0 7 / 0 4 / 0 5:
't h e r a p e o f t h e w h i t e h a r t'


"query: how [to] contrive not to waste one's time? answer: by being fully aware of it all the while. ways in which this can be done: by spending one's days on an uneasy chair in a dentist's waiting-room; by remaining on one's balcony all of a sunday afternoon; by listening to lectures in a language one doesn't know; by travelling by the longest and least-convienient train routes, and of course standing all the way; by lining up at the box-office of theatres and then not buying a seat; and so forth."

- from 'the plague' by albert camus

an outing in waterloo for mr. liles' birthday brings us all face to face with the rape of the white hart. a pub that was never, by any means, great but that was passable, did a great cajun chicken burger and emptied out at around 7ish to leave us lots of space in which to talk bollocks and drink. the white hart has been our meeting place for a number of years. no longer. now it's been changed into a low-rent hip-joint wannabe, with remodeled bar, purple walls, mini mirror balls and other stupid shit hanging from the ceiling and wall to wall wankers, each and every one of them shouting, literally shouting, inanities to all and sundry. two words: nathan barley. we didn't stay long...

...retreating, bewildered, to the nearby and rapidly renamed duke of sausage, we pulled ourselves together and settled down for a pleasant drink. karaoke, it could be argued, is civilisation's death rattle set to a poor imitation of music, and it was this modern day social aberration that descended on us at the duke of sausage. can there be no refuge? no sanctuary? why this phenomena thrives in a country as repressed and uptight as england i cannot fathom but i suppose the fact that it originated in japan, hardly the life and soul of the party etiquette-wise, is all the explanation that's needed. everyone gets their moment in the spotlight seems to be the principle; and we get (are forced) to listen to them as they exhibit themselves. well, as the alcohol flowed, mrs liles (after making some off-colour and lewd comments concerning my backside) was moved to throw her hat into the ring and murder a few abba songs, accompanied by a bout of vaguely sapphic dancing with some drunken old lady. soon after, mr. liles, sufficiently inebriated, found himself in the state of mind to perform and picked 'rock and roll pt.1' by gary glitter. a bona fide classic i think we can all agree. the man running the karaoke however, refused to put it on, claiming that mr. liles would "get a hidin'" from the other patrons. understandably crestfallen mr. liles refused to sing at all. i was amused but somewhat incensed, i mean, what is this, a glitter prohibition??? it's only a song for christ's sake, not a clarion call for mass child abuse. is this the kind of retarded, revisionist, daily mail thinking that goes hand in hand with karaoke? well yes of course it is, how could i have been surprised? for shame people of england, i say again, f o r s h a m e .

i have finally seen the elusive poplar ice cream van; details on whether narcotics are on it's menu have yet to be established.

the front gates to the 'complex' where we live have been broken, thus leaving us open to the pillaging hoards outside. whether they've malfunctioned or been forced by parties unknown is open to question; but what's certain is that the natives are revolting (i'll say they are etc.). friday night brought strange crashing sounds from the darkened car park and when i looked out of the window i saw a youth (hood up of course) retreating back through the gates; the security guard followed seconds later. it was a scene that for some reason brought to mind the film 'assault on precinct 13'. the next morning showed that one of the resident's cars had had it's windscreen smashed. are we under siege? is this a declaration of war?

a great word: recrudescence. "recrudesce re-kroo-des, v.i. to break out afresh. - ns. recrudesc' ence, recrudesc' ency. - adj. recrudesc' ent."

mr. liles mentions to me in an email that he's always wanted to own a pair of clown shoes. unable to clarify exactly why, though at something of a loose end, i trawl the internet, report back on my findings and within the hour he is the proud owner of a pair of giant black slip-ons that pogo himself would have been proud of. now all he has to do is explain it to his wife.

at a gig at the palace of pretension that is the ica, i smell bananas, horlicks and what smells like freshly sharpened pencils... still waiting for the stroke to kick in.

i don't think people use the phrase 'rabid catholicism' enough in job interviews... oops.

a drive happens to take us by pentonville mountain, with not an iota of a pang of regret... the curtains we left haven't been touched which leads us to deduce that the house stands empty, costing the landlord a king's fekkin ransom. the cherry on the cake is the rubbish heap outside the front door which, without hostess elisabeth to badger the council into removing it, has grown out of all proportion, a literally waste-deep miniature landfill; and surely there must be rats by now...? the cretins in the shop are welcome to it, i hope it ushers in a new plague.

'giant human male eating human female' ? - 'shark attacks female swimmer' ? - 'female flesh used as fuel for spaceship' ? www.vore.net/MrYum/ -on so many levels, pixar this ain't.

during a recent parental visit, it became clear that my dad had underestimated how warm it was going to be and thus needed to borrow a t-shirt when we went for a walk down to the market and along the canal. i leant him my whitehouse 'what does molesting you mean? tell me while you dance' t-shirt and the sight of him wearing it kept me amused all day.

a funny turn while sat at the computer; accompanied by a brief wave of dizzyness, for the merest moment (probably less than a second) everything slid downwards and to the left, as if the floor had shifted under my chair - earthquake or brain belch? still waiting for the stroke to kick in...

strange and strangely unnerving animation: www.crumblewall.com

so. the pope's finally popped his ecclesiastical clogs. he did drag it out and labour the bloody point a bit didn't he? he just didn't want to give up on his campaign to drag the human race back to the dark ages. i'm not sure if it's possible for me to care any less about anything than i do about his death; what does concern me is the importance this (non)event is being given in the media. o s o d o f f. it's funny isn't it, that while his death makes the headlines, the thousands of deaths he no doubt caused in aids-ridden africa by forbidding the use of condoms haven't really had much coverage have they? funny that. fucking cretin. i hope it hurt.

wave bye bye...

recommended: (audio) 'methodology '74/'78. attic tapes;' -3cd set- by cabaret voltaire / (comestible) cheese and ham omelette / (visual) canary wharf at night / (sensorial) happening across eastenders while flipping -it always gladdens my heart to see characters that i don't recognise, thus illuminating the years i've eschewed that particular god-awful televisual abortion

reviled: (audio) the terrible sound system at the islington academy / (comestible) kedgeree -more for its after effects than its initial taste / (visual) oodles of trinkets with nowhere for them to go / (sensorial) being beaten in an ebay auction by less than a pound

"one grows out of pity when it's useless."

- from 'the plague' by albert camus