I drew that in 1995. It was from a dream I had. I put it in the CLONES video. It still makes me feel a certain way. I am a very different beast today than I was then, for the most part a man of peace, but I still consider that thing up there to be unhuman and belonging at the bottom of the lake, and I would quite happily put it there.
As mentioned elsewhere on the site, grotesque ass-rag and world famous British Murdoch media publication The News Of The World is being shut down, a rotting, puss volcano of a limb hacked off to save the rest of the body, but that does not mean that the empire is over, or even wobbling. Sky, Fox, The Sun, The Times etc are THE SAME THING, and the closure of their red-topped Sunday print representative (until a suitable replacement is birthed) does not mean the closure of the operation. It means removal of a rotting, puss volcano of a limb to save the rest of the body.
Have you ever seen a rotting, puss volcano of a limb? I have. I’ve seen a few. I have lived with Junk People. One time I was sleeping on my matress in the corner of the squat, and I was awoken – for the first time, never since – by a vast and terrible stench. It was the terrible stench of a man whose legs had been cut off to save the rest of the body, and whose addiction had kept him injecting into the unhealed stumps, which boiled and bubbled and festered with puss and stink. His friends, my benefactors, had carried him up the stairs, to hang out and shoot dope with them. They were all so far gone down their particular roads that the stench did not shock them. I was 18, and it woke me up.
I never shot any dope with those guys. I could see what it had done to them. They were for the most part beautiful, kind, generous human beings, slaves to a sickness, and the acquisition of money to found that sickness. That’s what our society is like. That’s what the world we’ve built up around us.
We had some good times, me and my junkie friends. It was the summer, and we spent many happy afternoons in Finsbury park in the sunshine. But those moments were mere punctuation in their life’s work: the acquisition of funds to buy junk, the consumption of junk, the attempts to come off junk, and the grim sumbmission to junk once those attempts had failed.
I have been trying hard to come off the junk all my life. I haven’t had a television since 2003, and I guess that’s been one tiny victory against the sickness. I don’t buy their rotten newspapers. It’s easy enough to not buy them after a short while, but British transport is full of temptation. I caught myself slipping the other day on the Central Line – I’d gotten through 5 foul pages of The Metro before I realised what I was doing. I felt nothing afterwards but the grime under my mental fingernails. The filthy turd-in-a-puddle aftershocks of institutionalised idiocy and person-programming.
But for the most part, I am still in. I am in the game. I eat their crap. I fall back into idiot habbits like drinking Pepsi every few months. I waste my bullshit money on their bullshit films (HAI GREEN LANTERN!). I chase their bullshit money!
But, sheeee-it, I try. We all try. We do our best. And I am proud of us. Little by little, we’re getting there. The light at the end of the tunnel is only a train if you say it is.
Hey, look what I found in my inbox! It’s some new music from the artist formerly known as Mothboy. I dig it a lot. He says he’s gonna get Jeres to sing on it. I think that’s gonna be rad.
Oh, and that rubber grill I was telling you about, with the bleach in? It’s working! Look at that! 7 days until my wedding, and will be have me a non-borked smile, to go with the non-borked back I’m insisting on. I have had to cancel my appreance at that Ritzy gig in Brixton tomorrow night as it is still in a bad way, but it will be better by next Friday with some love and care. Love and care fix most things.