Unfuturistic Shit VS The True Fleshface Of The Uppercase G

Suddenly I'm in Westminster. Union Jacks and cops everywhere. I used to have a recurring nightmare that looked just like this. Only in my nightmare, the sky is the colour of a fresh wound, and the pavement cracks open like a scab. The cops lift their visors and they have no eyes in their skulls, just holes,  and I am plunged into the heaving acid bowels of the earth.

In so called real life, on April 27 2011 AD, the sun blasts like a lazer through a mile of lethal pollution to illuminate a thousand tourists filming a thousand union jacks that hang still in the thick air like a thousand giant tongues. Teenage girls dance in slow motion for the cameras in Beatles T-shirts and backpacks with red and blue targets sewn on to them. Cops stare straight ahead, flexing guns that look like Arnold Schwarzenegger used them on the set of Predator. They don't look real. I think, well, they're not, are they? Gently down the stream.

Yesterday I heard a spokeswoman for the London Metropolitan Police Force making unveiled threats of extreme violence against anyone considering doing anything other than prostrating themselves at the feet of two pink flesh sacks in central London this coming Friday. This coming Friday, in Central London, if you are not prostrating yourself at the feet of two pink fleshsacks, the goons have been encouraged to "Shoot On Sight". The woman demanded that people do their civic duty and report anyone looking suspicious, talking negatively of the pink fleshsacks, or bearing inappropriate placards.

"This is a day of celebration," she said.

(I'd be bloody celebrating if everybody was legally obliged to pay for MY wedding. My beautiful fiancée had her little heart set on a room in the Union Chapel, until they told us how much it was going to cost.)

Anyway, I for one appreciate the Police's honesty. It is good that they take the time to remind us who they actually work for (Rich People) and what their job is (protecting rich people from us). From the front pages I've seen, it appears the Press are keen to remind us who they work for (Rich People) and what their job is too (Relay The Rich Person Agenda, Make You Feel Inferior), and while I haven't seen a television screen for a while, I can bet they're doing the same thing.

Good on 'em. I, meanwhile, am fully aware of my role, and that is being my goddamn ill-ass self, and I solemnly promise to do that until I fall downa scab hole into the centre of the goddamned earth.

I am so serious about this, in fact, that I have shaved all the hair off of my face for the first time since 2003.

WOAH!

Serious. Last time that happened me and Wade both did it at the same time, then spent about 7 minutes staring at ourselves forlornly in the mirror wailing, "we look like CHINLESS DWARVES!"

After our carefree, happy childhoods had died with the horrorful onset of premature adolescence at around 7 or 8 years old, so too had our prepubescent self confidence and we had been forced, with the aid of our beards, to start again, to carve ourselves anew in the image of our gods.

So we resolved never to shave that close again again, lest the world discover our true nature, and we hid, handsomely, behind our follicular miracles.

Seven years have passed since that day, brothers and sisters, seven years I have hidden my true flesh-face beneath a mask of lovely hair, and just as all my cells have regenerated themselves, so too has my confidence in my imperfect perfection as a human fleshsack with some magic in it. I have wandered in the desert and I have walked the earth, and I have found it to not give a shit about the strength of chins.

YES!

Forsooth! I am here today to tell you that while I definitely prefer the look of myself resplendent in the beard my lower-case god gave me to keep myself cosy and safe in, I am not afraid to show you that I have a weak-ass chin beneath it all! For that is But Material, and But Material is some unfuturistic shit! We are living in the future now! We are in the process of Transcending!

Amen.

Hopefully it grows back by Friday, I don't want the police to shoot me and my picture end up in the paper looking like this.

ONLY JOKING!

I'm going to ignore all that silly nonsense and carry on with my great works like a goddamn G!

How about you?

Anyway. I must get back to work. I hope you're having a lovely day.

PAX!

PS - the picture up top was drawn on the spot at the famous Garage show we did a few weeks back by Oliver Hull.

PPS - I had that song up there on repeat for most of the writing of this post. It is by Martin Carr's Black Serpent Choir and it is amazing.