It is the year 2008, man has advanced remarkably in the last 2 decades; I remember fondly, laughing at the image of my uncle with his work mobile phone, when I was around 12 years old. It had a very large battery pack, and a massive arial to boot. 5 years later I was 17 and had bought my first mobile phone, which was basic by today’s standards to say the least!
Recently I had a PDA, which I quickly got tired of, having to use a stylus in the pub to text someone left me feeling like a twat (not to say im not) and trying to text or make a call while doing 90MPh down the M8, forget it..
So, I went onto the phone company website, with the intention of going back to basics, getting the most basic phone I could; The most basic phone I could get is an LG Shine (im particularly fond of LG products, since I bought one of their TV’s), which has a camera, mp3 player etc, hardly basic at all.
The medical advances man has made also are stunning, with laser eye surgery now down to an affordable cost, people I grew up with that wore glasses now have better eye sight than me, and stem cell treatment, while still resisted by the government does seem to be working miracles. On a personal note I am convinced that stem cell treatment will provide a cure for cancer, if only the government would allow it.
So why in the midst of all this advancement do we seem to be having a serious case of writer’s block when it comes to entertainment?
Reality TV – The most un-realistic nonsense ever, and anyone who says “I hate it but I can’t stop watching it” needs to seek professional guidance right away! As Billy Connolly says “it’s sitting in the house, watching people sitting in the house”, which is probably the closest thing to being conscious and brain-dead at the same time as I can imagine.
Shows like “the salon” – like I need to watch a bunch of gay guys prancing around cutting hair!, and x-factor – so simon cowell can not only pick the next person to sonically rape the nation with, but also make a killing from the votes! What ever happened to 4 guys strapping on instruments and just having fun?!?! “im a celebrity, get me out of here” – Sorry, is the “im a celebrity” part of the title actually meaningless? Just to make people watch? I haven’t seen one person who I would deem a celebrity on the damn show! Johnny Rotten on there, come on, the guy became obsolete faster than the latest build of windows!
Remake Films – Planet of the apes and I am legend, are oddly both remakes of Charlton Heston films(well the latter is a different film from the same novel but still), someone is clearly saying that they can make a better job of things than mr Heston, not that it would be difficult.. It’s a bit like bands covering bob Dylan songs, every single person who has recorded a Dylan song has made a better version – what does that tell you bob? But back to the point, can no-one come up with a story anymore? Have we really told them all already? Even Scorcese, who I regard as a genius, Is remaking Korean films (departed is a remake of infernal affairs), at least he changed it if only very slightly.
Bands reforming – Led Zeppelin, Cream, Queen with Paul Rogers – I mean, I love these bands, but can the individuals involved not make any new music? At least Mr Plant Is doing something “new” with Alison krauss. When I say new, I mean it is old covers, but its still fresh in arrangement and style.
Copycat killers – For crying out loud! You mean to say you cant even invent a way to kill someone? How complicated does it have to be? Break their neck, shoot them, stab them, just get on with it!!!
What ever happened to a writer sitting down, perhaps smoking some weed, whatever sparks his imagination, and writing a story, a comedy, anything, it doesn’t even have to be 100% original, but it has to be entertaining!!
Have we really run dry of all ideas? Perhaps we could develop one of those neurolysers from men in black, destroy all trace of film, literature, art, music, wipe our memories and start again..
Better yet, get these tired old rock stars that cant write new songs, stick them onto x-factor, get them voted for. Kill Simon Cowell in an original way, and take his money. Then kill each of the old rockers live on TV, and people can vote for the most original kill. When the winner is announced, kill them. Then kill all the producers of these reality shows, live on their show, and again vote on it. Next, kill all the copycat killers, and basically anyone who has done something which has been done before, and then pretty soon there wont be a single human being alive. From musicians, to actors, to poets, to painters, to photographers, to plumbers, to architects, to bus drivers to babies , everyone everywhere that does anything, including breathing, is doing something which has been done before..
Why not just kill god too while we’re at it, because on the 2nd day of creating the universe, he copied himself from the first day.
Finally kill me, because I have undone my entire argument!!!
richard terris.,
Clearing the Air over Iraq.,
The mission to Free the Iraqi People/Regime change.
The mission to free the Iraqi people began with what was dubbed “Shock and Awe”.
Denis Halliday, a former UN Assistant Secretary General and head of the UN food-for-oil sanctions program in Iraq (1997-8) describes the Shock and Awe battle tactics that were to begin the war in Iraq, stating that “the United States and Britain are proceeding with plans to annihilate Iraqi society, a catastrophe that would be heightened by the threatened use of tactical nuclear weaponry”. (1.27/2003.) This message is hard to reconcile with Ari Fleischer’s statement in a White House Briefing with the Press in February 2003, claiming that “every step will be taken to protect civilian and innocent life in Iraq”.
The authors of the Shock and Awe battle plan describe locations that could be targeted as being “means of communication, transportation, food production, water supply, and other aspects of infrastructure “
and in chapter 1 describe the hoped for effects of the Shock and Awe, Shutting the country down would entail both the physical destruction of appropriate infrastructure and the shutdown and control of the flow of all vital information and associated commerce so rapidly as to achieve a level of national shock akin to the effect that dropping nuclear weapons on Hiroshima and Nagasaki had on the Japanese
and in chapter 5 we are explained the reason for the need for a shock and awe type approach : the appropriate balance of Shock and Awe must cause the perception and anticipation of certain defeat and the threat and fear of action that may shut down all or part of the adversary's society or render his ability to fight useless short of complete physical destruction
Harlan Ullman was aired on CBS News, January 24, 2003 stating that “You also take the city down. By that I mean you get rid of their power, water. In 2, 3, 4, 5 days they are physically, emotionally, and psychologically exhausted.”
REF : www.cbsnews.com/stories/2003/01/24/eveningnews/main537928.shtml
“During the first Gulf War much of Iraq’s infrastructure was targeted and destroyed. There is a unique and important series of declassified Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA) documents available, which studied the destruction of Iraq’s water supply and the ensuing progressive spread of sickness and disease…it is the stated intention of the “Shock and Awe” planners to re-initiate (by destroying Iraq’s water supply again)” this by targeting the infrastructure that controls and regulates the water supplies in Iraq. REF SEE BELOW
John Powers, LA Weekly, 2/27-3/6/03:
Gets it about right when he says simply that “…it’s about inspiring mass terror.”
***REF (The “Shock and Awe”
Experiment
Compilation, Analysis and Discussion of Available Information on the Pentagon’s “Shock and Awe” Battle Plan for Iraq
Especially as It Affects Civilian Infrastructure and the Civilian Population, prepared for the not in our name project, JHavenar, 19th march 2003.)
The battle concept of Shock and Awe was developed by Harlan Ullman and James P Wade, and was a product of the National Defense University, USA.
As I sit and re-read these quotes and also passages from the original text (available on-line) I can’t help but feel that the architects of this kind of thought process, this kind of complete dehumanisation of a whole civilian population, act as a terrifying reminder that a widespread social apathy towards the projects of the military and expansionist governments of the west can only result in exponential curves in this type of thinking, and continued use of this type of tactic, and also a reminder as to the dark depths that the human mind and soul can sink to.
Death tolls amongst Iraqi civilians during this initial stage are unclear, and may never be known, however given the surprise element involved in the launch of the Shock and Awe policy, the massive amount of force used, the indiscriminate nature of the attack or if any real discrimination was ever actually attempted the lack of any real intelligence as to where military sites where located (we can quite fairly assume this given the quality of the intelligence given by the same intelligence agencies relating the location of WMDs), and of course the deliberate targeting of water supplies, communications, food supplies power and infrastructure, we can assume it to be reasonably high.
To put it in another perspective, have a quick glance at this : www.youtube.com/watch?v=9s1odqQTKyU&feature=related ,
You can’t help but feel that the man doesn’t really have a handle on reality…
Life in Iraq Today :
After the years of war, the mounting civilian loses, all the propaganda, lies and misinformation, the demonstrations on the streets all around the world, the pamphlets, the articles, the political speeches, how is life in Iraq today? Are the people of Iraq any freer. Has Operation Iraqi Freedom been a success? The Red Cross in April of 2007 state that civilian life was “ever-worsening” and that civilians endure “unbearable and unacceptable” suffering.
The facts : In 2003 the so-called coalition of the willing planned, prepared and waged a war against the sovereign state of Iraq. To date, although accurate figures are almost impossible to come by, it can be estimated that the total death toll is reaching the one million mark with no immediate signs of the war or the conflict in the region coming to an end; the general infrastructure of the country has been decimated (including nearly all schools, hospitals, communications, museums, businesses etc…), unemployment is high and the streets are not safe to walk about on in the major cities where road blocks and heavily armed check points are standard, as are the incidents of civilian casualties.
The Red Cross remains neutral, and so does not hold any particular party or group responsible, however, does call “on all those who can influence the situation on the ground to act now to ensure that the lives of ordinary people are spared and protected. This is an obligation under international humanitarian law for both states and non-state actors”.
However, the final thing that needs to be understood in the clearing of the air on this most important of issues is that as members of societies that have had a direct influence on the situation in Iraq, as members of societies who have paid taxes to fund both the militaries of the coalition of the willing as well as the private security firms employed in Iraq we are not neutral spectators in this. I will say again, we are not neutral spectators in this and any person who claims to be such is both guilty of decieving themselves and guilty of moral treachery.
Morally we cannot be neutral in this, for it truly is, as G.W. Bush is so found of saying, really a situation in which you are “either with them or against them”…
The Final Insult:
Alan Greenspan (head of Federal Reserve for 18yrs.), September of 2007, : “I am saddened that it is politically inconvenient to acknowledge what everyone knows: the Iraq war is largely about oil,”
So after all those press conferences, promises, pledges, guarantees and assurances, after commemorating so solemnly all the lives of the service men and women who gave their lives in the genuine belief that they were fighting a just cause, to rid the world of an evil, and most tragically, after the death of perhaps more than one million innocent civilians in Iraq, it turns out that the whole thing was about greed, material wealth and the limitless desires of the capitalist elite… It appears that the people of the western liberal democracies have been lied to again and again, it appears that this disception was deliberate, premeditated and commited for the basest of reasons – simply to line the pockets of themselves and their eager cronies. Well, sadly those cronies and hangers on cannot be brought to justice – within the current framework of the legal system – however the politicians could be brought to justice and face war crime tribunals. This is what I suggest, and if somehow, this is all a mistake, then they deserve to have the chance to clear their names, but if it is as it seems, then those responisible for planning, orchestrating and enacting this campaign of terror ought to face the international courts.
Reflecting on what Greenspan has said makes a mockery of these men - blair bush et al., he has showed the world in one blow the type of pitiful lap dogs that they are, lap dogs to the oil industry, to money and to power and to hell with humanity, to hell with the innocents who must die so that they can line their own pockets, to hell with the idea of decent open transparent democracy choosing instead the path of decetpion and lies. There are no words in this language to describe these men and women, no end fitting for such acts of treachery of the human spirit.
Once again, there can be no moral neutrality in a case such as this and so you must be “either with them or against them…”.
hesq.,
The mission to free the Iraqi people began with what was dubbed “Shock and Awe”.
Denis Halliday, a former UN Assistant Secretary General and head of the UN food-for-oil sanctions program in Iraq (1997-8) describes the Shock and Awe battle tactics that were to begin the war in Iraq, stating that “the United States and Britain are proceeding with plans to annihilate Iraqi society, a catastrophe that would be heightened by the threatened use of tactical nuclear weaponry”. (1.27/2003.) This message is hard to reconcile with Ari Fleischer’s statement in a White House Briefing with the Press in February 2003, claiming that “every step will be taken to protect civilian and innocent life in Iraq”.
The authors of the Shock and Awe battle plan describe locations that could be targeted as being “means of communication, transportation, food production, water supply, and other aspects of infrastructure “
and in chapter 1 describe the hoped for effects of the Shock and Awe, Shutting the country down would entail both the physical destruction of appropriate infrastructure and the shutdown and control of the flow of all vital information and associated commerce so rapidly as to achieve a level of national shock akin to the effect that dropping nuclear weapons on Hiroshima and Nagasaki had on the Japanese
and in chapter 5 we are explained the reason for the need for a shock and awe type approach : the appropriate balance of Shock and Awe must cause the perception and anticipation of certain defeat and the threat and fear of action that may shut down all or part of the adversary's society or render his ability to fight useless short of complete physical destruction
Harlan Ullman was aired on CBS News, January 24, 2003 stating that “You also take the city down. By that I mean you get rid of their power, water. In 2, 3, 4, 5 days they are physically, emotionally, and psychologically exhausted.”
REF : www.cbsnews.com/stories/2003/01/24/eveningnews/main537928.shtml
“During the first Gulf War much of Iraq’s infrastructure was targeted and destroyed. There is a unique and important series of declassified Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA) documents available, which studied the destruction of Iraq’s water supply and the ensuing progressive spread of sickness and disease…it is the stated intention of the “Shock and Awe” planners to re-initiate (by destroying Iraq’s water supply again)” this by targeting the infrastructure that controls and regulates the water supplies in Iraq. REF SEE BELOW
John Powers, LA Weekly, 2/27-3/6/03:
Gets it about right when he says simply that “…it’s about inspiring mass terror.”
***REF (The “Shock and Awe”
Experiment
Compilation, Analysis and Discussion of Available Information on the Pentagon’s “Shock and Awe” Battle Plan for Iraq
Especially as It Affects Civilian Infrastructure and the Civilian Population, prepared for the not in our name project, JHavenar, 19th march 2003.)
The battle concept of Shock and Awe was developed by Harlan Ullman and James P Wade, and was a product of the National Defense University, USA.
As I sit and re-read these quotes and also passages from the original text (available on-line) I can’t help but feel that the architects of this kind of thought process, this kind of complete dehumanisation of a whole civilian population, act as a terrifying reminder that a widespread social apathy towards the projects of the military and expansionist governments of the west can only result in exponential curves in this type of thinking, and continued use of this type of tactic, and also a reminder as to the dark depths that the human mind and soul can sink to.
Death tolls amongst Iraqi civilians during this initial stage are unclear, and may never be known, however given the surprise element involved in the launch of the Shock and Awe policy, the massive amount of force used, the indiscriminate nature of the attack or if any real discrimination was ever actually attempted the lack of any real intelligence as to where military sites where located (we can quite fairly assume this given the quality of the intelligence given by the same intelligence agencies relating the location of WMDs), and of course the deliberate targeting of water supplies, communications, food supplies power and infrastructure, we can assume it to be reasonably high.
To put it in another perspective, have a quick glance at this : www.youtube.com/watch?v=9s1odqQTKyU&feature=related ,
You can’t help but feel that the man doesn’t really have a handle on reality…
Life in Iraq Today :
After the years of war, the mounting civilian loses, all the propaganda, lies and misinformation, the demonstrations on the streets all around the world, the pamphlets, the articles, the political speeches, how is life in Iraq today? Are the people of Iraq any freer. Has Operation Iraqi Freedom been a success? The Red Cross in April of 2007 state that civilian life was “ever-worsening” and that civilians endure “unbearable and unacceptable” suffering.
The facts : In 2003 the so-called coalition of the willing planned, prepared and waged a war against the sovereign state of Iraq. To date, although accurate figures are almost impossible to come by, it can be estimated that the total death toll is reaching the one million mark with no immediate signs of the war or the conflict in the region coming to an end; the general infrastructure of the country has been decimated (including nearly all schools, hospitals, communications, museums, businesses etc…), unemployment is high and the streets are not safe to walk about on in the major cities where road blocks and heavily armed check points are standard, as are the incidents of civilian casualties.
The Red Cross remains neutral, and so does not hold any particular party or group responsible, however, does call “on all those who can influence the situation on the ground to act now to ensure that the lives of ordinary people are spared and protected. This is an obligation under international humanitarian law for both states and non-state actors”.
However, the final thing that needs to be understood in the clearing of the air on this most important of issues is that as members of societies that have had a direct influence on the situation in Iraq, as members of societies who have paid taxes to fund both the militaries of the coalition of the willing as well as the private security firms employed in Iraq we are not neutral spectators in this. I will say again, we are not neutral spectators in this and any person who claims to be such is both guilty of decieving themselves and guilty of moral treachery.
Morally we cannot be neutral in this, for it truly is, as G.W. Bush is so found of saying, really a situation in which you are “either with them or against them”…
The Final Insult:
Alan Greenspan (head of Federal Reserve for 18yrs.), September of 2007, : “I am saddened that it is politically inconvenient to acknowledge what everyone knows: the Iraq war is largely about oil,”
So after all those press conferences, promises, pledges, guarantees and assurances, after commemorating so solemnly all the lives of the service men and women who gave their lives in the genuine belief that they were fighting a just cause, to rid the world of an evil, and most tragically, after the death of perhaps more than one million innocent civilians in Iraq, it turns out that the whole thing was about greed, material wealth and the limitless desires of the capitalist elite… It appears that the people of the western liberal democracies have been lied to again and again, it appears that this disception was deliberate, premeditated and commited for the basest of reasons – simply to line the pockets of themselves and their eager cronies. Well, sadly those cronies and hangers on cannot be brought to justice – within the current framework of the legal system – however the politicians could be brought to justice and face war crime tribunals. This is what I suggest, and if somehow, this is all a mistake, then they deserve to have the chance to clear their names, but if it is as it seems, then those responisible for planning, orchestrating and enacting this campaign of terror ought to face the international courts.
Reflecting on what Greenspan has said makes a mockery of these men - blair bush et al., he has showed the world in one blow the type of pitiful lap dogs that they are, lap dogs to the oil industry, to money and to power and to hell with humanity, to hell with the innocents who must die so that they can line their own pockets, to hell with the idea of decent open transparent democracy choosing instead the path of decetpion and lies. There are no words in this language to describe these men and women, no end fitting for such acts of treachery of the human spirit.
Once again, there can be no moral neutrality in a case such as this and so you must be “either with them or against them…”.
hesq.,
Poetry from Ermine Strill a.k.a. emily chalk., Edinburgh.,
Swifts and Nightjars.,Swifts and Nightjars Elizabeth,
the doves come and I scatter
my guilt likegrain for them.
I am having visions again.
They appear in wild processions
from the mouth of my father's crumbling poetry
into my mothers arena of pain.
they are propaganda for sin.
My throat is full of wishbones and brail.
I watched you drown robins in whisky
and I have built a glass bottomed boat.
It will be my arc (my coffin, my arc)
until my secrets turn to milk in my mouth.
The shadows are still so bloated.
I have tried to make ghosts bleed.
Now winter has come and the spiders are
spitting on graves. Finding grace is like
catching hummingbirds with bare hands.
He says that he has changed,
and I have become a chrysalis of vultures,
a pillar of salt. Elizabeth your eyes look different,
they are still in your face like sleeping scarab beetles.
Is this my punishment? Have I not loved enough?
There is a child in my arms and a fox in my heart.
Ermine Strill, Edinburgh,
Ermine Strill, Edinburgh,
Conference Speeches, from Surrealist,
"Political language is designed to make lies sound truthful and murderrespectable" George Orwell
DAVID CAMERON: It's been a great week. This week we've shown we are back inthe centre ground of British politics//////////\\\\\\\\\\Once upon a timethere was a little red hen who lived by herself in the woods. Near thelittle red hen there lived a sly young fox. He lived with his mother in aden underground//////////\\\\\\\\\\Our new candidates are changing the waywe think about politics, not just campaigning and delivering leaflets butmaking a difference in their community//////////\\\\\\\\\\Now the sly youngfox had one big ambition. He wanted to catch the little red hen and eather!//////////\\\\\\\\\\Standing up for what you believe in. Putting yourcountry first. That is something that this party has always deeplyunderstood//////////\\\\\\\\\\One day the sly young fox thought up a very cunning plan indeed. "Put somewater on the fire to boil," he told his mother. "tonight we shall eat thelittle red hen for our dinner."//////////\\\\\\\\\\Let's not think thatpeople are going to jump straight into our arms. This is going to be slowpatient hard work//////////\\\\\\\\\\The sly young fox hid behind a tree andwaited. The little red hen came outside. The minute her back was turned thesly young fox slipped quietly into her house//////////\\\\\\\\\\For too longthe political decisions in this country have been made in the wrong place.Not round the cabinet table where they should be. But on the sofa in TonyBlair's office//////////\\\\\\\\\\The little red hen came inside. As soon asshe shut the door, she came face to face with the sly youngfox!//////////\\\\\\\\\\There is no greater responsibility for a PrimeMinister than protecting the security of our country and sending our armedforces into action//////////\\\\\\\\\\The little red hen escaped to a perchhigh up near the ceiling. She felt her head going round and round...shebecame so dizzy that she fell straight into the fox'sbag!//////////\\\\\\\\\\You know Liam Fox. I know Liam Fox. He is someonewith real passion and energy who would never stop fighting for Britain'stroops to get them all that they need//////////\\\\\\\\\\The sly young foxsat down to rest. He began to doze. The little red hen crept away. Quicklyshe collected some stones and put them into the bag to fool the fox. Then
she ran off home//////////\\\\\\\\\\The moment I walk through the front doorof Downing Street I will have the huge responsibility of protecting theBritish people from terrorism//////////\\\\\\\\\\The sly young fox returnedhome. "I've got the little red hen!" he shouted to his mother. She had a potof water boiling. The sly young fox opened the bag over the boiling pot. Thestones fell out of the bag...SPLASH!...right into the water. The boilingwater splashed all over the two foxes and killed them both.TONY BLAIR: Most of politics isn't about politics in the sense of meetings,resolutions, speeches or even parties. It starts withpeople//////////\\\\\\\\\\Baghdad, September the 30th, 2004, explosions killmore than 40 people, most of them children//////////\\\\\\\\\\Take a stepback and be proud. This is a changedcountry//////////\\\\\\\\\\Mid-December,2004,at least 60 Iraqis are killedin bombings in the Shia holy cities of Najaf andKerbala//////////\\\\\\\\\\We faced out to the people, not in onourselves//////////\\\\\\\\\\May 2005 doubles April's total of Iraqicivilians killed in shootings and car bombings; the total for the monthreaches 672//////////\\\\\\\\\\We went back to first principles, to ourvalues, our real values, those that are timeless and seperated them fromdoctrine and dogma that had been ravaged by time//////////\\\\\\\\\\Staff Sgt. Ivan Frederick is sentenced to eight years in prison for his role inthe abuse and torture of prisoners at Abu Ghraib. He admits to having takenpart in a faked threat of execution, in which a prisoner had wires attachedto his hands and was told that he would be electrocuted if he stepped or felloff the box he was forced to stand on. Other charges included hittingprisoners, making a group of nude prisoners form a human pyramid, andforcing prisoners to masturbate and simulate oral sex//////////\\\\\\\\\\ Iwant to heal//////////\\\\\\\\\\November, 2004.People in Fallujeh are beingmurdered. They have nothing to eat. No produce is going into the city andthe water has been cut off for days and days. People are drinkingcontaminated water and coming down with diarrhoea and other diseases. Thereare corpses in the street because no one can risk leaving their home to burypeople//////////\\\\\\\\\\The true beliver believes in social justice, insolidarity, in help for those not able to help themselves.//////////\\\\\\\\\\January 5th and 6th, 2006. More than 180 people die in aspate of attacks. These include attacks on mourners at a funeral and outsidea holy shrine and a double suicide bombing against Sunnis gathered at apolice recruiting centre//////////\\\\\\\\\\We used to feel we could shutour front door on the problems and conflicts of the widerworld.//////////\\\\\\\\\\
On February the 22nd, 2006,bombs destroy the Al Askari Mosque in Samara,
one of the holiest sites in Shia Islam. By the end of the following day, the Sunni
Association of Muslim Scholars says that 168 Sunni mosques have been attacked.
Clerics, journalists and other civilians, most of them Sunnis, are killed in widespread
violence. The Iraqi government reports that 379 have been killed and 458 wounded.
The Washington Post, on February 27th reports a much higher death toll of1,300//////////\\\\\\\\\\This terrorism isn't our fault. We didn't cause it.It's not the consequence of foreign policy. It killed nearly 3,000 peopleincluding over 60 British on the streets of New York before war inAfghanistan or Iraq was even thought of//////////\\\\\\\\\\For the 3,000victims in America on September 11th 2001, more than 650,000 have died inIraq.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Blair, Tony Speech to the Labour Party Conference, (26 September 2006)
Cameron, David Speech to The Conservative Party Conference (4 October2006)
"Riverbend" Baghdad Burning (Volume 2) (2006, Marion Boyars: London)(Taken from): http://riverbendblog.blogspot.com
Stimson, Joan "The Sly Fox and The Little Red Hen" (1993, LadybirdBooks: London)
Alex a.k.a. Surrealist Feest., somewhere in the west country.,
from the desk in Moscow.,
here's a peice that was sent in a while back but now sees the light of day., or the pale glow of the internet, so apologies for the delays.,
modern russian philosophy.,
What is currently going on in Russia is a hot topic. A hotter topic in the west than in Russia itself, where the discussion of what is going on is strained by what natives often refer to as ‘the difficult political environment’, and everybody knows what that means. Those who are fighting against the difficulty of the environment are being made examples of brutally, unmercifully, in a way that the west sees as uncivilised and absolutely undemocratic. But the Russians who are familiar with the difficulties of the environment look on, and their courage wanes, because it is one thing to be a critic and mark how things are failing to live up to a certain standard, and another when you realise that your childrens’ life is endangered by what you say.
I have recently attended a large, by Russian standards, philosophy conference held in Moscow, where there were also speakers from France, from the US, from other European countries, as well as Russian philosophers. The theme of the conference was interesting, namely how the discipline of philosophy is present and intersects with various ‘worlds’, in a variety of senses. It intersects with the political, the sociological, the ideological, the official, the theoretical, with art and with science. And all of these intersections were attempted by various speakers to be addressed, with the aim I think of trying to clarify how philosophy can be put to use, and also how the philosopher can be useful to society and to these different worlds. The problem was, the speakers, and especially the ones that were western, turned out to be incompetent as they often failed to answer the questions they were asked and went off on hypothetical tangents that are common to philosophers and theoreticians.
There was, I feel, however a very important subtext to this conference, and that was that the indirect posing of the question: What should Russian philosophers do? How should they proceed, given that public speech is now limited by a political framework? This question was also, indirectly, answered. It appeared that the ‘official’ philosophers, those, in other words, who held the positions of fame and to some degree power, because their work was published and praised, did not speak. Or they did not inform with the information that they gave. One of the philosophers, when answering a question about modern Russian philosophy started speaking about literature of the past, that this was a way of making thought and hiding it between the lines of fictions. That’s fine, but, we already know this. And that was then, so what about now? Well it takes more guts to speak of the present, that much is clear.
And yet there are still those who will speak and who will remind us of what is going on, and what we, if we still think about it, may have the possibility of taking part of, of changing. There was someone who stood up and reminded the audience that Russian philosophy does have its modern movement, but that no one heads it because it doesn’t necessarily concur with the ‘political climate’. This speaker also said that no one ought to forget that all the philosophy that the west grew up with, Sartre, Camus, Adorno etc. has only recently been allowed to circulate in Russia. But, he said, unlike the west, Russians have actually got the real experience of a total collapse of ideology, of government, of values, a whole universe in other words. ‘So we, Russians have all the more right, all the more insight to speak and to write about this in philosophy, because it is something we have encountered.’ And I want to agree with him. And I want to also add that it is important for Russian philosophers to keep writing to keep asking questions, because they are the thinkers and they represent at least some of the intelligentsia class that Russia is desperately losing to the West, to money, to disillusionment, to fear and to surrender.
But it is difficult to say anything in Russia, publicly, because all the social spheres are tied one way or another, and someone who you don’t want to hear, will. But life is not without hope. There are other ways of speaking, and one such way is through art. Not just literature, but film and theatre present new possibilities of presenting philosophical positions. And if doesn’t well, this is even more effective, because it takes you to the core of the problem and exposes it and shows you its naked truth. The recent film ‘4’ is a good example. Unsurprisingly it has been banned in Russia. But nevertheless it was made and that, to me is a strong light amidst all the darkness. We have something to fight for, and it seems, there are still ways, just more masked, of fighting for what the climate does not agree with.
Albina Kaseltzer, Moscow.,
modern russian philosophy.,
What is currently going on in Russia is a hot topic. A hotter topic in the west than in Russia itself, where the discussion of what is going on is strained by what natives often refer to as ‘the difficult political environment’, and everybody knows what that means. Those who are fighting against the difficulty of the environment are being made examples of brutally, unmercifully, in a way that the west sees as uncivilised and absolutely undemocratic. But the Russians who are familiar with the difficulties of the environment look on, and their courage wanes, because it is one thing to be a critic and mark how things are failing to live up to a certain standard, and another when you realise that your childrens’ life is endangered by what you say.
I have recently attended a large, by Russian standards, philosophy conference held in Moscow, where there were also speakers from France, from the US, from other European countries, as well as Russian philosophers. The theme of the conference was interesting, namely how the discipline of philosophy is present and intersects with various ‘worlds’, in a variety of senses. It intersects with the political, the sociological, the ideological, the official, the theoretical, with art and with science. And all of these intersections were attempted by various speakers to be addressed, with the aim I think of trying to clarify how philosophy can be put to use, and also how the philosopher can be useful to society and to these different worlds. The problem was, the speakers, and especially the ones that were western, turned out to be incompetent as they often failed to answer the questions they were asked and went off on hypothetical tangents that are common to philosophers and theoreticians.
There was, I feel, however a very important subtext to this conference, and that was that the indirect posing of the question: What should Russian philosophers do? How should they proceed, given that public speech is now limited by a political framework? This question was also, indirectly, answered. It appeared that the ‘official’ philosophers, those, in other words, who held the positions of fame and to some degree power, because their work was published and praised, did not speak. Or they did not inform with the information that they gave. One of the philosophers, when answering a question about modern Russian philosophy started speaking about literature of the past, that this was a way of making thought and hiding it between the lines of fictions. That’s fine, but, we already know this. And that was then, so what about now? Well it takes more guts to speak of the present, that much is clear.
And yet there are still those who will speak and who will remind us of what is going on, and what we, if we still think about it, may have the possibility of taking part of, of changing. There was someone who stood up and reminded the audience that Russian philosophy does have its modern movement, but that no one heads it because it doesn’t necessarily concur with the ‘political climate’. This speaker also said that no one ought to forget that all the philosophy that the west grew up with, Sartre, Camus, Adorno etc. has only recently been allowed to circulate in Russia. But, he said, unlike the west, Russians have actually got the real experience of a total collapse of ideology, of government, of values, a whole universe in other words. ‘So we, Russians have all the more right, all the more insight to speak and to write about this in philosophy, because it is something we have encountered.’ And I want to agree with him. And I want to also add that it is important for Russian philosophers to keep writing to keep asking questions, because they are the thinkers and they represent at least some of the intelligentsia class that Russia is desperately losing to the West, to money, to disillusionment, to fear and to surrender.
But it is difficult to say anything in Russia, publicly, because all the social spheres are tied one way or another, and someone who you don’t want to hear, will. But life is not without hope. There are other ways of speaking, and one such way is through art. Not just literature, but film and theatre present new possibilities of presenting philosophical positions. And if doesn’t well, this is even more effective, because it takes you to the core of the problem and exposes it and shows you its naked truth. The recent film ‘4’ is a good example. Unsurprisingly it has been banned in Russia. But nevertheless it was made and that, to me is a strong light amidst all the darkness. We have something to fight for, and it seems, there are still ways, just more masked, of fighting for what the climate does not agree with.
Albina Kaseltzer, Moscow.,
deal or no deal...
it literally never ceases to amaze how this type of "factual entertainment blockbuster" actually entertains, and remains popular in modern culture, a game show based solely on watching to see whether people whom one has never met will manage to win money by a series of pot luck choices., and to see the other members standing about staring like clueless gupi fish just waiting for that tired old hacks' instructions, the fake hysteria and false love of one another, the nerve racking suspense and all anyone really wants to see is a bomb go off in the studio live on tv ripping noel edmunds - sucker of satans' cock forever - and that whole bunch of limp wristed artificial life affirmation cock suckers torn to bloody shreds, perhaps with the odd limb struggling out of body across the studio floor...yes, that would be factual entertainment, but then again we have the news...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qC9D257QjfI&feature=related
we will never forget you, never forgive says noel, what a load of shite, and then the audience screams, are they all tripped out 1970s style diet pills, all goggling inane at these no hopers' pitiful 15minutes of fame... jesus christ, i'll take the fish bowl any day over the devil watch box.,.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qC9D257QjfI&feature=related
we will never forget you, never forgive says noel, what a load of shite, and then the audience screams, are they all tripped out 1970s style diet pills, all goggling inane at these no hopers' pitiful 15minutes of fame... jesus christ, i'll take the fish bowl any day over the devil watch box.,.
and then mandela shat himself...
and then mandela shat himself as he sat in the audience while the loyal Bush supporters looked cautiously at one another, and an echo from history came a-ringing in their ears, will someone not rid me of this meddlesome priest...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZQ_bmoy4cpA
...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZQ_bmoy4cpA
...
the Swine got it right on one point at least.,
yes, the swine does on occasion get it right, and for all the so-called bushisms, when George W does get it right, he nails it, he really does, with the odd pearl of towering wisdom, and i quote so that those with the hardened and entrenched idea that everything our politicians say is puss and slime can also consider that :
"See, free nations are peaceful nations. Free nations don't attack each other. Free nations don't develop weapons of mass destruction." —George W. Bush, Milwaukee, Wis., Oct. 3, 2003...
here here george, you're damn right, but it does smack a bit considering everything else that the great nation of america does on a fairly regular basis... the truisms quoted above do of course beg questions as to the status of the western democracies, and in fact more seriously the status (with regard freedom...) that George W would asign to his own country, given what he said above it would follow that he does not believe america to be free considering that it does attack other nations and has the most highly developed weapons systems on the planet, and as for whether it can be called a peaceful nation...well, never mind that, but aside the painful hypocracies of the quoted words above, as i say, i believe them, taken on their own and most likely as a necessity taken out of context, to be absolutely true...
"See, free nations are peaceful nations. Free nations don't attack each other. Free nations don't develop weapons of mass destruction." —George W. Bush, Milwaukee, Wis., Oct. 3, 2003...
here here george, you're damn right, but it does smack a bit considering everything else that the great nation of america does on a fairly regular basis... the truisms quoted above do of course beg questions as to the status of the western democracies, and in fact more seriously the status (with regard freedom...) that George W would asign to his own country, given what he said above it would follow that he does not believe america to be free considering that it does attack other nations and has the most highly developed weapons systems on the planet, and as for whether it can be called a peaceful nation...well, never mind that, but aside the painful hypocracies of the quoted words above, as i say, i believe them, taken on their own and most likely as a necessity taken out of context, to be absolutely true...
another bloody footnote in the evolution of culture in britain...
another one of these god dam comedy rehashes of the truth, its sweet but where does the spin end and the truth begin, Or are we, as some have speculated and others have feared, all (every single nobody of us) locked into this merry go round of lies... to its credit, this clip link does have its moments...though they are not special or great, its a comedy act, but as we ask, where speaker, where, does the lying end and the truth begin...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f0xkIVnuRQc
enjoy it for what it is, though i'd never recommend insanity to anyone, its worked before...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f0xkIVnuRQc
enjoy it for what it is, though i'd never recommend insanity to anyone, its worked before...
A Footnote in the Evolution of Culture in Britain...(a look back at 2007...)
We, the undersigned…
New laws requiring increased licensing for live music have made waves. On the 23rd of Feb 2007 the official Downing St petition had around 4,500 signatories and a week later that had grown to over 30,000. The undersigned are rising up and penning – or at least key padding – their dissent. Will the undersigned be heard, or will their voices die with the music they seek to save and only the quiet tapping of uniform laptop keyboards be left in place in our public spaces.
“The Government have recently passed laws in the UK to try and suppresslive music and dance. Pubs which could previously offer work to solosingers or duos now have to pay for a special license and can only have 12 of these per year. Even school Xmas concerts need to be licensed…” another email correspondent wrote…Below is a Summary of the New Laws and their effects that has been quoted from an email circulated by the organizers of the petition:
a.. The unlicensed provision of even one musician is a potential criminal offence (although some places are exempt, including places of publicreligious worship, royal palaces and moving vehicles). Max penalty:£20,000 fine and six months in prison.
b.. The rationale is to prevent noise, crime and disorder, to ensure public safety, and the protection of children from harm.
c.. But broadcast entertainment, including sport and music, is exempt -no matter where, and no matter how powerfully amplified.
d.. In the transition to the new regime, bars with jukeboxes, CD players etc were automatically granted a license to play recorded music; buttheir automatic entitlement to one or two musicians was abolished.
e.. For the first time, private performances raising money for charity are licensable.
f.. School performances open to friends and family are licensable - theycount as public performances.
g.. Under the old regime all premises licensed to sell alcohol forconsumption on the premises were automatically allowed up to two live musicians (the 'two in a bar rule').
h.. In December, DCMS published research confirming that about 40% ofthese have lost any automatic entitlement to live music as a result ofthe new Act: 'Very few establishments that wanted a new license were denied it, and many who were previously limited to 2-in-a-bar now havecourse, with the fact that 40% of establishments now have no automaticmeans of putting on live music (i.e. they would have to give a Temporary Event Notice).
'['Licensing Act 2003: The experience of smaller establishments inapplying for live music authorization'; December 2006', paragraphs 6.1.1and 6.1.2 'Conclusions', p54; Caroline Callahan, Andy Martin, Anna Pierce, Ipsos-MORI]. Temporary Event Notice - in effect a temporaryentertainment licence. Only 12 are allowed per premises per year. Theycost £21 each.”
On first hearing this many a person would want to ask “why would they want to suppress live music?”...and the answer of course comes rolling off the slimy tongues of our politicians oh so so smoothly….to protect the children,,, to ensure public safety, to reduce crime and disorder… but just what the fuck is safety then and what is there to protect children from in live music and why was that same government giving the go ahead for the first of many super casinos, which are surely more likely to create crime, disorder and perhaps lead to some of those same precious children becoming compulsive gamblers…which is a fate far worse than the average “pub folkie”, which by the way, you’d know if you’d ever spent more than say 40 hours in one week standing around watching gamblers in a penny arcade become auto-pilot drones in the face of the one arm bandit…
Will we never look into the eyes of the artist again, in the limitless void that seems to await us, can we picture the need that will be desperate then..?
We, the undersigned may object, we may even fervently disagree, but this make not a whit of difference, and this is the lesson that culture in Britain is teaching us, the undersigned; this is what the sham of democracy in this country has embedded in our collective understanding…for we, the undersigned are all too often simply over ruled.
New laws requiring increased licensing for live music have made waves. On the 23rd of Feb 2007 the official Downing St petition had around 4,500 signatories and a week later that had grown to over 30,000. The undersigned are rising up and penning – or at least key padding – their dissent. Will the undersigned be heard, or will their voices die with the music they seek to save and only the quiet tapping of uniform laptop keyboards be left in place in our public spaces.
“The Government have recently passed laws in the UK to try and suppresslive music and dance. Pubs which could previously offer work to solosingers or duos now have to pay for a special license and can only have 12 of these per year. Even school Xmas concerts need to be licensed…” another email correspondent wrote…Below is a Summary of the New Laws and their effects that has been quoted from an email circulated by the organizers of the petition:
a.. The unlicensed provision of even one musician is a potential criminal offence (although some places are exempt, including places of publicreligious worship, royal palaces and moving vehicles). Max penalty:£20,000 fine and six months in prison.
b.. The rationale is to prevent noise, crime and disorder, to ensure public safety, and the protection of children from harm.
c.. But broadcast entertainment, including sport and music, is exempt -no matter where, and no matter how powerfully amplified.
d.. In the transition to the new regime, bars with jukeboxes, CD players etc were automatically granted a license to play recorded music; buttheir automatic entitlement to one or two musicians was abolished.
e.. For the first time, private performances raising money for charity are licensable.
f.. School performances open to friends and family are licensable - theycount as public performances.
g.. Under the old regime all premises licensed to sell alcohol forconsumption on the premises were automatically allowed up to two live musicians (the 'two in a bar rule').
h.. In December, DCMS published research confirming that about 40% ofthese have lost any automatic entitlement to live music as a result ofthe new Act: 'Very few establishments that wanted a new license were denied it, and many who were previously limited to 2-in-a-bar now havecourse, with the fact that 40% of establishments now have no automaticmeans of putting on live music (i.e. they would have to give a Temporary Event Notice).
'['Licensing Act 2003: The experience of smaller establishments inapplying for live music authorization'; December 2006', paragraphs 6.1.1and 6.1.2 'Conclusions', p54; Caroline Callahan, Andy Martin, Anna Pierce, Ipsos-MORI]. Temporary Event Notice - in effect a temporaryentertainment licence. Only 12 are allowed per premises per year. Theycost £21 each.”
On first hearing this many a person would want to ask “why would they want to suppress live music?”...and the answer of course comes rolling off the slimy tongues of our politicians oh so so smoothly….to protect the children,,, to ensure public safety, to reduce crime and disorder… but just what the fuck is safety then and what is there to protect children from in live music and why was that same government giving the go ahead for the first of many super casinos, which are surely more likely to create crime, disorder and perhaps lead to some of those same precious children becoming compulsive gamblers…which is a fate far worse than the average “pub folkie”, which by the way, you’d know if you’d ever spent more than say 40 hours in one week standing around watching gamblers in a penny arcade become auto-pilot drones in the face of the one arm bandit…
Will we never look into the eyes of the artist again, in the limitless void that seems to await us, can we picture the need that will be desperate then..?
We, the undersigned may object, we may even fervently disagree, but this make not a whit of difference, and this is the lesson that culture in Britain is teaching us, the undersigned; this is what the sham of democracy in this country has embedded in our collective understanding…for we, the undersigned are all too often simply over ruled.
more e vicar...
Lucky Lox Lovell and Suzie Q.
It was late afternoon in early sept when the buzzer screeched its regular shout, surrealist had arrived, with an entourage of women carrying and unloading his belongings from their car into the flat. In the flat it was chaos already, a long and yet to end night was still in progress as romero lay on the sofa, slowly and delicately smoking a joint, while psychic Si pottered in the kitchen. Must be them, Si shouted through to the lounge, wait wait, shouted romero as he ran across to the window to check the front door – always security first he was shouting trying to reassure, yea it is he said laughing as he saw the women labouring with surrealist’s belongings, box after box of books, various luggage, suitcases, a rucksack, and he, Surrealist, is walking calm as you like in behind the two girls struggling under the weight of all his things, carrying a small table lamp, lugging, yea let em in this man knows how to make an entrance….
after a joint concentrated effort, all of surrealist’s belongings were in the flat and they once more settled down. It was still a pink-blue outlook of confusion for romero as he surveyed his new guests, new flat mate.
the buzzer screeched again, repeatedly…who the…said romero but it was too late, as si had already let them through the door, they were welcome guests however, also, fresh spangled victims of the night before, the same interzone party the night before with the afternoon spent in different directions. Lucky lox lovell and Suzie Q had entered the building, it was all making tea, and strange introductions, Surrealist’s entourage had been a couple of young Christian girls, how he had found them who knew, but there they were..and lucky lox lovell is trying to explain to the girls that the mirror on the wall is actually not all it seems, it is in fact a teleport to the nearest Threshers bottle shop, grab some wine will you he’s encouraging them, but they are pretty silent, and look deeply unnerved on the sofa, hands crossed on their laps, so trying to broach the gaps someone asks the girls do you fancy some tea, yes yes please they said, glad to be on some kind of similar level of playing field, then quite naturally suzie q is saying, you do know that there is e in that tea… and the charade was over, we were all there naked in front of the truth and the girls were leaving, wishing surrealist good luck on their way out…
after a joint concentrated effort, all of surrealist’s belongings were in the flat and they once more settled down. It was still a pink-blue outlook of confusion for romero as he surveyed his new guests, new flat mate.
the buzzer screeched again, repeatedly…who the…said romero but it was too late, as si had already let them through the door, they were welcome guests however, also, fresh spangled victims of the night before, the same interzone party the night before with the afternoon spent in different directions. Lucky lox lovell and Suzie Q had entered the building, it was all making tea, and strange introductions, Surrealist’s entourage had been a couple of young Christian girls, how he had found them who knew, but there they were..and lucky lox lovell is trying to explain to the girls that the mirror on the wall is actually not all it seems, it is in fact a teleport to the nearest Threshers bottle shop, grab some wine will you he’s encouraging them, but they are pretty silent, and look deeply unnerved on the sofa, hands crossed on their laps, so trying to broach the gaps someone asks the girls do you fancy some tea, yes yes please they said, glad to be on some kind of similar level of playing field, then quite naturally suzie q is saying, you do know that there is e in that tea… and the charade was over, we were all there naked in front of the truth and the girls were leaving, wishing surrealist good luck on their way out…
one more tune at the G8...
one more tune.,
this is an unwitting masterpeice, captured at the G8 in Edinburgh outside a hippie den known as the forest, some time back, the Pig raising his hand and finger to the sky to calm that crowd, one more tune he says, one more tune., and two cultures collide...
see video on link : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HQp5UujPdZc
absolute beauty...
this is an unwitting masterpeice, captured at the G8 in Edinburgh outside a hippie den known as the forest, some time back, the Pig raising his hand and finger to the sky to calm that crowd, one more tune he says, one more tune., and two cultures collide...
see video on link : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HQp5UujPdZc
absolute beauty...
exert from Short Stories and Snake's Tails.,
AND IT CRASHES.
Victim pulled from car wreck…
The headlights from the vehicle behind bounced in the rear view mirror and were gaining fast on the car. Its four passengers became immediately and simultaneously tense. The jumping lights chased about the car in the dark until there appeared a blue light on the roof of the following car. Shit, it’s the fucking police said the driver, unmarked car said another, yea I can fucking see that, just pull over man said the other, just fucking pull over man, do it, shut the fuck up I’m driving, just pull over .. for fucks sake and he swerved quickly to the side of the road. The police man stepped out of the black Mercedes, fucking hell, how do they afford that thing, said one in the back seat, fucking tax money you know, were you speeding Cause their car’ll come out of speeding tickets, like commission but for them its better than … he cut short, could you step out for a minute sir, said the police to the driver as he shined his torch at each person in turn. The passenger seat man made to get out, no not you, he said, just you, pointing to the driver already getting out the car.
He took him back to his car, ushered him in, then it was silent after the door slammed shut. Shit, what now, nothing man, just chill…just relax and act chilled, one in the back seat –without lowering his head for fear of alerting the watching police behind – very carefully pulled a small bag from his pocket and jammed it under the car seat…then he lit a cigarette and opened the window, it was a fresh night, very cool air but he was sweating. Soon enough the other returned to the car and slowly turned the ignition and moved away. The police car sat with its lights on, watching, just breathalysed me, fine yea, oh yea, shit watch the car man, fuck man, they’re still fucking watching us, alright alright, just pass me a god dam cigarette please, ok. But you haven’t been drinking..? one in the back seat said as he reached back under the seat to retrieve the small bag he had hidden there, then thought better and left it… no man, I never drink when I smoke, and there’s no fucking breathalyser for the dragon huh..? they all laughed, better than a pint…yea fuck em… the mood lifted, and it was fresh air blowing through the open window as they cruised on through the night street. They took a detour to ensure they weren’t being followed then, parking the car near half a mile away, sent one out to pick up the supplies. As the three sat in the car they smoked, but said nothing, only the occasional thought spoken out loud with no reply. Always tense waiting on a pick up, always tense preparing for the worst. An hour later they were back in a flat, passing the tin foil wrap around the two sofas where the four sat, each sinking quietly or with a slight murmur, climbing the rope on fire, a life line to a subterranean dream land, smoky hazed out vision, eyes weakly sink into its pull, inwards, no back-up there, no screams, just somewhere in between…
It’s the last role of the dice boys, he said, his voice dry and distant as he held the lighter beneath the tin foil chalice, I’ve been catching a ride in a hearst and hey, whats worse, it felt like a garden of eden boys, he leant over the foil with the pipe tube and inhaled deeply, then half dropping it on the table fell back deeply into the sofa, I had a dream, a calling you might say, but its not here, its there boys, he looked up vaguely and realised he was alone, or at least the other three bodies were dead to the world, deep in their dream-sleep, but he was sick, sick morning sweat and shiver, weak limbs bones ache and movement’s like a bomb’s dropped…the slow drowning back to my senses he thought, even dead fingers talk, a soiled mouth and mind but not blind for all of that, black suit, nothing stains black except white, nothing and everything stain white, white, he winced, the light was pain…he closed his eyes and trailed off…
Later, he got up to go, picking the cigarettes off the table, see you later boys he said but no-one heard…
Back at the flat in the tenement block it was packing, he had to leave this night, he was wearied and half dumb but he filled the suitcase, throwing what wouldn’t fit out of the fourth floor window into the allotments below, papers scattered in the wind, an unseasonable fall of snow he said, again, to no-one in particular. The sky was heavy. He heard the Latvian moving in the kitchen where he slept on a mattress, the Latvian called out, is that you, are you back now, where have been he said as he walked into room wearing the faded blue dressing gown, you ok he said looking at him, yes, just gotta sleep now, talk later, you leaving today, no, tonight, oh, ok, I think the landlord will come tomorrow to check you are gone, good, tell her when she gets here I wont refund her petrol money, no she will take a taxi I think, right fine, forget it…and he lay down on the bed. The Latvian just stood for a moment looking at the open window, then at the room, are you going to clean this room before you go tonight, then without an answer went to leave.
The street was a thick moving torrent and the rain came down in a sheet, his leather boots grew heavier, heavier and his feet were soaking wet, his legs weak as he sat on the brown box suitcase in the bus shelter. He looked down at the ferry baggage sticker on the side peeling in the down pour. He stood up and emptied his pockets to find change for the bus, holding the coins in his dripping hands, one pound and eight pence, he threw the eight pence into the gutter and waits on the bus. His wet shirt sticks to his skin as he boards the bus hauling the suitcase behind him. Someone tells him to get the fuck out the way but his head is still a fog and the warm dampness of the bus of people slows his reactions…the lights streak across the street as the bus moves off, and he watches the shifting beams of the white headlights and red tail lights interplay with the neon shop signs on the moving canvas…he is shaken out of the brush strokes by the phone ringing in his pocket, he leaves it unanswered and ignores the heads that turn to him hearing the sound. He gets off the bus a stop early for fear of being followed or reported to some authority for he looked like what he was – someone running from something.
He reached the flat thirty minutes later, and sat on his case in the cramp kitchen, lit a cigarette and opened a beer from the fridge. He looked down at the girl lying on her elbow on the mattress on the floor of the kitchen, she smiled.
The frenzied experiment was not yet over, the fantasy dance seemed unready to relinquish him and he braced himself for another round in the ring, curiosity dripping like an unhealed wound.
hello, this is a message concerning work – long pause – I got your message, and its fine, yea, fine, just calling, uh.., hoping you got over that bout of food poisoning (the words swallowed down his throat, slimy like a fly catching lizard’s tongue) – and also just wondering if you are going to make it up for Friday, well, if you could give me a call back when you get this…thanks…
*
Ignoring the phone message He fled north, its darker there, the sun is down for longer, and i need rest he thought, and, above all, sanctuary. A cheap northern hotel resort is the last place anyone would come looking…and it was time to leave the Stone City behind.
*
A week later He awoke, fucking rats he screamed, god awful fucking rats everywhere, but then his eyes focused onto the beady swollen pupil-ed and made-up eyes staring down at him, his hands groping and fondling at the belt, Rape! Rape! he shouted but no-one was listening, only his body behind him, his head between the thighs, jesus he shouted then pulling his knee back as far as it would go he extended his booted foot and caught the queer square on the nose at the angle of an uppercut, blood, his wailing, then the agony of realisation as he knew suddenly that he had no idea of where he was, then his wailing, the sounds of people moving in the house, he stood nearly falling back down again, his head was a swamp, unmoveable, unthinkable as he stepped over the body on the carpet, that curled up frame and him still wailing hopelessly, shut the fuck up you weasily shite he whispered as he gathered the rolled up notes and other substances from the table top, then stepping over him in a strange wave of calm he broke and was running to find the front door, all in a matter of seconds…
As he half ran half stumbled down the wintery street he decided again to lay low for a couple of days, just observe this place, look at the white mountains, maybe interview a couple of skiers at the bar but whatever else he thought I must get back to the hotel room, back to safety behind a double lock, regain my sense of being and get out of this god awful cold. But he knew god wasn’t gonna help now, not after those wise cracks about the virgin mary in the lobby, his lover, jesus he swore again, no sorry, Buddha, this is fucked…
he weaved through the snow for perhaps an hour, lost, wearing only a shirt – jacket long gone, probably in that house – so he kept a steady pace. He reached the room after a confused conversation with the concierge at the hotel lobby then locked the door after scrawling on the do not disturb sign under any circumstances; he turned the radiator and the shower and hot taps onto maximum temperature to build up some heat, then lay slumped against the bed near the radiator and quickly fell into a deep and unpredictably long sleep.
Waking up and looking down at the mud stained trousers and the spots of blood on his white shirt he wondered what he was doing in this place, he winced as the beady eyed face momentarily flashed back into his mind, this is god awful he thought, I need to slip the noose. But there were no trains running out of this place he calculated for at least two days, I may as well push my luck and see what I could find he thought as he realised happily that he had got over the bad fever he had reoccurringly had. Then he headed out again, that would be the last thing those insects would expect he smiled, perhaps I am safer than I thought…or perhaps not, for he still secretly feared being run out of town by angry highlander Scots…I have to lay low…
As he stepped back out into the snow of the resort he felt the ice on the back of his throat, the room had been thick with condensation cloud when he had left it due to the shower and hot taps running constantly for somewhere between 36 and 48 hours straight. The damp warmth of that room had eventually begun to sap his strength and he was glad to be out of it for a while at least. The mountains were beautiful wearing white and the sky was clear and fresh.
The central resort complex was a shopping centre, where the guests dutifully bought up the useless tact shamelessly on sale at vastly inflated prices, a coffee stand and a bar. He ordered a White Russian and watched the people’s blank faces going about the business of spending their hard earned money on things they didn’t want but somehow felt they needed for some higher purpose.
“what should we buy to remember this place by honey?” “dunno, how about that..?” and her arm raises mechanically and picks up a small set of unworkable imitation bag pipes…
on closer inspection he discovered that the small set of imitation bag pipes did actually play some unrecognisable tune, when squeezed, in a metallic screechy tone, a near by shopper inclines their head to hear the sound better…
“yea honey, its uh…nice…isn’t it…uh…?..” and she looks back at him “uh, yea…I guess it is…” and it drops soundlessly into the shopping basket and they walk on without saying another word about it…
I am the hated honesty here he thought, the cruel, crippling lash of truth, the knees go weak, the mind swamps, and the vision blurs in shifting patterns, hands reach forward as if in darkness, feet are unsteady as if the floor were not flat tiles and the hands grip the shopping baskets; he sits watching the unravelling like a ball of wool in the hands of a wide-eyed kitten…
The gods sell all things at a fair price. Proverb….
Finally, two days later, the countryside is flashing by, the carriage is warm and he is done…with the empty sky as my witness I fled that noose before I hung, he smiled again and swigged the bottle of wine, heading south once more away from the dark north towards safety or at least a measure of it…leaving the useless dark cold of that place, strangling itself with that great American dream type thing, yearning for fat Americans and fat American dollars to save their souls from themselves, Americans wearing the kilts of clans they’ve never heard of safe in their holiday compounds just the way they like it with CNN and all the home channels in the hotel rooms, eating burgers and chips and tomato sauce, a home from home in the highlands…and well what of the highlands..?..the clans now happy to play their pipes for a couple quid an hour as the dollar has done what the conquering English armies could never do by reducing the Proud clans to ‘yes’ men and for what..?.. Just for a piece of a toxic waste pie…for as Kerouac knew “Great things are not accomplished by those who yield to trends and fads and popular opinion…”…
*
Back in the Stone city he went straight to see Dr. Zimbadean, a medicator, part time seer part believer. He sat in his basement office; the back room was stacked to the ceiling with boxes of pills, bottles, flasks, amulets, pendants and all around the walls of the whole place various species of plants, roots and animal matter were nailed – each in their own bag. The specimens hung there like the memories of a man possessed; this was Dr. Zimbadean and the insane old witchdoctor’s labeled and ordered chaos.
What’ll it be then? He asked. Well doctor, I was hoping you could tell me that, that’s why I come to you after all, the doctor smiled saying yes, I thought so, yours is quite a serious case so I think a few doses of this will be right as he passes several dark brown bottles with black lids across the wooden table. He picked up the bottles and examining them saw that inside each was a dark creature, lurking in a stasis, hanging in a spiral type pose, lizards ready to unwrap and boa constrict a man and hold him enveloped for long slow hours. Good he said, thanks doctor.
*
Stumbling half running but limping heavily on his left leg the silhouette became a shadow on the slope, then a solid form as it bound on downwards. Its maniac gait was accentuated by the torn coat that flayed behind him in the winds, an inky black smeared grey torn coat, falling loosely off one of his shoulders. His face loomed forwards as he fled the ridge where the first rays of morning were marking a frosty skyline, inviting, but the figure still fled, his hair wet in thick tassels and his eyes showing the delirium as the landscape shattered into glass-like shards, oozing bright light and colour – it was dawn, and the dawn raid was over.
*
There was only one window in the office, and it faced out onto a disused garden, over-grown and unseen. It was warm in the near unventilated basement rooms, three partitioned sections of the floor. Zimbadean had his feet on the desk and was flicking through the t.v. channels while he looked on silently while inhaling cartridge after cartridge of nitric oxide, the voice on the t.v. blared about an artist, Wolfgang Flatz, an action artist, who dropped a bull filled with fireworks from out of a helicopter…flicking channels…17 dead, 4 wounded and another 23 still missing…and the auto-mutilating appearance of the t.v. world continued unabated, unashamed; Zimbadean switched it off and threw a quick look at his patient.
He went on to say that he had ordered an old African mask on the internet, dating back to the 19th Century, at least, which was originally used as a ritual object by a certain unnamable tribe who had since been wiped out by T.B. and Small Pox, which later, once stolen, was on display in a World Fare in 1905, and was gawped at by European visitors and tourists, and later yet went on to inspire the paintings of Picasso. What will you do with it now then..? he asked, genuinely curious, Zimbadean smiled and said, Burn It, Why? What did you think..?
hesq.,
The Human Resources Dept.
Human Resources departments are the scum of an infested world view, they'd do well to remember the thought that humans should never be treated as means to ends, but only as ends in themselves;
here is a true story from an office block near you...
The corporate friendliness surrounded them like a mist, gestures of financial guilt massage…the production line calendars and greetings cards on the desks were all on display, trying to bandage the wound…
Jefferson and Peterson stood speaking, so what’s new Jefferson, oh, not much actually, its been a pretty quiet week, we got a new scanner for the fourth floor, new ink cartridge jets arrived late but I will call the central office and lodge a complaint, formally of course… mm, good mused Peterson, good, someone new in the H.R. dept. though I think, saw him the other day while I was doing the rounds (it was a well known fact that all Peterson did was “do the rounds..”, constantly inspecting…), really sir, said Jefferson in alarmed surprise, I don’t think so, or at least there shouldn’t be anyone new taken on board, you know, with this recession that everyone’s talking about,.. talking said Peterson, not talking Jefferson, whispering, whispering in the corners over their instant cups of coffee, you should know better than to listen to the idle gossip of over paid secretaries, now come Jefferson, let’s see about this new member of staff…who could it be said Jefferson, I mean what does he do…doesn’t seem to do much really, just seems to stand about in the centre of the office, you know, between the desks, or sometimes he’s by the coffee station, seems friendly enough to me, offered to hold my folder while I was making a cup of tea once, very friendly, but as to his job, I really couldn’t say, thought you might know something about it…
The two men amble mock casually into the H.R. dept, which was an open plan office. There was also the “hero board”, the obligatory “we’re here to help” signs and of course employee of the month lists, charts, data and details on employees private lives stashed away in the wall of filing cabinets on one side; all of course to help with the firing of any current employee should the need arise.
And indeed yes, there he was, there said Peterson, look there he is.
He stood, lank, weary looking in the centre of the open plan desking units. His hair looked greasy, and his face boyish, until he caught Jefferson’s intensely heavy stare on him, laser beaming him like a photocopy machine on print,… Peterson went to speak with head of the H.R. dept, bidding Jefferson to stay where he was with a regal wave of his hand.
Who’s the new one said Peterson nodding towards the subject at hand. The re-circulated air was dry, and stung the screen bound eyes it met,
That’s uh,.. clark I think, sir, said the Head of H.R.,
What’s he doing?
Uh, his job sir.
And what is his job?
Well, sir, it’s all part of a new cost saving initiative that we’ve had, he’s acting as a table sir, you know, just on a temporary basis,
What do you mean a table, a table, have you gone mad..? said Peterson half in horror,
No sir, not mad, we did the maths you see, and it works out cheaper to hire this uh, clark here, to act as a table just during busy high peak high use high frequency times, such as coffee breaks, lunch hours and briefly in the morning, than it would cost to buy a table. In fact, we’ve stretched the scheme to cover the whole office building, by insisting that each dept. take its lunch break in turns, the first from 9 -10am, then next at 0am-11am and so on until the last dept takes theirs from 4pm-5pm, we’ve managed to employ this here Mr. Clark as a full time table, going from dept. to dept, as the need arises, look, as you can see we’ve also got him wired up to a radio in the instance that he can be called at a moments notice by the Head of any Dept in case of an emergency when a table might really be needed. This scheme has saved us a great deal sir, a great deal I assure you.
Peterson was silent, almost in awe, but also thinking he’d have to watch this here Mandelson, Head of H.R. today, but he was a sharp one, and could rise through the ranks rather quicker than Peterson would like to see; yes of course said Peterson, that’s good work there Mandelson, keep it up…
Returning to the waiting Jefferson who had been craning his neck in a vain attempt to lip read the conversation, Peterson simply nodded to the door and begun to walk on, but wait, wait sir, what was his job, what does he do..? at this Peterson turned and said as casually as he could possibly conspire to, why he’s a table of course. A table..? said Jefferson, what do you mean he’s a table,. Oh Christ said Peterson with real irritation, what do you think I mean by he’s a table, he’s a bloody table ok….
And with that, both men walk mock casually back the way they had come, Peterson adjusting his neck tie, and Jefferson, well, Jefferson wondering what the career prospects were like in today’s market for a table…
the london press.,
London never sleeps, or it sleeps in shifts at least and so always can you find some part awake, thriving or busy dying, somewhere it is still eye-balling something, like cement that will never dry the city soaks us all up into its suffocating hold, and its hideous digestional tracts are the underground, those wriggling channels of people, swarming about with numb worried faces, sometimes curious but only for an instant and then like a light that goes out we arrive at another station, another organ in the belly of this horrible machine; and the bile of this place is the newspapers handed out for free – simply adverts and various articles that verge on propaganda telling the city what to think of the war of politicians and most importantly of celebrities – at the entrance and exit of stations, by down and out people dressed in the bright garish colours of the paper they hand out, “Lite” with its street people dressed in luminous yellow trousers and coats, “London Paper” with its street people dressed in bright purple attires, and the papers blow about like tumble weed in the underground, swept up by the under pull of the carriage and they swirl up into the dust thick air, the puss press that floats about the consciousness of this swarming heaving mass of people, the name “Lite”, not LIGHT, but LITE…perfect for out lite generation, thin on the ground, papers that reflect the people it reflects, a generation half obsessed and half starved by their own guilt, lite, diet pepsi, diet coke, diet organic carrots and organic ham and I feel sick and vomit heavily in the carriage of the underground train, and coughing on chunks of a mcdonalds’ hamburger that I had found on a seat before I boarded the train I assure the faceless bones of protest that yes, this is organic, that yea, this is pure organic bile and it seeps from me uncontrollably at this minute and I’m not too sorry that it went on your shoes sir…and in the ever distant back ground its that old whine of steel on steel as the train rockets down the tunnel unknowingly…
hesq.
hesq.
support the "i put gordon brown in the dock" appeal...
In any society the questions of politics should inevitably cause divides, rifts and disagreements between various persons and also various parties; and this would be a healthy political arena, a society where debate and the exchange of ideas and believes could actuate a social evolution, or, what can be called progress.
A functioning democracy needs to have dissenting voices in order to move forward in a positive direction. Only if the ruling elite (the government) become unjustified in their position does debate and protest need to be silenced in order to maintain an otherwise untenable status quo. The irony is that the imposition of such draconian or “Orwellian” measures will often predate a widely recognised public consensus to the same effect because it will be those unjustifiable persons in positions of authority that come to realise the untenable nature of their existence before the public do at large. It’s the reaction of last resort of a cornered animal, and that is attack its foe before its foe gets it by the neck…
THE LAW : SOCAP, 2005.
Taken from the Serious Organised Crime and Police Act, 2005:
“132 Demonstrating without authorisation in designated area (i.e. Parliament Square, and 1km radius surrounding it...)
(1) Any person who—
(a) organises a demonstration in a public place in the designated area, or
(b) takes part in a demonstration in a public place in the designated area, or
(c) carries on a demonstration by himself in a public place in the designated area,
is guilty of an offence if, when the demonstration starts, authorisation for the demonstration has not been given under section 134(2). ”
A person can get up to 51 weeks in prison and £1000 penalty fine for breaking this law.
Any attempt to stifle or silence a disagreeing voice is completely anti-democratic and reeks of totalitarianism and fascism in all its ugliness.
Mark Thomas, a veteran on the trail of campaigning for human rights in this country and abroad, has set up a legal action to take Gordon Brown to court for breaking precisely this law...get the Pig with his own baton, here he describes his reasoning :
my lawyers delivered a letter to the director of public prosecutions yesterday afternoon calling for an urgent investigation into allegations that the prime minister broke the law by demonstrating unlawfully in Parliament Square last summer. If found guilty he could face 50 weeks in prison - though, after serving 10 years at No 11, he should do his bird with ease.
This is partly Mr Brown's own fault. It began when MPs rushed the Serious Organised Crime and Police Act 2005 through, forcing anyone wishing to demonstrate within an area around parliament to get police approval. This is the law that Maya Evans was arrested and convicted under, for reading out the names of the British and Iraqi war dead.
In the past 18 months I have legally demonstrated in every corner of the area this law covers, from Hungerford Bridge (demanding more trolls) to the Mall (demanding human rights in Saudi Arabia). The definition of what constitutes a protest is such that I had to apply for permission to wear a red nose in Parliament Square on Red Nose Day. Not to do so would have risked arrest. Last month I had to get police approval to hold a banner saying, "Support the Poppy Appeal".
If the wearing of a brightly coloured proboscis constitutes a protest, then the unveiling of Nelson Mandela's statue must do so too. After all, it celebrated the collapse of apartheid (a political cause), honoured a man who organised the armed struggle in South Africa (definitely political and quite possibly glorifying terrorism), and pledged to fight poverty. So, being civic-minded, I wrote to the police asking if I needed permission for a gathering at the statue. My event had speeches - in fact, they were extracts from the original speeches made on the day by Mr Brown and Mr Mandela. Yes, the police informed me, I did need permission to demonstrate - which I duly applied for and received. Unfortunately for the prime minister, it seems no one bothered to get police approval at the event he spoke at.
Mr Brown, however, is just the tip of the iceberg. One person can constitute a demonstration, but what exactly is a demonstration? In law, there is little to go by, but for various dictionary definitions, such as "an expression of opinion". It is my duty as a law-abiding citizen, therefore, to add to the legal letter served the names of MPs seen holding forth on political issues on College Green, urging the DPP to investigate them for breaking the law and demonstrating without permission. It does not matter that they are being interviewed for news programmes - the law allows no exceptions or exemptions. In fact, the news organisations could be guilty of organising unlawful demonstrations by asking MPs to speak, so I have reported them as well.
All of this may seem ridiculous, but, hey, they started it, and making a crap law does not exempt you from its provisions. So I am calling on all fair-minded citizens to report any MPs seen giving interviews on College Green or in Parliament Square. You can do so by photographing the offending MP and posting it to Shopanmp.com. (quoted from Guardian, 13/12/07)
How to Help Put Gordon in the Dock...
You can buy an "I put Gordon Brownin the Dock" badge, from Markthomasinfo.com for £2, the money raised will be used to pay lawyers, and any left over cashishe will go the Index of Censorship.
Good Luck.
A functioning democracy needs to have dissenting voices in order to move forward in a positive direction. Only if the ruling elite (the government) become unjustified in their position does debate and protest need to be silenced in order to maintain an otherwise untenable status quo. The irony is that the imposition of such draconian or “Orwellian” measures will often predate a widely recognised public consensus to the same effect because it will be those unjustifiable persons in positions of authority that come to realise the untenable nature of their existence before the public do at large. It’s the reaction of last resort of a cornered animal, and that is attack its foe before its foe gets it by the neck…
THE LAW : SOCAP, 2005.
Taken from the Serious Organised Crime and Police Act, 2005:
“132 Demonstrating without authorisation in designated area (i.e. Parliament Square, and 1km radius surrounding it...)
(1) Any person who—
(a) organises a demonstration in a public place in the designated area, or
(b) takes part in a demonstration in a public place in the designated area, or
(c) carries on a demonstration by himself in a public place in the designated area,
is guilty of an offence if, when the demonstration starts, authorisation for the demonstration has not been given under section 134(2). ”
A person can get up to 51 weeks in prison and £1000 penalty fine for breaking this law.
Any attempt to stifle or silence a disagreeing voice is completely anti-democratic and reeks of totalitarianism and fascism in all its ugliness.
Mark Thomas, a veteran on the trail of campaigning for human rights in this country and abroad, has set up a legal action to take Gordon Brown to court for breaking precisely this law...get the Pig with his own baton, here he describes his reasoning :
my lawyers delivered a letter to the director of public prosecutions yesterday afternoon calling for an urgent investigation into allegations that the prime minister broke the law by demonstrating unlawfully in Parliament Square last summer. If found guilty he could face 50 weeks in prison - though, after serving 10 years at No 11, he should do his bird with ease.
This is partly Mr Brown's own fault. It began when MPs rushed the Serious Organised Crime and Police Act 2005 through, forcing anyone wishing to demonstrate within an area around parliament to get police approval. This is the law that Maya Evans was arrested and convicted under, for reading out the names of the British and Iraqi war dead.
In the past 18 months I have legally demonstrated in every corner of the area this law covers, from Hungerford Bridge (demanding more trolls) to the Mall (demanding human rights in Saudi Arabia). The definition of what constitutes a protest is such that I had to apply for permission to wear a red nose in Parliament Square on Red Nose Day. Not to do so would have risked arrest. Last month I had to get police approval to hold a banner saying, "Support the Poppy Appeal".
If the wearing of a brightly coloured proboscis constitutes a protest, then the unveiling of Nelson Mandela's statue must do so too. After all, it celebrated the collapse of apartheid (a political cause), honoured a man who organised the armed struggle in South Africa (definitely political and quite possibly glorifying terrorism), and pledged to fight poverty. So, being civic-minded, I wrote to the police asking if I needed permission for a gathering at the statue. My event had speeches - in fact, they were extracts from the original speeches made on the day by Mr Brown and Mr Mandela. Yes, the police informed me, I did need permission to demonstrate - which I duly applied for and received. Unfortunately for the prime minister, it seems no one bothered to get police approval at the event he spoke at.
Mr Brown, however, is just the tip of the iceberg. One person can constitute a demonstration, but what exactly is a demonstration? In law, there is little to go by, but for various dictionary definitions, such as "an expression of opinion". It is my duty as a law-abiding citizen, therefore, to add to the legal letter served the names of MPs seen holding forth on political issues on College Green, urging the DPP to investigate them for breaking the law and demonstrating without permission. It does not matter that they are being interviewed for news programmes - the law allows no exceptions or exemptions. In fact, the news organisations could be guilty of organising unlawful demonstrations by asking MPs to speak, so I have reported them as well.
All of this may seem ridiculous, but, hey, they started it, and making a crap law does not exempt you from its provisions. So I am calling on all fair-minded citizens to report any MPs seen giving interviews on College Green or in Parliament Square. You can do so by photographing the offending MP and posting it to Shopanmp.com. (quoted from Guardian, 13/12/07)
How to Help Put Gordon in the Dock...
You can buy an "I put Gordon Brownin the Dock" badge, from Markthomasinfo.com for £2, the money raised will be used to pay lawyers, and any left over cashishe will go the Index of Censorship.
Good Luck.
notes to the sports desk, from soho, london,
the Chinese super gourmet buffet king…
Emerging from the underground it’s Soho. On G___ Street, a small street leading off the main drag is an Italian basement bar. The main drag of soho is too seedy in a FHM magazine style way to worth the time of any real trooper, too many boys running around in satin tops and eyeliner living the dream as they brush close to the collosal bouncers at the doors of the clubs, so tootling off the main drag it's G___ Street, where behind an unmarked door down plain white stairs past no bouncers or door staff then down an unlit corridor is small almost desk like bar, serving only wine and spirits so its a whisky and water then swivelling on the balls of my feet to face the crowded tiny bar room dim lighting perfect for my already over stretched retina, full of the night, and there’s a dark young man sitting with an accordion crushing that little box till its croaking out classic french style jazz refrains and i'm thinking there's no end to the wonders in this city; the walls are plastered with photos of the popes and also film star gangsters, Al Capone etc. but also humphry bogart and others., the crowd here is friendly and noisy, its cheap red wine on most lips and out back where it is the smoking it’s a carnival…
Leaving this, i stumble on down the roads, not knowing where it is am going in particular, just following the feel of my feet down the street, loving the night around, loving the people flowing by like a stream that i dip my feet into, then out and on, then into again, its been a long one, perhaps 40 or 50 hours on the go, and i know i need some food, some temporary sanctuary before returning to the east end of the city this night,.. i look up and find myself in china town, and walk cheerfully into the Chinese super gourmet buffet king, which is near on a shack. The grease soaked in-door stalls are putrid, and there’s some grinning little Chinese women dressed in a filthy black frock, the yellowing stains all down her front shimmer in the reddish light that floods in the tall windows from the street outside, coating the dingy air inside with its disgusting aura. Perfect i think as i fish in my pocket to find a lot of coins and tobacco floating about, it feels heavy and as i pay a few pounds cash to the old duck i am grinning at the thought of some good heavy food in exchange, and then i am given a tin foil box and ushered towards the stand with the food, where i can fill this tin foil box with the swimming bits of meat in oil, rice and soggy looking sagging vegetables, and the stick damp air is full of the sickly sweet scents of cheap sauces, perfect i think again as i begin to stuff the box, crushing the rice into a cake at the bottom, jamming noodles, bits of unnameable meat and vegetables into it too, but as i proceed there is suddenly next to me this busty black woman, licking her lips, prodding at my trousers, asking what’s this, mmm, what’s this, what should i eat and she tugs at my belt,.. i turn at her with eyes still betraying the past 24 hrs of the forgetting and something snaps, i literally feel it go in my belly, and she’s still pulling at my belt, the hustling little whore, and i crack, what the fuck do you take me for, a fucking Chinese chef..? go suck grease somewhere else, suck what she shouts, pushing at me, causing the sauce to spill over the tin foil box onto my white/grey shirt cuffs, and now her friend who I hadn’t even seen till then is joining in too, just give her a fiver mate, just give her a fiver you tight cunt,.. tight cunt i said amazed and taken aback by the nasty yapping things at my shoulder..and the old Chinese woman is waddling over now, looking perplexed but firm in resolve, waddling like some demented crispy fried duck, and by now i’m just hearing white noise, the blood it feels is seeping from everywhere and bursting into my skull and still its just give her a fiver giver a fiver mate, i look down at her exposed cleavage, just a fiver mate, come on, and she’s still tugging at my god dam belt, and then glancing at the door, i hold onto my trilby as i launch the tin foil box at the two hussies, full of oily meat, vegetables and rice, and i see it in slow motion, as though savouring that meal as i ate it, seeing the noodles slip down her fat cleavage, the oil on her shoulder, the sauce on her friends face, and then in a second i am out the door and hurtling down the street through the crowds, until suddenly i stop, a taxi is passing and the white noise is gone, i wave it down, get in and say please, just out of china town, out of Soho, so go, go, and we pull of effortlessly. i look around to see the two woman and the squawking duck on the street, shouting obscenities, like police and cunt and bastard, and a few other people are loitering too just wondering perhaps, and i am smiling looking back forward again in the taxi, sinking into the soft black back seat, what happened back there mate, said that driver evidently half amused at my state, oh, i said, just a problem with the meat, under-cooked you know,.. and in a second i have Evaporated into another city second, into the thick time fog that closes like a curtain at the end of a show to faithfully hide the actors undressing backstage,..
the city has the feeling of a series of theatre stages, with the backstages and all, also the sudden explosion of potential because one can never know who's movie you've just stepped into, a dangerous city for late night stoned wanderings.,
Emerging from the underground it’s Soho. On G___ Street, a small street leading off the main drag is an Italian basement bar. The main drag of soho is too seedy in a FHM magazine style way to worth the time of any real trooper, too many boys running around in satin tops and eyeliner living the dream as they brush close to the collosal bouncers at the doors of the clubs, so tootling off the main drag it's G___ Street, where behind an unmarked door down plain white stairs past no bouncers or door staff then down an unlit corridor is small almost desk like bar, serving only wine and spirits so its a whisky and water then swivelling on the balls of my feet to face the crowded tiny bar room dim lighting perfect for my already over stretched retina, full of the night, and there’s a dark young man sitting with an accordion crushing that little box till its croaking out classic french style jazz refrains and i'm thinking there's no end to the wonders in this city; the walls are plastered with photos of the popes and also film star gangsters, Al Capone etc. but also humphry bogart and others., the crowd here is friendly and noisy, its cheap red wine on most lips and out back where it is the smoking it’s a carnival…
Leaving this, i stumble on down the roads, not knowing where it is am going in particular, just following the feel of my feet down the street, loving the night around, loving the people flowing by like a stream that i dip my feet into, then out and on, then into again, its been a long one, perhaps 40 or 50 hours on the go, and i know i need some food, some temporary sanctuary before returning to the east end of the city this night,.. i look up and find myself in china town, and walk cheerfully into the Chinese super gourmet buffet king, which is near on a shack. The grease soaked in-door stalls are putrid, and there’s some grinning little Chinese women dressed in a filthy black frock, the yellowing stains all down her front shimmer in the reddish light that floods in the tall windows from the street outside, coating the dingy air inside with its disgusting aura. Perfect i think as i fish in my pocket to find a lot of coins and tobacco floating about, it feels heavy and as i pay a few pounds cash to the old duck i am grinning at the thought of some good heavy food in exchange, and then i am given a tin foil box and ushered towards the stand with the food, where i can fill this tin foil box with the swimming bits of meat in oil, rice and soggy looking sagging vegetables, and the stick damp air is full of the sickly sweet scents of cheap sauces, perfect i think again as i begin to stuff the box, crushing the rice into a cake at the bottom, jamming noodles, bits of unnameable meat and vegetables into it too, but as i proceed there is suddenly next to me this busty black woman, licking her lips, prodding at my trousers, asking what’s this, mmm, what’s this, what should i eat and she tugs at my belt,.. i turn at her with eyes still betraying the past 24 hrs of the forgetting and something snaps, i literally feel it go in my belly, and she’s still pulling at my belt, the hustling little whore, and i crack, what the fuck do you take me for, a fucking Chinese chef..? go suck grease somewhere else, suck what she shouts, pushing at me, causing the sauce to spill over the tin foil box onto my white/grey shirt cuffs, and now her friend who I hadn’t even seen till then is joining in too, just give her a fiver mate, just give her a fiver you tight cunt,.. tight cunt i said amazed and taken aback by the nasty yapping things at my shoulder..and the old Chinese woman is waddling over now, looking perplexed but firm in resolve, waddling like some demented crispy fried duck, and by now i’m just hearing white noise, the blood it feels is seeping from everywhere and bursting into my skull and still its just give her a fiver giver a fiver mate, i look down at her exposed cleavage, just a fiver mate, come on, and she’s still tugging at my god dam belt, and then glancing at the door, i hold onto my trilby as i launch the tin foil box at the two hussies, full of oily meat, vegetables and rice, and i see it in slow motion, as though savouring that meal as i ate it, seeing the noodles slip down her fat cleavage, the oil on her shoulder, the sauce on her friends face, and then in a second i am out the door and hurtling down the street through the crowds, until suddenly i stop, a taxi is passing and the white noise is gone, i wave it down, get in and say please, just out of china town, out of Soho, so go, go, and we pull of effortlessly. i look around to see the two woman and the squawking duck on the street, shouting obscenities, like police and cunt and bastard, and a few other people are loitering too just wondering perhaps, and i am smiling looking back forward again in the taxi, sinking into the soft black back seat, what happened back there mate, said that driver evidently half amused at my state, oh, i said, just a problem with the meat, under-cooked you know,.. and in a second i have Evaporated into another city second, into the thick time fog that closes like a curtain at the end of a show to faithfully hide the actors undressing backstage,..
the city has the feeling of a series of theatre stages, with the backstages and all, also the sudden explosion of potential because one can never know who's movie you've just stepped into, a dangerous city for late night stoned wanderings.,
gonzo journalism.,
Gonzo journalism is a style of writing which is written subjectively, often including the reporter as part of the story via a first person narrative. Factual events may be used in a fictional piece and these events may be exaggerated to emphasize an underlying message. The word gonzo was first used in 1970 to describe an article by Hunter S. Thompson, who later popularized the style. The term has since been applied to other subjective artistic endeavors.
Gonzo journalism tends to favor style over accuracy and often uses personal experiences and emotions to provide context for the topic or event being covered. It disregards the 'polished' edited product favored by newspaper media and strives for the gritty factor. Use of quotes, sarcasm, humor, exaggeration, and even profanity is common. The use of Gonzo journalism portends that journalism can be truthful without striving for objectivity and is loosely equivalent to an editorial... as HST said, how can you be objective about Nixon..?
Gonzo journalism tends to favor style over accuracy and often uses personal experiences and emotions to provide context for the topic or event being covered. It disregards the 'polished' edited product favored by newspaper media and strives for the gritty factor. Use of quotes, sarcasm, humor, exaggeration, and even profanity is common. The use of Gonzo journalism portends that journalism can be truthful without striving for objectivity and is loosely equivalent to an editorial... as HST said, how can you be objective about Nixon..?
definition and image care of the ever expanding wikipedia....thanks again boys...
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