“I’m known not only for my ability to see deep inside of a single person, but also my skills at seeing far in advance of many people. For instance, I know where you’re going to be sometime within the next five years. Do you want to know? Do you want to know where you’re going to be? I will be there, too. Sometime within the next five years, we are going to be at a rave. An awesome rave. Maybe the best rave we’ve ever been to.

“We’re all in it together.”
Harry Tuttle, heating engineer, Terry Gilliam’s Brazil

I had my flying dream again. I mean, I don’t fly in my flying dreams. I sort of bounce. I think I mentioned this.

All my life, people had flying dreams. They sounded ace! I never had no flying dream.

The first time I had my flying dream I was in the garage next door to the semi-detached house I was living in at the time, wrapped up in a duvet with my then-ex girlfriend. The previous night I’d taken ecstasy, and had arrived home to find her outside my house. We had been split up, and on bad terms, for a while.

(Luke thinks ecstasy is a bit rubbish because it is like Huxley’s soma, and he is right, of course. Ecstasy is false love for those that weren’t convinced by Jesus. I didn’t know any of that then though. Thinking about it, I didn’t really know anything at all.)

I don’t remember much about how we split up, let alone what we talked about that night.

But.

I remember my first flying dream clear as day.

It was five years ago.

When I woke up, sunlight tore through the cracks in the corners of the slide up metal door. I was covered sweat and dust and garage detritus, and she lay there expectantly, warm and breathing and full of thoughts and notions and knowledge that I’d never have any part of. I didn’t recognise her at first. I pulled on a gritty T-Shirt and went to work. Later on I lied to my friends about who I’d been with.

We didn’t get back together.

But as we slept together on the concrete floor of my old garage that morning, somehow she gave me a dream. In it the sky was blue like infinity, and I ran, from something bad, faster, and faster, and when I could run no faster, I let the ball of my right foot hit the ground, I let my left hang, and with precision calf, I did pump, and was airborne. I skipped, into the sky. Up I swept, wind in my hair, going, RAH! Then I peaked and began to fall, with great speed, back t’ward earth. Panicking, I flapped my feet like flippers, and waved my arms, and found in doing so, I decreased the slide, the fall increment, as t’were. When I hit the floor again, I was ready, and, barely touching the ground, with a perfect left ball and calf, I powered back skyward, this time peaking yet higher, and returning earthward with further power, further grace, BLAM!ing back off again. Eventually I was bouncing off buildings, over bridges. It was the best moment of my life! And It happened in my head.

Perhaps.

I have had a few since. Three? Four? I don’t usually remember my dreams. Just the nightmares. Last night I was bouncing again, but not too high. That first time, that was the highest I bounced. Ever since it has been ultimately disappointing. I somehow fuck it it up at the end. I forget how to wiggle my feet in such away to get maximum momentum.

I was bouncing, super-skipping, along a windy Welsh-seeming road last night. It was pretty dusty, so it must have been Summer. The Sun was setting, and I was fleeing some horror or other with a dark haired girl, to whom I felt a sort of fearful attraction. Like, I kind of wanted to do her. But I wasn’t sure if I fancied her. Or if she was evil. Or if in fact she was beautiful and not at all evil, but I’d somehow been made to think that.

So, we were escaping away, (as often we are) and I suddenly remembered I could skip really high. “FORSOOTH!” I said, in a really boomy voice, and went, runrunrunrun, bombed down the path, and launched skyward. I got about fifty feet high. It was pretty cool. I’d remembered I could sort of fly! But the woman I was with couldn’t, and as I tried to power-skip back to her, a black cloud gathered on the horizon, and bore down on us with some great vengance, and a furious anger. I reached her, landing with a comic book THOOM!, cracking the scorched earth. I could feel the black on my face, and tried to get us away, but I couldn’t carry her AND run really fast, not fast enough to power-skip into the sky and away.

I got really frustrated, and I shouted, “JUST FUCKING SKIP!”

She smiled at me and said, “we can’t all fucking skip, you retard.”

The black got us, but we did have sex later on, so it can’t have been all bad.

Hey, here’s a good one for you. White House advisor John Yoo on record stating that there is no law preventing the President from ordering the torture of a child of a suspect in custody – including by crushing that child’s testicles. Are you desensetised yet? Shit! Now that’s gangsta!

I stopped reading The Guardian after I started meeting people who wrote for it. I found them to be, more often than not, upper middle class friends of friends with very little knowledge of their subjects, no sense of sociologicall context, history, and, worse of all, a terrifying trust of PR people and officials in general.

Then on Saturday I thought about starting again, as The Independent on Saturday isn’t very good, and I did always like The Guide, even if the guy who writes about the music in it is either mad, or diligently evil.

I think I was considering this on Friday night/Saturday morning. But then I came across this on their website - a shockingly un-reseached, snide, and dangerous little slab of “columnism” regarding Charlie Sheen’s recent comments regarding the 911 Commission whitewash, from their Saturday edition.

I was quite outraged, and nearly wrote them an angry letter, before remembering that the best course of action in the circumstance was not buy The Guardian. And anyway, men with infinitely higher capacities for reason were already at it, clattering with steamy outrage into typewriters and keyboards the world over. One of them wrote this:

With regard to the piece of “journalism” by Marina Hyde carried in your paper on Saturday March 25 th (A Right Charlie). I am incredulous that you let such a slip-shod poor piece of attack-dog gonzo journalism past your proof readers.

Jake Eyre

GET OFF MY WEBSITE!

I have spent £170 on bandwith this week.

Lame! I quit fags and everything! No ice cream! I wish I had a million dollars!

Hot dog.

(I never got that by the way)

From the terrorful depths of my MySpace messagebox:

i saw v for vendetta today

best movie i saw in an extremely long time i never read the comic and i am somewhat glad i wouldve been critisizing the movie more than actually watching it

i left the theater as a different person

and idk wtf im tellin u this for lol

but damn it was a good movie

And

Akira Don!

now excuse me for i have many adventures to endure in.

Which is the best email I have ever seen.

But it did strike me, just then, that I never once considered that I might be writing to a twelve year old girl. Or a fifty year old boy. Or a giraffe. I haven’t considered who I am writing to at all, really, and I just did, and am quite freaked out.

OBNOSIS.

Scientology word. Means “observation of the obvious.” It is the title of a record I shall release this year.

I shall forget that for now.

I did a tune last night in Brix City with Dego Maradonna and Nimblor from that Why Lout? creu. Shit was bananas, yo! Then Narstie stomped into the building, and destroyed it like Godzilla did that police station, BLAOW! I was fucking AWED, son! BLOWN AWAY, bebbeh! Narstie is the Brixton Biggie and then some! Are you mad? Serious!

Those bastard farmers stole an hour off of me! How dare they!

The human body is an amazing thing. A few weeks ago mine was a complete mess, and didn’t know whether it was coming, or gone. After merely a fortnight of scrambled eggs and a vaguely regimented bedtime pattern, it now wakes up like clockwork at 8am, no matter how drunk it had gotten last night (it was very drunk last night as well, cursed whisky. It always thinks it is perfectly fine and righteous and in a perfect state to conduct meaningful conversation, despite years of evidence suggesting the contrary. It is a fool, run by a fool, for foolish reasons).

Anyway, Today I awoke at 8, in a little pain, but it was in fact 9. Farming swine! This has fucked me right up. Now it says on my machine that it is nearly seven so I have to run down to Brixton, when really it should be nearly six, plenty of time to eat pasta and faff about with socks and the like.

Still. Masked And Anonymous, Dob Bylan’s much maligned American allegory, is ace. It’s got John Goodman and Jeff Bridges in it. It’s funny. It’s true. It kind of works like an album. I think it might have been written like an album. You will like it, I am sure. Bear in mind its happening in America, now. Then it will make sense.

Well, I have had a truly fine weekend thusfar, contributing my vocals to a very exciting project of which I can’t really say anything other than… Snakes! And. Planes!

That is really all I can say, I am afraid. But it is very exciting.

Anyway, the world seems to have gone quite mad. Alex Jones, hated for being brash by some of my stuffier English friends, has been on CNN two nights in a row telling it straight about 911, which I really wasn’t expecting to see this decade. And all it took for the floodgates to open was Charlie Sheen opening his mouth. Don’t expect him to get much more acting work (before you snides sniff, he’s currently starring in the State’s biggest sitcom), but similarly, don’t expect him to be the last.

On CNN, you’ll notice a poll, asking “Do you agree with Charlie Sheen that the U.S. government covered up the real events of the 9/11 attacks?” Currently 83% - 31313 votes - say yes.

The times they are a very weird.

Last night I dreamed I was brainwashed into cutting my hair by a TV show. I spent about an hour hacking at it with blunt scissors, staring at the television. By the end my scalp was bleeding, and I had a sort of a David Bowie in The Man Who Fell To Earth thing. I was distraught, suddenly, I felt crushingly pedestrian, and cursed myself for being shallow, as blood dribbled down my face.

Then I woke up, in my dream, and dreamed I explained my dream to somebody, with no eyes, who was the most beautiful person I could think of. Light poured out of where her eyes might have been.

Then we were in a field, overlooking a great plain, and a forest, and above us the sky boiled and split into two. Half black churned and spat with static, and the other curled and arched and shaped itself into a sort of a 3-D space craft, that looked like one of those gummy-rings, as rendered in a technical drawing by a late eighties computer, the bright, unrealistic colours of the palette in Photoshop. It hung in the air, and arched away in an instant. I was told it would return, with “50,000″, and below us wolves and other, unidentifiable, great hairy beats fled the forest, and teemed across the plains, howling.

I knew the “50,000″ meant death, of some kind. It was funny, because i knew that 50,000 wasn’t a great many, relatively. But I was terrified.

I don’t recall what happened after that, but I didn’t like it, because I was curled up and shivering and wet when I woke up, and I wasn’t at all sure that I had.

Fox News announced yesterday that the USA is “already probably at war with Iran”.

“What if I told you it is too late, that we’re already probably at war with Iran and most of us don’t even know it?” barked Fox “News” anchor Neil Cavuto. “Welcome everybody, I’m Neil Cavuto, and this is Your World.”

Argh! “This is your world!” Cheek! How dare they dictate our reality to us!

Thing is though, that’s what they do. You’ll remember it was Fox that called the 2000 election for Bush, wrongly, then everyone else followed suit. So there you go. At war we are.

All I can say is

Snakes on a plane!

I copped the new Ghostface album yesterday. It is even better than the last one. There’s a song on there about being able to breathe underwater, and chilling with mermaids and shit. I love Ghostface so much! There’s even a Wu joint on there, featuring new verses from everyone bar the RZA, who comes with the introduction (although it’s a reused thing from Fast Cars, which is kind of lame). They’re running over an old Doom beat, from one of those Special Herbs joints. It’s pretty classic shit. Ghost has amazing hip-hop production on this record. Pete Rock brings the biggest beat since Kick In The Door, or some shit. Doom is all over it. Lewis Parker comes correct. Even the obligatory R ‘n’ B single (Back Like That featuring Ne-Yo) is dope. Saying that, I was a huge fan of the much maligned Bulletproof Wallets lead-off, Never Be The Same Again with Carl Thomas. I loved that joint. So what do I know.

The Wu-Tang messageboard is hilarious as ever. Comparing the released album to the demos that were kicking about the net a while back, one kid, talking about Nine Milli Bros, the Wu joint, laments, “I think who ever mixed it did it on purpose to make the other verses sound better cause Decks verse was the sickes and now it doesnt sound good cause its off beat. I think I might commit suicide over this.”

I pissed myself when I read that. Love!

There’s a brilliant article about the record by Sasha Frere Jones over at the New Yorker, which contains the following:

“Last fall, in the middle of a riveting show at B.B. King’s, Ghostface asked a member of the stage crew to turn on a blue light. The d.j. put on “My Ebony Princess,” a 1977 single by Jimmy Briscoe & the Little Beavers, and Ghostface began to sing along: “Your eyes are dark as the night.” He stopped, listened to the record for a few seconds, and began talking about how his parents had conceived him while listening to this kind of soul music. Then he told the d.j. to stop the music. “For those that don’t have no soul, y’all wouldn’t really understand or know where the fuck I’m coming from when I play shit like that,” he said. “See—I was born in 1970, yo. You know what, I’m a seventies man, a Taurus and shit, and I love, like, shit like that. I’d rather write to shit like that than hip-hop any day.”

Yo, here’s some more hot British terrorism for your ass. Love me.

So, remember how Isac Hayes quit South Park recently, claiming religious intolerance on the behalf of the show’s creators?

From Hayes’ Wikipedia page (cheers Kat!)

“Hayes is also an outspoken scientologist, frequently identified by scientology as a success story and great example of the positive effects that Scientology can bring. He has called scientology the “gateway to eternity” and “the path to happiness and total spiritual freedom.”

In February 2006, Hayes appeared in a scientology music video called “United”. Fox News entertainment reporter Roger Friedman reported receiving a copy in the mail sent personally from Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes, along with a framed set of scientology maxims such as “Never fear to hurt another in a just cause”.

In the South Park episode “Trapped in the Closet”, a satire and exposé of scientology, Hayes did not appear in his role as Chef. In an interview for The A.V. Club on January 4, 2006, Hayes was asked about the episode. Hayes said that he told the creators, Matt Stone and Trey Parker, “Guys, you have it all wrong. We’re not like that. I know that’s your thing, but get your information correct, because somebody might believe that shit, you know?” He then told them to take a couple of Scientology courses to understand what they do.

On March 13, 2006, Hayes announced he was asking to be released from his contract with Comedy Central, citing recent episodes which satirized religious beliefs as being intolerant. “There is a place in this world for satire, but there is a time when satire ends and intolerance and bigotry towards religious beliefs of others begins,” he was quoted in a press statement. Hayes, however, did not directly mention Scientology. A response from Stone said that Hayes’ complaints stemmed from the show’s criticism of Scientology and that he “has no problem — and he’s cashed plenty of checks –– with our show making fun of Christians.” Stone adds, “[We] never heard a peep out of Isaac in any way until we did Scientology. He wants a different standard for religions other than his own, and to me, that is where intolerance and bigotry begin.” Stone and Parker agreed to release Hayes per his request.”

Oddly, as recently as January, Hayes was going on the radio saying he didn’t have a problem with the episode. “I understand what [Matt and Trey] are doing,” quoth he. A few weeks later, he had a stroke, then made his big announcement.

Well, in an amazingly quick turnaround, Comedy Central aired the first episode of the new, post-Hayes South Park last night, in which Chef is brainwashed by a “fruity little club”. I shall say no more. If you type “South Park 1001″ into your Limewire or whatever, you can watch it, and be awed, as I just was. It really is quite beautiful.

“Don’t be mad at Chef for leaving us,” begs Kyle towards the end. “Be mad at that fruity little club that brainwashed him.”

Amen.

If you give me a typewriter and I’m having a good day, I can write a scene that will astonish its readers. That will perhaps make them laugh, perhaps make them cry - that will have some emotional clout to it. It doesn’t cost much to do that. But if you said, “Astonish the audience,” and you gave me a quarter of a million - well, my auntie could astonish an audience if she got that much money! Real art and the things that actually change our culture tend to happen on the margins. They don’t happen in the middle of a big marquee.
Alan Moore

Hello. I am doing a postbag today, like I was Smash Hits (RIP). Forsooth!

Dear Donovan

I had a dream that you and Mike Skinner and Maggot were living in a house looking after me. I was a little girl. It was like that film, 3 Men And A Baby. You had a really thick moustache.

Love

Lucy

I had a dream last night I was going down a plughole, while Lou Reed sang The Real Slim Shady really, really slowly. Life is unfair and it is weird. - ATD

Dear Don

Happy Spring!

When is your fucking album out?

PAX!

Kidney

(stole your tag!)

When I know when my album is coming out, I will tell you. I don’t know. Soon. It better be. A new mixtape is on the way though. I shall continue to drip feed you. I am a nice boy. - ATD

Oi Adam, get over yourself you womble, I remember you way back, fucking Carter USM loving freakboy, stop pretending your Eminem, Interscope will never recoup, loser.

YOU KNOW WHO

Leave me alone Dad. - ATD

YO!

Akira the don you rock! You are the best ever! I love you more than I love the killers!!!! (and that is alot) This boy I know said you where crap, but he is stupid because he didn’t even listen to you when I told him to! He just likes Indie and refuses to listen to anything else because he says everything else is crap! I dont talk to him any more. YOU ARE THE GREATEST!!!!!!!!!

I just thought i’d say that

PoFl

The Killers are Mormons you know - ATD

This morning, i woke up hungover from another night out, and i turned my pc on and hit winamp on random. Then genocide is coming to the USA came on, usually a song im not too fussed about. But lying there, hearing it properly i realised it was art man. The best song you’ve done, it suddenly makes sense.

Dan

That song makes me feel sick. - ATD

not sure if you are recieving my emails or like if you even remember me from class a audio but I said I’d send you my stuff cos you seemed to like it so you can grab it from soundclick (some tracks will be on myspace too when they have cleared :D) if you want:

http://www.soundclick.com/bands/pageartist.cfm?bandID=369573

I made the Words Speak Louder Than Actions EP for you - I had a copy and a box and a sleeve and everything but unfortunately it was not to be.

much respect for five and a half songs about love btw that was some of the nicest shit I’ve heard in a while(I must have played Love a thousand times now) - can’t wait for your new LP either you’re my favourite producer out there right now and although I never comment on the best rapper because styles vary so much I’ll say this; you’ve got the freshest style on the scene and noone even approaches doing what you do - but you know this.

tried to see you at fabric and to give you the EP but just missed you by an annoyingly short amount of time, then I didn’t see you in the crowd at all but it went well by all accounts of people I asked so I guess it’s all good really.

kinda wish I lived in London so I could come tonight/the other nights you’re playing but I’m now mad skint for a while. I’ll have to wait ’til escape to the park or another more Northern gig I reckon now but who knows what the cash God has in store for me?

talking of things in store check this out it is right up your street:

http://www.threeworldwars.com/june06-2006.htm

SPOOKY!

well I’m off to record a track about friendship for a dedication on my upcoming EP - knock ‘em dead tonight man an’ hopefully I will see you perform soon.

Johnpaul (MC²)

Serious flows in places son. I will have another listen and email you proper later innit. Bossanova. - ATD

Re: You + Me = Tonight

while I’m flattered that you might think of me that way, Akira The Don, Sir, and I AM a big fan of your’s, we don’t even know each other… IRL anyway, and, I don’t EVER remember talking to you… Mabye I was doing “drunk on MSN” again? I thought that I gave that up… It IS a shame that I missed your show, but that can’t be helped, being broke and living in Canada… anyway, unless YOU we’re drinking when you sent this, or high, OR just being your usual oddball self(which I think is cool, by the way) and sent this on purpose to everyone, and called us all your “love”, you MAY have clicked the “Send to All” button by mistake. Anway, please do not take any of my comments to offence, that isn’t what was intened. I try(often badly) to be funny.

your fan, Nick.

I WILL SEND MY PEOPLES DRUNKEN LOVE LETTERS ALL I LIKE! It is my perogative. Tune! - ATD

Hello Donovan. I heard this and thought of you:
Girl afraid
where does his intentions lay?
Or does he even have any?
She says:
“He never really looks at me
I give him every opportunity
in the room downstairs
he sat and stared
in the room downstairs
he sat and stared
I’ll never make that mistake again!”

Frances

Swoon. - ATD

Akira, I read this and thought of you.

Something tells me
we all underestimate
what intense lengths
the Neo-Fascists will go to.
And what they will achieve.
A Second Great Depression.
A Global War.
The Restoration of Slavery.
A World Police State Apparatus.
Bush’s ridiculous-yet-telltale denial of “Human-Animal Hybrids.”
Experiments that Nazis couldn’t dream of.
The virus is fascism,
and nobody believes it’s real.

Love

Polly

Oh, SNAP! - ATD

Re: You + Me = Tonight

If you keep leaving stuff like this and photos of you as a wee nipper wearing eyeliner lying around I`m going to get drunk one night and decide it would be a good idea to try and book you for this

http://www.wgw.topmum.co.uk/

Do it. - ATD

This Feist album is incredible! It gets better every time I hear it! If you haven’t, buy it now! Serious! It’s lush!

Thank you for all your nice emails regarding Friday and last night. I enjoyed both shows muchly, yet last night’s the most for whatever reason. The sound was dodgy, the PA sucked, it was in a pub with a hundred odd people, as opposed to a couple of thousand, but for some reason it was sort of special and I liked it lots. So safety.

We were in a pub last night, prior to the gig, and Martin played me The Streets’ new album on his iPod. I sat there and listened to the whole thing. It is amazing. Next level, laugh out loud, sob out loud, concise, affecting, stupid fresh. Lots of people are going to have to step their games up. Not me, I rule. But I might anyway. Wow!

“Dear Akira The Don

I emailed you today, to put me on the guest list, because you sent out an extra email saying you would because you were drunk and got the price wrong. You didn’t answer, so I guess I was late. But I came down anyway. I stood behind the pillar on the left hand side of the stage, and I watched you. I have never seen you before, in real life. You are brighter, somehow. I looked at your forearms for a while, and the veins in them throb, and snake about the place like fat worms. I suppose you like this kind of description, it goes in line with what YOU write, and those writers you steal from with such small regard. I like your forearms. I like your weak chin too. I know you don’t, because you never put photos of it in your gigs section, but I’ve seen them. I don’t see why you care. You shouldn’t. I think it is hot, and I am not the only one. Shit! You should be above that. When I see you run photos of your weak chin, then I’ll know you are telling us the truth. Now I know your ego still runs the thing. That second to last song you played is a masterstroke, because you lay all that down, just so you can get with with it. You are a pussy, Akira The Don. I love you too, because you are a pussy, which means you arent quite yet beyond our reach.

Ho ho, as you say (but I know that you stoke it from HST, just like most of your better sentence-breakers. I forgive you. Do you?)

All my love

JA

xxxxxxxxxx

PS - Feist cover: Wow. You used to start with Frank, right? Aces. Well done. Akira! Let it die. Please.”

I knew I had been drunk last night when I woke up, as I could feel it in my shoulders. So I was a little worried about what I wrote in my mail out last night.

As it was, the only thing I regret is getting the price wrong. It will actually cost you £5 to come see us play in London tonight, not £10. I have no idea why I thought that, in my happy boozy haze.

Anyway. Good morning to you. It is another beautiful day.

I post too much now I have internet in my house.

Enjoy it while it lasts, I say.

That picture was taken by Mary Captain. Dope, non?

The communication lines today have been nuts today, on all channels. I’d say it was the giving up fags making me act crazy, but most of it happened without me saying anything. It is all extremes. I am going for a walk in the park. Deer are tangible.

Remember, we have a gig tomorrow. London, Holloway Road, Nambucca. The soap opera continues.

Yes, I know I never told you, that’s cos I NEVER KNEW! But we have a gig tomorrow. In London. Holloway Road. Place called Nambucca. Yes we do. Me and my band. Lovely band it is. Hot with burning. Sticky with feeling. Rampant, in fact.

Do you know what a condom is?

Protection.

And the Virginity Badger?

You better listen to this story, hadn’t you.

It is by The Svenhunter, who occasionally masquerades as one of my little brothers. It is about condoms and Wales. And the Virginity Badger. Of course.

…That we don’t.

Cheers Zef for the two links that follow, amusingly dry BBC takes on a couple of males engaging in the practice of what one might call, plainly “mind” over “matter”.

70 year old Prahlad Jani has not eaten anything for twenty years.

Ram Bomjan, 16 year old incarnation of Buddah, vanishes into air.

Personally, I am enjoying a clarity of thought hitherto absent for many years. Although it is occasionally muddied by the desire for a fag, which I beat away with orange juice. Get ye hence, foul demon!

I think the fag demon looks a bit like that Shreddies monster who attacks people’s bellies with a big spoon. Bastard.

From Rigorous Intuition:

They ask me if I feel remorse and I answer, Why of course:
There’s so much more I could have done if they’d let me”
Nick Cave

There’s a lot I want to say about a number of things, but I can’t seem to find those words until I scream some others.

Have you read the Iraqi police report of last week’s little Helter Skelter outside Tikrit? From Knight Ridder:

At 230 of 15/3/2006, according to the telegram (report) of the Ishaqi police directorate, American forces used helicopters to drop troops on the house of Faiz Harat Khalaf situated in the Abu Sifa village of the Ishaqi district. The American forces gathered the family members in one room and executed 11 people, including 5 children, 4 women and 2 men, then they bombed the house, burned three vehicles and killed their animals (map coordinates 098702).

(Signed)

Staff Colonel Fadhil Muhammed Khalaf
Assistant Chief of the Joint Coordination Center

3/16/2006

Three years into this atrocity circus, and the already pathetic annual demonstrations against the war are shrinking and growing quieter. Understandably so. As I’ve said, we’re habituating to it. Meanwhile, the vicarious revolutionaries were in the theatres getting a fix of serotonin from V for Vendetta. “When are they going to ban the movie?” I’ve actually read, as though anything that keeps our asses fixed to upholstered seats were a threat to those who stake claim to both the streets and our behinds. Winning the weekend box office does not a revolution make.

Husam Harat Khalaf, 6 months. She probably had a tooth or two coming in. She must have been wailing as the strangers shouted foreign words to her family and pointed those shiny black things, and at the noise that they made. Unless she was the first.

If all we can do is feel bad, and think we’ve accomplished something by having been moved, then perhaps we deserve to be judged with Husam’s murderers. Because then we’re scavenging the losses of others and making them our own, garlanding ourselves in tragedy, building an anti-war sentiment upon how upsetting it is to us. In that event, we won’t be seeking justice, we’ll just be looking to feel better. And the illusion of action will be more satisfying than its ambiguous reality.

Information warriors. Jesus Christ, how precious of us.

Through the days of shame that are coming
Through the nights of wild distress
Though your promise count for nothing
You must keep it nonetheless
Leonard Cohen

We were terrible to animals. We’d put firecrackers in the frogs and blow them up.”
George W Bush’s childhood friend Terry Throckmorton, The New York Times, May 21stm, 2000

Today is far too realistic for my liking. Outside it is freezing and grey, inside the heating has yet to kick in fully. I am very much gagging for a cigarette, like sad junkie, and am covering the cracks with orange juice like Charlotte told me too. Apparently it keeps the blood sugar up so I don’t get angry. I am not quite angry yet. But I am close.

I just had to by another 40gig of bandwith, as you lot keep reading this crap and downloading my mixtapes. How dare you! It is a travesty.

“The forms of warfare are changing,” said Russian Communist party leader Gennady Zyuganov the other day. “It’s strange that not a single duck has yet died in America - they are all dying in Russia and European countries. This makes one seriously wonder why.”

Asked whether he believed the bird flu to be of American design, he replied, “I not only suggest this, I know very well how this can be arranged. There is nothing strange here.”

Last week they ran up in some house in Tikrit, Iraq, and shot eleven people, including five children, in the head. The youngest was seven months old. They then blew their house up.

Autopsies found that “all the victims had gunshot wounds to the head”, according to policeman Colonel Farouq Hussein, and the bodies, hands bound, had been dumped in one room before the house was destroyed. Police had found spent American-issue cartridges in the rubble.

There are photos, eyewitness accounts, an autopsy, and still the US Army will admit to only the deaths of two women and a child. Lest we forget, the Iraqi army and the US Army are supposed to be, since “victory” was declared, on the same side.

I had a dream last night that a nuke blew up off the coast of San Francisco. It might have blown up in San Francisco, but thanks to Bush’s domestic spying programme, the CIA got some leads, and managed to blow it up offshore. The explosion caused an earthquake that swallowed most of the city. Journey played a benefit gig, as US bombers dropped mini-nukes on Iran the next day. The sky was black and white teevee static.

I am going to get some more orange juice, I think.

“Artists use lies to tell the truth”

Thanks to all and sundry who repped at Fabric and made lots of noise with the singing and the shouting and all that. I have never seen so many rolley eyeballs in my life. It was like walking onto the set of some disco version of Dawn Of The Dead. It was ace. I couldn’t hear a word I was saying/singing throughout, for some reason, and was convinced I was thus out of tune the whole time, but seemingly this was not so, and shit was bomb. Big up Martin The Bravecaptain, whose first gig it was, killing it on the keys, Dear Jeres, fresh from wrapping up the inevitably classic Piranha Deathray LP, mere hours previously, and Dark Mary, a birthday girl reaping The Sewn. Big up DJ Swamp, setting shit on fire (literally), you lot at the front whose chorus on AIDS I could hear above my own, dude who did the lights wot were mental, Danna for wit, amusement, and fun prior (and dope shoes), Sean for looking after us with water, whoever rearranged the sofas in the dressing room and fucked my head up, Trey and that spliff he gave me that did the same thing, Mary Captain for safeness beyond the call of duty, the kids on the stairs with the standing ovation, everyone who bought me a drink, everyone who didn’t. And Well done Jeff for finding those fucking masks. The Future Is Ours.

“If you don’t know by now
You never will…”

I have had a very Chris de Burgh weekend. I dreamt about the man on Thursday - the first dream I’ve had in as long as I can recall right now that wasn’t a nightmare. He was really nice to me and said I could sample him anytime he liked, and we made a song and he played piano and I rapped and we sang together. On Friday I realised that for every romantic feeling a man can posses, Chris de Burgh has a song. The gamut of emotions, situations, circumstance and outcome is covered, with humour, feeling, and a deep insight. Bam. Bam.

I realised today he has a song for all the rest too. For admiration, for lust, for passion, for the humbling respect of intellect, for beauty, for breasts. For friends, for family, for the forgotten, the forlorn, and the foolish. Y’all can shut the fuck up about irony. Man is a God.

We were looking at the deer and the bunnies and the birds in the park yesterday. I might as well have been in Uganda. It felt an age away from London. There’s an aviary in my park, a strange thing, a cage so small for an animal so needy of freedom. We are strange beasts. As are roosters. Their heads look plastic.

People always ask me if I am excited before gigs. I sort of aren’t usually. But I was very excited about going to see V For Vendetta, yesterday. Charlotte and I went to the 8:30 showing at the Leicester Square Odeon, and got a bin full of popcorn. I was hopping about the place like a tree-kangaroo.

I am afraid that, while much of it is awesome, I was ultimately upset and annoyed by V For Vendetta primarily for the liberties it took with the peerless source material, the useless, besides-the-point romantic love angle it tacked on… Maybe, have you not read the original, it will be amazing. Certainly, there were some brilliant moments. The Valerie part bought tears to my eyes and made my chest spaz out a bit. The fights are cool. The explosions explosive. The prescient, disease-by-government angle. Certainly, it pulled few punches. Certainly, there is some necessary wisdom, and some perception within it. Certainly, its fundamental idea, and purpose, is powerful, timely, right, and needed, in this retarded Time Of Man. But once again, the Brute Hollywood has raped a dream, and left it trembling and guilty, a sham-ed shadow of what it might have been.

Saying that, if I hasn’t read the comic, maybe I’d be saying it’s the best thing I ever saw. For a broad range of oppinions, by real people, check here.

Aslo, I’ve already had a few emails about the “wanky fritter”, as served by V and Stephen Fry in the film, of which I’ve made some mention in the past. It is a delicious and simple creation - you bite a hole in a piece of bread, stick it, with some fat, in a frying pan, and a crack an egg on top. Fry, flip, fry, serve. Lush. And possibly ruinous, in abundance.

Another day another song… but it is not just any day, right? It is Saint Patrick’s Day! Fuck those snakes!

Or was that Saint Frances… Oh well.

Anyway. A merry day to you. Tonight, me and my band are playing Fabric. As way of apology for the site’s disappearance this morning, I will offer the first three of you that get at me half price guest list places for tonight, since advance tickets have sold out an all…

Email me innit.

LOVE IS LOVE!

I wrote two songs yesterday. One is a really rotten synthetic horrorcore robo-sex landscape, and one is a massive pop song about collective consciousness. This is the way we ball.

“You don’t really want it with Dizzy I get busy.”

Jeff and Phil rang me at 7am, having just seen my boys The Eighties Matchbox destroy Texas, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I didn’t go straight back to sleep, but arose, like a sleepy phoenix, and plugged myself into my music making machine, where I now sit, pondering my latest creation, writing to you.

I wonder whether I should stay here until tomorrow, and make more music, or go home and record vocals, and maybe see someone or other.

Hmm.

Hey, remember a long time ago, I told you about a polish animation about a life I’d seen on an aeroplane, that made me cry but I didn’t know what it was?

My little brother Ally discovered it recently, and you can watch it online. It is just as beautiful and sad and wonderful and amazing as I remembered, and it is called Harvie Krumpet. You can watch it here

I forgot to mention, did I not, that as I’m playing Fabric this Friday, they’ve asked me to take over their blog for the week. So I have. Given their reader’s don’t necessarily know me, I’ve adopted a slightly less random tone than that which I adopt here, and have so far covered subjects ranging between intelligent mice, the Iraq war, Mormonism, Gonzales, Feist, Brave New World, and love.

You can read it here, but you have to join their club. It is worth it though, as they have tons of audio and things. Currently I am grooving to a set Alkan did late last year. It is fucking smart.

Regarding Brave New World, all I can say is that it was thoroughly brilliant, and thoroughly depressing. I ended up relating most to The Savage, tragically. He meets a sad end. Dearie dearie me. I do wish he’d boffed Lenina though. Just once.

In other news, this afternoon I made the illest bit of electronic music I ever have.

This morning I write to you from my mother’s back yard in sunny Hampshire. Birds twitter away about me, a man is doing something loud with a chainsaw down the road, and Keith is defragging my laptop, which he cured of AIDS yesterday. It seems to be pretty speedy again now, praise be, so I can set about making songs and replying to your email a little later on.

The above picture may or may not have something to do with Ozzy Osbourne, but I think it looks like John Robb from behind. Lady Flan Flanagan did it. Pretty awesome, non?

I would like to thank you for the unprecedented amount of delirious mail I have received regarding ATD11, and the Five And A Half Songs About Love EP. It is very encouraging, even you, Karlosbryte, who wrote:

“Dear Don

I love your mixtapes, but why put fucking Chesney on there man? That is not hip-hop, and neither is fucking Paris fucking Hilton, Jesus.”

Silly boy. Noise is noise.

Perhaps I woke up a little too early today. But at least I did. I awoke with the light itself, just as it started to do away with London’s orange night, and I lay in bed a little while, like normal folks do, gathering my thoughts.

I went out into Stoke Newington at 6:40, and the shop that sells me fresh baguettes wasn’t open yet, and neither was the coffee shop. Undeterred, I bought a Mars drink from the grumpy swine next door to Jeres’ gaff and took my copy of Brave New World to the park, which was still locked up. So I sat in the neighbouring graveyard (above) and read, occasionally stopping to muse on the decrepit state of the stones, the rubbish that peppered the patchy grass, and the fact that the vast majority of the detail on the stones has been eroded. Most of them lie at queer angles, illegible in their markings and covered in moss. One I could read said it marked the passing of a man called Damian, who passed in 1887. A hundred and twenty years is all it takes for your memory to crumble. No flowers adorned any of the stones.

I shall cook myself some eggs now. I made my first scrambled eggs ever yesterday. It is piss-easy.

I DID IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Leo is fucking sick man. This tune is brilliant. Best song about ejaculation ever. Swear down.

Above is a picture of He-Man, Battlecat, and the samurai dude who came with the best, most thoughtful birthday present I ever got off a girlfriend, which was a Bruce Lee chess set. They live on the bookshelf I made out of planks I founf on the road and old video cases. They are happy.

I can see the most beautiful moon out of my window. It looks pretty full. I wonder if it is hollow.

I have had an absolutely glorious morning, thanks for asking. I was totally right about Frank Capra. The sun came up - it rose like heartache over the school I see out my window, casting long, lush rectangles of light across my sofa, and I took to the Stoke Newington streets, cars yawning throatily into the daylight, an old man gurgling cider through a blood-burst smile, old ladies pinging past on bicycles waving. I bought eggs and bacon and bread from my little corner shop, a butterscotch coffee from - no shit - the coffee shop, and retired to Clissold Park, which I can see from my kitchen window, and sat on a bench with Brave New World, lifting my head intermediately to smile at people and marvel at the birds swooping overhead in V formation. I only sussed out why they do that the other day. It’s amazing. The lead bird breaks the air, creating a slipstream so the others are carried along more easily. If one bird gets tired, and falls back, at least another two will follow, to make sure its OK.

I have lived in this house for a few months now, but this was the first time I’ve taken advantage of the park in the morning. It is a gift, and I am a wastrel. I sat there and soaked in the sun and the cold like a big pink battery and giggled at the myriad off funnily bred dogs, chasing each other, pooing, sniffing each other’s bottoms, their owners exchanging embarrassed apologies and pleasantries, while children walked in twos and threes and ones to school, some glum, some merry, some lost in thought, some shrieking into the cold. Brave New World suddenly seems more hopeful - Bernard and Lenina are on the reservation, with the savages. That I relate so much to Bernard is less depressing today, for some reason.

I am indoors now, and I have dusted away what the daylight showed up, and my eggs are crackling away happily, and Birddogg and my old Valentine’s Day mixtape sounds pretty brilliant. I shall bid you a good day, and get on with mixing OddKidd’s songs, so that somebody can pay her to make noises too.

As I was walking down the street
Down the street, down the street
A pretty girl I chanced to meet
And we danced by the light of the moon

If you ever feel out of sorts, find a copy of Frank Capra’s It’s A Wonderful Life switch your phone off, close the blinds, and watch it.

I am a big puffy red mess right now, as I have been blubbing uncontrollably for ages. It is the best movie ever.

BLUB!

I love you. Thanks for everything.

A reader writes:

“Dear Akira The Don

Firstly, I’d like to thank you for your writing over the past year. It has been a wonderful and illuminating journey, recently made all the more significant when I stumbled across your PlayLouder archives while searching for The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster (what a band!). How far you have come, young man!

“They’re a nasty looking bunch… The sort of people made for rock’n'roll, prison, and little else. And what a fucking racket they make! Breathtaking, menacing, spleen shattering sickness. They should tour with Slipknot. Rock’n'roll should always sound like this. If PlayLouder were a rock’n'roll band, it would be The 80s Matchbox B-Line Disaster, and there is no higher compliment we can offer.”

For what it’s worth, I am glad you chose to be a rapper rather than a rock ‘n’ roll band. And if you are sad or unsure at the moment, as you seem to be, you shouldn’t be, because as Guy said in your interview, “What an amazing thing. What fucking amazing things are going to happen!” I believe that with all my heart.

So make of this what you will (I am quoting liberally here).

In Hebrew, each letter possesses a numerical value. Gematria is the calculation of the numerical equivalence of letters, words, or phrases, and, on that basis, gaining, insight into interrelation of different concepts and exploring the interrelationship between words and ideas.

The Book of the Law was the base text for Thelema’s “English Qaballa”: a system of decryption that assigns numerical values to words, following the principles of Gematria as applied to the Torah and the Midrash in the Hebrew Kabbalah. Using the “grid” present on page sixteen of Book Three in Liber Al, researchers discovered a methodology by which they believed the “order and value” of the English alphabet could be discerned and a valid method of assessing value to letters. This system, which can be found related in an excellent introduction by Frater D.T., has many adherents, and there have been some interesting correlations discovered using it in conjunction with Liber Al and other “Class A” A.’.A.’. works. Similarly, there have been numerous other attempts to create an English gematria system, but none have seemed to thusfar reasonably provide correlation to the riddles within the text and function outside the bounds of direct application to Class A texts.

If this makes little sense, perhaps you haven’t been keeping up with your friend Jeff Wells’ writings of late. I’d refer you to these two posts:

rigorousintuition.blogspot.com/2006/02/grave-mysteries-part-one_21.html

and

rigorousintuition.blogspot.com/2006/03/grave-mysteries-part-two.html

“An interactive and multi-systemic Gematria can be found on this page,” writes Jeff, “Words and numbers can be entered here to get an sense of their cryptic value according to the code of the English Qabala (though not necessarily the exact correspondences in The Book of Law). This isn’t a particularly serious tool, in part because it’s so easy to use, so it should probably carry the disclaimer “for entertainment purposes only.” And yet “George Bush” = 137, which corresponds with “White House,” “False Christs,” “wealth magic” and “espionage.”"

It comes up with lots of other interesting things too. I took the liberty of searching
two… themes in your work over the past year. The results are as follows.

GEORGE BUSH = 137

ABCDEFGHIJ *
ABRAHADABRA - POOF * “HAD IT”!

accountable being obliged to answer to an authority for your actions
ACCOUNTING *
AMERICA AT WAR *
ASS-AS-IN-NATION *
body of light

caffeine a bitter alkaloid found in coffee and tea that is responsible for their stimulating effects
cannibalism the practice of eating the flesh of your own kind
carelessness failure to act with the prudence that a reasonable person would exercise under the same circumstances
COLUMN BIND *A LONG NARROW FORMATION OF SOLDIERS, IN THIS CASE, BOUND BY JESUS CHRIST TO THE CREATOR (FATHER-MOTHER) YAHWEH GOD! A VISIONARY IS ALSO “COLUMN BOUND” #111
commotion the act of making a noisy disturbance

congruent corresponding in character or kind
CONGRUENT* *IS “THE NAEQ”, ESPECIALLY IF YOU USE THE CORRECT CODE!
constraint a device that stops something from moving; the state of being held back or restricted
contradict prove negative; show to be false; deny the truth of; go against
Dane Is Virgo *

dehydration dryness resulting from the removal of water
DIAMETER *
Diamond Sutra Buddhist scripture
discredit cause to be distrusted or disbelieved; damage the reputation of
Do some analysis ! Get to the bottom of it. or the TOP for that matter.

earthquake shaking and vibration at the surface of the earth resulting from underground movement along a fault plane of from volcanic activity
encroaching intruding without right or permission
enterer
espionage the systematic use of spies to get military or political secrets
FIND BALANCE *LIFT UPWARDS!

fledgeling of a young bird just having acquired its flight feathers; any new participant in some activity (neophyte)
floppy disk
fornicate have sex without being married
fortnight a period of fourteen consecutive days
generate

gentleman
grandmother the mother of your father or mother
haemophilia congenital tendency to uncontrolled bleeding; usually affects males and is transmitted from mother to son
Holy number One thirty seven
I AM A WINNER* *HOPE SO!

intended had in mind as a purpose
Iset Asar Orus a 93 IAO
ithyphallic I’ll thay he ith
LIFT UPWARDS *
light workers new age term for people focussed on healing the planet

LIGHTWORKERS* *THE ONE TOUCHING YOU - IS THE MYSTI CAL CROW - WHITE BRILLIANCE OF “THE WHITE BRILLIANCE!
little horn tbhnbmd book of Daniel 7:8
maturity state of being mature; full development
Moffett Scottish Border-Riever Clan
mutilate destroy or injure severely; alter so as to make unrecognizable

Naeq Magick New magick system that is ancient
newspaper a daily or weekly publication on folded sheets; contains news and articles and advertisements
not guilty a plea of innocence (as in a court of law)
obligations personal relations in which one is indebted for a service or favor
PAIN KILLER *TO MANY THE “PINE BOX”!

PALINDROME * WORDS OR NUMBERS THAT READ THE SAME BOTH DIRECTIONS- FORWARDS & BACKWARDS! (123454321; WOW, HAWAH)
patient enduring trying circumstances with even temper or characterized by such endurance
PINE BOX *BASIC & TRADITIONAL BURIAL COFFIN! ALL IN THIS STATE (DEAD) WILL HAVE AN “ACCOUNTING” BEFORE CHRIST! 2COR 5:10
poignantly in a poignant or touching manner; affectingly

PORTENTS *AN OMEN FORESHADOWING A COMING EVENT SUCH AS ARMAGEDDON! Acts 2:19 Matt 24th CHAPTER!
priapism seduction, debauchment
prodigious far beyond what is usual in magnitude or degree; of momentous or ominous significance
PSYCHED UP *
punishing

reptile any cold-blooded vertebrate of the class Reptilia including tortoises turtles snakes lizards alligators crocodiles and extinct forms
secondsight
shooting star a meteor
sickening nauseating; revolting
stability

STAR & SYSTEM * REFER TO # 274 “STAR & STAR, SYSTEM & SYSTEM” # 808 “THE SYMBOL…….” for INSIGHTTT
Steel Dragons , a race of dragons
successfully
succumbed yeilded, submitted, gave up unresistingly

Supreme Law i.e democracy
SUREFIRE**** *Sacred MannA Ministeries & ARMAGEDDON TO THE “PAGAN& FALSE RELIGIONISTS”!
teenager a youth (between the ages of 13 and 19)
THE BIG BASH *ARMAGEDDON! WAKEUP BABY!

The Chariot Atu VII (Thoth Tarot)
the States canadian reference to the United States of America (we’re going to the States this weekend)
the weak one xxvii
THORNBUSHES *THOSE WHO PRODUCE “NO FRUITAGE OF THE SPIRIT”!
torn asunder ripped apart

transitory enduring a very short time
trust fund money held in trust for someone (usually until they come of age)
TURN UPWARDS *
ultimate
ULTIMATE* THE SECOND COMING OF CHRIST & THE KINGDOM ESTABLISHED ON EARTH! Matt 6:9-13 Daniel 2:44 Rev 11:15** 1Cor 15:20-27**

WAKEUP BABY *NOW, BEFORE ITS TOOOOOO LATE!
Wealth Magick magick that will make you wealthy
White House where mr. president runs the show from
worshipped

AKIRA THE DON = 126

# 5 - FIVE + # 6 - SIX * “FIVE ( 5) + ( 6) SIX = 11, ELEVEN. MAN #5 + THE SACRED MERKABAH — STAR TETRAHEDRON”! (BALANCE, HARMONY, JUSTICE, PERFECTED LOVE>>>>>)
*# 5 - FIVE + # 6 - SIX * “NOTE # 126″! Refer below and to # 26 for INSIGHTTT!
1 CORITHIANS 11:1-4 * “THE HEAD of CHRIST is GOD (YAHWEH) THE HEAD of MAN is CHRIST, THE HEAD of WOMAN is MAN”! (WHAT A TRAGEDY that MOST MALES DON’T EVEN UNDERSTAND THIS. NO WONDER the WORLD is THE WAY IT IS).

AB BA FATHER^ * # 126 REFER TO # 26 for INSIGHTTT! “YAHWEH ALMIGHTY, FATHER-MOTHER, CREATO GOD! (IHVH - IHWH - YHWH*)
ABBA FATHER *AS ABOVE, BELOW ALSO! THY KINGDOM COME! Matt 6:9-13 Gal 4::6 Rom 8:15
androgenic of or related to the male hormone androgen
ani yunwiya principal people
atrociously in a terrible manner; to an extravagant or immoderate degree

beetles
bleeding flow of blood from a ruptured blood vessels; emitting or as if emitting blood
companion comrade, associate, fellow traveller
conqueror
CONQUEROR* *ONE WHO OVERCOMES!

credible capable of being believed
CRYPTIC* READ #333 FOR REAL INSIGHTTT,
cutthroat someone who murders by cutting the victim’s throat; ruthless in competition
Cytosine One of 4 basic structures of deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA)
Dane Is Zion *
Deep Chasm Home of Ygramul, the “horror of horrors” deep withing the ‘Land Of The Dead Mountains’ within these dead mountains is a large ravine, the Deep Chasm, if one were to drop a good sized rock it would fall forever, for it is either infinitely deep, or bottomless.

defence (british/canadian spelling) protection from harm; military action or resources protecting a country against potential enemies; a defendant\’s answer or plea denying the truth of the charges against him; a structure used for defense; the speech act of answering an attack on your assertions; the defendant and his legal advisors collectively; the team that is trying to prevent the other team from scoring; the federal department responsible for safeguarding national security; created in 1947; (psychiatry) an unconscious process that tries to reduce the anxiety associated with instinctive desires
deified deified
DESALINATE* *A PROCESS THAT DESALTS! PAGANISM DESALTS THE SOUL! Matt 5:13
discouraged deprived of courage, hope or confidence; councelled against, tried to prevent, showed opposition toward
dodecahedron any polyhedron having twelve plane faces

emotions strong feelings
enchanted influenced as by charms or incantations
equality the quality of being the same in quantity or measure or value or status
fairy tales interesting but highly implausible stories, often told as an excuse; stories about fairies, told to amuse children
FOR LOVES SAKE *

GET GOING *WITH “ABBA FATHER”, YAHWEH (Father-Mother ALMIGHTY CREATOR GOD! Psalm 91:1-16 John 3:16 17:3,4 14:6
GLAD TIDINGS *
hive mind
hypnotic a drug that induces sleep; something that fixes your attention or puts you into a light trance state; from (Greek mythology) the Greek god of sleep, the son of Nyx
HYPNOTIC* *SIX NINE 69 69 69

I defied I defied
imbalanced being or thrown out of equilibrium
inflation the act of filling something with air or gas; a general and progressive increase in prices
informed
INFORMED* *THROUGH 69 69 69

Kentucky The Bluegrass State
knocked up (slang) got a woman pregnant; became pregnant
Know Thyself
lightning abrupt electric discharge from cloud to cloud or from cloud to earth accompanied by the emission of light
livedevil livedevil

Maria h Magdalhnh original greek spelling of Mary Magdalene
Mercurial .
midnight
MIDNIGHT* *VERY IMPORTANT STROKE OF THE CLOCK!
mountains land masses that project well above their surroundings

nocturne a night piece or serenade (music)
particle
partying drinking and making merry
pattern none
Perdurabo I shall endure (Uncle Al’s motto)

Philosophus 4=7
polluting
possessing having, owning
pretty pleasing by delicacy or grace; not imposing
psychonaut an explorer of inner space
PURE MOODS *

Random Author Random Author
rulership
SCARLET XX *
Scorpio - heh * TAKE NOTE!
shattered

sheffield uk town.centre of universe:)
silver fangs You should get a pair!
SIX NINE *69 69 69
smoldering burning slowly without flame; showing scarcely suppressed anger
STRONG IN WAR*****>>>>>> *

suffered felt pain; put up with something unpleasant
Surrealist
Teuceus Teuceus, the sevenfold formula of Gnothi Seauton
THE ARK OF NOAH *
THE GIANT *SYMBOLICAL FOR “THE DIVINE WORD”, IN THE NAEQ!

THE LAST LAUGHAHA * YAHWEH, ALMIGHTY, FATHER - MOTHER CREATO, GOD WILL HAVE! (IHVH ALHIM # 769) Deut 10:17 1Cor 15:20-28 Psalm 91:1-16 “SOVEREIGN OF THE UNIVERSE”!
THE POWER* *SIX NINE! 69 69 69
THE POWER**** *#126 #126 #126 #126 YAHWEH!
the strong
THE YOKE — HOD * “THE YOKE of JESUS the CHRIST”! Refer to # 17 “HOD” and Mat 11:30 for INSIGHTTT

Thymine One of 4 basic structures of deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA)
Tlazolteotl impurity purifies
treasures goodies; things you value highly
Watergate a political scandal involving abuse of power and bribery and obstruction of justice; led to the resignation of Richard Nixon in 1974
witch hunt

YAHWEH IS - ONE *MALE +FEMALE UNITED AS “ONE” & ALLLLLLLLLLLLLL 1Cor 15:20-28
yours truly signing off (on a letter); me, myself (slang)
Zuhu PanSiva Modern Prophet

So there you go. Know Yourself, Akira The don!

Sweet dreams

Alison
Pittsburgh, USA

“What is the real purpose behind the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus? They seem like greater steps toward faith and imagination, each with a payoff. Like cognitive training exercises. From an early age, you’re asked to believe in this guy who brings you toys, real tangible things. Then you’re asked to believe in this impossible animal that brings candy, which is a little less tangible. Then, as you start getting your adult teeth you are sold the most impossible of all, a fairy who brings you your country’s currency for your tooth.”
Chuck Palahniuk (pronounced paula-nick, not fa-lunk, like I say)

I have been very weird and emotional this week, because crazy and frightful and ever-accelerating bad things are happening in the world, and I started reading Brave New World, and I sleep backwards, and I have terrible nightmares, and I was a bit lonely, and my old man used a Bob Geldoff song to slag me off, and and I am in a bit of a limbo, and I don’t know with any major certainty what I’ll be doing after Friday.

But last night me and my band rehearsed, and it was ace, and not a big mess like the other night, which was a big mess, although I am used to my band sounding a big mess, then magically sounding ace the week after, which is why I don’t worry about it as much as my managers do.

Luke and Holly dropped by, so we had a little audience for a few songs, and Luke seemed impressed with Martin The Bravecaptain’s spooky keyboard sounds on Bankers, and Bravecaptain seemed impressed with his own harmonies on said same song, conducted expertly and a little drunkenly by Mary, so that is all good, and AIDS sounded for a second like somebody else’s song, like I was watching another band do their song, and it was the best song ever. Jeres became suddenly drunk at the end, which was fun, because he didn’t hit me with a plank of wood and instead took us to Colin and Kirsty’s house. Us being Martin The Bravecaptain and me and Jeres. Mary walked off into the night, silhouetted against the filth and the fumes of the Hackney Road, coat billowing with a funny big hat on, like in a movie, and for a second I thought I might never see her again. Then I remembered we were going to see Walk The Line today, although we didn’t. Today I watched Starship Troopers and made friends with Oxide And Neutrino, and I have no idea what Mary did. Neutrino thinks that CLONES is a “big tune”. I think Oxide And Neutrino invented grime, but I’d probably best not say too much, as Bravecaptain and Jeres have pointed out that my patronage is the kiss of death for a band.

Off the top of my head, then, ten bands I have loved and championed over the years:

Adam And The Ants
EMF
Carter USM
Ikara Colt
Menswe@r
Oasis
The Wu-Tang Clan
The Darkness
The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster
Nirvana

Hmm. I shall not ponder on that any longer. Draw your own conclusions.

Anyway, I had a lovely time at Colin and Kirsty’s, and felt sort of grown up, sat about drinking nice booze and eating incredible home made ginger cake and listening to music and talking about how Neo-Labour have sold us all down the river and make up any law they please, and about The Beatles (Colin and me don’t like them, Jeres and Martin The Bravecaptain do) and Cliff Richard (everybody loves Cliff Richard, even if he is creepy old Imperialist who I could tell you a story about but won’t because the last time I told my audience such a story about a famous man I got scary legal letters). Back in the day on Friday nights, we’d go to places like Fabric and take lots of drugs and feel superhuman for no good reason. We’re playing there next week. It might be a little strange for me.

Most of my friends nowadys seem to be couples, I notice. They’re all living together in domestic bliss, cuddling at night and sharing toasters and baths and getting ready to squeeze babies out. I haven’t been a couple since 2001, and I wasn’t really then, because I was selfish self-centred careerist wannabe, and I suppose I still am, which would explain all sorts of things it is probably best not to ponder too hard at this time of the morning, alone in a little flat in Stoke Newington, with Portishead on the stereo.

Anyway. Starshop Troopers was ace, and the news blips in it reminded me of being in America and laughing at Fox “News” in hotel rooms at 5am, and it made me stop fancying Denise Richards. I have swapped my affections for Dina Meyer, who played Dizzy, and reminds me of a young Miranda Richardson, and that lady who played Maid Marion in Maid Marion And Her Merry Men, although I can’t quite picture her right now, but she was fit, I am certain.

“An intellectual, says Charles Bukowski, “is a man who says a simple thing in a difficult way; an artist is a man who says a difficult thing in a simple way.”

I suppose I am neither.

You people, who read this nonsense, tell me all sorts of crazy things. “Alan Moore,” writes Nick Thompson, “is Sir Patrick Moore’s nephew. How about that, eh?”

“Did you know,” writes Anabelle2003, “that your beloved Jim Bob from Carter USM wrote the Arctic Monkey’s album?”

“Seeing that picture of your tribute act,” writes Nick Madeira, “I was reminded of looking up nature boy after you put it on your tape. My dad had told me that the guy who had written it had presented the demo to a record company and then disappeared forever, not interested in the royalties. I wanted corroboration, but found this instead..

“He travelled in sandals, camped out below the first L in the Hollywood sign above Los Angeles, studied Oriental mysticism, and cultivated a Christ-like appearance with his shoulder-length hair and beard.” Another kindred spirit?”

Perhaps not. I need royalties to pay my rent and buy me love. And I don’t fuck with sandals

As for that Carter rumour, having read Jim Bob’s excellent autobiographical Carter expose, I know him to be a rumour-inventor of the highest order, and he has an album coming out. Still, it is a good one, and should probably be spread as far as possible. One a person has been told something in a pub, usually it becomes true, and if it is a good story like that, even if denied by both parties, it is too good a story not to want to tell. Such is the nature of the human. Hence “Saddam has WMDs” and “Iran has Nukes” and “if you believe in Jesus you go to heaven.”

Ho ho.

I crack me up.

Still, if one considers a sort of vague existentialism, as I have been lately - not realising it was that that I was considering, until Flan mentioned it - perhaps, if one believes that one will go to a heaven, then one will. And if one believes that one will go to a hell, one will. And if one believes that one will crumble to dust, and become the very fabric of life itself, the birds and the rivers and the sod and the sky - one will.

The Hindu saint Ramana Maharishi would ask his students to enquire, “who am I?”, forbidding answers like “I am not my brain” and “I am not a flesh sack,” and “I am not a fish called Wanda”. More importantly, though, those students would me made to ask, “whence am I?”

When pressed, Ramana Maharishi would say, “silence is also conversation.”

Jeres found this guy at a Dirty Pretty Things gig the other night. What a dude!

Last night I did an interview for Kruger with a nice lad called Adam, and we talked about horror movies, and all that that entails. Afterwards, I watched Don’t Look Now with Soraya on the advice of Flan, which left me reeling, and my heart pounding, and the light twitching about the insides of my cornea. It is such a powerful piece of storytelling. My belly went funny. Then, as the credits rolled, Jeres appeared, with a strange and fantastical photograph, and we drank a little, and talked loudly of silly things. They left about three. Around then my laptop, which caught a virus when Jeres was round the other day, got full blown AIDS, so I picked up Brave New World, which I have been meaning to read for an age. About half an hour ago I had to put it down, because my chest was contracting crazilly, and my heart was pounding again, and I was gasping for air. My forhead, when examined in the mirror, was red, because it had repeatedly met a spread-eagled Brave New World with some terrible force during the dreadful duation of the last couple of hours. I drank a lot of water, and fell to the floor, and lay there a little while, then I got up, and picked up my guitar, holding into a few strings with trembling claw, strumming with the other. I sang what came out of mouth over the top.

That is how they write songs then, I thought afterwards, my untrained left forefinger throbbing red, the results of those two and a half minutes drifting tragically from my speakers.

It s incredible what you can do with two chords.

Flan says I woke Paul when I texted to thank her for the film reccomendation.

Sorry Paul.

By the way - Katy saw V last night, and didn’t think to invite me, but she says it is the best film she has seen in a long while, so my excitement has increased, although for a little while tonight I really had forgotted about looking forward to things.

There is a lot to look forward though, isn’t there?