a tawdry autobiography written by a nobody

stating the obvious snort

2010-12-11T23:26:00.001Z

hmmpf... yup, i totally agree with you, kitteh. but if you're, like, just discovering that obviousity, i'd assume you hadn't been paying attention. i mean, i'm easy to please: i demand nothing but everyone's total focus ~~and if i don't geddit, my temper tantrums rival a real 2-year old's~~ so consider yourself warned: my journal, such as it is, will prove beyond any reasonable doubt how fucked up i am (as if anyone needed proof) but no one's gonna see the real deal until after i'm gone. *evil* heh.

anyway, this from the Department of Nagging Reminders: last time i promised sump'n about Christine's experience with an American HS or (worse yet) Uni student. she's the niece of one of Christine's neighbours and after hearing her accent, actually asked, 'IS ENGLAND A COUNTRY?' i can't get hold of the original mail (which, when it came, caused mucho mirth over here, 'mirth' of the ROTFLMAO kind) but, um... here's a PSA:

ENGLAND IS A COUNTRY, ACTUALLY (you can quote me on that).

y'all can see England here: it's between 'Inbreeding' and 'Lazy Fucks'. anyway, had i taxed my brain a bit more ~~and not done so mucha that goddamned coke~~ this woulda been an intristin' lead-in to the damn event i've been waiting for since my own personal Independence Day: 4, July 2009. and so on 6, November*, both TPFKAPM and i took our Life in the UK Citizenship tests, passed and found ourselves at the UK Border Control office in East Croydon last monday, 29. long story short (consider yerselves lucky): we got what we came for: Indefinite Leave To Remain. *beaming*

*fun-fact: ten years ago — 6, November 2000 — was not only the day before Gore v. bu$hCo, it's the date of the first Alabama 3 gig we were ever, at NYC's Bowery Ballroom. it also commemorates the last time i got carded — EVar. :-( after the gig, we went backstage and Jake took us on the tourbus to the Afterparty at whatever 2nd Avenue pub. i was pleased to see these Brits — my then fave band — truly interested in US pols. i'll never forget us all laughing our asses off at the rethugs' moronacy for nominating a loser like jr. ha.

a week and a day later, we flew out to SF to catch em at Slim's (happily surprising Jake et al.) and pols weren't mentioned the entire time we were with em. }-( anyway.

whoa... sharp U-ey offa Memory Lane and back to my mindless drivel ~~ANYthing to prevent me from plunging further into despair thanks to reading pols or thinking too deeply~~. *cough* above pic was the other day at almost 15,00/3PM, showing how dark it gets here early in Winter (sump'n i actually dig). i was on my tiptoes, tryna get a grip on the vasty scope that particular stopping place can afford anyone ~~with a proper camera~~. i mean, from that vantage point, one can see allllll across that bit-a Bristol and if you're there when the sun's setting, it's lovely to stare into the centre of that hugeass fireball and just about feel your retinas burning and shit. optic nerves? those. *no idea what i'm on about. what else is new?* :-)

fast forward three, four days later and it snowed (i was standing in just about the same place as i was two photos above), not for the first time this year, but the earliest i've seen snow in the 6,5 years i've lived here. anyhoo, next up's my mail to this dude i tell whatever shit to and, for whatever as-yet unknown reason, with whom i seem to be competing in situations demanding physical prowess of a kind):

'i was just running back from the post office in the snow and i slipped and fell on my ass, then slid down the hill (from like Regent Street/the top of Constitution Hill to the top of Lower Clifton Hill). y'know, i didn't slide round the corner, just to where it turns off. gah, what humiliation... hmmpf.

'then this dude stopped, got outta his car, came over and ended up driving me back here. i didn't see him at first; i was so surprised i just sat there in the middle of the road looking at the snowflakes and wondering if they'd stick (they were about half an hour ago, dunno about now). it didn't occur that there were cars coming or anything. *dribble dribble* ;-)

'my ass hurts, dammit. also, i'd complain moar better but my ass isn't wet anymore just cold'.

OK, compare and contrast time. wait — didn't you just hate whenever you heard teachers say that shit? every time i heard it, my heart sank (further), unsafe in the knowledge they'd pick on me for whatever answer (only cause i'd made the mistake of telling em i loved to read and write). so what say you? ja? nah? well, y'all know where i'm coming from: i hated that compare 'n' contrast shit (and once i became a teacher, i realised it was the teachers' lazy way outta whatever situ). anyway, here's The Birdcage Walk now, in the glory of the quickly deadening year.

*sigh* yes, i know... oh, how i know.

in other news, the week after Techie-boy stayed over, cooked for me, took the test and took off, i was way pleased to have another houseguest, this time from Holland. hey, Dave! *waves* no shit, really; i actually had yet another virtual stranger as my weekend guest here and just as i knew we would (with absolutely no basis in reality apart from past experience), we hit it off as if we'd known each other for ages.

Dave's one of the few strangers who actually had the balls to write me first, thanks to FreeA3, and then here (secondary address on profile page). after initial contact, we spent all of two seconds getting to know each other before ~~i sussed out exactly what, if any, his extralegal limits were and~~ he totally passed and got his invited ass over here ~~and a very fine ass it is~~. :-)

*cough* 'don't try this at home, kids!' *snigger* not for the weakminded, shy, paranoid or anyone harbouring even a modicum of personal safety.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

hold on — i'm comin' ♬

2010-11-13T01:27:00.003Z

i gotz lotz to say but no time to say it apart from the fact i've been running — not *smirk* jogging — again. *proud* in other news, stay tuned for my next post: 'Is England A Country?' Christine was actually asked that shit by an American chick (who's somehow made it into High School — i'm thinking she fucked her professors to pass ~~like i did~~, but whaddoo i know?). anyway, Christine told me this last week and i'll copy her hilarious mail here next time cause it dovetails nicely into my rundown of the Life In The UK citizenship test that Chris and i took on saturday morning (and amazingly passed. well, amazingly for me, not him). but *sigh* things are chugging along in that direction, finally — Endlich!

in other news, we're gonna be in Scotland for AlmaGeddon's (formerly Alma Tender Love's) 40th birthday bash — i don't use that word lightly (actually, i don't use it at all) but when Sir Nomad described what's gonna go down (the bands, the DJs, the venue (oh, please, please, PLEASE), ~~the drugs,~~ all the people including some we haven't seen for ages, &c &c &c), 'bash' was the first word to come to mind. well, in truth, 'orgy' was first, but it's sposed to be a surprise or sump'n.

after TPFKAPM booked tickets, i sent the confirming mail up North to botha the Scottish Toerags © ® ™(& Kosher for Pesach) with only a 'WOO-FUCKIN-HOOO!' up top (prolly the shortest mail i've ever written).

Alma: 'YIPPEEEEEEEEEEE!! You have no idea how happy this makes me! I don't care who else is coming now ~ as long as you guyz is there...'

me: '...HAHAHAHAHA, you liiiiiiiiie! i mean, that makes two/three of us (i/we don't give a fuck who else is coming either) — i torry. kinda, sorta. fuckit — not. :-) ...'

Alma: '..., coz, like, y'know, who'd else would wanna come? *dances* ...'

me: 'calm yourself, Alma ... but ROTFLMAO! i'll "dances" you. SHUTUP SHUT UP SHUT THE FUCK UP! nb: i'm totally straight; i haven't yet lit up cause i just got home from GP, PDSA, P.O, Oxfam shop, hardware store &c ...

'...ps, YOU ROCK! (i only seddit cause that's what the kewl kidz/hipsters *puke* are saying these days. or maybe they seddit in 1999, i forget). *dribble dribble* ...'

Alma: 'Wheeeeeeeeeeee! ... I AM over the moon that you folks are coming up for my bifday, I'm still trying to find the most suitable venue ~ will keep you posted. Laterz (I think that's wot da kids are saying these days ~ but who can tell!)'

in other news, an hour or so on we were ~~accidentally~~ cc'd and got to read this lovely note:

Nomad to Alma: 'oh shit... ALMA, THE AMERIKANS ARE ACTUALLY COMING — WHAT DO WE DO NOW?'

me back: 'HAHAHA, you better hide all your good shit cause i'ze got junkie habits and i'ze got sticky fingers anyway. *singing* ♬ "i got nasty habits... 'yeahhhh' ... i take D at 3..." ♬ *twannn-nnn-nng twannngy-twanngy-twang*

Nomad: 'LOL, just kidding. it'll be fuckin superb to see you both...'

hmmpf... that's what he says now — that's what he always says when we haven't seen each other for awhile. damn, i'm so gonna make him eat those words ~~and beg for more (her too)~~. but the funny* thing is, i don't even have to overtly DO anything... shit just happens and it all ends in tears — usually mine. whoa, now that i've seddit, maybe Sod'll come calling? YO, Sod! this is an invite — you're wanted for once! do your worst. please?

*not LOL-funny. :-( 'strange' or 'weird' ~~or 'certifiably insane'~~ funny. :-(

fun-fact: note Hunter looking pensive up top; i took the pic the other night and then went to pee, wondering why he had that face on. when i got back in here, i figured he'd been thinking 'Shall I?' and decided 'Yup' cause i found him pooping out a (thankfully) small yet stinky little turd. on the damn rug. again — it seems he's gotten particular in his maturity (kinda like me apart from the maturity):

for 5,5 years, he was happy to use the litterbox but nowadays if he's already gone, he won't go again until the damn thing's pretty much spotless. shit or piss, it matters not — if the litter's crappy or wet (even a small corner), he'll go on the rug. why do i care? cause now i'm down on my knees in the kitchen, cleaning used litter outta the box like twice, thrice daily but what's worse is, i have to make sure i remember to look before i crash, no matter how ripped or drunk i am. }-(

dig: last night i woke up about 03,00; i'd missed the end of the flick, but that's cool, DVD player had turned itself off, silent static on TV was lighting up the room and somehow i remembered, so i took Wandsworth II (warm but not hot), stood up and decided to sit right back down cause i felt pretty dizzy but since i wanted to crash like, y'know... now, i actually crawled (yup, hands and knees) into the kitchen to check out the litterbox, yawning all the way.

and there they were: Hunter's latest turds so i quickly shut my mouth in mid-yawn; suddenly i wasn't tired anymore and i emptied Wandsworth into the kettle to boil again, wrapped my hand thick in plastic bags and went a-digging, goddammit. i finished just about when the kettle began to sing, washed my hands, filled up Wandsworth and totally flew back into bed.

before i go back to my bidne$$, three more things: a) BIG THANKS TO DAVE — my Freeview box died tuesday morning and Dave was kind enough to post another the very next day. what truly makes him a star is, he and Electric Landlady are off to South Africa for their (postponed) honeymoon and somehow he found the time to do me this much-needed favour ~~and i only threatened him like once. wait, twice (i think)~~.

b) THANK YOU AUSSIE JOHN for sorting tickets to London and for the totally fabaroo plant you brought us me. *thwoop!*

c) last but not least, THANKS TO CHRIS: if the areacode of your Brooklyn cellphone wasn't 646, i wouldn't have passed the goddamned test. that's not all: if you hadn't txtd me that question from the train, i never would've asked... i wouldn't have known there were 646 Parliamentary Districts in the UK — i mean, WTF? which Brit do we know who actually knows that shit? *snigger* anyway, think about it — it's one-a those Sod things one can never know for sure — frustrating as fuck.

right, before i forget: am i the only human (?) bean who hates the new format here on Blogger? i mean, it's like written for morons and it doesn't do Preview properly in Firefox. if i had the time or if i wrote here daily like i used to, i'd be moaning my ass off now, mailing em on a daily basis, actually. hmmpf... bastards couldn't leave an easy-peasey, pretty much intuitive, more or less usable programme alone, they just hadda mess with it and in so doing, totally fucked it all the way up. but i showed em good — i changed my prefs back to the old way, nyah. ;-)

oh, wait: just remembered: English Dave from Holland is in the UK now and just like everyone else i know, i met him online (like, big duh — where else?). anyhoo, he'll be over on sunday (first meatspace meet). when i told ~~Some Asshole~~ this other dude, he actually went 'Good luck'. LMAO! but WTF and WHY?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

long live Maceo

2010-10-27T21:38:00.000+01:00

totally by accident and at the very last minute, i ended up seeing one-a my lifelong musical heroes, Maceo Parker last week. *sigh* no time now to ~~fuck about~~ editorialise, so this's from a bit of my mail to Techie-boy on monday:

'forgot to say that the people's trunk (boot!) in which i was riding a few weeks ago (typically drunk verging on blackout as well as totally wasted), well, they took me to see Maceo Parker right outside-a Bristol. *preens* after the gig, i met him cause i was (unwittingly) rather loudly (and most prolly slobberingly) drunk at the bar and he heard my American. :-) or maybe i puked in American... dunno, don't care ~~and don't remember~~.

'i really can't remember squat apart from being pleased as fuck-all at the time but from what i was told later on, i was a total drooling douchebag fanboy. thing is, i don't recall saying shit about seeing him starting when i was a little kid and he appeared with James Brown and then over the years, seeing him with Parliament, P-Funk, Bootsy et al but witnesses told me i did. nor do I remember him asking my age but apparently not only did he ask but i immediately asked him his age back. [editor's note: i only do that to regular people — had i been in my right mind, i'd never have asked him. but i wasn't.] anyway, as i heard it, i was totally truthful answering him (sump'n i'm always on this side of the Atlantic but never EVar in the States).

'after the gig, it seems i insisted on playing Ship's Mast (Mastheads?) on Park Street as well as on the A4 (?) where i think the venue was. anyway, this (and i quote) "dangerous" game gave some dumbass chick (driver's wife who never could stand me) reason for her chickenshit husband to ring on Saturday and say we couldn't hang out anymore'. *shrugs*

but y'know what? if i never see Mr Pussy-whipped again, it was totally worth it cause thanks to him, i got to see Maceo and whoa, as always, he was dynamite. my ability in maths is like totally nil but i think i can truthfully say i caught Mr Parker over a duration of like four fuckin' decades. *preens* and he just keeps getting better and betterer. :-)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

stuck in the trunk

2010-10-02T13:02:00.000+01:00

This is Wandsworth II* and that's all i'm gonna say about him for the nonce apart from he's really a hotwater bottle. oh, and Hunter hates him (tried to eat his head yesterday) but we're making progress on that front (attempted to rip him apart later on, ended up frustrated, then ran away). why am i using a hot water bottle after decades of not knowing anyone who does? a) lost my mind; b) cause i'm old (see 'a'); c) everyone's doing it; d) doing so takes me one giant step closer to being a real Brit; e) lost my m— oops, seddit already; i mean f) cause it's fucking cold out, goddammit.

*over my entire life, for whatever reason, i called all my plush toys place-names in England and my faves ones were called after neighbourhoods in London. nb: Wandsworth the First — an attractive white lamb — is up on my bedroom wardrobes hanging with the rest of my toy menagerie.

moving very swiftly along away from the danger zone, i ran into friends yesterday afternoon and thanks to their booze (rotgut poison?) ~~administered with a funnel whilst i lay held down prone~~ i actually didn't shriek or shout and not even a breathless OMG crossed my lips. hmmpf... in truth, there were a few 'Tsk's but they weren't from me.

then again, i managed a few disgusting-sounding juicy *burps* but they served to scare away those who were holding me down cause from what i gathered from my captors, it was supposed i was about to puke it all up all over and wherever. but i didn't — i saved it up for when i was finally released from my makeshift prison and then i went to town, vomiting over each and every asswipe who had the nerve to hold me imprisoned in the trunk. ~~taking a leaf from the James Woods character on Family Guy, i have my index finger (Mr Pukey) to thank~~. well, i showed em (as i gleefully said, 'don't bother sending me the dry cleaning bills cause no way am i gonna pay for your moronacy').

then we came to an entire street of houses all ivy-covered, like this, a glimpse of which i managed to snag when i slowly lifted the cover of the trunk ~~boot~~:

yeah, i know — this is their normal. in reality/after first viewing as we pulled into one of many similar driveways, i began shouting and i was practically carted away, like, and that was the point at which i was finally stuffed into the backseat of someone's car (and GAGGED — what nerve!) after an argument on whether the proper terminology was 'boot' or 'trunk' when i discovered i was expected to STFU or sit in there all quiet for the duration of Visiting the Relatives. i didn't (STFU) and so, wasn't introduced to anyone new.

the most silly thing IMO is, whilst i sat outside in the car with my book and iPod blasting, after someone dropped the dime on me as an American, i got oodles of people coming up to the car and knocking (HAH!) and one gentle soul actually unlocked the ~~trunk~~ boot to get a good look (i imagine it was to observe The American). hmmpf... as if i were a wild animal locked in a cage. this coulda been humiliating but i took it with as much grace as i could muster (and pretended to all and sundry and everyone else who got up the nerve to ask, that lying prone in the trunk was my preferred way of travelling in cars).

this turned out to be not the best of ideas but more on that later (with the usual caveat — if i remember).

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

time flew II

2010-09-26T11:13:00.000+01:00

editor's note: i couldn't resist cause of sentimental shit plus the fact i'm still gobsmacked when i think how long we've been away from US, so was gonna add the next to the post right below this but forget about that. anyway, this is Peter, the rescue kitty who flew from Brooklyn to Bonn and then to Bristol after living with me since 1991.

Petey loved to sit at my desk, hogging the chair and above pic he was doing just that but in Germany, right before an enforced three months' separation where he waited out the last half of the way stringent Brit Quarantine rules in Villa-Maunz, a lovely Katzenpension rather than crash at the nearest official Brit Quarantined Pets Centre. when we flew in to check it out, i was appalled; it totally didn't pass our inspection — the kitties looked unhappy and scared — always a bad sign — (we assumed) cause the cathouse was stupidly placed right up against the way too noisey dog-run. uh... the foregoing moan applies to the Centre in Bath (your Centre's mileage may vary and for the good of the kitties, i sure hope it does).

how much did we i love Peter? ~~waaaay the fuck too much to be considered 'healthy'~~ we'd agreed to go halvsies (and pay two rents) cause i couldn't bear to think of my poor — once brutally and horrifically abused — kitty left alone for six months in quarantine. i mean, even after all the love and patience we'd shown him, Peter still had heavy trust issues and pitiful separation anxiety. the first night i got back from England alone (after leaving Chris in Bristol to start his new job), when Pete heard my keys in the lock, he ran to greet me as always, but then kept circling round, peering through my legs and behind me, exactly as if he were searching, as if he were looking for The (Missing) Boy. even when i picked him up for hugs (as i always did whenever i got back), he was all squirmy and twisty in my arms and kept trying to peer over my shoulders as if he weren't convinced it was just me and him. bah... the guilt. *shudder*

our friends all knew i'd just left Chris and returned to live in DE with Peter. i'd been back home only a few hours when Dave called from London to ask how i were doing. it was really sweet for him to ring but was hard to hear ourselves speaking. when he finally asked what the racket was, i could only tell him the deal as i saw it: when Peter'd made damn sure i was home alone, he'd leapt up on Chris' desk, crouched on the scanner (his fave spot to watch The Boy as he worked) and commenced howling his ass off. for hours and hours. eventually Dave went 'Is that a baby crying? Are you watching anyone's kids?' and i was all 'NO — that's Pete since he realised The Boy's not playing "hide" and he doesn't like it...' *sigh* Petey cried all night and i couldn't comfort him so i crashed with earplugs but a few hours later he woke me up, snuggling into bed and purring his head off. on The Boy's side, of course (due to kitty-fur, this was like Verboten).

i got here for good in july, managed to keep my big mouth shut for the next three months and not moan about missing Peter. then in september 04 (YAY, finally!), it was time to fly back to Bonn and bring him home to England. *sigh* by that time he was like 14 years old and i truly believe the stress of us leaving him alone for three months plus the flight from Frankfurt to Heathrow — though only an hour or so — affected him badly cause after six months (when he'd just had a check-up after which the vet told me how healthy he was) he developed cancer of the jaw and died a few weeks later.

i took these next about a week before he left us; it's Petey in his fave morning place (whether in Brooklyn, Bonn or Bristol) worshipping Ra as the sun came up. he'd never missed a morning staring at the sun since 1991.

now i go cry cause i still really miss Petey. *smirk* nah, who am i kidding? i'm gonna get wasted instead (cause i still really miss Petey). um, yum... 'sbeen way too long since i crushed up Valiums to sprinkle over Vodka and what better time to do that shit but early Sunday morning? Cheers, Petey! *smirk*

* * * * * * * * * * * *

time flew

2010-09-23T10:26:00.002+01:00

HAVE YOU SEEN THESE PEOPLE? be very wary and approach with caution but only if you must ~~cause she bites. hard~~. in other, unrelated news, here're mails of the other day (subjectline: 'today'):

me to TPFKAPM: '21, September is exactly nine years since that Friday AM we landed at Frankfurt with Petey. just sayin'. *to self* OMG...'

eX-PM: 'NINE!?! Fucking christ…'

too true, too true... and then there's the alienation and anomie and ennui and those other French diseases of the soul or whatever that descend upon my head when i've spent a bit too much time by myself ~~thinking about my life and shit~~ so i did what i had to do to make it stop and a little later, when i came to, i felt much, much better.

in truth, since i saw the date on my Calendar, i've got like snippets of little films of scenes of that first day playing in the cinema of my mind's eye, like running our asses off from Singapore Air at one end of Frankfurt Flughafen straight through to the other end to collect Peter from Pet Cargo (joyful reunion), my amazement that German Kontroll were so ~~lax~~ laid back (whew), fashionably dressed elderly ladies (in their 60s and 70s) driving motorcycles ('OMG... i love it here'), casual nudity in adverts all over, cigarette machines on every corner, legalised prostitution as well as booze sold whereEVar and porn on TV after 22,00 every night. and the prices of things... *nearly weeps* i mean, they were still using the Deutschmark when we landed and everything was so amazingly cheap.

and then the next morning was our first time having breakfast in the sun with our legs hanging over the Rhein and Peter waiting in the hotel for us. *sigh* and then my shocked delight at seeing doggies — lots of doggies — in upscale department stores, pubs and restaurants (which had me mumbling over and over, 'fuck you, FDA and your bullshit "animals are dirty" propaganda'). that was also the first day i experienced what i think might be my own personal Stendahl Syndrome cause never before in my life had i ever stopped to gape and gasp and have shouty orgasms over whatever architectural details where-the-fuck-ever and the more nonchalant the natives were, the louder i was — isn't that strange?

hmmpf... has it really been nine years since America went crazy? making it even harder to go back and live there even if i wanted to? wait — who cares? cause i'm here and the insanity's back there (just as i always suspected, long before i had any hard proof).

but wait — we had this talk in Germany; he said about his room-mate at Georgetown, some armed forces guy (or a frat boy, one-a those); well, the dude was well-travelled and one of his observations had sump'n to do with the old 'You can never go home again' and it's not just cause you're always gonna be comparing places or people; in a way, the better you dig being away kinda guarantees a difficult re-integration with the culture from which you came. well, not for everyone, i wouldn't think but like, duh... why am i not surprised? i mean, i already feel enough contempt (mixed with pity) when i'm back in NYC watching people struggle through their days.

*snigger* right, i haven't seen any of these in some time now but i used to think it hilarious whenever i came across adverts aimed at American expats (be they in DE, all of EU or the UK) who aren't 'assimilating well' or ~~are totally homesick~~ otherwise not having a good time cause it reminds me that nothing much's changed since i'd been sent off to Sleepaway Camp every Summer and i'd be the only kid all happy as the bus pulled away from the crowd of frantic parents. coming home a few weeks later and i'd be the ~~only kid screaming my head off~~ last kid off the bus cause i didn't wanna go home. which's totally why i knew to ignore every damn narrow-minded asshole in NYC who had the nerve to tell me, 'You're leaving the States? At your age? WHY would you ever wanna?'

LOL, where to begin? i mean, how can one make people understand when they insist of thinking of it as 'leaving' whilst i thought of it as 'escaping'? anyway, never have Neil Gaiman's words rung so true: 'The price of getting what you want is getting what you once wanted'. sump'n like that... stupidity in retrospect: i always envisioned myself living here in England but never older than in my 20s or 30s. *mirthless laughter* the thing of it is, i would never trade places with anyone... cause the shit's that's gone down, the things i've seen and done since i left US are the kinda things i wouldn't trade for the world. no regrets. I Did It My Way and i'll continue to do it my own damn way even if it fucking kills me — especially if it fucking kills me (an M.O. with which i'm totally comfortable). *smirk*

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

off to a brilliant beginning

2010-09-20T12:38:00.008+01:00

i came, i saw, i puked my ass off (always the sign of an excellent time) and when it was all over, i cleaned up catshit — my weekend in a nutshell. but really, Techie-boy and i hooked up with Mr and Mrs Ifor The Engine, Pam, Stevie (Librarian of Love) and it was a joy to see em and be in the Albert again. there were some other people who kept coming up to me all night and who (embarrassingly enough) said they remembered me though they weren't even a distant haze AFAIC. wait... there was the very lovely Hannah and this chick who once came up to Chris' with a shitload of our friends and forced us all to listen to her daughter's crap MySpaz ~~whilst a very pissed off guitar-player from our fave group pouted in the corner~~. *giggle* i totally lied in her face when i said i didn't remember who she was (and then i practically ran away). right, and some cute dude called Josh who's GF's in the States being a physicist (sump'n about which i have grave doubts, but hey, he seddit, not i). back to me-me-me, the funny thing is, i don't remember why i puked my brains out cause i know that (very much against my wishes) TPFKAPM refused to gimme any blow until we ate.

damn... i know i puked all over his bathroom (i'm pretty sure — i think) but we were up in his flat a number of times (i think) and i don't remember why or when cause thanks to the extra-legals, we didn't crash until yesterday afternoon.

anyway, there was some chemically-treated reefer and the only reason i know that is cause when i unpacked my bags, i found it and some weird flakey black stuff. i vaguely remember commenting on it ~~and then it all kinda goes dark~~, complimenting it, even. hmmpf... well, as long as nobody got hurt. i think nobody got hurt (not sure) cause we all had a good time — i'd bet on that though i couldn't give anyone specifics but i know cause i don't have any bruises or anything (i just can't see very well. yeah, still).

moving right along, just as i feared, when i came in this AM, there was not only a small pile of kitty-turds on one of the two best Asian rugs, but for the first time ever, Hunter was sitting next to it all proud, like. this was after the first time ever that he didn't jump into my arms after i'd left him alone overnight. sump'n's up... i can just tell by the look in his beady little eyes.

OK, above pic was taken like ten minutes ago after i chased the fucking Royal Mail dude down the street cause he left me a second Undeliverable Parcel notice. when i finally caught up to him (barefoot), he pleaded innocence and went 'That must've come from the truck'. i wasn't too pleased and then (dunno how it happened) i woke up the entire street when i realised i'd locked myself out and was standing there in my shades, a T-shirt and the bottoms of my Starry Night PJs. so i did what i always do: blamed the shouty on someone else and pretended i was meant to be there (un)dressed, as it were, taking pics and shit. in socks. *wack*

hmmpf... if i weren't so pissed over the fucking Royal Mail, i would've waved to the neighbours as i passed em by, thinking i'd be sitting on my steps for X amount of time and wishing i'd thought to bring my fucking keys or at least my cigs though i did think to praise my godz that it was 16 and not below 10C out. but i made a new friend ~~after i nearly broke his window~~. this happened just after i'd rang all four buzzers to the flats of the house and then, when nobody buzzed back, i leant over and banged on his window and he instantly appeared. 'oops... my bad'.

whoa... the English are SO totally not like you and i (especially if you and i come from Brooklyn or any part of NYC) cause he was SO pleasant and i was SO humiliated ~~that i thought to make up an excuse and told him i needed to get to my bathroom and FAST~~. he's on his way up here now. 'for tea'. *smirk* ~~that happened after i felt so guilty cause he was so nice, i opened my big mouth when all i really wanna do is crash but i'm gonna give him his tea and hope he gets the hell outta here ASAP~~. oh christ... there's extra-legals all over the coffeetable.

this is me doing my impression of Housewife Cleaning. nah, i don't see any difference either. but just like Magick, the damnable evidence is totally gone. and there's the doorbell (and i'm still in my T-shirt &c cause i've been sitting here instead of dressing and shit). *shrugs*

jesus... i hope this dude's as intelligent and interesting as he is goodlooking ~~but chances are he's not cause for whatever reason, he's ringing the doorbell downstairs instead of knocking on the door to my flat~~. and yes, i'm making him wait though in my mind i'm acting out that scene in Magnolia when the music's blasting and the cop's outside whilst she's tryna get rid of the evidence within. uh, yup... the crucial words in the foregoing are 'in my mind' so make of that what thou wilt.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

going to town

2010-09-18T13:16:00.000+01:00

'Hah! She's off to London and I'm so gonna shit on the Asian rugs if she's — say whaaaat? Back on Monday? at 02-a fucking-clock? I'm going to be ignored for two whole days and nights whilst she's away? FUCK. THAT. I'll shit the rugs anyway — *evil kitty laugh* — y'know, out of spite'.

what i wanna know is, how come he only craps (and pukes hairballs) on the good rugs? and never on the landlady's cheap ugly wall-to-wall? never. }-(

in related news, this's my first trip to London since last november right before my ex-bossdude skipped town, owing me a nice amount of £ and after failing to warn me i'd soon be unemployed. hmmpf... i hope he dies painfully somewhere, actually. anyway, fuck him; i totally can't wait to see my friends and continue my longstanding tradition of falling down drunk and puking all over Coldharbour Lane and getting so ripped i can't see straight ~~and getting way coked up to the point of overamping~~ and, and, and... am i excited? nah — that's my 'normal' whenever there's enough serotonin and at this exact moment, there is. :-)

wait — it's gone. bummer. :-( having said that, 'I am no longer responsible for anything I write from this point on... I've been without sleep for over 80 hours, so I'm beyond simple fatigue. The hallucinations have finally stopped — thank god...'

yup, ~~like almost everything i write~~ i stoled that from here but just as i remembered his words and thought of Hunter, it was like bingo cause now i'm back to my regular 'normal' ~~otherwise known as suicidally depressed~~. shit, i don't even wanna go out anymore. damn, i need sump'n... like a morphine drip cause the agony of existence has now risen to the top. again. and yeah, i've been warned...

though i haven't been incarcerated ~~not in this country. yet~~ i've totally not been crazy enough to get paid for it, dammit. hmmpf... i shall do my utmost to rectify this ASAP, lemme just write it down — wait. ~~oddly enough~~ my 'To Do' list of stuff that hadda be done ASAP has like 32 items or whatever on it, all due — 'or else' — over the past month or so. damn. truth is, i totally forget to look at the bastard list despite numerous reminders both on paper and in my iPod's Calendar. some with alerts, even. alerts that i hear, respond to and then, once i'm halfway to doing whatever, i forget what the fuck i'm doing and that's that. hmmm... how the hell did i get from London to *

*that's all i wrote before bathtime and i have no idea where i was going with it. in other words, Biz As Usual.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

OD-ing on Cabot Tower

2010-09-13T20:04:00.010+01:00

a few weeks ago, i posted a photo of Cabot Tower i'd taken a week or so before. (editor's note: above pic was taken within a minute or two of the one at last link.) since i did, i got mail from two or three people — 'Anonymous Cowards' as Slashdot so nicely calls em whilst i'm a bit harsher — 'Unspecified Chickenshits' cause these ball-less wonders used throwaway addys and needless to say, they didn't sign their names. what totally kills me is when this stuff happens (and it happens a lot), none of em have proved they've got the imagination to even make shit up, all of which i find highly insulting cause i'd love to believe that those who find fault with me have at least a modicum of brain power, but no. anyway, i was accused of reposting the same damn pic i had here ages ago. (not this one:)

hmmpf... anyhoo, one was vague: 'You used it before...' (not this one either:)

one was tryna be nasty: 'I don't know when I saw it but I know it was on that thing, your so-called blog'. and one (my fave) — welp, as i read his/her missive, it was easy to imagine huge globules of sweat flying off the no-neck wonder as s/he shook with (what i hope was) rage. i'm only gonna quote a bit (2nd grade spelling corrected by yours truly): '...You have the nerve to write your incessant drivel about your nothing life?' um... guilty as charged, Yer Honour. but hey! ten points for using 'incessant' though it was spelt 'insessant'. *cough* 'Who wants it?' hey, i don't know either. 'Who would ever read it?...' *shrugs* nb: that last bit left me totally gobsmacked for reasons of obviousity. but wait — there's more!

'...You SUCK.' *whispers* too true, too true. but then came the coup de grace or whatever: 'Why don't you and your hero Obama go fuck yourself?' *stunned into momentary silence* What. The. Fuck? but yeah, anything for a fan — c'mon, Barack — i'm wait-tinnnnng. *taps cloven hoof impatiently*

newsflash, y'all and back on-topic: i've got shitloads of photos of Cabot Tower taken over the last six years, some through the gate up top of my street and the rest from off the balcony

at various times of whatever day or season or month or year

or whenever the mood strikes me to brave the elements (after fortifying myself with massive doses of Vitamins C, D and E or 'X' taken whilst waiting for me and Obama to go fuck myself).

and since i'm such a nice dude, here's a Public Service Announcement, especially to those Unspecified Chickenshits: since i wouldn't want your heads to asplode, you better quit reading here or just suck it the fuck up — it matters not. oooh, wait — here're two more, taken a minute apart early one february morning. can you say silhouettes? *whispers* hint: the 'H' is silent!

moving right along, here's one-a my fave mails (which i first posted here but it cracked me up when i found it whilst looking for sump'n else just now), thanks to my little sister (the VP ad exec who'd be starring in Mad Men if it took place now and it was chicks instead of Jon Hamm & Co):

'...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 fucken years ago and am STILL a size 4. Eat your goddamn hearts out, fatasses!'

whoa — the venom! *admiring* but in all truth, *whispers* not only is she the kinda judgmental NY-er (outta millions and millions) i'm pleased to have escaped when i did NYC, i've totally forgotten what the hell brought that on (and i'm too damn lazy to look in my Sent folders cause i'd have to look thrice: once on my iPod, once in my Mail app and once rereading the original post). but the thing of it is, i actually spit out Absinthe (yes, again) reading her just now and not once but twice. no, i lie... um, rereading her mail made me waste my fucking Absinthe a number of times. oh... i guess i failed to say i've gotten back into drinking to excess and been getting totally fucked up and sloppy every night ~~which's gonna be a real surprise to my friends when i'm in London this weekend so they better have drugs~~.

hmmpf... with a mouth like hers, there was no way i minded sitting in whatever overpriced Lexington Avenue coffee bar (totally not Starbuck's) as she tore apart the outfits worn by passersby on countless saturday afternoons. the thing of it is, without her knowledge, she was helping me while away the time until my dope dealer woke up but hey, that's a story for another time (read: never).

wait — this post and all its ~~venom~~ disparity needs some balance, so here:

it's the first photo i ever took of horizontal rain (cause i never hearda such a thing before i witnessed it here). not balanced enough? dig the Art Nouveau-ish lamppost i found on Pembroke Road ~~and proceeded to make a fool of myself yet again by shrieking 'OMG! OMG!' until the neighbours came running and asked if i were hurt~~. and thanks to said lamppost ~~and me being all shouty~~ i've made even more friends here, some of whom asked me in for tea the last time we met. it was SO fuckin great — i totally felt British. English, even. *preens* then again, after that particular afternoon, ~~they prolly run when they see me coming for reasons i don't care to get into now but as long as i'm not aware-a that~~ we cool.

hmmm... dunno about you but i see a myriad of ~~sexual~~ possibilities along with the sinuous sensuous curvacious movement and biolinearity of the... uhhh... heh. lost my train-a thought there. *smirk*

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

sunday AM coming down

2010-09-12T12:13:00.005+01:00

my Sunrise/Sunset iPod app said Sunrise was at 06,39 today. having stayed up all night before, i managed to kinda come to — late though i was — and snag these on the balcony whilst facing East and tryna not to go blinder. above's in time, even the second one on which i ~~sat on someone's shoulders~~ stood on my tippy-toes atop the wrought iron rails. here's like an hour later:

now, please forgive — or don't ~~cause i don't really give a shit~~ — the fact that since i had first-time guests sleeping over here at Hotel Hunter, i roused em all and had em follow me about whilst taking the same damn pics i've been taking for nigh on six years already. over six years, actually (but hey, we all know what a boring person i am and my photographs of the same damn thing proves that shit over and over and *yawn* over again). directly below, we found ourselves at just about 08,00 whilst everyone — my guests — the inconsiderate fucktards — actually had the nerve to yawn in my face and it was even more attractive cause not a one bothered to cover his/her mouth. but hey, that's class and don't i know it. thing is, there was a shitload of coke on the tray on the table but they were so tired, they'd totally forgotten. but i didn't! *smirk*

by the time they remembered, it was 'gonnnnne, bay-beh' *in a D Wayne voice* which brought me to a place at which i don't feel too comfy ~~apart from when extra-legals are concerned~~ — bullshitting friends, be they true friends or the kind that were here last night, but hey — needs must and all. ~~and at the very least, it meant totally more for me~~

moving right along, since we were all too wasted when they arrived last night for me to give em the Grand Tour, they were forced into submission and ~~yawned~~ trailed along after me whilst i shot pics, first off the balcony, in fronta the edge of Bellevue Pleasure Gardens East. *smirk*

and then came the whinging and moaning, all to the tune of 'It's COLLLLD!' which i answered by sniffing 'it's only like 10C, pussy-pussies...' but when it all got too much to bear, i led em back in and demanded they follow me round whilst i shot at least fifty photos of Hunter ~~doing the same damn thing: lying there~~ as well as the glorious wrought iron shadows through the mile-high blinds and all from the safety and relative warmth of the flat. i believe the guests were ~~warm, despite i'd opened all the windows~~ pleased. but i was pissed. wait... in truth, they're only ten-foot vertical blinds — same dif IMO (no biggie).

oddly enough, the most of the ~~pushing, shoving and bitching~~ hassle happened in the kitchen and i dunno why ~~possibly cause i'd hid the coffeemaker late last night but the aroma gave it away. but they still couldn't find it (which guaranteed their rapt attention for as long as i wanted it)~~ and whenever i got the chance, Selfish SG stepped up, pushed rimone outta the way and slurped coffee whilst Uninvited Guests choked on their tea.

these next three represent The Contretemps in the Kitchen ~~or as i made the mistake of expressing it: The Tempest In Their Teapot~~. *ducks*

*snort* am i high? take it with this grain of salt: i haven't slept since early saturday, so you be the judge. to my very patient guests (if 'patient' means they learnt to keep their big fucking mouths shut whilst i fucked about and in my own damn home whilst they drooled, which i guess denoted how hungry they were. starved, maybe. dunno. don't care cause to my innocent eyes, each of em could've easily lost like at least two stone and still appeared healthy), my fondest wish as far as y'all're concerned: i hope i shall never see you within these walls again. or anywhere in Clifton. no, in all truth, make that alla Bristol. *snigger* :-)

'You're welcome, dudes... anytime'. *snort*

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

when the whip comes down

2010-09-01T12:53:00.006+01:00

shit happened — if by 'shit' i mean either some kinda freaking out or messy or too-loud ~~anti-social~~ childish behaviour or extralegally overdoing what-the-hell-ever ~~but i ain't saying cause i'll never forget~~. uhhhh... anyway, this so-called shit happened all over the 'hood — over here, at the top of Bellevue, whilst i checked out Cabot Tower and other places as well and all quite recently.

this was over a period of like about the last week or so ~~and the marks are still there for anyone to see~~. for whatever reason, it all continued into my flat and out onto the catwalk. in the damned rain.

here's the point at which i gave up and actually sat in the wet and kept clicking away.

in other news, it doesn't take much©®™ to set me off down Memory Lane but that'll wait for now *snigger* along with all those columns or stiles or whatever they are, those stone thingies at the end of driveways that i've been all orgasm-y about for ages already. fuck it — six of like over a hundred ~~leaving out my encounters with the neighbours~~.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

dazed and confused

2010-08-18T13:14:00.007+01:00

what the FUCK? i wasn't gonna write about this but consequently, Things happened afterwards — like yesterday — so i feel i need to get this down. anyway, when i opened my eyes one morning last week, i was staring straight up into this tree and i was so disoriented, if asked, i'd have said it was 2004 just due to where i thought i was, and then, it all came back.

last week i went out drinking one night, as i tend to do on the very rare occasions when i find myself all bored and shit. then i met up with these dudes who fed me too much acid laced with MDMA. usually that's a very good thing but i fell asleep, only to be rudely awakened a few hours later when i was helped into the backseat of a car. it went faster and faster and i was actually kinda enjoying the ride, especially the trails the streetlamps left against the sky but all good things must come to an end. as they flew round this one corner, i looked outside and went 'this is my stop'. i was gripping the handle of the left-hand rear door and i could hear people shouting 'NO! don't do it!' *snigger* ~~like i'm rilly gonne listen, right?~~ but i opened it anyway and totally leapt out and being way exhausted, i lay on the ground. i remember thinking 'it's a good thing it's Summer...' and then i must've passed out.

a few hours later when i came to, i was staring into that tree up top, then i looked around and was totally positive i was back in Germany. i mean, above pic's exactly the same view as around the corner from my old flat on Römerstraße and this:

well, that shit is so Bonn-Nord, it's pathetic. hmmpf... i don't think i'm gonna willingly do any more acid mixed with anything (at least not as much as last week) for a long, long time. i mean, i had a good time and all but where it's OK to sleep in the street when you're a kid, it's not so OK when you're ~~supposed to be~~ a mature adult and stuff. the good bit is no one of any consequence saw me. *smirk*

but wait — there's more; i just found these on my phone; they're the last photos i took when i was still relatively sane. last night. yup, i went back for Part 2 and i vaguely remember hanging out the car window trying to focus my phone.

uh... yeah. :-) *cough* remember, kids — drugs are bad, mmmkay? ~~'fuckin' amateurs'~~ no, really... if you're gonna get high, ~~don't be like me~~ do so responsibly. ~~what does that even mean, anyway? being supervised? not doing enough to kill an elephant? everything except powders? no 'hard' drugs? no intristin' mixtures?~~ i don't geddit and never did. *snigger* but hey — be responsible cause the more there are of you, the more there are to take care of the likes of me. TIA, dudes (and thanks for last night). :-)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Strangers' Burial Ground

2010-08-13T01:03:00.001+01:00

last time i said, 'there's a tiny cemetery across the end of my street which's home to only three crypts and a little red fox...' and then i threw up photos of the tangle of overgrown foliage and shit hanging on the walls above and below it before posting a pic of the last house on Bellevue about which i went, 'i took this next standing in the small natural alcove of a doorway, like, right under the tops of the fence you can see...'

here's the alcove or whatever from which i took the pics:

the first, topmost photo is what y'all see if you're looking off to the left through the gates and the double crypts below (at rear) are all that're visible if you look off to the right. soz, ~~my camera-phone ain't big~~ i'm not talented enough to get the both into one pic. my bad.

i've spent hours pacing back and forth in the alcove whilst taking pics of the crypts from every which way but never inside, dammit; i'm always hanging through the gates and you can actually see the rusty railing i lean against, directly above at the vertical right edge. but hang on — these're much betterer:

teh funny (your mileage may vary): up until last week, i'd Googled my head off, searching for graveyards in Bristol cause till then, i hadn't found an official name for this teeny-tiny death commune that's so near to my flat. i can't explain but knowing it's there actually makes me feel more ~~encouraged~~ peaceful. but a day or so after the last time i wrote here, i'm clicking my head off in front of the gates and this dude stopped walking so i could continue. i laughed, thanked him and waved him on and as he went by, he made the mistake of saying, 'Beautiful, isn't it?'

i agreed and his friendliness spurred me on to ask if there were an official name for this way cosy, peaceful End of the Line-y place and then i admitted how i thought of it as 'The Bellevue Graveyard' and told him how i'd Googled up, down, sideways and slideways using all the variations of 'Bristol cemeteries' i could think of but totally no joy. he LOL'd and immediately went 'It's called "The Strangers' Burial Ground"...' and explained it's where they used to bury those who're in Bristol as tourists, spa-goers, guests or visitors, and then just died here.

i really would've loved to see the expression that must've been on my face as the dude went on splaining cause hearing that shit sent me into near-paroxyms of similar-to-but-not-quite delight — and there was no damn way i could wipe the idiotic grin offa my face. this's for shit-sure cause as he spoke, i checked his reaction and (could be my vivid imagination but) he appeared to be growing more and more alarmed as my smile grew wider and wider. ~~yes i know i'm scarey, OK?~~ thing is, i didn't say shit; i just listened to him cause i was totally gobsmacked and way too conscious my thoughts were actually approaching that rare state of joy.

Christine in mail: 'That's totally cool... What a coincidence, you love that graveyard and you're a stranger in Bristol!'

me: *preening* 'i know! now i know where i want my ashes scattered (take note, C, D, M et al.) but i couldn't fucking believe it when he said... and the thing of it is, if you visit NYC and make the mistake of dying without relatives or connections, they'd shovel you into ~~Potter's Field~~ the garbage dumps on Staten Island or wherever NYC currently ships their trash... y'know, the kinda places where dogs run wild to shit and piss freely on the markers and graves — cause they won't pay anyone a decent wage to care for the impoverished dead — and that'd be that'.

after i Googled, i scanned down then checked this one link cause it's a photo of the sign that i imagine hung on the gates of The Strangers' Burial Ground before being removed for sale (and if i had 200 quid to throw away, it'd be mine). a bit of history here, Google map here, and a bit more history here. and forgive me for the photo repetition but — but — but... *whispers* ~~i've got like at least a hundred photos of The Strangers' Burial Ground taken from outside the gates, so suck it up~~ 'I love repetition!' *in a Stewie voice* :-)

moving right along, the following is the nicest compliment i received in ages, coming in mail called 'This Is You':

yup, especially the 3PM 'wake up' face ~~and way accurate time~~ and the 9PM 'food?' but in the interests of honesty, the 11PM 'internet' face is my expression like 24/7. just sayin'.

in other news, Hiroshima Day came and went way quietly this year and thank fuck for that. Evil Proboscisface summed up my feelings on that annual horror quite nicely:

~~YES~~ sorry, got a little carried away but yeah, it's 'One step closer to the grave... the box that awaits its grisley load... and soon we're gonna be food for worms...' so thank you for that, Rev. D Wayne Love — y'all put everything into perspective. as i commented over at Trollcats, 'it helps a bit with our shite attitudes. but that’s what the drugs are for, to pick up the slack, like...'

i actually find it quite fitting that not only was i born on the anniversary of the same day we showed Japan who's boss — LOL, WAIT: NOT the same year, goddammit; after — but it's also the anniversary of the day Judge Crater disappeared (1930), the first electrocution using Ol' Sparky, the Friendly Electric Chair at Auburn Prison, NY (1890) and the Tompkins Square Park Police Riots (1988). then again, there's some excellent stuff to balance out the shit: '...On August 6, 1991, (Tim Berners-Lee) posted a short summary of the World Wide Web project on the alt.hypertext newsgroup. This date also marked the debut of the Web as a publicly available service on the Internet' so happy 19th birthday, WWW and big thanks to Tim. :-)

*cough* as for me, i spent the weekend ~~as i do almost every other day~~ ripped off my face... but *grumble* you have a birthday with the drugs you've got, not with the drugs you want unlike the ripped-daily bit, i was actually eating my ass off, sump'n i never do cause ~~the years have not been kind~~ i'm so into grazing. in the beginning, i thought i'd miss meals but nuh-uh, i don't; i just don't think about em anymore cause what's better is, i eat like i did when i was a kid: the stuffs on which i graze are only fudz i like so i can nom away to my heart's content. and i could go off on that tangent for hours so forget it, but this weekend, i had the most delicious meals cooked from scratch cause TPFKAPM was forced to come 'all the way out to Bristol' (again! [nb: he didn't say that, Dragnim did]) *snigger* to collect sump'n or another and lucky for me, he loves to cook and whoa, he's goo-oo-ood. :-)

anyhoo, amongst other things, we walked The Birdcage Walk in the pouring rain on monday — wait, next pic was taken whilst it rained down (but not on monday) so scuse the shite quality. hey, y'know, if you're drunk and you squint you can pretend that Monet painted it. well, at least i'm drunk and i'm all squinty ATM so AFAIC, it's a Monet but check prior link for the excellent crystal-clear Birdcage Walk photo taken in Winter.

thing is, i totally love being under the canopy of interwoven trees especially in the rain though i can get nothing more than crap photos when it's wet out. hmmmm, ~~above pic was the last on my Razr and i believe it's the one that broke the camera's back thanks to me forgetting water's wet and rain's all moisty especially when it's all non-stop pouring~~ that reminds me i'm still gonna post my little collection of headstones and crypts as well as the many gateposts or stiles or whatever-the-hell-they-are ~~when i'm good and fucking ready~~ ASAP.

fun-fact: the column above and the one below are directly across the road from each other. anyway, the neighbours must think me mad (nothing new there) cause like three, four times a week (or whenever i drag my ass outside before the sun goes down) i've been walking up and down this one residential road, clicking away like crazy.

hmmpf... these two dudes actually stopped me last thursday, said they'd seen me for quite some time and asked what the hell i thought i was doing but the second i opened my American mouth, it was all well cool and smiles all round. :-)

teh funny: they offered me some spliff and some beer and i toked long and hard — good stuff. :-) thing of it is, i'm not a beer drinker (not lager, not ale, not stout, not even *ugh* ~~hops ~~jelly~~~~ Marmite); i mean, even the smell makes my stomach queasy, but i choked it down with a smile on my face. y'know, just to show i was a good sport and had good manners and stuff cause i forget if i'm in one of those places in which if you refuse a native's offering they get all insulted and shit and i wasn't about to take any chances wrecking my newfound good will or whatever.

hmmpf... sometimes i feel like a little ambassador from the primitive country of The States cause i can't count how many times people've told me 'You're so not like what we thought of Americans...' this happened in Germany as well as here and i just about preen my ass off each time i hear it, but i feel i'm about to leave on a tangent so i'll STFU and stay instead.

anyhoo, back to last week, from prior experience, i knew what came next: i instantly felt sick to my stomach but me being me, didn't say shit cause i was desperate to retain the cool i might've once had. five minutes later, i'm off down the road — as soon i was sure i was outta their sights, i ducked behind the nearest parked car and totally puked my guts out in the street (thanking my godz there was no one around even though it was a bit after 17,00/5PM and cars were beginning to pull into their driveways). i ended up at the Boots on Queens Road ~~wailing 'mah tummeh hurts!'~~ cause there's this very friendly (naive?) Chemist called Gellah but that was last week and i've said too much already.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

first sight

2010-08-03T18:54:00.006+01:00

editor's note on 5, aug @19,25: it took me like two days to realise i wrote High Falls when i meant High Woods. they're two totally different Upstate NY towns and i lived in the both but after proofreading only as an anal retentive can, the fact i didn't see my moronacy... *shakes head sadly* and with dumbass mistakes like that happening more and more frequently, i don't think it's unrealistic that i'm actually hoping my Alzheimer's turns out to be the happy kind where they're always smiling and laughing and shit (kinda like Aged P in Great Expectations). i mean, it's only fair cause it'd definitely give some much-needed balance to the lifelong anhedonia. *weeps* kidding! *whispers* not about the Happy Alzheimer's — about the *weeps*.

anyhoo, when i first got here, i used to run outta the bedroom every AM and totally freak over the streaky striated skies ~~(no two alike/collect em all)~~ and when i say 'totally freak', that included ~~encouraging~~ forcing TPFKAPM to ooh and ahh along with me ~~cause i wouldn't STFU until he looked out as well~~. hmmpf... ~~there's a reason~~ there're many, many reasons i always go 'poor Chris' but those are stories for another time. hmmmm... or never. is Never good for you? i mean, i'd need like a week or so to explain each one and, y'know, who's got the time? and who the hell cares, anyway? so good — that's settled, then. never. :-)

anyway, ~~i'm a big grrl now~~ i only do that — check the freaky skies — when it's cold out anymore — wait. what did Alan Moore write in his first (or second) Swamp Thing? ~~it was on the first (or second) page... hmmpf. i have it here but too lazy to dig it up~~ sump'n about 'the slashed wrists of the sky...' i totally loved the metaphor when i read it in NYC but i actually thought he was bullshitting — using poetic licence — cause i had no idea what he was tawkin about until i finally got here and saw for myself. :-) and then i was all like 'Ohhhhhh... I'm sorry for doubting you, Alan'. *shamed*

uh... where was i? right, every morning from like june to september, after i come to, i ~~hobble~~ ~~crawl~~ run into the kitchen and take pics to record how high ~~Leaf's~~ The Catwalk Plant's grown. so now i've got an interminable series of pics like the above, the only difference being ~~Leaf's~~ the plant's height and the weather behind it. yup, i really dig serieses of things. ~~serii? i dig serieseses best, actually~~. and naming inanimate objects and attributing human personality elements to em. :-)

*cough* you should've been there after the first time i anthropomorphosised ~~Rahsaan~~ this hugeass Catalpa tree in High Woods (upstate NY). fun-fact: my fave wood is totally oak but my fave tree EVar is the Catalpa cause it's got everything beautifully unique: its flowers, beansprouts, leaves, bark and more (and that's another post i'll never write). back to Rahsaan, these State-worker dudes came to chop him down one Summer but seeing that he seemed to thrive on my fave sax player, Rahsaan Roland Kirk's miraculous circular breathing and unparallelled music, we'd all end up uh... 'arguing' (let's call it). it was me and Paul (musician BF) and/or Karen (nurse-to-be) vs. upwards of twenty redneck State-workers (and this in the middle of the old culture wars, which's yet another post i'll never write. but i digress). :-)

according to this old calendar on which i used to keep track of shit, they came over like about fifty times that Summer. which reminds me, there's a book called Spite, Malice and Revenge and at the time, the initial ideas of the books were being practised by hundreds of thousands of kids all over the country and all unknown to each other. we three dug taking credit for the old 'glue in the keyhole' prank but i'm sure we weren't the first. and since i dunno how long the statute of limitations is for that kinda stuff, all one needs to know is Paul and i lived there – undisturbed, as did Rahsaan and Karen ~~(as it turned out, she was a two-faced twat but at the time, who knew?~~ for a few years longer. and when i got outta Uni to go back to NYC we were still all SG&Co batting 1,000 and NYS rednecks nil, nada, bupkis. hmmpf... no idea how i got from my first AM sight of Leaf on the catwalk to Rahsaan in High ~~Falls~~ Woods. they're aware they're having Alzheimer's, right? som-uv em? wait — i know i said that out loud. let's move on. :-(

OK, i shall be back when i'm ready with more glorious pics from a number of cemeteries in the area here as well as a series of different stiles and monoliths i've found on this one road alone, sump'n i find totally amazing. not the road, just the diversity and number of stone pillars at the ends of so many driveways, garden paths and hedges. *sigh* ~~holy shit, this is their normal! (she shouted for the thousandth time)~~ *cough*

and as the sun sinks slowly in the West ~~whilst i collect the shreds of what's left of my dignity (i rilly, rilly had some. once. i think. maybe)~~, i'll leave you with these next of Stoneleigh House, taken earlier this evening ~~why oh why they chose that awful shade of purple or whatever is totally beyond me, but hey, none-a my biz~~.

how these occurred: i was drinking at my local when i realised i hadn't flipped out over That Place in quite some time, so i dropped my jacket and bag and flew across the road. for a few seconds, i played balancing act tryna hold onto my drink, focus my phone, my cig and a jay this dude had just passed over. he inadvertently made an ass of himself when i heard him behind me and realised he'd assumed i was gonna split with his shit — one stinking spliff! — cause he actually had the nerve to say — and i quote — 'Hey! Where do y'think you're going with my smoke?' *in a posh Brit accent*

hah! how petty can you get? all my stuff was at the pub but the really funny shit is, he'd just asked me out (for this friday, but to be fair, he couldn't have known) and i'd been splaining how that particular night might not be such a hot idea, what with it being Hiroshima Day and all when at that very second as i sought to not meet his gaze even more than before, i'd thankfully caught a glimpse of Stoneleigh and immediately flew out after going 'be right back, dude'.

i don't geddit. but it's totally more proof i shall never understand guys. so i'm thinking 'no great loss' cause apart from being all petty and shit, this one was definitely too old; i mean, it was a total obviousity that i'm like maybe only ten years older than he is. and nah — nuh-uh — no way am i gonna lower my standards or whatever ~~i tell myself~~ they are. which is kinda a shame cause he was cute and all but nope, no standards-lowering going on around here. i mean, the age-dif is one thing but that biz with the joint? that's totally sump'n else — i mean, is that cheap or what? rilly, beneath contempt... 'laughable, man — hah! ~~I would've fucked you in the ass Saturday. I fuck you in the ass next Wednesday instead. Wooo! You got a date Wednesday, baby!~~'

hmmpf... i actually could've said that to him — shit, it fit the situ and i thought it at the time and i shoulda said it just to see if a) he were into the film and b) if he had an infantile sensa yooma and c) stuff. shit! i would've seddit, dammit, if i'd any intention of going out with him but that thwoop thing killed it. hmmmm... oops, thinking out loud again. *cough* soz... it's been awhile. hey, look over here:

there's a tiny cemetery across the end of my street which's home to only three crypts and a little red fox. :-) above and directly below pics're only part of the glorious overhanging tangle of plants and greenery and other shit i never saw in NYC, stuff i see and drool over every day now.

the little cemetery and the lovely stone walls and green shit are like almost directly opposite the end of my road; in fact, i took this next standing in the small natural alcove of a doorway, like, right under the tops of the fence you can see at bottom left (two pix above).

that's the last house on my street and you can see a bit of *snigger* The Pleasure Gardens at far right, in back) but i just skimmed through this and none-a that makes any sense, right? no matter cause it does to me. now where was — right: there's a very good reason it takes me like over an hour to go to the nearest shops (when i've timed it at seven minutes each way, from my doorstep to Queens Road. but only if i absolutely positively need to totally move my ass and fast). it's cause i'm the Worst. Tourist. EV-ar.

i dunno, maybe if i moved here when i were in my tweens like i first wanted, i would've gotten used to The Way Things Are but after six years, i'm still totally agog and i get all shouty almost 100% of the time i'm outside, as if i were seeing things for the very first time. is this an old thing? a memory thing? senility? *shrugs*

for once, i rilly don't care. *smirk* anyway, stay tuned for crypts, The Birdcage Walk (shown in previous post) and moar Death-y stuff, like real cemeteries (the kind i'd only seen in films until i got here).

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

city of the dead

2010-07-27T12:44:00.007+01:00

until i came here, i'd only seen real cemeteries in films or books or in photos other people — mostly Europeans and Brits — had taken. so imagine my surprise (as well as the neighborhood's after hearing me scream my fucking head off in delight) when i found a real one (actually a few) within a five-ten minutes' walk from my flat here.

the two pics above are when you're on the walkway in the middle, facing both ends. here's just a taste of what's to come cause i spent hours and hours bopping around taking pics before i found a cool spot under a hugeass tree to read ~~and try to come down~~.

i'll prolly post the rest once i recover from the ~~lost~~ last weekend when TPFKAPM finally got his ass over to visit. ATM i'm glomming down his leftovers as i type here and it's the ~~only real food~~ most delicious food i've eaten ~~in a long time~~ recently. but do i care? nah... i adore eating tubs of ice cream for breakfast, lunch and dinner when it's Summer. anyhoo, i need the calcium and fat or so they tell me ~~even though i never believe anyone who tells me anything~~.

hmmpf... this is one of the last photos i took with my Razr before it died last week. i seem to remember wiping the drool off it after each and every pic i took. hmmpf... that could actually be why it died. uh... my bad.

in other news, i don't have the words to express how fucking envious i am cause when we used to take acid and trip in NYC graveyards, we were forced to do so in like granite cities after climbing ten-foot high barbed-wire protected fences enclosing millions of headstones that were literally on top of each other, making the hallucinations all crowded and shit. and the ghosts were totally pissed that there wasn't much room to really freak us out. which's why we spent so many nights sneaking into cemeteries and dropping acid there in the first place. sump'n should totally be done about that cause i missed out on some really great stuff, dammit. we all did, actually. it's sad.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

fuck-ups — a series. maybe.

2010-07-17T11:53:00.002+01:00

editor's note: i shall surely be ~~changing shit~~ editing my ass off here once the drugs take effect and i remember salient details i've ~~purposely~~ somehow failed to mention. just a friendly warning so keep watching this space. or don't. *shrugs* and now, onto some-a my fuck-ups, all in the interests of ~~wasting time~~ Denial:

how badly have i truly fucked up? lemme count the ways... ~~no, not just now but throughout my life~~ but shit, no damn way can i count that high; it'd take way too long and be boring as hell so i'm gonna do one fuck-up atta time, y'know? OK, *cough* here's an unhelpful hint — one might call it 'cryptic' — in the guise of this image:

if i find the ~~stamina~~ ~~balls~~ nerve or whatever, i'll be continuing this, actually making a series of sorts; a series of my lifelong fuck-ups. but as for now, this is it (enough to remind me of that which i don't wanna know but for the sake of ~~what might remain of~~ my sanity, i can't afford to forget). cause, y'know — y'never; i mean, i'll never know when i might need these reminders in future ~~in an 'it's all about ME' kinda way~~. :-)

but let's get back to that word 'cryptic' a few 'graphs up: i know this dude (and y'all know him too) who's actually argued with me about that , tryna convince me i'm ~~doin~~ usin it wrawng and should be saying 'esoteric' instead. *snigger* but outta respect ~~wait... Can't. Quit. LMAO. At That 'Outta Respect' Crapola~~ i'm not naming names (although i'm fucking dying to). what makes it truly teh funny is he's totally convinced he's always right. and when i say 'always', i mean always. *snigger* moron!

hang on, i shouldn't really be posting this ~~even though it's a major-league fuck-up~~ but in the interests of honesty (sump'n i wouldn't know if it bit me on the ass), this is a variation of how i go out in somewhat butch-mode whenever i decide to frequent gay pubs.

onto yet another fuck-up: this next should speak for itself. ~~what the HELL was i thinking?~~ *sigh* i'm SO ashamed! *whispers* nah, rilly — i am. :-(

last one for now (taken in my Blonde phase) *smirk*, a time in which i got to learn firsthand that yup, Blondes have more fun (see link for Darwin's take on that shit).

oooh, *lightbulb on* i can do my very own alphabet. *preens* ~~notice me clumsily change the subject~~ but where to begin? OK, 'A is for Arrogance'. no, wait: 'A is for ~~Asswipe~~ Asperger's'. use it in a sentence for clarity's sake? sure, why not?: 'A is for all the arrogant assholes i've had the misfortune to know ~~especially those in bands~~ apart from those kindred spirits who enjoy their Asperger's'. ~~christ on a dildo, that so failed to make sense but~~ now on to the Bs. 'B is for Ballbreaker' frequently defined by those having a penis as those having vaginas, all of whom, thanks to their quick wit, totally shame whichever dude's given offence. no wait; 'B is for ~~Bitch~~ Butch'. ahhhh, thass better. :-)

whoa, please notice how i deftly turned the focus of this post from the beginnings of a series of my personal fuck-ups to a semblance of some bullshit alphabet made up on the spot ~~so thank you, ADD~~. hey! look over there: it's Hunter and his face's all blurry cause he actually had the audacity to move when he saw my camera-phone in hand. bad, bad kitty!

ps, another fuck-up depending on how one might see it: 'You quit doing heroin, you pussy!' (with thanks to TPFKAPM and Anal Cunt). :-)

BTW, if anyone can make sense of any of the above, ~~seek psychiatric help and fast~~ yer a better man than i am. just sayin'. and with ~~the sun setting majestically into the West~~ my self-imposed daily quota outta the way for the nonce, it's time to ~~practise my seriousity writty~~ pass out again, so hoorah!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

♥ Dave & Miriam ♥ forEVar

2010-07-13T11:32:00.008+01:00

editor's note: alternative title is more accurately: 'better late than never'. anyway, the very best of luck and love to ~~Mr and Mrs Electric Landlady~~ Mr and Mrs DaveG73. the lovely photo above as well as the last, way down below, were taken in Nottingham, 29. may ~~so i'm like totally late for a change~~. please notice that all members of the wedding party were in their Doc Martens, sump'n like a prerequisite for snagging one of their exclusive invites. the Double-Decker bus has a rather special personal meaning as we all know — we all from the old FreeA3.com — and especially as far as Dave's concerned but we won't go there now. :-)

a bit of history: Dave is amongst the group of my Very Bestest Friends, those whom i met on the first day of my first trip to England, lo these many years ago. within a few minutes of our first meeting, he gifted us with this lovely collector's item:

and what a surprise it was cause being crass crude Americans, having neither good manners nor good taste, we arrived totally emptyhanded but that was more than seven years ago and by now, one would hope everyone's forgotten ~~'everyone' being the rest of the fifteen or twenty we first met that day, most of whom brought us fantastic presents and shit~~ ~~whilst we had nothing to give em but the faded glories of our own bad selves~~.

the thing of it is, over the years, Dave and i remained very close — one might say 'intimate' ~~but without the sexual connotations~~ — until the night (i believe it was in Islington) he and EL first met up, a night ~~that shall live on forever in infamy~~ i shall never forget cause up till then, he was a rather frequent and always welcome visitor here at Hotel Hunter but afterwards, i've considered myself lucky to even see his ass ~~be it alone or with her~~. ~~i mean, damn, there's a very good reason she's known as SWMBO but i ain't gonna elaborate (and you can thank me later, Daaaaaave).~~ ;-)

moving right along, things have changed for the betterer and not just cause Dave and EL are no longer living in sin. this next photo was taken that first day we all met, back in 2003 in Manchester. amongst other things, it documents Dave's charming social skilz, demonstrating not only his conversational eloquence but proving without a doubt that he's always the life of any party:

the pic was taken by ChrisM who called it 'Gone' and it's the third of a~~n hilarious~~ series, the first two of which are both titled 'Going' and 'Going...' but ~~outta respect i won't post those~~ somehow i can't seem to find em anywhere ~~which's totally an outright lie~~. anyway, yup — things're much better since he and EL hooked up: here's Dave ~~awake and aware~~ and Miriam at that huge anti-war demo a few Winters back:

more photographic memories: Dave took this next of EL Miriam and me in the lobby of the Astoria in London after a typically wild Alabama 3 show. always the most sensitive of souls, he titled it 'Edited for my safety' (and very considerately ~~and wisely~~ covered our faces with that PhotoShopped sign). good ~~doggie~~ boy, Dave! :-)

i know i'm really lucky to have such lovely, generous and thoughtful friends. here're Dave, EL and Lazybones Darren at Trowbridge Festie a few Summers back, showing exactly how much they all missed me:

finally, here're ~~Electric Landlady's~~ Mrs G73's Post-Wedding Words Of Wisdom ~~that just might return to haunt her some day~~:

'It wasn't the ass-fucking, it was the technology'. no wait, i'm getting my words of wisdom or whatever totally all confused; that sentiment shockingly came outta her face one fine evening whilst drunkenly chatting in The Old Purple Tin. oh wow, i really miss that place; i so loved to attention-whore in real time with all our friends, especially in fronta Alabama 3 noobs ~~more than half of whom never came back, i guess cause they were appalled by our behaviour~~. what was really great: it was almost like a guaranteed given that at least once a week, EL would come out with the most *wack* shit (e.g., first sentence of this very 'graph), made even more so cause she looks like such a sweet little grrl. *admiring* wait — i went off again ~~so blame the ADD, not me~~. um... i torry. *snigger*

OK, these next were Miriam's post-wedding words ~~the silly grrl~~: 'It was soooooooo good to finally get hitched...'

Dave and Miriam, i love you, dudes. :-)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

scene in Clifton Wood II

2010-07-09T15:40:00.011+01:00

editor's note on 13. july @21,48: *snigger* thanks to Leisl who inadvertently hipped me to sump'n ~~totally unrelated~~ below, i made a few changes having to do with the suicidal infant. *cough* This Is Not A Threat, It's A Promise.

editor's note on 11. july @10,39: i totally forgot to mention the added baby-gun photo which i finally did just now as well as thanked the dude responsible for it below... Brian. *smirk*

editor's note on 10. july @12,21: this is about the most convoluted, confusing piecashit garbage writty i've ever committed to pixels or whatever so let that be a warning to youse to read at yer own risk. OK, before i begin tawkin about my total enjoyment — wait, hah! that's about the limit of any Brit-imitations i can muster: a poor mockery (and with me, there's no other kind) of an originally feeble attempt to be all understated and shit ~~and believe you me, it don't come easy~~. anyway, it occurred to stick this particular bit at the start of this ~~my next~~ journal entry or post or whatever these are.

mostly cause y'know, after the stained glass window that follows — the ones i've seen for weeks but one wouldn't know it cause they totally didn't gimme any 'a-HA!' moments ~~and the self-satisfied haughty superiority that inevitably follows when others are around~~ until those poor 'a-HA!' realisations finally penetrated through the drugs-induced haze in and outta which i've been drifting these days — wait... ~~haze? days? hey, i maded a rhyme!~~ lost my train of um... thought (?) yeah, thought. ~~but HA-ha! no i didn't rilly lose any train of thought or whatever; i fucking lied and as usual, everyone believes my lame ass~~.

OK, in re: the ~~top~~ editor's note way above: last night when i added this next image, i failed to elaborate or whatever. ATM, it's called This Is Not A Threat — It's A Promise but that could change whenever the ~~drugs~~ mood strikes. and dunno about you but IMO, it says it ALL. anyway, thanks to Brian/Psympleton for sending it to me lo so many years ago, but damn — the years have not been kind — if i started on that shit ~~again~~, i'd never STFU, so let's move on. but not before this (which's totally not a threat — it's a promise):

do i have to go 'HINT!?!' huh? do i? anyhoo, continuing from before, yeah, as i tried to say, i lost my train of thought (but doesn't that indicate that i like, actually entertain thoughts in the first place? nah? Ja?) rather, i mean, I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT I'M TRYNA SAY and i ain't tryna be all cute and shit ~~for once~~. what's more, i'm totally done with the 'thinking' stuff; it's like i give up and it's about damn time already. back to my original theme, the thing of it is, when it first occurred, i figured sump'n like 'better to stick this into whatever i'm tryna write ASAP before i forget about it again'.

so OK, without further explanation ~~cause i don't wanna~~, i'm gonna go 'thanks to an early birthday present which unexpectedly and shockingly came from the most unbelievable source, those whom, in future might actually see me in meatspace will no longer be given nightmares by my naturally ageing physicality' as has been the case since i totally began to ~~lose the looks i never had~~ ~~get visibly older~~ finally grow the fuck up. the thing of it is, if i take up my benefactor's most generous offer, no longer will anyone be visited by those unspeakable horrors resulting from the sight of yours truly ageing naturally. *shudder* and now...

BOO! did i skeer yiz? ~~i sure as hell hope so~~ but hmmpf, now if we were in Europe... *sigh* rather, if we were born here and had European or (as the Americans laughingly say) Old World values, wait — see chicks like Charlotte Rampling and Judi Dench and Vanessa Redgrave; didja ever wonder why actors of that calibre don't give a flying fuck about things like plastic surgery? huh? huh? didja? cause if y'all didn't, maybe you should give it a serious think... y'know, just to see what'd happen. if you actually thought. um... like, shit! Q: where am i at again?

A: dunno bout you but i was just making prank phonecalls, ringing ex-BFs long-fuckin' di$tance, whilst in the throes of many an orgasmic jihad thanks to light brown and sepia-tinted and beautiful Black strangers. :-) to makes things more intristin', i shouted out ~~'Suf-fer!'~~ 'i'm coming, actually!' in a crap English accent and then, the inevitable 'guess who, dude?' *snigger* no one got it right — SCORE! ~~shit, if i had the brains i was born with before the drugs did their worst, i would've totally remembered to maintain my tradition and charge plenty per minute, but i forgot~~. :-(

in all seriousity, if we all were born in Europe ~~cue *snotty, snarky, smug* 'IF ONLY!'~~ or at least, if we somehow remained untouched (read: used our critical thinking skilz) by American culture and didn't worship sex and youth above every other goddamned thing... ah, what's the use? fuckin' forget it (mainly cause once again, i totally forgot my own point). i mean, i'm mostly tawkin to Americans here and if i bothered to take the time to explain, just knowing i have to explain in the first place... well, damn, i know i'd ~~totally forget~~ lose my shit and end up in prison for murdering teh stoopit. fun-fact: did you know that more people watched Big Brother than voted in the last presidential election? the one Obama won? true story. :-(

but hey ~~don't think about the implications of that shit~~, look over there — get a load of the rack on the new weather-girl! yep, that's my country. y'know, they used to go, 'America, love it or leave it' — thing of it is, never in a gazillion years did i ever think that i'd actually leave, so let's move on and fastly. *snigger* :-)

what was i tawkin about before i so rudely interrupted myself? yeah, right: back to the love i have for my country — or was it plastic surgery? or American values or prank phonecalls? or Charlotte Rampling ~~i would so totally do her, in half a fucking NY minute~~... no, rilly — what was i saying again? shit, even after tryna reread above i haven't a fucking clue what point i was wanting to make. this is not good... i mean, y'know, we're all proud Americans, secure enough to force our shit — as much as we possibly can — onto everyone else in the rest of the world but as for me, thinking along those lines're totally the direction in which madness lies ~~not that i'd ever know the difference~~ cause ~~since my way fabaroo bullshitting skillz've been honed to perfection over my lifetime (and not for purposes of deceit but for reasons of self-preservation)~~ nobody ever gave a shit what was in my head or came outta my wordhole ~~especially after i turned 70~~, but hey, ~~your~~ my their loss, so suck it up, people — nyah.

hmmpf... i know i had a point somewhere but then i got diverted cause i didn't wanna just forge ahead and say sump'n i might regret oh god, please don't make me reread upwards cause knowing me, sump'n'll set me off again and then i'll be sorry cause i won't be able to STFU and then i'll be running off at the mouth again on yet another nonsensical tangent with dozens of sideroads and ADD-shit, stuff i'll be sure to regret. oh wait... i think i remember sump'n ~~dear lord, please spare me and anyone else who's made it down thus far; i'll be good. i promise~~.

not only did i vomit all over three stalls in the Ladies' in this hugeass venue in Manchester waiting to get into the Afterparty for United Against Racism, but i did so in glorious technicolor and i ruined it for everybody cause that was it for any more of my shenanigans ~~that night~~. what did i used to say? right: '1, 2, 3 — Poor Chris!'

but whoa — i think i remember what i started out wanting to post: so the other day i'm at my GP's over at Pembroke Road Surgery, killing time like, when i was told i hadda wait for sump'n or another (results? don't remember and wouldn't care anyway) and that's when i first noticed the stained glass windows in the entrance hall. now, in all the weeks i've ever been there, these are sump'n i've breezed past so many times, it's pathetic, never really seeing em ~~or seeing much of anything~~ as i'm always pretty much ripped offa my face ~~and that's the way it should be~~. but oddly enough, the other day i actually noticed, admired and started freaking out whilst thinking 'again? it's like nobody thinks this's special apart from me — WTF and WHY?'

but as usual, i don't expect answers to those questions — not EV-ar — so here's the outside of my GP's with the hintiest of stained glass glimpses, a place i ran by dozens of times but never noticed anything that tickled my aesthetic quotient before. fuck, i'm SO ashamed. :-(

in the interests of time constraints and my own habits cultivated over a lazyass lifetime, i shall leave off any descriptors and shit and just post the bestest photos i managed (no small feat) cause i just know that if ~~i live~~ i'm able to stick around, i'm gonna wanna be reminded of this shit, that things like 'stained glass' are common fixtures in all kindsa dwellings here in England and along with so many other mundane details, totally thought of as boring, every-day givens having absolutely nothing special of note ~~and as such, i should STFU and maybe people'll quit staring and thinking i'm mad~~.

hmmpf... there's a fine line between my (let's call it) 'enthusiasm' and others going way overboard verbally and truth be told, i haven't mastered that shit ~~and neither do i wanna nor do i intend to~~ but hey, all in good time. *smirk* i so dig adding 'all in good time' cause in my vasty experience, it seems to give people hope, the hope that things'll change in future, change for the better ~~but little do they know~~. *giggle*

oh god, Oh God, OH GOD... ~~i'm coming, actually~~ nobody looks twice at this window; i know cause as i took what seemed to be multitudes of pics, i watched each dude bop in, watched his or her eyes and they were all like 'no biggie' but simultaneously, stared at me strangely, i guess cause i had my camera-phone out and kept continuously clicking away. i assume this is cause they're all natives and used to seeing shit like this, but i can't be sure. i mean, these people couldn't be that blase' about every-day things like this, could they? cause damn, they sure act so fucking cool and unperturbed, whilst all the while i'm totally freaking and acting like England's most uncool tourist. which i totally am *wack* and the thing of it is: I. Don't. Care. :-)

i can't stand it — like, really. i mean, tawk about taking shit for granted and all but who am i to complain? ~~no one but that shit never stopped me.~~

mother-FUCKer! — i'm so totally gobsmacked that there're shitloads of details in this one hugeass window and it kills me that nobody gives ~~a shit~~ it a second look (or a first, actually).

at this point — after i'd taken upwards of fifty pics — the nurse had already called my name (twice — i ignored her the first time, pretending i didn't hear). after the second time, i actually went 'wait — i'm not done'. being all Brit, she smiled ~~indulgently~~ ~~mockingly?~~ pretty much impatiently (or at least, that's how i read her). *shrugs*

y'know, i could look at this window all day long and never get tired of doing so. *whispers* in related news, my knickers are getting all moisty ~~again~~.

hmmpf... i wonder if there's an as-yet undiscovered mental, emotional or spiritual disease that some — but not all — Americans suffer, people who've always suspected — nay, assumed — they were missing out on sump'n crucial in their lives but had no actual evidence as to what they believe they were lacking. these'd be people who're historically, culturally, spiritually, intellectually and/or aesthetically starved to the point at which it pretty much physically hurts* whenever they actually get to see or be near stuff in meatspace about which they've only read or spotted in old films or whatever. *sigh*

*in my own case ~~Q: i mean, who gives a shit about anyone else? A: 'not i', said the Little Tiger-Striped Kit-ty~~, whilst i never experienced physical pain when seeing these things in meatspace, ~~they're~~ i was always filled with an overbearing sense of dread and a hopeless longing like i'd felt so many times before i came to live here and see for myself. hah! i remember my first day in Germany when spotting this centuries' old fountain in the middle of one of Bonn's narrow cobblestone'd streets. i could've just cried, seeing that shit ~~and in all actuallity, i think i did~~.

but hey, y'know? fuck it — the thing of it is, i always knew that was me, even when i was a little kid and fell in love with the entire idea of Living in Europe (in general) and Living in the UK (in particular), all thanks to my love for ~~escaping boring American reality~~ voracious, unstoppable reading and what made it worse, when i was at Uni (the first time) and my wealthy friends returned from their Summer hols in EU, i hadda hear em go, 'You owe it to yourself to live there...' well, that shit didn't help me any (cause i totally knew it already).

moving right along, check the next pic: it's the original *gasp!* tilework from at least two centuries ago and i found it in the loo in a pub near Victoria Station in London so whenever i'm in town, i go up there anyway ~~even if i don't need to pee~~. y'know, just to ~~drool~~ see. yeah, Just To See.

one day, i was all agog and forgot to shut the door and this cleaning person barged in on me and i was all 'i'm sorry' and she was all weirded out cause i was like standing there, just staring at the tiles on the walls and shit with my camera-phone in my hand but enough about that — OK, last pic of the stained glass window. i pwomise. no, rilly i do.

right, at the point at which i took the photo directly above, i could no longer put off my appointment so i made up some bullshit, yes'd Doctor to death as fast as i could, then returned ASAP so i could continue photographing stained glass but there were a group of kids seated ~~in my way~~ on the bench below the bottom of the window ~~on purpose?~~ and that put 'paid' to any further plans i had to take more pictures of the myriad of details i hadn't had the time to capture before i was so rudely called into my GP's office.

hmmpf... i had yet another point but now it's long gone. i think i remember it was a continuation of the other day's; sump'n about things that're 'givens' in general and stained glass in particular cause never have i seen so much great shit treated so matter-of-factly. damn, in the old days ~~when i had a real memory~~, i'd have gone 'it'll come to me' but now i know better so i won't even bother. the fact that this is fucking killing me, that i forgot the goddamned punchline is driving me crazy but hey, nothing i can do about it (apart from taking it out on myself, as always).

~~hmmm, good thing i'm not a 'cutter'.~~ y'know, if i knew exactly who was reading here, i'd write the foregoing sans the strike-outs and then write ROTFLMFAO! like i just did ~~before i struck it out~~ cause i think that shit's hilarious but i don't wanna hurt anyone's feelings or make anyone feel worser ~~i.e., those who're actually cutters~~. hey, sorry, but i've splained this like hundreds of times though not lately: my lifelong thing about humour's always been 'nothing's sacred' including when i'm dissing myself, y'know? especially when i'm dissing myself.

mother-FUCKer — this is so not the way i wanted to post this shit, but-but-but... but hey, y'know sump'n? fuck off, why don'tcha? — let's see you do any goddamned betterer. i mean, i put my rep on the line whenever i write here, y'know? bloody fucking hell, and now i'm in an even fouler mood than before — YOU did this to me, goddammit — you absolute and totally useless FUCKS...

*snigger* wait, i just remembered sump'n ~~so thank you, ADD~~: 'Look what you're making me do!' *in a Tony Soprano voice* that as he's beating the living shit outta whichever degenerate gambler. *smirk* i love the way they blame everyone else for when they get all violent and stabby and shit. *giggle*

but damn, i just remembered the pathetic life i've led solely due to being born on the wrong continent, on the wrong side of the Atlantic and whoa, it's like one of the major tragedies of my miserable existence. fuuuuck... and thinking of that again, whoa — what i wouldn't give for a coupla bags of dope at this point. or a Dilaudid. or even a Percodan — i'd even accept that 'hillbilly heroin' shit even though Rush Limbaugh totally gave it a bad name, the hypocrite paedophiliac still-closeted self-hating gay-boy.

wait — here's a fun-fact: Did You Know? Rush Limbaugh's been like the guest of honour on so many sex-tours of the Dominican Republic's underaged boys so many times for so many years, it's pretty much uncountable at this point in time. and always with his illegally-obtained Viagra scrips (he got his fuckin' maid to score for his lame ass!) and funnily enough, always sex-touring without his wife. *cough*

but enough with that for now and back to more pleasant things set off by my recollection of dope above: all i can ~~think of now~~ say is, 'mmmm, morphine derivatives...' *in a Homer voice* 'ghlurghll drooollll...'

HA-ha — joke! and just like i posted at bottom of my FAQs:

ps, suck it up, loooo-zers — kid-ding! ;-) ~~note to self: shit! now that i'm back, i totally hafta fuck with my FAQs, update em and stuff, goddammit to hell.~~

Q: 'Why, oh why do i do this to myself?' / A: 'The name of the game is Self-Sabotage, stoopit'. / Q: 'Oh'. :-(

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

scene in Clifton Wood

2010-07-08T14:41:00.005+01:00

editor's note @21,30: i dashed this off a few hours ago after i got stoned and once again, hit 'publish' by mistake so it's out there now but there's more important stuff: today i accidentally invented this great new combination of relaxing shit, you mix up 10 mgs. ground-up Valium, a quarter grain of Nepalese hash, a half dose of MDMA and you wash it down with Vodka — hang on, i got a little ahead of myself... uh, what was i saying? before i went off?

right, the thing of it is, i'm totally not gonna change any shit here cause i've actually got better things to do tonight so if i don't make sense later or if i come off as not only ~~*wack*~~ a trifle too imaginative and maybe ~~criminally insane~~ a bit odd, well... *shrugs* i don't know... do whatcha wanna, y'know? but in all fairness, remember: i ~~love to~~ tend to get really stabby when ~~i don't get my way~~ i'm happy.

hmmpf... once upon a time i was forbidden all pointy objects (if y'all need proof of this, ask Chris. or my mother), but now, for the first time EV-ar, no one's present to enforce this moronacy. LOL, you should see my collection! in fact, i'm planning on insisting people see it cause i really want yiz to but later for that. *evil* anyhoo, this's from before:

they say 'normal' is a state of mind ~~but i wouldn't know cause i've never had anything with which to compare it~~ and as i've said so many times before, to Brits, this — having this kinda shit in their 'hoods, totally untouched by human hands and left to grow however — is their 'normal'. amazing to a lifelong NY-er like me, y'know? the thing of it is, i see sump'n i dig and then spend like shitloads of time taking pics from every which angle and when i finally come up for air, i'm gobsmacked when i notice whatever small crowd. the braver ones'll ask me 'What's so interesting?' but ages ago, i learnt not to bother tryna splain em ~~cause i'll go on and On and ON~~ and they still won't geddit. anyway.

too bad Mommy's not here cause in her admiration of same, i'm sure she'd be so impressed and distracted, she'd take yet another 'flop' (her word), ~~hopefully~~ possibly The Flop To End All Flops but hey, i totally didn't say that, no way, no how, not EV-ar. i mean, what kinda grrl d'ya think i am? anyway, let's get back to what's normal here: ooh! pret-ty flowers! freely growing all the fuck over stone walls, slate sidewalks, hanging gardens and shit; they're like givens, FFS! and they look at ME like they think i'm crazy — tsk!

fun-fact/Did You Know? way back when in the late 1980s, the PTB in Manhattan attempted to dress up the median strip running down Park Avenue one Summer, most likely for the benefit of the tourists cause believe you me, no NYC government fucks have ever added to the City's aesthetics for just us natural-born and bred losers. i remember this well cause when i emerged from the hell of Grand Central Station on a typically 95-degree morning, i gasped in delighted surprise, seeing that shit.

fast forward to the very next day when i looked forward to once again seeing the pret-ty flowers on the median but it wasn't to be — cause they were allllll gone — totally stolen the night before by persons unknown who were never caught. which is prolly at least partly why ~~i get such a kick~~ i can haz Stendahl Syndrome? seeing flowers and natural-born greenery and shit left to grow unimpeded — as they should be.

although i was never a flower-loving grrl (UGH! just like i never had any dolls, i always termed em too goody two-shoes, dainty and frilley girly-girly), i find myself flipping out near-happily every damn time i see this floral normalcy displayed all the fuck over. or maybe it's cause i'm old? ~~aren't old ladies supposed to dig flowers and shit? fuck that!~~ dunno, don't care. but lemme tell yuh, if yiz ever catch me wearing pastels (or ANYthing with a flowers-motif), you can betcha fucking ass, i've lost it. i mean, worserer than now. y'know ~~and if y'don't, don'tcha bother fucking asking cause i'm like a cunt-hair away from descending back down to my own brand of 'normal' — my typically really bad mood~~.

OK, next up is one of the many sensuous stone walls i'm so gonna ~~fuck~~ ~~have sex with~~ make love to as soon as i figure out logistics. Totally. Not. Kidding.

here's another, both taken within twenty metres of each other. um, let's move on and quickly.

last but not least, i left a lit-tle 'present' (let's call it) within the greenery below. i'm totally not gonna go 'can you find it?' cause that'd be a fruitless endeavor but believe you me, they're not gonna forget me for a long, long time to come. :-)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

reality: my own private hell

2010-07-07T00:10:00.004+01:00

thanks for the sentiment and image, Trollcats d00ds. ~~damn, my life and writty would be so fucking boring if there weren't sites like Trollcats from which to steal ideas and shit~~. but this post's supposed to begin with a note to sel- wait, was anyone else awake to see the Sun come up this morning?

once the damn thing shone straight in horizontally, instantly heating up the LR and kitchen like it does every day, i'm forced to strip down, shirtless and trousersless, due to my way-too-sensitive Comfort Zone which has the vasty range of only two degrees ~~Fahrenheit, not Celsius, and that makes it worserer~~. *wack* and then, there's my generally ~~arrogant~~ impatient demeanor which any temperature change immediately enhances, but hey, not my fault — blame my totally favorite role model, Mrs Danvers, '...one of literature's most infamous female villains...' *sigh* true story: she and Iron Mommy taught me everything i know about being a cunt and at such a young age — amazing. fun-fact: it was thanks to the bothuv em i learnt the meaning of 'precocious' before i was like eight, but hey :-)

anyway, just like every AM, Hunter was all happy cause in his new-found demonstrations of loving kindness towards me, he seems to dig licking my tits as, shirtless, i bend over him to swap spit, another thing he likes. this — the tit-licking — is an improvement over his prior behaviour cause apart from like over three years of me walking around with bloody gashes all over my upper bod, arms and feet, he used to dig sucking on my silver cross, the one i always wear, with the skull centred on. since my pics came out like shit and Google didn't help, this is the closest to it i could find that basically resembles the one i'm wearing, what Hunter used to love sucking on. before the tits.

it's sterling but doesn't look it above and i got it for Chris when last i was in Germany ~~collecting the final three months' worth of methadone from Dr Pieper~~ doing my annual Christmas shopping at the glorious Weinachtsmarkt in Bonn. however, above pic shows a much heavier, more masculine cross and after a year or so, Chris admitted he felt ~~gay~~ funny wearing it so it's totally mine now. your loss, d00d! *all shrieky*

back to the Sunrise this morning, i was glued to the wrought-iron railings on the balcony, gazing down whilst tryna determine exactly how much time i'd have ~~if i leapt off~~ to regret the error of my ways before deciding i'd fucked up royally but enough about that cause it's one of the many fantasies i entertain whilst i worship Ra first thing after i come to every day.

OK, before i got waylaid a coupla 'graphs ago, i went 'this post was supposed to begin with a note to self, so, OK: *cough* Note To Self: this next is a bit of this poem i've been tryna write for what seems to be ages. it was started on my iPod like late last month, whilst i reclined, ~~drunk~~ totally wasted on the sofa. hmmpf... i think i wrote it the day i decided to take a bit of everything i had left in the flat and then take notes for as long as i could ~~see~~, recording the times and my reactions and stuff. y'know ~~for Science~~, so others won't have to in the case they find emselves with the same disparate combination of extra-legals as i had here that day and they're curious to discover what'd happen if they took it all but whatever.

just to Make Sure, after i wrote The Line in question, i copied it over to my Drafts here at my desk. and since my memory's teh suckiest of suck, i even sent it to myself in emails from my iPod, both to my secondary Y! addy ~~the one i give to people i don't really like~~ and to my reg'lar mail (at) rimone (dot) org. but *sigh* the thing of it is, not an hour after opening both mails, marking em each 'unread' (in order to draw my attention at some time in the as yet undetermined future) and even filing copies away not only to my Journal file, my Writty file and the one i laughingly titled Poetry way back when in 1997, i immediately forgot about em. rather, immediately forgot about 'it' — the damn line i wanna work into my next poem-to-be.

paging Jeffrey Zeldman — yup dude, i'm about to take your advice to 'kill your darlings' mostly cause i'm a lazy fuck and this shit's turning into much too much like real work and more important than that, it's totally cutting into my Getting Baked time. shit, i mean, rilly! priorities — i haz em. but be that as it may, for whatever *wack* reason, i'm still totally drawn to the damn line, goddammit to hell.

and one guess why: a) cause it's way so descriptive of yours truly ~~and the pallid imitation that passes for my life~~; b) cause it's terribly personal and we all know how i love to spill ~~just for the pity and the attention~~; c) cause it's totally true as well as d) it — scuse the damn hackney'd phrase — fits me to a 'T'. and so i'm posting it here in the hopes i'll be reminded to try and finish the fucking poem or at least expand upon the thought.

on the other hand, maybe if i read the damn thing enough, i'll see it for what it truly is: a totally self-indulgent piecashit throwaway line that any third-grader would be too ashamed to include in her damn book report, even if the bar were set so low, it was totally My Pet Goat ~~again~~. and if that shit ever goes down, maybe, just maybe, i'll quit tryna fool myself into believing i've actually got a talent for writty. that, or trash the line and what's left of the poem, whichever's easiest. ~~hey, would you mind putting that straw down and fucking pay attention to what i'm saying?~~

shit, after that hugeass build-up, i can just hear yiz thinking 'This better be good!' *mirthless laughter* sorry to get yer hopes up, but it ain't; it's just a thought, one of the oh-too-many-on-a-daily-basis that pop into my head without a speck of warning and in neither any logical nor linear progression. anyway, without further ~~time-and-space wasting~~ ado, here it IS. :-)

FUCK! no, wait — i totally forgot to add the prologue or whatever, one which should be self-explanatory without indulging in any goddamned, very much-hated spoon-feeding of information ~~for those too lazy to think and who somehow accidentally landed on this very page so get offa my lawn, goddammit~~. whoops — sorr-reeee! *cough* on to a bit of background info and then, the seriousity:

Solipsism: '...the philosophical idea that only one's own mind is sure to exist. Solipsism, often considered a variety of idealism, is an epistemological or ontological position that knowledge of anything outside one's own specific mind is unjustified. The external world and other minds cannot be known and might not exist...'

hah! that pretty much always described my reality, y'know? and very unfortunately throughout my life, that word has always set me off (and not in a good way) so i'll leave it up to youse and won't even attempt to color your opinions. OK, quick-quiz: which is real? choose only one:

right, almost forgot: please ignore the bruised remains on R-side of my face. i suffered em when i walked into a lamp post on the Thames the night before the middle pic was taken and the less said about that shit, the better. OK, back to the original reason i began this here post, so here's the line that popped into my head, totally unbidden and frustratingly taunting me cause though i wanna use it in a poem or sump'n, i've so far failed:

'Reality is a nightmare from which i can't wake up'.

*ducks* hey, i'm sorry — really! but yeah, after all that bullshit build-up, i'd be like totally ~~pissed off~~ disappointed as well, so sue my fat ass. *shrugs* in truth, at one point i added 'it's the Rimone flavour of hell but as per usual, your mileage may vary'. hmmm... it was one of my heroes, Philip K Dick, who so succinctly said, 'Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away'. damn, don't i know it. *weeps* and then, there's this from John Lennon: 'Reality leaves a lot to the imagination'. finally, here's TS Eliot, my Fave Poet EVar: 'Humankind cannot bear very much reality'.

damn, don't i fucking know it, dude. and then there's one of my oldest fave mottos: 'Reality is for people who can't handle drugs'. yup, truer words an' all, especially since i'm a fervent proponent since like 'Nam. but wait — i almost forgot this, one of my fave demotivational posters. why? one fucking guess. (unhelpful hint: starts with 'D'. not 'death', 'drugs', 'dope', 'destruction', 'desire' or 'dream' and totally not 'despair' but close. and no, not 'Delirium', ~~I WISH~~.)

moving right along, and despite not being able to use my line ~~which started me off on the tedious road to writing this shit~~ in any acceptable manner, i'm totally giving myself the Last Word — as it should be.

hmmpf... in other news, dunno where this next bit came from but it just occurred like two seconds ago: i wish i could say 'all's right with the world' but it ain't. and if y'all think it is, not only am i convinced yer all brain-dead but, being so, i'd be pleased to offer myself up to you in whatever mode you might care to have me, for the sole reason being some of your amazingly moronic positivity might wear off on me like via osmosis or sump'n ~~and i can practise my long-lost but never forgotten sticky-finger'd ski£z~~. so here i be ~~if the price is right, of course~~.

hmmpf... y'hafta ask me why? damn, haven't yiz been paying attention? cause only filthy lucre ~~and the powerful narcotics i want — nay, need — to buy~~ would delude me into thinking things're fine — 'all's right with the world' — so hey, think about it; i promise you, you totally won't be disappointed. :-)

oh wow, cranial connections are such weirdass things. i was just about to click on 'Publish' *smirk* ~~who are they kidding?~~ when for some strange reason, i thought it a brilliant idea to once again show the two fave photos i've taken of ~~D Wayne~~ Jake. this one was taken early one morning at Jamm and part of my vasty collection of Alabama 3 dudes giving me the finger:

and this one's my total fave, taken a week or two later, up at Chris' flat in Brixton the night we all tawked films and coke and Brompton's Cocktails and shit and laughed our asses off for hours and hours. *smirk* ah... good times, good times. :-)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

teabaggers' ethos

2010-07-06T09:19:00.003+01:00

truth be told, i think i remember i stoled above image offa the wondrously brilliant Trollcats but unfortunately, i can't remember so if this is yours — like, you maded it — please inform me straightaway so i can thank you properly ~~that is, bestow upon you the best blowjob money can't buy~~. this is due to my lifelong penchant for Proper Attribution (my middle name) so far be it for me to inadvertently actually steal and/or take credit where credit's not due.

having said that, 'let's get down to ~~cases'~~ serious bidness: it's occurred that i would be doing myself a solid if i revert back to writing on pols as i did for three years straight on my poor, dead and much-missed site. this just might be a certainty since people like Failin' Palin can't help but give the gift that keeps on giving every time she opens her ill-informed wordhole and best of all, she's oh-so-easy to mock. but the thing of it is, in the interests of decency, i feel obligated to enlighten her, so OK, sarah: let's get down to basics. i shall remain a contented (yet giggly) bystander whilst you enjoy yer teabagging and the subsequent eponymous teaparty but if i were you, i'd enlighten myself by familiarising you and yours with the etymology of your favored Party of FAIL:

strolling down Memory Lane FTW: when first i learnt of SP's chosen party's name, i LMAO and ended up choking through the tears. newsflash, Sarah! no way, no how can you blame the (and i quote your oh-so-witty-NOT) Lamestream Media for this little gem: you done diddit all by yerself, so here, have a clue, one you so desperately need:

all kidding aside, let's begin with 'teabagging': (the following stoled from my hardcopy of Roger's Profanisaurus — a most lovely tome gifted me by the very-much missed and MIA dude, ChrisM, last seen being browbeaten in Manchester). anyway, take heed, Ms Palin: listen and learn:

TEABAGGING: 'A last resort sexual practise wherein the man lowers his balls into the lady's mouth'.

TSK! sarah, oh, sarah, is that really a word with which you want your party of brilliance to be associated? but hey, if y'all substitute 'the man' for 'republiKKKan' and 'lowers his balls' for 'fucks over the poor', it sounds like the typically rethug wack M.O as i've always understood it. alternatively, 'teabagging' is the practise in which said balls are repeatedly and unceremoniously slapped hither and yon against the recipient's face, throat, tits and what-have-you. nb: in Failin' SarahPalin's situ, i should assume the shoe totally fits, but hey — whaddoo i know?

but wait — there's more! this lifted from The Urban Dictionary: '...the insertion of one man's sack into another person's mouth. Used as a practical joke or prank, when performed on someone who is asleep, or as a sexual act' as well as 'To have a man insert his scrotum into another person's mouth in the fashion of a teabag into a mug with an up/down (in/out) motion'. sound familiar, Sarah?

then, there's my totally fave definition: 'An adult act performed by consenting republican/conservatives on each other to express their fake outrage to imaginary tax increases (most of these idiots actually just got a tax break). During this act one republican/conservative nut job (pun intended) drops his pants in public and slowly lowers his scrotum into the eager mouth of another right wing nut lover'.

the oh-so-boring (yet truer than true) obligatory caveats: 'Some basic Teabagging participation rules:

a) 'Participants have to be very low income (preferably on welfare);

b) 'Participants have to be avid Fox News watchers (this makes certain the participants are brainwashed to the extent of being borderline retarded);

c) 'Participants have to be republican/conservative'. (nb: goes without saying.)

ms palin, y'all couldn't have chosen a finer, more exact term for the hordes of pro-AmeriKKKan douchebags who hang upon your every mispronounced, mis-spelt word. in all truth, i wish you many happy hours on the receiving end of any and all teabaggers. damn, and y'all just might learn sump'n (though i know learnin's totally gay and shit).

but hold yer horses; there's still more. the venerable Internetz Way Back Machine (where nothing's ever losted) further explained this phenomenon: '...The cheeky Urban Dictionary has expanded its definition of "tea bagger" from "a man that dips his scrotum and testicles into the mouth of another person" to include "a conservative activist who is so ignorant that they protest against tax cuts (that benefit them) by throwing tea into a river."

'As any gay man who has ventured into some of our more louche nightspots can testify, the practice is venerated among go-go boys dancing on top of bars and boxes who will dip their family jewels into the welcoming mouth of a generous tipper...'

whoa, somethings amiss (and missing): where's Rush Limbaugh and his hillbilly heroin and his sex trips to the Phillippines (and/or Dominican Republic) when we need him most? and whilst we're looking for Rush, someone dig up his underage same-sex fuck-buddies pronto. step up, Rush, d00d — your country (and the truth) are sorely needing ya now. *cough*

and there y'all have it. but yo, sarah — FAIL. who the hell suspected y'all were so cool as to appropriate and integrate one of the most disgusting sexual practises into your party's lexicon? dunno about you but judging by the teabagging fiasco, i'm so waiting for you and yours to co-opt FELCHING, a term way more fitting, or haven't you heard?

permit me to enlighten you: 'The act of sucking or licking ejaculate (or other substances mixed with ejaculate) out of the orifice in which they were deposited. Most commonly used to refer to sucking out semen after anal sex, but technically sucking the semen out of your girlfriend's pussy...'

dunno about you but AFAIC, it all sounds like that which the Party of Fambly Values teach as well as perform on their own and all their rabid followers. true story: after hours of research, i finally dug up a photo of Palin herself, in the midst of thanking ~~her master~~ an adoring fan.

as well, she claims to be an equal opportunity animal lover (apart from clubbing those cute liddle seals) so here's proof positive that, far be it for Palin to discriminate, with liberty, justice and bestiality for all.

'mmmmmm... I can ~~taste~~ see Russia!'

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

state of the Slum(p) XIV

2010-07-06T00:11:00.007+01:00

[editor's note @00,21: images and further edits to come. i hit 'publish' accidentally and then went 'fuck it' before i could finish cause i'm writing sump'n else. hmmpf... typical!]

[editor's note @08,48: wait, i lied cause i just woke up to see i've irrevocably fucked up the formatting within and i don't have the strength to close all the tags so i'm just gonna leave this as is, mostly cause i'm the only one who reads this shit for the sole purpose of reminding me of who the hell i am.]

*cough* holy fucking shit, i. am. WASTED... *giggles* y'know, and i keep thinking it's friday for some *wack* reason. and sometimes i honestly dunno whether or not i'm fulla shit or not ~~but as long as nobody else's the wiser, then...~~ anyway, i consider this POISON cause any change to my way-too-hip for my ~~age~~ outward appearance is total anathema AFAIC. and far be it for me to even touch upon that which my physical appearance detracts from any street cred i'd accrued over the years, so all i can do is go TSK!

this is cause of what i consider a step backwards: for the first time in fuck-knows-how-many-years, my hair is like totally one colour: dark chocolate brown (apart from the remaining red streaks and the purple off to the right). but how damn depressing! sad to say, the phrase 'selling-out' describes me in one of my way-rare guises cause just checking the mirror, i'm way too down, and totally not in the comfort of the old narcolepsy (One Can Only Hope but not if One Can't Afford). this displeases me muchly, but needs must an' all ~~goddammit~~.

wait... have i wished death to anyone today? ~~cause that shit always makes me feel better, so~~ nah? OK, i choo-choo choose DickCheney about whom, i must say i was verily disappointed when he pulled through his latest heart attack or whatever. what did George Carlin (RIP) used to say? 'The good die young but the pricks live on forever...' even Christ weighed in and twat 'I'm trying to get dad to take Cheney to make up for taking Michael Jackson a year ago, but I think dad's afraid of him'. almost makes me feel sorry for god. almost. now, where was i?

back to the overt outwardly changes, i have it on good authority that all was done in order for me to attempt to pass for normal so i might snag an (excuse the expression) 'straight job' since i'm pretty much *whispers* desperate. now, 'desperate' doesn't come too easily to me, in fact when i'm like 'desperate', i can be seen kicking and screaming and punching ~~and choking and eye-gouging~~ in order to avoid said descriptor. ~~~~biting as well. dirty fighting... whatever works~~.~~

and so, to think it's come to this: here i be just about a year ago, glorying in the me of me:

and blurry though they are cause i was totally beyond baked, these are way-accurate portrayals of who i really am WAS. :-(

after that, whilst hibernating over this past Winter, I Didn't Give A Shit (so to speak — even ask Chris) and ignored the haircut(s) and shit i oh-so-badly needed.

can we say ~~'FUCK YOU'~~ 'unkempt'? suuuuure, we can. :-(

YOW! MY EYYYYYYES! *shudder* *cringes under the nearest dumpster and prays it's all over ASAP* yes, i'm wallowing, rolling about in liquidy-trash, complete with banana peels, coffee grinds, used bloody tampons and diarreah-wiped TP.

moving right along and distancing self as far as possible from disgusting vomit-inducing 'trash' (let's call it), FF to now so HAH! *mirthless laughter* i'm boring myself to death every damn time i catch sight of myself in whatever reflective surface lately. *sniffle* i miss me:

but lately, first, i'm all 'who the fuck IS that?' and then, way too quickly, i rather meekly quiet down when i very reluctantly recognise myself ~~I COULD SCREAM~~. please notice way-boring mono-coloured fringe, sump'n i wouldn't advise anyone to accidentally happen upon me in any alleyway, dark or otherwise cause there's a very good chance i'll be in such a foul mood, if you lookit me wrawng, i'll beat the living shit outta yiz. y'know, I'm from Brooklyn and don't you forget it. *preens*

GODDAMMIT TO HELL! i'm so ashamed... and once again, truer words: 'Oh, how the mighty have fallen' *totally self-absorbed to the nth degree* damn, the things i do for a straight job and shit; i should really win an award or sump'n — like along the lines of Best ~~Boring~~ Disguise or Best Unobtrusivenessity. UGH. oh, and Most Successful Double Lifer but hey, we really don't wanna fuck with Sod so just forget it ~~for now~~.

endnote: y'know what i think totally sucks balls? dunno whether it's the fact that i've always looked way younger than my age (last carded when i'ze like 35 or 36 ~~waaah!~~) but within the past ten years, i seem to have gone from passing young to fucking invisibly old. i blame American values, actually. and i'm pretty goddamned upset at this shit. dig it, y'all: i'm the same goddamned human bean i've always been and it'd do rightly for y'all to remember that shit, but unless someone knows me from before, hey, whaddoo i know? only that, for all intents and purposes, i've been currently giving out OLD vibes and looks. grrrr...

one mo' time, my ego forces me to re-post my current fave, taken last week. having said that, let's see YOU pass for 40 or whatever. yup, again, Schadenfreude (delayed though it may be) reigns, so suck it up, bitches. LOL, in other news, i really dig this photo but couldn't tell yiz why, not if my life depended upon it.

in other news, it occurs to negate teh Ugly way above, so heeere's Hunter. :-)

notice how pissed he is at me, so pissed off he refused to turn to the camera, but i'm sure you get the general idea and so, 'tis way easy for y'all to extrapolate teh Ultimate Cuteness. but hey, let's change the subject so look over there: it's this French Art Nouveau poster i had on my kitchen wall in Brooklyn that's now hanging on the storage room door.

heh. did i ever say about my Wall O'Cats? when i was back at Uni, i rented a small loft with these dynamite exposed brick walls and high stamped-tin ceilings and shit, all in Downtown Brooklyn and that's where i had my first International Wall O'Cats and quite like a moron, loved to show it to people. but these days, i'd deny that shit to the death (not mine, yours).

hey, is it too early to get high yet? WHAT? i'll take that as a 'no', 'kayyyy?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

my own Independence Day 6,0

2010-07-04T02:02:00.009+01:00

and so, after six years of living here in England, i still can't help but stop to gawk at all the givens, things that natural-born Brits accept as the norm. it's all nothing very special to em and seriously matter-of-fact, par for the course and totally home-grown, typically mundane whatevers, seen in whichever neighbourhood; architecture, statuary, gardens, hand-hewn stone walls (all individually built, stone by stone and as such, no two are alike); banalities that're sure to induce many a ~~superior~~ *yawn* from everyone present apart from me. case in point:

true story: i hadda be forcibly pulled away after first sighting the above. i say 'forcibly' cause a second or two after i took the pic, my arms were wrapped around the column and my lips were totally sucking stone, much to ~~the amusement of passersby~~ my friends' ~~humiliation~~ dismay. right, just like almost everything else, these next are pretty damn common, frequently seen moulded onto pre-20th Century houses, all of which elicit boredom in mosta the natives but cause me to forget myself: my outside voice totally kicks in after i verily freak, all uncontrollably shouty and shit. and amazing though it is, to a History-starved American like me, these are examples of 'daily English normal' and so our reactions upon whatever sighting couldn't be further apart on whatever damn spectrum. thing of it is, the Brits exude an oh-so-civilised and refined *yawn* or maturely intone 'Quite so' whilst an American like me is sent kvelling to the heavens, near maddened with joy at all the goddamned history in evidence.

OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD — i've never seen anything like it, and so, just thinka me as the Tourist Eternal and that's the way i wannit to be. now onto sump'n totally different: in days gone by, i woulda given my left nut to successfully appropriate an English accent and ~~lying through my teeth~~ call it my own, but lately, no way, no how would i ever even want one, not cause i don't think it's totally the epitome of class and cool but for the simple reason that, after the natives overhear my horrendously lowbrow crude Brooklyn accent, wonder of wonders, i instantly make friends, most of whom declare they're wildly in love with the dulcet tones in which they believe i tawk. totally *wack*, right? but so many couldn't be bullshitting me ~~or could they~~? whatever, the Brooklyn accent stays ~~so fuhgeddabbaddit~~ and thank fuck for that.

moving right along, since Bastard Time's a-fleeting (and i honestly assumed it's like 20,00 saturday night, not having a clue as to the real time (now way after midnight on sunday, the 4th), over the past few hours i've whipped off three posts; one's called 'Snark City Guide to Downtown' replete with insults aimed at stereotypical New Yorkers with special emphasis on those hailing from Joo Yawk City, one called 'The Teabaggers' Ethos' (with more nasty yet true fun-facts directed to the glorious republiKKKans' newest, most favoured party of douchebags) and the last i penned was this — one of my posts (in an endless series — collect em all!) on the glories of my own Independence Day living here in Bristol and naturally, as always, it includes my copious and uncontrollable virtual drooling ~~and ogling of any/all young Uni dudes~~ over the layout of this, my adopted City and the edifices, gardens, statuary (bloody hell! both public AND private and most just lying about in public, like, and the thing of it is, nobody vandalises this shit or anything, totally amazing!

and then there're the fountains and memorials and oh, right: real fuckin' cemeteries! the kind you only see in films — Oh My Fucking GOD! *cough* right, where was i?

but i mean, holy shit! THESE, these buildings are like, normal here — buildings about which nobody born here gives a rat's ass or more than a cursory glance as they blindly bop on by:

here's yet another example of an invisible-to-the-natives Garden-Path Given. i see this shit and totally freak whilst my crew sees the same, yawns and rolls their eyes just praying to get the hell away from me and my shoutyness as soon as politely possible ~~so fuck em. hard~~. oopsy, quiet bit aloud again (sorry, Rooney). :-)

in truth, i could've gazed upon this garden path with its columns and stiles all the damn day but i was being Shhhhush'd and asked to 'move on' so not wanting to upset anyone ~~more~~, i reluctantly complied. i mean, they are my friends and all ~~but not for too much longer~~.

OK, the thing of it is, as per usual, Time's gotten away with me, there's no way i can finish this shit, mainly cause i wanna commemorate this Day of Days by having Someone roll me a huge fucking spliff so we can carry Hunter out on the balcony. oooh, the Moon's all golden now, way high up in the East and it's so fucking cool cause the sky behind it looks all blue velvet and shit so it's time for me to tip. what was i on about again? right, i wanna commemorate this Day of Days, since rather coincidentally, my first real whole day of actually living here was on 4th. july 2004 and so, it's been six mostly wildass fun years of my lifelong dream come true and i don't wanna miss any of it. and yeah, i can say it till the cows come home and never get bored of doing it. and so...

FUCKIN-A! I'M FINALLY LIVING IN ENGLAND — HOORAH! so take that, America, and shove it up your overfed ass. or bury it deep where the sun don't shine cause it matters not to me. OK, i'll be good and STFU now. maybe. no, wait — i lied: barring a few necessary and crucial annotations, all in the interests of accuracy, i feel the need to recap and so, last year i posted '...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 to London from Bonn, but i arrived to actually begin my new life here in England, living out my longest-held, fondest dream of dreams (the kind i never thought would EVar come true). i'm so climbing the walls with all the spoing that's in me which means i'm actually pretty damn close to "happy" (the rarest of rare occurrences to a lifelong anhedonic such as i am)...

'...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!?!one!'

moving right along, the year before that, in 2008, i tossed off another 'holy shit, i'm actually here!' post, my fourth State of the Slum(p) in which i did my usual, waxing rhapsodic over the absolute unbelievability that — yes, a-gain — i'm actually living here. feel free to give it a miss cause apart from my most excellent photos, photos that induce many a yawn from natural-born Brits but cause me to ooh and ahhh in total wonderment cause after all this time, everything that's exotic to me is a given to everyone born here.

shit! before i realised The Date, i was so writing yet a fourth post either called 'So it's come to this' or 'Oh, how the mighty have fallen' and was fulla my typically American whinging and quite a bit of foot-stomping, name-calling, road rage and much befouling of the yuppie neighbours' doormats but that's sump'n that'll have to wait for a less happy time. hang on, i just remembered the BP oil spill and Obama's foot-dragging on same as well as ex-VP Cheney miraculously surviving his latest heart attack (the one i was so hoping would do him in), so OK, i'm back to being ~~suicidally depressed~~ normal. ~~how boring!~~

~~nah, i'm not high or drunk or dead or anything; why the hell do you ask?~~ but ahhhh... it's good to be back... NOT. but shit, they say 'Every cloud has a silver lining' or whatever so i imagine my silver lining has sump'n to do with me being an ocean away from the capitalistic propaganda and all the hypocrisy and the sad, sad, sad deforming of perfectly decent American bodies all in the name of beauty or attention-whoring or whatever (i always get those confused).

and call me unpatriotic, but hey, here's one typical American lady i'm totally not gonna miss (even though i couldn't help but notice her ilk at almost every national holiday celebration for most of my adult life when i lived back there). in all truth, i applaud her balls and sentiment although i betcha she voted for bu$hCo but nevertheless, i bow down to this woman. no, i mean, rilly — i do.

wait — i thought of sump'n better (she laughed, deftly changing the subject): have i ever mentioned i harbour a hugeass ~~sexual~~ thang for the one and only Robbie Coltrane? cause i totally do — and bigtime. *whispers* damn, i even own the boxed set of Cracker. *sigh*

moving right along and having absolutely nada to do with my ~~sexual fantasies~~ 'thing' (let's call it) involving Mr Coltrane, on that prior note, i shall leave y'all to continue arranging vasty white lines on the silver tray which serves as my mirror. y'know, for purely (and i do mean pure-ly) ~~medicinal purposes~~ aesthetic reasons only, of course. needless to say (but being the Princess of Logorreah and Run-On Sentences), this is only to celebrate my number six (count em) SIXTH YEAR HERE as a happy lit-tle ~~hosebag~~ resident.

and if i were a generally genuinely pleasant person, i'd be glorying in this shit (as well as in the coke) but unfortunately, i'm not and so, the most enthusiastic mood i can muster ATM is some trivia i thought i'd throw in to divert yiz from the Coltrane admission as well as serve to remind y'all that we get first-run, uncut "foreign" films over here, in cinemas as well as those shown on TV, so grow up and suck it up, American Nanny State. disclaimer: since America treated me like shit for the entire time i lived there, i think it's only fair that i dis it back when the shoe totally fits, like always, so NYAH.

right, SG: happy Independence Day, as well as many, many, moar returns of the day. and lest we forget, my typically *~~coke~~ shit-eating grin* goes here. :-)

endnote: do i win anything for throwing enough disparate shit against the wall to see if anything sticks? yes? nah? in yer heart of hearts, y'all know i deserve to. win sump'n, that is, so hmmpf... just sayin'. oh wait — almost forgot my parting shot, a taunt in which i attempt to summon up every single goddamned immature and puerile bone in my body:

HA-ha! i'm here and yer not so suck it up, looooo-zers. :-) in truth, try not to hate me, dudes. if you led the life i had done before i split the States, you'd be puerile and immature and oozing with Schadenfreude as well ~~as having a heroin habit the size of which could've killed an elephant~~. i mean, just ask Mommy and Daddy (if y'all can find him cause he's dead), the Braintrust at the NYC Board of Education (who awarded me my Teaching Licence and double-life or not, i was damn good), that Harley-ridin' Wall Street stockbroker to whom i was engaged *smirk* ~~hey, Alan~~ as well as every motherfucking professor and shrink i had the misfortune of seeing professionally throughout my sad-sack imitation of a life (but you get the idea or at least, you should). oh my... i've said too much. again. um. sorr-reeeee — my bad. i'll STFU now. :-)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Nightmare of the Missing Day

2010-07-02T03:03:00.001+01:00

before i launch in to this week's horror, in which i totally lost a day, i wanna credit the artist above: 'This image copyright © 2005, Paul Bielaczyc and Aradani Studios', about which he writes:

'Where do nightmares come from? Are they figments of our imagination, or physical beings that exist in our world? These creatures come out at night, and feed upon our dreams. By doing so, they sustain themselves, but also twist our peaceful dreams into frightening visions that terrorize our sleep.'

i'd bet on 'physical beings that exist in our world', but whaddoo i know? but OK, having said that, i must get this next shit down. my personal situation is such that, if i get an entire three hours' uninterrupted sleep every night, i consider it 'good', much to my despair. not kidding here: this shit began a few years ago and it seems to be my 'normal' now which bothers me muchly as i'm totally accustomed to sleeping for the better part of 12-15 hours straight, at a time, but hey... 'they' say that the older one gets, the less sleep one needs, all to which i shout out a resounding BULLSHIT. now back to bidness.

because i've been having medical problems (*snigger* so to speak — please notice i'm deftly skirting all the mental and emotional problems i've been harbouring) ... hey, wait — where in fuckall is this train going? right, OK, so on monday i visited my GP...

... and moaned my ass off cause i just know that three stinking hours' sleep every night is like seven to ten hours less than i need) so he prescribed me some utter crap ostensibly to help me get to sleep and remain unconscious throughout the night. and so, being the dutiful patient i am, i followed his instructions to the letter and dropped the first one like 23,30 monday night. but then, almost instantly, not only was i wider awake, but pacing the floors whilst my bod was pouring perspiration and my limbs were actually twitching, along the lines of that which's termed Restless Leg Syndrome. y'know, the thing of it is, if i didn't know better and/or if i hadn't been drug-free for ages, i'd swear on a shitload of Bibles that i was going through heavy-duty heroin withdrawels.

fast forward to a few minutes later, as i paced the floor, marching back and forth from balcony to bedroom. then out of desperation, my virtual lightbulb went on and somehow i remembered i'd been hoarding the remains of my precious Valiums so, after digging em up, i dropped three 10 mgs. being an impatient sort (and having a hugeass tolerance to whatever extra-legals), i immediately thought 'fuck it' and hurriedly dropped yet another three 10s, making it 60mgs of Diazepam in toto, coursing through the bloodstream of my 90 lb. system. helpful hint: 'Don't try this at home, kids, especially without doctor's supervision'.

anyhoo, only then did blessed sleep descend upon my oh-s0-weary bod and head and thank fuckity fuck, not only were my eyelids growing sandy and heavy but i recall thinking '60 mgs? i laugh and point in their general direction'. in all actuallity, as i LOLd i attempted to point but my fingers wouldn't hold the pose as i slowwwly made my way to the kitchen intending on washing the dryer-than-dry pills all down with a huge glass of OJ. ~~result? empty glass was discovered on the kitchen floor near a puddle of sticky thick orange juice-y substance but not until two days later (and all i can say is 'thank fuck Hunter hates citrus')~~. but i digress.

back to near-midnight monday and the side-effects came on in full force but the worst was yet to come: as i ~~walked~~ crawled into the kitchen on all fours, the nightmares began. now this is sump'n new to me: i've had many a nightmare in my life but never have i had em whilst totally conscious, completely awake. to say i was frightened doesn't cover it. i was fucking terrified cause i saw these Reptilian beings outta the corners of my eyes and horror of horrors! their tentacles were snaking nearer and nearer to the back of my ass, which thanks to my crawling, was held high in the air, as i thought to avoid any physical contact with the Nightmare (pill-induced?) monster and his or her goddamned ugly dripping poisonous (?) tentacles.

i mean, dude! c'mon! i'm on the floor and shaking my ass off, trembling with terror. i think i shouted out 'mother-FUCK-er!' cause the yup neighbors above me all went 'Shhhhhhh!' but at that point, i didn't give a shit cause i'd rather be shushed by yuppie neighbors than have even one ugly sucker-laden tentacle latch on to me.

long story short: the next time i opened my eyes, i was shit-sure it was tuesday AM so imagine my horror when i checked the Calendar on my iPod and saw i totally lost a day. this shit hasn't happened in ages and ages and in truth, i've only ever lost any time when sleeping it off ('it' being yo' drug or booze of choice, so fill in the blank as you see fit).

'gobsmacked' doesn't cut it and neither does 'gutted', both of which i totally were. and so, when i came to yesterday AM, i was so convinced it was tuesday, i jumped in the bath, quickly threw on my clothes and actually appeared at a job interview which i'd set up last week. whoa, was my face red (especially when they gave me the most snotty of withering looks topped off when some dumb twat had the temerity to snark at me about 'not knowing my days'.

in all truth, i can't afford to keep on losing Time like that. but every cloud has a silver lining and i actually found one here; in my confusion, i heard a line from an as yet-unwritten poem repeating over and over in my head:

'Reality is a nightmare from which I can't awake'.

in truth, dunno if i shall ever actually pen that poem but i'm with this dude cause he summed it up rather succinctly in the image below. ahhhh... a dude after my own heart.

LOL, if only! *cough* i mean, now let that be a lesson to y'all, boyz and grrls ('don't bite off more Valiums than y'all can chew, aighhht?). BTW, if it's not apparent, i haven't a clue as to what the fuck i'm tawkin' about (here, there or anywhere) but Shhhhh! don't tell the authorities. ;-)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

mail of the day

2010-07-01T11:46:00.008+01:00

sent yesterday by TPFKAPM: 'Dear [blank], Please [blank]' and then, nothing but a link which i followed, and then read ~~shit~~ reader-submitted examples in the format exemplified above, like:

'Dear Good Looking Colleague, Please continue to bend down, but this time, please don't look up and see me staring down your top'.

~~oh, how i laughed... NOT~~ the rest were in a similar vein but AFAIC, it was all too much so i shot off sump'n way near and dear to my cold, cold heart. it read thusly:

'dear "hipster" douchebags, we totally own the word "hipster" ~~having inadvertently paid our dues way back when~~, so give it a rest and give it the fuck back, you lameass poseurs. and whilst you're at it, for fuck's fucking sake: GET YER OWN DAMN MUSIC'. sincerely, Unrepentant_Punk.

hmmpf... i'm still working on this next one, in order to embreven it down to teeny-tiny bits of info so even the most brain-dead Gen X-er, Y, Z-er or Noughtiers can dig it without taxing their poor widdy bwains: OK, *cough* 'and whilst yer at it, don't you goddamned dare term that weakass "music" of yours "Rhythm & Blues", i mean, What The Fuck? to my well-versed ears, your pale millennial imitation of R&B is sump'n i very diplomatically term 'Philly- or DEE-troit or even R&B-Lite' (if y'all can excuse the image conjured therein).

but wait, i ain't done — don't try to bust the same kinda moves to any of that ~~'music'~~ gawh-bidge in any true R&B club, y'know, the kind that Maceo was last seen at, hittin' up the cigarettes machine. i mean, if you try to use that phoney bullshit with me, your ass'll be so grass, yer head'll spin. point being: he ran in for fags — he didn't bother with the damn jukebox. true story!

fun-fact: Did y'know? y'know the costumed dancing chicks in the background of almost every music promo-vid? those you laud as being all groundbreaking and edgy and sexy and shit only cause their underwears are worn outside their costumes? y'all know the ones ~~(style over substance; it's only fancy-shmancy Showgirl plumage as well as the bulging exposed TITS)~~. well, gather round and dig a bit of history, my apt lit-tle pupils: way back when, when R&B was new~~ly ripped offa the best of, (read: most acceptable-to-whites) Black Culture~~ (i.e., when music was music and i ain't lookin' at you, Elvis), beautiful as those lovely back-up vocalists were, the best they could hope for were to join the line of synchronised dancers moving in unison behind the leadsinger, always in the background, and dig: they were looked upon as nothing more than bootilicious scenery, designed to promote the star of the show in the best possible light.

and (wonder of wonders!) sometimes, just sometimes, they actually got to sing a solo. truth be told, it happened less frequently rather than more cause they 'shone' (i'm being kind here); they shone during the infrequent times when the scripted choruses called for some 'Oooh, Baby, baby!' ~~all to make the star sound better~~. hey, didja ever wonder why the lead singers in pre-Beatles 1960s girl bands were way more attractive than their back-ups? it doesn't take a genius to figure that shit out but as always, i digress.

prime example: The Supremes. apart from the way talented Diana Ross, there were Florence and Mary but hey, does anyone know the names of the chicks who stood behind Martha (she of the Vandellas)? without Googling? so keep on keeping on with your phoney R&B, which causes me lotsa LOLz whilst y'all show yer ignorance about the real, true thing... the roots. R&B roots. and uh... far be it for me to point out aforementioned ignorance disses the current crop of R&B-lite acts as well. ooh, did i say that out loud? whoa... my bad. ;-)

anyhoo, on to more positive things: here's an example offa the top of my head: has Amy Winehouse ever heard of Willie Mae Thornton? ~~hey! don't hit me; i'm askin' an honest question, here~~. and if she has, has she attempted any WMT covers? is she even able? in truth, i don't wanna know. *shudder*

and hah! don't start me on living legends like Aretha. not for nothing, i laugh and point in the general direction of what's considered R&B these days — need i elaborate? nah, didn't think so: think poseurs, k? and the thing of it is, everyone's so damn ignorant unless their parents are heavy-duty R&B purists, they've got nothing with which to compare the real thing with the watered-down substitute for which it's passed off of late. but YOW! *ducks* hmmpf... be that as it may but to anyone apart from myself who still happens to be reading: dig it cause i shall have the last laugh, as i always do.

i mean, i'm still waiting for this generation's Solomon Burke or Wilson Pickett or James Brown or even Betty Everett and my personal fave, Freda Payne. i won't say 'Aretha' cause no way, no how, would i sully this post by referring to her. and so, *smirk* if the current crop of (scuse the spression) R&B ~~Lite~~ singers are any indication of that which kids revere as R&B, so be it but whoa, are you d00ds fucking deluded *snigger* so have it your way, K? y'know what they say, right? ignorance is bliss (but whoa, yiz are all so missing out on shitloads of top-notch genuine stuff).

if i bothered to care, i'd go 'I weep for you all', but i don't — now let's cue up some Seal and party like it's 1994 or whatever.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

note to self: burp! SOS

2010-06-30T23:29:00.004+01:00

O HAI! hey, why does the above image remind me of a badly-drawn Magritte? dunno? nah, i dunno either. but back to present-time, yeah, ~~i think~~ i'm still here (that is, last time i checked) but i've been pretty much out-of-it lately. y'know how it is — busy, busy, busy tryna find another ~~soul-eating~~ job and then, after each and every day of ~~going through the motions; like an automaton~~ tryna pass for normal, it's just soooo easy to ~~drug~~ drink myself into oblivion, detach what remains of my mind and then, fall out, kinda like in a coma, but ~~unfortunately for me~~ not. if the foregoing is way too lengthy for comprehension, suffice it to say, i chose Criminality as the best and most profitable way to spend my time over the Winter and Spring hols.

OK nah, SOS ain't a cry for help ~~not yet, at least~~, it's *snigger* Same Old Shit. rather, Same Shit, Different Day (your mileage may vary). and like i said last night when Gemma, Liz, Teresa, Rooney and Danny stopped by to ~~cut the gigantic rock of neige~~ ~~to test shit out~~, when asked why i wanted 'in', i glibly quoted Susan Traherne who said it best: 'I have a weakness... I like to lose control'.

truer words! *rolls eyes in a rarely lucid moment* ~~thank fuck these people don't really know me!~~ *cough* anyway, alla that couldn't have fallen upon more eager ears especially when i caught my bosses' 'looks' in re: me, looks from which i read: 'Mah kinda grrl — no way will she work for us, sans clothing, sans long nails and/or doubly masked or not' but let's move on cause the less said about that, the better. and so... all i can gasp out is 'meh!' *feigned nonchalance* score 1 for boss-man and score like 10+ for the oh-so-clever SG, all of that due to their most obvious oversight and underestimation of my own little resources (and i do mean 'little').

LOL, who's LOLing now, ~~douchebags~~ d00ds? you ain't the ones whose faces are squished in the fettucine (yet i am... *puke* and all... hey, didja ever notice how Parmegian smells almost exactly like human vomit? nah? yah? no matter... but i *puke* digress.

moving right along ~~down the ol' Cryptic Highway~~, ~~thanks to popular demand~~, ~~thanks to getting kicked outta L's car~~ ~~and bouncing on my ass nearly 100 foot~~ i found these on one 50 metre stretch as i dragged myself way painfully home.

yep, y'all get whut y'all see: they're all 'normal' windows with no hidden agenda to be found. but what flipped me out is (think: Easily Impressed Bloody American), they were all within a tiny curved street whose buildings ran the gamut of a shitload of disparate architectural styles, so hah! take that gritty boring Manhattan grids and other way banal more mundane shit, nyah! oops, soz! (not very bloody likely really.)

and so, in closing — hey, look over there: it's one of my fave Hunter-LOLCats again. and lest you've forgotten, he carries a message which totally stands the test of time as well as the epitome of his attitude. and dig: he's tawkin Scots! clever kitty, does your intellect hold no bounds?

fun-fact/did you know?: 'Repetition works, David... repetition works, David.' *in a Robert Downey Jr voice* and IMO 'repetition is tantamont to shoving whatever shit down people's throats for the upteenth time', and there y'all have it. :-)

nb: post no. 354, written whilst wasted — is there any other way? helpful hint: do not (i repeat) do not attempt to find coherence or reason within cause you'd be hard-pressed to find either and you'll only end up wasting ~~more~~ time.

OK — *hic!* — my work iz dunnnne...*urp* hey, is this thing on? cause i gotta hugeass hairball that's just dying to come out — hur- *puke* ewww... i'm so verily disgusting. *preens*

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

un-fuckin-fortunately present

2010-06-30T14:51:00.008+01:00

yup (she sighed, with shitloads of dismay, that which can't be translated into my typically nauseating ~~diarreah-of-the-mouth~~ over-verbiage). but why the prolonged silence? ~~*mirthless laughter*~~ hah! — totally not up to yours truly but at the request — nay, the command — of those way hipper-than-~~thou~~ me (and enough said about ~~those motherfuckers~~ theyze all, the better ~~for us all~~. in the long run. hmmpf...

anyhoo, if things go as planned (and let's not fall back on that over-used phrase, apart from i did, so ignore me please — fanks in advance), i intend to be back 'shortly' with multitudes of explanations all the way up the wazoo (as stated in similar veins, the kinda veins one might care to employ using the now-too popular, much maligned — yet totally true — cliche' describing The Revolving Door Of Paris Hilton's Vagina (as well as every single chick espousing the 'sharing' of her 'love'), so here's hoping, y'all! i mean 'hoping' not to thee nor me, but 'hoping' as long as every Tom, Dick and Harry hailing from Bum-Fuck Nebraska get the general idea. can we say 'Hoo-Er?' shurr we kin — an' wit' gusto.

'mmmm... Hoo-Uhz... glurghlll-drooool... ~~*retch*~~ sho pash the T'unnuhboid... wha? Mogen Dhavid'z wha's lef'? wha-evuh...' *GLUGGITY*

SFX: *hugeass hack-y coughity* whilst above speech is enunciated/slurred with medium-sized phlegm bits which commence flying hither and yon, flung from speaker to audience, majorly spreckling the inner sanctum. in all actuallity, some drip whilst some adhere. but nobody notices (cares?). *shrugs* ~~no biggie~~. *smirk*

OK, moving right along in a departure from what was witnessed early this AM on the wrong side of town to in other more palatable news, given i've not shown my ugly face here in ages, speculation's totally ~~rife~~ out so don't be daft — have y'all forgotten already? whenever i deign to ~~truth-tell~~ gossip-monger here, i'm totally and irredeemably ~~straight~~ wasted and as such, immovable from Clifton Village 'high' as well ~~and as we all know, my Spotless Reputation is Totally Spotless (so sayeth The Goddess of Slums~~ all of which give me Carte Blanch to write whatever the fuck i wanna with impunity. got problemz with that? there's a support group that meets every wednesday so feel free to vent to your heart's desire ~~i double, nah, i triple dare yiz~~.

yo, wait — hang on.. where was i? obligatory bleurgh! *puke* ahhhhh... thass better. hey, mind your toes! damn, i toldja not to wear sandals whilst reading but — TSK! would you listen? do you EVar listen? serves yiz fucking right for choosing 'hip open-toe spike-heeled fuck-me sandals instead of more sensible shoes. like Cons, or the more favoured Parachute Jump Boots (extra added protection!). morons. *snigger*

right, almost forgot: d00ds! according to yer too-infrequent mails, i'm ~~not painfully~~ totally aware i've *cough* lost my edge *smirk* (if i ever had one), so hah! cause i take it from whom it comes ~~losers~~, so do yerselves a biggie and refrain from pointing that shit out (y'know, the obvious) cause yer all so damn wrong, it's laughable. but to be polite, thank yiz all and muchly! ~~this is me SO caring~~. :-)

oh yeah, i almost fogot the self-absorbed, ego-centric seriousity: yeah, a BOOK. put that in yer pipes and smoke it or whatever and whilst yer at it, sit on it and rotate... NYAH. and quickly. *smirk* so here — you lucky lit-tle fucks... 'my lit-tle monsters' as Lady CaCa oh so condescendingly calls her um... 'fans' — no doubt utilising her newly glommed English-accent in yet another blatant rip-off of her idol Madonna, to both of which i can only point, laugh and shout 'POSEURS!' *smug* thing is, far be it from me to EVar call yiz (or anyone who digs me/or not) ANYthing in a faux British accent. *snigger* can we say 'charlatan'? suuuure, we can. however, way past the phoney accent, i'm not 'big' enough not to impart a very raucous and Schadenfreude-filled NYAH! :-)

anyhoo, next up are the very belated birthday present and Mother's Day photos i took for Mommy but failed to post in time ~~cause i had extralegal things going on~~ (whom, at last count, was 90-goddamned-3 years old (?!?) — ~~dear lord whom-i-don't-believe in, fucking SHOOT ME~~.

but wait! there's more! i called this one Late, Late, Later for Mommy:

last month found me trekking up Pembroke Road (for reasons i shall not divulge here but believe me, they weren't pretty). what made it all worse was, it was like 21 temperature and 90% humidity and that shit totally didn't add to my typically foul nature but since i found myself pretty much broke ~~for reasons filed under Extra-Legal Nefarious Indulgences~~ i figured i'd take some pics of the one thing guaranteed to send my mother on a header (the 'possibly-break-your-head-and-die-kind').

thing of it is, ever since i split NYC for EU, my mother has taken a number of falls, all of which cracked her skull and flattened her face and all of which needed Emergency hospital attention. the reasons for each of these unfortunately life-threatening mishaps can be deftly summed up in her very own words: 'I was busy admiring Neighbour X's beautiful garden and didn't watch where I was going'. damn, i so admire the elderly — totally thrown (and i do mean 'thrown') for a head-cracking, near-death loop and all thanks to the sight of pret-ty flowers. ~~one can always hope~~.

now being the loving and helpful first-born i am, i thought she'd adore seeing how they did it here: no manicured gardens, neither in private backyards nor growing up fences, sidewalks and walls, and that's actually sump'n i truly admire. and so, i thought i'd give Mom a taste of that which i see as routine occurrence like every damn day. so here, Mommy — a very belated birthday to you as well as a heartfelt though tiny sample of the bonteous wild, multicoloured vegetation belonging to some of the homes and streets of Clifton Village. take note, Mom — these are givens... no 'biggies' here. and the most lovely thing is, all pics were taken in the space of about 8 or 9 metres. ~~take that, Brooklyn!~~

hmmm... wouldn't it be great if she (in her own words) 'took a(nother) flop' when viewing any/all the above? holy shit, i totally didn't say that. nah, Mom, i kid. no... i mean, rilly. :-)

nb: i just don't play a piecashit ingrate daughter on the Internetz. i do it in meatspace as well (and believe you me, not only have i got plenty of practise, i've got way too many totally valid reasons). and as usual, just sayin', Ma, i'm totally kidding you. right, Mommy... rilly i do. 'kid', i mean. here, have one of my shit-eating grins, ghostly as it may be. :-)

hey! don't blame me for shite quality — blame Mr Asswipe who took too much MDMA (the pig) despite my bestest and most fervent warnings that when it comes to that shit, i'm totally the Princess of Dosing Em Best. but would ~~they~~ he listen? hah! fuckin' douchebag... }-(

soz, Mom; totally forgot: happy belated birthday and Mother's Day. :-)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

scene of the crime

2010-05-27T12:16:00.007+01:00

*cough* it's totally not necessary to share details cause nobody's interested in old Punky grrls who drink too much ~~when they're already ripped~~, then think it a great idea to fall on their asses ~~on their way to The Crime~~ on the street ~~for the attention~~, then lie there ~~for the attention~~, taking photos.

nb: we got away with it. ALL of it. :-) in other news, i'm shocked and mortified that Replay Ray took my name in vain (in the wordyness below the image). it's weird cause i was all

until i spotted my mention — TSK! moving right along, i tried to capture my purple hair; y'know, for the record. uh... FAIL ~~but i did manage to snag that lunatic look i'm wearing more and more frequently these days~~.

ARRRGHHH! MY EYYYYYYES! *cough* OK, from my fave mail this week starring me and him (way at the end in italics) so first me and my big mouth:

I'm in ur Jobs Centre, stealin' yo' bandwidth. :-) that is, if 'ur' = Council taxpayers and 'bandwidth' = ... never mind, still a bit drunk from last night. *half-formed analogy dons boots, grabs stick, takes hike*

whooooah... I /am/ still drunk. still. let's move o-HIC! on. :-)

Hee. What'd you do last night?

[edited to say i didn't think it necessary to tell him that amidst the other night's festivities or whatever, laws were broken. many, many laws.]

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

they only come out at night

2010-04-27T23:28:00.001+01:00

they only come out at night. well, apart from when a formerly close associate comes over to visit for the weekend and after he leaves, they're awake for the next fifty-two hours, thinking on the error of their big-mouthed ways and moaning over the fact they so stupidly told him ~~mostly~~ all about the worst of the worst whilst somehow forgetting to mention the joyful, uplifting things going on, things like the Tinnitus, the Stendhal Syndrome and the many other even more trivial ongoing hilarities.

hmmpf... thanks to the Stendahl Syndrome, i'm still having fits whenever i pass that gate, especially now, and it only makes the entire situation even more incongruent. wait, what was i saying again? right, if shit goes on like it did this weekend, only then do they come out in dreaded daylight and walk the streets for hours, taking pictures and shit ~~and that's my story and i'm sticking to it~~.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

big thanks

2010-03-04T10:37:00.009Z

'An existential crisis is a stage of development at which an individual questions the very foundations of their life: whether their life has any meaning, purpose or value... An existential crisis may result from: the sense of being alone and isolated in the world; a new-found grasp or appreciation of one's mortality; believing that one's life has no purpose or external meaning...'

oh, wait — wrong post... um, my bad (so just forget alla the above). what i really meant to write was a list of Thank Youse to alla whom didn't give up on me despite my being MIA from The Internetz. y'all know who you are and if you don't, ~~don't look at me to remind you cause i don't even know who i, myself, am~~ you're listed below, so very reluctantly (as is my wont), the biggest of thanks to:

Leisl (here and here as well)
Chris (he lives here too. sometimes)
Darren (whose last txt was inadvertently ignored, or so i ~~bullshitted~~ told him)
Chuck (and here where he tawks stuff i pretend to understand)
Mikey (though i tried and tried, i couldn't ignore him ~~he'll pay for that shit~~)
Xamichee (whose lovely mails guilted me out ~~and i'll get him for that as well~~)
ReplayRay (whose LOL-SG's seen here. *still preening*)
Glasgow Criminal (who reached me on a most crucial level: Work Ethics ~~or the lack thereof~~)

helpful hint: please apply a ~~raucous~~ *snigger* to any/all those listed above — your call, cause i wouldn't wanna blow whatever it is i maintain with ~~a few~~ ~~some~~ ~~most~~ ~~all~~ those mentioned. shit! quiet bit out loud again. goddammit.

and then there were Nomad, Pam in Brixton, AvenginAngel Angie, Sarah (Mrs Ifor The Engine), Stevie (Librarian of Love), Daaaaave! and last but certainly far from least, Christine who not only didn't lose faith in me, but served as my lifeline, mailing me upwards of five times a day to the point at which, even if i wanted to (which i didn't), no way was i able to ignore her mostly cause for the last seven years, we're like the Twinsies of Gloom & Doom... she feeds me Death & Depression and i feed it right back at her. :-)

LOL, a few years back at Lost Vagueness was the night when her bro Segs first learnt that she and i were tight, and i'll never forget the look on his face: he actually rolled his eyes and looked mournful. poor Segsy! *smirk*

seen here after an Alabama 3 gig in the lobby of the Astoria back in Autumn 2007 (thanks, Daaaave!):

and over at Christine and Michael's a coupla years ago in the States:

back to Lost Vagueness, i quickly bullshitted him, allaying his worst fears but i dunno if he believed me. needless to say, when i told Christine, she was in hysterics and reminded me of how the soon-to-be Living Legend used to steal her Reggae records, but that's another story. now... where was i?

moving right along, the next quote's from Virginia Woolf. but before i plunge in, here's a fun-fact: 'On 28 March 1941, Woolf committed suicide. She put on her overcoat, filled its pockets with stones, then walked into the River Ouse near her home and drowned herself'. *admiring*

anyhoo, VW's next words served as impetus to drag me back ~~kicking and screaming~~, back to the ~~dreaded~~ waking world — the land of the *puke* living:

'You cannot find peace by avoiding life'. hmmpf... maybe not, but i'm still trying, so pass the spliff, pass the pills, pass the powders and if i pass out, do me a biggie and leave me be. wait — did i say that out loud? *giggle* um, sorr-rreeeee! (not really). here, have some Hunter. i asked him to play dead for me but did he listen?

in other news, i plan to go into hugeass detail on why i've harboured this lifelong obsession with death and dying, but not today. and now i shall leave y'all with Sophocles and some food for thought or whatever:

'Death is not the greatest of evils; it is worse to want to die, and not be able to'.

i think a quickie Litmus Test would be if people were read the above, then asked 'Can you dig it?'. those who answered 'No' would be termed Normal and those who answered 'Yeah' would be relegated to confinement, but whaddoo i know?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

crawling from the wreckage

2010-03-03T16:40:00.009Z

yup, that's exactly how i feel ATM — just as if i crawled from the wreckage and am peering out at the world whilst standing on my tippy-toes on a hugeass pile of detritus or whatever. thing is, since i've actually been working for the last month or so as well as spending too much time away from home, i've neither had the strength nor the impetus to post here.

it's kinda a delicate situation, like, cause i've been helping a family whose daughter has Down's Syndrome and AFAIC, sensitivity and secrecy are paramount and so, i've suppressed the somewhat gory details as well as stayed offline as much as i've been able ~~in order to keep my natural born temptation to spill my guts away from prying eyes and to myself. why? big duh! cause i've got the biggest of big fuckin' mouths~~.

BTW, the next illo totally sums up my attitude and believe it or not, it's helped me through way too many longass drawn-out, seemingly endless days:

but i said 'fuck it' after a semi-personal crisis over the weekend just past and then decided to take a very much-needed hol from my work after a coupla those long, dark nights of the soul during which i questioned myself mercilessly as i tossed and turned ~~on the sofa~~ in my bed. and so yesterday, i broke down and totally began to twit again. one of the first things i noticed that struck me is the way cool avatar you see above, used by Joseph L Savitz III (whose permission i snagged to reproduce).

now i could take the easy way out and splain in grindingly boring detail why i've been MIA off Twitter, off Tawdry, off FreeA3 et al., but like, why bother? then again, i've got plenty of time now, so here we go with my first two twits in over a month, both twat late yesterday afternoon ~~cause i needed to take my mind off the Depressing Business of Life and what better way than spout any old bullshit?~~ ahhh... can you totally smell the brilliance of my writty?:

hello, lovely ppl—i'm back for the nonce; been working w/a fam who wouldn't be pleased had i twat details re: th.wh i've been doing cause...

said details would ID em since they're here & watching my twitstream. suffice it to say, i wouldn't wanna ID them.

and since i'm ~~still~~ a lazy fuck, if anyone's interested, y'all can find the rest of my blether way down my page, beginning on 2. march.

the thing of it is, i never quit writing; in fact i've got at least three unfinished posts as yet unpublished, complete with salient illos. one's written thanks to Christine and it's called Existential Angst (with emphasis on chronic depression and anhedonia as well as the suicidal and especially in relation to those too damn smart for their own good as well as the world in which we find ourselves ~~existing~~ enduring. right, and thanks to Nomad there's a shitload on how JFK damaged my psyche but we won't go there). anyhoo, to post or not to post? hmmpf...

truth is, i feel i've got this moral obligation *wack* not to depress people even more than they might be bummed already, so till i finally make up my mind, they'll remain right here in my Drafts. OK, just one more thing before i tip, sump'n that, when sent me, embiggened that entity once known as my ego:

big thanks to @replayray for making my very own LOLCat. *preens* :-)

in closing, here's my thought for your day, stoled offa TrollCats. i dare yiz, nah, i double-dare y'all to disagree.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

RIP JD Salinger

2010-01-28T22:26:00.007Z

the mails began to pour in just about 17,30 today (if nine counts as 'pouring') and my first reaction was 'MOTHERFUCKER!' *in a Ving Rhaimes voice* cause Holden Caulfield became one of my first fictional heroes when i was like seven or eight and just a few pages into Catcher In The Rye for the very first time (i had this edition. still do, actually):

from then on in, it's been one of the three books i never tire of reading (the other two being Alice in Wonderland and Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas). *sigh* ~~then again, maybe i never get bored reading em cause i'm senile? nah, cause i had a really vise-like memory for mosta my life.~~

instead of sobbing all wordy and shit, i'm gonna pull a quote from here cause i dig it due to my ~~only reason for ever liking anything~~ usually self-absorbed reasons:

'...Thursday's statement from Salinger's literary agent acknowledged the writer's isolation. "Salinger had remarked that he was in this world but not of it"...'

i wonder if ~~he thought like me~~ he's happy he's dead cause he really wanted it and everything. moving right along, at one point tonight, in near-desperation (cause i was impatient to continue discussions with my sister, Christine and the others with whom i was all teary on this), i tried to twit my fave Salinger quote, but ended up mistwatting it and wasted a second twit doing so.

i remember the first time i read it: i was up in my room with the door shut, as usual, supposedly doing my stupid homework. i read it, and in true delight, recognised the situ —> nothing i'd read in print up to then had seemed as real to me as that shit did... so i went back and read it again and again, then laughed my fucking ass off to the point at which Daddy got up from his chair and called up the stairs to see if i was alright. anyway, here's the real deal, in toto and in context:

'...I had quite a bit of time to kill till ten o'clock, so what I did, I went to the movies at Radio City. It was probably the worst thing I could've done, but it was near, and I couldn't think of anything else.

'I came in when the goddamn stage show was on. The Rockettes were kicking their heads off, the way they do when they're all in line with their arms around each other's waist. The audience applauded like mad, and some guy behind me kept saying to his wife, "You know what that is? That's precision"...'

thing of it is, by then, my parents had taken us to Radio City enough times for me to know there was always some guy saying sump'n pretty much exactly like that. when i was like five, this old-ish dude sitting behind us actually seddit and i turned around and laughed in his face. everyone looked at me apart from my mother whose gaze was frozen, fixed onstage with the Rockettes.

fun-fact: needless to say i hated em mainly cause just like the chicks who became Miss America, they were already being held up to me as clean-cut role model types, the kind my mother wanted me to turn out to be *smirk* and whenever she'd start in, i'd think sump'n along the lines of 'fat chance, ma'. anyway, after the show was finally over and we reached the garage where Daddy'd parked our car, my mother finally caught up to me and smacked me — 'for being fresh' — but it was totally worth it. *snigger* so AFAIC, Salinger nailed it and that particular passage never failed to make me LOL — but not tonight. *sigh*

JD Salinger: 1, january 1919 – 27, january 2010. RIP dude and thank you for everything.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

dillydally defer & delay

2010-01-25T19:11:00.003Z

and the proof is in the ~~pudding~~ posting. back to The Bruthuhs Deez, Dillydally, Defer & Delay were these four wee kitties who lived out their lives in — no, wait... that's a whole nother story so i'm starting over — yeah, no backsies — but before i forget, big thanks to AndreaUrbanFox for teh funny above as well as the darling dudes over at Trollcats for the love that enabled her. somewhere along the line, someone (Andrea?) gave it the title:

'Kids, this is why adults don't want you to touch them', but as usual, i digress, which totally fits into the same exact vein as my hungover hesitation of the other day as well as my dillydally-delaying the deferable. *whispers* and if, by post's end, y'all aren't driven batshit-crazy ~~y'know: like me~~, i'll have to admit dreaded defeat: the accusations are accurate and ~~i'm losing~~ i've lost my tenuous ~~hold on reality~~ touch. pity, that. }-(

editor's note: holy hell, i've written some utter shite in my time but never have i experienced this World Without End going on and On and ON right now... all in the interests of Procrastination ~~Nation~~ and used to the dirtiest demented, deplorable, depraved disadvantage. waitaminnit...

Logorreah's like diarreah of the mouf — both kinds, right? Linguistically, it's 'an excessive flow of words; prolixity; wordiness; tumidity' and Psychologically, it's 'a communication disorder resulting in incoherent talkativeness'. *cough* 'guilty as charged, yer honor'. *snigger* wait — i gotta remember to add to my FAQs. anyway, here's the score: coherence: nil / confusion: well, see for yourself:

this is cause my shit — the post i wrote whilst ill — is so incredibly fucked-up (even for me): depressing and pretty much deathly ~~devoted~~ deranged. then again, in all actuallity, it's more daftly distressing than technically depressing, but still... enough people think i'm way too off-the-wall already — hang on; why use a euphemism like 'off-the-wall' when the more appropriate 'fucking insane' will do?

OK, enough think i'm fucking insane already ~~(guess what? they're right)~~, so in the interests of any modicum of self-preservation that still might be rolling round in my head, i'm entertaining second thoughts about putting the damned thing up here. then again, after all the bullshit build-up, it's bound to disappoint so, like... why bother? confused again? yup — me three. *wack* and in the very rare case your discomfiture's lacking, i'd advise the only proper thing to do:

sorry, i keep forgetting i'm American and being as distinctly direct as i am's like, totally not on; it's not considered polite here. i do hope this's betterer (in the sense of 'more easily palatable to Brits' oh-so-delicate sensibilities') cause even though it's the same exact message, the cute kitty below makes it more bearable. or so i've been told).

not-so fun-fact: this pussyfooting around (no pun intended) is totally beyond me and prolly always will be cause although i ~~bullshit~~ Bulwer-Lytton my way through any act of writing, my meatspace manner's always been *cough* 'in-your-face' (as this British dude once ~~moaned to~~ told me). in the States, it's known as being 'direct' and 'to-the-point' and is looked upon as a positive characteristic, at least when tact over-rides brutal honesty. but now i'm touching upon things about which i know nothing (like social graces) and though that never stopped me before — wait: hey, look over there —> it's some ADD!:

regarding any Bulwer-Lyttoning in which i might indulge (hah! —> 'might'), someone once called me (get this), 'The Princess of Purple Prose'. *snigger* now i dunno about any princess, *shudder* ~~as fucking IF~~ but he was spot-on with the purple prose stuff; that is, '...passages, or sometimes entire literary works, written in prose so overly extravagant, ornate, or flowery as to break the flow and draw attention to itself...' once again, 'guilty as charged' (and this is me caring). but in my own defence, i must say that my vivid imagination is so convincing most times that i forget i'm not someone like Charles Dickens and paid by the word.

moving right along and back to me telling yiz all to Shut The Fuck Up, i'm like totally kidding, of course. to lapse into LOL-speak — 'a dialect which parodies the poor grammar typically attributed to Internet slang' — O RLY? yup, rilly — i am ~~(kidding, as well as tawkin to myself but we won't go there).~~

BTW, this is a prime example of what i call 'a nothing post' and so, in the spirit of wasting ~~more~~ time and ~~even more~~ bandwidth, when i took the next photo of Hunter, the caption occurred in a flash of tritenessity, repulsive though it may be. *preens* yeah, i'm tryna change the subject so why bother asking? *whispers* right, i hear ~~dead people~~ voices as well but shhhh... don't tell anyone. and y'all know where the door is, right? right? *points ~~and LOLs~~* anyway, heeeere's Hunter! *in an Ed McMahon voice*

oh, wow — he's dead... 'I did not know that' *in a John Goodman voice*. if you're so inclined, listen to him — Goodman, not McMahon — as Walter here in one of the funniest bits from Lebowski and make sure you check Walter's, i mean, John Goodman's intonation of the very last line:

The Dude: 'He has emotional problems, man'.
Walter: 'You mean, beyond pacifism?'
The Dude: 'He's fragile, very fragile'.
Walter: 'I did not know that'.

fun-fact: above image's illustrating Walter going 'Eight-year olds, Dude' to the Dude. not-so fun-fact: as all who know me know (so much so, my Lebowski Tourette's coming outta their ears), i'm hard-pressed to choose the funniest of teh funny from the film. one night when still living in Germany, i began to list em whilst watching but after like ten, twenty minutes or so, i found myself copying every damn line and since i get so easily discouraged, it was then i left off. BTW, the script's online; please hand in a synopsis of at least ten double-spaced typed pages by 08,00 tomorrow morning or points off.

whoa, this past half hour of time-wasting was FUN ~~if your idea of fun is writing whatever pops into your dumbass head and passing it off as your journal or diary or notebook or sump'n~~. and i do — i mean, 'and it is'. well, in truth, i dunno what i mean but that never stopped me from blethering on and on and on in my typically feeble efforts to pass off stream of unconsciousness as real, true deep thinking. what never fails to crack me up is that people actually read me — amazing... ~~what boring lives they must lead (but i didn't say that and never ever would)~~. now, where was i?

once again, since i have nothing noteworthy to say, i stoled this from TrollCats, the sole reason being cause the shoe totally fits, if 'shoe' means 'content' which, at the moment it does ~~even when i hafta force it, as i do when nobody's looking, like now~~. where am i going with alla this shit? damned if i know cause i'm still disoriented. confused again, dammit.

hey, i just realised sump'n: there's more than a decent chance that the sheer disjointed, demented nature of this very writty could be due to me not sleeping again (up for two outta the last three nights), even though i went to couch with Hunter (06,30 this AM and i was still awake at 08,00 so i said 'fuck it' and got up). but that doesn't answer Why So Many D-Words?

fastly changing topical gears as only i can, i've turned this into a repository for the motley miscellaneae accumulated over the last few weeks, the oddments and such lying scattered on the pavement of my desktop in a manner that maketh my OCD boil over.

~~*dusts off hands with satisfaction having successfully driven off the cliffs of The Danger Zone*~~ speaking of which — the oddments (neither the OCD nor the Danger Zone) — i haven't forgotten Stoneleigh House, my fave edifice here in the 'hood, though i haven't posted any pics of it lately. and now that's an outright lie cause i took this the other night ~~and immediately forgot about it~~.

*whimper* OK, lessee if i can waste any moar of anyone's precious time ~~(in all seriousity, i'm actually waiting for a communique that just might change my life but i won't get into details cause of Sod and all)~~. right, i took this next of the inside of one of the stalls of the ladies' loo at The Travellers Inn last time in London. the details of sump'n so relatively insignificant never cease to amaze me and i've spent too-long a time just digging on the original ceramic tiles that line each stall within both men's and women's johns on the upstairs of the pub. no fucking way can i see this in any public toilet in the States but then again, i'm rather biased, to say the very least as well as putting it as nicely as i'm able). dig:

fun-fact a): the day i took above pic i guess i spent too long a time doing so cause one of the waitresses came in to ask — through the door — if i were alright. i immediately came out and showed her the pix on my phone cause i got the distinct feeling she thought i was in there getting high solely based on the longass time i spent within. fun-fact b) the day i took pic above was Guy Fawkes Day on my way to Stevie's new flat for her 5. november party and the last time i was in town. in almost 5,5 years of living in England, i'm in the midst of the longest interval spent away from London — almost three months now. this troubles me muchly. :-(

OK, i've wasted enough of my your time writing and if yiz're still with me, i salute you. then again, i've always had the sneaking suspicion that people read me to note the ever-increasing amount of train-wreck factor or else, they're looking for clues, band-gossip and whatever other sordidity i sometimes manage to sneak into my posts, mostly days after they've been up. so 'HA-ha!' *in a Nelson Muntz voice* y'all read this for nothing. wait: here, have some cups or sump'n i stoled from Forbidden Planet. ;-)

*to self* finally! Endlich! this ordeal's totally over tonight and good riddance to it. and now, for the moment i've been waiting for all the damn day (and night) so use yer imaginations cause i ain't gonna spell it out for you. oh, why not? gimme a TEE! gimme a HAITCH! and on with the rest. i mean, 'I might be stoopit but I ain't bloody stoopit' *in a Zoe Bell voice* well, akshully i am... though she's not — know whut i mean?

in other news, if i hadda rate this post, this'd be IT:

LOL, just sayin' — i totally callz em as i seez em and i ain't never wrawng. :-)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

hesitating with Hunter

2010-01-24T08:25:00.009Z

to ~~delay~~ ~~balance out~~ neutralise my upcoming post which exemplifies ~~the ravings of a deranged mind~~ my total sanity in ~~a world gone ma~~ This Modern World, here're some recent pics of Liddy Hunt. i'm actually aiming for a regular person's typical diary entry here with no hidden meanings or anything like that. i do hope that gazing upon him in all his furry glory would ideally impart a calming effect (and hopefully banish the implications of that which i've written and just about to 'publish' as they so optimistically labelled the stupid button). anyway, forget that shit cause here's the latest of Teh Cuteness.

please note how he plants himself atop my landlady's horrid wall-to-wall between the kitchen and the LR. this is so he doesn't miss anyone's trips into the Nom Cave cause as far as Hunter's concerned, hope springs eternal; the hope that no matter how recently he's been fed, whomever's next trip to the cupboards will lead to more fudz.

awwww... now doesn't that make you feel all warm and fuzzy and stuff inside? kinda like Hunter but not? now hold that thought... wait: nah, i dunno what i'm tawking about either cause after getting only two hours sleep saturday AM, i still haven't felt the need to crash so bear with me, please. i'm a very protective person towards those i love and this liddle oasis of cute is posted for a reason.

hang on — that is, all the above apart from this, which i just found in my Drafts dated 9, january, right before i got sick. i called it 'reality checks' and wrote on two:

a) 'It's not healthy to obsessively collect things — you fill your life with stuff instead of connecting to people...'

big duh! after hearing Steve Buscemi's character, Seymour say that in Ghost World last night, i recognised myself very, very well. *breaks into a cold sweat* anyhow, i can say nothing in my own defence ~~apart from 'it's funny cause it's true'~~... i mean, ~~you~~ i have to LOL ~~cause if i weep, i'll get even more depressed~~. *whispers* 'i lugged eighty boxes of books outta Brooklyn... fuck knows how many other cartons housed my ~~too many~~ collections. and all those goddamned framed pictures!' *hangs head in true shame*

b) Nomad sent this pic writing, 'bet you can't guess who this is'.

i replied, 'Brian Jones is really alive? LOL, do tell. ;-) ... WHO IS IT?' and was just about to hit 'Send' when i took another look and added 'ps, not a homeless Anita Pallenberg?'

Nomad: 'you're bang on with Anita Pallenberg'. me: 'ARRGHHH!!111one!!1!

right, where were we? i seem to have gotten waylaid... oh, yeah, forget the reality checks, look at Teh Cute. i'll BRB sometime soon with that other post ~~if i don't succumb to sleep which i really should but i hate to go to bed no matter how tired i am or how long it's been since i slept... shit, i'm blethering again. my bad.~~

*to self* damn, Anita Pallenberg... once he ID'd her, i wrote back to Nomad: 'i think i told you the last time i saw her, she was in my friend's bar, way downtown. she was waayyyyyyy obese, sitting on a barstool next to me. this was sometime in the 70s.

'i was strung out and she was as well (everyone we knew was). Gordy knew the bar-owner (i think i did too but can't remember who it was, someone from Quintano's). anyway, he left me there to score at a new place — for whatever reason, i couldn't go — it turned out that neither could she so she and i started talking (she was waiting for Johnny Thunders to show). we didn't have anything to say, really (apart from junkie stuff cause we were both sick).

'end of story — Gordy came back an hour or two later, bopping in with Johnny. then we had the choice of either going to the Chelsea Hotel to get ~~straight~~ high with em, or going back to this loft Gordy and i were living at that was nearer to the bar. they chose the Chelsea so we four split up...

'... LOL, JESUS FUCK! i just looked at the photo again — AMAZING'. oh, right, ignore the above and concentrate on Hunter. sorr-reeee — not really. ;-)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

LOL of the day

2010-01-20T21:02:00.004Z

NEW, IMPROVED* & UPDATED —> edit @10,42 thursday cause i just received yet another mail from Antique Watches (copied below with my reply). regarding the improved*, thass up to youse to decide. anyway, when last i posted, this appeared thusly, so bear with me here (or don't — written for my own bad self, it matters not if others peer over my shoulder). OK, here goes, as seen before the updation:

please embiggen the above in another tab in order to see teh ~~'Featured Blog'~~ funny moar betterer and please do same to the next as well cause i don't have the powers of description to do justice to this ~~travesty~~ factoid:

i'm totally honored — this is beyond beyond Teh Prestige! OK, the situ: a few hours ago, on the floorpillows watching The Simpsons and chexing mai mailz on my iPod, i was verily gobsmacked when i happened upon a way mis-spelt missive sent to my Y! mail. in toto:

'Subject: Your Blog Featured at antique-pocket-watches.co.uk'

a) hot damn! my life is complete — now i can die happy; i'm totally honored being chosen (amongst a cast of millions collected thanks to crawling 'bots programmed to do so by a hitherto unknown site whose claim to whatever is the commercial flogging of timepieces — 'Bourgeouis Blues', anyone? but in all seriousity...

b) sorry — i meant, 'big whoop'. as well as...

c) WHAT. THE. FUCK? — i certainly haven't ever written on clocks, watches or timepieces of any flavor, be they antiques or not. OK, continuing (and edited for clarity since 'Shiela' [Sheila?] seems to be one-a those ESL kinda... uh, ~~'bots~~ people):

'This is Shiela from Antique-Pocket-Watches. We stumbled on your blog and found it quite interesting!'

~~and in the stumbling, i hope you broke botha your legs as well as your back~~ but LOL, where to begin? it's a blatant obviousity that's an outright lie — it's way too clear they didn't do any reading cause if they had, they would've run like hell in an effort to distance emselves as far as they could from my content — all FAQs, all me, alla time.

then again, in any situation (barring most friends), that surprise mark'd be bound to turn me way the hell off, but hey — i was actually intrigued, not so much by their misguided boilerplate of brevity but due to the vasty number of grammatical, spelling, punc, vocab, syntaxical and unintentionally hilarious usage errors 'Shiela' managed to fit into this one single mail.

'...We operate the largest Antique Pocket Watches website featuring more than 30,000+ blogs'. (all garnered by indiscriminately Googling, no doubt). 'Our site averages 200,000+ uniques' (sic) 'visitors per month. As a kind note We have featured your blog at...' (at this point in time, the desperate need to reiterate and spell out the URL seemed to be overwhelming and so she did but i'll spare yiz by editing in a 'here' — and there y'go).

and here's the upshot, the money quote, the 'ask' or whatever:

'...We would be grateful if you could add the following details to your blogroll...'

my WHAT? — if yiz look back above, you'll see my FAQs spotlit as the site they desire and as far as i know, there's no 'blogroll' there. as well, 'Shiela' diddit again: painstakingly took the time and energy to demonstrate exactly how she wanted me to list a site which goes against every fibre of my nature cause it exists solely to sell shit — Antique Pocket Watches or whatever — sump'n that couldn't bug me more than that did and without even trying. furthermore, she added details with liberty, justice and imperfectly written HTML code for all.

'Looking forward for your confirmation. / Thanks, Shiela'.

*snigger* i bet you are. *musing* i wonder how the hell many other sites received this poorly written mail (but i haven't wasted more than a minute cause i ain't wondering that much). then again, dunno 'bout her but i myself look forward to (not for) confirmations. betterer luck next time, Shiela (if that's your real name, which i doubt).

see, y'all might think me ungrateful, cold and shit but i take it from whom it comes and coming from this magnificently valid and way famous antique swatches site (no doubt known and beloved by millions upon millions of timepiece wearers the entire world over), i feel no compunction dissing this latest ~~slight~~ compliment. far be it for me to stick my nose up in a hipper-than-thou kinda gesture or whatever, but c'mon; i've gotta draw the line somewhere and apart from this latest source of LOL, i'd rather have nothing at all than submit to the poorly written desires of any commercially oriented collection of links, gathered, no doubt, thanks to Google (which in this case is certainly not my friend). which begs the question:

Q: how low can one stoop, anyway?
A: i actually assumed i knew the answer to that until i read their mail.

*smirk* ah... they've changed it; not only am i 'featured' at left but i'm (temporarily) up top over here:

i haven't the words — for once — and coming from me, y'all know that's a LOT. and despite my explanatory reply stating if looked upon closely, any 'blogroll' on my FAQs is a list of those sites on which i feature and so i advised em to take a closer look and actually READ, not only my FAQs but my Tawdry site, on which they'll find the semblance of a (scuse the uhspression) 'blogroll' thus called Reservoir Dogs, on which i proudly list any sites of my friends. so far, no good as they either haven't read my response or didn't bother taking my advice. no biggie, rilly.

am i honored? you tell me — one fuckin' guess and it starts with an 'N'.

in related news, how many times must i repeat myself by stating i'm totally against awards which pit one whatever against another cause believe it or not, i'm more of a cooperation kinda grrl, rather than a competitive one (in an 'Everybody is a star' kinda way). so let that be a lesson to ya (neither you, nor you, but em).

ps, here's my message to Antique Watches or whatever thanks to the late, great Bill Hicks. listen carefully, Shiela (or whatever you think your name is), and maybe, just maybe, it'll sink in but then again, i doubt it. anyway, here's hoping (and if it actually gets through, you'll be quitting yer gig ASAP if y'all don't off yourself first instead).

*and here's the moment for which yiz all've been waiting: my AM mail brought their latest moronacy:

'Hello rimone n, Thanks for add my site in your blog.' (editor's note: they're thanking me for THIS post?) 'But plz add my site link in your blogs sidebar. We have featured your blog at' (and then again, the mis-coded HTML, which if i followed their directions, surely wouldn't lead to their site) ... 'We would be grateful if you could add the following details to your blogroll'. (then a repetition of their mis-coded code).

my very polite reply to this latest source of LOL:

'dear antique-watches dudes and/or "Shiela": no disrespect intended but did you even read my mail? the site to which you refer — my FAQs — to which you so fervently want to be added does NOT have a blogroll. i understand it's quite easy to mistake the list of links starring me and me alone that to the untrained eye could easily pass as a "blogroll" but (as it's titled), 'IT'S ALL ABOUT ME'.

'BTW, i wasn't aware i added your site to my FAQs — please show me where this mishap occurred and i shall rectify it forthright.

'furthermore, why in heaven's name would i entertain the vaguest possibility of sticking your site within that list ('it's all about me') cause it's way beyond my limited comprehension as it totally isn't about me at all. if you've got a valid coherent answer to that burning question, i'd appreciate it if you informed me of same. it's not like i walk about wearing a timepiece, sump'n i find totally unnecessary thanks to the wonders of my cellphone as well as my iPodTouch, both of which — amazing though it may seem to youse — actually inform me of the correct time each and every time i care to look.

'if you still want to be added to the list of links titled Reservoir Dogs (that some mistake for a blogroll) here:, i'd suggest you write a complimentary note informing me of how wonderful i am since my low self-esteem needs all the boosting it can get. barring that, i'd think it's best you suck up to me in some other fashion — i.e., i'm not above accepting bribes like financial contributions or those of substances extralegal, which'll get you far beyond beyond and no one'd be the wiser.

'in fact, if you do succumb to my admittedly *wack* wishes, you'll find yourself in place of pride, in the enviable position of scoring the topmost link under Reservoir Dogs whilst usurping my long-lost, much beloved yet dead-as-a-doornail prior site listed as 'RIP Dateline: Bristol'. this is an honor even the site-architect hasn't yet attained and i urge you to act fastly on this, most holy of holies.

'a helpful hint: in future, please READ as it's obvious the contents of my prior mail were disregarded and ignored.

'respect and shit,
'sincerely, rimone'

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

day 21,915 or so

2010-01-19T21:05:00.007Z

or 'it takes a squint': to be filed under Boring Minutiae: it was a dark and stormy nightmare one night last week as i lay huddled under the covers whilst the wind howled about the house and i set an all-time record for Most Layers Worn Inside. from the inside out, i had on my two Death T-shirts under the Motorhead T, under The Ruts T (a present from Stan — in fact, they're all gifts but i'm fucked if i can remember from whom) and then a long-sleeved striped turtleneck (sans the neck ripped off in a fit of pique).

the foregoing layered under my plain black sweatshirt — ~~gifted~~ stoled from Wall Street Pimp — i mean 'Wall Street Broker' dude (sorry, Alan) — under my NYPD workout sweats (that ~~atrocity~~ collector's item from liddle sister, Bibs), and the whole shebang (which resembled me to The Michelin Tyre dude) beneath this way long thick heavy woollen sailor's sweater which i snagged from a thriftshop to which The Gap so kindly donated their ~~irregulars~~ extras — and all comfortably fitting under my Liddle Red Riding Hood sweatshirt (which, for some inane reason,'s now known as — scuse the uhspression — a 'hoodie'). WTF & WHY? ~~great shades of the *puke* 80s! amongst other horrors from that decade, was there EVar a more yuppie word?~~

yow! does this look like a hoodie to you? nb: pardon crap quality; i just took these in the kitchen and i'm totally ripped. BTW, if i've got the misfortune to live so long, please instruct my minder to describe these next in minute detail whilst he's reading this journal to me.

'hoodie' *retch* or 'sweatshirt'? you be the judge:

you might see the semblance of a badge over to your right and above my left side. let it be known, it's one i've worn on that sweatshirt for nigh on twenty years now. it reads 'Shut The Fuck Up' (as per usual, the pix of it were shite).

heh... i do tend to go on, don't i? anyhoo, this wondrous pieca clothing was liberated from the Boy's Department of the Parkchester Macy's ages ago and over the years, though tattered it is, it's served me very well (since during the rare times the cops stopped me whilst in it, neither did they find shit nor contraband of any description). ~~hide in plain sight's always been my M.O.~~ but, as usual ~~i'm filling up space here~~, i digress.

hmmpf... where was i? right, having nothing of import to impart to yiz all, i shall continue with the boring details of my late night attire. OK, Christine's luxuriously soft woollen scarf was twice wrapped round my neck (as a Wiccan Nature-worshipping talisman of sorts), then below that, i'd had on my oldest pair of exercise ballet tights (the ones with the stirrups), over woollen leggings and under three pairs of Ragg Socks (in faded red, charcoal grey and black), just like these apart from i wouldn't own the white if paid to do so. hmmm... these fuckers lasted more than 20 years, actually.

underneath those, i had on a pair of woollen knit slippers under my usual furry-cuffed leopard and black suede house shoes, one of Daddy's last xmas gifts as he was of a mind where, despite whatever else he got me for the hols, he always made sure to buy slippers in the only xmas tradition to which he bent. respect, Daddy dude! :-)

did i mention it was -9 here that particular night and continued being same for the duration of the week? Ja? nah? no matter — it's just me wasting space and time here to ~~STFU~~ appease all those lovely people who mailed expressing concern i might be dead or sump'n. no worries, dudes — much to my dismay, i live and breathe.

here — have a hand and don't say i failed to warn you (of what i dunno).

nb: i haven't a clue WTF i began by trying to say here but suffice it to say, 'hands' in general were integral to the now-forgotten point. i guess i'm like trying to prove i'm alive to like, my friends... sump'n like that. so, FAIL — and miserably so. and as i've stated oh-so-many times before, i can blether on and on and ON in the manner of 'tawkin' loud and saying nothin' so prep yourselves; as youse know, i can go on for hours and hours. and i shall if nothing diverts me. cue 'ooh, look! a kitty in the cold!' *mirthless laughter* oh, right; big thanks to Darren, Pam, Christine, Stan, Leisl ~~and the rest of youse can fuck off~~. LOL, kidding!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

01/01/2010

2010-01-08T11:08:00.011Z

editor's note @18,15 ~~which i forgot about and left here unpublished an hour ago~~: since my temp went up, i'm once again camped out on the floor, under the quilt, eating toasted muffins and admiring the scene which looks just like it did last friday. then i made the mistake of reading this on my iPod. :-(

*coughity* i totally forgot about these pics/just found em in my phone — the fact i forgot bothers me but only to a small degree cause in the rush my mind's bent on turning to mush, i know i'll forget again so why waste time fretting on sump'n i'll not remember anyway? ~~not so oddly enough, i can only understand the foregoing if i read it very slowly.~~

hmmpf... new year's day AM and i'd finally crashed a few hours after the fireworks, after being forced into the bedroom and after i'd gone 'fuck it' since i didn't think the MDMA'd come on. silly me cause hours later, i came to all sparkley and ~~headed for~~ wobbled into the loo (actually holding onto the walls). *smirk*

then i stumbled out, thinking i'd examine ~~and analyse~~ all the sparkles from bed in the dark, but i thought i heard music and paused to listen. yup, there was music, so i was back in the LR to turn it way up, lit a few candles, then huddled on the floor pillows under the big duvet i dragged off the bed cause he was up as well, then i took these photos when he was in the loo. *snigger* nb: i just turned around and i'm in the same scene but toasted muffins and cream-cheese and butter have taken the place of Essence of Dude or whatever. :-)

detail of L-hand side of the mantel in boring old daylight (with Pam's marble egg, Ilgin's silver ashtray and my mother's teeny cobalt and silver dish thingy):

more MD&c and countless cigs later (and discussions on the merits of which of the Alabama 3's HB, WBTB and UAMH they should've released [faves are the least popular with the band and the masses] amongst the Steve Earle, Thee Hypnotics and Stones — Let It Loose from The Departed — as well as a cast of maybe hundreds cause he was DJ) led to recrashing after the sun came up.

anyhoo, in other non-news, i got mail ~~which i ignored up to now~~ asking 'why all the ~~secrecy~~ brevity lately?' *shrugs* helpful hint: ~~if you have to ask,~~ forget it ~~but didja ever notice how i can talk about nothing and go on and on and on without stopping? huh? didja?~~ :-)

edit @18,15: fast forward to wednesday and the scene outside, two hours apart:

ps, big thanks to RockStan for ringing today and keeping my mind off 'normal' for awhile. apparently, it's not back yet, so thanks again, dude. :-)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

2009-10

2010-01-04T16:48:00.005Z

big thanks to Trollcats for the image and the message. :-) next up's the aftermath of my xmas and New Year's hols 'lying splattered on the pavement' — the pavement of Queens Road, Bristol. please notice the absence of *puke* as it's been ~~mentally~~ ~~PhotoShoppedly~~ mentally removed outta respect for those with delicate sensibilities. *smirk*

in other news, last wednesday i used my iPod to scale and sent the next two to the chef so he'd know my potatoes before he got here.

'know my potatoes...' that is, for the purposes of the most delicious Bubble & Squeak EVar (nb: chef's personal recipe was a thousand times better than the link's). anyhoo, suffice it to say, this was an extremely memorable* hol (as well as a reprieve), made more so thanks to guests who took the time and trouble to actually travel all the way from Bournemouth and London to get their asses over and spend time here with boring old me (and way intristin' Hunter), so the biggest of big thanks to Maxine, Rich, Sarah (The Engines) and Chris. :-)

as well, big thanks to Christine *kiss* who knitted and sent me a beautiful and very warm, long black woollen scarf which got here just in time: on the morning of 31. december. i've been wearing it almost continuously cause it blocks out the bone-chilling cold but naturally, i'm forced to remove it to get into the tub. notice me not mention the hot water malfunction on the early morning of new year's eve when i so stupidly decided to have a bath and ended up cutting my usual hour-long immersion to a measley 25 minutes in

*since i'm in enough shit already, suffice it to say one event (which included what seemed to be an endless series) served as conversational fodder for the duration and'll ~~prolly~~ most definitely serve as same in future when i'm bound to encounter uncomfortable silences — silences only a good bit of gossip can cure — and that's all i need to say about that ~~for now~~. *giggle*

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

siiiilent night, ho'-o-ly night

2009-12-27T10:45:00.004Z

sorry for the paucity of posts ~~(no, i'm not)~~ but i've been busy being ~~naughty~~ nice. thank you, Santa! and thank you, Trollcats. *snigger*

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

bring it

2009-12-19T12:47:00.005Z

The Four Horsemen of The Apocalypse are Pestilence, War, Famine and Death. :-)

'...The first horseman to appear is Pestilence, who rides upon a white horse. In the wake of Pestilence comes War, riding a large, wild red horse and wielding a tremendous sword. In the wake of War, due to immense destruction because of War and Pestilence, is Famine. Famine is portly, and rides upon a black, sickly horse; this represents gluttony and hunger, respectively. And in the wake of Famine comes Death. His horse is stark pale. He is followed by Hades and carries the remaining souls to their final destinations...'

~~shit, sounds good to me and looks even betterer:~~

helpful hint: click images above to embiggen and groove *smirk* on the details, especially the Dürer on top. anyway, i'm so waiting for em here. and waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting and whilst i wait, The Clash's Four Horsemen and Metallica's Four Horsemen are blasting to get us more in the mood.

in other news, i was in the kitchen last night and remembered another two-a my collections: skulls and badges (or 'buttons' or 'pins' as we call em in the States, depending). the skulls have subsets: apart from actual (well, not literally but still) sculptured, ceramic or like jade-y skulls, i've got em on badges, stickers, boxes and clothing alla which confuse my Anality Gland way too muchly cause just like the animals, i dunno how to classify em; i can't decide whether or not to count em more'n once, like, do i count the ones that're on things like boxes, stickers and shit twice or what? like that.

hmmm... where was i? right... badges ~~or buttons or pins or what-the-fuck EVar~~: one of my faves is a winged pewter horse, kinda like Pegasus and kinda like The Forgotten Fifth Horsemen ~~whose name i won't say. helpful hint: he's a Winged Horse, FFS~~. some old dude, a stranger, gave me him unexpectedly... fuckin knocked my socks off, it did.

it was weird: i was standing on the corner of St Marks Place and First, totally dressed up (red gabardine micro-mini ~~that i'll prolly never wear Out again though i brought it cause it still fits perfectly~~, black lacey stockings, red-and-black leather spike heeled T-straps i scored from some chick just back from Italy and a short tight red T-shirt that said 'Death' on it in Gothic across where your chest's supposed to be)... it was really nice out that evening, about 70F (20C): my totally perfect Comfort Z0ne temp... it was about 8,45PM and the sun was just going do- whooops! soz, i got a liddle bit too carried away and for a minute or so, it felt like i was actually on that corner again.

anyhoo, i'm standing there waiting for ~~the man~~ Gordy (who was off scoring both D and C) and our plan was to rush back to my place on Sixth, get off and then grab a taxi to Danceteria. OK, here's the headline: out of nowhere, this old dude went by, looked me over and said, 'I think you should have this'.

just sayin' ~~as i wile away the time, waiting for the goddamned horsemen to show~~.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

price of depravity

2009-12-17T21:26:00.006Z

nope, ~~for like the first time ever~~, the pic speaks for itself; there's totally nothing for me to add apart from the fact that my outer envelope's proof positive of the price of depravity — in living color. *cue spookey music*

from The Department of A Word To The Wise, here's a helpful hint: do NOT look at me too closely in meatspace. i say that as a kindly warning cause i wouldn't want yiz to be shocked shitless into january and (god forbid!) totally miss the hols. believe me, yo', i've met people who couldn't mask their inner feelings and to my incredibly vasty dismay (plunging me further into depression than ever before), i've witnessed em age five, ten ~~(more? fuck!)~~ years as they gazed upon me for the very first time and i surely wouldn't want that shit happening to youse.

right, when last on the queue to pay in sainsbury's, i looked over the dead-tree newspapers, saw the cover and loved the headline, so naturally i stoled it. about sainsbury's? ~~may they rot in hell and take their bloated prices with em~~ dig this shit: a kilo of grapes is actually down a quid — from 4,99£ last week — to 3,99£ which's almost 8$ in ~~real~~ American money. when i asked how much grapes were in NYC last week, my mother told me sump'n like 'Oh, the usual: anywhere from 79 cents to 1,29$ a pound...'

bloody hell! that's like 40p to 65p a pound as opposed to their ridiculous cost here. but i really have no choice: grapes are one of the very few things that taste the same here as they do in the States and since i ~~can't~~ ~~won't~~ don't cook, i'm down to eating stuff that tastes exactly like it's supposed to.

fun-fact: i don't have proper meals at home — i graze. my dinner starts with two, three or four (depending on how hungry i am) blueberry muffins, then a huge platter of sliced cheeses (currently Emmental, Jarlsberg, Cheddar and Red Leicester) and then my dessert: as much of a kilo of grapes as i can stuff in. according to my GP, i'm healthy i.e., good blood count (no vitamin or mineral deficiency), very low cholesterol and very low blood pressure ~~for one my age~~ so AFAIC, there's no reason to eat whatever-the-hell else ~~cause it all tastes like shit anyway~~ unless someone's buying ~~or better yet, here cooking~~ my dinner.

moving right along, i took these next two of Stoneleigh House at 10,00 yesterday morning.

sad, sad, SAD: in Winter, there're only eight hours of daylight and just like Germany, i can't get used to waking up in darkness and leaving for work or school or even going food-shopping when it's like night-time outside. it took all i had to move my ass outta here yesterday morning and i only diddit cause i'd stayed up all the night before, writing ~~and wishing i were Zoe Bell~~ and shit and i still wasn't tired yet.

anyhoo, as per usual, Cun- rather, Hunt- soz, Liddy Hunt has the last word. the backstory: the other night i was taking those photos of the back of his cute liddle head when we were watching films and as i stroked him whilst telling him how much i loved him as well as how many times he's saved me from ~~offing~~ myself, just by being here, i guess i said 'i love you, little dude' one too many times, cause he suddenly turned and without any warning, went:

as y'all can see, after he seddit, he actually stuck out his tongue at me. anyway, don't believe a word he says cause he's so fulla shit. Hunter ~~you motherless fuck~~, you liiiiiiiiiiie. ;-)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Liddy Hunt

2009-12-16T05:01:00.009Z

get ready to vomit cause sometimes i just can't help it; without warning, i suddenly ~~find myself at the starting gate of Old LadyLand~~ and totally but quietly go wild over The Cuteness of Hunter ~~when he's not being all Cunter~~. here's the really *puke* bit: for the last few nights, i've been calling him 'Liddy Hunt' or just plain 'Hunt' and he seems to dig it betterer than his given name. that is, he comes to me more times than not when i call him Hunt than when i add the 'ter'.

check photos above and below and notice him resting his ~~liddy spodded~~ lit-tle spot-ted elbow on my right leg, directly under my knee, his favorite place when we watch films together ~~that is, when he doesn't lean the other way on my left leg~~. his ears are perked up cause he just heard my phone go *click!* and it's a wonder he actually stayed in place there but i figure it was late and he was too tired to move.

the back of his head totally kills me ~~in such a way i wanna scream and squeeze the life outta him whilst hugging him to death cause he's so damn cute~~:

here he is between botha my legs ~~atop The Blanket That's Older Than I Am~~, about to give me That Look: the same one i give to others with cameras — one that ~~Hunter's~~ Hunt's clearly illustrating above; just like me, it's way beyond the point of 'Fuck it' — gearing up to a look that could only mean 'Get that damned thing outta my face ~~NOW. or I split'~~.

*sigh* unfortunately (for thee, not for me) it's over and out with Teh Cuteness. just a kindly warning: get ready for more of the usual anhedonia, my normal gloom and doom ~~but only if i feel like dragging my ass up here~~.

*cough* my name is ~~Glum Soddess~~ Slum Goddess and i totally approve of this message. Punkt, Ende. *evil LOL* }-)

edit @12,12: damn, i just remembered yet another collection i've been keeping for ages: magnets. *hugeass sigh* don't ask cause i'll tell yiz one-a these days anyway. *yet another hugeass sigh* thing of it is, once i begin with the magnets, i'll hafta say from whence each came (easy-peasey) but the circumstances as well, mostly cause every one-a my magnets tells a story ~~just like the vasty number of my boxes, but different~~.

anyhoo, this was my magnets' ~~fascinating~~ wake-up call to me: a few minutes back, i poured my third and last cuppa coffee of the day, added the usual 2,5 spoons of sugar and went to the fridge for milk. i paused in fronta it cause i couldn't help but notice the way cool stuff stuck on said fridge's door which reminded me to look left, over to my magnet board and then, further left, to the huge metal heating apparatus next to it on the kitchen wall where like 30, 35 of these things live (apart from those on the front as well as the toppa the fridge itself).

how the hell i could ever forget about this particular personal accumulation is way beyond me but then again, ~~i'm not as young as i used to be and~~ my memory's teh suck.

moving right along, stay tuned cause i'm sure i'll remember even more ~~mundane~~ stuff i collect that somehow evaded ~~my Exactitude Gland~~ me when i began tawkin about my boxes last week and ended up naming some-a my totally anal collections, like in here and here, all starting when i made the biiiiig mistake of writing this.

*cough* anality gland? i haz it — bigtime — end of story ~~for now~~. *smirk*

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

forgot + corrections &c

2009-12-15T21:00:00.024Z

first things first as the OCD roolz (see no.8 of my FAQS) as well as this kitteh says: 'as they should be' — and so, big thanks to Trollcats whose totally me Troll-kitty above is, yes again: *preens* totally me ~~as well as being the perfect image to begin this post above my pre-written blether~~. y'all can find it here along with my comments (and others' ~~but they don't count cause AFAIC, it's all about ME~~). OK, let's go and get this fuckin writty over, done with, posted and published ~~so in future, scanning my so-called Archives, it won't seem as if i'm as depressed (euphemism) as i really was.~~ ~~soz, am~~:

a), a few hours ago, i edited in some left-over stuff i failed to include in Daddy's box II. it's now up again the way it was meant to be at first and apart from changing some words around when speaking of the huge silver* jewelry box i got myself in Maastricht...

*two in one —> an ADD alert + a fun-fact: when yiz get busted in NYC, every object on your person that's made of silver or pewter — or even pink or white gold *gasp!* — is listed as made of 'white metal' on ~~your~~ the police report. take it from whom it comes and believe me, cause thanks to personal experience, i know.

hmmm... heh. once upon a time, i actually used that to my advantage after being chased all through the Lexington Avenue and East 59th Street subway station by a dude who turned out to be a particularly friendly and sympathetic young plainclothes cop but that's a story for another time cause i'm pretty sure he's still alive... i was 32 and he was 26. ~~yum. i mean,~~ *sigh* OK, now where was i? right:

b) i began a 'graph that started off 'on to sump'n totally different' and ended by stating 'so in reply, i'll be updating my FAQs as soon as i can'.

i'm just about to update my FAQs (even though i fucked with em a few hours ago) cause since then, i received yet another mail about this very thing i think's crucial regarding not confusing others ~~more~~. just sayin'. nb: 'just about' could mean anytime from 'in like 5 minutes' to tomorrow or the day after, depending upon what happens at Chez Hunter. or not.

c) moving right along, this next's straight from The Department of Corrections (an actual place in NYC where they throw anyone who doesn't adhere to their stupid laws). anyhoo, i ended my post below: Space Cowboy's Yew Tree with five links that, at the time, led to five hysterical vids of the band, Undrugged In The Studio. unbeknownst to me until recently and much to my dismay, Stan — Space Cowboy — has now made these vids private ~~thus fucking up the links to my post~~. but he promised em to me on DVD *preens* ~~cause i'm very persuasive~~. ;-)

c)1. remember that vid i challenged y'all to find, saying it was 'hidden in plain sight' at the end of this? at the time, it was called 'The Autograph Cunter' but now it's back in all its glory listed under its rightful title: Alabama 3: The Headbutt. watch Larry leave the stage to headbutt some lucky dude in the frontlines — for no apparent reason — what's even funnier:

i'd been told that the PTB wanted the vid off YouTube. why? *whispers* get ready to laugh your fuckin ass off — Stan was informed that that particular vid would spread the outright lie that the Alabama 3 were — wait for it — 'a troublesome band' — AFAIC, that's bloody outrageous cause we ALL know what good, cleancut, clean-living boys they are, never getting into any mischief and always obeying whatever laws as well as adhering to whichever rules at what-the-hell-ever festie and/or gig.

off the top of my head, there's totally no reason to get into The Trouble at Loch Ness when they played Rockness, the crashed-down hotelroom door or any of the other shenanigans pulled up there (including the finale: The Arrest) cause the person who drew the attention of the authorities isn't really in the band, so that shit don't count. *snigger*

d) i added a gorgeous photo, one i totally forgot originally when i posted Space Cowboy's Yew Tree; it's called Phoenix Rising and it's well worth checking out especially in the context of my post or secondly, at prior link — up to youse.

ending on another note, i totally identify with this here Trollcat:

HELL YEAH! shit, i've been there so many times i can't count em all, not that it matters. but yeah, amongst other things, there've been times when i've been totally fascinated by my feet especially after some wealthy artist who lived on West 57th Street — wish i could remember his name — took almost a year of sunday mornings in which he painted over 100 paintings of em both.

i met him through Robert (my then-BF), the dude who popped my cherry the very next year cause the artist had chosen him to be THE Face of 1966 to demonstrate how deep the British invasion impacted upon all the kewl kids' fashion, culture, hairstyles &c. Robert was a six-foot twin double of teenytiny Brian Jones and i could never understand what he saw in me ~~apart from my fascinating conversation, naturalborn brilliance and high-fashion model-like beauty~~, from the beginning:

to the end (including the flamboyance apart from the fact Robert, like Brian, was totally straight) but by that time ('the end' = late '68), i was already 'Gone, like a coo-ooolll bree-eeeze'. nb: that was a line from when the Stones were still rebels as well as Number Fuckin-1 heroes in my book — the best white Rhythm & Blues band EVar, damn their sold-out hearts (apart from Keith, for whom i'll have undying respect even though he ~~supposedly~~ straightened out).

ADD alert: remind me to tell yiz about the time Jagger drove up to this club on Avenue A — in a limo — around the corner from my place; the same club in which we caught the Dead Kennedys, Black Flag and Sonic Youth within the weeks before. oh, how we laughed when the bouncer denied him entry especially since they'd just admitted Keith who was sitting across from where we ended up once we were in. oops, totally off-topic again. forgive me?

anyway, back to my feet, one sunday AM i went up to Artist-Dude's to meet Robert and for whatever reason — i think i remember it'd been snowing and i was drenched and shivering cold — i took off my sopping dancing tights and shoes and sat in my micro-mini skirt totally barelegged and barefoot in front of the roaring fire under the mantelpiece in the studio of Artist Dude's flat.

in all honesty, just knowing someone who actually lived off the corner of 7th Avenue and Central Park South — right on fuckin Broadway and with a panoramic view of Central Park — was a rush and a half, instantly infusing me with all kindsa culture (as if by osmosis) what with Carnegie Hall a few hundred metres to the right and all those antiques shops (the real one$) and art galleries, bookshops, specialia$ed gift $tores and $hit like a total Shop of Maps and Globes and ancient Chrono-thingies (from actual antiques to modern day variations) and specialty stores that only sold centuries-old mu$icboxes, like that; it was almost as if i absorbed all this culture and history floating about in the aether just by being in the vicinity... *snaps to* what was i say- right. never mind.

anyway it was on that particular sunday morning in 1966, my first time there, when i watched Robert posing after making sure the soles of my feet got good and warm and within a few minutes, Artist-dude looked me over and started to freak over my feet until i finally decided he wasn't a nut. as a final test, i asked 'why my feet? are you like one of those foot fetish guys?'

he answered sump'n to the effect of how he found em way beautiful cause he considered em 'Egyptian feet' — and when i asked why he thought of em thus, he went (paraphrasing) 'They don't have any lines on them... just the outlines — they're perfect'.

bah... he should see em now with all the lumps and bumps thanks to accidentally dropping the heaviest of Art books on top of each of em (in Brooklyn about two years apart) as well as being stomped upon mercilessly at gigs and shit. but hey, that's the price to be paid by insisting you get your ass right up stage front and centre wherever, one-a the very few things for which i'm known to do successfully ~~it's my NYC shoulder that duzzit~~ as well as one of the reasons i dig the fact i'm height-impaired. :-)

moving right along, here's more of my LR and one-a my totally fave tins, snagged for a buck at a cheap-O place in Brooklyn.

it's up top at the far, far right and here it is in a semi-CU 'for yo' delectation' *in a Larry Love voice* ~~i was way too lazy to bring it down for a better pic~~

fuck it ~~having nothing better to do~~, i just climbed up there and took next phone-pic of the lid, which i love:

and since i'm tawkin about my collections, here're three of my vasty menagerie of animals (whether boxes or figurines or plush toys — it matters not).

whilst we're still in my LR (i fuckin wish yiz all were, actually) this is one of the prints i had tacked up on what i used to call my Wall O' Cats, way back when in the kitchen of my last apartment in Brooklyn. now it's on the storage room door here, facing the LR and my desk.

ps, ah, SHIT! — aw, i'm so sorry i didn't post on monday which was Segs' sister, Christine's birthday so, happy belated birthday, sweet grrl. Christine and i have been mailing each other for almost seven years now — the longest time i've EVar mailed with anyone and still haven't met em in TRW. it actually hurts when i think on it as i'm doing now. :-(

so once again, late though they are, my bestest birthday wishes are flying through the atmosphere, to land upon her beautiful head. i love you so much, Christine — as you know, you're one of the very, very few who stuck with me almost four years ago after i told everyone (including you) to 'fuck off and die — quit mailing, ringing, phoning and txtng'.

but didja listen? thankfully, no. once mo' time: i love you, Christine. *sigh* i'm hoping that some day soon before we reach the point of 'fuck it' ~~and off ourselves~~, we'll actually meet in TRW cause that just might be the deciding factor of our endlessly intriguing — not to mention entertaining and always informative as well as educational — longass conversations on when we're gonna take the final plunge and get up the balls to finally end our misery by ~~killing ourselves~~ checking out.

right — hmmpf... i got a bit carried away, so to end on a somewhat positive note ~~for the same stupid reason i always give, mainly cause it's true: 'i feel i have a moral obligation NOT to bum more people out than i already have'~~, coming up next (and i know yiz're all dying to see): Cun- ummm... rather, Hunter ~~not lunging in to bite me~~ at rest. naturally, it's taken from my POV — it's how i see him when we watch films together every night and the cuteness OD is totally overwhelming. :-)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Space Cowboy's Yew Tree

2009-12-13T19:13:00.005Z

Stan, the Space Cowboy, recently took these photos of this fantastic 800-years old Yew in Langley Park, Ivor. on close inspection, he found a tree hidden fulla wizardry, serpents, dragons, gnomes, an elephant, rhinocerous and other living creatures found worldwide as well as in the heavens or wherever mythology's landed em. you can see em as he saw em cause these shots are naturally colored; all he did was just super-charge some of their saturation. to get the full effect, please open each in a new tab to embiggen for details — it's really worth it cause they're wild.

if you check above out closely, you'll see a wizard to the left, a diving fish, a misshapen torso and legs as well as a posse of eels, serpents and some other unidentifiable creatures' heads in the middle. some of em have bodies and some don't. over to the right, there're snakes, birds, and a big old elephant head underneath a laughing dolphin and both of em over a rhinocerous. or maybe it's the other way round (we can't decide).

searching out these dudes is really fun especially if you've been thwooping away or better yet, if you're tripping. if i had any power or anything, i'd force us all to ~~take a shitload of hallucinogenics~~ embiggen each and then, take my liddle test: Find The Creatures. remember, the colors haven't been tampered with apart from intensifying their saturation. well... apart from the coloration on this here Phoenix About to Rise:

this here's Phoenix Rising and he played with the colors as well. no, wait: these are their natural colors, just highly saturated:

anyway, go to it. the next two're easy-peasey, with only two major entities in each.

here's the same Phoenix seen pretty much au natural if yiz don't count the color-saturation thang.

about the next, do you see two wolves? hounds? THREE? if it's Cerberus, you tell me. right, that's not counting what's going on in the upper L-hand corner and the liddle beings on the right, behind the left forepaw of ~~Cerberus~~ the doggy.

plain and simple — 'No funny stuff' — soz! i meant, no saturation-intensification or anything apart from its natural beauty:

AFAIC, inspecting this tree is so much better than finding animals in clouds, which in my oh-so-incisive opinion's totally 'BOOOR-RING!' *in a Homer voice*

LOL, begin with the wizard (or the monk) in the Yew Tree's maw then work your way outward. :-)

Stan — Space Cowboy — the photographer, is the same dude whose vids of the band UNDRUGGED in the studio have just resurfaced after almost ten years. *snigger* oh, almost forgot, just like the Yew Tree above, hidden in plain sight on YouTube is an extra special vid and i dare you to find it and double-dare you to report back to me, haha. :-)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *