Evolution?

The confessional blog has now evolved into a community-wide collaborative effort. Here's a NY Times article about the phenomenon, and here's the blog itself. Part truth, part disingenuous exhibitionism, part fiction.

Link for today is Z Productions.

An apology to my self-respect

I must confess that I have f**ked up on a colossal scale. Last year I submitted a few poems to Forward Press, publishers of the terrible 'Poetry Now' magazine. One of them, 'Summer Breeze' was selected for publication in the anthology 'Summer Remembered'. When I read the script for approval, I noticed they exchanged my made-up word 'moohmellow' for 'moodmellow'. I duly changed it back, with a note explaining that this was deliberate. A couple of months passed, and when the book arrived, I was disappointed to find that they did not reinstate my word. I was seriously pissed, but left it that, swearing never to submit to them again.

A few months ago, another editor from Forward Press contacted me to inform me that 'Nubian' had been accepted for the anthology 'Mixed Emotions' - it was one of the poems from the original batch I submitted in 2004. This was at a time when I had been distracted from my writing by the day job, so despite misgivings, I agreed to have it published.

Well...the book arrived last week, and thankfully the poem was published in its pure form, being a personal one. Unfortunately, the book sucks the sweat off a dead mans balls. I would say that the majority of poems are awful, but I am not sure they qualify to be poems. It's by far the worst anthology I have seen in my life. Shopping lists, rants, poems-so-obvious-they-are-virtually-hitting-you-on-the-head, and twee lyrics that only serve to elicit bowel movements from the criminally constipated. A reading of random poems on the Piccadilly Line to 'iPod Perv' and the other passengers confirmed this, as did my lunch & cinema companion yesterday, who took me to see the Palestinian film 'Private' - thanks matey, it's a grand movie.

Of course, there's probably someone who purchased the book who feels that way about my poem. But I believe artistic license gives me the ability to stick my C*^k in their ear and f*&k some sense into their head. Or maybe not (especially if they are wearing a helmet).

I prostrate myself in shame, apologise to my self-respect and swear never - EVER - again, to blot my copybook with those 'special' folk. For the person I know who has also had dealings with Forward Press - you can do much, much better. Resist submitting your best work there, and save it for a more worthy publication.

Make Fearless sit on a fountain pen and swivel in shame.

A Sunday kinda thing

Dined in good company at Masala Zone off Carnaby Street. I'm not a great fan of Indian restaurants as most of them serve a very anglicised interpretation of the cuisine, but this was reasonably priced and lip smackingly decent. Saw 'Private' at the Curzon afterwards. It's a film inspired by real-life events, with Israeli soldiers setting up camp in a Palestinian's house, with the owner and his family refusing to leave. A good film with an important message.

After that, I toddled off on my lonesome to see Madredeus (Mother of God) in performance at the RFH. While Mariza's recent performance was a barnstormer, watching Madredeus was like visiting an old friend, with that same warmth and intimacy. When Teresa Salgueiro got her groove on in the second half, singing the back catalogue, it brought back an awful lot of memories for me.

Give Fearless a saudade state of mind with a fado.

Saturday Night, Sunday Morning

After the play, we met up with 'Monkey Boy'. The photos will tell you the rest.

Gay freemasons get funky!

You're now in a trance

Strange things happen in the haze...

Plantain burgers

Firstly, a hello to Alexandra and Kim, first-time visitors to the UK from Australia. Pity them for having the poor luck to meet me on only their 2nd day here, and scold them for asking me what to do around town. My apologies to them for the impromptu poetry recital. Yes, i'll write you both a poem...

Anyway, 'iPod Perv' and I went to see Elmina's Kitchen at the Garrick Theatre yesterday. Crisply written, with especially coruscating performances from the writer Kwame Kwei-Armah and Don Warrington. The characterisations were superb, reminding me both of the characters I grew up with off the Oxford Road in Reading - and old friends Griff, Lewis, 'Craven', 'Fresh', 'Feisty', 'Partial' and 'Peanut'. I have ordered the play script, mainly for the Calypso lyrics.

But why are there so few black writers? I'm sure they exist and I am doubly sure that they write very well.

What's the missing link?

From Discovery to Exploitation

I finally managed to get to the NFT to watch the special preview of 'Inside Deep Throat', a documentary charting the phenomenon of the porno flick 'Deep Throat'. The scene around me was reminiscent of the kind of thing you'd expect at an adult movie theatre - late 1960s easy-cheesy listening music, gaudy shirts, pubic-like hairstyles and nomadic odours that made one ponder their origin.

The most striking thing was how intently members of the audience read their programmes - as if they didn't know anything about the film they had previously booked tickets for.

'Deep Throat' itself remains the most profitable film in movie history, grossing $600M and costing only $25K to make. Neither the director, 'actors' or crew saw any of that money, as the film (like most porn at that time) was funded by the mob, who later forced the director out of the partnership. Funny to think that one of the best ways to start out in independent cinema back then was to make a porn movie because of its (pardon the expression) low cost of entry.

The Republican Nixon administration tried to stop the film being screened, culminating in the 1973 obscenity trial (dropped when Democrat Jimmy Carter was later elected President). That same year, Roe Vs Wade played out in the Supreme Court, with the ruling that women must be allowed the choice of having a safe and legal abortion. The religious right got something of a drubbing back then, but 30-odd years later, the arguments haven't stopped, and the religious right are much stronger. As a kid, I used to think the USA was a liberal country, and in terms of ideals, it is. But apart from a few pockets of liberalism (NY, San Francisco, Boston, Seattle), it's a scarily conservative place.

As for the three principals of the film - the director Damiano (an ex hairdresser) never made any money; the male performer Harry Reems only made $250 from his appearance, and after a bout with drugs and alcohol, discovered God and became an estate agent. The 'deep throat' herself, Linda Lovelace, died in a car crash a few years back, but not after spending the last 30 years being used as a mouthpiece for both sides of the debate, being at different times, pro and anti porn. Depending on your point of view, porn can be either exploitation or an art form. However, exploitation goes beyond porn, and nobody involved with the film - on either side - comes out with any credit where Linda is concerned.

I won't say anymore, as you can catch both the original film and the documentary in the UK at selected cinemas from June onwards. Worth catching to understand the environment which the film entered on release, its attraction to a large cross-section of society, and how some things haven't changed.

Spank the monkey and give Fearless your RSPCA subscription dues.

A blinding weekend ahead...

Starting with a dinner cancellation for tonight that has now turned into an opportunity to watch a docufilm at the NFT (thanks to Jeff for buying me the original soundtrack to the movie years ago). The 'iPod Perv' and I are going to see 'Elmina's Kitchen' at the Garrick Theatre tomorrow, and i'll be taking in a movie and then Madredeus at the RFH on Sunday. Will this generate more poems? Do you really care what the answer is?

I leave you to consider just how the return of former Army General and politician Michel Aoun to Lebanon, from exile in France, will make things a lot more interesting. It is a pivotal moment - and a great time to visit and check the temperature in person.

I wish you blues skies and green lights...

Send flack jackets and stretchers to Fearless.

What a difference...

...a week makes. Heart-stopping arrivals and departures, and finally, the approval of my plans for World domination ('book my flight to Taipei'). But enough of that crap. While I send all my love, faith and reassurances that it'll be great doing the City-Country-City thing to a certain person, watch how Hitachi's R & D team get disco fever (flash, broadband and suspension of disbelief required).

Ciao, Fearless

Liberty or, errrrr...death. Yeah, that's it...

Greetings, all you uniquely numbered, catalogued, indexed and cross-referenced individuals. The ID card debate has started up again. It was fun to watch the first time round, but now a little boring.

Will it stop terrorism? No, as most terrorists are not career criminals so don't appear on any security agencies radar. Will it stop benefit fraud? Don't make me chuckle and dampen my keks, as any scheme can be circumvented if the financial incentive is large enough - the trick to successful fraud is to exploit discontinuities.

As much information as a security agency is ever going to need, already exists. But it's not available to the right people in the system at the right time, and that has little to do with ID cards. The solution is to harmonise existing systems and make them interoperable. By systems, I really mean people talking and paperwork being exchanged - don't you dare assume that UK bureaucracy is all joined-up, computer-wise.

Will the scheme be an expensive failure? Only in as much as every other Government-sponsored technology project has been.

What game is being played? Well, forget the sideshow, the longer term game is the export of trouble, i.e. passing the problem to another country (usually less developed). It's as if we're putting up barriers because we're out of ideas...no, no, I must be too cynical (or am perhaps a pragmatic realist).

If you want to learn about the technology and some of the problems, have a read of something I, errr prepared a while ago, back in November 2002.

I leave you with two questions to ponder:

• Are we a police state or a policed one?
• Do we say 'liberty' when we really mean 'anonymity'?

Slap the cuffs on Fearless and try and beat a confession outta him.

Oh my my Missus, you have a great set of...

...Gazongas. Let me explain. I have decided to try my hand at some concept art (what a jackass term) and have therefore kicked-off 'Project Gazonga', featuring Harry Twatts. Mia has agreed to photograph me in action. Not sure if the photos will be posted here, or offered to worthy publications such as 'Hello', 'OK!' or 'Colour Climax'. More details as soon as I am out of jail.

I have also finally started to edit some of my back catalogue. The love poems need no change, but many others need some work. As editing proceeds, some will be posted here, and others left for the web site (coming) as either text or audio (yes, podcasting). A few may be left for dead. It's a lot more fulfiling than trying to get published.

But then again, I may sit back, kick off my shoes and tug my wood with a glass of whisky in the other hand.

What Fearless is currently listening to:

• Luiz Bonfa 'Solo in Rio 1959'
• Nitin Sawhney 'Philtre'
• The Blind Boys of Alabama 'Atom Bomb'
• Gato Barbieri 'Bolivia Under Fire'
• Incognito 'Adventures in Black Sunshine'

What he is reading tonight; 'Pussy'. Thanks Simon, but I don't think it's a fair swap. Can I have my tube of DudeLube back please?

Love, peace & respect, Fearless

Midnight scribbles

'Finger Trouble'

Cherished memories
encoded in digits and
email addresses,
virtualising the once
tangible.
How best to reconcile
it all, at journey's end?

(delete)
(delete)
(delete)

17th April 2005, Berkshire


'High in the Sky'

Venus remains aloof,
while Cupid whispers
that it's really about
emotional maturity.
Gabriel refuses to be
drawn into speculation,
reminding himself that
Cupid is a persistent
little fuck.

20th May 2005, District Line

The Lowdown-Hoedown

As some of you will know, I have more than a passing interest in midgets. Preferably naked, except for a lipstick-clad smile, stockings and a beard. Especially the ones who trained in the circus before becoming porno stars. However, life is not so sweet for all of them. I therefore present to you, a 'midget interest' article. Support your local midget. Hold their ladder steady.

I have spared you the footage of Norwegian squaddies in Kosovo covering a Beach Boys tune (it sucks, man). But here is some true romance, instead of the 'Geek Fantasies' site I considered linking to.

Watch Darth Vader campaign for office (for Simon H).

Tell Fearless about your spotty butt and weep.

The followers of Rumi...

...will be in town this Friday night. The Whirling Dervishes (Mevlana Jelaleddin Rumi) of Konya are at the RFH this Friday, and barring last minute hitches, I should be there to witness the most striking aspect of Sufi mysticism.

Not the Detroit Spinners


Send more vice cards to Fearless.

Sod Star Wars...

...check out Store Wars. Fresh produce never looked so tough, so inspiring, so weird.

Send slow cookers to Fearless and make him simmer, then burn.

A chat leads to a poem...

Thanks to 'Da Bomb' for tweaking the first stanza. Dzekuje.

'Portrait of a Middle-Class Marriage in the Home Counties'

At the wedding reception -

all blooms and blushes,
she asks you why it is
that you don't say
'I love you'

Interrupting your attempt

to conjure up reasons for not

having staked out a claim

to Mothercare, you decide

to spare her anguished heart.

You find the resolve to stop

facial features distorting into the truth.

It's good to see that cowardice

is alive and well, happily

masquerading as tact.

16th May 2005, Kings Langley

Bzzzz!

A great start to the weekend, thanks to my Wahl hair clippers. Yep, I became a DIY shaven raver, and now realise why women swear by their vibrators - the gentle buzzing action on my head was more than pleasant. I always thought that if guys could lick or suck their own bits, they would stay indoors. Decent head clippers are a more realistic alternative for Friday night indoor action - allegedly.

I finally received a copy of 'Mottled Dawn' a collection of short stories concerning the partition of India in 1947, and the violence and chaos that ensued. My parents lived through that, and their tales, and those of Sadaat Hasan Manto's characters, paint the landscape crimson with mortality. The book has long been out of print, and I managed to get a copy of the English translation (the original is in Urdu) from the USA at great expense. Unfortunately, my brother Shak swiped it last night. Manto had a tragic end, heartbroken by the experience of partition, succumbing to both grief and alcohol in 1955. The next Urdu author in my sights is Ismat Chugtai, who wrote the short story 'Lihaf' ('Quilt') in 1941. It concerned a lesbian relationship, and the British colonial authorities, incensed, prosecuted her for obscenity. With a number of witnesses, including her friend Manto, she was able to prove that only people with prior knowledge of lesbianism would understand what the story was about.

And to think that there are those who believe that the people of South Asia are very conservative.

Last night I was priviliged to watch the great Portuguese Fado singer Mariza perform at the Royal Festival Hall. She has the most versatile, powerful voice I have ever heard, and she knows how to work a crowd. At one point, she sang without a mic & amp, relying on her chords, lungs and the acoustics of the hall - mesmerising. One of the best concerts I have ever been to. She's also a fan of Fernando Pessoa - added kudos. I'll also be watching Madredeus at the RFH on the 29th of May - a long overdue date.

Link for today is the boy who caught an aeroplane. You could also try Student of the Warlord, and may notice that Cecil the Redneck has more than a shade of Klaus Kinski to him.

Go make your luck, Fearless

A Poster Within a Poster

An image that I have continually run into during the last 20 years...now on my wall. 'Czlowiek z Marmuru' within 'Czlowiek z Zelaza'

'Czlowiek Z Marmuru'

'Man of Marble'

Selected, praised,

polished and promoted;

built up to be discarded.

Principled, questioning insistently.

Rebuffed, rejected, then

denounced publicly.

Remaining steadfast, persistent -

always consistent.

Breaking stone, but unable

to crack the foundation of his ideals.

Wearing him down and out, but

erosion is followed by deposition,

as a man's ideals become another's mission.

No lie can last forever, despite a silent war of attrition.

13th May 2005, Hertfordshire

'Man of Marble'

'Czlowiek Z Zelaza'

'Man of Iron'

Forged by the system with thanks to the blast furnace of idealistic propaganda, you're conspicuous to the State's radar. Ideologically mandated blindness is inconsequential when you have a conscience pulsating self-belief, and a heart ready to be judge and jury, giving you the courage of your convictions.

Understand that even the seemingly indestructible can be destroyed by that which it gave birth to.

Raise the stakes. Raise hell.

14th May 2005, Piccadilly & District Lines

'Man of Iron'

Weekend Whackos...

...going westbound. As is usual custom, they gathered around me.

'For the Curvy Ginga (Married) Next to Me'

If addresses are given to conceal our whereabouts, then the Evening Standard newspaper is published to prolong your ignorance.


'To the Bald, Bearded Guy who has Rolled Up his Trouser Legs'

Stop talking like that to the female models in the discarded lingerie catalogue on the floor of the carriage.

They can't hear you. Try raising your voice.

Pardon? No madam, it's not Alexie Sayle.


'To the Myopic Womble'

No, i'm not a Christian, I always sit like this. Are you short-sighted or are you really trying to kiss the magazine?

14th May 2005, 22:10 - 22:30, the Piccadilly line

If you get a chance...

...check out some of John Berger's work. He wrote the screenplay for the sublime Alain Tanner film 'Jonah Who Will be 25 in the Year 2000'. Get hold of a copy of 'And Our Faces, My Heart, Brief As Photos' and 'Here is Where We Meet' from a bookshop near you. Alternatively, strip naked, run up and down your local high street, telling all and sundry that you're 'allergic to wool'.

Don't look at me like that, Fearless

Before I forget...

Link of the week is for those in their early to mid thirties. A classic for all you 'Fantasy Island' fans. Listen to Herve sing his heart out here.

Spank me, Fearless

Some slightly better poems...

As always, many thanks to 'Da Bomb' for looking these over and not pissing herself in hysterical laughter.

'Q without the A'

A temporary distraction prompts
an unexpected retrospection.

Why did you lie to those who loved you blue,
choosing instead to yield willingly to those
who would exploit and abuse you?

I try again to detect a sliver of a clue.

I conclude that there is no answer.
I finish my coffee, whisper a prayer
and return to my newspaper.

8th May 2005, Another Place


'Berlin, Buenos Aires, Belgrade...'

Prophets look forwards,
castigated as madmen, and
historians look backwards,
their verdicts judging the long forgotten.

Scientists undermine them
both with theory and practice.

Politicians exploit the
weak and ignorant meek,
selling the seductive sweet.

But dictators are all this and more.
Dispensing charisma,
institutionalising loyalty –
marking the innocent as guilty
and creating a new mythology.

Pause and take note;
it’s not mere anecdote.

16th April 2005, The South Bank, London


'...and another thing -'

It was above all,
a victory for populism.

What use is democracy?
It’s just the illusion of choice.

We told the people there was no choice;
we made them understand.

What was that? Oh!
Our convictions?
We locked them up.

8th May 2005, Berkshire

A poor poem...

...but reality often doesn't make for eloquence.

'Six'

As I hunker in the bunker
my resolve begins to waver.

Six months! Not sure I can take it.
Six months? Maybe i'll make it.

Swish
swoosh
silk stockings
sweep
swiftly
down.
Twing-twang-thong,
snap-crack-bra-strap
are sounds now alien to me.

No more jiggy-jiggy -
I need a new exercise regimen
to keep myself busy.

Only sweating when eating raw chillies,
i'll be forsaking the taste of honey-soaked fillies.

But I gotta keep this quiet lest my friends line up
and deride my woman-free diet.

Thankfully, I snore the sleep of a contented drunk,
welcoming the erotic dreams that give me cause
to awaken in the midst of a six month spunk-funk.

8th May 2005, The Planet Kleenex

Blast from the past

'The Ex'

She's received her visa to the United States.

I get my Atlas, permanent marker pen

and add New Jersey to my axis of evil.

9th January 2005, The Free World

'Nine'

You distracted me today

with a memory that won't go astray

- creamy coffee ripping Egyptian cotton,

leading to twilight machinations

that won't be forgotten.

But mostly, I remember the

screaming and shouting

of colossal marital adversity.

I wish you a happy anniversary.

31st March 2005, Elsewhere

Formerly Mr. & Mrs.

Groovin' on a Saturday Afternoon

A big thank you to Pat for dragging me out to Shortfuse for a brilliant night with John Hegley, Andrew Bailey, Kevin Eldon, Fran Landesmann and her son Miles. Looks like there's a slot for me to perform there in September if I am fully fit by then (fingers and legs crossed).

This week, MacMillan and Waterstones both announced plans for self-publishing, aka vanity publishing. Looks like a scam, but more on that when I have some time to vent spleen.

In other news...
So! Hopefully you have voted, probably for the least unacceptable party to you. If you found it hard to choose between the parties, you're not alone; politics today is about populism and not conviction, meaning that policy differences are minor. That's mainly the fault of the electorate - we don't ask the right questions and we keep our political views secret. Contrast this scenario with the USA, where people will argue about politics and are happy to tell you who they're voting for.

Things can only change when they're out in the open - don't wait for someone else to do it, as your ass is involved too.

Now that the election has ended, hopefully the nation's collective suspension of disbelief - allowing folks to hide from reality and believe whatever the politicians tell them - will pass. The big chill is coming. To know why, just think about the areas of policy that weren't discussed in real detail - transport, health (ignore the sideshow about funding & MRSA) and the environment.

If politicians had the courage of their convictions, they would have told the electorate the following:

• The idea of totally free health care is unsustainable
• We have a pensions black hole that is getting bigger
• Personal debt is at an all time high, with personal bankruptcies rising
• Much of the UK transport infrastructure is outmoded and beyond repair
• Oh, and the economy is slowing down
  

But that is an election loser, so they deferred it, like a bunch of cowards. Indulge me a sec and look at healthcare. Here are the accepted facts:

• We are living longer
• The kind of drugs that keep us living longer are becoming increasingly expensive
• Western governments have made it hard for the 'generic' drug producers in India & Cuba to introduce lower-cost substitutes, so that will come back and bite us in the butt later
  
• The remit of the NHS has increased over the last 30 years in terms of treatment offered
• There are fewer babies being born, so fewer adults to pay taxes when we're pensioners
• Many of the community GPs that were the backbone of the NHS (Indian immigrants) are retiring and unable to find replacements

Put numbers next to that, and you will see that the NHS becomes more expensive with each year, both to maintain the existing capability, and expand it modestly. What are the solutions? Well, you can increase taxes and continue the current level of NHS funding for the next 20 odd years, or you change the system, i.e. the NHS restricts itself to life-saving, and the rest, i.e. general wear and tear, is dealt with by private health care providers, which would necessitate private health care insurance; perhaps compulsary.

Any economist can work this out.

This is just one of the hard choices we have to make, and it's not being discussed - it's our own fault, because we don't ask ourselves the uncomfortable questions, and hence appear uninformed (and deferential as only the Brits can) to the politicians.

Twats.

Remember - if you ask yourselves the wrong questions, by definition, you get the wrong answers.

Send policy wonks to Fearless to be shot.

Budapest Love Daddy by Night 

Budapast Love Daddy

Sex and marriage.
How does Chris manage?
He goes to Budapest
for a 3-way sandwich.

Waving wads
and waddling lots
he plugs away,
trying to stick his knob
in a girl who's brave.
Budapest Love Daddy,
Budapest Love Daddy.

Cash transaction,
trying to get some action.
He opens the door
and finds the ugly faction.

Waving wads
and waddling lots
he plugs away,
trying to stick his knob
in a girl who's brave.
Budapest Love Daddy,
Budapest Love Daddy.

Second time lucky?
He gets out his money,
turning cold and sickly
at two tattooed yuckies.

Waving wads
and waddling lots
he plugs away,
trying to stick his knob
in a girl who's brave.
Budapest Love Daddy,
Budapest Love Daddy.

Overcome with shock,
they flee his wrinkly cock.
The receptionist remarks
'That this isn't Bangkok'.

Waving large bat
and waddling in spatz
he struggles away,
trying to connect his club
with a satirist who's gay.
Budapest Love Daddy,
Budapest Love Daddy,
Budapest Love Daddy...

[continue, ad infinitum, ad nauseum]

November 2004, Budapest

The Friday Thing...

Bored? Craving some eye candy action? Tought titty. Watch some online video clips instead. Nothing beats a bit of Friday evening kitsch. Try Genghis Khan, and Dorks Going Wild in the Garden.

For the culturally-challenged geek, check out Steve 'Monkey Boy' Ballmer, Microsoft CEO. Check out the original footage, and the 'remix'.

Send 'I love you lonnng time - one dollah' messages to Fearless.

A Poem

'Tesco and Shopping'

Saturday sheep;
marital breach.

Christmas shopping,
divorce lawyers
- watching.

December 2004, Heathrow Airport

Hot Ta Trot...
Firstly a big thank you to Charlotte at Exedra for finding me a mint copy of Sadaat Hasan Manto's 'Mottled Dawn' - a collection of short stories concerning the partition of India in 1947.

I am currently moist with anticipation as I wait for a first edition of Ishmael Reed's 'Conjure - selected poems, 1963-1970', signed by the man himself, from Abebooks in the States. This is seriously (rocking horse shit) rare.

Comps
On the competition front, I have missed a job lot of deadlines. No matter. Speaking of competitions, Turner Classic Movies has its own Short Movie competition, and I am hoping Da Bomb will submit something from her worthy canon.

German Cinema - No, really!
If you get a chance, check out the German film 'The Edukators' - from the same team that gave us 'Goodbye Lenin!' Another film worth seeing is 'Downfall', a portrayal of Hitler's last days, based on the account of his secretary, Traudl Junge. Her interview will be screened on BBC4 this Friday evening. It should make for an extraordinary viewing experience. Last weekend, I had the opportunity to watch both a BBC4 documentary about Hitler's favourite filmaker Leni Riefenstahl and her 1934 film 'Triumph of the Will', covering the Nazi Party congress of that year. Riefenstahl made (for the time) a visually groundbeaking film, but the speeches of various party members left me numb with boredom. Hitler may have been charismatic (or rather, he made you feel good about yourself), but on speeches alone, the 1934 rally had all the excitement of a Soviet Communist Party Congress, with talk of production quotas, 'hardening work ethics' and other such assorted crap.

If only things had moved on, for similar patriotic nonsense, by way of parades and deification, takes place in North Korea and Zimbabwe, only the choreography isn't as good as that of Riefenstahl & Speer.

You're probably wondering what point I am trying to make.

If people feel isolated, scared and are persuaded to believe they are worthless, any half-arsed sales leper can unite them under a banner of darkness. Does being scared let you off the hook for participating, i.e. 'we were only following orders' versus 'we were only following ideals'?

I have questions, but not many answers.

Don't be a sheep. Make your individuality count, especially when you know something is wrong.

Today's Election Tip
Please make sure you know the differences between an immigrant, migrant and asylum seeker, the next time a election candidate talks about 'immigration'. Ask them about:

• Tax receipts from migrant workers versus the cost of services they use (they contribute to the economy)
• The dependency of the NHS, hospitality and building industries on migrant workers
• Which nation gets the most UK work permits

Immigration is like sex; it's been around since the year dot, is natural and you'd be seriously hacked off without it. Check out the Home Office statistics for asylum and control of immigration. The fact is that an economy not only imports and exports goods and services, but also skilled people, e.g. the USA needs skilled tech workers, and the UK needs more curry chefs (i'm not joking). Finally, a large number of asylum seekers came from countries up shit creek at that time, so it was a jolly good idea to let them stay.

Guerilla Restroom Action
As a barfly/apprentice rent boy, one gets to frequent lots of restrooms. Check out the link for today.

Getting published

I've often been asked whether it's possible to make money out of poetry, and how one could try and get published. I have some thoughts (but not firm plans) to offer on this, but you won't be reading them today, as it's compelling outside. In the meantime, you could read this article from the NY Times on self-publishing. Bear in mind that there are diferences between the market for prose and the market for poetry - size is only one part of it.

If you like Fado, Mariza and Madredeus will both be performing in the UK during May. I have missed the La Linea festival and the great Milton Nascimento, but have the whirling dervishes of Konya, Nitin Sawhney (got the Amsterdam gig booked) and WOMAD to shake n jiggle my groove thang to.

Send water pistols to Fearless.

Gellert Spa 

The Interior of the Gellert Spa, Budapest 

What you find when you're not looking

An old piece of prose:

'Gellert'

Friday. Seated unsteadily, momentarily disorientated by the fog of weissbier, I spy your eyes across a table of smiles. To soundtrack of Gypsy violin, and rat-a-tat exchanges of Magyar, my holiday funk is punctured by your Slavic lilt of 'Dziekuje'. There you are, a Polish princess stealing snapshot glances, evolving into an all-encompassing, oft' wondering gaze. 'Barely 25' I say to myself. Your trophy master shows you off - proud, and grateful. 'At least 45' I think to myself. He notices me; we both ignore him. I return to business in hand, unable to peel your eyes off my brown skin.

Saturday. Sauntering into Gellert Spa, I have an uneasy feeling of doubt and uncertainty blanket my senses. I look round - staring, as only dark eyes can, you stalk me across the marbled floor. Your eyes are roulette wheels. A question insinuates itself deep into my reasoning; are you worth the gamble?

October 2004, Budapest

She looked a bit like Zafia

The end of the campaign, but not the battle...

Amnesty International's campaign concerning violence against women is almost over. Abuse is wrong, full stop. Ignore the myths and stereotypes and do something about it. For domestic abuse in the UK, the police no longer need the victim's statement - they can pursue offenders independently. If you know someone being abused - help them. If you know, it's your obligation to act. Check out the campaign images.

The dying days of La Dolce Vita (UK) Ltd.

Voting day is nearly upon us, so it's a good time for me to let off some steam:

• If at every election politicians have promised to reduce bureaucracy, then just who the hell put it there in the first place - friggin' pixies?
• The Conservatives claim that people 'on the doorstep' are talking to them about immigration, although one thinks it's because of the Lynton Crosby strategy of negative campaigning - have you noticed how every single one of the Conservative posters is negative? In Reading, and other places, a nice little backlash has started.
  
• Traffic and transport has not featured much in the campaign, partly because it's a huge challenge. Of course, the BNP have an innovative solution, which is, according to their manifesto, 'We will relieve traffic congestion over the long-term by stopping immigration and encouraging a gradual fall in the overall population'
  
• Economics cannot defy gravity. To prove this, chuck one of the following off a cliff and see if it falls or not:
• £5000
• Your credit card
• Your pair of Manolo Blahnik brothel creepers/shoes
  
• The Chancellor of the Exchequer
• An economist
  
• The country is in debt, partly due to a costly war we didn't budget for, and poor tax revenues because the economy didn't grow as much as expected. In fact, Europe is on the verge of a recession, and no matter what the politicos say, the economy will jump off a cliff and interest rates will go up...oh, and house prices in the UK are about 33% over-valued, and the prices can't be sustained as salaries never rose by as much. Errr, and the pensions system is in serious trouble - so stop living beyond your means
  
• Talk of immigration always hots up when the economy slows down. Remember 1979?
  

So if you know that talk of tax cuts is just plain phooey, you can use your vote on matters that affect us, rather than just you - health, pensions, education, environment, civil liberties and debt relief.

Your vote - use it or lose it. Don't wanna vote? Then go and fuck your luck.

Other stuff:

• A massive 'dziekuje!' to both the Polish Cultural Institute & Krzysztof Marcinkiewicz at Aristos Studio for the cracking film poster of Wajda's 'Czlowiek z Zelaza'
  
• Good luck to Mia in her furniture assembling endeavours and thanks for finding another great gastro pub where I could indulge my gastronomic orgiastic tendancies
  
• Best of luck to Slavic Kitten; snakes and boars can't get it on
  
• Thursday nights are good for flirting at Ikea Brent Park
• Just why do porn movies credit someone as a 'writer'?
• A big 'fuck you' to the forces of perversity that made it impossible to get a ticket to see the great Iranian director Kiarostami in interview at the NFT last Thursday, and to my workload, making it difficult to see Nitin Sawhney in concert in London this week (I will try to catch him in Amsterdam in June)

The link of the day is Wanderlust at Troyland.

Send large-breasted lactating she-males to Fearless.