Day of the Dead: Day 1

It all began on Monday, by just feeling a bit "under the weather" - is that an old person's phrase? Tuesday was a little worse but yesterday I really had to make some considerable effort to be bothered with anything - including breathing.

I thought committing the cardinal sin (going to bed early) might help, so I hit the sofa at 11, and was still staring at the same spot on the wall four hours later, so that was a stupid idea. I haven't been ill for about 10 years... and I don't intend on going there now either but the damn thing won't leave me alone. It's got my throat and my chest, every muscle in my body aches and I'm tired but not tired at the same time... probably something to do with the amount of caffeine in those flu powder drinks (and the tea... and the coffee...).

At lunchtime today, I thought I would face it head on and dragged this sorry-ass zombie carcass out of bed to the supermarket in search of "high-end drugs". First port of call, NightNurse. The Destroyer. Maybe it's the idea of it that was planted in my head years ago but whenever I take it, I get about half an hour before I'm six feet under for the next twelve hours. Thus, it has to be a planned attack. I also invested in the excellent Chloraseptic throat spray because I feel like I've been doing one of those razor blade eating tricks, but that could have something to do with the smoking. You spray it at the back of your mouth and it goes numb. It doesn't last very long though, so it's a bit like legal cocaine in that it does the job.

I think I've slept on and off for an hour here, an hour there today but I only ended up feeling guilty that while I was lying there, I could actually have been doing something constructive - now I have come to the table to do something constructive, I find that I am very tired.

Some viruses are crafty bastards - Day 2 had better be the last day. Am on a road trip tomorrow until Sunday. Let's see how it likes being in a car with me for 6 hours at a time. I'm thinking that maybe some well placed audio delights might see it running for cover...

Currently reading: "Always read the instructions before taking" leaflets
Currently listening to: The sound of my own blood pumping in my ears

The Strange Case of Neil Gaiman vs God

Two posts in one day? There's a man with too much time on his hands...

Not quite on the same level as the previous post but along similar lines in the fact that people who don't know what they're talking about really should shut the hell up.

Briefly, Neil Gaiman's book Coraline is now also a stop motion animated movie - and very cool. Gaiman's post from yesterday linked to this review of the movie in which upright Christians choose to take a standpoint on whether or not it's suitable for your children - or indeed you.

I HAD TO LOOK! It's car crash internet posting at its very best. I'm sure it starts out with good intentions but having re-read it, it might simply be a set-up for the thumb in the eye. Happily, even better than the review are the comments from Christians who feel compelled to join in the discussion and tell other Christians what to do:

I walked out of this movie with a deep sense of heaviness and sadness, especially as I watched many, many adults with young children as young as 3 years old, leave the theater. The movie made a mockery of all we, as Christians, hold true and beautiful. I gasped, along with the little children watching this film, as a very robust, older lady was shown with nothing but sequines covering her giant breasts, along with a g-string at her waist. Up to that point, the movie had a magical, childlike sense of wonder in it. It almost seemed like it was made to capture the attention of a child's mind and then fill it with disgusting images and attitiudes.

I won't correct any spelling for this pure soul, it's more fun to leave it as it is. I especially like this one for its complete lack of a larger world view. I did leave a constructive response post on the site, but they have kindly taken it down - very fast, even though it cross referenced nice passages in the good book where things like the head of John the Baptist is delivered on a plate...

...or maybe it was the line, "you're all a bunch of fucking idiots" that got it pulled. Some people have no sense of humour.

The Strange Case of Bob Lefsetz vs Gene Simmons

As promised, here's the (now ever so slightly dated) post on Bob Lefsetz vs Gene Simmons: Right up front, I have to state - rather emphatically - that this is not a random posting about Kiss because I felt like it. Over the last couple of weeks Ida has been mailing me various links to an "argument" that has been gathering no small amount of momentum on the web and as a Kiss fan I find it more than intriguing. The two sides appear to be this: Gene recently spoke at a music seminar, Bob retaliated saying it wasn't very good and that Gene had his head up his ass. Gene came back with a few choice comments resulting in Gene and Bob appearing in a live debate situation which you can view here.

If you can put aside the mudslinging for long enough to think about it, it comes down to this: Gene is old school. He thinks that talking relentlessly about himself and/or his product will sell himself/his product. Bob on the other hand thinks that there is a new music business model afoot and the odds on Gene being correct are very slim. This is putting it nicely. Check out the video - there's some killer laughs in there... mostly at Bob's expense. Gene's comment of "I don't even know who the fuck you are" is well placed. I don't know who this guy is either but he does make a good case. I think. Call me shallow, but I found it hard to take they guy as seriously as I should have while he's slouched in a chair. It's always the little things...

Let's ramp up the experiment a little and hope I don't get my chops busted for standing in the middle of the battlefield. Let's say I have a band. Let's call this band Baby Dynamite because that's what my band was called (hey - shut the fuck up... I learned from the best!). Baby Dynamite has a rough cut of an album called Blacklisted and we're looking to crank our careers up to the next stage. This means, as Gene rightly points out in his speech that we need some help. We need either a) a company who will figure out all the crap for us, advance us some cash to clean up the album, sort the merchandising and get our name in front of as many people as possible, very fast or as Bob also rightly points out, b) an internet based plan whereby we build a loyal following direct with the fans and take all of the money from low sales (at first) instead of very little money from a lot of sales.

Bob makes some excellent points. MTV does not play music anymore... not really, but to be fair, if I've made a great video for what I consider to be the lead single off the album (incidentally called Creature Feature), I know who to ask at the Scuzz channel (UK audiences only!) what our chances are of getting it aired - even if it is on the other side of the witching hour. Nobody I want to sell to watches MTV anyway - they are watching Scuzz because that's where the action is. I can also post it wherever the hell I like in the next five minutes and begin drip feeding the entire globe with a link.

The real-life scenario however is this: Baby Dynamite (there I go again) are so hungry for the big time, that we're going to do both. Any serious band would! No band in their right mind is going to turn down development under the wing of Simmons/Universal, but likewise, we are dubious about the end result. Van Halen aside, no band Gene has touched has really made a serious dent in the world - and there have been many. I love Black n Blue as much as the next guy, but it really didn't happen. Then again... looking back on my band (Baby Dynamite in case you missed it), which split in 1995 after seven years of not very much happening.. well, there is my point illustrated exactly. Looking back I would give my eye teeth for what Black n Blue had - four decent albums and a few trips around the globe. Hey - Tommy even got to be a member of Kiss and while the hardcore amongst us sometimes reel from the fact that Ace isn't in the band anymore, if Gene hadn't made the decisions he did, we wouldn't have got much past Destroyer without it imploding.. and then there would have been no Baby Dynamite.

What's that line from Three Men and Little Lady? "It's tough being Papa Bear..."

I'm finding this hard going now because as an editor/fan/critic whatever you want to call me, I don't really care where the model comes from. All I want to do is hear great music. So long as I get to hear it, it's your problem as to whether or not you're as clued in as me once I've told you about it. If Kiss choose to release their next album through the mega-chains in the States, that's fine, count me in, but I'll also be churning up independents such as The Dreaming (ex Stabbing Westward guys) who are running the gauntlet pretty much alone and I'm going to listen toand talk about just as much. Business models aside, this is how the world works now. Fans are greedy and will take their music from wherever they find it - and tomorrow it will be two different bands.

I really want to like Bob because I hear what he's saying. Sadly, the other guy on the stage is a) one of my heroes b) dressed for business c) articulate d) massively intelligent and e) quick witted even if f) I suspect he might be wrong. Case in point: Gene rallied around his artist BAG a few years back. It's a great album, it really is. Did you hear it? No you didn't. Where is he now? Who cares - and that's the sad truth about this. Gene gets more mileage from pimping his acts than his acts do - there's a serious lesson to be learned there. Gene is Gene. Anybody who gets into that bed should expect nothing less. He is the Vince McMahon of rock and to pick a fight is utterly foolish. Bob can never win this argument because of that simple fact. Nobody knows or cares who he is. What would have been fantastic TV was if Bob was Marilyn Manson or Trent Reznor.. man, I would have paid to see that.

In the aftermath, Bob was still very vocal about how badly Gene treated him on TV. Gene however went back to making money and forgot all about it, whilst I considered the impact on my life of putting Baby Dynamite back together.

I learned a lot from Gene Simmons over the years. Today I learned a lot from Bob. If you're going to bring down a giant, get your shit together before you start and polish your shoes.

Strange Days (Part 436)

Spent most of this morning and well into lunch in two branches of Waterstones - separated by two visits to Starbucks for fuel - and spent far too long in the company of Charles Bukowski. The more I read this guy, the more I get to like, maybe even love, him. He just didn't give damn what anybody thought, wrote and wrote, then wrote some more. I'm convinced there was a big bulb over my head complete with caption that read "that's the way to do it".

I've whipped my way through about 3 novels so far (Pulp, Women and Post Office) and this morning accidentally veered into his poetry. I'm convinced that somebody I know would crucify me - very publicly - for saying this was poetry at all but it seems like pure stream of conscious genius to me. I'm not sure what the dictionary definition of 'poetry' is but I am sure that there isn't a picture of him underneath the word.

Those are the foibles that make books what they are though... one man's trash really can be another's treasure. Anyway... it all got me thinking which is always a dangerous thing.

I wish I got Kerouac as well, but I simply don't. This bothers me a great deal. Maybe I'm just not old enough. Sometimes I feel like I should pretend I do just in case somebody smites me down in the street for being a heathen.

Bored of waiting for Ida to post Gene vs Bob blog post, so I'm going to post it here tomorrow morning. That's something you can all look forward too, he said sarcastically to himself.

More tomorrow... need to catch up on projects for a while.

Sound: H.I.M | Deep Shadows and Brilliant Highlights
Sight: Still cracking on with Rebus...
Smell: White gloss paint (though not straight out of the tin)
Taste: the bitterness of miles
Touch: aftermath of the sandpaper before the gloss paint
Sixth: don't ask... don't even go there

A Big Fucking Dog

See this dog... he's got my name written all over him!

I'm bitterly disappointed in David Firepig (see previous two posts). Not even a whisper from the Chinese Water Torturer. Any other stupid offers from passers by of the eclectic variety?

Oh yes... it's thoroughly random blog day.

First out of the basket is this hyper cool link to the new Dave McKean Mythical Creatures Royal Mail stamp releases. I have to get a set of those.. well, actually I don't at all, but the Royal Mail also release these as postcard sets which are great for framing and hanging in your bathroom or maybe up the stairs. I mention this here because that was always my intention when my very generous ex-work colleague Stephen 'Eraserhead' Lambert surprised me one morning with a set of Mr Punch first day cover postcards after I mentioned in passing that his stamps were very cool. I love Mr Punch - the legacy is wild. If you ever catch mumps or have a limb amputated or something and have nothing else to do, hunt down the original script on the web. It's the most insane script in the history of the world and the best morality play ever created. You wouldn't believe how much it's been watered down. I'd write a graphic novel called Mister Punch if Gaiman hadn't beaten me to it about 20 years ago. Swine.

I digress - those postcards are still in the bag that he gave that very morning, but I do know where they are. One day, I'll put them up.

Yesterday, I thought I'd run out of things to read and then I found Exit Music (the last Rebus) lurking on a pile upstairs - along with Billingham's Death Message which I'd also forgotten about. That should give me until the weekend - then I'd best get started on that Food Budget list on the right - which I finally got round to updating. While we're on the subject of books, I'm officially deserting Waterstones online and committing to amazon full time. Seven weeks is way too long to wait for a book that took me a couple of days to read. I wasted at least 20 reading days over that fiasco.

Enough! There's work to be done... I'm off to destroy a castle...

Chinese Rocks II

So there I was all geared up for a regular blog post and I find a comment left to yesterday's post by somebody I don't know called David Firepig. This is a great name, although I suspect, not real. (My friend Charlie found out that he was a Firehorse which is a great sign to live under). Anyway, it was a pretty cool shot at pimping his own blog onlinechineseastrology.blogspot.com - which currently features a lowdown on Lily Allen but if you have a quick scroll, also features Simon Cowell, Shakira, Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson.

I have an idea Mr David Firepig: run a lowdown on me. I'm sincerely and honestly curious as to what you might make of me. 13 December 1967 is the date of fate. If you need anything else, let me know. I'll send you a picture if you want to post your results in your blog and I'll leave you honest comments about how good you are - I'll also add you to my list of blogging pals - but you better be good brother otherwise the RingWraiths are coming to get you...

Not much other news I'm afraid - just the aftermath of a non-day yesterday. Ida appears to be still sick in bed so I can't go out to play with Gene & Co. I think I'll skulk off and write a very long post for somebody... my brain is too fried tonight to handle fiction.

Currently watching: 24
Currently listening to: Blacklist Union
Currently reading: Nothing of any value... anybody got a suggestion?

Chinese Rocks

It's 11.40pm and I am so tempted to run up the street and get some Chinese takeaway. I am starving to fucking death today. My eyes look like I was born about four hours ago and I'm sleepier than any hollow you could hope to wander into. Business as usual then. On the plus side, I think it's time to chill out on the food front. In 2 pounds time, I'll hit my target - if I go any lower than that, I'll probably die horribly. It's probably time that I incorporated some "exercise". Crap.

Done absolutely no writing today at all... and Ida is sick, so no blog post to link to either. I think I'll just scrap today. Mark it off in the calendar as a non-event and go to sleep. I hate non-days.

A Song For The Outcast

...taken from the excellent Backyard Babies Stockholm Syndrome. Hunt it down.

Sporadic blog posting at the moment again due to more proper work. Yeah I know other writers seem to manage it daily but they obviously get paid to write and don't have to do other stuff in between. Nearly there...

Started another short this morning, which makes six on the hob but two of those should be dusted down by the end of the week. Those two are so close I can smell them but I know they can't just be good. They have to kill. Every single one has to rip heads off which takes time I don't have but it will be worth it. Writing a collection of varied short stories almost all at the same time that will each serve an individual purpose in the world is like trying to write unleash Chinese Democracy - or at the very least Hysteria.

I'm sure this mega-plan will pull itself together soon. I'm hyper aware that in order to crack this barrel open, I'm going to require not just a few things that are pretty good but a whole arsenal of material. Shock and Awe as it were.

I realise that I'm not pitching myself into the horror arena, but I was in Waterstones for about two hours yesterday and the horror shelf is so poor, you would cry if you thought you had some talent in that arena. Out of 8 shelves, you can kiss 6 of them good bye to King and Koontz - the rest are sporadic entries. Fantasy however is booming - there is so much to choose from, you're hard pressed to choose anything at all! I'm not even convinced any more that the bookstores are the main drag in this scenario.

I've gotten ahead of myself now. Check back in tomorrow - I need to wait for Ida (different timezone) to post my lastest piece - The Strange Case of Bob Lefsetz vs Gene Simmons - then I can move on to say what I'm about to say now.... but it won't make any sense before that goes up.

Just finished reading: Killing Yourself To Live | Chuck Klosterman (Should be on your shelf people...)
Currently listening to: a Backyard Babies shuffle experience
Currently watching: Lost, 24, Dollhouse, Fringe and stoked about Primeval starting up again next week.

Karma Knows Where You Live...

That's a great post title... thoroughly stolen from the song Until I Die by Neurosonic from the album Drama Queen. One of the best damn albums of 2007 that you've probably never heard. I know you're bored and can't think what to spend your hard earned on, so buy that. Trust me.

I never got round to finishing up that mental health blog post did I? I got myself involved with my bright side after that and have been hammering away at a short story called Ondine and the Brook Horse and I'm absolutely determined to finish it by Thursday night. There's nothing like a self imposed deadline that you actually believe in to make things happen. Not sure about that title though. The alternative is The Lost Blue - which will make sense when (if) you read it. Those of you educated in the university of normal people will get what it's about just from the title. I wasn't sure about writing a 'magical woodland creatures' story - they're not very well received unless you write them way above the bar and with a never ending twisty tale. So that's what I'm doing - and am on target. I think it's pretty good but am equally prepared for the fireballs of wrath...

I feel a nudge coming on... Charlie... get your felt tips out. I need your hand on this one!

Man of 1,000 Faces

Welcome to the wall of masks.

At last count, there were almost 1,000 I could use which justifies my title well enough to let you know that I shall be retiring every single one of them. All except one - I think I will need some kind of face to go into the world with. It would be bizarre to go out with no face on at all - unless of course your name is Vic Sage, in which case it's cool in the absolute extreme!

Some of them may be harder to put out to pasture than others, but I have made a good start - with a bit of planning, the one that's left should be the same one I had on when my mother released me into the wild that fateful evening that she entered the hospital and screamed demonic names at nurses while she watched The Invaders... but that's another story.

Living a life in which you wake up wondering which mask to wear before you even get dressed is painful and I'm tired of it because it's not even that much of a conscious choice. Masks appear out of the chaosphere, randomly dispatched according to who the person standing in front of me needs or wants to see, but something has happened to me over the last few months. Something that I didn't see coming and the only solution is to live a life with no more fake in it.

Hard. Really hard.

Going back a while, I wrote a song once called er... shoot, I can't remember which one it was. It's unimportant anyway but there's a lyric in there that goes:

"Hail me, destroyer of worlds, unbringer of calm
I only wanted real love tattooed on my arm"

...which out of context sounds like utter crap, but it still makes sense to me - and the further I move away from that point in time, the more it's becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy. Truth of the matter is, there were nine songs that I wrote in that period of time and every single one of them is like that. I can't work out if I simply had an inordinate amount of foresight about myself or they are all self-fulfilling prophecies.

On the rare occasions that I'm able to stand far enough away from myself to see this picture, I can almost see what it's supposed to be - like one of those pictures that you have stare at for about an hour before you can see what it is... (note to self: what the hell is one of those called?).

The catalyst for some of this is freakish in the extreme. I went to see Marley & Me today (under duress I might add) and if, like me, you can handle a bit of emotion in your life, it's excellent. (Spoiler alert:) I expected carnage in the extreme but it's a really good movie, but I should have known even before I walked in the door that any film that's about a dog will see the dog die at the end. Cry like a girl? Maybe. Not so much as when Rose got left on the beach but yeah... it's a killer.

Maybe it was my state of mind. When you see a snapshot - fictional or not - of 15 years of a persons adult life and can grab hold of enough of it to map it on top of your own, you can get some kind of benchmark of all the time you've wasted putting effort into things you don't want anymore... and in some instances never wanted in the first place.

I'll continue this tomorrow... going public with it now though so there will be no escape from myself.

Currently reading: the stars (the ones in the sky not 'scopes)
Currently listening to: Rich Hall doing stand-up
Currently wondering: what the hell propels me to write this stuff here!

'twas The Night Before Christmas

Actually, 'twas the night before Rhiannon's birthday. I forgot how long it takes to wrap things properly but it's always worth it for that fraction of a millisecond that the wrapping stays on the goodies underneath.

It's a pretty good swag this year but tomorrow is going to be harsh! It begins with a cross country run. If you will make the team and the race happens to be on your birthday then this is the shit you have to do... eight years old or not. Then it's a mash-up of pizza, cinema, sweets and a sleepover.

It's gonna be a long old day... but you're only eight once right?

Hype is a funny old thing. Sitting here writing this at er... 1.22 a.m. Medium has just started on the TV, preceded by the quote "It's the stuff of nightmares now as the second episode of our double bill of Medium..." Back up there hoss. The stuff of nightmares? I don't think so - it's a cool show but it's not that good. The Watchmen suffered the same fate this past Tuesday... it's OK y'know, but that's all it is. Just OK. Nothing to write home about, nothing to make you go twice - not really anything to even make you excited about getting it on DVD for Christmas this year.

To be honest, it's a bit fucking dull. Even the book is over-rated and with it riding high at number one in the amazon chart this week, thousands of people are about to discover the same thing. It's a great book, but it's still over-rated. Not anywhere near as good as some of the more subliminal graphics of that era, but a worthy purchase - only not off the back of a crap film OK.

Drop Dead Casanova...

This redesign of Weird Tales caught my eye this morning. I like this a lot - expect to see it ripped off in some format one day! Liked it so much I even sent for a copy of it. Never judge a book by it's cover? Rubbish. What else have you got to judge it by?

Doing proper work again, so just a crap update on the weekend that was by means of appeasement:

I got myself a new set of wheels this weekend. Alas, not another Audi but a big black bad-ass mountain bike. It's a beast of a thing. I reckon if I ran over it with the Saab, it would simply get up and carry on as if nothing had happened. We need a little air in our tyres - it's got those stupid needle thin valves on it - but apart from that, she's looking pretty hot. Also managed to drag my sorry ass for a run too... you guessed it, it's time to get back to JuJitsu.

After a few months off to recuperate from "the shoulder" (again), I'm really missing it. If "the shoulder" and "the knee" can hold out until the summer, I think we might be in a good place for some competition in the autumn. I haven't trained at this new weight for an amazingly long time. Having dropped a stone and a half probably puts me in the ring with some young stags. So be it... let's see what we're made of! (If you're interested, I checked out UFC 95 yesterday from the O2 - good show).

Currently listening to: old stuff - Dirty Americans, Disco Ensemble, Flesh for Lulu...
Currently reading: own material!

Good shit happens to bad people...

The "system" has kicked in! I have to go to the hospital in the morning to see if they can find any blood in my veins. I'm putting my money on brimstone and treacle spilling out, but I'm not sure who's getting the last laugh... I have to go nil by mouth from 9.30 tonight until after they drain me. Voluntary nil by mouth is fine, but now that somebody has told me I can't eat, I'm so hungry!

I have 50 minutes left. In the last hour, I've killed off two pecan danish pastries and four slices of toast - worse still, no drink either. No tea! What am I going to do? If I can't have tea, I'm going to have a headache from hell in the morning, so I have two on the go - Dalek mug and Lost mug if you're interested - and I'm going to keep them in rotation. I hope I don't just 'forget'. There will be a lot of smoking going on tonight...

A brilliant thing happened this morning. I went out to get coffee and the French woman in the coffee shop told me I was starting to look like d'Artagnan. Now that some time has gone by, I'm wondering which one she was talking about. There's been some bad movies over the years and not a single one that I can actually remember being great. I found this 'acceptable' pic on google, but apart from the facial hair thing I have going on, I don't look like this! Maybe the French have a generic image of him like we do with Guido F. No matter - sometimes the Gods throw us a roasted pigs ear for a few laughs and whether we decide to pick them up or not is up to us.

I'm in a quandry at the moment with regards to writing. I have too many projects on the table to handle - and depending what hour of what day it is, they are all as important as each other. The sensible thing to do (apparently) is ground them all for a while as I need to take care of some of the smaller things lying around which oddly take up just as much time as the big ones. They should teach this sort of thing at school because I am the worlds worst at prioritising anything. Ever. Nobody tells you that being creative is good enough because it's not. You also have to have your business game head on as well, otherwise you may as well simply write for yourself and never show it to anybody.

Is that it for today? Pretty much.. I'm wasting valuable eating time.

Currently listening to: the noise of the fridge door opening and closing and the kettle boiling.
Currently watching: eating time slipping through my fingers.

Roll Away The Stone

Can it be done again? It's been a while since Jann Wenner kicked the American counterculture into another league with RS. 40 odd years I think. That's a long time to be cool... the fact that it's not actually that cool anymore doesn't even matter. I still buy it every month and leave it lying around whatever the content. It's more of a status symbol coffee-table thing than a great read these days - I always preferred Creem to Rolling Stone but there's still something intrinsically neat about it.

Could it be that for right or wrong reasons, whatever your opinion on their writers, photographers and politics, they still do what they damn well please. Even if it is to sell as many magazines as possible - after all, that is the game they're in and nobody knows better how much that game can fuck your life over if you get it wrong than me! Mr Wenner I salute you...

Reason for post about Rolling Stone? I'm going to be doing some scraps here and there. Nothing big but small acorns get eaten by squirrels and all that. As with SKY, there will be no repeats here or duped content elsewhere so I'll hook it in over on the right hand column.

Cool.

Monday, Bloody Monday

Man, 1973 seems like such a long time ago...

There are worse ways to start your week than interviewing one of the guys who was pretty much responsible for creating a whole lifetime of hero worship and iconography. Like going to the doctors and being told he's sending you to the hospital for chest x-rays and full blood testing at the path lab for instance...

Kenny Kerner is just as he should be. Even though he's long moved out of New York (a mistake that could have cost me dearly in my timezone planning), he still retains that cool NYC accent that suggests everything he says has been learned the hard way - or maybe it's just me and my 70s tinted mind. The guy is a minefield of information and nuggets of wisdom on how to make it big in an industry that might suck you dry in minutes, fall out of his mouth every five minutes or so.

If I was a young-gun looking for somebody to have my back, this would be one of the first doors I would be knocking on. Be warned if you are such a young-gun though and happen to be passing by here... if you think Simon Cowell tells it like it is, you better be wearing a buffalo hide suit if you go knocking on this door expecting an ice-cream with a chocolate sticking out of it. It's the way it is - and you can't knock the man's credentials. I'll write this one up tomorrow...

Earlier on that same day, I took myself back to the doctor for this random pain that's stabbing and pinching in my chest and ended up with a shitload of paperwork and potential future appointments at the hospital. Apart from JuJitsu injuries, I haven't seen a doctor for over six years and even that was for something not really 'sick' related. I wish I had kept it that way now. There were a couple of other things I ran past him as well that are probably best not blogged about, but heart aside, I appear to be in pretty good condition inside all things considered! Maybe we'll get another ten years out of this moveable corpse after all!

Talking of meat-trains, I caught the trailer on TV this evening for Midnight Meat Train, the new Clive Barker movie. Let me posit a glimmer of hope for those of you out there who know the magic still exists somewhere but for many years have been unconvinced by the actual output. It's actually really good! Not thumb in the eye awesome, but it's certainly worthy of your attention if you're one of the faithful. More importantly, it reinstates some glimmer of hope that the remake of Hellraiser might not be the car-crash that we're all expecting...

Last of all, for I have very important other things to do honest, I bought a new pen a few weeks ago. Nothing special, it's merely a pen - or is it?

No. It is so much more than a pen!

The Parker Slinger is the Audi 80 of pens - my old Audi 80 anyway. I've never has so much fun with a pen as this one.

It's supposed to be cool and hip because it's a pen on a strap that you can hang around your neck. If you're wearing a suit and also wearing your pen, you can kind of get away with it as a "practical accessory" so long as nobody you care about is in the vicinity. At home however, with your 501s and surf t-shirt on, it has the ability to make you look like a special needs escapee who has stolen some 501s and a surf t-shirt.

The strap is known as "smart wearability" - how great is that! The body is "reverse designed" too and for added "man, this is a fucking cool pen" points, when it was first released in 1976, it was known as The Swinger.

So far, I have lost this unloseable pen at least ten times in one month, been laughed at even more than that, strangled myself when I got the strap caught on a door handle, nearly took my eye out from swinging it around very fast and written over 28,000 words with it. If you don't do anything else this month, go out and get yourself a Slinger. I promise you, your life will never be the same again.

All this for just £5.00 at your local supermercado! Why not take a pic of your special-needs self with your new Slinger and we'll start our very own rogues gallery. Mine is the blue one by the way. We could even start our own select Slingers Club where we all get together once a month and randomly use each others pens in as many combinations as possible - with consent of course...

Fuck, I am so sad.

A week of happenings... finally!

I stand guilty of non-blogging my too many! Damn you all to hell for noticing such a minutiae for I have been a busy puppy... but where to start?

First of all, Turn The Lamp Down Low has acquired a new lease of life. What was once pitched at being a seedy detective novel is slowly spiraling into some kind of seedy, sinister supernatural yarn of epic proportions... and not an angel in sight. Not yet at least. (I detest alliteration... that will be the last time I ever use it. It serves no purpose other than to prove to your teacher that you know what it is. It simply looks as though you got on a roll and forgot how to get off it).

The implications of said changes to the plot are too much for my brain at the moment. That'll teach me to throw stones in the wishing well.

I've also unearthed all my notes for Too Hot for Dogs... it's about time that got finished off. Somewhere around here is enough artwork to propel me to at least the beginnings of issue four which takes us way past the half way point. As we can all attest to, this is known in the trade as a "good thing". Almost Human also thrives but there simply aren't enough hours in a day to crank the words out, so although it's being coming along swimmingly in my head, getting the words on the page is another matter.

However, I shall be doing absolutely nothing with any of these tomorrow for I have an interview with Kenny Kerner. Think long and hard fellow Kiss torch bearers... he be one of the people responsible for bringing us their debut album. It was a bit of a chance encounter, but the gift horse had his mouth open and I jumped in with both feet. I'll let you know where it gets shipped to...

Talking of gift horses, Joss Stone is in town this week for a couple of home-coming shows. I think I might get involved and bust her chops. I think she would be a great interview particularly if she was asked some real questions and not those local newspaper types:

Newspaper guy: So what's it like being home again now you're living in L.A.?
Joss: Well, I'll say it's awesome and really cool to be back here but in truth, I'm really fucking stoked that I left and the odds on me ever coming back having confirmed this fact are very slim.
Newspaper guy: That's great Joss! (Laughs to himself) What songs can we expect you to be singing for us?
Joss: Well, to make a change I thought I'd do the complete hits of the Motown era Diana Ross.
Newspaper guy: That's great too Joss! Would you like to go out for a drink with me?
Joss: Not really, no..

I know I won't be too far off the mark with that, so if I see it anywhere, I'll scan it in and post it up here for comparison.

I've also been invited by SKY to blog for their site. I'll get rumbled soon if I don't write something long and interesting! I won't be dual posting them here either but I will link to them over there on the right somewhere... maybe I'll even create a little SKY icon - it's been ages since I've done any showing off.

Finally, I hear a rumour there's a short story competition going down - which means The Tuba Farm is about get a bloody good hiding in the editing department. It's so nearly there I could cry but those who rejected it previously were right to do so.

I don't want to be published in a magazine that would have me anyway... where's the fun in that.

Currently listening to - and loving every second: Chris Cornell - Scream
Currently reading: The Rose Labyrinthe - Titania Hardie
Currently wondering: Why the hell there's a season break in Supernatural... and will Locke rip Ben apart when they meet up again on the island?
Currently: Wishing there was another end to burn on this candle.

Six. The Number of the iBeast.

While I was thinking about that "Do 101 things in 1001 days" project, I also came across a guy who was running a "Whittle your life down to just 6 possessions" project. I found this massively appealing and I think I'm nearly there by accident rather than design. There are a few things that I thought were sensible to take out of the equation such as clothes, table, chairs, fridge etc... so I guess it's been slightly re-angled to mean 6 personal possessions. I'm having trouble actually getting it up to six to be honest. Here's my list so far - not in any particular order:

1. iBook
2. iPod
3. Phone
4. Guitar
5. Car
6. ?

If I get stuck, I could probably trade in both my phone and my iPod and get myself the iPhone Beast version and make some space for another item but that number six is eluding me anyway. I have rather a lot of books... in the hundreds easily but I could never pick just one to be left with, so in theory, they either all go or all stay. I have started to pare down the shelves by giving away lots to whoever I think will get a kick out of them, but there are some that my life wouldn't be the same without. A near complete set of Clive Barker first editions for instance. It wouldn't kill me to not have them around, but I kind of like having them there because some of them took me so long to get - which is weird because now I've stripped every CD down to a digital format and only own three, I'm not particularly bothered about keeping hold of those anymore either.

Maybe I should invest in the Sony Reader, grab every book I own as a digital edition and be done with thinking about it.

Once you get past thinking you need stuff around, it gets quite easy. It's very liberating and amazingly, if I lost everything on that six item list, my life would be far from over. Everything is replaceable. Some of it would be a bit awkward to replace but not impossible. You can buy any of those things anywhere and in my case in a much newer model - and be up and running again in half a day if you had the mind for it. With the exception of the music, everything important is backed up somewhere online and if the music was really that important, I could probably archive it on a hard disc somewhere and leave it at my mums house 'just in case'.

In the extreme, if it weren't for "needing" InDesign, Acrobat and PhotoShop, I could probably live without an iBook too, so long as I could get online... which might bring me back to the iPhone. Although that remains untested, the theory is sound enough to roll with. How long will it be before Steve Jobs gets around to making an iPhone that turns into a guitar?

After fighting for so long to surround myself with stuff, this is a strange place to get to - in which people, events and a real-life have taken priority. I mean, that's the way it should be, but I see people every day who drive immaculate cars and treat their kids like shit. Everybody in my family who has died has left behind nothing of sentimental value for me (in fairness, nobody had/has anything I wanted anyway) and it looks as though I shall be continuing the fashion! I guess if I was to die tomorrow, I would rather there was big stack of cash for them to make use of and a bucketful of great memories.

I've learnt a lot from this and thoroughly encourage everybody passing by to take some time out - not to particularly do it but at least to get their head around the concept.

Would the world fall apart if we all lived like this?

Back on the Horse Slacker!

It seems that there has been a huge lack of activity here, but far from it. Finally plucked Burn Issue 12 from the jaws of death and archived her online for those interested. Strange issue... it's nothing at all like Mark I or Mark II but it does hint at something else about to happen. It's not perfect but everything was getting a little bit old so it needed unleashing. I learned three very important things from this exercise:

1. Control freaks are control freaks for a reason. Never let somebody else handle all your important stuff. If it means that much to you, do it yourself. It may turn out to not look as good as if you gave it to somebody with all the time in the world, but at least it will have heart and soul. This is far more important.

2. If you are an uber-creative, while you think you are working on a certain thing, your mind is really planning other things to be getting on with. As soon as I pressed the button on B12, six other doors opened and presented various other projects waiting to be finished - including B13 who has come to the table and announced that she would like to be a bi-monthly publication starting on 1st May.

3. OK - I learned just two things...

Vying for the most attention is the almost finished Almost Human. I spent yesterday evening rummaging through unlabelled CDs, hard drives and other scrappy bits of media looking for my vast collection of songs and then trying to date it all - and put it in some kind of chronolgical order - not because I'm anally retarded but because a book like that would be totally useless if it wasn't. Seems to me now that a lot of projects crossed over somehow. I don't remember it being that way at all but this is apparently the case. It also crossed my mind that as an ebook, this would make a pretty cool product... that wasn't the original intention but maybe it's worth pursuing.

I'll start in on that tomorrow - maybe Friday. I feel the urge to go and check out My Bloody Valentine tomorrow... and it's not just those 3D glasses either! It actually looks like it might be worth a damn... and so does Friday 13th. It's the Supernatural showdown!

The Greatest Song In The World: Not a Tribute

From the humble office desk to the most raunch-infested tour bus, the eternal question has been posed more times than that of the existence of Santa. “What is the greatest song ever?” I can answer this - but you’ll have to put up with a few hundred words before I do, otherwise it would be a pointless exercise (not that it isn’t anyway, but that’s half the point of a blog isn’t it?).

As time has meddled with my plan for immortality and whittled down my options, I find I must have posed the question to myself many times and I believe that until very recently, my response was based on the song that happened to be my favourite at that particular time - which is a mistake many people make - you need to dig far deeper than this.

Part of the solution can be found in the names of the songs that repeatedly turn up on such a list, but first, let me give you some examples of making grievous and shallow errors in judgment using this criteria:

1. At some point in 1987, I would have sworn on my life and yours that the Poison cover of Rock n Roll All Nite from the Less Than Zero soundtrack was it. Reasons? a) Kiss cover b) party song c) the cool addition of the words Mr Rocket at the beginning. I see now that this is foolish in the extreme - particularly after listening to it again as I write this just to be sure. Idiot.

2. The first song that ever made me cry was Red Army Blues from the Waterboys - this was a strong contender for many years but if it had been that good, surely more than seven people would know what I’m talking about…

One could carry on like this for a long time, but I’ll save you from the inanity of it all and myself from any further embarrassment. The other mistake people make is listening to others opinions.

The two stalwarts of this list that are the easy way out for all radical non-free-thinkers of the world - Stairway to Heaven and Bohemian Rhapsody - are misnomers. They are two of the greatest rock songs ever but they don’t sweep the board of all the pieces. Respectively, one is captivating and brilliant in its execution, the other is captivating and brilliant in its execution of attracting people that simply don’t get the first choice. We must cast our nets much wider than this. We must avoid ABBA (see previous blog post) due to their appeal to only homosexuals and housewives who never go out of the house (OK, and me). We must avoid the catalogues of the Gods also. The Beatles, the Stones, The Who, The Eagles, Bruce Springsteen, Elvis and Roxx Gang are not allowed to play.

The choices are too obvious and whichever song you choose, a like-minded fan is able to come along and say things like “but what about….” and you will respond “Hmm - that’s a good point” and then out-think yourself.

Is there any mileage in including anything from the last decade? I think we can all agree that would be a waste of time. How about two decades? Let’s make it three! That’s a little bit harder but nothing is springing out of the trap-door that can wipeout my pitch.

Which basically leaves us with approximately thirty years of music to dive into - 1950 to 1979 and that’s a mighty big playing field. One really doesn’t have to look too hard through those years though. There are many mighty songs from all three decades but I’m talking about the ones that stay with you forever. The ones that make you reach for the volume control when it comes on the radio.

The song must transcend gender, generations and genre-fication. The damn thing has to make you stand naked out in the street and cry because you wish you had written it. The tournament was not however won without a fight.

There were some strong contenders: Charlie Rich - The Most Beautiful Girl in the World, Carly Simon (and Toni Stern) - It’s Too Late, Don McLean’s materpiece American Pie amongst others, all fought hard for the title, but it was a no contest before they even got in the ring.

Without question, the best song ever written in the entire history of songwriting comes from the magical pen of Tom Evans and Pete Ham. I can hear what you’re saying… who the hell are they? These guys are from BadFinger and the track in question lay buried - and with good reason, still does - at the tail end of their 1970 album No Dice. There it would have stayed forever were it not for the keen ear of one Harry Nilsson who took it, gave it a good shake and delivered the most brutal song the world will ever witness. That song of course is Without You.

Most people think Nilsson, as one of the most prolific and talented writers of the era, wrote it himself - a fact that I’m sure he wasn’t overly vocal about correcting. Anybody who knows anything about songs and their structure, either from an educated level of having done it themselves across to those who are simply able to appreciate the art-form, will find nothing is missing from Without You.

There is not a lyric out of place or a chord that doesn’t seamlessly melt into the next. Many have tried to ride the coat-tails of Nilsson and all have failed. Even Mariah Carey didn’t have the balls to pull it off. This is because Without You is a man’s song. It doesn’t sound right coming from lips of a woman. When Nilsson delivers it, you see a man on his knees, a man about to cut his heart out with a rusty spoon. A man who above all else, has lost his single reason for being. Carey delivers it like the great singer she is but that’s just not good enough to cut through the ethereal ribcage that protects the soul from harm.

Women may be the only ones who bleed but it takes the emotional train wreck of a damaged man to truly show the high price of being human.

Who’s with me? You know I’m right.

Bigger Rocket Engines...

I'm going to put this here so I can look at it long and hard and think about it...