Tuesday, 31 March 2015


"Since the World Cup we have been fantastic. A lot of teams around Europe will be looking at this team and will be frightened." - Wayne Rooney.

dread
drɛd
verb
1.
anticipate with great apprehension or fear.
"Jane was dreading the party"
synonyms: fear, be afraid of, worry about, be anxious about, have forebodings about, feel apprehensive about...

Write the Dread Away.
That (admittedly cheesy) line came to me in what at the time felt like a truly magic moment. It was just now actually, seconds after the fourth big swig of my third pint of canned of wife-beater. Perhaps it was inevitable? WRITE, TYPE, DO SOMETHING TO ALLEVIATE THIS FUCKING TORTURE, YOU IMBECILE!! The answer had been staring me in the face for so long, but invisibly. All those caged-in warped thoughts contributed to an almost complete disintegration of a once solid and highly developed personality. It could (and should) have been avoided, folks.
 OH, but why dwell on these things? England are playing Lithuania in half an hour. Should I subject myself once again to the phenomenal joys of international football on ITV Sport? Can I handle that right now? Will I end up berating the laptop screen and developing visions of severe soccer schizophrenia? Or will I just vaguely immerse myself in the National Dream? Nobody could really ever know the truth. Things have seemed extremely strange for a good while... more like a bad while, in all honesty. When you write extensively for a couple of years and then... SNAP! CRACKLE…STOP. No more bullshit for breakfast. Life got unsettlingly real, but for some perverted reason, it made less sense.

01 Arlauskis
03 Freidgeimas
06 Zaliukas
04 Kijanskas
23 Andriuskevicius
15 Chvedukas
05 Mikuckis
07 Zulpa
13 Mikoliunas
22 Cernych
09 Matulevicius

The football star Romualdas Marcinkus was the single Lithuanian pilot to serve in the Royal Air Force during the Second World War.
The name of Lithuania was mentioned for the first time in the Annals of Quedlinburg in 1009.
According to a study made by a French scientist in 1989, Lithuania is in the geographical center of Europe.
Lithuanians were the last nation in Europe to convert to Christianity.
The Lithuanian language is more ancient than Greek, Latin, German, Celtic, or the Slav tongues.
It belongs to the Indo-European group and is nearest to Sanscrit.
Philologists generally agree that Lithuanian is the most ancient of all the living languages.
Lithuania is known as the land of storks, the national bird for the country, with about 13,000 pairs.
From a ranking in 2011, Lithuania ranked first worldwide for internet upload and download speed.
Lithuania is expected to join the Euro in 2015.
Making vodka from corn was first discovered by the Lithuanians.
Easter Granny brings the Easter eggs, the Bunny just helps paint them.
Lithuania was the first to declare independence from the Soviet Union in 1990.
Lithuania is the only country in the world with its own official scent, known as the Scent of Lithuania.
Forest covers 1/3 of the country, including many protected regions and national parks.
Basketball is the most popular sport. Several Lithuanians have become NBA players, the most famous being Arvydas Sabonis.
By the end of the 15th century, Lithuania was the largest country in Europe, and included Belarus and parts of Ukraine.
Vilnius University was the first University in Eastern Europe.
The mother of Pope John Paul II was Lithuanian.
(Thanks, truenomads.com)

I went up the Villa last Saturday. They lost 0:1 to Swansea. "Speak fucking English, fucking Welsh scum!" - "Ref, yaum a useless cunt!" - "Shit Skrtel, bald wanker!" - (aimed at Jonjo Shelvey) - "Mind if we jump in with you lads?" - "Fine by me!" - Swansea fans in the taxi with us - they kindly offer to pay the fare - consolation. They ask me and the Documenter which nightclubs to go to. Neither of us can coherently recommend anything. All I can think about is getting back to the Barton Arms and drinking more beer. I liked it. The bar might be scarred and charred from the 2011 riots, but the place seems to be doing well. I must go back and consider trying their Thai food whilst further exploring the reasonably priced ales...

....Well, we're certainly back in the zone now. No doubt about it. The text is getting me respectfully erect, yet I'm oddly calm. It feels like a brain refurbishment. It's like Wayne Rooney's hair job. IT IS THE SOLUTION! Christ! Kick-off is only five minutes away now! The last three lines took me twenty-five minutes to type. What a disgrace! That said, I am out of practice. You'll have to forgive my rustiness. Perhaps I should talk a little bit about music instead? The prose may have been scarce of late, but at least the sounds have been ringing out consistently.

Music. Music, music, music, music, music. On its own, it can be a powerful, wondrously fun and vital thing. I want nothing more than to meet the needs of those adjectives with produce from my own musical allotment. But it's not always that straightforward. When you're embroiled in what was once a borderline kamikaze trip that has somehow evolved into a survival contest, many other previously ignored factors regularly come to the fore: Stress, depression, violent mood-swings, precious egos, technical nightmares, extreme social tensions, nervous implosions, complete lack of self-awareness, total indifference, ear damage, brain damage, liver damage, muscle strain, logistical headaches, financial suicide, media suicide, juvenile dreams, earnest expression, oafish behaviour, quirky freaks, anal discharge... the list goes on. Oh well, FUCK 'EM. This is nothing new, nothing new at all. It's always been the fucking same, hasn't it?

Perhaps my best bet right now is to shrug off this verminous negativity, bite the bullet and quote Doug Rocket talking about 'A4 Sounds', his concept album about the various sizes of paper - "It actually induced the first of many nervous breakdowns, all of which I've chosen to ignore."

..........................................

'Greetings Cruel Universe' is another fairly crass sounding thing that has been following me around for some time. I still can't quite envisage what it might become yet, but I'm slowly getting more of an idea.

Always be prepared for the worst. Defy the odds. Don't be afraid to challenge existence. Wrestle with reality. Say hello to the infinite meaningless meanness.

Miss Halliwell is alive and growing.
Reborn again and again if need be.

Mouldy Pop-Tart / Sweet breeding ground.

She's been spending some time in a mysterious commune recently.
Living modestly off the land and chanting positive mantras.

Behold her sensational abilities!

Everyone's favourite vixen has finally returned to The Great Society!

With power comes responsibility! The lingering mantra.

Enough of this vagueness! What we need now is detailed specifics. Lucky for you, dear reader, I'm more than happy to oblige.

THE ART OF PROMO

As I stood there on the pavement, straight vodka taste in my mouth, wearing an old modified red demon mask combined with a ridiculous long-hair wig, next to my long-suffering girlfriend, both of us dripping wet in the drizzle, disgusting blobs of PVA glue were working their way out of the large fake beard that was also attached to my demonic countenance. We were standing under the height restricting metal-bar entrance to a neglected old car park in Hockley, proudly showing off our new-born doll-baby to the world. Suddenly, I became overwhelmed with a sad realisation. I turned to my darling and whimpered, "I'm either too old or too normal for this business now, Rose".
"That's absurd, Miles. Age doesn't matter in the art-arse-end of things, and no, you are not too normal. You are NOT normal in any way, shape or form. Believe me, I should know after almost ten years of living in close proximity with you".
"Well I feel old, I can admit that. But I agree, I can't say I have ever felt normal, although I always hoped I might, one day".
"Me too. I hope you can feel normal one day. It would make my life so much fucking easier. Perhaps I wouldn't have to agree to standing in a car park in the rain, wearing only skimpy shorts and a white t-shirt with your initials on it".
"Well I think you look nice. It suits you".
"I'd feel better if it wasn't starting to go completely see-through."
"I'd feel worse if it wasn't".
"Shh, stop that filthy talk. Can't you see I'm trying to convincingly cradle this vile little baby-doll thing".
"Come on now, Rose. It's CUTE. OK, it's no 'Tiny Tears', but still a valid and necessary prop. Besides, it makes you look like a yummy mummy".
"Sure it does, Miles. A yummy mummy who played plenty of frantic drums at a sweaty rock gig last night, got pissed on vodka, fleetingly toked on joints and then proceeded to stand in the rain for a while, wearing highly questionable clothing and clutching her scuffed little toy baby in a rather unconventional way".
"How dare you refer to it as a 'scuffed little toy baby'! Think about what it represents, for Christ’s sake. Anyway, this is starting to give me a real Lion King vibe".
"Why?"
"It just does. Very 'Circle of Life' when you think about it".
"I've never seen The Lion King. I never want to see it either. I don't have time for cartoons, or animals, for that matter. I reserve a special kind of hatred for cartoons of animals. Now let's just get this shoot done before Damo capitulates to the weather conditions”.
“Good point. This rain is severely limiting my acting skills”.
“Miles, whatever you do, please don’t point that gun at the doll’s head".