the merge

she kisses like
a cat licking up
milk cute tongue
in and out and
he’s just helpless
not really
understanding
what’s happening
only that nothing
has ever felt
this right and he
just wishes he
could hug her
so tight and so
close that they
could merge into
one because
nothing else is
going to be
enough things are
being said that
before would make
him tremble and
shake and change
the subject and
he’s still trembling
now but there is
someone there to
tremble with and
to get lost in and
the mixture between
sadness and loss
and libido might
seem strange but
to the only two
people who matter it
makes more sense
than all of the grey
areas you could
fit on a globe

untitled

WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER
WE ARE ALL IN DANGER

hanley in 2001 when i'd forgot who i was

when some man with a stoke city football shirt
fucked me in my arsehole in a public
toilet in hanley in 2001 when i thought i
was getting ill and started to just buy random
shit on ebay that i had no intention
of actually purchasing
i kinda knew that he didn't care about the fact
that i had a rare brainiac seven inch single
or that i could talk him through
all of the sleater kinney b-sides from their
most recent album
mostly he kept saying stuff about me being a
cunt and how i wasn't supposed to look at him
and that i was disgusting
and even when he was enjoying it i knew that
he wasn't going to show it
"oh yeah oh yeah oh yeah"
because he had a wife and some
kids and he kept calling my arse a pussy
even though we both know that
it wasn't
but i guess that made it easier for him
and despite his threats he wrote down
his number
and
i thought
he
was going to
cry
but he said i had to call him
and just remember looking at
the swastikas on the cubicle
wall and something about
there being two sides to
something
but i could barely see by the
end of it and i left the number
in there when i left because
he needed to find someone
that he had stuff in common
with

Thomas Moronic talks to Jack Dickson

Photo taken by Thomas Moronic, Glasgow, May 2007.



Jack Dickson is one of the many talented writers that I have met since started blogging. Based in Glasgow, he is a screenwriter and novellist. One thing that fascinated me about Dickson was that aside from his novels and screenplays, at one time he also wrote porn books. I wanted to know more about his take on, and his experiences within that genre. We spoke via email, and Jack gave me a fascinating peek behind the scenes.

What was your first experience of pornography? Did u have a secret collection when you were a child?

Straight mags from a local newsagent’s top shelf I found in a litter bin I suppose – photos of tits and cunts. I didn’t identify those mags as pornography, though and still don’t, even the male/male equivalent doesn’t do it for me, it’s just all bodies. What served at my personal pornography at the age of 10 ish was stuff like the James Cagney gangster films my dad used to watch, along with Spartacus and The Man from U.N.C.L.E – especially any storyline where Illya Kuriakin got tied up: maybe I’ve always been turned on by what goes unsaid, the subtext of stuff. Horror comics turned me on, and I cause a big stink at 11 when my love letters to another boy were intercepted by my mother, letters in which I talked about wanting to take off his skin cos seeing him naked wasn’t enough.

The first material I used actively and consciously as porn were Richard Allen series of Skinhead books, and The Story of O both stocked by the same local newsagent who sold the tits and cunts mags. Thinking back, the small seaside town where I grew up was liberal in the reading mater available :)

How did you become involved in porn?

I’d been writing down wank fantasies for the amusement of myself and my boyfriend for a while. We’d stopped having sex, we were both unemployed, he was looking for a job and I was looking for an outlet for my randiness. I never actively set out to become involved in porn, it just sort of happened. I’d been writing all these not very good Lynda LaPlante type detective novels that, quite rightly, no-one wanted to publish, and on the spur of the moment sent a porn short story to free Edinburgh based mag, Gay Scotland, and they published it. Didn’t get paid though, but didn’t really expect to.

What made you decide to write porn? Was it a conscious decision, or was it just that the majority of writing that you produced featured pornographic scenes?

Like I say, it wasn’t really a conscious decision. What did eventually happen with my writing, what was I suppose the breakthrough/light-bulb moment people talk about was when I stopped thinking of porn as one thing and my writing as another, and combined the two. Sex has always been a huge personal motivator for me, and after much soul-searching I realized that it’s a massive motivator for most of us, just maybe not in the way we might think it is. It’s my personal belief that almost everything we do is about sex – except sex, which is about everything BUT sex. And this discovery really helped my writing: out went the Lynda LaPlante type heroes and heroines, in came Jas, the tortured gay protagonist/action hero, a Glasgow cop who wrestles with his personal demons while fighting crime :)

I did a couple of Jas-novels, got them into print along with two other stand-alone volumes of what used to be called “gay fiction”, and not ˜gay literature”, please note. Bitter? Moi??

The sex in my gay fiction was always edgy, like the stuff which personally always turned me on and with which I continue to wrestle, decades in the wake of the “I want to take your skin off” love-letter. It was also very graphic sex, in general detached from any notion of conventional love but, for me, never gratuitous and always integral to the story … well, sort of.

I suppose about here I should try to define what separates porn from fiction, for me at least. With porn, the sex is the subject matter: with my fiction, sex is what defines the character, I suppose. That sounds shite, doesn’t it? Very vague … I’ll try and get a better def for you, Thomas.

Is there ever a conflict when you write in that you find yourself writing sex scenes that will appeal to the tastes of a large audience as opposed stuff that will only turn you on?

There’s not much that doesn’t turn me on, take my word for it. Coming from a place where I used non-porn as porn, and being fascinated by the ways people use sex and what those ways say about them, I find I can get hard via the most unlikely things. Human sexuality is a complex, scary and yet infinitely fascinating thing.

One of the first publishers to pay me was the Maryland US-based small indie Circlet Books. They put out ˜erotic” short story anthologies, based around BDSM interactions, with sci-fi and fantasy themes: vampires-sex, fairytale-sex, sex on other planets with aliens, telepathic sex. Circlet was the first publisher to impose guidelines on me: no-one could die, there could be no gratuitous suffering (define ˜gratuitous”!) and the sex had to be ˜positive”. Of course, I knew why their co-owner and editor Cecilia Tan put these guidelines in place: ˜conventional” porn, be it gay straight or whatever, has always had a bad name in terms of its limited understanding and homogenous presentation of what is and is not acceptable sex for people to be wanking to, and Cecilia quite rightly wanted to push the boundaries of this extremely restrictive definition. But her own guidelines were equally restrictive for me in another way: for me, sex is rarely ˜positive” – it’s a thing that tells you something about yourself. In my fiction by that point, I was using sex more and more to do this, and so it initially felt very alien and not to mention a possible betrayal of my personal beliefs on the subject to have to find a way of somehow wrapping it all up in a nice happy ending.

Of course, I was naive. Writing is all about getting your message across, and the more restrictive the medium, the more it stretches you as a writer. Circlet were great and they’re still in existence, but in a more condensed form. They paid between 1 and 4 cents a word, and helped me feel I could possibly make a living with this stuff (advances for my ˜gay fiction” novels never exceeded £800).

Then came now-defunct Idol Books, an imprint of Virgin Publishing, who had worked out that the pink pound was there to be snapped up and launched a gay erotica novel imprint. They put out a call for submissions of 60-80 thousand words for £3,000! Man, I was so in there! I did three Idol books over 3 years and learned an astounding amount about the actual craft and techniques of writing. Idol had different guidelines from Circlet: every chapter had to have at least one ˜satisfying” sex scene in it and everyone had to wear a condom for anal or oral sex – at least, if the story was set in the present day. Again, you find yourself quickly using what might seem like restrictions to your advantage, involving them in the stricture of your story.

The first Idol novel, Dark Rider, was set in the present, and I got round the condom thing by having a lot of wanking around strange, pagan erotic rituals (it’s set on a remote Scottish island, kind of a Wicker Man without the ... um, wicker man,). But I wasn’t sure they’d let me repeat this emphasis on wanking, so for the next two Idols I went historical: HMS Submission was sort of A Boy’s Own Story meets Pirates of the Caribbean, and The Black Chamber took the Robin Hood legend and set it in 19th century Scotland. But something weird happened: Despite the fact they were only supposed to be skeletons around which one draped the sex, I got WELL into my stories, and it became a bit of a bind to keep shoving in a bit of how’s your father when I found myself actually more interested in describing what a midshipman’s uniform or the inside of Newgate prison would actually look like.

But to get back to your question! You’d be amazed what turns people on. Most of my editors at Idol were women, they all liked my stuff and it seemed to sell okay: not enough to be reprinted though, so there obviously was always some sort of tension there in my porn between what the market actually wanted and what I was set on giving them.

I did 3 books for Zipper and Prowler, who paid less but at £1,000 a book it was still worth my while cos I wrote them in 3 months each. They had the same ˜no bare-backing” guideline (unless it’s in the past or on another planet) as Idol, but I was well-over the restrictions of that. Plus I was really enjoying writing the damn things by this time and they also made me feel like I was actually earning a living as a writer.

Seeing that you are also a screenwriter, have you ever considered writing some kind of porn script or getting involved with that side of pornography?

Films have always been for me, the least interesting side of the porn business. I love what Bruce LaBruce did in No Skin off My Ass and Super 8 and a Half, but just watching people fuck has never been hot for me personally. Unless there is tension there, or characters have agenda – God, I see everything in narrative terms, don’t I? I got into watching porn very VERY late, and I think I may have missed some of the more adventurous US attempts, since gay porn invariably got confiscated at customs, here. But I’d have difficulty now deciding whether I found them a turn-on or whether I was just interested from a strictly filmatic point of view. My crotch and my brain have always been in close contact with each other, now more than ever it seems.

First porn film I ever saw was in some wee gay cinema in London, when I was 22. The seedy surroundings were more of a turn on that what was happening onscreen. In my 30s, when for the first time gay porn on home video became widely available, we went through a phase of buying the stuff which was distributed by Millivres Multimedia, the same company who put out my Zipper/Prowler books. Watching skinny Czech boys fuck other skinny Czech boys got old very fast, they all looked the same and nothing much ever happened.

But to really answer your question, Thomas, from my understanding the script of a porn film is usually written by either the director or one of the producers. The business seems to actively eschew employing a writer, in the UK anyway, which may in itself speak volumes.

Are you actually a big fan of porn? Do you read much or watch many films? Any particular writers or movie makers that you are a fan of?

Ooh, I have answered this one already haven’t I? Can I just maybe add that the books of the late great John Preston were a big influence on me, in my early porn-writing days. He showed me how to structure a story. Bruce LaBruce, yeah, his early stuff - for some reason, the bigger his budgets get, the less his work seems to do it for me. But, like he cares :)

I know that you have written other novels as well. Do you feel as passionately about your porn stuff as you do about your other work? My reason for asking is that from an outsiders view it seems that many people do view porn as a kind of throw away, disposable genre that serves on a functional level and nothing else. But to someone who is creating that stuff, I wander how you feel say about the characters in your porn books: do you feel as involved with them as you would do in another genre of writing?

To be very dreary and writing-school about this, in porn my characters are mere vehicles for telling the story. In strict Stanislavskian terms, they have an objective and it’s the narrative’s job to stop them achieving this objective for as long as possible. But honestly? The characters in my fiction are much the same, yet you are right, I am more attached to them. But maybe that’s merely a function of the fact I write serial fiction: I was with Jas, my tortured Glasgow cop turned PI through three novels and well into a fourth: I could write him for ever, if there was a market for the poor bastard. I find the same when I’m writing the soap, oddly enough: the more I write for or about characters, the more into them I get and, accordingly, the greater their potential for complexity becomes and so my interest and attachment to them just grows and grows. It’s like meeting a person you’re attracted to, I suppose: you pass him in the street, he’ll stay with you for maybe an hour. You talk to him, he’ll stay with you longer. The more exposure you get, the more exposure you want. That’s the attraction of character.

When you write is there any kind of set formula you have to write to? For example is there a set quota of how many sex scenes have to appear in one of your books etc?

I don’t write porn anymore, it stopped paying about the same time as my screen writing career started paying. But to answer your question? Left to my own devices with a porn novel these days, either no-one would have sex, it’d be 60,000 words of foreplay (which is, of course, sex too) or everyone’s sex would go horribly wrong. Dennis Cooper writes the best porn I know, the sneaky bastard. It’s hot as hell and its heat for me comes from the fact it’s so unsatisfying not to mention damaging for his characters. That’s one fuck of a clever achievement: to both arouse and distress simultaneous. That’s what sex has always been for me.

What have you been working on most recently?

Okay: just finished first draft of six 90-second soap episodess for mobile phone streaming, in conjunction with the BBC’s Adult Learning Unit, just sent off what feels like the 1,000th draft of a pitch document for a one-hour TV comedy-drama about Angels of Death and working on the new draft of the mighty Locksmith script. I rarely write prose these days, outside of pitch documents and treatments. That’s one of the reasons Dennis Cooper’s call for submissions for Userlands was such a great thing, for me: it reminded me what prose can do.



Click here for more information on books by Jack Dickson.

church bells

the church bell is ringing but i don't know what that means.

i don't know how regularly it rings but right now it's 9:08am and last night i remember hearing it at 11:08pm.

maybe it goes off every hour, always 8 minutes late, and i've just not noticed.

it's possible.

the party started 37 hours ago and everyone else who doesn't live here has gone.

my hosts are are both sleeping.

one of them got up briefly, smoked a fag and gave me a glass of water.

my teeth have stopped grinding.

he pointed out the window:

a tramp sleeping in a patch of grass in the church grounds.

i've seen him around.

he probably knows more about the bells than i do.

Safehouses for the ruined

Image by Chuck Samuels.







They’re talking about someone that
they used to know. I don’t recognize
the name. I’m struggling to follow
the conversation because it’s do with
something that happened a few years
before I met everyone. Also I’ve been
up for over twenty four hours now.
And with the way that the cocaine has
made my body feel I doubt I’ll be
sleeping anytime soon. It’s hard to
tell what has been affected. Half of me
feels exhausted and ready to pass out
and the other half feels wired and
happy. I can’t tell which is my brain
and which is my body; can’t decide
which is the tired half. Some great
songs have been played. I’ve crawled
inside a couple of them and had a good
look around. Strange interiors – things
I’ve not seen before when I’ve just been
glancing at them, looking through the
glass at the twitching curtains. Some of
these songs have been very well lived
in. Some of them abandoned. All are far
more spacious than I would have guessed
I want to claim squatter’s rights on a couple,
although I’m not sure how to go about it.
My current plan is just to curl up with my
eyes open and that hope no-one comes in.

TRANS/MISSION interview

I was recently interviewed by Arthur Limbo for TRANS/MISSION. This is what was said (photo's of me taken by Eva Hertz, and mask by Dave Hilliard):


Tell us a little bit about yourself?

I’m a 24 year old writer and musician, based in the UK. I play in several bands/projects (What The Moon Is Like, End of Level Boss, Piss Drinker) as well as doing my solo stuff and I write for Gay As Fuck Magazine and Feral Debris.

How did you get into making music? Did you have some sort of formal education that sparked your interest (are you a "classically trained" musician?) or did you come about it in a more unorthodox manner?

I’ve always been in bands ever since I was a teenager, just because I’ve always been a fairly obsessive fan of music. I think my first attempt at being in a band was with my brother when I was about eight. He used to play piano and I’d try and sing along. This was way before I could actually play anything though – I just liked the idea of being in a band. I remember sitting down with an old tape player that my parents used to have and adopting different voices – pretending to be a Smash Hits journalist or whatever and interviewing myself – I asked myself questions about what it felt like to be number one in the charts and I’d make up silly answers and always thank my imaginary fans (probably because I was really into Michael Jackson from the age of about five to ten).

I went to a few music lessons when I was younger, for different instruments, but I always got bored. The longest class I stuck with was for the recorder. When I was twelve or thirteen I got my first guitar. It was a Christmas present along with a song book. The first things I learnt were Ode To Joy and Love Me Tender. Then when I was maybe fourteen a friend showed me some basic chords. She didn’t have the patience to teach me properly, so I ended up making up my own chords and taught myself. Looking back now, I’m really happy about this. When I watch or listen to really schooled or heavily trained musicians play, you can see that it’s really hard for them to play outside of the rules that they’ve been taught. Obviously this isn’t always the case but a lot of the time it seems like they always return to stock signatures or musical phrases that have been drilled into them. When that happens then I think it seems more like mathematics or science than music. I’d always recommend people teach themselves, no matter what bizarre sounds you come up with – at least that way it’s more likely to be your own weird sounds as opposed to someone else’s.


Were there any albums in particular, or certain genres of music, that inspired you to create music of your own?

That’s hard to answer because there have been so many. I remember when I first got into Sonic Youth, that was a really big deal just because they were connected to and referencing all these crazy bands and records that I’d never come across before. I’ve never really lost my love for music so it’s still happening. I’m always finding new stuff (and older stuff) that inspires me. A few albums off the top of my head that really changed my outlook on music (just because they sounded like nothing else that I’d heard at the time): Sonic Youth’s Goo (it’s not my favourite album of theirs, but it’s the first one I got, so it paved the way), Troublegum by Therapy? (one of the first rock albums I really got heavily into when I was young), Jim O’Rourke’s Happy Days, Merzbow’s Pulse Demon, the first Smiths album, Bikini Kill’s Pussy Whipped, Mogwai’s Come On Die Young. Some of those albums I still listen to regularly, and others not so much, but they all led me on to find other stuff. If you asked me on another day then the list would probably be different, heh heh. I’ve never really been concerned with genre, I’m just attracted to people who are doing something different and interesting with music.

What non-musical sources, if any, have an influence on your musical work?

I guess I’m probably influenced by everything all the time. Everything around me, the people I know. I’m not necessarily sure about any direct influence on my work, but most mediums inspire me at some point or another. I find that with any of my work, I’m more likely to be creative if I’ve been surrounding myself with or taking in good art, whatever its form. Literature, film, paintings, whatever. Whatever stimulates me influences me in some way I’m sure.

Is your music commentating on anything, or does it just exist as music and nothing else? Is it trying to say something about the world, saying nothing, or is it an expression of your own inner mythologies/personality/feelings etc?

It is what it is. I think that’s enough. Quite often as a teenager, I’d be really into a particular song or whatever and I’d have all these ideas about it which made the music feel more incredible to me, more personal; but then I’d hear the artist in question explain what they were trying to do with the music and it’d be totally different to what I’d gotten from it, and sometimes what the bands would actually say ended up making the music seem pretty lame. It stripped it of the stuff that I had attached to it myself. It wasn’t so personal anymore. I suppose certain things mean specific things to me, but that’s just my interpretation. It’s possible that someone else could have a take on it that’s just as valid.

Tell us a little bit about your MZR release "Hard & Evil." We gather it was supposed to be released on a label or something like that but it never came about?

It’s probably just over a year ago that I finished Hard & Evil. I’d not long handed in my final dissertation at university and was just waiting to graduate, so I had a lot of time on my hands which I used to do a few musical projects. At the time I was a little fed up of the routine of writing songs and then playing them over and over again. I was thinking about other forms of art – a painter doesn’t have to repeat a painting over and over again, and filmmakers don’t have to keep re-doing the same film for the rest of their life. They finish something and move on. So I was quite into the idea of making a really big one-off composition that I’d never repeat live at any point (even if I eventually wanted to). It took a while to make, but I’m still pretty pleased with the results. Just after I finished making it, there was an Italian label that said they’d put it out as a limited CD or tape or whatever. But as is often the case with underground or DIY labels (mainly because a lot of the time these small labels are just run by one person, and it can be a lot of work to release stuff on your own sometimes) it fell through. I was pleased when it was agreed that it would be made available by MZR just because it was a piece that I was really happy with and it’s cool that some other people can hear it now.

How did you go about creating the sounds utilized in "Hard & Evil," or is that top secret? Any particular computer programs/musical instruments that played an important role in the creation of the sound?

Haha it’s not really top secret but it’s probably fairly dull. It involved sitting in front of a computer in an old manky cardigan for hours and editing sounds until they no longer resembled what they originally were. A lot of the source material that I used to record Hard & Evil was originally intended for an album called Snow Choir #2 (Snow Choir being a series of improvised guitar pieces that I started a couple of years ago). That piece wasn’t working out, but I had a good few tapes of stuff already recorded and it seemed a waste to just bin it. Also I like the idea of playing with source material and turning it into something completely new. So I took all the tapes of me playing guitar and edited them down. Then I made new recordings of guitar and keyboard and edited them. I made about fifty really tiny little loops and arranged them in a sequence. Finally I made several layers of drones and put everything in order on my computer. See – pretty dull, right?

The one track on "Hard & Evil" is very long. Do you worry that might be alienating to a casual listener, given how short our attention spans are these days what with all of this high speed technology we've been so spoiled with? (I myself love very long songs but I know lots of people that have trouble listening to them). What's your own stance on long songs?

No, stuff like that doesn’t worry me at all. If I’m happy with something, then that’s pretty much all I care about. Also, I guess at the sort of level that I’m operating there won’t be too many casual listeners. If people end up listening to my music then most of the time it’s because they’ve been searching around for stuff and looking on obscure websites or forums or whatever. I always think of casual listeners as people who are only informed by MTV or the NME or people who only buy chart CDs from supermarkets, people who don’t want to look for music. Coincidentally, these are also usually the people who complain about there never being any good new music – what does that tell you?!? Look harder! As for long songs, I don’t really have a particular stance. Hard & Evil is 57 minutes I think, but then most of the songs that I’ve recorded as part of Piss Drinker are usually less than 5 seconds. I’m the same way with genre – I don’t have a particular stance – if something is good then it’s good. End of story.


Tell us a bit about the cover art and the artist responsible for it?

The artwork for Hard & Evil is by an artist called Sian Macfarlane. I’m really pleased with it. Originally the art was going to be used on a little 3 track EP of field recordings that I recorded for a tiny Welsh label. I kinda thought it suited Hard & Evil though. Sian also plays with me in What The Moon Is Like and End of Level Boss, as well as being one of my closest friends. And obviously, her art is fantastic as well.

What are your thoughts on netlabels in general? What would you say are the pros & cons of releasing music through that avenue?

I think any avenue that lets you hear about exciting new music is a good thing. And there are some really great things being released by netlabels. The My Formica Table label has put out some incredible music via its website. And my friend Alex who plays under the name Thee Moths has had various bits and pieces released across several netlabels. And just from my association with MZR I’ve already found albums by Boy Destroyer and The People’s Tongue that I absolutely love.

Have you gotten any feedback on "Hard & Evil" from people who have heard it? (Sadly, not many people seem to leave reviews at Internet Archive). If so, has this feedback been positive or negative?

People have said some very nice things about Hard & Evil and I’ve had some random emails from people who have found it via MZR. Dominic from Strap The Button called it a “masterwork” which I was really happy about, because all the bands that he’s a part of (Strap The Button – one of my favourite bands, Port Elizabeth, and Robert Redford For Bedford) make such incredible music.

What other musical projects are you working on at the moment?

The most recent thing that I’ve been involved with is the recording of the new What The Moon Is Like album. I play guitar in that band, we’re a three piece – drums, bass and guitar. We’ve got 10 new songs for the album which is called Humane People Build Cemeteries, and I’m really proud of them. It’s one of the best recordings that I’ve been involved with. I think we’ve just got to wait until the artwork is finalised and then I should imagine we’ll be playing some gigs and stuff.



We understand that, in addition to being a musician, you're also a writer. We hear that you're working on a book at the moment? Would you like to tell us a bit about that, what it's about, and so on? Also, have you ever been published?

Yeah. Well I write everyday on my blog, which I see as a big ongoing project, and I also write music reviews and do interviews for Feral Debris and Gay As Fuck. The book I’m working on is going to be a collection of short stories and other bits of assorted text, prose and some poems. The working title at the moment is People Are Not Like Trees. I’m hoping to publish it within the next couple of months. I’d practically given up on writing until earlier this year so it feels really good to be doing it again.

We've also heard that your music will be featured on a film's soundtrack? Would you like to give our readers more information on that?

I don’t really want to jink anything, but it looks like some music by End Of Level Boss, a three piece noise group, that I am one third of, will be used on the next Bruce LaBruce movie, which is currently in post-production. A song we recorded called Michael Jackson From The Waste Down is on the official website to the movie at the moment, so we’re keeping our fingers crossed. LaBruce is one of my favourite film makers, so obviously I’ll be thrilled if it all works out.


What particular music are you enjoying at the moment? Any recent favourites?

So many: Thurston Moore’s Trees Outside the Academy, Deerhunter’s Fluorescent Grey EP, Original Silence’s debut album, Boy Destroyer, The People’s Tongue, Strap The Button’s Well Cyber, Listener and Torture Light by Esquilax, Antony and the Johnsons, The Mountain Goats, some old Dream City Film Club albums, Text of Light, Aki Tsuyuko, Jim O’Rourke, Masayaki Takayanagi and New Direction, Derek Bailey, Wolf Eyes, The Fall, Sunn O))), Grinderman, Blixa Bargeld’s Rede Speech, The Gossip, Thee Moths, tons of stuff. I could go on …

You're an active participant at Dennis Cooper's blog. You also met Dennis Cooper in real life. What was that like? Has he influenced your work in any way, be it writing or music or...? Also, what was it like meeting with other people that you've know through the blog?

Dennis Cooper is one of my all time favourite writers. The George Miles cycle is such an important body of work. I was first attracted to his work because he was writing about the sorts of things that I had thought about but never dreamed of saying out loud let alone wrote about. It’s almost like he made certain things seem like legitimate subject matter for the first time. And he did in such a beautiful style. His characters are always dealt with in such an empathetic way, even when they are in completely brutal or horrific situations. There’s a real understanding of the human condition and especially of young people that other writers had never come close to before. When I read his stuff (God Jr, The Sluts, his poetry) it feels like he’s put so much effort into trying to understand other people, and I think that that is such a positive thing. In real life Dennis was great. He crashed me a few cigarettes, which I was very grateful for at the time. He had a very calm air about him. It was a pleasure. And his blog has been such an important place for me. As well as it obviously being an incredible body of work and source of information (I’ve lost count of the number of great books/writers etc that I’ve found through that place), the amount of wonderful correspondences that I’ve struck up with people there is invaluable to me. For the first time in terms of my writing I found a genuinely creative environment where I can share my writing with others and have others share their work and their lives with me. I’ve made some wonderful friendships both on and offline. So yeah, discovering Dennis Cooper has been a very important thing for me artistically and personally. DC’s forever! Heh heh.

Give us a picture that you find to be sexually pleasing?


OK - here ya go:


Image by David Wojnarowicz.





Download Hard & Evil here.


TM

Mark's face

Image by Kiddiepunk.

James is smoking a cigarette while his girlfriend goes down on him. This is only the third time that Beccy has given him a blowjob but James has already started to lose interest. The first time it happened was last week, when they were both drunk and they were not officially going out yet – Jamie asked her out as soon as she’d finished. She said yes after she’d spat a mouthful of sperm and saliva into a waste paper basket that James kept near his desk.

James felt like the first time didn’t really count, because a lot of it was taken up with his nerves and worrying about showing his penis to someone else for the first time in – twelve years? Something like that. He didn’t know whether Beccy would think it was small, or that it looked weird. She hadn’t said anything about it, so he guessed it must have been normal. Not that Beccy had a reference point for that sort of thing.

The second time it happened started off a little better. They were both sober and James felt like he could relax a little more, now that he knew that his genitals were passable and even desirable – from what he could tell – to another person. James tried to get into it a little more, and remembered how the men in the films he’s watched had done it. He held onto the back of Beccy’s head and started thrusting his dick in and out of her mouth. His foreskin scraped against her teeth. James felt more excited when he was rough. Beccy didn’t enjoy it though. At one point she stopped and had to clear her throat because she had almost choked. After that they had to return to their original formula: James lying back dead straight on his red and grey striped sheets and Beccy on her bare knees hovering her mouth over James’ groin and moving like the wooden bird toy on James’ desk that bobbed its head up and down and up and down until somebody stopped it.

James thinks that everything is boring. Everything. Some things are less boring. Some things are nicer than other things. But in the end everything is boring because everything is pointless.

Beccy giving him a blowjob is nicer than say, having to write an essay for school, but they are both pointless exercises. Neither of them will change him. When James hands in an essay, he isn’t suddenly a genius – he just has to wait to find out if he did good or bad and then write another one eventually, no matter how well he did. When Beccy gives James a blowjob, neither of them will be transformed. Hopefully he’ll cum and he’ll fell good for a few seconds but then afterwards he’ll still be in the same place he was when he was ejaculating and nothing will have changed.

James suspects that he might be a nihilist. He can’t be sure for definite, but he read some article in a newspaper that his father had left lying around, that was slamming rock music and blaming it for making teenagers depressed. It named a couple of singers in bands that James liked to listen to, and said that they were nihilists. It said they believed in nothing. The person who wrote the article – his picture was at the top of the page – was a grey haired man with a smug grin. He said that a lot of the bands don’t believe in the future.

They don’t believe in the future. James is thinking about that; he’s not sure what it means. The future is inevitable, he’s thinking. So that must means that he believes in the future. The future is nothing special though – the future will be just like the past. Does that still make him a nihilist?

Beccy is still sucking James’ dick, so he can’t go over to his computer and look up nihilism on the internet. He’s blowing smoke rings. Trying to anyway. Sometimes they’re perfect and sometimes they’re nothing. James tries to imagine that it’s a game – like throwing hoops onto a pole at a funfair. What could he try and aim at anyway? Maybe his dick – it looks kinda like a pole when its erect. Beccy’s head is in the way though. The smoke rings would just float upwards anyway – he hadn’t thought any of this through.

‘Does that feel ok?’ Beccy has stopped for breath. James just jumped a little, because they’ve not really spoke to each other before during …
‘Erm … yeah … it’s good,’ James is coughing. He’s lit another cigarette and Beccy has started again.

A dick can really change the shape of someone’s face. That’s what James had decided. That’s his thought for the day. He’s amused himself. He means it though. Beccy is the only example he can use to back up his argument – but her face looks really different at the moment. Her cheeks are elongated and shaped to fit the fleshy cylindrical member. It kinda suits her, James thinks. The skin on the sides of her face looks thinner, smoother. It’s actually really beautiful. James always thinks that Beccy is beautiful but this is a different type of beauty. Hard to describe. Almost like a different person. That probably doesn’t make sense.

Would James’ penis transform the shape of other people’s faces as well? Beccy’s face is morphing into other people’s faces: a blonde girl from school, a teacher, a couple of singers from bands that he likes, his best friend Mark. James is trying to change the shape of all their faces to fit his penis. Some look better than others. Mark’s face looks best.

Mark’s face definitely looks best, even though it’s still sort of a blur. James is cumming really hard. Beccy’s pulling back and reaching over for the waste paper basket. Spit. Tissues. Wipe.

James is leaning back. He’s not bothered to do his jeans up yet. He’s just letting his dick get softer, and watching a little bit of semen sink down into his modest pubic region.

‘Are you ok?’ Beccy is lying next to him now. Her hand is resting on James’ stomach. It feels itchy. Tickles slightly.
‘Yeah.’
‘And that was – ’
‘Yeah that was great. Thanks.’

James just placed a clumsy kiss on Beccy’s lips. She seemed grateful for it. Now she’s cuddling up next to him, rubbing her head in his armpit, trying to find a way into his arms.

‘Do you know what nihilism is?’
‘What?’
‘Nihilism – you know – like if someone is a nihilist – what does that make them?’
‘Yeah – it’s kinda like when you hate everything – like – like you don’t believe in anything – kinda.’
‘I’m a nihilist.’ James sounds proud, if unsure of himself. He’s never sure of himself.
‘No you’re not.’
‘Yes I am.’
‘No. You’re not,’
‘Yes I am! Why aren’t I a nihilist?’
‘You’re just not.’

The fact that Beccy doesn’t think that James is a nihilist really pisses him off. Probably because Beccy is an intelligent person and might be right. He’ll get over it though. Something else would distract him soon enough – probably something like sadness. He always felt sad after he’s cum. Back to boredom. It was like being lifted up, so he could almost see god and then dropped back again. Something like that anyway. James wasn’t too sure.

***

‘Want another?’ James is getting Mark drunk.
‘Huh? Err … yeah … why not … ha!’

Mark always gets drunk really fast. James likes it when Mark is drunk because he slurs his words, which James thinks is really cute. He also gets really affectionate. He always tells James that he’s amazing and the best friend in the world and hugs him constantly. He’s never tried anything gay with James, but he probably wants to. That’s what James thinks anyway. Why would you tell someone that you love them if you didn’t want to fuck them?

They’re drinking vodka. James stole it from his parents’ drinks cabinet. His parents are away. They’re always away. James would feel more freaked out if they weren’t. They get on better when they’re not around. It’s like they have an unspoken arrangement or something.

‘Put some music on! Haha!’ Mark just tried to stand, but he went straight back down like Bambi on ice.
‘No – I want to talk to you,’ James is drunk too. He can hide it though. He can make himself seem really intense when he wants to. It’s a talent he picked up when he was younger. He used it to get his own way.

‘What about man?’
‘Just an idea I had,’

Mark’s head is wobbling around – he seems amazed by the same room that he’s been in a million times before.

‘Listen,’ James has put his hands on either side of Mark’s face. His skin feels warm. So do James’ hands.

‘What is it?’ Mark is focussed now. Or as focussed as he can be. His eyes are really blue. His skin is a little greasy, but James thinks he looks good.

‘OK so I had this idea for an experiment.’ James has stopped because he’s thinking about what he’s about to say. He’s worried that it will just sound too transparent, too contrived. It doesn’t matter. Mark’s fucked anyway. ‘Beccy was here again. And she gave me a blowjob. She’s done it three times now.’
‘Really? What does it feel like? Wow … ’
‘Wait a second,’ James feels distracted because Mark looks horny ‘Be quiet a second, Mark. Just listen for a minute. Erm … yeah … it was great. It feels really good. But I was thinking about it one time. I was kinda – like – I was watching her, yeah? Watching her while she did it.’
‘Fuck, man,’ James can see from the way that Mark is sitting that he’s gotten hard. James has stopped for a minute. Maybe he’s too drunk for the masquerade he’s attempting. Mark’s still listening though.

‘Yeah?’

‘Well yeah anyway. And I was watching her while she did it and I was smoking and just thinking about stuff. And I kinda realised that she looked really different to how she usually does. It’s hard to explain. I guess obviously her face had changed shape a little bit because she was sucking me off and stuff, and her eyes were closed or whatever – but there was something else about her that just … ’

Mark is grinning. He looks drunk. Stupid and adorable …

‘… it wasn’t so much that I could see a different side to her, but … oh fuck it … I don’t know. I’m drunk. Fuck it. Anyway – I was thinking about other people, and what their faces would look like if they were, you know – and I thought about you know that girl Rosey from school with the blonde hair,’
‘Man – that would – haha – that’s be so good! Haha,’ Mark isn’t even trying to hide the fact that he’s erect, not trying to cross his legs or anything which is making James even hornier.
‘Yeah, definitely. Erm … and I wondered what it’d look like if a ton of people did it you know? Imagined as many different faces changing shape as I could, you know? Like yours.’
‘Haha! Mine?’
‘Yeah.’

James now feels like the stupid one. Mark’s face has stopped smiling. He looks serious. Is he angry? The longer that someone is quiet, the harder it is to know what they’re thinking. James knows that because it’s another trick that he uses sometimes. When he first meets new people, it takes a while before he’ll speak to them properly or show signs of being friendly. That way it puts him in charge. It adds a kind of deepness to him – makes him mysterious – and that way people will want to know what he’s really like, and end up making more of an effort with him – they try to please him.

Maybe James should be making more of an effort with Mark now. He can’t tell if he’s weirded him out not. It looks like he might have.

Mark’s moving. He’s put out a hand and its pushing James. Gently forcing him backwards. James has pulled his legs out from underneath his ass, where he’s been kneeling and talking to Mark so that he lay back on the carpet. He’s looking at the light. Mark is unzipping James’ trousers. Something wet. Mark is giving James a blowjob now.

Fuck – James is thinking. The fear he felt for a few seconds is still there – because it takes a while for fear to go – it never leaves instantly – but it is slowly dissipating. It’s being replaced by something smug. James is feeling like a genius. He thinks he must be one of the world’s finest social engineers. He knows how to make people do exactly what he wants them too. Kinda.

Mark’s cheeks are sucked in now. Just like Beccy’s were. Mark has a thinner face than Beccy though, so James can see the outline of his dick more clearly than before. He looks beautiful in a new way as well. Occasionally he stops and pulls his hair back – pushes it back behind his ear where it fell from. He doesn’t even look drunk anymore. At this exact moment Mark definitely looks like god.

James wants to stop thinking and just look. Take in everything while it’s happening and forget everything else. Pretty soon he’ll be back to not believing in anything.

MICRO-FICTION: Nothing is the same Part Nine

Kevin's possible choices:

Current listening habits: My five favourite records this week

I’ve been feeling a little blue of late. I think everyone gets like that at some point really. If anything it’s more to just be some sort of general malaise as opposed to anything too serious. It’ll pass. However, one thing that has been helping my moods over the last few weeks is a pile of exciting records, some new and some not so new. A selection:

Thurston Moore: Trees Outside The Academy (Ecstatic Peace)

In the write-ups of this record, people keep making a big deal of the fact that this is Thurston’s “first solo LP since 1995’s Psychic Hearts”. I’m not sure what that makes the scores of other albums that Moore has put his name to over the past decade – Root, Flipped Out Bride, etc. I presume they must mean his first traditional song based solo album since Psychic Hearts. The first one you’ll be able to find in HMV or wherever. Anyway, whatever. Trees Outside The Academy is a great record. It doesn’t sound like a side-project or anything of that ilk. It feels like a fully formed album that Moore has taken his time with. Also, it doesn’t sound exactly like a new Sonic Youth LP. Obviously Moore has one of the most distinctive guitar sounds in modern music, but it’s his arrangements that score points here – with Samera Lubelski’s violin and Christina Carter’s vocals adding a certain richness to some of the songs. J Mascis (whose home studio the album was recorded at) also pops up and adds the sort of solos that you’d expect him to play on a record like this. In a good way. Perfect summery folky avant pop. Kinda.

Deerhunter: Fluorescent Grey EP (Kranky)

Deerhunter are one of my favourite finds this year. I first picked up on them when I got their second album - Cryptograms in February. There sound is hard to pin down, apart from saying that it's just damn good. Atmospheric, shoegazer references, but with a bite to it that other bands of that ilk often lack. Dark and beautiful. There are some nice electronic textures as well. There's something pure going on here that I think that some of their detractors have really missed out on. I like to listen to them really fucking loud on my headphones and close my eyes. There most recent release is the new Fluorescent Grey EP. Four gorgeous songs that I think might be the best songs they've written so far. They have also been the soundtrack to the last few short stories that I've posted on my blog. Anything that makes me want to create is a good thing. Pretty much my favourite band at the moment.

Theoretical Girls: Theoretical Girls (Acute Records)

A great 19 track compilation that covers the short career of the Glenn Branca and Jeffrey Lohn's Theoretical Girls. Acute Records (with Lohn's help) have managed to unearth a pile of great studio demo's, rehearsal recordings and other assorted bits and bobs from a band that only managed to play around 20 shows before they split.. Scratchy, jumpy, No Wave punk rock.

Masayuki Takayanagi and New Direction: Free Form Suite

Masayuki Takayanagi is an influential improviser and jazz musician who first started to gain wider acclaim in the 1960s. New Direction is the name of a group is assembled to record four albums (I think!) in the 70s. Free Form Suite is one of those albums. It veers from almost standard jazz to pretty out there free noise madness. I like it a lot.

Derek Bailey: Old Sights, New Sounds (Incus)

I got this at the end of last summer. I'd not listened to it for a while until I happened across it in my room a couple of weeks ago. Since then I've been enjoying it on a daily basis. Some old archived live stuff that Incus have lovingly reissued as a double album. Really bizarre free jazz that sounds like nothing else, from one of the most open-minded improvisers that the UK has ever produced.

TM

Two separate moments involving different people that I know within the space of 24 hours

Image by John Olson.

"well they said it might be a nice day today" she sounded

cheated and i felt bad. some people spend their whole lives

feeling cheated.

we went to buy some wine and there was a bird flying around

in asda "look there it is" and i saw it and it went over a few

shelves and then back again really fast fast enough so that i

couldn't get a real good look at it but it was definitely a bird

and it was definitely flying around inside asda and people were

looking at it and smiling

921

Image by Douglas Gordon.







some car drives by and sends a


shimmer of light across the ceiling


an orange rectangle moves from


wall to wall and then disappears


maybe moving into the house next


door but i wouldn't want to guess


sounds like glockenspiels and i'm


being asked by a friend to tell her


what the music makes me think of


and in all honestly i can't tell


because it isn't making me think


of anything i'm just listening

Christopher

Image by The Chapman Brothers.





dynamo_fighter: i dont want to chat
dynamo_fighter: sorry
dynamo_fighter: ine
dynamo_fighter: I would love to fuck you
********** at 11:47 AM Kayden left the room
dynamo_fighter: but dont have the time
ine21: maybe Marvin would like to join
scott: i know like to take my loveing time with Dita69 and take it all slow
Dita69: no time to fuck?
dynamo_fighter: i dont know america that well
Marvin: HI DYNAMO
dynamo_fighter: only my local neighbourhood
********** at 11:48 AM Christopher joined the room
Christopher: Hey room!
ine21: thats okay
********** at 11:48 AM Lyle left the room
dynamo_fighter: hey Marvin
Marvin: NICE PIC
ine21: hey Marvin
Dita69: ine.... u go to his neighborhood
********** at 11:49 AM Dustin joined the room
dynamo_fighter: so many people are from cali here
dynamo_fighter: wow
Christopher: Hey Room!
ine21: i would
ine21: yup yup
Marvin: REALLY
Dita69: go... I want details
ine21: im in orange county
Marvin: WHO'S IN CALI
********** at 11:49 AM Dustin left the room
ine21: 20 years young
ine21: i am
Dita69: me too... OC... only in Florida

Christopher: ANYONE TALKING TO ME! I'm looking for someone to talk to.
Christopher: Feeling really lonely.
Christopher: Really down. I need help.
ine21: where are you from Marvin?
scott: kiss you all over slowly
dynamo_fighter: OC thats like the show
Marvin: HEY COWBOY
dynamo_fighter: sorry i am joking
ine21: yeah it is
ine21: that show is pretty cool
dynamo_fighter: nearly everyone here is from cali
scott: from your lips to your toes nothing un kissed or touched Dita69
VoiceOfReason: im not really into the OC show but I think that Seth character is cute
ine21: i like em young
ine21: i like Marvin
ine21: he looks cute
ine21: dynamo is hot
Dita69: young is good
ine21: cowboy is too quiet
ine21: maybe he fell asleep on the computer
dynamo_fighter: where is long beach Raul?
dynamo_fighter: thats near the beach
ine21: its about 10 minutes away from me
ine21: yeah near the 405
Raul: south of L.A. in L.A. county
room
Christopher: I'm really fucked. I'm for rent! I need drugs.
Christopher: I'll do anything at all for cash.
dynamo_fighter: I have been around the whole of the US nearly and dont remember
places
Leo...: hey David
dynamo_fighter: been to Wash DC
dynamo_fighter: thats all I am remember
Raul: for tournaments?
********** at 11:55 AM Jorday joined the room
********** at 11:58 AM Khmer Butterfly joined the room
dynamo_fighter: training and tournament
********** at 11:58 AM Khmer Butterfly left the room
dynamo_fighter: im on a tour
Marvin: THX INE
dynamo_fighter: for about another 2 months
Raul: ya, that's why probly
Raul: never stay long enough
dynamo_fighter: cant complain
********** at 11:58 AM The Legend 1985 joined the room
dynamo_fighter: the money is good
********** at 11:58 AM COWBOY left the room
********** at 11:58 AM The Legend 1985 left the room
********** at 11:58 AM Leo... left the room
Raul: sure
Raul: plus ur still young, enjoy
dynamo_fighter: thank you
Marvin: SO WHATS EVERYONE UP 2
Raul: plenty of time to 'settle' down later
********** at 11:58 AM Jorday left the room
dynamo_fighter: sure
********** at 11:58 AM The Legend 1985 joined the room
dynamo_fighter: career focused at the moment
********** at 11:58 AM Shinyhappyperson joined the room
ine21: horny at the moment
Raul: yep yep
ine21: want someone to blow me
********** at 11:58 AM john joined the room
dynamo_fighter: sex on the road is great though
new and out: looking
Christopher: Why are you ignoring me?
dynamo_fighter: not complaining
Marvin: SOUNDS LIKE FUN
Raul: i've been married twice, one legal, one common law, and engaged another time
dynamo_fighter: dont tell my coach that though
Shinyhappyperson: ello ppl
Raul: and look at me now, alone
Raul: LOL
ine21: wanna meet Marvin?
********** at 11:58 AM john left the room
Marvin: HAH WHO ISNT HORNY
scott: iam alone too
dynamo_fighter: wow
ine21: anyone wanna phone?
Marvin: CAM
dynamo_fighter: with men?
The Legend 1985: hi room
Raul: it's kool though, it's been an interesting life
Raul: nah
Raul: women
The Legend 1985: any single crossdressers in here?
dynamo_fighter: why are you in here then?
Raul: that's my past
Dita69: huh
ine21: no cam here right now
dynamo_fighter: sorry your not making sense
deo on my myspace
ine21: i am wanking it
********** at 12:00 Ramirez joined the room
Raul: i've been divorced since 1998
ine21: a short clip
The Legend 1985: any single crossdressers in here?
Raul: men only now
Dita69: he was into chicks, and now he's strictly dickly
dynamo_fighter: ok
ine21: Marvin what city are you from?
dynamo_fighter: why did you change
Raul: crude way of putting it, but it works Dita69
VoiceOfReason: Ine you should put your video on Xtube or something. I'm sure lots
of ppl would wanna watch
Raul: lol
dynamo_fighter: you obviously loved women
********** at 12:01 PM Spooney joined the room
Raul: sure
Raul: had GREAT times
dynamo_fighter: Dita69
dynamo_fighter: help me out here
ine21: haha i have one video up there
********** at 12:01 PM Brian joined the room
Dita69: ok but not too rough, you'll muss up my wig
Dita69:
Shinyhappyperson: hmm cute
VoiceOfReason: whats it called? i have xtube open in another window on my
computer
Christopher: I NEED MONEY! I DONT CARE WHAT U DO TO ME!!!!!
Dita69: help you with what dynamo?
ine21: uhh i think i named it asian boy jerking
Ramirez: CHRISTOPHER - you into torture?
dynamo_fighter: Raul
ine21: not sure
Christopher: What do you mean Ramirez?
dynamo_fighter: i dont understand
dynamo_fighter: how can you just change
Ramirez: I'm looking for someone who doesnt mind getting hurt. I have drugs and money.
Christopher: Im in england.
Ramirez: yeah I know - just looked at your profile. Can you travel to London?
Dita69: it happens a lot actually
dynamo_fighter: arent you born gay?
Ramirez: This is a serious offer.
ine21: yeah
Christopher: Ramirez - yeh. What do you want to do?
Raul: no, i don't believe that in all cases
Marvin: FROM THE VALLEY
ine21: but maybe he didn't realize it til later
Ramirez: No fucking around. I can give you drugs and money but you have to be prepared to get hurt. Suffer for them, right?
Christopher: Yeah.
Dita69: possibly, but don't realize it or accept it, or even understand it until later in life
********** at 12:03 PM new and out left the room
ine21: ahh
ine21: by the way -- be careful Christopher lol
Ramirez: Fuck off. None of your business. I've sent you my number Chris. Check your inbox. We'll take it offline now.
********** at 12:03 Ramirez left the room
********** at 12:03 Christopher left the room
ine21: shit. thats some fucked up stuff happening there. anyways! lol
Raul: could be
ine21: wanna phone Marvin?
ine21: i am a masc
VoiceOfReason: Haha I just typed Asian Boy Jerking and so many things came up!
Whats yr user name on there?
Dita69: a lot of guys struggle with their sexuality forever
dynamo_fighter: obviously you didnt Dita69
scott: so very true Dita69
ine21: just add yourself on my myspace
Marvin: NO THX
Dita69: denying their true feelings, and just get married and have kids because that's
what they're "supposed" to do
********** at 12:04 PM David left the room
Dita69: I struggled with being gay
Raul: but the sex was good
dynamo_fighter: do your women know Raul?
Marvin: TRUE Dita69.
ine21: i am still struggling too
ine21: i hate it
Dita69: Hell, I still struggle sometimes

********** at 12:04 PM ☆St@r ♥z Electrosleazeee☆ joined the room
Dita69: I want children
Raul: no, my ex doesn't know
Shinyhappyperson: ok well ima gun be reali random buh can i add yas to ma myspace
pleez ppl
VoiceOfReason: Why are you struggling Ine?
ine21: i have problems with commitment to my man
Raul: no need to tell her
ine21: i want her but i really want him
dynamo_fighter: I disagree
dynamo_fighter: she should know
ine21: i want a family
ine21: but i want to be happy
dynamo_fighter: i want about 5 kids
Raul: but we aren't together, haven't been for years
Dita69: i'd be happy with one
********** at 12:05 PM Spooney left the room
dynamo_fighter: my little boxers
The Legend 1985: any single crossdressers in here?
Raul: i was true to her when we were
ine21: does a family really mean happiness
VoiceOfReason: Are you saying you have a girlfriend Ine?
Raul: never strayed. And still I'm on my own.

Where are you?

Image by Roe Ethridge.




a bowel of cherries
people getting off a plane
unhappy tv guests
wondering where everyone is
getting cash later
pretending this is where i live
burning in the bath
message boards
no-one was invited
forgot to tell her
it was good to see him dance

Lee Ranaldo!

Notebook




Resolution




Drift




With Glen Hall and William Hooker




Hoarfrost (Sonic Youth)




Eric's Trip (Sonic Youth)




Mote (Sonic Youth)




Some Lee Ranaldo videos that hopefully some of you will enjoy.
I don't feel so good today, raging headache and some itchy hayfeverish eyes.
See you tomorrow.

TM x

The Decline

Image by Andy Warhol.

'WHAT?!? How can you possibly say that?!?' Great – another drunken rant about hip records by Michael.


'For fucks sake! There is no way that you can even compare Slowdive to the Mary Chain. What's wrong with you?'


I already want to punch him in the face. I just hope that Will won’t feel the need to try and argue. Anyone who knows Michael knows that when he is drunk it is a pointless exercise to try and argue about anything with him - music, film, books. Personally I try and stay out of any debates about that kind of stuff. If anyone asks me then I'll tell them what I like, but if someone disagrees I'm not going to try and change their mind or explain to them how they are wrong. When people do, I tend to think of them as cunts.

Michael is very capable of being a cunt. He’s a good friend - misunderstood in many ways - and I can see a bright light at his core. I think that if he were to find something that he could truly apply himself to, then I genuinely believe that he could be capable of great things. When he's arguing about records though, he's a cunt.

'They don't even compare!' please don't try and argue Will, is what I'm thinking. 'Fuck you Michael!' Too late. Try and ignore them.

'Fuck me?!? Excuse me?!'

'Yeah - that's right - fuck you.'

'OK - so give me your favourite Slowdive song.'

'Erm ... ok - Alison.'

'Alison?'

'Yeah - Alison,'

'Seriously?!'

'Yeah, why not? You asked me what my favourite song was, and I've told you. There. Alison. My favourite song is Alison.' Will is really drunk too. A little more than I had realised. I'm still sitting here in silence. Someone just passed me a joint.


'OK, OK. And you're trying to tell me that Alison is better than, I don't know - the stuff on Psychocandy?' 'Psychocancdy is over-rated anyway,'

Michael's face has turned red. I don't even think Will means what he just said. I know for a fact that Psychocandy is one of Will's favourite albums of all time. The amount of times we've listened to it is insane. Those songs are burned into my brain. I could probably play through the entire record in my head without even turning the stereo on. No. Will is drunk and just trying to piss Michael off, on account of the fact that Michael is being such a cunt at the moment.

'Fuck you, Will. You're just being stupid now. There is not a single fucking song that Slowdive ever wrote that comes this close,' Michael is holding his thumb and finger about a centimetre apart 'to being even near to anything on Psychocandy. Admit it.'


'Why do you have to take this stuff so seriously?' Will looks tired. 'Can't you just accept that not everyone has the same opinion as you? Not even once?' I get the feeling that everyone in the room listening to Will and Michael agrees with that last statement.

'Just because you're wrong, Will.'

Will just muttered something under his breath but I don't think that anyone could really understand it, probably not even Will. It was more than a noise than a word.

Everyone's sitting in silence now. Confusion Is Sex by Sonic Youth has just finished playing. Will looks really annoyed. Michael looks, well, just kinda strange, like he doesn't understand why Will got so pissed off with him just a minute ago. I just passed an ashtray with the last little bit of spliff resting on its side, across to Rebecca who is grinning and high. I think Nick is in the bathroom. I forgot he was here. He's been taking his time.

I'm wondering who is going to be the first to speak. I think that pride is getting in the way of it being Michael or Will. Julie looks like she's off in her own little world. She's smoking the joint I just gave to her and kinda staring at the light bulb. I decide to look at it too. Little bits of dust floating around. When I close my eyes there's a red splodge.

Probably best to put another record on. There's a pile of CDs that have scattered on the floor in front of the stereo. I'm looking through them now, rather me do it than any of the others. Try and find something neutral. Something that no-one could possibly dislike. I thought Will was going to hit Michael for a second back there. Maybe Nick Cave, or The Fall. Maybe that would just make people anxious. Something less tense. I've taken a New Pornographers CD out of its case and put it in the player. I'm pressing play.

The room feels a lot better now. The red splodge that I kept seeing when I closed my eyes is starting to diminish also. The music is bringing in new life. Nick still hasn’t some back from the bathroom or wherever he’s gone.

‘Is there any more beer?’ I’m glad that Will has broken the silence. Even if he did still sound a little irritated.

‘Yeah – at the bottom of the fridge. Should be about four more. Help yourself.’ That was Michael speaking. This is Michael’s place.

I’ve known Michael a lot longer than I’ve known Will. I met Will at an exhibition of my friend’s paintings. I thought he was beautiful. I kept offering him drinks. We had a conversation about art, and I only half understood what he was explaining, but I kept nodding and agreeing and getting more and more drunks. At the end of the night I was sick in the middle of the street. Will was trying to chat up some curator. I realised that I’d never really get a chance with him, but that’s fine. He’s become a good friend. That was about a year ago.

‘Why don’t we turn out the lights?’ That was Rebecca’s idea. She’s turned the lights off.

We’re sitting in darkness. The curtains are drawn. I’m trying to decide whether I should change the music, the power pop isn’t quite working with the darkness.

I can tell that Michael has rolled a new joint because every time he smokes a little bit of it a tiny orange dot appears in the direction of where he’s sitting. It’s kinda throbbing. Fading. Dimming. Fading. Dimming. Gone. He’s taken another puff. Throbbing. Fading. Dimming. Dimming. Gone. He’ll probably pass it to me next. Michael usually does that. I think it’s because we’ve been friends for so long.

Time can be confusing – everything’s confusing I suppose – but I think that it’s almost eleven years since I first made friends with Michael. He was the only person in my class in the last year of school that I didn’t mind speaking too. Michael has always had a very dark sense of humour. We used to get drunks and make jokes about AIDS and Cancer and Hitler and all sorts of stuff – stuff that you really shouldn’t joke about. We knew that illness and stuff like that weren’t funny really, but making jokes about them was kinda – oh, I don’t know. It was funny at the time. His dad used to work nights, so in the evening it meant that we always had somewhere to sit and get drunk or smoke cigarettes that I had stolen from my parents room and listen to music.

Michael has always been opinionated about music. Sometimes he can say really perfect and biting remarks about stuff – critique something perfectly in just one sentence or whatever. He’s a frustrated rock writer I think. The new Lester Bands or Nick Kent or whoever. Quite often though, he just gets really rude with people who disagree with him and tries to humiliate them. Michael has a lot of bitterness.

It’s strange. In all the time that we’ve been friends we’ve never really spoken about a lot of stuff. I know that he had a really rough childhood. I don’t even know how I know that. I guess Michael must have mentioned it or made reference to it somehow at some point but I can’t remember a specific time. You’d think I would, right?

Sometimes though, Michael can be the sweetest person on earth. He has a very kind heart. He is capable of protecting people. He’s naturally empathetic and understands people very well – he knows why people react in certain ways to certain things. He’s make a pretty good anthropologist, I think.

The music isn’t right. I’ll have a look for something else in a minute. Maybe new National LP? That would probably sound good in the dark. Yeah. I’ll put that on. In a minute anyway – Michael has given me the ashtray, joint, and a drink. When he passed he leant over to pass me the things I could just about make out his face in the darkness – he didn’t look right. Sometimes Michael looks like he’s died. The whites of his eyes look huge and his skin looks pale and almost blue. Most of the time he just looks Michael, but sometimes he looks like a ghost.

‘Can someone change the record?’ That was Rebecca.
‘Yeah, I was thinking about sticking The National on in a minute,’
That was me.
‘No – not The National,’ that’s Will. He doesn’t sound pissed off anymore, which is good. ‘That’ll just depress us. Put on – I dunno – is there any Electralane knocking around?’
‘Yeah,’ this is Michael talking now, ‘Just on the shelf behind you – maybe stick their third album on?’
‘Yeah, great.’ That was Will again. I feel better now because they’re in agreement and I don’t mind not listening to The National anyway.

Will’s shuffling around in the CDs on the shelf.

‘Michael – is it on CD or vinyl?’
‘CD. I think it’s on the second shelf down probably.’
‘Got it,’
‘Cool,’

I’ve realised that Nick hasn’t been in the room for about twenty minutes. I wonder if the others have noticed. Sometimes its easy to forget about someone when you’re drunk or high and they leave the room. Anything outside the room stops to matter almost. I’m going to find Nick. I want to know what he’s up to.

I’ve walked out the room now. The landing light is switched off too. Nick’s not in the bathroom. The light is on Michael’s bedroom. That’s where Nick is.

‘Hey,’ that was me.
Nick just scrambled round really quickly. He pushed a draw back in or shoved something under the bed. I don’t know. I’m more wasted than I thought. I think he just fiddled with the mouse – he’s sitting at the computer. I think he closed something on the screen, maybe.

‘Nick?’

He’s just looking at me.

‘Are you ok?’

He’s still just looking at me.

‘What have you been doing? You’ve been gone ages.’

He’s looking at the floor now. I can’t tell if he looks guilty or upset. He’s looking at me again now. He looks upset.

‘Fuck, man,’

‘What is it?’

‘Seriously – this is fucked up.’

‘What is? What are you doing? Why are you in here?’

‘I came in to check my emails. I was just – ’

‘So what’s wrong?’

‘I just found some fucked up stuff, and I don’t know what to do.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I don’t know – I don’t know what to do or if I should show you or whether we should say something or try and – ’

I feel really scared. I’m afraid. Half of me doesn’t want to be in here talking to Nick anymore because it feels way more terrifying and stressful and upsetting than standing next to Michael’s computer and talking to Nick should ever feel.

‘What have you found?’ My voice didn’t sound like me when I said that.

‘Close the door.’ I’ve closed the door. I’m freaking out. I don’t feel good.

I’ve sat down on the edge of the bed with Nick, and he’s clicking a couple of things on the computer.

‘OK,’ Nick has said that because I think he wants me to brace myself for what he’s about to show me on Michael’s computer.

There are some photos. Kids. Children. The pictures are all thumbnail size. I can make out most of them though. Nick has just double clicked on one of them. It’s maximized. Bigger. It’s a picture of some boy. He’s face down. It’s hard to tell how old he is without seeing his face, but he’s definitely a child. A kid. A fucking kid for Christ’s sake. I’m feeling upset and I don’t know what to do and it’s no good looking at Nick because I just did and he looks more scared and upset and lost than me, probably because he’s been in here longer and he found these things on Michael’s computer and I can tell that he wants to cry and I’m wondering if I’m about to. There is dried blood on the boy’s body. He’s got blonde hair. It looks greasy. I was talking about the blood. I’m. I don’t know. Some of the dried blood is on the boys backs in what look like hand prints or smudges. But most of it is round the boy’s arse. Dried blood. Caked on. Red. Dark red. Almost like mud or something. The kid is kinda splayed out on a really dirty mattress. There are marks on his wrists and ankles. Rope marks or something. He looks completely broken. I can’t even look at Nick now because Nick is crying for definite and if I look at him then I’ll want to try and help him because I hate seeing my friends cry and I want my friends to be happy but right now there is nothing I could possibly do because we are both looking at this picture of a kid who has obviously been raped and tortured and murdered probably and there is nothing I can say that could make anything better so I can’t look at Nick and that’s probably why he isn’t looking at me either.

‘Why is – ’ Nick can’t even finish his sentences now. And I can’t finish them for him.
‘I don’t – what – I mean, how can we – ’ I’m starting to sound how Nick sounded when I first came into the room.

‘What can we say to Michael?’ I don’t know if that was me or Nick who just said that. Maybe we both just thought it. How can we say approach Michael? What can we possibly say about these things on his computer? Why has he – ?

Nick’s clicking on more pictures and things are only getting worse. Different children all having awful things done to them. To their bodies. I’m starting to feel sick. I don’t even know if I’m scared now. It’s almost like I don’t feel anything anymore. I just want Rebecca and Will to be gone and just Nick and me and Michael so we can – so we can what? I don’t even know what I’m going to say to him.

One girl with make up smudged over her face. She’s not tied up, but she doesn’t look like she can move. Red lipstick that makes her face look sore and sad and brutalised. There are more. Hundreds.

I’m thinking about Michael, looking like a ghost. I don’t know what to do. Nothing outside of this room matters anymore.

Three friends happy and screaming into the wind outside the institute

Image by Ed Ruscha







dave's stalking the




stage




with a microphone




might have asked him to




hit my gtr




i can't even remember





but it's on the





floor anyway





sian's droning




it all sounds beautiful




and i'm on my




hands and knees




screaming as hard as




i can and looking at




a waterfall just the




other side of a brick




wall




we'll sit near it after




the show when




we will be calm an




content and




drinking peppermint




tea and




ignoring the




person pretending to




be a table




and the lady asking




us to pick a




question because




we know that




we've just done




something that no-one




else can do




and we're full of




summer and




good




times

A toast to all the gone

Image by Roe Ethridge.

He was a bottom.
I’m not fond of
generalisations
but on the whole
I’ve always had

more luck with
that type. Barring
a few sadly memorable
exceptions, it’s
usually the more

passive men that
have seemed more
together, less unsure.
I guess their whole
thing is being open.

Top guys I’ve been
unlucky with. Some
skinhead in an
England shirt punching
a wall, spitting at a

mirror while I sink
away like a shadow
losing its sun. A
married man telling
me his entire life has

been a sham. Begging
for reassurance and
then pleading not to
tell anyone. So this
boy was a bottom, so

confident as he
touched his toes and
cooed gently, afterwards
being comfortable in
the silence and not

caring whether the
light was on or off.
When he had gone –
Without any awkwardness
That morning can
Sometimes bring – I

Was able to replay
Everything in slow
Motion inside my giddy
Brain – my cock rubbing
Into his soft hair,

Allowed to make its
Own room at its own
Pace as his pelvis
Began to buck forward
And then back. His

Eyes closing as he went
Somewhere they
weren’t needed.
A hand touching my
Neck not for safety or

Guidance, not for
Anything. Just a
Reaction with nothing
Behind it. Nothing

to do with guilt

Nothing to do with

hiding. When he

starts cumming

without me needing

to touch his dick

and his pubic hair

is suddenly sticky

where it wasn't

before and I'm able

to relax and hug

somebody that

doesn't mind being

hugged and we're

whispering something

about what just

happened but it's

all just sounding the

same because I'm

feeling the happiness

that another person

can give me in

the kindest way and

structure is lost and

I'm ready to pass out

but not before he tells

me something I never

thought that I would

hear. And I start to

wonder about the

theory I had and about

what that would make

me.

Taxi driver

Image by Yoshimoto Nara.

Neither of us had spoke up until that point.

'You know - taxi driver is not a good job,'

I think he was Malaysian. He had a round face and his voice was gentle.

'It's no good job,'

'No?'

'No. Tonight - I have three jobs and I ring the buzzer at the one house and nobody comes.'

I thought about what he said.

'Yeah?'

'No. Was in Chapel Ash. And nobody comes.'

'I guess it was just a waste of your time.'

'Yes. Wasting my time.'

'...'

'...'

'I guess you work strange hours as well.'

'Yes. Bad hours. Late shifts. Too much trouble.'

'Trouble?'

'People drunk. They are rude to me. £7.40 please,'

We were back at my house. I got the feeling he was down. I told him to take care. He'd raised the conversation a little too late.

i look like a tramp today

Gathered.

Ate.

Talked.

Drank.

Danced.

Laughed.

Vomit.

Something better to do

Image by Stan Brakhage.




A little girl raced in from her family's back garden screaming. Her mother grabbed hold of the girl. She was trembling and sobbing. Her mother was trembling too. Anything that hinted at the remotest fear or anything approaching disquiet that related in any way to her daughter, always shook her to the core.

"Whatever's the matter? Please don't cry - please don't ... "

The girl's father, who always wished that he lived in America so that he could own a gun to protect his family with walked into the back garden and surveyed the area. Pants blowing on the washing line. Next door's dog barking and howling. Rotten apples strewn across the grass under the apple tree that they took little care of. Car engines revving in the distance. Something moved in the bushes.

"Hey!"

The rustling stopped.




"Who's there?" he could still hear his daughter crying in the kitchen. The sound of his wife cooing.

"Come out! Who are you?"

Nothing.

Inside, the little girl was blowing snot all over her favourite dress and trying to get her words out. "That's it - calm down - get your breath back - now what happened?"

The father kicked his foot into the bushes. A tiny squirrel shot out hurtled up a tree as fast as its little legs would let it.

Radical Non-Sleeper: Jim O'Rourke Day (originally published on the DC Blog)

The first time I heard the name Jim O’Rourke was when he worked with Sonic Youth on SYR3: Invito Al Ĉielo, the third instalment of a series of experimental collaborations that the band released on their own self titled label.

Ever since I started listening to more marginal music, Sonic Youth have long been one of my favourite bands, so anyone they chose to work with was always of interest to me. I found out about Christian Marclay, William Winnant and scores of others in the same way.

Yet when I discovered Jim O’Rourke, the experience was slightly different. As I started researching him, I was startled at the breadth of his career and the amount of great records that he had been involved with – in fact I realised that several CDs already in my collection had O’Rourke’s name attached to them in the small print. I discovered that not only was Jim O’Rourke a talented musician, but he was also a highly respected producer, re-mixer, and sound engineer and a known name in the underground, who had already worked with scores of bands I admired or was getting into at the time.

The ubiquitous nature of the name Jim O’Rourke set me off exploring as many albums with his name on it as I could. I started off with his solo records. If you want to work by genre, then you could say that O’Rourke has been involved in noise, alternative rock, punk, pop, electronic, minimalist, avant-garde and so on and so fourth; but one of the main things that attracted me to him was the fact that he didn’t seem to think in such reductive labels – his only rational for wanting to work on a particular style or form, was whether it was good or not.

Another thing that grabbed me about O’Rourke was how much he was still a huge fan of music. It sounds like a ridiculous thing to say, but so many times I see bands, and from some that I’ve interviewed over the years, and they seem to have lost touch with why they are creating music in the first place: ‘I just don’t have time to listen to other people’s records’ is a response that I’ve heard countless times, and I’m always amazed by it. When I started reading interviews with O’Rourke, often he would spend more time talking about other people’s records than his own work, which I found hugely endearing. And it was directly from his constant cross referencing that I have been able to discover other great albums by the likes of artists as diverse as Tony Conrad, Jun Togawa, Sparks, Judee Sill, Aki Tsuyuko, Henry Kaiser, John Fahey, Loren Mazzacane Connors, Faust, Bobby Conn, Derek Bailey, Van Dyke Parks, and the list could go on, but I think you get my point.

As well as being a solo performer, O’Rourke has spent a lot of time as a member of various bands that again cross musical boundaries like nobodies business. These include: Gastr Del Sol, The Elvis Messiahs, Yona Kitt, Loose Fur, The Supreme Indifference, Illusion of Safety, Mirror, Brise Glace, The Red Krayola, Fenn O’Berg etc.

Over the last few years O’Rourke seemed to be giving music a rest for awhile in order to concentrate on film work. He moved to Tokyo sometime between 2005 and 2006 to study Japanese culture, language and film. He has so far directed two short films: Door, and Not Yet. However the last year or so has seen new musical collaborations between O’Rourke, Merzbow and Carlos Giffoni.

It is O’Rourke’s prolific work-rate, constant musical open mindedness, humour, and dedication to his cause that have made him one of my all time favourite artists. It would be almost impossible for me to give you a complete musical overview of the man, and indeed this is far from it. Rather than that, I hope that this will at least give you an idea of Jim O’Rourke’s career and his artistic endeavours, and hopefully shine a light on some beautiful music that some of you may not have heard. For those who have, consider it a treat I guess. Or a chance for me vent some geekiness. Whatever, I suppose. Enjoy.

TM

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3 OF MY FAVOURITE JIM O’ROURKE SOLO ALBUMS




Jim O’Rourke: Happy Days

Amazon.co.uk buyers review: “Of the many things I can say about this record, perhaps the most enlightening is that this is my favourite 'come home drunk' record. Having said that, I also thoroughly enjoyed it on a long car journey (sober) the other week.

To describe - 8-10 mins of minimalist guitar plucking which evolves into what could have been a seriously foxy Fahey nod except for, yes, you guessed it, a veritable army of hurdy gurdies come in for the next 35 minutes creating an unavoidable mess of noise drone. In places it reminds me of Holly Valance. Then the hurdies quieten down to reveal that Jim was plucking his guitar all along! Mad!

Maddening and gorgeous in non-equal measures (erm, gorgeous wins), this might not be one you'll enjoy when you're 55 and getting off on Strauss, but we're young, we're expected to listen to noise, and this is surely wonderful noise.

Actually, one more point - as aforementioned, I listened to this compus mentus a short while ago and what really took my breath away is that the hurdy gurdies keep piling up over the whole thing. Just when you think it can't get louder or more raucous, in comes another hurdy gurdy playing an even more distorted heavenly chug.”



Jim O’Rourke: Insignificance

This album features some of my favourite O’Rourke lyrics. From the opening line of ‘Don’t believe a word I say/Not that you would anyway’, the listener is bombarded with a mass of contradicting semiotics: Gentle acoustic lullabies transform into raging noise loops, and seemingly upbeat, summery melodies are accompanied by misanthropic prose, for example, the song Memory Lane which on first inspection sounds like the aural equivalent of summer features the lyrics:

Memory Lane

“It’s quite a gamble to speak out of place
Those things could kill you but so could your face

What occupies me, pays a low rent
Because fondness makes the heart grow absent

These things I say, may seem kinda cruel
So here’s something from my heart to you
Looking at you, reminds me of looking at the sun
And how the blind are so damn lucky

Those holes on your face could be used better ways
Breathing’s a distraction when you chatter away

These things I say, may seem to be lies
To seem risqué, or sensationalized

And too many people can remember your name
Always walking you down memory lame

These things I say, may seem to offend
But not half as much, as I’d like to intend
Listening to you, reminds me of
A motor’s endless drone
And how the deaf are so damn lucky

I’d be happy, if life came to a stall
Then I wouldn’t need my senses at all

These things I say, might seem out of line
But day to day, I’m right every time
Looking at you, reminds me of
Looking at the sun
Too long

You’ll find
That in no time
You’ll be talking to yourself
Along with everybody else
Then you’ll despise
The look in their eyes
It may be difficult to tell
If your looking at yourself
And you look fine
If you don’t mind
That gaping hole that’s on your face
A black hole that’s out of place
And out of time
In a tight bind
To find something smart to say
When a silence comes your way”

The album is a fine example of one O’Rourke’s ‘informal social investigations’ i.e. an attempt to force the listener to realise how much popular culture relies on tired, clichéd techniques. So many sounds have cultural baggage attached to them – when we watch films, we are trained to know exactly what the ‘scary music’ means or in a soap opera what the ‘sad music’ means. With this work, O’Rourke attempts to switch round the conventions keep listeners on their toes, making the listening experience a far less passive experience.



Jim O’Rourke: I’m Happy, and I’m Singing, And a 1,2,3,4

Review from Dusted Magazine: “The press-release accompanying Jim O’Rourke’s latest laptop computer exploration, I’m Happy, and I’m Singing, and a 1,2,3,4 confidently and rightfully reminds that “The novelty is over - it's time to get to work.” The recent proliferation of laptop music artists, shows, and festivals has brought with them much of the more easily forgettable music of the new millennium. If it weren’t for the inspired work of Kid 606’s deranged A.V. kids at Tigerbeat6, the melancholy musings of O’Rourke’s labelmate (and collaborator), Christian Fennesz, and a handful of others, the mere sight of a glowing apple would induce groans.

This being said, I’m Happy, and I’m Singing, and a 1,2,3,4 lives up to its bravado by drawing from and playing with a range of influence that goes far beyond the solipsistic world of electronic music. This should be no surprise to fans of O’Rourke’s recent string of releases for Drag City, each of which lovingly conjures up the sounds and methods that John Fahey, Charles Ives, and Van Dyke Parks used in their radical and at times dissonant variations on traditional pieces. However, gone is the buzz of acoustic guitar, the queasy bleat of horns, and the pop-song deconstruction that has come to characterize O'Rourke and many other laptop contemporaries.

On the first track, “I’m Happy…” O’Rourke begins by using his laptop to expand upon the ideas brought up by Steve Reich’s early work with the phasing of tape loops. O’Rourke’s original recording of an accordion phrase becomes all but unrecognizable as it splinters, overlaps, pulses, and intensifies it into a shimmering digital cloud. As the track progresses, the playful experimentation is contrasted with the low-end drone of manipulated cellos building upon each other just enough to fill the listener with a powerful sense of foreboding.

The second track “and I’m Singing”, opens with what sounds like a type-writer’s clicking or a clock’s ticking, and then stumbles into a complex wash of disembodied bells, chimes, and chopped up synths that simultaneously recall John Cage’s prepared “Suite for Toy Piano” or Nobukazu Takemura’s digital lullabies. The feeling of innocence does not last long however, as the song free-associates to a snippet of musique concrete and then to digitized variations of the Vox organ and steady drumming reminiscent of the Velvet Underground’s “Sister Ray”. The Reichian repetitions hurl the track forward at breakneck speed, blending all these elements together and connecting the gaps between their dots in a smooth yet relentless display of affection for the narrative context that surrounds them.

The album closes with the 21-minute "And a 1, 2, 3, 4," in which O'Rourke sends the listener through the laptop’s building and rebuilding of melancholy string variations (recalling a less dissonant but more resonant version Ives’ “The Unanswered Question”). By this time O’Rourke has us right where he wants us to be, and the mood is excruciating…” (from: Dusted Magazine)


----------------------------------------------------------------------------



INTERVIEW WITH JIM O’ROURKE FROM SPRING 1999 by Andy Battaglia

Q: You’ve taken on many different roles in and around music – composer, songwriter, session player, producer, engineer, remixer and archivist. Do those roles mean different things to you?

O’Rourke: I don’t think they’re different at all. It’s all just necessary. I guess it’s because I don’t really think of myself as a musician. Being a musician just seems so self-reflexive. It’s like turning a mirror back on yourself, and that doesn’t appeal to me very much. So, actually playing music is probably what I do the least.

Q: When you approach traditional song form like you did on Eureka, do you keep what could be called a composerly distance to it?

O’Rourke: I don’t feel like anything is done until it seems like I didn’t make it. Obviously it will reflect the things I’m interested in, but I’m not looking to scream, "Hey look, it’s me." Eureka is the closest I’ve ever gotten to that, though. The record has the appearance of being cheerful in that way, but it’s fairly misanthropic underneath the surface.

Q: How do you feel about the reaction to the album? It’s a relatively straightforward song-oriented record, but a lot of the reaction has been focused on questions of avant-garde music vs. pop music and the differences between the two. Do you think there should there be any?

O’Rourke: Well, that’s the thing. Why do they have to be different? I don’t understand this obsession with genre. I’m interested in people doing certain things with music, not people who are working in certain genres. When I’m into someone’s music it’s because they’re someone who has decided they’re going to hold off on doing what comes naturally, to see if there is some other way they don’t know about yet. That’s what I’m looking for. That’s why Autechre is as interesting as Derek Bailey to me. They are people who made that decision, whether it’s an overt political decision, like with Bailey, or just a result of being smart, articulate people like the guys in Autechre.

Q: But you play with ideas of genre, too.

O’Rourke: I’m interested in people who play with genre, like John Oswald, where genre becomes the subject itself and you’re dealing with certain cultural baggage that comes along with it. But to be interested in music just because it’s a certain kind of music? You would end up listening to a lot of crap music then. You end up lowering your standards.

FULL INTERVIEW HERE: here

----------------------------------------------------------------------------



JIM O’ROURKE AS PRODUCER

Just to give you an idea of the range of records that Jim O’Rourke has been involved with, here are a few of the different artists that he has produced and/or remixed:

• Cynthia Dall
• Sound Restores Young Men
• CD/LP (Drag City ) 2002
• O’Rourke is one of two credited producers (along with Tim
• Green), and also engineers

• Quruli
• Zukan
• CD/LP (Speedstar/JVC) 2001
• five of 15 tracks produced (and recorded, edited, and mixed)
• by O’Rourke

• Stereolab
• Cobra and Phases Group Play Voltage in the Milky Night
• CD (Elektra/Duophonic) 1999
• 2LP (Duophonic) 1999
• O’Rourke produces about half of the tracks; one of them, “The
• Free Design”, is also available as an CD-EP/EP (on Duophonic)
• and video

• Sam Prekop
• Sam Prekop
• CD/LP (Thrill Jockey) 1999
• “A Cloud To the Back” included on promotional disc Rough
• Cuts: Music for Films comp
• CD (Rough Trade) 2000

• Bobby Conn
• Rise Up!
• CD (Truckstop/Atavistic) 1998
• LP (Thrill Jockey) 1998

• John Fahey
• Womblife
• CD (Table of the Elements) 1997

• Brainiac
• Electro-shock for President
• EP/CD (Touch & Go) 1997
• some mixing and editing by O’Rourke; the actual credit reads
• “Boogie Twitching by Jim O’Rourke”

• Melt Banana
• Scratch or Stitch
• CD/LP (Skin Graft) 1996

• Pastels
• “Leaving This Island”
• on Illuminati
• CD/LP (Domino) 1999

• The Jesus Lizard
• “Needles for Teeth”
• on The Jesus Lizard
• CD/10″ (Jet Set) 1998

• Merzbow
• “House of Kaya”
• on Scumtron
• CD (Blast First) 1997

• Joanna Newsom
• Ys
• CD (Drag City) 2006
• mixed by O’Rourke

• Wilco
• A Ghost Is Born
• CD (Nonesuch) 2004
• O’Rourke plays on most tracks, also co-produces

For a full list please visit the Seth Tisue’s immaculately well kept Jim O’Rourke discography page: here

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

SOME OF MY FAVOURITE JIM O’ROURKE COLLABORATIONS

Sonic Youth



After producing their 2000 album NYC Ghosts and Flowers, O’Rourke continued to work with the band on various projects, and became a full time member in 2001. He toured with the band and played on their next two studio albums, Murray Street and Sonic Nurse. In my opinion, Sonic Youth released some of their most impressive and consistent work with O’Rourke as a member, especially 2004’s Sonic Nurse which is my favourite album. He left the band in 2005.


Loose Fur


Loose Fur is a band formed by O’Rourke, Wilco frontman Jeff Tweedy and avant drummer extraordinaire Glen Kotche. They have released two albums. A self titled debut, and their sophomore record – the incredible Born Again In The USA.


Fenn O’Berg


Fenn O’Berg are a trio consisting of O’Rourke, Peter Rehberg and Christian Fennesz. They have released two albums to date.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



VIDEO CLIPS

Mini Documentary: here

Old interview: here

Performing with Whiteout and Thurston Moore: here

Live in Japan, 2006: here

Live in England, 2000: here

And again: here

Preparing to do an interview with Tony Conrad: here

Performing with Sonic Youth: here

----------------------------------------------------------------------------


------------------------------------------------------------------------

LINKS

Fantastic Jim O’Rourke discography site

Jim O’Rourke fansite

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Staring out of windows at this beautiful country

Image by Jeff Wall.

You can travel for miles

in the West Midlands

without realising you’ve

reached anywhere.

Sometimes the buildings

never stop, so there’s

nothing to suggest that

you have left one place

and entered somewhere

new. The industrial estates

in Wednesbury look much

like the industrial estates

in Smethwick. People

walking round on cold

mornings drenched in

orange light from lampposts

with their heads down

staring at the floor.

Tired

Image by Nick Cave.




the last time I woke up was at 5:13am i’d gotten used to turning over to checking the time on my phone i stretched so that i could step over a pile of mess in my room and walked out onto the landing the light was gentle hazy, almost sympathetic i sat down on the toilet and locked the door it seemed as good a place as any to sit i probably sat for about half an hour then I tried leaning over the side of the bath for about ten minutes wandered back to bed the sheets were cool and comfy tried to think about things to distract myself from being awake still nothing and so i’m walking round the house and now it’s afternoon and i’m almost too tired to sleep so i’m tapping away hoping something is going to come of this

One thing I hate: fucked up internet connections ... One thing I love: PiL

My internet connection is fucked at the moment, which is why I've been posting a lot later than usual for the last few days (for people who notice that sort of thing). Thanks to Jamie and Lee for letting me use their computers. Hopefully it should be sorted in the next few days - we shall see. Anyways, here - have some Public Image videos:

Public Image




Flowers of Romance




This is Not a Love Song




PiL on Tom Snyder Show, 1980, Part One




Part Two




Memories




Religion




Enjoy


TM x

Through the night softly

Image by Christopher Wool.




‘Don’t move,’ Jake whispered as he dashed to the bathroom.



Elijah might have laughed if he wasn’t so high and disorientated. He was tied to the bed. He tried to gather his brain into one place; he picked a light bulb directly above his head and stared at it. He didn’t know where it came from, but he had this idea that if he tried hard enough, he could get all the bits of his groggy mind that were currently slopping and diving around the room, and focus them on the light, and start to sober up.



The light hurt his eyes, so he shut them again. The only cure was patience. It would take hours before he felt right again. His friend was back in the room.



‘Ah man,’ Elijah couldn’t see where Jake was, but his guess was that he was near the foot of the bed. He was messing with something. Elijah didn’t know what.



‘Merlgh,’
‘What?’ Elijah had tried to call out his friend’s name. He’d formed the word in his mind no problem, but when he tried to say it out loud his mouth and tongue combined lazily, just making a droopy sounding nonsense word. He tried it again.


‘Meearlgh,’ he trailed off towards the end. No use.


‘Just relax man. Just let it take you wherever it wants you to go. The more you fight it the harder it’ll be. Yeah, just relax and you’ll have the best time. I’m having a great time.’



Jake’s voice sounded comforting. Elijah’s vision was liquefying again. Why was he tied up? He felt hot, like he had a fever. Another weird sensation. Something new touching him. Maybe it was part of the trip. Something brushing against his –



‘Mmeeigh,’


‘Shhhh – ’



Elijah could see one of Jake’s naked arms. It was resting on the bed. Something in his hand. Bottle? Tube? Jake was holding a bottle of shaving foam. Elijah’s pubic hair started to feel strange and heavy.



‘Just a second,’ the floor creaked and Jakes footsteps got quieter as he snuck back to the bathroom. Elijah heard the light go on. A tap running. Water. Like a musical instrument or something … Something tapping on ceramic. The towel rail clinked.



It felt like clouds of stained cotton wool were bumping into each other inside Elijah’s skull. There was an old Smashing Pumpkins poster on the wall. Jake had had that poster ever since Elijah met him when they were at school. The corners were yellowed and eroding from the constant removal and reapplication of blue tack.



There were three people – band members standing on clouds – ha – just like the ones in Elijah’s skull, just not as dirty. Sky blue background. Was it sky blue? Navy blue? Greenish? Sky blue again? Kinda changing in waves. Up and down. Uuuuuup and down. The singer was wearing a top hat. Elijah tried to remember what circus music sounded like. Fireworks, trapeze artists, people looking afraid.



Had Elijah ever been to see a circus? He couldn’t tell. He kinda thought that he might have done – must have been when he was really young if he had – maybe at some kind of Summer Fete? The County Show? Had there been a circus there? All his mental images of the circus were obviously from television programmes – he could tell that because of the way that the images cut away from each other in an unnatural way. A ringmaster viewed from above – CUT – a close up of a lion jumping through a hoop – CUT – an old fashioned looking family sitting together – CUT – the mother in a mink coat – CUT – close up of a blonde boy, about seven – CUT – the father laughing, big moustache – CUT – little girl – CUT – little bit of music, but Elijah couldn’t hear it clear enough to – CUT – muddy tent pegs – CUT – Elijah’s brother getting stung by a wasp from that had hidden inside a can of Sunkist – CUT – his top lip sore and bloody – CUT – swelling up for about a week afterwards – CUT – a clown squirting some water from a flower in his lapel – CUT – definitely from television. Frustrated. Too much pressure in the backs of his eyes. Think about something else.



The walls looked really wet. Like they were sweating, or maybe made of wax or –



‘and that’s why I’m lucky to know you, you know? and I feel really close to you, and I guess, you know, in a way, that’s why we definitely love each other, and I guess we can always forgive each other whenever anything – ’ Jake must have been talking to Elijah for a while, but he’d only just noticed. Jake’s face was so close that Elijah could only make out his eyes – huge and blue and wide and pulsing. Jake looked fucked up.



‘…’ Elijah wanted to ask Jake if he knew what circus music sounded like – could he sing – hum some to him, so that he could remember. Nothing came out.



Jake’s eyes were shut. Elijah’s face was moving. Something inside his … moving. Jake’s tongue. The tip of Jake’s tongue was dragging itself along the roof of Elijah’s mouth. It started to wrap itself around Elijah’s tongue. Saliva. Taste of chewing gum. Jake started to suck Elijah’s tongue. Jake made little satisfied sounding mumbles as he kissed his friend.



‘Mmmmpfh … ’



Jake stopped. His eyes were bulged wide open again. He was looking at Elijah as if he were trying to communicate something to him. Jake’s hand stroked the side of Elijah’s face. Jake looked a little like the Cowardly Lion in that light, only more in control, more crazed. He put another pill or tab or whatever in Elijah’s mouth. Gulp.



Out of sight again.



Elijah could feel something pulling him below his waist. Something pulling at his groin. Something that felt a little like cold metal made him shiver. Goosebumps started sprouting up all the way down his arms.



Elijah gasped. It felt like someone was ripping at clumps of his pubic hair – just above his dick. He remembered the shaving foam – he started to feel sore.



Jake was still out of sight, but Elijah could here him breathing heavily and fidgeting around. Elijah tried to lift his head, but his arms were tightly restrained which meant he could only life his neck a couple of inches off the mattress. He let it bounce back down again.



‘Mmmeerhhh,’


‘Elijah – just relax man – be quiet – ah – you look – this is amazing – ’


‘Jashl’


‘I feel amazing. Fucking amazing – are you ok? Yeah? You’re cool, yeah?’



Every time that Jake spoke, it sounded to Elijah like the words stayed in the room for an age before they vanished. They’d leave Jake’s mouth – wherever that was now – and dance around one side of Elijah’s head and then move over to the other, by which time they sounded mechanical and meant nothing. They weren’t words anymore. Then they were gone. They left shadows though. Hints of what Jake might have been trying to say.



Elijah’s groin felt saw from where Jake had shaved all of his pubic hair. If Elijah could have seen himself, then he would have seen red raw patches of skin, a couple of small nicks stuttering miniscule drops of blood and a shaving rash already forming. Jake was trying to suck Elijah’s small, limp penis.



Felt damp – CUT – Jake out of view – CUT – eyes rolling back into – CUT – wanna go back a few hours – CUT – wonder where Vicky went – CUT – something about friendship – CUT – important thing is just trusting someone – CUT – Jake’s tongue – CUT – fingers slipping in – CUT – two fingers – CUT – can’t decide whether this is what I – CUT – was Jake saying something about – CUT – arms don’t feel – CUT – are those clouds – CUT – Jake sounds like a computer – CUT – there they are – CUT – relax? – CUT – still trying to suck but – CUT – what time – CUT – is it even? – CUT

Blown a wish

Image by Jeff Koons.

It was the day after the funeral. Jamie met Emma in a Starbucks in the middle of Birmingham. They sat at a table in a roped off area just out front of the café, so they could both puff on cigarettes.

Both wearing large black sunglasses so they didn’t have to look each other in the eye (and also so that Jamie could rest his eyes on Emma’s subtle cleavage without her knowing), they sucked on their straws and took it in turn getting brain freezes from their banana frappuccinos.

They had barely said a word to each other since Emma’s mother had died. It wasn’t that they had been apart; they just hadn’t talked. Jamie was there when Emma got the news; they just lay down on the bed, smoked a spliff and slowly fell asleep – Emma crying slightly and Jamie just feeling exhausted.

Even on the morning of the ceremony when they snuck behind the church while guests were still arriving and surreptitiously passed a hip flask of vodka back and forth between themselves, they didn’t speak. Jamie said something when he thought he heard someone approaching, but it wasn’t anything important. It didn’t mean anything. Jamie didn’t even know what Emma’s mother’s death really meant. He didn’t know how, but he felt like he was missing something.

A handsome young man, a little older than Jamie walked passed Starbucks. He was wearing three quarter length jeans and a small white t-shirt. His hair was bleached and his skin coffee brown. Jamie’s head turned as the man walked buy. He thought he heard Emma tut, or sigh at him, but he wasn’t sure or didn’t care, one of the too. He couldn’t tell. He turned his head back to the table.

Emma was finishing off her drink. The final slurping noises made Jamie want to stand up and throw his remaining ice and mush in her face. He sat silently. Emma was on her third cigarette in ten minutes.

‘I’m going for a walk.’
Jamie nodded.
‘I need to some air or some space or something. I feel like I’m going mad.’
‘OK,’ Jamie tried to make his slurps extra loud and he sucked at his straw extra hard.
‘I’ll call you in bit,’
‘OK. See you in bit,’

They leaned forward and kissed each other, Jamie tried to grope as much of Emma’s leg as he could. Making sure a young scally boy who was walking on the opposite side of the rope could see. It turned Jamie on seeing the boy look Emma’s body up and down.

Jamie watched Emma disappear into a hoard of shoppers and workers clogging up New Street. She looked good. A white summer dress and tiny black cardigan. Jamie wondered where the man with the bleached hair had been walking to.

Emma wondering off had made Jamie feel more relaxed. He didn’t know what to say to her when she was depressed. He preferred her (and she preferred him the same) when she was in party mode, always ready to dance and scream and fuck. When she was upset about her mother’s death, she just bored him. It’s only when you get bad news that you realise how little you have in common with some people. Jamie wished he could feel more sympathetic, but he never really trusted Emma, and got the impression that she had just milked her mother’s illness (and now her death) for all it was worth. Emma thought that somehow her relation to her mother’s disease had made herself seem deeper somehow – more intense, more valid. That’s how Jamie saw it.

As Jamie began to idly walk through Birmingham, he wondered where Emma had gone. Shopping? To sit down on her own somewhere? Maybe the grief had made her suicidal and she’d thrown herself of a bridge and into a canal. Jamie wondered how he’d feel if that really was the case. He didn’t know how he felt most of the time anyway, so he couldn’t really imagine. Maybe he’d feel relieved? No more depressing company. He wouldn’t have to play the doting boyfriend either, spending all his evenings at Emma’s father’s house, hugging her and pulling at straws for something to say. Surely she didn’t believe him when he told her that everything was going to be ok. Nothing was ok in the first place. If Emma was dead he’d be free to slag around like he used to. He kept his eyes out for the bleached haired guy, as he turned each new corner.

Emma gobbled a couple of tablets and stared at the church. It was a much bigger than the one where her mother’s funeral had been, but it didn’t look as nice. There was bird mess and screwed up McDonalds wrappers dotted around it. The little cross on top looked rusty, like it might rip open the sky if someone didn’t take better care of it. Jamie had been driving her crazy. She wished that he would stop hanging round when it was obvious that he didn’t want to be there. She had told him that he didn’t have to keep giving up his time to be with her but he insisted.

‘Emma!’

Emma jumped. Across the other side of the church, next to a load of bus stops and cash machines a girl was waving at her. Emma waved back, and the girl walked on smiling. Emma half recognized her face but couldn’t place it.

Jamie walked into a record shop that and started browsing the racks. He was a regular there, and one of the guys who worked behind the till gave him a nod.

Skimming his eyes across the shelves, Jamie felt intimidated, wiped out. He couldn’t tell if it was because there were too many things to choose from or not enough. A boy with wearing a cap and a rucksack came in and gave a firm handshake to the tallest man behind the till. He had a flesh hoop in the ear closest to Jamie and seemed to know the staff at the record shop well. They were talking about some gig that they had all been to the night before. A hardcore band. American. Really impressive show. Lame support bands though.

Jamie started browsing nearer to the till so that he could get a better look at the boy. Bit of a baby-face. Fairly muscular arms, slim. Dimples that were exaggerated when he laughed. They started talking about new releases – another lad behind the counter reached down and produced a clutch of CDs – Jamie couldn’t make out the cupboards from where he was standing. Looked like punk CDs.

After carefully selecting some albums – one by a Canadian folk band (because of the rave reviews it had received on a couple of websites) and one by contemporary metal band (to impress the hardcore boy with the flesh hoops) Jamie went over to the counter.

‘Y’alright mate?’
‘Yeah thanks,’ Jamie smiled at the slightly goofy looking guy serving him. He gave a quick smile to the hardcore boy as well.
‘Awesome album,’ the hardcore boy nodded at the metal CD as the store worker put it in a bag.
‘Yeah – I’ve heard good things about it,’ Jamie said confidently. ‘Is it as good as their last one?’
‘Yeah, it’s a little bit more intense, knowwhadimean?’
‘Yeah, wicked,’

As Jamie left the shop he took a quick peek at the hardcore boy’s arse. His jeans rode halfway down, so a snatch of his white boxers were on show.

One of the record shop workers: ‘See ya mate,’

Emma still hadn’t called, so Jamie decided to make his way over to a place where he liked to watch younger guys skateboard. He put his sunglasses back on.

‘Are you closing soon?’
‘No, a couple more hours actually,’ The girl in the art gallery reception was smiley and helpful. ‘Actually – are you Jamie’s girlfriend?’
‘Erm …’ Emma felt like she’d been caught off-guard. She suddently felt irritated. Flustered. ‘Yeah,’ she tried to focus.
‘Oh – sorry. My name’s Emily – we met really briefly at Stacey and Dodgy’s party – a couple of months back? I only remembered Jamie’s name because he was so out of it, ha,’
‘Oh yeah – ’ Dodgy was a friend of Jamie’s. His real name was Andrew but everyone always called him Dodgy on account of some weird sexual dare that he had performed a when they were younger. Emma knew the story but couldn’t remember it. She wondered if the fact that she was forgetting things so often meant something.
‘Was he ok afterwards – Jamie?’ Emma had to think about what the girl was saying, ‘I mean I thought he’d really hurt himself when he fell onto that table – but he got up straight away and carried on drinking,’
‘Oh that – yeah,’ Jamie had taken too much speed at the party and smashed into an old table, totally destroying it. Later on he spent an hour throwing up. A rumour went round afterwards that he overdosed on something. Emma had been annoyed because she had to look after him. Prior to that she had spent all evening trying to fuck Dodgy’s younger brother – or maybe it was one of his friends. ‘Yeah – he was fine.’
‘Oh that’s alright then, ha,’
‘Anyway – I’m gonna,’
‘Yeah that’s fine – there are some exhibition programmes right behind you if you want to – ’
‘Oh right. Thanks.’

Emma took one of the guides and started walking up the stairs to the first exhibition rooms.

A man, about twenty six, with dyed black hair and scruffy stubble, was sitting on a chair reading a book. It was his job to answer any questions that visitors to the gallery may have about the artwork. He looked up from his book, smiled, and then carried on reading.

Emma tried to work out why the man had smiled. Maybe it was because he knew her? He looked half familiar, but that didn’t mean anything, did it? Maybe he wanted to fuck Emma? Maybe he was just doing his job. Emma tried to stop thinking about things and just look at the art.

The exhibition was by a Swedish artist. It said in the exhibition guide that it was his first solo show in the UK. Emma wondered what the artist looked like. She couldn’t decide whether she liked all of his paintings. One of them grabbed her attention. It was almost the size of the wall. A huge canvas covered in splashes of a really vivid red. There were some words scattered across the piece as well. Something to do with memory, and some other bits to do with youth. Some of the words were really high up and Emma made up a mental image of the artist standing at the top of a step ladder adding finishing touches to his work. Or maybe he just lay the painting flat out on the ground while he made it.

‘Fuck!’ one of the skateboarders crashed into the floor. He picked up his board and threw it against a wall. A couple of girls giggled. The skateboarder looked embarrassed when he realised how silly his tantrum must have looked.

‘Hey,’
‘Oh – hi,’ Jamie straightened himself up against the wall that he was leaning on. The hardcore boy was walking towards him.
‘How’s it going?’
‘Yeah, not bad.’ Jamie soon sounded more confident.
‘Do you skate?’
‘No – I’m just,’ Jamie tried to think of what to say. Watching cute boys. Getting turned on because I’m bored and my girlfriend’s mum has just died? Storing some masturbation material for later? Fuck.
‘Just chilling out, yeah?’ the hardcore boy answered the question for Jamie.
‘Yeah. Pretty much, yeah.’
‘Cool,’ the boy had sat down next to Jamie. Jamie wanted to reach out and see what the boy’s arms felt like. He was wearing a grey t-shirt. Jamie thought that grey t-shirts always made people’s arms look sexier. Did that mean anything? Probably not, but Jamie couldn’t tell.

‘So do you skate?’ Jamie took his sunglasses off and tried not to stare.
‘Not really. I used to more than I do now. I was just coming down to see if my friend was around. He’s sometimes down here on a Saturday but I can’t see him.’
‘Oh right.’
‘Want some of this?’ The hardcore boy had lit a fairly think spliff and took a long toke on it.
‘Yeah – cheers,’
‘It’s Ed, by the way.’ Drugs first name second, Jamie thought to himself.
‘I’m Jamie,’
‘So you just out and about buying CDs? Seriously – that album’s fucking great man,’
‘Cool. Well, erm, no. I’m kinda here with my girlfriend, but she’s gone to walk round on her own.’ Jamie must have changed the tone of his voice or pulled a different expression because then Ed asked him: ‘Oh – you fallen out?’
‘No. It’s strange. Her mum’s just died. It was the funeral yesterday.’
‘Fuckin’ hell. Shit, man. That’s awful. I’m really sorry.’ Jamie thought about what Ed had said. He said he felt sorry. Jamie couldn’t think of what to say. He handed the spliff back to Ed who took a drag.
‘That’s really bad,’ Ed said. Jamie wondered if it was. He hadn’t really felt upset about it at any point.
‘Yeah.’
‘How did she die?’
‘Cancer.’
‘Fuck.’
‘Yeah.’
Ed was wearing black fingerless gloves. They made his hands look gorgeous.
‘So has your girlfriend taken it really badly? I guess she must have – what a stupid question. But – you know. I guess with cancer you kinda know it’s coming. You can prepare, you know? Or is she really cut up about it?’
‘I don’t know.’
Ed looked slightly confused. He had really nice eyes. Kinda blue. A little grey round the pupils. Beautiful eyes – stoned and friendly.
‘I guess it’s a hard situation for you too,’
‘Yeah, I suppose.’ Jamie got distracted by a teenage goth girl who walked passed wearing boots and ripped fishnets. Ed had noticed her too, which gave Jamie a hard-on. Ed quickly turned back to Jamie. He looked like he was trying to think of what to say.
‘It’s pretty strong isn’t it?’ He meant the weed.
‘Yeah. It’s nice though.’

Jamie felt much better now that he was stoned and sitting with Ed. He tried to decide whether Ed had ever sucked cock or not. He seemed pretty straight – he definitely found that young goth girl attractive. But then so did Jamie, and Jamie had sucked so many dicks that he’d lost count. The last time had been at some party not so long back, when he’d got wasted and made a scene. Some film student, visiting someone for the weekend or something similar. Jamie couldn’t remember his name. Ed just seemed kinda hippyish, like he might occasionally sleep with one of his male friend and not think anything about it because everything was just cool or something. Jamie knew that everything wasn’t. nothing was.

‘How old are you?’
‘17. How come?’ Ed looked puzzled.
‘Dunno. Just wondering.’
‘How old are you?’
‘I’m 19,’ Jamie was actually 20. He didn’t even know why he lied – there was no reason too, even if he did have a chance of sleeping with Ed.
‘So are you meeting up with your girlfriend in a bit then?’
‘Yeah,’ Jamie felt annoyed that Ed had brought Emma back up in the conversation. ‘She’s going to call me when she’s finished … ’ Throwing herself under a bus? Drowning in the canal?
‘Clearing her head?’ Ed completed Jamie’s question.
‘Yeah.’
‘…’
‘Have you got a girlfriend , or … ?’
‘Nah,’ Ed shook his head. Jamie couldn’t tell whether it made him look embarrassed or bored. ‘Nah, no-one at the moment. I’m not really looking to be honest. If it happens, it happens, you know?’
‘Yeah.’ Jamie wanted to put his lips on Ed’s Adams apple. His dick kept getting harder.
‘So is your girlfriend nice? Fuck – another stupid question. Sorry man – of course she’s nice, or else she wouldn’t be your girlfriend, yeah? Sorry man.’
‘Yeah,’ Jamie didn’t know if Emma was nice. He didn’t think she was. She was mean to people. So was he. ‘Yeah, she’s nice.’
‘You been together long?’
‘A year and a half? I think it’s about that.’
‘So it’s pretty serious, yeah?’
‘Yeah.’ It wasn’t serious. It felt more serious now, mainly because Emma’s mother dying had made things weirder than they were before, but none of it had made Jamie love Emma any more.
‘Oh! There he is! Oi!’ Ed stood up and ran over to a guy who’d just come into their view on a skateboard; it obviously the friend that he had been hoping to find there in the first place.

The friend wasn’t as cute as Ed, but Jamie imagined himself fucking them both. Or the two of them taking it in turns at fucking him.

‘Shit – man – sorry – I’m gonna have to dash. Cool talking to you man – you can finish that if you like,’ he meant the spliff that Jamie was holding. ‘Enjoy the album, man!’
‘Yeah, I will. See ya.’

Ed went off with his friend, and Jamie felt annoyed. He wondered when Emma was going to call.

is beautiful

Image by Sadie Benning.

Two twin brothers
ordered their drinks
sat patiently.

Identical eyes puffy
from hay fever
and late nights.

Trolley pushers
hunched over and
scowling their way

through rows and
rows of poorly
packaged produce

that their bodies
don’t really need.
A nice picture of

some shit on one
of the cans, a
couple of cress

leaves for
presentation. A
helium balloon

floating just out
of the reach of a
set of damp chubby

little digits. Smug
artists holding books
out of reach, showing

empathy by mocking
the peasants. Giving
with one hand and

wanking it away with
the other. Barman
brings the drinks –

one of the twins
pipes up as his
brother lights a

cigarette. “The
head’s not right
on this one.”

Barman takes it
back no apology.
It’s only a drink.

Some painter
revising history.
Drinks returned

with a Rorschach
test that the twins
study but can’t

make out anything
not the stain or
even a monster.

Warning poem

Image by Eva Hertz.

He woke up late again.
9:30 in the evening.
Whenever he overslept
he always got this nasty
sensation on his tongue
and in the back of his
throat; not quite catarrh,
not quite bad breath but
a mixture. Maybe this is
what laziness actually

tastes like, he thought.

When he sat up he
thought he was going
to be sick. There was a
dull, aching pain in the
back of his eyes like
someone had hooked
two little weights into
his retinas. When he
moved his head, the
weights felt unsteady
and hurt, probably
wobbling around in
side his skull.

Too many hours asleep.
Not enough time dreaming.
He staggered across the
landing to the bathroom
and threw a heap of cold
water into his face and
tried not to heave. His
reflection was greasy and
red. He couldn’t help but
feel that this was a warning.

Dog

Image by Urniez.

this time it was definitely something to do with animals even though she couldn't remember most of the dream there was something to do with a dog although the dog kinda meant something else completely maybe a memory or something or a feeling a situation much more than just a dog in a dream and it set her off trying to remember other little bits like a house but most her dreams were set in this house it was an approximation of a few different houses she had been in a little like a set on a tv show perhaps and it was filled with tons of people who she knew but couldn't remember why or how and she knew that someone was missing someone special and if they were there then it would be like a missing piece that could make all the other things fit together and make some kind of sense because none of the conversations she was having with people on the tv set made any sense at all mostly it was something to do with delivering post or maybe someone was talking about no post being delivered in months because something very bad was happening and thats when the dog started getting involved the dog was sick and everyone in the room just knew for some reason even though the dog wasn't actually showing signs of illness but everyone just knew that something was very wrong in that house

A distraction

Image by Mimiyo Tomozawa.

Young girl looks at the cheap clothes.

I was angry about the electrical shortage.

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NB: Today I have also written a guest day on Dennis Cooper's blog. Click here to go read it.

TM