Saturday, June 12, 2004
Monday, May 31, 2004
GMT 23:00hrs ish May 28th 2004
This is the date of the final occasion of my imbibing tobacco through my own choice. I will never smoke tobacco again. It is now 6pm on Monday 31st and i have not as yet, nor do i at the moment, crave a cigarette. I feel free from my self imposed slavery. Free from the brainwashing of society. (Granted , i feel a bit hooked on Alan Carr's Easyway to stop smoking, but that's good brainwashing, i hope.) Never again will i purposefully poison myself with a filth whose only effect is to make me want more.
Wednesday, May 19, 2004
Wednesday.
Played cricket again at lunch time. Found out i'm quite the bowler, definately not the batsman and quite frankly, you'd be mad to let me play as a fielder. Bowling is the thing for me. We only play with a tennis ball and a faux cricket bat, i say faux, it's actually a piece of wood shaped a bit like a cricket bat, fashioned by one of the little 'cherubs' whom my job is created for and by. Whatever it is and whatever that might mean, i care not a jot. It hits balls and does the trick which is good enough for us.
As stumps we have one of the cardboard bins into which we civil servants put confidential information. I'd be surprised if they ever envisaged cricket stumps as a future use for them. Just outside the fire exit from the office, in a grass and concrete area we civilian-civil servants use to relax outside. Kinda dull.
As stumps we have one of the cardboard bins into which we civil servants put confidential information. I'd be surprised if they ever envisaged cricket stumps as a future use for them. Just outside the fire exit from the office, in a grass and concrete area we civilian-civil servants use to relax outside. Kinda dull.
Sunday, May 16, 2004
Fizzy as Buck.
Running here, running there, running every-muthaf**in where.
Busy weekend doing lots of s**gging, driving, gardening and washing. Fun, fun, fun.
Listening to: Jazzanova Remixes, Stoned Soul Picnic by Roy Ayers, some Boards of Canada i've never heard, Chris Morris' Radio 1 shows from 1994 and some Sun Ra and his Intergalactic Space Arkestra.
Also this downloading thing is a pain in the arse when the torrents you've been using are all gone, within days of being uploaded. Recently we were downloading The Tripods, the BBC series which replaced Doctor Who in 1984. The BBC only made 2 seasons of 13 episodes, covering the first 2 books of the trilogy. I remember it fairly clearly, certainly the first series, but what i'm really looking forward to seeing is the realisation of the second series which is mainly set in the Tripods huge cities. But the torrents from which we drew the video files have gone, the search engine for the torrent store has also gone and we are left at least 10 episodes from the full 26. K**aa claims that there are some users with the files but they don't seem to download. Grrrrrrr.
Busy weekend doing lots of s**gging, driving, gardening and washing. Fun, fun, fun.
Listening to: Jazzanova Remixes, Stoned Soul Picnic by Roy Ayers, some Boards of Canada i've never heard, Chris Morris' Radio 1 shows from 1994 and some Sun Ra and his Intergalactic Space Arkestra.
Also this downloading thing is a pain in the arse when the torrents you've been using are all gone, within days of being uploaded. Recently we were downloading The Tripods, the BBC series which replaced Doctor Who in 1984. The BBC only made 2 seasons of 13 episodes, covering the first 2 books of the trilogy. I remember it fairly clearly, certainly the first series, but what i'm really looking forward to seeing is the realisation of the second series which is mainly set in the Tripods huge cities. But the torrents from which we drew the video files have gone, the search engine for the torrent store has also gone and we are left at least 10 episodes from the full 26. K**aa claims that there are some users with the files but they don't seem to download. Grrrrrrr.
Monday, May 03, 2004
I'm back to explain my experience.
Over the last month or so i've been, by turns: too busy to write on here, too lazy to write on here and too not fussed to write on here. I've also neglected the part of me that believes that what i write has some significance, some power or a need to be written. Does it matter?
I've been too busy wih band rehearsals, though not as busy as we should be. We still only practice once a week, which isn't enough. As every week has passed we've progressed comfortably on from the previous week. We can still just about count the number of practices on both hands that we've had so far. We are now playing together very well, we know the 7 songs we run through each week increasingly more and know ehn to change and snippets of how best to play sections. We are at the stage where we need some outside opinion on what we do, to pickup on the parts that sound good and the parts that don't. My confidence in playing the guitar and singing has increased, my proficiency though still leaves a lot to be desired. It's really quite difficult to be the only person holding the melody together. Both John and Luke have their work cut out for them playing the drums and the bass, but thats the rhythm section and the remainder of the tune is left to me. If i was playing either the guitar or singing seperately then it would be great and i could concentrate on making either one sound as good as it can. Doing both sadly ends up sounding like a clumsy shadow of that which i am capable of.
I've been too busy wih band rehearsals, though not as busy as we should be. We still only practice once a week, which isn't enough. As every week has passed we've progressed comfortably on from the previous week. We can still just about count the number of practices on both hands that we've had so far. We are now playing together very well, we know the 7 songs we run through each week increasingly more and know ehn to change and snippets of how best to play sections. We are at the stage where we need some outside opinion on what we do, to pickup on the parts that sound good and the parts that don't. My confidence in playing the guitar and singing has increased, my proficiency though still leaves a lot to be desired. It's really quite difficult to be the only person holding the melody together. Both John and Luke have their work cut out for them playing the drums and the bass, but thats the rhythm section and the remainder of the tune is left to me. If i was playing either the guitar or singing seperately then it would be great and i could concentrate on making either one sound as good as it can. Doing both sadly ends up sounding like a clumsy shadow of that which i am capable of.
Thursday, April 22, 2004
Talking of f**ked up emails.
From: abuse@gov.us Add to Address Book
To: geofflove1@yahoo.co.uk
Subject: Illegal Website
Date: Thu, 22 Apr 2004 13:42:56 +0100
I noticed that you have visited illegal websites.
See the name in the list!
+++ Attachment: No Virus found
+++ MessageLabs AntiVirus - www.messagelabs.com
It's a beauty.
To: geofflove1@yahoo.co.uk
Subject: Illegal Website
Date: Thu, 22 Apr 2004 13:42:56 +0100
I noticed that you have visited illegal websites.
See the name in the list!
+++ Attachment: No Virus found
+++ MessageLabs AntiVirus - www.messagelabs.com
It's a beauty.
Friday, April 16, 2004
I've Been Playing with Myself for Hours.
Yes indeedy, fiddling royally. If you follow this link here:
You too can fiddle by yerself for hours.
You too can fiddle by yerself for hours.
Friday, March 26, 2004
Take That
I was searching the internet, in a bid to prove it's existence, for sites about Take That the popular Mancunian beat combo from the early Nineties. I found this about four sites in...
Ananova:
Would-be robber attacked by customer with hammer
A masked gunman was hit on the head four times with a hammer after a customer intervened to stop an attempted robbery on a pizza shop.
The would-be robber had ordered everyone in Stoney's Pizza, Columbus, Ohio, to drop to the floor.
Witnesses said he searched an office for money, but when he couldn't open a till, he tried to get away.
But customer, JR Croy, used his truck to block the gunman's getaway and a sledgehammer to subdue him.
"I was sitting here with the hammer, and he pointed the gun up at me. After hitting him in the head with a hammer four times, he wouldn't go down."
The pizza shop has given Croy a $500 (£276) reward, which he plans to use to pay some bills. The weapon the man was carrying turned out to be a paintball gun.
Now where does it even have the phrase 'take that'?
That's some subtle search-engine action.
Ananova:
Would-be robber attacked by customer with hammer
A masked gunman was hit on the head four times with a hammer after a customer intervened to stop an attempted robbery on a pizza shop.
The would-be robber had ordered everyone in Stoney's Pizza, Columbus, Ohio, to drop to the floor.
Witnesses said he searched an office for money, but when he couldn't open a till, he tried to get away.
But customer, JR Croy, used his truck to block the gunman's getaway and a sledgehammer to subdue him.
"I was sitting here with the hammer, and he pointed the gun up at me. After hitting him in the head with a hammer four times, he wouldn't go down."
The pizza shop has given Croy a $500 (£276) reward, which he plans to use to pay some bills. The weapon the man was carrying turned out to be a paintball gun.
Now where does it even have the phrase 'take that'?
That's some subtle search-engine action.
Saturday, March 06, 2004
How can you really know?
Without listening to every piece of music ever recorded, how can you know if your 'original' song isn't just a copy of someone elses?
Take this/these Franz Ferdinand chap/chappies do they realise that their song is just Trampled Under Foot by Led Zeppelin?
Take this/these Franz Ferdinand chap/chappies do they realise that their song is just Trampled Under Foot by Led Zeppelin?
Wednesday, March 03, 2004
Last day as a temp.
I thought i'd left myself a good few hours work to do today. I had left a reasonable amount of work to do but i just couldn't be arsed taking all day to do it. So i'm off work now til next Wednesday, When i start back there full-time for at least six months more. Hmm.
Broadband is, on closer inspection, quite fantabulous.
That HSBC earn more a second than billions of workers, myself included, world wide do in a week, most a month, is Just Wrong. This statistic (£244 a second) is proof that there is civilisation-destroying disparity between the rich and the poor on this earth.
Worse is the fact that we have the proof; and there is no one to show it to. The ageless creatures in this great universe have no interest in helping us off our dirty, sullied, broken-toy like usage of our planet. Who is there to tell this to? If i did find someone who could do something about it, what would we do? Write a letter of complaint? Plant an incendiary device? Scream and shout from atop a box on a high street? Commit suicide?
I'll just watch some television instead.
Broadband is, on closer inspection, quite fantabulous.
That HSBC earn more a second than billions of workers, myself included, world wide do in a week, most a month, is Just Wrong. This statistic (£244 a second) is proof that there is civilisation-destroying disparity between the rich and the poor on this earth.
Worse is the fact that we have the proof; and there is no one to show it to. The ageless creatures in this great universe have no interest in helping us off our dirty, sullied, broken-toy like usage of our planet. Who is there to tell this to? If i did find someone who could do something about it, what would we do? Write a letter of complaint? Plant an incendiary device? Scream and shout from atop a box on a high street? Commit suicide?
I'll just watch some television instead.
Friday, February 27, 2004
F**king Cars.
Lights. Stereo. Flat Battery!
Well 've definitely left my lights on. So at 7.35 or so when i stepped out into the blue-skied, snow covered world that this morning was York, i discovered my car was not likely to be moving anywhere for a few hours. Not without waking Luke and asking him to get up and come and help me jumpstart my car. Which i really don't want to do. Therefore i am resigned to a day off work. Ho-hum, what a b**ger.
Rearranged the living room last night to accomodate the fact we will soon have broadband. Yay! So i'll be able to write this, download some films, use the phone and buy some things online, all at the same time. What wonderful, magical technology must this be? I've always wanted to do loads of things at once! Well, staying within my multi-tasking as a man boundaries, at least. Maybe thinking about sex, downloading some porn, watching some, listening to a dirty phoneline and cocking my shotgun of love. Who says men can't multi-task, eh?
I Waffle. Almost continuously. Broadband, Yay! Don't please i implore you if you plan to get it choose an Alcatel external modem, or certainly not the one that comes with Fre**erve broadband. The telephone connection to the modem is actually into the thick modem cable, but it's really clode to the usb end. Which means that unless you buy a long telephone cable then the computer has to be really close to the socket. (Now heres the really daft bit.) The modem itself has a really long cable, so you could put the modem itself as far away as you like. Hang it on the wall perhaps and show it off as the lovely aquamarine, rubbery 'alienspaceship'like abhorance it really is. If our computer baseunit was the same hideous turquoise, globular design then it'd fit right in. Question for Alcatel: How many of your (actually anybody's) customers have base units that match the design of your modems?
I'd bet 5 or 6 more than F**k all!
Sadly, because the majority of people wouldn't know how to open their computer, let alone actually get inside it and change things, all these companies supply you with external modems, which from my limited experience are pooh. What's wrong with an internal modem? Are they too expensive, or is it the reason i give above that prevents ISP's from giving the customer aesthetic satisfaction?
Who cares? Not me. I've got a day off.
Well 've definitely left my lights on. So at 7.35 or so when i stepped out into the blue-skied, snow covered world that this morning was York, i discovered my car was not likely to be moving anywhere for a few hours. Not without waking Luke and asking him to get up and come and help me jumpstart my car. Which i really don't want to do. Therefore i am resigned to a day off work. Ho-hum, what a b**ger.
Rearranged the living room last night to accomodate the fact we will soon have broadband. Yay! So i'll be able to write this, download some films, use the phone and buy some things online, all at the same time. What wonderful, magical technology must this be? I've always wanted to do loads of things at once! Well, staying within my multi-tasking as a man boundaries, at least. Maybe thinking about sex, downloading some porn, watching some, listening to a dirty phoneline and cocking my shotgun of love. Who says men can't multi-task, eh?
I Waffle. Almost continuously. Broadband, Yay! Don't please i implore you if you plan to get it choose an Alcatel external modem, or certainly not the one that comes with Fre**erve broadband. The telephone connection to the modem is actually into the thick modem cable, but it's really clode to the usb end. Which means that unless you buy a long telephone cable then the computer has to be really close to the socket. (Now heres the really daft bit.) The modem itself has a really long cable, so you could put the modem itself as far away as you like. Hang it on the wall perhaps and show it off as the lovely aquamarine, rubbery 'alienspaceship'like abhorance it really is. If our computer baseunit was the same hideous turquoise, globular design then it'd fit right in. Question for Alcatel: How many of your (actually anybody's) customers have base units that match the design of your modems?
I'd bet 5 or 6 more than F**k all!
Sadly, because the majority of people wouldn't know how to open their computer, let alone actually get inside it and change things, all these companies supply you with external modems, which from my limited experience are pooh. What's wrong with an internal modem? Are they too expensive, or is it the reason i give above that prevents ISP's from giving the customer aesthetic satisfaction?
Who cares? Not me. I've got a day off.
Wednesday, February 25, 2004
I Zimbra
I sat and read some of my book at work today. for a whole three quarters of an hour, Reading My Book. In what was the projectionists room in the old Naval Base hall, i sat and happily read a few chapters whilst being paid for 'working'.
The 'Fact Rap' in Crosseyed and Painless by Talking Heads has just distracted me. Remain In Light for those who haven't heard it yet. (Although if you read this and you aren't Nick and James, who are you? Do i know you? Listen to Talking Heads, you'll like it.)
Yes, paid for doing nothing. I'm at a loss to make myself useful for eight hours a day so i figure i'll do some reading because i don't feel like doing that in my spare time (Doesn't spare make you think of 'What's left over'? Hmm, does anyone in this day and age have spare time? Time has never felt spare to me. Spaced Apart and Rare perhaps? A combination of those produces Spare. Free time then. Time left over from work = Spare or Free(dom). Repression through words my friends.) Man, do i use brackets/parentheses a lot. (By the by can anyone tell me what Americans call brackets? Do they use them? I use them like afterthoughts because i don't actually know how to construct sentences properly.)
Anyway i'm talking cack. Pancake Day! Which was yesterday, was f**king great. I excelled myself in the creation and gluttonous consumption of pancakes yesterday. Delia's recipe...
4oz of plain flour
2 large eggs
200ml of milk
75ml of water
A chunk of melted butter
And a pinch of salt
...worked a treat. I made the above recipe but twice the amount at about four o'clock. Twice the amount made about 14. Of which Luke, when he arrived, consumed five, before returning to work, and Ian, when he returned from a whole day standing and smiling, had 3. I then made a second batter of twice the amount. This time showing Ian how to do it, from raw ingredients to plate. (Why must my talent be teaching? I don't want to be a teacher. Why can't i be good with ferrets instead. Maybe i am good with ferrets, i've just never spoken to any. Worse still, i enjoy teaching people things, it's really easy.)
Anyway. I ate another six. All with sugar and lemon or maple syrup. I haven't eaten that much sugar in years. Since my lunch at about 12 i didn't eat anything else yesterday apart from the flour, eggs, milk and sugar. It was ace. I was in a really good mood. Sugar, sugar, sugar, Pancake Day. Sugar, sugar, sugar, Pancake Day! Mmmmm. Only another 364 days til Pancake Day again.
I had the last two before going to work this morning. Pancake Day!
Happy Pancake Day to you, dear readers. I hope in your own way, you had a Happy Pancake Day. Let's not forget the religious significance of Pancake Day either. It's when they stopped spending money on food for 40 days, in order to pay for their holidays to Minehead or Rhyll once a year. What a way to celebrate! Getting f**ked on sugar. Rock on Jesus!
The 'Fact Rap' in Crosseyed and Painless by Talking Heads has just distracted me. Remain In Light for those who haven't heard it yet. (Although if you read this and you aren't Nick and James, who are you? Do i know you? Listen to Talking Heads, you'll like it.)
Yes, paid for doing nothing. I'm at a loss to make myself useful for eight hours a day so i figure i'll do some reading because i don't feel like doing that in my spare time (Doesn't spare make you think of 'What's left over'? Hmm, does anyone in this day and age have spare time? Time has never felt spare to me. Spaced Apart and Rare perhaps? A combination of those produces Spare. Free time then. Time left over from work = Spare or Free(dom). Repression through words my friends.) Man, do i use brackets/parentheses a lot. (By the by can anyone tell me what Americans call brackets? Do they use them? I use them like afterthoughts because i don't actually know how to construct sentences properly.)
Anyway i'm talking cack. Pancake Day! Which was yesterday, was f**king great. I excelled myself in the creation and gluttonous consumption of pancakes yesterday. Delia's recipe...
4oz of plain flour
2 large eggs
200ml of milk
75ml of water
A chunk of melted butter
And a pinch of salt
...worked a treat. I made the above recipe but twice the amount at about four o'clock. Twice the amount made about 14. Of which Luke, when he arrived, consumed five, before returning to work, and Ian, when he returned from a whole day standing and smiling, had 3. I then made a second batter of twice the amount. This time showing Ian how to do it, from raw ingredients to plate. (Why must my talent be teaching? I don't want to be a teacher. Why can't i be good with ferrets instead. Maybe i am good with ferrets, i've just never spoken to any. Worse still, i enjoy teaching people things, it's really easy.)
Anyway. I ate another six. All with sugar and lemon or maple syrup. I haven't eaten that much sugar in years. Since my lunch at about 12 i didn't eat anything else yesterday apart from the flour, eggs, milk and sugar. It was ace. I was in a really good mood. Sugar, sugar, sugar, Pancake Day. Sugar, sugar, sugar, Pancake Day! Mmmmm. Only another 364 days til Pancake Day again.
I had the last two before going to work this morning. Pancake Day!
Happy Pancake Day to you, dear readers. I hope in your own way, you had a Happy Pancake Day. Let's not forget the religious significance of Pancake Day either. It's when they stopped spending money on food for 40 days, in order to pay for their holidays to Minehead or Rhyll once a year. What a way to celebrate! Getting f**ked on sugar. Rock on Jesus!
Tuesday, February 24, 2004
(You've) A Nerve Ending
I've just read my good man in Japan's blog and it makes me miss him like a bugger-er, equally so with my prolific friend, Nick. I know you're both well and i hope you remain so.
I should really write angry things about the nature of the British Juvenile Criminal System of which i will soon be a much more important member. Particularly so, as i am currently a temp and not really bound by anything. But i don't think people would like to actually see how their tax money is spent. I know things that would make Newspaper Readers apopleptic (there's a word that does it for me, James) with rage and incredulity at the insane concepts which are in place to 'rehabilitate, educate and reform' our future criminals. Run by men with beards; Phil Wheatley, David Blunkett and others, who have absolutely no comprehension of the lives of every other person involved in the actual running of their precious, almost biblical, hierarchies. Like all bureaucrats they live the corporate life of smiling and sniffing. What i mean by sniffing is that they sample so little of the places they visit. Crap analogy i know but hey! i don't control the thoughts. F**kers the lot of em.
Yes. I'll soon be bound to a six month contract, where i'll be expected to input data about the Juvenile Criminals into a new computer system. It's a pilot project in that it is the first of it's kind (it's also a bit of a test, so on my head be it... Well not entirely.) I'm not expecting there to be a great deal to do, judging by the nature of everybody else's jobs in the Civil Service. And my what a 'Civil' service it is too. Tea all day long, chatting with everyone and anyone, interspersed with the eating of food, a nice meeting, plenty of bigoted (in so many ways) conjecture and some more tea. It's smashing.
What's even more smashing is it's PANCAKE DAY! Better even than my birthday nowadays. Oh Pancake Day, magical, mystical, Pancake Day. I've made the batter and am just waiting until i feel a few hunger pangs (that's another word i really like, but is it real? Or was it just invented by advert people? Answers on a postcard) which funnily enough now i'm thinking about; i'm having. Pancake Day!
I should really write angry things about the nature of the British Juvenile Criminal System of which i will soon be a much more important member. Particularly so, as i am currently a temp and not really bound by anything. But i don't think people would like to actually see how their tax money is spent. I know things that would make Newspaper Readers apopleptic (there's a word that does it for me, James) with rage and incredulity at the insane concepts which are in place to 'rehabilitate, educate and reform' our future criminals. Run by men with beards; Phil Wheatley, David Blunkett and others, who have absolutely no comprehension of the lives of every other person involved in the actual running of their precious, almost biblical, hierarchies. Like all bureaucrats they live the corporate life of smiling and sniffing. What i mean by sniffing is that they sample so little of the places they visit. Crap analogy i know but hey! i don't control the thoughts. F**kers the lot of em.
Yes. I'll soon be bound to a six month contract, where i'll be expected to input data about the Juvenile Criminals into a new computer system. It's a pilot project in that it is the first of it's kind (it's also a bit of a test, so on my head be it... Well not entirely.) I'm not expecting there to be a great deal to do, judging by the nature of everybody else's jobs in the Civil Service. And my what a 'Civil' service it is too. Tea all day long, chatting with everyone and anyone, interspersed with the eating of food, a nice meeting, plenty of bigoted (in so many ways) conjecture and some more tea. It's smashing.
What's even more smashing is it's PANCAKE DAY! Better even than my birthday nowadays. Oh Pancake Day, magical, mystical, Pancake Day. I've made the batter and am just waiting until i feel a few hunger pangs (that's another word i really like, but is it real? Or was it just invented by advert people? Answers on a postcard) which funnily enough now i'm thinking about; i'm having. Pancake Day!
Monday, February 09, 2004
My thoughts on the web.
I haven't been thinking a lot recently. I've been very angry with my computer though and the whole blood-boiling thing gets in the way of rational thought. They're awful bloody things. Subject, like every man made thing, to entropy, wear and tear and obsolescence. They are the answer and the problem.
But on the thinking front, i just can't be arsed anymore. I miss talking absolute bollocks about theory and ideas, that was fun. Like the people on Newsnight Review talking about art, film and theatre. Ecstatic or critical, possibly both at the same time, drawing parallels, going off at tangents and most importantly; loving the exploration of expression and challenging the notions of what artists try to say to us. Asking: why? how? why not? wherefore? whom? etc.
I was told recently that i had ruined someone's enjoyment of TLOTR Part III. I took umbrage at this. I don't like to feel that i've done something like that. My Lady argued that people have a time after a film, say, when they are still caught up in it, and talking about it, particularly criticisms, can affect the overall view. Again this upset me.
My friend saw the film again. When i saw him last he said, that in hindsight it was the film, he had not enjoyed the film and my comments had just pointed a number of its flaws within seconds of leaving. TLOTR Part III is a prime example of how boring and twee cinema can be. How traditional and simple we humans must be to be entertained by such drabness. Don't get me wrong, TLOTR Part II, absolutely rocked. The battles were refreshing, different and exhilarating, the presence and realism of Gollum was a piece of cinematic history and it never stopped. From Gandalf and the Balrog opening the movie, all the way to the death of Boromir and the parting of the fellowship, action, excitement, SPECTACLE!
Jackson was onto a loser with the third film from the start. The book is mind-numbingly dull. The strength lies in the eking out of the journey the tension building through the minutiae of monotony, Sam and Frodo dripping towards their ultimate end. If Jackson had spent more time on the journey in the first film, he could have abridged the final film by about half an hour. If he had also missed out the pointless three quarter hour conclusion, we might have seen something worthwhile. The DVD release later this year of the extended version (all of which was filmed with us the 'dumb' consumer in mind) is reputed to be 4 hours 15 mins. Bear in mind that each previous release has had 4 commentaries each DVD has 12 hours of talking over it and the new one will have 16 hours of talking over it. WHO GIVES A FUCK?!? HOW FUCKING UNINTERESTING MUST YOUR LIFE BE IF YOU EVER SIT THROUGH IT ALL? 40 FUCKING HOURS OF PEOPLE YOU DON'T KNOW TALKING ABOUT SOMETHING YOU WEREN'T A PART OF!! SELF CONGRATULATORY WANK!
That Jackson has borne the consumer in his mind throughout the entire process has turned it into artistic shit, dripping through his fingers onto his piles of money. He need never work again i'm sure, and i for one hope that he doesn't. Much like the Warchowski brothers. What a great piece of sci-fi cinema The Matrix is. New, different, exciting and visually without reference. But look at the following films created with the knowledge of its own 'cult' status, drab, boring and predictable. Peter Jackson knew what he was doing all along: visualising a franchise. Like the original 'toy-company funded' He-Man produced to sell toys. Jackson produced the film to sell the commodities associated with it.
But what do i matter? Who am i to request challenging, exciting, visually arresting cinema? Like Kill Bill or Lost in Translation. Cinema that makes you feel something different, exotic, unknown, and inexplicable. Peter Jackson has created a visual Exposition of JRR Tolkiens book. Not an expression, but a pedestrian, safe and mundane translation. His explanation of the book is like the book itself being written by John Grisham.
But maybe it's just my computer rage bubbling up again....
But on the thinking front, i just can't be arsed anymore. I miss talking absolute bollocks about theory and ideas, that was fun. Like the people on Newsnight Review talking about art, film and theatre. Ecstatic or critical, possibly both at the same time, drawing parallels, going off at tangents and most importantly; loving the exploration of expression and challenging the notions of what artists try to say to us. Asking: why? how? why not? wherefore? whom? etc.
I was told recently that i had ruined someone's enjoyment of TLOTR Part III. I took umbrage at this. I don't like to feel that i've done something like that. My Lady argued that people have a time after a film, say, when they are still caught up in it, and talking about it, particularly criticisms, can affect the overall view. Again this upset me.
My friend saw the film again. When i saw him last he said, that in hindsight it was the film, he had not enjoyed the film and my comments had just pointed a number of its flaws within seconds of leaving. TLOTR Part III is a prime example of how boring and twee cinema can be. How traditional and simple we humans must be to be entertained by such drabness. Don't get me wrong, TLOTR Part II, absolutely rocked. The battles were refreshing, different and exhilarating, the presence and realism of Gollum was a piece of cinematic history and it never stopped. From Gandalf and the Balrog opening the movie, all the way to the death of Boromir and the parting of the fellowship, action, excitement, SPECTACLE!
Jackson was onto a loser with the third film from the start. The book is mind-numbingly dull. The strength lies in the eking out of the journey the tension building through the minutiae of monotony, Sam and Frodo dripping towards their ultimate end. If Jackson had spent more time on the journey in the first film, he could have abridged the final film by about half an hour. If he had also missed out the pointless three quarter hour conclusion, we might have seen something worthwhile. The DVD release later this year of the extended version (all of which was filmed with us the 'dumb' consumer in mind) is reputed to be 4 hours 15 mins. Bear in mind that each previous release has had 4 commentaries each DVD has 12 hours of talking over it and the new one will have 16 hours of talking over it. WHO GIVES A FUCK?!? HOW FUCKING UNINTERESTING MUST YOUR LIFE BE IF YOU EVER SIT THROUGH IT ALL? 40 FUCKING HOURS OF PEOPLE YOU DON'T KNOW TALKING ABOUT SOMETHING YOU WEREN'T A PART OF!! SELF CONGRATULATORY WANK!
That Jackson has borne the consumer in his mind throughout the entire process has turned it into artistic shit, dripping through his fingers onto his piles of money. He need never work again i'm sure, and i for one hope that he doesn't. Much like the Warchowski brothers. What a great piece of sci-fi cinema The Matrix is. New, different, exciting and visually without reference. But look at the following films created with the knowledge of its own 'cult' status, drab, boring and predictable. Peter Jackson knew what he was doing all along: visualising a franchise. Like the original 'toy-company funded' He-Man produced to sell toys. Jackson produced the film to sell the commodities associated with it.
But what do i matter? Who am i to request challenging, exciting, visually arresting cinema? Like Kill Bill or Lost in Translation. Cinema that makes you feel something different, exotic, unknown, and inexplicable. Peter Jackson has created a visual Exposition of JRR Tolkiens book. Not an expression, but a pedestrian, safe and mundane translation. His explanation of the book is like the book itself being written by John Grisham.
But maybe it's just my computer rage bubbling up again....
Friday, January 23, 2004
Would you credit it?
Would you? I wouldn't and goddamn i am not going to.
As soon as it was signed and in my wallet the whispering began. Not unlike the way i imagine The Ring talking to Frodo(The way i imagined it long before Mr. P Jackson of Fat Beardsville N.Z. rendered it 60ft tall, drab, long and obvious), those malicious yet beautiful murmurings, screams of pain becoming screaming orgasms.
Adverts looked different because of my new friend. Oh the possibilities! The cashpoint outside T**co's actually spoke to me. It said: "You haven't used me yet, not with your new friend, slip him in. Let me feel his lovely matt finish caress my lips, slide past and fill my mechanical maw. I wanna suck his virgin chip." Or something like that, it manifested itself in an incredible desire to withdraw cash. Fortunately for me though, i think i might be getting the hang of this sense thing, so i didn't draw any money. Phew!
But, my next task was to go round T**co's. Every product i looked at glowed with an aura, an aura that made my lower jaw slack and caused dribble to well up and cascade down my chin.
It was as if every single thing was mine, every product whether it were female sanitary products, goats cheese or even Bovril. I had a shopping list with me but what use was that now? A shopping list is there to limit you to what you need (or thats what i use mine for). With a list you get what you've written down and out of the 'super'market as fast as possible.
What need had i for a list now? I could buy anything... F**k it. I could buy everything. No matter what i bought i felt like it would sustain me. A trolley full of shoes would feed me for a month, surely? Oh joy! Oh to be one of the few happy people who see the world like this all the time...
But it's all a sham...
All of it...
And sadly that's how it works. It felt magical; like the first touch in foreplay or the realisation those chords work with that vocal line. Beautiful. Somehow i managed to control it. I escaped unscathed, my finances struggling back to finding their feet rather than one more huge step toward the oblivion of destitution. Ever Upward Comrades!
...That feeling though, of having that which i do not, being able to be that which i am not, the invulnerability afforded me by a small piece of plastic...
As soon as it was signed and in my wallet the whispering began. Not unlike the way i imagine The Ring talking to Frodo(The way i imagined it long before Mr. P Jackson of Fat Beardsville N.Z. rendered it 60ft tall, drab, long and obvious), those malicious yet beautiful murmurings, screams of pain becoming screaming orgasms.
Adverts looked different because of my new friend. Oh the possibilities! The cashpoint outside T**co's actually spoke to me. It said: "You haven't used me yet, not with your new friend, slip him in. Let me feel his lovely matt finish caress my lips, slide past and fill my mechanical maw. I wanna suck his virgin chip." Or something like that, it manifested itself in an incredible desire to withdraw cash. Fortunately for me though, i think i might be getting the hang of this sense thing, so i didn't draw any money. Phew!
But, my next task was to go round T**co's. Every product i looked at glowed with an aura, an aura that made my lower jaw slack and caused dribble to well up and cascade down my chin.
It was as if every single thing was mine, every product whether it were female sanitary products, goats cheese or even Bovril. I had a shopping list with me but what use was that now? A shopping list is there to limit you to what you need (or thats what i use mine for). With a list you get what you've written down and out of the 'super'market as fast as possible.
What need had i for a list now? I could buy anything... F**k it. I could buy everything. No matter what i bought i felt like it would sustain me. A trolley full of shoes would feed me for a month, surely? Oh joy! Oh to be one of the few happy people who see the world like this all the time...
But it's all a sham...
All of it...
And sadly that's how it works. It felt magical; like the first touch in foreplay or the realisation those chords work with that vocal line. Beautiful. Somehow i managed to control it. I escaped unscathed, my finances struggling back to finding their feet rather than one more huge step toward the oblivion of destitution. Ever Upward Comrades!
...That feeling though, of having that which i do not, being able to be that which i am not, the invulnerability afforded me by a small piece of plastic...
Tuesday, January 20, 2004
Expression
Music. Sweet music. You're the Queen of my Soul.
The Isley Brothers i think.
True though. The one thing that i am fucking great at. The one thing that makes me feel like no drug, no sex, no film, no book, like nothing else i have yet done, can.
We haven't practiced for a month or two now and i'm restless. New stuff is sadly not appearing the way it has done before, i'm not writing as many words, though i think my work environment doesn't help. My words, particularly, come from whilst i'm at work. I never wrote lyrics whilst i was cutting lettuce, the leaves had wilted and obscured my etchings by the time i got it home. But the music came out of me. Armed with a 20 yr old Ta**am 4 track tape recorder, a 10 yr old Effects pedal, a microphone and myself, i created the bases for what we're achieving on PC now. My (Our) first album, still a few months from completion, has taken a year and a half or so. Had we been handed £50,000 at the time and given an engineer, producer and access to musicians, we would have a lot of money by now. But...
...The music wouldn't have been as good. The process of recording and re-recording, writing whilst recording has produced some of my best songs so far. They are still not on the level they need to be, not to get me someone who'll pay to produce them and distribute them. I don't ask myself if my songs are any good anymore because the people who've heard the music so far are complimentary. I haven't played it to as many folk as Luke has so haven't seen as many reactions to it. I find myself, as expected, over critical (should that be hyphenated?) of my music, i can hear all the mistakes, which usually distracts from the great bits.
Also we now have a drummer, though only a night or two a week. We still need a guitarist of similar or more likely better skill than i, so i can concentrate on singing, making strange, beautiful noises with the guitar, making strange, usually frightening noises with my organ (ooh-er) and generally not having to play rhythm guitar. This is because i still have some difficulty singing whilst also making a guitar sound good.
This is the challenge i have to face. The outside world has distracted me long enough. I love to do something and i believe i have the ability to succeed. Don't think for a second i mean Fame Idol success, though i can hold a tune fairly well, so i'd easily get into the top 10 if i whored myself enough, i mean my idea of success. Enough money to be able to spend my days making music. Making records for people who like music like i do. (What a wonderfully ambiguous phrase) The truth is within the sentence though. The music i like has made the music i make, though i have never copied or tried to sound like anyone else. What goes in must, as they say, come out.
So in theory, someone who has similar taste in music as myself, might appreciate my filtered, expression of that music. Equally valid though is the statement that people who enjoy music for similar reasons to me, might also appreciate my interpretation of music, my idea of what it is.
People say music is mathematics, this is true. Humans construction/creation of numeracy can express the components of sound in many different forms; graphs, charts, algebra, silly questions about train journeys. Other people think God gives Human Beings life. You don't know who to believe.
I believe music is a collection of sound though, not numbers or letters, combinations of noises that evoke/provoke/emote/produce/affect feelings within us.
I also believe that my interpretation of music, what I think and feel it is, would be appreciated by enough people.
I really must try and control my fingers, they keep saying things...
The Isley Brothers i think.
True though. The one thing that i am fucking great at. The one thing that makes me feel like no drug, no sex, no film, no book, like nothing else i have yet done, can.
We haven't practiced for a month or two now and i'm restless. New stuff is sadly not appearing the way it has done before, i'm not writing as many words, though i think my work environment doesn't help. My words, particularly, come from whilst i'm at work. I never wrote lyrics whilst i was cutting lettuce, the leaves had wilted and obscured my etchings by the time i got it home. But the music came out of me. Armed with a 20 yr old Ta**am 4 track tape recorder, a 10 yr old Effects pedal, a microphone and myself, i created the bases for what we're achieving on PC now. My (Our) first album, still a few months from completion, has taken a year and a half or so. Had we been handed £50,000 at the time and given an engineer, producer and access to musicians, we would have a lot of money by now. But...
...The music wouldn't have been as good. The process of recording and re-recording, writing whilst recording has produced some of my best songs so far. They are still not on the level they need to be, not to get me someone who'll pay to produce them and distribute them. I don't ask myself if my songs are any good anymore because the people who've heard the music so far are complimentary. I haven't played it to as many folk as Luke has so haven't seen as many reactions to it. I find myself, as expected, over critical (should that be hyphenated?) of my music, i can hear all the mistakes, which usually distracts from the great bits.
Also we now have a drummer, though only a night or two a week. We still need a guitarist of similar or more likely better skill than i, so i can concentrate on singing, making strange, beautiful noises with the guitar, making strange, usually frightening noises with my organ (ooh-er) and generally not having to play rhythm guitar. This is because i still have some difficulty singing whilst also making a guitar sound good.
This is the challenge i have to face. The outside world has distracted me long enough. I love to do something and i believe i have the ability to succeed. Don't think for a second i mean Fame Idol success, though i can hold a tune fairly well, so i'd easily get into the top 10 if i whored myself enough, i mean my idea of success. Enough money to be able to spend my days making music. Making records for people who like music like i do. (What a wonderfully ambiguous phrase) The truth is within the sentence though. The music i like has made the music i make, though i have never copied or tried to sound like anyone else. What goes in must, as they say, come out.
So in theory, someone who has similar taste in music as myself, might appreciate my filtered, expression of that music. Equally valid though is the statement that people who enjoy music for similar reasons to me, might also appreciate my interpretation of music, my idea of what it is.
People say music is mathematics, this is true. Humans construction/creation of numeracy can express the components of sound in many different forms; graphs, charts, algebra, silly questions about train journeys. Other people think God gives Human Beings life. You don't know who to believe.
I believe music is a collection of sound though, not numbers or letters, combinations of noises that evoke/provoke/emote/produce/affect feelings within us.
I also believe that my interpretation of music, what I think and feel it is, would be appreciated by enough people.
I really must try and control my fingers, they keep saying things...
Structure
With my career constantly in the air, not that i have a career, and my finances in freefall i find myself surprisingly chipper. As indeed, i do now on a near daily basis. My change in temperament i attribute mainly to the small amount of caffiene i now consume. For the last five years i feel like i've been trapped in a mindset of cynicism and anger; both of which i still display, though more calmly and less severely respectively. My mood now seems lighter and more carefree, not that it hasn't taken hard work to achieve.
Giving up coffee was the easy part. Coping now, with the smell of real, caffienated coffee is what drives me crazy. The part they take out for decaf is the taste and the smell. If made in a cafetiere the texture is still the same, but there is still no coffee taste or aroma to be sensed. I'm past the stage now of having a cup of decaf then spending a minute or two contemplating, almost physically, on the fact i don't feel different. I just drink it. I don't know why. Just the waft of my housemate's cupboard door opening, pushing enough coffee molecules towards my smoke-riddled nose and palate, makes me shiver and long.
Yet i do feel different now, the fug seems to be lifting. I have things to look forward to, which is something i've seldom done due to my 'thought based' mode of existence. The trick i have learned, and cutting out caffiene has helped me to see it, is to use your thoughts to look forward to and imagine things, rather than concentrating on the freakish, unfair, harsh, dark and plain horrible world that surrounds us. The world of pop music, corporate entertainment, civil servants, non-existent gods and far too real monsters, shopping as leisure, constant mass production of non biodegradeable and/or recyclable objects, house prices, fashion, disposablility, drug companies, famine, horror...
So i suppose what i'm saying is: i have tapped into the great unconscious, the waking dream most humans choose. The choice of ignorance over intelligence, the narrow mind instead of the plasma, widescreen, have-it-on-the-ceiling mind, dream instead of reality.
Or am i just talking bollocks? No. Not on this occasion, though my words do little justice to the notion i'm attempting to express. I want to say that i'm cocooning myself in a 24 hour a day marathon of viewing my own life as good entertainment. But that doesn't say what i mean either, that sentence just came out of the end of my fingers.
Giving up coffee was the easy part. Coping now, with the smell of real, caffienated coffee is what drives me crazy. The part they take out for decaf is the taste and the smell. If made in a cafetiere the texture is still the same, but there is still no coffee taste or aroma to be sensed. I'm past the stage now of having a cup of decaf then spending a minute or two contemplating, almost physically, on the fact i don't feel different. I just drink it. I don't know why. Just the waft of my housemate's cupboard door opening, pushing enough coffee molecules towards my smoke-riddled nose and palate, makes me shiver and long.
Yet i do feel different now, the fug seems to be lifting. I have things to look forward to, which is something i've seldom done due to my 'thought based' mode of existence. The trick i have learned, and cutting out caffiene has helped me to see it, is to use your thoughts to look forward to and imagine things, rather than concentrating on the freakish, unfair, harsh, dark and plain horrible world that surrounds us. The world of pop music, corporate entertainment, civil servants, non-existent gods and far too real monsters, shopping as leisure, constant mass production of non biodegradeable and/or recyclable objects, house prices, fashion, disposablility, drug companies, famine, horror...
So i suppose what i'm saying is: i have tapped into the great unconscious, the waking dream most humans choose. The choice of ignorance over intelligence, the narrow mind instead of the plasma, widescreen, have-it-on-the-ceiling mind, dream instead of reality.
Or am i just talking bollocks? No. Not on this occasion, though my words do little justice to the notion i'm attempting to express. I want to say that i'm cocooning myself in a 24 hour a day marathon of viewing my own life as good entertainment. But that doesn't say what i mean either, that sentence just came out of the end of my fingers.
Tuesday, January 13, 2004
Not Really, No.
Hmm. I have done my work so hard, fast and well that i have essentially worked myself out of a job. Not very clever, huh? Well yes. I've shown myself to the people that matter that i am capable, willing and bursting to work at something complex, time-consuming and above all important. Important enough for me to be paid more than i am currently, which is not enough, to which my (f)ailing bank account would attest were it chipper enough to understand. So i've gone and got myself a credit card...
Actually i've had one for years, since University when it sat sucking money from me. A steady £10 a month dribbling away at £6 of interest per month. I cleared it when i got a job and cut the card up. Yet, they send me a statement telling me my balance is £zero and my credit limit is £750! Wow. It was £350 all the way through Uni, when i could have used it most!
So, that'll take the slack until my other credit card arrives. Accidently i applied online for an Egg card before finding out that i could use my existing one. Oh well, the terms are better on the Egg card so i'll just use that one.
How dull. Why must i be growning up?
Actually i've had one for years, since University when it sat sucking money from me. A steady £10 a month dribbling away at £6 of interest per month. I cleared it when i got a job and cut the card up. Yet, they send me a statement telling me my balance is £zero and my credit limit is £750! Wow. It was £350 all the way through Uni, when i could have used it most!
So, that'll take the slack until my other credit card arrives. Accidently i applied online for an Egg card before finding out that i could use my existing one. Oh well, the terms are better on the Egg card so i'll just use that one.
How dull. Why must i be growning up?
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