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'q u e f u e r e n t v i t i a , m o r e s s u n t'

 

"quae fuerent vitia, mores sunt (what were once vices are now manners)"
- from 'gould's book of fish' by richard flanagan

just a short missive before everyone and everything devolves into the ovine, coca-cola sponsored, gap-wearing, retardation orgy that is the chronologically innacurate celebration of the birth of the terminally naive hippy-forefather, first male pin up and font of all childish 'love will conquer all' idiocy. bah, i say, b a h.

now hear this, now hear this... five new unsong tracks are available to listen to at www.macrophonies.co.uk. 'perfidy', is from the frailty of angels, the treason of people (mac14), 'suddenly my house became a tree of sores' is a piece inspired by a painting of the same name by david lynch, while 'woeful' is un ultra early track rescued and cleaned up from an old cassette, 95% of which was 'composed' purely on sampling delay pedals (see biog). 'metal mountain' and 'doghouse overnight' are tracks from the upcoming unsong release the dead women are giving birth to rats. enjoy, if you feel able.

kidney stone latest... apparently i'm leaking calcium at a rate of knots. the stone i passed was formed by a mixture of calcium and oxalate. now of course i could cut calcium out of my diet but would risk crumbling to a loose powder with months. so i have to cut down on oxalate. "what in the name of arse is oxalate?" i hear you cry. oxalate is found in: chocolate, tea - including herbal teas, worchestershire sauce, rhubarb, raspberries, strawberries, soy sauce, baked beans, peanuts and pecans, beer, juices made from berries; the list goes on. some of them i could happily never see, let alone eat ever again, although with others (chocolate and beer mainly) i'm choosing to hang on to the phrase 'cut down, not cut out'. as a wise man once pointed out: getting old's not for sissies.

hostess elisabeth and myself took it upon ourselves to go ice skating at the small outdoor rink at broadgate, near liverpool street station. propelling ourselves about the ice as the sun went down. utterly absurd but most agreeable. that and we got to see people fall over. win win.

if unsane (no relation) ever play live anywhere near you and you are at all interested in rock and / or roll, i urge you to be in attendance.

to amuse and intrigue you visually: http://www.orau.org/ptp/collection/nuclearmedicine/nuclearmedicine.htm

and so the mass hysteria of christmas creeps up on us again. jesus. quite literally. at this time of year i inevitably look around bemused and entreat "is it me?" the answer seems to be the same every year; a resounding "yes, it's you".

"he wanted to believe it was true. he did believe it was true. but he also knew it wasn't. ferrie told him it didn't matter, true or not. the thing that mattered was the rapture of the fear of believing. it confirmed everything. it justified everything. every violence and lie, every time he'd cheated on his wife. it allowed him to collapse inside, to melt towards awe and dread. that's what ferrie said. it explained his dreams."
- from 'libra' by don delillo

so they've caught saddam. four questions: yeah? and? so? what? in lieu of them catching osama, i want that hollywood show trial now. i want lights, i want camera, i want show girls. i want glitz, i want glamour. i want to hear his testimony while a topless girl performs sign language in the corner of the screen. i want public phone votes to decide what he'll be wearing in court; one day a clown suit, the next a string bikini. i want george dubya giving evidence in a top hat, ball gown and flippers. i want explosions. i want nudity. i want reconstructions of war crimes on ice. i want mass grave dance numbers. i want jurors falling over on banana skins. i want 'yee-hah's and 'star spangled banners'. i want coffins draped in flags shot out of cannons. i want custard pie fights. i want politicians dressed as nuns performing unnatural acts with donkeys. i want kangaroos in court. i want juggling monkeys. i want lavish las vegas splendour. i want showbiz. i want entertainment. i want blindfolded tap dancers and acrobats on fire. i want high kicks and back flips. i demand it. give it to me now.

"the wars on the televisions will never be explained" - the the

it seems someone may actually be reading this drivel. good lard. no one is more surprised than me. a personage emailed me today regarding a finer point of ruling in a game of shithead, the rules for which were included in previous diary entry: 'shitheadanddevice'. thank you for taking part romy, i hope (when i'm able to fix my bastard email) that my garbled explanation will be of help.

recommended: (audio) 'eerste schijf' -cd- by thu20 / (comestible) chocolate and beer / (visual) skaters falling over / (sensorial) skating as the sun goes down

reviled: (audio) christmas music / (comestible) christmas pudding / (visual) christmas decorations / (sensorial) christmas... i sense a pattern forming

whatever. sleazonal greenthings.