Operation Concrete

I created Jack Rawstone when I was in university as a medium to experiment with writing,. Both a pseudonym and a 'mythical' alter-ego simultaneously, he was largely in response to my obsession with Hunter S Thompson at the time, and his use of other names and characters in some of his most famous novels, Raoul Duke in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas for instance, and Paul Kemp in The Rum Diary.

Although a part of me had always wanted to be a writer, I'd never really pursued it until this point in my life with any passion. At this point I needed a little protection from the avalanche of people that are so willing to tear your work apart, without ever having tried themselves. I even ended up using the name, and part of the personality of Jack Rawstone in my novel. I did indeed use my alter-ego and pseudonym as the lead antagonist, whom want's to destroy the universe. There's probably something to be read into that, though we'll not get into any Jungian analytical psychology for the moment.

So, in my last post, I decided to finally kill off this character / alter-ego, but I wanted to collect up some blog posts and general musings that were written as Jack Rawstone, as I mentioned in that post, they're fun and have given to rekindle an attitude that I thought I'd lost. One for not really caring and just getting on with writing. So, below is what I could find from about eight years of irregular blog posts. I'll be using some of this archive to help build the travel stories that I'm going to be putting together over the coming months.

Jack Rawstone - Archive.

??/??/2008 - The Novel is the Monster (From breadontoast.com)

Self exploration is never easy. If you’re open to the idea in the first place, willing to take on and tackle head-first what you believe in, what you think of to be true, your own beliefs and ideals, thoughts and concepts, then I believe you’re a step ahead of a lot of people already. If then you take all of those ideas and belief systems and put them on paper, in an effort to really discover what you are, and potentially further down the line, have some sort of impact, then that’s another step ahead, of a lot of people. A push to better yourself, to self-actualize and commit to something through a process of deep thought, exploration, analysis and discovery. It’s all good stuff, and it brings out sides of your personality you thought you never had.

I know, it’s a situation I’m currently in the middle of, it’s a voyage I am currently undertaking and it’s a twisted beast that’s unrelenting and fascinating at the same time.

Some would say I am on a technologically fueled hedonistic quest of the highest order. Using my ability to add to, to research, to share and discover new parts of my being through a social media, my EEEp and a WIFI or 3G connection. A quest of self discovery, literary desire and technological competence to incite change in myself and with hope of possessing hearts and minds of others down the line.

I realise this blog has been updated sporadically at best and that probably no one reads it, but in case anyone does check it at all: From here on in this blog is on permanent hiatus whilst I concentrate on my first novel and attempt to discover more about myself than I ever have.

You can read about the progress of this novel if you are interested at (http://www.cementum.co.uk) The Cementum

10/04/2008 - FIENDISH PLANS TO IMPLEMENT... (From breadontoast.com)

Hopefully some of these will bear fruit sooner rather than later. In the mean time, I'm very happy to be able to introduce you to my new blog based around writing my first novel. Cementum: The Creation of a Novel I look forward to reading your feedback and commentary and letting you know about the other plans. Take care of yourselves, Jack

26/11/2007 - MAY YOU LIVE IN INTERESTING TIMES. (From breadontoast.com)

May you come to the attention of those in authority.

May you find what you are looking for.

All three send shivers up my spine. They are curses, but I’m not sure if there’s anything I’d quite enjoy more than all three, at the same time, and in full force. Though who knows? I’ve never been the sort of dude who has done overly well at getting what he wants, only what I need, two different things on many levels. But right now, this juncture in my life, the wants are starting to come into play, it’s scary as hell but equally as exciting and gratifying, that years of pushing forward with all the force I could give it is now coming to fruition and reaping some serious rewards.

Now I’m here, on Hong Kong Island, sat in a bar typing away, looking forward to getting some fine cashmere wool suits fitted tomorrow and hopefully attending the races. Reading, writing, absorbing and puncturing where I can the steely mist that surrounds a westerner in this hectic, ‘ex-imperial, jewl in the crown’ of a city. I’m learning quickly that my extra foot of height and apparent Anglo decent bring a level of respect on the high street, but in the club, bar, pub, which ever you may frequent, the respect seems to dissipate, but a level of curiosity remains. It’s an interesting position to be in, especially only a decade after the place was handed back to those Commies with a spectacular show of fireworks.

I probably hit about six or seven bars upon arrival, which seemingly took forever and was sprinkled with instances of hysterical laughter and absolute fear. My airline, Oasis, was reasonably pleasant. On boarding the plane it looked a little mucky, like the whole thing could have done with a deep clean, but my flights were cheap and it was actually a lot better than I was expecting, I had ample leg room and a whole isle to myself, so I was in a good mood, for a time. The takeoff felt as though we were flying out of our own atmosphere and on, into the dark of space, my hand shook slightly, the natives looked reasonably at peace but I’m used to a slightly smoother launch. My suspicions were seemingly confirmed though when a person (unsure whether ‘it’ was male or female) said over the speaker system:

“Please can all passengers by a window pull down their shutters as we will be flying into the Sun on this flight.”

HA. There’s that split second, that single moment when you think, ‘WHAT THE FUCK.’ Broken ‘engrish’ is always amusing, but on a wobbly flight with a budget airline, they have to be careful, especially for overly pale, slightly dehydrated Anglo-Celt types with an overactive imagination. I quickly recovered, had my in-flight meal, watched a terrible movie and tried to sleep as much as I could. The landing felt like the pilot had switched his engines off about 300ft in the air, but fuck it, ground is ground and if I’m alive at the end of it, it’s a successful landing.

I grabbed a bus over to where my hostel is, Tsim Tsa Shui, Hong Kong, in Mirador Mansions, which is basically a huge building filled with everything from my hostel to peoples homes to brick-a-brack stores, pharmacies, seven-elevens, and everything in between, you want it you got it pretty much, apart from a beer. I checked in, found my room, enjoyed a hot shower and went out on the prowl. After a bit of walking the only place I could find was an Irish pub called Murphies, absolutely fucking typical. 8000 miles, some money, fear, excitement, and sore feet later, I arrive in a pub basically the same as one, two minutes away from where I live in the UK. Not dampened by this event though I sank some Stella Artois, reasonably priced at about £3 a chalice, and moved on. Found the coast line, looked at the skyline of Hong Kong Island, was mightily impressed, walked a bit further, and began to get my teeth stuck into exactly what I wanted, some action, some local action, the only Anglo in a bar of 300 natives, standing about a foot taller with a belly full of beer I felt mighty, MIGHTTTYYY. I remember walking to the toilet at one point and a tiny Asian female didn’t see me and actually bounced off my chest about 3ft backwards and onto her arse, I couldn’t stop laughing, these god damo Commies.

I had a chat with some locals that spoke English, played a game or two of a variant of ‘bullshit’ that involves two set of five dice, two cups and lots of rules, I lost over and over but for no money, and surprisingly enough woke up with a set of the dice in my bed in the morning. Regardless I moved on, to a karaoke bar, where again I laughed heartily, roared and generally made myself known, but soon enough again it was time to move.

Now, I don’t have the business cards with me I picked up whilst I was out, but I made a few friends, and have one for the club I was in, which I will be going back to, if I’m allowed in. I was reasonably sober until this point, the club wreaked of Hong Kong youth, fashion, exuberance and money, the cover was about £15 and that’s expensive for the UK, so it was definitely expensive for Hong Kong and probably even more so given the amazing exchange rate we’ve got here at the moment. Anyway, a gin and tonic and a quick chat with another native later and I got invited into a private function room by a little man in a suit, who clearly had too much energy. His name was Dominic, which in actual fact was his chosen Christian name, as the Mandarin names of the natives are basically impossible to pronounce for those of Western tongue they chose a secondary name in case they meet someone of my ilk, I met a Dom, Peter and Henry that night alone. Dom was partying with about 10 people in this private room, at the back of the club overlooking the rest, it was sound proofed with a glass front that let you see all the ‘prols’ outside. I was excited, especially when I saw the Cuban cigars being passed around and the bottles of Jonny Walker Blue Label on the glass topped marble tables.

I puffed away, talking in broken enlgish to the exquisite women in furs and the finely tailored guys, I was in jeans and a t-shirt from H&M but I guess they liked my newly George-Clooney-styled side parting – he’s bringing it back don’t you know? – Because they fucking lapped me up. Dom kept pouring more and more whiskey and I kept sipping it down, ‘GET DWUNK REESSSHHARRRR, YOU WRRRIIKE?’ he clearly was mental and I tried to explain to him that he probably wouldn’t like it if I got drunk. The owner of the club was in our booth now, who I had been introduced to, and I didn’t really feel like smashing all this glass on my first night in the town, so I tried to take it easy and continued to enjoy myself.

Then he appeared, the bad - Japanese, Chinese, Asian, whatever – guy out of the movies you always see, he had been in the room all along but I hadn’t noticed, he was bald, about 5.6”, sharply dressed, whiter than usual skin for his obvious Asian ancestry, and fucking-mean-eyes. I got a snap, although compared to me he still looks tanned, I fear to think how white I look here, anyway, I continued to point out to him that he looked like the ‘Asian bad-guy in the movies,’ to which he reacted particularly well considering I was, by this point, probably shouting it at his face with a hail of whisky and fine cigar flavoured spittle.

The hours passed, I continued to get increasingly drunk, Dom’s friends continued to get increasingly annoyed and then the club closed before any fireworks really kicked off. I don’t really remember getting home, some sort of taxicab ride, big, big teeth sticking out of his face as far as I remember, more dental hygiene, don’t say anything though, stick to the golden rule, don’t upset the locals too much, at least on your first night.

A hungover Saturday spent suit shopping and eating fine Asian cuisine followed, and a very pleasant Sunday spent enjoying the view, sipping white Russians, smoking countless cigarettes, reading my whole book in one sitting and fantastic dreams, one of the best nights I have had in a very long time, boy, I’m happy with my own company a little too much some times I fear. Then today, my first trip on the ferry, over to ridged dot in the ocean that is Hong Kong Island, quite an incredible place, I love how it’s on so many levels with walk ways and such, its like a gigantic hamster run or something, I just want a huge ball to roll around in now.

More to come, my first suit fitting and the horse races tomorrow if all goes to plan, which it must, then onto the book. I might blog once more whilst I’m out here but I want to concentrate on the book, sight seeing and some drinking from here on in.

Adieu maestro,

I’ll be seeing you again soon.

Love

Jack

06/01/2007 - LET US DARE TO BE POWERFUL (From breadontoast.com)

Howdy boys and girls.

It’s been a long time since I’ve done any sort of decent update, for this I apologise immediately. It’s not as if I actually know of anybody that pays any close attention to breadontoast, especially not now after I’ve let it fall into this state of decay, but I thought I’d address the matter anyway.

Alas, I’ll give a brief update on were I am; right now. No longer roaming the ether of unemployment with booze acting as some sort of erroneous floatation device, I’m in fulltime employment and as a Copywriter no less. Getting to this stage was no easy task, let me remind you that I only listen to the Mess around; I very rarely take part in it.

Truth be told I’m currently sat on the Oxford tube (a trumped up bus service) heading into London at moderate speed for New Year’s eve, a night of drinking to be spent with the one known as Bevski. Ultimately it will be a silly, over expensive night out to end an all together overly expensive year, too much booze, too much money, not enough fun. The two aren’t always side by side – booze and money – holding hands and smiling, often they’re coupled against each others will in a disgusting arranged marriage that causes little joy and a whole lot of trouble. 2006 started with a bright spark which quickly turned into a damp squib. Prolonged months of dull work – a means to an end – that bore little fruit for the time and effort put in.

Never one to be dismayed by an unfulfilled Plan A however, I reverted to Plan B and quickly shot off to Acapulco. Chasing the dream of tequila fuelled nights, and days filled with sex and writing, I almost got what I wanted. From settling in over the first few days and discovering that, like most Anglo-Celts, my ability to consume Mescal tequila is only inhibited by my inability to control my basic motor-functions; the mind goes on but the body is unwilling, as the saying goes, I continued to solider on in the fashion that I have become accustomed to. Getting chased down the beach by angry locals, after a brief encounter with a man who appeared to have swallowed numerous basketballs, was a definite highlight; along with almost getting mauled and thrown 100ft to off a balcony by a giant Persian, who was protecting a group of naive Canadain girls.

All of this is documented here. My further travels through Los Angeles and Las Vegas did little but provide me with a vague insight into the American dream, I clawed at it myself ever-so-briefly whilst in Las Vegas, but came away a loser. I guess it’s just not in my blood, I’ll have another stab at it again someday, in a more prolonged and targeted fashion, this time around was rather sporadic in nature, which only resulted in heavy loses and a few fatalities along the way.

Then there as San Francisco, White Russians, beautiful ladies, calm days and lots of writing and one fateful answer from one very special person. In the situation that the world is in at the moment, San Fran can almost be seen as a haven in the daft empire that is America, it’s a place like none other I’ve visited and I will – without a doubt – go back there some day to try and recapture my youth and the three weeks I spent there in the summer of good ol’ ’06. My time in San Fran was so very special, I believe, because of my lack of booze, the turbulent emotional bullride that I had and then the final settling of scores and of the thick black sediment that had shrouded my heart for such a long time.

The dream always ends though folks, life manifests a monster that will drag you away kicking and screaming. Mine was a 40 hour trip which took me about 8000 miles and involved little sleep, lots of sweat and plenty of greasy food. A brief respite in the home counties saw me recuperate slightly and head straight down to London in search of a place to live and work. A week on a couch later and I’d found the spot, West Hampstead was the area, and it was nice. I say it was nice, not because I destroyed it or caused some sort of terrible plague on the area, but because after almost two months, far too much money spent and a clash of head and concrete here and there, I have had to move, to Oxford.

My time spent in London was a mysterious one. I’ve never really been one for squalor, people write in-depth about the shit-filled existences they choose to lead for a short period of time in order to gain some ‘perspective’. It’s not something I would ever do, as I’d be shit at it. I spend too much money all the time, I couldn’t live as a tramp; I simply couldn’t. Not because I’m some sort of flaky, inter-bread aristocrat, but because I believe my sharp cunning and strong willed nature wouldn’t let me. As soon as, for instance, my 30 day experiment started, I’d automatically think, ‘how can I get myself out of this situation, what do I need to do, where can I clean, where can I get housing, how can I go about returning to society and becoming a productive citizen?’ And after two days I’d be back where I was. Anyway, I’ve lost my point. Basically I spent far too much money doing all the average things I’ve always done. My excuse was that I didn’t have enough money to do anything else, but looking back on the amounts I spent, I quite easily could have been more productive, gained more insight and taken a step closer to finding that perfect aesthetic moment only urban modernity can bring.

The highlights of London however were genuine highlights, rather than just shit bleached a different colour. Speed dating was an interesting night out, after quelling the bully inside me and concluding that the activity was not just for numb-skulls and fuck-o’s I took part and had a great night. New people, new faces, drink and the prospect of sex, it doesn’t get much better as far as I’m concerned. After finding a romantic connection with a lady, who turned out to be a decade older than me, we emailed and talked briefly but I guess I didn’t push hard enough, or I pushed too hard, who the fuck knows? Fucking women. Hah! Anyway, another highlight was a night I spent with the French, living with two of the fuckers I had a reasonable chance of making friends with one, which I did, and in turn going out with them for drinks and banter, which I also did. The night started off well, a curry in the south eastern quarter of the city and then to a shit club where I was engulfed by a shit-avalanche from which I struggled to get free. Then to a pub, at around 4am I questioned the bar tender what time the pub shut, ‘6am’ he replied in a thick brummy accent, the stupidest of accents. I was reluctant to believe him but I took his word for truth and ordered in some more booze. As the sun rose my French flatmate, Lionel, decided he needed to leave, I guess the man playing jazz flute, dressed as a wizard, I was discussing the American Patriot act with was just too much.

I decided a race was in order, styled around Phileas Fog’s around the world in 80 days. He would leave 30 minutes before me and take the bus, I would take the tube when it opened – around 6am – and the winner would be the first to arrive at the flat. At 6:30am I was leaving the pub and received a txt that he had won. ‘Fuck it then’, I though, I could do what I wanted with the rest of the day. I decided a trip to Buckingham palace would be nice, even though there was a reasonably high risk of getting shot and fatally wounded. When I arrived I had a brief chat with some San Franciscans, had a staring competition with a guard who definitely wasn’t staring back, and soaked up the atmosphere before I shot over to the Houses of Parliament. After a brief argument with some hippy swine who was protesting against depleted uranium shells not much happening around there on a Sunday I thought to myself. Not that I’m for depleted uranium, it’s just the fuckers were using a picture of a Harlequin babies (google image search those exact two words if you doubt me), which as horrific as it is, is just a natural birth defect and actually has nothing to do with Uranium. The hippy didn’t seem to realise this, and having just crawled out from his deflated tent and drinking his morning coffee probably wasn’t up to much of an argument with a man who had been drinking hard for about 16 hours previously, and was also now hardened by the bitter morning air. Anyway, I finally decided to go to Sunday mass at West Minster Cathedral after kicking up a fuss and not really getting anywhere.

It was a pleasant experience on the whole, I couldn’t help but feel how it was all quite hocus-pocus, magic, flying with the faries bullshit. The hour and a half mass failed to move me, not because, I don’t think, I was terribly hungover and briefly fell asleep, but because as magnificent as the building was, and as glorious as the choir sang, it was all very creepy, it had a film of shit coating the whole thing that just failed to move. I did however, decide that a confessional was in order. After queuing for about 15 minutes I had had enough time to decide just what main sins I was going to confess for, that I had committed over the 12 year period that I hadn’t been to confessional. I entered, knelt down and spoke the words, ‘bless me father for I have sinned, it has been 12 years since my last confession’ the priest replied and said ‘welcome back to the church my son, what would you like to confess’ or something along those lines.

Now, what happened next killed any belief in the church I had left, or wanted to regain. I said that I had lost my faith in God and was wondering how I would regain that faith, the priest simply answered ‘would you no like to talk about the relationships you’ve had with people over the last 12 years?’ I recoiled in shock, I thought ‘fuck you slimeball’, he just entered a shitticane of epic proportions. But I was in a confessional booth so I kept my nerve and said ‘no I’d just like to figure out how to find God again’ to which he replied ‘say an act of contrition and 3 our fathers’.

What a crock of fuck. I was deeply angered by this fucker, like someone had shit in my cereal or dipped my toast in piss. No interest in helping me find God, just wanting to hear my tails of romping throughout the years. Fucking clown shoes I tell you. Fuck the church.

Anyway, again moving off the point. London was a great 2 months and although I got little writing done, in terms of my book, I did get published a few times and built up a good base of contacts that will hopefully bare fruit in the New Year. The obvious other highlight was getting to spend an increased amount of time with my best friends, Jen, Bevski and Lane… you’re alright guys.

Now, one final point I want to raise, I’m starting a blog, an official blog with meaning and purpose rather than just inane ramblings and updates on my somewhat underwhelming life. It will tackle the subject of hedonism and technology in the 21st century and how the two are becoming one. Material possessions have always been a heavy prerequisite for a good hedonistic lifestyle along with an abundance of consumables, technology now provides both in all arenas, in every aspect of everyone’s lives, and now the super rich are taking hold and making their lives technologically sound and hedonistically marvellous. I’ve wanted an area relatively untouched to explore over time in the only way I know, though empiricism, I might try and get a bit of academic study in there as well though, and now I’ve found it, keep an eye out.

Coldgintimes.typepad.com is the blog address. Hopefully I’ll have it fully functional, and fully fucked soon enough.

If you’ve got this far you’re very patient, I look forward to adding more all over the Internet very soon. Updates will follow.

Your friend

Jack.

16/08/2006 - Drunken Maneuvers In The Dark (From Myspace profile)

There are a few things in life, in my opinion, that you should always be worried about. For instance, catching hepatitis from a public toilet seat or getting your tie caught in the fucking paper shredder, I for one always look out for being decapitated by thick metal wire that suddenly and without any real warning becomes flexed. Another biggy is angering the locals where ever you may be and I think put enough effort in during my time in Acapulco to escape just about unharmed, I wont be needing the UN Peace Keeper Escort I gave the local embassy a heads-up about when I arrived at least, even if a fat Che Guevara did threaten me with death a few days ago. All some bad noise about using my bed sheet as a cape, no bother though, I was more than happy to go to bed by the time he started ranting, I hadnt slept in about 30 hours anyway and desperately needed some shut eye.

Its overall been quite a wild ride, usually its time for some social commentary now, the only thing I will mention is the naivety of some people and how certain religions with extreme leanings not only cause all number of problems for the masses, but for individuals as well and in the most peculiar of ways. A Muslim American girl by the name of Clare happened across my path almost a week ago now, she seemed eager and pleasant enough so we had a talk about various things. Throughout her youth she was a hardline Muslim, forced to wear the postbox head gown and body covering thing, not even allowed to look into the eye of any male. She chose to rebel, now on her own, in a foreign country by becoming a stripper. Now Im no oil painting myself but this girl made the wild street dogs cry as she walked along, after making friends with the owner of the local stripclub she was soon up on the palladium, it was unreal. We went to watch and give some moral support, the place was a dive, a small Asian woman came up to me in a very stereotypical fashion and offered me sucky sucky for $100, I told her to go buy me a drink and Id think about it expecting to be laughed at and left alone for the rest of the night. When she asked me what drink I wanted, thinking quickly, I asked for a cloud in a brandy glass and after a few more choice words she finally left me alone, anyway, back to Clare. This girl was clearly a virgin, she confessed to being very unused to any physical contact, this night shes getting bought pinaciladas by fat Mexicans and being groped left right and centre. Arh for her mother to see her now I thought, Thank your god now HAH, you turned your daughter into a whore you fuck. There was no choice, when her breasts flopped out of the too small boob tube she was wearing we had to leave, there is only so much a grown man can take, so we left with haste, to the nearest bar, flaming tequila and khalua shots to help numb our minds, I shudder at just the thought of that place.

Plenty more speedy moves in the dead of night, causing a few problems but nothing that I couldnt handle. I had this poor bastard driving around for almost 2 hours up and down the mountain side as the sun rose looking for a mountain jaguar or puma, Im almost 100% certain they dont exist in these parts, but I needed the drive, it didnt cost all that much either as far as I can remember, agreeing a price before you enter the taxi is usually essential, trying to drunkenly explain youll pay him to drive around the small mountain roads to catch a wild tiger like beast is more difficult that you may think.

But alas, there were yet more drunken nights, as you can well imagine. I made a good friend by the name of Ivan whilst here, hailing from Mexico City I knew we'd get along from the moment I saw his back, covered with H.R Giger tattoos, it takes an interesting person to get blistered and boiled mutants all over your body. The picture below pretty much sums up my time here, I have no idea where it was taken or who the guy is but it makes me laugh and will always remind me of my two chased weeks in Acapulco. Its come to an end with extraordinary speed, but everything needs to move on. To Hollywood now, and to start with real hedonism, in the worlds capital of deviancy with a degenerate on every second corner and the millionaires filling in the gaps its going to be another extraordinary time. I will write when I arrive.

Your friend in debauchery,

Jack

27/08/2006 - MASTER EXPLODER (From Myspace profile)

Hostels, like most things in life, in order to be maneuvered in a reasonably effective manner, removed from embarrassment and discomfort have to be gone at with a set sequence of moves and a degree of skill. A personable nature and willingness to get along with people is a necessity, to bond quickly in the small and varied community without hassle and without treading on anyone. Sometimes its hard when, except for a certain few, youre surrounded by total morons. When someone is seemingly over the moon that the person in their room before them had left their shampoo and shower gel in there and that they dont have to buy any now, telling them that the person who left it either pissed in it or gave it a nice sample of cum can cause some upset, but if youre a skull fucked degenerate leech head then its your own fucking problem.

My previous travels around the world have opened up my eyes as to how wonderful, bright and intelligent people can be, how they can get along with little quarrel or anguish. This one has highlighted the exact opposite, maybe Im getting old but the inability to do anything effectively without the assistance of others troubles me more and more. Being typically English and overly polite when it comes to decision making grates my eyeballs, and turning simple decisions into United Nations treaty negotiation sessions has nearly tipped me over the edge. Each reminds me every time why I choose to travel alone, because as a groups size multiplies its intelligence inevitably drops, when it quickly reaches troglodyte levels its time to leave. Run away into the night, find the Belagio on the strip in Vegas, fuck off the numbskulls rely on your own quick wit and skill, let the Armani suit carry you through if necessary, but bring your own decisions on your own head and make sure you dont end up dead, and as youre reading this, hopefully you can deduce that I didnt.

But what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, I cant say any more than I didnt sleep for close to 55 hours, I was lucky not to end up in jail on more than one occasion and that the city raped me, my wallet and my mind. Ill comment further on the terrible sessions some time in the future the memories are still to fresh, open wounds in my mind that are slowly healing and will more than likely leave scars. Four days in Los Angeles recovering was more than enough, the city is a joke in more ways than one, its basically the finest example Ive come across that highlights how quickly civilization is going to fall apart. A city of 20 odd million people and a pathetic mass transit system that must consist of about 4 busses, with 2 cars to every person and no one caring about anything apart from the slightly increased cost of petrol, which is still remarkably cheap anyway, the impending doom of humanity shines with intense colour. Its pure consumerism, the main nerve and as much as I enjoy being a consumer in a liberal democratic capitalist society, LA does make me slightly sick. Not that Im really willing to do anything about it, Im far too lazy for that and saying that the fight and cause is an uphill struggle is an understatement beyond the normal planes of reality. Changing these peoples minds on environmental issues simply will not happen, ever. No one cares a fuck and as depressing as that is to the hippy green peace types it is actually highly worrying to anyone with half a brain, and as big as LA is it is still only one of the worlds major cities. The quite unimaginable proportions of human and chemical waste takes normal increments of measurements and pisses all over them from a very high table.

Enough of this guff though, let us forget about all that for now, concentrate on having fun and getting the job done. Both of which are going reasonably well, I arrived in San Francisco recently and after taking a brief 2 hour walk around a small part of the city I fell quite heavily for the place. Further to that going out on a pub crawl with a group of welsh men that night made sure that the city, in the small time that Ive been here, is now firmly in my top five cities in the world. Bar hopping with 5 welsh men from Newport is an experience anywhere in the world, in San Fran it quickly brings all manner of shenanigans, far from being able to remember exactly what happened that night I can piece together a few things. Namely getting intimate with a brunette called Tori, dancing to Frank Sinatra with a female bar owner and the poor chap that got minced by a fire engine responding to an emergency call. How I managed to pull off talking to the police about the incident after some serious whiskey intake Ill never know, but I got the story, its a terrible shame it fell out of my brain whilst talking to some Lithuanian, the damned hippy Ill have his head on a platter.

The main peninsula plays host to a wide variety of places and activities as you can imagine, but also has a nice hint of culture which is terribly hard to find in many American cities. Although there is a seemingly never ending stream of homeless people, if youve got the gift of the thousand-yard stare they soon retreat into the sewers or whatever pit they came from. I think I will stay on here longer than I originally predicted, Hollywood is a joke that whichever God you believe in has played on the world taking millions of cunts and putting them all in one place. HA, aye fucking very funny. Whilst feeling safe in every part of the city I have yet been through in San Fran I am constantly fearful of the long overdue earthquake hitting with fierce intensity, turning down town into a 100sq mile parking lot and leaving me without anything to do. Someone help me out, get onto the National Guard and have one of those helli-jets on standby, I need maneuverability and speed, no point messing around now is there? Ive also been in touch with the British Embassy for my Alcatraz visit, the CIA seemed too keen to give me a private viewing, especially after Vegas. YeGods! Well just have to see now wont we?

As the money wears thin though the stories of debauchery are going to run low, Im writing now and its going well, the book will be done by Christmas all going to plan, maybe early Feb, well have to see but I will keep you posted.

Take care fiends.

Jack

08/08/2006 - How to make a rapid exit. (From Myspace profile)

Arh, life in Acapulco, its hot and bothered, all hustle and bustle, if it's not cars exploding from over heating its the god damn Mexicans and their morning shreaks. I'm kidding of course, theyre not damned by God, the magnificent cross bearing down on the city takes care of that surely, over powering the fact that I get asked if I want to go to a brothel every 40 to 50 seconds. I'm not sure I look that desperate, perhaps its my transparent texture, it seems to bemuse and frighten everywhere I go. At the beach for instance I sent a small child running in terror, all he did was look at me, my bare Anglo-Celtic chest in all its glory, reflecting the sun with great strength. The poor child, I'd imagine, had thought hed seen a ghost, a particularly muscular and striking one, but a ghost none the less. My Mexican friend Ivan said to me in an entirely serious manner, "It is like your skin, it battle with the sun, and the sun, it always lose," I began to laugh before he put his hand on my shoulder and continued, "I do not joke". Theres little a man can do other than smile and nod politely in those situations, as far as an Englishman is concerned at any length.

As Im on the subject of beaches, Ive never taken too kindly to them, I feel if I wanted miniature shards of glass stuffed into my pockets and into every other orifice I'd smash a telephone booth up and get the job done properly. Recent events have added to my natural aversion, after a lengthy night at Paradise, now my local haunt, and some wrestling with some Mexicans,

My newly acquired friends and I decided to take a late stroll along the calming beach. All was well and we were at peace with the world, the sea leisurely strolled up the sand and we were all drunk enough not to have any hassle in the world. I had my snake skin cowboy boots on and was pleased at the fact they let no sand into my socks, I was happy, but then came the rush, the mescal tequila took hold of my brain, I remember someone earlier in the night shouting TAKE HOLD OF YOUR MIND, ITLL BE IN THE BAY SOON, and jesus it almost was.

All I seem to recall is running along the beach, at some speed for a drunken man on sand, away from two or three screaming Mexicans, I could have sworn they were wearing huge sombreros with belts of bullets along their chests, but that could have just been the mescal twisting savagely at my mind. I made a quick escape luckily, into a beachside club, its hard trying to blend in though when youre as white as the driven snow surrounded by chocolate coloured Mexicans. I soon spotted an exit however and was on my way to the main street, a clean get away. I feel my cowboy boots gave me the edge on the sand over their flip flops or I would have surely been done for. The reason behind this chase though will have to sleep with the fishes, in this swollen bay of tourism and decadence, for I cannot remember and I will have to settle for that.

More of these tales will have to wait, Ive quite outstayed my welcome in the local starbucks, leeching their free internet on my wireless laptop. And of course, theres always more mescal to be drank.

Farewell, Los Angeles here I come

Jack.

04/08/2006 - Flashpoint! (From Myspace profile)

It seems to me the Latino women have quite the propensity for fatness. This may come across as inherently racist, much the same as saying black people are good at sports, Japanese people are naturally good at maths and the French are tragically poor at winning wars. However, the former of these statements steps closer to truth, in my own thoughts at least, on a daily basis. Even the thin ones look on the verge of maximum density, ready to explode in a sea of cake and ice cream. This isnt the only observation I've made whilst being in Acapulco though, the men are all quite portly in stature as well and even though it is a scorching 30c daily, with upwards of 80% humidity, a cruel tick of nature seems to have been played on these people to stop them from sweating. So whilst they bask in the thick air, no weight is lost, not even in liquid form. I'm sure my rounded Mexican friend Bernado shakes his fist in temper at the skys each night, but he called me Casper when I wondered in drunk at 5am having lost my shirt, so he can fuck off.

HAH! Its been an interesting few days, I tried my luck the other night and I'm getting the fear just thinking about it. A group of three Canadian girls, pretty, quick witted and of Anglo bloodlines as far as I can recall, we all stood into the night together with Mexicans and Irish, heading to La Paladium. One of Acapulcos more up market clubs, at roughly £30 to enter, we were all dressed to kill and ready to drink. After such a high cover charge alcohol was free all night, beginning with a few long island ice teas and some beer with mescal on the side I soon hit the brandy hard, along with the Irish company I was holding. The whole place was adorned with round tabled stalls, cushioned, clothed and candle lit the waiter would bring whatever was ordered without question, which was just as well because we were all very thirsty. The grand feeling of being Tony Montana was visible on nearly everyones beaming face, free drink and high riding attitudes are never a good mix, not everyone can own the world.

The night remained free of aggravation on the whole part and as the hours grew thin, the sun rose we ate hot dogs and played in the mild early morning air. I followed the Irish and Canadians back to their hotel and as I bid farewell to the Canadians, I seemed to be passed a bottle of vodka by the Irish, arh, one for the road, I thought. The remaining memories of that early morning are distant and quite horrid, trying to sneak into bed with the Canadians girls, who without my knowledge, seemed to have acquired a huge Persian body guard, caused all manner of bad noise. The immanent prospect of being turned into a human hamburger from a 30th floor balcony fall scared me enough to leap into some primal super fast thinking beast.  Talking rather vividly and at immense speed about the blood bath to ensue and spending decades in the hotbox of a Mexican prison I was allowed to go free with a perhaps we shouldnt email after all.

More ugly memories follow, none of which I care to re-visit, horrible one eyed black dwarf men, all my shirts suddenly and without explanation turning themselves inside out and folding themselves up neatly again so I would barely notice, stickiness, the driest of mouths, long searches for just-the-right-sort-of-food and long deep sleeps discharged and without dreams. Alas, enough of this, I must go ready myself for it all again tonight, warriors into the dark, tequila fueled, on the brink and retaining just enough of that alabaster white sheen to throw off the locals.

Adios amigos!

Jack Rawstone

27/06/2006 - 'We're gunna need a bigger boat' (From Myspace profile)

Well, I want to write, I always have, this is my first real attempt at creative writing. I have bad grammar and terrible punctuation, Im working on it and I acknowledge it, however, Ive got little time to work on removing all the small niggles at the moment, I just want to hear if people like it. If you do, comment, thank you

Your friend,

Jack

Who the fuck is alice?

He woke into an immediate panic, twitching thumbs and blacked out thoughts of sin and bad crazies were all he had. Picking himself from the floor with the sort of carefulness normally reserved for the elderly, he walked over to the full length mirror hanging at the side of the door in the eight berth hostel room, on Amsterdam Street in uptown New York.

His refined face was bloated and whiter than usual, his naturally pouted lips were scarlet red giving the impression he was wearing lipstick and his clothes were marked with splashes of whiskey and beer.

He turned around to gather his things noticing the silence of the room, normally crowded and bustling with a wonderful mixture of nationalities it was still and dull. He quickly looked out of the window, facing into a small patio garden the youthful population of the hostel would gather there for sordid tales of the night before, or in most cases, just to smoke and relax. One girl in particular caught his eye, wearing all black on a day that looked so hot. No time for her now though, it was important that he re-hydrate, ease the pressure on his dried up brain, piece together the nights actions, to evaluate and regroup.

"Just these two waters please, actually throw in some chewies, strong ones, I think an tramp died in my mouth last night."

He reached into his left hand pocket and took out his wallet, the cashier at the convenience store across the road from the hostel looked vacant as usual and accepted his cash. Reaching with his open hand he stuffed his wallet back into his right hand pocket, it was crammed with paper notes, one flew out lightly and softly whisped its way to the floor as he walked outside narrowly avoiding a collision with a push-bike.

It was hot, thick summer heat that close cities bring mixed with awful and potent mixtures of pollution and bad breath surrounded him. He stepped back under the short length of shade the shop brought and squinted for the note. Picking it up he read it eagerly whilst opening up a bottle of water.

"Adam, I cannot define what I found in you last night, it would only limit that which is limitless, I will see you at 2, where we agreed, your wonderful, Alice"

He tingled all over, the water dropped to the floor hitting the concrete on its bottom side with a quiet thud, the kinetic energy forcing out a petite jet of water against his jeans, rubbing it off wild thoughts came rushing into his still shriveled brain.

Who was Alice? Where had they met and under what extraordinary circumstances has led her to writing such a note? He found it impossible to think, too much bearing down on his sore head and racing heart, the love of his life lost in gray matter, what was he to do?

"Come on Adam, maintain you fuck, get it together, he piped quietly to himself over and over."

The sun was bearing down, pollution was quickly crawling up his nose and catching the back of his throat, it was still in the city even though he was surrounded by movement.

"Right, fuck this," he said out loud, hailing a cab he knew he had two hours to try and retrace his steps, regain some memory of the night, gather himself for his meeting with Alice and still have the energy, if necessary, to impress and charm in his usual sleek manner.

The cab took him to the first haunt of the previous night. A gothic looking bar in the downtown area, its doors were just swinging open as he jumped out of the cab, almost throwing the fare at the cabby and yelling in clich�d bliss to keep the change.

The Hauntishoon in gothic lettering named the bar, some play on words he had no time to figure out. Red and black paint everywhere, long dark purple velvet curtains blacked out the main drinking area and, even thought it was just after mid-day, fake electric candles lit the stalls that ran along the side of the bar, helping a great chandelier in the middle. He noticed he was the first and only person in there and quickly rushed up to the barman polishing glasses.

"Im sorry, I desperately need some help, Ive had quite a terrible night, too much Gin, you know the drill, I was wondering if you remembered me?"

The barman stood up, he was young with a chiseled face but tired eyes, too many long nights had obviously caught up with him, it was clear his nerves were still a little fried from the night before.

"Shiiiitttt, Adam dude, I almost didnt recognize you, fuck man, what a night, didnt expect to see you this early, if at all, what did you say? What the fuck are you doing here?"

Adam drew a sigh of relief, recognition was the first step, the small talk would have to be skipped, Alice was all important and he could catch up with this young rapscallion later.

"Seriously man, Ive got very little memory of being in here last night Ohh fuck, Mikey, I remember now, you knocked off early and we had a few long island ice teas, then some more and some vodka and gin, lots of gin, Jesus, that was early as well, what the hell happened though dude? Seriously, Im missing quite a few pieces"

Mikey was giggling, "Arh man, I cant believe you dont remember that girl, you convinced her your father was the Micronesian ambassador to the US and that you had diplomatic immunity, Id never even heard of fucking Micronesia before"

Adam interrupted quickly, "Fuck, what was she called? I vaguely remember, she didnt seem at all impressed when I demanded she got naked".

He was thinking quickly, too quickly for his state of mind, tripping over his own thoughts he had no idea how he could have been such a swine to someone and have been left with such a note. The note! he thought.

"Mikey, settle down, you need to help me seriously, as a matter of the uppermost importance, I found this note in my pocket this morning with some other stuff, its what Im here for, can you tell me anything about it?"

Mikey grabbed the note, it took him a few seconds to read, then a few more to piece a sentence together, "I have no fucking idea what the fuck this note is about maaaaan." He said as he burst into hysterics.

"So this girl, the one who I told I was an Ambassador, she wasnt called Alice?"

"No man, I cant even remember her name, she didnt stick around for very long, in fact after she left, you decided it was time to move on as well, how did you get on, or cant you remember that either?"

"Ive got no idea on either question," Adam answered with a sigh. The momentary high of being recognized and the chance of help had been quashed, he was dead at the first hurdle, downtrodden dreams even before he could attempt to get up and over.

"Hey, dont be so glum chum, have you checked the rest of the stuff in your pocket? You know what those old Columbo movies taught me? Always check for fucking packets of matches, you can trace anyone with them, didnt they find JKFs killer with that method, or was that...." he drifted off into a mumble.

Adam reached into his pocket and pulled out the pile of notes, napkins and crushed cigarettes, sifting through it without any thought for luck or chance he was certain nothing was going to come of it. But there it was, burnt and withered the lettering was still distinguishable.

Adam leapt onto the bar, thrusting his pelvis into the dank air, "Oh fuck me, seriously, fuck me, the fucking Motorcade, thats where shes got to be, I remember her from there, Im sure I do. Mikey, my wonderful fellow, I shall kiss you now for I have to fuck off, into the thick of it, to find Alice."

He jumped down and did as he said, planted a big kiss on Mikeys forehead. The bemused barman laughed, waved him goodbye and carried on cleaning his glasses as if nothing had happened.

By the time the cab reached Adams second destination he was an hour down and shrieking at the cab driver to take the money and fuck off. Although his trip to The Hauntishoon was kept to a minimum the Motorcade was on the other side of the city. The long cab ride had given him time to clear his head slightly, to reappraise the situation in a misty but not entirely blacked out fashion. Vivid colours, shapes and sounds but nothing totally distinguishable squeeze there way back, like the seconds leading up to a horrific car crash or savage beating, all the detail was lost, leaving the large soft round edges to be scraped at for improved features.

He noticed in the corner of his eye a bar woman ducking behind the bar and trying to crawl away as he entered. It was immediately clear the air conditioning had broke, maybe she was searching for the cool air in the bottom quarter of the bars moist and sickly atmosphere? He rushed up and, putting his elbows down on the top, let the momentum carry him slightly over the top to get a glance at the girl.

"Please get up, what the fuck did I do last night? Youre not calling the police are you? All I want is to know who the fuck Alice is?"

She got up hesitantly and spoke whilst leaning her left cheek into her shoulder and fluttering her eyelids.

"Im not calling the police Im just a little embarrassed about my friend, actually a lot embarrassed, but it sounds like you dont remember so Im going to quit whilst Im ahead."

"No dont!" He answered. "Seriously you have to help me out, who was your friend what happened? Oh god, she wasnt the half Mexican half Native American girl was she? What happened? Is she Alice? I need to know, its urgent."

"Oh no, shes not called Alice, shes called Sarah. Youre right about her mixed race though, its what gives her that amazing glow, although you didnt seem to appreciate it too much last night."

It suddenly came back, like a focusing lens, the colours and objects around him blended and took form, memories of the night were coming back with horror. She did have a glow, Sarah, a wonderful complexion, fine pine wood painted a rusty red, bright green beaming eyes, she was brilliant, but he recoiled, her large hands had given him the gitters. An evolutionary leaf on the line of an otherwise perfectly smooth running track. But that wasnt all, what was it that caused him to leave this place in the hurry? Maybe the bar lady could fill in the gaps.

He waited for her to return after serving a large biker type and quizzed her, "Im sorry, I remember your friend up to a point but I dont remember leaving, dont think Im such an awful bastard please, Im normally a perfectly nice guy."

" Ohh Im sure you are, no it wasnt entirely your fault anyway, she kept asking you for drinks and as a gentleman you kept buying them, at least she thought you were a gent, I thought you were a slimeball with a dirty agenda, but shes old enough to look after herself so I said fuck it and let her get on, she flicked her black hair revealing a selection of stars tattooed on her neck and, biting down on a chunk of lime she carried on. Anyway, for a skinny guy you can sure take your booze, you looked half gone when you came and after another five long islands with gin shooters I thought you were about ready to collapse, seems that Sarah had been trying to keep up though. From what I got out of her this morning she said she leant over, told you she loved you and dribbled on your knee until she noticed you were facing someone else and quickly sat back up, shame the guy you were talking to pointed out what had happened. At least thats what she told me, it seems to fit pretty well with what I saw next."

Adam leant over thinking it might be something good but knowing it was going to be horrible, "What was it, please tell?"

" Well, you slowly patted her face, wiped the remaining spit off the side of her mouth with a napkin, raised your arms above your head and ran out screaming like fuck, that was the last I saw of you."

" Oh fuck these tales, seriously, is that what happened? What about the rest of the night, how the fuck did I go on to meet Alice?! She wrote me this note do you know anything about it?"

Erm, nope, by the time you left here though it was at least four, pretty late, Im fucked off because Ive had to get up to do this shift, youre lucky you caught me.

Lucky indeed he thought, this tattooed harlot had ruined his dreams. Even if he had jumped straight into a cab after fleeing the bar in terror, got straight out and gone straight to the hostel room to collapse on the floor and scare off all his Japanese room mates, it was impossible for him to have got back to the hostel before five in the morning, leaving little or no time for talks with Alice.

He must have made her up, or even worse one of the Japanese with good English had realized he was reading Oscar Wilde, thought of some romantic epigram style note and left it in his trousers. He thought how they would be laughing at him right now, sat on their cool plane, munching on pretzels and sipping saki or what ever the fuck it was the Japanese drank.

He was tortured soul that had spent the last two hours running manically around New York in the summer heat. They were laughing alright and he was disheveled, having lost all hope paranoia crawled in with dark eyes, he began to shake slightly and as the adrenaline wore off he looked at his watch, it had just gone two.

Romantic thoughts remained of a beautiful girl sitting down to meet him, to talk and to fall in love with him, to be free together in this great bustling metropolis. To soak up art and theater, to get lazy in the afternoon and nap, then, into the shower for a powerful soapy romp and hit the city at night. He contemplated ordering a large gin, the bar lady had long turned away from him and his gut kicked, he couldnt drink if he wanted to, the only choice was to get back to the hostel, to crawl under his thin sheets and sleep for as long as he could.

He arrived back in double-quick-time thanks to a fast driving but slow talking cab driver; he tipped him with foreign coins and walked heavy steps into the hostel. Leaning over to pick up his key from reception he took the time to sign-in, never usually one to follow protocol he thought it wise to have some record of him being in the building if a fire started, given how heavily he was going to sleep. Suddenly he was paralyzed, three names up on the sheet he noticed the name Alice.

The handwriting matched almost exactly that on the note, just over two hours ago she had signed in, but where was she? Why had she turned up so early? He looked again at the note and realized its single rip had removed the numeral 1 before the 2, it was 12 they were meant to meet. His heart was racing again, dilated pupils brought on by a massive adrenaline rush, he needed the toilet but realized it would have to wait. She could be leaving any second, where would she be? Would they cross? Would he recognize her? What did he look like? His beer soaked Levis were hardly impressive though he decided not to care, just find her an explain everything.

He began to rush through the main corridor, looking on his right through the bay windows that lead out onto the garden, it was quiet apart from the girl in black he had noticed before he had left, sat there reading a book. He recoiled, it couldnt be, he knew when he looked down at her from his window on the fifth floor two and a half hours ago she was something different.

He could see her with much more clarity now, legs crossed neatly, she wore a black knee length skirt, a tight black top that showed off a wonderful figure. Her face was masked by large black sunglasses and her facial profile was hard to view because of her bob-cut hair, but he knew she was beautiful. He began to walk up to her and as he realized she was reading George Orwell he almost fainted, she seemed perfect in everyway.

An agnostic since he could remember he suddenly became a believer in the Gods, he prayed during his slow walk, he cried out in his mind to Fate to bring them together, he wept in front of the devil as he sold his soul to be with her and chased after Karma as its tricky dance maneuvered around him. As he stepped up to her he took a deep breath and spoke.

"Hello Alice"

"Hello Adam," she replied with a smile and pouting red lips. "Ive been waiting for you for some time now, though Im glad youve made it, sit down now, I want to know everything about you."

21/05/2006 - WE ARE THE ONES THAT MUST SPORT THE POSITION (From breadontoast.com)

Jesus jumped up Christ its about fucking time, plans are finally coming together with the speed and accuracy I have become accustomed to, Acapulco is on the horizon with the heat haze of Hollywood in the background.

Ive planned for six weeks but who knows how long I may spend out there, money is always the clincher and with about three grand saved up for the entire trip its just about doable. Im not however, completely closed to the idea of finding some back alley work out there and staying as long as I can, we shall see what happens, as always fate has decided, there is little I can do to change that.

On the subject of fate, the primary objective of the trip is to begin penning a novel Ive had milling around in my head for a few years now. Expect circular time theory, particle accelerators, tequila, directors, romps and Im thinking some sort of ethereal plane. Its a giant cluster-fuck of ideas at the moment but rest assured I will bring them together in a fantastic manner.

m aquiver with excitement regarding Acapulco, with its cheap beer and trendy cliques; blazing heat and luscious bays its not only going to be brilliantly hedonistic but a great source of inspiration. With any upscale travel though theres always trepidation, reports of police officers being decapitated by drug traffickers is always a worry, finding the British embassy is a must upon arrival, home territory, solid terra-firma where people can see clearly that decapitation just isnt proper.

Now, I have my cobra snake skin wallet and boots, ultra lightweight laptop, quad-band XDA, vintage Gieves & Hawkes bowtie and all manner of other vital travel accessories. The time if fast approaching, after months of lacklustre movement and waiting, now all its going to take is a brief montage of work and exercise before Im 32,000 feet above sea level travelling at close to 500 miles an hour to the great Mexican city of Acapulco.

Its been a tough few months for a man who without a plan is almost utterly lost. Deciding I needed to quell my alcohol dependency was a hard decision as well, for the first time since my adult life I spent a month completely sober, not many of my close friends believed I reached this auspicious goal, but I did, its that simple. Now I have my drinking under control, in light of the circumstances that lead to this happening my belief in fate is as strong as ever. I did however have help off a special someone, she knows who she is.

I will say adieu now, I have technology to prepare, I will be posting regular blogs from Acapulco when I arrive in late July, keep an eye out. Your friend,

Jack

23/02/2006 - I'M A GOD DAMN PHENOM! (From breadontoast.com)

Arh, hello there, I trust you’re well?

It’s been an outstanding eight or nine months, a cannon fired sledge ride though walls of dark whiskey, indecent prose and in places, twitching passion. Now breadontoast is back, my own shining corner of the internet to help me carry on this fateful adventure

I’m talking dramatically of course, alongside the excellent experiences I’ve had there has been the boring times too. Whilst the retail industry proves to be much more a pleasant experience than the catering one, it can be a little placid at times. Better that than burnt hands, late nights, cuts and crawling under hot cookers though. .

Anyway, enough of this, I’m in no mood to give anyone an any more detailed account of my life over recent times than that it’s been fucking excellent, I had a down spell that lasted approximately 72 hours, things are moving a head with speed and accuracy as always and a dramatic change will be happening soon.

Leave a message if you’re so kind or add me on myspace, www.myspace.com/fervour

Adieu maestro, until next time.

Jack

27/11/2005 - ...And I mean seriously, motherfucker... (From Myspace profile)

Everything is progressing at an extreme rate of knots, it’s been about 6 months since I left uni and in that time I’ve become a regular and praised contributor on a national music magazine, Zero Magazine and a regular with another fashionista (yuk) type mag Disorder Magazine as well as setting up my own local fanzine Under Magazine to the love and admiration of our local scene.

Journalism seriously fucking rocks I can’t tell you, and this is good fucking stuff. It's starting to take on a real form, a feverous take on new music, absolute dedication, driven with passion. There’s no fucking around here, no time for it, no time at all, it’s filled with grit and spice and will hopefully give you an insight to the band I’m covering.

I’ve attached a recent article I’m particularly proud of, perhaps if you like it you can leave a comment or something.

Anyway, a quick pic of the mag and I will say adieu maestro, until next time.

If you want a copy of the mag request on the website, i do send abroad.

www.undermagazine.co.uk

Innocence Dies -

As the 21st century squeezes the last drops of innocence out of the body of youth it seems fitting that youth itself should be playing the backing track. Meet Kill The Young.

Tom, Olly and Dylan Gorman, three brothers in their early twenties who kick out a music that corresponds exactly with the disorientation and panic felt by so many young people in today’s stylised, fast paced, ultra exclusive and class divided as ever British culture. Not strictly a concept band, their thoughts on the loss of innocence and the corruption of youth comes from, as guitarist and lyricist Tom says, “The ability to take a step back.”

"It is more of having a strong point to put across rather than a political agenda” he continues. “It’s not as if we have had or, do have a specific idea saying, ‘this is what we stand for and this is what we are going to do’, because you can get stuck in a rut doing that sort of thing and we’ve always wanted to explore different avenues of music. The name was and still is to catch peoples’ attention, we do believe in it and what it stands for”.

That stance, portrayed by their name and their first single, The Origin of Illness, is full of the passion and gusto that the 21st century is kicking out of the young. Bassist Dylan elaborates on their perceptions, “It’s something we do feel strongly about but, it’s never something we’ve had to deal with personally because we’ve had such cool parents. We’ve looked at how all these kids are growing up so fast, so young. You see these people that are forced by way of financial situations or pressure off their parents, or whatever, into doing something they don’t want to do whether it is university or jobs. Kill The Young is that essence of youth being lost, because people aren’t able to do the things they want to do or enjoying youth”.

Let us not forget about the music, it’s rampant and eager, with twinges of everything from Echo and the Bunny Men to Smashing Pumpkins and Sonic Youth. Any band that has played together for over seven years and performed in excess of 300 gigs will have a bond, but add to that mix the fact these guys are brothers and there’s the definite possibility of something special being produced. “Dylan and Olly come up with more actual tunes and riffs than I do” starts Tom when explaining the writing process of this literal band of brothers.

“Once those are sorted though I’ll sit down and think and think. I’ll take a long time to write down what will articulate perfectly the idea I’m wanting to say. No one track is half hearted or rushed and they’re usually quite personal to me. We’re not specifically a concept band with a theme that we write the music around, I mean we have a point behind the name and such but I don’t think we set out to change minds. If someone takes something from the music then great, I think different people will put different interpretations on what we play.”

Dylan continues “None of the songs on the album are about love or anything like that, it’s all about Tom and how he feel’s, it is some very personal stuff which is often quite dark. The music isn’t so overly personal that people will be like ‘what the hell is he singing about though.’”

As we sit around a cold table in Manchester train station on a dark and typically wet night it might be easy to see why they’re perhaps the polar opposite to a band like the Beach Boys. There’s no sparkling 1960’s America here, just, as Dylan says, “People rushing to get pissed, who can drink the fastest and how much, you know, we do a bit of that ourselves, but that’s just the way life is in these small towns like the one we grew up in”. A bleak backdrop that has provided them with the fodder to create their raw and emotive music.

Finding this sound was not an easy feat, seven years of gigging and constant development though has landed them with a package they have the uppermost of confidence in. “Other people being in the band helped us grow as musicians and become stronger in the end, because we realised that it’s either going to be us three or it was not going to happen. We couldn’t have it any other way, it’s the key really, it’s probably why we’ve written so many songs” explains drummer Olly.

It has been more than just a brotherly connection and ability to pick up on each other’s smallest peculiarities that has brought them to this ignition ready point, their path brought them to legendary producer Dimitri Tikovoi. After being signed to Discograph records the company decided to bring in the producer, famous for his works with everyone from Placebo to Goldfrapp, to have a listen. “They flew him over from France to our tiny little practice room” begins Olly. “We played a few songs for him, chatted a bit and started on about the album, our ideas and how to bring them to reality. See, something that always evaded us with studio recordings was this great live sound we have, Dimitiri was really able to bring this out by getting us to play live but, in the studio so to speak. We had people brought in to play in front of, he got us playing all together to really bring out that energy and passion rather than us playing separately and then layering it. We loved it and really think it worked.” Dylan continues the description seamlessly, “…And although it maintains this raw edge and special feel about it, after we had done all the over dubs and polished up the guitars and things like that it does sound totally professional, it’s not too raw that it just sounds amateur”.

Now it seems they’re set, they have the money and people behind them to bring their impressive sound and keen attitude to an ever hungry public. Not a band to gorge on, no doubt they will be drip fed, whatever it takes just as long as they don’t fall off into nothingness, that would be a travesty.

06/10/2005 - UNDER PRESSURE (From breadontoast.com)

Northwich is a peculiar place. As just another northern town that makes up the borough of Vale Royal you would be forgiven for overlooking it when searching for youthful music full of gusto and fervour.

Don’t be too keen to miss us out though, here in my home town I’ve begun to scratch the surface of something special, a local scene that is rife with more than just teen angst and a lack of things to do. There are bands, dozens of them, talented youngsters that have always been here since I was a kid. Now with my new magazine, Under, I’m hoping to give them the chances large city bands get every day as they’re featured in fanzines and on dozens of websites for people everywhere to read about.

It’s that something more than a 30 word filler in the local paper. We wanted total coverage with reviews, interviews and features, a professionally designed and printed publication, produced with the same passion that the music has. Two issues down and the hard work is paying off, with a budget for 1100 copies the full colour 40 page magazine is now out, local businesses are beginning to take us seriously and the scene is loving it.

It’s no mean feat, content is spilling out from all corners of this borough with three local bands getting signed in as many weeks, but money is what counts and the ever pounding question of where to get it from. Luckily sweet talking people is, unlike playing music, an area I have always seemed to excel at, but who needs it? We’ve got an amazing product, add that to a keen attitude and absolute professionalism and the advertisers are almost chasing us.

When I say ‘we’ I mean the small group of young and intense writers that the magazine is also working for. Acting as a platform for these young adults to get their portfolio started was another key aim of the magazine and now, with a team of 10 and growing, that grand notion of total coverage is beginning to become a reality.

We will eventually see come January if the advertisers still have that fire in their bellies and the eagerness to carry on feeding us with money. There’s so much more to do and luckily I have a few more ideas hidden away yet. It feels like I’m hooked up to a generator, the 18 hour days are frying my nerves but it’s exciting and fast paced and everything else a job should be at a young age. I’ve got my own magazine, it’s a quality product, I know because I would read it. If you can break off the edge yourself and find something just as cool give it a go, it’s an outstanding feeling.

Your friend, Jack

If you would like a copy of Under Magazine request one at the website:

www.undermagazine.co.uk

29/03/2005 - The Drunken Buccaneer (From Myspace profile)

Things are quite manic insane crazy at the moment. I feel like in a past life I was a buccaneer, my present state being some sort of frenzied mishap in the fabric of time, allowing me to retain the passion of adventure. I’m sick of Lincoln to the back of my teeth, I need to escape, get far away. I’m thinking of jumping on the Trans-Siberian express and travelling 9000km to the eastern most point of the Russian continent, or perhaps a trip to Acapulco to write my book? I feel over come to explore the caves beneath the Yucatan peninsular, an unknown world on a planet that fears anything uncharted or indefinite. But alas this is all on the backburner, I am quite crestfallen at the fact I have yet another 2 months here. Soon it will be over, and in the mean time? Maintain and dominate…that’s the key.

04/03/2005 - Pressure and Ice (From Myspace profile)

After recently taking a forward step in my musical tastes I’ve come across a variety of modern day avant-garde bands, which, I am thoroughly enjoying. Years of being relatively dogmatic are changing, I’m developing my musical scope and learning at the same time. My hunger to write a screen play has taken a step forward as well, I now in unison with the yearning to write I feel the lust to move to Acapulco. The place is shrouded in mystery to me, I’ve never met anyone from there and after reading up on it I ache to see what the large harbour city surrounded by cliffs has to offer. My time in Lincoln is quickly drawing to an end, the times they are a-changin as Bob Dylan once said. I’m trickily balancing the need to continuously build my portfolio whilst maintaining a high performance with my academics and still have a degree of gonzo incidents. Only two months to go now however, not a problem.

02/03/2005 - RIP HST, THE DEATH OF A WARRIOR (From Breadontoast.com)

I’ve carried my copy of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas with me everywhere I’ve been for the last four years, over three continents and tens of thousands of miles. I watched the film on the recommendation of a friend, I read the book after some research on the internet and my life changed. I was overcome with a passion and fervour for extreme life, the type Hunter lived. I raced through Fear and Loathing for the first time when I was on holiday with my friends in Malta. The country was going through a scorching heat wave at the time that would send the day temperatures soaring well over 100 Fahrenheit. We’d sleep until just before the sun set, and then, as the evening temperature began to mellow in the twilight hours, we would go down to the pool and sit in the shade. Hydrating from the previous night’s debauchery and getting ready to do it again.

It was fantastic, the perfect time to read the anarchy of Hunter. We’d binge drink the night away, convincing former East Bloc country folk that we were magicians with a penchant for skateboarding and late night dips in the Mediterranean Sea. Not a care in the world “I’m Michael Hopperfield buddy! You better believe it! The half brother of David Copperfield, I taught that man everything he knows!” and they’d believe us. As the numbers dwindled and the sun began to rise we’d grab our wheels and speed down the melted smooth tarmac roads, the cool sea air freshening our party-torn bodies.

I turned 18 there, the loss of innocence whilst reading HST. We brawled with amphetamine addled swine in the main square of the town. An old man with a large tattoo of a shark on his torso and sun drenched skin told us he was a pirate and kissed me on my forehead. Amazing times, total freedom and absolute optimism before September 11, and this was only four years ago, incredible to think really. I came back and knew I had a mission, a path of domination was set out for me and it’s been absolutely necessary to maintain ever since. The chance to pause and reflect has been just out of my grasp from that point until now, Hunters death has made me take the time to do so. My paper trail leads directly back to those still vivid nights in Malta, now I’m here about to finish my degree in journalism four years on and just as ferocious as ever. Balls to the wall, aiming straight and dominating all, my mind is set and I will succeed. And remember, as Hunter said “The crazy never die!”

06/02/2005 - Kiss me, I'm a pirate (From Myspace profile)

I have the indelible feeling these days that I need to write a screenplay; unfortunately I neither have the time or the mental resources to start putting any ideas on paper. My sobriety is having its affects, I’m beginning to regain some lost power having been sober for a week now. I am back in my University town of Lincoln, which is probably the least inspiring place I have ever been. The cathedral is gothic and majestic, reigning like a paused hand of God at the top of the plateau, but it’s just not really my scene. Things are progressing at an abnormal rate at the moment in general. My writing is coming on leaps and bounds, continually gaining praise from my peers and I’m starting to get involved with some excellent websites to showcase my work. I’m also very close to securing some exceptionally cool interviews. My website is finally finished, thanks to the fantastic guy that shall only be known as Meta, and I’m going to start freelancing my work to national publications. The next month is going to be engulfing and I’m sure exhilarating, time to get stuck in at every angle and come out on top.

27/01/2005 - Big impressions make big waves. (From Myspace profile)

I wrote this a few weeks back after the Tsunami, I thought it appropriate to put on here.

Spoon fed their pain.

The Asian tsunami is a natural disaster of biblical proportions, a real wrath of God event the likes of which have not been seen in recent history, a call for solidarity among men to save lives and do good. But exactly a year before 43,000 died in Iran, why has everybody forgotten about the plight of the almost 100,000 left homeless? Because it is no longer packaged, bubble wrapped and brought to us for our daily consumption. Bono no longer cares, he’s moved on, and in our useless disposable, consumer society that means we don’t care. Humanities plight as a whole is not something to be given on a monthly basis, edited, stripped clean and brought to our TV screens. It’s easy to forget in our fickle, MTV, speed junkie world the suffering of millions across the world on a daily basis. Low levels of response to the aids crisis means 70 million people will die as a consequence within the next 20 years, that’s almost 10,000 a day for the next two decades. Poverty, contaminated water, war, famine, continual suffering on a global scale, just because the cameras are not there does not mean it has stopped happening. We’ve all got access to the worlds most powerful news medium ever; the Internet and that means there is no longer an excuse to forget. Misery across the globe is not something we should only be concerned about when the media decides we should. It is always there and always will be, exercise some moral fortitude and remember.

23/01/2005 - A toast, to those who are about to drink (From Myspace profile)

My first blog entry…hungover but animated with anticipation. I leave for Lincoln tomorrow, back to hedonism, debauchery and everything else that goes along with being a rampant gonzo student in the early 21st century. Last night was one of the finest nights I’ve had in some time, sharing close air with old friends in the winter night. Catching up, drinking gallons of gin, singing old tunes and carefully analysing Salvador Dali with twisted soaked minds. Time to rest now, more lucid dreams, soaring in my own mind, flying to the brink and back again. Sometimes I wish I could sleep forever…but where would be the fun in that?

14/09/2004 - END OF DAYS (From breadontoast.com)

This is ultimately a trip in the name of fun, but for all the apprehension and paranoia it is at the end of the day a delve into potentially one of the most paranoid cities on earth. A physical experiment to see if all the hedonistic attributes have clung three years after the death of ignorance. Eyes are truly open now, closed minds still exist but they know what they are trying to block out. A fluid enemy ebbed under America’s doors and drove terror deep into an already savage and reckless society. It’s a known fact that New Yorkers drink more and take more drugs now than previous to 9/11 and depending on ones own boundaries and ideals of fun that can either be good or bad.

For an excessive brute like myself it has to be towards the good. But with the drink and drugs there comes the obvious depression, the need and distinct want to block out the realities smashing down around these city folk, but they do not seem depressed. A reasonable man may be willing to accept that New Yorkers are simply celebrating their freedom with more vigour and potency than before. The people I’ve met, the painters, publicists, DJ’s, rock bands and everything else in between seem to be emanating a few found confidence in their freedom an appreciation, no longer taking it for granted and it’s beautiful.

And it’s not as if the city doesn’t have an excuse, this was the pinnacle of what can be seen as the time of depression. In a democratic city the Republican Party decides to hold its national convention just days before the third anniversary 9/11. The inevitable protests ensued with or without reason employing both peaceful and violent means. If you weren’t protesting? Grab whatever you can, gobble it up or drink it down to get away from the harsh realities plastered all around…but these weren’t the reasons for all over-indulgence.

Stood outside a bar smoking a cigarette I asked a young man about how the city would be reacting on 9/11. “You know man” he replied “Everyone’s upset, but a lot of people also see it as a true reminder of our wonderful diversity, we’ve got it and we ain’t letting go” Good man I thought and cracked him on the back in a drunken alpha male type gesture. And it’s true; the kids are still running rampage full of life and intensity. After an initial 14 hour, $200 drink binge, a case of alcohol poisoning, severe cellular dehydration, hallucinations, 40 hours of sleep and the fleeing in absolute terror of 7 Japanese teenagers from the hostel room I was sharing with I was able to go out and truly absorb the city. It seemed subdued on the outside, but once I had looked hard enough and cracked the edges a little I found a pool of fun with broken filters. Nothing’s getting purified by our invisible enemy of terror and the governments relentless need for protection of the greater good. On the ground the vibrancy of youth lives on and is just debauched and extravagant as ever.

07/09/2004 RADICAL INTERROGATION TECHNIQUES - (From breadontoast.com)

In to the mist I head, stocked and prepped with a variety of whiskeys and a horde of cigarettes. My senseless fears of arrest in New York have been quashed some what by the fact my partner in sin has failed to materialize, no real concern however I can cause enough bedlam and disorder on my own. Obviously this is a trip in the name of fun in these paranoid times, anything else would be foolish, yet there is always that lingering concern of pure chaos.

There is definitely something that brings up great apprehension in oneself when looking at American domestic policy in these icy times. Adventures are fraught with fear of not only incarceration by outback Nazi police force types, but also all manner of fringe sectors of law enforcement that roam constantly with predatory impulses looking for anything out of the ordinary… the invisible threat of terror.

It’s always easy to argue that the well being of the collective has to be protected at all costs, even if that is at the expense of the individual and this certainly seems to be what is being preached at the moment. Border controls armed to the teeth searching, roaming, looking through and interrogating whole bus loads of people 500 miles away from any border, “Our jurisdiction is the entire U.S” one of them told me, indeed it is. What if I wasn’t carrying my passport? “It was taken officer, that’s right, a group of crazed monsters after my Pineal gland, ready to bore a whole in my head…I begged them, said I was autistic and it was wrecked from birth, so they made off with my wallet and passport…” Slam! No doubt, none of that back chat, straight into some sort of terrorist holding cell to be prepped for radical interrogation techniques.

It’s the way of the US at the moment, constitutional rights getting broken at every corner. It’s unlikely the rent-a-cop security employed to search and scan everyone getting onto greyhound busses, for example, really know they’re infringing on the natural civil rights of all of these people, the 4th Amendment: “The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.” ‘Probable cause’ I think is the phrase that comes into discussion at this point, “Our intent is to root out and discover possible terrorists and to protect the greater good”, indeed, that seems to give these rent-a-cops the right to search anyone, well, where are the individuals these days?

This greater good, the constant observation of the herd, intense policing to keep order completely over looks the individual and it’s deeply worrying. But of course constitutional rights have always been up in the air being fought for by wealthy lawyers after notoriety and ‘justice’, the more things change the more things stay the same. Yet this invisible enemy of today encroaches on every man woman and child, the nightmare is becoming a reality. The grim writings of authors about ‘big brother’ and such, these unimaginable dictatorships controlling and governing by that most powerful of authorities ‘fear’ is unwinding before our very eyes.

Traces are already apparent, tube station walls plastered with warnings of vigilance “report anything suspicious immediately” breeding a generation of paranoid swine ready to turn you in at the drop of a hat. It is early days yet but the disgusting foundations are steadily being put in place for an all out hell. But fuck this misery, it’s only one potential fate of world politics at the moment, best absorb the freedom now and forget this merciless fear that has been at the back of the free mans mind for centuries.

My trip through Chicago went by rather uneventfully. Perfect for the rest and recuperation that was needed after the excess’s of resort life. Five days of solid relaxation and preparation for the heaviness of New York city with a few whiskeys here and there, but for medicinal purposes only. One curious day I had my palms read by a mystic hippy sort, disheveled and looking like she had been living off leaves and berries for too long her skin was sagged and spotted from sun erosion. Her predictions were interesting, that of long life and confidence and also the premonition that I will be a father to over four children.

What I should have done is packed her mouth full of shit and taped it shut. “Stop living this life of deviancy and decadence” she wailed, I scratched my head lent backwards and smiled. The next night a friend and I went down town to the 96th floor of the Hancock building and drank $20 a time Chivas Regals whilst listening to a double bass, piano duet and looking down upon the vast and fantastic industrial might of the United States. My time has yet to come I thought, if I stopped now who knows what deadend mess I may end up in. Indeed, I’m young and fruitful, excess is my middle name and as I swirled the golden brown scotch in my hand I was thinking to myself that I shouldn’t expect anything less from N.Y City. I feel the experience of the true endorphin highway is coming and it needs to be embraced and in a true professional manner. Intensity boiling up inside me like a self-constructed horde of Attila the Hun or Vlad “The Impaler” Dracula…It’s about fucking time.

31/8/2004 - WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE? (From breadontoast.com)

I left the great north woods of American with sadness pouring out of my heart “Don’t leave, governor,” they cried, the Polish and Americans alike, but I had to it was imperative in order to increase my worldly knowledge and wisdom. My final days on the resort were just as excessive as usual, break dancing and smashing glasses at the Bowling alley followed by mass consumption of vodka. For my final night we had bought around three liters between five of us and strived to the early hours to consume it all, tales of fervor and passion came spilling out from all nationalities in typical 21st century style, all high powered nights on a mixture of amphetamine and drink followed into the dark by all manner of debauchery with swinging harlots.

And now I’m traveling, troubled and crushed, herded like cattle with ‘air con’ in this horrific bus, the bloated woman next to me with no remorse continually spreading like melting butter spilling over her designated seating area invading my personal space. Drastic measures may have to be put into fruition I thought, feign an epileptic fit, uncover my terrible torets syndrome or some other horrific event, but the risk of getting thrown off the bus into the dead of night was too great, so I held my own, adjusted into the best fetal position I could muster and tried to sleep.

Waking up with a start in the morning sitting up and seeing all of these people sat around, young and old, each with their own mission and final destination I want to know their tired and drawn out life tales, Mexican, black, white, red Indian. Yet I have no time for such inquisitiveness at this particular point, as W.C Fields said, my travels are “fraught with eminent peril”, that being my concluding objective of arrival in New York.

The 5th largest armed force in the world is currently occupying the vast metropolis. Guarding the Grand Old Party against violent protest from over 800 different groups and of course the invisible threat of terrorism their hands are full. The world is coming apart at the seams before our very eyes. The death of the 90’s and the birth of this foul century is beginning to play out horrors not seen by our generation of spoilt little fuckers, and who is to blame? Governments, terrorists, ourselves? Unknown at the moment, take for instance Woodstock revisited in 99, this was a complete manifestation of the puerile existence we see today…Deaths, rapes, riots, the event burnt down and died in a cloud of foul disgust. An event that symbolized a new found freedom through experimentation with prophetic drugs and sex in the 60’s depicted in the 90’s how the youth culture felt, bored and violent.

Enough of this babble, we’re not bored any more are we? Just violent now, a unifying hatred against an invisible enemy, at least it’s some common ground for us on the downward spiral our generation is locked into. A generation of Americans that analysts predict will be the first to be poorer than the last, weird and frightening times for a cursed cohort of youth.

23/08/2004 - NIGHTMARE AT DOWS CORNER (From breadontoast.com)

Sitting and waiting, perched on my ebony swivel barstool staring out at the birch trees gently swaying in the wind I ask myself "Why are these trees oscillating in such a fashion?" I had been studying them for around 30 minutes and they had a distinctly un-natural flow to their movements, did it have something to do with the twisted mess a decrepit old barman left my head in last night? His inane ramblings trying to convince me his father designed and built the bouncing bomb?

What a swine, creeping up on me out of view crouched below the bar then jumping up and with an unstable landing grinning and spurting out "Why sir, is the earth not lob sided? Why does all the mining that take place not make the earth off kilter?"... Did that tired night really happen or did I collapse in a chemical induced coma where this nightmare night played out and upon waking up think it was all reality? No is the answer, how else would I explain the stacks of Dows Corner beer mats scattered all over my room and the huge amount of bloody mary stains all over my jeans and lumberjack shirt? It did happen and now I’m left sitting here with rotten guts watching trees slowly trickle over them like burning candles only never getting smaller.

A sort of self activated hallucination, for which I’ve thought about seeking medical advice but Ive always enjoyed being able to manipulate an objects size and shape at will by simply staring at it. However, I’m still finding it hard to deal with the jagged memories of this mutant bar tender. Leaning over the bar staring with his sagging old face that housed the eyes of a young man, on fire and steaming with eagerness, and in a pace that did not match the old rumbling voice he began quickly saying. "I borrowed a friends car once...I parked it near a cliff and as I got out and shut the door the damn thing rolled straight over, 80 feet free fall landing square on its wheels in two foot of water, the bugger still worked though I tells ya! Oh yes we drove it to the dance that very night!" And then he burst into a roaring laughter that would tare the skin off a small childs face.

Jesus wept, I remember him pulling out a set of handcuffs "Put these on and then try to get out of them, it can be done don’t worry about that! Ill give you a free beer if you can!" But by this time my brain had had enough, it was clear to see this barman was a very rare breed, an ageing process that was 20 years too early the brain was still active and curious but the body was old and decrepit, torn and withered. The man had to be dealt with though and with a definite authority, his eagerness could soon turn on me and so I blurted back "Listen!" he choked for a second and took a slight nervous wobble. "Id like that free beer anyway, it’s your choice" I shrugged "I could have you locked up for being a paranoid schizophrenic. I have complete diplomatic immunity arranged with the American Attorney General in exchange for allowing the U.S to build military bases on my fathers lands around the remote pacific islands of Micronesia, all it takes is a call to my lawyer"

"Whoa! Hold about there buddy, lets not get so uptight around here jeeez you’ll have people talking" He replied as he passed me the free beer, there was a clear-cut change in his attitude as if he had been threatened with being locked up for being a mentalist previously and yet managed to wriggle free of the noose that was coming down on him. The poor bastard I thought, his curiosity was his ultimate doom, if he had the brains to match the inquisitiveness he could own a chain of these bars not being threatened by foreigners under false pretences with incarceration for life.

We were left alone for the remainder of the night but it only took another 30 minutes before the barman was too much for human eyes to handle. We stood up and as my friend and I left the barman was attempting to get out of the handcuffs himself, struggling and twisting, maybe he was telling the truth before and it wasn’t some sort of crude attempt to chain me up, knock me out and feed me to his pigs. But I wasn’t in the mood for finding out so my friend and I left like teenage vampires stepping out into the crisp cold night with total confidence and the distilled brazen eagerness of an old man.

13/08/2004 - Lust, Drunk, Purge (From breadontoast.com)

My delicate and pure foreign lover has been gone for over a week now and my lust for her touch and flawless spine has not dwindled. Her departure was agonising, leaving my heart feeling as if it had been trampled by elephants wearing stilettos, sharp and merciless puncturing leaving me weak and dishevelled.

Very new feelings passing through and over me. Love, in its purest form, was always a foreign and rather abstract concept to myself. Obviously the love I share for my family and friends is as pure as freshly fallen snow but I always found it hard to believe such powerful emotions and attachments could be brought upon myself in regards to a girl.... Perhaps my fears of being some sort of highbred nymphomaniac sociopath with little or no capacity to love or sustain a relationship and at the same time having almost no remorse for past partners is unfounded.

Of which I’m glad, although my unrepentant lust for wanting her back is terrifying on many levels, if not only for the fact that this startling new emotion has got such a fierce grip on me that I dread to think how I may escape it, but it is a much warmer feeling than thinking of oneself as an ice cold sex demon. Ho ho ho...but then again, its early days yet.

However, now I’m left here in this oblique holiday resort deep in the north of Americas great forest and lake lands with all manner of mutants and fiends having to take my solace in heavy binge drinking, the occasional smoking of narcotics and relentless golfing.. not necessarily in that order but often at the same time.

Though this whole filthy set of circumstances can be brought down to the singularity of idiots and intellectuals alike coming together at the pinnacle of their being when stuck in such a god forsaken surroundings to achieve one goal and that is to escape from reality.

A lifestyle caked in boredom can be a terrible existence. We are a social breed of animal with a constant and unforgiving need for sensation, new or old, and monotony and boredom try to quash these urges, for some reason only known to the great magnet, to make us into Mongoloid effigies of the the pure thrill and fun seeking creatures we are. Unfortunately this appetite for sensation can sometimes bring out the beast in all of us.

For instance the high levels of brutality and dread experienced in low level income communities such as mining towns not only stem from economic standings intertwined with high levels of testosterone and natural competitive instincts of man in general but also the implicit want and need to feel something, even if that sensation is pain. The humdrum and harsh realities of working in the pits not only breeds a want for escape, which is often brought about by alcohol, but the need for feeling alive, to be brilliant, spectacular, just for a second...the thrill of the fight.

Luckily our close knit social gathering her at the Ross Teal Lake Lodge has not degraded into all out savagery yet, but for such a small quarry of humans that we have gathered here I am amused by the amounts of alcohol and narcotics consumed, especially whilst remaining completely ambiguous to our senior staff. However, smoking opium and playing golf can only be tolerated for so long, in-depth conversations, with the Polish contingent in particular, tend to keep my brain from waxing over completely. In-depth however, does not mean intelligent, the language barrier often dictates to which extent a group of people can converse and regularly our discussions are simply anecdotal, about drinking, drugs and other general shenanigary.

My good Polish friend Woitech, who happens to be a fine example of a red blooded Pole, once put it to me straight whilst enduring a late night spiced rum session he leans back in his chair saying "Oh come on my friend, Poland can be a dangerous place to live" as I eyed him curiously he began to speak in a more serious tone.

"I was out camping with my friends one time when in the early hours we were woken up by what sounded like a group of people...When I came out of then tent there were three guys stood around all looking high as hell on amphetamine, I grabbed a smouldering piece of wood and began hitting one of them with it but he just kept coming"

By this point there was a definite fear in his eyes from unearthing such terrible memories, and he carried on.

"It was like Frankenstein’s monster, I must have hit him ten or eleven times with this big piece of on fire wood before he ran off into the woods with his friends like a pack of injured wolves, something Ill never forget"

And that is usually the extent to which our conversations go, but generally I’m not bothered by such tales of violence, stupidity and excess as they are as much part of the learning curve as any other type of education whether it be formal or sitting down in front of your parents to learn their wisdom. The ability to converse on all levels with all manner of people is not something learned over night, but is definitely necessary for a full and rounded life experience.

And on a final note...Jade is ace

24/07/2004 - The Boss Woman (From breadontoast.com)

My boss, a terrible, monstrous, lunatic glutton that attempts to distill fear into her employees in an ill planned scheme to try and controll them best she can, fear is after all the ultimate authority...The outcome is in fact that nothing more than contempt and pity for her are bred in the fresh minds of the young foreign staff.

******* **** (name deleted at recommendation of lawyer), this awful wrech of a human, with a face of a bulldog chewing on shards of broken glass as well as being border line obeese, has such an ill grasp of social etiquette and understanding that she often comes across as a complete sociopath. Thinking through anything before she says it or indeed acts it out is a distant and foeign concept...Yet these sociopathic tendencies could possibly be delt with if it here not for her foul arrogence and inner opinion that she is in fact always right.

These two terrible traits combined along with her beast like appreance prove to make for some rather difficult situations. Often her completely off the wall logic astounds me to such an extent that during the course of a conflict I am left completely speechless. Trying in my own mind to grasp her reasoning in order to retort my brain seizes up. In trying to comprehend her twisted and completely backward way of thinking she induces some unheard of reset mechanism within my brain, three words flashing over and over "Abort, Retry, Fail" in my preiferal vision as she rants like a pathetic angst filled teenager whod been kicked in the head as a child whilst trying to milk a fucking bull.

During one moderately warm day for instance I was filling my California Inovations heat resistant 20 fluid-Oz water bottle to carry around on its belt strap and drink when necessary. "Stop that!" she exclaims in her elocution lesson English accent

"I beleive you will work more efficiently if you take on lots of liquid before leaving for work then you do not have to carry around that bottle"

My brain stood still and my right eye began twitching slightly, her monstrous face making my eyes bleed whilst her fucking stupid, moronic logic made my mind prolapse. My entire skull felt as if it was collapsing in upon itself or being eaten rapidly by some flesh eating virus such as Necrotizing Faciitis. I finally came to as she was walking away and suggested

"If I do that I will become bloated and sick, its only a very small bottle and I put it down when Im working, plus if I do become thirsty again whilst Im out there it saves me having to walk back to the kitchen to restock and become bloated again"

"No" she replied simply and carried on walking. So to spite the wench I drank almost a gallon of water in under 10 minutes and went walking to do my menial job of trimming weeds. As predicted I was bloated and sickly and after 20 minutes or so stuck with a constant and urgent need to urinate. As I plodded around I could hear my stomach sloshing, like a office water cooler when someone brushes past it in a hurry. The beasts logic had done her no favours yet she was completely oblivious to her failings as a reasonable manager of human resouces.

Fuck her and her bad noise I thought as I walked back, trying to explain to her why the job was only half complete would only bring about further brain seziures from her lowly and confused logic. I expelled as much liquid as I could during the course of the early evening and after romping with my beautiful dancer girl drank gin and spiced rum heavily until the early morning giving no thought to any hangover I may have in the morning, I can work at a good pace on a hangover, but if she comes near me I thought, Im doomed.

17/07/2004 - Smoking Electricity (From breadontoast.com)

Female dancers are beautiful creatures, slender toned bodies often with an extraordinary ability for bending into hugely erotic positions...and this is no myth. During my stay at this abnormal resort deep in the heart of the great Northern Woods of America I have met a bewitching German girl called Natalie, her sculptured body is truly a work of art, if i could paint still life I would spend years studying her body and blissfully putting it on canvass.

We have been having a fantastic time together. One night the moon was full and bright in the sky and I suggested we should go out to the golf course and run around naked "wonderful idea" she said, so after gathering some supplies, rum and a blanket, we left our dank cabin for the fresh splendour of the course. As the moon shone down on her pert chest and firm round buttocks I couldn’t help myself and we romped like wild animals on the 12th green. After we finished we lay side by side holding hands drinking rum and looking at the full moon, as I sat up to take a swig of my drink a young Buck walked calmly past his ebony coat gently shining in the light of the moon the elegant creature not even noticing us laying 20 feet away still and embracing. He strolled off into the woods and we fell asleep under a blanket until the dew started to settle and it became too cold to lay even with the warming heat of each other’s bodies. It was a fantastic night but alas the moon has disappeared now, the orbital path allowing us just one perfect night of angelic silver light across our unified bodies.

She will leave soon and I fear I will be in great trouble, the weirdness and unpredictability of living in a tight and repetitive employment and social situation has to be dealt with in a solid diplomatic manner. Lumber a given number of no more than 20 young people together in a compact arena of alcohol and boredom and a chain reaction begins that has the potential to explode frightening speed. Generally its notable that people will forgo a degree of individuality, heart and spirit in order to maintain good vibes and not extenuate the speed of this reaction, why make your life harder and more jagged than it already is? No one appreciates other people talking about him or her behind their back.

Indeed, the avid fascination with terrible reality TV shows in this foul decade revolves centrally around these close, intimate and unpredictable social settings, which bring upset, disgrace and personal horror for the participants. Its common knowledge that when people are packed and herded like swine brutal reactions will occur often over the most trivial of matters. The only true way to deal with this is to hit the weirdness head on, a fool will say, "sit back governor, relax, take a load off, let them deal with their own horrors", this is an inept school boy approach. A difficulty left to clear itself up may bring the two or more involved into a closer bonding than before they started, perhaps they had no bonding and now they have a mutual appreciation and respect for each other and where are you left? On the outside, with potentially ugly repercussions bareing down on yourself. Becoming involved is often the best thing one can do, being the middle man is generally a frustrating and unacceptable position for most people, only a honed social mind, largely from previous experience, can deal with the continued ugliness of both parties attempting to get and destroy one another though yourself in the correct manner, on the edge diplomacy is necessary to resolve the situation whilst allowing yourself to maintain a position of high standing. Only previous experience can fully prepare oneself for the manner of shenanigans that happens in a place like this the weak will perish at the bottom of the social hierarchy like the lame wolf of the pack.

I once talked to a one armed biker who smoked electricity in a terrible pit of a bar where the walls would sweat and the people had very few teeth, but so what? Fuck him, this monster could not prepare me for these confined social quarters, he could not teach me how to maintain a high social standing… only experience, get that straight, write it down and eat the paper, but asimilate this, life is about experience, get as much of it as you can.

I’d been here no more than 72 hours before this life experience came into fruition. After a heavy binge drink of Wild Turkey and tequila I decided to sleep on the floor, my back was still stiff from all the flying i had done in the previous days and I thought a solid surface would help straighten out my spine. I was meditating heavily in order to control stomach convulsions and a rotating brain that I assumed were from the terrible mix of tequila, whisky, beer and wine when I heard suspicious noises coming from the couch no more than 10 feet away. I remembered the room was calmly lit with wall mounted lamps and that a quick glance may help confirm my premonition that a couple were romping. In a swift Ninja style move, completely inaudible, my belief was affirmed, there was indeed a couple cavorting on the couch, why not?

As far as they were concerned I was an unconscious mess on he floor, a pile of liquefied flesh incapable of causing any ugliness that may have arose if I was able to jump up and perhaps grab the 4ft 20lbs fibre glass Musky fish sculpture hanging on the wall directly above my head and started swinging wildly in a fit of drunken hysteria, but alas I was incapable of such acts. So they continued to frolic, as they did I fell back into my meditative state and slipped into a deep sleep.

In the following days there was a definite sense of guilt and ugliness in the air on the resort, an acute social mind can pick up on such fine details and all of my receptors were working with 100% efficiency, the outer layers of the brain sensing minute changes in air pressure when standing next to someone due to a change in even the most trivial of things such as posture. As the situation transpired the romping couple were not a couple, they were simply victims tot he god of drunken passion, both having partners and this solitary act of fervour had set the chain reaction of at lightening speed. Bad vibes all around in this finely woven fabric of human emotion and social interaction, but one must maintain, there is really no choice, steering clear will cause a definite shift in attitude towards yourself, often for ill and in this regard your life may become very difficult, the lame wolf is eaten by scavengers looking for something to pick dry to keep themselves from falling, obnoxious swine always trying to get the upper hand in the hierarchical social structure that inevitably develops in such situations.

Sharp whit and fast thinking can quickly create a position for yourself as a person to which someone can confide in, trust and confidence allows their guts to spill and a porous mind soaking up all with emotion will allow oneself to get hold of and maintain in these weird and unpredictable social environments.

As well as honing my social abilities ive been establishing my skills of vehicle maneouvering. This capability will always, I feel, hold you in good stead for a plethora of situations where you may rely on only certain parts of ones brain in order to survive. Normally the capacity to drive a golf cart efficiently should not be extenuated to life or death skills, however, it’s a good base to start on.

Some people have suggested to me alcohol, marijuana and all other sorts of drugs rather than impairing their ability to drive they are heightened giving them some sort of meta-awareness otherwise clouded when totally sober, however, as is the typical case sobriety is the best policy, I myself am one of the latter. Nevertheless in the misshaped state of a hangover driving a golf cart seems to become easier, more accurate, faster and more precise. My hangovers seem to allow my inner brain to take over the more developed outer layers of the brain that take such a hammering during a heavy drinking binge. The fine primordial brain used by warrior cave men to fight off sabre tooth tigers and such, giving lightening fast reactions without even having to think, if that is, one has the energy.

Powerful visual signals from the outside beamed directly into the centre of the brain via the retina and optical cords giving often over exaggerated yet controllable signals to the limbs, this is why for instance, i seem to be able to avoid collisions and accidents whilst driving after a terrible drinking session yet whilst sober I continually drive carts into ditches and wooded areas a bear would have difficulty navigating.

Feeling unconfident in a hungover state is a flaw I feel, maintain confidence, allow the deep inner mind to do the work in the best way it feels will keep you alive by assimilating the vast visual and audio information before you and conducting your limbs in the appropriate manner... it will not fail you.

12/06/2004 - Hello from the land of the free (From breadontoast.com)

After arriving in this primary stronghold of capitalism I’ve been relatively inactive aside from drinking beer and crashing golf carts.

The flight over was an eight hour delve into the life and tribulations of a 72 year old German American called Herbert, if I had the time and patience I could give you some fantastic details about Herb’s life to date, including a vast plethora of family related facts, after the hours I sat next to Herb and gradually got more and more drunk I took on board enough information to write a small biography I even know his family traveled over to America in 1948 and his son last year grossed half a million dollars from his computer business, but alas, I will spare you in case you as me start trying to search for the Kerosene, unsure whether to burn yourself or in fact to burn him, or in your case to flame your computer.

After arriving on camp and cracking open my duty free Wild Turkey I quickly relaxed into the fantastically friendly atmosphere, for the most part everyone is brilliant, and I’m having a good amount of fun. After the second night of a massive tequila binge the third day was a terrible mess, having my first accident in the golf carts we drive around constantly, however, my cat like reactions and Spiderman senses did turn what could have been a major collision into a small bump with another car, my lesson has been learnt and I will be binge drinking tequila and driving golf carts backwards at excessive speeds sometime again soon.

I have a mission to accomplish so I must leave.

Love Jack

01/06/2004 - Welcome (From breadontoast.com)

his site is now up and running featuring the writings and general shenanigans of the Drunken Baron, Jack Rawstone. Please feel free to leave messages in regards to what you have read and what you think as thoughts are always appreciated.

The site will be gradually added to over the course of the following weeks, keep an eye for future articles, interview, reviews, pictures and such. At the moment the site is quite bare, with articles lacking pictures but this will all be resolved later on.

Regards,

Jack