| A man has reached maturity when he regains the seriousness of a child at play... |
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| Alcoholic White Trash Lesbian Fist Magnet |
[13 Jul 2009|09:24pm] |
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By Land & Sea We Prosper |
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While My Guitar Gently Weeps |
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I came to Vancouver to start a new life drink myself to death on my Credit Card, and my Credit Card is all used up and I'm left with the leftover cash from my new day-job. Which is the same as my old day-job in London, which is fucking hilarious.
Because I came to Canada thinking: I can do ANYTHING!
And I'm formatting Word documents. That's as far as I'll venture in my new environment.
And I fucking love it. I love actually earning my own dosh rather than robbing a bank slowly then worrying about the fallout. I love suddenly not feeling on the edge and able to kick back and forget about everything I need to do before I'm happy.
It's very easy to fall head over heels in lust with every single waitress in Vancouver. Notwithstanding the fact that she wants her tip, every waitress in Vancouver is either gorgeous or charming or a charming combination of both. There are some who are so gorgeous that they forget to be charming and become instead despicable, but that may be my prejudice. However, I've met my new soulmate, and her name is a name I asked when I was drunk, oh silly man, and now I can't remember. But she works in a pub so she should be used to it.
I saw a great poster for a band. It may have been two bands, but I so hope it was one.
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| Bird-Flu-Resistant Millennium Bugs Seize Control of Saddam Hussein's Pigs of Mass Infection! |
[01 May 2009|12:00pm] |
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Zombie Clusterfuck |
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Gravity Rides Everything |
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The world was on high alert today as it emerged there was yet another chilling and very real threat of imminent armageddon that was wholly unprecedented in its chilling realness.
In airports across the globe, only the Chinese took the threat seriously by issuing face-masks to every Chinese man and woman in every airport everywhere, with no exceptions anywhere. Witless and alarmed to the point of unquestioning conformity. (And yet they're always friendly, and they're ready to please!) (Sorry, thank you, sorry.)
For one Englishman abroad, however, this unprecedented threat posed the unforeseen problem of how to sneeze innocently on the metro light rail after body-surfing off Bondi Beach and receiving half of Botany Bay up the left nostril for his thrill-seeking trouble, while the free newspapers that every gullible Downs Syndrome wannabe was reading loudly heralded the end of the world again*.
The boy cried wolf, then swan, then badger. By the time the wolf turned up he really couldn't be bothered. He was only ever a basset hound anyway. And they bring jellybabies. Sleep little children, we like the monsters don't we? They make us know that mummy and daddy will never die.
The wedding was nice. After the bride and groom signed the legal papers and whatnot, the best man and maid of honour were required as witnesses and pictures were taken of us holding the certificate. This resulted in a photograph that made me look like the runner up: and look what you could have won!
Then what else would any new bride want than for her man to fuck off to the casino with his mates for some late night gambling and disco biscuit gurning?
There was a sign in the casino that said: "Is gambling a problem for you? Are you gambling money you don't have, or need to pay the rent? Is gambling affecting your family and friends? Then phone 0891 666111 and you could win $1,000!!! (Calls cost $2.50 a minute. Help is available. Terms and conditions apply.)"
(*Downs Syndrome children make me hard.**)
(** Hat-tip to the Australian Jimbo)
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| Ask Not For Whom The Willy-Pete Burns |
[28 Jan 2009|08:49pm] |
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Huzzah! |
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Check Your Head |
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It burns for THEM! Never, in the history of human endeavour, have so many, endured such little knowledge, for so long. But the dream is over. And the nightmare is real. And we find ourselves pulled on a ketamin lurch into the new unknown where it's all irrelevant. Much of the same. Platitudes don't cut it anymore but did they ever?
I can suck at the tit for another month. I can procrastinate and blame others for another month. But soon I will have to rediscover my inner Tigger and find more things to do best. Death to Eye-ore!
Cute. Irrelevant. Double spacing from an archaic temp job. not reading Bukowski honest.
The disregard that 'Western' governments show for the victims of Gaza is the disregard they will show for their 'own people' when the chips are down. Boycott Children In Need. In light of the BBC's recent actions, or refusal to act if you will, I no longer feel guilty about the time I busked through the pubs of central Manchester, with a red nose and jangly bucket and my Glaswegian pal decked out as Rab C Nesbitt, collecting for 'Comic Relief'. We kept every penny, and even got a free pizza from the local pizza man because of our 'good deeds'. I'm joking of course. It's something I've always been proud of!
The money was put to good use though. I spent it on classes in sacred clowning. So it was comic relief after all.
(As I'm plugging other blogs, I'd like to herewith direct you to the most excellent Famous for 15 megapixels.)
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| We Are Going To Have To Fight |
[13 Jan 2009|08:57pm] |
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Possibly wrong |
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Electric Arguments |
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The greatest trick that the powers that be (PTB, in Conspiraloon parlance) ever pulled was convincing the populace at large (PAL - let's dispense with the acronyms, eh?) that ritual was the province of kooks and nutters.
Paul McCartney has just made a fantastic album. Quite simply the most innovative, passionate and from-the-heart music he's created since the White Album. It just goes to show what a fucked-up relationship with an appalling harridan can do for your musical creativity. This is how I learned to play guitar. I discovered women and vodka at exactly the same time. Some people see such coincidences as evidence of a universal consciousness.
Paul McCartney has been involved in many rituals. Whether wittingly or not is supposedly the province of kooks and nutters. Or the province of the ruling elite, if one is to believe the kooks and nutters. While working at the University of London, I have discovered a wonderful blog that explores such themes. This may be helpful to me at this time, and it may not. I am happy to spend eight hours a day exploring this hypothesis. Such is my luxury.
But it will not last I tell myself, and I am hurtling towards the unemployment that engulfs meaningless England. Find an oil-rig in the Yukon and indulge in as many Jack Kerouac fantasies as you need to tell yourself you're wielding the torch of your parents' 1960s middle-aged rebellion!
I am imploring people not to use the term 'Credit Crunch'. As with 'Fatherland' or 'Homeland', don't use their language. This is Total Financial Collapse. Or The Great Depression Was A Walk In The Rose Garden. At least, that's what we should think if the terrorists are to be believed.
I am even delaying updating my CV in the expectation of a fight. My sister said I was itching for a fight. Alas, I can only be verbally aggressive. At 5'8", I am hardly a warrior. But still, how tall was Hitler?
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| Slump! |
[20 Oct 2008|08:00pm] |
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Nihilistic |
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I Like Chinese |
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I haven't written here in a long time. This is because it stopped being a place where I could write anything I liked. Because I started to invest something in 'Antipholus'. I started to care about how this voice was heard. Which of course had nothing whatsoever - perish the thought - with the ever-increasing trolling my day job instigates.
I had an incredible experience at the Edinburgh Festival. Compered a well-known show every day, for 24 days without a break, had a pass to the star-fuckiest bars imaginable, went mad the second week, and generally made a good impression. Then got back to London and watched television. Anything not involving continental-strength lager or weapons-grade skunk was knocked down the agenda. I found my minor successes uninspiring and my failure appropriate. Even while succeeding.
One of the highlights of my Edinburgh Festival experience was the opportunity it gave me to piss on Jimmy Carr's face every night! Every night, the promoters of the ubiquitous Mr Carr's show would place flyers above the urinals of the Gents in the Pleasance Dome. And every night they fell down. Which meant every night I could piss on a picture of Jimmy 'you can watch me for an hour and still know nothing about me' Carr. And as I was standing there - pissing on Jimmy Carr's face - I realised: "hey, in a few years, that could be me!" If someone is taking great delight in defiling your image, you know you've made it!
But to then come back to teaching English Law, which doesn't exist anymore, at the University of London, which is a horrendous unhappy Moloch of grasping petty imperialists, was something of a comedown. And O how I wallow when I want to!
In my more melodramatic moments, I fear I've lost the capacity to feel love and joy. And blame that squarely on my former best mate and ECFUDG No. 3. And my brother. And Tony Blair. And Gordon Brown. And my first girlfriend (EFUCDG No. 1). And my mate Lizzy who made me misogynistic. When you were brought up in a country that forever crows about its victory over the Nazi menace every night on television, watching that country fall for the very same tricks is horrible. But it makes me feel superior to those around me. So I get off on it and the day job exacerbates the obsession.
My brother, who not only refused my mother a bacon sandwich on Christmas morning after eating one himself, but then told her to fuck off on Boxing Day, doesn't have a wedding ring. He has a wedding nut. A veritable declaration of wealth on his finger. It's half an inch thick and encrusted with diamonds and would most probably cost you your life on a dusty road in Zanzibar. But I met with him and it was alright. I didn't get the rage, but equally felt no less disassociated at the end of it.
I used to feel genuine love and joy for 'people'. In hindsight this was fulfilling the hippie creed that has been drummed into my head from an early age, and these 'people' were an abstract. I justify my bitterness at the moment as a process of discovering genuine connection. But I might just be fucking myself up.
Why is it like this when I'm enjoying more success in the endeavour I threw myself into four years ago? Why do I feel the need to sabotage my own endeavours?
Why do I feel the need to blame geo-political events for my own unhappiness?
Why do I keeping telling myself I'm unhappy?
Because it justifies the other excuses. Get to it lion boy.
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| Why Can't They Remember Me For The Autobahns? |
[11 Jun 2008|02:28pm] |
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Righteous |
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Strength Through Joy |
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Former German Chancellor Adolf Hitler admitted today that his hate-filled and genocidal rhetoric made the world believe that he was a "guy really anxious for war".
In an exclusive interview from beyond the grave, he expressed regret at the bitterness left by his legacy and said he was troubled about how his Third Reich had been misunderstood. "I think that in retrospect, my choice of words was unfortunate", he said.
Phrases such as "the very first essential for success is a perpetually constant and regular employment of violence", and "any alliance whose purpose is not the intention to wage war is useless", he said, "indicated to people that I was, you know, not a man of peace". The ex-Führer also hit out at critics who branded him 'anti-semitic'. He added: "I try to meet with as many of my victims as I can. But it's difficult, as they're dead and so am I."
Mr Hitler said he was frustrated that Nazi Germany is not given more credit for its good works, dismissing polls that show he in particular - and the Nazis in general - are viewed around the world as "a force for evil". He said: "I don't buy into that theory. National Socialism is a force for good. The Third Reich is a force for liberty. Well, there's a lot of force involved anyway, that's for sure!"
While recent decades have shown a sharp decline in violence across Europe — particularly in Poland — Mr Hitler expressed only cautious and understated optimism. "It's not easy," he said, "helping people to move from freedom to tyranny. I wish Mr Brown and everyone at the EU the best of luck."
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| Big Dick Spam Email Haikus |
[10 Jun 2008|02:36am] |
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Genuine |
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Big Night Out |
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I have recently been receiving a lot of emails inviting me to increase the size of my manhood. I don't know how these unknown benefactors know so much about my tiny dick, but I think these emails constitute a modern form of the ancient Japanese art of poetry called the Haiku. I have taken the subject line of each spam email, and used it as it the title of the Haiku. The poem is the email itself. While they do not conform to the strict syllabic structure of the Haiku, I think their brevity and simplicity lends them a certain poetic grace...
Your bazooka is set to rock
She got banged real hard
and the headboard was broken when
we got up in the morning.
The seven magnificent inches
She likes to grab my
power packed dick just like every man
enjoy grabbing huge jugs.
Adventures of my giant mighty soldier
Girls call me the ultimate
love making machine and
I don't need a beemer for that.
This next one doesn't follow the traditional haiku structure at all but instead conforms to the more traditional four-line structure of European doggerel...
Now you can fuck your girl all night long
Your baby-makeris too small.
Tired of loosing control in bad.
Dont worry we know the solution of this problem.
Try our product and you will become a king of bad.
Finally, let us conclude with the kind of poignant snapshots of the eternal now that Basho might have written, if he had been employed to write big dick spam emails all night, in a warehouse in Singapore, for minimum wage...
She invited me for a quickie
We can make you last
as strong, bang as hard, and
cum like a porn star.
She will raise her eyebrows
No time for short pricks
no nonsense big ass manmeat
is what women need.
[that one actually IS a haiku!]
Bend her over like Beckham
Pump it all night long
with our new winning formula that gives you
the extra boost you need.
Is this the grass that makes the great master green?
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| Let's Take The Piss! |
[07 May 2008|03:58pm] |
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Cheeky Blighter |
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Radio Head |
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I am writing this post because I am at work and need to type something up to make it look like I'm working. I have a very cushy day job. Too cushy! Nobody can see my monitor and quite frankly I can get away with doing nothing all day. This is not as good as it sounds, as I inevitably spend all day solving what really happened on 11/9 and 7 July 2005, and then wonder why I get depressed.
Today though, the office manager and I set yet another definite date for my inevitable departure. And this time it should definitely be definite. So I'm de-mob happy. Despite rocking into the office at 11am this morning, I have done nothing whatsoever of any conceivable value to my employer with a guilty conscience notable only in its absence. Indeed, any ability I had to make a positive contribution today has just evaporated with a smoke in the private University gardens.
Just now I shuffled some papers to give the illusion some variety. I'm listening to my iPod, like a good little Podling, so it's important that I type, otherwise I'll be retreating into a private world of great tunes and pan-dimensional conspiracies, and they might find out I'm shirking! God-damn it! Now my co-workers are shuffling papers of their own on the adjacent desk. Can they see my screen? Perhaps they're only pretending themselves! Perhaps I should take the headphones off. Oh sweet Mary, mother of Jane, why did I smoke you? What was I thinking? Why did I think a flourescent cube of desiccated smiles with the feng shui of a panopticon would be a nice place to get fluffy? Because I've done it before. Many times. I'll miss this place.
No I won't. The mouth of fear tells me that I'll miss the money, but it's that kind of thinking that's kept me here for nearly three years. The money's not even that great but it's regular and cushy and I can get away with doing about one hour of actual work on any given day. The downside being that it makes me cynical and insecure in my normally quite stable egotism.
This isn't making the time pass quickly at all! Strictly speaking, I should stay later to make up for my tardiness this morning but I'm out of here at 5pm on the dot for a beer in the sunshine and flagrant lechery. Now for a cheeky cigarette half an hour before I scoot!
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antipholus's journal