I Got The – Labi Siffre
Sometimes I like to just go for a cruise and think about the Dutch way of life. Not sure why. Other times I like to go up to Mulholland Drive and gibbering along on my buddy’s podcast. So here is episode two of that! (Apologies. Horrendous. Ha.)
I do believe my stint as a weather girl is my best input: Hot. Apres that. Ahem. Listen on… Continue Reading »
Black Betty – Ram Jam
So the other day I rode a horse.
Bam-a-lam
Her name was Betty.
Bam-a-lam
And I rode her well.
Bam-a-lam
Great horse.
Bam-A-lam
Very bad ass.
Bam-a-lam
Clippity clop.
Bam-A-lam
Kept stopping for plippity plop.
Bam-BA-lam!
Oh brown Betty, the damn thing was wild. Betty was her actual name too, quite mighty. Bit of a rogue horse as well. One minute we’re just trotting along. Cantering on. Admiring the views. How nice is this? The next, Betty’s bolted. Galloping for dear life. Head rearing up. Naying like a dancer! Continue Reading »
Always On The Run – Yuksek
Last night. Out for dinner. Cecconis. Savage. Banter flowing. Gibbering on about pinned on pony tails popping off or something. Waiter comes to take our order. Time for me to make two calls. First one, mighty: Octopus. Unreal. If ever you go, order the octopus. Betsy. Then, not so mighty: Ordered an espresso martini. DJing all day. Needed a kick. Oh, these are unreal. Have another one? One more? One for the road maybe? And so on. Filling me to the brim with caffeine. Keeping me buzzed all night. Lying in bed. No hope of sleeping. Staring at the ceiling. Goats? Tweaking. Espresso and martini racing through my body. Some. Hoot.
As a result, I got about four wonderfully horrendous hours of sleep. Leaving me depleted today. Walked some errands. Forgot to go to the gym. Ate some food. Non-existant day of writing. Dose. Tut. Need to do something. I know… Why not gibber out my new old idea? You know… Start shooting scenes and the likes once I finish writing this wonderful sequel which you are so eagerly awaiting! Ahem. Get back on the horse. Jump in. How bad could it be?! Ha. Well. Pretty bad, is the answer there I do believe. (Still trying to figure out my hand situation?) Productive day! Short Short Feature Length Short Filum all the way. Oscar. On!!!
Rum’N’ Cocaah Cola – Tim Tim
Personal Jesus – Depeche Mode
Quite clearly you do not want to hear what’s it been like down the writing well this week. How one kind of goes slightly mental down there. In my defence, I am spending a lot of time with myself. In my head. Alone. Me and Irene. Cackling away. My gibber can be hard to handle at times. Imagine when it’s all the time? Dose.
Also, I am quite sure you do not want to hear about a few slick DJigs this week. Pool parties. Rooftops. Savage spots. Fun all round. Giddy up that green honey. Here is a tremendous photo encapsulating how tough DJigging can be at times… Continue Reading »
Short film of Randumb book whuring at the LA Book Festival. Mighty dancing. Imagine: This went on for hours! Amazing. Filum on!
P.S Apparently you can call anything a short film these days.
I’m Shipping Up to Boston – Dropkick Murphys
Blogaruu, she’s been a while! My bad for the delay. Quite busy with vital stuff. Such as realising that I might be a fairy (apparently fairies can only handle or feel one emotion at a time. I am a full on fairy. Call me Tinker). And speaking of menstrual cycles… So back in the day, whenever a girl complained to me about cramps, I would complain back about people who complain a lot. Until I realised I actually can empathise. I too get man periods. Once a month. Every month. Rent cramps kick in. So now, I feel their pain. Similarly, whenever a girl complained about the thought of giving birth, I would shrug my shoulders and mention never having to deal with the pain of getting a kick in the fuss-balls. Until for some reason I thought about it like this: Imagine a little person exiting through the back door of your gift shop. If you know what I mean. I don’t think guys can fathom anything leaving through the front door, what with us not having one and all. But the back door seems to make it imaginable. Imagine that pain. Ripping. Tearing. Uncooperative. Sweet. Holy. Jesus. Must be ridiculous. Even thinking of it now is making my sphincter scream and squirm. So now I kind of understand the terror girls must have. Even worse, imagine if after all that, the child was to turn out like someone like the person writing this? For all that pain?! Dose. Apologies, Mum. Continue Reading »
Enough Talk, More Writing! 