"Your personal contact and relationship with beings,
no matter where they might be "from," is completely up to you. "

You can't shock a flat-line.

Naked, save for the gloves from an intricate Pre-Raphaelite Space Suit.

I still picture the boys face...

Roll[o].

Hello, it's Mart - I'm sitting in for Roland because he's gone out in search of 'stuff to get upset about'. The heat is ludicrous - way too much. No cause for alarm though I'm sure.

Ohhh Angelina... Angelina... come and meet me in her eyes for a swim. So I'm sure that Tomb Raider [not worth a link] is going to be fairly toy, but stop and think - computer games are an absolute waste of time, but it's a film... with Angelina Jolie, and her eyes, and her mouth... projected hugely on a wall... in the dark... that's art as far as I'm concerned.

Erm, quick, say something weird... "I am living in my shoes... they are wet because it's been raining... oh look at the aliens... hello dave..." sounds more like Gary Numan when I do it?!

Don't forget - David Bowie is a fake.

M[art]in.

Fantastic: you tell all of these people that are supposed to be your mates, 'on your level maan...' about a cancer scare [well, more of an inevitable really]' and they totally ignore you and move on to gossiping about bars in Amsterdam - mmm... that's great... So much for the right-on youth...

Do you ever stop? Do you ever just stop and take a look around, empty your pockets, clear your head. Why are you afraid to just drop me a line and say something? I know you've been reading - and I want to know what's going on inside that head of yours. I'm just as confused and sorted as you are. DON'T ASK ME WHAT IT MEANS BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW ANY BETTER THAN YOU DO . But understanding is like crime: together we'll crack it . All your foolish thoughts and painful needs, unseen. In time, you'll look back on these things and you'll treasure them. Friends gone AWOL, places we used to live, those secret little places we used to wait out our time, dancing to some truelly crap songs. It didn't matter. It was fun. We had fun. No amount of sardonic looks can un-make those times. Larger than life.

A chocolate bar has melted in my sleep.

At the end of the hall is an open room,
a store cupboard sized room
where someone has left
a number of old tapes and records
all packed into these white-plastic coated steel-grid shelfing.
It's mostly Frank and the gang.
But I don't have anything to play the stuff on.

Roll[o].

"There's no way to describe what I do. It's just me." Andy Kaufman

is I not a person?!?!!

The fine line between romanticism and being glared at by beautfiul, intelligent women.
"I am like 180 degree sky-line." hiding the hiss, you can be here

the wonderful web-shredder

Andy Kaufman never considered himself a comedian. If given the choice, he would rather have been introduced to audiences as a song-and-dance man.

"Pure entertainment is not an egotistical lady singing boring songs onstage for two hours
and people in tuxes clapping whether they like it or not. It's the real performers on the
street who can hold people's attention and keep them from walking away." A K

Roll[o].

Is Exorcism A Valid Cure For Mental Illness?

"OK, I'm taking off my Sports-Bra... [mmmm... oh yes... that feels quite good actually]... rub some more ketchup on me plimsoles... mmmm...."

What are you trying to say?! Why doesn't my hair look like that anymore? Oh god no. Oh god no.

"Why don't you love me? I did it for you! So we could be together!"

WHY DON"T YOU LOVE ME!!?!?!?!?!!!!!

I stood outside your house for the entire night [like you told me to] and you never said a word!!! I 4ucking love you - and if you don't love me I'm gonna steal your dog.

"I've done it before and I'll do it again!!!!!!!!!!"

I have an answerphone that I leave at my brother's house. My brother is an alcoholic writer. I pay him £50 a week to answer my phone and drive me to pubs and stuff.

Roll[o].

Rollo Kim's Pin Worm Circus

You basatradard

They're gonna find that note sooner or later and when that happens we can sit back and boom, boom.

Man with eyes approaches youth 'wantoooobuyaaaarwaatch' in sloooooowwwwwwwmmooootttitonn his eyes, though, am just awe - full.

Youth smiles, and when her head has gone back far enough the maaaannnnn shines a bright light down the front of her T-shirt. Just for a second.

I still picture the boys face...

"How are you Roland?" She asked me,
then I turned to face her, and she could see the gaping wound on the far side of my forehead,
"huhaauuhhauuuhauuuu." I said, smiling, gapped-toothed, bruised. My hair has turned red overnight.

Stuntereed quasi-poetry of maaan.

Roll[o].



Pin Worm

itchy bum - or is it Pin Worms?!?!

The Disease
The disease is mild unless large numbers of worms are present. It causes a disease called Enterobiasis. It is one of those embarrassing irritations causing intense itching around the perianal area as the adult worms leave the bowel and migrate on to the skin to lay their eggs. The eggs are very resistant to dehydration and can easily be dispersed in the air. Infections are most common in children. It is especially common in the autumn when they return to school, and in institutionalized populations. Since the eggs almost immediate infective and they have the ability to stick to things like clothing, bedding, and toys make it difficult to control. The chlorine levels used in swimming and wading pools is not sufficient to kill the eggs.

Digestion
They feed on wastes and bacteria in the cecum and appendix of the large intestine. They take food in though their mouth into their bodies.

Excretion
The solid wastes goes through the anus, and the liquid wastes goes through the excretory pore.

Nervous system
They have a ganglion at the anterior end.

Reproduction
Once worm eggs are swallowed they develop into adult worms in the intestinal tract. The female worms then lay thousands of very tiny eggs around the anus of the infected person, usually at night. The presence of the worms on the skin around the anus results in severe rectal or occasionally a vaginal itch. This itch, in turn, can cause nervousness and irritability during the day, restlessness and difficulty sleeping during the night, and often causes the person to scratch and get new eggs on the hands and under the fingernails. Any objects then touched by the infected person can become contaminated. If you think your child has pinworms, call the doctor's office and the problem will be evaluated.

Circulation
It has an opened circulatory system

Respiration
They obtain oxygen though diffusion

Locomotion
They move in a thrashing or whipping motion

Tissue organization
 It has 3 germ layers with a pseudocoelom

Symmetry
Bilateral symmetry

 Alternative names:
seatworm; enterobiasis Enterobius vermicularis; oxyuriasis; threadworm; pinworm infection

Your starter for ten

You don't understand me at all do you? No, no you don't. You never call, you never write. I wake up and you're never there. What do you mean, 'That was ten years ago Rollo' - you think I need to hear that stuff right now? What court order? What?

Stop this you've gone to far

Too far just is not far enough. They all knew what he was like but it didn't make any difference. I suspect it was his drumming. It certainly had nothing to do with his taste in clothes. God no.

there's no fooling you is there?

Don't pretend you don't know her because you do! I saw you talking to her that one time, in that place you took her to, so there! Hu! Don't try to pull the bag over my eyes, with gaffa tape and handcuffs, driving me out to the trees like I'm some kind of specially trained school boy. Jesus!

"Why you want to do this to me?"
"Because it's for the best, we've grown apart, you and I."
"But my teeth are all falling out and I'm very, very lonely without you!"
"Come now, we agreed that this would happen, now, hand me the keys."

"About your application, it's says here that you 'like the feel of the grass beneath your feet at lunchtimes', could you explain this, only some of us are under the impression that you're a bit of an arse bandit. This is a professional service, we wouldn't want to give our clients the impression that we go to art galleries now would we Mr Kim?"

God help me, if anybody finds out I keep this torch in my trouser pocket oh God I can't think of anything worse. I've tried taping to my chest but it gives me a rash. Can somebody please tell me how to get to Ply - mouth?! Ply - mouth?! I'm seven hours late... I think I've cum... or wet myself I can't tell which...

"Now now, what's a bit of stale wee-wee between friends, open wide... here comes the choo-choo, choo-choo!"

"A package has arrived for you - I thought we agreed you wouldn't tell anyone you were living here, I thought that we agreed?! Are you trying to get me into trouble Roland? You either work for us or you don't ?! If I go down for this, I promise you, I'll take you all down with me, understand?"

I'm an anarchic Ghandi! Get out of my way you bloody suit wearing sandwich eating nazi! GRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Roll[o].

I've been sat at this desk for so long my butt has gone numb. I was supposed to be out but I got carried away with this story thing. Oh nearly there.

So a friend sent me a couple of links for 'musicians wanted' because they are sick of me going on about this desperate urge to do something with my time.

And so I'm trawling through this massive list [because although I do know some cool players they know me too well - they know I'm a git! They know I've got too much time!] - and I've come to this conclusion that my contradictions will be the death of me: I love punk. I love new wave music, the groovy darkwave stuff like Scorn, I love electronica and rappers like Tricky, MC Solaar, people like Gang Starr, Autechre, Leftfield etc, and crooners like Scott Walker, David Sylvian, Frank the Don etc. But I'm not rock enough. I'm not an MC. I'm cetainly not a crooner! I could never pretend to be.

It has taken me years and years to find the courage to really do this - because I always knew I wanted to but I was forever suffering - just playing an instrument in a band for some egotistical singer who was convinced he was going to be jesus [hello Andy, hello Jay, hello Si, hello Mander! I know you've been here cause I can see it on the site meter! Nur Nur!]. I might not feel the need to 'heal the world' with my 'rock anthems' but it's something I really enjoy, and maybe I do need to do it.

And so I start looking through the bands and the DJ's and I suddenly realise that this won't work - my voice isn't like that at all. It's bordering on croon for god's sake! It makes people want to sleep and shag! Maybe I need a piano playing lounge room person?!?!! I've joked about doing this before - a post-ambient croon session but nobody takes me seriously. I think that I'm coming to this point where I realize that all I want to do is just sing - regardless of what people think, regardless of what comes of the results. Maybe I'm actually getting somewhere with this whole 'sorting my head out' business. But I doubt it.

But I'm sure I'm waking up to parts of myself that I'd completely forgotten about - all these emotional aspects I was too bloody exhausted and isolated to feel [the ability to really get angry, to shout, to just talk crap or hold someone for hours on end, the way I never phone anyone, the way I haven't seen people like Andy in months but I'll always find em again eventually.]

Well, I'm torn. My story is now on draft two. I think it's maybe a little too personal to do anything with, but I figure if Iet a couple of people read it, get some feedback, see what happens. Feeling a bit worn down now actually. Smoke and drank too much this week - house sitting, no people around to distract me.

Must leave the house at some point this week, I really must. Trying to update the memeplex pages but I think I'm just too tired to focus [late nights, early mornings - brain to active to let my body sleep].

Something occured to me last night whilst chatting to Dr Jo, there are only a couple of people I know who are involved in the arts, and while I struggle to talk about the things I'm working on with my 'normal' friends, with the me arty friends there's no pressure - it's just conversation. I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing?

Also, I almost never phone people - anyone. It's not that I'm slack, it's not that I don't enjoy talking on the phone at all, as long as I don't have to do the dialing [I think it's a phobia].

Package in the post this morning: Tove Jansson's 'Tales From Moominvalley' - let's rock!

Incredibly intricate site:

Mr Sleaze is on the ball, as ever - why does a novel have to be 300 pages plus, why chapters, why why why? And while I wasn't massively chuffed with Mr Noon's latest, at least it's something new - it's an object, it's a thing in itself, it's not just 'a really good book'.

Writing: my story thing is not a novel it is a big list, it has always been a big list, and that's how it's meant to be. Although I imagine I won't be quite so chuffed with it when it comes to convincing someone to print the thing.

Advantages of being stranded in the centre of England: if some 'popular beat combo', like The Chameleons, for example, aren't playing in Brum or Wolves, you can always hop on a train and see them in Manchester. It requires little extra effort. You can also hop on a different train and go to Preston to see Mr Genesis P'Orridge.


Be careful out there.

Roll[o].

Me, 5 am this morning: 'Oh no, I'm going to fall out of my body." Woke up with that massive virtigo rush again . The thing is it's only started quite recently - and even in my sleep I'm trying to relax and just 'go with it'. Scary fun.

I have a printer at last - this means story time at last. Drafting on screen is fine - but it doesn't really take off until you see it on the page. Suddenly all those bad-edits stand out a mile...

Art versus play versus work leads me here: some useful texts from the history of queertheory.

Roll[o].

Marshmallows. 20 fags. Half a bottle of Blossom Hill. Phones off the hook. Forgot to have dinner. Work versus play. Found my third grey hair [got my first when I was sixteen]. The fine line between romanticism and sad-old-gothness...

escapeplans.com = under construction!

lost and found like the name, crap site though.

mybrainhurts.com Just typed it in on the off-chance.


waiting to be abused:

www.don'tleavewithoutme.com

www.letmeout.com

www.whydon'tyouloveme.com

www.ican'ttakeitanymore.com

This theatre has been equipped with multiple emerengency exits; they should be clearly illuminated at all times, at all times.
In the unlikely event of a fire, please make your way through these exits, in a calm and orderly fashion.
Thank you.

Thought I'd try a search in hope of finding some more 'escape art' related sites: this has nothing to do with me: escapeguy. And despite the fact that escapeart.org is not registered with google, it offered me a link to this.

And I have no idea what this is yet but I like it: blather?

Afraid, to stay, in one place, too long... too long...


Roll[o].

This is what Director was built for - but who has the time and patience to produce this kind of liquid-interactivity? Tomato, obviously. And they used to laugh at the idea of CD-R.

My mouse sat poised for ten minutes or so [at macwarehouse.com - no link! Ha!] - can I afford, and do I really need, an external hard disk? This here Mac has but 5 gig... and I'm trying to edit a short film? And further my musical exploits? And... and... and... To click or not to click?

Dreamt I was back at school again . I went through a period up until a year ago where every night for months on end, I kept dreaming that I had to go back to school... and some of my friends were still there too?!? Errr... I wonder if they [the school]have a site? It's under construction, and there's no way I'm going to give it a link. I was also daydreaming about this spooky toy-synthetic voice saying 'we promise not to hurt you, we only want to help you', over and over again.

There's nothing out there that interests me... accept for a Scorn CD I found on amazon. Oh my God - you can get the recent stuff on vinyl... oh my bank account...

Also - I found my missing Walk In Film article about SpyPunk. Looks like it wasn't good enough for Barbelith [which is looking like it's ready to devour the world!].

Roll[o].

Weeeeeee.... look at me go, with me new mini-mouse and it's little scrolly wheel.... oh simple fun...

The Bizunth Corporation: "We should all drive around in a van solving mysteries..."

I've spent the last two days attempting to sift through my art and txt - trying to present it all in a way that doesn't come across as self indulgent.. Snapping to after god-knows how many hours thinking... maybe I should eat something... There's always something really difficult about putting your cv on-line, but at least you can take a look at some examples of work? Does that make it any less indulgent - even if your work is web-based, and you keep sticking in these really embarrasing pictures of yourself looking like a div?

Roll[o].

Well well well.. See... there ain't no her[o]s anymore, because they've all been told they're hopeless, once too often. Where is the soul? Where is the goodness? We're all so lost. We're all stranded, and every song we know is about being stranded. Well, that's how I saw it... suddenly every song seemed to be about being lost.

Wherever I was, for the entire week, the songs [other people's songs] all seemed to sum it up. Great words - perhaps it was just my frame of mind, either way it was good. But now it's all not half as clear. Now it's all back to normal, which is maybe for the best. And then I realised that everything I write or sing about is people disappearing and escape: it makes me happy dammit! But the wine tastes like Tunes?

"I am angry I am ill and I'm as ugly as sin..."

"this is no ordinary love..."

"happiness is easy"

"this is how you disappear"

Roll[o].

Resources For Shy People

"Are you lost?"
"No, I'm just looking around..."

"This Nostalgia for charmless times = Fear of Tomorrow." Grant Morrison.

All we ever wanted was everything

"Then the question arises, Why are beggars despised? - for they are despised, universally. I believe it is for the simple reason that they fail to earn a decent living. In practice nobody cares whether work is useful or useless, productive or parasitic; the sole thing demanded is that it shall be profitable. In all the modern talk about energy, efficiency, social service and the rest of it, what meaning is ther except 'Get money, get it legally, and get a lot of it? Money has become the grand test of virtue."

George Orwell - Down and Out in Paris and London

Beneath the pavement, the beach...

the news is a veil. Behind it sits a sniggering child's idea of what truth is. The news pimps , like the politicians and media stars they simultaneously attempt to deify and destroy [like true believers], exist in a world that is far [removed] from our own. Their priorities are not the same, their standards of living. But on an emotional, and pyschological level, there lives are no richer than ours. And surely these are the aspects of our lives which are the most treasured, the most vital.

We live under a continual pressure to conform to other people's notions of who we should be, how we should behave, appear, speak, think; what we should eat and drink, who we should associate with, who we should want to sleep with.

Teachers, preachers, politicians, journalists, directors, marketing executives, employers, the people we always end up arguing with down the pub - none of these people know the first thing about who we are, what we really need, who we really want to be, where we want to be, and who with.

They too exist under a pressure to continually sell us images, materials, objects, things that we never really need - and yet time and time again, they sell us more of the same. Even those of us who attempt to bypass the endless one step behind of fashion, find that the images that we create are taken from us, imitated, stripped of meaning, and sold back to us at massively inflated prices, in the kinds of stores we feel we shouldn't be shopping in in the first place.

It's a fabulously cruel equation that the majority of us are not permitted to understand.

If we could really start to attempt to decide the difference between what we are told we need, and what we really need [in food, clothing, entertainment, objects], how much less money would we need to survive? And how much more of our time would we be able to reclaim through this pressure to earn?


Beneath the beach, the pavement...


We have a tremendous thirst that will never be quenched by consumerism. We have barely begun to decide what we are really craving for, but we are continually failing to find it amongst the endlessly regurgitated consumer garbage we are being sold - bigger TV's to watch the same old crap; more expensive stereos to listen to the same old music, in the latest, but not necessarily better quality format [fact: minidisc holds far less information than CD; fact: CD holds a lot less information than vynil]; clothes that are past their sell-by date regardless of the fact that they are still of wearable condition [we're just not ALLOWED to wear them anymore for fear of looking out of touch]; clubs where we have to PAY for the privallege of dancing to our favourite kinds of music. Drinks that only make us more thirsty.

Cinema that never satisfies. Music that says nothing about our lives.

I am learning to stop and admire the view. I am learning to sit and listen. I am learning how to just shut up and just feel.

Roll[o].

I'm back after a mixture of creativity [mostly running around central London under the gaze of security cameras in the name of crackerdog productions], [thanx Alan and Jo] and general sitting around drinking and talking about the important stuff: relationships, holidays, art, music, food, booze [thanx Jo]. Apparently some people think the crackerdog thing is pretenscious - of course it is! But if we don't take ourselves too seriously then who will?

'I am all of the friends I have ever been"

Alan was looking particularly fetching in a sensible suit / unsensible trainers ensamble... Jo is having 'man trouble' - but the way I see it, when your social cohorts start sacrificing your friendship for the sake of a risky shag - they don't really value your friendship enough.

'Fiendships' are there to challenge and soothe...

It took me a couple of days to get back to 'normal' [clears throat], but I'm hopefully ready to return to 'work' [makes a run for it when no-one else is looking his way]. Weird when your physical and mental needs [drink, debate, stomping around town] are suddenly satisfied and you're left hanging in the air without the need to do anything at all for a day or so.

Roll[o].