"One day all of this will end", is what i was thinking earlier this morning. About5.18AM. I was watching "Last Orders" - a film with Bob Hoskins, Michael Caine, Ray Winstone, and David Hemmings - a film about a man's dying wish for his ashes to be thrown off the pier at Margate, and a film in which *surprisingly* no one gets killed, stabbed, or murderialised. Its about people lookming back over their lives, the rights and wrongs, the experiences that shaped them into what they were,and how death catches up with us all in the end.
Most days I can cope. Most days I carry on, doing the same routine millions of us do every day. I get up, I skip breakfast, I wash and shave and clean my teeth. I sit on the keyboard, tapping away for a few hours. I hold down conversations. Make telephone calls. Crack jokes and be sociable. Cook and eat meals as I should.
Some days its just too much.
Some days I just want to hide. Runaway from it all. Retreat. Where the world can’t get me any longer.
I remember a conversation I had with A dear dear friend, someone very very close to me for whom I feel A great deal. If only I had the guts to tell her that, as opposed to hiding away from it. I remarked that there's a great sadness that both of us carry with us. It's with us, every we go. We can fly to the other side of the world to escape it, but we never can because it's part of us.You can never run away from yourself, no matter how far you travel or how fast you go.
The same friend also remarked I was much more subdued than I used to be. How true.
If there's words that could describe my current state of mine, then I would choose is spiralling. Falling, Out of control. Freefall.
In my case that sadness is one of great regret. Regret of the mistakes I have made. That cost me very dear. That everyday I think about the mistakes I made, mostly so easily avoidable. Regrets about my marriage coming to the pointless end that it did. Regrets about ever marrying. Regrets about the unborn children I have sired. Regrets about the children that were never borne into this world. Of Miscarriages and abortion.
Regrets about unfaithfulness. About sober encounters with strangers I should never have met. Regrets about encounters that never were. Possibilities of the future, and of a past that I can never undo. Regrets about money I should never have spent. (i'm not saying here I was ever unfaithful to my wife - but in the past, I have been unfaithful to girlfriends, that's true. We all have our sexual skeletons in the closet. Except of course, if you were well behaved.)
Regrets about arguments, and cross words. Regrets and sorrow about what happened when she threw it all away, sacrificed it all on a convenient altar that she burned as soon as it was no longer needed to tear us apart, no longer required to drive a wedge between us that no love nor loyalty could keep us together. Regrets about how we could have kept it together if we'd both not tried to change ourselves into what we thought we should be, and actually just been ourselves. Regrets about how that might not ever have been enough, and how it's far too late to ever know anyway now. Times have changed. People have changed. It's all moved on and its futile to even try to pretend how it could have been any different. But that doesn't stop me from replaying moments a million times in my mind. Moments where I met people I should never have met, kissed lips I should never have kissed, moments where fingers touched that should never have met. Moments where the tapestry of my life was woven, and how sometimes I dearly wish I could unweave them and make something beautiful instead. But make something beautiful I have. Out of all the ugliness inside me, something beautiful. (I know what you're thinking ; oh shit, he's hit flowery prose mode! call the simile police!)
I guess im very sensitive, sometimes over sensitive, and everything that’s gone on in the past years has hit me. Hard. Very hard, sometimes. The random outbreaks of tears for no real reason (except possibly triggered by a certain film, a certain song, a certain passage of words), usually at some ungodly early hour of the morning where I feel alone and where no one can get inside. Where no can see me.
These regrets, these sorrows, they sometimes consume me. Much as I can often shut it out, sometimes they come out in a sudden emotive outpouring the likes of which God himself could not control. I really must speak to this God fella sometime - I'd like to ask him a lot of questions about life, the universe and everything. Not to mention a lot more about why people claim to be acting in his will when they do things that seem like sheer madness.
Oh fuck it. I'm going to write it anyway.
My wife turned to religion. Excessively so. I’d sit there for hours whilst she would implore me to look into her crazy religion. What it turns out was that she and I drifted apart. She turned to the magical man in the sky who tells people across the world to kill each other. I turned to logical deduction and sensible, rational thinking. I ended up spending hours being preached at and being implored to join her. I didn't. I was just being myself, she was turning to God to drive a wedge between us. In the end, she did drive a wedge and we fell apart.
After that, I gather she didn't so much fall off the wagon as willingly jump gleefully and with complete abandon. The precepts that forced us apart, were abandoned as quickly as they arrived. I can only surmise, that they had served their purpose - they had driven us apart and brought us to an end. She turned her back on god and went back into her old ways. The ways she had turned her back on. The ways she had given up.I don’t want to go into the details, but they sure are ugly sometimes. You get the picture.I'd seen enough pictures to know that some things I've seen that I'd rather I hadn't (mainly other mens genitals, if truth be told). She may say she is squeaky clean, but the truth sometimes has a nasty habit of being exposed piece by tiny piece until the big picture arrives. Based on small things like I gleaned here and there and some things evidenced with my own eyes, It soon became apparent that everything she claimed was sacred that she believed in was nothing more than an easily abandoned, and convenient excuse for pushing us apart. She got what she wanted. She got rid of me. And I kept away.
Every life has its own story. Every divorce has also. That’s where I am right now. I feel emotionally like I've been bashing my head into a wall repeatably for months now. I feel like what I am doing is torturing myself over what I cannot change. I cannot move forward, I cannot move back, I am just stuck here and its fucking killing me, eating me up on the inside. I'm in statis. I can't move forward. I can't make the break, because I'm not extracted from it. There still needs to be communication, negotiation, and all that. I just wish I could have got all my stuff out of the place, got my own place, got on with my life rather than being stuck in this goddamn netherworld where I'm stuck like a fly in amber. I can't move forward in my life until I have somewhere to move to, and guess who's dragging their heels over that except petty bureaucracy.
I'd expect this sort of talk from what the incrediibly bitchy and funny encyclopaedia dramatica would call the sixteen year old girl kinda writer. Thing is, I'm old enough to know better. I'm 32 in a month. One day I didn’t so much grow up as grow older into adulthood, and I'm looking back over my life.
Being so sensitive, there's a reason why I don’t see my dad. Everytime I see him, I just feel like he's tearing strips off me, belittling me. Telling me how I fucked up. How wrong I am. How wrong I always am. Putting me down like he has all my life, like the kids at school who used to goad me and taunt me and tell me how shit I was. Everytime I see him, I feel like he's doing the same. I'll never be the son he imagined me to be. Hoped me to be. All I'll ever be is a crushing fucking disappointment to him. All he'll ever do is look upon me with regret. Oh god Graham, you could have been so much, that’s what I see in his eyes when he sees me, and his eyes sink to the floor in crushed disappointment that I'm not a good scrum half/prime minister/employed. All I wanted him to do was love me, and maybe he does in some strange way, but if he does, he can show it in a far better way than putting me down and making me feel like a scolded child everytime I see him. Everytime I see him, I dread the moment when he starts laying into me again. And he wonder's why I don't bother going to see him. Why I don’t return his phone calls. All I ever wanted from him was for him to love me just for being son, and I don’t feel like that when I see him. I feel like he's a complete stranger, like he always was to be. Hell, how can he love me, I don’t even love myself.
I know. Blah Blah Blah. Its all me me me, in here at the moment. I'm in a really low place at the moment, and I feel like I'm spiralling further down. I don’t know how much further I can go. I feel like I'm falling apart inside, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I said at one point last summer I was glad in a way, that I lost my job, because god knows how I would have kept it together If I had a job as well as all this, and looking back at that, I feel that’s true, however self-indulgent that seems like. I don;t think I could have kept it together. Last time I had a major relationship breakdown, I was working and threw myself into work. Lost myself in it. Thats where the 84 hour week came from. Right now, sometimes I feel like I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I just can't hold things together.
Most days I can function as a fairly normal member of society. I cook and wash and communicate. Somedays, I just don’t want to answer the phone or talk to anyone, or see anyone. Today, today is not one of those days where things go Ok for me. Today is one of those days where I want to cut myself off and not let anyone in. I just don’t feel up to doing anything except falling apart and god knows where that will leave me. I feel like I'm losing the ability to function on a day to day basis.
So I went to the doctors today. They've referred me for some help. God knows, I need it.
I'll probably be quiet for a little while.
Monday, May 30, 2005
Crumbs. I should have looked a bit more closely at the BBC website's pictures of Pride shouldn't I? It was only when Nic texted me that she'd found a pic of me and her at the parade that i got that feeling. (I gave up after about 70 of the 300 pix of the parade, ya see).
I'd like to point out, i'm not the one with the dreadlocks.
I'd like to point out, i'm not the one with the dreadlocks.
By the time I collapsed into bed, It was Saturday morning. Sometime about 4ish. Dawn was peeking through the Curtains (I temporarily considered a restraining order, but it was the time of day, not the ex wife, and that’s OK in my book.)
I set the alarm and slept. The alarm – a burst of white noise static – went off. My original plans for the day were curtailed by being tired (this happens a lot). I went back to sleep. The white noises burst into the rather comfy dream I was having – and it wasn’t the one about the twin sisters who were lesbians. I’m not Gareth off The Office, ya know. Then the phone rang twice.
Oh yes, I knew what I was supposed to do today. Meet Nic (again) and go up town. Instead I stayed in bed. Until Nic rang me. I was still knackered, but I wasn’t gonna back out of going up town. Text messages fly across networks and I turn up in town. Late. This is courtesy of the worlds worst bus route, thanks to two routes converging three minutes walk away. You can pretty much guarantee that if you walk down to the stop where the two routes converge, you’ll be passed by the bus you could have got from right outside your bloody house. This is a scientific inevitability, I fear, based on past experience. Sadly I was correct. Sadly, the thing is I feel the buses are so unreliable round here I feel I am left little choice but the run the bus gauntlet.
Nic only rang me to get out of bed. I’m glad she did. I had a great time. Get up town about 3.20, pop to post office, run into Nic’s mom, and walk down to Hurst street, the only reason why we are here.
It’s gay pride weekend in Birmingham. I’ve never been before. The mighty CHIG was also there, but I didn’t see him, which was a shame, even though he was working for gay times doing the photos and write up. I might think he’s still up there, myself, living out the 36 hour party person motto but alas, this is completely incorrect, because he already blogged the pictures.Turns out I was looking out for him when he was only a few feet away also. But At least he did meet Banarama later. (Well two of them. Chig has apparently offered to fill the vacant third position).
And It sure is interesting. With my rather boring and sedentary existence, it’s nice to get out and see something a bit different. Anyone whose been down Hurst Street knows what its normally like – There’s the Hippodrome, the Old Fox, a disused cinema, and a gravel carpark. That’s a whole lotta concrete, with the high point being the rather infamous Mr. Egg, home of a romantic Valentines day meal for me and the ex-wife.
Today Hurst Street was transformed form it’s usual dingy environ of grey office buildings, sex shops and warehouses into something else.
Something more along the lines ot a total hedonistic paradise. Me and Chig now this well, having worked there for quite a few years – between us we worked at the same company for over a decade on this street. Today, it’s a Saturday afternoon, it’s broad daylight and the streets are packed with thongs of people, loud music and a fairground, burger vans and confetti raining from the sky like Agent Orange. (There was a lot of Orange later on too. Orange and Blue, mainly.).
It’s incredible to see it transformed that way. You can hardly move for people. Throngs everywhere. Intensely repetitive dance music, where the same basslines sweep* in and out for about 8 minutes.(Aha, is this why I can’t be gay? I hate the music? Oh well.) Oh, and the fact that the DJ is constantly shouting out loud.This in itself is fine, except that holding the mike so close to his mouth means everything
horrendously to the point of unintelligibility. It sounds like one of Mike Patton's solo albums. WOOOARGH CHUNKACUNKA WOOOARGH!SCREAM!. (Ok, so it's not actually that bad) Oh Well. I may never escape my secret desire to one day grow up and realise I am in fact, a studio enginner with an encyclopaedic knowledge of gating technology. In the meantime, Stalls go up the street for a hundred yards, and then the road is closed off up to the Fountain pub, all the way to Bristol Road. The odd thing here is going past the old swimming baths on Kent Street, where I had my first shitty job after Uni doing callcentre work. Wierdly up this end of the gay pride festival, is a Army recruiting van. Imagine that. Just what you need – a lot of short haired, physically fit, extremely buff men in uniforms. No stereotyping there, then.
*Sweeping. Not a common term, but an effect used incredibly often in a lot of dance music. Anyone who’s heard Daft punk 's “Da Funk” will recognise this as basically muffling the sound by increasing the bass freqeuencies and decreasing the treble so that it sounds like the audio is degrading from a crystal clear sound into sounding like it’s been played back on a 25th generation audio tape. Then you return it back to normal. So called after the physical requirement of sweeping the settings of the Equaliser.
Walking back down Kent Street, me and Nic circle the area again a couple of times. The two weetabix I had five hours ago weren’t enough, and we go to Burger King.As is somewhat inevitable, we end up talking shit. Shitchatting is a good hobby to have, and is also tremendously entertaining to boot. This is in amongst eating large amounts of food, and then realising we’ve been sat down so long that my legs ache when I get back up. Shockingly enough, looking over what we ordered, and comparing the calorific content to the recommended daily minimum, I calculate that in this single meal alone Nic has eaten 60% of her Recommended Daily Amount of 2000 calories, and me 35% of the RDA of 2500 for men. (Even the food requirements are sexist, though. Why is there the assumption that men need more? Is it because we have to assemble flat pack furniture and play rugby? Bollocks to that. Dietary requirements are the same when we all work in offices sat on our arses in front of computer monitors…..)
By the time we leave, the parade has already started. We didn’t get a copy of the plan for the day, so we don’t know where the parade is starting from. (Town hall, Victoria Square – where most of the pix on the BBC were taken, as it turns out). Walking down past Smiths, we see the parade coming up. The parade stops for a couple of minutes, walks on a little bit, and then carries on. This is where the orange and Blue comes into effect; there was a troupe of them stopping and dancing.And the songs they used to play on the saxophones were most unusual – I can’t say I’ve ever heard Song 2 on a saxophone before, before groups of people shout 'whoo hoo!'.Blue write gay pride anthem shocker? And it's not 'Girls who are boys
,Who like boys to be girls, Who do boys like they're girls, Who do girls like they're boys, Always should be someone you really love'
etc. (And if that's not about your boyfriend loving it up the arse with a dildo, then what the hell is it about? Funny how they got such a lad audience with choruses like that). Either way, I couldn’t find a pic of them on the BBC website, so I’m going to nick it off Chig. I hope he doesn’t mind.
(And yes, that one in the middle does look like Mark Owen out of Take That)
The parade passes back, flanked by a police escort and news photographers and the mildly curious. Me and Nic decide to join the parade along the streets. Alas, as part of a non affiliated group we have to join the back. It seems like the beautiful people are at the front (and hell, some of them really are – in the classical muscular gay stereotype kind of way). Accordingly, We’re the not-quite so-beautiful people, so I jokingly mention to Nic, “So, shall we join the ugly people at the back?”. It seems that way. We haven’t made any effort, and I’m not strictly gay anyway (If I had to describe myself sexually; I’d say that as for being straight or gay, I’m more than that. I suppose that’s my way of either describing my as a raving omnisexual or that I don’t see the world in such black and white terms, in terms of skin colour of sexual preferences, or both). Two things about really do surprise me - the number of openly gay/bi metalheads (which can only be a good thing given how utterly heterosexual the genre used to be back in the mid 80's and early 90's - the only openly bi/gay metal group RPLA were soon dumped by their record label as soon as they admitted that, and often you'd find hostility towards gay/bi culture inpractically every quarter. ), often in korn and slipknot tops - and the amount of mullets visible. i ahven't seen this many mullets since the Garth brooks gig mid 80's haven of hair metal.
It’s not every day you get the chance to walk in the middle of the road, and that’s to be celebrated. Hell, today was a celebration, full stop. Celebration of people just being what they are.
Nic bumps into people with astounding regularlity. It certainly seems like Nic knows everyone, which is odd for someone as hermitic as me to have as friends people who know people. Life is so odd, sometimes. (One of the best things about Nic is that she doesn't judge, she just takes you for who you are.I always think its wierd that so many of my friends are younger than me, but for nic, its no big deal.You just are what you are.)
We’re standing in the middle of the road by the back of the bullring. And then we’re underneath the tunnel. On the walkways people are crowded over at the sight./ I’ts not everday you see people marching along the streets of Birmingham. Especially not dressed in such a panoply of colours and costumes and sound. And then we’re on the smallbrook Queensway. The traffic is just sat there as we walk past. Sometimes, I do love a carnival. As bono said, “Rock N Roll - Stop the Traffic”. Well we didn’t so much do the Rock N’ Roll bit, but we did stop the traffic. We weave in and out of the carnival, walk along the Queensway, down to the end where it turns back into hurst Street. The people from HGL are passing out free chewits – or combination packs of condoms and lube. Given the choice, I generally find chewits easier to get hold of (they don’t tend to sell lube in Woolies) , but I don’t get either.
By the time we get back to the bottom of Hurst Street, it’s all over. The music is pumping, the people are dancing, the burger bars are doing the business, and the parade is finished for another year. The rest of Pride continues for another two days though, and there's plenty of pix about it on the BBC here
I couldn’t decide if he was i)Zaphod beeblebrox or ii)Vulcan. I still can’t. Answers on a postcard, please. It’s either that or he spends his time writing Slashfic about Kirk, Spock (Thank god they deleted the subplot in Star Trek IV about Saavik bearing Spocks child conceived during Pon Farr eh?)
The beautiful people and not quite-so-beautiful people are mingling together. The most unlikely people you can imagine. The queens and the normals and everyone. it’s just a celebration of being alive. Celebration of being who you are.
I set the alarm and slept. The alarm – a burst of white noise static – went off. My original plans for the day were curtailed by being tired (this happens a lot). I went back to sleep. The white noises burst into the rather comfy dream I was having – and it wasn’t the one about the twin sisters who were lesbians. I’m not Gareth off The Office, ya know. Then the phone rang twice.
Oh yes, I knew what I was supposed to do today. Meet Nic (again) and go up town. Instead I stayed in bed. Until Nic rang me. I was still knackered, but I wasn’t gonna back out of going up town. Text messages fly across networks and I turn up in town. Late. This is courtesy of the worlds worst bus route, thanks to two routes converging three minutes walk away. You can pretty much guarantee that if you walk down to the stop where the two routes converge, you’ll be passed by the bus you could have got from right outside your bloody house. This is a scientific inevitability, I fear, based on past experience. Sadly I was correct. Sadly, the thing is I feel the buses are so unreliable round here I feel I am left little choice but the run the bus gauntlet.
Nic only rang me to get out of bed. I’m glad she did. I had a great time. Get up town about 3.20, pop to post office, run into Nic’s mom, and walk down to Hurst street, the only reason why we are here.
It’s gay pride weekend in Birmingham. I’ve never been before. The mighty CHIG was also there, but I didn’t see him, which was a shame, even though he was working for gay times doing the photos and write up. I might think he’s still up there, myself, living out the 36 hour party person motto but alas, this is completely incorrect, because he already blogged the pictures.Turns out I was looking out for him when he was only a few feet away also. But At least he did meet Banarama later. (Well two of them. Chig has apparently offered to fill the vacant third position).
And It sure is interesting. With my rather boring and sedentary existence, it’s nice to get out and see something a bit different. Anyone whose been down Hurst Street knows what its normally like – There’s the Hippodrome, the Old Fox, a disused cinema, and a gravel carpark. That’s a whole lotta concrete, with the high point being the rather infamous Mr. Egg, home of a romantic Valentines day meal for me and the ex-wife.
Today Hurst Street was transformed form it’s usual dingy environ of grey office buildings, sex shops and warehouses into something else.
Something more along the lines ot a total hedonistic paradise. Me and Chig now this well, having worked there for quite a few years – between us we worked at the same company for over a decade on this street. Today, it’s a Saturday afternoon, it’s broad daylight and the streets are packed with thongs of people, loud music and a fairground, burger vans and confetti raining from the sky like Agent Orange. (There was a lot of Orange later on too. Orange and Blue, mainly.).
It’s incredible to see it transformed that way. You can hardly move for people. Throngs everywhere. Intensely repetitive dance music, where the same basslines sweep* in and out for about 8 minutes.(Aha, is this why I can’t be gay? I hate the music? Oh well.) Oh, and the fact that the DJ is constantly shouting out loud.This in itself is fine, except that holding the mike so close to his mouth means everything
horrendously to the point of unintelligibility. It sounds like one of Mike Patton's solo albums. WOOOARGH CHUNKACUNKA WOOOARGH!SCREAM!. (Ok, so it's not actually that bad) Oh Well. I may never escape my secret desire to one day grow up and realise I am in fact, a studio enginner with an encyclopaedic knowledge of gating technology. In the meantime, Stalls go up the street for a hundred yards, and then the road is closed off up to the Fountain pub, all the way to Bristol Road. The odd thing here is going past the old swimming baths on Kent Street, where I had my first shitty job after Uni doing callcentre work. Wierdly up this end of the gay pride festival, is a Army recruiting van. Imagine that. Just what you need – a lot of short haired, physically fit, extremely buff men in uniforms. No stereotyping there, then.*Sweeping. Not a common term, but an effect used incredibly often in a lot of dance music. Anyone who’s heard Daft punk 's “Da Funk” will recognise this as basically muffling the sound by increasing the bass freqeuencies and decreasing the treble so that it sounds like the audio is degrading from a crystal clear sound into sounding like it’s been played back on a 25th generation audio tape. Then you return it back to normal. So called after the physical requirement of sweeping the settings of the Equaliser.
Walking back down Kent Street, me and Nic circle the area again a couple of times. The two weetabix I had five hours ago weren’t enough, and we go to Burger King.As is somewhat inevitable, we end up talking shit. Shitchatting is a good hobby to have, and is also tremendously entertaining to boot. This is in amongst eating large amounts of food, and then realising we’ve been sat down so long that my legs ache when I get back up. Shockingly enough, looking over what we ordered, and comparing the calorific content to the recommended daily minimum, I calculate that in this single meal alone Nic has eaten 60% of her Recommended Daily Amount of 2000 calories, and me 35% of the RDA of 2500 for men. (Even the food requirements are sexist, though. Why is there the assumption that men need more? Is it because we have to assemble flat pack furniture and play rugby? Bollocks to that. Dietary requirements are the same when we all work in offices sat on our arses in front of computer monitors…..)
By the time we leave, the parade has already started. We didn’t get a copy of the plan for the day, so we don’t know where the parade is starting from. (Town hall, Victoria Square – where most of the pix on the BBC were taken, as it turns out). Walking down past Smiths, we see the parade coming up. The parade stops for a couple of minutes, walks on a little bit, and then carries on. This is where the orange and Blue comes into effect; there was a troupe of them stopping and dancing.And the songs they used to play on the saxophones were most unusual – I can’t say I’ve ever heard Song 2 on a saxophone before, before groups of people shout 'whoo hoo!'.Blue write gay pride anthem shocker? And it's not 'Girls who are boys
,Who like boys to be girls, Who do boys like they're girls, Who do girls like they're boys, Always should be someone you really love'
etc. (And if that's not about your boyfriend loving it up the arse with a dildo, then what the hell is it about? Funny how they got such a lad audience with choruses like that). Either way, I couldn’t find a pic of them on the BBC website, so I’m going to nick it off Chig. I hope he doesn’t mind.
(And yes, that one in the middle does look like Mark Owen out of Take That)
The parade passes back, flanked by a police escort and news photographers and the mildly curious. Me and Nic decide to join the parade along the streets. Alas, as part of a non affiliated group we have to join the back. It seems like the beautiful people are at the front (and hell, some of them really are – in the classical muscular gay stereotype kind of way). Accordingly, We’re the not-quite so-beautiful people, so I jokingly mention to Nic, “So, shall we join the ugly people at the back?”. It seems that way. We haven’t made any effort, and I’m not strictly gay anyway (If I had to describe myself sexually; I’d say that as for being straight or gay, I’m more than that. I suppose that’s my way of either describing my as a raving omnisexual or that I don’t see the world in such black and white terms, in terms of skin colour of sexual preferences, or both). Two things about really do surprise me - the number of openly gay/bi metalheads (which can only be a good thing given how utterly heterosexual the genre used to be back in the mid 80's and early 90's - the only openly bi/gay metal group RPLA were soon dumped by their record label as soon as they admitted that, and often you'd find hostility towards gay/bi culture inpractically every quarter. ), often in korn and slipknot tops - and the amount of mullets visible. i ahven't seen this many mullets since the
It’s not every day you get the chance to walk in the middle of the road, and that’s to be celebrated. Hell, today was a celebration, full stop. Celebration of people just being what they are.
Nic bumps into people with astounding regularlity. It certainly seems like Nic knows everyone, which is odd for someone as hermitic as me to have as friends people who know people. Life is so odd, sometimes. (One of the best things about Nic is that she doesn't judge, she just takes you for who you are.I always think its wierd that so many of my friends are younger than me, but for nic, its no big deal.You just are what you are.)
We’re standing in the middle of the road by the back of the bullring. And then we’re underneath the tunnel. On the walkways people are crowded over at the sight./ I’ts not everday you see people marching along the streets of Birmingham. Especially not dressed in such a panoply of colours and costumes and sound. And then we’re on the smallbrook Queensway. The traffic is just sat there as we walk past. Sometimes, I do love a carnival. As bono said, “Rock N Roll - Stop the Traffic”. Well we didn’t so much do the Rock N’ Roll bit, but we did stop the traffic. We weave in and out of the carnival, walk along the Queensway, down to the end where it turns back into hurst Street. The people from HGL are passing out free chewits – or combination packs of condoms and lube. Given the choice, I generally find chewits easier to get hold of (they don’t tend to sell lube in Woolies) , but I don’t get either.
By the time we get back to the bottom of Hurst Street, it’s all over. The music is pumping, the people are dancing, the burger bars are doing the business, and the parade is finished for another year. The rest of Pride continues for another two days though, and there's plenty of pix about it on the BBC here
I couldn’t decide if he was i)Zaphod beeblebrox or ii)Vulcan. I still can’t. Answers on a postcard, please. It’s either that or he spends his time writing Slashfic about Kirk, Spock (Thank god they deleted the subplot in Star Trek IV about Saavik bearing Spocks child conceived during Pon Farr eh?)
The beautiful people and not quite-so-beautiful people are mingling together. The most unlikely people you can imagine. The queens and the normals and everyone. it’s just a celebration of being alive. Celebration of being who you are.
Sunday, May 29, 2005
Oh, the past couple of days have been hectic, frantic and yet oddly fun. It’s only when I haven’t been out having a good time that I’ve been in and getting hassled. So, is this all distraction therapy? I dunno. I do feel like I’m getting older thought – I’m not the 36 hour party person I used to be.
Friday was a busy day. Very busy. Though good. I got up at about 9.45 (After five hours or so sleep, caused by the whole ex-wife boyfriend email thing), and had to be in kings heath for 11 to meet Nic. Nic didn’t turn up til 11.15, courtesy of those pesky rubbish buses and the legendary gridlock that infects Kings Heath high street that makes it easier to walk than sit on the bus.
This congestion might have a lot to do with the fact that the 50 is the most frequent bus route in Europe , running once every 2 or 3 minutes. However, I’m not really convinced that it’s really the most Frequent bus route in Europe – I’m convinced that somewhere in mosely is a secret bus depot where they send out thirty no. 50’s out in one go twice an hour, 15 in each direction, just to give the illusion that the buses are really that frequent. (No, I haven’t been watching too many Oliver Stone movies. It’s just being sat at the bus stop for 10 minutes waiting for a bus and then seeing six come within 200 yards of each other is a little , ickle bit annoying). As for walking down the high street, sitting on the bus is the lazier option, and I don’t blame anyone for that. Presumably of course, you don’t actually have to wait 15 minutes for 5 to come along at once, or dodge the lottery that is standing outside Macdonald’s whilst watching chav teenagers trip down and rebuild ceramic HK-MP5 submachine guns in a matter of seconds. But if you need some respite from it, you can always duck into one of the millions of ubiqitous shops on the high street.
After meeting Nic and getting a form she picked up for me, then I went to Hall Green.Met one of my mates there. Came Home. Sat on the ‘internets’ (not the Geroge Bush approved ‘internets’, mind you), and then went into town. Met Charlie. Tis her 25th birthday.
And Where did I meet Charlie? Wasn’t sure it was Charlie at First. Can’t remember her hair being that big. Oh yeah, The Reflex. The 80’s bar on broad Street. I’ve never been there. And thing is, people always will love music of the 80’s. I don’t blame them. The music itself is fucking ace. The decade itself was a bit shit though. Thatcher, coal strikes, the Falklands war, Mullets(here’s more about mullets later)., pop videos shot in soft focus and primary colours…..and much much worse. The music though, is pure nostalgia now. It’s a reminder of a time when yes, we could be kings, and the world was at our feet. We were young then, but now we’re not, we’re slightly old, but just have an 80’s night and its like walking into a time machine. In our minds, we’re still young, and we’ve still got it. Its enough to make me remember why I’ve never been there. Now, call me bitchy, but I am. Still, there’s something quite disturbing about 40somethings in identikit casual shirts dancing (ie shuffling from side to side with their hands, slightly out of time, whilst remaining in exactly the same spot all night on the revolving dancefloor that moves 10 degrees at a time, stops and then continues in a rather disconcerting fashion), pretending that they can knock 20 years off their ages. Time doesn’t stand still, no matter how much we would love it to, and there’s little point pretending otherwise. Yes, its disturbing, but somehow I had within me the unshakable belief that all I had to do was get up there and dance, and they’d be shamed by my skills/props/whatever it is that Science on Big brother has that makes him think he really is so good. (He’s not. He’ll make Victor last year look like a Phd professor, whilst playing up to the black street thug stereotype the likes of which Daily Mail columnists dream of)
Yes, I think I’m being horrendously bitchy. God knows what I’ll make of myself when I start doing the same things myself. I’ll probably be even more filled up with self-loathing than before. I mean, I’ve seen myself dance and I’d never want to inflict that on anyone. You are what you are (yeah yeah, I go on about that all the time) and what I am is a 32 year old homeless unemployed single male. Gee, thanks God. That’s what I always wanted to be when I grew up.
Leaving the Reflex, go up to Edwards. Edwards I’ve explained before. It’s far from the best club in the world. But its one I’m particularly nostalgic about. I used to be there pretty much every Saturday for years growing up, the occasional Thursday (when it was indie night) and met an awful lot of people there. Some I kissed. Some I did more than that. Some became girlfriends; of which all of those are ex’s now, because I’m single. Edwards however, seems like a place in terminal decline – no longer the bustling centre of rockland in Birmingham, courtesy of the Academy but certainly helped by the demise of XL’s (Blaze Bailey’s (ex-Iron Maiden / Wolfsbane) favourite building in the whole world) into a poledancing joint. What happens is that I hang around downstairs, chatting to Charlie, then we go upstairs, and we chat for hours, and that’s pretty much it. Oh, and I bumped into Justin, a dude I used to work with. Before you know it, I’ve just about finished playing catch up with Charlie and seeing whats been going on in each others lives, and it’s half one. Where did the night go? I don’t know. I was just about ready to rock and the night was over. Maybe it is a sign I’m getting old after all when I take the entire night to wind up to a bout of rocking. Or maybe, its just a sign that I’m getting older that I’d rather spend the entire night chatting to friends.The thing that scares me is that at this rate, I’m going to end up sipping megafrapucino’s in coffee bars before I die. And that does scare me.... I'd rather not end up doing that.
I can't think of anything more bland to do with my life than that. Except of course, watching Eastenders every bloody day....or big brother...or any other variation of wallpaper TV. I'd rather read a good book, or have a nice cup of tea *.
Oh shit, I'm turning into Boy George aren't i?
* P.S.I don't actually drink tea, tho.
Friday was a busy day. Very busy. Though good. I got up at about 9.45 (After five hours or so sleep, caused by the whole ex-wife boyfriend email thing), and had to be in kings heath for 11 to meet Nic. Nic didn’t turn up til 11.15, courtesy of those pesky rubbish buses and the legendary gridlock that infects Kings Heath high street that makes it easier to walk than sit on the bus.
This congestion might have a lot to do with the fact that the 50 is the most frequent bus route in Europe , running once every 2 or 3 minutes. However, I’m not really convinced that it’s really the most Frequent bus route in Europe – I’m convinced that somewhere in mosely is a secret bus depot where they send out thirty no. 50’s out in one go twice an hour, 15 in each direction, just to give the illusion that the buses are really that frequent. (No, I haven’t been watching too many Oliver Stone movies. It’s just being sat at the bus stop for 10 minutes waiting for a bus and then seeing six come within 200 yards of each other is a little , ickle bit annoying). As for walking down the high street, sitting on the bus is the lazier option, and I don’t blame anyone for that. Presumably of course, you don’t actually have to wait 15 minutes for 5 to come along at once, or dodge the lottery that is standing outside Macdonald’s whilst watching chav teenagers trip down and rebuild ceramic HK-MP5 submachine guns in a matter of seconds. But if you need some respite from it, you can always duck into one of the millions of ubiqitous shops on the high street.
After meeting Nic and getting a form she picked up for me, then I went to Hall Green.Met one of my mates there. Came Home. Sat on the ‘internets’ (not the Geroge Bush approved ‘internets’, mind you), and then went into town. Met Charlie. Tis her 25th birthday.
And Where did I meet Charlie? Wasn’t sure it was Charlie at First. Can’t remember her hair being that big. Oh yeah, The Reflex. The 80’s bar on broad Street. I’ve never been there. And thing is, people always will love music of the 80’s. I don’t blame them. The music itself is fucking ace. The decade itself was a bit shit though. Thatcher, coal strikes, the Falklands war, Mullets(here’s more about mullets later)., pop videos shot in soft focus and primary colours…..and much much worse. The music though, is pure nostalgia now. It’s a reminder of a time when yes, we could be kings, and the world was at our feet. We were young then, but now we’re not, we’re slightly old, but just have an 80’s night and its like walking into a time machine. In our minds, we’re still young, and we’ve still got it. Its enough to make me remember why I’ve never been there. Now, call me bitchy, but I am. Still, there’s something quite disturbing about 40somethings in identikit casual shirts dancing (ie shuffling from side to side with their hands, slightly out of time, whilst remaining in exactly the same spot all night on the revolving dancefloor that moves 10 degrees at a time, stops and then continues in a rather disconcerting fashion), pretending that they can knock 20 years off their ages. Time doesn’t stand still, no matter how much we would love it to, and there’s little point pretending otherwise. Yes, its disturbing, but somehow I had within me the unshakable belief that all I had to do was get up there and dance, and they’d be shamed by my skills/props/whatever it is that Science on Big brother has that makes him think he really is so good. (He’s not. He’ll make Victor last year look like a Phd professor, whilst playing up to the black street thug stereotype the likes of which Daily Mail columnists dream of)
Yes, I think I’m being horrendously bitchy. God knows what I’ll make of myself when I start doing the same things myself. I’ll probably be even more filled up with self-loathing than before. I mean, I’ve seen myself dance and I’d never want to inflict that on anyone. You are what you are (yeah yeah, I go on about that all the time) and what I am is a 32 year old homeless unemployed single male. Gee, thanks God. That’s what I always wanted to be when I grew up.
Leaving the Reflex, go up to Edwards. Edwards I’ve explained before. It’s far from the best club in the world. But its one I’m particularly nostalgic about. I used to be there pretty much every Saturday for years growing up, the occasional Thursday (when it was indie night) and met an awful lot of people there. Some I kissed. Some I did more than that. Some became girlfriends; of which all of those are ex’s now, because I’m single. Edwards however, seems like a place in terminal decline – no longer the bustling centre of rockland in Birmingham, courtesy of the Academy but certainly helped by the demise of XL’s (Blaze Bailey’s (ex-Iron Maiden / Wolfsbane) favourite building in the whole world) into a poledancing joint. What happens is that I hang around downstairs, chatting to Charlie, then we go upstairs, and we chat for hours, and that’s pretty much it. Oh, and I bumped into Justin, a dude I used to work with. Before you know it, I’ve just about finished playing catch up with Charlie and seeing whats been going on in each others lives, and it’s half one. Where did the night go? I don’t know. I was just about ready to rock and the night was over. Maybe it is a sign I’m getting old after all when I take the entire night to wind up to a bout of rocking. Or maybe, its just a sign that I’m getting older that I’d rather spend the entire night chatting to friends.The thing that scares me is that at this rate, I’m going to end up sipping megafrapucino’s in coffee bars before I die. And that does scare me.... I'd rather not end up doing that.
I can't think of anything more bland to do with my life than that. Except of course, watching Eastenders every bloody day....or big brother...or any other variation of wallpaper TV. I'd rather read a good book, or have a nice cup of tea *.
Oh shit, I'm turning into Boy George aren't i?
* P.S.I don't actually drink tea, tho.
Saturday, May 28, 2005
Borrowed from Bo peep, who says "Music I can't do, but books, that's a different story". So this is my story.
Total # of books I own?
Where I am at the moment? About a hundred and twenty. Far too many of them are about Star Trek. (Ok, its about five). But there’s hundreds of books I wished I did own. The kicker is, most of them I already own anyway – but there at the old flat I used to share with the wife. According I classify them as “Missing, Not Accounted for” – ie not yet lost in the war of love, but more accurately described as Status Unknown. I had about 600 or 700 that are currently in that old flat that I miss dearly. There’s very few things as valuable or precious to me as books.
The last book I bought
Spike Lee “By Any Means Necessary” - The Making of Malcolm X and the screenplay combined. You see, I tend to buy books in bulk – ie about 8 or 10 in a day, and at about 70p (ie $1.20) each at most. At the moment, I scout round the local (and sometimes, to simply get out of the house the not so local) charity shops and libraries for discard stock and do a buying spree to replace what is currently missing in action or stuff I never bought in the first place.
The last book I read
Geoff Ryman's "253". Which is bloody great.
Five books that mean a lot to me?
At the moment?
Chuck Palhuniuk – “Survivor”.
It was a tough choice between this, Fight Club and Choke. I don’t have it here though. At the moment I consider myself as recovering from exposure to a cultish movement, much like the central character in survivor. This has a lot to do with 3 years of immersion with Mormons, via my (at the time) ultra-religious wife. Accordingly, I can empathise a lot with this book. Mind you, I can empathise a lot with the addictive part of the personality in the character of Choke, and the thirty nothing lifestyles of Fight Club” too. So can I tie all three? No. Oooops.
Joolz – “Emotional Terrorism” (Again, I don’t have it here)
Sadly out of print, and has been for about a decade or so. A collection of short stories and poems, moving and tragic, all tales of smalltown life, where dreams are so often cut short out of boredom, bullying, cruelty and mistakes we can never undo.
Frank Herbert – “Dune” Was the first book to make believe there really was something other than just our world – its groundbreaking in its scope of galactic politics and making you think these worlds he descirbes are as real as our own. Incredible. It’s the Lord of the Rings of Sci-Fi, but infinitely better. (This is because I don’t like Lord of the Rings, am not a Lord Of the Rings apologist, and don’t care to read hundreds of pages about the beauty of nature and singing trees. No, I don’t care that you love Lord of the Rings. No, I’m not going to persuaded its better than Dune, because It’s Not. No, I don’t care either. I’m sick to bloody death of Lord of the Rings. And yes, The films are pretty good, and the film of Dune is sadly not that great. Unlike the books however, the films end after about half a day or so, thank god. So please shut up about how great it is. Please. oh, and by the way, just in case you missed it..I really don't care that you love Lord Of the Rings . No, really, I don't.etc.)
Orwell – “1984”.
Utter Genius. If you haven't read this book, read it. Now. Switch off the computer and read it. Now.
Douglas Coupland – “Microserfs”
Welcome to Cubicle Land. The place is where you eat, sleep and live is surrounded by 3 alls of plastic, covered in artifical fibres. Ahead of you is a workstation.You are sat on a chair. On the screen is a Microsft Word document of html code and programming language. On your desk is a collection of personal effects, designed to give your cubicle a little more personality. Ahead of you is a cup of water from the dispenser. Where do you want to go today?
Player 1: Leave desk, get a life.
You Cannot LEAVE DESK. You have no life.
You have received an email from Bill. Oh god, Bill! It accuses you of ‘nesting’
Player 1:have Nervous Breakdown.
You cannot have a Nervous Breakdown. You Must CODE.
Player 1: Code. Fall asleep at desk from overwork. Eat Pizza. Repeat.
You have won MICROSERFS.Your High score is shares worth squillions. the End.
That’s the world of Microserfs. I’ve had jobs like that. 84.25 hours in a single week is my record for work.
Whats Yours?
Total # of books I own?
Where I am at the moment? About a hundred and twenty. Far too many of them are about Star Trek. (Ok, its about five). But there’s hundreds of books I wished I did own. The kicker is, most of them I already own anyway – but there at the old flat I used to share with the wife. According I classify them as “Missing, Not Accounted for” – ie not yet lost in the war of love, but more accurately described as Status Unknown. I had about 600 or 700 that are currently in that old flat that I miss dearly. There’s very few things as valuable or precious to me as books.
The last book I bought
Spike Lee “By Any Means Necessary” - The Making of Malcolm X and the screenplay combined. You see, I tend to buy books in bulk – ie about 8 or 10 in a day, and at about 70p (ie $1.20) each at most. At the moment, I scout round the local (and sometimes, to simply get out of the house the not so local) charity shops and libraries for discard stock and do a buying spree to replace what is currently missing in action or stuff I never bought in the first place.
The last book I read
Geoff Ryman's "253". Which is bloody great.
Five books that mean a lot to me?
At the moment?
Chuck Palhuniuk – “Survivor”.
It was a tough choice between this, Fight Club and Choke. I don’t have it here though. At the moment I consider myself as recovering from exposure to a cultish movement, much like the central character in survivor. This has a lot to do with 3 years of immersion with Mormons, via my (at the time) ultra-religious wife. Accordingly, I can empathise a lot with this book. Mind you, I can empathise a lot with the addictive part of the personality in the character of Choke, and the thirty nothing lifestyles of Fight Club” too. So can I tie all three? No. Oooops.
Joolz – “Emotional Terrorism” (Again, I don’t have it here)
Sadly out of print, and has been for about a decade or so. A collection of short stories and poems, moving and tragic, all tales of smalltown life, where dreams are so often cut short out of boredom, bullying, cruelty and mistakes we can never undo.
Frank Herbert – “Dune” Was the first book to make believe there really was something other than just our world – its groundbreaking in its scope of galactic politics and making you think these worlds he descirbes are as real as our own. Incredible. It’s the Lord of the Rings of Sci-Fi, but infinitely better. (This is because I don’t like Lord of the Rings, am not a Lord Of the Rings apologist, and don’t care to read hundreds of pages about the beauty of nature and singing trees. No, I don’t care that you love Lord of the Rings. No, I’m not going to persuaded its better than Dune, because It’s Not. No, I don’t care either. I’m sick to bloody death of Lord of the Rings. And yes, The films are pretty good, and the film of Dune is sadly not that great. Unlike the books however, the films end after about half a day or so, thank god. So please shut up about how great it is. Please. oh, and by the way, just in case you missed it..I really don't care that you love Lord Of the Rings . No, really, I don't.etc.)
Orwell – “1984”.
Utter Genius. If you haven't read this book, read it. Now. Switch off the computer and read it. Now.
Douglas Coupland – “Microserfs”
Welcome to Cubicle Land. The place is where you eat, sleep and live is surrounded by 3 alls of plastic, covered in artifical fibres. Ahead of you is a workstation.You are sat on a chair. On the screen is a Microsft Word document of html code and programming language. On your desk is a collection of personal effects, designed to give your cubicle a little more personality. Ahead of you is a cup of water from the dispenser. Where do you want to go today?
Player 1: Leave desk, get a life.
You Cannot LEAVE DESK. You have no life.
You have received an email from Bill. Oh god, Bill! It accuses you of ‘nesting’
Player 1:have Nervous Breakdown.
You cannot have a Nervous Breakdown. You Must CODE.
Player 1: Code. Fall asleep at desk from overwork. Eat Pizza. Repeat.
You have won MICROSERFS.Your High score is shares worth squillions. the End.
That’s the world of Microserfs. I’ve had jobs like that. 84.25 hours in a single week is my record for work.
Whats Yours?
Friday, May 27, 2005
So, here’s a list of the shows I’ve been at that made it out.
The Wonder Stuff - “Welcome To The Cheap Seats”VHS
in the “Caught in My Shadow” video. Pigeon park. Also seen there – Matt Bloor nee Everitt, drummer of menswear.
Sisters of Mercy / Murder Inc - Birmingham NEC - June 27 1992
(3 tracks from the Murder inc. set released by the band on the “Complete Murder Inc." double CD set)
Metallica – Birmingham NEC November 5th 1992
“Am I Evil/Helpless!” Recorded live with Diamond Head from this show released on “FanCan" and also the "Metallica" CD Album reissue in the metal tin with t-shirt and exclusive 3 track live VHS
Faith No more - Sheffield Arena, Dec 5th 1992
“Chinese Artihmetic” released on the Various artists “Hold On”Compilation Of tracks recorded for BBC Radio One. 60 mins of the gig broadcast on Radio One and issued on bootleg. I still have the ticket stub.
Neds Atomic Dustbin – Wolverhampton December 1992 -
“Lunatic magnets” VHS Includes one track “Walking on Syrup” filmed at that gig, but using the studio recording for use as a promo video.
The Wonder Stuff - Phoenix festival July 15 1994
“Finally Live” VHS - With 2 tracks from the gig issued on the “Love Bites and Bruises” Compilation. As for the VHS, look at the last frame of the crowd at the end of “Ten Trenches Deep”.My misguided hairstyle of the time is still present. Other artists I saw that were broadcast on ITV’s The Beat include Killing Joke, Blaggers ITA, Neds Atomic Dustbin, PWEI, Therapy? And Carter USM.
Pop Will eat Itself – “Amalgamation” Wolverhampton Civic Hall 14/15 oct 1994.
Not released, but 37 mins of one gig broadcast by BBC Radio ; and snippets of four songs from the other night broadcast by MTV.
Morrissey – Birmingham AVLC Sat 11th February 1995.
Portions of the show filmed and recorded for usage on “Introducing Morrissey” live VHS. No audio used in release, but the crowd footage on the video is from that show.
Therapy? – Wolverhampton Civic Hall – 10th june 1995
Two tracks released on the second CD single for “Loose”.
Manic Street Preachers – Leeds Town And Country Club - April 1996
Charity compilation entitled “Leeds 96” released including “you love us”.
New Order –
“316” DVD (Reading 98 plus extracts from Manchester Apollo July 1998)
Neds Atomic Dustbin - Dudley Castle 29 July 2000
“One More No more” live CD.
The Wonder Stuff – London Forum 15/16 December 2000.
“Cursed With Insincerity” CD album
The Wonder Stuff – London Forum 16 Dec 2000/ Nottingham August 2001
“Construction For The Modern Vidiot” DVD
Kraftwerk – London Royal Festival Hall, March 2004.
“Minimum Maximum” CD (London 2004)
Pop Will Eat Itself – Birmingham Academy January 2005)
“Reformation” CD + DVD.
The Wonder Stuff - “Welcome To The Cheap Seats”VHS
in the “Caught in My Shadow” video. Pigeon park. Also seen there – Matt Bloor nee Everitt, drummer of menswear.
Sisters of Mercy / Murder Inc - Birmingham NEC - June 27 1992
(3 tracks from the Murder inc. set released by the band on the “Complete Murder Inc." double CD set)
Metallica – Birmingham NEC November 5th 1992
“Am I Evil/Helpless!” Recorded live with Diamond Head from this show released on “FanCan" and also the "Metallica" CD Album reissue in the metal tin with t-shirt and exclusive 3 track live VHS
Faith No more - Sheffield Arena, Dec 5th 1992
“Chinese Artihmetic” released on the Various artists “Hold On”Compilation Of tracks recorded for BBC Radio One. 60 mins of the gig broadcast on Radio One and issued on bootleg. I still have the ticket stub.
Neds Atomic Dustbin – Wolverhampton December 1992 -
“Lunatic magnets” VHS Includes one track “Walking on Syrup” filmed at that gig, but using the studio recording for use as a promo video.
The Wonder Stuff - Phoenix festival July 15 1994
“Finally Live” VHS - With 2 tracks from the gig issued on the “Love Bites and Bruises” Compilation. As for the VHS, look at the last frame of the crowd at the end of “Ten Trenches Deep”.My misguided hairstyle of the time is still present. Other artists I saw that were broadcast on ITV’s The Beat include Killing Joke, Blaggers ITA, Neds Atomic Dustbin, PWEI, Therapy? And Carter USM.
Pop Will eat Itself – “Amalgamation” Wolverhampton Civic Hall 14/15 oct 1994.
Not released, but 37 mins of one gig broadcast by BBC Radio ; and snippets of four songs from the other night broadcast by MTV.
Morrissey – Birmingham AVLC Sat 11th February 1995.
Portions of the show filmed and recorded for usage on “Introducing Morrissey” live VHS. No audio used in release, but the crowd footage on the video is from that show.
Therapy? – Wolverhampton Civic Hall – 10th june 1995
Two tracks released on the second CD single for “Loose”.
Manic Street Preachers – Leeds Town And Country Club - April 1996
Charity compilation entitled “Leeds 96” released including “you love us”.
New Order –
“316” DVD (Reading 98 plus extracts from Manchester Apollo July 1998)
Neds Atomic Dustbin - Dudley Castle 29 July 2000
“One More No more” live CD.
The Wonder Stuff – London Forum 15/16 December 2000.
“Cursed With Insincerity” CD album
The Wonder Stuff – London Forum 16 Dec 2000/ Nottingham August 2001
“Construction For The Modern Vidiot” DVD
Kraftwerk – London Royal Festival Hall, March 2004.
“Minimum Maximum” CD (London 2004)
Pop Will Eat Itself – Birmingham Academy January 2005)
“Reformation” CD + DVD.
It’s been a very difficult couple of days emotionally. Life is wearing me down.Such a cliché, but emotionally I feel like I’m a battery that’s worn out, and there’s a simple reason.
The ex is in touch. Its getting stressed, and difficult, and there’s quite often a string of invective and bile from her. She’s getting all the anger out. All the hatred. Well, She did decide to end it, so if she wants to blame anyone, she should blame herself for it ending then. Oh, and let’s not even get into the little nitty gritty details about nominating mediators who we both know and trust, yet she turns them down because they are from church, and me wondering if there’s any reason why she would turn down a mediator from the church unless she’s i)left her stupid church or ii)Has something to hide – and in either case, it would be the case that our marriage was sacrificed on an altar she didn’t even believe in, and used it as a way of driving us apart. How utterly pointless that would be, to sacrifice and destroy my marriage for something you didn’t even believe in. (Mind you, this is the same woman who turned ultra-prudish until she needed a new bloke, and then listed one of her hobbies as ‘facials’, and I don’t mean the beauty treatment. )
Mind you, now the new boyfriend is sending me email. He’s divorced with two kids, has his own house and car. Obviously a far better catch than me, though he does look like he’s glass you soon as look at you, shortly after refusing you entry to the drinking establishment with his bald shaved head and his goatee beard, not to mention the brick shithouse appearance. I’ve seen him, and whilst he’s no mug in what he writes, his appearance makes it look like he would wrap your head around a crowbar with little difficulty, either physically or morally. It’s the sort of email with slightly veiled threats and some suppositions about my “somewhat lonely life”, let alone that stuff about having nowhere to live and a whole lot of possessions I abandoned. He says two out of those three could be resolved. It made me wonder if the resolution to my somewhat lonely life involved physical violence, so cryptically worded it was. Actually, I really don’t know what involvement this total stranger has in my life, or why I should trust him, and I don’t seem to remember marrying some bald bloke who I’ve never met who sends me emails out of the blue.
Very strange. It’s doing my head in. My life is falling apart. Or is it me that’s falling apart? Aside from a few recent but rather garbled attempts to communicate with the ex-wife which have ended in nothing approaching a resolution as to whats going on but simply a reiteration of bitterness on her part, I stated I wished a mediator present in our future discussions. The two I suggested were ones I felt I could trust – representatives of her church. Her idea of the mediator is the boyfriend. I suspect he may not be impartial.
No wonder I’m stressed. That and the impending change of housing situation and everything else is really making my mental state worse. Sometimes All I wanna do is just sit inside and hide from the world, so it can’t touch me, so It can’t hurt me.
Sometimes that really does seem like the best Idea.
The ex is in touch. Its getting stressed, and difficult, and there’s quite often a string of invective and bile from her. She’s getting all the anger out. All the hatred. Well, She did decide to end it, so if she wants to blame anyone, she should blame herself for it ending then. Oh, and let’s not even get into the little nitty gritty details about nominating mediators who we both know and trust, yet she turns them down because they are from church, and me wondering if there’s any reason why she would turn down a mediator from the church unless she’s i)left her stupid church or ii)Has something to hide – and in either case, it would be the case that our marriage was sacrificed on an altar she didn’t even believe in, and used it as a way of driving us apart. How utterly pointless that would be, to sacrifice and destroy my marriage for something you didn’t even believe in. (Mind you, this is the same woman who turned ultra-prudish until she needed a new bloke, and then listed one of her hobbies as ‘facials’, and I don’t mean the beauty treatment. )
Mind you, now the new boyfriend is sending me email. He’s divorced with two kids, has his own house and car. Obviously a far better catch than me, though he does look like he’s glass you soon as look at you, shortly after refusing you entry to the drinking establishment with his bald shaved head and his goatee beard, not to mention the brick shithouse appearance. I’ve seen him, and whilst he’s no mug in what he writes, his appearance makes it look like he would wrap your head around a crowbar with little difficulty, either physically or morally. It’s the sort of email with slightly veiled threats and some suppositions about my “somewhat lonely life”, let alone that stuff about having nowhere to live and a whole lot of possessions I abandoned. He says two out of those three could be resolved. It made me wonder if the resolution to my somewhat lonely life involved physical violence, so cryptically worded it was. Actually, I really don’t know what involvement this total stranger has in my life, or why I should trust him, and I don’t seem to remember marrying some bald bloke who I’ve never met who sends me emails out of the blue.
Very strange. It’s doing my head in. My life is falling apart. Or is it me that’s falling apart? Aside from a few recent but rather garbled attempts to communicate with the ex-wife which have ended in nothing approaching a resolution as to whats going on but simply a reiteration of bitterness on her part, I stated I wished a mediator present in our future discussions. The two I suggested were ones I felt I could trust – representatives of her church. Her idea of the mediator is the boyfriend. I suspect he may not be impartial.
No wonder I’m stressed. That and the impending change of housing situation and everything else is really making my mental state worse. Sometimes All I wanna do is just sit inside and hide from the world, so it can’t touch me, so It can’t hurt me.
Sometimes that really does seem like the best Idea.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
A quick list, gratuitously stolen from Katya.
Total volume of music files on my computer?
27.1gb of stuff I’ve compressed from my own collection, and I haven’t even scratched the surface yet.
The last CD I bought was?
Erm….Erm…..I can’t remember. I don’t keep lists. I think it was….oh bollocks. REM’s “Automatic For the People”, I think.I’m only 13 years out of date.
Song playing right now?
NIB by Black Sabbath, on the internal jukebox. Externally, there’s something very very annoying going on. Its not crazy frog. Its worse. Much worse.
Five songs I listen to a lot or that mean a lot to me
“The Evil that men Do” by Iron Maiden. The first single I ever bought, oh, the memories. Its 1988, and I’ve just discovered the world of music. And God, its fantastic. In hindsight, Iron maiden are just fun,dumb, kitsch tongue in cheek metal, but fond memories.
“Kite” by U2. It means a lot to me. Mind you,a lot of U2 does.
“Ultraviolent” by the Almighty. Soundtracked every morning I got up for work for six months. Still do bring it out occasionally, well twice a week, when angry and annoyed.
“Can’t Shape up” by The Wonderstuff. Soundtracked the depressing moments in my mind.
“Low Self Opinion” by Rollins band. More music for self-loathing people. It works very well.
Total volume of music files on my computer?
27.1gb of stuff I’ve compressed from my own collection, and I haven’t even scratched the surface yet.
The last CD I bought was?
Erm….Erm…..I can’t remember. I don’t keep lists. I think it was….oh bollocks. REM’s “Automatic For the People”, I think.I’m only 13 years out of date.
Song playing right now?
NIB by Black Sabbath, on the internal jukebox. Externally, there’s something very very annoying going on. Its not crazy frog. Its worse. Much worse.
Five songs I listen to a lot or that mean a lot to me
“The Evil that men Do” by Iron Maiden. The first single I ever bought, oh, the memories. Its 1988, and I’ve just discovered the world of music. And God, its fantastic. In hindsight, Iron maiden are just fun,dumb, kitsch tongue in cheek metal, but fond memories.
“Kite” by U2. It means a lot to me. Mind you,a lot of U2 does.
“Ultraviolent” by the Almighty. Soundtracked every morning I got up for work for six months. Still do bring it out occasionally, well twice a week, when angry and annoyed.
“Can’t Shape up” by The Wonderstuff. Soundtracked the depressing moments in my mind.
“Low Self Opinion” by Rollins band. More music for self-loathing people. It works very well.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
I've been writing a lot lately - its got a lot to do with putting some time aside and actually just writing. Maybe it has a bit to do with moving the blog, But there don't seem to be many comments. Thus, whatever I'm writing really isn't that important, and I do wonder what would happen if i stopped.
It's called "lonely town" for a reason. Birmingham is a lonely town - and I do feel alone and isolated a lot of the time.I stay in a lot. I don't have many friends, though some might say its because i)I stay in a lot and ii) I spend most of my time whilst staying in...online. Consequently, most of my friends are net friends, most of whom i've only really known the past year or so. Some of them are very dear to me, people I deeply trust, and most of them younger. It's just the way it is.
But it doesn't stop the loneliness sometimes. The general feeling of isolation. Sometimes I try to reach out to people, but shy away at the last minute. I want to connect but I don't want to get hurt. So I don't let them into my lives, even though I want to. I have the fear. We all get that fear sometimes, but I've been hurt with the wife thing, and there's not so much a feeling of closure as much as exposure. All everybody wants to go through life, find that somone, connect and be happy. Well, i found someone, just not that someone, and look where it got me.
Damn my petty neuroses catching up with me Again, If I get anyworse, I'll be a one man Nick Hornby novel, and it'll probably be called "About a Blogger" *ahem*
Night Night x
It's called "lonely town" for a reason. Birmingham is a lonely town - and I do feel alone and isolated a lot of the time.I stay in a lot. I don't have many friends, though some might say its because i)I stay in a lot and ii) I spend most of my time whilst staying in...online. Consequently, most of my friends are net friends, most of whom i've only really known the past year or so. Some of them are very dear to me, people I deeply trust, and most of them younger. It's just the way it is.
But it doesn't stop the loneliness sometimes. The general feeling of isolation. Sometimes I try to reach out to people, but shy away at the last minute. I want to connect but I don't want to get hurt. So I don't let them into my lives, even though I want to. I have the fear. We all get that fear sometimes, but I've been hurt with the wife thing, and there's not so much a feeling of closure as much as exposure. All everybody wants to go through life, find that somone, connect and be happy. Well, i found someone, just not that someone, and look where it got me.
Damn my petty neuroses catching up with me Again, If I get anyworse, I'll be a one man Nick Hornby novel, and it'll probably be called "About a Blogger" *ahem*
Night Night x
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Apparently,. According to some, I have had a blog since well…Since the dawn of blogs.
Looking back in time, apparently it looked like this.
”1990 I *luv* the manics
1993 I *luv* the manics
1996 I *luv* the manics
1999 I *luv* the manics
2002 I *luv* the manics
2005 The manics are sell out cunts and I always said so.”
But in the real world, it would be
“1990 I luv iron maiden
1993 I luv PWEI
1996 I luv pitchshifter
1999 I luv no-one. I hate myself and want a pie.
2002 I luv her
2005 I hate her.And myself for good measure.”
Though someone else would have it as "i hat emy ex. the stupid bitch fell in love with God and left me out on teh street. she had it coming when i slapped her. and not in the bed either. though she loved it when i slapped when we were fucking. dirty slag. reminds me of that manics songa bout domestivc violence, don';t they klnow women hit men too? and kylie, well, she had it coming. botox is a poison, no wonder you got cancer, love".
Which astounds me how little understand there is of how I feel in that, and it just goes to show how wrong they are if they think thats the way I think (Even if that spelling is better than mine). The reduction of what I believe has been so distorted there, its almost unreal. Its sad someone really thinks I think that way. Because I don’t, not in the slightest. Nor would I elaborate on anything about sex on here, there’s no way I would discuss that, certainly not in any sense whereby I would discuss what goes on (or not) in whoever’s bedroom. I do have some decorum on this interwibble thing, even though a lot of the time I am painfully honest and raw about myself, I’m not the same about other people, not as a general rule.
Maybe that’s why sometimes I'm described as being 'passive-aggressive' . I don't hide my feelings, but don't name names.That anonymous 'someone i know' gets round an awful lot, don't you know? I know I'm not perfect. And sometimes the people in question read it and take offence, whihc is an occupational hazard. But the way it is written is simple :- Only people who I know already outside the blog and discussed this with would be able to know the people who I'm talking about on the blog. There's no way anyone who doesn't already know who it is can link what I'm saying with who I'm saying it about. (The only exception being the Ex-wife situation,but thats something i try not to discuss in detail). Therefore there's a relative anonymity that remains protected. Either way, I don't name names, not sexually. Even though occasionally, with people I truly trust, I may share a little more than I should. I think we all do sometimes with people we trust - say a little more than sometimes we should. We're only human, and its a failing of ours sometimes.
Either way, I kinda forgot what I was saying the for a minute.Oh yeah, how sometimes what I'm trying to say gets missed, gets lost and misinterpreted. In fact, the whole kylie/ botox thing was seriously misunderstood.There's a reason why I said that, and again, I didn't explain to it very well. I wasn't trying to put a deliberate causal link between botox and cancer, but between the culture of 'beauty' and illhealth.
To me, there is a distinct and definite correlation between how you treat your body, what you put into it and what happens. If You eat shit and fatty foods, you grow fat. (My waistline will occasionally testify to this, but normally it's too busy expanding outward exponentially as I stuff myself, apparently. I am quite sensitive about my weight, because I have some, but it's just me. I am what I am, nothing more and nothing less.) It's like Newton talking about Physics when he says that every action has an equal and opposite reaction - ok, maybe not so much - but the principle remains.
Its sort of like the Garbage In, Garbage Out principle. If you treat your body well and take care of it, you'll remain in good shape. You put shit into your body and treat it badly, and it won't remain in good shape. Bad things will happen. For most people, you get unfit, middle aged spread arrives and then you're suddenly a fat slob. It's not helped if you spend most your time scrunched down in front of the pale light of a computer monitor, or sat round on a sofa watching crappy TV for the rest of your life. As for meself, I'll probably do the former though, I like sitting on my arse too much to do exercise that much. For a start, I never was good at sport, I hated it at school, and when I didn't have to do it anymore, I didn't. And now I'm sufficiently unfit not to want to spend half an hour setting my lungs on fire and making the muscles in my legs burn from running miles and miles. Thats not self pity, just the way I am. I'm feel too bloody old and set in my ways in my own way.
But it's true. If you will treat your body like a slum, then that’s what it will become. That’s the point I was making about Kylie in a roundabout way ; If you put botulinium toxin into your body - a known poison sold to Iraq along Bacillus Anthrax (the source of anthrax) and Escherichia Coli - as reported in to the US senate committee in 1994 - well, what the fuck do you expect? Would you inject yourself with anthrax to make yourself healthy? Would you expect to remain healthy if you did? Of course not.
Sticking poison into your body is not a smart move. Calling it Botox - just nicely removing the toxin part of the name makes it all the more better, of course because what it does is paralyse your nerves and muscles (after all, Sarin does the same thing) - just prettifies the fact that you're treating your body like shit.
But, hey at least you look good.
Well If you can call that good. I say good, but what I mean, deliberately underweight to the point of endangering your own health, and like some plasiticsed clothes rack with teeth and cheekbones, but you look good. Or perhaps more accurately, what some vacous airhead at the fashion desk of GQ/Cosmo/Marie Claire/insert name of generic fashion magazine here thinks you should like. Well, in Kylie's case, you look like a piece of plasticised muppetry, but that’s a matter of personal taste, but think of this way - why should you be told what looks good by someone like that?
They don't know you, they don't know who you are, they don't know shit about you, they don’t know what looks good for you. They know who takes them to parties, puts on fashion shows and how to take coke in toilets. That’s a bullshit lifestyle, and its got fuck all with the real life. Its an insulated and shallow existence and soon you'll get passed aside for someone younger, thinner, and you'll be left on the scrapheap, embittered and empty.
For gods sake, what's wrong with actually just having the emotional security to turn around and say, Fuck it. I don't care what some guy at some magazine thinks. His approval won't make me happy. I'm good enough for me, just the way I am. Fuck you and your thousand dollar dresses, your botox injections, your strappy shoes that cost $5 to make in a sweatshop in Thailand but sell for $750 on the streets of Manhattan. Fuck you and your false culture, Fuck you and your empty headed vanity. I don't need your bullshit. I am what I am and that’s good enough for me. Don't make me hate myself just to sell your fucking fashion magazines to impressionable teenagers who will develop weight problems later in life. Go hate yourselves for running the lives of millions of healthy women and making them insecure, making them unhealthy, making them develop annorexia. I'm good enough for me, and your opinions and your thousand dollar dresses and appearing in glossy fashion magazines….don't mean a damn thing to me. I am who I am, and you and your bullshit billion dollar industry can go and fuck yourselves.
Its your billion dollar industry iof vanity and self-mutilation in the name of 'beauty' that turned Kylie from looking like this
(in 1987)
to this
(in 2005).
it's not even the same nose. how the hell can you tell me that is the same person? It looks like some melted wax mannequin, freezeframed from the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.
Anyone who can't see through the fact its all based on a shallow and meaningless attempt to sell us thousand dollar dresses we don't need, anyone who believes that lie, just makes me despair. I can't understand when people get caught up in the minutae of vanity, and they care more about a brand of shoes than the people who die simply so we can have cheap slave labour to make your ugly fucking shoes in the first place.
That's one of the reason why - and I don’t care if you call me shallow - why I'll never be with anyone who's ever had cosmetic surgery. If you have, I can't be with you. There's a significant difference here between say, people who have breast reduction to stop back trouble later in life, and those who decide they need to have their nose broken and cheekbones smashed just to look better, just to fit in with some pretentious and meaningless social circle of false acceptance. Why would I want to be with someone who hates themselves so much they have to mutilate themselves just to fit in - fit in to some hypothetical, idealised ideal of beauty from a culture that states Barbie is the perfect woman. And , as Mark pointed out, If Barbie was a real woman, she would be biologically dysfunctional to the point where she could no longer menstruate. Thats' hardly something to aspire to.
I hate false people. Fakers. People are not true to themselves. You are what you are, nothing more and nothing less, and there's no point in saying one thing and then doing another (even if I know I sometimes do it myself, I don't do it deliberatley), and there's even less point in pretending to be something you're not - anything less than yourself. If somehow, you read too many glossy magazines with airbrushed hyperstylised pictures of impossibly thin, heroin chic bullshit, and you strive to that - then for gods sake why? Are those deformed, mutilated fucking freaks with botulism poison in their skin something to really aspire to?
You are what you are. Don't hate yourself because you don't look something on a catwalk. All you are, is all you are. It doesn't sound very profound, but the sooner people accept that they are what they are, and nothing more and nothing less, then maybe we'll stop injecting ourselves in poison in the name of vanity and some hypothetical beauty we'll never fit into it. If you do that, then you couldn't get any uglier to me. You may be one of the beautiful people, at least on the outside, but on the inside You had to learn to hate yourself, to love yourself as someone else told you to be.You're just another fuck up, someone who hates themselves the way they are, and needs to conform to some shallow and meaningless ideal in order to like themselves.
And to me, you can’t get any further away from beauty than that.
Looking back in time, apparently it looked like this.
”1990 I *luv* the manics
1993 I *luv* the manics
1996 I *luv* the manics
1999 I *luv* the manics
2002 I *luv* the manics
2005 The manics are sell out cunts and I always said so.”
But in the real world, it would be
“1990 I luv iron maiden
1993 I luv PWEI
1996 I luv pitchshifter
1999 I luv no-one. I hate myself and want a pie.
2002 I luv her
2005 I hate her.And myself for good measure.”
Though someone else would have it as "i hat emy ex. the stupid bitch fell in love with God and left me out on teh street. she had it coming when i slapped her. and not in the bed either. though she loved it when i slapped when we were fucking. dirty slag. reminds me of that manics songa bout domestivc violence, don';t they klnow women hit men too? and kylie, well, she had it coming. botox is a poison, no wonder you got cancer, love".
Which astounds me how little understand there is of how I feel in that, and it just goes to show how wrong they are if they think thats the way I think (Even if that spelling is better than mine). The reduction of what I believe has been so distorted there, its almost unreal. Its sad someone really thinks I think that way. Because I don’t, not in the slightest. Nor would I elaborate on anything about sex on here, there’s no way I would discuss that, certainly not in any sense whereby I would discuss what goes on (or not) in whoever’s bedroom. I do have some decorum on this interwibble thing, even though a lot of the time I am painfully honest and raw about myself, I’m not the same about other people, not as a general rule.
Maybe that’s why sometimes I'm described as being 'passive-aggressive' . I don't hide my feelings, but don't name names.That anonymous 'someone i know' gets round an awful lot, don't you know? I know I'm not perfect. And sometimes the people in question read it and take offence, whihc is an occupational hazard. But the way it is written is simple :- Only people who I know already outside the blog and discussed this with would be able to know the people who I'm talking about on the blog. There's no way anyone who doesn't already know who it is can link what I'm saying with who I'm saying it about. (The only exception being the Ex-wife situation,but thats something i try not to discuss in detail). Therefore there's a relative anonymity that remains protected. Either way, I don't name names, not sexually. Even though occasionally, with people I truly trust, I may share a little more than I should. I think we all do sometimes with people we trust - say a little more than sometimes we should. We're only human, and its a failing of ours sometimes.
Either way, I kinda forgot what I was saying the for a minute.Oh yeah, how sometimes what I'm trying to say gets missed, gets lost and misinterpreted. In fact, the whole kylie/ botox thing was seriously misunderstood.There's a reason why I said that, and again, I didn't explain to it very well. I wasn't trying to put a deliberate causal link between botox and cancer, but between the culture of 'beauty' and illhealth.
To me, there is a distinct and definite correlation between how you treat your body, what you put into it and what happens. If You eat shit and fatty foods, you grow fat. (My waistline will occasionally testify to this, but normally it's too busy expanding outward exponentially as I stuff myself, apparently. I am quite sensitive about my weight, because I have some, but it's just me. I am what I am, nothing more and nothing less.) It's like Newton talking about Physics when he says that every action has an equal and opposite reaction - ok, maybe not so much - but the principle remains.
Its sort of like the Garbage In, Garbage Out principle. If you treat your body well and take care of it, you'll remain in good shape. You put shit into your body and treat it badly, and it won't remain in good shape. Bad things will happen. For most people, you get unfit, middle aged spread arrives and then you're suddenly a fat slob. It's not helped if you spend most your time scrunched down in front of the pale light of a computer monitor, or sat round on a sofa watching crappy TV for the rest of your life. As for meself, I'll probably do the former though, I like sitting on my arse too much to do exercise that much. For a start, I never was good at sport, I hated it at school, and when I didn't have to do it anymore, I didn't. And now I'm sufficiently unfit not to want to spend half an hour setting my lungs on fire and making the muscles in my legs burn from running miles and miles. Thats not self pity, just the way I am. I'm feel too bloody old and set in my ways in my own way.
But it's true. If you will treat your body like a slum, then that’s what it will become. That’s the point I was making about Kylie in a roundabout way ; If you put botulinium toxin into your body - a known poison sold to Iraq along Bacillus Anthrax (the source of anthrax) and Escherichia Coli - as reported in to the US senate committee in 1994 - well, what the fuck do you expect? Would you inject yourself with anthrax to make yourself healthy? Would you expect to remain healthy if you did? Of course not.
Sticking poison into your body is not a smart move. Calling it Botox - just nicely removing the toxin part of the name makes it all the more better, of course because what it does is paralyse your nerves and muscles (after all, Sarin does the same thing) - just prettifies the fact that you're treating your body like shit.
But, hey at least you look good.
Well If you can call that good. I say good, but what I mean, deliberately underweight to the point of endangering your own health, and like some plasiticsed clothes rack with teeth and cheekbones, but you look good. Or perhaps more accurately, what some vacous airhead at the fashion desk of GQ/Cosmo/Marie Claire/insert name of generic fashion magazine here thinks you should like. Well, in Kylie's case, you look like a piece of plasticised muppetry, but that’s a matter of personal taste, but think of this way - why should you be told what looks good by someone like that?
They don't know you, they don't know who you are, they don't know shit about you, they don’t know what looks good for you. They know who takes them to parties, puts on fashion shows and how to take coke in toilets. That’s a bullshit lifestyle, and its got fuck all with the real life. Its an insulated and shallow existence and soon you'll get passed aside for someone younger, thinner, and you'll be left on the scrapheap, embittered and empty.
For gods sake, what's wrong with actually just having the emotional security to turn around and say, Fuck it. I don't care what some guy at some magazine thinks. His approval won't make me happy. I'm good enough for me, just the way I am. Fuck you and your thousand dollar dresses, your botox injections, your strappy shoes that cost $5 to make in a sweatshop in Thailand but sell for $750 on the streets of Manhattan. Fuck you and your false culture, Fuck you and your empty headed vanity. I don't need your bullshit. I am what I am and that’s good enough for me. Don't make me hate myself just to sell your fucking fashion magazines to impressionable teenagers who will develop weight problems later in life. Go hate yourselves for running the lives of millions of healthy women and making them insecure, making them unhealthy, making them develop annorexia. I'm good enough for me, and your opinions and your thousand dollar dresses and appearing in glossy fashion magazines….don't mean a damn thing to me. I am who I am, and you and your bullshit billion dollar industry can go and fuck yourselves.
Its your billion dollar industry iof vanity and self-mutilation in the name of 'beauty' that turned Kylie from looking like this
(in 1987)
to this
(in 2005).
it's not even the same nose. how the hell can you tell me that is the same person? It looks like some melted wax mannequin, freezeframed from the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.
Anyone who can't see through the fact its all based on a shallow and meaningless attempt to sell us thousand dollar dresses we don't need, anyone who believes that lie, just makes me despair. I can't understand when people get caught up in the minutae of vanity, and they care more about a brand of shoes than the people who die simply so we can have cheap slave labour to make your ugly fucking shoes in the first place.
That's one of the reason why - and I don’t care if you call me shallow - why I'll never be with anyone who's ever had cosmetic surgery. If you have, I can't be with you. There's a significant difference here between say, people who have breast reduction to stop back trouble later in life, and those who decide they need to have their nose broken and cheekbones smashed just to look better, just to fit in with some pretentious and meaningless social circle of false acceptance. Why would I want to be with someone who hates themselves so much they have to mutilate themselves just to fit in - fit in to some hypothetical, idealised ideal of beauty from a culture that states Barbie is the perfect woman. And , as Mark pointed out, If Barbie was a real woman, she would be biologically dysfunctional to the point where she could no longer menstruate. Thats' hardly something to aspire to.
I hate false people. Fakers. People are not true to themselves. You are what you are, nothing more and nothing less, and there's no point in saying one thing and then doing another (even if I know I sometimes do it myself, I don't do it deliberatley), and there's even less point in pretending to be something you're not - anything less than yourself. If somehow, you read too many glossy magazines with airbrushed hyperstylised pictures of impossibly thin, heroin chic bullshit, and you strive to that - then for gods sake why? Are those deformed, mutilated fucking freaks with botulism poison in their skin something to really aspire to?
You are what you are. Don't hate yourself because you don't look something on a catwalk. All you are, is all you are. It doesn't sound very profound, but the sooner people accept that they are what they are, and nothing more and nothing less, then maybe we'll stop injecting ourselves in poison in the name of vanity and some hypothetical beauty we'll never fit into it. If you do that, then you couldn't get any uglier to me. You may be one of the beautiful people, at least on the outside, but on the inside You had to learn to hate yourself, to love yourself as someone else told you to be.You're just another fuck up, someone who hates themselves the way they are, and needs to conform to some shallow and meaningless ideal in order to like themselves.
And to me, you can’t get any further away from beauty than that.
The story of the day seems to be that there are three sisters in the same family are now teenage mothers, in the country of Derbyshie, a county that's home to some of the worst Urban deprivation, violence and other signs of social delinquency in the country. The three sisters were mothers at 12 (Jemma, with T-Jay), at 14 (Jade to Amani) , at 16 (Natasha to Lita) - and all are now teenage mothers. All under the legal age of consent when they conceieved. And as usual, the Sun chose a suitably balanced headline…
It's the sort of headline even the Dailyhate Mail would step aside from. (If it was the BNP, they'd more concerned about our pure Ayran women crossbreeding with Asians and Negroes diluting our bloodline, but let's be thankful they don’t get their publications in every newsagents shall we?)
The thing that is important to the sun isn't the fact that these children are choosing to have children themselves, or not using protection, or so ill informed by poor sexual education that the consequences are ignored; its not even the fact that some decent investment in turning Britains rural towns into somewhere people have a hope of any real, decent prospects in the future.
It’s the fact that "And guess what - you're paying their 31K a year benefits". .
I presume then, It would have been Ok if say, Their grandmother has won millions on the poor tax, of course. Then they'd be able to breed all they liked, obviously.
IS it just me or is there something utterly fucked up about that headline? So, According to the Sun, what's important here is NOT
i) the fact that sexual education was lacking caused by funding cuts
ii) That this is the result of current government policies or
iii) The fact that social deprivation often results in people falling into petty crime or a dead end cycle of social neglect
No, the important thing is that supporting these children costs the same as say, a minor league civil servant pushing paperclips around. Or lets put it in perspective …the cost is much less than years wages for the chief executive of the self-righteous newspaper proclaiming what an evil it is. To me, it's more of an evil that such a bigoted fool earns such an obscene amount of money a year spouting such sanctimonious bullshit.
What I'm doing here is not condoning the fact that they have had children so young, and so ill prepared. None were planned. We all make mistakes, we all have accidents, and ignorance and poor education play a big part in this. As the mother of the three children says, " I blame the schools - sex education for young girls should be better."
She's got a point, hasn't she? She's a mother, she loves her children, and does what any mother does - to protect and look after her children the best she can. But you can't watch over them 24 hours a day - its impossible. You can’t nursemaid them for the rest of their lives. She says, "I love my kids and I'm here to help them. If I could turn back the clock, I would prefer them not to have children. Their education is so important." What else can someone who loves their children say?
According to the Metro "Eldest Daughter, Natasha was 16 when she fell pregnant to a 38 year old Asian man." Next was Jade, then 14, who fell pregnant after a one-night stand." The other, Jade, was 12 when she conceived. To put that in perspective - the mother of all three is 38 herself - the same age as the father of one of her grandchildren, and the only one to remain in contact with the mother. As The other two children, the fathers are no longer in touch; one was a one night stand, the other was her 14 year old boyfriend.
Its stupid to have children at their ages. But the utter hypocrisy of the sun astonishes and disgusts me. The sun doesn't care - about the fact that these young lives with so much potential have been squandered because of poor education, poor information and poor decisions - mostly avoidable if there has been better education but more important,. The fact they had something more to look forward to in their lives, something aspire to to, than working in a minimum wage job at poundland for the rest of their damn lives.
Whats £31,000 a year? A lot to some people, myself included. But overall, its nothing.
From that tone of indignation in the headline, it's almost as if the editors themselves are paying for the children out of their own pockets.
According to many a report, , the editor of the Sun is estimated to earn £250,000 a year (at least during the Piers Morgan years) , and the editor of the Daily Mail / Evening Standard / Mail on Sunday (Paul Dacre) earned £834,000 in the past year, plus an additional top up to his p£401,000 pension, £74,000 in benefits to pay for his accomodation in london and a chaffeur. Which is just one example of the telephone number salaries these people earn. (For more information , look here and here . Richard Littlejohn, another columnist for The Sun, earns approximately £800,000 a year as well - and can you imagine a mere columnist getting paid more than the editor does?
Presumably then, whats got their goat is that it's their £31,000 paying for it, which presumably could be much better spent on, say, buying up a local street from the council, and turning it into a private road, like Paul Dacre and his local residents did so that their gardeners would be able to prettify the lawns of the obscenely rich.
Can someone tell me what exactly someone who earns £840,000 a year - or to put it in perspective earns over 50% more in a week than these teenage moms will in a year (divide the £31,000 by three) - needs with another £31,000? What are they going to spend it on? Food isn't that expensive in London that you need £840,000 just to live on the fucking breadline.Di they need it just to get the right brand of caviar at £1,000 a plate? Of course not. This is just obscene, extravagent, decadent opulence the type of which hasn't been seen since the days of the fall of Rome. The obscenely rich people whinge about not having ENOUGH money when they have more money than they could possibly ever need. The vast majority of workers won't earn in their life what these people earn in a year.
I doubt that it is actually the tax dollars of Rupert Murdoch anyway that pays for this £31,000 a year - it's a well known and documented fact that he channels most of the profits to offshore corporations in the Cayman Islands, and has paid only a minute fraction of what he should have done in tax since 1985. Why don't we have a big campaign against say, corporate tax evasion stealing billions from the public purse every year? Oh, erm.. because of it's single mothers that are the problem, of course! And we can tell the whole world so because, erm...we own the printing presses! YAY!
And £31,000 a year is much less than the £78,000 Geoff Hoon spent on a five day, taxpayer funded trip to India in 2004 with his wife in tow, to help sell weapons. It isn't much compared to £1 million , the price of a single Tomahawk Cruise missile fought in a pointless and wasteful war in a country we shouldn’t be in. Concerned about wasting money? Really? Campaign aginst the root, the leading cause of government wastefulness - buying needless weaposn to kill people with. And I would like to point out,the Ministry of Defence recently spent £22 million on such missiles in 2003 in anticipation of the annexation of Iraq. I tell you, If we're concerned about unnecessary government expenditure, how much would we save by withdrawing troops from a country where we aren't wanted, and are serving no purpose - Iraq. We'd save At least £3.5 BILLION. That £31,000? It's nothing. it's less than a millionth of that 3.5 Billion.
£31,000?
I'll tell you what it is.
It's what the editor of that paper earns in mere weeks, and what would he do in his righteous indignation with that precious £31,000? What he earns in mere weeks so he can spunk it on ridiculously expensive wines and expensive clothes he'll wear once or twice and some stupidly powered car, will need to keep these human lives on everything for a year. Do we want some fucking perspective here? How about this - what's more important? £1000 a plate caviar, or keeping someone alive on the breadline? He doesn’t need it as much as these people struggling to get buy on feeding and clothing for an entire year on less than he earns in a day. If we weren't squandering and rewarding such naked avarice and greed, we might have a bit more of a social conscience. And we might actually realise what's important in life. And its not money.
It's a decent and fundamental perspective on the value of human life. And a values system which demonises an administration willing to kill and slaughter poor people in far away lands so that those in fat cat positions can keep on keeping themselves pampered, thinking they are better than mere proles like Us. Let us dare not ever criticise those in Fleet Street who earn silly money - or they may well send out a witch hunt, like they did to Paul Foot when he criticized Paul Dacre who sent a team of five journalists to discredit him and dig up dirt for daring to point out his earnings in a political debate. Lets keep banging on about single mothers instead, and how much a drain they are on the public purse.
And lets not mention a bloody word about the fact that needless missiles spent on a pointless and unwanted war in the imperial conquest and annexation of Iraq are a far bigger drain on that public purse than a scared teenage mom with zero prospects in derbyshire will ever be. ....
It's the sort of headline even the Daily
The thing that is important to the sun isn't the fact that these children are choosing to have children themselves, or not using protection, or so ill informed by poor sexual education that the consequences are ignored; its not even the fact that some decent investment in turning Britains rural towns into somewhere people have a hope of any real, decent prospects in the future.
It’s the fact that "And guess what - you're paying their 31K a year benefits". .
I presume then, It would have been Ok if say, Their grandmother has won millions on the poor tax, of course. Then they'd be able to breed all they liked, obviously.
IS it just me or is there something utterly fucked up about that headline? So, According to the Sun, what's important here is NOT
i) the fact that sexual education was lacking caused by funding cuts
ii) That this is the result of current government policies or
iii) The fact that social deprivation often results in people falling into petty crime or a dead end cycle of social neglect
No, the important thing is that supporting these children costs the same as say, a minor league civil servant pushing paperclips around. Or lets put it in perspective …the cost is much less than years wages for the chief executive of the self-righteous newspaper proclaiming what an evil it is. To me, it's more of an evil that such a bigoted fool earns such an obscene amount of money a year spouting such sanctimonious bullshit.
What I'm doing here is not condoning the fact that they have had children so young, and so ill prepared. None were planned. We all make mistakes, we all have accidents, and ignorance and poor education play a big part in this. As the mother of the three children says, " I blame the schools - sex education for young girls should be better."
She's got a point, hasn't she? She's a mother, she loves her children, and does what any mother does - to protect and look after her children the best she can. But you can't watch over them 24 hours a day - its impossible. You can’t nursemaid them for the rest of their lives. She says, "I love my kids and I'm here to help them. If I could turn back the clock, I would prefer them not to have children. Their education is so important." What else can someone who loves their children say?
According to the Metro "Eldest Daughter, Natasha was 16 when she fell pregnant to a 38 year old Asian man." Next was Jade, then 14, who fell pregnant after a one-night stand." The other, Jade, was 12 when she conceived. To put that in perspective - the mother of all three is 38 herself - the same age as the father of one of her grandchildren, and the only one to remain in contact with the mother. As The other two children, the fathers are no longer in touch; one was a one night stand, the other was her 14 year old boyfriend.
Its stupid to have children at their ages. But the utter hypocrisy of the sun astonishes and disgusts me. The sun doesn't care - about the fact that these young lives with so much potential have been squandered because of poor education, poor information and poor decisions - mostly avoidable if there has been better education but more important,. The fact they had something more to look forward to in their lives, something aspire to to, than working in a minimum wage job at poundland for the rest of their damn lives.
Whats £31,000 a year? A lot to some people, myself included. But overall, its nothing.
From that tone of indignation in the headline, it's almost as if the editors themselves are paying for the children out of their own pockets.
According to many a report, , the editor of the Sun is estimated to earn £250,000 a year (at least during the Piers Morgan years) , and the editor of the Daily Mail / Evening Standard / Mail on Sunday (Paul Dacre) earned £834,000 in the past year, plus an additional top up to his p£401,000 pension, £74,000 in benefits to pay for his accomodation in london and a chaffeur. Which is just one example of the telephone number salaries these people earn. (For more information , look here and here . Richard Littlejohn, another columnist for The Sun, earns approximately £800,000 a year as well - and can you imagine a mere columnist getting paid more than the editor does?
Presumably then, whats got their goat is that it's their £31,000 paying for it, which presumably could be much better spent on, say, buying up a local street from the council, and turning it into a private road, like Paul Dacre and his local residents did so that their gardeners would be able to prettify the lawns of the obscenely rich.
Can someone tell me what exactly someone who earns £840,000 a year - or to put it in perspective earns over 50% more in a week than these teenage moms will in a year (divide the £31,000 by three) - needs with another £31,000? What are they going to spend it on? Food isn't that expensive in London that you need £840,000 just to live on the fucking breadline.Di they need it just to get the right brand of caviar at £1,000 a plate? Of course not. This is just obscene, extravagent, decadent opulence the type of which hasn't been seen since the days of the fall of Rome. The obscenely rich people whinge about not having ENOUGH money when they have more money than they could possibly ever need. The vast majority of workers won't earn in their life what these people earn in a year.
I doubt that it is actually the tax dollars of Rupert Murdoch anyway that pays for this £31,000 a year - it's a well known and documented fact that he channels most of the profits to offshore corporations in the Cayman Islands, and has paid only a minute fraction of what he should have done in tax since 1985. Why don't we have a big campaign against say, corporate tax evasion stealing billions from the public purse every year? Oh, erm.. because of it's single mothers that are the problem, of course! And we can tell the whole world so because, erm...we own the printing presses! YAY!
And £31,000 a year is much less than the £78,000 Geoff Hoon spent on a five day, taxpayer funded trip to India in 2004 with his wife in tow, to help sell weapons. It isn't much compared to £1 million , the price of a single Tomahawk Cruise missile fought in a pointless and wasteful war in a country we shouldn’t be in. Concerned about wasting money? Really? Campaign aginst the root, the leading cause of government wastefulness - buying needless weaposn to kill people with. And I would like to point out,the Ministry of Defence recently spent £22 million on such missiles in 2003 in anticipation of the annexation of Iraq. I tell you, If we're concerned about unnecessary government expenditure, how much would we save by withdrawing troops from a country where we aren't wanted, and are serving no purpose - Iraq. We'd save At least £3.5 BILLION. That £31,000? It's nothing. it's less than a millionth of that 3.5 Billion.
£31,000?
I'll tell you what it is.
It's what the editor of that paper earns in mere weeks, and what would he do in his righteous indignation with that precious £31,000? What he earns in mere weeks so he can spunk it on ridiculously expensive wines and expensive clothes he'll wear once or twice and some stupidly powered car, will need to keep these human lives on everything for a year. Do we want some fucking perspective here? How about this - what's more important? £1000 a plate caviar, or keeping someone alive on the breadline? He doesn’t need it as much as these people struggling to get buy on feeding and clothing for an entire year on less than he earns in a day. If we weren't squandering and rewarding such naked avarice and greed, we might have a bit more of a social conscience. And we might actually realise what's important in life. And its not money.
It's a decent and fundamental perspective on the value of human life. And a values system which demonises an administration willing to kill and slaughter poor people in far away lands so that those in fat cat positions can keep on keeping themselves pampered, thinking they are better than mere proles like Us. Let us dare not ever criticise those in Fleet Street who earn silly money - or they may well send out a witch hunt, like they did to Paul Foot when he criticized Paul Dacre who sent a team of five journalists to discredit him and dig up dirt for daring to point out his earnings in a political debate. Lets keep banging on about single mothers instead, and how much a drain they are on the public purse.
And lets not mention a bloody word about the fact that needless missiles spent on a pointless and unwanted war in the imperial conquest and annexation of Iraq are a far bigger drain on that public purse than a scared teenage mom with zero prospects in derbyshire will ever be. ....
Monday, May 23, 2005
In the style of 253, then. 253 words…(feel free to copy or pass on for yourselves, of course).
MR. GRAHAM R.
Outward Appearance
Medium height, early thirties, with receding brown hair. Spectacles. Slightly Overweight, but only round the middle – the apple on a stick look. Needs a shave, but not that desperately. Wearing a Jeans, T-Shirt, and a Star Wars record bag, along with a black coat the kind of which men five years older than him often wear. Is often mistaken for being younger than he really is, thanks to the look of an eternal student – Strangers often tell him he looks 24 or 26, rather than 32. He is secretly glad about this, but this has a lot to do with being much older than many of his friends.
Inside Information
Not employed. Has Had few jobs once, but they never quite lasted. Was married from Mrs. Graham R, but she found God and he found himself out on the street. Has been single a while.
What he is Thinking Or Doing
What to put on his online diary tonight. How the in concert versions of “Aerodynamik” by Kraftwerk differ from the studio recording, and why the hell he can’t get “C’mon And Love Me” by Kiss out of his head. Wonders if he will remain single forever, and how most of his friends he has met online, and only in the past year since the separation. Feels he is rebuilding his life, but could do better. Wonders why he thinks about the past so much, and if he will ever leave it behind.
It was her birthday a few days ago.It will be his birthday soon. He wonders what she did for her Birthday. he wonder what he will do for his own. Happy Birthday, he thinks.
MR. GRAHAM R.
Outward Appearance
Medium height, early thirties, with receding brown hair. Spectacles. Slightly Overweight, but only round the middle – the apple on a stick look. Needs a shave, but not that desperately. Wearing a Jeans, T-Shirt, and a Star Wars record bag, along with a black coat the kind of which men five years older than him often wear. Is often mistaken for being younger than he really is, thanks to the look of an eternal student – Strangers often tell him he looks 24 or 26, rather than 32. He is secretly glad about this, but this has a lot to do with being much older than many of his friends.
Inside Information
Not employed. Has Had few jobs once, but they never quite lasted. Was married from Mrs. Graham R, but she found God and he found himself out on the street. Has been single a while.
What he is Thinking Or Doing
What to put on his online diary tonight. How the in concert versions of “Aerodynamik” by Kraftwerk differ from the studio recording, and why the hell he can’t get “C’mon And Love Me” by Kiss out of his head. Wonders if he will remain single forever, and how most of his friends he has met online, and only in the past year since the separation. Feels he is rebuilding his life, but could do better. Wonders why he thinks about the past so much, and if he will ever leave it behind.
It was her birthday a few days ago.It will be his birthday soon. He wonders what she did for her Birthday. he wonder what he will do for his own. Happy Birthday, he thinks.
Everyone is doing lists. I’m not. Oh, bollocks to it. I am doing lists. Here it is, ripped off from mark.
Three names I go by:
Graham, Reed, and according to an ex of mine - Shithead.
Three screen names that I have had:-
erm…..grahambreed, gbruk, Brilliant Creature (which I soon changed, coz they thought I was a gal)
Three things I like about myself:-
I don’t like anything about myself.
Three things I don't like about myself:-
I’m bad at staying in touch with people, I’m very insular, and my capacity for self dislike. (whoops)
Three parts of my heritage:-
english, and French, with a side order of ?
Three things that scare me: -
Wacko fundamentalists in charge of the most powerful nation on Earth, anything with more legs than corners....and the future.
Three of my everyday essentials: -
Food, music, and warmth.
Three things I am wearing right now:
underwear, an AC/DC t-shirt, and canvas shoes.
Three of my favorite bands or musical artists:
U2 (before they went crap), Kraftwerk, and Pink Floyd.
Three of my fave songs: -
“The Host of Seraphim” by Dead Can Dance,
“Who’s Gonna Ride your Wild horses” by U2,
“Brilliant Disguise” by Bruce Springsteen
Three new things I want to try in the next 12 months: -
living somewhere new, getting my act together at last, and a working relationship.
Three things I want in a relationship:
- Love, Trust, and lust.
Two truths and a lie: -
i) I got my school banned from a field centre
ii) I once had sex with a girl in broad daylight at 6.30pm at Derby railway station 30 yards from the British transport Police offices , and didn’t get caught
iii)I am perpetually happy
Three physical things that attract me to the opposite sex:
Eyes. Hands. Just the way they carry themselves.
Three things I can't do without:
The internet, my blankets, and a big warm woolly jumper.
Three of my fave hobbies:
Music, movies and politics.
Three places I want to go on vacation:
Barcelona, Home, and heaven.
Three things I just can't do:
Eat fish. Be tidy. have a Pet Crab.
Three kids' names:
but, I don’t have three kids!
Three things I want to do before I die:
To feel the love the likes of which I can only dream of.
Three celebrity crushes:
Oh, erm...... Scarlett Johannsen, Kate Moss and erm…..I dunno!
And here's one ripped off hedgewitch, Who I'm seeing IRL tomorrow!
List 10 amusements that never fail to amuse.
1) The Hitch-hikers Guide To the Galaxy, in any of its infinite variations.
2) Talking to street preachers about God…and defeating them with the cold hard use of logic and a indepth knowledge of theology. And then shaking their hand and watching them smile, knowing they’ve been beaten.
3) Watching shoplifters get nicked.
4) Playing with cats.
5) South Park:The movie
6) Fragging (see Quake)
7) Bill Hicks.
8) Playing with Rabbits, called Elvis.
9) Henry Rollins doing stand up.
10) Deefer wagging his tail.
The world is your audience. List the ten things you want to talk about.
1) The way America claims to defend freedom and democracy, but is more corrupt than anything it has ever claimed to despise, acting in its own vested self interest.
2) The way multi-national corporations treat people like shit just so some bigwig can get yet more money he’ll never be alive long enough to spend
3) Depleted uranium.
4) Just what is the third secret of fatima, and why is the Vatican so scared of it?
5) Whats the big fucking deal about football? If you actually put some constructive effort into political unrest instead, we might all be better off rather than fighting each other over some territorial bullshit.
6) Why can’t the US apply international law to itself for a bloody change?
7) The vast discrepancy in income between first and third world
8) The Readjustment policies of the world bank
9) The vast and horrifying underbelly of privatisation
10) peak oil and the need for sustainable power. NOW.
List 10 foods or dishes that you never tire of eating.
1) Chicken
2) Chicken
3) Mint Choc Chip Ice Cream
4) Big Grahams: Two large Burgers, Cheese, lettuce, mayonnaise,
5) Crispy thin crust hawaiian Pizza.
6) Did I mention Chicken?
7) Oh, erm…. Chicken.
8) Pizza.
9) Mint Choc Chip Ice Cream
10) Chicken
List 10 words that you like.
1) Oxymoron
2) Ghola
3) Merd
4) Nerd
5) Extrapolate
6) Proactive
7) Honesty
8) trust
9) love
10) beautiful
Ten moments in time would you have most liked to witness?
1) Vegas, 22nd November, 1963.
2) Hawaii, 7th December 1941.
3) Japan, August 1945.
4) Tunguska, 1908.
5) Hollywood, May 25th, 1977. just to see Star wars….
6) Paris, September 1997.
7) New York, September 2001.
8) Inside the US president’s war room, Sept 2001 onwards…
9) Roswell, 1947.
10) and far too many other moments too….
List ten celebrities about whom you do not want to hear another word.
1) George best. You could have had it all, you pissed it away. Isn’t that everyone’s story?
2) Anyone in the cast of Eastenders.
3) Kylie Minogue. In fact, anyone with the surname Minogue
4) J-Lo, or whatever she calls herself this week.
5) Puff Daddy, Sean Coombs, or whatever he calls himself this week.
6) Michael Jackson.
7) Michael owen, the beckhams, any bloody footballers ever.
8) Z-grade no-hopers famous only for fucking someone famous. Abi Titmuss, please stand up.
9) Paris Hilton.
10) Liam or Noel Gallagher.
What one place would you visit if you had unlimited time and money.
Endor.
Are you a matte person or a shiny person? Why?
Matte. I prefer matte paintings, me self.
When I turn 50, I plan to be _____________ .
i) Immortal ii)beautiful iii)In love and iv)happy.
What gives you the warm fuzzies?
Deefer. Stitch. And a hug from someone beautiful who I love.
Did you have an allowance as a child? If so, how much was it? What did you spend it on?
Yes, can’t remember. Toys. And then cheap records.
Of the three - mind, body, soul - which do you prefer? Which do you think is most important? (I’m with neil on this one)
Prefer: Mind
Most Important: Soul
Do you prefer print media or digital media? Why?
Digital – more flexible, more accessible, more portable and instantaneous. However, Print is forever, doesn’t require an O/S to work, and is far more fucking reliable!
The first thing I thought when I opened my eyes this morning was ___________.
sleep, don’t abandon me, my friend.
Nothing in the world can make me believe ________ .
I’ll ever be loved again.
Three names I go by:
Graham, Reed, and according to an ex of mine - Shithead.
Three screen names that I have had:-
erm…..grahambreed, gbruk, Brilliant Creature (which I soon changed, coz they thought I was a gal)
Three things I like about myself:-
I don’t like anything about myself.
Three things I don't like about myself:-
I’m bad at staying in touch with people, I’m very insular, and my capacity for self dislike. (whoops)
Three parts of my heritage:-
english, and French, with a side order of ?
Three things that scare me: -
Wacko fundamentalists in charge of the most powerful nation on Earth, anything with more legs than corners....and the future.
Three of my everyday essentials: -
Food, music, and warmth.
Three things I am wearing right now:
underwear, an AC/DC t-shirt, and canvas shoes.
Three of my favorite bands or musical artists:
U2 (before they went crap), Kraftwerk, and Pink Floyd.
Three of my fave songs: -
“The Host of Seraphim” by Dead Can Dance,
“Who’s Gonna Ride your Wild horses” by U2,
“Brilliant Disguise” by Bruce Springsteen
Three new things I want to try in the next 12 months: -
living somewhere new, getting my act together at last, and a working relationship.
Three things I want in a relationship:
- Love, Trust, and lust.
Two truths and a lie: -
i) I got my school banned from a field centre
ii) I once had sex with a girl in broad daylight at 6.30pm at Derby railway station 30 yards from the British transport Police offices , and didn’t get caught
iii)I am perpetually happy
Three physical things that attract me to the opposite sex:
Eyes. Hands. Just the way they carry themselves.
Three things I can't do without:
The internet, my blankets, and a big warm woolly jumper.
Three of my fave hobbies:
Music, movies and politics.
Three places I want to go on vacation:
Barcelona, Home, and heaven.
Three things I just can't do:
Eat fish. Be tidy. have a Pet Crab.
Three kids' names:
but, I don’t have three kids!
Three things I want to do before I die:
To feel the love the likes of which I can only dream of.
Three celebrity crushes:
Oh, erm...... Scarlett Johannsen, Kate Moss and erm…..I dunno!
And here's one ripped off hedgewitch, Who I'm seeing IRL tomorrow!
List 10 amusements that never fail to amuse.
1) The Hitch-hikers Guide To the Galaxy, in any of its infinite variations.
2) Talking to street preachers about God…and defeating them with the cold hard use of logic and a indepth knowledge of theology. And then shaking their hand and watching them smile, knowing they’ve been beaten.
3) Watching shoplifters get nicked.
4) Playing with cats.
5) South Park:The movie
6) Fragging (see Quake)
7) Bill Hicks.
8) Playing with Rabbits, called Elvis.
9) Henry Rollins doing stand up.
10) Deefer wagging his tail.
The world is your audience. List the ten things you want to talk about.
1) The way America claims to defend freedom and democracy, but is more corrupt than anything it has ever claimed to despise, acting in its own vested self interest.
2) The way multi-national corporations treat people like shit just so some bigwig can get yet more money he’ll never be alive long enough to spend
3) Depleted uranium.
4) Just what is the third secret of fatima, and why is the Vatican so scared of it?
5) Whats the big fucking deal about football? If you actually put some constructive effort into political unrest instead, we might all be better off rather than fighting each other over some territorial bullshit.
6) Why can’t the US apply international law to itself for a bloody change?
7) The vast discrepancy in income between first and third world
8) The Readjustment policies of the world bank
9) The vast and horrifying underbelly of privatisation
10) peak oil and the need for sustainable power. NOW.
List 10 foods or dishes that you never tire of eating.
1) Chicken
2) Chicken
3) Mint Choc Chip Ice Cream
4) Big Grahams: Two large Burgers, Cheese, lettuce, mayonnaise,
5) Crispy thin crust hawaiian Pizza.
6) Did I mention Chicken?
7) Oh, erm…. Chicken.
8) Pizza.
9) Mint Choc Chip Ice Cream
10) Chicken
List 10 words that you like.
1) Oxymoron
2) Ghola
3) Merd
4) Nerd
5) Extrapolate
6) Proactive
7) Honesty
8) trust
9) love
10) beautiful
Ten moments in time would you have most liked to witness?
1) Vegas, 22nd November, 1963.
2) Hawaii, 7th December 1941.
3) Japan, August 1945.
4) Tunguska, 1908.
5) Hollywood, May 25th, 1977. just to see Star wars….
6) Paris, September 1997.
7) New York, September 2001.
8) Inside the US president’s war room, Sept 2001 onwards…
9) Roswell, 1947.
10) and far too many other moments too….
List ten celebrities about whom you do not want to hear another word.
1) George best. You could have had it all, you pissed it away. Isn’t that everyone’s story?
2) Anyone in the cast of Eastenders.
3) Kylie Minogue. In fact, anyone with the surname Minogue
4) J-Lo, or whatever she calls herself this week.
5) Puff Daddy, Sean Coombs, or whatever he calls himself this week.
6) Michael Jackson.
7) Michael owen, the beckhams, any bloody footballers ever.
8) Z-grade no-hopers famous only for fucking someone famous. Abi Titmuss, please stand up.
9) Paris Hilton.
10) Liam or Noel Gallagher.
What one place would you visit if you had unlimited time and money.
Endor.
Are you a matte person or a shiny person? Why?
Matte. I prefer matte paintings, me self.
When I turn 50, I plan to be _____________ .
i) Immortal ii)beautiful iii)In love and iv)happy.
What gives you the warm fuzzies?
Deefer. Stitch. And a hug from someone beautiful who I love.
Did you have an allowance as a child? If so, how much was it? What did you spend it on?
Yes, can’t remember. Toys. And then cheap records.
Of the three - mind, body, soul - which do you prefer? Which do you think is most important? (I’m with neil on this one)
Prefer: Mind
Most Important: Soul
Do you prefer print media or digital media? Why?
Digital – more flexible, more accessible, more portable and instantaneous. However, Print is forever, doesn’t require an O/S to work, and is far more fucking reliable!
The first thing I thought when I opened my eyes this morning was ___________.
sleep, don’t abandon me, my friend.
Nothing in the world can make me believe ________ .
I’ll ever be loved again.
Sunday, May 22, 2005
I know somedays I don't blog for ages,and then suddenly I splurge. At the moment I'm blogging a lot, and thats only because I'm putting some time to one side to make a concerted and dedicated effort to do so.I don't get much time to write, but I'm trying to make the most of it.
On the other hand, i)I'm still formulating the policies for the SENSIBLE PARTY and ii)I seem to have not made a pleasing sacrifice to the spelling god. My spelling is awful today....
On the other hand, i)I'm still formulating the policies for the SENSIBLE PARTY and ii)I seem to have not made a pleasing sacrifice to the spelling god. My spelling is awful today....
A few years ago, I worked with a girl called Esther. Haven’t seen her in years, though she did seem a nice person. She was one of the very few people I did actually trust at that company actually – because she wasn’t some corporate robot, and I think she also knew the same too. And odd thing is, one day she came to me to ask me for some advice. Actually, This actually seems to happen a lot – for some reason, people seem to confide in me and ask me awkward questions. One of my other friends says its because she thought I was the most intelligent man she knew. What Esther asked me was awkward, and surprising.
She was asking for advice on whether to what to do about her boyfriend. She hadn't had many boyfriends, so it seemed. What She said what had happened was quite simple – it turned out he had a side of him she didn’t like. One that didn't like people because of the colour of their skin.
I didn’t and still don’t gravitate towards many people at work. I don’t make many friends, generally. She was one of the few I did call a friend. I’m amazed she trusted me that much, because that did mean a lot to me.
I don’t remember exactly what I said. I tried to find out a bit more information, and talked through the options with her. Did she feel comfortable with it? Was it overt? I wasn’t trying to make up her mind for her, because I didn’t want to tell her what she should do. What I was trying to do was make her see what might happen,. And let her decide for herself what she wanted to do.
In my case, if I did find there was a partner of mine who was racist, I’d end it, though I’d like to think that I’d know them well enough to know that before they and I got together anyway. But if they are racist, I wouldn’t find it easy to be with them. I’d have to end it. In a way, the fact my wife belongs to a crazy religion that prior to 1978 said black people could never have a complete relationship with god because the colour of their skin was an offence to god - is one example of why she and I had to end. As for not being in a relationship with someone who is racist, I know I’m not alone in feeling that way.
Unlike Some people, I believe that all men and women are equal. I don’t judge on the colour of skin, or who you kiss.Some people do. Unlike Some people, I do not think it is right to discriminate against someone for circumstances beyond their control, be it what colour their skin is, their parents religious orientation, their bodysize, who they are attracted to, your accent, male pattern baldness, where they were born, or indeed when they born. I don’t discriminate against people on basis of things they can’t control – but I will warn you, if you are kind of person who lights up on the bus, or drinks 20 pints and then glasses people, I will discriminate against you on the ground of you acting like a fucking anti-social idiot. Those things you can control.
As for the list above, I’ve been mocked for some of those. From the ex who in a moment of bitterness derided my “distended” belly mid (yes, I am slightly overweight and out of shape) argument, to time when a ex- boss referred to me as a “Balding aging Brummie twat” (see the post below about why I no longer contribute to drownedinsound.com for exactly why) or the time when some idiot shouted out I was “gay” because I wouldn’t give them money. Or the time when the locals decided my accent was wrong, that I had no right to live in their precious little northern town where nothing ever happens, and decided to liberate me of my wallet and mobility – by beating the shit out of me and leaving me in Hospital for three days, unable to walk, and with permanent back damage. I’ve been discriminated against because of my age – As I say below, someone who used to be my boss at a website I used to work for called me a few choice insults relating to my age. I was older than him, simply; heaven forbid he ever get old and find some whippersnapper barking at his heels with a something to prove mentality. This isnt a victim mentality, it's just recognising that this stuff has happened to me.
Prejudice of such type just makes me despair. Its pointless, useless, and a total waste of the precious little time we have in this world. Like mark says, for a while,some people thought I was a chubby chaser. Three years with a tall and normal girl didn’t change people’s opinion one bit neither, I would like to point out. The sad thing is, these sort of men treated women as nothing more than a endless string of rotating fashion accessories – women whose only use was to prove what a stunner they had pulled. Usually men for whom, who they pulled was a indicator of their social esteem, using the size of their partners as a way of proving how masculine they were. Pulled a skinny girl? Great, wow, she’s interested in you, it marks you up the social scale in terms of attractiveness. Other girls see you and think what is she doing with him? He must be worth hanging onto, and hey presto, having an attractive skinny girl works as a woman magnet or something. (Some people have said the same about having wives and being married, to which I respond - Bullshit. I didn't get anything simply because I had a wife.)
What utter bullshit. Someone who judges you because of your dress size isn’t someone I would want to be with. If that’s the case, they’re not attracted to you as a person, but to you as a social object. I’ve been with big girls, small girls, and quite a few sizes inbetween. I prefer normal sized women myself, but only because excessively large women I find it difficult to be physical with – their size limits what you can or cannot do, in my humble opinion, and has subsequent health problems. And besides, call me shallow, but rolls of sweaty flab aren’t attractive. By this, I don’t mean a size 18, ok? I’m talking the seriously, morbidly obese who are about a size 34. Where you can't walk or breathe properly, where your size becomes a hinderance to a day to day existence. My wife was a huge girl – unbelievably so – and yet, even though her BMI was 25 points above mine, and she weighed about 100 pounds more than me at 7 inches shorter, she said to me - and this takes considerable bollocks or hypocrisy to do so - that I was getting fat. Pot and kettle, ya know? But I loved her, even if I wasn’t really attracted to her physically, but mentally. It was the connection between two minds that I was attracted to. That’s what mattered more than anything.
The girl before her, she couldn’t have been a bigger contrast. She was the same height as my wife – but a third of the size. 90lbs. A little too small, and she used to say she was fat. She was nowhere near fat, but she had this image, caused by the beautification culture where if you're impossibly and unhealthly thin, you aren't attractive. But again, even if she wasn’t my usual type – the type I would normally think as way out of my league – it was the meeting of two minds that mattered. And she had a good mind, and in a way, she is my biggest regret that I let her slip my fingers by utter stupidity. Such regrets are ultimately meaningless though, and can’t change a damn thing but torture myself with the fond memories and my neuroses. I think however, going out with her for a few months did put paid to the chubby chaser tag. However, the fact of the matter is, love is blindness. You don’t see the skin, you see the person inside.
It’s the person inside you’re going to spend your time with. Beauty and looks will fade, bodies will sprad and certain parts expand sideways, but the person inside will stay forever. It’s best to make sure that the person inside is the right one for you, and if they’re a size 18 and that’s not acceptable, you have to make a decision. The decision is quite simple?
Do you love her?
Then you love her just the way she is. Not the way she could be. Not the person you think you could change her into. Just a quick moment though – if you think you could change her into your perfect partner, then she’s not. If you need to change her, there’s something wrong. With you. Nobody will ever change to make another person happy. Just let them be themselves, and revel in the love you have for them.
Do you need the approval of your mates because you’ve pulled a skinny girl to prove your masculinity? Really? The approval of a social circle of drunk males to prove your masculinity won’t truly make you happy.
Waking up next to someone you love can.
Love is just what it is. Love chooses someone, not you do. Love doesn’t see a colour or a size. If you see someone in the street, what do you see? I see a person. I don’t see her a woman, or a black person, or whatever. I see someone. Someone with real hopes and fears and memories and joy and regret. If you see a black person and see a nigger, then you’ve got a serious fucking problem, pal. Love sees no colour. Life sees no colour either. If you do see things that way, ask yourself one thing: Why?
Why do you demonise them because they are different? Why are you scared? We aren’t born seeing things in this way. It’s something we are taught. But people with narrow minds and prejudices. This is why my dad sometimes goes on about “the paks” ripping off the benefits agency when I see him, for which he did get a dressing down from me in no uncertain terms. We haven’t spoken since, sadly enough. Mind you, I should.
Sure I’m aware of differences in skin colour and size. I’m aware of the cultural differences too – anyone who in Birmingham has ever got the 6 down Warwick Road in Sparkbrook, where me and Giles were driving the other night – can see the difference. Where every second shop is also has signs in foreign script, and you get the Islamic Relief Charity shop and books specialising in religious scripts from the Koran. Its a cultural difference, brought up on a different heritage. Its got nothing to do with skin colour. Or Size. Or anything. It’s just different – and that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Or evil. Or be scared of.
The way is see it, If you can’t see beyond the colour of someone’s skin, or beyond the people they choose to kiss….I can’t see beyond your prejudice. End of.
By the way, in other news, I'm off to PRIDE next weekend. Hopefully they'll be some old friends I haven't seen in a long time there.
She was asking for advice on whether to what to do about her boyfriend. She hadn't had many boyfriends, so it seemed. What She said what had happened was quite simple – it turned out he had a side of him she didn’t like. One that didn't like people because of the colour of their skin.
I didn’t and still don’t gravitate towards many people at work. I don’t make many friends, generally. She was one of the few I did call a friend. I’m amazed she trusted me that much, because that did mean a lot to me.
I don’t remember exactly what I said. I tried to find out a bit more information, and talked through the options with her. Did she feel comfortable with it? Was it overt? I wasn’t trying to make up her mind for her, because I didn’t want to tell her what she should do. What I was trying to do was make her see what might happen,. And let her decide for herself what she wanted to do.
In my case, if I did find there was a partner of mine who was racist, I’d end it, though I’d like to think that I’d know them well enough to know that before they and I got together anyway. But if they are racist, I wouldn’t find it easy to be with them. I’d have to end it. In a way, the fact my wife belongs to a crazy religion that prior to 1978 said black people could never have a complete relationship with god because the colour of their skin was an offence to god - is one example of why she and I had to end. As for not being in a relationship with someone who is racist, I know I’m not alone in feeling that way.
Unlike Some people, I believe that all men and women are equal. I don’t judge on the colour of skin, or who you kiss.Some people do. Unlike Some people, I do not think it is right to discriminate against someone for circumstances beyond their control, be it what colour their skin is, their parents religious orientation, their bodysize, who they are attracted to, your accent, male pattern baldness, where they were born, or indeed when they born. I don’t discriminate against people on basis of things they can’t control – but I will warn you, if you are kind of person who lights up on the bus, or drinks 20 pints and then glasses people, I will discriminate against you on the ground of you acting like a fucking anti-social idiot. Those things you can control.
As for the list above, I’ve been mocked for some of those. From the ex who in a moment of bitterness derided my “distended” belly mid (yes, I am slightly overweight and out of shape) argument, to time when a ex- boss referred to me as a “Balding aging Brummie twat” (see the post below about why I no longer contribute to drownedinsound.com for exactly why) or the time when some idiot shouted out I was “gay” because I wouldn’t give them money. Or the time when the locals decided my accent was wrong, that I had no right to live in their precious little northern town where nothing ever happens, and decided to liberate me of my wallet and mobility – by beating the shit out of me and leaving me in Hospital for three days, unable to walk, and with permanent back damage. I’ve been discriminated against because of my age – As I say below, someone who used to be my boss at a website I used to work for called me a few choice insults relating to my age. I was older than him, simply; heaven forbid he ever get old and find some whippersnapper barking at his heels with a something to prove mentality. This isnt a victim mentality, it's just recognising that this stuff has happened to me.
Prejudice of such type just makes me despair. Its pointless, useless, and a total waste of the precious little time we have in this world. Like mark says, for a while,some people thought I was a chubby chaser. Three years with a tall and normal girl didn’t change people’s opinion one bit neither, I would like to point out. The sad thing is, these sort of men treated women as nothing more than a endless string of rotating fashion accessories – women whose only use was to prove what a stunner they had pulled. Usually men for whom, who they pulled was a indicator of their social esteem, using the size of their partners as a way of proving how masculine they were. Pulled a skinny girl? Great, wow, she’s interested in you, it marks you up the social scale in terms of attractiveness. Other girls see you and think what is she doing with him? He must be worth hanging onto, and hey presto, having an attractive skinny girl works as a woman magnet or something. (Some people have said the same about having wives and being married, to which I respond - Bullshit. I didn't get anything simply because I had a wife.)
What utter bullshit. Someone who judges you because of your dress size isn’t someone I would want to be with. If that’s the case, they’re not attracted to you as a person, but to you as a social object. I’ve been with big girls, small girls, and quite a few sizes inbetween. I prefer normal sized women myself, but only because excessively large women I find it difficult to be physical with – their size limits what you can or cannot do, in my humble opinion, and has subsequent health problems. And besides, call me shallow, but rolls of sweaty flab aren’t attractive. By this, I don’t mean a size 18, ok? I’m talking the seriously, morbidly obese who are about a size 34. Where you can't walk or breathe properly, where your size becomes a hinderance to a day to day existence. My wife was a huge girl – unbelievably so – and yet, even though her BMI was 25 points above mine, and she weighed about 100 pounds more than me at 7 inches shorter, she said to me - and this takes considerable bollocks or hypocrisy to do so - that I was getting fat. Pot and kettle, ya know? But I loved her, even if I wasn’t really attracted to her physically, but mentally. It was the connection between two minds that I was attracted to. That’s what mattered more than anything.
The girl before her, she couldn’t have been a bigger contrast. She was the same height as my wife – but a third of the size. 90lbs. A little too small, and she used to say she was fat. She was nowhere near fat, but she had this image, caused by the beautification culture where if you're impossibly and unhealthly thin, you aren't attractive. But again, even if she wasn’t my usual type – the type I would normally think as way out of my league – it was the meeting of two minds that mattered. And she had a good mind, and in a way, she is my biggest regret that I let her slip my fingers by utter stupidity. Such regrets are ultimately meaningless though, and can’t change a damn thing but torture myself with the fond memories and my neuroses. I think however, going out with her for a few months did put paid to the chubby chaser tag. However, the fact of the matter is, love is blindness. You don’t see the skin, you see the person inside.
It’s the person inside you’re going to spend your time with. Beauty and looks will fade, bodies will sprad and certain parts expand sideways, but the person inside will stay forever. It’s best to make sure that the person inside is the right one for you, and if they’re a size 18 and that’s not acceptable, you have to make a decision. The decision is quite simple?
Do you love her?
Then you love her just the way she is. Not the way she could be. Not the person you think you could change her into. Just a quick moment though – if you think you could change her into your perfect partner, then she’s not. If you need to change her, there’s something wrong. With you. Nobody will ever change to make another person happy. Just let them be themselves, and revel in the love you have for them.
Do you need the approval of your mates because you’ve pulled a skinny girl to prove your masculinity? Really? The approval of a social circle of drunk males to prove your masculinity won’t truly make you happy.
Waking up next to someone you love can.
Love is just what it is. Love chooses someone, not you do. Love doesn’t see a colour or a size. If you see someone in the street, what do you see? I see a person. I don’t see her a woman, or a black person, or whatever. I see someone. Someone with real hopes and fears and memories and joy and regret. If you see a black person and see a nigger, then you’ve got a serious fucking problem, pal. Love sees no colour. Life sees no colour either. If you do see things that way, ask yourself one thing: Why?
Why do you demonise them because they are different? Why are you scared? We aren’t born seeing things in this way. It’s something we are taught. But people with narrow minds and prejudices. This is why my dad sometimes goes on about “the paks” ripping off the benefits agency when I see him, for which he did get a dressing down from me in no uncertain terms. We haven’t spoken since, sadly enough. Mind you, I should.
Sure I’m aware of differences in skin colour and size. I’m aware of the cultural differences too – anyone who in Birmingham has ever got the 6 down Warwick Road in Sparkbrook, where me and Giles were driving the other night – can see the difference. Where every second shop is also has signs in foreign script, and you get the Islamic Relief Charity shop and books specialising in religious scripts from the Koran. Its a cultural difference, brought up on a different heritage. Its got nothing to do with skin colour. Or Size. Or anything. It’s just different – and that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Or evil. Or be scared of.
The way is see it, If you can’t see beyond the colour of someone’s skin, or beyond the people they choose to kiss….I can’t see beyond your prejudice. End of.
By the way, in other news, I'm off to PRIDE next weekend. Hopefully they'll be some old friends I haven't seen in a long time there.
As Mark recounted, we both used to write for drownedinsound , and he and I stopped writing for them for very similar reasons.
There’s a reason why I don’t like drownedinsound.com – and that is that the boss, A Mr. Sean Adams, shows a complete lack of respect for - and a complete inability ur unwilingness to communicate with - those people who wrote for him . Make no bones about the bullshit of it having a 'one for all, all for one' philosophy, its'all for one, and the one is ME ME ME!' attitude.
I first started writing for that site in October 2000, and having written some 160+ articles for them, was eventually chucked off it. At first it was small things that niggled me, but eventually it got to the point where the boss people would say to each other “Ok, you can review x, Peter can review the new def leppard CD, I’ll do the Radiohead”. The problem being thus, is that they wouldn’t tell anyone else what the fuck was going on. Which when you've over 100 writers, is a bit of a bad show if you ask me. So When I wrote a review of the Def leppard, I got told to “share and share alike or fuck off!”.
Which is odd, because No one ever told me who was doing what. And if you don’t communicate with your writers or tell anyone, how can you possibly expect them to know what you haven't told them? And thus, how can you expect them to abide by what you haven't told them?
You can’t. And to then write abusive emails to people because they don’t know what you haven’t told them, that’s well out of order. After all, I had the small geographical disadvantage of living in brum, and not in London where the site was based or any of the meeting took place. And they didn’t tell anyone anything that was decided anyway. And I liked bands who had formed before 1997, bands that had more than 3 singles out, and that put me in the firing line. What they did was get a few enthusiastic writers, let them write away, then embark on a trip of shameless self-promotion. After a year or two, when you’ve made a name for yourself by promoting desperate to make it indie bands and started having had the NME steal your news stories and metalhammer steal your best writers, its time to reshape yourself in thine own image, cutting away any of the older staff in an attempt to appear bleeding edge once more and next thing you know, its no longer a fanzine, but a method of ingriating yourself into the London meejah clique. Its all about using other people to make a nice little name for yourself.
I made the mistake of writing about the music. I made the mistake not writing the review of Bjork that read like a third grade childrens story. For gods sake, can someone tell me what fucking relevance “I am small. A child asleep, dreaming things that make my eyelids flicker underneath weight of my roaming eye balls.” Has to bjorks greatest hits, apart from none whatsoever? That might work fine as poetry, but it's got fuck all to do with music.Oh hang on, that was written by the boss’s girlfriend, so of course it’s a work of goddamn genius, and my writing is just a turd made of words. Oh, and I once reviewed INXS in terms which said they were a pretty competent stadium funk rock band (it’s true, I have a secret liking for INXS) – and that was the last thing I ever did for the site which said everyone needed to buy the Bloc party album in the first week so they could stick it to the “man” , in what must have seemed like a very important cause to them, but was instead just a case of puerile rebellion aimed at impressionable indie kids.
And don’t get me started – it was supposed to be a collective bloc of writers forging a new vision, and instead its degenerated into a brand name for the greater good of one man and one man only who sees his own little sub-Murdoch esque empire of DiS radio stations, DiSTV, DiS the print magazine, and DiS the Website being built while proclaiming the virtues of self sacrifice yet fucking over everyone who dare disagree with his views, or for that matter, even ask he treat his writers as the equals he says they are, or even some goddamn respect. I know of quite a few writers who’ve quit in disgust at that one person’s actions alone, and at least three others who were fired of disagreeing with him and speaking out against his attitude of unaccountability. I was one of them.
But hell, as least they’re still rebellious. If you’re over 3 albums old or signed to a major or sell any fucking records, DiS don’t wanna know. Great at championing bands and then dumping them the second they sign to a major record label after releasing their first single as a release of 17 copies on indierthanthou recordings, DiS can be so up their own arse sometimes they can see daylight. The saddest thing is, there's some great writing on there occasionally, once you get past its own elitist and pretentious attitude.
I’m still smarting over the way I was locked out of the place for daring to crticise the boss and telling him he was wrong simply because he had an obligation to communicate with his writers and tell them who was reviewing what, rather than telling no-one and then throwing a shit storm when something got reviewed twice by mistake. Can you tell? I’m not surprised. I feel is someone is writing for you, you do have an obligation to keep them informed as to what is going on, and who is doing what, and you certainly haven’t got the right to descend to petty insults.
It certainly does to something when you're chatting to a complete stranger at a gig in London, and you tell them the site you work for.... and they respond with , "Well, I like the site, but the boss is a cunt" (and thats pretty much verbatim)
And it was that boss that called me publicly as a “balding aging brummie twat”, which to me was completely irrelevant to anything I ever wrote. Because i)I have no control over my hair loss (nor would he) ii)Or the fact that I grow older every single day (one day, shocker, he might even be the same age as me!) iii)and where I live is absolutely goddamn irrelevant. He didn't pick on the writers who live in machester and call them Scallies....Fact is, my opinion of him was formed by the fact he acted with no decorum or respect for the people who put in hundreds of hours of effort for his glory, he was downright insulting if criticized, and dropped them like a hot turd from the sky once he could cast them aside for someone younger, who liked more credible music than say, me. When I say credible and cutting edge, may I refer you to their love of Radiohead (which is 8 or 10 albums depending on how you look at it) and Coldplay (3 albums) for stick it to the man up yours major label independence. (And In other news, one of the worlds largest corporations, EMI, had to issue a profit warning when the Coldplay album was delayed. How about that? isn't liking them really sticking to the man???)
Oh, and as for my suspiscion that Sean Adams did it for his own glory, he recently stepped down from running the site....to take over running the drownedinsound record label full time. So, of course it wasn't becoming part of the london meejah clique at all, was it? Especially as its so important that it even gets reported by CMU music . Hmmmm. After the way he's acted to me and many others, he can stick that up his dixie as far as I'm concerned. And it's not about sour grapes, before you ask - if he's actually acted in a fair and decent manner, I wouldn't feel this way. I'm somehow reminded of the old thing about be careful who you shit on whilst on the way up,because they will still there be there when you fall back down....
Anyway, I still write, and i still love music. That’s why I started this site . We’re looking for writers, by the way, if you're interested....
There’s a reason why I don’t like drownedinsound.com – and that is that the boss, A Mr. Sean Adams, shows a complete lack of respect for - and a complete inability ur unwilingness to communicate with - those people who wrote for him . Make no bones about the bullshit of it having a 'one for all, all for one' philosophy, its'all for one, and the one is ME ME ME!' attitude.
I first started writing for that site in October 2000, and having written some 160+ articles for them, was eventually chucked off it. At first it was small things that niggled me, but eventually it got to the point where the boss people would say to each other “Ok, you can review x, Peter can review the new def leppard CD, I’ll do the Radiohead”. The problem being thus, is that they wouldn’t tell anyone else what the fuck was going on. Which when you've over 100 writers, is a bit of a bad show if you ask me. So When I wrote a review of the Def leppard, I got told to “share and share alike or fuck off!”.
Which is odd, because No one ever told me who was doing what. And if you don’t communicate with your writers or tell anyone, how can you possibly expect them to know what you haven't told them? And thus, how can you expect them to abide by what you haven't told them?
You can’t. And to then write abusive emails to people because they don’t know what you haven’t told them, that’s well out of order. After all, I had the small geographical disadvantage of living in brum, and not in London where the site was based or any of the meeting took place. And they didn’t tell anyone anything that was decided anyway. And I liked bands who had formed before 1997, bands that had more than 3 singles out, and that put me in the firing line. What they did was get a few enthusiastic writers, let them write away, then embark on a trip of shameless self-promotion. After a year or two, when you’ve made a name for yourself by promoting desperate to make it indie bands and started having had the NME steal your news stories and metalhammer steal your best writers, its time to reshape yourself in thine own image, cutting away any of the older staff in an attempt to appear bleeding edge once more and next thing you know, its no longer a fanzine, but a method of ingriating yourself into the London meejah clique. Its all about using other people to make a nice little name for yourself.
I made the mistake of writing about the music. I made the mistake not writing the review of Bjork that read like a third grade childrens story. For gods sake, can someone tell me what fucking relevance “I am small. A child asleep, dreaming things that make my eyelids flicker underneath weight of my roaming eye balls.” Has to bjorks greatest hits, apart from none whatsoever? That might work fine as poetry, but it's got fuck all to do with music.Oh hang on, that was written by the boss’s girlfriend, so of course it’s a work of goddamn genius, and my writing is just a turd made of words. Oh, and I once reviewed INXS in terms which said they were a pretty competent stadium funk rock band (it’s true, I have a secret liking for INXS) – and that was the last thing I ever did for the site which said everyone needed to buy the Bloc party album in the first week so they could stick it to the “man” , in what must have seemed like a very important cause to them, but was instead just a case of puerile rebellion aimed at impressionable indie kids.
And don’t get me started – it was supposed to be a collective bloc of writers forging a new vision, and instead its degenerated into a brand name for the greater good of one man and one man only who sees his own little sub-Murdoch esque empire of DiS radio stations, DiSTV, DiS the print magazine, and DiS the Website being built while proclaiming the virtues of self sacrifice yet fucking over everyone who dare disagree with his views, or for that matter, even ask he treat his writers as the equals he says they are, or even some goddamn respect. I know of quite a few writers who’ve quit in disgust at that one person’s actions alone, and at least three others who were fired of disagreeing with him and speaking out against his attitude of unaccountability. I was one of them.
But hell, as least they’re still rebellious. If you’re over 3 albums old or signed to a major or sell any fucking records, DiS don’t wanna know. Great at championing bands and then dumping them the second they sign to a major record label after releasing their first single as a release of 17 copies on indierthanthou recordings, DiS can be so up their own arse sometimes they can see daylight. The saddest thing is, there's some great writing on there occasionally, once you get past its own elitist and pretentious attitude.
I’m still smarting over the way I was locked out of the place for daring to crticise the boss and telling him he was wrong simply because he had an obligation to communicate with his writers and tell them who was reviewing what, rather than telling no-one and then throwing a shit storm when something got reviewed twice by mistake. Can you tell? I’m not surprised. I feel is someone is writing for you, you do have an obligation to keep them informed as to what is going on, and who is doing what, and you certainly haven’t got the right to descend to petty insults.
It certainly does to something when you're chatting to a complete stranger at a gig in London, and you tell them the site you work for.... and they respond with , "Well, I like the site, but the boss is a cunt" (and thats pretty much verbatim)
And it was that boss that called me publicly as a “balding aging brummie twat”, which to me was completely irrelevant to anything I ever wrote. Because i)I have no control over my hair loss (nor would he) ii)Or the fact that I grow older every single day (one day, shocker, he might even be the same age as me!) iii)and where I live is absolutely goddamn irrelevant. He didn't pick on the writers who live in machester and call them Scallies....Fact is, my opinion of him was formed by the fact he acted with no decorum or respect for the people who put in hundreds of hours of effort for his glory, he was downright insulting if criticized, and dropped them like a hot turd from the sky once he could cast them aside for someone younger, who liked more credible music than say, me. When I say credible and cutting edge, may I refer you to their love of Radiohead (which is 8 or 10 albums depending on how you look at it) and Coldplay (3 albums) for stick it to the man up yours major label independence. (And In other news, one of the worlds largest corporations, EMI, had to issue a profit warning when the Coldplay album was delayed. How about that? isn't liking them really sticking to the man???)
Oh, and as for my suspiscion that Sean Adams did it for his own glory, he recently stepped down from running the site....to take over running the drownedinsound record label full time. So, of course it wasn't becoming part of the london meejah clique at all, was it? Especially as its so important that it even gets reported by CMU music . Hmmmm. After the way he's acted to me and many others, he can stick that up his dixie as far as I'm concerned. And it's not about sour grapes, before you ask - if he's actually acted in a fair and decent manner, I wouldn't feel this way. I'm somehow reminded of the old thing about be careful who you shit on whilst on the way up,because they will still there be there when you fall back down....
Anyway, I still write, and i still love music. That’s why I started this site . We’re looking for writers, by the way, if you're interested....
Saturday, May 21, 2005
Yes, I did go and see Revenge Of the Sith a second time. And second time, it was much, much better. And yes, I did blub. In a way, for a 31 year old guy to be crying at a Star Wars film, well, it’s a bit sad, but what has happened is that the myth of our own generation has just come to an end. And it ends tragically – no one wins, except the bad guys. But there’s always a new hope on the horizon….
The weird thing is I didn’t blub at the bits I expected to blub at. Star Wars has been a part of my life since I was 4, ever since I could run around making whooshing noises and playing lightsaber. And For 28 years, I’ve been playing out in my mind what happens when Anakin’s falls to the Dark Side and turns into Darth Vader. What I expected was a kick ass battle. What I didn’t expect what the fact that knowing how it ended, it was all so pre-ordained. I knew what was happening, yet I could see everything falling into place piece by piece, and I felt so powerless. I knew everything that was going to happen. The Betrayal of the Jedi by their trusted clone troopers was the bit that got me – these people, mown down as casualties in a political scheme for the sake of expediency – sacrificed because of their good and honourable intentions by a political despot intent on consolidating his own lust for power. Does this remind you of anything – or anyone?
The tragedy is there, waiting to unfold. You know its going to happen, but you don’t know how. How Anakin will betray his mentor, his brother. The anguish on Obi-Wans face when he realises that the friend he has been mentoring for over a decade has turned into a vicious and ruthless killer of children, fallen to being nothing more than a puppet of evil, blinded by his own arrogance and the belief he was acting for the greater good. The thing that really gets me though, is the fact that Obi-Wan could put his friend out of his pain and out of his suffering...but does not. Obi Wan knows it is not the Jedi Way, even though leaving the Anakin, who is Darth Vader and a Dark Lord of the Sith, will allow the Sith to conquer the universe and rule. This is why Obi-wan is a better Jedi master than Mace Windu would ever be - See what Mace does when battling Darth Sidious, the head of the Sith. mace would callously execute him in order for the greater good, but in doing so would compromise the very precepts the Jedi hold dear for the greater good; the same moral fine line that is crossed with disasterous consequences elsewhere in the movie.
As someone says, I’ve waited 28 years to watch the moments where Anakin turns into Darth vader. But when it happens, you don’t embrace it. God, don’t you want it to stop? You know where this path is taking him, you know that there is good in him, that he could stop it all, but in a momentary decision, he chooses someone who he thinks is his friend, someone who has been playing him like a instrument in a symphony of evil where he never even knew he was appearing,….someone who appealed to his vanity, someone who flattered him and appealed to his ego and hubris, played on his fears. At any point, Anakin could have chosen let go of his fears, ambition, arrogance, and been selfless, but it is these very reasons that stop him from being the Jedi master he so desperately desires to be. Being a Jedi master is a state of mind you attain, not a career path.
And the way it all falls together, piece by piece. This trilogy is, in terms of plotting and structure, in my opinion, infinitely superior to the original trilogy. The original trilogy is much more fun, and incredibly, incredibly important to me, but fuck it, I’m gonna sound, like a prequel trilogy apologist.
The Prequel trilogy is the fucking shit. As a whole, It’s incredible. Revenge of the Sith is a masterpiece of science fiction /action / blockbuster cinema. The first two are certainly less so that A New Hope/Empire, but treated as a singular film; the prequel trilogy is an achievement so impressive it may never be matched. It’s the Godfather of Science-fiction.
Think of it like a jigsaw. The only way to complete it is to put all the pieces on the floor, and find what you need. A framework. The edge pieces. After that, everything else falls into place. The first two films are that framework – and revenge of the sith is where you find everything else comes together so incredibly quick its unbelievable. The first two films are like watching people put together the dominoes for the world record. The third film is where the dominoes fall and everything happens. And there’s nothing you can do about it.
Thing is, for me, the reason that this trilogy works so well is in a way, because of the person I am. Because of my own history. I might sound like I’m gonna disappear up my own arse, but it’s directly related.
I went to Uni at 18. Star Wars was something I liked, but felt like I had outgrown. It was kids stuff. I learned about so much at Uni, and the one course I always think made the most impact on me was the one on International Relations. Seeing how events in one country affected another, the way things come together, the synchronicity of it all. How events impact on another. By the way that something that starts with a single action can destroy everything. if I'd not done that at Uni, then right now I wouldn't see this trilogy the way that I do.
I’ve seen that echo around the world in recent years. That’s why I liked The Phantom Menace so much – Even though I knew that Palpatine was the emperor and that he engineered it all, to see exactly how he did it was fascinating. And sadly, it resonated. The way he manipulates people bit by bit, manipulates the fear of separatists and war into the granting of emergency powers, the way that the Jedi think they have intercepted and turned an army built for the Seperatists into their own personal strikeforce, the way that a slowly escalating situation of paranoia and the military buildup necessary, the same way Hitler came to power in 1933. It all rings true.
At the age of 10, I wouldn’t have understood that what Lucas was saying was this : this is the way the world works, and look where it gets us. It only causes death and destruction. What I would have understood is kick ass space battles.
At the age of 31, I understand it so much more. It’s still the same universe, but Revenge of the Sith as a film, is so much more than I could have ever expected. As I said, it is 95% perfect – there’s beats and moments of utter bullshit, but it more than atones the existing prequels. What it does it, for me, make perfect sense. It’s an adult story with adult ramifications in a science fiction universe. It is a personal tragedy of almost Shakespearian proportions, taken in the context of all six films.
Actually, the only other time I can think of in recent trilogies where something so powerful has come out of the leftfield like a emotional suckerpunch is the end of Terminator 3 – when you realise that there was nothing they could ever have done to change fate. Delay it maybe, but not change it. The way the end of the world is shown there still gets me, because like in ROTS, you know there is nothing you can do, and it means the end of everything for these people. Think of it this way – what if, at the end of Return of the King…Sauron had actually won? In ROTK, I never had any doubt they would pull through – although this is partly because you already knew the ending was the good guys won. In the other two examples, you don’t know what happens.
At 10, I would never have understood this. At 10, I would never have understood the ramifications, the way everything slots into place, the way it all makes such perfect and horrifying sense. Sure, it has CGI monsters, and excessive CGI in places, but what we have here is a trilogy equally worthy of all the praise Lord Of the Rings gets. In fact, its better than Lord Of the Rings, simply because you don’t know how the story ends going in. Lord Of the Rings was simply the best adaptation of source material in this genre imaginable – this is much more impresive because this is a completely original work - not written by anyone else, not adapted. Not that they’ve taken someone else’s work, but made their own. What I never got in Lord Of the Rings, was an emotional investment in any of the characters (Except possibly Gollum!), but here, I can identify here with the way people have been manipulated, and how it costs them so dearly.
Harry off Aint it cool got it right when he said that “we’ll never care as much about a story like this one. For our generation, Star Wars is our mythology.”
Now, a friend of mine says, but “If you took away the CGI, what would you be left with?”. Thing is, the exact same story. There is excessive use of CGI – after all, there is absolutely no need for general Grevious character to be a CGI character, not at all. He would have worked equally well as a Darth Maul type badass. The CGI nature of the character is extraneous and unnecessary. Same could be said for Yoda – what I am saying is that the physical dimensions of the character are unnecessary and it’s the caharcters you car about, not the CGI. Same could be said for Gollum – there’s no need for Gollum to be 3ft 2in, and if Gollum had been played by Andy Serkis in makeup would I have made his character any less tragic? No. Did Pellannor Fields need the Oliphants? No. But CGI allowed Peter Jackson to put them there. Similarly, The CGI allowed George Lucas to allow his visual imagination to run riot in the same way that it allowed Jackson to. It hasn’t changed the story arcs, the characters, or the strength of the tragedy. It just changed how he could show us what happened. And lets face it, if its good enough for LOTR, isn’t it good enough for this? And If not, why not? There's no consistency to rag on lucas for excessive CGI when Jackson has done exactly the same, which is simply use the means at his disposal tot ell the story. I mean, is it Any less enjoyable because it's CGI.... or because you know it's all been done with little pieces of plastic 3 feet long? Exactly! It's not. Its all about suspension of disbelief.
As I write, Revenge of the Sith is currently #130 on the top 250 films of all time on IMDB. I’d go so far to say it is, to my eyes at my age, the most impressive Star Wars film. As for best, I’m always going to be swayed by what the four year old me saw in 1977, and there’s no way I can ever take a step back and look at the original trilogies in a dispassionate manner. But what I will say is this: If I’d walked into Phantom Menace in 1999 not being a fan, I wouldn’t have been converted to a fan. I’d have been in the very curious category, the same way I felt about the Matrix. I saw the potential, what it could become. Revenge of the Sith has fulfilled that potential in every way.
There’s little point bleating about how it’s not as good as the original. Well, that’s due to two reasons in my opinion. I’m not watching this film through the eyes of a 4 year old boy anymore, but of a 30 year old. I’m watching this film through the eyes of an adult, not a child. There’s no way these films could ever have acted as a time machine. I’ve been through too much to ever regain that sense of innocence I had.
Similarly, there’s little point bleating on about how it’s not the original for a simple reason. It’s NOT the original. It’s different. Completely different. They never set out to remake the originals, because what we have here is something set in the same universe , telling a different story. With different dramatic requirements. Let the story breathe and tell what it has to tell, and then see how everything slots in. Which is does. Do not hate it because you’ve grown up and can’t see it through the eyes of a child – in the same way that some people hated the Jackson films of LOTR because it ditched the character of Tom Bombadil – because you are too close, emotionally, to the originals. Take a step back, and realise what we have here is something that can never replace the originals – just expand on them. Add to them. Make them better and more complete. And that’s what this one does.
That’s it. I’m going to come out and say. Overall, I prefer the prequel trilogy, because it’s much more emotionally powerful than the originals. And also, much more depth in terms of what is going on behind the scenes also. IF I have kids, I’d make them sit down and watch the originals first though. Those films? Those are films kids can enjoy on the whee-wizz-bang level. These films? These films I can understand as an adult, seeing how the world I live in works. The prequel trilogy are films which I can relate to as an adult, relate to in seeing how pride, hubris, arrogance blind people even myself sometimes. Revenge of the Sith, For all its trappings and CGI, is an film for grown-ups, with a level of depth I could never have imagined back in 1983.A story of betrayal.
As I left the cinema, I looked down at the main foyer. On the carpet, I saw a couple of kids, no more than 4 or 5. Playing with each other. Making whooshing noises, like lightsabers do, playfighting like Jedi. It made me smile. I envy them, for in the world they will grow up in not only will have the internet – but also, they will not have the wait I had to see how the story ends. The story will be complete to them from the get go. Its something I’ve had to wait 28 years to see how it ends.
But I wouldn’t have changed it for the world.
The weird thing is I didn’t blub at the bits I expected to blub at. Star Wars has been a part of my life since I was 4, ever since I could run around making whooshing noises and playing lightsaber. And For 28 years, I’ve been playing out in my mind what happens when Anakin’s falls to the Dark Side and turns into Darth Vader. What I expected was a kick ass battle. What I didn’t expect what the fact that knowing how it ended, it was all so pre-ordained. I knew what was happening, yet I could see everything falling into place piece by piece, and I felt so powerless. I knew everything that was going to happen. The Betrayal of the Jedi by their trusted clone troopers was the bit that got me – these people, mown down as casualties in a political scheme for the sake of expediency – sacrificed because of their good and honourable intentions by a political despot intent on consolidating his own lust for power. Does this remind you of anything – or anyone?
The tragedy is there, waiting to unfold. You know its going to happen, but you don’t know how. How Anakin will betray his mentor, his brother. The anguish on Obi-Wans face when he realises that the friend he has been mentoring for over a decade has turned into a vicious and ruthless killer of children, fallen to being nothing more than a puppet of evil, blinded by his own arrogance and the belief he was acting for the greater good. The thing that really gets me though, is the fact that Obi-Wan could put his friend out of his pain and out of his suffering...but does not. Obi Wan knows it is not the Jedi Way, even though leaving the Anakin, who is Darth Vader and a Dark Lord of the Sith, will allow the Sith to conquer the universe and rule. This is why Obi-wan is a better Jedi master than Mace Windu would ever be - See what Mace does when battling Darth Sidious, the head of the Sith. mace would callously execute him in order for the greater good, but in doing so would compromise the very precepts the Jedi hold dear for the greater good; the same moral fine line that is crossed with disasterous consequences elsewhere in the movie.
As someone says, I’ve waited 28 years to watch the moments where Anakin turns into Darth vader. But when it happens, you don’t embrace it. God, don’t you want it to stop? You know where this path is taking him, you know that there is good in him, that he could stop it all, but in a momentary decision, he chooses someone who he thinks is his friend, someone who has been playing him like a instrument in a symphony of evil where he never even knew he was appearing,….someone who appealed to his vanity, someone who flattered him and appealed to his ego and hubris, played on his fears. At any point, Anakin could have chosen let go of his fears, ambition, arrogance, and been selfless, but it is these very reasons that stop him from being the Jedi master he so desperately desires to be. Being a Jedi master is a state of mind you attain, not a career path.
And the way it all falls together, piece by piece. This trilogy is, in terms of plotting and structure, in my opinion, infinitely superior to the original trilogy. The original trilogy is much more fun, and incredibly, incredibly important to me, but fuck it, I’m gonna sound, like a prequel trilogy apologist.
The Prequel trilogy is the fucking shit. As a whole, It’s incredible. Revenge of the Sith is a masterpiece of science fiction /action / blockbuster cinema. The first two are certainly less so that A New Hope/Empire, but treated as a singular film; the prequel trilogy is an achievement so impressive it may never be matched. It’s the Godfather of Science-fiction.
Think of it like a jigsaw. The only way to complete it is to put all the pieces on the floor, and find what you need. A framework. The edge pieces. After that, everything else falls into place. The first two films are that framework – and revenge of the sith is where you find everything else comes together so incredibly quick its unbelievable. The first two films are like watching people put together the dominoes for the world record. The third film is where the dominoes fall and everything happens. And there’s nothing you can do about it.
Thing is, for me, the reason that this trilogy works so well is in a way, because of the person I am. Because of my own history. I might sound like I’m gonna disappear up my own arse, but it’s directly related.
I went to Uni at 18. Star Wars was something I liked, but felt like I had outgrown. It was kids stuff. I learned about so much at Uni, and the one course I always think made the most impact on me was the one on International Relations. Seeing how events in one country affected another, the way things come together, the synchronicity of it all. How events impact on another. By the way that something that starts with a single action can destroy everything. if I'd not done that at Uni, then right now I wouldn't see this trilogy the way that I do.
I’ve seen that echo around the world in recent years. That’s why I liked The Phantom Menace so much – Even though I knew that Palpatine was the emperor and that he engineered it all, to see exactly how he did it was fascinating. And sadly, it resonated. The way he manipulates people bit by bit, manipulates the fear of separatists and war into the granting of emergency powers, the way that the Jedi think they have intercepted and turned an army built for the Seperatists into their own personal strikeforce, the way that a slowly escalating situation of paranoia and the military buildup necessary, the same way Hitler came to power in 1933. It all rings true.
At the age of 10, I wouldn’t have understood that what Lucas was saying was this : this is the way the world works, and look where it gets us. It only causes death and destruction. What I would have understood is kick ass space battles.
At the age of 31, I understand it so much more. It’s still the same universe, but Revenge of the Sith as a film, is so much more than I could have ever expected. As I said, it is 95% perfect – there’s beats and moments of utter bullshit, but it more than atones the existing prequels. What it does it, for me, make perfect sense. It’s an adult story with adult ramifications in a science fiction universe. It is a personal tragedy of almost Shakespearian proportions, taken in the context of all six films.
Actually, the only other time I can think of in recent trilogies where something so powerful has come out of the leftfield like a emotional suckerpunch is the end of Terminator 3 – when you realise that there was nothing they could ever have done to change fate. Delay it maybe, but not change it. The way the end of the world is shown there still gets me, because like in ROTS, you know there is nothing you can do, and it means the end of everything for these people. Think of it this way – what if, at the end of Return of the King…Sauron had actually won? In ROTK, I never had any doubt they would pull through – although this is partly because you already knew the ending was the good guys won. In the other two examples, you don’t know what happens.
At 10, I would never have understood this. At 10, I would never have understood the ramifications, the way everything slots into place, the way it all makes such perfect and horrifying sense. Sure, it has CGI monsters, and excessive CGI in places, but what we have here is a trilogy equally worthy of all the praise Lord Of the Rings gets. In fact, its better than Lord Of the Rings, simply because you don’t know how the story ends going in. Lord Of the Rings was simply the best adaptation of source material in this genre imaginable – this is much more impresive because this is a completely original work - not written by anyone else, not adapted. Not that they’ve taken someone else’s work, but made their own. What I never got in Lord Of the Rings, was an emotional investment in any of the characters (Except possibly Gollum!), but here, I can identify here with the way people have been manipulated, and how it costs them so dearly.
Harry off Aint it cool got it right when he said that “we’ll never care as much about a story like this one. For our generation, Star Wars is our mythology.”
Now, a friend of mine says, but “If you took away the CGI, what would you be left with?”. Thing is, the exact same story. There is excessive use of CGI – after all, there is absolutely no need for general Grevious character to be a CGI character, not at all. He would have worked equally well as a Darth Maul type badass. The CGI nature of the character is extraneous and unnecessary. Same could be said for Yoda – what I am saying is that the physical dimensions of the character are unnecessary and it’s the caharcters you car about, not the CGI. Same could be said for Gollum – there’s no need for Gollum to be 3ft 2in, and if Gollum had been played by Andy Serkis in makeup would I have made his character any less tragic? No. Did Pellannor Fields need the Oliphants? No. But CGI allowed Peter Jackson to put them there. Similarly, The CGI allowed George Lucas to allow his visual imagination to run riot in the same way that it allowed Jackson to. It hasn’t changed the story arcs, the characters, or the strength of the tragedy. It just changed how he could show us what happened. And lets face it, if its good enough for LOTR, isn’t it good enough for this? And If not, why not? There's no consistency to rag on lucas for excessive CGI when Jackson has done exactly the same, which is simply use the means at his disposal tot ell the story. I mean, is it Any less enjoyable because it's CGI.... or because you know it's all been done with little pieces of plastic 3 feet long? Exactly! It's not. Its all about suspension of disbelief.
As I write, Revenge of the Sith is currently #130 on the top 250 films of all time on IMDB. I’d go so far to say it is, to my eyes at my age, the most impressive Star Wars film. As for best, I’m always going to be swayed by what the four year old me saw in 1977, and there’s no way I can ever take a step back and look at the original trilogies in a dispassionate manner. But what I will say is this: If I’d walked into Phantom Menace in 1999 not being a fan, I wouldn’t have been converted to a fan. I’d have been in the very curious category, the same way I felt about the Matrix. I saw the potential, what it could become. Revenge of the Sith has fulfilled that potential in every way.
There’s little point bleating about how it’s not as good as the original. Well, that’s due to two reasons in my opinion. I’m not watching this film through the eyes of a 4 year old boy anymore, but of a 30 year old. I’m watching this film through the eyes of an adult, not a child. There’s no way these films could ever have acted as a time machine. I’ve been through too much to ever regain that sense of innocence I had.
Similarly, there’s little point bleating on about how it’s not the original for a simple reason. It’s NOT the original. It’s different. Completely different. They never set out to remake the originals, because what we have here is something set in the same universe , telling a different story. With different dramatic requirements. Let the story breathe and tell what it has to tell, and then see how everything slots in. Which is does. Do not hate it because you’ve grown up and can’t see it through the eyes of a child – in the same way that some people hated the Jackson films of LOTR because it ditched the character of Tom Bombadil – because you are too close, emotionally, to the originals. Take a step back, and realise what we have here is something that can never replace the originals – just expand on them. Add to them. Make them better and more complete. And that’s what this one does.
That’s it. I’m going to come out and say. Overall, I prefer the prequel trilogy, because it’s much more emotionally powerful than the originals. And also, much more depth in terms of what is going on behind the scenes also. IF I have kids, I’d make them sit down and watch the originals first though. Those films? Those are films kids can enjoy on the whee-wizz-bang level. These films? These films I can understand as an adult, seeing how the world I live in works. The prequel trilogy are films which I can relate to as an adult, relate to in seeing how pride, hubris, arrogance blind people even myself sometimes. Revenge of the Sith, For all its trappings and CGI, is an film for grown-ups, with a level of depth I could never have imagined back in 1983.A story of betrayal.
As I left the cinema, I looked down at the main foyer. On the carpet, I saw a couple of kids, no more than 4 or 5. Playing with each other. Making whooshing noises, like lightsabers do, playfighting like Jedi. It made me smile. I envy them, for in the world they will grow up in not only will have the internet – but also, they will not have the wait I had to see how the story ends. The story will be complete to them from the get go. Its something I’ve had to wait 28 years to see how it ends.
But I wouldn’t have changed it for the world.
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