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"melanie, who wanted to know about men and war, looked through him with piercing grey eyes. he could hardly stand her presence. oh, he wanted to sodomize her and puke on her back, but he certainly didn't respect her."
-from 'yonder stands your orphan' by barry hannah
a pleasant picnic among the corpses in abney park cemetery, stoke newington. i never even knew it was there. those present (not counting the dead) were mr and mrs liles, mr and mrs paul, hostess elisabeth and the estimable mr. king -somewhat upset because he couldn't find any oysters to bring. the cemetery is enormous, maze-like and attractively over grown; a large dilapidated chapel stands in the centre. very much worth a visit. of course it rained and we were forced to pack up and flee to a nearby public house. as we sat there drying, a strange old man rode into the pub on a bicycle. he was wearing a white top hat and tails. he left his bike by the door and went around the pub talking to almost everyone, like the host of a party. before he left he gave us all some monkeynuts and asked us to keep them to ourselves as he'd already been warned by the management for doing this kind of thing. a strange ending to the outing.
work is progressing slowly on the unsong sound design for the computer game. this thing may even get made. i've played a crude demo of the game and am currently putting a proposal together in an attempt to convince the powers that be that a more... shall we say unconventional audio approach is a good idea. more as and when.
"project full!" no more submissions are being accepted for the boyarm compilation 'il programma di religione' . the cd, which includes the unsong track 'st. sixtus i', is planned for release this september/october. watch this space.
i'm getting better on the crutches, positively whizzing about on the things. hasn't stopped me growing to despise them though. i'm fed up to the back teeth with being 'the angry cripple'. wonder if these people do amputations... www.operatingroomroleplay.com
one hour twenty minutes of television to open a fucking memorial fountain commemorating a jumped up 'it girl'. nation of morons. i s i t m e ?
waiting for mr. liles at russell sq. tube station. a japanese tourist asks a complete stranger to take her picture. i think i'm in the background of the photograph, over her left shoulder. it struck me as odd that she'll take this picture home half way across the world and i'll be sitting in an album in her house, and she'll never know my name. part of me likes the idea but can't quite put my finger on why.
someone's automated call machine isn't working properly. i've been called twice now, in as many weeks, by approximately two to three seconds of vivaldi. very strange.
went to see nancy sinatra at the royal festival hall. i'm not a particular fan of her music but hostess elisabeth is and i thought it might be entertaining, or at least different. i came away believing in my heart of hearts that 'these boots are made for walking' is perhaps one of the greatest songs ever written. (i heartily recommend a version sang by crispin hellion glover, from the cd 'the big problem' -www.crispinglover.com.)
sometimes i think that a society may be able to be judged purely on the quality of the free gifts it provides in its breakfast cereals.
the hafler trio 'live' at the horse hospital: more avant-theatre than musical performance... everything occurs in near darkness. performers wield torches. the action takes places on either side of black backcloths, the audience free to wander and take in as much or as little as they like. a strange old man in top and tails spouts gibberish, reads typically hafler cryptic sentences while holding wooden sticks, upon which are impaled frankfurters and scraps of paper scribbled on by another strange man in a black hat (and what looks like a polythene bag over his face). a tattooed lady holds an incense burner (rose incense, in case you were wondering). two women dance, slow motion, a tray of jelly balanced precariously on each of their heads. andrew mckenzie wanders through the dark, sprinkling confetti in the torchlight. meanwhile hafler sounds drift over, between and through us in waves, crescendos and explosions. unsettling for no concrete reason. threatening and yet strangely quaint. almost kafkaesque. i don't think i do the performance any disservice when i say that it reminded me somewhat of a david lynch dream sequence. i bought the trilogy 'cleave: 9 great openings', 'no man may put asunder: 7 fruitful and seamless unions' and 'no more twain, of one flesh: 11 unequivocal obsecrations'.
www.shayesaintjohn.com -as mr astaire once sang "that's entertainment". great fun. oustanding. the kind of thing the internet does best (warning: a few problems due to bandwidth)
working at glastonbury will not be mentioned at length this year. what's to be said? you all saw the footage, simply invent your own noah's ark joke and we'll leave it there.
a surprisingly sturdy branch seems to have grown out of the guttering outside my bedroom window and because of the wind is now clawing at the glass to get inside, a la salem's lot.
living with other people, or to be more accurate, strangers -a situation dictated purely by crippling and persistent financial shortcomings. christ on an exercise bike we've lived with some fucking arseholes over the last decade, along with a tiny number of gems we would actually deem worthy of friendship. tiny. y'know 'people' rail against misanthropy and yet do very little to disprove or discredit it as a viable, sometimes even necessary philosophical standpoint. i don't think i expect too much of people: just shut up, leave me alone and do your job, and if your 'job' is to be a flatmate then try not to make my life any more stressful or miserable than it already is. asking too much? it would appear so. the latest arsehole is adrian, a young, probably shaves once a month computer geek who keeps himself very much to himself, eats in his room, fails to wash up more than once or twice a week and hoards plates and utensils. he also, it would seem, to coin a phrase of american john's: "can't hold his liquor". in the early hours of this morning hostess elisabeth rose to find the bathroom awash in some of the more unpleasant of human excretions. the toilet seat was broken. a pair of soiled underpants on the floor. there was vomit in the bath and shit caked on the carpet. i mean, i've been drunk, real falling down can't get up who am i where do i live drunk but never involuntary defecation drunk. and lo, the house did absolutely reek. honestly, if i'd wanted to live with fucking children i would have had some. but you see i don't and i therefore haven't. people. pah. puh-ah-er.
american john is a past master at ordering pizzas online. it's all very 'now', i don't claim to understand it. tonight's lucky vendor was papa john's pizza (www.papajohns.com). after receipt of the order their website sent out an email to confirm the order. it then sent out a second email which basically said that if this second email hadn't been received by the customer then the customer should call the papa john outlet direct. now let's just clarify that. if the customer d o e s n ' t receive this email then he/she should call the outlet. anyone? anyone...?
recommended: (audio) 'songs the cramps taught us' vol. 1 to 3 -cds- v/a / (comestible) crushed chilli seeds / (visual) a boot on both feet! / (sensorial) a warm shower at glastonbury
reviled: (audio) next door's d.i.y. / (comestible) a somewhat bland ostrich burger / (visual) my new 'old man's foot'/ (sensorial) a left foot limp as an empty sausage
and finally, hostess elisabeth receives a spam sermon, a 'spermon', if you like:
eternity is a very long time.if you or
someone you care about to you has not accepted god please do so tody.
you meant it, he has come. if you meant it,
i have to have meant it?