Xhous' dB

Not given a title on the 22nd

2012-01-22T00:13:00.000Z

A test.

Ha, or?

oh...

sorry cian

2009-10-21T16:27:00.001+01:00

headline fail.

2009-10-20T16:54:00.004+01:00

Step 1. Pretend to be gay. If you are already gay, pretend to be gay.

Step 2. Read the title of this Irish Times article.

Step 3. Feel alienated.

Galway

2009-10-20T16:49:00.002+01:00

Yes, I am in Galway. Might post more things soon. What say you internets? Is it time for some more senseless posts about nothing-or-other?

It might be y'know.

Vote Yes

2008-06-11T02:31:00.002+01:00

Holy self-centred and utterly spurious CNN news report, Batman!

I changed it, lol

2008-01-23T17:16:00.000Z

It's now this

I want the fixed bridge version, in the 2-Tone Sunburst finish plzkthx.

my new guitar

2008-01-18T12:23:00.000Z

what sayeth you?

back in business...

2008-01-10T01:09:00.001Z

Waiter, this is what I ordered. Thank You.

cannot wait...

2008-01-02T03:35:00.000Z

New pictures released by Interpol...

2007-12-06T14:59:00.000Z

New pictures released today by Interpol accurately depict the shameful acts that are going on in part of Southeast Asia and China.

If you know who these individuals are, or if you have the 1337 sk177z to use Photoshop, please contact authorities immediately for great justice.

what.

2007-11-29T16:49:00.000Z

what is this.

*Gackt may also contain over 9000% win mass (Another S.K.I.N plug)

2007-10-17T14:45:00.000+01:00

Gackt - The Last Song:

Gackt - Lust for Blood

Miyavi - Selfish Love

Yoshiki - Drum Solo at Last Live, X-Japan's last concert

Klaha is made of win!

2007-10-05T12:31:00.001+01:00

aw yeah!

That last shot of him against the rose window with petals floating down is fantastic.

My Day 1

2007-09-24T12:25:00.000+01:00

Aw yeah!

check out my phoetoes!

2007-09-23T20:22:00.000+01:00

check out my phoetoes!

Alosha+Eoin=SRS BZNZ!

2007-09-23T02:36:00.000+01:00

lol!

S.K.I.N.

2007-09-18T15:07:00.000+01:00

Information at this point is scant at best, but it looks like Yoshiki, drummer/pianist/composer/co-former of X-Japan has announced that he, Gackt (Malice Mizer), Sugizo (Luna Sea), and Miyavi (Due le Quartz) have banded together to form S.K.I.N.

Announcement:

Photo Shoot:

First Performance at EXPO AX 2007:

I'm anticipating this one. They look hot. The crowd certainly thought so. I can't believe Yoshiki is 41! This should have happened as soon as X broke up.

want

2007-09-15T01:15:00.000+01:00

What have I been doing all my life? I should have been doing this:

was denken sie...

2007-09-05T14:54:00.001+01:00

...uber mein neues t-shirt?

Diarmuid Ferriter is doing it wrong...

2007-09-05T13:56:00.000+01:00

Anyone see the opinion section of the Examiner today?

Ferriter writes a ridiculous article suggesting that western democracies (and other proper countries) should boycott the Beijing Olympics based on the notion that China is run by murderous dictators. Likening the situation to that of the Berlin Olympics of 1936 (rofl), he believes that should we allow the Olympic Games to proceed unobstructed, the economic windfall, social benefits and global recognition of achievement would not serve the country itself, but rather the dictators (names apparently unimportant) who do bad things such as not submitting the country for democratic election. This is plainly false. There are no open elections, but within the 70 million strong party there is a congress held every five years to elect the Central Committee. This is an intra-party democracy. The article is also littered with annoying sarcasm in the form of: "Compulsory abortion, but who won the javelin?"

What.

I challenge anyone to name the dictator of China.

war never changes.

2007-09-04T20:16:00.000+01:00

While we're on the subject of vidjo gamez, allow me to imform teh woeld about Fallout 3, a game which (judging from it's predecessors) actually attempts to cut itself a distinctive niche in terms of style. Pipboys, monochrome 30's records played in a post-Jetsons nuclear fallout, kama-sutra masters producing called shots which castrate opposing thugs, Lieutenant Worf as a mutant, pimping your hick wife to feed your heroin addiction. The list goes on and becomes even more endearing to the series. I'm looking forward to this.

Napoli demolish Udinese...

2007-09-04T20:09:00.000+01:00

lol wut!

2007-08-31T08:17:00.000+01:00

Ahhh yesss...

2007-08-22T23:11:00.000+01:00

That's the good stuff...

I did it for the lulz.

2007-08-14T13:21:00.000+01:00

there, ok?

'A pig-like, charlatanical old man.'

2007-08-10T14:50:00.000+01:00

Also:

Maniacal All Hog
Glacial Anal Ohm
Aloha Calling Ma
Llama China Gaol

And most notably:

Anal Logical Ham
Anal Magic Hallo

(anagrams of my name)

Hello Kitty Cops...

2007-08-07T21:01:00.000+01:00

lol!! wtf?!?!

via Plastic Bamboo

update 7

2007-08-07T17:59:00.000+01:00

Isn't Raygirl super cool?

Browse Danz's photos. Hes an Amzn Azn.

no comment

2007-08-04T19:58:00.000+01:00

me + blog + do = OVAR!!!!!!!

2007-07-12T21:24:00.000+01:00

That is all.

Track of the Moment (02/06/07)

2007-06-02T21:11:00.000+01:00

Is definitely "Car Sex MacDonald Drive In Lets Go" by Gerogerigegege, narrowly beating "Anal Beethoven #2" and "I Wanna Be Your Pantie".

I'm pretty sure these guys are behind goatse. (lol)

Enjoy.

LOL@U!

2007-06-02T21:00:00.001+01:00

and other assorted lollerpops by Eoin O'Sullivan.

Beautiful North Korea...

2007-06-01T23:54:00.002+01:00

I have less to say about this than I have to show, but I will say that for all of North Korea's failures, they certainly do some things right. The problems in North Korea arise because they are isolated from the global community. And this is due to Kim Jong Il. You get the sense that he doesn't WANT to be isolated, but is too arrogant and proud of his and his father's heritage to talk to other countries in terms which are not his own. I don't see this as any indication that North Korea is part of any "axis of evil" (if anything, it disproves it) and I don't think that the Western view of North Korea is justified. Although there are people starving, and they don't have any electricity. Mobile phones and teh internets are also banned, which isn't nice, but this can be changed by the opening of North Korea to the global community. All that's missing for that to happen is a better leader than Kim, or leaders of the Western world who are wise enough to see that allowing North Korea "carrots without the sticks", and perhaps affording Kim more political weight than he is due, is in fact the wiser move in the long term. Bill Clinton. Cough.

A nice objective film made by a holiday-goer:

O teh lulz!!!

2007-05-31T18:29:00.000+01:00

Boys Beware! (from ED)

Girls Beware!

Anti-Communism spoof

Lolcat competition @ Cian's Blog

2007-05-30T22:46:00.000+01:00

teh winnar?

Lolcat

2007-05-29T20:22:00.001+01:00

The best entry on Uncyclopedia.

2007-05-29T18:59:00.000+01:00

Uncyclopedia is famous for being shit and completely out-lulled by ED, example from it's rofl entry:

ROFL once dated LOLLERSKATES, and even after the birth of their child "ROFLSKATES", ROFL was feeling awkward and became asexual. He now calls himself "ROFLCOPTER" and disregards and former knowledge of his ex-lover and son. Oprah Winfrey oddly approves of these actions, but advises you not to stare directly into his eyes.

Oh guffaw, guffaw!

But it does produce this one lollable entry. Ironically, it's the entry on lol. Where Uncyclopedia excels in this case (probably unwittingly) is in the attempt to explore the (supposed) second meaning of lol, "lots of love". The reason its funneh is that lol, of course, doesn't mean "lots of love" at all. What a sacrilege! Someone think of the lulz! Anyway...

<jameskf> My Mum just died :(
<DriverMan> LOL
<karg> LOL, that's so sad.
<qfeen> LOL :(
<drunk> LOL
<cranyon666> Thats *really* sad LOL
<eggmaster> I feel your loss
<eggmaster> LoL
<fust0r> LoL, Hope it wasn't a long and painful death
<jameskf> Thanks Guys your the best intarweb pals i got!
<drunk> We're always here for you, LOL.

In fact, I'm almost positive they didn't mean it in this way. They were probably just giving a genuine example of an instance where lol, meaning lots of love (oh Uncyclopedia is soo indy (NOT)), would be used.

lol!

Freezing to death/A rose and purple pinstripe

2007-05-28T01:12:00.002+01:00

Closing the door behind me, I set off from my apartment to the office where I was to meet Osaka. I walked down the stairs without taking much notice of anything. Something about the monotony of a spiral staircase, the brown doors that differ only in number and the fact I had done this a hundred times before ensured that by the time I reached the main door, I wasn't entirely sure I'd left the apartment. I concentrated inwards, on what I was doing and on what I really wanted to do. Of course, I wasn't too sure of these either, but I'm often that way. I had my key, so I opened the door and stepped outside.

The midday sun was directly above; I was only wearing a cotton t-shirt, so I turned right and set off in the direction of Patrick's Street without worrying too much about excessive sweating, or any of the nasty things that come with being too hot. I hate being hot. If I had to choose between dying of heat and freezing to death, I'd choose the cold. I guess that's the obvious thing to say; if you freeze, you go numb, and so wouldn't feel anything, but it wasn't just that. It was the utter disdain I had for being too hot, or even being slightly clammy. When you're too hot, your body exposes all of its disgusting, horrible weaknesses that people just don't want to know about. You're sweaty, you smell, you've got a headache and you're itching. And you're flushed, too. I'd much prefer to just be shivering. Come to think of it, is shivering sexy? I thought about some girl shivering. I suppose I'd want to warm her up, and her face would be pale. I prefer pale skin. I turned the corner onto Patrick's Street.

"Oh! I'm sorry!"

Some girl had bumped into me, in her rush to get somewhere she clearly wanted to be.

"Sorry. It's ok."

It was a bit awkward. Not really because she had hit me; I wasn't hurt in the slightest, but there were two things compounding which made this whole thing uneasy. Firstly, she was slightly embarrassed. I wasn't, but I could feel some sort of energy, some kind of reality which just made me uneasy. Secondly, I was very aware of the cliché which was slowly becoming the obvious. She had stopped. Why had she stopped? What did she want? The chance encounter? Puh-leaze.

"Oh. Hello!" I said, relieved.

It was ok, I knew her. Exactly where from I hadn't the slightest idea, but I did know her. I hate this. Maybe she knows who I am; she certainly recognised me. Maybe she knew my name, and other things about me. We could have had the most in-depth conversation at one stage, at a party or introduced to one another having coffee, and now, by the fact that I'm either and idiot now or an idiot then, I've completely forgotten. I don't like this.

She's quite pretty, though. I suppose she wouldn't be very attractive conventionally, but I liked how she looked. She had dark hair, and she wore thin glasses. Her eyes were small and cold, but she smiled warmly. Her upper lip protruded slightly, but you'd hardly call that ugly. If I had to pick an imperfection, it would be that. It wasn't bad; it was likeable to put a word on it, put if I HAD to pick something, that would be it. She wore a dark buttoned top. It was open at the neck, but she wore no necklace; something she may have forgot if she really was in a rush. She had small, contoured breasts. They seemed naturally shaped, too. I mean, she may have been wearing a light bra, but it certainly wasn't obvious. The shirt was black with a rose and purple pinstripe.

"Hi. How are things?" she replied.

"Good. You in a... rush?"

"Yup." she said, almost in a way which would suggest I was taking up too much of her time.

"There's a new pub opening tonight, and they're having a kind of in-house party beforehand. I'm a bit late." she clarified.

"Oh. What pub?"

"It's called... well... it has a special name." She clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes in an "I really can't tell you" kind of way.

"Oh."

She looked around for few seconds. It's funny, because despite this I could tell she was really looking at herself. She was thinking.

"You should come!" she chirped unnaturally.

Going from our conversation so far, this was the last thing I had expected. It wasn't the obvious progression from the awkward, circumstantial and fairly dull meeting we were having here, on the corner of Patrick's Street. It just wasn't. Still though, her suggestion, and her change of character hit me from some other place I couldn't seem to fathom. She had changed, by her own doing. Something internal to her had brought this change about, and it had changed me too. Just as she had gone from being an awkward and embarrassed girl standing on the corner of Patrick's Street, to something entirely different standing in the same place, I had lost the person I was the minute before. In a metaphysical sense, of course. I mean, I had physically continued from the reality I was prior, but in essence I had left some old self behind.

"Really?" I said automatically.

I continued to try to get to grips with what had just happened. This internal force in her had gone against every exterior force which had influenced our conversation so far, and usually tends to control the interactions of people in general. We collided, and nothing interior to us had had any control over that. The tension between us was a result of that. But something interior to her had changed the score completely. It changed me too, and I really wanted to say yes to her offer. That was what I just couldn't figure out. I was sure that there was nothing in me that could have effected me like this something in her had. Of course, I would now miss my date with the charming Ms. Osaka, but that was hardly any great loss. I had my phone, but I didn't call her. Anyway, the point of this is that I move on, right? I'm moving on. She'd be glad not to have to see me again, and what she had to say could wait. I looked around.

"Ok, lets go." I said in a quaint way. I wanted to let her know that she had changed me. I wasn't sure she picked up on it.

"I do know you, right?" I continued. I really was changed; I'd never have been so up front with my concerns before.

"Yes, I think we've met. I don't... remember your name though."

"It's Liam."

"Ah, yes. I think I know you now. I was worried I knew you really well, but had forgotten. Don't you hate that? It's so embarrassing."

Everything had turned out nicely. I was concerned that I would upset her and embarrass myself by not knowing her name, but that was ok now. I was concerned that I didn't want to go to the meeting with Osaka, but now I wasn't going, at least not yet, and that was ok too.

She was late for a lift, as it turned out. She opened the back door of the green VW Golf, apologised, and got in. She made room for me and I sat in.

"Hey!" She greeted the other two in the car. A thin guy with black hair sat in the driver's seat, and a blonde girl with a trilby hat sat in the passenger's seat.

"Hey, Kami", the blonde girl with the trilby turned and said. It didn't make sense initially, but I realised that "the girl" I had been talking to hadn't told me her name. Was it Kami? I would have remembered Kami. Still though, I can be bad with names. I can never remember girls' names. Guys' names I can only remember if I respect the guy, or if I want to be him in some odd way. So ok, this girl's name could be Kami.

"Hellooooo" she repeated in a odd and fun way.

"This is my brother, Kozi." she said, clearly introducing me.

Before I could get a word in (I wasn't sure what to say anyway), they acknowledged my presence and the car took off and into the traffic lane. I looked at "the girl" and smiled.

"(wtf)?"

She smiled and blew a kiss.

Kami. Kozi. I loved it.

You know what sucked?

2007-05-25T16:05:00.000+01:00

Gothic III. I was really looking forward to that, and it completely blew. The soundtrack was excellent, although it copied Lord of the Rings shamelessly, and the premise was amazing. It had lots of promise, but it was pretty much crap. This review gives it a good 7.6, but hits a lot of the key issues concerning what's wrong with it nonetheless.

For me, the main problem was the combat system. Gothic and Gothic II didn't have fantastic combat systems either, but they were manageable and didn't wear down the playability of the games. The atmosphere, sense of scale and all the other great things about Gothic were so enthralling so as to make you forget, or not care, that the combat system was only moderately ok. In III, these great things were built upon; the scale was increased massively, giving even more freedom than before, which really is saying something. (I spent about 60 hours playing it, mostly doing odd jobs for thieves and rebels, and got about a quarter of the world map explored.) But the combat system was terrible. It was a clumsy click-frenzy which allowed you to take out an entire village even when your character was weak. Ugh, just read the review.

That is all.

Cash necessity etc.

2007-05-12T00:43:00.000+01:00

Christian Vieri:

is on minimum wage for Atalanta this season,

gets a €100,000 bonus for every goal he scores,

has been in rehab all season with a career-threatening knee injury,

was on the pitch 3 minutes,

then did this:

Must have owed his friends money for beer and pocket jenga. I hope he's back.

Track of the Week (4/5/07)

2007-05-04T13:01:00.000+01:00

ZAZEN BOYS - "HIMITSU GIRL'S TOP SECRET", the title track from the 2005 EP.

Gnarly branches/Osaka's voice

2007-04-28T22:26:00.000+01:00

The next morning, I woke up feeling well. I had dreamed a chain of unrelated scenarios involving unrelated people, acting out some sequence of events I couldn't even begin to explain. It was just after 10, not particularly early, but not so late as to miss the signs of morning that hang everywhere. I hadn't stayed in bed staring at the ceiling for a while. That was something I just hadn't done today. I made my way from the bedroom through to the living room, joined to which was my small kitchen. The living room wasn't much to talk about. I hadn't decorated it to any great degree.The walls were a pale brown or creamy and they were peeling at the fringes. There was a green couch in front of the television. It was a large television, far larger than I could afford. I took it from my old home when I moved out. We had gone through a few televisions, and this one was just lying around. There was a painting of two black cats on the wall outside my bedroom, which isn't the wall the television was up against. I couldn't stand to watch TV with those two looming above. It wasn't a fantastic painting. It had some impressionist features, with the cats' heads done in visible circular brush strokes. One of the cats had blue eyes, the other green. It was an original, but there was no name. What I really liked about the room were the little pieces of furniture, all of which were there when I moved in. There was a little stand, covered in an old white cloth, which was for a telephone. I had no use for a landline telephone, but all the wiring was still in place. I couldn't tell you why I liked it, but it just seemed interesting. There was also a footstool. You could sit on it, but it was really a footstool. The room was bright; the sun shone obliquely through the balcony door, highlighting the dust in the air and lending a musky smell to the room. I was familiar this smell. It's caused by the humid air and the old wooden floor. They don't go so well together. It's probably a shame to change the floor though; I had always liked it, and I'm sure the landlady did too. I opened a window.

I was used to Weetabix for breakfast, and had been having it every morning for a while now. On this morning, I felt like a change. I felt in the mood for something else, something more filling. Something tasty. I opened the fridge and took out a packet of sausages. I got the frying pan from under the cooker and poured sunflower oil on it. My mother had given me that when I moved out. She said that the one thing that usually stifles the good intentions to cook is the lack of something so essential as sunflower oil. It was still almost full; I didn't usually feel so adventurous. It wasn't that I was a bad cook or anything, and I'm quite good at cooking dinner or a quick lunch, but when it comes to breakfast, I usually like cereal. Usually. I'm supposed to heat the pan first, aren't I? Shit. It'll do. I fired up the gas cooker and placed the frying pan down. I remembered something. I went back to the fridge, opened it, and scanned across the shelves. Butter, chicken, bread (bread in the fridge was an old family habit), more meat, an old Yop, chocolate,... rashers! I knew I had rashers. I brought them over next to the cooker where the sausages were and opened both with a bread knife. The pan was still heating so I decided to see what life was like outside.

I opened the balcony door, walked outside and leaned on the railing. It was a bit dangerous to lean on it because it had lost most of its white paint and was beginning to rust. It's not a railing I'd want anyone else to lean on, but I always felt sort of silly just standing in the middle of a balcony, so I gently leaned on it. The balcony was just on the corner, overlooking the river with a fairly good view of the apartment blocks around. You could see all the way up to Sunday's Well, and while it didn't have a panoramic view of the city itself, there was certainly enough visible to call it a good view. Were it refurbished, my apartment could fetch a good price, I thought. There were some people down below. A couple had been shopping and were carrying three bags home, chatting to each other. I guessed they were in their early thirties. They seemed to be relaxed and completely accustomed to living with each other. That life doesn't come in your twenties, does it? That life I hadn't experienced. He wore a t-shirt and long shorts. She had a sun hat. They turned the corner, and left my view. Some foreigners were on the footbridge, taking a photograph of gnarly roots, branches and other growth where an old tree met the river. Cars were passing periodically, the morning rush seemingly having petered out at this stage. A bird flew by.

I went back inside to tend to my fry. I took a fork and pierced each individual sausage a few times to let the juices run from them. This was to make them cook faster, and so that they would be less fattening. I'm not paranoid about that sort of thing, but I always take little steps like this towards eating healthily. It all helps. I didn't cut the fat from the rashers though; they went straight on beside the sausages. I decided on four sausages and two rashers, and returned the packets to the fridge. The food was sizzling nicely, so I moved back into the loving room and turned on the television. The breakfast shows were still on. Some pair of presenters gave a dumbed down rendition of the news, probably aimed at unemployed mothers. I didn't find it particularly interesting. There was tips on how to lose weight, a phone-in competition and gardening advice. I flicked around for a while, before landing on some random channel, showing ads. It was time to turn my sausages. I went back into the kitchen and rolled them around with a fork; I didn't have any utensils. I didn't have the burn-proof spoons and plastic scoops that I'd like to have. I thought about home, and about my life on my own. I didn't want to go back, I had come to that conclusion hundreds of times. Instead I found myself thinking about what I'm doing with myself. What I'm supposed to be doing. I didn't feel as if I belonged where I was. I was still in some sort of limbo, as if I've been floating from somewhere to someplace else, with no solid footing under me. Above the loud sizzling, I heard my phone ringing. I had left it in the bedroom, charging. I left the kitchen and made my way through the living room. Star Trek was on. Picard was in a huff because all his officers were frozen in time. Cause enough, I thought to myself. I'd seen this one before. He THINKS it's the Romulans, but it's not. It's someone else. Some other guys.

My phone was on its fourth ring when I got to it. I unplugged it and looked at the screen, The call was from a landline, a number I didn't recognise. I answered it.

"Hello?"

"Yes, Liam?"

It was the lady from the office. I recognised her voice straight away. It wasn't that I hated her or that she had made any great impression on me or anything, but I was just good at recognising voices, even on the phone.

"Yes." I replied.

"We need you to come back."

"Why? I thought everything was finished."

"You can't leave just yet; not now..."

There was a silence. I wasn't sure what to say.

"...I need to see you too. Are you free today?"

I had nothing to do. If it wasn't for that, I'd have said no, but I really had nothing to do today.

"Yes. Ok, where should I go?"

"The office. The one you were at yesterday. At about 1 o'clock?"

"Fine. I'll be there."

"Thank You. And one last thing?"

"Yeah."

"Do you know who to ask for?"

I didn't.

"No."

"Ask for Osaka."

"...Oh." (what kind of name is that??)

"I'll see you at 1, then." she said, and hung up.

She hung up. It was probably bad enough that she asked so much of me without at least doing me whatever slight courtesy is involved in allowing someone to decide when a phone call is over. I guess I was over-reacting a bit. It just seemed a bit rude to me. I put my phone into my pocket, (it was charged by now) and made my way back into the kitchen. The end credits were on TV. I'd missed all the action, the revelations, and the deus ex machina.

I took a plate from the cupboard above and took my sausages and rashers from the frying pan. I could tell from the colour of them that they weren't very well done. Too well done on one side, but not done enough on the other. Regardless, I wasn't complaining. At least I had something to do for the afternoon, as much as I didn't want to do it. Taking my plate to the couch, I sat down and ate.

Track of the Week (27/4/07)

2007-04-27T17:35:00.000+01:00

Otomo Yoshihide's New Jazz Ensemble - Peach, taken from the album "Dreams".

It's in the radio on the left.

You wouldn't have sang a H, for example?

2007-04-27T11:32:00.000+01:00

Forum #80414

2007-04-26T11:58:00.000+01:00

Message Repeats:

I am a sick man... I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man. I believe my liver is diseased. However, I know nothing at all about my disease, and do not know for certain what ails me. I don't consult a doctor for it, and never have, though I have a respect for medicine and doctors. Besides, I am extremely superstitious, sufficiently so to respect medicine, anyway (I am well-educated enough not to be superstitious, but I am superstitious). No, I refuse to consult a doctor out of spite. That you will probably not understand. Well, I understand it, though. Of course, I can't explain who it is precisely I am mortifying in this case by my spite: I am perfectly aware that I can't "get even" with the doctors by not consulting them; I know better than anyone else that by all this I am only injuring myself and no one else. But still, if I don't consult a doctor, it is out of spite. My liver is bad, well -- let it get worse!

-- Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Metal on concrete/A narrow glass vase

2007-04-26T02:18:00.000+01:00

I stopped off at a coffee shop around the corner. The day was in its decline, but there was still plenty time before sunset, and I felt that time spent in the company of society was time well spent for me, right now. It wasn't a large place, with possible room for 30 people if they really had to squeeze that number in. The shop occupied the corner of a three-storey block. There must have been apartments upstairs. Surely a coffee shop wouldn't use such an amount of storage. Of course not. There was a large red canopy sheltering an outside area, which was itself cordoned off from the footpath by rows of low bushes. Small as it was, I suppose it made its business by customer loyalty; it had that feel to it. I could see it as a place I would come to more often.

I made my way to a seat outside, in the corner. I was in an unusually public place by my usual habits. I wasn't eye-catching or anything, but should anyone want to see me, they could do so easily. That was the weird part for me. I didn't feel so uncomfortable, so I stayed. There were two people already sitting at a table outside. Two women, probably in their early thirties, sat with their right arms cocked up by the armrest, holding cigarettes in their fingers. They were drinking martinis, probably gin martinis. The conical glasses and olives gave that much away. I thought again about whether this place made its business by customer loyalty. If a particular place or situation makes you feel sophisticated as these two clearly were, you'd return to that place more often than you would to a place that makes you feel otherwise, right? Surely.

The table wasn't set for anything in particular, with only an ashtray and a napkin dispenser in the centre of the table. Some of the other tables had a single flower in a narrow glass vase, but I was just fine without. The seats were metallic and looked as if they might creak and be painful to sit on, especially for someone of my slim (possibly underweight) stature. Looking at how their chrome fittings met the textured concrete beneath, I wonder which resented the other the more. I guess we all have problems. I sat down with a creak.

Looking around to make sure the waiter had noticed my arrival, I saw he had just come outside to take my order. He didn't disturb the two ladies, instead turning in my direction. He took his pad from inside the hem of his napkin and produced a pen. I'm not sure where this pen came from. I mean, of course it came from his pocket, but he did it with such effortless fluency that I hadn't even noticed. He was a real professional.

"Hello. What can I get you?" he said.

"I'll just have a black coffee."

"Just coffee?"

"Yup."

"Sure."

He scribbled something on his pad and turned toward the door of the shop. I called after him.

"Sorry, could I change that?"

"Of course."

"I'll have a gin martini please."

"No coffee?"

"No. Martini."

He nodded and return his pen and pad to their secure places in his napkin. He had kept the pen in a pocket at the front. He didn't change the order docket, but those things are often a formality, especially when it's so quiet. Maybe he didn't want to draw attention to my change of order, and decided to change it inside. A real professional. Still though, I kept the belief that maybe he had come to some order of doing things, some particular structuring of behaviour that comes from experience. I remembered having worked as a waiter when I was younger, in a tacky restaurant, and having a particular way of doing everything which was unique to all the other waiters. The process of getting dressed was particularly ceremonial. I always made sure to tuck my white shirt deep into my trousers, something I wouldn't usually do, in order to tie my red napkin cleanly across my hips, whereas others wore it on their waist. I tied the bow on the top of the napkin, whereas other tied it behind the front pocket. This was just how it went though. I wasn't weird or anything, it's just and example of the habits I get into when I do something on a regular basis. Thinking about it, I imagined what it would be like to take up that job now. I'm so much older, although I'm always very careful of calling myself an adult. It's just seems naive to assume that we, as people, pass some barrier from adolescence into adulthood and become something greater than we were. It implies that we've reached some final stage of development after which we can only decline. That certainly seemed untrue to me. I am wiser than I was though, and I thought about how I would deal with some of the obstacles I came across if I were to meet them now. I thought of all the bosses I thought were so condescending, of all the co-workers I couldn't get along with, and of all the work I took so seriously and found so hard. I think I could deal with them better now. I'm certainly better with people now than I was then. I was a waiter. People shout at waiters. Looking at it now, it seems romantic, where before I let it run me into the ground. Maybe if I started that life again somewhere quiet, without too many expectations, I could live with it.

The waiter came with my martini. He had it standing on a black circular tray, dressed with an olive, just as the two ladies were having it. He brought it over and set it down on my left, my near side. After an affirming glance, he turned and went back inside. I reached for the olive with my right hand. It was impaled on a cocktail stick. I twirled it around on the surface of my martini, and then removed it, placing it down on the table. I actually wasn't much for olives. I took a small sip held the glass as I tasted, and then returned it to the table, on my right hand side. It went down nicely. It had been a while since I had had a martini. It was drier than I remembered, but pleasantly so. I sat back and thought to myself.

I thought about people I'd met, girls I'd known, and the life I was leaving. I thought about the times I understood what people were trying to say to me, and the times when I had no idea what was expected of me. I thought about why certain nasty things had come to pass, without ever reflecting on the reasons for the good times. They were better left that way. I found myself falling into a cycle. I'd remember something, possibly blush and have my heart rate increase, and then scour the depths of my brain for some sort of explanations. I wasn't just looking for reasons, but also justifications for all the tough places I'd got myself into. I still felt I had acted only as I could. I had always been myself. I needed to prove that to myself. This cycle went on for hours. I had long taken to the quiet streets and without my noticing it, the sun had gone down.

Man, teh 80's ruled.

2007-04-25T17:04:00.000+01:00

Check this out...

Ohhhh Yeeaaah.

Smooooth.

No hi

2007-04-25T00:09:00.000+01:00

I saw this girl today.

Niiice. I wanted to stalk her again. Nothing harmful; just a distant tracing of her footsteps. Sweet sweet footsteps. I wonder does she remember me...

She might. She might remember me as the charming guy from work who kept falling over himself around her, or she may remember me as a dangerous sexual predator who is one word away from a court order.

This is to say I had wondered at the time.

I didn't say hi.

Leather Couches/The Hunting Lioness

2007-04-24T17:01:00.001+01:00

This guy is unbelievable. Why does he do that? He takes magazines from the waiting room table, sits back down on the nice brown leather armchair, and takes tearings from the magazine in some sort of systematic order unknown to me. Sometimes he takes chunks, sometimes even whole pages, and other times he takes great care in extracting single sentences. He doesn't read the magazines, at least not that I could see, but just takes what he wants and returns it to the table. He must have done this to at least half of the dozen or so year-old issues of LIFE and such magazines. I think I saw a TIME in there too. He must be a deviant, or have a obsession or something. He's well shaven. That's the first thing you'd notice about him. His black hair is lightly gelled forward.

My eyes wander from his face to his shoulders, and I find myself looking at what contoured section of his backrest was visible. That IS a nice chair. It's probably Italian; they don't make that sort of leather here. It's a deep, rich brown with sandy stitching and a well-defined grain, visible in the sunlight. I thought it might have been dust, but looking around at the general upkeep of the place weaned me off that notion. The window to the outside street is clean, with no drapes or blinds. I'm always conscious of badly placed windows, good only for cutting into your privacy, and you're sense of personal security. Perhaps it's tinted; waiting in a waiting room is tedious enough without scores of passers-by shooting awkward glances accidentally in your direction. I recall the times when I have made terrible first impression purely for being caught in such an unfortunate situation. But I always dwell on these things. What is he doing? He's already done that magazine. It's HELLO May '04. It's got the lowdown on some obscure royal's blown up wedding to some nobleman. News only for those who read the magazine regularly. Inducted news, utterly useless. The happy couple smile ghastily; I've already looked at this for a 5 minute stint half an hour ago. Definitely obsessed.

How do I end up in these situations anyway? No matter how innocuous a pull I give, pull at the complicated system by which life is measuredly constructed and the whole thing tends to come down. Why is life so? Is it only my own life, or is this a more universal phenomenon? I start to take pity on myself when I realise my back is stiff. This better be over soon. I know it's my own bad posture, but I don't think I can sit here any longer. I might just go mad. Maybe that's what happened to the well-kept-but-uncouth man sitting opposite. Hey man, is that what happened you? Have you been here that long? I guess not; he'd have those magazines in rope bridges if he spent more than a couple of hours here. My back! I stretch upwards, bowing my back and pressing at it's lower muscles with my palms. A strenuous expression, probably purely to invoke sympathy from somewhere, embarrasses me slightly. I've been here long enough, now.

(Come on)

A lady comes in. She calls me and I follow.

We go through a central door, past the main desk and into a well-lit, modern office. There's a couch, a bookshelf, several paintings and one particularly striking photograph of a lioness chasing a gazelle. That's framed, and positioned (badly, I though to myself) amid the other paintings. The window is behind the main desk at which the lady sits. She's got a computer, a Dell by the logo on the back of the flat-screen monitor. This place certainly gets money from somewhere. There's paperwork on the desk too. Looking at the obvious contrast between state of the art computer technology, I wonder whether she's got these papers lying around purely for image. The busy businesswoman must appear on top of things, right? Maybe not. I mean, it's not a MESSY desk by any means, but it's hardly ordered. I should quiz her on the contents of random examples of her paperwork I pick up.

Sitting down, I can examine her closely for the first time. When she first spoke to me, I was too concerned with getting out of that sordid exchange of silences with well-kept-but-uncouth man and random outsiders. Her back didn't give much away. She was well dressed, I knew that. She wore a fitted red jacket with matching skirt, black tights and yellow heeled shoes with a green trim; quirky. She wore perfume too, something expensive like a Dior or Cerrutti. It wasn't my thing really. Maybe I missed the perfume generation, but the scent of her added about a decade to her supposed age. It reminded me of an old dresser in my aunt's house.

She sat down, fixed herself to sit comfortably and offered me the cushioned chair opposite her. She was quite pretty, actually. As old as I had imagined, but pretty nonetheless. She wore her dark brown hair in a bunch at the back. It was a decent, low-held bunch (I hate the high ones) with a few locks hanging freely over her ears. She swept them back around her ears elegantly; it looked better before, but who was I? She was clearly unaffected by the effort. She had very light makeup on, probably a professional habit of hers, and she wore no lipstick. I sat in the cushioned chair.

"There's not much left to do, really. It won't take too long. Sorry to have to call you all the way in here."

"That's alright"

I was sick of small talk. Sick of saying things I didn't mean and hearing the same from others.

"There's just these three documents here that were left unsigned. Just sign them at the bottom."

She handed me a ballpoint pen. Three signatures, and that was it.

"Thank You, that's everything."

This is a very interesting point in human conversation, and in human behaviour in general. This little change of intention right here. She must have been all prioritised, because it was particularly noticeable this time. Get this guy in here, he'll sign and then it's all done. All her actions followed this goal; they were all arranged so as to further the pursuit of me signing those three documents. But now that that was achieved, she completely fell over herself. Like her new and modern computer suddenly realising it doesn't have a CPU. She was a very short-sighted woman, that much I could tell without doubt.

"Umm... do you know you're way out?"

"Yeah"

Short-sighted, I was sure of it now.

The Much Coveted Hard Gay Tomy Episode

2007-04-03T15:51:00.000+01:00

Part 1

Part 2

It actually been produced, too. (link)

Prediction, and No Perfect Loaves...

2007-03-10T18:47:00.000Z

The following is another development of my argument against Kevin Myers, and furthers my support of Darwinism. It is also a response to Daniel.

Life (as we know it) is an effect of the particular arrangement of fundamental constants. What Myers did was assign this image of "life" to the system before calculating the odds. If you take life as the starting point, and work backwards examining all the conditions fundamental to the existence of life, of course it's going to seem like an impossibly unlikely situation.

As a completely rudimentary example, imagine taking a loaf of bread an examining it with microscopic precision. You might notice the countless little blisters arranged on it's surface and map all the air pores in its interior. The odds of this exact loaf of bread arising (lulz) from the baking process are so astoundingly long as to suggest you could never have baked it at all. But you did, and more to the point, the final product was decided with absolute randomness.

In modelling terms, imagine an input/output system as follows:

Input x(t) --> Operator (A) --> Output u(t)

Notice that this system is respective of time t. In the example of human life, Myers knows the input (amino acids). He even knows the output (human life), and the debate is about the operator (some machine in a particular state which arranges the amino acids into their particular order). Knowing the input and the output, without knowing the operator, is called an identification problem. This problem has been solved. We know the arrangement of amino acids in the structure of protein, and so we know the operator. It's in one of its 10^40000 states. Myers claims that the operator can't have reached this state by any sort of randomness; it's just too unlikely to put any faith in.

But here's the problem: time progresses in a linear fashion, and in particular, so does human growth. So to know the input (the beginning) and the output (the end) without knowing the operator (the middle) is impossible. So at the beginning of human history, it wasn't an identification problem at all. There were first the amino acids (no problem), then came some operator in some state. This is now a prediction problem. We don't know the output. Of course, this is the problem which properly represents human development (its called evolution) and it has also been solved, because we know what humans "are like".

To me, this seems like the most likely case. It's an interesting case of how the intuitive answer to a problem can change dramatically just by looking at the problem itself in a different way.

Infinite Monkeys and Kevin Myers...

2007-03-08T19:27:00.000Z

In today's Independent, Kevin Myers talks about the improbability of Darwinism (page 32). I'm no expert on Myers, but as I read it, I felt that it was misguided, strenuous and as he himself admits, fairly boring.

Myers makes his argument by saying that the arrangement of amino acids in our bodies that make up proteins is so precise, and so delicate that to say that the arrangement (our human structure) happened at random is "absurd". According to some book Myers has been reading (I'm no expert on biology either),

"The odds against the [primordial] soup being able to produce the necessary proteins for one human cell were 1/10 to the power of 40,000."

To sum up his argument, and because I think his article is over-weighted with rhetorical use of massive numbers and long odds, Myers makes THE crucial mistake in his thinking:

"To say it would have come about accidentally is like saying if you throw enough rubble and jewels up in the air often enough it will come down as the Taj Mahal."

Two things, both glaringly obvious to me, seem to make that statement both false and irrelevant.

Firstly, it will come down as the Taj Mahal, assuming that rubble and jewels is all that is needed to create it. "Enough times" is the key term. By the nature of infinity, when arranging certain objects an infinite number of times, all possibilities will be explored. So, if you throw enough rubble and jewels into the air enough times, it will almost surely come down as the Taj Mahal. See Wikipedia's entry on the Infinite Monkey Theorem for more info and a proof. However, a very important point is that this will never be realised within finite time.

Secondly, and before you criticise the first for impracticality, it should be said that Myers makes another mistake. In using his analogy of the Taj Mahal, the end product was already envisaged before the attempt to create it was made. I don't believe for a second that any set image of humans was made prior to the big bang, or prior to whatever event set our creation in motion. As far as I believe, amino acids simply started to form arrangements, and probably after a fair few attempts, reached one that worked for some sort of life to be created. The current human structure results from this arrangement. Proteins are fundamental to human life, and are a cause of human life, not an effect. This allows humans to be created within finite time, ousting any criticism of my earlier point. In fact, the only impossibility which arises here occurs when we factor the concept of an image of mankind prior to creation. That cannot be done in finite time, or has at least absurdly long odds of occurring. Consequently, to say that God created us in his image, an idea that Myers probably holds himself, seems to be the only absurdity.

Myers is wrong.

This is Rock n' Roll.

2007-03-04T16:01:00.000Z

Chinese dude drumming on keyboard lol!

I wish he were my Dad. I wish that.

Jappleng still arsing around...

2007-03-01T20:54:00.000Z

Jappleng has been under construction for a while now it's fair to say. When I started blogging way back I'm sure it had a launch date of July 31st 2006. With the promise of being a huge resource of news, Japanese lessons, all manner of info on Japanese culture and just general awesomeness, Jappleng was something many were looking forward to. Despite the fact that it hasn't ever launched fully, it still receives an impressive number of hits (I don't know the figures exactly). That initial date passed with no launch, and it was a month before they even updated the main page to note that fact. It did launch for a day or so back in November, but because of excessive traffic had to be pulled down once more.

What I'm saying is we've been waiting long enough. If Stephen Colbert were here, he'd say: "It's now March 1st 2007, people!", and hold his pointing finger out, all the while holding his expression while his audience go "wooooo!!!" on cue, or something to that effect. Not that he's funny or anything, I'm just pointing out how he would put his tone and manner to use on this one.

So come on Jappleng people!

The Day Today - Mini News 3

2007-02-28T23:10:00.000Z

Fact me 'til I fart!

The Day Today - Mini News 2

2007-02-27T21:22:00.000Z

Hello Peasant.

The Day Today - Mini News 1

2007-02-26T22:06:00.000Z

I actually made the effort to upload something to YouTube just now. It's a first, and as this material is copyrighted, also illegal. This is a trailer which aired sporadically when The Day Today was showing on the BBC back in 1994. Funneh!

It's not up yet, and in truth it may never be allowed up at all. Lets just sit and wait.

edit: Huzzah!

Stupid Bride Rofflecakes!!!!

2007-02-24T15:04:00.000Z

1-click and the Bad Administrators

2007-02-13T21:37:00.000Z

What does it mean to be a professional?

Sometimes people, either by their own seedy ways or by obligation, will dump their own problems on you with seemingly full expectations that you will go sort them out at your expense. It even happens that you will be not in any way at fault, and that in fact the problems arise as a direct consequence of said person's ineptitude. Accepting this is an example of the sort of sacrifices we make in maintaining friendships. But when this person is a professional administrator of your college degree, someone who you've never met before, it's plainly annoying.

The Maths department are idiots; a known shortcoming. When I went to register for Applied Maths back in September there were only 25 credits prescribed.

"Well fair enough, I'm sure they're busy".

I waited, all the while anticipating something to tease my interest. (Come to think of it, I wasn't. I have little interest in Maths. Eek!) Then with as I remember only a few days until the year commenced, they added the final subject, MA2071, a pure Maths module.

"Well fair enough, I'm sure it's relevant".

It wasn't. I went along to the first couple of lectures only to be slapped with more stodgy analysis and derivation of calculus norms at the expense of my general well-being.

"That's ok. I'll get through it and never have to deal with it again."

Then I noticed that students who applied for both Maths and Applied Maths (of which there was only one) would be registered for the same module twice. Finally having dispensed with the last bit of straw, and morbidly pissed off, I went to the Maths department to outline the problem. They were "aware" of the problem and advised me that Applied Maths students were now to do AM2021, an engineering module.

I realise that I've undoubtedly lost everyone to the nether world of snooze, so I'll sum up very quickly:

Letter. Give to nice lady. Meeting. Another Meeting. End of March. Maybe.

Fuck anyway.

I've been entertaining myself with this. It's tremendously fun and addictive. Guide some loyal j-plebes around with their massive pointer by moving the mouse. It's a great idea; wish I'd though of it. Make them tired!

Shameful triple post

2007-01-22T22:20:00.000Z

I feel I didn't do Friday night justice. It was really great.

Silly me

2007-01-22T22:15:00.000Z

Wait I did some stuff alright. Friday was cinema night. Saturday I lost at poker and drank Baltika headache beer. Sunday more losing at poker and drank Prazsky.

Walked around, took a bus...

Update

2007-01-22T22:12:00.000Z

I'm lazy and becoming fat. I did nothing all weekend. I can't even do proper blog posts anymore. I'm hoping that listening to Merzbow's Merzbeat at full volume will heal me. Here's to that.

A jpop vid...

2007-01-13T03:20:00.000Z

It's ok to be slightly aroused:

Time to gay this blog up...

2007-01-13T02:16:00.000Z

That's it, I'm going gay. From now on there will be no more sports news, no more boozing stories, and certainly no more reports of my recent sexual conquests. The machismo is gone. What's left? Nothing you may say. Quiet you. There will be crying, whining and whinging. Consoling and cuddling will become the communal activity of this blog. All shall participate. It'll be like a game of red rover organised by someone's mother at a birthday party when you were slightly too old/uninitiated to hold another guy's hand. That's how it will be.

To set the mood, please watch this short notice:

Now then. What I want from this post at least is for everyone who sees it to post a lovely supportive comment for me. Something like "Oh you were so funny the other day, lulz!" or even the venerable "Liam, your hair is fantastic. I dearly value your friendship and I want to take things to the next level". I feel slightly self-ingulgent in requesting this, but perhaps in my abstinence from bebo and other such social loops I've been missing out on the comfort which I otherwise deserve.

Isn't it a horrible situation where the person you care about most greatly only holds you in mediocre regard alongside perhaps a dozen other people? I haven't been hugged in weeks since Yvonne obliged me in the brog, and before that it was literally years I think. Discuss...

I want to be Merveilles-era Gackt so much it causes delusions...

2006-12-28T05:16:00.000Z

...but I've come to terms with it before and so I can again. What's really happening here is a relapse of my own horrible affliction: "Gackteliebe". I suppose it developed upon my initial exposure to visual-kei years back (I know, it's been so long. You were the only good thing of the 90's.) and every now and then, especially now, this happens.

Gackt is a pompous spineless has-been, who desperately and horrifically attempts to hold onto his youth and good looks. He's old. The bad old. He claims to be from baroque era France, but in reality he's a 40 year-old fading pop star. There are videos in circulation on YouTube clearly displaying this. A particularly bad one where he and Yoshiki (still cool) are dressed in atrocious white suits eating caviar with those great HeyHeyHey hosts, names unknown/unimportant. Embarrassing, we know.

There was an era though, when he was great beyond comprehension. Trite to say I know, but... well, watch the video and see. I'm talking '98/'99. The Merveilles tour. Bel Air, and a glorious cabaret performance. Here it is:

Wow, you see... But the problem is that I don't look that good, and no amount of manipulation would make me look remotely like even a curly-haired Kozi or Yu~Ki, which I'd settle for without any quabble at all. I've experimented in the past, and been mocked by idiots and even some people I respect threw glances of disapproval. Does anyone remember my failed attempts to bleach my hair? Oh, it bleached alright, but the fun-making went on for weeks. So I retreated and buried my love for visual-kei in general.

Now it's slipping back into my life.

Unfinished...

Cian's Blog sinks to an all time low...

2006-12-15T18:28:00.000Z

Click Here.

News that popular blogger Cian Boland has resorted to sick innuendo and tongue-in-cheek gags in a shameful attempt to gain a broader readership is fast becoming the most talked-about story since Yvonne and Winning's brother 'got it on'.

Once the raison d'etre of Cork bloggers such as myself, Cian's Blog now reports spurious and completely monged news:

He goes on to make seriously misinformed attacks on, he writes, Al "Airing the Orchid" Jazeera, Stephen "Bastard" Colbert and most nastily, Jon "Cuntcleaner" Stewart. Even those who post comments are at risk. Boland actually takes to editing comments to fit his own filthy journalistic style, an utterly deplorable habit. Was this: "Actually, I’d say walking around a house party wanking quiet jerks while spewing “you’re just fisting a laugh” could well be the spewing defintion of an asshole." really the work of Daniel Mullamphy? Hardly...

Even his sickly brash treatment of the holiday season: "Anyway, hurrah and all that. Time to wallow in that empty, anti-climatic plowing that jerks the muff sniffing completion of exams" has moved everyone to horrible tears.

What has happened that Cian's Blog could sink so low? It seems that there is little hope for us respectable types in this dispicable blogosphere, now nothing more than a wallowing hole for outcasts, thieves and undesirables, long bereft of any moral code.

I'll have .002 percent of your dollar please...

2006-12-12T20:53:00.000Z

Really, some idiots should just be rounded up, all their belongings taken, their hair shaved off to make jumpers for sheep, and they should be gassed until death. I say this because:

a) I'm a sensationalist
b) There's a difference between .002 dollars and .002 cents
c) I can do maths
d) Those who can't do maths are either queer or posses'd
e) Their idiocy will probably cause intelligent people a discourtesy at some stage.

This linky here is the most frustrating example of what I'm talking about. OK, so I'm being sensational and of course I don't genuinely want to see these people gassed or harmed in any way. In fact I'm so immersed in maths myself that their situation seems akin to the Native Americans who saw the gun for the first time and began making bang noises with their mouths in genuine expectation of seeing their invaders fall over dead. That's how I feel. I'm sorry for these people. I'm sorry that they can't work with simple figures. I take the Abe Huggard stance - the venerable "sure those poor mí-ádhs should be out in the yards playing games not in a classroom" stance. They shouldn't be working in any sort of position that demands manipulation of figures. It's quite sad

Hurrah for blogging though, and it's ability to bring the experiences of others o the greater community in an environment that is inter-personal, honest and non-commercial and which promotes reading. Ah, such a maximum medium, this blogging...

It may be pop, but Teru, Takuro, Hisashi and Jiro are a nice bunch...

2006-11-25T23:23:00.000Z

Let YouTube show you.

From Heavy Gauge, which I maintain as being one of the greatest pop albums to date, come these two gems.

GLAY: Be With You

There's something atrociously cool about both of these. It's in Teru's showmanship. He works the camera but gets a lot of meaning in without the usual pop-star cliché. Or at least I think...

GLAY: Winter Again

It's nice to see Squall Leonhardt of FFVIII fame singing isn't it?

I certainly enjoyed them. Hisashi really is such a great guitarist, and Teru, well, what a guy...

I'm not sure I like where they went after that album, or where they've gone since.

Haruki Murakami wins Franz Kafka Prize

2006-11-01T22:52:00.000Z

Taken from forbes.

Japanese author Haruki Murakami was in Prague on Monday to receive the prestigious Franz Kafka Prize.

Murakami was chosen in March by an international jury, which includes prominent German literary critic Marcel Reich-Ranicki and British publisher John Calder, to win the sixth annual Kafka prize, given by the Franz Kafka Society. Murakami will receive a small statue of Kafka by Czech artist Jaroslav Rona and $10,000.

The prize is awarded to "authors whose works of exceptional artistic qualities are found to appeal to readers regardless of their origin, nationality and culture, just as the works of Franz Kafka," the society said.

radio alive

2006-10-31T23:45:00.000Z

The radio is up. I don't feel bold enough to add illicit material just yet (I will at some stage) so umm, enjoy.

I'm talking to myself. I'm talking to MYSELF.

the news at 7:50

2006-10-21T19:50:00.000+01:00

Bad news:
I'm trying to integrate what is essentially a radio to my blog, but I'm having difficulty and as of now, it's not looking good.

Good news:
I had a visitor from Fukuoka, Japan yesterday morning at just before 8am. Hello, whoever you are!

Bye now,
L.

test

2006-10-20T19:59:00.000+01:00

test

I HATE telemarketers...

2006-10-20T00:47:00.000+01:00

...which is why this is bona fide gold:

link

I got two calls today alone. Telephone is certainly going down the pan.

untitled #1

2006-10-18T16:11:00.000+01:00

She walked away, wearing her green jacket, blue jeans, telling shoes and a shoulder bag intricately decorated with everything I'd ever want in a girl. Of course. Seeing her first on Patrick's Bridge, I had made myself out to be madly obsessed by walking the implausible route around Merchant's Quay and climbing back towards the foot of Summerhill North. Just to see her again.

When I got there all I could do was hide. All I wanted to do was talk to her, but my heart was thumping and I'm sure I couldn't utter so many words as to string a sentence together. My uneasy joints told me that much. Also, I'm fairly sure she saw me, which is bad, because she walked away, and now thinks of me as dangerous.

I'd known her from work, and we had always had such a great time that when frustrating rosters and an inexplicable ordering of things known only as 'fate' left us without each other's company, I regretted not asking her out. That's impossible now; I'm a freakish stalker who neglected to have a shower this morning, which left me in summary: undesirable, smelly, slightly dangerous, cramped and without that kind of breezy charisma which I just KNOW she likes.

Now I'm drinking coffee, listening to music and feeling down. Right now, I'd do more or less anything for a minute of her time. I know that using a blog to emote some kind of sympathy in readers is just plainly low, but I'll be staying down for a while (high on the sound). So anyone who wants to take a shot at impressing my serotonin glands may do so.

Have I mentioned...

2006-10-17T23:44:00.000+01:00

...Kazuhisa Uchihashi? linky

Marvellous guitarist. Hard to describe really, but yeah, I like.

Gerogerigegege

2006-10-11T23:42:00.000+01:00

Such a class act. They say practice makes perfect, and you can tell that these two really have their stage performance rehearsed to a fine art. I'll say no more. I hope that viewing this bestows on you the sort of genius evident here. Less talking, just watch!

:-0

God, I'd love to watch some Sliders...

2006-10-07T00:00:00.000+01:00

I used love this show. The story was simple: 4 ill-matched people end up being sent on a series of dimensional jumps, trying to find their way home. They go from earth to earth to earth, being trapped in that dimension until their teleporter device thingy told them they had to jump again. They were usualy there for between a few hours and a few days, or one episode. Something was always different about the worlds, sometimes radically so, but very subtly different world existed too. I remember they got back once, but Mallory (can't believe I remembered his name) noticed that the creaky gate to his house wasn't creaky. They had to jump just then, so they did. Then a repair guy comes out of the house, thanks Mallory's mother for the tea throws his oilcan into his truck, and drives off. How that prepared me for the pains and tragedies of life, even I will never know.

Then they ruined it by introducing some whack concepts. They had contract trouble and main characters were killed off gratuitously. People from other dimensions joined them. A race of trans-dimensional conquest Nazis were introduced. I lost interest. I'm downloading season 1 now though. *tingles*

Nick Nolte vs. Gary Busey

2006-10-05T12:47:00.000+01:00

I'm quite good at recognising people. I'd see someone I hadn't seen in ages and recognise them when most people wouldn't. This is something which I've gathered from experience. I'd almost always be able to identify that 5-minute cameo ensign, or that used-once alien character (through the make-up) on Star Trek, when I'd see the actor again in a completely unrelated venture. Many arguments have sprung up, usually being settled on IMDB or some such internet site. I win. I never lose. I win.

But I STILL can't tell the difference between these guys.

In recent years Nolte's face has been altered by age (not a bad thing, he still looks great) and I can tell the difference in modern films. Also, Busey's teethy smile isn't shared by Nolte. Those are my two points of recognition. Failing those two, as is so in the above pictures, I have no idea who's who. It's all very cool, when questioned about your interest in films, to say "Yeah, I'd know by Gary Buseys from my Nick Noltes alright, like". But I don't. I'll never be a TRUE film buff now, will I? Would this be an issue if both of them were women? Somehow, I think not. Scoff, scoff, etc.

Oi loik maphs...

2006-09-30T14:15:00.001+01:00

...but I'm not sure about this business of Maths AND Applied Maths as a joint honours. (Yes, that's how you spell honours you Vista piece of yankee shit.) Anyway, it would mean giving up Philosophy and that can't be good...

What I don't like about the idea is that yes, I would be leaving Philosophy behind, and that seems to be really interesting this year. I like enough of the lectures to have a really enjoyable two years, and a lot of the modules don't have summer exams (score) but go for in-class tests instead. I prefer them (of course). I like the tutorials (tutors are cool PhD types) and I also like the general idea of reading lots of worthwhile things about interesting topics about which I at least sort of care. Also, I'm not THAT good at Maths, certainly not pure Maths which I would be once again taking up. I worked super hard for the summer exams last year and was basically gutted by my sub-standard performance. It was ok, I got the honours mark second time round, but I certainly felt 'beaten' by the subject. Apparently I got "just above the mark" in the repeats, according to [].

Which leads me to the pros of taking it on. [] seemed really enthusiastic about my staying. I found it hard to see the sincere side of his argument (he didn't know my name, nor had I ever had a decent conversation with him prior to yesterday) but something about what he said made the whole idea attractive. To leave the mixed bag I'm in to join a definite flock of colleagues who I know to be top-notch individuals from last year. There are only 3 or 4 Maths/Applied Maths students (strictly Arts faculty (Mathematical Sciences, bah, go away and make me a bar-chart of "going out last night" versus "I hate ye all")). The uniqueness of the degree certainly appeals. Even If I couldn't see the sincerity in his words, it struck me that maybe him not knowing my name was the point. I didn't make myself known last year. I attended tutorials and treated them as lectures, listening to what was going on but not actually participating and ironing out all the problems which I was having. Of course I didn't get on all that well. I entered study month with hardly a clue, but reams on notes and wikipedia at my disposal. I practically taught myself in that month. To take this on means active participation in what are really my own interests. Am I suited to all this maths? Do I enjoy philosophy because I find it easy? Do I enjoy it in the same way I enjoy lie-ins? Has philosophy taught me to think like this and in doing so actually undermined itself? Is that a valuable lesson?

I must decide very soon, preferably by Monday because I'm just missing too many lectures if I let it run on any longer. Hmm...

サバ

2006-09-27T17:39:00.000+01:00

Just in case you wanted to know...

2006-09-22T22:27:00.000+01:00

I think I'll now have a new recurring nightmare, being stuck in a realm where these bubble-gum aesop girls govern my life. Urgh.

What happened today

2006-09-20T23:09:00.000+01:00

Today, I've been enduring the Morgan Freeman, Kevin Bacon and Benjamin Bratt side of life. I'm not EXACTLY sure what this means myself, but there was something very Brattish about my cornflakes this morning. Not that this posed much of a problem (it really didn't; I wolfed them down all the same), nor was I in any way amazed (I always knew cornflakes to have that sort of charismatic aura about them). It was when I was closing my bedroom door in the late afternoon that things got really weird. I've never had problems with my bedroom door, and it has never been particularly noisy. It's just a plain white door, not unlike plain white shirts or a plain white road sign. It doesn't exhibit human characteristics, bar maybe woodiness (I know this guy, and he's like, so woody).

What distressed me about this particular closing of my bedrrom door was that it's hinges croaked, in perfectly audible form and timbre, a line from The River Wild as it was so uttered by Kevin Bacon: "Aw, now come on..." Imagine my position being on the other side of a door that could easily get a job impersonating the man Bacon. Thinking that this was all just some oddly brief foray into an adjacent world where Kevin Bacon and doors occupy much the same space, I went about my daily businesses. Until...

Until that is, my mother came home and started narrating stuff. I thought I couldn't stomach any more strange incidents, but there she was, all black and grey talking about getting busy shopping, or getting busy dying. A dreadful experience it was, like being on some unpaid-for LSD mash with only a poorly etched wall map to keep you from falling into an unknown territory of physical harm.

Well, I hope everyone else is ok, because...

Jesus.

...

2006-09-10T00:16:00.000+01:00

My life has nothing to do with the blowing up of balloons. It was after 4, and I was running. 4:03pm by my slim Motorola and I could feel sweat beginning to take form on my face. Through an opening in the crowds and down the quietest side-street , I slowed to the aching of my body. It was hitting me as if from a far-off place, it's physical nature restricting it somewhat. I would usually have felt the pain far more vividly, and perhaps have stopped long before, but in this case all access to that physical world had been obscured, blocked and barricaded. I sat on an discoloured and misshaped, yet gladly taken electricity maintenance box, slinging my backpack to the concrete. All I had were some clothes, which took up the bulk of the capacity, an mp3 player, a bottle of water, and probably some old bus tickets. My wallet and phone I usually kept in my pockets. The rough texture of the bag scrawled harshly along the paving, sounding somewhere between chewing a boiled sweet and one of Gunther Muller's more experimental exploits. Taking a moment to catch my breath, I felt myself grimacing lightly. I had water, so I drank some and returned it to it's place. It wasn't particularly chilled, and what I had hoped would be a blissful relief didn't satisfy my so much. I knew I'd feel better for it later. I was feeling an odd concoction of disappointment, regret, shame and perhaps anger. My heart slowed to a comfortable pace.

Subtraction is Sexy

2006-08-30T13:51:00.000+01:00

There's a track on "shit on scissors" by crashbonsai from the insubordinations netlabel (of which I'm a HUGE fan) entitled "subtraction is sexy". I have to say that I completely agree. It's not only that the process of taking a pen and piece of paper and taking 3 from 7 is sexy. Not ONLY that. The very process of selectively minimising a convention by whatever measure you choose is downright bedroom feverish if I may say. Streamlining, cutting, slicing, altering the dynamics, and making pocket-size are all very effeminating exercises designed to make things more appealing. Everything sexy is small more or less, am I not right? I certainly laud small things with my loving care. MP3 players are sexy because the designers subtracted what wasn't needed from what was to create a lovely slim device. Is a bottle sexier than a pint? Of course. Why the hell would they sell otherwise? Buying a 330ml bottle for the same price as a 568ml pint seems ridiculous until everyone says "ooh, look at him, he's looking well with his slim bottle" (which they do).

Also, this whole fascination with looking slim is not only down to exposure to glossy magazines and suggestive music videos, no. I was on the bus to Dublin last week and someone was selling the Evening Herald as I remember at traffic lights somewhere in the outskirts of the city. The headline was "9 year old girls treated for anorexia". Is it really such a wonder? Subtraction is sexy, and the whole world is realising it, be they 9-year-olds, architects, designers or what have you. They're all taking the proverbial 3 from 7 in whatever field they're involved. It's sexy, and it's ok. Thank you crashbonsai for showing me this. Nice album too by the way. Download it here.

Cornelius - Music

2006-08-28T18:22:00.000+01:00

This is the first outing from Keigo Oyamada in what was far too long a while. I posted previously about all that though so I won't repeat myself too much. Taken from his upcoming album "Sensuous", the first single, "Music" is instantly reminiscent of Point. The plucked chords of an acoustic guitar split across the left and right, each chord seemingly recorded separately, is familiar territory. That said, he seems to have chosen a nicely voiced progression with all sorts of 'interior' melodies to gain from. It sounds like a matured version of Point. All the audiophilia is intact, as is the use of bleeps and stereo pan, but it's matured, nonetheless. A bass drum is heard through the chorus "We need music", a fairly catchy "I'm a single" dive into that familiar 'bouncy-harmonious' territory of previous Cornelius releases. We is a G. Need comes in under we in E to create a minor third. Mu-u-sic takes over in a C-F-G progression to create a Csus4 chord in first inversion. Lovely. The drone at the end of Point which raises to an unbearably whine is also present lending to the idea that this is a child of Point. It's great though so listen to it.

Three B-sides are on the single, being "Gum", "Clap & Whistle & Walking" and "The Star Spangle-Gayo". The first is a nice distortion-driven delve into new territory. Vocally, is reminds me of something off Fantasma, with mono-syllabic utters of something I have no clue about, again spread across the stereo image. The guitar periodically raises a half-tone leaving the vocals behind to create some odd dissonance. A Uchihashi-esque solo shows Oyamada's proficiency of the guitar as the song closes as it started, driven by electric guitar.

"Clap & Whistle & Walking" is composed entirely of clapping, whistling, walking, birds, and a synth-flute thingy. It swings like some fun walk through a leafy garden, ending in a flurry of claps. It's certainly groovy B-side material, fun for a few listens at least.

"Star Spangele-Gayo" opens with s nicely interpreted version of star-spangled banner on acoustic guitar lasting about ten seconds before a harmonic sounds and lasts twenty-five minutes or something. It slowly fades into nothingness, and a whoosh grows in it's absence rising and rising until it bursts at the tracks closing. The whole thing goes on for 35:22. A bit needless really, as I didn't find anything of interest, or anything which can't be thrown together in CoolEdit in a minute. I dunno.

Anyway, it's a welcome return and Cornelius shows that he hasn't lost his touch, but also shows that he hasn't grown much. Artists usually change radiocally over five years. Cornelius hasn't. All said it's great music, but I'm left slightly disappointed at the lack of new direction for the man. The new album will tell. "Sensuous" is out on October 25th.

Matt Damon as James T. Kirk?

2006-08-24T02:40:00.000+01:00

He's a solid actor, and looks like Shatner did, but is he Kirk material? I'm not so sure. I'm interested to see what J.J. Abrams' take on the whole franchise will be.

IMDB link

I just don't know. It's probably just hype. Star Trek is certainly prone to speculative chatter and all that.

Those are the headlines - God, I wish they weren't.

2006-08-23T18:03:00.001+01:00

I bumped into Ryoji Ikeda today. It wasn't the kind of half expected meeting that you might get at a arthouse concert or a modern drugs party. Not anything so common. This was by complete chance. I was genuinely surprised to see him running errands in and around the cornershop by Parnell Place and Maylor Street.

"Ryoji. Hey man, how was you head last Thursday?"

"Oh just fine. It was an explosive night; I really let myself go with all THAT jazz. But I managed to flip my bed around so as to avoid a nasty hangover".

"...... what?"

"So what's the deal with you? I'm thoroughly enjoying your xhous project. Anything else in the pipeline?"

"Oh, I've got hours of sampling just piled up on my hard drive. I'm working away though. I should be able to slice it all down into another release."

"Another of the xhous series?"

"Oh yeah, I'm by no means finished with it yet"

"Hey, I have to say though: What was [xhous-02] all about? That was pure shit."

"Yeah, only recently have I realised. I do agree with you though. I may discard it. I was young, inexperienced and headstrong. After last Wednesday though..."

"You mean after all THAT jazz?"

"All THAT.........THAT jazz, Ryoji."

"Exactly. Well I'd better take off. Dataplex is really riding me, you know."

"Is it? Well it's fucking excellent I want you to know. Keep it up."

"I will. Later homie."

And that's how it was. Such a nice guy really. I proceeded down Merchant's Quay, past a P.I.M.P. listening to Parliament on his ghetto blaster, and some other people taking their fill of the days rays, when I ran into nobody at all. He had been spreading the love with regards to 12-tone composition and the use of hexachords. He spoke first.

"Where. Are. My. Shitting. CDs?"

"I'm still waiting for them. It all takes time, and I've been fairly busy. I'll let you know whwn I have something for you.

"For you... Fo ryu... For ryu."

"What are you doing? Why are you messing with the spelling?"

"For ryu... For ryo... For Ryoji Ikeda?"

"Oh Jesus, yeah I meant to say. I've gotten to know him and I feel sort of guilty about what is basically taking this man's livelihood from him."

"You..."

"I'm not sure I feel ok about downloading all his music from Soulseek."

"..."

"You know I use Soulseek don't you?"

"No."

"Soulseek? Well I do. That's where all the music comes from. Nothing special. I'm not involved in any piracy rings, nor do I have access to anything exclusive which nobody else does."

"..."

"You know if you want I could sho-"

Nobody was gone. I spun around to see where he had gone, but he was nowhere. He vanished at the thought of learning how to use Soulseek. With no further business on the corner of Merchant's Quay and Patrick's Street, I made my way down towards Winthrop Street. I glanced left down Maylor Street to see Ryoji still spooning about at its lower end. Dataplex really WAS riding him. He must have been working attentively at something I'm sure I'd never understand.

I came onto Winthrop Street and into work. I was well greeted.

"Morning. How's it going for you? Have you had any good news today?"

"No. Nothing. No good news today."

Upon the factorisation of one's student number

2006-08-21T00:49:00.000+01:00

Watch closely.

105583551

= 3(35194517)

= 3(19)(1852343)

= 3(19)(31)(59753)..... all primes!!!!!

I got 4 primes!!!! I know... I know...

And putting my student number twice back to back,

ie to factorise 105583551105583551 yields this monger...

(2^6)(17)(29)(37)(547)(971)(170279)

Holy Schmidt...

I used a factorising calculator for that one. I feel ashamed. I know how to do it on paper but I could potentially cover a whole moon in work to do it.

123456789101112131415161718192021222324252627
282930313233343536373839404142434445464748495
051525354555657585960616263646566676869707172
737475767778798081828384858687888990919293949
596979899100

{N}n=1->100 in one supernumber

Factorise that...

Oh... it did. Surprisingly fast too.

(2^584)(3)(19)(15919)(2148853813)

That's my lesson for the day.

Until again happens...

subtle changes

2006-08-15T00:03:00.000+01:00

Hey you!

It's been ages, eh? Rather than go through my regular business of sorting myself out in some sort of CSS-shrink setup as I've been known to do, I'll talk about Nobukazu Takemura's Songbook. Now Nobu releases on many labels, so I'm not entirely sure which one(s) he used here *checks* ah bubblecore... who? anyway, he's released on Thrill Jockey before so he's good. It's my ultimate goal to work with the said jockeys. Just look at their catalogue. Me, oh my.

This is a 22-track album and it lasts 80 mins. The first thing that strikes is that Nobu has actually filled the cd. The technology wouldn't cope with any more. Perhaps some indication of some something somewhat regarding Nobu's immersion in a digital mudbath. Certainly this album oozes computerised indulgence throughout. Aside from the vocals provided by Aki Tsuyoko (perhaps) and some drumming everything seems at least midi-driven. It's a fun album with some very strong ideas, although I felt he ran out of ideas as some tracks seem a bit samey and bland. It's almost as if listening to the first half-hour is all you need. I can't sit myself down and actively listen to 80 mins of music unless it's absolutely blowing me away. This isn't a bad album at all, and as I said, it has some strong ideas. I love Mahou no Hiroba especially. It's so full of synth-brass that it actually seems quite spacious. It's a very strong track harmonically too. Tuirirukabinbon is a strong track too, as is Obaoba. A good listen overall.

"Fourty-one, why did you save me?"

2006-07-17T23:29:00.000+01:00

It's my 25th post! Hoot! I suppose that's ok. To have sustained this effort somewhat. Although my posts are getting very very thin I know. I went a whole week without posting once or twice. So just maybe I'll make them more frequent. 25... could easily be 50 really.

I woke up to find that the fantastic dream I had been having wasn't real, and that whatever it promised would go undelivered. That sort of thing usually doesn't happen to me. I know I've woken up thinking I was still dreaming before but this was more profound. I had dreamt of a few things, mostly of an eventful life. A tower block, a dog and night-time. Some girl had called me gorgeous. She was a brunette with silky hair draped on her back. Her face was pale but showed an inviting warmth; definitely Irish. She had said it because she had just set me up with her friend whom I hadn't seen. Some courtship had gone on, with me giving her something or maybe inviting her somewhere purely out of generosity. In return, she sent me a Sudoku kit. I had no idea you needed anything other than a pen and paper, but this was full of plastic parts. It was something you'd give a child. Maybe I was being told she was older than I, in some bizarre way. Anyway without any further development, I woke with a thud.

I walked into work at 1:00 and got sent home because business was slow. Why, oh why didn't they ring me before I made the hour journey in. The complaint didn't even occur to me though, because I was so happy to be free. I immediately did Pana, popping my head into whatever shops caught my fancy. It was such a nice day. I bought Vittel on Paul St. but it wasn't exactly chilled and so wasn't the best. I really should have taken some time to sit in the park on my own but I stopped myself for some reason. Perhaps because usually I'd get a chicken roll and go to the park, but this time I wasn't hungry and so I didn't think to go to the park either. It would have been jammers anyway. I got home at around 2:15.

I hadn't intended to head back so early, and I would have preferred to stay around town. Had anything happened or had any opportunity presented itself I would have jumped at it. It didn't, so even though I realised I had nothing to do at home, I got the 222 home. Since then I've mostly listened to music and read. I cooked myself sausages, but I've completely lost my appetite these days. The lovely day came to a close without anything happening of note. Is there something I should be doing? Something useful? I could get more work, but I don't like it. I've been working tremendously slowly with my music. I'm repeating an exam in 4 or 5 weeks which I don't have to do anymore. I'm not working until Friday. 3 more days to do something useful.

I owe Eoin Winning a beer...

2006-07-13T18:19:00.000+01:00

I packed my bags. Zero hour: 11pm. What I didn't think to include was any sort of beer or sociable beverage. Stuck without a jar, I bummed first from Falvey. I suppose I also owe him, but seeing that the 9am shift had him leaving early anyway, it was ok. Later on though, I took Eoin's Carlsberg, which tasted funnily like cheap ale. Draught Carlsberg is well different. But anyway. I'm sorry, man. I'll oblige him a Kaiserdom some day. That'll do it.

I'm listening to Gorecki's Misere now. Domine indeed. Must get Chinese though, because I neglected to buy myself fresh food today. Frozen food? Bwahahaha! No.

Johnny Cash - American V: A Hundred Highways

2006-07-05T17:29:00.000+01:00

American V is the latest instalment of uber-produced covers performed by Johnny Cash and more than touched up by Rick Rubin. In his final year, after the release of American IV, Cash worked in the studio daily under the encouragement of his wife, who passed away interim. He repeortedly recorded upwards of 60 tracks, 12 of which appear here. From what I hear, this may not be the last of the American series, as there is certainly enough material for another release.

For the sake of the review, I'll treat this as if it is the final we hear of Johnny. It certainly feels that way from the outset. 'Help', written by Larry Gatlin establishes this. "Oh Lord, help me to walk another mile, just one more mile..." cues the theme of the album, being that of Johnny Cash's passage from life to death. It's quite a nice intro, and is very well measured by Rubin, who allows a solo guitar opening to be embellished with the decorative foliage of a cello as the song progresses. This is also a sign of things to come with regards to instrumentation on the album.

It should be said that Johnny's physical state, he wasn't much for performing and his chronic arthritis disabled him from playing guitar. He doesn't strum a chord on the whole album if my ears are any good. Studio guests listed in the sleeve perform the guitar parts. There were two ways to go about this. They could have been made to imitate Johnny's style, the idiosyncratic train-chugging strum so omnipresent in his back-catalogue, or do what they actually did. This is no train-track recording, but a lush modern recording, utilising the great ability of Rick Rubin. Rubin is a master of acoustics, you see. I hear people say that Johnny Cash's 'Hurt' is better that the original. If it is, it's for two reasons, the fact that it's more profound and also because Rubin just made such a masterpiece recording. Anyway. The feel of the guitars here is nothing you'll have heard from a previous Cash album, American recordings included.

There's plenty Johnny Cash bravado on show later on. 'God's Gonna Cut You Down' feels like a throwback to shooting a man in Reno, just to watch him die. It's a stompy inebriated warning to non-believers and blaggards everywhere. Religious sturdiness takes it's seat at the table and slams a whiskey back for posterity. It's short and yee-haw, just what is needed to balance the album with sentimental numbers like 'On the Evening Train'.

This is Hank Williams' work, and it fits the album perfectly. Clearly intended to signify June's passing, we hear of a man's wife being carted off forever on the said train. Considering that Johnny's music was so intwined with trains and the distance they put between people and places, this is perfect. It jerks a tear. "I pray that God will give me courage to carry on 'till we meet again - It's hard to know - She's gone forever - They're carrying her home on the evening train."

More June-oriented choices occur, one being 'Rose of My Heart', which contains such sweet cadences that it's taken an early lead as my pick of the bunch. It's a dreadfully simple folk ditty, but that's the beauty. "You are the rose of my heart - You are the love of my life - A flower not faded, nor falling apart - if your tired rest your head on my arm, rose of my heart." What more is needed? Simplicity, bitter beauty and a strange triumph all form what is a very strong effort indeed.

Rubin chose the sequence of tracks very specifically. Is Johnny dead? Johnny is dead. What has he left? How should we think of him? The closing track is once again, a sign of a good producer. So close to Johnny at the end, Rubin closes American V with 'I'm Free From The Chain Gang Now', an escape from prison to bird-like freedom. Johnny is dead. "I was shackled in chains in the cold, freezing rain, but I'm free from the chain gang now." A pipe organ seems to sing a requiem for the fallen great, the northern star of country, folk, and rock. A legend in the truly meaningful sense of the word. A battered man who did it all, gained and lost everything, lived excessively and was punished is finally free from the chain gang now.

Time for funny videos I say!

2006-06-29T12:36:00.000+01:00

Here are some more crazily hilarious videos taken from Japanese TV. I really can't explain...

Public toilets are just a bad idea, so I just use the nearest American fast food outlet. Now I'm more sure than ever. If I'm ever in Japan though, curiosity might get the better of me. Who doesn't secretly yearn to be atop a portajohn exposing themselves to everyone?

Is there anything more natural than gymnopaedia?

2006-06-29T00:53:00.000+01:00

Erik Satie. Beautiful, haunting, yearnful. At once a man, a woman and an artist. Marvellous.

Erik Satie. Beautiful, haunting, yearnful. At once a man, a woman and an artist. Marvellous.

Erik Satie. Beautiful, haunting, yearnful. At once a man, a woman and an artist. Marvellous.

Erik Satie. Beautiful, haunting, yearnful. At once a man, a woman and an artist. Marvellous.

Erik Satie. Beautiful, haunting, yearnful. At once a man, a woman and an artist. Marvellous.

Erik Satie. Beautiful, haunting, yearnful. At once a man, a woman and an artist. Marvellous.

Erik Satie. Beautiful, haunting, yearnful. At once a man, a woman and an artist. Marvellous.

Does anyone not get the picture?

More about my time

2006-06-21T12:26:00.000+01:00

I feel like I didn't elaborate enough on the subject of me wasting time by working. Work, particularly for minimum wage tramps like myself who receive a corporate bukkake for every hour we work, is an atrocious waste of time, of course. Think about it: What you're paid at the end of your shift is the minimum they can give you without being tried and executed (sort of). It's exploitative. Here's the interview scenario. Ok Liam, I want you to do all this back-breaking mind-numbingly repetitive and mundane horse-labour and at the end I'll give you the absolute minimum I can. Am I supposed to be happy with this?

Yesterday I worked the 9 to 5 shift in Scoozi's. I was completely hungover from a night of wheat-beer, vodka, some green stuff made from vodka, more vodka and another beer. Had I not been woken by my mother, I would have slept straight through till 2pm, because I'd never have heard my phone. Anyway. I have very little recollection of what happened for the first three hours. I was in and out of consciousness and I remember thinking I was on the verge of a vomit attack at around 11. Fortunately, my morning Weetabix stayed put, although a dull pain like a smothered yelling remained in my stomach for the whole day. My break at 12 was followed by a straight five-hour run which seemed to last at least 3 days. You could work in Scoozi's for 2 hours and all the clocks show that 15 minutes have passed. It's a crazy system they have in there for sure. I don't know why they do it to be honest.

Now what I could have been doing was working on [xhous-03], which is still in it's infant stages. This sort of work is more respectable, and cares more for my delicate mind, but at the end I can't really buy myself a sandwich or new shoes or a new phone which I now need courtesy of a failing battery. Answer? Stay part-time of course. My dad wanted me to look elsewhere for full-time work, but while I will be looking for other, more comfortable appointments, I don't think full-time work is for me. If I did take it up, I know I'd just end up quitting inside a month. I'll actually earn more part-time then. Great!

So you see that the summer, or more to the point this huge lump of time which has planted itself between first and second year of my degree, is not all about working as much as is possible to earn lots of money to blow on girlfriends and an indulgent-but-hideously-over-priced holiday. That's the summer I was very almost pressured into by certain people who see that like as the standard to which all guys should aim. It's not. If it works for you, fine. This is a digression, but what I honestly see as having a full-time job and a girlfriend purely for the sake of having them is I suppose respectable, but very pitiful at the same time. It's almost like a five-year old trying on his father's shoes. Remember that feeling? That's honestly what I see in the faces of some of these people. On a minimum wage, you cannot move out by yourself, buy a car and live the proper life. So why bother? Why not wait until the end of your degree when you're earning 30 euro an hour?

So for me, I'll work just enough to keep me going, so I can splash out on myself every now and then maybe. Most of my time will be spent exploring my interests, having a good time and generally tying up all the loose-ends of my fading juvenility. It's great, this blogging business. I've sorted myself out completely just by writing this post. How fabulous. And I'm not working till Sunday. wOOt!

Infinite music and precious time...

2006-06-18T13:47:00.000+01:00

I'm going to point out now something which I've slowly began to realise over the past few weeks. It's about the correlation between free downloadable music and freely improvised music, and how together they nullify their respective disadvantages. I'll start by explaining those of downloadable music. It's all very well to produce music solely for the purpose of letting it go for free into the open, like a wildlife foundation would a specimen of endangered species, but given that there are no grants for such an activity, or any income at all unless you're beneficiary to a lewd advertising (shudder) scheme, what's the use? What I mean is that to be excellent in your music takes full-time dedication, which becomes impossible in this case. This seems to be the barrier which is holding free music in its place. No ambitious artist would even fathom the idea outside of 64kbps streams maybe. So it's a badly-founded concept. Ok.

On the flipside, we have freely improvised music, which I think needs a new name. It's name is confusing because I'm speaking of applying yourself to making sounds, or noise, or whatever you like in the way you see fit for however long you want. And when it's done, it's done. Strictly, I wouldn't allow and cut-ups, or any production or mastering to blemish the spontaneity, but if that's the way it happens, then that's fine. This confuses with the other improvised music, the one which stems from jazz. Let's say I'm doing my improvised music, and Django Reinhardt is doing his improvised music. We each have the challenge of doing a continuous, 24-hour improv, independent of each other. Now Django will set himself a chord progression and start playing it a few times and throw in some licks which he spent ages practising, and use some arpeggios which his teacher showed him when he was fourteen, and we all know that he's great at it. What's bound to happen, is that he'll cover the same ground within ten minutes, I guarantee. I'm not criticising him, I'm just pointing out that while he has been termed the 'master of improvisation', his playground is so narrow and confined that he'd hit a wall long before the 24 hours elapsed. It would be inevitable. Myself on the other hand wouldn't face the same problem. My playground is an endless chasm of sonority, a comparison through which I have devised the new term 'infinite music', which hopefully will stave off anyone who associated me with jazz every time I say I improvise.

I'll come right out and say that infinite music is cocky, shite and pretentious work even when it is most refined. It's immediate, but not completely doable for just anyone. There are certainly tiers within it that would decide whether something was completely useless or great. For people who know, the process of explaining why someone else is shit while they are good is futile; I've never found the words myself. What's great is that the immediacy allows for a 16-minute performace to come about and rise from nothing to completion in exactly 16 minutes. [xhous-02] - answer to telephone is an example of this. Outside of the time it took to set up my equipment, it was nothing and then it was done in 16 minutes. I left it as it was, perfect in itself.

To go back to the correlation between downloadable music and infinite music, I would say that the immediacy of the latter strikes out the full-time requirement of the former. If I can produce something which I'm happy to release in 16 minutes, the problem seems to solve itself. Even if I have to create ten before I'm happy with one, which often happens, that's still less than three hours of my time. Now while this all sounds like a lazy compromise, I must say that I take my music more seriously that I do most aspects of my life. I don't give a shit about work, I don't play sport anymore and I could manage without most things. My degree and my explorations of infinite music are the things without which I couldn't live at all. This is all simply the arrangement I have reached with myself. It works for me, and I think that in the near future I will release many more pieces as a tribute to this arrangement. We'll just have to see whether or not it really does work for me.

It's about shitting time Keigo...

2006-06-14T09:53:00.000+01:00

After five years of sordid remixes and production work for his wife, Keigo Oyamada has finally taken it to release new material. Cornelius, the name by which he is better known, struck a proverbial oilwell with 1996's Fantasma, and has been reusing the Star Fruits Surf Rider chime in every remix he's done since. It is instantly recognisable as being the essential Cornelius feel, but to the avid listener it just seems overused. He even releases remix albums of his own and of others' work, so it's not as if he's doing it for fun or as an amatuer. He has seemed like a part-timer since Point (2002), however, doing nothing at all. At all.

And now, apparently as of some unspectacular spring day, a Tuesday I suspect, Keigo has decided to pull himself together. Now I'm not too sure about it myself, because I'm not in a million years downloading Apple Quicktime prepackaged with iTunes (why?), but word on the street is that behind this mystery door, a new single looms. It's to be released some time in August, and please god let it be a prelude to a fully new and independent studio album. Now I have very high expectations for this. After the age which has passed, this better be good, you! I want this to be an entirely new foray for Keigo. I'm sick of chillout. I'm tired of monkey-music. I want a refreshing gulp of the 'Nelius. It's only fair.

Trans-Europe Express

2006-06-09T22:11:00.000+01:00

My new sampler arrived today. Or I should say Wednesday. It's a Roland Sp-404, and having heard the great things that can be done with small, simple samplers a la Cornelius or Ground Zero, I said I'd go ahead and buy it. It's great fun altogether, and I've been playing around with it for a few hours, figuring out just what everything does. It's not really simple after all, and I'm finding that controlling your samples in real-time is a bit tricky.

Nonetheless, I recorded a drunken Kraftwerk megamix last night, taking three samples from 1977's Trans-Europe Express and just messing around with them haphazardly. The results are amateur; three ill-matched samples stumbling over one another while I wreak havoc with the pitch shifter makes for very average listening. I would post it up, but it's plagiarism, and while I believe in full scale plagiarism, I'm not sure archive.org would share the same view. I'll look into it.

Sorry for the dark photos; I took them just a minute ago in the fading light. I deliberately left the flash off, because it seemed to make the metallic housing look like tacky shit which it isn't. Anyway, I think the SP-404 is suited to dark environments, with it's glowing BPM counter and huge chunky red sample pads.

I'm sure it'll prove to be a very handy tool, once I get my head around it. It's got a lot of features including 29 effects, which is enough for anybody. One of them is called a noise generator. Yes, this is right up my street.

In other news, Pawel Brozek made a late sub appearance for Poland against Ecuador earlier. Made famous by his CM (now FM) days with Napoli, Pawel never failed to be top scorer in Serie B with an average rating of 7.84. A class act, he almost clawed a goal back for the doubly deficited Polish, only to be denied by the post. We were all glad of our glimpse of the man, who was always subject to the painful decision to drop him, as soon as you qualified for Europe. He just couldn't hack it with finishing 14 really.

The Symphony of Sorrowful Songs

2006-06-06T21:28:00.000+01:00

I'm listening to an unusual piece of music now. The first movement of Gorecki's 3rd is unusual in it's compositional style. It opens with an excellently low double bass duet, which gently rises into the cellos and after four and a half minutes, the violins. The progression, by which I mean the melody, remains the same for around twelve minutes, with different harmonies being played at different times. It'sort of like Kirk, Spock, and McCoy sailing down a stream somewhere possibly in Arizona, and singing "Row, Row, Row, Your Boat" in layers. It sounds just as good too. The slow climb certainly reflects some kind of sorrowful happening.

At around the twelve minute mark, a piano key sounds, introducing a soprano who bellows out some indistinguishable lyrics. This section includes the first sign of dissonance, and it's used very powerfully to great effect. Back comes the first twelve minutes only this time winding down. The movement lasts almost twenty seven minutes. The symmetry almost sounds lazy and predictable, but it is tastefully so. This piece is pure, perhaps reflecting the purity of the sorrow contained in it. It requires no deep knowledge of music to understand. It is designed that way.

The second movement is much more beautiful, and softer, but equally as sorrowful. The soprano has a much more prominent role. I like the sense of repetition which is evident throughout. Certain notes, intervals and words seem to be engraved in the piece. It's really nice.

I can't seem to listen to the third and final movement just now. I might try again later.

I think I got fat today. Ironically though, I think I'm also really low on sugar. So I'll just go have some sugar, and get fatter.

My index page is really heavy

2006-06-04T21:12:00.000+01:00

My videos take ages to play, because the scripts I'm using to show them take ages, or something to that effect. I don't know how to fix this, so you might be better off going to YouTube, and watching the videos from there. They all have an 11-digit code which should allow you to find them. How you might get this code, I'm not really sure. Do some right-clicking, or look at the page source. It's the best I can do at the moment.