The Saturnyne's Lounge

Cerulean Blue

2011-06-13T02:02:00.011+01:00

And so, a year on, and what have i learnt? What do i remember?

I've learnt, that no matter how closely we surround ourselves with friends... it doesn't compensate for not having love in your life. That no matter how hard you can try to pull away from the bad things in your past, they are still there, sending jarring echoes and ripples into the present, and for some people, those things will always cloud how they perceive you. I've learnt that it's when you're at your worst, that you will find your truest friends. You might never have met them, save via words on a computer screen, but oft, a message will slip into your inbox asking how you are and telling you that someone, somewhere, does indeed care about your wellbeing. Sometimes it makes you want to sit in a heap and cry. Because they are there and you are here. And you are still alone in the morning hours.

And what do i remember? I remember the hospice nurse knocking on my bedroom door with the words, calm, yet urgent "Paul. Your father's dying. Please come quickly". And so i enter the room, in a tumble of limbs caught in trailing clothing, no time to feel self-conscious in front of strangers and stopping suddenly in the achingly weighted atmosphere. He looks so small on his side. I haven't seen him lying on his side in over 5 years. They have made him comfortable and his breathing is deep and so very, very slow. No more morphine drips or cries of pain. I am almost too late. I whisper in his ear "I love you Dad. Thank you. Goodbye." and kiss him gently on his forehead. One more breath. Then another. Then a body lying there. That intangible thing that makes us unique has departed, i know not where. Heaven (he was worthy enough, aye) or other worlds beyond our ken. Leaving a collection of molecules that will now slowly unravel and disperse, given time... that two men will put in a sturdy black bag and carry unceremoniously down the steep stairs. I cannot watch.

Yet the thing i remember most about the day is the lady in the sandwich shop just an hour later. Relatives and friends had quickly gathered to offer condolences and i volunteered to get food for everyone. And i'm sitting there, waiting for my order, looking outwards and upwards at the blue sky through the window, when i hear her voice behind me.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" she says.

And i half turn my head to look back at her, grateful for the sunglasses that hide my eyes.

And i smile.

And it's the best smile in the world.

And then i turn back to the cerulean sky to lose myself again.

"Yes. Yes it is".

(Several months later, my best friend is staying with me, and she tells me one evening, that she had snuck into my mum's and dad's room, where he died "to see if he was ok" and she tells me that the room felt so peaceful and free of pain and that she had spoken to him. Not in a silly spiritualist way or crazy madwoman way, but as a person who cares deeply for her friend and with great simplicity. She hesitates before telling me that she thinks he spoke back, like a voice in her head.

"He said Not to worry. And that everything was going to be ok".

I believe her. Sometimes that's all i believe.

Conversations With Mai Pumpkin (extracts from the past 6 months)

2011-02-08T03:45:00.007Z

Numero une

"Oh go on"

"Ah HAHA ha!"

*snicker*
"Am waitin'....

"Give me some voice...

"Hehe"

"Don't cackle"
*barely suppressed restraint*

"Hehe"

"hah hah hah hah...

"go on, you're goin' liiive..."

*snicker*
*snicker*

"We're all listening' to you now... yeeeeeeeers"
*coaxing voice*

"Mmm-wanna know what yer saying!

*Short pause*

"Death To Mary Poppins!!!"

Numero Deux

"Salad is like ninja"

"What? That's the most ridiculous thing i've ever heard! Are you actually telling me that salad sits hiding on a hillside in the tall grass looking at it's prey through binoculars, stealthily biding its time for assassination?"

"It's subtle, isn't it? Who would believe...?"

A Priest With Bagpipes?! Outrageous!!!

2011-02-08T03:37:00.000Z

And then there was a wedding. I only caught one reasonably good picture on my phone camera and here it is! May Carl and Ruth have a wonderful life together.

It was worth it to see Carl dancing what I can only loosely describe as an embarrassed chicken scrabbling in a farmyard. In a suit. Still, you've got to admire his "pluck" eh, readers?

(Readers are allowed to groan inwardly at this point)

Oh yeah and the priest guy played them out of the church on his bagpipes. A wonderful caterwaul of surprise and horror.

This post was originally created at 07/08/10

Facebook

2010-10-30T16:15:00.001+01:00

If anyone wants to add me on Facebook, my alias is Opal Luna Saturnyne

That's in the meantime... i'm still gonna start updating this damned blog that i love...

S.x

Loose Ends

2010-07-22T03:58:00.007+01:00

The next day they came for your things. Two gentlemen from supplies, looking like George and Lennie from Steinbecks' novel. All the disability equipment that they loaned you after your stroke, plus the stinking plastic coated medical mattress to help prevent bed sores that you died upon. Giving up the commode and the bath-lift was easy. As was the little table with wheels and the strangely handled cutting knife that you never once used. Other things, too, unimportant in your life as in your death.

It was the walking stick that broke me. All my pragmatism and inherited practicalities shattered when i held it in my hands. The smooth worn handle that i gripped tightly in my fingers as yours once did, and the strong metal shaft ending cleverly in tripod feet for balance. This was your lifeline for even getting into the kitchen. It served you well.

And now i had to let it go and serve another person with needs just as great. All i could do was place it beside your empty chair and take the picture to keep safely and remind me of you. When i try really hard i can see you sitting there, smiling at mum and me and my dumbass big brother (it's ok, i can call him that. He knows i say it with affection). I cry a lot at small things these days, it seems.

We talked about getting rid of that chair and its accompanying sofa the other day and i was dismayed. But then i suddenly realized-this wasn't really your chair. It was just the one best able to suit your needs when you became half paralyzed. More an open prison, really. And i smiled, then. Your chair sits where it always has done. Beside the window, next to the telly. Mum sits there now. Me too, sometimes, when she goes to bed...

I think about you a lot. I miss you.

PS: England played rubbish. You'd have been glad not to see them.

My Father Part 2

2010-06-17T01:21:00.029+01:00

And so he came home.

This gentle, kind man, not very tall, shorter still with illness and exhaustion. Broken by bad luck or who knows what unkind trick of fate. He didn't deserve this end. But then who does? Long days of pain and to see his own mortality falling from him along with all his dignity. He immediately went into shutdown. Those eyes which had smiled conspiringly at my brother and i telling him silly jokes or fooling around for him, even when the rest of his face had not....Now put shutters up against the world. Keeping us all out...except for the woman he'd loved and remained true to all his life. He couldn't face us any more. Still generous, he didn't want us to see what Hell was like. He couldn't hope to hide it all from her, though.

He lay in bed, in pain and depressed and responded only to my mum, so tired, who snapped and chided him mercilessly- she the military officer and he the private in their last stand together. Fighting tooth and nail and morphine to keep the enemy-not at bay- they both knew their doom was approaching- No, the battle here was to make sure the enemy bloody well earned the privilege to take him. (I think he'd like that soldierly analogy if he was reading this). Before sleep yesterday, my mum takes his hand in hers and says to me gently with reddened eyes,

"I've told him he can go".

(And so at last, the enemy halts the assault and, silently gathers in solemn salute and carries the fallen away through the lines with great reverence and honour. The captain falls to the ground, exhausted, and weeps alone. Wounded in many places where she tried to shield her beloved troops from harm. Friend and foe; Their faces all etched with the same grief now the battle is over. Holding onto each other fleetingly and we the living are left to wonder what on earth we are fighting for.)

And there were moments i was so proud of him. My father was never a tall man, but his heart and friendship and kindness were mighty enough to floor kings and queens. Our old family doctor, long since retired, came to see him one day... and my father true to himself and his warmth got his blow in first "Hello Doctor Ali. How've you bin keepin'?" Poor Doctor Ali stood no chance. I wanted to give him a hug so badly afterwards.

He's so poorly now. The cancer in his stomach and other organs have taken their toll. On him and all of us others who sit there with him. I don't know how my mum will manage when all this is done. her entire reason for living is to see him through to the end. Almost her entire life, she has been dedicated to loving him. Fighting him. Laughing with him. Comforting him. The last days have been torment that no words can describe.

From the despair of my mother and i trying to hold his tired body up while we clean his soilings before he falls back into them, knowing that every second on his feet is torture to his fragile body, to the electric doorbell he rang so little at first, then so much at the end. My mother must have climbed mount Everest- twice- in response to that bell. Even now i hear it chiming ghostly in quiet moments and turn my head at echoes of the past days. Sometimes i remember his voice too, lost and afraid, calling "Sylvia!" (her name.)

"Get me up and then get me back down again" are the other words he utters most now and the ones that will stay with me for the rest of my life.. Yesterday was the worst day, i think.... he fell out of bed... and we unable to do anything, had to call the ambulance and wait helplessly watching his stress and mounting anxiety until they arrived.... the call operator saying they regarded it as a "non-emergency" and it could take them an hour to arrive...

I think this is his last day. If it is, he will die one day short of the 50th wedding anniversary that he and mum had so long looked forward to. His pain is horror to watch, his stoicism and bravery of these past few months only now becoming apparent. He even resisted taking his morphine for a few hours, the other night; Always unwilling to be a bother to people. And the nurses... the courage and dedication of our nurses is... everything you could want from in a nurse and more. District nurses, Pendle Hospice nurses, Macmillan nurses... they've all been so kind, and a shoulder to lean on.
One of the Hospice nurses has stayed with us this evening. Another will be here again tomorrow if he somehow, miraculously, makes it that far. I'm so glad she's here. It won't be long now. He flails weakly, looking at last for the way out and stares at a fixed point on the ceiling talking to persons unseen.

"Come on. Come on."

They are there too, i think. Those who have gone before. Come to gather him in like pathfinders in the dark... and i remember a story my mother used to tell me about his father and the night he died:

"Your Dad went over to Padiham in a taxi and while he was gone, all the lights in the living room started popping and flickering and going out. I was scared half to death..."
This evening, the light in my room suddenly flickers and glows and pops with a life of its own... i swear it sways from time to time. I don't find it frightening though, but i have never seen a lightbulb behave so oddly before. Somehow it's reassuring.

His body is on the brink, and so is he. I struggle to watch as he cries in pain. This good man dying. The price of his soul worth less than a cab fare. Or a blue ambulance light.

"Get me up. And then get me back down again".

Our ancestors hear him and they will.
I pray they guide him with all their love.

S.

*edit* He died this morning. The time was 11:20am. Twelve hours and forty minutes away from their golden anniversary. We held his hands and kissed him goodbye and his breaths became longer and fewer, until he finally was able to leave. My mother has lost her man. Her voice, kind and gentle and unbearably sad:

"Goodbye, Love"

For Jill

2010-06-12T20:24:00.011+01:00

I have neither sat with you in quiet conversation, a glass of wine to hand; nor eaten from your table the finest foods you and your partner might prepare.

I have not laughed with you at the foolishness of the world, nor gazed admiringly out of your window at your beautiful garden blossoming with small lives. Or made a snowman with you, nor delighted, eyes grinning, at a rainbow arcing across a thundery sky together.

I have not sat with you looking through picture scrapbooks at all your childrens growing pains and pleasures, neither listened with quiet understanding as you spoke to your dolls, carefully arranging them on their chair. Nor held your hand in the last days of your difficult life, vainly willing and praying that my touch might somehow give miracles and either heal you or just ease yours and my own fathers suffering (though pray i did, every night before sleep. Offering myself to God, for a miracle. Any miracle)

I have not ever told you how much i feel humbled by your tenacity and bravery and your willingness to reach out towards new goals in spite of everything that life has throw at you. Nor expressed the admiration in your fierce protection of those you love. And i knew how much you loved them. And even when you did not trust me or my motives i could not help but love you all the more for that.

I have never met you, or spoken to you or sent letters in their many forms to you in praise and honour and affection as i have so many times wished. Feeling foolish for even wanting to, now foolish for never trying to reach out just the once.

I have never met you, but you live on in pictures and the memories of friends and your children; the thoughts and words and actions of your youngest daughter who described you with such love and honest, unaffected simplicity to me so many times will always remind me of you. I will smile and some days i will shed tears too when we talk about you. You would be so proud of her courage and compassion and the joy she brings into peoples lives.

I have never met you, and my life is less richer for that. You died this morning and i found myself weeping for a stranger as if she were a dear friend.

I love you. It does not seem strange to me. May you be at peace.

Paul.

My Father (part 1)

2010-06-10T03:14:00.003+01:00

It began, i suppose, a couple of days before their usual May holiday to Cyprus. but in truth, it must have begun a long time, many many months before that. There were no signs. He had been sick two days before they went out, but was fine on the day of departure.

It continued with a scared phone call from my Mum two days before their return.

"Paul, your dads been taken to the hospital. He started vommiting blood..."

We thought it was the Warfarin tablets he was taking, causing an adverse reaction because he had a bug or stomach upset. Little did we realize what they were reacting to, or the very serious nature of what the medical teams in the Cyprus hospital were going to discover.

And then they came home. My parents. Exhausted far beyond their means to endure. My fathers skin already looking yellow. We put him to bed immediately. My mother, somehow dregging every last resource of energy she could muster to get things done before she too pulled herself into bed beside the man she had loved for over 50 years. I still marvel at how much she has given to get here.

Somewhere, between stepping through the front door and slumber, she was able to hand me the hospital report below:

It's the last paragraph that i return to over and over again. The one that burns irrevocably in my mind and threatens to tear grief howling from my throat- a physical/mental rupturing of every part of my body. You can't know it until you've been there.

My father. My father has come home to die.

Why?

2010-04-28T05:09:00.003+01:00

There is no justice or grace in the world.

S.

Erl King's and other winter stories...

2010-02-17T04:07:00.005Z

With the snow we had recently i was able to take this picture of a tree that had fascinated me for years, but whose green leaves and darker ivy was not photogenic

And here's a pic i like for the patterns in the branches...

Why God Fearing Americans Should Fear The NHS

2009-08-09T08:01:00.013+01:00

"I say bartender chap, when i ordered a stiff drink, i wasn't expecting to be handed one you could plant a bleedin' flag in!"

Nurse 1: "Tee hee"

The Saturnyne adopting best leer: "Do you come here often, daaahlin'?"

Nurse 2 thinking quickly: "Every day"

The Saturnyne: "Sooo. You actually want me to swallow this radio-active jizz, do you?"

Nurse 2: "No, we want you to swallow this bicarbonate of soda, so you'll feel decidedly gassy and bloated, then swallow the radio-active jizz, which is incidentally the product of elephants. Gay elephants. And hopefully you'll acquire a taste for being gay and all things manly, or possibly elephantly because that is the secret agenda of the UK National Health Service, which we hope to export to the poor unknowing redneck fools of the USA and turn the entire population queer! And possibly commie at the same time. At the very least, men will like gay elephants more, for sure! BwaHAAAHAHaaahahaaaaa!"

Nurse 1: "And while you're swallowing our gay jizz, we'll be standing behind this lead proof screen, and irradiating the shit out of your body with x-rays to give you cancer, because you don't look nearly gay enough for our liking."

The Saturnyne: "Ni-iice. Should be piss-easy, then."

(Time passes)

Nurses 1 and 2: "Mr Saturnyne? Mr Saturnyne? Are you feeling ok? You looked like you were going to faint there for a moment. Are you ready to take a sip of your Barium Meal?

The Saturnyne: "Wha? Uh? Oh right... you didn't say anything about elephants just then, did you, lovely nurse persons? Also... "meal"? Buckets of elephant jizz is a meal now?"

Nurses look at each other bemused: "Er no. We're ready to take your x-ray when you are, Mr Saturnyne"

The Saturnyne: "Right then. Yummy. Bottoms up".

Nurses quietly to themselves: "BwaHAAAHAHaaahahaaaaa! Our evil plan is working. He sounds gay already"

So you see, America... the NHS is an evil commie conspiracy to turn all the men of your country into gay, commie loving, surrender monkeys. Who possibly eat cheese. Gay cheese. Resist now, while you have breath in your body! Resist!!!

And last month, they had me deep-throating a long tube with a camera on, into my stomach. And you wouldn't believe the amount of gas that causes! Tip: if youever find yourselves undergoing this procedure you should definitely concentrate on breathing... otherwise you'll be having 15 minutes of near panic with a tube inside you that could cause damage if you try and pull it out... even worse if you suddenly wonder if you're being indoctrinated into Dorothy Friendship!

Next up: The anal probe! I shall resist on your behalf, My American friends! Wish me luck!

S.

PS: Oh, and the hospital gowns!- i forgot to mention how "sexy" and backless they are. I praise the day Mr CK started making his saucy boxers, or i'd have been standing there, flashing unromantic y-fronts, and hairy calves, with just my South Park socks to give me comfort in an awkward situation... to slightly quote that nice Mr Wodehouse "While not exactly being disgruntled, he was quite a long way from being gruntled"

Supermarket Songs and Stories

2009-06-17T04:29:00.015+01:00

Some things never change, or change so slowly and subtly that we may live all our lives without seeing that our parents faces are not so radiant and joyful as they once were, but instead lined and careworn and tired from a lifetime of troubles, or the tiny seed we planted all of 30 summers ago, has grown proud and tall with many roots and branches, leaves and twigs. Swaying and bending to the masterful wind, it harbours a whole mini-ecosystem of it's own within the wider world. Often we only notice it when it is broken and thrown to the ground, usually by human vandals. Or disease takes it and withers. I suspect humanity has an inadvertent uncaring hand in that, too. Or you can blame God if you want, but i have it on good knowledge that God gave us free will and is probably wondering why we're wasting it all on shopping and indolence.

Some things never change. Take Harle Syke, where i was born and live. Perched on a tall hill overlooking the town of Burnley, on a clear day you can see halfway to Manchester. If you venture to the top of the hill and Haggate, you can see Nelson and perhaps Colne too, and stretching for mile upon mile eastwards, the bleak and beautiful moors that divide Lancashire and Yorkshire.

Every day, the sun rises from behind the hill and moorland, and sets far, far to the west beyond Crown Point. The milkman delivers at 5:30 in the morning, the postman a few hours later. The blackbird sings from the telegraph pole, the starling mimics from the rooftops and the hoary old rooks leave their roost in pairs on their long days of foraging to return as the sun sets. The road through the centre of Harle Syke has now been there for centuries and may well last for a couple more... except perhaps not. As i muse on this blog posting, i think how much my large cotton-mill village has changed over the past 30 years.

As a child, i watched the green fields between the village and Burnley be eaten up by twisting, turning mazes of housing. We're now to all intents and purposes, a suburb. The thrumming cotton mill's have grown silent with their many proud chimneys reduced to two. Neither of which are in use any more, save as memento's of the past. The things which make the place a community are dwindling fast. I remember at least two bakeries, 2 newsagents, 2 butchers, 2 chip shops, 3 grocers, 1 greengrocer, 1 off-license, a haberdashery, 2 hair-dressers, a post office, a bank, a bookmakers, an ironmongers, 2 butchers, a chemist and 3 very exciting sweet shops selling a variety of kayli (you know, the flavoured sugar/sherbert stuff) and goodness knows what else in glass jars, but it all seemed yummy to eat (and well, they seemed to be sweet shops... as a child you don't really look at the other stuff much.)

Then the super-markets came... and out of town shopping. Things designed to make lives convenient and easy. From the local Spar shop which tries to sell everything to the 3 great super-markets that have enclosed Burnley in a vice-like death-grip.

Harle Syke now has, 1 butcher, 2 hair-dressers, 1 newsagent, 1 chip shop, 1 chemist and a sandwich shop, oh and a kebab/curry shop which i never visit as i'm not a big fan of Indian cuisine alas, with everything else being hoovered up by The Spar. All the little shops with their bustling shoppers passing the time and getting to know one another have long since gone. There's no reason to walk down certain streets now, and no need to meet people. I don't know hardly any of the people on my street any more. They get out of their front door and jump into their cars and they're gone. If you're lucky, you might get a wave and a hello.

Harle Syke feels like a macrocosm of Burnley, which is suffering the same malady that blights the rest of my country.

Super-markets.

Since a Tesco's opened near the bus station, the town centre has been trapped within a Bermuda Triangle of doom (Tesco's, Sainsbury's and Asda) for the small shop-keep. The recession and rules on smoking in bars plus the violence of the mememe youth generation will make it like a ghost town within the next decade i think. And everyone's too apathetic to try and stop it.

Everywhere i look ,there are To-Let signs up on shops, and the new ones are quickly fleeced into receivership or bankruptcy by landlords pushing rents through the roof, even in the midst of recession. Or by lack of customers... fine products won't save you here. The Super-Markets want to sell everything.

Even Woolworths, which is at the very centre of our town has died.

Late one evening in February, i had cause to be walking from here to there behind the back of the shopping precinct. There's a kind of underground car park there, that touches the back of Woolworths.

I stopped a moment and listened to the tannoy that plays music all night long, and it seemed to me as i stood there, that i heard the echoing ghost voices of all the dead shops and the once-mighty Woolworth's store, hearking back to happier days when people once bought their wares and filled the town with life and warmth. Hopeful and sad all at once. I'm not sure of the song... but i think i would have liked it to be the one i link below.

I turned away and for the first time in my life, wished that i lived anywhere else in the universe, than this town and this country that unravels and twists slowly into a parody of itself and feels like a prison. One we all entered willingly into.

Blue, Birthday, Bath. Spider, Sleeping and Sound. Blue and Fluffy

2009-05-09T07:06:00.015+01:00

I celebrated my Nth birthday recently... gah!

It started nicely with a rescue of a tiny spider i found in my bath. Usually any insects venturing into my bathroom are taking their lives in their... um... Pincers? Claws? Leggy things? And indeed i did make a preliminary assault on it with a hopefully quick clean drowning... but alas it evaded the swirling waters in a mad panic... and seeing that, i paused and felt a twinge of guilt at my attempted murder. The guilt increased as the poor wee thing then sat seemingly resigned to it's fate in the centre of the killzone...

"No!" i suddenly decided in a Groundhog Day moment. "No! No creature shall die in my general vicinity on this day while i can help it! (although i reserve the right to genocide if anything lands on my food or disturbs me during those tender private moments of human life)"

Which was a bit of a pisser as i'd planned to go and kill loads of stuff today. Ah well...

So i got all anglic on its ass, threw it into a cup, gave it a free ride to the outdoors, threw it out of the cup and then tottered sleepily back indoors all beatific and smug with myself to await the milkman before zipping off to bed. It's a goood day!

But then the bastard milkman decided to be on holiday, leaving his milk-round in the hands of lesser mortals.... who then, deliberately -deliberately, i say!- and with great malice, then decided to leave the wrong kind of milk. I know what you're thinking. you're thinking "how dare they?!?! String them up! I shall write to my MP forthwith and have them hung on poor Mr The Saturnyne's behalf before the day is out!"

Gah!

Troubled with my now less-than-saintly thoughts, i still managed to start my cameras sky project before going miserably to bed with added thoughts of a quality-milk-free birthday.

Only to be awakened 2 hours later by some bastard on a fork-lift truck vrooming around and picking things up... all fucking day long! Which was very unsporting of him. I let him know the extent of my anger by waving my fist through the curtains at him while shoving the pillow over my head with the other hand.

Well, that's my day completely fucked. Was meant to go out to a friends in the evening, but such is my tiredness by 4pm, that i fall utterly asleep and don't wake up until 6pm the next day.

Double-Gah!!!

Anyway.... above is the birthday pic i took for my sky project (this one from my camera-phone)... am aiming for subtle, with the drama being in the viewers own eye.

but then again, skies have a way of showing you things. Below is a sky pic i sent to da Pumpkin, taken on the morning of her birthday. I think i shall do this with all my friends from now on.

2 Dreams

2009-02-05T22:03:00.002Z

Dream 1.

"There's no-one makes steak pie as good as your Mum"

And he smiled broadly and with pride.

My mum is an indifferent cook with most things. Took me years to cultivate her to the many culiniary delights of herbs, and even now she is practically a fascist in the kitchen with things like the poor garlic, exterminating it ruthlessly from any recipes that might benefit from a dash of its flavour.

It was a dream, but it's exactly the kind of thing my dad says in real life, and as i reflect on his words, the love shines forth from them. There is truth however, in what my dad says, even though he would say it with fanatical loyalty about most of her cooking. You don't stay married for 50 years and more without some kind of fanaticism.

Anyway, she was fine, indeed awesome, with buns and pastries, although she sadly no longer has the inclination to make such things. I do miss her pancakes, too.

And her steak pies are good. Very good!

Dream 2:

On the main road that runs through Harle Syke. I walked. My peace was disturbed by the blast of two fighter jets flying overhead. Something urgent about them made me keep my eyes to the sky.

Then the rather large passenger jet flew over. It had a broken back and squeezed fuselage, like a giant hand had been gripping it tightly. It was obviously in trouble. Like a great bird in pain trying to get back to roost before nightfall.

The plane vanished above the rooftops, fate unknown, and swiftly followed by one of those twin bladed military choppers flying at incredible speed.

As i watched the chinook, i started to become aware of a scream like a howling wind, and turning once more in the direction from where all the other aircraft had come i was shocked to see another large passenger jet flying less that a hundred feet above the rooftops.

"Christ, that's low!"

And then i am silent. My jaw dropping. The plane has no wings- they've been torn off! It's dying. I don't even register the possibility of people inside, it's just a great beast falling to death.

One second later, it has crashed in a scream of tortured metal against stone and glass into a row of houses on the main road. Fiery red shrapnel hurtles in all directions. It's loud and hot and terrifying. I dive behind a wall and pray.

And then i wake up. A look of horror on my face- Bastard dreams, i wish they'd eff off for a bit. It's like bloody kids hanging around on the corner, waiting until you turn your back, before throwing god-knows-what at you. I once had an egg chucked at me from a speeding car one late night after carousing round the local bars. Nowadays, they probably throw grenades or rotting foetuses. maan, they really upped the ante!

Discerning readers of this blog will automatically make (probably) astute guesses as to what these dreams mean. If indeed, they mean anything at all. For those of a less Sherlock inclination or just a bit lazy, i will relate a brief conversation i had with Da Pumpkin about the second one.

"What do you think it signifies, Plebby?"

"The 2 planes are metaphors for the worries i feel about my mum and dad and their impending deaths."

"Oh.
Do you ever ask a question, and then quickly wish you hadn't?"

"All the time, my Shining Sun of Gourdness. All the time."

S.x

Kitchens and Other Sorrows

2009-01-24T04:05:00.010Z

She's only a tiny woman. No more than 5 feet high at the most on a good day. And today, watching her slicing peppers for the evening meal, one shoulder hanging lower than the other and her face creased in wrinkles from pain and depression, i know that my mother is a long way from having a good day.

Arthiritis and a badly failing hip are just two of the signs that my mother is getting old. Other things i see creeping up on her. The terraced home that she took pride in keeping spotless for over 60 years, has little by little, been getting slowly just a little more unkempt... things that i lazily took for granted would magically clean themselves while i slept, are slowly revealing my mothers failings both to her and me.

In the other room, either glued to his armchair, or the commode beside it, my stroke-cursed father can only watch the world go by with frustration and despair. The box, with it's cheesy afternoon detective programmes and light entertainment offers the only distractons to his paralysis. At the slightest emotion on the actors faces, his own face melts into tears.

"You big soft sod" we say to him, embarrassed for him. And my mother laughs. If you turn and look at her, though, she's crying softly too. This is her man still, you see. They neither of them thought that their lives would come to this. A constant erosion of all their self-respect and dignity. Quicker than a tidal cliff, but not slow enough to keep one blissfully untroubled at night.

"We've all got to go in the end" my mum says quietly, determinedly cutting the veg with the bluntest knife in the kitchen. I gave up years ago trying to point out the useful practicalities of sharper utensils, amongst many other things. You just can't tell people what to do. Never could. We are set in our ways like granite. Only more permeable, like sandstone. Sometimes it needs a tectonic shift to open our eyes and ears.
.
I know though. I know, even though they don't say it. My mum and dad are afraid. Afraid of death, and afraid of all the things left undone in their lives. Most of all afraid of how we, the living will manage without them, once they're gone. I know they worry about me a lot. but there is diamond in these bones and eyes of mine and diamond is an enduring mineral, y'know.

I'll manage. I might cry. But i'll manage to get by somehow.

"When i get a quiet moment to myself, i often think about my mum and dad. Sometimes i talk to them like they are in the room with me, waiting. It's been such a long time since i saw them now, especially my mum. I miss them.... will be good to see them again".

And from my memory, comes words from a young woman, written on the back of a seaside postcard over 50 years ago to her man, away so long overseas fighting in a forgotten war. Giving him hope and keeping some for herself.

"It won't be long now, my love, before we are together again"

I think I'll manage. I might cry. But i'll manage to get by somehow.

S.x

Forty Four

2009-01-20T16:51:00.004Z

Dear Sir
When all the poetic rhetoric is done.
When all the fine speeches are crafted, then read out with a grace lacking in your thuggish simian predecessor.
When a million people have hung breathless on your every word, intoxicated for the almost Messiah-like hopes you have instilled in them..

(And that's just a few of the citizens who will be there with you in this sunny winter day)

When the world too pauses just for a second, watching their television sets and listening to their radio's. Some with more cynicism than hope. After all... we practically have seen it all before, if you think about it long enough.

Remember that you're just a man. Whatever you do now, can probably just as easily be undone by the 45th or a million other variables. In a thousand years, no-one will remember much about you anyway. Just do your best. Do as little damage as possible, if nothing else.

(And i... for my part will remember our Albions 72th... and the adulation and hope he brought with him... only to see all those hopes dashed and a country and it's democracy shattered upon the wheels and cogs of money and greed. My country is fucked. You have a much bigger responsibility, and the world awaits your arrival. Godspeed.

S.

Aww Eartha... your timing was perfect. As usual

2008-12-26T07:01:00.003Z

I first saw Eartha Kitt about 20 years ago as a teenager and i thought out loud "Eww! Horror!"

She didn't look... quite the prettiest woman in the world, and her stage show seemed... so quiche!

(Yes, new expression)

But then i heard Santa Baby, for the first time, about eight years ago. And just swooned out loud. And saw the young person she was. Thought "Phwoarr!" And decided i could forgive her anything after that.

So i found a picture of the young Eartha, not the old, and am amused that it is a Norwegian magazine cover. Hello to my very few secret blog readers in Norwayyy!

That song is oozing lust and pash! What an awesome woman!

S.x

Thank you thank you thank you, Mr Postgate!

2008-12-10T02:38:00.003Z

Childrens TV used to be a beautiful thing in England, back in the 70's. In fact, probably from the 50's onwards until the mid 90's.

Everything was innocent, though... really until the 80's, when commercialism and the need for ratings began strangling the creativity out of much of the telly media for kids. Holidays were bestest!

I don't know about before i was born, but every summer i spent as a child, mornings on television belonged to children. And every weekday from just before 4pm until around 6pm was a childrens tv time. And it continued on BBC2 a further hour until 7! Woo!

Nowadays, children are fed a diet of "zany, wacky" quiz shows presided over by presenters who obviously are trying too hard to "get in with the kids" and are obviously a few pennies short of a pound. Or something vaguely comical and dramatic with the kind of overacting that would embarrass Christmas Panto! And the rest is cheap and badly made cartoons (with a very few notable exceptions... dammit, ok, i rather like Spongebob Squarepants, ok?)

And they get fuck all in summer, and no dinner time tv. And morningsthrough to afternoons is devoted to doddery old pensioners plus fuckwit dole dossers and hungover students.

But in the 70's there was so MUCH! It's impossible to even list the huge variety of amazing and original programmes available.

So i'm not gonna... instead i'm just going to dedicate this post to one of the most influential creators in my life. A person who probably helped to make my voice what it is today... which apparently is something for the ladies to swoon at, hah!

Oliver Postgate who passed away this week.

Here's some of his very charming and whimsical work.

Bagpuss, the most important! The most Beautiful! The most magical!!

Over at the guardian.com, Zoe williams made me smile with her "obituary"

Thank-You, Mr Postgate

I bow

S.x

Awkward Mornings

2008-12-01T17:21:00.001Z

I stumble and rise...

.
Animation by Kurtis Hough
Music by Silver Mt Zion

Bollocking Bollocks

2008-11-16T15:53:00.003Z

Well, i had some blogs all ready for writing in my head this past month, all to tie in with Samhain (pronounced "Sow-inn" or something like that btw for all you uneducated hippy and goth throwbacks)

But i had lovely visitors and a big month long headache.

So fuck it.

Now i'm playing Warcraft for the next week.

Hah!

S.x

Death of a Plate

2008-09-10T03:41:00.010+01:00

Trying to juggle a phone conversation with making myself dinner the other day, i watched in disbelief and abject misery as my favourite dinner-plate slipped from my tenuous grip, spun briefly through the air in energetic farewell and shattered upon the bitterly unforgiving hard surface of the kitchen floor.

I stood there in silent disbelief at what had just happened, my friend on the other end of the phone repeatedly asking:

What was wrong? What had happened? What was that loud crash? Why did i cry out like that?

It's ok. I broke a plate. Nothing serious. Am fine, although my dinner is ruined. Can i call you back? Later, please? Thank you. Ok Cya. Mwah's.

It's only a plate. And indeed it is only a plate. A simple white plate with a blue band circling the rim. All things are finite. One should not mourn a simple plate.

Ahh, but what a finely crafted plate. Made in the Staffordshire Potteries region, renowned for it's craftsmanship of all things clay. It never tarnished or discoloured. Resisted scratches from a million knives and forks. did its job silently and with supreme reliable efficiency. Ahh, what memories this plate has brought me every time i sit at table and eat my food from it. Something i have done for over 20 years, and will now not do so again.

Many friends were stored in the memories that belonged with this plate. Some now long gone. Many meals shared. Some romantic. Often with much laughter.

No more shall i have my plate when i sit with Da Pumpkin and trade witticism while we eat our fishies, or my mothers delicious steaky pies. No more salad goodness. Or chips. Or a stir fry or pizza slices.

This log is the plate's wake, as i remember the life of my beloved piece of cutlery... Arriving quietly on it's own in the kitchen after the death of my Grandmother Reenee and gradually finding it's way into my affections by it's unassuming reliability to hold food and make it look good.

...To it's final moments before hitting the unkind floor edge on and breaking into 5 large and several tiny pieces. You can see the place where the impact must have occurred. The energy moving outwards and backwards. Just too much to withstand. Damn! I wish we had a carpeted kitchen floor! Survival might yet have been possible.

Standing there looking down at the wreckage for several moments. Then gathering the remnants into a dustpan and feeling sad and grim, as another link with the past is brushed silently away. Repeat the mantra. It's just a plate. It's just a plate.

And we are just bodies. At death, whatever holds our souls to the earth is removed and we go elsewhere. I don't think we die with our bodies. It's like a Buddhist teaching i once saw. A monk held a cup of water in his hand, then promptly broke it upon the ground.

"The cup is broken. But the water is still water. Do you see?"

Books That Influence Me

2008-08-23T06:36:00.005+01:00

JURGEN

A COMEDY OF JUSTICE
BY JAMES BRANCH CABELL
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS & DECORATIONS BY
FRANK C. PAPE
AND AN INTRODUCTION
By HUGH WALPOLE

"0f JURGEN eke they maken mencioun,
That of an old wyf gat his youthe agoon,
And gat himselfe a shirte as bright as fyre
Wherein to jape, yet gat not his desire
In any countrie ne condicioun."

This link leads to the University of Virginia's online copy. Props are always respected and acknowledged

Worth buying in book form, especially. This is as beauiful and strange a story as any you will ever read. Now i'm going to just step outside for a while. I may be some time, as Captain Oates once said in a tent somewhere a long time ago. I need solitude.

The Penguin And The Sofa

2008-07-30T02:22:00.008+01:00

Gentle reader, you arrive as me and Da Pumpkin are heading towards the end of a relatively normal conversation late one evening.

...I'm tired now, Plebby, i think i'm going off to bed. Nitey nite! Mwah's!

Ok Pumpy, i send you big loves. Mwah's!

I send you big loves back.

I send you a penguin also! For company!

Oh!

(sudden consternation in voice, while tired person tries to come to terms with this alteration of reality)

I don't know what do do with that!

(anxiety in voice)

Oh wait, i know- I'll leave it on the sofa to watch telly....

With a glass of milk...

What about a biscuit, too?

Yes, a penguin biscuit from the fridge.

I hope he can get into the fridge when you're asleep, btw. I bet fridge doors are quite difficult for penguins to open- but maybe it's one of those doors that you can push and it loosens and swings open on a catch and-

Shut it Plebby! You're the one who foisted a penguin totally unreasonably and also quite unrealistically into my living room to watch tv. and now you're trying to work out ways for it to open my fridge door, while i, on the other hand, am quite happy to let it sit on my sofa all cosy for night watching The Blue Planet, by David Attenborough, with a glass of milk to drink and a nice biscuit.

In the end, we both agree to overlook just how the penguin will drink it's milk and eat it's biccy, because, in our minds now... he's there... and cute beyond words and we believe in him with all our hearts.

(He's called Steve, btw... Pumpy didn't want to give him a name and insists that a naming quite spoils the atmosphere, but in my head, he's Steve The Penguin.)

Meanwhile, late at night, a Penguin is sitting on "da Pumpkins" sofa, bathed in the cool cathode blue television light, and realizes that his glass of milk is empty and that his biscuit is finished. So he bounces off the cushions and waddles to the kitchen and the fridge. We watch him disappearing solemnly into the kitchen and hear vague unspecified noises and a bit of creaking. Moments later, he is sitting back on the sofa, listening to the smooth dignified tones of David Attenborough and thoughtfully eating another biscuit or three. Resting carefully on the arm of the sofa is a big glass of milk.

We don't know how it all works. But we know he will still drink the milk and eat the biscuits and appreciate Mr Attenborough's nature programme. It's one of the most beautiful things, ever. It makes us smile and giggle every time we think about it.

How God Works (ver 1.0)

2008-07-07T02:26:00.009+01:00

I had a dream and you were falling apart inside your head, and there was nothing i could do to stop that.

Nor could i stop you from climbing a tall building and casting yourself from it in a desperate escape attempt from all the troubles you were suffering.

I watched you fall in slow motion and cradled your shattered broken body in my trembling arms. You were gone. Gone forever.

And my mind was wracked with anguish like i had never known before. Like a wet cloth twisted and wrung and torn. That's how my mind felt at your loss.

8:22 am: I awake with tears streaming down my face, as the true meaning of what my life will be like without you or yours without me hits with savage relentless cruelty.

I cannot save you from a life without me. And i do not know how to live a life without you. I am crushed beneath this weight and bereft of hope.

8:24 am My mobile phone pings. A text? At this time of the morning? No-one ever sends me a text in the mornings. They know i'll be asleep.

It's from you. The message reads thus:

"Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend.

Inside of a dog it's too dark to read".

-Marx, Groucho

I lift my head back and laugh at the double joke. And at that point i know. I know. I know that someone somewhere is looking out for me. Call them God or whatever, but you are one of His children and He works his subtle deeds through you. That also, i know.

One may still shine light into the darkest of places. Possibly not black holes, but hey... nothing in life is perfect. It's going to be a better day. I love you all.

For Yoli

2008-07-07T02:19:00.003+01:00

... who is a very special person and is still crazy enough to love me, even when i want to withdraw from the world and am not always very nice.

I've known you for what must be 3 years now, and you still make me smile every day.

So VJ Sat dedicates this song to you.

We fly balloons on this fuel called love.

S.

Coffee

2008-06-30T15:12:00.004+01:00

Now then... why don't you come and have one of these with me in my favourite cafe? You know you want to!! Yes you do! Afterwards, i'll show you my etchings (No not you Carl, eww)

S.

this is (not happy)

2008-06-19T01:19:00.001+01:00

this is a rubbish of human rind
with a photograph
clutched in the half
of a hand and the word
love underlined

this is a girl who died in her mind
with a warm thick scream
and a keen cold groan
while the gadgets purred
and the gangsters dined

this is a deaf dumb church and blind
with an if in its soul
and a hole in its life
where the young bell tolled
and the old vine twined

this is a dog of no known kind
with one white eye
and one black eye
and the eyes of his eyes
are as lost as you'll find

- e.e. cummings

this is

2008-06-16T16:03:00.005+01:00

The Saturnyne sits in his dark dark chair and thinks of people not here.

This is where i leant against the railing at the station. Red sneakers, black trench, stripey shirt. I remember saying to Pumpkin on the way here: "Jeez!- I look like fuckin Neil Tennant in Doctor Who nowadays". to which the Pumpkin gigglingly reminds me that once again, i have mixed up famous names

"It's David Tennant! Da-vid! And Anthony Hopkins STILL didn't appear in Psycho"

Same difference, he and Perky both played murderers!

Sitting and thinking...

This is where i stood with my air of uncomfortable assumed nonchalance and where we first met, on a rundown British train station platform, weeds and yellow wild flowers bursting through the cracks, sunlight bursting through the clay coloured sky to light up the day, both from above and below. Truly, stars shone in the hour of our meeting, but only for those to see who can.

This is where we hugged, as natural as breathing, and standing back, i marvelled at your vivid blue eyes with their mischief and wisdom in equal depths.

This litle stretch of pavement is where we spontaneously burst into dance! blithely unaware of the million and one people walking past us. That was fun! can we do it again?

This is the cafe where we drank good strong coffee beneath the brightly coloured fishies with their cheery grins and happy crazy eyes, talking of our homes and peoples.

This is the exact spot on the street where we met that old lush and tall tail teller, Jimmy Satan, who with yellowing and cracked teeth and whisky breath, showed that even a drunken Englishman can have charm and courtesy, regardless of his wrong beginnings.

This place was the Sainsbury's market where we discovered a new appreciation for things to rub on our faces and where the security guards looked at us with baffled bemusement. Obviously, they have never seen carrots put to such good use *nods wisely*. It's also the place of cakeys! *nom nom nom* and vinegar crispies *nom nom nom*

This is the taxi where you probably realized that everyone in the entire world will talk to The Saturnyne given the chance, and indeed The Saturnyne does give them that chance, for better or worse.

This is my tiny home, where i discovered in my turn, that Swedish people cannot understand why our tap water smells of swimming pools, nor why we have so many differerent transport companies or Utilities that all run so badly. In Sweden, everthing is brilliantly efficient! And expensive- but still! And while i tried as always, and with anxiety, to be the perfect host, i discovered once again, how wonderful it is to have perfect guests also.

This is the city we ventured to, and ate the most delicious seafudz and where i finally allowed my imagination out for the evening. Scary, isn't it? But not as scary as drunken English people (tall tail tellers always excepted, of course)

This is my kitchen, where we sang songs to each other, and i thrilled to hear your voice, untroubled and free and soaring above all your sorrows.

This is the door where i held you tight for one last time, before watching you leave for your long journey back home to your loving beautiful child and the places you are familiar with and your friends and your cats.

This is my dark dark chair, where i sit and think of friends who i miss very much, while listening for footsteps at the door, waiting for their return and the stars to shine again once more.

I'm tired, and i want to sleep now.

S.

Conversations With Mai Pumpkin (Part Umpty)

2008-05-27T05:40:00.002+01:00

Ai love yew Pumpy.

Ai love yew too, annoying Plebby.

Ai love yew more than bees!

That's nice.

The bees love yew too!

Lovely. Can the bees confirm this, then? This "bee love"?

Yes, mai Orange Gourd of Goodness, they can. They told me last night in fact. Yup, i distinctly remember them all saying it while we danced around our handbags to some goth music at that party i went to last night. They said "Tell Pumpy we love her (although not quite as much as sticking it to flowers, or making honey. But still!"

Goth music? Bees like goth music?

Yes, they like the constant droning and repetition. Plus they love the terrible lyrics. Always makes them fall about laughing. Fields of the Nephilim are a particular source of hillarity. They hate emo, though. Even bees hate My Chemical Romance.

That's good. Sooo... buzzing party was it?

Hohoho! very droll, mai Shiny Squash of Sunlight. Yes, we all got very drunk. I've never been to a wine and bees party before.

Hohoho back at you. So the bees enjoyed themselves, did they?

Yes, they particularly enjoyed the games of charades at the end. Oh, and the fancy dress.

Skipping over the charades for reasons of holding onto a tenuous grip of sanity... fancy dress?

Yah! bees love fancy dress! Although strangely they always elect to come as tigers for some reason. Hmm...

Could it be their affinity for stripes perhaps, just for the sake of a wild guess snatched randomly out of the air?

Yes!!!! you're so clever, o Golden Globe of Wsdom!

Shut up and pass me another choc-choc, you Plebby buffoon.

Tee-hee!

And thus another pleasant evening is passed in front of the telly between Da Pumpy and Plebby

Dammit Humphrey!

2008-04-26T03:29:00.002+01:00

I'm starting to feel old. I may not look it, but as a very famous hobbit once put it, i feel like butter that's been spread over too much bread.

And now an ageing legend of British wit and comedy adds to my obituaries and grievances of this year. A gentleman, a sharp mind and a fine musician.

how on earth will Da Pumpy and i listen to BBC Radio 4 and laugh and grimace with much fondness at the innuendo's, so cherished in England, now?

I'm Sorry i Haven't A Clue was one of those "Quiz Shows" that laughed and ridiculed itself and every other quiz show with pretensions of greatness. And it's pesenter, Mr Humphrey Littleton was it's genius centre.

I'm so sad. What a truly horrible week. This country seems that much less bearable to live in now... a country where the politicians have forgotten one truly vital thing... that they were created to serve the public. not themselves and not their political parties, and certainly not their rich big business friends.

Still, it doesn't matter in due course. Our way of life is beyond saving. We probably have 20 years tops... and everything changes in 2014... for better or worse.

S.

An April Sunday

2008-03-30T20:00:00.002+01:00

It's not quite April... Many famous people have died this past week or two, but i miss someone i knew for a long time. They died today. So this is for them.

An April Sunday brings the snow
Making the blossom on the plum trees green,
Not white. An hour or two, and it will go.
Strange that i spend that hour moving between

Cupboard and cupboard, shifting the store
Of jam you made of fruit from these same trees:
Five loads- a hundred pounds or more-
More than enough for all next summer's teas.

Which now you will not sit and eat.
Behind the glass, underneath the cellophane,
remains your final summer- sweet
And meaningless, and not to come again.

-Larkin

Goodbye Fred. Safe journeys.

S.x

BE SIGNIFICANT!

2008-03-26T03:04:00.006Z

Lately, i have been looking through the junk in my gmail folder... in some bemusement. The title of this post was my favourite header of one of the 180 i received today.

Are there really so many gullible desperate men (yup, it must be men) in the world? Blameh!

Here's some of the many emails i have received... links not included unless yr REALLY desperate bloke persons, in which case you can email me for the details and a technique that will really( yes really) increase the size of your (yes yours!) cock (that's right, your cock.) And all for a measly sum of 10,ooo golds!

"Millions of men use this
Here’s how to get an invitation card into her bedroom for a quickie."

Well if everyone else has been there, i'm not sure i want to as well. Damn, that's some stud/slut! (delete where appropriate)

"Re: don't forget this
Forget rocks and jewelry, give her what she REALLY wants – a massive rod and an incredible climax."

No pressure, then. Or could it be something about fishing? fishing can be pretty "exciting" for some people? Certainly, i get excited every time i think about eating fishies, so why not? (Damn, that salmon and rosemary i had in Giorgio's the other week was just awesome! And Sian, if you're reading this, then yes, i haven't forgotten your birthday. Or the meal out. I Been ill)

"I banged her till she bled
Special prices on this incredible medical breakthrough for manhood enlargement."

Yeah! Comes with hammer-attachment! Or why not just shoot the bitch and watch her bleed even more? Or maybe a good old knifing? Zomg! What wording! It's almost like reading a Shakespearian sonnet!

"Blow your load in Linday
Obtain guaranteed, permanent, hassle-free growth with our product."

now this is either something to do with dodgy stock-market betting, or it's more gun crime!!! Obviously.

"FDA approved Mens Enhancement supplement
Don’t disappoint her when she sees how small you are- fix that today."

how did they know?!? How?? I bet it was an ex!- Damn her!!

(on this one also, apparently his "rocking erection smitten her" blameh!)

"Incredible ass shaking
Mandy can’t keep her hands off me, now that I’ve gained more than 2 inches"

Does he/she mean two inches of ass? how much ass do you need for it to be incredible with the shaking? Would Parkinsons Disease help with that? Or hot-wiring it to the mains? Epilepsy development? I'd like to know these things, should i ever want this "incredible ass shaking" thing .

"Subject her to a punishing ride
Imagine taking a home video of her and she has multiple orgasms within just minutes."

When i used to drive i am pretty sure that i achieved this result with every passenger. I still recall, with a "certain" sentimental fondness, the shrieks and tear-stained moans and the moistened seats after the journeys. It must have been pretty intense for them as they used to be clutching tightly to the dashboard and other parts of the interior, knuckles whitening into a rigor-mortis like state and whimpering like small childs. And that was just the guys. Ah, if only i'd known that videoing it would have made me money...

"Get head every night
9 inches of massive manhood will always come in handy."

well... i could live with that. OMG! Wait!!! What if it's ME who has to give the head, dammit?! Waaaaaah!!!!

More as i find them...

S.

Stereolab

2008-03-11T18:47:00.003Z

The Saturnyne remembers many people. The living and the dead.

Today, this ones for you, Mary.

Stereolab! On The late night catastrophe show, The Word! Awful show, but fuck me- whoever blagged those bands onto that show was a fucking genius!

Though this world's essentially an absurd place to be living in
It doesn't call for total withdrawal

I've been told it's a fact of life
Men have to kill one another
Well I say there are still things worth fighting for

La Resistance!

Though this world's essentially an absurd place to be living in
It doesn't call for (bubble withdrawal)

It said human existence is pointless
As acts of rebellious solidarity
Can bring sense in this world

La Resistance!

S.

cure time!

2008-03-10T23:51:00.003Z

New Blog Creation

2008-03-01T03:20:00.007Z

I have decided to create a more private blog for thoughts that i would only want to share with my fellow bloggers.

(Yeah, that could include you Carl, if you renounce your heresy of not liking Daniel Johnston, bwahahaha

This doesn't mean that Da Lounge is gonna be destroyed... just that some thoughts are more for my online friends than family or people i know irl. So y'all can rest easy on that one.

Please feel free ask for access by emailing me at the hotmail address now shown on my profile page, or looking me up via my yahoo messenger name (which also handily happens to be in the same place. How handy!)

And now more song stuff

S.x

dies Saturni

2008-02-24T03:18:00.003Z

What did i do to get to here what do to escape from here how is anything possible do you remember as a child your days would drift on forever games lasting weeks so carefree so vibrant all colours and sounds and thrilling you were so unafraid back then the people seemed kind and the light seemed kind and the dark held shadows that you did not understand and you gazed deep into all things with a curious and enlivened mind.

That was part of the problem, really. Curiosity not only killed the cat, but danced upon the ruined corpse until all that remained was dried blood and a fine dust, easily washed away by the next rains.

Time wears me down, both body and soul. There are things i have done, both terrible and kind. Many things which i regret and deeds gone awry, even with the best of intentions. I don't know if i am a good person any more. I don't know if i can redress the balance in the time i have left or if there is even a God to pray to for help and inspiration. The Universe feels cold and empty. I don't understand humans.

I suddenly don't like that i allowed friends and family to see a blog like this. I am thinking of restricting access to only those people i invite to it. That, or destroying it or hiding it away or simply walking away from it all.

5 days and no-one would miss it. Not really. I'd like to do it in real life, too. Just walk away from it all, and forget the person i am, starting afresh in another town or another country with a fake passport or id... a complete nobody living out the remains of his life in seclusion and darkness. It feels like all i deserve.

S.

Aspects of Desire

2008-02-19T02:36:00.007Z

Desire is always cruel, it is said.

I was talking about the nature of Desire to a couple of friends the other evening. Remembering circumstances when you are wounded almost unto death, or so it feels...

You sit in your favourite bar/cafe/restaurant. If you are lucky, you are with considerate friends who are trying to console you, when your ex-girlfriend walks in. With her new man. You don't see her at first, but her laughter spills across the room, and your ears strain "was that...?"

Then you see her, and she's smiling and talking animatedly to her new man, wearing the same dress that night you first met... he touches her, little caresses on her arms... things like that. She sees you and your friends, acknowledges them when they walk by her, but doesn't register your presence at all. You quickly realize, bitterly, that this isn't about revenge... she simply doesn't care. She filled the hole you left in her life and now you're irrelevant to her. You're not even flirt-worthy material, unlike your best friends. You imagine that being pierced by many spears and arrows in 300 would hurt your chest less.

Your beautiful husband/boyfriend is sleeping with another woman. He openly acknowledges this to you, and even goes so far as to say how important the other woman is to his continued happiness. He's charming and witty still and even brings you flowers like they are going out of fashion.
But at night, when you have finished lovemaking, you weep silently into the pillow. He's all you have, and you are destroyed and made afresh by him every day. One day, you finally find the courage to leave him, and suddenly it is he who is bereft and distraught, begging you to come back to him. It is far too late for that, however. You feel nothing.

He lives his life, endlessly pursuing women, eagerly seeking the next "conquest" or so his reputation would have you believe. It's more complicated than that, however. He is desperately looking for what he believes is love. Yet when his quarry finally succumbs to his charms and lays naked in the bed beside him, he feels... cheated. Disappointed. All the years of his life, he asks himself "Is this all there is?"

S.

Because All Hope Is Lost

2008-02-17T08:18:00.007Z

It is!

No really!

*smiles enthusuastically and energetically*

And because i wanted to post this evilly depressing and doom-laden nihilistic song. And fuck you, if you don't like it. Nyaaah!

*bares teeth and snarls*

oh and this... it's a day of the sorrows and dooms, today. Breathe your last, Mo-fo!

But mainly, this... (a scene from Betty Blue)

if you've never seen the erotic and unbearably sad and beautiful film, Betty Blue, then you should be ashamed of yourself. Even if you're just dropping out of the womb, you have no excuse! No excuse! What was your mother thinking, not making sure you're all cultured and ready for love, sex and loss? Damn that woman!- Why, i'd have bloody well rammed the telly up in there with you, if i'd known!

(I was gonna call your mother a cunt for being so irresponsible with you, but then i thought better of it, after all, why alienate my readership over a silly old film, eh? Naw, i'll definitely find a better reason for sure later on, after i've had a really good think about it and allowed my anger and blood pressure to rise!)

Waking Dreams And Demonic Visitations (in which The Saturnyne meets with a remarkably unwelcome visitor and observes the best ways to deal with such

2008-02-11T00:56:00.000Z

I lie awake in my bed. Restless thoughts and sorrows furrowing my brow. So tired, i just want to sleep, please god, let me sleep well tonight, just this once? Please? I'll re-consider becoming a Christian again, if you let me sleep.... become a monk, take a vow of chastity, only look at women my own age or not at all, stop coveting all the best chocs for myself, try not to fantasize about sodomy and fist-fucking too much...

(HAh, i can just see some peoples eyes as they read that last bit... please guys, this is just a blog, and some poetic license is allowed, you know... it's not all true, except for when it is... *evil grinnage*

Incidentally, why oh why does good anal sex seem to require so much goddam preparation? HMM? first there's the enema's, then the lubing... really, it just takes ALL the fun out of it... then there's the possibility that your partner might REALLY resent you for not being able to walk properly for days...

So where was i? Oh yes...)

Slowly i become aware that the door leading to my attic has opened and a presence has entered my room.

My thoughts focus immediately into stark terror. This is no ghost. No human, no faerie or mischevious sprite or boggart such as you might find with too frequent regularity in these parts (after all grim Pendle Hill broods nearby, and everyone knows the stories about the witches and covens and dire mischiefs associated with that place). Such things are easily dealt with. No, what has just entered my bedroom is puissant.

I lie motionless in bed as i hear it moving towards me. I am quite terror-stricken and paralyzed with fright. I do what any sane person does in these situations. I pretend to be asleep and hope it goes away.

No good. It has seen me. It knows i'm there. It knows i'm not really asleep. Eyes tight shut, i hear it's footfalls draw nearer to the bed. Then horror- i feel a weight upon the bed next to my body and it's brimstone stench hits my nostrils as it leans over towards my face.

I open my eyes. There is no choice in this. Face horror with eyes closed or open... closed leaves your imagination fertile with horror upon horror. Open at least gives you the power to confront yor assailant. This is my salvation.

But Gods!- What the hell IS this demon? I am staring into the face of an abomination without a face! Black of skin, pitted and scarred like bassalt, and almost totally featureless, saving the barest shapings of a mouth and nose. It's like some ancient sculpture, worn with age and weathering.

It practically leers at me, even without features. but now i see it, and now the realization comes to me that i am dreaming of waking, and i am suddenly master of the situation... just...

I reach out a hand and caress it's face, almost like a lover. The skin is hard as i expected, and very warm, which i hadn't expected.

"Bugger off, you minor fucking demon!"

Realization that what makes this "thing" powerful is fear itself and that it's been playing me for a fool, burns me into a furious wrath. I push it's face backwards out of my dream and through sheer will power alone force myself into waking at the same time.

I awake, cold and staring up towards my bedroom ceiling, and for a moment there, i half fancy i see a reddish outline of something dangerous fading from where it came from.

"Aye- Piss off!"

I focus my cold blue and white hatred and fury on the outline until it is no more. real or imagined.

Bloody stealing into my dreams like that. Bastard.

I go back to sleep. Don't you just hate dreaming that you're awake and dreaming?

S.

Words, Sounds & Pictures

2008-02-07T17:00:00.000Z

It's the audiences i can't stand. And yet without them, my favourite band would have nothing to bounce off, to focus on. Hardened fanatics always calling out for their favourite songs, and laughing pointlessly at the focus of our adulation and love on the stage as he tells yet another bad joke inbetween the most heart-breaking, achingly beautiful descriptions and vivid dissections of all human joy and misery.

Ir's been a good few years since i first saw American Music Club, but the image holds clear in my mind, even now. I saw them on my own. As usual, my friends mistrusting my love for a band they've almost completely been unaware of. One still won't forgive me for playing him Daniel johnston all night long. Lol at Carl.

Standing solitary amongst strangers, while this man, Mark Eitzel, suffering from a heavy cold, practically destroyed his voice for us, as he lets it soar, losing himself in his songs, letting us all feel some cathartic release from our own troubles. The first half of the show was loud howling, defiant rock, angry and bruised and hurting from a world that felt unbelievably cruel. The second half is ultimately the Mark Eitzel solo love-in. You can't help your jaw dropping in amazement at his tenderness and grief. An audience utterly enraptured by what they are experiencing, I hear people in tears, breaking down in public and unashamed or too overwhelmed by a recognition of their own sorry lives. Then the song ends and he breaks the spell with a truly terribly joke or anecdote, before doing it all over again in another equally perfect paean to love, loss and alcoholism. I've never seen any performance that has even come near to this kind of breath-taking live ragged perfect glory.

So anyway, they have a new album out... i'm hoping they're still lush...

http://the-golden-age.co.uk/

Then there's From Russia at the Royal Academy in London. Which is probably one of the greatest groupings of arts masterpieces in the world at present, and unlikely to be repeated for decades. So go see it... if only for the wild and primal painting by Matisse above, which is just fucking lush and grrlorious. here's some writing about it, which i rather enjoyed

Prententious arty bollocks type comments here!

Winter Storms

2008-02-01T04:52:00.000Z

Restless mind racing, eyes like black charcoals, i twitch, toss and turn in my bed, unknowingly in tune to the weather as a pulse burns through my core, leaving me drenched in anxious sweat and simultaneously exhausted.

Why can't i sleep?

And the room shatters from inky black to vibrant blue and purple and back to an even deeper hue of black in the blink of an eye.

Of course! This is the reason why i cannot sleep. I throw back the sheets and stand naked at the window gazing out into the deep night.

And the thunder drums forth it's deep chiming beat, leaving me shivering with a deep joy in the cold winter airs.

Quickly i reach for my clothes, my keys and my longest trench-coat, then head for the door with a ferocity that would just kill you if you looked into my eyes- Twice as quickly if you got in my way.

And i burst through the door like a gunshot from a starting pistol, like water tearing down a dam, grinning defiance wildly into the hailstones and vicious wind that tears at my face with chilling sharp fingers.

The storm resonates within me, the freezing rain and hail reach through my clothing and i am drenched and shivering violently in seconds. I do not notice. I do not care. I am exultant. Today a thunder god laughs and i throw my head back and laugh also.

S.

Dream Retreats

2008-01-27T06:39:00.000Z

i.
I was walking down a high green mountain road in winter light. It began to snow, the flakes peppering the ground and road ahead and making me anxious to find my little winter cottage before the blizzard overtook me. Two motor-bikes passed me by, with the riders and pillion passengers yelling to me about the dangers of the weather ahead. I strode on with a firmness of purpose and lo- my house was there, nestled amongst tall trees by the side of the road. All was serene within as i found the matches and lit the stove. Calmly i walked around my winter cottage, securing it from the storm without and lighting tall candles for radiance. A warm glow soon reflected off the floors and walls. While lights flickered prettily across the wooden beams of the ceiling. Sitting in a great arm-chair, I thought about how matchsticks left in remote hunting cabins are sometimes able to save the lives of the lost.

ii.
Do you dream of impossible things? I do, my wily Spanish friend. I dreamt of the great iron and steel metropolis that you showed me with the extraordinarily vast buildings. Not just tall.... but gigantic in scope and imagination. Bridges and walkways stretching up to the clouds... lattice works that one might take a day to pass beneath... i know not where this city might be found in waking, but it is your city, and i wept with joy and delight as you revealed the wonders of this vast gothic masterpiece. And the more you opened my eyes to it, i realized i had dreamt this city many times before, from the dank waterways beneath, to the glittering spires above, and i knew this was My City also and that i only have to dream it to dwell within it. One day perhaps, my dream will last and i may be permitted to stay there...

iii.
You stood slicing avocado's in my kitchen with a knife of silver in your hands, and i rushed uncaringly to hold you in my arms and delight in taking your breath away with my first kiss of the evening. I did not even feel the pain as the blade pushed it's way through my heart and out past my spine by a good six inches. Such a long blade, i thought, with surprise. You held me as my legs gave way, muscles uncoiling, unravelling upwards throughout my body; astonishment and shock frozen on your face as much as mine. I look into your eyes and tell you i love you, i will always love you... only i cannot say anything for the blood is filling my mouth and i have to use my eyes alone to tell you this.

S.x

For a friend
I do not know if this is a very bad thing to do or just a bad thing... but i have a looped track on my ipod of people primal screaming "Death!" over and over and over and over and over. When i get tired of this, i listen to vicious guitars sawing into a maelstrom of feedback and white noise. I have seen better days and hope i don't see any more at all. This world seems too unkind for the likes of me. I know you'll never read this, but it is my responsibility to you and you alone that keeps me here in this world at present.

Pirat[e]s!!!

2008-01-23T11:30:00.000Z

*whisper whisper*

"Ah, i see. And you say it all started when your captain got lost and drunk under the seats of a moving picture house."

*whisper whisper*

"For three whole days?!?! Well i hope the film was good."

*whisper whisper*

"AhAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Well at least there would have been popcorn and other things to eat. That's terribly amusing. Pirates of The Carribean triple bill, you say? Poor chap, i'm not sure my sanity would have been untouched if i'd been forced to endure that for three whole days. Zomg!"

*whisper whisper whisper*

"Yes it certainly does explain his apparent conflicting identity crisis, and now i do indeed perceive the inner sadness in your tail, my dear Emissary. Your apology and truce are accepted, and i for my part am sorry that i had to murder so many of you- in such an unsporting way, too!"

*whisper whisper*

"That's very kind of you to say. I had no idea your people were such well-spoken and polite folks. It certainly takes the breath away to think of such a civilized society as yours. But let's return to the matter at hand. I think i know how to find his golden treasure, and end our mutual misery, for you know if it remained unresolved i would have to regretfully slay you to the very last man."

*whisper whisper*

"Aha! Yes! Very droll. Anyway. here's what we shall do..."

Captain's Log: RY2kM42

Yarr, tis a sorry tail oi do tell. Ahm nart a happy fella, I Cap'n Scabious Murine and my crew 'ave been seeking the hidden and legendary treasure of 't Golden Rowse for many a long month. Sailing the most Godforsaken back straits of the Seven Sews, always searchin', searchin' an' searchin' again for the loot that will make us rich.

Alas then, that the clues led me ship and crew to this most filthy an' disgustin' river where our luck deserted us as sure as fleas off a drownin' rattus. First losing shipmates Nibbles and Fangs to the predatory beasts that prowl these monstrous shores, then most of the rest of the crew to some terrible bleedin' sickness from the accursed food supplies that the barbarumans who live here had "kindly" provided for us. Damn their eyes! Yer just can't trust 'em! It's been over 600 years since The Hoppin' Death, but do they forget and forgive? No! It were an acciden' 'an all! We tried ter stop it, too, once we realized it were a problem, like. But, every time we hope for an understandin' and try to move on, they drive us back into the dark, beating us and killin' us all the while. Treatin' us like vermin! Howlin' like savages! Narr, yer can trust 'em. Ever! Pieces of eight!

Now it's jus' me an' the First Mate and the cabin-juve, Veilsy left, an' i fear for the first Mate's life, since he volunteered to go and parlay with the barbarumans and talk some sense into them. I tol' him!- Forgerrit! They're as mean a bunch as i ever seen! Poor fella. 'e was a right good sort 'an all. In spite of his funny ideas about havin' been one of them once. i tol' him, talkin' like that'll bring trouble! Sure as teeth! Reyt clever he was, tho', but 'es been gone fer a good few hours now. Mebbe me and the young' un should just try and swim fer it. I lost me treasure map, anyways.

Captain's Log: RY2kM43

Lordy amighty! He be back! And he's brung us tidings of ther Treasure! His parlay with the barbarumans seems to have worked, and their chief has seen reason! Yarr, it might be a trap, but me hearts weary from starvation and losin' us 'ope. Ow't is better ner this. He's gonna hand us ther Golden Rowse and push our ship back into fairer waters and All we give in return is our promise not ter come back. Seems fair enuff ter me. I 'ope the First Mate knows what he's doin'... Shiver me timbers an' stuff. I miss me wife and the kids. Shiver me barnacles, too! (note to self: must find out if barnacles shiver or not)

Cap'n Scabious Murine.

Saturnyne's Diary: December 31st 2007

So we had this rat problem this past month, and i'd been busily entertaining myself by laying out traps and poisons for the little buggers and trying to stop their holes up, when one of the little blighters, bold as brass runs full tilt out of a new hold i had just found, tears up my legs and body at an impressive rate of knots and lands on my shoulder with what seems to be an optimistic and anxiously faux-cheery smile on his whiskers. I was further surprised, when in a slightly tremolous and squeaky voice (well ofc squeaky, he's a rat, dammit!) he addresses me thus:

"i wonder if i might beg an audience with your leader?"

Ever so polite he was, and despite my alarm at having a wild rodent upon my shoulder, i'll warm to anyone who's a bit polite and respectful. so i nodded. And said that, uhm, yeah, that would be me.

So anyway, i invited him to partake of some crisps and ice cream and the usual stuff that you expect rats to like and we worked out an arrangement and a peace treaty. (For i'm sure you will all agree, that it's much nicer to have peace than go around murderin' folks hither and thither without even thinking about what else you might be about), and he related to me the sad plight of his "Cap'n", a charismatic rat of some high repute and nobility in rat society who had fallen upon difficult times and succumbed to the horrors of silly Disney films after accidentally eating a complete and strangely discarded 8th of weed in a cinema he was scavenging.

There's a lesson in there for everyone, and i'm sure you'll agree to that, too.

So later on that day, i procured their treasure for them, and lifting a large drainage cover i met the good Captain and the last of his crew. Who after cursorily waving an old rusty sewing needle at me for a few moments in a final show of tired bravado, chittered at me in Rattese and bowed deeply. His two surviving ship mates doing the same.

Well, it was a sombre moment for us all as i handed over the treasure for inspection (which all there agreed most heartily that this was indeed the fabled Golden Rowse), and then helped them place it safely into their "ship" which i must tell you, with a pang of disillusioned regret, was a leaky old childs shoe box and not very sea-worthy at all.

There then followed a brief conversation between the Captain and his loyal First Mate, during which, there was much nodding and bowing in my direction, and then the Mate ran up my leg again with something clasped in one paw.

"The Cap'n would like to give you something to remember us by, in token of your bein' an 'onorable barbaruman and everything (In fact, the first we've ever seen). It's nothin' much, but it's a log of all his adventures before he was a pirate (and especially afterwards, too!) Crafted from finest willow bark it is"

"Oo! Thank-you! I shall keep it always and treasure it mightily. but there's one thing you never told me, in fact two things, and i'd like to know them before i cast you off, if i may?"

What made you think you could trust me not to slay you on sight? And what is your name, for i'm sure "First Mate" is surely not it, and i am sure there is something familiar about you that i just can't place?

"Well, i didn't... but sometimes, when yer choices seem a bit limited, and yer in a tight spot... ye've got to take a chance, ain't yer? Besides, even with all the murderings y' did upon my folks, y' seemed a decent sort. I'd been watching you a while as yer sat in yer chair, see.. In the end, i just hoped that it was all a bit of a misunderstandin'..."

We smile, and he leans in close and whispers to me his name, and i smile some more and with sadness as i realize who and what he is.

Then quickly and solemnly they scurry into their ship and i reach out (With gloves on ofc! it's a backwater of one of the Seven Sews and smelly and filthy as anything down there!)and push them deep into the channel, then run all the taps and flush the outside loo to help send them on their way. I swear i hear them singing a Corpus Christi Carol from the darkness...

Oh, and the treasure? I know you're just dying to know what the treasure was that i gave Captain Scabious. What WAS the treasure!???

Well... see for yourself, below.

And now, adieu!

Elements: Air

2007-11-20T03:11:00.000Z

In the heart of town stands a row of tall and slender trees (no i can't remember their type, so shut it and stop interrupting) almost unnoticed by every passerby, whether it be on foot or vehicle.

Yesterday was a beautiful Autumn day, with a milky blue sky criss-crossed by webs of vapour trails from travellers going about their business far, far above my head.

Yesterday, sitting in my favourite cafe, i glanced across the road in admiration of their silent and calm tranquility as i often do, and let myself grin with delight as they tilted their heads in the lightest of breezes and cast their summer coat of leaves from them in a manner of such carefree and gentle elegance, that even a ballet dancer might stop and applaud their grace and timing, as they readied themselves for a winter sleep.

It was as if they'd been awaiting an appreciative audience. And that audience was me. Only me, for looking around, the humans all continued to go hither and thither about their business, blithely unaware in their hurry, of the beauty smiling benignly right at them in their midst....

This post is for Nadja Deadlook, who smiles at the small beauties we find in life.

And thank you everyone who commented on my last post. There's life in The Saturnyne still! I love yer all.

S.x

sometimes

2007-10-13T03:01:00.000+01:00

Sometimes i feel like i am just sitting around waiting for death to wake me up.

I hate almost every single part of my life, without knowing how to change it or even motivation- the sheer driving force to end it.

Nothing much to add to that, today. It's just depression. It'll go away eventually. It surely will go away... it has to.

S.x

The Deep Breath Before The Plunge

2007-08-30T18:17:00.000+01:00

So the reason i've been a little lax updating this blog of late, is my having been involved in the World of Warcraft game. Something i have been involved in for around 2 years now.

Non WoW readers might want to skip this post, as it is aimed mainly at the people i play with and talk to ingame

I have made some incredibly good friends in that time and lost some, too. People, young and old from all across Europe i have met. And all on a little EU server called Dragonblight. I played just about the ugliest troll you could imagine and caused havoc and mayhem throughout the lands with my bow, spear and pet piggy, Pancetta Frou Frou... but mainly with my wit and charm and terrible, terrible murderous puns.

Some of the very best people i have known there were in a couple of fine guilds called XSS and Mythos. However, for personal reasons, i have felt a little at odds with the game recently, so i left them and joined another called Shadow Wolves, where i am hoping i can re-find my love of this remarkable game... already i am finding new and fun people, while missing very much the old. I don't know how long i will continue to play... but until i stop... i daresay i will keep my hand in with the wit, charm, and terrible, terrible puns...

This post is from V. ,The Great Vommit, to you. All my good friends. Old and new

Sad Cat

2007-08-29T06:58:00.000+01:00

Knew i'd left this blog lying around here somewhere

*gives blog a quick dust down*

Older readers of this blog may remember my ever so beautiful cat photos of yore and the ever so noble and proud Jude in his dazzlingly heroic collar.

I recently re-visited my friend and Jude and am startled by just how old he is and how changed he is from the keen, interested and goddam-get-him-offa-me-he's-sticking-his-claws-into-my-shoulders-and-oh-bollocks-that's-another-item-of-clothing-ruined-can't-this-cat-remember-that-he-can-contract-his--bastard-claws-kind-of-pussy-cat
to
The cat i saw yesterday. Old, anxious, wary... it was a furry mirror of what we will become in old age... and i can't say i liked it... Jude who loved me and stared curiously and with intent into my eyes with affection unlike any other cat i have met- he did not know me anymore... or if he did, i was a memory of a flickering shadow in a distant and dusty room.

It made me sad. I love him so.

next up, probably, that much promised meeting with superstars!

S.

Music Day

2007-07-27T02:56:00.000+01:00

Ok, i have succumbed to the wonders of that fookin' youtube site to bring you a couple of songs i have been smiling gleefully at today. Well not only that, but they made me so happy while i was wallowing around in a misery funk, that i laughed and cried all at once, like water bursting from a broken dam, or the starting gun at the start of a race.

Damn! i love Beirut! thank you to lovely Janine for sharing this band

and omg, another one!!!

That's all from Radio Saturnyne today. tune in later, for moooore bollocks! now over to The saturnyne in the studio to recount a very interesting conversation he had with famous movie producers! OooOoooo!!!

S.

Chance Meetings...

2007-05-09T01:08:00.000+01:00

You must have travelled thousands of miles- millions of miles even, in your journey to reach me. I can only marvel at the intense cold of your long journey, and the white-heat of your arrival, and the finale of your life that was furious and triumphant and above all, as beautiful as it was brief.

But such a chance meeting....

Today, the Saturnyne closeted himself within his halls to brood in the gloom and shadows. Curtains closed, doors sealed. In the evening he ate a light salad and read from aged and dusty tomes, the strange and mystical stories that he delights in.

In the late evening, on a whim, he parted a pair of curtains looking out onto his small back yard with a desire to see the cat who had befriended him and his family recently.

She was not there, but just at that very moment you revealed yourself to me and burst across my vision from right to left, your purpose clear, your aim true, leaving a trail of flame and sparks that brought the night to life even as you died. I could almost imagine you singing your delight at such a glorious end.

I have never seen a shooting star so bright, nor can i even begin to try and guess the odds of seeing you at that very moment i thrust the curtains aside, and with such a limited view of the night sky, too. Sometimes i think i am given gifts from God or whoever controls this damned Universe.

Perhaps you saw me too, and smiled at my mouth open in an exclamation of "!"

It is good to know that you touch even one person beautifully before you die, i think. I, for my part, will add you to my ever lengthening list of cherished memories and hope you will be one of the last i forget. I love you. Sleep well.

Linkage!!

cries

2007-04-25T07:06:00.000+01:00

Last week i was happy in the knowledge that i had going on for 4,000+ profile views.

This week, due to the enforced blogger update... i have the grand total of 24...

And no links to look at in my "favourites categories"

Which is how i found most of my blogger friends.

Which is upsetting.

...

...

... i feel isolated now. Damn you, Blogspot Blogger-Thingy!

*looks at ground sadly*

*ground looks back emphatically*

Still... Raar!

This!!!

IS!!!

SPARTA!!!

RAAARRR!!

(anyone seen that film yet? I watched it on an 8 story screen with high-velocity-bastard-sound{tm} and my eyes and ears are still screaming)

S.

Conversations With Mai Pumpkin (How To Find THE INTERESTING PEEPS. Again)

2007-04-09T16:48:00.000+01:00

...And when she discovered she was a raging lezzer he realized he was a raging pufftah, too!

Oh rilly?

Yah! And so after the SEX-CHANGES... they got married. Again! Talk about hawt hermaphrodite love! Umm... if you abbreviate Hemrmaphrodite, do you get raging Heemies, perhaps?

I don't know. I do hope you're talking bollocks again, because such a scenario sounds a little too against-the-laws-of-reality to have happened- even to the people you know.

Well yeah, but imagine the scary lezzer-homo sex scenarios you could invent for sitcoms!

Will you stop cackling so loudly, please. Pleeease?

And if you throw in a couple of vicars, tea, plus assorted sex-aids and buckets of stored jizz to step into...

And then it happened- that split-second of knowing you have made a contact, but are unsure of how to proceed...

Why in God's name would anyone have buckets - buckets! - of stored jizz in their home??!?

The woman had been walking towards us throughout this conversation, minding her business and no doubt on her way home from a pleasant afternoon of slumming the shop-windows of our "fair" *snickers loudly* town. Quite attractive, with long hair, slimness, big intelligent eyes, unusual skin tones. Something familiar about her. I couldn't quite put my finger on it...

She was just passing us, and maybe it was something about the way i was loudly extolling the untested use of jizz and lezzer-homo-heemies in sitcoms that made her do a double-take, or maybe it was something flickering in her memory, too... but for the briefest moment, we had a connection.

And will you stop leching at every single woman or assumed woman that walks past!

...And neither of us did anything about it. Um, well, apart from me flashing one of my more insanity causing grins that H.P. Lovecraft himself woulda bin proud of. Later, the name of an old once-upon-a-time friend came to my mind.

Kate. Kate Green.

I Don't think i have seen her for over 15 years, but i am sure it was her. She was once one of my best friends, and i had rather a nice crush on her. She inspired me to love poetry, not just appreciate it. She gave me the most vivid low-down on just how vile much of women's contraception was at the time, and how the onus always seemed to be upon the woman to provide it rather than the "poor, sensitive man and his poor little penis that doesn't like to wear a little jacket". She was also one of the sharpest and clever people i have ever met.

We fell out midway through the 3rd act of Edward Scissorhands. Never really spoke again after that. A painful drive home in silence. Always one of those things on the back of my mind. Totally ruined the film for all time for me. Bit of a pisser, as i'm sure you would agree.

Life is full of people we see, but no longer "see". Past loves. Past friends. They are often pushed to the periphery of our vision and attempts are made to forget them. Sometimes, we actually succeed.

Many times in the last year, i have seen people i have known and forgotten from the past.

Every single time, nothing was said.
Every single time, i wished i had.

Maybe next time, i will actually dare myself to speak, and re-capture some of those friends...

Maybe one of them will come across this website and discover me. I'd like to think that would be possible. I miss them all.

Will you shut up wittering and enjoy your coffee and oatcakes, now that you've finally decided to blog about it? Honestly- i've had about half an hours whining and moaning "What if it WAS her? Blah blah blaah." Stop living in the past, you nobhead.

I shut up about it, enjoy my coffee and oatcakes (Mmyum! Cheese and mushroom!) and read the papers full of current events in The Red Triangle (in Burnley, all you Marxist-stroke-socialist-loving beverage drinkers!) And grin my best insanity-warping grin yet.

Pumpy frowns menacingly over the top of her magazine. But i can tell she's amused at my mercurial change of mood as always. It's in her eyes.

S.x

The End of The Fookin' World!!! (Yes it's a fookin' "whinge post ok!?!)

2007-02-22T14:18:00.000Z

Here at The Saturnynes Lounge, we like to bring you the BIG stories and today we're touching upon the end of the world and the signs and portents that are an obvious foretelling of dooms to come...

And i have to tell you, it doesn't start with floods, bad weather or nuclear war (Although it might well end with such things)

No

It starts with the small things. The lark that is no longer heard, the sunflower in winter, the closing of your favourite shops.

Yes the closing of your favourite shops, dammit! At the end of last year, the Saturnynes life-long and cherished favourite toyshop of all time did close. Mr Benn's, a place i have visited since childhood and evoked with it's name, an equally loved childhood cartoon, has bloody well closed and my lovely shop friends have all gone!

I'm hurting dammit! The world has stomped all over my sensitive nature with size 100 booties. Then invited it's friends and neighbours to come and do the same. The shop where i bought my first action man (In Nazi SS uniform, no less! Oh how i loved the sartorial elegance of those nice SS soldiers and officers in their swish greys and blacks. Possibly leading to suspicions amongst one elderly relative that i might "bat for the other side" pshaw! Thank-you for the vote of confidence dead Grandma, but i think numerous fondlings and sticky situations later, some involving actual real girls, i think i can lay that one to rest, ok?). And the lego! And the airfix models with paints and glues to fuck them up real bad! A million toy soldiers! Eventually i even let the Allies win! And when George Lucas slagged us Star Wars onto the scene, i was an avid collector of all the figures and vehicles. Finally from the age of 14, i found the game to indulge my vast and endless imagination. Dungeons and Dragons proved to be endlessly inventive and thrilling and even hillariously funny. I still think about it and play variations of it to this day. Mainly the Bad Guys with nowadays... well, y'gotta strive for realism...

But that's not all! The last fookin' music shop in town has fookin' well closed too! So my little location has no toys and no music (ok there's a small specialist music shop that i frequent for my Shimmydisc rarities etc... but it's too fookin' small goddammit!)

But that's not all, either! My local library is fookin' well closing! not that's going to be a big loss, not with the local council continually reducing the opening hours to 5 mins a day or something equally foul and disgusting. Bah!

Yes, it's the end of the fooking world!

Foooooooook!

S.

PS: So if you want a shag, now's the time to get in touch...

Tourettes Syndrome: A Users Guide

2007-02-09T14:51:00.000Z

CUNT!!!

(rinse)

(repeat)

Jeezy Creezy!

2007-01-27T08:13:00.000Z

I've just managed to get my blog back after it was "updated."

Weeks! Weeks of trauma and weeping inconsolably into paisley handkerchiefs!

Hugs, sex and wine all round!

S.x

How To Annoy Religious People (And Yet Discover A Sense Of Irony At The Same Time) pt 1

2006-11-30T01:54:00.000Z

Pope: Islam is a very violent religion, isn't it? (According to this interesting quotation from someone no one except me can even be bothered to remember)

Islamic Personnage: How dare you say such a thing! I shall kill you all! (Especially the women who flaunt their curves at me! I've seen them on the street you know! Tempting me in their Burkha-thingy's with promises of lust!!! Aieee! Sure they say nothing and then run and hide when i am around, but i can sense their evil, and that's why i must kill them all! Jyhad! Jyhad!)

Pope: Holy Shit!! We never had this problem when i was in the Hitler Youth! (Cardinal Fang! Are you sure i can't order another crusade? We could even try and get rid of those blasted Juden again at the same time! Just like Papa Adolf would have wanted... ahh...those were the good old days...)

American End-Timer: We must create more pollution! And more wars in Jesusland with the Ae-rabs! Then, when we have caused millions of deaths and untold suffering, Jesus will come and save us and we will have "The Rapture!tm" Now we must hurry, becase i'm getting impatient! Get me The Pre-si-dent on the phone and let the nukes fly!

God: Not fookin' likely! You can all fook off. I've had it up to here with you religious freaks, and you End-Timers take the fookin' biscuit! Jesus H. Christ- i wish i'd given the world over to the fookin' monkeys! At least you know where you stand with a fookin' chimp... all bastards... Lucy can have the fookin' lot... ungrateful, greedy cunts...

Jesus: Oi! Stop taking my name in vain! You know how mum hates that kind of language.

God: Fook her. I'm fucking omnipotent. I can do what the fook i like.

Lucifer: Can i have that last bit in writing, please?

God: No. Fook off. I'm in a right fookin' bad mood now. I'm goin' out for a fookin' drink.

Lucifer: Oh. Ok. Well don't forget we've got lunch with Buddha and Shiv at 8.

God: Bollocks.

And now... funny cartoons!

Tom Cruise: Hey! Wait a minute! What about MY religion!!!!

Everyone: Hahahaha. Stfu.

Glomping Frenzy!

2006-10-20T16:17:00.000+01:00

I think this one's for the ladies.

Now remember, girls... don't hold back!

Thanks to the mighty Mightymoo for sending the pic.

Still Here, Dammit!

2006-10-02T02:09:00.000+01:00

Just not had time to update... i got about 3 "new" posts to do as well... the big problem is my totally legal (Would i lie to you?) version of Adobe CS2 which i use to manipulate the goodness into my blg pics.

It's not bloody effing working!

Grr! Work dammit!

Be right back.

In the meantime, feel free to perv at my black and white profile photo in my personal info stuff, and fantasize about all the hawt things you'd like to do to me...

...or somrthing like that... just so long as it doesn't involve bonfires and stuff.

K? K? K?

S.x

For My Parents

2006-08-29T00:56:00.000+01:00

who's inverted childhood i watch and for whom i count the chimes of distant clocks.

The Old Fools

What do they think has happened, the old fools,
To make them like this? Do they somehow suppose
It's more grown-up when your mouth hangs open and drools,
And you keep on pissing yourself, and can't remember
Who called this morning? Or that, if they only chose,
They could alter things back to when they danced all night,
Or went to their wedding, or sloped arms some September?
Or do they fancy there's really been no change,
And they've always behaved as if they were crippled or tight,
Or sat through days of thin continuous dreaming
Watching the light move? If they don't (and they can't), it's strange;
Why aren't they screaming?

At death you break up: the bits that were you
Start speeding away from each other for ever
With no one to see. It's only oblivion, true:
We had it before, but then it was going to end,
And was all the time merging with a unique endeavour
To bring to bloom the million-petalled flower
Of being here. Next time you can't pretend
There'll be anything else. And these are the first signs:
Not knowing how, not hearing who, the power
Of choosing gone. Their looks show that they're for it:
Ash hair, toad hands, prune face dried into lines -
How can they ignore it?

Perhaps being old is having lighted rooms
Inside you head, and people in them, acting
People you know, yet can't quite name; each looms
Like a deep loss restored, from known doors turning,
Setting down a lamp, smiling from a stair, extracting
A known book from the shelves; or sometimes only
The rooms themselves, chairs and a fire burning,
The blown bush at the window, or the sun's
Faint friendliness on the wall some lonely
Rain-ceased midsummer evening. That is where they live:
Not here and now, but where all happened once.
This is why they give

An air of baffled absence, trying to be there
Yet being here. For the rooms grow farther, leaving
Incompetent cold, the constant wear and tear
Of taken breath, and them crouching below
Extinction's alp, the old fools, never perceiving
How near it is. This must be what keeps them quiet:
The peak that stays in view wherever we go
For them is rising ground. Can they never tell
What is dragging them back, and how it will end? Not at night?
Not when the strangers come? Never, throughout
The whole hideous inverted childhood? Well,
We shall find out

:Philip Larkin

"Would You Like Death With Your Latte?"

2006-08-15T01:58:00.000+01:00

I'm late. I'm always late. I explode from the bus into the city street in a swirling mass of black. My tatty trench-coat flowing behind me, my matching black stomp-boots furiously gripping the pavement and propelling me towards my desination like they really mean it. I compare my watch to the one on the high street in the oft-anticipated hope that i might have been transported back through time this once and thus arrive exactly on time for my coffee with da Pumpkin. Bit time remains stoically keen to pursue its own goals.

"You got any spare change, sir?"

I stop dead.

His face is vaguely recognizable, but then so is any homeless vagrants on Manchesters city streets. You get so used to seeing them that their scruffy anxious faces blend into each others after a while. Some people find it easy to ignore them and the begging. Some berate them angrily for not having a job, for not being clean, for not being normal. Some people give them a few coppers, or a bit o' silver that they have weighing down their trouser pockets. That's what i do.

"Sure. How are yer doin'? It's a bit nippy today, innit? Here ye go".

I stare him into his desperate eyes as i drop my coinage into his cup. I've seen conmen doing their begging rounds on these streets before. He looks for real. Today... i don't care. If he needs the money for "whatever", then it's his.

I give him everything i have. It's one of those days. I want to hug him, too. But let that pass. He looks incredibly grateful. I move on to my appointment, feeling the wind blowing through me like i was a ghost.

"Thanks!"

I meet Pumpy in the book-store and we get our respective coffees. Latte for her and a yummy moccha for me. I torment her a little with a loud curmudgeonly Devonshire accent as we move towards a table by the window. She rolls her eyes and gives me a pained expression. No-one else pays any attention whatsoever.

She tells me about how she hates her boss. I listen, but my mind has never turned away from you all day. She knows what i'm thinking about, and takes my hand in hers and for a little while we sit in silence.

You had been drinking coffee too, before you were engulfed in a horror of white noise and orange flame, then drowned in the darkness of dust and broken glass, and then the more impenetrable blackness of death.

When they found your body, you were still wreathed in grey dust, like a cerement shroud. Your new-born son held tightly in your hand. Your wedding ring glinting through the murk. You were 28. This is your story. Just one amongst the hundreds and hundreds... just one who had to die to suit the purposes of macho politicians and radicals who are more concerned about their popularity rather than doing what is right.

I did not know you. But i miss you. Your absence is an ache in my soul. Coffee and witty repartee... seem so much harder without you.

Goodbye, Mr Barrett

2006-07-13T05:03:00.000+01:00

I first heard Syd Barrett as a child, through listening to choice parts of my brothers record collection. Amongst the goddawful wankfest (to me) of his 70's rock and metal collection there were some gems that an 8yr old boy could dwell on. I remember the very first song anywhere that truly held me rapt with awe and fascination. And it was a Syd Barrett song. The second and third songs were also Syd Compositions, from the very first Pink Floyd album, The Piper at the Gates of Dawn.

There was a big drawback for me in being able to listen to these songs, though. I hadn't a clue how to operate my brothers very daunting and large looking hi-fi seperates. He was also the kind of person who would keep the radio from a Lancaster Bomber in his room. I guess you could say he was a huge knobs and dials kinda guy. When you turned his hi-fi on, the room practically hummed with all that energy, and i was certain the local elctricity generator would go into a meltdown. Or at least feel a little faint. I was also nearly as certain that to activate the "power-on" switch would near instantaneously electrocute me, or something equally sticky and with an end to it.

Much to my brothers dawning horror and rising sibling hatred, i then discovered that i was able to turn the records manually, and let my fingernails run along the grooves, stirring very faintly the beautiful songs from their vinyl slumber. The tunes vibrating into my fingertips. Naturally, of course, there were some "little" problems with scratching. My poor bruv. I did it to quite a few records... thinking in my innocence that because some of them sounded so awful anyway, that he'd never notice if anything was wrong with them, as surely he wouldn't want to listen to such crap.

I noticed that a lot of people in their personal obits of Syd, have quoted a couple of lines from the later Pink Floyd song about him (A song i cannot even bring myself to name as i loathe it so much). A song i find just as turgid and self-absorbed as most of the band output after he left... And everything after Meddle is bombastic toss. It is! Don't argue! Especially those famous and best-selling albums.

So instead i'm going to quote Syd himself and that first song i loved in my now very distant childhood. In some way... i think it's far more perfect for the man.

Scarecrow
(Barrett) 2:10

The black and green scarecrow as everyone knows
Stood with a bird on his hat and straw everywhere.
He didn't care.
He stood in a field where barley grows.

His head did no thinking
His arms didn't move- except when the wind cut up
Rough and mice ran around on the ground.
He stood in a field where barley grows.

The black and green scarecrow is sadder than me
But now he's resigned to his fate
'Cause life's not unkind - he doesn't mind.

He stood in a field where barley grows.

Think i'll quote his last Floyd song, too... it goes rather well...

Jugband Blues
(Barrett) 2:59

It's awfully considerate of you to think of me here
And I'm much obliged to you for making it clear- that I'm not here.
And I never knew the moon could be so big
And I never knew the moon could be so blue
And I'm grateful that you threw away my old shoes
And brought me here instead dressed in red
And I'm wondering who could be writing this song.

I don't care if the sun don't shine
And I don't care if nothing is mine
And I don't care if I'm nervous with you
I'll do my loving in the winter.

And the sea isn't green
And I love a queen
And what exactly is a dream
And what exactly is a joke...

Sweet.

Birds, Beasts and Relatives

2006-06-21T03:09:00.000+01:00

Sooo....

I know. I know...You've all been wondering where i've been? Why it's taken me ages to write another post?

(Er... Hello? Anyone left? I can see chickens over in the corner, but beyond that... )

So anyway... it's Gods fault. And here are the reasons:

First, he sent an invading army of rats under the floorboards of my house. We knew it was rats, cos suddenly all the mice fucked off and stopped getting remorselessly killed by our traps. Then the bastards started leaving tips in the poison trays! Et all the poisoned food and probably wrote articles about the "Hot new Rattie Diner in town" in all the rat blogs and papers. We peeked under the floorboards one day with torches and a hundred pairs of eyes shone back at us from the darkness...

I swear they were grinning. I'm less sure that i saw them hurriedly hiding dining tables, plates and cutlery from my sight...

We had no choice but to use napalm and hand-grenades. Even though there were a few gas pipes down there.

...

And next, after leaving dozens of casually decomposing ratty corpses beneath the house. (Christ, what a stench)

There was the cat.

LIved next door. Cute bundle of fur. Purrs like a train drawing into a siding. Thuds and howls like a cat thudding and howling if you test the size of your room using old proverbs and sayings...

We loved da cat! Da cat loved us! Da cat also had about a million, zillion, trillion fleas. They loved us also. Filthy, disgusting, hoppy bastards!

Lemme tell ya about fleas. They share a similar life-cycle to butterflies, which is cute. Eggs = larvae = chrysalis = hoppy bastard. Which is less cute. Oh and the larvae like to crawl around in your carpet, eating anything they find, even the adult flea poo! There are things to kill and exterminate them in the carpets and on yr poor scratching pets... but they're at their most evil when they're in their chrysalis... it's immune to most pesticides, and opens when it senses vibration nearby (Christ!- it's like those alien pods in, er, Alien)... vibration like you walking past... or your pet rolling around. Cue many ankle bites...

You can't drown fleas in water. They get little oars out and have a swim around. Laughing in your face too, probably.
You can't squash them with your hands. They have hard little carapaces... kinda like miniature tanks that hop and bite.

So it's back to the grenades and napalm again... every day.

And if God hadn't invented rats, fleas (other parasites also) and pigeons, then we'd all be very happier. So thank-you God. You bastard.

(Feel free to add to my list of hated living things in the comments below)

On another note, it was the anniversary of my dads stroke. So we've all been a bit miserable around here recently. That it happened on the morning of my folks 40-something'th wedding anniversary, is yet another pointer to the sheer malevolence and insanely dark humour of the big G. If He/She even exists of course...

*sigh*

Oh and it's screamingly hot here. And more humid than a glass of water. I am melting with alarming rapidity. I can't imagine how bad it must be to live in permanently hot and humid countries...

PS: Oh and i'm sure the cat is working for the CIA, as it seems to be blithely assassinating everything in the area...

Blog?

2006-06-14T01:56:00.000+01:00

I'm sure i had a blog around here somewhere... now, lesssee... hmm hmm hmm!

Oh here it is!

Hmm, looks a bit dusty.

I'd better give it a quick brush down, and freshen it up.

Right.

There you go.

*Writes few words*

That'll have to do for today. I'm in a frenzy of house-cleaning. My folks are due back from their holidays, and the place looks a bit of a dump.

Gah! I'm so unfit! Even lifting this duster is almost intolerable!

(Sooo weeeakkk! Soooo weeeeakkkkkkk!)

*kaff kaff*

S.x

(And in the meantime, while you wait for my next post with breath all held...

Here is some music

Get it while it's hot! Who knows how long it will last...)

What is it about Brentford?

2006-05-16T02:19:00.000+01:00

Ahh...

Brentford Brentford Brentford Brentford...

Lovely Brentford...

Nestling somewhere in the idyllic South-East of England... where they are having water shortages. Unlike us in the N.W.

Got it's own football club, got a pleasantly large amount of history, even got it's own public transport! *swoon*

And has a place named after it in the U.S.A. OOoOOo! How my heart skips a beat!

Brentford also now, at this time of writing, has another claim to fame... As you will discover, the more you read on.

Not for Brentford, fantastic stories of Arthurian Legend, well not unless there is some guy called Arthur who once lived there (and there may well have been) who's slept with a thousand maidens of questionable lineage (Equally likely, them girls down south have a fearsome reputation, you know!)

Nor can it claim to have the most fantastic theme park ride in the universe... unless you count the Brentford High Street Driving In a Car To Get Your Groceries Experience, of which there may be only one other similarly comparable ride in existence (See Brentford, U.S.)

Nope, Brentford is the porn monster websearcher of the western world!

As discovered by yours truly, here>>> clicky clicky!

When i discovered the above link, i obviously wanted to know which towns and countries were the most fascinated with porn terms, it's a natural curiosity as i'm sure you will all agree. You should be nodding at this point. I have a gun, y'know! (Watermelon gun! It's f***in' awesome!)

And amazingly, in almost every single top ten porn search i used...

...Brentford was right there! You name it (Of course i'm not going to name "it" for you! Use yr own imagination. Tut tut) the good people of Brentford were looking for it. Oyes! Apart from otter frotting, octopus gangbangs, and seagull bondage... which i'm sure will all turn up in searches one day soon, possibly in reference to Australia...

Who could have known that Brentford could be such a town of perverts?!?!? Not that other U.K. cities were far behind it in many places, though...

Or perhaps it's just one totally porn mad personnage? Seeking the next big hit and exploring every option in sight! Speaking fom personal experience, i know so much how this can happen- no wait! I didn't mean it like that! Er... it was a friend! Honest! Any wrist strains that occurred to me at the time were purely coincidental.

Yes.

They were.

No really!

Stop smiling, dammit!

S.x

PS: And as far as regional highs (or depths) of porn go... i'm afraid to say that Pakistan and Indian men/youths are in severe need of a psychiatrist or... something... brr, scary! But we will draw a discreet veil over such things.

PPS: And in case you didn't notice in the last posts comments, it was my birthday last week... more about which, later...

Party Politics...

2006-05-03T02:20:00.000+01:00

But first... The Arts Section!!!

I never remember holding a full drink.
My first look shows the level half-way down.
What next? Ration the rest, and try to think
Of higher things, until mine host comes round?

Some people say, best show an empty glass:
Someone will fill it. Well, I've tried that too.
You may get drunk, or dry half-hours may pass.
It seems to turn on where you are. Or who.

"Party Politics" by Philip Larkin

There now follows a PARTY POLITICAL BROADCAST on behalf of

The New Satanist Party

Brethren, with the local council elections coming up, and with our main parties showing distinct signs of sleaze and bad management, i'd like to offer you a new alternative. The New Satanist Party. And with that end in mind, i've put together a few q and a's for your contentment

Q: "Why Should i vote for you?" you might ask "Aren't you all a bit, well, evil?"
A: Indubitably! And that's precisely why you should vote for us! We don't go around being evil behind your back and then trying to put some clever-clever spin on it. Nooo- we do it full on in yer face with child and goat sacrifices included for free! And if we feel it necessary to go and bomb people in other countries, or perhaps just for fun and to give our military some good target practise, we'll just do it, and flick "V" signs at everyone while snickering, loudly.

Q: But i'm a Christian, and opposed to your works of darkness, O Evil ones!
A: Oh please! Some of our greatest allies are Christians! Take Holy George of the Latter Day Moomins: in the true spirit of Satanism, he ignored all the words of the Wise arrayed against him, and thought he could do a better job, and so declared war on everyboy who disagreed with him! Now look me in the eye and tell me if that isn't in keeping with the philosophies of our Prince of Darkness? He's definitely one of us, for sure. And his brethren, Brother Rummy and Sister Condy etc, are totally in our pocket, too, being particular advocates of the 6th Deadly Sin. We're also grudging admirers of The Pope. And as for born again Christians, no-one in the last century has been more responsible for creating cynicism and mockery towards a once-respected religion. No-one! Great job, guys!

Q: I know New Labour has been terrible, but what can you do to change things?
A: Well, we're taking a few ideas from New Labour and improving on them. For instance, we will no longer have waiting lists in hospitals, as we intend to initiate a program of exceptional patient care: anyone falling ill will be immediately pushed from the top of one of several regional pyramids, after having their living heart torn from their chest by highly trained 5 yr olds, of course! This will also have the added effect of reducing attention deficit disorders and anti-social behaviour amongst the young.

There will also be enforced firearm carrying; from pistols, to hand-held rocket launchers and frag grenades. This should cultivate respect and civility amongst the population. And decrease the strain on services in densely populated areas.

Q But what about jobs?
A: As before, we are taking the workforce programs begun so amateurishly by New Labour (and the Conservative Party before them) to their logical conclusions. All working class people will be reduced to slave status and be set to work immediately on several grim and foreboding temples and pyramids in key areas around the country. Those failing to work for us will be meaningfully sacrificed, with their skulls forming part of the architecture.

Q: And education?
A: As previous governments before us have deduced, so long as the children are seen to be achieving good grades, we can get away with doing nothing at all. Therefore, all children will be given a test on their day of birth. If they have a pulse, they will receive the highest scores!

Q: What about the environment? I'm concerned about global warming!
A: Ha ha ha. It's going to get a lot hotter. Trust us on this. Sizzling, in fact. Armageddon is just a hop and a skip away! We'd like to claim the responsibility for this, but i'm afraid it's the Americans. And frankly we're rather jealous of their zeal for blind self-destruction. It's a shining example the rest of the world has vainly tried to catch up on.

Q: Ok, you've convinced me! Where do i sign up?
A: Don't come to us... we'll come to you... after all we know where each and every one of our delicious brethren lives. And you don't need to sign anything of ours. In fact it's quite the reverse... the sodomizing and flagellation is included at no extra cost, btw.

That was a PARTY POLITICAL BROADCAST by the New Satanist Party.

Next up:
This:

(Arghh!)

And this is the tasteful side of a pro-life/anti-abortion Britney Spears statue. Giving birth... hmmmmm.... on a bearskin rug...

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm....

Okayyyyy(!?!)

Choc Menace!

2006-04-12T01:24:00.000+01:00

Last night, hot and sticky from the city's wrathful version of summer, i stripped down to my lacy pink panties and thought that if this sentence didn't catch anybody's attention, i was definitely losing my sybaritic touch.... as Transience said in her blog, earlier...

To which i might add that i looked awesome in my own lacy pink panties while reading the above, but even better when mis-matching a stripey halter top with it, also. And licking pieces of chocolate seductively, too!

*pauses a moment to allow this visual information to sink in to the readers alarmed and panicking synapses*

So anyway, i've called you all here to discuss the misspelling of things in the Bible and other Holy Holy books... oh no... wait, that's the next post... hmm...

Yeah, Chocolate, that's wot this post is about!

now i have to say, Ladies and gents... that the general input of chocolate from your good selves has been slacking somewhat at Saturnyne Mansions. Yes indeed! So i feel very fortunate and special to have such a yummy friend as Dr Voddy who recently sent me some choc all the way from San Francisco (via Chicago).

Not only that, but i felt special care and attention had been lavished on such a gift. Dr Voddy knows that the city of Emperor Norton I and Mark Eitzel and speed fog is quite possibly my favourite city in the whole universe (Although i suppose i should visit it one day, to be totally sure).

So i've been sitting here, eating it... and thinking i'm tasting a little piece of the nicer part of America... and nice America is quite Delish, all sugar and spice... unlike nasssty America which is a bit slugs and snails and puppy dogs tails flavoured, atm.

And here is a pic of the aftershock:

Yes, i know the unsophisticated amongst you are now asking "Why is the chocolate in Monsieur Saturnynes bathtub?"

Oh puh-leeeaze! Surely you're not telling me that you're unaware of the pleasures of eating yummy chocs in a nice hot bath, aloholic beverage (No, not beer, you unromantic fool!) in one hand, book in the other, and plucking chocs from the choc-bag with yr tentacles and other various appendages, are you?

You are?!?!? *rolls eyes*

Well i'm not... and that pic, my friends, is the post-yummy-choc-eating-aftermath.

And that concludes my post for today, ladies an' germs.
As you were.

S.

How Ghosts Affect Relationships

2006-02-27T15:28:00.000Z

Nobody has died.

That's the part i'm glad about. The best part. Nobody has died...

to the best of my knowledge...

(Not that people don't die all over the world, and all of the time. Sooner or later, everyone stops breathing, and their eyes lose that glint, that spark, that says "Here i am! Look! Still hanging on!- willingly or otherwise."

One day you, and i and everyone who we ever knew, will have ceased to exist. Sooner, rather than later, if the signs and portents that Gaia is showing us in her fastidious, slow and relentless way, are anything to to go by.

"Everything Must Go" sang The Manic Street Preachers.
"Everything must go", the salesman implores you, sadly.
"Everything will go", replies our God, in all Her aspects...

"Get used to the idea".

One day, all that will remain of the human race will be a (ridiculously) thin yet viciously black line of carbon in rock formations, to puzzle alien visitors happening upon our insignificant little planet. If that. But anyway, that's not my story, not my stream of apoplectic, humorous subject fury for today. I'm just laying a little background for you all)

My sleep has been terrible for months and months... my whole sleep/waking cycle has been totally at odds with even the remotest semblance of a normal "lifestyle" that i humorously despair of ever seeing daylight again. If i'm not absurdly sleepless, i sleep through the day instead, or grab catnaps when the moment takes me... or even become dead to the world for days on end. It's ridiculous, and yes i am seeking medical help for this problem, so no need to worry.... Hah!- and that, like the previous paragraph, is also background.

I awoke this morning, from the usual ridiculous dreams about being best friends with dragons (friendly chairs, also... i wouldn't ask, if i were you) to a strangely beautiful, sad, disturbing moment. It was dream, and yet not-dream.

A kiss upon my cheek. A gentle whisper in my ear.

"Goodbye - I love you". A young womans voice. Sad and happy and loving all at once.

Sometimes, in the news, or tactless and sensational glossy magazines, or from friends, or friends of friends, you come across these little stories. Stories where someone encounters a loved one, who waves at them, or perhaps talks to them at length, then leaves, never to be seen alive again. Later, it turns out that this meeting couldn't possibly have happened. Because this person waving/ talking... was busy dying elsewhere at that exact precise moment of time.

I reflected upon these stories throughout the rest of the day, and waited, starting from my chair every time the phone rang. Wondering who it could be this time. In the course of my life so far, i've met a great many people, from every "corner" of the globe. Many strange, scary, fascinating, wonderful people. Loved them all, every one. But the annoying thing about ageing, the painful thing... is that sooner or later, they're gone. Or you are. To vaguely quote that most insghtful of English poets, Larkin: "Life is like chess". He saw the game, as a profound parallel to life, with pieces being taken from the board one by one... until all that is left is the final Checkmate. The final surrender.

I don't know who kissed me, or if it was just some vivid dream, or perhaps a premonition. I do know i felt loved. And the thought that someone had perhaps sent their dying spirit to visit Your Humbleness personally, left me feeling deeply affected.

And at the end of the day?

No-one had died. No grim news, sparking and falling down the wires. No rumour of loss. No distant keening of a mother on the wind. No rain falling a symphony of lament. If i had been a goth, i might have been quite put out. Hmm... if i'd been a goth, that might make me happy.

*smiles amusedly at idea of Goth being disappointed and miserable, and then elated at achieving melancholy... before misery sets in again, because elation, isn't the required look or feeling. It's not easy being a goth!*

Perhaps in future days, news may come to me, and give me cause to sorrow. Today though, when i finally sleep again. I have my shreds of comfort:

I am loved. And no-one has died.

Yet.

(Pictures By Dave McKean, btw... go see his pretty pretty film Mirrormask, if you haven't already)

Merry January 23th!!!

2006-01-14T04:53:00.000Z

Merry Christma- what? We've done that?

Ok, wait! Wait!

Happy New Y-huh? Noo, we've done that one, too?
...
...
...
...
Bugger!

Er, so did you all have a good Christmas? Get all the prezzies you want, hmm?

Well i fucking didn't!!! Your poor Saturnyne through unfortunate circumstances (Not all his own doing), awoke on Christmas morning to NO fooking presents at all!!! None!!! Nary so much as a sweetie wrapper!!!

Fucking Santa-fucking Clause!

(Yes i got money, but money doesn't count! I wanted things to unwrap! Unwrap i say!)

Santa has totally let me down,...the cunt!!!!!!!!
Look at him! Oi! Santa! You can run, but you can't hide. And shaving that beard off and pretending to get all religious? Pathetic. You could have at least removed the hat, tchah!

And it's still in that stupid red Coca Cola colour! Whatever happened to that nice green colour, eh? Wanker!

So next fookin' Christmas, i'm gonna stake out my little nieces fookin' bedroom with the kind of traps last seen impaling G.I's in trashy Viet-War films! That'll teach the fat beardy over-rated reindeer-molester and child-stalker! Oyes!

However, all will be forgiven, if next year the items listed below are "delivered" to Saturnyne Mansions forthwith and great speed and stuff. Failing that, i will sleep with anyone who will buy me this loveliness. How can you resist?!? How?!?!

1 A pair of these

2: One of these

3: And one of these

And don't forget to include some fookin' accessories, ok?!?!

The observant and totally hip amongst you will know that this years fashion is black with spirally bits thrown in, creating an avant-garde throwback to the cosmopolitarianism of the metrognomic '60's... or something bollocks like that.

And to finish, i am aware that i have been left several msg's in the post below, all unread as yet, and all of which i will bat my eyelashes cutely upon while i mock/adore with my usual enthusiasm (ie: eyes rolling, and begging Gods forgiveness for past sins and various other carnal acts, pleeease!)

So there.

And no i'm not telling you what i've been doing all this time. Ok, you can have a clue: Nothing.

Mwah's all round!

Happiness!

2005-12-14T04:38:00.000Z

Happiness, eh?

What's it all about?

I'm sure you ask the very same question yourself, sometimes.

So i did a little research

My first stop: Wikipedia talked a right load of old bollocks about it... at least i think it did... but owing to a low attention span, my eyes quickly glazed over as i read:

"This article is about an emotion. Happiness is also a 1998 U.S. film written and directed by Todd Solondz. For the town, see Happy, Texas. See also Joy for the disambiguation of that term."

Followed by "blah blah blah etc blah..." oh, there was a moment of excitement as i tiredly misread Todd Solondz's name into some phrase including the words "Total Sodomy"... but alas it was Not To Be

Dammit! i want my happiness descriptions in handy bite-sized chunks, thankyou very much!

Other attempts at describing happiness, i found all over google! And all very worthy and dull, i'll have you know

Not even the Uncyclopedia had anything particularly witty to add to the ...er... discussion.

Bugger! I'm just going to have to try and describe it in my own way. So...

Last week, i found a very agreeable happiness in my favourite cafe. The Red Triangle... Burnleys only vegetarian eatery.

Reading the paper, place to myself, strong real coffee (1 sugar, dash of milk), waiting for yummy fud... (pasta dish... quite dee-lish)
Of course, it would have been even better to have had a friend to occasionally trade wit with over the table... but you can't have everything...

So i was wondering... what makes you happy?

If anyone wants to send in a pic of something that represents their happiness, then i'll post it on the blog in this post... it'd be kind of pretty... like decorating for Christmas...

Yours in a lovingly gooey manner.

S.x

yersss

2005-11-23T05:40:00.000Z

i know i haven't updated in a while.

PC problems.

Family stuff.

Sleep stuff.

Playing World of Warcraft stuff, too.
(Currently i have a troll hunter, called Vommit, and a secret pet scorpion called Gaylord, running around this online game. On a European server somewhere).

I shall be back with more of the usual bollocks this weekend probably.

Mwah's! Snogs all round! Fondlings, too!

"Eww" i hear you say!

*snickers*

S.x

The Practicalities of Tentacles In Confined Spaces and Attics (+ Pumpkin Conversation included free for Hallow's Eve!)

2005-10-31T16:09:00.000Z

Squid.

I love squid, me. Living and kalamari'd.

Look at this little fella, for instance. Positively gorgeous. If i was a lady squid, i'd be all over him as only a lady squid can be. Ink-squirts and all! (I'm only assuming it's a "He" btw. Could be a lady squid for all i know)

Sooo sexy!

I think this one looks better

uncooked. Don't you?

But the other morning i was awakened from a particularly and pleasant and sordid dream, by the sound of my new next door neighbours having a very loud party. Karaoke and everything!

"Bastards!" i thought. "Could've invited me!"

So naturally, i went to complain.

Pausing only to arm myself with items procured from my manicure set (Yes it is mine. Don't ask)(Oh ok, ask if you must, but i'll only tell you that as i'd never seen the aforementioned neighbours before, i thought that protecting myself with anything more serious than a nail-file and tweezers, might be viewed as overly aggressive and might lead to... friction. Besides, my manicuring skills are lethal!

And yes, i know that's not what you were going to ask, but i have keep some air of mystique now, don't i?

...So i knock on the door and after a while it's answered by a squid, wearing a paisley print smoking jacket, and armed far more seriously than myself, with a large gin & tonic in one tentacle and a cigarette perched on the end of an extraordinary long holder (y'know, 20's style kinda thing) in another.

"Hello, old chap" it oozed.

"Hello. I've come to complain about the noise. But i've just realized i'm in the middle of a dream. so uh, i guess it doesn't matter that much, after all."

"Oh? How do you know it's a dream?" it asked, waving it's free tentacles around in some bemusement.

"Because you're floating".

"Ah, well. I am high as a kite. We've been smoking opium, you see. So perhaps i'm dreaming you instead?" it tittered in typical mollusky fashion.

Damn! It had a point. This was starting to get stressful.

"But let's not worry about all that for now, old sport! Why not come in and have a large G&T with me and the rest of the crowd. It should be a lot of fun. We've just persuaded God and Satan to duet on the karaoke. They're doing "I've Got You, Babe".

"Cool! Ok!"

... the next day, while i'm enthusing to Pumpkin about my dream shennanigans, and wistfully bemoaning my lack of tentacular appendages, and how much fun it would be to have some of my very own, she pragmatically points out that they'd be completely impractical indoors. Especially on me.

"You'd always be tripping over them. Because you're so lazy, you'd just drag them on the carpet.

"And have you thought about how difficult it would be to turn around in a small room with them? Do it slow, and you'd be staggering around like a drunk in a skip. Do it fast and it'd be: "Swish! Thud!" as your tentacles whirl through the air and collide with the walls. And then off to the hospital for more bandages".

"More bandages?"

"Yes, because i'd already have punched you for being stupid, in the first place."

Aaa, she sooo wise! Everyone should have a Pumpkin in their lives to keep them on the straight and narrow. Or as straight and narrow as possible. Granted, my own Pumpkin has a rather herculean task when it comes to moi.

That night, i have vivid dreams about being a posh squid, and living in a huge converted attic space. Troubled only rarely by need for bandages.

"Swish!"
"Thud!"
"Ouch!"

S.

Picnics and Orange Things

2005-10-14T17:40:00.000+01:00

"Hold your ground! Hold your ground!"

And so it has come to this... our foes stand manifold in unnumbered ranks before us.

"Sons of, er... wherever...(sisters, too!). Never... in the fields of human(ish- ok not very at all) conflict... has so much been owed to so few... so very few..."

I must marshall the troops for one last stand.

"I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me!"

This may well be the end of me. Of us all!

"A day may come, when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of Fellowship, but it is not this day!"

And then who will save the world from this dread menace? Eh? Who?!?!

"An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the age of men comes crashing down!"

I wave my noble sword valiantly in the air defiantly towards the enemy.

"But it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you, stand, men of the We- eh?!

drrinnggg- drinnnggg!

"Uh. Hello?"

"What are you doing?"

"Ahh, hello my orange gourd of grandness"

"Never mind that Pumpkin malarky!- What are you doing?"

"Um well..."

"Because from where i'm sitting, it looks like you're standing on top of a fence, waving a penknife around your head over-enthusiastically, and exhorting a pair of rather bemused chaffinches into attacking a field of carrots with you."

"But my precious Pumpy!- Why whatever do yew mean?"

"You know perfectly well what i mean, i'm sure. Anyway, i can see right through your ploys and devious assumed madness. So there.

Ah... unfortunately this is true, gentle reader. Pumpkin can read moi like a book. A very badly written one full of pictures, easy to understand words, and simple plotline.

Oh, and i'm also looking at you through the binoculars you thoughtfully brought along."

Damn! I turn and wave cheerily at her, sitting on the picnic rug, book in hand and binoculars casually noting my every action for future deserved ridicule. She waves ironically back.

"And furthermore, all your wailing and gnashing of teeth is disturbing my reading. So i've been feeding your tuna sarnies to some ants. As a means of revenge and entertainment."

"What?!? Nooooooooooooooooooo!"

"Er right, men-

"I think you'll find they're still chaffinches"

I ignore the telephone with steadfast determination
"- as you were. And you... you... carrots...

I utter the word with obvious disgust and contempt. It's important to show ones superiority at these times

"... don't think this is the end of it! I'll be back! Hahahahahaha!"

Meanwhile, back at the field...

also

Thievery! And Theft!

...And it's Good-Night From Him...

2005-10-05T01:26:00.000+01:00

Oh dear, what is a poor Saturnyne to do?

He's had a nice lovely mirthful post all lined up for you, and was all ready to add the finishing piccies, when what should happen, but his totally legal (Well as legal as yours, right?) copy of Photoshop got all stuck-up and refused to play anymore. Bastard bastardy bastard!

Fortunately though, one of Englands top comedy actors and genuises very kindly stepped in to help at the last minute by popping his clogs. Bit of a pisser for the rel's, i know...

So while yer all waiting for my next fabulous postage, here is a very lovely monologue i shall pretend i didn't steal wholesale from Here

"Good evening. I am the president of the Loyal Society for the Relief of Suffers from Pismronunciation, for the relief of people who can't say their worms correctly, or who use the wrong worms entirely, so that other people cannot underhand a bird they are spraying. It's just that you open your mouse, and the worms come turbling out in wuck a say that you dick not what you're thugging to be, and it's very distressing.

"I'm always looing it, and it makes one feel umbumftorcacle, especially when one is going about one's diddly tasks. Slopping at the Sloopermarket, for instance. Only last wonk, I approached the chuckout point, and I shooed the ghoul behind the crash desk the contents of my trilly, and she said 'All right, granddad, shout 'em out.' Well, of course, that's fine for the ordinary man in the stoat who has no dribble with his wolds. For someone like myself, it's worse than a kick in the jackstrop.

Sometimes, you get stuck on one letter, such as wubbleyou. And I said, 'Well, I've got a tin of woup, a woucumber, two packets of wheese and a walliflower'. She tried to make fun of me and said, 'That will be woo pounds, wifty-wee pence.' So I just said 'Wobblers!' and walked out.

"So you see how dickyfelt it is. But help is at hand. A new society has been formed by our mumblers to help each other in times of excream ices. It is balled Pismronouncers Unanimous, and anyone can ball them up on the smellyphone any time of the day or note, twenty-four flowers a spray, seven stays a creek, and they will come 'round and get drunk with you.

"For foreigners, there will be inperpetwitters, who will all speak many sandwiches, such as Swedish, Turkish, Burkish, Jewish, Gibberish and Rubbish. Membranes will be able to attend tight stool, for heaving classes, to learn how to grope with the many complinkities of the daily loaf.

"Which brings me to the drain reason for squeaking to you tonight. The society's first function as a body was a grand garden freight, and we hope for many more bodily functions in the future. The garden plate was held in the grounds of Blennham Paleyass, Woodstick, and the guest of horror was the great American pip singer, Manny Barrellow. The fete was opened by the bleeder of the opposition, Mister Dale Pinnock ... Pillock, who gave us a few well-frozen worms in praise of the society's jerk. He said that 'In the creeks and stunts that lie ahead, we must do out nut roast to ensure that it sucks weeds.'
"And everyone visited the various stores and abrusements, the rudeabouts, thing boats and the dodgers, and of course, all the old favorites such as Srty your Length, guessing the weight of the cook and tinning the pale on the wonky. The occasion was great fun, and I think it can safely be said that all the men present and thoroughly good women were had all the time.

"So, please join out society. Write to me, Doctor Small Pith, The Spanner, Poke Moses, and I will send you some brieflets to browse through and a brass badge to wear in your loophole."

Goodnight, Mr Barker. And thank-you for the aching sides.

S.

Introducing the all new singin' an' dancin' Saturnynes Lounge!

2005-09-23T03:36:00.000+01:00

Helloooo and welcome back good sirs and ladies. Please, let me guide you around The New Lounge!

Perhaps the first thing you may notice is the ever pretty Eye of Sauron thingy, sitting all scarily in the background there like a mad uncle... nicked it from the hubble telescope archives we did... Over on the right *waves hand expansively* is a lovely lovely Nautilus shell, carefully placed to show off something symbolic and analogous (Is that a real word, btw?) exactly what, I have no idea yet. But it looks most attractive. Underneath that is the linkage, all nicely alphabetized. If yer names not on it, then mebbe you need to send me nice wine and chocolate as bribery.

Above that is the "Stalkers Section" wherein all you bloggers and bloggerettes can find out extra stuff about me and what i've been dancing badly to on my iPod (I have in fact invented a new dance style, which i proudly call "The Cretin Hop"). Do try not to drool too much here, btw... after all -i've just had the place re-decorated. I don't want pools of goo lying around in the corners, y'know!

And dahn at the bottom is the copyrights and credits and wotnot. Wherein you learn who made all of this possible, but not the price of bribery. Personally, i think i got a pretty gooood deal!

That's all for this first post of the New Saturnyne Millenium. Now go comment or face the wrath of my otters!

While we await my imminent return...

2005-09-21T17:09:00.000+01:00

Which will be in a matter of days (Apologies for the delay bollocks, dear reader)

Here are two of my favourite pictures to while away the time between

It may be a cliche to love Van Gogh and his sunflowers, but fuuuck- have you ever seen them? They really are something to behold... the one shown here is, i think, based in London. I saw it once, when i was a child. Captivating. The painting came into my view and i was held there, spellbound. It was like all time itself had held its breath, or ceased to be. So vibrant! So wonderful! Then my view was blocked by some tossy adult standing in front of me and waxing lyrical to his lady companion about how much he knew about art. And of course the conversation wasn't even really about art, but about his desire to get her into bed...

Years later i discovered the story behind the paintings. I shan't bore you with repeating the details here, but needless to say, they were made with the kind of passion few have known. Are all artists mad as hatters? Consumed by their fervour? From the many biographies i've read while studying art history, i would say yes, (except for Salvador Dali. He was a total faker). And Van was perhaps the maddest, not to mention saddest, of them all...

This next painting is by a Mr Klimt. He's a bit good at pash as well, is Mr Klimt. Entitled "The Kiss" the young couple enraptured by each other, in the throes of first love, perhaps? Surely it must be so, look at all the shininess and colours! nothings yet been leached out of their love by years of knowing one another, accredited indifference... Meanwhile a precipice hangs around like an allegory! Or an awkward younger brother needing a bribe to leave the room...

So... when exactly is this new blog thingy going to arrive, you ask?

This week. Weekend at latest. Just finishing off the title, we are. Also the picture and blurb.
Ah, the light at the end of the tunnel draws near... And such stories i have for the telling!
S.x

PS: These pics are dedicated to Yoli. Who happens to be a bit lovely. =}

Remember remember, the 5th of November...

2005-08-18T06:16:00.000+01:00

...1?...Hope Called In Sick

2005-06-18T02:01:00.000+01:00

Before we start, i'd just like to point out that i haven't returned yet... this is just an interim post that may stretch into a few, until my blog creating demon gets back and gives the old place a new lick of paint...
This post was composed just before my unexpected absence...

Do you ever have the urge to throw away all that old junk that's been cluttering up your closets, your drawers, your attics?

The Saturnyne always has this compulsion to do away with the past. Start afresh. Throw away all the things that aren't necessary.

Spring cleaning.

I found some poems today that i wrote when i was a teenager. I stopped writing poems... ooh, decades ago (or something like that) when you were very young. Or perhaps not even born. I no longer had the need to write poetry anymore. Here are a couple of the more "interesting" ones. I show them to you unashamedly as a minor distraction. They're done. No longer a part of me. I don't want to go back to that time, the present is enough of a handful for me as it is, thank-you! As i said to someone recently, "The Past. It's always something from which one desires to escape with as much haste as politely possible (for me).

Like an uninvited and terribly irritating relative, it makes me hide in my room."

Thank-you. And good night.

S. @2:38.A.M. (Somewhere out of the world)

I thin
king
some
times tens
e and ner
vous
some
times calm
never
endinglyuseless
thoughts

a catastrophe
huge dimensionally
interred rearranged
and multiplied
into hugest

nothing

-The Saturnyne

at night
when shadows
have their
long playgrounds;
in the big empty
desolations of my house

-i run-

when the only
clock is a huge star
on desperate walls
(ticks subconsciously and)
follows me unkindly
through palest moonlight
halls

shivering i seek
to hide in
one corner of
one blue room from
the tall and
bleak sounds
of my own
loneliness

- The Saturnyne

...Deux...The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!)

2005-06-07T03:25:00.000+01:00

Ladeeez! An' Gennelmen! Secret Tam-Link here!

This week, for one week onlyyyy (Or until they get bored), this blog is hosted by:

The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!)
(Pronounced Tomartows for all our Americananan readers)

All the way from who knows where (Possibly the greengrocers), The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) have been invited by The Corpse Saturnyne to impart their not inconsiderable wisdom an' advice, not to mention their psychic powers and indescribable gift for soothsaying to all you, yes YOU(!), (points finger waggingly at) bloggers out there!

So ask ye away. No Question too small or too large for The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!).

But be warned: The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) don't always answer the questions in the way you might want...such is their cryptic and snarky wisdom...

Bleh!

first up, we have the Gyrating Jessie, who asks:
O Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!), please tell me that fame fortune and romance are to be mine in the near future?
Yours,
Questioning Curried Potatoes

The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) say:
Easy.
Yup.
But only if you write an autobiography about it afterwards. Which will become a bestseller.

WE recommend a catchy title:

"How I Was Abducted and Wooed By Aliens And Their Devices"

It won't necessarily make you happy, though. It all depends on whether you regard alien "Probing" devices as "Romantic" or not.

Personally we'd avoid the remote highways at night for the next few months. Especially when drunk.

CToD(!).X

Tantalizing Tam says:
Hah! The 'secret' link shows up in the comments form expanded post. Ass.

The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) say:
Ass? That reminds us of a joke we heard once:
Q: What is a donkey's favourite cheese?
A: Brie! Geddit? Brie! Bray!- Like donkeys do! (Laugh or it's the otters for you!)
The point being, that it's an imperfect world. And now we shall sigh mournfully, where earlier we chuckled at our little joke.

Nah bollocks! We'll chuckle some more!

Japing Jo says:
I once dated a guy who came from Burnley. One night he told me that he'd had tinned potatoes for his tea. So I had to dump him....Cheery cherry tomatoes sound like a bit of an improvement

The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) say:
We can only snicker at your good taste! The Corpse Saturnyne who usually runs this blog would like to point out that HE comes not from Burnley, but from Harle Syke, which is much nicer. And that he is a far superior dish to yr adorementioned man-thing. Also that his penetrating wit is not the only thing he is measured by... oh noooo.... indeedy not! Also, we may be tomatoes, but we're hot beyotches, too!

Tickly Transience asks:
dear ctod(!),

will i ever get to run my fingers through The Corpse Saturnyne's hair?

The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) say:
No problem! Send us yer address and we'll send you a cutting. And if you plant it in yer garden it may even grow into your very own Saturnyne Play-thing! What larks!

Hmm... you do mean head hair don't you? 'cause we ain't EVAH going near the other stuff!

Frivolous Third Daughter asks:
Why?

The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) say:
Evolution. And De-evolution.

The Palatial Prisoner asks:
greetings CToD(!)

i like your eyes, you must tell me what banned substances did you use to get them to twitch like that?

The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) say:
Greetings back o The Prisoner. And what a wise name that is. For are we all not prisoners of one kind or another? Anyway, to answer your question:
Genetically modified photosynthesis. Plus we smoke lots of crack.

Illiuminating Iridescence asks:
Where did my remote for the tv go and will it ever rest comfortably in my hands again?

The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) say:
Your cats had it last, when they were watching "I Love Lucy" Re-runs the other night as you were all asleep and whatnot. They're secret fans of that show, y'know.
So we'd ask them. And if you want it to feel all lovely in your hands again, we'd suggest giving it a good mopping, as it'll be full of furry catness and smelly. It might not work afterwards, but at least it'll be hygienic and possibly smell nice.

Tainted Teufel( We thought you'd like a name like that) says:
1.I smell salad, I see flies... how will the Tomatoes save themselves?
Meanwhile, I require thy wisedom:
2.what happens to a sock when it's missing?
3.Why wasn't I born in Holland?
4.What is the secret of the video machine?
5.Where is Springfield?
6.Why is it that they put us sexy teachers when we are kids and can't notice, but old witches when we are teens in highschool?
Thank you, Tomatoes!!!

The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) say:
1. With big fuck-off guns.
2. It goes on holiday to Sockland.
3. Just bad luck. Or good. It depends on your view of Holland...
4. That there are super-intelligent tiny ducks living within them. but we thought EVERYONE knew that, nowadays.
5. Springfield is first mentioned in Dante's Inferno and is rumoured to exist near the Wood of Suicides on Hells 7th level. Easy.
6. Malice. And a sense of humour.

Startling Stella asks:
dear cheery tomatoes of doooom:

why are you so cheery - since we are doomed, i mean ;)

thnx. and pls tell saturnyne i miss him and his tomater soup.

The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) say:
We are cheery 'cause we aren't human beings. And are thus not materialistic.
An' The Corpse Saturnyne is likely to miss you too... once he sobers up. Lotta booze in the afterlife, ya know...
Hey, what? Tomato Soup!?!?! You threatenin' us??!?! Grr!

The Corpse Saturnyne says:
Oi,
You Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) i'll have my name back on this blog, thank-you very much!

I may be dead (Temporarily) but this blog is mine. You might give me a bad reputation! Tchah!

You can have the picture this week, though...

The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) say meekly:
Awww! All right. Thanks.

Lascivious Livewire says:
think I'm scarred for life. Tomatoes with eyes.....

The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) reply:
Yeah? You should see what you lot look like when yer only two inchs high!

The Persistent Prisoner comes back to ask:
What does "Palatial" mean?

The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) say:
We grinningly refer you to this webpage. Ho ho ho!

Heroic Herge drops in to ask:
Dear Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) Is it salad time for you guys?

The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) say:
No. For we are Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) with big fuck-off guns.

Tormented Teufel asks some more:
Oh, Tomatoes of Doom! I summon you so my ignorance is reliefed from the spirit trapped iside my fragile shell!
Should I take the "tantalizing" as good or bad? (according to the dictionary, "tormenting"...)

Villalobos 02

The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) say:
Good it is. Now go and be romantic, young sir!

CtoD(!).x

Ornery Anonymous asks:
Please kind sirs, might we humbly request if in your infinite wisdom, you might provide us with The Question? The Answer, of course, is already general knowledge, and safely resides on our mobile's wallpaper in big friendly letters.We apologise for the inconvenience.

The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) say:
This had better not be some kind of reference to them Douglas Adams books! 'cause if it is, we'll have you know that we have big fuck-off guns!
However in oder to humour you and provide you kindly with some kind of answer we suggest this:
Stop worrying about such things and be lovely. Lovely to all.

Delightful Darkchild asks:
Hello dear CTOD(!)Why does everybody says my cute little hamster is evil????

The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) say:
ALL hamsters are evil. Period. Ungrateful bitey little things. Eat their own young on occasion. Die when you least expect it... deliberately out of spite, sometimes. Nasty! Eugh!
Have a nice day!
CToD(!).x

Tormented Teufel comes back to ask:
Thank you, dear tomatoes, for supporting my point of view. You must already know, with all thy wisedom, the kind of hazard this specific hamster is: she can take over the world in no time, and the only reason she hasn't done it is to increase the waiting time... how can I make my love believe in my words?
Villalobos 02

The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) say:
Err... Hypnosis. Failing that, you could simultaneously distract your love and lull the villainous hamsteress into a false sense of security, then, before anyone is the wiser, slap it between two nice slices of bread and have a quick snack. That should foil its evil machinations!

Doting Darkchild also says:
*cries* Stupid Tomatoes!!!
You are not nice at all!!
Bring mister Saturnyne back!!! >.< color="#ff6666">The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) say:
What? Hey! Keep away! Help! Call the police! We have big fuck-off guns y'know, an' we're not afraid to use them! Keep away, we say! Heeeelp!

Clever Carl turns up like the rotten git he is to add:
So what exactly are the CToD planning to do with those BFGs given their height of 2 inches and lack of opposable thumbs?

The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) say:
Pshaw! You don't think we'd do all the shooting ourselves, do you? No- we have...
Evil Hench-Carrots!!!
An' they're definitely taller than 2 inches. Definitely!
We checked. So Hah!

And here comes Dreamy Deem! Wanting to know The Meaning Of Life, no less!

The Cheery Tomatoes of Doooom(!) reply:
Thassa toughie, an' there's no set answer, either. What we think, is this:
Spiritual evolution seems very important to us. Certain prophets and religious leaders throughout history hint at this. From Buddha, to Jesus, to Mohammed (PBUH), and many others besides.
Whether you believe in God or not, it seems imporant to seek a calmness within oneself. To be generous and giving, especially to those less fortunate (We think humans have a great capacity for giving, and hope one day that it will outweigh the taking. Or at least balance it out). To be willing to self-sacrifice for the good of the many. To respect all life. To toil and to love and make the most of the time that you have left on this earth. Because this may be the only chance you get.

And with that last comment, we're outta here! Till next time! Byeee! Cyerrrr! Wouldn't wanna beee yerrrr!

...3... The Little Things That Make A Difference

2005-05-30T05:30:00.000+01:00

It was The Saturnynes Birthday recently. Like about three weeks ago. Something like that. Y'want the exact day? No way! You might remember for next year and then i'd be inundated with bloody birthday greetings, and then i'd probably have to come round your house with shiny sharp teeth.

The Saturnyne would not normally be telling you about his birthday, for to him, such things are an anathema. But as time has moved on and the day of doom has passed, it feels safe to mention.

They are a reminder of sorrows that seem endless. (Melodrama Alert! Melodrama Alert!!! )

A breaking of teeth. A tearing of skin. A splintering of bone. A multitude of curses. The body left bloody and broken like a discarded and abused ragdoll by the roadside. An absence of light. A frozen empty violent mind. A glittering frigid star of pain. The bleakest of sounds, harsh and blue, rolling like warclouds shot with deaths lightning (a personal favouite, that one. I nicked it from the Captain Britain comic/graphic novel{Which is rather good, incidentally. Try and get hold of it})... So ok, i'm sure you get the picture now; which is that i'm a right misery guts on my birthdays. Haaaaaaaa!

So that's how it feels/felt. Although not literally obviously. Think of the medical bills!

...but sometimes, someone gives a little light...

Two people this year, in fact. And this post is dedicated to them and to all the people who do the kindest and most generous things... things that can make your days feel blessed and full of shiny, shininess. And sometimes you don't even realize that they're doing them. Which is a great shame, i think.

There is a Jewish legend i have heard of, that the world rests upon the backs of 36 Tzaddikim, secret saints of selflessness and generosity and goodness. I think about this on occasion.

Talking to the malevolently radiant Tam on Yahoo, who somehow manages to both tolerate my whininess and apppalling sense of humour without wanting to punch me at least some of the time, i inadvertently let slip mid-whineage that it was my birthday. And Tam, being the secretly generous personnage that she is, went and took me a pic of some cake that she had lying around the house. She even stuck a candle in the top for me, too! Lit! I was suitably impressed. I grinned all day afterwards.

"Cake Goodness" by Tam

Not literally mind, cause grinning ALL day would just look disturbing and probably make my face ache.

Later that day, my Pumpkin came to stay. And amongst my prezzies, she gave me this:

I christened him Elvis! Cos he rocks! No-one else in the entire universe gives me cute prezzies like this!

Pumpkin also gave me yummy fair trade chocolate (dark of course) and i am currently munching on it and thinking about her with great fondness. Pumpkin is a verr special personnage indeed. I secretly suspect that she may be one of the aforementioned Tzaddikim, y'know...

And that's all for today. I expect i'll come back and re-edit this later in the hope of making it more entertaining or something, cos it looks like a right load of piss at the moment, but i imagine ye'll understand what i'm going on about. Gah!-I really should start writing at more human hours of the day...

Nighty night. Or Morny morn... whichever seems most appropriate.

S.x

PS: Oh yeah, i've been invited to contribute (And have done so already!)to this yummy blog here: http://www.flying-monkeys.blogspot.com/ I have yet to ask what the title means... but i rather like it all.

Errr... where was i? Right, ok... this one's 3.5 or something...

2005-05-21T03:26:00.000+01:00

I suppose you'll be expecting something scintillating and or awesome from me in this post?

You'll be lucky, sirs and ladies, for i'm so bollocksed from lack of sleep that i may well write any old crap that springs to mind. This insomnia is... murder...

So just imagine that i'm writing something amazing and fabulous, and i'll do the same, and we can all be totally totally happy.

Sooo... stuff wot i've noticed recently and other miscellanies.

George Galloway giving some American politicians a right old bollocking for invading Iraq. Don't like the bloke, but i laughed me arse off at the shellshocked expressions on their faces as he totally dismissed them and then dissed them on their home turf. Lovely.

Sky News and it's dramatic recreations of the Michael Jackson trial. I dunno who the actor playing Jacko is but i reckon he's as guilty as Santa and deserves to hang for sure! Even if the real one turns out to be innocent. Personally i'd lynch 'em both. Jacko is too weird to live, anyway! Besides, i'd find it kind of enjoyable... and surely that's a good enough reason? Surely?

A McDonalds advert in which some woman is talking about her love of McNuggets and their "tasty white breast meat" (this phrase is repeated twice!) Now i don't know about you, but i find this totally fucking perverse and snicker enthusiastically every time the ad comes on. One has to show one's appreciation at the majesty of such things...

Another ad- That fucking cunting frog and it's blethering so-called-cute ringtones. Where's a fucking heron when ya need one, eh?

A really sweet email from someone called Chloe (or Fiona?), i think (Without looking through my emails to make sure). Thanks Chloe!- but wheres the reply to my reply? Hmm?

Another email informing me some weeks ago that i was the number one site when googling for the word "bibblybob". I checked and it was true! However i was most disappointed that i rate no mention at all when i searched it again today! Soooo disappointed. Hmm... more on that word in a future post...

That's all for now. I may add to this post when i wake up later on today. Or i may deny that it exists, but grinningly humour you anyway when you try and prove that it does...

Right, i'm off for a good swear. I've got a few more "Fucks"' a "Cunt" and several "Bastards" and "Wankah's" to spew vitriolically before bedtime. Got me quota to fill y'know...

S.x

PS: did i ever tell ya, that i wanted to be a newsreader once?

...4...Kitten Frenzy

2005-05-14T00:59:00.000+01:00

ah... kittens

Sooo cute.

Miew?

..................Miew?

...............................Miew

............Miew.

........Miewwww!

...........................Miewy-ewy!

...Rowwwrrr!

Meep?

Fookin' Miew!

S.

The Saturnyne Resurrection Countdown: ...5...

2005-05-12T04:23:00.000+01:00

Famous artworks re-investigated... stolen as usual from somewhere else on the net...

Um, i promised "Weirdness" didn't i? Well, i'm damned if i know what that really means these days... but we'll see...

*grins like a drunken Pope. On speed. Being shat on. By a bear. In some scenic forest. While nuns look on beatifically. (Lezzer nuns, incidentally. In a bath).*

S.

PS: Oh yeah, i've been adding some blogs to my links... i was gonna wait until i'd created my icons for you all, but i just haven't had the time yet...

Also added my Audioscrobbler webpage. Everyone should have one!

Pre-Weirdness Interlude (Apocalyptic Apoplepsies of Politics!)

2005-05-08T01:24:00.000+01:00

Ain't England grand!

WE have a new Prime-Minister! Even if he is the same model as the last one!

This one promises to be more "listening". Sah-weet. Totally fucking lying, though.

But ain't England grand!

I can't remember any elections anywhere else in the world where everyone's a winner!

And a loser!

All at the same time! WHoop!

Y'see... it goes like this (boring politics wank follows):
New Labour wins again. But. With a vastly reduced majority and curtailing of megalomania and power. A new, more approachable leader sooner rather than later, methinks. So losers, too. Nyahh!
The Conservatives lose. But win plenty more seats. Not a total drubbing for them this time! Plus a new leader, too. Sooner! So a win, then!
The Liberal Democrats also lose. But get their biggest number of seats since the 1920's. And a substantial increase of voters. And their leaders wife gave birth to a lovely lovely babeh during the campaigning. Ahhh, sweet. More winnah's!

So.
Disappointed with yer own countries politics?
Lead a miserable way of life?
A lack of multi-cultural multi-ethnicity in your area?
Want to let rip and cut loose yer anger AND get pissed up on the streets and fight?
Want your vote to both count AND not-count?
Like rain?

Come to England!

You'll hate it! You'll love it! Plus- you'll get to live in a castle while we rob you of yer money! (We all live in castles, y'see. Even the poor. This is true)

(I should work for the Tourist Board. Definitely)

More Flower Bollocks!

2005-05-04T00:26:00.000+01:00

Oops! I must apologize for not updating in several days. Had Bubonic Plague or something. All my skin turned a vicious black and then burst open, spewing my liquefied innards forth in a vivid red and purple fountain of stench and corruption.

The funerals next week.

Open casket, obviously!

Condolences are allowed in the form of Large cheques made payable to The Saturnynes Get-Rich-Quick-Via-The-Gullible-Scheme aka TSGRQVTGS for short. Hee!

So until one of my many clones can grow itself enough to take over (sometime next week), this post and additional replies will be via the Redoubtable medium, Madame Cobweb

I have instructed pretty foxglove pics to be presented to you, as promised to the awesome Jessie, with a wave also to B!- Who inspired this and recent flower pics.

Before i passed away so dramatically, i was practising Sepia toning my B and W pics and even better, selenium toning... all via Adobes lovely Photoshop. If anyone would like to know how to do this to their pics, drop me a line and i'll reveal all with some handy dandy simple instructions. Whoop!

The results you can see below... so much better than simple B and W, i think you'll agree. I think you'll agree because i Still know where you all live. Grr!

But which one looks best?

Lovely Lovely Foxgloves

Da Chrysanthem'mmmmmmm (sneaked this one in afterwards)

Lovely Lovely Foxglove Loveliness!

Enjoyyyy!

Next up... weirdness!
Weirdness for all!

S

Time For Flowers

2005-04-27T01:24:00.000+01:00

Nothing to say today. So I offer you some nice flowers instead. Photographed by my very own hand, no less. Using real, old fashioned film, too! Click the image 'n' see the grain!

Carnations aren't my fave flowers by any stretch. but they DO make interesting shapes in black and white. Or tinted a little.

Carnation in Blue

Carnation In Not-blue

And thass all for today. I may throw another flower at ya later this week. All romantic, like. Or i may not. It depends if you've all been very good boys and girls or not. If you've been bad, then it's garrottings all round, i'm afraid. Or a withholding of cakey-things. Cruel i know, but i'm only doing it because i loooove you.

S.x

Piss Off Tony! (And Take That Fackin' Vampire With You!)

2005-04-23T02:55:00.000+01:00

Yaay! 'tis political rant time! Anyone who can't be arsed reading about politics, can ignore the rest of this post and take the strangely accurate (for me) What Mood Are You In Quiz which i found while perusing the obviously-gorgeous Stella's Weblog. Yaay Stella!

Meanwhile... on with the bollocks!

Ah, it's election time once again in The Sceptred Isle. A time of great celebration and cheeriness (Honest!- Would i lie to you? Oh all right, yes i would.) as the "Great British Public" (laugh bitterly here) exercises its right to vote for whichever party has the biggest bribes, and is most desperate for power. And it's also a time for the Grate British Blogger (wave flag with ironic patriotism here) to take the piss somewhat. Particularly amusing to me these past couple of days, have been Scary Duck's infamous blog and Herge's er, greeny looking blog, who found his way to my comments recently. Herge is also a friend of that great british artist, Anthony Gormley... which is about as close to fame as i'll get.... Except1...

Generally speaking though, i expect that "Great British Public" will instead exercise it's right to go out and get mightily pissed in order to ignore a very limited choice and thus having to sigh themselves into a fit of deep depression over a result which verily fucks us all in the arse good and proper... again... oh, except for the rich.

I shall be voting. And here today, in a vain and desperate and (let's be frankly honest, quite pathetically inconsequential) attempt to cast some influence on these elections, i shall be saying why it won't be for that nonce, Tony or the failed undead, Michael.

But first of all, let's have a little questionnaire for the undecided's here amongst us, and see where i stand.

Props to Starbuck and Astolath, who's sites i found this on:

Who should I vote for?

Your expected outcome:

Liberal Democrat

Your actual outcome:

Labour -34
Conservative -57
Liberal Democrat 90
UK Independence Party 5
Green 50

You should vote: Liberal Democrat

The LibDems take a strong stand against tax cuts and a strong one in favour of public services: they would make long-term residential care for the elderly free across the UK, and scrap university tuition fees. They are in favour of a ban on smoking in public places, but would relax laws on cannabis. They propose to change vehicle taxation to be based on usage rather than ownership.

Take the test at Who Should You Vote For

Yup. I'm Liberal. No doubt about it.

So why not vote for Tony and New Labour? Gee, less 'ave a look, shall we?

1. Dentists: As of last month, i have no fucking NHS dentist. No more free dental care... something which us Brits have been accustomed to since the fifties. This is because our so kind New Labour government has decided that they won't pay them a decent rate to treat me (Oh and everyone else, obviously... but i don't know them) Our Beloved Leader/Vicar says he's gonna get us more "But it takes time". I say, "So why not pay the current ones what they deserve, like, y'know, you used to? Problem solved!" (Answer: "Er...").

2. PFI: (Private Finance Initiative) A scheme whereby private companies are paid shitloads of taxpayers cash, at grossly inflated rates, to treat the publics health and education and transport as cheaply and shoddily as possible. Well done, Tone! We're all impressed by that.

3. Trains: Ahahahahahahahahahaha! Dear "Visitor-to-our-country" see PFI above. And don't ever travel in the U.K. by train. Don't travel by bus either, 'cause they're shite, too.

4. Iraq: The Dear Leader really would like us to forget that we were taken to war via a web of lies and gullibility. An illegal war in which thousands of people of all creeds and colour have died and still die, for the most part in horrific circumstances. God, Tony, if that'd been me, i'd've resigned there and then, done the decent thing and descended into alcoholism, drug abuse and eventual suicide. a wasted vagrant hiding under a beard on the Capitals streets.
But not you. You probably sleep completely at ease with your righteous, yet concerned, expression upon your face. Oh, and that's another thing... that same fuckin' concerned-like you -really-are-listening-man(!) expression you adopt when listening to someone voicing their grievances to you. It' sooo fuckin' fake. Fake! Stop it! After Iraq, we're just not that gullible anymore. Desperate for anyone but the Tories, yes. but not gullible. You got that? No? Yes?

5. Mental Health: Fuck right off, Tony! Your right-wing approach to disability in this country very nearly killed one of my best friends. She came very close to losing her flat, her mind and her life. And that, more than anything here, is why i will never forgive you, and forever hate you.

6. And last but not least. The BNP (A fascist party. Like the Nazis. Yup). If this government hadn't betrayed so many of its promises, the BNP would still remain on the very fringes of society, and mocked by all decent citizens. But nooo... here in my own Harle Syke, ordinary folks voted for this party in local elections out of sheer desperation with Da Government's betrayals and now we have several on our town council. It's s shame that stains this town to this very day. (Anyone wanting to protest against these ultra right-wing predators go here, here and here. Anyone living and voting in Harle Syke and Burnley, i would also urge to visit these sites. Go on. They might have pictures of cute kittens on them! Although probably not).

And now, the reason why i won't be voting for Mickey Howard: He was part of Thatch's government and is obviously a vampire and in league with the Forces of Darkness. Obvious really. Duh!

And that's all for now, o-blessed reader. Hope that wasn't too painful for ya. Rest assured, i did my best to be entertaining by juggling babies and chainsaws every minute of typing this blog

S.x

Addendum Moment Once Again: Just found a very entertaining political blog, having read about it in todays Guardian. Here it is: Chicken Yoghurt There's several excellent links on the site, too. I'm full of envy.

1 I once had a small encounter with a celeb... details... eventually...

Today...

2005-04-19T01:29:00.000+01:00

...The Saturnyne Bombs Da Crap Outta Yer!!!

oyes!

"Rain mayhem on your favourite site, with this
amusing online toy. Type in the web address and
select the method of destruction from the pull-down
menu. About as close as you'll get to Ming the
Merciless's now-legendary control panel."

It said.

On b3ta.com.

So i did!

Muhahahahahahahaha...hah! Muhahahaha... etc...hahahahah! This Evil Genius lark is a doddle.

Here's some samples of my destruction:

First i spilt coffee on you. Oops!- How clumsy! Tut tut!

Then i summoned a fleet of flying saucers to zap yours. Ooh, i bet those rays burn a bit... but don't worry, it was all for er... charity... or something...

Then i did my Noah and God Anniversary Tribute on You... (But it was reaally all about my envying you for seeing my hero when i can't)(Goddamn!)(Also: Why don't we ever get "flood" anniversary t-shirts and mugs, eh?)

Then i noticed that your blog had got mouldy from lack of use... although it's since got better... Yaay! But let that be a warning to you!

After that i saw you were celebating your blogs second birthday... So i dropped a few nukes on it to celebrate with yer. I also gave it worms... but we won't show the wormy pics... they were a bit yecchy!

More celebrations... i invited a few dinosaurs around to yours to help you celebrate yr Stag weekend and forthcoming wedding... Consider it a gift... no really!- No expense spared! And who'd have known... their colour quite matches!

And then i discovered that your blog had gotten quite overgrown... y'must have had weeds or somethin'...

From this...

...to this... in mere seconds. Disgraceful! Get a mower in! Hee!

I also destroyed several other blogs... over the course of a few pleasant and fun-filled minutes... but i began to think it was getting a bit "picture overkill" around here so stopped showing the damage.

(But if anyone wants to see what i did to their blog, then ask away and i'll update this post with more pics of evilness.)

Now get yer bloody revenge!
Shoot zer Saturnyne! Here!
.
.

Best Mr Man in the World. Evah!

2005-04-12T03:04:00.000+01:00

During the course of one of our wild and rambuctious Yahoo tri-conversations* some time ago, Tam and i found ourselves making Mr Men on some website or other (No i can't be arsed to go and find it for you... i'm being lazy today. Try Google or something. Off you pop.)

Anyway, it seems i took a snapshot of mine using Hello. I stumbled across the pic today while sorting through my image archive...

I see him as a kind of transvestite hard nut Mr Man, who'd just as soon stomp on your pretty face with his glam "fuck-you-up" boots, as share make-up tips. Or mebbe both at once.

I think my fave other Mr Man was Mr Jelly. I identified with him a lot. I would have liked Mr Messy, too. but The Man got him and tidied him up. Splitters!

And did anyone see the telly progs? As narrated by the wonderful Arthur Lowe? They were even better than the books... *sigh*

Right, i've had enough of this reminiscing bollocks! I must be getting old. Next post, i'm gonna blow yer blogs up... oyes. See if i don't!

Addendum Bollocks The Prisoner found the place where we make Mr Men. Props to him for finding it again. But minus a zillion for reminding me why i didn't go back after clicking onhis link... that voice.

Tiny Appendix Thing
*meaning to have three conversations on the go at once. With each other. They'd be the stuff of legends if anyone published them... especially for the awful spelling...

Haiii- YAH! (Part Three: Lost In Translation)

2005-04-07T03:07:00.000+01:00

So here we are.

The final post at last...

(thank feck fer that... i was starting to get bored)

As you might deduce from my two previous posts, i grew up being immensely fond of cinema from The Orient...alternately being delighted and awestruck at the subtleties of films like Rouge and Light The Red Lantern, then the all-out fightfests, war and mysticism of respectively, Mr Vampire, Ran and Hero... not to mention the occasional ultraviolence of such films as Hard Boiled and Battle Royale etc. I love 'em all!

I took da Pumpkin to see Hero at the flicks, ya know. Well, dragged... and she... didn't quite hate every minute... but she puts up with it cos i'm adorable or something.

"Great film!", i enthused all the way home to my long suffering Pumpkin... "Quite, quite beautiful! Heroic, too, would ya know! I say, Pumpkin!- wake up! Wasn't it a great film?!? Wasn't it?!?!"

Pumpkin might well have been a bit poorly at this point, i think, for she rolled her eyes and groaned a lot during my enthusement... something she ate, perhaps?

One of those films that one puts down in ones "must get" list for DVD's and such. Wow! We could watch it over and over!

So when it came out, i obviously bought it. Obviously.

... Unfortunately, Pumpkin happened to claim to be busy/ill/practising yogic calming techniques (Said the latter was necessary in order to prevent violent murders or something) on all the weekends i suggested we could watch it.

So alas, i ended up watching it alone. And it was there, midway through my happy solitary viewing, that i really did discover the power of words. And one word in particular.

That word being "Yaaargh!" (give or take an Ay, Ar, Gee, and Haich)

Yes, "Yaaargh!".

There i was, happily enjoying the action. The action at this point being a rather pretty duel between the female leads in an autumnal leafy setting. And the younger one attacks with a warlike cry:

"Yaaargh!" She cried.

And then "Yaaargh!".She did it again!

"Yaaargh!". And again!

And then guess what? A bit later on in the film, when i'd just about recovered from my disbelieving laughter...

"Yaaargh!"

"But Mr The Saturnyne, sir!- how do you know it is spelt like that?" i hear you ask.

Subtitles! (imagine i'm saying this word today, with the look of one who has just eaten a bit out of an apple. An apple with half a maggot within. And i'm a person who finds subtitles most agreeable... at least before yummy alcohol has reduced my skills at reading. Do you ever get that? Trying to read something while drunk, only to find the words are being mischievous and having a bit of a dance party on the page?).

Now call me an old fusspot if ya don't like life, but somehow i don't think i need that word being spelt out for me in the subtitles below. Not even if i'm deaf. No really! I think it's plain for all to see the emotion the young lady is trying to convey as she tries to carve her mistress into dogfud, i really do. And if we start heading down that road, who's to stop us from adding other sound effects to other films? fer example:

Violent moves would have words like "Skutch!" and "Shrikt!" added. Romantic couples running through ocean waves (or moody moonlit puddles) would have "Splish! Splash!" thrown nonchalanlty into them. Porn films, too... usually preceded by "Urgh! Ughhh!" Perhaps the odd "Sploosh" and "Shlipt" might crop up in there, too. I could go on, but i reckon yer get my drift by now...

Honestly.

"Yaaargh!"

Tchah!

Pathetic. And absurd. Totally ruined the film for me. I couldn't help but giggle at all the seriousness after that... I say sack these inept translators! I might also say, sack the dubbing guys on Crouching Tiger, as well. Cos i really don't think American accents suit the scenery, y'know. (No disrespect to my beloved Americky friends, btw).

Right. god knows what i'm gonna blog about next... i fear i may have some ridicule to throw upon Mr Popes funeral... but i fear rather more that i will have a few choice words to say about Mr Blair and other politicians regarding our forthcoming elections here in the U.K. I have a bone to pick with him...

Haiiii YAH! (Part Two: In Which The Saturnyne Explores The Esoteric Wisdoms of the Water Margin)

2005-04-04T16:25:00.000+01:00

"Do not despise the serpent for being legless. For who is to say that he will not buy you a nice big drink later?"

"A pub with cheap vodka is worth more than a pebble without imperfections."

When you have only two pennies left in the world, buy a loaf of bread with one, and a lily with the other. Or alternately, a nice big drink of something yummy and alcoholic."

- Chinese proverbs as interpreted by The Saturnyne

Another, even better telly series from The Orient, was The Water Margin. As fun as Monkey was, this was war! Nine dozen heroes fighting heinous tyranny from their fortress in the water margins of Liang Shan Po. Plots! Counter-plots! Character development! Kickass swordfights and battles! Even the opening credits have a big fuckoff battle! Yowsa!

And every episode had a really cool proverb you could carry away with you to reflect on, then spout off in weird moments of gibberish to all your school chums in a vain attempt to seem cool and "wise beyond your years". For some reason still unknown to me, i always seemed to fail at that one. More often than not sounding "stupid beyond my years" instead. Can't think why...

Thinking back on it all now, one can see these programmes and others like them as early forerunners of the modern day martial arts movie epic. Stuff like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and Hero.

The theme tune for this show began "dum da dum, da dumdum" repeated a few times. It sounded kinda cool and tense.

The final part of this "truly thrilling" extended post (In which i will make a bitter denouncement, no less!) will be posted sometime this week. After that- more bollocks. Yaay! Mebbe even some otters and squirrels. And pumpkins. gotta have me some pumpkins somewhere! I just gotta!

Please don't faint with excitement. Thank-you.

S.

Haiii-YAH!!!! (part one)

2005-04-01T01:28:00.000+01:00

When i was a small Saturnyne, one of the highlights of my monday tea-times was a double-whammy of Harold Lloyd and Monkey

Harold Lloyd was this extraordinary slight bespectacled silent-age comedian doing these outrageous and very dangerous stunts and i would sit there gobsmacked with tea quite forgotten marvelling at his sheer ingenuity and unassuming and quite totally heroic escapades which were also damned funny on many occasions... (Ok, you can breathe in now, i lost my commas there for a moment)

Just thinking about this stunt gives me the heebie-jeebies!

The title song on these programmes began something like "Make way for Harold lloyd! Ya-da,dada-da-daa-DAH!"

A pair of glasses and a smile!

...Then i would continue to be gobsmacked. By the incredible Magic Wishing Staff wielding Monkey spirit, his pet cloud, and his two sidekicks, Sandy (A water-spirit-monster) with the permanently put-upon expression, and the lascivious and vulgar Pigsy (A pig-spirit, obviously. Keep up, you at the back!) as they guided the androgynous looking monk, Tripitaka (a monk)(Ho-ho) on his way to retrieve some sacred scrolls of enlightenment.

Monkey!

Or maybe it was just some nice sauce recipes they wanted, to go with their noodles. I dunno, i don't think they ever got there in the end... wherever it was... India or somesuch place...

So obviously, said scrolls were located thousands of miles away. Otherwise it'd only have been a couple of episodes long. Nowadays of course, they'd just order them from Amazon.com and spend the next five million episodes sitting around in their flat, while Amazon kept apologizing for the delay every six weeks...

Fucked if i know how the theme tune lyrics to that one went, btw; although the words "Monkey Magic" featured prominently i'm sure. If anyone wants to have a stab at "Singing" it in the comments, just go right ahead and ignore the smirks i'll be throwing you... Haw!

(Late News) Oh hey! I've just found out that Tripitaka the monk was played by a woman called Masako Matsumi!

Tripitaka!

For years Triipitaka confused me... I had the hugest crush on a character i thought was a woman... and then one day it sank in that Monkey and Co. referred to her as "Master". OMG! She was a He? Nooo! But now He's a She again? Sneaky! Great! I can fancy her again, now.

Except she's dead.

Pisser!

Ah well, she'd probably be a bit old for me anyhow.

(Don't you fecking say a WORD, Mr Carl! Not a WORD! Don't even GRIN! I was drunk!)

Lost Loves

2005-03-22T16:37:00.000Z

Her.

7:30 pm. Friday evening. Recently.

If you'd been lounging around the simply "delightful" Burnley bus station at that time, you might well have seen The Saturnyne lounging, too. It's what he does best.

Head bent. Hand resting philosophically on chin. One leg tucked under a chair, the other stretching langurously. Here is The Saturnyne deep in thought.

A shadow moves across the periphery of his vision, disturbing ever so slightly his mournful reverie. A casual glance up. An imperceptible start.

(The Saturnyne is on occasion, a master at hiding his feelings. When the occasion demands).

It's Her. She's looking a few years older. But surely it can only be Her. She still has that dancers grace. He looks cautiously. The sideways glance. Half trying to catch her eye, to perhaps gain some glimpse of recognition in her own eyes. She never meets his gaze. Perhaps never even looks in his direction. Perhaps it's not Her... for surely she would remember him. The Saturnyne is not an easy person to forget, once met. Neither does he forget those he's met also. It is both a curse and a blessing.

Or perhaps she recognizes him all too well and is ignoring him.

Either way, formalities and oaths must be kept. If conversation is to be made, it must come from her and not him. When someone has not wished to speak to you for years, their silence must be respected. It would not be... polite.

The bus arrives and the journey home is made. The Saturnyne sits in unbearable discomfort, almost within touching distance of a person he once loved enormously. No words are spoken. She gets off at the right stop. Yes, this must surely be Her.

The Saturnyne does not bow his head. He is still as stone. No emotion passes over his features.

No words are spoken. He thought he was over her. He was wrong. Even after all these years, the echoes reverberate down from the past and fall upon him like Greek Furies.

When he is quite alone, he sits on his bed awhile, eyes resting on a nothing of wall. And remembers all that was lost and can never be regained.

No words are spoken.

The First Day Of Spring

2005-03-19T19:00:00.000Z

I always know when Winter turns the corner and heads into Spring. I wake up, throw back the curtains and the sky looks newly washed and so... so alive. Nature itself seems to raise its head and stretch out its green arms. Birds seem chirpier, insects buzzier, even the trees and grasses seem treeier (new word!) and grassier. And greener.

I always know the first day of Spring. And it knows me. This must be the fairest day of the year. Life calls me.

So today, i've been doing things. Taking new flower photos with my (non-digital) camera. Seeing old friends. Drinking coffee and chilling out in my Fave cafe, The Red Triangle. And now, i'm writing in a state of near-tranquility. Drinking a good red. Listening to Nico singing 'These Days' from her verr beautiful 'Chelsea Girl' album. Thinking of a poem by e.e. cummings that perfectly sums up a new bright day. Why, i think i'll quote both the singer and the poet for you! Generosity prevails! (Somehow, they both match my mood today).

The Singer

I've been out walking
I don't do too much talking
These days, these days.
These days I seem to think a lot
About the things that I forgot to do
And all the times I had the chance to.

I've stopped my rambling,
I don't do too much gambling
These days, these days.
These days I seem to think about
How all the changes came about my ways
And I wonder if I'll see another highway.

I had a lover,
I don't think I'll risk another
These days, these days.
And if I seem to be afraid
To live the life that I have made in song
It's just that I've been losing so long.
La la la la la, la la.

I've stopped my dreaming,
I won't do too much scheming
These days, these days.
These days I sit on corner stones
And count the time in quarter tones to ten.
Please don't confront me with my failures,
I had not forgotten them.

The Poet

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

And that's all.

love love love,
S.x

"MirrorMask" Post (Otherwise Known As "I Heart Neil and Dave!"

2005-03-19T02:31:00.000Z

Check this pic out:

Doesn't mean much beyond looking a bit cool and interesting, does it?

Except!

This is one of the first promotion pics for possibly the coolest and most original looking movie in a very long time.

Oops, wait a mo. I meant: In a very long time!!!! (Gotta have my !!!'s)

but what's of especial significance to an avid Sandman fan like me, is the scrumptious thought that it's been written by Neil Gaiman, and directed by his uber-genius long-term accomplice in crime, the all round artist extraordinaire, Dave McKean and like, made/produced/whatevered, by Jim Hensons Company (And who could forget their previous two cult movie fantasies, The Dark Crystal and the, er, Other One) What? You thought i was talking about 'Muppets, Treasure Island' or whatever it was called?

Subnote: While searching for that "Other One", i found This Site which i thought was a bit unique and awesome and just had to bring to your attention. I just hadda!

So it's a movie. Yum! "But what's it about?" i hear you ask, from your distant and charming lands...

So here's a quick synopsis that i found from the Official Movie Site which incidentally has nice trailers and other... stuff.

"MirrorMask is the story of Helena, a fifteen-year-old girl working for her family circus, who wishes -quite ironically- that she could run away from the circus and join real life. But such is not to be the case, as she finds herself on a strange journey into the Dark Lands, a fantastic landscape filled with giants, Monkeybirds and dangerous sphinxes. Helena searches for the Mirrormask, an object of enormous power that is her only hope of escaping the Dark Lands, waking the Queen of Light and returning home."

So it's a kind of Wizard of Oz, then? Oyess, my little fleshlings, but with Neil and Dave at the wheel, you just know it's gonna be a whole lot more than that. And if you don't know, then yer obviously haven't read Gaimans Sandman epic (Available from all ye good parchment and scroll shops. What? You still here? Go and get hold of them, you mad fool, and bow before His Eminence, the King of Dreams, Prince of Stories etc. and then come back having read them and with newly acquired wisdoms. Oh, and bring wine with you? Ta!)

Back? Good. So now you're slightly more cultured. Have a gander at some pretty stills from the film and go "Oooh" ever so slightly.

Right. That's that post outta the way. Next up, the return of pretty piccies! And now i'm off to bed. It calls me, y'know.

Sooo tireddd.... ZzZzZz

S.

Limbo! I'm in limbo!

2005-03-12T02:00:00.000Z

For some reason, i'm unable to post comments on other peeps blogs.

I keep getting "Blog Not Found" type messages as soon as i do! Egad! The rotters!

This makes me doubt my own reality! (Not difficult to do)

And if you haven't yet seen my post below (About being an Evil Genius), please comment on that one instead. It's much more fun than this small one, and goes further to reinforcing my awesomeness, which shall surely receive Royal Seals of Approval and other sorts of official recognition any time now. Probably even get its own trademark, too...

love,
S.

How to Be An Evil Genius (On The Cheap)(kind of)

2005-03-07T15:13:00.000Z

Today, The Saturnyne was going to tell yer all the ins and outs of how to start an adventurous career of Evil Geniusness.

He was gonna tell ya how to do those "Muhahahahaha!" laughs and make them last forever, using indian yogic breathing techniques. (Complete lie)

He was gonna tell you about posture, and how to stand there imperiously with hands on hips, not looking at all "odd", with a white pet cat, named "Mr Flay" wreathed around yer shoulders. And how to "retire" those henchmen who fall around laughing when you do this. Friends have since pointed out that it makes me look "like a raging queen". Tchah! Whadda they know? I shall be "retiring" them too, forthwith! See if i don't! Muhahahaha!

Yes, the Saturnyne was gonna explain how to get a "good" personal assistant called Igor (Evil Genius Mail Order. or at http://www.buy-igor.com and how to judiciously use the leccie cattle prod on him when he's not looking surly or miserable enough. Although to be honest, my latest model is trying even my patience. He just doesn't grumble enough when i tell him to go for more fresh brains at the local Accident and Emergency dept. Still, on the plus side, the pained look on his face at mealtimes is a joy to behold when i feed him his gruel and see him frantically trying to spear the nutritious bits before they wriggle away.

So. And finally, The Saturnyne was gonna detail how to attract the attention of The Authorities, so that they send in their best secret agents to thwart your malevolent machinations. Such agenta are invariably inept at not getting caught, even by Igor, so it's always nice to be able to explain to them how one intends to evolve super-intelligent sparrows and whatnot. Before cruelly (yet fairly and sportingly) putting said agents to death with the new laser-firing goldfish... or man-eating sparrows... i haven't decided yet.

And then we saw this:

Hypnodisk!

And suddenly everything seemed so much simpler...
Gorgeous and awesome, isn't it?!?! Here's a view of the other side.

Whaddya know, it's just as awesome on this side!

Want! Now! Donations of large sums of money for purchase will be happilly accepted!

Imagine what fun one can have with door to door salespesons of all persuasions.

"Come in" i'll say. Cheerily. "Have a drink. Oh, don't mind the spinny thing, it's just to mezmorize you and put you under my powers of evil. Muhahahahaaaa!"

But that's not all! We also saw this:

Ballistae 1

And the other side...

Ballistae 2 (the other side)

Oooh! How much fun can a guy have with the neighbours? Especially when they're coming home at 3.a.m in the morning and shouting and singing like the chavscum white trash they undoubtedly are. How much fun?!?! How much! And they probably have children! Well someone does in this area, my god, the numbers of teenage vandals. surely an excuse for enforced contraception? Or am i thinking vivisection? Anyway, the point is: More fun! The Saturnyne Strikes Back. Muhahahaha!

And then... This!

Guillotine! For the kitchen!

Hey! Isn't that a pic of its "other side" below? Oyesss.

Guillotine 2

It'll be perfect for the kitchen! And how! All those uppity carrots will live in a state of nervousness forevermore. They shall fear me! Fear! Plus: how cool will Igor look as he solemnly, yet with an air of sulkiness (A contractual obligation amongst henchmen) slices the veg for meals. Occasionally cursing as he loses another finger in the salad bowl... wow, i sooo gotta make that another contractual obligation...

The really cool thing is that all these items can actually be bought from This Site.

So i say: Treat the Evil Genius in your life. But first, treat me. Especially as i know where you live. All of you.

Oh, and they even make siege engines! Awesome! I'll be able to lay low entire bunches of kids while they blithely vandalize stuff.

S.x

PS: Thanks to the more-than-Copacetic Tam for showing me how title tags work. Also for telling me about wikipedia, so i can look up words like "copacetic" with impugnity. Also words like impugnity. If i want. Ah love yew, Tam! More than bees! But not as much as exclamation marks!
PPS: Title tags = those little word balloons that pop up when you hover yer mouse icon over pictures and links an' stuff. Go try it on my pics up there. *points upwards*

Oops!

2005-03-06T06:51:00.000Z

So much for my super-swift and awesome next post... i've bin a wee bit busy...

I'll be right back!

Tomorrow probably. Unless i happen to be verr verr drunk/hung over.

Ah, sweet booze!

Sloe Gin! (A rarity!)

Failing that, gin or vodka mixed with, er, stuff.

Or some expensive and dry red vin. Or some cheap and sweet red vin.

Although, i must confess... my days of heavy imbibing are behind me. So nowadays, it's one glass and i'm anybody's! Yaay!

So do ya want me, baby? Hh? Do ya? Do ya? Cool!- So just sign this form (Ignoring the bit about losing yer immortal soul; that's just for effect)... here... and here and i'm all yours...

Heheh!

S.x

Dumb Things I Have Said (Part 1 In An All Too Occasional Series Of Shame And Embarrassment)

2005-02-25T17:48:00.000Z

(The following situation really occurred. Although the names/gender/species may have been altered to protect the innocent. Or somesuch bollocks like that).

So there we were. Sat in her car after a great night out at some party or other. Deep in conversation...

Cool. I'm liking this person immensely. We're getting on like a house on fire.

(Incidentally, "Like a house on fire"?!?! What the feck does that mean? Does anyone/anything die in the fire? Do the fire brigade get there on time? How did the fire start? Was anything saved? And now all the neighbours are probably standing around like ghouls tut-tutting their sympathy and saying "What a shame! And such nice people for it to happen to, as well! Tut-tut!"

Oi you lot! Piss off and watch Coronation Street or something! Tchah- standing round warming yer hands! And what's this?!?!- Who's trying to bake potatoes in my smouldering cinders?!?! Bloody cheek!)

Anyway. Where was i? Oh yeah, in the car. Blossoming friendship. Deep conversation.

She starts telling me about a best friend who passed away. I'm nodding empathitacal- empathytic- i'm nodding in empathy, dammit! Much sadness over her friends passing.

"... and do you know what his last words were?"

I nod and continue to empathize (Hah!) in her sorow. And then the dumb thing vomms forth from my mouth like a million years of repressed stupidity. Cavemen ancestors probably shook thier heads and looked away in embarrassment at my faux pas. My comic timing is, as ever, unstoppable. I grimace in horror at whatever demonic joker lurks within me and thinks this is funny. And yet, well i'd've laughed if i'd seen it in a sketch show...

So i look into her very beautiful eyes, and i ask:

"Was it "Aaa-aaa-ckkk-k-k-k-k..."? (I probably shouldn't have added the death-rattle at the end. But i've always been a stickler for realism, you understand).

(Nooooooo! I have the briefest moment of out-of-body experience, and get to look at the dawning expression of horror on my face, as i realize what i've just said.)

(Moments later i get another O-O-B experience and get to look at my relieved face, weeping probably. In the dark).

It went right over her head! So wrapped up in telling me this sad sad tale, that she completely misssed what i said and continued talking. I'd've cracked open a bottle of champagne right there and then if one was handy.

"Nevah mind yer friend, dahlin'!" i might have said. "Let's celebrate (your totally missing my outrageously offensive remark. An' lets get nekkid!!!)".

Unfortunately, after our long and deep conversation within the cars interior, after dropping me off, after arriving home and sitting comfortably in thought on a chair in her lounge, the memory of what i said must've reared it's head from her subconscious.

Sort of like a delayed reaction insult.

"Bastard!" She probably thought.

And i never saw her again.

I...

Am...

Such an idiot!

No really!

And even today. Much wisdom learnt and all that. But still i say incredibly dumb things to people. I never wish to cause offence. But somewhere inside me, there's this scriptwriter for an evil evil sitcom just bursting to get out and reveal the world for all to ridicule in painful humility.
Or maybe i'm Shakespeares Puck...

"So if i do offend. I'd like to think i can amend... "
(To misquote. Quite terribly.)

With da love to yr all.

Until tomorrow. Tomorrow i look at what you need to be an Evil Genius. Ace!

S.x

I Had a Dream, Joe

2005-02-18T02:36:00.000Z

Welll.

I've brought you all here today to discuss dreams.

To take our minds off ageing and our imminent demise. Especially Your imminent demise. I personally am gonna live for several thousand years, due to an unfortunate accident involving a stray meteor, a time machine, and an irrascible food mixer. (Best not to ask. The answer would only "upset" you).

The rest of you have got until 2014 or thereabouts.

Anyway. As i was saying. I thought i'd take our minds off all this misery for a spell, by discussing dreams.

I am "blessed" with having a vast dream repetory. My dreams are so good, they should be copyrighted and used for suing sci-fi directors. Also bad porn directors. And pop-video makers who have done faaar too much acid. Especially them.

Currently on rotation in the cineplex of my dream mind:

The "End-of-the-World" type dream: I have this one constantly. The skies are dark. The land is torn. Smoke everywhere. And lights in the sky coming from the east. I am utterly terrified in the dream. It's so bad it makes the forthcoming Spielberg 'War of the Worlds' look like a scooter ride with Po around Teletubby Land. How do i know that? I watched the entire film in another dream only last week.

"Gropeage in a Bathtub" dream: Gropeage. In a (large) bathtub. That flies. Yes, flies. Muchness of bubbles. Muchness soap. Muchness of effing flying! And not as muchness of gropeage as there should be! I demand a contract with someone about this! I hate flying with no obvious means of support! It's not like the bastard bathtub has wings or anything- the fucker just swoops along, blithely ignorant to my pleas to "Slow the fuck down!". Still, at least the grrls are always variable and attractive. And for the most part, Of This Planet. Always a bonus, that. Hmm, i think i may be a slut in my dreams... But i'd be more of a slut if the effin' bathtub stopped flying!!! Goddam! (Is this TMI? Tooo bad!)

and speaking of flying and heights...

"The Floating Cathedral" dream. What the fuck is this all about? Eh? A HUUUGE cathedral that just hangs in the air about 300 metres (Yards? No idea. Besides, yards are bollocks!) above Harle Syke. There are occasionally real Angels who fly out of it on some funky looking flying motor-cycles. I want one of those when they come out, btw! Oh ,and if anyone mentions Independence Day, i shall petition that they be sodomized by a giraffe. The whole giraffe mind. I've had this dream (Cathedral dream, not a giraffe dream. What kind of weirdo do yer think i am, eh?)since i was a child. And ain't that big a fan of sci-fi, either. So, nerr! (Oh, and to avoid accusations of cruelty to the giraffe, it would of course, be attired in an appropriate wetsuit and have breathing apparatus. AND goggles!)

Another "Cathedral" dream i have, is one where i'm inside a cathedral the size of a Himalayan mountain (Hollow). And am climbing up several thousand steps to some ridiculous Alice In Wonderland crazy pulpit. And Noo handrail! Why do my dreams do this to me? Why? Whyyy?Are they just bastards naturally? They should know by now, i hate heights. Merciless. And bastards.

So of course, my dreams know i suffer from vertigo etc. So whadda they do next? Put me on the side of the biggest fucking mountain you could only imagine in dreams. Probably the size of a small continent. We're talking about the kind of mountain that would pick on Everest and the rest of the Himalayas at school. And make them hand over all their dinner money.

But the stupidest dream i've ever had was last week. Yes, it was the "Not Very Stereotypical Spy Apples" kind of dream. In the dream, i was watching these two (Bright green) apples (Probably Granny Smiths) roll their way to safety and freedom from the secret complex of some Mr Big Evil Genius. Sean Connery etc. would have been impressed. Personally i was impressed by how very bad the acting and comedy moments were. A lot like those 007 movies actually. It may well have been as bad, but i was still trying to get my poor tormented mind around apples playing the lead roles. Y'know, it wouldn't surprise me if the director in my dream, deliberately recruited apples to obfuscate the bad plot and acting. Anyway, the apples (kinda cute ones) managed to escape. With only minor bruising. More bruised was my sanity. I mean. I spend half my waking hours trying to get into a restful slumber. And then when i do, i get psychically assaulted from God knows where! It can't be all my fault, can it? Can it?

Hey, put that straightjacket down!

S.x

The Future

2005-02-16T01:14:00.000Z

What do you think about when you imagine the future?

Space travel? Virtual reailty ports in your cranium? Alien invasion perhaps? The Earth being a vast dustbowl like Mars?

I dream and think about all of those things and more. But most of all i think about my parents.

Their diminishing before my eyes. Physical and psychological. Realizing that you can't stop the Haemorrhage of days.

And i think about frustration. And waiting. And escape.

But iI love my old ones. It would be faithless of me to forsake them.

And with love in mind i quote this:

The Old Fools

What do they think has happened, the old fools,
To make them like this? Do they somehow suppose
It's more grown-up when your mouth hangs open and drools,
And you keep on pissing yourself, and can't remember
Who called this morning? Or that, if they only chose,
They could alter things back to when they danced all night,
Or went to their wedding, or sloped arms some September?
Or do they fancy there's really been no change,
And they've always behaved as if they were crippled or tight,
Or sat through days of thin continuous dreaming
Watching the light move? If they don't (and they can't), it's strange;
Why aren't they screaming?

At death you break up: the bits that were you
Start speeding away from each other for ever
With no one to see. It's only oblivion, true:
We had it before, but then it was going to end,
And was all the time merging with a unique endeavour
To bring to bloom the million-petalled flower
Of being here. Next time you can't pretend
There'll be anything else. And these are the first signs:
Not knowing how, not hearing who, the power
Of choosing gone. Their looks show that they're for it:
Ash hair, toad hands, prune face dried into lines -
How can they ignore it?

Perhaps being old is having lighted rooms
Inside you head, and people in them, acting
People you know, yet can't quite name; each looms
Like a deep loss restored, from known doors turning,
Setting down a lamp, smiling from a stair, extracting
A known book from the shelves; or sometimes only
The rooms themselves, chairs and a fire burning,
The blown bush at the window, or the sun's
Faint friendliness on the wall some lonely
Rain-ceased midsummer evening. That is where they live:
Not here and now, but where all happened once.
This is why they give

An air of baffled absence, trying to be there
Yet being here. For the rooms grow farther, leaving
Incompetent cold, the constant wear and tear
Of taken breath, and them crouching below
Extinction's alp, the old fools, never perceiving
How near it is. This must be what keeps them quiet:
The peak that stays in view wherever we go
For them is rising ground. Can they never tell
What is dragging them back, and how it will end? Not at night?
Not when the strangers come? Never, throughout
The whole hideous inverted childhood? Well,
We shall find out.

-Philip Larkin

And Tha Winner Isssss...

2005-02-14T02:32:00.000Z

But first...

I'd like to take the opportunity to thank you one and all for the fabulous entries

To Zen, who has never seen me in my underwear- Be grateful, lovely Zen!

To Lizzy, with a timely reminder to all the males of the species, that a "No" quite often means No, actually, and not a "yes", thank you very much. Good on yer, Lizzy.

To, er Me, who for a person who doesn't like her piccie taken, looks (un)surprisingly fab when she does.

To My Sun Sets To Rise Again, who had a few things to say about marrows, AND has had more profile views than ME! In a similar length of time!!! And i thought i was doing allright... What's your secret?!? Gah! i'm not jealous no! Honest!

To The Prisoner, who alarmed me somewhat by assuming my Pumpkin is a "He"! I had to ask her about that, just to makes sure, i was so confused!

To Janey, who is always a winner in my book, even when she doesn't actually enter my competitions! Even then! Love for Janey!

To Starbuck, who has still got me trying to guess what he was on about, and when i ask him and he explains, i'm sure it will all become crystal clear. I shall of course slap my head appropriately and go "D'ohhh! Of course!"

To Carl, who i tentatively and not without fear, call one of my best friends. Still hasn't got his birthday present, yet. It's really ACE, too, Mr Carl! I may with some amusement, hold it hostage until i receive my Christmas present though... Hee-heee! And Hah!

To Cece, who has family that look like pumpkins. Apparently... And i long to meet them all!

To Jessie, who may or may not like the odd "Toke" herself... we can only hope that she's a sharer, eh readers?

To Stella, who is a gal after mah own heart, well probably not literally. I hear hearts really don't sit well on the mantlepiece anyways... no, wot i really mean is that she talks to vegetables and fruits, too! I bet that happens a lot in N.Y. We must meet someday, Miss Stella! (Did i ever mention that we have/had a beer/lager in England called "Stella Artois"... "Pint o' Stella" one could hear throughout the pubs in Englandland when ai were a lad. What'd it taste like? Buggered if i know. Probably like piss. Like most of these beer type things that get advertised on telly. Belgian beer now... that's a different story entirely! Oh, and a local brew called Pendle Witch... that wasn't bad in it's time either... I wonder if they still exist...

To Kak Teh, who didn't enter, but likes my pumpkins anyway. So that's all right. Hi, Dear lady!

To Dani, who still has me trying to remember who Jimmy Durante is... guess i'm gonna have to google the answer... very annoying, cos i bet when i find it, i'll be getting all Homer Simpson again... just like with Starbucks' oblique reference (Hmm, i really must remember to check the dictionary first, before using words like "oblique". Still, i'm a genius, so i'll probably get away with it if i'm wrong... won't i?)

To B,who apparently is "no good at competitions". Which is true. Hee! but yer photos and blog are lovely, m'dear. So that more than makes up for it.

And finally, to one of my favourite writers Woman in the Well who should win a prize for awesomeness in words anyway. Love to you!

So... Ye winners...

Yes, "winners", for there are indeed, two...

...Are Lynda a.k.a. Me! And Cece a.k.a. Cece! Who guessed corectly at Pumpkins shyness. But also guessed inadvertently at what is my idea of pumpkin cuteness. Which is that pumpkins don't need a face to be utterly cute. They just are. If they were people, they'd be your bestest friends evah! EVAH! And utterly cool. Without even trying. Or having a face. Or even limbs.

So ladies, i await yer breathlessly contacting me with address details and demanding yer prezzies forthwith. I shall of course leave a comment at yer blogs and probably email yer... whichever i think requires the least effort at the time...

Please note. If ya DO want any pics, there may well be a delay of some months before i am able to process and send them. Any Cd's sent will go via air mail ASAP and be hand-crafted with whatever crappy art medium i find lying around the house. Last time it was some of my photos cut to size... time before that was pastilles, er pastels? Anyways-

Well done!

And i wish i could give you ALL prizes. *sigh* You've all been most entertaining in yer answers.

Anyway. Next up. Other stuff.

"Will it be fun? " i hear you cry.

Err...

Labour -34
Conservative -57
	Liberal Democrat 90
	UK Independence Party 5
	Green 50