Lust

After one of the worst days at work in living memory last Thursday, I set out to catch up with some good good people and to listen me poddy on numerous trains as well as catching some top gigs.

Kicking off at the newly refurbished St Pancras gave me the chance to see the statue of the lovers embracing. They were meant to be kissing, but apparently the organisers / self-important arse grinders and annihilators of all that is good and holy (delete as you think applicable) thought it would be too risque. Since when did we live in a world where the thought of two lovers sharing a kiss as they meet or part is a problem? Doesn't stop their live counterparts on the platform so why aren't the Pancras politburo chasing them off with a damp towel? Should Rodin have lived in such unenlightened times.

Gary Larson (creator of The Far Side) once said he thought the reason some people found some of his cartoons offensive was that they were stuck in time, forever in that one moment, that there was never a resolution. And that's how we've damned these giant bronze frustratees. I like to think that in the early hours of the morning when everyone's gone they get to indulge in some lustful lip locking.

Dan lent me Zodiac Mindwarp's 'autobiography', which I started reading between Nottingham and Cambridge. It's clear to me that reading a book so vividly and clearly entitled Fucked By Rock won't make you attractive to members of the opposite sex. If it does then you should probably avoid them like an about to burst bubonic boil. I don't know whether this book makes me want to laugh, cry or puke my ring. This may indeed be the point. It makes Motley Crue's The Dirt read like a Ladybird preschooler.

It is a great title though.

Somewhere amongst the onanastic smacked by bitch up junk soaked white line feverish coprophiliac cardiac grinning tales of under-age sodomy and anal torture I found the following passage:

"The people of Western countries live their lives beneath frail illusion that are different yet fundementaly the same.
Culture, Language, and Religion are merely different shades of the same dream.
The one we call civilization.
And it is as fragile as a sparrow's bones.
True war, as Claus von Clausewitz, the military theorist tells us, is the only thing that shows us as we really are.
Beasts.
And this is why we need these illusions.
Illusions that have evolved over the years, with laws and enforcers of laws to sustain them.
Governments, armies, judges, police officers.
Not so long ago, Westerners believed that certain human beings were animals and bought and sold them to work in cotton fields and sugar plantations.
In a society like this, it is hard for people of a sensitive and intelligent nature to stay sane. Surrounded on all flanks by the contented and the delude, who sunbathe beneath satellites of cynical lies and twisted half truths concocted by the rich and powerful."

It goes on a bit longer but you get the gist.

So this morning the Doctor and I were returning from breakfast when some wanker in a flashy BMW took an illegal right turn off Kingston Bridge and almost ran us over. The Doctor, nearly correctly, called him a tosser. Car stops. 'Man' gets out and informs us that he has two ten year olds in the back and they don't need to hear words like tosser. I think the irony of him repeating the word tosser in front of two ten year olds who don't need to hear the word tosser may have been lost on him. As is his getting out and shouting at two grizzled veterans of the war on sanity.

Only buses and taxis can make that turn. A ha, he tells us, we don't realise his car is a licenced taxi. Yeah, right. Because an overpaid baboon like you would ever let a stranger in his mechanised cock replacement. I should have asked him if he'd take us back across the bridge or if the kids in the back were going to tip, but he was too busy pretending he had his documents in his wallet. That and the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, Lord Lucan and Madeleine McCann. Ape-boy's just using the taxi loophole so he doesn't have to pay the congestion charge. Should have got his number. This ladies and gentlemen is the future, the bastard offspring of Thatcher's demonic coiffure and her grinning toy-boy, Tony, and all his evil minions. There is a word for retards like this and it ain't tosser.

2 less letters.

Begins with a c.

I digress. It was great to get out of town, to get away from work, to sit up late drinking drinks and talking tunes. It felt like a holiday, a rest, a revitalisation, a charge for the old carbon batteries.

To Mr H, Ms C and their collective cats and co, thank you for your hospitality and for your company. And for not waking me up early.

And as they say somewhere east of here: thank you for the music.


Reading Mark Manning's Fucked By Rock
Listening to The Raveonettes' Lust Lust Lust