child without an eye

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Tuesday, May 24, 2005

last of the great...

I hate these things, these stupid quizes.
Half of the questions here were completely unanswerable.
Badly written loaded questions giving no room for free
expression or alteration. That's how these pieces of
shit blog games usually work.
Anyhow I am happy with the results,
I am a wanky north London cultural creative after all!!!

You scored as Cultural Creative. Cultural Creatives are probably the newest group to enter this realm. You are a modern thinker who tends to shy away from organized religion but still feels as if there is something greater than ourselves. You are very spiritual, even if you are not religious. Life has a meaning outside of the rational.

Cultural Creative

75%

Existentialist

50%

Postmodernist

50%

Idealist

50%

Modernist

25%

Materialist

25%

Romanticist

0%

Fundamentalist

0%

What is Your World View? (corrected...again)
created with QuizFarm.com

sketched by dweller at 2:50 pm

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el dorado

He sido pensando sobre muchas cosas
importantas y trivialas.
Sobre temas como lenguas y
la vida despues y antes de esta vida
¿Cuando dormimos y soñamos a qué sitio viajamos?

Busco las repuestas, pero no las encuentro.
Imagenes aperecen delante de los ojos.
No pueden decirme nada.

La cabeza está vacía.
Veo pero no pongo pensamientos juntos en una linea logica.

Y bueno,
entonces pienso en ti. En ti. Que te quiere.
¿Donde estás?
Pienso en ti.
Sentimientos que me escondan.
Sentimientos perdidos.
Lo parece para siempre.

Ahora puedas ayudarme.
¿Cuál es el asunto importante y cuál es el trivial?

sketched by dweller at 12:43 pm

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SomamoS

RealidadadilaeR

SlurpyprulS

ShovevohS

ClaritytiralC

DebonairianobeD

TengoganasanagogneT

DescribebircseD

DovetailiatevoD

LevantarsesratnaveL

sketched by dweller at 12:28 am

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Monday, May 23, 2005

another post out of my mind

stepping out and back in,
the kidney infection that rocks the packet of juice.
The carton of cranberry, unzipped and sold on to a
shifty Korean hospital.
Chopped up and left in a suitcase by the side of
a motorway in the north of England.
Villains, mental disturbances,
dvd sessions, police raids. The crook escapes.
I am left here in the suspect's hideout.
Where he crafted his defences, the master manipulator.

This film is too close to home

.

sketched by dweller at 11:01 pm

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Monday, May 16, 2005

360 records

I've just discovered this incredible Japanese
record label. 360 records

Incredibly beautiful electronic ambience abides here.
And I love the organic titles of the tracks.
In fact there are some other interesting looking artists at the other
label pages linked to this site.
I think I'll dl all the mp3 samples to create a great collection of 2 minute musical wonders.

sketched by dweller at 12:14 am

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Saturday, May 14, 2005

listen to this and you'll die

Well continuing the theme of death for a moment.
We're going to play another fun little blogging game.
Anyone seen the cute Japanese film named Ring?
Or perhaps the shite US remake.
Well the premise of those films was that
if you watched a certain video then
within a week you would die.
Well well well,
we here at CHILDISH eYEsless ness wouldn't
want our readers to feel left out.
Therefore using all the magical power summonable
by the inhouse expert team of artishamans
we have conjured up a track of music that has
the same effect on its listeners as the
dreaded video from the movie RING.

All you need to do is listen to the track linked
below and you will be magically transported to
the world of death within a week.
Of course you may not want to take the
great journey yet and will therefore have
the choice not to listen.
You also may not believe in these kinds of
supernatural powers and will want to listen
to this music as an act of defiance or bravado.
So whichever way you lean, please leave a comment
and tell me if you listened.
If you don't report back within a week then
we can safely assume that the ChildWithoutAnEye
death-inducing composition has been a success.
We thank you for taking this opportunity to travel with us.
Please invite your friends, neighbours,
colleagues and relatives to freely use
this conduit to the beyond.

Click on the red die below to listen to the track.

DIE

sketched by dweller at 10:48 pm

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Ron Sukenick died - last year

Okay so I am a bit late,
but it's news to me.
My here of the OUT frame

anyhow in tribute to the passing of this great artist
I will present a letter I emailed to him.
It didn't deman a reply from him so I nev heard back
until I re read it today. Felt like he wrote it to me.
Will I take heed of teh advice Ron?i wrote

+ + + + + + + + + +

Tell me its not true again repeat,"Its a lie I swear"
So foulmouth it to me again you fibbing brute, "slobberonmydickyoubitch" says the Serb whore.
Another ball in my canal barge. Trip out trip in.
Yorr gonna flunk zed grade buddy boy. And so on.
Then never is my time. My fucking never world. I'll hang in here with my doggies. You can espresso coffee yerselves to death for all I care in yer soft uni Hyper isms.
So is it a lie? Repeat. "yes Matt, just testing you OUT"
Huh, I Yank you by the tweedy tie and stuff you thru the Hubble Scope. Oh boy we are thru the hoop, "are you coming with me Matty?"
Crikey she wont let me go. Shee-It Mattyboy go it let. these letters will suprise her loosen her anchor okay sunny
rising swing it gyro spin now drop thru okay repeat... we have the momentum, we are sailing. But where going us?
Morning day, s you loosing yer time just fuckin around.
Hello but I look for the shafts, and I try to make the rays.
You need a good slapping mattyboy. Sure there aint no rush but DONT BE A LONE crone cripple fall with bad veins and lingerers from your nappy crappy period stop it dude.

sketched by dweller at 6:23 pm

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Find me in Mae Sariang

Here is a challenge for all you docile
motherbloggers out there.
I challenge you to go to Thailand, travel to Mae Sariang,
find this wee fella and take a photo of him.
Then post a link to that photo here.
You will receive a special "I got off my arse" award
designed and created by the Child Without An Eye team of artisans.

A clue to his whereabouts - Watch out for the red ants!

Good luck.

sketched by dweller at 5:24 pm

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saturday is tiswas day

the scrawl imprint,
the lug held for a bouncing baby with stars all around,
yet not yet a gain.

insiders smash it
lego builders unstick it
back to bits and no bits
ons and offs

puff in a puff of puff
reaL EYES
dead eyes
6th eye or 7th eye
spilling my guts out of my Nthe ye
* marks the spot

shit talks shit sees shit touches shit smells

carry on carry on,
I've said it before
the souls of our feet,
the fundament where resides our sacred eye.
we lean on lean on,
rest on, thump on push down on, repress
and what do we protect and savour?
the petty eyes that see,
the hungry hole that devours,
the tongue that opines excess static,
and those fiddling fingers that meddle,
ten aspergers ganging up on an innocent world.

but the thud of feet, the smear of shit,
these unappreciated, derided aspects
I've said it before
If shit could TALK it would speak
of a journey, an earthly journey,
a cycle ride, a warm wormy waddle,
and the feet the toes that talk and
smile at you if you let them,
Hallo toes , talk to them ,
just try it, you'll see their smiles,
neglected babies finally acknowledged.
With that experience under your belt,
Its time to undo your belt and commune with
the fecal wisdom.
The turd of ages, listen and learn.
Become the ringmaster of your own inner circus.

sketched by dweller at 3:43 pm

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Tuesday, May 03, 2005

King Henry

Let never a man a wooing wend
That lacketh things three:
A store of gold, an open heart,
and full of charity;
And this was seen of King Henry
Though he lay quite alone,
For he's taken him to a haunted hall
Seven miles from the town.

He's chased the deer now him before
And the doe down by the den;
Till the fattest buck in all the flock
King Henry he has slain.
His huntsman followed him to the hall
To make them burly cheer,
When loud the wind was heard to sound
And an earthquake rocked the floor.

And darkness covered all the hall
Where they sat at their meat.
The grey dogs, yowling, left their food
And crept to Henry's feet.
And louder howled the rising wind
And burst the fastened door,
And in there came a grisly ghost
Stamping on the floor.

Her head hit the roof-tree of the house,
Her middle you could not span,
Each frightened huntsman fled the hall
And left the king alone,
Her teeth were like the tether stakes,
Her nose like club or mell,
And nothing less she seemed to be
Than a fiend that comes from hell.

“Some meat, some meat, you King Henry,
Some meat you give to me,
Go kill your horse, you King Henry,
And bring him here to me.”
He's gone and slain his berry brown steed
Though it made his heart full sore,
for she's eaten up both skin and bone,
Left nothing but hide and hair.

“More meat, more meat, you King Henry,
More meat you give to me,
Go kill your grey-hounds, King Henry,
And bring them here to me.”
He's gone and slain his good grey-hounds,
It made his heart full sore,
She's eaten up both skin and bone,
Left nothing but hide and hair.

“More meat, more meat, you King Henry,
More meat you give to me,
Go fell your goss-hawks, King Henry,
And bring them here to me.”
And when he's slain his gay goss-hawks,
It made his heart full sore,
She's eaten them up both skin and bone,
Left nothing but feathers bare.

“Some drink, some drink, you King Henry,
Some drink you give to me,
Oh you sew up your horse's hide,
And bring in a drink to me.”
And he's sewn up the bloody hide,
And a pipe of wine put in,
And she's drank it up all in one draught,
Left never a drop therein.

“A bed, a bed now, King Henry,
A bed you'll make for me,
Oh you must pull the heather green
And make it soft for me.”
And pulled has he the heather green
And made for her a bed,
and taken has he his gay mantle
And o'er it has spread.

“Take off your clothes now, King Henry,
And lie down by my side,
Now swear, now swear, you King Henry,
To take me for your bride.”
“Oh God forbid,” says King Henry,
“That ever the like betide,
That ever a fiend that comes from hell
Should stretch down by my side.”

When the night was gone and the day was come
And the sun shone through the hall,
The fairest lady that ever was seen
Lay between him and the wall.
“I've met with many a gentle knight
That gave me such a fill,
But never before with a courteous knight
That gave me all my will.”

Traditional, adapted by Steeleye Span "Below the Salt" .
(Child #32) From The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, edited by Francis James Child.

Listen to this version by ween.

sketched by dweller at 3:05 pm

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I'm keen on your disaster.

How is it?
Fresh and young?
Your disaster.
Or did it age?
Fade and gag.
Unsound and stickers.
Noun verb end in the sex.

I'm keen on your endlessness.
The doom in your trodden marks.
You can't resist, you can't give it up.
Lashed to the gear. Hunker down.
Serve it fresh. Or old and stale.
Black to white in a blink.

How is it now?
Still there I expect.
Forget to remember the next time.
It will be back and you will respond.
You have lost it lost it lost it forever.
And that's what fascinates me.
You died and now all you have is the
disaster. You died a long long time ago.
Curious, very curious.
I am keen to see this through.

sketched by dweller at 12:41 am

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