Wednesday, 29 February 2012


and I are wasting our time in the digital media suite. Someones got to make things like this, or there'd be no Opposition.

Here's Matts Hard-Rockin' effort..may I recoomend you play these video at the same time?

And here is Charlie Fegan's recent masterpeice.  Fcuk the Industry.

Tuesday, 28 February 2012

a study in Widdecombe..and the other side

I had the misfortune of discovering It is feasible to watch countdown on the little video tellys in the library. So much for hard work. The very bottom picture is from a the final night of a Laura Buckley exhibition in Hackney. Cosmic, maaan, As you can see I'm on crutches. What sorrow!
Here's a muuuuuuuuucccccchhhh longer version of that little sunshine film. It gets good at about 2/3rds in, I'd FF>> it if I were you.
It will be being displayed, along with some other stuff at a few of my friend's on the art course's debut show called LACUNA at Red Bull Studios , 155-171 Tooley Street, Private view Thursday 29th March, continuing until Tuesday. Featuring Joyce Teo, Yolanda Hanson, Lisa Stein, Matthew Silcox, Maggie Stewart. .. music on the night at 8pm: Kashmir Kid
There'll probably be free drink. There often is, isn't there?

Friday, 24 February 2012

Why do you make things so difficult for yourself? / ELVIS 2012

Well well well. Or is that unwell?
I apologise for the dreary, old and tenuous nature of this post, you see I've spent most of this week vainly battling the forces which conspire against me, to take my life.
After waking up at 7am monstrously hungover in not-my-own bed, and trudging to a hospital appointment, basically nothing nice has happened to me this week - apart from watching two films, both starring (to some extent) Dennis Hopper ; one, the David Lynch marathonic Inland Empire, and the second, better, Hopper directed Out of the Blue, which, when being watched in a back room of Goldsmiths caused such an attitude of lawlessness to break out, that smoking - indoor no less- ensued.
Though I have 'given up' smoking, I can resist no opportunity to pettily break the law..which is what this post is getting to, taking a swift detour via some more audio-visual analysis;

When I was in one of this weeks many hospital waiting rooms I had the opportunity to watch some day time telly. I have not watched daytime telly for a few years at least, and I have not watched it at the hour of 9 for at least ten years.  By God.
I didn't see a lot of it thankfully, but the two programmes that followed each other both concerned Property; the one's novelty appeared to be providing the 'contestants' with laminated A4 printouts of on one side, the union jack, on the other, the Australian jack, or whatever its called, and asked them to rotate them in order to illustrate, in a manner which is stimulating, where they would live the rest of their lives, which by proxy of this peak, would never again be so exiting or important as the moment they gripped that laminated card.
In another bizzare twist of televisual events, Channel 4 paid, for the second time in my recent history, for a taxi for me today, to get home from the hospital at which I was this time holidaying in more urgently.  A man approached me, when I was full of  pain and asked me to be filmed. So they filmed me, for 3 hours, in agony on a bed. Brilliant TV huh?
Which leads us round about to this point - I have spent a lot of time this week at the rather cack-hands of the NHS, whose system due to its semi privatisation is falling to peices around good staff members. This government is royally fucking everyone and everything.  I'm sure you read the news as much as me in regards to the recent hillarious yet useless slapping downs it's received over the past weeks, at the same time as my peers are getting dragged to court on big charges as absurd as 'carrying a replica firearm' - read, a girl with a waterpistol full of paint.
Fuck the lot, fuck pleading guilty and this awful sadistic deference we are being forced into showing for a Crown and system of governance that has done little but abuse is its entire incarnation. We're not guilty of anything, and we (I borrow) never sought out to exploit another, those smarmy bastards would steal from their mother.
Here's a joke so old, so far back down a list of insults you wont remember it, it still looks funny though..

Monday, 13 February 2012

We're walking in the air

To be read to this:

Christ alive. That's depressing isn't it? That's the sort of thing I have to walk past every day of my life.
Then take something like this.. I don't even know whose side I'm on.

I mean, it's soooo, sooooo easssssy to get down, because when you look around, well its basically like you've got dogshit in your eyes, and in your ears, and often, in your nose as well! isn't it? Hmm? Yes, you agree.

You see, the reason you are being treated to two entries in one day (hah) is that.. today is no ordinary day. Today I have basically found a cure to, if such a thing exists, depression.

Today I acted upon the sound endorsement of no less a man than actor Robert Lindsay, and purchased, for only one pound, some yellow glasses.  And basically, they make everything brilliant, here they are in action!
take for instance.... this;

it's like being on holiday, with them palm trees, isn't it? It's like being on telly, with that camera, what?
So next time you stub your toe, break your finger or get cirrocis of the liver, and your helpful doctor offers you anti-depressants, you can laugh, long and hard, right in their peculiar face.
In the meantime..

I went to a dyslexic rave on friday...everyone was on T, and in the corner there was some guy trying to inject a heron..

Greetings (scottish usage)
Today the sun has not shun, ..shone? shon? (in Peckham or in Wapping, which after all is just a few stops away on the tube, ho)* and I am full of nausea, sore-jaw and the gentle blues, but I have  had a pleasent day in Peckham. I bought a marc almond cover of I feel love, nice, nice and pervy, and a coat, which had a tissue in the pocket, which I threw away, wasetfully. 
I visited the Library where I considered, though did not enact smashing common convention by asking the librarians to be quiet.
I never did, as I have long learnt that the rules are different in Peckham, and one is constantly concerned with being heard over buses, especially indoors.

"where's mummy?!" "She's in FRAHNCE"
"where's mummmmy?!?!' "SHE'S IN FRAAAHHNCE MANDY! Cross the road NOW"

Has just gone past my window. Children who's parents are frequently unpleasant and short with them turn out to be much more tolerable adults. Single glazing is really a window onto the world. 

Anyway, how about a tiny slice of topicana?. The footage is old, shot during some or other doomed world cup, I just came across it again..

*I would be in no way happy if the Sun shut down, because I love it. Dear Deirdre, news in is the only newspaper which helpfully puts its most important words in bold, allowing for you to hear it over the din of whichsoever environment. It shits all over the Star, and the Independant (no joke). And, it is nothing less than high art to manage to make almost every word an arbirtrary, much-recycled pun, an art I could never manage. That said.. M'colleague Matthew Silcox's current artistic endeavors, comprising of little more than cut-outs from said Sun, would rocket in price, and we could Go Mad In Morrissons.

Saturday, 4 February 2012

Do you like heavy metal?

Only, unfortunatley light metal doesn't exist

more here