And Gil Scott Heron is Dead…and
I guess the one thing I have realized from the last few days
Or hours.
Is never underestimate the power of tears.

Too easily they are the faux index – the itchy trigger finger for forgiveness and aw it’ll be okay…

Too often you can be sitting at the end of the bed or mirror apologizing for someone-elses thoughtless greed.

From now on, when anyone is fool enough to ask me what I think about the Royal Wedding, I am going to load up Peter Gabriel’s Sledgehammer and wait for the bit when the plucked chicken magically dances without feathers, without head on its little chicken stage.

Technological music, Electronica in all its forms is sort of like the rust covered dead mech or robot warrior a good Transformers movie keeps cutting back to. There in the rubble of that facility – still – seemingly now, at long last – lifeless.

It may be said that 2010 was a marker moment of for counter-culture.

That it witnessed the rebirth of Irish Rave culture, the warehouse party and the resplendent resurgence of Techno.

“I will not make any deals with you.
I will not be pushed,
filed,
stamped,
indexed,
briefed,
debriefed
or numbered.
My life is my own.
I resign.”

Sitting here with the memory of an erection in my hand, I disappear further and further until what’s happening on the screen is a distant thing of colour and light. I’m supposed to be trying to review the amateur section on www.Stileproject.com. But the shapes move and drift now and I’m not sure I’m anywhere to be seen.

Often, I find myself ambling about the Internerd, swinging my pocketwatch, singing something akin to ”Got to pick a torrent or two.” A gleam of intent in my eye, itchy fingers tapping the mouse in my pocket.

Yes Sir, I’ve been thieving for quite some time now and I have intention of stopping, whether you manage to foil me or not.

I’m not sure when I had my first cigarette, but I was in single digits. I remember the moment itself quite clearly though.

Or

How I Learned To Stop Worrying

And Appreciate The Fact

There Is A War

Ignoring the gentle insistence of Scotty, my Glaswegian nurse, I checked myself out after suffering an allergic reaction to the painkillers they had given me. There was a plan and it had to be stuck to. Tom Waits was playing and no gods, no storm nor shotgun blasted off leg was going to prevent me from going to see the man.

“There is nothing wrong with your television.

Please stand-by…

- Modified opening speech from ‘The New Outer Limits’

Considering how much I hate celebrity, it really is odd to find myself writing this. I’m aware that just by writing this, I’m paying into something horrible that is working akin to a nation wide ‘Wicker Man’, painfully aware. Yet I find myself forced, if only because, out of sheer curiosity, I clicked the comments on an article the Daily Mail website about Amy Winehouse.

Apparently my nose has gone rogue.

Apparently it always has been doing a little bit of freelancing on the side.

Today, I’m going to destroy the Internet.

Today.

That’s all the cursor was flashing beside when I woke up.

Well the first thing I want to say is; Democracy my ass.

My Good Doctor – the naughtiest Panda,

Written in parts when and where I could – bare with the scrawl.

So aye…

Onward – good Christian soldier chainsaw.

So, I’m in Krakow.

Every couple of months.

Now and then.

On whim – or when the addiction scratches through – from my brain to my belly.

I kill someone.

On the 6th of February I arrived late to the Irish Writers Centre in the fear that I’d missed the fortune cookies. The event in question was a night of Chinese and Irish literature and traditional music from both countries. Wandering through the crowd with the only recognizable face being that of Mr. Hayden (one of the organizers), I began to pass an increasing amount of empty food plates and glasses. Worried I’d arrived too late and would now be forced to wait in a graveyard of free food and drink, my heart began to sink. That was, until a guest moved to the table and took a previously thought empty bottle and poured himself a glass.

The Chinese New Year celebrations in Dublin began on Friday the 1st of February in the Irish Film Institute with a small ceremony and a screening of Jia Zhang Ke’s ‘Still Life’ (Sanxia Haoren).

Before writing about the Chinese New Year celebrations in Ireland and cultural dialogue, I need to get a couple of things straight. I’m Irish; I live in Dublin and while many of the messages I send from the Big Rock Candy Mountain reference Ireland or have a distinctly Irish hue. Mine is not the only voice here. We have Finns, Swedes, Dutch, Australians and French writing, Canadians, Americans and English editing, and we hope to add to that.

Hey there,
I’m a bigot.

How you doing?

“Dub a dub a dum dum”

So, annual present giving day rolls by again.

Writing about Christmas while in Ireland has the sensation that you’re writing from a fallout bunker several miles below sea level. I’m not Christian; I’m long past the years where I’d sold my soul to Santa for toys. I don’t celebrate it bar to begrudgingly give presents back to the few close family who give me gifts.

Welcome to the Mountain.



Because you would not come to us, we have come to you

Regrets, I’ve had a few.

When writing on subjects like this, there seems to be a tendency to jump back and forth from foot to foot, people wringing their hands as they try and decide how to tackle something of such sensitivity.

Bad sex stories, damn, I’ve got a couple of these, it’s just figuring a way to tell it without the nutcases somehow finding me.

Might take a moment to set this picture up properly, stay with me.

Blizzard does not care about gamers.

When I say that, I almost feel like the Kanye West of gamers, standing on tv with some drooling white moron, pointedly telling people the truth.

I hope no one out there is under any illusions.

Short Sub-Note before I move on to all the Christians: Stop fucking posting about it, Stop fucking going over and over the scripture and the why and wherefores and the god this jesus that. It’s a fucking mythology. ...