I have always loved Halloween, scary movies, jack o' lanterns, trick or treat and all that chicanery, at this time of year the blog is always filled with dark surprises, macabre shocks and various gory goings on.
But as someone once said to me, why does it always have to be dark? So in honour of that question and questioner this Halloween night, put away the pumpkins, switch of the slasher movie and get out of the graveyard, stand outside, look to the stars and just gaze in wonder at just how beautiful everything is.
HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
Sunday, 31 October 2010
A Single Tale Of Blood Soaked Barbarism From The Sadistic Souls, The Brutal Brains Behind The Blog
Hey Kid's It's Halloween, fancy something scary to send you out into then trick or treat streets, a cryptic tale to creep around crypts to, perhaps a spooky tale of swooping spectres and shimmering skulls, well he.......... Oh fuck it I can't be bothered go and watch Saw 3-D, if they can't be arsed to come up with something new then neither can I.
Saturday, 30 October 2010
Percy the poodle
He's a curly-furred canine
With custard for feet
And the smile of a dog
Who's accepted defeat
And he juggles his wares
With the curly-furred females he meets.
But Percy the poodle
Exists in a doodle of me.
With custard for feet
And the smile of a dog
Who's accepted defeat
And he juggles his wares
With the curly-furred females he meets.
But Percy the poodle
Exists in a doodle of me.
Wednesday, 27 October 2010
Is It Always Like This?
It used to be so easy (They all say that!))
I used to know what to do (And? Get Over It)
I used to know how I Feel (Who Else Should?)
It used to be so good? (And what you have now isn't?)
I don't want the old times. (Then What Are You Bitching About?)
I know I'm confused (Duh!)
It is all such a mystery (I bet it isn't)
How a me could find a you. (Tosser!)
I used to know what to do (And? Get Over It)
I used to know how I Feel (Who Else Should?)
It used to be so good? (And what you have now isn't?)
I don't want the old times. (Then What Are You Bitching About?)
I know I'm confused (Duh!)
It is all such a mystery (I bet it isn't)
How a me could find a you. (Tosser!)
Flickering Pumpkin
Through carved evil eyes in the pungent hollow of the pumpkin, blade sharp lights spied upon the corpse as it lay slumped half on half off the Persian rug, over the last hour it had seen horror upon horror torn into the cadaver, a tale of pain and bloodshed pressed with furious passion. The wounds were many and maybe more, they interweave along the torso snaking over folds of flesh crossing one another with brutal familiarity, the patterns like the branches of a naked tree in autumn, harsh and unforgiving. Buckets of life blood gushing from gashes wider than a child's smile spilling onto carefully kept carpet. Like sodden tissue, chunks of discarded meat lay in plain sight, glistening with gristle, the moist material feeling nothing, seeing all. The face of the fallen a demented piece of sculpture with dark hollows where eyes once played and a empty image where a man could once be identified.
The light inside the pumpkin danced on, it was now the only thing alive in the room.
The light inside the pumpkin danced on, it was now the only thing alive in the room.
Past the Past?
A lot has passed under your bridge so high
The carriers and the carried I cannot spy
I wished to see and not be saw
I lost your trust, I lost it all
These things we do, so back, so forth
The same is different, basking in the warmth
I no longer get to feel, I no longer care
You cast me aside, for I was not there
When you needed me most, where was I?
I was spying above the clouds at what was not mine.
The carriers and the carried I cannot spy
I wished to see and not be saw
I lost your trust, I lost it all
These things we do, so back, so forth
The same is different, basking in the warmth
I no longer get to feel, I no longer care
You cast me aside, for I was not there
When you needed me most, where was I?
I was spying above the clouds at what was not mine.
Crazy Ducka (Radio Edit)
If The Geese Were Dancing
On A Thursday Afternoon
Then What The Ducks Were Doing
Was Butterfly Times As Cool
On A Thursday Afternoon
Then What The Ducks Were Doing
Was Butterfly Times As Cool
Sunday, 24 October 2010
I Ask You
Dear readers, for many seconds (17 to be precise) I have been troubled by a question, it has played with my heart, caused my left eye to tremble inconsequentially and my fingers to quiver with apathy.
What changed?
What changed?
The Tumbleweed Memories Alphabet Of The Alternative Part 6
Faces Of Death
Cinema is capable of many amazing things, capturing emotions and connecting viewers with images that transcend the medium to reach deep into the subconscious and change how we view things. It can also cater to baser interests providing cheap thrills and vicarious release to ease ninety minutes of your gruelling day. However if you're the cinematic calamity that is Faces of Death you are neither, you are a punch in the stomach, a drillbit in the eyeball, a reminder of all that is rotten about the human condition and the lie that lives behind it's art.
Under the guise of a documentary researching the different "Faces Of Death" across the world director John Alan Schwartz throws whatever he finds at the audience, news footage of accidents, mondo footage of tribal rites, scenes of animals being slaughtered and when that runs out he fabricates scenes of death in such a hamfisted way it makes your Uncle Colin's home movies of his holiday to the house across the road seem like a Scorcese flick. All of this compendium of crap is overseen by the improbably named Dr. Frances B. Gross a man with an intense interest in death and a face that looks like a joke shop disguise.
Stuff like this is shown everywhere these days, but back in 1978 this was a huge video hit (especially in Japan), this blogger certainly isn't squeamish nor offended by it's content, but Faces Of Death has no real message behind it's witless collection of vaguely connected clips, it exists purely to show cheaply acquired footage taking the money you have paid for the thrill and running to the public domain video library to find more. In this way the film is surely a forerunner to all the equally cheaply made funniest viewer home movie shows, and you know what; that's its worst crime, so fuck you Dr Frances B. Gross you and you fake head.
Cinema is capable of many amazing things, capturing emotions and connecting viewers with images that transcend the medium to reach deep into the subconscious and change how we view things. It can also cater to baser interests providing cheap thrills and vicarious release to ease ninety minutes of your gruelling day. However if you're the cinematic calamity that is Faces of Death you are neither, you are a punch in the stomach, a drillbit in the eyeball, a reminder of all that is rotten about the human condition and the lie that lives behind it's art.
Under the guise of a documentary researching the different "Faces Of Death" across the world director John Alan Schwartz throws whatever he finds at the audience, news footage of accidents, mondo footage of tribal rites, scenes of animals being slaughtered and when that runs out he fabricates scenes of death in such a hamfisted way it makes your Uncle Colin's home movies of his holiday to the house across the road seem like a Scorcese flick. All of this compendium of crap is overseen by the improbably named Dr. Frances B. Gross a man with an intense interest in death and a face that looks like a joke shop disguise.
Stuff like this is shown everywhere these days, but back in 1978 this was a huge video hit (especially in Japan), this blogger certainly isn't squeamish nor offended by it's content, but Faces Of Death has no real message behind it's witless collection of vaguely connected clips, it exists purely to show cheaply acquired footage taking the money you have paid for the thrill and running to the public domain video library to find more. In this way the film is surely a forerunner to all the equally cheaply made funniest viewer home movie shows, and you know what; that's its worst crime, so fuck you Dr Frances B. Gross you and you fake head.
The Pillow
A Darkened Room
A Candle Lit
A Muddled Brain
A Time To Kip.
No Words Are Needed
Just Comfort And Closeness
To Drift Away
To Forget About Lifes Mess
To Breath In Time
To Think Less
We Sleep Together When You Turn Out The Light
I'm Just A Pillow and I'll Be With There For You Every Night.
A Candle Lit
A Muddled Brain
A Time To Kip.
No Words Are Needed
Just Comfort And Closeness
To Drift Away
To Forget About Lifes Mess
To Breath In Time
To Think Less
We Sleep Together When You Turn Out The Light
I'm Just A Pillow and I'll Be With There For You Every Night.
C?O?N?F?U?S?I?O?N?
Dancing Geese On Leaves Of Clay
Play Sunglasses On A Thursday
When Everyone Is Away.
They Never Take A Sock Down
To The Park Or From The Top Of A Fridge
And They Never Feed The Lichen That Sit And Fish From The Bridge
When The Need Arises And The Time For Clocks Is Done
These Geese That Used To Be Dancing
Keep Dancing To The Sound Of A Gun
With Not Webbed Feet And Claret
They Stay Still And Pray For Shame
These Geese Just Shall Keep Dancing
Until You Tell Them Just The Same
.
Play Sunglasses On A Thursday
When Everyone Is Away.
They Never Take A Sock Down
To The Park Or From The Top Of A Fridge
And They Never Feed The Lichen That Sit And Fish From The Bridge
When The Need Arises And The Time For Clocks Is Done
These Geese That Used To Be Dancing
Keep Dancing To The Sound Of A Gun
With Not Webbed Feet And Claret
They Stay Still And Pray For Shame
These Geese Just Shall Keep Dancing
Until You Tell Them Just The Same
.
Saturday, 16 October 2010
I'm Dreamin'
I'm dreaming I won't leave you hanging
But sure I'll have you hanging
When the notes fail to male perfect sense
I can still love you
I can spill thoughts like a magician
Or a
Mathematician
Or a man who talks
And we're weary with memories
Send the stars to planet one
For I demand a show
The kind that makes me hate a man
And love him when j go
Take me to the mountains
I'm a soft touch
The rain comes down like bullets
And every round's a full situation.
And every problem's a table lost
Or a guitar solo.
And it is really not that bad.
No verses. Standard, now stop
An' take a beta-blocker to...
Take a bus down Garett Lane.
We're a blow.
I think I'll make this do.
But sure I'll have you hanging
When the notes fail to male perfect sense
I can still love you
I can spill thoughts like a magician
Or a
Mathematician
Or a man who talks
And we're weary with memories
Send the stars to planet one
For I demand a show
The kind that makes me hate a man
And love him when j go
Take me to the mountains
I'm a soft touch
The rain comes down like bullets
And every round's a full situation.
And every problem's a table lost
Or a guitar solo.
And it is really not that bad.
No verses. Standard, now stop
An' take a beta-blocker to...
Take a bus down Garett Lane.
We're a blow.
I think I'll make this do.
Friday, 15 October 2010
All punched out
Maybe I'll move to Mexico
If I ever make it out of this town
Terraces like chains around my wrists
A joker doomed to be a clown.
Maybe I'll take off to Tennessee
If ever I make it out of this down
Vitamins like rain inside my fist
A boxer born to be knocked down.
Maybe I'll sleep with the desperate ones
If I ever wind up all alone
Boxes like wind against my face
And all punched out.
If I ever make it out of this town
Terraces like chains around my wrists
A joker doomed to be a clown.
Maybe I'll take off to Tennessee
If ever I make it out of this down
Vitamins like rain inside my fist
A boxer born to be knocked down.
Maybe I'll sleep with the desperate ones
If I ever wind up all alone
Boxes like wind against my face
And all punched out.
Thursday, 14 October 2010
So Far, So What?
So you think you've made it?
Flash car, house with windows?
Wife with shoes, teeth and nose?
Television that turns on and fills your head with lights?
Kitchen that cooks or warms up stuff after drunken nights?
Friends that stay for beer and football?
Never caring to say but laughing at prat falls?
Job that pays well, you never worry about a price?
Holidays that never rain and a tan that burns twice?
A lawn so green, it's chemicals put nature to shame?
An image that means something to people worthy of a name?
You sure have impressed me, with all of your fare,
But the end is coming, then no one will care.
Flash car, house with windows?
Wife with shoes, teeth and nose?
Television that turns on and fills your head with lights?
Kitchen that cooks or warms up stuff after drunken nights?
Friends that stay for beer and football?
Never caring to say but laughing at prat falls?
Job that pays well, you never worry about a price?
Holidays that never rain and a tan that burns twice?
A lawn so green, it's chemicals put nature to shame?
An image that means something to people worthy of a name?
You sure have impressed me, with all of your fare,
But the end is coming, then no one will care.
Monday, 11 October 2010
Creepers
Jack 'O Lantern sacrifice
Trick or Treat terrified
Spookshow blood soaked
Ghost Train hell ride
Amputation, commemoration
Ghouls fly, people die
Witches beware Christians scare
Nights draw In and Toffee Apples grin
There's nothing scary about this time of year
Except being alone, that's my biggest fear
Trick or Treat terrified
Spookshow blood soaked
Ghost Train hell ride
Amputation, commemoration
Ghouls fly, people die
Witches beware Christians scare
Nights draw In and Toffee Apples grin
There's nothing scary about this time of year
Except being alone, that's my biggest fear
Jeepers
Greasy pustule sprouting creatures stirred in the corner of the cellar
In the fading bowers of the nocturnal woods pasty white eyes beamed in the dark.
In fictional crypts in fog enshrouded graveyards lifeless souls trembled in anticipation
And in the cupboard without a night light the boogieman waited
It's almost time!
In the fading bowers of the nocturnal woods pasty white eyes beamed in the dark.
In fictional crypts in fog enshrouded graveyards lifeless souls trembled in anticipation
And in the cupboard without a night light the boogieman waited
It's almost time!
Sunday, 10 October 2010
She
Would make skies fall if only she knew
Could fell forests so green if only she believed
Oceans so empty would fill to the brim with her passion if only she could see
Chasms of unforgiving bleakness will gleam in the light of her smile is she had reason and cheer.
That reason to get up, go on, go through all that makes days so hollow is her but she just will not realise.
Things go wrong, darkness prevails, but she could force it back, push it back to it's own black heart with just one tender touch.
Belief is one thing, perhaps the best thing, but you have to see, have to know the sun will rise tomorrow and a better life is on the horizon.
There is nothing I will not do, to help you know, that days of bliss will come again
And when all is done and nothings prevails
I'll always love you, even when it rains.
Could fell forests so green if only she believed
Oceans so empty would fill to the brim with her passion if only she could see
Chasms of unforgiving bleakness will gleam in the light of her smile is she had reason and cheer.
That reason to get up, go on, go through all that makes days so hollow is her but she just will not realise.
Things go wrong, darkness prevails, but she could force it back, push it back to it's own black heart with just one tender touch.
Belief is one thing, perhaps the best thing, but you have to see, have to know the sun will rise tomorrow and a better life is on the horizon.
There is nothing I will not do, to help you know, that days of bliss will come again
And when all is done and nothings prevails
I'll always love you, even when it rains.
The Tumblweed Memories Alphabet Of The Alternative Part 5
Effects
The very definition of obscure cinema: Effects had one showing back in the seventies and was then shelved, only seeing the light of day a few years back when it was released on DVD, and whilst it may be a bit rough around the edges it is a highly effective intelligent movie very much ahead of it's time.
John Harrison, Tom Savini and Joe Pilato have all made varying contributions to the horror genre (all three would work on George Romero's classic Day Of The Dead) and this Pittsburgh shot shocker deserves to be seem by anyone interested in what independent cinema back in the seventies could achieve.
Essentially a movie about making movies; Effects tells the story of a small film crew making a low budget horror movie, possibly unbeknown to them, their producer is planning a more effective cheaper movie that has something to do with the snuff movie he is carrying around.
Craftily mixing in movie footage and behind the scenes stuff, Effects cleverly keeps it's audience off balance and there is plenty of talk of the difference between real violence and cinematic violence, there is very little gore to be seem, even the snuff sequence is tastefully done (if such a thing is possible!) the effect of violence in a real sense is more important here than buckets of Karo syrup and strewn prosthetics.
Perhaps a little slack paced Effects isn't going to win over audiences used to blockbusters where something explodes every five minutes but as an intelligent sneaky little surprise package it is a true delight to watch and a lesson to modern day filmmakers who are restricted by cost.
Exiled
Taken to an unfamiliar place
Where pictures in a mirror won't recognise my face.
A limbo where time and day don't get on.
Where they don't even speak and no illumination is shone.
A labyrinth where those who were close could no longer see,
The pain and confusion basking down on me.
This prison made worse not better,
By dull rhyme and dismal letter.
Lost out in the open with my mind holding the keys
These issues I'm shackled with not pressured by pleas.
If I could go back like we all wish we could
Do I want to remove you, take away what was good.
It would take away the knowledge of all this tethered pain,
But I can't because I want it, and i want to see you again.
Where pictures in a mirror won't recognise my face.
A limbo where time and day don't get on.
Where they don't even speak and no illumination is shone.
A labyrinth where those who were close could no longer see,
The pain and confusion basking down on me.
This prison made worse not better,
By dull rhyme and dismal letter.
Lost out in the open with my mind holding the keys
These issues I'm shackled with not pressured by pleas.
If I could go back like we all wish we could
Do I want to remove you, take away what was good.
It would take away the knowledge of all this tethered pain,
But I can't because I want it, and i want to see you again.
Point
Is There One?
Should There Be One?
I Often Wonder,
I Often Try.
But In This Place Called Structure,
Is The One Thing We Need,
Direction?
Is Left, Right, Or Over There,
Any More Inspirational,
Than I Don't Care?
Should There Be One?
I Often Wonder,
I Often Try.
But In This Place Called Structure,
Is The One Thing We Need,
Direction?
Is Left, Right, Or Over There,
Any More Inspirational,
Than I Don't Care?
Friday, 8 October 2010
Funny Munny
Drift in and out like a fair-weather friend
It's ok. You've been carrying troubles.
Help me back with some logs.
My trousers are funny.
They probably need washing.
You know, there are so many people
Losing tonight.
They reap constellations
Without relising,
It's a shame for them.
I need reassurance,
I am a social person
Who fails to socialise.
I eat apples to make
Bananas seem good.
I run, and make myself
On the spot.
I am the man who taps
Words he worries about.
With a man sat before you
Whose men disappear like
Diamonds,
and 24 carat for a space.
andywentyfourcaratforaspace.
It's ok. You've been carrying troubles.
Help me back with some logs.
My trousers are funny.
They probably need washing.
You know, there are so many people
Losing tonight.
They reap constellations
Without relising,
It's a shame for them.
I need reassurance,
I am a social person
Who fails to socialise.
I eat apples to make
Bananas seem good.
I run, and make myself
On the spot.
I am the man who taps
Words he worries about.
With a man sat before you
Whose men disappear like
Diamonds,
and 24 carat for a space.
andywentyfourcaratforaspace.
Wrung Out
Piled in a basement,
With applause hanging in
My imagination.
Not able to play,
Or contemplate.
She's the one who died.
Oars pushing
In a photograph
The water spraying.
With the doors hanging in
His commiseration
Not able to compensate
Or pay, or anything
She's the one you left behind
Oars pushing
In a photograph
water spraying.
With applause hanging in
My imagination.
Not able to play,
Or contemplate.
She's the one who died.
Oars pushing
In a photograph
The water spraying.
With the doors hanging in
His commiseration
Not able to compensate
Or pay, or anything
She's the one you left behind
Oars pushing
In a photograph
water spraying.
Like flares
She's just a city I'm travellin' over,
And maybe I'll crash land on her
Or drop fireworks behind my feet.
And maybe I'll crash land on her
Or drop fireworks behind my feet.
AAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!
Anticipation
Yearning
Waiting
Pacing
Hoping
Denying
Panic
Checking
Double- Checking
Heartache
No
It'll all be fine
Because if it isn't then you have lost nothing but time and everyone loses that
Yearning
Waiting
Pacing
Hoping
Denying
Panic
Checking
Double- Checking
Heartache
No
It'll all be fine
Because if it isn't then you have lost nothing but time and everyone loses that
The Tumbleweed Memories Alphabet Of The Alternative Part 4
Dellamorte Dellamore
The last great italian zombie movie (and if Dario Argento doesn't get his arse in gear possibly the last great italian horror movie) Michele Soavi's daring, blackly comedic, poetic gothic masterpiece is one of those films that once seen is never forgotten, shot with little consideration for realism it's fairy tale aura permeates everything from music to characterization, Rupert Everett plays Francesco Dellamorte (literally Frances of Death) whose Cemetery is overrun with the returning dead, a fact which doesn't so much concern him as upsets him as it means more work. Aided by his simple but loving friend Gnaghi and hindered by a beautiful woman "She", who seems to crop up all over the place even after dying; Dellamorte struggles to deal with the increasing numbers of walking corpses until he happens upon a plan, kill the living before they become the dead! Whilst this is a grim humoured film (Gnaghi becomes romantically involved with a severed head, a troup of scouts return from the grave) the most important thing here isn't being scared of the dead, but being afraid of being alive, Dellamorte shuts himself off from society, struggles to converse with the few people he does know and because of that is misunderstood by the townsfolk, despite warm blood running through his veins Dellamorte is more dead than the zombies who make his Cemetery their home, their is no outward solution to the problem because as long as he remains in that state of mind Dellamorte cannot escape the path he is willingly taking. Everett (picked as the lead because of his likeness to the character of Dylan Dog, the fumetti character this film is based on) delivers his lines with a pitch perfect match of dead pan and apathy. A truly astonishing cinematic experience Dellamorte, Dellamore is like George Romero taking on a Grimm Fairy Tale.
The last great italian zombie movie (and if Dario Argento doesn't get his arse in gear possibly the last great italian horror movie) Michele Soavi's daring, blackly comedic, poetic gothic masterpiece is one of those films that once seen is never forgotten, shot with little consideration for realism it's fairy tale aura permeates everything from music to characterization, Rupert Everett plays Francesco Dellamorte (literally Frances of Death) whose Cemetery is overrun with the returning dead, a fact which doesn't so much concern him as upsets him as it means more work. Aided by his simple but loving friend Gnaghi and hindered by a beautiful woman "She", who seems to crop up all over the place even after dying; Dellamorte struggles to deal with the increasing numbers of walking corpses until he happens upon a plan, kill the living before they become the dead! Whilst this is a grim humoured film (Gnaghi becomes romantically involved with a severed head, a troup of scouts return from the grave) the most important thing here isn't being scared of the dead, but being afraid of being alive, Dellamorte shuts himself off from society, struggles to converse with the few people he does know and because of that is misunderstood by the townsfolk, despite warm blood running through his veins Dellamorte is more dead than the zombies who make his Cemetery their home, their is no outward solution to the problem because as long as he remains in that state of mind Dellamorte cannot escape the path he is willingly taking. Everett (picked as the lead because of his likeness to the character of Dylan Dog, the fumetti character this film is based on) delivers his lines with a pitch perfect match of dead pan and apathy. A truly astonishing cinematic experience Dellamorte, Dellamore is like George Romero taking on a Grimm Fairy Tale.
Monday, 4 October 2010
Stupidity
The art of not seeing what every one else knows even when it's in front of your face.
The art of not seeing what everyone else says even when it's in front of your face.
The art of ignoring it all and carrying on regardless and getting upset when it all comes crashing down.
The art of hoping that you can change minds with listless pleas and wasted sentences.
Ladies and Gentlemen I give you... Stupidity.
The art of not seeing what everyone else says even when it's in front of your face.
The art of ignoring it all and carrying on regardless and getting upset when it all comes crashing down.
The art of hoping that you can change minds with listless pleas and wasted sentences.
Ladies and Gentlemen I give you... Stupidity.
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