RIP Sean Doherty II

as i think i said in my first RIP Sean post, i was informed way too late to attend the funeral, wake et al, thanks to bastard work. the lovely Topchick (Sarah) was kind enough to send me the following photos but before i post em, i just wanna copy over some of that which others who knew him had to say, all posted on FreeA3, the Unofficial Alabama 3 site. these'll give you just a bit of a taste of Sean, the kindliest and friendliest of dudes.

Jonny Love: '...I'd just like to relate the following tale: Before the Leamington Spa gig we met up with Sean at 6ish and had a few drinks before the show with The Rev and Mr O. We rolled in to the venue about nine and were having a whale of a time until the first encore when Larry, Devlin and Steve came out into the crowd during the Silver Machine/Smoke on the Water mash up.

'Poor old Seany was beside himself, "They's up on stage one minute, it's gone quiet, then suddenly, they're behind me. What the fuck's going on? I've seen everything now." After, we managed to smuggle him backstage and he had a grin on him like a Chelsea Cat, all night fuckin' long.

'Here was a man who travelled to far away places to see his favourite band: Belfast, Glesga, Cardiff to name but 3. He went out of his way to meet many of the people he met through these forums and to convert others to the perverse ways of Alabama 3, through love. He was a generous man (I want to say, a big heart...) who touched us all'.

lazybones: 'Another sad loss for the congregation. Thoughts with his family and friends. R.I.P Sean'.

euripidean: 'Sean will be sorely missed. He was an absolute gentleman and I'm hugely proud to have been able to call him a friend. He was a generous, charming, funny and caring man and I know for certain that life is better for having known him.

'He loved Alabama 3 in a pure, almost child-like way — always full of excitement and wonder at the band. I know his absence in the future will be gut-wrenching, but hopefully, his sense of enjoyment and fun can live on through us...'

Marianne: 'I only found out yesterday and cried all the way home in the car. Sean always made a point of coming over to the Dublin gigs, we would all meet up for a few pints. He shone like the brightest star and was a truly wonderful soul ... he used to call me almost every night when I went thru the dark teatime of the soul and always I would answer the phone to the familiar sound of "Ello Mate..." A TRUE friend, and a lovely generous person who had time for all.

'God Bless you Sean, you will be missed by so many. Sleep Well my Friend...'

Dave G: 'What a bodyblow for a Monday morning ... I only met Sean twice, though not for lack of trying, both on the same tour, at Oxford and London. As others have said he was such a genuine and friendly guy, you always looked forward to meeting him again. He would always text or call before a gig checking if I would be there and was the first to congratulate us (Myself and Electric Landlady) when we got engaged.

'I will never forget the Oxford show. I had some recording gear about my person, but due to battery failure, I had stopped after about 6 or 7 songs. I went off to find Sean and the others, and gave him my coat, with all the equipment to hold, while I went for beers. When I returned, he had put it behind the merch table, which left me worrying a little what the response would be if it was found. When I told him afterwards, we were both in hysterics.

'That is the memory, I want to carry of Sean, with a huge smile on his face, enjoying the music he loved. RIP fella, you will be much missed...'

Ifor The Engine: 'Whilst en route to Brighton on Saturday Sarah and I heard the tragic news of Sean's passing. Last week at Plumstead Make Merry Sean was talking about his "hairy skull" tattoo and how it was about more than just an expression of his love of the band. For him it was a symbol of fantastic times shared with an ever growing circle of friends.

'All the anecdotes above truly show the measure of the man and the deep affection he inspired in people. Sean you were one of the sweetest, most big hearted, generous and always up for it individuals we have ever met. It was a privilege to have got to know you in the last few years, you will be deeply missed. Our thoughts are with your family and friends'.

/Richard and Sarah

Dr Doob: 'Rock on fat boy. Love and Peace, Davie'.

Pam in Brixton: 'Sean will be very sadly missed; was awful news to hear. Sean was the genuine diamond geezer, as everyone has said: kind, generous, great fun...'

and then came me and the only bit i'll copy from it all is: '... i'm still totally gutted here on many levels, not the least is my own selfishness: just like most who ever met him, i lost not only a friend but a kindred spirit. i remember introducing him to a friend of mine one night at Jamm; they spoke not fifteen, twenty minutes and afterward, my friend marvelled on how quickly they bonded... AFAIC, that was pure Sean: a dude who made new friends feel, not only perfectly comfortable, but as if they'd known each other for ages...'

Electric Landlady: '...We were lucky enough to spend an afternoon with Sean before the Oxford gig a few tours ago, as well as a few other pre and post gig chinwags on other occasions, and he was always fantastic company, funny, sweet and full of enthusiasm for the evening of debauchery ahead. I'm just gutted that we'll not have that pleasure again. Wherever you are Sean, I bet you've got the party started. Bottoms up!'

Jonny Love ended what he totally began: 'Well, it's the day after the funeral and we're starting to face the day. A little groggy and bleary I'll admit for last night a couple of hundred of Sean's closest friends and family gathered in his old neighbourhood to pay our respects. After the formality of a full-on Catholic funeral service the wake was a very welcome release and guess who came to see him off?

'None other than Brother Lawrence and Mr Hit-it-Rock, complete with guitar. The newly formed Alabama 2 (last seen on the playing fields of Plumstead) started us off with WUTM and then played for about an hour giving us Folsom, Caged Bird, Tekno, Up Above, Two Heads, 2129 (a favourite of Sean's), Speed and ending with a splendid and highly appropriate Twisted (aided by young Pepe on harp).

'It really was a joyous occasion with Larry out-doing himself with his glorious personalisations for virtually every song (Sean Doherty Don't Danse to Tekno Any More etc). It's always amusing to watch our cadaverous front man restrain himself verbally (see Rockness vids) whilst telling tales of debauchery but, as usual, he somehow got away with it. Mr Hit-it-Rock was as impeccable as ever...

'It was a wonderful evening spent reminiscing about the big man and was fun to meet his family and old friends who have been greatly touched by what has been written on this site; so much so that a printed copy of this thread accompanied Sean to his grave.

'I'll end with a couple of thoughts: I spoke to a work colleague of Sean's, a young man in his mid twenties who said to me that Sean, because most of his work was outreach, only got to the office once a week. He said the day Sean came in was looked forward to by everyone and was the best day of the week. Says it all really.

'Finally, just how much would Sean have enjoyed last night?

'That grin of his will shine down on us all forever more...'

big thanks to Jonny Love and again to Topchick for so kindly sending me these:


what an honour, to have two biggies from your favorite band show up and not only show, but perform at your funeral. and please remember to click em all for reasons of detail and hugeousity. Mr Rock (Delta Slide Blues) Freebase:


the Reverend Larry Love:


these dudes collect more names than any i've ever met before (in any other band or not) and that's just fine with me, as i'm sure it is with the rest of The Converted; The Congregation. here're Freebase and Larry (or Mark and Rob):




rest in peace, sweet Sean (photo by Angie).


almost forgot: by Euripidean (Jane): 'A JustGiving page has been set up in memory of Sean who, for those who didn't know him, was a much loved member of the Congregation and a great friend to many who post on here, as well as Alabama 3 themselves.

'To honour his memory, a collection has been set up to raise money for the Drug and Alcohol Addiction group he worked for most recently, The Core Trust.

'More details about the collection can be found on www.justgiving.com/converted so please go over and give generously! It should be a great way to pay our respects to a wonderful man and to carry on, in some small way, the wonderful work he did with his tragically short life.

'All the best, Jane (Euri)'.

ps, i'm the one who wrote 'ah, Sean, you star. i'm still gutted here. miss you so much. xoxox' 06/07/09

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about last night / today's the day

before i get down to cases, i wanna make a serious and rather mature announcement. *cough* IT'S HERE, IT'S HERE, HALLELUJAH, IT'S HERE! *happy grrl dancing all over the place* today's my very own personal Independence Day and AFAIC, the now-glorious words – 'The Fourth of July' — will never be the same. five years ago today i landed on British soil, not to visit Chris as i had every few weeks for the prior three months, flying in from Bonn, but arrived to actually begin my life in England, living out my longest-held, fondest dream. i'm so climbing the walls with all the spoing that's in me that i'm actually pretty damn close to 'happy'.

from the Department of Strange but True: and dig — for once it totally ain't the drugs. I AM STOKED! (she shrieked unnecessarily, but diddit anyway to hear the sound of her own voice). wheeeee! :-)

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now back to my regularly unscheduled post for today, with photos and other illos to be added once i get home: OK, the above's my view ATM cause i'm crashing at TPFKAPM's; this'll be illustrated my way as soon as i get my ass in gear and access my saved illos and LOLCats and stuff.

editor's note: it's too much trouble (in other words, I LIED) and i've got plenty more to say about the unexpected glories of last night so i'm leaving off the illustrations and photos i so stupidly mentioned above.

OK, last night in town began with Chris, some of his Y! and former Y! colleagues, Pam and i all sharing a delicious dinner at that Eritrean place i dig so well, the Asmara on Coldharbour Lane. then as usual, we moved on to the Prince Albert to continue drinking and stuff in readiness for the main event: Outlaw at Jamm, this time in memory of Sean Doherty whom we lost just a week or so ago. :-(

Darren and Tina (and friend whose name i forget for a change) all drove up from Poole and along with Mr and Mrs Ifor The Engine, apart from the depressing pall which held sway over most of the evening, it was the best night i've spent in London in ages cause i got to see most of my Brixton friends and others i love, those very near and dear to me and those who're not. i cannot tell you (cause i can't remember) how many times i heard 'Hey, SG!' (or the alternative, 'Yo, rimone!') only to turn round for another surprise reunion.

off the top of my very wack (and still totally ripped) head which refuses me sleep whilst Chris snoozes blissfully away behind me, i think i remember Dave H was the first; he caught me in the narrow space in front of the bar and it was rather embarrassing cause i totally didn't recognise him (he looked great, not to say he didn't the other times we met over the last five years or so but enough about that).

Sir Eddie Real was spinning records and after a quickie reunion of sorts, it seemed like every time i turned my head, i heard my name shouted over the music and noise and shit. *preens* whoa, i KNOW i said that out loud. fuck it – who gives a damn? i guess i should've made a list of those i ran into but hadn't the presence of mind at the time. Godwyn was there, JP ran in and stopped in his tracks to gimme the usual bone-crushing bearhug; there was Taf who drove in from Penzance (and who just better send me his new tune or i'll never speak to him again — LOL, kidding — i torry dude *smirk* and surprise, surprise, Little Chris (who moved to the States last year) actually showed up.

hmmm... lemme see, trying to think here *wood burning*. right, as well there were Topchick, Fluffy, Stevie, Angie (without whose consideration wouldn't have landed me on the Jamm guestlist) and surprise of surprises: Lee and Rob and his half-sister Kate (?) drove up from L-head. note to Dragnim: eat yer heart out, dude! heh, you lazy so-and-so... you so missed out on seeing me and if shit happens and i die tomorrow both you and i know you'll regret not being in town last night. anyway, for missing me, i swear i'll 'get' you for that shit (all in due time, of course).

right, how could i forget? Mr Living Legend hisself, Rock Freebase, was sitting in the Garden out back and Chris and i totally went out to visit him and howl at his Michael Jackson jokes, those in the hilarious Worst Taste Ever. at about midnight we decided to split for Jamm (too early as usual) but i got to hook up with Be Atwell, Errol T, Nick Reynolds, Sister Francesca and Orlando (The Spirit) to whom i proudly lied, saying i stoled a massive amount of his last update from the official site in yesterday's post. to his credit, he stayed looking cool as ever whilst TPFKAPM pointed out the similarities of his look to Malcolm McD's in Clockwork Orange.

damn, there were way more people i hadn't seen in ages and/or met last night. Sean D's sister and aunt were there and we traded reminiscences for a half an hour or so. they were way touched when i told them what they must've heard a thousand times already: about what a clever, stand-up dude was Sean and for a little bit after, we stood there with tears in our eyes. :-(

right, since Be's on Twitter now, i promised to teach him the ins and outs whilst convincing him it was a way better manner to reach and add to his ever-growing numbers of fans, betterer than his mySpaz (as well as Twitter's more prestigious and grown-up and shit). the last dude i promised this was — well, how might i put this? — OK, he wasn't too impressed — and to each his own. anyway, i shall do this, talk to Be off-Twitter ASAP when i get home (and believe me, i ain't gonna forget about this). i also ran into (and i do mean 'ran into') Dan B, web-dude of the official Alabama 3 site (a truly nice guy) and his beautiful wife Ilie, visiting from Germany.

OK, after the last band played some interminable tune (which sounded like shit outside cause we were all growing restless to see the Acoustic Flavour of the Alabama 3 — the main event — we all finally trouped in and i made the usual enemies as i scused my way to the front with Chris and Darren in tow, but like who cares about them? (the enemies, not Chris and Darren). right, almost forgot: when we all spotted D Wayne outside, Chris, Darren and i made our usual beeline over to the glory of his presence where he kept us all in stitches, as per usual. i ain't gonna go into a personal commitment made but if this actually happens – and i ain't holding my breaf — i'll be preening my ass off from today to tomorrow (and prolly for the rest of my life). thing of it is, it's private biz and i don't need this journal or diary or whatever-it-is to remind me, so nyah.

once inside, the place was packed but we found a spot off to the side where i actually got to bop away so IMO (not yours, yours, or yours), a very good time was had by all (meaning me cause dancing is still the best way to release my inner tensions and worries and shit. oh, and to groove to my way-the-fuck cooler than yours sexually charged sensuous moods. and come on in my own inimitable way to whatever lucky dude i might spot through the drug-fuelled haze invisibly emanating round my head, just waiting to pour through my eyes in the form of meaningful glances and shit — now just wait a goddamn minute... i know i said that last out loud. oh, bloody hell. more proof i've lost it — these are tools, secrets really, of the trade and stuff no sane person should ever think out loud but there — i done diddit. *shrugs*

*sigh* editor's note: i've been meaning (for ages) to truthify my Twitter bio, especially the bit that goes 'sex, drugs, rock & roll' cause to my eternal shame it's been sorely MIA (the 'sex' bit) but that's no longer the case so now i don't hafta anymore. who's the lucky overjoyed dude? HAH! i might kiss and fuck or kiss and make love but the lucky fucky boy's no one's biz but my own. so suck it up, youse cause those proverbial wild horses and all wouldn't get me to tell and that's enough about that. *proud*

more details and meetings-of-the-mind to follow but i haven't slept yet and i need to upload the pics i took from stage-side last night, in order to jog my memory. hey, y'know? sometimes it actually works and i do hope these camera-pics are at least halfway decent, especially those of Errol, Be and Larry in his creamy white suit (ruined by cowboy shirt but to each his own an' all and anyway, Larry can do no wrong, not in my book).

right, funniest line of the night when we spotted Delta Slide Blues Dude sitting off to the side (and nobody blamed him cause the i-don't-know-what — way too lengthy electro-Dub-Reggae-techno (!?!) self-indulgent abberration (supposedly off their new album) reached unbearable proportions and according to one in our crew, said (lipreading) 'Rob! How much fuckin' longer is this going to go on?'

but as we all know, Mr Freebase is way too much of a gentleman to have said anything like that.

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Sleep & His Half-Brother, Death

credit where it's due: 'I don't need drugs to enjoy this — just to enhance it'. *in a Homer voice* anyway, above painting was done by John William Waterhouse in 1874 and i fell in love with it whilst reading some long-forgotten psychology textbook; was reading it hidden under the dinnertable (where my mother wouldn't see me). that hiding-the-book stuff was an ongoing nightly nightmare and a total FAIL but as usual, iz stawree of mai lief, akshually.

in somewhat related news, i used to be a massive fan of lucid dreaming. why? cause i actually experienced it for almost four years and i have a huge looseleaf notebook with notes and stuff and illustrations drawn when my words just wouldn't do. it pains me to look back and read from writty born of my more innocent, younger (and way cuter) self, but i just found this, writ late one night when the dreaming unexpectedly woke me up.

ain't that always the way? you're having a good one and bingo, the alarm goes off or there's a firetruck sirening by your bedroom windows or your husband's having a stroke or sump'n and needs you to call 911 but you can't be arsed (cause you so totally don't wanna lose that flimsy hold on your dreamworld). so you try to ignore his frantic gaspings and shit.


OK, here we go (from above-linked Wiki): 'A lucid dream is a dream in which the sleeper is aware that he or she is dreaming. When the dreamer is lucid, he or she can actively participate in and often manipulate the imaginary experiences in the dream environment. Lucid dreams can be extremely real and vivid depending on a person's level of self-awareness during the lucid dream...'



moving right along, reading my notes the day after any of my lucid dreams was akin to reading some stranger's journal cause i had no memory of ever writing anything down. i found this next on my bedside cabinet one gloomy day in the Winter of 1997. if asked, i'd honestly say i couldn't claim it cause i didn't write it (but apart from Peter who was never taught to write, there was no one else around so it must've been mine). let's get a move on, shall we? here's what i read (and must've writ):

'i dreamt i remembered something, something that'll happen tomorrow, something so scarey it can't be borne when i'm conscious but at night when i'm un- is when it all comes out. and to quote Hunter S Thompson again, 'I am no longer responsible for anything i write from this point on...' if you've followed me this far (a thankless task), it'd be to your advantage to remember that.

one mo' time: 'i dreamt i remembered something, something that'll happen tomorrow, something so scarey it can't be borne when i'm conscious but at night when i'm un- is when it all comes out. in my sleep, in my dream, it frightens me so much i keep pushing it off and away; putting off the actual happening and so, putting off reality, all thanks to my weak will. that's "weak will" in TRW but whoa, when i'm asleep and the lucid dreaming takes over, i'm like Supergrrl or sump'n cause i can practically move mountains (and have actually done so, as well as parted the Red Sea, argued with Jebus, moaned to Moses about what the 11th Commandment should be and dissed the shit outta Hitler — and he had no choice but to take it cause in my world of lucid dreaming, what i said goes. went. whatever.

'this has happened so many times that now, when i dream in just the right way, i remember something that happens tomorrow. the thing of it is, i don't remember enough so when (and in all truth and fairness, if) it happens, guess what? i don't remember...' *wack*

hang on, i copied and pasted the wrong writty... fuckin' figures.


OK, this is what i meant with which to bore youse all. and if it makes y'all feel even a wee bit better, it would help to remember to


(as told by my ancient Great Great Granny, the one who (according to her), got raped countless times by the maurauding hordes whilst her village was plundered and pillaged somewhere in the Old Country. which Old Country? damned if i know but if memory serves me well (and it usually doesn't), this is how it went. right, Great Great Granny would call this 'The Princess and her Pee'. needless to say, Iron Mommy cringed whenever Granny got started whilst i, at about two or three years old, revelled in the casual use of her word for 'micturate'.

'Many many years from now, there's a tiny island on a sparkling ocean, a land on which the ancestors of the inhabitants (most of whom are alive today), in their infinite wisdom, saw fit to keep secluded from the rest of the world in future. This tacit decision was agreed upon after they made first verbal contact with their animal co-inhabitants (all having the ability to speak), especially the ones of the feline persuasion. They made this decision right about now, but that was so long ago, not only did no one think about it but there was no reason to do so, no reason to look back to what's now the future'.

editor's note: confused yet? so was i when first hearing this as well as each and every time afterward as well as to this very day but, as usual, i digress. BTW, whenever Great Great Granny's StoryTime came around, Daddy would make all kindsa shushing sounds but he was always ignored. Iron Mommy would roll her eyes but that was a given and she was ignored as well (a happening that always filled me with a secret joy cause nobody — and i mean nobody — had the stones to ignore my mother. then Great Great Granny would go on anyway.

'The island just is. The creatures as they are. The reason for this secrecy was simple: each born there was gifted with the ability to see themselves and their world as something to be protected from normally stupid humans cause what the Island inhabitants accepted as no great thang, the rest of the civilised world referred to as super-powers (in comicbook jargon)...'

editor's note: i just know she got that last from watching Superman on TV but i never questioned her cause i didn't wanna interrupt (for once) and possibly make her lose her train of thought or interfere with the flow of her story. she'd continue:

'Y'know, like seeing into others' hearts and instantly discerning any untruths within and the capacity to leap tall buildings in a single bound... like that. For whatever strange reason, these abilities held danger for the Island inhabitants cause they were well aware that the billions of denizens of the rest of the world had a natural born tendency to capitalise on everything they could, no matter the consequences and what would be ruined in the process.

'And just as their non-human creatures spoke with them, so did the trees, rocks and waters and by mutual agreement, the island remained happily self-sufficient and isolated from the sometimes frequent wars raging over the rest of the world'.

editor's note: after countless bouts of questioning (when i was a bit older), i managed to get it out of her that the rapes she suffered and other such stuff happened late in the 19th century when she was forcibly removed from her island paradise but as she'd tell me, that's another story having nothing to do with this one. i didn't believe her but didn't dare tell her so. she held me rapt each and every time she'd begin (what i called) Story Time. just sayin'.

'Anyway, through the centuries, they kept their island's secrets well until the day came when the first mutation was born, a self-aware being but unlike the rest. Firstly, kitty lingo eluded her from the get-go, although the magnificent magickal felines raised her as they did their own. That is, when they weren't drinking with the humans down in the taverns or bringing in the sheaves or whatever of the best green produce money can't buy. She was called 'Princess' and she kept her own counsel and their world went on as before, to the contentment of most'.

at this point of Granny's story, Charles Darwin made an appearance but forget about him for now. as well, this is the part at which i always broke in to interrupt her with my countless questions cause as a kid, i loathed stories of princesses, their dumbass do-nothing princes and the entire idea of living happily ever after cause young as i was, i knew that shit just couldn't be true, not with the suffering about which i'd already read in newspapers as well as forcibly watched those guilt-inducing TV adverts that went along the lines of '...For just ten cents a day, you can feed this poor child in "Guiltyerselfout, Ecuador" or India or Mexico or wherever.

when i didn't see this crap on television, i'd see double-paged adverts in those glossy magazines found in doctors' and dentists' offices, 'zines with names like 'House Beautiful' *puke* or 'Metrosexual Living' (who cares?) and even to my horror, in my fave adult magazine of all: 'Architectural Digest'. but they were bits of my formative years. unfortunately those formative years haven't evolved since i was a kid, but yet again, i digress.

whoa, new motto: 'i digress therefore i'm SG'. nah, that's teh suck but hey, so's mostly everything else round these parts lately. to be continued (if i can find the rest of it).

thuh end. wait — in other news, i'm off to London in a few hours and i cannot wait to see my friends again. happy weekend! :-)

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swinging like the devil's own dick

or U Don't Danse 2 Tekno? WTF? have y'all been hiding under a rock or sump'n? nope, i ain't talking Rock Freebase, though to hide under him is a joy to behold as well as a night to savour listening to him expound on everything from Richard Dawkins to Baudrillard to his brilliant writing as The Empiricist on their second fabaroo album, La Peste about which its Wiki says 'La Peste features several references to literature. The album's title as well as the track "Strange"* allude to the works of Albert Camus. The final track, "Sinking..." is based on The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge...' and much much more.

fan-fun-fact: 'Strange' is totally my fave track on the album and in all actuallity, i'm very hard-pressed to pick a fave from any of Alabama 3's albums. :-)

anyway, this band has been growing stronger and stronger for nigh on 11-12+ years already. never heard of em? Shame on y'all. ever watch the Sopranos? they're the dudes who do their themesong, Woke Up This Morning, though you'd never know it but i've moaned long and hard on that shit, and i'm sick of whinging over spilt milk, missed opportunities and the like.

just taste a bit of that which the ever-shrinking unofficial Converted (and the ever-growing) official Congregation have been wild about since Exile on Coldharbour Lane (buy at American Amazon here). even more about it here in the glorious words of the Reverend Larry Love):

'...We spent half of our advance from Geffen on various contraband items and with the rest we made an over-produced, brilliant situationist masterpiece called "Exile on Coldharbour Lane". Ever since then we've been preaching our Gospel all over the world. We've got into a whole bunch of trouble and met a whole bunch of nice people. We make friends where ever we go...'

do yourself a favour: give it a listen and whatever your current fave album might be, i assure you, it'll be forever usurped and i betcha y'all can't listen just the once. as a recent Convert twat to me after his live Alabama 3 gig cherry was busted, 'it was sooooo good ... total convert now ... they were amazing !!! Just had a damned fine night, good music & lots of dancing'. he went further: '... gonna buy all their CDs now ... need my A3 fix, ha ha'. *preens cause i still got the touch*

'Here The Train A-Comin', a DVD of one of their Christmas gigs (as usual, i was straight up front and centre until my stomach doubled up on me but enough said about that); anyway, the DVD should give anyone with half an eye and ear an excellent taste of why The Guardian calls Alabama 3 'The Best Live Band in the Country'. here's a taste of that glorious night at the Astoria, courtesy of zynsk at YouTube.

not for nothing, their top fans are no slouches; they include Irvine Welsh:

'This is the first band I could ever dance to in the daytime hours without chemical assistance... and that says a lot'. BTW, i met Irvine last year at Borders in Bristol and since we share a mutual Alabama 3 member in common as a comrade in crime, oops, rather, a comrade in arms, i took his pic to add to my ever-increasing collection of Alabama 3 dudes (fiends and friends) giving me the finger:


this is the photo that started it all; gave me the idea to get the entire band to gimme the finger (taken that memorable night i did Klan at the studio with Angie (details below):


my fave pic of my main man, D Wayne Love, posing as Jake up at Chris' flat:


and here's Jake giving it to me one night at Jamm.


i don't think he remembers cause months later at another Outlaw at Jamm, i asked him to do it again. his answer? sump'n like 'Naw, ah couldn't dae tha' t' ya...' sorry, i just can't replicate his Scottish brogue or whatever *snigger*

i've got plenty more where those came from but i'm running outta time here so here's my fave of Rock Freebase — Mark — giving me the one and two finger salute, both American and British style, at my request.


back to Irvine Welsh, and me being me, i asked him again and he was so very obliging. :-) i got the feeling he didn't believe me about Jake (D Wayne) but boy, the look on his face the very next night at at his book launch party in London when i stood front and centre, under Irvine's podium with none other than the Very Reverend D Wayne Love hisself.


as well, there's quite another famous writerly dude, none other than 'the world's biggest selling author,' Stephen King (who actually performed with them in London — watch Stephen jamming w/the Acoustic Flavour of the band here) 'When best-selling horror writer Stephen King recently visited the UK for the first time in 10 years he requested they play at his latest book launch...' and went on to say 'The thought of not having Alabama 3 fills me with horror.' LOL, you teh funny, Stephen.

there's other famous writerly dudes, one of whom is a personal hero of mine, ever since reading Last Exit To Brooklyn when i was thirteen: Hubert Selby Jr 'who allowed himself to be sampled for the track "The Moon Has Lost the Sun" in 2002, two years before his death. "He told us, 'Boys, you can have that track for one dollar,' "Spragg said"...' you can hear this lovely yet depressing as all hell tune (just the way i dig my music) on their third studio album, Power in The Blood.

fun-fact: did you know Hubert H Selby's official website is called Exit Wounds? hmmm, 'Hits and Exit Wounds'. makes y'think, don't it?


moving right along, from The Times: 'If anyone thinks that politics and religion aren’t suitable subjects for rock ‘n’ roll they should check out Alabama 3'.

naturally, the BBC weighs in: 'With their combination of acid-gospel-country-techno music from Tennessee via Brixton and a stage presence to match, the Reverends Larry & D-Wayne Love and their eclectic collection of cowboys, outlaws and bards have never failed to disappoint.'

and then there's my fave from Time Out 'zine: 'They swing like the devil’s own dick. Alabama 3 beat a righteous drum and party like bastards.'

for a taste of the wondrous insanity (the musically unique kind) which, as faithful readers know, with which i've been in love since august 2000, have a look at this edition of The Spirit Speaks, an hilarious monthly updating of the Continuing Adventures of the Alabama 3. IMO, this is the Best. Line. EVar (prefaced by context of the band's arrival for their Australian Tour):

'Palm fronds stroke the antipodean sky while tattooed beefcakes saunter the streets in ergonomic sandals. D.Wayne expounds upon the chthonic vibrations emanating from the soil, then adjusts his trousers: "I dinnae want every cunt checking oot ma Mars Bars..."

YO! merch dudes! i wannit on a T-shirt but hey, i wanna lotta stuff i'll never get (some of which hasn't been invented yet but hey, that never stopped me from all the wanting). weird scenes inside the goldmine: Orlando (The Spirit) and i actually have sump'n else in common:

'I don't dig folk music'. whoa, *proud* but wait, there's even more (just change London to Bristol... ah, fuck it, keep the London cause i'm in totally deep shit there): 'Whatever trouble I've got into in London, there's nothing I can do about it now. And if the shit really hits the fan, I can always miss the plane...' the foregoing has been one of my most comforting mantras every damn time i'm forced to cross the Atlantic to visit NYC, but i digress, as i tend to do (i blame the ADD, actually. and the drugs).

wait, what would any Alabama 3 post of mine be without my unique brand of attention-whoring? hear my coked-up voice (with big thanks to those in the studio that night), a-ranting and a-raving against the KKK on Klan here (and in two, count 'em two voices: my liddle grrl's 'Won'tcha stand by me?' and my gruffer 'Easy to be free...' (at the fade-out) or if you've got the bucks, buy it on M.O.R. *preens cause i'm still milking it for all it's worth* (as is my wont). *cheezy grin*


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sea of tranquillity

i've really got no time cause bastard work's calling but after the anxiety i got from the post before this, i needed to find an oasis, like. above's Cannon Beach, Oregon and the bunny lives in Oregon as well (thanks, Christine).




i've been looking for above three all over the place and for ages already (well, months). anyway, i took em lying on my back in Brandon Park one night late last october. forgot why i was there, actually... oh right, the Wiccan thang and the other, the Nature. never mind. :-)

right, more shit i forgot: ideally, these should've been in bedtime story but not only did i forget, i also forgot to put em in my prior, where i posted stuff i'd forgot to upload to more appropriate places. damn, this senility thing is really a drag. anyway, here's two more taken in on my sojourns through Bristol.



dammit, i'm not even close to calmity yet. and i totally don't wanna blow a V on this shit. hmm... i so love churches and all. reposting these two and hoping tranquillity reigns at Chez Hunter ASAP.



ah... yes; dark and gloomy and foreboding. whoa, i'm feeling much better, way calmer, actually so hoorah for doom and gloom. :-)

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senility, thy name is—um...

wait — senility, thy name is—um... shit! i actually know that one; i think it's either SG or rimone (or more frequently, That Asshole) but enough about that. anyway, yesterday i posted above pic showing what the bastard Philistines did to my fave Banksy but i totally forgot to post the original for purposes of compare and contrast:


and last sunday i forgot to upload the first photo i ever took of Neptune, one of a series of fifteen or twenty which happened one evening whilst running through City Centre.


why was i running? that's for me to know and you to find out but if you ask nicely, i'll be happy to oblige and tell you all the sordid details. and no, FFS! i wasn't jogging; i was running — big dif in my book. anyway, onto other things i've recently forgotten: i failed to post the latest of Commodore Kate's tattoos.


suffice it to say we had a sorta 'falling out' (totally a euphemism) on this — to me — *wack* decision of hers. nope, they're not on her knees which leaves only one other, rather two other places on which they can be found. *rolls eyes* silly grrl...

moving right along, before he breaks my ass for going back on my word (cause i forgot him as well), here's Kate's friend Scooter with his faithful companion, Puddles.



hah! when he first introduced me to his doggie, an almost knockdown, dragout fistfight ensued and in public and all when i dared suggest that 'Puddles' was one of the most moronic names i'd ever think of inflicting on any animal. things calmed down muchly once he explained why the name (but as i told him, i still feel sorry for poor liddle Puddles). 'Puddles...' backstory or not, i could puke, actually (and told him so) which began yet another face-off between us (still in public). people took pictures and i'm already dreading seeing them (when i remember to look).

anyway, me being me, there's other stuff i'm forgetting but i'm sure the very kind (at last count, three) people who read me will mail (as usual) with all the venom they can muster. oh yeah: one more thing i just remembered: big thanks to Darren who rang me just about an hour ago. *cough* sorry, dude... i totally forgot what we were talking about (apart from the one thing i remember and it wasn't Talia's boots).

in other boring news, believe it or not, i'm actually working but i lost my place so in order to jog my memory, i've loaded my pipe so i can blithely thwoop away and at least, have some fun trawling through the mess of virtual paper on my desktop. fun-fact: whenever i'm ripped and working, i catch even more errors in the original material and more errors caught make the bestest proofreader EVar, so it's alllll good in the 'hood. :-)

one more thing i just remembered: TPFKAPM has landed safely and at present is recharging his batteries. i'm so pleased you're home, d00d. :-)

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remembering 2B an asshole

what with shitloads of work whilst boss-dude's in Spain — oh wait, forgot to say this next arrived on monday: 'Surprise, Rimone! Guess where I am?' me (in unsent mail): 'croaked and now invisibly floating over your grave watching the two lone losers (one of whom's your mother and the other's your priest) who had no choice but to show up for your funeral?' anyway, my point was uh... OK, right: i've had a hectic week, most of which included shepherding Commodore Kate all over town for health reasons (hers, not mine) and getting her ass to the Jobs Centre. above is a display of her gratitude: she's cursing me out cause a few seconds before, i dared suggest she'd look good in this dress 'since it's right in line with your *cough* "style" and all'.


i left out my first impression: the fact that the material screamed 'Grateful Dead', what with the skulls and roses and shit. anyway, she made a fist, she swung and... she missed. *snigger* and then just to rub it in cause i'm vying with her for England's Biggest Bitch, i went 'HA-ha' *in a Nelson Muntz voice*, sump'n which totally hit home and made her feel even worse. but after that particular tantrum was over — BTW, her tantrums and other assorted fits are as nothing compared to when i get going *preens like a proudtard*

anyway, i decided i'd had it with the babysitting and role playing her mommy thang, mostly cause it doesn't come naturally and in a just world, she'd be the grown-up — y'know, the minder, babysitter, bill-payer and all that other mind-numbing, soul-eating adultish behavioural stuff, mostly cause everyone knows i'm way too young to even think on such things.

back to yesterday, with all that resentment stewing in my head, pissing me off even more cause it was crowding out the effects of the drugs (over which we had yet another 'scussion before we took off), sump'n snapped and without a hint of warning, i left her standing alone as you see her above, wayyy across the vasty street. and after i split, i had the presence of mind to remember to shout out 'So long, sucker!' hmmm... in all fairness i guess this next should be disclosed: The Incident (as we refer to it now) came moments after she forced me to promise i'd stay by her side in order to ensure she'd 'get across safely'.

what the fuck? what is this 'safely' of which you speak, Kate? i mean, how the hell long are you crossing streets by yourself again? nineteen, twenty years now? puh-leeze! everybody knows that i'm the one who still can't cross (safely or otherwise) by myself. anyway, after i left her in the dust, her shoutyness reached unprecedented heights, not only for a natural-born Brit like her but even for an American like me.


i hate to admit it but in truth, i was actually envious, marvelling at the volume as well as her curseword creativity, expressed in ways i've never read or even dared imagine. but once she made it to my side of the road, i got to dis, i mean 'taunt' her again, ceaselessly reminding her she completely forgot to use whatever variation of 'felch' in her beautiful volley of abuse. *admiring* anyway, here she is in happier days:


let it be known, that at present time, the percentage of tats to her untatt'd skin is dramatically different than these pics suggest. and even though y'all can't see it, here's her back at the moment. helpful hint: click for hugeass engorgement and detailed CUs.


right, here's another in the tiny series 'here she is in happier daze'. BTW, in the interests of truth, liberty and justice for all, these Kate pics were posted under duress. whoa... seems i still haven't gotten even the most tenuous hold on that inside-voice stuff. i torry, Kate. *whispers* not really. ;-)


fun-fact: when she and i first hooked up at the Hatchet when TPFKAPM was visiting one night, many people (thankfully, not him) have since asked things like 'What could you, of all people, possibly have in common with someone as young as she is?'

well, excuuuuuse, me! jeez, what a dumbass question cause we share many things apart from the obvious like music, desired image and most important, that compelling urge to attention-whore, whatever the cost. this sums it up best, straight from the mouth of Commodore Kate and it emphasises my initial feeling, the one i got during our first meeting when i told her, 'if i had a daughter, you'd be it':

'My image is so important to me; you can call me shallow but i just don't give a fuck. The day i look like a yuppie Bristol Uni student, fucking shoot me...'

*giggles* sound familiar? anyway, before we met she looked sump'n like this:


all crucial elements were already inherent; y'know, the black, the tonne of eyeliner, the 'fuck the world' attitude, the blood, the *wack* expression... all things to which i immediately connected. i did nothing special, just kinda encouraged her to the point at which i can proudly say a couplas weeks back she was onstage as part of The Whores' tour and hopefully, there'll be lots more of this exposure ASAP. *cough* please notice dildo and whip below. shit!, i mean, 'ignore'. ignore the dildo, whip and other Dominatrix-y things which, due to the fact i veer that way too, i always suspected she had in her natu- *cough* never mind — forget it.


in other news, is there anyone amongst us who doesn't despise standing on a boringass queue? in truth, the ones on which i spent most of my life were tremendous compared to those i find here (to which i laugh and point, especially when anyone driving dares moan on the traffic, thus eliciting one of my sneery snide 'you call this a queue? i laugh in your face...' (these outbursts amidst fits of uncontrollable LOL, all designed to make the driver ashamed he ever opened his ill-informed mouth).

anyway, this was the scene last week across Queens Road as i marvelled at the vasty numbers of people standing under an unrelenting sun, all waiting for entry to the Banksy Show at Bristol Museum. thanks to the stupid van, y'all can't see it, but the line of people snaked way further left than photo indicates.


once again, the other afternoon, the sun shone down on the masochistic queuers (as if with a vengeance) but i spent a goodly time talking to some of the people waiting to get in. the queue was almost half the size it was in photo above so i'm hoping that, apart from the weekends, it'll be growing smaller and smaller — like to a way more more reasonable twenty or thirty — until the time i too can join it and pop in on the show whenever i wanna.

this was after i went down Park Street and stared in shock at the vandalised Banksy (nb: entire Evening Post story within prior link). hmmpf... comparing my photo to the one in the EP right after the Philistines got it shows some washing up's been done. i wonder if he's gonna restore the important bits himself?


nah, too many people would get hip to him fast and there'd go his glorious anonymity. *cough* now onto sump'n having totally nothing to do with anything else, so here's part of last time's 'bedtime story', what i left out and for once, the reason for omission's not senility but my own chickenshittery. OK, back to bedtime story, once upon a time, that same grrl had good handwriting, sump'n she used to her advantage especially when others questioned her sanity, to which she'd go 'would a mental defective be able to write like this?' click for amazingly embiggened detail. *smirk*


it pains her when she looks through her old (writ in longhand) journals and other handwritten notebooks and shit but she took above pic just to remind herself she once had good penmanship (as they called it back in the Stone Age). notice no pics of her current writing cause it appears as if a 3-year old got hold of a pencil but enough about that.

umm... where is this train going again? bear with me here (or don't) cause the ADD's gotten hold. OK, this is from the funniest mail received today:

'...The book I'm reading, American Wife is by Curtis Sittenfeld ... Last night I read about Vehicular-Homicide Prozac-gulper and how she met up with the dipshit; our future prez (you know, the one who sucked at sports so badly that, despite all his fambly connections, he could be nothing better than a male cheerleader). And then there were bits about them having sex...

'...It's fiction based on truth... so a lot of liberties were taken in the writing of it. Like for instance, I'm sure Laura Bush didn't give a guilt blow job to the brother of the guy she killed in that car accident...'

O RLY? R U SHUR? shit, i wouldn't put it past her. now, where were we? right:

'I fucken can't imagine anyone having sex with that asshole...' But anyway, Laura Bush was a Democrat (!) before she met him. And truly became the Stepford First Lady. Thank God for Barack and Michelle ... At least you can feel some pride looking at them instead of the cringing we all had to do for the past 8 years...'

truer words and all. BTW, the above was an excerpt from my sister's latest mail, sump'n she snuck in whilst waiting for the PTB to move her damn office for the 80th time. i'm deleting the cursing interspersed all throughout but believe me, it's funny, especially coming from her. a sample i call Welcome to Corporate Amerika:

'...As far as the office move: don't ask. This place is a perfect example of how corporate America ruins a business. Ever since we went "public," our owners have chipped away at this place and now it's reduced to a mere shell of what it used to be. We've shrunk down to 3 floors, they moved us 5 years ago to this fucked-up office, there are barely any people left, the morale is in the toilet, etc...'

anyway, hey, little sister, that's exactly what you get for doing the right thing — in this case, walking the Corporate Mile: big duh! anyway, to end on a somewhat lighter note, here's Christine's housemate:


'...the first pic I took of my cat Smokey ... I woke him up for the pic and that's why he looks so pissed off. I also made a video of him washing himself (really boring); anyway it came out really well...'

um... Christine, 'boring' is in the eye of the beholder, so let me be the judge of that cause I WANNA SEE.

moving right along, post-title's taken from the last coupla lines of this one here. and yup, the shoe certainly fits especially tonight. *wack* but for whatever weird reason, i can't leave this alone so i'm off after posting one of my fave quotes from one of my fave all-time heroes, Oscar Wilde (via The Idler with big thanks to Pam in Brixton):

'Action is the refuge of people who have nothing whatsoever to do.'

'action'? oh, right... doing stuff, like that. *yawn* ooh, look! a kitty after my own black heart.


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bedtime story

once upon a time, there was this chick who loved to explore the streets of her adopted hometown of Bristol and take photos of stuff with her cameraphone, mostly cause she'd never seen any building older than maybe a hundred years and she was fascinated by the history lying all over the place.



and the vegetation, left to grow free.


in almost every spot in which she found herself conscious (to whatever degree), she'd first look around and then look up and she's not been disappointed yet. *cough* note to Sod: not an invite. just sayin'.


fun-fact: seeing buildings from prior times was one of the few things that lightened her up and she'd use this to like, try to take the edge off the chronic anhedonia with which she was plagued. and this worked cause she came from a place where the terrain was laid out on boring old grids and most of the buildings were like smooth-featured boxes. forget the cemeteries; before she got here, the ones she'd been in were akin to small cities, amazingly over-crowded, like this but worse (i.e., no trees).


taken when she first landed here and was in the midst absorbing her first real graveyard whilst indulging herself with a very shouty 'OMG! my first real crypt' before TPFKAPM warned he'd leave her there raving if she didn't STFU immediately.


right, why is this called Bedtime Story? cause after only a few hours' sleep this AM, then typing like a demon thanks to bloody deadlines most of the afternoon, i'm, i mean, she's about to crash, so for now this is truly Thuh End.


wait, almost forgot: this post is dedicated to my newest friend Gemma who gifted me with a very generous smokeable sample she asked me to try, then report back, telling her where it's at. i giggled and went 'any time', hoping against hope i can relaunch my former career as Taste-Tester. Gemma, it's way better than good (understatement of the year). oh, right: for reasons of confidentiality, i totally omitted telling her about that other thang, the one which i've called 'the best thwoop money can't buy'. *smirk* you know who you are and y'all can thank me later. *giggles* oh wait, better yet, we can trade thanks and shit. i'll even do the right thing for once: i'll go first. *self-satisfied by rare magnanimous gesture*

anyway, back to Gemma: why did i hold back? a) just like a lit-tle piggy, i'm greedy (big duh!); and b) i might be crazy, but i sure as shit ain't stoopit. ;-)

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found in my phone II

walking around Bristol, i'm still such a tourist, it's incredible; i mean, one would think i'd be all blase about things by now but i'm not. anyway, i don't care — i dig being entranced by what others take as a matter of course — so much so that the natives frequently stop to talk to me after checking me out taking phone-pics. the most FAQ is along the lines of 'How do you like it here?' with second runner-up being '...How long are you visiting?'


yup, i really enjoy it — wait, that's totally an understatement cause i bask *snigger* nope, i totally preen in the extra-added attention and the looks on their faces are truly teh funny when i tell em i actually live here and for how long i've been. anyway, back to the statue, a little background: Neptune's been one of my fave mythological entities since i was a child, even before i was told — back in my freak days — by whatever pseudo astrologers that Neptune rules the world of sleep and drugs. pseudo or not, that 'sleep and drugs' thingy always resonated muchly, but y'all already knew that. anyway, from above-linked Wiki:

'Neptune (Latin: Neptūnus) is the god of water and the sea in Roman mythology, a brother of Jupiter and Pluto. He is analogous with but not identical to the god Poseidon of Greek mythology ... Neptune is associated as well with fresh water, as opposed to Oceanus, god of the world-ocean. Like Poseidon, Neptune was also worshipped by the Romans as a god of horses, under the name "Neptune Equester", patron of horse-racing. The planet Neptune was named after the god, as its deep blue gas clouds gave early astronomers the impression of great oceans...'

back to those long-lost freak days (and good riddance to em), i can't count how many times i gave in and had my chart done, mainly to shut whomever the fuck up. those who knew charts more or less agreed on this:

'...Neptune’s vibration is neither of matter nor of this Earth. It rules all that is subtle, mysterious, ill-defined and not material: sensitivity, suffering, compassion, music, dance, theater, film, dreams, fog, mist, drugs, alcohol, anesthesia, illusion, deception, obligation, the psychic, mediumistic and the mystical...

'Neptune symbolizes sensitivity, psychic and mystical capacity, dreams, illusion, delusion, deception, the higher octave of Venus, drugs, alcohol, obligation, bondage and fog...'

nah, i don't really geddit either but i do like most of the attributes to which Neptune's linked astrologically (apart from the obvious, especially dreams and delusion) and dig: even at this late stage of the game, i still meet people (though thankfully rarely) who go 'What's your sign?' — what's my sign? who gives a good goddamn? but i guess that's better than 'What do you do?' *snigger* fun-fact: as an opinionated human bean, whenever i hear or accidentally read whatever astrologically tainted crap, i can't help but immediately label whomever 'hippie' and then try to be careful to not hurt their feelings. *cough* FAIL.

hmmm... what does any of this have to do with the glorious statue of Neptune in Bristol's City Centre? nada... nothing... bupkis. just another trip down the ol' ADD trail in my usual stream of unconsciousness kinda way.

not-so fun-fact: it's getting to the point at which i'm seriously considering starting a new journal somewhere else on the 'Net, a site i totally wouldn't publicise cause it involves other people and what we're — heh. i mean 'they're' — doing but i can't and won't write that stuff down here, mostly cause i'd have to name names (thus the need for yet another site). but me being me...


...right, me being me, i need to put this shit somewhere. hmmpf... pity my handwriting is so illegible or i'd actually get a nice new notebook with real paper pages and make it yet another Journal in longhand, then stash it with the rest.


but i can't even read my own writing anymore and i still can't think of an innocuous name, sump'n neutral so i couldn't be found by any search engine or whatever. *whispers* oh, but i wii-illlll; i've got a few made-up words i've never used online. *giggle* and just to stay on the safe side, apart from changing others' names and stuff, i'd have to leave out all mentions of my own and the initials SG and other identifying thingies. one can only pray i remember to do this. *fingers crossed*


WHOA! 'Did I say that out loud?' ... tee-hee. ;-)

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for BJ & Rigby

and so little sister, this is the addendum to that mail i just sent — the one i'm dying to repro here; that is, i would if almost everyone i know wouldn't be after my ass (and not in a good way). *cowers, kinda* wait. what was i saying again? i started out with a point somewhere but it got lost in that run-on sentence... OK, goddit.



right, i don't ever wanna hear any more shit about how i never think of you or mention you here cause i do and this totally proves it. *smirk* see? i even think of Rigby as well. toldja so. here — have another.



*cough* about that dare: 'Nach!' — there... i've seddit and with all the bad taste i can muster. un-fuckin'-fortunately, y'know firsthand (up close and way too personal) that i can muster a LOT. for future reference, it'd be a good thing to remember: just. don't. push me. ;-)

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remember this

disclaimer: a) do not, i repeat, do NOT expect to understand what lies below. b) the title's directed at me. OK, today i learnt sump'n new and consequently, a little knowledge went a very long way. and it also became a dangerous thing (tragically regarding my own bad self).





dedicated with all my love to those resplendent Graces: Xina, Zena and to the male of the species: M The Younger. they all know why so it's totally unnecessary to recap here (in even more distasteful detail). as well, i don't expect anyone to dig this apart from us four and that's the way it should be. call me cryptic or whatever; this is me caring *burp!*

in other news, from the Department of Gimme, here's a tip of the hat to the dumbest of teh dumb; a factoid bound to penetrate the thickest of skulls but surprises abound cause i was guilted into feeling i owe youse... it was a fleeting glimpse which went against my very selfish nature and one i'm hoping will pass ASAP, like the second the drugs wear off. and if not? *shrugs* whatever.



whoa, almost forgot: i'm taking dares so make of that what thou wilt. and i'm sorry (no i'm not) if anything causes confusion, but hey, that's life and all. right, if anyone's interested the score is SG: 9, Cheerios: 0 (at the moment). *smirk* *slips on banana peel* *falls on face* whoops.

*cough* guess what? i diddit on purpose. *giggle* peace out, yo. :-)

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for future reference, 2

it's come to my attention (clobbered over my head, actually) that some think i do stupid shit on purpose and it's nothing short of a hoot when i can't remember whatever-the-hell-it-is. as always, here's Hunter admitting what i'd rather die than disclose, this time about my bigger-than-big loud mouth.


oooh, see that blanket? believe it or not, it's older than i am but there i go in yet another futile attempt to deflect attention away from the point. truth be told, i think it's teh funny when i forget stuff, especially that which others would never (e.g., name, rank, serial number) but not when i disremember to the degree that i do.

the general consensus is (get this unbelievability:) i do it for the attention, of all the daft things. *cough* c'mon people: get real — ask yourselves the same as i do whenever it happens (when my foot lands in my mouth): WTF? and WHY? that is, why anyone would attempt to do an impression of a mindless, doddering, droolling old lady — and publicise it — is way beyond beyond and certainly out of the range of my scope of comprehension, limited though it may be.



helpful hint: it would do y'all well — especially those i know in meatspace — to take me at face value (and ideally, forgive my in-your-faceities) cause anyone who knows me in TRW will attest, i'm totally unable to master the fine art of subtlety, nuance and other adult talkie attributes especially when they're called upon to grease the wheels of mature social discourse. dunno whether it's cause i'm a natural born straight-outta-Brooklyn NY-er or not, but as a given, i'm usually all:



with no offence intended to the receiver of same... yup, i imagine it's difficult but enough about that for now. regarding my sieve-like memory? chalk that shit up to nothing less than incipient senility. if not? well, not that it'd matter but if i remember, *threat mode* i plan to keep myself even more to myself (in an 'i'll show YOUSE' kinda way).



not than anyone'd mind, actually. *weeps* you'll feel sorry (she said hopefully, though perfectly aware it falls on the deaf ears of an uncaring world).



*cough* in other news, there's just one more thing: a request and it's a biggie: i no longer wish to hear or read the phrase 'We're all adults here' whether it's stated aloud or typed in passing, like in mails. why? *mirthless laughter* hmmm... that's a tough one — not. i mean, big duh! take a look around: maybe youse are (and she is, he is and so are they), but me? *whispers* to my eternal shame, i can only mumble 'nuh-uh'. anyway, it'd be a good thing (i.e., less insulting AFAIC) to remember this shit. OK? got that? good — it's settled then. :-)

editor's note 1): this's a three-levelled disclaimer due to a) the Sod factor; b) the obviousity thingy; c) perceived or otherwise, less insults my way make a nearly pleased SG. and rest assured, i'll be thanking each and every one of you for heeding this (if i remember and i certainly shall try: i've even made a memorandum of it, scribbled upon a bit of paper stuck at the top of my screen. now the only thing left is for me to try to remember to look at that damn paper).

editor's note 2): shit! forgot. oh, right: i was dared to post this (what i think of as yet another) moronacy, so hah! i LOL in your face (whomever you might be). too bad i can't recall your name ATM, the name of the courageous soul who dared to dare me (that is, unless i scan through yesterday's mails). but you can bet yer ass i shall and then i plan to name and shame you. *sigh* with the usual caveat: if i remember *whispers* and knowing me, i won't. :-(

editor's note 3): what am i talking about again? in all honesty, unless i scan upwards, i'm totally not able to say. *giggle* my bad. *wack*

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if the shoe fits

no offence intended; above's the first thing that turned up when i went searching Google Images for 'America' and 'cat' in a misguided effort to illustrate that which i found hilarious within the pages of Xenophobe's Guide to the Americans.


disclaimer: i owned a fat ass as well (for the 3rd time ever), in 2005. this happened about a month after the most fucked period of my emotional life held sway with no end in sight and it took some time but, after watching the latest shite on Katrina and switching back and forth between BBC-News and Sky (and bemoaning the differences in coverage and tone), i got the brilliant idea of eating my troubles away — my bad. then i proceeded to nom my head off, continuing a habit i picked up in the States; downing a pint of Haazen Dazs ice cream after dinner each night (with or without the extra impetus of reefer-smoking and Absinthe).

guess what? it didn't work — i got no Happy. *muses* maybe i should've popped more Valiums? cause not only was i more depressed than when i began, i had yet another reason to be bummed: my gigantic ass. heh — geddit, bummed? ass? anyhoo, back to the book, here're some excerpts and please remember they're ALL generalisations. and totally teh funny:

'Winning is important to Americans because it makes them feel good, and good is the American thing to feel...'


'The dark side of American cheerfulness is the undercurrent of insecurity and depression that drives much of the country's commerce and nearly all of its psychiatry...'


'Deep down, Americans have a sense that they are missing out on something ... the overwhelming emphasis on winning and being successful leaves most Americans feeling inadequate to meet life's challenges since they are not rich, powerful, glamourous or influential...'

in my vasty experience, feeling inadequate is practically tantamount to being depressed and it takes a LOT of courage for an American to admit anything smacking of the negative, like...


or even the more subtle (though most Americans — at least those i know — need to be hit over the head a number of times before they understand 'subtle'), as in:


on the other hand, disclosing this shit in front of the widest audience possible, i.e., on nation-wide television, is totally OK:


this is cause 'Americans spend thousands of dollars on books, drugs, and various forms of psychotherapy in order to feel good. The twelfth most widely-prescribed psychiatric drug in the country is an anti-depressant...

'Being depressed is unattractive and thus not suitable for public display...' wrong:


'wrong' cause this' bound to follow:


right (The American Way): stifle those negative emotions at any cost (believe you me, y'all be thanking me later). fun-fact: a lit-tle game we call 'sublimate and deflect' is a totally awesome way to hide those unsightly un-American character flaws.



and if needs be lie, thus confusing the audience by introducing a totally different fantastical direction as far as Where This Train is Going.


oh wow... i got a bit lost there. OK, back to the book and from the Department of Strange but True: 'Even those who don't need to work pretend they do. Anyone without a job is considered a non-person...'

the right way (guaranteed to lull the fears of those narrowminded):



MY Way: some might consider these The Wrong Way but who cares what they think?:



*cough* 'Among the few things Americans condemn as being beyond the pale are growing old, being fat and dying ... it is in extremely bad taste for an American to die ... mentioning death in polite society is considered morbid unless it's in the context of a lurid murder or natural disaster...'

'bad taste'? *snigger* hmmpf, bad taste is in the eye of the beholder and i've always been fascinated by bad taste especially the more it touches upon the the taboo. nb: to all those with delicate sensibilities or whatever, please avert your eyes. cause *yawn* i guess if anyone's reading i have a moral obligation to, um... *yawn* aw, fuck it, '...a word to the wise guy...'




hmmm... time's a-wasting and though i've only gotten into the first eleven pages of the Xenophobe's Guide, i must finish up my — scuse the expression — work here. bummer. so i shall leave you with this, in the hopes i shall return and illustrate more inanities lifted from the book. if not? Q: what can i say? A: nothing, but that never stopped me.


*giggle* hey, if y'all can't laugh at this kinda shit, all i can say is Get Real — they're all facts of life and Shit Happens, an' all, so stay tuned for more depression or who knows? i just might strike a more positive note in future. or not. depending. *smirk*

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for future reference

notice to future guests who might, in whatever moment of weakness and/or stupidity, decide to accept my invites and crash here. *cough* there're two or three minor, inconsequential roolz that aren't worth mentioning now (all to thwart Hunter) but the first's a biggie:

we don't wake up at Chez Hunter — we 'come to'. this, of course, implies certain machinations before you even arrive but i'll leave that element up in the air as i'm sure the clever or curious amongst you will work it out and decide whether or not it applies to you personally. *smirk* helpful hint:


and it'd be best — for me and thee — to remember this, for our protection and the good of our future friendships and long may they wave. like, think of it as a precaution so y'all won't be able to say i never warned you. *CYA mode* yup, that's me: Covering My Ass, an activity brought on by recent events about which i'll spare you the details. *snigger* yet another helpful hint:


and as per usual, the words of William S Burroughs, my favorite dope fiend, ring totally true: 'A word to the wise guy'.

OK, please don't notice how i blethered above, went on and on for ages, making absolutely no sense at all. *preens* LOL, i'm gonna use the wordcounter on my Dashboard (this just might be a personal best, actually). damn, only 256 words with 'actually' the last.

hmmm... *cough* now back to our regularly scheduled programming which, tonight, may be taken as yet another reminder. or a springboard for thought, if one is so inclined to stray that way.


keeping that in mind, i chose the following salient bits from today's incoming mail: 'It takes a certain art to slide thru life ... doing as little as possible...'

yup, once again, 'guilty as charged' although i don't feel guilty at all. and i actually learnt yet another new word this morning, this time, straight outta New Zealand (and the more i read about it, the more i wanna live there). OK, my word of the day is: *trumpet fanfare*

cruiser: '...someone who just cruises along slowly DOING NOTHING ... I'm appreciating my life of doing nothing more, now I've seen the busy side of life, the rat race...'

yeah, like drifting. :-) uh-huh, i know that; been doing it since i was a kid but i was always reading and trying to learn shit and i know s/he who wrote that is that same. i mean, i drifted all over the place but i always had my trusty book with me, be it my first Palm Pilot's manual, the manual for my first cellphone (Motorola StarTac and i still miss it), TS Eliot Poems book, any Science Journal and the occasional Victorian novel or anything good, really. i mean, i could be content if i could just read or watch films all day, taking notes all the while (cause that's how i read and watch films: i'm a compulsive note taker).

anyway, i never had any drive or ambition to like participate in the outer world's socially accepted stuff, y'know, like get a steady job and it never really bothered me that i never wanted to actually DO sump'n. but it sure bugged others. in fact, it makes me tired just thinking about stuff like that. whoa, Charles Bukowski just ran in and slammed the door to my head; he's waving a bottle around and he looks pissed. right, *cough* (emphasis mine):

Factotum (1975): 'It was true that I didn't have much ambition, but there ought to be a place for people without ambition, I mean a better place than the one usually reserved. How in the hell could a man enjoy being awakened at 6:30 a.m. by an alarm clock, leap out of bed, dress, force-feed, shit, piss, brush teeth and hair, and fight traffic to get to a place where essentially you made lots of money for somebody else and were asked to be grateful for the opportunity to do so?'

Ham On Rye (1982): 'I could see the road ahead of me. I was poor and I was going to stay poor. But I didn't particularly want money. I didn't know what I wanted. Yes, I did. I wanted someplace to hide out, someplace where one didn't have to do anything. The thought of being something didn't only appall me, it sickened me . . . To do things, to be part of family picnics, Christmas, the 4th of July, Labor Day, Mother's Day . . . was a man born just to endure those things and then die? I would rather be a dishwasher, return alone to a tiny room and drink myself to sleep.'

Barfly (1987): 'This is a world where everybody’s gotta do something. Ya know, somebody laid down this rule that everybody’s gotta do something, they gotta be something. You know, a dentist, a glider pilot, a narc, a janitor, a preacher, all that . . . Sometimes I just get tired of thinking of all the things that I don’t wanna do. All the things that I don’t wanna be...'

but Buk was way more ambitious than i cause i never bothered to take the time — my precious time — to even think of that kinda shit. and sad to say, regarding my writing on Dateline: Bristol... well, when i lapsed into autobiographical stuff there (stuff that would've been more fitting here — apart from i had no idea there'd ever even be a 'here' here), anyway, i can't count the times people — both strangers and friends — suggested i submit my stuff for publication.

i guess those were compliments and i should've, at the very least, yes'd em to death (to get em to STFU) cause when i'd protest, say i wasn't interested in broadcasting what i think of as my diary, i'd be met — i'm met by these weird looks and shit. and then i have to explain, dammit. and nine outta ten times, people don't understand and worse yet, some don't believe me.

but the truth is, i love writing just for the sake of writing. been doing it all my life mainly cause i dig getting my thoughts and shit down on paper —whoa, big oops. ha ha, my bad. i mean, i've always loved writing down my stuff and then annotating my ass off and i never cared who the hell read it. pushing for publication or 'submitting' or whatever the hell writers are supposed to do, well... that shit never appealed to me.

anyway, rant over (for now). maybe. ;-)


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RIP, Sean

the txts, then phonecalls, then mails began about 02,00 this morning and i woke up to a shitload more. i can hardly believe it, mostly cause he was way too young to leave us. this next is typical:

'You remember Sean from London? ... Lovely guy, lovely girlfriend. Willie rang me a while ago to say Sean was found in his flat dead from a heart attack.

'As depressing as it is surprising...'

cliches abound in my head right now but when it comes to Sean, they're all true. even though i met him only a handful of times in meatspace, i knew him well enough to be missing him. what a gentleman... i'm thinking of the first time we met and being stranded in Oxford early in the morning... bah, i'm at a loss for words here; i've been trying to work since i WUTM and it's just not happening. i keep catching asinine mistakes cause i've been thinking about Sean along with (my usual) WHY?

he was one of the good ones; one of the most decent, clever, cute and funny-as-fuck dudes if there ever was one. sit-on-my-facebook? anytime for you, Sean, but now it's too late; i never got to know you as well as i wanted to. and it's no consolation but truer words and all: 'Life is what happens when you make other plans'.

so depressing to think we'll never see you again and i'm sure i'm speaking not only for myself but for the rest of The Converted and The Congregation. RIP, dude. :-(

19,08: thinking of Sean, i just remembered Charles Bukowski:

'doesn't it ever end? all those things that happen that one is never ever ready for?'

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hey, taxi! *giggles* YO!

note to self: remember The Incident in the Taxi. thassall, just remember (cause it's totally not boring but due to the extra-legal nature of details involving others, i can't write it down here, as usual). *snigger* and whilst you're — i mean, i'm remembering, know for certain: once upon a time, i actually did good stuff. my good deed for today was enlisting yet another in the Army of Love. *preens* nb: the band can thank me later but i'm so not holding my breath.

moving right along, this just in from Christine: 'here's a picture of Bernice, the little raccoon I'm feeding, this is the other side of the fence where I feed all those stray kitties... going to your mails now ... maybe should drink my coffee first so I don't spit it out... LOL. ~ ...xxx'


awww... Bernice is SO cute. *stifled offsite kvelling* wait, Christine just sent this: 'was going to read all your mails first until I saw this most recent one... LMAO, there goes the coffee!...' hmmpf... don't blame me, you should've drank it first, like you said you would. *cough* in totally unrelated news, Pam in Brixton sent me this — to which she added 'Go See' — which made me eat my previous words when i twat #Banksy Show now—>31. august, YAY. @Dragnim i take back whatever i said B4 *whispers* cause i've got no excuse—it's only 5 minutes away. :-)

i'm SO ashamed, mostly cause i despise eating my previous words, so much so, i mailed him 'dunno if you saw my twit today, but now that i know the show's less than X minutes away (and free), i'm gonna be there, bigtime, all throughout the Summer (it's like 100 metres away from the sainsburys i go to, the nearby one)...'

him: 'well, I think that's great, I know you would love it and as it's only down the road it would be a shame for you to miss it :)...'

my reply was ripped straight from True Confessions Of The Lazy and Unmotivated: 'i knew i would love it, it was just a matter of how much effort i'd have to make to actually be there...'


'iz stawree of mai lief, akshually'. hmmm... reminds me: tomorrow night i emerge from my cocoon again, not as a butterfly (as IF, haha) but to make a rare public appearance cause Mango Factory's playing Mr Wolf's and i've been so revving myself up to dance my ass off cause it's way too long a time since i did. :-)

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the old & the ill. :-(

warning: this is totally a copy-and-paste rushjob: it's snippets of mails flying between these two transplanted expatriated chicks who, thanks to the kindness of others or whatever, made their ways into each other's abandoned countries and have been talking together for ages and ages. *cough* i'm gonna call the Stateside Brit 'Pantene' and call the American in England 'Windex'.

all y'all have to know is, apart from flying to Fiji for her bro's wedding and a few other trips outward, Pantene recently got back to the States after hols in New Zealand. as for Windex, she always wanted to but never left the States until almost eight years back, after she was considered Old but she's been on (unofficial) vacation — i mean 'holiday' — for just about twenty years or so. *whispers* i'd ask but she's very sensitive to age-y stuff and anyway, she's way delicate and totally near senile — she forgets shit easily and must be treated with care cause she's liable to go 'off' at any moment. *snigger*

Pantene: 'New Zealand has a lot going for it, like I looked old there but felt young...'

Windex: same as i do here, when i compare it to how i feel in the States. how i'm made to feel, rather... grrrrr. }-(

P: '...the "older" women seemed very youthful, kind of like what it's like in France or where you said it was like...'

W: yeah, Germany. i had big culture shock on my first day there. LOL, when i looked up at this billboard up top Frankfurt International Airport, i almost had a heart attack cause there was a huge advert for T-Mobile or Deutsche Telekom and it showed these four or five naked chicks' and guys' asses, in huge. then i remember prostitution's legal there and i was all 'what a fantastic, emotionally healthy climate to be living in'. damn, i was in fucking heaven. :-)

P: '...older gals on motor bikes...'

W: yup... i'd never seen anything like that before. the closest thing was, i used to live on East Sixth Street on the Lower East Side and the Hell's Angels have their NYC Chapter, they own this building on East Third — ha haaa, ask me later about my business ventures in — anyway, i'd pass it all the time and check out the biker-babes, y'know, the older ones. they'd all congregate outside, over here like.



WTF? are those potted plants? holy fuckin' shit! *rolls eyes* the Sonny Barger i met up at High Times in the 70s would kick the shit outta anyone who'd even think of such a thing. jesus fucking christ, the yuppification of the 'hood even touched the Angels, depressing. hmmpf...

but back to my first day in DE seeing older chicks on bikes, the thing of it is, they were dressed stylishly (i don't mean expensively; i mean, most were in jeans, boots and leather jackets of whatever kind and [i'm not sure, but] i don't remember if all were wearing helmets). i almost fainted. :-) then again, that was DE — though i don't see that shit here, there are enough older people actually out on the streets that i don't feel that old... y'know, in comparison.

P: 'Exactly how it is in New Zealand. There are a lot of women in their 80's who look young and vibrant ... I mean, my friend's friend's mom just had her 88th birthday party and for her 80th she'd jumped out of a plane sky-diving...'

W: bloody fucking hell... that's SO great (though i wouldn't wanna live that long).

P: '...Then my friend's other friend's mom also in her 80's looks like 60's. I mean, I felt younger there ... That's interesting what you said though, about more older people in the U.K. — it's probably from walking a lot and a lot of the people here in the U.S. have diabetes from bad diets etc., therefore life span is shorter.

'I know that's a generalisation, but the older women over there seem to look and dress younger and I never even went to a city; I never even went to Auckland, only to change planes, I was mainly in the country and small towns.

'Also it's very beautiful there and FRIENDLIER; people greet each other with "G'day mate"... they don't have that as soon as I see ya, "Gotta tell ya" attitude like a lot of people over here...'

W: *cough* guilty as charged (i'm SO ashamed... wait, i'm a fucking American; i'm not ashamed). anyway, when it's only young people around (even my fucking bank manager; she's like 23 and she freaked when she saw my birthdate on a filled-out form), they seem to give me a lot of credit for looking the way i do (which always makes me feel more confident, that i'm totally sure i'm in the right place). i mean, they can't all be liars, can they? anyway, in the States they look at me like i'm fucking crazy for exactly the same damn thing... i believe it's all the age-ism ingrained upon you back there, whether consciously or not.

P: 'Exactly!'

W: think of all the TV programmes and films where old people are mocked, usually old women; the stereotype of the older woman they show is something to be laughed at... just think of the dif in peoples' reactions when an older dude's with a young chick compared to when an older woman's with a younger guy: the old guy's admired whilst the older woman's like... they think she's crazy (or they assume the younger guy's just with her for her money or whatever). LOL, my own mother had a similar reaction when i brought TPFKAPM home to meet her (though her reasons — way wack as they were — had nothing to do with money, they were totally detached from reality, just based on the age gap).

P: '...And in British TV series I've noticed a lot of old/older actresses, that you would rarely see in an American TV show because the old are "hidden"...'

W: hmmpf... what did you tell me a few years ago, what Charlotte Rampling said about why she's never working in Hollywood again? didn't it have to do with sump'n related to age shit? anyway, i'm thinking of my total joy when we first got the TV hooked up here and i'm watching female presenters with wrinkles and fat asses; i never saw that shit before and i got really shouty, thinking 'this so wouldn't go down on American TV'.

anyway, i'm generalising and things might've changed since i was there long enough to check out any programmes or shit on network TV but i remember how frequently they depict an unmarried or never-married woman who hasn't any kids but has a career or even any old job, well she has cats and it's very possible she's bitter, horny or both and that's teh hilariously funny. not.

P: '...M's friend Jeff has 25 cats in his house, he's almost 50 and like an old cat lady... lol... lives alone with his cats in a tiny apt...'

W: hey, it's dif when whatever dude does it. and please quit perpetrating that fucked stereotype: 'old cat lady' — i won't stand for it, hmmpf... }-(

P: 'The attitude seemed much different in NZ...'

W: you got it, just like in DE, Belgium, Holland and here (the only places i've been but to my relief, i noticed the same thing there).

P: '...the older women seemed much more younger and vibrant, and then people were shocked at different things I told them about the US...'

W: *snigger* remember, i was born there. *groan*

P: 'Lots of other things that made it hard for me to come back to "oppressive" America...'

W: exactly how i feel about going back there, before and after i do go back there and every single fucking waking minute i AM back there (some sleeping ones too). it's no coincidence or whatever that i've not been in more than two years (and i'm so dreading going back this time).

*cough* 'You have colors in your hair and you're not in a band and you're OLD!' grrrr... and i haven't even gotten into all the political shit, the over-security, the Nanny State-ism and the ever-increasing, way heavy, unnecessary (but increasing by the year) oh-so-military police presence all over the damn City.

P: '... This country is just awful (as if you didn't know that already). I just read that 60 percent of people go bankrupt because of high health care costs, people just can't afford health care ... it's so DISGUSTING; if either of us — me or M — got sick we still can't get on the Basic Health Government plan either, there's such a long waiting list now ... it makes me sick, that this country just lets its people die because just to see a doctor with health insurance is about $200 a visit, another $150 at least for blood tests...

'...I won't be going back N. Zealand way although my friend would love me to. To go see a doctor there without health insurance is only about $50 N.Z, which is only about $25 American! so why do American doctors charge so much? it's disgusting...'

W: why do they charge so much? in a word: MALPRACTISE suits. two words, whatever. from The Xenophobe's Guide to The Americans:

'One reason Americans are obsessed with staying healthy is that it is much cheaper than getting sick ... The system that provides medical services includes a bewildering array of public and private facilities reimbursed by a patchwork of private and government insurance schemes that usually cover part, but by no means all, of the cost of treatment.

'Proof of insurance is a prerequisite for receiving care in a private hospital, and even an insured person who becomes ill may be presented with a bill for 20% or more of the (significant) treatment cost. The end result is that for many Americans a bout of illness is also the broad road to bankruptcy.

'Part of the health care system's ruinously expensive cost comes from the potential for lawsuits. A doctor who delivers a defective baby, for example, may end up personally liable for millions of dollars to pay for that child's lifelong care. Malpractise insurance can add as much as $700 or more to the cost of a normal hospital delivery and far more for serious problems...'

W: *shouty* hoorah for the NHS! but remember, you chose to live in my country so y'all can't really complain; then again, i'm the same way: i chose to live here so i can't really moan about things like the high price of everything, goddammit (but i still do anyway). *whispers* remember, apart from knickers and socks, i didn't buy anything to wear here for ages; i waited till i visited fam in the States.



hmmpf, just remembered, i didn't buy shit apart from my Toxic Love T-shirt when in Scotland in '05 visiting Alma and Nomad (but that doesn't count cause it was on sale and totally kids' sized). but really, i didn't — i wouldn't — buy shit for almost four years here. i toldja that my Brit friends (still) LOL at me for (still) converting but i (still) don't give a shit. anyway, my latest moan is last night i bought 454 grammes of fucking strawberries and they cost almost 7$ US — WHAT THE FUCK? LOL, now i'm all riled again, for a change, grrrr... ooh, look — a diseased kitteh.



W: *ducks* LOL, you missed me. :-)

P: '...here's Bill Maher talking about America and Greed...'

W: *mirthless laughter* i'm gonna — i have to — look in my iPod to see what i've told you so far cause i totally don't remember... senility strikes again, dammit. }-( for now, after all the depressing shit above, always remember to act like a moron, cause it really helps (especially in public). and don't forget: you can thank me later... 'Pantene'. *snigger* xoxoxox



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bitch, baby, bitch

how could anyone be any flavor of reasonable in the face of this next shit? DO NOT WANT! *cough* i mean, 'Gaze upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'...




yeah, i messed up the Percy Bysshe Shelley quote — sue me — but what the fuck? my neighborhood — yes, MY neighborhood (for the past five years, but still) — is becoming a fucking eyesore with the new influx of yuppies and their appalling new buildings (each of which dis the very notion of Architecture itself). what happened was, i'm coming home from Queens Road the other night and apparently the construction at the bottom of Jacob's Wells Road's like, done so they finally took off the drapery which served — for months — to hide this monstrous atrocity. here's the front door. *puke*


i'm checking it out and cringing with a sinking heart and what's worse, i know i'm helpless — i can't do anything about it. then i looked around, gauging distances and shit, and realised it was way much worserer than it first seemed: the fact that these... these gargantuan blocks of dreck — well, standing in the same exact place as i was above, this is what i see across the damn road:



ooooh... it's Stoneleigh House. pret-ty. i slunk closer to osmose some badly needed Original English Ambience cause it felt like my AQ had been beaten pretty much senseless and i totally needed — shit! this just came outta the blue, like... OK, 'I need a hit, D Wayne... I need a mother-fuckin' hit!'



whoa, it just occurred to me like what if i'm reading this again in future and by that time, my regular memory's near-gone but the Tourettes have gotten worse and as i'm reading, i'm shouting shit out almost constantly? holy hell... i hope it's mostly the Filmic T's then the Simpsons, and the Alabama 3 last cause that'd mean like constant explanations. if anyone's still talking to me. hmmpf... but i'm totally not sorry for the Reverend Larry Love/A-3 Tourette's in the first place.

anyway, mmmmmm... *glurghll* *drool* stereotypical English cot-tage (as shown in hundreds, if not thousands of Brit-made films i've seen over the years)... glurghlldrooo-ooolll... *in a Homer voice*



the students at Queen Elizabeth's Hospital School For Boys have an unobstructed view of the new wart on the 'hood. bummer.



that's the shadow of Stoneleigh House falling upon the magnificent QEHSFB which always reminds Marianne in Dublin of Hogwarts (but since i never read the books, i wouldn't know). you get the idea, though.



anyhoo, i tried to plan how the hell i was gonna ignore this latest bruise to the nabe (but didn't come up with any viable ideas apart from making sure i'm high as hell every time i leave the flat — but that's a given anyway).

in other news, since Kate stayed over last night, i took Hunter into the bedroom with me about 05,00 this morning, but i couldn't fall asleep cause i kept hearing this clicky-noise coming from the window so i turned around in bed and saw this:



it's dark and shit, but that's Hunter perched next to the window with his paw on it, like tapping the glass with his claws and for all i know, it could've been Morse Code (e.g., 'SOS! save me from stupid white grrl!'). and a few hours later, whilst reading my Twit-timeline, this reminded me of Uncle Jr Soprano so naturally, i got that old LOLCat urge but couldn't caption the one i wanted:



it kept coming out fucked — it appeared totally sideways the twice i uploaded to the LOLCat builder, so i captioned this older one instead.



update at 19,19: he's still waiting, poor thing. OK, two things: a) big thanks to Chris for giving me material i twat by sending the link to the Social Media T-Shirt 'Unlocking The Awesome Potential of Behavioural Disorders' (Narcissism, ADHD and my total fave: Stalking) which, in an easy-to-decipher Venn Diagram, show how Twitter, Facebook and mySpaz facilitate same (click Nerd to embiggen for details):



b) if you haven't read Euripidean's latest Live Journal, it's your loss — and don't ever speak to me again. #ireallymeanit #&justmightbeat #youup #no,dunnowhy #i'mTwit-tagging #theseeither #um #cause #ifeellikeit #?!? #andtawkin #tomyself #nogood #cancome #ofthis

right, i'm off to London tomorrow and will actually see Euripidean in TRW (SPOING!) along with selected others (hopefully, from a cast of thousands) and that's all i care to say about that for now, SPOING! :-) #spoing

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i'm not weird, i'm gifted

*sigh* i think i've said it here before, but anyway, ever since i was little, total strangers would stop me on the streets and go, no, they'd command me to 'Smile!' as if it were sump'n i could just do without having a reason. the older i got, the more indignant i felt whenever this shit happened until one day in Miami Beach, after i'd had an argument with my BF and went storming outta the hotel down Collins Avenue, some total stranger — an asshole — approached and as he passed me, had the nerve to go 'Smile!' — whoa, did he geddit for that shit and loud enough to draw a few stray passers-by to gawk. i totally blew my top at him and guess what? i bopped off smiling. :-)


onto sump'n totally different, these pics show why i hate walking home (especially when carrying two ten kilo bags of goddamned overpriced kitty litter). that is, apart from the fact the steep slope kills whatever high i'm on and totally straightens out my drunk (and i despise wasting good drugs and booze like that). anyway, above's the point at which i usually stop for a cigarette. see the road-construction eyesore over to the right? this cute liddle red fox lives in there; Chris first pointed him out to me almost five years ago and i've seen him dart in and outta the fence to cross the road many times since (and that's the kinda shit that always makes me smile).

having grown up in NYC, i find it amazing that apart from the the usual squirrels, there're foxes, bunny rabbits and other furry mammals typical to the area, which reminds me i almost had a (happy) fit when first spotting rabbit food in the pets' food section of Sainsbury's, on sale along with the usual kitty and dogfood, as if it weren't anything special. and it isn't, really, not to people who were actually born here (but it's special to me).


*cough* 'Slowly i turned, step by step... inch by inch'... nearer and nearer... closer and closer — wait. that doesn't have anything to do with anything else, so forget it. anyhoo, above's the spot where i usually sit down, gasping for air and stuff and if you look closely, you can see the end of the eyesore over to the right. i almost got hit by a car there once cause i'd pulled out my book and was reading whilst waiting to catch my breath. as always, i was so into the book, i didn't look up until i heard the screech of the dude's brakes when he was almost on top of me, so i gave him the American finger (for breaking my concentration) and he cursed me out, as i did him. just sayin'.



the end is nigh. near. whatever. in truth, when i'm this close, i feel like leaving all my bags and just crawling on my hands and knees up to the top (but i don't). bah...


*wheeze* *cough* *pant!* only... ten... steps... more (she painfully whispered whilst gasping for air). when i get up top (the end of the wall), i sit down again to catch my breath again and usually, light another cig again and spend the time deleting superfluous txts from my phone and shit (being very careful to keep the 'good' ones). *cough* helpful hint: i wouldn't have any 'good' (potentially slanderous) txts in my phone if people would only think of William S Burroughs (before they send) and remember his 'A word to the wise guy'.

moving right along, in other boring news, i thought i'd freak when seeing this next on a sign outside the Subway on Queens Road monday morning:


bastards... i'll teach em to steal from me. *snarl* grrrrrr. in even more boring news, i spotted this jacket on Park Row, ran in, tried it on (it fits me perfectly and i kept it on) then dicked about with Sales-Dude for a second until he sold it for half-price the ticket, which (thanks to previous incidents of a similar nature) — if you look over to the bottom right column — is why the last testimonial is Moonshayde's 'You be the mistress of blagging!'



tee-hee, i blag real good and on two continents and a political construct. *preens* but wheeeeeee! iz cute kitteh time: thanks to Chris for Maximum Cute and thanks to Pam in Brixton for New Kitty On The Block.



editor's note: i thought i hit 'Publish Post' last night but silly me was amazed to find this in an open tab when i woke up. my memory's getting worse and worserer cause now i have to write down every liddle bit of the shit i must do and break it all down into baby-steps, then remember to look at the damn checklist. prior experience has taught me i can't do this myself so i set various alarms to go off from my phones and iPod. well, last night's 'publish' alarms went off but i didn't hear em (and that's my excuse and i'm sticking to it). *proudtard*

but had i hit 'Publish' as planned, i wouldn't have had time to receive this next, most lovely link from Chris, which he called 'coolest. cradle. evar' (from Gizmodo's 'Blade-Covered Baby Equipment — Perfect Shower Gifts for the Anti-Christ').


'So you have been invited to the baby shower for the Antichrist—but what gift do you bring? Fortunately, the parents registered at Chambers Fine Art where you can find the work of one Shi Jinsong'.

a quick Wiki turns up: '...He is particularly known for his debut Na Zha Baby Boutique exhibition, a series of stainless steel sculptures depicting baby accessories — rattle, cot, stroller, etc — made from razor-sharp blades (Na Zha is a child warrior deity in Chinese mythology). Chambers Fine Art described this work as a "dialogue, at once menacing and ironic, between the forms of mythic Chinese culture and modern day globalization"...'

the dude's a fucking genius and i wannit all, especially the rocking-chair.


from the hilarious comments: 'I would love to know what would really happen to a baby placed on that horsey....' and a personal fave: 'Says who "display only", the world's a tough place and a child needs to learn early that it is'. *snigger* then, there's this classic:

'The Anti-Christ has better taste than this. He'd have a tray of Broodwiches on the table, some infernal dips made out of onions and cream beaten with the skulls of tortured farmers, and deviled eggs. The cradle would be woven with the hair of a million Nazis, over the bones of murdered orphans, and a lead rattle made in China.

'But what horrible child could emerge from this kind of baby gear?'


which reminds me, big thanks to Brian/Psy for this next from back in 2003. whenever i feel depressed, i pull out this folder of images to cheer me up and this is the pic that first gave me the idea to even create this collection, kinda sorta as an extra special defence mechanism, only for me, so thanks again, dude. *snigger*


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forgotten photos

yesterday i was on the kitchen floor when i looked up and took this shot. in truth, i spend quite a bit of time down there (i just don't talk about it that much). anyway, i've been there lately cause Hunter's the only kitty i ever met who gobbles sump'n down one day and the very next, won't touch it, so it's impossible to keep up with his ever-changing Nom-sy whims and shit so out of desperation, i devised a method that works (that is, so far — Sod willing).


basically, i make sure he's watching, then get down on my hands and knees and crawl over to his bowl and stick my nose in, pretending to eat the foul-smelling food (that is, i make *chomp!* sounds and stuff). and whenever he sees that, he like nudges me outta the way and actually eats whatever he disdained only a few moments before.

and since he's such an insufferable, obstinate liddle prick, i've been stashing the Cobalt phone in my pocket so when i get down there, i can maybe catch him in action doing sump'n cute but so far, no good; all i get is boring stuff like his impression of me on the floor here.


hmmm... that's only about 200 words. what the fuck can i say without a shitload of people beating the crap outta me? right, here's the fridge, again from the floor, after i gave up on Hunter.


and my first photo (in a countless series) of the French doors taken within weeks of me moving in, as i sprawled on the livingroom floor nearly five years ago:


knowing me, i think i must've posted this next eleventy-thousand times but i can't find it now, so for the record or whatever.


onto other things: this morning's mail brought the usual moans, to all of whom i went, 'yes, goddammit! i'm boring — i've been saying this shit for years now to anyone who assumes stuff that isn't so, just going by a few incidents in the past. and AFAIC, all that matters is that i'm not bored'. then came the delightful mail from my sister — in reply to mine explaining Chavs — which read in part:

'Jesus Christ!!! You expect me to get through this VOLUME of hatred, sarcasm and vitriolic abuse? (hee!) Actually, I tried... I really did... at work and here at home but I couldn't do it!!! It was too much for my latent ADD or whatever and with all the tangents, etc. ... I'm going to save this mail and maybe read it paragraph by paragraph... there MUST be some way to get through this! There must MUST!!!!...'

it's obvious she has no idea what she's talking about with that 'latent ADD' stuff cause if she had even a smidgeon, she'd be able to follow me easily. i'm totally disappointed in you, Barbara (and told her so, along with mocking her use of multiple!!! surprise!!! marks!!!).

more mail which included this pic:


and the one-liner: 'It's a belt and if you want it, I can get it for you'. um... oh wow, dude, that's really sweet of you to think of me. um, thanks—but no thanks. i mean, i appreciate the thought and all but somehow it's just not me. *edges away in reverse*

OK, here's another of Brixton Town Hall taken the same evening i took this one here, the last time i was in town after the total cock-up of my day, courtesy of the British Embassy (details in first two 'graphs here).


moving right along, when filing photos away just now, i ran across these, two of the first pics i took in the 'hood after i landed, just about five years ago when i was still freaked by the stone walls and truly ancient buildings all over the place. *whispers* still am, actually.



they're what i see if i happen to turn left at the top of the street. when i make a right, i get to see this (took it on the way home from today's very brief venture into TRW).


*cough* hmmm... 'boring'. how's this?: 'in other news, water's still wet'. is that good? believe it or not, i can do better, actually. *giggle* um... OK, 'oh wow (she said breathlessly), i've poured Cheerios into a huge beermug and i'm like drinking em out of the glass, just like i did in Brooklyn. and they taste goo-ooood'. *snigger*

next up in My Exciting Betcha-Wish-You-Were-Me Life, i actually do the laundry (in mind-numbing detail) and i get to drag it out over three or four posts with Before and After photos and stuff, so stay tuned. :-)

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more Hunter &c

that's not mine (though i wish it were); i stoled it off a greeting card my sister sent whilst i lived in Bonn and which, at the time, referred to Peter (RIP). anyway, it's been pinned to the bulletin board ever since (couldn't take a decent pic cause it's so faded and shit). OK, the next two a few 'graphs below were taken in the dark as i leaned off the bed with my phone trying to get him to do sump'n (anything, at this point).


even in above classic where the goddamn kitteh is doing nothing but licking his paw, the second he sees my phone out, Hunter quits doing what he's doing immediately and worse yet, won't move or do shit for like an hour or two after. }-( unlike other kitties doing stuff, those whose photos appear on I Can Has Cheezburger, when he sees that camera-phone, he refuses to move his ass into any position apart from Looking All Cute (and/or Starey-boy, depends on what i read into em).



i took above two about 04,00 the other morning after i locked him in the bedroom with me so we could totally crash in peace whilst my livingroom was being used like a fucking youth hostel. then at about 06,30 in accordance with native custom, i came out and made coffee for everyone but only after negotiating a wake-up blast from the leader of the pack. and one for 'later' and one for yesterday, today and tomorrow *whispers* but now they're all gone.

onto sump'n totally different, the other day i was all pleased i'd found a new word (in this edition of World Wide Words) to describe me: doryphore. mail from Pam in Brixton called 'Increase Your Vocabulary' which began:

'If you're still awake/conscious ... The new word is ... —> ... —> ... —> ... silver arsed (or silver assed, US possibly) which means someone who is a perfectionist, nit picking etc...'

once i quit ROTFLMAO, i asked her if she made em up, but no — then i went a-Googling and found 'silver arsed' has eight results whilst 'silver assed' has 31. they're already in the Vocab list in iPod Notes so thank you and muchly, Pam. :-)

in other news, i'm actually supposed to go Out to The Hatchet tonight cause today was Kate's last day at work after she managed to get herself fired. then she somehow convinced me to witness her asshole colleagues in action and though i tried to beg off as best i could, i could never resist a bribe so i'm going. i honestly dunno why she needs me there apart from moral support (or Shared Schadenfreude) so i'm very reluctantly like dragging my heels (and if she really doesn't need any moral support, i plan to dip heavily into the party favors and then i'm so outta there, fast).

OK, bell just rang and i've gotta split so i'm passing along these words of wisdom, once again from my favorite junkie, William S Burrughs:

'If at first you don't succeed, destroy all evidence that you've tried'.

status report: *hic!* my head's halfway to being where i wannit to and the other half's waiting for me in the loo at the Hatchet so i'm off now — happy weekend. :-)

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the apprehensive txt sans juicy bits

see this house? (click to embiggen.) last week as i did my usual run from Victoria Station to Coaches Departures, i flew in through the wrought iron gates and up the steps cause though it was only like 23,00-sump'n, these two overgrown dudes had followed at my heels for a block of so and were talking about me (loudly) in such a way i felt uncomfortable. BTW, i wasn't bothered at all until i heard the phrase 'punk pussy'.


once in front of the door, i fumbled with my keys, then took out a mirror and messed with my lipstick and hair (as if someone special were waiting inside). the dudes kept on going but stopped in front of the house next door, rolled and lit cigarettes and continued talking, so i took my time with my lipstick and hair (though neither of them needed repairing), then decided it was the perfect moment to clean out my bag. for whatever reason, it was just then the thug-dudes started off, so after waiting a few minutes more, i figured i'd chance it cause Departures was like only 100 metres away.


just as i turned to split, the front door opened and this dude — whom i figured to be like 55 or thereabouts but seriously cute (not cute-old man cute, cute-dude cute) — came out and asked what the hell i was doing on his property so i told him, hoping he'd believe me and i'd get away in time to catch my coach. well, he believed me, invited me inside (i hadda tell him no and why), then we traded numbers and he escorted me out so i could take pics of his place. then he walked me to Departures during which time we had an amusing little conversation (that pegged him as a class-conscious snob in my head and i told him so).


*sigh* and goddammit... without getting into the really good (juicey!) details he txtd me last week, reminding me of the promise i made not to publicise his address, his name, the breed of his doggy or said doggy's name and any other identifying marks, scars or tattoos including the silver stuff on his face and in his ears and nose. *cough* editor's note: i made up that bit about 'tattoos' cause i dunno if he has any. and when i didn't txt him back, he rang (which was my goal in the first place, to talk to him again).

anyway, i'd given him the URL to here and after (i imagine) he read around a bit, he txtd me again, sump'n I AM DYING to copy here but after talking to him yesterday, he refused to give me his permission, booooo. but *cough* hello um, Stranger... i kept my promise, right? right?



enough about my personal life. *snigger* according to my Dashboard, Sunrise in Bristol was at 04,16 this morning and above two pics were taken within the next twenty minutes. right now, i'm thinking of Pi and what Max Cohen said throughout the flick (before he gave himself that home-made trepannation):

'...Personal note: When I was a little kid my mother told me not to stare into the sun. So once when I was six, I did...'

not sure but i think all mothers warn their kids about that shit; at least mine did and many times, so naturally, just like the fictional Max Cohen, i didn't listen which could explain a LOT (but as usual, i don't wanna go there). message to my mother: HAH! i must've stared into the sun like thousands of times (especially on acid). what's the big deal? i came out normal and stuff — oh, wait. uh... anyway, i'd just gotten outta the bath and as i stood at the French doors wrapped in a towel and holding my phone, i felt a warm furry body rubbing up against my legs and when i looked down, i was all 'awwwwwww... how sweet: he wants sump'n'.


i ignored him cause first off, that's his 'pleeh? Please? PLS?' look (after which, when i relent, i'm faced with cleaning liquids and pawprints from every horizontal and vertical surface in here) and secondly, the skies were putting on their usual show and i didn't wanna miss any streaks of new color. but i could feel the vibrations as Cunter (The Kitty from Hell) whom he'd been imitating for hours morph'd straight into Hunter (Sweet Docile Purry Boy) and actually whimpered.

then he got angry cause not only would i not give him the leftover milk in my cereal bowl (which ends up in stinking liddle pawprints all over if i don't follow him around with a sponge and cleaner), i wouldn't let him out. please notice the (subtle though it is) difference in expression from pic above to the next, which's his 'GIMME! or i'll *chomp!* you' look:


awww... who could resist that (unless you've lived with him, you think it's a) plaintive expression on his widdy face? (me cause i know a phoney when i see one.) i said sump'n like 'hang on, Hunter, i'll be with you in a second' but when i was done taking sun rising pics (none of which came out looking decent), i called and called then searched high and low but no kitty. then i peered around the coffeetable and found this peaceful sight.


but dig Le Stare Surreptitious. i went 'whoa, there you are...' and if you look closely what appears to be zooming in on the same photo (but isn't) reveals that, without moving a muscle and letting on he's awake, he'd opened his beady little eyes.


moving right along, as usual, i'm writing without thinking cause i have to get this shit down ASAP (or i'll forget), in order to peruse in future when i get enough free time:


BTW, when i said 'or i'll forget' that means 'even when i bookmark things i always forget to look at them. ALWAYS'. anyway, above's A Dictionary of Slang And Its Analogues (here's the entire thing in boring plain text). check the typeface above and when you get to the link on which it lives, click on the pages to turn em whichever way, fascinating stuff. *stage whisper* i love the Internets!

OK, here're my currently fave sites: The Planning Lab and The Cock Bucket, so enjoy. :-) that is, enjoy The Cock Bucket unless you're oprah, an oprah-watcher, a crazed American, a religious nut or a member of the BNP in which case please go fuck yourself. or move to the States — i'd suggest Alabama or Mississippi or another of those ass-backwards places in which the N-word's used blithely (almost as a term of endearment) and they're still fighting the Civil War. *snigger* don't forget, kids: y'all can thank me later, preferably long distance. :-)

overheard the other night on QI: 'Which country has the highest suicide rate?' i love this programme (and i've been in love with Stephen Fry since i saw Wilde way back when in the States, but that's another story — and yes, i know it's hopeless). right after he asked, my landline rang and i got involved with someone and didn't hear the answer but according to (the possibly outdated wiki) it's Lithuania.

*whispers* i so wanna be on QI but know there's no way in hell i'll ever for many reasons, mostly cause i'm not a comedian and not known outside my lit-tle circle of Pill Poppin' Hollerin' Deviants — but regarding being a contestant or whatever on QI, dig:

'It's okay to be wrong, but don't be obviously, boringly wrong. In this way, QI tries to rid the world of the flotsam of nonsense and old wives' tales that can build up in your mind. QI not only makes us look more closely at things, it encourages us to question all the received wisdom we have carried with us since childhood. Think of the program as a humorous cranial de-scaler.

'QI isn't really about pointless information, or shoring up vast banks of trivia, It's about finding undiscovered connections and seeing hidden patterns, just like the best comedy. After all, curiosity is hardwired in all of us; we just lose the ability to indulge it. "The lust of the mind", Thomas Hobbes called it, "that exceedeth the short vehemence of any carnal pleasure". There you have it, and from a philosopher not a press release. QI: better than sex'.

that's all for the nonce... i've been putting off working (as usual) but now i'm down to the edge of the danger zone (means i have less time to work than any normal person would've left herself) and i'm finally ready to swing into action, so peace out, yo. :-)

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deviousities & crudities

tee-hee... yup, i had someone in mind when i made Bug-Out Kitteh but no, i give benefits of doubts around here so dude'll be nameless for now. suffice it to say, Mr Mystery Man has already met this kitty and whoa, it's wild how very differently two people can react to the same image. i mean, i think it's teh cute, teh funny and teh TTLY immichur whilst He. Is. Pissed. *shakes head sadly*


but forget about that and back to the weekend when i was still pushing myself to see how long i could stay up working without sleep. saturday was the 5th day of my second impression of Sad Eyed Lady of The Lowlife and i knew i was cracking after beginning to yawn (mostly cause she'd never), when a brilliant idea occurred: the best way to stay up and keep working was to take a few short breaks an hour — not to rest, but to concentrate on doing things that were trivial, fast and fun between rushing to meet whatever deadlines.

i figured i'd have these short breaks for twitting or chasing Hunter around or taking phone pics off the balcony or making prank phonecalls to Moe's, and if i could keep doing rapid-fire stuff like that, as long as it was fun, i was pretty sure i could get my work in on time without suffering from lack of sleep. well, i wasn't pretty sure but at that point i was willing to try anything in order to put off going to bed although i was like dead on my feet and the toothpicks i'd propped under my eyelids to keep em open the day before were starting to bother me. anyway, the photo above and two below were taken 06,00 saturday on the first break i had after i put my new strategy into action.


so i began working for like 20 minute stretches and playing around intermittently and that's how i stayed up longer than i thought i would at the beginning. but i'd totally forgotten they mail out World Wide Words on saturdays and when it came, my good intentions flew out the window cause it's another addiction — i always read the entire thing in one sitting — and the more i sat here and read, the sleepier i got until i found this new word describing the major reason i'm such a good proofreader (without getting into my usual moans on OCD, Assburgers and all the rest) and i immediately woke up when i spotted:

doryphore: a pedantic critic of minor errors; a nit picker.



*cough* guilty as charged, yer honor. :-( but in my own defence, i know it's best to STFU about my doryphorical bent unless i wanna make someone i don't like feel like a dumbass by attacking his grammar, usage, spelling et al. *whispers* it's an old habit — from Junior High to (my first) college, i'd have a red pen to correct and grade love letters from undesirables (i.e., arrogant jocks, streetwise greasers and ultimately hotshot teachers) and send em back, hopefully chowing down on yet another bit of their self-esteem. holy shit, did i say that out loud?

'We owe this word to Sir Harold Nicolson, who introduced it to the world in the Spectator magazine in August 1952. In an issue of the same magazine later the same year, he described a doryphore as a "questing prig, who derives intense satisfaction from pointing out the errors of others." ...


hmmpf... i thought that last bit was called Solecistical Schadenfreude, actually. my bad / silly me / live and learn.

'Herb Caen commented in the San Francisco Chronicle in 1996: "For a doryphore, what is more delightful than a mistake in a correction?"...'

well y'know, it depends upon who made the mistake and... um... that is... uh... O HAI! i mean, hey! look over there —> thanks to sleep deprivation and what they call a cocktail of drugs, i was so ripped, i totally failed to notice the Ground Floor neighbors' ugly bins out back which ruined the aesthetics of my photo.


OK, the next few 'graphs are literally for the record (mine): back to Twitter, i usually ignore the trends and games many play with tags and shit but over the past few days two new ones were born with my name virtually written all over em: #3wordsduringsex and #3wordsaftersex, both of which practically shouted for me to get as crude and puerile as possible. i tried my best:

for 3 words during sex i twat 'is it in?' and originally intended to stop there but throughout the day, inspiration struck (along with nausea and the growing need to soak my mind's eye in Clorox) when i twat things like 'i'm coming, actually', 'tastes like chicken', 'check that O-face', 'need more Viagra?', 'more coke, please', 'not another queef', 'that's a buttplug?', and i was just about to twit 'did you fart?', 'dog felching? OK', 'finger lickin' good' and 'happens to everyone' when i threw up a liddle in my mouth, then gave up and crashed.


yeah, that's what they've been telling me for ages now. anyhoo, for 3 words after sex i twat '100 quid, please', 'was that it?', 'Friends is on!', 'who are you?', 'i'm off, then' and 'mommy was better'. i wanted to get in another reference to felching but all i could think of was 'so that's felching' — big whoop. and 'Friends is on!' would've been much more betterer (read: insulting) as a During, not an After. #iwannado-over #justsayin'

so thanks to everyone for putting up with my repulsively infantile bullshit. *giggle* i'm always amazed when i twit whatever inanity and people still hang on, seriously clever people who don't unfollow after i try my utmost to get as lowdown, dirty and disgusting as i can. *whispers* so it's obvious i'm losing my touch. this troubles me. *shouts* DOGFELCHERS!


um... in other news, i haven't yet got permission to talk about the possibly slanderous stuff i've mentioned a coupla times (and i'm really pissed off about that, mostly cause i'll prolly forget what they're all about unless i get details down here) but i'm giving those responsible a few more days to get back to me (cause i'm so dying to spill, especially stuff about The Apprehensive Text and Village People With Vaginas and Stupid Costumes in Public) but for now, here's My New Silver Cuff, unfortunately having no gossip value whatsoever. bummer.


but wearing it will better show off the Skulls Bracelet gifted to me by TPFKAPM. anyway, i'm outta free time cause i've still got some work to do here, Kate's coming back with some people and a taxi for some wack plan of hers (which i OK'd in a moment of weakness) and now that she txtd she's on her way over, whoa, do i regret it.

once again, Hunter's got the very last word and i'm getting sick and tired of i— oh, shit! — he heard me. *cringe* LOL, kid-ding cause we all know who's boss around here.


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evil plans = Stuff

the other day i decided to walk round Bristol pretending i was a deaf-mute... y'know, for research purposes (and that's all i wanna say about that for now). anyway, when various people tried to speak to me, i pulled a *wack* face and kinda made vague hand motions and mmm'd, uh'd, uy'd, yuh'd and mrr'd em until they left me alone, prolly thinking i was mentally feeble as well (not far from the truth — exactly the image i wanted to impart — and as for the 'Why?', the less said about that shit, the better).


anyhoo, my lit-tle plan worked and i ended up bopping round town taking pictures and shit in near-blissful silence, enclosed in my own private world. it was such an uplifting experience, i plan to do it again and again cause i actually got a lot of stuff done, things that'd been on my To Do list for ages but for whatever reason, i never found the time to accomplish cause i always end up talking to strangers after they hear my accent when i ask for directions or help from shopclerks or whatever. the only lesson learnt i'd like to share is people seem to really wanna listen to you if they think you're worse off than they are especially when some non-specific, totally imaginary death sentence's involved.

AFAIC this seems to hold true be it mentally, physically or however else plus it seems i get their full attention exactly in inverse proportion to how much i'm wanting it on any given day. usually when i'm in the foullest of moods (pick a day... any day) and don't wanna communicate with anyone, all i have to do is blink or sump'n innocuous like that (and then get ready to be bored to tears after making certain my face is set in a mask that says 'politely open to strangers' moaning' cause since i left the States, my meatspace expressions are always mistaken for that shit anyway). hmmm... the more i think on this, the more i realise this is valuable information to be carefully stashed away for use in some future criminal deviousity, but i digress.


ultimately, i ended up spending quite a bit of time on The Christmas Steps. from the BBC: '...Its medieval title was Queene Street, then it became known as Knyfesmyth Street, after those who traded there. This name may gradually have been corrupted into the "Christmas" of today. Others suggest that the name may be derived from the nativity scene found in a stained glass window of The Chapel of the Three Kings of Cologne, which lies at the top of the steps...'


apart from the surefire draw of the stained glass, i lingered there for quite a while and for many reasons but the only one i wanna share now is my love for British place-names, sump'n which never fails to conjure up the epitome of History to someone like me (read: Curious American) as well as more recent beliefs and images (be they true or total fantasy) fleshed out by reading the likes of Charles Dickens, the Brontes, Bram Stoker, Mary Shelley, Lewis Carroll, MR James, John Collier, Agatha Christie and (of all people) AN Wilson.

not-so fun-fact: this immersion into all Brit Lit (especially after slogging through their Stateside counterparts) very frequently proved to be a frustrating experience.


sad to say, all this reading only fanned the flames of my wellworn but highly treasured, unrealistic and totally stereotypical impressions of Olde and early to mid-20th Century England, carefully chosen from the shitload of films seen during childhood (when i hadn't my nose stuck in a book) and then — thanks to Denial — stagnating for decades, right under the surface, barely remembered till recently.

*to self* hmmm... if i knew i had only X weeks to live, i'd prolly lock myself away with all my Brit books and old DVDs and spend my last days burning my eyes out 24/7. *whispers* i actually wouldn't mind doing that anyway, death sentence or not. :-)


back to The Christmas Steps: they '...were constructed, at a steep slant, in September 1669 ...' (editor's note: *whimper*) '...Prior to this there had been a steep, muddy and narrow street leading from the bridge over the Frome outside the city walls...'


*sigh* moving right along, here's what appears to be a manhole cover embedded in the street but dressed up with, like tesserae of rose quartz, glass, marble, flint and similar stuff. it reads St Pancras Iron Work of London around the edges and its beauty stopped me in my tracks, especially in light of the craftsmanship and design-sense that went into this everyday object upon which people walk and dogs shit and piss day in and day out.




my shite cameraphone couldn't capture it clearly in toto but you get the idea. in truth, i spent an inordinate amount of time ooh-ing and ahh-ing over this commonplace object and i'm pretty sure my audible whimpering helped the locals accept me without question in my newfound guise of Not-Nancy Drew, Girl (Mentally) Defective, so much so, i'm certain i won't be bothered when i return (and return i surely shall).

once back home, i Googled to see what the deal was and apart from learning a bit about Victorian Ironworks, i found a photograph on Flickr by a dude called Clive 1945 who captured one of these in its entirety in Gloucestershire and then commented 'I have found a second cover by St Pancras Iron work in Evesham, they seem rare'.

being that, at that point, my AQ's cup had runneth over, i spent the rest of the day back in normal SG-mode, laying the groundwork for my next extra-legal enterprise and taking more photos as the mood struck until i decided to do some volunteer time over at PDSA where i found this cute little dude on sale for 99p:


BTW, he's My Heavy Metal Elephant whom i mentioned as such on saturday when i warned 'next up...' cause he's one of the then-six people or situations upon which i wanna update ASAP but there's no time today and what's more, there's even a new really juicey one to add to the list: The Woman Whose Outlaw Cherry Was Broken At Dirty South Last Night. then in order going by the potential to be most trainwreck-gawking is The Apprehensive Text, the Village People With Vaginas, Literally Running Into Kate and finally, The Needle and the Damage Done.

one quickie i'll spill now comes from a friend who'll remain anonymous for the nonce and whose mail sent me this morning — called 'Dirty South Sober' — read hilariously in part, '...Band started without Nick who didn't arrive until halfway through the 2nd song. Apparently he'd been arrested for hitting a traffic warden. Respect...'


yup, this is the multi-talented Nick Reynolds of Memorial Casts fame, son of one of my heroes — the brains behind the Great Train Robbery — Bruce Richard Reynolds and seen above with Delia who came with me to Nick's Punkvert 402 Show last Fall, during which Nick introduced me to his dad which caused me to blush and gush like a typical fan grrl whilst Bruce looked all pleased.

before i forget, there are more pics of Nick at prior link where i wrote up my night with Delia and Mary from Dublin and how we ended up backstage at the Fun Lovin' Criminals Show where they gifted me with one of the long white feather boas used onstage an hour or so earlier. as well, here's more on Nick plus samples of his work at yet another of his shows about a year back to which i went with Stevie, Librarian of Love in a write-up i quoted Nick by calling 'sometimes it's hard to kick against the pricks'. here's a sample of one of the pieces at the show which i photographed but failed to get its proper title so i think of it as the obvious 'deathmask on armadillo'.


WANT. *sigh* if i could afford it, it'd be in my livingroom now... right, i just wanna add that AFAIC, Nick's punching out a traffic warden is totally Rock & Roll as well as reminding me of Ancient History: Wyman, Jones and Jagger micturating on the side of a petrol station (way before anyone thought up the lovely acronym ASBO) and from which that infamous quote 'We piss anywhere, man...' arose. hang on, just remembered my ASBO badge always inside my leather jacket worn close to my cold, cold heart:


yes, shite photo but yet again, i digress. back to spreading malicious gossip, i can do it as well as the next grrl so believe you me when i say i'll get to the shit i listed above as well as The New Silver Cuff which really isn't gossip at all but i wanna show it off. for now, back to my Heavy Metal Elephant.


i described it to Chris in mail which read '...it's about 3" high and 4" long from trunk-tip to tail — roughly twice as large as these photos — and very heavy cause it's solid pewter. i believe it's a pharmaceutical giveaway cause the word PROCTOSEDYL is engraved along the outer edge of the left ear; from what i can gather from Googling, it's the brand-name of a suppository or whatever. and i haven't named him yet but he's sitting on my desk reminding me to remember stuff'.

a few seconds later, Chris shot back: 'Like what stuff? To be an asshole?'

?!? OMFG — how the hell did he know?

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tuesday night in Brixton

after the demoralising drubbing i took at the Embassy, i split the Tube and flew down Brixton Road to meet Stevie at the Garden of Albert but before i reached the corner, i thought to glance up and stopped dead in my tracks, whipped out my newest cellphone, rather Chris' spare cellphone, to try out the camera cause everytime i find myself on the corner of Coldharbour Lane and the Oval right across from the Ritzy Theatre, it's like i see a beacon of hope which i dig thinking shines solely for me. notice me not mention the eleventy-nine dudes who approached me and muttered 'Skunk, skunk...' under their breaths as they passed, all of whom i totally ignored.

not-so-fun-fact: this is the shortest post i've ever written due to time constraints and deadlines nearing. *whispers* we won't mention the fact that apart from me being too ripped outta my fucking face — and early on a saturday morning, no less — to string words together to make whatever point in a coherent fashion especially since i've been awake for just about ninety-six hours now. *yawn*


yes, you insufferable liddle douchebag of an insatiable eating machine — RLY. *glares*

almost forgot: thanks to Pam for 'Hello Pukey Grrl', thanks to Angie for allaying my anxiety, thanks to Chris and Mr & Mrs Ifor the Engine for bending to my will for the upcoming KMFDM Show in Islington and thanks to Kate for having the sense to remove herself from the Danger Zone and split City Centre with her brains and body free of knifewounds and emotional blackmail. oh, and big thanks to Black Maria of the South Bronx for the longass missive chockful of information that began:

'Hope you and your peeps in England are chillin...' and went on to say '...Kalvin got sliced with a razor ... all over a piece of ass that wasn't his...' then included the startling '...I will be the bitch who gets payback on this motherfucker after 25 years...' and closed with her usual '...Love from da Boogie down Bronx'.

holy fucking shit — can we say 'gobsmacked'? of course we can, and in spades — geddit? spades? anyway, juicy details to follow some time later cause for a Black grrl, Maria and i shared years and years of glomming off each others' lives and very worst traits until she finally exceeded my personal best as attention-whore with South Bronx Soul. next up: The New Silver Cuff, My Heavy Metal Elephant, Literally Running Into Kate, Village People With Vaginas and Stupid Costumes in Public, The Apprehensive Text, The Needle and the Damage Done, and much, much more so stay tuned (with the usual caveat: if i remember).

last but not least, here's V is for Kitty sent me by Chris who mixed the best of both worlds; one of my all-time favorite films EVar along with my fave lithe snarly but cuddly bed-bud :


nah, i don't geddit either but i sure dig it muchly. what's even more confusing is the name of the image as posted on Photobucket: 'Scientology Cat'. yup, i know: WTF? and WHY? anyway, happy Bank Hol Weekend, y'all and happy Memorial Day. which in the States, despite 21. june on the calendar, is the officially recognised start of the Summer — if you subscribe to that sorta thing, which i don't. ;-)

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