The Lost Tapes

Get Exited. Just Get exited and that's all. doubtless, before you see THE LOST TAPES, lost by scruffy Silcox in his room full of old copies of the sun and 450 shirts and broken table lighters and stones, you will have to endure my mourfull illustrated account of my recent subsequation, as it were, to the nuthouse for a wee psychosis and nice long withdrawal. BUT a light at the end of that little tunnel!
Light entertainment!

Light ov life!
(This is also a callout, should anyone be listening - have you taken lots of ecstasy,/ have extnsive knowledge of the uk unerground dance scene post 1988 AND are god at puns? We want to hear from you.)

THANK U VERY MUCH 4 BEIN A RAVER THANK U VERY MUCH THANK U VERY VERY VERY MUCH THANK U VERY MUCH 4 BEIN A RAVER THANK U VERY MUCH THANK U VERY VERY VERY MUCH THANK U VERY MUCH 4 BEIN A RAVER THANK U VERY MUCH THANK U VERY VERY VERY MUCH THANK U VERY MUCH 4 BEIN A RAVER THANK U VERY MUCH THANK U VERY VERY VERY MUCH THANK U VERY MUCH 4 BEIN A RAVER THANK U VERY MUCH THANK U VERY VERY VERY MUCH THANK U VERY MUCH 4 BEIN A RAVER THANK U VERY MUCH THANK U VERY VERY VERY MUCH

THANK U VERY MUCH 4 BEIN A RAVER THANK U VERY MUCH THANK U VERY VERY VERY MUCH THANK U VERY MUCH 4 BEIN A RAVER THANK U VERY MUCH THANK U VERY VERY VERY MUCH THANK U VERY MUCH 4 BEIN A RAVER THANK U VERY MUCH THANK U VERY VERY VERY MUCH THANK U VERY MUCH 4 BEIN A RAVER THANK U VERY MUCH THANK U VERY VERY VERY MUCH THANK U VERY MUCH 4 BEIN A RAVER THANK U VERY MUCH THANK U VERY VERY VERY MUCH THANK U VERY MUCH 4 BEIN A RAVER THANK U VERY MUCH THANK U VERY VERY VERY MUCH

THANK U VERY MUCH 4 BEIN A RAVER THANK U VERY MUCH THANK U VERY VERY VERY MUCH THANK U VERY MUCH 4 BEIN A RAVER THANK U VERY MUCH THANK U VERY VERY VERY MUCH THANK U VERY MUCH 4 BEIN A RAVER THANK U VERY MUCH THANK U VERY VERY VERY MUCH THANK U VERY MUCH 4 BEIN A RAVER THANK U VERY MUCH THANK U VERY VERY VERY MUCH THANK U VERY MUCH 4 BEIN A RAVER THANK U VERY MUCH THANK U VERY VERY VERY MUCH THANK U VERY MUCH 4 BEIN A RAVER THANK U VERY MUCH THANK U VERY VERY VERY MUCH .........

I've been in hospital

not for any other reason really other than being a moron. so, as usual, everything youre seeing up here is in higgldypiglydy backlog mode, I certainly have some more interesting things to show you, but, alacalay, my computer, my MAC computer is fucked, so I'm simply going to share with you some poems, nouveau. I shouldn't have drank so much. I only had two five pound notes. they were buying me drinks. I shouldn't have drank so much. AND; As thundering back to London from Newcastle, I incline my devastating eyes, with a kitchen-sink tragedy to my left, window aflame the horizontal burgundy and mustard attack of a coal train. Going the other way. and sigh. from the first class carriage. . so thats them. thats two poems. its very diffcult to punctuate clearly on my IPHONE THREE ACTUALLY . yours, sincerely, Adrainonsociety Molike.

Dismember 1st / Clean 'Thirteen

                            Can't remember anything starting from Dec31st'11. No Rpts pls.
                                                                  What you didn't miss:

Death pRattle

Well well.
Perched, waiting on a kiddies ride this evening in the Morpeth branch of Morrison, I heard a quiet, little mechanical voice coming from the next machine -a motorbike affair, sayin, in a most persuasive tone "Come on, have a go?!" This message was being beamed out from the very bottom of the machine, only audible to those around 2 to 3 feet high. 'I always told they were broken', said mother dear.

My mind can turn up ver little from the past few months. The deluge of photos I have just upoaded from my camerphone would tell a different story, and thus I must backtrack, complete and repose a few worthy projects, and one ballad of dread in pale, by means of note for excuse, for public consumption, if one dozen counts as public. Let's take it one day at a time, okay?

Stumbling as I have been through bad weather to worse, it has to be said it has on occasion been from interesting place to place.  I've shot a lot of film, much of which has yet to be developed and printed, let alone scanned in, but we have a few phone shots, as means of grainy illustration
startling here;

As the cracks start to widen and heave under the sheer weight of legislated misery dished out  to the country's non-super rich, in the post Olympic drizzle, the large unoccupied semi derelict business buildings in central London's Holborn district fill rapidly with all kinds of new squatters. The anti-residential law recently past has pushed many out of once safe homes, and a the city center throbbing the rhythm of the damp dead Olympic London spectacle. 

The skill of experienced buildings crackers soaks up the need of the city center homeless and several buildings in central London are, in turn as each is evicted and moved a few doors down or across, housing upwards of 60 persons.
The mesh of middle class politicos, artist-come-activists, alcoholics and crusties now find themselves in new unexpected roles they generously, out of a humanity lacking a short walk away in Whitehall fulfil, such as carers for mentally disabled people, who have been literally dropped off in squats by their  now defunct carers and social workers, as they are, despite not being able to even clean themselves, booted from their housing as the Disability Welfare is withdraw.

On a fully serious and horrific point, there are folk being housed in huge ex-corporate buildings in London who are badly, sadly disabled -able just to string sentences, suffering dirty (though not unfed, as through mass activity on part of the skip-divers and the compassion of the chain food stores in this part of london where it is possible to see 5 branches of Eat, Starbucks, Wasabi, Etc, Etc form any one standpoint).  Able squatters pour out their plastic cups of cider and allow them free reign of the computers where they blast out Bon Jovi on repeat - the stress and unrewdared responsibility of this is enormous, of course it's not terrific to placate the unproductive desires of ones who should be getting a lot more help, but these new carers have their own lives to sort, and it is better, after all then leaving them, as the 'Coalition' is apparently happy to, on the streets as the weather starts to freeze.  They'll die.

Helping a friend move from this thoroughly spent building, we packed up and headed on to another property, which was rather special, in being an ex-masonic lodge in a beautiful west London pub, left with fully stocked alcohol and food, by an owner who very clearly bought the property at a loss so as to  convert it into flats, much to the chagrin of Chelsea Marina residents. No-ones happy are they? Apart from anyone who happens to be in the squatted pub, which rather a luck-out!

After a slap up meal and a few nips of the green fairy, I took a very long walk away, stopping by Oscar Wilde, one of the neighbours', house. We're all in the gutter, as he said..I can't remember the rest of that one. It was a cloudy night.

Tribalism removed / WHO ARE YA

Since the 1980s, in consumer technology manufacture there has been a jaggedly multiplying and strikingly uneven contrasting tidal float of Quality / Ease.  The old ancient holy concepts of Time and Value diluted and refracted into the mundane daily realism of cheap music and laughs. 

This 

becomes This

                                                                            This

becomes This

And so on and so forth until one is in the peculiar position of watching,  on one of the plethora of Macbook pros to be found in any self-respecting art-school abode, a shitty stream of live football, acoustically accompanied by a wall of tiny spanish noise commentary, barely legible 7 pixel dots moving around a larger 3 pixel green/grey oblong. 

Much like following a text-based live fed of an event, goings on are rendered to little more than sterile figments of an augmented data sheet reality. 

Snotty 'the alt-view' columnists, when routinely trotting out a 'My-feircely-independant-mind-doesn't-care-about-sport-you-morons/sheep/plebs(when topical)' piece will usually lead their argument by sneering at the 'We' collective noun that peppers sports team discussion. 'YOU didn't win that' game, they crow. 

No, but perhaps surrendering one's hopes and happiness onto a man or woman selected and celebrated, Godly and decorated with a region's colours and tones is indeed quite an awing demonstration of a mystical unpragmatic humanity.  It is a character building experience, especially when supporting a team who barely ever win. 

And Man U are cheating scum. 

No money, no hope, Looking sharp

credit to a.j

Not Golfing But Drowning

A brief gap in the clouds implores the modern Englishman and Lady a brief glimmer of inspiration to shove the usual this :

For This

So, How can the average zero-income flea bitten 20 something true-intelligentsia pass themselves off on the golf course? 

With great ease. 

Dress up. Secure equiptment. 

We happened into a charity shop that was attempting to sell golf clubs for FIVE POUNDS EACH. 

This was  remedied by M. Silcox simply repeating 'That's Much, Much,  too Much you know. Does anyone ever buy these?' to the man who proved easily overpowered into our way of thinking.

One cannot carry clubs in one's pocket- a problem no more with unique patent Truller Lino Golf bag (not pictured) - Ingredients- lino, gaffa tape, felt tip pen. 

 Golf tip: DO Go when it is pouring with rain. No one else is there, because it's fucking horrible, that's why. 

Golf Philosophy: Alcoholics can never get any better at golf, only progressively worse.  

Golfbye x

By the way this is a nice old documentary about a golf club in the early 90s