"Some people are bullfighters. Some people are politicians. I'm a photographer."

Michaelangelo Antonioni
1912—2007

"I met Death today. We are playing chess."

Ingmar Bergman
1918—2007

Get that book outta' ma face, bitch.

Well, I did it: I joined bloody Facebook. Simply everyone is doing it, apparently. Actually, I may have jumped on the Facebook bandwagon far too late and it isn't cool any more. Never mind. At least it isn't quite so god-damn fiddly and ugly and Myspace, not quite.

If you happen to be on there then you can find me here.

I had a look around the groups and found one entitled "Bookworms" affiliated with my regional network. The log line reads, "Anyone who njys [sic] reading." Who says the internet and mobile phone culture is destroying literacy?

Mememememememed again

Maryanne has memed my ass 'cept I already done it last year and, to be honest, I ain't become no more interesting since then.

Still, Maryanne is a nice lady so go read her blog an' shit.

And, no, I haven't the faintest idea why this post is written in such a curious vernacular.

By the way #1

My omnibus edition of Richard Brautigan's Revenge of The Lawn, The Abortion and So The Wind Won't Blow It All Away smells not unlike sawdust and hamster poo.

The tyranny of ideology

Psychotherapeutic counsellor and novelist Sebastian Beaumont chooses his top ten books about psychological journeys in The Guardian. Discussing Robert Pirsig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Beaumont comments

"We can never step outside ideology, but Pirsig makes it clear that if we really face it, we can radically reduce its tyranny."

The tyranny of ideology: the phrase encapsulates several ideas that have preoccupied me recently albeit in a very vague and inarticulate way. Beaumont's comment has crystallised those ideas, given me a focus that has been absent for so very long. Funny how one sentence, one simple combination of words, can kickstart long-dormant creativity.

I must go write.

Thought for the day

A couple of weekends ago while prostrate on a friend's sofa after an evening of fillums in our eyes and copious amounts of wine down our throats an idea occurred to me that struck me as so important and profound that I must record it somehow at all costs. I had no pen and paper to hand so, painful as it was, made myself vertical, rummaged through my rucksack, found my mobile phone and sent myself a text message. I couldn't possibly write out the idea in its entirety but I knew that if I recorded one particular phrase it would be sufficient to recall this immense concept at a later time.

With a head full of booze and fatigue I managed with some difficulty to key in this phrase of utmost significance. I read and reread the message to ensure that the predictive text hadn't muddled this most important of messages and then I hit the "send" button. A second later my phone beeped reassuringly and I collapsed back on the sofa safe in the knowledge that the message, the prompt to myself that would trigger recollection of this most profound of ideas was tucked away in my mobile's memory.

I awoke the next morning without a hangover and feeling much better than I had any right to. I stretched, I yawned, I blinked, I contemplated making a cup of coffee, and then I remembered that in my drunken stupor the night before I had experienced something of an epiphany, a realisation that made sense of this whole damn palaver we call life. But what was it? I don't know. But... the phone: I had sent myself a reminder. The key was in my phone, a short phrase that would bring the whole damn revelation back to me. I rummaged once more in my bag for my phone, switched it on and saw the little envelope icon that signified receipt of a new message. I pressed to select the message and read what could be the single most important discovery of my life:

"There are too many ideas in my leg."

No, I still have no fucking idea what it could possibly mean.

Latest aurals in me shell-likes

Have you ever tried to imagine what experimental electro with a mad drunken Manc bastard slurring and barking over it would sound like? Toffee heck-nuts, I know I have!

Well, wonder no more because Mouse On Mars + Mark E. Smith of The Fall = Von Südenfed. Their debut album is called "Tromatic Reflexxions" and it is a magnificently filthy, funky and barmy record.

So, go buy it: that's an order. (Or don't if you don't feel like it).

Going mad. In hats. Again.

Yes, there is an all-new shiny issue of Mad Hatters' Review now online - Issue No. 8 to be more precise - and as usual I have contributed some honks and whistles and parps. You can listen to the honks and whistles and parps I made by going here and here. And why not peruse the rest of the issue while you are at it (but listening to my tunes is the most important bit, obviously).

Enjoy, yo.