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this is from todays guardian
'they are among the world's most endangered creatures. but the wild european bison was last night in the centre of a diplomatic row after the king of spain shot one during a trip to poland.'
see, you lot think i make things up, i don't make things up, it's all real.
posted by Luka 1:16 PM
hummingbirds form huge iridescent swarms like locusts and decimate suburban gardens.
In a hotel which is a front for other, more nefarious businesses, chefs cook breakfasts, fry bacon, eggs and tomatoes, heat the beans and toast the bread, while kitchen staff put out cereal and croissants, milk, sugar, little pads of butter, jam and marmalade. receptionists sit by telephones in huge ornate lobbies, staring at the chandeliers, maids clean the rooms and change the beds daily, placing a foil-wrapped chocolate under every pillow, a man plays the piano in the lounge bar of an evening, maintenance men change light-bulbs and fix drinks machines, faulty kettles and trouser presses, waiters loiter menacingly round tables like vultures above a dying ox, doormen in embroidered overcoats wait outside while just inside an army of porters wait like substitutes in a football game, and yet, every room is empty. the hotel has never had a guest.
florists gather flowers from graves and arrange them into wedding bouquets.
Aboard a cruise-liner, passengers mutiny and force the captain to remain in the West Indies for 5 years while police negotiate with the ring-leaders.
Galaxies collide like continents.
In zoos and wildlife parks across the world, animals, long extinct in the wild, refuse their food and sit staring listlessly into space. All eventually die mysterious deaths. Their hearts simply stop beating.
posted by Luka 11:47 AM
Wind whipped away the blossom from a cherry tree, like thieves snatching handbags.
A tortoiseshell cat stalked a woodpigeon.
Worms turned the earth.
Tonight at work, I was feeling a bit peckish so I went down the Chinese for chips and curry sauce. It’s a ten minute walk so it’s a good way to kill time. The sauce comes in a polystyrene container with a plastic lid. The chips come in a paper bag. Then they put the whole lot in another, larger paper bag. I read the sports pages of the Mirror they had lying on the counter. Then the food came and I put it in the capacious pocket of my florescent yellow security coat. Then I walked to the chippie to pick up a chicken burger for Les, one of my workmates. They take ages doing those burgers and I was worried my food would go cold. It was burning my thigh though, that was reassuring, showed it was still hot. I got back to the car-park and I gave Les my chicken burger and I reached in my pocket to get out my meal and I burned my fingers. That’s because while I was walking the lid had come off the curry sauce and leaked everywhere. The sauce disintegrated the paper bags so my pocket was just a right mess. A shoal of soggy chips swimming in a gritty, brown sauce. Quite rubbish really that was. I tipped the chips and the polystyrene container out my pocket, turned the pocket inside out and rinsed it a bit with water from the kettle. It’s a polyester jacket with a nylon lining, totally waterproof, so it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Still, I learned an important lesson tonight, don’t take away your takeaway in your coat pocket. It’ll all end in tears.
posted by Luka 11:57 PM
undercurrent is also allowed a link, not merely to reciprocate, but in recognition of the best piece of writing to appear there since it's recent inception.
i will write something soon to balance out all this mutual backslapping stuff, i promise, but, you know, credit where it's due and all that...
actually wait, while i'm here, the best sentence of last week was......
'out, you fancier of sharks, freckles, peppermint, felt...'
from pekingo
posted by Luka 11:45 AM
someone send me mr robin carmody's email address please, hopefully he won't mind.
send it to blungblung@hotmail.com
posted by Luka 5:20 PM
I’m reading this book about the Aztecs, the Incas and the Maya, here’s a bit from it
‘The Spaniards said the Maya books treated ‘of the lives of their lords and the common people’ and spoke of ‘the history they contained.’
But if the Maya books covered fields other than those of the extant codices, we will never know, because the Spanish friars destroyed them. Diego de Landa says flatly ‘… we burned them all … ‘
It was decreed that idolatry must be stamped out. Diego de Landa himself signed the decree in 1562. As part of the Spanish religious programme, all Maya books were seized and bought to the town of Mani. ‘We found a large number of books,’ wrote Landa, ‘…and they contained nothing in which there was not to be seen superstition and lies of the devil, so we burned them all, which they regretted to an amazing degree and which caused them much affliction.’’
posted by Luka 12:04 PM
‘We used to go Powerhouse on Waterden Road. Funny atmosphere it was. You had Stratford on one side, Canning Town on the other. I mean, a lot of them did know each other, that was just how it worked out sort of thing.’
‘…charged for kidnapping an eleven year old boil…’ newsreader on radio 4 tonight.
‘yeah, we’re going Romford, Land of Skets and Eats’
‘that’s why I don’t like going out without my hammer blood’
‘When I see him again I’m going to mug him. Seriously. He nicked my phone innit. Did I tell you about that? I had one of them Sony ones. Mp5 compatible. Mp5, mp3, whatever it is, had that, internet, picture messaging, it was the nuts. I bought it off some black geezer in Manor Park for a tenner. It was stolen obviously but what the fuck do I care. It’s still a phone. Anyway, I lent it to him for the day cos he never had one and I ain’t even seen him since. It’s alright though, I know he hangs around Ilford and when I run into him I’ll just mug him. Take his phone, his money, his jewellery, his clothes (laughs) just to embarrass him. Nah, cos, I can’t have people taking the piss. If you fuck me around then, you have to face the consequences. What? Yeah, I am skinny, but I can handle myself, I know I can handle myself. Huh? Look, three boys jumped me. One was on my back trying to give me kidney punches, another one was in front of me trying to give me head shots and the other one was all trying to trip me up, get me down and that, and it just weren’t happening. I was just going (makes shaking people off motion) cos I weren’t in a fighting mood. I couldn’t be bothered. I was depressed.’
‘urrh urrrrhhhhh (that’s a boy making noises like d double e) Oi! Do you know where he got that from? Streetfighter innit. You know when you beat someone innit, when you knock them out and their body goes flying and it’s like
urrrhh urrhhhhhhh. Yeah, he took it from that.’
86 bus talk.
86 bus, that’s where you saw me on the 86 bus.
That’s the stratford-forest gate-manor park-ilford-seven kings-goodmayes-chadwell heath-romford
bus route.
Here’s the best coincidence of the week. Before I left for work I was listening to raw flow tugs on 102.3. Left the house about 20 minutes after their show finished, I’d never even heard it before, never heard of them in my life, get on the bus, go upstairs, what do I see written in black marker pen on the bus
‘RAW FLOW TUGS. 102.3FM’
look up from my book as we pass through Ilford, what’s written on some white hoardings outside the new cinema?
RAW FLOW TUGS.
posted by Luka 12:04 AM
mc bushkin is on radio right now, with knightz, 92.3fm.
yeah, listen to that. happy music to make you happy.
posted by Luka 1:26 PM
fuck it, i'll even put my email address down
blungblung@hotmail.com
tell me what you know about the bones or something
posted by Luka 12:49 PM
while i'm throwing out links like confetti at a wedding i'd like to point you in mark's direction, the buikding worlds entry.
really good that is. it's about authors (and comic book companies) who build a consistant universe with every new comic or book an elaboration of that universe, taking place inside it etc etc
he talks about lovecraft and fantasy writers but detective novellists like rex stout do much the same thing, though on a slightly less grand scale.
posted by Luka 12:34 PM
i'm just testing something.
(while i'm here, just read on die,die that the face is going to close. and my response to that is, good.)
posted by Luka 10:34 PM
oliver;s version of events is here
the queens goldene jubiliee piece hs been rewritten with extra jokes.simon's 'germans invading russia' analogy is inspired. complaining that it's 'strained' misses the point entirely. it's supposed to be. thats why it's funny and brilliant.
posted by Luka 2:25 PM
Colour returns to the island, after a long absence. The sun’s out! The sky is blue! Walking along the canal at Mile End I point to a bird which Oliver identifies as a greenfinch. Daffodils are lolling their yellow heads like cattle in a field. It is a good day for a walk.
In Wapping we are surprised by the number of joggers on the street. They jog alone or in pairs. Men and women both, possessed by an intractable work ethic, an inner demon which demands labour even in hours of leisure. Guilt is sweated off. Heavy breathing and running shoes colliding with road surface are the only sounds we hear. For a while a short, pretty brunette walks ahead of us. Everyone else runs.
Further up the river Oliver is delighted to see three grey wagtails. They flash bright yellow bellies at us as they fly away.
We eat lunch in a gentrified greasy spoon. Our toast is made from granary bread. There is a copy of The Guardian for customers to read.
We cross the river at Tower Bridge. Walking past Ken’s Castle we feel we are part of an architect’s computer-rendered mock-up, incidental detail in an artist’s impression. Immaculate steel-grey pavements. Glass reflecting sky. Everything still bright and sterile in it’s newness.
At London Bridge we cross back to the north bank. I’ve promised to show Oliver the Bay of Bones.
A large military helicopter flies past.
We see the bones. The tide is further out this time. There is more beach to explore. The tide line is marked by a string of flotsam and jetsam. This includes; A coconut. Two partially deflated footballs. A life-ring. Pieces of polystyrene and driftwood. A builder’s hard-hat. A pair of hiking boots. Fragments of crockery and earthenware.
There are jaw bones with teeth still embedded in them and shin bones ending in trotters.
We leave the river and plunge into the city.
The statue of ‘Bomber’ Harris stands as a monument to a discredited ideal of manhood. His large chest puffed out. Hands clasped behind a rigid back. Immaculate in a uniform which replaces the volition of the wearer with it’s own code of conduct. Patriot, slave to duty, King and country. A man of war.
Packs of young lawyers stride purposefully down Chancery Lane. A secular priesthood, with it’s own costumes, rites and rituals, the Royal Courts of Justice as an ivory temple.
The façade of St Paul’s is covered with a life-sized drawing of the façade of St Paul’s, while restoration work is carried out.
An old, rheumy-eyed doorman has a coughing fit in the doorway to the Mason’s grand lodge.
I go home.
Later, on the train to work I watch as a tiny black spider clambers over the dyed blonde hair of a woman in her late thirties. Sunglasses perch on her head. She is reading a book called
‘Renovating an Old Farmhouse in Spain.’
Sitting opposite her a young woman with long legs and a short skirt is reading a magazine article. The headline asks
Would You Accept an INDECENT PROPOSAL?
In celebration of the queen’s golden jubilee, children dance in the flayed skins of sacrificial victims, foreigners are pushed under approaching tube trains, traitors have each limb fastened to a motorbike, the four motorbikes are then driven at top speed in the four cardinal directions. Guinea pigs, seals, shrews, bulls and roosters are hurled into specially prepared pools of boiling vegetable oil, petty criminals are branded, or placed in the stocks where children are encouraged by their parents to piss all over them, murderers are tied to the ground while stampeding cattle trample them to death. The Mayor declares the celebrations, ‘A statement of our shared national values, a message to transgressors, deviants and doubters, a testament of love for our Queen, in all respects a resounding success’.
malfunctioning forest.
bone welt.
The security services watch repeats of Columbo, Quincey and Remington Steele as part of an initiative to teach lateral thinking.
Conundrum. Penumbra. Entendre. Tundra. Tumble drier.
Whitechapel’s one-handed statue of William Booth raises an exhortatory, empty sleeve to the sky.
A pigeon drinks from a puddle.
Golgotha-on-Thames.
Random violence becomes as much a part of western life as traffic accidents and redundancy. Drivers stop at pelican crossing only to accelerate suddenly as soon as a pedestrian steps out in front the car. People are pushed under trains and buses. Children drop rocks from tower blocks onto the heads of passers-by. Terrorist groups emerge which lack any justification or agenda for their crimes, no matter how flimsy or spurious. Targets become ever softer, nursery schools, hospitals, mental homes, market places, cinemas…
Children form packs like animals and roam the streets administering savage beating to anyone foolhardy enough to venture out after dark. Pets are lynched. Cats and dogs are found hanging from lampposts and the branches of plane trees. Graves are dug up and the remains placed outside the doors of the deceased nearest relatives. Deviants infiltrate ‘the caring professions’ Nurses turn off life-support systems, pour heroin into drip-feeds, drop premature babies down toilet bowls, refuse to sanitise needles and thermometers, administer the wrong medicine to patients ‘just to see what happens’, confiscate colostomy bags and laugh uproariously as geriatrics piss themselves. Social workers collude with abusive parents, score crack for teenagers, assist in suicides, Samaritans tell callers to ‘get a life’ counselors tell the traumatized to ‘get over yourself’ marriage counselors tell couples they’re better off without each other, Priests gather in the pub to gossip about what they were told in confession
In parallel developments a group of renegade billionaires form a society, The Decadents, and begin to buy up cultural treasures, the paintings of Rembrandt, Bottecelli, Titian, Raphael, the sculptures of Donatello and Michelangelo, original prints of much-loved films, buildings of historical and architectural value from across the world, only to destroy them. Their children daub over masterpieces with acrylic paint, they attack statues with baseball bats, mallets and chisels, churches and temples are dynamited, history is purposely and callously erased, cave paintings chipped from the walls, manuscripts burned, religious icons thrown into rivers…
endangered species are hunted, isolated tribes are infected with diseases their immune systems are unable to deal with, plagues are cultivated, wars are started, blood-feuds begun. Aid to impoverished countries is laced with powerful laxatives. Whole ecosystems collapse, languages and religions vanish…
Public dissatisfaction with the Labour leader increases exponentially as Blair uses a speech to trade union representatives to expound his belief that Adam, first man, and Lucifer, rebel angel, are one-and-the-same, that earth is Hell itself and mankind the offspring of fallen angels, backing up his assertions with a slew of Biblical references. At the climax of the speech he removes his jacket and tie as if in a frenzy, produces a cat-o-nine tails from beneath the lectern and begins to scour his own back till blood lies in lazy pools on the stage floor.
The technology used to keep track of those under house-arrest is to be extended to all the population. Officials are to start fitting ankle-bracelets this week.
Countries taken under UN administration are run as companies, for the profit of the shareholders. Whole nations are turned into farms or factories or even brothels.
posted by Luka 4:10 PM
