July 25th, 2004
July 9th, 2004
|03:56 pm - Chinkle Chankle....|
On that bitter sentiment I shall proceed to be loathesome.....
Well, a friend and I who will remain nameless decided to watch "Equus" the other day, that insane theatre production about a boy who blinds six horses in the eye because they are watching him have sex. He also ties a string bridle round his head and jerks off to a picture of a white horse above his head, saying "Equuus!!! Son of Nequus!!! Begat Spankus, who begat Spunkus, who begat Flankus, who begat Chinkle Chankle!!!!!..."....
Indeed, it was most entertaining, if it wasn't for Richard Burton going a bit crazy at the end.
Moral of the Story: PARENTS!!!! DONT READ THE BIBLE TO YOUR CHILDREN IF THEY ARE INTO PONY-PLAY!!!
Yesterday was spent on my ass at my PC, doing my photography coursework, and attempting to upload some photographs from my scanner disk and found that lo! behold! I am not Sparticus.....all the photographs came up negative. How kooky is that? I mean, not that I've signed up for the Hare Krishnas or anything but its kinda being a spiritual breakthrough....almost. Not only do I have exhibit A: Post-mortem portraits (sat for by my long-suffering friends Jae and Bitch, I appreciate it guys...and oh, yeah, Bitch...did you manage to get your eye to focus again after the little 'Five-pence-for-the-boatman' accident? If not then I've heard cybernetic implants are the new black among certain circles....)
to finish the longest sentence in the pub, ah, I mean The World....exhibit B: "Photographs of Ghosts from the Wesleyan Chapel Fire of 1886..."....They look more like voo-doo priests in Lord Byron nighties, but if you can forgive that....ill have a 2/1 thankyou, Ma'am!
I'm thinking of doing a "carnival of horrors" themed exhibition for my other coursework....y know, like jars of intestines and remnants from that film "Freaks"? If anyones got any ideas on how to construct the second Fiji mermaid, please, let me know.
Well, I'm buggering off now, so toodle pips, kiddies xxx
|03:52 pm - Moose|
Yeah you you big fat moose. With your silly face and your long shaggy fur, oh, moose, why do you have to be so periferous, and not sexy, like a Yak?like Jack, or carry Sharwood's Baltu curries from Quicksave in your Santa's sack? Oh, Moose, why are you so......
STOP THIS FUCKING SHIT WILL YOU.
Current Mood: hyper
Current Music: The Casualty themetune, in my head
June 29th, 2004
|05:25 pm - Well, I'll be buggered...|
What kind of disease are you?
The Absinthe Prince:
The Absinthe Prince is caused by bacteria.
The Absinthe Prince disease is characterized by a sudden craving for hats. As a food source.
To cure The Absinthe Prince, build a lemur colony in your bathroom.
The Feds are onto me.
|04:56 pm - Random Incoherence|
Yesterday I decided to wear a pair of antlers on my head. I dont know why, Ive been drinking since coming off the meds, way too much. I never seen kids move so fast since, not since i last kicked one anyway ;)
I have a house, and it doesn't spontaneously combust. I think it might be haunted. The bathroom door keeps locking from the inside and there's an on-going conspiracy surrounding a pool of water around the jimmy-john and I haven't got a Fat Irish of a clue where its coming from. Is it ectoplasmic fluid? Please, dont watch japanese horror films. they will only make you feel silly.
The neighborhood is what you could call "semetic". An old Indian granny from next door insists on accompany her off-shooting child to point and stare at me through the french doors while sipping my green tea of a sunday morning. Its hard to concentrate on common politics or the incarnadine laws of fiction writing when been trapped in a 1984 syndrome. Im glad channel 4 are not in Big Brother mode at the moment. They should be paying me. I really should stop drinking kava kava. It does nothing for my kidneys. i lit a hibiscus cone, filtered out the shit from the tray and sat back, Jack Sparrow curled up on my knee, watching the walls come alive. There is a perfect unity in nothing. and nothing is absolute.
I think I shall give up writing. Iris Murdoch would agree.
Also, can anyone tell me where to get Anna Sui perfume from, the one in the blackcurrent coloured bottle that smells like oriental spices and very girly things?
And don't say E-bay.
Card? stick it on my tab, Mum.
Current Mood: aggravated
Current Music: Stiff Little Fingers
June 21st, 2004
|08:27 pm - The Cure|
And once again and not in vain.....Me: 1, Yahoo Search Bot: 0. Thinking I needed a quick dose of the luvverly Mr. Smith being all flowery and racoon-eyed in a floral print dress your worship decided to try and type "The Cure" into the Yahoo image search and lo! behold! Look what the Great Jehovah brought me.....
And now, after that disturbing interlude from the normal functioning of my post-pubescent brain, here he is, the real Cure....
Lovely, isn't he? Thankyou, Alta Vista for not pissing in the rain.
Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: Killing Joke-Intravenous
June 18th, 2004
|06:24 pm - Get Under The Carpet!!!!!!|
Mick Mercer, you missed something. I've just watched Gormenghast for the millionth time and have noticed something, how like the House of Usher is it, and why do all Gothic epics have to have a house at the centrefold, especially a house that is run by nutty inhabitants and someway manifests its own ancient power in the form of imprisonining the inhabitants, because they prise possessions and titles too much or else they imprison themselves in the house? And why do they have all these little bizarre rituals they have to keep to? Think Castle of Ontrario. Think House of Usher and the Amityville horror. Think the wall in Johnny the Homicidal Maniac (i said MOCK ok?)....could it be, on observation that we indeed can bestow magickal evil powers to our houses/possessions if we inhabit them too long or are too greedy? If so, does this mean that my taxidermy and my beloved pink articles will infact conspire to eat me and kill me and take my soul if I love them too much? Am I gonna karmically devolve down the chain of reincarnation when I die for coveting this and coveting that? Does my house have eyes and make pig noises? I am becoming like Steerpike and Roderick and all the others, giving into the powers that weild and beg to be coveted, I am just like a book in Barquentine's library, just one of Lady Groan's cats....I may think I am an anarchist but I am infact a commercial sell-out whore and a slave to the giro.
Perhaps I should take the advice of a certain Ikea loving german friend of mine who says "little is more" and burn everything. Maybe the jet engine fell on Donnie's roof because HE COVETED HIS CD COLLECTION JUST A LITTLE TOO MUCH.
Grandma Death tells him "we all die alone". Damnit, Raziel, my beautiful stuffed bird, I wanted us to die together...well, again, on your part I suppose...
I had a dream last night about the Amazon. In my dream i faced my fears of flying water slugs and cannibals to climb to the top of a waterfall in the amazon that had urine trickling out of a rock shute. Naked Brazillian women were jumping up and down and drawing patterns on my naked torso. I also had to lug black bin bags from place to place. Even in dreams, I covet.
A thought...why does Edgar Allen Poe have an obsession with bricking people up in the wall? Do you reckon Mervyn Peake's watched Cannibal Holocaust?
Current Mood: lethargic
Current Music: Velvet Acid Christ-Fun With Knives
June 14th, 2004
|02:52 pm - Death of a Clown|
Malachy, blond, beautiful, infuriating and anarchistic ceased to drink vodka and rant about asylum seekers on this day Monday 14th June 2004. Cause of Death was a schizoid giant bunny called Frank, an electric egg whisk, Jack Sparrow and a lot of savlon. He will be sorely missed by his snake, the many cats that followed him in the street, the many children who pointed and laughed at his clothes in the street and asked their mothers "Mum, what is it?" and also the many mothers who answered dutifully back "I'm buggered if I know".
his body will be cadaverously on display in the Rue de Morgue du Scunthorpe on Sunday for passing exhibitionists and post-mortem photography loving freaks. Then Damien Hirst will cut him into bits and staple him to the Tate gallery front doors. He lived for art and he died for art. He will be fabled and immortalised in wax and black and white stripes in the London Dungeons. Audrey Hepburn is the only VIP allowed to kiss his corpse. Except Geaorge Bush, who may firmly kiss his tight punker ass.
Malachy...you were....something. We will miss you.
Rest in Pieces xx
Current Mood: dead & lovin' it
Current Music: The Misfits- Die, Die my Darling
May 26th, 2004
|06:06 pm - what the f**k?|
Current Mood: amused