I get the most out of this when i'm broke

For some reason i keep this paper near dear,
And i can't stop myself from getting fucked up.
But watching night trickle into day,
As fast as i can't stop it.

So soon i get up in reach of work,
Where i'll stand half-dazed too serious to take.
Consumed service haunts me like a ghost,
When i know my account runs dry like a desert.

It's hard to get high when you're constantly low,
The blood's so bright on table cut snow.
And yet in four hours,
You'll be wracked with flowers.

Yet the sticky-sweet smell's gone,
So you wish you were home.
Resting that charred out mind,
In the safety of my own shattered time.

Poem

Good Vanity Caress Man

Blood, y'know the stuff that froze in your veins.

Overnight i began to panic. Maybe we were just laying in silence because it was the right thing to do.

Because, we'd seen it on television. Read it in a book.

No, it was because i was chasing you around in my head. Swing carousel.

Scalpels sharp and unbuttoning from your cocoon, the waves of premeditation penetrate.

You know exactly what you're doing here.

You know exactly what you're doing when you wrap your hands around my skull and

squeeze.

You know exactly what your doing.

Hold on tight dear and don't let go because you may fall off this saccahrine merry-go-round.

xxx

4/03/10

(Dedicated to someone who knows how to squeeze.)

These Monsters Free Mp3 Review

These Monsters - 'Call Me Dragon'

In many ways Post-Rock is like tantric sex, it keeps building up and building up and then... Then usually leads to a disappointing climax.

For all its post-rock influences, 'Call Me Dragon' by Leeds four-piece These Monsters, is a twisting, venomous hydra of a track, biting at you with its plethora of hooks and dark charm leaving you wanting more, more, MORE!

Admittedly, 'Call Me Dragon' has all the classic hallmarks of a typical post-rock song, just minus those annoying, so often empty climaxes that go nowhere. It's just 4.43 of riff after big riff, with extra dimension in the distant saxophones that toot throughout and the incoherent, creepy vocals which sound like a madman's inaudible rantings prior to a killing spree...

With the recent break-up of American Post-Hardcore Peddlers 'These Arms Are Snakes' and the half-hearted direction that 'Mars Volta' have taken of late, it's nice to hear that there are still bands putting out intelligent, obtuse listening like this single. What's even more surprising is that these guys are from this country and are making music this grandiose sounding!

So if you like your music heavy but with depth and experimentation, then 'Call Me Dragon' will definitely appeal. Link to their Mysapce and Download for free here...

3/03/10

Poem

Whatever Causes Us To Break The Silence

The Captain just stood there,
shrugged deep with fear.
The course we were plotting,
just began to unstitch, unravelling.

So many years of blind preparation,
and now we're sinking at our stations.
3 years to date,
can this be our fate??

No one said a word,
do you dare break the silence?
We all knew the score,
God damn that cheap science!

It had gotten us lost,
the course was a cost.
Fathom deep screamed the triumph,
for the sea won again.

Down we must go,
like a quivering, lead heart.
Down we just dive,
like a shuddering cheap tart.

It's almost now over,
a few months and we're gone.
Back to the town of 'cheap ruin',
from which whence we came.

I stared deep into her eyes,
there was only death there.
The fear caused her madness,
with a loud cry of despair.

So we shook out our fists,
and rang the doom bells.
The sea one more time,
signalled by our knell.

With the thrust of the flesh,
all salty and wet.
Pursed my lips one last time,
in the flood our tongues met.

The swell may it linger,
tore me limb from limb.
But now thats its over,
i can't feel anything but sin.

Cursed this skin that i'm in.

1/03/10

Poem

Under The Platinum Rainbow.

Well under the platinum rainbow,
see me cower, cower, cower.

Deep down under the platium rainbow,
see me cover, cover, cover.

Whatever i've done wrong,
I'll sing this city's swansong.

Hope that my days aren't long,
Watch my time take away the young.

Under the platinum rainbow,
i'm a man in need of a fable.

Under the platinum rainbow,
i'm a feast in need of a table.

The dirty and the dead just eat up off the floor,
And the club 18-30's have just burnt down the liquer store.

But under the platinum rainbow,
we were sold that it was gold.

Hey so, under the platinum rainbow,
we stole worlds from our ravaged old.

(They just withered and died just like forgotten flowers in the glare of the summer sun.)

1/03/10

poem 3

Obssessed With The Swansong (I Bury You Deep)

In a heartbeat everything fails you,
Falls down around you.

In a blink of an eye - Cave in.
And you're not sure why - Cave in.

So you sing a swansong,
A lament to what you had.
But i bet you're glad,
That you still had me.

Wrapped deep down dark,
right under your skin.
Though your not sure,
whose skin you're in.

I've drowned below the surface,
oh so one hundred times.
I've scratched beneath the ice,
colder than a thousand lies.

But the scars' are not pretty,
They're never pretty at all.
And the stars gave up shining,
Long shattered pride before the fall.

M.Hewitt 22/02/10

poem 2

If you're a ghost then you belong to me.

You've cornered me through these corridors,
swelled within my mind.
Caught on that i had killed you,
blackened bones that you did not find.

I hid you in the mailbox,
the cupboards and the trees.
My haunting has just started now,
And i'm bought down to my knees.

I wept hollow horses,
into my hands salt water needs.
I'm begging you please, "please just spare me",
on my negativity that you feed.

How i've hated few sweet moments,
of the past i cant go back.
The future's rising uncertain,
and my pulse just can't keep track.

You know that i'm a guilty man,
blood is written on my brow.
Almost permanatly i tease the guilt,
weighing heavy, so damn heavy, ultimately heavy, in my frown.

If you're a ghost then you belong to me.

M.Hewitt. 21/02/10

Something wicked this way comes.

Back in 2006, Norwich's definitive Hardcore (or HxC) scene had pretty much died a death. Seminal bands such as Hearts and King Lifting had either disbanded, gone on hiatus or had just grown up and out of the music they once peddled.

At one point, Norwich's HxC and Screamo scene was one of the biggest in the country and the place to see up-and-coming bands was The Ferryboat Inn on Kings St, which became the habitat of many a young scene kid.

And rightly so; promoters who worked the Norwich scene and who adopted the classic D.I.Y. work ethic would often put on packed-out shows with big names from America, Europe and the U.K. itself.

However, all of this came slowly, inevitably to an end in '06. Of course between then and now there had been numerous attempts to reignite the once burgeoning HxC scene that once put Norwich on the map, but all of these lacked the solid conviction that the progenitors of the scene had had that came before them. It seemed that it became more about who had the best looking girlfriend, hair and tattoo's.

All is not lost though, as on the grapevine that stretches far and wide i 've been hearing tales of a new wave of great HxC bands emerging from Norwich, gigs aplenty, and the bands themselves talented and approachable.

I managed to corner one stalwart of the revitalised scene, a Mr Wesley Brown, and tried (with my limited knowledge) to extract some answers as to what monsters are stirring in the bowels of a fine, fine city.

Q:Mr Brown, how the devil are you and what are you doing?!

A:Right now, i'm listening to 'Murder Ballads', but in general art schooling in Norwich and playing in my band!

Q: Tell us all what band you're in and what sub-genre of HxC it belongs to?

A: I'm in Jackals. Sub-genre, i don't know. It's just fast hardcore. We take influences from stuff like Cult Ritual and Charles Bronson. It's fast and short.

Q: Honestly, is there a rising HxC scene in Norwich again and what bands are causing a stir?

A: More bands have sprung up recently, i think its people coming into Norwich and injecting some life into it again. People had become lazy in recent years and forgot that DIY was the key to make stuff happen.

Q: Are there any Norwich HxC bands touring the U.K. presently?

A: Lonewolves are doing a lot of stuff, they're Cambridge lads too, but Tom and Smalls have been around Norwich for years. But i'd say Lonewolves hands down, are one of my favourite bands in the U.K. right now.

Q: What the hell happened to the HxC scene circa '06 'til now?

A: Honestly, i think people got lazy and a lot of people left in recent years to go to Leeds... Or in your case Morgan, London. So there are always setbacks. Plus alot of people around that time weren't really down for it, and saw it as fashion. I see people that were at gigs a few years ago now going to raves and getting wrecked at shit dub-step club nights. People flake out.

Q: Can Norwich retain its reputation for producing HxC and Screamo bands that can contend with bigger scenes like Leeds for example?

A: I don't know if it has to contend with Leeds and other major cities. There are good bands that come out of Norwich despite its size and isolation. As long as the people in 'the scene', as it were, are having fun who cares about contending. Just do it anyway.

Q: Is HxC a dirty word now what with the likes of Gallows seeing mainstream adoration only to be dropped by the major label they were on?

A: No, there was hardcore before Gallows and they'll be hardcore after. Its constantly evolving. I say hardcore and i mean anything through from Cursed to Mind Eraser. Say hardcore to someone else and they might think of Terror, so its open to interpretation. Hardcore will never be a dirty word.

Q: Do you think major labels picking up on HxC in the U.K. changes people's perspective as to why they want to form a band in the first place, i.e. to have fun and play shows?

A: Maybe, but i'm under the illusion that any band i get involved with is primarily for fun, hanging out with my friends and conveying whatever i think or feel directly as i can to my peers.

Q: Has the stigma of outsiders in HxC scenes (notably Norwich) died away, or is there still an essence of elitism remaining?

A: I think everyone involved in Norwich knows one another, typical Norfolk, but if i saw someone new at a gig that i hadn't seen before, i'd be happy to say 'hi'. Since we all know each other and hang out, any notion of elitism is soon chipped away!

Q: Are there any bands in the Norwich scene currently pushing the boundaries of HxC, i.e. blending the typical HxC sound with some other forms of noise?

A: Baptists are doing some good, epic hardcore songs which remind me of noise-rock bands in some way. They're a new Norwich band to check out. I think most bands are doing something different, Jack (from 'What Would Henry Rollins Do?' Norwich fanzine) put on a gig recently and honestly all the Norwich bands had their own distinct sound. My own band for example, have had responses like, "i didn't expect them (Jackals) to sound like that!". Variation is welcome!

Q: Finally, what would you say to anyone that's dubious of listening to HxC because of its obtuse nature?

A: It's not to everyone's taste, and i'm not going to convince people otherwise!

M.Hewitt 19/02/10

(Big thanks to Wes for answering my questions. Now get your mosh trainers on, get out there and check out those bands!)

Can you feel those creaky bones??

Today began like any other: my alarm went off at 5.30am (yes, THAT early), i cycled to work uneventfully and i prepared myself for another half day of monotony.

At around 9.45 everyday, we (the team at work) have, what the management call, a 'Team Talk' (original i think not). Whereby for a cool 15 minutes we either get lectured about the state of the store, or we get praised for maintaining our standards.

It's usually lectured and i usually switch off when it comes to the same point often raised about selling our store cards, which incidentally i don't really agree with wholeheartedly.

There's nothing unfamiliar about my situation, thousands of like-minded individuals such as myself are suffering the same condescension everyday, and are probably in worse jobs.

However, today, something struck a nerve.

Whilst the familiar blurb about the All Saints 'MasterCard' was being conducted at us, like we were some kind of orchestral movement, i uttered something to my fellow co-worker/co-conspirator stood next to me. All of a sudden it was like i unleashed Zeus' fury, for our dear manager had bit my head off before i'd even finished my sentence. I stood there resembling Charles the First on execution day.

I stopped in my tracks. Then looked around. Had i just been 'told off' in front of the team for talking out of turn? I wasn't even talking, merely uttering something that had in fact relevance to the usual drone that eminants in 'team talk'. It was pretty embarassing, and then i got thinking...

Age is something we place so much importance on; various questions frequently pop into our heads about reaching certain goals by such-and-such an age. Maybe not everyone thinks about it like that, but i do and i think it becomes increasingly more apparent in your mid-20's.

This is what this morning made me think: "I'm 25, i'm working on the shop floor of a clothes store and i'm being told off for talking."

All of a sudden i felt like i was back in Middle School, except being paid next to nothing for the pleasure.

Waves of nauseating panic washed over me, and my senses were screaming "WHAT ARE YOU DOING MORGAN?"

I'm working in a shop. At 25. I have a degree. I have little to no job satisfaction.

Now this may read like i'm a little down about my situation, and yes to a certain extent i am, but i'm trying to worm my way out of it. This whole anxious feeling is a classic symptom of a 'mid-20's crisis. Many young people today are exiting uni, having graduated later than most (myslef a prime example) only to find a world of the mundane and dross waiting for them on the otherside.

24-26 is a very strange time in any adults life, and i feel it's because of numerous reasons.

One, is the pressure from an overtly capitalist society (don't roll your eyes because i've unleashed social theory into this, read on), exuding pressure on us to compete with one another and reach a status that we deem appropriate for ourselves by the time we're a certain age. Why do you think when any form of media publication mentions a celebrity, it'll mention how old they are? I maybe incorrect in my arguement, but it makes you feel like you could/should have achieved as much if not more by the time you are/were said celebrity's age.

Two, we have to finally let go of that immaturity that we used as a comfort blanket to protect ourselves within our teenhoods. We could get away with so much simply because we were deemed 'too young to understand', or were 'too angsty' to know how to behave appropriately.

Its the personality crises for many that will pull down the curtain of that anxious depression you may feel by the time you hit 24. What happens if you belong to a certain clique that you've always rolled with and then all of a sudden your friends are getting engaged, giving up bands and getting proper jobs? It can be a pretty brutal time for any young person who hasn't dealt with that way of thinking yet.

Some young people just don't want to lose that youthful naievety or innocence. Lets face it, unless your extremely fortunate, you will at some point have to get used to sorting EVERYTHING out in your life; whether its bills, council tax or just simple shopping.

I guess its just growing up.

For me, it hasn't helped that i went to uni late, i mean to say that uni offers you a simliar comfort blanket that teenhood does; for near enough 3 years your in a sphere where uni work is your life. You can take pleasure in the abundance of your loan, and worry little about what happens with 'real-life'... That is, until you finish and then welcome to the 7th level of Dante's inferno!

Okay, so i'm 25 and i'm working a retail job i don't really like, but it could be worse. Alot worse.

I'm tackling this mid-20's crisis as best i can, admittedly i don't have a great deal to show or offer a glamourous, young lady (i am single by the way...)but i think the key is to just man up and get on with living. Too much thought about the far future will confuse your thinking about the immediate future.

Some folks who are in their mid-20's are lucky enough to know what they want to do, and direct themselves at it from the offset therefore anxiety about their age becomes null and void, I think for the rest of us neurotics paitence is key.

I know, that's rich coming from me, but i'm trying to learn to develop this much needed tool to success. I'm also trying to worry less about my expression lines that are starting to appear, but one step at a time please Zen Master Morg...

Poem

These lions will never tame us

So our lives built on lies,
These architects build the foundations,
To our nations on famous faces,
We promote ideas above our stations.

"If we cannot make it, then no one can!" We scream.
As if all the world's deposits are within our reach.

Love is fractures, fractured bones in moments,
And movements within ourselves.
You see her face on a dark street and its a movement,
Both inside and out.

You turn yourself inside out and try to understand,
But its like understanding a Kid Chameleon.
Changing faces and doubling paces,
Up and away as you catch up.

She laughs as you break footfall, stall,
And trip tearing out your own tongue.
Down to a concrete passion that embraces,
The dirt in wounds on our faces.

Holy Ghosts, Holy Hearts, Holy Dawns,
All the miracles in the world.
But yet all this fiction fantasy,
Can't stop her tired yawn.

It's evidence of a good time turned sour,
Ain't got no money left to blossom your dead flower.
Love is all,
But nothing at all.

M.Hewitt 20/12/08

Foreign Office - 'Leaving the house' 7" Single Review

Foreign Office, a four-piece based in East London, have clearly shaken off the winter gloom already. Give their first 7" release, 'Leaving The House', a listen and you'd be forgiven for thinking summer was already upon us; its soulful pop warming parts of my body i thought had frozen off a month ago.

'Leaving The House' recalls the arty-quirkiness of New Wave legends Talking Heads, the punk-funk fusion of Ian Dury and The Blockheads, add a hint of glitchy electronica akin to Hot Chip and you're about close to what Foreign Office are all about.

Paul's driving, rythmic bass lines anchor the song throughout, leaving guitarist George free to add soulful licks when the bass becomes less prominent. So instead of a guitar-heavy indie-pop single, Foreign Office have layered the sound in which they are clearly most comfortable, stripping it down to minimal beats and built it back up again with near-robotic precision.

Whilst on one level Foreign Office excel at punk-funk with hints of classic blues and soul, the sound is instantly brought up-to-date with the inclusion of some well produced electronics courtesy of keys player Duncan, his programming coupled with the almost metronomic beats of drummer James adds an extra dimension to both Paul and George's more classic guitar sounds.

Given that the popularity of Stateside intelligent-pop bands like Vampire Weekend and The Drums has grown significantly over the past few years its good to hear that bubbling in the U.K. underground there are pockets of artists pushing to produce records that don't just imitate scenes that have come and gone. And if the boys in Foreign Office continue to produce singles of this calibre they'll sonn be giving our U.S. cousins a run for their money.

M. Hewitt 05/01/10

Short story

Check this out, i haven't finished it yet, not sure if i'm going to but if people want more then i will...

The killer walks in wet steps



In this city it never rains, but it howls.

The rain kept coming. It clung to my face, my hands, my battered leather bomber. Like little icey needles throwing themselves relentlessly at my skin, destroying their entire being in a millisecond.

In this city it never rains, but it howls.

Death. My good friend, my accomplice, my bitter enemy.
She, he, it, was never far away and always one step ahead; always one body in the making, always one body in the taking.

I stopped breathing for a second, took in my surroundings, glanced down at the gun in my hand, glanced over my shoulder at the dead, black, glistening ocean lapping up the dirt sand and cursed this fucking rain.
The city skyline in the close distance looked like it was fighting the darkness, the monolithic fingers scratching upwards resisting the encompassing clouds of misery, office lights the only witness to the struggle. Somewhere up there, late night workers were putting the finishing touches to some dreary documentation, drinking soluable coffee, thinking of their brief futures and fucking their OFFICE FANTASY IN THEIR MINDS.

This is a real job right here. The meat of the town. This is what i think.

Matheson crawled in the side door of the warehouse, left slightly ajar. The dark portal resembling a deep gash in a forearm, or the depths of womanhood, sucking in my partner head, legs and all. I followed up the driveway, loose stones underfoot, weeds penetrating paving left for dead some years ago. Villains with top hats and thick moustaches always hid in buildings like this in books and films so why not real-life, doesn't it make for a more interesting read?? Fiction encroaching on the real-thing, the real-deal. Baudrillard: Simulacrum. Reality is just our experience of non-reality we've read or seen. Ha. Right now, i wasn't thinking philosophy, just the whirring of my heartbeat, the blood pumping in my brain.
Felt like a headache, but just adrenaline playing mind games.

I scraped along the west well, an assasin in the court of the king. This warehouse a medieval fortress, sleeping, unknowing that Macbeth had murder in mind.
We'd been called out, a routine check on a district warehouse, some illegal rave gone bad.
The standard: Drugs plus kids plus overspilling attitudes equals a blades' exploration to the belly of some poor pillhead.
Things seemed normal at first: lots of witnesses, guilty party gone astray, chase commences. We had to assume this kid was armed, scared and a threat to us but most of all, to himself.
We assume so much these days.

Sporadic raves of this kind had been popping up all over the outskirts of this town far too frequently, so often as to wear our thin blue line that inch thinner fortnightly. We were tired and shattered like the ramparts of a sieged citadel.
Still dripping with damp.
Breath in the air my only companion for now.
Higginson's death at the hands of one of the rave kids some weeks back had really shaken up the already lagging team. Organised chaos had run amok, the kid had leaped on Higginson like a rabid ape, tearing at hair, gouging at eyes, wonderlust at the suprise police raid.
The forensics that put the kid's face back together after Matheson had blown it a kiss with four 9mm rounds to the skull, had discovered the perp had filed his two canine teeth into fangs of some kind; The maw trephining the bone to the brain, exit black ooze and pieces of gold. The rainbow's not far away.

Media attention had riled the station into something of a hotbed of controversy and we didn't want to sleep. The more the decadence kept happening the more ichor was spilled. It was like doom was the intended intoxication for the youths of Settlebed City.
Hysterical mothers, resembling that of Iraqi women who had seen their sons disappear in a red haze propelled from the western invaders, were roaming the pages of the tabloid trash looking for scapegoats and answers.
"Who will stop the carnage from happening again?"
"Police lose war on party invaders!"
"Mothers plunge to death after son suicide shindig."
Crass.

We were right back in the darkness again. bROKEN gLASS windows let in shards of the gloomy light outside. The sparse warehouse a den for rats, bums and bones of those who had punished themselves with ecstasy from the brown. That exodus from society that takes place with addiction and force of habit. The stereotypical miscreants. Voids replace eyes, puzzling promises of ruined highs.

Silence. A blanket of such that rings in your ears, an unholy din that deafens you with every fucking step. The silence briefly penetrated by a rustle from the wind, a rumbling of a distant, passing truck or the footsteps from Matheson's Dr Martens he was so inclined to wear. Silence again. A distant, vacant scratching.

"Oh i'm watching you my sickly sweet sugarheads. I'm watching every lustful move that you make, and i'm going to make love to you with a permeating phallus that you'll never ever forget. I'm itching my flesh-tattered arms to get clutch of you."

The roof: Dark, pigeons nestling each other, brooding, watching the unfolding narrative from their safe homes. I wish i had a safe home. Heartbeats my only allies. Matheson 20 metres ahead, no, a grouping of rags and stone. Could have sworn it was him. Need to check my eyesight. OPTICIANS APPT. Not right now, concentrate Billy. Breath in the musty air and wake up.

So fucking dark. cOLD was creeping into my clothes now, slowly the damp was there, caressing my skin like a hospital nurse whose touch was cold and empty and familiar. Trouser cotton stuck to thighs as creeping low forces it to ride up the top of the leg.
Seeing was a mystery commodity.

I kept to my left, kept low, kept fast, kept quiet. I could see 8 metres ahead Matheson kneeling over something.
Himself.
Puddles. Wet, dark and with a deep, warm smell. Blood. Matheson's blood. Emptied from the remnants of what was a stomach.
Disembowling the future right before his very eyes; with age old efficiency.
Up the base of the spine, sheer panic, terror with a twist of adrenaline to give you that extra kick, a natural high. Adrenal glands pumping, making the mouth taste odd. BITTER DROOL.
Spatitoutlipsweredryhandsweretremblingandidartedmygazeabout.
Nothing but shadows.
And nothing was going to save Matheson now, two empty wells represented his eyeballs staring up at the previously pursued, down at the entrance of his abdomen, the rising ground, then nothing. Save an empty, lonely death.

Damn this fucking rain.

Death. My good friend, my accomplice, my bitter enemy. "You're always one step ahead and forever watching, a macabre grin." Whispering under panting breath. I couldn't see a damn thing.
I picked up Matheson's fallen Beretta, tucked it into my belt and held my breath. Whomever we;d chased into this building was a far more disturbed, more complex individual than we had first recognised.

And now...
Now we were the ones who were being chased down, cornered in a pitch black enterprise.

They say it never rains in this city, but it howls. And its howling in the back of my skull and its howling in the roots of my skin. I plaster my hands to my face and wait.

...

Confessions of a 25 year-old Technophobe.

For my dissertation back in May '09, i used for reference a book called 'Digital Revolution: The future of music' by David Kusek. Aside from the pretentious title, Kusek's infinite ramblings about the state of the music industry and where it was going, was an interesting if somewhat dated read (the book being published late '04).

By the time Kusek's opus had been bought into print, Myspace had by then been snapped up for 580 million dollars by Murdoch's Newscorp.

In 2005 Myspace.com stood teetering on the precipice of history and artists like 'Artic Monkeys', 'Lilly Allen' and 'Bring Me The Horizon' would ride the wave of this internet phenomena thus establishing themselves and promoting one of the most important cultural by-products of today: that of social networking.

All of this is considerably old hat now as we've seen Myspace rise and embarassingly fall, with the all encompassing popularity of Facebook pounding Murdoch's cash cow into the dust mid-'08. Kusek's book was outdated even in '04, and glancing at his book the other day reminded me how behind i am with the rise and rise of online everything, take this blog for example that i've only just established. Tut tut.

If you're a writer in 2010 not adopting a blog or something as similiar is almost like casting a hex on yourself; how do you expect your overly biased, zealous opinions to enter the public domain?!

I've never taken into account just how important using webspace is for struggling artists, writers and musicians, i'd probably go as far as admitting to be something of a technophobe, the mere mention of the latest software or device and my eyes glaze over and i enter a comatose state of zombiedom.

I'm having to scratch off the habit of a lifetime.

However, i don't think it's all my fault, my age and circumstance have also hindered my net enthusiasm for blogging, social networking and the like, i'd imagine i'm not alone either.

Back in 2005, as Myspace broke and as every 15-18 yr old discovered 'My Chemical Romance' I'd turned 20 and just missed the hype. I percieved myself as being too mature for such youthful antics, therefore avoiding the initial furore of the social networking new wave, and the habit-forming charms of blogging. A habit i'm trying to develop here and now.

The internet is no longer a dirty word, I mean to suggest a realm of computer wizards and geeks who sit around talking techno-jargon and planting viruses to confuse 45 year-old mothers of three.

We'll all in this together now, celebrities like Johnathan Ross and Russell Brand have made Twitter and Facebook acceptable forms of social interaction; the stigma has been lifted. It's not embarassing to talk openly about Facebook plans at work or in coffee shops and the global hegemony of us westerners online is negated as we no longer have complete control of whom interacts with whom across physical borders and boundaries.

It's taken me 5 years to realise just how neccessary blogging is in terms of presenting works to an audience who might ordinarily miss it.

As daunting as i may find the rapidity of the internet, if you fail to keep up you'll find yourself floundering in a graveyard of the outmoded like the MiniDisc and VCR.

Sure, i still use ink and paper for thoughts i've yet to develop and our favourite authors/poets like Miller, Keats and Tolstoy didn't have iPhones, but this is a different epoch and we need to embrace blogging and social networking wholeheartedly.

xo

Welcome!

It's taken me a while to unleash my tirades but now, finally, i've got myself together and created a new blog.
It'll be filled with news, reviews, fiction and features which have aroused me to write/type on here. Please view it as my escapism vs your inquisitive nature and don't take it too seriously.
That's lifes job!

Note: I've posted some older Single reviews on here, just because they're worthy of note, so even though they're dated after this post they were written pre-Feb.

xo