Trolled By A Dragon, And Other Stories

It is aways nice to have one's hard work appreciated, so the reaction to our Video Highway video has been very gratifying. My Mum even rang me (which in itself is rare) and told me how much she loved it, how white and shiny my teeth looked, how good my skin looked, and how beautiful the "glowy effect" looked. "I liked how the little car becomes the real car," she added.

As for how good my skin looked, we can thank make-up for much of that, since my face got attacked by mosquitoes - who should have been hibernating by then goddamnit - just before the shoot. And the "glowy effect" was the result of excellent photography and removing the noise created by low light. A happy side effect that I plan to crank up and utilise to extreme and interesting effect in the future. I am going to be doing a lot of videos this year, after all. Speaking of which, if you are a filmmaker of any sort and want to make some ART, get in touch. Alongside making many more videos with Dr Aaron Shrimpton (unless he gets poached by Hollywood), LP videos for my next LP, mixtape videos for as many mixtape tracks as possible, I also want to make videos for my CLASSICS that never got videos. Which was most of them. Can you believe there was never a proper Oh! video? Or Thanks For All The AIDS?



Also, if you are making videos and you want to use my music in them, I am usually happy to bless such unions. People ask me often, and I have not said no yet. It is an honour to be used in other humans' artworks. Like this awesome existential Minecraft mod video, which uses Fun With Science from the Living In The Future compilation and has over 100,000 views on le Youtubes.


I celebrated the birth of Video Highway by throwing an impromptu drunken Doncast at 2am with my ole Welsh school-chum Gwilym on Friday, in which we reminiced over the time I threw myself off a seven foot ledge in a doomed and crap attempt at suicide and the time he threw me into a table and dislocated my elbow, amongst other things, and on Saturday I spent all day in bed with my beautiful wife, mostly playing Skyrim. I spent nearly an hour trying to kill some bastard dragon called Paarthurnax atop a mountain, who I would batter down to no health, and who would then regenerate said health and fry my ass in a blaze of gory. Eventually I googled his regenerative ass and it transpired I wasn't supposed to kill him, but instead converse, like civilised folk. What a gyp. So we quit messing with talking dragons and watched Enter The Void. What a trip. You know I was complaining about The Tree Of Life the other week? Enter The Void was much like The Tree Of Life, concenred with similar questions about life and death, except made by Terence McKenna enthusiasts instead of  Christians, and, like, really awesome and thrilling instead of really idiotic and dull.

So not that similar at all then.

I also got lots of lovely letters, including this one:

Thank you Zhao, for your beautiful letter. I hope one day to travel to Maanshan and party with you. I shall put your requested things in the post tomorrow, along with everyone's swag bags.

Joy to the future!

Today I visited my friend Sophie and her new baby, the elegantly titled Echo Josephine Gonazles Heawood, who is three months old and thirstier than an AA meeting on Christmas Day. She drank a WHOLE BOTTLE of milk and was still sucking frenziedly on its teat even when it was all gone. It was an incredible thing to witness, and I have no idea where it all went, considering a baby's stomach is supposed to be the size of all walnut or something, perhaps she has secret compartments inside her legs. Anyway, she is a lovely baby and I like her very much, even if she did wail like a banshee when I picked her up. What a cutie! She does a little bow-thowing swag dance and everything.

Which reminds me, quote of the weekend for me came from Gwilym on Friday night, who enquired, Welshly, "why do you keep saying 'woo' and dancing like a chicken for?"


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.