This is my favourite photograph of Marcel Duchamp. It sometimes goes under the title of 'Marchel Duchamp's Departure for America'. An artist like Duchamp is unique in everything, and sometimes that comes down to the pure ephemera such as this photograph represents.
Let us look at it in detail.
"Shit" said Sean Noccery as he grappled with the little girl, "I was only trying to give you a lift home, and now you run away into the woods like this."
And as the school bell rang, Sean attempted to pick her up from the ground, but she said to him: "My daddy and his friends hurt people like you, mister."
And then Sean did say "SHIT" again, except louder, for they were from Glasgow, which frightened him.
And then gritting his teeth, and reddening in the shame of his sextagenarian lust, Sean thought very quickly :
Oh no! I've floundered in the woodies,
Handling now the student goodies,
For my obsession grows with fanny
I am ashamed! A filthy mannie!
He came out of the North, sporting a batter caked moustache, and they called him the foot-warrior, for the immense damage he did with his professionally pedicured feet. He ate nought but pearl barley until Saturday came and then, strongly reminiscent of a torpedo leaving the tube of a submarine, he would shoot up the tunnel and make red minced meat of Celtic Football Club.
They called him Wullie, and with almost no adjectives at all, he would one day take control of the Scottish airwaves .... but back then .... he was a flash of red, the flame gun of the north as he trotted down Tommy McLean's balls and knocked them off for a throw in, bursting forth a gob of spit in the process, uttering hissing sounds, and establishing the status quo ante of what was then, the professional game.
They called him Wullie, and soon he was to open a pub, and a chipper, and with this wondrous empire, people feared he had captured the entire leisure market, but the substance of his business deals were as transparent as his game .... and with the weight gain of Harper threatening to crush him, Wullie made straight for Glasgow, causing a wedge shaped furrow to form through Scotland in his wake.
It was in Glasgow where Wullie was noticed by the sacred cow eyes of Craigie Brown, and it was also here that, due to his phlegmatic and unexcitable nature, he became the Big Man's next choice as the Leader of Scotland .... and so the foot-warrior, exempt from all obligations to BBC Scotland, contrived his way forward, and lead the boys on from interview to interview, until the people as a whole were all sick to death of the game, and turned instead to basketball, which at least had cheer-leaders after all ....
Certainly it will elucidate the drift of the foregoing obscure utterances of this blog if I here insert something of our webhost’s speculations on party politics. To state an entire opinion on this is beyond my compass however let me observe this that nowhere is a human more mysterious, impalpable, than in his or her fantasy of being the organ of the Godlike.
Bernard (Saint) - (d. 1153) Founder of the Cistercian order but best loved as an opponent of Peter Abelard, Bernard of Clairvaux boldly borrowed quotations from the Cluniacs to make himself famous. His guitar playing and populist approach saw him commissioned to stir up solid peasant hatred during the Second Crusade in France and Germany, and he was canonized for this spreading of undue intolerance. He was named Doctor mellifluus, the "honey-sweet teacher", for the fine education he gave to young Wayne of Perth
Cuthbert (Saint) (b. circa 634, d 687) Visions as a sheep tending lad ensured a life of national travel and celebrity for this one time bishop of Lindisfarne. Why British people developed an interest in disturbing his remains after he died is unclear - but Bede describes how Cuthbert's body remained intact, his clothes unsullied and his hair neatly brushed after many years underground. Not forever though - mankind lost faith - and when Cuthbert was dug up again in 1827 - he were but bones.
Gandhi, Mahatma (b. 1869) Studied law at Oxford and crowd control in India. Left Europe to get away from photographs of James Joyce. Was killed en route to prayer in 1948 and has been watched on film by many an audience of disbelieving cineastes. "Look at the state of those rags!"
The story is that the original planners, when they willed the giant motorway under the town, wished to dig a tunnel for the cars so that none of the domestic harmony created by the several thousand adjacent hovels on the ground would have to be touched.
Here we are at Charing Cross in Glasgow and so much for that, because they tore them down. Two birds and one stone, old hovels gone away and new motorway placed in an analytic line from North to South.
The swathe of town they cut was over 100 metres wide, and at the point where I stand (and memorise this composition) the motorway is eight lanes deep and runs about thirty metres below ground level. The noise of all these engines thrashing at once is what attracted the planners to build this . . . yes, that and the fact that it may never stop.
This is Downcome, a font designed by Eduardo Recife. In the spirit of the age and in line with other open source software, Eduardo Recife allows anybody to use his font, and all he asks is that he be acknowledged. As a bonus, if anyone can be bothered, Eduardo asks politely to be gifted any books, CDs etc that may make use of his font. That is the idea, but the practice is sadly lacking.
Aberdonian progress has not deviated since the Enlightened day that the modern town was built. The ancient map drawn by Gordon of Rothiemay in 1661 shows a trickle of a town with no design .... a selection of buildings laid in unsuitable conditions. After a hundred years of this construction style the people were in one fell swoop placed in line by designers. Within a century, these same people had begun to enjoy this linear living and put the solid granite effect into motion, and following the introduction of several ionic columns, porticoes and forward looking city plans, Aberdeen became is the epitome of modern rational behaviour, mens sana and lucid from street to street.
King James I and VI, advice to smokers. King James Ist and 6th, for he was famously and simultaneously both — was King of Scotland as James VI from July 1567 and King of England and Ireland as James I from the union of the English and Scottish crowns on 24 March 1603 until his death.
As well as being the first big Unionist on the scene (#indyref) the King was a keen writer, and among other things, now described by academics and critics as 'minor prose works', wrote what we would now call an essay, titled A COUNTERBLASTE TO TOBACCO.
The kingdoms of England and Scotland were individual sovereign states in those days, with their own parliaments, judiciary, and laws, though both were ruled by James in personal union. I can't work it out either, although his stance on tobacco was clear.
Some may search this, while others may re-earth this thing called consternation in the net-book of mental pages where there are displayed two stages of rage like stage one : I am introduced to sway as a young fry one day then stage two I'm getting it the hell out of me YEA I put that shit on hold : "I must welcome you to this website and bring to you an announcement of intergalactic importance .... ladies and gentleman I'm the Voice of ConBy explosive specialist Panatenda Stacks the treacherous millenial expedition chief administrator of Perpetual Freedom, and I will f**uck you executives consecutively, I will test your chests out like trampolines YEA I will make the sky roll back like I'll make it all fold four fold and f**uck the dumb shit out of you, so you may not need to get smashed in a car crash quick or beaten with a half-eaten deadbeat chicken drumstick cause Peter Burnett summoned me to photocopy your entity and carol your dying ditty where hope draws up, you will not outlast him in specious buildings, and nor can you obscure a part of yourself in illiquid earnings, hear ye hear ye obliquities of hateful ways, and Peter's maniples are fired away so hereof let your study be as clear as shit, and ken that I wrote this ruled by Mr Hit. He is my dealer . . . . of course!!"
Two questions arise. Who produces this webpage, and then who reads it?
I says like this : listen you money-hungering server owners and bloodthirsty porn purveyors, that bleeding FHM website is full of lies and the lassies in it are all bollocks. It is high time they lassies realised what they were doing and put their faith in more sensible employment, such as working in a record shop, or selling programs at the game, and then you shopkeepers with your middle to top shelf nasties, would be put to shame.
And then I says to them, that LOADED website is worse, and everyone that reads it dies after a short illness.
Some images from my home planet. Each one of us on that planet is unique, even if that uniqueness is explained in terms of their different genes, memes and environment rather than their separate inner consciousnesses, which are all largely constructed the same. All the beings on that planet were in fact created by natural selection, and their creativity operates on the same system, using these memes, which are the units of cultural information, sort of like genes for culture. So you may think that these images represent actual people or beings on my planet, but they are in fact nothing more threatening than memes competing in a pointless universe.
IMAGES TO FOLLOW!
This is published with The Combined Technical Jargon of Bev
These are all words and phrases which we have picked up from researches into the Scottish-Aberdonian way of speaking. We are three American students from New York who are in Scotland because of the unique words which they use here, and the Peter Burnett Website has let us publish what we have collected so far.