Oh, himmin, Martha, I say Martha? Bring hence the most active hallucinogens, I feel a prophecy coming on … and lo, into the land of Tim'Bhoy, cometh the Lord of Radge callest To'sh and his Dark Companion Bobo, and there waxeth pish at Ba'a, and there is much wailing and rending of expensive replica garments, some in a criminally lurid green, calleth Sh'ell Suits. But muttering so that he alone doth understand, cometh again King Ke'enny to the land of Tim'Bhoy, and riddeth the place of the forces of Pish, unto the last Tombo'yd, and buyeth Scum from the English Second Division to replace them … and now Martha, ringeth oot a Pomegranate Supper and pass me the Scrolls, on which I have doodled this forenoon, there's a good quine …
For Ten Years This Important Image Lay on the Homepage of My Website
to survive a destructive book is no less painful
for the reader than for the author
LF Celine: Voyage to the End of the Night / Death on Credit / Guignol's Band / Rigadon
Wyndham Lewis: Men Without Art / The Complete Wild Body / The Apes of God
Giacomo Leopardi: Operette Morali
Thomas Bernhard: The Loser / The Voice Imitator / Extinction / Gathering Evidence / Wittgenstein's Nephew
MUTATION: Charm: With this power, you can exude a pheromone that makes all humans in the area trusting, happy, and generous. Honest, too. You're not completely immune to your own power, however!
SOCIETY: Death Leopard: The Death Leopards do whatever they can to have fun. That's what it's all about, right? And what's more fun than explosions, gunfire, and wreckin' shit?!
Your mission today is to set fire to at least five things and/or three people. You've got a pocket full of IgnaLight Stickers just for that purpose. Just stick one to something, scratch it, and... Well, at that point try to get a few feet away.
This snippet concerns the origins of the Aikey Fair, or Aikey Brae Fair.
But on the event of the first Aikey fair, which must have been in the early 1800s, the tinker lady who brought her wares dropped them while crossing the Ugie, and laid them out on the grass to dry, thus offering the locals a chance to browse them. This led to the development of the fair as a venue for people to purchase trinkets, baskets, pegs and tinwares.
Yew may have heard that Dundee University is scandalously offering non-Dunds (some of whom are undootedly Papish) Ready Cash to write a novel about Dundee, the City of Discography. Dinna, right! Because I have it all sown up wi my entrance "Art of the Fugue Off" about a DJ wi a problem wi drugs in Dundee wi some mates. Nae bad, eh? My Social Worker thinks she has seen the film already, it's that good. It's bound til win, seein as how I'm a Registered Mentalist, and ma da was a cunt AND a welder. If I hear of ony other entrances into this Dundee Book Prize Quiz, I'll club them to death. Now I gotto go. I'm midway through "Swann's Way" (it's shite!)
The ruins of Inverugie Castle lie on the north bank of the Ugie, about two miles from Peterhead. Inverugie stands on a slight eminence, with the river winding round it on three sides, the banks being finely wooded.
A legend says that Inverugie's name is properly ‘Pot Sunk Ann’, as it’s said that one of the Earls of Keith married Ann, a daughter of Crawford, Laird of Fedderat and that after a year of marriage, she was warned in a dream to leave the house.
Anne was said to have left the castle in the midst of a fearsome storm, and guided by the same treacherous spirit that visited her dreams, she was drowned in an attempt to cross the swollen river.
In the words of the ballad Old Inverugie:
She screamed for help, but none was near,
No succour to implore;
She floated to the eddie neuk,
Then sunk to rise no more.
And to this day that fatal spot
Is known to many man,
And rustic neighbours point the spot,
And tell you ‘There Sunk Ann’.
After the Celts and the Anglo-Saxons were forced into Christianity, the sacrifice of animals was frowned upon and discouraged. What did carry on however was people’s adoption of skins and horns, yet one more diversion which bugged the early church fathers, even as far back as St Augustine’s time:
'If you ever hear anyone carrying out that most filthy practice of dressing up like a horse or stag, chastise him most severely,' he said.
This custom derives from sympathetic magic, which is a kind of intimate communication with the natural world, and appears to have carried on as an aspect of Celtic life. The very last surviving relic of Celtic horse magic is found in hill figures, however, long after people stopped adopting their skins and heads. Another surviving aspects are horse effigies, which are paraded through towns, sometimes known as an Oss. The oss is accompanied by a man with a club called a Teazer, and his name suggests he teases the horse under and about its body with his club.
Some of these rites, or part of them at least were assimilated into Christianity, and St George absorbed many of the qualities of then horse god, and horses were even sacrificed to him. And the Christian knights became riders of white steeds — as readily as other aspects were soaked up into Christianity — such as the brazen sun-disc and the festival of Christmas.
The horse as a pagan symbol was steadily unseated, and mounted by St George, St Margaret and St Michael, and the horse’s spectral association with both the apocalypse and the underworld — at least to Christians — was forgotten.
There are no difficult books just difficult authors, all bunged up to Hegel with systematic, deliberate obfuscation, intent on a Freemasonry of Fictive Arts, or much more likely, an exegesis of Fictive Frameworks so covert as to be ciphered for a public the size of a Seminar.
The jury system is something exceptional in the representitive democracies of present day capitalism, the only time when institutionally ordinary people have real power.
All that happened with the Angry Brigade was that it cheered up the relatively powerless for a while.
both from John Barker in a review of 'Anarchy in the UK: The Angry Brigade' by Tom Vague, AK Press
At the head of King Street, at the Mercat Cross on Union Street, where several co-extensive granite buildings were built tomatch the grey tone, there is space to consider the forward thinking of our Enlightened C18th forebears, whose work we prize so much that it is still in daily use.
The greatest of these buildings, at the head of Union Street, is the Town House, which is shored to the sky, to be without doubt, the grandest sight for miles. It's here in the Townhouse where the knobs and spangles meet to celebrate whatever's new in Administrative Aberdeen, and most weeks there will be some event or other in the upper chambers which as the Provost's own showcase for his town, is without doubt, the nicest place in The City.
The City Chambers are likely the nicest place in all the North of Scotland and are civic red and plush, because it's here the Councillors receive the best of their public duties. It stands to reason that the Townhouse should be so grand, and so, from the soft corona of light about the chandelier, to the red pile carpet, the City Chambers as they are known, are the height of excellence …. and not just in décor, for there are Council waiters standing by, non-resistive with the treats, all of which have come from the Council kitchens don ih stair.
In between the basement and the City Chambers there is a food lift, a dumb-waiter, an ever open windpipe shooting skyward all that is ejected from the kitchen. Monster plates of pastries ascend from the kitchen in twenty seconds on the dumb-waiter, so upward is the food.
Behind the walls of the lower floors in the Town House pass these putties, and so the puffs and soft cake cases, wallowing in the upward rush of air, are transported from wall to wall, arrive still warm and at the relative density intended by the chefs.
It happens each week. The clerks on the lower floors are sat close to their computers, making coherence of the accounting, and knocking out a touch of desk-top publishing .... while shoots past, metres from their desks, the levitational foods for those using the best room in town: the Aberdeen City Chambers.
This is still no on print. I know I’m trying to do it on here. That thing’s is still no on. Just remind me are you in the morrow? I don’t know if you need to sign this or not because that toss has fucked my computer. See now you ask me I’ve forgotten. Mine’s isnae working either. This is nae dialling out. Is yours a Samsung N four hundreds? Will that get to Debbie by the morrow? I never thought on a coffee til you said it. Garry’s just came into next door’s. It was strange it was two cheques came cause it was through the Enterprise. Is that client away working anyway? When I leave here the morrow lunchtime I’m in the town all afternoon. He’s a fucking monkey – that offer’s up five hundred pound. Why is nothing going to the printer? I know those solicitors have got those offer papers so that means those clients are holding this up. They’ve done other stuff after their mortgage. I spoke to him a few times so that’s how I thought maybe I knew his number. Ah bugger right up my nail — I’m going to go on holiday with a sore finger. I’m just away to phone the furniture place so how long do you want to wait for this chair?
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!"