Mike Patton

Mike Patton is a crazy fuck. People say genius but I think that word gets used used a lot anyway



I've sewn my seeds with a metric grosse
No footsteps go beyond it

I'll eat the death
Where the rooster crows
Flesh rodeo, yee-har, it's

Just to push in your teardrops
Make you a cyclops
Breakin' the branches off your family tree

Keep you up like a fluffer girl
Ain't that enough of the
Look in the sewer for my pedigree

On the only piano
Wrote the fuckin' concerto
Shoot pool with your eyeballs
Rack 'em up

Make a meal of your asshole
Gnaw on your fat soul
Dipping your heart in my vinegar





When a someone throws their shoe on stage its only customary to eat the shoelace, regurgitate it, then throw it back in to the crowd

swansea love story

Mike Leigh's son came to town? Did he make a documentary about the Discovery Student Centre and all the fundraising and volunteering they do there, what with assisting disabled students and...sorry whats that, Junkies? Oh yes, How naive of me. Joking aside, Ive been looking forward to this for a while, although Its taking a hell of a long time to come out. In the meantime this clip was released over Christmas:






Veering off topic,

http://www.myspace.com/leavethetapesrunning


Pneu @ Class A Audio March 2009

RIP KJD

listen: http://www.kicksjoydarkness.co.uk/annosite/anno%20tracks/2003-02-21-CD501-02-American_Television.mp3
http://www.myspace.com/kicksjdarkness

Around the same time as reading the aforementioned guardian article, I read another from the telegraph entitled: The boy who never grew old http://www.anno.co.uk/telegraph.shtml
A tale about a the life of a young poet and musician who tragically died (along with the rest of his band) in a car crash on a motorway outside Milan.

When I got round to hearing Kicks Joy Darkness, the music blew me away. Key changes, varied time signatures, polyrhythmic guitars, intelligent lyrics. They made the other bands I listened to seem moronic and vacuous in comparison, even to this day nothing comes close.
The boys died in the early stages of recording their debut album: Method One, and only a few songs and live recordings survived.

Zie Punk Volk

There's blood giving heat.
Blood on the blue light beats like his heart.
That now is heard no more.
There's a smell like pieces of glass -
Still in the sharp air.

Shards of me move together in a shape like a shadow or ghost.

We're mostly dead anyway

The album that never was

and the last photo of the band alive

Suffocated by the Union Jack

When I was about 14, I read an article from the observer magazine about Ulster Loyalist gangs in Belfast. The article was focused around (now disgraced) paramilitary leader Johnny Adair and how the various loyalist organisations eventually turned on each other, corrupted by drug trafficking and bad blood. It was the photography that captivated me most, the gray streets and skies, converging with the bright murals and flags, reflecting so much of the area's tension and violent past: An unwillingness to move on from its bloody history. The place wreaks of death with the smiling faces the dead, staring back from the sides of houses. The incessant flags, painted sidewalks and murals become oppressive, somehow suffocating. The Protestant areas of Belfast: Gothic, romanticised versions of a Britain which has essentially abandoned them. It's a place like no other, somehow frozen in time (similar to Coney Island in that respect) and its for that reason why I'm strangely drawn to it a decade later.

sleepwalking in street view

I've been fascinated by Coney Island ever since watching films like the Warriors and Requiem for a dream. The place looks effortlessly like a weathered and dilapidated film set, even from google street view