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(in association with Sir Rowley Regis)
This will be my night-time thread.
back when animal conservationists wore masks, cut threatening angle-magnifying promos to camera and elbow dropped people through tables.
I saw LCD Soundsystem at the Glasgow Barrowlands last night
You don't want to fuck with James Murphy,
he's as "hard as nails", apparantly,
some ned broke his organ.
Ecstasy seems VERY POPULAR with mad debaucherous young women right now; the kind that wear overlong neon-nightmare t-shirts that read "LOVE" and "DANCE TO THE DEATH 2005" in bold simple fonts with loads of vacant eye make-up and trash glamour dresses. I was a victim to the loved-up generation- all hair ruffling, falling over, violent mouth to mouth, glazed eye contact?! Some even dance. They work in groups of two.
BEERBOYS: Over-excitable middle-aged pogo'n beer swiggers with no sense of rhythm, launching beer, lads bravado and themselves into the air and into other folk, disappointing. Too much fist pumping, not enough dancing.
There was a guy from Hot Chip on percussion.
The music was alright too.
The never-ending game.
locked in eternal combat
with a gurning stuffed clown.
It's reminiscent of feudal knights taking on Death at chess.
It's reminiscent of stale ale, fag smoke and 3am betting circle.
It's reminiscent of a time when flares and caftans ruled yer wardrobe.
This tale of chalk, sweat and leers will be familiar
to any Mother DiSer who has ever switched on a TV.
Answer on a 'Post reply'-card please.
The answer is the BBC Test Card.
"Three months of fear"
DANCE TO THE DEATH - RAVE - DANCE
DANCE - RAVE RAVE
"One of the local technicians disappeared a few days ago"
DANCE - RAVE
"Of course we sent out search parties, but..."
"There's little chance of finding him in this infernal jungle"
after a beautiful female photography correspondent based in China, JUST because you think she has an awesome name...
I did this, and it was damn awkward explaining to Ms. Poppy Sebag-Montefiore that I had used her name for a self-indulgent 19-minute long noise college :'(
Although there are many exceptions, it is often women who buy and cook food for the family, and many newly bereaved husbands have to face the loss of both a lifelong companion and their provider of food. Some widowers have never even shopped for food, let alone shown interest in its preparation or cooking, so the first few forays into the crowded aisles of supermarkets can be somewhat overwhelming.
Concerned about your future? Wondering which way the expurgated flow of didactic vegetarianism is flowing? Is there romance on the way? Perhaps eggplants? Tugboats? What does DADA have in store for you? Tell Juliette, the DADA oracle, what you need to know and she will present the only correct answer. Trust no one else, only Juliette is DADA. All others are simply canaries living in parasols.
What will happen if I break the barrier that is the speed of sound minus a protective craft? Just me versus the laws of terminal velocity?
"Cold meat lights no fire."
I lay down with music, and become engrossed with being as still as possible. I felt that if I can be totally, completely still, I would hear the inner voice of the universe. As I did this, the music became incredibly beautiful. I saw the extraordinary importance of simply listening, listening to everything, to people and to nature, with wide open receptivity. Something very, very special happened at the still point, so I kept working on it. When I became totally still, a huge burst of energy was released. And it exploded so vigorously that it took enormous effort to quiet it all down in order to be still again. Great fun.
at 2 a.m. to start filling the helium balloon. At sea level, it was 35 to 40 feet wide and 200 feet high; at altitude, due to the low air pressure, it expanded to twenty-five stories in width, and still was twenty stories high!?
I began breathing pure oxygen for two hours. That's how long it takes to remove all the nitrogen from your blood so you don't get the bends going so high so fast.
a lengthy dress procedure layering warm clothing under my pressure suit. I was kept in air-conditioning until it was time to launch because I was in the desert and I wasn't supposed to sweat. If I did, my clothes would freeze on the way up.
an hour and a half to get to altitude. It was cold and the glove on my right hand hadn't inflated. I knew that if I radioed my doctor, he would abort the flight. If that happened, I knew I might never get another chance because there were lots of people who didn't want this to happen. I took a calculated risk that I might lose use of my right hand. It quickly swelled up, and I did lose use for the duration of the flight. But the rest of the pressure suit worked.
102,800 feet, maximum altitude, I wasn't quite over the target. So I drifted for eleven minutes. The winds were out of the east. I took a moment to absorb the view. I could see about 400 miles in every direction. The most fascinating thing is that it's just black overhead-the transition from normal blue to black is very stark. I couldn't see stars because there's a lot of glare from the sun, my pupils were too small. I was struck with the beauty of it. But I was also struck by how hostile it is: more than 100 degrees below zero, no air. If my protection suit failed, I would be dead in a few seconds. Blood boils above 62,000 feet.
my 46-step checklist, disconnected from the balloon's power supply, and lost all communication with the ground.
I stood up, turned around to the door,
took one final look out and said a silent prayer:
"S-U-F, take care of me now."
And I just jumped over the side.
what the fuck are you on about?
The following fictional account details the experiences of Aldous Ciruela, the protagonist who, in the story, took approx. 20 grams of dried Peruvian Torch, slow simmered for 3 1/2 hours, and Pickle, his girlfriend of the time and confidant.
Well, the text describes the vague course of my mood during that period of time, just over an hour. The initial part, about dissolving into contentment, was when I first curled up in bed, slowly drifting away into sleep. Felt like my mind was bathed in the warm glow of the sun, despite the fact I could hear wind and rain outside, just really happy, like I was slowly fading into sleep. Nothing too remarkable really, other than...
THE CONSTANT VISUAL TRIPPERY IN MY HEAD... hehehe
I watched one of the Memories short films today... "Magnetic Rose"? and I kept seeing stuff not to dissimilar the style of art in that. In particular, the way things would break and dissolve when the characters touched them in the house? I'd see stuff in my head, all sorts of mad faces and places and people and they'd fragment and dissolve away but it wasn't scary at all.
I awoke again, must have only been asleep ten minutes? "Understanding" if the section of time leading upto me falling asleep could be considered a question then the section of time after I awoke was the answer.
It's not a social drug, you couldn't do this on a friday night for fun
It makes you want to curl up
All this beginning stage, with the dissolving thoughts, I just wanted to be with someone, you.
... I awoke and all the visuals seemed much softer. Well, I say visuals but they weren't distinct and inescapable like really seeing something is, it was more like... you know when you think about a place or a person in your head and you can see them up there, in your mind, how they look, etc, but it's not totally photorealistic? After all, it's a memory, or a construction of the imagination, well, that's how these 'visuals' were, but instead of thinking "Oh I'll picture this in my head" (cue concentration), they'd just appear and flow from each other, and they were all much softer when I awoke. Crazed faces and mysterious landscapes replaced by shapes with curved edges, colours.
I think I get what you mean.. about the visual imagination. Sounds similar to the time I got stoned really bad. In fact most of it sounds a tad similar, obviously not the same though, I'd like to experience it though. It sounds perfect, feeling content, visualising anything, curling up..
If you could take away the sick feeling in the stomach, it would be quite close to perfection. The next bit along, on the writing, is... "organic forms pre-dominate, not scared," basically, insects are my big fear...
And I kept seeing the outlines and shapes and forms of insects, spiders in particular (the most hated of the hated bugs for me), and I tried to counter it by making myself thing of happy times and happy people and it just got worse! One multiplied into many! And I felt part of a swarm, but the minute I accepted that I wasn't actually scared, they disappeared.
How strange.. that's oddly true to life.
I came to grips with my fear, and it vanished. There were many fleeting visuals, thoughts, sensations between all of these moments, so it's hard to really put into words how I felt, but the next major stage was "RAPTUROUS! OPHELIA!" The John Cage piano piece from the Early Piano collection. It was that particular piece of music that made me feel so rapturous! Listening to it in sober state of mind, people listening would be confused, it doesn't follow most of the 'usual' conventions of music, by that, I mean what people take to be the 'usual': harmony, melody, verses, choruses etc. Ophelia seems to be almost at random, but what this experience let me hear was that music doesn't have to be so set into neat catergories. That it's about what you can hear at that particular moment, and not what you expect to happen next. I listen to music I like because there's moments in a song, like a chorus or a verse, that I really like the sound of, and I end up listening to music just waiting for that particular moment. Example of how my mind works: "ooh, I love the verse that happens in a minute"... and then I wait for it to happen. But when I was listening to Ophelia, it was like... I have no idea what's going to happen next! It's just... happening! and each and every note is alive! and I'm not waiting for repetition to make me feel good! I'm not waiting for a chorus, a lick, a riff, I'm just enjoying the music for what it is! NOW THAT was the rapturous feeling.
My word.. Sounds like you've reached enlightenment or something!
Well no, I certainly haven't, looking back, but those moments felt like it at the time? OPHELIA, just fucking YES, I'm tingling from head to toe right now. Anyway, what's next on the text?
purring, full of
Exactly how I felt. I know this, because those words stirring around my mind are what got me up and writing. Ophelia and the rapture had brought about such intensity, that I just felt so alive, so playful. Sexy isn't a description I use often, if ever, but I actually felt sexy for once. I felt so passionate and full of vigor. Grandiose, epic feelings of love. I wanted to convey such immense feelings through... through sex, I suppose? Loving, passionate sex? But it wasn't to be, and I found myself swept away from that mood and I found myself outside, in the rain, my hands to the heavens, feeling every single drop of water splash into them, and after some time, standing in the rain, in the dark, outside, I thought to myself:
"It's time to come indoors"
and so I did.
And now you are here?
Now I am here.
And how do you feel right now?
Quietly happy, but I also feel a longing, for you, to be with me, so that you could hear and see and experience the enthusiasm I'd surely display if given the chance to recall this encounter in person?
There's various ways of preparing it,
you can boil it for a good five, ten minutes then let it simmer for four or so hours, and drink the ensuing brew (disgusting!)
you can powder it up, make jelly with it, melt chocolate into it, anything really,
or you can powder it up and shovel and chase with some kind of acidic fruit juice (that's what I did today).
I took about 30 grams over maybe an hour and a half, it's kinda hard work because the cactus is so disgustingly bitter and it really doesn't want to be eaten.
And the quote is a good quote, almost too good:
Good mescaline comes on slow. The first hour is all waiting, then about halfway through the second hour you start cursing the creep who burned you, because nothing is happening... and then ZANG! Fiendish intensity, strange glow and vibrations... a very heavy gig in a place like the Circus-Circus.
You spend an age wondering if anything is going to happen... but it jumps you- initially, very very similar to good MDMA, airy, light in your head, kinda queasy and dizzy but you feel like you are radiating some kind of warmth outwards in the body.
That sticks around for 30 minutes or so. At that point I went for a walk up some hills to look out over Glasgow city, that's when the emotional ride kicked in. Alternating waves of happiness, sadness, nostalgia, forward-thinking, deep seated memories coming to the fore followed by deja-vu. A melancholy high? I enjoyed this a lot. Shame it was too cold to sit out side for a great amount of time. Mescaline and summer would be beautiful. Lots of slight visual disturbances... shimmering lights, reflections, would catch my eye and appear as something else entirely for split-seconds. Faces, foxes, I saw all sorts as I walked around here at night, but I was always well aware that it was temporary.
I saw a guy pissing(?!) into the fuel hatch of his car! That was real. No hallucinations there. I shouted "PISSING INTO YOUR FUEL TANK ARE WE!?" and ran. He jumped and looked scared. It seemed funny at the time.
I came home, and by this time my stomach was feeling bad (you can avoid this by drinking ginger tea or eating ginger root and fasting for a day before), plus my vision was doubling up and I just wanted to curl up in bed (this happened last time too). I'm glad I got into bed...
I listened to Out-Hud (mescaline seriously feels very similar to mdma/amphetamines at times, and Out-Hud's ecstasy-tinged melancholic dance seemed perfect), turned out the lights, got into bed. Amazing closed-eye visuals, very organic in terms of how they flowed from one to another. They started out kinda scary but as soon as I realised that I wasn't scared, they dissipated, dissolved and I was left tripping all kinds of shapes and forms, lots of symbolism that was triggered and molded by the sounds I was hearing. Very colourful. That could have lasted as long as I'd wanted it to seemingly, as it happened I listened to about three albums worth.
---- and it's getting difficult to type
"HOW LONG WILL YOU DUNK?"
so you've got yr biscuit in hand,
and yr hot tea hug of love goodness in front,
and you dip the afformentioned biscuit into the afformentioned hot tea
BUT FOR HOW LONG?
The biscuits absorbs the hot tea hug of love goodness,
and thus one side of the biscuits becomes weakened yet heavier.
"YOU RUN THE RISK OF THE BISCUIT SNAPPING!"
"AND FALLING SOGGILY INTO YR FRESH BREW OF TEA!"
Yes, yes you do.
It's just happened to me!
It could happen to you! BEWARE!
1. Snapshot moments where I'll be in a wild mood, hallucinating on drugs in the woods, probably at 5am during summer, with the sun starting to rise, aware of all mad people having chaotic fun and adventure around me, feeling invincible and knowing, just knowing, that I was there and I was part of it all.
2. Strong cups of English Breakfast tea brewed the correct way, plus blue-top milk and more than enough sugar. Add biscuits and/or cake for the keys to my heart.
3. Lazing around in bed on Sunday mornings, Velvet Underground and Nico quietly on the stereo, totally wrapped up in the arms of the girl I love, whispered conversations, lust-filled laughter and inevitable consequences.
4. LOUD AS ALL HELL FUZZED-LADEN PSYCHEDELIA LIVE, WITH LOOSE DRUM-FILL CRAZY INTENSITY, BASS TO MAKE YOU SHAKE AND PEOPLE DANCING.
5. Staying up all night with friends that I'm comfortable with, locked in engaging conversation that spills naturally off out onto mad tangents before returning back and the point where someone looks out the window, sees the sun coming up and says something like, "we've been talking all night?!?"
6. Epic adventure that I take part in- road trips, train travels, landscape wandering, finding new amazing places and feeling on the edge of something altogether more grandiose, like a pioneer.
Occasionally, though it can crick my neck.
Good nights sleep says: One'll do.
"The Custard Factory must have somewhere relaxed where we can take tea," he said, "MUST, I TELL THEE!"
"OH IT HAD BETTER! That sounds like a hip place to be, it must have tea!" was her reply.
"We have disconcerning tastes! A thirst that must be quenched! We like our tea hot and our localé cool! Custard Factory, I choose you!!"
(I later discovered you can't get a cup of tea in the Custard Factory)
In aural foggy midst
of looped feedback scream
and overdriven amplifier roar,
as the eyes lens shutter closes,
mind dilating in vivid expansion,
body motionless in the darkness,
dimensions of the fractal face
are distorted and contorted
by alice in wonderland syndrome.
She's whispering the disorientating
directions in this game of revelation
where I go every which way,
privy to evolutionary visions,
where the shapes of the head
appear to melt and fold and flow
in a liquid lava lightshow,
subconcious cinema over
Ingestion induced imagery,
reinventing contours colourfully,
spatial attributes in aleatory freeform,
a detournement of the Eat Me memory,
a statement to the world that reads "detune!"
a meeting with the grand goddess, the architect,
who wistfully whispers warm waves of love,
flooding my minds eye with the fluctating forms
of a self-projected pictorial mind dissolving.
"I was blown away by the wildly windy wander homewards- all stray plastic bag attack and crashing scaffold near-misses! Tantalisingly revitalising, mind! x"
"I love your vowels! Glad there weren't any tornados or flying monkeys to impede your journey. This is the wild west after all. Xxxx"
I'm found! ("and no-one should be lonely, not in Glasgow")
Delicatessen was a deliciously dark, disorientatingly disturbing, dramatically dynamic slice of continental cinema ("I've never met anyone who doesn't love it")
Can we go to Tchai ovna instead? Don't feel like staying in the flat... It's really fucking hot in here. Dinner and tea? Xxxx ("Absolutely gladly gracefully gratefully")
Russian Caravan, cheese and crackers. Books, Marquess, mulled wine, hot water bottle addiction, sending letters to the horse's head, Shetland, hat museums...
Want hot chocolate- up the Great Western- crepes, malteasers, coconut, the aforementioned want, good tea, sprinting, "I don't know yr name, but I like how we can have a conversation", "I don't feel comfortable eating food in front of anyone except you"-"well, I'm glad I have that appetising effect". We live on sugar, crackers, anything that is 90% water, vitamins and Glucosamine.
QM, wtf? 1am? Let's! Play! Pool! Yeah! "I don't want to be 'Grannied'". "Jukebox is free- GO!" Venus in Furs-Born Slippy-that really really good electro track-"but it's not the right mix"-nonetheless, she shakes those hips-"Your unerring dedication to the DANC is a distinct delight"-THAT smile, THAT expression. I'm Waiting For The Man-Golden Hair-NO FUN (gets a positive response!)- hustled by unwanted tag-team, too forceful, too many questions, "are you Jewish?", and I ain't going to tell you my age (especially as you got the guess wildly fucking wrong)- and please, can you leave her alone? Do you not understand her mother is from a country that no longer exists? And that the Isle of Man ISN'T part of England, nor the United Kingdom? GB 1 - RB 1. Kick'd out, we wait around, "those two people are unnerving me", but if you are friends with doorstaff, "you can come back in and wait til they disappear". THEN...
"Let's got to the fort!"- absolutely! always! "I love the angles here, reminds me of the places I used to go to smoke... I was also very fond of climbing up onto roofs". Hillhead wander and "that's the third person to have a nightmare about me in recent times". Reveal that I too dream- but it's more of a well-timed hug and a bye. "What's the attraction of the Lebanon?"-"well..."-A draw to the Middle East, it's beautiful, it's holidaying in Oman, it's people speaking Arabic, it's dry heat and deserts. "Let's get tobacco and rizla and go and sit in the Garden"-smile-"Ok!"
The sinister menacing grimace of the Church. The allotments growing babies in amongst the cabbages. "We found you under a cabbage leaf". The overly wet Garden seating and the where can we sit? THE BRIDGE! Love the acoustics down here. A beautiful, bluesy voice, powerful, emotive, honed. Singing me all the songs I needed to hear. Manx folk. Sixties legends. Bluesy twist on nursery rhymes. Banging hymns. "Yeah, it was brilliant, mate, I've got this new designer drug named God, it's amazing, it'll blow yr mind"-"Good lord!"-"Yeah, it is good Lord! But Lord is strong than God, I wouldn't sniff any Lord, wrap it in a rizla and bomb it instead, it's so strong!". Manx one pound notes. Don't share. "Eat them! Eat them!"-"well, I can only eat one, I'll find wall space for t'other"-she sings, I dance and carefully pick the location-"The cctv budget has been cut, and they've resorted to hiring jelly-babies, and installing them in walls to keep tabs on two slightly eccentric characters sitting under this here bridge". Our favourite songs-always. The mix-cd track three, seven and final rule. "For all intents and purposes, we shouldn't be able to do this, it's Glasgow, 3:30am, in the middle of January, we should be freezing, our faces should be blue!"-"yeah, but we're young and invincible, or something"-numb posteriors can break even the invincible, mind. Woodside wander-harrowing songs-Murray-I should let you sleep-hug-"enjoy yr trip". And we part. I am resolved.
Hair Dude, You're Stepping On My Mystique-Poney Pt. 2-Biscuit.
"Did you hear that?"
The slaughterhouse screams of the serpents echoed and reverberated around the streets of the desolate suburb, shattering the previous silence. Sliding scurrilously, they cut a siege and surged for several slave humans, who ran in our direction, shouting pleas and promises. Somehow they knew the location and entrances to our secret hideouts and from afar they signalled and motioned for us to let them inside, into safety, secluded and silent, and out of the sight of the savage reptilian swarms.
YOU ARE INVITED
"Instead of simply sauntering spuriously through life! put a spring in your step! and sprint into the loving arms! of THE seductive subterranean super cult of the twenty-second century! led by the visionary son! of a subatomic strange quark! the sobriquet you seek? Sidious Santa Strangelove!"
WE LIVE SW OF SARATOVSKAYA
"SUBMIT to the subjection of your salesman, servant of the stimulant, repent! SUBMISSION is required!". Expressive subtlety suffers as you drown your subconscious in soiled substance, and its never been the same since I melted once. The suggestion box says "shape up", so take note, it's the season to slay the habitual strangulation of the imagination that manifests itself as living in a state of smoke.
He visits his Grandma,
he's such a nice boy,
polite and concise,
(6 across, cantankerous)
and the old dear and friend
(14 down, peculiar)
donate a total of £thirty,
short of the knowledge
the money goes to drugs.
"Mad Mark got a shoeing,
him an' Mafrin, friday night,
twelve lads, fucking bastards
stomped on his face, all laying in.
He came round last night to visit,
they've both got broken noses an'
he's got a swollen black eye like
seven points on a snooker table,
but it's alright, he's got my bat.
And they know who it is."
All up in the autumn tree molt,
four foot longboard and big K's,
ain't no-one surfing like me.
Bombing hills through dusk with
best friends and we're laughing,
flying through crisp dead leaves,
colours all in a rush, the crush
underfoot crackling, controlling
precise rolling, slash turns mix slides.
So much fun to be had on those hills.
instructions for an automatic life
In a run down room on the fourth floor of a
nondescript anonymous apartment block
Deep in the east of town where the rats and
the people live together in a filthy disharmony,
I flicked the light switch and with it
Her grotesque performance begins.
Watched by half a dozen or more nervous invited eyes
This frankly odd smorgasbord of characters
were unsure what to expect as invitation is rare,
mythical status attached to such happenings,
Whispered rumours of depraved acts of madness,
Sex and death and art and insanity intertwined.
But this? This is darker than those mere urban fables.
The witnesses can't avert their gaze, yet,
Disturbed distress is evident in their eyes,
Disgust and lust mixed with mistrust and
Liquids you can't buy in shops,
The faces of the audience turned a shade
of dirty giallo yellow, their eyes twitching,
filthy thoughts flooding their feeble minds.
A few of them were looking uncomfortable.
Did they not appreciate the display?
Eyes wide, she stared at them,
blankly, they stare
Her act, her display, her show continued,
"Writhe, contort your body", a pale
ugly, gaunt, pock-marked middle aged male said.
Immediately, without hesitation,
I smashed him over the head
with my cane, and I demanded silence.
When he cried out in pain,
a carefully placed kick to the face shut him up.
He bled pitifully on my floor, so I beckoned
an associate who dragged the limp body out of the room.
A sharp suited man tried to stand up,
perhaps escape was on his mind?
My cane swung dangerously close to his face
and he sat back down, muttering,
sweating like the abhorrent swine he was.
He knew the score now.
They all knew.
And for a minute or two
The girl continued her vividly vulgar display,
and I took the time to recline against the wall,
keeping a keen eye on a fat fidgety man who
was stirring in his seat, staring, licking his
unctuous lips, like a greasy gruesome wolf awaiting the lamb.
Aesthetically he turned my stomach like a bile-filled churn,
A bloated bulbous belly hung out over foul soiled jeans,
The bulging mass of fat stretching his ill-fitting shirt.
The strain of the weight he carried gave the impression
that he was ready to explode. I wanted to pop him,
and in my pocket my finger glided over the concealed blade,
my twitching fingers urging my mind to have some fun.
After some brief consideration, I decided against this-
my previous altercation had already made our audience nervous,
and I didn't want to risk an attempted mass exodus,
which would only result in a lengthy clean up job
and the hassle of messy evidence,
I continued to watch him, and he continued to watch her.
His eyes were glazed over and he didn't once blink,
he kept his eyes fixed on the girl at all times,
his sight scanning up and down her tender soft flesh.
It sickened me that somehow this wretched pervert,
this vile excuse for a man had been invited to our event.
Such mistakes in the guest list would never be made again.
I soon realised this disgraceful specimen of a man
was bad for business and he was not welcome at our happening.
I could sense that his close proximity to the girl was disorientating her,
She was beginning to look uncertain and ill at ease
and there was no way I could let such a foul beast
upset our beautiful sweet delicious divine goddess of an asset.
He clearly lacked the basic manners needed to attend our event,
and I was going to make him pay for it, I would have my pound of flesh.
I watched, waiting, wishing he would make the mistake I wanted and
Then it happened. The catalyst. The excuse I was looking for all along.
Deviously, as if he thought he could get away with it if his actions were
slow and gradual enough, his hands began to creep towards the direction of the
No. Not today, nor ever would those filthy hands touch her radiant silky skin.
I paced across the room towards him, focused and definite,
and before he had a chance to sully her with that touch,
I pulled the long smooth blade out of my pocket
and dexterously sank it into his neck from the side,
sending cascades of warm blood pumping
out of the narrow wound and down his torso,
soaking his clothes with a rich red claret.
This sight alone was satisfying,
but in the excitement I needed more.
He meekly attempted to scream,
but I soon put him down
with a knee to the stomach
a smash of cane to the head
and a heavily weighed punch.
He sank with a thud to the floor, bleeding profusely,
his eyes giving me that definitive gaze that signalled
that his time was nearing an end and with this
it was time to draw curtains on the
The few remaining members of the audience panicked at this colourful sight,
and they tried desperately to escape, screaming hopeless pleas and cries,
their legs urging them to the doors, which they found to be locked.
Upon the order, my associates began to joyfully pick them off one by one
in an excitable flurry of punches and kicks and pistol whips,
sending them crashing to the ground in sorry heaps,
where they lay in horror as my associates began to pour
gasoline on every conceivable space of wall, door and floor.
In the chaos I calmly took the girl by the hand,
and I escorted her through the only unlocked
door out onto the fire escape, where I told her to wait for me.
She nodded and curtsied politely, a gesture that make me
I re-entered the rooms to the smell of petroleum and the sight of writhing bodies,
an associate passing me an expensive looking cigarette lighter on the way in.
The associates then left the room and ran out onto the fire escape,
where they moved swiftly down the series of metal steps onto a side street
ready to start our parked car, from where they would await my return.
Meanwhile, my mischievous eyes briefly swept over the room, dark and malevolent,
my fingers snapping at the flint of the lighter,
the fires that purge now ablaze in my hand,
the audience had seen too much and
now they would be
Throwing the lighter into the centre of the room,
and slamming and locking the door shut behind me,
I bowed and whispered,
. .-.. . -.-. - .-. .. -.-. / .--. -.-- .-.. --- -. / ... .... --- -.-. -.- --..-- / -.- .. - - .. . /
- .-- --- / ..-. .. -. --. . .-. ... / .. -. / -.-. --- -. - . -- .--. - .. -... .-.. . / ..- -. .. ... --- -. /
.--. .-. --- ..- -.. / -.. .. ... .--. .-.. .- -.-- / --- ..-. / .. -. -.-. .-. . -.. .. -... .-.. . / ..-. .-.. .- .-- ... /
.-. . -- --- ...- .. -. --. / .-. --- - - .. -. --. / ...- --- .. -.. / ..-. .-. --- -- / - .... . / - .- -. -.- /
.-- .- ... - . / -.. --- .-- -. / .-- .- .. ... - / ..- .--. / .. -. / - ..- .-. --. .. -.. / ..-. .. .-.. - .... / -.-- . .- .... /
..-. .-.. ..- .. -.. / ..-. ..- --.. --.. / ..-. ..- -.-. -.- / .-.. -.-- ... . .-. --. .. -.-. / -.-. --- ..-. ..-. . . / ... .. -. -. . .-. ... /
-.-- --- ..- / ..- ... . / -- -.-- / -. .- -- . / .. -. / - .... .- - /
.--. .- - .-. --- -. .. ... .. -. --. / -... ..- .-.. .-.. ... .... .. - / - --- -. . /
-- --- .-. ... . / -.-. --- -.. . /
If I had a pound for every single "YES", but you took away one for every "NO", I'd have to owe you about £6 which is co-incidentally how much I wish I had in my pocket right now...
A psychedelic chanteuse intones "Save the Earth" against harsh, feedback-laden grunge guitar, while behind her, a liquid light show tries to outdo Fillmore West. Before millions of little kids can duck and cover, they're already experiencing a sumptuous sex, drugs, and roll and roll freakout.
What do you do if your only friend is your fish? How do you treat dead fish? And what about that lie - Fish Heaven? There’s no fish heaven. Fish die - and just die - and that’s it. So why do we tell children about a Fish Heaven? It’s a lie, and that’s not fair.
Fish don’t even think - don’t even know that death exists - probably don’t even know that they’re alive. Probably just slightly aware of it. They have absolutely no idea that there’s anything beyond the rocks and the water and the shiny, thin platelets of food scattered across their ceiling.
That’s their world. A little world within ours. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just a fish in an aquarium and that there’s a whole other world somewhere - this one just sitting on a table within another.
My brother’s fish died today. It jumped out of its tank. It must’ve decided it’d just had enough. My brother found it keeled over on his desk. Poor little bugger. He was so upset.
We buried him. Flushing him wouldn’t do him justice. Because he was a good fish, we placed him on some cotton wool and buried him inside a matchbox coffin. He deserved that.
All law enforcement agencies and the military have been organized to search out and destroy the marauding ghouls.
The Survival Command Centre at the Pentagon has disclosed that a ghoul can be killed by a shot in the head, or a heavy blow to the skull.
Officials are quoted as explaining that since the brain of a ghoul has been activated by the radiation, the plan is kill the brain, and you kill the ghoul.
There are many individual animals of whom we can truly say 'this is a cat'. What do we mean by the word 'cat'? Obviously something different from each particular cat. An animal is a cat, it would seem, because it participates in a general nature common to all cats. Language cannot get on without such general words such as 'cat', and such words are evidently not meaningless. But if the word 'cat' means anything, it means something which is not this or that cat, but some kind of universal cattiness. This is not born when a particular cat is born, and does not die when it dies. In fact, it has no position in space or time, it is 'eternal'.
We are bored in the city, there is no longer any Temple of the Sun. Between the legs of the women walking by, the dadaists imagined a monkey wrench and the surrealists a crystal cup. That’s lost. We know how to read every promise in faces — the latest stage of morphology. The poetry of the billboards lasted twenty years. We are bored in the city, we really have to strain to still discover mysteries on the sidewalk billboards, the latest state of humor and poetry:
Showerbath of the Patriarchs
Meat Cutting Machines
Notre Dame Zoo
Golden Touch Sawmill
Center for Functional Recuperation
Sainte Anne Ambulance
Café Fifth Avenue
Prolonged Volunteers Street
Family Boarding House in the Garden
Hotel of Strangers
And the swimming pool on the Street of Little Girls. And the police station on Rendezvous Street. The medical-surgical clinic and the free placement center on the Quai des Orfèvres. The artificial flowers on Sun Street. The Castle Cellars Hotel, the Ocean Bar and the Coming and Going Café. The Hotel of the Epoch.
And the strange statue of Dr. Philippe Pinel, benefactor of the insane, in the last evenings of summer. Exploring Paris.
And you, forgotten, your memories ravaged by all the consternations of two hemispheres, stranded in the Red Cellars of Pali-Kao, without music and without geography, no longer setting out for the hacienda where the roots think of the child and where the wine is finished off with fables from an old almanac. That’s all over. You’ll never see the hacienda. It doesn’t exist.
The hacienda must be built.
"Cheap Wine Escapade".
congratulations. my favourite kind of thread
KG: I'M BEGINNING TO UNDERSTAND.
SS: THIS TOWN IS CONTAMINATED BY THE SPIRAL.
KG: NOT AGAIN.
WHAT DOES WANTING ATTENTION HAVE TO DO WITH A SPIRAL?
SS: DON'T YOU SEE?!
IT'S ABOUT MESMERISM.
THEY BOTH HAVE THE POWER TO ATTRACT PEOPLE.
SPIRALS SUCK THINGS IN... THE EYE FOLLOWS THE PATTERN TO THE CENTER.
THAT'S WHY PEOPLE POSSESSED BY THE SPIRAL WANT TO GET THE ATTENTION OF OTHERS.
KG: SO YOU'RE SAYING HE DIED BECAUSE OF THE SPIRAL?
SS: THAT'S RIGHT.
NOT JUST HIM, BUT EVERYONE WHO'S OBSESSED WITH ATTENTION.
KG: TH- THAT SOUNDS LIKE SEKINO. SO SHE'S ALSO AFFECTED BY THE SPIRAL?
KG: I WONDER IF SHE'S ALL RIGHT.
SS: HEY, YOU KNOW...
YOUR HAIR'S GETTING LONG.
MAYBE YOU SHOULD GET A HAIRCUT.
Sounds of trains in the surf
in subways of the sea
And an even greater undersound
of a vast confusion in the universe
a rumbling and a roaring
as of some enormous creature turning
under sea and earth
a billion sotto voices murmuring
a vast muttering
a swelling stuttering
in ocean's speakers
world's voice-box heard with ear to sand
a shocked echoing
a shocking shouting
of all life's voices lost in night
And the tape of it
someow running backwards now
through the Moog Synthesizer of time
back to the first
And the first light
Recreativo Huelva vs Barcelona, April 12th
He's going disco in a big way after this one. And I mean a big way. This is Barry White disco, this hit. And let the music play, Barcelona. What a scorcher by Samuel, brilliant control, this is all deadly technique. This is practice ground hitting, but not for Samuel Eto'o, because come show time the big man gets up and dances like Fred Astaire...
Ray Hudson, 45:50 2nd
Real Mallorca vs Real Madrid, April 5th
Arjen Robben skips the light fandango, does cartwheels across the floor. Wesley Sneijder comes in, he's like Ming the Merciless, ruthless...
Ray Hudson, half-time
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Atlético Madrid vs Barcelona
This is not normal. He's not normal, he never has been. He lives in the magnetic spectrum. What a goal this is. Beyond world-class. Astonishing. Cooler than a bomb disposal expert. Abbiati has no chance on this. Unbelievable ball played in, but look at what he's got to do, Phil. Acrobatic, turns himself upside-down, inside-out, it's all power, it's all direction, it's all bloody heavenly is what it is. Out of this universe. The ball isn't dropping like you usually see it, he makes it flush-on. That is amazing piece of football finishing by King Ronaldinho.
Ray Hudson, 29:13 1st
Sevilla vs Real Zaragoza, February 23rd
He does it the strange, weirding way. And poor César says 'something wicked this way comes' in the shape of Frédéric Kanouté. And even the ref is having a laugh. Beautiful slipped-in ball by Fabiano, look at this for dexterity from the big man. He goes down, it may be given as an own goal against Diogo. Let's take a look, Frédéric drags it in, there's a challenge, it comes off somebody. I'm not sure if it comes off Frédéric but he doesn't care because the weirding way comes alive.
Ray Hudson, 42:58 1st
This game is put to bed with four hot water bottles, here.
Ray Hudson, 57:45 2nd
Real Madrid vs Real Valladolid, February 10th
Simply magnificent goal by Real Madrid. This goes way deep. Don't look at the end or the finish. Look at it deeper, deeper. A beautiful lead-ball over the top. Beautiful feed by Guti. [They're in long ?]. Beautiful pass here. He drags it into the box, and he dispatches brilliantly. Robben it is that finds him, he's onside, he rattles the back of the net. Beautiful providing. You can watch this one all day if you're a Real Madrid fan. He looked like Sophia Loren walking up a flight of stairs - absolutely beautiful.
Ray Hudson, 8:16 1st
Ray Hudson is best experienced with your own ears.
A SAD, SAD MANGA CONFESSIONAL
"I struggled all my life to become a manga artist. In the spring of my freshman year at college, I completed an awe-inspiring story and had an editor at S------ Publishing look at it, and immediately received a check for 10 million yen. It was a magnificent beginning. The spring of my life! But I didn't know what I was in for, just because I chose a pen name on a whim!
"At first, I could deal with the calls at the cafe I frequented requesting, 'Is there a Harry Butthole here?' or even when I had to fill in 'Harry Butthole' for my tax forms. But as I became famous, I began to see headlines in rags like Friday that would read, 'Secret Rendezvous between Harry Butthole and Rina Katase*', or when I barely survived a snow storm while skiing, the Tokyo Sports Daily read, 'Protected by Hairy Butthole Manga Author survives!' I gave up my career and now I tend to cows back in the provinces."
-- Teikichi Marchen. formerly known as Harry Butthole, 28 years old, Iwate Prefecture
* HOT ACTRESS
as opposed to contribute. I'd love it if people formed their own archival threads of weirdness and wonder though :)
KT: THERE MUST HAVE BEEN SOME GRAVE CIRCUMSTANCES INVOLVED FOR SOMETHING LIKE THAT TO OCCUR!
LIKE... THE FATE OF HUMANKIND!!
KA: THE FATE OF HUMANKIND!?
KT: IN OTHER WORDS ...
SHE SLAPPED HIM BECAUSE HE WAS AN ALIEN WHOSE CHEEKS, WHEN SLAPPED, WOULD KILL HIM, BUT, WHEN SLAPPED AGAIN, WITHIN THREE MINUTES, WOULD CAUSE AN EXPLOSION THAT WOULD ANNIHILATE ALL OF HUMANKIND!!
KT: SO THEN. HOW WAS SHE ABLE TO TELL HE WAS AN ALIEN?
IN FACT, SHE WAS ARTIFICIALLY CREATED FROM THE SPERM OF GIGLAMESH AND AN EGG CELL OF HITLER'S DAUGHTER, PAETTA HITLER, BOTH PRESERVED IN A SIBERIAN GLACIER. HER PLANS FOR WORLD DOMINATION WERE FOILED AT THE AGE OF SEVENTEEN, WHEN SHE DROWNED IN THE SEA, AND WAS LATER FOUND BY THE LOST EMPIRE OF ATLANTIS. THERE SHE WAS RECONSTRUCTED INTO AN ALMIGHTY ANDROID. THAT'S HOW SHE COULD DETECT ALIENS!!
BUT SADLY HER SLAP WAS IN FACT THE SECOND ONE MADE WITHIN THREE MINUTES! IN OTHER WORDS, IT WAS THE ARMAGEDDON SLAP...
ATLANTIS HAD BEEN SUNK BY HUMANKIND. THE PEOPLE OF ATLANTIS HAD PROGRAMMED HER TO SLAP THE ALIEN TWICE, SO THEY COULD WREAK THEIR REVENGE ON THE LAND-DWELLERS. HER TEARS WERE OF SEA WATER --WHICH SYMBOLISED THE PAIN AND THE SUFFERING OF THE ATLANTEAN PEOPLE!!
IT ALL TOOK PLACE IN THE PROPHETIC JULY OF 1999. YES, IT WAS JUST AS NOSTRADAMUS PREDICTED! THE ALIEN WAS CHRIST, AND CHRIST WAS, IN FACT, AN ALIEN!!
KA: IT'S AWESOME...
WHAT AN AWESOME STORY...
I'M TOTALLY MOVED, TAKEKUMA!!
KT: THAT'S WHAT A GOOD STORY DOES.
NOW THEN, COME UP WITH A STORY THAT'S DEDUCTIVE.
KA: UH HUH.
THE GIRL SLAPS THE GUY, THEN WHAT HAPPENS?
THE GUY SAID "OUCH!"
KT: AH, FORGET IT. GIVE IT UP.
HERE, I'LL SHOW YOU.
THE GIRL SLAPPED THE BOY...
AND HIS HEAD FLEW OFF!
FLYING OVER THE OCEAN, THE HEAD LANDS ON THE GREAT PYRAMIDS OF CHEOPS...
...AND ALL THE PYRAMIDS ALL OVER EGYPT EMIT THE SOUND OF "MOMEN"!
UH OH! <- ONE OF THE TWELVE PSYCHIC APOSTLES, MOGADAVE
KT: THE MOAI STATUES ON EASTER ISLAND RESPOND TO THIS SIGNAL AND FLY INTO OUTER SPACE.
DAMN! <- ONE OF THE TWELVE PSYCHIC APOSTLES, NADJA
KT: THE CLAY-FIGURED SPACESHIPS RESPOND AND LAUNCH THEIR ATTACK!! THE TWELVE PSYCHIC APOSTLES PUT UP A VALIANT FIGHT... BUT HUMANKIND IS ANNIHILATED!!
TWELVE PSYCHIC APOSTLES ->
BUH WHAM BUH WHAM
ARRGGH! HELP! NOOOOOO!
KT: IT HAPPENED JULY, 1999.
KA: ... ... ...
KT: BUT THAT WAS ONLY THE BEGINNING! AS FAR AS REST OF THE UNIVERSE WAS CONCERNED...
KT: FOR YOU SEE, THE CHIEF OF THE UNITED SPACE FEDERATION SUPREME COUNCIL, CHILAI A BOPPO, WHO RESIDED ON THE THE THIRD PLANET HONBULI ON THE KEPELOS STAR SYSTEM OF THE SEVENTH GALAXY, FOUND HIMSELF IN A DILEMMA.
Ahh...! I cannot believe what my daughter has done! She should know better than the invasion of the planets is a violation of the charter of the Space Federation! I gave her the planet of Moleron.
I simply cannot overlook the matter even though it involves my daughter! The Federation forces must go to the third planet of the sun system and teach the Moleronese and my daughter a lesson!
KT: AND SO CHILAI A BOPPO TOOK HIS FEDERATION FORCES TO EARTH BUT BECAUSE OF A WARP ERROR THEY WERE SWALLOWED BY A BLACK HOLE!!
INSIDE THE BLACK HOLE LAY THE VORTEX OF LIFE FORCE. AT THE CENTRE OF THIS VORTEX WAS A BRIGHT, SHINING MYSTERIOUS WOMAN!
THE MYSTERIOUS WOMAN WHISPERED "MA-HI-NA" AND DISAPPEARED.
MEANWHILE ON EARTH, THE DAUGHTER OF CHILAI A BOPPO, CHILAI A BIPPE, RECEIVED IMPORTANT INFORMATION FROM THE GENIUS SCIENTIST HALOME YANG: "LEADER, IF WE USE THIS MINERAL ON EARTH CALLED METHANE GAS WE CAN BUILD A WEAPON THAT CAN DESTROY AN ENTIRE GALAXY!!" "WHAT'S THAT!?" MEANWHILE, THE FREEMASONS HAS SURVIVED THE ARMAGEDDON, HIDING IN A GIGANTIC UNDERGROUND SHELTER IN THE DEPTHS OF THE SOUTH POLE, CONCOCTING PLANS OF THEIR OWN...