Sunday, July 31, 2005

July 2005

Audio:










[Unida - The Great Divide/Dividing The Divine (unreleased album)]


















































Books:




DVD/VCR:

Other:

Friday, July 29, 2005

even bad poets love death

Quotes of the day:

"To me, killing people is like ripping up a duvet."
(Anatoly Onoprienko a.k.a. Terminator)

"Killing a woman was like cutting a loaf of bread."
(Rickard Milat a.k.a. Backpacker Killer)

"She was a very good friend, so I thought I must eat her."
(Issei Sagawa a.k.a. The Japanese Cannibal)

"A sucker is born every minute."
(Aleister Crowley)

Thursday, July 21, 2005

Lucy Liu

Waking up is one of the great pleasures in life, but waking up with absolutely nothing on schedule is even better, so with a perfect ease this morning I uncorked a bottle of wine, a bottle of beer and a bottle of some crazy liqueur seasoned with almond.
So I just sat the fuck down, listened to music (Venom’s double CD collection “From Heaven To The Unknown”, Death Strike’s “Fuckin’ Death” and the first Sindrome demo), ran mute Sopranos episodes on VCR, drank myself senseless and took a nap.
It was allright, nothing to write home about, but a pretty good morning nevertheless.
And, yes, here’s a picture of Lucy Liu:

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Baby, disco is fuck

...and there are Black Metal photos, them scary ones:




















swing of the axe

There are fuckloads of bad album covers - as much as there are lists of bad album covers.

I'll just put two of my favourites:

Monday, July 11, 2005

spark up your miserable life

How sad is this?

“There are dead stars that still shine because their light is trapped in time. Where do I stand in this light, which does not strictly exist?” (Don Delillo – Cosmopolis)

oggy oggy

We all know the brilliant TV-show The Office.



According to Popbitch;

“Backstage at Live8 Ricky Gervais was at the side of the stage. Paris Hilton walked up to him and said how much she liked his stuff.

Ricky: "Have we met before?"
Paris: "Yes. I'm Paris Hilton"
Ricky: "Oh, sorry Paris, I didn't recognise you without a cock in your mouth."

Exit Paris in a huff.”



Damn funny.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Of thee we sing

I finally found author David Benioff’s script (or its draft, at least) for Spike Lee’s 25th Hour because I’ve been wanting to read and revise the New York City –monologue that was so aptly interpreted by Edward Norton in the bathroom scene of the movie.


"Fuck me? Fuck you! Fuck you and this whole city and everyone in it. Fuck the panhandlers, grubbing for money, and smiling at me behind my back. Fuck squeegee men dirtying up the clean windshield of my car. Get a fucking job! Fuck the Sikhs and the Pakistanis bombing down the avenues in decrepit cabs, curry steaming out their pores and stinking up my day. Terrorists in fucking training. Slow the fuck down! Fuck the Chelsea boys with their waxed chests and pumped up biceps. Going down on each other in my parks and on my piers, jingling their dicks on my Channel 35. Fuck the Korean grocers with their pyramids of overpriced fruit and their tulips and roses wrapped in plastic. Ten years in the country, still no speaky English? Fuck the Russians in Brighton Beach. Mobster thugs sitting in cafés, sipping tea in little glasses, sugar cubes between their teeth. Wheelin' and dealin' and schemin'. Go back where you fucking came from! Fuck the black-hatted Chassidim, strolling up and down 47th street in their dirty gabardine with their dandruff. Selling South African apartheid diamonds! Fuck the Wall Street brokers. Self-styled masters of the universe. Michael Douglas, Gordon Gecko wannabe motherfuckers, figuring out new ways to rob hard working people blind. Send those Enron assholes to jail for fucking life! You think Bush and Cheney didn't know about that shit? Give me a fucking break! Tyco! Imclone! Adelphia! Worldcom! Fuck the Puerto Ricans. 20 to a car, swelling up the welfare rolls, worst fuckin' parade in the city. And don't even get me started on the Dom-in-i-cans, because they make the Puerto Ricans look good. Fuck the Bensonhurst Italians with their pomaded hair, their nylon warm-up suits, and their St. Anthony medallions. Swinging their, Jason Giambi, Louisville slugger, baseball bats, trying to audition for the Sopranos. Fuck the Upper East Side wives with their Hermés scarves and their fifty-dollar Balducci artichokes. Overfed faces getting pulled and lifted and stretched, all taut and shiny. You're not fooling anybody, sweetheart! Fuck the uptown brothers. They never pass the ball, they don't want to play defense, they take fives steps on every lay-up to the hoop. And then they want to turn around and blame everything on the white man. Slavery ended one hundred and thirty seven years ago. Move the fuck on! Fuck the corrupt cops with their anus violating plungers and their 41 shots, standing behind a blue wall of silence. You betray our trust! Fuck the priests who put their hands down some innocent child's pants. Fuck the church that protects them, delivering us into evil. And while you're at it, fuck JC! He got off easy! A day on the cross, a weekend in hell, and all the hallelujahs of the legioned angels for eternity! Try seven years in fuckin Otisville, Jay! Fuck Osama Bin Laden, Alqueda, and backward-ass, cave-dwelling, fundamentalist assholes everywhere. On the names of innocent thousands murdered, I pray you spend the rest of eternity with your seventy-two whores roasting in a jet-fueled fire in hell. You towel headed camel jockeys can kiss my royal, Irish ass! Fuck Jacob Elinski, whining malcontent. Fuck Francis Xavier Slaughtery, my best friend, judging me while he stares at my girlfriend's ass. Fuck Naturel Rivera. I gave her my trust and she stabbed me in the back. Sold me up the river. Fucking bitch. Fuck my father with his endless grief, standing behind that bar. Sipping on club soda, selling whiskey to firemen and cheering the Bronx Bombers. Fuck this whole city and everyone in it. From the row houses of Astoria to the penthouses on Park Avenue. From the projects in the Bronx to the lofts in Soho. From the tenements in Alphabet City to the brownstones in Park slope to the split levels in Staten Island. Let an earthquake crumble it. Let the fires rage. Let it burn to fuckin ash then let the waters rise and submerge this whole, rat-infested place."

Saturday, July 02, 2005

You don’t ‘nice’ your way to respect, you fucking scare it into them

I ran across a police officer today. He invited me to his home where I talked with his wife, drank spring water and washed my hands. Great people. Nice house.

They listen to toilet bowls these days

Four Finnish men, and a pig, celebrate Christmas in the middle of a summer. It includes male nudity, stiff drinks and an innovative makeshif...