AWKWARD Magazine

DJ Screw

2012-01-18T08:00:00.000-08:00

Congratulations if you're stoned enough to enjoy this classic

The Grim Reaper

2012-01-11T03:03:00.000-08:00

Warriors of Goja

2011-11-22T18:12:00.001-08:00

Psychic TV

2011-11-13T14:10:00.001-08:00

Thanks to Michael Gira for this one

2011-08-31T11:12:00.001-07:00

Swell Maps

2011-06-16T19:49:00.000-07:00

Devil take the hindmost

2011-06-16T18:35:00.000-07:00

There's a cold black cellar under the old shop on North Street. The old shop is a pub now and into the pub walks a man, rather unsteadily, at around 18:30 on a pleasant evening in early summer. Outside the sun is pouring through the trees in beams; inside, the man climbs carefully onto a barstool. Old, maybe seventy, his eyes have shrunk back into his huge misshapen cannonball bulk of a bald head, his ears are brushed lightly at the tips by a band of tousled, greasy hair that circumambulates his skull and the firm flesh of his brow droops in dense bags at the outer edges of his face, from the lower half of which sprouts a massive wiry beard. His mouth hangs open in a staunch gape of gormlessness. The man has about him an age ripened solidity. He is like a forgotten fruit that has miraculously neglected to rot on the outside, although his innards may well have turned to dust and putrid blackness. His hands - dirty and cumbersome - struggle to pull a small wadge of banknotes from out of his small zippered leather purse. There is about £80 there, perhaps a little bit less. Oblivious and alive, he sits drinking pints of bitter, cutting an uncanny figure and insisting that his drinks are pulled without a head.

"Let's try it without a head." he blathers at the bar keeper, , drooling almost imperceptibly

He tells the bar keeper that he has come a long way to get here, that he has been here before and that it's been a while since that time.

"Last time, I was, here, they, there was a bitter on you know, with, with, with, it tasted like, it was, it was a dark or pale, they'd, it'd been brewed, you, they got it, it, for the ten years opening here, you know - That was a nice one." He blurts the words absently, narrowing his eyes and smiling in reminiscence.

The bar keeper flinches. He is not quite quick enough to catch his own reflection, beat his reflexes to his own conclusion as to why. It could be the incoherence of the old man's speech, the filth and incongruity of his appearance, the general impression he gives off of a tamed insanity or the haunted, hung, heavy, silent stare of the old man's face that is causing his mental discomfort. For whatever reason, he cannot meet this customer's gaze. They are both quite similarly on their best behaviour here.

There is an enormous curved pane of glass wrapping the entire ground floor of the building as its curved corner sweeps around the bend where the main street intersects an alleyway.

"If I haven't fallen over by nine o clock I'm going to get, have myself a nice dinner." says the patron, fingering his money with rigid fingers as he orders his fourth pint. The old man's thoughts seem - to try and read them in his expression - to be perverse and as heavy as concrete pillars.

Time passes slowly and the drinker has learned the barman's name. The barkeeper has got the willies and trapped behind the pumps as he is, stands little chance of shaking them.

"Jack, there's something you should know about me..."

Jack turns his back on the old seed emphatically. It could have been nothing. It could have been innocuous. He could have gone on to say "I used to write stories" or "I'm not as strange as you think I am" or "I worked in the mines when I was young". The cut short confession lingers in his head like the gaze of a rubber-necker at a crime scene; desperately oblivious, fascinated and horrible.

Filmed by Spike Jonze

2011-04-18T08:46:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Amelia Anderson for sending this my way on Facebook.

All hyperbole aside...

2011-04-06T21:57:00.001-07:00

.. this is a fucking jam!

sourced from the excellent www.awesometapesfromafrica.blogspot.com

/

2011-03-27T10:53:00.000-07:00

Nothing to say about this, other than that it's the best thing I've ever heard and had me literally collapsing to the ground in waves of effusive rapture.

Watch this...

2011-03-14T18:04:00.000-07:00

Vibes

2011-02-27T12:14:00.000-08:00

This honorable gentleman is an outright wizard! What a wonderful, transporting sound. Ladies and gentleman; Arthur Lyman:

Hold Me While I'm Naked

2011-02-18T05:45:00.000-08:00

That was the end of a film made by George Kuchar in 1966. You can find the whole thing on the excellent www.ubu.com

"When you see the shark, just let go..."

2011-02-08T15:17:00.000-08:00

Andrew Mark Ferguson

2011-02-01T04:26:00.000-08:00

Andy is a wicked photographer and a lovely person. Go and look at his website if you like nice pictures of cool stuff and look out for some of his slendid photographs appearing in Awkward Issue 3, which is come along nicely thanks for asking.

www.andrewmarkferguson.co.uk

Also in The News this week is the nascent Wandering Bears Collective - a group of chummy young photographers with a shiny new website showcasing their recent work and exhibitions. The Bears include Awkward friend and contributor Alexander Milnes as well as today's featured 'lovely person' Andy Ferguson.

Go and have a look-see.

Skateboarding in Afghanistan

2011-01-28T16:00:00.000-08:00

SKATEISTAN: TO LIVE AND SKATE KABUL from Diesel New Voices on Vimeo.

Popul Vuh

2011-01-26T06:20:00.000-08:00

I have just become the father to a beautiful little baby girl and I'd like to think that I can now credibly attest to this music's pata-linguistic effectiveness... if I may be so bold. It may just be coincidence (it's not) but each time I've played Popul Vuh to Alina, an eery calm has descended upon the pretty little pickle and her seemingly absent minded ceiling gazing has taken on a special air of purpose, serenity and intrigue.

This first track, the title of which translates as "Oh, how close is the way Hina" was used as the signature theme for Werner Herzog's 1976 film Heart of Glass. Famously during the filming of Heart of Glass, all of the actors were hypnotized and it is a truly strange, beautiful and mesmerizing piece of cinema from what has been coined Werner's 'formative period' -

This second clip is an all time classic piece of psychedelic improv and it sounds amazing on a sunny winter afternoon with a doobie, like almost all good music. I don't know if it gets much better than this dreamy, droney cascade but if it does then could you please let me know where? - awkwardmagazine@gmail.com

I only wish it could last a bit longer.

Screw it...

2011-01-20T18:08:00.001-08:00

Competition Time!

2011-01-18T22:24:00.001-08:00

Dear language-lovers and Awkward family members,

I hope you are all keeping well.

I should inform you firstly that these words, this message and the content herein is presently being beamed directly into my impressionable brain by the threefold specter of sleep deprivation, late night internet 'research' and the Will To Work.

With that said, this is the jist;

Issue 3 of Awkward Magazine aspires to contain a brief lexicon of vocabulary busting, mind twisting terms, for little good reason other than that lascivious lust for loquaciousness. I hereby invite you all to become part of this small but significant contribution to the global and quite possibly universal struggle against the lackluster locution that threatens to do no less than immanentize the eschaton!

For the good of the Galaxy! For the elimination of ersatz elocution! For fun! For Fancy! For Freedom! For the sake of life as we know it! Please, I beg of you, make a note next time you look up a weird word and find an elegant linguistic turn or a puzzlingly precise peculiarity! Then don't forget to send it over here.

So what say ye, oh comrades in vocable valor?!

The bar will be set as high as it can go and it will be lovely to see some unusual and provocative specimens submitted, as well as examples of those strikingly ornate or obscure bits of our cherished and beautiful language. I for one am always enthusiastic to hear news from those distant corners of the dictionary, although it may be wrong of me to assume that others will too. I know it is a lot to ask, and that this may indeed prove to be little more than the fallacious folly of an enormous nerd, nailing his embarrassingly incompatible colours to the mast, but that remains to be seen.

So, the rules;

-No more than three submissions per person

-Dictionary definitions must be included and cited (you can include definitions from multiple sources, but cite them all please)

-The three best entrants (as chosen by me) will win a free copy of Awkward Issue 3

-All entrants to the competition get a discount on the forthcoming issue.

-Points will be awarded for rarity, vulgarity, relevance to current events, philosophical piquancy, humour, blasphemy, malediction and/or prayer.

That's it. I look forward to hearing from you all.

Good luck and spread the word. The fate of the cosmos depends on it!

James Unsworth

2011-01-14T16:49:00.000-08:00

"I live in the middle of London"

"I grew up in Liverpool and as a teenager smoked lots of weed."

"I work best at night."

"I read Science Fiction and I also spend a lot of time in nightclubs."

There is so much of this type of illustration in the world that it's tempting to write it all off as nothing more than "more of that scrawly grotesque Shrigley-ish shit", well, it's tempting for me anyway, because I'm a bit jaded.

Anyway, one of those ubiquitous Don't Panic posters showed up when I was clearing out some old boxes of stuff 'n' junk. The one with James Unsworth's name on it almost went in the bin before I'd read his name.

I'm glad I did read his name now, and then google it. His stuff is mind boggling. I don't know if it's the common motifs like the maximalist, psychedelic pen-line elements or what that makes me almost cringe at seeing 'more' of this kind of stuff everywhere (exhibit A), but on closer inspection I am often left feeling like a fool for being so quick to judge. It might just be the doodle-factor. There is a readable kind of rawness to this type of drawing, I think, like you can plainly see the oodles of blase, unconcerned talent just sitting there, dribbling all over the page, smoking a spliff, listening to weird music and not really giving a toss what you think unless it's something good and you want to pay it to be on your album cover.

Does this 'genre' or style of contemporary illustration have a name? Will it ever? Does it need one? Am I five years too late? Are there already way too many versed practitioners for the movement to even need torchbearers? Is anyone reading this? Should I go to bed? Should I start learning to enjoy drawing again?

http://www.jamesunsworth.com

Here is an interview with James from 2007, which gloriously and matter of factly confirms him (in as much as you (read:I) could possibly gather from a brief interview) as almost exactly the sort of dude in the sort of world that I imagined him to be. Well done him, well done his work, and well done my imagination. What a lovely little love (read:stoned) triangle.

Head... Heart.... Mind.... Exploding.... DANCE DANCE DANCE!!!!!

2011-01-14T12:11:00.000-08:00

.

2010-12-09T19:15:00.000-08:00

Simon Armitage

2010-11-27T14:58:00.000-08:00

The Psychedelic Aliens (Ghana -1971)

2010-11-19T05:30:00.000-08:00

"Like most stories involving aliens this one seems, well, made up. But it really happened. For a few years in the late 60's to early 70's worlds collided and aliens walked among us. And made music. This magical moment lasted for 3 short years producing only 3 releases: 1 - 4 song EP + 2 - 7"s. Today, these 3 original releases are the most sought after and most elusive African funk records. It took Frank Gossner (Voodoofunk.com, Soulpusher, DJ Franco) 4 years, 9 visits to Ghana, and dozens of newspaper ads and radio announcements to track them down. Psycho African Beat is the complete recorded output of this amazing group and their unprecedented music that combined elements of American soul, funk, garage rock and psych with African rhythms and melodies." - http://www.undergroundhiphop.com

Thanks are due to The Wire Magazine [ http://www.thewire.co.uk/articles/5392/ ] for turning me onto this absolutely incredible band. The track in thewire.co.uk podcast is even better than this one, in my opinion. Here's the only song of theirs on youtube. Amazing stuff.

Flo

2010-11-10T13:56:00.000-08:00

Florence Poppy Deary is another one of the highly valued Awkward staples. Flo is currently a student of Illustration at the University of Brighton. She has had brilliant work in both of the issues of Awkward magazine that have been published so far. If I have my way there'll be more than one piece of her's in issue 3, which is currently struggling to come together in its own inimitably snail's paced fashion.

Here is the tiny snippet of her stuff that she showed me earlier this afternoon -

SMELL from Florence Poppy Deary on Vimeo.

Amazing Amiga animation

2010-11-01T04:26:00.000-07:00

.

2010-10-26T10:36:00.000-07:00

Budget Cuts

2010-10-21T06:41:00.000-07:00

Even David Shrigley is getting serious.

R.A.W play

2010-09-23T18:36:00.000-07:00

The Internet Is Watching

2010-09-22T14:04:00.000-07:00

- Awkward (12/09/10) -

"...The email inbox for Awkward Magazine tends, for the most part, to stay relatively static... I have to admit that I rather like it this way, for instance I'm yet to receive one electronic prank call telling me that my bank account has been awarded 7 Million Pounds..."

- Mr Jerry Ntai (13/09/10) -

"MR.JERRY NTAI.

MEVAS BANK
QUEEN`S ROAD
CENTRAL BRANCH,
HONG KONG.

Good Day,

Please kindly accept my apology for sending you this email without your consent. I believe you are a highly respected personality, considering the fact that I sourced your email from the peoples search database on the web during my discrete search for a foreign partner whom can assist me in taking this business to it success.Though, I do not know to what extent you are familiar with events. I have a proposal for you.This however is not mandatory nor will I in any manner compel you to honor against your will, but I hope you will read on and consider the value I offer.

My name is Mr. Jerry Ntai,I am the Head of Operations in Mevas Bank, Hong Kong. I have a business proposal in the tune of $22,700,000.00 to be transferred to an offshore account with your assistance if willing.After the successful transfer, we shall share inratio of 40% for you and 60% for me. Should you be interested, please respond to my letter immediately,so we can commence all arrangements and I will give you more information on the project and how we would handle it.

You can contact me on my private email:
( mrjerryntai101@yahoo.com.hk )
and send me the following information
for documentation purpose:

(1)Full name:
(2)Private phone number:
(3)Current residential address:
(4)Occupation:
(5)Age and Sex:

I look forward to hearing from you.

Kind Regards,
Mr Jerry Ntai"

Ha!

Parenthood

2010-09-22T10:45:00.000-07:00

Lucy Barfoot

2010-09-16T04:26:00.000-07:00

Is quite funny

Man face travelling at the speed of light from Lucy Barfoot on Vimeo.

http://lucybarfoot.blogspot.com/

High Fashion

2010-09-07T07:51:00.001-07:00

"...everyone's gonna die sooner or later. That's why I love cigarettes sooo much."

Harmony Korine's films have always been the subject of much hyperbole. He is a very interesting character who makes highly accomplished, consistently confounding work, but I'm going to resist the temptation to try and encapsulate what it is he does in those films right now though. I'd just spew a load of tired old pejoratives anyway . That said, his 1997 film Gummo touched me in a way that I had never been touched by a film before. It felt like something reached into my chest and spat on my heart. It felt good.

This new offering is some sort of promotional film for some vaguely insincere sounding fashion designer guys called Proenza Schuler. It makes me feel very strange to watch it with the nagging insistency somewhere in the back of my thoughts that "This is explicitly endorsing something. If I like this, it is tantamount to liking and being prepared to buy that other thing... whatever it is."

This is a shallow view. But it's my view.

I don't want to buy anything. I want to know what it's like for other people to be alive and I want to see artwork that's about that longing... ideally. So that's what I try and see when I watch this... easy for me to say though eh? sitting here in my Levis jeans, typing away on my Apple Macbook.

Psychedelic Garage Rock all the way from Zambia - 1975

2010-09-04T07:08:00.001-07:00

Found by Javena.

Cross Pollination

2010-08-18T09:31:00.000-07:00

The email inbox for Awkward Magazine tends, for the most part, to stay relatively static. I get the odd email from industrious artist friends like Carl Gent and Ian Pons Jewell about their exciting new projects and exhibitions, as well the occasional bona fide submission for the zine, but for the most part the communicative landscape remains fairly barren. I have to admit that I rather like it this way, for instance I'm yet to receive one electronic prank call telling me that my bank account has been awarded 7 Million Pounds, a transaction that simply requires an email reply containing the actual details of said account, plus full name, home address and birthdate for completion. The relative inactivity of the account also means that all and any correspondences are met with full care and attention, which makes events like today's all the more joyful.

I received an email this morning containing one simple question; had I heard of AWKWARD: A Detour by Mary Cappello???

I hadn't, but a quick look at the author's website made me glad that I now had.

If you're interested, have a look for yourself at www.awkwardness.org

While admittedly this fanzine's content bears only an abstracted relation to its title, the eloquence Mary Cappello is using to relate her chosen subject can only help to bolster the understanding of what it is that we - Awkward Magazine - are trying to do here. I mean, Awkward (the zine) could have gone in lots of different ways. It could quite easily have turned into a comedy routine; a juxtapositional exercise in the jolt of incongruous collage; an account of its various authors' most self-conscious moments. What I happily think that it has actually become is something far harder to categorize, something like a collection of works that each don't quite fit, but are fitted, together, in some sheets of paper, and delivered to your door, for a reason that none of the involved parties quite understand in its entirety. It's this edge of understanding and comfort that I guess is the most important thing as far as Awkward is concerned. I get the impression that Mary Cappello's effort is something of a tidier, more eloquent, professional affair, being a series of memoirs and historical layers, you know, like a real proper book like wat an aktual orfar as rit, but envy aside, I really hope that there is some kinship somewhere in there somewhere between the two namesakes.

(You'll notice that I've tried to write this post as if I know how to use language like an adult. This is of course in case she reads it. Think I've pulled it off?)

Anyway, in order to reestablish the status quo here, I think it's time for this week's youtube hit.

Ha!

Pontus Alv

2010-08-04T02:38:00.000-07:00

This post is about one of my favourite skateboarders of all time. His name is Pontus Alv and he is a glorious weirdo from Sweden. He's one of those (dare I say it?) neo-mythical human beings with the will, the ability, the passion, the drive and the balls to make his indelible mark on the world and then stand proudly beside it in the full light of the endless daytime that is contemporary media.

In 2005 he released a skateboard video called The Strongest Of The Strange and I'm going to soliloquize my arse off about it right now, so skip to the end if you're prone to boredom and temporary brain death.

I went to art school and studied video art for three years. I sat through silent 2 hour Stan Brakhage films and I am still deeply in love with many of the things I saw, the experiences I had and the thoughts that I thought I thought during that period of intense revelation, experimentation and aesthetic awakening. It may sound arrogant but the reason I mention that stuff is because to me that's where TSOTS belongs, up there with the best there is. Now I'm not saying I'm right and I'm not saying that Pontus' film has the grace, concentration or esquisitely distilled quality of a Brakhage or of a John Smith or of a Maya Deren piece, but what I am saying is that it is really, really, really good. The Strongest Of The Strange isn't necessarily about process in the same way as much of the great, cannonical video and film work of the recent past. Instead it is a film about being alive and doing what you love. At the end of the day it is 'just' a skateboard video, and as such it also belongs 'down there' with your home movies, with the camera phone clips of drunk adolescent friends jumping into bushes, with the crappy iMovie edits you made at sixth form college. Of course it also belongs alongside the boundlessly beautiful video your parents shot at the hospital the day you came into the world, you know, the one where your Dad furtively wipes a tear from his eye as he gets nudged into frame. This synthesis of relation, or synergy of belonging, or cross pollination of genre, or whatever you choose to call it is part of, but not the whole reason why I feel so enamoured by Pontus' skateboard films. He includes so much of himself in the work that it becomes impossible not to judge him and the video as the same thing. Try emulating that. It's pretty fucking difficult. I think the real trick might be to remain relentlessly naked, honest and aspirational about what it is that you mean to the things, the people and the spaces around you, and to keep on doing that every single day. It's no mean feat and translating it into moving image is a whole other kettle of fish, but I'd venture to say that when you get it right, you'll know, because it feels almost exactly the same as waking up from a dream where all of your best friends were around you. The only major difference with video is that it is drawn from time and posited in potentially infinite different times, and spaces, in lots of different somewhere elses, where it sits waiting in binary form for any old Joe to come along and extract the contents, either whole or piecemeal, from inside its digital capsule, sucking what they please into their day, or their night, whenever, wherever, whyever they choose, setting it apart from the way in which we each experience each other's human times... as people, rather than as representative codes of 1's and 0's... depending on how and why and where and when you look at it... but I'm getting lost.

TSOTS is low brow and high brow. It's got this kind of foetal afterglow. If you're a real intellectual, like I so wish to become sometimes, then you should probably hate it. I mean, Charles Bukowski is just too much for a lot of serious people right? But fuck them. They don't know what they're talking about. They only know what they're going to talk about next. It's different.

This youtube clip is of Bukowski-aholic, questionably talented poet, heavily tattoed antihero type and undeniably forceful skateboarder Scott Bourne. It is his featured section from TSOTS, a potion of which is set again one of my favourite songs by Leonard Cohen. I personally think that the introductory sequence is among the best moments in the entire film.

Pontus' new video is called In Search Of The Miraculous. It is in all good skateshops now and can also be bought directly from Pontus himself at insearchofthemiraculous.se

I haven't seen the new film yet but early accounts are very, very, very good. I suggest you buy it and put some hard earned Euros into the hands of someone who deserves the support, but hey, don't listen to me, I'm just a guy who gives a shit.

Phillip Glass -Geometry of Circles - Sesame Street 1979

2010-07-27T16:08:00.000-07:00

Real

2010-07-19T17:38:00.000-07:00

Christopher Wallace.

Chavs on pills

2010-07-19T11:44:00.001-07:00

When they're not busy calling you a mincer, robbing fivers out of their granny's purse, shoplifting from JD Sports and watching everything on TV, most 'chavs', 'neds', 'townies' or whatever you choose to call them are upholding different, wider stereotypes, like the ones about drugs and 'magic', the bliss of idiocy and the feeling that we've all been helplessly at the mercy of a vast and very confusing universe since the moment we were born.

Aside from all that pretentious shit though I like this video because walking home wasted out of your face in the misty morning is a truly important thing.

"What happens in the meadow at dawn?"

Corporate murder demonstration in a wipe-clean castle

2010-07-17T12:14:00.001-07:00

Don't you just love the crunch of blood-free bones? There's no guilt, no expensive and inconvenient legal proceedings, no mess, no panic and no need to claim self-defense when all you get caught doing is simultaneously hacking in half a couple of drained pig carcasses in a hygienic, sales based environment! You can even take the time to adjust your protective eyewear before plunging the enormous razor sharp phallus like an ornamental knife through warm butter deep into the skull of the large sow you've ergonomically stapled to a brand new wooden post. Luxury incarnate.

"This is why you buy a Great Sword, because you can make those HUGE cuts through flesh and bone like that... you put one of these by your front door and you're going to be a power to reckon with! NO ONE is going to be able to take advantage of you when you have a Great Sword in your house, built by Cold Steel."

The salesman repeatedly spears the disembodied bonnet of a family car with the 4ft long object d'art.

"...and THAT's what the Great Sword is all about... deep penetration..."

The cowboy boots filled with meat, the brutal skull fucking of the bleached horse head and the double swine decapitation are my personal highlights.

What's wrong with these people?

God bless America.

Decoder

2010-07-10T06:23:00.001-07:00

The video embedded in this probably quite laborious post comes from the original soundtrack for the 1984 film Decoder, a low budget cult affair featuring cameo appearances by the late William S. Burroughs and musician/transgenderist Genesis P. Orridge. The film is beautiful in a raw, industrio-psychedelic fashion. Both of the big cameos give pretty weird, awkward performances but it's worth watching all the same... like a decent Ballardian B-movie. It's apparently based around or 'inspired by' Burroughs's ideas about sonic virology, a concept first outlined in his seminal publication on the subversive potentialities of sound and technology, Electronic Revolution (1970). The book contains (amongst other things) ideas about the 'language virus' itself, Burroughs's cut-up method and the use of sound recording and the human voice as weapons. Richard Kirk from industrial avant-garde band Cabaret Voltaire sights Electronic Revolution as "a handbook of how to use tape recorders in a crowd … to promote a sense of unease or unrest by playback of riot noises cut in with random recordings of the crowd itself."

Steve Goodman is variously known as Professor of Musicology at The University of East London, label boss of underground U.K dance music giant Hyperdub, acclaimed electronic music producer Kode9 and as the author of a fascinating philosophical treatise entitled Sonic Warfare (MIT Press, 2009). As Goodman terms it; we are today dealing with the dynamics and application of 'affective tonalities in the Industrial-Entertainment Complex' and 'the politics of frequency itself'. These are the kinds of ideas that Decoder sets against a backdrop of hyper-capitalist industry, impending spiritual apocalypse and ineffable individual isolation. I liked the film; the textures it deliverd, the mood it created, its lack of compromise and it's luscious low-fi, made-in-a-blacked-out-garage feel. As a student of the more subversive arts however, it disappointed me in a couple of quite important ways. Firstly, I fell asleep at least once. While this may well be 100% my fault and is certainly 100% my problem, it wasn't just my lack of zest that set me to dozing I don't think. The pretentiousness of the narrative sincerity became quite boring after a while, especially as most of the acting was so dismally guarded. The reliance on narrative in and of itself betrays a lack of conviction in the ideas that the narrative here pursues, specifically Burroughs's ideas about cut-up techniques and true deconstruction/reconstruction - to coin a phrase from Doctor T. Leary, 'pyschic imprinting' - which seem better suited to writing, musical production and more formally experimental forms of the still and moving image than to narrative cinema per se. Decoder did make me feel uneasy ; it succeeded in temporarily breaking down some of my preconditioned responses to social taboos, as well as those of my own subjectivity... but I wasn't in a crowd, and I never felt quite uneasy enough. What I think I'm trying to suggest is that the narrative form itself acted as something of a buffer against existential experience proper, keeping psychic activity just beyond arm's reach.

The editing, brutalist aesthetics and hyper-diegetic sound design were all pretty abrasive, satisfying some of the lust for sensory overload the viewer may or may not have been predisposed to. There is a prolonged Dreammachine sequence for example; a self-hypnosis tool propounded by many a transcendentalist artist, including not insignificantly Burrough's long term partner in crime Brion Gysin, as well as by Genesis P. Orridge and the cohorts of Throbbing Gristle in the U.K in the 1970s and 80s.

The soundtrack is possibly the strongest thing about Decoder, although there are definitely some really "cool" scenes in the film. About twenty minutes in for instance, once the angst and isolation of the weirdo-protagonist have been fertilized and the fruits of rebellion begun to blossom. A mesmerizingly pretentious scene takes place wherein the junky-chic, deadpan beauty, peep show starlet girlfriend of the male lead delivers a soliloquy about the symbolic significance of the frog in the spiritual languages of the ancient world.

"I read that they're a symbol of fertility or the amniotic fluid. For the Mayans they symbolized the vagina: Mucho."

He yawns.

Cutting between the two faces, we see the pair each on the phone, one in blue light, one in green.

"Got a light?" he says.

A cigarette lighter enters from left of screen and a two-shot reveals the couple in their shared apartment room, situated like pop videos in poised pose. They've both got dark glasses on and there are frogs lolling around all over the floor, the silver futon, and the girl...

Despite my fairly directionless criticisms, it's not hard to imagine some-where, some-time, some suitably weird scenes in and outside of cinema screenings of this film. Ultimately though I'm left wanting to compare Decoder unfavourably to David Cronenberg's superb 1991 adaptation of Burroughs's famous novel Naked Lunch. The key differential is that where Decoder attempts to insert theories of Ontological Anarchy and Poetic Terrorism into a risque, cool, dirty movie, Cronenberg's Naked Lunch instead takes the 'Art' of Burroughs and emblazons it in masterfully onto controlled celluloid. Maybe that's an unfair comparison, like pitting a spirited bare-knuckle gypsy against a zen master in a game of chess boxing, but as Oscar Wilde spake through the mouth of Lord Henry, "comparisons are odious".

Sung by Linda McCartney

2010-07-06T02:49:00.000-07:00

But mostly I just like the pictures.

Slutty

2010-07-04T10:38:00.000-07:00

Awkward lives! Work is commencing on Issue 3.
Expect good things, bad things, good words about bad things, bad photos of good things and bad words about bad things.

Someone asked me earlier this week what clothes I would wear if I was a girl. Unhesitatingly I replied "PVC trousers". It was one of those things you say that elicits a quick giggle but over time reveals itself to have come straight from the heart.

Folk II - Issue 2 Launch Party

2010-06-22T17:22:00.000-07:00

Z-Box loved every single second of everything.

There was some seriously high class catering and equally high class arty-farty conversation going on outside

Matt wasn't pissed in the slightest

There were smoking hot, steaming drunk girls everywhere

This guy

And lest we forget, William "DJ Dickie Darkside" Darkin, who pretty much saved the fucking day; providing apparently the only fully functional mixing desk in East London, projecting weird visuals all night, connecting pretty much every cable in the world to some electronic device or other, rolling spliffs, getting drunk out of his face, dancing like the Energiser Bunny, playing a really good dj set and helping to put everything back together again the next day. Thanks Will.

Here's a picture of some guy swearing and probably playing something loud.

(Available for dinner parties, orgies, barbeques and weddings. Ring Terry Trotter on 0800 Love-Lumps)

(photos by Max Mallen)

This is the last load of photos from the Awkward Issue 2 launch party. I feel like I'm milking it a bit already actually.

It was a shit load of fun and thanks a million to everyone who helped make it happen and to everyone who came along. Now if you could please buy the bloody zine because I forgot to make them available for sale at the launch party after having gathered probably dozens of potentially interested customers. I regret that. Jack Carr, quite good at writing dialogue, very bad at selling things. I think the magazine might actually be really really good as well, so there's another reason to at least stay in touch.

See you next time.

Lakes Delay - Issue 2 Launch Party

2010-06-22T17:01:00.001-07:00

James Carnes aka Lakes Delay played his filthy guts out. Eternal thanks.

The best-looking-groupie-on-the-block award went to Julie Beauchamp.

And I'd love to say that this was the sweat James worked up playing his set, which culminated in some unprecedented aggressive banana eating, but as true as that last bit is, I think he's sweating so much here because we'd all just been loosing our minds and shaking our asses to an hour of sweet, deep, earth shaking 80's dancehall and digital reggae thanks to the talented Luke Branston aka Cool Hand Luke, who incidentally appeared on the front cover of Awkward Issue 1.... fascinating. Luke is seriously the best DJ ever and in my opinion put pretty much everyone else to shame on the wheels of steel. Nice one boss.

(photos by Max Mallen)

Folk I - Issue 2 Launch Party

2010-06-22T15:26:00.010-07:00

Here's me and Ian Pons Jewell looking..... awkward. Ian is one of those multi-talented people that make you feel lazy and crap at everything. I like having him around. Check out Ian's illustrated short story Soulcrunt in Awkward Issue 2, and have a peep at some of his quite frankly amazing video work over at murmurfilm.blogspot.com

Alex Milnes was there, playing all kinds of ridiculous shit as the percussionist/keyboard dude for The Old Dolphin Brigade. Alex has got two wonderful photographs in Awkward Issue 2, so buy the bloody thing and put a smile on that scrumptious little face.

Ben and Emma supplied the wicked (ware)house, about a hundred guests, a lovely, open atmosphere, 4 or 5 djs, after-party cleaning services, as well as their beautiful selves and all they got in return was this lousy blog post... oh and a short term loan of the fabled Kazoogle. The party was also in celebration of Emma's birthday as well as a launching pad for Awkward, a a fact which was largely overlooked in keeping with the distinct lack of 'magazine launching'. I think it's safe to say that everyone was far too busy enjoying themselves. Thanks guys.

Singer, sitarist extraordinare, blossoming fine artist and band leader with The Old Dolphin Brigade Carl Gent helped to kick off the evening with a pzzzchangwaaaaaaa-laaaAAA, setting the tone perfectly. The Old Dolphin Brigade played a fantastic and truly memorable set. They sounded like the inside of a toy box at night when the toys come to life and play at being The Monks doing a gig in the middle of the Gobi Desert.

You can follow Carl's numerous projects at www.carlgent.com... if you like. You wont regret it, he's like a real artist or something, whatever that means.

Sergio got pretty fucking wasted after this photo was taken. He spent at least twenty minutes staring at the rain on a tree. Thanks for showing up dude.

And guest of honour, Toby Dyter, who made it all the way down from Halifax. I came across Toby as he was about to fall asleep on a grass verge with his huge feet hanging off the end and a 5 liter bottle of water at his side. I'm sure there's a passage somewhere in Zarathustra that relates to that sequence of events, but you'd have to ask him yourself.

(photos by Max Mallen)

Rosie - Issue 2 Launch Party

2010-06-21T04:23:00.001-07:00

Behind all that hair and sweat and other fun stuff is Awkward contributor Rosemary Kirton.

Rosie has been on board since day one and I have her artistic fervour to thank in no small part for the continuation of the zine.

Some new work of Rosie's will undoubtedly feature somewhere in Issue 3, which is coming soon to a collapsing, piss stained magazine pile next to a toilet near you!

Currently in the works is a cartoon strip collaboration with distressingly talented painter and illustrator Ryan Humphrey (http://drawingasquare.blogspot.com). I was introduced to Ryan's work at the recent Fine Art graduation show in Farnham at The University for the Creative Arts, where I was instantly seduced by it's simplicity, skillfulness and gallons of style. Definitely one to watch.

(photo by Alex Milnes)

Andy - Issue 2 Launch Party

2010-06-21T04:09:00.000-07:00

A couple of weekends ago we all got together and had a bloody great big fucking party for the launch of Issue 2.

Andrew Ferguson made a fine fine poster,

played drums for The Old Dolphin Brigade and was just generally on fine fine form all night

what a dirty little diggler

He topped off the evening drumming up a storm in the street outside his house across the road from the party at 4 o clock in the morning.

Action Shot!

Posers, leave the hall

2010-06-09T06:32:00.000-07:00

(Jack)

Tickled

2010-06-02T02:19:00.000-07:00

This is just about perfect if you ask me, which you didn't.

And one more for luck because they're fucking brilliant

(Jack)

Louise Bourgeois (25th December 1911 - 31st May 2010)

2010-05-31T17:15:00.000-07:00

A great artist died today. If you're not already familiar with her work, now would be as good a time as any to acquaint yourself.
Rest in peace Louise.

Dustin (LISTER)

2010-05-29T02:13:00.000-07:00

(Jack)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=96JKnzZvS_0

2010-05-28T09:58:00.000-07:00

Youtube recommended this video to me today.
It makes me feel sick. I really really hate it.
It made me look around the internet for what the phobia of corpses is called. Or the personification of Death. but it's none of those things. Not putrefaction itself, but the personification of our fear and denial of it, popping up out of the ground where we tried to hide it, insolent and terrible, and doing a repugnant little dance.

hugs and kisses
Javena

Meara Oreilly - Chladni Salt Song

2010-05-25T11:19:00.000-07:00

Chladni Singing from meara o'reilly on Vimeo.

From the fantastic www.booooooom.com

(Jack)

A Review by Samson Blond

2010-05-20T17:03:00.000-07:00

Awkward Issue 2 -

Awkward is a book project comprised of short stories, images and little experiences that happen inside and outside the heads of the makers. What seems to be the idea behind the project is to create a collision of works, but not to have a unique theme involved. In some ways this can create difficulties in consistence and follow-ability in reading and viewing. This was seen in the previous issue, but not so much in this issue. There have been critical choices made for the Awkward audience, but how have these choices been made without a theme or context?
The direction seems to be purely a force exerted by the act of collection, the way the choices are made is curatorial rather than editorial, or like a writer working on the flow and sequence of the words rather than just the polemic. The point is not encased in themes or just one piece of work. Its point is made by its entirety, though it does seem to have two principles running through it; imagination and narrative. The way the collection is laid out seems to be much like a conventional catalogue from an exhibition, which can give a flow to the audience's thought if done well enough. In Awkward, the layout choice does give clarity to each work and does not create a feeling of being overwhelming to the viewer or singling out individual pieces of work. The idea of narrative is being used here in terms of the layout; to create a dialogue between the imaginations at work and to show a correlation or confliction of expressions effectively.
The principle of imagination is seen heavily in the majority of works. What is meant by imagination here, are those grand or epic depictions of the unbelievable that will stay unbelievable. These stories are not ‘lived’ in today's societies but some stories show the fine line between real and unreal by overlapping them. These stories do require you to use your imagination or to be a part of the writer’s, illustrators or the photographer’s imagination.
What is refreshing to see is that these tales are ‘written’ with such compulsion, that even though they are obviously budding writers, they are still able to reach into you and take you somewhere else.
This is only the second issue and so it is hard to say where it could go from here, but so far so good. In some ways this not a magazine, a fanzine or booklet but a notebook made by many people.

(Samson Blond)

2010-05-04T06:56:00.000-07:00

(rosemeeee)

Awkward Issue 2 available now

2010-04-29T16:09:00.002-07:00

Hello.

150 copies of Awkward Issue 2 were sitting on my dinner table in a nice square cardboard box when I got home from work about 10 minutes ago.

I'm nervous about letting them out into the world.
I'm nervous because I'm exposing myself.
I'm nervous because I don't know what I'm doing.
I'm nervous because I put a poem of mine in there that makes me sweat with embarrassment.
I'm nervous because I really do care what you think, although I know I probably shouldn't.

"Art should be imaginative, not authoritative - kill that fearful and mawkish voice inside you that disallows poetry!" - as my very good friend Toby Dyter said to me only yesterday.

So then, Awkward Issue 2 is available as of right now. Containing documentation of the brain farts of the following fine folks:

Jane Isaac
Franciska Waskiewicz
Jack Carr
Rosemary Kirton
Andrew Carlin
Ben Powell
Alexander Milnes
Florence Poppy Deary
Javena Rahamantya Wilkinson
Andrea Kearney
Toby Dyter
Gene Limbrick
Ian Pons Jewell
Samson Blond
and
Ashleigh Marsh

If you'd like one, simply send £2.75 via paypal to trustthedarkmen@hotmail.com and don't forget to add the address you'd like your copy sent to.
Get in touch about paying through any other channels, or indeed with any other currency.

Thanks,
Jack

Bliss

2010-04-29T16:09:00.001-07:00

As unlikely as it may seem, there does actually exist an even more enchanting version of this wonderful song, somewhere deep in my friend Luke Branston's collection of rare and excellent reggae records. Both you and I will have to make do with this youtube version for now though, because you can bet your house on the fact that he won't let anyone touch it.

(Jack)

Chaos

2010-04-29T16:07:00.001-07:00

(Jack)

.

2010-04-23T12:41:00.001-07:00

(Jack)

faithful representation

2010-04-13T09:43:00.000-07:00

The Sun Ra Arkestra, Directed by Marshal Allen - All Tomorrow's Parties, December 2009

(Javena Wilkinson)

John Rattray, the thinking man's professional skateboarder

2010-04-12T15:06:00.001-07:00

Day in LA from friendlyfire on Vimeo.

A short clip there from the es footwear website. Featuring John Rattray, Clint Peterson, Mike Manzoori, Keegan Sauder and Rick McCrank skateboarding on a miniaturised skateboarding jump-pipe.
John Rattray is like J.G Ballard, Aristotle and someone else clever all rolled up into one agile, sporting personage. Quite possibly my favourite british skateboarder of all time.
Enjoy!

(Jack)

We Are Here: The Pale Blue Dot

2010-04-12T06:37:00.000-07:00

We Are Here: The Pale Blue Dot from dmahr on Vimeo.

(Gene Limbrick)

Collaborations or guest posts or something like that

2010-04-11T04:45:00.000-07:00

I've taken the appropriate measures and now you can expect some postings on here from some of your best loved Awkward contributors.

Jack

Homorhetoric

2010-04-10T15:23:00.000-07:00

(Rosemary Kirton)

"Welcome to yesterday on the internet. Ha."

2010-04-09T07:40:00.001-07:00

The Church Of The Eternal Void - Excerpt #1

2010-04-08T20:15:00.000-07:00

"Work is only ever the organization of natural, unprofitable chaos into some semblance of function-able, control-able, tame-able order..."

Ebert tried telling himself this as he watched the world around him contract, shrinking ever-steadily towards an existence comprised entirely of one bed, a sweaty dressing gown and a window, wherever he happened to be.

"Is the whole world in every room? Fuuck, I wish I'd never tried to read any philosophy."

He thought about Martin Creed... specifically he thought about an utterly incredulous display he'd witnessed once on youtube. It was as if 'The Artist' had taken a stupid-pill for effect... the effect of appearing stupid.

"Why would someone do that?"

Creed's words, when written on a page, and occasionally the warm way in which he was prone to speaking about nothingness and somethingness, had comforted Ebert in the past, but his memory of this video was a painful one. It was like the artist had become ensnared in a trap of his own making; having to appear as stupid as possible all the time in order to authenticate his 'simple' works. To insinuate some ungraspable profundity he would fein dumbfoundedness in the face of ideas as complex as "people make art." In the end though, he just seemed dumb. 'Stupid'. At least that's what Ebert thought as he tried and failed to get out of bed.

Bad sound : good noise

2010-04-03T06:41:00.000-07:00

I went and saw Until The Light Takes Us the other week in a cinema full of metalheads and hipsters in Dalston. It was a confusing, conflicted experience, but the film was pretty good I suppose. Lots of people laughed in some really worrying places, as well as in some of the right ones. Highlights (a little thin on the ground and definitely peppered atop a thick undercoat of 'rubbish', 'filler' and 'bad footage') included Varg generally talking in a flawed but stridently philosophical/still appropriately angsty manner about the whole thing and Fenriz talking on the phone to a music journalist about the lyrics from his new album, about techno music and about how you should just kill yourself - a conversation bookmarked perfectly at the end with a "yeah, so, fucking great, goodbye!" *hangs up phone*

Champion Chumpington

2010-04-02T05:45:00.000-07:00

Yeah, so this is like a self promotion exercise. I really want you to give me £2 cos I want you to read my writing and think I'm really great and like, tell your little sister I'm soooooo dreamy so she can think of me when she's in the bath.

Its pretty hard to hit the right tone with this blog. I mean, what do people want to hear? What do I want to say? Is anyone reading? Do I hate the internet? Do I just hate myself? Do I hate everyone else? Why am I still talking?

Being a 'writer' seems so ridiculous at any time other than when you are writing something. This stuff - writing about writing - doesn't seem to count. Its a strange sensation. All I really want to share is my self doubt, but what the hell is the point of that? No one wants to hear it, not even me. But here I am, being all reflexive and talking about talking like a bewildered, narcissistic knob.

Anyway. Blogs are useless. I might delete this thing... but I probably won't

A Very Dense Text

2010-02-11T07:31:00.001-08:00

Another

2010-01-19T20:42:00.000-08:00

...while I'm here...

Some strange opposite of being marooned on a rock in the digital ocean

2010-01-19T20:05:00.001-08:00

I've been stranded with no internet access at home for fucking ages.

1 hour a day in Hackney Central library is hardly even enough time to notice that the young muslim guy sitting next to me has been casually browsing hardcore porn the whole time.

I don't own a scanner. Every time I scan something in in the library, something strange happens to the file and all that's there on my memory stick when I get home is an infuriating conflagration of chinese characters and an image that despite being there and having an icon all of its own, apparently has a file size of 0kb. For some reason I have taken it upon myself to repeat this pointless exercise 3 times.

On the up side, spending lots of time in public libraries is good for me. I like the people. They smell like life and they all walk differently. Their clothes seem to utter idiosyncratic rhymes about their living rooms and the moods of their pets. I feel privileged to be one of this bony, stinky, oozy rude gang whenever the sensation strikes that I am, in fact, a key member.

I don't have any images to post. This entry is more a page in my diary that I am choosing to share with you, whoever you are. So, for the sake of consistency, here's a new fact about me;

I work (volunteer) in an Oxfam bookshop now in Crouch End. Its nice. I get free books from the recycling pile. If I had a scanner of my own I'd give serious consideration to scanning in the cover of a volume I brought home today from 1984 called,

Pre-Menstrual Syndrome

- DIET AGAINST IT -

your complete self help plan

by Dr Robert C.D Wilson

Underneath this bold red and green text there is a printed photograph of a blonde woman, under ungainly studio lights, very slightly cross-eyed, positioned in front of a heavy brown curtain, smiling, stupidly, like a sea cow and holding a basket of raw broccoli up to her face.

P.S Issue 2 almost ready!

Youtube

2009-12-27T05:08:00.000-08:00

Words can only fail to express how much I adore youtube for bringing clips like these into my life when I have no money to buy records and lack the courage to watch T.V;

... and just as a little side dish, how's this for a youtube comment!?

direfranchement (3 weeks ago)

Reply | Spam

Hartman has my heart forever. No other man sang these standards with as much unpretentious ardor and grace. He renovates a ballad, delivering with an unmatched masculine tenderness, wrapping his marvelous voice around the lyrics and releasing them with an intimacy of intense heat that never scorches but only soothes. This performance exemplifies his mastery of the idiom and the time-defying integrity of his art.

Issue Toooo

2009-12-27T03:14:00.000-08:00

Themes will definitely include, amongst other things; Penises, Demonic Visitation, The Future, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Incest, Penises, Boys on Trains and more... Penises. Start rubbing yourself into a frenzy now, because this is going to be good.

Also, for those lucky plucky few who check this blog, I will be uploading scans of the entire first issue very soon indeed. It would have already been done if not for this weird thing called Christmas and one particularly annoying technical anomaly.

Thanks for making it this far.

Great Men

2009-12-12T08:43:00.000-08:00

I've been aware of Ivor Cutler for a long time now and have always entertained a marvelous idea in my head of who he is and what it means to listen to his songs. His work has crept up on me slowly, like a thought.

I imagine -as is probably the case with many people- that the first time the residue of Mr Cutler's existence entered my life would have been through our dearly departed Mr John Peel's late night show on BBC Radio 1, an organization which in my opinion has never quite been the same since he passed away suddenly in October 2004. Huddled under the blankets with the volume turned down as a young teen, Ivor Cutler's voice would certainly have been one of the multitude of alien sounds settling comfortably into the little nooks and chasms of my developing mind, right next to hardcore german techno and The Fall.

For whatever reason (mostly thanks to Javena Wilkinson and J.Black), Mr Cutler's work has seemed more pertinent to me this week than it has ever done before and so by this rationale I'm now going to post my favorite one of his videos available on youtube. Ivor Cutler sadly passed away just two short years after John Peel, in 2006.

All that remains for me to say is that this is, without question, utterly brilliant.

Old, but young.

2009-11-29T13:36:00.000-08:00

Digging through dusty old boxes of Merlin Premier League sticker albums, ancient Beano annuals, toy cars that change colour when you run them under hot water, plastic Transformers, countless pieces of Queens Park Rangers memorabilia, moth eaten cuddly toys and exercise books from primary school, I came across this entry in my 'General Note Book' from 1996

I don't think my writing style has changed much, and my handwriting certainly hasn't. I think what really caught my attention was the phrase "...God pushed his son over and he fell arms flailing through the clouds to earth (a big ball of earth and grass and trees)..."

"...and he fell arms flailing...", "...earth and grass and trees...".

I still aspire to write sentences like that. I was ten when I wrote that one and I'm not sure if I've ever done any better.

My memory is not the most reliable of instruments at the best of times, but if I push it I think I can remember making that story up. The task must have been to invent your own creation myth and although mine is hardly an original concept, I don't know, I just like it.

If anyone knows better, as in, knows which probably Eastern mythology I have directly paraphrased along side the obvious Christian influence then I'd really like to know.

In other news AWKWARD issue 2 is coming along swimmingly. I'm leaving this little passage from my childhood out so take that as a sign of the quality being left in. Ha.

The Ice Caps Are Melting Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho

2009-11-22T13:27:00.000-08:00

This clip was brought to my attention recently by AWKWARD contributor and friend J. Black. I don't really know what to say about it. I guess J. might because she's cleverer than I am, but unluckily for you, this is what you're reading.

I've tried several times to format this post in a way that makes me feel that I understand what I am doing, or why I am putting this here. Needless to say that I have not yet succeeded.

I don't know if the ice caps really are melting. I'm told that they are and that this is due in no small part to the actions of us feckless little overachievers over the past 200 years, with our boats, planes, cars and computers. I don't know if the human race is really doomed to witness this spectacular apocalypse which it seems zealots of all persuasions are gagging for at the moment.

Somewhere inside myself I think I believe it, but still... call me a fool... the fact remains; I just don't know.

What I can say for certain is that in my eyes Tiny Tim was a great artist. He was also a sad artist, a lonely man and a tragic figure. He lived his life in a way which seemed eerily beyond his control and for this fact alone I guess I'm grateful. Not one of us really knows what's going on, but the least we can do is sing a song because we think its a great song.

I suppose this post in all its insignificance is nothing more and nothing less than a tribute to Tiny Tim, in all his twisted glory.

I think he may be my Michael Jackson.

Mystery

2009-11-22T08:31:00.001-08:00

Who sent me that fucking Dinosaur postcard all those months ago?

My house

2009-11-13T06:40:00.001-08:00

Home developing is a joy

2009-11-08T04:48:00.001-08:00

2009-11-08T04:34:00.000-08:00

A Dream

2009-11-07T14:50:00.000-08:00

Werner Herzog claims that he never dreams in his sleep, only when he is awake. Harmony Korine claims that there is nothing more boring than someone telling you their dreams from the night before in lieu of conversation. Dr. Carl Gustav Jung had other ideas.

With these things in mind, here's something that happened to me today and that I decided to try and write down, for some reason...

...I pop a Valium and quickly swill a large bottle of cider.... Sleep comes rushing and is filled with dreams... On waking intermittently I check my Facebook account and each time find no notifications... I stumble and sway around the empty house, encased in a swamp of comfortably furnished amnesia... Turn on the TV... It registers as a miss...

...I fall back to sleep and my next dream is of a mountain ski resort...

"...Can you slide..?" I'm asked by a vaguely anonymous young woman...

"...Yeah..." I reply...

...My recollection of the preceding scene is unreliable at best, but I think it was a replica of a sequence from the film Into The Wild (Penn, Sean. 2007), wherein the young 'hero' and the wife of his emotionally ailing hippy road-friend cast their clothes off onto the wet beach and lovingly punch and dance into the sea... In my dream it was colder, far less epically liberating and covered in dirty ice...

...By some omnilateral transition we are at the top of the ski slope...

"...Can you slide..?"

"...Yeah..." I reply and bind into a snowboard and boots...

...Sloshing and slicing down the melting piste, naked but for some white underwear, I make it to the bottom...

...The way out - back onto the well worn route that leads to the woodsmoke wood-cabin town - has been shut off for the end of the commercial day's skiing... I come to a halt at the foot of an enormous launch ramp, much bigger than any I have ever jumped from...

...Its not clear whether they have been with me the whole time, but I am now in the company of my father and his second wife B... There is a palpable intoxication in the air...

...A mountain ranger directs us down a pine lined side path and into a kind of large wooden cubicle... We're joined by a host of other high spirited professional types - all drunk and smiling... Cheeks beaming red with whiskey anti-depressants red wine and bought-and-payed-for mountain air... Jokes ensue encased in little reciprocal recitals of improvised songs... rude and witty limericks... Not one individual is off the pace... (I regret now not being able to recall any of the jokes or songs. They really were good) ...B's jokes in particular, her rosy cheeks, lolling head and glassy eyes are affecting, welcome and a catalyst for us all...

...There is a comfortable presence of human fluids, like wet lips going in for a kiss, or tears at a funeral...

...The wooden room is octagonal and partly comprised of polished plate glass windows... All in all it bears more than a slight resemblance to The Great Glass Elevator at the crescendoing moment of Roald Dahl's masterpiece, only this one is distinctly alpine and seems to swing and spiral down through the snow instead of firing up into the heavens...

...One of the skiers in the lift is unmistakably Malcolm MacDowell, red headed and around 35 or 6... His inclusion in the group is indicative of the loose and violent genius of hatred...

...Pine handled knives appear cooly amidst the joviality and it is not long before I awake from the dream - the words "...and then we'll chop their heads off..." reverberating softly in my ears...

Happy Halloween

2009-10-30T17:49:00.000-07:00

Spot the difference.

(This post was made possible by the keen eyes and honesty of Javena Wilkinson)

sorry...

2009-08-30T03:57:00.000-07:00

... to the one person waiting to hear the cassette tape recording, I've kind of dropped the ball on that one a bit. I've been trying to make a video and its proving a bit more difficult than I'd hoped it would be. I just need to sort out some technical lamery like fire wire cables and using my friend's sound recording equipment.

I will put up what I've done when I can because I said that I would and its bad to leave loose ends like that.

Anyway! Things are slowly but very surely coming together for the new issue. I'm waiting on some pieces from a few folks and some charmingly magniloquent individuals have already entrusted me with some superb short story writing, illustrations and photography.

"I love feedaback vewy much."

2009-08-01T13:22:00.000-07:00

And I love you Otomo...

An important adjunct to the overall character of AWKWARD as I see it

has to do with noise and dissonant dissidence in general. If I choose to

flatter myself, as I will right now, the first issue left a slightly metallic

taste in the mouth - a flavour accented by darkness and laced with a

strangely percolated contemptuousness. There has been a distinct lack

of this element so far in the life of this blog. It has been, perhaps, a little soft.

So, in order to reconcile this disparity, I will be using the audio-bearing

capacity of this page to bring you a musical arrangement I have been

working on, made of other people's work and found-sound samples.

This will be appearing in the next couple of days. All I will say is hold

onto your hats. Its a stinger.

Sneaky Peek

2009-07-22T16:47:00.000-07:00

Seeing as I don't think that this photo will translate very well without the colours, but is fucking amazing, I'm going to post it here... now. Its by Andrew Ferguson, a talented young photographic style-monger who will be having some other lovely stuff in AWKWARD issue 2... but that'll be in black & white, so here's one in all its glory

You know how it goes

2009-07-09T15:02:00.000-07:00

So, its been rather quiet around here as of late...

2009-07-08T16:49:00.001-07:00

Here's why.

I mentioned previously that I've been working as an official invigilator of G.C.S.E and A Level exams at a local school.

During these exams, you (the invigilator) are not allowed to do anything. I mean really, nothing. One may not read, talk, sing, dance, sleep, shit, cry, fornicate, masticate or masturbate. One may not even leave the room to urinate until the exam is over and all papers have been collected and accounted for.

Quite obviously this leads to intense and prolonged sensations of boredom and frustration.

Thankfully I'm in the habit of doodling and so I'm happy to report that in this regard if in no other my experience at the job was not entirely worthless.

Here are a couple of doodles:

The Invigilator's Colleague

The Invigilator Himself

p.s. anyone reading this who has even fleetingly considered submitting work for AWKWARD, please... umm... do it. Also email me if you would like to be given an explicit brief to work to, some people have said that this would be helpful.

Thanks.

So good...

2009-06-22T08:42:00.000-07:00

The drama teacher in heaven.

2009-06-07T07:49:00.000-07:00

Here's a preliminary report of content either already gathered or in the works for AWKWARD issue 2:

- Sublimely suggestive photography from the tender tendrils of Amelia Anderson, who is currently residing somewhere in the high hills of China, probably taking pictures that will make you cry.

Here's a small sample of some of Amelia's work to whet your whistle;

No Face

Untitled

- An interview with my favorite contemporary Norwegian oil painter Charlotte Jonsmyr. Readers can expect the conversation to span subjects in equal parts obscure, disturbing, erotic, retarded, anti-ecclesiastical and of course painterly. Image samples of Charlotte's superb work will be ready and waiting for your sordid gaze.

- At least one beautiful and complex pen illustration by Florence Poppy Deary of AWKWARD issue 1 and 'that-girl-that-works-at-the-Cobbet' fame.

- A second cartoon strip contribution from borderline arch-angel and pioneer of fledgling breathing technique Tai Chi Accordian - Toby Dyter. Early reports suggest that the cartoon may or may not revolve around ideas involving The Reverend Thomas Robert Malthus, fleas and hedgehogs.... no, I cannot wait to read that either!

- Something or other from beglittered sculpture artist Carl Gent, whose recent installation The Universe Is Poisonous provoked many a bemused and fascinated onlooker to stop and ponder the very air they were breathing (between gulps of free wine) at the recent UCCA Farnham degree show. The piece itself consisted of a rusty wire cage, about the size of a giant victorian wardrobe, wherein a small flock of bright yellow canaries were lightly fluttering in that delicate, palpitating manner that is common only to very small birds and mice. The floor of the cage was covered in a sprawling array of shoddily constructed cardboard replicas of the sites of human tragedy - I could only really make out the twin towers, some sort of earth quake and the Titanic. With all that in mind, its Carl's cosmically evocative written work that we shall be focusing on in AWKWARD issue 2.

- Shit-loads more amazing stuff.

Thanks for making it this far,

Jack.

Unrelated

2009-06-07T07:37:00.000-07:00

Uprooted from the depths of Youtube by the enigmatic Javena Wilkinson;

My extremely frail memory is telling me that this was first played to me by Luke Branston about 4 years ago. Luke was the first person to ever say the words 'Ethiopian Jazz' to me. Unfortunately I was smoking far too much weed at the time to remember the names of any of the remarkable artists he played to us in the back of another friend's rusty hatchback, but I'm pretty certain that this guy, Tamrat Moller, must have been one of them.

This song sends tickles down my spine that flourish throughout my entire body as flowers whose pollen acts as the greatest cure for a paranoid drug hangover since the dawn of man.

Home Sphere

2009-06-01T12:02:00.000-07:00

So, I'm starting a Blog!

Call your mum and let her know, she's going to love it.

Basically the first issue of AWKWARD has been a measured success with almost all of the first print run of 80 copies having been sold, traded for pleasantries or other zines and in one very special case swapped for a set of earplugs.

I'm constantly looking for stuff for the future issues and am currently preparing some briefs for people to possibly work to. PLEASE DON'T HESITATE TO GET IN TOUCH IF YOU WANT TO GET INVOLVED!

In monetary terms its just about broken even. In other less quantitive measures I feel like I've just spent a couple of hours talking to Osho. And no, I don't really know exactly what that means, but check out his fucking watch!

Also I'm pleased to say that I've had some really positive feedback and one puzzlingly aggressive assault of a review from one of my very best, closest and most trusted friends, which I'm still trying to decode. The latter message came complete with one of the most appalling photographs of myself that I have ever seen, taken abound 8 months ago by the friend in question. For reasons unknown, I've put it up there, look, up there, at the top, that's me that is...

"This is all complete garbage though! Where does it leave us Jack?" I (don't) hear you beg the question.

Well, the creation of this website (I really hate the word 'blog') is hopefully going to serve as some sort of power-tool/dare/network hub that will help to keep what momentum AWKWARD has gathered thus far going. I mean I really do want to do more of these. It was honestly so much fun gathering people's work together and editing the thing. All that's left now is to work work work and get better better better in the hope of one day scaling that monolith of apathy and confusion that threatens to beam us all off into no-where, from which vantage point we can commence to unleash the maelstrom of shit from our cosmically augmented arseholes down onto those still scrabbling around at the bottom trying to log onto Facebook with their raw, broken, shattered fingers. Fingers that they broke shielding their ugly and contorted faces from the TV screen on the day it took its mask off and revealed iself to be the lab-born child of Edward Bernays, Andy Warhol and a Space Lizard. Twittering and twitching at the mouth, talking at 10,000 miles per hour with its brain attached by spindly, previously invisible wands of translucent piping to your eyes.

Finally then, here is what you can expect to see popping up on the blog in the next who-knows-how-long:

- Interviews with the artists and writers featured in AWKWARD.

- Synapse shattering mixtapes recorded onto shitty blank cassette tapes bought from PoundLand.

The first one will likely include, amongst other delights; audio from solo girl porn, Allen Ginsberg talking gibberish and about Kerouac, Jun Togawa's incredible self, plenty of sludgy doom metal, blissful electronic waverings, up to 17 songs at once etc.

- Any amazing internet weirdness that I, as ultimate oligarch at AWKWARD, choose to deposit here (likely to be the busiest port-of-call).

- Youtube videos of wonderful and odd shit like this

- Some work that didn't quite make it into the final edit of the magazine for whatever reason.

- Periodic drunk & stoned diatribes as 'blogging' slowly and inevitably takes over my life.

- Oh yeah! Some awesome work every now and again! PRAISE!!!

- Eventual news of AWKWARD's online Pulitzer prize, scheduled for summer 2041.

- .....errrhhhh, that's about it really.

All that remains is to say that there are still a few copies left of AWKWARD ISSUE 1, so if you'd like to take a punt and spend £2 supporting this lunacy, then seriously, do.

Contact awkwardmagazine@gmail.com

To be honest the address doesn't get many emails whatsoever at the moment, so how about sending me a transcription of a conversation you overheard between two ladies on a bus talking about dildos or something even if you don't want to buy one, have no money or simply hate everything you have just read? I'd love it.

Oh, and some excerpts from Issue 1 will be up here soon, as well as some exciting updates on plans for Issue 2, which is just starting to emerge from the dreary fog of working as a GCSE exam invigilator (seriously).

Thanks for making it this far,

Jack.

Issue 1

2009-04-25T10:53:00.001-07:00

First two pages of Palindrome by Edwin Kemp

Front Cover photo by James Carnes

There's this feeling in my head sometimes by Jack

Collage by Jack