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Is this what will happen if the economy goes belly shnup?
Commentators out there have been woaning but you know I warned you all earlier in the year that all the computer maths business doings was going to have reverb. It happened with the sub-prhyme mortgage problem in the US which might be facing its greatest challenge since the 1930's. Bush fans or no your President or was it Cheyney took their eye of f the ball and rushed into a war that has cost us all too much.
hi I'm Jerry Soundhed and I 'm going to have my new show podcasted someday. But given how slow Mr Squorch is (think Elvistein) I'll probably never get off the graphite.
The Fall of the Rebel Angels by Breughel is not an iconic picture in our current Western visuo-geist compared to, for example, Breughel's own Triumph of Death.
Two figures male and female in the stillness of night alone. A ghoulish quality pervades this painting. The faces are bleached out and as with much of Hopper's work, eye contact is evasive.
Below and Above 1
That day the clouds haltly like motor-traffic
And into the stretching light of summer night june,
Their seedlet rain sowing
Did what they do in an England London way-
That is in their own interplay
The day, they spoiled, for some, for some I’m sure,
But for others, most likely, can I assure you?
They secured:
Strolling together enbelled beneath skyscraper umbrellas
In certain quarters of Hampstead
Pimlico and Bayswater and less famous places too
They matriculated some romance
And the blades of sunlight that cut through
Symbolised something to them and for them
Of what so rarely staples, fuses, fissions, pins the here to now
Detatches the gowhere? Nowhere
From the somewhere righthere to the right now non-
Finite
And sometimes when it’s true that’s called like wow,
A kiss.
As for me I’m in the aforementioned Pimlico
In a café Nero
Waiting for the 10,9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1, zero moment
When ashtrays can never sit atop menus
In the interior venues…
Restaurants and bars
In winter you will exhale beneath the stars
But now here
I inhale the moment
The 7:50 segment of
The Pinball machine day
Everyone in
An object – they’re humans I know like me –
I’m an object to them too – dodge, sometimes collide
Here each is a pinball to a ride
The rain and the wind drove us inside.
Happy at the inertia
Of reveries about my ancient
And because associations work mysteriously
Mila the Muscovite’s accent
And wildly beautiful eyes in my mind like the colour of the rising moon in summer
And ruminations about the ancientness of the domestic cat
And the situation of the Pre-Raphaelite,
Aesthetically preferred by Mila
Who yet is found here in a 21st century poem
Gowhere righthere now where, as a symbol
Not a soul, floating more graciously than the clouds of the 29th of June 2007
Into the stratas
That have been recorded
And will sometimes be reopened
To let meanings
Enact all synonyms and similes of motion
In their attempt to collide or cooperate with each other
Yet above the clouds are stars
And above them more metaphors
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These guys have decided they want to be cakes. Well...what's marzipan for the almond is tamazipam for the analysand or something....Elvistein coming sooooooon.
Hunger is universal. Can we help our hungry brothers and sisters given that ASPECTS of our prosperity are perhaps enjoyed as a result of their deprivation?
The first shall be last........
It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than a rich person to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.........
When did we see you naked or hungry?.............
I now know what I meant by LOVE IS A BROKEN HEARTED TRIANGLE. It means that A breaks B's heart because he doesn't love her and B breaks C's heart because of the love B DOES NOT HAVE for C. And it goes on.
For you closet catholics out there today is the feast of The Sacred Heart of Jesu Cristu who basically died of a broken heart-not that he wasn't tortured to death as well...
Any way here is a poem to mark this special day when we can say sorry for our lack of love towards fellow bretheren and sisteren and sadly I speak to Palestine right now as well as all of the rest of us. Riches are great but without Love there is no real meaning to society.
God of laughter
And God of tears
God who made us hopers with rays of love heavier than the Universe,
As we who stir the hopelessness we create by hating with limbs of fears
Please shed your graces
On we, who, from you, perpetually
Hide our faces
On we, who balance so proudlarge
upon this speck of dust
This planet miniscule teeming with unjust
We who say and pray I trust
And yet can scarce faith
That Adam's atoms came at last to reach past dust
God of laughter
And God of tears
Creator of joy
And sensible to fear and sorrow;
Yet God for whom there is no yesterday nor today,
And no millenium and indeed no to
Whatever could I mean? I don't know. But it sounds good. I think. 
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It is an absolute duty to speak of the human as a being who will use elements of the system to block up the system. Why the human feels compelled to block up the system especially when s/he can use elements of the system can be explained with recourse in part to the sense of humour component-but it is deeper-and sicker: the human can not help but chuckle to itself and among others about how clever it is and this is at its worst in the exacting of revenge or in the executing of malicious behaviour. The child is cruel; in teenage years that cruelty callouses and ushers 'humour' to its nasty service.
The actor William Terriss was stabbed at the stage door of the Adelphi Theatre in 1907. It is not far from where this picture was taken, which is the Royal Opera arcade. Terriss is thought to frequent Convent Garden tube station in particular and is described as "a man wearing a grey suit, old fashioned collar and white gloves".
Saraband is Master Ingmar Bergman's last film so far and is a must see for any of you shit directors out there who don't know what you're doing when it comes to your actors. Here is acting at its finest in a tightly woven chamberpiece where the depths of human selfishness, especially that of artists, is given the kind of air that lets truths multiply in action and emotion - the miniscule vibration of facial muscles that convey the macroscopic turmoils of the heart and the dying of the soul.
The story is about a weak son and a tyrannically domineering father. The father was an operatic celebrity. His son is a cellist of competence who has never enjoyced the limelight. But his daughter, his dad's grand-daughter with whom he is disgustingly committing incest has the potential to be noted by the snobby and hyper-critical classical music world. But she has to break free of her dad, and grandad whose daughter she possibly could be. In two scenes the music, Bach, in the church and Bruckner, Symphony no. 9, in the grand dad's study are used with masterly psychological accuracy.
In a picture beamed to NASA on Earth from the New Horizons spacecraft orbiting Jupiter we see the similarity between VanGogh's masterpiece Starry Night and the Little Red Spot ( a storm the size of planet Earth, situated below the famous Great Red Spot, an even greater storm requiring a celestial teacup) .
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/in_pictures/6614557.stm
http://www.vangoghgallery.com/
Paul Klee is a hero of mine. This book details the hand-puppets he created for his son. I'm not overly fond of hand- puppets. In my experience they tend to be aggressive. I dated one once and she was far too tactile for my liking. But hail to Paul Klee the depictor of the electronic world before it really came into existence. Check out this book at amazon. Just click on the pic to take you there.
That is a happy New Year to all Iranians. I myself am British but I lived in Iran in the 1970's. I display two pictures. One is a pastry shop which will have been much visited over this festive period and the other is of goldfish-left!- which are essential to the layout of the ceremonial items for this day, the first of spring which Iranians and Afghanis celebrate.
The modern and post-modern city was begat in the competition between merchant-titans. It is a shit machine that beshits itself. To live in the city of the modern life is to compete and be forced to behave like a rat. The top "athletes" are rewarded massively with gold palaces. In the middle you humans have puppets like me to keep you entertained. Your lives are punctuated by sex and adrenaline and alcohol. So that you don't feel too angry with the winners, many of whom (but not all) are cheats, these drugs and other distractions are provided for you. At the bottom of the pile are the homeless and the poor; and farther down are those in the 3rd World who cry from hunger. The machine of Capital has become crueller. Mad Meg by Breughel the Elder, the painting below on the is a good graphic analogy of this schizophrenic people-eating machine.
The machine of Capital teeters (titters; tits?) on the verge of serious failure. The machine has over-heated. It may conk out. Loonies masquerading as sane from every colour of the political spectrum will promise you solutions and paradises. But the reality of their policies may be more akin to those of a Stalin or a Hitler. The other version of events may be a fragmented society of rapacious vigilantes or small armies. If the crops start to fail because of global warming it could be a nightmare scenario...
On public transport I hear people drunkenly joking about whether or not their jobs will be secure next year. I say elect me Squorch747. It will be as if you are flying first class on your favourite airline to your favourite destination with the person of your dreams sitting beside you... Course I jest, but in jest I warn you of serious times ahead if the machine keeps trampling on people and ruining humans. Every single human being has the potential to be of value to his/her community. The painting below is The Carrying of the Cross by Hieronymus Bosch who influenced some of Breughel works. The first painting above is also by Pieter Breughel and I think it is the Tower of Babel. I will be showing a few more of Breughels paintings soon. Stay tuned and entertained. Don't get mad. Despite my own anger on behalf of the unloved and unwanted I must promote forgiveness because that can heal the society of you humans; a society on the verge of collapsing into a I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Have you heard the one about the Capitalist, the Communist and the Cobbler? Nor have I but I'm waiting for the podcast: I predict a write-off.
thanks to the two photographers here who let me take this photo back in the early summer before the Noahesque floods.
