Idiosyncrasy on Location

My initial objective today was to take my esoteric sentence hammer to the subject of Social Approval. It does seem that people are so unhinged in their approach to time, space and human capability that they have found their life's course by forming a mobile Popularity Judicial System. I encountered two of these high court dignitaries at a cash point today.

To create a mental image, they were two versions of this girl but very angry at the world.

And so I stood digging through my giant bag looking for my card, (hoarders lucky dip), when all of a sudden I hear some magical words the two young fearless members of The (sh)It Girls Justice League. "Look behind you, what the fuck is that girl wearin'.." brazen as you like. Followed by giggles.

I didn't even look behind me in search of another human. I knew I was that girl. What was it? the oversized TRON Tshirt (epic). The hat with ears, (that is for warmth). But, in my heart of hearts I knew. Instinct. That and the fact that they were both staring directly at me in disgust.

While they used the withdrawal services, I smiled sweetly and wondered if Glade candles were still Buy One Get One Free in Tesco and how much force it would take to put someones head through a cash dispensing unit. (As is my way). Not a word exchanged though.

On my way home after my brief glimpse of the modern day trial by intimidation at the hands of two Value-Range hardcases. I came upon the prominent matter that I would this evening convey to those who read my work. Today propelled me to make this point known.

Through life's judgemental encounters, there need only be one fact that should hold major importance to understanding and intelligent beings. Cast aside this fashion ideology. No matter what you choose to wear and how you choose to live your life, always remember this. The original TRON beats the sequel hands down.

That is all.

Cash my Dignity

Hello and welcome to Solution Saturday. Today I will be discussing how you can lose all sense of self worth in 24 hours. 'Not possible' I hear you say. 'You are going to defecate undesirable word logic all over our wistful dreams again aren't you?' You may ask. The answer my friends, is yes. By the power of Greyskull and wit combined. Yes I am.

So let's get this shameless modern society massacre started shall we? Please enter Former Supermarket referee, Spray Tanned Minion of the Anti Christ...

I will initially describe the scene. Members of the public gathering in the town hall to for the Soul-less Desecration of their pride. The two gentlemen at the front are so captivated by the Trade Your Self Worth ethos that they have sold their own legs. The lady to the right is so devoid of morale at this point that the bargain bucket graphics designers have hidden her face.

The encouragement to stage a Time Team excavation of your entire property is not limited to your bracelets though. There is the animated HomeBuyer SuperHero, The phone buying Ugly stick victim who says 'Wonga' repeatedly and the spontaneous devils dance brigade of We Buy Any Car. Look at the image above, re-read the last sentence and tell me that you are not currently considering how best to conceal weapons and evade capture.

People are not even scraping the barrel anymore for human decency. They have sold the barrel at ValueMyWood.com. What have we done to our selves. The voices and songs related to this hateful assemblage are the sounds you will hear as they wheel you through the doors of the local mental health facility.

I think in the current economic climate, any advise contrary to the Instant Finance Death Coercion may fall on deaf ears. Ears with no earrings, no car, no phone, no home and no dreams.

I do however have, in my mind of many things, an extension to the current curriculum by which all children are thrust into reality after having spent 10 years learning about the relevance of World War 2 in gaining modern day employment. (Hitler was a shit, now go and practice your Excel spreadsheets) So from my imaginary podium, i say..

'Children, go forth and gain your education. Avoid programming that makes you feel that you are not good enough the way you are. Seek to obtain a good grade and ask your teachers to advise you on following any other subject that they do not cover. Gain your grades. If you cannot obtain a place at university or do not want to, then gain enough funding to travel and experience various cultures thus gaining valuable knowledge. Alternatively find employment and a residence. Find interests that exclude the following; WKD, Hollyoaks and park bench social events. Build up good credit through your employment and buy yourself a house. research the markets so that you may incur profit on the property at a later date. If you wish to have a partner take proper precautions so as not to prematurely impregnate or be impregnated. Marry them if you would like to. Create savings accounts by both working hard so that should you choose to procreate, your offspring will have the means for further education and gainful employment prospects. Dress yourself in clothing that you can afford. Be politically aware so you may form an appropriate response en mass should the seated government make decisions that negatively effect your finances. Demand respect and maintain your dignity.'

The seriousness of that paragraph is exclusive to the younger generation. Adults, I know not what to say to you anymore.

I bid you all good day.

Oh Valentine/Go F&@k Yourself

February is a funny little fellow. All short and weird. It is also home to the one stop regurgitation parade known as Valentines Day.

I am well aware that we are now past the romance gauntlet. My mind is not so removed from social reality that I think it's January. However recently I witnessed a lugubrious image. A visual representation of futility. The Valentine related Sale items, cordoned off in the corner of a shop. Languishing in some kind of Amorous Blue Cross Shelter.

Associated Image Insert. Go.

I am well aware that the image has no relevance to the subject. It is awesome. That cat is awesome. There is no stopping awesomeness.

So anyway. Back to Emotional Consumer Fest. I stood in the shop staring at these items. all hastily arranged and covered with 50% off stickers. The stickers serving as a welcome discount for the thrifty and a reminder of the percentage of couples/customers who will end up in mediation dividing their assets. This array of courtship novelties are similar in their approach. 'A Rose for A Rose' 'A Teddy Bear for a Teddy Bear' 'A Mug for a.....' Along with the saccharin gift wave engulfing February came the swinging shit axe that is FunkyPigeon, Cardmaker/Diluted Sentiment Conveyor Belt.

By now you may have the impression that I am not enthused. It is a known fact that I like very few people on this earth. those that I do like are subject to my factual approach to life. It is a safe assumption that I am not a fan of any consumer driven celebrations. If you ask me, saying that a human being is one half of another human being is an affront to mathematics. It is things like this that lead people to lose their minds and partake in unspeakable acts of ridiculous such as speed dating, or as I like to call it Unguided High Velocity Desperation Night.

Tonight I will seek to close my drivel with an articulate point. Here it goes. The word 'Alone' comes from the Middle English meaning All One or Wholly One. The word dates back to the 1200's. It is a representation of one who stands alone. The word 'Lonely' was created 400 years later. It was influenced by the first term but was in no way similar in its description. Just because you are Alone it does not make you Lonely. There is nothing shameful in standing Alone. We were doing it successfully for 400 hundred years before a letter rearrangement associated us to something we are not.

If you remove yourself from the arena of influence I think you may find that you are much more the first than the second.

I wish you all a good evening.

The Genius of Self

All this pop psychology magazine column non sense makes me reach for a bucket. Although I am a little eccentric and when i step out of the house in the morning i look like i have been dressed by two fashion badgers on a cocaine binge, things are pretty much fantastic in Me Land (I say land not world to avoid a label of arrogance)

My wordiness may drift into the insanity lane a little more this evening as I am writing at 3am again and there is no 'day time sensible' to keep me on a fluent and understandable course.

Also I have been watching this tonight so nothing is normal anymore...

.. I am glad I watched this with someone, otherwise there is a good chance this article may have been awkwardly typed by someone in the corner of a room clutching a torch and some kind of kitchen utensil. So there's me in my fetal positioned film watching whilst trying to piece together content for my next throw of the literary insanity dice.

Watching well directed mental breakdowns made me consider, what of this world and it's rules of lucidity. The film tonight probably wasn't the best advertisement for the positive aspects of lunacy but it led me to consider the subject. Today we find our selves held captive in this shallow day time chat purgatory. Where eccentricities are booed and hissed, or even worse, turned into a profitable trend and sold down the river.

Not every 'affliction' needs a cure though. I read some advise columns recently, where a magazine doctor, or mocktor (shameful word sandwich there) advised people about their personal issues. It's filled to the brim with Where am i going wrong Mocktor? How can I make him happy Mocktor? Am I enough Mocktor? Taking a step back for a neutral assessment, people are asking a figure who's credentials are essentially a picture of them smiling at the top of a page, to assist them in a personal crisis. Now I am no judge of others, as I am about as balanced as an unsuspecting kitten on roller skates, however through my individuality and my people watching skills (not in bushes) I believe I can safely say, you know the answers yourself.

If your husband is requesting that he call you Gerald in the evening time instead of Susan, that is quite obviously a problem, not one you have to write a letter about though. There is no merit in asking the smiley face in the magazine what to do.

We should turn from the ideology that states this trend advisory printed media is the answer. It is not. It is an abhorrent insult to individuality and self governance. The same people that tell you how to fix your self in every issue are also the same people who employ Kerry Katona to write a weekly article on her road to recovery. We have reached lowest common denominator literary interest. The Tesco magazine selection looks like total oblivion's coffee table.

You are not the 'Before' in a makeover show. Do not try and empty your soul all over these copies of gossip toilet paper. They are bad for you.

Do what we do, and never do what the next person does. There. A quote from the walking talking M C Escher drawing.

I am soon away to London, (hooray), for some much needed and long overdue wonderfulness.

If I do not return, it will be for a very good reason. (Krispy Kreme Doughnuts are not available around here)

Until the next time Campers.

Somebody Save Us

After a good few weeks of contemplation, followed by me setting light to my table with a soldering torch (epic) and a near concrete face removal whilst attempting impressive feats on a BMX for my child (not epic), I have now returned. I am currently listening Starship and eating copious amounts of pear Fruitellas so the mood is distinctly up beat here. The rest of the Fruitellas are languishing in the kitchen drawer, ashamed of their mundane flavour.

Today I am chewing, dancing to 'We Built This City' and attempting discourse on the horrifying shitwagon of Neon Yes Men otherwise known as The Radio One Presenters.

Look at them. Everything that is wrong with the airwaves starts on that fucking couch.

Please stop hitting your screen, it will do no good. I took a hammer to mine and when I woke up the next day they were still there, spreading I Can't Believe It's Not The Zutons all over an otherwise decent day.

After several lengthy conversations with others on this subject, it is agreed the human epicentre of this BBC Audio turdquake is the one known as Jo Whiley. This walking talking bowl of unsweetened ReadyBrek rolls around the commercial airwaves bumping into programs saying 'Kasabian' whenever prompted by the BBC trend stick. The vile male counterpart of this vacuous popularity hole is known as Zane Lowe. His name alone makes me want kick him down some stairs. Added to this seething chorus line from hell is Moyles. Perfect contestant for an episode of 'Celebrity Gut Punch' As a group they induce many to set light to their own ears in an attempt to avoid the tone of their nightmareish voices.

Through the rage, there is a salient point. I appreciate music greatly. I remember the first time I heard The Kinks. When I heard them I thought that Sony had replaced their speaker range with hi fidelity orgasm peripherals. The current state of affairs on the radio has me wondering whether anybody gives a shit about music anymore. When the radio is held hostage by a banal cavalcade of nodding heads reiterating whatever they overheard from the sarcastic kids on the way to work that day.

It then encourages a tidalwave of singing haircuts who would have been best served staying in their bedrooms, to make demo's and myspace pages flooding the internet with horrendous skinny jeaned karaoke all wailing the like minded version of Delusions of Grandeur 2011. Saying that one of those little shits may be reading this page and thinking that Delusions of Grandeur is a fitting name for whatever pile of audio vomit he is burning to disc this evening.

The people mentioned in this article may be aging as we speak, still clinging to youth by wearing their parka jackets and running around the Glastonbury Festival with their heads up the arse of who ever is head lining that year, but for those of you stupid enough to enjoy these cretins, do not fear, father time will not take them from you. As we speak the new face of Radio One is busying himself around the capital. Nick Grimshaw, Lily Allens Pet Twat and the inspiration for the Wii's new release, Who Wants to Glass a VO5 Cock.

In conclusion if you are a fan of Radio One, I apologise. Well actually I don't apologise. I wonder why you are here in the land of reason and not out and about socialising in your Tinie Tempah glasses with your finger on the pulse. Waiting for the next craze like a child waiting for the toy to fall out of the fucking cereal box.

To everyone else. We paid for that station. We have rights.

Audio Revolution. Engage.

Until the next time.

Writing.

Some times I can think of many things to say, some days I have nothing to say at all. Today, I have this to say.....

These Little Things

If we had a little time
One day
He may sit and read
and breath heavy sigh
A Dreamers Dream in pages
I'd take mine in gazes
His Skin or his eyes
And the way his hands work
While the world rushes to mass
A flash ideal without depth
Or reason
At every cursed pass

Let them have their seasons glory first

He turned this head
And inspired this verse


Written for someone I met recently...

That is all.

Consumer Revelations

Adverts used to make me joyful. As a child, I would sing along with the subtle product invitations, unaware of the companies intent. It was a wonderful time.

Of late, I have sensed a lack of nuance on the part of the Advertisers. They don't want the kids to enjoy themselves and sing songs at all. They don't even give products responsible names and characteristics anymore. Granted in times past, Advertising was responsible for this inspired piece of ridiculous..

Including children in such irresponsible advertising. That is shocking. There is quite obviously nothing worse than this. Fast forward to the 21st century. Oh I'm sorry, I retract that statement, there is something worse...

I think my eyes are bleeding. I think the screaming in my head just hailed a sheep dog.
I think that the Four Horsemen of The Apocalypse have been given access to some eyeliner and low rise jeans. I don't know what message that poster conveys. On the surface probably, 'Come and see this Film' is likely. I will take a step back. This is an innocent fashionable baby with a microphone. The children need fashionable make up wearing babies. Let's all join in the spirit. Aren't they cute. They sing as well, the microphones aren't just for show.

Look....

Well at least they are singing the F-Word. That's nice. Like miniature Julie Andrews' singing on their profitable popularity mountain.

As a child, I had a Battlecat and some Sylvanian Families. There was nothing reprehensible about the Badger Bakery.

The badger and the mole worked hard in that bakery.

I loved that bakery. I don't love Bratz.