La Terra Del Ritorno.

Well if it isn’t me?
It is.
Allora. Hope you are all well and plump with the milk of human kindness for one another. Cos I am.
Italy always does that to me, I have a great fondness for the place.
It’s the betterness of the country that does it I suppose. The women, the weather, the way of life, the food, the public transport, the prices, the this and the that and the what have yous are all better.
I’ll leave it at that as it’s always boring when someone shites on about how great somewhere else is. Suffice to say – it’s better in every conceivable way. Deal with it.
Though I must say I’m going to miss lazing my ass around drinking White Russians and hitting 7 – 10 splits down the Elefante Rosa, but I have taken something back inside of me from the whole thing. An enhanced feeling of disgust and appreciation for my fellow man in equal measure. We are delightfully repellent race with beautifully ugly tinker blood flowing through our cholesterol packed piss pipes.
This truly is the land of Ire.
Doings that transpired -
-Miss Italia was won by Miss Torino.
-Hurricane Ivan came a-stealing on our last three days and kicked the fuck out of us then turned us around and kicked the fuck out of us again. It was exhilarating.
-I rolled four strikes in a row and was only defeated on the last day, narrowly mind you, due to a pulled fore-arm muscle.
-It was observed that it is still 1983 in Vasto.
-Also that Sharks can frown.
- The Carbinieri almost shot us all in our faces.
-Capriosca Alla Fragolas and Tennants Super were combined, a procedure that should never occur inside a human stomach.
- The curse of holiday hair has left me with a fledgling mullet.
- The Demon beer was drank in the Wast Coast (Spelling correct) 12 per cent.
- I discovered the joy of fagotino. A foodstuff comprised of Mozzarella de bufala wrapped in prosciutto crudo. An indescribable joy.

And other events of a ribald nature.
Including this diatribe from Martella which will go down in history as the most indicative thing of his personality that he has said yet. Deadly serious and drunk-
‘Lads you have to make sure of one thing if you ever consider having offspring. You must ensure that the mother of your children is far less intelligent that you are. This is important, because the female gene carries forth the intelligence. Therefore you prevent the chance of your child growing up ambitious and then overthrowing you.’

Overthrowing you. I was quite taken with that.
After a smooth return I found myself quickly bedevilled by one of the succubae.
Apparently I’m back in favour. So keeping with the ideals of cultural enlightenment nurtured over the Vastasian experience I spirited the ragazzas (for there are always two) to the IFSC for the Fringe Festival. It was a mixed nutsac of curios.
The compere was the shittest comedian I have ever seen (Far shittier than Des Bishop, shittier still than Jason Byrne, and shittier yet than the American cunt of Have I got News for You sometimes.) but there was a number of good acts.
The Warlords of Pez were top. Hilarious shit, they even sung a song that just had the lyrics ‘Johnny Alpha. Wulf Sternhammer. Agents of The Future’ Anyone who knows will know.
And another called ‘Fat mudderfukka from hell’ Brilliant. I’m now a fan.
Also a barbershop quartet who sang ‘Baby on Board’. What more could you ask for?
Sex maybe?
I had that and all.

Smirk.

So it's Rorschach and Prozac and everything is groooovy!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. That’s the stuff alright.
As a cost cutting measure before I head off to Vasto I have returned to my wombland.
Seat of the Kings and home of the Road- ball (or autosphere), AKA Disgraceland.
Here, I took custody of Scum’s pass for the Gym in TIME and use it wisely I did.
Now TIME isn’t all that, in fact it’s a hotbed breeding ground for White Shirt Men and Chickenheads, and the music is the sonic equivalent of Big Brother.
But they have a mean – ass gym and no mistake. Y’see I have to look my best for the ragazza’s on the beach. In many ways, I’m a shallow, shallow man.
Anywhich. I burned out on the exercise equipment and struggled through 10 laps of the pool (I normally treat my body like a funfair but hey! Sometimes you have to let the carneys do a bit of maintenance) but the reason I’m mentioning this at all is to cream myself about the relaxation rooms they have. Oh sweet lord, I shined up my scales well. First, the sauna, then the foot salt baths, then the weird room with the seaweed and mineral sprays, then into the crystal steam room (not too long in there!) and finally the shower that simulates tropical rainfall followed by artic blast.
I came out feeling like American Psycho. Though I most likely won’t be able to move tomorrow. See? I even take my relaxation to the max.
All this is done to prepare my body for the shock and awe that it will experience in Vasto. Purely alcohol mind you, but in the heat that’s all you really need to get laid low. We are off on Thursday so I probably won’t make another entry for quite some time. Or maybe I will from Wop. Who knows? Who cares?
Right so, look after yourselves. And enjoy the encroaching cold front.
And call your mothers sometimes. Just to say hi.
They worry.

Crack baby crack

Solaris.
Now there’s an interesting piece of film-making.
Had cause to sit – in of a Saturday night last night and watch it.
Yes, I said a Saturday night.
I know!
Now before you begin to lose respect for me and wonder if the snake isn’t slithering on all cylinders these days, allow me to splain myself.
A very dear friend of mine came face to planetary plane with Gaia and found that the destructive impact to her overall structure was far, far more significant than that of her rival.
To put it another way, she fell on her face, and it opened.
So it was then that I took up the mantle of Convalescer In-Chief, utilising the twin medicinal swords of Smirnoff Ice and M&M ice – cream to detract from the agonies being endured.
So now with my reputation safeguarded, back to Solaris.
Some people would say that it is interminably slow, ponderously shot, over – achingly deliberate in exposition and, yes, even somewhat boring.
Those people are imbeciles.
What it actually is is something really unique for the realm of sci –fi.
Essentially it’s a love story, but the main theme is how the memory of a loved one may often be different from the reality of the person themselves.
Sometime what we love is merely our fragmented, selfish and actually incorrect impression of the ‘idea’ of someone rather than how they really were.
This holds true because the human memory function is completely unreliable as a record of events.
An esteemed friend of mine, Dr. Richard Roche, a neuroscientist and noted malanderer, can back up this statement with greater authority than I. With an intimidating abundance of notes, graphs and statistics to back it up. But for now, you’ll just have to believe me.
But I think the truth is self evident, watch a film you love but haven’t seen in ages and you’ll often notice how some scenes differ, often markedly, from how you recall.
So you can imagine how warped our memories of the times when we were in love are.
In Solaris, the protagonist, portrayed impressively by George Clooney, is a psychologist who, through circumstances I won’t reveal, has to grapple with such concepts.
What does he love more? The woman he remembers loving or the actual woman who he drove to suicide?
Apologies for the mature, and reflective tone of today’s blog, but that’s just the way I feel right now.
Motherfuckers.

Oxx confident Tarakala can cope with trip.

*Note-Inserted from saved draft hence temporal inaccuracies -

Got some serious pink-eye today.
It’s probably all this inter – male sexuality that you see in the papers and on the late night TV shows that’s doing it.
I’d like to say it won’t catch on, but then, I was wrong about the Euro.
I think my body might actually be rebelling against my lifestyle, if it is, it’s being a complete prick.
I have never done anything but feed it with sensuous pleasures whenever it asked for them, whatever the time, whatever the circumstance.
And this is how it repays me? Be making me look like a laudanum addict?
Well this aggression, will like, not stand man!
I’m gonna go out on a blitz and stay up and hyper for all hours and not give the little blighters any rest! That should soften their coughs.
Ireland V Switzerland tonight. The battle to see who is the most neutralist once and for all! I met very few Swizzlesticks in my life, but I must say, they are pretty neutral when you meet them face to face.
I think their powers of neutrality might just pip this nations tonight and we’ll end up with a nicely balanced nil - all or one -one draw. Sabres will be held tautly to avoid any hint of a rattle.
Brian Kerr, as I said to the Radger earlier on, I think he’s great. He always looks in interviews as if he is going to break his shite laughing any second. As though fondly remembering something funny a childhood dog of his once did.
He can never look the interviewer or press in the eye either, it’s as though he knows he’s going to fart any second now and it won’t just be a squeaker.
In short, he looks like a chancer. And I like it. In life, in everything - 'Gotta have ball this big!' (In stereotypical Italian dad voice. Think the Dolmio muppet)
That’s enough for now.

The rue, as promised.

Looks as though the Electric picnic was somewhat of a success as evidenced by the new pics on www.busyslav.com.
Mashidy Mashidy. (sighs and repeats softly with powerful regret).mashidy....(sniff) ...mashidy.
I missed a good 'un alright. However, I have to stay on target for the greater cause. To return in shimmering glory and scintillating splendour. Ideally.
You'll got nothing but vagueness from me today as such is atmosphere I must cloud myself in these delicate times. I'm only blogging as I'm sitting in Lemonjelly having a mozzarella and pineapple crepe and they have fast p.c's here.
The muchacha behind the counter is a minx.........stay on target........Stay. On. Target.

What's that floating in the water?

Things are coming to a head.
Can you feel it? I can.
I can feel the inexorable pull of the cosmos drawing events towards the inevitable smash and clash and oh! how very much different and the same all will be at once and again and forever and never.
Yes. There's still a lot of alky coursing through my booze pipes.
It was an interesting one last night. Can't go into specifics but several significant events happened with a few key individuals. Exciting eh?
I feel somewhat liberated though. Two less succubae to have to keep tabs on.
And a new one thrown into the mix as a result. You see? Destruction is the great creator. The fire consumes the forest to get rid of the dead and dying trees. The ash provides nutrients for the emergent foliage.
Ollie went down to the Slavlock last night outside The Globe. I didn't want to do it but he looked at me askance.
Can't be having that. And Radge was again his own worst enemy (after me) last night. He was so close..........closer than he knows, yet he took his eye off the shuttlecock at the vital juncture. Textbook. Now if he grew the moustache he promised me things would have been oh so different.
Anyroad. Back to the great turning of the wheels of providence. It's official now, my new flat mate has paid the brother and will be moving in very soon.
Things are going to be in different in DisGraceland as a party – lovin' max – taker is replaced by a prim and quiet young French girl. May God have mercy on her soul.
(And may Vishnu have mercy on her body)
Italy on the sixteenth. Bert is already over there and has assured us that the temperature will be 28 standard heat units when we arrive. You'd think I'd be sick of all things Italian by now. But I have a huge tolerance for beauty.

"Somethin's gonna happen, somethin' very soon. Transcending flesh could be a breeze sending me over the moon."

Wax on? Wax off?

Doing Radge’s job today as he was down with the Syph.
He won’t be told that lad. I says to him I says “Radge” I says, “Don’t be all the time whoring your way through the sordid underbelly of this foetid city in order to bring some glimmer of excitement to your life. You’ll only get the shaft - shingles again.”
But did he listen to me? Did I even say that? Did he/I buttons!
So here I am in the cud-bucket. Making sure only the choicest of filthy websites are ingraining themselves indelibly upon his temporary internet files.
Did you know that Gary Glitter’s computer that he foolishly brought into P.C World to get repaired had one folder on it called ‘My Gang’?
That’s how he was caught.

In other news, I won’t be taking it to the Max in Wax tonight. The first Thursday in a long time that I won’t be burning up and melting down in my dear mecca. I won’t be going to the Electric Picnic either it would seem. A choice I’m probably going to rue. Rue hard.

Or will I go to Wax……?.