Aye, 'tis is a soul killer as well as a pain raiser, that regularity in everyday life the protestant work ethic inspires. Perspiration, stagnation, repulsion, revulsion. Refuse to be crontabbed, refuse to fit into a scheme. So friday and saturday is for drinking? Well, well, what else is new? Conform to the rhythm. Consume. Consume. do that which is your duty as a citizen.

Pish on that. Pish on the posh. When I had worked for a while after my somewhat ill spent period of education, I noticed that conformity was such an easy mode to enter. Just like that, click-clack, tick-tock, clockwork life. Work all days at fixed times, always too tired to do creative stuff. Fill your evenings with surrogate sex, chasing smut, chatting crudely with people one never knew. How sad. Bourgeoisie ennui. Tiresome wired lifestyle, coffeefuelled mental hardon like Rocketman, legendary non-conformist.

Refuse to be crontabbed. It's so easy to be predictable. That's right. that's good. People like predictability: "Men think, women think. You are, we are." Well, most people have brains as well as soul on the side. We just tend to forget to use them. I'm nothing really, unique as well as a proud member of the vulgii, cardcarrying Cainite by heart. Noli me tangere, motherfuckers! Conspire on this, son! Consume thine mental constipation with gusto! Tong, tong, hark th' bell. A cell of one is still a cell. Sure, a movement, like.

On a brighter note: there there. I sometimes break down these walls of the mundane. Most of the time actually. There are still lots of things to be happy about. I just bought 5 years worth of weekly magazines from the 60's and early 70's. My Lord! Wotta goldmine! Idun, it's called, and Veckojournalen. Swedish as sex, if there ever was a contradiction. Wozzname, oxymoron.

Last friday I saw Thin Red Line, and boy, was that a crock of shit! Well, maybe it wasn't totally without merit, but it was far too long, and far too vague. Brilliant acting altogether, though. But if I see that sorry scatmuncher of a scientologist, John T., in another movie in the near future, I swear I'm gonna... In a manner of speaking, that is. Bla bla, "human rights issue"... yeh, rite owan, my brother. Jeez! You all know what I'm talking about. Mob mentality in new age clothing. P-U - wotta stinker!

Thin Red Line felt like an odd mixture of Boorman's Emerald Forest, without the magic, Apocalypse: Now! and Koyaanisqatsi. I wanna see a new Tim Robbins film. That Bob Roberts movie really was something, don't you agree? I liked Robbins' anti-capital punishment piece, Dead Man Walking, too. And his parts in The Player and Short Cuts. Good man walking, there.

Next week, UK Subs is playing here. Talk about back from the grave. In like Flynn? Not bloody likely, mein freund! [Sudden change of subject:] Since I don't own a TV these days, I'm pretty much left to my own silly devices: re-reading comic books, watching videos at friends', chatting on some talker, ripping vinyls to layer 3, remastering old hiphop vinyl, trying to learn to use that goddamned sequencer, deconstructing sounds and images, thinking about detournment projects, talking on the phone, folding laundry, thinking about drilling the walls, wondering why I'm never in like Flynn.

Awfully troublesome, this reality. I've never been much of a hunter. Never really got the hang of the mating game, really. I always end up befriending the girls I like, totally missing to make a pass on them. I like them too much. I don't wanna fuck up. "I'm a coward/Put your knife in me", in the words of The Swans. This certainly is a dilemma. Some day soon, all the good ones are going to be "taken". And that would be a problem. I don't really mind living alone in this semi-voluntary celibacy, but it kinda frightens me that all the people that I like may not be there for me one day. At the same time, I would hate to tie someone down in a relationship. And I ain't talking bondage here. I think.

What I mean is this: people in relationships sometimes stagnate. Like that. "I've got it made", they might say, "Why should I worry?" They might have to compromise, even though I feel you shouldn't have too. I'm not desperate, but I probably should be. To enter a relationship for the relationship's sake is bogus. It would certainly be great to have someone to share things with. But not at any cost. I'm rambling, delirious words with no thought. I don't get hardons at bars. I never think "I'm gonna get that girl". Never. My loss. I'm such a pussy cat. Cross my heart and wish I was a tyger tyger shining bright. A wolf. The warewolf. Der Vampyr.

So. A fucking Pigsville installment. I'll try to keep this up, writing shit here once a week or so. It certainly beats jerking off to the written words of someone you're never gonna meet. A promise: I'm gonna get me a real life. Honest to god. I'm kicking my ass here. My motto: "Mr Pig's gonna be In. Like Flynn."

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This week's mental lubricants of choice: The Nuggets boxset, the Merle Haggard box set, Public Enemy, Nancy Sinatra, Serge Gainsbourg, Controversial Negro, Murder City Devils, Koblo Tokyo, Blade, 'Beat' Takeshi, rose-hip cream, Espresso Casa, Pansonic, Congo Natty, www.one38.org, dBonanzah, www.melty.com, Chat Noir, Chat Blanc, Guinness, Talisker, hard core pornography, Weegee, Klezmatics, toasted ham'n'cheese ciabatta, The Wipers, Alfredo's Pasta, Kimbo Espresso, crashed harddrives, Hakim Bey, strong willed women, virtual hosting, short haired women, Preacher, Invisibles and Grendel comic books, the graffiti kids, long haired women, roasted pepper, American Flagg, anarchists, the new FontHaus catalogue, Madame Nhu, General Salazar (I dont like them, but they're interesting, oft forgotten history) and Homicide.