tragedy

Prison Teletubby Tattoo Owns Chris Brown Terminator Tattoo

Behold! My tattoo of Po what I got when I was 16 for £15 that was done by some mental bloke who'd just got out of jail and said he learned how to tattoo inside that is EIGHT BILLION TIMES AS GOOD AS THAT CHRIS BROWN TATTOO.

Goddamnit did someone mug dude and force that heinous abomination in the eyes of all that is holy on his wriggling, screaming, trussed up ass? AT GUNPOINT? I think they must have. The poor man. How sad.

In other news, this bafflingly small item of clothing showed up - that fits neither me OR Charlotte - along with a number of similarly small items:

AHAHAHA I JOKE WE ARE NOT BAFFLED WE KNOW WHO IT IS FOR BAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Thank you Nain, I am usuing that comforter as a hat while we await the birth of our Saviour.

 

 

New Fan Art: "Akira" By Serena B

Amidst a particularly scary and dense email pile this morning, was this beautiful thing, and the attached note:

Hi, Akira! :D Sorry for my bad english, but I'm italian, so I can't write in english correctly, Here's a little fan art I made for you, man! I really love your music, today I've been listening especially to "Back in the day"  , that also inspired me to draw that fan art, hope you like it! :)

Have a nice day!! :D Serena B.

Thank you Serena B, that is awesome, and so is your popstar name. You should do a song with Prince. Cheers!

I am back at my desk in London today. Ali and I got back from his stag boat, on which we had been sailing since Saturday last night, and stayed up till three drinking wine and listening to Warren Zevon and Big Narstie. I do love London very much, I was filled with joy when I stepped off the train.

By the way, a tragic and unfortunate series events lead to the drowning of my phone, so once again, it is email and twitter for communication. I must have been cursed by a phone gypsy back in April or something, there is no other way I can rationalize the terrible luck I've had with mobile telecommunication devices this year. I'd only just had it working again for a few days, after T-mobile reduced my data roaming charges by 90% following my written protestation of that ridiculous £800-odd bill they hit me with when I got back from America. Now it is at the bottom of a lake, and no, I hadn't put it on the insurance yet.

Ale jaca est. I am going to post some T-shirts now. A bunch went out at the end of last week, and the rest are going out today, so if you;re waiting on an order it should be with you any day now. Joy to the future!

Trying To Buy Blade Runner

First off, GOOD NEWS! The brand new ATD BADGE PACKS arrived! And they are BEAUTIFUL! I will thus be doing a major post run today and getting them out to the four corners of The Earth. Get your orders in here!

So my plan for Easter, before I got all ill and bedrid, was to watch Blade Runner then make loads of music with that fresh Ridley-Scott-At-His-Prime inspiration fresh in my consciousness. Now, I could easily download Blade Runner, but it's ana amazing movie that, unlike most movies, i know I will want to watch over and over again, along with whatever extra, related shit I can find. It was Thursday afternoon, and I'd been in central London with my wife and the in laws. I figured I'd pop by the Westfield on the way home, pick up the Final Edition DVD, with all the extra documentaries and art work and commentaries and behind the scenes sweet shit, then go home and watch it on the projector with burgers. HEAVENLY SHIT.

So Charlotte went to the supermarket and I went to Westfield. Westfield is supposedly the biggest shopping centre in London. If you were American I guess you'd call it a "mall". It opened here in Nu Olympia last September on Charlotte's birthday to terrifying and tremendous fanfare, and is a pretty gross monument to our contemporary values, but, you know, big fuck off shopping centre. I should be able to get a DVD.

It takes about ten minutes to walk from one end of Westfield to the other, and there are three floors. I walked each one carefully, yet saw not a single place that sold DVDs. I knew there was a HMV in there somewhere though, so I retraced my steps. Nothing. Eventually I happened upon a large electronic touch screen map of the place, so I tried poking at that, but it was broken, and unresponsive. Round the back, however, was a good old fashioned paper map which lead me to the HMV, tucked away round a corner behind an ice cream stand.

The HMV was like one of the ones they have in airports - small, mostly dedicated to games and DVDs, negligible music section. The music section is basically one shelf with the top twenty CDs on it. The mobile phone section takes up more space. But I wasn't there for music. I was there for Blade Runner.

I found the B section, but no Blade Runner. They had Blue Crush, but no Blade Runner. I was shocked and appaled. I found a member of staff - one of three in the whole place - and asked where Blade Runner was. "In the Bs," he said flatly, without meeting my eyes. I explained that I'd already looked in B and couldn't see it (but I DID see Blue Crush). He said in which case they didn't have it. I said this was ridiculous, that Bade Runner is one of the greatest movies of all time, and what kind of a shop that sells movies doesn't stock Blade Runner? He replied angrily that they must have run out, in which case when it was time to restock they'd order more. I replied that in this digital day and age that was insane and backward, that digital tracking systems should alert them to when important titles were running low, and automatically reorder, and that their prehistoric business practices were going to force me into piracy, to which he replied, "whatever, do what you have to."

Not to be defeated by a man evidently tired if his job and day, I asked the man at the counter if he could check if they had Blade Runner in stock on the computer. And, sure enough, they had one copy left, apparently in the 2 for £10 section. So I had a look, but it was not in the 2 for £10 section (Blue Crush was). So the counter guy called over the angry dead-eyed guy who'd already told me if it wasn't in the B section they didn't have it, and he looked at me with as much languid loathing as he could muster, then shuffled off saying he was going to look in the stockroom.

Ten minutes later he returned and said it was not there, and thus "probably got nicked." "Is there anywhere else round here that sells DVDs?" I asked the counter man. He shook his head, sadly. "Wow," I explained. "It really is all over, huh?" "It's over," the counter man agreed, grimy.

So I left London's biggest shopping centre empty handed, and returned home. With all these newfangled streaming and downloading services there's got to be a place I can get a Blade Runner Final Cut bundle, I thought. We are after all, Living In The Future.

But it wasn't on Love Film, and it wasn't on Netflix, and it wasn't on Amazon in any way that didn't involve a physical copy turning up days later.

Stephen Hague tells me he's been getting movies off of iTunes so I tried that, but no luck.

I then realised I'd not inserted a space between "Blade" and "Runner", so I tried it without the space, and BINGO! Blade Runner!

But just Blade Runner. No extras, no documentary, and at a whopping £7.99 for a digital file, it was £3 more than the DVD. Hell, the 2 disc DVD's £4.45 on Play, as someone on twitter let me know. I was shocked. You're going to charge me almost double the price of a DVD for a digital download of just the movie? No commentary, no documentary, no art, no bock, no stock rooms, no vans, nothing... What kind of an idiot do you take me for?

I thought, "fuck you mane, I'm going to Demonoid."

So I did. After four hours of trying to legally purchase a classic movie I was being forced into "piracy". Half an hour later, I had torrented a beautiful digital copy of the Blue Ray, with all the extras (and I'd bought a copy of the DVD from Play, for The Future). I dragged the files onto a USB stick, plugged it into my Xbox, and laid back on my bed to watch Blade Runner on my wall. It was even better than I remembered. When it finished I got up, went into the studio, and made some beautiful Blade Runner inspired music.

Amen.

http://youtu.be/tnK5EOf17H4

ADVENT 15: The Creation Of The Saturnalia Superman Sleeve!

http://youtu.be/gJG__Hk4OTg As the world continues to gasp in astonishment at the glory of the Akira The Don Christmas album's beautiful artwork, Akira The Don does the opposite of what magicians are supposed to, and reveals the creation process in a beautiful speed-drawing video, that also features part of one of his Christmas songs. THANK YOU AKIRA THE DON! YOU ARE A GREAT MAN, AND AN INSPIRATION!

You're welcome Akira The Don Talking In The Third Person. I had fun. And right now I am uploading files and filling in metadata, ready to unleash the festive music on your asses. Ho! and Indeed, Ho twice mo'!

Lots of people have been asking me a stupid question related to the album's art, and luckily, Wonchop posted the following brilliant comic on his Tumblr which saves me the bother of having to answer:

See?

I AM AKIRA THE DON.

And that is why.

RIP Christopher Hitchens. He was a brilliant and enviably eloquent human, with whom I shared many opinions, and with whom I disagreed violently, on equal measure. Letters to a Young Contrarian is one of the best, and funnest books I've read. Here he is talking about death and the afterlife, with some a very fetching beard on his head.

http://youtu.be/hJ0eOUVnyFA

I play this record now, in his honour:

http://youtu.be/-x5nNmdNseE

And as we fare feeling somewhat reflective, let us cast our gaze upon some mighty art works from the Blob Blog, in case you didn't look in the Blob Blog today. You should, always, but anyway. There is the following, by Virgil Finlay:



I saw it on Comics Alliance. The second my eyes took it in, they welled with tears, and a knot formed in my belly. I really don't know why. I mean, there is some mighty stippling in there. I always loved stippling, and you don't see it much these days. Ir reminds me of the pulpy sxi fi books I used to read when I was little, and my longing for the future they promised. I guess it's a kind of hiraeth.

This also inspired nostalgic feelings in me, the masterful Boulet's response to Frank Miller’s crazy rant the other week:

You can watch a speed drawing video of him creating the thing over here. It's pretty amazing. No pencils. Straight on the paper with a single pen, then painting with watercolours. I think they're water colours. They look watery. Anyway. It's a beautiful peice, and says so much more than the average article on the subject.

Me and Mighty Tom Coles visited the Occupy spot at St Paul's in London on Friday. It's not a huge thing. Some tents. Some banners. A little soundsystem played ketmine trance, around which a little group of people danced and chattered, whilst sucking on cans of beer and damp joints. Hell on earth if certain parties are to be believed, right on the steps of God's house... yet within the same proximity to the cathedral we happened up on a glass walled bar, hosting a private party for what appeared to be a hundred or so banking types, chucking back cocktails and wiping their noses frenziedly, who glared at me through the glass while the DJ played nineties R n B loud enough to drown out the Occupy soundsytem with little effort.

I was reminded, as I so often am these days, of the quote from the head of Police in London, who said that shutting down the myriad bars around St Paul's that openly sell cocaine to bankers was not a priority because "they aren't affecting society... they can afford their drugs."

Oh, how I laughed when I first read that, in an Evening Standard interview on the tube last month. The architects of our distraction, the thieves of our wellbeing, blowing their loot on coke and hookers in the shadow of St. Pauls are "not affecting society..." whilst those that protest them are "naive hippies... an eyesore..." and a "public menace."

We filmed me dancing merrily in front of the glass windows a bit, then got on a train. We stayed up till 3 or so going through the footage. It looked brilliant.

When I got up I named the songs, finalised the order, wrote the metatdata, and sent the album off to my manufacturer and my distributor.

SATURNALIA SUPERMAN, AKIRA THE DON SALUTES THE MAJESTY OF CHRISTMAS comes out Monday. Mere hours away from now.

PREORDER THAT FESTIVE SHIT BUBBA!

 

Yo Donovan Its Tuesday Already!

Yeah, I am totally sat around with my thumb up my ass.

OF COURSE NOT BABY!

See, what happened was, was I got back off tour to discover that The Life Equation's CD booklet got printed wrong. Just 4 pages instead of 12. Anyway, turns out that in my rush to get out on tour I had made ten, and not the tweleve required (this doesn't explain the four pages that were printed, but never mind that right now). So I am making the final two pages, which are, as with my previous album releases, a beautiful and vast photo collage spanning the recording process.

WHICH YOU CAN BE IN! If you leave a comment with your photo in it in the next half hour. They're already doing it on Twitter and Facebook, which are great avenues for that sort of thing, BUT YOU CAN DO IT HERE TOO...

So I am finishing that off, and doing the sleeve for LITF 2.5 which is about to drop, and the TLE T-Shirt, which I HAD a version of, but realised that I could do a better one... so yeah, I am doing that, amongst other things. My apologies for the delay in all the stuff, but I am but One Don, and I aim very high.

Anyway. How have YOU been?

Akira The Don & DJ Jack Nimble Will Not Be Appearing At Slam Dunk Leeds

It is my very extreme displeasure to announce that due to circumstances so far beyond our control we couldn't see them with fucking HUBBLE, DJ Jack Nimble and I are stuck in fucking Bridgwater, and will NOT be appearing at Slam Dunk Leeds this evening.

A full explanation of the whole sorry take will appear in The Tour The Tour Day Eighteen blog, which will appear shortly, as I no longer have a show to do, and can thus spend the time I would have spent entertaining the assembled thousands at the Slam Dunk dance stage writing fucking blogs.

Once we've figured out our route to Hatfield that is. Which we will be playing tomorrow. The last day of The Tour The Tour. Slam Dunk South. Let us pray to the our gods within the internets. May this be a fitting finale to an epic adventure.

Amen.

 

The Lex Luger Workout Plan, And The Troll Of London Fields

That's me doing dead prez's Hip-Hop at Southern Hospitality's Hip Hop Karaoke at the Camden Crawl yesterday. Don't I look happy? The arm belongs to my dear old friend Dipod, who was good enough to hold the words up for me, as I didn't know them all. I know most of them. Pretty much 92% of stic.man's verse, anyway. About 60% of M1's. I wonder why that is? Anyway, I have respolved to learn the whole thing, 100%, so I can do it at parties, cos it is superior swag.

Speaking which, the mighty DJ Rob Pursey dropped Wonton Soup straight after my performance, and it kicked the fuck off. And when the whole thing was over, at the criminally early hour of 6pm, he dropped 4 Lex Luger productions in the space of about 2 and a half minutes, and my GOD if that isn't the most hardcore workout I have ever come across. Serious. I thought I was gonna have a seisure. Waka Flocka must be fit.

By the way, if you don't have a clue what I'm on about, Lex Luger is a producer who makes mental apocalyptic beats on Fruity Loops that all sound like the X-Men theme.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VxOQTaLTFrU

He's so awesome.

Swag.

Woo.

About 6 hours later I was getting trolled by some funny posh kid in London Fields, who come over to ask for a cigarette in exchange for an invitation to an "excellent party" he and some of his chums were having upstiars. I didn't have a cigarette, but worse, I had not watched any television yesterday.

He was all like, "how could you not have watched it? It was the greatest moment in our country's modern history!"

Oh, I was laughing like a donkey. Haw haw!

"Aren't you proud?" he cried. "Don't you care who represents you?"

"Don't no weird inbred lizard people represent me, brother!" I told him. "I represent me!" He did a very good aghast face. He kept it going for ages.

"He's your KING! She's your QUEEN!" he wailed.

Oh how I LOLed. "I have no KING, you funny boy!" I said, through the pain of my aching ribs. "I have no QUEEN!  I bow to no man or woman or vegetable! Why would I want to do something crazy like that? I'd put my back out!"

"Dude, he's so trolling you," said my new Northern friend, who'd upset the boy already by telling him he'd gone fishing all day yesterday.

"I don't know what you mean," the posh boy sniffed, sadly.

"Damn G, you're gonna tell me you voted Tory next. You're gonna tell me you read The Times," I said, through tears of laughter.

"Yes I did! And yes I do read The Times!" he exclaimed, sorrowfully. Then he turned on his heels and stropped off upstairs to his excellent party.

All in all, it was a lovely day.

The Strange And Terrible Saga Of The Fake ATD

Let's start with a painting of "me". That up there, as you can probably tell, is a painting of "me". It's not me. It's a painting of "me", by Lady Flan Flanagan. Some people think it looks nothing like "me", because when they think of "me", or look at "me", they see something very different. But it is, regardless. Flan's painting of "me". Not me.

You see?

I got a disturbing email on the weekend. It went a little something like this:

Please this is really important

I am on a website called IMVU.....there is someone on there that says they are you....this is seriously upsetting me since this person has told me they are really into me. I am not a dumb person.  Your music is being played on there.  I am very upset about this since I feel as though I have been played.  I am hurting.

Something about the letter made me feel that it was genuine. I was concerned. So I replied:

I have never heard of a website called IMVU!

What is it?

Don't be upset. Life is beautiful, even if there ARE idiots on the internet.

PAX!

@!

I also asked for a screenshot or something so I could get the site's admins to get rid of the impostage. Then came this:

Thank you so much for answering me. This guy is saying he is you. Has sent me all your recordings via an msn messenger account he created with you picture. I have been going through some really tough times in my life, got on there to waste sometime and met him. It is a virtual "club" so to speak. Where avatars are created and you basically just live in a virtual world. This person has created tshirts with Akira the Don on them on there. He has a best friend on there who he claims is his/your mentor Mark Hill. I am sorry to have bothered you. You are an amazing artist, and I love your music. I feel so horrible right now. So used. I didn't think someone like you would be on there let alone be interested in me. I am by far not an ugly girl, I am just ordinary.

And this:

I was now, officially disturbed. Out there in internets land there were a pair of creepazoids using my identity and music to conive and trick and cuase hurt! How disgusting! Primarily, I felt very bad for the girl who'd gotten in touch with me. So I replied:

Thank you so much for letting me know. I have contacted the site, so the impostor will not be imposting for much longer.

As for this "Mark Hill" character, I have never had a "mentor", and I don't know anyone called Mark Hill.

What a horrible thing to do to a person! I am very sorry this has happened to you. But I hope some good comes of it. I am sure it will. If anything, you've learned that people on the internets are not always as they seem (this also applies in so called "real life"). Your intuition was obvious working well, since you emailed me, so congratulations on an excellent intuition! Just don't let this episode make you untrusting of humanity in general, because most people are genuine, and not fraudulent suckfish...

As for the "someone like me/someone like you" thing, there is no such difference between us - we are humans, and equals! Don't waste any more energy on trolls, and remember always that you are Awesome.

I emailed the site's admin and press departments. At the time of writing they've yet to reply.

I pondered the thing a little, then me and my woman went out and celebrated my friend Marvin The Martian's birthday, and I forgot all about it for a little while.

Ah, good times we did have.

When I got home, I had a nice email from the girl who'd got in touch with me in the first place, thanking me for being "sweet", and noting a sliver lining to this strange, dark cloud, that being her exposure to my music. "Clones is my fav hands down," she said.

Clones.

Ha.

Zen Pyramid, internets detective had been looking into the matter, and found the Fake ATD's account - which was plastered with ATD16's "Adam Narkiewicz Is The Don" artwork, and my videos - plus accompanying creepy avatar.

I had another mail too.

Hey there ATD,

I need to apologise, i emailed you as i was lead to believe you were this guy ive known as my virtual husbands bestmate for a whole year! the guy i was with was apparently Marsamgod, ( Mark Hill,) his best mate= Adam, aka Akira the Don, so im sorry i wont bother you again, i understand holly had been in touch, which was when the alarm bells went off.

even signed his emails,

@

PAX!!.

Take Care, love your music, been sent it for a year n half

At this point, a little penny dropped.

I now realised who this Mark Hill character was. I knew him as Marsamgod. He'd been buying stuff from my shop for years, as far back as Stunners 130. He'd left comments on this website. I'd sent him heartfelt letters of thanks, and some doodles. We'd communicated a little via email, which is suppose is how they managed to copy my email style.

How horrid.

How sad.

How strange.

I then got an email notification alerting me that @marsamgod had just stopped following me on twitter.

I smiled, sadly, at my flickering twin monitors.

I did some work, then I looked at my Gmail. There I saw this:

Death of the fake don

I wish to wholeheartedly apologise for my heinous actions in dragging you and people who believed my lies good names and reputations down to my level

I have dragged people through the dirt and I am truly sorry.

I admit my mistakes in twisting people around my finger and hope that you can forgive me in time, you are a truly talented artist and I am sorry that I basked in the fake glow of your talents.

I have deleted all accounts pertaining to be you and I hope that this can be the end of the matter, I have sorely learned my lesson

Good luck in your future endeavours and once more my deepest apologies

No name.

Just an email: ajturner at gmail.com.

I didn't reply. What to say? "Thank you for your email mister no-name who's been using my name for A YEAR (that I know of) to chat up girls on the internet! I accept your applogy, have a nice life!"

I mean, do I accept his apology? What's to say his claim to have "sorely learned [his] lesson" isn't another big fat lie? What's to say "he" and his buddy Mark aren't off setting up new profiles on new social networking sites, ensnaring new online wives and girlfriends? What's to say "he" is a "he" anyway? Can we believe anything we read on our flickering monitors?

My woman's stepfather says I should get in touch with the police. Maybe I should just hunt him down and tear his lying tongue from his head. Stomp his lying fingers into bone dust.

Say this happened to you. What would you do?

At the time of writing, I haven't hard anything from the person who claimed to be my "mentor", Mark Hill, AKA Marsamgod.

I have, however, answered many emails and tweets sent by people who say they like my music, and I have trusted those people to be genuine in their communications. I don't feel as bad for myself, a victim of a modern and futuristic crime, as perhaps I should. I feel very bad for the victims of a year's worth of deceit at the hands of a tragic comedy double act.

And I feel rather sorry for Mr No-Name and Mister Mars, who steal from the lives of others to bring light to the darkness of their own, the latter of whom has yet to get in touch to explain his part in this sorry story.

I don't know if I want to hear it, anyway.

There are too many genuine poeple out there who need of my attention.

And I am only one me.

Interminable hive of activity that I am, I have often wished I could clone myself. One must be careful of the wishes one puts out there into the multiverse.

So I wish peace and love for us all.

And I thank you for everything you have given me.

I remain, your humble servant,

ATD.

PAX!

@!

PS - The only "social networks" I am on are Facebook, and Twitter (the latter of which isn't really a social network anyway). If you see an ATD anywhere else, tell them I say hi.

Young Buck Responds

Oh shit! Young Buck shot back at 50 pretty fast.

Check it out.

First off, on an emotional new song called The Taped Conversation, he's claiming that taped conversation is a year old.

"Bitch niggas do bitch things/ look at 50 what he does just to get fame / record my phone call when I spoke from the heart / that was a year ago / this was a joke from the start"

Damn. Buck continues,

"You a ho / and I know / the only people that record conversations is five oh / and they die slow..."

And this is where we have to say, figga please!

Twice, in my knowledge, Young Buck has threatened emcees with phone conversations between him and them he'd recorded.

"I don’t know if he’s aware that I recorded that conversation that we had over the phone, ” he said of Wayne last year.

“If he responds in any type of way, I’mma end his career ’cause I got it on tape. I’mma let the world hear him complaining," he said of Game three years ago.

So, really. Dude can't say a whole lot now.

"I dealt with you from the heart," laments Buck at the end of the song.

Boy oh boy, pop rap is a crazy game.

Appologies

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.