October 2005
Monday, October 31st, 2005

“Getting home from long trips always reminds you that you are an adult and you have responsibilities.”
Stuart Murdoch, writing on his blog

So, the CLONES animated video is done and looks incredible. Look out for trailers and suchlike over the coming days. Zef is making a nice pre-loading screen right now, and we’re making a blob-themed Pong game. Bop! Bop!

I filmed some stuff underwater earlier, and got loads of dwr (which is Welsh for water) up my nose, and got a cold. Isn’t that odd? I sound like Mariella Frostrup now. Which is pretty hot, I suppose.

I spoke to Patrick earlier – he of the song – for the first time in seven years. Which is a long time. He is making music and not drinking booze and getting married, which is excellent news. And has purple hair. They played that song on BRMB and he rang up righteously threatening to sue, thinking it the work of some freak snooper who’s stolen his life, as opposed to the meanderings of an old pal. He’s messing with Cubase now, and sending me some MP3s, so I look forward to that.

It is a pleasant side effect of all this musicing, that I am back in touch with lots of my old pals, who I assumed I might never see again. Gwyl and Non and Ginge and Ben and Jen and Tristan and many more from all over this funny grey isle, people who were so integral at certain points, and I then lost, when I moved on, as I can never hang on to phones and was always bad at writing letters. Praise your Skygod for email and websearches. As Madison so stirringly sings, I am no one, I am nothing, without everybody else.

Well, it’s something like that. You get the point.

I was researching weblogs today, for my press officing lady, who wishes to pitch something about artists wot blog, and make an issue of me and all this nonsense, and lord on a pogostick if everybody and their mother aren’t doing it. There’s a pretty big list here, and from that I was glad to become acquainted with the online scribblings of Pete Thownshend, Radiohead, Trent Reznor, the above mentioned Belle And Sebastian, and dear Kimya Dwason, who wrote the following bless mesh of words:

remember that second swim i was going to take?

i got to the beach and put my hoodie and shoes in a pile and stood to my knees in the water for awhile. then, suddenly, there were thousands of small silver fish were swimming right in front of me. it was a dark cloud of fish. then they came right at me and the swam right onto the beach. the entire beach was covered with little silver fish flopping around. me and rosie tried to throw them back in but they just kept dying. i found out later they do that when they are being chased by mackerel. so the beach was covered with these little guys and then all the dogs started eating them. rosie and i were talking about how it was sad but kind of an amazing surprising act of nature at the same time when a dog ran over and peed on my hoodie. then the sky filled with clouds and it got cold and we walked back. i washed my hoodie in the sink and now it is hanging up in the bathroom.

maybe i will wake up early tomorrow and try to get a swim in before we head to dublin.

the guys whose dog it was was at the show. he bought one of everything.

i love this place.

I will miss all this when its gone. I really will. Even the spam. Check the following, random generated text from a message trying to sell me lubricants of some sort:

nazi weaken stein deserve antipodean procter

wing chart rhinocerosconscious sarcoma circulatory

nazi ayers proctercord phosphine tetrachloride

antipodean julia antennaetypewritten stumpy typewritten

postprocess decorous dlennox concave maladapt

phosphine lucerne lennoxconsultation via shrill

body fat loss spam.

Awesome or what? It reads like Mark E Smith lyrics, or Jimmy Pop lyrics. I might make it into a song myself. It would be less rude than detailing the lives of old friends, I imagine.

— Monday, October 31st, 2005

Sunday, October 30th, 2005

Get me!

So, the video is all done, bar one final piece, which involves me and a swimming pool, and we have to do tomorrow. It is so good, serious, Zef and I are all proud and shit. We totally rule.

And! I have a new shop! In fact, two new shops! A British one and a Yankee one! And they have different stuffs in them! Like clocks with blobs on and coasters with Hnery Kissinger and Pat Robertson and Steve Jobbs on. Serious! Go see! Make me rich!

Actually, first person to buy something gets a free Bear with ME ON IT. Safe as fuck! Get in there!



So, what else has been happening… well, I WON BALDERDASH! I was totally the don at Balderdash. I am the makeupwordmeaning MASTER. I meant to list all my ace words and meanings, but my Mam chucked the paper. She was just jealous, I suppose.

A also saw Fahrenheit 451. That was pretty amazing. If they were burning all the books, and you had to memorise one completely for it surive, what book would you choose? What book would you be? I am not sure myself. Maybe The Outsiders. I love that book.

So, my Mam’s new house is on this posh ass road in Winchester, next to all these posh ass people. But don’t be thinking juvey delinquency is the domain of the working classes, that posher kids are in any way more respectful to their parentage than those of lower income families, in these Last Days (ho ho). I’m outside having a fag, right, and I hear this commotion next door. This posh little girl voice is all ragging on this posh deep voice, like, “clear orf! I don’t cyare! Get out!”

A bit later, there’s this crash, and the deep voice rises to an exasperated squalk, “Harriet, that’s enough!”

“Oh, piss orf,” comes the reply.

Ho ho. Stay golden, Ponyboys and Girls.

— Sunday, October 30th, 2005

Saturday, October 29th, 2005

My friends Luke and Holly moved into their very own house today. A nest of love, for an old fashioned English boy and a thoroughly modern American girl. I wish them all the luck, and love, in the world.

Me, I’ve been drawing, and directing this video, which I rather enjoy, and seem to be pretty good at. Another avenue opens up. Oh, there are many rooms in the mansion.

But I have had time to read internets a little, and poetry. On her website, Mary has been writing about that old chestnut, melancholy, my father’s favourite sin. And she posted this:

Ode on Melancholy

No, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kist
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow’s mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.

But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globèd peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine;
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

John Keats

Which is a lovely thing. But then, my little brother Alexander posted a poem of his own, which goes a little something like this:

My beards

My life divides into beard shaped times,
Split sporadically by razor shaped lines,
Eraser shaped lines.

My life divides into beard shaped seasons.
Like a cancer charity calendar boy,
I have struck a thousand poses;
Paced the spectrum from sorrow to joy
With a beard.

I’ve leered, laughed, looked lost and loved,
I’ve scowled, frowned, looked scorned and sobbed.
I’ve sprouted sideburns like shoots from my soul,
Fresh and crispy.
I’ve stroked tufts of wisdom from my chin,
Sparse and wispy.

I’ve marched east with a feast of a beard,
Bristling with promise from ear to ear
A grimacing beard, trapping sparkles of snow,
A practical beard more for purpose than show.

I’ve marched west with a festival beard,
Ritualistically pampered and reared,
Twisted like tentacles tearing the surface,
A Tate modern beard more for show than purpose.

I’ve attempted beards.
Some beards I’ve feared.
Some I’ve neared then sheared.

My life divides into beard shaped memories,
What can the future hold for such as me?
I see…
I see a beard shaped future.

Me too br’er.

— Saturday, October 29th, 2005

Saturday, October 29th, 2005

Cheers Yanna for the photographic funny stretchy black and white history whatsit. As ever, I have none of my won – I lose cameras. That was my hotel room in Vegas that was. How very sweet! I need to pull my trousers up. Note the cheap Fruit Of The Loom underwear, and the lack of proper belt, necessitating the employment of my dressing gown’s belt. I don’t only lose cameras. I lost my white leather Tom Petty belt somewhere in LA. I lose everything! I lost my white ODB school shirt, my pink leather fitted, that huge Spider-Man T, a pair of shoes, a lot of CDs, many toothbrushes, lyrics, songs, bits of my brain…

So it goes.

Things are going off in India. They blew some shit up in Delhi, killing a bunch of people, six or seven at least, out doing their Diwali shopping at the markets. Diwali is a bit like Christmas, I guess. Further explosions raised the toll to 22. And in the South, 89 were killed by a train that got merked by floods. Harsh. Always it is normal folk, about their normal business. Someone get that rotten little Tory upstart, would you, that new Blair thing. Go on. Peace to our peoples.

— Saturday, October 29th, 2005

Saturday, October 29th, 2005

So, I had three consecutive, equally distressing nightmares last night. I have no idea why. I remember a lot more dreams than I used to, but they’re only ever nightmares. In one, I was up on the roof of this goliath, cloud penetrating building, like where the purple shit all assembles in Ghostbusters 2, and the roof had a room on top of it, or the contents of a room, like a banqueting hall. The dudes I used to be in a band with tricked me into closing my eyes and lying down on table, then they sat on my arms and tortured me. They were wearing big curly Ronald MacDonald wigs. It was fucked. I managed to wrestle out and gouge at their eyeballs and shit, which made me sick. Then it all shifted, and I was in a car, and Pete Doherty got in, and started smoking a pipe in the front seat, eyeballing me the whole time, sort of drooling, going, “what do you think you are? What the fuck do you think you are?” Then the car was filled with all these weird grey plasticine children, and they were all sticking their hands down my throat, and I couldn’t breathe, and I was gagging all up their plasticine arms, feeling bad about it, despite the whole desperate agony thing, and the car stank of crack, and was going at hundred of miles an hour through these windy welsh backroads, and we crashed into something, and the plasticine turned to pulped flesh, just like that.

Then I was in hospital, and outside it was raining acid, tearing at the walls cutting through the glass in the windows, and Mary was sat at the end of my bed, just staring, dead-eyed, no pupils, smiling, being, just… mean… and I couldn’t move, because I was strapped to the bed.

Anyway. Enough of THAT! I had a good day man, this animated video is looking so fine. I had a better day than Lewis Libby but I suppose Karl Rove must be doing handstands, the sweaty fat fuck. But, you know, these are serious issues at stake here, so let us not crow, or whine, but SCRAP these violent scum.

Statement of Ambassador Joseph Wilson with Respect to the Indictment


(Read by his attorney Christopher Wolf at 3:00 p.m. – 10/28/05)

The five count indictment issued by the Grand Jury today is an important step in the criminal justice process that began more than two years ago. I commend Special Counsel Patrick Fitzgerald for his professionalism, for his diligence, and for his courage.

There will be many opportunities in the future to comment on the events that led to today’s indictment. And, it appears that there will be further developments before the grand jury. Whatever the final outcome of the investigation and the prosecution, I continue to believe that revealing my wife Valerie’s secret CIA identity was very wrong and harmful to our nation, and I feel that my family was attacked for my speaking the truth about the events that led our country to war. I look forward to exercising my rights as a citizen to speak about these matters in the future.

Today, however, is not the time to analyze or to debate. And it is certainly not a day to celebrate. Today is a sad day for America. When an indictment is delivered at the front door of the White House, the Office of the President is defiled. No citizen can take pleasure from that.

As this case proceeds, Valerie and I are confident that justice will be done. In the meantime, I have a request. While I may engage in public discourse, my wife and my family are private people. They did not choose to be brought into the public square, and they do not wish to be under the glare of camera. They are entitled to their privacy. This case is not about me or my family, no matter how others might try to make it so.

This case is about serious criminal charges that go to the heart of our democracy.

We, like all citizens, await the judgment of the jury in a court of law.

Thank you.

— Saturday, October 29th, 2005

Friday, October 28th, 2005

I know you’re gonna play me
When you get wind
I heard you’re full of shit so
I’ve been duped again
But if you cover your ass
With the same old song
You might as well be farting
With a Walkman on
Bloodhound Gang – Farting With A Walkman On

I’m at my Mammy’s new pad in Winchester. It is, helpfully, right by the train station, so no more walking for 40 minutes up Bishopsgate in the middle of the night and getting arrested for me. Safe!

Man, the amount of people I talk to over here who completely missed the whole Basra Incident. Get your knowledge on dudes. Divide and conquer is the PLAN. Serious!

Had a meeting with all the cats who are working on CLONES in the Groucho last night. Apparently it is not standard practice for the “artist” to be privy to such things. Apparently some cats get pissy when they hear that not everybody loves their crappy little record. Fools! Never will everyone like everything! Were that so, we might all as well kill our little selves, for there would be no point at all. Goshdarnit! Anyway. The Groucho. £13 for a whiskey. Serious! Obscenity!

Speaking of which, those Iranians are not helping to avoid World War Three, eh? Wiping places of of maps might be commonplace in these hurricane charged times, but serious dudes! Them boys got NUKES! Whaddya fink yer Doing?

Yo, check back in a few hours for the first installemnt of Zef Investigates. Part One: New Era Caps! Shit is real!

— Friday, October 28th, 2005