Through The Wire

Man, they bunned down Randy's fostermamma house on The Wire last night. That was messed up. Plus that tragic spoilt dude with the afro-puff and the crazy evil psychobitch mother with the nostrils like laundry-chutes copped a slap off Michael-With-The-Crackhead-Moms for being an giant penis structure and cried like Chris de Burgh in the gym. And the guy who runs the gym, who Michael thinks is kinda is creepy, and is kinda creepy, actually, got shot in the legs for trying to help Michael out step on his peoples' pavement. And Omar The Hero, who even my institutionally-homophobic friends can't help but admit is awesome, went and robbed ALL THE DRUGS IN BALTIMORE. Well, a week or so's worth.

And that's not even going into the whole politricks side of things, or that sweet, sad stuff with Prezbo and Charles Hamilton Dukie. That was one episode! Damn, season 4 of The Wire is incredible.

So, that Streetfighter joint is doing big things. The dude at Capcom, he say,

Honestly, this is the best thing I've ever heard, ever. DRAGON GONNA LAY MANS DOWN is all we're shouting. And we're shouting it. Can you tell Akira The Don he's a fucking legend? This shits all over all the other remixes I've heard.

A lot of you have been hitting me up with questions about the thing, so here's what it was - this dude who's doing the PR on Street Fighter 4 hit me up asking if I'd be interested in getting my hands on all the music and sounds from Streetfighter 2. And I was like, hell yeah! And I made that beat, and Littles, Narst and P came round, and we spat all over it.

The accompanying art was indeed by me. I'm Ryu cos Littles bagged Ken. After I'd drawn it Littles pointed out that there's actually character called Akira in the game, which I had no memory of at all, but I don't care cos I look dope as Ryu and I am now wearing the ninja headband Wade got me from Japan.

For the record, I'm most enamoured with the clean version. Speaking of which, I was listening to radio 4 this morning, and Lenny Henry was talking about how he's "shitting it" about playing Othello. How come Lenny Henry gets to say "shitting it" on Radio 4 in the morning and I can't say "piss" on Radio 1 at 10pm? Sheeeeeeeeeet!

OK. I gotta go finish my VAT stuff, then I'll be dropping the Streetfighter remix comp ish. SPINNING BIRD KICK!


So, I got some (ha!) sleep, and I listened to the noises Birddogg was making up here while I was down in New York, doing whatever it was I was doing in New York. Like, there's some ill stuff. But one in particular is just tremendous. it is mighty. It fills my heart. And prefectly fits so many of the raps I was writing in New York, tempom flow, everything. So, what I've done, is draw various raps, and bits of raps, together, to create this New York song that's been brewing all the time I've been here. It is best I get it out now, before I FORGET. Annoyingly, the necassary component is missing. So piss.

Bad: All the stuff I bought last week - food, drink, socks, weed - is gone. Mostly. I got a lot of Ritz crackers, peanut butter and macaroni. Good: There's a Death's Head Moth on my window. (See right) Bad: There is animal shit by my window. Good: The air outside is fresh and envigorating. Bad: The air in the top level of the house, in which I am supposed to be dwelling, is thick with the stink of animal and of animal excrement.

I went to turn on the sauna earlier, and nearly trod in cat shit. Or dog shit. It could be both. Whatever. It's like, wow, sauna! Oh, catshit. Wow! Oh. Wow! Oh. Etc. So, I wanted to go into town and get a job today, to pay for my ticket back to New York, but waited about for people to come with me rather than just doing it, and the end result is it's super late now, too late to get a job anywhere, and everyone's going into town to go out, save me, who must stay at home cos he has no ID (this is a worry), and it's too far to chance not being allowed in anywhere.

A ha!

So I should write more now. I wrote a bunch earlier. Phil is worrying that Amy has forotten his ass, as she went in her tiny car to take Cecelia and James over an hour ago. But she hasn't forgotten him. It's just miles from ShanGayKen to Woodstoock! A HA!

I just asked Spiky if he has a message for the world. He said, "spitroast!" So there you go.


So, there were a bunch of updates and pictures and things, and they got wiped! Oh, the tragedy. So, a recap. On my last day on Rivington Street I saw a white thug in an open-top Hummer drive by blasting out 'I Want The One I Can't Have' and nodding along with a serious expression about his face.

Then we went.

Wade and I ended up on the coach, as there was no room in the van, or car. We got there early, and checked out the scene. The scene is small.

We don't actually live in Woodstock. We live in Shandaken, outside. Well, just outside. Half way up a mountain, hidden away by forest, amongst bears and chipmunks and what have you. In a big old dusty house full of weird porn and broken stuff, with brown water and giant ants. Like, there's a jacuzzi, but it doesn't seem to work. There is the biggest TV you've ever seen, but it's got a big black tear across the front and doesn't tune properly. It's a two hour walk to the nearest shop, whihc is a petrol station, and does a good line in biscuits. The local girl's got a lot of guns.

It is very lovely to look at up in Shandaken. Mountains covered in trees, mainly. Streams. Clouds so low you can jump up and punch them.

I miss Wade, who is back in London sorting out affairs. All my stuff is in boxes.


So I fell alseep on the sofa after 5, and was awakened gently by Super Phil at 6:20, and it transpired Bird left my bag with my passport in it at the venue last night. But Bird's got me another ID card, so we're outside waiting for Jeff to pick us up at 6:30. And at midday we're in LA, and soon after that we're in Interscope's offices,and I'm filling a bag with Nirvana, Guns N Roses, Gilbert And Sullivan, Dre, Peter Gabriel, Police and other such back catalogue. Jimmy Iovine has a signed letter from Tupac and a video console that won't switch on. And loads of ideas. A balcony. A lush view. LA is lush to look at, from these places of advantage. Like, later we visit Jeff and Trent's, and there's this fucking alien cat that loves me, and an incredible, incredible view, of this desolate wilderness spattered with money.

It was a lovely day.

But in the nighttime it is hard not to see that LA is awash with cunts. It is a sad and massive amount of cunts, and I am not sure whether it is sad because this is what the world did to them, or because this is what they do to the world, or because they are cunts, and you can see their faces rotting right in front of your eyes.