Addiktion #46 - Don't You Cry.

Isn't she fucking lovely?

Addiktion #45 - Broken Bones and Cartilage.

One of my ultimates. No matter what.

Fragment #6

She hustles back to her place on the counter. The stools are full. Girls, officeboys, grayfaced bookkeepers. ‘Chicken sandwich and a cup o caufee.’ ‘Cream cheese and olive oil sandwich and a glass of butter milk.’

‘Chocolate sundae.’ 

‘Egg sandwich, coffee and doughnuts.’ ‘Cup of boullion.’ ‘Chicken broth.’ ‘Chocolate icecream soda.’ People eat hurriedly without looking at each other, with their eyes on their plates, in their cups. Behind people sitting on stools those waiting nudge nearer. Some eat standing up.

(Dos Passos, Manhattan Transfer, p.283-4)

Guilty Pleasure #3 - Give Me Bieber.

So the fever mounts...

Addiktion #41 - It's a New Year and I'm glad to be here.

So it's a little early, and a little predictable, but I've spent all week in bed and am forbidden from joining The Sister, The Bezzie, The Boy and all my other darlings in revelry tonight at The Social because it turns out that The Sniffles are full blown flu and I've been in a state of delirium all week. No fun at all.

I'm going to be spending my evening in with The Parents, arguing over the meanings of Inception (ULTIMATE FUCKING MOVIE, JUST INCREDIBLY LOUD) and whether we have time to watch Jools or not.

It's going to be amazing.

However, this song, and this particular performance will never cease to beat the traditional Auld Lang Syne in foretelling what the future's for. If you know it, please turn it up as loud as possible and go wild, and if you don't, listen close and listen hard. Every word is true.

Happy Fucking New Year, have an amazing one y'all.

Addiktionz over 2010 - The Top 25.

Happy Yuletide Greetin's Y'all.



Mummy Dearest took this on one of her festive wanders the other day.



Here's a selection of my favourite addiktionz that have emerged over the past year. 

Please, enjoy. 

Crystal Castles - Celestica

Cee-Lo Green - FUCK YOU

Chapel Club - All The Eastern Girls

Janelle Monae ft. Big Boi - Tight Rope

Die Antwoord - Zef Side

Rihanna ft. Drake - What's My Name?

Foals - Spanish Sahara

Darwin Deez - Bad Day

Eminem ft. Rihanna - Love The Way You Lie

Caribou - Odessa

Katy Perry - California Girls

Lykke Li - Get Some

Kanye West ft. Pusha T - Runaway (Extended Video Version)

Aloe Blacc - I Need A Dollar

Lissie - Bad Romance (Lady Gaga Cover)

Rusko ft. Amber Coffman - Hold On

Willow Smith - Whip My Hair

Beyonce - Why Don't You Love Me?

Sleighbells - Infinity Guitars

Lady Gaga - Alejandro

Hot Chip - I Feel Better

Cee-Lo Green - No One's Gonna Love You

Lady Gaga ft. Beyonce - Telephone

Arcade Fire - The Wildnerness (Interactive Online Video)

Pag - The Lady Is Dead

Addiktion #38 - Baby.Darlin'.DollFace.Honey.

Hipster Narrative #6 - 'Irony' - Pretentious profound literary shit passed about on facebook.

Upon fleeting reflection of an enraged-exhausted-freezing-mid-seminar-fag-break discussion we shared last week, TheCanadianHipster linked me this earlier.

DAVID FOSTER WALLACE ON IRONY

Make no mistake: irony tyrannizes us.
Irony and cynicism were just what the U.S. hypocrisy of the fifties and sixties called for. That’s what made the early postmodernists great artists. The great thing about irony is that it splits things apart, gets up above them so we can see the flaws and hypocrisies and duplicates. The virtuous always triumph? Ward Cleaver is the prototypical fifties father? “Sure.” Sarcasm, parody, absurdism and irony are great ways to strip off stuff’s mask and show the unpleasant reality behind it. The problem is that once the rules of art are debunked, and once the unpleasant realities the irony diagnoses are revealed and diagnosed, “then” what do we do?
Irony’s useful for debunking illusions, but most of the illusion-debunking in the U.S. has now been done and redone. Once everybody knows that equality of opportunity is bunk and Mike Brady’s bunk and Just Say No is bunk, now what do we do? All we seem to want to do is keep ridiculing the stuff. Postmodern irony and cynicism’s become an end in itself, a measure of hip sophistication and literary savvy. Few artists dare to try to talk about ways of working toward redeeming what’s wrong, because they’ll look sentimental and naive to all the weary ironists. Irony’s gone from liberating to enslaving. There’s some great essay somewhere that has a line about irony being the song of the prisoner who’s come to love his cage.
The problem is that, however misprised it’s been, what’s been passed down from the postmodern heyday is sarcasm, cynicism, a manic ennui, suspicion of all authority, suspicion of all constraints on conduct, and a terrible penchant for ironic diagnosis of unpleasantness instead of an ambition not just to diagnose and ridicule but to redeem. You’ve got to understand that this stuff has permeated the culture. It’s become our language; we’re so in it we don’t even see that it’s one perspective, one among many possible ways of seeing. Postmodern irony’s become our environment.
All U.S. irony is based on an implicit “I don’t really mean what I say.” So what does irony as a cultural norm mean to say? That it’s impossible to mean what you say? That maybe it’s too bad it’s impossible, but wake up and smell the coffee already? Most likely, I think, today’s irony ends up saying: “How very banal to ask what I mean.” Anyone with the heretical gall to ask an ironist what he actually stands for ends up looking like a hysteric or a prig. And herein lies the oppressiveness of institutionalized irony, the too-successful rebel: the ability to interdict the question without attending to its content is tyranny. It is the new junta, using the very tool that exposed its enemy to insulate itself.
The next real literary “rebels” in this country might well emerge as some weird bunch of anti-rebels, born oglers who dare somehow to back away from ironic watching, who have the childish gall actually to endorse and instantiate single-entendre principles. Who treat of plain old untrendy human troubles and emotions in U.S. life with reverence and conviction. Who eschew self-consciousness and hip fatigue. These anti-rebels would be outdated, of course, before they even started. Dead on the page. Too sincere. Clearly repressed. Backward, quaint, naïve, anachronistic. Maybe that’ll be the point. Maybe that’s why they’ll be the next real rebels.
Real rebels, as far as I can see, risk disapproval. The old postmodern insurgents risked the gasp and squeal: shock, disgust, outrage, censorship, accusations of socialism, anarchism, nihilism. Today’s risks are different. The new rebels might be artists willing to risk the yawn, the rolled eyes, the cool smile, the nudged ribs, the parody of gifted ironists, the “Oh how banal.” To risk accusations of sentimentality, melodrama. Of overcredulity. Of softness. Of willingness to be suckered by a world of lurkers and starers who fear gaze and ridicule above imprisonment without law. Who knows.

'Apparently the man himself agrees with us.'

Hear Hear.

Addiktion #36 - Baby, Please.

The Ultimate EndOfTerm Song. Innit.

Addiktion #35 - I think I'm Gonna Die.

The Boy Is Mah Faves <3 
Ain't down on lovin' any time soon. Innit.
  


...
You gotta write down what you know.

You gotta make sure that it's known.

You got a talent don't you know?
You're more talented than you know.

And you give it a shot
And give it the time
And be surprised how far it goes...

You got a few things on your shelf.
You got to look through for yourself.
You gotta choose what to read.
Choose what to believe.

And you don't take it from anyone else...

Hipster Narrative #5 - The typical facebook jabberings of panicky literature students while adventuring On The Road.

RedFeltHatGirl: should not be awake and reading On the Road at 3am... somehow the wine and caffeine seem to have worked together beautifully.

ThatBlondeGirl [morning response to RFHG]: I woke up to my alarm an hour ago with the book underneath me. So basically I took Kerouac to bed, but didn't bother to finish him off ;)

Pretty much every one of my course friends/acquaintances have been fighting with Jack Kerouac's On The Road all week. I am in the same boat. I've not come to the end yet. I've been attempting to reach that final destination for over two years now.

Tonight I will finish it. I will get there. It has to be done, it's the last c20th American Lit and Culture seminar of term tomorrow. And the last Good Bye to our Inspirational Mentor.

Gotta get there. Kerouac, you're a fucking prick.

Oh, RihRih. You just won't go away.

Okay. She's just plain amazing. I can't pretend I'm not wowed by her consistently any more (though will never feel as strongly for her as The Boy does. And no, I haven't bought him tour tickets for Christmas like he wants, bless him). 


She is everywhere. All the time. I don't have the energy to even attempt to list the ways. But I can't avoid it. She's tremendous. In every way. 


And I think it's safe to say that it was Saturday night's incredible duet that got Matt Cardle that Xfactor Crown, the lucky sod.

Brief Thoughts on Tonight's Pending Final.

I want Cher Lloyd to win. 
But I don't know if it'll happen. And I have liked all the others throughout. Even One Direction (standard sucker for the BoysInTheBand)


The only things I've heard as definite tonight are that Rebecca has Xtina. Absurd.


And that Matt has Rihanna. The Boy is gutted.




Best of Luck, Guys and Dolls!




WatchThisSpaceForARant... <3

A Polite Response To The KoolKids Across The Road - Ah cheerz guyz. Cheerz.

So it's taken me literally ALL day to sit down and read seven pages of a dense literary text that I should have had completed and reviewed by week six. It is now week ten. 

I finally got to point of concentration. A point of zen, of calm, of total acceptance of the chaos that is my room, house, location, body temperature, hair cut, pyjamas, etc.

I had FINALLY gotten there. It felt good. It felt like the future. Like something more than these constant self-indulgent and ever-distracting blog posts. It felt good.

This is all that has lasted the months of damp and cold
and chaos. This is my Peace and Quiet.

But. Some presumably charming young students, I'm guessing they be koolandshit, I probably know half of them for their DamnFineCaps and MightySteez, decided to start The Party. 


But. It's in the middle of the road (I think, there are a lot of MightyFineVehicles out there). 
Or if not in the middle of the road, in the middle of one of the most dense student areas in the UK. Victoria Halls, We Salute You. 
We live and breathe students here. Parties, yeah. Do it. Innit.


But. At 5.01pm in the afternoon? At the most stressful time of the year for us all? Deadlines have hit? But because you're a fresher it doesn't matter that you interrupt EVERYONE on their way to and from the library?
AT FIVE IN THE AFTERNOON?! REALLY?! 


My window, curtains, chair and whole body and feeling the beautiful vibrations of a SeanaPaula remix of some sort. I'm sure the place is bangin'. I'd be there in a second.


But please guys, could you turn it down? Just a little bit? So I can sit in my bed with my book and drown you out with the delicate tones of Bon Iver? Or not?


Oh? What's the I hear? Has some nasty security guy come in and told you to turn it down? Perhaps even the nice community police officers I met today?
Ah. Well that's nice of you. It's just my window that's shaking now, not me. Okay. That's better.


Or not? Did I just hear the volume being sneaked back up? Are these shivers? Or shakes? Or just the SIKASFUK BASE driving me wild?


Oh is that it going back up even further? Well, Why the hell not at 5.06pm on a freezing cold and miserable Thursday?


I give up. Have fun. I'll probably be round to crash it later. Save me some shit.


...


OHHHH. OR NOT? Can I return to the tranquil peace I've been striving for?!
I hear what now feels like a peaceful silence. Just the calm and collected hustle and bustle of the library run. No cheap dubstep imitations. No grotesque references to bodily functions. I can't take that right now.
It's all over. Our taxes are clearly worth it. 


Sorry guyz.
BUT DEAL. 

Friendz.

BoomBear. A collection of creative minds based in the UK.
Some of them are Good Friends.

Please, My Dear Ones, check them out. I think I'll be getting involved some time soon. 


Watch this space.

Mad Men #2

"Congratulations."

- Various; said to Don Draper.
Series four, episode 14 (2010)


I am in love with all of them.

 

  

Fragment #1

'The sky is blue and righteous in every direction. The sun is total and burning and just right there in front.
We're on top of the clouds, and this is a beautiful day forever.'




- Chuck Palahniuk, Survivor.