partikal5

We'll Be Right Back!?!?!

2011-03-28T20:02:00.002+03:00

This Is Not a Love Song: My God! How awful...

2011-03-27T18:07:00.000+03:00

Upon reflection
she was a bad selection:
What with terrible sight,
an’ bein’ too tight,
there was no gettin’ in
to ’avin’ good lovin’.

Hair of Cool: Jayne County

2011-03-26T21:48:00.000+02:00

Adventures in Sound: Royal Trux and The Promotional Ad for Accelerator

2011-03-25T20:31:00.000+02:00

Don't Do That: Teach Infants to Feed Themselves!

2011-03-25T10:23:00.000+02:00

Love is Blind: You're Lost Little Girl

2011-03-24T08:45:00.000+02:00

You're lost little girl.
You're lost little girl.
You're lost,
Tell me,
Who are you?

Goodbye Thora Birch!

2011-03-23T16:46:00.000+02:00

2001 brought two releases to the screen, Ghost World and The Hole: quite different films set on either shore of the Atlantic, both of which feature Thora Birch in the main roles. However, several years on, with somewhat desperate measures involved when marketing DVD products in several countries, one would think the female leads of these films were made up of other actresses; especially when one considers the resulting DVD covers used to sell these products.

Alongside Birch, Scarlett Johannson and the then relatively unknown Keira Knightley respectively made up the female cast of Ghost World and The Hole; yet with the subsequent waning of Birch’s career and the comparatively soaring success of those of her co-stars it is evident what the genuine reason is that leads film studios to alter a DVD marketing design. Yes, it’s those Dollars, Pounds and Euros which are the reason behind the alteration of a viewer’s perception, changing what they envisage in their future movie experience when purchasing such items, not knowing how these more familiar, contemporary (and in this case wooden) co-stars utilized by designers have replaced the original leads in order to bring a young audience’s attention to a seemingly old release from the beginning of the millennium.

Nevertheless, this rather shallow act of movie promotion, which alters the importance and relevance of film casts, can only but show the sheer disposability of the cultural product, the relatively short shelf life of actors in film and how the seemingly attractive, albeit mundane, is a more marketable prospect in selling products today. This illusion implemented to attract an audience by marketing cast members who do not feature as predominantly as the main actor / actress is a permanent feature of society, though, and will continue to put the coins in the coffers of the media and clever marketer alike.

With the constant push and pull factors created by studio and future movie audiences, the likelihood of a different face being used to market such products may not come to be such a surprising prospect in another future age. Watch this face!

Sunshot!

2011-03-22T13:34:00.002+02:00

Awe-strikingly glorious in eye-opening rapture, I absorbed the full glare of the halo – in that instant I knew I’d have to seek the ophthalmological assistance of a specialist later; experience had deemed it so. Yet this was necessary, as was the Dexamethasone and the Tropicamide, which would subsequently be prescribed to me – the latter, a mydriatic, dilating my eyes intensely enough that several barkeepers would refuse me service that night: something to do with me being ‘under the influence’; of what I don’t know. But I was sunshot, nonetheless, and this twinkling-eyed boy may well have been under the influence of something, for he was going somewhere… finally.

Men of Frustration: Steve Buscemi - Ghost World; Reprise

2011-03-21T19:07:00.004+02:00

Men of Frustration: Steve Buscemi - Ghost World

2011-03-21T19:05:00.001+02:00

Adventures in Sound: Royal Trux and The UK Video Promo for Liar

2011-03-20T00:26:00.001+02:00

Don't Do That: Use Untested Lip Balm!

2011-03-19T18:11:00.002+02:00

Life for Sale

2011-03-18T16:43:00.000+02:00

Beat on the Brat

2011-03-17T20:28:00.000+02:00

As troubled as The Troubles were, Steve Armstrong was having the time of his life; a ball, to tell you the truth. Comparatively ecstatic was he considering how dull and dreary his North London life has been in the earlier half of the ’70s. As “Micks” were fairly commonplace in the Kilburn, Cricklewood, Camden and Holloway haunts of his stomping grounds back in Blighty, why not be amongst them in the thick of it all over in Ulster. That was one reason for his presence in this ramshackle of a mess that was West Belfast. Besides, those London Micks had driven him and his ilk out of more than a job: the whole of London had gone to pot, what with the likes of them, the darkies and the pakkies moving in all over the place. Well, it was time to do the same to them, and what better way than bringing a bit of action to the “white nigger”… and he could earn a living out of it, too. That was another reason for his accompanying his comrades on a second tour of Ulster that spring. But it was to be his last, with such terminated not at the hands of the Provos or the INLA, but in the innocent sport of Jimmy Monagle and his pals, Aidan O’Donnell, Tom Conlan and Patrick Ready, who, on the festival of St. Patrick’s, led Steve to the rear of Sandyston Flats and re-enacted their very own banishment of serpents from Ireland.

Love is Blind: Suffer Little Children

2011-03-16T18:29:00.001+02:00

But this is no easy ride
For a child cries...

How to Hit the Headlines

2011-03-16T06:49:00.001+02:00

Too easy the guise brought forth: though failing to conceal her youth in the conventional manner, Fiona took to wearing balaclavas. A pathetic excuse of hers was the “to keep out the chills”… especially in the unexpected heat of that spring March. Was all to end in despair too, we might add: the poor cow grew to be a target for scorn and mockery – not only from the passing mouthings of pedestrians, but from the hooting hollowing of automobile drivers, as well – the hit and run event resulting on the most perfect of pink-blossoming afternoons being greeted with applause from the masses who witnessed the carnage at the junction of Grey’s and Forthshire. FASHION VICTIM FIONA championed the glossies that month… one way to hit the headlines, we guess… albeit in a decapitated state, as was the fate of Fiona Singleton.

The Birth of Death

2011-03-15T19:39:00.001+02:00

To ensure the love of someone, the affections of an audience, the Narcissus of a child took to mirror’d moments whenever they arose: the reflections of light-cast window panes; the shallowness of the bathing pool; the retinas of adoring gazes – all such signs served the child in the hunger for appreciation. This way, the child grew up with the guarantee of having been loved, unlike those poor unfortunates who had cast their lot in with their mothers and fathers hoping that such parental bonds would never starve them so. Alas they had, poor unfortunates; alas they did, pathetic cretins; for while they cried out be suckled with a consideration that could never rear them, the other, the solitary child, developed to be a leader of many, a beacon for the ever hungry and would feed the masses with the fulfilling words of a despot while feeding on their souls, willingly given in exchange.

Hair of Cool: MC5

2011-03-14T20:00:00.000+02:00

Royal Trux: Teenage Murder Mystery - Parts One and Two

2011-03-13T22:54:00.000+02:00

Adventures in Sound: Orange Juice - The Postcard Era

2011-03-13T16:47:00.001+02:00

Men of Frustration: Vincent Gallo - Dirt

2011-03-12T19:15:00.000+02:00

Men of Frustration: Vincent Gallo - The Brown Bunny

2011-03-11T14:01:00.002+02:00

This Is Not a Love Song: The Bride from (DH) L

2011-03-11T13:32:00.003+02:00

Yel-low pages:

for that mail order bride,

at a reasonable price!

Yel-low pages:

She’s more than willing to please,

as she gets down on her knees.

The Trux Flew Her to The Moon

2011-03-10T21:18:00.002+02:00

All slapdash and shoddy - that's as well may be, but Holly loved it so, adored the nicotine stained digits in this way, worshiped the word and weary, too. Why not? It was her way or the highway. Well, bye bye to all that. And what's more, is what was more to her and exclusive to her alone: the intimacy of headphone'd freedom - only in her ears could she escape, only in the muted mouthings of the viewed did she flee. Where to, then, oh estranged girl of the plains? No plain Jane, here, boys! Why, it was '91 and the Twin Infinitives side two trip playing on the Walkman heralded Holly's future further a field, in distant skies... or so announced this passing comet.

Men of Frustration: Steve Buscemi - The Wedding Singer; Reprise

2011-03-09T18:00:00.000+02:00

Men of Frustration: Steve Buscemi - The Wedding Singer

2011-03-08T19:52:00.001+02:00

Doctor Who Design Rogues Gallery: Axons

2011-03-07T20:46:00.000+02:00

Resist Swallowing!

2011-03-06T19:52:00.002+02:00

In ignorant haste she managed to swallow the flavour she had been savouring all night – boy, someone was going to pay for this. What with the kiosk not open until Tuesday morn, due to the public holiday, Valeria would have to go without for the best part of a weekend… 48 hours without reprieve! Boy, someone was going to pay for this! And that particular boy was Charles Drayton, whose feeble stumblings in the graveyard this Saturday Eve had chosen to stir Val’ from her ruminating, causing her to swallow instead of suck the lozenge she had an insatiable craving for. Boy was he going to pay!

There Were Rumours…

2011-03-05T19:13:00.001+02:00

there were rumours… there were rumours: quick bucks could be made – not at the box office, not on the go-go stage; but in the escorting area of that side of things. Accompany you to the opera, a restaurant, or any other venue fitting for a high-class date = why wouldn’t you? Champagne on ice and a slice from the client = why even ask? Why not when the amount of greens on offer amounted to a healthy rack of coinage, unimaginable sums to the regulars of Ruby’s Wake (a hang out for all ‘artists’ struggling to make it big in the Big Ap’)! Such posing questions were those that had plagued Fiona who was considering this option of sleaziness (Note: room-mate Martha Stewart’s words, not mine) seriously – rumoured or true – when she and her co-drinkers met that night. Down on her luck Fiona had been of late and her constant attempts at meeting monthly debt deadlines lay as frayed as the clothes on her back. Additionally, this current mode of living had aged her so – at least Fiona felt it, despite pleas from her entourage that everything was going hunky dory, and all was going to work out fine. Well, fine was not working out for Fiona – the artist’s way was not the way her life deemed living ought to be. Notes were needed right now, and she wasn’t thinking of the IOU variety her friends frequently used either. Why, an amount of cash that thick could move her out of the hole she was drowning in and place her into a serious position to renegotiate her career, which of late seemed to have stalled along with the dreams which had taken her to New York in the first place. One point, though, that reined in Fiona’s careless desire to plunge into the world of escorting was the contact she would have to meet in order to gain entry into that hallowed profession of serving the elite of the city – Marco Corbo was his name, and the name wasn’t one to be bandied about so freely, either. Well, that’s what Martha said. But hey, that was probably a rumour. Yeah, just rumours, they were… rumours, there were… there were rumours… there were rumours…

Hell at The Beach!

2011-03-04T12:21:00.002+02:00

It could've been an entirely different affair, but as the Winchesters were not too keen on the cut of Johnny, it was the only destination he and Faith could make that date. As Johnny had noticed (too often) Faith's parent's penetrative glares - full of inquisitiveness, though reserved in remarks - the solitary sands of a harsh spring awakening would have to be contented with that March morn'; but, oh, what a nightmare it was to be... oh, how the headlines would scream of the date that had got out of hand at Rockaway.

Formality in Lyrics: Jugband Blues

2011-03-04T09:26:00.001+02:00

It's awfully considerate of you to think of me here
And I'm most obliged to you for making it clear

Oh, no!

2011-03-03T09:10:00.000+02:00

If yesterday was a blurred farewell to all that could have been, the potential instilled in her since birth, then the hazy glare of tomorrow’s portent could only but faze Belinda. What was it they’d informed her? Something about how she would have… What was it they’d warned her? Something about how she could have… AHHHHH! All descended in the yawn of this morn: good-bye and alas – NO – to that. Her pedalled intentions from now on were to depart, leave the weight, the burden her and her like had garnished Belinda with for as long as her memory could stretch. What remained here for her? The neighbours wouldn’t mind, ‘friends’ couldn’t comprehend, her family didn’t care. Oh, no! And away she wished to go; the only setback being the pull of the familiar, the comfort zone… the conditioned. Brain-washed! Oh, no! That she would no longer be; that she could no longer remain.

Adventures in the Post-Apocalypse: Heroes and Villains

2011-03-02T21:13:00.000+02:00

Hair of Cool: Mickey Dolenz

2011-03-01T19:26:00.000+02:00

Oh, Pretty She May!

2011-02-28T21:39:00.001+02:00

With confident pose poised and seconded for the kill, Pam waited for the next victim. It had been all too easy: don thigh-hemmed skirt; slip on knee-length boots; lean forward with cleavage suggestively beckoning. It had all been personally agreed and adhered to and all such obligatory boxes were thus ticked. Hitherto, Pam had been a wallflower; but that had all changed with advances in corrective eye surgery. Spectacles were the first port of liberation, then came the shielding overcoat of her (un)formative years. Now Pam was oft to feel the absence of elastic gripping her crotch, her breast, as underwear was too exempt from her daily uniform. As a new woman, she was wanton in her ways. As a new woman, any one would catch her gaze. Oh, pretty she may! Oh, pity the prey!

Smoking, She Sits

2011-02-27T21:07:00.000+02:00

Grant me the privilege of reflection!

Hazed out we dreamt in youth:

Soberly smoking, exhausted she exhales;

a leapfrog frolic -

the other elsewhere unknown.

Hair of Cool: Mike Score

2011-02-26T21:39:00.001+02:00

This Is Not a Love Song: Love Like Toast

2011-02-25T15:36:00.001+02:00

Don’t love it hard, that much,

Like the French or Dutch.

I wan’ it soggy on a plate;

An' don’t toast me late!

Feeling Good Fleeing

2011-02-24T22:23:00.000+02:00

Time to flee … it felt good … feeling good fleeing; but it wasn’t always like this. Oh, no! You see, before every flight, there has to be a capture, a seizure and Harold Parker had been seized, enraptured ever since he had laid eyes on Rebecca Malone. A clichéd experience if ever there was one, we know, but love takes its own course: into the eyes of another, the arms of a lover, the bondage of a seducer, the cage of a reducer. For Ms. Malone had done just that to Mr Parker – reduced him to an inch of his mettle. Were it not for that undetected morsel of determination left within, he wouldn’t have ceased hope and seized the means of overthrowing that weak willed heart of his. Sullenly he cast his gaze forward into the future, seated in the back seat of the Greyhound that transported him to where there was no where to remember the one he had left behind: buried in her own existence, entombed in her obsessions – Rebecca Malone, that bitch from an unblessed place.

Go West, Young Man!

2011-02-23T23:19:00.004+02:00

The pitch was like any given by salesmen ripened by years of cold calling and getting feet inside doors: “All you need is change in order to progress, pal.” “My friend,” came the accented reply “this we have wished for, for this we have striven: in whispered disenchantment, in protest, in blood, alas, and in tears. But what, my friend, would you prescribe?” “Democracy!” put the politician to the foreigner firmly. “Democracy?” “Yes, democracy; but the type of democracy we approve of.” “Ahhh” signalled the response into the night and into the uncertainty of tomorrow.

Dictionary Definitions: A Cavity as a Whole

2011-02-23T07:49:00.001+02:00

Love is Blind: I Will Survive

2011-02-22T21:20:00.000+02:00

Go on, now, go! Walk out the door!
Just turn around now!
'Cause you're not welcome anymore.

Sally since Then:

2011-02-21T19:06:00.002+02:00

Serving greetings on Weekends - Saturdays more than Sundays. Reclusive though she was in the ache of yesterdays, she nevertheless resolved to change the ways of those days... till she was at where she is at. "It's the serene scene!" her friends agreeably beam; and all in all, the chatter-call. Great to talk to friends, now; so different before: so cold in those days, so lost in that haze. Merry today, more so than she'll ever be, Sally remains resolved to be who she'll be - Sally since then.

Fruitless

2011-02-20T13:52:00.000+02:00

It was sure to end – the torment, the tears – soon. Yet with the failure of recompense at length pending, the hole in her heart was still at large: looming and yearning, despite pathetic attempts from he of the long pause. Jenny King knew it was fruitless, but her search for the unfulfilled and the unrequited would not remain undone: there had been too many half truths in her existence and if the truth were to be a lie, then it were better that she lived a lie than be untrue to herself.

Hair of Cool: Star Trek - The Permanent Wave Generation

2011-02-19T18:42:00.001+02:00

Love is Blind: Let's All Go Down The Strand

2011-02-18T17:11:00.001+02:00

I'll be the leader, you can march behind.
Come with me and see what we can find!
Let's all go down the Strand – Have a banana!
Oh, what a happy land!

Formality in Lyrics: Treat Her Like a Lady

2011-02-17T21:23:00.001+02:00

Now, I like openin' doors,
Pickin' up her hanky off the floor;
Treat her like a lady!

Light her cigarette if she smokes,
Even help her with her coat, oh, whoa;
Treat her like a lady!

The Girl Who...

2011-02-17T07:32:00.001+02:00

couldn’t fall in love; she had felt. The impulse of. The heartfelt again. Ridiculous though it is / was; and in as much so true, she repelled the desire anew. To repeat the superlative, to relove… once more… another, in ways others would, was … is beyond ability / belief. For it had all – her all – been given to him: he of the playground, he of her youth – a youth once here, then there; first young, now aged; yesterday alive, today dead. She was the girl who couldn’t fall in love; she had felt...

Hair of Cool: Mr T

2011-02-16T21:08:00.000+02:00

Dictionary Definitions: Read (between the lines of) My Lips

2011-02-15T20:12:00.000+02:00

Don't Do That: Emulate The Rolling Stones!

2011-02-15T19:51:00.002+02:00

This Is Not a Love Song: Don't Giv' Me Any Valentine Lip!

2011-02-14T20:24:00.002+02:00

Allo Valentine,
Will thou be mine?
Yer knows I love yer bits to bits,
’part from that strange fing on yer lower lip.

Adventures in Sound: Brian Jones and Multi-instrumentalism on Ready Steady Go; May, 1966

2011-02-13T18:23:00.002+02:00

Don't Do That: Try to Please Your Girlfriend!

2011-02-13T16:48:00.004+02:00

Yackety House

2011-02-12T19:35:00.000+02:00

We couldn’t hold back on promises we were sure not to keep; yet seeing that Henrietta – pardon the name in this account, but the blame rests solely on the shoulders of her parents, Mr and Mrs Marsten – had performed more than plenty of favours for us in the past, it was only fitting that we spared her the embarrassment of calling in such loans and offered to enter the Yackety House ourselves, alone. Being humble of nature, Henrietta would have willingly taken the dare herself. However, and as already mentioned, we were prepared to spare her more than blushes, repay our debts and venture foolishly forth. The reputation of the Yackety House had formed on the tongues of our forefathers in Bantry and dripped, spittle-wise, from generation to generation. Today, uninhabited, the house was, contrarily, eerily full of ghostly inhabitants created on those tales that had been told to the youth from the elder. Though we had all laughed off the otherworldly nature of these tales in the security of the listening audience, we all individually shuddered at the recollection of harrowing episodes from these tales; especially in the solitude of our nighttime beds. Despairingly, the fascination in the storytelling scene would only aid us in our recollecting these episodes and thus hinder our resistance to the draw of the Yackety House. The draw that pulled us this night; a night from which our previous fears would entomb us in a perpetual horror, which only under conditioned settings, can I now begin to recall.

The Lie in Living

2011-02-11T18:04:00.001+02:00

No matter how often she pronounced it, there would always be that lie in her life.

Love is Blind: If I Needed Someone

2011-02-10T22:15:00.001+02:00

If I had some more time to spend,
then I guess I'd be with you, my friend.
If I needed someone.

More Than This

2011-02-09T20:56:00.003+02:00

It was time to put an end to the beginning – the start of it all had been the end of... finish as you may want to carry on… or is that start as you… whatever, which way and in so many ways, one could spend a life time pondering whether that was right, or this, or what. Well, Tracey Birbank had done just that and with the hands tick-tocking away at her ticker she decided to abandon all these worries and through her lot in with a band of travelling rogues. Sure they were mean and treated her with due disrespect, but anything than this. Anything, more than this.

Hair of Cool: Jimmy Destri

2011-02-08T06:59:00.002+02:00

Time to Time Out

2011-02-07T09:19:00.001+02:00

The focus had been highlighted for far too long, now. Incessantly the eyes attempted to penetrate the stoic countenance of the shell; but the frail fellow had held forth, so far, protected, ever so, by the non-soul reading lenses he always bore. Nevertheless, the media probing failed to let up, give in, subside; eyes glared at him – both in their human and camera optic guises – yearning for some acknowledgement, some matter of consideration... something, at least. This ‘stand off’ had eclipsed half an hour already and the assembled seemed to be in for a long one. The subject – nonchalant in reclined posture and crossed legs – was surreptitiously deceiving himself and all with the rebuttal he presented that afternoon. Forever restless, the 30 minutes had seemed an eternity; not that he projected this, not that it seemed that he cared… but the inner would win over the outer. – “It’s all too much for me to take!” he finally screamed , though hissingly in a whispering exclamation, at the gathered cameras and reporters, alike. “Hey, isn’t that a Beatles track… off The Yellow Submarine?” Well, the question wasn't too strange a poser to ask: this was an attempt at dialogue, after all, and such tunes still resonated in the collective cultural psyche, since they had preceded this mass by only several years. “I believe it is.” the albino replied and took strength from the uncertainty in that particular question. He knew now it was going to be alright, be less tortuous… after a while. However, first he had to gather himself – wits and will and all. With a glance to his left, the furtive gesture was instantly interpreted and the hands of his most trusted assistant gestured the “T” that would briefly grant him reprieve. Back... more… after this break.

Blown

2011-02-06T01:00:00.000+02:00

It was in the tones of yesteryear that she sought her dreams awakened once anew. Light and shade were thus sought out to comfort her in such lows of mood... till the goodness within resurfaced, till the reaffirmation of herself was awakened. Glades she would beseech in those times: feeble the efforts, fruitless the results. Only in the autumn of these days, the fall of fruitlessness, was she aware of the waste in wishing; the wanton want of a better past never to last. To this she would owe it all; to such, she would reap her fall.

Punk with a Prescription

2011-02-05T16:20:00.002+02:00

The rebel rebuke, the countenance of confrontation, the look of loathing; it was all gone in an instant with the enforced prescription provided by Augenoptics. Billy had to wear them, needed to wear them. His previous deception of withholding this urgency for sight correction had been uncovered – gradually though, over a period of weeks – by Mrs. Ulrick as she observed the distance between his positioning in front of the television and the television itself slowly eroding with time. Squinting and a failure to notice the obvious – for example, Billy’s skateboard, on which he had tripped over and grazed his forehead as a result – also contributed to Mrs. Ulrick’s adamant decision in taking her boy Billy to the ophthalmologist’s that Saturday. At Augenoptics, teen rage fumed within the cauldron of Billy’s heart throughout the procedure of reading charts and stating which colour / shape was clearer through different lenses, and the head of this precocious minor near enough exploded when he not only donned the spectacles for the first time, but was forced by his mother to wear them home… with her chaperoning him, too. Nevertheless, the year end photo session at St. Barnaby’s was a success, with Billy not only striking the academic pose to a tee, but also matching that pose with talent and grades to boot. Mary Shrimpton – considered to be the hottest of the hots at St. Barnaby’s sister comprehensive, Our Lady of Eternal Suffering – also thought Billy had the look and didn’t hesitate for minute to go down on him at the end of year fest.

Sultry in Those Steps...

2011-02-04T22:49:00.002+02:00

... silent in those eyes, she couldn't stand still for a moment. Sitting? Let alone that, she had opted for this and permitted her feet to cast routes in which others would follow. Nonchalantly she viewed the world, and it her... and it her. Who envied whom, one would wonder, as both viewed for attention, somewhat during their daily encounters streetwise. Streetwise and streetworn, she trampled life beneath, as she felt pressed from above. There would be only a moments remaining upon her mortal coil this day; minutes on a timer set to cease shortly: till then alas much more. Till then, my dear, stand tall!

An Irishman Abroad

2011-02-03T21:45:00.001+02:00

I'm after making a complete bollocks of myself. "Sure enough he had and the more the merrier", said he with the grin - Pat Flynn - in the corner ruined by gin. "You were always the humble one, were you not; and don't you be giving me any of that play acting... 'knowing who you were in the first place and that money never had any affect on you'. Sure, you always knew who you were and it certainly wasn't who you had become - this idiot of late with the high and mighty airs. That's not the way of your walk, that's not the cut of the man you are... were... or should be. So, go on with you, now, and don't be acting the idiot again."

Art and Women: Vivienne Dick

2011-02-02T17:45:00.003+02:00

Double Trouble: The Dead Zone (1983)

2011-02-01T19:27:00.000+02:00

Take Me Home to...

2011-01-31T18:29:00.001+02:00

We needn't worry where were going on this trip - neglect the need to convey messages per postcards, too, why don't you! Ain't no one coming back this day; ain't no one making it our way.

Don't Do That: Indulge in Home Entertainment!

2011-01-30T01:13:00.002+02:00

Starring Leigh Taylor-Young as Shirl

2011-01-29T19:18:00.000+02:00

The shopping trip was concluded - it was a hollow affair... Unlike the pre-shopping sojourn, where the compilation of the much anticipated consumer commodities (disposable, yet fun-filled... for a minute, for a day) had charged the girls with some excitement. Giddy with bags full and purses empty, Shirl and Lauren took the time to see how much they could now squeeze out of their husbands' credit cards: respectively, both spouses had cheated on Shirl and Lauren and now it was payback time - literally. Nevertheless, this indulgence by the girls worried the husbands none, for all these misdemeanours would be repeated. Alas, such would be the death of them - literally.

This Is Not a Love Song: Hammer and Tongs

2011-01-28T00:38:00.001+02:00

What’s right?

What’s wrong?

The moral of this song.

What’s right?

What’s wrong?

How you wear that thong!

What’s right?

What’s wrong?

Go at it ’ammer 'n' tongs!

Adventures in Sound: New York Dolls

2011-01-27T21:07:00.002+02:00

This Torino

2011-01-26T17:46:00.001+02:00

I was stinkin' to think; tinkerin' wit' the ivories - so to speak... all as a matter o' subjectivity, posin' from the wayside, an' such. Got me some wheels, though - that oughta show 'em, shouldn't it? Did so before, so why shouldn't it now? The tried an' tested, good fellas, the tried and tested. Well, this Torino is doomed to blow an' I couldn't dream o' a better way to meet ma maker... by drivin' to 'im in style!

Don't Do That: Accept Homemade Protein Shakes from Germans!

2011-01-25T16:07:00.002+02:00

Hair of Cool: Frank Sivero

2011-01-24T19:28:00.000+02:00

Insatiable She

2011-01-23T17:36:00.000+02:00

Mixin' to Fixin'

2011-01-22T22:46:00.001+02:00

It had been common knowledge to most for most of the term; he had played girl off against girl and each one a fool for a fool. His failing, however, had been to test Inga's mettle; although, she too had been humiliated and - to tell the truth (yet, personally fully reticent Inga remained) - hurt. Yet, it was in all his brashness that he had underestimated the trail of tears he had left behind and the road to his damnation that was now being paved ahead: the concoction being brewed in the lab would have been a worthy potion of any hag-like act of revenge, but for such to be conjured by the hands of two fourteen year-olds... why, the meer thought was shocking, let alone for that act to be committed; but committed it and he were. All in all, the results were resolute in their cause - his selfishness had been righted and not a tear shed no more as the girls of St. Therese's would forever now cry: Be sure to shirk the soiling of any lass's honour, lest ye be willing to taste a drop of this wrath.

The Dododo

2011-01-21T14:03:00.000+02:00

Remember, tis better said than left silent, greater unfinished than unattempted! Thus was the proclamation broadcasted to those who would hear - waiting for their response, a self-proclaimed wiseman spoke of such ironies as 'mute responses'. Leave the talking to those who will not for there is much to be said from a corpse than one who professes to understand all that there is to know about existence. Time to clear off, the wise fool decided... it was getting on, after all.

Legends of Yore - Your Legends: Jan-Ove Waldner

2011-01-20T21:17:00.000+02:00

Doctor Who Design Rogues Gallery: The Guardian (on Uxarieus / Exarius)

2011-01-19T18:22:00.000+02:00

There's a Place for Us

2011-01-18T11:45:00.002+02:00

It wasn't Eden, but it... well, it would never be Eden would it... I mean, where can you find such a place in this day and age? But it was home. And Sandy and Kev' (Easy with the use of that second syllable) needed such a place after all that they had been through. The horror... the dread... the torment... Not that they themselves had brought on such events... or so Kev' thought. But Sandy had her past (the happenings and doings of which were oblivious to Kev') and the Groogs still considered her in debt to their previous - and oft-cited - generosity; and the Groogs were not the type to neglect the calling in of favours. Hence the terrorism... then the carnage... now the exile. Yesterday, there... today, here... tomorrow, never knows.

Got You In My Sights

2011-01-17T06:54:00.001+02:00

As sure as sure can be, the dates set would testify to the actions that followed. It had been a hard call to make: sure, they had had their times - fun in the spring / summer, contemplation in the autumn. But now it was the time of shortening days, and although the sun dominated the skies this day, he had to set a new cycle in motion. Poised heavenwards, he descended his vision upon the pedestrian strewn traffic under him - picking her out, he thus picked her off. Love hurts, the song rang out, and no better dedication seemed fitting to the one he had once loved.

Hair of Cool: Stephen Sprouse

2011-01-16T15:05:00.000+02:00

Cat's Eyes to Eye

2011-01-15T15:50:00.001+02:00

Did we agree? Could we agree? Selfish as ever, the mog dictated the day's proceedings with Felicity Mayers running to and fro, up and down and scurrying about in such a way that her feline friend was amused to have such a spectacle entertain him. Resembling a mouse in all her mannerisms, the cat would indeed have the day, when, exhausted from all Felicity's tiresome attempts to win his affections, he reached for the jugular, severing it in an instant; although releasing and dooming himself simultaneously. For now, without a mistress to pamper his every wish and whim, he succumbed to the desolation that was the winter of that year. Starved of affection and more, the mog's emaciated corpse - a pathetic attempt at a fur throw (what with the maggot excreta oozing from the remnants of its physical existence) - was discarded along with the remainder of Felicity Mayer's unclaimed possessions weeks later when the social services forced their way into her apartment.

Art & Women: Genesis Breyer P-Orridge

2011-01-14T15:01:00.001+02:00

The Would Be It-Girl.

2011-01-13T23:09:00.000+02:00

All in vain it was... both she and it - the would be it-girl, Darah, herself. All in a mirror and within that mirror, she glanced, she lay enraptured till the hitherto then festering sores crept up from behind and shrunk that less than violet into the boil she became. Now the mirror still stands, though Darah shirks from the would be / could be of the potential pus fest which she might fatally envelope that silver backed pane with. All in vain it is... both she and shit - the would be shit-girl, Darah, herself.

Love is Blind: My Mind's Eye

2011-01-12T17:01:00.004+02:00

People running everywhere,

Running through my life,

I couldn’t give a care,

Because they'll never see

All that I could see

With my mind’s eye.

The Reciprocal Information Centre

2011-01-11T11:32:00.001+02:00

In between the streets of west and east, lying twixt north and south, can be found the Reciprocal Information Centre where Molly and Martin, among such other luminaries, exchange views and ideas on a daily basis - come inside, you're sure to enjoy it! Only the other day we were informed that what we knew was not only beneficial but could be swapped (pardon the informality of such) for equally contributory data. Why, tis a glory to be respected these days when the coarse, the terse is thrown hither and thither whilst bearing some importance of ... Lord knows what ... by the minions. So, if the day warms you not and the feeling is one of a lack of appreciation or audience, come to the Reciprocal Information Cente, twixt south and north, between the streets of east and west - you're sure to enjoy it! Sally Hainwright didn't... but then again, Sally Hainwright was always a selfish _______________who we all knew would meet a sorry end. And she did! Noosed by the hole formerly occupied by the tyre in the grounds of the centre. Some say it was by her own sorry hand, others that the Reciprocal Information Centre welcomed not the criticisms of the press, who Sally Hainwright was a member of. Whatever the cause and however the method, one and all have since moved on and enjoy a mutual existence at the Centre to this day ... come inside... you're sure... to... en-

Exiting in

2011-01-10T18:30:00.000+02:00

The only exit was the way in... out of minds thought up that hair-brained scheme - results inconclusive, consequences inherent in the outcome. "Best not do this again!" the bright sparks illuminated... the best never again apparent in the brushwood of the wreckage.

Royal Trux: The Motion Picture

2011-01-09T01:31:00.002+02:00

The Monkees: Audition Alumni

2011-01-08T01:21:00.000+02:00

Going Down at the Picture House

2011-01-07T14:24:00.001+02:00

With pants down the screen went open, whilst lights dimmed and pubescent eyes grew enlightened. Some in the rows chose the matinee as a chance to make out - as had Jim, with his Levi's below his knees. But the hustle Jack had was different to the other stray young ones who promenaded outside before shows: he was here to plainly escort the lost and lonely to a movie viewing... with the option of a post screening discussion... $5 surcharge, naturally.

A Death from Destiny

2011-01-06T20:14:00.001+02:00

one step... two step... it went on thus, till destination and Destiny had both been met: Destiny being the new dancer at the Crazed Bull roadhouse... something strange about meeting someone at midnight for an interview - her terms, not mine... something strange about that girl... something strange about girls who wink at intervals when talking... something strange about anyone who winks at-... yeah, you got the drift... same here; or so we thought... see, the penny finally dropped when all but one customer stepped forth to testify against Destiny... that one customer being the sole survivor of what was soon to be known as the Crazed Bull Bloodbath... something strange about Destiny - there always is

A Slice of German Electronic

2011-01-05T18:06:00.001+02:00

That Night, That Day

2011-01-04T15:54:00.002+02:00

Driving home in these conditions was not an option this night, this day; but as the options were few and the minus degrees many, Jane was forced to take the short straw - pathetically, the only option avoided to her that night, that day. It was when the state highway police found the abandoned Ford Torino several hours later, when the fog had lifted, that the realisation of such careless acts of that night that day came to light. Jane Hawford's body / corpse / person would never come to light, despite the efforts of the highway police and cross-border searches. Only a solitary footprint - size 14 - gave any indication that the presence of another, a lone other, had been with her that night, that day.

Adventures in Sound: Royal Trux

2011-01-03T21:32:00.004+02:00

Resolute in Her Resolution

2011-01-02T17:10:00.003+02:00

Being only the dawn, she could not foresee what was to follow, to continue along, throughout the span of the day. Yet, if any of the remaining hours spoke the same language of her yesterdays, she would be merciless in their undoing. Enough, enough! she had cried out... so often, it was shameful that the routine pattern of errors had been repeated up until now. Though shameless it had been repeated and she was now adamant that its undoing would be the task of this day. With that, the yard tap was passed and forsaken for the destiny ahead - only the occasional drip drops gave sign to this current motion in her hitherto lifeless existence: it was all to change, though... and how!

The Human League, Doctor Who and Dare: Reprise.

2011-01-01T16:57:00.008+02:00

Not only was it the autumn of 1981, with the end of the year bringing the New Romantics to the fore front of British pop, but it was also the end of Mr Oakey’s infatuation with Dr Who sidekick, Leela; not that it had held her back from responding to his earlier synth laden serenades in his Yorkshire bedroom, not that it had restrained her from answering – from a far distant galaxy – to his far felt yearnings for an unrequited love.

With Leela presently stepping out onto the top of a grey art brut tower block in post industrial Sheffield, the galaxy having been spanned uncharitable distances in the Doctor’s chartered vehicle in order for Leela to respond to Mr Oakey’s advances, the bleak landscape spanning before her held few charms, however. For little did she know that the likes of dance retarded Susan Sulley and Joanne Catherall had already taken Mr Oakey’s heart and the hearts of a prepubescent boy audience into worshiping them and countless other synthi bands of that era.

Dejected, and knowing full well that the League had long left the gloom of Sheffield for the neon of the metropolis, Leela called it a day, and with only the Doctor’s sardonic quips and the ever affirmative responses of the obedient K-9, she returned to the savage world of the Sevateem from whence he had been plucked from by the Doc a few years earlier. The parting gift from the Doctor, a crudely assembled mono-synth resembling the ARP Odyssey, which it is said she plonks away at still to this day composing ditties to Mr Oakey in anticipation of the fulfilment of their love.

Await the Wait that Can't Be Late

2010-12-31T15:12:00.006+02:00

"I await the wait that can't be late."- hummed Miguel, that morn on the dawn of the new. "Oh, beautiful few, we are gathered here today to witness the birth of the gay, the merry... something fresh... something I wish to caress in the midst of the afterglow of yesteryear's outblow. Could it be that this will be mine? The thought of such is divine! And when... till then... I await the wait that can't be late."

Love is Blind: Eve of Destruction

2010-12-31T14:25:00.007+02:00

But you tell me
Over and over and over again, my friend;
Ah, you don't believe
We're on the eve of destruction.

An Eve of Retribution

2010-12-31T12:07:00.005+02:00

Portent smelled of the eeriness of a foreboding morrow, the rancid odour so diabolically rotten (sulphuric it was, and an unknown though dominantly forceful presence, Tony’s friends proclaimed) that it was impossible to refrain from heaving.
On the way to the churchyard all appeared reassuringly calm – as calm as one can expect for an expedition on this eve of foreboding.
The mission on this night?
To exhume the remains of Gregory Henshaw.
The reason for this exhumation?
To finally execute justice to he who had evaded all accusations of paedophilia during his days; To pay respect to Tony, Ulrick and Sal’s childhood companions who had never escaped the turbulence of that era and the sick clutches of Mr Henshaw’s evil escapades.
The morning would speak loudly of retribution with the charred remains of Gregory Henshaw on display outside the courthouse; but for the time being there was a fire to raise – as symbolic as those of Hogmanay and Up Helly Aa at this time of year.