Photography and selotape by Eva Hertz & Siania Pain.
Normally, this is where I'd say 'Enjoy', but today ... erm ...
Thursday, 31 January 2008
No.
Photography and selotape by Eva Hertz & Siania Pain.
Normally, this is where I'd say 'Enjoy', but today ... erm ...
Wednesday, 30 January 2008
Tuesday, 29 January 2008
Afternoon
Image by Dan Colen.
I received a telephone call this afternoon. The caller ID said Unknown. Normally I don’t answer calls from withheld numbers, but today I did – I’m not sure why, perhaps because I was in a good mood because work had been quite nice and I’d had a couple of really good conversations this morning.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” the voice was male, gentle, and vaguely familiar – but in the same way that about a million other voices are.
“Who’s that?” The voice had stopped like I was supposed to instantly make a connection between it and a body.
“Jay.” Again, after the word gently drifted out of the receiver there was a pause. I don’t know anyone called Jay. Well, I know one person, but he’s an acquaintance, not a friend, and he certainly wouldn’t have my number – much less a reason to call it.
“Jay?”
“Yeah,” a slight Liverpool twang? It was a nice voice. “You gave me your number.”
“When? Sorry – it’s not a good line.”
“...” Jay said something indecipherable. I was on the bus home, and we had just reached a part of the route that was a dead spot for mobile phone. The silence lasted longer than it had done so far. I took the phone away from my ear and realised that my conversation with this familiar sounding stranger had been cancelled.
The phone started vibrating again and the screen displayed the same anonymous identity as before.
“Hi,”
“Hi,”
“Sorry – like I said it’s bad line.”
“That’s ok.”
“So ... “
“You gave me your number.”
“Yeah, you said. When? Where do I know you from?” I kept my last question quiet. The bus was busy with teenagers from a local high school had all bundled in an endearing, noisy blur.
“We spoke on the line ...”
“Oh, OK. Right. Remind me who you are again?” I lowered my voice again.
“I’m a submissive bottom guy.”
“Oh right ...”
“My name’s Jay, I’m twenty three.”
“Oh ok.” I wasn’t quite sure what to say. In the past when I’ve had phone calls from random strangers who I’ve had anonymous sex with or spoke to with a view to arranging anonymous sex, when I have not been prepared, I have just cancelled the call immediately. This afternoon, I stayed on the line a little longer. I guess because I liked Jay’s voice.
“Have I got the right number?”
“Yeah ...”
“You’re an aggressive top, who likes manhandling submissive bottom guys aren’t you?”
“Erm ... yeah,” I’m actually versatile, but given the fact that a group of fifteen year old boys were sitting a couple of metres away from me – and the fact that I sometimes like to receive anal sex as well as giving it – didn’t seem appropriate or relevant.
“...” Jay was submissive so I guess he was waiting for me to take charge of the conversation.
“So ... erm ... how can I help you?” one of the school boys looked across at me. I felt guilty somehow.
“I’ve got my dick out,”
“Oh ok,” Jay obviously couldn’t hear the bus clattering up and down over a series of speed bumps.
“...”
“Alright Jay, could you give me a ring back in twenty minutes?” I tried to project my voice so it sounded like I was talking to a friend. The school boy wasn’t looking anymore, but I felt better for keeping up appearances.
“What?”
“Call me back in twenty minutes, yeah?”
“Oh OK,”
“Cool.” I hung up.
I walked from the bus stop to my house relatively quickly. When I got in I started making my usual afternoon cup of black coffee. It stops me from just lolling around when I get in from work. Without it, I probably wouldn’t be writing this.
Jay managed to wait ten minutes before trying again.
“Hi,”
“Hey. Sorry about that I was on the bus so I couldn’t really talk. I’m home now though.”
“Wicked.”
“Yeah – so you were telling me ...”
“Yeah – I’m a twenty three year old submissive guy. Very passive. Love being dominated. Love a guy to take total control. Treat me like shit. Tell me what to do.” He sounded like an add on a contact site.
“And what were you calling me for?”
“I want someone to tell me what to do.”
“Where abouts did you say you were from?”
“That don’t matter. I just want you to tell me what to do.”
“What?”
“I’m not looking for a meet, mate. I just want you to talk me off over the phone. Tell me what to do and that. I’ve got my dick out.”
“Sorry – I’m not really into phone sex, it doesn’t – “
“You don’t have to have phone sex with me. Just tell me what to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Anything. Dare me to do something.”
“Like what?”
“Anything.”
My good mood was still in tact. I was short of ideas of what to tell Jay to do though.
“Have you got any scissors?”
“Yeah.”
“Where are they?”
“In the kitchen.”
“Right. I want you to walk into the kitchen and fetch the scissors.”
“OK.”
I could hear Jay’s feet tapping on a tiled floor. A drawer being opened, cutlery rattling around.
“Got ‘em.”
“OK. I want you to start cutting off your pubic hair.”
“OK, whatever you want.”
“Big clumps of it.”
“Yes.”
I could hear the snipping, although it was hard to know whether Jay was really cutting off his pubis, or whether he was just pretending. Why would he pretend though?
“How much have you taken off?”
“Tons.”
“You can stop that now then.”
“What would you like me to do with the hair. It’s in my hand.”
“Eat it.”
After a few seconds I heard spluttering. Maybe a heave.
“Are you ok?”
“Yeah, they’re harder to swallow than you’d think. Haha,”
“Forget about that anyway. I want you to do something else. I presume you’re naked, right?”
“Well, I’ve got a t-shirt on.”
“Take it off.”
I heard the fabric brush against the telephone.
“OK.”
“You’re completely naked now?”
“Yeah.”
“I want you to sit down.”
“OK”
“Have you got any piss inside you?”
“What?”
“Would you be able to piss if I told you to?”
“Erm ... yeah ... I think I ... yeah.”
“Piss on yourself.”
This time there wasn’t a response from Jay. His breathing sped up though, like someone about to cum. I was pretty sure he was pissing on himself though. Something about his voice struck me as being very sincere.
“OK,” his voice was slightly higher, like someone had taken his air away for a second or two. “It’s all over me now.”
“Where?”
“My stomach, the settee, my balls, the carpet.”
“I wish I’d told you to drink it.”
“...”
“Stand up Jay.”
“Yes.”
“Is there anybody outside your house?”
“Hang on a – no. I can’t see anyone.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it then. I was going to ask you to go outside.
Despite going along with Jay’s wishes, I was getting very little joy from talking to him. I was bored. Maybe if I was in the room, things would feel less ... abstract? Although even when I do fuck people, it doesn’t always feel like I’m totally there.
“Jay – I’m going to have to go.”
“Why?”
“I’m bored.”
“Oh ...” I couldn’t tell whether or not he sounded insulted. Maybe just surprised. “Well, can you just get me to do one more thing?”
“What?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one in charge.”
“Oh. Yeah. OK. Hang one second, Jay.”
I was stumped. Half of me wanted to get Jay to do something really fucked up, like throw himself through the window, or set his house on fire, maybe mutilate a part of his body. Really take advantage of the guy and test his resolve. There was something about him that had started to bug me. But I was indecisive.
“How about you just never call me again?”
“Erm ... “
“Bye.”
“Hello?”
“Hi,” the voice was male, gentle, and vaguely familiar – but in the same way that about a million other voices are.
“Who’s that?” The voice had stopped like I was supposed to instantly make a connection between it and a body.
“Jay.” Again, after the word gently drifted out of the receiver there was a pause. I don’t know anyone called Jay. Well, I know one person, but he’s an acquaintance, not a friend, and he certainly wouldn’t have my number – much less a reason to call it.
“Jay?”
“Yeah,” a slight Liverpool twang? It was a nice voice. “You gave me your number.”
“When? Sorry – it’s not a good line.”
“...” Jay said something indecipherable. I was on the bus home, and we had just reached a part of the route that was a dead spot for mobile phone. The silence lasted longer than it had done so far. I took the phone away from my ear and realised that my conversation with this familiar sounding stranger had been cancelled.
The phone started vibrating again and the screen displayed the same anonymous identity as before.
“Hi,”
“Hi,”
“Sorry – like I said it’s bad line.”
“That’s ok.”
“So ... “
“You gave me your number.”
“Yeah, you said. When? Where do I know you from?” I kept my last question quiet. The bus was busy with teenagers from a local high school had all bundled in an endearing, noisy blur.
“We spoke on the line ...”
“Oh, OK. Right. Remind me who you are again?” I lowered my voice again.
“I’m a submissive bottom guy.”
“Oh right ...”
“My name’s Jay, I’m twenty three.”
“Oh ok.” I wasn’t quite sure what to say. In the past when I’ve had phone calls from random strangers who I’ve had anonymous sex with or spoke to with a view to arranging anonymous sex, when I have not been prepared, I have just cancelled the call immediately. This afternoon, I stayed on the line a little longer. I guess because I liked Jay’s voice.
“Have I got the right number?”
“Yeah ...”
“You’re an aggressive top, who likes manhandling submissive bottom guys aren’t you?”
“Erm ... yeah,” I’m actually versatile, but given the fact that a group of fifteen year old boys were sitting a couple of metres away from me – and the fact that I sometimes like to receive anal sex as well as giving it – didn’t seem appropriate or relevant.
“...” Jay was submissive so I guess he was waiting for me to take charge of the conversation.
“So ... erm ... how can I help you?” one of the school boys looked across at me. I felt guilty somehow.
“I’ve got my dick out,”
“Oh ok,” Jay obviously couldn’t hear the bus clattering up and down over a series of speed bumps.
“...”
“Alright Jay, could you give me a ring back in twenty minutes?” I tried to project my voice so it sounded like I was talking to a friend. The school boy wasn’t looking anymore, but I felt better for keeping up appearances.
“What?”
“Call me back in twenty minutes, yeah?”
“Oh OK,”
“Cool.” I hung up.
I walked from the bus stop to my house relatively quickly. When I got in I started making my usual afternoon cup of black coffee. It stops me from just lolling around when I get in from work. Without it, I probably wouldn’t be writing this.
Jay managed to wait ten minutes before trying again.
“Hi,”
“Hey. Sorry about that I was on the bus so I couldn’t really talk. I’m home now though.”
“Wicked.”
“Yeah – so you were telling me ...”
“Yeah – I’m a twenty three year old submissive guy. Very passive. Love being dominated. Love a guy to take total control. Treat me like shit. Tell me what to do.” He sounded like an add on a contact site.
“And what were you calling me for?”
“I want someone to tell me what to do.”
“Where abouts did you say you were from?”
“That don’t matter. I just want you to tell me what to do.”
“What?”
“I’m not looking for a meet, mate. I just want you to talk me off over the phone. Tell me what to do and that. I’ve got my dick out.”
“Sorry – I’m not really into phone sex, it doesn’t – “
“You don’t have to have phone sex with me. Just tell me what to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Anything. Dare me to do something.”
“Like what?”
“Anything.”
My good mood was still in tact. I was short of ideas of what to tell Jay to do though.
“Have you got any scissors?”
“Yeah.”
“Where are they?”
“In the kitchen.”
“Right. I want you to walk into the kitchen and fetch the scissors.”
“OK.”
I could hear Jay’s feet tapping on a tiled floor. A drawer being opened, cutlery rattling around.
“Got ‘em.”
“OK. I want you to start cutting off your pubic hair.”
“OK, whatever you want.”
“Big clumps of it.”
“Yes.”
I could hear the snipping, although it was hard to know whether Jay was really cutting off his pubis, or whether he was just pretending. Why would he pretend though?
“How much have you taken off?”
“Tons.”
“You can stop that now then.”
“What would you like me to do with the hair. It’s in my hand.”
“Eat it.”
After a few seconds I heard spluttering. Maybe a heave.
“Are you ok?”
“Yeah, they’re harder to swallow than you’d think. Haha,”
“Forget about that anyway. I want you to do something else. I presume you’re naked, right?”
“Well, I’ve got a t-shirt on.”
“Take it off.”
I heard the fabric brush against the telephone.
“OK.”
“You’re completely naked now?”
“Yeah.”
“I want you to sit down.”
“OK”
“Have you got any piss inside you?”
“What?”
“Would you be able to piss if I told you to?”
“Erm ... yeah ... I think I ... yeah.”
“Piss on yourself.”
This time there wasn’t a response from Jay. His breathing sped up though, like someone about to cum. I was pretty sure he was pissing on himself though. Something about his voice struck me as being very sincere.
“OK,” his voice was slightly higher, like someone had taken his air away for a second or two. “It’s all over me now.”
“Where?”
“My stomach, the settee, my balls, the carpet.”
“I wish I’d told you to drink it.”
“...”
“Stand up Jay.”
“Yes.”
“Is there anybody outside your house?”
“Hang on a – no. I can’t see anyone.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it then. I was going to ask you to go outside.
Despite going along with Jay’s wishes, I was getting very little joy from talking to him. I was bored. Maybe if I was in the room, things would feel less ... abstract? Although even when I do fuck people, it doesn’t always feel like I’m totally there.
“Jay – I’m going to have to go.”
“Why?”
“I’m bored.”
“Oh ...” I couldn’t tell whether or not he sounded insulted. Maybe just surprised. “Well, can you just get me to do one more thing?”
“What?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one in charge.”
“Oh. Yeah. OK. Hang one second, Jay.”
I was stumped. Half of me wanted to get Jay to do something really fucked up, like throw himself through the window, or set his house on fire, maybe mutilate a part of his body. Really take advantage of the guy and test his resolve. There was something about him that had started to bug me. But I was indecisive.
“How about you just never call me again?”
“Erm ... “
“Bye.”
Monday, 28 January 2008
Three poems
The Good People
The good people
are making sure
that no one sleeps alone.
Even those
shuddering
their last breaths
hidden beneath
business suits,
and hanging from
makeshift nooses
made from
power-dressing
style neck ties
deserve someone
to watch them off.
If you find them,
they’re yours
for the night.
Statistics
Distance beating away like only it can.
Nestling in a spot that’s surrounded by nothing but
Its own internal cogs and sounds.
Leave the locals to get used to this stuff.
An everyday tragedy does well for the economy,
Regular nine to fivers beating a path in and
Out of suicide statistics
Like kids negotiating a new level on a flickering
Computer screen.
craigslist
something from craigslist caught my attention
even though I’m from the UK and not really a
sadist.
people living out of cars and looking for two
weeks rent free in exchange for
handjobs or maybe human kindness.
one guy wants hook ups with guys who
want to be called daddy and beat the shit
out of him, so he can try and trace the
moment that his life started turning into
an episode of the sort of tv show that
you can never remember the title of .
m4w as long as she’s willing to hate him.
& too many warnings about predatory
phone nuisances that ring with death threats
at all hours because they’re so sick of their
lives with pornography.
The good people
are making sure
that no one sleeps alone.
Even those
shuddering
their last breaths
hidden beneath
business suits,
and hanging from
makeshift nooses
made from
power-dressing
style neck ties
deserve someone
to watch them off.
If you find them,
they’re yours
for the night.
Statistics
Distance beating away like only it can.
Nestling in a spot that’s surrounded by nothing but
Its own internal cogs and sounds.
Leave the locals to get used to this stuff.
An everyday tragedy does well for the economy,
Regular nine to fivers beating a path in and
Out of suicide statistics
Like kids negotiating a new level on a flickering
Computer screen.
craigslist
something from craigslist caught my attention
even though I’m from the UK and not really a
sadist.
people living out of cars and looking for two
weeks rent free in exchange for
handjobs or maybe human kindness.
one guy wants hook ups with guys who
want to be called daddy and beat the shit
out of him, so he can try and trace the
moment that his life started turning into
an episode of the sort of tv show that
you can never remember the title of .
m4w as long as she’s willing to hate him.
& too many warnings about predatory
phone nuisances that ring with death threats
at all hours because they’re so sick of their
lives with pornography.
Sunday, 27 January 2008
Extract twenty two
I was still having trouble deciphering his voice. There wasn’t an accent there, or if there was it sounded like every other accent at once. Soft in a way that puts you on edge – like it was detached from the body, with different motives than skin and bones.
Turning my neck back to face him, there was a moment where I felt paralysed. A moment of clarity but with the opposite effects that such an occurrence would normally carry. I felt older than I had ever felt before; which I think must have been some kind of result of the physical comparison that our shared vicinity had forced. Like thinking about yourself in relation to your first crush, and unwillingly taking stock of how far sideways you have crawled since those first pre-pubescent flames were set.
“How about other stuff?”
The nod that followed certainly understood me (if anything can ever be certain, which I’m guessing it can’t).
“Do you know where I’d be able to some drugs?” The fact that I was so blunt made me feel embarrassed. I usually feel that tact was invented for a reason.
“Like what?”
“Well do you know somewhere I could get stuff or not?”
“Why are you asking me?”
“You’re here.”
“There’s other people here as well.”
“I’m not with the police if that’s what you’re worried about.” When I said that he looked like he wanted to laugh. I realised how ludicrous it seemed that I thought he might come to that conclusion. I felt like a supply teacher trying to make friends with some high school students by talking about their culture.
“What makes you think I’d know?”
“I don’t know. To tell you the truth, I’m pretty fucked up as it is.”
“There’s a few places you can go to.”
“Are they far away?” Pause. “Will you take me?”
The intense suspicion I perceived from the way the boy cocked his head to the side soon manifested in a glare that seemed to be scanning through my skull, reading my thoughts, ransacking my brain and trashing everything in search of motives. His eyes flickered briefly up and down me. The whole thing probably lasted for about half a second.
“What will you give me?” Because of the drugs that I’d already taken every question sounded philosophical.
“Anything.”
“...”
“Whatever you want, I mean. If I can get what I want then I’ll buy you whatever you want that they have. It’s not a problem. You know – as a thank you? A thanks for your kindness.”
Something about the way he kept staring at me made me feel like I was about to get a kick in the balls.
“Alright,” his head tilted back and then forwards sharply. “You’ll have to pay for everything though.” What with the drugs, I tried to block out his last sentence or at least reduce it to the simple nuts and bolts of the letters that made it. Otherwise it would have been too much.
“Excellent.” I sounded like me. “How do we get there?”
Without answering he hailed at a taxi which promptly pulled over. I couldn’t make out what he said to the driver but he nodded anyway and we got in the back.
Turning my neck back to face him, there was a moment where I felt paralysed. A moment of clarity but with the opposite effects that such an occurrence would normally carry. I felt older than I had ever felt before; which I think must have been some kind of result of the physical comparison that our shared vicinity had forced. Like thinking about yourself in relation to your first crush, and unwillingly taking stock of how far sideways you have crawled since those first pre-pubescent flames were set.
“How about other stuff?”
The nod that followed certainly understood me (if anything can ever be certain, which I’m guessing it can’t).
“Do you know where I’d be able to some drugs?” The fact that I was so blunt made me feel embarrassed. I usually feel that tact was invented for a reason.
“Like what?”
“Well do you know somewhere I could get stuff or not?”
“Why are you asking me?”
“You’re here.”
“There’s other people here as well.”
“I’m not with the police if that’s what you’re worried about.” When I said that he looked like he wanted to laugh. I realised how ludicrous it seemed that I thought he might come to that conclusion. I felt like a supply teacher trying to make friends with some high school students by talking about their culture.
“What makes you think I’d know?”
“I don’t know. To tell you the truth, I’m pretty fucked up as it is.”
“There’s a few places you can go to.”
“Are they far away?” Pause. “Will you take me?”
The intense suspicion I perceived from the way the boy cocked his head to the side soon manifested in a glare that seemed to be scanning through my skull, reading my thoughts, ransacking my brain and trashing everything in search of motives. His eyes flickered briefly up and down me. The whole thing probably lasted for about half a second.
“What will you give me?” Because of the drugs that I’d already taken every question sounded philosophical.
“Anything.”
“...”
“Whatever you want, I mean. If I can get what I want then I’ll buy you whatever you want that they have. It’s not a problem. You know – as a thank you? A thanks for your kindness.”
Something about the way he kept staring at me made me feel like I was about to get a kick in the balls.
“Alright,” his head tilted back and then forwards sharply. “You’ll have to pay for everything though.” What with the drugs, I tried to block out his last sentence or at least reduce it to the simple nuts and bolts of the letters that made it. Otherwise it would have been too much.
“Excellent.” I sounded like me. “How do we get there?”
Without answering he hailed at a taxi which promptly pulled over. I couldn’t make out what he said to the driver but he nodded anyway and we got in the back.
Saturday, 26 January 2008
Extract twenty one
He was underneath the bus shelter avoiding the rain. I don’t think he was waiting for a bus because I saw at least three go past in a short space of time and he barely budged. One of them slowed down, the driver craning his neck trying to work out if he wanted to board but he looked through him blankly so the vehicle soon sped up again.
Maybe he was waiting for someone. He didn’t look like he was however. When I’m waiting to meet someone – a friend or otherwise – my eyes are darting around the place. If I’m in a cafe, say, my head will shoot up each time I hear the door open. If I’m in the open air then I quickly survey every new body that introduced itself to my line of vision.
It was a Friday night in a major city so there was a constant stream of flesh and fabric fluttering by but his eyes remained fixed on nothing. For a second I wondered if maybe he was in tune with everything and observing things that I would simply never be able to see. It was that thought that made me realise how high I was.
“Hi,” I kept my hands in my pocket and nodded, rather than putting out my hand. He nodded back.
“I’m sorry to be a pain, but is there any chance you could help me out with some directions? I’m not from round here.” That was the first lie that I ever told him.
The second nod cocked his head slightly and his lips gently eased their way apart.
“Where do you want to go?” His voice was so soft that at first it was hard to tell whether it was high or low pitched.
“Well that’s it, ha – I don’t know. I’m only here for the weekend,” that was the second lie. “I want to go somewhere for a drink, but all these places look pretty scummy. Is there anywhere decent round here?” As well as being an excuse to talk to him, my made up question would also help me to figure out whether he was old enough to drink or not, which in turn would answer another very important question (or not so important, depending on how you feel about such things).
The boy shrugged, which made his neck move in a really pleasing, shapely way.
“There must be somewhere,” he was someone who needed the occasional verbal nudge. I’ve always found people like that frustratingly magnetic. It makes me feel like I have to try harder and force them to engage with me. I like to hold back because it puts me in a position of power. When people are emotionally withdrawn it makes me crazy to the point of mania. People who are instantly open and friendly tend to mean nothing to me.
“I don’t really go to those places. Ask a taxi driver or something.”
“Thanks,” I turned and looked over towards the taxi rank, I hoped that my movement would cover up the fact that my brain was quickly trying to process a new argument.
Maybe he was waiting for someone. He didn’t look like he was however. When I’m waiting to meet someone – a friend or otherwise – my eyes are darting around the place. If I’m in a cafe, say, my head will shoot up each time I hear the door open. If I’m in the open air then I quickly survey every new body that introduced itself to my line of vision.
It was a Friday night in a major city so there was a constant stream of flesh and fabric fluttering by but his eyes remained fixed on nothing. For a second I wondered if maybe he was in tune with everything and observing things that I would simply never be able to see. It was that thought that made me realise how high I was.
“Hi,” I kept my hands in my pocket and nodded, rather than putting out my hand. He nodded back.
“I’m sorry to be a pain, but is there any chance you could help me out with some directions? I’m not from round here.” That was the first lie that I ever told him.
The second nod cocked his head slightly and his lips gently eased their way apart.
“Where do you want to go?” His voice was so soft that at first it was hard to tell whether it was high or low pitched.
“Well that’s it, ha – I don’t know. I’m only here for the weekend,” that was the second lie. “I want to go somewhere for a drink, but all these places look pretty scummy. Is there anywhere decent round here?” As well as being an excuse to talk to him, my made up question would also help me to figure out whether he was old enough to drink or not, which in turn would answer another very important question (or not so important, depending on how you feel about such things).
The boy shrugged, which made his neck move in a really pleasing, shapely way.
“There must be somewhere,” he was someone who needed the occasional verbal nudge. I’ve always found people like that frustratingly magnetic. It makes me feel like I have to try harder and force them to engage with me. I like to hold back because it puts me in a position of power. When people are emotionally withdrawn it makes me crazy to the point of mania. People who are instantly open and friendly tend to mean nothing to me.
“I don’t really go to those places. Ask a taxi driver or something.”
“Thanks,” I turned and looked over towards the taxi rank, I hoped that my movement would cover up the fact that my brain was quickly trying to process a new argument.
Friday, 25 January 2008
bears
this morning
there was a bear
torn and strewn
across the street.
a decapitated
corpse
separated into
i’m not sure how many pieces.
limbs ripped
from torso
a body
horrifically mangled
and framed
by orange glow.
a postmodernist
or someone enthused
with semiotics
might offer
an explanation
that points to a loss
of childhood
or
naivety being forced
to kiss brutality.
for me, today,
it was just
limp stitches,
cotton wool
soggy
with
air
sullied water
and freezing.
there was a bear
torn and strewn
across the street.
a decapitated
corpse
separated into
i’m not sure how many pieces.
limbs ripped
from torso
a body
horrifically mangled
and framed
by orange glow.
a postmodernist
or someone enthused
with semiotics
might offer
an explanation
that points to a loss
of childhood
or
naivety being forced
to kiss brutality.
for me, today,
it was just
limp stitches,
cotton wool
soggy
with
air
sullied water
and freezing.
Thursday, 24 January 2008
Extract twenty
Image by Cam Archer.
I want an older guy to put me on my back and stick his tongue so far inside me that he tickles that back of my eyeballs. I want to feel his hurried breathing speeding up, blowing against the underside of my balls so that that I can sense how desperate he is to make the most of me before I’m gone.
A lot of the time I try and work people that I see everyday into my fantasies. Not friends or anything, although I think that anyone who claims to have not thought about every single one of their friends in some sexual context (even if the thoughts weren’t pleasurable) is a liar. I think about some of the men I see as part of my daily routine. People who catch the same busses.
One guy appears a lot. I’m no good with ages, but he looks old enough to be a respectable father. I always see him staring at the girls from my school as they get on the bus. I like to imagine him looking at me in the same way. I don’t find his physical features attractive. He’s plain, maybe a little thuggish. But there’s something about how he looks them up and down. Maybe I wish I was a girl sometimes. It seems like too much work though.
If I think about the guy fucking one of the girls, then it’s ugly in a really fucking hot way. Throwing them around. Drooling all over himself like a hungry giant from a kid’s story book. Practically wanting to bite chunks out of them. I want to make someone an animal.
Wednesday, 23 January 2008
Dear William
and the good luck which attended his early examination of ship news the next morning seemed the reward of his ingenuity in finding out such a method of pleasing her,as well as of his dutiful attention to the Admiral,in having for many years taken in the paper esteemedto have the earliest naval intelligence. He proved,however, to be too late. All those fine first feelings,of which he had hoped to be the exciter, were already given. But his intention, the kindness of his intention,was thankfully acknowledged: quite thankfully and warmly,for she was elevated beyond the common timidity of hermind by the flow of her love for William.
This dear William would soon be amongst them. There couldbe no doubt of his obtaining leave of absence immediately,for he was still only a midshipman, and as his parents,from living on the spot, must already have seen him,and be seeing him perhaps daily, his direct holidaysmight with justice be instantly given to the sister,who had been his best correspondent through a period ofseven years, and the uncle who had done most for his supportand advancement, and accordingly the reply to her reply,fixing a very early day for his arrival, came as soonas possible, and scarcely ten days had passed since Fannyhad been in the agitation of her first dinner-visit,when she found herself in an agitation of a higher nature,watching in the hall, in the lobby, on the stairs,for the first sound of the carriage which was to bring hera brother.
This dear William would soon be amongst them. There couldbe no doubt of his obtaining leave of absence immediately,for he was still only a midshipman, and as his parents,from living on the spot, must already have seen him,and be seeing him perhaps daily, his direct holidaysmight with justice be instantly given to the sister,who had been his best correspondent through a period ofseven years, and the uncle who had done most for his supportand advancement, and accordingly the reply to her reply,fixing a very early day for his arrival, came as soonas possible, and scarcely ten days had passed since Fannyhad been in the agitation of her first dinner-visit,when she found herself in an agitation of a higher nature,watching in the hall, in the lobby, on the stairs,for the first sound of the carriage which was to bring hera brother.
Tuesday, 22 January 2008
A beginners guide to Kill Rock Stars (a post I created that originally appeared on the DC blog)
Introduction
Kill Rock Stars is an independent record label founded in 1991 by Slim Moon and based in Olympia, Washington, United States. The label has released a variety of work in different genres, making it difficult to pigeonhole as having any one artistic mission. Overall, though, the political sensibilities of the label can be said to be leftist, feminist and anti-war and the label has consistently shown a commitment towards underground punk bands and to representing artists in the Olympia, Washington area.
Moon initially started the label with the intention of releasing spoken word 7” record singles. KRS-101 (the label's first release) was in fact a split 7" spoken-word record with Kathleen Hanna and Slim Moon; other "Wordcore" releases followed. The first major release was a compilation of Olympia-area bands simply titled Kill Rock Stars (Stars Kill Rock and Rock Stars Kill would follow in the same compilation series) and featured Bikini Kill, Bratmobile, Unwound, Nirvana and The Melvins. In fact, Moon has said that the label began releasing music because Bikini Kill, Bratmobile and Unwound were too exciting to remain unsigned.
Although the label's music has never reflected just a single genre or underground music movement, it is arguably most notable for releasing the work of various riot grrrl bands during the mid-'90s, some of which, especially the aforementioned Bikini Kill, generated a good deal of press attention. Other KRS releases in this genre includes albums by Bratmobile, Huggy Bear, Heavens to Betsy and Excuse 17. The label continued its tradition of spoken word by releasing their first full-length spoken word LP Big Broad by Juliana Lueking in 1995. This was also the year that Elliott Smith released his self-titled solo LP on the label. Another milestone was the 1997 release of Sleater-Kinney's third LP (and first on KRS) Dig Me Out, which garnered national press attention in Spin and Rolling Stone magazines.
Wikipedia
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Important faces
Slim Moon: Kill Rock Stars founder. Worked at the label until October 2006.
Tobi Vail: Musician, zinester. Has worked at Kill Rock Stars since 1997. Runs mail order, newsletters etc.
Kill Rock Stars is an independent record label founded in 1991 by Slim Moon and based in Olympia, Washington, United States. The label has released a variety of work in different genres, making it difficult to pigeonhole as having any one artistic mission. Overall, though, the political sensibilities of the label can be said to be leftist, feminist and anti-war and the label has consistently shown a commitment towards underground punk bands and to representing artists in the Olympia, Washington area.
Moon initially started the label with the intention of releasing spoken word 7” record singles. KRS-101 (the label's first release) was in fact a split 7" spoken-word record with Kathleen Hanna and Slim Moon; other "Wordcore" releases followed. The first major release was a compilation of Olympia-area bands simply titled Kill Rock Stars (Stars Kill Rock and Rock Stars Kill would follow in the same compilation series) and featured Bikini Kill, Bratmobile, Unwound, Nirvana and The Melvins. In fact, Moon has said that the label began releasing music because Bikini Kill, Bratmobile and Unwound were too exciting to remain unsigned.
Although the label's music has never reflected just a single genre or underground music movement, it is arguably most notable for releasing the work of various riot grrrl bands during the mid-'90s, some of which, especially the aforementioned Bikini Kill, generated a good deal of press attention. Other KRS releases in this genre includes albums by Bratmobile, Huggy Bear, Heavens to Betsy and Excuse 17. The label continued its tradition of spoken word by releasing their first full-length spoken word LP Big Broad by Juliana Lueking in 1995. This was also the year that Elliott Smith released his self-titled solo LP on the label. Another milestone was the 1997 release of Sleater-Kinney's third LP (and first on KRS) Dig Me Out, which garnered national press attention in Spin and Rolling Stone magazines.
Wikipedia
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Important faces
Slim Moon: Kill Rock Stars founder. Worked at the label until October 2006.
Tobi Vail: Musician, zinester. Has worked at Kill Rock Stars since 1997. Runs mail order, newsletters etc.
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Kill Rock Stars – An oral history
Slim Moon (on releasing the first Kill Rock Stars 7” single): In January, 1991, I was living with Greg Babior and i bought some watercolor paints and made a painting on the back of a Pontiac Brothers poster, a bunch of sweeping lines of color, a few splashes and a few words, the most prominent being "kill rock stars". This was about the same time as when i spraypainted "Zap 'em back with superlove" on a big piece of plywood for a spoken word performance. When I applied for a business license I felt pressed to come up with a name. That poster was on my wall and it seemed like a good idea (especially since the first poem on the first record is called "Rock Star".)
(On releasing the first Kill Rock Stars compilation) One night, I decided that a compilation of all the good bands in Olympia would sell pretty good if I could get it out by the IPU convention (August 1991). Later that night I talked myself out of it. The next morning Calvin called and said "So are you doing this compilation or what?"
(On releasing the first Unwound single) In 1991, Giant Henry's last show was just about the funnest party/show I've ever been to. For the last song, they played their smash hit "Chris Jordan" for about half an hour. Eventually one of them got up and walked off but the other two kept playing. A member of the audience grabbed the unused instrument and joined in. After a while, all the members of the band had left but the song was still being played. It seemed like it went on for hours. The reason Giant Henry broke up was because Brandt wanted to quit. Later, the same three guys started a new band with all new songs. They called themselves "Cygnus X-1" (or something like that) before settling on Unwound. Their first show was incredible. All I could think was "These guys are ready already to make records, but nobody is gonna put out their records for years. It's a damned shame."
(On releasing the first Bikini Kill record) When Bikini Kill told me that they wanted me to put out their record, I wasn't sure I was ready. I had a secret fantasy of building a record label, but I thought it would take like three years before I had something to offer to a big band. So I was floored when they asked me because it was way ahead of my schedule of how things would go. But they felt they could trust me because I was their friend. It was super exciting. I didn't know that they were going to get in this vortex of riot grrl popularity with national press and everything. But I knew they were a really exciting band.
(On releasing the first Heavens to Betsy record) Heavens to Betsy was my favorite unexpected thing from the IPU convention. When Corin sang "My Red Self" from behind the drumset, she was so young and earnest, and her voice was so big, and the song was so powerful. It really moved me. When the opportunity came to reissue the Kill Rock Stars compilation on CD, it seemed like a shame to waste the extra space that a CD has, so we put some bonus tracks on there of bands that played IPU that I didn't really even know about before the convention. This was my first contact with H2B and Corin Tucker.
(On releasing the first Elliott Smith record) Slim Moon: In 1994, i had been asked to be on this five-person solo-act tour called Pop Chord with Tammy Watson, Carrie Akre, Sean Croghan and Elliott Smith. The first night at the Crocodile in Seattle, I didn't pay too much attention and people talked all thru Elliott's set. Sean said during his set that it was too bad nobody listened to Elliott Smith - that they were all really missing out. The next night I listened very closely to Elliott's set. I went out to the van and listened to his CD for the rest of the night until the show was over. I watched his set very carefully every time after that, rest assured.
(On working with Sleater Kinney) With Sleater-Kinney, everything became more than the sum of parts. From the very beginning, Corin's voice and songwriting were very moving to me. Even from the time I saw Heavens to Betsy at the IPU. And it turned out that she and Carrie were mature, grown up, reasonable people to work with. It was really refreshing.
(On working with Mike “Sport” Murphy) There is some stuff that I put out because it just makes sense. It might not be my favorite, but it makes sense. Then sometimes I insist that we put out something like Sport Murphy, which doesn't make sense at all. I'm moved by music that is personal and autobiographical and kinda corny.
Lois Maffeo: I dubbed Slim a tape of some band or lecture or something onto a cassette of demos that I had done with my friend Brendan in Washington, D.C. The next time I saw him he said, "Cool tape, but what's all that Lois stuff on the other side?" I told him it was just some odds and ends that Brendan and I had come up with in basement recording sessions. His next remark was, "Well...if you think you wanna put it out...."
Justin Trosper: It has been interesting to see the label evolve from a sort of project to one of the biggest independents around. It's pretty cool. Sara Lund: There've been good times and bad times. The best part [of being on Kill Rock Stars] is that we're all friends and have been since day one. We were the first band on that label and have grown along with them.
Read the whole Kill Rock Stars timeline here
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In no order whatsoever – 10 of my personal favourite Kill Rock Stars releases
Elliott Smith – Either/Or
Comet Gain – City Fallen Leaves
Erase Errata – At Crystal Palace
Bikini Kill – Pussy Whipped
Huggy Bear – Taking the Rough with the Smooch
Shoplifting – Shoplifting EP
Sleater Kinney – Dig Me Out
Xiu Xiu – Knife Play
Gossip – Standing in the Way of Control
Hella –Hold Your Horse Is
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Watch/Listen
Tobi Vail discusses Bikini Kill:
Sleater Kinney – Entertain:
Elliott Smith – Angeles:
The Decemberists – Sixteen Military Wives:
Hella – interview and live footage:
Xiu Xiu – The Fox and the Rabbit:
Huggy Bear – Her Jazz:
Comet Gain – Fists In The Pocket:
Julie Ruin – Aerobicide:
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Kill Rock Stars website
Enjoy
TM x
Monday, 21 January 2008
Not funny
Image by David Shrigley.
She was telling me about her dead daughter and I was trying not to laugh. I’m not a cruel person, but sometimes on hearing bad news, something that makes me feel awkward, or when I’m put in a position when I know that a certain amount of decorum is expected of me, I am prone to fits of anxious giggling.
“Her IQ was so much higher than it usually is for a girl of that age.”
“Really?” What is she going to think if I laugh in her face. This isn’t funny.
“We knew that already though, when she was five, she had a reading age of nine.”
Think of the mangled body. The slashed up face on the table in the mortuary.
“Wow,”
It’s possible that I was just deflecting my own guilt onto her, but I had really started to resent this lady. Laying this on me – someone who doesn’t cope with stuff like this well – within ten minutes of meeting her. The only thing that we had in common was that we were both waiting in the same bank. I was waiting to talk to someone about my overdraft, trying to get it increased, so I could waste away more imaginary money on things that I only needed now because I’d wasted my last lot on things that I didn’t. I’m not sure why she was there. She didn’t say.
“Something went wrong with one of the wheels.”
“Really?” Think of the holocaust, think of rape, think of abuse, think of ...
“The car went off the road,” I am not a bad person. Nerves. Fucking nerves.
The red digits on the LCD screen changed, and a pre-recorded voice spoke out over the tannoy. It wasn’t my number and it wasn’t hers. I was number eighty four. I couldn’t see hers. The number that had just been summoned was number seventy seven.
“You might have read about it in the papers.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I hadn’t read it in the papers, but I didn’t want to say anything that might trivialise what she was saying. If I told her I’d missed it, it would make the whole thing sound transitory and therefore make it less important somehow.
“It was all over the local news – Two Children killed in motorway accident.”
She kept looking at me like I was supposed to say: “Oh right – that was your kids was it?” The glare of eyes was rattling my insides. I felt so sorry for her, I could see that this was something that she was never ever going to be able to let go of. I wished that there was something I could say that would at once calm her and also end the conversation. In my mind I was thinking about my grandmother’s funeral, I was thinking about the time two thugs hospitalised me – kicking at my skull, thinking anything that might upset me enough to force a straight face. This wasn’t funny.
There was no way that I could laugh. Even if I explained to her that it’s an unfortunate reaction that I suffer from sometimes and that the laughter had nothing to do with the death of her children, there was no way that she could understand.
“How old was your son?” I felt obliged to say something. The woman had taken to just laring at my with her huge sad pupils, so I couldn’t just sit there.
“He was two.”
“...” Why ask questions like that? Whatever she says in response will floor you.
“I have two more children now – but you can’t replace them.”
“No.”
“People say I’m trying to but I’m not. I love the children I have now.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll never forget them, you know.”
“Of course.”
“Her IQ was so much higher than it usually is for a girl of that age.”
“Really?” What is she going to think if I laugh in her face. This isn’t funny.
“We knew that already though, when she was five, she had a reading age of nine.”
Think of the mangled body. The slashed up face on the table in the mortuary.
“Wow,”
It’s possible that I was just deflecting my own guilt onto her, but I had really started to resent this lady. Laying this on me – someone who doesn’t cope with stuff like this well – within ten minutes of meeting her. The only thing that we had in common was that we were both waiting in the same bank. I was waiting to talk to someone about my overdraft, trying to get it increased, so I could waste away more imaginary money on things that I only needed now because I’d wasted my last lot on things that I didn’t. I’m not sure why she was there. She didn’t say.
“Something went wrong with one of the wheels.”
“Really?” Think of the holocaust, think of rape, think of abuse, think of ...
“The car went off the road,” I am not a bad person. Nerves. Fucking nerves.
The red digits on the LCD screen changed, and a pre-recorded voice spoke out over the tannoy. It wasn’t my number and it wasn’t hers. I was number eighty four. I couldn’t see hers. The number that had just been summoned was number seventy seven.
“You might have read about it in the papers.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I hadn’t read it in the papers, but I didn’t want to say anything that might trivialise what she was saying. If I told her I’d missed it, it would make the whole thing sound transitory and therefore make it less important somehow.
“It was all over the local news – Two Children killed in motorway accident.”
She kept looking at me like I was supposed to say: “Oh right – that was your kids was it?” The glare of eyes was rattling my insides. I felt so sorry for her, I could see that this was something that she was never ever going to be able to let go of. I wished that there was something I could say that would at once calm her and also end the conversation. In my mind I was thinking about my grandmother’s funeral, I was thinking about the time two thugs hospitalised me – kicking at my skull, thinking anything that might upset me enough to force a straight face. This wasn’t funny.
There was no way that I could laugh. Even if I explained to her that it’s an unfortunate reaction that I suffer from sometimes and that the laughter had nothing to do with the death of her children, there was no way that she could understand.
“How old was your son?” I felt obliged to say something. The woman had taken to just laring at my with her huge sad pupils, so I couldn’t just sit there.
“He was two.”
“...” Why ask questions like that? Whatever she says in response will floor you.
“I have two more children now – but you can’t replace them.”
“No.”
“People say I’m trying to but I’m not. I love the children I have now.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll never forget them, you know.”
“Of course.”
Sunday, 20 January 2008
feeling someone disappearing
Image by Urniez.
I told Dave before I left
that I thought my dad
was drunk.
Dave said something like:
“he did sound a little ..”
and then didn’t finish the
sentence because
I guess
sometimes words are too slow
to catch up with stuff that people
already knew.
Looking at it written down,
maybe that was the sentence.
Confusion over a telephone
and he’s slurring his words.
Hunched shoulders and looking at
the road through the windscreen
like it’s all one big puzzle.
A magic eye.
Staring like he thinks
he’ll see something else soon.
Swerving across the concrete.
Bashing onto a curb
with my mother
telling him to stop with his stubbornness
and refusing to admit that
he’s touched a drop,
in this car that is
so blatantly
perfumed with scotch.
Pulling over. Hard to be proud.
Relief to be on the bed.
Finished. Calling
Friends.
that I thought my dad
was drunk.
Dave said something like:
“he did sound a little ..”
and then didn’t finish the
sentence because
I guess
sometimes words are too slow
to catch up with stuff that people
already knew.
Looking at it written down,
maybe that was the sentence.
Confusion over a telephone
and he’s slurring his words.
Hunched shoulders and looking at
the road through the windscreen
like it’s all one big puzzle.
A magic eye.
Staring like he thinks
he’ll see something else soon.
Swerving across the concrete.
Bashing onto a curb
with my mother
telling him to stop with his stubbornness
and refusing to admit that
he’s touched a drop,
in this car that is
so blatantly
perfumed with scotch.
Pulling over. Hard to be proud.
Relief to be on the bed.
Finished. Calling
Friends.
Saturday, 19 January 2008
The art of Sian Macfarlane
I'm dedicating today's post to the wonderful artwork of my good friend and musical collaborator, Sian Macfarlane. Treat your eyes and let them feast on this stuff ...
Enjoy
TM x
Enjoy
TM x
Friday, 18 January 2008
Extract nineteen
If I ever committed suicide, then I’d do it by drowning myself. I decided that a long time ago. I can’t remember when. I have this idea that it might be a beautiful way to die. Although I’m probably very wrong about this, as I am about most things that I envisage to be special. Maybe it’s actually an intensely painful death. Maybe when you drown your lungs burst or cave in on themselves. I don’t know. Perhaps I should look into it, although I think I’ll wait until the day that I’ve made my mind up about killing myself completely. Wait till I have definite plans.
When I was fifteen I remember holding my head under the bath water just long enough for the world to turn starry. From what I can recall I think I was just testing myself. I used to get off on being down because I thought that it made me complicated. I used to want to kill myself to punish people. It didn’t take long for my head to burst out, splashing and soaking the bathroom floor.
More and more when the thought of drowning comes to me, I think about the sea. If water was everywhere, then gag reflexes, changes of heart, logic, would be redundant.
I think some of my attraction to drowning is related to something erotic. How amazing would it be to just give up? Most of the body’s natural urges to fight pain and discomfort can be beaten. If ever I stub my toe, the more I try and fight the pain, the more uncomfortable my situation becomes. But if I don’t tense my body up and if I just try to feel the pain – pretend that everything else doesn’t exist for a couple of moments – I’m capable of feeling something almost sacred. It’s like being told what to do by somebody that knows what they’re doing.
When I was fifteen I remember holding my head under the bath water just long enough for the world to turn starry. From what I can recall I think I was just testing myself. I used to get off on being down because I thought that it made me complicated. I used to want to kill myself to punish people. It didn’t take long for my head to burst out, splashing and soaking the bathroom floor.
More and more when the thought of drowning comes to me, I think about the sea. If water was everywhere, then gag reflexes, changes of heart, logic, would be redundant.
I think some of my attraction to drowning is related to something erotic. How amazing would it be to just give up? Most of the body’s natural urges to fight pain and discomfort can be beaten. If ever I stub my toe, the more I try and fight the pain, the more uncomfortable my situation becomes. But if I don’t tense my body up and if I just try to feel the pain – pretend that everything else doesn’t exist for a couple of moments – I’m capable of feeling something almost sacred. It’s like being told what to do by somebody that knows what they’re doing.
Thursday, 17 January 2008
Extract eighteen
Daniel just left. I watched him from the window until he was out of view. I offered to go with him, although I didn’t know where he was going and he said no. I’ll call him later, see what he’s doing. I don’t want him to see other people. I don’t want him to know how special he is.
I like that fact that nobody knows he fucks men, because it means he can be my secret. He’s much better looking than me; younger, alive. He could have anyone he wanted. I’ve seen girls stare at him too.
Young men have such incredible power and they usually have no idea. Most teenage boys could get a lot more sex than they would think. The sex that they’re going crazy to get. The sex that’s killing them because it isn’t there.
If ever Daniel realised what he had then I’d be lost. Maybe I’d kill myself. Shit – listen to me. Maybe I’m overreacting; but it would feel like a massive blow.
I just fucked the sort of person that I have always fantasized about fucking. It’ hard to get my head around that. The sort of boy that I walk by in the street and makes me want to throw myself under a fucking bus because he looks so fucking godly. The sort of kid who’d send me into a self conscious ball of shit when he’s ask me if I could give him a cigarette or buy him alcohol because the guy in the shop has already told him to fuck off.
I like that fact that nobody knows he fucks men, because it means he can be my secret. He’s much better looking than me; younger, alive. He could have anyone he wanted. I’ve seen girls stare at him too.
Young men have such incredible power and they usually have no idea. Most teenage boys could get a lot more sex than they would think. The sex that they’re going crazy to get. The sex that’s killing them because it isn’t there.
If ever Daniel realised what he had then I’d be lost. Maybe I’d kill myself. Shit – listen to me. Maybe I’m overreacting; but it would feel like a massive blow.
I just fucked the sort of person that I have always fantasized about fucking. It’ hard to get my head around that. The sort of boy that I walk by in the street and makes me want to throw myself under a fucking bus because he looks so fucking godly. The sort of kid who’d send me into a self conscious ball of shit when he’s ask me if I could give him a cigarette or buy him alcohol because the guy in the shop has already told him to fuck off.
Wednesday, 16 January 2008
My Sunglasses are Famous: A Boy Called Corey and a National Crisis
I'm not the first blogger who has decided to put up a post about a 16 year old boy who has been all over the news in his native Australia. If you've not seen the story, which I think hit other countries' news websites today - a kid called Corey decided to throw a party while his parents were away.
He sent out invitations via Myspace, and a few hundred turned up to the impromptu bash. The police were called and a mini riot ensued, with drunken teenagers attacking police cars with empty beer bottles. Helicopters circled the suburban house where the event was taking place, and by the time the whole thing was over, somewhere in the region of $20,000 worth of damage had been caused.
Much of the media kerfuffle has been caused by unrepentant nature of the boy who started the party. Although in early interviews he seemed to be saying sorry for the trouble he has caused, in subsequent media appearances, he has refused to accept any responsibility - telling reporters that he has been avoiding phone calls from his furious parents who have been forced to return early from their luxury vacation.
The most recent update that I read stated that Corey's parents had now returned home to find that their wayward offspring had disappeared, staying away to escape punishment. Obviously relishing his new position as Down Under's Public Enemy Number One, Corey has promised to throw another party within the next few days.
Some sample quotes that I found:
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"I don’t really want to, I'm going out tomorrow to see mates and stuff," he said.
"I'm not going to go home if they're going to go all crazy at me."As he collected handshakes and hugs from bikini-clad girls, Corey admitted he was enjoying his time in the spotlight.
"It's been pretty funny," he said.
"I'm having another (party) in two weeks … not at home, but.
"Narre (Warren) somewhere, in a hall somewhere."
Corey was even happy to discuss the business opportunities that his notoriety had opened up for him. Nova FM have apparently asked him to work on air, while several teens want him to throw their own parties.
"One guy even said in Queensland he wants me to go up and throw a party for him," Corey said.
"All expenses and everything … (he said he's going to pay me) two grand."
--------
The reason that I decided to post something on here is the following interview that I found on Youtube, taken from an Australian news show, called A Current Affair. Whether Corey is a brat or not, I'm not too interested (although he does seem like the sort of character Bret Easton Ellis would create if he was ever offered the chance to write an episode of an Aussie soap opera), but his response in the second half of the video when the anchorwoman attempts to intimidate him into an apology amused me no end.
TM x
Monday, 14 January 2008
Plan
- Rarely features in his own masturbation fantasies.
- Rarely thinks about himself having sex with someone else.
- Onus is usually on someone else’s body, and does not revolve around what he can do to that body or what that body can do for him.
- His body has no relation to the fantasy.
- Facial expressions.
- Sometimes in the place of a female.
- Queer but interested and aroused by the effect women have on men.
- He likes seeing men look at women. Picture a man in a bar drinking, laughing with friends. A group of attractive young women walk in with short skirts, smooth long legs. One of the men is silent – just for a brief second – face blank like he’s been paralysed. Stares at the girl.
- Some kind of inner silence.
- What he does next spoils things.
- Back in the world – the music returns to his ears – confers with friends brutishly, boorishly.
- Before the bravado that’s supposed to construct something – nothing though – there is a powerful animalistic, natural surge.
- Instinctual. Not for the social.
- Works in reverse. But vital not to view in binary terms. Talking about one does not, must not be seen as excluding the other.
- There is no THE OTHER.
- Adult woman gaze.
- Twenty seven year old woman fucked by a teenage boy.
- Nervous confidence?
- Rarely thinks about himself having sex with someone else.
- Onus is usually on someone else’s body, and does not revolve around what he can do to that body or what that body can do for him.
- His body has no relation to the fantasy.
- Facial expressions.
- Sometimes in the place of a female.
- Queer but interested and aroused by the effect women have on men.
- He likes seeing men look at women. Picture a man in a bar drinking, laughing with friends. A group of attractive young women walk in with short skirts, smooth long legs. One of the men is silent – just for a brief second – face blank like he’s been paralysed. Stares at the girl.
- Some kind of inner silence.
- What he does next spoils things.
- Back in the world – the music returns to his ears – confers with friends brutishly, boorishly.
- Before the bravado that’s supposed to construct something – nothing though – there is a powerful animalistic, natural surge.
- Instinctual. Not for the social.
- Works in reverse. But vital not to view in binary terms. Talking about one does not, must not be seen as excluding the other.
- There is no THE OTHER.
- Adult woman gaze.
- Twenty seven year old woman fucked by a teenage boy.
- Nervous confidence?
Sunday, 13 January 2008
Saturday, 12 January 2008
He's thinking
Hard to work out from way back here, but I think it’s him. Getting darker and darker, earlier and earlier. Mum says it’s something to do with the Sun. The mornings are ok though, sorta. Mainly because it’s harder to scared in the mornings than it is at night. At night time it’s easy. Doesn’t make sense but most things don’t. There. I’m sure something moved. A twitch or something. But all the shadows are the same anyway. From up here people look like everything else. A girl could be a cat. If I was closer I could use my ears too. Can barely even see, but the two together would add up and make something greater. I know my maths. I’m still suspicious though. Maybe that branch made more of a noise. Getting annoyed that I’m not closer now. Before it was just a whim. I wanna be near to the cars. They’re all empty; they look so cold. I want to smash the windows. That would disturb him though. Take him out of the equation and I’m there. Car alarms and glass and rain and running so fast that I’m tripping up over myself. Not now though. This is important. I hate patience. I hate having to have it. Like waiting for someone to finish talking. Nobody is talking now. Although he could be saying loads of things and I’ve just missed them like I could have missed him like if I thought that one of the tree shadows on the wall was really a tree shadow when actually it was a him shadow. Nothing is ever what it looks like – not when you want it to anyway, especially if it’s something important, something that you want to be special. I find it hard to tell what is special though. That’s a lie. I know what is special and I know what is important but they never feel like that to me. He is special. That’s why I find it hard to know him. That’s why I’m waiting for him. If he wasn’t special then I wouldn’t be here. That might be lie as well, but I’m not sure. I might have come here even if he was nothing. Shit. Could be watching me too. No. From here I’m probably pretty well hidden. Now he’s thinking. He’s always thinking.
Friday, 11 January 2008
Extract seventeen
Image by Andy Warhol.
Jamie pulled up Daniel’s t-shirt as he knelt over him on the bed, and stared at his body. The kid’s scrawny torso was covered with so many lines of definition, part skinny and part toned, that it looked like some kind of puzzle. Daniel looked spaced out – his eyes were definitely pointing in the direction of Jamie’s, but it would be a lie to say that they were actually looking at them. It was like when someone tries to look out the window but just gets stuck on the reflection of the room that they’re trying to see out of. There were some flowers on the window sill. The curtains were drawn so that Jamie could do what he wanted without suburbia looking in. Sunlight or no sunlight, the flowers were dying anyway.
Thursday, 10 January 2008
Eva's Lucid Dream
I’ve been lucky enough to have known Eva Hertz (aka visual artist Krystyna Curtis) for six and a half years. In that time she has provided me with an awesome friendship and some riotous funtimes. In art terms, she is one of the most naturally gifted people I have ever met. Even her doodles are beyond anything I could ever hope to draw, so I don’t even bother. She has a good eye and hand for all of the mediums I have seen her dabble with. Her illustrations try to bridge the gap between the pretty and the sinister. I asked her things.
In the time that I’ve known you, your artwork has evolved a lot. Where would you say your work is at the moment?
Although Illustration is my main thing, I want to branch out into combining it with other mediums, such as Photography, Needlework, Sculpture and Installation.
At the moment I am working on illustrating some dream-like, odd scenarios inspired by my recent work and dreams/folktales I have catalogued, to develop into mixed media artwork. This will form a visual representation of the Installation work I hope to produce with the help of the Arts Council at some point.
I can feel the ideas coming together in my head better than ever at present, but I feel they are still a kind of mist at this stage.
If you had unlimited funds, and could produce your dream piece of work, what would it be?
I would love to produce huge scenes to act both on their own as art pieces, and as photographs. I love the feeling that only dreams & folktales can create; that sense of terror & beauty evocative of childhood. This is an air I am constantly striving to capture in my work.
An idea I had recently was to create these unsettling yet earthy scenarios as life size areas a person could wander into, placing them in both busy commuter situations, and in the middle of nowhere. I like the idea that either many, one or even nobody might stumble across them, and that the ones that do, may find their own (perhaps long forgotten) slice of magic.
When I talk to you about art, Bjork’s name comes up quite a lot as I know she’s been an influence on you in various ways. What is it about Bjork that excites/inspires you so much?
I feel that Bjork has a same affinity with nature as I do, and it features prominently in my illustrative work through pattern.
“I have always been 100% certain I was an atheist, but I was slowly realising, as I grew older, that I had a religion, and it was nature.” ~Bjork
Lyrically and musically she describes her thoughts & feelings with fantastic emotion, she is able to express herself through music & visuals in the most honest way I have ever known.
Also, many of her songs are seen as modern fairytales. For example, the song ‘Isobel’ is “…basically the story of a girl who was born in a forest. As she grew older, she realised that the pebbles on the forest floor were actually baby skyscrapers. And as she grew, became a woman, she found herself in a big city, and basically clashed with ‘civilised’ folks. So she would isolate herself, withdraw into a little hut in the forest, and call herself ‘Isobel’, because of the isolation.
There, she would collect moths, and train them to send out her message, which is basically a message of instinct. She would send them out of her window, and they would fly all over the world, and go in front of people’s faces who were functioning with too much logic, until these clever people would click out of this state of being sensible.”
This is a similar notion and approach to the ideas I am attempting to convey in my work; modern fairytale scenarios, through which I aim to express my own reactions to modern society.
The internal also interests me; the tiny noises & patterns found in the body. Bjork was concerned with this theme on her album Vespertine, inspired by the introvert world of her body. The fear of not being able to control something terrifying if it’s happening on the inside fascinates and inspires me; I have been exploring the feeling of fear experienced by people through their dreams/folktales read to them as children. I have been attempting to show this in an illustrative way so far.
What else has been inspiring you recently (artists, films, music, whatever)?
I am inspired by a range of music, film and art, including artwork by including Simen Johan, Jeff Bark, Marcel Dzama, Lauri Faggioni, Akino Kondoh, Suehiro Maruo, Junji Ito and GabrÃela Friðriksdóttir.Their various styles convey a similar childlike sense of wonder, coupled with an unsettling air, or odd feeling. This is also what I am aiming to portray.
I find Simen Johan’s work to be captivating. His photographs are luscious windows into unsettling beauty. In previous work, Simen Johan “ …wanted to present moments, parts of a larger ambiguous narrative, like film stills, where the before and after are as important as the moment portrayed.”I have always been in awe of the lavish precision & beauty of Japan's art & culture. As a teenager, I was obsessed with Anime/Manga Japanese animation, but growing older, I realised that 98% of it is quite tedious. I currently delight in the animation of Hayao Miyazaki & Studio Ghibli.Miyazaki, "...without sugar-coating the uncertainty and hazards of life, manages to portray the magic of childhood, with warmth and respect." ~ Jonathan Ross.
Often indulging in the graphic novels of Japan’s top horror writers, Junji Ito & Suehiro Maruo, I have discovered a similar juxtaposition of terror vs. beauty, as of that which can be found in rural folk and fairy/ghost stories.
In Japanese horror graphic novelist Junji Ito's work, most commonly concerning long hair and beautiful girls, characters often find themselves victims of malevolent unnatural circumstances for no discernible reason. The way in which he conveys both horror and allure has no doubt influenced my Illustrations.
Suehiro Maruo's nightmarish manga falls into the Japanese category of “erotic grotesque”, or “ero-guro”; he has a fascination with human oddities, deformities, and circus freaks. Taking into consideration this profoundly unsettling content, coupled with its graphically precise & beautiful illustrative style, my objective is to portray a version of this notion in my own work.Also, Czech animator Jan Svankmajer is weird and wonderful. I want to create similar characters to those depicted in film-length animations such as ‘ Alice’ or ‘Little Otik’, to feature in the lucid dream scenes I’m planning to create in the near future. His work has the same type of atmosphere as some of my ideas for these scenes.
Yuriy Norshteyn (another Czech animator) has sparked my imagination with his earthy fairytale, ‘Hedgehog In The Fog’. His animation was used as inspiration for Bjork’s music video, Human Behaviour, directed by Michel Gondry. Beautifully animated, both directors create a feeling evocative of childhood wonder and fear, whilst adhering to their own specific styles.
You’ve been researching folklore and fairy tales recently. This is going to feature prominently in future work, right? Can you tell me a little about that: What have you been reading about? Any ideas about what you hope to do with it?
I am gathering imagery, stories and researching my friends dreams & childhood fears. This will be my inspiration for the next few illustrations.
Yeah, it's been interesting! A theme that is apparent in a lot of folk/fairytales is that of loss, but for a greater good.
I want to share my idea with the world that magic doesn't have to end when you grow older, it simply takes a different form. I believe everyone has the ability to find their own sense of magic or childhood wonder through expressing themselves, and that, as in many folktales, the journey is long and hard, but completely worth the heartache in the end.I love how an old folktale can make you really feel emotions as you journey with the characters, something sadly lacking in most children's stories today. A folktale is an emotional rollercoaster ride; it can make the reader feel extreme emotions, from heart-wrenching empathy, to fantastical beauty & love. I hope to convey similar ideas to these in my future work.
More and more, it seems like nature, specifically animals, have been a theme in your work. What’s attracting you to this?
I thought I had always preferred animals and nature to humans, but I recently realised that people are a part of nature, whether they realise it or not. My job, if you like, is to help them realise, by evoking forgotten childhood feelings.
I find a certain primordial innocence or down-to-earth-ness in animal subjects, as they live their lives as part of nature by default.
I know you recently did some design work for a clothing company. How was that? Was it strange working to someone else’s criteria? Did you find the experience stifling at all? Or did it teach you any new ways of dealing with work?
Working with Ripcurl helped me develop the beautiful side of my work, having previously concentrated my efforts in the horror/fearful. It was a strange experience working to set guidelines, but I was given a large degree of personal expression as they already liked elements of my work, so it wasn't that stifling.
It did help me learn how to work to deadlines and how to bend my work to a more commercial market. Having returned from their press conference in Annecy, France, it was great to see my designs on clothes of such a large commercial scale, and working with them, though not exactly to my own specifications, has given me a lot of great exposure.
At least, it will do, when the clothing range is released next winter. Also, as Iceland was the theme for this girl's winter snowboarding range, I felt a growing affinity with the sport in a way, as the target market is namely females who love to be in the thick of nature. The range is eco-friendly too, which can only be a good thing if, like me, you feel so close to nature & want to conserve it.
Aims for 2008?
I hope to do a lot of illustration and mixed media artwork, to help get my ideas straight for an arts council proposal in future. Also, I am currently collaborating with a range of artists from illustrators to photographers & clothing designers, which I hope will broaden my creative horizons.
Wednesday, 9 January 2008
Extract sixteen: Scrapbook - Notes on Daniel
As I think I’ve said before, while I’m in the process of working on my longer fiction (the word novel still seems a little weighty at the moment) I’m quite into the idea of using my blog as a scrapbook for little notes, thoughts, drafts, etc that are connected to the project. So today I’ve decided to show off some images that have been helpful to me recently.
A lot of the narrative in the project has been related to a character called Daniel, a teenage boy who is the object of desire to several of the other characters in the story. I think ultimately as the story takes more shape, Daniel will the one of the main things that glues a lot of the narrative together, linking characters and situations to each other.
For the most part my plan is that the majority Daniel’s character will be constructed by the accounts of other characters (the story is told by several narrators). I’m attracted to the idea of him being almost anonymous aside from the other characters descriptions of him because I’m interested in the notion that a person’s identity can be constructed and stand independently – that a construction of them can be created and maintained purely through someone else perception of them.
In a way I liked the idea of Daniel existing almost like a ghost – something not quite tangible. I want his physical appearance to vary depending on the various characters respective descriptions, turn-ons, obsessions etc, so that in a way the reader’s interpretation of Daniel is unreliable and impossible to pin down.
I thought I’d post some photos of various physical inspirations for this ghostly idea of Daniel, so here they are. Hopefully some of you might find it interesting:
A lot of the narrative in the project has been related to a character called Daniel, a teenage boy who is the object of desire to several of the other characters in the story. I think ultimately as the story takes more shape, Daniel will the one of the main things that glues a lot of the narrative together, linking characters and situations to each other.
For the most part my plan is that the majority Daniel’s character will be constructed by the accounts of other characters (the story is told by several narrators). I’m attracted to the idea of him being almost anonymous aside from the other characters descriptions of him because I’m interested in the notion that a person’s identity can be constructed and stand independently – that a construction of them can be created and maintained purely through someone else perception of them.
In a way I liked the idea of Daniel existing almost like a ghost – something not quite tangible. I want his physical appearance to vary depending on the various characters respective descriptions, turn-ons, obsessions etc, so that in a way the reader’s interpretation of Daniel is unreliable and impossible to pin down.
I thought I’d post some photos of various physical inspirations for this ghostly idea of Daniel, so here they are. Hopefully some of you might find it interesting:
Tuesday, 8 January 2008
The boys on the website
The boys
on the website
are only half
there.
It’s not
an accurate portrayal
of how they caress.
Like watching
someone
in their work clothes.
It’s like
they’re not
really
doing anything.
This is much less
effort than
actually fucking,
even though
the one who looks
almost too young
just grimaced
when
the taller kid’s semen
stained his kiss.
But it’s okay
because
I’m only half there too.
Monday, 7 January 2008
God
Image by Scott Treleaven.
Mark and Helen, who have been going out with each other for three and bit years are lying on their bed looking at the nothing in particular, post-sex. Helen is kind of half curled up into Mark’s side, but she’s trying to disappear somehow. Not in a physical sense. Mark is stroking her hair.
“I could live in your pussy. Seriously – if I could pitch a tent down there without damaging your vulva with the tent pegs, then I could set up camp. It’s like heaven down there. Shit – how weird is that? Heaven is actually a part of your body. Weird.”
Helen rolls her eyes without actually rolling them, and she sighs without sighing too. Helen has been thinking about breaking up with Mark for a few months now. She thinks about it most days.
“So I’m not sure what that makes you. I guess logically, you’d have to be God, but then again I’m not sure that you are. If you were God, you’d be way more in control of things. Also, I don’t think you realise that Heaven is hidden in your pussy.”
“Shut up, Mark,”
Helen is getting irritated because Mark is being cute. Whenever he goes off on his stoned pretentious rambles she tries to switch off. Today she can’t though, maybe because he’s stoned and she isn’t. She’s gonna stay quiet, and hope that she falls asleep soon. Mark is happy to keep talking about nothing.
“So what am I? I’m just someone who dips in and out of heaven sometimes. I’m definitely not God. Maybe I’m just the living – well, I mean I’m obviously the living – because, hey! I’m alive haha. But I mean what am I in relation to heaven if we continue to work under the assumption that your pussy is heaven? Just some mortal who gets a fleeting glance? Maybe every time that we have sex it’s like I’m someone who gets hit by a car and thrown across the road – and so when I’m inside you it’s like a near death experience – you know? Like when people see the bright white lights haha. Maybe every time I fuck you, my entire life is actually flashing before my eyes. Haha. What do you think?”
“I’m not thinking. I don’t think anything. I’m trying to sleep.”
“Yeah I know, but it’s incredible really, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Heaven. Like – is it’s actually inside of your pussy. I’d be happy if paradise was somewhere in my anatomy. It’d be well hidden though haha. Nah, it’s in you for sure.”
Helen’s thinking about one of Mark’s friends who she fucked a few months ago when they were drunk. It never came out, so maybe it would be ok if they did it again. That’s what Helen’s logic is at the moment.
Mark’s gone really quiet. He’s frowning. Obviously coming up with some new stupid theory.
“I could live in your pussy. Seriously – if I could pitch a tent down there without damaging your vulva with the tent pegs, then I could set up camp. It’s like heaven down there. Shit – how weird is that? Heaven is actually a part of your body. Weird.”
Helen rolls her eyes without actually rolling them, and she sighs without sighing too. Helen has been thinking about breaking up with Mark for a few months now. She thinks about it most days.
“So I’m not sure what that makes you. I guess logically, you’d have to be God, but then again I’m not sure that you are. If you were God, you’d be way more in control of things. Also, I don’t think you realise that Heaven is hidden in your pussy.”
“Shut up, Mark,”
Helen is getting irritated because Mark is being cute. Whenever he goes off on his stoned pretentious rambles she tries to switch off. Today she can’t though, maybe because he’s stoned and she isn’t. She’s gonna stay quiet, and hope that she falls asleep soon. Mark is happy to keep talking about nothing.
“So what am I? I’m just someone who dips in and out of heaven sometimes. I’m definitely not God. Maybe I’m just the living – well, I mean I’m obviously the living – because, hey! I’m alive haha. But I mean what am I in relation to heaven if we continue to work under the assumption that your pussy is heaven? Just some mortal who gets a fleeting glance? Maybe every time that we have sex it’s like I’m someone who gets hit by a car and thrown across the road – and so when I’m inside you it’s like a near death experience – you know? Like when people see the bright white lights haha. Maybe every time I fuck you, my entire life is actually flashing before my eyes. Haha. What do you think?”
“I’m not thinking. I don’t think anything. I’m trying to sleep.”
“Yeah I know, but it’s incredible really, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Heaven. Like – is it’s actually inside of your pussy. I’d be happy if paradise was somewhere in my anatomy. It’d be well hidden though haha. Nah, it’s in you for sure.”
Helen’s thinking about one of Mark’s friends who she fucked a few months ago when they were drunk. It never came out, so maybe it would be ok if they did it again. That’s what Helen’s logic is at the moment.
Mark’s gone really quiet. He’s frowning. Obviously coming up with some new stupid theory.
Sunday, 6 January 2008
A Good Heart Never Dies
Image by Cindy Sherman.
Chris punched Alex in the balls so hard that almost instantly his penis started ejaculating blood. Alex shouted out some kind of moan that seemed to dissolve amid the deafening silence in Chris’s brain. It was only a few seconds before the bed sheets were soaked. Alex was pissing himself too.
When people are in pain, they try and fight it – their bodies tense up like they’re trying to physically overcome the mish mash of messages that their nerves are shooting around their tissues and skin. Alex rolled over clamping his legs together. He was still – moaning? The world just seemed like a radio interference to Chris.
When people are hurting, they resemble children. Or maybe it’s just that when people are in pain or distressed, it’s easier to believe that they used to be children – the concept seems – less abstract? – more tangible? – than it usually does.
Maybe Chris wasn’t cut out to be a heavy handed, verbally abusive, psychotically aggressive top. Not everyone is. Despite not losing his hard-on, and despite noticing how untouchable and godly Alex looked slopping round and screaming in his own blood, urine – and some other transparent goo (Chris was no biologist) that was seeping from his decimated genitals – Chris had a huge urge to ask if Alex was ok.
A good heart never dies.
When people are in pain, they try and fight it – their bodies tense up like they’re trying to physically overcome the mish mash of messages that their nerves are shooting around their tissues and skin. Alex rolled over clamping his legs together. He was still – moaning? The world just seemed like a radio interference to Chris.
When people are hurting, they resemble children. Or maybe it’s just that when people are in pain or distressed, it’s easier to believe that they used to be children – the concept seems – less abstract? – more tangible? – than it usually does.
Maybe Chris wasn’t cut out to be a heavy handed, verbally abusive, psychotically aggressive top. Not everyone is. Despite not losing his hard-on, and despite noticing how untouchable and godly Alex looked slopping round and screaming in his own blood, urine – and some other transparent goo (Chris was no biologist) that was seeping from his decimated genitals – Chris had a huge urge to ask if Alex was ok.
A good heart never dies.
Saturday, 5 January 2008
The porn expert that I will probably never meet again in my life
I either can’t remember his name or I misheard it in the first place. I’d put money on the later. I’d not drank for a week, but that Friday my friend and I went for a meal in the Paris’ eleventh arrondissement and I chugged down a jug of cheap table wine that cost me three Euros and had an impact almost immediately. I remember feeling slightly paranoid in front of my healthy, teetotal friend who up until that point had only known the sober me.
After we’d paid for the meal, me speaking a butchered version of the French language and shaking the manager’s hand as we left, we said our goodbyes for the night.
My friend started walking to his hotel and I started making my way back to my much less expensive hostel. It’s hard to walk drunkenly through the streets of Paris without feeling at least a slight twinge of romanticism. I thought about a couple of people that I was missing, and stopped off for a quick glass of vodka in a bar on the corner of the road where my accommodation was located.
Most of the customers were busy watching a French football match on a small TV hung above the bar, so I took my drink outside and sat at a cold table and watched people on motorcycles weave in and out of the streets.
When I returned to the hostel, the key to my room was not at the reception desk, which meant that one of the other people staying in my room was already upstairs.
I didn’t recognize the person fiddling with a rucksack as I walked through the door. He was startled.
“Hi”
After we’d paid for the meal, me speaking a butchered version of the French language and shaking the manager’s hand as we left, we said our goodbyes for the night.
My friend started walking to his hotel and I started making my way back to my much less expensive hostel. It’s hard to walk drunkenly through the streets of Paris without feeling at least a slight twinge of romanticism. I thought about a couple of people that I was missing, and stopped off for a quick glass of vodka in a bar on the corner of the road where my accommodation was located.
Most of the customers were busy watching a French football match on a small TV hung above the bar, so I took my drink outside and sat at a cold table and watched people on motorcycles weave in and out of the streets.
When I returned to the hostel, the key to my room was not at the reception desk, which meant that one of the other people staying in my room was already upstairs.
I didn’t recognize the person fiddling with a rucksack as I walked through the door. He was startled.
“Hi”
“Hey,” he turned away from his bags and wiped his hands down the sides of his shirt before offering one of them to me. I returned.
“I’m Thomas,”
“Thomas? Oh hi. My name is ------,” I definitely hear the name.
“Sorry?”
“------” I remember still not understanding his name the second time, but nodding as if I had so as not to get embarrassed.
The stranger had brown hair that hung over his forehead just enough so that it brushed the very top of his eyebrows. He had a turn in one of his eyes, that actually made him look quite cute.
“How long have you been here?” I asked, meaning the hostel.
“I arrived this afternoon. Where are you from?”
“England. You?”
“Canada.” I placed the accent as French-Canadian. “The airports are on strike. I’m trying to
return to Montreal.”
“Oh. Is that where you live?”
“I live in Russia.”
“Russia? Wow.”
“...”
“You work in Russia?”
“Yes. I teach in Moscow.”
“You’re going home to visit family?”
“I need to get some things, papers, to stay in Russia,”
“Oh ok,” I didn’t quite understand what he meant. He pulled out a can of beer from his bag and clicked it open.
“You want one?”
“Yeah – thanks.” I hate beer. I never drink it. But drunken logic told me that there would be more chance of me giving this guy a blowjob if I had a drink in my hand. I opened the can and took a tiny, disgusting sip. I pulled out the packet of Lucky Stripes that I’d purchased that morning and held the box open in his direction.
“Cigarette?”
“Please.” He took one and offered him a light.
“I should probably open the window,”
“...”
“So how long are the airports on strike for?”
“I don’t know. But until then I’m fucking stuck here.” I’ve always liked it when foreigners swear in English. I don’t know why.
“That’s really bad. I guess at least Paris is a nice place to be stuck in.”
“Yeah,” I couldn’t tell whether he really agreed with me or not.
“Have you been here before?”
“Yeah, but only for short times, right? Have you?”
“This is my first time here,” I said. “But I love it. Stuff feels pretty free here. I mean, I know there are some problems – the same as everywhere, but so far I really love Paris. Lots of cool stuff. I just went to see a film.”
“What film?”
“Oh, just some art thing ...”
“When I was last in Montreal, I used to work in a film shop. Porn films.”
“Really?” I felt surreal. I kinda wish my friend was back with me so he could see the look on my face.
“Yeah.”
“That must have been ... umm ... how was it?”
“It was cool, you know. Montreal is a pretty fun city.”
“Yeah. I have friends who’ve been there.”
“I had to watch all of these films, so that if a customer asked me a question about them I would know the answer.” He sounded drunk which made me feel less bad about myself.
“So you’re a porn expert? Haha.”
“I guess. Well, not anymore.”
“Yeah – Jesus – you’re a teacher now! Haha. That’s a pretty big leap.”
There was something really creepy about the guy that I really liked. He seemed permanently suspicious. I wanted to know more about Russia. Why did he have to go home? I didn’t quite believe his story about having to travel that entire way to pick up some papers.
The Canadian threw his cigarette bud out of the window.
“Are you drunk?” he asked which caught me off guard because I thought it would have been obvious that we both were, so I was puzzled as to why had asked.
“Yeah. You?”
“Yeah. I’m going be drunk my whole time here to stop me going insane, you know?”
“Haha. Yeah.”
“I’m going out.” He grabbed his coat and flung a scarf on quickly. I wondered whether it would have been out of place for me to invite myself along with him, or if indeed he wanted me to. He was ready to leave so quickly that it was clear he was going on his own. I scanned through the last few things that we’d said to each other, trying to work out whether or not I’d said something to upset him, or make him want to leave. I also wondered what he was going to do while he was out. I was always uncertain.
Friday, 4 January 2008
"The only thing worse than a guitar is a guitarist"/Happy Birthday Nels Cline
As regular readers of this blog will know, occasionally I like to pay tribute to artists that inspire me. I do this because, aside from me obviously loving their work, I hope that other people who may not have heard of them might enjoy them and learn about whatever their shtick may be. Today is one of those days. The experimental musician Nels Cline turns 52 today. The quote I used in the title is just one of the reasons why I think that this guy is great. He thinks about music in the right way. I hope you watch the videos I've put up on here and give this guy a listen. I've not heard a duff record with his name on yet. Happy birthday Nels.
Self penned bio: "Yours truly, Nels Cline, is best known as a guitarist, is sometimes known to have penned a composition or two, and is often known for largely improvised forays into sound, melody, and rhythm. I was born in Los Angeles, CA in 1956. I have a twin brother named Alex who is also a musician (and a damned fine one at that!). After a long run of mostly obscure activities in the U.S. and Europe (see the Discography Dept. for added clues and/or insights), I have landed in a rather notable ROCK band called WILCO. This occurred in Spring of 2004, and it is a real pleasure, let me tell you. I'm still doing a lot of other music when time allows, and this site is the place to find out about all of that. My working band that plays my own type of instrumental music is called THE NELS CLINE SINGERS. As it is the nature of so-called "jazz" and freely improvised musics, I am often found collaborating with a large and sometimes unpredictable pool of musicians from all over the place. Don't get confused, this is fun! Check it out...
Some of the artists I collaborate with and/or work for may be familiar to you. Many of them will not be. Lately I've been working with quite a few so-called singer-songwriters - a strange, unplanned pleasure! But most often you can find me playing for between 10 and 100 or so folks in a gallery, old theater, or dingy nightclub playing with odd and often magically gifted instrumentalists. Some of these sounds have - often erroneously - been labeled "jazz", though at times that term seems accurate. I come from a musical twilight zone in which world communication/awareness and cultural boundaries were expanded, altered, exploded. Like many people who were affected by the revolutionary atmosphere of the late Sixties and early Seventies, I remember what change could feel like, what kind of pure magic sound can create. Hell, I believe in the transcendent properties of art, in its ability to affect one's life in a profound way. And, as I've previously stated here, I still - after over 30 years of guitarcentric creative endeavors - derive a near-moronic pleasure from playing the various musics I play. I've never had a plan. I'm practically my own worst enemy! But I haven't given up yet - and don't think I haven't been tempted to! But check out my tiny life and the wonderful people who I get to share musicmaking with. How did this come to be? Welcome to my world! It's just like yours, only different. We all make choices, we all have accidents - the good kind and the bad kind. My life's chock full of 'em, lord knows...."
----
Nels Cline with Thurston Moore
The Nels Cline Singers
Nels Cline with Whiteout
Nels Cline with Ches Smith
Nels Cline with Glen Kotche
The official Nels Cline website
Enjoy
TM
Thursday, 3 January 2008
Morning
She looked at herself
in the long mirror
that leant against the wall in her bedroom.
Her reflection seemed lot different
to how it had felt the night before.
Then, when she was so high
that she couldn’t tell
which substance
was having which effect anymore,
she had felt almost completely in love with herself.
Her infatuation
wasn’t connected
to anything
negative
like arrogance or selfishness.
The warm feelings
she had felt
when she stared
at her own
blue
eyes
intensely,
and watched her hand run
over her mirror double’s stomach
until it felt like heaven
were good natured,
and in fact close
to the sort of feelings
that the majority of people would wish for,
were they attainable.
The only thing that stopped
her adoration
from consuming
her one hundred percent
was the love that she felt for all of those around her.
Now they’d gone.
She looked pale,
flushed.
Cigarette ash trodden into the carpet.
in the long mirror
that leant against the wall in her bedroom.
Her reflection seemed lot different
to how it had felt the night before.
Then, when she was so high
that she couldn’t tell
which substance
was having which effect anymore,
she had felt almost completely in love with herself.
Her infatuation
wasn’t connected
to anything
negative
like arrogance or selfishness.
The warm feelings
she had felt
when she stared
at her own
blue
eyes
intensely,
and watched her hand run
over her mirror double’s stomach
until it felt like heaven
were good natured,
and in fact close
to the sort of feelings
that the majority of people would wish for,
were they attainable.
The only thing that stopped
her adoration
from consuming
her one hundred percent
was the love that she felt for all of those around her.
Now they’d gone.
She looked pale,
flushed.
Cigarette ash trodden into the carpet.
Wednesday, 2 January 2008
Extract fifteen/scrap book ideas/rough character sketching
Name: James
Age: 14
Favourite band: Hadouken, The Klaxons
Orientation: Bi
Starsign Leo
Location: somewhere else please!!!
About me: Sharpening my switchblade. Too scene to scream.
Tuesday, 1 January 2008
wrong day to be in the gallery
the japanese paintings
were doing nothing for me
and then the sweats
dizzy
irritated by some cunt
blocking our view
camera over shoulder
refusing to budge first
tried staring closer at
the details
some boat
people fishing
wrong day to be in the gallery
were doing nothing for me
and then the sweats
dizzy
irritated by some cunt
blocking our view
camera over shoulder
refusing to budge first
tried staring closer at
the details
some boat
people fishing
wrong day to be in the gallery
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