"Pictures are dead, and the toe is heal-ed..."

In this, the latest instalment of a blog that no-one has ever read, Mr Sloane disscusses a recent trip to an MA show, why pictures are now dead, the exact purpose of myspace and the joy inherent in a scouser's miraculous recovery from a laughable injury...

"Ah...good morning my dear on-line chums!!! How has life been treating you these past weeks??? Well, I trust...

So, it has again been far too long between appointments - blame it on the sunshine and my dull, anti-celebrity, detox, no fucking life-style...I can only bitch about being alone for so long, now...

Today is an exciting day friends, truly...the sun is shining, I had a very satisfying bowel movement - what my old collegues at Camp Easter-seals would call a "Happy Day" - and England are due to play their first game in the world cup in a couple of hours...Yes, to allow oneself to be swallowed up in the media-led hoopla of monkeys wearing red and white, screaming at plasma screens, hugging strangers (then glassing them in the toilet cubicle at half-time) and urinating upon our fair, cobbled streets only comes along once every four years...

And the scouser's toe has apparently healed completely - a miracle comparable to that David Copperfield geezer making the great wall of China dissappear behind a velvet curtain and the time that bearded bloke walked on the water - Hahaha!!! No, not Justin Lee Collins...I'm talking of old man Jesus here folks, wakka-wakka...


Away from all this shit is located the Slade school of art, just around the corner from Euston Station...I went to an exhibition of work by the Ma students and I have come to a simple, nay simple-minded, conclusion...that pictures are dead!

Long live installations made from cheap plywood, super-8 film projected onto white objects and trips to the toilet that are more interesting than most of the exhibits...It is in their honour - these future Goyas, Rembrandts and Vic Reeves's - that I have not included a picture with this blog...Just empty space and a shit one-liner...

...very apt...


...Oh yes...myspace - I realise that it is a very good place to look up people who purposely want you out of their life and to compare yourself with their new, cool & handsome 'on-line' network etc blah...Basically it's a very good way to begin stalking at a distance and to ensure that you never let things go...Myspace sucks cock, folks!! Btw, I now have four friends and a network of 83 million people just waiting to show me their penises via a cheap webcam and msn...Just when I thought life couldn't get any more worthless, along comes another tool to make you think again...

So, until the next time, friend...

"Bathe your feet, comb your hair and get lucky, Dick!" - Henry Kissenger...

Luv etc..."

In this, the latest, high octane ride through the rancid quagmire that is his life, Mr Sloane reflects on absence, abstinance, absinthe and Ted Bovis...

"...Ah, hello once again dear hearts! I trust that things have been well since my last interventions and moral platidtudes..? Yes, I know it's been a long time but - believe it or not - I have been busy! Yes...it is true...

During these long weeks during which we've been apart, I have been on many fruitless searches for pictures of long forgotten quiz show hosts and sitcom stars...You try and google 'Lenny Bennet' and see what you get!!!

"Why was he doing that?" I hear you gasp..."Who the fuck is Lenny Bennet?" ...No-one knows...But, apparently, someone out there still looks back fondly on Hi-De-Hi and its head of entertainments, Mr Ted Bovis...Look...there he is...Large as life and twice as handsome, as my dear old mum used to say...

Haha!

What Larks Pip!

Anyway...Honestly, I have been doing shit on Dreamweaver - everybodys favourite website making program, and purusing the many, guilty joys that the internet has to offer...

I was also, coincidentally, guilty of suffocating someone...

I also had a hellish journey to Heathrow airport to meet an old friend from Camp Easter Seals-West, and had an evening trying not to look at a Northern girl and her fantastic new boyfriend...Yes...I realise it was a long time ago but I can't seem to let stuff go, me...

...So...oh yes...Absinthe! I'd like some of that...not this pissy shit they flog in trendy winebars in Angel for £6 a shot to media arseholes with fat wallets and small penises...No...I want the Van Gogh-80% proof stuff with the extra wormwood!!! Line 'em up, and let's see them green-eyed faeries...

"Fare thee well, fuckers - I leave you with a heavy heart!" - Richard Nixon, 1974...

love etcetera, sweetcheeks...

Lxxx"

In this, his latest addition, Mr Sloane realises he is on a hiding to nothing concerning certain subjects and is a slave to the childlike urge to put on a cape and run down Howlands
pretending to fly...

"Ah...hello again you yellow bastards!
What's it like to feel useless? Aged and unloved? Mentally lost in a day-glo, 80's gameshow-like-fog of super-marionated nostalgia..?

Do you really want to know..? Wouldn't you rather be off somewhere reading some highbrow bloggers' theories on the morality of suicide bombing, or perusing through the musings of some wealthy, beautiful Asian bint, as she struggles with unrequited love and lust for the latest nokia video phone..?

...I wouldn't blame you...

...Wait a minute...Just who are you anyway..? Haha!

So, yes...this is my latest instalment in a thrilling roller-coaster ride that is this blog...What's it for, I hear you ask...I wish I knew...Well, I'm too disinfranchised and confused to devote any space herein to the pursuit of gaining personal enlightenment or truth...I'm just a fucking liar like you are! You know what I'm talking about...

...I sometimes just think life would be a lot fucking easier if I could just run into a telephone box, turning around while undoing the bottom two or three buttons on my duffle coat, bursting forth with one arm outstretched, coat flying out behind me - secured by the one toggle at the neck - and running down the road looking for old , discarded packets of Marlboro lights that I can pick up and crush in my fist while shouting out in a squeeky, yankee accent;

"Superman says no to cigarettes!"

...but life just ain't that easy is it...Unless you want a lifetime of Electric shock therapy, restaints and administered medication, you've got to pull you socks up, do your buttons up and register with the Inland Revenue...You've got to daily face rejection, disappointment and stare blankly at the face of the old fucker who's stealing your dreams away from you...from right there in front of you...

And all you can do is shrug your shoulders and say; "Oh well!", or "That's life!", or "Oh God, What's the point!"

Still, at least we can look forward to alleviating the pain with alcohol and guilt free sex...or if you ain't getting any, you can copy pictures, drawn when you were a child, of a misshapen lump of a superman and reflect on how prescient and far-sighted you were then...and how grotesque you are now...

"Cast away mere words, for words become stones..." - Haruki Murakami

"I'd give my world for a little piece of pie...fancy a bit?" - John Prescott

Adieu for now, dearhearts...see you in the sky..."

In this thrilling installment, Mr Sloane discusses the merits of ploughing one's own furrow, and the joy therein of finding plastic body parts...

"Good afternoon, dearhearts! I trust I have adjusted my settings and I am now being measured in good old GMT - I do not like the feeling of insomnia bought about by allegedly posting a comment at 3:16am...Damn those yankees!

Well...what treasures have I got to impart to you eager, square-eyed young pups today..? I don't really know, to quote Les Dennis impersonating Mavis Riley out of 'Coronation Street'...All that I do know is that snooker is on the televisual unit in my front room, making it hard for me to concentrate on drawing circus-type folk...Best not to ask questions...just carry on as if I weren't here at all...

...go on...I'm listening...

What was I saying..? Oh yes...I was fully intending to comment on an article I read at the weekend about the influence of pornography on our culture...Of course it was all about how young girls simply have to shave/wax themselves up in order to achieve that PPP - Perfect Porno Pussy apparently - & absolutely nothing about all these perfectly smooth balls you see all over the place...Eastern Europeans have a lot to answer for...But, to tell the truth, I'm not intelligent enough to get into serious moral and societical questions...So I'll not bother...

But...Take a look at my latest self-portrait...Aren't lofts great? I wouldn't swap my cheap tub of knock-off mr potato head pieces for a dusty old Turner or a (yawn) Ming vase...Just look at it...A potato in a yellow suit...

"Remember that life can be worth living...all you need is a potato!" - Bob Geldof, 1985.

...Larry Sloane, signing off...and hey...? Be careful out there..."

In the first of many true life, adrenelin-filled and desperately unfunny postings, Mr Lawrence Sloane sets forth his agenda for this blog...


"Here today we find ourselves, dear friends, at a crossroads...Like Robert Johnson and his near mythic deal with the devil - in which he gave his life early in return for 'Terraplane Blues' - or Miss Diane gently rejecting Benny's advances, we stand...wavering...like so many small, withered penises attempting to piss against the wind...

Many truths are preached to us from the media pulpits, from the strongholds of hox-ton and is-ling-ton...

Lap-dogs are this years must-have, beards are back, the super-hold-'I'm a tosser'-hair-gelled-badger-look is so last season. Abby Titmuss held-up as a post-modern feminist icon...jesus...

What we choose to blindly accept is up to us...But, dearhearts, remember that we only need to open our eyes and once more we shall be able to see...

So, what of this 'blog'..?

Technology frightens me, loose clothing in confined public areas terrifies me and alcohol no longer soothes the pain...What else is there but to rant against anything and everything in this here domain? I'm not sure how this is going to work...I don't know how much longer I can avoid getting an eye test...I don't know who, in fact, is ever going to read this - but the real beauty of all this lies in the fact that I couldn't care less...

Haha!

All I can say is that the one person I can think of to blame for this is Mr Ellerby...This is the result of me asking one too many questions, and telling one too many lies.

So, until the next time, to quote love-stud Shaw Taylor, "Keep 'em peeled"..."