modern art makes me want to rock out

hidden away on on the south lawn, a presumably often unused piece of grass, behind tate modern (away from the river) are a group of portacabins. you'd be forgiven for thinking they were something to do with the renovation work going on in the gallery. there's not a great deal of signs or fuss made about it. but in the inconspicuous temporary exhibition is a collection of work with more passion, emotion and meaning than pretty much anything you'd find inside the bankside power station, or at mr saatchi's collection in county hall. shrinking childhoods has been created by a group of kids who haven't had the greatest of starts to life. whether through abuse, drugs, violence and mental illness. there's a room made by crack addicts, one by victims of sexual assault, another by victims of parental neglect. and each room tells a story that's even more moving because it's real. it's be impossible to see this stuff and not be moved. if a cold-hearted cynical bastard like me is, then any living, breathing person should be. these kids have shared their stories, which, judging by the work and texts accompanying them, must have been incredibly difficult, brave and courageous. just as appalling as the work itself and the lives these kids have been forced for live with, are the stats which are spread around the exhibit. these kids aren't in the situations they're in through any fault of their own - it's the people who are meant to care for them the most that have let them down. shrinking childhoods is the work of tate modern and childrens charity KidsCo so don't get any funding off the state. it's there until the middle of february so make sure you get down there and check it out. read the messages that people have written on the boards, write your own. just be there and support it. these kids should be given a voice and it's our responsibility to listen. i realise this probably sounds a bit wanky compared the usual tone of this shit but, fuck, life's ain't always about spam and buskers.

great balls of fire

it seems that today is international huge cumshot day. or at least it is judging by my e-mail inbox. it's weird how all the different elaborately named people in far flung corners of the globe all decide to concern themselves with the contents of my balls all at the same time. if only more people in geographically convenient locations too that sort of approach, it'd make for a more exciting life, wouldn't it?

hello, is this thing on?

for some reason this morning i was awake at six. it was still pretty much dark but the sun must have been coming up cos the birds were making a lot of noise. i guess it must be quite nice for them to get so excited about something as mundane as the start of another day. i was just laying in bed listening, watching the colour of the holes in my blind change from streetlight orange to something a little more natural looking and wondered why the fuck i was awake so early and having dodgy dreams. when this fake plastic lee thing first came online many moons ago, it used to be a bit of a dream diary kinda thing. apparently if you record what dreams you have and keep doing it over a period of time, your dreams will become more and more vivid and you'll be able to remember more of the details. i soon got bored of that, and don't really feel like picking up that tradition today. but still. dreams are good. like chicken nuggets. that comment's funny to me, and about two other people at a push. but that's good enough. this is all a big ego-trip anyway. i'm sure there was gonna be a point to this somewhere. but it got lost somewhere in amongst that lot. this is a pretty good timescale for posting, albeit without anything worth posting. but we can work on that. now dip me in chocolate and throw me to the lesbians!

now it's overhead

so, it's 2005 and, as promised, i've moved this mess to a new server and can carry on posting nonsense for no-one to read. for which we can all be greatful. i'm sure something noteworthy must have happened in the past couple of months but at the moment that particular nugget of information escapes me. this time of year there's a reasonable amount of social pressure to layout something of a manifesto for the year ahead. me however, i like to be different. so instead i'm going to completely ignore the year just gone (which, to be fair, for the most part, i probably wouldn't have noticed if it hadn't been there) as well as the year ahead (cos we don't know what's gonna happen with that yet). instead i'm planning on concerning myself with why i have to work late on friday nights, just how flexible channel 4's definition of the word celebrity is and if derren brown's not the messiah, who is? something a little more worthwhile here soon.... honest