well, i admit. i didn't think this through properly. it is VERY cold at the moment. sitting in a bath outside is a bad idea at this time of year, although i did get a little bit done. mainly the ballsy one: in town outside hmv at lunchtime.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t-i6zOYL66A

unfortunately i can't load it on here, it's too long and the computer was having a hard time, so the youtube link will have to do.

it got some public reactions, which was good. about six seconds in someone shouts "wierdo!" and the ageing lady was sent from the people in the coop bank to see what was going on. later on they thanked me for keeping them amused for a few hours.

someone i know walked past and started taking photos, so i asked if i could be sent them. they're not the most "flattering", but it's all good.

the project will be continued in the summer when the risk of hypothermia is somewhat less. as for now i have some videos to laugh at and some fun filming although it was really cold.

mud tales will also be filmed later on in the year when the ground is warmer and i can play with it more.

the doodle suit?

that worked.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9MTITKpFOgg

i think whoever drew on it can agree that was a fun project. i'm going to scan the suit and upload a link so you can download it as a .pdf.

at the beginning of the night we put a bet on how many rudimentary phalluses would be drawn on me. the closest was dave the sound guy, who bet five. the end result was lower than all of the bets, which was four, although one was over 2ft long, so it could count for two.

alot to upload, wil get there in chunks.

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an exercise in recontextualising: the bath part 1

as an attempt at playing with context i will be recontextualising bathing throughout this week. if you're in guernsey you may see me bathing in different areas on tuesday or thursday. either way, the finished video result will be uploaded here and onto youtube as soon as it is finished, which will hopefully be around the end of next week. the final touches are being put onto the text to accompany this, and i'll be starting to record it towards the end of this week.

this project is going to be fun, maybe embarrassing, and somewhat cold, but i hope anyone who sees it enjoys it as much as i am going to enjoy making it. maybe more. i hope people enjoy it as much as i was cold during the filming of this.

also during this week:

mud tales - surprisingly a story told via the medium of mud

should you be looking at that? - a pen and paper performance on a first contact with pornography.

and a collaborative work with the audience of the first any which way festival events, possibly finishing with an auction depending on how many penises are drawn on my face.

enjoy...,.

a list

i am me.

i am no-one.

the last libertarian son.

born bored and dying trying.

keeping mum.

the lamb’s half done.

it’s what you think.

it’s what you are.

it’s what you buy.

it’s what you spend.

it’s who you texted on the bus last night.

it’s all these things and the above.

the warm feeling of arms.

a short back and sides.

staying awake all night.

midnight runs down the road for a fag.

a short flight. a regrettable night.

the many more that follow.

the place we did that thing that time.

the pogtainer of truth.

thor the black hammer of jesus.

sock man.

the guy with the jeep.

the paramedic.

D).

a slight interest in string theory.

a fascination with things they don’t understand.

a tendency to think alot.

buck teeth and an underbite.

liberation day.

bean jar.

Cheryl and Kim.

Gobbles, Ethel and of course, Baby.

Arm Chair.

Banjo.

The Girls.

Buddy.

Colin.

Mum and Dad.

Ronnie the rat.

the spiders that climb into your mouth.

the greenhouse.

peaches and haggis.

grizzly bear.

dirty projectors.

lady macbeth with a metal detector.

the breadmoose.

we are, in fact, sailors.

ford focus.

(an alternative format)

i am me. i am no-one. the last libertarian son. born bored and dying trying. keeping mum. the lamb’s half done. it’s what you think. it’s what you are. it’s what you buy. it’s what you spend. it’s who you texted on the bus last night. it’s all these things and the above. the warm feeling of arms. a short back and sides. staying awake all night. midnight runs down the road for a fag. a short flight. a regrettable night. the many more that follow. the place we did that thing that time. the pogtainer of truth. thor the black hammer of jesus. sock man. the guy with the jeep. the paramedic. D). a slight interest in string theory. a fascination with things they don’t understand. a tendency to think alot. buck teeth and an underbite. liberation day. bean jar. Cheryl and Kim. Gobbles, Ethel and of course, Baby. Arm Chair. Banjo. The Girls. Buddy. Colin. Mum and Dad. Ronnie the rat. the spiders that climb into your mouth. the greenhouse. peaches and haggis. grizzly bear. dirty projectors. lady macbeth with a metal detector. the breadmoose. we are, in fact, sailors. ford focus.

untitled monologue

Gank, Luck, Crazy animations circulating, misconjecture, aerating space in out among crab walking pedestrians, Primani zoot suit and tie that says “oh, i am commander”, combination lock stock coffee cup and new edition romulus cow-skin suitcase lined with the souls of innocent cardboard smashed and mushed big style to layers and layers and layers of thin, ineffective padding that upon touching you make that slight cringe due to the texture and think although this feels bad, it could always be something slimy, slithery or spongey you could be bathing in while mummy feather fucking top doctor romulus holding bold, blindfolds, swings and stuff, speaking through robots on angry ice, toungueing lizards and finger larks all set for sunrise and a quick escape for milkman’s entry on the morrow then remaining business follows: mr pot, the flowershop man, Man Ray, and Stravinsky singing hot things on tadpole chariots to screams of lusty serenades to crab walking pedestrians lost in devil grey towers and stilt eyes poised for watching what we once determined found in books, now “brought to you by…..”

overcoming mrs darcy

“Take off your gunns!” Screamed Mrs. Darcy as she waltzed across the levy. “Do you not know your limits? The pan is off the hob and you probably haven’t even washed your hands yet!”

She was correct. I hadn’t washed my hands, however, I had almost overpowered a whole lemon. All by myself! I thought it had called for some pretty big chat, but Mrs. Darcy did not seem to think so.
I was overcome.
Had she beaten me?
Not yet.
I had one trick left up my sleeve.
One night late in early march I snuck inside her and hid my seed deep in the recess. Soon after she began to feel ill every morning. My plan had worked! She was certainly in a pickle now.

By October a whole marrow grew out of her elbow.
I was victorious at last.

now is the time to act!

On this hill the world as we know it collided. There were fridges flying over the countryside and dropping small packages of explosive cheese. Of course, the blenders had to respond. The first wave of hand blenders and the whisk militia were hit the hardest, almost losing 250,000 lives. The worst blow was to troop morale though. Blendy Blenderson got hit. Blown to smithereens. The blenders realised this is not going to be over any time soon. Poor blenders. This is going to be a long, hard, uphill struggle, and they have to win. No matter what. The blenders must survive. This is life or death now. This is the continuation of a species. This is mass extinction. Genocide.

The fridges need to protect their place in the kitchen. Those blenders have been creeping up on every surface. The steamers have already been wiped out by the bastards. Who knows who could be next. The mandolins? Surely not the mandolins. We fridges need to do something now before the blenders spread everywhere. We must stop them. Put them in their place!

NOW IS THE TIME TO ACT PEOPLE!