Your emotions...

I was going to write an extended self-directed diatribe consisting of hair-shredding despair at my feeble and reactionary statements. Reacting against the worlds that intrude so rudely into mine day by day.

Then I remembered that Jello Biafra and the dead kennedys had already formulated this:

You're so boring boring boring
Always tape machine recording
You're so boring boring boring
I've heard all this before
I've heard all this before
I've heard all this before
Your emotions make you a monster
Your emotions make you a monster
Your emotions make you a monster
Your emotions make you a monster

and felt much better.

If 'popular culture' wants to dance round the pile of shiny coins, if we want to parse our lives out with distractive media and obfuscatory rhetoric of scientific progress that in fact deludes us further into believing we're the arbiters of a totalised reality that we're not, even,THAT'S ALL OK. But I'm bored, bored, bored shitless with it. My only saving grace is that I'm not a fiend or monster, to use the Sun argot. I understand a bit of cookery, I love my girlfriend...

...and words and concepts, tropes, memes, hopes & dreams seep about, mixing, melding, melismatically extrapolating from my brain like the fucking big sparking sensation sponge it is. Ready to drip back onto the drained canvas arcing all Dali foreshortened. And balls to you if you think this is indulgent shit - that is the point. Language is reductive but also expansive. Campfire stories, chants, sparks from aboriginal fires saving astronauts in The Right Stuff. fanciful human representations spanning more dimensions than we currently believe proven.

My uncanny x-man power could be beams of words, scratchety lines of script arcing from my fingertips to beat back the bad bastards of Babylon and keep the landing strip clear for the UFOs.

CAN YOU HURRY UP PLEASE ALL YOU E.B.E.s? I'm on my last set of knees here...

this post brought to you by bank holiday hangover, x-men 3, Aliens - why they are here by Bryan Appleyard and an enduring belief in the enduring possibility of enduring evolution in a chaotic universe. Proving we exist by saying stuff and writing it down so we can later reflect and say, look we were thinking about this shit. Passed the time, eh? [etc]

football and women

Like some hapless fuckwit character in 'Two pints of lager and a packet of crisps please' [note for people who don't watch British shit-coms inexplicably enjoying series after series despite toe-curling lack of humour: TPOLAAPOCP is about young professionals, their lives and loves. It's arse. In fact, that TPOLAAPOCP initialism is an accurate onomatopoeic representation of a robust stool impacting with the water in the toilet beneath the straining defecator, the closest and most unpleasant correlative I can think of for the show] I trekked across the UK to witness Leeds Utd FC get inexplicably tonked 3-0 by Watford [actually quite explicable, they wanted it and we didn't turn up[and actually while i'm heaping disdain on BBC product by way of deflective ranting, Chris Moyles, 'cuddly' motormouth DJ and Leeds fan failed to turn up to work this morning, the workshy lardbucket. I made it in, porky, make a fucking effort, for Christ's sake.]] on sunday, a scant 24 hours after being dumped by my girlfriend.

As David Hume once noted in a letter to Rousseau: 'Fucking rat's cocks.'

Still eh? You've got to laugh. I came to work [I edit transcripts of things for people] and a government employee, in the context of an open meeting on London's impending drought crisis, actually said 'Water is the lifeblood of life.' Unlucky in love and football I may have been this weekend, but there always remain some consolations.

The criiime isssss life.... the ssssentence isssss DEATH!

Judge Death



Tony Blair







spot the difference comp #2


Well, I don't know if anyone else feels an uneasy sense of impending DEAD PLANET POLICE STATE when articles like this, detailing a Leader's plans to deliver 'speedy, simple summary justice' appear... populist rhetoric always a sign of impending dead political career.

'He tells new Home Secretary John Reid he wants to see whether new laws are needed to tackle the issue of courts using human rights laws to over-rule the government. ' Yes, new boy, make some new ones up! I want to see a new one forbidding politicians. Not from doing anything, I just want shot of them completely. Bah!

So what is 'hard to beat', exactly?

Hard-Fi article in the Grauniad 'film and music' section, The Hard-copy version of which I just endured in the gentlemen's reading room on a quick five minute comfort break at work, on a friday where the arguments for a mandatory four day week seem more compelling than ever.

Working for a cash machine indeed. Alex Petridish talks about them being 'social realists', 'like' Kaiser Chiefs etc. Just as 'the communists' [sweeping collectivisation] then used 'socialist realism' as the only 'valid' mode of art, what we actually see now as a dominant and approved mode is 'capitalist realism', whereby the notion of questioning that we are engaged in a hamster wheel pursuit of a more comfortable wheel is removed in favour of grinning acquiescence to a grinding monotony, a celebration of our enslavement to The Money. And now their posters are everywhere I go, billboards calling them The Band of This Or Any Possible Future Lifetime, must-have DVD footage of a couple of the Gig of This Or Any Age... hmmm.

Spot the difference competition:

Ian Brown, Stone Roses, at Spike Island: 'The time is now, do it now.'
Richard Archer, Hard-Fi, in Manchester: 'It's a Sunday night! Back to work tomorrow!'

Well, cheers, you cunt. For making everything a little bit harder to beat. By adding to this school of corporate approved weekend release, egomaniacal fools like Hard-Fi crush while locked in a doomed pose of uplift. They are a statue of a dictator. Distractive twats who 'want a Mercedes'. And here I am further validating it. Well, if 'western culture' is a stand-up comic, I am an angry heckler and I want my fucking money back.

Digit Al

Little Britain comic Matt Lucas is starring in a £200m campaign to publicise the switch to digital TV.


Look, I'm just back off holiday and have yet to gather my thoughts properly. But if this is already the single most annoying concept in the world, can you possibly imagine what levels of discomfort it's likely to provide in seven years' - SEVEN YEARS' - time? I don't want to get all biblical here - my coat is rather shabby and unnecessary in the clammy heat of London town today - but I see seven years of wailing and gnashing of teeth.

And which ad company got the money for this ten seconds of cigarette break inspirational idea?

'Hmmm... I've got it! Digit Al. We'll have Matt Lucas do the voice.'
'You're a genius!'
'Twenty bubillion pounds please.'