The Not A Corporation

May 29th, 2006 | brainjuice

Over the years, many artists have assumed the pose of a Corporation. The Residents invented a corporation they worked for, and then orchestrated a rebellion against their corporate masters. Public Image Limited, of course, wore the Corporation mask. Sigue Sigue Sputnik not only took the corporate pose to the point of inserting ads between tracks on their first album, but also invented a firm of bodyguards that accompanied them. Paul Pope invented a fictional publisher for himself so that he wouldn’t look like yet another self-publisher, and Grant Morrison became GMword in 2002.

Makes life a little more entertaining, dunnit?

Today I am interested in… Well, it’s not quite the flipside. But wouldn’t it be funny if someone started having their every Proclamation taken to the public by a coven of PR mystics? I’m amused by the notion of an international cell or cult carrying the Word to the heathens. The artist is never seen, except in depictions, somewhere between sacred art and Communist posters. You could set up a table at a convention that just had a framed portrait, and acolytes.

There’s a certain sick appeal in that, that should probably disturb me more than it does.

(And then you could have a Crusade.)

(Stop!)

(Originally written 29 May 2005)


On Drinking

May 29th, 2006 | brainjuice

So I had this dream last night and it’s stuck with me all day. So much so that I’m now writing it down to try and exorcise it.

So in this dream I’m taking the piss horribly out of David Mamet. I’m not sure why, except possibly he’s drinking Budweiser and refusing whisky. And I’m taking the piss out of him, his Hemingway complex, his religious bullshit, his cheerful keyboard-wankery and his reduction of everything to basically chopping fucking wood.

And for no good reason I can see, he shows me his penis. And it’s square. Well, it’s rectangular, I guess. But you know what I mean. It has corners. And an oaky grain to it. And he tells me that he has to take a tomahawk and hack a fresh notch in Rebecca Pidgeon before he fucks her each month. Because more than once a month, he says, and a man can get to kind of like it, and it’s one short step from there to wearing a dress.

And the thing is that alcohol has not actually passed my lips all week. Haven’t been drinking this week at all.

I’m not really sure what to do.

– W

(originally written 20 November 2005)


Alex Toth Is Dead

May 28th, 2006 | comics talk

Alex Toth, one of American comics’ greatest illustrators, died today. I believe he would have been around 78 years old. He was probably best known outside comics for his design and storyboard work in cartoons during the 60s and 70s — Space Ghost and Super Friends among them. It’s his work that’s being remixed in the likes of SEALAB 2021.

Official Alex Toth site.


People Sometimes Ask Me What The Life Of A Writer Is Like

May 28th, 2006 | brainjuice

And here’s a clue.

I’m sitting here at 2.24am on a Saturday night listening to the Pillows and trying to write something about zombies while peering through an alcoholic haze induced by drinking something over a litre of 8.5% beer somewhat quicker than may have been advisable.

Basically, I gave up living like a human being something like sixteen years ago.

Fucking zombies, I ask you. I’m never accepting a bet from a publisher again, I can tell you that much.