July 2005
Sunday, July 31st, 2005

What was the first thing you thought about when you awoke today?

I might start making a note of such things. Perhaps it might be helpful, perhaps not.

Recording went excellently yesterday, and afterwards we went for celebratory drinks, which lasted perhaps longer than they ought to have. It was lovely to see Dr Brown, and his handsome cropped head. Always lovely to see Mary, always ill advised to have rows with posh kids about Palestine. One day I shall learn to bite my tongue.

I made up for the no sleep yesterday with too much sleep today and now I feel perfectly dreadful. I am all a tremble and typing is rather a chore, so I shall keep this short and retire indoors and consider some kind of sustenance. That I have reached the grand old age of 25 and can still barely feed myself is pathetic, really.

— Sunday, July 31st, 2005

Saturday, July 30th, 2005

So, my alarm just went off. I was (am am) sat outside in the garden with my battered laptop at the time, as I couldn’t sleep, but it was 5:30 when I gave up trying and now I am tired.

So it goes. I was round Keith Tenniswood’s bunker yesterday, listening to his remix of my song Liverpool, which quite brilliantly matches the words and reeks of sadness, and after that I was watching the fantastical Circulus with Luke and Blonde Jeremy. At half midnight I was wondering home cursing Luke and at 3 I was still on the phone having the best phone conversation I have had in perhaps years with dear old Gwilym.

Cursing Luke seems a long time ago, and silly, really.

It is all exciting remix fun round here right now. I just got one off of Mothboy which is sparse and dope. I wonder when you will hear it.

Anyway. I am off to meet Mary very soon. We shall see a film and record singing. I hope I don’t collapse, like a short building with dynamite in it.

This is funny.

This is funnier.

This is sad.


The book shelves of the world are filled with the works of the Utopian writers, “both ancient and modern.” They all suppose that a state of society is possible in which “the passions and wills of individuals would be conformed to the general good, in which the knowledge of the best means of promoting human welfare and the desire of contributing to it would banish vice and misery from the world, and in which, the stumbling-blocks of ignorance, of selfishness, and the indulgence of gross appetite being removed, all things would move on by the mere impulse of wisdom and virtue to still higher and higher degrees of perfection and happiness.”6

The word Utopia comes from the book, Utopia, wherein Sir Thomas More (1478-1535) described his view of the perfect society. But the first Utopian blueprint in history was written in ancient Greece at about 380 BC. It is Plato’s Republic. It was Plato’s view that the individual person was not, and could not, be self-sufficient. His view of man is the same that one might have of a laboring beast of the field:

“… And even in the smallest manner … [one] should stand under leadership. For example, he should get up, or move, or wash, or take his meals … only if he has been told to do so. In a word, he should teach his soul, by long habit, never to dream of acting independently … There will be no end to the troubles of states, or of humanity itself, till philosophers become kings in this world, or till those we now call kings and rulers really and truly become philosophers, and political power and philosophy thus come into the same hands.” (Plato).

There was, in this world, to be no perfect state and no perfect men in it, one can only strive for the ideal. To Plato, there was no natural sense on how men ought to live, education was to be the key to the construction of a better society; from the “educated” would arise the elite to rule society. Plato thought it essential that a strict threefold class division be maintained. In addition to the rulers, the Philosopher-kings, there were to be “Auxiliaries” (soldiers, police and civil servants) and the “Workers” (the rest of us).

Plato’s view of society was pinned by the belief that philosophers are capable of knowing the absolute truth about how to rule society, and, thus, are justified in wielding absolute power. Such a view is in striking contrast to that of his principal teacher, Socrates (469-399 BC), who was always conscious of how much he did not know, and claimed superiority to unthinking men only in that he was aware of his own ignorance where they were not.

Now, I think most would agree, a stable and efficient society is important; but one should wonder about a society that will use force (legislation) to make the individual give in to the desires of those who have set themselves up as knowing what is best for everyone. Those who subscribe to the theory that we should be ruled by those who really know best, subscribe, whether they know it or not, to Plato’s theory of man. Whether we know it or not (and most do not), it is upon this Platonic theory that our modern day society dwells. The theory is: the community is to permit government to use persuasion and force with a view to unite all citizens and make them share together the benefits which each individually can confer on the community for the benefit of the community. This theory — so attractive in its statement — is a false theory. When, in its legislation, in its use of force, government suppresses the welfare of the individual; when its efforts are aimed to foster the attitude that one should not proceed to please oneself, government commits a fatal error in the achievement of its laudable object, the betterment of the whole. The essential problem in proceeding in this manner is that individuals cannot contribute to the whole, indeed will be a drain on the whole, unless they are allowed to be free and productive, that is to say allowed to suit themselves.

Men did not evolve into robots; they did not come to possess the independent spirit, so characteristic of man, by serving others; man came to be the superior being, that he clearly is, because of the exercise of free choice: free choice, the essential ingredient in the evolutionary process.

— Saturday, July 30th, 2005

Friday, July 29th, 2005

I forgot to mention the warnings yesterday. I got two. Two warnings! One was from a crop headed white dude working in a pub in Islington. We were the last out, Luke and I, and he came over, all conspirational la, saying he had this contact, really reliable, high up in the police, and we should stay away from tubes tomorrow. Tomorrow then being today. Actually, its gone midnight, so yesterday. But you get what I mean. “Serious, it’s a reliable contact,” he said. I asked him if he ever saw that episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm where that happens to Larry, and he hadn’t. Well, they were having a party, and Alanis Morrisette was going to play, then that got out so nobody came, I said. The dude looked a bit weirded, I think. But what did he expect? What a weird thing to do! How many people did he tell? How many people did they tell? How many people stayed away from the tubes?

Then, stopping by one of those all night Turkish places for bread and ting, I got chatting with the dude behind the counter, who warned me that the shit was going down in August. “Fuck tomorrow,” he said. “Bin Laden says, if the infidels aren’t out of Iraq by August, there will be hell on earth.”

I said I didn’t believe in Bin Laden, but I believed in hell on earth. He said he agreed, and we smiled at each other in some weird, grim half-understanding.

But we make our own hell, whatever else is happening in the world, so I shan’t be worrying. I have a fine head of silky hair and a half decent complexion, usually, and I can buy all the Ribena I want. Life is good for me. Today I have been hammering out video treatments and reading a little poetry and I shall go to bed once I have written this and get up early, and achieve. Because I can.

Thank you also for the emails, you are mostly very sweet. Love to my peoples under the weather, Luke, Ashley, Mary. Above the clouds it is always a beautiful day, I notice.

Pax, since so many of you are wondering, means Peace. Well, it means a bit more than that. It is Latin, and means peace, and “a period of general stability in international affairs under the influence of a dominant military power”.

I find that funny.

I’ll leave you with a link, and a poem, sent to me by Kid West.

The Fall of Rome

The piers are pummelled by the waves;
In a lonely field the rain
Lashes an abandoned train;
Outlaws fill the mountain caves.

Fantastic grow the evening gowns;
Agents of the Fisc pursue
Absconding tax-defaulters through
The sewers of provincial towns.

Private rites of magic send
The temple prostitutes to sleep;
All the literati keep
An imaginary friend.

Cerebrotonic Cato may
Extol the Ancient Disciplines,
But the muscle-bound Marines
Mutiny for food and pay.

Caesar’s double-bed is warm
As an unimportant clerk
On a pink official form.

Unendowed with wealth or pity,
Little birds with scarlet legs,
Sitting on their speckled eggs,
Eye each flu-infected city.

Altogether elsewhere, vast
Herds of reindeer move across
Miles and miles of golden moss,
Silently and very fast.

— W.H. Auden

— Friday, July 29th, 2005

Thursday, July 28th, 2005

So Luke and I went to see War Of The Worlds last night. Gwil said it had a terrible script but it was a brilliant Spielberg movie. Gwil’s eyeballs have been replaced with nuggest of SHIT, it transpires, as the movie is AWFUL, and removes everything good about the Wells and Wayne versions I love so well.

For a start, Tom Cruise as bad Dad is insanely dire, his family a cacophony of irritance and grotesquity, the whole thing a bore. The Heat Rays turn everybody into chalk, which neatly removes any idea of actual consequence from what should have been SLAUGHTER, as is the POINT, and the tripods themselves have all the menace of that orrible blue bastard from those Shreddies adverts. And the aliens themselves are awful, rubbery silliness. And you get no context – save a few screens, there is no indication of the scale on which this is happening worldwide – just some expensive looking shots of New Jersey getting blown up.

And oh! What a dreadful end! Why did they have to Live?

No, War Of The Worlds is a travesty of a film, a cheap, idiot, treacherous exercise in shoddy chicanery. Avoid like the plague.

I do hope Charlie And The Chocolate Factory is good. I am still holding onto that hope. With white knuckles.

A poem for you.

If Petals Fell From the Sky

If petals fell from the sky
And bluebirds sang aloft
Then where would you be?
Would you feel lost?
When petals fall from the sky
You know you’re in luck,
It’s a sign of the times
Progressing, not stuck.
When truth is revealed,
Enjoy the surprise.
When petals fall,
Open your eyes.
By Charlotte Whewell

And another

Three Hills

There is a hill in England,
Green fields and a school I know,
Where the balls fly fast in summer,
And the whispering elm-trees grow,
A little hill, a dear hill,
And the playing fields below.

There is a hill in Flanders,
Heaped with a thousand slain,
Where the shells fly night and noontide
And the ghosts that died in vain, —
A little hill, a hard hill
To the souls that died in pain.

There is a hill in Jewry,
Three crosses pierce the sky,
On the midmost He is dying
To save all those who die, —
A little hill, a kind hill,
To souls in jeopardy.

Everard Owen
Harrow, December, 1915

— Thursday, July 28th, 2005

Tuesday, July 26th, 2005

“If the eight went out naked, the cops couldn’t claim that they thought the Panthers had guns or that they shot in self-defense. The other Panthers agreed that nakedness might be their only chance, and in the besieged basement, their eyes streaming from the tear gas, seven of them took off their clothes.”

But one member, 17 year old Bobby Hutton, was too shy to go through with it.. according to Ramparts: “He was too embarrassed. And as it happened he emerged first, into the floodlights, his hands high over his head, and walked toward the waiting policemen. When he was well out in the open, one of them yelled, ‘Run, Boy!’ Hutton froze, terrified, obviously knowing what the call meant, then took a few frightened, hesitant steps. They shot him dead. ‘We thought he was trying to run,’ they said later. And sure enough, the first statement said, “We thought he had a gun.”

I have spent most of the past 24 hours replying to email, as I have a grotesque backlog of the stuff, but it is teaching me much, in part abusive, amusing, and inspiring.

“I did not expect to come away from reading your site wanting to start a revolution”

Says a man from Glasgow, via email.

“PLese keep your infantile political musings to yourself and talk about your fucking Interscope deal, or Carter USM, you prick,” says another from, I imagine, somewhere in England.

“Was readin’ through your text, and hit that part about the World Tribunal on Iraq and Dahr Jamail,” writes a man in Wisconsin. “I was floored. Not by the text (hell I’d figured shit like that was going on already) but by the fact I hadn’t heard SHIT about it from ANYONE. I’d always though I was reasonably well informed. And here I am getting relevant and important information on my country’s own war from a British rapper.

This does not bode well.”

Indeed it does not. As we all know, I am as thick and as ignorant as pig and its shit, but I am at least inquisitive, and have no respect whatsoever for authority, due to my treatment by such as a child.

So Simon, my statuesque wild eyed housemate tells me he caught a bus yesterday, for the first time since the booming. He boarded to find downstairs packed, so made his way top deck, to find the front rammed, yet the back half deserted but for a single man. So, to the back he ambled, and did sit. And then he noticed that the lone gentleman was brown of skin, and in possession of a rucksack.

Jay Smooth reports “In NYC a sightseeing tour bus got bumrushed by a SWAT team 100 strong, because a bus dispatcher reported that “five male passengers of Middle Eastern descent were wearing ‘backpacks and their pockets [were] stuffed.'”

Mary, on her way to a gig of ours last week, noticed police searching peoples’ bags, but only brown skinned peoples. Old ladies and young mums out doing their shopping, that sort of thing.

My friend, a primary school teacher, found her class besieged by swarms of pigs last week, and one of her eight year old students, a small brown girl, taken away, apparently never to return.

Luke emailed me last week, but I forgot to mention at the time, “this might amuse you. the telegraph’s music bloke has written a song for the bombings called ‘People I Don’t Know Are Trying To Kill Me’, under the name The Ghost Who Walks. It isn’t made up by Chris Morris or anything.

Here it is.

If that doesn’t make you piss yourself with horror, you are some kind of weird robot thing that runs on Pepsi.

Keith noted that while the shit was going down in Birmingham a few weeks ago, and in London last week, the street web cameras were all down.

“Did you know that there are McDonalds inside some Wal-Marts now?” asks Melissa. “The mind BOGGLES.”

Indeed. But at least Sony finally got done for paying deejays to play Franz Ferdinand records. Not that they’ll stop now. Not that any of those freak swine ever will. Still, the full report makes hilarious reading. Offered a PlayStation or somesuch in return for some spins, one grotesque jock replies, “Go on, I’m a whore this week.”

THIS WEEK?! Most of us, we are whores all day, every day, all our lives, ad infinitum. And one day they will drag us outside like dogs and put us out of our collective misery.

Ho ho, eh? At least they’re executing gays in Iran. An excellent reason, Project Bush surely says, to nuke them.

HO HO HO, peoples! Still, it is not all bad. an alabamaworley@***.com just joined my mailing list. I think I am in love. Sleep tight! I shall leave you with this, from my little brother Alex:

“Robert Louis Stevenson did visit the coastal village of Ballantrae in 1876 — and claimed that the populace stoned him out of the place for the eccentricity of his dress.”

All hail Progress!


“according to the BBC news , the police officer who offloaded 8 bullets into an innocent man has been given a free holiday for him and his family PAID FOR BY THE STATE!!!!!”!

Ho ho ho, peoples! Ho, ho, ho!

— Tuesday, July 26th, 2005

Tuesday, July 26th, 2005

“The individual is handicapped by coming face to face with a conspiracy so monstrous he cannot believe it exists.”
J. Edgar Hoover

“The truth is too terrible. The American people would never be able to stand it.”

“I want to show the people they could have stopped him before he got the bus… they killed him there because they had to show off. If he had a bomb, why did they let him get on the bus when he could have killed everyone there? If they shoot someone like him, everyone should be afraid.”
Alex Periera, cousin of Jean Charles de Menezes, another victim of the non-humans that continue to massacre our people in the name of… well. What name are they giving it this week?

Firstly, appologies for the lack of communication over the past few days, and the site dying last night. I was, as you know, in Cornwal, which was quite grand – I met Jeres’ ace pop, hung with Jeres’ super-funny big little brother and his lovely missus, saw Ralph Steadman do a frighteningly accurate HST impression, got FUCKING WET and played a shambolic yet triumphant gig in a tunnel. And lo, we did retire to our B&B, and watch the events of the world as chosen by the BBC “explained to us”, and in the morning we breakfasted like kings, then returned to London, where we were guests of the delightful and truly gentlemanly Mr Eddy Temple Morris on his XFM show. Then we drank too much whisky. Then it was Monday and we were rehearsing, then playing the Barfly in Bumden. Which was ACE on STILTS and as ever I got soaked.

That was my last gig for a while. I shall return, with my peoples, in the Autumn, when I am done making noises in the Americas.

So, Channel 4 tried to whitewash the bizarre “coincidence” in which Visor Consultants held an exercise centered around bombs exploding in the exact same areas and at the same buggering time as happened during the real 7/7 London Underground attacks.
The Met appear to have been doctoring CCTV images. And the Pentagon has been stopping the distribution of images – for now – depicting sexual abuse of the worst kind at Abu Gharib. These images include the torture and extreme brutalisation of children. Where is your blessed Skygod now? Is he really so cruel? I hear those Gatekeeping Leaders of ours just “bought up all of the available iodine in stock for treating radioactive poisoning.” And, according latest issue of The American Conservative (cheers Jeff Wells):

“The Pentagon, acting under instructions from Vice President Dick Cheney’s office, has tasked the United States Strategic Command (STRATCOM) with drawing up a contingency plan to be employed in response to another 9/11-type terrorist attack on the United States. The plan includes a large-scale air assault on Iran employing both conventional and tactical nuclear weapons. Within Iran there are more than 450 major strategic targets, including numerous suspected nuclear-weapons-program development sites. Many of the targets are hardened or are deep underground and could not be taken out by conventional weapons, hence the nuclear option. As in the case of Iraq, the response is not conditional on Iran actually being involved in the act of terrorism directed against the United States. Several senior Air Force officers involved in the planning are reportedly appalled at the implications of what they are doing–that Iran is being set up for an unprovoked nuclear attack–but no one is prepared to damage his career by posing any objections.”

Happy days! Get it while you can. Love your brother, he’s alright really. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank all the lovely peoples who made the past nearly-week so hectic and great, especially Sam, Jeres, Paul, Richard, Wataru, Mary, and Juliet’s soundman. ARF! And get well soon Deacon!

— Tuesday, July 26th, 2005