Archive for October, 2011

The Death of G.I. Joe [ photography ]


This post should be better, more indepth, with more links. Maybe at some point in the near future.

Sometimes, very rarely, it is possible to watch entire films on youtube without them being cut into a million pieces. This is one of those instances…

This rarely seen, rarely known, underground film staggered out of the mess that was Berlin in 1984 (whether the release date was a deliberate reference to Orwell’s novel or merely synchronicity i do not know). You can look at as a critique of society, of media, of totalitarianism. As a treatise on the power of symbols, the way in which they pervade and control our lives and the ways in which they can be highjacked for alterior ends. I suppose it is all of those things. It’s a messy film made on not much of a budget and featuring such countercultural luminaries as William Burroughs and Genesis P. Orridge in cameo roles.

It is possible to get hold of this film on DVD but it ain’t cheap. There are other ways to get hold of it but I won’t be going into them here 😉

This might be your only opportunity to watch this astounding piece of cult filmmaking so, you know, pull the sofa up to your PC, turn out the lights and click play.

sackboy is strangely aroused…. [ photo ]

Death of Petey [ painting ]

[ photo ]

well, can you?!?

See more at youtube. Obviously.

straight from the twatspace

Ah, twitter followers. Such fickle souls. To use a much more interesting example than what I am about to go into Guardian curmudgeon and all around amusing fellow Charlie Brooker (@charltonbrooker) recently went on a bit of a (extremely entertaining) rampage on his stream after some twat at the telegraph took objection to him referring to David Cameron (in passing) as a lizard. He inundated his twitter account with people’s observations of how David Cameron was indeed a lizard. Oh how i laughed. Apparently though, some people found it a bit tedious and stopped following him in their thousands, something Brooker recounted in his guardian column that week.

Anyway, getting back to my personal perspective on twitter. I don’t have a lot of followers. This bothered me a tiny bit so i stuck a follow me button on here, which shows how many people are indeed following me. It’s been interesting to see it fluctuate, and also to note the types of people who have begun to follow me. For example, for a little while, i was getting a lot of republican lunatics, presumably because I sometimes mention those neo-con assholes. This was very baffling and somewhat amusing. I can only assume that they didn’t follow me for long. 😉

recently, after watching my number of followers climb upwards, it has begun to go down again. This i can only put down to the fact that I haven’t been tweeting much this week. The reason for this is because I am happily engrossed in Haruki Murakami’s 1Q84. I make no apologies for this. In fact, if you want to unfollow me because I haven’t tweeted anything for a few days you can fuck right off. I really don’t care.

I started tweeting because it enabled me to point out interesting links faster than blogging them. It was easy, it was quick. It is the only reason I am on twitter at the moment. If you are so fickle that you will stop following someone because they aren’t tweeting as fast as you like you obviously have some kind of brain damage, possibly caused when you first inserted your head into your anal cavity.


In 1997 Arundhati Roy released The God of Small Things. It won the Booker prize (now the Man-Booker, as The independent have been pointing out all week whilst writing about it and the recently launched Literature Prize). I haven’t read it although I probably should. I reckon I’d like it as the plot revolves somewhat around the fucked up class system in India (The Caste System) – which i find equal parts interesting and horrific. She hasn’t finished a novel since.


Now, to not follow up the winning of such a prestigious literary prize (or formally prestigious – whatever) would seem like career suicide. Frankly, I don’t think Miss Roy gives a fuck. She’s been far too busy doing more important things. Namely, challenging the capitalist and human being fueled industrialization of India, getting down and dirty in the trenches of India’s hidden war and generally horrifying the countries burgeoning middle-class by writing essays like Walking With The Comrades:

After dinner, without much talk, everybody falls in line. Clearly, we are moving. Everything moves with us, the rice, vegetables, pots and pans. We leave the school compound and walk single file into the forest. In less than half an hour, we arrive in a glade where we are going to sleep. There’s absolutely no noise. Within minutes everyone has spread their blue plastic sheets, the ubiquitous ‘jhilli’ (without which there will be no Revolution). Chandu and Mangtu share one and spread one out for me. They find me the best place, by the best grey rock. Chandu says he has sent a message to Didi. If she gets it, she will be here first thing in the morning. If she gets it.

It’s the most beautiful room I have slept in, in a long time. My private suite in a thousand-star hotel. I’m surrounded by these strange, beautiful children with their curious arsenal. They’re all Maoists for sure. Are they all going to die? Is the jungle warfare training school for them? And the helicopter gunships, the thermal imaging and the laser range-finders?

Why must they die? What for? To turn all of this into a mine? I remember my visit to the open cast iron-ore mines in Keonjhar, Orissa. There was forest there once. And children like these. Now the land is like a raw, red wound. Red dust fills your nostrils and lungs. The water is red, the air is red, the people are red, their lungs and hair are red. All day and all night trucks rumble through their villages, bumper to bumper, thousands and thousands of trucks, taking ore to Paradip port from where it will go to China. There it will turn into cars and smoke and sudden cities that spring up overnight. Into a ‘growth rate’ that leaves economists breathless. Into weapons to make war.

Everyone’s asleep except for the sentries who take one-and-a-half-hour shifts. Finally, I can look at the stars. When I was a child growing up on the banks of the Meenachal river, I used to think the sound of crickets—which always started up at twilight—was the sound of stars revving up, getting ready to shine. I’m surprised at how much I love being here. There is nowhere else in the world that I would rather be. Who should I be tonight? Kamraid Rahel, under the stars? Maybe Didi will come tomorrow.


The reason Roy hasn’t finished the novel she’s working on is because she is living a different one.

I’d heard of God of Small Things, but i hadn’t really heard of its author, not until a few months ago. I’ve become a bit of a newshound since I got my kindle due to the fact that I could download a free copy of The Guardian every day if I wanted to, thanks to their liberal licencing and API. I should be reading novels but I’ve gotten a bit obsessive about it. Right now, for a change, I’m on a two week free trial of The Independent instead. I’ve always considered The Guardian and The Independent the only two decent papers in the UK – but i’d never put this to a taste test. Now I have I think I might prefer The Independent.

Anyway, getting back to my point. A few months ago I read an interview with Arundhati Roy in The Guardian. Today, there is one with her in The Independent.

And that is the reason I have written this post, so I could link to those two interviews. Do yourself a favour and go read them, because Arundhati Roy is quite obviously a remarkable woman, not to mention an amazing writer.

Nothing like a bit of police brutality to segue nicely into the weekend.

Tim sez: “Beautifully done! Every shot is so well thought out and crafted. Texturing, lighting and cinematography is awesome.”

monsanto vs. the welsh people

A surge of re-energized American citizens positioned in cities across the country are carrying out the grassroots “Occupy Wall Street” movement (or the “99 Percent Movement”) with an intelligent and provoking agenda that invokes real patriotic citizenship – much unlike the backwards Tea Party protests that have done little more than pervert our founding ideals while hidden under the guise of Americanism.

Also unlike the Tea Party, Occupy Wall Street is not fueled by corporate dollars or any major television network (aka, Fox News), but by a vast, grassroots network of individuals who have either been negatively affected by the pro-regressive sentiment in the country or by those who have grown disillusioned by the Right wing’s strangle-hold over our country’s future and its catering to corporate citizenship.

The moniker “We are the 99%” is touted proudly by diverse groups of everyday Americans, ranging from teachers and students to firefighters, nurses, construction workers and Marines.

Unfortunately, though – if you listen to many Congressional Republicans, Right wing pundits and Tea Party aficionados – when common citizens across the country representing the vast majority of America peacefully protest in mass numbers against unbridled greed by Wall Street and the banking industry, they are just angry mobs of un-American thugs engaging in anti-capitalist propaganda mongering.

But when corporate-sponsored Tea Partiers protest outside the White House or other public centers (albeit carrying signs promoting bigotry, racism, hatred and/or violence), they are symbolic of the purest form of patriotism in action…

< link shit >

quote of the day

I like to visit my blog when I get up to check on the quote and the word of the day, maybe look at the pretty picture – all that changing stuff that rolls in off rss feeds i have plugged in to either/or/bored. Today’s quote i found emminently amusing…

“I don’t have an English accent because this is what English sounds like when spoken properly.” – James Carr

I so desperately wanted to know who James Carr was, because judging from the quote he’s the kinda person I should know of, so i followed the quote back to its page, found it’s source (The Tonight Show with Jay Leno) and did a lil googling.

And then felt a little stupid.

Of course, James Carr is Jimmy Carr – an extremely dry and somewhat dark british standup with a thing for one liners who is like totally famous over here. I mean, I can actually hear him delivering this line. I really should of figured it out without the aid of google.

Anyway, here’s some of his stand up.

Cat Hepburn

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