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haters gonna hate – even the shit i be proud of, yeah?

Month

August 2013

music – john miles

My musical history began in the early-to-mid sixties. Family legend had it I could recognise a specific 7″ single by the distinctive red-and-white label and would take it from the box and bring it to a nearby parent for them to play. And, as small children do, I would drag this record out repeatedly, insisting my ancestors played it. Over and over.
And just to vomit any credibility I may have, it was ‘donald, where’s your troosers’ by godfather of punk, Andy Stewart.
My earliest Top of the Pops memories are Bowie (‘starman’, ‘john, I’m only dancing’) and Gary Glitter (‘rock ‘n’ roll part two’). And then the avalanche started. Pop, the glam rock and novelty records of the day begat ‘heavy metal’, as it was called in those days. The first time I heard ‘machine head’ by Deep Purple (or, more specifically, the first track on side one, ‘speed king’,) I checked the speed, assuming I’d put this album on at 45 instead of 33 1/3.
The first single I ever bought was Bowie’s ‘jean genie’. The first album, Mott the Hoople’s ‘mott’. A few months later, I found Alice Cooper’s ‘pretties for you’ and ‘love it to death’ in a junk shop (seventy-five new pence each).
My mate Freddie and I were essentially Beavis and Butthead from when we were about thirteen. We weren’t that hard, we listened to various metal bands and we thought either of us farting was hysterical. These were, after all, the *seventies*.
A year or two later, punk happened and after that, I began the long slow descent through punk, post-punk, industrial, post-industrial, eventually discovering orchestral music (when I thought it was all called ‘classical’ music!) And finally, a bit like admitting I prefer intercourse with children and animals, jazz.
When I turned forty, I discovered that Miles Davis and Led zeppelin had been waiting all these years to ambush me.
I’d always liked ‘the immigrant song’ and ‘kashmir’, but Led Zep were always music for big brothers and I didn’t have one. To me, furiously engaged in mood swings and growing big-boy hair, Zeppelin’s musical proficiency didn’t matter. Purple were faster, Cooper was sicker, the Sensational Alex Harvey band were earthier and, a year or two later, the Pistols were everything-er.
Similarly, the 1980s, to me were an utterly abysmal decade. Jangly guitar pop, twee hairless synthi-pop piffle and progressively more insipid dance music. Highlights of that miserable decade were, well, Foetus, really. Swans were pretty good (up til they released ‘the burning world’) but Jim ‘foetus’ Thirwell is still the only artist whom, in fifty-odd years, I’ve had my body decorated with one of his record covers.

http://dreichcoalface.wordpress.com/

Why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/bunnied

A love story – on home-made acid – narrated by someone first used romatically, then set on fire, by the blue peter team, capering around the pyre like wrinkled vikings.

talent is a vampire – bongwater

I read somewhere that all the living we do is pure research. “That which does not kill/more grist for the mill”.
For years, I’ve prided myself on being a method writer; I’ve done – and continue to do – all my own stunts.
The process of writing is all about rigorous honesty. Back in the early 1990s, I got into reading de Sade when his work started appearing in mainstream bookshops. Although his fiction holds little interest for me these days, I’ve never stopped being impressed with his brutal, incisive intellect.
This brings me back to method writing. Every ludicrous, terrifying or repulsive situation I get myself into has the capability of becoming a bit of fiction at some point. I might only use a tiny fragment, but it’ll be there when I need to haul out memories to authenticise what I’m writing.
Which is probably why I’ve devoted my life to getting myself into the sorts of situations normal people spend their lives trying to avoid.

http://dreichcoalface.wordpress.com/

Why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/bunnied

A love story – on home-made acid – narrated by someone first used romatically, then set on fire, by the blue peter team, capering around the pyre like wrinkled vikings.

goodbye my love – the glitter band

Rolf Harris was lifted – again recently – and it didn’t even trend on twitter. Last December, the yewtree arrests were like an 1970s-themed advent calendar. Each morning, we awoke, bursting with excitement, eager to see who’d been huckled this time.
And a little over six months later, we’re like, “meh…”
We’re not shocked any longer when we hear that somebody from the Radio Times in the olden days is helping the pollice with their euphemism.
Let’s face it – back-in-the-day, celebrities got to fuck kids. Mibby not still in nappies, but teenagers at any rate. And if the terminally uncool (Harris, Saville, Davidson) were at it, then celebrities *with* credibility must’ve been running the sexual equivalent of a burgeoning nursery. The glitter-creche.
During the glam-rock era, the average age of concert-goers halved. So instead of twenty-seven-year-olds getting backstage, it was fourteen-year-olds. And, kids have always dressed up to appear older – particularly when there’s alcohol, soft drugs and/or cooler, bigger kids around.
A week goes by and Harris is completely forgotten. I wonder if even he remembers now.

http://dreichcoalface.wordpress.com/

Why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/bunnied

A love story – on home-made acid – narrated by someone first used romatically, then set on fire, by the blue peter team, capering around the pyre like wrinkled vikings.

ich bin an auslander – pop will eat itself

There’s a rising tide of bullshit, one that may well drown us all. Through no fault of my own, I was exposed to a few minutes of The Wright Stuff the other morning. Where one panellist explained that, if you give workers too many rights, your firm will go out of business. Similarly, if the Egyptians were to stop raping women on demonstrations, they’ll only go taking part in the political process, won’t they?
I find it horrific that these sort of perspectives are becoming more common as we sink into Cameron’s matmos. Horrific, but not entirely a surprise. We are being governed by greedy and short-sighted imbeciles, who can’t see that if they give away all our money to their wealthy friends, we’ll see no point in generating more income for our insectoid overlords.
It’s a triumph of mediocrity. Mediocre entertainment, mediocre politics, mediocre lives and deaths. Cocaine, the most pathetic drug of all, always swells in popularity when the right take over number ten.
And, with politicians like George Osborne achieving prominence, is it any wonder the ‘opposition’ are too terrified to present an alternative to the Lovecraftian orgy the Bullingdon Society have pitchforked us all into?

http://dreichcoalface.wordpress.com/

Why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/bunnied

A love story – on home-made acid – narrated by someone first used romatically, then set on fire, by the blue peter team, capering around the pyre like wrinkled vikings.

boredom – the buzzcocks

Still thinking about draconian governments and the jobless being used like a political football. It’s a shame the most vocal opposition to this government seems mired in a very black-and-white misery of its own.
“Don’t be fucking,” they clamour. “And definately, do not be committing all that pervy stuff.” As if that wasn’t bad enough, “don’t be doing alcohol or drugs.” If that’s the best revolution you can come up with, let’s see if it fits in your collective arse, eh?
The single worst thing about having a tory in number ten is the way conservatism spreads out from it, like a moist and silent fart.
Music gets boring. Fashions get uniform. Look at what’s happened to cinema in the last few years.
The good shit’s still out there, you just have to dig around a bit more for it.
The only groupings that don’t get a bit more conservative in outlook, principles and demands are the far right, picking up all those who voted tory and now don’t think the magic wand they hoped for is working fast enough.

http://dreichcoalface.wordpress.com/

Why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/bunnied

A love story – on home-made acid – narrated by someone first used romatically, then set on fire, by the blue peter team, capering around the pyre like wrinkled vikings.

time – pink floyd

I started thinking yesterday about how much time and effort goes into working – even in jobs that would make you rip your own throat out if you sobered up for any length of time.
That nice Mr Hitler, back in the 1930s, created full employment by sacking every woman in the country with a job. Contrast and compare with the present administration’s forcing disabled people to compete for jobs they couldn’t do – even if the jobs themselves existed.
A couple of years ago, there were thirty-five claimants for every job in the country. It’ll have gone up by now.
We live in a land traditionally run by fucking idiots; heath, wilson, callaghan, thatcher, major, blair, brown and now cameron. Not one of whom could hold down the job I do, let alone handle the quality – or quantity – of drugs I take in my stride.
Can you imagine thatcher on acid? Gordon brown on E? Cameron hitting the psylocibin, while watching nick clegg writhing and self-moistening under the influence of state-of-the-art laxatives?

http://dreichcoalface.wordpress.com/

Why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/bunnied

A love story – on home-made acid – narrated by someone first used romatically, then set on fire, by the blue peter team, capering around the pyre like wrinkled vikings.

stupidity – dr feelgood

I’m working too much. Worst of all, the job’s actually pretty good fun. Something I can get my teeth into, an activity that demands my full concentration for a goodly chunk of each day and leaves me spent and gary glittered after it’s over.
I’m pretty lucky. Most people don’t have jobs that’ll let them keep their last meal down
It’s a balancing act. Working at something that engages me steals time and energy I could be using to make shit up.
That said, my body (and mind) seem to finally be acclimatising to this summer’s chronic yellow-ball-in-sky syndrome. As a friend of mine pointed out recently, the human brain must have a maximum operating temperature and once that’s exceeded, galloping stupidity beckons.
I’ve mind-mapped out pretty much the whole of this month and I feel more confident about attacking that.

http://dreichcoalface.wordpress.com/

Why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/bunnied

A love story – on home-made acid – narrated by someone first used romatically, then set on fire, by the blue peter team, capering around the pyre like wrinkled vikings.

blockheads – ian dury and the blockheads

I’ve stared to mind map august’s happenings in coalface. Mibby that’s the way through this block – structure.
So I have the bare bones of this month. All I have to do now is flesh it out and make it a bit viler! Piece of piss.
I went back and reread what I’ve written already. Looked at what I’ve done so far. Extrapolated the ideas coming through and jotted down where they were going.
Next week should be a little less frenetic than this last fortnight or so. I should have a wee bit more time on my hands (that’s the plan, anyhoo!)

http://dreichcoalface.wordpress.com/

Why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/bunnied

A love story – on home-made acid – narrated by someone first used romatically, then set on fire, by the blue peter team, capering around the pyre like wrinkled vikings.

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