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A Virtual Paradise

Posted 18 February 2003, 6.12 am by firebrand

If one is of the bookish persuasion that is.

Just in case you haven't found it yet:

Gutenberg.net

classics. online. free.

Prequel To BushStar Wars 2003

Posted 17 February 2003, 11.57 pm by eggmachine

15.2.03

War is looming. The Empire of Blair and Bush are projecting the overthrow of Saddam Hussein, who is not only the most evil man on the planet, but is obstructing them from taking enough oil to fuel their empire for a while longer. Iraq’s client government-in-exile are discussing how to apportion the spoils. Britain is preparing to demonstrate again against this pain-bringing war. The world is demonstrating again against this pain-bringing war.

Got up 6.30.
The papers (which usually all-but-ignore demonstrations) have printed a map of London with the routes shown as sweeping arrows, a programme like you’d have for Glastonbury of the after-demo rally in Hyde Park, with speakers including Tariq Ali, Tony Benn, Mo Mowlam, Ken congestioncharge Livingstone, Bianca Jagger (whose husband ‘allegedl’y’ thru a tv set thru the window of a hotel near Hyde Park), Charles Kennedy, Jesse Jackson headlining and music from Ms. Dynamite-ee-hee and Damon Albarn, once part of Tony Blair’s Cool Britannia of Blur, Oasis, Damien Hirst all go to hip parties in our new-grooving capital.
I’ve ate my sandwiches in the night so I make some more out of Gromit’s kitchen.
Taxi with Gromit to pick up Fli for 7.45 meet at Memorial Gardens next to the new expensive flats that look like a fourpack of square liqueur flasks.
Fli is amazingly up and prepared with money and a bottle of white lightning. I don’t agree with the stuff, but it is a must for a protest of such ridiculously UndemocraticTerroristsDontAppreciateBlair’sConviction-al dimensions as 2million people walking through London.
Taxi driver’s brother is going. He’ll be watching the telly footage. Of course he agrees entirely this war is a nasty sadist fantasy.
People are milling round the grass triangle. We tell the poet Brinley Price we’ll save him a seat on the coach. We are Coach 19, Wynn Travel with green and blue floppy parallelograms on the side like the harmoniums from The Sirens of Titan (Kurt Vonnegut). Our coach fills up with all manner of people who all agree that Blair is making a murderously stupid mistake in going to bed I mean war with George Bush. Someone gets on the coach and asks Is Jane Austen on this coach? and gets off again. We suspect Bart Simpson sent him.

Darth Blair paces sinisterly around his chambers, nibbling at a ciabatta. His human-rights wife is being exposed by the media again, and even the police’s underestimates of the protesters’ numbers would send the anti-war movement hyperventilating with optimism. Darth Blair can’t sleep nights. Anxiety shows on the faces of his lieutenants, Jack Straw and Dave Blunkett. Darth Blair is taking valium.
Already he has lost a minister of transport and a minister of schools to senseless blunders.
Is his whole government to be next?

We reach London around 12.30. We’re late, but join the march on the north route from Gower Street.
Soon, Gromit, Fli and myself lose our banner amidst

All the people
So many people
And they all go hand in hand
Hand iin hand to
Say- - -

1-2-3-4
We don’t want your racist war
5-6-7-8
Stop the killing stop the hate
(x 57)

and you only pass a couple of replicated police every 20 minutes and its obvious that this isn’t a usual-suspects demo, it isn’t even a leftwing demo, it’s a demo of anyone who is intelligent and honest enough to come to London to pronounce their prime minister a warmongering fool.
Fli is recording on the dictaphone, Gromit is doing visuals, there’s banners and people waving out of windows and playing All You Need Is Love out of windows, and a samba band and Bradford punks and a troop of space hopper peace cadets

Space hoppers
Not Star Wars

And 12 foot high puppets of Uncle Sam and a Quentin Blakey man, and teachers and people waving placards saying Stop Insulting Poodles, and people with banners showing Tony as Bush’s poodle, and children on megaphones, and people up and down as far as you can see, it takes us 6 hours to ‘march’ 3 miles and so we all chant

-War -
-Hurgh~+
-What is it good for?
-Absolutetely nuttin…
-Say it again-
(x 46)

We miss all the speeches, but have a funpacked day of being in the right place, rather than being a devious politico who spends all our taxes on focus groups, but doesn’t realise the biggest demonstration in British history means he isn’t paying any attention to our views.
He’d rather be swapping wives with Bush.

Bush and Blair sitting in a tree
K-I-L-L-I-N-G

AKP interview online...

Posted 17 February 2003, 11.06 pm by kidjuxta

Please chek out the brand new interview with Alex here on www.geocities.com/kidjuxta

Dream a Little Dream

Posted 17 February 2003, 10.27 am by The_Roach

This is a dream I had back in July of last year while I was unemployed. I very rarely remember my dreams within seconds of waking from them, so I try to write them down if they stick for any longer than that. Here's an example of my subconcious:

I got a job. It's at some department store. I'm not entirely sure on the details, but it has something to do with standing around collecting medical information on people and, occasionally, checks. It also has something to do with former NBA All-star Charles Barkley sitting on a metal folding chair looking like, well, former NBA All-Star Charles Barkley. I mention that because he was next to us, being gawked at by the line of people waiting to give us their medical information and/or check. I remember thinking after my first day that I wasn't certain what I'd just done with my day, but at least it was a job. My friend helped me get it. I think it was Bianca.

Bianca is a bitch, but I mean that in the nicest way possible. There's absolutely no denying that she's an utter pain in the ass, but she and I always got on very well in high school. I got along with a lot of bitches in high school. Probably because I didn't particularly care if they were mean-spirited towards everyone else. She's a very talented artist, does these amazing sketches, I mean stunning. Her figure drawing was always spectacular. She's also very, very, white. Quite possibly, the whitest person I've ever seen. Remember that.

After working the second day, we went to some electronics store and I was telling Bianca about mp3 and what could be done with it. She ended up deciding that she wanted to buy a CD-R, portable mp3 player, some bizarre stereo headset, and a cable modem. The store was a little weird. There didn't seem to be any employees, except for behind the counter, and everything was up on fairly high shelves (maybe I should have been looking for a job here). Apparently, everyone was expected to retrieve their purchases on their own. There were a few ladders scattered about. So I helped my friend retrieve her purchases. The cable modem (made by Palm, I don't know why that detail remains with me, probably because I don't think they even make cable modems) was on a particularly difficult to reach shelf and required the tallest ladder to get to. It was sitting by a group of kids who were chatting. When I went to obtain it, the tallest of the three had somehow managed to get his jeans stuck on it, and there was some difficulty in extricating himself from the ladder before I could take it. I think I knew him from somewhere, but I can't place it now.

After all of her purchases had been made, my friend had to do something, go to a movie, or go to work in a movie theatre, something like that. She assured me that her father would be happy to give me a ride home. He was driving her car, some used thing she had just bought. On the drive to my home, I was sitting in the passenger seat, and someone else was sitting in the back. Her father spent the entire ride talking about something of vast social importance, but I'll be damned if I can remember what it was because I was too busy wondering why the hell I was in a car driven by Bill Cosby. I looked at him, mesmerized for most of the drive, and he kept glancing at me in between looking at his friend or the road while he talked. He had these thin sunglasses on, with smoky lenses that you could barely see his eyes through. His expression whenever he looked me in the eye was kinda like "Why are you staring at me? I'm gonna kick your fucking ass if you don't knock that shit off."

After a while, I just turned and looked out the windshield. A green car was making a left turn in front of us. I don't know if Cosby noticed him or not, but we hit him pretty hard. It was a small car, I remember that, because after we hit it, despite being hit in a fashion that would have forced it to slide in front of us, slowing our car until the time in which we would stop, it disappeared underneath our vehicle instead. Cosby didn't slow for a second. He said something like "I'll be damned if I'm letting someone get another insurance claim against me." The next thing I know, there's cops all over the place, and they've all seen the hit and run. It's at this time, when Cosby is about to be pulled over, that I realize I haven't been wearing my seatbelt. I put it on, and woke up.

665

Posted 15 February 2003, 6.57 pm by firebrand

I don't really know how to describe it, but I think it's pretty damn amusing.

665

*masturbates excitedly*

Posted 15 February 2003, 12.01 am by Jake

A little sumpin' sumpin' for all of you computer gamers out there. You'll love me in the morning.

Chapter One

Posted 11 February 2003, 5.20 pm by Arguile

As soon as the clock struck five o’clock, Jake dropped his rag, clocked out, and rushed to start his engine. The concert was at five thirty, and he still had to change out of his work clothes and get his PA system into the trunk; not to mention getting to the gig, which was nearly 15 minutes away from his house. All in all, it seemed quite likely that he’d be late for his band’s first gig… an ominous sign to say the least.
"How the fuck did I know this was going to happen?" he said as he pushed the accelerator to the floor, nearly doing ninety. "I told that prick Klapatch that I needed to get off of work early today because I had an important engagement. Why the hell did he have to be such a dick and keep me until closing?" Furious thoughts ran through his head, but a sudden smile passed over Jake’s face as he imagined what he’d do to Mr. Klapatch if he ever saw him in a dark alley.
Jake brushed these sadistic yet pleasurable thoughts from his mind and instead concentrated on finding a feasible way to accomplish everything necessary this evening in the time allotted. He hoped Amber would be able to find her own ride to the show, because she herself lived 15 minutes out from where Jake lived, and he simply did not have the time to pick her up. Amber was a good girl, though… she’d understand.
At 5:17pm, as he roared into his driveway, Jake threw the car into neutral and ran in the house, undressing as he ran. He darted into his room, found the blue Dickies jumpsuit he was planning to wear to the show, threw it on and darted into the bathroom for a last minute sanitizing session. At 5:19pm, Jake had just finished loading up the gear he needed into the trunk of his hatchback Ford Mustang, and was pulling out of his driveway. It wasn’t until nearly 5:24pm, five minutes after he left the house that he realized he forgot to tell Amber that he couldn’t give her a ride.
"FUCK!" he screamed into the crowded intersection. "She’s going to kill me. I guess I’d better call her… god I’m in for it."
He dialed her number and was expecting to hear Amber’s voice answer the phone with ordinary cheerful greeting he always got, but was greeted by a far less friendly voice on the other end of the telephone. "Yeah?" was the greeting Jake got, and this took him slightly by surprise. It took nearly three seconds for Jake to register that this was instead Amber’s mother on the phone. He adjusted his tone accordingly.
"Hi, Ms. Carry. It’s Jake… is Amber there?"
"She’s asleep," she said, and Jake knew automatically that something was wrong.
"What do you mean she’s asleep? It’s only 5:26, and she said she was coming to our concert tonight."
"She won’t be going to your concert, Jake. Please don’t call again," and with that she hung up the telephone, leaving Jake so stunned he almost plowed into the car in front of him. "Fuck you too, buddy!" he cried out in reaction, even though he knew it was his own fault. Weeks later, Jake came to realize that he should have plowed into that car in front of him; that may have given him an excuse for why he didn’t pick up Amber, or at the least it would end the weeks of torment that were going to follow tonight.

Magicians and BloodWhores

Posted 10 February 2003, 2.01 am by Shaggy

I was his apprentice. I looked at him with awe, and a morbid curiousity. Here was the creature that was going to show me everything I needed to know. Here was the beast that was going to enlighten my path to the Other. Now all I had to do was to follow in his footsteps.

I made the same gestures that he had taught me. Simple tricks, really, nothing more than turning an inaminate object into something it is not. Many magicians have mastered this trick, and moved on to greater things, like creating fire from flesh, telekinesis, and other such talents. Somehow, though, what I am doing seems terribly important.

I turn a living creature into a list of names. These names are members of our audience, members who I have looked at with a morbid interest that I could not truly understand. What were these people to me? They were complete strangers, and yet I felt so interminably important to them, as if I am their savior somehow.

Can you believe it? Me, a savior? The thought alone makes me shiver.

My master reads the list. Simple names, normal names, and names that do not ring up much affection to me, except that I feel worried somehow. I am not terribly sure why, I am not terribly sure how, but I know these are victims, and so it is with this in mind that I whisper to one of the audience members to "think of nothing but thorns."

I close my eyes as the audience member form a circle between my master and I. I begin to count arbitrarily, random numbers, and I close my eyes. I can feel myself becoming faint, becoming light, and I know this is an integral part of the procedure.

The procedure is almost surgical. I begin to feel as if I am a member of the audience, perhaps more than one of the group that forms a circle on our stage. I feel as if I am being lifted out from their chests, and I can feel myself passing through the ceiling. I am now in the sky, floating above everything I have ever known. I can feel the warmth of the sky as I have never felt anything before. I can somehow sense that I cannot be seen, that I am like an insect, too miniscule to be seen by the naked eye, and yet I feel immeasurably powerful. I feel free, like a bird with no wings, like a man with no legs. I am not physical, I am free from the boundries of flesh. I feel like laughing, but I have no voice to bellow out my glee. I am at the edge of the clouds, and I can sense something unseen at the other side, something that cannot be seen by physical eyes, but something, nevertheless, that I can now see in my transcendental state.

Yet, before I pass through the clouds, I begin to be pulled back, and I feel myself entering into the audience members. I can feel them, somehow, and they feel like I have surgically removed a part of them. I somehow know that within a few weeks from leaving this stage, they will die.

All except the man who thought of nothing but thorns, the man that my master did not notice was absent from the excursion to the sky. My master is content with the other souls, as he has stolen enough of them to further perpetuate his goals.

I open my eyes, and somehow manage to convince myself it was all a dream.

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They were done for an exhibition a couple of years ago . They asked for something to so with the summer. They are mixed media and oil paint on metal advertising boards - for ice cream.


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80s candy bars were pretty good

only because i traded it for a candy bar in the 80's.

lol we all know you don't have a soul ghoti

my soul for some carbs...

But of course!

Yo ! Does this work ?

* Alexander wonders if this still works

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