Thursday, 29 October 2009

Mwahaha.

My downloads go at about 1.5 megabytes a second. That means I download films in 20 minutes, easy.

ALL THE WORLD'S MEDIA IS MINE.

Literally I fuckin' stuck the Star Trek movie on to download last night, thinking I'd have it for the next night, went and chatted to flatmates and made a sandwich and then bam it was done. So I watched Star Trek. And it was bloody good. Remember when we all watched X-Men? (*ROOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAARS and gets naked*) Well if I remember correctly we had the choice to watch Star Trek as well and chose against it. Fools I tell thee. Fools. =p

Anyway I pretty much just wanted to brag to Molly that my downloads rinse the fuck out of hers any day even if she's at Merly's. ;)

Whoop whoop! Although I can't watch my downloads now. They're too fast. :L

I wonder if Jacob will make it across the trains. :) Haha. Let's hope so.

Hastings todayyyyy and Dylan Moran on Mondayyyyyy happy happy happy happy happy. :D

Tuesday, 27 October 2009

I remember when we used to take drugs together

...You get tired by the evening
you take your tablets
wash them down with a sip of Kronenbourg
and I think back to Millenium Eve
when we took pills in a Camden bar
climbed up the fire escape at midnight
stood on the roof
flapped our arms like eagles
and talked about infinty.

Wednesday, 21 October 2009

Down With The Kids - Tim Clare

The past is another country
A crap one, like Belgium
Rife with brown-trousered tedium
Where no one sees disasters coming
Where the phones are big as bricks
Where men sleepwalk down aisles with their future ex-wives
Where the only telly is repeats

But don’t slag it off
Cos I was born on those streets
Where my gawky demeanour and penchant for munching
Made my peers jeer ‘Oi speccy! Oi sumo! Oi bumchin!
I heard that the bruise on your tricep needs punching
Now don’t you go dream of amounting to something!
I told you last Tuesday – or hasn’t it sunk in?’
These lads who led lives of fags, football and spunking
Who sat their exams and got straight As – in flunking

While girls deft as surgeons sat squeezing their blackheads
All strung out on burgeoning hormones like crackheads
They used boys like me for their sarcasm practice
I vied for one girl who seemed gentle and kindly
An angel, she’d surely have never maligned me
She’d never go ‘dickhead’ or ‘wanker’ behind me…
Oh the rolled eyes and wrinkle-nosed dry gagging gesture
She did to her friends when I tried to impress her,
As if she’d been licked by some rough-tongued molester
Like Caliban came from his cave to caress her
Or swarms of black locusts had tried to undress her
‘Get back to your books and Nintendo, professor!’

And so I jawed shut
Like a vault
Or a clam
Like a Transformer morphing back into a van

Fast forward
To now
And my ego’s intact
I’ve seen a girl naked
(seen several, in fact)
I keep my achievements impressively stacked
And when I’m a twat, well – it’s part of my act

And one day, I end up in a scene from my dreams
I’m up on a stage and the crowd’s mostly teens
And so mustering all my newfound self-esteem
I think: Right – time to show these kids just what ‘cool’ means

I thought they’d like me
I thought they’d admire me
I thought they’d be inspired
Aspire to be like me like I was some guy off the telly

I thought they might at least smile politely

Oh in my head, how they’d applaud
They laughed and howled and cheered
But in real life I got ignored
Cos they thought I was weird
The youngsters sat there looking bored
They made me feel a crooked fraud
Till something deep inside me roared:
I will not take this anymore-d

Okay, I’m not ‘down with the kids’
So I say
Down with the kids!
Drown ‘em like a sack of philistine kittens!
The kid gloves are off
It’s on
With the man-mittens

I don’t wanna be cool
I wanna be a curmudgeon
I’ll speak at your school
With its fresh dreams to bludgeon
‘The Oxford English Dictionary defines “teenager” as
Buhhhhh! Uhhhh!
Aged 13 to 17
You young minds who sit before me today
Are rubbish
You download your rubbish opinions like ringtones
Scoop rubbish maize snacks into bum-fluff edged gobs
A putrefied mackerel smell wafts from your pissy bits
You lurch between fury, indifference and sobs
Your clich├ęd McHeartbreak, your shrill swine-faced hissy fits,
Your feelings are rubbish
Glum zit-witted yobs
And even if one of you does become an astronaut
The infinite vacuum will press its thumb against your tiny visor
And not let go till you’re a joyless atheist

You still think death is other people

Children
Huge, freakish, ungainly children
You need to think about death more
I remember that I’m going to die
At least five times before breakfast
Which I take at 2pm
In my underpants
Playing Super Mario Sunshine on my Gamecube
While you’re stuck in a classroom that smells of pencils
And what do I have for my breakfast?
Whatever I like!
Pork pies in gravy
And Poppets
And booze
I can eat what I want!
I can drink when I choose!
Oh I think I’ll consume this huge vat of cheap wine
So I’m rat-arsed in time for the 3 O’Clock News.’

So fuck the kids
Well, don’t fuck the kids
But down with the kids!
Get off my lawn!
You’ve never heard of Teletext?
You don’t even know you’re born!
With your wi-mo i-hood my-isode nanos
And ability to hear through the ears in your knees!
No wait
I’m thinking of crickets
Yes…
Crickets
Their chirruping wing strokes as teens sit in judgement
And gag after quip after joke I make tanks
Grip my mic, but I know where they’d like me to stick it
Their faces as hard as a concrete abutment
Their afternoons measured in texting and wanks

So go on, don’t love me! I don’t need your approval!
I’d sooner fork out for a bollock removal
And if you should come crawling back on your knees
Bearing blog hits and Friend Requests begging me: ‘Please!
Without you the whole world is greyer and colder!
Look! Jenny has Tippexed your name on her folder!’
I’ll shake my head slow in the warm changing breeze
‘No,’ I’ll say, smiling. ‘Not till you’re older.’

Ahhhh SLEEP


Got to go... leaflet for the demo... tired... gonna have to discuss politics with strangers... weirdly, I actually sort of hate discussing politics with strangers... but it's for a good cause... personal frailties no excuse etc... ah, I want bed and Frijj and Disney films and jess.

The nazis come to london...


...And London sees them off. :)


Monday, 19 October 2009

GYM GYM GYM

EXERCISE! RAWWWWWWWWR! :)

Sunday, 18 October 2009

Random poster I saw earlier:

NO NEW AVANT-GARDES.
THIS IS NOT PARIS.
AND IT'S NOT 1924.

Perhaps the arty among you will know what they're on about. :)

Don't need no baby, 'cause music is my SMUUUUT

These beats are all I need
I'M A HARD HOUSE SLUT.

Saturday, 17 October 2009

An overheard conversation outside a launderette in New Cross

LAUNDERETTE OWNER: Alright Harry.
STREET SWEEPER: Hallo love.
LO: You 'eard?
SS: Woss that love?
LO: Outside Venue the other week?
SS: No, no...
LO: Some bloke got shot.
SS: What??
LO: Yeah. And then stabbed as well, 'parrently.
SS: Jesus fuck. Some people eh.
LO: Mmm. Well it's all of 'em coming out o' these pubs innit. Pissed up.
SS: Don't ask me! haha. I aint got not theories.
LO: Yeahhhh yeah it is Harry. You mark my words.
SS: *laughing* If you say so.
LO: It's these class tensions innit. Iss the workin' class. They feel downtrodden.
SS: Wot workin' class? hahaha that's the funniest fing ah've ever 'eard.
LO: *laughing* Well you know the working class. You're working class.
SS: That may be true darlin', but we're a dying breed. Disappearin' as fast as the toffs.
LO: But the work must still get done...
SS: Anyway, we can't afford no fuckin' guns. *both collapse into hysterical laughter*

Temporal Strawberries

I'd met her in the park the Sunday before the Monday when it happened. She was curled up on the grass by the big oak tree, our big oak tree, in its shade. I sat down beside her and breathed in the summer air and contemplated things. She didn't move. This was how our meetings always began. She would be there already, I would join her. She knew I was there. We'd sit quiet for a little while. That might seem strange to you but it worked for us. Everyone is in such a rush to say something, anything, that most of the time people's conversation is just vacuous bluster. Not for us. That pressure to talktalktalk just wasn't there for her and me. The contrast was nice, some relief from the usual pace and falseness of the world. There are other methods of communication, in any case.

When it felt right I said to her "It's like you asked. No one knows that either of us are here, I didn't tell anyone."

Her eyes fluttered open and she squinted and blinked in the summer's day light. Mentally, I swooned. She inched forward to rest her head on my lap and said "Thank you" quietly. I bent down and kissed her gently on the cheek. An uninterrupted summer's day with Amber... It was one of those days where life surreptitiously slips you everything you could ever want and it might just as easily fly past without you ever noticing.

I've never been able to just sit by our oak tree, so with a wonderful inevitability I sprang up, knocking the delicacy of the moment, and began to climb. She spluttered laughter and disapproval and stared at me, incredulous from the grass. I grinned down at her.

"But Amber! All joy and beauty is necessarily fleeting! You're an artist, you should know that. Besides, I brought you some strawberries, so you've got to forgive me."

I took out the little box of strawberries from my backpack and watched her eyes light up. So beautiful. I threw one down and it landed on her and matched the red of her dress. Straight away she started eating it and got to her feet and stared up, a cute caricature of defiance. "That's a silly romantic fallacy, darling". She smiled, and started to climb after me.

On Monday it happened.

The Tuesday after the Monday when it happened I went back to the park at dusk. We all did. I got in the branches and threw strawberries down at the ground for hours, slowly decreasing in regularity until my last one was gone. No one asked me why. The birds made a mess of them, of course.

Thursday, 15 October 2009

Rip out all the epilogues

There's about to be a meeting run by the Socialist Worker's Party about Malcolm X.

Not clear what I think of him really. A racial separatist and radical muslim for the majority of his life, and then a sudden swing into egalitarian social justice. I get the feeling he had the right ideas all along, but was choked by Nation Of Islam's narrower agendas. Anyway he has a nice quote about inequality:

Well, I am one who doesn't believe in deluding myself. I'm not going to sit at your table and watch you eat, with nothing on my plate, and call myself a diner.

Wednesday, 14 October 2009

Hello

A bloody miserable prose poem. =p

Here's the statistics of poverty:

80% of us live on less than 10 dollars a day.

25, 000 children died today because of poverty. They did yesterday, too. And they will tomorrow.

UNICEF says they "Die quietly... far removed from the scrutiny and conscience of the world."

Less than one percent of global expenditure on weapons spent instead on education would mean that every child could go to school. This hasn't happened.

There are 121 million uneducated children in the world.

About a billion people are unable to read or sign their names.

Here's the poverty of statistics:

They say nothing to us of the reality of the situation. They say nothing to us about Soa, a street-stall owner in Diego, who burst into tears of gratefulness when she was given 8 euros. They say nothing of her wrecked dignity and by extension our own.

They say nothing to us of how Jermaine Jackson has 26 toilets in his "main house" while over a billion of us have no access to any sanitation whatsoever.

They...bore us. Desensitise us. Even the personal stories manage only to elicit a vague and aimless empathy. Charity feels like a bandage on a broken arm.

Poverty stands.
A massive, shaking black elephant in the room. Desperately and noiselessly trumpeting.
Vast and incommunicable.

Nailed it. :)



So listen
Terrorism isnt caused by religion
Or an old school vision of Islam
It's against the Qur'an

And it's a new innovation
Caused by mash up situations
That's what makes them turn to arms
The problem is modern
And it's all local factors
Dictatorships, injustices and wars cause fatwas




Who needs incompetence when you have bad luck

  • Saturday morning - Turns out my to-be-landlord's a sexually inappropriate headcase, and so I've got nowhere to live in a few days.
  • Monday evening - leave my friends and girlfriend to go to london. Bad back.
  • Monday evening - get followed home by this fucking creepy bloke muttering "motherfucker" under his breath.
  • Tuesday morning - ILL. Miss all my lectures at stay in bed all day feeling useless.
  • Tuesday evening - arrive too late to an open mic to perform, and then find out I could have paid less for the train. Nearly lose my phone. Tesco shut so no bread or butter for the morning.
  • Tuesday evening - realise it was my mum's birthday today.
  • Wednesday morning - wake up LATE but manage to sprint out of the door and catch my train. Get caught at the barriers and manage to avoid fine with smooth-talking but have to pay for the ticket.
  • Wednesday morning - Arrive at my lecture, it is inexplicably not there and full of art students instead, no explanation is given and reception doesn't know anything about it.
  • Wednesday morning - Realise I've forgotten my student card and have to deal with a receptionist who obviously hasn't been laid in about 10 years in order to get into the library.
Karma? =s

Tuesday, 13 October 2009

At the rave

You came bouncing up to me, all colours and beaming
Eyes like spaceships, wide awake, still dreaming
You planted a kiss on my cheek and said something lost to the bass
So I just grinned and gave you a thumbs up... that usually works in this place
But your return grin quizzed me quietly, and it was curiously disarming
You were random, ephemeral, generic, but oh, so, charming

And then we danced by the main stage, and the beat was inside my brain
And I felt about as relaxed as Maragaret Thatcher on cocaine
But I fucking went for it anyway so as not to seem mundane
While you whirled the night away freely, your inhibitions slain

So I dropped another pill, and though I winced as it went down
My ego soon deserted me; along with any trace of a frown
And we kissed and smiled and danced and hugged oh yes, we really played the game
And I'll see you at the rave next week - we won't remember eachother's name.

Stuff that matters

Banksy, Hugo Chavez, tea, The Wind That Shakes The Barley, Frank Turner, Come On Coma Victim, my grandmothers, fresh air, happy-face stickers, deliberate re-adoption of childhood culture in later life, Jack Daniels, beating your personal frailties, climbing trees, Marx, George Carlin, avant-garde art movements, my mum, home-spun advice that actually works, tolerating vulnerability in exchange for emotional participation in the world, milk, Christmas, bungee-jumping, MOLLY WEBB, folk music, makeshift beds, luck, JACOB WEBB, epiphanies, snorting cocaine off mirrors, trying, hygiene, Kieran O'Mant, Kieran O'Mant, Kieran O'Mant, laughing for inordinate amounts of time at the stupidest/basest possible thing you can think of, sharing, teddy-bears, raves, butter, bears, wild plans, criminal activity, fake arrogance, occasional humility, voluntary self-degradation for common entertainment, Saul Williams, Baz Walters, chocolate, hospitals, star-gazing, sex, fat people, hope, acoustic guitars, warmth in all it's forms, DJ Scotch Egg, bombing a shit-load of speed and ending up inexplicably outside bar blue drinking wine chatting to some Columbian girl who played guitar, Rowan Hebden, MDMA, Bob Dylan, Merlin doing stupid stuff and making noises, laughing so much you feel physically sick, cuddles, Dan Le Sac VS Scroobius Pip, Sage Francis, the sea and the beach, Dubstep, education, performance poetry, staying alive, MOLLY AND JACOB, Dillinja, David Bowie (yeah why not), Bangface, Katie Rogers, Clubs Drugs Pubs & Parties, masturbation, Gill Scott Heron, the Beat Generation, honesty, WH Auden, Stephen Fry, intellectual ancestors, transcendence, kisses, Abbie Brockhurst and her special hug, Chase & Status, LSD, University, funny stories, red dresses and Jess Walters. <3

Monday, 12 October 2009

19:47 service to Hither Green


...

Oh well. I suppose.

I'm gonna live fast and I'm gonna die old.

Thursday, 8 October 2009

19:10 service to Hastings

and happiness. Fuck yes lads. Fuck yes. :D


Ridiculous passage from the Qu'ran:

Those who disbelieve Our revelations, We shall expose them to the Fire. As often as their skins are consumed We shall exchange them for fresh skins that they may taste the torment.

Making up for the geek blog



Tuesday, 6 October 2009

Eric Daaaarbeeeey you fat fuckin' legend. :D

Come on in, I’ve got a sale on scratch and dent dreams.
Whole cases of imperfect ambitions, stuff the idealists couldn’t sell.
Yeah, I know none of its got price tags, you decide how much its worth.
And none of its got glossy colored packaging but it all works just fine.
I’ve got rainy day swing sets good night kisses and stationary stars still flying at the speed of light.
And over there out back if you dig down through those alabaster stoplights and those old 45’s
You’ll find a whole crate of second hand hope.
Yeah right there, that’s no chrome, you just gotta work, polish it up a little bit. Most folks give up too easy - trade it in for some injection mold and here and now. And over there across the freeway, you see that purple awning flappin’ in the breeze? Well that’s Momma Genuine’s shop. She’s older than all of us put together
But she still laughs like a house. Now, she only sells tools but not like ya know, She’s got saws that put back together, drills that make whole...
Mommas a cool legend to know, and she sells duct tape too.
And down there at the end of the block are two kids, crew cut and pig tailed sittin’ Behind a bindle top table selling peanut-butter ice-cream out of a galvanized pale, And there’s no metaphor there its just good ice-cream.
So here’s whatchya do, take a look around pick out what reminds you of places
You wanted to be but gave upon going
And jam it all in this big box called “now”.
Then go across the street to Momma Genuine’s, ask her how she’s been,
Show her what I gave ya, she’ll know exactly what you need
And then go back in the center of that freeway and get to work making it all fit.
You wont have any directions or factory numbertabs but don’t panic.
There’s a hundred ways to do it right and none to do it wrong cause your startin’ out with what’s already been given up upon, you cant do any worse.
Use the tools momma gave ya, hum a little while ya work.
Then you find yourself sproutin’ extra thumbs!

Take a break.

Go around the block, get yourself an ice cream.
Smile when they hand it to you, tip em if you can
And when you get back it’s all gonna make sense.
You’ll see where it’s gonna fit perfect and where the duct tape has to go.
And when you get finished, take whatever spare parts you got at the bottom of “now”
And make yourself a little sign that says “tomorrow”, and hang it on your masterpiece.
Then you go back down the block to where those two kids are packing up their peanut butter enterprise cause somebody told them they’d fail and I want you to hand them tomorrow.
Make sure they know how important it is.
After they’ve run off with it all elbows and smiles y’all can come back here,
We’ll do it all over again. Now im not telling you this to make a profit,
That’s how so many good ideas go wrong.
I’m just tired of seeing every day people screaming through these doors
Convinced they’re gonna hock even their littlest hopes and dreams to fund their 401Ks.
I’m tired of seeing this whole world bet on going big or giving up.
Only handing out glory to newspaper headlines and story book endings,
‘cause the truth is I think we need those swing sets most on the rainy days.
I’m happy going to sleep after just a goodnight kiss,
And I believe that beauty can be as simple as two kids, crewcuts and pig tales, handing me a scoop of peanut butter ice cream that tastes so good, you’d think it was a dream.

Monday, 5 October 2009

Geek blog

My favourite comic character:

The mysterious Stick is a sensei who trained the young but experienced Matt Murdock (Daredevil) to control his enhanced senses and taught him the acrobatic martial arts that would make him so formidable.

Unlike Matt Murdock, Stick was born blind, so he has trained his techniques to a very dangerous style enabling him to protect himself better than a seeing person could. Stick is the master of the Chaste, a group of mystical ninja which seek spiritual purity and enlightenment as well as physical toughness. They have feuded with their rival group, The Hand, for centuries in a legendary secret war that stretches back to feudal Japan.

Stick has made it his mission to keep the Chaste pure and clean from any evil infection. He forbade another of his prominent students, Elektra Natchios, from staying between their lines because of her vengeful personality, in spite of her formidable progress.

Stick is quite punishing and arrogant with his charges. He encountered the X-Man Wolverine when he was in his feral state and brought him back to reasoning, in part because of continued battering from his bo (staff) and hard nose advising.

Eventually, the Hand sought to wipe out Stick and the good warriors of the Chaste altogether. Stick thwarted an assassination attempt by four Hand operatives; he then summoned the other members of his order to New York City. With the assistance of his clan, Stick defeated Kirigi, the Hand's most lethal ninja at the time. The Hand regrouped and attacked Stick and his band of warriors that now included Daredevil and his then current lover, Black Widow. The Hand had almost overpowered the small band of warriors, when Stick and Shaft resorted to an ancient technique that drained the life force from all ninja present. Unfortunately, the technique resulted in the explosion of Stick and his comrade as a result of the excess energy they had absorbed. The Hand considered the destruction of their arch-nemesis and leader of their enemy a victory and turned their attention to other schemes.

Years later, the Hand again turned its attention to the leaderless Chaste, once again attempting to destroy them, this time to prevent the Chaste's members from locating the new-born child that would bear Stick's reincarnated soul. The Hand severely crippled Stick's soldiers, reducing their number to a handful of warriors. The few remaining traveled to New York, seeking the assistance of Daredevil. Reluctantly, the Man Without Fear aided his former mentor's disciples, returning with them to Japan. Once there, The Hand attacked the Chaste and Daredevil relentlessly. Fighting alongside Daredevil, the Chaste barely managed to escape and safeguard their master's reincarnated spirit.

Stick is a reference to the Zen master Nantembo (1839-1925) - who was famous for striking his students with his nantin staff.

More babbling

Long live Icarus


Here’s howling at the barriers…

Here’s howling at the barriers

Those wretched limitations

Those niggling frustrations

That crop up in all our conversations

Like an implicit strangulation

On the young throats of our ambition

To keep us in our given position

And mock us with their solidity

And their mutually agreed validity


Here’s howling at the barriers

Here’s howling at the barriers

And the strange culture of commerce,

Versus what’s natural and true

And the softly sickening distance

Stopping me from kissing you

And the insidious creeping shyness that never really goes away

And the ever-smiling Christians who with straight faces say

“You’re welcome to romantic love… provided you’re not gay”


Here’s howling at the barriers

Here’s howling at the barriers

And the neo-conservative pundits who sneer

“There’s no soul in the human, just jealousy greed, and fear”

“And our only natural place is locked up behind bars”

“We are dogs, fit only, to bark at the stars”


But we are not.

We are astronauts.

We are everyday magicians.

We are friends who open the door at 5am with a wry smile.

We are soul-saturated.

Beneath a brittle veneer of cynicism and defensiveness

We are dancers, poets, comedians, child-like lovers

Free-wheeling anarchically through the unknown, Therefore:


Let’s live on the edge of every second

And scream out what we feel

Let’s set fire to the rulebooks

And let’s keep it unreal

And tomorrow we’ll start an amazing plan

Here’s what will do the trick for us

We’ll fly ourselves straight into the sun

Long live Icarus.

Saturday, 3 October 2009

I get to see you

In a week's time. For the last Sunday Veg. :)

...*waits*

House Party

I've slept twelve hours two nights in a row and had two lazy days. I look... healthy. lol. No bags under my eyes, complexion is alright, mood is good, etc. Happy days! :)

However, I'm gonna ruin it all tonight by going to a house party and getting completely obliterated. Equally happy days.

just watched Hellboy 2. It was a load of fucking shit. but I quite enjoyed watching it regardless. And there was a single one-liner that was actually quite funny, believe it or not.

Loveage.

Thursday, 1 October 2009

Might chill on the drinking, for like a week...

  • 2 litre bottle of strongbow
  • Triple shot of famous grouse
  • Half a bottle of wine
Got into my lecture this morning - was a struggle to stay on my chair let alone pay attention. Went and got myself a jacket potato with cheese and beans and salad. Sorted me out. Still not really compus mentis though. Fuuuuck. Going to a meeting in an hour about fighting the BNP, hope we get to go and harass them/beat them up or something. Hmm I'm well hungry.