You got a thing, they got a thing, but I really have a thing...

I have a thing for Japanese women. Unfortunately, it just gets bigger each time I see one, you know, a bit like a Ginza Hustler, e.g. 'Hey baby, I have a thing for you. Why don't we get together and watch it grow? What do I want? Whatever works, yeahhh.'

OK, not smart. Most of the ladies here are stand staff hired from events agencies, and are rather scantily clad. I am relieved that the two ladies on our stand are attired conservatively (no folks, I did not take any pics of the many booth dollies - not my thing).

I have spent hours walking for miles around Ginza finding those damn Tomy 'Flu-Fleurs' for my IT bint.

My flash new suit was soaked and sticking - but enough about 'my thing'.

I just hope the bugger appreciates the deed and helps me out with some strange error messages on my work laptop.

Alas, writing and photography have taken a back seat (as far back as LHR) on this trip, with all my time spent working, boozing, observing and working. The return journey is earmarked for editing.

Damn, there are some real fine looking ladies working here in the hotel. I think I need to flagellate myself - gently, with a featherlight touch bounded by the realms of absorbency.

Try telling Fearless that he'll blink and miss it.

Memo to self

Calling D from Tokyo in the wee small hours (I am 8 hours ahead here, in terms of both time and vapour-trailed excesses) has paid dividends, with new poetry posted to his blog.

I haven't had a chance to write anything, being 'on the go at the mo'. Here's a fragment from 'The Sea Inside', which is extremely likely to change.

Teardrop pitter-patter
erodes resolve,
while waves of pain
corrode the soul,
leaving the heart
to ebb and flow.

Anyway, onto the memo:

I will not get blind drunk yet again, I will not get blind drunk yet again, I will not get blind drunk yet again, I will not get blind drunk yet again, I will not get blind drunk yet again, I will not get blind drunk yet again, I will not get blind drunk yet again, I will not get blind drunk yet again.

Mercy, mercy me.

It ain't the hangovers (I don't get them), just the embarrassment of sheer consumption.

Kokubunji to Shinagawa

Last evening was tough, featuring a particulary frank discussion with a colleague, and revealing the real reason for my visit to old haunts.

This evening however, was a gem. I spent it with my old friend Hara-san, the best engineer I ever worked with in Hitachi. A really sweet guy to boot. His kids are really 'kawaii' (cute).

Meeting him tonight, and Jonathan a few days ago, reminded me of the 'good ole days'.

Apart from drinking and eating lots, I did foolishly agree to Hara-san's '35-37-39' challenge - no, not a particularly interestingly shaped lady, but a challenge to meet someone, get married and have kids with them by thirty nine. I do hope that self-delusion, schizophrenia do not rule me out from winning. I always enjoy making love (my right hand and supply of Vaseline willing).

My great friend Hara-san 

Fearless, wearing a paper apron, as is custom in a Korean barbecue in Tokyo

It's the Revenge of the Water Babies...

...for we are swimming in a sea of sweat, only to shelter in a shower for refuge and solitude. Didn't get much sleep on the flight. Checked in and then went to Akihabara (Tokyo's 'Electric Town') to get my camera and a few other goodies. Will need to go into Ginza at some point this week to get that stuff for ole 'kinky boy' in IT.

As the shepherd said to his mate 'Let's get the flock outta here' - Okazaki-san is picking me up for dinner, and I have some gadget fondling to do. I said gadget.

From L'ortolan to packing for Japan

Last night with Jonathan, Ro & co was great. Stimulating company provided by Sarah and Svetlana. Svetlana and I compared notes on brain disease. She was no longer able to practise as a GP and upon recovery took a job in a laboratory, and also became a clown, Egyptian dancer and painter. As for me, I just wanked more and lost all my hair (after the illness - NOT dinner last night). It was good to catch up with John Clark as well...hadn't seen him since Jonathan's stag night years ago. I was most impressed by his digital SLR. Both Jonathan & John were mesmerised by my grade zero hair cut, staring at it for ages (John couldn't believe the transformation from black wavy mop to clean head) and taking pictures of said head (after everyone else had left of course - I don't pose for porno shoots in public you know).

I better scoot.

The Longest Day...

But hey, that was yesterday.

What a week. Iran elected a hardliner (in that he was harder than Hashemi 'The Shark' Rafsanjani) as president. Was Rafsanjani seen as too close to the West? Although he actually isn't close to the west at all, all serious journals in the West quoted him as a moderate (he isn't, although his daughter is a womens rights campaigner), and as a man they could do business with (they can't really). Western acceptance was one kiss of death for his chances, as well as alleged 'voting irregularities'. Mind you, it could be because the victor, Ahmadinejad, is seen as a champion of the poor, while many Iranians regarded Rafsanjani's last tenure as one of corruption. But hey, the Supreme leader Khamenei is the one who wields power in any case, and he is apparently elected by God (if you believe that, I have a bridge I want to sell you).

It is probably all of the above. Demographics will eventually herald a change, with the majority of the population born after the 1979 revolution. It will be messy.

So don't expect understanding from the West. Preacher Billy Graham has given his last rally, and his ministry will be taken over by his son, who referred to Islam as an 'evil religion'. Arse. All religions are evil, wonderful and stutteringly ambivalent - just depends on what day of the week it is.

Meanwhile, prominent anti-Syrian Lebanese figures keep getting blown up in their cars. Either President Emile Lahoud should get out, or someone should withdraw these terrible exploding cars from the market (are they Ford Pintos?).

Bigots of all stripes can go and fuck their luck. Literally. I can provide diagrams.

Kate Griffin and Gary McKeone at the Arts Council read the submission, and told me that many of the issues raised will be investigated in the next phase of research. Lets see if it makes any difference in the next 3-5 years (I am tarred with the cynicism of having worked with Government agencies before).

Mind you, whatever happens, I am glad I wrote it. Trying to change things is far, far better than pointing at something and bitching about it. Thanks also to Stef for having a read and giving me his feedback.

Anyhow, I now have to do my ironing and packing, then scoot off to Peter Newman's L'ortolan for JB & Ro's joint 40th bash this evening. I haven't seen Peter Newman since we were both seconded onto Reading University's think tank on entrepreneurship, setup by the commuting 'H' (mind you, I think the Dresdner Kleinwort guy in the group was 'out to lunch').

I fly off to Tokyo tomorrow, and by a quirk of fate, I get Monday to myself. I've decided to get a Nikon Coolpix S1 (in black) to complement my Olympus C-765UZ. One of my colleagues at work has asked me to get him this (no, I am not making this stuff up). He wants it in all three colours. What am I, f*&kin' Santa? I'll get him this instead. He can wear them around the office for me and bend over and show me his homework.

Still, it will be a week of bliss, as my mobile phone won't work out there (Japan does not use GSM, so my tri-band handset is useless). Alas, work has provided me with a J-Phone handset, and the hotel has broadband. Bastards.

A luta continua, so I will do what I must.

It's obvious but the truth still hurts

'I believe Silicon Valley is the most boring place in the world'.

Yes, Hayashihara-san, it is. Unfortunately, you are in corporate exile there, and I mercifully, only have visiting rights once in a while. You could make the experience more interesting, and pretend you are Howard Hughes flying the Spruce Goose (every building in the Valley looks like an aircraft hangar), or read Aleksander Solzhenitsyn's classic text to complete the experience of toiling away in a gulag.

To think my former masters wondered why I never agreed to live there permanently.

At least my good friend has kept his great taste in World Cinema and music.

Kichijoji will not be as much fun without you, but I will struggle valiantly on, and drink enough for both of us.

Some clips: Carl Lewis screentest & found sounds.

Moving, Shaking

I'm pretty excited. Next week I will be meeting my old friend and former colleague Hara-san during my Tokyo trip, for the first time in five years. I guess he'll be another one to ask upon initial contact 'What happened to your hair?'. Alas, I won't be able to catch up with good ol' Masuda-san - I found out this morning that he is running a group based in Shanghai. Hopefully i'll catch up with him later in the year.

This time, i'll be staying at the Sakura Tower, and not my old haunt the Keio Plaza in Shinjuku. Hopefully I can relive the life of a young(ish) barfly in Kichijoji...and buy yet another camera at Akihabara.

Must pack my umbrella. It's rainy season at the moment, which means it's hot, sweaty and sticky - great if you're alone with a lady but no good on the JR Line in and around Tokyo with other commuters.

Yeah...

...I am a real genius. Years of writing reports and proposals, and I realised that I forgot to put any contact details on the Arts Council poetry survey submission. Here's the updated version. I'm such a schmuck.

Oh, and congratulations to Steve & Chris Meleka on the arrival of baby Charlotte. Here, give Charlotte some news from the future, with a copy of The Onion from the year 2056.

One for Ani...

...I don't usually do requests, but here goes:

'Ode to Anneka'

Oh sweet blonde Anneka
How long has my desire for you
Burned a hole in my whole?

How I long to caress
Your strong
Nordic flanks

To talk to
Listen to
The jezebel in you

To insinuate myself
Into the spirit
Of wondrous you
And
Locked in our own
Private thunderstorm
Let loose
A bolt of liquid lightning

As silent screams
Dance over your lips
Of defiant delight
I forget
Myself
My creed
Hurled away

You are everything
To me
Anneka
You are made in Sweden
Built like a Volvo
Look like an au pair
Constructed of latex
And horse hair

Oops

7th November, 2003

An amusing link (thanks, Bobo), and Neil Diamond remembers, kind of.

Anneka (seeking a Sven, after dyeing her hair)

Submission to the Arts Council of England

It's done. Thanks to Da Bomb for her comments. Here it is (note: requires Adobe Acrobat Reader).

Sailing...

Am still seeking the 'little man in the boat'. Am now sore and profoundly confused.

Anyway, I will gladly give up the struggle if someone can tell me where I can get a DVD copy of the Iranian film 'Marmalook'/'Marmoulak' ('The Lizard')? Marginally more diverting than clitty-clitty-bang-bang.

I said marginally.

Seeking, searching, stealin' glances

Have drafted a first cut of the submission to the Arts Council. It's too long, but I am unable to find any scope for reduction. I'll pass it to Da Bomb to see if she loses her lunch over it.

Have managed to write one episode of UT, and a skeleton for a second, as well as a more or less straight-laced bio (yeah, right) for the Creating Reality site.

I lost a lot of time today, partly because it was very hot, and partly because I went looking for the clitoris. I have looked everywhere, removing all my clothes in the process, and I still can't find it. I consulted texts by Germaine Greer and Erica Jong, but to no avail. I'll ask my Father to see if he knows where I can find it.

Oh, and 'hello' to Angie. Nice catching up with you!

Do you know where the clitoris is? Tell Fearless and spare his family further embarrassment.

Ah Umm...

Achieved: woke up, showered and dressed. Wearing nothing but white linen and a beard, I am a child-friendly version of a balding Jesus. Submitted a batch of poems to the Bridport Prize - I regret not submitting anything last year, so flagellated myself with the rough end of a pineapple - for quite some considerable time.

Listening to: 'Cobbler's Hornpipe', Eliza Carthy

Writing: two episodes of Uncle Thakur, and that submission to the Arts Council

Thinking about: cobblers pipes, and wondering why there is a magazine called 'Online Gambler' (how sad) & why certain folk are in jeans or in black clothes. Linen is the way to go on a day like this. Women - grow a beard and have a stroke in the sunshine!

Likely to: bugger off to Kings Meadow by the Thames later today, or go to Kew tomorrow.

Feeling: reflective and recharged.

Oh, and happy Fathers day, Naseer.

Love, peace & respect,

Fearless

Momentary lapse into thought

Funny that Joseph Heller invented the term 'Catch-22' with his novel of the same name, given that it was originally entitled 'Catch-18', but the publisher insisted on changing it, as they had just published a book with '18' in the title. I hadn't seen the Mike Nichols-directed film adaptation in years - until last night. A beautifully, almost biblically, shot production.

Anyhow, if you are an author, artist or performer, you may be interested in Creative Commons, a licensing scheme that is free to use.

Frig & Flip

Managed to get a suit in Reading - didn't fancy going all the way into Knightsbridge this weekend. Also got a copy of 'Catch as Catch Can' - a collection of Joseph Heller short stories, including two chapters which didn't make it into 'Catch-22', plus a copy of 'Herzog' by Saul Bellow.

Also got a new suitcase to replace the one I destroyed on my return from San Francisco. This one is what can loosely be termed as 'distinctive' so I won't lose it at Narita airport next weekend (fingers and legs crossed).

It's been a beautifully breezy day. K called back and we have agreed to meet on Monday, following last night's postponement. Da Bomb was wonderful (as usual), and I even managed to catch a jar with Fayyez at his boozer the Corn Stores. Even my trip to the printers was warm and hilarious.

I have stacks to write this weekend, so i'll start that tomorrow, but for now, I need an ice cold glass of lassi and a copy of The Believer.

I hope Briggsy likes the birthday presents I got him. Stimulating, if not provocative.

Found it!

'Pretender to the Throne'

I saw Elvis today,

jivin' down the street

in blue suede feet.

He looked all shook up.

Curious, and mindful

of local history,

I surmised an identity crisis -

the picture of himself,

clutched in trembling hand,

confirmed it.

My streetscene analysis

floated away with grey clouds,

as he strode towards

his rightful place

on The Kings Road.

It rained, as did he.

12th April 2005, Reading

Between us boys, girls & ladyboys, I feel rather embarrassed. The poem took me 2 minutes to write, with 5 for the title, yet many poets slave for hours and days over a single poem. It's very humbling for me to get a place in a competition. I doff my panama hat to them for their dedication and perseverance.

Blimus!

Opened this morning's post to discover that I have won 3rd place in the Creating Reality competition with 'Pretender to the Throne'. I'd post it here, but now I can't find it...

My most heartfelt thanks to 'she who pushed me'. Guess I better take her advice and enter more competitions - even though my tongue gets sore from licking all those envelope flaps. Thanks also to Al, D, Diddy & Jeff for the frequent kickings-in.

Love, peace & respect,
Fearless

Four clear days...

...to scout around, check out some old time, long time places from way back whence we came. Four clear days to get my groovething back as the neuropathic drugs leave the nervous system for hopefully the last time. Viral meningitis isn't just nasty, it's a pain in the ass, a bit like an annoying person at a party who just won't leave you alone, and is the last one to leave, but only after throwing up over your boots. The worst is that outwardly, you would think I am a stonkingly healthy chap, and in a way, I am for the most part. But my brain is seriously pissed (as in irritated).

Watching: 'Grosse Pointe Blank'

Listening to: 'Maggot Brain' by Funkadelic

Reading: what I am typing right now (durrr)

Wondering: why is it that the Home Office have made it really difficult for people to protest in or around Parliament Square? Surely that's our right in a democracy? After all, we elect parliament to represent us. I don't believe that nonsense about terrorism, because we never had these restrictions in place when the IRA were active. It's a shame that would-be protesters now have to apply to the police for permission - I would much prefer it if they could apply to one of our few remaining independent institutions - the judiciary - and ask a magistrate.

The steady, sleight-of-hand style erosion of civil rights is far slicker than any Paul Daniels or David Copperfield magic trick I ever saw.

We the people, are suckers. Great thing is, once you know what you are, you can do something about it. The bitter truth is far far sweeter than floating ignorance.

Love, peace & respect,

Fearless

A message to the taxi driver...

...that I debated with, over the cost of ID cards. I told you it was going to be around £300. Now pay up!

Proof, that you don't need to go to the LSE to know how to add and multiply.

One I just lifted...

...from D's blog (always worth a visit):

http://www.reandev.com/taliban/

Nice, well adjusted, God-fearing folk, you know the kind...morons.

Goaaaal!

Finally, the word 'bouncebackability' has made it into a dictionary. Language, for me at least, hasn't been sweeter, not since I was 11yo, when I asked my French teacher what the meaning of 'Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?' was.

Ah well, that's enough verbal drunkedness this evening. Tomorrow night I get to see K, friend and mentor, after a long hiatus.

Ciao for now.

Freedom not to be free

..I guess that's what Robert Scoble of Microsoft was thinking, when trying to defend the fact that MSN Spaces - Microsoft's blogging service - rejects posts from China with words like 'freedom' and 'democracy' in the text, essentially playing ball with the authorities there for short-term business gain (maybe, if they're lucky). Ex CNN journalist Rebecca MacKinnon slays the guy.

The last of all freedoms is one's mind, and without the ability to express ourselves, what use is an identity?

Freedom - you can't beat a concept that's been around since the beginning of time.

Musings based on alleged events, etc

A number of news snippets made me laugh today. One of the prosecutors in the Michael Jackson case remarked after the not guilty verdict, that they thought they had a 'pretty good' case. ONLY pretty good? If they were that unsure, perhaps they should have prosecuted the parents of the alleged 'victims' for stupidity and irresponsibility instead.

The other was an announcement, by one of Jackson's lawyers, that the former defendant would 'change his personality'. It could be argued that he has changed everything else (there are more spare parts for him than a Rover 75) , but it's a stunning thing to come out and say.

I won't speculate on his guilt or innocence as I don't know the facts - news snippets don't count for much with me, and it's not as if I paid any attention during the trial & circus.

What's he really like? I have no clue. The lyrics of 'Billie Jean' from 1982 are more mature than that of 'Bad' from the 90s - they're supposedly written by the same guy, but you wouldn't have thought so.

Perhaps Michael Jackson is a man of multiple personalities (the others being Jonathan King & Gary Glitter, according to local cynics).

The final thing was hearing that Elton John has been immortalised in chocolate.

MELT HIM!!!

Normal, fatuous service will be resumed tomorrow.

What's my brand?

Emma speculated that perhaps the reason for my relapse last December was that it wasn't viral meningitis the second time, but chronic fatigue syndrome, which can follow on from VM. What a blast! Anyway, the signs to a final recovery are looking good. About frigging time too.

A Writer's Tools

A Writer's Tools (excluding the microphone and camera)


(Clockwise from top left: laptop, iPod Shuffle, iRiver jukebox, mobile, Cross and Montblanc fountain pens, Moleskine notebook and a leather wristband that reminds me of both a promise to myself and of someone else)

I was thinking earlier today of the tools I used in my writing and performing...as I handed one of my much-prized Moleskine notebooks to my mother - a perfect excuse to get some more supplies! Shame I can't find an adaptor to use D's mic with my laptop. I lost the recordings I made last year and need to make a new set for the forthcoming website at www.fearlesslyrics.com.

Mood: indigo, with the sunny & philosophical undertones of a Friday 13th June past

Listening to: Gabor Szabo, Nitin Sawhney, Os Mutantes and Madredeus

Reading: The Collected Letters of James Thurber

Meet some of the gang

It's not true that I hang out exclusively with bald folk - just a coincidence. Please meet some of my family and friends.

Sadia & Adnan - human rights lawyer and action man at rest

Kamran the economist - (don't ask me what that line on his head is)

Sleepy Fearless ready to wow the North American press (thanks D) 

Marek, Omar, Wai-Lap, Ali-Khan and a young Fearless

Fairytale Boys Diddy, Jeff & Ash (Devon, Dec '03)

The Chilli founders

A Sunflower (I really dig 'em)

Friend, colleague and poet, 'D'

Anchor Books/Forward Press

Why do their editors have names like Steve Twelvetree, Heather Killingray and Bobby Tobolik? The surnames sound made-up. I think we should be told.

That reminds me - I am looking for suggestions for porn star names to accompany 'Harry Twatts'. The iPod Perv suggested 'Rusty Tool'. Any others?

Email Fearless with your ideas.

Advanced Polemics 101 - cancelled?

What will happen when Norman Mailer, Gore Vidal, Christopher Hitchens, Noam Chomsky and Germaine Greer move into the afterworld?

Who will be the left's free-thinking polemicist?

I remain unconvinced that Michael Moore and his dubious grandstanding is the answer. His heart is in the right place, but that sometimes leaves little room for the facts - which do not discriminate between left or right. His early works were great, but his later stuff shows a cavalier handling of facts and not a small number of shortcuts.

The conclusion can only follow after the facts have been established.

Is there any difference between left and right? Perhaps it's that we have recently been confusing ideology with policy, or how one follows from the other. It doesn't, not when the equation includes expediency, i.e. 'it's ok for me to be left-wing, as long as it doesn't affect me.'

We live in a society that increasingly focuses on what it doesn't have, rather than what it has. It rewards mediocrity, promotes materialism, and people are veering towards isolationism. That's a tragedy. Maybe it will change. Societal changes like that take around 20 years to manifest themselves.

One interesting aspect here is technology. As a technologist, I am not big on how it changes the world, for it is but one factor - food, education and housing are more important.

Blogging and the ability to take digital snaps and upload them, allows virtually anyone to become a journalist. Of course, some analytical skill is desirable (unless you're 100% partisan) as well as integrity. But how to get your views noticed? Probably by forming communities of-like minded folk - doesn't that sound just like a traditional newspaper? You know, editorial policy and a bunch of hacks?

Of course, getting money from this endeavour will be hard and sometimes impossible, but perhaps a wider range of people can become polemicists for either the left, right, centre or goofy. There are some already, but they are putting the partisan before the factual.

Sorry, had to get that off my chest. I'm off for a (head) wank.

Import/Export

Is love a commodity? Freely available, willingly traded - of varying quality, forever subject to trade disputes and the threat (and promise) of sanctions. There is no receipt, no right to a refund. What you see is what you get - maybe.

Carousing with trannies, buxom babes and an 8ft rocking horse

After a slightly late start, I went to see 'Naked' at Sadler's Wells. A tale of infidelity and yes, nakedness - but beyond the lack of clothing it's really about the guilt that one can't hide. The subtle body language was spot on. I fell in love with Monica Zamora and Oxana Panchenko - who wouldn't?

Bumped into Immodesty Blaize at Pret a Manger across from the Arts Theatre in Great Newport Street. A real Mable (that's a compliment, by the way).

I caught 'Conseguenze Dell' Amore' at the Curzon. A sparse film, beautifully acted by the two leads (Toni Servillo & the delicious Olivia Magnani), although there are a couple of weak points in the plot. Great camera work. A film that for certain reasons resonated rather close to home.

Ended the evening at the Arts Theatre watching Immodesty Blaize & Walter. Camp cabaret at its best! I sat right at the back, like a schoolboy bunking off (I said bunking). Most of the audience were suitably attired, and from the back, I watched the audience become as much a part of the show as the performers. Trumpets have never sounded so rude. The best bit was that several buxom women did bend over and show me their bottoms!! However, it must be said that Walter looks good in stockings too. Nobody can pull off a transition from ZZ Top to Tammy Wynette to Britney Spears in 10 minutes flat. I even got compliments for my whooping and skipping (down the aisle, when I went to get ice cream during the interval).

Almost as good as carousing at the Pulverfass Cabaret in Hamburg, or the cabaret scene in 'Der Bewegte Mann' ('The Most Desired Man').

Shame I didn't make it to the latest SoxaN gig though (sob).

Fearless

Arse!

Woke up too late for Liberty (the human rights group, not the department store, D). I better run like a greyhound on heat for my other engagements. My newly shaved head should make me more aerodynamic.

D's Tribute T-Shirt (thanks for lunch)

Bored?

Friends unavailable? Run out of DudeLube? Worry not - read a blog. Two for you to twang your groovethang too. Firstly, you could try the travelling moustache fetishist as he strokes his fur across Russia. Secondly, spend some quality time with 'D' at In Girum Imus Nocte (we go into the circle at night??), and check out his poetry. His collection is entitled 'The Hotel Pimodan' and it's shockingly good.

On another topic, I had wanted to make some comments about religion, but rather than do that (I worked late and I am tired), here's something from The Friday Thing, a journal I am growing to lurrrve...

..CHRIST

This week the latest leg of the Holy Foodstuff Tour saw Jesus
Christ appearing in a crisp, or 'potato chip', in Florida.
'Deeply religious' Rosalie Lawson, 55, daughter of the Very
Reverend LeRoy Lawson, doesn't know what to do for the best.
'It's sitting in a jar in the kitchen while we decide,' she said.
'We may sell it. I'm not really sure.'

Oh, Jesus. Not again. Please, God. Please explain. Why hast thou
stuffed the collective headpiece of thine finest creation with
turds? Christopher Hitchens put it rather well recently at the
The Hay Literature Festival when he said: 'I can't stand anyone
who believes in God, who invokes the divinity, or who is a person
of faith. I mean that to me is a horrible repulsive thing.' Well
said, Christopher. You would also have been given a point for
'moral retards'.



..MORAL RETARDS

Timothy Shortell, a Brooklyn College associate professor in the
sociology department at the City University of New York, in
America, was all set to become department chairman. Then, on
Monday, he informed his colleagues that he would not be taking up
the position. He gave his reasons for stepping down in an email,
citing the 'venom directed at [him] by some members of the
department during the last two weeks'. Venom? But why on earth
would a humble sociology boffin attract venom? Well, it was
something he wrote a while back, in 2001, for an online magazine
called Fifteen Credibility Street. It rubbed people up the wrong
way. The article was recently dredged up, perhaps, Shortell has
intimated, in an effort to derail his appointment. This is the
paragraph that seems to have particularly rankled - it's rather
good:

'On a personal level, religiosity is merely annoying - like pop
music or reality television. This immaturity represents a
significant social problem, however, because religious adherents
fail to recognize their limitations. So, in the name of their
faith, these moral retards are running around pointing fingers
and doing real harm to others. One only has to read the newspaper
to see the results of their handiwork. They discriminate, exclude
and belittle. They make a virtue of closed-mindedness and
virulent ignorance. They are an ugly, violent lot.'

The eventual response to this piece, as we have seen, has been an
awful lot of finger-pointing, discriminating, excluding and
belittling. Shortell has his supporters of course, who speak of
intellectual and academic freedom and who are furious that a good
man has been bullied out of a job he would do well. But there are
also many others at CUNY who speak of the inappropriateness of
having a department head whose views are 'outside the
mainstream'.

Same old same old. Well, we say, fuck 'em. Fuck 'em in the ear,
Timothy. They're only sore because they know you're right.

...and Shortell's Response.

I'm not a big fan of religion, and having laws that inhibit our
right to question, mock and rip the piss out of it makes me
uncomfortable.  The idea of free speech means hearing
(if not listening to) things you don't agree with.  A free
society can't be free for just one person, and progress rarely
occurs without a challenge being laid.  Ah well, back to the KY...

Zero Mostel would have done it!

Missed Shortfuse last night, opting to struggle with a Dyson vacuum cleaner with an 'odd' attachment. Dyson sure do make a hatful of crap.

Close friends will know that I am in the midst of a celibacy errr drive, yes - celibacy drive. It's going well but the continuous wanking has left me sore. Don't know why I chose to share that with you. Anyway, tomorrow i'm off to Liberty's AGM to partake of legal masturbation and then I will sneak in to watch the Ballet Boyz production, 'Naked', at Sadler's Wells ('Naked' closes tomorrow). In the evening I will get my wet dream come true, by watching buxom ladies bend over and show me their bottoms - well close, in that I will be watching a performance of Immodesty Blaize and Walter's Burlesque at the Arts Theatre. Alas, The Independent slagged it off, and the show does not feature a live orchestra. I'm hoping that it will be so bad that it's relatively good. Mind you, an evening at Madame Jo Jo's might be better. Will I have a chance to catch the SoxaN Collective in Brick Lane???

Does this post give anyone the impression that I have got the horn? Nah, didn't think so.

Send hula-hula boys to Fearless for an MOT inspection

Creating a rod for my own back, butt and brains

Spread the Word, a 'literature development agency', is conducting a survey on behalf of the three UK Arts Councils into publishing opportunities for black and Asian poets (funny how one group is a colour and the other an ethnic group). 'Dzekuje!' to Da Bomb for sending me the questionnaire.

It appears that Spread the Word had won the tender to handle this project. I don't know what the exact terms of reference are, but the questions suck, and don't even scratch the surface. The questions are not addressed at other people involved in making the publishing ecosystem work.

So in a true spirit of well-intentioned stupidity, I contacted the Arts Council, offering to make an official submission to them directly. Unfortunately (for me, them), they have agreed. I'll post the text of the (short) submission on the blog by the end of this month - or maybe earlier, as I am flying to Japan on the 26th to bathe in the humidity. I hope I have learnt lessons from the time I submitted a document on ID Cards to the Home Office three long years ago...

Ask a LadyBoy to disclose the flower of their secret to Fearless

Damn!

It has been announced that the great theatre and film actress, Anne Bancroft (Anna Maria Italiano) died on Monday of cancer, aged 73. She was a terrific actress and one sexy woman. My condolences to her husband Mel Brooks and to her long-term admirer the iPod Perv.

I'm clearly running out of fantasy women.

Email Fearless and fix him up.

Going Dutch

I have just returned from a long weekend in Amsterdam/Alkmaar. How did it go? Well, the self-incriminating bits aside, it kinda went like this...

Friday
I get to hear the Tao of Rashid, my 4.30am taxi driver. We talk about Punjab province in Pakistan (he's from Islamabad, and my lot hail from Lahore) and compare the number of points on our driving licenses. I win, although I am now down to 6 from 12.

At Starbucks in Terminal 4, a Russian glamourpuss sits next to me, weary as she is, of the sweaty, slobbering, besuited f*ckbarrell pervs. I tell her that they are actually looking and slobbering over me and show her why. She had a striking face, particularly so when she smiled. I board the plane, and explain to the stewardess that I am a tranny, but being my day off, she didn't have to serve me before she served the male passenger in my row. I almost elicited a smile, before it was stampeded by a look of utter disbelief, from page 5 of the 'Trolley-Dolly Guide to In-Flight Facial Expressions'.

On arrival I was collected by my cousin Adnan. I demand to be taken to see naked 'Dutch women with clothes on', so after saying hi to my Aunt, he takes me to the beach in Alkmaar. After a long walk & talk session, he observes that I have brought the weather over with me. We run back to the car to return home, but not before he has taken me to a cafe where I exclaim my delight (loudly) at there being so many naked Dutch women (with clothes on).

We go deep into Alkmaar and I manage to get a leather jacket (yes, I packed in a hurry), but what was better was the news that it was the start of the herring season. After that, it was the fishy breath blues all the way, as I waltzed towards and wheezed over naked Dutch women (with clothes on).

Later I 'discuss' with my Aunt & cousins the fate of my ex wife, best summarised like so:

'Disclosure'

I was, as is custom,
the last to know.
They hesitated telling me,
unsure of my likely reaction.
I am ashamed to admit that
hearing you had remarried
did indeed pain me,
if only because I fell off the chair
whilst laughing most heartily.

Saturday
Wunderkinder Sara gives me a demonstration of her driving prowess, as I head towards the Van Gogh museum. I didn't realise that Van Gogh started painting from 27, only putting down his brush to pick up a gun and shoot himself at 37.

I continued looking for naked Dutch - (you know the rest), while Kamran was window shopping.

In the evening, I got to see Nitin Sawhney on the last date of his European tour at the Paradiso. He used the same visuals from the RFH show in November, and had five singers, including Tina Grace (the lady with the serious feline features who I was secretly in love with - until just disclosed it) and the mighty Devinder Singh. They gave another cracking rendition of 'Homelands'.

Kamran disappointed me by observing that Tina Grace was wearing a wedding ring (we were at the front), and that she was getting on a bit. He didn't make me feel any better when he remarked that I too, am getting on a bit. Glad I made the cheeky git walk for miles that day.

Sunday
Forgot to take the medication for the 2nd day running. Am unbowed, but knackered. Watching 'Seinfeld', Kamran & Adnan start comparing me to the character of 'George Costanza' (played by Jason Alexander) - ostensibly because of my diabolically bad luck with girlfriends. I kept my head down, and finished the 'Polysyllabic Spree' by Nick Hornby, as well as a back issue of 'The Believer'.

Under fire, with 'George' comparisons raining overhead, I find a copy of 'Catch-22' by Joseph Heller. I hadn't read the book since I was 17yo, but I was reminded of the influence this book has had on me. I spent the rest of the day reacquainting myself with my old friend and reminiscing.

Monday
Went to the Tropen Museum with Adnan to see an exhibition about evil. Unfortunately, it was really about the various manifestations of the devil across different cultures, and did not address the deeper theme of the evil inside each one of us (and that includes you).

My manic laughter in the darkest parts of the exhibition failed to stir Adnan - but then it wouldn't, as he is a former marine. My lip smacking sounds during an exorcism film clip did make a Charles Manson lookalike laugh though.

What did I learn from the exhibition? That Catholics really know how to scare the shit out of children and set them up for a life of fear.

The journey back was uneventful, but I did get to see lots of naked women with their clothes on.

I never did get the Casio Exilim camera (same width and height as a credit card, and only 1.2cm thick) for my undercover snaps, despite the deal on offer at Schiphol airport. However, I will be in Japan for the last week of June, so I expect to get the latest kit from Akihabara to bolster my exisiting Olympus C765-UZ, which is too bulky due to its 10X zoom. It's a voyeur's mission to get the best.

Writing: black on black in black

A few days ago, I asked why there so few black writers. 'Da Bomb' has kindly given me an answer. It's well worth reading (so i'll shut up now)...

It's a complex question and I think there are lots of reasons. Partly it is about aspirations, what young black men and women aspire to be and what society/culture/schools etc tell them they can aspire to be. Also, I think their voices may not be understood or encouraged at university level (that's if they manage to get a place on a relevant degree - last term there was just one black student on the playwriting module at the university where I lecture and just two the term before). We need to encourage more young black people into the theatre and companies like Talawa and writers like Kwame Kwai Armah are a big part of making that happen - making it a real and viable career path. But getting in to the industry is tough and very competitive and although the Royal Court and the BBC now have excellent schemes aimed specifically at black writers the places on the schemes are few and far between.

I gave the highest grade I have ever given for playwriting to a black student last year for a brilliant one woman play written almost exclusively in Jamaican patois. In giving the mark I knew the work would be singled out and my concern was that the white, middleclass, external examiner just wouldn't 'get it'. Its very difficult to explain to people with no understanding of black culture who have probably never even spoken to a black person unless they were being served by them in a shop/garage/bank etc what the issues are that are being explored in black theatre and why they are so relevant and important. It does rile me and I do my best to encourage my black students as much as possible to express themselves and their issues through their work. I make sure they hear about all the relevant opportunities such as Critical Mass, the Royal court scheme, and try and push them to go for it because it's a chance to get in and make a difference. I worry that on other playwriting modules, the black students may not be encouraged to find their own voice and may not be told about the opportunities that are available to them.

A. Ruth Tompsett - a brilliant lecturer at Middlesex University has for some years run a whole module called Black Theatre exploring these very issues and looking at all aspects of black theatre. The module is available to students taking drama and performance based degrees at Middlesex University and has in fact extended into all sorts of exciting areas with African-American and African Theatres and Black British and Caribbean Theatres all covered.

Worth looking at:

Moving here
Carnival archive & study resource
Alfred Fagon award