I have never been one for art or poetry although I do love literature. Sometimes I think I may not have too much of a soul. Or maybe not as much of one as I would like in comparison to the people I have met that are passionate about such things. I may suffer from soul envy.
Anyhow I think the following is the best piece of poetry I have ever read that is not contained within the lyrics of a rap song.
"In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting on the ground,
Held his heart in his hands
And ate of it.
I said, 'is it good, friend?'
'It is bitter, bitter,' he answered.
'But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart.'"
-Stephen Crane
-Black Riders III
Quoted in the book Bad City Blues by Tim Willocks, a British ex-psychiatrist and surgeon turned amazing writer. I have only previously read Green River Rising and I am currently reading Bad City Blues (I seriously think it may just be the best novel I have ever read) and I implore anyone with a love of noir fiction to read anything the man has written. The poems author Stephen Crane was an American writer celebrated for his books and journalism but his poetry was criticized and met with bad reviews. He died in Germany at the age of 28. Shame that.
That is all.
Wednesday, 30 April 2008
Saturday, 19 April 2008
Fame and the hunger of celebrity cunts.
I absolutely love reading tabloid newspapers, gossip magazines and any other documentation of vapid, fame hungry celebrities just so I can slag off the terrible journalism contained within and go on my merry way feeling a little superior to the people that contribute and the retards that spend their hard earned on such utter fucking tripe.
If I see a copy of The Sun abandoned on a bus seat or a two month old copy of Heat in my Doctors waiting room I have to pick up and read just to satisfy myself that the world is ticking along as before and that people are still being paid vast amounts of money to publish complete untruths, inconsequential drivel and the minutiae of the worlds "celebrity" existence.
My Good God but how far we have fallen insofar as the things that entertain us. Two words you may be familiar with if you are alive, live in the UK and are in possession of arms and a head are "Kerry" and "Katona". This idiot was in a girl group but left before they attained any fame, married a bloke from a boy band and, well, that's about it. She is richer than you or I because we live in a society that allows people to become famous for being famous.
You do not have to, as in days gone by, actually posses a trade, any talent, be the recipient of any awards or even acclaim in your chosen field or do anything at all. You can just be and these fuckers will still write about you and take pictures of you when you go out shopping or on the piss, thus fame begets fame and you are on the gravy train for as long as they will have you. If your life has any aspect of tragedy to it then all the better. Drug addiction, infidelity and mental problems are all lapped up because they sell copy. If your parent dies or your sibling has a bit of previous as a petty thief or drug dealer, "MORE, MORE, MORE" they shout. Who gives a fuck? Really? The conclusion rapidly reached is this: the blame lies with you, the consumer and fact you are willing to invest. There is a market for it, therefore someone somewhere will produce it. Personally, it can fuck off and die for me and if I am ever in any doubt as to the conceptual merits of anything I ask myself the following question: If someone announced tomorrow that it would cease to exist, would I at any point in the future devote a seconds thought to it's demise? Go ahead and by all means take a stab in the dark.....
When you have been at the forefront of media speculation for a certain period of time, you can be elevated to the lofty position of having your own column. This means you are paid, as a non talented waste of carbon with zero contribution to anything of any note to comment on other non talented wastes of carbon while they also achieve exactly fuck all. Then millions of people buy a magazine in order to read your informed opinions (which never extend beyond a paragraph per subject) that may enlighten the population as to your take on the results of someone's breast enlargement/the fact that they once went to China Whites and flashed their underwear/whether or not they have gained weight during pregnancy. The biscuit taker, (and this is a belter) is that if you are too busy, lazy or illiterate to come up with these magical and entertaining soundbites by yourself, a person will be tasked to write them for you and you will still get paid.
Wake up people and for fucks sake start thinking for yourselves. There is a wonderful world out there full of opportunity and education. Think beyond the petty aspirations of vanity, fame and having more money than you need because in the grand scheme of things these amount to less than zero and matter not a jot. Read a book, broaden your horizons, listen to some good music and enjoy and appreciate the people around you for as long as you are able. Don't feign interest in anybody in your life who may deserve it and then choose to turn on your television or buy a magazine and invest in someone who couldn't give a fuck less.
If I see a copy of The Sun abandoned on a bus seat or a two month old copy of Heat in my Doctors waiting room I have to pick up and read just to satisfy myself that the world is ticking along as before and that people are still being paid vast amounts of money to publish complete untruths, inconsequential drivel and the minutiae of the worlds "celebrity" existence.
My Good God but how far we have fallen insofar as the things that entertain us. Two words you may be familiar with if you are alive, live in the UK and are in possession of arms and a head are "Kerry" and "Katona". This idiot was in a girl group but left before they attained any fame, married a bloke from a boy band and, well, that's about it. She is richer than you or I because we live in a society that allows people to become famous for being famous.
You do not have to, as in days gone by, actually posses a trade, any talent, be the recipient of any awards or even acclaim in your chosen field or do anything at all. You can just be and these fuckers will still write about you and take pictures of you when you go out shopping or on the piss, thus fame begets fame and you are on the gravy train for as long as they will have you. If your life has any aspect of tragedy to it then all the better. Drug addiction, infidelity and mental problems are all lapped up because they sell copy. If your parent dies or your sibling has a bit of previous as a petty thief or drug dealer, "MORE, MORE, MORE" they shout. Who gives a fuck? Really? The conclusion rapidly reached is this: the blame lies with you, the consumer and fact you are willing to invest. There is a market for it, therefore someone somewhere will produce it. Personally, it can fuck off and die for me and if I am ever in any doubt as to the conceptual merits of anything I ask myself the following question: If someone announced tomorrow that it would cease to exist, would I at any point in the future devote a seconds thought to it's demise? Go ahead and by all means take a stab in the dark.....
When you have been at the forefront of media speculation for a certain period of time, you can be elevated to the lofty position of having your own column. This means you are paid, as a non talented waste of carbon with zero contribution to anything of any note to comment on other non talented wastes of carbon while they also achieve exactly fuck all. Then millions of people buy a magazine in order to read your informed opinions (which never extend beyond a paragraph per subject) that may enlighten the population as to your take on the results of someone's breast enlargement/the fact that they once went to China Whites and flashed their underwear/whether or not they have gained weight during pregnancy. The biscuit taker, (and this is a belter) is that if you are too busy, lazy or illiterate to come up with these magical and entertaining soundbites by yourself, a person will be tasked to write them for you and you will still get paid.
Wake up people and for fucks sake start thinking for yourselves. There is a wonderful world out there full of opportunity and education. Think beyond the petty aspirations of vanity, fame and having more money than you need because in the grand scheme of things these amount to less than zero and matter not a jot. Read a book, broaden your horizons, listen to some good music and enjoy and appreciate the people around you for as long as you are able. Don't feign interest in anybody in your life who may deserve it and then choose to turn on your television or buy a magazine and invest in someone who couldn't give a fuck less.
Wednesday, 16 April 2008
Fakery, eggs and the consumer.
Someone on a trainer forum I frequent brought everyone's attention recently to the fact that in China people make fake eggs and sell them to the public for consumption. Fake fucking eggs.
They retail for less than a genuine egg and contain amongst other ingredients: gelatin, benzoic acid, coagulating material, lemon-yellow colouring powder, alum, calcium chloride and paraffin wax.
People buy this shit and serve it to their families. Alum alone, when consumed in sufficient quantities, causes dementia.
Consider the fact that we are not talking about a nice Henry Lloyd coat, a Ralph Lauren shirt or a pair of Air Max here. I have no problem with fake goods, ("each to his own" is sometimes a motto I live my life by) I grew up in an area where such goods were sold in every local pub. It was the norm to have people congregate around a parked car on a Saturday dinnertime or outside work on a weekday and pick the knock off garments they would wear the next weekend. The usual story is that someone has acquired (read stolen) a job lot of designer clothing and needed to offload it quickly and at far less than retail. The reality was that it was all fake and manufactured in China and the sellers were taking regular deliveries, the bulk of which were sold through a network of single mums that would purport to have shoplifted it and the rest sold from the dealers car. You had access to a myriad of "expert" knowledge from pubgoing folk that knew what to look for as regards labels, barcodes, hangtags, packaging, position of embroidery etc. and so you were totally safe from falling into the trap of buying fake goods and the abuse that wearing a £100 shirt when you earned £600 a month would bring.
We as a country rely on the cheap labour that China provides, whilst turning a blind eye to their complete lack of moral fibre. Even if you occupy the high ground of boycotting sweatshop labour, the chances are that the manufacture of the clothes you stand up in and the shoes you walk in have in some way contributed to the suffering of someone in a country far, far away.
Eggs though, are a step too far. That's when the realization hits you that this world is a more fucked up place than you possibly imagined it could be.
They retail for less than a genuine egg and contain amongst other ingredients: gelatin, benzoic acid, coagulating material, lemon-yellow colouring powder, alum, calcium chloride and paraffin wax.
People buy this shit and serve it to their families. Alum alone, when consumed in sufficient quantities, causes dementia.
Consider the fact that we are not talking about a nice Henry Lloyd coat, a Ralph Lauren shirt or a pair of Air Max here. I have no problem with fake goods, ("each to his own" is sometimes a motto I live my life by) I grew up in an area where such goods were sold in every local pub. It was the norm to have people congregate around a parked car on a Saturday dinnertime or outside work on a weekday and pick the knock off garments they would wear the next weekend. The usual story is that someone has acquired (read stolen) a job lot of designer clothing and needed to offload it quickly and at far less than retail. The reality was that it was all fake and manufactured in China and the sellers were taking regular deliveries, the bulk of which were sold through a network of single mums that would purport to have shoplifted it and the rest sold from the dealers car. You had access to a myriad of "expert" knowledge from pubgoing folk that knew what to look for as regards labels, barcodes, hangtags, packaging, position of embroidery etc. and so you were totally safe from falling into the trap of buying fake goods and the abuse that wearing a £100 shirt when you earned £600 a month would bring.
We as a country rely on the cheap labour that China provides, whilst turning a blind eye to their complete lack of moral fibre. Even if you occupy the high ground of boycotting sweatshop labour, the chances are that the manufacture of the clothes you stand up in and the shoes you walk in have in some way contributed to the suffering of someone in a country far, far away.
Eggs though, are a step too far. That's when the realization hits you that this world is a more fucked up place than you possibly imagined it could be.
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