What is the point of this Blog?

At this stage, having not posted anything in a while, while in the mood to vent, I feel I ought to clarify my intent for any poor sod who has stumbled across this chronicle of bizarre opinionated neuroses. Basically, I am a writer searching for his 'voice', and writing blogs that aren't fully in the public domain, but are still 'out there' forces me to be at least halfway coherent, just in case someone does read it. Also, it won't hurt to have an archive of articles that record how I'm getting on at this stage in my life, to either throw away or reconstitute into something useful.
 I only got properly on the internet again about halfway through last year, having been violently set against the internet by the days of dial up, stupid fucking chatrooms and waiting half an hour to see fuzzy fucked up 5min porn pictures, etc.  I truly felt I could comfortably live the rest of my life without ever spending the night in front of a monitor, ever again. Of course, that was unrealistic, as everyone now spends a good few hours a week online:- watching TV, downloading/listening to music, checking e-mails, 'dating'/'social networking, pretending to be a simple alien weapon/toolmaker on a savage post-apocalyptic world of warrior races as part of the MMORPG community, encouraging some zit-ridden sod in Louisiana to end it all(or not), or simply monkey barring their way through pages and pages of utterly useless information. There's now a mind swirling assortment of choices on the internet, and its taking me fucking forever to decide or find out what's going to be worthwhile, and what's going to be an achingly dull and frustratingly pointless waste of time. I'm sure I'd love for everyone to be reading what i'm writing and agreeing with each other how fantastic I am, but I know in my heart that I'm not really saying anything too important at the moment, so I just keep the URL to myself for the time being. Once I'm more sure of what the fuck it is I'm actually doing(or trying to say), then I'll  attempt to lure readers in so they can get the full benefit of my whiny opining, but for now I'm happy just to 'build an archive', so if you've stumbled upon this by accident and have so little to do you've got this far, just let me say GET A LIFE

 

more excuses for downloading comics, when I know I'm being a cunt for it!

 One thing that leaps to mind when I need to defend this heinous practice is that  many a time I have tried to get Comic Shop Guys to allow certain titles to build up to 3 or 4 issues before I buy them. They will not do it. They act as though they cannot; as though the concept is harder to understand than quantum mechanics.Even if you explain, on a daily basis, what it is that you want done(and why), they just nod and say "Yeah", while thinking their interest in comics(or lack thereof)is cooler than the dopey customer making daft fucking requests in front of them.
 Every time I have tried to let a few issues slip by before buying, I end up with the dreaded number gaps in my collection, something I hate more than mere words can describe To geeks like me, the idea of counting up say 45, 46, 47, 48, then shock horror, what the shitting hell:-50!!!! easily brings out our inner Rain Man, and can result in sitting with a pile of comics on our lap, pounding our poor empty heads with another couple. .Therefore, I have taken to downloading certain titles(American Vampire, Knight and Squire, Batman Beyond, Ultimate Avengers, etc.)and waiting a few months to read them. I done this with Wonder Woman, the new weird re-vamp, alternate wotsit that's been going on and I have to say, if I'd paid for that shit, I would be unhappy about it, and for any one who says the writers are upset about the loss of money through downloading-J Michael Straczynski was so eager to get his, he dropped the the fucking title altogether, halfway through his big whatever the fuck he wass doing with it!

Where are the UK dramas like 'The Shield', 'Mad Men', 'Damages', 'Lost', 'The Wire' and 'Lie To me'?

 I've spent much of the last month catching up on the first 5 seasons of 'The Shield', the US Drama about a gung-ho 'Strike Team' who target L.A.'s gangs within a unique sort of politically experimental neighbourhood police unit. Having long been a huge fan of The Wire, I always saw this series as 'Wire-lite' for some stupid reason, and ended up missing one of the most gripping drama series of the last decade. Maybe the core themes are similar, as both look at urban and moral decay, vanity, corruption, race issues and, of course, crime. Stylistically, however, they are as far apart as the American states in which they are set and the people indigenous to either series reflect this'.

   The shaky, hand held 'documentary style' camera movements used to annoy me, when I was only aware of the show through a few clips I'd seen, but now feel an essential part of the show. Where 'The Wire' was a slow burner, giving fair amount of coverage to cops and criminals(as well as city hall, school, and newspaper offices in the last 3 seasons) 'The Shield' has its wonky focus squarely on the Strike Team, almost all the time. It may be more traditional in portraying the 'heroes' side more vividly, but then again there is enough shades of grey within the characters themselves that the show never feels unbalanced for that. Besides, the Wire tended to drift away from the cop characters to portray its other characters' souls being swallowed by the realities of ambition in a corrupt system, and the Shield seems to be showing something similar while staying around the cops. In particular the rise of David Aceveda; initially the Chief of The Barn(Police Station in Farmington) before steadily making his way to the Mayor's office throughout the rest of the show's run has me wondering if he was ever a well-intentioned but morally doomed Anakin Skwalker figure or if he had designs to be LA's answer to the Emperor all along.

The American Television concept of individual 'seasons' allows for something we in the UK don't have in our homegrown drama so much; a clear sense of departure for each stage of an epic storyline, where at the end of every 13 or 25 or whatever amount of episodes the show and its cast and crew reach a plateau of dramatic pause from which to launch the next phase of an ongoing storyline. Sure, we have 'series' and something to be proud of in 'Dr. Who' and the recently wrapped up 'Life On Mars'/'Ashes to Ashes' programs, but not much comes close to gaining the popularity of say 'Lost','Fringe', 'Damages','Glee' or even the dull and uninspiring 'Desperate Housewives' . i'm sitting here trying to think of something to prove myself wrong, but nothing's coming to mind. 'Sherlock' was great earlier this year, but 3 episodes? Come on, man. 'Skins' started out really well, but I lost interest in the middle of series 2. 'Torchwood' had potential, but a puzzled home audience never really took to the Dr. Who-for-adults premise. Even 'This Is England 86', the best British TV show I can remember that is rumoured to be returning lasted only four episodes and was initially a sequel to a movie.
  Speaking of other mediums, the 'season' mentality has seeped into comics with Grant Morrison considering the first phase of an epic Batman  tale 'Season One' and is currently taking the Batman brand around the world(In the comic), with Bruce Wayne finally admitting to at least bankrolling the caped crusader's fight against crime as the lead in to 'Season Two'. Comics veteran Steve Gerber was working on his '2nd season' of     a creator owned comic when he passed away in 2007. Bigger tales have become  a trend in the movies more these days as well, with franchises like the Harry Potter, Matrix and Underworld(and many more)being conceived of as long tales with smaller internal arcs to propel them forward and enrich the initial narrative, rather than the occasional money maker being cheapened by a hasty sequel.
 Back to my main point:- I don't understand why there is so much reluctance to invest in better and longer stories, especially when the talent is here as proven by the success of things like 'Misfits' or 'Dead Set'; actors such as Tim Roth, Dominic West, and even Hugh Laurie in 'House' seem to do well in these shows. The main UK shows are churned out in 6 to 13 parts per series, except the rubbish soaps which are about 4 times a week and even prime time viewing, unlike the USA where they are mainly afternoon 'story' fodder. Maybe its a cultural thing, the Americans are more willing to believe in fantasy, and we are more likely to watch anything miserable; as long as its dressed up as 'believable'. I don't know, its just an observation.

On the dark side of the cycle

People who don't have depression rarely understand or bother to wonder what it is like to spend a huge chunk of their lives basically wishing they'd never existed. I don't mean that in the sense of embarrassment("I wished the ground would just swallow me up, I was so mortified", etc)or not wanting to face the consequences of something they've done or has been set in motion by someone else; I mean simply wishing that the life they lived had never occurred. Its obvious to me, right now, that my depression is at its low peak because I can't even be bothered to make my sentences grammatically correct, and am even having to force myself to write them in the first place. I can't draw at the moment, because every drawing (faces and bodies, in particular) I do just seems out of proportion to a degree that looks beyond amateurish and entering into insane territory.
  Although there does seem to be one thing that occurs when I reach this place:- new story ideas come thick and fast. Unfortunately not much in the way of little details to help with my first 'big concept' story about the vampire/parasite in the west end of Glasgow, circa 1995. Instead I get loads of little ideas that may or may not become something more substantial in the future. For example, walking along today, I had the idea of a man checking himself into the casualty department asking to get medical help for his driver. As things unfold,  it becomes clear that the guy is under the impression that his 'driver' is actually a wee guy who lives inside his head, pulling levers and pushing buttons, etc, to control the body like in 'The Numbskullls' or in 'Men In Black'. It won't come to anything, I suspect, but it was an idea I had a little fun with it as I walked along. Perhaps it could be 'real' and the story could take off when the surgeon discovers this reality, turning into a kind of modern day Dashiell Hammet, by way of Kafka, noir conspiracy thriller. My point here is that, as fertile as my imagination may be, my depression always seems to find a way to pull me back to earth, even as it gives me the paths to the ideas.
 It feels as though the biggest fantasy I have is of ever actually managing to get somewhere with my life. The days in bed and nights playing consoles or on pissing about on the internet and two week drug/drink binges that run/ruin my libido are as unhealthy as the mutually assured destruction type relationships that i end up in  to escape from depression at least always burn out as quickly as my brain and soul do in the middle of them. All of these things feel like minor symptoms of a much deeper rot in the very core of my being, as though the universe is in perfect agreement with my feeling that I ought never to have been born. I don't know, I guess i just needed to vent and now I've done it. So there. I don't know if I'm happy or sad that I'll likely never give out the URL of this blog! Depression will do that.

Crisis of conscience.

As a dole mole who is attempting to become a comic creator, I need to ask myself if downloading the titles I can't afford is justifiable. Sure, I need to know about the comics I wouldn't normally read but to do so means supporting and participating in a practice most industry figures find loathsome. Is it worth it?
 I spend, on average, twenty five quid a fortnight on my regular, monthly comics and maybe another ten quid on a graphic novel. However, downloading complete runs of certain titles, especially those I have bought in the past and no longer own is very appealing, no matter how many creators blog or tweet that it is stealing and all the rest. They are liable to feel that way in defence of the industry that pays them well, and it is their right to want to protect it. For the most part, I only download what I can't afford, and make sure to keep buying as much as I can afford, as a guilty gesture. I think that someone who only downloads comics has no right to consider themselves a fan, and would have a cheek to enjoy something they are helping to destroy.                                
  However, torrents could, to some extent, be helping keep comics alive in the UK. Independents are pretty rare here, with Forbidden Planet taking up the lion's share of the marketplace and there seems to be no sign of reversal. Who knows, in 15 years the Direct Market could be gone, with all comics released digitally from the creators. Nah, but there are those that would believe that is better for the planet. For my part, I am resigned to the fact that downloading free comics is a gravy train that will have to stop. When it does, I'll be slightly better of for its having existed(In digital comics terms), but will be glad to have the moral dilemma swept under the carpet  for good.

A wee break from my life story!

I started blogging the story of the wildest time of my youth last week, and decided to take a break before my past consumed me. I have since spent a lot of time playing Call of Duty, watching films, and reading the Batman epics-"Bruce Wayne: Murderer/Fugitive", "War Games" and "Under The Hood". The problem with memories is this: They are usually unclear, and to recall everything perfectly takes effort. If you expend that effort, you usually would like something in  return and all straining to remember your own past can offer you is more questions, and the vague satisfaction attained when you recall something pleasing or amusing.
  I want to record the story of my three years DJing in the Free Party scene of the South West at the turn of the Millenium, and I will. No way will I drive myself mad to do so! Fortunately, I am just building an archive at the moment, before giving out the URL of my blog to a lot of people. That is good for now, because I don't feel as though I have started something that I'll need to finish in any kind of timely fashion. Also, I am still very new to the internet and pc's, (even as late as '08, my only access to the web was via my mobile, only accessing it as a source of instant info from the likes of wikipedia) so all of this is basically just an exercise in showing myself whether or not I have an ability as a writer, while I acclimatise myself to the limitations of a new medium.

make the music go back and you hear Satan speakin'.......or how I began to Dj by mistake after years of trying. \\\\\part 2/////

"Now I Lay Me Down" - Rae & Christian

So, there I was, in a strange city with no girlfriend and everyone I knew there was a friend of hers. At least the fucked up chair lying in the downstairs neighbours' flower bed made me glad she hadn't come home, the chair wasn't too valuable but its sentimental value was through the......nah. Anyway, i'd been in her flat for 24 hrs, trips to get alcohol aside, and realised I was looking at the habitat of an organism in metamorphosis, the girl I had known was gone. Books I'd never read & music I'd never listen to were strewn around the room alongside clothes I'd never seen and condoms I'd never wear. For all I knew, she wasn't in the arms of some waiter who'd been after a one night stand and bit off more than he could chew, but was in fact in a pod somewhere waiting to grow wings before emerging as an angel.

Her surprisingly understanding live in landlord then took me to somewhere she thought i might receive a little help, and before lunch I found myself telling a stranger all about my woes for nearly an hour, which I didn't mind because I love to tell one sided of stories of my past. However, after a while longer I noticed the person I was talking to was saying nothing. I had expected to be told where I could say for a few days with only 60 quid to my name, or be given the name of a lawyer in case I faced charges over the destruction of the fruits of Pappy's labour(not to mention the window and the neighbour's prized flowerbeds), but nothing, no input whatsoever. just a smile and the occasional nod. It was then that I realised that the landlord's description of the people  as Samaritans was literal, not a way of saying they were good people and could offer any sort of practical help. Even more dejected, I left to wander the streets for a while with two big bags that I couldn't put down. This being 90's Britain, and me speaking like I might be Irish in a coastal town meant Alert Condition Amber in "Can I leave this bag here for half an hour?" terms. Thank Fuck I'm not Muslim, it must be like that for them all the time.

After a mild panic attack and a quick phone call to my parents to pretend all was well, I remembered the couple who had driven me to Bristol from a Faith Camp my Christian friends had took me to earlier that year. At the time I'd tagged along to get to Peterborough and then hitch-hike on to Bristol to see my girlfriend, then felt obliged to stay on to avoid going to hell for abusing the kindness of God's True People. It was an interesting week, and probably the only such week that year in which I knew I was in safe company and wasn't taking any drugs(apart from a brief stay in hospital to avoid being brought to court and put in remand..........but that's another story.). Anyway, Mike and Theresa had picked me up on the last day and gave me a lift to Bath,where they insisted I stay for lunch before I took a 15 minute bus to Bristol and spent the following fortnight reunited with my Girlfriend. At the time, they had said if I ever need anything I shouldn't hesitate, etc. Thinking "Yeah, but everyone says that" I phoned them and Mike came to drive me over to theirs. As I began to talk, I just burst into tears, telling my story through bubbles of snot and intermittent stuttering/quivering fits. At least that hadn't happened at the Samaritans, I'm sure the awkwardness would have been unbearable. Anyway, I stayed with them for a couple of nights, before finding a bed in a men's hostel in St. Jude's, Bristol. It was pretty grim, but at least I wouldn't be going home with my tail between my legs to face the wrath of a vengeful and petty bunch of middle aged cops and drug dealers. Mike even gave me £40 as he dropped me off at the door. I phoned them a couple of times afterwards, but didn't go to see them because I honestly felt that they had done more than enough for me already, and I never again wanted to think about the circumstances in which I'd had to ask for their help. 

It didn't take long for me to find some work on a building site, and a quick couple of chats with the other agency workers soon taught me how to inflate my hours for the time sheets, leaving me pretty well off at the weekends. I felt a little awkward going out on my own, but the only people I met were people in the Hostel and guys from the site, who were OK, but kept trying to get me to play poker with them on Friday nights, taking my naivety of building site operations as a sign of general innocence that could provide easy pickings. Another night out with guys from the site somehow degenerated into a bizarre(and thankfully fruitless) hunt for homosexuals to batter with baseball bats on Clifton Downs. Despite all that, I did have some good times and soon found a squat along the road where there was constantly someone on the decks, and where I first met Dennis, aka "Easygroove", a legend on the Bristol Underground scene who thought he was real hot shit, despite never getting to the heights of his contemporaries like Grooverider or Roni Size. kind of a mixed bag, he could be gregarious or paranoid, generous or downright selfish and thieving and his personality was reflected in his music:- he was either brilliant or shit depending on his circumstances. He took an instant dislike to me because I said I was into Chicago house, like DJ Sneak, Derrick Carter, Green Velvet and all that crowd, though I did like something from all styles of dance music. He then spent ages droning on about UK Garage and riddim and tekno dread and God knows what all before smoking all of someone else's crack then disappearing in to the night. 

Although it was quite seedy, it was good to be around something familiar. Not having any records, apart from 5 or 6 compilation albums I'd bought, I only messed about on the decks once or twice although I did learn one thing from this. you don't need to know the records you play inside out to do a set, in fact the random factor can add something you could not calculate and it also keeps your attention on the record at all times, or should if you are any kind of DJ. Not having my records was strange, but absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they say. Also, I had a few musical epiphanies that would not have happened if I'd been stuck practising all the time, as I'd been for the past while. Dope Smugglaz were on the essential mix one night, inspiring me to get out loads of the saturday night  mixes I'd taped but never really listened to like DJ Sneak and Derrick Carter(hence my ill fated comment to Easygroove), Deep Dish, DJ Funk and Dave Clarke, Daft Punk(the all time best Essential mix ever) Other things I had on tape like Coldcut "JDJ" and Talking Heads "Speaking in Tongues"(a private joke with myself at the time) became touchstones to what it was all about for me. I listened to them as music for recreation, sure, but also as though they were lessons being directed at me. 

After a month or so, I missed my records more than the girlfriend though I just couldn't bring myself to make the call so I could go and get them, things had ended so crazily that I half expected her to have thrown them away. Eventually, I was at a pub Dj night next to St. Nick's market, Las Iguanas, I think it was called and I got talking to one of the DJs about music and he told me if I wanted I could play, I was welcome to try out. The Ex-Girlfriend's (I don't want to say her name, and making up one feels wrong for a true story) house was only 15 minutes away, so despite the female promoters clear disapproval and claims that they only needed a rare groove DJ for some reason, I set off to get my records.  I phoned the ex to say I was on the way, only to be told that it wasn't the right time and she wasn't ready to see me. I wasn't looking for a reconciliation, I just wanted the records, but as during my explanation I sensed she had already entered high drama mode. Thinking it had to be done eventually anyway, I ploughed on determined. When she didn't answer the door, I simply climbed the drainpipe and went in the window. Of course, that is technically burglary, and therefore a police matter which they didn't hesitate to come and discuss with me in person. "Now here is your records, so you have no reason to go round their again, Young man", the arresting officer said two hours later as I was discharged from Broadmead station. Thinking he couldn't be more right,  I walked back to the hostel convinced I would never catch a break.