just noticed that the guy from 'len' has a 'vice' sticker on his scooter.   Len was never able to repeat the success of "Steal My Sunshine", but continued to put out albums until 2003 before a nine-year hiatus.

said he had suffered 75-80 percent burns to the surface of his body and gave a provisional cause of death as 'extensive full thickness burns incompatible with life'

"The sale of these items through social media is indicative of the way the criminal world gets its hardware in this day and age."

Hutchison, aged 28, who admitted charges of theft and possessing an offensive weapon on September 29, was given a three-month prison sentence suspended for 18 months and ordered to pay £350 costs and £10 compensation, plus £80 surcharge

A man claimed he imported knuckle dusters from America so he could mould them into cup handles, a court heard.

Volander Craig Butterfield, 56, told officers he got the bizarre idea from Tesco’s
Butterfield pleaded guilty to two charges relating to breaching restrictions or prohibitions on the importation of knuckle dusters.
He told interviewing officers he intended to mould them into cups.
Butterfield told the court: “I was going to make them into cups and use them as handles. I made a mistake and I’m very sorry.

A thing that has already happened or been decided before those affected hear about it, leaving them with no option but to accept it:


Jesse Tadini Rybolt, 26, Musician, Wanker and Carpenter

Berlin has been the new cool place for 20 years now, why still Berlin? What are the best things about it?
The first time I went over there in 2010 was with my band Dogfeet, we had no shows organised and didn't know what to expect. A girl we didn't know let the band and two others (seven people in total) crash on her floor for a week. Within a couple days we'd booked two shows and they paid us considerably more than we've ever been paid in London. Things just seem possible in Berlin. Everyone was interested in what we were doing, both as a band and as individuals. People were so willing to share themselves with us, their ideas, their support, their criticism, but I never once felt like they were trying to exploit or get anything out of us. It was really refreshing.

Why do you want to move?I grew up in London and have lived here most of my life. I'm sick of it.
soz that smoking hash and drinking moet and chandon on primrose hill is too boring for u m8


what ever happened to shame?

Among the smorgasbord of dinosaurs that feature in this summer's biggest blockbuster, Jurassic World, is the little-known Pachycephalosaurus.
It is pronounced (pak-ee-sef-a-low-sor -us), and the lizard-like creature has a habit of escaping its enclosure.

Now, this is a fast-paced action film so there is no time for such lengthy paleontological words, leading a character to at one point abbreviate and shout: "The Pachys are out of containment!"
Phonetically this sounds like a wildly racist slur, and it has left some viewers squirming uncomfortably in their seats



Shortly before his death in 1950, the author of 1984 supplied the Foreign Office with a list of public figures whom he suspected to be communist sympathizers and fellow-travellers — “cryptos”, in the language of the time.  In his explanatory annotations, an ailing Orwell revealed a quasi-Nietzschean revulsion at the “sentimentalism” of his opponents on the left — a charge so conveniently nebulous it would have been the envy of many a KGB officer. One alleged “crypto” was highlighted for his “tendency towards homosexuality”; Paul Robeson, the black singer and antifascist, friend of the Spanish Republic and the Welsh miners, was preposterously denounced as “very anti-white.”

Eric Arthur Blair died much too soon, aged just 46, at the hands of tuberculosis. It is in some ways a blessing that he did not live to endure some of the leftist writing that has, since the 1960s, been churned out by the acolytes of Jean-Paul Sartre and the discipline of psychoanalysis. From Alain Badiou in France to Judith Butler in the United States, an esteemed coterie of radical thinkers have redefined prolixity with a veritable mint of flaky coinages — tenuous Latinizations, grotesque compound words and hideously self-referential jargon — squalidly ensconced in some of the most constipated dirge that ever passed for syntax. Death, you see, is not all bad.


In 1877 Blakelock married Cora Rebecca Bailey; they had nine children. In art, Blakelock was a genius, yet, in business dealings and in monetary transactions he proved a failure. He found it difficult, if not crushing to maintain and support his wife and children. In desperation he found himself selling his paintings for extremely low prices, far beneath their known worth. In hopes of lifting his family from abject poverty, reportedly on the day his 9th child was born, Blakelock had offered a painting to a collector for $1000. The collector made a counter offer and after refusing the proposed sum Blakelock found himself in a bitter argument with his wife. After the domestic dispute, Blakelock returned to the patron and sold the painting for a much lesser sum. Defeated and frustrated, it is said he broke down and tore the cash into pieces. And so it was after such repeated failed business transactions that he began to suffer from extreme depression and eventually show symptoms of mental frailty.

more G.C

People begin by building a first floor with this simple concrete-steel grid and leave the structure open on the roof to retain the possibility for further building—when the finances are there, the family grows, whenever it becomes possible or necessary. But this basic structure is virtually a replica of the Maison Dom-ino developed by Le Corbusier in 1914–15, which used simple reinforced concrete pillars as part of an industrialized building process influenced by the mass production of goods. Corbusier developed the Maison Dom-ino as a basic building prototype for mass-produced housing with freestanding pillars and rigid floors. As we can see, his ideas became not only a foundation for the modernist approach to architecture in general, but also for self-builders in the global South. Whether or not these are the best solutions for responding to weather and temperature remains an open question, but in terms of usable hardware, these concepts have become a form of common property, a part of the public domain.

Le Corbusier. Structural skeleton of Maison Dom-ino, 1914-15.

Self-built neighborhood in Cairo, 2009. A simple steel and concrete pillar grid structure reminiscent of Le Corbusier’s Maison Dom-ino model. Filled with brick stones, a growing house structure becomes adaptable to the needs and finances of its inhabitants. Cairo, 2009. Photo: Marion von Osten.


"utopia is a space outside the market,"
guy colwell

Our destruction of the planet is made worse by our unconsciousness. This ability to filter out the ugliness we perpetrate has been an historical and deplorable fact for as long as humans have been casting aside their waste. But things may be changing. If we returned to the times before bottle deposits and recycling took profusions of glass and plastic litter off the streets and beaches, our minds might reel in shock at the messes we used to accept as normal and inevitable. Hopefully oil spills, acid rain, dying forests, disappearing polar ice and accelerated extinctions will finally awaken us to our inescapable role as stewards and caregivers to the Earth.

"the Ebola treatment centre"

View of show through Main Gallery looking into Surrealist Gallery and Hall of Drawings.

“…ambition machines…”
“…Wyeth-like sophistication…”
“…captures nightmarish contradictions…”
“…no one comes away unscathed…”
“…in the tradition of Goya…”
“…dazzling, challenging, epic in scale…”
“…poignant and memorable…”
“…penetrating and accusing…”
“…politically charged…”
“…vibrant depictions of people and animals…”
“…incisive and important…”
“…veteran aesthetic practitioner…”
“…repeated viewing is recommended…”
“…true to his artistic and political calling…”
“…levity and relevance…”
“…this painting will live in history…”
“…socially conscious…”
“…gravitas dressed in bright colors…”
“…powerful statements against violence…”
“…colorful and abrasive…”
“…densely-peopled tableau of dramatically-pregnant life scenes…”
“…crisp and steely-serious social commentary…”
“…a modern Brueghal…”
“…some of the finest American art…”
“…a master…owe it to yourself to see…”
“…a prickly heat power one does not forget quickly…”
“…distinctive and unsettling vision…”
“…a steely hardness beneath saccharine prettiness…”
“…an edge of nastiness…”
“…a peoples’ artist…”
“…there flows a kind of stoic faith in humanity…”

There is a reward for digging deeply to find information about this show. You get to know the secret that this “solo show” is actually a 1 inch = 1 foot scale model of a major exhibition. I do this to satisfy a need to hang a show in the absence of any significant interest by the commercial galleries in my work. If you know any way this exhibition can be made a reality, please let me know. For more information, click on any image for a link to the artist web site.

Object Label
A representation of every school Mike Kelley attended, as well as the house that he grew up in—with all parts that he has since forgotten omitted—Educational Complex is a reconstruction of the artist’s past in the form of a tabletop architectural model. Elaborating on his earlier works—frequently made with stuffed-animals—that critique the sentimentality with which American culture regards childhood, Educational Complex presents a return to one’s past as a subjective, perhaps impossible proposition. As the artist himself estimated, the spaces he depicted from memory represent only a small fraction of the actual structures on which they are based. According to Kelley, Educational Complex was intended to evoke not only his own memories, but also broader social issues concerning childhood. As he remarked, it “was done directly in response to the rising infatuation of the public with issues of Repressed Memory Syndrome and child abuse. . .and the popularization of. . .therapy which was predicated on the idea that certain traumatic events. . .are repressed and only removed later through therapy.”
I'm only going to test my new #gopro



Conrad - who is the grandson of famed hotel billionaire Conrad Hilton Sr - was 'ferociously punching the bulkhead of the plane, ten centimeters from a flight attendant's face' and 'went berserk causing children on the plane to cry.'
Witnesses revealed to the gossip site that he was yelling offensive blurbs such as 'If you wanna square up to me bro, then bring it and I will f**king fight you' and 'I will f**king rip through you and kill you.'

Also many on the same flight believed Conrad was smoking marijuana as they noticed a 'smell of weed seeping out of the bathroom.'


A loner from an early age, Martin preferred quieter pursuits such as making models. Even now, he collects teddy bears, bringing one with him to court every day.
A man has described how his leg swelled up and erupted in blisters after he went to examine a ‘pretty plant’ that his wife had seen.
Keith Cooper did not realise that they had stumbled across giant hogweed and was hit by the plant’s toxic sap after stepping on one of its leaf stalks.
He had to be taken to hospital where he was told he could not expose his injured right leg to sunlight for seven years.

The characteristic pig-like smell of the inflorescence gives it its name.
Martin - said to wear only navy blue - lived alone, nurturing apples along with his deep hatreds. One look at his bizarre home, appropriately named Bleak House, gives a fair insight into the character of the man.
In March 1985, soon after being released from hospitalization for treatment of his gunshot wound, James Ramseur falsely reported to police that two men hired by Goetz had kidnapped and attempted to kill him, but was not charged in this hoax. In May 1985, Ramseur held a gun while an associate raped, sodomized and robbed a pregnant 18-year-old woman on the rooftop of a Bronx building, and in 1986 was sentenced to 8⅓ to 25 years in prison. According to the New York State Department of Corrections inmate search site, Ramseur served his sentence and was released in July 2010. Ramseur was found dead of a drug overdose, in an apparent suicide, in a Bronx motel room on December 22, 2011, the 27th anniversary of the incident on the No. 2 train
dont bother seeing jurrassic world its shit


Morpheus : This is the construct. It is our loading program. We can
load anything from clothing, to equipment, weapons,
training simulations, anything we need. 

Neo is having a hard time getting a grasp of this. 

Neo : Right now....we're inside a computer program? 

Morpheus : Is it really so hard to belive? Your clothes are
different. The plugs in your arms and head are gone. Your
hair has changed. 

Neo puts a hand to his head and touches his hair 

Morpheus : Your appearance now is what we call residual self image.
It is the mental projection...of your digital self. 

Two chairs appear in front of them, and Neo reaches out to touch one. He runs his hand along it's back. 

Neo : This....this isn't real? 

Morpheus looks at him 

Morpheus : What _is_ real? How do you _define_ real? If you're
talking about what you can feel, what you can smell, what
you can taste and see, then real is simply electrical
signals interpreted by your brain. 

A television appears in front of the two chairs, as Neo sits down in the chair beside Morpheus. Morpheus picks up the television control and turns it on. 

Morpheus : _This_ is the world that you know. The world as it was at
the end of the twentieth century. It exists now only as
part of a neural-interactive simulation, that _we_ call
the Matrix. 

Morpheus turns to Neo 

Morpheus : You've been living in a dream world, Neo. This...is the
world as it exists today. 

Morpheus changes the channel on the televison.
The sky is an endless sea of black and green bile. The earth, scorched and split like burnt flesh, spreads out beneath us as we enter the television. 

Morpheus : Welcome.....to the desert of the real...We have only bits
and pieces of information, but what we know for certain is
that some point in the early twenty-first century all of
mankind was united in celebration. We marvelled at our own

Neo looks confused 

Morpheus : .....as we gave birth...to A.I. 

Neo : A.I. - you mean Artificial Intelligence? 

Morpheus : A singular consciousness that spawned an entire race of
machines. We don't know who struck first - us, or them. But
we know it was us that scorched the sky. At the time they
were dependent on solar power and it was believed that
they would be unable to survive without an energy source as
abundant as the sun. Throughout human history, we have been
dependent on machines to survive. Fate, it seems, is not
without a sense of irony. 

Neo stares at Morpheus, with his mouth open. 

Morpheus : The human generates more bio-electricity than 120-volt
battery and over 25,000 BTVs of body heat. Combined with
a form of fusion, the machines have found all the energy
they would ever need. There are fields...endless fields,
were human beings are no longer born. We are grown. For
longest time, I wouldn't belive it...and then I saw the
fields with my own eyes. Watch them liquefy the dead, so
they could be fed intravenously to the living. And standing
there, facing the pure horrifying precision, I came to
realize the obviousness of the truth. What is The Matrix?
Control. The Matrix is a computer generated dream world,
built to keep us under control in order to change a human
being into this. 

Morpheus holds up a battery to Neo 

Neo begins to panic. 

Neo : No....I don't belive it!! It's not possible. 

Morpheus : I didn't say it would be easy, Neo. I just said it would be
the truth.

Waugh, Evelyn, Vile Bodies, p. 146. A good example is the death of Simon Balcairn, a declining earl whose gossip columnist name is "Mr. Chatterbox"; his death forms a bridge between chapters VI and VII. ("He shut the door and the window and opened the door of the gas-oven. Inside it was very black and dirty and smelled of meat. He spread a sheet of newspaper on the lowest tray and lay down, resting his head on it. Then he noticed that by some mischance he had chosen Vanburgh's gossip-page in the Morning Despatch. He put in another sheet. At first he held his breath. Then he thought that was silly and gave a sniff. The sniff made him cough, and coughing made him breathe, and breathing made him feel very ill; but soon he fell into a coma and presently died...Then Adam became Mr. Chatterbox.")


Artists have always been radical and conceptual entrepreneurs