Ogilvy Clambake's Journal|
[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 9 most recent journal entries recorded in
Ogilvy Clambake's LiveJournal:
|Wednesday, December 25th, 2002|
It's Christmas Day and I've been clenching my face for a Fortnight. We've suffered two awful gigs (I won't reprise Peacock Punk's spot-on speculations) and two Robberies that made me feel slashed wide open. I couldn't give a shit to anyone who might think me Materialistic - You took my Camera, you bastards - My fucking Camera. I've been burning with the exquisite tunnelvision of an eye-for-an-eye Wanker; I cry at Ken Loach films, you fuckers - and now you've got me scowling paranoid at Tracksuits through a Car window like Travis Bickle. While this lasts, I pray to Alesteir Crowley that you won't come back. Don't you scratch a liberal, you junkie Fuck. Don't you dare scratch This Liberal again.
And now I'm gonna go & get drunk. Kiss you all.
|Thursday, November 7th, 2002|
I wish I were an Insomniac.
A Student with a free Hall-Pass; A Karloff-booted pop-nihilist with an unread Library of Contemporary Classics, mumbling "what scars?" as you squander your care on the Atrocity Exhibition of my Forearm. I could boast "Longer! Longer! Longer!" as some sallow-eyed fuck I've found myself leaning on in a Bar tries to outbid me saying He's Got It Worse (-Nobody has, Fucker - I've been awake since I was BORN).
But I'm none of those things.
I just can't Sleep.
I know what the Milkman looks like. He needed a Shave today.
|Friday, October 11th, 2002|
|Rome wasn't built in a FUCK...
We're living the lives of Artists. Not just the practice of Music, throwing globs of Paint or pointing a Camera at something - but the mad, dangerous achievement of a Mind-set where you truly believe that You Create the Odds; That you merely have to build the Bridge and then walk right over it. It's a wonderful life if you manage to convince yourself of that - however deluded people will say you are. That's something Rob and I have Fixed so firmly in our Heads that it's probably bubbled up into Flesh on our Frontal Lobes by now - but it's not an Arrogance; We KNOW that Anyone can do Anything, Anytime, Absolutely. Fuck anyone who dares to call that Romantic (We'll see you Outside!). The problem is, looking out of Eyes attached to that kind of Head - you naturally want the Beauty and Ability you see in other people to be as obvious and valuable to Them - and when your less confident friends/Band-mates fall afoul of the False God of Fucking It Up, it's Terrifying - because There threatens a peep of an Idea usually only humored as Horror Fiction; - That your Own grip on this Faith could possibly weaken, and that You Too might one day walk down the street without feeling like a fucking Movie Star - which is the way Everyone should feel, since Everybody is. Anything that makes anyone feel otherwise is a Lying thing that ought to be discarded; If Booze makes you feel pathetic, put the damn bottle down. If TV makes you feel small you should put a fucking Axe through it. Rip up the Newspapers and start writing. What else are you gonna do? Heaven IS NOT A PLACE, you Maniacs!
Love to you all...it's almost 4am and my Back hurts.
|Friday, September 20th, 2002|
I am A W A K E!
There'll be daily doses of Vitamin ME from now on, you cracked and beautiful few; My Computer's running like an Athlete for the first time in Donkey's Years, and I can't be arsed sleeping so I've spent a few hours thumbing through Repine and MissFrost's back issues (thanx both!) and drinking an amalgam of stinky booze leftovers. All in the House are snoring after a vile night of 1993 time-warp filth in Central Station; The sick sight of dickweeds dancing in droves to the fucking Spin Doctors! Alice In Chains! Pearl Jam's 'Evenflow'!
Well, Good Morning all. I Love Ya.
|Thursday, August 1st, 2002|
Dreamt Fellini (anyone seen 8 1/2?)last night. Real heavy-handed stuff, I was even criticising how hackneyed it all seemed while it was going on - but Marcello Mastroianni just kept shouting "Shiiit!" in deranged Pigeon English while every Girl I've ever been out with danced about inside a flaming House which seemed to be sinking like a Warship. I looked up at the flaming, gaunt Roger Corman stock-footage rafters above me, and I woke up just as they started falling. "Shiiit!".
The Rain is beautiful. No more Cling-film Skin. I've just come back from a couple of days at Shell Island grinning with my Brilliant two-yr-old nephew Cameron - He's so cute he makes most other kids look like Shaved Vermin. We went to The Village in Portmeirion and discovered who No.1 was. Turns out it's Us! We're each a Prisoner of ourselves, don't you know?...
Just read on Peacock's journal that Stu isn't coming to the gig on the 16th. What crazed Suburban Zombie Pamphlet has he been reading? Is this Invasion of the fucking Bodysnatchers? A 'Stag' Night for Christ's sake. That's like a fucking Wake in advance. A big, blokey Requiem where Men drink Beer out of their empty heads. He'd attend That before playing in a Rock Band with people who love him. Shit, Look under yr Beds Children, The Pods are Already Here....
|Sunday, July 14th, 2002|
|Minutes to Go. Minutes to Goo. Minutes to Green Goo.
I don't write on this thing half as often as I should. I'll be hooked up at Home soon though. You poor bastards - all Four of You.
Don't know why I'm reluctant to write about the same thing more than once on this thing; Dats Duh Journal, Dickweed - But I'd feel like a Ready-Salted prick for jabbering all my obsessions at you. In person I tend to blind people with my boyish rictus then let the less ludicrous stuff filter into a cosy schitzophrenia. I'm more self-conscious here, but as I've said - I'll soon be scribbling every day; I'll be writing about my own Piss in no time at all. Oh, you're gonna like that. Oh, you Will.
Sewing together a few more chunks of Spleen Queen later tonight; My lean'n mean leading Actress should be in make-up by the time I get back. I'm also shooting crowds at Central Station on Thursday. Otherwise I'm going to spend my week smashing my fists against my new Keyboard; We're at the Bull and Gate on Friday. Dexadrina, Ladies and Germaline. Fuck, oh Fuck Fuck Fuck. London Calling...
|Sunday, June 23rd, 2002|
|Where did the time go?
- I ate it! It's Been All Whirlwind, Heat and Flash! Sonic Youth, Pulp and The Moldy Moldy Peaches!
AND THE FILM IS LOOKING SWEEEEEET. I made my first Actress puke the other week! Hung her up in a fucking Parachute harness and she conjured up the filthiest amalgam of Sherry and Cheesy Potatoes you can imagine. A sick, brown Blob. Rob, Sarah and I giggled and gagged like crippled Hyenas, then untied poor Emma and quickly got the fuck out of the room. One of those few memories you can actually Smell.
My dear old Father's mental and physical abuse continues into his second Wife as though he's still trying to earn a name for himself. As though we all Still haven't got the point yet. Good line from 'Eureka' sums it all up perfectly; He's "got some left-over life left to Kill." - his And Hers it seems. The fetid little jerk. Hope she divorces him. Hell, I wouldn't care if she took an Axe to him. Give 'im one for me, love - Don't be stingy. Fuck - I'd Testify. Justified Manslaughter yr Honour. I'd Sing like a fucking Jay-bird. Oh yeah...
|Sunday, June 9th, 2002|
Left my heart in London last week. Temporarily back in this ugly black cul-de-sac. It's either Elevenses and Golf or Boy-racing Girls and Cider Addiction in this fucking Flea-trap. I want Soho!Camden! The whooosh of the Underground! Stripped Car-wrecks and Dogshit! Plague Nostalgia! Street Crime! Jack The Ripper! Sweeney Todd! The fuckin' lot! Shine yr Boots Guv'nor?
I've been putting what I've got of the Film together this week - Kudos to Mr. Daniel West for teaching me quickly and patiently the leaps and bounds of Digital Editing. Oh, it's a massacre! You people are gonna like it; We'll have Words otherwise...
Saw 'Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte' this morning - Am I fucked up or is Bette Davis sexier when she's senile and shrieking in Courtney Love Get-up? Gonna watch 'Whatever Happened To Baby Jane' again tonight, I think. Some Punk band's gotta cover "I've Written A Letter To Daddy" one of these days; It's got Papers...
|Sunday, May 26th, 2002|
|It's a Boy!
Just beaming at Peacock calling me "Absurdly talented" in his journal (way back in January). Well, I know You Are but what am I?
Lovely as it was for him to have said that though, - "Absurd" is the most important Word there for the moment. The Film's driving me Mad at the moment; Stupid, stupid hours spent despairing over it like some fucking Billy Corgan prick getting lost in other Dimensions and future ideas with this dreadful Mocking voice crooning "aww...artistic temperament!" - and of course, it's my Own dumb Voice, since it's much easier to sit there sucking on your own Piss that to just Get The Fucker Done, isn't it Philatio?
When there's no real reason to hurry - there's no reason NOT to hurry. The footage I've already got is Shining. The damn thing'll knit like a dream - I know it will.
Anyway, we're shooting on location in London this coming weekend (since it's cheaper than building yr own), so to all you frenzied, freaky Frankensteins out there trying to get a good night's sleep while yr Mongoloid creation tears up the countryside, Please...
...wish me Fuck.