tuesday night in Brixton

after the demoralising drubbing i took at the Embassy, i split the Tube and flew down Brixton Road to meet Stevie at the Garden of Albert but before i reached the corner, i thought to glance up and stopped dead in my tracks, whipped out my newest cellphone, rather Chris' spare cellphone, to try out the camera cause everytime i find myself on the corner of Coldharbour Lane and the Oval right across from the Ritzy Theatre, it's like i see a beacon of hope which i dig thinking shines solely for me. notice me not mention the eleventy-nine dudes who approached me and muttered 'Skunk, skunk...' under their breaths as they passed, all of whom i totally ignored.

not-so-fun-fact: this is the shortest post i've ever written due to time constraints and deadlines nearing. *whispers* we won't mention the fact that apart from me being too ripped outta my fucking face — and early on a saturday morning, no less — to string words together to make whatever point in a coherent fashion especially since i've been awake for just about ninety-six hours now. *yawn*


yes, you insufferable liddle douchebag of an insatiable eating machine — RLY. *glares*

almost forgot: thanks to Pam for 'Hello Pukey Grrl', thanks to Angie for allaying my anxiety, thanks to Chris and Mr & Mrs Ifor the Engine for bending to my will for the upcoming KMFDM Show in Islington and thanks to Kate for having the sense to remove herself from the Danger Zone and split City Centre with her brains and body free of knifewounds and emotional blackmail. oh, and big thanks to Black Maria of the South Bronx for the longass missive chockful of information that began:

'Hope you and your peeps in England are chillin...' and went on to say '...Kalvin got sliced with a razor ... all over a piece of ass that wasn't his...' then included the startling '...I will be the bitch who gets payback on this motherfucker after 25 years...' and closed with her usual '...Love from da Boogie down Bronx'.

holy fucking shit — can we say 'gobsmacked'? of course we can, and in spades — geddit? spades? anyway, juicy details to follow some time later cause for a Black grrl, Maria and i shared years and years of glomming off each others' lives and very worst traits until she finally exceeded my personal best as attention-whore with South Bronx Soul. next up: The New Silver Cuff, My Heavy Metal Elephant, Literally Running Into Kate, Village People With Vaginas and Stupid Costumes in Public, The Apprehensive Text, The Needle and the Damage Done, and much, much more so stay tuned (with the usual caveat: if i remember).

last but not least, here's V is for Kitty sent me by Chris who mixed the best of both worlds; one of my all-time favorite films EVar along with my fave lithe snarly but cuddly bed-bud :


nah, i don't geddit either but i sure dig it muchly. what's even more confusing is the name of the image as posted on Photobucket: 'Scientology Cat'. yup, i know: WTF? and WHY? anyway, happy Bank Hol Weekend, y'all and happy Memorial Day. which in the States, despite 21. june on the calendar, is the officially recognised start of the Summer — if you subscribe to that sorta thing, which i don't. ;-)

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cryptic? ambiguous? moi? nah!

and dare i say it? shit, yeah — esoteric. about the above, thank you god, you miserable bastard, for giving us the finger American style and the same back atcha in spades, of course. moving right along to my own personal Current Events, i'm harbouring huge issues at the moment thanks to being summoned — yes, actually summoned — to the British Embassy for an afterhours appointment on tuesday evening (which unbeknownst to me was all for nought).


the guards laughed as i quietly fumed, wondering if it was someone's idea of a very poor joke: kinda like playing The Game Of 'Wind The American And Watch Her Squirm'. after that total cock-up, about the only positivity i was able to muster came in the form of a sexual massage — whoops, rather, a txtual message, one i first assumed was an error not meant for me but once the clouds of confusion cleared, it was one of two shiney glow-in-the-dark stars of hopeful positivity, so bear with me please. or don't cause it matters not as long as i know what i'm talking about — and in the infamous words of preznit asswipe, 'Who cares what you think?'


yup, that's an obviousity but if y'all believe in fairytales like i don't, then this is the scarey bit:

y'know what? fuck god and his/her/its stupid everchanging asinine roolz. anyhoo, there's a ray of light trying to peek through the depression: the upshot is, i'm now thinking of the one redeeming factor about which i'm not permitted to speak but believe you me, it's all good and it's one of those rare times i actually look forward to in future *gasp!* and if it goes down as i'm hoping, it'll serve a two-fold purpose as far as making up for lost time; all that Time Wasted due to Drama Queens of Outlaws Past. i'm thinking of one whose name remains locked behind the iron gates of my cold cold heart which's bound by my word until i get her say-so to spill.

the other totally gratified me that all's not lost as the evening wasn't a total waste cause a bit of joy actually sliced through a chink in my nearly constant anhedonia when Stevie, the lovely Librarian of Love heeded my plea whilst having the decency to ignore my threats and appeared to meet, drink and talk in the Garden of Albert.


so thank you sweet grrl; your appearance was muchly appreciated. fun-fact: after glugging on an empty stomach i puked on the Tube as we neared Victoria Station but nobody noticed or being British, they pretended to ignore me and looked away as my technicolor stink wafted through the train. *cough* 'God, I love ... the British! They're so fucking polite!' *in a Kevin Kline voice* ;-)


uhhh... now, where were we? right, if you've managed to follow the trails of my virtually vomited verbiage before i began this edition — hah! 'edition'. i flatter myself but hey, that's a given. well, not really, in truth, this chapter ('chapter'? 'edition'? WTF? is this a (cancelled) TV sit-com? or a mistakenly published book? are you — i mean, am i on drugs? damn, it's a Yes or No question, one of the many i can't answer nor do i wanna go back there to 'research' more like the gossamer whisper of days long gone when men were men who lived in caves or whatever and took their omens and promises from the pictures in the nightskies way on high and speaking of 'high' (and when do i not?) here's The Fucking Weather for Bristol or any city of your choice as long as you fill in the blanks.

*whispers preening* whoa, i'm still the Mistress of the Run-On Sentence Meandering as well as Constant Contender for the Bullwer-Lytton Award. anyway, The Fucking Weather is even considerate enough to include The Fucking Forecast in your choice of I Want Fucking Celsius or Fahrenheit flavors. this way cool timewaster (brought to me and thee by TPFKAPM who throws me links he won't twat himself, resting assured that an asshole like me will not only twit em but proudtard my ass off as well as steal his thunder by passing them off as my own.

nb: please notice how i spent paragraphs and paragraphs talking loud and saying nothing above. noticed? good. *cough* moving right along and rewinding back to my most Terrible Tuesday, i shall totally omit the horrors (and need£e$$ expense as well as Time Wasted) of the ridiculous fuck-up of my Day at the Embassy in London since i don't wanna write anything that might be misconstrued as disrespect (or treason) and then return to bite me on the ass, which'll no doubt, stand in the way of my goal — y'know, the one that marks my very own personal Independence Day — which coincidentally falls upon 4. july 2009, and so i'm choosing to hide away in my lit-tle corner of South Western England and do my best impression of Good Citizen Rimone. here's a sample:


cool, huh? nobody will ever find me here unless they trawl through the virtual ashes, so rotsa ruck, fellas; if you're lucky i'll spring into action and do my best to resemble life of a sort. anyway. *cough* where is this train going? fucked if i know but i can safely say the above was taken in one of my more lively states. uh... right, 'blast from the past' (apart from i totally missed the boat, the thread and whatever the hell i was planning to write, but no matter). heh — regarding that 'no matter', sometimes i feel as if i could pound at the keyboard and if i light upon a noun followed by a verb, so goes my contrarian gland (thus far successfully hidden, lying in wait (kinda like a coiled snake waiting for contextual clues that i, alone, can decipher at will).

now... where the hell was i — soz, where in holey hell am i? right, mixing my metaphors or whatever in a transparent effort to delude myself (and anyone reading — yup, all two of you including me) for most of my life for my one and only purpose: to get my way, i mean, to spring into action upon being summoned. in truth, this might work against me especially when the context of any situation lies dormant, kinda like Sleeping Ugly waiting for the kiss that dares not speak its name.

hey everybody! i managed to compose complete nonsense above and if you've made it down this far, i'd advise you to seek professional help and pronto. *cough* 'A word to the wise guy' as my favorite junkie, William S Burroughs, was so fond of saying.

is it perfectly clear that i haven't slept since monday night? and i'm blethering pure nonsense here? anyhoo, thanks to Jem for ringing me yesterday; it was lovely to hear your voice again and i'm way the fuck pleased, more than i can say, regarding your upbeat tone and plans and stuff so keep up the great work, d00d.

hang on... this just in: i've received permission to copy portions of a mail exchange which i think crucial cause it chronicles my latest steps on the road to senility: what set me off is a friend's offhand comment:

'No one would think you already took valium... Christ, just imagine what you'd be like straight. A frightening thought!'

to which i replied 'oh my... bloody damn hell: "stick a fork in me cause i'm done". and that started my usual meandering verbal diarreah of the mouth which included such gems as 'you totally nailed it / i shouldn't be surprised but i am. dig: at the end of my last mail, i stopped myself from saying: when i was a kid going down to the Village, the most FAQ (from strangers just met): 'Are you on speed?' with these variations:

'Do you take uppers/ amphetamines / diet pills / benzedrine?' (me: WTF? what is this stuff you're asking me about?) i had no idea what it was, apart from reading these pharmaceutical names in writings and listening to friends rapping, going on and on and ON. and since i was hanging out with much older kids — the holdover beatniks, i didn't wanna show my ignorance so i read my ass off, trying to be all cool (and worthy of them spending time to culturise me or whatever)...

'...so i did a bit of reading and understood why this was asked of me. mind, i wasn't getting high at the time (that shit came later when i was 15... ahhhhhhhhh, fuck me. i'm fucking lost in the goddamned morass of my past history for a change. and here's the headline cause you flipped me out / set me off by writing what i copied above so here it is again, just cause maybe just maybe if it sinks in, i'll be able to control the negative attention in future so, one more time:

'No one would think you already took valium... Christ, just imagine what you'd be like straight. A frightening thought!'

frightening to friends but all the above is quite sobering to me; a wake-up call if you will. to which i replied: 'believe it or not, i AM straight and i don't take Vs. i just dig having em around just in case i need em (better to have and not use than to need and not have); they act as a cue, actually'. and then i apologised to the poor grrl whilst admiring her dignity and understated laid-backity (whereas i would've flipped out in the same damn position; i told her '... i'm sorry for going off like this. it's like the floodgates were opened when i read you. and as you know, it doesn't take much'. :-(

in other news, to offset my incipient senility (or to encourage it; haven't decided yet), i was sent Hedgehog Ears by TPFKAPM:


dear lord in whom i don't believe... was there ever anything cuter? *hmm-ing to stay awake* hmmm... y'know, if teh Cute were a dastardly drug, i'd have OD'd and'd be dead on the floor right now and what's worse, it'd be without the shit-eating grin on my stupid face. but *yawn* bloody hell, i'm so fucking tired... and i'm nowhere near to catching up on my work... zzzzzzzzz.... zzzzzzzz... anyone got any speed?


yeah, i wish. *yawn* i feel like the grrlaholic icon of Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlife, actually... y'know — the chick who'd been up for a hundred hours and needs at least a hundred more in order to even out but as Sod would have it, there's no sleep in sight, no respite — nothing resembling rest on the horizon. damn, i'm so overworked and overtired my vivid imagination's working overtime and those damn Jackie O shades are lying smashed against the wall — 'lying shattered on the pavement' — after being flung in a fit of anger, prolly cause her go-fer went and dared return emptyhanded or sump'n. *to self* holy fucking hell, i'm truly babbling nonsense, worse than my usual. *wack* but at least 'Converted' by Alabama 3's blasting in my mind's ears, thanks to the italic'd line in bold font above which totally set me off.


BTW, i wouldn't call this writty stream of conscious or unconsciousness; if i had to pass judgment, i'd decide on my wellworn excuse, the one based upon a mixture of the usual ADD with my Asperger's for extra added yet needless boring details, just to clarify, like. anyway, in closing, Hunter (or as he's better known: 'Mr Fuck You, I Won't Do What You Tell Me') totally has the lastest word.


no, wait, i just found a bit of txt so in one of my typically boring ploys for attention, here's me trying to be all drama queen (and as we all know, it doesn't take much), y'know, that which falls under the tired old game of trying to be all mysterious and shit, here's a bit of esoterica, so guess what situation brought out this response of mine?:

'...determined to fuck myself up or die trying...' unhelpful hint: truer words and all. :-)

and with that i shall leave y'all to try to make sense of this mess again and then decide exactly how quickly i'll be certified, boxed, caged and shipped out to the nearest Rest Home. shall it be one for the Aged or one for the Mentally Incompetent? YOU be the judge. ;-)

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LOL, i totally give up

yeah, that was me last night when one of my more brilliant friends inveigled me to the waiting taxi outside, one that patiently idled in order to whisk us down to the Hatchet. once there, in truth, i didn't get the entire sentence out cause after i squeaked the words 'Who's carpet do you have to...' i puked all over the pub floor. but enough about that (especially some minion — theretofore unbeknownst to me — flew outta the broom closet with a mop and shit and then escorted me back home, leaving my brilliant Bristol friend alone in the pub).

anyway, i've been Valium-ing myself to a near comatose state over the last few hours when i had the most excellent idea to begin uploading the kinda shit that makes me pleased to be alive (especially in light of fucking the RIAA). so i give you my second most listened tune of the month: Ministry's Under My Thumb.

yes, as i've said before i like this soooo much better than the Stone's boring original, so stuck in the 20th Century. sacrilege? what-ev-errrrr. anyway, remember, children: R-Click and Save to your hard-drive or desktop or wherever it's easiest to find again.

and now back to bed... thanks to Chris, Darren, Katie, MS Freebase et al. for enquiring. the truth is, my temp's still like 100-101 F with no end in sight for days now. just sayin'.

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state of the Slum(p) X

*ADCHOOEY!* yup, very udfordunadely, i'be sdill here (add big thaggs to everyode who bailed be over the last few days). *sigh* it's by 3rd day of 38+C fever — that's 101F in the States, FFS! *groan* by dose is all sduffed ub, i'm a bess of liquidity add daturally, i'be totally dowd for eddyode *poidig add laughig* add otherwise baking fudd of be (as i'd do you, if YOU felt like crap). and — ha ha, AFAIC it's yet adother reason why dot livig id Loddod is a good thig. *whispers* add if you sdill have to ask, you're dot ready to know, so dod't bother asking why. ;-)


anyway, how the hell did this happen? i've been asking myself over and over cause i can understand when it happens on the heels of a weekend in Brixton but on monday night this shit first hit a bit, then when i woke up on tuesday, i was totally gone. wait — *singing* 'everything you had was gone... Woke Up This Morning' — OK, on monday, i posted Power In The Blood to Tony Longworth... shit, i dunno. ooh, maybe some good'll come of this, especially if it's the defining incident that proves once and for all that i should never go out. wait... Darren rang monday night. hmmpf, i think he made me ill like by osmosis through the telephone aether and the lines and shit. wait, why am i trying to blame others and why am i saying this shit out loud?

*cough* in other news, here's my moment of repulsion for today and this should tide me over for the next fifty years: women dies after using jackhammer as a dildo.



yup, i know as well as 'the mind reels'. *whispers* i started to dissect it in return mail, actually (whilst having the Derrida hat on and hoping for Deconstruction but falling far short of the genuine article and i dunno why).


*cough* me in mail: 'she totally deserves to die (haven't read the article yet). now i've read the first 'graph, so: in other news, a) what's wrong with the following sentence fragment?:

'... found dead in her driveway after a neighbor witnessed her using a high-powered jackhammer to pleasure herself...'

keywords/phrases: driveway (!); 'neighbor witnessed'; 'high-powered jackhammer to pleasure'

b) find the oxymorons in the phrase above.

bloody hell; i stand by my first comment (writ before i read the article). and the posted comments are hilarious.' as is Pervert Doggy sent me by the same Mystery D00d. *snigger*

right, before i forget, thanks to Christine for sending me Pedro (i wish), her GF's donkey with whom she lived whilst in New Zealand. *sigh* hmmm... wonder of wonders, the cuteness makes me feel a bit better, actually.


as does this quote by Samuel Beckett: 'You're on earth — there's no cure for that'. big thanks to the dude who sent that and thank you to everyone who sent images and Get Well stuff cause i'm feeling way better. wait — shit, i spoke too soon; i'be feelig like crap agaid. this is so weird cause it like comes and goes — huh, Huh, HUH!: *ADCHOOEY!* YUK.

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reading matters to a degree

i'm about to click 'publish' and just remembered some recent moans, mostly to the tune of 'It's boring' or i'm boring or whatever. to 'Where's the band?' — i can only say 'they're centred around London, duh' as well as 'go see them at a Festie near you'. *rolls eyes* and as my sister mailed the other day: 'You do that a LOT' cause a-huh, i sure do. believe me: when i witness or am party (and i do mean 'party') to any stuff done by any member of the band — or anybody really — when not put down here it's cause it's so totally memorable even i shall never forget, so there's absolutely no reason to share.

*to self* some of the stuff is like indelibly seared into my brain, actually... *cough* anyhoo, for the last time: this's for me (not you, you or you); it's stuff that happened or didn't or what i'm thinking about — Punkt, Ende. you're bored? go outside, go play, play in traffic, play in the street, play with yourself, play with each other... i don't care. just leeme alone with your meaningless (and in truth, rather boring) dumbassities. OK? *snigger* 'Okay, then...' *in a John Goodman voice*

WUTM at the way ungoddessly hour of 08,00 cause first the landline, then my cellphone, then both landline and cell kept ringing and Ringing and RINGING simultaneously until (i think) the cellphone seemed to get louder and louder as it slowly pierced through my morning miasma of daily duh and i finally came to. Hunter was at my side and we looked at each other — if he was the kinda kitty who obeyed, i would've said, 'answer the phone, please' but no. and knowing he took every one of my movements toward the kitchen as a signal he'd soon be fed again, i slowly turned away (with my eyes still locked on his), then stuck my foot out from under the covers, hoping he wouldn't notice me moving.

*mirthless laughter* he jumped on the rug and looked up as both phones kept ringing together like a shrieking Greek chorus or whatever. by that time — though my eyes were half-shut — i was in crawling mode so i slowly dragged myself into the livingroom to look at my cellphone and see who the fuck wanted me so damned early. LOL, oh my... shit! — it was Someone who reads here and who'd been warned not to ring me the next time s/he's in trouble, someone who knows how fragile i am and how hellish i'm likely to get when suddenly disturbed.


and since i'm a helpful kinda godless who's always there for friends in need or whatever (during Available Hours only), i didn't answer either phone. better yet (for me), i turned my cellphone to 'silent', pulled the cord outta the landline and peace reigned on my end of Bellevue again. well, aural peace cause by that time, Hunter was rubbing up against me, all eager for breakfast and shit but being in a foul mood thanks to my rude awakening, i stood up, turned and stumbled back to bed.

i'm lying there, trying to capture the last strands of my last dream but the thought i was sending him mixed signals began to bug me, so much so, i thought 'fuck it', got up again, fed him, turned on the coffee machine, sat down here and tapped the space-bar to wake up my Mac. *sigh* staring me in the face were all the pages of work remaining undone from last night, stuff i'd totally forgotten (which's what i'd intended when i quit typing and left it on the screen in the first place). *groan*

bah, 'groan' isn't the word; i remembered my deadline later but despite the growing knot of anxiety in my tummy, i did the unthinkable: rather than working whilst sipping my coffee like always, i began reading other stuff, then fucked off to some dark corner of the Internets (where i still am, actually) after fixating on this:

'I never expected the bleak existentialism of early Peanuts to work well with the drunken, failed machismo of Charles Bukowski but wow, it does'.

whoa, i actually remember that from even before it was posted there. *preens* *to self* hmmm... i prolly remember it cause Bukowski's one of my heroes and i take issue with that 'drunken, failed machismo' stuff, but hey. moving right along, i somehow — wait, 'somehow' cause a few seconds ago, i thoughtlessly shut the tabs that chronicled my layover points in today's chapter of self-scrutiny via desultory reading. hmmm... i guess i could always open up my History, but that's way too dangerous. anyway, i reached Progressive Boink's 10 Best Movies of 2008, scanned down the list seeing nothing in which i was interested, then landed on Synechdoche, New York.

without going into the grammar of film and film theory and other stuff i used to know in my sleep, all of which were conjured up in my head just by seeing the word, i was perfectly aware the writer dude's last line guaranteed i'd be totally sucked in:

'I don't know if I know what this movie is about, but I know that I'm going to love going back to it from time to time to try to understand it more'.

*snigger* and an 'LOL, where to begin?' oh, wait... oh shit! — i just checked the time and my deadline's nearing, boooo... i so wanted to spend an age expanding upon this. in very brief, i went to above IMDB link and after the first two cast members (Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Catherine Keener) got my mental approval (emphasis on the 'mental') i skipped down to the trivia:

'Philip Seymour Hoffman's character's last name is a reference to the Cotard delusion or Cotard's syndrome, also known as nihilistic or negation delusion, which is a rare neuropsychiatric disorder in which a person holds a delusional belief that he or she is dead, does not exist, is putrefying or has lost his/her blood or internal organs...'


heh. wait... whoa, intristin': i wonder if i've got Cotard Delusion and can truthfully add it to the long list of shit i already have? ;-)

'...It is named after Jules Cotard (1840–1889), a French neurologist who first described the condition, which he called le délire de négation ("negation delirium"), in a lecture in Paris in 1880. He described the syndrome as having various degrees of severity, ranging from mild to severe. In a mild state, feelings of despair and self-loathing occur, while in the severe state a person with Cotard's syndrome actually starts to deny the very existence of the self...'


hmmm... though at first, i got two outta three, i'm sad to s— LOL, i mean, i'm pleased to say i think i'm way too self-absorbed for that last, but hey... whaddoo i know? *giggles*

'...It can arise in the context of neurological illness or mental illness and is particularly associated with depression and derealization. Neurologically, Cotard's is thought to be related to Capgras's syndrome, and both are thought to result from a disconnect between the brain areas that recognize faces (fusiform face areas) and the areas that associate emotions with that recognition (the amygdala and other limbic structures)...'


haha, i found sump'n i totally don't have (and better yet, i can't even begin to imagine having it), hoorah! well, i don't have it yet at least. but i betcha people who do have it are way beyond fucked-up, maybe even worser than me. *cough* but double hoorah for me for sure, cause amazingly, i don't have Capgras Syndrome either:

'The Capgras Delusion (or Capgras Syndrome) is a disorder in which a person holds a delusional belief that a friend, spouse or other close family member, has been replaced by an identical-looking impostor. The Capgras delusion is classed as a delusional misidentification syndrome, a class of delusional beliefs that involves the misidentification of people, places or objects. It can occur in acute, transient, or chronic forms...'


*shouty* YES, i mean, NO! i'm totally rejoicing or whatever cause i found two mental things i can't honestly say i've got. *preens* *happy grrl dancing* then i looked back down the Google results for both Cotard and Capgras Syndromes and found a dude who calls his site Cotard's Syndrome. i should've known better than to keep on reading but by this time, i should know better than to do a lot of the things i do. anyway, the dude wrote up top as a sorta greeting or intro to flavor the rest of his writty thus:

'People with Cotard's Syndrome believe that they do not exist... how cool is that? Some Cotard's sufferers believe that they are missing major body parts such as their brain or heart... I'm not making this shit up! It's common for Cotard's sufferers to test their own mortality by repeatedly attempting suicide... Now that's one hell of a syndrome!'

i haven't the words. *admiring* but my instinct for survival or whatever, though not as strong as it should be for the long-term, is bugging me ATM cause my deadline draws near. i shall return to continue. or maybe not... it all depends if the mood strikes me. or not. whatever. nah, i dunno either but i do know i've made up a bit for the paucity of personal writty i've puked out here this month and AFAIC, quantity over quality's all that really matters. :-)


whoa, almost forgot: check out Killer Green by David Niall Wilson, the first screenplay to have been conceived on Twitter. as well, it's proof positive that the other day i actually did sump'n useful: i collected it link by link and put it all together for easy reading off the page. *proud* fun-fact: David's the latest to benefit from my totally dysfunctional (when it strikes my own life) time-consuming, nit-picking, detail-oriented Asperger's (in a making-it-work-for-me kinda way), and i'm way-the-hell proud of it, actually. LOL *preens*

as well, i'm hoping there's a way cool announcement about Killer Green in the very near future. *fingers crossed* BTW, that last link goes to Part I — y'all can find the rest of Killer Green on either one of the two links before it, so happy reading. :-)

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state of the Slum(p) IX

why am i disappointed? lemme count the ways, LOL. OK, beginning in reverse chronological order, my latest disappointment comes from... ta-dahhh! my sister, who's always interested to see the latest photos of Hunter. i sent her above LOL-Hunter, and told her the quote comes from A Fish Called Wanda. she's kind of a film-freak so i had no doubt she knew the movie, but Nooooo. *rolls eyes*

i won't go on cause that'd involve insulting people — sump'n i do in meatspace on a regular basis (and without even trying). whoa... *lightbulb on* i just got an idea: i should link to the twits i've twat — those that don't say what was really on my mind at the time, and say whatever here, secure in the knowledge that the people in question don't read me, or if they do, won't have the time to read everything. ;-)

moving right along and quickly leaving the Danger Zone (of my latest moronic idea), i made a few notes in my iPod after Darren drove all the way up from Poole to take me to London to see the band play Jamm that night. we were both way disappointed with the directions British Mapquest spit out, mostly cause he'd put in the same damn postcodes four or five weeks before but this time, Mapquest stupidly gave him a totally different approach to town from Bristol (sump'n poor Darren printed out, as i'd have done).


before we knew we were in for it, we blithely breezed along the M4 for a coupla hours (assuming we'd get there on time). this very positive but in retrospect, asinine attitude lasted till we got right outside London, then the first signs of trouble arose when we became a bit of the parking lot that was formerly the highway and were held up for a good twenty minutes. believe you me, i tried my level best not to growl and snarl and he tried to keep up his dispassionate British front, but i could tell he was cracking (not due to the sudden traffic jam but more cause of my moaning). after the first few minutes of almost 1,000 vehicles playing Statues, we heard, then saw cop-cars fly by on both sides and then came the fire-engine, preceding the ambulance. :-(

we looked at each other with mounting anxiety (well, i felt anxious, at least) cause we'd promised to meet others 'in a bit' then joined a kinda chorusline when all three lanes of that part of the M4 crowded against each other as they first swayed left, then right, and then back left again (in place!) to allow the cop-cars and other accidental official vehicles through on either side, then we inched by and passed what looked like a six-car accident but i didn't gawk cause i was busy thanking my godz it wasn't us. but wait, there's more! *roll eyes*

forget it, i won't go into the boring details but suffice it to say it took us THREE DAMN HOURS to get down to our hotel... three hours of wasted time driving round town as i tried to keep patient (FAIL!) and civil (DOUBLE FAIL!) and all the other niceties one's supposed to have mastered before s/he's let out to join society. here's Darren the morning after when he'd calmed back down to Normal Nice Mode:


um... crap, i really hate to do such an un-SG thing, but i shall. *cough* thank you, Darren, for going all the way outta your way to take me to London. :-)

it was already dark as we hurriedly parked, checked in (another half-hour wasted thanks to the dumbass hotelclerk), unpacked our stuff, changed, then finally met Chris and had dinner at my latest fave restaurant: The Asmara on Coldharbour Lane. it was my second time there and whoa, my mouth's like watering again, just thinking of their delicious Eritrean food and ambience and stuff. then after a brief hassle (cause they didn't wanna but i was cold), i got my way and we took a taxi up to Jamm, saw the band and met up with old friends (my only reason for going to London anymore, actually). LOL, i was sooo ripped when i finally recognised Jake and Fran arriving and then bored poor Jake senseless with my endless blether.

but i actually did a good thing: Willie decided not to make the long haul down from Glasgow and for some strange reason, he txtd Darren (not Mark) to say, so thanks to my big mouth Mr and Mrs Ifor got into Jamm on Willie's not-used guestlist (big thanks to Mark and Willie for different reasons). *cough* right, i won't go into the 'whys' here but after the gig we flew back to Chris' and only left him at 06,00 monday when he got sleepy.

then both Darren and i flew back to the hotel and stared at the ceiling of our room, whispering stuff to each other every half-hour or so until it was time to check out (and since i'm me, i finagled a very late check-out) *preens* so we split not at their unrealistic 10,00 but at a more reasonable 12,30. a few minutes later on Clapham Road, i took this next pic through Darren's windscreen, pretending to be minding my own business as i silently wheedled a ride down to Brixton.


my amazing very un-SG quietude actually worked: Darren went back to Poole after leaving me in the midst of Brixton and i flew straight to the Albert to meet up with Stevie. :-) Chris and i had Bloody Marys with a very leisurely dinner in the Prince of Wales and then back to the Albert to drink more, even. right... Sir Eddie Real was there with some dude called Digby. *snigger* i really can't say what went on in conversation between him and myself (cause i don't want this post to come back in future and bite me on the ass) but let it be known that my street-cred totally won out over his. *preens even more, if possible*

whoa... is that the time? *in a Mark Sams voice* i'm really disappointed, so much so, i've been rather quiet lately, like licking my wounds. *snigger* not really. ;-) but dammit, i so wanted to copy the txts in my phone, a series of hilarious missives sent from all over 'the wrong side of the Thames' — as we were told — down to Brixton sunday evening, txts which began with me wailing 'we're losted' (and ended with me moaning 'we're losted. again') but unfortunately (not for youse, but for me) there's no time due to the usual: i'm supposed to be working ATM. *sigh*

BTW, please notice the lack of curse words today (there's actually a very good reason for that). note to Darren: you can thank me later, d00d. :-)

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WOOP WOOP!

thus twat setmajer: 'little something to get y'all in the mood for this weekend's Outlaw...'

thank you, d00d, and muchly so — not only did i LOL but i hadda hold myself back from RT (retweeting) as well as sending everyone i know in meatspace over to see it individually and checking it again reminds me: once upon a time, 'I made this!'



right, since i'm working like fuckall to make up for the two days i'll be away the long bank hol weekend, this post'll be a quickie (but unfortunately without the sex).

in other news, i made a new friend and she's a grrl. :-) needless to say, being who i am — arrrghh! *deep breaths* 'Calm, calm...' (as TPFKAPM used to say). OK, i gotz t'let it out: 'Being the man I am...' *in a D Wayne Love voice* damn, the relief is totally worth going off like that. *wack* with that outta the way, being who i am, i'm still amazed at this shit; that i have actual GFs — who'd a thunk it? anyway, she contacted me earlier this week (great detective work, BTW) all inadvertently thanks to (and i'm quoting myself off sump'n i twat): 'HIM — HISSELF — DELTA SLIDE BLUES BOY — ROCK FREEBASE...' or rather *cough* '...Ⓒ (TM) Rock Fuckin' Freebase (Kosher for Pesach) ☂ Reg. US. Pat. Office...'

i think he was pleased. *preens* :-) um... *whispers* now's not the time to go into the reason why i OD'd on attribution in the first place... hey! look over there ——> i especially dig the fact nobody asked me WTF the umbrella symbolised. *snigger* damn, now where was i? right, thanks to Mark, the beautiful Lucy Kate found me here a few days back, so i WUTM, hit my mail and Twitter-@s page, then almost pissed my trousers when i saw a double header: two of her avs in a row. written last but read first, she twat:

'just read your interview — really fascinating — I sent u a DM about meeting up in London...'

*preens even more* naturally, she didn't link to it but an attention-whore who's worth it'll seize any opportunity, no matter how tenuous, anything to boost his/her — well, in my case it's LSE but i don't wanna go there now (or ever again, actually). anyway, an hour before the above, she'd twat the next which really freaked me out in a *still milking it for all it's worth' kinda way (cause i am — i'm the one who linked, duh!):

'I love the Klan — can't stop listening to it...' *smirk* then i questioned her musical tastes, but as i've learnt (and sadly so) over the last six years, 'it's different when Brits do it'. *rolls eyes slideways* let's move on, shall we? right, here's me in NYC after i hit 35 but before i crossed the Atlantic (hopefully for good):


in other news, here's your moment of repulsion: believe me when i tell y'all that if i'd been brought up by the family in this photo — and pay special attention to Little Sister fondling Daddy's penis and balls — i'd be way more successful as an adult than i am. Chris sent it over a few weeks back and after i got over my shock, disgust, dismay and, ultimately, the usual depression (but worser), i mailed him sump'n similar. i think i remember he agreed. :-(



here's the Clorox — i'll race youse to the loo so we can wash our eyes and brains out, imme- LOL, so long, suckers! 'I'iii-iiii-mmm fii-iiirst!'

*cough* last but not least, i stoled this next offa the 'About' section of Q's site, BunnyGlitter.com.



after reading a bit down, i told her she should profile herself as the IPOW, but knowing her, she prolly won't so in a feeble attempt to demonstrate why i think she's way more intristin' than most, here she is in her own words:

'...The Q is a nacho-loving ultra-liberal American Muslim internet junkie, writer, blogger, activist, wife and mother. She loves wearing sequins and patchouli; enjoys talking about religion and politics at inappropriate times; and looks for opportunities to cuss. When she is not dwelling in cyberspace she lives in Austin, Texass. One day, The Q is going to write the world’s greatest novel, visit Goa, India, and meet Jon Stewart'.

:-) but this's where we totally part ways or whatever:



hmmpf... *envious* everyone knows i can't stand most people cause i find them incredibly boring, stupid and/or petty and being an idealist, i'm constantly disappointed. as well, having not a whit of patience, they bring out the worst in me — and now that i'm old, i can't and won't coddle em whereas before i at least made an effort, as anyone who knows me will tell anyone who asks.

*cough* whoa... 'Did I say that out loud?' *in a Hunter S Thompson voice* happy weeeeek-end! *smirk* Punkt, Ende. ;-)

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oooh, rainbows!

last week i was talking to ImTheQ, this way cool chick i met on Twitter; she told me she wanted to interview me for her site's Interesting Person Of The Week and though i told her i have the most boring life ever anymore, lo and behold she did — i fucking freaked when i saw she'd actually posted my interview on monday, sump'n i tossed off late sunday night whilst working after it stared me in the face for like two or three days until i felt too guilty to put it off any longer. *rolls eyes* i learnt about it on monday afternoon when she twat the announcement and added 'brace yourselves for this one'.

hey, don't blame me — i'd awreddy asked her 'Do you want lies with that?' twice before and she totally ignored me so she got the entirely bad-to-the bone to-the-very-last-drop truth. anyway, i love it, so thank you, Q. oh wait... i guess i better say 'heed this warning' or whatever cause y'all better believe that just like Klan, i ain't gonna STFU about it as long as i draw breath. i've already added the link off to the R, under — duh! 'it's all about meeeeEEEEE!' so i can read it easily anytime i wanna, whenever i'm feeling down — *whispers* i've been reading it about 20x a day since monday but don't tell anyone, OK? best of all, i even managed to sneak in heroin. *proudtard*

as i said in the comment below, i wish she'd questioned me on certain other things, then whilst scanning through her IPOW archive, i could see that every other chick would've wondered what made her ask such bizarre questions whereas i would've taken it all in stride; questions like 'how many times have you been in jail? in prison?' and 'have you ever been to any sort of counsellor?' 'psychologist?' 'psychiatrist?' 'been prescribed any kind(s) of sleeping pills (Placidyls!)? of anti-depressant(s)?' (LOL, where to begin?) 'can you say with confidence you '..."Know your pharmaceuticals!"?' anyway, one of her questions was 'What is the most beautiful place you’ve ever been?'

to that shit, i went 'place in which i'm fortunate enough to be living now — my dream come true: England (where i saw more rainbows the first Summer i lived here than i'd seen in my lifetime in the States'.


that night, just like Magick, i got a number of brilliant photos and a Quicktime movie of these gorgeous rainbows that 'mah ni'-, i mean mah minion — shit! — i mean, my good friend Darren took that day (he's several_species on Twitter and lazybones on FreeA3). how does that shit go again? ask and ye shall receive? whatever, what freaked me out (after i sent my interview link out to all and sundry and to some more than once, naturally) was apart from Chris (IL ——>UK!) — who went 'w00t!' — it brought people out of the woodwork, some of whom i haven't seen in ages... *sigh*

i'm talking Seany Lynch (Dublin!), Electric Landlady (Nottingham!) and Alma Tender Love (Scotland!) and then there's people i haven't talked to like The Newswriter (USA! — here she is on Twitter), Logical John (Manchester!), Kiwi Tony (New Zealand!) and a number of others who got back to me in one way or the other and with whom i speak quite frequently like John from Mango Factory (LOL, Bristol!) and Euripidean (Manchester!).


i shall always be the crass, crude, shouty (and easily excitable) American cause i'm still way impressed that thanks to the Internets i know people living all over the world and when i meet em in meatspace, they become actual friends. *kisses the screen in a symbolic gesture* and being as flighty as i am, i'm amazed i'm still totally in love with it and after all this time, haven't cast it aside like a filthy old T-shirt worn daily for over a dozen years. *cough* *whispers* and i thank my godz i type like a motherfucker, cause that always helps. ;-)

moving right along, sending this shit out brought one of my fave people back into my life: Lee B (CA!), a lovely lady i ran into on a political site ages ago. thanks to things like time zones, she'd be getting ready for bed and work the night before and i'd be just waking up in the AMs but we used to meet on a daily basis over at Lukery's old place to mock bu$hCo.

anyway, we've been catching up since monday when we talked life and kitties (RIP Shadow) and she sent me photos of the beautiful Schatzie and Scooter and then went 'I just love the LOLCats. Hilarious. Did you see the one . . . "I cannot brain today. I have the dumb."...?' nope, i hadn't and Lee was at work so i twat an SOS (cause it sounded very familiar). within a few mintues, Moonshayde came to my rescue and sent:


thanks to everybody for the sweet things y'all said, all of which lifted me outta the usual funk — temporarily, but still. *cough* remember, '..."every little bit helps", said the old lady as she peed into the sea...'

in reverse post/meatspace order, big thanks and much love to Moonshayde, Lee B, Christine *snigger* (who's in New Zealand at the moment and kept me in stitches tonight), Euripidean, Mango Factory John, Kiwi Tony, Logical John, The Newswriter, Alma Tender Love, Electric Landlady, Seany Lynch, Chris, Darren and The Q. and now i'm gonna pass out cause i feel dizzy and been seepy but working for hours anyway. to top things off, i have to Go Out tomorrow and i'm already having my usual doubts, y'know... typical — 'Nothing ever changes...'

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last night with Mango Factory

last night i actually went into The Outer World (thanks to Quentin Crisp for the term) and danced my ass off to Mango Factory, whose sax player, John (not trumpet dude like i mistakenly twat) drove over to bring me to the gig. hmmm... actually Graham, the trumpet player did collect me cause he was in the car as well, but whatever. anyway, i shall be talking more about this wondrous occasion ('wondrous' on many levels) later on — tomorrow — most probably, once i get my shit together. *mirthless laughter* uh... i'd appreciate if y'all left that topic alone, so no jokes about people not getting their shit together, please.

oh fuck it, joke away... i mean, i do (and so does everyone else at my expense). but hey, a good attention-whore knows that everything's cool just as long as they spell his or her name right. *preens* anyway, from the second i bopped into the Golden Lion last night, i knew i was in the right place cause i freaked when i saw not one, but two beautiful puppy dogs. *whispers* i actually squealed but don't tell anyone; i wouldn't wanna ruin my way cool image. so whilst the band went through their soundcheck, i plopped my ass down and began with my usual pushy American 'yo d00ds, i have this way heavy doggy envy, do you mind?' and began petting and hugging the gorgeous Hendrix whilst Rawson and Hendrix's daddy Alec fawned all over my American accent. it was actually kinda like a circle jerk, but without the sex. *gazes off*

then they pointed out a teeny tiny liddle ball of fur in the arms of this white Rasta couple and Hendrix who was on my lap and slobbering all over my trousers leant over cause he'd been staring at teh total cute for the last hour or so. i ended up making friends with Rasta chick, talked doggy with her and her husband, fawned over their widdy four month old baby boy (who thankfully was sleeping or else i'd have made a bigger fool of myself than i did). thing of it is, for a liddle while, i was practically in heaven — in my head — (and without any drugs, amazing) cause i forgot about all the seriousity going on in my life ATM.

ahhhh... doggies. i'd put em on a par with Valiums as far as lightening me up goes, but hey. anyway, back to last night the nine-piece Mango Factory had a special guest star, an Australian girl called Lisa Cherian:


she's been here in the UK for the last seven years and plays the shit outta these hugeass congas (not shown above) going from band to band every night in a freelance kinda way. i could almost see Sir Eddie Real — 'knighted by the Queen of England' — of the Alabama 3 and Lisa doing a 'duelling congas' thing onstage and i totally can't wait; what a showstopper that shit would be. moving right along, here's my friend John, the sax player (one of the few i know in meatspace and neither through Alabama 3 nor the Internets).


the caption on his Facebook Meet The Band page reads: 'Sax Player extraordinaire ... introducing Mr John Pratt. Not sure who the idiot with the glasses is, though...'

yeah, they call him Mr and we call him Aussie John. :-) here's their bassist, Rich:


yes i know! YUM! *siiiiigh* whoa, almost forgot i was this old-type person for a coupla minutes. *weeps* they have two lead singers. here's Ben the he-vocals:


and i'm waiting on a better, bigger photo of the beautiful Aimee (the she-vocals). it's weird in a way, that my two fave bands are not only nine-piece but they mix their genres so seamlessly and turn whatever into their own unique music. Mango Factory 'rampage across genres not caring where they put their feet. Their music showcases each of the band members' musicality, but more important is the overall sound — a great big melting pot of funky jazzy Latin-y madness...'

they've changed their line-up since the last time we saw em and it's way more intense than the tunes they've uploaded to their mySpaz. please check the player on afore-linked page to get a little taste of what they're about (that's the old, way less intense line-up). my personal fave on that page is sump'n called Hot Canary Yellow. anyway, back to last night, after they played not the first half hour, the place was packed and we were dancing our asses off. of course, John's adorable wife (the 3rd person i met in Bristol in meatspace and not through the band or on the 'Net), Meagan and i had to begin to break the ice or whatever, but once we did, whoa... look fucking OUT. :-)

moving right along along again again, here's Mango Factory who just got on Twitter. if you dug what you heard on their mySpaz player and you're on Twitter, please follow them down. i love their bio: 'if you ain't happy, you ain't listening to enough Coltrane'.

right, three more things before i take off: my liddle sister ran one of the annual NYC Marathons today but (in her own words):

'...because it was so unexpectedly hot today, they turned it into a "fun run" which means we weren't timed (which sucked AND which made our chips invalid). I guess they didn't want people passing out, etc. or they didn't want to run out of water and Gatorade...'

LOL, 'unexpectedly', my ass. *smirk* 'a fun run'. *points and laughs* not at my sister but at the pussies in Central Park who didn't wanna get sued, were too stupid too foresee this: what's sociologically termed 'an unforeseen consequence'. *snigger* thing of it is, i actually foresaw this cause i'm a Meteorology freak so i check the weather every day in cities wherever my friends live, those with whom i talk online or on phone or txt or mail on a regular basis. i've only got NYC and Bristol on my Dashboard but on my iPod there's Tokyo, Kiev, Ankara, Prague, Teemu's town in Finland, Rome, Berlin, Bonn, London, Edinburgh, Manchester, Bristol, NYC, Miami Beach, Rochelle IL, Chicago, Plano TX, San Francisco, Los Angeles and Seattle and for the last few weeks, i've added the town where Christine's staying down in New Zealand.

bloody hell, it was 32C in Manhattan today (toldja so! toldja so!). thing of it is, i mentioned the possibility of this shit to my sister as one of my endless 'what if's' last week. so they bent the fuckin rules today and whoa, She. Is. Pissed in a continuation of her above, something which my better judgment told me to delete from here cause the wrong people sometimes read this (her colleagues, duh!) and they'd kill each other (and themselves and her) to keep their jobs. better yet, take someone else's and all she'd need is one young upwardly mobile prick reading her shit here.

then the filthy NYC wheels'd begin to turn in their vowel-state heads (cause that's where most of them come from) and i could just see her getting stabbed in the back by some utter cunt... some Cute Young Thing she'd mentored, especially in the current economic climate of duh-pession. why the duh? cause we all saw it coming back at the beginning of bu$hCo. well alla US apart from the people who could actually do sump'n about it but they all got off scot-free. grrrr... i so don't wanna go back to talking pols. i WON'T do it. *stamps cloven hoof*

back to my sister, i mean, hey, heavy duty advertising in NYC is her thing and she and her colleagues are like the 21st century's answers to Gordon Gekko if he were in advertising, FFS! LOL, the thought of Michael Douglas (and my sister) as cut-throat ad execs (like the VP of Creative / Giordana Gekko she is) speeding their brains out in that particularly snarky NYC way whilst hanging on to their jobs by any means necessary... growling from the doorways of their lavish offices at all their ambitious underlings working in the cube farm in front of them, snarling like insecure starving dogs, ready to rip your throat open, shit down your neck and then get you fired... i mean, it's happened before (she could tell you stories). sorry, but LMAO!

right, today's exactly six years since the day that changed my and Chris' lives for EVar, six years since we flew in from Bonn, saw the band and best of all, met those losers in Manchester at United Against Racism, all to whom we talk but don't see enough and some of whom are still are closest friends today, so yay for us cause we all fucking rock. :-)

*cough* last but certainly not least, i gotta say (because i have to not cause i wanna) a very happy but belated birthday to Ifor the Engine. now this is the kinda thing that really pisses me off: Mrs Ifor had the total audacity to think it a brilliant idea to send me unrequested photos of her glorious new way skull-y boots.


why? cause she digs seeing me writhing with envy, of course. grrrrr... hmmpf. ;-) anyway, we'll all see you and Sarah next weekend, Rich dude — and yer both gonna geddit but good. happy biiiirthday. *evil* :-)

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