a rotten rope over an abyss

you asked for it but did y'all really know for what, exactly, youse thought yiz were asking? BTW, i'm really pleased about 'yiz' cause after i recently read it somewhere, i began using it a LOT as yet another substitute for 'you all'.


hey, someone's gotta waste time here, y'know? hmmm... new book: 'how to kill time, take up space and entertain mislead people'. hmmpf... i've gone down that particular ADD Road long enough for now which's too bad, really, cause i actually do need to take up more time and space. but moving right along, here's a warning: the following snippet of a bedtime story might not make sense to anyone else, but i'm cool with it cause very unfortunately it all makes sense to me. unhelpful hint (quoted on the frontispiece or whatever of Hunter S Thompson's Fear And Loathing in Las Vegas):

'He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man' — Dr Samuel Johnson.

☛ ☛ ☛ ☁ ☂ ☁ ☂ ☁ ☂ ☁ ☂ ☁ ☂ ☁ ☂ ☚ ☚ ☚

Quentin Crisp: 'You live in the secure world of normality. I live hanging on a rotten rope over an abyss...'


once there was a liddle grrl somewhere; doesn't matter where or when. well, actually, the When matters muchly but later for that; 'snot crucial to the story now. BTW, please notice the snotty contraction, a heavyduty indicator of the level of maturity on which, for whatever reason, the grrl was left in the dust way back when.


and whilst everyone else grew up and moved on, at least to touch the hem of the threshhold of Adultivity's garment; that is — mentally, emotionally and worst of all, physically — in truth she was sucking on tasting the first flavor of The Life of The Mind which somehow seemed more real than meatspace thanks to books and films and other shit of whatever fictitious nature. this was all mixed with her own carelessly cultivated 'fuck-off' attitude which began unintentionally but soon had a purpose and thus was made stronger the more that stranger, some woman purporting to be her mother, reacted with shock and awe, horror, disappointment and dismay. (to be continued. maybe.)


in a feeble effort to deflect from autobiographical the totally fictitious moronacy above, here's a screenshot of an email i was in the midst of typing when i came to, sump'n i stuck in the folder i call 'File Under FAIL':



*threat-mode* to be continued. in other news, all the above was inspired by this with big thanks to TrollCats, so blame them, not me. *points the Finger of Blame at Warren Ellis' Chairleg of Truth* :-)

ooh! look over there — it's St Paul's Church!




we (the royal editorial 'we') intend to return to the subject matter and photographs depicting sweetness and light to which yiz've been accustomed as soon as the Glitch of Inanity's found and fixed, so hang in there, dudes. *smirk*


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Almshouse pics &c

last week i wrote 'i also spent quite a bit of time in front of The Almshouse (below stoled from prior link),


'about which it says 'This building has seen many changes ... the present building dates from 1701 when it was opened as a home for nine poor tailors or their widows...'

BTW, i still virtually swoon — ah, let's face it: i fucking freak — whenever faced by any edifice or anything that's way old and a bit of British history in whatever way, shape or form: statuary, fountains, buildings, stone walls, signage, architectural details, stop me before i go on and on and ON, fankoo y'know, like that.

'since i was running late — as per usual — i failed to get inside but in a way, that was a good thing since the photos i took include the beautiful wrought iron scrollery on the fence (barely seen in official pic above)...' and then i posted these:



along with the photo up top, these are the rest of the Almshouse pics i took that day, photos added to my evergrowing collection of Things Seen Around Town.

from the sign on the fence:



this next is after having the brilliant idea of stepping back a bit, failing to remember my Razr doesn't do what i wannit to do: capture anything in widescreen, panoramas or whatever. worse yet is i took the next after failing to get the above sign in its entirety. grrrr. }-(


these two aren't the same but flipped; they're what i got when i walked first to the left and then to the right.



or the other way round; too lazy to check tired and if i don't begin my real work ASAP, i'm gonna have yet another FAIL apart from the indignity of missing my first deadline EVar (one of the rare things in which i take personal pride).


to be honest, a first with me i've taken way more photos of wrought-iron scrolly stuff in town here. needless to say (but i shall anyway) all of which drive me wild when i check em out whilst thinking of the care taken by and artistry inherent in those who created and/or designed em.

right, my last post began with a pic of the first sight on any sunny morning, one that elicits my first *shouty* 'FUCK!' of the day. i failed to include that which balances it out, usually my second sight (apart from keeping a bleary eye on Hunter but enough about him for now apart from saying i'm forced to keep my eye on him cause he's in the habit of wrapping hisself about my ankles when i'm trying to walk).

anyway, this next is sump'n that never fails to make me go 'ahhhhh....', or 'oh, goody' or an 'mmmm...' filled with anticipation. what did those old Maxwell House Coffee adverts say? 'Good to the last drop' or whatever? hmmpf... do they even sell Maxwell House in the UK do i even care?


fun-fact: above pic is even more proof of my fuckwittery shite memory cause when i have my wits about me *snigger* before i crash, i never fail to pour in the water and load up the top with filtre and ground coffee so all's i must do is stumble into the kitchen and press the 'on' button next morning. when i don't do this (see above), it usually causes the second shouty 'FUCK!' of the day. *grumble*


in truth, i only yell out my second 'FUCK!' when still so sleepy i forget to look toward the right and when i do, the sight of my window almost immediately calms me notice emphasis on 'almost' almost better than Valium. but still, since i'm usually looking down to make damn sure Hun- rather, in this case Cunter doesn't trip me up, my eyes are trying to focus on him in a more-times-than-not futile attempt to remove his paws from wrapping my legs with Bracelet of Kitty as he's done waaaay too many times and so, i fail to check the window, damn his furry liddle hide.

thing of it is, Cu- Hunter hasn't the slightest idea: if he succeeds and i go flying and hit my head (and at best pass out after impact whilst at worst — for him — die on the spot), he ends up starving to death. and on that cheery note, i shall leave you for now.

wait — i lied. i took these early yesterday morning and for once, my phone reflected my hazy vision and i can honestly say they didn't come out that way due to my shaking hands which's yet again, another lie. here he is after i made the mistake of poking him to get his head outta his breakfast bowl and look at me, goddammit me.


please notice the adoration written all over his cute liddy face. next pic was presented to the Bristol Police after i brought assualt charges against him. along with the pics of my bloody arms, hands and legs, this shall be used as evidence of his revenge as he calmly went back to breakfast whilst i wildly dialled first the vet and then an ambulance.


and as written above, but this time i really mean it, including the emphasis: 'and on that cheery note, i shall leave you for now'. *to self* two more things: a) 'I have an ow-ey!' *in a Ralph Wiggum voice*; b) 'Now to score some pity Mommyyyyyyy!' *in a Milhouse voice*

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oh, FUCK!

this is usually the first scene i see after i come to, whether i've made it all the way into the bedroom as i usually do on a normal at night or on the floor pillows like i did a few minutes ago. but whichever it is, after seeing that shit, it's the first of hundreds of times a day i say the F word 'oh, FUCK'.

BTW, since i'm still ill, this's what i call 'a nothing post' mostly cause it's not mine apart from a bit of editorialising and i changed the wrongfully placed hyphens to proper em-dashes in the text below; it's from Michael Quinion's World Wide Words, Issue 656.

Book Review: The F Word — Reviewed by Jonathon Green, editor of Chambers Slang Dictionary

'Lecturing in 1851 on The Morality in Words, Richard Chenevix Trench — dean of Westminster and pioneer of what would become the Oxford English Dictionary — referred to "the language of the vulgar", in other words, slang. ... It is unlikely that "fuck", the longest-serving slang synonym for copulation, was at the forefront of his thoughts, but of all slang's lexicon, this curt monosyllable, the "dirtiest" of "dirty words", is for many people emblematic of an entire vocabulary'.

fuck, yeah!

'It is certainly the one slang word that might be deemed worthy of an entire book, thanks to its taboo status (however that has been diminished in a more libertarian world), the vast range of its compounds, derivations and phrasal uses, the endless debate over its etymology, and its history of clashes with censorship.

'It may be, and I consciously play the faux-naïf, that such a book is slightly otiose: as the ads currently visible in the London tube suggest: "Some people are gay — get over it." Some people, most people probably, say "fuck". What's the problem? But of course there is a "problem" — at least for Anglo-Saxons; the French do these things rather differently — and while I have long since tired of what always seems the highly manufactured moralising that seems to accompany any use of the word by someone even remotely in the public eye, thus is life.

'Jesse Sheidlower, New York-based editor-at-large for the Oxford English Dictionary, published the first edition of The F Word in 1995. A second appeared in 1999, and now comes this major revision, twice the size of the original. ... The author deals with the word's etymology ... its incorporation into the list of taboo terms, its appearance in every form of media and (it seems) in every century. The information is solid but never without wit: his discussion of its role, usually euphemised, in pop titles such as Britney Spears's "If You Seek Amy" is particularly pleasing...'


a) 'if you say so'; b) but points off for mentioning her. and c) more points off cause he's a pussy for taking the euphemism route and overlooking tunes like Let's Fuck (Murderdolls) and Go, Motherfucker, Go (Nashville Pussy) amongst many others. just sayin'.

'However, as a fellow lexicographer (and, I must admit, a friend — slang is a small world) what impresses me most is the excellence of the overall treatment. The subject happens to be "fuck", but this is how any such study should be conducted and sadly so rarely is...

'...In short, The F Word is a gem in its lexicographical expertise and its scholarly explication. There will be nothing better, at least until Jesse Sheidlower produces a fourth edition'.

[Jesse Sheidlower [ed], The F Word; Third Edition; published by Oxford University Press, New York, September 2009; hardback, 270pp; publisher's list price $16.95; ISBN13: 9780195393118; ISBN10:0195393112.]

World Wide Words is copyright © Michael Quinion, 1996–2009. All rights reserved.

buy from British Amazon here, from American Amazon here, from Canadian Amazon here and from German Amazon here and you'll be helping World Wide Words (the first mailing list to which i ever signed on as well as my fave).

fun-fact: when i moved to Bonn, the first words i learnt auf Deutsch were 'ficken Scheisse', so stay tuned for shit. kidding — it's all at prior link.

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bad news on all channels

add thad's Hudter's especially cause i'be ill agaid. well, ad leasd i thig i ab. y'dowe, sduffed-ub dose, codstadt sdeezig add thad gederal rud-dowd, tired feelig. i sdayed ub workig add twiddig for bosd of the nighd, crashed add — k'CHOO! — woke up feelig lige shit add beig a todal hypochoddriac, i bade the bistake of taging by tebrature. *sigh* id'z way ub there, lige 38C (101F), goddabbit. this could actually be due to the growig fear add loathig agziedy i'be havig aboud leavig for NYC id a coubla weeks bud i dod't wadda thig abbaddid.

what i totally hate bost aboud beig ill is thad there's do way i'be gonna be thwoobig or gedding high id ady way, shabe or forb, for a lodda reasods bud bostly cause whed i tried before (add i always try) i thoughd i'd choke to death frub the eddless coughig fits. i bay tage some V.s to help be sleeb bud AFAIC, thad's a todal waste of V. adyway, there was wud good thig: i was — CHOO! dabbid do hell — i was subbozed do have a guest over todight bud he cadcelled cause he was feelig crap so i guess it all worked out (in some fucked-up way i'll dever uddersdad).

bud i read bail frub Christine add felt evid shiddier. abuggst other dewz, she wrode: '...I had to put another cat to sleep, he had some kind of liver problems... bah'. goddabbid, 'bah' is right — of course, beig as selfish as i ab, i ibbediately thoughd of Peter whose cadcer was preceded by sobe kyda felide liver disease.

i'be so — soz, i'm SO sorry, Christine. :-( but she also wrote sump'n thad bade be sbile: 'I wish you could get Paul Bowles' book 'Let It Come Down' ... you would love it. The poor guy leaves a boring job as a bank clerk in N.York and goes to Tangier for change and excitement and winds up in one unfortunate circumstance after another; you know Paul Bowles, none of his characters seem to have a happy ending — that's why I like his books so much...'

*sdigger* yub, eggz-fuggin-zackly. :-) thad's whad attracted be do hib id the first place, evid before i read 'The Sheltering Sky' cause so bady literary critics bedtiod (what they called) his 'depressing POV' add after the first tibe i read thad shit, i albost broke by ass gedding to the library dext day cause i just had to see if it were true. and it was. is, rather. :-)

waid, adother frub Christine: 'Check these out — looks like #5 would be closest for you! (the forest I told you about in Japan is #1... lol..)' oh WOW, id's the 'Ten Most Popular Suicide Destinations' add she's righd; i could easily bop over to #5 — id's the Clifton Bridge. dig: 'Body Count: 1,000+ (approx. 4 a year after new barriers added)...'

thanks for the info, Christine :-) bud dow i'be goig back to bed add hopig to sleeb id off, whadever 'id' is. all i dowe iz They were right; whed i was a kid, i'd always hear adults sayig that their codez were buch worse, felt bore idtedse thad kids' codes add dow i dowe id'z true. dabbid, here i go agai- ka-fuggid-CHOO!... ARRRRGGGH! fud-fagt: ad times lige this i dowe id'z a good thig dobody's aroud cause id'z for shid-sure i'd take id all oud od theb. *sdigger*

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personal note: Twitter FAIL

yesterday's two FAILS at Twitter (see illos -534 and -5666) were as nothing compared to that of a few hours ago:


i owe it all to being overloaded by work (what else? surely not the extralegals) and once again, falling asleep at the wheel when i should've twat the shit above in a matter of seconds but instead, came to about two hours after i began. adjacent to my Twitter FAIL, my Cursebird score is still TTL FAIL — i'm so ashamed! — ranked way up there in heaven with the angels: 753. this troubles me more than i can say. :-(


especially since it seems like only yesterday when i totally preened my ass off and actually twat my first and lowest score EVar, a way more SG-like 284th worldwide.


i'm actually still working cause i've got a deadline in just under an hour, at noon. but being all anal and shit (geddit? anal? shit?)


i just had to make a memorandum of this cause y'never know: sometime, somewhere, it just might be on a test. BTW, i made that last bit up in a feeble effort to take up space waste more time.

right, almost forgot — it seems i inadvertently did some good stuff for Sidp3 cause last night he twat: 'You inspired my latest blog post...' *preens* then he quoted from the chorus of The Fugs tune from which i took my screen-name:

Slum Goddess put away that knife

'Slum Goddess come and be my wife.

'Slum Goddess of the lower East Side...'

LOL, teh funny is i'm not permitted to use scissors, knives or any other pointy sharp things without adult supervision. well, i think it's funny and that's all that really matters.

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Between The Buttons

a few hours ago i was typing away, seriously hard at work, when seemingly from outta nowhere, i felt flung back, against my will, momentarily back in time, having deja vu or sump'n. i think it was my eidetic memory thing coming to the fore cause i saw — nah, i actually felt as if i were back there, bopping out of the cold NYC Winter and into Sam Goody's which, at the time, was the shop for not only buying British LPs (cause they gottem first) but for meeting British bands. i won't name-drop (for once — no, i feel fine and thank you for asking) but i can honestly say i formed a few friendships with a coupla dudes, some of whom later on, became household names or whatever.

anyway, before i was so rudely interrupted by myself and my strolling-down-Memory Lane reverie the entire album began playing in my head especially these tunes — 'Connection' and 'All Sold Out'. significance? nothing really, but there y'go and here they are — in Mono not Stereo (thass how old i am these are). to get the full effect, y'all might try to futz with your bass and treble controls but good luck with that shit. BTW, for money reasons, i was forced to buy the American version and not what they were selling in the UK. }-(

from its Wiki: 'Between the Buttons is the fifth British and seventh American studio album by the Rolling Stones, and was released on 20 January 1967, in the United Kingdom and 11 February 1967, in the United States...

'...Recorded in two spurts in Los Angeles in August 1966 and London that November, Between the Buttons caught The Rolling Stones at a period where they were moving more into arty territory and away from their R&B roots...'


this was apparent a few hours later when i went downtown to my GF's flat in the Village and we heard it for the very first time. we said not a word as we listened the first time and then exchanged slightly anxious looks — uh... in truth, when it was over, we both shouted out a tremendous 'Noooooooo!' — cause this was a total departure, sump'n heralded the year before by Aftermath, which although we both loved it, hoped it was a fluke, like, hoped it wasn't to be their new musical direction since we and the rest of our crew were all heavy-duty R&B lovers and the main reason we disdained that which the Beatles were putting out those days.


about the two of my faves below: '...Keith Richards busies himself with distinctive guitar work on "My Obsession", "Connection", "All Sold Out" ... and "Miss Amanda Jones". fun-fact a): at the time, my friends began calling me Amanda Jones. cute? not — at least i didn't think so nor was i flattered. i actually remember growling a lot and the more i heard that 'Amanda Jones' shite, the more i Grrr'd.

fun-fact b) under 'Additional Musicians' on the Wiki, Jack Nitzsche's listed: 'piano, harpsichord, percussion, and horn arrangements'. yup, that Jack Nitzsche.

'Connection' and 'All Sold Out' — remember, they're Mono so fiddle with your controls and try to enjoy. :-)

right, almost forgot: i'd already begun writing about the Almshouse featuring the fabaroo photos i mentioned last time but as i said somewhere above, this came to the fore straight outta nowhere and got in my way. just sayin' i'm gonna try and finish it up later on tonight, hopefully before midnight my time but work (unfortunately and as usual) is my first priority goddammit to hell.

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state of the Slum(p) XI

as seen in a shop window in Cabot Circus as i flew by after remembering i had a deadline due in three hours that same night. but naturally, when i saw above T-shirt i hadda waste take the time to get the pic. anyway, here's the State of the Slum(p):


and if y'all hafta ask, then you y'all don't know me (lucky youse — no lie) cause that's my normal state. to quote Bart: 'Say it ain't so, Ho'...' (but i think he was tawkin to Homer). anyway, take my word for it: just be pleased you're not in my immediate vicinity or at least within 'throwing shit at people' range. part of the reason why has to do with one of my few fears: losing it, in this case, falling asleep at the wheel (both screenshot offa Twitter). this was the other day and when i came to, i thought the first one was bad enough (open in a new tab for readability and embiggenment)


yup, yiz can plainly see i fell out with my finger on the 't' key. then i began working again and then, sump'n told me to check my @ page. biiiiiiig mistake; i was in the middle of replying to someone and then, waaaaay way later, i came to only to see this total FAIL.


this time, with my finger stuck on the 'm' key. but MINUS 5,666? WTF? how the hell long could that've taken me? *shudder* right, that mail in back was begun hours before; it's the beginning of a list of tabs i had open in my browser cause i feared it'd crash as it'd been acting kinda wonky. this might or might not be due to having at least 17 open tabs (which is as nothing, actually; i've seen screenshots of Firefox with over 30 or 40 tabs open and all was cool). then again, when i came to, it was fine.

very unfortunately very embarrassingly back on-topic, lord knows how long i was out to lunch (as i prefer to think of it) and in truth, i shudder to think of all the time i wasted. the good bit? i was working so boss-dude'll pay for my time. the bad stuff? it's an obviousity i'm getting worser. can we all say 'cringing'? suuuuure we can so conjugate with me: 'i cringe, you cringe, we cringe, they cringe ... blah blah blah. point is, i was fucking cringing you were crin- even though i was the only one here. well, apart from Hunter but try as i might, he still can't read. notice me not saying 'can we say "senility"...?

OK, State of the Slum(p) which reminds me, i look forward to the day i can write sump'n called 'State of the Slum' with only positive stuff on the state of my union. i guess it's true: hope springs eternal or whatever. hmmm... Freebase was right: 'Glum Soddess' indeed.

lessee now. apart from the moronacies above, i'm still having the time of my life (in a touristy sense) taking pics of things here in town, things i'd never dreamt i'd see up close and personal and/or things that match my way distorted view of what England looks like, all burnt into my mind from the countless Brit films i saw as a child. but i still actually come across some of these and when i do, i get really shouty (more so than normal); it's almost like SCORE! *licks index finger and acts it out*

anyway, on the same day i took the top pic, i also spent quite a bit of time in front of The Almshouse (below stoled from prior link),


about which it says 'This building has seen many changes ... the present building dates from 1701 when it was opened as a home for nine poor tailors or their widows...'

since i was running late — as per usual — i failed to get inside but in a way, that was a good thing since the photos i took include the beautiful wrought iron scroll work on the fence (barely seen above) keeping latecomers and other undesirables out.



i shall be back with the rest of this particular Almshouse's pics (cause mine are WAY better than those others i've found) as soon as i can cause not only do i have dreary old work to which to attend (plus a job handed to me from a friend that i'll actually enjoy), but this — my pics of the Almshouse — are yet more stuff i want recorded here for when my memory finally fails me for good and judging by the current State o'the Slum(p), that day isn't long coming.

but weep for me not cause, in truth, i deserve each and every memory-FAIL, mostly due to the impeccably clean life i've managed to live throughout my adultivity. and no sniggering aloud allowed — i wanna hear hearty hilarious laughter in one, two, three — NOW. hey! i don't heeeeear youuuuu... hmmpf. what did you, rather, 'twat didja say? i cunt hear you...' BTW, the prior inanity was one of the first 'dirty' jokes taught me by some greaser chick in school after she forced me to smoke a cig in the hallway. she was hall monitor, complete w/the cross-strap and silver badge and acted like a liddle Hitler, actually. *whispers* in truth, i believe they looked for just that sorta student to be hall monitors but whaddoo i know?

anyway, i choked down the cig smoke, obeying her ridiculous order but after my short-lived success, she told me to exhale 'French style' (which at that time in Brooklyn meant through the nostrils). thing of it is, i was eleven and still hadn't begun smoking. it all ended when she beat me up, using my French-exhale FAIL as the reason. *to self* jeez, i haven't thought of that shit in ages. hmmpf... the best i can wish for her (her name is Claudia) is that she's still stuck in Brooklyn, and so obese she wears what they call a 'housecoat' day in and day out and is mother to fuck-knows-how-many undisciplined children who turned out to be the very antithesis of her (namely, they turned out to be part of the peace'n'love crew when they came of age in the 80s). yes — i wish her misery and i hold grudges. sue me.

wait, before i forget hah! *mirthless laughter* i believe i'll be guesting someone, yet another dude i've met via FreeA3. if things go as planned *more mirthless laughter* this'll happen on the saturday and i can't wait. details to follow if i remember. ;-)

edit at 03,40 on 25. sept: a belated HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO HIGHLANDER. i totally can't wait to see you in Glasgow cause after all these years, we shall finally meet. *grinning from ear to ear here* (a way scarey sight). anyway, i hope you had a great birthday, Ruiaridh dude and here's wishing you many many more to come in future. *clink!* :-)

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escape from NY — 8 years later

since i'm under heavy sedation time constraints cause i'm in the midst of actually working, i'm gonna cheat by copying and pasting an awful lot from prior writty and it's your mission to separate the truth from the false (she said blithely, safe in the knowledge no one's gonna bother). yup, it's been eight mostly totally fabaroo years since we flew the coop outta the hell NYC had become thanks not to bin Laden but big thanks to bu$hCo. *to self* exactly eight years and two days, actually, but still !!!111!!!one11!!! *happy grrl dancing*

on 21. september 2001, Chris, Petey and i were whisked from Frankfurt Airport up the Rhein to Bonn. i licked the window my face was plastered against Antje's car window as i drooled over the houses facing the river.



as well as the castles (Chris' final selling point in july 01 after i told him i totally didn't wanna live in Germany). i think i remember he was on his way to his first interview in Bonn, then rang me in Brooklyn saying 'I'm seeing castles and grape arbours as the train rushes by'. and then i went 'oh. um... wait, dude. is it like totally too late for me to change my mind?'



back to 21. september, within the first five minutes of clearing Paß Kontrol (or whatever it is auf Deutsche), i was experiencing total culture shock and loving it but i'll get into that later. from mail to my sister the other day:

'...jesus, time flies and shit. i remember the first day, running through Frankfurt Airport to the Cargo area and seeing Petey for the first time in almost 12 hours. i was SO happy to see him again; i'd missed him terribly whilst on the 'plane even though i knew he was in Cargo — in the hold — and i remember writing in my Palm, hoping he wasn't frightened or anything. the German Cargo inspectors were very cool; they were all like totally kvelling over him...'

re: 'kvelling', from here: '...a holdover word from my Jew-y heritage, kinda like "hovering" but worse. i think i might've accidentally insulted Jake when last we spoke and i used the word and gave him a look to see if he knew what it meant. he did. i was embarrassed whilst he had on an impish "who the hell d'ya think y'are, trying to do that to ME?" look'.

OK, this is the last pic of Peter in Germany; our neighbor (Chris' former colleague), Erc took it either 30. june or 1. or 2. july 04 right before Chris flew back from Bristol to supervise the packers and movers and before we dropped Petey off at the Katzenpension in compliance with UK Quarantine roolz. he's curled up on my old desk chair (now on the balcony), where he loved to sit when i wasn't at home and when i was, he'd be on my lap whilst i typed away. *sigh*


the next photo's one of the first i took after we flew to DE in september and brought him back here with us. i'll never forget that Summer; i was wildly happy (total understatement) to be living in England but missed Peter terribly. the thing of it is, i actually managed to STFU for the entire three months (a first!) we lived here without him until the week before we were set to fly to DE and bring him back home here.

then it was like the dam had burst and i was spoinging off the walls, so happy we'd all be together again. Chris even commented on how much self-control i'd shown that entire Summer cause he feared i'd be moaning away all depressed cause i missed Peter so much (i was moaning but somehow kept it in my head), but no, somehow i managed to keep my big mouth shut. *preens*


*sigh* my poor liddle boy and his horrible end, which finished the longest period of 'happy' i'd ever experienced (five solid months) and actually been aware of it. anyway, back on that first day at Frankfurt Airport, the Cargo people were way cool; they allowed Peter to remain in the special hard aeroplane pets carrier (instead of making me remove him for inspection, as their website warned). later on we realised we could've smuggled in whatEVar stashed inside there with him. *giggle* hey, after most of a lifetime of criminality, i can't help my thoughts from hitting on any extra-legal opportunity inherent in whatever situation, y'know? but i digress. anyway, i mentioned the culture shock i had from almost the very moment i stepped off the 'plane. from same mail to my sister:

'...i'm running through the airport and outta the corner of my eye i saw sump'n i never saw before and i slowed down for a second or two cause i couldn't fuckin believe it: outside the glass-enclosed park-at-curb pick-up area, there were all these old ladies (i guessed they were like in their 60s to mid-70s), most of em without helmets and on motorcycles as well as motorbikes, actual Harleys and Yamaha riceburners and such. and the thing of it is, they were all dressed stylishly — not expensively — big dif.

'i know i was being all starey (and hoped it didn't come off as rude) cause i'd never ever seen older women who looked like that before. most of em had grey hair and they were dressed neatly but plainly, kinda like what i think i'd wear if i have the misfortune to live that long, like in suitjackets over straight-legged blue or black jeans or turtleneck sweaters and the occasional leather jacket (but none like the traditional leather motorcycle jacket...'

i didn't notice any looking like the kind i used to wear before i got the one at All Saints, that jacket i live in now and mostly everyone i know has as well. fun-fact: usually i can't stand when anyone else wears (at worst) what i have on and (at best) sump'n i own but for some strange reason, i've always loved it whenever i see my friends or anyone else wearing a motorcycle jacket, whether i'm wearing it at the same time or not. just sayin'. shit, soz... struck by the ADD again. back to my mail.

'but Barbara, out of all my first impressions before leaving the airport, i was freaking out even more cause before i noticed the motorcycle chicks, the first thing i saw (impossible to miss, actually) was this huge billboard high up under the roof with an advert for T-Online (Deutsche Telekom) showing these four or five full-length figures of totally bare-assed chicks and guys; i mean, they were gigantic. each person's butt musta been like two or three feet wide on the billboard. :-)

'two seconds later as i'm running towards Cargo (Chris was behind me cause he was lugging our carry-on bags and i was all shouty, practically freaking in incredulous amazement, mostly stuff like 'do you see THIS?' and when i looked up and saw the bare-assed Deutsche Telekom sign, i was 'OMG, lookit THAT!' and i hear him reminding me, 'Prostitution's legal here too...' i was all "holy shit, these people are SANE". and then we saw Petey again...'

i'd written a longass note about that day in my then-new Palm but all that made it over from there — my first Palm — to my second and then to my iPod was only the title: 'WE'RE HERE!' but seeing that shit conjures up all the joy i kept feeling as well as that lovely culture shock i was amazed to be enjoying. if one were so inclined, one could say i was having a constant orgasm of aesthetics or sump'n. one other thing, from the same mail to my sister:

'...i (wrongly) assumed everyone in DE was wealthy cause they all had cellphones, even really young kids and the oldest of the old. later on i learnt one of my first lessons from the department i call 'Land of the Free — NOT', about things not being best in the States as we're taught from Year Zero: it's due to EU's sane cellphone policy...' wait — fun-fact: in Germany, they call a cellphone a 'Handy' *snigger* whilst in the rest of the world apart from the States, they call em 'mobiles'.

continuing from that mail to my sister '...like regular landlines, only the caller pays and not only that, you're not billed for "airtime" as you are in the States. y'know, here and on the Continent, you're billed from when the person answers her phone. in US, the second you hit that green "call" button, they begin counting airtime, even whilst the damn cellphone's ringing at the other end. and we all know what happens when you answer your phone: you, the receiver, are billed for bastard "airtime" as well...'

LOL, i went off again. i blame the ADD actually (yes, again). anyway, looking back on that wondrous Magickal day beginning my new life in EU, looking back from the vantage point of now, i can honestly say i was totally happy, one of the major reasons being, just like here in England, i got to see stuff the natives take for granted, stuff like this every day:


right, all photos above were taken by Chris apart from the two of Peter and the one directly above which i took after threatening to break his camera over his head if he didn't give it over, pronto. anyway, i know i was thrilled to pieces to be outta NYC, my lifelong dream finally made manifest. but y'know, like love, happiness fades and worse than love, it fades into nostalghia — weak, maudlin, terribly self-defeating and worst of all, if you think on it too much, you feel even worse for wasting time.

and though i might wish it not, Time is Change and as my fave character in Neil Gaiman's fantastic Sandman series, Delirium said, 'Change. That was always kinda the problem' cause especially when y'all least expect it, shit always happens and the past eight years have been totally fulla it, whether it's good or bad shit, it's Change. Metamorphoses of sorts. Differences. and at its worst, waaaay revised from that which'd gone before. hmmm... i won't go there apart from quoting Delirium again: 'I need a change'.

but in truth, the only thing that hasn't changed from before 01 in NYC to Bonn or Bristol (or even when in London at whomever's flat) is my preferred thingy: to stay inside (ideally with people visiting) rather than go out for whatever reason, so here's the State of Teh Slum(p) as it was then, is now and most likely shall forever be.


Cun- ummm... Hunter as well — his attitude hasn't changed one iota, kinda like mother and son without the giving-birth bit and if i'd indulged in interspecies love. hang on... was that shit a result of the drugs, the booze, the no-sleep for two days or what? what the fuck am i tryna say? *wack*


nope, that's totally NOT what i was tryna say — hmmpf... moving very swiftly along, i've learnt a lot about the human condition and especially some people's very predictable reactions and stuff like that over these past eight years, even more than i'd have gathered without the psychology and sociology studies in my background and all of which sadly but firmly hit me with the final conclusion, sump'n i should remember once and for all:

i'll never be a normal adult human being — sump'n i've always suspected; without getting into the reasons, after all this time over on this side of the Atlantic, now i know for shit-sure i won't.


which somehow brings to mind that if i told all the stories, all the liddle anecdotes and last minute changes of plan thanks to Fateful shit that've happened since we left (or when Sod steps up), or stuff told me by my friends or those in the band, i'd be writing a book and there's no fuckin' way i'm about to do that cause in all actuallity, it's already written though if i have my way, nobody'll ever see it.

anyhow, the good news: two years back, i wrote: 'OK, here's my status six years later:


but as per usual


whilst the more accurate, ADD and Aspergers-riddled reality-based bit within whispers:


and i'm way pleased to say i was wrong on all counts since i've been working for just about a year or so, doing what i do best: nitpicking for pay editing and proofreading in both British and American English on a freelance basis. more so, i'm making my Asperger's work for me, not against me (for once), so hoorah for that. :-)

as well, sometime during the last two years, i finally began accepting positive stuff people say about my writing whereas before, i'd cringe and deflect my fucking head off. even more surprising than that, within the last two years i've also begun to post photos of myself all over the place and that shit's a total shocker. i began very hesitantly with stuff like these (first pic's courtesy of Dave so thanks, dude), taken as we smoked ganja in the streets whilst we drunkenly wended our ways from a coupla pubs in the centre of London to the Astoria for the Alabama 3 Christmas gig in 2004.


hahahaaaa, that's the night the dumbass bouncer outside the Astoria refused to allow Dave in until he sobered up. we were all 'WTF? It's an Alabama 3 gig, FFS!' (meaning it's almost mandatory to be high and/or drunk). LOL, just thinking about it again and i can say in all honesty 'the mind totally reels'. oh, just remembered, that's the night Mark or Rock as i called him then, Rock and i had one of our infamous arguments outside the venue; this time, not about music or the band but about uh... let's call it 'the fast v. the slow'. *snigger*

right — where was i? oh yeah, i began posting up pics of myself for the very first time but very tentatively after the first, began to post more like that (as long as they didn't show my face).



this's one of the first i took of myself here, on a beautiful Summer morning in early july 04. then i just hadda LOL it, natch. nb: it's as true today as it was like over five years ago, cause i'm still trying. hmmpf... i see i spelt 'good' wrong. figures.


anyway, as usual, once i started to actually dig the way i came out in photos, i totally went overboard with pics of myself all over the damn place every chance i got. and the fact Mick chose me to be his entry for that Role Models Show (which i learnt was in Prague, i think) did wonders for my terribly low self-esteem but still not enough, not by a longshot.


what was i on about again? right self-esteem and Mick's Role Models Show photos giving me a bit of mine back (enough to post me sticking my tongue out) but hey; that's me all over:


a total liar. and let us not forget i'm also a thief, burn artist, art-forger, arsonist, rip-off artist (not grifter: big dif), the oldest virgin EVar, reprobate, scofflaw, yardbird, drugs addict, murderer, rapist, whore, reincarnation of Adolph Hitler William S Burroughs, hijacker, pre-op trannie, card-carrying Communist, absolutely sane, double—no, make that triple-dealer, hooligan, ingrate, mobster, shoplifter, black marketeer... *to self* whoa, the list is like endless. who'd-a thunk it?

*pauses to catch breath* right, as well, i'm a convicted felon, proofreader, editor, rock-star, desperado, hustler, master mistress of deviousity, racketeer, evil-doer, totally honest, Valley Girl, trailer-trash, Daughter of the Daughters of the Revolution, devil's advocate, a very good grrl girl, as well as being amongst the ten most 'Wanted' as seen on post office walls in 48 of the 50 United States, proud member of the Ku Klux Klan, films star, registered republican, racist, member of the BNP, all-round multi-talented, multi-faceted genius, published author, registered Democrat, registered Liberal, phoney extraordinaire true to my own damn self and most important, the pill-poppin', hollerin' deviant i've always been and at this late stage of the game, (i assume and with very good reason) i shall always be. *proudtard*

once again, your mission, should you choose to accept it (or whatever the hell they said cause i never watched the stupid programme) is to determine exactly what and where i've might've bullshitted any of my two readers. *idiot grin* right, as far as Cun- soz, liddle dude; i meant to say 'as far as Hunter goes':


but c'mon, don't listen to him — he actually cares but would rather go without 'brush' than admit it cause he's not the boss of me. *whispers* which is yet another lie cause as anyone who's ever met him knows (especially those who've seen us in action), he totally does care at least he acts like he does when he wants sump'n from me.

hmmpf... how in hell this went from a post rejoicing commemorating i left the States eight years back to focus on Hunter is way beyond my comprehension. that is, if the ADD-factor's ignored and AFAIC, it's nigh on impossible to do anything like that. :-)

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