Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Love and Some Verses



Rock me, Virgil

Apiculture is the new black

no more supervishizle, no more lectures (i last went to one 3 weeks ago)



even when you touch

my face
.
you know
.
your place

and we should shine a light on
a light-on

and the book i write on's right on
it was right-on

/

g des p'tits problemes dans ma plantation
pourquoi ca pousse pas?

[i think that the whole song is a trope for sexual impotence
..cos then he gets stoned and he doesn't care]

Monday, November 28, 2005

What's Mr Clift doing in my soup?

Saturday, November 26, 2005

Stichomythia

Friday, November 25, 2005

This Month's Don'ts



"Shouldn’t this guy be in Iraq dying? Why have wars if you can’t use them to turn human garbage into neat stuff from other countries? This guy would look way better as one of many little white crosses all in a row beneath some heroic bronze sculpture of a soldier. "

pretty fucking harsh? [retards please note Some Staffer At Vice wrote it, not me]
his photo continues the smoking leitmotif, though.

the stalking article was good
the retardo paint was fun too.

On est crevé quand on s'leve le matin

If you wanna find yourself by travelling out west
Or if you wanna find somebody else that's better

Go ahead

If you wanna buy a brand new fancy automobile
Or if you wanna build a place up in coldwater canyon

Go ahead

....

If you wanna have your cake and eat it too
And if you wanna have other people watch you while you eat it

Go ahead

Be my Guest

Thursday, November 24, 2005

I'm going to post her again

she looks sorta inbred. i love her.



actually the photo works because they are both inhaling and throwing poses.

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

I Want You to Stay



I like it when you hear a song and remember why you used to like all those skinny bands with skinny ties and northern accents. Bands with hipster umlauts and sold-out shows at UCL which you didn't go to. Even before the song ends you know you will tire of it and that the next song will be weak.

[I realise that maximo park are neither particularly skinny nor wearing skinny ties in this photo]

Monday, November 21, 2005

Genius Costumes (and other assorted stolen stuff)






In other news, 3 essays to write before thursday about 3 plays i haven't read and some poems i haven't read either. SCORE

also they can kick me out if they like, on wednesday.

[btw the top girl had come as 'someonereallyfuckinghot' and i fucking hate the people who write to postscret, but i think it's pretty fucking rad that they tatooed the kid like that]

Sunday, November 20, 2005

Me and Lethal



Me, Lethal B, best friends, nuff said.

no but i was hanging out in his dressing room not smoking spliffs and not drinking vodka with him. while the groupies threw themselves at him. it was mortifying; we were listening to his own songs played through some tinny little computer speakers, so i changed it to 'philly's most wanted' and i started enthusing about it and he was all 'yeah yeah dat iz mo old skool dan mo'fire crew' and i was like.. um yes. then some fat bitch (clearly not invited as a groupie, must have been a hanger on) turned it off and he left.

Saturday, November 19, 2005

Today we work hard to see Lethal B.



The Bearer of Evil Tidings

The bearer of evil tidings,
When he was halfway there,
Remembered that evil tidings
Were a dangerous thing to bear.

So when he came to the parting
Where one road led to the throne
And one went off to the mountains
And into the wild unknown,

He took the one to the mountains.
He ran through the Vale of Cashmere,
He ran through the rhodendrons,
Till he came to the land of Pamir.

And there in a precipice valley
A girl of his age he met
Took him home to her bower
Or he might be running yet.

She taught him the tribe's religion:
How, ages and ages since,
A princess en route from China
To marry a Persian prince

Had been found with child; and her army
Had come to a troubled halt.
And though a god was the father
And nobody else was at fault,

It had seemed discreet to remain there
And neither go on nor go back.
So they stayed and declared a village
There in the land of the Yak.

And the child that came of the princess
Established a royal line,
And his mandates were given heed to
Because he was born divine.

And that was why there were people
On one Himalayan shelf:
And the bearer of evil tidings
Decided to stay there himself.

At least he had this in common
With the race he chose to adopt:
They had both of them had their reasons
For stopping where they had stopped.

As for his evil tidings,
Belshazzar's overthrow,
Why hurry to tell Belshazzar
What soon enough he would know?

Robert Frost

Friday, November 18, 2005





i'm still up and i still haven't done my essay


from now on i'm going to just steal photos and put them here ('from now on, yar')
i'm now a CURATOR yes

AREN'T I UP EARLY?




Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Powder, Keg.

since no-one reads this any longer, i thought i might turn it into a repository of curry related photos.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

The Man of Metropolis Steals Our Hearts



i wanted to make the juniper photo my banner, but i don't know how anymore.

maybe thatcher's eyes?



this week i will mostly be listening to 'bam bam' by sister nancy.

Sunday, November 13, 2005

Fucking Coldplay

Here is Jon Pareles demolishing them better than I can (I normally drunkenly whore about them being a bunch of fucking bedwetters who should Make Decent Music before they try to
Make Poverty History):


He places his melodies near the top of his range to sound more fragile, so the tunes straddle the break between his radiant tenor voice and his falsetto. As he hops between them - in what may be Coldplay's most annoying tic - he makes a sound somewhere between a yodel and a hiccup. And the lyrics can make me wish I didn't understand English. Coldplay's countless fans seem to take comfort when Mr. Martin sings lines like, "Is there anybody out there who / Is lost and hurt and lonely too," while a strummed acoustic guitar telegraphs his aching sincerity. Me, I hear a passive-aggressive blowhard, immoderately proud as he flaunts humility.

[...]

It's supposed to be compassionate, empathetic, magnanimous, inspirational. But when the music swells up once more with tremolo guitars and chiming keyboards, and Mr. Martin's voice breaks for the umpteenth time, it sounds like hokum to me.

Saturday, November 12, 2005

Eli, Eli, Eli - lama sabachthani

Says I-man don't deal in no kind of hearsay
Back 'weh wi dat an' come straight if you a come
Say dem a de ginnal - dem a de big chief
But the winning card in dis game it's I who got it
Remember dis little sayin' that bush have ears
Pick sense out of nonsense, you'll get the answer
Bush don't have ears, my friend, but someone may be in it



Hearing what you have said about your brothers
Hearing what you have said about your sisters
Hearing how you have made your own confession
Hearing what you have done in de pas'
'Cause ev'ry secret sin must reveal
So if you nuh know what a gwan
Keep your mouth shut an' don' say a word ya

Friday, November 11, 2005

i heart lasse

happy guy fawkes' night, for a week ago.

(got drunk on friday)

(saturday morning:)

i went to london and met people from the bus then ate then was happy to find mattresses in the emtpy apartment we were going to stay in and then we met another person from the busand went back to the empty apartment with no furniture except mattresses and ate

tuna & yoghurt

mixed.

then we drank and took a bus 'cross-town' and someone needed to pee so we downed the can so she could pee in it and she went to the back of the bus but she didn't have the requisite balls

and we got to the pub and it was closed and we went to a different pub and i requested vitalic cos i'm fucking cool and then we drank.. and even drank quite a lot of 'found' beers and downed one on the way out and some dorks were doing a survey investigating the 'going out' habits of people so i thought the only appropriate response was to tell several bouncers that we were guest-listed (the bouncer at the legion said i was a 'playa', yay) and then to puke in some street.

it would have been ok but i didn't feel ok after puking, what with all the rohypnol (sic) and yar so i refused to move from the pavement for 2/2.5 hours and some people walked past:-


"one guy with four girls?.. he must be an attention seeker, i'm sure he'll get up if we kick him in the head"

[crack whore] "i'm sure he'll get up if i show him my knickers [suddenly enraged] WELL FUCK IT, NO WONDER HE COLLAPSED WHEN HE IS SURROUNDED BY ALL THOSE GERMANS"



then we took a taxi home and the retardo/show off spoke arabic with the iraqi 'taxi' driver in order to distract him from the fact that i was dying.




much later we woke up and it was akready getting dark and my mother was, predictably, 'not angry, but disappointed' when we came over for 'lunch' 5 hours late.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Thus Spake Zareth Ustra


"We make bangers, not anthems
Leave that to the artful dodger
The broad-shouldered 51 % shareholder
You won't find us on Altavista
Cult classic, not bestseller"

Friday, November 04, 2005

Drunk:




restaurantbarok.

Amsterdam




Wednesday, November 02, 2005

Abu Hamza Chic

Paiter the (master)(de)baiter CORR


i feel like this man right now.
actually not at all.. i used to know him. hello, peter, if you are reading.
lynne truss would get old testament on my punctuation.

i haven't done my essay i'm going to bed.

there once was a Fellow from Kings (geddit?)
who didn't like women, and things. (weak line)
what lit his fire (don't remember if this is right)
was a boy in the choir (or this)
with an arse like a jelly on springs (sublime)

Tuesday, November 01, 2005


is this the stupidest shit on earth? eller?

Queens' ERGS.. sponsored by JP Morgan.
What a faggot that guy, i wouldn't pay money for a bunch of people to compete on rowing machines wearing shitty t-shirts listening to trance/S Club.

I would pay money for someone to write my essay about Apollinaire..





" 'One of his major achievements is his ability to take us along the knife-edge of failed hope, unrealised desires, separation and transience.' (Tim Matthews) Is this a productive way to think about Apollinaire and the language of his poems? "

I don't fucking know, i haven't read them.