fuck the boxes

Hunter S Thompson: 'Once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can'.

i dunno... that's been my thing with all my collections; it's like... like, i can't help it or sump'n obsessive-compulsive disorder? i haz it. i mean apart from myself, who the hell am i kidding? the prior post and this one, too! was just an excuse to show off some-a my hugeass collection which, according to Dr Freud, has sump'n to do with my vagin- SHIT! — 'The word itself makes some men uncomfortable. Vagina...'

ah... that's better. anyhoo, it just occurred to count em but i quit when i reached 84 (?!?) without going into the bathroom and bedroom, so fuck it. hang on... this is just one shelf in the loo and i count four on there alone.


these are the smallest; they're gifts from my sister from like a thousand years ago. they're really quite beautiful and lined with cobalt and all perfectly enamelled with these spider-thin silver inlaid outlines on their hinged tops. i use em for noserings actually.


this one's the next-to-smallest i think. i actually shelled out good money and goddit for myself the second after i saw it in the window of this antiques shop i used to pass in the East Village on my way to score before getting on the subway for work every day. it was made in the 1930s and all sterling and the bunnies have amethysts on their backs. it's one-a the bedroom ones.


moving right along, please notice brass owl-lock on this one, made-a some kinda dead-animal bone from the same shelf in the bathroom as the teeny-tiny oneses two pics above.


and this one's from off the mantelpiece or whatever in the bedroom. i found above and below exactly a year apart on my birthday at two dif places in NYC (and two different dudes got em for me. just sayin'). although you can't tell by my crap photos, they match perfectly; they're exactly the same color and the brass bits and owl locks have the same exact degree of rust coloration — weird.


from the Department of Excuses, Excuses: i haven't even taken pics of em all she whined and i have too many damn photos from which to choose already but more important than that, i've actually got other, betterer things to do she said, lying through her teeth like — oh wow; i just remembered: i do have A Better Thing To Do and then i'm fucked cause it's back to being worthless with too much time on my hands which always leads to more unnecessary navelgazing. and then i get high it actually helps someone, this dude i know from Twitter.

hmmpf... my Anality Gland's telling me i should really catalogue everything but i'm too damn lazy i'm so ripped i can't see and that's the way i wannit to be i wanna finish the helping bit which takes all the concentration i can muster. then, and only then, will i have plenty of time to get high enough to ponder over whether or not i should start cataloguing all my boxes and shit. damn...

oh. right... i remembered sump'n (she said, glumly). the other day when i was naming my collections, i totally forgot about the matchboxes and matchbooks gathered from all over the States. check out two images below — y'see that black-and-white one down at bottom left? i snagged it from St Marks Bar & Grill — WAIT. holy shit, thanks to prior link, i just learnt it's no longer there. :-(

that's where i used to drink, write papers and do my homework every day after i went back to Uni, goddammit. i'd leave my last class (Abnormal Psych) at about 15,30, nah, wait: i'd leave at 3,30PM, walk downtown and within like 20 minutes, i'd be at the bar writing my notes over and tryna study. it's also the first place in which i ever saw anyone — my barmaid friend, Cheri, who used to get me drunk whilst i wrote — wearing those black-framed glasses, the ones everyone's got now. that was in 1991... it only took like 18, 19 years for them to become The Next Big Thing. *snigger*

next photo shows the hideousity that's now in place of the old St Marks Bar & Grill. look at the people — jesus! apart from the old dudes, they all look like tourists but i'd betcha anything they actually live there, thanks to gentrification — '...the socio-cultural changes in an area resulting from wealthier people buying housing property in a less prosperous community...'

bah, from Punk City to Yup City in less than twenty years. nb: i just sent the linked image below to TPFKAPM and he shot back (and i quote): 'Oh, for fuck's sake'.


anyway, i goddit — the matchbook — the night the Stones were doing their vid for Waiting On A Friend, an event (let's call it) that drew thousands to the corner you see above: First Avenue and St Marks Place (but when it was the hub of the-then Punk City). BTW, if you check the linked YouTube vid, you'll see my old friends, The Two Dwights, sitting on either side of the steps under which Jagger's standing. anyway, along with the Bridge & Tunnel crowd and the gawkers swelling the ranks outside the bar came the 9th Precinct police, all of whom were busily putting up those stupid barricades when they weren't bugging Jagger & Co. for autographs.

thing of it is, thanks to the attorneys for whom i worked, i was safely inside with the Dwights and my then BF, Gordy (RIP, dude) nodded out at the bar doing my impression of Keith Richards who was sitting across the way nodded out doing his impression of me or so i dig thinking. hey, did i say that shit out loud? a-gain? like i care tsk! right, i think this wrap-up of the tune is totally teh funny:

'This is a rare mature reflection from The Stones, as Mick Jagger sings about the values of friendship as opposed to women. Then again, it might be about drugs. Keith Richards was a heroin user at the time, and the song could be a euphemism for waiting on the "connection" - the man with the drugs. Should Keith (or in this case, Mick, as he is singing in the video) get questioned by the police, his response would be, "I'm just waiting on a friend"...'

a euphemism for waiting on the "connection" — in quotes, no less, and with a definition — LMAO! *cough* check the B&W matchbook below, then back to my boxes... *sigh*



anyhoo, writing about em (boxes not Stones) and Freudinising em as well as taking stupid phone pix takes my mind off the real deal that's been happening over here ever sin- hey, look over there! —> remember Angie's lovely birthday present? the one she claims is covered with leaves? human skin! it's human skin!


back then, i said 'i'm honestly afraid to write in it and ruin it; to besmirch it with my bullshit'. thing is, apart from painstakingly copying over 'Fission Bomb', that poem they published (the one i wrote for TPFKAPM), i'm ashamed to say i never dared use it again cause knowing me, i'd totally fuck it up. but now i can see it whenever i wanna and maybe someday i'll grow the balls to actually write in it again.


eighty-four boxes without leaving the LR? WTF? i won't do it and no one can make me. *stomp!* *cough* here's another from Pam: the liddle coffin holding the latest sample of The Best Thwoop Money Can't Buy first, last year and then, the other day. now there's a string of black dice attached to it but they can't really be seen which is kinda like a good thing. and yeah, that toothpick holder that cost me a fortune cause it's pewter and says London on one side and England on the other with the Buckingham Palace dudes? let's just say it no longer holds V.s (with which i'd first filled it after i tossed the toothpicks) and leave it at that. :-)



*yawn* this is SO boring. y'know, if i catalogue my boxes, sump'n i normally don't mind doing, i'd have to like, y'know, categorise em all. hmmpf... shall i do it by room? even though i move em around a lot cause i'm a firm believer in 'a place for everything and everything in its place' or maybe the best way would be to divide em apart by what they're made of?

like wooden ones, tins, ivory and the other bone-y ones, the glass, the enamelled, the Italian mosaics, the stainless steel and other silvery ones, the lacquered ones... no, wait. a lot fit into more than one category, like i've got about 11 different kitty boxes and a shitload of animal boxes and some are metal, one's glass and a few are glazed papier-mache', like that. damn, my head's spinning just thinking about it or maybe cause i'm drunk on my ass so i dunno.

right, these are three layers of tins i keep inside this one really old lacquered box from somewhere in Asia, one of a set of five nesting boxes given me by TPFKAPM. at first glance, all the covers look the same but on closer inspection, they're all subtly different flavors of this theme:


the biggest one's on my desk and has Petey's ashes in as well as a framed photo and other *sob* Peter stuff like whiskers i cried over when i found em after he died. so's the smallest on my desk; it holds TPFKAPM's ponytail cause he cut off all his hair when we came in from Bonn for his interview in Bristol. i've got plenty to say about that but if i start i'll never quit, so fuhgeddabbaddit.

right, i gave one to Alma during the Outlaw Tour when we all drove down from Manc to Bristol to see the band two nights in a row and Jake gave Nomad a shout-out at the gig here... i think that's one of the last extended times i was happy, actually, even though Peter'd died a few months before but i don't wanna go there now. the two remaining nesters are on the coffeetable three photos down. fun-fact: each tin in the next to largest nesting box (as well as that teeny-tiny refractive round... uh, container thingy) is totally filled up with different kindsa good powders, rocks and thwoop shit. bottoms up, y'all. *smirk*




christ jebus... stick a fork in me — i'm done even though i've got shitloads-a boxes i wanna tawk about but really can't get into details without more people being after my ass and not in a good way. i mean, here i am a few hours ago after i came back in from the cold, first stoned and then totally and boringly stick-straight. i think... well, maybe or perhaps it's the other way round, i really don't remember and don't think it's too important, like... y'know, none-a these will be on the test or anything.



BTW, yiz might remember that pic of Hunter and my combat boots up top. i'm too lazy, tired and stoned — no, really: i am. now — to build another LOL-Hunter so imagine him going 'yo, ho'... yo' feet stank'.


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Freudian fixation

above porcelain box's from Tiffany's and there's a long story behind it (long story of my love affair with boxes cause i have no love for Tiffany's). the cobalt blue glass heart-shaped box below was made by Elsa Peretti and gifted me against my wishes cause it was from Tiffany's as well. it's about 4" wide and 5" diagonally and it has bits of Daddy's things inside. i don't open it up too often, but hey.


anyway, stay tuned for more on my boxes in general as well as my lifelong totally anal fixation on my vasty collection of em and what Doc Sigmund hadda say about that shit. as someone told me (when i was 11), 'Freud would've had a field day with you'.

Freudian Fixation: '...an arrest in psychosexual development characterized by a firm emotional attachment to another person or object...' you'll find more background info on Dr Freud here, stuff even i'm too embarrassed to copy and paste so pay special attention to the 'anal retentive' stuff though i'm a combination of that and 'anal expulsive' but only cause-a the generous-stingy factor.

to be continued with many many images but i hadda put sump'n down now cause knowing me, i'd forget and then torment myself later on in the day for failing to note down links and professional opinions and other such similar shit. *smirk* *chokes on failed clever* ;-)

addendum @20,30: OK, i wrote mosta the above early this morning and now realise it's only an excuse to show off a small number of my huge box collection about which it says here (in relation to dreaming of em):

'...Freud saw anything hollow as a sexual representation of the womb of the vagina. May represent yourself, or your psyche. Opening the box would then be extremely important for you. May symbolize the unconscious, the fear of the powers within the unconscious (as in Pandora's box). May represent limitations or feelings of being boxed in. If opening the box fills you with fear, you may be uncovering aspects of yourself that make you feel anxious'.

GET OUT! i mean, okaaayyyyyy... but again with the fucked-up formatting? anyway, i've never dreamt of boxes; at least, not that i remember but here're some-a my faves. the first's the top of this painstakingly inlaid wood, ivory, pearl and fuck-knows-what-else creation that's lined with red velvet. it's one-a the last things Daddy gave me before he died and there's a photo of its context somewhere; where i placed it on my bookshelves and whenever the hell i find it, i'll edit it in and no one'll be the wiser.


i got this next in the early 90s in South Fallsburgh, a tiny town in what we call the Jewish The Catskill Mountains, upstate NY. it's cedar-lined and the cover's painted in the style of Rousseau as shown on my desk, behind my flatscreen, between my beloved Mac-Mini and a CD i called 'Swashed Away' TPFKAPM made me with one of my smaller collages as the cover. back to the cedar box, the colors in the image of the cover two pics below look all faded but they're not. just sayin'.



and if y'all get my permission to lift the lid...


yiz'll see boxes within boxes, each filled with a special liddle sump'n of the kind that gets you through the night. or day, as the case may be. BTW, the brown thing on top is a bit of the bottom of a tiny pipe an old BF carved outta lemonwood for me and that 'ORK' is the end of a sticker reading 'FUCK WORK'. i collect stickers as well, y'know? and Zippo lighters, certain kindsa books, comics, comics cards, wood and metal animals, plush toys, jackets, black T-shirts and i still have my collection of underwear starring all these really nice silk bodices, camisoles, garter belts and knickers but i don't wear em any more. i mean, y'know... why bother?

i used to collect candle-holders as well and right now, there're like four or five sets in heavy brass and crystal glass stashed in the kitchen cause there's no room out here and i rarely use candles anymore anyway — too expensive here. *thinks* i should really clean em, shine em up real good one of these days. LOL, yeah riiiight. shit! i forgot about those damned boxes.

the cedar Rosseau is about 9" wide and 3" high. ATM, there're five other boxes in it, not counting the two in the Union Jack tin. the liddle round one at lower left's really gorgeous and if i remember, i'll try to take a CU of its lid. the one above it's another tiny tin with a banner reading 'Poppy' and a finely painted poppy flower on. y'know, i'm sorry i began with 'boxes' cause doing this shit's getting really tiresome.

anyhoo, most have been gifts from people; here are only two of the many from Pam in Brixton. the Hash box's the first present she ever gave me down in Brighton, Christmas '03 at — one guess — an Alabama 3 gig the second time we met in meatspace and the one below that with the repro of the ancient map of London's one of my Fave. Tins. EVar. :-)



edit @23,58: just one more box for now cause i'm going outta my fucking mind, not having the patience for this cataloguing shit unless i'm getting paid to do it and it's time for dinner. next up's the top of yet another inlaid wooden box; a gift from Chris when he was in Poland for one of his colleagues' parties last year and below it, the arrowheads and liddle rocks and stuff i put inside have i ever mentioned i collect rocks as well? yes? nah? no matter.



BASTARDS! y'all made me lie cause there's yet another pic — next to the opened box is not only the aluminum box containing one-a the first presents TPFKAPM got for me — a Zippo cause i lost mine the night we met — but i put a tiny silver replica of The Dom in Cologne that Dani and Ian gave me when visiting Bonn (june 2004). uh... it's not a box.


y'know, i should've bothered to count alla these before i ever mentioned em but it never occurred to stupid me cause no, we're not done; not by a longshot, but i am — done with this shit for tonight cause i've still got some finishing up favoring i'm doing for a friend and the what's now-looking pointless CV-posting all over the rest of the fucking Internetz but i'm gonna have my dinner first, take my time and do my usual. BTW, i haven't really slept since friday night. or maybe thursday, i don't rightly remember.

*shrugs* meh! 'I'll sleep when I'm dead', as Warren Zevon so eloquently sang. *smirk* i'm so getting high in like three... two... one... heh. your mission, if you choose to accept it or whatever cause i never watched the dumb programme is to find the lie in the preceding sentence. c'mon! you can do it; i just know it. :-)

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hey! WHAT THE FUCK?

shown above is a screenshot of To All Who Mailed Last PM, a post i wrote a few days ago. it's displayed in three browsers: from left to right: Safari, Firefox and Camino or Sea Monkey or Shiira (i'm too upset to look ATM cause i've already shut it down).

helpful hint (as well as the only way you'll dig on that which i'm moaning): R-click on the image and open it in another tab or window or whatever and you'll be able to compare and contrast; see it life-size — up close and personal — in all its fucked hideousity.

Q: is there ANYone who can tell me why the longass strike-outs show up only at left, in Safari? and in the latest version of Opera 10.10? in both browsers, the strike-outs go all the way to the goddamned end of the post, FFS. i honestly don't remember how much time i took fixing tryna fix the fucking thing with which i ever so painstakingly messed, tryna close tags to rid it of all the extraneous and needless crossings-out?

i was totally gonna write on sump'n else tonight, sump'n way more pleasant until i made the mistake of scrolling down in Safari (and then, Opera) whilst looking for whatever which is really none-a anyone's biz until the time comes then almost shit a giant-sized brick when i saw how that particular post appears in that particular browser. *sobs* Safari, goddammit, how could you do this to me? then, when i'd collected myself somewhat and got Hunter outta his new hideyhole where he goes whenever i freak out audibly, i checked it in the rest of the browsers i've got (well, apart from IE, which i have but try to use as rarely as possible).

if youse think this doesn't piss me off... aesthetically, anally, Aspergerishly and all the rest as well as humiliate me in every which way apart from sexually, then y'all don't know me. and yiz don't.


and at the rate i'm going, nobody new ever will cause this — Tawdry — is like my face to the world and right now, it's making me just about as depressed as anything i can imagine, 'Net-wise.


i'll prolly be back as soon as i can to fuck about a liddle bit more with the post and do some experimentation inside-a Safari AND fucking Opera but i just know:


but for now... well, all i can do is growl and snarl and you don't wanna know me when i'm growling or snarling — take my word for that shit. to quote Jose Chung in MillenniuM, 'You have my word as a writer' which means i can bullshit to my heart's content cause i'm not.

edit @07,53: the Opera try was performed like 5 minutes ago and added to here at that time as well, goddammit.

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SCORE — twice even.

that was me at age 15 and 19 but that's another story so let's move on to somewhat related 'news'. *cough*


after staying up all last night doing the usual, watching films whilst eating my dinner and in between times, sending out my CV to every damn place i could find on the Internetz looking for those with proofreading and editing skilz of the sort that i do in my sleep when, at about 08,00 AM yesterday i realised i had neither slept nor eaten yet.

i thought 'no biggie' and so, decided to turn my all-nighter into an all day-er with the help of my old friends Crystal Meth, Charlie and the rest of my extra-legal but oh-so tempting collection. hey! didja know that Black Gooey (not his real name) from Nepal is like, an uppitty kinda smokeable? neither did i until this morning but as usual, i'm deflecting i digress.

anyway, on my travels, i got to twitting my usual shit and sump'n i twat caught the eye of InPrisonPenPal, the site to whose link turned out to be Imprisoned Hearts. i thought sump'n like 'whoa' cause i've got a bit too much experience with places like prisons and jails — way too much for anyone sane to whom to admit, anyone with the slightest sense of decorum, that is that which i'm pleased i don't have.


yup, the pic's all lulzy and stuff but the situation's totally not. i scanned the site and then remembered one of the many things i said in my interview by ImTheQ (when asked to finish the sentence): 'The world would be a better place if...'

i) ...the proportion of people of color in America’s prisons paralleled the proportion of those walking about freely outside.

so i joined up — a 'reach out and write to a prisoner' kinda place — not anything like this:


i tossed off Why I Joined Imprisoned Hearts and lo and behold, was totally freaked when i got mail saying they'd published it. before that, and and thanks to the sleepy haze in which i roamed through the flat mosta yesterday, without much thought, i'd added their link under Reservoir Dogs. but after thinking a second or two, quicikly realised the act of brightening a prisoner's day was sump'n in which i fervently have faith and so, if you look over to your R, they're now listed under True Believers, where they should've been in the first place.

moving right along, i totally intend to write to a prisoner or ten as well as heartily recommend y'all do as well but these next few days are fraught with busy for me plus i must catch up on my sleep at some point. *to self* i so wish my godlessly powers could help someone do this, but hey.


but wait — there's more: i got mail from YouTube notifying me there's a message waiting so i clicked my way back, with visions of SpaceCowboy 1954 dancing in what's left of my oh-so-dead-tired head and yup, freaked again when i saw he made a short vid called 'this one's for you S1umGoddess'. *preens*.

i'll prolly preen my ass off some more, both on Twitter and FreeA3 and every other site that hasn't yet banned me for attention-whoring when i wake up moar betterer but as for me, right now, it's time to go 'nite-nite', drop a few more V.s to ensure i get at least 12 hours' rest and take that one fabaroo toke of the Best Thwoop Money Can't Buy to ensure the ensurity of my dead-to-the-worldishness. so, nite-nite and peace out, yo. :-)

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wait for it — to load

and if sump'n begins to play, please scroll down and turn the second vid off until you're ready to listen cause i can't figure out how to post it without it immediately playing after it loads. plus it ain't supposed to be there and i explain (below) why it's there in the first place.

OK, this's totally a first for me — embedding any vid — but in the case i fuck up royally, as only i know how to do, it's here. and i fucked up again, so if i were you, i'd scroll down and 'pause' the first harp vid before coming back to read (that is if you're intristed).

this is the dude — think his real name's Stan — who video'd all those glorious bits of the band Undrugged at XFM way back when in 2001, those to which i linked yesterday.

anyway, this was supposed to the the last 'graph of my prior post but the formatting got so fucked up, it was too vasty a chore to fix it and so, i'm adding it here:

in other news, Darren just told me ALLA SpaceCowboy's hilarious Alabama 3 vids are gone. thing is, i can see em all apart from the one in which Larry headbutts that dude in the frontlines; he gets down off the stage, heads for the dude and bingo: it's Larry Love Headbutting Time. the thing of it is, in my haste and excitement at viewing these behind-the-scenes bits last night, i might've failed to 'favourite' it. Spacecowboy sent me a message asking to 'friend' me on YouTube and you can betcha ass i immediately accepted.

as well he plays a meanass harp and if i fuck up with embedding these vids, as i'm prone to do, you can find it here.

Q: WHY IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT'S HOLY DO I SEE TWO OF THE SAME DAMN SPACECOWBOY HARP VID WHEN MY PREVIEW SHOWS ONLY THE CODE FOR THE ONE?

A: cause blogger/blogspot's the piecashit i always knew it to be. to quit being annoyed, make sure you hit 'pause' on anything still playing and that should shut whatever-the-fuck up.

moving right along, i won't compare his harp-playing to that of Piers or Nick but dammit to hell — he THE man. wait: i hear his A3 vids are now marked 'private' which could be the reason, i can still see em. nah, i won't say why i think the aforementioned's true so figure it out for yourselves, like i did. *evil LOL*

whether these glorious vids are up/down, SPACECOWBOY, I LOVE YOU! there — i've seddit. and don't give a good goddamn who knows it. :-)

nb: embedding the YouTube vids fucked up my 'last 5 twat' formerly seen at the bottom of the R-hand column so i got ridda the stoopit gadget mostly cause anyone can see all the twits i ever twat by going to my page. as well, there's a bit under 'it's all about me' where i labelled the link 'Stalk me on Twitter' so, stalk away d00ds. *tapping steel-toed combat boot impatiently* :-)

AND — and with me there's always a 'but' or an 'and' — i just changed my Tawdry settings to show only ten posts on my front page. no offence to Space Cowboy but i did this in order to move this particular post off my front page quicker, thus making it easier for me and thee to not have to scroll to shut down his totally fabaroo harp playing especially when one's trying to concentrate on whatever else. and yaaas, once again, i'm just sayin' (as is my wont). ;-)

WAIT! one more thing: THE BIGGEST OF BIG THANKS TO ROCK FREEBASE. i really appreciate it, dude and i can't thank you enough.

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to all who mailed last PM

i couldn't say it better myself so thanks to this Trollcat, i'm saying it using as liddle a word-count as possible, which if you ever read any of my posts here or at my FAQs or anywhere i've written anything actually, you'll quickly see i do go on (but not literally 'quickly') cause reading my shite is like immersing one's self into a messy morass of manure and if it weren't considered a major obstacle to being a decent writer, it'd hold me back muchly.

and that, the above 'graph totally has nothing to do with my inability to get from Point A to Point B in one fell swoop whether it's tawkin in meatspace or writing or anything else. welp, i do pretty well getting from A to B in the sexual sense e.g., the dulcet tones of my 'wanna fuck?' but that's a whole 'nother story we shall not get into now, OK? or ever, for that matter. OK, then it's settled.

but — and there's always a but — since i'm not intristed in being a serious anything when i grow up, you'll see that's only one of my main troubles as far as writing decent writty goes since i have many, many other troubles: my fondness? love? use of the lenghthiness of the longest of longass run-on sentences, most of which linger on and On and ON — y'know, sometimes when proofing myself, i imagine i hear those who make it however far screaming for mercy — writing my liddle heart out whilst using an inordinately and needlessly hugeass number of words when a small percentage of em would get whatever message i'm trying to convey faster and way more clearly. as i illustrated in no.3 of my FAQs (after splaining Why, natch) this is totally not a joke:


moving right along, it never ceases to amaze me that people feel free to mail their moronic opinions of both myself and my writing. then again, they can get away with it cause i've not got any compliments — not a one — from a valid addy, just dissing, cursing and worse. i mean, think of how sad: some claim they masturbate to my writty whilst they're dissing me in mails. now, in truth, i wouldn't mind if Thomas Pynchon or even Joyce Carol Oates did but that shit's nev *COUGHITY!*

um... holy hell: gotz to change topics ASAP and gracefully ummm... yo, y'all — what was i say- *to self* whew — relief in a hopefully successful attempt to deflect, i'll yet again employ one-a my stale, way too-wellworn and hackneyed clichés outta the oh-too many vapidities i use and though nobody asked (and when did that ever stop me?), OK, relief and a possible way outta the mire; the hole i just dug for myself. the LSE — not mine; i don't havvit and never did, so nuh-uh (she lied) wants me to remind youse that they're totally all true when i use em about myself.

*cough* and so, it's time for the grocer-, i mean party favors cause AFAIC, right now it's CELEBRATION TIME and for a very good reason: i actually remembered sump'n! as i was saying before i so very rudely interrupted myself somewhere in the mess above, i get all kindsa negative shit from anonymous throwaway hotmail or yahoo or whatever site that offers addys after a two-second sign-up 'form'. to alla you pussy Anonymous Cowards (as Slashdot calls em) you make me LOL my ass off, so here: i spit on your graves this one's especially for youse:


regarding your opinions on my writty? they're all cool cause we're each entitled to our own POV. but opinions from strangers who've never met me about me, myself? — how very fucking dare you? especially cause of the blatant fact YOU DON'T KNOW ME — IMO teh funny being this proves you're all more stupid than i'd ever assumed cause it's obvious to anyone with half a brain yiz are all equating SG (the online persona) with rimone (TRW me in meatspace).

and of course, being a playful sort (to say the very least) my photos over in the R-hand column; this one being labelled 'SG or rimone? YOU choose'


whilst this's called 'SG = rimone':


are only there to add to the fun and to help me weed out the stupidos from those i might deign to wanna meet some day in future. anway, IMO, adding to the confusion fun — SHIT! ARRRGH! please ignore my next Tourettic outburst, one of the many i've got unintentionally memorised of the Alabama 3 flavor but if i don't let it out, fuck knows what'll happen to the rest of what's left of my mind. OK, feel free to skip that which lies between the liddle crosses.

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'...old man said to me, the essence of sleight of hand, D Wayne, is to stretch their misdirection and those who believe that through their own perspicacity is divined your hidden purposes, well... look no further.'

'I says "Well, the problem one time I stopped goin to god's house and started goin to EL-vis' house..." well, I'm gettin hip to that. Comin on the turnaround again, I wanna hear y'all singin and I wanna see y'all cryin' real fuckin' tears...'

and at that point, leave it to Larry *love* to burst out with one of his classics: 'FUCK THAT!'

*to self* whew! now i can continue sans the above running through my head looped over and over and over and breaking any concentration i've managed to muster thus far.

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as well, it's totally easy-peasey to open an email account with some made-up name. i especially dig the ones that include my online initials or use variations of Freebase's tired and never amusing though we kissed his ass with bullshit to appease him whilst tryna make the poor dude feel a bit more secure by pretending to LOL along with him at such trite obviousities as 'Glum Soddess'.

what the hell was i on about again? right, it's rather easy to hurl shit at me or anyone from throwaway mail accounts, furiously typing away in your parents' subbasements or if you're lucky, from the comfort of the same bedroom where y'all grew up and in which yer mums serve you three squares, give you your paltry allowances whilst tearfully begging youse to get a job. but as usual, i'm way the fuck off-topic.

to those who so kindly suggest i see a shrink, i'd say 'you haven't been paying attention' cause after a lifetime of navel-gazing begun when i was four, after reading Socrates' 'The unexamined life is not worth living' and especially after the years (1996 to '99 to be precise) of prescriptions ranging from Prozac to Lithium and everything in between, read this next carefully and internalise it (if you can):


nuh-uh... not for me they don't. as well, i received a number of —yup, yiz guess it — anonymous moans as i tend to do when i post stuff demonstrating the trivia of my life — such as it is— in meatspace, like the last pic and commentary in my prior post (BTW, that particular word means 'the one that came before' and y'all can thank me later for that bit of vocabulary; it's a word that should've been in your lexicons before you hit Junior High School or whatever it's called in the UK).

it's way too obvious you elephant-felching dickheads haven't bothered to read any of the testimonials over to the right, especially the first about my finest quality — being self-absorbed — which, though totally true, is just a matter of opinion, actually. to all who took your oh-so-precious time to dis me in these mails (and they were all anonymous, you chicken-shit pussies) i've got a really nice present for y'all, sump'n i'd think was delicious and that'll enrich your nothing lives. ta-daaahhhhh! — here it is, so suck it up and eat it:


i call it 'The Lorena Bobbit Special' and a word to the wise: do not — i repeat, do not balk at drinking down the semen, urine and vaginal excretions with which the stew was flavored cause then you'd be missing out on the totally wondrous taste sensation that only a bowl of dicks, jism, cuntjuice and menses blood can supply. hey, believe me when i tell yiz it's fulla vitamins and minerals and hopefully all kindsa STDs 'for yo' delectation' *in a Larry Love voice*.

one, nah, two more things before i tip: 1) all images here (apart from the two of my own bad self) were stoled from the brilliant dudes who bring you my fave site, Trollcats (follow em here on Twitter).

2): put on your thinking-caps cause this one's a no brainer two-parter. that is, if your tiny heads can get round holding two somewhat related thoughts in what passes for your minds. here's the first (which wasn't my reaction when reading your drivel but i still think it's — as well as you anonymous losers are — totally teh funny):


and here's my reply to all you anonymous dissers but i didn't need a moment; my own meatspace response was produced — more like, i maded it (not the image, dummies) — just about 17,00 today as i visited the loo for my daily evacuation which's when i remembered this lovely Trollcat who sums it up betterer than i ever could, even if i'd thousands of words with which to play around as well as all the time in the world.


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woke up this morning

and the liddle widget on my Dashboard said Dawn was at 07,13 but Sunrise was at 07,52. i took first pic above at 07,50 and the following, each minute thereafter.


here's Sunrise through my shakey hands and bleary eyes cause i stayed up all night writing and sending my CV all-the-fuck-over, praying for another telecommuting-type proofreading or editing gig. here we are at exactly 07,52 as i froze my ass off on the balcony, shivering with phone in hand, trying to focus as the temp dipped to -1C. *cough* FAIL.


anyhoo, the Sun has officially risen:


looks pretty much like the top pic, yes? then i glanced over to my R, still freezing but yet — and i can't count the many times i've seddit or written it — i'm still totally enamoured by the streaky striations in the skies above, so unlike NYC.


moving right along, all this's an excuse to lead in to a few most excellent vids that Darren found recently and about which we LOLd BIGtime on the phone early this morning. i won't go into the reasons why but see for yourselves — not only do they include an amazingly capless Freebase but some lovely footage of the actual Living Legend that's Segs. *sigh*

the YouTube vid-maker calls himself Space Cowboy 1954 and Darren and i laughed our asses off as we watched this archival footage together, yakking our heads off on the phone as i literally howled over stuff shot of the band way back when in 2001 with Nick Reynolds and others, all called Alabama 3 Undrugged at XFM. anyway, here're part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4 and part 5 and we're so hoping this shit stays up cause amongst other hilarities, in one of the bits they're skinning up. *thwooop!* oops, sorry bout that. *whispers* not really sorry... nuh-uh. not at all. :-)

then Darren, ever the intrepid 'Net explorer, discovered yet another hysteric by the same dude, Space Cowboy, called The Headbutt Hypo Full Of Love where Larry — well, see for yourselves cause it's a riot and Space Cowboy's captions are totally teh funny. in all six liddle vids, there's a lotta D Wayne, '...mah main man, mah saviour...' *in a Larry Love voice* yeah, you're right — i'll STFU now. enjoy. :-)

wait, almost forgot: people've been asking about that necklace Leisl made for me; her stuff's on sale here and on her own site here. and yup, yiz guessed it: I WANNIT ALL. as well, coming up soon when i have nothing better about which to write shall be bits of my desk on which practically everything was given me by my wonderful friends, like here, where i see at least eight different dumbasses' people's gifts. Silver Panther's the oldest, given me by he of the 12-inch dick Donnie, way back when in NYC and as usual, just unnecessarily sayin'. ;-)


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Dead Pets Society

this's the Lazybones family's very own pet cemetery where their daughter Talia (who wants to be a veterinarian in future) says her last Goodbyes to The Departed. this past week was very difficult for Talia cause she lost both Minty, her rat and Shaggy, her guinea-pig. :-(

here she is in her Alabama 3 stage persona — Li'l Lazy Love — introducing the band at Trowbridge Festival, Summer of 2007.


Darren and Tina (Mr and Mrs Lazybones Love) on the same happy day:


Mr Lazy Love with Li'l Lazy Love later on that night:


and here's Daddy Darren who mailed me with all the sad news:


in his own words: 'Minty was a sickly little rat right from the start. We've been to the vets continually ever since we've had her. She had a few respiratory problems... she was really docile and having a problem breathing on thursday evening so Tina & Talia took her to the vets on friday....'

Minty in happier days, first tryna convey to Darren, Tina and Talia that Spel-Chek's for dummies.


Tina's holding the liddle guy who Talia called 'Laziest. Rat. Ever'.


back to Darren: '...He gave her three injections but said she might have something wrong with her heart too and he wasn't very optimistic. T & T brought her home and she struggled to get comfy in her cage, then started to do what look like hiccups. I picked her up to stroke her and she just curled up comfy, twitched a couple of times and just died in my hand....'


'...Talia was absolutely gutted. This morning after I went to work T & T phoned to say that Shaggy the guinea-pig hadn't eaten anything since yesterday and didn't look well. So it was off to the vets again. As the battery on my phone died I didn't know that Shaggy had died too when I walked through the door. As I did, Talia informed me that I "need to dig two holes tomorrow".


Talia and Shaggy above and below on Shaggy's birthday, 27. august this year.



Talia wrote '...Shaggy was 6 and she had a great day eating her cake that I had made for her, and not bought. Though it looked yummy, I would not like to attempt to eat grass and other uncooked veg!'

back to Lazybones Darren: '...It's been a sad few days. Luckily Talia is getting used to it now a little bit, but two in a couple of days is a bit much. Tina told me that when they were at the vets and Talia realised that Shaggy might die as well, she went completely white and felt sick. She had to sit down before she fell down.

'Both of the animals are now in cardboard boxes filled with pictures and messages, ready for burial. They will be joining the others in a service under the Holly tree in the front garden. Talia does do a mean burial send off...'

unfortunately, she's had plenty of practise. The Departed are noted above — if y'all look closely or R-click and open in another tab, the photo'll embiggen and youse can easily see how each liddle grave's labelled with the proper inhabitant.

Darren continued: '...Fingers crossed for little Pepper rat that these things don't come in Threes. At the moment she's her usual spritely self...'


Talia about Pepper: '...quite a lot we call her Little Dude ... I don't know why...'

Talia's one of the — if not THE — sweetest, smartest, most adorable kids i've ever had the pleasure of knowing and my heart's been breaking for her since yesterday when Darren first mailed. :-(

RIP Minty: 01/06/08 — 27/11/09

RIP Shaggy: 27/08/03 — 28/11/09

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