The Cold Gin Times

Operation Concrete & Creativity

2009-11-03T16:36:00.003Z

For anyone that comes across this old blog, please have a look at this, my new collaborative media project, Operation Concrete. I'll probably post on it again fairly soon, as it'll help my SEO out and people still do visit here through image referrals, if you like music, art and sci-fi novels, you should jump on over. The above image is from one of the artists involved, Holly Exley.

Also, my creative blog is still going fairly strong, Cementum, where I blog about fun and interesting creative things. And on occasion, let out a little steam about estate agents.

The Novel is the Monster

2008-04-10T20:03:00.002Z

Self exploration is never easy. If you're open to the idea in the first place, willing to take on and tackle head-first what you believe in, what you think of to be true, your own beliefs and ideals, thoughts and concepts, then I believe you're a step ahead of a lot of people already. If then you take all of those ideas and belief systems and put them on paper, in an effort to really discover what you are, and potentially further down the line, have some sort of impact, then that's another step ahead, of a lot of people. A push to better yourself, to self-actualize and commit to something through a process of deep thought, exploration, analysis and discovery. It's all good stuff, and it brings out sides of your personality you thought you never had.

I know, it's a situation I'm currently in the middle of, it's a voyage I am currently undertaking and it's a twisted beast that's unrelenting and fascinating at the same time.

And in light of this blogs theme, some could say I am on a technologically fueled hedonistic quest of the highest order. Using my ability to add to, to research, to share and discover new parts of my being through a social media, my EEEp and a WIFI or 3G connection. A quest of self discovery, literary desire and technological competence to incite change in myself and with hope of possessing hearts and minds of others down the line.

From here on in this blog is on permanent hiatus whilst I concentrate on my first novel and attempt to discover more about myself than I ever have.

You can read about the progress of this novel if you are interested at http://www.cementum.co.uk

Three Little Words

2008-01-08T13:09:00.000Z

1) Tech

2) Social Media

3) Hedonism

More coming in the near future, I feel a wave of personal motivation coming over me, work is going well, so time to get everything else organized.

(Idea borrowed from Chris.)

The rough and the smooth

2007-11-02T13:09:00.000Z

Take them both, equal portions, move forward, become better, stronger, faster and never let up. I’m doing my best at the moment, personal blogging has taken a second seat to professional blogging, work in general and my book, which I’ve had on the cards for a year now and desperately want to get finished.

So, just a quick update, about myself, I’m well, I’m doing very well in my job, I’m learning a lot, I’m surrounded by great friends, there’s even a quite awesome lady in my life which hasn’t happened for a while. More on technology and hedonism soon. For the mean time, take solace in the fact that I am indeed, very ace.

Good times ahead, I hope everyone else feels as good as I do.

Numerous and Belligerent

2007-07-24T17:45:00.000Z

A definite social media presence, but just too little time and connectivity to do anything about it at the moment. I will soon BECOME media, like Robert Scoble, who apparently IS media…although I don’t believe that, he haunts the facets that are open to him like a geek plague, lost touch with the common man, did he ever have it?

Anyway, I’ll soon be out of the pit I currently call home, I’ll soon have the net, I’ll soon blah blah blah, a few more weeks and hopefully everything will be sorted, but for the mean time posts will be few, my writing will be sporadic at best and my attitude will remain snappy.

SOON!! MONSTERS…in the mean time keep up with me via the micro blog on the right

Updates are a go, patience is fleeting

2007-07-03T19:27:00.000Z

I have to run, little content here, just to say that I put the new Jaiku badge in my side column. Thus, now everyone can see what I'm doing all the time, the widget is also fed with my Vimeo videos, Flickr image stream, Digg articles, Del.icio.us articles and Kyte.tv broadcasts, all of which i'll be doing more of in the near future.

Talk about social media presence. I'll be talking about Omnipotence and the paradox that ensues more soon no doubt. But for now, I have to find a new place to live!

BOOM

Class divide on the internet

2007-06-29T14:18:00.000Z

Just who are the glitterati of the internet? The geeks? The bands? Who are the aristocrats? Mass owners of land in second life? A high-level dwarf in World of Warcraft? Hard to tell at this juncture, and I have little time to think about it at the moment.

Suffice to say, is danah boyd, a PhD student in the School of Information at Berkeley, has been looking into this realm for the last four years, and just the other day, one of her recent papers kicked up a right stink across the net…getting down to brass tacks and saying Facebook is for the wealthy, educated, middle-classes and Myspace is for every other deviant subculture under the sun. HAH, how I laughed.

I wouldn’t care to agree or disagree just at the moment, I wish I had more time to read her blog, it’s terribly interesting, and actually makes me quite jealous of her insight an the respect she commands. I’ll broach this subject again once I’m in possession of all the facts and can really hit it hard, in the time being I thought any readers might be interested in the argument itself, and the fuss it’s caused online.

On a side note, there are changes ahead, namely a re-design, it was always in the pipeline, as I don’t like these generic blogger templates, and now my designer friend has a bit of time on his hands he’s getting cracking. So things will go missing, stuff will appear, problems may strike, we’ll see how it goes.

More soon.

Presence updaters and Shane Macgowan

2007-06-25T19:34:00.000Z

The social presence revolution is all starting to kick off as far as I’m concerned. Most people will only know about this though their facebook ‘Richard is doing blah blah’, and probably won't even realise they're part of a wider picture when they put on all manner of applications to their Facebook profile.

Alas, the real revolution is rocking this way, giving people the facility to see what their friends, loved ones, family members and even favourite personalities online, are doing at any given moment throughout the day. It’s 24/7 surveillance, except with this Big Brother, you can turn it off.

I currently rock Jaiku, Facebook and Twitter on occasion, although I’ve yet to set it up properly so my feed is coming off my Jaiku account. Robert Scoble, is pushing his omnipotence, the pros and cons of each part, on us with a recent blog post, he say’s there’s something interesting going on that we should all be aware of, I’m inclined to agree.

It’s a tough on to call though, whether it really will be incorporated by the masses or just left for us geeks who continue to believe we’re ‘right on the edge, above the curve, living in a technological space, right out of the box... man’ or whether the ‘normies’ will actually pick-up on any of this sort of stuff.

On a technological and hedonistic level, I believe it’s about staying in the loop, and having the facility to do it anywhere, any time, keeping right on top of what everyone is doing all the time. I was in a pub on Saturday somewhere in north London, good times, good music, reasonable prices and Shane Macgowan sat in the corner, HA. The point is I could have loaded up Jaiku, or Twibbler, geo tagged a post and let the friends that I have on my contact list know exactly where I was, what I was getting up to, and told them to get down for some awsomeness.

I didn’t as it happened as I was a little to drunk, and totally forgot about the ‘presence updater revolution’ at the time, in favour of some ‘real life’ hedonistic pursuits, one of which was losing my mind.

Where will it all go? Who knows? And in the light of wanting to keep these posts relatively short, I’ll end it there, leave the question open, and maybe address it again soon. Lets see how it goes.

I’ve got so much to talk about here at the moment but the lack of internet at my house is a serious drag on my want and ability to blog on a personal level. But there you go.

More soon

Gadgets, technology and the history of man

2007-06-20T20:56:00.000Z

With all the god damned hubbub that’s taking place around the iPhone at the moment, the wired blog has taken it upon themselves to put it firmly in its place, get a real perspective on things, and ask their readers in a good old fashioned poll, what they think the greatest gadget EVER is.

Hedonism and technology have gone hand-in-hand from the dawn of time, from the first flickers of fire heating up fine cooked meat, to the humble toilet bringing forth sanitary and an all around more pleasant atmosphere to modern civilization.

Calling fire a gadget is pushing the boundaries, defined by the internet a gadget is officially:

"A small specialized mechanical or electronic device; a contrivance."

Some online dictionary

So everything else in their list easily falls into this remit, from the combustion engine – my personal favourite – to the personal computer. What exactly is the greatest ever is something that could obviously rage on forever. The iPhone is clearly not the greatest, it’s average at best, the Nseries N95, which I currently sport, wipes the floor with it in most departments and it’s already freely available.

I’d also submit Lego, simply for it’s awesomeness, whilst some would argue there’s no real practical use, Lego art is just one example of how this work of engineering and technological genius is moving leaps and bounds ahead of what it was originally set out for. In fact, I’m going to start blogging more about Lego, I invisage a world made of Lego, and not just the miniature ‘Lego World’ I visited in Blackpool as a child.

On a side note, I still have no serious internets at home, so I’m staying late at work and blogging from here, which sucks, I still want to get my head wrapped around a few cool ideas I’ve been introduced to but don’t have the inclination to at work. Very annoying.

More Lego and more other stuff tomorrow.

Grinding my teeth

2007-06-18T18:36:00.000Z

I was going to read up on social objects, maybe talk about that a little, throw in some other garb about things I like, about the future and other assorted bits, but in all honesty I’m fucked off.

So after three days and being quite keen to get a blog post up I’m eager to get home, give my parents a call (fathers day yesterday) sit down with a movie and not think, because my slow as fuck computer at work is pissing me off, the fact that one of the students at the house still hasn’t got the fucking internet sorted after three weeks, is pissing me off, and a couple of other things to boot.

Will sort this out tomorrow. Before I break my knuckles.

What’s fucking you off at the moment?

Faster blogger! Kill! Kill!

2007-06-14T21:00:00.000Z

Just a quick one tonight, I’m still at work, 13 hours so far, hitting the road soon, but inline with the subject of this post, and the general blog theme, may I present to you the Razer titanium-clad Boomslang Collector's mouse, a very awesome piece of kit for you gamers out there and anyone any geek who appreciates the finer things in life.

It’s a genuine limited edition, 10k to be made and the DreamHack expo in Sweden on June 16 is expected to have the info on pricing and whether or not it will use a High-DPI optical sense or opt for laser tracking.

Arh, all this fuss over a mouse?! Well, who’s to say? In yester-year it may have been a fine fur, rubies, metals, and whilst those goods a still touted as high-end hedonism in many respects, the people that abuse them now are, how should I put it? Often out of the loop? HAH.

Well I told you it was going to be a quick one.

More soon.

MTV generation 2.0

2007-06-12T19:48:00.000Z

Ye Gods! I can wait until the mainstream press picks up on the likes of this malarkey, the coined phrase, at the beginning of its evolution I’m guessing, is ‘The Attention Crash,’ and by god, it’s pretty accurate right at this infantile level.

It revolves around the human capacity to absorb information, and those of us who work in the social media, with computers, marketing, PR, this ethereal environment where so much money flys around, so little gets done, but so much is accomplished. Steve Rubel kicked things off by simply saying;

“We are reaching a point where the number of inputs we have as individuals is beginning to exceed what we are capable as humans of managing. The demands for our attention are becoming so great, and the problem so widespread, that it will cause people to crash and curtail these drains. Human attention does not obey Moore's Law.”

Steve Rubel, 11/06/07

The one thing that always stuck out in my mind about the MTV Gernation, which I’m gladly a part of, was our lack of any sort of decent attention span. Well, fuck me, as I’ve grown and my inputs have kept up, my attention span has drifted to what I think is around 3 or 4 seconds. That’s generally how long I’ll stay looking at one thing, email, blog, twitter, jaiku, facebook, myspace, last.fm, imdb, plazes…the infinite list of social tools. Terrible.

Hugh Macleod obviously had his own succinct opinion on the matter in hand, which as usual also hit the nail on the head.

“Of course, this web-enabled, stressed-out success model isn't anything new. Since the dawn of time, to get anything interesting done in this world pretty much requires one kissing normal life good-bye. This sudden mass overload of input we're constantly witnessing is just one more example of it. One of many. Same as it ever was.”

Hugh Macleod, 12/06/07

I think I’m in an interesting position though, as Hugh says, “to get anything interesting done in this world pretty much requires one kissing normal life good-bye,” I’ve pretty much always know the life I’m leading now, although now I’m getting paid for it. Blogging, jumping into technology and the social media, I grew up with it, this fast paced, action packed ride of geekery and hedonism, it is what I do, and have over the last decade (since I was about 13), so it’s no different.

I love it, every minute, apart from my increasingly apparent lack of attention that is, HAH…it’s the future-boyo. So where am I? I work 60 hours a week, I play 50 hours a week and sleep the rest, it’s brilliant, give me more, I want to absorb everything. What are your thoughts? Lunacy or progression? I can't seem to agree with this '4-Hour Workweek' stuff, what the hell am I going to do with the rest of my time if i'm not absorbing information that I like? Play golf? Go fucking swimming with dolphins? FUCK THAT, GIVE ME EVERYTHING ALL AT ONCE. I'll chew it up and ask for seconds, some might that’s young naivety, but I’m fine with that, when the hell else am I going to have the chance to balls up what I’m saying? So there it is.

More tomorrow.

Build ‘em big, build ‘em fast

2007-06-09T15:53:00.000Z

That’s what I say, nuke the rainforest, throw up gigantic scrapers of the sky that protrude like terrible stalagmites of doom. Surround me with concrete, awash in a sea of grey and strangers, orange light and thick air. That’s me, a brutalist at heart, I love the nature of intrusive architecture, maybe because I’m some sort of terrible 80’s Wall Street driven, power tie, cigar smoking beast. I actually think is has more to do with my technological influences during my youth, but that’s a different blog all-together.

For now we’ll concentrate on the 3000ft Burj Dubai. Monument. Jewel. Icon. Don’t take my word for it, A-rabs in Dubai have been playing with words and came up with those three. I’d tend to agree, this beast is a testament to the long development of human architecture and, as far as I’m concerned, just totally outstanding in every aspect.

It’s a beautiful spectacle, and almost at the pinnacle of this theme that I try and write about, the combination of hedonism and modern technology. There’s literally nothing quite like this building, and as soon as it’s built I’m going to visit, and do my best to dominate it, as I have done with a wide array of other earthly structural monuments.

Anyway, I love this building, and the fantastic thing for you green types out there, it’s surprisingly environmentally friendly, just read the spec over at their site.

Now, it’s hot, I’m bothered, and I want some food and then some cider. So I’m off, into the fray once again

More tomorrow.

Hedonism and technology

2007-06-08T17:49:00.001Z

Okay, less of my astounding political and social insight in this post (HA) and more straight-up technology that can benefit us in hedonistic ways, short and too the point as somewhere in this damned city there’s beer to be drunk.

MIT have been developing their magnetically coupled resonator technology that essentially allows for wirelessly powered…well anything hopefully. NO MORE WIRES! FOR ANYTHING THOUGH WITRICITY!

The one thing that I always thought would hold us down, how to actually get power to something without wires, okay yeah there’s batteries and possibly fuel-cells but this is a much more viable option and will prove for some very exciting times in the future, I’m hoping at least.

Secondly there’s Steam Punk, I’ll probably do a slightly more in-depth post on this one day and the guys behind it, but it never fails to impress and if I ever get any serious cash, everything I own will be calibrated in a steam punk fashion.

Just look at this wonderful set up, post-modern to the hilt, outstanding work as always, I’ll definitely combine this with my Witricity for some serious aces.

More tomorrow.

Content is King

2007-06-07T20:04:00.000Z

Yeah I know, I know, I’m just rushed off my feet at work, I have no internet at home, it’s summer and I like beer gardens. Combining these factors doesn’t do anything good for the old blogging situation.

A good thought though from Amnesty International on the changing face of censorship on the internet, especially in China, god damn commies. To quote –

"The chinese model of an internet that allows economic growth but not free speech or privacy is growing in popularity, from a handful of countries five years ago to dozens of governments today who block sites and arrest bloggers,"

Tim Hancock, Amnesty's campaign director.

What I don’t think they realize is by opening up the net, they’ll actually have greater control and economic growth, but I guess commies will be commies. Speaking of which, Putin is threatening to train his missiles on us? Better get some of that factor 3k sun lotion on standby because things might just get a bit hot out there.

Just a touch of hedonism today, and pretty much completely off the general theme of this post, but this walking robot is outstanding, just pull up a seat and away you go, lazy legs, let the robots do the work, hopefully they’ll make one that can feed and clothe me soon.

Terrorism? No fun to be had here.

2007-06-05T18:02:00.000Z

Problems and problems, freedom vs protection, being the main of them really, I wrote on this issue a few years back when I was travelling America, but in a different light all-together, here’s a snippet.

“It’s unlikely the rent-a-cop security employed to search and scan everyone getting onto Greyhound busses, for example, really know they’re infringing on the natural civil rights of all of these people, the 4th Amendment:

“The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.”

‘Probable cause’ I think is the phrase that comes into discussion at this point, “Our intent is to root out and discover possible terrorists and to protect the greater good”, indeed, that seems to give these rent-a-cops the right to search anyone, well, where are the individuals these days…?”

Jack Rawstone - Circa 2003

More and more of us I guess, and that’s just the problem as the internet opens up with the social media, I wrote just the other day that my entire life is basically online, and I’m fine with that, I don’t mind, it’s my ‘15mb of fame’ (just call me the next Andy Warhol). But the guys at read/write web wrote an interesting article the other day on naivety in the social media, essentially technology and terrorism. Am I being naive?

Will the openness that we’re experiencing now come and bite us on our rosy red arses? Will the governments come in and close us all down for our protection? “Sorry, you’re not allowed to upload your images online son, you took that picture in front of the White House / it proves you’re a dissident for some commie faction”. No doubt some madness will ensue, there’s already talk of the CIA and likes tracking everything online, EVERYTHING. But at the same time they’re partly relying on that, to keep track, to categorise, I guess it would do more harm than good for these fascist agency types to kill the social media than to keep it going.

Really though, it is great for me, I can find out what I want, when I want, where I want, however I want though a few key clicks, and it’s going to get simpler, as search engines become more intelligent (no Skynet please), I’ll soon just click and have. And I’m not scared, it’s a bright future as far as I’m concerned, no ‘the glass is half empty’ for me thank you very much.

Your thoughts?

More tomorrow.

The uncanny valley and disturbing times

2007-06-04T13:23:00.000Z

I love technology, but I would never actually ‘make love’ to technology. I very much doubt the Japs were interested in the pederast possibilities when coming up with the CB2 Child Robot, but none-the-less, it’s completely fucked up. I mean, fucking look at this thing, it's an abomination.

The video (found here) is even worse, the man softly-softly patting its leg, fucking hell! And this inevitably brings us to the Uncanny Valley, how we as humans feel unthreatened by robots, cyberoids, etc until the point where they look too much like us, then we freak the fuck out, and I’m thinking this monstrosity is at this point.

Getting back on point for the blog, we're almost at that hedonistic mildstone of ‘sexbot’ technology. Would I genuinely fuck a robot? It would probably depend if the robot was my overlord and pointing a laser gun at my face, in that instance, probably yes.

But undoubtedly this technology is going to become more and more familiar, the Japs probably leading the way, until ultimately, you’ve got the facility to walk down the street and get your pleasurebot in any size, shape or form. In my mind there’s something just categorically wrong with that, but thinking about it, that’s a healthy train of thought.

Take for instance Darwinism killing off the greasy bottom of the gene pool leech heads because they’re all out fucking robots instead of real humans. But, inexorably these robots are going to be for the rich, well-off types that can afford them, not the proletariat webbed feet type at the bottom of the social hierarchy, so which way will it go? Hmm lots of room for thought here I guess, yours on a postcard, or perhaps in my comments section.

Anyway, my net connection at home is down at the moment so I’m just going to be doing short daily, somewhat thought provoking, posts in my short lunch break at work for now, and if I get access to some wifi at home I’ll do slightly larger more commentary based posts from there.

So, adieu!

More tomorrow

Anarchy in the social media

2007-05-31T20:33:00.000Z

Ha, welcome to the party, pal!

One great article that recently caught my attention was over at mashable, concerning chaos within the social media, online communities, static-anarchy in an online space, freaks with keyboards, weird wired times.

The article is detailed and informative but doesn’t seem to get into the grit of these actions, these weird call to arms taking place over the internet, a movement spawning from an online space in a space – for all intents and purposes – that doesn’t actually exist, it’s a bunch of 0’s and 1’s.

One classic example is the Digg revolt of 2007, concerning a certain code that was deemed illegal by some company, somewhere. Digg quickly took down any stories pertaining to the code, for fear of being sued and taken out by the Mega-Turbo-Compu-Corp type organisation that owned it, or at least was threatening to sue.

This is where it gets interesting though, the Digg users fucking hated that, they ‘revolted’ against the establishment, against the people who were responsible for running their community, they didn’t give a shit if the community went down, as long as it was open, they fought for their freedom, to post whatever they wanted in an online community that was built on a system of open sharing. THEY FOUGHT WITH MIGHT, THE MIGHT OF THE GEEK.

And they fucking won-n-all, 24 hours after Digg said, ‘we’re taking this down because we’re worried about legal implications,’ the founder of the site said something like, ‘fuck it, if we’re going down we’ll go down with the users,’ which was a real turn up for the books. And now nothing seems to have happened about the whole situation anyway.

It’s a space where users have true power, because, in a lot of cases, and I hope more in the future, the Kings listen to their people and know what their people want in a truer sense than in real life. There’s a great saying by Plato that goes something like:

“There will be no end to the troubles of states, or of humanity itself, till philosophers become kings in this world, or till those we now call kings and rulers really and truly become philosophers, and political power and philosophy thus come into the same hands.”

Plato - Ages ago

Now, okay I might be getting carried away where, but the examples we’ve seen, with the likes of Facebook and Digg, have seen the need for change, and have taken on board the revolt, the opinion of the user. Granted there’s no lives at risk, and it’s all done behind the safety of a keyboard, but big things are afoot, and these are interesting times. There’s nothing more hedonistic to myself than freedom, and use technology to propagate and explore the concept of freedom is just totally outstanding.

Jump in with ideas and thoughts on the whole situation.

More tomorrow.

All good things come to an end

2007-05-30T08:35:00.000Z

As part of a blogger relations programme from TalkToshiba, I was recently given a Tecra A8 Toshiba laptop to handle for a week or so, test out and finally put down my thoughts on.

And after a week I can say I thoroughly enjoyed the experience, whilst not the lightest or most compact lappy in the world, it’s a good size and of quality build, the sort of build that’ll make sure the only reason you need to get a new laptop is because three years down the road, the spec needs updating, but you’ll always have your backup there.

I took it around to various places, the local coffee shop, even to a cider festival in Wales, to make sure I wasn’t left out of the loop. After pairing it with my N95 it still rocked and I managed to grab my emails. Whilst the spec on the one I had wouldn’t exactly tare up some of the latest graphically heavy games, it did the job for what I needed it to do, and because of the mid-end innards, it kept the weight down to bearable.

Probably the three most important aspects of a laptop, as far as I’m concerned, are the keyboard, battery and the screen, all three of which I’m pleased to say do the job well. In fact, after getting used to the slightly ‘positioned-right’ nature of the keyboard it was a pleasure to type away at, the monitor had a nice contrast and handled even high-definition divx playback to a reasonable degree and the battery lasted for hours, on highest brightness setting.

Anyway, I have to run but, they’re good lappys, if you’re after something that’s mid-end, good build and reliable, I’d recommend them. The only bad thing was the amount of heat it pumped out, making it slightly uncomfortable on the lap after an hour or so, but you tend to get that with most laptops.

I enjoyed the experience, technology allowed me to have a good time and put a smile on my face, which is after-all, the point of reporting on this blog, and I loved the fact that because I am a blogger companies like Toshiba value my opinion and ability to affect people, perhaps more than a magazine or TV advert could. Interesting times, I might talk more on this later on.

More later.

Fahrenheit 451 and the birth of the Ebook

2007-05-29T18:31:00.000Z

Guy Montag, you ain’t even going to get close pal, there’s people doing your job for you, idiots with agendas, think they’re proving a point when all they’re doing is looking very, very silly.

Take this chap, Tom Wayne, he amassed thousands of books in a warehouse during the 10 years he has run his used book store, Kansas City, Missouri, now he’s decided to burn then all because people aren’t buying them. That has to be the most ridiculously stupid thing I have ever heard, and I’ve heard some serious cock flow out of ‘got kicked in the head as a child’ idiots.

It’s the electronic age buck, get with the fucking programme, this Tom Wayne is burning his books in protest at ‘the death of thought in America,’ and whilst some stats do show less people are reading for pleasure today than 15 years ago, the inlet for most people’s reading these days is their net presence, and who ever heard of anything good being said on the net? It’s primarily a news source and reading today’s news is anything but pleasurable, I wouldn’t say more than 50% of my reading is pleasurable, I read books, but I read tonnes and tonnes of news and pure information.

Anyway, I’m tired beyond belief after a very heavy weekend spent drinking copious amounts of cider and getting itchy legs, so I’m cutting this short. I just wanted to throw it out there, people have said for getting on for decades now that the book will die out, I personally don’t think it will ever happen, eBook readers are generally rough around the edges, the contents of what people read might change over time, definitely what will be the sort of catalyst that will be the paper book’s death knell.

I do enjoy the fact however, that I can walk around with my Lliad, light, compact, perfectly balanced brightness, and carrying thousands of novels. Outstanding.

Technology, reading, hedonism? Not necessarily in this situation. Shame.

More tomorrow.

The spotlight on Jack: Connected in the 21st century

2007-05-24T23:11:00.000Z

HA, my alter ego Jack Rawstone has been reborn over at the site that launched a thousand pale white boobies, that’s right, Suicide Girls. He was / is a peculiar beast that Jack Rawstone, a man of might and panache; he turns heads, strides with a purpose and is never undone, not by any fucker.

I’ve been looking over the old blog posts I made on there - I'll transfer them over to hear when I have the bandwidth - a couple are tragically funny, case in point below:

"Whenever I go down to London there are bad crazies on the streets. We found a club where it was 70p a drink, I went in with £35 which would have given me the opportunity to buy 50 drinks. This was a mammoth task as I'd already hit the Wild Turkey hard, having 6 doubles in a pub around the corner from the club before hand. But I persevered and almost made it, I only drink doubles so about 20 drinks later, on the most foul of whiskey, I got kicked out of the club. I lost my t-shirt, split my head open on a wall and continued to stomp around in my Punisher vest like a wild animal pissing off the most of London."

- Jack Rawstone MARCH 11, 2005 @ 06:49 AM

And some are fairly serious:

"For the first time I became an actuated self facilitating media node. This bascially meant my laptop came in time for the trip and I wrote up the Hatebreed article on the train down, which I thoroughly enjoyed."

- Jack Rawstone MARCH 2, 2005 @ 04:05 PM

I make the point in the above statement that I’m ‘a self-facilitating media node’ which comes straight out of the Nathan Barely book of quotes for cunts. At the time I had a vague idea of what it meant I guess, but today, I’m more and more that person, but in the least possible cuntish sort of way, and I’m fairly proud, in fact I fucking love it.

Whilst I rock along between countries or just home and the office, business or pleasure, I stay constantly connected, constantly in the loop, uploading, writing, never miss a thing.

It’s brilliant, my Nseries N95, almost everything I need, the only thing holding it back is the physical screen size, and that’s because it’s a mobile device anyway, it’s meant to be fucking small. But it’s ace, I was recently in Paris, had no idea how to get around, but once I slid my N95 open, turned the GPS on, I found my way around no problem at all, it even got be back from Mont Martre to my hotel one late boozy night. So, it’s my connection, it’s my GPS, digital camera, podcast recorder and downloader, MP3 player, and a whole host of other things that keep me in the loop. Combined with my N800 for travel, it’s even more awesome as the screen on the N800 is big enough and with a decent enough resolution to do pretty much whatever I need on and offline.

The point I’m trying to make ladies and gentlemen, is that as the likes of Intel introduce the thinnest laptop in the history of the world, those of us in the loop, rushing forward with the devices and technology to back us up, can do whatever we want whenever we want. Geotagged content, a 3G net connection tethered via Bluetooth to your UMPC, and you’re rocking for whatever you want, and it’s consumer based, not yellow pages, not some bullshit advert or a list read out by some fucking tool at the other end of a 118118 call.

It’s from someone who has been there, done it, taken the picture, geotagged it, written the review, put the address in and recommended it to the social web, to us, well to me at least anyway.

Hedonism is deriving pleasure from the things around you, and if you are a ‘self facilitating media node’ you can do that, I know I do, instantly, without bother, and in perfect style.

The visible man is also a big story today, he’s put his entire life online because he thinks the FBI are following him, it just goes back to what I was saying about being open, and the social media, let everyone see, and the government is double fucked because not only have they got no excuse to fuck you over, but everyone else can see that’s the case. BINGO.

More tomorrow.

I enjoy zombies, they make me rich

2007-05-24T01:05:00.000Z

Just a very short post tonight, after the match and a skin-full of cider I’m in no particular mood for anything but water and sleep (even though sleep is only for sleepy people).

The posting that I call into question tonight, is that by Gizmodo - they’re not in any place to comment, they’re a bunch of geeks in a drawing cupboard somewhere reporting on the gadgets of the world - but they do raise the fact that now there’s an attractive attachment to one’s glasses, yes the Teleglass T3-F glasses. A little thing that lets you watch TV all the time, where ever you are, whatever you may be doing - hedonism, technology? quite possibly, although...

Well fuck done, bourgeoisie, you’re trying to keep up, you fill the airwaves with regular bullshit, you’ve tried to implement it into people’s mobile phones, and now finally you’ve got it directly in font of their eyes, literally.

HEY, keep them down, that’s what I say, as long as they’re preoccupied with whatever bullshit is being broadcast, they’re working the chicken lines that gets me my tasty spiced bucket on my weekend hangover, and lets you pass any bullshit laws you like. Just please make sure you’ve got the reality TV, world record braking, adverts and other generic cock that’ll keep the dogs down.

OH, but should I be touting, shouldn't I be trying to make sure that everyone wakes up, isn’t that what blogging, web2.0, the social media is all about? Well perhaps, but let me make take my stake first, and then, when everyone else catches up, I should be in some sort of position to start it all over again…

SHIT DID I JUST SAY THAT? Fuck, no I meant everyone wake up, read books, vote, stop reading the mass media, consume the social media...arh fuck, I've been trying to tell them for years, fuck them if 'they' are happy, it'll be fun to watch 'them' wake up.

Big brother’s watching, but who cares?

2007-05-22T19:14:00.000Z

I certainly don’t care a fuck if he is; everything I do these days is completely out in the open and public. Okay I might have a few vices that I’ll make a half-hearted attempt to keep to myself, but they’re nothing that I wouldn’t talk about if asked, or if the conversation turned in their particular direction.

Anyway, it’s a major point these days, especially here in the UK, just how much we’re being watched by Big Brother, the dystopian figurine of George Orwell's classic, 1984. Fucking cameras everywhere, infringing on our privacy, well I’ll tell you something now, I go out of my way to try and tell people what I’m doing all the time, and still would be if ‘he’ wasn’t watching. I’m not doing anything wrong, at least most of the time, and if it helps keep fuckheads and other sociopathic monsters out of my life, then all-the-better.

The point was raised today from an article I saw on Engadget, now alongside the countless static CCTV cameras that litter the streets, apparently here in the UK we’re getting flying drones to record us from the skies, WOOOoooOOOOOO0000OOOO! But what the fuck? Only dirty shitbags out of the loop would say that’s a bad thing.

Take myself for instance, I have two blogs, this one and a portfolio website containing pretty much all the writing I’ve ever done that I’m half proud of. I have a Flickr page where virtually all the images I take go, I have a Jaiku account that microblogs everything I do all the time. I have a facebook that contains my workplace, telephone number, the books I like, the music I listen to, the friends I keep, even right down to what quotes I enjoy and publicly displays conversations I have with my friends. I have a Myspace that plays host to my deviant alter-ego character Jack Rawstone, and I have Digg and Del.icio.us accounts on which you can see all the news I enjoy reading and other interests I have.

I don’t have a private life, it’s all online, and I couldn’t be fucking happier, because I’m immersed in a revolution and finally have a title I can give myself when my grand kids ask, ‘What were you all those years ago granddad?’ |And of course my answer will be;

‘I was one of those bloggers kids, one of those in the loop, living life right on the brim of technology with a great grasp of what was going on in the world, and not through editorialised, weighted bullshit, from the people around me and across the globe.'

And they’ll answer;

‘Wow.’

So let big brother watch, he’s certainly not on the prowl for me, and if he is, here’s a call to arms, come on down, let us have a little play and see what happens. I’ll get my hamster powered paper shredder on the go to get rid of all those vital documents, and set up my ElectroPlasmaLaser that’ll zap you into a vapour. HA. Fucker, you wouldn't get me that easily.

And the hedonism bit, oh yes, well you know, if you’re a narcissistic bastard like myself, you enjoy the openness because you like the fact that everyone is looking at you. So as I sit back with my plasma beer glass, laughing like Deniro at the end of Cape Fear with a Romeo and Juliet cigar in the right-hand side of my mouth, knowing the WORLD has access to ME, I smile and think, 'now that’s an ego-trip'.

Just a short one tonight, more tomorrow.

The lawnmower man: Reality Bytes

2007-05-21T18:27:00.000Z

Fuck, I love that.

If you’re around my age, that is 23 or older, and have any interest in geekery, technology, and sci-fi, you’ll undoubtedly remember the shitflick that was The Lawnmower Man. It seems a fitting place to start for this post, largely related to the news that by 2011, 50 million people will have a second ‘online’ life, whether it be in the metaverse secondlife itself, or another one of those arenas. Instead however, of a different plane of reality engulfed by the classic ‘flying, falling and fucking’ it’ll be a commerce-verse populated by 30 something males with a propensity to jack off over tentacle rape porn, read the Onion and laugh at threads on Something Awful.

Trying not to veer too far off track, whilst you’re in your secondlife, rocking about like King-ding-a-ling, not a worry in the second world, a hedonist of our times, stuck with an information feed for pleasure, you’re going to want to have the best keyboard about, and that my friends, is OPTIMUS MAXIMUS KEYBOARD.

This thing is so super bad ass it tares a hole the size of a wind sock in anyone that dare disregard it as another piece of junk, high-geek, loner, toy, crappola. At fucking 1.5k this is no toy, it’s the future of keyboards, that's right each key is actually a mini display and you can programme it to display whatever you want. I remember when this was first leaked as a photoshop image file, everyone shat gallons, now someone’s made it, just goes to show the power of the geek.

Whilst you’re sat at your desk, not content with having the Optimus, you’re gunna need a nice cool, tasty beverage to wash whatever shit you’re eating down. And now you’ve got the perfect solution, a USB powered mini-refrigerator that’ll sit right there, with your can of Pepsi Cola.

+

= LACK OF DEATH

Now, after a 24 hour stint in front of the computer, okay lets make it 48 hours, a secondlifer needs a sleep, actual human sleep, and what better place than a Transport pod created by Alberto Frias. This trippy-as-fuck mind monger will take you to the land of nod in no time, and I don’t mean that type of NOD. And a pinch at 10k, what better way to relax, by yourself, in real life, without another human? There is no better way.

More tomorrow, maybe tonight, depends if I drink.

Jesus he knows me, and he knows I’m right

2007-05-20T22:11:00.001Z

Of course he does. Now, to the new blogging style and all those things I promised you, i.e. ramblings, bad commentary and cheap prose, ha!

I see things across the net all the fucking time, the difference that makes a few stand out, is that they will trigger a memory, make a spark of electricity fly to across my brain, activating some distant thought I had somewhere down the line, and they make me feel happy. I’ve always been a bit of a consumer, enjoying spending my money, and why the fuck not, I work hard enough for it.

Although I do prize a good anecdote over any sort of material goods, I also enjoy said material goods when I decide to buy them, usually on a hangover to treat myself. Anyway, in line with the point of this blog, the items I’m going to post will usually be some quality goods that are either retro in nature with a technological twist or brand new, the best of their kind, and heavily steeped in geek-like hedonism.

Now let us get off to an awesome start, three goods that I believe to be super ace, state of the art and in supreme taste. Firstly there’s the ‘Big’ styled piano mat, for the grownup child in all of us, or perhaps just the drunkard. Whoever saw Big when they were younger thought three things; firstly how lucky is he to nail that auburn haired vixen, that studio apartment is totally awesome and how fucking cool would it be to play on one of those big floor pianos?

Well now you can thanks to grandriver toys, although the image is completely misleading. The stats say it’s 6.5 feet wide, if that’s the case the girl in the image must be about 1 foot tall, either way, I want one.

Okay, now lets say you’ve got that huge ‘Big’ styled New York studio apartment, you’ve got your giant floor piano, now you need somewhere to sleep. In the movie he bunks with his bezzy mate, come the 21^st century you want something a bit better, well jump straight into your Z box. I love this thing, for some reason I have a thing about rooms inside rooms, I just think they’re ace, and this is like having your own little super fort.

So you’ve got your floor piano and bedroom sorted, two more things to get sorted. Firstly how to keep cool in those Big Apple summers, well that’s sorted with this P40 Tigershark Warbird Ceiling Fan. Sure the technology isn't exactly brand new, it’s not that hedonistic per say, but it’s fucking cool, and that indeed makes it hedonistic.

Finally, how to make toast, grill? Conventional toaster? Fuck that. This design concept, Toasty, the toaster is only missing one thing, the ability to talk, and if it could, you know it would sound like Samuel L Jackson crossed with Bender out of Breakfast Club, too cool for school.

More tomorrow.

The man behind the curtain

2007-05-20T20:37:00.000Z

That’s right ladies and germs, that man is me…well not just yet, but rest assured I’m working on it on a daily basis. It’s been two months since I last blogged, and the regular cluster fuck of a life I have has been shooting along at a rate of knots. I would like to say I have no idea where the time goes, but the simple matter is that I do know. It sits in front of a computer for a few hours a day, remembers it should be in meetings in some other parts, lies on a couch later on then convinces itself that it’s missing out if it stays there, then gets violently drunk and regrets all the thoughts of the previous day, this is repeated in regular fashion, sometimes spliced with writing, copulation, good food, golf and fine cigars.

As always I continue a battle with alcohol, the last two months have seen serious amounts of abuse in that sense, ranging from getting strangled by my boss, to getting the company logo tattooed on my arse in a drunken ‘the morning after the night before’ sort of style, to being thrown out of numerous clubs, to almost getting arrested in Bulgaria, and loads more beside, but for the large part it’s a generic wasteland of fuckupery and something I’m determined to knock on the head.

HO HO HO, fuck, like that will ever happen.

Anyway, back to the blog, I’ve decided to change the remit once again, although only slightly. It’s still going to revolve around technology and hedonism, though now however, rather than spinning yarns about my personal life that generally see me drunk and trying to implement some sort of technology to find my way home, or a good bar. I’ll concentrate on exactly what I didn’t want to do, but have inevitably been drawn into it because of time constraints through work and other projects, and that is repurpose what I see on other blogs.

Well, not right down to the last T, but to a certain extent, I’ve decided to show off some of the finer and cooler things that have come about through technology that could equip your house or heighten your status, as probably a geek, but as any well-to-do fellow knows these days, us geeks rule the world, what we say goes, and if we deem it hedonistic, it is.

The rockstars had their day, they blew it, and whilst some still chase after that, admittedly I’m included, the bright, sober and headstrong are assimilating everything and turning their backs. Hedonism today is a cool lunchbox made from Lego and 10,000 lines of code that brings out a brilliant new networking tool, or design concept, or whatever.

So, having been walking the line between ‘in the know geek’ and ‘out of the loop metal head’ for the last decade now, I’m finally trying to make the leap into Geekdome, I’m hoping this will sober me up, help me get along with my job better, maybe find a woman that isn’t terrified of me, and yet still continue to have fun. But what do I know, I’ll probably be drunk as fuck lying in a ditch by Wednesday.

Anyway, to end this little tirade of nonsense, I’m going to put down what I can only class as my first and only piece of poetry, I found it on my hard-drive in an odd sub-folder, labelled ‘TOSH-21-06-05’, I have no idea what it means, or why I wrote it, but for some reason it stands quite proud I feel.

Before the poem however, I’ll say adieu from this style of posting. I believe I’ll be posting a few images, some small time prose and perhaps a little bit of rambling from now until around August, when I move out of the house with the students, and hopefully get somewhere I feel I can really do some writing.

Sophisticated people with sophisticated lives
Champagne and caviar
Haute couture and show frocks
Busy and on the go
Cocaine
Grab it by the balls and shake it about

Greed
Power
Technology
Fine art and dinner parties
Show face
Trophy wife
Self made captain of industry
Strutting and smiling
All the money in the world
Attack from the inside
A giant for the gods
Cheese on tooth picks
Pre-cut tinned chucks of genetically altered pineapple

Braces and power ties
Masonic money clips
Outstanding views
Cuban heals
Friends in plastic
Wine
Whiskey
Door delivered sushi
Price wars in the dark
No guts no glory.

Enough is enough
Weeping at the conquering of all worlds

Push all time aside
Dominate
Contacts
Make deals
Golden doors
Red phones
Employer
Real money
The big time
Crush your enemies.

Where to stand?
Time to take sides as time takes no sides

Torn jeans and bad house whiskey
Cheap cigarettes
Bad fittings
Greasy hair
Deranged bohemia
Delusions
Bullshit fashionista
Popularity
Credibility
Celebrity
No shame
Crazy hell bent

Drug addled
Big thinking
Small time no one
Internet celebrity
Big fish small pond
Factory line pre-proofed generic swine
Line the street
Smile like nobody
Packing chickens

Disinterested
Lack of knowledge
Ready
To die alone, take it all

Fast Times

2007-03-06T14:06:00.000Z

I’ve been over run with work, booze and my book over the last month and the blog has, I’m afraid, taken second place to all of these. I’ve barely had time to look at it, and to be honest I shouldn't be writing this now.

I really wanted this space to convey overly complex and ridiculous theories on how hedonism and technology are combined in the 21^st century, instead it’s a fucking dead-zone. Rather that than some bullshit blog, the type I see every day, regurgitating information from another blog, shared knowledge is only good when more than one person is sharing anything of merit or originality.

Anyway, whilst I’m not sure when I’m next going to be able to produce such an update, for now, I’ve come across something quite outstanding. It’s called ComVu and allows me to broadcast live to the web from my multi-media computer, i.e. My Nokia N93.

It’s quite amazing to think of the possibilities. With the N93 you get 30fps near dvd quality images, with a free city wide WIFI connection I could explore architecture, galleries, restaurants and good watering holes, broadcasting everything live, whilst you sit at home and soak up the culture. Quite outstanding isn’t it? The possibilities are endless, I love the future. The Gekko is rising.

Our future online.

2007-02-08T13:24:00.000Z

I simply had to put together a quick blog about this outstanding video produced by the guys at Kansas State University.

It explores with absolute clarity the changing world, sometimes I suppose people’s beliefs in the web, web2.0 and the social media are overly grandee, we have to remember that there are more people not online, connected and in the ‘loop’ than are. People may consider the ones in this ‘loop’ more important than those outside, they’re the decision makers, and trend breakers, the Shepard’s of the future, but again, let’s not get too carried anyway, not for the moment. I have no time.

This video raises the point at its end though, we, the industrialised world, east and west, are going to have to change out perspectives on almost everything due to this monumental shift in connectivity and community. This I believe also applies to that of hedonism, and this is why I feel this video is most appropriate for my blog. Derived pleasure no longer only takes the form of fine material goods, showing them off at your dinner party like Dorian Grey or some such. There’s community without leaving your office, living room, bedroom, coffee shop, anywhere, and how hedonism, high-living is defined within this realm is a question that will be interesting to answer. Thoughts on a postcard ladies and gentlemen.

Too many questions, too little time

2007-02-07T00:57:00.000Z

I wish I could say the last few weeks were marred by entirely unprecedented events, however, they were not. Again, far too much excess in the form of alcohol and pain, bad crazies and liquid weirdness that was highlighted randomly with bouts of technological deliberations and a few beautiful women, neither however did I manage to fully satisfy; oh the tragedy.

Time to get a grip, take hold and make haste, Gordon Gekko had it right, taking the 80’s apart the only way he knew how, lust, power, greed, technology.

“Got to monitor my blood pressure, so
whatever you do, don't upset me…
Within 45 seconds, a microprocessor
computes your systolic and
diastolic pressure. Has an LCD
readout, and it's cost effective --
less than one visit to the doctor”

Gordon Gekko, Wallstreet, 1987

I’ve been trying to balance things with only a modicum of success; extremes in the wrong departments have, however, been detrimental to fulfilment and the good old adage of ‘self-actualization’. On the whole I’ve been entirely consumed with my work, the new job, chasing the dream…I’m getting close to figuring out what it is, and I believe it lies within the recesses of the internet. The ugly brute is changing, a shape-shifting beast that is becoming all consuming, empowering the people and emasculating the companies. ‘Taking the power back’ one might say…fucking wait a minute, slow right down…generations have been saying that since the land before time, regaining the power from the bad, giving to the good, what the fuck do we have now? Robin Hood living in his mother’s basement, making a difference whilst all the while sat calmly in a room held steadily between 70 and 72 degrees Fahrenheit.

No, wait, there are two parts to this story, to what I’m trying to say. Lets stick with one for now, attempt a short exercise at exploration, to reiterate; chasing the dream...Now, my personal goals have generally always lay at polar opposites, on one hand wanting to be the avant-garde sort, all floaty, wearing black, writing stories, capturing minds, raising hell, being a deviant, having the muse, the woman alongside and just riding life in the tormented yet classy fashion we’ve all become accustomed to seeing outlaws and rebels doing. However, I have in many ways always wanted to captain a nuclear trident submarine, or a Nimitz Class aircraft carrier, with clenched fists, cigar-in-mouth and pure white hair commanding fleets of men, becoming a warrior and one with humanity. I would never have said either were truly out of my reach, my natural short sightedness may have hindered me entering the Navy, but otherwise I believe I was always more than capable. Then there is the all-capturing, all-in-one bonanza dream where all wants become reality, the power, the notoriety, the infamy, the money, the women, the material possessions, everything, pure 80’s, Patrick Bateman crossed with Gordon Gekko crossed with Commander John Martix.

These parts of my personality have always played off against each other though, and one has seemingly always had the upper hand, believe it or not, this was the ‘artist’. I personally think this is the easy way out, the copout and as my sometimes awkward leapfrogging thoughts go, I begin to want to chase the money, the power, anger and might standing forth.

There is perhaps a way I can do it all, capture my dream and make it reality. With no-holds-bared relentlessness still manage to capture the hearts of writers, whilst inspiring, being looked upon in awe and commanding fleets of more than willing personnel. Now, the concept is ludicrous, the paradigm through which it can happen is beyond idiocy, but with a little bit of perseverance, some sound knowledge and learning, and a few years behind me, I think I can crack it, ladies and gentlemen, within Web2.0.

The fucking internet, it’s bigger than the biggest thing on the planet. Celebrity bloggers, vloggers, podcasters and general morons are quickly becoming a new breed of hero. Our western world is being assimilated one by one, the east is no better, constantly connected, in touch, if you’re not online you’re out of the loop pal, take notice of what’s going on if you don’t you’ll dry up and die, just like the rest of them.

The bloggers, the social-media, the social-sphere, it’s developing and I can only hope that it’s here to stay. Birthing from people’s insatiable lust for gossip and trash, it has, with the help of some people who have always been around but have how just decided to start embracing this side of the wonderful medium, become a tool for good. ‘You fucking geek,’ my friend cried, then I put together a short tale, it was called, ‘The prick who shrivled up and died’ it went something like this.

“There once was a boy who enjoyed his whiskey, he enjoyed it so much he’d go to the pub every night and get entirely wasted on whatever the landlord had to offer. Each night after ‘getting wasted’ and ‘being a deviant’ and ‘being a fucking hedonist’ he’d go back home, perhaps smoke some marijuana and fall asleep.

His friend then once told him about the new social-media and how he thought some form of revolution was taking place. ‘Bullshit’ answered the boy and carried on about his ways. His friend then went about setting up a blog concerning whiskey, he started social networking throughout the internet with other ike minded people and soon gained a reputation. After perhaps a year he had gained quite a bit of notoriety and was receiving many millions of visitors a day. He began a quest against his old friends favourite type of whiskey and soon the recipe was changed. Then he went up to the boy and told him to go fuck himself.

The boy was stood on the outside looking in, but his friend was in the loop, he’d embraced what was happening and took a piece for himself.”

Errr, Me, right now.

The point is ladies and gentlemen, that although there has been many social revolutions though-out history, there is now one happening right in the middle of the communications age. People have the ability to connect where-ever, when-ever they want on multiple plains across numerous platforms and if you are willing to embrace this, open your eyes to a movement that will continue to mushroom in a way that was never or could never have been seen with the likes of the hippies and the punks, then you’re in for a good time.

Now, we’re drifting slightly, the dream is the concern and it’s my dream… to be the jilted artist, to be the power hungry hedonist and to be the commanding warrior. Some may think it’s a copout, doing it from behind a screen, sat down, occasionally drifting off to examine my Phrenology skull or to eat some toast, and I’d agree in many respects, but it’s the best I’ve got at the moment, and it’s how I believe technology will ultimately bring me my dream.

Combing perseverance, the ethereal like social-media, my net connection whether by HSDPA, 3G, broadband or anything else, my 64x2 Turion AMD fully kitted laptop or my Core 2 Extreme X6800 desktop, my mobile multimedia computer or internet tablet and winning. Pricking at the shrouded light that is my dream, until finally there’s no material left to prick.

A tale of two technologies

2007-01-23T00:50:00.000Z

Well, I’m going against what I originally penned in for this blog, again. I have been desperately trying to edit together a video that I recorded on my Nokia Nseries N93, but instead I’ve decided to write, as I have no patience for editing software these days.

Now, throughout this blog and its exploration of how hedonism and 21^st century technology meet, I’m going to set myself tasks every now and again. I don’t profess to be the most hedonistic guy in the world, far from it, I’ll often settle for second best or whatever suits. Though occasionally I will impress upon myself the need for some decadence, such an impression took place the weekend just gone, when I decided it was time for a selection of nice cigars.

Now, being relatively new to the area I had no idea where the local tobacconist was, fortunately for me we live in an age where such information is but a click away, as apposed to the more traditional flicking of pages. Anyway, one Google search later and I had my destination, seven button presses later and I had my directions, having put the postcode into my Tomtom satellite navigation system. So I shoe horned on my Vans and meandered down the street. I had approximately a mile and half to travel and thus decided to make it by foot alone. The Tomtom quietly gave me voice guided directions where needed and I followed its onscreen map without fault, although in all honesty I basically had to walk in a straight line.

However, I arrived at my destination without fail, chapped and cold, but with plenty of daylight to spare. I was welcomed inside by an elderly gentleman smoking a hand-made clay pipe and wearing a Motorhead t-shirt, quite the juxtaposition but a gamely one I thought. After exchanging pleasantries I went about explaining how I wished to buy some fine cigars, whilst remaining within the price bracket of a sane man. He directed me to the controlled atmosphere of a closed room, where the finer goods were kept.

“Nicaraguan” he said, “hand rolled.”

“Outstanding” I replied “I’ll take six.”

So we exchanged currency for goods in the usual manner and I went on my way, satisfied that technology had helped me acquire some decent cigars. This felt too easy though, like I was the racing hare yet this time I’d actually one, with little effort, and with time to spare. So I decided further treats were in-order. Not one to quibble about a decision I fancied I was in the mood for something with a Latino flavour, after-all, my cigars were of South American origin. Without delay I pulled out my mobile and began searching for somewhere I could drink a half decent sangria, and once again I was meandering down the road, following my friend Tomtom in his tutored English tone to a venue called Kazbar.

I have to admit; even the outside of this place had a distinct Latino feel to it, largely comprising of browned concrete and cheap wood, the door was medieval in fashion yet retained an air of authenticity to it that drew me in and begged me to put at its old iron hinges. We are drifting from the point in hand however; I had been suggested this place by a search engine after using 3G mobile technology on the 2.4", 320x240 pixel resolution, 262144 colour screen of my N93. I’d used my Tomtom to bring me here, and now all I needed was some Sangria to enjoy with my cigars and perhaps the company of a good woman with a Latino bloodline.

Now thus far the technology had worked, it had allowed easy sailing through out the day, I’d woken up, decided I wanted something a little removed from my daily in take and set about acquiring it in the way I know best, through utilising technology, and probably making a long-winded effort out of the whole thing. It had worked however, as I sat at the bar with my £15 jug of Spanish made sangria – they employed Spaniards at the saloon – I puffed tentatively to start on my Nicaraguan hand-rolled cigar. I say tentatively because I was still unawares of how I’d find a Spanish, or indeed Mexican, girl to top the night off. The technology I had with me could probably help in some way but I’d decided enough was enough and to run with my instincts for the rest of the night.

This is where the story becomes even more interesting. See, as I was sat there with slightly squinted eyes, observing and tasting, a young gentleman came and sat next to me. I was on the verge of giving up, three cigars and two jugs of sangria down I’d almost decided to call it a night, and then he piped up.

“Do you mind telling me where you got those cigars?” he started.

“No problem, it was actually just down the road, there is a small yet highly specialised tobacconist on High Street, excellent service, I’ll be going back soon.” I replied.

And he thanked me and turned away. I chose this juncture to excuse myself briefly, but didn’t want to lose my seat and so I decided to leave my jacket on top of the stool and ask the young sir to look after it, which he did. When I returned he asked the same of me and before coming back to the bar I noticed he shot outside, I thought the swine had ran off leaving me with some piece of incriminating evidence, I could see it there plain as sight… ‘NO NOT MINE SIR, SOME PRICK COCKSUCKER LEFT IT HERE FOR ME TO TAKE THE HEAT’ but no sooner had I thought, than he came back in and with a lady in tow. Now, at this point I was ready to leave, hearing this couple, who were quite obviously on a first date, was just a little too much; I had just about finished my last bit of sangria when the young chap ordered another jug, no harm in that, but then he proceeded to fill my glass.

“There you go, enjoy” he said.

“The fucker” I thought.

I don’t need his sympathy, but free drink is free drink, so fuck it. No sooner had he finally come around to pouring his own glass than the girl stood-up and left for the bathroom. I thought I’d break the silence and ask the question.

“How’s it going then?” I chirped up.

“Pretty well actually” he replied.

And we both sank back into our positions and sipped on our sangria. Then he turned to me with a smile and made an exhalation of laughter that obviously warrants attention, so politely I turned to him and raised my eyebrows.

“You know…” he began, “It’s the funniest thing, we actually met on the internet, though a site called Faceparty, I’m not usually up for that sort of thing but I thought it’d be worth a go, weird how technology is creeping into our lives isn’t it?”

“Fuck…” I replied, “Weirder than you can even begin to think”

“Quickly like, before she comes back, I know we’ve just met ‘n all, but she said she’s got a mate coming down in a bit, save her being a third wheel and getting in the way, you fancy sharing a few more drinks with us then seeing if you get along with her mate when she comes?”

“Yeah, fuck it, why not?”

“Great, I’m Gary, she’s Lisa, I’ll introduce you when she gets back…”

So it seemed inadvertently, technology had indeed provided me with everything that I wanted that day. From fine cigars, good sangria and now a date which, judging by the girl sat next to Gary, probably wouldn’t be of Latino origin but a good looking girl none-the-less.

My hopes were soon dashed when I saw what appeared to be a sasquatch waving through the dimly lit, smoke filled bar area. Her marauding walk made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and as I heard Gary let out a nervous cough I decided it was time to make a quiet and dignified exit, before any blood was spilled.

“Sorry Gary… Lucy… something’s just come up, you know how it is, working within the social media, web2.0, fucking search engine optimization and all that, bastards never leave me alone, just called me in, overtime yeah, but I need the money, erm, call me, we’ll do lunch.

And that was that, well almost, as I was quickly making my way to the medieval styled door, I spotted a graceful looking creature sat in a booth at the other end of the venue in the restaurant area. I thought I’d hide, give it a second and see if she has company…and then I tried my luck, which as it happened seemed to be in. She was petite, had an olive complexion and spoke in soft broken English which had the adorable trait of being pronounced from the roof of her mouth rather than the front of her teeth. We talked and ordered some more sangria, ate ‘on the house’ pistachio nuts and nattered briefly about Europe and her time in Oxford. Athalia was her name, as close as I can come to spelling how it was pronounced anyway, and she was wonderful company for the time we had.

Now, I had everything that evening, good drink, good cigars and finally good company, and through one way or another, it was brought about through technology and its use. Always bear in mind though, that it’s more often wise than not to go with gut feeling.

The Mobile device and hedonism.

2007-01-11T12:42:00.001Z

I wasn't planning on making this subject my first port of call, however, with the announcement of the Apple iPhone and other well designed and implemented pieces of mobile technology, such as the Nokia N76 at CES, I've decided to go ahead with it.

The nature of aestheticism, its pursuit and application in someone's life, is pivotal to hedonism. Tracking the beautiful and exquisite, hunting the spectacular and stunning are pre-requisites for people who wish to devote themselves to a hedonistic lifestyle, leading an intense life in the pursuit of beauty. Now, although aestheticism is perhaps a dated concept and has since died a death, I believe its key lines of philosophy are still relevant today. With the philistine hunt for celebrity and other such dullard pastimes, the search for beauty in something with no need for any didactic meaning or prevalence is perhaps more relevant than ever.

Although, perhaps I’m mistaken. The technology I’m calling into question here is, in many cases, aesthetically attractive, following precise lines and an evolution of design, but it does have meaning; it has purpose and conceivably without the ability to fulfil this purpose the object will lose its beauty.

The Apple Iphone for instance. Following from Apple’s previous design technique it follows a simplistic curve that balances practicality with an ergonomic sense of place. Its smooth exterior and rounded shape will, I believe, feel natural in the hand and carry the ability to fit easily on the body. It glistens like a ruby or diamond, and catches onto that innate human susceptibility for all things shiny. It retains a beauty in itself, as an object it is refined, doubtless it would fool an asethetist of old into making them think it was a precious stone or some such. For arguments sake, it is an eye catching and pleasing piece, and hedonistically sound, from a traditional standpoint at least.

However, the debate questions whether the exterior alone carries the hedonistic attributes of such an item. Would a hedonist, in the true sense of the word – defined simply as a person in the pursuit of pleasure – encase the product in a glass sphere of some kind simply to look at and, like the traditional aestheticism forerunners, reject its meaning and purpose simply to behold its beauty? Or would they use it, believing the pleasure that can derived from the object is in fact a combination of its aesthetic beauty and its technological prowess, its functionality and practicality. I believe they would opt for the second, at least in this day and age. As pleasant as the device is to the eye, its real power for the creation of pleasure lies within. Technical specs are dull, but sound in the knowledge that it has an extensive practical use, I believe it is a great example of how in the 21^st century, technology and hedonism are combined, are one with each other.

Which one carries the most weight though? Functionality and technological dexterity or design and aesthetic beauty? Indeed, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, yet using averages in order to make some progression, I believe most would side with functionality, purpose and utility over aesthetic looks when it came down to which one would allow more pleasure to be derived from the device. The iPhone treads a fine line between the two, with possibly the greatest amount of skill seen in recent times.

An amateur, when asked, would probably tell how companies such as Vertu produce the most hedonistic mobile devices. With their gold trimmings, titanium cases, diamond encrusted pieces of flash; they certainly are extravagant on one level. However, hedonism is not derived entirely from a large price tag alone; perhaps a costly item will often deliver large amounts of pleasure, but not always. The practical functionality of a device, which can be priced as high as £20,000 in this instance, is paramount to its hedonistic qualities. When on a specification list the company has to mention that the device has a calculator, it immediately becomes apparent that once purchased, there is little pleasure to be derived from your diamond encrusted Signature Verto Phone, other than its sparkly nature.

And there are devices that take the other step, away from elegant, exotic and often eccentric design, further into the realm of functionality. The newly announced Nokia N76 for instance takes this step, whilst maintaining a decorum and aesthetic presence on its flip-side that the Vertu devices fail to do with itself. Treading lightly between refined design and polished practicality it meets somewhere in the middle, alongside the iPhone, which is truly the better, or in the realm of this discussion, is the most hedonistic, is a question for another time.

Aestheticism originally grew out of symbolism and decadence; art for arts sake with no moral meaning or use. A pure quest for beauty, for pleasure from art and nothing else. Technology cannot fall into this category, it cannot be art for arts sake, or technology for technologies sake; correct there are masses of gadgets and gizmos that look splendid but have day-to-day practical use, but they do have a use none-the-less. This however, does not by any means bring technologies hedonistic values into question. Where beauty and functionality combine perfectly in the 21^st century to bring pleasure through whatever it may be, highlights its importance in a hedonistic lifestyle.

So I say fuck the ones with their stupidly expensive devices that have all the pizzazz but none of the practicality. And fuck the dullards who fail to realise just how important technology is to hedonism in the 21^st century, the blockheaded fucks who are stuck in the past chasing cheap drugs when it has been seen and done, to great extent so many times before. Embrace the poly, take hold of the silicon, and chase the dream of attaining hedonism through the perfect combination of function and design.

technorati tags:n76, iphone, hedonism, technology, gadgets, vertu, aestheticism, design, functionality

Let us dare to be powerful

2007-01-07T23:58:00.000Z

Howdy everyone,

The tales that follow below will, in an albiet vauge fashion, help clarify the subject that I want to tackle with this blog. It’s to do with hedonism and technology, and I’m currently trying to define exactly what I’m looking for… Basically throughout the situations that you may or may not chose to read about, I was carrying my gadgets, my gizmos that kept me connected, in the loop and linked-in whilst on the run. I love that notion, going fucking insane in Acapulco on mescal and cheap beer, but all the while having the ability to connect-up, log in, blog, download, listen, watch and read. But that’s just the tip of the ice-berg, I travelled with my laptop, my 2gb memory stick, my usb memory card converter, and portable GPS, digital camera, mp3 / mp4 player, XDA portable PC and don’t forget my personalised wax seal. Does this combination of liquor, women, madness and technology put me on the brink, at the very forefront of hedonism in the 21^st century?

Who knows? Perhaps it does, and this is what I want to explore. What is hedonism in this very special time? I personally don’t believe it’s about being the rock star, the Coke fiend, the aristocrat or the ‘it’ girl. The concept takes much more now, are geeks the biggest hedonists of this day and age?

The leaps and bounds people take to secure an image of a hedonist, a life overflowing with the pleasure of the senses, know no limits. We all know fine Couture clothing, exquisite perfumes or mouth watering meats and wines are all traditionally thought of as hedonistic. Then in recent times came the drugs, the LSD, the MDMA and Cocaine. But they’re for has-beens and wanna-be’s, who the fuck cares if you do Coke anymore? I want to know the sort of mobile computer you’re packing, what widgets you have on your blog or who your favourite podcaster is. Perhaps this makes me a geek and not hedonistic at all, but the question of which arena it puts me in is not one easily answered, and it is what I am going to explore, in the only way I know how – through empiricism – and try my best to keep you entertained at the same time. Read on for some background to myself, and how I got to where I am at this present time.

Alas, I’ll give a brief update on were I am; right now. No longer roaming the ether of unemployment with booze acting as some sort of erroneous floatation device, I’m in fulltime employment and as a Copywriter no less. Getting to this stage was no easy task, let me remind you that I only listen to the Mess around; I very rarely take part in it.

Truth be told I’m currently sat on the Oxford tube (a trumped up bus service) heading into London at moderate speed for New Year’s eve, a night of drinking to be spent with the one known as Bevski. Ultimately it will be a silly, over expensive night out to end an all together overly expensive year, too much booze, too much money, not enough fun. The two aren’t always side by side – booze and money – holding hands and smiling, often they’re coupled against each others will in a disgusting arranged marriage that causes little joy and a whole lot of trouble. 2006 started with a bright spark which quickly turned into a damp squib. Prolonged months of dull work – a means to an end – that bore little fruit for the time and effort put in.

Never one to be dismayed by an unfulfilled Plan A however, I reverted to Plan B and quickly shot off to Acapulco. Chasing the dream of tequila fuelled nights, and days filled with sex and writing, I almost got what I wanted. From settling in over the first few days and discovering that, like most Anglo-Celts, my ability to consume Mescal tequila is only inhibited by my inability to control my basic motor-functions; the mind goes on but the body is unwilling, as the saying goes, I continued to solider on in the fashion that I have become accustomed to. Getting chased down the beach by angry locals, after a brief encounter with a man who appeared to have swallowed numerous basketballs, was a definite highlight; along with almost getting mauled and thrown 100ft to off a balcony by a giant Persian, who was protecting a group of naive Canadian girls.

All of this is documented here. My further travels through Los Angeles and Las Vegas did little but provide me with a vague insight into the American dream, I clawed at it myself ever-so-briefly whilst in Las Vegas, but came away a loser. I guess it’s just not in my blood, I’ll have another stab at it again someday, in a more prolonged and targeted fashion, this time around was rather sporadic in nature, which only resulted in heavy loses and a few fatalities along the way.

Then there as San Francisco, White Russians, beautiful ladies, calm days and lots of writing and one fateful answer from one very special person. In the situation that the world is in at the moment, San Fran can almost be seen as a haven in the daft empire that is America, it’s a place like none other I’ve visited and I will – without a doubt – go back there some day to try and recapture my youth and the three weeks I spent there in the summer of good ol’ ’06. My time in San Fran was so very special, I believe, because of my lack of booze, the turbulent emotional bullride that I had and then the final settling of scores, and of the thick black sediment that had shrouded my heart for such a long time.

The dream always ends though folks, life manifests a monster that will drag you away kicking and screaming. Mine was a 40 hour trip which took me about 8000 miles and involved little sleep, lots of sweat and plenty of greasy food. A brief respite in the home counties saw me recuperate slightly and head straight down to London in search of a place to live and work. A week on a couch later and I’d found the spot, West Hampstead was the area, and it was nice. I say it was nice, not because I destroyed it or caused some sort of terrible plague on the area, but because after almost two months, far too much money spent and a clash of head and concrete here and there, I have had to move, to Oxford.

My time spent in London was a mysterious one. I’ve never really been one for squalor, people write in-depth about the shit-filled existences they choose to lead for a short period of time in order to gain some ‘perspective’. It’s not something I would ever do, as I’d be shit at it. I spend too much money all the time, I couldn’t live as a tramp; I simply couldn’t. Not because I’m some sort of flaky, inter-bread aristocrat, but because I believe my sharp cunning and strong willed nature wouldn’t let me. As soon as, for instance, my 30 day experiment started, I’d automatically think, ‘how can I get myself out of this situation, what do I need to do, where can I clean, where can I get housing, how can I go about returning to society and becoming a productive citizen?’ And after two days I’d be back where I was. Anyway, I’ve lost my point. Basically I spent far too much money doing all the average things I’ve always done. My excuse was that I didn’t have enough money to do anything else, but looking back on the amounts I spent, I quite easily could have been more productive, gained more insight and taken a step closer to finding that perfect aesthetic moment only urban modernity can bring.

The highlights of London however were genuine highlights, rather than just shit bleached a different colour. Speed dating was an interesting night out, after quelling the bully inside me and concluding that the activity was not just for numb-skulls and fuck-o’s I took part and had a great night. New people, new faces, drink and the prospect of sex, it doesn’t get much better as far as I’m concerned. After finding a romantic connection with a lady, who turned out to be a decade older than me, we emailed and talked briefly but I guess I didn’t push hard enough, or I pushed too hard, who the fuck knows? Fucking women. Hah! Anyway, another highlight was a night I spent with the French, living with two of the fuckers I had a reasonable chance of making friends with one, which I did, and in turn going out with them for drinks and banter, which I also did. The night started off well, a curry in the south eastern quarter of the city and then to a shit club where I was engulfed by a shit-avalanche from which I struggled to get free. Then to a pub, at around 4am I questioned the bar tender what time the pub shut, ‘6am’ he replied in a thick brummy accent, the stupidest of accents. I was reluctant to believe him but I took his word for truth and ordered in some more booze. As the sun rose my French flatmate, Lionel, decided he needed to leave, I guess the man playing jazz flute, dressed as a wizard, I was discussing the American Patriot act with was just too much.

I decided a race was in order, styled around Phileas Fog’s around the world in 80 days. He would leave 30 minutes before me and take the bus, I would take the tube when it opened – around 6am – and the winner would be the first to arrive at the flat. At 6:30am I was leaving the pub and received a txt that he had won. ‘Fuck it then’, I though, I could do what I wanted with the rest of the day. I decided a trip to Buckingham palace would be nice, even though there was a reasonably high risk of getting shot and fatally wounded. When I arrived I had a brief chat with some San Franciscans, had a staring competition with a guard who definitely wasn’t staring back, and soaked up the atmosphere before I shot over to the Houses of Parliament. After a brief argument with some hippy swine who were protesting against depleted uranium shells I decided not a lot was happening, and I needed something to do. Not that I’m for depleted uranium, it’s just the fuckers were using a picture of a Harlequin babies (google image search those exact two words if you doubt me), which as horrific as it is, is just a natural birth defect and actually has nothing to do with Uranium. The hippy didn’t seem to realise this, and having just crawled out from his deflated tent and drinking his morning coffee probably wasn’t up to much of an argument with a man who had been drinking hard for about 16 hours previously, and was also now hardened by the bitter morning air. Anyway, after kicking up a fuss and not really getting anywhere, I finally decided to go to Sunday mass at West Minster Cathedral.

It was a pleasant experience on the whole, I couldn’t help but feel how it was all quite hocus-pocus, magic, flying with the faries bullshit. The hour and a half mass failed to move me, not because, I don’t think, I was terribly hungover and briefly fell asleep, but because as magnificent as the building was, and as glorious as the choir sang, it was all very creepy, it had a film of shit coating the whole thing that just failed to move. I did however, decide that a confessional was in order. After queuing for about 15 minutes I had had enough time to decide just what main sins I was going to confess for, that I had committed over the 12 year period that I hadn’t been to confessional. I entered, knelt down and spoke the words, ‘bless me father for I have sinned, it has been 12 years since my last confession’ the priest replied and said ‘welcome back to the church my son, what would you like to confess’ or something along those lines.

Now, what happened next killed any belief in the church I had left, or wanted to regain. I said that I had lost my faith in God and was wondering how I would regain that faith, the priest simply answered ‘would you no like to talk about the relationships you’ve had with people over the last 12 years?’ I recoiled in shock, I thought ‘fuck you slimeball’, he just entered a shitticane of epic proportions. But I was in a confessional booth so I kept my nerve and said ‘no I’d just like to figure out how to find God again’ to which he replied ‘say an act of contrition and 3 our fathers’.

What a crock of fuck. I was deeply angered by this fucker, like someone had shit in my cereal or dipped my toast in piss. No interest in helping me find God, just wanting to hear my tails of romping throughout the years. Fucking clown shoes I tell you. Fuck the church.

Anyway, again moving off the point. London was a great 2 months and although I got little writing done, in terms of my book, I did get published a few times and built up a good base of contacts that will hopefully bear fruit in the New Year. The obvious other highlight was getting to spend an increased amount of time with my best friends, Jen, Bevski and Lane… you’re alright guys.

If you’ve got this far you’re very patient, I look forward to adding more all over the Internet very soon. Updates will follow.

Your friend,

Richard.

Future of Tech

2006-12-21T10:56:00.001Z

An extremely interesting article here by Dan Taylor. Denoting what he thinks about the technological trends for 2007. THE FUTURE, 1.12 GIGWATTS?!

fabric of folly - a weblog by Dan Taylor

Have a read, grand-master-jizzay

technorati tags:technology, the, future, dan

Pantera Ticket!

2006-12-21T10:38:00.001Z

My PanterA ticket, 2000 baby, and a snip at £11!

Sky's the limit baby! WATCH IT GO.

(This has been a test)

technorati tags:pantera, test, tickets

Drunken Maneuvers In The Dark

2006-08-15T21:03:00.000Z

There are a few things in life, in my opinion, that you should always be worried about. For instance, catching hepatitis from a public toilet seat or getting your tie caught in the fucking paper shredder, I for one always look out for being decapitated by thick metal wire that suddenly and without any real warning becomes flexed. Another biggy is angering the locals where ever you may be and I think put enough effort in during my time in Acapulco to escape just about unharmed, I wont be needing the UN Peace Keeper Escort I gave the local embassy a heads-up about when I arrived at least, even if a fat Che Guevara did threaten me with death a few days ago. All some bad noise about using my bed sheet as a cape, no bother though, I was more than happy to go to bed by the time he started ranting, I hadnt slept in about 30 hours anyway and desperately needed some shut eye.

Its overall been quite a wild ride, usually its time for some social commentary now, the only thing I will mention is the naivety of some people and how certain religions with extreme leanings not only cause all number of problems for the masses, but for individuals as well and in the most peculiar of ways. A Muslim American girl by the name of Clare happened across my path almost a week ago now, she seemed eager and pleasant enough so we had a talk about various things. Throughout her youth she was a hardline Muslim, forced to wear the postbox head gown and body covering thing, not even allowed to look into the eye of any male. She chose to rebel, now on her own, in a foreign country by becoming a stripper. Now Im no oil painting myself but this girl made the wild street dogs cry as she walked along, after making friends with the owner of the local stripclub she was soon up on the palladium, it was unreal. We went to watch and give some moral support, the place was a dive, a small Asian woman came up to me in a very stereotypical fashion and offered me sucky sucky for $100, I told her to go buy me a drink and Id think about it expecting to be laughed at and left alone for the rest of the night. When she asked me what drink I wanted, thinking quickly, I asked for a cloud in a brandy glass and after a few more choice words she finally left me alone, anyway, back to Clare. This girl was clearly a virgin, she confessed to being very unused to any physical contact, this night shes getting bought pinaciladas by fat Mexicans and being groped left right and centre. Arh for her mother to see her now I thought, Thank your god now HAH, you turned your daughter into a whore you fucking brainless gimp. There was no choice, when her breasts flopped out of the too small boob tube she was wearing we had to leave, there is only so much a grown man can take, so we left with haste, to the nearest bar, flaming tequila and khalua shots to help numb our minds, I shudder at just the thought of that place.

Plenty more speedy moves in the dead of night, causing a few problems but nothing that I couldnt handle. I had this poor bastard driving around for almost 2 hours up and down the mountain side as the sun rose looking for a mountain jaguar or puma, Im almost 100% certain they dont exist in these parts, but I needed the drive, it didnt cost all that much either as far as I can remember, agreeing a price before you enter the taxi is usually essential, trying to drunkenly explain youll pay him to drive around the small mountain roads to catch a wild tiger like beast is more difficult that you may think.

But alas, there were yet more drunken nights, as you can well imagine. I made a good friend by the name of Evan whilst here, hailing from Mexico City I knew wed get along from the moment I saw his back, covered with H.R Giger tattoos, it takes an interesting person to get blistered and boiled mutants all over your body. The picture below pretty much sums up my time here, I have no idea where it was taken or who the guy is but it makes me laugh and will always remind me of my two chased weeks in Acapulco. Its come to an end with extraordinary speed, but everything needs to move on. To Hollywood now, and to start with real hedonism, in the worlds capital of deviancy with a degenerate on every second corner and the millionaires filling in the gaps its going to be another extraordinary time. I will write when I arrive.

Your friend in debauchery.

How to make a rapid exit.

2006-08-07T13:54:00.000Z

Arh, life in Acapulco, its hot and bothered, all hustle and bustle, if its not cars exploding from over heating its the god damn Mexicans and their morning shreaks. Im kidding of course, theyre not damned by God, the magnificent cross bearing down on the city takes care of that surely, over powering the fact that I get asked if I want to go to a brothel every 40 to 50 seconds. Im not sure I look that desperate, perhaps its my transparent texture, it seems to bemuse and frighten everywhere I go. At the beach for instance I sent a small child running in terror, all he did was look at me, my bare Anglo-Celtic chest in all its glory, reflecting the sun with great strength. The poor child, Id imagine, had thought hed seen a ghost, a particularly muscular and striking one, but a ghost none the less. My Mexican friend Evan said to me in an entirely serious manner, it is like your skin, it battle with the sun, and the sun, it always lose, I began to laugh before he put his hand on my shoulder and continued, I do not joke. Theres little a man can do other than smile and not politely in those situations, as far as an Englishman is concerned at any length.

As Im on the subject of beaches, Ive never taken too kindly to them, I feel if I wanted miniature shards of glass stuffed into my pockets and into every other ungodly orifice Id smash a telephone booth up and get the job done properly. Recent events have added to my natural aversion, after a lengthy night at Paradise, now my local haunt, and some wrestling with some Mexicans,

My newly acquired friends and I decided to take a late stroll along the calming beach. All was well and we were at peace with the world, the sea leisurely strolled up the sand and we were all drunk enough not to have any hassle in the world. I had my snake skin cowboy boots on and was pleased at the fact they let no sand into my socks, I was happy, but then came the rush, the mescal tequila took hold of my brain, I remember someone earlier in the night shouting TAKE HOLD OF YOUR MIND, ITLL BE IN THE BAY SOON, and jesus it almost was. After taking a photo of this portly fellow

All I seem to recall is running along the beach, at some speed for a drunken man on sand, away from two or three screaming Mexicans, I could have sworn they were wearing huge sombreros with belts of bullets along their chests, but that could have just been the mescal twisting savagely at my mind. I made a quick escape luckily, into a beachside club, its hard trying to blend in though when youre as white as the driven snow surrounded by chocolate coloured Mexicans. I soon spotted an exit however and was on my way to the main street, a clean get away. I feel my cowboy boots gave me the edge on the sand over their flip flops or I would have surely been done for. The reason behind this chase though will have to sleep with the fishes, in this swollen bay of tourism and decadence, for I cannot remember and I will have to settle for that.

More of these tales will have to wait, Ive quite outstayed my welcome in the local starbucks, leeching their free internet on my wireless laptop. And of course, theres always more mescal to be drank.

Farewell, Los Angeles here I come.

Flashpoint!

2006-08-04T19:43:00.000Z

It seems to me the Latino women have quite the propensity for fatness. This may come across as inherently racist, much the same as saying black people are good at sports, Japanese people are naturally good at maths and the French are tragically poor at winning wars. However, the former of these statements steps closer to truth, in my own thoughts at least, on a daily basis. Even the thin ones look on the verge of maximum density, ready to explode in a sea of cake and ice cream. This isnt the only observation Ive made whilst being in Acapulco though, the men are all quite portly in stature as well and even though it is a scorching 30c daily, with upwards of 80% humidity, a cruel tick of nature seems to have been played on these people to stop them from sweating. So whilst they bask in the thick air, no weight is lost, not even in liquid form. Im sure my rounded Mexican friend Bernado shakes his fist in temper at the skys each night, but he called me Casper when I wondered in drunk at 5am having lost my shirt, so he can fuck off.

HAH, ye-Gods! Its been an interesting few days, I tried my luck the other night and Im getting the fear just thinking about it. A group of three Canadian girls, pretty, quick witted and of Anglo bloodlines as far as I can recall, we all stood into the night together with Mexicans and Irish, heading to La Paladium. One of Acapulcos more up market clubs, at roughly £30 to enter, we were all dressed to kill and ready to drink. After such a high cover charge alcohol was free all night, beginning with a few long island ice teas and some beer with mescal on the side I soon hit the brandy hard, along with the Irish company I was holding. The whole place was adorned with round tabled stalls, cushioned, clothed and candle lit the waiter would bring whatever was ordered without question, which was just as well because we were all very thirsty. The grand feeling of being Tony Montana was visible on nearly everyones beaming face, free drink and high riding attitudes are never a good mix, not everyone can own the world.

The night remained free of aggravation on the whole part and as the hours grew thin, the sun rose we ate hot dogs and played in the mild early morning air. I followed the Irish and Canadians back to their hotel and as I bid farewell to the Canadians, I seemed to be passed a bottle of vodka by the Irish, arh, one for the road, I thought. The remaining memories of that early morning are distant and quite horrid, trying to sneak into bed with the Canadians girls, who without my knowledge, seemed to have acquired a huge Persian body guard, caused all manner of bad noise. The immanent prospect of being turned into a human hamburger from a 30^th floor balcony fall scared me enough to leap into some primal super fast thinking beast. Talking rather vividly and at immense speed about the blood bath to ensue and spending decades in the hotbox of a Mexican prison I was allowed to go free with a perhaps we shouldnt email after all.

More ugly memories follow, none of which I care to re-visit, horrible one eyed black dwarf men, all my shirts suddenly and without explanation turning themselves inside out and folding themselves up neatly again so I would barely notice, stickiness, the driest of mouths, long searches for just-the-right-sort-of-food and long deep sleeps discharged and without dreams. Alas, enough of this, I must go ready myself for it all again tonight, warriors into the dark, tequila fueled, on the brink and retaining just enough of that alabaster white sheen to throw off the locals.

Adios amigos!

MASTER EXPLODER

2006-07-27T23:43:00.000Z

Hostels, like most things in life, in order to be maneuvered in a reasonably effective manner, removed from embarrassment and discomfort have to be gone at with a set sequence of moves and a degree of skill. A personable nature and willingness to get along with people is a necessity, to bond quickly in the small and varied community without hassle and without treading on anyone. Sometimes its hard when, except for a certain few, youre surrounded by total morons. When someone is seemingly over the moon that the person in their room before them had left their shampoo and shower gel in there and that they dont have to buy any now, telling them that the person who left it either pissed in it or gave it a nice sample of cum can cause some upset, but if youre a skull fucked degenerate leech head then its your own fucking problem.

My previous travels around the world have opened up my eyes as to how wonderful, bright and intelligent people can be, how they can get along with little quarrel or anguish. This one has highlighted the exact opposite, maybe Im getting old but the inability to do anything effectively without the assistance of others troubles me more and more. Being typically English and overly polite when it comes to decision making grates my eyeballs, and turning simple decisions into United Nations treaty negotiation sessions has nearly tipped me over the edge. Each reminds me every time why I choose to travel alone, because as a groups size multiplies its intelligence inevitably drops, when it quickly reaches troglodyte levels its time to leave. Run away into the night, find the Belagio on the strip in Vegas, fuck off the numbskulls rely on your own quick wit and skill, let the Armani suit carry you through if necessary, but bring your own decisions on your own head and make sure you dont end up dead, and as youre reading this, hopefully you can deduce that I didnt.

But what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, I cant say any more than I didnt sleep for close to 55 hours, I was lucky not to end up in jail on more than one occasion and that the city raped me, my wallet and my mind. Ill comment further on the terrible sessions some time in the future the memories are still to fresh, open wounds in my mind that are slowly healing and will more than likely leave scars. Four days in Los Angeles recovering was more than enough, the city is a joke in more ways than one, its basically the finest example Ive come across that highlights how quickly civilization is going to fall apart. A city of 20 odd million people and a pathetic mass transit system that must consist of about 4 busses, with 2 cars to every person and no one caring about anything apart from the slightly increased cost of petrol, which is still remarkably cheap anyway, the impending doom of humanity shines with intense colour. Its pure consumerism, the main nerve and as much as I enjoy being a consumer in a liberal democratic capitalist society, LA does make me slightly sick. Not that Im really willing to do anything about it, Im far too lazy for that and saying that the fight and cause is an uphill struggle is an understatement beyond the normal planes of reality. Changing these peoples minds on environmental issues simply will not happen, ever. No one cares a fuck and as depressing as that is to the hippy green peace types it is actually highly worrying to anyone with half a brain, and as big as LA is it is still only one of the worlds major cities. The quite unimaginable proportions of human and chemical waste takes normal increments of measurements and pisses all over them from a very high table.

Enough of this guff though, let us forget about all that for now, concentrate on having fun and getting the job done. Both of which are going reasonably well, I arrived in San Francisco recently and after taking a brief 2 hour walk around a small part of the city I fell quite heavily for the place. Further to that going out on a pub crawl with a group of welsh men that night made sure that the city, in the small time that Ive been here, is now firmly in my top five cities in the world. Bar hopping with 5 welsh men from Newport is an experience anywhere in the world, in San Fran it quickly brings all manner of shenanigans, far from being able to remember exactly what happened that night I can piece together a few things. Namely getting intimate with a brunette called Tori, dancing to Frank Sinatra with a female bar owner and the poor chap that got minced by a fire engine responding to an emergency call. How I managed to pull off talking to the police about the incident after some serious whiskey intake Ill never know, but I got the story, its a terrible shame it fell out of my brain whilst talking to some Lithuanian, the damned hippy Ill have his head on a platter.

The main peninsula plays host to a wide variety of places and activities as you can imagine, but also has a nice hint of culture which is terribly hard to find in many American cities. Although there is a seemingly never ending stream of homeless people, if youve got the gift of the thousand-yard stare they soon retreat into the sewers or whatever pit they came from. I think I will stay on here longer than I originally predicted, Hollywood is a joke that whichever God you believe in has played on the world taking millions of cunts and putting them all in one place. HA, aye fucking very funny. Whilst feeling safe in every part of the city I have yet been through in San Fran I am constantly fearful of the long overdue earthquake hitting with fierce intensity, turning down town into a 100sq mile parking lot and leaving me without anything to do. Someone help me out, get onto the National Guard and have one of those helli-jets on standby, I need maneuverability and speed, no point messing around now is there? Ive also been in touch with the British Embassy for my Alcatraz visit, the CIA seemed too keen to give me a private viewing, especially after Vegas. YeGods! Well just have to see now wont we?

As the money wears thin though the stories of debauchery are going to run low, Im writing now and its going well, the book will be done my Christmas all going to plan, maybe early Feb, well have to see but I will keep you posted.

Take care fiends.

'We're gunna need a bigger boat'

2006-06-06T14:56:00.000Z

Well, I want to write, I always have, this is my first real attempt at creative writing. I have bad grammar and terrible punctuation, Im working on it and I acknowledge it, however, Ive got little time to work on removing all the small niggles at the moment, I just want to hear if people like it. If you do, comment, thank you.

Who the fuck is alice?

He woke into an immediate panic, twitching thumbs and blacked out thoughts of sin and bad crazies were all he had. Picking himself from the floor with the sort of carefulness normally reserved for the elderly, he walked over to the full length mirror hanging at the side of the door in the eight berth hostel room, on Amsterdam Street in uptown New York.

His refined face was bloated and whiter than usual, his naturally pouted lips were scarlet red giving the impression he was wearing lipstick and his clothes were marked with splashes of whiskey and beer.

He turned around to gather his things noticing the silence of the room, normally crowded and bustling with a wonderful mixture of nationalities it was still and dull. He quickly looked out of the window, facing into a small patio garden the youthful population of the hostel would gather there for sordid tales of the night before, or in most cases, just to smoke and relax. One girl in particular caught his eye, wearing all black on a day that looked so hot. No time for her now though, it was important that he re-hydrate, ease the pressure on his dried up brain, piece together the nights actions, to evaluate and regroup.

“Just these two waters please, actually throw in some chewies, strong ones, I think an tramp died in my mouth last night.”

He reached into his left hand pocket and took out his wallet, the cashier at the convenience store across the road from the hostel looked vacant as usual and accepted his cash. Reaching with his open hand he stuffed his wallet back into his right hand pocket, it was crammed with paper notes, one flew out lightly and softly whisped its way to the floor as he walked outside narrowly avoiding a collision with a push-bike.

It was hot, thick summer heat that close cities bring mixed with awful and potent mixtures of pollution and bad breath surrounded him. He stepped back under the short length of shade the shop brought and squinted for the note. Picking it up he read it eagerly whilst opening up a bottle of water.

‘Adam, I cannot define what I found in you last night, it would only limit that which is limitless, I will see you at 2, where we agreed, your wonderful, Alice’

He tingled all over, the water dropped to the floor hitting the concrete on its bottom side with a quiet thud, the kinetic energy forcing out a petite jet of water against his jeans, rubbing it off wild thoughts came rushing into his still shriveled brain.

Who was Alice? Where had they met and under what extraordinary circumstances has led her to writing such a note? He found it impossible to think, too much bearing down on his sore head and racing heart, the love of his life lost in gray matter, what was he to do?

‘Come on Adam, maintain you fuck, get it together,’ he piped quietly to himself over and over.

The sun was bearing down, pollution was quickly crawling up his nose and catching the back of his throat, it was still in the city even though he was surrounded by movement.

‘Right, fuck this,’ he said out loud, hailing a cab he knew he had two hours to try and retrace his steps, regain some memory of the night, gather himself for his meeting with Alice and still have the energy, if necessary, to impress and charm in his usual sleek manner.

The cab took him to the first haunt of the previous night. A gothic looking bar in the downtown area, its doors were just swinging open as he jumped out of the cab, almost throwing the fare at the cabby and yelling in clichéd bliss to keep the change.

‘The Hauntishoon’ in gothic lettering named the bar, some play on words he had no time to figure out. Red and black paint everywhere, long dark purple velvet curtains blacked out the main drinking area and, even thought it was just after mid-day, fake electric candles lit the stalls that ran along the side of the bar, helping a great chandelier in the middle. He noticed he was the first and only person in there and quickly rushed up to the barman polishing glasses.

‘I’m sorry, I desperately need some help, I’ve had quite a terrible night, too much Gin, you know the drill, I was wondering if you remembered me?’

The barman stood up, he was young with a chiseled face but tired eyes, too many long nights had obviously caught up with him, it was clear his nerves were still a little fried from the night before.

‘Shiiiitttt, Adam dude, I almost didn’t recognize you, fuck man, what a night, didn’t expect to see you this early, if at all, what did you say? What the fuck are you doing here?’

Adam drew a sigh of relief, recognition was the first step, the small talk would have to be skipped, Alice was all important and he could catch up with this young rapscallion later.

‘Seriously man, I’ve got very little memory of being in here last night… Ohh fuck, Mikey, I remember now, you knocked off early and we had a few long island ice teas, then some more and some vodka and gin, lots of gin, Jesus, that was early as well, what the hell happened though dude? Seriously, I’m missing quite a few pieces’

Mikey was giggling, ‘Arh man, I can’t believe you don’t remember that girl, you convinced her your father was the Micronesian ambassador to the US and that you had diplomatic immunity, I’d never even heard of fucking Micronesia before…’

Adam interrupted quickly, ‘…Fuck, what was she called? I vaguely remember, she didn’t seem at all impressed when I demanded she got naked…’ He was thinking quickly, too quickly for his state of mind, tripping over his own thoughts he had no idea how he could have been such a swine to someone and have been left with such a note. ‘The note!’ he thought.

‘Mikey, settle down, you need to help me seriously, as a matter of the uppermost importance, I found this note in my pocket this morning with some other stuff, it’s what I’m here for, can you tell me anything about it?’

Mikey grabbed the note, it took him a few seconds to read, then a few more to piece a sentence together, ‘I have no fucking idea what the fuck this note is about maaaaan.’ He said as he burst into hysterics.

‘So this girl, the one who I told I was an Ambassador, she wasn’t called Alice?’

‘No man, I cant even remember her name, she didn’t stick around for very long, in fact after she left, you decided it was time to move on as well, how did you get on, or can’t you remember that either?’

‘I’ve got no idea on either question,’ Adam answered with a sigh, the momentary high of being recognized and the chance of help had been quashed, he was dead at the first hurdle, downtrodden dreams even before he could attempt to get up and over.

‘Hey, don’t be so glum chum, have you checked the rest of the stuff in your pocket? You know what those old Columbo movies taught me? Always check for fucking packets of matches, you can trace anyone with them, didn’t they find JKF’s killer with that method, or was that….’ he drifted off into a mumble.

Adam reached into his pocket and pulled out the pile of notes, napkins and crushed cigarettes, sifting through it without any thought for luck or chance he was certain nothing was going to come of it. But there it was, burnt and withered the lettering was still distinguishable.

Adam leapt onto the bar, thrusting his pelvis into the dank air, ‘Oh fuck me, seriously, fuck me, the fucking Motorcade, that’s where she’s got to be, I remember her from there, I’m sure I do. Mikey, my wonderful fellow, I shall kiss you now for I have to fuck off, into the thick of it, to find Alice.’

He jumped down and did as he said, planted a big kiss on Mikeys forehead. The bemused barman laughed, waved him goodbye and carried on cleaning his glasses as if nothing had happened.

By the time the cab reached Adam’s second destination he was an hour down and shrieking at the cab driver to take the money and fuck off. Although his trip to The Hauntishoon was kept to a minimum the Motorcade was on the other side of the city. The long cab ride had given him time to clear his head slightly, to reappraise the situation in a misty but not entirely blacked out fashion. Vivid colours, shapes and sounds but nothing totally distinguishable squeeze there way back, like the seconds leading up to a horrific car crash or savage beating, all the detail was lost, leaving the large soft round edges to be scraped at for improved features.

He noticed in the corner of his eye a bar woman ducking behind the bar and trying to crawl away as he entered. It was immediately clear the air conditioning had broke, maybe she was searching for the cool air in the bottom quarter of the bar’s moist and sickly atmosphere? He rushed up and, putting his elbows down on the top, let the momentum carry him slightly over the top to get a glance at the girl.

‘Please get up, what the fuck did I do last night? You’re not calling the police are you? All I want is to know who the fuck Alice is?’

She got up hesitantly and spoke whilst leaning her left cheek into her shoulder and fluttering her eyelids.

‘I’m not calling the police I’m just a little embarrassed about my friend, actually a lot embarrassed, but it sounds like you don’t remember so I’m going to quit whilst I’m ahead’

‘No don’t!’ He answered. ‘Seriously you have to help me out, who was your friend what happened? Oh god, she wasn’t the half Mexican half Native American girl was she? What happened? Is she Alice? I need to know, it’s urgent’

‘Oh no, she’s not called Alice, she’s called Sarah. You’re right about her mixed race though, it’s what gives her that amazing glow, although you didn’t seem to appreciate it too much last night…’

It suddenly came back, like a focusing lens, the colours and objects around him blended and took form, memories of the night were coming back with horror. She did have a glow, Sarah, a wonderful complexion, fine pine wood painted a rusty red, bright green beaming eyes, she was brilliant, but he recoiled, her large hands had given him the gitters. An evolutionary leaf on the line of an otherwise perfectly smooth running track. But that wasn’t all, what was it that caused him to leave this place in the hurry? Maybe the bar lady could fill in the gaps.

He waited for her to return after serving a large biker type and quizzed her, ‘I’m sorry, I remember your friend up to a point but I don’t remember leaving, don’t think I’m such an awful bastard please, I’m normally a perfectly nice guy.’

‘Ohh I’m sure you are, no it wasn’t entirely your fault anyway, she kept asking you for drinks and as a gentleman you kept buying them, at least she thought you were a gent, I thought you were a slimeball with a dirty agenda, but she’s old enough to look after herself so I said fuck it and let her get on,’ she flicked her black hair revealing a selection of stars tattooed on her neck and, biting down on a chunk of lime she carried on. ‘Anyway, for a skinny guy you can sure take your booze, you looked half gone when you came and after another five long islands with gin shooters I thought you were about ready to collapse, seems that Sarah had been trying to keep up though. From what I got out of her this morning she said she leant over, told you she loved you and dribbled on your knee until she noticed you were facing someone else and quickly sat back up, shame the guy you were talking to pointed out what had happened. At least that’s what she told me, it seems to fit pretty well with what I saw next’

Adam leant over thinking it might be something good but knowing it was going to be horrible, ‘What was it, please tell?’

‘Well, you slowly patted her face, wiped the remaining spit off the side of her mouth with a napkin, raised your arms above your head and ran out screaming like fuck, that was the last I saw of you.’

‘Oh fuck these tales, seriously, is that what happened? What about the rest of the night, how the fuck did I go on to meet Alice?! She wrote me this note do you know anything about it?’
‘Erm, nope, by the time you left here though it was at least four, pretty late, I’m fucked off because I’ve had to get up to do this shift, you’re lucky you caught me.’

Lucky indeed he thought, this tattooed harlot had ruined his dreams. Even if he had jumped straight into a cab after fleeing the bar in terror, got straight out and gone straight to the hostel room to collapse on the floor and scare off all his Japanese room mates, it was impossible for him to have got back to the hostel before five in the morning, leaving little or no time for talks with Alice.

He must have made her up, or even worse one of the Japanese with good English had realized he was reading Oscar Wilde, thought of some romantic epigram style note and left it in his trousers. He thought how they would be laughing at him right now, sat on their cool plane, munching on pretzels and sipping saki or what ever the fuck it was the Japanese drank.

He was tortured soul that had spent the last two hours running manically around New York in the summer heat. They were laughing alright and he was disheveled, having lost all hope paranoia crawled in with dark eyes, he began to shake slightly and as the adrenaline wore off he looked at his watch, it had just gone two.

Romantic thoughts remained of a beautiful girl sitting down to meet him, to talk and to fall in love with him, to be free together in this great bustling metropolis. To soak up art and theater, to get lazy in the afternoon and nap, then, into the shower for a powerful soapy romp and hit the city at night. He contemplated ordering a large gin, the bar lady had long turned away from him and his gut kicked, he couldn’t drink if he wanted to, the only choice was to get back to the hostel, to crawl under his thin sheets and sleep for as long as he could.

He arrived back in double-quick-time thanks to a fast driving but slow talking cab driver; he tipped him with foreign coins and walked heavy steps into the hostel. Leaning over to pick up his key from reception he took the time to sign-in, never usually one to follow protocol he thought it wise to have some record of him being in the building if a fire started, given how heavily he was going to sleep. Suddenly he was paralyzed, three names up on the sheet he noticed the name ‘Alice’.

The handwriting matched almost exactly that on the note, just over two hours ago she had signed in, but where was she? Why had she turned up so early? He looked again at the note and realized its single rip had removed the numeral 1 before the 2, it was 12 they were meant to meet. His heart was racing again, dilated pupils brought on by a massive adrenaline rush, he needed the toilet but realized it would have to wait. She could be leaving any second, where would she be? Would they cross? Would he recognize her? What did he look like? His beer soaked Levi’s were hardly impressive though he decided not to care, just find her an explain everything.

He began to rush through the main corridor, looking on his right through the bay windows that lead out onto the garden, it was quiet apart from the girl in black he had noticed before he had left, sat there reading a book. He recoiled, it couldn’t be, he knew when he looked down at her from his window on the fifth floor two and a half hours ago she was something different.

He could see her with much more clarity now, legs crossed neatly, she wore a black knee length skirt, a tight black top that showed off a wonderful figure. Her face was masked by large black sunglasses and her facial profile was hard to view because of her bob-cut hair, but he knew she was beautiful. He began to walk up to her and as he realized she was reading George Orwell he almost fainted, she seemed perfect in everyway.

An agnostic since he could remember he suddenly became a believer in the Gods, he prayed during his slow walk, he cried out in his mind to Fate to bring them together, he wept in front of the devil as he sold his soul to be with her and chased after Karma as its tricky dance maneuvered around him. As he stepped up to her he took a deep breath and spoke.

‘Hello Alice’

‘Hello Adam,’ she replied with a smile and pouting red lips. ‘I’ve been waiting for you for some time now, though I’m glad you’ve made it, sit down now, I want to know everything about you.’

The End

We are the ones that must sport the position.

2006-05-21T22:09:00.000Z

Jesus jumped up Christ its about fucking time, plans are finally coming together with the speed and accuracy I have become accustomed to, Acapulco is on the horizon with the heat haze of Hollywood in the background.

Ive planned for six weeks but who knows how long I may spend out there, money is always the clincher and with about three grand saved up for the entire trip its just about doable. Im not however, completely closed to the idea of finding some back alley work out there and staying as long as I can, we shall see what happens, as always fate has decided, there is little I can do to change that.

On the subject of fate, the primary objective of the trip is to begin penning a novel Ive had milling around in my head for a few years now. Expect circular time theory, particle accelerators, tequila, directors, romps and Im thinking some sort of ethereal plane. Its a giant cluster-fuck of ideas at the moment but rest assured I will bring them together in a fantastic manner.

m aquiver with excitement regarding Acapulco, with its cheap beer and trendy cliques; blazing heat and luscious bays its not only going to be brilliantly hedonistic but a great source of inspiration. With any upscale travel though theres always trepidation, reports of police officers being decapitated by drug traffickers is always a worry, finding the British embassy is a must upon arrival, home territory, solid terra-firma where people can see clearly that decapitation just isnt proper.

Now, I have my cobra snake skin wallet and boots, ultra lightweight laptop, quad-band XDA, vintage Gieves & Hawkes bowtie and all manner of other vital travel accessories. The time if fast approaching, after months of lacklustre movement and waiting, now all its going to take is a brief montage of work and exercise before Im 32,000 feet above sea level travelling at close to 500 miles an hour to the great Mexican city of Acapulco.

Its been a tough few months for a man who without a plan is almost utterly lost. Deciding I needed to quell my alcohol dependency was a hard decision as well, for the first time since my adult life I spent a month completely sober, not many of my close friends believed I reached this auspicious goal, but I did, its that simple. Now I have my drinking under control, in light of the circumstances that lead to this happening my belief in fate is as strong as ever. I did however have help off a special someone, she knows who she is.

I will say adieu now, I have technology to prepare, I will be posting regular blogs from Acapulco when I arrive in late July, keep an eye out. Your friend,

Arh, hello there, I trust you’re well?

2006-02-23T20:43:00.000Z

It’s been an outstanding eight or nine months, a cannon fired sledge ride though walls of dark whiskey, indecent prose and in places, twitching passion. Now breadontoast is back, my own shining corner of the internet to help me carry on this fateful adventure.

I’m talking dramatically of course, alongside the excellent experiences I’ve had there has been the boring times too. Whilst the retail industry proves to be much more a pleasant experience than the catering one, it can be a little placid at times. Better that than burnt hands, late nights, cuts and crawling under hot cookers though. .

Anyway, enough of this, I’m in no mood to give anyone an any more detailed account of my life over recent times than that it’s been fucking excellent, I had a down spell that lasted approximately 72 hours, things are moving a head with speed and accuracy as always and a dramatic change will be happening soon.

Leave a message if you’re so kind or add me on myspace, www.myspace.com/fervour

Adieu maestro, until next time.

YOURE GOING TO PAY...and I mean seriously motherfucker

2005-11-25T19:08:00.000Z

Everything is progressing at an extreme rate of knots, it’s been about 6 months since I left uni and in that time I’ve become a regular and praised contributor on a national music magazine, Zero Magazine and a regular with another fashionista (yuk) type mag Disorder Magazine as well as setting up my own local fanzine Under Magazine to the love and admiration of our local scene.

Journalism seriously fucking rocks I can’t tell you, and this is good fucking stuff. It's starting to take on a real form, a feverous take on new music, absolute dedication, driven with passion. There’s no fucking around here, no time for it, no time at all, it’s filled with grit and spice and will hopefully give you an insight to the band I’m covering.

I’ve attached a recent article I’m particularly proud of, perhaps if you like it you can leave a comment or something.

Anyway, a quick pic of the mag and I will say adieu maestro, until next time.

If you want a copy of the mag request on the website, i do send abroad.

www.undermagazine.co.uk

Innocence Dies -

As the 21st century squeezes the last drops of innocence out of the body of youth it seems fitting that youth itself should be playing the backing track. Meet Kill The Young.

Tom, Olly and Dylan Gorman, three brothers in their early twenties who kick out a music that corresponds exactly with the disorientation and panic felt by so many young people in today’s stylised, fast paced, ultra exclusive and class divided as ever British culture. Not strictly a concept band, their thoughts on the loss of innocence and the corruption of youth comes from, as guitarist and lyricist Tom says, “The ability to take a step back.”

"It is more of having a strong point to put across rather than a political agenda” he continues. “It’s not as if we have had or, do have a specific idea saying, ‘this is what we stand for and this is what we are going to do’, because you can get stuck in a rut doing that sort of thing and we’ve always wanted to explore different avenues of music. The name was and still is to catch peoples’ attention, we do believe in it and what it stands for”.

That stance, portrayed by their name and their first single, The Origin of Illness, is full of the passion and gusto that the 21st century is kicking out of the young. Bassist Dylan elaborates on their perceptions, “It’s something we do feel strongly about but, it’s never something we’ve had to deal with personally because we’ve had such cool parents. We’ve looked at how all these kids are growing up so fast, so young. You see these people that are forced by way of financial situations or pressure off their parents, or whatever, into doing something they don’t want to do whether it is university or jobs. Kill The Young is that essence of youth being lost, because people aren’t able to do the things they want to do or enjoying youth”.

Let us not forget about the music, it’s rampant and eager, with twinges of everything from Echo and the Bunny Men to Smashing Pumpkins and Sonic Youth. Any band that has played together for over seven years and performed in excess of 300 gigs will have a bond, but add to that mix the fact these guys are brothers and there’s the definite possibility of something special being produced. “Dylan and Olly come up with more actual tunes and riffs than I do” starts Tom when explaining the writing process of this literal band of brothers.

“Once those are sorted though I’ll sit down and think and think. I’ll take a long time to write down what will articulate perfectly the idea I’m wanting to say. No one track is half hearted or rushed and they’re usually quite personal to me. We’re not specifically a concept band with a theme that we write the music around, I mean we have a point behind the name and such but I don’t think we set out to change minds. If someone takes something from the music then great, I think different people will put different interpretations on what we play.”

Dylan continues “None of the songs on the album are about love or anything like that, it’s all about Tom and how he feel’s, it is some very personal stuff which is often quite dark. The music isn’t so overly personal that people will be like ‘what the hell is he singing about though.’”

As we sit around a cold table in Manchester train station on a dark and typically wet night it might be easy to see why they’re perhaps the polar opposite to a band like the Beach Boys. There’s no sparkling 1960’s America here, just, as Dylan says, “People rushing to get pissed, who can drink the fastest and how much, you know, we do a bit of that ourselves, but that’s just the way life is in these small towns like the one we grew up in”. A bleak backdrop that has provided them with the fodder to create their raw and emotive music.

Finding this sound was not an easy feat, seven years of gigging and constant development though has landed them with a package they have the uppermost of confidence in. “Other people being in the band helped us grow as musicians and become stronger in the end, because we realised that it’s either going to be us three or it was not going to happen. We couldn’t have it any other way, it’s the key really, it’s probably why we’ve written so many songs” explains drummer Olly.

It has been more than just a brotherly connection and ability to pick up on each other’s smallest peculiarities that has brought them to this ignition ready point, their path brought them to legendary producer Dimitri Tikovoi. After being signed to Discograph records the company decided to bring in the producer, famous for his works with everyone from Placebo to Goldfrapp, to have a listen. “They flew him over from France to our tiny little practice room” begins Olly. “We played a few songs for him, chatted a bit and started on about the album, our ideas and how to bring them to reality. See, something that always evaded us with studio recordings was this great live sound we have, Dimitiri was really able to bring this out by getting us to play live but, in the studio so to speak. We had people brought in to play in front of, he got us playing all together to really bring out that energy and passion rather than us playing separately and then layering it. We loved it and really think it worked.” Dylan continues the description seamlessly, “…And although it maintains this raw edge and special feel about it, after we had done all the over dubs and polished up the guitars and things like that it does sound totally professional, it’s not too raw that it just sounds amateur”.

Now it seems they’re set, they have the money and people behind them to bring their impressive sound and keen attitude to an ever hungry public. Not a band to gorge on, no doubt they will be drip fed, whatever it takes just as long as they don’t fall off into nothingness, that would be a travesty.

---Kill The Young

2005-07-08T15:05:00.000Z

Northwich is a peculiar place. As just another northern town that makes up the borough of Vale Royal you would be forgiven for overlooking it when searching for youthful music full of gusto and fervour.

Don’t be too keen to miss us out though, here in my home town I’ve begun to scratch the surface of something special, a local scene that is rife with more than just teen angst and a lack of things to do. There are bands, dozens of them, talented youngsters that have always been here since I was a kid. Now with my new magazine, Under, I’m hoping to give them the chances large city bands get every day as they’re featured in fanzines and on dozens of websites for people everywhere to read about.

It’s that something more than a 30 word filler in the local paper. We wanted total coverage with reviews, interviews and features, a professionally designed and printed publication, produced with the same passion that the music has. Two issues down and the hard work is paying off, with a budget for 1100 copies the full colour 40 page magazine is now out, local businesses are beginning to take us seriously and the scene is loving it.

It’s no mean feat, content is spilling out from all corners of this borough with three local bands getting signed in as many weeks, but money is what counts and the ever pounding question of where to get it from. Luckily sweet talking people is, unlike playing music, an area I have always seemed to excel at, but who needs it? We’ve got an amazing product, add that to a keen attitude and absolute professionalism and the advertisers are almost chasing us.

When I say ‘we’ I mean the small group of young and intense writers that the magazine is also working for. Acting as a platform for these young adults to get their portfolio started was another key aim of the magazine and now, with a team of 10 and growing, that grand notion of total coverage is beginning to become a reality.

We will eventually see come January if the advertisers still have that fire in their bellies and the eagerness to carry on feeding us with money. There’s so much more to do and luckily I have a few more ideas hidden away yet. It feels like I’m hooked up to a generator, the 18 hour days are frying my nerves but it’s exciting and fast paced and everything else a job should be at a young age. I’ve got my own magazine, it’s a quality product, I know because I would read it. If you can break off the edge yourself and find something just as cool give it a go, it’s an outstanding feeling.

Your friend, Jack

If you would like a copy of Under Magazine request one at the website:

www.undermagazine.co.uk

Anyway, here is the pilot.

RIP HST, The death of a warrior

2005-03-02T13:32:00.000Z

I’ve carried my copy of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas with me everywhere I’ve been for the last four years, over three continents and tens of thousands of miles. I watched the film on the recommendation of a friend, I read the book after some research on the internet and my life changed.

I was overcome with a passion and fervour for extreme life, the type Hunter lived. I raced through Fear and Loathing for the first time when I was on holiday with my friends in Malta. The country was going through a scorching heat wave at the time, that would send the day temperatures soaring well over 100 Fahrenheit. We’d sleep until just before the sun set, and then, as the evening temperature began to mellow in the twilight hours, we would go down to the pool and sit in the shade. Hydrating from the previous night’s debauchery and getting ready to do it again. It was fantastic, the perfect time to read the anarchy of Hunter. We’d binge drink the night away, convincing former East Bloc country folk that we were magicians with a penchant for skateboarding and late night dips in the Mediterranean Sea. Not a care in the world “I’m Michael Hopperfield buddy! You better believe it! The half brother of David Copperfield, I taught that man everything he knows!” and they’d believe us. As the numbers dwindled and the sun began to rise we’d grab our wheels and speed down the melted smooth tarmac roads, the cool sea air freshening our party-torn bodies.

I turned 18 there, the loss of innocence whilst reading HST. We brawled with amphetamine addled swine in the main square of the town. An old man with a large tattoo of a shark on his torso and sun drenched skin told us he was a pirate and kissed me on my forehead. Amazing times, total freedom and absolute optimism before September 11, and this was only four years ago, incredible to think really. I came back and knew I had a mission, a path of domination was set out for me and it’s been absolutely necessary to maintain ever since. The chance to pause and reflect has been just out of my grasp from that point until now, Hunters death has made me take the time to do so. My paper trail leads directly back to those still vivid nights in Malta, now I’m here about to finish my degree in journalism four years on and just as ferocious as ever.
Balls to the wall, aiming straight and dominating all, my mind is set and I will succeed. And remember, as Hunter said “The crazy never die!”

End of Days

2004-09-14T13:32:00.000Z

This is ultimately a trip in the name of fun, for all the apprehension and paranoia it is at the end of the day a delve into potentially one of the most paranoid cities on earth. A physical experiment to see if all the hedonistic attributes have clung three years after the death of ignorance. Eyes are truly open now, closed minds still exist but they know what they are trying to block out. A fluid enemy ebbed under America’s doors and drove terror deep into an already savage and reckless society.

It’s a known fact that New Yorkers drink more and take more drugs now than previous to 9/11 and depending on ones own boundaries and ideals of fun that can either be good or bad. For an excessive brute like myself it has to be towards the good. But with the drink and drugs there comes the obvious depression, the need and distinct want to block out the realities smashing down around these city folk, but they do not seem depressed.

A reasonable man may be willing to accept that New Yorkers are simply celebrating their freedom with more vigor and potency than before. The people I’ve met, the painters, publicists, DJ’s, rock bands and everything else in between seem to be emanating a new found confidence in their freedom an appreciation, no longer taking it for granted, and it’s beautiful. It’s not as if the city doesn’t have an excuse, this was the pinnacle of what can be seen as the time of depression. In a democratic city the Republican Party decides to hold its national convention, just days before the third anniversary 9/11. The inevitable protests ensued, with or without reason, employing both peaceful and violent means. If you weren’t protesting? Grab whatever you can, gobble it up or drink it down to get away from the harsh realities plastered all around…but these weren’t the reasons for all over-indulgence. Stood outside a bar smoking a cigarette I asked a young man about how the city would be reacting on 9/11. “You know man” he replied “Everyone’s upset, but a lot of people also see it as a true reminder of our wonderful diversity, we’ve got it and we ain’t letting go” Good man I thought and cracked him on the back in a drunken alpha male type gesture. And it’s true; the kids are still running rampage full of life and intensity.

After an initial 14 hour, $200 drink binge, a case of alcohol poisoning, severe cellular dehydration, hallucinations, 40 hours of sleep and the fleeing in absolute terror of 7 Japanese teenagers from the hostel room I was sharing, I was able to go out and truly absorb the city. It seemed subdued on the outside, but once I had looked hard enough and cracked the edges a little I found a pool of fun with broken filters. Nothing’s getting purified by our invisible enemy of terror and the government’s relentless need for protection of the greater good. On the ground the vibrancy of youth lives on and is just debauched and extravagant as ever.

Radical Interrogation Techniques

2004-09-07T13:31:00.000Z

In to the mist I head, stocked and prepped with a variety of whiskeys and a horde of cigarettes. My fears of arrest in New York have been quashed some what by the fact my partner in sin has failed to materialize, no real concern however I can cause enough bedlam and disorder on my own. Obviously this is a trip in the name of fun, in these paranoid times anything else would be foolish, yet there is always that lingering concern of pure chaos.
There is definitely something that brings up great apprehension in oneself when looking at American domestic policy in these icy times. Adventures are fraught with fear of not only incarceration by outback Nazi police-force types, but also all manner of fringe sectors of law enforcement that roam constantly with predatory impulses looking for anything out of the ordinary… the invisible threat of terror.

It’s always easy to argue that the well being of the collective has to be protected at all costs, even if that is at the expense of the individual, and this certainly seems to be what is being preached at the moment. Border controls armed to the teeth, searching, roaming, looking through and interrogating whole bus loads of people 500 miles away from any border, “Our jurisdiction is the entire U.S” one of them told me, indeed it is. What if I wasn’t carrying my passport? “It was taken officer, that’s right, a group of crazed monsters after my Pineal gland, ready to bore a whole in my head…I begged them, said I was autistic and it was wrecked from birth, so they made off with my wallet and passport…” Slam! No doubt, none of that back-chat, straight into some sort of terrorist holding cell to be prepped for radical interrogation techniques.

It’s the way of the US at the moment, constitutional rights getting broken at every corner. It’s unlikely the rent-a-cop security employed to search and scan everyone getting onto greyhound busses, for example, really know they’re infringing on the natural civil rights of all of these people, the 4th Amendment:

“The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.”

‘Probable cause’ I think is the phrase that comes into discussion at this point, “Our intent is to root out and discover possible terrorists and to protect the greater good”, indeed, that seems to give these rent-a-cops the right to search anyone, well, where are the individuals these days?
This greater good, the constant observation of the herd, intense policing to keep order completely over looks the individual and it’s deeply worrying. But of course constitutional rights have always been up in the air being fought for by wealthy lawyers after notoriety and ‘justice’, the more things change the more things stay the same. Yet this invisible enemy of today encroaches on every man woman and child, the nightmare is becoming a reality. The grim writings of authors about ‘big brother’ and such, these unimaginable dictatorships controlling and governing by that most powerful of authorities ‘fear’ is unwinding before our very eyes. Traces are already apparent, tube station walls plastered with warnings of vigilance, “report anything suspicious immediately” breeding a generation of paranoid swine ready to turn you in at the drop of a hat.

It is early days yet but the disgusting foundations are steadily being put in place for an all out hell. Fuck this misery, it’s only one potential fate of world politics at the moment, best absorb the freedom now and forget this merciless fear that has been at the back of the free mans mind for centuries. My trip through Chicago went by rather uneventfully. Perfect for the rest and recuperation that was needed after the excess’s of resort life. Five days of solid relaxation and preparation for the heaviness of New York City with a few whiskeys here and there, but for medicinal purposes only. One curious day I had my palms read by a mystic hippy sort, disheveled and looking like she had been living off leaves and berries for too long her skin was sagged and spotted from sun erosion. Her predictions were interesting, that of long life and confidence and also the premonition that I will be a father to over four children. What I should have done is packed her mouth full of shit and taped it shut. “Stop living this life of deviancy and decadence” she wailed, I scratched my head lent backwards and smiled. The next night a friend and I went down-town to the 96th floor of the Hancock building and drank $20 a time Chivas Regals whilst listening to a double bass, piano duet and looking down upon the vast and fantastic industrial might of the United States. My time has yet to come I thought, if I stopped now who knows what dead-end mess I may end up in. Indeed, I’m young and fruitful, excess is my middle name and as I swirled the golden brown scotch in my hand I was thinking to myself that I shouldn’t expect anything less from N.Y City. I feel the experience of the true endorphin highway is coming and it needs to be embraced and in a true professional manner. Intensity boiling up inside me like a self-constructed horde of Attila the Hun or Vlad “The Impaler” Dracula…It’s about fucking time.

Where do we go from here?

2004-08-31T13:28:00.000Z

I left the great north woods of American with sadness pouring out of my heart “Don’t leave governor” they cried, the Polish and Americans alike, but I had to it was imperative in order to increase my worldly knowledge and wisdom.

My final days on the resort were just as excessive as usual, break dancing and smashing glasses at the Bowling alley followed by mass consumption of vodka. For my final night we had bought around three liters between five of us and strived to the early hours to consume it all, tales of fervor and passion came spilling out from all nationalities in typical 21st century style, all high-powered nights on a mixture of amphetamine and drink followed into the dark by all manner of debauchery with swinging harlots. And now I’m traveling, troubled and crushed, herded like cattle with ‘air con’ in this horrific bus, the bloated woman next to me with no remorse continually spreading like melting butter, spilling over her designated seating area invading my personal space.

Drastic measures may have to be put into fruition I thought, feign an epileptic fit, uncover my terrible tourettes syndrome or some other horrific event, but the risk of getting thrown off the bus into the dead of night was too great, so I held my own, adjusted into the best fetal position I could muster and tried to sleep. Waking up with a start in the morning sitting up and seeing all of these people sat around, young and old, each with their own mission and final destination I want to know their tired and drawn out life tales, Hispanic, black, white, red Indian.

I have no time for such inquisitiveness at this particular point, as W.C Fields said, my travels are “fraught with eminent peril”, that being my concluding objective of arrival in New York.

The 5th largest armed force in the world is currently occupying the vast metropolis. Guarding the Grand Old Party against violent protest from over 800 different groups, and of course the invisible threat of terrorism, their hands are full. The world is coming apart at the seams before our very eyes. The death of the 90’s and the birth of this foul century is beginning to play out horrors not seen by our generation of spoilt little fuckers, and who is to blame? Governments, terrorists, ourselves? Unknown at the moment, take for instance Woodstock revisited in ‘99, this was a complete manifestation of the puerile existence we see today…Deaths, rapes, riots, the event burnt down and died in a cloud of foul disgust. An event that symbolized a new found freedom through experimentation with prophetic drugs and sex in the 60’s depicted in the 90’s how the youth culture felt, bored and violent. Enough of this babble, we’re not bored any more are we? Just violent now, a unifying hatred against an invisible enemy, at least it’s some common ground for us on the downward spiral our generation is locked into. A generation of Americans that analysts predict will be the first to be poorer than the last, weird and frightening times for a cursed cohort of youth.

Nightmare at Dows Corner

2004-08-23T13:37:00.000Z

Sitting and waiting, perched on my ebony swivel barstool staring out at the birch trees gently swaying in the wind I ask myself "Why are these trees oscillating in such a fashion?" I had been studying them for around 30 minutes and they had a distinctly un-natural flow to their movements, did it have something to do with the twisted mess a decrepit old barman left my head in last night? His inane ramblings trying to convince me his father designed and built the bouncing bomb?

What a swine, creeping up on me out of view crouched below the bar then jumping up and with an unstable landing grinning and spurting out "Why sir, is the earth not lob sided? Why does all the mining that take place not make the earth off kilter?"... Did that tired night really happen or did I collapse in a chemical induced coma where this nightmare night played out and upon waking up think it was all reality? No is the answer, how else would I explain the stacks of Dows Corner beer mats scattered all over my room and the huge amount of Bloody Mary stains all over my jeans and lumberjack shirt? It did happen and now I’m left sitting here with rotten guts watching trees slowly trickle over them like burning candles only never getting smaller. A sort of self activated hallucination, for which I’ve thought about seeking medical advice but Ive always enjoyed being able to manipulate an objects size and shape at will by simply staring at it. However, I’m still finding it hard to deal with the jagged memories of this mutant bar tender. Leaning over the bar staring with his sagging old face that housed the eyes of a young man, on fire and steaming with eagerness, and in a pace that did not match the old rumbling voice he began quickly saying.

"I borrowed a friends car once...I parked it near a cliff and as I got out and shut the door the damn thing rolled straight over, 80 feet free fall landing square on its wheels in two foot of water, the bugger still worked though I tells ya! Oh yes we drove it to the dance that very night!" And then he burst into a roaring laughter that would tare the skin off a small child’s face.

Jesus wept, I remember him pulling out a set of handcuffs "Put these on and then try to get out of them, it can be done don’t worry about that! Ill give you a free beer if you can!" But by this time my brain had had enough, it was clear to see this barman was a very rare breed, an ageing process that was 20 years too early the brain was still active and curious but the body was old and decrepit, torn and withered. The man had to be dealt with though and with a definite authority, his eagerness could soon turn on me and so I blurted back "Listen you ork!" he choked for a second and took a slight nervous wobble.

"Id like that free beer anyway, it’s your choice" I shrugged "I could have you locked up for being a paranoid schizophrenic. I have complete diplomatic immunity arranged with the American Attorney General in exchange for allowing the U.S to build military bases on my fathers lands around the remote pacific islands of Micronesia, all it takes is a call to my lawyer"

"Whoa! Hold about there buddy, lets not get so uptight around here jeeez you’ll have people talking" He replied as he passed me the free beer, there was a clear-cut change in his attitude as if he had been threatened with being locked up for being a mentalist previously and yet managed to wriggle free of the noose that was coming down on him. The poor bastard I thought, his curiosity was his ultimate doom, if he had the brains to match the inquisitiveness he could own a chain of these bars not being threatened by foreigners under false pretences with incarceration for life.

We were left alone for the remainder of the night but it only took another 30 minutes before the barman was too much for human eyes to handle. We stood up and as my friend and I left the barman was attempting to get out of the handcuffs himself, struggling and twisting, maybe he was telling the truth before and it wasn’t some sort of crude attempt to chain me up, knock me out and feed me to his pigs. But I wasn’t in the mood for finding out so my friend and I left like teenage vampires stepping out into the crisp cold night with total confidence and the distilled brazen eagerness of an old man.

Lust, Drunk, Purge

2004-08-13T13:37:00.000Z

My delicate and pure foreign lover has been gone for over a week now and my lust for her touch and flawless spine has not dwindled. Her departure was agonising, leaving my heart feeling as if it had been trampled by elephants wearing stilettos, sharp and merciless puncturing leaving me weak and dishevelled.

Very new feelings passing through and over me. Love, in its purest form, was always a foreign and rather abstract concept to myself. Obviously the love I share for my family and friends is as pure as freshly fallen snow but I always found it hard to believe such powerful emotions and attachments could be brought upon myself in regards to a girl.... Perhaps my fears of being some sort of highbred nymphomaniac sociopath with little or no capacity to love or sustain a relationship and at the same time having almost no remorse for past partners is unfounded.

Of which I’m glad, although my unrepentant lust for wanting her back is terrifying on many levels, if not only for the fact that this startling new emotion has got such a fierce grip on me that I dread to think how I may escape it, but it is a much warmer feeling than thinking of oneself as an ice cold sex demon. Ho ho ho...but then again, its early days yet.

However, now I’m left here in this oblique holiday resort deep in the north of Americas great forest and lake lands with all manner of mutants and fiends having to take my solace in heavy binge drinking, the occasional smoking of narcotics and relentless golfing.. not necessarily in that order but often at the same time.

Though this whole filthy set of circumstances can be brought down to the singularity of idiots and intellectuals alike coming together at the pinnacle of their being when stuck in such a god forsaken surroundings to achieve one goal and that is to escape from reality.

A lifestyle caked in boredom can be a terrible existence. We are a social breed of animal with a constant and unforgiving need for sensation, new or old, and monotony and boredom try to quash these urges, for some reason only known to the great magnet, to make us into Mongoloid effigies of the pure thrill and fun seeking creatures we are. Unfortunately this appetite for sensation can sometimes bring out the beast in all of us.

For instance the high levels of brutality and dread experienced in low level income communities such as mining towns not only stem from economic standings intertwined with high levels of testosterone and natural competitive instincts of man in general but also the implicit want and need to feel something, even if that sensation is pain. The humdrum and harsh realities of working in the pits not only breeds a want for escape, which is often brought about by alcohol, but the need for feeling alive, to be brilliant, spectacular, just for a second...the thrill of the fight.

Luckily our close knit social gathering her at the Ross Teal Lake Lodge has not degraded into all out savagery yet, but for such a small quarry of humans that we have gathered here I am amused by the amounts of alcohol and narcotics consumed, especially whilst remaining completely ambiguous to our senior staff. However, smoking opium and playing golf can only be tolerated for so long, in-depth conversations, with the Polish contingent in particular, tend to keep my brain from waxing over completely. In-depth however, does not mean intelligent, the language barrier often dictates to which extent a group of people can converse and regularly our discussions are simply anecdotal, about drinking, drugs and other general shenanigary.

My good Polish friend Woitech, who happens to be a fine example of a red blooded Pole, once put it to me straight whilst enduring a late night spiced rum session he leans back in his chair saying "Oh come on my friend, Poland can be a dangerous place to live" as I eyed him curiously he began to speak in a more serious tone.

"I was out camping with my friends one time when in the early hours we were woken up by what sounded like a group of people...When I came out of then tent there were three guys stood around all looking high as hell on amphetamine, I grabbed a smouldering piece of wood and began hitting one of them with it but he just kept coming"

By this point there was a definite fear in his eyes from unearthing such terrible memories, and he carried on.

"It was like Frankenstein’s monster, I must have hit him ten or eleven times with this big piece of on fire wood before he ran off into the woods with his friends like a pack of injured wolves, something Ill never forget"

And that is usually the extent to which our conversations go, but generally I’m not bothered by such tales of violence, stupidity and excess as they are as much part of the learning curve as any other type of education whether it be formal or sitting down in front of your parents to learn their wisdom. The ability to converse on all levels with all manner of people is not something learned over night, but is definitely necessary for a full and rounded life experience.

The Boss Woman

2004-07-24T13:36:00.000Z

My boss, a terrible, monstrous, lunatic glutton that attempts to distil fear into her employees in an ill planned scheme to try and control them best she can, fear is after all the ultimate authority...The outcome is in fact that nothing more than contempt and pity for her are bred in the fresh minds of the young foreign staff.

******* **** (name deleted at recommendation of lawyer), this awful wretch of a human, with a face of a bulldog chewing on shards of broken glass as well as being border line obese, has such an ill grasp of social etiquette and understanding that she often comes across as a complete sociopath. Thinking through anything before she says it or indeed acts it out is a distant and foreign concept...Yet these sociopath tendencies could possibly be dealt with if it here not for her foul arrogance and inner opinion that she is in fact always right.

These two terrible traits combined along with her beast like appearance prove to make for some rather difficult situations. Often her completely off the wall logic astounds me to such an extent that during the course of a conflict I am left completely speechless. Trying in my own mind to grasp her reasoning in order to retort my brain seizes up. In trying to comprehend her twisted and completely backward way of thinking she induces some unheard of reset mechanism within my brain, three words flashing over and over "Abort, Retry, Fail" in my peripheral vision as she rants like a pathetic angst filled teenager who’d been kicked in the head as a child whilst trying to milk a fucking bull.

During one moderately warm day for instance I was filling my California Innovations heat resistant 20 fluid-Oz water bottle to carry around on its belt strap and drink when necessary. "Stop that!" she exclaims in her elocution lesson English accent

"I believe you will work more efficiently if you take on lots of liquid before leaving for work then you do not have to carry around that bottle"

My brain stood still and my right eye began twitching slightly, her monstrous face making my eyes bleed whilst her fucking stupid, moronic logic made my mind prolapsed. My entire skull felt as if it was collapsing in upon itself or being eaten rapidly by some flesh eating virus such as Necrotizing Faciitis. I finally came to as she was walking away and suggested

"If I do that I will become bloated and sick, its only a very small bottle and I put it down when I’m working, plus if I do become thirsty again whilst I’m out there it saves me having to walk back to the kitchen to restock and become bloated again"

"No" she replied simply and carried on walking. So to spite the wench I drank almost a gallon of water in under 10 minutes and went walking to do my menial job of trimming weeds. As predicted I was bloated and sickly and after 20 minutes or so stuck with a constant and urgent need to urinate. As I plodded around I could hear my stomach sloshing, like a office water cooler when someone brushes past it in a hurry. The beasts logic had done her no favours yet she was completely oblivious to her failings as a reasonable manager of human resources.

Fuck her and her bad noise I thought as I walked back, trying to explain to her why the job was only half complete would only bring about further brain seizures from her lowly and confused logic. I expelled as much liquid as I could during the course of the early evening and after romping with my beautiful dancer girl drank gin and spiced rum heavily until the early morning giving no thought to any hangover I may have in the morning, I can work at a good pace on a hangover, but if she comes near me I thought, I’m doomed.

Smoking Electricity

2004-07-17T13:35:00.000Z

Female dancers are beautiful creatures, slender toned bodies often with an extraordinary ability for bending into hugely erotic positions...and this is no myth. During my stay at this abnormal resort deep in the heart of the great Northern Woods of America I have met a bewitching German girl called Natalie, her sculptured body is truly a work of art, if i could paint still life I would spend years studying her body and blissfully putting it on canvass.

We have been having a fantastic time together. One night the moon was full and bright in the sky and I suggested we should go out to the golf course and run around naked "wonderful idea" she said, so after gathering some supplies, rum and a blanket, we left our dank cabin for the fresh splendour of the course. As the moon shone down on her pert chest and firm round buttocks I couldn’t help myself and we romped like wild animals on the 12th green. After we finished we lay side by side holding hands drinking rum and looking at the full moon, as I sat up to take a swig of my drink a young Buck walked calmly past his ebony coat gently shining in the light of the moon the elegant creature not even noticing us laying 20 feet away still and embracing. He strolled off into the woods and we fell asleep under a blanket until the dew started to settle and it became too cold to lay even with the warming heat of each other’s bodies. It was a fantastic night but alas the moon has disappeared now, the orbital path allowing us just one perfect night of angelic silver light across our unified bodies.

She will leave soon and I fear I will be in great trouble, the weirdness and unpredictability of living in a tight and repetitive employment and social situation has to be dealt with in a solid diplomatic manner. Lumber a given number of no more than 20 young people together in a compact arena of alcohol and boredom and a chain reaction begins that has the potential to explode frightening speed. Generally its notable that people will forgo a degree of individuality, heart and spirit in order to maintain good vibes and not extenuate the speed of this reaction, why make your life harder and more jagged than it already is? No one appreciates other people talking about him or her behind their back.

Indeed, the avid fascination with terrible reality TV shows in this foul decade revolves centrally around these close, intimate and unpredictable social settings, which bring upset, disgrace and personal horror for the participants. Its common knowledge that when people are packed and herded like swine brutal reactions will occur often over the most trivial of matters. The only true way to deal with this is to hit the weirdness head on, a fool will say, "sit back governor, relax, take a load off, let them deal with their own horrors", this is an inept school boy approach. A difficulty left to clear itself up may bring the two or more involved into a closer bonding than before they started, perhaps they had no bonding and now they have a mutual appreciation and respect for each other and where are you left? On the outside, with potentially ugly repercussions baring down on yourself. Becoming involved is often the best thing one can do, being the middle man is generally a frustrating and unacceptable position for most people, only a honed social mind, largely from previous experience, can deal with the continued ugliness of both parties attempting to get and destroy one another though yourself in the correct manner, on the edge diplomacy is necessary to resolve the situation whilst allowing yourself to maintain a position of high standing. Only previous experience can fully prepare oneself for the manner of shenanigans that happens in a place like this the weak will perish at the bottom of the social hierarchy like the lame wolf of the pack.

I once talked to a one armed biker who smoked electricity in a terrible pit of a bar where the walls would sweat and the people had very few teeth, but so what? Fuck him, this monster could not prepare me for these confined social quarters, he could not teach me how to maintain a high social standing… only experience, get that straight, write it down and eat the paper, but assimilate this, life is about experience, get as much of it as you can.

I’d been here no more than 72 hours before this life experience came into fruition. After a heavy binge drink of Wild Turkey and tequila I decided to sleep on the floor, my back was still stiff from all the flying i had done in the previous days and I thought a solid surface would help straighten out my spine. I was meditating heavily in order to control stomach convulsions and a rotating brain that I assumed were from the terrible mix of tequila, whisky, beer and wine when I heard suspicious noises coming from the couch no more than 10 feet away. I remembered the room was calmly lit with wall mounted lamps and that a quick glance may help confirm my premonition that a couple were romping. In a swift Ninja style move, completely inaudible, my belief was affirmed, there was indeed a couple cavorting on the couch, why not?

As far as they were concerned I was an unconscious mess on he floor, a pile of liquefied flesh incapable of causing any ugliness that may have arose if I was able to jump up and perhaps grab the 4ft 20lbs fibre glass Musky fish sculpture hanging on the wall directly above my head and started swinging wildly in a fit of drunken hysteria, but alas I was incapable of such acts. So they continued to frolic, as they did I fell back into my meditative state and slipped into a deep sleep.

In the following days there was a definite sense of guilt and ugliness in the air on the resort, an acute social mind can pick up on such fine details and all of my receptors were working with 100% efficiency, the outer layers of the brain sensing minute changes in air pressure when standing next to someone due to a change in even the most trivial of things such as posture. As the situation transpired the romping couple were not a couple, they were simply victims tot he god of drunken passion, both having partners and this solitary act of fervour had set the chain reaction of at lightening speed. Bad vibes all around in this finely woven fabric of human emotion and social interaction, but one must maintain, there is really no choice, steering clear will cause a definite shift in attitude towards yourself, often for ill and in this regard your life may become very difficult, the lame wolf is eaten by scavengers looking for something to pick dry to keep themselves from falling, obnoxious swine always trying to get the upper hand in the hierarchical social structure that inevitably develops in such situations.

Sharp whit and fast thinking can quickly create a position for yourself as a person to which someone can confide in, trust and confidence allows their guts to spill and a porous mind soaking up all with emotion will allow oneself to get hold of and maintain in these weird and unpredictable social environments.

As well as honing my social abilities I’ve been establishing my skills of vehicle manoeuvring. This capability will always, I feel, hold you in good stead for a plethora of situations where you may rely on only certain parts of ones brain in order to survive. Normally the capacity to drive a golf cart efficiently should not be extenuated to life or death skills, however, it’s a good base to start on.

Some people have suggested to me alcohol, marijuana and all other sorts of drugs rather than impairing their ability to drive they are heightened giving them some sort of meta-awareness otherwise clouded when totally sober, however, as is the typical case sobriety is the best policy, I myself am one of the latter. Nevertheless in the misshaped state of a hangover driving a golf cart seems to become easier, more accurate, faster and more precise. My hangovers seem to allow my inner brain to take over the more developed outer layers of the brain that take such a hammering during a heavy drinking binge. The fine primordial brain used by warrior cave men to fight off sabre tooth tigers and such, giving lightening fast reactions without even having to think, if that is, one has the energy.

Powerful visual signals from the outside beamed directly into the centre of the brain via the retina and optical cords giving often over exaggerated yet controllable signals to the limbs, this is why for instance, i seem to be able to avoid collisions and accidents whilst driving after a terrible drinking session yet whilst sober I continually drive carts into ditches and wooded areas a bear would have difficulty navigating.

Feeling unconfident in a hungover state is a flaw I feel, maintain confidence, allow the deep inner mind to do the work in the best way it feels will keep you alive by assimilating the vast visual and audio information before you and conducting your limbs in the appropriate manner... it will not fail you.

The land of the free

2004-06-12T13:35:00.000Z

After arriving in this primary stronghold of capitalism I’ve been relatively inactive aside from drinking beer and crashing golf carts.

The flight over was an eight hour delve into the life and tribulations of a 72 year old German American called Herbert, if I had the time and patience I could give you some fantastic details about Herb’s life to date, including a vast plethora of family related facts, after the hours I sat next to Herb and gradually got more and more drunk I took on board enough information to write a small biography I even know his family travelled over to America in 1948 and his son last year grossed half a million dollars from his computer business, but alas, I will spare you in case you as me start trying to search for the Kerosene, unsure whether to burn yourself or in fact to burn him, or in your case to flame your computer.

After arriving on camp and cracking open my duty free Wild Turkey I quickly relaxed into the fantastically friendly atmosphere, for the most part everyone is brilliant, and I’m having a good amount of fun. After the second night of a massive tequila binge the third day was a terrible mess, having my first accident in the golf carts we drive around constantly, however, my cat like reactions and Spiderman senses did turn what could have been a major collision into a small bump with another car, my lesson has been learnt and I will be binge drinking tequila and driving golf carts backwards at excessive speeds sometime again soon.

I have a mission to accomplish so I must leave.

Love Jack