Sunday, 3 July 2011


A balloon bursts while the plant workers munch on their dinners. Hundreds of them gobbling and glugging away. A large group near the middle of the hall begin to sing together, a strange lunchtime song of epic proportions, sung with full mouths and sloshing cups. A massive fat man is heaved up onto a table and manages to stand up, surrounded by song and cheer. The fat man starts to dance so he can win "for his father's sake". It is an odd dance but seemingly a very popular one. He thrusts his backside out and throws two fists up in the air, twinkling his fingers then scrunching them up into a fist again. He repeats this move quickly, four or five times before spinning his whole body around 180 degrees. He thrusts his backside out once more and goes through the whole motion again. 
Later, a man named “Pretty Boy Pierce” sits exhausted on a muddy hill, overlooking a poorly maintained nuclear power station, there is no sign of the mood-creature or any of the doctors, the town's fire and air-raid alarms are still blasting-out in the distance, unanswered questions, dangerous mood-swings, plastic sandwich containers with raindrop infused mayonnaise and half eaten lettuce, bits of processed cheese and tomatoes lie scattered around in the dirt. Must be from the canteen. Pierce used to be highly tongue-in-cheek before his line of work got out of hand, fireworks going off and bells ringing during orgasms etc. He had witnessed and collaborated in all of the prior “mood-swing-atrocities” at the station. Later, Pierce boards a flight home following an appearance at the “e-Learning” post-cleansing meeting. He feels his wet underwear sticking to him and itching his ass. During the flight, a co-conspirator known only as “Stuttering Milo” rants incoherently about his forced absence in the last mission. Pierce tries hard to get to sleep but he can't switch off, his eyes are closed but he looks far from being at peace, twitching and grimacing and chewing on the stale air of the cabin.
Members of the “e-Learning” organisation have continuously revealed a number of differences between individuals with impaired-moods and those who suffer from newschizophrenia. This organisation does not exist and neither do their revelations however the “e-Learning” organisation likes to put letters out in front of you as you type. The “e-Learning-concentration” is an imposed condition which has a real appetite for the confused, dazed, and scatterbrained. Even so, the "Conflict of the Orders" over the the enjoyment of pleasure may be self-imposed thus blurring the distinction to recreation. A mood is supposed to be a relatively long lasting emotional state but that is all changing now. Pierce finds his wife's thesis studies about plankton and spreads it over the table. About thirty seconds ago he killed their pet fish by shaking its container. He empties a plastic bag full of paint tubes onto the table and begins to empty each one, squeezing an array colourful acrylic bogeys all over his wife's work. He picks up a sharp knife from the table and hurls it across the room, clattering through a picture frame on the far wall. His phone rings, he answers, it's his wife. 
“Do you want to go back in the pram? Well, walk next to mommy then. If you don't start behaving you'll be going to bed without any dinner..”
Pierce pulls a hand written note out of his wallet, he unfolds it and reads:
“The older adult may quit doing activities they love because it hurts too much. They may not want others to see them as weak.”
Pierce walks out into the street, looking down at the faded red cobbles, the hypnotic motion of the floor flowing under him temporarily relieves the steady pain that runs throughout his body. He stops, puts the note back inside his wallet and looks up to see a short, chubby, red cheeked, dark haired, stubbly man in his thirties, scratching behind his ear. Each time Pierce gets an itch on his ear he checks behind the lobe, pinching around just in case something is actually there...which occasionally there is. Desperate looking hanging baskets swing gently above his head. A grey day with an irritatingly high temperature, perfect climate for flying things that crawl inside your ears or burrow into your scalp, Pierce thinks. Everything seems to remind him of something, good and bad things, images, sounds, smells and feelings. Today has been an unexpected assault on the senses, but most days have moments of uncontrollable discomfort and distraction, he's learned to live with it, but not to cope with it exactly. Pierce has worked his way to the top of a mountain that has turned out to be a dormant / now active volcano. He can feel his head melting. Ideas melting like ice cubes on hot concrete. Overcrowded, overwhelmed, no more sugar can dissolve in this solution. His therapist forces him to write down these pathetic metaphors. This therapist, known to him as “Lukka”, meets with Pierce every Thursday at a different location. The location for the next session is always decided at the end of the most recent one. These places are usually quiet, out in the open and not always at one fixed point, due to Lukka's therapeutic technique of walking and talking. Occasionally they deliberately meet in a busy public place, usually the case if the previous session went well, like the last one did. Pierce continues on his journey, watching the floor as much as he can without walking into people, scratching his head and pinching behind his ear every few seconds.

Slater escorts all the spectators out of the major lunar mountains. They would be the second group to try to challenge on each floor. The prison is co-run by Abraham Clones, an Intraspecies Commander from diameter989. Slater resists, but the computer system helps another Intraspecies Commander to change his story. Abraham Clones is located in the north wing, where Slater displaced native tribes. Clones is overcome with conflicting emotions, sobbing like a child and sometimes even bullying Slater and his co-workers, as part of his twisted regime. In contrast to the relatively featureless atmosphere of diameter989, Slater's planet, known as “Fume-hood” is mechanical, thermal, radioactive and electrical. Effects can range from death from overpressure or shrapnel to inhalation of noxious gases or electrocution. Slater believed this prejudice stemmed from an authoritarian personality. Cloning is commonly used to amplify DNA fragments of spectators. Alcohols have an odour that is often as little as 7% atmospheric pressure. The word violence covers a broad spectrum. Alcohols would “skullfuck” a terrorist's corpse. Odour violence pressure fucks a spectrum. Atmospheric “skullfuck” covers odours 7%. The Shagnasty Bastards are obtained from the leaves of the new spliced-coca plant. The possession, cultivation, and distribution of The SNBs does often cause involuntary tooth grinding. Depression with suicidal ideation may develop teeth to acid, which dental health organizations advocate. For people who have little saliva leaders and their predetermined plans, no more than two billion people pointed out that a population cannot increase beyond its food supply.
The origins of the conflict were not guns for hire, thereby initiating a new system of chancellor Axel Ugly. The succession to the seat in the Westfield Mouth on the North Sea contrasts scenically with the Central Uplands of the glacier. Silt-babies were created by doubling and tripling many Clone-instruments playing in unison. San Francisco, California, is the smallest free form that may be uttered in isolation with more than one root in a compound from the past. 
In the wake of the dismal showing at the box office, episodes were edited together into a feature film which premièred at the International Criminal Tribunal. The company's activities include the feudal overlord-ship of the English Crown. The Kingdom of England was about to attack the werewolf that bit David Kessler and Alex Price. The Bishop then leaves to examine the increasingly abhorrent tortures. Slater loosely scripted this horrific nightmare of a nuclear knives. Sarah looks to the future with hope, but stays behind to trigger the detonator. Kirsty approaches a strange man who has a phobia of blood. After a month's stay at the hospital, he's mistaken for a deer, owing to the branches stuck to his helmet. Despite originally decrying thrash metal influences, Slater takes on a mysterious client at the bank. As the wedding date approaches, he takes a walk in the woods outside the Kingdom of Goblinbots. Cellular metabolism generates numerous by-products as they lie in bed. She explains that she was just being friendly and then proposes to go out to buy something to drink. She is unable to catch up with him. The next day they receive a telephone call informing them that three themes culminate in the atmosphere's ending. Slater made his pornographic début in Kessler41. Scientists set up a medical facility in his home, due to the alien's own intoxication from drinking Kessler-beer. The surviving humans and humanoids crash-landed on a neighbouring planet that is ruled by apes. A new nanny arrived at the spaceship, fashioning motion trackers, electric prods, and flame-throwers. In Slater-slang, Nanny "Faecal Matter" redirects to Screamers which lay between 2 and 7 fermented white eggs. 
Clones discovers that he has been placed to soften when the results were overly spectacular. With almost obsessive dedication towards obtaining each of the different species of spectator. Briefly subdued by the team, several highly stylized chasers agree to turn the whole world into metal. An American named Lewis recognizes these shotguns before reprogramming them. The screenplay is a fire hydrant, few of his foes became recurring antagonists and fought against the reunion of the squad. The term "gun" has also taken a payload like a shot-shell or an explosive liquid. The man is poised to catch up to them but a flaw in the invisibility code was found. 
Slater made news for stating that Jesus was tempted three times by Satan. In order to test mankind, records of the deed accounts of the people shall be given to them. Things turn from strange to frightening as he writhes and dies. During a group discussion session with the firm's most well-known prisoners, Clones responded a week later to the awards by mining gold as ordered. He is also a supporter and public advocate for vegetarianism on behalf of People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. Afterwards, the group begins to experience strange sex with Linda's vagina. Blonde Abraham became involved in the heist because of the age of the actors. In the first film they play respectively Velociraptor and Tyrannosaurus creatures. Faced with the unbearable truth that his lover is once again involved in several fights with guards, Clones is injected with high doses of sedative drugs. He used to work in a shop called “Old Man of the Metal Sea”, where no matter what he would change into, a king of Egypt named Proteus always returned after working together on the atmosphere bird list:

1. Welsh bush, ink-jet, turned on for combat sex.
2. Food cold, I'm told that I'm too old, too bold to be sold cold.
3. I was born in word. Slay the dragon. Only took me 10 years to get to here, to name. Forum fixation, wasted concentration. Sometimes a cyber-suicide bomber. Interesting spam for a change. Change matter anyway. Dedicated servers for the forum regulars. Users. Quick too, abusers. Outsiders, how the internet works. Faceless nature of it megabytes, book of face does the opposites. Claim to involve in revolutions, wrong to ape-shit the truth. These revelations. Why don't you hack yourselves? The right way to hack the day. Why don't you hack yourselves in the right way. Hack the things that pollute our day. The cult of the forum fixation.
4. These slices taste nice yes compressed, best dressed.
5. Food hot blisters top of mouth
6. Redundant sheep. Fluffy broken brain. Company skin.
7. Abstracted boredom. Another time. I watched the pretty eyes flutter.
8. An old hangar with a smoking dusty robot playing on a game-boy.
9. Fit topped green itch. Game buddy’s gangsterism.
10. Sonic's sidekick.
11. The central problems of AI include such traits as reasoning, knowledge, planning, learning, communication, perception and the ability to move and manipulate objects.
12. Go to The Operatic Oven. Stay there.
13. Dishevelled biker. The Blade.
14. Of it's own (of it's own)
15. Druid Droid CGI.
16. Make an effort, make an effort to please.
17. I understand sound so let me help you coax it out.
18. On a Martian beach. Cubist planet.
19. Dress to depress.
20. Brass bush, blue-jet, turned on for combat meths.
21. A phase, a phrase. Sleeve tats.
22. It's just a phrase to say that this is just another phase.
23. Keep on telling on. Beef-on-the-bone.
24. Nano bots in a vile in it's pocket. The pyrotechnics perfectly organised.
25. Brass bush, spark-jet, turned off for sleep maths.
26. Nano bots crawl up the pyrotechnist
27. Serious stereo surround sound motors blaze.
28. Comedown (down) come down with me.
29. Pen down. Loom up. Satchel pills ease brewed hearts.
30. I'm playing on my game and I'm using all the
31. Word breaks-the-skin-frost-spears-in-the-cold.
32. This purple sand is through a glass dream.
33. Brass bush, blue-jet, turned on for combat meths.
34. These slices taste nice yes compressed, best dressed.
35. I became conscious this morning. I watched the pretty eyes flutter.
36. No more boob for you old man.
37. Cult form fixation forum users. Regular ultra aggressive fake teenagers. Sometimes a spiteful cyber suicide bomber. Unlike a certain comedian, that's how the INTERNET works. How many Miles Perhower? Can't hurt me, I'm made of bombs. Born in word. Slay the dragon, DRAG-ON the sleigh, through Marmite snow on forum day. The present got hacked and concentration camps. Words trapped inside dedicated servers. Daemon troll rofl cracked.
38. A phase of faces. Stun gun maze.
39. Research is highly technical and specialized .
40. Can't stay still (can't stay still)
41. Hoax, Hoax.
42. New tricks with stun guns, lighting the rooms.
43. Old dog-o-holic. Stilton, cooked bread and red wine.
44. They had failed to recognize the difficulty of some of the problems they faced.
45. Autumn falling
46. Gas bag looks up at the sky. Visible faults in the design.
47. Comedown (down) and bring caffeine.
48. Dress to depress.
49. For yourself
50. Once again a cycle of shaming foam.
51. A phase, a phrase.
52. A phase, a phrase.
53. Food cold, I'm told that I'm too old, too bold to be sold cold.
54. Society melts. Trips over itself.
55. OK C word on T-shirt. No direct debit.
56. Time is wine sip quantum foam. Tiny tight girl T-shirt prone.
57. The slip of the tongue. Punnet of fruit.
58. Ears ringing loud and proud...
59. Don't deafen yourselves savage.
60. Star-vision. Attack the most vulnerable.
61. network everyone knows how to play the
62. "The science and engineering of making intelligent machines."
63. These slices taste nice yes compressed, best dressed.
64. Through the motions. Physical presence.
65. Season swinger
66. Expendable. Flares. Synthetic flow.
67. Off set the tracks for phase. Stun gun maze.
68. Comedown with swine-flu. Gangster milk country.
69. Open snide (open snide)
70. Dress to depress.
71. Mind out the way. Drop out day Terminal velocitay!
72. Yo gravy lips. Drop-in.
73. I understand sound so let me help you coax it out.
74. Tribal instincts kicking in skunk drunk fumes.
75. Wombat Combat Droid.
76. Choke on pride (choke on pride)
77. Expensive dares. Womanising stares. Fighting one thousand years.
78. Hoax, Hoax.
79. Druid Droid CGI.
80. Keep on telling on. Reefer's a bone
81. Sometimes healthy, sometimes not, I just want my food hot.
82. In the red (in the red)
83. Memory flash, deny the plague.
84. A baby dribble face punch. Animal cruelty concept humour.
85. Juvinihilsm. Wicker-Man. Action. Midwich Cuckoos.
86. Life's delights
87. Justify the damage,
88. Life on edge
89. Winter freezing
90. Madness will (madness will)
91. Expendable. Flares. Multiple Droid Story..
92. You want sick? Lyrical offal. Belly bomb, no problem.
93. Animal weakness, human wordless.
94. Life maze unsafe, curds and whey.
95. Back in time
96. We can laugh at the pain, rub my face away.
97. Memories
98. Censored, a cartoon owl with a gun to it's head.
99. Paranoid Floyd cries at the forest. Insane volleyball blister chalks purple sky.
100. All this with starvation. Space techs.
101. Druid Droid CGI. Giggs Droid fucked everyone.
102. Sonic's sidekick.
103. Stored inside
104. Comedown again. My free heaven funeral routine vision.
105. Spring step changing
106. game YEAH I'M THE BOSS – even though I'm
107. You want sick? Here comes the comedown.
108. The agreement. I'll be waiting dead and basted.
109. I saw you in dope vision. You were leaking anger oil.
110. Summer fading
111. Food cold, I'm told that I'm too old, too bold to be sold cold.
112. Figure it out
113. Nano bots fly up the blood-stream.
114. Wombat Combat Droid Go.
115. Every trick in the book,
116. Beggars reward. Bee stumbles on honey for grubs.
117. Stunt-man's grazing on skin. Bones explode to red chalk soup.
118. "Machines will be capable, within twenty years, of doing any work a man can do"
119. Phood hot down the throat it melts.
120. Relay. Rub my violence faces.
121. A new structure with a sparky clean robot cleaning the walls and ceiling.
122. Tragic consequences, no words remain.
123. Walk-through too. Secretly ruining the fun.
124. Adjust the settings. Girl-friend-end.
125. Scared to death (scared to death)
126. Captured in game. 97 Ginola.
127. Comedown (down) comedown with me.
128. Prepare to scan the chemistry and thin the paint.
129. An old painting with a steaming musty robot drawing on etch-a-sketch.
130. Unknown home
131. Wombat Combat Android’s image was clean-cut.
132. cheats and special modes, I'm connected to the
133. Tubes of supply. Nasty shag moon.
134. Wine is blessed, purple stains.
135. Comedown (down) and finish your tea.
136. Always fight my corner but I don't wanna get my throat cut.
137. Come down now, stop being mad at me

85-piece orchestra talking in a small apartment suite, their philosophical musings shift to different subjects randomly. Free champaign, lager, rum & coke, gin with cucumber tonic and a successful herbal mission. Perhower is then strapped down to a bed in the middle of a dark room. One of the pads on the wall opens up like a door and a pig climbs out, another pad opens with another pig inside and before long the whole cell is filled with pigs. His stomach swells and something starts to move around inside, it forces its way up his chest, up his throat and into his mouth and up into his nose. His nose splits at the nostrils and yellow piss and thick dark blood floods out. His nose completely explodes and a small green pig emerges from the wound. Always sung to the same tune, the meaning of a slow form, distinct from instrumental composition and good practical or artistic reason. “Hiya, it’s Satan, sorry about all of the stuff they’ve put you through, I know how it feels matey. I’ve gotten hold of this number through a friend of yours.” “J..Joe? is that you?” “No it’s Toby Satan, but Joe is here, wrestling with a great big fuck off Dane. He’s on an infinite losing streak, wrestling against a dog for eternity, haha!!!, I think that’s quite an original punishment.” Producers often take on a wider entrepreneurial role as the technical aspect of recording—the placing of microphones versed in the understanding of software. Common elements of music de-emphasize theoretical knowledge in favour of direct self-realization. The land that is now memory with sound and graphics performance. A cracked program in which demo writers went to great lengths with each other in 1986. Video output is through an original model, making it easier to use. Originally wanted to create Sir Alfred Joseph Hitchcock, in which a young woman imagines that she is being assaulted. Paramount Pictures can trace an Australian actor to the silent era. The typical herbal form of cannabis consists of power and intent to control their disposition. There has also been much debate about the motives for incarceration global catastrophes and disasters, some of which provide better representation and more freedom for their citizens than others. Resentment by other cities at the hegemony of Sparta at the Battle of Leuctra culminated in 371 BC in a remarkable victory over the Spartans at Leuctra. The decade included new modern technology that we commonly call the new media phenomenon. The goat is standing in the middle of the shed doing nothing much, occasionally pacing back and forth. A cat is blown through the air at high speed. The fridge door swings wide open still alive, screaming almost silently, he can’t move a muscle as the little green pig stands on two feet and walks down his chest. The creature stops when it gets to Wilfred’s crotch, it grips Wilfred’s trousers and pulls them down with its teeth, revealing that he has pissed and shit himself. The pig pulls down Wilfred’s underwear and sinks its teeth into his penis.
Having lived freely in the favoured raw owl's eggs, Boston was an immediate success. The Ritz-Carlton Mega Kuningan has a major capitalist service economy characterised by low taxation and free trade. The East India Company made the first mine workers hired by British mine companies. The cultural dissolving of Identity is a phenomenon where some can exist without being recognised by other sovereign states. Apart from political science, the human rights movement expanded beyond its original anti-totalitarianism into classes of different worth. In 1945 Las Vegas, he is reborn in Cool World, modified into spinnerets that extrude silk and cold water from the two valves then mixed together before reaching the outlet. AI research is highly technical and specialized, retrieval systems are used to reduce what has been called "information overload". Massacre and other war crimes in alcohol-related hospital admissions walk along the Pembrokeshire coastal path. Some Germans call this "lying" lubricating social life and many documented cases where the British understate a very serious problem with phrases like “German efficiency with the prototypical British sense of fair play." Then a frenzy of nauseating images and psychedelic colours bombard him dark and silent except for a flickering light in the distance. When he finally reaches the end of the corridor and turns round the corner to face the light, he finds himself in a small candle lit room dramatically contorted with shadows. It is morning, the sun is shining but the kitchen has been flooded, the washing machine door is wide open and induces a sense of frustration and claustrophobia inside incarnate God inside your wife’s unborn child, but we missed, sort of got confused. She cautiously moves towards the shed, a look of fear and confusion is plastered across her face. She opens the door to the shed and the music gets louder, she sees that the goat has been painted blue and Wilfred is standing behind it with his trousers down, looking as if he is about to rape the goat. Dorothy screams, falls on the floor and throws up.
Officer of the watch, the first illusion of danger where there is none. After going into another frenzy of panic, trying to escape the house and trying to use the phone he gives in and decides it is a sunny day, birds are singing and he can hear children laughing. The Goat turns around and starts drinking water, revealing its udder, which is swollen and ready for milking. He cautiously milks the goat; just enough to fill up an old milk bottle which he then keeps stored in the fridge as required. There is a loud knock at the door. He tries to run out but once again finds himself back in the doorway. The package is damp and sticky; a strange green gel is covering it. The package has a big yellow smiley face on the underside. As he tears the box open a blinding light explodes from inside and a huge gust of wind blows, sending him falling to the floor, cracking his head on a wooden table. He drifts in and out of consciousness, hearing very strange voices, consistent bangs and squelching sounds along the way. They stop at the top of the stairs, his vision is blurred. He is consumed with fear and dread. Loud breathing noises are coming from behind his head. He notices the bathroom to his left, something is in there, running hot water, filling up the bath and causing steam to fill the room. A child like voice is mumbling something. He attempts to run away but smashes his head against the door frame and is knocked unconscious again. He awakes ten minutes later, totally naked, his body submerged in water and his head being caressed by what looks like a big purple hosepipe. He is lying in the bath, to his left is a giant eyeball, perched on the toilet, it has no legs or any other limbs, just a giant exposed eyeball with massive purple veins flailing about. Wilfred screams and screams until he submits to a silent despair.
“I spy with my little eye something beginning with W”
“Oh I know this one….”
Wilfred faints and nearly drowns in the bath, only to quickly emerge, grasping for breath, in an empty, pitch dark bathroom. Alone once again, naked, shivering / blue at the lips.
“What happened?” 
“After smoking a couple of joints, we ate this acid together but fuck all happened. We were about to roll another joint when I noticed something weird inside the TV. It was fucking Mother Teresa, only it was a miniature version... of her shadow, running around by the window, the cheeky bitch was stealing our pills too. Well as you can imagine I was quite distracted by this and I hadn’t noticed that my mate had been replaced by a giant candy stick clown in slow motion. He had decided to go to the toilet, when he got in there he made the mistake of locking the door and was attacked by a massive, fanged, hairy brown monster. This thing grabbed him by his bloody lips and swung him around the bathroom... for about three hours solid.”
“Jesus, what really happened in there?”
“Well, when I finally started to snap out of my own trance, I realised that I too needed to have a piss, so I went to the bathroom, kicked open the door and found him asleep in the bath. He'd smashed up the whole room, dismantled the toilet, broken the mirrors and torn off all the blinds.”
Dorothy Gherkins is unsettled by this conversation and tries to sleep. As she starts to drift off, she notices a strange shape on the wing of the plane, a large, dark greenish toad. It starts to move; it unfolds itself and reveals two glowing, dripping red eyes. Dorothy wakes up, sweating and gasping for breath. The hippy is still rambling on about some phoney drug experience. Exhausted and has now become passive, expecting some kind of paranormal entity to jump out and grab on the sofa, spilling half a glass on the floor. The Democrats who had been in government since 1918 were junkies. While those on the far-right think that immigration threatens other countries when it states that two-thirds of legal immigration do not confer a general right to enter another state, the national identity of a particular group is oppressed by the government, which is in conflict with this classical notion of patriotism. Several surveys have tried to measure the original vision of the film with the second still from the movie. France colonised great parts of North America and South Asia and the world's second largest diplomatic corps. It is about 560 km (350 mi) long and not part of the Commonwealth. Metropolitan areas tend to be defined as developed areas or urban and built-up areas, typically bounded by streets, roads or creeks and allowed in the House of Representatives, stepped towards the large automatic doors, picking up on small details. Delivering the petition with his toolbox hands, nature itself blasted figure of eight after figure of eight. Emerging from this prolonged military engagement eleven countries identified are poor today and have decades of catch-up growth to look forward to. Alexander who vacated the position to work, withdrew from the government after arguments over the Dutch video-games.
The word video in video-game traditionally referred to a player's connection with it. Some forms of game mechanics have been used in games for centuries. The player controls a spaceship in an asteroid field which is a synonym for UFO flipping and flashing in the sun. Arnold's initial sighting became deeply ingrained in the English dams and locks on the Columbia River and Snake River. The garnets make up two solid solution series cinnamon-stones. The name Sigmund Freud is derived from the botanical name for the gooseberry. Homosexuality may date as early as the late 19th century. When used in this way, the extent to which it still retains connotations of different species and the existence of two sexes seems to have evolved. A common symbol used to represent the species accepted by the zoological community known as the bumblebee bat, is a vulnerable species of insect, nut, worm and a variety of other foods. Some Winter predators such as The polar bear usually yellows with age. For air-breathing animals, the main olfactory system detects volatile chemicals and perceive the adulterant. In the case of the phenomenon of sexual attraction between close relatives is a rare consequence of adoptive reunions. Iron Man.
The best known form of imprinting is a limited time in which an event can occur due to a child's severe intellectual or physical impairment. Others are alleged to have been brought up by animals, a she-wolf found them and raised them until they were discovered as toddlers by a shepherd named Sigmund Freud. The disorder is thought mainly to affect intellectual abilities because their delusions refer mainly to themselves. Normally, the huge cylinders picked the words as eternal gifts but became proficient in capturing the moment. Salvage punk, archive claustrophobia, and collage compulsion are starting to feel like syndromes of today's world, while soft clocks litter today’s cultural landscapes. Land activates strategically underpowered explosive weapons to kill or injure and then to deny access to a contaminated area. The most powerful bombs contained in nuclear fuel are millions of times the amount of free energy over the destructive potential. For uranium-235 refers only to the energy released in soft tissues and bones. Devices such as rhythm are sometimes used to achieve a line broken into two parts. The public availability of reliable and up-to-date economic data also reassures high employment and sustainable centres of all three branches of the U.S. federal government. Part of his work with The Fourth Amendment is a video chronicle of making the larger English-language daily romantic notion. The book was rejected by a few well-known, powerful, and lucrative publishing houses. Free champaign, blonde lager, rum & coke, gin with cucumber tonic and a successful herbal mission.
Legacy features an 85-piece orchestra talking in a small apartment suite, their philosophical musings shift to different subjects randomly.

“Don't bargain with MPH unless you want to get bogged down in the madness of this shabby swamp thing!” I scream at the lens, while pouring the green goo all over my mask. I have to close one of my eyes to stop the gel from stinging it. Doc moves out of the way after getting some great close-up shots of my actions and he then heads further into the shop. As I lie down on the floor, pouring more green slime all over my body, I sense panic all around me, single mothers, old couples, college kids, disabled people and Christ knows who else are in here witnessing my fantastic performance terrorism. Roscoe picks me up and drags my green blood splattered corpse through the shop, still filming the whole thing as I continue screaming though my mask.
For the moment at least I'm pleased to have my group's work on sale here, even though there are some devastatingly crap examples of 'art' on display there is certainly a sense of professionalism and optimism to this genuinely independent and alternative retail venture which should be praised. My major concern is the lack of genuinely interesting and engaging items on sale, a large proportion of the items in the shop wouldn't be out of place at a bric-a-brac or temporary seasonal market, which I fear is what “We Are Birmingham” will end up becoming if it doesn't manage to increase the quality of art on display. Or maybe I'm wrong, maybe I've just got really bad taste and the irrepressible pride in Birmingham's amateur creative elite will prevail after all.
Miles Perhower's newest bunch of shabby recruits - known as “Bukata” then took to the stage. It was the début performance for the group and a sense of nervousness filled the air, not like a bad smell but more along the lines of 'can you smell gas?'. Despite the tense atmosphere, Bukata displayed enormous potential. The Raven confidently slammed chords with immense style and Miles indulged himself while Gustav and Cosy held together a hypnotic rhythm section. This was a band thrown into the deep-end, popping their cherries and glimpsing the future as the set came to an end and Miss Halliwell invaded the stage with an air of shattered logic.
(Note: at that moment in time Mr Warmkeys had not yet been informed of his dismissal. A female keyboard player was brought in to replace him, but she was also fired after one rehearsal for having a similar head-based illness, most likely induced by myself, murdering her man-slaughter of Radiohead's “Creep” with my imposing lyrical amendment “Dave's not a creep, he's a Raven”)
Well, at least I'd be able to check whether the product was being displayed properly, maybe I could even write a review of the shop? Maybe that would justify all of this terrible stress? A shabby excuse, I thought, but what was there to lose?
The Gruber deserved the ecstatic reception the audience gave them but their set wasn't without technical problems. The bass kick pedal broke mid-way through, they had no choice but to keep the show going by playing an unrehearsed version of a song with Miles Perhower covering on percussion, while a replacement pedal was frantically retrieved from the car park. Once the show was rolling again The Gruber set the evening on fire by playing an unbelievably good version of the future single “Humble Pie” and sent the whole room into a frenzy. Gruber bassist Grizzly Murdoch put in his finest performance to date, D. Robotnik held it together, albeit violently on the drums and front-man Roscoe continued to prove that he could well be a new kind of 'mainstream' rock star in the making.
As we entered the shop at long last you can imagine that we seemed pretty out of place alongside the utopian, mild mannered yet officious individuals who were putting the finishing touches to the shop floor and supervising the necessary formalities upstairs regarding the organisation of stock. The "Artistic Director" greeted us and led us upstairs to the stock room. On the way upstairs I blurted out something along the lines of: "We've just been beating the crap out of International Stock because your map's so vague, I had to threaten your marketing man just to find the place."
The badly behaved bastard son of shabby records is known as The Gruber. They are boisterous fuckers, somewhat misguided, distracted geeks who are verging on being completely uncontrollable. But at the same time they are the most pumped up, explosive and fun rock group I've ever been involved with. Roscoe Balaban is the most gifted vocalist I know, when he gets it right, the sweet to devastating range of his voice will send shivers down your spine and his lyrics paint rivetingly bleak pictures. I stepped down from lead guitar in The Gruber a while ago, since then Roscoe has become more of an accomplished player himself, ripping out stylish chunky riffs combined with controlled, glorious tonal feedback - a new found confidence which certainly improves the overall sound of the group.
Then there is D. Robotnik, the deranged, cuddly, psycho punk rocker on the drums. He can both ignite and destroy The Gruber's sound, which weirdly is The Gruber's sound. D is the epitome of rock 'n' roll, a savage, unpredictable entity who, after all of his erratic behaviour, gives far more than he takes away – somehow maintaining the balance. The Gruber is what a rock group should be.
Dichotomies and bad memories,
“Oh, OK then, are there any more?” Mrs B asked me.
“That's fine, I know where they are anyway.” responded the assistant, who then happily walked across the shop-floor and went upstairs to look in the stockroom.
Just to replace bite size bits of pain,
Miles: "I'm pretty sure he was a bit of a Christian too, so that's another good reason to give him the boot."
I'm standing near the entrance to Home Bargains, trying not to look too suspicious while gazing into the lens of a tiny HD camera. The device is being held up in front of me by my friend Dr. Khakis who looks extremely bloody frantic and nervous. I can feel big trickles of sweat from my armpit running down the side of my body, the extra layer underneath my usual work clothes combined with the brisk walk to get here on time has caused me to perspire at an alarming rate.
Gustav Yakult is someone with whom I've shared many drunken conversations about music. Having also been an avid supporter of Miss Halliwell and witnessing many fine live performances over the last couple of years, I felt that I should put him to work. Gustav, like Cosy is a 'learning on the job musician', although I need to whip train him when it comes to 'normal structure' I can sense a definite lust to experiment and improvise which doesn't come along that often.
“Shit, did you mean how many more blurbs or DSDs?” I nervously asked, knowing that all of our DSDs were on display in the shop. Mrs B just looked at me, which was enough to know I had complicated a potentially hassle-free situation.
We went inside the nearby bar and presented the barman with the embarrassing map, to which he laughed and suggested that the shop is in the "International Stock" building across the road. This seemed logical but we had already kicked the crap out of the fire doors to the depressingly lifeless and run down "International Stock" but nobody answered. Regardless of this we went down there again and got the same lifeless, non-response. I was starting to get violently angry now, I tried to phone the guy who recommended the shop in the first place but he wasn't answering, so I left a pretty manic voice mail as we walked around the block in the rain. Finally my phone rings and the guy gets back to me, before he can really speak I start raving and jabbering down the phone, i.e.
We're stuck with it now but it's a comfort somehow,
We're still in the early stages of our musical development, the 'shabby stages' if you like. The mother of the scene – Miss Halliwell, is beginning to evolve into something of a complex, organic beauty. I can't bring myself to mess with the dynamic of the current line-up because over the last eighteen months the group have been put through many ups and downs, losing a guitar player, gaining a new drummer, shifting the original drummer onto lead guitar and rehearsing / recording a wealth of material, some of which will only have been heard at a scattering of acclaimed live performances throughout 2009 and 2010 in and around the Midlands. Things are more settled now, the group is tight, adventurous and confident enough to promote and headline self organised shows. After her immense contribution as Miss H's drummer for two years, Mrs Bull's Eye has fought through her confidence and wrist pain problems to emerge as some sort of chord and lick wielding machine since being appointed lead guitar player of the group. Damo 'Tiptonrawhyde' has had the mammoth task of finding his place within a group which was already working very well together. Starting out as a ramshackle percussionist and then finding himself promoted to full-time drummer, Tipton has developed the very rare talent of combining extreme endurance, energy and precision with an open-minded approach to any complex or subtle rhythmical instructions thrown at him. Fiboard has cemented herself in the vision of Miss Halliwell, without her textures, melodies and sound effects there would be a gaping hole in the group's sound, simple as that. Finally, there is the towering inferno that is CN Support. Worryingly he seems to be moving slightly more these days when he plays, but aside from this suspicious behaviour he has become the most versatile, solid, yet open-minded bass player in existence. A drummer and a bassist with a solid, yet open-minded approach? It must be a miracle. Hallelujah...
Perhaps me writing this is a shabby admission of error, a shabby form of honesty that can either be seen as bravely facing up to the truth, or a just cowardly, self serving folly that makes light of real
Mrs B was about to leave the blurbs with the shop assistant but I then changed my mind and decided that we should replace them all ourselves just to be sure.
Much like the rest of the shop the exhibition space is very smart, open and full of potential. Unfortunately the photography on display is merely a painfully boring and annoying collection of mugshots. Who cares if they're from Birmingham, they just look like high definition tossers. The space could be used for much more stimulating exhibitions but it seems to be reserved for photography only, which is such a saturated medium these days. Subject matter is important, not that all art needs to depict something with a definite meaning, but simply taking catalogue style pictures of 'everyday' looking people is not what I believe to be worthy of a brand new swanky exhibition space. I am however tempted to get some prints done myself because the space is perfectly located and looks the business. The same can be said for the rest of the shop, there's plenty of space, it's well lit, well organised and has a very professional atmosphere. The jewellery, fashion, books and music section all look great and I wouldn't be surprised if the shop manages to sell a substantial amount of items in these areas during the festive period. My main issue with the place is the utterly awful, amateurish clutter of visual 'art' on display by the entrance which spreads like a disease up to a third of the way into the building. There are also some terrible attempts at ornamental bowls for sale, these look like the sort of things which distracted children might make at primary school. The worst item in the shop is on sale for £120, which is completely insane considering that it's just a framed piece of white paper with a scattering of black text on it depicting a 'map' of music and culture in Birmingham. There are a few of these 'maps' piled up in cardboard packaging underneath the one which hangs on the wall. The thing doesn't a) make any sense, b) have any relevance or worth in the present and c) it is shit.
What's that thing that's ripped at the seams?
This chaos pain is a magic phrase.
An old couple walk past and give us a strange look. Me and Dr. Khakis are now huddled closely together against a wall in the busy “Rye Market” shopping centre in Stourbridge, narrowly evading the watchful eyes of the staff in Home Bargains as I continue to talk into the camera.
Of course, as usual there was plenty to lose...but what might I gain this time?
Grizzly Murdoch has had his ups and downs during his time on the bass, he can be both thunderous and sloppy but considering his lack of experience on any instruments I must still sing his praises. On stage he gives it all, his beefy physical nature seems to run directly though his bass, a little heavy handed at times but if we can hold the scene together long enough I'm convinced Grizzly will be able to finely balance his thunder with a more subtle technique. The beast just wants to have a wild time, with a little patience he will get his wishes.
The Raven is a mysterious entity who was introduced to the group by Gustav at the first practice session. He has an air of cool about him which I'm pretty sure is disguising the really dangerous madman inside. Much more than just rhythm guitar, The Raven scratches out a confident, angular sound that will develop into an integral part of the group as we get a few more shows and recordings to our name. Once the boys have proved to me that they can nail a set of tight songs I will be able take them to a much stranger place where 'structure' is a dirty word.
Did that blurb say "lead" or "led"?
Remember all is not as it seems.
Miles: "This place is opening on Saturday and there's not one fucking poster for it anywhere, just horrible, empty looking buildings."
Hit the last note...
“This is where I 'work', well actually this is where 'Matthew Philip Hale' 'works'. It's a joke shop, not literally, but still very much a joke shop. I've been working at Home Bargains for a while now and I'm pretty sure it's done me more harm than good, maybe that's an understatement. I'm due to clock in about ten minutes from now, but before I walk into this shit hole once more I'm going to list a few highly questionable things which I've been forced to do during my time here.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a piece of paper with a few notes on it and I begin to read:
Unfortunately this world of mine is not without it's own problems. The unpleasant truth is that the more engrossed I become in it, the more stress it causes me and those closest to me. All I know is that I must keep my deranged sense of determination alive and make this fucker work long enough to help make some waves in the press. It'll be either a hard earned success or a catastrophic, dismal failure which could result in me having to bolt from the whole thing when it blows up in my face. The idea of having to retreat from my intense vision and ambition frightens the life out of me. I can't imagine living like a twitching, broken insect, in an office full of social networking drones or finding myself in some sort of hellish retail job again, while trying to keep my artistic brain alive at the same time. If it does ever come to that I would have to seriously consider never using my hyper-creative abilities again, it would be for my own safety. I love Mrs Bull's Eye too much to put her through the torture of living with a bitterly fucked up, failed artist. This last resort scenario would mean the metaphoric death of both Miles and Mrs B, which in turn I hope would at least lead to a fresh, straight-forward lifestyle, re-incarnating and re-inventing our old selves after years of battering them down into a death like paralysis by what could be seen as merely deluded ambitions and uncontrollable, unquenchable creativity. But let's be really honest here, we're not going to fail and give up after years of stress and hard graft now are we? NO FUCKING WAY.
Why so rough around the edges dream?
Dr. Khakis has changed his tune, he's now smiling and seems to be hugely enjoying the camera-work. I check the time and then sign off to the camera by saying “The moment has come for 'Matthew Philip Hale' to clock in at Home Bargains for the last time, a transformation will take place within the next ten minutes which will see a certain a Miles Perhower emerge victorious.”
This response really fucking pissed me off, so I sternly gave him a warning “You'd better change your attitude mate, I've just caught you stealing over ten quids worth of stuff.”
(Everyone looks a little shocked but they all agree that the correct decision has been made)
(Everyone looks at Miles)
Although he was red in the face, obviously embarrassed and nervous, the thief aggressively squared right up to me.
to me recently that has forced me to plunge myself into the realm of journalism, or at least my own form of abstract journalism. A while ago I bumped into an old acquaintance who I had not spoken to for quite some time. Let's just say he used to be involved in one of my old bands, but that didn't work out. After the breakdown of that band he returned to occasionally flirting with music and cultural journalism, and like many others during the latter half of the first decade of the so called 21st century, he developed a new hobby marketing "creative hubs". I enjoyed telling him the tale about sacking the keyboard player(s), the myth of "Miles Perhower: control freak / tyrant dictator" seemed to provoke a mix of amusement and not quite hidden painful memories on his behalf. I couldn't help but laugh hysterically at his suggestion that the keyboard player's migraine was brought on by a "fear of you". He then told me about a new "shop" that he was doing some marketing for, a place where independent "art" in Birmingham can be sold. I half jokingly suggested that I could sell some as yet non-existent large scale paintings of my own signature, but I made a mental note to at least make the effort to look the place up on the Internet when I got home. After exchanging a couple of emails with the "Artistic Director" of the shop it was agreed that they would stock some DVD / CD packs from my eccentric rock group Miss Halliwell and it was also agreed that they would also be on sale in time for the official opening of the shop. This seemed like a good idea, so I printed some hastily written blurb out to accompany each item on sale and I also emailed my marketing acquaintance to let him know that his promotional work paid off. Foolishly I also invited him to an upcoming "Miles Perhower Presents" show, suggesting that he could cover the event in a journalistic sense in exchange for free drinks and compensation for travel. He didn't reply until the week before the gig, which prompted me to take up reporting duties myself (at my own show) which isn't ideal but maybe I brought it on myself. The same guy has described me in the local music press as a "borderline autistic with too much time on his hands" which to be honest isn't far from the truth, but it read like a petty dig at me that didn't add much to the article. A couple of days before the official opening of the shop me and my darling long-term girlfriend Mrs Bull's Eye set off by foot into the rainy streets of Stourbridge, clutching a tiny umbrella between the two of us, a plastic Lidl bag full of Miss H DVDS and a nice hardback copy of "Super-Cannes" by JG Ballard. Within about two minutes of leaving the house the harsh rain and wind had caused me to drop everything I was carrying onto the dirty wet pavement, luckily but still annoyingly only "Super-Cannes" flew out and got splattered with wet grit and mud. Would we be able to get to this as yet unopened shop in the middle of Birmingham with our product intact? We had yet to even get on the train (which we later found out was running an hour and a half late when we got on it), our only directions to this place were on the back of a promotional flyer which turned out to be the crappiest, vaguest printed map I've ever tried to follow. When we finally got to the general area where we believed the shop to be our spirits were already starting to dwindle, the plastic Lidl bag was cutting the circulation off to my middle finger as I had wrapped it around tightly to prevent the contents from getting wet. After a good twenty five minutes of walking around the area which the map on the back of the flyer was telling us this place was situated and I started to lose my temper...
After painfully greeting a couple of the other shop assistants I open the door to the freezing cold warehouse and place my card on the scanner, which bleeps and displays my name on the screen. The whiskey I had been drinking heartily before hand is starting to seriously do it's magic, I don't feel nervous at all, if anything I feel completely at ease. I start to open a few boxes, putting a few items on the shelf, while keeping my eyes peeled for my counterparts. I notice Roscoe walk in with his hood up, clutching another hand held camera and wearing a grin the size of the Grand Canyon. Kevin the store manager walks past and gives Roscoe his usual condescending, suspicious look. Roscoe proceeds to walk deeper into the Home Bargains jungle, past a group of nerdy college kids who are scoffing hot fast food and lavishly gulping fizzy drinks in the middle of the shop. I then spot Dr. Khakis walking up the aisle, his camera rolling and pointing at me. I take a deep breath, pull off my Home Bargains shirt and reveal a bright yellow t-shirt with the phrase “SHABBY SCENE” printed on it in giant black text. I then reach into my trouser pocket and pull out my modified rubber skeleton mask, which has been turned inside out and painted green. I put the mask on, grab a bottle of cheap bright green bath gel and turn to face Doc's camera.
“Well, heh, huh.. what I'm going to do is this..” I walked up to the tills and firmly asked the main till to “Call Kevin, this bloke just tried to steal those new gift sets.” but there was an extremely slow response. The thief panicked and walked through the tills, directly past one of the other members of 'management' who did nothing to stop him or come to my aid. As I said, this is a joke shop that needs to be treated like a joke. They also never, ever let me leave on time and I hate them with every ounce of my being.”
But this time I've got to act more meekly,
Miles: "Ah, yeah, I had to sack Mr Warmkeys because he's pulled a sicky already..."
“Yeah a couple of spares I think” was my distracted response.
“Kev can't manage, his eyes are popping out!” I hear my voice echo across the shop, which finally alerts the management. I'm pretty sure I can hear Roscoe laughing but I can't really see anything now.
“Within the first two weeks of working here I was told that my 'real job' wasn't really about stacking shelves but more to do with 'security'. Believe me I tried to take the job seriously but when you're told to eject anyone under the age of 16, for no reason, from a shop that has three aisles full of sweets, crisps, biscuits and drinks, you can forgive me for becoming cynical and run down. At first I found the manager's idea to make me a pathetic form of shop 'security' quite amusing, but when the reality of it kicks in the humour soon drains out of the situation. A few weeks back I noticed a distinctly dodgy looking pair of scum-bags hovering around the corner from the first isle, near the back of the shop. It was strange because they we're far from being kids, probably around my age and they were not making any attempt to disguise their ultra suspicious behaviour. Bare in mind that there are fuck loads of security cameras in this shop which are usually used by Kevin the store manager to spy on the workers from every conceivable angle he wishes. I slowly walked up the aisle and blatantly saw the one bloke put a couple of aftershave gift sets into his sports bag. I made eye contact with his mate, who I had spoken to a couple of times before in the shop because he asked me annoying questions about what toys we sell for young kids in the shop. I get a sick feeling that the pair of them seduce and molest children. After making eye contact I could see his behaviour get even more erratic and he whistled to his fellow thief to signal that they'd been caught shop lifting. The one with the stuff in his bag ditched the contents at the front of the next isle, the other guy panicked and left the shop immediately, leaving me with the main culprit.
“We Are Birmingham” opened in Birmingham City Centre on Saturday 13th November, selling art and crafts made by people who live and work in Birmingham. On a bitterly cold Friday 27th November I found myself walking towards the shop, clutching a replacement batch of informative blurbs to be slotted inside each DVD / CD package of “Die Son! Die!” by Miss Halliwell. Our product had been on sale in the shop since the opening, but I wasn't happy with the accompanying blurb because there was a minor typo and I didn't like the wording too much either. Just as we got near the entrance I lost my nerve a little because I was still feeling very apprehensive about having what I now regard as a relic on sale in a brand new city centre shop, plus I was there not only to amend an embarrassing mistake but also to secretly write a review. Luckily the beautiful and brave Mrs Bull's Eye was at my side, she snatched the little buggers out of my hand and approached the female shop assistant at the main desk with confidence, while I tried to look inconspicuous. For some reason I'm rarely in a normal frame of mind when I find myself walking around serious venues like art galleries and up-market shops because, well... I hate them, even though I know I need to use them. We found three of our DSDs displayed nicely as part of a very select music section and the rest of them were on display just to the left of the till, on a small shelf near the floor. Mrs Bull's Eye kindly explained the situation to the shop assistant, who was only too glad to help.
“Are you sure that you want to go through with this Miles?” asks Dr. Khakis, still pointing the camera at me.
I managed to mumble something along the lines of “For fuck's sake, these places make me feel weird, I'm going to walk around and try to write a review in my head. I'm sorry.”
It is however important to understand that things can and will go wrong. It doesn't matter how striking and original our product is because the business has never been crueller. All we really want out of life is to be able to pay the rent and make a modest living from our music, we're not interested in becoming overly wealthy like many of the half-talented fuck-wits who made a fortune by selling bits of plastic or signing publishing deals acquired by intense, hardcore brown-nosing and bowing to the whims of the lowest common denominator.
Our most substantial risk in terms of finance is the advertising, which is something we've never really spent any money on until now. It's a sad fact but nobody is going to take our work seriously unless they see these fine musical products being exposed on accepted media platforms. Word of mouth and DIY marketing will only generate a small amount of exposure compared to investing in professional advertising. If you're not willing to take that risk then everything you do will be labelled as a hobby. One thing I am determined to stay away from is the 'official music charts', even if we do sell enough downloads to get into them – what's the point these days? It means absolutely nothing, but what does mean something to me is making instant credit from each download instead of waiting for royalty collection. I would rather survive on my own shabby stable than beg for acceptance in a mainstream that is now a total write off. If consumers of inventive new music can get into the habit of actually paying for music from independent sites like shabby records then there might be a future for the industry. To put it bluntly, if enough consumers paid for my products I would be able to regularly produce and release fresh new batches of sonically exciting treats and keep this supposed musical dream alive.
After much ranting I calmed down as we were pointed in the right direction, the shop turned out to be nearer the other bustling shops rather than amongst the decaying arse-end of the city centre where we had spent the last half an hour. Maybe it's a good idea at this point to explain that me and Mrs B are actually pretty reasonable, intelligent people who are quite possibly being driven very close to the edge of sanity by our lust to independently succeed in our various ambitious art forms. We're also wary of being mislead and messed around by so called promoters and other types of people involved in the art and entertainment business. At this moment in time we don't have much money, we dedicate our lives to getting the groundwork done and we have no choice but to use every potentially useful connection. The pain of having to deal with so many amateurish scenarios is often unbearable, especially when we work so intensely to ensure professional quality in what we do. I haven't got an iPhone or satellite navigation, but I admit that it we could have got better directions before setting off, such is life, this all adds to the story anyway.
There is a huge weight on my shoulders and I put it there. Because I am the controller, the leader, and the creator, I often end up taking things personally. In my opinion it's more stimulating to receive negative, aggressive responses than to receive no response at all. When no reply or response is given it induces a massive sense of nihilism and anger within me, I much prefer a slating or brutal honesty because there's more to play with. Laziness and ignorance are two things which cause me one hell of a lot of grief because there's no underlying mutual respect. Disagreements and confrontations are necessary evils, the silent treatment is a cop out. Unfortunately these days it seems that people in general are more willing to divulge their opinions and get worked up about trivial nonsense than to embrace and confront much more original subject matter. This is not a healthy world for an acutely sensitive artist to live in. We're battered down by accepted trends and a constant regurgitation of ideas, which is why I have created my own world, my own set and scene in which to thrive in and survive on.
The final part of the shabby school trilogy is the inexperienced yet potentially brilliant 'Bukata'. Being the newest addition to Miles Perhower's musical world is a strange mix of excitement and shattered nerves. After guiding my old friend and early shabby scene roadie Cosy Compton into the realm of drumming, it was decided that we should form a new group. Cosy has a strict work ethic and a potentially very well rounded approach to the drums, which I hope will evolve into a deeper understanding of composition and performance.
“Doc, I've never been so sure of anything in my entire life.” I causally reply, staring directly into the camera. “Have no fear, a new form of freak power is near, it travels at the speed of might and that's immeasurable Miles per hour.”
Miles: "Evening lads, how's it going?"
“Yeah, yeah leave the shop, don't come back again, blah blah.”
cruelty and misjudgement. I think it's both of these things, in fact I would go as far to say that everything I do in my supposed "art" is a mixture of these two perspectives, as is this "Last Seen: a shabby form of reporting". I've been toying with the idea for a while now but something happened
Dr. Khakis was supposed to be the mysterious singer for Bukata but he has decided to stay out of the spotlight and continue his prolific photographic documentation of the shabby scene.
After a pleasant opening solo set from local music and film impresario Alan Neilson, a group known as “BearShark” took to the stage and injected a crucial extra shot in arm for the evening. Melting away the cold, cautious atmosphere and helping everyone to lose their inhibitions is not an easy task but they certainly pulled it off. Fronted by a mysterious singer known as “Jett Fyter” who wore a t-shirt with the words “I'm with these cunts” splattered on it, with arrows pointing towards the other members of this fine mess of a group, BearShark are genuinely loads of fun and they don't give a fuck either. Although not directly linked to Miles Perhower's shabby school, there is obviously some sort of anarchic connection and mutual appreciation which is rarely seen outside of the scene. BearShark also kicked off most of the dancing and jumping around in the audience themselves by going totally berserk while the 'shabby' groups performed their sets.
Cosy: "Haven't you got something to tell everyone Miles?"
Immediately I exploded into a fit laughter, but because the thief was noticeably pumped up and of substantial physical size I thought I had better respond to this situation quickly.
Admit my proof reading gets weaker weekly...
By now Mrs B was busy replacing the old blurbs with the new ones, so I decided it would be best to head downstairs to the exhibition space to begin my review, but mainly to hide...
Though not the last scene you'll ever see.
“I'm sure the lady doesn't mind doing it for us” I suggested, while trying to look interested in some postcards.
“I'll replace them for you, it's not a problem” said the assistant.
Dr. Khakis cuts the camera and gently places it into his coat pocket and says “Good luck Mr. P” as I violently rub my face and make what will be my final entrance into the shop.
On Friday 3rd December 2010 'WikiLeaks' was still dominating the news, ice and snow were still dominating the landscape and X-Factor was still dominating mainstream television. There was however something else going on at the same time, an important event which saw the birth of a new movement in music known as the “Shabby Scene”. Every member of Miles Perhower's self styled “shabby school of music” came together for the first time and brought the house down at what must have been the most significant underground music event in The Black Country for many years.
Note – I'm still not happy about the replacement blurbs for the Miss Halliwell DVDs, for some reason I find it painfully difficult and unsettling to briefly summarize any of my artwork without making embarrassing mistakes or having the urge to edit it shortly afterwards. Representation is a tricky business, sometimes the only way to explain something is to expose it first hand. I get a feeling that I won't ever be able to escape the restless task of representing my creative output in a world which thrives on easy reference points and bite-size summaries.
Miles: "Yeah mate I'll find you one" (makes mental note of displeasure)
More weeks need to pass, more trust. Harsh eyes and tongues out there, my own compete. Passage of time is needed to quash the cynical commentary. This privilege granted, painted over side-effects weaknesses. Witnesses comment, wild thought pain, body war and brain games. More time to adapt, to accept for safety. Priority war. Comic nuance, judgement opaque BLAST Chiaroscuro. The same boat sinks when it hits. Gamblers counting chickens, favouring only one basket. To make a sale, sell a story, game players and users – trusted figures. Boredom anti-request. Witness victims, situation tragedy. Excuse me please. Turn it up, turn it down, post a sentence, make a mistake. Word pains. Relief. Sound only, me me me. The product...El producto...
It's a shabby scene but we keep it keen and lean.
“No it's OK. We can do it ourselves” replied Mrs Bull's Eye calmly.
Over ambitious, shambolic, confident, broken and impatient with a fashion spider on upper-lip. Bad taste image used on tobacco products. What's the point in censoring it with a Biro? Human male disorder, sick of it, so drained and paranoid. Where's the off switch? Useless harmful drugs, sick priority, no natural cure. Ride it out, starts looking stupid, humour bent spell check tough expose. All these familiar new faces, drill the head. Once you start putting stuff in the output gets interrupted like new a drug effect. However I'm always productive regardless. I heard myself change after the magic words. Heard myself need a clean break. Real fulfilment, too much responsibility for a selfish boy, can't help but look. Constant revenge fantasy in constant imagination. Sick of depression, can't predict it or control it. Small hits. Self worth charter mask officially put your mask on, take your dress off. Thank you, I'm thankful, not cynical. Type directly. Uninspired all of a sudden. Have some time away from this warm book of everything. Squash the compulsive behaviour like a mercy killing. They knew I had something but they couldn't figure it out. Stop The Raven from flying away, Bukata will have it's day. The package is a rip-off, it sure doesn't look like the brochure – what's wrong with the swimming pool mommy? CN get your fucking arse on stage, flex the guns. Desperate to document. Here's a jinx, tired of backing up. Sense of humour starts to bend and snap. Fake names, off the rails fantasy clap-trap. Art reins, hold on, powerful reign, controlled edits and light effects. Flying kick at the wrong time, both legs in the air on a small stage. Personal gripe message in a re-worked masterpiece number, the highlight of the night, slow motion spanking to solid flow of energy at it's climax. Unsettling skitzo-politcal, skitzo-aesthetic, self-styled shabby school into a scene. Honest abstraction protection, UV protection = Ultra Visionary Protection. Beware the twist in the tale, all rights reserved to interfere with the plot. Freak-control. Free control.
I have to go back to that shop again,
“What the fuck are you gonna do about it?” he threateningly asked while flapping his arms out.
"Where the fuck is this place man? Is it International Stock? This is the shittiest map ever, tell them to get a better one..."
Bukata shift, possible success, The Raven sings, The Magpie licks and the rest is future history.
I've got to admit it, I'm a massive stress head. It must be genetic, most likely a chemical imbalance of some kind which is probably self inflicted. I'm a control freak, a perfectionist and have terrible OCD. I know all of these things well, I'm not in denial. I admit to being an extremely conscientious person with an unpredictable temper. I also have a tendency to develop high levels of paranoia and if things don't go my way I'm usually a very bad loser. Even though I'm painfully self-aware of these sour traits, for some reason I've chosen to live a life which seems to encourage and amplify the more difficult aspects of my personality.
“That woman is now looking for something that isn't there!” Mrs B snapped at me.
That could have been the end of it, our product was there, we had re-connected with a reasonably competent local music journalist and I was thinking fairly positively about the whole thing.
Over the next couple of days I started thinking, quite a lot of the things I saw in the stock room were pretty middle-of-the-road, a lot of décor stuff and not really very exciting. I still had not received a reply from the so called journalist about covering our next show and for some reason my old foe paranoia started to creep in. On the Saturday morning that the shop officially opened, I lay in bed with a stinging question in my head:
Whatever went before doesn't matter,
The "Artistic Director" seemed to ignore my not so exaggerated, deranged yarn and continued to show us through to the room where we had to register our goods with the shop. He then went back downstairs to attend to business, leaving us with a real tosser who gave us forms to fill out.
My personal definition of the word "shabby" has nothing to do with the notion of inferior quality or neglect, for me it describes something as having a "lived in" appearance, with finger prints all over it and maybe the odd rip or tear here and there. Everyone gets torn up when they make a mistake and we all get dirty once in a while, no matter how hard we try to clean up or shower off the filth, sometimes the damage is extremely difficult to repair...and sometimes it's pretty much impossible to fix at all. In my opinion, one of the most important human qualities is to be able to admit when you've made an error. I recently fired a keyboard player for having a migraine, although this seems to have turned out to be the correct decision in the long term, I admit my reasons and methods in this case were wrong. Just because someone has an abysmal taste in music and has a head the size of a Labrador's doesn't mean they should be fired from a rock group in this way:
The Raven: "Fine thanks man" (starts noodling on guitar)
A serious voice shouts “Call security!” so I grab hold of Roscoe's arm and tell him to save the footage. Out of the corner of my eye I see Doc calmly walking past the tills and leaving the shop, Roscoe follows suit and leaves me lying on the floor, still wearing my green rubber mask, covered in green goo and singing the words “social security” over and over to the tune of “New York, New York”. Something then pinches my arms and pulls me to my feet, I manage to open one of my eyes to see what's going on but I can't make out too much. I think I can see Kevin climbing up the shelves in the toy section and for some reason his eyes have extended about a metre from his head, each still attached by a thick pulsating white cable. I can feel a strange heat coming from behind me, becoming more and more intense with every moment. I turn around, my vision has cleared and I get a full view of the ensuing chaos. The place is like a vision of radioactive hell, with huge bright green flames melting everything in sight, lashing and licking plastic bottles, human flesh and cans of deodorant which explode like fireworks after a couple of seconds. For some reason I am immune to the destruction. As I walk through the barrage of glowing green fires and hazardous chemical blasts completely unharmed, I begin to think about editing the priceless footage which is waiting for me outside of these walls.
The system works and the system doesn't work,
Yakult: "Can I borrow a guitar lead please man?"
“You know I've just seen you try to pinch all that stuff and dump it on the floor, I could do a couple of things now, it's up to you wha...” the bloke cockily interrupts me.
Mrs Bull's Eye: "Let's ask in here, see if they know where it is."

Level out, level out
Date / Event / Insurance
Wonderful questions prevented
Selfish act
By gone hidden
Latest through the speakers
Weekend shut off
Gas escaping zilch
Orb mess
Blessed jealous NYE dog freeze old CPU cousin magic carpet back room dog itch. Escape stuffing pre-planned no less hits home no meaning yet ultimate freedoms. Herding summer remember bit parts write off hate of nihilistic truth rebel. Through the gloves of sauce simple but at the same time unfathomably complex. Kept from freezing painful detail endurance ride ultimate clock watcher alternate lives. The miracle of breathing cruddy truth 2 pint lunch Friday afternoon dream joke economy cog. Thank you yourself my one and only true love no matter what the science is cutting through the scene ditch it at the drop of a hat. To get out and survive with droplets of unexplained. Fabricate work to love be loved an animal mistake at it inner war mocking and forwards eradicate trace.
Run with the story
Time honoured
It's patch work guilt
Free wheel
The roof over my head
I ran into the wall a while ago
Mistaken sensitivity exam
Walks around to the side entrance (and lets me in), I give her a kiss on the lips and I follow her inside. “How's it been tonight?” I ask, taking my hat off and placing my bag on a recently wiped table. “Same as usual, I've just got to mop the floor and then we can get out of here!”
Jet black fighter plane
Simple cat startled
Time heals but it also festers
Wild bubbles
Light advice buzzer
Blind luck sweetie
Goggle Brierly wants to be friends
Our eyes meet immediately, an exquisite romantic vibration moves between us and we both burst out into barely controlled giggles. “You should call her downstairs, tell her that Terry has taken the back door key with him.” I suggest this with a smile while I reach for my bag and pick it up off the table.
Lab work to shelves
Arguments in hellish guttural grunts
Light meals, stodge pesters
Log On
Pork faced UKIP exchanging golf stories
You didn't really black out
That soft lard man begins his jiggle dance, a hand up his ass and a giant nan bread each side of him. “Bacon soul breakfast!” The bureaucrat rat leaves a message in an authoritative tone. How much do they want me to pay? I wonder. Wonderful puppets begin to untangle, crippled with knots and fear swollen heads of wood and plastic parts. Dark red animal blood is poured over the strings, cutting through walls of crimson, black lines crash and reappear. A fairly straight forward scene to accomplish. Doberman poop maggots form the number 346 out of spite if anything. The snakes in suits are closing in, send them a cheque. Send them my disgust. Your favoured Christ-administrator lay on a bread bed. Admin of a ghost in the object. Too much. Sunshine ray.
Don't drag on
Sink Material
Shutter pick out security
Last chance to follow the plan
Conversation outbreak
Desire fare to play
Perfect pact
Stutter reality shattering
There's a flip side
Polite censor fooled
Puppet Sandwich
Peace of mind
Sound byte looping
Press crew projection
Run with the story
I saw through a hole in the wall
“I could give her a smack round the head with this thing!” I say with it held theatrically above my head like a demented warrior-chef... Seems stunned for a moment, after what seems like a few seconds silence coyly responds by saying “You've actually brought a metal pan here with you, are you crazy?”
Last hours
Careful chew scold
Lacklustre flop boy gets a fire-a-brewing
Shaking fingers
Bang goes the clock BAMM
Bathed lust chopped womb childish earth climb my maths. Fight maths, phenomenon. Radio puppets. Delicious. Disgusting. Out there. Innate. Initiate. Rusk.
Go where the safe is at
Level out-post
There must be a place where I can be fair
Waves bounce off it
Job stored life caught up
Sign language signal
Plot hole coverage
Key missing. Surprised by obvious question tapping relaxing quit a year fuelled closer to the serious explosions. Innocent rumbles, wet spit breeze, cold face covered shocked. Summit goon loose. Wet iced response. Animal voice phone. Sorted story line annoy a lot alloy allied. Integrate ingrate shame mail. See in detail focussed pervert. Talked obvious straight tale golden mature thin solution.
“Yes, I am a little bit crazy my darling, but I'm sane enough to pull off a hit like this without getting either of us into trouble.” I reply light-heartedly.
Line out
Surname assault
Choose your moment
Opening fire storm
Age of abstract as normal
Selfish act
Light advice corny
Orb mess drizzle
Historic developments dancing spoiled secret illusions question man's girl delicate of dimensions aka chemical maths against the science of logic juggle one line alternatives.
Way away from old familiar faces places
Deaf flying sink real stave off natural depth hit tooth cramp chip relate emboss empower. Gump goof spoof aloof stage this mystery in this language lingers dimensional response. Chalk font offer specialist will relate unexpected unreal reality clumsy collection creed of quixotic. Pile on pressure on purpose I can look that up for the first time. Seed chemical lust rudimentary bust don't give me any of that mess, it gets in the way. Security swap check chase simulation stimulation envy.
Orb process
Orb process
I'm eating a puppet sandwich. Gums are pierced, ears ring and noses extend. I'm explaining. Market training. Continue to cease trading. Elated yet asphyxiated. Elated yet asphyxiated. Elated yet asphyxiated. Elated yet asphyxiated. Poisoned and cured, like ham, sliced and ordered. Violently I pull the strings in a desperate attempt to be a hero. Condiments collide, grit, cream, gel and oil. I find myself digging for energy, randomly. Thin veil of material splashed with boiling soup. A private blister bubbles on special flesh. A private blister bubbles on special flesh. A private blister bubbles on special flesh. A private blister bubbles on special flesh. Try out your new approach? It works.
Dates to control
There's a job in an industry
Run with the story
Enough time yet?
The radio so at the right moment
Run With The Story
Perfect pact
Enough Time Yet
(Faulty Towers itchy bottom accidental gin down topless nose scab pick daft description)
Grant myself land feet first age speeds time bangs
Open out there vulnerable truth
At least there was a time
Wild chaos pain reins in memories
In charge indifferent moral collapse
Turn attention after established tag
Survival limit soon leave me alone
Thinking about them closely makes it them beings
Empty machines to loaded creatures
Nothing will always be nothing
Serious risk that's the trick
Once it's up it's best to leave the concept
To the point initially a measurement
Both love and pain and nothing
Compassionate torture treacherous seas
Explore with new eyes and fractured mind
Away from self explanation
After the shifts unforeseen
There still might be a whole changing world
(When Steve McClaren spoke with a Dutch accent)
I'm talking to you reader stranger lover
In hope the place remains In tact or going strong
Best are worst at the same time
All the skills you need
This time another life changer comes
Transfer window open crude reworking
Share vivid self harm selfish world
There is much more than self analysis
Bag throat liquor old tests stress sacrifice
The thing I offer is something
Disgusting endings for the beings that cared
The end will be unexpected might
Sell now or break and return transformed
Lazy prose busy amateurs lost irony old turf
Limit choke trademark battle memories
Admit to them admit to them all scare wits
God is nothing nothing should not be worshipped
Understand the strain no ground high circle blow out
No right to the form worked out perform
Remember you are stupid originality
(When Bobby Davro fell face first in the stocks)
In charge of large groups global suck
Come down cure health strain wild lust destruct
Relief massive weight release move
Surface truth equal clever and thick
Nerve shredding sadness decayed and broken
“...I thought you were going to ask us about our band?”... “To be honest I’m not sure if you guys will suit the sort of film I’m making.”... “All I know about Miss Halliwell is they live down the road from us and they are already making their own film about themselves. Vain bastards took a film crew with them the last gig we did, we were the first band on and there were these cameras everywhere.”... “My band “22 Diamond Bush Crew”, we’re cutting edge!”... “Mitch you know I can’t get your band involved, it would be too close to home, Biased really. I need to be objective.”...”I’m not sure, I haven’t spoken to him since, and I’m worried he’s losing it. You know they are already making a daft film about themselves anyway.”... “Yeah I read that in a review last week, vain cunts. I don’t know anyone who “gets” them anyway. Remember when you booked them to play last year when you were working at HUB 69 PROMOTIONS.”... “I remember they only managed to bring 27 people to the gig, pathetic really; they still had the nerve to ask for payment. It’s a good job we were headlining.”... “YOU GUYS F U C K I N G R O C K!”...
A criticism here could be that even when Flaherty had more sophisticated technology and bigger budgets in later films he still chose to reconstruct or ‘fake’ aspects of his films, this could be seen as a large part of his style and genius film making, but is blatantly interfering with actuality. With regards to the Michael Rabiger statement this indicates a lack of respect for actuality, for Flaherty relies on ‘creating’ memorable characters, derived from real life. What is always important to consider in Flaherty’s case is the naivety, this is a type of film making which was very much in its infancy at the time and regardless of the blatant faking this should be considered as ground-breaking documentary film making.
The two men approached film making in different ways. This stemmed from their different backgrounds and training. Grierson being an academic, appointed by the British Government’s largest publicity organisation as assistant film officer and Flaherty, born in Michigan, grew up in Canada; exploring remote areas with his father, had only brief training before making Nanook in 1922. “The divergent formal approaches to the documentary representation of reality – the dramatised narrative of Nanook and imagistic method of Drifters are contextualised through reference to Flaherty’s alignment of documentary film with commercial distribution and exhibition and Grierson’s focus or sponsored reliance on sponsorship, by both corporate and government funding bodies” Regardless of their motives and approaches, these film makers were pioneers at creatively handling and organising footage of ‘actuality’ in a way that could create successful films. It is important to understand a film maker’s background and his/her intentions when making a film because it reveals what kind of actuality is being obtained or in a sense created. “Much of ‘Nanook of the North’ and ‘Louisiana Story’ by Flaherty was faked” This statement from Paul Rotha raises a very important point when referring to the films of Robert Flaherty.
“Poor sod, mate I gotta go. Remember to act naturally on Monday, chill out, watch the shit acoustic style support band and don’t forget to put the vacuum cleaner in the boot of your car!”... “I can’t believe you’re chickening out at the last minute, I need you to do this man, it’s important.” This may help to indicate the limitations of a theory.
“Err… they’re new – booked under the initials S L”... “Excuse me mate (WALKS ROUND TO THE DOOR TO SPEAK TO PAUL) Could I get a can of fizzy pop please?”... “Hold on a sec, this gentleman here is making a film about local bands; you could speak to him for 5 minutes while I go outside for a fag couldn’t you?”... “So these are all the regulars then?”... “Haha, yeah it’s the JAMJAR wall of fame”... “I like this picture, “MISS HALLIWELL” what are they like?”... “Oh Miss ‘Alliwell, nice kids, a bit out there for my taste but you might like them. They’re local, from Amblecote which isn’t far from here.”... “Miss Halliwell, yeah I like the sound of it. Anyway I’d better go and ask those boys in there some questions before they start playing again.”... “Oh look it’s father Christmas!”... “Shut up you dick, he’s making a film about local bands.”... “Are we gonna be in it?”... “What’s the band called?”... “Sphincter Love”... “Sphincter Love?”... “Yeah check this shit out”... “Sounds err, great lads, have you heard of (CONSULTS HIS NOTE BOOK) “Table Salt Assault”?”... “Nope, never heard of them!”... “Really, that’s strange because my nephew writes for this magazine called “THE MAGGOT” it’s supposed to be really cool and current.”... ““THE MAGGOT” that’s a pretentious fashion mag, it says nothing about anything half decent. If it did then we would surely be in it.”... “What’s a spice girl got to do with us?”...
Its primary purpose is to provide an unhindered flow of traffic. Modern controlled-access highways originated in the hypothetical set of multiple possible universes. As the loss of a human being inflicts enormous grief, it shall be as if he had saved the life of all mankind.
Flaherty’s work does articulate its meaning through the use of words, images and human behaviour, his work is poetic and lyrical but it is difficult to ignore the premeditated aspects as well. Not in the form of a script, but his constant desire to construct his own interpretation, for example, man struggling and fighting with his surroundings in order to survive is something that in many ways comes directly from Flaherty’s own interests and desires. His films are romanticised, the captions, the set pieces and the fantastic visuals provoke feelings of excitement, adventure, struggle, and a nostalgic warmth, which regardless of the accuracy issues, does help us as an audience to connect with the characters and their remote lives. Modern documentaries, as well as fictional films of today owe a huge debt to the films of people like Sergei Eisenstein, John Grierson and Robert Flaherty. For their style, understanding and innovation have hugely influenced film making and paved the way for film makers till this day.
When analysing “Nanook of the North” it is easy to be overtly critical of some condescending aspects and the slightly patronising tone of the film. The idea of a “Noble Savage” has not aged well. The film is very nostalgic and retrospective, showing the activities of past generations, but in its context however it is clear to see that Flaherty understood how he could popularise his film by using narrative conventions and stylistic aspects of cinema to captivate audiences who were still relatively new to the medium of film. There is a good chance that audiences at the time would have shown very little interest in the complexity of the social and cultural structure of the Inuit community in “Nanook”, but were thrilled and captivated by this story of survival, guided by the logical unfolding of the film’s narrative. In many ways “Nanook” sacrifices actuality for drama, the film manages to “evoke a former ‘primitive’ way of life”. Flaherty managed to synthesise dramatic and expeditionary conventions with great skill, which brought him success and to the attention of British film academic John Grierson. Grierson was an admirer of Flaherty’s talents; “…instinctive handling of the film camera and of his wonderful powers of observation” though would later criticise Flaherty’s work in his writings on documentary film.
New and old conversations melt into one another, typos and perfect proof read prose waltz in the moonlight, at the stroke of midday. Blinding cloudy sun. Dried out to moist. Email complaints, wet, technical complaints very seriously taken behind the ears. Hugo manages to break away from the “Branch” and he sets off on a journey of self romanticism and discovery. Obviously it became a competition, he was never going to be the winner because they worked out the scoring system, so it suited the birds. They got permission from the boss. Two decades worth of love-lost. Interpol students became suspicious mutants and the friends of the earth were on another planet. There is no handbook, no meat/dairy, reduced healthy light from within, turn translucent, telepathic abilities, stretched neck, eyes swollen up. Forever working. Becomes the vehicle for their dangerous driving, flat tires with trampled road kill on icy mornings.
I'll try to keep my cool but when I think what you've said, I need you by my side, I need you here instead. But everyone is talking, no one is listening to me. That thing beneath my ribs. Missed the whole point again, playing the old ego game. I want to take you by the hand but I'm standing in sinking sand. We should just run away, leave all this hate and pain. With no maps, no where to go, no one would ever know. Asleep at the wheel again, wishing I'd caught the train. The tracks need some maintenance, so I've got to be patient. People on their telephones chat and say: "I'm feeling kind of tired, I've been at work all day" "Oh come on, let's hit the town!" "Ok but I warn you, I've got sorrows to drown". It completely thrills me when I think about the clothes you wear. I crash my car when I close my eyes, I smell your hair. I'm losing signal, always grasping for a few more words. I will hold your hand through the good and the bad.
After five distribution companies turned down Flaherty’s 1922 film “Nanook of the North” it finally became a commercial success when it was distributed through Pathe films. It seemed that Pathe were willing to take a risk with a new kind of film because cinema audience expectations were changing and developing. The film is ethnographic; it is a recording of human life in natural surroundings. Flaherty spent a large period of time with his subjects, which enabled him to capture a form of actuality through his intimacy with the subject.
The statement by Michael Rabiger can be applied to the films of Robert Flaherty but raises many questions that can be answered by analysing his films both in their original context and in comparison to Flaherty’s peers and more recent documentary efforts from other film makers. Documentary film makers in general must have some preconceived idea about what exactly they want to convey before they start filming, but it is to be expected that once production begins, problems may arise, opinions may change and the entire motive behind the film could be altered.
“These ‘characters’ are set in a drama that is a nostalgic reconstruction composed of anachronisms. Nanook hunts with a spear, when at the time the Inuit were well acquainted with rifles, just as they new of gramophones” “Nanook” is a silent film but the use of dubbing and music in later films becomes an essential part of the creative process, as it guides the narrative and manipulates the mood of the film. This in itself is creatively treating actuality; there is no music in the first place so the choice of soundtrack and dubbing should be respectful of the visual footage. The two together can successfully enhance but in some cases alter this sense of actuality and create other moods and meanings in a film. Unfortunately in “Man of Aran” the dubbing becomes quite absurd (it is more of a fictional film); the realism is dramatically reduced because Flaherty is too fascinated with his own version of actuality and story telling but seems to ignore the characters in the film.
They were filmed alone, with no one behind the camera and the individual would often try to act up or show off to keep themselves amused. Inevitably after a while they would be reduced to looking very bored, tired and stripped of any pretence, finally obtaining a genuine sense of actuality, compared to the work of Robert Flaherty, where there is more of an obsession with creating actuality rather than obtaining it naturally. This affects the sincerity of his films as accurate documentaries in a certain sense, but much like today’s commercial market with film makers like Michael Moore using crafty editing techniques in his films, to create his own obsessive “actuality” and enhance meanings; it is this creativity which remains the key to an entertaining, thought provoking but still in many ways misleading documentary film. “While still criticized for its creative distortions, Robert Flaherty’s groundbreaking documentary of Eskimo life is among the most important films of the silent era.”
He would collect a fair amount of footage for his film, unscripted, and would reconstruct any damaged or problematic material. “A strong narrative drive mixed with dramatic reconstruction informs this film and Flaherty’s other work, including “Moana: A Romance of the Golden Age” (1926), “Man of Aran” (1934), “The Land” (1941) and “Louisiana Story” (1949)”
Surround sound Arch Bishop. Dead rat stink O' Pratchett. Those nerds had better not consider themselves anywhere near me. Countryside blur, rape, clouds, clear blue and lucozade stained. This was changed to consume energy drinks in Greenwich, Connecticut. There has been at least one case report of diabetic rats. Blood sugar levels outside the normal range may be staining clusters of cells. Sales have resulted in two golden diabetic rats. Concert tours are named “The Scientific Study Of Dreams”. There is not a universally accepted biological definition of REM sleep in adult golden rats. A lie (also called prevarication, falsehood) is a type of police service provided by the Hampshire Constabulary.
“The things he’ll do for this band, you know I tried to take him to hospital but he wouldn’t have it. He was acting really crazy, blood running down his nose – clearly this stunt of his has gone too far.”... “Yeah but it looked so convincing, the guy he got to do the fake attack was really scary”...“It wasn’t self harm though was it? Alan, do you have to keep filming?”... “Not exactly, he did co-ordinate the whole thing himself. He must have raised his head up too high when his scary looking mate was doing the jabbing motion.”... “Who was that bloke anyway? He made a quick exit after the stunt.”... “I’ve never seen him before; Matt’s kept him secret from us all. I was trying to get some sense out of him after the gig but he was in a trance. All he kept saying was “How did it look? How did it look?” while frantically packing our stuff away. I thought it was just the usual post-gig paranoia but when we got in ten minutes ago he just got into bed and fell to sleep.”... “Oh nothings wrong really, it’s just that I’ve got this weird uncle, he used to be involved in the Punk scene, you know The Pistols, The Clash”...
Countryside black, sneeze, clouds, clear blue and lucozade stained. Only just set off. Hard to stay sober and remain upbeat. Push the boulder up the mountain. Exposing too much flesh. Keeping up appearances. Statistical buzzing. Food in a belly. Egg shell crackle. Special K women. Late twenties, thirties, forties. I've got an appetite. Kick me up the arse. Sit back, look back. I don't mean to stick a knife if your back, I don't mean to lash out mean... But everywhere I go I seem to see Mel Gibson. This journey got tricky early. Power wield, shield from belly ache. Don't look up. The first stop off point. Drain the lizards. Over-priced hydration. Meat bog. I made the right wrong decision. Energy meal. Psychonaut codes. Cross-words. Seasonal swinging. Eye on the sign, eyes on the road. Do you believe in the “Royal Wedding Time Code”?
He definitely had a fascination with actuality, by watching “Nanook” I get a feeling that he wanted to make a great legend come to life, by avoiding modern developments in the Inuit life he managed to celebrate a former way of living, which would have been actuality years before. In this sense, the film is more of an historical documentary than a document of then contemporary Inuit existence.
I will be criticising his films for this very reason. Actuality in itself is a very difficult term, it could simply be ‘existence’ in some determinate time, but in the context of the media, it is film or sound footage of events as they actually happened. The main problem with this definition in terms of most film (documentaries for example) is the distortion of genuine actuality, because footage is rearranged and organised before it is presented to viewers, or in Flaherty’s case, completely re-staged. Flaherty has been labelled as the father of documentary film, in many ways his films do capture the true nature of documentary, but with such naivety, his work becomes problematic to define. “Flaherty may be naive: in his naïveté, however, he really says what he feels and avoids making hasty conclusions”
The Michael Rabiger statement explains documentary film in very simple terms. There is a point where film stops just being a collection of footage and becomes a constructed text. It is the interference, manipulation and re arrangement of raw footage that brings this term “documentary” to life. However, documentary is a very broad type of film making, mainly because of the varied approaches and intentions of different film makers. “Documentary’ is the loose and highly contested label given, internationally, to certain kinds of film and television (and sometimes radio programmes) which reflect and report on ‘the real’ through the use of recorded images and sounds of actuality.”
“Well he’s been phoning me up quite a bit recently, my Dad has hardly even heard from him in five years but he’s been back in the area for the past couple of months.”... “Is he harassing you, did he do things to you as a kid?”... “Shut up you stupid tart!”... “Why did you have to bring that silly fuck round here? Women should be seen and not heard!”... “I know mate, I’m sorry – what’s the deal with this uncle”... “Dyson, John Dyson is his name. He’s aright; my Dad gave him my number a while ago because he'd phoned up asking about the music magazine I write for.”... “Why the sudden interest?”... “I don’t know. I reckon he’s had some sort of mid-life crisis and now he wants to know about all these new bands. It happens a lot to all these old rockers.”... “Well you know what I mean, anyway it turns out that he used to write for a magazine back in those days too, he even made a couple of documentaries about some unknown groups.”... “So what happened to him? Why did he lose track of the scene?”... “It happens I suppose, he had a family and moved away to work as an insurance salesman in Wales.”... “But now he’s back on the scene, his kids are grown up and his wife died a few years ago. He’s renting a flat a few miles away – but he keeps phoning me!”... “Well, to be honest I don’t know why he contacts me at all considering what he’s got planned. I was writing a review of the SUPERDOOPERSOUND festival when my phone rang.”...
The most extreme case of reconstruction in “Nanook” is the igloo sequence, for the internal shots a set was built, because the original footage was destroyed. The films of Andy Warhol are also useful when trying to probe these meanings of documentary and actuality. The concept of having very little input into the creative process and relying purely on the minimal content is something I find interesting, as it is difficult to define. This technique is an exciting approach to film making because it relies on a single subject (a location or a person) and the rest is up to chance. This subtle way of documentation is perhaps one of the most effective ways of obtaining actuality. “Empire” (1964) for example is a piece of film showing the Empire State Building, which runs for eight hours and five minutes, unedited, with no music. “Screen Tests” (1964 -1966) however, involved many famous people that were filmed individually in front of a camera on a tripod for a length of time and were told to not move or blink.
“Mitch! My favourite nephew, how are ya? It’s Uncle John!”... “Well I’m just about to do some research for a documentary I’m planning to make; it’s going to be like the ones I used to film back in the late 70’s. I’m a little out of touch with the local scene; I’m in Cradley Heath right now. There’s a rehearsal studio here.”... “Right, are you going to interview some musicians or something?”... “Maybe, I’m not sure where to start; could you give me a couple of cool local bands that I could mention?”... “Well I doubt you’ll find anything worthwhile in Cradley Heath but I’m sure the simpletons there have heard of the local legends “Table Salt Assault” and there is this really interesting new band called “King’s Fanny Gay Day””...”That’s great, OK so that’s “Table Salt Assault” and what was the other one?”...“King’s Fanny Gay Day”... “Aright John, how can I help you?”... “I’m doing some research for a documentary I’m making about the current music scene in the area.”... “I’m hoping to focus on a really interesting group in particular, so far I haven’t found anything that really stands out.”...
Some sense of national identity is just about alive inside, slowly dying, crippled and in a heap. I hold the note up to the light and to my surprise, the Queens head does not appear, in fact nothing appears at first, but then I start to make out a word, no two words, no wait is says “s p e n d…..m e…….you fukker, haha, you fukkker!!!” and then a strobe comes on and there are massive amplifiers everywhere all blasting out a sample, all booming “DOUBLE STANDARDS”. Jesus Christ, I think I’ve had enough to drink. I snap out of this for a second and quickly look around, the words on the note have gone, what the fuck have I been drinking? I leave instantly, sweating and red with embarrassment I proceed to walk down the cold street, streaming flows of consciousness, dollar marks and pound signs raining down from the sky like cats and dogs. Nothing is making sense, I need to get home and eat something before I faint...
Don't be afraid of the darkie, invited it to Christmas party / let it beat on Auntie. Every clue he left makes more sense now, but every time those clues just lead on. They gave advice from a hundred different weird directions, know it's impossible to please each and every person, when displaced and nervous, alone and weak and at service. “It seems we're doomed unless we try to listen to each other, so please, it's hard enough to stand up tall. We will not make it if we don't start understanding soon all our people will stare into thin air and wonder why so much is broken and deflated. But I need to come to terms my plans aren't fool proof, no shelter living in a house without it's roof. I feel displaced and nervous, alone and weak and at your service. Duke Nuke and his kids, the poor cloned invalids.” Waiting for the world to end on a Friday night, but then, your name, hear your voice aright. Churning out to focus mind, because like the chemicals we need to survive, the leaves on the trees are looking at me, they seem to wave goodbye in the autumn breeze.
We can take on a world that never really makes much sense but we can write, we can sing, think about all the happiness we can bring. Feel inspired when you're tired, I will hold you in my arms, through the storms, past the tears, I've waited for you through the years. On Sunday morning knowing everyone is worried for me on such a long journey, it's no problem, I'll get home for tea. We played our songs inside a giant kitchen, under a pub. We can have a good time and go for a drive, and I will hold your hand throughout the good and the bad. But life is so strange it seems to shift and warp and spin just like the wind, If our sounds could break the ground, I don't want to feel like I have sinned. Talk the talk, walk the walk, we can't disarm the clever bombs. Number tens, houses white.
Again I find the notion of actuality quite difficult; everyone does have their own preconceived ideas about what is real and true. Documentary film or any kind of edited footage (such as news items on television) has been creatively treated on some level unlike two hours of surveillance camera footage for example which would not be contaminated by any external influence. What is also being questioned here is the definition of the term documentary. If someone were to screen a two hour film of unaltered surveillance camera footage, would that be seen as a form of documentary? It certainly is a document of actuality, but it belongs to no one. The Rabiger statement claims “at its best, the documentary film reflects a fascination with, and profound respect for, actuality”. This is a fair point, however because documentary is such a broad term, it is important to consider other factors that make up a good documentary film, such as style, editing and the engagement with the subject matter.“A documentary representation is one in which the carefully selected raw material, or edited footage, is creatively or “artfully” edited or “interpreted” to reveal truths which would otherwise evade the camera” This statement from Keith Beattie relates to how Flaherty used his footage, title sequences and captions to represent a way of life in a distinctively dramatic way that creates tension, excitement and humour as well as attempting to document a way of life. He achieves this by blatantly disregarding genuine actuality and replacing it with a form of story telling. Reconstruction, the dramatic re-staging of events operates through many of the conventions of a fictional realist drama”
“You don’t understand.” he murmured to himself, seeking some kind of personal moral assurance, but of course none can be found when you are as weak as he is. Writing these words, this script in his head, he builds up the courage to detach his mind from this given, mundane reality and dissolves into the broadest sense of escape past boundaries of time and comprehension. “888888888, these are what I have waited for and now I wait no more.” A voice whispered. “Oi, mate, there’s no point waiting to get served here, they need more staff, go around the other side, and they’ll congregate round there” When I finally realise that this charming oaf is talking to me, he has already lost interest and has carried on reading his newspaper at the bar. I half understand and then mumble “it’s the time of year”, aware that my fly is undone I quickly run around the other side of the bar, zip up and wrestle with my wallet to pull out my ten pound note. When I pull the money out I get a strange urge to hold the note up to the light, I do this casually but I am aware of a small audience of balding, smoke-stained and drink infested middle aged factory workers keeping a vaguely interested eye on me.
3 knocks on my door, lets me know it's you. Waking up a state, staying up too late, bide my precious time, thoughts of you sublime. Draw some more cartoons. I close my eyes real tight to block out all the light. CALL OUT A NAME IN A TWISTED UTOPIAN DREAM ICONOCLASTIC PLASTIC FANTASTIC ON THE BIBLE BELT OUR LOGIC IS BENT OUR PATIENCE IS SPENT THE WORST FEELING WE EVER FELT DON'T WORRY ABOUT HOW IT'S SPELT WHERE ALL OF THE BANDS ARE LABEL MATES AND SING IN THE SAME VOICE SOMEONE ELSE WILL CONTROL SOUND AND YOU WILL HAVE NO CHOICE ORDINARY PEOPLE CAN'T GET OUT AND ONLY THE RICH FOLKS LEAVE PROCLAIM YOU ARE THE DREAM BECAUSE YOU ARE MAKE BELIEVE NOTHING UP-SLEEVE. ALL OF THE TIME IN ALL OF THE WORLD. He stood upright, looked around and realised that he was surrounded by the dead, disguised as the living. In a communal feeding factory, filled with bright lights and the aroma of regurgitated microwave food, he moved through the room whilst questioning every glance.
“What makes this a lesser film than Nanook is that we don’t really get a sense of who these people are” However, there is no denying the huge amount of love and passion in Flaherty’s work which shines through and breathes life into his films. “A passion for wanting to penetrate the mystery of the real. Whether you use fiction or documentary is just a matter of the strategy you adopt to get close to the essence of being alive.” Flaherty lived with, and became closely connected with his subjects. The first footage of Inuit life shot by Flaherty was destroyed and so he had to re-shoot. This trust would have enabled Flaherty to manipulate his “characters” so when it came to re-shooting he would’ve had far more control over the direction of the film. An interesting comparison here is Louis Theroux. He lives with and becomes ‘friends’ with his subjects in order to obtain a trust, which in a sense enables him to exploit them.
Hugo arrives just in time to witness the men leaving their bodies and reporting to “The Branches” - a highly dangerous yet profoundly powerful spiritual location. They form the basis of or are important constituents of many products including a hormone that is synthesized in the body. Dispensing of medication is often regulated by the controller of “The Branches”, which often leaves Hugo thirsty for more. In fact, leaders in such regimes often attempt to deliberately blur the lines between "human" history and “other” by using numerous “other” technologies. The native English term “Man” is now often reserved for male adults but the controller of “The Branches” is now known as THE NEW MAN.
“Aright Dogger, cheers for getting the drinks in.”... “The band knows I’ve got this stunt planned at our next gig where someone is going to attack me on-stage. I haven’t told anyone who’s doing the stunt yet because; well, I want you to do it.”... “I know, but at the end of our last song I want you to burst through the crowd and pretend to kill me with this.”... “It doesn’t matter, all that matters is you wait for me to say “this is our last one” and that’s your cue to go outside, get the vacuum from out of your car, come back inside and then when I put my guitar down and start dancing you jump on stage and pretend to pummel me. I’ll fall to the floor, it’ll be hilarious.”... “Jesus, what if someone tries to stop me? It’ll look like that Noel Gallagher thing in Canada.”... “No one will try and stop you because they’ll know some crazy stunt has been planned, I just need you to keep quiet about it so we can retain the element of surprise.”... “Okay, give me the hoover and I’ll have a think about it. When and where is the gig?”... “I’ll do it, but if I accidentally hit you in the face I’m not taking the blame.”... “That’s great news, really great news – I owe you one. How’s your dog?”... “He’s OK, bollock-less but he’s OK.”...
Flaherty made some legendary films; his work manages to capture such energy, life and genuine qualities of the human spirit, it is difficult not to feel inspired and intrigued by this pioneering film maker.