You Know You Want To

You Must Be Out... of your Brilliant Mind... Burt and Ernie, eyes wheeling, shadows creeping, as they wait for the tub to fill... is it bath time already?

When you wait, in the limelight of the drinks machine, with smoke, and the musical crackle of food, when you retrace your steps to your coat, and it's time to go...

Another Liz Fraser site coming sooooon?!

"Everything now is such a "high standard of standardness". Everyone has a computer and a DTP programme, and a copy of Photoshop. And look where it gets us? Unreadable contentless magazines." Andrew McKenzie

"Digital sound is tiring for humans (engineers can work with analogue for much longer periods than with digital before encountering what is called "temporary threshold shift" - which in other words is deafness to certain frequencies)...people are infinitely more interesting than what they do."
The Hafler Trio

This man hates you. And you really need to download this mp3 of Christopher Walken being painfully funny.

Rollo

Task in Hand

NoT Well. Too Much To Do. Lots of work on. NoT Well. I feel like a bubble that's about to burst, physically speaking. Still ill. But getting there. Only painkillers, Giles Peterson tapes and Silk Cut can save me now! Also in the pipeline: Sholz Vitrine. Post-rationalism never tasted so good!

Rollo Kim, 'Creative Consultant'.

coolest crop cirlce ever

I cannot find a single crispyone interesting thing on the entirity of thee A-Z interwork. Half the campsites I'm lookinglass at in this magnificentred portal of the futurewind, have not been updated since the Inqusition. Apfawful.

Everyday is a place to dream of escape and never leave the house. Every year the Homicide Investigations Unit puts out its long vibrator. Javier couldn't have dinner: no one should have to have dinner. liking this, he invited Miss Winter into Alex's anus, until it ruptured. Strange sex practises like 'delivering the birthday cake'... A cordless telling-bone. Death, with total hair loss. There's Jet, isn't he handsome, like a cordless telling-phone? Mmmm...

They said that he had been writing on the windows. But when we arrived, all that we saw were the pages of white A4 that someone far taller than the boy had taped to the insides, with words spelled incorrectly. If he had not known how to spell those vague expletives, he would not have used them.

Roll[o].

Helena Simms, Wife to the famous American nuclear scientist Harold Simms was killed by her husband after she had an affair with the neighbour. Over a period of 3 months Harold substituted Helena's eye shadow with a Uranium composite that was highly radioactive, until she died of radiation poisoning. Although she suffered many symptoms, including total hair loss, skin welts, bindness, extreme nausea and even had an ear lobe drop off, the victim never attended a doctor's surgery or hospital for a checkup.

rollo@escapeart.org

The Abolition of Work

"A lot of the stuff I was singing about then was all metaphorical. I wasn't talking like I am now. I guess it's back to how much personal power you feel that you have. Like, if I'm 17 and I don't even know when I'm hungry, am I tired, have I had any sleep - if you don't even know that, then how can you talk about lyrics that come from such an unconscious place? I always said, 'I don't know', and I didn't." Liz Fraser

Purpose is not achievement. For example, achievement can mean being successful at a job you don’t want, to enable you to afford an expensive car you don’t need, in order to impress a girlfriend you don’t like... A purpose is something you express continually in order to bring you pleasure, not a list of things you have to achieve.
anxiety culture

Everytime I try to look her way, her face is always slightly out of frame, or turned away. No matter how long I wait. It remains vague.

Rollo

ThOsE eYeS ThaT mOuTH

Updates at cocteaus hQ at long, long last. ViDeO compilation, DvD, documentary footage... oh if only... And I have a fever. And just up - like, ten minutes ago [spooky]: Elizabeth Fraser Homepage.

He took off his shoes, held one in each hand and waded out into the inches deep centre of the lake, where we assumed he'd gone to do himself in, where he sat down and it barely came up to his knees, where he cried, and that's when he really looked pathetic - tears that shook his upper body, screwed up his face, shook his hair around.
"Who is he?"
"That's his boss."
"Right..."z

"In my day, all of this stuff would have been on fire." Frank, 57, anarchist.

When I put on his jacket I felt them there in the inside pockets - the shoes he'd worn when he was younger - and there were still blades of freshly cut grass in the tread of their tiny soles... My full stops are in all the wrong places.

When I answered the door, I'm fairly certain that my nob was hanging out. The cleaner said that she'd come back later, but why wake me up to tell me that?

The windows don't open far enough - you can barely get your head out - to suck in some cooler air. It's too warm in here - but the source of the heat remains a mystery.

I want to help you but when you get down I feel it too. We'll have to phone someone else - see if they can help.

Oh you have it all worked out but then when it comes to sitting down and doing it, well... it's just a million and one disgarded milk cartons. It's always some beefy middle aged skin who feels that it's his duty to force his way between two tiny kids to get to the front and shout for songs by some other band.

So I'm forced into closet space. USB compatible shampoo and wall paper made from what is obviously someone else diary - if they ever find out...

Only the bottom half of her legs were shaven. I think I might have to be ill for a while. I'm feeling sort of cold in my bones... I've been trying on clothes I haven't had on in years. I still don't look mature enough to wear them.

Roll[o].

LiFe BeCoMeS CoMpLeX

Spending more time working on semi-serious 'articles'. A re-fresh on CraCkerDog ProDucTioNs - this Friday; working on photo-fit images at the moment [how to make a zero-budget project look nice!]. A brief trip to LiVerPool yesterday for a very blurred tour of the city, in heavy rain, in a car with no windscreen wipers: Cool! Many thanks to Dr Steve for rants and top chinese nosh. I was feeling pretty drained after a weekend of post-gig bruises and fatigue - good to start the week with a bit of 'culture'.

CoMa TV online is still hopefully going to appear sometime soon - art and art-icles in the pipeline. Mr D's interface ideas are absolutely lush for this one. Expect hi-level coolness aRt, TxT and sOuNd.

I'm now faced with the fact that the fiction I've been working on is doomed to remain unpublished because it's too much like poetry - and nobody wants to publish poetry, or anything even vaguely experimental, unless you're already a published author... To compromise on presentation or to say sod it and carry on? Answers on a postcard please.

"The view isn't giving much away."

Roll[o].

Her full stops are in all the wrong places...

The first rain of seven days,
cools the pavement.
That warm dust scent of summer showers.

In the cooling water
of the bathtub,
she examines my back,
cruelly obsessing over my miscallaneous scars, bruises, ingrowing hairs,
notes to self scrawled in leaking biro.

My legs have a life of their own
I have to keep them bound together
with shoe laces and duct tape.

I wanted to wear a suit - I wanted the opportunity to wear a suit. But I didn't want a job. I put on the sky-blue suit with the flaired trousers, my cleanest tennis shoes, my black tie and ivory white shirt. I spent the day in the park, dunking my shoes into the lake, with its rusted geese and porcelain pelicans.

The Switchboard

I'm pushing thirty. Well, thirty's pushing me - on the other side of the door pressing in. Even the wardrobe won't hold it for much longer.

When he speaks, his voice sounds as if it is coming to you through cheap, tinny speakers.

Roll[o].

MY BEST FRIEND IS A DRAG KING

Rejection from Codex - apparently I'm writing short stories / poetry?!

Lack of updates due to illness, fatigue, heat, and writing lots [the politics of honey, crackerdog txt, articles on fiction, magickal consciousness and art-crime in the pipeline]. MP3's: lots of lo-fi ones, or a couple of hi-res ones? Or can I be bothered to go to the trouble of registering at MP3.com?

Messrs Martian and Noize make their regular trip to see The Chameleons on Friday. We all love The Chameleons. They are what is known round these parts as 'a bit 4ucking special': stadium new-wave at its best.

And speaking of keeping things regular, The Regulars are still going strong. Minus the lovely Stu. I wonder if young Peter has learned to sing in tune yet? MeMePleX have [sometimes!]

Updates to the MeMePleX pages. No MP3's yet though.

An excellent Chris Morris site.

Secret Society for the Abolition of Secret Societies.

More later.

Roll[o].