Monday, 31 March 2008

let's get down to cases

[editor's note: i shall write up my fabaroo weekend after the next time i wake up cause i haven't yet decided whether or not to crash. but i spent three of the most excellent days meeting both new friends and old, all starting when i joined Mark down the pub friday, then Chris and then a bit later, on the Tube to Picadilly Circus for a bit of luxuriation in the vasty but hidden, pillow'd nooks and crannies of the very impressive China White (<–see pics). oh, FFS: just found this comment but too wasted to attribute cause i already shut the tab: 'China White is not the sort of place in which I would usually choose to hang out, because I do not sleep every night in big piles of fifty pound notes and cocaine.'

silly me, cause i heard it was an attorneys' hangout. oh. wait. *smirk* anyway, we were there to enjoy the Acoustics flavor of the Alabama 3 doing their thang at the MOJO Benefit (starring Mark as Rock Freebase by invite only, so thank you, dude) and then, the what-have-you somehow extended back to the Albert and early saturday AM at Delia's (thanks, sweet grrl, for your hospitality) and again to the Albert before Jamm early sunday. it ended where it all began: at the Albert yet again yesterday evening after Sunday Noms at Prince of Wales, but later for that. *yawn* tomorrow maybe... *cough*]

O Hai, Babe! Babe? hmmpf... where ever could be The Boy? Chris? oh, Chriii-iiiissss... ah, there you are, doing your finest in typical workaholic mode. but hey, listen up for a second: remember when we were drinking in the garden out back of the pub after we finished nomming yesterday? and i asked you how often you came over to teh pink site?

so with that in mind, oh... how shall i put it? ummm... OK. ah'm-a gonna do mah best impression of a straight arrow for once, so dig: the other day, 29. march, was exactly SEVEN fucking months since my real site was hacked and i was compelled onto this LCD piecashit. and with LCD being one of the terms we both privately, separately used before we met (and then kinda freaked as it was one more thing we had in common, impelling us further along the road to converge), you know damn well we ain't tawkin' maths here.

'The term is used figuratively ... as a rhetorical device in criticism of mass media. When a media outlet has been charged with appealing to the "lowest common denominator", it means they have targeted the lowest, meanest, crudest, most basic and perhaps prurient of all possible hopes and dreams of their intended audience...'

i mean, c'mon Babe. dunno if you'd remember but there was a typically NYC Summer day (95F and 100% moisty) back in Brooklyn in 2000, a few months after we'd met. we were at my flat on East 12th Street, talking about the next big thing – (pardon the term:) blogs – in relation to the fabaroo showplace site you were yet to build for me.

i went over to Pyra (the inventors of Blogger plus the hideous contraction of two perfectly decent words: web & log) to check out their software and GUI and such and remember thinking 'every asshole in town's gonna jump on the bloggy bandwagon the second they get hip to the possibilities'. then when Google bought Pyra ('fuckin' amateur$'), the shit hit the fan and sure enough, every dickhead and his mother became a damn blogger. editor's note: nope, no way will i link to fitting examples; i mean, just the thought of doing so cracks me up muchly – in all truth, i'd be lost, all totally 'LOL, where to begin?' for real. |-(

i mean, i feel somewhat dirty actually being here for so long (and notice i no longer call this 'my interim site' – it became 'teh pink site' about three months ago). though we ain't together anymore i do know you still care for me muchly so please! get on the stick and get me the fuck outta here. or else... *evil*

yes, i know how very busy you are, dammit. i mean, i'd be a total moron if i weren't aware that's one of the major reasons why we're no longer together. *wack* but as you know, Babe, in all troof, i mean if it weren't for you and your work ethic and stuff, i'd prolly still be in NYC dreaming of the UK and the Alabama 3 and not even aware there was such a thing as a thriving Old Punk movement an' all and i'll owe you for-Evar for making my oldest, fondest dream come true.

no, not that one, the other one: for getting me the hell outta the States and letting me tag along with you on our circuitous way, aimed at England by way of Germany. but i mean, really... i shouldn't complain. wait... LOL, then i wouldn't be the me you love (and left, but we won't go there). *snigger* and yes, dude, of course i remember my old mantra – 'It could be worse' (and it sure could; i mean, i could be voiceless and worser than that, we wouldn't still be so tight) – but, i must tell you, after so long, when i get depressed, teh pink site doesn't cut it any more. *whispers* not that it ever did, but hey. :-(

let's compare 'n' contrast (she said brightly). this is really important, y'know? cause i've been getting bummed again? OK, it takes an age to load (it won't for you) but thanks to the Internet Archive Wayback Machine, just check it out again, my real site, and if you care to, read some of teh writty from early august way down the page to early july of last Summer. *sniffle* it makes me wanna cry, y'know? *whispers* i used to get like, inspired and shit just looking at the design and categories and i'd veg out on the sepia and images (especially the kitty at L and drunken trollop at R) but that's a whole 'nother stawree.

wait, maybe you shouldn't read that page cause top post's the end of that month which, as you so unfortunately know firsthand, along with Christmas, is the worst time of my year: the run-up to 30. july – Daddy's Deathday – and the horrendous week between it to the emotional apogee – 6. august, a few years after the first Hiroshima Day, when my mother quite felicitously forced me out, as if she chose the day on purpose. so don't look at that, look at this instead.

or the page from which it came... or some Datumzeile : Bonn or some old Dateline : Bristol or the entire fucking thing and take your pick. *weeps* whoa, what a difference between the tiny posts of the early days, then steeping myself in politics (read: hanging myself from my own noose) only to reveal the demented groupie lurking within (beginning september or october '06 up to late last august, when i got hacked).

what's the verdict? one fucking easy-peasey guess: being a rabid A3 junkie's way more fun than thinking up faux clever shite to write about bu$hCo, all the while drinking and wasting drugs to steel me to even be able to read the news without wanting to kill myself.

oooh, i remember this: at the time, i wanted my site to be a mix of pols and simple techie stuff, to try to get people into things that'd help them to enjoy the Internetz more better like feed-readers and digging (in both senses of the word) rss and such. unfortunately, the Way Back Machine's inner links don't work (nor do the .mp3s i'd uploaded), but damn, i was a good liddle ersatz techie. *preens*

now. where was i? right, mildly guilting Chris for not having the time (in the last SEVEN months) to upgrade the software on my site. oh, Babe... i won't go on: there's too much respect and residual love for you. i guess i just needed to moan cause in all truth, if i'm stuck with the LCD forever on teh pink site here, i'll always have the memory (and screenshots and files) of the most aesthetically pleasing, standards-based site i'd ever want. of course, the most important thing to me is the inherent useability... i'll STFU now. on that. :-)

um... anyway, i only say this next out of love (or something): now's the time to hide behind the door so if your name is Chris (and you're the one i still call Babe), here's your cue to split. *snigger* before i forget, i wanna thank you for the presents and stuff you brought back from the States. but where to begin? how 'bout with the 400 insanely cheap Marlboro Lights in that huge box you got in Whatever International Airport's Duty-Free Shop, the gifting of such which i take as your aggressively passive message to continue giving myself emphysema or lung cancer or whatever, so thank you for contributing to my ever sooner death, Babe. :-)

all kidding aside, i do appreciate you giving 'em. i mean, above all, you've totally enabled my reclusive nature (something else i always wanted to be when i grew up: a misanthrope – whoa, i mean an eremite). cause since y'know i'm always well-stocked, foodwise, at Chez Hunter, having all those smokes mean, above all, i don't have to leave the flat for the next week or two; i can totally stay here, holed up, like a gangster on the lam.

whoa, y'know, last night when i unpacked, i was thinking thanks to you, it's almost like Christmas here. well, it's actually better than last Christmas cause all you got me was that huge Asian stashbox. no, wait – i meant 'cabinet', the Asian cabinet (i think Korean, but not sure). and i don't mean to sound ungrateful or anything, cause i'm totally not: after placing it all over the flat, trying for the best spot to show it off, it's in its final resting place where i always knew it'd end up: on the mantelpiece in the bedroom next to Grandma Elsie's Last Egg.

now please notice me veering off-topic cause you'll think you're off the hot seat and maybe i can lull you into submission or something – LOL, joke! *cough* let's like, stare at the cabinet together... OK, looking at the cabinet, checking out the wood... all those lacquered layers, all that inlaid abalone... awesome, right? anyway, i really love it to bits and all... i've honestly never seen anything quite like it before.

*whispers* i very reluctantly removed all the contraband from within before i took any photos. i mean, there was nothing very important or very bust-able, and nothing to be ashamed of or anything, but i'll be damned before i photograph my humongous uh... what did Hunter S Thompson say, again? 'Once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can'.

hey, y'know, i'm just sayin' what he said. and uh, i just wanted to see the lovely red velvet lining (she persuaded herself). here's me trying for (and totally missing) a close-up of one of the many inlaid, finely cut abalone birds about to take off.

a crane? a stork? dunno and too tired to even Google images. moving rather quickly along (leaving out the good stuff, as usual, cause that's stuff i'll never forget and don't need to note down here), i'm still deciding whether or not to crash or do another line and watch one of the DVDs you scored. shit, if you did this on every business trip, i should be happily holed up here for ages. :-)

anyway, you know my taste so well and i love you for it... um, why aren't we still together, again? shit! i didn't say that, i swear. *whispers* damn, what is it with me? i keep on doing that, saying the quiet bit out loud. *hangs head* i've rilly rilly gotta work on that. OK, there's the new Coen Brothers: 'No Country For Old Men', there's 'La Vie En Rose'... wait.

it's really touching that you always remember everything i dig like all my secret heroes, the ones about whom i don't go on that much. *sigh* some chick's gonna be a really happy grrl one o' these days but that's the road on which madness lies so i ain't doin' it (until the next time). *snigger*

right, two more DVDs: 'Ghandi' and 'Crash'. but wait, there's more presents you brought me (and it's killing me cause i dunno why). i totally love 'I'm A Lebowski, You're A Lebowski', but you shoulda warned me not to read it in public. last night i'm on the Shame Train and opened the damn book and began LMAO whilst i was still on the inside cover:

'...we have been given the modest task of assembling a fan book for what we feel is the greatest movie of all time (condolences, Citizen Kane)...' i read that shit, just about to bust a rib laughing, then managed to get four quotes from the film into my txt (and yeah, for that i'm terribly proud):

'UR entering a world of pain, U SHOULDA SPELT IT THE FUCK OUT, u piece o' shit: DO! NOT! READ! THE BOOK! IN! PUBLIC! UR killing ur father, Larry... Fuckin' fascist!' it comes. damn! as you know, if you were with me here, just typing the two, three 'graphs above would totally cue my filmic Tourette's and then we'd both be off and running in non-stop quoting fits, as we tend to do, but apart from Hunter (who can't appreciate or cringe), i'll do it manually, rather i'll do it visually (soz in advance – no, not really, cause i'm just 'doing' three). *giggle*

*cough!* last but not least, since i'm such a design freak (and it takes one to know one, nyah), the pièce de résistance: something that's about to get its first workout in a second or two if i can only quit fondling it: the Best. Cheese Slicer. EV-ar.

LOL, ta-daaaa! it's a totally sensuous thing, actually – as you damn well knew when you bought it for me – akin to the first time i got my grubby little paws around my Mac Mini. like, the stainless is totally polished and glossy without being cheap-O mirror-chromey and it's sooo damn tactile it's practically sexual... *to self* holy shit, did i just say that? *whispers* but it is. ;-)

um... notice how i'm not talking about the new toy you bought yerself? i'll get to that next time, mainly cause you took great pleasure when i got all shouty on the Tube friday night and i have yet to get you back for that cause i think you were enjoying yourself too much, y'know? anyway, waitaminnit... hang on: two things – why has this turned into a love letter to you? and what the hell happened to the rage about my real site being offline for seven whole months? wait, maybe i'm like mellowing with age or something? *sigh*

Sweet Zombie Jesus, if anyone believes that shit, yer all crazier than me, but whoa, WHY IN HELL DID YOU GET ME ALL THIS STUFF? yo, d00d! are you out there? is there something i'm missing? something i should know, Babe? something like – oh. wait. grrrrr... how silly of me. 2 + 2 actually = 4 and it didn't even take me that long to add 'em up, it happened just now as i was typing, DUH! my friggin' site!

*grumble* bah, like i'm really gonna hassle your ass after this veritable deluge of presents and stuff. SHIT! i never thought i could be bought or anything like that but hey, that's what it is and it worked, you fuck! have you no shame dude, for like stooping to conquer or whatever? and yeah, i wanna bug the shit outta you but i totally won't – and you bloody well know it.

hmmpf...i hope you know we're gonna Have Words the next time i see you, bigtime. LOL, damn, damn, double-damn and dammit to hell all over again. but really, truly, thank you for all the stu-uuu-uff, waay way way muchly, Babe. *through gritted teeth with a frozen grin*

what's blasting: i was actually toying with the idea of uploading The Pretenders & UB40's 'I Got You, Babe' but nah, for two reasons: first off, i don't (have him) *snigger* and second, that would be a bit too much, even for one such as me. anyway, Babe, these are totally for you: one for joy and one for sorrow, with all the love in my cold, cold heart. wait – hmmpf... thanks to your barrage of gifts and a bit of common sense and arithmetic, there ain't much left.

so, what's blasting: the joy's Message Of Love, and the uh... the other? Back On The Chain Gang. *evil*

*to self* i just know i'm gonna be saying 'i torry' a lot pretty soon... :-(

*snigger* and we're gonna be having lit-tle chats about my propensity for self-sabotage, but if this is what it takes to fucking wind you, so be it cause yup, once i woke up and realised that, in this case, 2 plus 2 really equalled 4, one could say i'm pretty pissed off at you, but hey, iz stawree of mah lief, akshually. *wack*

Friday, 28 March 2008

off to London for MOJO

but shhhh! don't tell anyone cause the ostensible reason i'm heading to town is to grace the American Embassy with my presence – i need US attorneys to witness my signature on financial papers and other legal shite. i say 'don't tell anyone' cause for once, my mother's picking up the tab for this weekend since (as you'll see below) this trip's totally her fault, and whoa, is she gonna pay, BIGtime. *snigger* but fuck me – just thinking of her plunges me down, deep down and not to the comfort of the old narcolepsy but into the worstest of moods. grrrr...

*grumble* why do i have to waste my time in such a manner when i'd rather be at the British Museum or freaking out (loudly) over English architecture or practising my drinking skillz in Brixton? just ask Iron Mommy (if y'all dare): she who, a few seconds after giving birth to me, actually had a knock-down drag-out screaming match with my dad in the damn maternity ward, arguing over my fucking name, of all things.

i mean, WTF and WHY? then, in a moronic attempt to compromise, she insisted i have two birth certificates, each with a slight variation of my name on. and now this dual legal-name bullshit has returned to bite me on the ass.

heh. truer words 'n' all. anyway, to say i don't appreciate having to take an early coach to London, then run all over town (unescorted, mind) only to end up sitting with a bunch of stupid American tourists in a heavily guarded edifice after being patted down, wanded and searched is putting it mildly. grrrr...

on to the good stuff, just lemme have another line here... hang on. OK, later on tonight, we'll be seeing Acoustic Alabama 3 at the MOJO fundraiser, MOJO being one of my fave causes: 'Fighting for innocent victims of the criminal justice system'. not only do i think MOJO's work is necessary and should be lauded up the wazoo, but if y'all live the kinda life i do, i mean, y'never know: i could be in dire need of MOJO's help one of these days (and the way things are going, i'm not talking outta my own ass for once).

*sigh* seeing that Chris is so very busy and can't have me over, i shall be staying at Delia's this weekend, so thank you for your offer, sweet grrl. and 'thanks' of a sort to Marianne who, unbeknownst to me, stepped up and fucking asked Delia in the first place, unaware that like five others'd offered me a place to crash. AFAIC, Marianne's good intentions were totally embarrassing and naturally, i was the last to know. grrrr... nobody tells me shit. EVar. |-(

i have no idea what's gonna happen tomorrow but i eagerly await Sunday Noms No. 4. so far, it's guest starring Chris, Mr and Mrs Ifor The Engine, Pam, Marianne and Jubx2, Marianne's daughter Patti, some other chick who's flown in from Dublin and me. and Angie and Stevie will (hopefully) be nomming with us as well.

and Freebase? he who's graced our lowly presence at prior Sunday Nomses? well, being the way busy dude he is, i'm sure he'll leave his decision – to nom or not to nom? – to the last second. nah, i won't go on (i'm in enough trouble with him already) but i shall say: Mark dude... it'd be so nice to bask in the glory of your offstage wondrousness yet another time. *winsome hopeful mode* happy weekend, y'all. :-)

Thursday, 27 March 2008

death or glory

here's a few ADD-addled disparities (cause in all truth, i'm fuckin' dead tired, can't think straight and have yet another bigass day tomorrow and thanks to all that, this post runs all over the place). OK. the above's one of my very fave T-shirts, one designed by Ed Hardy, 'The Godfather of Modern Tattoo'. i got it last time i was in Germany, back in november 06 and had issues (let's call them) with the price but the fact i don't buy much clothing plus i dug it so much, kinda justified me thinking i totally hadda have it. :-)

y'all can't see it (and i'm too wasted and lazy to get up for my cameraphone) but Pam in Brixton cut the bottom pointy, following the lines on the tattoo design so they aim up and down my bare stomach. *snigger* (not at Pam but at the bare tummy bit). having nothing to do with the T-shirt, my proclivity for skulls and such forces me to post this flag. yes, i wannit.

but back to the T-shirt whilst permitting my ADD to run wild, when i read the phrase 'Death or Glory', first i think of the Clash tune – wait, y'all can actually hear it at prior link on their player. where was- right, 'Death or Glory' always reminds me of one of my literary heroes, Charles Bukowski, and his autobiogaphical alter ego, Henry Chinaski. apart from his books, these are what made me fall into writerly love with him:

'Some people never go crazy; what truly horrible lives they must lead'.

'Anybody can be a non-drunk. It takes a special talent to be a drunk. It takes endurance. Endurance is more important than truth'.

editor's note: the same can be said about junkies, which reminds me of Christophuh talking to the GF he met in Rehab and one of the most hilarious lines i've ever heard on The Sopranos: 'Y'know, it's intristin'; us bein' able to use again but integratin' it into our lives...' now where was i? right, back to Buk:

'This is a world where everybody's got to do something. Y'know, somebody laid down this rule that everybody's got to do something, they got to be something ... Sometimes I just get tired of thinking of all the things that I don't want to do. All the things that I don't want to be'.

'One critic has described Bukowski's fiction as a "detailed depiction of a certain taboo male fantasy: the uninhibited bachelor, slobby, anti-social, and utterly free." Chinaski's existence is an unending chronicle of farts, drunks, shits, fucks, brawls, and visits to the racetrack, punctuated by bouts of creativity for which he indifferently receives the world's adulation or reproach. His blurring succession of women are as crazy as he is: they get drunk together, snarl at each other, and screw like bobcats.

'And it all takes place in a comic and unpretentious prose that broadcasts Bukowski's impatience with trust funders, wannabes, feminists, bourgeois liberals, and almost every other writer in the world...'

or as i'd put it, The Enemy. *admiring* in all troof, if i were an alcoholic writer, i'd wanna be him. anyway, i'm running out of time here so just wanted to post up a few tangents, like lit-tle springboards for diversive mulling (and practising my ADD).


b) i love it – cause amazingly enough, i know this only too well: 'OMFG, I would slit my wrists but i'm just too damn lazy to get up and look for a razor'.

c) my last twit: watching Pan's Labyrinth tho i should've been asleep hrs ago due to an early AM appointment (i.e. i'm reaffirming my self-sabotage skilz).

d) presented without comment but keep in mind it's the total troof, so KTHXB- zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Tuesday, 25 March 2008

misery loves company. online misery loves unsuspecting random strangers.

as far as twoof-telling, misery, company and random strangers go, i totally fucked up and overextended myself and my flat and so, was forced to bite the bullet and post this shit over at FreeA3... humiliating! it's on the second leg of the Alabama 3's MOR Tour, namely their 27. april Bristol gig, in less than five more weeks. i tried for a feeling of dispassionate lightness but i think desperation belied my rather transparent front:

'OK... i'm ashamed to admit it but i think i fucked up (nothing new there). if all who plan to stay at mine on the night of the gig (and/or the night before or after and/or forever afterward – believe me, i'd love it if y'all would move in but that's a post for another time).

'now, where was i? right, if all who plan crashing at mine would please post here or ring me, i'll be able to figure out exactly what's what. feel free to mail me ... if y'all do mail and don't hear back from me within 24 hours, you'll know i didn't geddit.

'i had a liddle list somewhere (unfortunately not in my Palm). *wack* offhand, i believe there's Pam, Lazy, M.O., setmajer, that way cool dude in... Cornwall or Devon was it? i won't name/shame him since he's like this quiet, laid-back person, someone i really dig and i wouldn't wanna call him out... um, i forget whom else. oh, right. The Butcums. *to self* FFS! i have to pretend to like them and stuff... whoa, are they gonna pay... BIGtime.

'OK, to all staying at Chez Hunter: there's totally no reason to panic or make other sleeping arrangements cause when i say sumpthin', i fuckin' mean it (even if i, myself, have to sleep in the street). HA-ha, kidding! you best believe i'd throw your asses out before i'd spend the night homeless.

'kidding again! right, can you tell how fucking ripped i am? hang on... ah, there's mah pipe. THWOOP!!!!111!!!!! ahhhhh, so much better. wait... it seems i'm off-topic. how the hell did that ever happen? *wack*

'what was i saying again? right, i just need to know exactly how much of teh dru- i mean, i need to know how many of you assho- SHIT! Being the man i am – ARRGGHHHH! (i torry, D Wayne). OK, being a control freak, i totally must know how many'll be here at Chez Hunter for the gig. whew! there – i've finally seddit. praise the laud! oh, and him as well (she grudgingly admitted)'.

editor's note: that last 'him' refers to Freebase... but this next is the crucial bit, the part that'll weed out the pussies from the rest of us – but naturally i didn't bother telling people that. i mean, there's plenty of time for them to figure it all out for themselves and if they don't? i'll just think they're way dumber than i already do – no biggie. right, here we go and pay close attention cause ah rilly, rilly mean it:

'after re-reading the above, i guess this is the time to tell y'all that when i thwoop (read: smoke reefer), my ADD runs wild. if y'all think i go off-topic here and forget what the hell i was saying, wait'll you hear me in person. and you better be able to keep up – or else. *evil* joke! kidding! (cause in all troof, NOBODY can). *preens* ...'

in all actuallity, i was kidding about that prior 'kidding' bit but they'll find out for themselves. *evil* and then i went on to virtually suck off Mar- i mean, then i went on to flatter Mark cause hey, it couldn't hurt, right? and anyway, i do it so well. and enjoy doing so, actually. *whispers* last week a mutual friend called it what it truly is: she said something about me 'pimping for Freebase' and all i could do was like hang my head in feigned shame (but that's cool cause we were on the phone and she couldn't see me whilst i silently laughed my ass off, not at her, but at the entire situation).

back to my post, i ended my plea for a rollcall with this frighteningly realistic rendition of yours truly, in yet another desperate attempt to add levity to the situation here, that which just might end up akin to those crowded into the historic freight-trains rolling off to spend happy days at Hotel Auschwitz.

then after Mississippi Outlaw, Pam, Marianne, Dave and Electric Landlady and Lazybones replied, i felt a bit more secure. if 'secure' means we're gonna be killing each other due to lack of privacy and my other insane (but totally necessary) creature comforts but hey, needs must an' all. then i remembered, there be roolz, dammit (post number 8).

having nothing better to do with my time, i decided to fuck about even more cause whoa, i was totally ripped on a new combination of teh drugz, one as usual, with which i first experimented on myself and quite successfully, i might add. right, don't try this at home, kids, mmmkay?

anyway, i ain't revealing the elements of my newest bestest combo but suffice it to say between bouts of delirium and chemically-induced joy, my head was lolling off my shoulders, drooly strands hung from outta mah mouf and i found it difficult to think straight (nothing new there). in the stupor bit of the high, i found LOL Kittehs (but still trying to find matches to M.O. and lazybones and i swear i shall, even if it kills me). anyway, here's Dave (or Mr Scumbucket as he's fondly known around these parts).

prick. here's Pam in Brixton whose comfy sofa sleepy-spot on MOR Tour 1 was rudely removed – by me – in order to be fair to the newcomers. well, fuck 'fair'... um. let's move on.

OK, sorry Pammie, but really... anyway, here's one that just might be Mississippi Outlaw; depends upon whether or not he digs the tune. BTW, have i ever mentioned how much Springsteen's always bored me?

still lookin' for lazybones and the male friend he promised to bring. *cough* be still my beating heart, LOL. notice me not mention Chris cause it pains me muchly that at this point in time he still doesn't know if he'll be in the UK for the tour or travelling for work. dammit all to fuckin' hell. anyway, here's me again, just so's everyone gets used to it – not only do i never shut the fuck up but i hate to go to bed.

helpful hint: if youse don't bring me the right drugs (in massive quantities), y'all are gonna be hearing that a LOT the night of the gig – and that's just a friendly liddle warning. OK, i can't contain my upcoming spoing any longer so to divert myself, here's some stuff i found on my desktop in order to waste time and space and prove to those who wonder and check in here to see if i've offed myself or not yet, well sad to say: Yup, i'm still alive but as usual, totally (un)well.

before i forget, last night i watched Dead of Night again, one of those films that totally made me fall in love with all things British when i was a little kid. when i was busy killing time before, i clicked on the trivia section and found this wondrous info, stuff that totally freaked me out goodly:

'Cosmolgists Fred Hoyle, Thomas Gold and Hermann Bondi, developed the Steady State theory of the universe, an alternative to the Big Bang, after seeing "Dead of Night". They said that the circular nature of the plot inspired the theory...'

i mean, whoa – how cool is that? i always knew there was something wild about this film. i mean, more wild than the film itself. OK, let's get down to cases. here's my view of Brandon Park out the French doors yesterday afternoon during a brief moment of sunshine, the only sun i saw all day. the second it came out, i ran onto the balcony like a fuckin' lunatic, attempting to capture the moment.

two seconds later it was all grey again (the way i dig it best: all murky and gloomy. even better yet would be murk, gloom and thick thick fog). anyway, back in reality here, half an hour later found the sun out again (and me flying on to the balcony again, like an asshole). i'm looking down that tiled thing that stretches along the backs of the houses. off to the right are the very stupidly named Bellevue Pleasure Gardens East.

in about a month or so – just about the time of the Bristol gig – we won't be able to see shit cause it'll all be covered with blooms, ivy and purple wisteria and other leafy living things. if i had my way, i'd have a treehouse there, all hidden away from the prying eyes and boringly normal opinions of the yups.

i mean, if i were wealthy, i'd have a hideout built in the treetops, way wayyyyy above Bellevue in the tallest tree directly across my flat. and then i'd spit down on the nosey yup neighbors. well, i do that anyway and they're so fuckin' stupid, they always think it's drizzling (how do i know? i hear them complain and go back in for their umbrellas). *snigger*

back to my obsess- i mean, back to my spoing over Alabama 3 in Bristol next month, i totally foresee: here we all are, talkin' back to Freebase. *smug snide attitude* cause he made me sad today. and then i beat him up – virtually, on the phone, that is.

but he knows i'm only messing about with him, right, Mark dude? right? right? shit! no answer. *cough* OK, this is me lauding his way fine ass... and no, i ain't ashamed to admit it cause he knows what i think of him an' all.

but in all seriousity, thanks Mark, dude – you know why. :-)

what's been blasting since i WUTM: all things Freebase including Rock Free and Baby, You're So Esoteric (which has special meaning for me even though i had nothing to do with it). and don't bother thinking i'll ever upload these – lah deee daaahhhh. ;-)

Sunday, 23 March 2008

R U Reddy 4 Sum Cunt-Tree?

OK, enough with the kitty talk, especially with my bent for wallowing in past sadness due to my poor little boy Peter and his shockingly violent end. in all truth, i was a lucky grrl, sharing my life with a kitty whom i dug believing i so understood, both of us having survived very much abused backgrounds (unfortunately Petey's was physical abuse whilst mine was thanks to Iron Mommy's relentless emotional abuse).

so yesterday i decided to bite the bullet and embarked on yet another secret mission travelling my sickly depressed ass off to Wherever England to see a dear friend and it was the best thing i could've done for myself, cause he's clever enough to refuse to indulge me and my self-absorbed depression and for that i respect him more than i can say.

am i being cryptic? damn straight i am but not on purpose for once; today on this Easter Sunday this post is due to the fact i'm momentarily happy with fond memories of bonding yet again with him; one of the few dudes i totally love (but not in that way). and as we all unfortunately know, when i'm feeling in such an alien way ('happy'), it's cause for rejoicing.

like, when others are happy, it's like normal for them but with me it's akin to a tiny bit of heaven, if i believed in such a thing (which i don't) cause it's such a rare thing when i feel it – always momentary and being so fleeting, not only is it cause for celebration but the bottom line is: i get so wild with joy that i. don't. care; don't care how insane and disjointed any of my meatspace behavior and online ravings might be.

and with me, it's like a litmus test to see who my real friends are (though i'm not consciously testing them, no way, no how, not ever). my true friends understand and put up with my semi-manic joy, the others? well, they can totally fuck off for all i care. anyway.

so...are you ready for some total fuckwittery? title's an abortion taken from a wondrous collaboration by BJ Cole and the Alabama 3 on Trouble in Paradise, an album released just a few days after Chris collected me in Bonn and we got our asses back here to England in early july 2004. so naturally, when i think of that day, i immediately associate it with the release of the album, along with quite a few other different things.

as usual, i blame the ADD but then again, i blame it for all my disparate associations. and when it's not the ADD, it's the Asperger's. and when it's not the Asperger's, it's the Tourette's. you get the idea, since every living soul (and quite a few of the dead) know i'm totally blameless, an innocent lost in the wilds of the dreaded reality of meatspace – know what i mean?

anyway, back to yesterday's day trip, suffice it to say, my mission was accomplished with the kind and generous help and excellent company of one of the most decent and intelligent dudes i've got the good fortune to call friend, one of the few who sees right through my feigned (and true) madness and puts up with me anyway. call me cryptic or esoteric: this is me giving a shit: *yawn* but enough about that for now (and ever, actually) cause my lips are sealed for self-protection, mostly cause at this specific point in time, i don't need more trouble (if 'trouble' means guilt by association as it most certainly does at this point in time).

anyway let's move the hell along cause if i dwell i just might spill and the way things are going, my soon-to-be-splitting 'happy' will take off much sooner than i should desire (and my source of happy would hate me [more] and that's the last thing i'd wanna happen cause i'm already treading thin ice with him. so to speak. in fact, if i actually literally were walking on thin ice with him, i'd dig nothing more than crashing through it, dragging him down, to gasp our last breaths together... wait. shit! i gotta take control of that kinda stuff, saying the quiet bit aloud and all. maybe someday... *wack*

anyway, more reason to be happy: if all goes well (and it just better), Techie-Boy shall touch down at Heathrow in just about two hours or so, bearing gifts for me but who cares about any gifts when just the thought of him being home is enough to cause me to spoing my ass off. i mean, two damn weeks without mouth-to-mouth access (means on the phone; not literally, dammit). ;-)

and it's all just a bit too much for me; words cannot express the – dare i say it? fuck, yeah – joy i'm feeling, knowing he'll soon be back despite the fact his home is Brixton and mine's like 150 miles due West in the hinterlands of Bristol, but still. *happy grrl dancing my ass off*

OK, whether this confluence of 'happy' has anything to do with the Easter Bunny or not, next up's a gig that in my right mind (and i do have my moments), i actually considered getting busted to be present at: on thursday, the Acoustics Flavor of the Alabama 3 played Brixton Prison, directly after returning from their brilliant appearance at SxSW in Tex-ass USA.

speaking to Delta Slide Dude on the phone, i asked him about his impressions of The Lone Star State; he told me on the band's way back to Houston Airport, they were totally amazed seeing no normal sized cars; it seemed that everybody was driving a 4x4 or Jeep of some fashion. needlessly. i told him it was like a status symbol and then i heard an audible sigh.

and yup, i sighed as well cause that's the amerikan way: guzzle that petrol cause when we're on empty, well, shit, there are far more smaller, backward countries in the world, lesser-known entities we have yet to plunder whose natural resources are oil. and being the well-armed bullies we are, we'll think nothing of killing the natives to take what's rightfully ours. i mean, didn't god tell us so? that it's our god-given right? i'm sure it's in the bible somewhere... gimme a moment and i'll look it up.

moving right along, yesterday morning, i stumbled all feverish onto the train at Bristol Temple Meads, and as i shoved some old lady aside to snag her First Class seat, my phone beeped with a txt from Stevie, The Librarian of Love. she clued me in with her very brief message: 'Get today's Guardian'. when finally at Paddington Station, i hauled ass from one news shop to the next until i stole the very last copy, pulling it out of the hands of some dude in a wheelchair.

and thus beginneth this episode of 'happy'. after riffling through each and every section (and tossing the discarded papers on the floor to give the clean-up dudes something to do) i finally found treasure on page 23 and shouted 'Fuckin-A!' at the top of my lungs cause this is why all us Converted should be joyous; for this reason alone sets our band apart from the rest: not only their political views, not only the drugs, not only the 'fuck you' attitude but their fervent belief in humane causes – and i'm so pleased to say the band always puts their money where their mouths are:

After Presley And Cash, Alabama 3 Get Prison Blues:

'It was the only gig in town where you had to be on the guest list to get out rather than in. And while the chapel at HMP Brixton, south London, may not have quite the capacity of the Albert Hall or the cachet of Koko, this week it hosted one of those shows likely to be remembered by every one of its extremely select audience.

'The Alabama 3, whose song Woke Up This Morning gave The Sopranos its theme tune, took their eclectic music behind bars at the invitation of the prison's governor, Paul McDowell ... the reception from the 100 or so inmates could not have been warmer if they had been bearing personal pardons from the Queen.

'From the opening bars of a specially adapted version of Johnny Cash's Folsom Prison Blues – "I'm stuck in Brixton prison!" – lead singer Larry Love, all dark glasses and bonhomie, established a rapport with those who might identify with the song's lines "I know I had it coming / I know I can't be free".

The band, which included
Rock Freebase on guitar, Harpo Strangelove on harmonica, and the Rev Errol T and the Rev B Atwell both on vocals – possibly not all real names – ran through a repertoire which included Rehab and U Don't Dans 2 Tekno Any More. When the band's youngest and smallest member, Devlin Love, concluded with her interpretation of John Prine's haunting Speed and The Sound of Loneliness – final line "out there running just to be on the run" – inmates cheered...'

it's really too bad i don't have a scanner cause the online version is in quite a different format than that of my meatspace copy – there's a lovely color photo of Larry, profiled in shades and white Stetson, holding his mic. my only complaint? y'all guessed it. whilst i adore Larry to bits and all, would it totally kill meatspace media to actually print photographs of the rest of the band?

i mean, Zoe's a knockout, but is it really necessary for that 'youngest and smallest' bit? i mean, who gives a damn how tall she is? she's just about my height, actually, but about a century younger and way cuter than i ever was. and blessed with a voice like that, she could blow the entire prison off its foundations. notice me not complaining (hah!) about just the mention of Nick as Harpo and Mark as Rock or as i dig putting it, 'Mark's the Engine that Drives the Machine'. i mean, well... isn't he? rather, what kinda sound would the Acoustics have without Rock Freebase? huh? huh? AFAIC, Larry's 'No drums, no bass, just Rock Freebase' totally says it ALL. :-)

moving right along, i must contain my spoing for now cause Chris shall touchdown at Heathrow within the next hour – and i sure as shit hope he has an easy time flying through Customs and all. wait – woo-hoooo! YES! just as i was killing time over at FreeA3, guess who txtd to say his feet are back on British soil again? whilst i'm sittin' here thinking up ways to dis Freebase (more, even); rather, i'm sittin' here, halfassedly writing this here post and deciding whether or not to go to sleep when my cellphone went off and wonder of wonders, i got this txt from Chris:

'The plane landed. You can stop phoning the hospitals – I'm safe'.

happy grrl dancing all over the place* BTW, his above refers to the paranoia within, like whenever someone or some band i love is on an aeroplane and i'm not with them, i have um... unfounded fears (let's call 'em. actually, let's call 'em what they are – unnecessary paranoid insanity).

anyway, when i rang him back, he actually called here in England, 'home'. this is an improvement on Chris' prior deluded thinking e.g., for the last few years i've had to hear 'I'm going home for Christmas' and whether together or apart, i was always all 'WTF? THIS is your home, dammit'.

now to entice him back onboard (instead of sending me links he wants me to post for him). um... *singing* oh Chriii-iissss... i mean, setmajerrr... Mark has a new wrestling hold he'd like to try out on you (that's bound to get him back there).

anyway, he came home bearing gifts for me, one of which is something Lebowski which he assures me i'm gonna love (but won't tell me what it is). and so, i made this next kitteh for you, Chris dude, in honor of our love for The Big Lebowski and all it's meant to us, beginning in december 2003 when wonder of wonders, our mutual luck (as well as our lives) changed for the way way better.

to say i'm overjoyed he's back home here, on British soil, is like the understatement of the century. moving right along, i'm also quite pleased for Chuck, a very good (online) friend who – four years back – answered my plea (when the old FreeA3 went down) and built our current unofficial site within a few days of my long-distance whining.

this was due to my total and immediate plunge into depression from suddenly being cut off from my friends... wait. 'total and immediate plunge' doesn't begin to cut it; i was like instantly near-suicidal and nearly mad with frustration and rage. hang on; i'm wittering (for a change). *cough* please permit me to re-beginulate. then again, like y'all really have a choice – it's either 'read on' or shut down this tab (or *gasp* close out this window) and surf off to wherever else on the boundless, endless Internets. *smirk* ––> oh shit; oops to the nth; i'm so sorry for my prior snide, smarmy smug tone. not. OK. um... whoa – wait. now where was i? right:

just about four years back at the time the old FreeA3 went down, after Chris had moved here to begin his new job and i was stuck alone in Germany, i panicked (and that's a euphemism). cause the thing of it is, without FreeA3, i was totally cut off from all my friends cause the lazy bastards, i mean, cause they're not heavy-duty mailers as i am. BTW, had i not always been a heavy wordy mailer, i'd never have hooked up with Chris in the first place, but that's a story i've recounted on my real site, one with which i won't bore y'all again now. *snigger*

anyway, the very sympathetic Chuck – with whom i'd been mailing for only three or four months back then – very quickly bent to my will. rather, he understood so very muchly that he quickly built our current unofficial Alabama 3 fansite, thanks to my desperate plea.

*whispers* in all actuallity, i remember kinda forcing him in a very casual but loving mail, one which threatened to fly straight to Texas, make a brief stop to purchase a gun at the local Quickie Mart (or the nearest library cause firearms are freely available and on sale all over, even in places like delicatessens).

fun fact: it's been a well-kept secret but having no respect for most Texans (barring futech and Chuck) i don't give a damn who knows: in order to inflate the ol' Texas ego (to compensate for their generally tiny dicks – a la the preznit) starting at the earliest of ages, firearms are stashed on the highest of shelves in each and every Texan school's Kindergarten toys cupboards).

anyway, back to two 'graphs above, what Texas establishment of any nature would be complete without a full range of guns 'n' ammo? my liddle love note to Chuck went on to inform him i'd off his family, friends and pets if he didn't do what i said. i ended my lit-tle epistle in my usual comforting manner with sumpthin' like 'no pressure, dude... if you haven't the time, i understand. just remember to kiss 'em all g'bye before leaving for work tomorrow'.

in all troof, i honestly don't remember how i put it, but i do remember there was some kinda intimidation involved. i mean, c'mon! how the hell d'ya think i ended up on M.O.R?

it was certainly not thanks to my looks or brains or any street cred the band thinks i might have. and most definitely not due to any talent. i mean, Larry's not an idiot (not by a longshot) and certain info casually dropped into conversation with him... well, American accent or not, let's just say, a liddle emotional extortion goes a long way. but as usual, i digress. or as Mark so lovingly puts it: 'witter'. but, what-EVarrr. now once again, where the hell was i? right, back to Chuck. :-)

after he read my love note and threw up (and i do mean 'threw up'; i could hear him retching on the phone cause after receiving my mail, he actually had the temerity to ring me to see if i was serious or not).

but who woulda thunk it? that a few short years later, not only would our dreams come true and he'd meet the Acoustics but get to hang out with them as their guest at SxSW? amongst other juicy bits he conveniently omitted from his first-hand report (read here on his site: Metaphoric Labs), he was happy to tell me stuff Nick said about FreeA3 (which, outta respect for both Nick and Chuck, shall not leave my lips or fingertips). anyway, take it away, Chuck:

'Hangin' With Alabama 3 at SxSW: If you read this site much, you’ve undoubtedly noticed that I’m a big fan of Alabama 3, the UK “techno country” band (”The best live band in the UK” according to The Guardian). Last week, they were back in the US to appear at South by Southwest Music in Austin. Well, since I’m in Dallas, I couldn’t really not go, could I?

'Unfortunately, I had a limited window during which I could sneak off for a day, and I had to book a hotel well in advance of the official schedule. Long story short, we ended up in Austin the night before they were to perform, with no real way to stay over an extra night'.

nb: having Asperger's, Chuck and i both read the SxSW listing for Alabama 3 quite literally. as it stated they'd be on 'Wednesday, March 12 – 12,00AM' so we assumed that meant 00,00 wednesday. not midnight thursday morning, you dickwads (nb: not you, you or you but them; the editors writing the Acoustics' gigs times). but hey, shit happens; thanks to them, we fucked up. as an aside, i shall add it's a damn good thing i wasn't there cause if i'd made the trip and totally missed the gig, there'd have been BIG trouble. anyway, continuing with Chuck:

'Fortunately, between exchanging messages on FreeA3 and the kind assistance of a mutual friend, I managed to hook up with Rock Freebase (aka Mark when he’s offstage, lead guitarist for Alabama 3), and got a chance to hang out with Mark and the band for a few hours'.

woo-hoooo! i'm a mutual friend! and i was actually useful for once. YES! YES! YES! *does happy grrl dance* OK, damn, i'll try to STFU and let Chuck continue ('try' being the operative word here, but no promises).

'Hey, if I was given a choice of seeing the gig or having a few beers with the band, I’d have taken the latter anyway, so it’s all good. It was great getting to meet everyone in person, and Mark in particular is a real class guy. They were just unwinding from a long plane flight, but they were happy for us to tag along (my eldest made the trip down with me) and Mark and I chatted for several hours about a variety of topics. In addition to the music, he’s also a Mac user, so we even managed to geek out a bit in the process'.

personal note: i'm preening whilst patting myself on the back for a change, since i owe Mark's newfound love for Macs over PCs (especially his new Mac Pro); owe it all to myself and Chris since both of us very carefully applied gentle pressure on Mark since we all three got friendly over the last 18 months or so.

but truly, learning Mark was on the receiving end of a new Mac Powerbook for Christmas... well, having learnt that shit thrust Chris and i into virtual ecstasies since our not-so-subtle hints and shit (especially when Mark was – shall we say – under the influence and held captive up at Chris' for most of last Winter). Punkt, Ende. *preens* (and 1, 2, 3 – here we go again, one mo' time: 'it doesn't take much!' *cough*

'Since it wasn’t an interview, I’ll keep most of it to myself, other than to say that Rob (aka “Larry Love”, lead vocals) sounds just like he does on stage (I’d always assumed that was just his singing voice), Zoe is even cuter in person than she is in videos, Nick is a great guy, as is Ian (their manager), and Mark and I are in agreement as to which British TV celebrities we’d most like to see beaten up during a TV interview…'

oh, to have been a fly on the wall during that conversation... but read the rest and check the vid Chuck posted of the gig he missed. but wait – there's still more; more first-hand reportage from futech, yet another dude from Texas who's taken bits of our original Presleyterien Public Licence and successfully remixed many an Alabama 3 tune, one of the precepts of the long-dead PPL using fan involvement, the band's material and the Internets as the medium in which to blast off. and so i dedicate this next LOL Kitteh to futech, with many thanks for his glorious remixing creations.

anyway, read his write-up here: Our Adventure With Mark. i totally love it, especially bits like: 'It was all a bit surreal, I just kept saying to myself (and whispering to my fiancé), this is Mark Sams "aka Rock Freebase" the LEAD guitarist for Alabama 3 sitting here having a drink with us. The guy whose music fills my ears at some point every day…how cool is that!...'

yup, futech dude, i know exactly what you're on about. at the beginning of my friendship with Mark, when seemingly outta nowhere, he contacted me and helped end the longest lasting suicidally depressing phases of horror in my entire life (and believe me, there were many before that but that long, dark night of the soul – well, it lasted almost a year and was the worst); anyway, there was many a time when i myself thought exactly the same as that which futech so succinctly wrote above.

futech's Our Adventure With Mark is a lengthy (but AFAIC, not lengthy enough), worthwhile and intriguing read but if you love the music of the Alabama 3 as we all do, it's totally worth taking your time to savour each and every of his words. BTW, here's futech along with Mark last week in Austin at SxSW. i've never seen two more handsome dudes (and still verily wish i could've been there).

back to futech's most lovely post, don't miss the comments, some of which will cause you to laugh your fuckin' asses off (especially those from Freebase himself). the general consensus? Mark is 'a class act'. and for once, i shall withhold my snark cause onboard sarcasm and dissing aside, we all totally agree. but i'll add yet another personal note: way back in august 2006, once i got over the shock on that first day when, seemingly outta nowhere when he contacted me...

well, suffice it to say i was totally surprised a) he still had my number on his cellphone, b) he actually txtd me and c) gobsmacked at my instant mood change; the absolute delight that, once i answered his initial question and told him how depressed i'd been, Class A Act Delta Slide Dude spent a good three hours talking to me.

i was on the street when his first txt came in. once upstairs we continued talking whilst he patiently listened to me moan on why i was so down, why i split from FreeA3 (new year's day 2006) and how i felt that after Chris, i'd never ever have the heart, confidence or looks to attract any dude ever again. i mean, AFAIC, i'm just another fan and at that time, a veritable stranger to the very busy Rock Freebase.

and if any of us (either Chris or me) were considered someone with whom to talk, i'd have assumed it surely wouldn't be me, but Chris with whom he'd had a few musical conversations (whilst he'd dis me every chance he'd get, outside of every venue beginning Summer 2003, leaving me in tears, bawling my head off on every aeroplane back to Bonn). of course, this was way before i'd ever got hip to his proclivity for Yank-winding but that's a story for yet another time. maybe.

anyway, to say i was impressed and flattered he spent his good time – the entire Summer afternoon – hearing me moan whilst asking questions to further draw me out; well, that isn't really describing my feelings. but 'Class act' kinda cuts it. why? cause all my kidding and winding him aside, as he (and everyone knows) IMO he totally is. and that's one of the reasons i truly love him as the big brother i never had. well, apart from the fact he's one of the most intellectually brilliant people i've had the pleasure of dissing. whoa, i mean knowing. how the hell did that shit slip out? LOL, prolly from force of habit. *wack*

back to futech's thread, for an excellent hoot, after you enjoy his reminiscence of Mark, start reading the comments with Dave's at number 7 on this page here. *snigger* good one, Dave *admiring* but could it be? since when have you ever hesitated spelling out 'cunt' especially stated in such a family-friendly way as to type it c**t. knowing you for so long (far too long, to the degree you bore the shit outta me) i had no idea you even had such a word in your vocabulary, lit-tle stars or not. and don't come crying to me in the case Mark decides to take offence. then again, i believe i saved your ass a bit further down the page, so remember Dave, dude, YOU OWE ME. ;-)

what's blasting: the unmistakeably sexy growl of Larry Love singing lead on BJ Cole's Are You Ready For Some Country? (from BJ Cole's 2004 Trouble in Paradise).

BJ Cole: 'My association with the Alabama 3 goes way back – back to the Steel Guitar work I did on their debut album "Exile On Coldharbour Lane: and numberless life shortening gigs which I was persuaded to attend. My friendship with them and my respect for their music made it inevitable that I should ask them to be involved in the project. The resulting track "Are You Ready For Some Country?" is my version of how their music should sound..."

remember y'all, do me a solid: R-Click and Save and TIA for sparing my bandwidth. right, Happy Easter Buddy, dudes and grrls... if that's yer thang. of course Easter Buddy has a whole 'nother meaning round these parts... LOL. en-fuckin' joy. :-)