2 7 / 0 3/ 0 7:
"the human race sleepwalked to oblivion, thinking only about the corporate logos on its shroud."
-from ''kingdom come' by jg ballard
fuck me i hate 'happy' people on my television. get them off. i'm tired of fucking looking at them.
last week i received an email from jesus, who is apparently interested in any erectile dysfunction i might be suffering from. certainly puts the resurrection in a different light. this week i received an identical missive from 'angelina jolie'. no prizes for guessing who'll be my first port of call should my 'old fella' stop working.
things i have learned at university #43 - some text books should be reclassified from 'educational literature' to 'cruel and unusual punishment'
speaking of which, at university, in a certain subject, i scored a 78 but then the head of department scored me down to a 75, because, apparently, it's not the done thing to score people too highly in their first year. now while the barefaced idiocy of this sinks in i'll tell you that when i picked up my results, saw the 78 crossed out and a 75 written in, i also noticed the note from the head of department: "this seems a little to high!" which, with its exclamation mark was no doubt supposed to appear chirpy and playful but, as you may have noticed, the head of department, charged with teaching subjects concerned with language and composition, used the wrong fucking 'to'. the temptation to start handing work in with the wrong tos and then when pulled up on it merely pull the evidence out of my bag is most strong...
fellow student update:
while walking the streets of central london yesterday i saw, within the space of about 40 minutes, paul young, paul whitehouse, morwenna banks, stewart lee, and noel fielding. famous people, celebrities, walking about as if they were normal human beings. amazing. london is positively paved with them. truly this is a golden age.
see the new aronofsky
fountain'. i loved 'pi'
for a dream' and though i know this doesn't mean that i should
necessarily like all his work i have to say i was a little disappointed.
the fountain is certainly visually impressive but just felt very thin
on both characterisation and plot. nothing surprised me very much throughout
the film, though there are some very nice
moments. i know it's unnecessarily cruel,
and not entirely accurate, but a thought came in to my head in
the dying moments of the film that i couldn't
quite get rid of: it's 'ghost'
things i have learned at university #62 - on a swedish passport photo, you must show at least one of your ears.
three men get on to the d.l.r. all have short hair, all look a little like they're carved out of stone, all are, for want of a better term, mean-looking. hostess elisabeth guesses at soldiers on leave, i guessed combat 18. such a fine line.
overheard, through the door, the woman from the flat opposite shouting at her (2 year old?) little boy, bellowing with all the bile she could muster: "i swear to god i'll knock you fucking out". ...and the mother of the year award goes to... never again be surprised that you are surrounded by arseholes. this is the way they are made, the woman opposite at the very coal-face of the next generation of people to fuck your life up: to tie fireworks to your pets, to steal your car, to glass you in a pub, to mug your gran, to burgle your house. in just such a greenhouse are these creatures grown. we are doomed.
though my very reason argues vehemently with them, my eyes and ears tell me that oasis have received an award for 'outstanding contribution to british music'. really? couldn't we have gotten status quo to do an album of rolling stones covers and achieved the same thing? what's next kylie to be awarded the nobel peace prize? girls aloud the booker? you can tell a great deal about a society by the people it chooses to celebrate:
"sport is the big giveaway. wherever sport plays a big part in people's lives you can be sure they're bored witless and just waiting to break up the furniture."
-from 'kingdom come' by jg ballard
picked up a flyer from the lucie blackman trust in the cinema foyer. can't help thinking that the imagery and intent are horribly mismatched and ill-conceived. a red rose (no doubt for valentine's day) and a heart made of spilt blood. "'nothing hurts like love'..." it reads, "besides being a date rape victim." um, can't help but see this as an image somehow demeaning to date rape and its victims. most odd.
things i have learned at university #17 - young people are rubbish at email. no doubt if i texted i'd get a speedier response from my fellow students, but then again carrier pigeon might well be quicker than email.
some trepidation, off we went to see nurse
with wound at the queen
elizabeth hall. i say trepidation because anyone who has ever heard
nurse with wound would probably have trouble imagining it live.
also, so many of these kind of things just don't
work. this, i'm very happy to report was a definite exception. the sheer
breadth of sound was incredible, not to mention the surprising amount
of volume (particularly at the queen elizabeth hall). a great
set of what seemed to be partly improvised, electronic, rhythmic strangeness.
all this and a cover of sheena easton's 'my baby takes the morning train'.
fantastic. granted i could have done without
david tibet's second song, and the final
track was a teensy bit long but these are mere quibbles. "sinister
whimsy to the wretched" indeed. -also, it was nice to see the
green plastic giraffe we'd given mr. liles
glowing in the ultraviolet light throughout the performance.
things i have learned at university #117 - liberia is in western africa.
"a great religion spells danger. today people are desperate to believe, but they can only reach god through psychopathology. look at the most religious areas of the world at present - the middle east and the united states. these are sick societies, and they're going to get sicker. people are never more dangerous than when they have nothing left to believe in except god."
-from ''kingdom come' by jg ballard
saw a dead leamen (no, don't look it up, it's a hostess elisabethism) in the gutter last week. no idea as to how it could have gotten there. there's about three foot of wall for it to scale to get on to the towpath, then there's a number of stairs. and i've never seen them fly any more than an inch off of the surface of the water. strange.
those with will enough to be paying attention will remember that some time ago i mentioned having been to a lesbian wedding. one of the people involved in this coupling, we'll call her the 'groom', had had a sad story to tell when she'd met the woman we'll call the 'bride'. apparently she'd been suffering from cancer, had undergone a number of operations to remove it, had the whole chemo hair-do etc. but was at that point in remission. her whole outlook seemed to have the air of 'well i've had a close shave and life's short so why don't i just try and be happy?' about it. i'm sure there were those that called her inspirational. she'd even gone so far as to have campaigned to raise money for a cancer charity at the place where she worked. "a sad story" thought the 'bride', "a nice gesture"; and so it was. it has recently turned out not to be the case, in fact to be so far from the case as to be positively taking the piss. liar seems like too small a word. irredeemable, leprous, duplicitous fucking cunt might be closer to the mark. now when i tell you that the 'bride' was my sister and that my parents had, in good faith, loaned the 'groom' money to buy a car and stood as guarantors on their marital flat, you'll come some way towards understanding just how f u c k i n g i n c e n s e d i am at this worthless fucking whore. who's going to pay the rent while she's in prison? who's liable for the parking tickets she's acquired since the trial? yes this kind of lying seems pathological and yes she probably needs help but to me that's irrelevant. s o w h a t ? forgiveness in this instance is tantamount to an agreement that what she did was 'no big deal' and an open invitation for her to do it again. fuck that. fuck that and fuck her.
my friend kris came up to stay with us this weekend and we paid a nice and cosy visit to a strange place near old street. partly ran by a good friend of kris's and an old acquaintance of mine (ian, not seen him for 6 years and before that for about 8), it serves sunday lunch and serenades the diners with various random ipodded musics in the process. it also has a bar and pool table. the strange thing is that it doesn't advertise. anywhere. you could, and may even have, walked right passed it without knowing. it acts on a kind of 'if you know it's there you can go along' philosophy, and somehow manages to turn a profit this way. perhaps because ian and his girlfriend camille know so many people. there was a reasonable turn out when we were there so this odd methodology seems to work... it's like a secret you only have to ask after in order to know; but of course if you don't know... the first rule of sunday dinner is - you do not talk about sunday dinner. the second rule of sunday dinner is - you do not talk about sunday dinner...
o, and kris? apparently never eaten a meatball. o the lives people lead...
recommended: (audio) nurse with wound, live at the q.e.h. / (comestible) soya and linseed bread / (visual) blood red moon / (sensorial) fresh sheets
reviled: (audio) the voice of ainsley fucking harriot / (comestible) soft apples / (visual) 'happy' people on my television / (sensorial) wearing shoes and kicking my heel bone. repeatedly. like a retard.
"if lies were consistent enough they defined themselves as a credible alternative to the truth."."
-from ''kingdom come' by jg ballard