William's Last Words

Journal for Plague Lovers cover art

In the age before my disposable income, a visit to the local record shop involved lengthy deliberation on which CD I really wanted to justify handing over a massive £10 of pocket money. The problem here was that the price of a CD limited how much you could purchase from decades of musical output. This is why it took so long for me to acquire The Holy Bible (henceforth THB). As a recent newcomer to the Manic Street Preachers, I set out with the money from my 13th birthday to buy their then previous album, Everything Must Go (hf. EMG), only to encounter THB in every shop. At the time I was uninterested and largely unaware of its legendary status - my first encounter with it was actually the title chiselled into a table in the school's music department. Naturally when I tried to find THB, all I could find was EMG - which I eventually got for my 16th.

Deeper Underground

When South Park parodied Cloverfield last October, I put it on my very long list of films to see. So seven months and a hundred films later...

We've Shared This Thought For Some Considerable Time

Corner Reflector, 2007

For a while now I've been toying with the idea of renaming the blog. A good candidate came to me this afternoon. The current name lacks the effect I thought it had nearly 4 years ago - it's far too vague and doesn't communicate anything in particular. Rebrandings can alienate your audience. I got rid of the visitor counter on the site a good while ago, so I'm unaware if I have one. The last thing I would want to do is have everyone update their bookmarks. This is your chance to speak up if you're there.

That said, this blog is split between essays (the humanities, science) and diary excerpts (girls, vignettes, other girls). One seeks an audience and the other is merely on public display. I'm just uploading my mind bits at a time. As for the character of Herr Niemand, to begin with he's not what you'd call human. I'm still developing him and his story, but I may coerce him into making some more appearances. I'll continue to chip away at the half-dozen drafts that remain, and since I've made my way through several dozen films in the past months I may share my opinions on a select few.

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Seen and Not Seen

Home Sewing is Killing Fashion, Bo Peterson, 2006

I've become completely sick of Hollywood. Perhaps the odd classic blinded us to the fact that everything else was always shit? It seems 90% of films since around 1980 have been remakes, or "reimaginings". I'm alright with that if it improves upon the original - case in point, The Thing. But what seems ever more apparent is a churn of films from the past quarter-century being refilmed. Refilmed with the intention of milking everyone again. Name a Japanese or Korean horror film, a Hong Kong action film, any successful foreign film; and you'll find either part or all of it has been ground into a recent Hollywood production. Let The Right One In has a Hollywood remake in production before it even has a full release. Why?

I Wanted to Rub the Human Face in its Own Vomit

Fall of the Damned into Hell

The de rigueur moral outrage is predictable and contemptible. I ask, why is it we send people to prison? People out there consciously debase justice to revenge. Driven by tabloids with their head-on-pike photoshopped front page graphics. Vanguard of morality, continued on page 3 with tits. The eternal shreiking victims are never able to accept that anyone can reform. Did he paint a picture of the rape scene? They will never accept anything less than the death penalty because they cannot reform themselves. An eye for an eye, and still they'll be calling for a second hanging for a one-man murder.

In Scotland this hysteria typically results in yet another outcry against the 'not proven' verdict. Their motivation for its removal has nothing to do with fixing the legal system, but everything to do with gaining closure - regardless of who it's exacted on. Abandon your pretensions of morality. You're really not much better than they are. In the end, there will only be the guilty verdict.

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He'll Build A Glass Asylum

Back in January I was originally going to write about Tommy Sheridan hitting rock bottom and appearing on prolefeed-contest "Celebrity" Big Brother. Instead the bilge-circus centred around a non-entity has enraged me. I'll refrain from mentioning who this non-entity is, though it should be obvious given the saturation of the non-story.

I Close My Eyes (...)

Walk down the street at this time in the summer gloaming, you might see me through the window.
Sitting up in bed, maybe listening to More Than a Feeling, trying not to dream what-was and youth-elation.
If I fall asleep, how can I live when the past has burrowed inside the present?
Someone keep me awake.

Only I and the sender of a card for my 18th birthday know why it's never been thrown out.