An excellent tvgohome update. And I've managed 50,254 words for the
'novel of the month' nanorimo jobbietypething. And hungover. But feeling much less grey and miserable at last.

"Be seeing you"

Rollo.

Vinnie Web II: NewMedia whether you want it or not.

THIS IS NOT THE NEWS

It's just me stating the obvious again. Last night's TV got me thinking: we are all trapped. Even the people who speak louder on TV than the rest of us. Bigger voice, bigger vocabulary, same size brain, same lost look in the eyes. In the limitations defined by our social structures, our ideologies, in our wardrobes, our carefully chosen album and movie collections, our careers, we are trapped.

All ideologies exclude

We dedicate our lives to the accumulation of objects - but they are never, ever enough. We seek to define ourselves in our clothes, our possessions, we look for ourselves on TV and in films, we seek to lose ourselves rather than find ourselves, in consumer society [in music, in stories, movies, food, clothing, drinks, shoes, homes, transport], in product, in choices defined by the system - defined by limited options chosen not by us, but on our behalf, by people living lives entirely removed from ours. They have no idea what we need. No social structure, no career, no movie, no overly intellectual debut novel, no computer game, no uniform, no designer lager, no social network can ever define us - because these things are limited and we are not.

Beneath the pavement... the beach...

The Situationists.


Beneath the beach... the pavement...

Richard Morgan.


Our idols are parodies of humanity: cartoon proportions, cartoon intellects.

I met this girl who's eyes were yellow - the colour of honey. A contagious smile.

We are unlimited, but we are under pressure to conform to limitations,to consume. Our increasing need for new and improved communications tools leaves us forever one step behind the Now... tools that claim to enrich our lives actually exclude those of us who can't afford them, or are simply unaware of them. How can we hope to define ourselves by the things that we own or wish to own?

We are trapped. Even our sexualities, the thoughts in our heads, our bodies, are not our own. Conformity. Conformity to stereotypes. We are constantly misunderstood and misrepresented by the media. When you do see yourself on TV - in a GAP advert, it's time to move on.


"Lovely day... "
"showers later..."

The Prisoner

Our education system provides us with none of the essentials. What about self awareness? What about understanding? Tolerance? There is simply no substitute for self discovery: something which will never be marketed. Something which can never be marketed. The system seems resigned to the fact that are future is already decided. There is no escape. The system is wonderful at [eventually] telling us what is bad for us, but never what is good - because it cannot provide what is good. None of us even have access to clean and water. Competition. Conformity. Our justice system is entirely random.


In western society we have reached a point now where the majority of us have at least an awareness that racism and sexism are totally irrational and WRONG, and yet it is still perfectly acceptable to ridicule someone for their physical appearnace, their IQ, their sexual preference. We are lost.

FREEDOM: FOR A MAN OR A WOMAN


I am a number, I am not a free man.

The news is not the news - it's just rumor, gossip, propaganda, lies. The media which we value so much is essentially propaganda for a slave state. Our fiction offers nothing different - the same politics of slavery, xenophobia and restrictions as our own crushing, hopeless political systems.

HAVE FUN, LIKE A WHORE.

IT IS A FAR, FAR BETTER THING TO BE A WHORE LIKE ME, THAN THE WIFE OF A FASCIST...

The Situationists

It's the easiest thing in the world to mock - cynicism has become the real choice of a generation - because it's easy, because it hides our ignorance. If Coca-Cola could bottle that they'd be twice as big as Jesus. Corporations own more money than entire continents. We are governed by people who are simply not living in the same world as we are. They do not know how we are living. They have no idea what our daily lives are like.

Anything is possible. Anything, despite all of this, is still possible.

The News is not the News - it's just rumor, gossip, propaganda, lies. The Media which we value so much is essentially propaganda for a slave state. Our fiction offers nothing different - the same politics of slavery, xenophobia and restrictions as our own crushing, hopeless political systems.

HAVE FUN, LIKE A WHORE.

IT IS A FAR, FAR BETTER THING TO BE A WHORE LIKE ME, THAN THE WIFE OF A FASCIST...

The Situationists

It's the easiest thing in the world to mock - cynicism has become the real choice of a generation - because it's easy, because it hides our ignorance. If Coca-Cola could bottle that they'd be twice as big as Jesus.

Corporations own more money than entire continents. We are governed by people who are simply not living in the same world as we are. They do not know how we are living. They have no idea what our daily lives are like so how can they help?


SLAVERY: FOR A MAN OR A WOMAN

Look, my trouble is I'm an over-educated urchin. Or so I've been told. I have a Masters Degree. I grew up in a house with an outdoor toilet, no TV, and no bathroom. This was the 1980's. This was the glory of Thatcher's 80's. I did not complete a full week of school during my entire high school education, and I have a masters degree. Up until two years ago, I had never had a a full time job. I was 25. I had a full time job for 18 months. I received 3 months worth of payment from a man who claimed to be the best in the business. My boss pleads poverty and yet he drives a Lexus to work, has a different Rolex for each day of the week, lives in a 200,000 house, dresses like someone my age [dresses like I would if I had the money]. Whatever. I'm 27 and I have not had a stable home for longer than six months since I was 18. I'm a pacifist but I have scars. I scowl. I'm angry. I'm not a very intelligent person but I want to learn. I know that I have so much to learn. Why is that so hard? Anything is possible, nothing is permitted.

Live the moment. Take your freedoms where you find them. Enjoy your freedoms while they last.

Rollo.


Love calls - everywhere and always.
We're sky bound. Are you coming?

Jalaluddin Rumi, Sufi Sage.

And in the cold bulb of day it hardly seems worth the effort.

Rollo

fucked.

Or why not stay up until 4.30 in the morning working on a piece of shockwave art that turns two hours worth of lovingly rendered Photoshop images into the kind of bitmapped bullshit that even an Atari 520 could handle with more care, turns your gorgeously vocodered washes of lush drones into a clicking fucking mess of crossed phone lines, and then takes about four days to stream the first image. Fuck it. Fuck 'Director 8... shockingwaste studio' with its clockwork innards... and then when you give in and accept the fact that your ludicrously over-priced web-space provider won't even let you upload your stinking 'shockwave art' [jesus what the hell am I doing] anyway, because they are fucking useless too.

Oh, and while you are at it, spend the best part of your twenties learning how to do this stuff... and then sit back as the cuckoo clock factory that is 'Shockwave' [it bloody well is shocking] continues to ignore half of the lingo you've issued it with - simple stuff like please pan this tiny little wav file to the left a little bit...

I'm going to sleep now, and when I get up I'm going to take this 'poxy, cyberyuppie's wet-dream G3 PoorBook', I'm going to make the DVD drive eat my toast, and then I'm going to flush the whole thing down the toilet.

Of course, it won't fit down there, but that's going to be part of the fun.

FUn. FuN. FuN. All work and no joy makes Roland from Grangehill want to live in a tree and write in biro, on the back of bus tickets. Commune with nature...

Oh well. Night then.

NO SALESMAN WILL CALL

Good evening... might I offer you a little musical refreshment, in the form of iF's inner-tube? And is that the hoarse voice of Mr Kim? Or perhaps a little HeaTwaVe c/o Stray DoG City...

SoD U ThEn.

And is it me or does the internet seem particularly broken today?

Current Events through the eyespy wordstuffs of Chris 'Blue Jam' Morris: The Smoke Hammer.

Why does your love hurt so much?

Rollo

THIS WEEK I ARE BEEN MOSTLY SLEEPING

I think I've spent the week catching up on all of the sleeping I haven't been doing over the last couple of months. virtually no writing so far. And I've been asked to do a piece on the Liverpool Improv scene by Perfect Sound Forever. And I've been trying to decide if I'm actually ill or not?

I was up until 4 am last night [so I must be getting better!] assembling a comp CD of some of the music I've been knocking up this year. Struck with the thought that the people I'm sending it to might not actually even consider it to be music at all. Always go where you're not wanted, as Mr Lydon always said. And an email from my former employers asking if they can have a copy of some work I did for them, which they turned their nose up at when I handed it in. Oh sweet Karma.

Rollo

YOU'VE WON A PRIZE. OR HAVE YOU?

Beware. For one day that letter is going to place itself on your doorstep, and without thinking, you'll reach down, you'll open it... You'll make tea in the kitchen while you read it, with day-time TV lilting majestically in the background, Richard and Judy, face on, going at it all doggy style for those of you at home...

And it'll be too late. You can't re-seal the envelope. You can't unread the words. And then they're home. And they know. Your eyes give it all away.

Keep very still. We're quite safe here, between floors, as long as you keep very still and don't make a sound. He'll be here any minute. Then he'll find his way in here and he'll start sniffing the air for your perfume. It's not your fault. You weren't to know.

If only there was some way to unkill him.

Rollo Kim: The Salesman

YOUR VOICE IS LIKE AN ISLAND OF SWEETNESS IN A SEA OF TOOTHPASTE

If I put all the fragments together I have just over 50,000 words. Which is kind of a relief. But it all needs editing etc. And it's got to be done because otherwise I'm just going to be churing out stuff I'll never use. I'm also completely skint. So at least I've no distractions.

I thought I'd lost this: "My Grandfather worked for the RAF." Probably the most tragic thing I've seen in years.

The cartoon beauty of the soap stars.

Rollo