THIRD. HAND. WIRE. RIFFS.

Is online.

BOOM!

In case you hadn’t guessed, the premise is this: every song on this mixtape samples a 1990s indie/britpop/whoteva song. Or is a cover version of one. Every song, bar two co-produces, was produced by me, and recorded in my flat. I am all over it, but my friends guest on lots of the tracks. It is ace on stilts. That’s all I can say right now, apart from:

TRACKLISTING:(!)

Akira The Don - BOOM! (Remix) ft. Lethal B & Narstie
Akira The Don ft JTWR - Daydreamer
Akira The Don & Dego Brown - Melon Men
Akira The Don - The Tree
Akira The Don - The Fuzz ft Jack Nimble & JTWR
Akira The Don ft Narstie - Gitmo
Akira The Don & JTWR - Adored
Son Of King Rebel - Angels
Akira The Don & Marvin The Martian - The Girl From Mars
Akira The Don ft Bashy - Wake Up Bashy
Akira The Don & Enveh - Enveh Don’t Give A Fuck
Mary Turner - Something Changed
Akira The Don ft Sage Francis - Shopping For Guns
Akira The don ft JTWR & Miss OddKidd - AIDS and STDs
Swine - We Are The Swine
Akira The Don ft Narstie - Wonderwall
Akira The Don & JTWR - Fuck All The Phonecalls
Akira The Don ft Sage Francis - Slowdown Symphony
Akira The Don - Speedway

SAFETY!

SO CLOSE…

Stop whining! Its NEARLY READY! That I am working so hard on this bitch of a tape should excite you. I don’t know if I mentioned, but this isn’t really a mixtape. It is a fucking abum.

Hold tight. I got one more rap to record, one song to mix, and the sleeve to finish.

Booya.

Pop Ate Itself Years Ago Baby

Everybody knows that. But I still think The Beta Band’s take on The Wallace Collection’s Daydream is the best. Stupid I Monster. Who gives a fuck about that now, apart from Lupe Fiasco?

Anyone wanna give me a new brain? Mine’s all melty.

Laced another track for the mixtape earlier, finished mixing the remaining that needed mixing. We are waiting for a verse from bad dad Marv The Marsh, and a telephoned in rap from Enveh, and we’re done. Third Hand Wire Riffs will be with you on Thursday as promised. That is today. RAH! Prolly about lunchtime. Keep your eyes peeled.

Oh, that picture above was taken by a nice girl in a green dress - who asked me to play Joe Mangle once, which I have never done, and perhaps ought - at that gig we did in Cardiff last week or whenever it was. She took lots more, including a nice one of Martin and Tobe performing as Bravecaptain that she said was Zabrinsky. Whoo!

Third Hand Wire Riffs Is Coming…

Thursday.

I urge you all to read Jeff Wells today. Don’t worry, its short. And its happy.

Life’s Great Rewards


Boy oh boy, sometimes, when you’re all ill and busy and doing lots of stuff its really easy to fall into a great big silly stress hole, and go,

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Indeed. But sometimes, one just has to kick back, crack open a sneaky cancerous can of Pepsi, and contemplate

Life’s Great Rewards

Sneaky cancerous cans of Pepsi!

The laughter of the children outside my window every morning!

Free clothes and trainers from Puma!

My Name Is Earl on DVD!

Pringles and hummus!

Big ass bottles of Turkish water that cost 50p!

Tekken 5!

Not feeling the need to smoke fags every five minutes!

Thai Sweet Chili sauce!

Having the man behind the counter at Dixons go to great lengths to suss out what’s wrong with your digital camera for you rather than sell you a new memory card!

An “x” at the end of a text message!

More than one “x” at the end of a text message!

The Independent!

Kevin Rowland’s My Beauty, especially his version of The Greatest Love Of All!

Downloading Meatloaf songs on Limewire!

Musical answer phone messages from tuneful friends!

Wooly vests!

Recording your friends doing cover versions of britpop songs!

Living next door to a park!

Hugo Chavez and the wonderful people of Venezuela!

Raspberry and cranberry smoothies in a 1 litre box!

Crackers!

Old Dork comic books!

Dreams that aren’t nightmares and have hot pink teaching things jumping up and down on giant strawberry flavoured jellies during thunderous sun storms in them!

Lipgloss!

BOOM: Remix

The BOOM remix, featuring Lethal B and Narstie, is on my MySpace page for your listening pleasure.

The mixtape, Third Hand Wire Riffs, is out this week.

Should have been today, but a few people didn’t come through yesterday, and I have decided to write a couple of new songs for it.

Don’t worry, it’ll be worth the wait.

Night.

x

Land Of The Gods


“I don’t get periods.”
JTWR, 2006

Today was almost the perfect Sunday in Stokey, and it isn’t done yet. I am cooking a roasty lamb dinner and That Martian is coming over to rap some. Again. Happy days. Today I woke up to the sound of mass revelry - it transpired that the good people of Stokey had decided to have a festival in my park. How ace is that? When I got down there Mr Thing and Yunggun were about to go on. I caught the end of that dude Jeres says is amazing’s set - that dude being that dude wot raps and plays sax and stuff, and whose name I have momentarily forgot. Anyway. The whole thing was beautiful - breezy first days of autumn, kids on bouncy castles, jerk chicken and corn on the cob, fat old ladies smoking spliffs, hardly any coppers. Stokey is civilised, serious.

I am not, but then I am ill. I didn’t help my ill by staying out at a mate’s leaving warehouse party till 9 am, but I saw a number of dear old friends, so it was worth it. And yesterday we had a very productive day in Don Studios - JTWR, Marv The Marsh, Son Of King Rebel and co. came together to make fine music, and BJ came along ad upset the rappers with talk of period blood. BJ is a stone cold GANGSTA, straight up.

Cheers JCB for the snaps. I’m gonna go check on my toasty dead lambkin.

What I Have Learnt Today or Medium-Spiny Neuron

“The striatal complex is the major target of dopamine action in the CNS. There, medium-spiny GABAergic neurons, which constitute about 95% of the neurons in the area, form a mutually inhibitory synaptic network that is modulated by dopamine. When put in culture, the neurons reestablish this network. In particular, they make autaptic connections that provide access to single, identified medium-spiny to medium-spiny neuron synaptic connections.”

Serious.

Mail That Gets There Eventually

“Cleaning out my wisdom teeth, I found a diamond in my gums
Cleaning out my kitchen found a spoon that plays the drums”
Adam Green

Cleaning out my email the other day, I found an amazing song.

Well, I wouldn’t call it cleaning out. I’d say, randomly dipping in the mass of unanswered communique that has grown up around me. I have no idea how to address it at all. So, when I am not mixing or rapping or crying or whatever, I’ll dip in, and see what I find. The other day, like I said, I found a song. It was by my old friend Madison. What an ace song it was! So ace it was, I forgot what I was doing, and remixed it on the spot. Then I sent it to her. Madison liked it a lot, and today sent me another ace song with a gap in it that needs a rap, so I am going to fill that gap, oh yes I am.

Madison also noted that a guy that does her production told her he’d emailed me some beats a year or so ago, and I never replied.

I searched his name in my mail, and, true, last November he sent me two beats. I downloaded one, and have had it on repeat since. Its the best thing I’ve heard in ages! What a monster! It seems to have invented its own genre, or something. How weird that it has been sat at the bottom of my inbox for nearly a year, waiting for me. How weird to think of all the other treasures, waiting to be found. One could go quite mad considering such a thing.

Thing is, I don’t think there is any such thing as coincidence. When you’re going to phone me, usually I know. If you’re about to ring my doorbell, I can tell. That’s how it is now. So, whatever treasures are buried in my box, I’m gonna stop stressing about them. I only have so much brain space. If I need to, I’ll bet my last shiny penny I’ll find them somehow. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But soon… enough.

When She Comes To Call

Sway’s take on Lily Allen’s LDN is good you know. Cop it.

Mary was round earlier, putting the finishing touches to her contribution to Third Hand Wire Riffs, and Jeres remains, vocaling his, and working his way through six cans of Strongbow. It is pretty boeth you know. I am reminded of Jonny Cash’s American sessions, for some reason.

Anyway, here are some pictures from last night’s creativities, courtesty of Dr Jayce Mighty Eyebrow. Forsooth!

Space Rules

I think that this is the acest thing I have seen all week.

Basically: WE ARE TINY EGO NUTTERS!

Whoo!

Dancin’ Wit Suge

One time, I wrote some thing for PlayLouder about Suge Knight being a fat ass bully or some shit, and I got an email off of Death Row warning me not to ever bother coming to America, unless I wanted to face some nasty ass consequences.

I laughed it off at the time.

Rah though, check this. This is Suge dancing with a young lady. This is the fucking darkest thing I done see’d all day. I am well scared. Serious.

INTERCOMMUNIQU-AH

Skype is the fucking shit, yo, serious as fuck. Everybody needs Skype. Not only is it FREE, but it is FUN! Serious. I could live in Skype. I might, soon.

Rah.

We have a full house again in Don studios, reaching the conclusion of the much anticipated Third Hand Wite Riffs mixtape. SERIOUS! LALALALALALALALALA!

x

Re-entry!

I just got sent a link to a very nice review of our launch party last week, which is over at Culture Deluxe. In reading, I noticed their chart. Not only is Oh! (What A Glorious Thing) their number two, but CLONES has re-entered at number 3! RE-ENTRY IS JUST ABOUT MY FAVOURITE THING!

On closer inspection of their top fourty, it seems everything I have released has shot up their merry chart this week. IN YOUR FACE LOST PROPHETS, languishing as you are at number 19. I RUN THE TOP TEN! BWA HA HA!

In other news, I’ve got an old hard drive back and working. Jeres and I used to make radio shows a long time ago, they were GREAT! I might start randomly repeating them on Donsquad Radio, for reasons of amusement. We used to play live jingles and a lot of Eighties Matchbox. RAH!

Smash Stuff

Quitting fags sucks ass.

Having your govenment make like they’re Wes Craven all day’s worse though.

Watch The Power Of Nightmares.

Donald Rumsfeld is pretty funny dude. “The fact of the matter is,” quoth he the other day, “if Saddam Hussein were still in power in Iraq, he would be rolling in petrol dollars. Think of the price of oil today. He would have so much money. And he would be seeing the Iranians interested in a nuclear program, he would be seeing the North Koreans developing a nuclear program, and he’d say well why shouldn’t he - and he would. So we’re fortunate that he’s gone.”

Oh my sides.

Speaking of jokes, Bush’s old Yale buddy and fellow Bonesman John “Rollover” Kerry reckons he’s going to run for president again.

I LIVE IN BIZZARO WORLD AND I WISH I WAS A FISHERMAN!

The Sound of Blood

Cardiff, then. What a thugged out place! Following the gig, which was entirely rumbustious and enjoyable, and starred a crystal larynxed Bravecaptain, and a HARDCORE Zanbrinsky, alongside the ever-amazing Akira The Don and The Women, Jeres and I checked into our single room with a double bed, and decided we needed another drink. Picking our way between the bodies of the fallen, the trash of the drunk, the coppers, the ambulances, Jeres’ incredible instinct lead us to a flight of stairs, that lead in turn up to a nicely decked out, thoroughly Lynchian dining place. It transpired one had to buy food if one wished to drink, but it was three thirty am, and we are not rich either. “Please!” pleaded Jeres of the lady behind the bar. “Have you been outside? You can’t make us go back out there! All we want is a drink. Help us!”

The lady sold us a bottle of red wine for eleven pounds, and we drank it, over serious conversation.

I don’t know if I mentioned that Jeres has found an amazing lady, but it appears he has, and I am over the moon for him. I don’t remember seeing him so happy. But it was to be expected. When Jeres is with lady, I am not, and vice versa, is the rule, and now that the thing I think most awesome in all of Christendom has flown away in an aeroplane, it is only right that Jeres should be going for champagne picnics in the afternoons and sweetly giggling to himself like a child over happy memories of the night just past, or whatever. As it goes, this incredible woman that has filled the boy Jeres with such joy is to leave the country in three weeks, which is when I am supposed to be linking the PPF in New York. But maybe the PPF will tire of me, my unusual life and line of work, and find a nice Yankee barman, and the Jeres Joy Bringer will decide that New Zealand is no substitute for a merry drunken Cornshman, and decide to stay.

Maybe. But I think we both deserve happiness, so I would like this ugly rule vanish, like so much second hand smoke. Or maybe I deserve nothing but a slap about the chops and a big dose of lung cancer. We shall see.

Last night was an even crazier gig than Monday’s. It was in fact the craziest gig ever. The line I talked about crossing was a perceived line in the minds of others, and related to the shocking way in which one is seen when one is stood on a load of wood making a noise, and many respond in kind. And I was still kind of weirded out from it this afternoon. It was awesome. Martin’s last gig, for the now, and Jeres’ happiest. JERES WAS SO HAPPY LAST NIGHT! And it filled my heart with joy to see.

But the after of a gig of that nature is a weird thing indeed. You go from it being all hot and bright and adrenaliney and people going RAH YOU RULE at you to being sat in a cab with a big keyboard and its stand and a bag of wires and a laptop and a wet vest, that you must lug up three flights of stairs into your mess of a one bedroom flat, and you fall onto your bed with a cacophonous ringing in your ears, and you wonder what films they’re showing on airplanes these days.

Today I did a remix of a song by Madison, who has started rapping now, and is far too good at it. After that I made a song about standing on wood. Now I lie in the dark with a sick feeling in my belly waiting for the dawn to come, listening to the sound of blood, rushing about my head.

IN YOUR FACE!

I’ll write properly later, but in the meantime, check Matt Lauer getting all up in Dubya’s grill about “extraordinary rendition”, or whatever they call torture this week. Bush is fucking SCARY, looks like he wants to smack dude in the face. At one point he pulls the most demented darko grin I’ve seen since Lost Highway. CHRIST ON A STICK, this world is WEIRD!

Uh Oh

Well.

I crossed a line tonight.

That’s all I can say right now, really.

Fucking hell.

It is 4:39, and me and my keyboard and my laptop and all the wires got back just fine.

I guess I’ll, I dunno. Sit in the dark and listen to Vanishing Act.

Wow.

Really.

Wow.

Goblin Party

Hello people of the universe. My name is Kieran The Dog, and today I am in Caerdydd.

I type from a nice bench at the back of the point - a venue, wot is a converted church by the bay of the Caerdydd. Zabrinski are soundchecking. They are ace. Ninjah Jones just turned up in a nice wedding outfit. Goblin Baz, whose pre-wedding party this is, has bought 17 bottles of champagne. We are playing at 11:30. Clever!

Mary says, “Jack Daniels is a glorious drink. Love to one and all.”

I say:

I Made An Advert

Whoo! I have worked out how to edit videos. A Bit. I made a advert. Whoo!

Saturday

If you wanna come and see me and my band and Lily Allen and Mylo on Saturdya in a carpark in Shoreditch, and you don’t wanna pay 15 quid, you can email a nice lady called Charlotte, and she’ll put you on the ten pounds guest list. Say I sent you. PEACE!

Uh, Yeah, Well, Nahmean

Today I am wading through emails and I ought to be restructuring a song, so hopefully my brain will explode from the wading and I can start over and do that beat in a bt. WE SHALL SEE!

Jack Nimble’s on his way over actually. More beats. YES INDEED. And an interview at 4. I might do it in a Scottish accent.

One of the interviews I did on Monday afternoon is up, by the way. Interestingly, dude who did it was doing that “typeywhileyoutalk” thing, rather than recording it, but I must say, it is considerably more accurate in spirit than most transcribed conversations, even if the words used aren’t the same. That would prolly be down to a better understanding on the part of the interviewer then, which goes to show that perhaps exact wording isn’t always so important. Thing is, I know by now, that no interview one ever does will be exactly as you said it. So if I am to moan about it, I ought to stop doing them, basically.

Indeed!

PS - Cheers Sara for the photos.

I Like My Floor, But Then It Is half Full


Many things did we do today, not least of which was going to the middle of London to do a live session on Sarah Darling’s XFM show. Richard Bacon popped in to say hello when I was setting up my turntable, and he was very tall and very nice about my single. I took Jeres and Why Lout? with me, and it was mega fun. Marvin’s little daughter Paige came too, and she BANGED THE DRUMS! Serious. We played Oh! and Borderline and BOOM! A crazy electrical storm happened in East London simultaneously, I am told, and when we came out of the building sheets of wet poured down from above, somewhat biblically.

I say, rah rah rah.

Hey, did you hear the one about the Colombian military planting bombs around their capital to make $$$?

Army officers in Colombia have been accused of placing car bombs around the capital in the latest military scandal to hit the country.

In the latest scandal, army officers are accused of placing car bombs around Bogota, including one that went off wounding more than a dozen soldiers and killing a civilian. The motivation was to claim reward money from the government, which offers payments of up to $400,000 (£220,000) for information on the activities of Marxist rebels and drugs traffickers.

In another incident, 10 policemen were killed by the army in what was presented as a friendly fire tragedy. However, evidence has shown that they were killed at point-blank range. Several soldiers, including a colonel, have been arrested and accused of murdering the policemen on the orders of a notorious drug baron.

Mr Uribe insisted that these scandals are isolated incidents and that things are getting better.

Hahahaha. That’s a good one.

Speaking of good ones, Chavez has been at it again. I don’t expect The Swine to “leave him alone” much longer.

Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez said Tuesday that it’s plausible that the U.S. government was involved in the Sept. 11 attacks.

Chavez did not specifically accuse the U.S. government of having a hand in the Sept. 11 attacks, but rather suggested that theories of U.S. involvement bear examination.

The Venezuelan leader, an outspoken critic of U.S. President George W. Bush, was reacting to a television report investigating a theory the Twin Towers were brought down with explosives after hijacked airplanes crashed into them in 2001.

“The hypothesis is not absurd … that those towers could have been dynamited,” Chavez said in a speech to supporters. “A building never collapses like that, unless it’s with an implosion.”

“The hypothesis that is gaining strength … is that it was the same U.S. imperial power that planned and carried out this terrible terrorist attack or act against its own people and against citizens of all over the world,” Chavez said. “Why? To justify the aggressions that immediately were unleashed on Afghanistan, on Iraq.”

Chavez has said the U.S. launched those wars to ensure its political and economic power.

The U.S. government says al-Qaida chief Osama bin Laden masterminded the attacks.

Indeed they does.

Adored


Parabens pelo seu aniversario!

Or

Parabenspara voce!

Or

Parabens e muitas felicidades!

Either way, you are well hubba hubba every day of the year.

JTWR and I made a song today, for this Britpop sampling mixtape of mine that drops next week. The clue as to what we sampl-ed is in the title. It is well ace. Beautiful, in fact. Luscious. Rah rah rah. Big up 007 too! Wouldn’t have happened without you son!

Hey, everybody gotta give massive props to Richard Bacon. Whaddya mean, Oh!/Boom! is his record of the week? YEAH THAT’S RIGHT!

I got a copy of it yesterday, oh boy oh boy, what a sexy seven inch! RrrrrrrrrrrAH!

Tonight…

…was quite wonderful.

Black Piranhas first gig was wonderful. Why Lout? were wonderful (but come back PIX!).

We were wonderful. Martin, bless him, was speechless for hours after we came off. “How did that happen?” he kept asking.

It was cos of of you lot, that we were shocking. That was so special! To see a Chris de Burgh cover version get such a response from so gangsta a crowd (haha Paul)! Tears in my eye! To see so gangsta a crowd in so posh a venue! To see Jeff! To pour tequila down the throats of the people! To see a drunken Enveh! For the staff to be so nice at us and give us free Coke for our illegal whiskey! To DJ and rap all night! What joy!

I am really glad about all the stuff I’ve done with noises now, cos it lead to this point, and yet, still, it will lead to something so, so much more awesome. That is ACE.

And then! Tego played the best songs on my harddrive till 2! And found the “make it faster” button! Shocks! You are all so ace, thank you.

It was perfect in every way bar one. But that is not to be helped. The thing I thought was missing, I felt in my belly during the last chorus of Borderline. I was almost sad until then.

Then

I

felt

Photos ect. on the morrow, I’ll bet.

I HAVE COME OUT!

My new single is out to buy TODAY!

Already it is at number 15 in the only chart that counts, which is the Culture Deluxe Top 40. Go vote here and take me higher! Or lower. Down is good sometimes.

1000 7 inches are in shops: a list of friendly independents is here, and I am told HMV and the other big dogs have it too. You can buy it online in a number of the places, but the only one I can remember off the top of my head that isn’t iTunes is PlayLouder. So do that thing.

Some awful news - Arab Strap have split up. I haven’t said it enough, but Arab Strap were a massive influence on me, and a great comfort in many times of trouble. They bought me joy and showed me honesty and actuality can be achieved fully in sound. I was working on a cover version of a song of their just the other day. I am gutted.

Goths In The Sunlight

Goths look pretty weird in the daylight. Well, not weird… but kind of wrong. At 7:45 this morning, Angel, bathed in morning sunlight, was also bathed in morning goths, fresh from some night of raving or other. Goths all over. Some alone, some in clusters, some in black, some with added techno luminosity. They smiled at me, even though, visually, I am the polar opposite, and I smiled back, clutching my rolled up map of the world and my bag, with a globe and a newspaper and some vests in it.

I put the ppf on her aeroplane last night, and now she is in Brazil. I am looking at Brazil on my little globe, and I guess it isn’t so far. This morning a strange, deep fog descended upon Stoke Newington, and as I brushed my teeth, a spider shimmied down its web to have a look at me. I gazed at it with a great love and understanding, and it gazed back with cheery indifference. At 11:01 pm last night, when I got out of the weird systems of transport that delivered me from Heathrow, and stepped onto Camden tarmac, a great white light cut through the inside of my brain for a spit second. I thought they’d dropped the bomb. I looked at my phone and it said 11:06. No one else saw it. And maybe I didn’t either. But there is no time to ponder the ramifications of any of that now. I have to go and rehearse with my band. The deer are still in the park, and so is that aviary. Life goes on.

On The End Of The Line

There is a tightness in my chest and I keep feeling sick today. I try and live day to day, always. I hate looming

I have done an awful lot of stuff, but maybe it is not enough. Even Jeres is now saying I take on too much. I have, for the past 24 hours, been trying to transfer a 176 meg file (my new podcast, in fact) but it keeps crashing Rapid Share, You Send it won’t take over 100, and I am out of webspace. Any ideas?

Today, a reader writes,

“Akira, cuz, what do you do if you think your brother is being bullied?”

WAH!

The FHM Top 100 High Street Honeys 2006

I got this letter last night, that depressed me greatly. Forsooth:

hey akira,

Its Gina Bartlett here! im a zoology student at swansea uni and i came to
see you at your cardiff gig and thought you were awesome,my friend will
bought you a drink!especially liked the ‘fuck pete doherty!’ and your
comment on the swansea locals was hilarious yes all the girls and guys do
look the same ,its scary!pink wearing,mullet donning, metrosexual men!!!

However…I need to ask you a favour….

I am lucky enough to have got into the fhm top 100 high street honeys 2006
and have a month to get as many votes as possible to get into the top 10 to
help me get enough money to get my way through vet school!so basically i
would really appreciate it if you could put some of my pics on your site,or
just one!explaining my cause to help me out!if you can only put one if you
could put ‘68′ on that would be awesome as it is in fhm this month.

To vote for me all the willing candidates need to do is put ther name plus
gina bartlett number 93 on an email and send it to honeysvote@fhm.com and
its all free

thanks hun,

as we say in swansea-your a legend!and keep up the awesome music!!!

love gina xx

So, the niceness was of course not the depressing bit. The two most depressing bits were

I am lucky enough to have got into the fhm top 100 high street honeys 2006

And

…get into the top 10 to help me get enough money to get my way through vet school

Firstly, I can think of few worse fates for ladies in this ugly modern age than a place in that “top 100″. As a pink thing pointed out last night, the outcome tends be horror-filled and dismal parties at China Whites or some other such scum hole, with rotten males in cheap suits bragging over lines of chop about how many of this list they’ve “done”. If you win, you will be objectified, leered at, and laughed at, by scum. If you lose, you will be objectified, leered at, and laughed at, by scum.

Either way, they will do their best to make you feel ugly. When you are in fact a happy beautiful human person who needs not such rottery to realise that.

It is a no win situation.

And the other bit? Did a “Labour” government REALLY scrap student grants, forcing our aspirant young women into prostitution, and its numerous, tabloid-approved offshoots?

Is the post feminist landscape really a place in which women must be everything they once were, AND do the same jobs as men for less money AND be public objects for the gratification of hairy palmed pusscapsules?

Is Paris Hilton really the ultimate Western female role model? Is it really Burqa or Bugger All? Is there no in between anymore?

Gina, I wish you all the luck, and love, in the world. But, truly, I don’t think this particular enterprise is going to bring you any of that.

Bye Bye Baby


That’s right TB, fuck off to The Carlyle group, you evil freak.

Vanishing Act

I got the most fucking heartbreaking song I have heard in a long time in my email this morning. Thank you Cormac.

Oh! and BOOM! can both be listened to on my MySpace page, by the way.

Lou Reed - Vanishing Act

It must be nice to disappear
to have a vanishing act
to always be looking forward
and never looking back

How nice it is to disappear
float into a mist
with a young lady on your arm
looking for a kiss

It might be nice to disappear
to have a vanishing act
to always be looking forward
never look over your back

It must be nice to disappear
float into a mist
with a young lady on your arm
looking for a kiss

It must be nice to disappear
to have a vanishing act
to always be moving forward
and never looking back

How nice it is to disappear
float into a mist
with a young lady on your arm
looking for a kiss

Looking for a kiss
float into a mist

The End Of A Summer

It is a beautiful day, here is Stoke Newington.

I woke to the sound of my front door slamming, which is as dreadful a sound as I know.

But it is a beautiful day in Stoke Newington.

And anyway, I have much to do on it.

Stay tuned, there’s a podcast later on.

And, clever people will notice, to the left there, you can see what I’m playing on the radio. Pretty, pretty dope.

I hope you are well. Go enjoy these last days of Summer.

Oh, by the way - anyone know the proper meaning of “tchuss”?

WAH!

What a load of DICK!

My goodself and my guests, Piranha Deathray, just completed a marathon 5 hour radio show, (which included three live songs, including an accoustic version of Cut You In The Face) was BRILLIANT, and at the end of it I realised it hadn’t recorded, which is very sad. So if any of YOU clever listeners (there were hundreds of you) managed to record it, please let me know. I thank you.

OH! BOOM!


I haven’t mentioned this much, have I? I have a new single out next Monday. It’s a double A side of Oh! (What A Glorious Thing) and BOOM! (Smash Stuff) featuring Why Lout? Oh! is a huge pop song, and, and Boom, you’ll remeber from ATD12. It’s a had a spanky fresh mix and sounds heavier than tanks.

It’s hit radio pretty heavily, as some of you may have noticed. Even Richard Bacon loves it. Word is bond. We’re having a launch party for the thing on Monday, September 11th (Shut up, before you start - it was meant to come out a week earlier, but artwork issues delayed it. I am not that lame) at Parlour, in central London. Appearing live will be me and my band, Why Lout? and Black Piranhas, and there will be a lot of DJs. If you wanna come, hit me an email.

PEACE!

R.I.P. Steve Irwin!

R.I.P. STEVE IRWIN!

Birthplace: Victoria, Australia
Birthday: 2-22-1962
Birth Name: Stephen Robert Irwin
Date of Death: 9-4-2006
Cause of Death: Stingray Barb Through The Heart

Read more on the bbc website.

Johnny Gosch

I had a lovely time with my father, his girlfriend, and two of my brothers in Dorset, thank you. I played badminton, which I am not as bad at as I thought I might be, and got some much needed, if troubling, thinking space. Due to some necessary ordering of priorities, Radio will not return today as promised, but on Monday.

Last week I wrote about The Franklin Cover-up. The following night, there were some astonishing developments in relation the case. But to best understand them , we need a little history.

On Sunday, September 5th, 1982, in the affluent suburb of West Des Moines, USA, 12 year old schoolboy Johnny Gosch left home before dawn to do his paper round.

Usually, Johnny’s father would accompany him, but on this occasion, the boy only took the family dog, Gretchen. He was last seen by multiple witnesses at the paper drop, picking up his newspapers.

That morning, John and Noreen Gosch, Johnny’s parents, began receiving phone calls from customers along their son’s route, complaining of undelivered papers. John Gosch performed a cursory search of the neighborhood around 6 AM. He immediately found Johnny’s wagon full of newspapers, two blocks from their home. The Gosches immediately contacted the West Des Moines police department, and reported Johnny’s disappearance. Noreen Gosch, in her public statements and her book Why Johnny Can’t Come Home, has been critical of what she perceives as a slow reaction time from authorities, and of the then-current policy that Gosch could not be classified as a missing person for 72 hours. By her estimation, the police did not arrive to take her report for a full 45 minutes.

Johnny Gosch quickly became a poster boy for missing children across the nation. The case snowballed into a national interest as Noreen Gosch became increasingly vocal about the inadequacy of law enforcement investigation of missing persons cases. Police turned up no evidence, and arrested no suspects in connection with the case.

Gosch’s disappearance became something of a cautionary tale to midwestern youth, Johnny Gosch jokes swept the nation’s schoolyards, and dollar bills began turning up with “Help me! - Johnny Gosch” scrawled across them.

In 1984, Gosch’s photograph appeared alongside that of Juanita Rafela Estavez on milk cartons across America; they were the first two abducted children to have their plights publicized in this way.

John and Noreen Gosch divorced in 1993. Around this time, Noreen Gosch hired retired FBI agent-turned-private investigator /Ted Gunderson to assist in locating her son.

Noreen Gosch left her porch light on for her son for 11 years.

In February, 1999, Noreen Gosch testified in Omaha Federal Court, during a case involving Lawrence E. King, Jr. and the Franklin Credit Union scandal, that her son had visited her in 1997.

By Noreen Gosch’s account, she was awakened one night in March, 1997 by a knock at her apartment door. Waiting outside was Johnny Gosch, now approximately 27 years old, accompanied by a man she had never seen before. The other man never identified himself, and never spoke, but seemed nervous and serious. Johnny divulged that his had been a targeted, not random, abduction, in 1982. His captors had forced him into a decade of child sex-slavery. Johnny explained that as his survival was a potential security breach for the conspiracy, he was currently, and probably permanently, in hiding, and would likely never see her again. Johnny and the unidentified man left the apartment. After this visit, Noreen Gosch finally turned off her porch light.

During the same hearing, Paul Bonacci gave testimony regarding his role in the abduction of Johnny Gosch. Bonacci, a multiple-personally mind control survivor and victim of King’s pedophile ring, was, as a result of the trial, awarded $1 million, to be paid by Larry King (”This legal judgement,” wrote Judge Urbom , “against a notorious perpetrator of satanic-ritual child abuse is unprecedented. King continually subjected the plaintiff [Bonacci] to repeated sexual assaults, false imprisonment, infliction of extreme emotional distress, organized and directed satanic rituals, [and] forced the plaintiff to ’scavenge’ for children to be a part of the defendant King’s sexual abuse and pornography ring.”)

Bonacci testified that as one of his alters called Wesley, he lured Johnny Gosch into the van when he was kidnapped.

“I went up to him, asked him [Gosch] a question,” said Bonacci. “At that point he was close enough to the car where Tony [another kidnapper] had pulled up in the van and they pushed him in the car and they had a rag with chloroform in the bag that they had us stick over his face.”

Bonacci identified the man who ordered the kidnapping of Johnny Gosch as retired Lt. Col. Michael Aquino, who he referred to as “the Colonel.”

A second witness who testified at the hearing, Rusty Nelson, was King’s personal photographer. He later described to EIR another incident which linked King to Aquino, while the Army special forces officer was still on active reserve duty. Some time in the late 1980s, Nelson was with King at a posh hotel in downtown Minneapolis, when he personally saw King turn over a suitcase full of cash and bearer-bonds to “the Colonel,” who he later positively identified as Aquino. According to Nelson, King told him that the suitcase of cash and bonds was earmarked for the Nicaraguan Contras, and that “the Colonel” was part of the covert Contra support apparatus, otherwise associated with Lt. Col. Oliver North, Vice President George Bush, and the “secret parallel government” that they ran from the White House.

Last week, August 27th, on her birthday, Noreen Gosh received a package, containing a number of phonographs.

On her website, Noreen writes:

“The first photo is of my son Johnny, shortly after he was kidnapped on Sept. 5th, 1982. He was still wearing the clothing he had on the day he was taken. He is bound and gagged. The second photo is three boys all bound gagged… the boy on the far right is my son, Johnny. We do not have the identity of the other two boys. We are currently working with the police and the National Center for Missing Children in hopes of learning the identity of the other two boys. There are two families who would probably like to have news of their children. If anyone viewing the second photo knows who these boys are, please contact me.”

“It’s like reliving it,” Noreen Gosch told The Associated Press on Thursday night. “But the bigger picture is, ‘Why are they doing this?’ Whoever had these photos had them for 24 years. I don’t understand why they would do this now. It must be some kind of message.”

And finally, from Jeff Wells’ blog:

Meanwhile, Ivy League business professor Lawrence Scott Ward, a consultant to the Executive Office of the President and the Special Action Office for Drug Abuse Prevention, has been nabbed at Dulles Airport holding luggage containing videos of him having sex with children as young as eight. And in Atlanta, Israeli diplomat Yosef Sagir Ofri has been arrested on suspicion of possession of child pornography and the attempted seduction of a child online.

Three incidents reported in isolation. And there is, of course, no evident direct connection. Only something like pattern recognition. Are we mad, or wrong, for recognizing it?”

What do you think?

Durdledoor

I am on a big ass beach in Dorset. Serious! The bizzare wonders of current technology mean I can write into my telephone, even here on a stony old beach in medieval dorset, waves to my right, caves to my left.

They call this the jurrasic coast, because of all the fossil filled lime everywhere. “80 percent of the chalk in my Rennie,” my acid-bellied little brother tells me, “comes from right here.” The boy is currently rampaging about the beach with seaweed wrapped around his head. Zef, the smallest brother has been in the sea, fully clothed, and is lying noisily about being warm. I look up at the cliffs, and see a hawk, hanging motionless in the wind. Looking for lunch. Hanging, looking… Then gone, pow! I wish I were a hawk. My eyesight is terrible, and I can’t even keep still in my sleep. Last night, laying in the tiniest single bed I’ve seen since I was one (and slept in a suitcase) in this caravan my old man’s rented, I dreamt some government sponsored “vandals” smashed famous public art works and their plinths, and unleashed a plague of cancer and snakes in London. I woke to the anguished cries of my brother, who had an unwanted eyefull of my balls. Forsooth!

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Zef

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