Every single day since I've moved back into London, without exception, I've written at least a handful of pages (be it here, Bronze Age Sky God, scripts etc). But all day yesterday and so far all day today I have been suffering good old fashioned writers block. It's like I keep having the same conversation with myself...
Oliver: Okay Brain, what have you got?
Brain: *Sound of an old fashioned radio failing to pick up a station*
So yes, sorry for the lack of content - hopefully I'll be able to get better reception soon!
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Thursday, April 05, 2007
I wish I could will myself to honestly make the "pubic art" typo...
...but I can't! I can only look back upon the moment from The Critic and chuckle. Public art, this has to do with public art.
POINT
I've mentioned the fella a couple of times and have a permanent link in my sidebar, but just in case you've missed the biz - Posterchild is a street artist that I'm a pretty big fan of. I like his work and the philosophy behind it, both of which being rare occurrences as I am pretty hard on the art world - having a strong urge to point out naked emperors to anyone in earshot. Maybe it comes from growing up constantly being exposed to artistry of one form or another (thanks Ma and Pa), maybe I'm an ass.
ANYways
There was a very strong interview with him as conducted by the Torontoist - check it out. Through the article I also discovered that someone is finally taking a stand against those mind blowingly wasteful invasions of privacy - billboard trucks.
In other "giving props"-related news, my longtime chum and general ne'er do well Robert Near just got his first front page article and it is a very enjoyable interview with The Roots. Spread that on your Web 2.0 and take a bite. He's come a long way from his first music articles penned between evenings of debauchery in Montreal, while chugging along through McGill, and it shows.
Me?
I......broke the lid to a pot and swore rather creatively? I also came up with a pun and a marginally clever line for a lecherous character, both of which I put into my tiny notebook. True story!
POINT
I've mentioned the fella a couple of times and have a permanent link in my sidebar, but just in case you've missed the biz - Posterchild is a street artist that I'm a pretty big fan of. I like his work and the philosophy behind it, both of which being rare occurrences as I am pretty hard on the art world - having a strong urge to point out naked emperors to anyone in earshot. Maybe it comes from growing up constantly being exposed to artistry of one form or another (thanks Ma and Pa), maybe I'm an ass.
ANYways
There was a very strong interview with him as conducted by the Torontoist - check it out. Through the article I also discovered that someone is finally taking a stand against those mind blowingly wasteful invasions of privacy - billboard trucks.
In other "giving props"-related news, my longtime chum and general ne'er do well Robert Near just got his first front page article and it is a very enjoyable interview with The Roots. Spread that on your Web 2.0 and take a bite. He's come a long way from his first music articles penned between evenings of debauchery in Montreal, while chugging along through McGill, and it shows.
Me?
I......broke the lid to a pot and swore rather creatively? I also came up with a pun and a marginally clever line for a lecherous character, both of which I put into my tiny notebook. True story!
You can blame Isaac Asimov for this one
Well, in a rather indirect fashion at least...
Count your daughters and lock up your wife, courtesy of Bronze Age Sky God, here comes Nathan the Non-Descript!
Count your daughters and lock up your wife, courtesy of Bronze Age Sky God, here comes Nathan the Non-Descript!
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Another troop movement by the forces of satire...
If there is one thing I feel that highlights the millennium thus far, in my mind at least, it is a strange phenomenon that I often sum up in my mind by thinking back to the political satire of decades past. A common tactic of that satire would be to provide views of a future that would be an outrageous extrapolation of the world to come, done with the hope of scaring the bejesus out of the reader or viewer into acting responsibly in the present so as to help avoid a less hyperbolic - yet still unfavorable - development. I don't think a lot of satirists in the 20th century actually ever expected things to get as outrageous as they have in our recent times.
Perhaps I'm muddling it a bit here.
In one installment of Warren Ellis' best series, Planetary, he posits the idea of a universe governed entirely by the conventions of popular fiction (i.e. The hero always wins, villains have to explain their plot, if you see a gun over the mantlepiece in the first act then is shall be fired to devastating effect in the third etc). Several events since 2001, including a new proposal in British security which prompted this entry, have led me to imagine a more specific alternate dimension populated entirely by Political Satire - a universe which has occasionally bled through into our own and caused things to happen that people would have dismissed as wild conspiracy theories or bad jokes in the latter decades of the 20th century.
I mean, come on, talking cameras that chastise people on the street? What is this, Paranoia? Brazil?
Though perhaps I should just envisage a less specific dimension, simply "Satire", as the idea of someone becoming famous (as opposed to infamous and, you know, disgraced) by having most of the first world catch her being fucked in a hotel room while high on cocaine is something else I would have dismissed as hyperbolic farce in years gone by.
Man, just listen to me eh? An old man already, looking back across the Golden Years of the 1990's (which included: The Columbine Shootings and O.J. Simpsons Big Farce). Soon enough I'll be driving kids crazy in a similar manner to how many Baby Boomers got sick of their parents looking back across their Golden Years (I.e. The Great Depression, World War II).
Political Satire Addendum: People tend to either love or be totally indifferent to Gary Trudeau's Doonesbury. Those who love him may have noticed that he keeps an exceptionally low profile and therefore may be as pleased as I was to find that he gave a lengthy interview, for the first time in about thirty years, in reaction to his recent storyline concerning B.D. getting his leg blown during a tour of duty in Iraq.
Perhaps I'm muddling it a bit here.
In one installment of Warren Ellis' best series, Planetary, he posits the idea of a universe governed entirely by the conventions of popular fiction (i.e. The hero always wins, villains have to explain their plot, if you see a gun over the mantlepiece in the first act then is shall be fired to devastating effect in the third etc). Several events since 2001, including a new proposal in British security which prompted this entry, have led me to imagine a more specific alternate dimension populated entirely by Political Satire - a universe which has occasionally bled through into our own and caused things to happen that people would have dismissed as wild conspiracy theories or bad jokes in the latter decades of the 20th century.
I mean, come on, talking cameras that chastise people on the street? What is this, Paranoia? Brazil?
Though perhaps I should just envisage a less specific dimension, simply "Satire", as the idea of someone becoming famous (as opposed to infamous and, you know, disgraced) by having most of the first world catch her being fucked in a hotel room while high on cocaine is something else I would have dismissed as hyperbolic farce in years gone by.
Man, just listen to me eh? An old man already, looking back across the Golden Years of the 1990's (which included: The Columbine Shootings and O.J. Simpsons Big Farce). Soon enough I'll be driving kids crazy in a similar manner to how many Baby Boomers got sick of their parents looking back across their Golden Years (I.e. The Great Depression, World War II).
Political Satire Addendum: People tend to either love or be totally indifferent to Gary Trudeau's Doonesbury. Those who love him may have noticed that he keeps an exceptionally low profile and therefore may be as pleased as I was to find that he gave a lengthy interview, for the first time in about thirty years, in reaction to his recent storyline concerning B.D. getting his leg blown during a tour of duty in Iraq.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Just a little somethin' today
Any of you who read Penny Arcade have probably already seen this, but for those of you who don't (or at least don't read Tycho's newsposts) here is the PG version of 300's trailer. You may be tempted to think "Okay, I get it" about thirty seconds along the way....but hang in there for MAGIC.
Monday, April 02, 2007
If you are the kind of terrible soul...
...who took pleasure from Aircraft Carrier Delight, then you'll be pleased to know that I've seen fit to write a sequel in what shows all the signs of becoming a trilogy. So head on over to Bronze Age Sky God for War Room Delight!
Fighting climate change with drag queens
Sunday, April 01, 2007
I have a new favorite place: Part 2
Right then, onto St. James park itself!
Once I was actually deeper inside the park, I was amazed to realize I was getting flashbacks to walking through the woods in Carp. I think it was one of those very broad mnemonic connections, a brief joining between the base elements laying underneath each (water, woods, lack of buildings, calm). Yes, a lack of buildings - seemingly. There aren't too many points in the park where you can get that impression, of course, but I was lucky enough to stumble into a couple and to get that sensation while logically knowing I was in the heart of one of the worlds largest cities...it was a little thrilling for someone so used to thinking of isolation within nature and cities as being mutually exclusive from each other.
Now, Hyde Park had a few Swan in its waters but I wouldn't say it had a strong body of wildlife. St. James park does, though, a tradition that goes back about 360 years. Several small areas are enclosed for the express use of the large variety of birds. There was even a private little cottage for whoever tends to the birds, something I couldn't help envying with an intensity that would register on a Geiger counter. I wish I'd gotten more pictures of the animals, but there was just too much to photograph - I guess I should look into one of those memory sticks for my camera, so I can clutter my hard drive with several hojillion pictures that I'll never print!
About a thirdways into the park, I made a little lie to myself that I would repeat a couple more times over my time there. "I'll just look at a little more, walk a little more, then I'll grab a bench and write".
Sounds like typical procrastination, I know! But I'm still pumped about this Parkour/sci-fi script - it's just that park repeatedly flooded me with a sense of awe. This was probably enhanced by the contrast between where I'd come from (Islington: Cheap chicken shops, concrete almost everywhere, occasional stray chav wandering down from Seven Sisters) and where I was (Centuries of tradition, monuments to what a few million pounds worth of landscaping can do, tourists from all corners of the globe). Eventually I came to what is easily the most grandiose monument in the city. Oh sure, Lord Nelson's Column might be a bit taller but Queen Victoria the second still wins, this oddball competition I've been holding in my head, by a landslide.
Getting up close I couldn't help but be briefly bought back to the throne of Xerxes in 300. If the giant, stone Queen Victoria and her throne suddenly began to move across the countryside while carried by several dozen slaves - probably recent uni grads - I can't say as I'd feel like fighting her, let alone her army!
That scrap of building you can see behind it is, in fact, good old Buckingham palace. From here I turned right and went around the locked and gilded gates into the northern most portion of the park.
I remember thinking to myself "Hot damn, okay, it's not like they'll have another Queen Victoria monument. I should be able to grab a snack and a seat, then write". I managed the first two, but I just couldn't lose that need to draw in as much of the park through my eyes as I could! The following picture is almost certainly going to be the subject of my next watercolour painting.
After a relaxing sit n' stare, I decided to leave the park and found myself in the Picadilly area. I spotted two arcades, Picadilly and Brunell, across from each other. As some of you know, really expensive tailors are basically pornography for me - so I had a look.
Yup, I am definitely getting a custom tailored suit the first time that I ever make some real money out of film. Sure you could put the cost towards a car, but my suit will (probably) do a lot less damage to the environment and it won't depreciate in value the second I wear it out of the store. As I'd suspected, these arcades were about as upscale as it gets before you reach that plateau of secret celebrity stores which you sometimes hear about. Still, it was fun to look. Amongst the suits and sweaters which cost more than a month of my rent there was a very pricey fountain pen store (anybody want to sponsor my purchase of a 1928 blue metallic fountain pen? Only eighty quid!), a gaming store which seemed out of place even if it only sold older and more respectable (?) board games and the terribly named but terribly interesting "Map World" where one could spend a grand on an original Royal Navy map of the Mediterranean, circa 1748.
Rallying, I decided to head back to the park and prove that I could overcome the henious forces of beauty and relaxation to do some writing. But I lost this second battle as well! Sitting on a bench and looking about me, enjoying the warmth and the sights, I couldn't help but think back to what I said on Monday. Why couldn't I just stop and enjoy where I was, the moment I as in, without feeling that unless I was plowing away at some task then the moment wasn't being properly utilized? Sheeeesh. I mean, hell, I'd even written a few pages on the tube ride down! So I tried to live Slow and felt all the better for it. At the end of the day I felt like I'd gotten my proper allowance of time, not an all too quick montage of attending to this n' that. I'm a little miffed that the park also obliterated all thoughts regarding my purchase of a printer/scanner, but, somehow, I have faith that the consumer electronics industry will still be around in the days to come.
Today it's sunny out again and I have some of the mundane that needs to be done (laundry, buy a new monthly rail/tube pass, take out the recycling) as well as some of the creative (more script work etc) and I'm going to see if I can still get everything done that I want to get done without that feeling of being pushed along a track. Here's hopin'!
Finally, a little hello to my new readers in New Zealand - thanks for sticking with me guys! Also, hello to the people from all over the world who keep finding my blog by accidentally typing "I heart fuckabees" into google. Unless it isn't an accident? Somehow I have trouble imagining that a lot of the metaphysical, philospohical waxings of the original text could find a home in a pornographic adaptation.
Once I was actually deeper inside the park, I was amazed to realize I was getting flashbacks to walking through the woods in Carp. I think it was one of those very broad mnemonic connections, a brief joining between the base elements laying underneath each (water, woods, lack of buildings, calm). Yes, a lack of buildings - seemingly. There aren't too many points in the park where you can get that impression, of course, but I was lucky enough to stumble into a couple and to get that sensation while logically knowing I was in the heart of one of the worlds largest cities...it was a little thrilling for someone so used to thinking of isolation within nature and cities as being mutually exclusive from each other.
Now, Hyde Park had a few Swan in its waters but I wouldn't say it had a strong body of wildlife. St. James park does, though, a tradition that goes back about 360 years. Several small areas are enclosed for the express use of the large variety of birds. There was even a private little cottage for whoever tends to the birds, something I couldn't help envying with an intensity that would register on a Geiger counter. I wish I'd gotten more pictures of the animals, but there was just too much to photograph - I guess I should look into one of those memory sticks for my camera, so I can clutter my hard drive with several hojillion pictures that I'll never print!
About a thirdways into the park, I made a little lie to myself that I would repeat a couple more times over my time there. "I'll just look at a little more, walk a little more, then I'll grab a bench and write".
Sounds like typical procrastination, I know! But I'm still pumped about this Parkour/sci-fi script - it's just that park repeatedly flooded me with a sense of awe. This was probably enhanced by the contrast between where I'd come from (Islington: Cheap chicken shops, concrete almost everywhere, occasional stray chav wandering down from Seven Sisters) and where I was (Centuries of tradition, monuments to what a few million pounds worth of landscaping can do, tourists from all corners of the globe). Eventually I came to what is easily the most grandiose monument in the city. Oh sure, Lord Nelson's Column might be a bit taller but Queen Victoria the second still wins, this oddball competition I've been holding in my head, by a landslide.
Getting up close I couldn't help but be briefly bought back to the throne of Xerxes in 300. If the giant, stone Queen Victoria and her throne suddenly began to move across the countryside while carried by several dozen slaves - probably recent uni grads - I can't say as I'd feel like fighting her, let alone her army!
That scrap of building you can see behind it is, in fact, good old Buckingham palace. From here I turned right and went around the locked and gilded gates into the northern most portion of the park.
I remember thinking to myself "Hot damn, okay, it's not like they'll have another Queen Victoria monument. I should be able to grab a snack and a seat, then write". I managed the first two, but I just couldn't lose that need to draw in as much of the park through my eyes as I could! The following picture is almost certainly going to be the subject of my next watercolour painting.
After a relaxing sit n' stare, I decided to leave the park and found myself in the Picadilly area. I spotted two arcades, Picadilly and Brunell, across from each other. As some of you know, really expensive tailors are basically pornography for me - so I had a look.
Yup, I am definitely getting a custom tailored suit the first time that I ever make some real money out of film. Sure you could put the cost towards a car, but my suit will (probably) do a lot less damage to the environment and it won't depreciate in value the second I wear it out of the store. As I'd suspected, these arcades were about as upscale as it gets before you reach that plateau of secret celebrity stores which you sometimes hear about. Still, it was fun to look. Amongst the suits and sweaters which cost more than a month of my rent there was a very pricey fountain pen store (anybody want to sponsor my purchase of a 1928 blue metallic fountain pen? Only eighty quid!), a gaming store which seemed out of place even if it only sold older and more respectable (?) board games and the terribly named but terribly interesting "Map World" where one could spend a grand on an original Royal Navy map of the Mediterranean, circa 1748.Rallying, I decided to head back to the park and prove that I could overcome the henious forces of beauty and relaxation to do some writing. But I lost this second battle as well! Sitting on a bench and looking about me, enjoying the warmth and the sights, I couldn't help but think back to what I said on Monday. Why couldn't I just stop and enjoy where I was, the moment I as in, without feeling that unless I was plowing away at some task then the moment wasn't being properly utilized? Sheeeesh. I mean, hell, I'd even written a few pages on the tube ride down! So I tried to live Slow and felt all the better for it. At the end of the day I felt like I'd gotten my proper allowance of time, not an all too quick montage of attending to this n' that. I'm a little miffed that the park also obliterated all thoughts regarding my purchase of a printer/scanner, but, somehow, I have faith that the consumer electronics industry will still be around in the days to come.
Today it's sunny out again and I have some of the mundane that needs to be done (laundry, buy a new monthly rail/tube pass, take out the recycling) as well as some of the creative (more script work etc) and I'm going to see if I can still get everything done that I want to get done without that feeling of being pushed along a track. Here's hopin'!
Finally, a little hello to my new readers in New Zealand - thanks for sticking with me guys! Also, hello to the people from all over the world who keep finding my blog by accidentally typing "I heart fuckabees" into google. Unless it isn't an accident? Somehow I have trouble imagining that a lot of the metaphysical, philospohical waxings of the original text could find a home in a pornographic adaptation.
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