For a while, I had a capture of my twitter feed running here. It ended up doing something weird to my API calls, stopping me from running my desktop client, so I killed it. Which is probably just as well, as I talk a lot of shit on Twitter. It’s basically mental slurry, the wet lumpy bits from a day spent at the keyboard vented off into a trap so the buildup doesn’t blow some crucial valve in my head. Look at these, from the last two months or so:
* Pitstop for food and a bit of the election debate: Gordon Brown looking unsettlingly Nixonian
* An orange tie, Nick Clegg? I don’t care who you are, an orange tie looks like you’re leaking neck pus
* Someone has polished David Cameron’s chin into a shining Failure Bump
* This is fucking grotesque. I’m off to get drunk. And then I’m running for Prime Minister
* Unaccountably filled with alcohol. Also, I can unaccountably still spell "unaccountably"
* @kumimonster i may possibly have just signed an email as "Prime Minister Batman"
* Tomorrow I will begin my political campaign by changing my twitter ID to PrimeMinisterBatman. Good night, bat-chums.
* Prime Minister Batman is tired and would like to go to bed now.
* In solidarity with @kellysue and her slow birth labour, I am now dilated to 8 cm.
* one little comment about being dilated to 8cm and everybody unfollows you YOU CAN’T EVEN SEE MY CERVIX YOU COWARDS
* I would like to add two new rules to the forthcoming UK election.
* 1. The winner gets to execute the losing party leaders on live TV. It’s only fair.
* 2. In the event of a hung parliament, all party leaders have to kill each other simultaneously on live TV.
* (3. I get to run Britain from an orbital death-ray station. That rule will be a slightly harder sell, I know.)
* US newspaper circulation down 8.74%. Homeless people have less to sleep under.
* Good morning, sinners. You may bring me unicorn bacon now.
* fuck you i am batman #warrenellisisbatman (no, no context for you)
* As everyone else is saying: the deep and archaic strangeness of a British sky without plane contrails dawns on you slowly.
* Contrails are back. The sign of an old friend, the sign of being able to reach over the world again.
* Redbulling with cigarettes and looking for the new temporal curve
* My brain is standing up like an electric meerkat
* Another rock star Friday night in the life of a working writer: overclocking my brain & being overpowered by a hot laptop.
* Watching the Election Debate. Like looking at three abortions crawl out of a bin and try to dance for coins.
* Misheard Nick Clegg and thought he was praising "the unsung hero of heroin"
* can you have beer as a power totem animal?
* Making culture is a shamanic conversation: we spend our days talking with dead ancestors. Good morning.
* Soon I will have 365,000 followers, and so can finally sacrifice 1000 souls a day to scabby Elder Space Gods for a year.
* I shall relate the details of the project in my forthcoming book THE TWEET OF TWITHULHU.
* Ooh champagne no I couldn’t possibly no wait come back here give me that fucking bottle
* The vodka martini: 2010s creative fuel or 1950s wifebeating fuel? We shall see.
* Oh no not more champagne oh all right then if you’re forcing me no no leave the crate here I SAID LEAVE IT
* No, seriously: Zombie Jesus reproduced by egg?
* Is Zombie Jesus gone? Is it safe to come out yet? These savage primitive cults confuse and worry me
* Of all the April Fool’s gags, the idea that Pete Doherty could play two shows in a row without nodding out is the dumbest.
* I think it’s way past time this script started doing what daddy says. (takes off belt)
* "Apply cunning" is good general advice for the day, I think. We could all use a cunning plan, after all.
* Or a cunning stunt.
* FAQ: No, I don’t have an assistant. I don’t have minions. I don’t have slaves. It is very sad, yes.
* BOILING SPACETIME
* The moral of TAKEN: Daddy knows best. Don’t make daddy kill a shitload of foreigners and then say "I told you so."
* Formspring: where essential human mystery goes to die the death of a thousand clicks.
* I do not understand why I have not been approached to run the UK Space Agency.
* Ah, yeah. Maybe they read the bit in WIRED UK about my interest in an orbital death ray. Still. Bad show.
* "Success is buried in the garden of failure." Quote by Rick Wakeman, of all people.
* These are my good deeds for the day. I shall go back to hunting possible "assistants" with rohypnol harpoons now.
* am manfully fighting the urge to unscrew people’s heads and check inside their brain-caves for bad wiring
* attotechnology: for when nanotech starts sounding all flabby and 20th-Century
* The thing about this part of London is you can’t tell who’s a dotcom worker and who’s a homeless person
* I has a pint, awaiting next meeting where I will apparently be poked with twigs. Probably a sex thing.
* ambient awareness – subcritical sociability – Dymaxion Chronofile
* Honestly, the only thing that interests me about SXSW these days is getting video or transcript of the annual Bruce Sterling rant.
* (Even though I suspect that one day soon he’s going to lose it and just yell "FUCK YOU, MOON PEOPLE" at them for an hour.)
* Child: "How do I look?" Me: "Like something Viv Westwood scribbled on a napkin 30 years ago." Child: "I hate you old man"
* dr zaius is my co-pilot
* dear producers: each time you stick that bloody wub wub sound on your shit techno and say I HAS MADED DUBSTEPS god rapes a seal
* The London Olympic stadium is starting to look like a giant radio dish pointed at space. Which would be more interesting.
* I like to think that, somewhere in the world, there is a sexual position called The Shatner.
* If Andy Warhol had had the internet, would he have interviewed himself on Formspring all day?
* I still recall my mother’s first words to me: "I haven’t killed anyone in years, but never think that I’ve forgotten how."