prepare for bad behaviour

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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





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



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



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

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




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



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

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






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



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



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

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

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

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i defy you to do your worst

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

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

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

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

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

anyway, more John Hurt as young Quentin:



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



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Lower East Side Story: I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(to be continued.)

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

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feeling like about:blank

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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message from Hunter

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

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

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photos by popular demand

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

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



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

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



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

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




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



same deal just about eleven hours later:



still pouring down rain at about 07,00:



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

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



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



looking down from the catwalk out back of the flat:



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



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

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



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



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


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

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interruption or procrastination?

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

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



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

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

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

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

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



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


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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



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

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



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



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



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

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

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another heartwarming story

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

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

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

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

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

'Slum Goddess = Rimone.

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

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

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

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

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just another grrl of teh raverlution

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



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

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

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

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

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