Black Friday redux

shop till you drop – it's the AmeriKKKan way. since Thanksgiving 04 when i first put it together, i've been copying and pasting just about the same Black Friday post both here and on my real *sniffle* site but this year, i won't — well, not exactly — cos i'm totally gutted by my own troubl£e$ and Gemma and Danny's amongst many MANY other things.

back to Black Friday, hey — is there a word for feeling simultaneously enervated by mindlessly selfish people whilst you're energised by the thought of beating the shit outta em?


'A WalMart worker died after being trampled when hundreds of shoppers smashed through the doors of a Long Island store Friday morning, police and witnesses said. The 34-year-old employee, a temporary maintenance worker, tried to hold back the unruly crowds just after the Valley Stream store opened at 5 a.m.'

IT OPENED AT FIVE ON THE MORNING AFTER THANKSGIVING? 'Unbe-fuckin-lievable'... i can just see the greedy hordes queueing up after midnight, entire chubby no-neck'd families with bloated stomachs and turkey sammiches crammed in the pockets of their cranberry sauce and gravy-stained khakis, phoney Burberry and filthy baseball caps.

yup, despite my way-vivid imagination, i can clearly see em all sitting on fold-out chairs in the dark, hours before the sun's to come up, a-rarin-a max out their already over-extended credit cards with their greed spurring on all their pent-up adrenaline thus making em talkative — alla which causes em to meet their neighbors, people who'll happily shove you aside, trip you up and then stomp over you if you're in their way for too long a second after the doors open.

yeah, have a happy Thanksgiving, AmeriKKKa. }-(


'Witnesses said the surging throngs of shoppers knocked the man down. He fell and was stepped on. As he gasped for air, shoppers ran over and around him. "He was bum-rushed by 200 people," said Jimmy Overby, 43, a co-worker. "They took the doors off the hinges. He was trampled and killed in front of me. They took me down too... I literally had to fight people off my back."

!?! !!!!!!!11one1111!!!!!?111!!!!! totally disgraceful, 'Uncouth, unwashed, unclea'- rather, though it's acceptable in the States, even whilst i lived there, this's totally not civilised behavior and for me, personally, living on this side of the Atlantic, it's horribly humiliating especially since i learnt this shit from a Brit, one of my oldest friends here. my heart goes out to the dead trampled dude and especially his family cause from here on in, every Thanksgiving's gonna be totally ruined as far as they're concerned. :-( i hope i smell a lawsuit, actually; aren't all firms supposed to ensure the safety of their employees as well as their clientele?

'The unidentified victim was rushed to an area hospital, where he was pronounced dead at 6:03 a.m., police said...'

from a comment: 'things like this are the main reason i shop online. i dont have to worry about crowds, traffic, or ignorant people fighting with me over an item. what kind of a country do we live in anyway?'

dumb question, d00d. THIS kinda country:




from another comment: 'What must the world think of us? Have we become so GREEDY that we stampede right over people just to get a sale?'


sure looks that way. anyway, next are bits from my nearly annual Black Friday post, While Amerika Shops: 'Karl Marx would be proud of Tyler Durden’s lovely and true anti-consumerism diatribe in Fight Club:

‘You are not your bank account. You are not the clothes you wear. You are not the contents of your wallet. You are not your bowel cancer. You are not your grande latte. You are not the car you drive. You are not your fucking khakis… I say, let me never be complete. I say, may I never be content. I say, deliver me from Swedish furniture. I say, deliver me from clever art. I say, deliver me from clear skin and perfect teeth… I say, evolve, and let the chips fall where they may.’

in other news, Americans try to shop their way to fulfillment: ‘In this capitalist society, our function is consumption. Everyday, thousands of advertisements bombard our senses, validating our lives with a higher purpose. Whether it is an event or a product, these ads strive to convince us that our lives are incomplete without their product … Ultimately, we are all walking advertisements. We don’t have to sport name brands in order to tell the world who or what we are endorsing. Even our words and actions have become commodities.

‘In our commercial culture, each of us lives our own “Truman Show.” Our religions and belief systems are commodities endorsed by our culturally choreographed behavior. Consumerism becomes an important social mechanism connecting us to one another and, paradoxically, disconnecting us from one another …

'...Consumption itself has become America’s primary cultural commodity. Many of us actually buy that buying is therapeutic and an essential part of this human existence. Mottos such as "the one who dies with the most toys wins" and "shop till you drop" epitomize our materialist paradigm...'

this shit is still right on the money — moving right along, here's Brad Pitt as Jeffrey Goines in ‘The 12 Monkeys':

‘There’s the television. It’s all right there, all right there. Look, listen, kneel, pray. Commercials! We’re not productive anymore. We don’t make things anymore. It’s all automated. What are we *for* then? We’re consumers, Jim… Buy a lot of stuff, you’re a good citizen. But if you don’t buy a lot of stuff, if you don’t, what are you then, I ask you? What? Mentally *ill*.

'Fact, Jim, fact — if you don’t buy things — toilet paper, new cars, computerized yo-yos, electrically-operated sexual devices, servo systems with brain-implanted headphones, screwdrivers with miniature built-in radar devices, voice-activated computers…'

Jeffrey Goines was mad but he did have a point, which brings me to the immortal words of the ‘pharmaceutically-assisted Brixton rebels,’ the Alabama 3, ‘Comrades, people of the world, we ain’t got nothing to lose but the goddamn bourgeoisie blues…’

don't forget — there're only 26 more shopping days before Christmas. keep up the great work, AmeriKKKa: y'all won't have to try that hard to do your worst.


fun-fact: above sticker's the first i peeleded offa a lamppost on Queens Road after i moved to Bristol. it's still where i proudly placed it over five years back: on the heating apparatus in the kitchen where it totally draws the eyes of all who visit and to those who comment on it, one fucking guess: i preen. *preens*

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

made of stars :-(

took these two photos early this evening in some shop window near Cotham Post Office (lodged back of Cotham Chemists but that's a rimoan for yet another day). the reminder i needed to go out occurred thanks to me finally remembering to check the Calendar in my iPod. when i did, i groaned out loud to the point my animalistic bitching woke Hunter up and he, like, cocked his head and went 'Mrrrr?'

then iCal appeared outta nowhere, smack in the middle of my desktop and said i hadda go back into meatspace and that clinched it — if it were anything else, i would've moved it to tomorrow (Procrastination Nation, anyone?) but it was to the Post Office on timely biz dammit — returning the defective [unchargeable] new Razr and sending some stuff to NYC. apart from the disappointment i felt from forgetting to check my Calendar earlier, wonder of wonders, i was actually in a decent mood and lightly twat 'O NOES i gotz to Go Out again in TRW. :-( *weeps bitter tears*...'

welp, the *weeps bitter tears* bit was like a premonition or sump'n but i didn't give it much thought as one'll fail to do when your mind's on whatever else, especially good stuff and i didn't give that tryna-be-clever in a 'funny cos it's true' kinda way *weeps bitter tears* any thought cause my amazingly barely anhedonic mood stemmed from the fabaroo news i heard earlier: Danny'd phoned to proudly announce that he and his six-months' pregnant wife, Gemma... welp, just before he rang, they learnt they were gunna have a boy and after Gemma's parents, i was the first friend they called *preens* wait. no. no preening tonight. not here.

and so i invited em over to celebrate last night as well as keep me company after i splained how i needed their help. we decided we'd watch a film or three but first, they'd help me with my fave kinda work — a favor for a friend, proofreading or editing i'll do without pay as long as i'm able to help whomever. anyway, we planned how they'd hasten the process so we'd memorialise the good news ASAP after we'd finished the seriousities and apart from Gemma only smoking, we'd get waaaay the hell fucked up. :-)

they both agreed to take turns reading three, four pages at a time — aloud — straight from the original .doc including the author's punctuation, spelling and every liddle Aspergerish detail and only then i'd be satisfied and we could proceed with the more crucial biz at hand: the Jubilee Of Boy-Baby-To-Be. y'know how it is with friends... it's all down to mutual respect and shit, but that's another post i'll never write. why? i don't hafta... this is the kinda shit i'll remember for-EVar. anyway, i figured it was gunna be a breeze as well as help keep my mind off my troub£es for awhile, but foremost in our heads, it'd be FUN.

fast forward to about 20,30 last night. i'm home for like an hour or so, twat some shite to pass the time and began the proofreading by myself after txtng both Danny and Gemma. they never got back to me so i rang em from my landline and left messages.

a few minutes later, Danny rang back and i didn't even recognise his voice despite the beautifully musical Jamaican accent — always a dead giveaway. Gemma's been in Bristol Royal Infirmary since the afternoon and's expected to be there till morning. but i didn't know that then; he kinda gasped on the phone — 'May I taxi over and see you?' — of course i went 'yeah, what's up?' but he'd already left me hanging. ten minutes later and we're standing on my landing, hugging each other as he sobbed, telling me how right after they rang with this morning's great news, Gemma had heavyduty pains, started bleeding profusely and was rushed to hospital. where she lost their baby boy.

now i'm waiting for Danny's return cause i told him that instead of going back home to Bath Spa where they live, and then coming back to Bristol again later this morning, he should stay here in the bedroom (the one i no longer use so's i can sleep on the sofa with Hunter). damn... i haven't been able to concentrate on anything much since i saw him, then rang Gemma and i just remembered: apart from my three huge morning coffees about 10,00 yesterday, plus a kilo of grapes before TRW this evening, i haven't had dinner. nor do i feel any hunger for any of the delicious cheeses and crackers and shit i got for us to pig out on. y'know, for last night whilst celebrating Soon-To-Be-Born Son. :-(

now he's made of stars or whatever they tell people to make em feel betterer. nb: i'm not a member of that group either. and before i forget, thank you, god, you motherless fuck. }-(

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

23, nov / 07,30

my Robert Johnson tree's finally all denuded and shit — dee-fuckin-pressing — and if it weren't so dark, i'd be able to see clear across Brandon Park. ATM we're having horizontal rain (which i love) so after a night of thwooping hash (liddle taste-tests starring Lebanese, Afghani and Nepalese complete with times and other laboriously boringly detailed stats) whilst sending my CV aimed at telecommuting proofreading and editing gigs all over the UK, i'm still not tired so i'm actually Going Out. i shall jump in as many puddles as possible, grab breakfast somewhere and then, hopefully crash. *smirk* that is all.

hah! i wrote all the above yesterday and then forgot to post it *cough* iz stawree of mai lief, akshully (and yup, i jumped in puddles and shit, much to onlookers' dismay as well as their splashity drenchedness). anyway, here's Robert from the same POV two months back in september, first in the evening and then, two taken at pretty much the same time early in the morning:




and then these next taken about 8 weeks back with a 12 minute interval between em.



anyway, poor Robert'll be all naked and shit in december (big duh!):


and january (both taken last year from outta the kitchen window).


and march, goddammit to bloody hell.


one of my faves from just about a year ago.


dunno if i'll still be alive to see him again, the way i love him best*. these next taken first in may, then july then in august.




fun-fact: above's the first pic that i ever took of him when i'd been here for only a month or so and that's the pic which inspired me to calling him Robert Johnson for many reasons, mostly the massivity, beauty and quietly cool hipness inherent.

*if i have my way, i'll be long gone, actually.


nb: special emphasis on the 'stuff' bit. just sayin'.

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

D Wayne: 'oh, Christ!'

pic stoled offa Orlando outta one-a his hilarious write-ups from his ongoing chronicling of the Alabama 3 in private, on tour and backstage in his fabaroo column, The Spirit Speaks. BTW, the 'Oh, Christ!' intoned by the Very Reverend D Wayne Love hisself is available here for the next coupla days or sump'n. almost three years back, i asked Jake if it were gonna be on M.O.R cause it's funny as fuck and totally worthy. i was too ripped and so forgot what he said but as we all know, it didn't make it on. hmmpf! —> }-(

anyway my fave bit's this next (and i'm paraphrasing — sacrilege!) cause i'm too drunk and stoned right now to listen rightly and my mind's on other things anyway:

'....I remember when my daddy died; he said "Son... keep away from the Church... all they got the keys to is the shithouse"...'

anyway, in the infamous words of one of my many heroes, William S Burroughs, 'A word to the wise guy...' so geddit whilst yiz can. just sayin'. *evil laugh*

and once again, the most fave photo i've EVar taken of Jake up at Chris' a coupla years back:



LMAO — i just remembered i took that the night both Chris and Jake realised their fave Coen Brothers film EVar is Miller's Crossing and whoa, the quotes were flying back and forth and mosta us were in continual hysterics, listening to the botha em outshout each other. i was like inwardly preening with near joy cause it was so cool to see the looks on their faces as they bonded together on that particular film. what was i saying a- oh right, i write 'mosta us' cause there was one dude there totally not into film-quoting, but thanks to that night or for whatever reason he saw the light and from the next day on, i got to hearing shit from Pulp Fiction and i was no more amongst the lone few who think it a scream to shout out film-quotes when the shoe fits.

*cough* to wit (ANYthing to keep me writing and away from the good stuff), i WUTM to find a rather lovely compliment paid me on Twitter by trampsmom14 who, amongst other niceties, thought me amusing when i quoted Quentin Tarantino a few posts ago. in that particular instance, the shoe didn't exactly fit but rather, was forced to make whichever of my fucked points in an attempt to be clever but failing miserably, as is my wont.

WTF? hang on... how the hell did i get from D Wayne dying in the desert to Tarantino? duh? moving right along, i asked for permission to post this like over two years back but kept on forgetting i had both the get-go and the tune itself. *shrugs* i eagerly await the barrage of lawsuits or whatever especially now that i'm unemployed. y'know — just for the attention. *yawn*

one more thing: needless to say, if a hard-copy CD was made of this tune, i'd run out and buy it in a heartbeat. Punkt, Ende. :-)

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

treachery of images

yo! listen up, people: 'This is not a pipe' — it's the wondrous René Magritte tryna teach people a bit of what Surrealism's about (helpful hint: it's an IMAGE of a damned pipe). now hold that thought *giggle* cause i'm really reaching for a connection and please dig:


this is NOT me nor has it ever been me, much to the arguments and bullshit i've endured over the years after it was noticed by some who went through my photo-album (where it's been for ages) and especially after i made the mistakes of:

a) blearily posting this blurrity on FreeA3:



how the fuck did i know they'd remember it? the same people — my guests goddamn em. um, kidding! who went through my album, saw top B&W pic and jumped to conclusions, hit harder home after they noticed i'd (this is the clincher)

b), framed and hung the next triple-pic by the window some time back in a feeble and unsuccessful attempt to boost my flagging, way low self-esteem:


what did i get for my efforts? nought but trouble — big trouble — of the kind where assholes call me a liar and most recently in mail this AM from a n00b on the forum going through Ernest Hemingway's 'Ernest Hemingway', my fuckin ass... i know where you live, Kewl Klub Kid 'Post Pics Of Yourselves' thread. i totally won't link to it; it's easy to find, sticky'd up in The Converted forum (but you won't be able to see ANY images — just read the text — unless you log on *smirk*). anyway, i didn't go back to look, but i think i remember after i posted the blurrity two pics up, Dragnim said sump'n like 'So who let Bill Wyman in?' or maybe it was 'Who let Ronnie Wood in?' GRRRrrrrr... very funny, E- oops, Mikey.

anyhoo, let it be known for now and always, the first B&W photo's totally not me — one guess who it really is... hah — i fucking wish! Punkt, Ende.

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

outta the South Bronx

comes this latest mail from Maria. dude! i'm sorry for shite camera-pics of your meatspace photos but i haven't any other choice until you get your head round sending me digital pix. you're so much more beautiful and more sexy than these, i just wanna scream at the blurrity — the bleary haziness — of it all and if i can't see you in realtime, up close and personal in meatspace, I WANT BETTER PICS, GODDAMMIT. please? *fawns*


as you know, it's thanks to Iron Mommy who forbade me to see you last month whilst in NYC. it wasn't really you; it was her fucked insistence that i'm this vulnerable asshole who isn't awake and aware enough to ride on public transport without getting raped or mugged or whatever fucked-up shit goes on in her head. as you know, she fucking warned me not to bother coming back after NINE PM (!!?11one?!1!?!) cause she'd lock me the fuck out. knowing her as well as i do, i had no choice but to sit there, wanting to strangle her cause i knew she'd do it as she's done — locked me out — so many damn times before.

'Tough Love', anyone? AFAIC, that's just an excuse for parents to treat their kids like shit. unfortunately my own mother subscribes to this misguided crap and did, way back when, even before there was a name for it. BTW, that's about another 1000 plus stories i'll never write if i haven't already but whoa, when the subject comes up in meatspace, the reaction's like, totally incredible.

like the one about being pulled over in Texas, having our van Hoovered and being busted for Possession (of sticks and seeds) and finally getting my one phonecall, praying Daddy'd answer, but no; then, after telling her the penalty for a first offence was twenty-five years to life, hearing her go, 'You made your bed. Now lie in it'. *click!*

hmmpf... i wish i weren't so lazy, actually cause this is the shit that makes for really good reading, especially with all the details i left out above. but y'know... Why Bother? *yawn*

oopsy *giggle* don't mind me cause i liiiiie like a rug... over the years, my wonderful 'mom' — The Paragon of Loving Motherhood — and i have had this totally wonderful fantastic relationship and the well-adjusted, mentally-able, financially successful and emotionally secure individual typing these words is living proof. now back to more pleasant things:

for those not in the know, Maria's the Goddess of the South Bronx, my sole protector and my only female meatspace friend in the States; she who stood by me whilst every goddamned cunt of a self-satisfied bitch i ever knew told me to 'Grow up' — quit partying and 'Settle down and get married' — or sump'n (or whatever-the-fuck 'settle down' means). we go back just about twenty years when i returned to Uni.

on the first day of school, not only did we find each other on the Number 6 train from the Bronx down to Manhattan, we were in the same Education classes, classes we took in the idiotic hopes we'd be Super Radical Teachers. welp, to an extent, we were especially after i got her ass into the then-tiny group of Radical Teachers across the nation. i think it's this but ain't sure cause it's been a while and it was before Teh Internetz.

nb: the use of 'radical' prior to 'teachers' was an effort by the licenced brave to go beyond the moronic curriculum to which we teachers were bound. and so we did, much to our principal's dismay but fuck! the kids in our classes actually learnt shit and enjoyed it and we even taught em critical thinking and other useful stuff they absorbed that caused no end of pain to the PTB and they dug that as well.

so FUCK YOU, NYC BOARD OF ED. }-(

hmmpf... this — their idiotic curriculum of teaching kids to be liddle consumers — still pisses me off muchly. but back to the reason i'm spotlighting my bestest friend EVar apart from Christine: Maria. *kisses to the botha yiz* without revealing too much of her — Maria's not Christine's *snigger* — own personal life going on ATM, i got this mail yesterday. yup, the only way Maria types is in ALL CAPS guess who volunteered to type ALL her term papers in 100F weather and didn't mind one liddle bit? it was actually FUN but that's another ten stories.

what was i say- right, Maria types in CAPS ONLY so deal with it or get the fuck out; it matters not.

CONSTRUCTIVE ABANDONMENT

TONIGHT I'M THINKIN BOUT IT BUT NO-ONE NEED KNOW
THINKIN AND PLAYIN WITH IDEAS THAT FLOW
I'VE TALKED SHIT ABOUT IT
NOT ACTED OUT YET
BUT I BET I WILLS
CUZ I'M THE BEST DAMNED DOPE YET
SURE TO CURE ALL UR ILLS.

GOTTA DO WHAT MAKES ME FEEL BETTER, NOT BITTER.
DONT TOUCH ME W/O PERMISSION OR UR IN THE SHITTER.
DON'T KISS ME WITHOUT SAME — CAUSE THEN
I'LL CRINGE
AND RIP OFF UR HEAD... YEAH, ON A BINGE.

FUCKIN SHO NUF AIN'T HAPPENIN — YET
Y'ALL GONNA NEED BALLS THE SIZE OF KING KONG
IF YOU THINK OF COMIN NEAR ME
AND THAT'S A BIG IF CAUSE
YOU'RE POWERLESS TO RESIST ME.

WHEN I DO GIVE IT AWAY, NEXT MOTHERFUCKER'LL BE
COMMITTED — NOT A FLING
BUT A LIVING, LOVING GHETTO-SIZED THANG
SO HIT IT
COME N GIT IT
AND DON'T U DARE QUIT IT.

I'M THE BEST SHOT OF DOPE NO ONE'S HAD YET.
CAUSE I'M HOLDING BACK
TIL ALL DA BOMBS BURST
AND THE LEVEES ALL CRACK.

DON'T YOU BE STUPID
C'MON GET A CLUE
I'M TALKIN SEX MAGICK AND THE
DOPE JOKE'S ON YOU.

YOU KNOW, SWEET RIMONE, I'M ALWAYS YOUR FRIEND
TILL WHATEVER MIGHT HAPPEN
AT THE MOTHERFUCKIN END.
I'VE GOT WHAT YOU NEED TO EASE YOUR PAIN
YOU'LL LAUGH SO HARD AND DISDAIN THAT COCAINE.

YOU'LL HAVE NO MORE FEAR AND NO MORE DREAD.
YOU MY TINY WHITE SPIRIT SISTER:
THAT HOPELESS LITTLE DEATH-DEFYING GHOST IN MY HEAD.
CAUSE YOU SO FAR AWAY, IT TEARS ME UP INSIDE
BUT UR SO MUCH MORE THAN THAT
JUST GOTSTA HOPE, WAIT & ABIDE.

AND YALL KNOW I WILL. BUT WORDS FAIL ME NOW:
EBONICS? FUCK THAT CUZ DIS SHIT'S LIKE CHRONIC
YOU THE SURVIVOR, BUT GODDAMNED SHIT:
I CAN JUST HEAR YOU SAY
'FUCK, NOW GET ME ATTA IT'.

TO LIFT YOUR SPIRIT AND ADD YOU SOME SPICE
AIN'T COUNTING THE TIMES I THROW THEM DAMN DICE.
YOU KNOW YOU WON'T REFUSE MY GIFT:
ALL MY BLACK POWER, MAGICK AND ICE.
WITH A FUCKING CHERRY ON TOP OF IT.

SO TAKE WHAT YALL NEED FOR YOUR PAIN
AND I JUS WISH WE WERE TOGETHER AGAIN.

MORE THAN 3,000 MILES IS WAY WAY TOO FAR,
AND I CAN'T BE BUGGED TO WISH ON NO FUCKIN STAR.
LIKE WORLDS UPON WORLDS AWAY WHEN YOU POOR
LOVE YA, PEACE OUT — DON'T BE SCARED ANY MORE.

± ± ± ± ± ± ± ± ± ± ± ± ± ± ± ±

and that's all she wrote. *sniffle* apart from the next PS which just about slayed me, almost worserer than the end of above. *weeps*

PS: I KNOW YOU UNDERSTAND BETTER THAN MY FAM AND THEM ALL OTHERS WHO THINK THEY KNOW ABOUT ALL THE FUCKED-UP SHIT HAPPENING. TRUST ME: I HOLD MYSELF DOWN. ALWAYS HAVE WHILE PICKING EVERYBODY ELSE UP...

...HAVENT BEEN IN A PLANE SINCE 2000 ... CRASH POSITION: BEND OVER AND KISS YOUR ASS GOODBYE.

BTW, DID YOU HEAR THAT BLACK PEOPLE NO LONGER USE LOL?
TELL ALL YOUR BLACK FRIENDS: THEY ARE NO LONGER TO USE LOL INSTEAD IT IS GNR 'GOTTA NIGGA ROLLIN'.

LOVE ALWAYS & 4EVER,

YOUR MARIA XOXOXOXOXOX

+ + + + + + + + + + +

fun-fact: in the more than twenty years or so we've been tight (from Day One) the only thing Maria and i've argued about has been her use of 'nigger' be it spelt 'nigga' or whatever and i wish to fuck she'd quit that shit. but i forgive her anyway cause AFAIC, she can do no wrong.

THANK YOU, SWEET GRRL. i love and miss you so damn much, it hurts. :-(

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

Glasgow!

editor's note: just woke up (16,10 — not bad for an unemployed loser on a thursday) and totally freaked, remembered that i'd posted some drivel early this morning so i quickly scanned down, decided most OK and added some images and further commentary. HAH! 'commentary' — i flatter myself by calling it that but hey, if i don't flatter myself, there's no one else to do it, so i'm like, forced to go it alone 'the horror' just that word 'alone' or any of its derivatives like 'by myself' give me chills and fever preceding massive anxiety attacks cause i still can't get used to the fact that despite Hunter, i AM the fucking stereotype of the spinster and her cat. *shudder*

whoa, we're getting into territory i shall never forget so there's no need to continue cause this is the topic at the forefront of every single bloody second of each hellaciously conscious waking hour in awareity or TRW no matter with whom i'm talking or what i'm doing in meatspace. hmmpf... and they wonder why i'm such an avid proponent of self-medication.

my one-track mind's like an obsession, always there, lurking under the surface and fucking up my good times and after over four years, there's no sign of abating so that's why i'm on the verge of taking steps towards self-Abation Action and shi. FUCK! quiet part out loud — fuck it and soz in advance for the next which just rose unbidden cause i got off-topic and feel i have a moral obligation to my friends the Filmic Tourettes forces me to divert deflect quote:

'Let me ask you a question. When you came pulling in here, did you notice a sign out in front of my house that said Dead Nigger Storage?' *in a Quentin Tarantino voice* i mean, when y'all began reading, did you notice a title up top of this post called S- soz, 'Abating'? *glares*

'You know WHY you didn't see that sign? ... Cause it ain't there ... that's why!'

you know WHY you didn't read that title? cause it ain't fuckin there, that's why! *licks index finger and draws invisible 'score!' in the air*

that's why this's titled 'Glasgow' so let's go back to Church last sunday and forget about the abation and stuff. um... sorry for going overboard but in my own defence, youse should be used to it by now (she tried to convince herself). and so, we begin where i left off about twelve hours earlier i think i remember:

*cough* +++++++ *cough* +++++++ *cough*

whoa, just chilling and tryna find the bright side or at least that shit about 'one door closing and another door opening' in re: em£oyment and coming up with 'Nix! Zip! Diddly! Bupkis!' — that's when i remembered i haven't noted my absolutely fantastic weekend in Scotland starring members of the Congregation with whom i worshipped at the Church of the Alabama 3 on sunday night and made more special by being mostly Glasgow Congregants i rarely see and yet it's like we never left off hanging, chilling, getting high and having a great time. like, i mean, it didn't seem there were these actual longass gaps in time or reality or anything like that.

heh. i'm blethering again now. 'Shut UP, Rimonnnne...' *cough* that's the name of a real song my first true love (cause he actually saved me from Iron Mommy when i was 19. he's the cat with whom i danced on top of the VW bus, tripping our asses off at Altamount when the Stones were nearby onstage and with whom i watched that poor dude die)... duh? WhereTF is this train going again? and what the bloody hell was i tryna say? right... sump'n about sump'n. good going, dipshit. did i ever mention how i tawk to mysel never mind.

right, he composed and used to sing 'Shut UP, Rimonnnne...' — when he wanted to think so i got to hear the tune like upwards of hundreds of times an hour a day. as well, i intro'd him to Techie-Boy before we split for EU and they got along terrifically, like i knew they would with lotsa mutual respect and LOLs going round and round. and they have had a LOT in common and shit *rolls eyes slideways* toldja i don't change so don't blame: ME. *nonchalantly glides towards the nearest exit then runs like hell* 'So long, suckers!' *in a Bart voice*

WTF am i tawking about? right, waiting for photographs taken by setmajer of the band and some of the lovely people all for (and all with) whom i'd do anything in a heartbeat. including those i call the Brixton Posse like Avengin Angel Angie, Pam, Chris, Mr and Mrs Ifor The Engine, Clair and Stevie (AKA Tourette AKA the Librarian of Love) and Jake's friend, the beautiful Gale from Clifton Village whom i had the pleasure and honor of getting drunk with back at Summer's beginning when Jake came to Bristol and took me to some party here, then introduced us ending the evening when they drove me home. and also last week at my own private afterparty *giggle* i couldn't resist reminding myself and nope, i'm NOT sorry i did, nyah.

*reverts to even more childish bullshit* i had an afterparty in my LR starring Jake as D Wayne Love and Mark as Rock Freebase and a supporting cast of a dozen or so and YOU didn't *still happy grrl dancing* hmmm, i should make badges, akshully. no, big ass blinking neon signs. no, it should be embroidered on the back of my leathers. NO! 'Tattoo'd on my forehead'! *whispers* i think i'm done for the nonce. maybe.

now where the hell was i? right — glorious Glasgow. but i can't remember more of my British friends i saw for the first time in ages and i know they were there. WAAAH! :-( i blame it on the MDMA, dammit. wait: Boudicca and Baldrick from Manc and... um... SHIT! i hate getting old! my memory's sooo teh suck, it's embarrassing.


and isn't it pathetic i always have to take my own photos? and the few times people are here, i get all tongue-tied and camera-shy cause i just know i'm gonna come out looking like shit so Why Bother? hmmpf... it's obvious that just like the tune, My Mind's On Vacation And My Mouth's Working Overtime. this is my normal. deal with it. i mean, i do but then again, i haven't a choice.

anyhoo, i'm in the midst of watching The Manchurian Candidate (the Denzel Washington one and the black and white Laurence Harvey one from the 60s and i'm ripped outta my face but for some strange reason (insanity? obsessive compulsibility?) i felt i hadda put this down as a placeholder like, cause if i don't write anything on Glasgow, i'll be sure to forget to bug Techie-Boy to death for his photos so it's all his fault. shit, it's his fault anyway all about it. no, rilly — no matter how good a time i had wherever, it's like a liddle birdie'll flit by and there goes my concentration. oh, i'll remember eventually, but that could mean anywhere from next week to years from now.

woo-hooo! i remembered sump'n! the way generous WILLIE was there, he who never fails to lift me momentarily from my Chronic Anhedonia by sending longass, filthy, puerile 'jokes' via txts at all hours of the day and night, most times waking me up outta my deathlike sleep which pisses me off muchly but hey, it's worth it. and there was SEANY LYNCH, straight outta Dublin — 'GODDAMN, goddamn, goddamn!' — it's about damn time, dude... fucking fantastic seeing you again. and i finally met Gareth (about whom — well, Willie, we shall Have Words on the Gareth situ, mmmmkay?). and BUMPY RIDE — a lovely chick i'm dyna getta know bedder and another Glaswegian grrl, Stevie's friend, Leslie (i think) damn! more details later including exact amounts of pharmaceuticals ingested which should excuse any/all memory lapses. i ran into soooo many people i only see in Church, i just can't remember ATM (sorry, dudes — really). :-(

i won't get into the many times i fell on my ass or knees (or both!) or the horrors getting our asses home, the money wasted spent getting us back to London, the fabaroo gig itself where i made it not only front and centre but managed to drag Techie-Boy with me, first time in ages, sump'n i consider a total WIN *preens* or the six-foot tall gorgeous Scottish chick who had the total nerve to unexpectedly throw her arms round me and lift me up (to my eternal shame). more about her: i think she was tryna get in good with me cause it was obvious we knew the band *mirthless laughter* newsflash!: unless you're already a friend of mine or i know you from one of the forums or bribe me and dig: none-a that cheapass shit'll do, it won't work.

right — just remembered it's easier to copy that which i twat last night: '...a tall chick had the absolute gall to lift me up, unasked—i was frontrowcentre. yup—i kicked her where it hurt'. and then, my follow-up (not that anyone asked — they never do but that never stops me): 'from that second on, she wouldn't meet my eyes & when she tried to muscle in next to Techie-Boy, i gave her a look & she slunk off #dumbcunt'.

and then 'teh funny — she was dropdead gorgeous & knew/flaunted it—that is, til the mistake she made by daring to touch me. Angie laughed her ass off TBC...' the finale of which i ended by twitting '*preening* on 2 levels: i made Angie LOL & i scared six ft tall "I'm so beautiful; notice me, Alabama 3" away. #yallhaddabethere #iwishuwere'

in other news, a few hours back i got the nerve to finally unpack my bag (a sure sign of a fabaroo time — it took me three days to get up the gumption or whatever to go through my stuff to sort laundry and shit) when out of the debris, faded guestlist tickets (bastards give you a receipt saying 'complimentary' and not a ribbon-emblazoned banner stating 'YOU ARE SPECIAL' or whatever). anyway, i found this:


what i don't get: i don't believe we were on any Glasgow guestlists (at least, i don't remember being asked to be on but that don't mean shit cause my memory's not the same viselike mechanism it was, once upon a time) but yet, the right side of the ticket's still intact. duh? we were on guestlists and didn't know it? did sump'n happen about which i'm not aware? strike that cause my entire life's been happening and i've never been aware of any of it thus escaping responsibility for any/all of my actions. anyway, WTF? (rhetorical question).

and then i came upon this:


please notice second line: 'D Wayne Love (DJ set)' — it brought back way cool memories of dancing in front of the podium or whatever, whilst Jake as D Wayne fucked with his turntables, going scratchity-scratch in all the right places whilst the beautiful Gale was at his side. Chris (or his online persona, Teecher), bless him, had the balls to actually dance with me and i didn't hafta bribe him or drag him or threaten him or hurt him or anything and for that, i'm eternally grateful. not that dancing with myself ever stopped me from bopping my ass off but dancing with almost anyone else is so far much betterer. thank you for the pleasure, Teecher dude. :-)

um. 'I'll shut up now'. *in a Carmella voice* from The Sopranos Season 1.

unhelpful hint to The State of the Slum(p):


switch 'cuteness' to 'deflection' and 'peeded the rug' to 'got more shit to say but too many people are after my ass awreddy and More Trouble's the last thing i need'.

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

goddammit to hell }-(

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Alabama 3 by Johny Love ♥

editor's note on friday 20, november @22,43: as they shout in Stateside TV adverts: 'New and Improved!' — see way below. *snigger* i'm SO fuckin ripped tee-hee. ;-)

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

all taken 6. november in Birmingham and all i can say is 'i wish i were the photographer' — the totally talented ♥ Johny Love ♥ — these photos by whom prove once and for all that regarding the Alabama 3, having a penis or vagina don't matter — these are the Best. Photos-To-Which-One-Can-Jerk-Off — EVar — be you a dude with a dick or a chick with a hole. personal note: whenever i write in *crude and lewd* mode, it usually indicates i'm a few steps up the emotional tonescale from the usual 'Doom & Gloom' (my normal) to 'barely Anhedonic'. just sayin' and not to be taken as an invite, Sod. Grrr... 'We'll see'.

shit! did i say that out loud? holy hell, so i did. *hangs head in a manner approaching shame* now on to the next photos i selected but O BLOODY HELL, NOES! i feel an 'itch' that no amount of 'scratching' will dispell. *cough*

whoa... hey, look over there — it's D Wayne and Larryyyyy!


when i saw this next scene onstage the other night in Bristol, i thought i'd piss my trousers laughing so no further comment's necessary.


about the lovely, sexy Aurora Dawn Love, and her velvet-lined steel-belted radial of a voice, i only have two things to say:

a) i'm verily disappointed the band didn't do Minesweeping. when i dared complain to one of em, he LOLd — 'How very fucking dare he? — and i went 'hmmpf...' due to his manner and the fact he downgraded Minesweeping into some way lowly sub-basementish room in the vasty repertoire of the 'bounteous back catalogue of the Alabama 3'. (editor's note: last phrase stoled years ago from Alabata.)

anyway, Minesweeping's been relegated to the musty fusty cellar? my ass, it is — it's one of their best so since it's looked upon as this piecashit, i'll upload Aurora doing the two Minesweepings with the usual caveat: IIR (If I Remember). needless to say i love D Wayne's monologue at the end of the first (both found below). holy hell, i actually remembered sump'n! *does happy grrl dance*

b) if i were a gay grrl, Aurora'd totally be first on my Stalkers Go Gedder List. just sayin'. here she is after i stoled her offa the official site.


but IMO, Johny Love's photos do way more for her natural-born cool, charisma, attitude, sex appeal and beauty.




in truth, whenever i wasn't focussed on D Wayne, i couldn't take my eyes off Aurora's face and moves and ass. tawkin to band-dudes afterwards, it seems i wasn't alone (and they were lucky enough to be in perfect position to get the total full-end view). *mmmmm* Aurora-Dawn-alicions *in a Homer voice* glurghlll droolll... BTW, that's about all i can say without getting my own ass handed to me on a rusty platter.

THANK YOU FOR THE FABAROO PHOTOS, JOHNY LOVE!

editor's note: i'll be preening my ass off upon the memory as well as boring stiff anyone who asks of Jake as D Wayne, name-checking me whilst i was in the frontlines grinning my ass off to him sunday night. as i said the last time he diddit (april 08 i think but too lazy to find the link), 'attention-whorin's great, especially when the object of your attention does it for you'. *preens* *more, even*

anyway, Chris and Darren swear up and down he diddit — they heard my name — twice but the once i myself heard, is good enough for me and'll keep me flying away from the Land of Anhedonia and into the Aether of Contentment if anyone dares ask me about it, so ask away, people. :-)

not-so fun-fact (from The Department of Ri-Moan): Minesweeping's not even on Outlaw itself. it's the B-side of Hello, I'm Johnny Cash — Outlaw's headliner tune. fucking sacrilege!

what's blasting: Minesweeping offa Hello, I'm Johnny Cash offa Outlaw (2005, when they actually mentioned FreeA3.org in the linernotes) and Minesweeping offa Outlaw Remixes — not only does Aurora kick it off, but comes back for a dynamite dance-till-you-drop finale at just about 3,07.

en-fuckin-joy, y'all. :-)

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

the following was edited in on friday 20, november at 22,45 cause i was just tryna watch Clockers for the first time ever but right after the credits, i paused it being totally ripped offa my face and had the bright idea to look at this post yet again but admire it on my iPod. and In My Oh-so-flawless and consistently correct Opinion, the two Minesweepings starring Aurora Dawn Love are only a taste of the finest mixture of just a coupla the genres Alabama 3's mastered Burroughs-Derrida style. deconstructed and put back together seaminglessly and beautifully apart from the horrendously cliche'd first line: 'In the battleground of love, broken hearts lie bleeding...'

WTFuckityF? 'In the battleground of love'? my fuckin' ass, Larry... what are you, The Eagles or Boston or whatever? i mean, c'mon — that shit's so lame!

*cough* right, i'd love it if yiz listened to both the Minesweepings at prior link and you tell me if i'm right or wrong and they're not ace, top-notch Alabama 3. but whatever you think, i can take it and i promise not to dis you.

as well, please do me a solid: instead of just clicking and listening, if you R-click and 'Save' to your iTunes or desktop, not only will you have these for your very own to hear whenever but you'll save me muchly on my bandwidth cause i might be forced to take em down ASAP as i'll be checking my stats so here's hoping i don't. have to take em down, that is. *clink!* *entire bod crossed* :-)

*still singing* 'Oh my god, I'm on fi-yuhhhhh!'

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

about last week

do keep up, people. just cause i fucked up and failed to post this 6. november doesn't mean you can't re-chronologacasise and imagine. anyway, i took the above from the window of the Shame Train after we entered London last thursday — Guy Fawkes Day — as we approached Victoria Station on my way to Chris' to dump my bags and then onto Stevie's lovely Guy Fawkes Day thingy... 'gathering' (thanks Stevie). :-)

i failed to take any pics at her beautiful new flat cause i didn't wanna make (more) people pissed off at me but later on, after i took off with Mr and Mrs Ifor The Engine Sarah and Rich, we drunkenly decided to stop on Coldharbour Lane and headed straight for the Albert where we were treated to Some Band with the most wicked slide guitar dude playing — An American straight off-tour in France — who were spotlighting the one and only Be Atwell (as he took needless pains to inform us before he went on, when we were stinking drunk in the Garden of Albert).



they were verily smokin' and Sarah and i like, swayed in unison. dunno about her but i was dying to totally rock out dancing (and i believe she was as well) but unfortunately on that thursday night, there were just too many drunken assholes dying to set their sights on whomever stuck out, especially two chicks dancing.

i forget what happened to Chris — right, he'd gone beyond beyond (as is his wont) and cooked up a shitload of salsa (both mild and spicy) and deepfried (not once but twice) the tortilla chips so for whatever reason (to garner compliments? not the Chris i know) he stayed at Stevie's. anyway, the next day found us headed off through Brixton Market looking for lunch. much to my horror we split up and i went for my steak pasties. alone. :-(


but i actually remembered where i'd left Chris and when i returned to collect him, he pointed me to the above dragon-made-with-chicken-bits at the Pizza Place (Greg's? dunno) at which i'd last seen him.

and i actually ate that night — NORMAL FOOD, like! after lunch and a coupla films, Chris flew out again and returned with salmon steaks and spinach and all the trimmings and shit and for once, i totally haven't the words. THIS is what i wolfed down and without the aid of chemical stimulants and appetite enhancers like wine and pot. as it was served:


after i pushed, rather ate through the veggies and spinach and rice and stuff to expose the tender melt-in-your-mouth hugeass salmon steaks beneath.


why am i chronicling this here? welp, it has sump'n to do with the fact my regular diet is totally deplorable and it's a wonder that blood tests swear i'm completely healthy, so i consider all the above just for the record.

oh wow, it's dinnertime at Chez Hunter — hoorah! out come the kilos of grapes, the remainders of the way expensive Stilton cheese (and all the other kinds Chris brought on sunday), the blueberry muffins and whatever else i find that tastes American that doesn't need any cooking. right, and Cheerios for dessert.

what was i tryna say again? right... it's dinner time at Chez Hunter and it's about damn time cause looking at the real food Chris cooked above, makes me totally depressed delighted. ;-)

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