0 3 / 0 8 / 0 7:
'p r o j e c t i l e l a c t a t i o n o f t h e n e t h e r r e g i o n s'

 

"free will is the predictability of personality. with life being inherently meaningless, death too is equally senseless. suicide therefore doesn’t change anything. the only option is to surf on entropy, and make the most of whatever predicament one plunges into. life and death are no time to be practical. every flower is descended from a weed, and all flames are hollow."

- gx jupitter larsen (the haters)

for those of you in london who don't already know, there is a new rough trade shop, just off brick lane. whether first strike in a new war on the fascistic march of the mp3, or last brave hoorah and fuck you before the inevitable death of the artefact, it doesn't matter. go there now, buy things, go home, listen to them, h o l d t h e m i n y o u r h a n d s.

so, hostess elisabeth and myself are sitting in the s&m cafe, islington, enjoying our bangers 'n' mash, and what, you may ask, are they playing on the stereo? the theme tune from casualty. no, really. is this meant to inspire excitement in the clientele? excitement at the thought of physical harm? of seeing physical harm done to another? of pappy, poorly written drama? what's next, black beauty in the supermarket? catchphrase in the pub? perhaps a more appropriate song for the s&m cafe might be this monumentally annoying little ditty: "daddy, would you like some sausage?"

gave myself quite a fright this week by opening the dishwasher while it was still going. shouldn't they make it so you can't do that? y'know, like they do with washing machines? it was like some medieval vision of hell, in a box. it was all steamy and hot, it spat at me. i may have screamed like a girl.
...
but then perhaps 'dish washer' is an incorrect term to describe the apparatus, perhaps 'coater of cutlery, plates and glasses with a white powdery residue-er' might be more accurate.

"if, before every action, we were to begin by weighing up the consequences, thinking about them in earnest, first the immediate consequences, then the probable, then the possible, then the imaginable ones, we should never move beyond the point where our first thought brought us to a halt."

- from 'blindness' by josé saramago

before university broke up, the lecturers were pushing a writing competition organised by the women's library. the subject of submissions was to be 'what women want'. and many were the eye-rolling suggestions as to what my fellow students would submit. one chap suggested that he might, by using a thesaurus and several foreign language to english dictionaries construct a concrete poem, out of as many different versions of the word 'cock' that he could find, the shape of the poem of course representative of this word. another fellow student thought she might write a piece connecting abortion with a women's right to be beaten should she so choose. sadly, for one reason and another, neither of these pieces were submitted. my piece, which was submitted, was something of a jokey reaction to the idea that any one person or piece of writing, could describe 'what women want', because callmeoldfashioned, call me a rabid callmanholecoverswomenholecovers feminist, but aren't women individuals not merely described by their uteruses? no? would the competition have been run if the subject was 'what black people want'? no, of course not, nor should it have been. it's ridiculous. it seemed to me that what women in general want could only be explained in very broad (no pun intended) terms, thus my piece, which is pretty tame, chiefly sarcastic, far from literary or clever, but seemed like a good idea at the time (and has not been selected for inclusion in the exhibition -funny that) feel free to skip this should it bore you by clicking here, it does go on a bit:

regard

(exclamation of surprise, wonder, satisfaction etc.)
the thing that the receiver of this composition desires,
(exclamation of surprise, wonder, satisfaction etc.)
small infant, is possessed by me.
(exclamation of surprise, wonder, satisfaction etc.)
the thing that the receiver of this composition must have,
(exclamation of surprise, wonder, satisfaction etc.)
are you aware that i possess it?
(exclamation of surprise, wonder, satisfaction etc.)
the sum of my request,
(exclamation of surprise, wonder, satisfaction etc.)
would be that you pay me some regard at the time that you arrive back to your dwelling of choice (merely a small amount).
exclamation of greeting small infant (merely a small amount) at the time that you arrive back to your dwelling of choice (merely a small amount) conventional title of respect for a man (merely a small amount).

it is not my intention to ever betray the receiver of this composition during the period that they are elsewhere,
not to betray them (exclamation of surprise, wonder, satisfaction etc.) due to the fact that it is not my desire to do so (exclamation of surprise, wonder, satisfaction etc.).
the sum of my request (exclamation of surprise, wonder, satisfaction etc.),
would be that you pay me some small regard at the time that you arrive back to your dwelling of choice (merely a small amount).
small infant (merely a small amount) at the time that you arrive back to your dwelling of choice (merely a small amount) informal affirmation in the positive (merely a small amount).

soon the entirety of the currency which belongs to me will be presented to the receiver of this composition.
moreover the sum that i request by way of an exchange, sweet, viscid fluid produced by bees,
would be to pay unto myself the pecuniary gain owed to me,
at the time that you arrive back to your dwelling of choice (merely a, merely a, merely a, merely a).
informal affirmation in the positive small infant (merely a, merely a, merely a, merely a).
at the time that you arrive back to your dwelling of choice (merely a small amount),
informal affirmation in the positive (merely a small amount).

exclamation of surprise, wonder, satisfaction etc., the touchings of the receiver of this composition's lips to another surface for the purposes of the expression of affection, (exclamation of surprise, wonder, satisfaction etc.)
are of greater sugariness when compared to the sweet, viscid fluid produced by bees.
moreover i invite you to make a supposition regarding my next utterance. (exclamation of surprise, wonder, satisfaction etc.)
the currency which belongs to me is also of greater sugariness when compared to the sweet, viscid fluid produced by bees (exclamation of surprise, wonder, satisfaction etc.).
the sum of my request with regard to your forthcoming actions (exclamation of surprise, wonder, satisfaction etc.) in service of myself,
would be that you present it unto myself at the time that you arrive back at your dwelling of choice (re, re, re, re).
informal affirmation in the positive small infant (re, re, re, re).
to jerk or catapult the as yet not fully specified token of endearment in my direction, (regard, merely a small amount)
at the time that you arrive back at your dwelling of choice, currently (merely a small amount).

i call to your attention the constituent letters of the word which describes aptly the regard to which i have previously requested that you use when interacting with myself.
discover the signification this word has in my understanding.
i call to your attention the constituent letters of the word which describes aptly the regard to which i have previously requested that you use when interacting with myself.
pick up concern, an acronym which stands for the order or the assertion that affairs of import are being seen to satisfactorily.

exclamation of surprise, wonder, satisfaction etc. (i ask that a unisex stocking-like apparel should be delivered unto myself in a colloquial sense x 4).
a small amount of regard (i ask that a unisex stocking-like apparel should be delivered unto myself in a colloquial sense x 4).
informal exclamation often used to stop a horse, infant or a colloquially sexually attractive female (merely a small amount).
a small amount of regard.
exhaustion overcomes me sometimes (merely a small amount),
do not stop in your attempts (merely a small amount).
you will soon have exhausted your reservoirs of obfuscation (merely a small amount),
moreover it is not a falsehood which i utter (merely a small amount)
(re, re, re, re) 'gard.
at the time that you arrive back at your dwelling of choice (re, re, re ,re).
alternatively it may be that you perambulate to the point where you are not without (regard, merely a small amount),
then in addition discover that my personage has vacated the area (merely a small amount).
it is imperative that my personage possesses (merely a small amount),
a small amount of regard (merely a small amount).


(empty)

glastonbury was exactly how you imagine it to be from no doubt having gloated over the media coverage from your warm, dry armchair. i shall use one word and leave it at that. that one word is torrential. saw some good bands though, arcade fire, editors (who, despite what the venerable gude says, do not sound like coldplay. everyone knows that chris martin sings like he's got the hiccups, whilst tom smith sings like he's the deaf kid in school who no one liked) and we were also lucky enough to see the stooges, together with the ensuing stage invasion. the journey back from glastonbury though, on the wettest june day on record, was quite a task of endurance. dismantling the tent in the pouring rain was a bad start that only grew worse as we stopped at the popham diner for hostess elisabeth to change out of her pajamas, only to find the toilets closed "because they were vandalised yesterday". so the pajamas saw us all the way home. the popham diner was a bleak fucking place. ran by two disinterested looking eastern europeans, it was a bare room with plastic seating and a menu that consisted of three things maximum, scrawled in biro on scraps of paper sellotaped to the walls. grim.
...
as we neared home i spied a car sticker: 'real men love jesus'. i'm sorry, i thought, has the driver of this car just 'outed' jesus?

believe it or not, diggerland really exists. be afraid. i'd jokily suggest we go there but i think mr. roast would be a little too keen.

"trying to locate the girls' exact pain is like the self-examination doctors urge us to make (we've reached that age). on a regular basis, we're forced to explore with clinical detachment our most private pouch and, pressing it, impress ourselves with its anatomical reality: two turtle eggs bedded in a nest of tiny sea grapes, with tubes snaking in and out, knobbed with nodules of gristle. we're asked to find in this dimly mapped place, amid naturally occurring clots and coils, upstart invaders. we never realized how many bumps we had until we went looking. and so we lie on our backs, probing, recoiling, probing again, and the seeds of death get lost in the mess god gave us."

- from 'the virgin suicides' by jeffrey eugenides

a great expression: 'ideologically promiscuous' -discuss, adopt, get t-shirts printed etc.

interesting new spam approach:
...
"hello my friend!
i am ready to kill myself and eat my dog, if medicine prices here (url) are bad.
look, the site and call me 1-800 if its wrong..
my dog and I are still alive :)"
...
how indeed one could eat one's dog after having committed suicide is anyone's guess, some form of zombie cross species carnivorousness perhaps?

we took the cat to the vets to see to her growing catalogue of ailments. a sign up in the reception area read missing, black cat, answers to the name 'godot'. um, irony anyone?
...
the suspicion that our cat is diabetic forced the issue of a urine sample. using a non absorbent, plastic cat litter, a draft of said piss was duly decanted and delivered to the vets. when i handed it over to the receptionist she asked me "did the vet ask you to bring this in?" i'm not sure i've ever been asked a more stupid question. i mean, what did she expect me to say, "no, i just thought you might fancy a drop"?
...
turns out the cat has (deep breath): diabetes, hair loss (likely due to the diabetes), arthritis, fleas (which she picked up from my sister's ratty cats) and worms (which she got from the fleas). she's really just a shambling bag of disease in a patchy fur coat. if she were a building she'd be condemned.

trust me when i say that three of the most terrifying words in the english language are 'wacky', 'timmy' and mallet'.

following literally months of misleading, inaccurate and downright w r o n g forecasts, i think it's high time that performance related pay was introduced for weathermen.
...
"weatherman said rain. if you get paid that kind of money for being wrong sixty percent of the time, it beat working."

-special agent dale cooper, twin peaks

at last, another rare occasion where the christian establishment show their true backward thinking, retarded colours.

i mean, just look at his stupid, inbred grinning fucking face. could you ever tire of punching that? not convinced i could. the real problem is though, that this bloke isn't the problem, the real problem is his colleagues who think the same way he does but are too afraid to say so. get them out of the retard closet i say, go on fellas, tell the world just how ridiculous you truly are.

the perceived 'innocence' of childhood takes a richly deserved kicking. why do we feel the need endlessly romanticise nature? this kind of debunking can only do us good; next stop the retardation orgy that is the concept of purity? we can but hope.

and so another new whitehouse album, 'racket', is breech born into the world. and this one's even more percussive, easily outstripping the cheeky, 28 minuter 'astheticisis 2006' in both breadth of sound and pure balls-out-shit-on-the-living-room-carpet extremity (though it still only just nudges a little further towards half an hour mark). some tracks still retain the 'time-stretching' effect incorporated into the whitehouse sound during the 'mummy and daddy' era, but this new record takes things much further and in often surprising directions. for a large part anyway 'racket' isn't even really 'noise' (in the strictest 'distortion only' sense), chiefly utilising looped percussion, the use, and let's be honest abuse, of african instruments such as djembes and doundouns. but fear not, whitehouse haven't gone all peter gabriel on us, nor have they gone all techno. no, anyone foolish enough to try and dance to this record is liable to do themselves a serioius mischief. the soft option this ain't. this is still some of the most brutal and extreme music you'll hear anywhere; together with some of the most agressively 'ambient'. purists may balk at the development in sound but since when has progession been a bad thing? didn't they plow that same high pitchedsqueal furrow for long enough? 'racket' is both a sea change and a reminder that when they put their minds to it, whitehouse can still piss all over the opposition. so, different yes, but also fucking great. -fear not nay sayers and industrial reactionaries, remember, should you wince at change, we'll always have 'i'm comin' up your ass'.

"do i look like i have on my forehead, do i look like i have on my face, complain here, and rip me off?"

-the fall, 'the acute' [from the album 'are you are missing winner']

our new chair! gub bless ebay. the venerable gude remarked that it was very futuristic and asked whether we were going to take it in turns to sit in it and say "warp factor nine mr. sulu".

finally some hip hop i can get on board with.

the fucking recessed ceiling lights in the flat are failing one at a time. the epidemic started in the kitchen and one by one, like lemmings of myth and legend, they're all following suit. most recently it's been the turn of the light over the bathroom mirror... on a completely unconnected note, it's amazing how young i've been looking of late... in fact, my god, i'm gorgeous.

worst, most embarrassing lyric heard for a fucking dog's age, from interpol's 'rest my chemistry': "you look so young, like a daisy in my lazy eye" um, o dear.

this weekend i found myself uttering the following sentence: "there's a big difference between baking a cake and driving a car." my god, i'm a genius.

"we are so afraid of the idea of having to die, said the doctor's wife, that we always try to find excuses for the dead, as if we were asking beforehand to be excused when it is our turn"

- from 'blindness' by josé saramago

hostess elisabeth has now undergone her second series of spinal injections, though this time they only did one side for some reason no one seems to be able to explain to our satisfaction. i'll say it again, if we had money, we wouldn't be subject to every corner cutting whimsical lily-livered cunt in a white coat that the nhs could throw at us. we'd be in charge instead of just being lowly cuntstomers. while she was undergoing the procedure i took the time to eat my packed lunch in the waiting room. the receptionist then came over and asked me to eat it outside as i was surrounded by starving patients who'd been told not to eat after 9 the previous night. there they were, no doubt salivating over my peanut butter and marmite sandwiches... oops. so, anyhoo, hostess elisabeth has time off work to recover... and manages to contract laryngitis. when she coughs it's reminiscent of a rusty trumpet spitting out a whistle onto wet gravel. it actually tightens my chest to hear it.

yesterday i found myself at ikea stroking a bumerang. i think there may be something seriously wrong with me.

a man after my own heart. give him a fucking medal, not a prison sentence.

another fantastic, and much recommended, evening of cabaret and masked wrestling mania at lucha britannia brought with it this time, along with the excitement and thrills of the ring, a somewhat unexpected experience, not to mentioned another kid of 'ring' altogether. we've seen magicians as the interval acts, we've seen burlesque dancers, comedians... this time however it was to be something different. in between bouts, the wrestling ring was decked out for the next cabaret act, a decking out which consisted of a large artificial cow, replete with rubber glove udders, copious plastic sheeting, a tub of margarine and a large rubber dildo stuck to a wooden stool. on came the performer, who was introduced as 'mouse', dressed as a milkmaid. it soon became clear that underwear and mouse were strangers to one another. the margarine was 'employed' and the stool/dildo combination duly sat on and shoved in respectively. a certain amount of bouncing up and down was entered into, with not inconsiderable gusto. she then got naked very quickly. more margarine. now on all fours, her e n t i r e h a n d was inserted into herself. it was at this point i realised that this young lady would never have made it through the qualifying rounds of opportunity knocks. then the funnels appeared. large, plastic funnels. these were inserted into her- well, we'll just say into her, and a carton of milk was then poured in. out came the funnel and 'mouse' then proceeded, by facility of some kind of kegal exertion, to squirt said milk at the audience. this operation was then repeated w i t h h e r a r s e. it's amazing the sheer volume of milk that a slight young lady's backside can accommodate; not to mention the distance it can then squirt it, the sphincter part-prolapsed into a kind of puckered fountain of sainsbury's semi-skimmed. 'mouse' left the ring to cheers, jeers and general amused incredulity;there she goes, the faces of the crowd seemed to say, we shall not see her like again... if we're lucky. i left that night with a series of mental images i shall never be able to erase but with a feeling that i had created a memory, a memory that i could regale the grand kids with. not my grandkids you understand, someone else's.

the bathroom bulb has now been replaced. let there be light. turns out i'm not gorgeous after all. o well.

recommended: (audio) 'racket' -cd- by whitehouse / (comestible) rabot estate 72% baton, from hotel chocolat / (visual) lucha britannia! / (sensorial) being in a club with no one smoking!

reviled: (audio) hostess elisabeth's soul-grating cough / (comestible) earl grey tea / (visual) a spitting dishwasher / (sensorial) the mess left of the roof of my mouth after the over indulgence of sherbert pips

and finally, some great, almost dickensian spam begging:

"from: madam susan cole.

here writes madam susan cole, suffering from
cancerous ailment.

when my late husband was alive he deposited
the sum of 10million (ten million pounds sterling)
which were derived from his vast estates and
investment in capital market with his security company
here in europe . presently, this money is still with the
security company. recently, my doctor told me that i have
limited days to live due to the cancerous problems
i am suffering from.

though what bothers me most is the stroke that
i have in addition to the cancer. with this
hard reality that has befallen my family, and
me i have decided to donate this fund to you
and want you to use this gift which comes
from my husbands effort to fund the upkeep of
widows, widowers, orphans, destitute, the
down-trodden, physically challenged children,
barren-women and persons who prove to be
genuinely handicapped financially.

i want you to stand as the new beneficiary to the
funds. as soon as i receive your reply i shall
give you the contact of the security company in europe.
i will also issue you a letter of authority that will
empower you as the new beneficiary of this fund.
my happiness is that i lived a life worthy
of emulation. please always be prayerful all
through your life. please assure me that you
will act just as i have stated herein.

it is often said that blessed is the hand that
giveth. i took this decision because i do not
have any child that will inherit this money
and my husband relatives are bourgeois and very
wealthy persons and i do not want my husband
hard earned money to be misused or invested
into ill perceived ventures. i do not want a
situation where this money will be used in an
ungodly manner, hence the reason for taking
this bold decision. i am not afraid of death
hence i know where i am going. i know that i
am going to be with the almighty when i
eventually pass on. the almighty will fight
my case and i shall hold my peace. i do not
need any telephone communication in this regard
due to my deteriorating health and because of
the presence of my husband relatives around me.
i do not want them to know about this development.
with god all things are possible.

hope to hear from you soon and god bless you
and members of your family.

please send all emails to my private confidential
emails below:

yours sincerely
madam susan cole."

what a nice, clearly non-fraudulent woman... where do i sign?