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..

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