More pictures

page 2012
Originally uploaded by Fast Food

Another one from Barnival. It's my favorite, but couldn't be bothered to FB it.

Why Am I Always the Last To Find Out?

Okay people, I've seen the light. I NEED to start listening the to radio or watching tv or something. BUT I HAVE ONLY JUST FOUND OUT about Owen Wilson's suicide attempt. Via Popbitch. How sad is that? We have the radio at work, but do you think I actually listen to that shite? No. thanks popbitch. >> A life depressive << Owen Wilson takes a time-out We reported back in November 2004, to the consternation of his scary Hollywood lawyers, that Owen Wilson might not be entirely unfamiliar with hard drugs. It's somewhat surprising that everyone seems to have fallen hook, line and sinker for Courtney Love's guff that it's all Steve Coogan's fault. Coogan may be an unpleasant drug pig but this smacks only of Love finally getting her revenge after the humiliation of being dumped by Alan Partridge. A rich, ageing celebrity bachelor with an entourage of yes men to get him whatever he wants and a stint in rehab for depression already behind him - it's likely that Wilson didn't need much encouragement.

Photographic Evidence (for those too sophisticated to be on FB)

Pictures from Barnival, courtesy of Simon & Stephen.

Recovering from Barnival

Like most people, I like instant gratification. That's why I spent all this morning scanning in photos when I wasn't too sure if I was alive, asleep or just plain lucid dreaming. Real, real, instant, tea, tea, water. Sweet Jesus, the light was streaming in through my bedroom window, it was a hot day and I wasn't altogether sure if I could go outside by myself safely. I mean that. I was okay, after quite a bit of sleep, but the walk between here and Sainsbury's on the Western Road was perilous and full of fear and loathing of the surburban wastelands that surround my house. Everything worked out okay. I saw the sea. I ate bbq. I talked to people who were in far worse states than I was in. I'm fairly certain that I wasted this weekend in the best way you could ever wish for. Fucking hell, let's start it all over again, same time, same place. "What better way to spend a weekend than to sit in a field with 50 of your closest friends and get absolutely wasted? "

--James

Drabble 1

So, here are my first four drabbles. I've taken the first line of novels I especially like & written 100 word short shorts incorporating it.

Answers on a postcard?

--Amy xx

1) My favorite cousin Dante's secret love of Balzac

I dedicate this small fragment of a long story, not to the Roman prince, nor to their heir of the illustrious Cajetami family that has given Popes to Christendom, but to the learned commentator of Dante. I love Dante. He stopped at my house when I was depressed and told me the funniest joke. I drank tea, while he smoked Camels. He added three spoonfuls of sugar to his tea, then cocked his head and said to me, "You never finished Paradiso, did you?" I hadn't. He leaned over and plucked up a feather that had fallen to the ground.

2) Still life in Brighton

If this is typewriter can't do it, then fuck it, it can't be done. This is what Murphy Law thought as he wrestled with the old-fashioned punch key contraption his uncle kept in his office.

Murphy would have fallen into the profession if it hadn't been for his uncle Albert. Albert lay permanently on a nest of pillows, breathing into an accordion.

The office reeked of mothballs and the glare struck Murphy's oxygen-deprived eyeballs as he struggled with three months of old invoices. Carbon stained his fingers as he typed 1985.

Then the phone rang and a woman whispered cucumber.

3) Postcards & Tales from New York.

The valentine was a handmade pastiche of Victorian cherubs, pressed flowers and red glitter. I found it in a shoebox, amongst other postcards. It was a hot summer day in Brooklyn. Hot smog rolled off the river, while glitter mixed with dust in the curbs. The man selling his stuff wore a brown suede vest, old jeans and a feather in his hair. He rested on his haunches, leaning against a grey wooden fence. People stopped to gaze at his flea market of old memories, but he stared above the buildings and I remember thinking he looked like a dreamer.

4) Dick, as in Moby

Call me Ishmael. Everyone else does in this goddamn joint. Ishmael – is that some sort of Middle Eastern name? I suppose that's what I get for working in a place called Taj Mahal. My real name is Ben, short for Benjamin. Used to live 20 miles down the shore, but I'm living with my brother now. Supposedly pickings were rich, women were like carpet and benefits grew on trees. Yeah right. What's easy here? Saying no. No, I don't want to share your dodgy crack pipe. No, I don't like bears. Jesus. What sort of place have I landed in?

The Drabble is On !

Steve's proposed a challenge for writer's group before next Tuesday, something he calls (I'm fairly sure it's made up) Drabble. Drabble

The Rules:

Drabble is played sitting around a fire, while sipping brandy and partaking of pleasant conversation with friends. The first person to finish a novel wins.

This is the traditional game. For our contest, how about the more modern flashfic length of 100 words exactly? Titles etc are not counted but the story must be 100 words, no more, no less. We shall also omit the fire, the brandy and the pleasant conversation.

I've been using some of Unlce Kafka's first lines to get me started (there are some examples up at Silverwood Acres), but anything goes. Good luck!

Tonight!

Re-opening tonight (Thursday 9th August) of the Third Space exhibition, Regency Town House, Brunswick Square. Sound installations by Orion Maxted and Grant Newman and performance by Miriam Austin.

Late Nights & Early Mornings

I get about 100 emails a day from the two Arts Council email lists I'm on (yes, it's annoying), most of which I don't ever read. However, this one caught my eye:

fire-eater/performer (preferably gay male) wanted for appearance at exhibition opening in September, limited cash for limited performance but maybe perks i.e. photos.

I like the use of the word perks. Nice touch. If it appeals, get in touch for the original email. I found this article in the Village Voice, about a Californian journalist murdered after exposing an Oakland black militant sect. http://www.villagevoice.com/news/0732,thompson,77457,2.html The story is sickening, more so that the authorities failed to follow up on any of the allegations. The article is written by a journalist who also wrote about the sect and had to go in hiding. He writes in the article,

"It's not the death threats I mind," I joked with friends. "It's the credible death threats."

Last night we watched the sunset from the rust-eaten legs of the West Pier. Marcus dove in the water and swam to a post, which he climbed up and stood on top of like a pale Grecian statue. Marcus is also pale, and skinny, so he looked more like a pelican. He dove into the water again and we lost sight of him for a long time until we finally saw his head bobbing right next to the decrepit corpse of the pier itself. When Marcus climbed out of the water, blood ran from both shins. He shrugged when we showed him. "Blood always runs like that when you've been in the sea." Soon, Marcus stopped doing headstands on his towel & everyone left except for me, evil Ben, George & Kesh. Kesh got some sad news from Sri Lanka so we all stayed out longer than normal. I told her that distances make it harder, but that sometimes it's important to be sad because it reminds us that we are alive. The water was beautiful and shimmering, and I thought about my family and what is real and what is not. I also thought about how I live in a city where no one ever grows up and this made me simultaneously happy and sad all at once. Evil Ben and George went up to Taj and picked up some dinner for us. We ripped tandoori chicken off the bone, scooped up tabouleh with the little plastic spoon and sipped wine from plastic cups. It wasn't really cold, just cooler, and we were all secretly glad that we weren't the two girls who were swimming in the sea in their underwear. George and Ben told us the story of how they met. It was nice and a bit silly, in the way that those stories always are. Polish bars and transvestites and places that don't exist anymore.

Slacker's 5th Birthday Party -- get tickets in advance to avoid extreme disappointment!

Breaks Beats and Party Vibes for the Discerning Underachiever Slacker's 5th Birthday @ Concorde 2, Madeira Drive, Brighton Venue Doors 11.00 - 5 ID may be required £10 Door £8 NUS - And Loop Festival* Wristband holders £7 Limited Advance Tickets - Rounder, Resident and Ticketweb Get Advance Tickets Here For those still standing at the end of Concorde an afterparty at a secret location! What Slackers Have to Say For Themselves: Si Begg, A true British experi-mentalist headlines our 5th, an artist who constantly shifts his electronic styles under Bigfoot, Cabbageboy, Bunkfunk 3000 and SI Futures guises. A & R for imprint Noodles whos mantra is The most stupidest recording organisation in the world. nice Merka also needs little intro, currently taking over the breaks universe with his Berserka LP, expect some phat genre bending monster tracks. A live Electronic band Loved by those who know and about to be adored by those who don’t, said the BBC recently about Subsource. You’ll be greeted by 4 nutcases laying down the fiercest concoction of electro and break beatfrenetic punk rock energy. Also big congratulations to JFB who is joining us. He recently won the UK DMC championship 07. Another well earned title. 3 Rooms Featuring Si Begg Subsource (LIVE) Merka Dirtpop JFB - (UK DMC Champion 2007) Medtronix & Squashgar Strategy & Luke Vex & The Slackers Residents Widescreen visuals from VJ Spank The unstoppable Y-Inter Soundsystem back in the main room 3rd room DJ competition hosted by Funkollectif Soundsystem * On the same day is also Brightons Loop Festival so weve teamed up with them and happy to offer a little off door entry for wristbands. As its in the day/evening come down once its finished.

First Day of August and Even God Has Gone on Holiday

Today is my last day of work for the week and thank the lucky starlings of Brighton Pier. I am literally dragging my sorry heels up and down North Street, in a bad semblance of a human being. Not only is my body reeling from the strange cakes and bacon buttes from Frequency Festival, but it is HOT. Summer has arrived and what I want to to know and scream and shout is -- why didn't I get advance notification? I was so enjoying the grey cold shit weather that adorned my shoulders like a spinster's shawl. On top of everything, my clothes' buttons are popping off from PMS (PMT, whatever), I've had to cancel my bank card because some genius asshole got a copy of my card, eeked out my pin, went on holiday in Manhattan, and took out $200. I never took myself as a potential victim of card fraud, but it seems I'm not the only one. They say that chip and pin is helping beat the fraudsters, but I fail to see this logic as somone managed to get mine. After having two rather unsatisfactory conversations with my bank since yesterday, I now have to fax them all the relevant information so they can proceed with the investigation. I am full of vitriolic rage at the situation, but got some good pointers from a pal in the States, who phoned yesterday to commiserate. To avoide being a victim of credit card fraud:

1. Report dodgy payments to your bank & cancel your card ASAP
2. Don't use ATM cash machines
3. Get cash from your bank branch
4. Get cash while at the grocery store, doing cash back
5. You can also do a credit freeze --CIFAS - the UK’s Fraud Prevention Service provides a range of services to enable its member organisations to exchange information and help identify and prevent fraud, including that relating to plastic cards. CIFAS’ main emphasis is on identity, application and first-party fraud. See www.cifas.org.uk

The sea beckons, but I've got another 3.5 hours of work, then it's all over for a little while. Sigh.