the blog that ate the universe

2007-01-30T03:32:00.000-08:00

miss america and william shakespeare.

there's nothing like a juicy scandal.
i've never read any of his works from beginning
to end or from the end to the beginning.
shocking stuff indeed.
i just found this quote from the bard :
is it not strange that sheep's guts should
hale souls out of men's bodies?
visceral stuff indeed.
try to visualize it.
it's fun.

2007-01-07T05:48:00.000-08:00

searching for mr.right ...
what if he‘s left handed?

2006-12-19T04:15:00.000-08:00

i want to avoid living as a poor artist.
shall we start the bidding
at seven figures?

2006-12-19T04:05:00.000-08:00

last night
has repercussions
for both of us.
don't you see that?
we can't go on like this.
that spanner
is going
to kill someone.

2006-12-19T03:54:00.000-08:00

there is no difference between a fake and a forgery.
the intention is identical in each case.

2006-11-30T04:31:00.000-08:00

civilisation is the process of reducing the infinite
to the finite. - oliver wendell holmes jr.

2006-11-29T04:36:00.000-08:00

the 1998 barolo was dionysian.

2006-11-18T10:53:00.000-08:00

fiona banner is an artist.
her work explores the problems and possibilities
of written language. her early work took the
form of 'wordscapes' or 'still films' - blow by blow accounts
written in her words of feature films (whose subjects range from
war to porn) or sequences of events.
these pieces took the form of solid single blocks of text,
and size as a cinema screen. banner's work encompasses
sculpture, drawing and installation, although text is still
at the heart of her practice. she recently turned her attention to
the idea of the classic, art-historical nude,
observing a life model and transcribing the pose and form
in a similiar vein to her earlier transcription of films.
often using parts of military aircraft
as the support for these descriptions, banner juxtaposes
the brutal and the sensual, performing an almost complete cycle
of intimacy and alienation.
{text from the frith street gallery website.}

fiona banner is a plagiarist.
her work exploits work by other artists {imposters and charlatans
with a few genuine articles of acquired situational narcissism}
whose work has been marginalised by the dysfunctional
art movements of the 20th century, the entire series of 'friends'
and the global socio-political impact of breast milk.

her work exploits the problems of creating original art
in a world hyperventilatinglysupersaturated with images, films,
wordscapes and possibly ... justifiably perhaps,
on being discovered a fraud.

her pieces take the form of pretentious banal blurb
in the form of tedious single gashes of text, often redundant,
most certainly irrelevant, especially when viewed in the
post-modern vacuum of traditional white cubist cathedrals
which are nothing more than rectums of iniquity.

she recently turned her attention to the idea of the classic,
art historical nude {rape and pillage never goes out of
fashion does it my dear?} observing a life model
and transcribing the pose and form in the same dull
method as her earlier film blurb-a-dub-dub.
often using duff old bits and bobs of scrap metal from
military aircraft {darling, i could have saved you a slab,
a wad, a barrowful ... a chap who knows a chap who
knows a geezer with top-notch rover mg scrap ...}

banner tries in vain to flog the idea that pieces of military
aircraft symbolise brutality ... therefore ... by engraving
her mono-sodomite glutamogenous limp-limpet blurb
on the wounded metal ... it somehow provokes
the bouquet of freshly cut grass without the efficacy
one would associate with curator's constipation nor,
so it seems with the pungent aroma of arabica
a tenth of a second after the alarm traumatises one's
eyelids to roll ... it does however, symbolise
the primordial soup of her womb, heart, and brain.
yet, fundamentally, her ego. post feminist icon or not,
creation from a christian's perspective but without
the pornographic existentialism, therefore
fulfilling nostradamus's primordial precognitive theory.
how voluptuous.

2006-11-01T09:06:00.000-08:00

is beck a product of scientology's money machine
or a cynical little geek?

it frightens me.
it pushes me.
it feels like something pushing me from below.
it has to tell you how to live.
it has an instruction guide.
it entices.
it seduces.
it has to encompass the whole world, and everything that is
and will be and take you into space ...
that's why you need a spaceship.

{above lyric excerpts from the song - horrible fanfare/
landslide/exoskeleton} a beguiling hypnotic ten minute medley
from his latest album - the information.
i don't want it to end. i would love the chance to re-mix it ...
stretch it through a blackhole ...
through the core of the sun, spin saturn's rings at 2400 rpm
in my brainwashing dyson.
beck is hanson. i love his cute little beady teddy bear eyes.
hubby junior. the eco-friendly fiendish scientoblogist.
the whole nanonotion that beck is some kind of stooge for
a bent cult intrigues me.
i watched the dvd of music videos from the new album,
perplexed at beck's body language, at his robotic peter pan
visage. the cold sharklike stare.
of course, he could just be headfucking us into thinking that
they've got him by the balls. or even the vas deferens incognito.
all part of the publicity machine that needs to be fed
dirty little tidbits in order to keep the hubbard monster
fed and floppy. my tongue is still wagging ... seductively ...
inside my spaceship.
i've seen beck in a televised interview. i wasn't impressed.
perhaps that bland in utero dollface is hard to maintain?
is it jim carrey?
is the mask stuck. for life?
every scientologist has to sigh the lisa-clause, which states that
the individual opposes all psychiatric treatment and authorises
representatives of the COS to intervene to prevent any further threat
to the individual's mental state.
introspection rundown can be enforced if the case supervisor
believes it's necessary.
isolation isn't the worst case scenario.
trying to escape from the cult can be inescapable.
beck has enough money to build a spaceship.
at least, big enough for him. would he be able to escape?
but, why for heaven's sake would he want to cross
the final bridge to freedom?
what could possible make him even contemplate changing anything
when he has achieved critical acclaim, a worldwide audience
and financial security?
{excerpt lyrics by beck from - movie theme} :

walking down the aisle of the supermarket
looking for the?
to carry my sense away
i'm not scared
'cause there's nobody there
mind is awake
nothing's gonna lead me astray.

i was reading about hubbard's sexual kinks, his drug habits,
his voodoo sci-fi corn, the e-meters, the irs scandals,
the donors, flag, the sacred scriptures, the s.o's, the g.o's,
operation snow white, the superpower building
and all the other crap about how member's can attain
the super powers of infinity ... and beyond.
beck will not tell you everything he has said and done.

do you think he's told 'them' everything?

2006-10-08T10:13:00.000-07:00

the 7th symphony in A major, op 92 by ludwig van beethoven.
the london symphony orchestra conducted by bernard haitink in november 2005.

i´m still out.
frankly, the sleevenotes don´t even try to convince me.
lindsay kemp thinks "the seventh is hard to pin down."
he exorcised his demons in the monumental second movement.
poco sostenuto, presto and allegro con brio is
van the man in cruise mode.
wagner said "it´s the apotheosis of the dance".
dear richard,
graven words may soothe the soothsayer´s predicament
but ´neath the flirting violins an abcess was fermenting voluminously.
it´s odd that none of these sages even considered his hearing
condition, his joyless love life or his diet?
david wyn eloquently stated " the 7th is a continuous cumulative
celebration of joy." i believe david had just received
acupuncture shortly before he wrote this.
endorphins have been proven to blunt one´s critical faculties.
misery is the leaden pipe that leads to the fountain of joy.
no?
lindsay informs me that the first performance was made in
vienna - december 1813, which was a charity event
in order to raise funds for the widows and orphans of
soldiers involved in a nasty battle with nasty little napoleon.
"the jubilant seventh"?
perhaps, in spirit but not in body.
in my own pedestrian words,
the 7th is in the middle of the road
between the 5th and the 9th.

2006-10-07T09:02:00.000-07:00

on a clear day you can see forever.

you can?
you can see everything?
you can see the little girls that you brutally murdered.
the face of your wife.
the faces of your three children?
the faces of the children that you molested?
the faces of the parent´s of the little girls that you murdered,
molested and fuck knows what else.
i can´t forgive you.
not now.
not ever.
why?
now, your children will have to move to a new house in another state.
go to a new school. see a shrink. take meds.
perhaps, self harm?
did you ever consider them?
did you ever consider how they feel now?
did you ever consider anyone ...
motherfucker?

"mommy, why did daddy kill those little girls?"

"mommy, didn´t daddy love me?"

"mommy, did daddy want to hurt me?"

did you ever consider that your children will be asking themselves
these questions the rest of their lives?

on a clear day
i wish.

2006-10-06T08:43:00.000-07:00

what does space smell like?

after sex like?

it smells like $20,000,000.

i‘m avoiding the issue.
wha?
blogs are easy to set up.
use free software.
choose a free template.
alright.
sure baby ...
but.
hold on.
there are billions of them.
wha?
wha cha gonna call da blog ... sugar plum pie?

i‘ve just spent 57 anxious franxious minutes
trying to think of a blog title venn i shood bee vurking if ...
u no vot i meen - meine kleine nachtmusiker sauerkraut schatz.

fudge it fuckwr wot will i call it ...

i‘ve just had sex with a cucumber and it was fantastic?
sex is like money. i don‘t know i‘ve never had sex with money?
did you remember to switch off the toaster?
anal sex, buttered scones and freudian slips?
the more you know the less the better?
there are three sexes ... which one am i?
o venezia venaga venusia?
i received all of my symphonies instantly from god without a service fee?
peroxide earwigs?
mummy, why did daddy kill those little girls?
i want to see my cum float in zero gravity?
ectoplasmic late night tales with a side dish of endorphin salad?
why is the price of oil so crude?
i want to fuck jeniffer in the ass but she prefers to eat sushi?
chapter 7 : energy - chemistry, crises and chakras?

dear god ...

what does smell space like?