Whatever comes to mind before I alter it with the overpaint of time. Mostly satire, poetry and fiction but occasional unreliable fact, as all facts seems to be today. From deepest Notting Hill. London.
I shall be doing some poems at BEAT on Monday the 4th of October. Please come along. I have a feeling it will be a good night:
This time around, BEAT stomps up a wide range of brilliant male beasts and some lovely, hugely talented, ladies, for a night that could just be something out of the ordinary.
It's free to get in but it might cost you a few braincells to get out!
BEAT - a poetry night like no other lines up:
Amy Acre - lovely, hugely talented, brilliant wordsmith and performer
Tristan Hazell - the beast of Nothing Hill promises to hit you with some flamingly hot material
Nial Spooner - Harvey - brings the unique to unique performance poetry
Captain of the Rant - angry, topical, political - just the way we like it
Michelle Madsen - when she's not conjuring up her special brand of laid back, humorous scribblings, Michelle also finds time to co - run legendary London poetry night - Hammer & Tongue
Heaven Afrika - our new kid on the block
+ your twinkled eyed little host, Dr Martin(aka Mr Grant)
Things started getting out of hand when the dog got run down in the street out side our window. She had watched it happen and when I got in from work she was standing there in tears. I held her for a while then took her to bed.
I’d first seen her in Stanley Park one afternoon when a bunch of us were sitting around with guitars, playing whatever came into our heads and generally fooling about. A number of kids had congregated to catch the mood and catch the sun, she sat away from the others under the shade of a tree; long thick hair the color of new pennies burning against almost white skin. She wore a green summer dress and red Converse.
I knew she was there but not really there until Gus came along in a daze, stood among us and announced Kurt Cobain was dead. For real! Shot himself in the head and was dead! I looked at her then, alone under that tree; tears running black from her eyeliner. I told myself she needed comfort only really it was me who needed her. So I went to her and held her. She sobbed into my white t-shirt.
We practically stayed like that for the rest of the day, talking about Kurt and singing his songs. Then somebody played ‘In Memory of a Free Festival’ on his boom box and after that the only thing to do was go home or someplace else.
She came back to my place.
We ate pizza and listened to Nirvana CD’s while she cried some more. She laughed when I told her she looked like a clown with her make-up running. We kissed before she left me knowing I would see her again.
Soon we were living together and making plans. Sex wasn’t that great but I put that down to anything I could think of except the truth. I wasn’t going anywhere near the truth back then.
After the dog I started to find more ways to make her cry so I could comfort her. During the day I would make up sad stories to tell her at night. And I would buy her eyeliner and mascara, the cheap stuff that ran, and encourage her to use it.
But I should never have told her about the clown.
.
They found her on the sidewalk, crumpled and broken, except for her face, which, undamaged by the 30 foot fall from the window, she’d made up like a clown’s. Bright red mouth – I’d never known her to wear lipstick - and thick black weep lines running from her eyes. She had cropped her hair. Gelled it so it stood up like a fright wig.
Just like Bepo the clown who at my 8th birthday party led me into the cellar to show me the secrets of magic.
In May 2007 BBC Panorama reporter John Sweeney achieved global renown as the infamous “exploding tomato,” uncontrollably losing his head and screaming insanely at the chief spokesperson for the Church of Scientology. (Watch the video Panorama Exposed at www.freedommag.org.)
Stunningly, three and a half years later, on Tuesday, 28 September, Panorama’s John Sweeney will again report on the Church of Scientology. But just what dubious methods does Mr. Sweeney use in his so-called “investigation”? And what on earth could have prompted the BBC to fund a programme which could only be an attempt for Mr. Sweeney to recover the unrecoverable—his reputation.
Find out why Sweeney’s “investigation” is now the subject of a new documentary programme released internationally today by Freedom Magazine at www.freedommag.org.
We welcome your feedback on the video and any information you may want to share with us on John Sweeney’s BBC Panorama Scientology “investigation.” We would also be interested in whether you think John Sweeney’s programme warranted the expenditure and if his report was in fact balanced or fair. Please be assured that if you so request, your identity will be kept confidential.
Oh, and if John Sweeney is such a 'loose tomato' why is the sect spending time trying to discredit him? Coincidentally John Sweeney is on the BBC breakfast news this morning!
It would be interesting to hear the reasons for the BBC remaining rather quiet about this...
I was invited to supperclub by the Playlister boys; Ben and Dan. I had expected to not enjoy the place but was pleasantly surprised. And Femi Fem is cool.
check it out! I'd go again. It is of course (the Dutch chef I guess) Jan Nieupjur's favourite night spot!
Join DJs Femi Fem and Sam Hanbali for a truly fun, sassy scene for an enigmatic crowd ready
to party & relax. , Bow the Dutch Chef, Burlesque show La Gateau
Chocolat. You have to experience supperclub London live; a most
welcoming service, the best food, performance & dj's ...
Each year millions of us give pointless rubbish to children (invariably the nauseating, spoiled offspring of friends and family) in the name of Jesus Christ. Children do not need the stuff; of course they want the stuff, that is what children do; they want stuff, but they do not need it. No-one needs it.
Some stuff is needed by children; invariably it is the stuff that no-one wants to buy children because no-one wants reminding that there are poor kids whose lives could be made dramatically improved by a fairly small donation from You. Or me.
Burmese orphan
I have noticed that the coke heads of Notting Hill do not talk much about needy children... they talk about needy coke heads; the need to score, the need to talk about self.They talk about etc etc etc.
Let's change all that! This autumn I am campaigning for all coke heads to give the cost of one gramme of Colombian to a Burmese orphanage. Cool eh! Because once you have done it you can talk about your generosity for months ahead; Wow! And even if you are not a coke head you could give the cost of a gramme of MDMA, or the price of a bottle of poo (poo is Notting Hill for Champagne) or even the price of six pairs of socks as you don't seem to wear any under your penny loafers.
To make it even cooler I have come up with an edgy name for the act:
I'M GIVING COCAINE TO A CHILD THIS CHRISTMAS!
I need to get some badges made and then identify the right orphanages and stuff like that but I think this might work.
Yes let's all say it together: I'M GIVING MY COCAINE TO A CHILD THIS CHRISTMAS!
Please vote for Jan.... It will save the lives of millions of babies, make you beautiful and other things like that probably.
Jan has been nominated for this award as a result of his tireless campaigning against the Notting Hill promise of coke fuelled vacuity. Go here, click the button, make a difference: http://www.mynottinghill.co.uk/article/vote09
In the bottom box you need to write: Jan Nieupjur. Pre-Pentimento.
Jan called round this morning. I awoke to find him nervously eyeing the vacuum cleaner.
Neither of us was inclined to switch it on.
I made him breakfast... Hamburger, egg, sauteed potatoes all cooked in beef dripping. Traditionally this ensemble requires baked beans but neither of us could be arsed to go downstairs to the shop so we did without. Jan said:
'Apparently there are millions of unfortunate people in this country who do not have a corner shop underneath them. How sad'.
He went on to thank me for the splendid meal; the likes of which the politically correct will never taste. Poor fools.
I do sense however that beneath his veneer of jocularity Jan is not feeling well today. He is after all very old and should be taking things easy.
No Joseph. that is not how to do it! you have to become a rock star before you start behaving like one.
I don't normally do negative reviews; they are mean and unnecessary, I usually just don't mention crap acts and arseholes..... Until today! And this is not about Joseph Dean Osgood it is about the Cobden Club!
I pitched up at the Cobden last night to see Joseph perform at his album launch, now remind me, what is an album launch? Oh yes! It is a marketing device for a record company and it's product.... Joseph is the product. what do I do? I review stuff, not many readers but a few thousand all the same. I had let Joseph know that i would like to turn up and that I'd puff it.
Neither the Idiot goon in the silly hat, nor the raddled ex rock chick at the Cobden would let me through and then asked me for a fiver to get in! I would have happily paid full price Joseph but I was insulted by the five pound thing. The fact is that the Cobden has had it's very short day! I shall not go back there and will not miss it and its stupid pretensions.... The cobden WAS a working men's club once upon a time. Now it is just full of Wankers.
As I told them.... I'll go and review something else.
I went to the Inn on the Green to see some friends perform and to see a band called Taurus Trakker... Brilliant, free, good fun, cheap beer, good people, many surprises including Murray Lachlan young turning up (we shouted at each other about filming poetry during some loud rock n roll). Roger Pomphrey (the POWA( silly name)) is a pretty mean guitarist, Kevin Petillo on drums (a rare example of a very good American) looks just like Side Show Bob would look like if playing drums and the bass player Herman (I met him at Port Eliot when he was playing with Bess Cavendish) is the coolest dude I've ever seen, when I die I'm coming back as a tall thin black guy with long dreads and a bass guitar, bet I get lots of girls!
Made some new friends (hi Tracy, remember me!(she is cute)) and am resolved to go back to the Inn on the Green soon... I hadn't been since Howard Marks Bored me to tears there years ago!
So anyway. Long thing short.... Cobden; pretentious, awkwardly placed, idiots in the lobby, over the hill and rubbish.... Inn on the Green; great place, atmosphere and well worth going to!
Joseph Dean Osgood? didn't get to see him perform so I have no Idea how it was.... You decide.
It is going to be a busy evening; I have to go to this... Kevin Petillo (single handedly makes Americans alright) and Roger Pomphrey are in the POWA. Come along and check it out!
Richard Wilson with Anne Bean & Miyako Narita- In a Crumbling fort that no one visits http://vimeo.com/14007130
About this video:
"Richard Wilson, William Raban and David Cunningham are part of ninety collaborators that have been commissioned by Matt's Gallery, London, to contribute a film to TAPS: Improvisations with Paul Burwell.
TAPS will be taking place at Dilston Grove, Southwark Park, London on 17th, 18th and 19th of September, 2010.
"Paul and I once journeyed 22 hours from Lowerstoft to London in his boat, stopping for a rest at the Red Sands Forts. He spoke excitedly about the possibilities of sounds and explosive actions performed at this remote spot 6 miles out at sea".
Paul Burwell was infamous for his exuberant fusions of fine-art installation, percussion and explosive performance. He was a staunch advocate of, and passionate participant in, all forms of experimental art. TAPS: Improvisations with Paul Burwell, realised by Anne Bean, Robin Klassnik and Richard Wilson embodies his prolific practice.
Over the course of three days TAPS will combine film, installation and performance, portraying layers of interpretation from more than 80 invited collaborators, in response to Burwell's poem 'Adventures in the House of Memory'. The poem arose from improvisations by Anne Bean and Paul Burwell in preparation for William Burroughs's Final Academy at Ritzy, London in 1982, where improvised words were written on huge sheets of flash paper which were ignited as they were sung.
The poem was the last recorded Burwell work two months before he died in 2007. The body of collaborators have responded to the poem by each creating a short film or audio work as a new collaboration for, about or 'with' Burwell.
Fragments of each collaborator's film or audio work, now make a collective totem in a two screen, one hour composite film interpreted and edited by Anne Bean and Chris Bishop. This resulting work resonates with the poem's innate episodic chronicles, as slivers interleaf together, and runs continuously throughout each day.
The film is shown as part of a screen installation constructed by Richard Wilson. By adding its own sounds and actions, this structure becomes a part player in the final act of the last evening, during a performance by Ansuman Biswas.
Live performances form another layer of exploration, echoing the sense of inter-connectivity created by the installation. Each performer encompasses a practice that reflects the context and ethos in which Burwell worked, improvising within the framework of the poem, film, installation and space at Dilston Grove. The performances will take place at various times during the event.
A publication with an essay by David Toop and drawings by Paul McCarthy, published by Matt's Gallery, will be available free to visitors throughout the event.
TAPS is supported by a Legacy: Thinker in Residence Award to Anne Bean. Legacy is a collaboration between the Live Art Development Agency and Tate Research, financially assisted by Arts Council England and the Live Art Development Agency. Legacy acknowledges the outstanding bodies of work of two artists who have influenced the development of the Live Art field by supporting them to think about the legacies of performance in art historical contexts and examine the processes and challenges of archiving live work. The Legacy recipients are Anne Bean and Tim Etchells. Further information thisisliveart.co.uk/
Anne Bean is an Artsadmin artist.
For further information or visual material please contact Matilda Strang at Matt's Gallery - E info@mattsgallery.org, T (020) 8983 1771"
Forward this email to your friends and family so that they can see it, too.
I was at the Tabernacle last night for 'Medium Rare' and saw this t shirt which just screamed to be photographed so I plucked up some courage and asked: 'Please may I photograph your chest'? The young lady in the shirt told me all about it but I've forgotten the details... Never mind.
I have been asked to blog on the tabernacle web site; reviewing and previewing Tabernacle events as well as having a good look around the place. you will find me there soon: At which point I will tell you how last night went.
Auteur David Petch came over yesterday with his magic camera; we filmed a few poems at the Cow... hopefully they will be up on youtube soon!
Hooray! An imaginitive piece of British Architecture is slowly emerging 50 yards from here... It is great! And quite fitting that a childrens centre should look like it was made from sky coloured plasticine by an enthusiastic 5 year old. I am a little early photographing this (should really wait for the fences and rubbish to go) but it was such a lovely sunny afternoon! Well done I say!
I nicked the following from the serpentine Gallery website:
Melanie Wilson is an award-winning writer, performer and sound artist, based in London. She makes performances, installations and sound walks that live in theatre and cinema spaces and in the street. Her solo work includes 'Simple Girl', 'Iris Brunette', 'Mari Me Archie', ‘The View From Here’ and 'every minute, always' and has been presented nationally and internationally. She has collaborated with Rotozaza, Coney, Clod Ensemble, Shunt, Chris Goode, Boilerhouse, A2, Peter Arnold and Abigail Conway. She is currently a BAC Supported Artist and her work is produced by Fuel Theatre.www.melaniewilson.org.uk
she is performing at the Serpentine Gallery on Friday:
Famous Spite Fence Has Outlived Its Purpose.
Built Around Small Lot by Charles Crocker Because Owner Would Not Sell to Him.
"FOR SALE" signs have been placed by real estate agents on the lot on Sacramento street, near Taylor, which Charles Crocker surrounded with a high spite fence twenty-six years ago because the owner, Nicholas Yung, refused to sell the property to him at the price Crocker offered.
This fence is the most famous memorial of malignity and malevolence in the city. Thousands of persons have gone up Nob Hill to view it since its erection in 1876. Crocker has long been dead, but his heirs have preserved this testimonial of rancor. Yung went to the grave in 1880, but his offense of fixing his own price on his own residence was never pardoned by the Crockers. The fence has been an eyesore to them as well as to everybody else, but they have kept up the feud and sought to hide the ugliness of the lofty barricade on their side of it by covering the boards with ivy and other greenery. The fence cost about $3000, but Crocker was a millionaire and did not mind the expense, and he had the satisfaction of driving the Yung family away from their home. Their house was boxed up and the sunlight shut out, and Yung was compelled to move the dwelling to another lot which he owned on Broderick street. The tall fence destroyed the value of the Sacramento street lot, which for about a quarter of a century has remained unused and unsightly. Mrs. Rosina Yung, widow of the man who incurred the deep displeasure of the Crockers, had a considerable estate and preferred to keep the cooped-up lot rather than sell it for the trifle which she might have been able to obtain. She died in last January and bequeathed the property, which has been appraised at about $80,000, to her daughters, who are Mrs. C. D. Postel, of Alameda, Mrs. O. J. Kron of San Francisco, Mrs. Frank Church of El Paso, Tex., and Mrs. John Kelly Russell of San Jose. In the course of administration the sale of the property belonging to the estate has been ordered.
When the last lot has been sold to someone not of the Yung blood it may be that the Crockers will drop their legacy of hatred and let the inartistic monument of resentment be torn down. Perhaps they may conclude to buy the lot which they wanted so badly.
Jan called in today to wish me well and share a bottle of cheap Spanish rose; he swears by it, cheaper than a pint of beer with a kick like a nun he says... I quite concur!
Anyway Jan uncorks the bottle (real cork, I like that; class) and squirts us a couple of glassfulls.
'I don't know how they get the cat to sit on the bottle'! Says Jan.
I take a sideways squint at my glass as I try to get the first mouthfull past my natural gagging instinct.
'Jan'. I say. 'Jan, this is almost undrinkable'!
'Yes.' He replies. 'But it is potable. get it down you and stop moaning!... Why man you are in tears!.'
I asked him what made him cry. He went to the record player and put the following on, saying: This is what makes me cry:
for some strange reason I am quite mesmerised by the young lady dancing; I had always assumed that this type of dance was unsubtle and all about 'big' actions and movements. I now know that it is about the tiny, subtle elements. I'm hooked!
Last weekend, while bivouacked in my oxygen tent (o.k. that is the last reference to that event) I noticed a great deal of helicopter activity over Hyde Park.
It seems that I missed a visit from some kind of racist leader of a paedophile sect.
I thought we had laws to keep these people out of this country!
Leslie Howard with Wendy Hiller in Pygmalion. Photograph: Ronald Grant
A British documentary-maker has discovered several hours of lost personal film footage of Leslie Howard, one of Britain's most revered actors and a matinee idol.
The legendary star of classic films such as Gone with the Wind, The Scarlet Pimpernel and Pygmalion in the 1930s and 1940s can be seen for the first time in five hours of home movies, described yesterday by one historian as "a treasure chest".
Howard, whose life was cut short when his plane was shot down in the second world war, is remembered as enigmatic and distant, partly due to his most famous role as Ashley Wilkes, the southern gentleman who resists Vivien Leigh in Gone with the Wind.
Now the discovery of his movies, made from the 1920s onwards, shows him in a new light – on film sets, flirting with actresses, goofing around with actors and dancing the soft-shoe shuffle. There are also tender, more private scenes, reflecting an affectionate father, whose two children brought out the child in him, clowning around in a swimming pool or on a sledge.
The reels, both colour and black and white, have been saved following their discovery by Tom Hamilton, who was making a documentary on Howard. The star's 82-year-old daughter, Leslie Ruth Howard (known as Doodie), had kept them in her basement since 1979, not realising that some of the reels had decomposed.
Hamilton recalled opening a case: "A sight and smell to chill the heart … pungent and vinegary – never a good sign when dealing with film."
He then spotted another box, which was filled with canisters in perfect condition. "I uttered a silent 'thank you' to a benevolent God of film," he said. "As the first images appeared, I was startled by the visual quality, razor sharp with barely a scratch."
A married Howard can be seen on the set of Animal Kingdom, flirting openly with Myrna Loy, with whom he is believed to have had an affair. The mock romantic scenes with another leading actress, Norma Shearer, hint at further infidelities.
Hamilton said: "You get a sense of the real human being. He's quite playful and warm in a way you don't see in his films."
The footage includes a gathering on William Randolph Hearst's estate, where Joan Crawford and Douglas Fairbanks Jr play with a large dog, and a polo match watched by Hollywood stars Cary Grant, Gary Cooper and Mary Pickford.
Hamilton showed the material to Kevin Brownlow, the film historian, who told the Guardian: "It is extraordinary … a treasure chest."
Hamilton also tracked down Derek Partridge, who, as a seven-year-old boy, gave up his seat to Howard on a passenger plane from Lisbon to Bristol on 1 June 1943. The plane was then attacked by the Luftwaffe and all 13 passengers were killed. Howard had been booked to fly later that day, but was anxious to get back. As a VIP for the war effort, he had priority and the boy was taken off.
Among numerous conspiracy theories over his death, some have suggested that the Nazis thought Winston Churchill was on board. Others believe that Howard was working with British intelligence. He certainly played an important role in the war, with his weekly radio broadcasts and films such as Pimpernel Smith and The First of the Few, a tribute to the Spitfire. The Nazi propaganda broadcaster Lord Haw-Haw claimed on the programme Germany Calling that Howard was on a Nazi death list.
Hamilton's documentary includes the reminiscences of Howard's daughter. She recalls her mother's devotion to him, despite his affairs, his loathing for Gone with the Wind, and mutual irritation with Vivien Leigh over their line fluency. He hated that he had been made to wear make-up to look younger, and refused to attend its 1940 British premiere because he objected to the high ticket prices in war-time.
Hamilton also discovered that Howard gave up his profit share in Gone with the Wind to return to England in 1939, rather than remain in America.
The 90-minute documentary, The Man Who Gave a Damn, has been made in collaboration with Warner Bros and Howard's great-grandson, Alex Kiehl.
• This article was amended on 13 September 2010. The original referred to Leslie Howard's role in the war as inlcuding the film Pimpernel Smith, a tribute to Spitfire pilots. This has been corrected.
On Friday all was well, in the early hours of Saturday I was far from well. I have no idea what it is but it has crashed just about all of my systems; vomiting, headaches, muscle and bone aches, blood fizzing, teeth ache,short of breath, confused mind.
It has taken me a while to write this during a respite from the (Now almost constant) state of not knowing where I am or what is going on.
I have only slept fitfully and for short periods since Friday and always wake from panicked dreams.
It is to much to even go downstairs to the shop... I miss Nurse Caz even if she did try to kill me. At least she would have made sure that I was well before doing so.
Just thought I'd explain the lack of blog entries lately...
Uncle John and Hendrix in the same breath. Or in the same week... Cool.
Smoke on the water.
I'm knackered. I'm putting together an event in two weeks time which is giving me hell.
If it works it will be brilliant... If not, help!
John Golding was a proper politician who believed in the people and worked for the people. check him out. He was my mothers brother, he looked after me when I didn't deserve it.
Thank god he is not around to see Tony Blairs circus.
Next week we are celebrating Hendrix's death.... Hey John, scuse me while I kiss the sky! Now read on....
Golding was a key figure in the fight against the Militant tendency, and especially
in mobilising moderate trades union leaders to exercise their block votes to this end.
After his death writings of his about this were published under the
title Hammering the Left: My Part in Defeating the Labour Left by
John Golding and Paul Farrelly (see below).
After he vacated the Newcastle-under-Lyme seat, the resulting by-election was
won by his wife Llin, who held the seat until 2001; her successor in the seat was Paul Farrelly.
John Golding's most unusual claim to fame is that he once made a speech in committee
lasting eleven hours and fifteen minutes. It nominally concerned a small amendment to
the bill toprivatiseBritish Telecom. This filibuster was instrumental in delaying the
privatisation until after the 1983 general election, but with Margaret Thatcher obtaining
a massive parliamentary majority the privatisation was soon forced through. Changes in
British parliamentary procedure mean that Golding's record is unlikely ever to be beaten.
The fence cost about $3000, but Crocker was a millionaire and did not mind the expense, and he had the satisfaction of driving the Yung family away from their home. Their house was boxed up and the sunlight shut out, and Yung was compelled to move the dwelling to another lot which he owned on Broderick street. The tall fence destroyed the value of the Sacramento street lot, which for about a quarter of a century has remained unused and unsightly. Mrs. Rosina Yung, widow of the man who incurred the deep displeasure of the Crockers, had a considerable estate and preferred to keep the cooped-up lot rather than sell it for the trifle which she might have been able to obtain. She died in last January and bequeathed the property, which has been appraised at about $80,000, to her daughters, who are Mrs. C. D. Postel, of Alameda, Mrs. O. J. Kron of San Francisco, Mrs. Frank Church of El Paso, Tex., and Mrs. John Kelly Russell of San Jose. In the course of administration the sale of the property belonging to the estate has been ordered.
