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'h e t e r o c e r a n s u i c i d e & m r . r e t a r d'


"life's greatest comfort is being able to look over your shoulder and see people worse off, waiting in line behind you."

- from 'rant' by chuck palahniuk

for reasons i won't go in to, i found myself, for the first time in something like 25 years, walking along southend pier. having been brought up in the area it was something that i did a few times as a kid but then had very little interest in, i mean, it was always referred to as 'the longest pleasure pier in the world' (1.341 miles long) but in actual fact, once it has been partially destroyed by fire, four times, and been cut in half by a careering tanker (not joking), any 'pleasure' associated activities or amusements at the end of the pier dwindled and vanished. now all there are are a few 50p rides for kids, the kind you find outside supermarkets, some portaloos, an ice cream parlour ran by educationally subnormal waitresses, several punch & judy shows and an rnli station. now this is probably because of my 'expat' status but southend really is looking pretty shabby these days, the high street a carbon copy of every other high street up and down the country, the small town bitterness and small-minded spite still very much in evidence. it should come as no surprise that the video for the morrissey single 'everyday is like sunday' was filmed in southend. "the coastal town that they forgot to close down" indeed. so, there we were, strolling along the pier when we passed, going the other way, a woman pushing a small child in a push chair. as we passed she said rather loudly, and in my direction: "fuckin' freak". and after a brief moment of hilarity i thought yes, fucking yes. that is what i moved away to escape. not that i needed it but a little vindication now and then can only do you good. "come armageddon! come armageddon! come!"

we've been having an on again off again thing with moths in the flat, ever since we got shot of poor cyril. we'll be watching television and one will flutter by, causing us to run around the room clapping our hands like a couple of mental cases, trying to kill it. last night just such a thing happened but when i'd missed the moth a few times it then flew straight i n t o m y e y e, at which point of course i slapped and poked myself enthusiastically in said eye to kill it. idiot. fucking kamikaze moths.

will someone please explain to me how the word 'ball' could be misheard as the word 'butt'?

went to see the 80s matchbox and the b-line disaster at the scala, supported by the catchily monikereduntitled musical project. a jolly good night of rock and/or roll was had by all. 80s matchbox lead singer guy mcknight is now the perfect amalgam of noel fielding and iggy pop. mission accomplished.

our new ikea cheese grater, with 'clever' cheese catchment receptacle seemed like a good idea at the time but then this happened:

look a bit closer...

yup, that's hostess elisabeth's blood. and possibly part of her finger. ouch.

while out and about at the very last hip hip burlesque and cabaret evening, we were accosted by a very drunk chap (who, granted, may have been pretending). he staggered over to out table and said to hostess elisabeth "you wanna watch him" (indicating me) "he looks like george clooney". -up until that point i hadn't known it was possible to be that drunk.

so, up we turn for a bit of swimming at, well, at the swimming pool, and are told that our membership cards (for cards read: pieces of flimsy cardboard) have expired and that we need to renew. ok, we say, so she just takes the old cards, crosses out the expiry date and writes in a new one. o it's all very testicle round our way. i mean, i could've done that!

according to fellow student lydia, broccoli is "a cunt's game". i'm not sure i've ever heard a more accurate description of anything. couldn't agree more.

at the new rough trade east (go there now, purchase things) i ask if they've got copies of the new album from angels of light yet. the nice man says he'll look it up on the computer. "new album by...?" he asks again. "angels of light" i reply. "who's that then?" he asks, i'm a little surprised he doesn't know but reply that it's michael gira's band after swans. he looks utterly bemused. "angel delight?" he asks incredulously.
the album, when i finally obtain a copy turns out to be fucking incredible. 'w
e are him' is a kind of amalgam of everything mr. gira has ever done, barring perhaps some of the more extreme moments of swans, though sounding somehow utterly new, and is frankly unmissable. here mr. gira describes the bass sound on track one, black river song as "it sounds how i imagine someone pulling your intestines out of your ass slowly, deliberately and in specific rhythm might sound —something which might be quiet pleasurable for some people—i can only imagine!" um... the rest of his explanations are equally as worrying and amusing. o, and the cover's great too, painted by the fantastically disquieting deryk thomas (of swans' 'white light from the mouth of infinity' etc. fame). go buy it.

i've just realised i've used the word 'amalgam' twice in this post. not sure i've used the word for years and yet here it is twice... amalgam it appears, is like buses.

the metro, that bastion of journalistic excellence (or should that be excremence?), asked wednesday commuters the pertinent, world shattering question: "could a t rex outrun becks?" genius, pure fucking genius.

yesterday the cat let out the most tuneful fart i think i've ever heard from man or beast. it sounded like she'd swallowed a tiny trumpet. o for an aptly placed mic when you need one. and her nose whistling whilst asleep is coming on a treat.

ever worried that your life is passing you by? why not click on world clock and watch others' lives pass them by.

so there we are, watching the bourne ultimatum at the greenwich picturehouse (in case you're interested i wouldn't bother, it's not a patch on the other two and goes very silly in places). this bloke with three kids sits in front of us and when the film had stared they kept talking. kept. fucking. talking. "excuse me..." i said, barely contained anger cooking my insides, "yes?" he replies, like butter wouldn't melt, "could you be quiet?" he apologised and shut the fuck up. for a while. as the film came to an end he starts up again. fucking infantile retarded tit. can it really be so difficult for a grown man to keep quiet for the duration of a film? these cunts seem to forget they're not in their fucking front room. when the film is over hostess elisabeth leaned over to him and said "excuse me, i don't think you should ever come to the cinema with your children again..." a little taken aback that his verbal incontinence should be called into question, he said "i've already apologised to that silly..." at a loss for words for a moment before ending the sentence with "cunt", meaning me, and left as quickly as was humanly possible (no doubt worried i might thump him), which amused me greatly "what a lovely thing to say in front of your children" i said as he left. what. an. almighty. arse.

since when has a mohican haircut been referred to as a 'mo-ie'? wrack and ruin i tell you, wrack and ruin!

'...ma' -cd- by vile imbeciles is an amazing, hellishly shambolic record of deranged proportions. it's a stuttering, wonderfully hypnotic rock and roll mess. it sounds like three tramps that have been set on fire, put in a dustbin and thrown down a flight of stairs; like the birthday party and captain beefheart got drunk and staged a cricket bat fight in a pub car park. those brave enough should but it now. those too afraid should simply give up the pretence of life, turn emo and shuffle off this mortal coil a s a p.

cat update. i noticed recently that, what with her patchy fur (the vet thinks because of her diabetes) in effect what the cat's got is a brazillian:

also, i think that changing the cat's litter for space dust is the funniest thing i'll never do.

a lovely turn of phrase: 'moral imbeciles'.

i saw a poster in a shop window: how can you save the planet? call me a pedant (you wouldn't be the first) but i think the question is wrong. i don't like the assumption that everyone thinks it's worth saving. the question that should be asked is do you want to save the planet? if so then off you go but i think it only polite to be asked. i mean, the planet may well recover, after all time is no object when you're a planet, it's us that are more likely to vanish forever. this site lets us know what'll happen when and if we do.

before walking north west across the jubilee bridge with mr. liles i caught a glimpse of the houses of parliament, of big ben (alright then the tower not the bell), and it looked so utterly like a model, like some kind of a toy; which i suppose it was it is. parliament as a plaything. monopoly anyone? how about operation? "can i have a go?" the only thing is the games played with it, within it, have much more complicated rules... and seldom any worthy winners.

i re-bought 'metal box' by pil. no sure what happened the copy i used to have. if you don't already have the album, go and buy it from rough trade east. it gives the nice man behind the counter an electric shock as he demagnetizes the security tag. made me laugh anyway.

i had cause this week to tell a woman i'd never met that i refused to climb inside a live camel.

i'd like to take this opportunity to congratulate the makers of the film snakes on a plane, which, somehow, managed to be far worse than i had thought it would be. incredible when you think about it. it wasn't nearly clever enough to be funny, or even exciting. the fact that it was able so easily to limbo deftly under my already lowered expectations simply beggers belief; and therefore begs congratulations. well done to all involved.

scheduled to get up at the ungodly hour of 5:20 in the a.m. for some work nonsense, i duly set my radio alarm and slipped eagerly into the arms of uncle ned (my word that sounds filthy). some hours later the alarm goes off, i stagger into an upright position and force myself awake. i'm halfway through my breakfast, which i can't taste because my mouth has the good sense to still be asleep, when i spy the time on the dvd player reads 4:24. as does the microwave clock. i can't deny there's a moment in which i wonder if i've time traveled. i go back into the bedroom to check the radio alarm. it reads 5:23. in setting the alarm i had also, somehow, set the actual time ahead 1 hour. i go back to bed and stare into the dark until it's 5:20 (again). that's mr. retard to you.

an advert informs me that full marks solution. "kills head lice in ten minutes!" -the advert ends with an overly enthusiastic "how quick is that?" to which i thought, well, it's ten minutes isn't it, that's how quick. you tit.

the thermostat i used to have in my feet seems to have become broken with age. i swear, upend me and you could cook an egg on my soles.

we're lying in bed and hear a strange sound outside, a sort of crunch. soon after we hear another. i look out of the window just as a car alarm under the building goes off. a single boy on his bmx rides slowly away, seemingly not a care in the world. the next day we're informed that 4 cars belonging to residents have been broken into. luckily ours isn't one of them. hands up who knows what could have been done to the broken gate in order to have prevented this. anyone...? anyone...? yes, that's right, it could have been f u c k i n g f i x e d. y'know, like we've been asking for it to be fixed for o v e r a y e a r. no doubt a fresh tirade of emails and phone calls to the management company from the residents will go unanswered. a-fucking-gain.

and finally...
apparently, almost half of children asked in a recent survey thought that not having a mobile phone indicates poverty. ladies and gentlemen: our future. w e a r e d o o m e d.

recommended: (audio) this time around it's a tie between '...ma' -cd- by vile imbeciles and ' we are him' -cd- by angels of light / (comestible) shortbread from scotland / (visual) the cd cover of 'we are him' / (sensorial) the idea/realisation of the houses of parliament as a toy

reviled: (audio) car alarm / (comestible) broccoli / (visual) 4:20 / (sensorial) toothpaste in the eye -don't ask