call a spade a spade. Thats why I get shit.

V for Veinnetta

2007-08-25T05:13:00.000+01:00

The following did contain a letter I was forced to write to the chair of the committee that runs the buildings where my flat is located.
This committee is a cabal of middle class female greybeard cunts who have infiltrated the management.
The vendetta continues,making my every waking hour a nightmare. She has a boyfriend who is, (presumably motivated solely by the smell of her cunt and nothing else as I have never even met the bastard) very technically literate and has managed to infiltrate my tv and computer speakers.
They have thrown shit at my washing as it dries in the garden, have directed high pitched tones into my flat, stolen from my desk through the open window as I slept, squirted glue through my letterbox, and when I check to see if they have glued my locks (Is this Karma for doing it to Barclays in my youth? Dont really think so..)Recruited some local trash who have been hanging around outside my flat..When I double back in suspicion theres more of them, and as they saunter off one of them turns and sez "lets do him anyway" (just try it..Cunt.And I will illustrate the meaning of real harm, from the source...) She, and the rest of the herd also have me down as a racist, which is crap, as everyone who knows me will tell you that I hate all races equally, with the possible exception of the whites, whom I definitely hate more than any other.
They have, through disinformation/gossip sought to turn as many of the local residents againstme, this Nazi (I mean, you can no more be a Nazi than a member of the spanish inquisition, or any other closed chapter of history)
I am absolutely staggered by the time and energy these creeps are putting into this.How boring must it be to watch my dysfunctional, obsessive compulsive, retarded life? Living it is excruciatingly dull....
And why? Was it some long-forgotten noise issue? I really have no idea what I could possibly have done to elicit such a response as to actually transcend what I thought was a fairly solid grasp of the human potential for for vicious, low,disgusting conduct...

(they watch me even now -6am)

First Impressions Count..

2007-08-21T13:06:00.001+01:00

Its one of the basic satanic viewpoints that first impressions DO count, and that you CAN judge a book by it's cover. I always in experience found this to be true. SO, I'm gon try to do something about the rather drab visuals on my blog.
I always eschewed making the thing look like a Christmas tree ( Hi Indi. -Not saying yr blog isn't a thing of unique beauty, or that there's anything wrong with yr writing-..) 'cos it should be about the WRITING, primarily.
In disciplines such as these style can all too easily overwealm content..
Likewise this defining oneself by ones cultural preferences..A process of self definition by asosciation, in terms of others and their actions.
Thats why I have only four films, four bands, four authors etc...Some blogs have soo many favourites/links etc after a while it just detracts.

For anyone interested in my horrible condition...I'm still, as Mr. Christian on the "Bounty" would have it; "In HELL..! Sah!"...
But fuck it..
They cant kill an animated cadaver.
Cant curse the damned.
Cant send a lunatic mad.
"You can't kill kill"; Charles Manson.
"When I BECOME death, death is the seed from which I grow"; W.S.Burroughs.

"You love it, you slag"

2007-08-19T19:28:00.000+01:00

In the words of Crowley; "I have created for myself a discipline more savage and brutal that most could imagine or endure" so Im not going to start bleating or crying..
But I could use a female who is a well versed practitioner of the old ways..

Still living with the English fear....

2007-08-13T18:25:00.001+01:00

Waiting for the Witch Hunt.

I am completely insane. I will never change.

2007-08-13T18:13:00.000+01:00

The shooting stars were good last night, were they not, fellow Londoners?

I feel lethal. A human bomb. A grenade in your car. A razor blade hidden in your soap. Then again in your apple..A streetwalking Cheetah with a heart full of Napalm.

Lost alot of weight recently but muscle tone still very much present..Thank fuck for good white trash mongrel genes..Wiry is not the word. I have the strength-to-weight ratio of a chimpanzee. Actually I'm built more like a Greyhound....And we all know that tortured puppies grow up into vicious dogs........
About to lose my mind and freedom in an explosion of extreme and unprecidented violence.

A Little Help? Please?

2007-08-13T17:57:00.000+01:00

I am under genuine Psychic attack.. Can someone furnish me with some good advice regarding protection and or retribution/reflection back on my tormentors or somesuch..?
I really dont deserve this and have done nothing to justify any of it, apart from being a lifelong authenticated weirdo.
I know the drugs and drink have weakened my psychic defenses (and my physical situation), so to speak, but I'm forced to deal with this factor of the situation on an ongoing basis.
With that in mind, can someone help? I can do that crystals and incense stuff up to a point but preferably w/out......? Help?

Tropical depression

2007-08-08T23:08:00.000+01:00

last.. I cannot continue in this fashion, Oh god let this be the last. Please. The last..It will kill me, my tormentors or both..If she knew my criminal history she would NOT do this.. I am under a state of (at worst)constant seige -theyve nearly got the flaming torches out for me- and at best disapprobrium from the vouyeristic creeping dog slime that now constitute my neighbours. I am too fucking old and tired to continue without a serious re-appraisal of tactics. I know what I must do. Just give me the strength I need to make manifest the changes that must come.
If this hit does not kill me..Or cost me a limb.
I really have every right, under natural law to fasten my huge hands around my bitch-cunt tormentors throat and squeeze. And not let go, to have to be prised off her. She has raped my home of what little privacy it had by hanging out of her/their windows upstairs, I suspect using at least a mirror, maybe a small camera.
I don't know exactly how, but she, (along with the bitch across the alley, with whom she has a system of pan beating and whistling -and no doubt mobile phones) to let each other know if I've just got back, got a glass of water for a hit etc etc can see into most of my flat.She lets me know this by commenting through the paper thin sound insulation on whatever it is Im doing.Getting dressed, having a bong,washing my ass -you name it.. What the fuck does the slut think shes going to see? Me takin a hit is about the most dramatic prospect.. She deserves at the very least to be savagely beaten.
I am now going to hide in a corner like a naughty child in order to take a hit. I survive to continue with this. In the firstfive years or so,as long as you were discreet, people used to leave you alone around here in the past. Now they make your business theirs.
They came into this area 15-20 odd years ago in strength with their money and attendant absence of anything approaching soul, original thought, and have turned my home, and place of birth into a soulless fourth-rate Covent Garden.
In the late 70's-early 80's this was SUCH a cool, and truly bohemian place to live..Art,incredible gigs, proper parties, squatting at its best...Its enough to make me weep. My building is now run by a Camorra of greybeard cunt middle class women.

Purely co-incidentally I find myself eating grapes.. The grapes of wrath? Who’s wrath? Mine.. Its one of my favourite of the ten commandments to transgress. If I get the chance, that is. My biggest concern now is doing the filter unobserved…I guarantee this is of no more than 15% Paraphinalia. I swear, I have looked at this rationally. Not easy, I assure you, but I have a good understanding of delusionality and paranoia through long and painful experience.
I get the filter down in a furtive visit to the bog..Didn’t even notice much…Nowhere near enough to justify the amount of blood and groin abuse involved.
Dont even think about getting on my case over typos, Indigo. Please..Now is not the time.Edit it later..Or not..
Still living with the English fear....
Waiting waiting wai..

The world that summer

2007-07-16T12:47:00.001+01:00

"There is nothing more beautiful or so alluring than self-deceit. In a World full of dead ends there is little to hold onto. One sees oneself in how one stands in relation to others. That can be a lonely picture. Lies, therefore, dominate. Sedge grows in the fen flourishing in the water burning the blood of everyone who touches it. There is no cure. When all seems lost, something unexpected happens. To taint beyond redemption. The World That Summer".
Douglas P.

Reasons for hating the net..No.44

2007-07-15T21:28:00.000+01:00

What I dislike about internet conversations is that any true agility of mind is lost, leaving the road clear for "esprit d'escalier" artists to spend days working on their smart ass responses..Negating an artistry that is a result of half a lifetime of polishing my skills in North London pubs.

Question

2007-07-15T20:24:00.000+01:00

For indigo..Be a gent and have the common courtesy to answer my question as to how you arrived at "proofreading"..
Please dont try to play mind games on someone engaged in traversing the screaming wastelands of nervous breakdown

All pleasure is relief

2007-06-13T12:58:00.001+01:00

Tui's comment pricks my conscience and I feel thus obliged to report again from the grey hinterland of pre-apocalypse Islington..
It occurs to me that Heroin and Cocaine may in fact not produce a "high" (in the classic sense of, say, euphoria)at all, but simply offer an escape of the constant pain of existance..Physical pain, that is, as well as psychological..The pain of occupying what is essentially an unworthy vessel for the human soul. The friction of muscle against bone, the constant pull of gravity on the skeleton, the subtle effects of climatic pressure on the skull..Pain that like the humming of a refrigerator, we are only aware of when it ceases..

Crime and punishment

2007-04-16T09:13:00.000+01:00

This happened a few days ago, thought I might as well throw it to the ether, so to speak, as I'm not convinced anyone reads this poorly attended blog at all anymore..

I went out at about 8.30 last week and opened my door only to find in the alley a little hoodie bastard with both the wheels off my mountain bike..
Naturally, I slapped him around a bit, made him put it all back together,. then D-locked his head/neck to a drainpipe while I tested it.
Two D-lockings later, and having been been menaced with pliers and an axe, hoodie was permanently traumatised and my bike was again roadworthy...
Needless to say, by the time I let him go he was sobbing hysterically and pleading for his miserable life....
Now I understand the kicks the old bill get...

A question..

2007-04-14T20:12:00.000+01:00

Is homicidal joy the diametric opposite of suicidal depression?

Holocaust.

2007-04-14T14:48:00.000+01:00

"I don't know something called International Principles. I vow that I'll burn every Palestinian child (that) will be born in this area. The Palestinian woman and child is more dangerous than the man, because the Palestinian child's existence infers that generations will go on, but the man causes limited danger. I vow that if I was just an Israeli civilian and I met a Palestinian I would burn him and I would make him suffer before killing him. With one hit I've killed 750 Palestinians (in Rafah in 1956). I wanted to encourage my soldiers by raping Arabic girls as the Palestinian women is a slave for Jews, and we do whatever we want to her and nobody tells us what we shall do but we tell others what they shall do."

- Ariel Sharon, current Israeli Prime Minister, In an interview with General Ouze Merham, 1956

Needle Exchange manifesto

2007-04-05T16:51:00.000+01:00

The following pompous and overblown prose is some pr work I did for a freind's band..Remember it's really just a big-up...

A manifesto

NX is;

Essentially a misnomer.Disingenuity. A deliberate act of chicanery.
A question for which no whole answer exists.
Where point meets counterpoint.
A conjunction of Archangel and Antichrist, high the jetstream, soaring above Londons debris.
Chaos and control.
Scars and blushes
A punch and a kiss.
Eros and Thanatos.
Hot tears in cold bedrooms.
Lovers licks and steel toecaps.
The irresistible urge to suck the hand that bleeds.
Where colours, crimson, purple and puce shift in chromatic ballet until dusk turns all to monochrome.
And, in that darkness, surgical steel is run into the centre of your empty heart..
NX…………………..

For Elizabeth

2007-04-03T21:51:00.000+01:00

A long, slender body barely contained by a plastic avocado bathtub. Her nakedness , her long, long, nearly white blonde hair spread in fine soft swirls. Impossibly beautiful.
A dead mermaid.
I loved you once.
Nihil ist...Nihil ist...

new day rising

2007-03-04T09:03:00.000Z

About halfway through my kick,(down to 15 migs)and finally emerging from one of the worst depressions of my life.
Saw Nurse With Wound at RFH last night..Magnificent. David Tibet kissed my hand(???), and upon leaving, we witnessed a full lunar eclipse over the river.
Expect this blog to change in the near future.

L'ennui

2007-01-27T13:51:00.000Z

I finish the junk and lie down on the bed..The creak of my kitchen door in the draught speaks of "Cain's Book" by Alex Trocchi...I imagine its sound to be the stretching of ropes and the shrinking and expanding of the boards that form the inverted carapace of my tugboats hull, moored in the oily harbours of N.Y.C.
I can see why Sterling Morrison was drawn to that urbane, yet solitary existence.

Barry Adamson Interview

2007-01-26T18:55:00.000Z

Wires hum and crackle, and with a tubercular wheeze of my worn-out hard drive an email announces that I shall meet with Harry Pendulum (last of the big time swingers), a.k.a. Mr Barry Adamson in a café on Portobello Road.

For those of you with a sickening void in your cultural makeup, allow me to educate you:
hailing from a part of Manchester where people tend to come from, rather than go to, as a child Mr Adamson consumed the diamonds and detritus of post-modern media with alacrity. Comics, TV and film of every genre, Motown, trans-atlantic soul, jazz, glam, and funk formed a dark melange that would in his future work provide many points of reference.

First making his presence felt in the seminal Magazine with Howard Devoto, he moved onwards and upwards with Nick Cave’s newly formed Bad Seeds. Some staggering songs exist from this period, but the demon flower was yet to truly blossom. Leaving the Seeds during the Your Funeral sessions in ‘87, Adamson broke with the “democracy” of band membership and after a bloody coup, set up his own autonomous zone.

By now a multi-instrumentalist, his first solo album, Moss Side Story was a blueprint, a manifesto describing his preoccupation with celluloid. A soundtrack composed for a nonexistent cinema, it served to introduce the film world to Mr A.

The film work followed. First contributing to Derek Jarman’s Last of England, then sound tracking Carl Colpeart’s Delusion and Alison Anders’ Gas, Food and Lodging - among others - and appearing on the soundtracks to Oliver Stone’s Natural Born Killers and David Lynch’s Lost Highway, Adamson set a standard in atmospherics as yet unmatched. Those of you who are labouring under the misapprehension that you are unaware of Mr A’s work will undoubtedly have been unwittingly exposed to it, gracing as it does various commercials and BBC productions.

After a tortuous bomb-scare disrupted pilgrimage/odyssey by way of foot, train and black cab across town I arrive at Portobello, cartoon commas of sweat exploding from every pore. Here I find Mr A: lounge lizard, raconteur, minister of cool, nursing a coffee in a formica’d backwater and get to ask him what, exactly, is the score?

Join me, dear friend, as I walk a while with the king…

BCR: I hear you studied film in New York. What did you specialise in and to what academic level?
BA: It was a summer school. Basically a kind of get away and learn course for people who were interested in all aspects of film. What attracted me to it was that you could go in there, make a couple of little films and also that you could be part of these teams, where you were the camera man, then you were editing someone else… You covered all the basics. It quite an interesting time, it was sort of starry and exciting. We went to this place in Tribeca which is a building owned by Robert Deniro. And you’d see him in various disguises in the lift. You’d sort of go “Alright Robert! How’s it going?” and he’d stop with his beard and hat and glasses on and then stomp off. But you’d get to screen your films in his screening room, which was very exciting. Being a working class kid from up north going in there, sort of dipping your toe in to the world of proper film making. To what level? I’m not really sure. We’ll see how that plays out.
BCR: I was in New York last year, it’s huge and intimidating really…
BA: Yeah, it is, isn’t it? And they can see it on you. You walk around staring up while they’re picking your pockets.
BCR: Did you have a childhood film or television hero you wanted to be or had a thing about?
BA: I did want my own puppet. To be lie a thunderbird. I wanted to be in Captain Scarlet. I used to have a friend who was a bit weirder than me and he actually had a uniform. He went all the way and appeared one day saying “I’ve done it!” and he was out. He had the whole thing. The light bulb on his shoulder and the microphone that came down… I always wanted to be Captain Black but because of my colour I had to identify with lieutenant green who was the nice guy back at base always going “I think it’s going alright, yeah, it’s going alright”. I wanted Captain Black with the dark circles under his eyes who hadn’t slept in about a year going “This is the voice of the Mysterions”…
BCR: Looking through your previous work, there seems to be a process of coming to terms, a personal journey. In evidence, given the stylings of your previous albums, Stranger On The Sofa seems, in comparison, even given it’s moments of introspection, more documentary, more detached and lighter in it’s tone. Does this mean the King of Cool is warming to the world?
BA: Yeah, I think I’ve sort of settled a few of my Demons... wrestling with demons. I think I decided to take them out for a drink. Therefore I’m a lucky lad, I think, because you don’t really get the chance to do that kind of work in music. I think that’s saved for other areas of art, like abstract painting. People go like “That’s a guy with issues” and then they go off. But I made this the genre I wanted to work in and I was able to put things out that for me meant a certain coming to terms with and a certain putting things to sleep. I think Stranger is the beginning of a kind of work that, still, with an ironic eye, I hope, warm to the world.
BCR: Themes of damnation and degradation, redemption and salvation seem to run though your work, you seem to be evidently a spiritual man. What is, if any, your take on religion?
BA: I’m not a religious man at all. I guess I am one of those guys that think religion is for people who are frightened of hell.
BCR: Do you think it’s been the various trial of your life that has made you Oscar De La Soundtrack as opposed to, say, Geoff Love and his orchestra? Nature or nurture?
BA: I’d like to think there’s a bit of Geoff Love in me at the same time. It’s funny you should say that because maybe in a few years I would have definitely said that… I was watching a thing on TV last night about some guy. He trotted out this cliché about “This is what’s made me the man I am and it would have either been jail, or death or the streets”, and I don’t think that’s true of me. I think it would have been this anyway. And I think I probably would have been Geoff Love, you know, “a little bit more in the baritone there love”... you know. I think the stuff that’s happened to me has perhaps coloured my take. But I think there’s a little bit of Geoff love in all of us. The saccharine end of us. But who you are pulls it back into a context. I’m not going to entirely attribute the “hard knock life” or whatever. I do think there’s various things that are going on. Like upbringing and where you were born and what’s around you… I went back to Manchester recently and I was just so taken. I used to think that individualism was this thing and I was really attracted to the way of the people just by being in the same place. It was quite alarming. I noticed that there are millions of these individual characters but they all had this way about them. And it was the way of the place. It’s the only way I can describe it. I took a bus journey and I went through Moss Side and through town and to the posher places but everyone was the same, they all had this way.
BCR: Do you have that way?
BA: No, I walked away from it, 25 years here. And I think that’s changed my way, it’s made it more diverse. You meet people from Manchester or wherever you’re from and you default. I think I defaulted into that way, 'cos that is the way of them.
BCR: I read recently that you intend to make a film. If so, would you be including any of your characterisations? Would Jeeams Bond, Mitch and Andy or Officer Bentley be making an appearance?
BA: I haven’t thought about it up until now because they’re the guys that, you know… I’ve taken for a drink. Down the local and said you know “Do you want to be a part of this”. But what seems to be happening in the films, certainly in the scripts, is that I’m finding a more external view that’s based on an internally formed thing that I’ve gotten used to as a creative process. So now I’m now able to create characters that are not essentially part of my inner world. But they’re keenly observed. But because of my experience I’m going to direct them in a way where I tell them your particular flaw is this which means that in a crisis you’re gonna do this. And that’s going to create a complex that you’ve got to get out and that’s the point of having a film anyway.
BCR: What kind of genre have you been working with?
BA: Well, I guess, psychological terrors are right up there. I’ve been interested to find myself writing scripts that are set in place like London, Berlin, Paris, Sydney. Places where I had quite intense observational experiences. Because you’re removed from who you are slightly when you go to the other side of the world. You watch. You become an observer; the differences stand out more. And I think the story that I’ve written that’s set in London is pretty much 25 years of that and then a history that comes down the line, Hitchcock and Fanzine and that kind of tradition, set in a modern. The British one is in three languages, which I think is appropriate for now. There’s Polish, Nigerian and English.
BCR: What films have you been affected by recently?
BA: Not many, in truth. I want to be. The odd film maker that bursts through, headbuts me from time to time and goes “Look at this” Gaspar Noe mainly. The French seem to be relentless in their passion of getting stuff out.
BCR: The woman’s voice on Here In The Hole, with its blood curdlingly measured tones belongs to actress Anna Chancellor. How did that collaboration occur?
BA: I actually met her on the street here, I sort of bumped into her. I just sort of said how you doing, blah blah blah. She was getting a ticket on her car and I think I persuaded the inspector to not give her a ticket. We sort of joked about her position in life and we got talking. When it’s sore to read a story of subversion who actually is known for being quite traditionally straight. I heard her read something on radio four which was very warming and I thought how would it be to have that voice tell a tale of paranoia and cloning and future past.
BCR: Who is Officer Bentley?
BA: I’m going to answer that question in a non-specific way, because I’m still asking those questions of myself and I don’t understand sometimes when I open the door and start singing the chorus of Officer Bentley, which is what happened. Then I have to work out, or not if you like, what is going on with this. Various things will filter in. Various ideas about what I’m trying to get at will enter my frame. I’ll start to remember things like… When I was at college I met this guy, got friendly with him, he says “do you wanna do something on Saturday?” I’m like, yeah sure. We met at this place and he was dressed in this full American police uniform from head to foot. I’m seventeen years old, and I’m thinking, what the hell is going on here. I didn’t understand it at all. So some of him was in there. And then there’s my own ideas on discipline and then there’s a slightly twisted sexual thing. There’s that world going on. What I think you do with a character like that is offer it out. There’s a million things you can see. I think one of the things that I’ve found, that I’ve started to enjoy now is now, after all this introspection and coming out and going “I don’t know”, I’ll have a problem with it as much as anyone else. Maybe I don’t have to figure it out and have to reveal. Because the truth is I’m not really sure. Even the other day I heard a record and thought, Oh my god!… That is in Officer Bentley, as a reworking of something that I was quite attached to thirty years ago, in a psychedelic way, its come out. I didn’t realise it was happening. This record says more about the world today, what’s happening now.
BCR: Is My Friend The Fly About gear?
BA: well, that’s the beauty of it. I have never even thought about that for a second. The beauty of it is that you can bring your frame of reference and enjoy in it that way, and say like, I see what’s going on.
BCR: What inspired Whispering Streets?
BA: You’re very clever, you’re very perceptive. It’s actually a letter to the parents of Stephen Lawrence. I’ve never revealed that, and I was gonna reveal it at the Jazz café, but I turned around to the Man and said, we’re not doing Whispering Streets. I don’t know why, but it was my response to the murder of Stephen Lawrence. And I’m not a political man, so I thought to play political would sort of fuck up my fans. “All the lines feed into the idea” and “after I’ve taken revenge I’m the person who walks around with either their head high or hanging”. It has more of a belt to it once you know what it is.
BCR: People whose bodies contain metal implants have often made claims for its telemetric receptivity; the people who (apocryphally) receive radio broadcasts through their fillings for example.
Shostakovitch, who received a nd retained some Krupps steel in the form of shrapnel to his head in ww2 insisted that this was where he received the transmissions that inspired his work. Could you be receiving transmissions to the heart of the pelvis?
BA: That’s very probable actually, very good, well… If I’m not I’m certainly going to blame it all on that from now on. The Six Million-Dollar Shostakovitch Man. It’s very possible. I kinda knew I was going there with that song Set The Controls and now here I am, years later with my middle being made of well....
BCR: The Motorlab stuff… are you intending to do anything along those lines again?
BA: I’m always on the lookout, I guess, my ears are open. It’s not something I do in my every day creativity so I really like it when something enters your mind, this other vista of possibilities. And I also like stuff that I can’t necessarily do myself. I become an excited kid, about the creation thing. Watching Pansonic work, I’m all like quietly myself “Whoaa, that’s amazing…” You know! There’s a few people I won’t mention right now, it’s on the horizon…
BCR: Was this done by sending stuff between studios or did you just sit down with these boys?
BA: Yeah we did, we got together with Pansonic in Iceland and the Haflers remixed it. That was obviously a sending thing.
BCR: Finally, do you have a special plan for this world?
BA: Well, it’s the Central Control Manifesto, flood the world with beautiful creation. ‘Cos I’m that kinda guy… I kept thinking back to the days of punk where you didn’t have a barrier which was like I wanna make this stuff but until I get this amount of money or this company finds me I won’t be able to do. So what happened with me, my own journey, was about going to a shop, buying a coupla strings for my Bass, seeing an advert in a magazine, calling it and getting into it. The same with doing my own stuff now, making Moss Side Story as a calling card to film makers saying I can score films. I am very motivated and I know alot of people where it’s very difficult to get past this thing that’s sort of goes to be a writer you have to have this agent, this publicist, you have to have written ten best-sellers already and then to suggest to someone I really like the way you write, why don’t you write a novel? And they go to what extent? and you go, I’ll publish it and I’ll go off and find out how you publish stuff. I don’t know what part of me that comes from but it’s just become a very enjoyable part of what’s going on.
BCR: Alot of people need to be nudged
BA: You get nudged enough and it spurs you and then you become a nudger.

Waiting for Bardot..

2007-01-25T13:58:00.000Z

...............

Jan 06

2007-01-07T12:46:00.000Z

Rain and methadone.

Marijuarmour

2006-10-18T14:02:00.000+01:00

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.

Guy and madge slob

2006-10-18T13:59:00.000+01:00

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.

Stage presence

2006-10-14T17:25:00.000+01:00

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".

Message to solipsistic twitterers with God complexes;

2006-10-07T09:00:00.000+01:00

THE CENTRE OF THE UNIVERSE IS A VERY CROWDED PLACE.

Daedelus and Theseus..Rising and Falling.

2006-09-27T22:22:00.000+01:00

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.

My naked city

2006-09-20T09:48:00.000+01:00

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.

Coshadelic

2006-09-17T10:39:00.000+01:00

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.

Angel of death

2006-09-16T11:16:00.000+01:00

A special "Heilige" to the late Kimveer Gill.
-"God will pay"....

Letter to Paulette (excerpt)...

2006-09-16T10:50:00.000+01:00

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.

Ressurrection, maan.

2006-09-14T15:00:00.000+01:00

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...

HEILIGE TOD!

2006-09-13T17:55:00.001+01:00

F- this...............

2006-09-13T09:31:00.000+01:00

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.

Sui Amor..

2006-09-12T12:14:00.000+01:00

Fuck I look good today...
Pure sex.

Oh the comedy

2006-09-12T10:50:00.000+01:00

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!"

4.45 am G.M.T....Great Massive Thing crawling all over me.

2006-09-12T04:39:00.000+01:00

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..

There's a ghost in my house - I cant hide.

2006-09-11T21:29:00.000+01:00

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.

People

2006-09-11T15:47:00.000+01:00

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.

Letter to Drillbitch (excerpt)..(cos' shes a lady...)

2006-09-11T11:44:00.000+01:00

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..

Howling across fields

2006-09-08T19:05:00.000+01:00

Publishing a blog is like a dog howling across empty fields....

A Bad Moon

2006-09-08T14:11:00.000+01:00

" 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

Touch and go..

2006-09-05T21:20:00.000+01:00

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.

Joke for today

2006-09-03T00:32:00.000+01:00

"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.

The stripper as guardian of the gene pool

2006-09-03T00:19:00.000+01:00

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.

Frost flowers

2006-09-01T17:45:00.001+01:00

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.

Midnight

2006-09-01T15:43:00.000+01:00

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"

In vino veritas......

2006-09-01T15:07:00.000+01:00

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.