D.O.L.C.E Update: An Australian List…….?

Ok, I have been living in australia for over a year now and upon reading the latest copy of the DOLCE (found here: https://digitalcrab.wordpress.com/the-d-o-l-c-e-2011/) I realised that it is very anglocentric, and could only be fully appreciated if you are english, have an interest in shitty game shows and grew up in the eighties.

therefore I am opening things up for some Antipodean entries and will be updating it myself with my own observations, but feel free to let me know any that you guys think should be added. You already have a few entries in Steve ‘they got me in the end, the little blighters’ Irwin, and Dannii ‘they finally found a use for me’ minogue so there’s some ideas to get you going.

Here are my first selections of the cream of Australia’s fuckwits:

1.Tony Abbott

2. Paul Hogan

3.Julia Gillard

4.Eddy Maguire

5.Brett Lee

6.Brendon Favola

7.That crime boss that got his head caved in

8.Bev Marks (racist sofa’s)

9. Pauline Hansen (just racist)

10.Nick Maxwell (collingwood captain and bogan)

and on that note i pass the torch to your fine selves…..more from my adventure in the land of the upside down panda moon very soon!


The Infamous Hat Manifesto

Or: Hats and the people they wear

There is a an old proverb that states: The Eyes Are the Window To the Soul.

I believe this is true, a person’s eyes can have a depth that makes you feel like you are staring much further into a person’s psyche, and are often the one thing that gives a way a persons true meaning.

But perhaps it should be: The Eyes Are A Window To the Soul.

As i believe there are many other’s. Many other facet’s of a person’s being that can give away so much of their personality at just a glance.

One of them, the most sinister and evil one is the wearing of a hat.

A hat can be merely functional, a wooly hat in winter to warm the head, a beseball cap in summer to shield the eyes from the sun.

But the reality is that this constitutes perhaps 6-7% of the hat-wearing public……what of the remainder?

I shall tell you. If eyes are the window to the soul, and the way to man’s heart is his stomach…..then the hat is a window to a person’s pretension.

That is the nut of my manifesto. In the wearing and choice of hat you can tell everything about a person’s snobbish, arrogant side and an idea of how they feel about or perceive themselves.

A hat in a nightclub, worn by anyone other than a DJ or performer is a no no, they wear their hats as they have a commercial image to uphold and their appearance is a saleable commodity. Yours is not. you might as well be wearing sunglasses in a cinema because its “part of your look”

If you have a conscious look then you have no soul, and therefore your eyes are worthless and should be taken away from you.

If you wear a trilby, pork pie hat, or any other adornment of the head** then you are trying to communicate something, about how you want to be viewed, too loudly. If you have an idea of how you want to be viewed then this can be achieved through normal fashion choices. You do not need to go into a church and scream ‘I”M A CATHOLIC” for people to know that. Have faith that if people speak to you then your values, principles and belief set will come out through your words and attitude to life.

If you are trying too hard, the people who’s opinion and approval you crave will look upon you and say “he tries too hard, and it does not become him”. You will look desperate and craven and your insecurity will be there, arranged in a circle of fabric, right on your head. No one will fail to get the message. In your needy pursuit of social acceptance, you will attract nobody but the most shallow and vacuous and your lot will be eternally comparing headwear in high-end fashion boutiques. You will forget why you started wearing a hat and will instead become addicted to the false sense or courage and accomplishment it bestowed upon you the first time you walked out of the house. The subconsious guilt you ignored will disappear and you will cease to be a real person, and will become nothing but a screaming fashion banshee who squeals when someone wears a 18th century British Admiral tricorner hat to a gallery opening. And you will find yourself in a boutique somewhere, a week later asking the assistant where you can get one of them, firmly believing that you came up with the idea under your own volition. You will disappear like smoke from the annals of history as another victim of the most modern form of slavery…..Fashion.

**Beanies in general are an exception here, as they have a message but a very differing one. they tend to say ‘don’t look at me’ and are worn by the eternal introvert who forever searches for another way not to be seen, but in a cool way.

*Disclaimer* This manifesto does not say that all hats are wrong. Quite the contrary, a well chosen hat can be a delight. This manifesto deals with the hats and their wearers that are extraneous, unnecessary and immediately catch the eye as something that should not be there, much like a seeing a polar bear at a conference for modern sales tenchiques.

oh and one more thing…..

I am no longer using the qualifying argument, when I call amy winehouse an absolute crack-ridden fuckwhore from hell, that “she has got a good voice i’m not denying that”.

My auntie’s got a good fucking kareoke voice but she doesnt get international acclaim for injecting ketamin laced with her husbands cockglands into her eyeballs and then vomiting on stage to a pre-recorded version of her album.


Year Of The Meathole

So I want to emigrate.

Why you ask? This country has its problems but its better than a lot of other places. We’ve got clean running water, a fully functional national grid, a multi-pronged media structure thats allows us to pick up the news, depending on our broadband connection within minutes if not hours, we have a good healthcare system, hell we even have a state medical system.

We have tv, internet, dvd, cinema, blog, live stream et al and a thriving music industry to sustain us should we get bored with the fully functioning society we have developed.

We have attractive men and women, with expendable income, everywhere so there is a thriving atmosphere of hedonism and decadence as we feel safer and safer in this beautifully designed cocoon-bubble we call society.

In fact it all sounds so good that we are almost harking back to the days of the height of the roman empire, with fattened emperors lying on golden cushioned accubita, whilst servant girls fed them grapes dripping with honey. And I bet those emperors couldnt log on to a live webcam at 4 in the morning to watch a slovakian girl shit on her sisters chest at gunpoint while two guys dressed as wizards fuck each other on the balcony.

So surely that kind of moralisitic freedom should be a triumph? We have come through the other side of hundreds of wars, some of them on such a scale that a tidal wave or earthquake couldnt come close to killing as many as some individuals have done. We have come through the bloodied formation of hundreds of societies, each one a learning curve for the next until we have reached something resembling perfection merely because all its mistakes will be new ones that we just dont know about yet.

We have come through various minorities struggles to be recognised by the rulemakers, women, slaves, homosexuals, miners, disabled people, postmen, transexuals, rednecks, stupid people to the point where we can no longer treat these people differently just for being one of the aforementioned DIFFERENT people.

We have had triumphs and discoveries and achievements on such a scale that we have learnt about and mastered some of the biggest mysteries in the known world.

To summarise…… we have reached what should be a pantheon of the civilised world……a place where we can all toast the success to which everyone has contributed.

But stop I hear you say, life, nay society, does not work that way. for every person that may toast the victories of peoplekind there will always be a hundred workers who put them there.

All true.

My point is that this metaphysical plateau of eastenders-watching comfort we have reached is just that, it is an intangible, uncomprehendable concept for most people.

When some stupid mindless fuckwit of a person sits down with a glass of wine to watch eastenders/big brother/The apprentice/CSI/time team/friends (delete as appropriate to the delusion you indulge) they DON’T THINK ANY OF THAT.

When some braindead little, slack-jawed chav smirks at you on a fucking train are they the product of comfort????? are they a product of a successful civilisation?

Everyday I am surrounded by things called “people” that I look at and think: “an aneurysm is too good for you, an articulated lorry ploughing into you and your fucking rottweiler and spreading your Benson & Hedges & Magners ridden insides all over the fucking street is too fucking quick, cancer is too fucking associated with sympathy for it to be a fitting end for such an amoral, twisted example of cock-sputum as you, you jewelwry-wearing, topman shopping, RNb listening shitcunt”

This plateau of fucking comfort has done nothing in my eye’s except for make it possible for every single one of these shitheads, who 200 years ago would have been shovelling shit into a furnace and dying at 23 from an inhalation related illness or severe VD from fucking too many of their gonorrhoea ridden sisters, to procreate, succeed and proliferate to the point where they are in positions of decision-making and power. they are now the ones sculpting society and choosing its potential directions and priorities.

Is it any FUCKING wonder then that the world is such a shockingly horrible place to live? We are letting this inbred moronic underclass, not only dictate what society, eats, breathes, watches and worships, but also be celebrated for what they are doing.

We live in the age of the post-modern scumbag.

The day I get shot by a young black gang member in Leytonstone, and he is standing over my corpse laughing with his cronies at the irony because I was wearing a stab-proof vest will be the day I come back as a being of pure energy, drawing on all the resentment, fear and insecurity created by these fucking scum, until I can coil out a massive thousand kilometre long ‘spirit-turd’ out of my mystical shitbox and wipe all these sycophantic, nepotisitic steaming shitpiles of the face of the earth so there is nothing fucking left and the only people left on the earth in nothing but rags will be 7 indian children, 4871 nuns of varying faiths, 37,961 genuine, well-meaning people of various ages and nationalities, 14 dogs, all remaining dolphins and switzerland.

And they will be the only people out of the almost 7 billion people on earth, that actually have done no harm to anyone else and live a genuine life. I will not even survive for all of this vitriolic hatred I have spewed forth into the world. You certainly fucking wont because you will have laughed collaboratively at some part of this post…..

And the ultimate irony? is that after I have unleashed this massive tidal shitwave of the worlds pent up fear in the form of an energy-based slop out of cataclysmic levels, those remaining people will make every single mistake again.

So there is little answer to the problem i see, there is also no end. nor is there beginning. nor is there sense or logic.

There is simply time. loads of time for us to just cunt it all up. and for me to get angry at Amy Fucking Winhouse. Man she’s a cunt.

I’m going to go and tug out a magic lazy one in the staff toilets as all this talk of deathwaves of shit clearing the earth of every one of those cunts has got my juices flowing. not a sovereign ring or st george’s flag in sight.

I hope this made you think. it made me cry because there is nothing I can do. Schopenhauer can fuck off about the futility of life, at least in life you can actively hate these wankers. Its the futility of death that fucking gets my goat cos once you’re dead and assuming there is any kind of afterlife, you get to watch all this toss pan out and then start again.

Right, I’m back to work to earn money to live comfortably enough so that i can care about this stuff in the first place.

ok its been a while…..

the title says it all really. I’d love to say its because of an hiatus or that i’d been politically exiled by the current ruling junta, due to my popularity and consequent political power…..but the fact is I have just been a lazy cunt.

While my apathy was at legendary levels previously (see earlier posts for evidence), it was still enough to drive my ragebone enough to vent my turgid spleen via various mediums including this pseudo-matic interface I call an ablog. (that is a shortening of anti-blog, but I have pre-empted all the cunty mediatypes coming up with a trendy punctuation/abbreviation/nickname by doing it myself. so fuck you. i dont want it to catch on)

However my rage has basically forced me into almost complete Apathoplexic Indifferentia (AI), a condition so severe that it reduces the sufferer into an almost complete state of social paralysis.

I have been having to treat this condition with a mixture of alcohol, cannabis addiction, social isolation, and 3rd-stage developmental paranoia. I have also punished myself by developing a mild deficiency in my right eye’s motor function, and by also financially, & some would argue physically, crippling myself by feeding an addiction to the modern wonder-drug for the poor that is fast food. This also allows me to supplement the unnaturally high levels of self-loathing associated with AI, should they drop for any reason (i got a decent job, girlfriend etc), as I can then hate myself for continuing to sustain the corporate vagina that is the fast food industry, which peddles re-constituted pigeon cocks to the poor, ignorant and lonely.

So thats the excuses out of the way.

Now on to the post.

Here are some thoughts on China and more, from my trip there in 2006, and it is an insight into what a 20 hour train journey through the chinese countryside, with no sleep and nothing but a card game with 3 non-english-speaking-underpant-wearing-chinese-engineers as respite can do to you…….

China, the dark ages & the bastard that is linear time……..

As the train pulls slowly out of Beijing and the red sun blazes over the horizon lighting the hutong, the trainyards and the industrial wasteland that is Mao’s legacy, my thoughts, (which at lucid moments like these usually return to home), feel transported to this strange fairytale land of storytelling and honour, where history, whether it is completely factual or not, has created a wonderful heritage of romantic pride coupled with dramatic hyperbole and rich texture.

The slow melodious muzak being piped through the loudspeaker in my cabin, summons this invigorating feeling of journey and purpose, much like the fables of Aesop; A mysticality fused with honesty and meaning which our western moral fairytales , overworked & undermined, now lack.

Our cultures may differ greatly and our histories may be out of synch in terms of industrial, technological and sociological development (for china is an old world, which has been asked to discard the old for the new in a matter of decades, a process that took the west centuries), but the people seem to believe in the same thing.

You can see it in the eyes of all the women, and the loss of it in the eyes of men. It has many names, several of which we have forgotten back in the UK.

Call it love, hope, call it the belief in beauty.

This place has had a history that has had as much bloodshed, greed, betrayal and corruption as any other, but the repressive and isolationist approaches of the leaders has meant that so much of that history has been enforced, destroyed or embellished to the point where even its own people do not know anything past their personal, regionalised physical realities, even though it is the distilled, universally accepted versions of national identity that are the major trade in modern politics & sociology.

In the west we have a belief in an ideal, but that ideal has been sullied, tarnished, altered, bastardised, raped, sodomised, crucified and dragged face down through the mud until its people, its subjects (never its leaders, for time is a ruler of men too) no longer respect or recognise it for what it is.

Like a soured marriage, the two parties look at each other and all they can see is the shared intertwined past, the history of the abuse and it fuels the guilt and the anger until the rage consumes the last of the light like a veil. The love is till there, but is pale and ghost like, a familiar face that is withered and aged.

We cannot grasp that our history is as arbitrary as any culture or race. The way the western civilisations have conquered and undermined the eastern and 3rd World cultures, not just miltarily, but in every sense, is a criminal act that is judged and answerable to noone……a war criminal that never comes to trial or spends his last few years moving from hotel to hotel, from hearing to hearing, ending his days in a plush hotel airport, waiting to be extradited at the age of 82, when the fear and respect he once garnered is replaced with pity and a skewed sympathy…….a serial murderer or child rapist that is never discovered and continues to live his life freely, revelling daily in the abuse he has inflicted and is free to inflict again should he wish.

An injustice of the eternal, infinite kind.

If you follow the adage: “who will police the police” to the extreme, if the people responsible for the fate of human beings start to abuse that power, not jst at their enemies expense but at their races expense…even at their own species expense, the question hangs in the air like a thick all-enveloping blanket of polluted air:

“who are we ultimately answerable to?”

GOD? ……..no.

God as a belief system I understand. I see what it gives to people and I am jealous of that. It gives people structure & understanding with which they can interpret life on their own terms, whether you or I agree with it or not.

But know what God is….God is not a reality, it is an unreality created in the name of hope. For want of a better phrase, it is a security blanket/a crutch. Like the soft reassuring words from father to son in an impossible and inevitably fatal and finite situation; the father does not give his child the harsh reality of the true outcome. He provides a utopian fairytale of happy endings, last minute rescues and the eventual return to safe familiarity…..

“It’ll be alright son……”

THAT is god, in those four words right there, the feeling that is captured in those simple symbols. And if that is true, who can we truly look to? The answer is as old as the the question itself, but an answer that provides no rational solution:


If we are to look within for validation of a seemingly unalterable situation, how can the validation be acted on if found?

Put in simpler terms, if we have to look to ourselves for a way to act or to be, how can we influence a world where thousands of millions of others have been taught NOT to look at themselves?

The George Bush’s & Mao Zedongs (yes they are one and the same) of this world do not know that what they are doing is wrong, and in essence it isnt, for they are following the logical progression of history that one man alone cannot stand against..

If it comes down solely to personal responsibility, the outcome of the fate of human beings will be no different, as for every person that takes charge of their own consciousness, there will be scores of others who do not.

The question is not about rebellion or a mass rising against the powers that be, but of a realisation of emotional honesty. How can we learn to be honest when lying, deception and trickeryhas made us what we are today. Deceit will always carry the stigma of negativity and sin, but if it is used in the name of good, it IS a good thing.

When Scott’s colleague, Captain Oates, said the words: “i’m going out for a walk, i may be some time”, he confirmed a world where lying is not always wrong. It can be as noble and virtuous as it can be destructive and damaging, despite its connotations and historical baggage.

Our lives are punctuated with lying in the name of good; so total and unmitigating honesty is not only unachievable, it is unnecessary.

Therefore, if emotional honesty and accountability are our goal, but total emotional honesty except with ourselves and our internal dialogue, is impossible and also undesirable…..how can we unravel the layers upon layers of our history to find a solution that is not only feasible but is realistic and plausible as well.

Do we go out into the street and start protesting?

No, because the people that as their belief system and life choice/solution are as blinkered to the real problem as the devout christian minister of the xenophobic redneck.

They are defining themselves by putting themselves in deference to their opposites, or what they perceive as their opposites, the problem.

But to do this compounds the problem itself, as not only does it distract themselves from the true problem at hand , it also gives credence to the Bush’s & Mao’s, whilst also crystallizing further their existence in the first place.

If these “reactionaries” (in the true sense of the word) are not able to find the answer through their politics and fighting. What route then, can the normal person, who has come to this conclusion, independently take?

I wonder where we go now, as I imagine the people that sat in their bedrooms or on late night trains, ten years ago, twenty years ago….were the eighties not as bleak as this? wer there not periods where thousands of people felt paralysed by the crushing weight of history on them?

Are these feelings irrational, and if so, why is it irrational to question the rationality of life?

[At this point the author went for a walk to clarify his thoughts, only to get locked into a loud card game with some chinese engineers, that involved a lot of shouting, unfortunately these thoughts were never concluded much like the animated Ralph Bakshi version of Lord Of The Rings…….it may be concluded one day]

The Camden Crawl Tapes….Pt 2


Ok Thursday night….about 6pm….first band and kick off at the Koko, overpriced drinks (£4 for a can of kronenbourg) set the mood for what will be a Idiot Exploit-a-thon, fuled by Carling, NME and the like.

We start with ‘Dogs’, and we puzzle over the interest-piqueing moniker until the band come on stage and the lead singer has a Southend United scarf hanging limply round his neck like many fringes we will see over the next day and a half.

From this we surmise the name must relate in some way to the isle of dogs, which leaves me extremely underwhelmed. They launch into their first ‘arctic-monkeys’ inspired riffs of bubbling basslines and rolling drums and what is essentially some MOR provincial power pop referencing self-hatred and escape from a bleak hometown. common fayre for many a modern band as they try and express their apathy through song.

However the bands get-up further proves that indie hair-pop has reached the suburbs and all they are really singing about is the fact that they weren’t born near camden.

[Here my notes become less extensive, but perhaps more intuitive so I will transfer them verbatim]

excellent riffs (monkeys again?) / escape from suburban circles (what a wanker) [I’m not sure what i mean here……]

Decent band singing about the isolation of a deserted essex town

koko drinks…remember to expose! ridiculous prices…………..

Man with big head……coconut shy……


well thats the second nugget, the third to come tomorrow. And with the frenetic pace that music seems to evolve at nowadays I think that this report, albeit over a year late, gives an intrigueing insight into the heart of NME-led mainstream music fans.

Tune in tomorrow for LOUIE!

The Camden Crawl Tapes……Pt 1

Yes its here….In April 2006 I embarked on an ill-advised sojourn into Idiot-Central for the Camden Crawl festival. A wristband-led event covering 40 odd venues over the camden/chalk farm area.

Re-ignitied in the early noughties as someone saw all the untapped idiot-potential for cash money walking up and down the high street each day trying to catch a glimpse of Doherty, Zane and their ilk.

here, unedited, are my thoughts and commentary, band-by-band, on the event transcribed from my ‘Tablet Refill Dataday No. 3 pad’ purchased from a newagaent that very day. You don’t get more authentic than that.

Fully made up in my own idiot armour I made for the Buck’s Head to meet Joey and Kev. Bumped into a drunken fool by the name of Dave, a former associate from University and well-known beer monster and ‘if-its-indie-I-love-it’ type with his standard surplus army jacket and mod haircvt attached. Agreed to meet up later to see the Fratellis. I’m not going to see the fratellis’

‘There’s too much styled hair around here. Everyone’s got it to spare. they should make these wigs with ready made outfits as well. I don’t fit in cos I don’t have skinny ankles. Fascists.’

Part 2 tomorrow! including the first band!