Lower East Side Story: II

nope, not by Goines but by me and not the story but the murder. anyway, judging from the mail i've received lately and might i add, mail becoming more and more – dare i say it? shit, why not? – eager, either people have forgotten they've read it on my real site or i have new readers – dunno and as usual, i'm doing it for myself so i don't care. then again, eons ago when i worked in the publishing world, it was believed that for every letter somone'd written, a hundred didn't. actually, one might extrapolate from there (but i'd rather not cause it scares me).

OK, here's the ending of the true story of an evening from way, way back in yet another lifetime, the start of which i posted here just under three weeks ago . *cough* now where was i? right, Gordy and i had just witnessed a murder – a Latino called Rocky stabbed a black guy to death – whilst we all waited to score in a particularly nasty building on NYC's Lower East Side. i finished part I by writing:

Our greed was such that this most gruesome thing in the world had happened but like the junkie jerks we were, we all stayed anyway. This didn't occur to me until I wrote most of it all down here (in my journal) when very, very stoned later on that night.

Rocky was unfazed as he dragged the dead guy off the line and over to the side. Suddenly the room erupted in a sort of hushed roar; everyone was talking at once but trying to keep it down. I leaned against my friend in terror and felt him shaking as well as me. The atmosphere was like the embodiment of some wild hallucination; our frozen clammy hands and perspiring bodies, the unreal nightmarish things we all had just witnessed, the occasional horrified face seen dripping with sweat, caught in the moonlight which streamed through the holes in the roof and the cracks in the walls... and then there was the stench.

We were all used to the stink of the long-condemned building but now it seemed to grow much closer and smell much worse due to the blood pouring from the body in the heat of the overcrowded room. Yeah, first he was 'some black guy' but within seconds he became 'the body'. It might've been my imagination but I'd swear I could smell the blood as it spread out underneath him, adding another layer of terror to the steaming miasma of the filthy little room. For once my motor mouth was shut because I was too frightened to whisper and wanted to split ASAP. Whether it was greed, denial, fear of drawing Rocky's attention by pushing out of the room or the sudden realisation that we actually needed to get high to balance out or maybe repair the inner turmoil of witnessing a murder... for whatever reason, we stayed.

Rocky came back on line in front of us and we instantly dropped about a foot away from him, as far behind him as we could without pressing against those who came in after we did. And then the hush turned into a loud babble when we suddenly heard a bang at the front and the slot was open for business again, so we all surged forward. For that one moment, I'd forgotten what'd happened a minute or so earlier. And then, as if the room had a mind of its own, the babble went from 'They're open!' to 'Murder!'

In the dim light the corpse was almost invisible but any newcomer would quickly get hip just by listening in. The first person up front finished his business and turned to leave. Not looking at anyone, he walked very quickly and I wished he were me. As those still on line got louder and louder and we got closer to the slot, Rocky turned around and hissed 'Shut up!' Incredibly the room was quiet again. We watched him wipe his knife on a rag he picked up off the floor and in a voice one would use to explain something to an incredibly stupid child, he quietly informed us 'If we don't shut the fuck up, they'll close the window and we won't get served.'

He was absolutely right and we all knew it. And everyone immediately shut up, got served and went home. We couldn't get off cause our hands were still shaking so I put on a Clash tape and took a bath. I peeked out before I got into the tub and saw my friend sitting on the edge of the bed with an open book in his hands. But he was kind of looking off, out the windows to the backyards of East 7th Street with an unreadable expression on his handsome face. Although by then I'd known him for ages, I'd never seen that expression before. Then when I was done, he took a shower before hitting the both of us up.

We didn't say anything about what happened that night and I didn't bother asking but we couldn't meet each other's eyes and I'd never felt that way with him before. It was as if we'd done something so incredibly monstrous or evil, we were to blame and totally complicit which, of course, we were. I think it was the guilt and greed we shared; guilt that prevented us from reporting a murder because of our greed. I idly wondered if things were ever going to be the same between us and at that point, decided I didn't really care because I was so totally disgusted with myself.

By the way, the shit was dynamite, really powerful stuff. And it was so strong that we had plenty left; enough to last us almost a week. I called in sick the next day mostly because I didn't feel like going through the motions one must do when successfully leading a junkie's double life; I didn't want anyone asking how I was doing and I especially didn't want to take part in the boring old office chit-chat in which one must indulge to get by. I actually had a pretty good job at the time; one of the few straight gigs I ever liked: I was assistant to one of the partners of a large firm of entertainment attorneys who represented a lot of bands and solo musicians, both in the UK and in the States.

Because I typed so quickly and accurately, after the first month or two, I'd been given a nice raise and the keys to the kingdom, so to speak, and put in charge of a group of secretaries and word processors. The people were all very friendly to me and there were a lot of perks to that particular gig, especially if one was into British music as I was. But I just couldn't see myself looking anyone in the eye for awhile and since I had near-perfect attendance (this was thanks to the heroin but that's another story), nobody thought twice when I called the attorney for whom I worked and told him I wasn't coming in.

I knew he wouldn't ask me why (and he didn't); he just assumed I wasn't feeling well and said he hoped to see me tomorrow. I think I said something like 'Sure thing'. My hands were shaking throughout that two-minute phonecall and I felt total relief when we hung up. For the rest of the morning, I relaxed in bed, drinking coffee and reading the NY Times, and in the afternoon, we watched old films on TV and then at night, we had Chinese take-out delivered from this really good place and then we read far into the night. The stuff from the night before was so powerful, we didn't even have to get off again; I mean, that's how good it was. We'd bought what was known as a half-load (15 glassine bags) and it lasted us a long time. All in all, it actually turned out to be a pretty good investment, except for the part about the murder.

Sometimes I wonder about the dead dude, like who he was and what his wife must have thought and how long it took for her to panic and whether or not she reported him missing. I watched all the newpapers for a few weeks, but read nothing about what happened or any missing black guy from uptown. And we never went back to The Toilet again, no matter what we heard was going on there or how powerful their smack was, which, according to those we knew, was very strong for weeks and weeks. But my thoughts kept returning to the black guy. Most normal people might think: 'Who gives a shit about another dead junkie?' But I did; I wondered about his poor wife and if they had any kids.



Damn, he wasn't more than a kid himself. My friend told me I shouldn't dwell on things like that because they'd only get me down and as usual, he was right. But I still wonder anyway. Yep, over twenty years later – to this very day. And I wonder if I'm the only one who remembers this horror and if his wife is still alive and if his children, if he had any, turned out to be junkies like their dad.

We saw Rocky once more, a year or so later. It was on the streets of the Lower East Side and we just kind of turned our heads when we saw him round the corner off Third Avenue. And thank fuck we saw him way before he saw us so it was perfectly natural to be standing there, on St Mark's Place, looking into a punk shop window. I know he saw us because our eyes met in the reflection of the window but neither of us said anything and he didn't come up to speak to us.

Anyway, I still do my wondering but as time passes it becomes more and more unreal, as if my initial impression of watching a film was exactly what it was. My friend and I don't talk about it. We've cleaned up twice since then, always to fall back into our habits, whether we're actually feeding them or not. We clean up mostly so the next time we get high we don't need as much dope. It's our old friend, Greed again. Absolute and total greed in the wild jungles of the Lower East Side.

[nb: my friend Gordy died at the end of the 80s, having never cleaned up for the last time, as i did. this was right before I returned to University for my teaching degree. when i told him what i was up to, i asked him to come back to school with me and when he balked, i asked him to return my keys. he wouldn't. so i changed the locks and put gates on my windows, the same windows through which he'd stared that night, looking into the backyards of the buildings of East 7th Street.

a month or so later, his brother called to say he found Gordy dead, in the kitchen of their parents' house in Queens. he had OD'd but it also turned out he had pancreatitus and was HIV+ (i never took the test until years later, in 2001 and amazingly – to me, since we shared sets of works many times – I was and am alright). anyway, we'd known each other since we were 15 and in HS and been together since then, apart from about six years when we both moved Upstate NY with a group of our friends. after a month or so, he left to go back to NYC and i stayed to major in Art History at college. back to Gordy, he was brilliant and gorgeous, very funny and very well-liked. anyway, RIP, dude.]

what's playing very softly:Hardtime Killing Floor Blues* (by Skip James).

what's blasting: Bloodbath Dance* (by Crystal Method). as always, do me a solid by R-clicking and Saving to your desktop or i-Tunes before listening. y'all have no idea what Alabama 3 rarities and remixes you've missed by listening and using up my bandwidth. and that's why i rarely post any of them (the foregoing statement's to answer those who've written me, asking me why i don't post any more A3 tunes). TIA.

*03. oct: soz to say, after checking my stats, i've been forced to pull these down.

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RIP Paul Newman 1925-2008

OH NO! yet another, part of my outer world since i was a child, has left us. :-(

CNN: 'Paul Newman, the legendary actor whose steely blue eyes, good-humored charm and advocacy of worthy causes made him one of the most renowned figures in American arts, has died of cancer at his home in Westport, Connecticut. He was 83...

'...Newman attained stardom in the 1950s and never lost the movie-star aura, appearing in such classic films as "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof," "Exodus," "The Hustler," "Cool Hand Luke," "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid," "The Sting" and "The Verdict." He finally won an Oscar in 1986 -- on his eighth try -- for "The Color of Money," a sequel to "The Hustler." He later received two more Oscar nominations. Among his other awards was the Motion Picture Academy's Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award...'



'He stumped for liberal causes, including Eugene McCarthy's 1968 presidential candidacy, and earned a spot on Richard Nixon's enemies list -- "the highest single honor I've ever received," he said...'

YOU. GO. P- ... oh wait – you've already gone. :-(

'...In 1982, Newman and his friend A.E. Hotchner founded Newman's Own, a food company that produced food ranging from pasta sauces to salad dressing to chocolate chip cookies... "The embarrassing thing is that the salad dressing is outgrossing my films," Newman once wryly noted.

'To date, the company -- which donates all profits to charities such as Newman's Hole in the Wall camps -- has given away more than $200 million. Newman established the camp to benefit gravely ill children.

"He saw the camps as places where kids could escape the fear, pain and isolation of their conditions, kick back and raise a little hell," ...'

what i admire most, apart from his theatrical and film careers:

'Newman was half of one of the most successful showbiz marriages -- to Joanne Woodward, whom he married in 1958. He observed that just because he was a sex symbol there was no reason to commit adultery'.

"You can't be as old as I am without waking up with a surprised look on your face every morning: 'Holy Christ, whaddya know - I'm still around!' It's absolutely amazing that I survived all the booze and smoking and the cars and the career."

RIP, Paul, i've admired you and your work as well as your personal life for almost as long as i've lived. if only more lived by your ethos regarding your successful marriage: "Why would I go out for a hamburger when [I] have steak at home?"

*huge sighing going on here since i learnt the bad news* i've been editing my head off and about every 5 minutes, i'll remember and kinda look off, out the windows. for once, my view doesn't distract me and i wish it would, but no.

once again, RIP Paul Newman. you're already very sadly missed.

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another message from Hunter

STFU Cun- soz, sweetikins (shut UP, Hunter), you darling well-behaved boy, you. anyway, i'm still here and thanks to everyone who mailed me before i showed up at freeA3 last night. had a lovely time at Twitter today cause i ended up doing my bit to promote Alabama 3 when this Swiss dude mentioned Brooklyn – i've spoken with him before and lord knows why he follows me but i follow him cause he's a geek and i freely admit it – yup, i'm shameless. :-( but really, in all truth, i have no idea why anybody follows me unless they're not quite sane. anyway, i copied and linked to our conversation after he said the word 'Brooklyn' cause it took a very unexpected turn. i mean, at the start, i had no idea it would become a mini-promo fest – y'all can read this below. *to self* and i actually harboured doubts; thought i was losing my touch... heh. oops, did i just say that out loud? never mind. ;-)

i actually have Chuck to thank for introducing me to Twitter last Winter, so big thanks, dude. :-) i didn't use it much at first but now? fuhgeddabbaddit *in a Tony Soprano voice*. um, before this dude's world was rocked (heh – and i'm not tawking about Chuck, i'm talking about the Swiss dude mentioned in first 'graph) here's like a short intro also cause so many i know in meatspace have asked me why i'm there and what's the attraction: basically cause it's fun and i try to learn stuff from the techies i follow and i get to talk to people and things like that. and maybe, just maybe... nah, i don't wanna ring up Sod right now. i'll be good. no, really! anyway, back to Twitter:

'Twitter is a free social networking and micro-blogging service that allows its users to send and read other users' updates (otherwise known as tweets), which are text-based posts of up to 140 characters in length...'

as usual i do it my way and call em twits for many reasons. but whoa, how could wikipedia leave out the important bit? those 140 characters are to answer one question only: What are you doing? OK, this piece here says it all up front:

'Twitter is a social networking and microblogging service that allows you to answer the question, "What are you doing?" by sending short text messages 140 characters in length, called "tweets", to your friends, or "followers."

intristin' article from the Guardian: What is Twitter and is there any reason i should care?



OK, keep in mind if you want anyone's attention, anyone following you, you begin your twit w/the @ sign before whomever's username. Swiss dude's username is nussbi and he used the word 'Brooklyn' whilst twitting away to someone else; i barged in – as is my wont – and i told him of this sign i saw last year when leaving for the airport:

@nussbi 'in taxi leaving for JFK on Belt Pkway after visiting fam-YOU ARE NOW LEAVING BROOKLYN-FUHGEDDABBADDIT (think Tony Soprano;'s accent)'

@slum_goddess 'cool, i love the sopranos!'

@nussbi 're Sopranos-i hope u dig themesong by Alabama 3; x-mgr=FAIL=no titlecard in credits; i'm on their album MOR +my name in linernotes'

me to nobody in particular about what i'm doing at the mo': 'thinking right about now, my friends are smacking the sides of their heads and going 'there she goes again...' (it's funny cuz it's true)'

@slum_goddess 'i am gonna buy their album right now, if you're on it!!! sopranos soundtrack?'

@nussbi 'album called M.O.R; i'm on a cover of a Gil Scott Heron tune called The Klan; i'm raging against KKK & i sing in 2 voices at the end'

@slum_goddess 'can i find this on amazon?'

@nussbi 'yes but i think you can get it cheapest from the label, hang on, lemme compare US & UK Amazon prices w/label price, BRB'

then some back & forth chitchat as i compared prices and learnt that yup, it's cheapest from the label.

@slum_goddess 'the pound is still way too high. gimme a second...'

@slum_goddess 'WTF? "Orders normally ship within 28 days"... ordered it though, shipping was just £2. GREAT!'

the thing of it is, this dude has like over 600 followers and is following over 2,000 (dunno how in hell they do it, actually). so like someone should do some (most prolly) easy-peasey maths and come up with how many people now know the name of the band who does the themesong, Woke Up This Morning, for The Sopranos, the most popular TV show in history.

the really great thing is now ALL following this dude know Alabama 3 do WUTM. and he bought M.O.R. AND he began Tweet for Children to which i'm gonna donate ASAP. right, he just DM'd me after i sent him a coupla links: 'fuck, the music is awesome... to sick to pray is a masterpiece!!!' (a Direct Message is something only i'm supposed to see) and here's another one: 'thank you so much and tell the band they got their first fan in switzerland now! love what they do, awesome stuff!!!'

um, y'just did, dude, and thank YOU for saying. and as i'm typing that, he just posted this for EVERYONE to see:

@slum_goddess gave me some tunes. awesome material, good i bought the CD!! i want it to arrive tomorrow!!!

@slum_goddess 'i want more of that! these guys rock. where are they live next? any concerts coming? love this sound, unique!!!'

as well as: 'Alabama 3 rocks!'

what did they used to say in TV adverts in the States? right: 'so easy, even a child could do it!' tee-hee... *cough* moving raaaght alawng all the above ain't what Hunter wanted to say. *sigh* first off, big thanks to everyone especially Highlander, Pam (not the one in Brixton; Pam in Brixton's been in Palermo! Sicily! OMFG!), Rob and Jen in the States, and all the rest (whose mails i can't find for some strange reason) for commenting on Lower East Side Story Part I. and now, take it away, Hunter. *sigh* *rolls eyes* *fidgets*




yup. i did. :-( and asshole Hunter-kitteh making me pay for mai crimez. holy shit! WTF? ARRRGGGHHH!!!!111!!! he's back!



i'm so humiliated. TOTALLY. but Lower East Side Story Pt II shall be up ASAP, KTHXBAI!

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exile on Bellevue - the years have not been kind

HA-ha *in a Nelson Muntz voice* i lied – the past SEVEN years have been unimagineably kind especially the last 4+ years in England; i'm tawkin about seven *gasp* – 'unbe-fuckin-lievable!' – mostly fabaroo years since we flew the coop leaving the post-9/11 madness of NYC and the nasty rude people, dirt, crowds, noise, ageists and the like – leaving em all behind us. and since i've been up, awake and talking my head off for the past few nights and at this point, can hardly think straight, much less make any sense, i'm gonna plagiarise myself from my post of a year back: escape from NY (6 years later).

well, at least i thought i was gonna do the ol' copy 'n' paste dance but it seems Time's not on my side (and hasn't been for ages and ages) but this isn't the place and anyway, all i have time to say is 'Time, yer a BASTARD!' and quickly move on. right, if anyone's interested, i left a comment on above LOLCat at bottom of page here. and to those who like, don't unnerstand that which lit-tle LOL cat's on about, bastard time doesn't permit me to tell the backstory now, something that resulted in me getting my own page in Wikipedia, empty though it is. *snigger* (taken from M.O.R), where Somebody thought it a hoot to mash-up Delta Slide Dude's then-current 'Shut it, Yank' with my name (empty threats as i've been saying this same old shit for just about a year). and right about now, everyone i know's going 'WHEW! saved! for once!' hahaha, my poor friends... having to sit through endless retellings of what Dave called 'every fan's dream'. (time-stamped links to come, if i can be arsed to find em).


whoa, what was that? did someone say sump'n? OK, typical – there's no time now cause as is my/our/his wont, Freebase is ready to go to work and it's about damn time. actually, i'm kidding about the work bit. it's allll fun and games with him. hmmpf...



more to come as soon as i can get my shit together – wait, no jokes please – it's been a problem all my life and i'm only using it as a figure of speech cause if y'all really waited for me to get my shit together... hang on – what the HELL am i tawkin about? right, i'm so far down one of the tangents which were spawned from the original ADD Road, i'm now lost myself. lovely. not. |-(

that's actually one of the most stupid questions i've ever asked cause it's easy peasey with distractions galore going on like all kindsa noise-making and near electrocutions since some think chewing on wires is the shit. we could've had Southwestern British Fried Kitteh for dinner the other night and i was so angry, potential meal went missing, up above my head, in the kitchen.



all this excitement whilst the band played on. Special Edition Jack Daniel's Strat thanks to the generosity of Seany Lynch. *blows kisses in the general direction of Dublin* :-)




anyway, between the threeya them, i totally forgot it's celebration time and not only due to seven expatriated years. *to self* OK, get him outta work mode and off my damn back; i need a hint the size of Thor's hammer to get him into the back room to crash so i can dig up a few photos upon which the Lawd bestowed approval and i'll post em up here as soon as i can get him outta work mode – BOOR-RING! – and outta my line of sight so i won't feel like strangling him. oopsy, i mean so i can feel comfy enough to get into my PJs (the ones with the Sex Pistols T-shirt Dragnim's bro' Rob got me last year) and keep on bullshi- writing.

BTW, i already snoop- peeked into Mark's bag and saw those jammies again, the ones with cowboys on that he wore on the tourbus. i took a closer look and they're SO cute, with liddle bucking broncos trying to get tiny Texans off their backs. some of the teeny tiny cowboys had YEE-HAAAH! coming out of their mouths in shouty comicbook talk balloons and some were actually holding onto their cute liddle Stetsons as they were being all bucked and bronc'd.

how do i know this from only a quick peek into his bag? well, last year on the tourbus when i went down the narrow aisle to the loo, i kinda like whispered 'Mark?' as i passed his bunk. not getting any reply, i looked in (of course; i mean, i had to see if he was alright – anyone would've done the same). there he was, sleeping like a baby, all cute and shit in the jammies with the cowboys on. anyway, i'll BRB in a relatively quick manner and somehow, find my way back to the real reason for this nonse- post, celebrating SEVEN YEARS AWAY FROM BU$HCo and his fear mongering cronies, hoorah!

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the good: site news, the bad: FAIL! the ugly: we'll return to that. maybe.

first the bad / the ri-moan: like almost everything else, i do all my bank stuff online and apart from the Barclays Bank website being the most moronically designed, unusable site i've ever had the misfortune to be forced to use, about six months ago, they introduced a stupid widget: a so-called PIN Sentry card reader for 'extra security'.



the thing of it is, i never had a problem with their easy-peasey prior security precautions especially when using Firefox (which i immediately made my default browser, taking the place of Safari).

now apart from totally trusting the addressbar (which FF turns yellow to indicate you're secure when one's on a site asking for personal info), the former security precautions involved choosing a special word; they'd ask you for the 2nd and 6th letter or whatever two letters they'd require and bingo, you were in and did your stuff. since the piecacrap above was introduced, i've had nothing but trouble with it. OK, not exactly true: i have no trouble inserting the card, keying in my PIN, receiving the totally unnecessary message: 'PIN Correct' (duh!) and then the tiny screen spits out some random 8-digit code you're then expected to type in the proper fields on the page. i imagine that's to make sure you're really you. OK, fine; they're being extra vigilant or something.



but lately, i've done the above only to get a message stating that my details don't match up. i'm all WTF? they've already told me my PIN's correct and i – very – carefully copy the 8 digits shown in the card-reader, copy em into the proper fields only to hit the (first) roadblock. OK, here's the needless 'welcome' page where one logs in. i say 'needless' cause i hit 'log in' only to find the next page which, AFAIC, is a time-waster as it's marked 'Step 1 of 2'. granted, your personal details are remembered but all that stuff could've been on any prior page saving youse (ME) precious time.

anyway, please bear with me and this mind-numbing shite, especially if you bank with Barclays cause i haven't yet gotten to the good stuff. OK, you're forced to click yet again to get to the Step 2 of 2 page. hoorah! now we're making progress (i once thought).

enough of this detailed fuckwittery. long story short – i kept getting error messages telling me i'd clicked twice or clicked the back button, which i most certainly did not. found their 'contact us' page and after more needless info-gathering including my sort code – WTF & WHY? (to check out how much money you've got in order to determine the degree of respect in their answer?) – i used their drop-down menu to register a complaint (and chose 'complaint' from their list of reasons for the comm). after i clicked 'submit' i got an ack, IDing itself as an autobot and marking my submission as a compliment.

OK, maybe their thinking runs along the lines of whomever takes the time to complain is a compliment, but whatever, no biggie; then i was told a live human would be getting back to me 'shortly'.



here's their mail copied in toto which i pasted in italics for ease of readability and such. emphasis and commentary are mine, of course. i can't help but think 'This will not stand' but i refuse to expand upon that now.

'Subject: Re: compliment - Online Banking'

a WHAT? a COMPLIMENT? yeah, sure, whatever.

'Thank you for your email dated 17/9/08'.

they won't be thanking me when i'm done with them. |-(

'If you are logging in in the early hours of the morning you may have a problem as the branch update during this time and you will not be able to access your account while the update is taking place'.

*shouty* 'IF I'M LOGGING IN, IN THE EARLY HOURS OF THE MORNING'? you motherless fucks, that's when i do everything – as i said in my first two letters of complaint – which you also assholedly marked as 'compliments' – but this was the first time a human got back to me.

'The update takes approximately thirty minutes per sort code and takes place any time from late evening to the early hours of the morning'.

wouldn't it have been a demonstration of courtesy if above info was coded into your worthless introductory pages? SO PEOPLE LIKE ME – NIGHT PEOPLE – WOULD KNOW NOT TO BOTHER AND WASTE THEIR DAMN TIME TRYING TO ACCESS THEIR ACCOUNTS AT THOSE HOURS?

'As the branches download as, and when, a connection becomes available it is not possible to pre-advise customers when the full service is not available and we apologise for any inconvenience caused'.

see comment directly above. as well, you can take your worthless apology and shove it up yer fat asses.

'Yours sincerely,

Ms Wage Slave, Barclays Online Banking'

what they don't know is i've already checked out *name of competing bank* and tomorrow morning i'm to close out my Barclays account for many reasons, including the above. assholes.



excellent fact i learnt from Freebase: the word 'meme' was coined by Richard Dawkins. me: 'I did not know that' (the foregoing went over his head but i dint bother explaining). however, and i couldn't say why, this pleases me and very much so: partly cause Unka Fweebase said (but stupid me had to go check even though AFAIC he's always been right) and partly cause Richard Dawkins was on my list of heroes on my real site for ages (L-hand column here).

speaking of Hisself, here's one of my latest of Mark, taken here yesterday:



moving very swiftly along, the good bit is site news. if anyone has the stamina, tenacity and stomach to follow this and all my way too detailed Asperger'd ADD-led musings (read: reports on the tiniest of personal minutiae), these persons already know i announce like practically everything in my life here cause it's my journal and for the thousandth time, NO! i don't give a flying fuck if anyone else reads it. keeping that in mind, wait – i'm being paged or something (read: MS Freebase's getting WAY pissed off cause we're not out the door but believe it or not, this ends on a happy note – well, happy for me). :-)

*ignoring Mark* first off, i changed the 'about the godless' bit to clarify, especially for the American lackwits who thought the state of Georgia was being invaded by Russia. secondly i added to Fave Films, but most important: thirdly, since i'm actually reading again, i added the latest titles to 'fave books' on my profile page; those given me by Chuck, Stevie (Librarian of Love), Jem and Euripidean. thanks, again, dudes. :-)

and now we get to 'the ugly' but that'll have to wait for the nonce. happy weekend, y'all. i'm sick of saying 'be kind to each other', not only cause i think it's fruitless but due to the fact i really couldn't care less if y'all go out and engage in knock-down drag-out fistfights with whomever in whichever country you live. in fact, i'd love to be watching if this happens (beginning with my guest here, someone whom i've been dying to beat the shit outta since he's been promising me to get his ass over for months already (for biz reasons, all to his advantage). his excuses were always lame and had to do with his job, like gigging and festies and such.

and so, in closing, have a whatever youse wanna weekend. and please ring me ASAP if there be any fighting, something which i'd love to see (and ideally, take part in). :-)

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now this is a thing of beauty

sent me by Christine in mail with subjectline 'now this is a thing of beauty' and AFAIC, she's totally right. i've been so busy i've neglected most of my correspondence especially after last weekend's Bathcamp and Chris switching keyboards in the hopes it'd cut down the wear and tear on my inexplicably hot-running machine, something i call 'running in overdrive'. well, guess what? it din't; i'm still running too hot and got rid of the CPU widget on my Dashboard as it caused me too much anxiety.

but Christine knows exactly how to calm me down and since we're both animal lovers, well... just gazing at her photos certainly did lull me just short of my usual stupor – and wonder of wonders, it's all drug-free; totally amazing to me. plus more good stuff: they made me momentarily forget the fact it took me 12 hours using the flatboard for which Chris swapped my ergonomic 'board; took me 12 hours to do what usually takes two hours' time when i'm on my badly missed keyboard (the one about which everyone always complained). OK, these are just lovely and presented in chronological order:














awwww... especially this last with doggy and deer is SO cute and touching, so much so it actually warmed the icy-like cockles of my barely beating cold cold heart (but only for like a moment or so, as long as my gaze is fixed on this series). i've had my own experiences with deer – the up close and personal kind – when i lived in a storybook style cottage on Leggett Road on the edge of the woods in upstate NY outside a tiny town called Stone Ridge but that was in another lifetime. as well, it took about three weeks for the deer to show themselves close enough to come up to us and eat out of my hands.

i'd hear them at night and take my then-kitty Leemo in my arms and we'd quietly sneak out round the back of my place and stand still as statues until the deer noticed us. and then it was just a matter of time cause we did this every night and every time, just about sunrise, they came closer and closer until success! Baby Fawn and Mama deer came up the moment we emerged from the cottage and ate straight from my hands after i placed Leemo at my feet. he was fascinated and stayed still with his eyes wide and sparkling as he watched us like communing or whatever. from the next night forward, the entire deer family including Dad walked straight up to us and at one point i caught Leemo nosing around Daddy's hooves which caused the dad to lean down and nuzzle Leemo, and that continued for the rest of the Summer.

please keep em coming, Christine, as i'm in dire need of a lot of calming and soothing these days. thanks again, Chris. *love*

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LES Story Pt II ASAP

yes, lit-tle kitteh, the rest of Lower East Side Story'll be up ASAP. 'You have my word as a writer'.

*snigger* kidding! VERY poor joke on too many levels. anyway, i stoled that quote from a Jose Chung episode on the way sorely missed MillenniuM TV series. but thanks to it taking an age to type a single sentence, i've no time to do anything now apart from thanking those who've written to me over the past week or so, asking me to post Part II.



don't worry, there'll be no spoilers; the entire horrendous story was spoilt before it began, both on the page and in TRW, by making my own fucked up life choices too long ago, choices for which i take full responsibility and thank fuckity fuck, most of which are no longer extant and for many years already.

and now back to work... iz bad, i'ze hungry and flat keyboard's taking too much time on which to type properly. but there might be hope, thanks to Pam sending me links this afternoon, i think i've found a lovely ergonomic substitute, so thank you Pam. please wish me luck, y'all, cause i'm willing to pay extra postage charges for it to arrive the very next day – i'm not being paid enough to spend so much time on this bullshit proofreading and the occasional editing (which's far more interesting AFAIC, due to the fact that my boss' idea of editing is basically me re-writing the entire piece, no matter upon whatever subject). and i don't dare quit, dammit to hell – FUCK!

don't mind me cursing; it's just the frustration. or mind, whatever... see if i care. anyway, be kind to each other – peace out, yo. :-)

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i can haz err- urgo- ergonomic back?

cautionary warning: this entire post is me whinging away like almost non-stop. but yeah, i'm back here again and rather unexpectedly. i'm sitting here, proofreading whilst collecting mai impresshuns and links on teh weekend at Bathcamp and akshually having dese positive thoughts! AFAIC, iz mayzng, RLY. speshly to ppl dat noes me as being all Ann Hedonik cause liek we all noes i'ze lucky to be prufreeder cuz teh Assburgers – ugh, nah, teh Asperger's maeks me reely gud at noticing liddle details and such, liek teh ability to scan down manuscript pages or those of indicia and any changes – no matter how small – will practically jump out at me (as do misspellings, typos or whatever else that virtually scream out FAIL).



this super kitteh power – soz, i mean 'capability' – has been with me for most of my life. but switching from my beloved old keyboard to the flat one has totally slowed me down, so much so that i might as well be reading each and every word. which i wouldn't mind but most of my jobs for today have been BOOR-RING! *in a Homer voice* and taken so much time, i dare not even open my mail client or look at Twitter or even play with Hunter cause i know i'll get totally lost and time'll fly by and before i know it the sun'll be coming up. oh wait. it is...

i could've screamed before, about 04,30 when i heard an unfamiliar sound coming from the kitchen and actually found Hunter in a position very similar to this cause when i pull all-nighters, i make sure he gets his playtime and whatever the weather, i take him out on the balcony. but i didn't tonight cause i've been too busy correcting my own work. anyway, i went to investigate and found him hanging upside down from the inside of the open window, about ten feet up and i immediately thought of attention whore kitteh and his subtle way of rebellion when he doesn't have his playtime.



after i climbed up and removed him (all the while praying that during the time it took me to get the ladder, it wouldn't dawn on him that escape was only a bodyflip away) so since then, i've been working away, like the proverbial busy bee hitting wrong keys and making typos left and right (with one eye on Bad Kitteh). anyway, is this how regular people type, like? cause it's a new experience for me and so time consuming it's pathetic as well as cutting down any multitasking skillz i might've once used to my advantage and about which i was so proud. hmmpf... looks like my hubris has just about bitten me on the ass.



up until yesterday, working was fun cause i'd be Twitting away, talking to whomever on Skype or IM, scouring the 'Net for more guerilla promo and music biz models to add to my collection for this project which i hope will come to fruition as soon as one of the dudes in question finalises a meatspace meet.

but just thinking about it got me all excited and den i maekded mistake of hitting the wrong key, the one minimising my open windows – wuz a Naccident! RLY! cuz i'ze TTLY not accustomed to a flat keyboard and apart from slowing my typing speed down, i keep fucking up and the worst bit is, i'm not used to seeing all my windows fly offscreen, leaving my desktop exposed. and i'd been hard at work for like two, three hours already and anyway, after my windows flew off to the borders the first time, i couldn't help but notice above .jpg just sitting on my desktop patiently waiting and suddenly realised this was a perfect opportunity to take my first break, clicked the pic and thought of myself of course. BTW, i'm tawkin about the one on top, leading this post.

so i took my first break, and if taking a break at fuck o'clock in the AM is doing a bad thing (and in some circles, it is), at that point i didn't give a shit so i made another pot of coffee, avoided Twitter (since once i check in, i can never leave). no, not like that band Jeffrey Lebowski, Chris and i can't stand, but more like Roach Motels.

i have no idea if they even have them here in the UK. anyway, since speaking to Chris before he took off, i'm having real doubts cause he's trying to convince me to get an iPhone instead of the iTouch i should be receiving shortly but not having an addictive personality or whatever and not being in love with Twitter, i don't think he understands the negative implications of me being online 24/7. hang on, gotta Google to find this crucial info on whether or not they have Roach Motels in the UK. nope, just like rabies, doesn't look like they do.

moving right along, i decided to take my liddle coffee break whilst easing the anxiety of not catching up on twits and not chexing mai mailz by messing about here.


during which time i sent this next to teh LOLcat haters i know (all of whom i call my friends).


and despite the message, i wannit anyway. a bit of the description from here reads '...A 100% cotton, black t-shirt features a pile of dead, white kittens in a little puddle of adorable blood with the caption, "Every time you Can Has, God kills a LOLcat."...'

OK, one more reference to today's biggest ri-moan and then it's back to work: since i must take my Mac into the shop for things like the damn disc drive and the fact the fan's running hot or whatever, Chris tried all sorts of things before we, rather he swapped out my old, filthy, verily missed and beloved ergonomic keyboard for a flatboard stashed in the storage room for years now and (i think) never used. welp, i'm typing on this really beautiful silver and black Apple 'board:



so let me reiterate (read: pity me cause it's taken all this time to get back to the point and my moan) but the thing of it is, I (STILL) CAN'T TYPE, DAMMIT! i mean, it's obvious i'm typing but i'm making mistakes up the wazoo and it's taking an age to finish my work and I. DON'T. LIKE. IT. now i'm up to almost six full mugs of coffee to type this short writty and i wanted to do my impressions of Bathcamp and all, but most of them would be stream of unconsciousness plus transcribing my notes off my Palm and it's taken me far too long getting used to this 'board and the keys act weird and-and... and... waaaah! *sobs* i'm SO gonna research new ergonomic boards (if i can find any) cause i totally can't do without mine (see post above or here). *sniffle*

and NAO IZ BAKC TO WURK TIEM. first sum curridge of chemical sortz. den i nomz. den i get reddy to go 'O Chriii-isssss... '



y'know why? cause the fan's still in overdrive and somehow it's your fault i'm working on this same damn job for over 12 hours already. it's SO bad that i, myself, attempted to move the damn desk and replug in my old board as i crawled around underneath for almost twenty minutes with Hunter perched on my ass.



'Nothing ever changes'. bah... |-(

ps, the thing of it is, i almost missed my goddamned deadline (the first one and it would've been a first if i did) but at this point iin time, it doesn't matter cause i'm ready to quit. but the punchline is two-fold: i hadda call in to PDSA today and tell em i wouldn't be doing my volunteer time but worse than that, i finished this very disjointed post like over 12 hours ago and just realised i forgot to hit 'publish'... typical! :-(

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birthday barrage & then some

above pic's the (partial) cover of the latest of my birthday presents in what i can only term a barrage (not a complaint) so THANK YOU, CHUCK (not only for the Hunter book but) FOR EVERYTHING. this like, parade of presents has been going on since the day before Hiroshima Day (a day of pride in my country's history which happens to be the same day as my b-day but happened a few years earlier). anyway, the first present to reach me this year was my mother's annual cheque, something i usually stick on the magnet board in the kitchen (but i took em all off last week and deposited my 5 years' collection of Cheques From Iron Mommy into my Savings, rather, my Day To Day account).

the thing of it is, the second after i threw above gift (which appeared in a cardboard box from UK Amazon) into my travelbag (unopened) i totally forgot i had it cause since the start of august i'd been ordering my ass off, trying to ward off (more) depression by buying myself a shitload of DVDs – let's call em self-inflicted presents. WTF & WHY? beats me; maybe cause i could? dunno and in all truth, i never questioned this.

anyway, on saturday AM, on the way out to Temple Meads Station and Bath Camp with Chris (and in our usual hurry since we're ALWAYS late; an unfortunate given whether alone or together) there's this package from Amazon waiting for me with the rest of saturday's post downstairs. being in our usual hurry uppity mode, i assumed it was a DVD i'd ordered and threw it into my overnight bag and then immediately forgot it since there was no reason to open my travelbag the entire time we were in Bath. right, more about Bath Camp – the best decision i'd made (actually, the best thing Chris has turned me onto) in ages is coming up in another post ASAP. but for now, the description on this page here, where i signed on, should do.

moving right along, one of the few things i share with the stereotypical Brit (or so i've read in various places) is a strong sense of fairness so heres's a cautionary warning––> ADD tangent's coming right up: whether before or after we met in meatspace and whether together or as we are now – not – being late is exactly what i said above: for us, it's a given. no, wait – my exact words were 'an unfortunate given'. :-(

OK, yet another tangent on the old ADD trail: i had no reason to open my bag and open the Amazon box cause we didn't use the hotelroom we booked for ourselves. oh yeah, we stupidly taxi'd it over to the other side of Bath to check in but we left Bath Camp early taking one of the last trains to Bristol on saturday night / early sunday morning (don't recall the reason why but for once it wasn't an argument; however i do remember it was in mutual agreement). damn you, Senility! |-(

holy hell, just noticed the time and checking my Palm, 'remembered' i have some proofreading due in at 11,00 later on today so i'm gonna cut this short but not before a bit of my usual whinging. *to self* hmmm, maybe if i begin another site, just for the purpose of letting off steam, sump'n called 'The Daily Ri-Moan' or better yet, 'My Daily Ri-Moan' ('teh daily ri-moan'? 'ri-moan for teh day'? 'rimone's ri-moans'? STOPPIT!) *cough* anyway, if i just list them all, get em out of the way – somewhere else – maybe, just maybe i'd be better able to stay on-topic here. maybe.

a few seconds of de£iberation tell$ me to quit with this shit and begin with the proofreading, so BRB (if 'right' is taken to mean relatively soon which it's usually not AFAIC – never was and prolly never shall be, un-fuckin-fortunately). BTW, if i dint have to get real work over and done with, tonight's whinge has a LOT to do with how my actual desktop looks. helpful hint: i no longer see this next right in front of me and my two wristrests (please check pic at prior link) mainly cause it ain't any more. *sobs*



the only good thing i can think of as a result of the above now resting on the sofa: i shall no longer be forced to use white-out to paint the proper letters on the wellworn keys during those rare times others visit and wanna use my Mac to chex ther mailz. i'm so pissed off at this cause like the idiot i am, i've been totally in love with my ergonomic 'board ever since first using one way back in 2000. i wouldn't give so much of a shit if they still made the exact same model but, of course, they don't. anyway, BRB or whatever whenever.

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prepare for bad behaviour

happy Osama Day everybody! *suppressed raving about the bin Ladens being flown outta the States ASAP whilst plebes like Chris and me were stuck in Middle Amerika* (along with the many thousands of other natural born Americans whose flights were delayed for almost a week and in some cases more). i write 'suppressed' cause if i think on it any longer, my damn blood pressure will rise, i'll get all agitated and my anger at bu$hCo will once again emerge. worst of all, the OCD will take over and i'll be fixated and obsessing over the entire situation. and then i'll be stuck in a very bad mood and i'd rather be in 'demented groupie' or 'rah-rah Freebase' or as i've been recently, in 'self-absorbed' mode than EVER go back to how i was before, for the first four years of writty on my real site.

*cough* having nothing to do with today being the 7th anniversary of the above, top pic's my newest fave T-shirt. i paid only 69p and found it on the children's rack whilst volunteering at PDSA. i just love it and its message:

HIGHLY CHARGED WARNING. ON ENERGY OVERLOAD. PREPARE FOR BAD BEHAVIOUR.

i especially dig it cause the blue label on collar above reads '8 years' and it fits me perfectly; AFAIC, it's more proof of the 8-years old boy who hides within the wrinkled old bag without, but as usual, i digress... lah dee dah, dammit.



moving right along, when i woke up wednesday morning without any flu-ey symptoms i immediately decided to wear the shirt and head off to London (as planned weeks ago) to see the film on Nick's project; his making the death mask of the 402nd person to be executed in Texas, John Joe Amador. from the Official Alabama 3 Site:

'Punkvert presents "#402". Documentary AV Film Screening at the Ex Gratia Recordings evening. Portobello Film Festival 2008, Wednesday 10th September 2008. Free entry 6pm-11pm. Inn on the Green, 3-5 Thorpe Close, London W10 5XL...

'...Filmed in collaboration with artists from the Treatment Rooms and Nick Reynolds (artist and Alabama 3 harmonica player), the piece follows the events of said individuals as they travel to Huntsville, Texas for the State execution of Baroness von Reichardt's (Treatment Rooms) friend – John Joe 'Ash' Amador, in summer of 2007. Ash's wife Linda Amador, her sister and family friends invited the London group to support them during the execution, which von Reichardt was to witness.

'The last minute addition of Nick to the travel party transformed the outcome of this grizzly display of sanctioned homicide. By Nick's casting of a death mask of Ash, his family, friends and the audience can find some positive light in the darkness of capital punishment...



'...Additional commentary from ex-death row inmates, wardens, falsely accused terrorist suspects, lawyers for Guantanamo Bay and the more discerning politicians from the U.K, help to draw up the bigger picture of some of our more dangerously eccentric actions here on Earth.

'Footage and interviews from Manchester, London and Texas have been spliced together with a seductive soundtrack from contemporary artists to help enhance this display of the triumphant strength of the human spirit in abominable situations.

**WATCH THE TRAILER HERE** the music behind it is fantastic and the entire very brief vid packs a powerful punch. welp, things didn't turn out as i hoped they would. by the time i got to London late yesterday afternoon and texted around, trying to find out where everyone was, i didn't get a reply for about two hours – by then, had missed the flick. :-( but it was great to be in town again and at least see Pam, Angie, Stevie, Shaun D and Nick and meet Nick's beautiful new friend, Lily.

that was the thing that really upset me when i woke up monday all feverish and sniffley: i'd wanted to spend more time before the film, talking to grrls from both the Official and Unofficial sites. and i totally missed Sarah (of Topchick fame); she'd already been and gone. of course, knowing me, i'm not done yet – there's another ri-moan: i was the one who 'organised' this in the first place, sending out mails to Bammie grrls so i could hook up with them to chat and chill before heading out of Brixton to W10, the other side of town.

i got this idea weeks ago, figuring it was a great opportunity to hang out with GFs (still a wonderful thing since it's so new for me to have any) when reading about the Punkvert film announcement on the official site. plus, i wanted to show Topchick, rather Sarah, how i was wearing her birthday present now – i'd taken it off the chain and i attached it to my epaulette like this:



anyway, by the time i left Bristol, my control freakyness was somehow miraculously and totally forgotten (an anomaly of the highest order, actually). that is, i didn't even think about practical things like logistics or crashing wherever). the thing of it is, i didn't care cause i was so happy (yup, actually happy) that i was gonna stick to my original plan to meet up with female Bammie fans and catch Nick's flick. thankfully and very unexpectedly i'd run into Delia at The Albert who was back in the UK after months and months in Thailand and Paris. she was with Mary E from Dublin and i was totally gobsmacked – absolutely delighted to see Delia and finally meet Mary even though at that point, i had no idea we'd missed the film.

even more ri-moaning: since it was a last second decision to come to London, i ran around like a madman that morning, took the quickest bath EVer and totally forgot to bring (what i call my 2nd brain) my Palm Pilot, the gizmo where i jot down important stuff like directions to places, addresses and phone numbers and other crucial info i think might come in handy in future. well, the worst part of that was, since neither Delia nor Mary knew where the venue was. i ended up ringing Chris' landline; this was about 20,00-ish and it turned out i woke him up. i know he's been under a lot of pressure at work but didn't think he'd be so tired as to have already crashed so early.

permit me to repeat: I WOKE HIM UP – the last person in the world i'd wanna bother having bugged him for over eight years already, the first 5,5 years happening up close and personal. nb: 'bothered' is a euphemism. finding that shit out, that i'd awakened him – well, it just killed me and made me feel even more guilty (yet another 'It doesn't take much'). i sorried myself to death and tried to hang up but Chris is an obliging sort and told me since he was already awake, WTF did i want? i asked him to please go to the offical site and give me the address of the Punkvert venue. another idiotic mistake i made: when i first read the news – the announcement of the screening of Nick's film, the words 'Free entry from 6PM to 11PM' – welp, they caused me to think there'd be more than one screening that night. *sigh* my bad.

anyway, despite missing the flick, one of the shining moments out of the many last night was being properly introduced to Nick's dad, Bruce Richard Reynolds. i immediately turned shy (yes, it happens occasionally) when it was proposed; i forget who insisted; Angie? Nick himself? gah – my memory's so teh suck. anyway, for those too young to remember or who have the misfortune not to know the music of the Alabama 3 and have never heard their tribute tune ('Have You Seen Bruce Richard Reynolds?') Bruce 'was the brains behind the "Great train robbery" in 1963 in which a gang robbed £2.6 million ... The robbery remained the most significant heist in British criminal history...

'...Reynolds went on the run in the aftermath of the Great Train robbery, living under various aliases abroad. He spent considerable time in South America before returning to Britain, where he was tried and sentenced to ten years. Since his release in 1979, he has enjoyed a moderately high profile as a media "former criminal" celebrity and his autobiography "The Autobiography of a Thief" was generally well received...'



'...Reynold's son, Nick, is a member of the British group, Alabama 3. The group recorded a tribute to Bruce Reynolds, "Have You Seen Bruce Richard Reynolds" on which he appears, on their 2005 album, "Outlaw"...' (buy at link).

when Nick introduced us, i immediately told Bruce of how, whilst living in the States, i'd been following British news for ages and ages and when he pulled off the robbery, i was like vicariously cheering him on. he beamed and hugged me, which made me feel great. :-)

here's Nick at the afterparty (the first one):





here's Nick talking with Delia (BTW, see the blond grrl at centre? she's one of those i met last night but for some strange reason, just as i am, she's camera-shy. i tried to Have Words with her cause i so wanted to have her pic up here and identified but she's like me about being photographed. *grumble* the thing of it is, she's gorgeous and very photogenic whereas my reason is more understandable: thanks to having what i term 'Asperger's mouth' (a rare symptom of Asperger's Syndrome that strikes a teeny tiny percentage). anyway, back to Nick and Delia:



there were a lot of wild Punkvert people demonstrating various art-y conceptual things; IMO one of the coolest was this chick (to whom i was introduced but like a dummy, forgot to bring my Palm and so, didn't get to note down her name). she was in her Feel My Tits costume and after i did, so did Delia (and most of the crowd there).



when she approached me and asked 'Feel my tits?' i immediately stuck my hand through the L-hand hole in the box covering her chestal area; it felt as if her breasts were wrapped in aluminum foil which covered some cushiony substance (prolly normal female breast) but i'm not sure. however, it was a totally unique experience and from my POV – one which others have called 'warped'* but hey, that's just their opinions, man – the entire idea plus her costume was a rousing success. part of our talk had to do with groups of grrls in Feel My Tits costumes raising money for a cause like Breast Cancer. we exchanged addys and i'm hoping, if this happens, that at least i'm taking part in it, in whichever way, even if it's just chronicling the event or keeping track of donations (accounting and/or secretarial work that i wouldn't mind, due to the cause).

*returning to 'warped' in 'graph above, as i've quoted him so many times, Larry Flynt most hilariously said, 'Opinions are like assholes; everybody has one'. anyway, she was totally lovely and we chatted for a few too-brief moments as i did with this grrl, to whom i had yet another way cool, ripped-off-my-face talk.




shakey hands, senility or totally stoned? you be the judge. :-) actually, above three pics could very possibly be the same grrl. shit, now i'm wondering (never a good sign cause it most always leads to trouble and frequently my wondering leads to bad behavior). anyway, thanks to Mary E, we ended up at yet another venue, driven there by Nick and his driver dude. after Mary briefly consulted with the bouncers outside, we were immediately guestlisted and got to see the Fun Lovin' Criminals.



here's a totally fabaroo YouTube vid of them doing Scooby Snacks. the thing of it is, the gig was a Silent Disco, something growing in popularity, at least in the UK (dunno about the States and in all truth, not interested). but i don't really geddit: i can understand when it's late or at a Festie and people are sleeping and shit; i can understand the reason for the audience to wear headphones but not for last night, for the entire gig – AFAIC it just didn't make sense (duh... nothing new there). but Silent Disco or not, wearing headphones or not, it gave me a chance to dance my ass off again and it's been way too long since the last time i did. thinking on it now and i'm all grinning my head off: HOORAH! FINALLY! Endlich! i was dancing again – AFAIC, that's the best way for me to work off any frustrations or negative vibes, even though i didn't have any the other night. :-)

right, message to a Very Close Friend whom i won't shame by naming him here (though IMO he deserves it – LOL, KIDDING – JOKE!): Scooby Snacks are NOT Diazepam as he seems to think when one night on the phone, he asked if i had it in my iTunes and we both listened together. when i asked him what they were, he told me V.s. *cough* excuse me dude, but one does NOT go round 'robbin' banks all wacked on' Valiums, and that's my final answer – Punkt, Ende. here're bits of the magnificently lush venue when i took a few much needed breathers from dancing.






and the Fun Lovin' Criminals onstage; they were fucking GREAT, ending with Scooby Snacks as the huge crowd went wild.



thanks to the power of Mary, after the gig, we ended up downstairs, backstage, just hanging round and talking with them. i was given a souvenir, a white feather boa about ten foot long. i have no idea where i'm gonna wear this but you can bet your bottom quid (and yer ass), i'll find a reason and a way. here it is, hanging off one of the bookcases in the bedroom (there was no way i could get the entire thing in one pic). oh, and before y'all ask, yes, you're seeing handcuffs. let's move on.



OK, after hanging round backstage, we kidnapped Nigel, the FLC's guitar tech (who just came back from five weeks in the States after working on Madonna's latest whatever; maybe her tour, dunno cause she doesn't interest me). we taxi'd to Streatham and Delia's; she, Nigel, Mary and i stayed up all night talking our heads off with the help of our good friend, Chemical Assistance.

but, as it happens (more and more frequently) within an hour or two of getting to know him, he was unable to avoid my little problem, whether in writing or conversation: my unique combination of ADD, Tourette's and Asperger's (sometimes tempered with the OCD and sometimes not). he promised to help me with it all, in future, and i shall certainly hold him to this cause as everyone who knows me knows, i need help and a lot of it, especially help with my liddle combo of ailments listed above. he's a lovely dude and i had to tear myself away about 14,00 when the taxi arrived to take me to the Brixton Tube to make it back to Victoria Station in time to catch the coach back home here.

'and a good time was had by all'. big thanks to Delia for hospitality, Mary for entry into VIP places (and for being such a darling, friendly grrl) and Nigel for psychiatric help. as well, i need to say this: after getting Delia's txts from places as far flung as Thailand and Paris over the last few months (or did she ring me as well? i honestly don't remember); anyway, seeing Delia so unexpectedly when it seemed to me all hope was gone about getting up to the West End and Nick's film and seeing the other grrls whom i'd arranged to meet as well as assuming i'd be stuck at the Albert all night... shit! what am i talking about again? right, running into Delia and meeting Mary so unexpectedly totally made my night, so thank you grrls. a cursory scan down this post demonstrates that i'm still in like shock that chicks who're physically beautiful are not only nice to me but accept me as one of their own... well, let's just say, this so wouldn't happen in the States cause it never did before.

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i defy you to do your worst

Quentin Crisp: 'The outer world is a club i do not wish to join'.

i once ran into him on 2nd Avenue, Lower East Side, right before he died, but who knew? i was never into bothering celebrities but after seeing The Naked Civil Servant so many times (first on the 'educational channel', Channel 13 in NYC and then on videotape and finally buying the DVD last week), i bopped up to him, excused myself for intruding and said how much i admire him. he looked really happy and with a wide grin, said something like 'Thank you, my darling'. his broad smile gave me the courage to tell him our situations were somewhat reversed as i always wanted to live in England. he wondered why and said how beautiful NYC was for him.

i told him that i had a feeling, for most of my life, that if i lived anywhere in the UK, especially England, i'd be much happier. anyway, ten minutes later i was in a restaurant having dinner with friends and there he was, across the room, sitting with his own friends. our eyes met by accident and we waved to each other. then on the way to the loo, he got up and hugged me. :-)

John Hurt played Quentin in one of my all-time fave films:
it's filled with marvellous quotes to which i can totally relate; example:

'Any film, even the worst, is better than real life'.

anyway, more John Hurt as young Quentin:



and old; the below depicts a situation which happened to Quentin in London, after some kids mocked him for being gay (right before the move to NYC).



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Lower East Side Story: I

Because I'm strung out, I move around a lot, especially at night, and that's when I see the wildest things going down. And I wonder about some of the stuff I've seen, long after it's happened in the jungles of the Lower East Side.

And I shouldn't do so but when i mull over some of the incidents I've witnessed long after they've happened, I know they're gonna make me feel much worse than I normally do. Others tell me I think too much and I know they're right even though I know that I can't change those things I've seen. I guess it would be much better not to think too much on them but the truth is, I can't stop; certain things just stay in my mind. Sometimes I roll them over and over trying to decide whether or not I've done the right thing. And because of the lifestyle I've chosen, because of all the untamed predators and fearsome sounds, with all the bloodthirsty beasts roaming freely it's almost like being in the jungle. And that's the reason I'm into self-medication; I do it in order to stop the thinking and questioning, to feel more like the way I've heard that other people do naturally. To feel normal. But I don't and never did; I'm a junkie and I live in the jungle of the Lower East Side.

One night, the dope and coke at The Toilet were really killer stuff. The Toilet was this abandoned building where you had to climb the ruined steps up to the top floor inside, each storey lit by the stub of a candle but only sometimes. And of course, we all called it The Toilet because of this broken toiletbowl in the yard next door. Anyway, people were OD-ing like mad and word got around fast. That's the thing about being addicted to smack; when you've heard that someone's died, you just have to get there and try the same shit, y'know, just to see.

Anyway, that evening we'd already decided to get straight as opposed to getting high and it was only because we wanted to control our habits as well as save some money. Getting high for two always ran to about a hundred bucks a pop in those days, while straightening out cost only 40 or 50 for the both of us. However, Joey the Jerk called and told us the good news and we kinda looked at each other and grinned wickedly, like it's a sign; it's cool, we're getting high and fuck that getting straight shit — later for that.

We took an extra hundred out of the rent, knowing that selling another pound or two of reefer the next day or the day after that was no big thing. Of course, it was all part of our denial: we took pride in having extra money for things like new clothes, taxis, health clubs, eating out whenever, as well as going out every night to dance to live music. We really got off on looking like typically cool downtown types, rather than scroungy dirty junkies. Total fucking denial, but I digress.

As we left our apartment, I was quietly singing, like under my breath, 'To 3rd Street, to 3rd Street, to score like a pig, then home again, home again, giggity gig' or some shit like that; just a little nothing that always sprang into my mind when we went out looking (and which of course, manifested in the Tourette's, but quietly). As we flew down Avenue A, I whispered it to him and it cracked the both of us up. We hadn't reached the point of 'sick' yet, and it's like almost anything makes you laugh nervously, but with happy anticipation. You just don't think of anything going wrong; you try not to be all negative and shit, as if thinking about getting beat, burnt, taken off, busted or beat up isn't a possibility.

Moving right along, you had to go through a hole in the wall of the burnt-out building next door to The Toilet and then climb up four storeys while stepping over garbage, fallen ceilings, rags and all kinds of horrible smelly detritus. Having a vivid imagination, I used to think of the possibility of stepping on dead rats or dropped wallets filled with hundreds, but truthfully, I knew that the rats' bodies were way more likely than the wallets. Because, I mean, anyone going in there with any real amount of bucks wasn't going to let a filthy floor stand in their way if they dropped their money.

Sometimes there were stubs of candles occasionally placed on the landings, halls and stairs so you wouldn't kill yourself. I always thought that was amusing cause there you were, about to kill yourself from what you were buying. That night, the building was dark inside apart from where the streetlamps shone through the holes in the walls. It was really spooky, but having been of a mind where I thought it was cool as a kid to take acid in cemetaries, I just chalked it up to being part of the adventure.

It was slow going in the dark but we finally got upstairs to an airless room where you pushed your money through a slot in a door. I could see the indistinct silhouettes of about 20 people on line in front and I could hear more people coming up behind us. Everyone seemed to be shuffling around and softly cursing, as per usual. After a few moments my eyes got used to the dim light seeping through the holes in the ceiling as we were on the top floor and there was a big full moon shining overhead.

Everything seemed to be taking very long, especially since we were in junkie-time. I was imagining glue-y strands of seconds oozing into minutes and dripping down like honey in an hourglass compared to the sands of regular time right next to it. And the line had barely moved since we'd walked in and no one had left for a couple of minutes and I idly wondered if we were being set up for a police raid or worse yet, a rip-off at gunpoint.

At that moment, word came down that the runner had left to re-up. The makeshift door-slot thing slammed shut and many of us began cursing. We ourselves knew enough to keep quiet to avoid any undesired attention. I knew we had only a few minutes to wait but as usual, I couldn't help thinking that I had better fucking things to do. And at moments like those, I usually pulled out the book I always had with me; without light it was useless and so I quietly leaned on him. He put his arm around my shoulder and we clung to each other, feeling like idiots for being there.

Rationality and intelligence have nothing to do with wanting, or worse yet, needing to score especially when you know it's gonna be really powerful stuff. And we knew that not only would we be getting high that night but we'd have a decent amount left over for the next day, all of which made us greedier than usual and determined to wait it out, no matter what.

There was a lot of tension in the air; everyone hates waiting and junkies have the least tolerance for things like frustration. Some of the cursing had turned to low moans and I imagined those poor souls who were already sick. Then suddenly, a heated argument broke out directly in front of us. A tall black guy seemed to be bugging the dude standing before him, a shorter, heavier Latino with a very gruff voice.

Within seconds we all knew the deal; the black guy was sick and was there to cop for his wife as well as himself. He was desperately begging the Latino for money to front him for another bag or two. It seemed they'd known each other before and up to that point were friends cause the black guy kept saying things like 'Remember that time when I gave you...', stuff like that.

We recognized the Latino as Rocky, someone who was familiar to us from the streets all over NYC. The black dude was unfamiliar and probably from uptown like Rocky. I don't know how it is now and don't want to but back then, it wasn't unusual for people to search the entire city looking for the best bag. By 'entire city' I mean Christie Street, Lafayette Street, 2nd and B, 3rd and C, 11th and D, then East 26th Street and 2nd Avenue, West 38th and Ninth Ave, West 40th around Broadway, then the East 50s and East 70s near Lexington before turning uptown to the two Harlems. I can't count how many expensive cab rides we'd been on, which covered the above neighborhoods and yet I still managed to make it into work every morning, with no one the wiser.

Anyway, back at The Toilet, Rocky seemed about ready to explode as he hissed 'Goddammit, for the last time, no!' The black guy started sobbing which was pitiful as well as it must have been humiliating. Nobody left and nobody said anything. The dude kept on crying louder and louder and Rocky finally had enough. We all watched as he suddenly pulled a knife and we saw a fast silver curve and the black guy slumped to his knees on the floor. Quiet at last.

It was so unreal, like watching a film, and I'm like in shock thinking 'Get me the fuck outta here.' Everyone shut up then, even the moaners. I felt really warm and truly upset because it was obvious that the dude on the floor was dead. Looking back, the most amazing thing was having witnessed a living breathing body suddenly not, but nobody left. Our greed was such that this most gruesome thing in the world had happened but like the junkie jerks we were, we all stayed anyway. This didn't occur to me until I wrote it all down here when very, very stoned later on that night.

(to be continued.)

what's blasting: Murder by John Lee Hooker & Miles Davis (buy here).

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feeling like about:blank

moving right along, and back to real content of a sort, teh – SOZ! the title's not mine, i totally stoled it from Nick H, specifically from here. anyway, it looks like i won't be Shame-Training it into Brixton on wednesday, thanks to the horrid flu. this is something which bothers me muchly: apart from missing yet another Nick's 402 flick (the Nick of Harpo Strangelove fame) and seeing London GFs, being from NYC i hadn't anything approaching a cold or the flu since i was a kid but moving to a maritime climate such as in Bonn, and then moving to yet another here in Bristol, i'm coughing and hacking my brains out and am totally enervated, prolly cause my temp's sky-high. and this has happened every year since we left the States, each and every time Summer turns to Autumn, usually right before the official calendar date. like now. grrrr...

the thing of it is, i like the weather but the weather don't like me: i don't mind it being all moisty or the usual daily rains. but especially today, i'm constantly *cough cough* *hack hack hack* *snorkle* – fuck! and thanks to the deviated septum with which i was diagnosed ages back and requested to have the op ASAP (and never had it of course), i can't blow my nose. i'm a mess (but y'all knew that already). but today, i'm a sloppy mess. fuckin gah to the nth degree. |-(

back to title, for those who don't know, a helpul hint: instead of listing whatever homepage in your browser, putting in about:blank in your Preferences will make your browser load much faster when you fire it up. just sayin'.

as for me, the State of the Slum(p) is getting worser and worser. my freelance work is totally slowed down by the constant interruptions of above flu-ey symptoms, which totally stop my normally (hah! 'normally') very quick keyboard skilz. i think i once said, either here or on my real site, Dateline : Bristol, think i once said how fast i type. i guess it's cause i don't feel that attention whore-y now, due to the flu or whatever it is i've got, so i won't repeat, but let's put it this way: i can type way faster than most, at least that's what i've been told. usually on a good day (which this isn't) i type as fast as i can think. please note two things:

a) the aforesaid has gotten me into shitloads of trouble in past and b) the ADD comes in really handy for my WPM rate. as well, the Asperger's makes proofreading a virtual breeze. despite the ADD, my sneezing and coughing has cause hilarious errors in my work this morning. AFAIC, these typos are sad and i refuse to copy them here. no, not even for the cheap laughs that'd be sure to ensue.

more depression: just looked at Upcoming and there's the Bristol Anarchist Book Fair which i'd be delighted to attend. however, it's on the same day as Bath Camp to which i'm already signed on, along with Chris. bloody bugger bastard! and might i add a shouty FUCK! DAMMIT TO HELL!

anyway, here's more from Hunter – same message, different day:


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message from Hunter

i'm allowing him to do the talking for me cause i feel another cold or flu coming on. this doesn't bode well for my proposed trip to London on wednesday, to show up and show support for Nick's 402 film. this is especially fucked up cause it was my idea; i was the one to arrange and organise the entire thing and send out invites, especially wanting to see my GFs in London. i even got my Shame Train tickets weeks in advance and they were incredibly cheap. now, if i feel the way i do at the mo', i ain't going... bah!

thank you, Sod. NOT. grrrrr... |-(

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photos by popular demand

'It's a rainy night in Bristol, D Wayne...' yup, for some strange reason and you can set your watch by it, it usually begins pissing down rain round about 05,00 every morning and it continues unabated for two or three hours. oh wait – where was i? right, the photos. the first above is by Nick Humphries, not only one of those i'm stalking, soz, i mean following on Twitter, but one who's following me as well. *preens* the rest of Nick's photostreams are at aforelinked Flickr. i wish i had the time to peruse his work right now (and comment my ass off) and view them all with my usual Aspergery fine-tooth'd eye for detail, but as always, i'm simultaneously writing here, working my real job (yet again against deadline), answering mails, twitting away &c &c. and it's saturday morning, for fuck's fucking sake and i'm due to enter TRW to see the eye doctor a bit later, dammit. grrrrrr... i must calm myself. what did Techie-boy used to say? right, 'Calm... calm... calm down, rimone... calm...' OK! i'm calm now (yeah, calm like a bomb).

BTW, let it be known that the bit reading 'by popular demand' in post title means that for some strange reason – coincidence? synchronicity? proof my 2 readers unnerstan' pitchuhs rather than multi-syllable verbiage? i actually wouldn't be surprised if the latter were so. anyway, i found it rather strange; received five mails over the last two days in which i was asked to post more photos of (my adopted hometown of) Bristol. this was the last thing on my mind, as i was meaning to post the promised narrative as described a few days back in another heartwarming story. but i'm an agreeable sort and willing to oblige (please – once again i can hear teh LOLz out there, so stoppit this instant, y'all). anyway, before the requested Bristol photos, this one's of my latest birthday gift which came in friday's post from Euripidean.



many thanks, Jane grrl... it's printed on canvas and is really quite lovely. that is, apart from the fact it'll instantly cause me to burst into tears every time i see it cause i miss him so muchly and it still hurts so badly – HA-ha, kidding, Jane! joke! JPWY (yet another of my made-up acronyms for Just Playing With You). BTW, everything in prior sentence is true except for the crying bit which has been under control for some time now. anyway, it'll be up in the LR as soon as i can find me a decent frame. :-)

OK, as requested, photos, but i'm declaring a compromise for reasons of my own – they're not exactly of Bristol. well they are, but they're not, you'll see. anyway, about this compromise biz, it's since i'm a cheating sorta grrl (open secret) as well as being lazy and tired (yes, and what should be looked upon as a given by now; the other thing i'm always about). and due to it being after 09,00, i'm only gonna post my last of one of my fave bits of the 'hood, taken the other day from the top of Bellevue as i came home with armloads of groceries. it's yet another of Cabot Tower, this time at mid-day (don't let the clouds above fool you; the sun wasn't out so all i got was this silhouette).



the 'cheating' bit above refers to the rest; since i'm lazy, stoned and tired and i've neither eaten friday night's dinner nor watched last night's film, i refuse to look through my photos files and i took the following standing on the balcony early last evening as well as some a few hours ago whilst freezing my ass off in the rain. so as usual, my typical self-absorption is utmostly foremost and anyway, they're photos of Bristol. well, technically, that is.

last night found me crouched down and peering through the balcony's wrought iron scroll-y supports looking South at the houses on Constitution Hill. AFAIC, the so-called balcony's nearer to a catwalk but whaddo i know?




taking my life and my rep in my hands, cause the last thing i wanna happen is to be reported as a peeping SG, i stood up and here's the same minus the wrought iron or whatever. nb: over the years i've noticed anxious faces peering out at me whilst i took multitudes of photos of these houses, just cause i love the fact that being on a hill, they're on different levels. yes, something else i never saw when in the States, not even in hill-y ol' San Francisco.



same deal just about eleven hours later:



still pouring down rain at about 07,00:



the natives think i'm mad when they ask me how i dig the weather here, expecting to hear how much i hate when it rains. but i don't hate the moistyness and tell em so (usually they exchange shocked looks amongst themselves). this almost always happens on some queue somewhere when someone hears my accent and strikes up a conversation.

at about 20,00-ish last night, this is all i could see looking East due to it being Summer and all. yes, it's a bit of Robert Johnson, what i named that which i now think of as My Tree.



about eleven hours later, like just a few minutes ago, a better look at Mr Johnson when for a second or so, the clouds parted and the sun vaguely shone.



looking down from the catwalk out back of the flat:



failed to say it was still pissing down rain (y'all can tell by the wet on the slate slabs making up the waypath between the backs of the houses on Bellevue and the *cough* poshly called Bellevue Pleasure Gardens East *snigger at the audacity*). same deal this time with me crouched down peeking through the wrought iron.



anyhoo, it's time for me to get back to work and quit with all my messing about. soz to those who asked for more pics of Bristol but as i said waaaay above, i'ze still too lazy (sleepy, stoned, hungry, busy; take your pic – rather 'pick') to dig em up so these'll have to do; yet another method to demonstrate my totally SG-centric self-absorption. deal with it or not and remember folks, my usual 'Ta!'= don't let the door hit you on the ass on yer ways out.

oh wait – thought i was done but i'm not; here're a few images i collected whilst searching for whatever else. i find them quite soothing, cause they're totally me, natch. first, my viewpoint of him:



and now a little something i've managed to keep in check but i've got a feeling things'll be back to normal before too long, where 'normal' means drinking JD ('and that's bottles!' – ask Chris) or my newest fave liquid concoction – 'newest' meaning about 3 years old – cVcVs (crushed Valium sprinkled liberally on chilled Vodka), all to excess of course:



and finally a message to one and all – no, i can't believe i'm still here either.


happy weekend, y'all. *snigger* and *snoooooorrrt* oooh look! more lines than i thought i had left over. shit, quiet bit out loud again. i must remember to work on that.

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interruption or procrastination?

so is this interruption or procrastination? you be the judge. i was planning to post that little true tale, to which i referred yesterday as another heartwarming story but misquoting D Wayne off whatever recorded live gig (could be a bootleg, don't remember*): 'We will now interrupt this [something something] for a brief announcement...'

*more proof of senility stepping up and taking over: after listening so many times, i used to know this shit automatically. album, tune, gig, sometimes date of gig and venue. this troubles me muchly – the understatement of the century. but procrastination's my middle name and i'm in the midst of a last minute deadline so i've got a good exc- reason. a good reason not to tell my story tonight.



moving right along to something totally different, i've somewhat changed my tune: instead of the usual txts announcing when i'm actually happy (for those who don't know me in meatspace, that's what i do – txt my friends, telling them when i am and why – at the very moment it's happening – cause it's such a rare occasion when i get a taste of that feeling. but from very sad experience, i'm wise enough to know that feeling happy always ends in tears (mine: virtual or DW's real fuckin tears – see 'anhedonic'). why? cause it never lasts.

and yes, of course i know how spoilt i am – why do you ask? anyway, some months ago, i came to the conclusion it's better not to feel happy, even for an instant, cause the comedown's totally not worth it. AFAIC, when the realisation hits me and signals teh happy's all over, resulting depression instantly fills the gap and i feel worse than i used to feel when there was no more coke and no Valium and i'd end up lying on the bed, wishing for sleep or death, whichever came first. well, i'm exaggerating and very much so, but still. :-)

back on-topic, instead of a txt to the massive number of ppl in my phone, i'm doing it here so OK, here we go: for some strange reason, i WUTM actually feeling the way i think normal people wake up: fairly content (i dare not use the word 'happy' any longer but in all truth, i actually felt that). with no idea why and since i've always gotta know, that was the only stain marring total though temporary joy. and i already knew it wouldn't last so that made it even better ('snot my fault; i blame the control freak within, actually).

one proof: didn't realise it till mid-afternoon, but i found myself actually doing what's on my formerly ever-growing To Do list, which's now shrinking liddle by liddle, as items have been removed after they're totally done – amazing, to me. and the satisfaction gotten when i actually cross off something (rather, delete it from my Palm) is terrific, and so the reason for this particular blether.

my morning cheeryness might have something to do with another thing that brought me some temporary joy: a bit of one of Chris' mails last night: 'Oh, BTW, the pay-as-you-go iPhone is coming out in a couple weeks (16 Sep). You can have my Touch after I get one'. *gasp* d00d! i (still) love you! why aren't we together again?



read all about it here. dunno if y'all are like me, but reading the specs and description and stuff, actually made my mouth water, worse, when i had the damn thing in my hands. some months ago, after Freebase invited us to the MOJO Benefit at China White, Techie-boy and i were on the Tube heading down there one friday evening. he'd just come back from a week in the SF area (not for hols but for work) and casually pulled out his new toy (as he put it). having just read that Palm was practically defunct and needing a new one already (cause my 2nd, the one i got needlessly two years back, has always worked for shit). please note that first 'classic' green screened Palm worked for 4 years without a hitch.


until it quit charging and i waited till next in NYC and bought a Tungsten there. anyway, amongst other disappointments, i dig equipment with manuals i can read through and through; Tungsten has a large fold-out (m500 had a little book of a hundred or so pages). worst of all, Tungsten refuses to accept my Graffitti and i'm forced to use the damn keyboard onscreen. even worse than that, you can see the cradle the m500's resting in; the Tungsten has two cables which must be plugged in (more actually one must almost force the cables into the Tungsten), to get it to sync and charge. the ironic thing is, since there's such a mess of wires under my desk (with three countries' worth of equipment, powerstrips and converters), i had to wait for Chris to come over to connect under my desk. and that's where he found there was nothing wrong with my Palm; Cunter had chewed through the wires below. fried kitteh, anyone?



anyway, Chris whipped out his iTouch and i totally flipped when i saw it; as i wrote at above link, '...he got the desired reaction: i was so stunned, i totally freaked out in raucous (even for me) very shouty envy. this went on for a good ten minutes whilst Chris did some very unusual – for him – preening cause he couldn't keep his Schadenfreude to himself...' very uncharacteristic of him.

the thing of it is, when he finally gives it over, i totally ain't gonna use it for its musical capabilities (i'm one of the very few who doesn't give a damn about walking about, alive with the sound of music). i wannit cause it can do everything my Palm can do and much much more. plus upon first inspection, the animation of the apps flipped me out verily, so much so, i wouldn't give it back and caressed and fondled it on the Tube all the way down to China White and the MOJO thing.

yup, i shall step up and readily admit i was all shouty in front of London's commuters who must've thought the American grrl was out of her mind (give em a +10 cause they weren't too far off). at one point when Chris wanted to show me something, i growled at him and wouldn't give it back. yup, growled and snarled, actually. but he's used to that (all together now for the thousandth time: '1, 2, 3 – poor Chris!') cause geeky new toys always bring out the worst in me. and he's got the 32 GB Touch *suppressed spoing going on over here* ... in fact, i think i'm having a technogasm. anyway, TIA, Babe (and hurry the fuck up getting your new iPhone). i can't help it; here it is again and it'll be MINE, ALL MINE!
back to happy or not, yesterday i booked tickets to see Motorhead in Bristol 11 november and he's coming along. nor is any 'happy' due to two (Jem and Mrs Ifor The Engine) out of the eight or nine** who rang me last night.

**to self: what, was last night 'Let's All Ring SG Night'? in truth, just like i always do, i cringed at the ringing of the landline but only the first few times. i chalk up last night's phone-log (if i kept one, or a list, which i most certainly don't) to that old adage: 'when it rains, it pours' but that's the way it went down here. it's kinda like whenever i'm in London and my cellphone's always ringing: a few weeks back when someone made a comment on how popular i must be... oh my, do they have that assbackwards and i quickly put em straight. when i was finally done LMAO, i explained how weeks go by with no calls from ANYone, just mail (which's fine with me and my preferred method of comm).

the thing of it is, whenever i'm in town, cellphone's almost constantly ringing with calls and txts. this gives those around me (especially those who don't know me that well) – it gives them the idea that i'm very well liked or whatever. BTW, i began my explanation with an 'IF ONLY!', LOL'd and then detailed the normal (if i may use that word) situ. hmmmpf... i could write a post if i wanted to called something like My Lonely Loveless Unused Landline, but not only would it add to that which's true, it'd prolly depress me even more by detailing the intervals between phonecalls as well as not naming names (something i won't do, EVer, unless someone deserves to be shamed and named – i can think of only one now and the less said of it, the better.

right, where was i? before i go on, some explanations and commentary on my own starred above:

*more proof of senility stepping up and taking over: about formerly knowing every single word D Wayne ever said onstage on any Alabama 3 recording i've got in my iTunes (now nearing 850 – over 3 days' worth), please note that i never did this consciously; took the time to memorise his mostly hilarious comments; just after listening to whatever SO many times and now not knowing what used to appear in my head effortlessly (and most times, undesired), this memory failure troubles me and bigly so (that word 'troubles' is like an understatement). further, i couldn't care less about not knowing D Wayne banter but what bugs me is that which it implies: my quickly shrinking retention abilities.

now bear with me whilst i go down the ADD road: i can see myself in a short time from now, being all duh about stuff which used to come as second nature. the bright side? the silver lining? it lessens my capacity for my tendency to take off with my brand of Alabama 3 Tourette's: taking any opportunity to quote Larry or D Wayne whenever someone else's statement sets me off. another silver lining is that i'm sure if this continues, it'll be a relief to those around me.

BTW, i don't consider this procrastination to be ducking out of posting my story, the one i promised would be in this space today. but – from another of Techie-boy's mails yesterday about something else – 'Right. You know that and I'm willing to pretend'. *snigger* nah, fuck that; i'm totally LOL, even now. reading that bit for the first time yesterday caused coffee to fly outta my nose and mouth and drip down my screen as well as splatter my 'board and wrist rests.

more ADD: yeah, i use two of those gel wrist rests. the 'why' was explained once or twice, in past, on my real site but here it is, for anyone who's interested. and if one's got the same problem, rather, same M.O., when typing, believe me using two helps a lot.



basically the reason i use two wristrests has to do with my habit (for lack of a better term) of being a large typist (yeah, quit laughing at that one, please). not only does one wristrest not do the job – bring no relief – but i use a great deal of the available surface to the right of desk, especially whilst i'm thinking (please laugh not at that as well). example: as i'm writing and come to a point at which i can't go on, whether it's due to not finding (i won't say 'remembering') whateverly precise word i want, i begin mulling and as i lean on my left elbow, my right hand's fondli- rather, holding my mouse and making rather large circles on the ever shrinkening desk surface at my right.



holy shit, time's a-wasting and i've only done like three or four pages of a ten page article and dear lord, i still haven't had my dinner and i've got to go out tomorrow and everything. fuuuuuuuck. but to end on a somewhat frivolous note, i shall repost something which makes normal people look strangely at me (no worries; i'ze used to it by now). it's a Norman Rockwell, to which i added a cartoon balloon with text, way back when living in NYC. why? cause i felt like it. i call it 'Like, Who Cares?'

first the context: the owner of the house in which i live spent a goodly while staring at this semi-collage the last time she was up here. and when i asked why, she gave me a look. this happened when she wandered into the kitchen and i found her eyes fixed on the fridge door. this was no quick glance, this was a good two minutes' worth of stare.



BTW, i ain't that short – the above is totally not my POV. it just so happens i was sitting on the floor when i took the pic. why the floor? let's just say that today's experimental concoction took away my ability to walk for awhile so i kinda crawled on all fours, sat my ass down and snapped away. yup, even though i think i finally found my ideal drugs cocktail, i'm still looking for new ways to improve.



anyway, we're talking about that image at the extreme left, the Norman Rockwell on the fridge.



to which i added the comics balloon which reads 'I could drink some "Whatever" Cola... Or I Could Kill Myself. Like, Ya Know, Who Cares?' Landlady / Houseowner person seemed fascinated by this but being British she kinda danced around the subject. after a few minutes she finally just came right out with it and asked me WHY? as she didn't get the juxtaposition (or so she said). i told her the truth: i thought it was funny. she gave me a look.

whoa, is that the time? stay tuned for the promised true story, coming to this site like tomorrow, i think.

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another heartwarming story

i've got yet another heartwarming story to tell, in the very same vein as My Rape Pt I and My Rape Pt II but no time to copy and paste. as with the former two, this is totally the truth.

there's a funny liddle addendum to this: i first posted it at my real site (got a lot of good response) and then, some months later, at Dave's suggestion, it was posted on a site for up and coming writers and some idiot must've Googled it cause only the story was posted; i was advised to leave off the cautionary warning i put above it on my real site:

warning: drugs and murder so split if y'all can't handle it. this is a diary entry from another life (copied off a Word doc which i transcribed from one of my journals ages ago). not for the faint of heart or whatever.

the funny thing is, the first comment was written by some total dick (i call him The Googler) who accused me of plagiarism in the comments on the upcoming writers' site; his first comment was 'Hmmmm ... Should've started with this...' and then he copied above warning and rated me a -2 (the lowest of the low). the original link was here but y'all can't see it now cause my real site's still hacked and down for the count. back to Total Dick Googler, not one minute later, he quickly posted the prior link and commented (and i quote) 'FUCK YOU' and rated me yet another -2. then yet again, he made a fool of himself by posting 'WE DO NOT TOLERATE STEALING WORK HERE YOU FUCKING CHAD CHAMLEY'.

i was all thinking 'WTF is a chad chamley?' but really didn't care. Dave was cool; he commented:

'Slum Goddess = Rimone.

'The opening lines were removed at my advice as it has no reference to Uber only to her site.

'I know her by both identities and if you do, you would have realised that too'.

however, when i got wind of Teh Googler Dick (and finished laughing my ass off), i immediately wiped the floor with him – on the comments page – and was told he slunk off with his tail between his legs but i'm sure he immediately got back on again, under a different user name.

anyway, my point is, i'm actually doing rea£ work and no time to even copy and paste my writty but get ready; if you've never read it before, yes it's all true and it'll be up some time tomorrow. *evil* oopsy, i mean, 'sweet dreams, people'. :-)

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just another grrl of teh raverlution

yup, it's another post of navel-gazing and other such self-absorbed scrutiny. after an entire year of Dateline : Bristol being hacked, for some strange reason, i'm getting mails from former readers asking if i'm still writing. these mails are mostly from pols, very political people who have their own sites and on which, i used to comment frequently. anyway, i received three today and five last week. very weird, since i assumed that those who read me were smrt – whoops, soz – i meant 'smart' (more specifically, Web-smart). all anyone ever needed to do was to Google my name – rimone – and read down the resulting page a bit to find me here, being all tawdry (click below image to enlarge and see what i'm tawkin about).



when clicked, y'all shall see this site under the skull. unfortunately, when my real site was up, i was the first hit on Google for 'rimone'. now, i'm like no. 13 – typical. as well, the lack of a redirection link at rimone.org, carrying one from my BRB page to here, doesn't help matters but at the time Techie-boy built my most beautifully designed BRB, he honestly thought i would. but let's look on the bright side.

hmmm... looking, looking, squinting off into the distance. now using one of my 4 pairs of binocs. i don't see any bright side. grrrr... |-(

moving right along, here're my words of wisdom for the day: 'if at first you don't succeed, destroy all evidence that you've tried'. as William S Burroughs said, words to the wise guys and he wasn't meaning those of Sicilian origin.

i myself shall try to BRB but my Mac decided to act wonky beginning a few minutes ago so whilst i restart, i'll begin my dinner and hope for the best. if not? *singing* this may be the last time, this may be the last time, may be the last time, i don't kno-owwww... oh, no...' LOL.

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