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Claire Angelique, Standard Bank Young Artist of the Year for Film 2010, screens her Jhb premiere of her new feature film PALACE OF BONE on FRIDAY 5 AUGUST 7PM at the BIOSCOPE INDEPENDENT CINEMA, 6 FOX STREET (MAIN STREET LIFE)  which showed to rave reviews at the recent National Arts Festival, Grahamstown 2011.

PALACE of BONE, is the documentation over a couple of months of the strangely unstable day to day life of Faith – a scarred but brazen and quirky twenty five year old.

Filmed entirely on cellular phones by her devoted best friend, the enigmatic Po, (who is rarely seen in front of the camera except in reflections, turning her back to Mecca…), we are allowed a voyeuristic peek into their friend’s squats, downtown bars and are privy to bedroom confessions. That is all until we realise that the ominous sequence of Faith’s actions due to likely severe psychological problems have forced Faith to escape the city and take to the hills.   

What we as an audience get to experience is Po’s last days with her comrade in the Palace of Bone; a euphemism for both the backstreets, backrooms and backdoors of the city of Durban and the cache of queer insights and outlooks of Faith, a girl who feels she is bigger than her world and thus has some rather unorthodox answers to curb her frustration.

The film ends with us only sort of certain that Faith was last seen on August 15 2008, smoking a joint beside rusty train tracks north of Botha’s Hill. What we are certain of is that there are six dead bodies in Durban harbour….

The film will be introduced by Claire Angelique who will be available to answer questions after the screening

”After the intensity and catharsis of  My Black Little Heart, her new film Palace of Bone is a step away from savagely personal. In fact it’s anything but autobiographical. Still, Angelique’s trademark dark, beautiful imagery pervades, as do the thematic obsessions with the underbelly and the underdog.’‘  – Cue

“To be assaulted by a South African film made by a young Durban girl which is totally original and unique and which is made with a total respect and understanding of film language is very rare, She is one the best that we have in South Africa, and her talent should not be ignored.”

-Trevor Steele Taylor, film curator National Arts Festival, Grahamstown

‘’Claire Angelique’s extraordinary Palace of Bone will undoubtedly create a far-reaching impact. Although it is an unconventional film, it is rooted in mainstream popular culture. In particular reality television and the technological devices that have engendered a culture of (self) documentation. Angelique enjoys blurring the lines between fact and fiction, so the reality/documentary mode suits her aesthetic well…. In a way Palace of Bone is a twisted whodunit. But there are so many levels of meaning in this fascinating mockumentary.’’ Mary Corrigall – The Sunday Independent

TRAILOR:

http://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D1BPDoGZeSZg&h=_AQB45sHy

CLIP FROM PALACE OF BONE

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xGvrECdo0TU

FACEBOOK EVENT PAGE

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THE BIOSCOPE CINEMA BOOKING PAGE

http://www.thebioscope.co.za/

 

 

 

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beautiful cinematography by Anthony Dod Mantle - Chloe and Zuko - a scene from My Black Little Heart

My Black Little Heart

Friday 27 May 2011 21:00

The Bioscope – Johannesburg

286 Fox Road – Maboneng – Street Life on Main

R40

To be assaulted by a South African film made by a young Durban girl which is totally original and unique and which is made with a total respect and understanding of film language is very rare, She is one the best that we have in South Africa, and her talent should not be ignored.”

                    • Trevor Steele Taylor, film curator National Arts Festival, Grahamstown

Durban city’s underbelly gets ripped open in Claire Angelique’s début feature film My Black Little Heart. The Bioscope is proud to be screening this film, certainly one of the most daring and ground breaking film to have come out of South Africa. Claire will answer questions after screening..(further details below)

SPECIAL UPDATE – YOUR R40 includes DOCUMENARY AND AFTER PARTY

COME PARTY with us at the CHALKBOARD CAFE after the MY BLACK LITTLE HEART screening. YOUR R40 MBLH TICKET GETS YOU EXCLUSIVE ENTRANCE TO DJ’S, DANCING AND DRINKS (Licensed for the evening)

PLUS PLUS PLUS – a mini documentary about Jhb’s most notorious and controversial industrial band of the 90’s –  LIVE JIMMY PRESLEY.  Edited by the film makers into a 20 minute version especially for the night, LJP will screen just prior to MY BLACK LITTLE HEART.

Tickets can be bought online at www.thebioscope.co.za

Or visit http://www.facebook

FILM MAKER IN ATTENDANCE

EXCLUSIVE Q&A WITH CLAIRE ANGELIQUE POST SCREENING

Claire Angelique is the first female winner of the

STANDARD BANK YOUNG ARTIST AWARD for film.

Her new feature film PALACE OF BONE premiers at the

NATIONAL ARTS FESTIVAL

GRAHAMSTOWN 2011.

Set and shot in the city of Durban, My Black Little Heart pummels the viewer into a world where Internet porn on Durban’s beach front meets Nigerian voodoo in the inner city and a young girl from the wrong side of the track-marks finds herself stuck in a hazy sub-city seaside vortex of decrepit flats, poisoned streets and abandoned office blocks littered with self mutilators, ex-cons, gangsters, street delinquents, hustlers and addicts.

Telling the tale of a heroin user/dancer, My Black Little Heart, is beautifully shot by Anthony Dod Mantle (behind the camera of many of Lars Von Triers films). Using mostly non-actors, the film’s dark subject matter finds its counterpoint in its dreamlike and non-linear narrative. It chronicles both a deeply personal narrative and a city in transition. With a soundtrack by Chris Letcher and a resonating local narrative, the film presents a thoroughly original view of the world. Durban has never looked more beautiful or more ugly.

‘one of the best drug movies I’ve ever seen’ – Andrew Worsdale

‘you’re horrified, but you can’t quite tear yourself away’ – Shaun De Waal

‘This powerful film My Black Little Heart, by Claire Angelique, is about female sexuality, freedom and the rituals of friendship. It is a striking example of S.A cinema at it’s best’ – Barry Ronge

‘Occasionally at festivals such as the National Arts Festival one unearths someone one genuinely believes will rise above current constraints to become a beacon for others to follow. Claire Angelique is one such individual. Part kook, part poetess, resplendently slugging a can of Guinness, she holds court on all matters filmic.” – Mark Lloyd

Claire is unique, a true individual. She sees the world in a way that no one else does.” – Darryl James Roodt. “

If she never makes another film after My Black Little Heart she will go down in history as the author of the most powerful South African film made to date.” – Aryan Kaganof

Tickets can be bought online at www.thebioscope.co.za

Or visit https://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=195445973835124

https://claireangelique.wordpress.com/

http://www.youtube.com/papasalubi

FILM MAKER IN ATTENDANCE….WITH RUM….FOR Q&A SESSION POST SCREENING

https://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=198147733560556

is it really so strange?

Inertia, i’ve been wearing these white trainers for 7 years, endurance, laziness, its one and the same really. Wolves at the door, me shivering like a scared child, keep them at bay, I pray, keep me saved. I’m chomping sleeping tablets in the afternoon, fairly commenting on white owl’s eyes, may all your days be gold my child, babies in photos, everyones growing up. 7 years I tell you, walking through mud and shit, tar and divorce, uncertainty, madness is eating the left side of the brain, I feel its inky labyrinth twisted and contorting the still waves.

If only I didn’t have to look at my hands, if only I could stop the let down, travelling back from the airport, why didn’t I just go to sleep, why did’nt I just stop the madness. Its movement without breaks this travelling synagogue of soiled dreams i’ve built, what to do but crash, what to do but look out to the hills one last time, mutter under the breadth, bend the forks with a thought, keep moving, keep worshipping, pushed to kneel, a servant of this slave, the gods will eventually do me in, they’ll damn well better do me in. Franciscans be weary, Assissi has burnt down and a single stream of smoke is shaped like my former face, the one I tested my friendship with. Oh mark we miss you.

I dont’ feel real anymore, did you take your tablets, she asked, she said, it will all be better soon, just get the spoon, add the sugar, calm your head..

for one last time, I make my case. You junkie scum, you fuckin addict, you’re a piece of shit, worthless, look what you’ve done to your mother the comments come pouring in, well fuck you all, don’t fuckin read what you can’t deal with, don’t come on here with your sanctimonious words, your advice sucks. And through all the blood and shit and urine soaked corners, and dirty bedlinens, the cracked bowls and I owe you’s I promise you’s I use I yuse, theres always one more chance, aint there?

You get a last one i’m sure, and who are you to dictate when that is. I’ll find it in books, i’ll find it on the last pages burned onto the face of that meteor thats about to wipe out your sorry feat. I defy death, I wink and flirt with it. I cannot be killed. I cannot die..

What makes my story better than yours? I’ll tell you, the very fucking fact that i’m telling it. If you can’t be bothered, don’t bother

Do you know your Nafs? I’m dodging planets, walking on the moon, face down, bled, mislead, a single light is enough sometimes to pull you astray, its one rocky road this, I’ll be damned. This earth is scorched.

I awoke to about twenty faces seated on chairs, looking up, I was speaking, is this me, i’m laughing in my head for whats coming out is confused and inbred. You were wonderful my dear, but you were asleep on my shoulder in the car. That was dear trevor. Four days with no sleep, riding this one into the ground, editing the fuck, I’m on the nod standing up, stabbed my hand with the scissors,…accident…blood all over the toilets, no drivers license, shuttled off, hello computer.

Fake hair breathes fake visions. Speed traps, tracks, community based projects. Wandering around downtown grahamstown. Hooking up with Joseph, we’re so continental, went from zulu to xhosa, to malawi, ghana and back to nigeria. I tip my hat at the small guy who arrives outside the bar with the goods. I’m no missionary but I always find myself in this position. I’m no fake, i’m a fake. I’m the dog that ate your birthday cake. This is your journey’s end, my friend. Just one day at a time, one long day.

And thank you for the well wishes, dear hearts, those who send the thoughts that I can reread whilst trapped in another rehabilitation program, oh they are endless these start again thingamujigs but I appreciate the words, its just you know its just.. too much smoke, too few mirrors, I cut an icy exterior, i’m looking bad, real bad, scars, bloated, wrinkled, forlorn, insecure, dodgy eyes, water gripe water, do you know how long thats been going on for…years I tell ye.

Proclivity and anti climax, new tax for the newly initiated. I have lots to do but feint want of doing it at all. Eyes and spies come at you like fame if you believe the papers. Waggish and ill fitted I bother to stand and walk, talking is another matter altogether, oh what coquettish life we lead when first we practise to deceive. I before eve except after sleep.

Don’t be malevolent she warns me, try just for a while how bad can it get. Bad enough that I gave him his first line, a car wash entrepeneur, jailed for burglary, sitting in my plush 4 star bed and breakfast watching me shoot up, talking about malema, the anc youth league in the eastern cape whilst I flit about, he eyes me with respect, he knows he’s on show.

And the tanzanians are moving in, ill shoe repair benches outside shopping malls are where i’m to be found, good stuff too, bigger prouder, whiter, browner. Omar with a grin that could teach the world a thing or three. Kenneth’s not liking the competition. Thank god for these white walls protectinng me from what I want, thank god for the restrictions on cellphones, the ibuprofen and the warm blankets. Warmest Restoration i’ve had in a while. And he can slap my face, throw viscious words, stop the car, spit at me, hate me, love me, I do not care for I am now…for now….i am just another sparrow.

Some days I just wanna up and call it quits,
I feel like I’m surrounded by a wall of bricks,
Every time I go to get up I just fall in pits,
My life’s like one great big ball of shit,

If I could just put it all in to all I spit,
‘Stead I always try an’ swallow it,
Instead of staring at this wall and shit,
While I sit writers block sick of all this shit,
Can’t call it shit,

all I know is I’m about to hit the wall,
If I have to see another one of Mom’s alcoholic fits,
This is it, last straw, that’s all, that’s it,
I ain’t dealin’ widdanother fuckin’ politic,

I’m like a skillet bubblin’ until it filters up,
I’m about to kill it, I can feel it buildin’ up,
Blow this buildin’ up, I’ve concealed enough,
My cup run’ith over, I done filled it up

The pen explodes n’ busts, ink spills my guts,
You’d think all I do is stand here and feel my nuts,
Well I’ma show you what, you gon’ feel my rush,
You don’t feel it then it must be too real to touch,
Peel the dutch, I’m about to tear shit up,

Goosebumps, yeah, I’ma make ya hair sit up,
Yeah, sit up, I’ma tell ya who I be,
I’ma make you hate me, ’cause you ain’t me,
You wait, it ain’t too late to finally see,
What you close minded fucks were too blind to see,
Whoever finds me’s gonna get a finder’s fee,
Out this world, ain’t no one out they mind as me,

You need peace of mind, here’s a piece of mine,
All I need’s a line but sometimes,
I don’t always find the words ta rhyme,
To express how I’m really feelin’ at that time,
Yeah sometimes, sometimes, sometimes, just sometimes,

It’s always me, how dark can these hallways be?
The clock strikes midnight, 1, 2, then half-past 3,
This half-assed rhyme with this half-assed piece a’ paper,

I’m desperate at my desk if I could just get the rest,
Of this shit off my chest, again, stuck in this slump,
Can’t think of nothing, fuck I’m stumped,
But wait here comes something,

Nope, it’s not good enough, scribble it out, new pad,
Crinkle it up ‘n throw that shit out,
I’m fizzlin’ now, thought I figured it out,
Ball’s in my court but I’m scared to dribble it out,

I’m afraid, but why am I afraid, why am I a slave to this trade,
Cyanide I’ll spit to the grave, real enough to rile you up,
Want me to flip it I can rip it any style you want,

I’m a switch hitter bitch, Jimmy Smith ain’t a quitter,
I’m a sit here ’til I get enough,
For me to finally hit a fuckin’ boilin’ point,
Put some oil in ya joints,
Flip the coin, bitch, come get destroyed,

An MC’s worst dream I make ’em tense they hate me,
See me and shake like a chain-link fence,
By the looks of ’em you would swear that Jaws was comin’,
By the screams of ’em you would swear I’m sawing someone,
By the way they running you would swear the law was comin’,
It’s now or never and tonight it’s all or nothin’,

Momma, Jimmy keeps leavin’ on us, he said he’d be back,
He pinky promised, I don’t think he’s honest,
I be back baby, I just got to beat this clock,
Fuck this clock, I’ma make ’em eat this watch,
Don’t believe me watch, I’ma win this race,
and I’ma come back and rub my shit in ya face,
Bitch, I found my niche, you gon’ hear my voice,
‘Til you sick of it you ain’t gonna have a choice,
If I gotta scream ’til I have half a lung,
If I have half a chance I grab it, Rabbit, run.

eminem – rabbit run

pray do not talk so loud you might be overheard

I’m a always shooting. I’m a fiend, I’m a sniper.

The inner arm, the highway, in the back rooms

I pay my piper,

inside toilets, petrol stations, in bars or lost friends squats,

abandoned factories, in my bedroom and late night parking spots .

You see, I’m intrigued I’m fascinated,

I’m serene whilst assassinated,

I’m committed I am focused,

me the piranha, me the locust..

I will shoot for me, I will shoot for you…I will shoot when you don’t really want me to.

I shoot when I feel good, I shoot when I feel low, I shoot because I have to, I shoot, I shoot to blow.

Its a trying one this, the curious always ask,

from where does it originate? How do you decide?

What sparked the idea? Why oh why oh why?

I cannot fathom answers, I have no correct reply,

I only know the feeling and the mantra ‘have a try’.

It soothes me all this shooting, it keeps emotion live,

it feeds the soul, it has it role in this dire life of mine.

When the adrenaline is rushing when the eyes are bright with lust,

if a similar vein is mentioned, I know I feel I must.

The humdrum always softens, the madness steps one back,

I like to be here often, I like to bear this cross.

My vices cause me trouble, my calling keeps me broke,

I cannot stop this shooting and gossip I provoke.

What is man if not destined, to kill all that she loves,

and grotesque her thats sinned and excluded from above?

Shooting the sky at all cost, shooting the squalor the pain,

shooting my fellow scholar,shooting for loss and for gain.

We all have our defects, our iniquity lies so tame

And I?  I have my shooting, my fault I cannot blame

look how misty its got

Been long and starched hasn’t it
Riding solo, stuck with a right claw hand unable to flick a cigarette, cut a tomato or start the ignition, but you never ask questions when gods on your side do ya? I’ve been thinking i’ve been feeling that i’ve lost empathy, two baby pigeons kamikazied onto our back yard with black betty and charlie hanging around and i let them die – a deer got his horns stuck in the fence but i couldn’t give a fuck, i sat and listened to its squeals and fear and quietly alone with a cigarette and a quartz enjoyed the struggle and i’ve been scared scared scared that i’m losing my soul and slipping slipping into a vast space i cant decipher can’t yet yeti the path but i need to have to want to go,  with all my suspicions . conscience, curiosity lax and love and smidgeonof being stillyoung too to do just to do it cause the light and the laughter and the reflection is too good to miss out on, more weed and a bottle of beer a sub and a an em[pty packet on the floor to ignite dont burn the carpet or the duvet, or the sheets or the towels or the fuck, theres blood all over the place, rogue thoughts check mated and are on contemplation happy

i am now unfortunately, quietly living with the decision or choice, though rather a sick one, that i can either regain feeling of my right.write hand or carry on carrying on. I can write againm,] ty;pe yeah again, start ignitions again or do that again, its your alternativethe doctor said, i know which direction i’d take. And i wished away on sunday and it was great and the world softened and then well god fuck it my toothbrush tumbled down down

i just realise so many things in seconds then push them all away, get them down do it on the down low, the things i love and the things i must begin to loath or lose my other, hes coming with fire and brimstone and i just wish i coul dquench it could be an interesting 2010. . I think this is the year that will wish away beneath the sunny skies. The winds that have blown trees over onto my path have left me today, crumbled, singed, shining with sweat – have thought better have enjoyed a lonely night of deep sleep helped by the leaves from the boys next door, v and c and dreaming of dealers, rocks stars and sweet kisses..cell phone off dont disturb i’m thinking

deeply
So much to do and not one drip of effort, no feeling in legs, hair curled and the mirror image is of a dead man and the swallow.
God why has it become so difficult to write what i hear in my head, why are the thoughts hanging on the edge, fixing the nerves to the veins of boredom, oh yeah, of course, that, rubbish my son rubbish
and it will be ok they say, ok to drift, ok to wallow but only for a while. I went out with claire from kent and she told me so, she told me to wait, don’t two step yourself

everything i talk about think about is that, everything i want to write about, do about, live about is that
shut u[p you clawed all i want for xmas is my one front tooth drunken spawn
[nescit vox missareverti {that a word once uttered is irrevocable)
i take it all back

 

ive been picked by a rose

ive been pricked by a rose

 I’m getting pretty paranoid over everything. If its not the self obsessed pity party up north slamming the door in my face, stupid idea to even think they might share a bit of the dream its watchdogs on my back whenever i’m downtown. Im super scared of the camera on top of killarney, i see undercover spies in my rearview, the phone is tapped the other one mustnt be answered at all costs lest theire be insects from the other side waiting to crawl in. it might be the time that turns faster than a snitch with a panga aimed at his neck but i’ve been up 3 nights on the boil, opening and closing windows, writing songs that still don’t exist, smokin and spikin and on the fourth gently nodding off to to graceland on the toilet, up the chimney, everything seen backwards, lewis carrolled me to blank… I think theres too many mirrors in my room, too much reflection going on. Waiting for music, waiting for a sharp strike on the knuckles for my laissez faire approach to interviewing, waiting for godot. I stumble around the house, find myself in the midst of the forest looking for elephant tusks when all i am really looking for is reason. I don’t really remember the past 7 days, it involved bumping into a cop car, sorry officer, take deep breath darling and in the slammer till monday, it involved the blinding sun son in chatsworth, falling asleep whilst waiting for a prescription, the secretary knew i was under the tax but i couln’t care less, then writing writing writing why were there so many deadlines, this week dead being an appropriate description, if i didn’t have so much to write you know i wouldn’t indulge don’t you. You know its not my fault you know i can’t do it without mommas little helper

so i sit here, whats today again, thinking how i might have promised a blue angel burlesque show to isabelle, how i slept through andries’s elephant opening last night, that i have to have to have to complete golems effort today, that i need to feel the sun for a second, that bastard sun.

I have a friend who makes elephants instead of babies. I have friends who make excuses not to see me i have friends who make excuses to see me. I’ve come unstuck. I think i have three days left at the most then frampton comes alive. The bohemian dream is cracking, the money men are creeping in, they’re at the door with their pens and papers, they’re here to fix things, so they say, i’m here to destroy them

how many keepers can one man keep, how many leaders can one man lead. I tried to be funny in the column and failed miserably. The scare freezes me, but few understand. This film stuff is very complicated, i’m trying to find my musesolini in the midst of lies, treason and skin that so dry its dead.

They tell me its going to be easier than i think but its starting to sound like a clanger and i need more beer

LIVE THRU THIS

LIVE THRU THIS


I forget what i might have said, what i wanted to what i know must grow from The conversant self that sits and thinks in The evening abstracted away, pissed aside, bring another one, theyre hiding the vodka but I found the comfort. Rodney Rodney, make it snappy then..he who dares rodney, he who dares.. come on wet your whistle. The revolted rumblings that on The inside shake and rupture and feel so much beat that The walls on these three tumblers do stronger build. Sans links, diligence answer call, collapse attack. The sun is hot but The wind she is cool. I’ve reedited The scene i’ve delved into the very essense of das capitol but still The pill dissolves slow, still The feeling flushes fever and still i sit and wait and register The big dream The one i smoked and snorted away in abandon, fuck them all. The one i must have The one Cathy lost in The cold cold night with only a pane of glass separating her from her heart’s desire. I walk in coma, i breathe in routine, i fall asleep by The light of The lamp and wake with The sense that all is just a picture waiting for The canvas to burn. On certain afternoons The taut chest coughs up The residue of all this anger, i spit it on couches, carpets, glasses and faces without regret, i laugh at rationality during these dark days hoping and waiting impatiently that soon The ring and The whisper will extrapolate Themselves and find home in this irrational madness. No man nor woman can exist on bread alone and i have no bread and only The lonely to entertain The ring is on The wrong hand and The baby has died. Legs twitter and trainers discarded on floor will keep The untidy tidy, awaiting The great miracle that has been promised. She sits on my left telling me so, she sits on my right laughing, mocking this folly of hope. But i know better. I have read The greats i have watched The greats i have been entangled in them, i have fucked them and kicked them and dived into their genius. I am not alone, i lie, i lie waiting for The company, she is coming and I, I am merely early Besides tomorrow I’m interviewing placebo, today its just bok van blerk

i wanna score poppies

i wanna score poppies

Dear antonym, i cannot slumber, …………; again, 4 days of the infection and the hallucinations I am anxious to admit have started once all over again. The child in the corner, the schoolgirl screaming in my head, and she is loud, so loud that all the beauty of the silent night is superseded by her instructions

last night I edited until about 2am and then spent the next 3 hours appraising Great Expectations, which one does tend to do when the night air is cool, the brain ineffective and the breath short yeah I doze and slither open the eyes, roll a ciggie, turn the beam on and off, I have a crooks radiometer near my bed and its faint buzz and symphonic glow eases the sting the dawns light shreds my curtains, the theatre is now closed, the show is over, the dancers have all gone home to soak their toes in methylated spirits and the violinist counts backwards from 3,

they’re dark but never dark sufficiently so though I am beginning to enjoy the light, the fowls, the hangman on the wall, the rabbit in the shrub, the dew, the frost the early  mist, the dinosaur birds, the pigeon that flew into the gutter and left down and disease, i am alone and lonely in my space

There are many spiders here. But then there are many spiders all over the metropolis, yesterday I visited an old friend who informed me the cat was out the bag and working for the Christians, then Konnect from konnetikut told me he would offer gratis sallow sugar in exchange for information of this particular part of the ministry that had gone astray and a turf war is imminent, that I can assure you.

comical is how the city was maybe is today, blistering and clammy, black cardigans hanging out my window, then the battery died and a passing jeff gave me a shock that sent me on my means to the record label then to the high way then to the by ways then to the bottle store for quartz of quartz and then to the quarters and then to absolve work on the directors statement,

I astonish myself occasionally the way I formulate a word or three, something something about societal ethics and sweating the small stuff, and god do I not know what a motivational letter implies, I am at a loss of how to script it, but I tried thanks to the plazana the kwape the much needed powdery persuasion from the kind gentleman of Killarney who once stole my video camera and never gave it back but I guess that is what stealing means,

And then to the oven where food must be made and food must be eaten, but I have been unable to wolf for three days, just a few vinegar flings and a cashew nut. Then back to the script, then forward to the edit, but too tired and scared that hazy eyes create hazy metaphors so just a bout of blogging which is the most frivolous word too close to the toilet which Dickens and he must be writ in capitol, das kapitol,  mentions often that first kate and then mrs nickleby took turns to do ‘their toilet’ which I guess means their washing not merely just washing out, and i don’t know why a novelist would write such a thing, sure, the book is 900 pages on thin trees but surely the embellisment may pause over these vices…

and yes I know it is from Nicholas nickleby but I have great expectations none the less and the point remains the same,  I love a taste of the Victorian epoch but I love the 20’s and 40’s and 70’sin )that is so clever, equal measure, as good as adding ice to beer to increase the quench.

Do you know about the beat hotel in paris, there’s some fine-looking photos of the time lying around the net, black  and white as they should be and how depressed I am of films of late, what has happened to the cinematic countryside where did it go, did it just vanish in spite of itself, was it bulldozed over, did they build a shopping mall on top of it, or perhaps a housing estate, low cost, government owned, or maybe a parking lot for Toyota, or better yet a theme park, a kind of never ever again land or a soccer stadium for 2010 yes I am assured of it , that was what occurred, we needed a new stadium to fit the fighting germans and the underpriviledged who were not or will not be there for the beautiful game but merely to sit in the beautiful stands, purse allowance, shelter or soccer money, wr’e a free country you decide you lazy mutt…

or was it evolution, that it was just eaten up and how long has it been since I stumbled upon something that really enthused, and how I hate these lamentations, but when did a sound or a scene  got this bottom off the seat, the corpus collosum in a state..really now, I listened to enter shikari for the first time a month or so back and was quite impressed but no feelings still linger such as for instance finding artaud as a virgin enters the apple orchard or the volta or the secret history

Its all so so, so,

Alas, lass, there is a incomplete wooden statue at the back of the room of an elephant being eaten by a lion and it impels me to think aloud speaking of elephants I was with the elephant man yonder and received a right bashing, about being unable to got hold of, cell phones not being on, pixies turning into runts overnight (and I’ve never been one for the fantasiacal) and some slipped proposal of marriage, he looked old, and I looked bored, he looked despairing and I smoked another cigarette, I love him much but I know he lies to me they all eventually do and his earnestness comes at a price ….for him, not I, for I do not lie, I just dance on by

Not even a kiss, just like the other one, just like the last one, the older they are the harder the fall, the older they are the easier retreat, reclaim no thanks, do not collect on reprisal, do not bother for she’ll find another and you’re sure to survive her

I am in trouble with the law, I am in trouble with his claws, and the ladies at the side of the road would not sell me black beer for fear that he was a copper and I was just being as usually improper

Somebody mistook my words for someone else and I wonder If I should chancge sex again, possibly maybe we all think we are someone else and when compared to ourselves are shattered

I couldn’t face going back to my old office, my corner where I used to type away for a tuppence, no I couldn’t do it today, I just turned on the engine and then slipped away