remains of the night

just a tiny portion of the shitpit my flat looked like after the 12 or 13 guests took off early monday morning (and the rest straggled their asses out late monday evening GAH! i couldn't wait! (oops, it's the quiet voice out loud again. no matter how i try to train it, it always manages to make itself heard, so soz, dudes).

anyhoo, y'all can play 'find teh drugs' if youse want (it matters not cause you'll NEVER find em and if yiz do, you'll never ID em correctly) nyah. i took this next pic after a bit a shitload — hours, even — of cleaning up with the Windex, Endust and rag(s) and every other fucking cleanser i had in the cupboards your mission is to Compare and Contrast with first pic above.


too bad i didn't think of taking before and after pix of the kitchen and LR in its slovenly entirety cause they were evidence a good and way sloppy time was had by all. nb: this is totally NOT a moan for once.

the horror that lurks in the corner of the LR. yeah, still — i'm keeping it as a memento — it could be looked upon as an art-piece depicting the havoc wreaked when Some People decided the floor pillows and blankets were there for others' comfort and only if they were pussies.


i actually wanted a pillow-fight but wonder of wonders, i couldn't make myself heard above the cacaphony going on in here. and the memory of the various blankets and pillows sailing through the air by Those Whose Names I Won't Mention was surely a sight to behold. *self-satisfied smirk*

coming up soon: each end of the kitchen after it took me at least five separate trips to the recycling bin to remove all empty booze bottles and beer cans as well as clean allll the glasses and cups and mop off the spillage on the counters and floors — ebrything from Olive Oil, Absinthe, Rum, Gin, Bread Crumbs, Kahlua, Remaining Rinds from Expensive Cheeses, Vodka a shitload of MDMA and a large oh-so-deliciously pungent crumb or three of the Nepalese Black Gooey, kinda looking like a slice of this:


hmmmf... it was such an obviousity that someone band-dude or not? you be the judge had unceremoniously unconsciously losted it. but i found it after they'd all gone so finders keepers as well as a shouty 'So long, suckers!' *cough* and i also found slices and crumbs of these:



first up's the Afghani and then, the Lebanese. and just cause i haven't dealt smokeables in ages doesn't mean my finely tuned nose has lost any of its genius, that which kept me going through droughts and hard times when all kindsa dealers rang me for taste tests and whoa, did they pay. and pay and pay and pay — but only cause my rent was way overdue.

*snaps to outta reverie strolling down Memory Lane* anyhoo, back to the glasses and cups, some of em needed a proper and thorough scrubbing and not once but twice and sometimes even thrice. BTW, dudes, i remember who used which glass and/or cup so all i can say is 'in future, please keep your salivating to yerselves'. *cough* yes, i know — oh, how i know — D Wayne's 'lovin' mens, lovin' womens, lovin' ebrything covered in fur' — but this is ridiculous, so TIA'. remember: i know where yiz live.

moving right along, y'all shoulda seen the right-hand side of the counter before i got high enough to permit me to attack it sans puking i cleaned it up: massive spillage, drained boddles lying horizontal, cans, rusty works, make-shift crack-pipes, pill pulverisers and all. *snigger* please notice the absence of any hint of contraband once i was done. stoled from a LOLCat i can no longer find, 'ignore teh mess, don' luk at teh mess, luk at teh cute'.


but i see no cute no matter how hard i look. just sayin'. and all i can say about the left side of the counter which really disgusted me so i did a line or three more in order to steel myself, or at least, that's what i believe, so please don't fuck with my reality where was i? right, all i can say is 'LOL, where to begin?' nb: those huge vertical white things on the breadboard below are totally not the remains of my guests' way generous big fat lines (she lied):


i've got so many miles of cleanage to go — 'miles to go before i sleep' — just sayin' and having typed that i actually have a near-happy face on — and it's actually scarey. would i do it all over again? betcha asses i would. :-)

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thank you, BJ II

how could i've forgotten? easy-peasey cause i was dead tired and ripped offa my face when i posted yesterday about Daddy's pen-knife, i failed to say it was wrapped within a porcelain Alice In Wonderland tray as my shakey-hands photo shows above. knowing that just like the dude who killed John Lennon had a thing for Catcher In The Rye, i too have a thing for Alice in Wonderland and must have like twenty-plus different editions of the same damn book cause i can't pass up an iteration i don't already own, the oldest going back to 1935 or so, and one of which Ralph Steadman illustrated.

i've got Steadman's first edition, actually. nyah, nyah. *preens in an obnoxious manner* i betcha it's going for way more than the $18,95 a cursory search turned up (i paid 5$ for it in NYC, bought it new off some junkie who owned a bookshop, actually. hmmm, i prolly coulda given him like a buck but i felt sorry for him).



it's weighs a tonne cause it's fucking massive. anyway, what was i saying again? right, the blurry pic at top — which i took last night, totally fucked outta my face — does no justice to the original John Tenniel pen-and-ink drawing in the book:

but the porcelain tray itself is a wonder to behold. that is, if you're a Tenniel-Alice-Lewis Carroll freak like i am. i believe this drawing illustrates Alice after she finally gained her composure and got pissed off enough to tell the Queen and her soldiers 'Why you're nothing but a pack of cards!'

apart from directly above, i tried for a decent photo of it:



but no can do and i'm totally straight this morning. pity. so soz, BJ but simultaneously big thanks to you with all the love i can muster in my cold, cold heart. wait, i found it on the site but the image's too liddle for my taste and that needless whitespace drives my AQ crazy:

it shall go in place of pride in the LR or kitchen or my bedroom or whatever but i'm still a bit woozy and so, haven't decided yet nor have i finished cleaning up the shitpit into which my formerly clean flat quickly evolved.


the coffeetable alone makes me wanna retch as i see remains of drugs that i betcha nobody else can see. take my word for it — they're there. back to BJ's tray, actually it makes for a perfect rolling tray hypodermic needle holder spoon rest but hey, i didn't say the first two — rimone did, so blame her.

thanks again and very muchly, Barbara. i fucking love it and love you even more for sending it, unasked. :-)

ps, if anyone ever wants to get me sump'n and is at a loss for what since i'm so goddamned picky try here and it'll prevent me from bullshitting you with an 'ooh i love it!' *cough* i can haz em all? TIA, dudes! ;-)


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thank you, BJ

finally! Endlich! Daddy's pen-knife came in the post — it's the only physical memento i've left of him so i carry it with me wherever i go and it's caused me too much grief lately cause i totally forgot to take it out from my bag before joining whatever guestlist as well as getting onto whatever aeroplanes. why they can't give em over at the end of the night or let us mail em wherever is totally beyond me.

big thanks to Chris who came to my rescue the day i left for NYC and suggested how to travel without trashing it. 'twas just before the moment i was about to kiss it a teary G'bye at Heathrow when he rang, suggesting i throw it into my bag and check it in the hold, sump'n that would've never occurred to me since, amongst other things, i suck at teh Logic Obviousity. and i never check my bags; i make a point not to, i keep em in the cabin and then run like fuck-all, tryna make my next connection. but lo and behold, he called, i actually listened for once and it worked so thanks again, dude — the relief is worth millions... 'In Pounds, my love. Pounds'.

anyway, it's here — safe and sound well, sound after i took the NYC shmegma offa it Pagan Style — thanks to my liddle sister taking time outta her oh-so-crazy and overworked days to stand on the longass queue at THE major post office in NYC in order to send it off. i do believe my YA-FUCKIN-HOO! was loud enough to wake alla Bellevue (dead and alive) but i don't care cause it's back in my hot liddle hands, where it totally belongs.

Bibby, i'm SO relieved and i thank you more than my limited vocabulary can express. holding it in my hand again, brought my emotional tone level way up from a horrendous near-suicidal minus sump'n to a bit more than my usual: a just-bearable two or so, but still — i can't thank you enough for jumping the hoops through which the major NYC Post Office — the James Farley with the prestigious zipcode of 10001 — must've forced upon you, since Daddy's liddle knife's still classified as a 'dangerous weapon' *rolls eyes* thinking of the metal flatware they use in First Class including steak knives with blades twice as long as Daddy's knife.

and knowing you, Bibs, you kinda shuffled your feet about it but dig: i totally don't blame you. y'all know whom to thank for this horror and i won't sully this post by naming names apart to say 'first letter's B' and though 'bastard' fits, that just don't cut it. oops... B is for bin Ladens who were flown first classity outta the country straightaway post 9/11 whilst us plebes hadda wait. and wait and Wait and WAIT, thus wasting money and ruining any of our plans apart from getting me into a shitload of trouble regarding Chris' fam but that's another story.

hmmpf... i'm leaving that shit alone cause it aint anything important anymore. anyway, i have an awful lot of emotional attachment to Daddy's pen-knife ever since he promised it to me oh-so-long-ago, way before Bibby was born. when he first showed me it (whilst watching old-time TV) i remember making him swear that after he died, it'd be mine whilst Iron Mommy was shrieking 'god forbid!' numerous times in the background. *snigger* as if her futile 'god forbid's would prevent his death and they call me 'unrealistic'. *smirk* and i remember for shit-sure how we — Daddy and i — both exchanged 'she's crazy' looks whilst he rolled his eyes and we both ignored her shouty 'god forbid'! in the background, screamed over and over like a broken record. score yet another for my side sanity's sake. *makes an invisible '1' in the air with my index finger*

this pen-knife is older than i am (and that says a lot) since it was given to Daddy by his own father way-the-hell before i was born. in following shite phone pics, i tried to capture how the mother-of-pearl handle had yellowed with age, sometimes succeeding and sometimes not. and also, its essence, how dangerous a weapon it truly is. nb: regardless of how it came out here, the color of the small blade is certainly not 'rust coloration' though corroded it might look.




hmmpf... coincidences abound. Daddy's 96th birthday would've been on the very same day my sister posted his knife as stamped on the Post Office label. like a late — and i do mean late — birthday present from him to me from outta the wild blue yonder or wherever.


i'll be back to detail the Bristol gig with the Alabama 3 as soon as i can get my thoughts together to describe my own private Afterparty. this occurred once i learnt there wasn't to be an official Afterparty.

*whispers* so i lay down in the street between Colston Hall and the back garden of the Hatchet, in the path of oncoming cars and taxis and commenced kicking, screaming and just about getting into the throes of the typical SG-style temper tantrum (the performance piece that instantly emerges the second i don't get my way). i totally refused to budge till Jake and Mark felt bad for me and promised me the moon if only i'd get outta the traffic, the kind that maims you for life if you live which i was hoping i wouldn't. LOL, now, where was i?

right, My Own Private Afterparty starred the one and only D Wayne Love and Mr 'Hit It' Rock Freebase appearing live and in person up here at mine and it was totally a night to remember if i don't forget it by the time i must write it all down. i mean, i even took notes and everything. *giggle*

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dammit to hell

as i twat on Twitter not half an hour ago, 'motherFUCKer! *in a Ving Rhames voice* from Pulp Fiction' cause i'm entertaining waaaay-the-fuck negative thinking ATM (LOL, what else is new?), so like i said a bit after, 'time to get high' in Twitter's hashmark'd tag-tawk = #time2gethigh.

moving right along, the other day i forgot to say that if you look on Talia's shoulder in the belated Hallowe'en photo (she's dressed as a cross between me *preens* and Morticia *face-palm*), you'll see Pepper (or Minty) — they're her cute liddle rats and i always geddem mixed up, so sorry, Pepper (or Minty) for not recognising exactly who you are. if it makes y'all feel better, then youse should know i do that with people as well. a LOT.

anyhoo, to balance out above negativity (a euphemism if i've ever used one), i took the next photo on wednesday, capturing the hallucinations dancing in my head and somehow projecting em through the aether to my phone prolly thanks to two days of no sleep and a hefty dose of MDMA my superpowers. :-)


in my always-lucid opinion, the one who appears to be standing on the building is an embodiment of Sod cause he's been fucking with me mercilessly ever since TPFKAPM rang with appalling news, stuff i've not yet mentioned cause i haven't yet found the words without cursing him (TPFKAPM not Sod) out but if he (Sod not TPFKAPM) gets his way, next saturday i'll be travelling alone — 'the horror, the horror' — at fuck o' clock in the morning.

now i wouldn't mind the travelling so much if i'd ever gone the route before but i haven't — not alone — and it means Strange Meatspace on both a train and a fucking goddamned coach — a thought that strikes both disgust and fear into my already odiousified head. i was thinking 'at least i have V.s' but the thing of it is, i'll be too tired to take em cause they'll put me to sleep and i'll miss my stop(s). bah... the fun never ends the mind reels (and not in the way i like).

i'll be back... um... i dunno. in all truth, i shouldn't even be here now but i'm putting off making a cigarettes run cause it's only 4C outside and i'm so not in the mood to freeze my ass off so i just won't think about it till i'm down to my last cig and i'm forced the fuck out. i've got some great photos though — the lovely Sarah sent me those skulls i mentioned last post. *cough* WANT!




they rest in the peace of the coffin standing in Mr and Mrs Ifor The Engine's livingroom when they should be mine they should be mine they should be mine, Mine, MINE well, they should, dammit and the coffin as well. *sigh*

ps, get well ASAP, Angie. :-) —> that's a sincere, though forced, smiley cause i sure as shit don't feel like smiling but then again, simultaneously, i sure as shit hope you feel better and fast.

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belated Hallowe'en

one day in future i might wanna remember i actually knew know knew these people once upon a time if i live that long and i hope i don't, but anyway.


and every picture tells a story, don't it? *evil* here's Mrs Ifor The Engine:


Sarah wrote '...We had such a good night at the Troxy watching the Urban Voodoo Machine, got in at 5am ... Before we went in, I wanted to put eyeliner on Rich, but of course he said "no", anyway when we got to the door, the guy wouldn't let Rich and 2 of our friends in cos they weren't "looking outrageous enough", a bit pretentious I know, but it gave me the excuse to "make up" Rich and I think he was quite cool with it...'


yup, i agree. then she said, '... As you can see, Rich really went to town last night!!!'



please notice the coffin which should be mine to his right, standing proudly in their livingroom. *sigh* first i heard it showcased their glassware and now i hear it has two skulls in it which i'm dying to have see. hmmpf! anyway, next pic's Sarah and Clair.

The Grrls from Hell? She-Demons? dominatrixes? dominatrixi? no time to look it up, so whatever... anyway, all three of em were kind enough to come all the way out here a day or two after my birthday and what a shocker that was. actually, i dunno if seeing Rich all green shocks me more than they did that day, but thinking about it makes my head hurt more. so i won't. :-)

i've got other Hallowe'en pics sent me by some-a my friends but no time to post em and i don't dig those people that much anyway, so no great loss. yow! quiet bit out loud again... fuck it. i'm sorry — y'all know what a liar i am so just add this to the pile of bullshit i've been feeding youse ever since i metchas. no, really. :-)

i'm running outta time cause i've gotta go out soon but here's Darren and Tina's daughter Talia. as with the Engines, The Lazy Fambly were nice enough to come out and visit me in july and i guess i made an impression on Talia poor Darren! poor Tina! cause i think i remember (can't find his mail now or maybe he told me on the phone) Darren said that Talia went as a cross between me and Morticia.


if you click on the above and open in a new tab, it'll embiggen so yiz can see the long red wig she had on to cover her long blond hair. i actually haven't the words, apart to say 'Talia, i'm honored'. :-)

what did i, myself, do on Hallowe'en? well, my normal life is scarey enough so i decided to stay home and play around with Frankenstein's dildo.


i'll only say 'the stitches were amazing' and leave it at that. *giggle*

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mentally illtown

at this point in time, i'm playing around with the notion of quitting the constant self-medication (and the damn drinking) but i'm thinking it's quite similar to the old adage of cutting off my nose to spite my face cause it's against my better judgment as well as my belief that timing is everything. a lifetime of near-misses and synchronicities (rather than coincidences) have left me with an intense belief system, firmly rooted in place with the help of my old friends Denial and Avoision and it all results in a stubborn personal fixation: thinking that to maintain the me of me, i should just let things go the way they've been, same as they ever were.

example: TPFKAPM rang me last week it wasn't good news. as i listened i could feel my Anxiety Gland swell up and my heart pumping faster and the second we got off the phone, i popped a coupla V.s, poured myself a hugeass cVcV and loaded my pipe. *thwooop!* then i felt like singing 'I feel good!' *in a James Brown voice* but i didn't. and naturally, the entire thing didn't last long — it never lasts long.


anyway, these days i've been way too conscious of the agony of existence, all made horrendously clear in living color, as the seconds drip into minutes and the resulting hours melt into days of typical gloom and doom. apart from the phonecall, i might be panicking for nothing; it could be a result, a late-coming side-effect of last month's horror of being an alien in NYC — dunno, don't care and i'm not feeling too good ATM to waste time tryna figure it out.


and then, there're those goddamned headaches. i quit moaning about em some time ago but the biggest bitch is my total awareity that at any moment, that which feels like a spike might make its merry way further in and pounding down through the top of my skull, into what's left of my brain and do some real damage. naturally, this always happens at inopportune times, like when i'm alone and at work here or just alone watching films or worst of all, when i'm with friends and really have to hide the pain or else, moan my ass off (they don't call me ri-moan for nothing). when i'm alone watching films or whatever, i immediately stop and begin writing whilst popping more V.s and drinking more and believe you me, the results... well, they ain't pretty.

like, if anyone were to read the stuff i've written when in pain, they'd prolly call the nearest looney bin, so fraught with suicidal ideation and shit are the asinine ideas that occur. so tonight, having reached the threshhold of my worstest pain yet, i actually went over to the phone to ring a taxi to take me to, um... A&E? whatever it is they call the Emergency Room at Bristol Royal Infirmary.

and then i remembered the last time i did and the nothing which followed the fright they needlessly introduced. and that was like almost three years ago. and after all this time, i still believe that BRI won't be able to help me as they didn't the last time. y'know, despite all the attention-whoring, i don't give a flying fuck when regular people ignore me but when professionals ignore my excruciating agony, it doesn't sit too well with me. i wasn't exactly ignored but they wouldn't give me that goddamned brain scan i still believe i need. now i'm thinking of this story i heard (told me from a very reliable source — ex-Stress Counsellor dude); the story about this guy in town here who had similar pain to mine and how the NHS didn't give him an MRI for whatever reason. and then he dropped dead (brain tumour) a few months later. lovely. bah...

the thing of it is, reaching the last resort — being practically straight (and the awareity that comes with it) — will make it way more difficult to use my best friend fave ego defence mechanism, Denial, always made much stronger by enabling my Avoision Gland. but lately, the piercing pain drove me to realise i was entertaining really negative thinking... hah! more negative than 'normal' — whatever the hell that is — the 'suicidal ideation' stuff. hmmpf... when i feel like that i've got two choices: doing a header off the balcony or taking a shitload of Valium. no, three choices: just sitting around waiting for the pain to quit. and being born with a teenytiny Patience Gland makes any waiting much worse. *mirthless laughter*

anyway, this truly fucked thinking made me realise it's time to break down and bite the bullet: show up at the nearest medical facility, although every time i did before, it was all time wasted cause i've been rejected by the PTB due to my blood enzyme levels which haven't yet reached those which warrant a free NHS MRI, sump'n i've wanted since i'd Googled my symptoms from the very start (april 07), when the headaches or (as i put it cause it feels that way) cutlass driving into my skull began.

looking on the bright side *snigger* it's not as bad as the longass daily attacks i put up with for the first year or so. now, instead of having em every day (sometimes more than once), i get em like maybe twice a week, sometimes even less frequently and sometimes, if i'm lucky, i get the damn things maybe four or five times a month.

hmmm... just remembered i'm in a somewhat civilised country where they actually sell codeine-laced stuff over the counter and give people morphine when they're in severe pain. oh wow — sump'n to hope for. *giggle*


yes, i know — *grumble* BTW, just as i was reaching for the phone to call BRI's Emergency Room, the damn thing rang and the dude on the other end actually entertained me for just about an hour or so. then, the second we hung up, the spike continued on its merry way down, down, deeper down but not 'to the comfort of the old narcolepsy...' i fucking wish. |-(

edit @23,35: today would've been Daddy's 96th birthday. *shudder* after 13 years, i still miss him. just sayin'.

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for Danny (w/apologies)

editor's note: WHOA, did i fuck up: i first hit 'publish' like hours ago but after rereading, decided to expand upon what i mentally labelled only adequate writty. still is, actually, but there're details of other stuff when the ADD took me on a long stroll down Memory Lane but back and forthly between there and my current flavor of feared and very much-loathed reality (the one in which i'm sittin here working) so i quit working and promptly fell asleep. anyway, i'm reposting this properly cause recalling the details i edited in the second, third, sixth and 20th times somewhat negate the anhedonia and i've always been a 'whatever works' kinda grrl. :-)

*trumpet fanfare* headline: this's this was a Work In Progress (republished fuck-knows-how-many times during the last six hours or so as i fixed the formatting and kept on adding content and shit). OK, i started off fine the first time when it was all about Danny, a bit about Gemma and their desire to be on Tawdry again (sans their photos) after they decorated my 'Take Drugs' card with a lovely variety of extralegals. that was before i got sidetracked, of course, totally thanks to ADD with details brought to you by the syndrome named for Hans Asperger. anyhoo, the first edition was actually alright and began thusly:

this public service announcement was forced upon me strongly suggested by Danny and Gemma (mostly Danny) as they inspected the bulletin boards and magnet board in the kitchen, then simultaneously noticed the 'Take Drugs' card i took from this Techno Acid-House Drums and Bass club in Edinburgh — i think it specialised in that kinda music but positive of one thing only: i got the card in Scotland.

it was Chris, Sir Nomad, Alma Tender Love and me back in may '05, in the midst of The Outlaw Tour. it started off with a bang for us — Chris and i trained it over to Cardiff and immediately found Orlando outside The Coal Exchange. he invited us to accompany him checking out pubs looking for the rest of the band (like we were really gunna say 'no') and as usual, i tawked his head off (but to his credit, he didn't seem to mind). then, for the way unexpected finale or whatever, Chris and i bopped in — through the front doors of the venue — with The Spirit of Love.


when i wrote about it the following day on Dateline: Bristol, i said sump'n like 'street credit rising... riiisINNG... SOARING!' why? cause it was; i mean, casually sauntering into the gig with The Spirit had all eyes upon us and i was preening my ass off but not overtly cause i'ze way too cool for that kinda shit. then Orlando took us to the bar and excused hisself after i hissed to Chris sump'n like 'OMG — there's Jake!'

this was the first time we'd seen him since San Francisco back in november 2000 (seen him close enough to talk to, that is). then came the reunion, like: after i spotted him at the end of the bar, i pretty much dragged pulled a very reluctant Chris along with me as i snuck up behind him and repeatedly and rather rudely poked him on the shoulder to get him to turn around.

when he finally did (after my 3rd or 4th insistent poke) he checked us out briefly, then instantly roared 'YOU MADE IT!' and kissed and hugged the botha us (not sure but i think i remember Chris like flinching and cringing but ultimately submitting to Jake's very warm Glaswegian kinda welcome). then, thanks to Jake's questions, Chris gave him a liddle rundown of how and when we'd split the States (whilst i went outta my mind doing happy grrl dances behind Jake's back). then Chris explained why he'd been so busy at work in DE that it took us over two years to see the band until april '03, at United Against Racism (Manc) and then Summer Sundae (Leicester) and Christmas '03 in Brighton and London but as he told Jake, there was no way to get close enough to tawk to him before that very minute in Cardiff.

then he asked us how long we'd been living in England which gave us me a chance to tell him only some of the remarkable series of whatevers which ended us up in Bristol. y'all know the story — it's the 'Saved By The Virtual Bell' one, the one fraught with Fate and Timing and Coincidences (and flashes of ESP or whatever other type of possible precognition). i'm putting it that way cause one example's when Chris booked his one-way flight back to US in november '03. right before he clicked to pay, he noticed a special offer: for 20€ more, one could get a roundtrip — or 'return' as Brits and the EU put it — back to DE after warning me he wasn't gonna use it but for only 20€ and since we sadly assumed all was totally lost he went 'fuck it' — just as i called out 'go for it'.

fun-fact: *whispers* it's the same story which found me talking to The Kindly Ones, as Neil Gaiman calls em in Sandman — hah! i could go off on another ADD-addled tangent now but i'll exercise some badly needed self-restraint and won't cause i'm so off the original track already — sorry, Danny — RLY.

back to me and The Kindly Ones, this happened after i'd losted it and in the kinda desperation endured by the very depressed, especially those who have nothing to lose. so glancing out the window and seeing the Moon that night, i had a word or three with The Nice Ladies. teh funny: the very next night, that firm in Bristol rang and offered C an interview, one he wouldn't have considered if he hadn't already booked a return. yeah, i know: it totally means nothing since it's only another a coincidence.

shit! stuck in Memory Lane... more VGIs (Very Good Indicators) i'm in OldLadyland, dammit. anyway, the Outlaw Tour in Spring '05 was a really good time for me. i mean, it was just three months after Hunter S Thompson left the building *sigh* and two months after Peter did as well *sob* *double sigh* and i'd been very, very depressed though Hunter had come to live with us by then.

anyway, i thought the album was totally teh suck as well as a crushing disappointment but that wasn't gonna stop us from seeing the band as much as we could. and it was Zoe Devlin's big intro onstage on tour so we hardcore Converted weren't surprised when, thanks to an injection the introduction of the cutest, most talented arm-candy EVar into the motley mix of degenerate pervs the band, the unbeatable combination of Devlin plus the paean to the recently deceased Johnny Cash brought a slew of new fans, mostly young kids, the majority of whom were of the violent, mindlessly drunk ilk who thought nothing of pushing and shoving people away so they could get to the front of the stage where they acted like total assholes got all riled up seeing the Alabama 3 for their very first time.

i'm sooo off-topic, it isn't funny, actually. soz Danny, but you're gonna have to wait a bit more. now where was i? right, the Outlaw Tour and how easy-peasey it was to separate those who weren't yet Converted from the actual Congregation. in truth it was hilarious to watch cause if i remember rightly, we thought we'd just about bust a gut laughing cause in Cardiff, Manc and Bristol, after the band did the obligatory three or four tunes off the newly-released Outyawn Outlaw, a sample of tracks which included 'Hello, I'm Johnny Cash', the tune which brought the band under the radar of the n00bs, the rubes, the chicks in pink feathery, glittery cowboy hats and all the chavvy dudes in imitation Stetsons worn with wifebeaters — i kid you not; whether chicks or guys, they wore what they wore in all seriousity and Brits or not, they totally missed the irony, but i digress.

thing of it is, what made us actually ROTFLOurAO happened at every gig when the Outlaw tunes were thankfully over and the band launched into classics like Hypo Full Of Love and Mao Tse Tsung Says. Alma and i looked around and the expressions on the faces of all these kids — new fans or whatever — just about killed us cause they had no fucking idea what was going on, onstage, Not. One. Damn. Clue. what? music about politics? and drugs? 'Was that Jim Jones?' 'Did they say "Socialism?"...' 'What's this "Raise your left arm" shit about, then? Why not my right?'

LMAO just remembering the looks on their faces as the band played our faves offa Exile, La Peste and Power In The Blood and the majority of each audience cheered our asses off but those poor previously nasty, way-too-pushy drunken kids were immediately outta their element which gave Alma and i the chance to get up to the frontlines — where we belonged — and then dance our asses off like at pre-Outlaw gigs. ahhhh... the Bristol gig was the bestest of the Tour, of course, not leastly cause at one point, Jake — as D Wayne — waved to Nomad from the stage and said sump'n about the Bristol Posse or Scottish Crew or whatever it was he called us it. me and Alma preened. i think i recall Sandy and Chris appearing quite pleased but i couldn't say for sure cause i just don't remember and they're both so naturally laid back anyway.

back to my opinion of Outlaw, remember Larry Flynt's 'Opinions are like assholes. Everybody has one' — i'm reminding yiz here in a gesture meaning 'hey! no biggie — "It's just your my opinion, man"...' cause like anyone else's, it'd ideally be taken from whom it comes: in this case, a (still) deranged, formerly rabid Alabama 3 fanboy like i used to be (your mileage may vary). but in truth IMO, Outlaw has its moments. my total fave's 'Adrenaline' with which i immediately fell in love upon first hearing, especially D Wayne's scat singing style. *sigh* and there's the first 32 seconds of 'Let It Slide' as well as the bit from 3,04 —> 3,09 and where he comes in at 4,13 to the end.

in all actuallity, i totally love the lyrics to 'Let It Slide' (i just don't dig the arrangement cause it's not Rock & Roll or Punk enough for me). though i do love the bits stoled offa when they quote 'Gimme Shelter' — y'know: the female 'oohs' in the background. hmm... and apart from 'Adrenaline', the only other track i love is 'Minesweeping' but that shit's available only as the B-side of the single, 'Hello, I'm Johnny Cash' (and i think it's on Outlaw Remixes as well but i'm not sure even though i have it in my iTunes grouped with the rest of em). Minesweeping as the B-side of 'HIJC' pissed me off muchly though it's none-a my biz cause as a poverty-stricken compleatist, i hadda have it and so, goddit My Way and let's leave it like that. :-)

moving right al- oh WOW — it's Zoe Devlin Love. *cough* mmmmm... Devlin... ghlurghlll droool... *in a Homer voice*


fun-fact: Zoe's got the Bump of Love (read her message at prior link) so due to her condition, she won't be appearing on the Tour Upcoming. in other news, here's Aurora Dawn:


a lovely talented chick, someone i met one Summer evening in the Garden of Albert (last year? the year before?) and with whom i had a very intristin' chat. she's gonna step up for Zoe on the Tour and all i can say is HOORAH! not that i won't miss Zoe but as i told Aurora that night after i virtually kissed the hem of her garment and washed her feet with my hair when i learnt it was she who was singing on 'Minesweeping': 'i so wanna see you onstage, doing your stuff'. and now she shall be and we're ALL gonna see her. i'm so hoping they do 'Minesweeping' a tune which, if i were in charge, would've been the single promoting Outlaw along with 'Adrenaline' — hang on, they must do 'Minesweeping'; i mean, c'mon, it's Aurora and all — but hey, whaddoo i know? i'm just a Lowly Liddle Reverend in The Congregation, just like everyone else.

OK Danny, i believe i'm done with Ancient History now so back to the photo up top which started it all; the card in the kitchen actually reads 'Take Drugs' — with the additional word — 'responsibly' — at bottom. Danny immediately asked permission to pull it off the magnet board and then threw down a buncha samples to cover the 'responsibly' bit. then i made him remove the tiny hill of Persians before i took my photo cause now some-a my fambly (as well as their friends) read me regularly and i wouldn't wannem to get the wrong idea, mostly cause — well, here's a fun-fact as well as a helpful hint: in NYC both kindsa those kinda powders are white.

where was i —right, Danny wanted the powder in the pic and i didn't. then we play argued. then i won. then he was pissed wasn't pleased. this is me caring.

anyway, he totally removed the powder cause 'it's MY fuckin site, dude'. Danny, i know you'll be reading this and i know where you live *cue spookey music* not that that's a threat or anything. *giggle* if y'all don't like what i say, then start your own fuckin site, like i toldja before. i also said to please quit calling Tawdry my 'blog' — just as i don't 'tweet', i post to my site and IMO, that's a big dif as far as emotional climate, context, background and whatever else go.

yeah, i'm tawkin bout the 'take if from whom it comes' factor — we discussed this a coupla hours ago when i reminded you Why, both tonight and last week and if you hadn't gotten me so coked up and drunk before, i'd dig up my link, but too wasted ATM, thanks to you. *glares*

oh, wait — i torry. in all seriousity, big thanks for wasting me, Danny. :-) as i toldja before, i really, really needed it cause weekends are always the worstest for me.


are we done here yet? (she asked, hopefully). yup, we're done... thank fuckity fuck for that — we dun diddit. *stifles D Wayne Tourette's* aw, fuck it: 'Now y'done diddit, Larry! Nine million dollars worth of computer equipment an' he don't want none!'

fuck! i'm paraphrasing; losing my Alabama 3 Tourette's. i used to know D Wayne's onstage banter (and most of Larry's) like word-for-word by heart and all and know which album, bootleg and/or at which gig they said whatever. senility or cause i don't listen to em that much anymore? both? neither? sump'n worse which hasn't yet occurred to me? opinions? i'd actually love to go 'discuss' but hey — like, why bother? *giggle*

ps, once again, my apologies to Danny. in truth, i really dunno where any post'll take me once i begin writing but it's a sure thing it won't resemble that which i have in mind at the start. and thass my story an' i'm stickin' to it. Punkt, Ende. :-)

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WANT

i want EVERYTHING to stay exactly the way it is now.



'If it doesn't, there just might come the time when there'll be nothing left for death to take away'.

anyway, i know it won't (it never does). and that's not mine (though i wish it were). i blame Charles Bukowski, actually. ;-)


these are — sorry, rather, those were my 'fuck you' soles which stared into the face of many a professor and the dude (forget his name) who initiated me into Golden Key Honor Society. i was reminded of him by sump'n that happened a few hours back, but no time to get into it now, gotta crash and all.

anyway, i need better CUs of the flaming skull side labels and Dance Of Death-y skeletons running round the bottoms, so i'll finish this up later or maybe never. but i just hadda get this shit down to remind me of sump'n which, if time and work permit, i'm more than pleased to go into cause i just might forget stuff.

right, file under 'hinty'. *snigger*

wait —> 1, thanks for sucking up to ringing me tonight, Darren (kidding!); 2, thanks to Ruaraidh for bending to my will saturday morning *giggle* (he didn't really; i just like to say it that way); 3, thanks for last night's comm, Willie. *smirk* we're gonna descend upon The Scottish Congregation in just under two weeks. :-) hmmm... and i just might end up saying 'Glesga' (like they do) instead of going 'Glasgow'. obligatory SPOING!

this post is so totally unfinished, it's pathetic and i've gotta get all the shit down ASAP (in the usual minute, boring detail) cause i don't wanna forget ANYthing. fun-fact: if it weren't for Willie making me blow my shot (so to speak), Hunter would've never flown over and accidentally gotten high friday night. twice — he liked it.

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