Friday, 29 April 2011

Art Ensemble Of Chicago

Hey, remember '96? The wild frontier days of the World Wide Web? Websites that were just a bunch of text? Maybe a few animated GIFs of flames and a dancing baby? Add an interactive element with a guest book! 0006 people have visited this page since June 24 1995! Join a webring! Here are some haikus about processed meat! Here is a teenage goth's erotic poetry! Here are some pictures of a 1980s TV star saying things like: "Mmm, those balls sure were tasty!"

Remember Six Degrees Of Art Ensemble Of Chicago?

Example: Link Art Ensemble Of Chicago with Craig Venter

Art Ensemble Of Chicago was fronted by...
1 Lester Bowie, who played trumpet on the 1993 LP Black Tie White Noise by...
2 David Bowie, who played Trigger in a 1987 episode of Only Fools And Horses, which starred ...
3 Buster Keaton, who in 2001 accidentally spent two weeks in Wormwood Scrubs. His cellmate was...
4 Trevor Miles from Oui 3, who played the upsetting bent Christhorn on the 1993 LP Black Tie White Noise by...
5 David Bowie, who was built in 1983 by...
6 Craig Venter!

I used the full six steps there for my example, but you may have noticed that the link could've been made in less than six steps:

Art Ensemble Of Chicago was fronted by...
1 Lester Bowie, who played trumpet on the 1993 LP Black Tie White Noise by...
2 David Bowie, who played Trigger in a 1987 episode of Only Fools And Horses, in which Del Boy performs a drunken soliloquy about the wonder of human evolution, leading him to conclude that God is indeed dead, or at least has made himself redundant, since it is clear that the very building blocks of life are right here on earth, all around us, and within (but was this part of God's plan, to step back from the coalface, as it were, and entrust the creation of life to life itself? Or an unforeseen consequence of mankind's elevation? Could it be that God - or however you frame the universal will to existence - is far from omnipotent, having overreached itself, displaying perhaps the hubris even of its frail children, rashly bringing about its own obsolescence? Or is it a test of faith? Is it, in fact, mankind which has overreached itself, tasted - one might say - of the forbidden fruit? Del's search for answers became the overarching theme of subsequent series, made explicit with his catchphrase: "this time next year, Rodders, we'll have established, once and for all, whether there is meaning in existence!" But of course, it was not to be, as, episode after episode, fate conspired to frustrate our hero's curiosity in ever more (tragi)comic ways. Only in the final episode, broadcast in 2003, did Del Boy finally admit defeat. The moment of realisation - as the hapless brothers walk together along the windswept Morecambe seafront before an autumn sunset, the penny not so much dropping as floating like a feather to the ground, gradual as the fading of the British seaside, and the descent of the weak November sun, which melts into the sea as Del turns to Rodney with a wistful smile and says, quite simply: "I know I'll never find it, bruv" - that moment is surely the most poignant in the history of British comedy). The 1987 episode inspired in one viewer an enduring fascination with the mysteries of the human genome. That viewer was...
3 Craig Venter!

Try it yourself at home yourself.

Friday, 22 April 2011

Sofia Coppola

Today is Nuptials Day in the province, on which all of the region's betrothed gather at the highest point of our beautiful land that they shall be wed. A marriage conducted on Nuptials Day is recognised by most gods.

The real excitement, however, is at the climax of the event, when young bachelors from the length and breadth of the province compete for the hand of Sofia Coppola. Only one man will ever win this honour. All others are devoured.

For many years I have prepared for the contest, and this year - finally - I have decided to enter. To win Sofia Coppola's heart, I have written her a poem. As I read it to her, I shall channel my family's god - Fred Dryer out of Hunter - for courage.

Song For Sofia Coppola
by Ock

Sofia Coppola,
Sofia Coppola,
O, Sofia Coppola,

You have captured my feelings.
I long for the day that you
Press your flesh to mine
In complicated, sweaty shapes.

Other men are weak,
But you will see that I am not.
In my leathery, hairy palms,
A fence-post becomes as straw.

Our children will be mighty,
For my immune system is strong.
I have successfully fought off
Many, many infections.

You are, unfortunately, a powerful woman,
But upon transfer of ownership,
I shall conquer and subjugate you.
This is a woman's desire.

Now you shall render unto me
That which is my right.
And I shall undertake my night-creepings
Safe in the knowledge that one who would resist

Is already captive,
Bound and broken,
In my heart,
And in my cellar.

I hope that by the time you read this, my friends, I will be the king of Sofia Coppola's heart.

1979 ~ 2011

Friday, 15 April 2011

Allen Ginsberg

Diamonds Don't Wear Broads
A Bill Lee Mystery


We get to Sal Paradise's building just after six, that's Carlo Marx, Dean Moriarty and me.

"You got the stuff?" I'm asking Moriarty.

"Yeah, I got it," says Moriarty, opening his hands. There it all is, plain as a dolphin on a motorcycle - one needle, a tube of extra-strength glue and a heap of dogshit.

Marx giggles: "Man, this is gonna be such a great prank!"

"Cool it, baby. If Paradise hears us, this thing's gonna be blown wide open. Okay, Moriarty, you're up."

Moriarty creeps up to Paradise's front door, glues the needle to the handle. But before he can do anything else - disaster! Who's that at the end of the hall? You guessed it - Paradise, with two bags of groceries.

I'm nervous. Last time we were caught doing this - on Jimmy "Tonsils" Kowalski - it ended bad. Real bad. Kowalski had opened his door to find Moriarty doing his bit on the handle. Poor guy burst into tears and slammed the door shut. His mom wouldn't let him play with us for two weeks. When he showed up on the scene again, he was a changed man - pale, thin, real quiet. Last I heard, he'd pulled the Dutch act on a bridge in Denver.

"Hey, guys!" says Paradise. "Great to see you!"

Marx loses it, starts shaking Paradise by the shoulders: "Jesus God, man! Jesus God!" Paradise looks confused.

I run over and grab Marx: "Marx, damn you! Not cool, man! Not cool."

"What's with you, Lee?" says Marx, cooling off a little. "Why not?"

"Shouting and screaming, taking the Lord's name in vain - that is not how the Lower East Side Superfriends do things, Marx, and you know it. Don't you remember the song..?"

Friday, 8 April 2011


Go through the Bible and replace each letter 'g' with 'ki', the letter 'o' with 'd6' and 'd' with '06'.

Where's your God now?

Friday, 1 April 2011

Kate Bush

A-Z of Trees
with Kate Bush


The ash is alright, but it's a bit fucking up its own arse. Don't get me wrong, it'd help you out if you had a problem. But if you just saw it in, like, the fucking Arndale or something, it'd probably pretend it never fucking seen you, do you know what I mean?


The beech is a right miserable cunt. You'll all be sitting round having a laugh, right. Beech starts up, fucking brings everyone right down. Moan moan moan, all fucking day. Fucking does your head in, don't know what its fucking problem is.


It might smell like a ponce, but the cedar is fucking rock-hard. Did you not hear about when it fucking decked them three bouncers outside Monroe's? Fucking glassed the first one, cracked the other in the fucking nose before he fucking knew what was going on. Third one got one in, and then they was fucking wrestling on the ground for a bit, right, but the cedar got him in the bollocks and then stamped on his fucking head a few times. Then it come back in a fucking car and fucking reversed over them!


Yeah, fuck the elm off, it's a cunt.


The fucking holly is a lying twat. Told me fella it saw me getting off with Nod in the Cav, but I never fucking done it. Fucking wouldn't touch that ugly cunt with a bargepole. Anyway, it was that Kenny.








Oh no soz no, the Sycamore's alright, to be fair.


Aw, the yew's fucking sound, fucking right laugh, I'm telling you. Have I told you about when it fucking peppered-sprayed Spencer? Still can't fucking see properly out his left eye! Daft cunt.