I decided to try one of these vlog things; me talking instead of you making the effort to turn words on a screen into a voice in your brain. It makes a change, plus you get to see the shapes I can make with my massive face.
Stealing Fire From the Gods to Beat the Winter Blues and Big Pharma: A Happy Review of a Sad Box
It takes eight seconds for light from the sun to reach our rock; although if you live in Britain you might question that figure. In fact you might snort: “Ha! Eight months more like!” and grin inanely like a child expecting validation before realising that even if it did take eight months we’d just be getting our sunshine a bit later. Like receiving our Christmas cards in September.
Although saying that – and assuming we’re not reducing the speed of light itself – it’d be a hell of a lot colder here as at current speed/distance light would travel from the Sun to Pluto and back 430 times in eight months which is using the figure for the farthest distance the two bodies get from each other as Pluto has an eccentric orbit which means that sometimes it’s closer than Neptune but by then I’d realise I was staring off into the middle distance whilst eating the skin next to my fingernails and the distance between my date’s body and the barman’s would be rapidly decreasing. Continue reading “Stealing Fire From the Gods to Beat the Winter Blues and Big Pharma: A Happy Review of a Sad Box”
A Rambling Thesis on the Sexual Nature of the Danish, Masquerading as a Review of a Viking Exhibition in Edinburgh
Vikings! is at the National Museum of Scotland, Edinburgh until the 12th May, 2013. £9 for adults and less if you’re not one of them; free for members or those that cannily held on to the tickets my ex left behind.
There is an Anglo-Saxon grave marker at a Christian Monastery on the island of Lindisfarne, North East England. It depicts warriors who were undoubtedly Viking raiders carrying out their first recorded raid on our green and pleasant land in AD 793. The following year is recorded in the Annals of Ulster as: “a laying waste by the heathen of all the islands of Britain.” Continue reading “A Rambling Thesis on the Sexual Nature of the Danish, Masquerading as a Review of a Viking Exhibition in Edinburgh”
The Love of My Life; With Name-Dropping of Philosophers, Fugitive Policemen and Others
Childless women in their thirties staying in bed until the mid-afternoon, reading their first book by Schopenhauer, Seneca or Montaigne – contemplating the apathy with which they regard their own mortality over the first gin of the afternoon and rubbing one out before the news kills the passion – these are the kinds of women you don’t seem to meet dating online.
I just read the manifesto of the vengeful L.A. Cop-Killing Killer-Cop who is currently running rings around his former colleagues after swearing to take the corrupt all to hell with their loved ones for a lack of honour, honesty and common decency. Continue reading “The Love of My Life; With Name-Dropping of Philosophers, Fugitive Policemen and Others”
A Belated Eulogy for the Tricorn Centre, Portsmouth
UPDATE: Tricorn: Controversy in Concrete – incorporating records, inspirations and materials – is running at Portsmouth City Museum between 15th March and 29th June 2014. Even though I bet they’ll have free wine at the opening, I can’t get down there for it, but these pictures and more will be.
It’s been more than eight years now since Portsmouth tore down the Tricorn Centre: that Brutalist monstrosity despised by many but to me as much a part of the city’s dark soul as the Historic Dockyard; pebbled seafront with its promenade, piers and castle; and getting punched in the face outside a nightclub for making eye contact.
I took these few meagre, poorly descriptive images back in 1996 but by then the thirty year old concrete was mouldy and crumbling, held together by rust, rats and Laser Quest. Continue reading “A Belated Eulogy for the Tricorn Centre, Portsmouth”
Hard Times on the High Street and A Tale of Two Sarahs
The minute you no longer feel unabashed, childlike joy as you crunch across a blanket of fresh snow, I say go ahead and drink a cup of crushed hemlock; because this world has nothing more to offer you. An old friend of mine once told me that the act tapped into my destructive nature and if I would only accept my inherent regressive character traits then shame alone would quicken a better Parlett. Even to this day I regret not striking him with the back of my glove and calling him a scoundrel. Continue reading “Hard Times on the High Street and A Tale of Two Sarahs”
Middlesbrough Boro Ironopolis
Trying to free up space on my hard drive, found some old footage of Middlesbrough I shot before I left (yes, I used a potato – very funny.) Decided to stick it on YouTube with a Ghostbusters tune behind it.
The Middlesbrough Institute of Modern Art is a wonderful way to spend an afternoon. The staff are friendly, knowledgeable and don’t check pupil dilation. Paul Daniels is from Middlesbrough.
Every man, woman and child should try a Parmo before they give up the ghost.
I wish I’d filmed more; there’s another video a comrade and I made for Teeside University: it can be found here.
Dear John, Alfie the Dog and Big Mama Thornton
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Big Mama Thornton and Alfie.
‘Hound Dog’ stuck on a loop in my head the other day, playing with Alfie – my Mum’s Cocker Spaniel. Turns out that although Elvis has the best known version, the song was first recorded by one Big Mama Thornton. I realise it was stars like Elvis that took the African-American blues to the cracker masses but until recently getting into Lightin’ Hopkins was as far as I crawled out of my lily-white honky box; and I’ve been missing out on so much. Continue reading “Dear John, Alfie the Dog and Big Mama Thornton”
The Squirrels of the Fourteen B’ak’tun
If you’d told me five years ago I’d be spending the last day of planet earth in Gosport I’d have laughed in your face. I’d planned to play it safe and ride out 21st Dec 2012 somewhere up a mountain with a hunting rifle, caring Scandinavian wife and waterfall caves of tinned food. I came to my senses; but when 11.11am passed without global incident I shrugged like everybody else.
Still, there’s always the Rapture to look forward to. That and any number of asteroids. And the whole global warming thing. Another end of the world is always just around the corner, friend. Continue reading “The Squirrels of the Fourteen B’ak’tun”
In Which I Talk About the News, Drugs, Star Trek and Make a Picture for John Lennon
Christ, I don’t know. I suppose I should say something; it has been a while, after all. What have I been up to lately? Well I didn’t kill myself yet but don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind, fellow travellers. Continue reading “In Which I Talk About the News, Drugs, Star Trek and Make a Picture for John Lennon”
CHRIS PARLETT 