it rained yesterday

and i was stroking Hunter when it really began to come down hard and got terrifically loud so i gently put him down and grabbed my phone and ran out on the balcony. i totally couldn't capture any of the horizontal rain and in truth, these pics are teh suck.

when i came back in i was freezing my ass off cause i'd run out in my bare feet wearing only my 'The Perverse Must Persevere / Book Of Larry 112' Alabama 3 T-shirt (2003) and cut-offs and that's when Hunter boldly came up and fucking bit me. i'd link to the twit (and prolly shall but tomorrow or never) but i'm too tired to find it now. here he is in prison, his punishment for daring to open his liddle mouf to me in any other way than to kitty-kiss me with his tongue.


awww... poor baby. too bad this pic came out so tiny and all but i've never been able to control or predict photos' sizes on any of the three Razrs i've owned (my main complaint with em).


in other news, i wanted to talk about Tony Longworth, birthday_boy, The Weather Pixie (newly linked under Reservoir Dogs), my interview by Q which switched links, fuck knows how long ago and The Animal Rescue Site but they'll have to wait cause i haven't slept since tuesday night. this brilliance was a snap decision i made about 06,30 this AM when Twitter began to get a bit lively, just as i was off to crash. so i stayed awake instead. my bad.

wait — almost forgot. some dude i've never met made some wack assumptions and actually twat @me:

'...all those classic rock acts you love, they were popular and commercially successful...'

as i twat back, in complete and utter disbelief, 'what the fuckity fuck RU talking about? classic rock acts i love? CLASSIC ROCK? dude, U don't know me—they're ALL BOOR-RING!/Homer' but that's the BIGGEST. LOLZ. TODAY. *snigger*

how in fuckall he came up with that shit is totally beyond beyond, totally whacked outta the ballpark of my understanding, but every time i see it, i just about bust a gut laughing my ass off. y'all can bet yer asses i'm gonna be sending everyone over to read it cause nobody i know'll believe me (and looking at it much later, i took a screenshot in case he trashes it so click to embiggen and it does, way muchly).


and i'm gonna find a LOLCat with which to punctuate, so BRB. or not. whatever. *yawn* i seepy. iz tiem for my medication, hoorah! finally! Endlich! hahaha... 'classic rock acts i love...' holy hell, where did i go wrong?

*snigger* wait — don't answer. i don't have the time.

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Lazy's Alabama 3 (& me)

fuckin-A! it's my main man, the Very Reverend D Wayne Love preachifying at the Brook in Southampton last thursday night. Mr and Mrs Lazybones Darren and Tina went and had a totally dynamite time at the gig, made even better cause before the show, the good reverend left the preacher-pimp backstage and mingled with the crowd as Jake but better'n that, ended up having a lovely chat with Darren.


naturally, when Darren sent these pics to me, he didn't bother giving details of the show but scanning his Twitter page (and trying to ignore the secret snark against me, 'secret' cause i wasn't @'d) i came up with this paltry shite:

'Whoop,Whoop. Off to see Alabama 3 in Southampton. Cheers @Rock_Freebase'.


(editor's note: image via @setmajer) but lovely... NOT cause now i have the worst earwig in the world: 'Whoop, whoop! thass the sound of the police!' a liddle sump'n that gives a much yearned-for nod (and i do mean nod) to alla us — y'know, we 'pill-poppin' hollerin' deviants' — and always gets the entire audience going mad when Larry, Be (Be's on Twitter, yay), Devlin, Harpo Strangelove and/or Errol & Company hold out their mics to the crowd for us all to holler back too bad their mics are usually off but sometimes they're actually on and you NEVER know when, ooh, exciting! yo, did i say that shit out loud? AGAIN? i torry.


*ripped crooked grin* would you believe me if i said i did it on purpose? nah, didn't think so — it's that Tourette's thingy; you're lucky if you don't have it. *cough* here's the rest of Darren's review of the show:

'Just back from Southampton. Band on top form as usual. Didn't get to see @Rock_Freebase but had a good chat with Jake pre gig'.


gonna try to upload as many of these as i can but since i'm working, this is gonna take an age. remember y'all, CLICK and open in another tab for bigass huge-ossity.


Mountain of Love, Rock Freebase and the one and only LB Dope on drums (please notice Mountain's open Mac, an integral bit of the Alabama 3):


Larry Love, Sir Eddie Real on congas, Devlin Love and The Spirit of Love on keyboards:



y'all can see Orlando The Spirit of Love's way gorgeous face (beneath the Clockwork Orange derby or whatever) here, much betterer than above.


moving right along and back to the star of the show — me — *whispers* well, at least the star of this here tawdry page, it youse look over to the right you'll see i've added one of my all-time fave photos of me (which i called 'totally self-absorbed' and placed above the 'it's all about me' section), taken by — y'all guessed it — me cause apart from the photos Mick took for the Role Models Show (more on that in a bit), i take the bestest photos of myself except for this one which some straight dude took back in NYC about 11, 12 years ago:


he had the bestest reefer around and he made housecalls on his Harley so when he asked to shoot me, i gave him my permission, then turned. he shouted whilst i smirked (above). and yes, i was blond — big whoop and big duh. the kimona i'm wearing's about 200 years old and at this very moment's at this expert tailor who's way experienced mending olden silk cause the lining got totally fucked somehow. and here's me after a long hard afternoon of drinking and drugging when i already had my pajamas bottoms on and then decided it was the perfect time to take my own pic. no luk at teh mess, luk at Hunter.


anyway, about that Role Models Show which supposedly was to be in London last Spring: welp, i hadn't seen Mick at my hairdressers' lately and finally asked after his bad ol' self. turns out he moved back to Austria (or Czech Republic; they weren't quite sure) and dig: his pics of me were shown in Vienna (or Prague). i can't get a hold of him and lord knows, i've tried and for months and months now, dammit to hell. }-(

i've got a shitload of other stuff, mostly about the Animals Rescue Site and the most hilarious DVD i've seen in ages but they'll have to wait cause i'm doing my usual: stealing Time from boss-dude and it being like almost midnight with my next deadline looming at 09,00, i'm gonna have to tip so i can type my ass off and then crash. peace out, yo. no wait — war out, yo. :-)

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sea of tranquillity II

hey wait — wrong image. then again, it tranquillises me more betterer than most other things cause i love skulls and otherworldly mechanicals. IMO it looks Terminator-ish or even Predatory-ey. anyway, thanks to Christine, i've been gazing — practically hypnotised — on the images way below cause today was an almost total waste — i was working but what's worse than that, it was fulla anxiety and other negative thingies. i was so very tempted to drop a few V.s but held myself back cause i hate wasting em.


big thanks to Pam in Brixton for sending me the above — it's totally me, especially today cause i WUTM at about 14,00 (i'm lying already cause 14,00 sure ain't the AM no matter how one looks at it) after only like seven hours' sleepy time. i know this cause i read back on my twits and this one's the earliest i could find, the first i twat today in reply to my old friend Tony Kiwi down in — shocker! — New Zealand and someone i plan to visit whilst i still have what's left of a brain. hmmm... reading upwards i totally forgot about this, one i feel is way crucial to my tone and demeanor — how i present myself (PLS! LMAO!) — on Twitter. *cough*

'tryna decide whether/not i should take "what are you doing?" literally a la #Aspergers *evil* massive unfollows ensue #thisismecaring hmm...' in all troofiness, i haven't yet decided. what brought this on is my growing disgust at moronic celebrities and the ever-increasing LCD-ers who follow, who've, in my incredibly incisive estimation, totally ruined Twitter. between that shit and the motherfucking Twitter-Grader, they've totally turned it into a fucking popularity contest. i mean, take Demi's stud Ashton Jew-surname competing with CNN for followers: WHAT THE FUCK does one have to do with the other? but hey, whaddoo i know? hey, maybe Twitter's like our first babystep to reaching total Idiocracy? but thinking that way is where madness lies... as well as paranoia, hmmpf.

in more boring Twitter news, here's a helpful hint redux (too lazy to link to where i first mentioned): if you follow me and i don't follow back, y'all should know it's cause whether or not you've filled in your bio (i won't follow those who don't) or whether or not you have a website, i've read your front page twits and found sump'n totally offensive — e.g., 'I've just had my nails done'.


if the nails-braggart had added sump'n about how dudes broke in and raped her but not wanting to ruin her still-wet nails, she didn't put up much of a fight then i'd definitely follow back, but no. then there're the ones who twit whatever insipiddy like 'I miss Michael Jackson'. if they'd only included the kiddy-fiddler bit, i'd have a bit more respect for em, but they never do. it's oxygen suckers who've twat crap like that who convince me they got shorted in the brains department and so, not worth my time, but yet, they follow. anyway, my apologies to those not on Twitter but i had to get all the above off my chest (AFAIC, only an expression).

moving right along, thank you Christine, for sending me these; i totally love em and zoning out on em is the perfect tranquilliser AFAIC.


Cutest. Baby. EVar. if i were a furry animal, i'd totally be a raccoon or any other variety of those who emerge naturally masked (but my first choice's Raccoon). anyhoo, even more tranquillising are these liddle duckies. IMO, natch.


OK, this is teh funny (thanks, Chris as well as to this dude):

if y'all find it unreadable, please click link above and it'll embiggen right before your very eyes — amazing! as well as totally worth the clicking. in other news, i sent my sister this BBC article: 'America Gets Fatter' and added '....i remember when they first did this shit in late 80s/early 90s, DISGUSTING'. taste the venom for which i once again 'thank' Iron Mommy for teaching us too well. wait.

CORRECTION: the other day i called her a 'butterball' over here and she moaned in mail that i made her sound like she'd always been. can't find her mail now, but this is to say, she'd only been heavy for like five years. anyway, when i told my liddle sister i admired her most recent outburst and blamed IM, she replied, 'Mommy isn't venomous. Just neurotic'.

*rolls eyes* whatever. 'OK, then'. *in a John Goodman voice* anyway, back to my sister and her venom rancor:

'Let's face it ... fat people are in denial. It's like "lose the fucken weight already" so you don't have to even CONSIDER large sizes. But nooooooooo ... They now post calories in fast-food places (don't ask how many calories Dunkin' Donuts are); it's like the Surgeon General stamp on cigarette packs.

'These assholes KNOW all this shit is bad for them, but they keep doing it anyway. So fuck 'em ... if they want to think they're really a size 10 when they're a size 84, let them. I don't give a shit. They still look like crap. All I know is I am SO over this stuff... I lost my weight almost 17 fuckin' years ago and am STILL a size 4. Eat your goddamn hearts out, fatasses!!!!'


in related news, i found the above killing bastard time over at MyBlogLog, sump'n which is so inaccurate and untimely, it's pathetic. but i managed to hook up with two way cool dudes — my most excellent friend Chuck — @nonliteral on Twitter — and Nick Humphries, @nickhumphries on guess what? *whispers* i stoled the image from Nick.

haha, just remembered: today i learnt that someone we know has confused 'serial monogamy' with 'serial dating' AND/or — get this — 'serial killing'. i'm sooo dying to link to these but won't for one reason only: i don't do shit like that when the very few people i respect are involved. helpful hint: i'm an easy-peasey read: right after we spot each other, if y'all see a look on my face that appears as a superior 'what the fuck?', it's a sure-as-shit thing i don't respect you. let's move on.

there's LOTS more stuff i'm dying to spill, all of a personal nature, but i'm not yet ready for the hordes to descend and rip me apart so for now, it'll all stay within, much to my — and your (if you knew to whom it concerned) — dismay. and so, i'll leave y'all with this, sump'n i made like in Summer '04 and for the life of me, i dunno why.


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Lazy Fambly Visit & MOR

editor's note: i added pics of Minty and Pepper below, both photographed by Talia and stoled offa her site. if i had a kid, i'd wannit to be Talia, actually. just sayin'.
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after waiting way over a year or so, on saturday afternoon the Lazybones Family trooped in and i finally got to meet Talia, seen above in her Alabama 3 persona — Li'l Lazy Love — when at Larry Love's request, she introduced the band at last Summer's Trowbridge Festie. but i ended up working my ass off whilst they all slept (blissfully unaware of my woes) in both the bedroom and LR — sump'n i might describe in a future post called 'don't ask cause you don't wanna know'. then last night, after they all took off (i was sad), i finally managed to snag like 12+ hours sleep and woke up about 17,00 today —pure bliss. :-)

anyway, The Main Event began with the traditional Exchange of Gifts. i totally ignored Mr and Mrs Lazy — i think they're lucky they were even invited but Li'l Lazy had to get here somehow. i gave Talia some evil skull-y stuff and a necklace i used to wear with a small silver-framed garnet and she gave me a Scooby bracelet she made especially for me. *preens*


*preens even more* i'm SO way flattered, it's incredible cause she kept this a secret from Darren and Tina, wanting it to be a total surprise to them as well as me. in truth, i had no idea this is some kinda young Brit craze until i Googled. when i saw how vasty a thing it is, you can bet i'll be showing everyone i know and knowing me, more than once cause i'll definitely forget to whom i showed it off already.

*whispers* thing of it is, after being told its name, i couldn't help it: The Fun Lovin' Criminals' Scooby Snacks was playing in my mind's ears the entire time they were here (and i knew it was inappropriate for me to mention so it played on and On and ON though i was dying to pass it along, at least by actually blasting it). whenever i hear it i can't help but think of the night Delia and Mary flew in from Dublin and somehow spirited me away to the FLCs' show and then backstage and i wanted to tell Talia Tina and Darren just to pass on that damn earwig but knew i shouldn't for reasons of morality or whatever... i dunno, sump'n about minors and stuff.

nb: the search function on this piecacrap blogger's still not working or i'd link to the post with sordid details and all. LOL, that was the night i ended up with one of the FLCs giving me that looooong white feather boa, used onstage not an hour before we met em. :-)


moving right along and away from a tiny detail i just noticed after i made damn sure on friday to remove any flat-ly evidence of same, i wore Talia's most excellent Scooby until i had my bath today and now i can't get it back on :-( so that means she has to come over pronto and alone. :-)

OK, after the requisite (and way boring) hanging out ('way boring' cause i was feigning interest to all but Talia), we took off in search of fudz so we could indulge in Saturday Night Noms. as we walked along the streets of Clifton, we went past The Bristol Museum where the Banksy Show's at. i spotted a new Banksy on the facade, one i'd swear wasn't there the day before.


yup, it's Ronald McDonald (i might puke, actually). then we found a dynamite Italian restaurant on Park Row whose name escapes me at the moment, but it's like within a ten minutes' walk from mine. i had a delicious steak and they had... i dunno, don't remember. i only recall what Tina had: the biggest calzone i'd seen in my life and i only remember cause i asked the waiter to wrap up her huge amount of leavings and had it for dinner late last night. yum and thank you, Mrs Lazy. :-)

we drank, we ate, we paid and with Talia and Fam safely outside, i stopped at the table of two straight Uni students cause the chick had been turning round to stare at me all through our dinner and hipped her BF to do the same. i told em sump'n that hadn't passed my lips in decades: 'take a picture, it lasts longer'. bullshit lying on their end ensued; the dude tried to tell me he didn't know what i was on about whilst his overweight date threw me daggers.

it was at that point i went 'i beg to differ especially if you look at her *points to fat chick* cause the imprint of the back of the chair is still in the flab of her upper left shoulder'. this ended with Uni-dude getting all shouty cursing me out and drawing the attention of the rest of the restaurant's clientele. knowing the Lazys were outside waiting, i flipped em the bird (American style) which served its purpose: Uni-dude and overweight date were outraged and got louder and louder. i really wanted to take a phone-pic of the impression of the chair cut deep in her shoulder but knew she wouldn't permit it. as well, i wanted to wait around to see if they got thrown out (as i hoped — not for staring, but for lying) but i couldn't so i quickly met up with the Lazys whom, to their credit, looked neither impatient nor pissed, as i would've been.

then we came back here, little Talia crashed and then the adults took over, enhanced by the usual whatevers about which i won't get specific *cough* big hint, Darren don't make me waste all the you-know-whats i didn't use here. anyway, as they say, 'a good time was had by all' but in truth, dunno about them; i had a betterer time apart from wishing Talia were still with us. right, almost forgot: Darren pointed me to sump'n on Twitter i'd missed (cause he accidentally on purpose forgot to @me). if y'all are too lazy to click, he twat 'Just off to Sainsbury's to get SG's kitty litter. Why she can't use the toilet like a normal person, I dunno'.

hmmpf, Darren... i mean, really — first off, here's proof positive i'm 'barely housebroken' — (so y'all should've kept that in mind before humiliating me). and knowing you were driving up, i didn't think i was outta place asking you to help me out and this is why; that post chronicles the long uphill climb i must make with 10 kilo bags of kitty litter bought not at the nearby Sains on Queens Road (oh no, that'd be too easy) but after a 15-20 minutes' walk to the bigger Sains on Whiteladies, then a 15-20 minutes' walk back and then all the way uphill dragging the damn bags along.

but to their credit (and my huge relief), they brought me not one but three bags of my preferred (cheapest as well as bestest) kitty litter. anyway, Darren, you might remember (check prior link if you don't), this's my POV when i'm only halfway up Lower Clifton Hill.


oh wow — almost forgot: i gave one of my too-many cellphones to Talia (after a discussion with Darren on friday) and knowing she loves taking photos of all kindsa things apart from her rats Minty and — OH NOES! i forget teh othe rat's naim (i torry, liddle dude) :-(

CORRECTION at 20,03 on 28. july. Talia's rats are called Minty and Pepper. and here they are, first Minty, then Pepper:



so sorry i forgot your name, liddle Pepper dude. anyway, i helped her begin her own blog (she's almost 10 so i made it un-searchable). when i finally dragged my self outta bed late this afternoon, i was delighted to read Darren's '@slum_goddess The minute Talia got home she was on the phone to her friend to tell her about the blog site you set up for her'. :-)

in other news, a big thank-you to everyone who txtd and mailed last night to say Hunter S Thompson was on BBC-2, especially Angie in London, Abeizer in Manc and Dragnim — '6 miles East of HappyLand'. which reminds me, i don't wanna moan more than i do but dig:

fun-fact: getting txts or mails that read e.g., '22,00 BBC-2' do nothing for me; it's kinda like people's sigs that say 'Read my blog!' — AFAIC, a simple URL does the job nicely and anyway, i avoid bending to commands as much as i legally can. back to txts and mails with times and dates sans description, they're immediately trashed cause why bother checking out sump'n without knowing what it's about? i mean, how do they know that what i'm doing isn't more intristin' (or important) than what they're telling me to see?

regarding the txts, i'd turned my phone to Silent as i do every night (or i totally turn it off, depends upon what's happening) and didn't read em till i got up this afternoon and my mail client was shut down cause i was working and i didn't bother to fire it up till today. thing of it is, if i hadn't snagged Gonzo at Fopp a few weeks back (for a small fraction of UK Amazon's price), i would be verily pissed i missed it. but i had and so i wasn't. :-)

right, before i forget, on friday night, Mr and Mrs Ifor The Engine went down to Brighton to catch Urban Voodoo Machine. here's the beautiful Sarah in the early hours of 4. july, my own personal Independence Day (found in my phone):


pic details say it was taken at 04,10 and all i can say is i wish i could appear like that at any 4AM after a long hard night busy drinking and stuff. and i actually don't remember WTF i was doing or where the hell i took the pic. i do know i went to London that day cause my iPod says so (it also says i ate at that lovely Eritrean place with Chris and some of his colleagues and that i remember). and i know we had Noms next day at Mango Landing with Chris, Sarah, Rich and Pam. how do i know? cause my iPod tells me so.

hmmpf... there was an Outlaw at Jamm that night, one i think i missed... next day i was on my way back to Bristol to meet up with D Wayne Love in his regular state of being as Jake, someone who knows to leave his stage persona where it belongs: onstage. i do remember i was verily pleased he invited me. :-) and i saved all his txts as he encouraged me along, first back home and then to the party, every step of the way. *sigh*

hey, wait: maybe i did go to that particular Outlaw cause reading back, i'd posted '...i have nothing better to do than wait on permission to expand upon an incident (let's call it) that happened at a party here in Bristol early sunday AM, a gathering to which i was invited by none other than The Very Reverend D Wayne Love, i mean, Jake. wonder of wonders, i thought i'd have a heart attack when he asked me outside Jamm on friday night...' WTF? i can only assume i went though the gig's totally not in my memory.

back to Mrs Ifor Sarah, a coupla days back, she sent me these photos of Urban Voodoo Machine:



from her mail: 'Just thought I'd send a couple of piccies from last night (don't know how good they'll come out), we do love this band! What a night, great gig, fab tunes then eating sandwiches on Brighton sea front at 3am before getting the 4 o'clock train home, excellent...'

from Rich's mail: '...Brighton was great, excellent gig if a little under attended and the club afterwards was excellent, superb mix of music and the band mingling in with the crowd — we got in at about 7 this morning...'

ahhhh... big thanks, Sarah and Rich. *love* there's a funny story on how we all hooked up cause for the longest time, both Chris and i thought Sarah was this way messed-up PITA who constantly bothered us for our all-access (or 'Downstairs with the Band' or *snigger* VIP Room) bracelets but i won't get into that now. suffice it to say, sometime last year when they spotted me in the pub and waved or sump'n, i went over to their table (totally outta courtesy) and couldn't wait to leave so about 30 seconds later, i was halfway outta my seat when Rich told me his screen-name and my ass hit the chair again — hard — in happy surprise. :-)

wait — almost forgot: Sarah took this of Jake and Rob 'in the early hours of 5th April 09 at Jamm; they were using it as a warm up before the Australia tour over Easter'.


i think it's one of the best photos of Jake and/or D Wayne i've ever seen recently. *sigh* TY for photos and info, Mr and Mrs Ifor The Engine Rich and Sarah. :-)

and that be it for now. oh, wait; three more things: 1) big thanks to Chris for giving me those chocolates wrapped round the treacle (from that place in Wisconsin that's famous for em but naturally which i forget its name) i totally forgot about em cause i stashed em in the fridge when i got back last week but i spotted em yesterday. hang on: just remembered i have an old empty box in the trash cause they don't recycle cardboard here. OK — 'Hughes' Home-Made Chocolates Ltd' — located in Oshkosh, WI. *to self* hah! i remembered sump'n.

2) message to Darren (@several_species on Twitter and Lazybones on FreeA3): thanks for giving my bathroom The Lazy Light Of Love but you totally forgot to open my drawers, dammit. you best believe i'm so gonna get you for that oversight no matter if it was on purpose or whatever. with the usual caveat, if i remember so i shall make a memorandum of it in my iPod. if i remember.

3) message to Tina: 'Open your flaps!' or maybe 'Show us your flaps!' — whichever, i just remembered. *snigger*

shit! what was i tawkin bout again? nah, i don't know either unless i read up but i can't/won't cause i've got bastard work and so no time. whatever. hmmpf... one chocolate left. i shall cram the entire thing in my wordhole in just a second or two. OK, goddit. *CHOMP!* mmmpf! mmmpf! (translated means):

mmmmmm... *in a Homer voice* BEST. CHOCOLATE-COVERED TOFFEE. EVAR. *in a Comicshop Guy voice* glurghlldroolll... *in a Homer voice*

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a day at the Embassy

i'd been putting Iron Mommy off long enough cause she's been bugging my ass about going there for months already and having my signature notarised; sump'n about cashing in Treasury bills or bonds or whatever, sump'n about which i couldn't care less. but i also needed more pages for my passport thanks to all those trips to Dr Pieper in Bonn-Beuel as well as due to the UK's animals quarantine so we had to fly back for my poor liddle boy, Peter (RIP), collect him from Villa Maunz Katzenpension three months after i got here... wait.

hey Frau Lins, i see you; i'm on your homepage — right, Brigitte. Vielen Danke ever so much for taking such great care of Petey but i have a question: the kitty at bottom of the R-hand column looks... just... like him. *whispers* could it be? *weeps*

*cough* now where w— right, why i needed new pages. um. OK, apart from what i said, there were the trips from Bonn to visit Chris in the three months before i got here, plus the almost-yearly trips to NYC and back, every page in my passport was totally filled up with Immigration and Customs stamps. naturally, i think the UK's are the most nicely designed. double-plus un-fun fact: no matter if i flew in/out of DE from Frankfurt or Cologne, the German habit is to use as little ink as possible.


anyway, i took the two pics above whilst talking to some very friendly British cops on Grosvenor Square yesterday afternoon as i smoked a last cigarette outside, all the while thinking 'i can't believe i'm actually taking photos of that flag'. *shudder* last time i was back in the States, it was everywhere, as if we're too fucking stupid to remember where we are. i mean, is it really necessary for every subway car to have it on four places? two in the front and two in the back on both sides? as well as on the inside? wait, don't answer... obviously it is, cause we might forget and think we're in Cuba and go looking for good cigars or whatever.

what's funny is, thanks to one of my oldest Brit friends, the soon-to-be-chained for life- married Dave G's most excellent baby-step directions, i found myself on Duke Street early so i sat down outside a cafe sipping orange juice and began to write in my iPod. the battery was running low so i went digging for a pen and bit of paper and lo and behold, what do i find in my bag but a tiny packet of hash? i fucking FREAKED, ran downstairs to the loo, wrapped it in long pieces of toilet paper and stuck it down my knickers. fucking typical, right? *rolls eyes*

from then on, until i left the Embassy, i walked very carefully, hoping it wouldn't like ride up and out the top of my trousers as these things tend to do. great shades of coming back from Germany cause every three months i'd fly in to see Dr Pieper, then we'd always drive the Autobahn over to Maastricht and do our bit for Drug Tourism and every time i came back, there was a party in my pants the same deal was going on.

Security was a bitch. they went through my bag, made me take my earphones out of my Union Jack change-purse (the perfect place for em — they're a perfect fit. it crossed my mind they'd take me for a BNP dick, but thankfully, no), hand over my silver Zippo, my iPod, shut down my cellphone and hand it over along with my keys cause i have a liddle flashlight that shines blue as well as a way cool beer bottle opener my exPM gave me hanging off em, take off my cuffs and my belt and the rest of the usual shit one must do to get on an aeroplane these days. thanks, bu$hCo! grrrr...

long story short, hah! my two different names always make ID matters worser than they should be even though i have legal papers stating MyRealFirstName AKA MyOtherRealFirstName and my passport with my real first name (rhymes with Simone) and my birth certificate with my other real first name but somehow, i survived, got all my shit notarised, got my extra passport pages and got the hell outta there ASAP.

i was really tempted to throw an American one-finger salute up to the flag but figured it wasn't a good idea cause the Security dudes were watching as i silently took my stuff and put it all back on. then i paused to say g'bye to the cool British cops and walked back down Duke Street where i took these next. there'd been like a flash flood ten minutes before which i'd watched out the Embassy window but now the sun was shining brightly as if it'd been out all day and i was so pleased to be free (and remove the contraband from the uncomfortable place in which it was stashed).

OK, here's my POV walking down Duke Street, freaking at the architecture and steeples and shit (thanks again, Dave). notice how, in the first, i was so thrilled to be out and about in London again, i totally included the cars, sump'n i try to avoid whenever i can.








then i joined the hordes on Oxford Street during rush hour and whoa, i was totally restimulated — it was exactly like NYC and just like there, whenever my 'sorry's and liddle shoulder don't work, i end up walking in the street cause for the life of me, i'll never understand why tall people (tall = everyone else) walk so fucking slowly. i made it down the Tube, got to Victoria Station and just as i finished tippy-tapping out a txt ('i'm here'), i got the same from Chris — 'I'm here' — and spotted him across the street. as i approached, i got all shouty — 'GET OUTTA MY HEAD!' — but it was wasted; strangers stared cause thanks to his headphones, he was blissfully unaware of me making a fool of myself.

anyway, he took me to Friar's Inn where i wolfed down The Most Delicious Fish & Chips EVer, we laughed a lot and then we split up, i had a last cig outside, got on the coach and came home, exhausted. i'd only been gone not 11 hours but it felt like 11 days and i was SO pleased to have Hunter all over me; he even sat on my lap after i propped open my eyelids with toothpicks and rebegan working again.

in other news, this is what my fambly think i do all day (watch CatTV) and they're really not far from the truth if i were a way big dude and Hunter wasn't a furry Tuxedo kitty:


here's the big man hisself, tryna be all good and shit, showing his lit-tle Smudge-mouth (cause he wants sump'n —'brush', one of the few words in the English language he truly understands):


one more thing: i'm rereading Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas for what must be the hundredth time again, just cause it's so funny and cause it's so Hunter and i noticed sump'n i don't recall ever reading before on the frontispiece, this way cool quote by Dr Samuel Johnson:

'He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man'.

LOL, where to begin? happy weekend, y'all. :-)

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one step closer to the grave

above's a photo of my present commemorating the upcoming anniversary of the World Wide Web as well as Hiroshima Day as well as the 119th anniversary of the day the first person EVar was executed by electric chair to which i might add 'typical!' back to more important things, Christine sent it and i'm way smitten already; i LOVE the Raven encompassing the Pagan Goddess of Death, Morrigan and i can't wait to wear it Out; it's so me as well as so her — BIG THANKS, Christine. *tongue-kiss*

anyway, title's a bit of D Wayne's monologue leading into WUTM on Exile. *cough* 'One step closer to the grave ... the box that awaits its grisley load...' and i put it up there to remind me i completely blew today: i missed my last (hah!) dental appointment cause i forgot to set an alarm beforehand and missed my tattoos appointment as well (for the same damn reason), so today was totally fucked. the funny thing is, my next dental appointment's scheduled for — you guessed it — Hiroshima Day, hoorah! NOT.

in order to redeem it —today — and myself to whatever degree, at about 17,30 i took a hike in the direction of Cabot Circus to try to find some intristin' shit to look at *drools* and as usual, i did. nb: LOL, i haven't been disappointed yet, HAH! take that, you NYC wankers who still can't understand why i wanna stay here now where was i? right: redeeming shit. OK, i saw a gated rather olden doorway and peered through the bars and saw this:


then i read the sign outside and totally freaked but inwardly, in my 'quiet' voice. it hurt me muchly.


1730-fuckin-9! holy hell, i'm so impressed. *swoons* it kills me everybody here has all this history and shit all over the place including liddle details like the rock walls, all unique, all hand-made, stone by stone...damn, fuck knows how many years ago. hundreds and hundreds of years ago stop me before i never STFU but nobody seems to give a flying fuck! are these Brits so way cool? or is it true what Darren recently told me: 'We just don't give a shit...'


back to the First Methodist Chapel in the World (1739!): whilst i took above pics, this young dude comes up to me, breaking my concentration when he said, 'You're much cooler than that church'. *preens at the memory* then i turned, stared and immediately said 'how can i be? i'm American, but thanks'. the look on his face!

then he flew over and i put up my hand (in that 'stop' gesture) and told him sump'n like 'dude, i'm toxic' and 'this'll end in tears — not mine, but yours, so i ain't playing'. he was all insistent and shit and ended up walking me to Queens Road when i stood on the corner, refusing to budge another inch until he shook my hand (i wouldn't let him kiss me g'bye), turned away and went back down the hill but that's a whole 'nother story. he was really nice, though. *sigh*

anyway, here's a bit of my sister's mail which arrived a few hours ago. the situation: she was given tickets to see Paul McCartney in NYC last night (tickets i would've trashed, sold or otherwise given away). she cracked me up, literally LOL, as i read her mail with subjectline: 'I know you probably don't give a shit but...'

after i read about the gig, i wrote: 'well, um... i'm pleased for you. :-) did you feel old?' her reply:

'Actually, I didn't because besides the young cute women, most of the women my age and yours looked like SHIT. Fucking ugly, fat-assed, suburban, badly-dressed, no taste, obnoxious long fingernails, ugly hair-styles, "Wal-Mart Mommy jeans," etc.

'FEH! Like Paul McCartney is EVER going to look at them!?!?!?! Like my friend at work said, "What's with these women from Jersey and Long Island? Do they actually look at themselves in the mirror every morning and say, 'Hey, good to go?'..."

that shit fucking killed me and i sprayed Cheerios all over my desk for the second time this week.

'Un-fucken-believeable. You would have died LOL...'

i was already mostly at her accurate description of Soccer Moms Out (and to think TPFKAPM thought ME a goddamned 'soccer mom' before we met in meatspace, prolly cause i was mostly on my bestest behavior in mails). anyway, in a follow-up mail she went further (dig the venom — we were apt though unwilling pupils and rather unwittingly, Iron Mommy taught us very, very well):

'So glad I lost my fucking weight before I hit 40 and the metabolism REALLY started to go downhill. Hey, fat fucks! Listen up; if I could lose 50 fuckin' pounds, so could you. Close your goddamn mouths already, you FAT FUCKs...'

i'm SO proud of my liddle sister most of the time; she's way taller than i am but she got like a fucking butterball for a few years until she was like 30 or so. then she began exercising and lost those fifty fuckin' pounds and whoa, she still exercises her brains out and eats all the shit i'm supposed to eat. and she's one of those Water-Bottle Carriers (and enough said about them, the better IMO). but anyway, apart from the losing-weight thing i really admire her venom and vitriol (typical snarky NY-er). :-)

in other boring news, according to @setmajer, i spent this AM twanking. first i was offended, then i figured i'd steal it. yay, i'm a twankstain as well as a Yankstain. AND a fuckstain (i tried to claim that one but no, i was totally put in my place). *glares in an Easterly direction aiming at London*

right, almost forgot. along with Faith and Finley, the froggies — wait, correction: they're NOT older than i am, as i previously thought (somewhere down the end of prior link); they're older than the giver is. this displeases me muchly but moving right along, another totally fabaroo thing he brought me is this gorgeous fossil of a fish he was given as a child. naturally, it's only half of the whole and i ain't saying where the other half resides, just know i'm verily pleased when i learnt where it is.


helpful hint: if i were youse, i'd click the above and open in another tab just for embiggened detail. here's where it is in its regular place on my desk (under my 2nd Palm Pilot case and back between my fave CDs where all i have to do is slightly bend to the left so i can swoon over it).


yup, call me crazy — i can take it — cause AFAIC, the bestest gifts apart from drugs are those that come straight outta Nature (and not the paid-for kind).

anyway, i've gotta get a move on: i'm due at the American Embassy tomorrow and this'll be three times in the last eight days i'm off to London. i so dread this; i've gotta get stupid papers notarised for financial shit they want me to have back in the States but AFAIC, i couldn't care less. helping me bear this horrid journey is the thought that the Lazy Fambly's visiting me at the weekend and it'll be the first time EVar i meet Li'l Lazy Love. :-) unfortunately, the search function's not working on this piecashit LCD blogspot freebie or i'd post up Talia — Li'l Lazy — introducing the Alabama 3 at that festival last year, dammit to hell. sorry, Talia, i'll just have to — whoa, what have we here?

YAY! i found her in a file of band photos cause Lazybones Dumbass Daddy named the file Trowbridge or sump'n stoopit like that. anyway, here's Talia in her stage persona as Li'l Lazy Love backstage holding her script and rehearsing her lines at the Trowbridge Festie last Summer.


her totally fabaroo boots (pic's titled 'The boots Zoe —Devlin Love — was so jealous of'):


here are Mr and Mrs Lazybones whom i'll have at my beck and call, i mean, at my mercy, rather as my guests this weekend. *snigger* hey Tina! hey Darren! i so promise to be an excellent influence on liddle Talia (seeing that she idolises my ass already or so Darren so stupidly admitted to me). *evil* ;-)


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'i was thinking'—'THAT's a lie'

that's Lynne (@Moonshayde on Twitter), the last in a series born by my nine-years old love affair with talking to people on the 'Net, then meeting em in meatspace. inevitably due to my idealism, we immediately become BFF until something blows it and in 2 out of every 8 cases, it totally does. actually, apart from one lying ingrate from the States (where else?) the ones with whom i'm not Best Friends anymore, i'm very good friends with EVERYONE i've ever met on the 'Net. yeah, still. :-)

anyway, i camera-pic'd Lynne and friend after the disaster that was KMFDM — well, the gig wasn't a disaster per se, it's just that their website said they'd be on at 22,30 so we got there about 21,30 and they'd already started. murderous anger (in me; dunno about those with me) ensued as we hurriedly ran in, only to be in the back of the most unfriendly (and tallest) crowd ever.

before i go on, saturday night began when we met Mr and Mrs Ifor The Engine at the Albert and got way wasted endrunkeneder. i began to say sump'n to the table at large: 'i was thinking...' which was immediately interrupted when Chris went 'Well, that's a lie!'

i guess you hadda be there cause it was totally teh funny even though i made iPod notes to 'get em' (those who LOLd) when the proper situs arose in future. anyway, back to KMFDM gig, i thought i was back in Germany cause i found myself in a wall-to-wall sea of fucking giants. and for once my NYC shoulder and 'scuse me' didn't help so i did what they were doing: i pushed and shoved my way up front as far as i could with Mrs Ifor and Chris in tow and poor Mr Ifor somewhere back of us.

this ended when i reached the 4th row with the upfront giants totally not giving a shit we couldn't see, totally not willing to gimme another inch and their disgusting sweaty false bullshit dreads and shit were constantly flung in my face as they 'danced' (and i use that word loosely) so i figured 'fuck it and fuck THEM' and left my friends there, shoving people outta my way downstairs to meet up with Lynne again. within a few minutes, the gig was over and the amazingly selfish crowd began pouring out.

at one point when it was still only Lynne and me outside i began shouting to the crowd at the top of my lungs: 'YOU PEOPLE ARE FUCKING WANKERS! MORONS! LOOK AT YOURSELVES! YOU FAUX BULLSHIT 'PUNK' ROCKERS OR WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU THINK YOU ARE!' somehow Chris'd snuck up behind me and i didn't notice and he immediately shut me the fuck up (believe me, if he hadn't shown up i would've gone on and on and ON cause i had plenty to tell those total asswipes).

moving right along, the best bit was after the show when we bopped over to the Stage Door so Lynne could have words with the management who were friends of hers but one of whom (she didn't know) managed to fuck her up on yet another issue (sump'n about her photographer's pass being rejected by Total Cunt Manageress). about that bit, standing outside the stage, i twat: '...LOLd @ pathetic wanna-B starfuckers who kept staring @ us as if threatened (!)...' and called em 'CUMBUCKETS!' *preening at the memory*

but that's when we ran into a dude with his rat, Daisy. here she is on my shoulder and thanks muchly for the photo, Sarah Mrs Ifor especially for cropping me the fuck out):


first camera-pic taken by me; the rest by Moonshayde:





awwww... SO cute. i actually think i know the dude above from somewhere. at least i think i remember attempting to bite those earrings outta his ear on more than once an occasion, but no matter. anyway, here's Daisy on my shoulder:


dig Cuteness Overload (Daisy beginning to wash herself, attempting to remove the human smega with which we all left on her). this washing-up biz melted what was left of my cold, cold heart and charmed everyone else around:


then Lynne drove us all to Brixton so we could drink more at the Albert and i dunno about them, but i had a wonderful time seeing old faces and such and talking to each and every one of them (especially Pixie, Debs, the Other Mark, Hannah, JP, Rose and about 15-30 others i only know by sight but it seems they know me by name — dunno why).

next day was GREAT. we woke up about 13,00 and finally moved our asses at about 15,30 for Eggs Benedict at SW9 then back to the Albert where we met Saffron's doggies, Niki the Great Dane and DotDot the Dalmatian. here they are anxiously awaiting Steve to bring back a round.



here's Dot after a few unauthorised drinks (both mine and hers):


i drank my ass off, as many as i could fit in until it was time to take the Shame Train home (thanks for escorting me, Chris dude). it took the bastard coach FOUR HOURS from London to Bristol; first we had to fight through getting-out-of-London-on-a-sunday-night traffic and then the fucking thing broke down right outside town. i was ready to take a taxi from the Motorway but no, National Express has some kinda fucked up roolz and i was forced to stay on the damn, cramped bus.

tomorrow i have what i hope to be my last dental appointment (apart from bi-monthly maintenance) and then an appointment at Pierced-Up for some body modification work: finishing my shoulder tats &c. next day i'm back in London, which'll make it three times in like eight days — ENOUGH, ALREADY. i'm so wishing thursday's appointment at the Embassy goes successfully but y'know what they say: 'Wish in one hand, shit in the other and see which fills up faster'.

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idiots drool

introducing my newest fave T-shirt which i'm gonna artfully rip whenever i wake up betterer and am totally done with the dreaded W word (*ork). anyway, i was just looking at the bulletin board in the kitchen and the tickets pinned to and kinda marvelling cause since i'm not an invalid i just play one in real life i don't get out that much, i didn't realise how many bands i'd seen in the last year or so, y'know, apart from Alabama 3. then again, that night with Jake in Bristol a coupla weekends ago was kinda better than seeing any band cause i mostly had him all to myself but we're totally not gonna go there now (or ever actually unless i get his say-so but he seems to be avoiding me. hmmpf — i wonder why?). *gazes off* *simpers*

*snaps to* what was i saying again? right: gigs that weren't Alabama 3. um... we caught John Lydon and the so-called Sex Pistols at Brixton Academy but without Sid? that should've been the first tip-off cause the show was like the Biggest. Disappointment. EVar and it was totally my fault cause i should've gotten a clue when i was told we were gonna be forced to actually sit in our seats. at a fucking Sex Pistols show? were they insane? nope, i was, for not talking Robbo, Dragnim and Chris outta going with me. i mean, Lydon's still my hero and in my head, one of England's National Treasures and all, but still... WTF? who the hell stays seated at any Sex Pistols gig?

hang on... my vision's really blurry and i can't focus my eyes too well. OK, lesson learnt: no longer will i go to ANY show that'll make me 'stay seated'; a rule to be broken every chance i get at the best of times and a total impossibility at the worst. anyway, in no particular order, we saw Henry Rollins fronting The Ruts (but like an asshole, i missed the first gig, when Foxy was still alive but we did get to see Segs which's always way cool and for once i actually kept my big mouth shut about how much i miss him playing with the Alabama 3). i was totally proud when i told this to Christine and later on i think i remember she told me she told her bro' sump'n like 'Rimone was all proud she didn't moan to you...' *still preening at my self-control*

um... there was Hope Not Hate, the 30th (35th?) anniversary of Rock Against Racism but apart from the Afterparty at Jamm, all i remember was being up front when the band came on — wait, Zoe was behind me, i think i remember. yeah, it was our second meeting. :-) then last november, we caught Underworld and they were fantastic especially since i left the lightweights 'eat my dust! at the back and thanks to my accent and liddle NYC shoulder, i made my way up to the frontline — alone — and ended up dancing with all kindsa cute young dudes and their GFs and —wonder of wonders — somehow i kept my responsibilities to those who bringded me there. i think i recall Dave, EL, Dragnim, Chris and a few more cause i was really shit-faced but i remember i had a totally great time and that's all that really matters.

two weeks later and we saw Motorhead in Bristol and that was truly insane (in a good way, not a straitjacketed in-an-asylum way). i think it was at that gig that either i looked around or the dude i was with looked around the lobby after we snagged T-shirts like five minutes after we bopped in.


i took the above about an hour ago in the mirror and here's the back which came out too dark but i'm too wasted to get up and take another (hope y'all can read it, and if not, tough shit; i've goddit on right now and i'm totally not taking it off).


anyway, i was with TPFKAPM and he (says it was me but i say it was him) went sump'n like 'Holy shit — in all the time I know you, this is the first time you're not the oldest one in the room!'

i think i remember i said 'fuck YOU, dude' and then we laughed our asses off. OK, a few months later or so, i have no memory of how i ended up with em — oh, right: we were at Nick's Deathmask Show (the second one) with the Acoustic Flavour of the Alabama 3 (i think) and then somehow, Delia and Mary (both of whom flew in from Dublin) dragged me off to see the Fun Lovin' Criminals and after their show we ended up backstage with the band. yup, just like that: *snap* *crackle* and *snort* *pop* ;-)

then there were Nashville Pussy and the Supersuckers at the Thekla in Bristol (whom we walked out on cause they weren't gonna do the one tune i wanted to hear: Whiskey River). but as y'all can see at prior link, that's the night i fell in love even more with Nashville Pussy, especially with the totally gorgeous, drop-dead sexy and amazingly twisted Ruyter Suys *sighs* who plays almost as screaming a guitar, and — 'That's the way, uh huh, uh huh, I like it, uh huh, uh huh' — as, well... *whispers* Dave Navarro which brings us to last night seeing Jane's Addiction and NIN at the O2 Arena in London.


i said pretty much everything i wanted to say on Twitter, actually. what i left out: after a bit of confusion on the Tube cause Someone — i won't name names, outta respect — told me the wrong fucking Line to take — BTW, though he takes it every AM and back at night, he'll never forget it's the Picadilly and not the Jubilee Line again, oh, no sir-ee, Bob — and very nicely left work to come out and rescue get me, we made it down to... shit, the Anchor? no, The Pilot, a way cool pub recommended by Mr and Mrs Ifor the Engine (thanks dudes!) and we immediately got totally fucked up (more) especially me since cause i got losted i wasted the very brief time we'd set aside to (and i quote) 'Grab something... maybe a sammich'.

so i downed a coupla double vodkas and OJs and like three crisps (cause they had flavors in em and i only dig salt on mine... well, actually, the vinegar ones weren't bad but i was warned off the others, especially the Chili ones). in retrospect i shouldn't have drank so much on an empty stomach but as i blithely told these dudes who acted all concerned and stuff, 'the booze's gonna hit me harder and faster and i'll get way fucked up more' and that's exactly what happened. then i spotted a group of five young boyz i assumed were going to the Arena (cause it's out like in the middle of nowhere and there's no where else to go) and began to stalk follow em.



what got me going was the dude in the long shorts and parachute boots (second from the right). i once went out with a dude like that and totally fell so in love with his style, i ran out and bought parachute jump boots just like his and a shitload of long shorts with pockets and shit but i just couldn't bring the look off like he did. bummer.

anyhoo, since i'm lazy and tired and have a deadline in a few hours, i'm copying what i twat about the show: 'waking up in Brixton, totally forgetting why i'm here & it all just came back–NIN & Jane's Addiction. & Gary Numan. then i threw up. again'. oh, right... i totally forgot about After The Show when we collected our bags at dude's workplace, took a taxi to Brixton Road cause we were hungry and as we're crossing the street, that was totally it for me. i puked all over the place (but not on my Cons), then decided no fudz for me. :-( back to my twits:

'JANE'S ADDICTION WAS FANTASTIC, Dave Navarro played like he was on fire, spent most of NIN at the bar but caught my fave—Head Like a Hole'. i was totally out of my head when Jane's was on, they were SO damn good. i think ex partner-in-crime boy dug it as well; at one point, he twat J's A lines: 'SEX IS VIOLENCE!'; 'GOD IS DEAD!'; 'Dave Navarro played like a bastard tonight! (apologies to @Rock_Freebase, but he did)

for some strange reason, Trent Reznor brought out Gary Numan. the crowd went wild. we looked at each other, like 'WTF and WHY?' and took off to the bar to drink more. i remember thinking 'oooh... pret-ty colors'. :-)




then setmajer twat: 'Apparently I'm the only one who thinks Gary Numan's cameo sucked ass'.

me: 'BULLSHIT—U always think UR the only 1. he was totally teh suck; AFAIC Reznor's cred is now in the sub-basement 4 bringing him out'.

during the show, he twat away (and i'm gonna copy em over cause i remember each one and how we laughed our asses off cause the music was SO stoking, it was incredible): 'SEX IS VIOLENCE!'; 'GOD IS DEAD!'; 'Dave Navarro played like a bastard tonight! (apologies to @Rock_Freebase, but he did)

'This just in: Trent Reznor is a whiny cunt live, too'. and 'I may be witnessing the lamest mosh pit ever…'

me: 'is that what they thought they were doing? *shakes head in disbelief*' we agreed on one thing (we should really keep score, like... this doesn't happen often and i'm amazed it never occurred to me to keep a record of when it does):

'Head Like a Hole' was worth the price of admission, but the rest of the set…meh'.

back to me, me, me-me-me-me-me: 'i wanna do last night all over again apart fr Gary Numan, most of Reznor/NIN & the throwing-up bits...' it was totally the truth: i vomited all over Brixton Road after the show, then WUTM, remembered the show, remembered where i was and remembered Gary Numan which i believe made me fly to the dude's loo and puke my guts out again. anyway.

Dragnim twat: '...I agree, reznor is le suck'. *snigger* nah, ROTFLMAO (cause that's exactly what i did when i first read and now). me to him: 'yeah but @ least i got 2C em do Head Like A Hole. Jane's Addiction were superb, danced my ass off in the aisle their entire gig...' what was really great were the people sitting behind me didn't complain or anything. had they and i'd have immediately sat my ass down — reluctantly, but still.

y'know, if anyone understands how it feels not to be able to see a show cause others are in the way, it's me. but what was even better was at one point, i thought i'd lost my jacket, turned round and caught the eye of the chick in back of us and she actually smiled at me. i'm thinking my usual: 'this SO wouldn't happen in NYC'. :-)

all in all my absolutely fave bit of the show was when they did Ted Just Admit It and on these totally hugeass backscreens were bits of a long montage of CU shots of Juliette Lewis from that scene in Natural Born Killers where she's in her prison cell teasing Scagnetti whilst toking off a cigarette and blowing huge plumes of smoke.


the entire effect was verily enhanced by Perry Farrell's screaming at the top of his lungs 'SEX IS VIOLENCE'. we went absolutely WILD; it was pure dynamite and both of us, being heavy-duty lovers of Juliette as well as the film as well as Jane's... well, y'all can imagine. that's when Chris twat 'Sex is violence' above and what made it a total riot was Chuck twat back the priceless 'Yes, but only if done correctly'.


BTW, if y'all dunno what above photo's about, then don't ever tell me NBKs is your favorite film, after i say it's one of mine. moving right along, my last twit was to Kiwi (whom i know for years from BeatKing where we were both mods and for all i know we still might be): 'the T-shirt's great, i'm gonna try to remember what happened last night & post photo of it on Tawdry...' which brings me back to the top, one of my fave if not my totally fave position.

*cough* now in all truth, i'm putting this next T-shirt up here for the record (the one recording every liddle step i take toward senility and old ladyland) cause i goddit this week at PDSA and in no other time of my life would it ever appeal to me; in no way does it exude evil but for whatever reason, i snagged it (for 50p) and am prolly gonna wear it — whimsical though it is — Out pretty soon so, Brothers and Sisters of The Congregation, i'm asking, nah, i'm begging you: AFAIC, it's (more) proof i'm losing it and fast so PRAY TO YOUR GODZ FOR ME.


in other news, remember Faith and Finley, my wee gifted and anatomically correct froggies? i thought they were like, brand new but it turns out they're older than i am, sump'n like 70-80+ years old —> WHOA... alla which makes me dig em even more now as well as having a bit of empathy for em (i only put em in certain porn'd positions, not like in prior linked post) cause i'd assumed they'd just met each other but now they're keeping company, together again at last, beyond my keyboard on the base of my flatscreen.



right, almost forgot: this has been some way cool week: Jane's Addiction and NIN last night and i'm back in London saturday for K.M.F.D.M. i'm hoping if my time's like up, it'll happen at the show so at least i'll be sure of having a smile on my face and a shitload of alcohol and the usual extra-legals flowing through my bloodstream. *snigger* happy weekend and peace out, yo. :-)

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*laughs & points*

*smirk* whether or not i get your permission, i shall anyway: really, people... i mean, i'm pleased by the attention and all but jeez, i don't dig thinking that so many chickenshits read over here. sad fact: so far i got two anonymous mails this week and it's only tuesday.


both of em came in some time before i WUTM. well, i actually woke up late this afternoon and hoorah for that. but c'mon, whaddaya think i'm gonna do if you have the guts to sign your name(s)? that is, apart from have some respect for youse (more than i do now)? y'all think i can reach through my screen and throttle, fuck, kiss and/or thank youse? if only! what totally gets me: not only have i i've received anonymous mails when the content's positive (and 'positive' is an understatement), so those i truly don't understand. what i do understand are mails from throwaway addys from the dissers, all of which i very originally call 'hatemail'. *smirk*

in other news, i found a shitload of photos in my phones. i remember this first one; i was on the balcony one saturday morning whilst holding Hunter when he suddenly began to lunge upward and whine. thinking it was a fly zooming by, i ignored him but when he wouldn't STFU, i finally looked up, then ran in, still holding him (whilst he yowled), grabbed my phone and flew back outside.


OK, these are from that wondrous snowstorm, that blizzard thing we had last february. apart from real children, i think i was the only one who was overjoyed all through that week cause i'd somehow had the foresight to stock up on staples like cigs and cat food and there totally was no reason to go into meatspace. anyway, here's how it looked outside early on that first morning.


same shit, different day (three later, on 5. february):



moving right along, this wasn't exactly in my phone (it's in my iPod) and it's a photo of the sister i should've had instead of the one i've got Christine a few weeks ago when she was still on her hols in New Zealand. *envious* that's Pedro to the right and i didn't catch the horsey's name but she's doing exactly what i'd be doing if i were in her place cause i love kissing horsies, donkeys and most other furry mammals, whether they've got penises or not. there — i've seddit. :-)


fun-fact: when i asked what her bro's been up to lately, she told me she was pretty sure that Segs and Dubsy are producing the new Alabama 3 album and she'd gimme more details as soon as she could. bah... i still miss Segs onstage but i've whinged about that too many times so i'll STFU about it for now.

OK, think of the following as a hugeass hint to Lancin Lee, Dragnim, Rob, Chris and everyone else who promised to come to Bristol 'soon'.


y'all have only like six weeks and six days left, so get a fucking move on, dudes. notice me not mention that apart from one of em, these so-called friends of mine haven't lifted a finger, well, a toe, to come and see me in the five years i've lived here, but for Banksy? HAH! *in an Edna Krabappel voice* since his show opened, i've gotten all kindsa promises up the ass.

whoa, almost forgot (more proof i'm a coupla steps nearer to senility): yesterday i got to attention-whore my ass off. it started here when yet another person suggested i write my book. i replied here and if you keep clicking the — 'in reply to' — links at bottom of each twit you're able to read the entire conversation (in reverse, but being clever people with memories, i'm sure you can do the heavy lifting yourselves). instead of linking to each and every damn twit, the pertinent bits start on my page on 13. july about 8,30pm (as they term it) and if y'all read up, they include the real reason others have urged me to write the book that'll-never-happen-not-in-my-lifetime. *snigger*

but the best bit was when i got to twit about my Uncle Jack (AKA Black Jake), being Lucky Luciano's driver. fun-fact: the Very Reverend D Wayne Love totally freaked (in an excellent manner) when he learnt that shit, not only cause of the Jake Black/Black Jake thing but cause he actually knows more about American Criminal history than i do and there i was, thinking for ages how good an amateur expert i am on criminality and abnormality in regard to what's inside people's heads. well, was an expert, when i had a memory. but i forgive you, Jake; AFAIC, you and your band can do no wrong apart from MOR Drivetime but the way i heard it, that abomination was totally Larry's.

no, wait — the best bit was when i really got going, name-dropping and shit when i got to yet again, tell about being called The Real-Life Zelig and why — thanks, Abeizer; it's like that gift that keeps on giving. i was naming names like mad and there still wasn't enough room for me to go through em all. in fact, due to Twitter's 140 character limit, i kept the name-dropping to a minimun: only one day back when i was at Quintano's when i'd much rather've gone on into the 80s, 90s and after i hit England but one mustn't grumble (as they say over here, although i do anyway).

now where was i? right, last night on Twitter but it seems i lied yet again: the really truly very best bit was when i twat: '...i'm not a real asshole but i play one on Twitter. BTW, have i told you i'm a compulsive liar?' #teehee #guessthelie #winprizes

anyway, i'm in a rush (for a change) cause i'm throwing this together, cleaning up some last minute editing changes for work, doing my nails, packing for London and running water for a pre-bedtime bath (so i won't be wasting time having one in the morning); i'm totally stoked i'll not only be in town again but in just about 24 hours, i'll be seeing NIN as well as Jane's Addiction. *cough* note to Sod: not an invite, goddit d00d? *winsome grin*

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FAQs or whatever

Q: 'Why is your blog called what it is?' and/or 'Why is it "tawdry"...?'

A: big duh! without getting into why i can't stand the word blog the answer's over to your right in the penultimate sentence under the heading 'about the godless'. on 7. june 2007 i got mail from a dude called Donatien Bestrualta, a friend of one of my good friends, Chas (known as Captain Paranoid onstage), who fronts one of the best live acts i've ever seen — Captain Paranoid and the Delusions — a dance-till-you-rock-your-ass-off-and-drop band based in Cardiff (Wales). the subjectline to DB's wondrous mail?

'the talented little rimone' — the body of his message read, in toto:

'Your blog is superb. I don't usually bother reading tawdry autobiographies written by nobodies but this site — Dateline: Bristol — makes me chuckle so in your case I happily make an exception'.

BTW, i have no respect for people who won't read or worser than that, who can but won't, then ask stupid questions they could research emselves. they're morons and not worth the time and even when i try to be nice, give em a hint so big they can drive a truck through it — like 'Google is your friend' — they still don't wanna geddit.

there's this dumb twat who recently whined 'I thought Rimone was my friend...' after i reminded her she could Google. i'd link to her twitting that utter shite but, y'know... why bother giving her undeserved attention especially since she's a liar? I'm talking about the first bio she writ up on Twitter which claimed she was a DJ; that gave me and mine lotsa LOLs since we know she never did an honest day's work in her life. *snigger*

Q: 'Why do you spell so many words wrong?' the nasty ones add 'If you're supposed to be a proofreader...'

A: cause i try to spell em exactly the way i speak in meatspace. y'know... with a Brooklyn accent. like, i don't say 'something'; i go 'sump'n'.

Q: 'It's hard to believe you bare so much of your soul here and many times I think that you're so full of shit — you're lying'.

A: hell-llo-ohhhhh? i dunno how many times i've written (here, there and everywhere) 'this is my journal' and i really don't care who reads it — naturally, i don't put everything down, just the things i think i might forget and will wanna remember in future, especially if i have the misfortune to live long enough for my memory to take a permanent hike (worserer than it is now).

if anything's not clear or it seems i'm being deliberately cryptic and too muchly so, not only do i not give a shit, too bad — not for me but for thee: this writty is mine and mine alone. i've kept all kindsa notebooks, journals and diaries since a liddle after i learnt to read and doing it online is my lifelong continuation of same.

if you think i'm lying, have a clue: DON'T READ ME. *snigger* anyway, you're prolly not smart enough to fully dig the words i use that have more than a syllable so do yourself a favor and have a helpful hint: don't let the door hit you on the ass on your way out. :-)

Q: 'What does "thwoop" mean?'

A: 'Obviously, you're not a golfer'. in all truth, i love my Filmic Tourette's even though it bothers the shit outta everyone else cause it's one thing when i'm sitting here and i make some wack connection and it spills from my fingers to the screen but when i'm shouty in meatspace — 'I will show you the life of the mind!' — it's a whole 'nother story.

OK, back to 'thwoop'. obviously you've never heard Alabama 3's second album, La Peste, cause there's a tune on it — 'Cocaine Killed My Community' — which has a sort of pipe-sucking sound looped over and over in the background throughout. back in late 2000, the first time i heard it, i immediately thought 'onomatopoeia!' cause it sounds exactly like an inhalation to me.

here, try it yourself: say 'thwoop' whilst drawing in your breath, as if you were taking a hit and tawkin. fun-fact: i use it both as a noun, like 'scored some excellent thwoop' as well as a verb, as in 'i'm gonna thwoop in a minute...'

Q: 'How old are you, anyway?'

A: a) you're American, right? British people never ask such stupid, rude things. b) WHY? — does it make any difference? if anyone can gimme a good reason why this information is so crucial for them to know, mail me and i'll be pleased to say but IMO, it's nobody's biz but my own (and my friendses').

Q: variations of 'You really think you're hot shit, don't you?'

A: see first unsolicited testimonial under the Vaucher. shit, read em all; they're in four sections going down the R-hand column. short answer's YES — in fact, i know it. :-)

Q: 'Why did you choose Slum Goddess as your screen-name?'

A: long story partly having to do with The Fugs who practised nearby and wrote a song called same (honoring an older beatnik girl) just about the time i started to sneak down to Greenwich Village again. this was a few years after the Courts forbade me that area until i turned eighteeen thanks to my first sojourn there: a kiddy indiscretion which ended up when i finally left home — running away from my parents' hellhouse and missing for a year — all due to the kindness of strangers. hmmm... that fabaroo year was almost enough to make me believe in god again but obviously, it wasn't to be. back to the forbidden zone, after i was caught in California and dragged back to Brooklyn, kicking and screaming, the Court Order thusly went sump'n like this: *cough*

'...The land between the imaginary line we shall call for these purposes "the Northern Border" beginning at the East River or Avenue D on East 14th Street at the Con Edison Grounds, running West across the Island starting on East 14th Street, crossing Fifth Avenue all the way to the end of West 14th Street at 12th Avenue or the Hudson River — and the imaginary line called for these purposes "the Southern Border" beginning at the end of the Manhattan Bridge; all across town from Canal Street East to Canal Street West and ending at the Hudson River...'

so both the East and West Village, what's now Tribeca, half of Chinatown, Little Italy and what's now called SoHo were totally out of bounds. naturally, the thought of venturing within those imaginary lines was irresistably intoxicating so i again began to sneak down there at fourteen or fifteen (yet another boring story)

what was the question again? right, Why do i call myself Slum Goddess? there's the Fugs' Slum Goddess cause they were nearby and we got to hear em rehearse and shit but more than that cause being born and bred in NYC, i consider it all a slum—yup, the whole shebang — all five boroughs. the 'Goddess' bit is a goof cause i'm the furthest thing from that... y'know, it's irony. wait, did you say you're American? if so, forget the 'irony' bit; don't even think about it anymore and maybe your head'll quit spinning.

Q: variations of 'What's wrong with you?' some ask politely, some are downright mean and this is me caring: *yawn*

A: leaving out the long list of DSM-IV stuff, in very brief, huge NYC ego mixed with terribly low self-esteem, as i told Jake over at his one night whilst visiting him and Fran with Chris. the look on his face! *preening at the memory*


no, wait. that was ages ago. he looked more like this (photo thanks to Alabata).


in truth, when he asked, i was verily gobsmacked as i instantly told him that shit; it immediately popped out, all glib and everything and it sounded like i'd given it some thought cause it's totally spot-on. truth is, i hadn't thought of anything in those terms before, just focussed on the liddle details (the DSM-IV stuff) — not seeing the forest for the trees.

OK, off the top of my head there's the ADD, the Tourette's (all three flavors: Filmic, Simpsons and Alabama 3), the SAD, Reverse-SAD, chronic depression, Asperger's Syndrome, total anhedonia, suicidal ideation... y'know, like that. on to the next hilarity:

Q: 'Did you really leave the States and move to England to be nearer to the Alabama 3?'


A: not only is this teh funny, it's totally my fault cause over the years, i've seddit on various forums and other sites all over the Internets so many times, not for a moment thinking people would actually believe me, but to my amazement they did. what's more, when i meet dudes in meatspace, those to whom i've talked for years on the 'Net, to this very day some of em still ask me that same old shit.

the short answer's 'no — are you mad?' long answer's 'i came here cause TPFKAPM got a gig in Bonn and invited me to tag along with him, wanting to make my lifelong dream come true: to live in — not visit — Europe, especially the UK and specifically England.

meeting the band in NYC then flying cross-country to meet up with em in San Francisco the next week after pushed my dream further into reality cause it was just about the time when the dot-com boom began going tits-up and my exPM's stream of freelance gigs were verily drying up fastly.

Q: 'What do the initials TPFKAPM mean?'

A: *sigh* you obviously never read my real site before it got hacked 'and that's cool' — i'll give you an unhelpful hint: it was his idea which, when y'all figure it out, should give youse a taste of his sensa yooma cause it's based on the huge age gap between us.

edit on 2. august @18,33: blogger changed their link format: URLs used to end with post titles — now they end in strings of numbers so some of my posts to which i've linked in past, well, the links are no longer viable. just sayin'.

fun-fact a): i've got a lot of other moronic questions people mail (mostly anonymously), but above are the major ones sent me over the last few months. i'd dig around and note the number of times each one was asked but like, why bother? as well, i've paraphrased and corrected mis-spellings and such just as i've kept all the mails with above questions, kept em for proof of veracity.

fun-fact b): see that pewter ashtray all the way up top? i'm a sucker for decent British souvenirs and that's a FAQ, Jack (or whatever you said your name was).

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presents — salientian style

who amongst us doesn't dig getting gifts and things, especially when you're not expecting em? stupid question, right? and if anyone'd tell me 'No', you best believe i'd call 'bullshit'. anyway, TPFKAPM brought me some great stuff from his last trip to the States. i plan to stick in photos of em all sometime along the near-future way but AFAIC, these just had to have a place of their own.


and so, i'm ooh-ing and ah-ing over the things he gave me and then i came to this cute ceramic couple. i'm thinking 'cool, i'll add em to my way anal collection of animal thingies' but then he said 'Would you turn them over? They're anatomically correct, FFS!' (or sump'n like that; i forget his exact words). so i did and went 'WHOA!' *admiring* and since i name mostly everything, i've decided to call her Faith (cause before i got her, i didn't have any):


and this is Finley (cause it sounds British and all):


two things: a) as a rool, i don't name my things beginning with the same letter as whatever they are but i couldn't resist the Faith — Finley occurred right after; b) these photos do no justice to the cute liddle couple who are now eyeing each other on my desk at a safe distance apart. haha, i made sure of that shit right after i stupidly gave into one of my brilliant whims:

me being me, i decided to have a bit of fun with em. in all fairness to myself, i admit this was yet another act of procrastination cause i've got work up the wazoo here — i'm off to London wednesday to see Jane's Addiction and NIN, yay! and i don't wanna lose any more money being away from my desk yet again. anyway, back to Faith and Finley, here they are in 'getting to know you' mode:


two seconds later, i'm all 'stoppit this instant, goddammit' but would they listen? of course not — they're inanimate thingies (but that didn't stop me from shouting at em anyway).


i mean, would you have stood for this shit going on right under your nose? that is, if you very conveniently forgot the fact that you yourself i myself put em like that in the first place to up my 'warped and twisted' cred of course. what made it worse was Finley's typical of his sex: the above went on for less than three minutes but whoa, when Faith got going... well, see for yourselves (average running time: 9,5 minutes). and she even had her 'technique down and everything'. she 'don't be ticklin' or nothin'.




not-so fun-fact: it took her over six minutes (6 min.s and 35 sec.s, to be precise) to get to the point when his entire penis was in her mouth (above). what did i say about technique? and dig: she wanted to quit a coupla seconds later so they could totally get down to business and all but (shocker! not) he wouldn't permit it.

for the love of everything that's decent, would you two get ON with it already? strike up the band — finally! Endlich! *applause*


they felt the photos showing afterglow time; y'know, smoking cigs and kissing and hugging and all... well, they felt them too personal to be posted here but i'm sure you get the idea: a good time was had by all (apart from me cause i hate taking pics of people or animals having sex).

*cough* i thank you, Chris thanks you and most of all, Faith and Finley thank you. fun-fact 1): all toads are frogs, but not all frogs are toads. fun-fact 2): just like Faith and Finley, i, too, love doing it in public. 'Oh, I could tell you stories...'

wait — i just know i said that shit out loud. *shrugs* like everything else, fuck it. 'Yeah, fuck it — that's your answer to everything...' betcha ass it is. :-)

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state of the Slum(p) XI

*insipid music behind cheery, upbeat female voice* 'This ri-moan sponsored by Roche, makers of Valium'. yesterday was OK apart from almost steadily working my ass off till one of my alarms went off, the one i set to remind me to check my Current Account for direct debits due and if necessary, transfer £ from my Day To Day to cover em.

BTW, in the UK a Current Account is the same as a Chequeing Checking and a Day To Day is what we Americans call a Savings Account. nah, it makes no sense to me either. anyway, it was at this point in time when that piecashit (extra step of security) cardreader from Barclays Bank failed to work for the first time EVar. i slipped in my card and read the message on the tiny screen, one i'd never seen before: 'This card is unrecognised'.




i tried it again and again and again and kept getting the same amazing message, so i called em and whilst on an expensive 'hold', tried it again and it worked. then i self-medicated to calm down before i went down Queens Road to pay em a lit-tle visit. i had to be all polite and shit (usually no big deal, especially here) but the stupidity and moronic explanations the bank manager gave me were just too incredibly idiotic to be believed. then i went home and self-medicated again. and again.


aw, let's face it — i got so fucked up i couldn't see straight but that's the only thing that relaxes me and permits me to go on working without thinking much about it. anyway, i was just calming down and about to regain a civil demeanor and rejoin the twitting and continue working when the phone rang. 'hellooooo, Mom!' (g'byyyye newly-recovered but instantly lost tranquillity).

then i stayed up most of the night, trying to work but gave it up cause i was so tired, my eyes were glazing over so i ended up thwooping my brains out, drinking White Russians and watching a film or two. i must've passed out during the second one cause hours later, i opened my eyes, still sprawled on the floorpillows, staring at the static end-credits onscreen.


i can haz moar drugs? pleeh?


oh wow, totally forgot about the Absinthe. :-) *HIC!*


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back by popular demand

lately, way too many people have been asking 'How's Hunter?' as if i were supposed to know. i mean, i barely have time to brush him the now up-to-ten times a day in a feeble effort to ward off his fur clogging up my Mac again. so in an effort to shut youse all up and focus attention back on me i'm re-running the series of pics i took after the last time Pam visited from Brixton and brought him his now-favorite toy.

BTW, last pic's when he finally realised i had my phone out so naturally, he feigned disinterest, then bopped away, throwing me a final 'fuck you' look over his shoulder which i wish i caught on camera, but once he gets wind of anything like that, he becomes totally aloof (kinda like me but with brains and balls). *cough* moving right along, Christine wrote the quote of the day:

'It's too bad you can't play a straitjacket or a nervous breakdown...'

*smirk* unhelpful hint: her words have a lot to do with this lit-tle series of Current Events (just sayin'). :-)





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'I'm happy AND ANGRY!'

sad but true. *cough* whoa, do i have (let's call it) 'a thing' for Ralph Wiggum — i fell in love with him once upon a time, the night Lisa gave him that pity-fuck, i mean, that Valentine's Day card.


no, wait. i fell in love with him after he went 'Will you be my mommy? You smell like dead bunnies'. nope, not exactly true; my fave Ralph line's when he told the old people 'Someone should iron you' cause that's what i'd been thinking since i was like six and ran into anyone older than 40 or so and what i think now whenever i make the mistake of seeing my own reflection. no, wait (this time it's for real): the Best. Ralph-Line. Ever's when he and Bart took off with Chief Wiggumseses's master key and they're in prison and this rat snuck out, stoled the key and Ralph went 'The pointy kitty took it'.

in truth, i'm in love with Ralph mostly cause of one of the two things we truly have in common: i can't count how many times i'd gone around as a kid (well, up to age 24 or so) asking my friends' mothers 'Are you my mommy?' — always politely and with a pitiful look on my hopeful face. nah, i'm lying (no i'm not), i'm in love with him as much as any grrl pretending to be sane can fall in love with a badly drawn cartoon dude but shhhh, don't tell anyone.

anyway, i'm blethering, taking up space and shit. y'know — 'For kids' for practise (at least that's what i'm telling myself as i put off the rest of my work until the lastest possible moment cause i'd rather dwell on Ralph anyway). *cough* fun-fact: i almost fell outta my seat, pissing my trousers, the first time i heard him say


cause that's exactly how i feel apart from i'm something quite other than a Viking but we won't go there now (or ever, actually). then there was the time i totally freaked when i heard him go


why? cause it's true; they wouldn't (and she still won't) and that's the second thing Ralph and i have most in common though it's actually a filthy lie (kinda like the one i'm telling now, but different), an odious rumor begun by my grade-school teachers, for some wack reason. i was amazed when it was further agreed upon by the narrow-minded principal, then my parents, then all the school shrinks and then every boyfriend i've ever had, so since i was like six or so, scissors (even the plastic 'safety' ones) and other sharp objects are totally verboten (and not to be used by me unsupervised) once word gets out and it always does cause i end up telling people in a desperately transparent ploy for attention. wait — holy shit! did i just say that out loud? again?

let's move on and quickly. anyhoo, what makes it all the worse is, to this day i totally dunno why. i mean, i usually (not always but more times than not) think i remember to hand em over (be they scissors or knives, boxcutters, machetes, hypos and/or razor blades) to unwary people with the hurty ends in the right direction — towards them, i mean towards me.

but sometimes i don't cause i 'forget' (that's what i tell the ones i like) and one time when i was in a hurry to beat the crap outta my liddle sister, i slipped and fell as i chased her down the stairs and practically took out her eye. but it was totally a naccident (she wailed, unconvincingly) and anyway, not that many people know about it, so IMO it doesn't count. um... right, just remembered the answer to this:


hmmpf... i trust you'll keep that scissors stuff to yourselves. as well, it's times like these when i thank my godz only like three people read this site. anyway, i've always said a lotta Ralph thingies mostly in my inside voice but sometimes i forget and then i get all excited and shouty like the time i couldn't believe my grade at the last school i got kicked outta and went (not in the same exact words, but still)


to be honest, i went 'i'm failing English?' and i didn't say 'that's unpossible' (i said 'that's total bullshit') and i interspersed at least two or three 'fucking's within but i trust y'all get the idea. anyway, when i first saw that particular Simpsons episode, i instantly realised Ralph had it down way betterer than i ever did so i said that shit his way every chance i got, just to annoy my new and — at the time — still rather naive teachers. *whispers* once they caught on, i was forced to go to Summer School on a technicality but i showed them — oh yes i did — i actually applied myself for like the first and only time in my life and it was totally out of spite.

as they say, the proof's in the pudding; the awards have been stashed next to the toilet since i moved here, for all the good they've ever done me. thing of it is, poor Daddy was so proud of me for doing so well (even though we both knew the only thing i was ever good at was 'school'). much to my horror, Daddy had em laminated on these heavy wooden boards, assuming they'd be hung in a prominent place, like in the LR of my flat in Brooklyn. fun-fact: whilst he was alive, they were actually on the bedroom wall — i put em up just to make him happy even though he couldn't dig why they weren't in full view in the LR. after he died? they came down straightaway though i dragged em from NYC to Bonn to here and i couldn't tell you why. hmmpf... }-( *cough* shit, i'm losted — where the hell was i?

editor's note: for those of youse who're new around here — i'd guess from Twitter or as this intristin' writerly smackhead actually told me in mail a few weeks back, he found me by doing a search for 'heroin'. *to self* damn, do i mention it that much? wait, don't answer (not that i'd ever know cause i'm always left outta the loop). as i've said too many times before, i even slipped it in over here. *proudtard* note to I'mTheQ: see? still milking for all it's worth *preens* and believe you me, Q, i'd be doing it even more (milking it, not, y'know, actually doing) but i wanna keep what's left of the quickly diminishing number of those i consider my friends.

unfortunately (for me) there's a limit to how much of my constant attention-whoring bullshit they're willing to take. i mean, even before M.O.R was released, they were treated subjected to hearing Klan blasted over and over and over and over — each and every time, when it was coming up to the 3 minutes 17 seconds mark, i'd go 'STFU! i'm about to begin!' whilst the poor things sat here, held hostage, with frozen smiles on their faces, being all British and polite and shit. oh wow, i just remembered sump'n: at the beginning of this editor's note or whatever, i meant to say 'for those of you who're new around here, keep those cards and letters coming' as they used to say in Olden Tymes on American TV.

moving right along — hold the damn phone! — oh wow, just noticed: i said 'whore'. twice. thrice if you count the one typed a few words back. *all shouty* LOOK, EVERYBODY! it's the seventh word two 'graphs above as well as the 20th (or 21st cause i can't count good) before the end of last 'graph. hmmm, intristin': reading me writing that, my eidetic memory kicked in and i'm back to being like three, four years old, banging trash can lids against each other whilst marching up and down Amboy Street in front of our old building in Brooklyn.

i see my mother there (furtively keeping a baleful eye on me whilst pretending she doesn't know me, just as i'm pretending i don't know her) and as i'm crashing those lids together as if they're cymbals, i'm screaming out new filthy words i've learnt by reading em chalked on schoolyard walls. *proudtard* 'WHORE! WHO'RE! WHORE!' not-so fun-fact: just like Homer never tires of playing Peek-A-Boo with Maggie, i can do this all day, actually and i would if i could get away with it. *sigh* if only.

OK, back to Ralph, there're a lotta other similarities we share which is kinda funny (more 'strange' funny than 'haha' funny) but i have nothing better to do than wait on permission to expand upon an incident (let's call it) that happened at a party here in Bristol early sunday AM, a gathering to which i was invited by none other than The Very Reverend D Wayne Love, i mean, Jake. wonder of wonders, i thought i'd have a heart attack when he asked me outside Jamm on friday night. after this seeming miracle occurred, Chris kindly warned me not to pin my hopes upon it and i agreed, assuming Jake was only being nice and would prolly forget.

anyway, after he asked if i'd be back home the next night (and i told him 'yeah' and then learnt why he wanted to know), i very naturally continued the tradition i'd begun the first night we met the band in the States: i immediately left em both standing there and began zipping around, dancing with myself. hey, we all indulge our Denial and fear of disappointment in our own unique ways (just like the lit-tle snowflakes we're not) and that's how i deal with mine: i immediately take off from whomever's asked or offered me anything in which i'm verily interested (needless to say, this doesn't apply to any extra-legal offerings). then i do my original rendition of 'la La LAAAAH! i can't heeeeear you!' by dancing around like an asshole. anyway, since i'm waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting goddammit and i don't wait good, i figured i'd kill time with my version of True Confessions (Ralph Wiggum Style).


fun-fact 1): this is what i call 'a nothing post', less than trivial shit that just comes out when i'd rather be writing about the good (read: more controversial) stuff for which i haven't gotten the go-ahead. yet... *evil* i mean, 'yet' — y'know, just plain 'yet'; no evil about it, so here's hoping. *clink!* :-)

fun-fact 2): for the last year or so, one of the criteria with which i decide whether or not to go out with prospective boyfriends is their reactions to me asking em (in all innocence and all deadpan, of course): 'So, do you like... Stuff?'

*cough* just sayin'. tee-hee. :-)

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RIP Sean Doherty II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

/Richard and Sarah

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


the Reverend Larry Love:


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




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


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

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

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

'All the best, Jane (Euri)'.

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

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about last night / today's the day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sir Eddie Real was spinning records — he was like No, 3 in my collection of photos of Band Dudes telling me to Fuck Off:


after a quickie reunion of sorts, it seemed like every time i turned my head, i heard my name shouted over the music and noise and shit. *preens* whoa, i KNOW i said that out loud. fuck it – who gives a damn? *cough* whoa, the Alabama 3 Tourette's is totally back: 'Who give a fuck when the lights are low and the ladies are real real high?'

i guess i should've made a list of those i ran into but hadn't the presence of mind at the time. the absolutely smashingly handsome and sexy Godwyn was there, JP ran in and stopped in his tracks to gimme the usual bone-crushing bearhug; there was Taf who drove in from Penzance (and who just better send me his new tune or i'll never speak to him again — LOL, kidding — i torry dude *smirk* and surprise, surprise, Little Chris (who moved to the States last year) actually showed up.

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

right, how could i forget? Mr Living Legend hisself, Rock Freebase, was sitting in the Garden out back and Chris and i totally went out to pay homage, sit at his feet and attempt to kiss the hem of his garment. wait, i mean, we went out to see him and howl at his Michael Jackson jokes, those in the hilarious Worst Taste Ever. *snigger*

at about midnight we decided to split for Jamm (too early as usual) and we got to hook up with Be Atwell, Errol T, the multi-talented Nick Reynolds, Sister Francesca and Orlando (The Spirit) to whom i proudly lied, saying i stoled a massive amount of his last update from the official site in my post of yesterday. to his credit, he stayed looking cool, calm and collected as ever whilst TPFKAPM pointed out the similarities of his look to Malcolm McD's in Clockwork Orange. here's another of my treasured collection, Orlando giving me the two-finger salute:


damn, there were way more people i hadn't seen in ages and/or met last night. Sean Doherty's sister and aunt were there and we traded reminiscences for a half an hour or so before we even made it into Jamm. they were way touched when i told them what they must've heard a thousand times already: about what a clever, stand-up dude was Sean and for a little bit after, we stood there with tears in our eyes. ah, Sean... dammit. i miss you SO much already (see this thread for one of Sean's last posts and my shock when reading it). :-(

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

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

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

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

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

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

we were off in front but at the opposite end of the stage, all the way away across from Mr and Mrs Ifor The Engine, Topchick, Angie and most of the rest of our friends but if anyone had asked any of us, we would've sworn up and down that Mr Freebase is way too much of a gentleman to have ever said anything like that.

almost forgot this as well: one of the funniest incidents of the evening occurred right after Sister Francesca got off the stage having done her charming rendition of Nobody's Fault But Mine. there was this chick needlessly wearing a push-up bra which forced her tits to fall outta the top of her dress and she was standing almost on top of us. i think she was a bit miffed cause she couldn't get TPFKAPM's attention so in a last desperate ploy, she began to high kick her stilletto'd leg straight out within inches of our faces and not once or twice, but like seven or eight times as fast as she could in as many seconds.

it was all i could do to not laugh in her face cause she was so obvious it was really pathetic. that 1999 or 2000 article i twat the other day, I Think I'm Such Hot Shit was at the top of my mind as i tried to look the other way but couldn't escape her drunken imitation of the NYC Rockettes as i finally looked down and LOLd to myself so as not to hurt her feelings. and that about sums up a typical Outlaw Night at Jamm... it takes all kinds (and you meet em all there). TPFKAPM didn't mind that much and having a penis, i can't say i blame him. ah, forget it; you hadda be there and maybe if yer lucky, one night you shall be.



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Sleep & His Half-Brother, Death

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

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

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


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



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

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

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

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

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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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