SATURDAY APRIL 11TH, LONDON: SAVAGE MESSIAH WALK AROUND THE CITY AND ISSUE 11 ZINE LAUNCH.

SATURDAY APRIL 11TH, LONDON: SAVAGE MESSIAH WALK AROUND THE CITY AND ISSUE 11 ZINE LAUNCH.
Walk.
We will be walking around the city of London and drifting towards Housmans where we will be having drinks and showing films to launch the ‘zine. Meet at Dirty Dicks Public House, Liverpool Street 3pm.
Launch.
Housmans Bookshop, Caledonian Road N1, from 7pm.
Issue 11 is a drift around the Olympic zone and focuses on a particular moment in the build up to the June the 18th Carnival Against Capitalism riots in the City of London. The riots happened in 1999 and were a protest against the ludicrousness of the global financial system. The zine was written after a day of walking around the perimeter fence of the Olympic zone In March 2009 and is a direct response to the mass destruction of the Lower Lea Valley.
“I found the pub soon after that. From the outside it looked ordinary, an estate pub from the late 60s, early 70s, something of a bunker with fortress windows at the front, plastic hanging baskets and St George flags all over it. I thought at first the old man must have got the wrong place but then I could hear the thudding of the sound system inside, the frantic bpm and chaotic vocoder yelps. As I got closer I saw all these skinhead types outside wearing tie dyed t shirts and temple of psychic youth symbols tattooed on their arms. There were groups staggering about lighting fires and breaking palettes. This party was the continuation of a Saturday all nighter at one of the massive abandoned factories on Carpenters road. They were all off it, topping up on psilosibin after a big weekend of acid and flyagaricks.”
Laura Oldfield Ford
Savage Messiah Issue 11. March 2009

More info to follow.

“The lessons drawn from dérives enable us to draft the first surveys of the psychogeographical articulations of a modern city. Beyond the discovery of unities of ambience, of their main components and their spatial localization, one comes to perceive their principal axes of passage, their exits and their defenses. One arrives at the central hypothesis of the existence of psychogeographical pivotal points. One measures the distances that actually separate two regions of a city, distances that may have little relation with the physical distance between them. With the aid of old maps, aerial photographs and experimental dérives, one can draw up hitherto lacking maps of influences, maps whose inevitable imprecision at this early stage is no worse than that of the earliest navigational charts. The only difference is that it is no longer a matter of precisely delineating stable continents, but of changing architecture and urbanism.” Guy Debord

‘LONDON 2013’ CLOSING PARTY AND SAVAGE MESSIAH 11 ZINE LAUNCH.

March 14th, 4-6pm Hales Gallery . ‘London 2013:Drifitng through the ruins’
Issue 11 is a drift around the Olympic zone and focuses on a particular moment in the build up to the June the 18th Carnival Against Capitalism riots in the City of London. The riots happened in 1999 and were a protest against the ludicrousness of the global financial system. The zine was written after a day of walking around the perimeter fence of the Olympic zone In March 2009 and is a direct response to the mass destruction of the Lower Lea Valley.
The launch will be followed by a trip to the Blade Bone public house ( now Noodle King) on Bethnal Green road and a pub crawl round the East End.

“I found the pub soon after that. From the outside it looked ordinary, an estate pub from the late 60s, early 70s, something of a bunker with fortress windows at the front, plastic hanging baskets and St George flags all over it. I thought at first the old man must have got the wrong place but then I could hear the thudding of the sound system inside, the frantic bpm and chaotic vocoder yelps. As I got closer I saw all these skinhead types outside wearing tie dyed t shirts and temple of psychic youth symbols tattooed on their arms. There were groups staggering about lighting fires and breaking palettes. This party was the continuation of a Saturday all nighter at one of the massive abandoned factories on Carpenters road. They were all off it, topping up on psilosibin after a big weekend of acid and flyagaricks.” Savage Messiah March 2009

FRAGMENT FROM FRIDAY NIGHT - TATE TO MI6 (more to come when I've edited it)

Robin Bale invoking Dionysos

Robbo invoking Dionysos at the start of Red Wine Traces,

after the SAVAGE MESSIAH ISSUE 9 ZINE LAUNCH.

LEYTON: DEATH TO THE GODS OF MOUNT OLYMPUS

LEYTON: DEATH TO THE GODS OF MOUNT OLYMPUS
A desultory step down from that linear conduit ,the Lea Bridge Road, veering away from its straightness onto the labyrinthine terrain vague of the marshes, little tracks hidden under briars weave and spiral into the nexus of a lost London.

"I give you the end of the golden string
Only wind it into a ball,
It will lead you in at Heaven's gate
Built in Jerusalem's wall.
William Blake Jerusalem

Leyton. Softly you smother me. What lies beneath that sweet patina, the swirling yellow and grey mists of your residues. To reassemble you would be a sleight of hand, a conjuring trick. You lurk behind me now, holding something back, always. And yet there, in the torn and tattered veneers, the peeling hoardings and crumbling stucco I sense an elegiac emblem, a marker. I am pulled into the fray, tugged into a channel I cannot fathom. Wherever the locus of your broken heart lies, splintered and in pieces, I shall come to it now.

Lea Bridge, just your name conjures up so many repressed desires, the abandonment of reason on the marshes, violent rituals, face ground down in the dirt on muddy football pitches, the brutal and unforgiving sex of confusion and scarring. The dreams of another epoch, the heady scent of hawthorn blossom beneath the pylons.
I conjure up scenes, erotically charged and complicated , a tableaux of curious, senseless topographies. Under the shadow of the power station, a biting scratching kind of fuck, tearing into the scorched ground by the breakers yard, Genet and Lovecraft become my companions.

Along the railway sidings on Lammas Road. Acid house year zero. This became the darkside , the Black e zone, factories left empty from the recession in knots of burnt out blocks. The Intercity firm, " congratulations you have just met the ICF" :warehouse party mayhem, protection rackets, thugs with machetes, corruption and ultraviolence on a grand scale. WHAT IS THIS HORROR ZONE?
Unit 13 , next to that grisly meat packing factory, internal organs melting in fear and paranoia. A Synthetic Circus party, all these ketamine entities in Halloween garb standing shivering as a woman lies haemorrhaging under an awning of relentless drilling gabba. Within a year a gruesome repeat, another pointless death. He watched her frothing at the mouth, eyes rolling back into her head, bastards selling bad gear, and sound systems too scared to stop.
Lammas, the old pagan festival of Lugnasadh ,funeral feast of the God of light, a time of sacrifice, judgement and reckoning..
Where did it all go wrong ? Mousetraps in back pockets to spring the pickpockets, wraps of Ajax to poison the thieves, men hanging around toilets to rape K'd up women and all that with security firms standing by watching, making a fucking killing. A shattered dream. Once there was this perverse hope that these desolate stretches would rise again, the Phoenix of East London rising from the ashes. In the halcyon days of the late 80's it all seemed possible, but then something started to claw it back, this malevolent twitching beneath the flyovers and electricity cables. A brooding cruelty, you couldn't have hoped to get away with it.
A cross quarter fire festival, bonfires to add strength to the powers of the waning sun. Staffa Road, industrial estate becomes inferno as Britart burns, the tokens of Cool Britannia and New Labour hypocrisy razed to the ground in 600 degree flashover. Bataille's accursed share, proposed Olympic site as sacrificial zone.
The Dungeons. Dank, claustrophobic vaults reach out beneath the Lea Bridge Road, a shadow world sealed, gruesome chambers harbouring guilt and shame .Deranged Hell's Angels wanting a cut of the drug money suddenly leaching into the marshes, all these fucking firms, criminal gangs, they were in there straight away. The Greyhound, that was just a front, a sham pub, a veneer of respectibilty, the Dungeons was where it was really going on. Some Merlin automoton serving Red Stripe, moving so slow, and those other bastards trying to put the fear in with tales of torture, electrocuted genitalia, a screaming, paranoid darkness. Headfuck and Uglyfunk are there, five rooms five soundsystems, Crossbones room, Sick n twisted Vs pitchless room, Darkside, The Lurker, Face Hoover, Rave Enforcer, Necro and Anoianoid, the iconography of horror, 80's slasher movies resurrected in this god forsaken territory. Ketamine casualties lurch zombified through the wastelands with no fears of noise abatement orders. Red stripe goes up, R and B crews move in, a shooting outside and in this, it's final incarnation ,the Dungeons becomes the last outpost of Murder Mile.

HEATHROW:THE PSYCHOGEOGRAPHY OF PARANOIA.

“In every case, the state of exception marks a threshold at which logic and praxis blur with each other and a pure violence without logos claims to realize an enunciation without any real reference" Giorgio Agamben.

"Of many shifts , blandly cunning, a robber, a cattle driver, a bringer of dreams, a watcher by night, a thief at the gates, one who was soon to show forth wonderful deeds among the deathless gods." Chalked on the roadside were words lifted from a Homeric hymn to Hermes.

Heathrow is a tangle of paranoia, to traverse the perimeter is to dodge clusters of armed coppers. We edge beneath the razor wire of a forlorn camp , a guarded non space mutating into a contemporary locus of struggle. Middle England just this side of the fence, clinging to heritage and hanging baskets,, no site clothes/work boots, no third runway daubed on George cross banners, who do yOU align yourself with? Immigration removal centres, privatised prisons, they're not keen, they don't want them coming in, and they don’t like unhealthy proles holidaying in Spain much either.
Terrorism, a word almost drained of its psychotic cravings by the anodyne platitudes mouthed on ABC lurks in the infrastructure. Does anyone really believe in it? Conspiracy theories abound, there’s a retreat into the escapism of fantasy lands, the irrational.

The three magpies, relic of the 70’s, nothing really changed, a saccharine rendition of’silent night’ on the juke box, it’s August. We’re ignored for a long time and when I get my tea it’s lukewarm and the little cup only half full, its like tea you get from a flask. Its Monday afternoon so there’s just us and a couple of baggage handlers. We leave the faux heritage of this Edwardian tudor and head for the patio bar which is actually some tables and a fence and a car park then the airport. It’s an out of time zone, where people come to have clandestine encounters, a few drinks before a dash to the Renaissance hotel. Its a place of undertable powder slipping and hawkers peddling stuff off the luggage truck. You get it now, or its on its way to the auction house in Tooting love. Julie’s had everything in here, mainly perfume and stuff, specially since the ban on hand luggage and liquids, some nice stuff, expensive, all sorts really. Julie grew up in Bradford, she used to be married to a biker, she had tattoos and loved the allegiance of belonging to a tribe. Then there was feuding and he got nasty and she swapped her council house in Bradford for a flat in Hounslow, it was a clean break,a fresh start..,here in this transit zone everyone was just passing through, she could just disappear. It was her and the Polish and the Somalians and Sikhs and everyone, loads of Polish everywhere, all the pubs and shops turning Polish now. Used to be that a lot of the pubs closed and turned into boring stuff like burglar alarm fitting businesses cos the Asians didn’t really use them so much but now the Poles are bringing them back to life.
The three magpies is alright, she’s been working there three years. Strangely, for a transit zone you get your regulars, blokes from the airport. Then there’s lads from nearby up on a weekend, mainly for the karaoke and late licence, airport meant it was easy to get one, funny hours people work and us with no neighbours to annoy. Outside this strictly controlled zone we had this little pocket that was almost operating outside the law. We had all sorts going on, a lot of young ones off their heads but the old bill never looking in.

savagemessiahzine.com

BAZ IS BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!

Alright fans, sorry about this, it aint like yer old mate Baz to fuck off for this long but FUCKING HELL you wouldn’t believe whats been goin on round ere!!!
Right, so just to set the scene, me , Sean and a few of the old crew are sittin in the Acorn avin a few afternoon ones, i’m supposed to be takin sean round me mate Kennys to stop for a few days til we can lose that orrible screw Brenda, its all just kicked off in Working links doleite boot camp so we’ve gone for a few pints....right and then this bird walks in who sean suddenly goes ga ga over...with me now? alright..

......so this bird is just sitting at the bar supping this blue alco pop shite and she’s looking over at Sean and me an’ all, both of us i suppose but its hard to tell, what wiv her avin such weird eyes an that... so Seans lookin back at her all excited, an i’;m blamin this on bein banged up for so bleedin long, Sean seems to have lost it completely when it comes to women. I mean this one, she looks off it proper, dead stringy and spaced out. The hair is the kind of streaks you used to get in the 80’s, and the gear, short skirt and bare legs sort of like a Shacklewell Lane slapper , you get the idea.. i don’t mind that meself, i mean she’s alright i think, quite fit, its just the eyes that worry me, really twitchy and anxious then laughing..fucking hell...
so i’m tryin to look at the TV, Deal or No Deal some wingnut eared cunt just won 1p, right cocky little bastard he was, turned down 20 grand without a blink, righT fuckig MUG,i’m ready for the question Noel when Sean hauls himself out of his chair and lunges over to the bar, alright darlin i hear him say to the bird, want me to get you another one o them drinks?
She’s laughing and smiling and making herself all small and giggling and next things Seans getting a round in and looking over at me like he’s just hit the bleedin jackpot! I aint jokin you’d have thought he’d just won the bleedin lottery.
Oh god i’m thinkin, not another load of bleedin trouble, then he’s bringing me another pint of Stella and beckoning the bird over to our table. Shall we sit out the front, i want a fag he says. So we all go out the front of the boozer, there aint no tables outside as such, more a draughty door way with a couple of stools next to the motorised spac carts. This is Lisa Sean says all smiles introducing me to the bird, she’s just laughing and taking the piss out of Seans tattoos, the one with the skull with the mohican, she says she’s been living down some doss house in Stepney, what you doin up this way then love? She’s goin on about the hostel and this knobhead who she was seein and how he’s hassling her following her every time she leaves the hostel , she went to sign on today and he was hanging about outside, this was down Whitechapel, so she slipped out the back and started walking the wrong way home and just kept goin and that was it, just wandering on and on til she got lost, saw this boozer and stopped for a rest. You stick wiv us love, we’ll look after you Seans saying all laughs and smiles, i’m thinking fucking hell as if we aint got enough to worry about.
Look mate, i says to him when she’s pissed off to the bog, we’re staying at kenny’s tonight and that bird aint comin wiv us. Sean stands up straight and turns on me, i said i’ll look after her an i will, she AINT GOT NO ONE!! Alright Sean, fuckin ell cool it mate, bleedin ell, i’m only tryin me best top sort us all out mate, it aint easy i’m telling you..Jesus specially with you kicking off every ten minutes.
Alright well where then? if not Kennys where? This is Sean looking at me completely aggro, i’m doin my best but sometimes you can’t please him. I’m pissed off cos i was looking forward to just staggering out the boozer, round the corner to kennys flat and settlin down for a curry and a few cans.. i don’t know do i Baz, YOU’RE THE FUCKING BOSS!!. I hate it when he gets all sarcastic and mean, thats him after a few stellas but i can handle him, alright Sean i say, I got other places, let me make a few calls.
Then the stringy bird, Lisa, appears again and Seans all smiles the big soft fucking galoot...
to be continued..and i promise i won’t make you wait so long for the next installment...
laters Baz .

The next installment...

Alright so i grabs hold of Sean, an i says look pal, yuo've made yuor point and we get the fuck out of there. Gaynors shoutin and makin threats and lookin cosy with the knobhead security they got on there, she'll be quite happy to be giving them all the fucking names, date of birth an all that stuff, cos she's one o them aint she, aFUCKING SCREW!!!!
but they don't try to nick him, you can see he's acting like a proper psycho..they let us go, thinking yeah we'll go round in the van and pick em up later when they're watching Countdown with a can of special brew. well fuck that. We're weaving through the estates of haggerston, by the canal and then into that little maze of flats on Whiston road. that whole estate is fucked, they got the orange sitex up all over the windows that Hackney council slap up over everything until they can sell it off to private developers.
i got a few boltholes round here, most of em i aint even told Sean about cos he seemed to be telling that horrible Gaynor the lot at one point. C'mon mate i say and we nip into the Acorn for a swift one. Some of you might know the Acorn on the junction of Whiston road and Queensbridge, its a bit of a shithole but me mate Kenny drinks in there sometimes and some of the lads from the old Charlie Wrights days so i go in now and again. the old boys on them motorised spac carts moaning all the time do my head in a bit but still its an alright boozer, they aint got much time for the old bill in there.
Kennys bird Linda used to live in a tower block over the road which is now a massive yuppie complex. I'm thinking fucking hell don't get Sean started on that cos i'm just tryin to get him calmed down. Anyway Kenny says we can doss at his for one night but thats it but after that he says he's got a mate out in Leyton who'll put us up for a day or two. There's also me brother in stratford , he's got a big house near Maryland overground station and the lock up where i do me painting so we've got loads of options, i don't feel so bad as i'm supping me Stella.
That cunt Edmonds comes on the tv, deal or no deal,waht a righT load of Wank!!i'm on me third pint and i'm in the mood to smash the tv but i got to think of sean and he's lookin a bit happier, bit less aggro, can't have him kickin off if we're goin back to Kenny's.
So i'm happy, mocking that cunt Edmunds on tv, supping me pint, lookin forward to curry and a few tins round at kennys when this bird walks in..i've seen her before at the Dolphin, this stringy blonde with out of focus eyes, it looks abit like the thing gaynor brought out wiv her one night so i do a sharp double take but it aint her. No this one has a familar look but only in the way them smackhead birds all look abit alike with the too fast walking and face a bit stretched. But anyway i glance over at Sean an he's suddenly come to life, sitting up straight and staring right over at this bird. i'm thinkin, well she werent that bad, i might have had a go meself, but Sean well its always a dilemma aint it...it might send him round the bend or it might take his mind off Gaynor...god knows..but she's sitting at the bar now drinking some blue fizzy shit looking over.
to be continued.............

A massive rubber plant got smashed into the wall.

Anyway, on with the story about working links. Yeah the whole thing started out pretty huliliating for Sean, he looked, well the only word i can come up with is 'humble' and that just aint Sean, i mean Sean with the fight knocked out of him just aint Sean, he's just this sad looking middle aged geezer lookin sort of broken, you know, like he'd given up. So aside from being fucking angry i was actually quite upset i don't mind tellin you. Gaynor the hard faced fucking screw was goin on at him about training and opportunities. I just laughed in her fucking face, you want him driving his old mates from Belmarsh round in a bleedin Serco van yuo dopey tart i said. But no she was bleating on about how he could easy get a job as a security guard or some such shit.
Sean are yuo gonna take this, are you gonna let her push you around like a little kid i says to him. Sean just shrugs like it don't matter.
So off we go, down the Kingsland road to this poncey new office where they got all these happy pictures on the windows of people on the phone talking to each other, yuo aint never seen such wank. We get to sit down on these nice orange corner settees, its a bleedin joke.
Anyway this geezer strides over, some big bald bastard with a smug grin and i'm thinking yuo might think your a big shot in here sunshine but wait til you get outside. The smug git says oh Mr Hanlon, good to see you here early for yuor interview, we've got coffee over here and the papers here. Gaynors smiling and Sean just sits there. The dole sent the letter about getting sent down here and Sean chucked it in the bin, Gaynor got it out again and she said if he didn't come down here that was the end of them. Sean pal, what are you playin at?
So he sits there drinking this plastic coffee shit from the machine and reads last weeks hackney gazette until the ugly bald prick comes swaggering over and syas 'ok Mr Hanlon, come with me please'. Its all open plan in there and you can see and hear everything the smarmy fucker has to say. He's going on and on about retraining, new skills, how Sean could improve his chances if he changes his attitude. i'm thinking any minute now i'm gonna lose it, i can feel the rage boiling up, and then i hear this almighty crash and its the chair Seans been sitting on go flying across the room, then i stand up and i sees him picking up this bin ready to hurl it at that disgusting smarmy nonce. But then this security guard is there, they always have em lurking at the back and he's trying to work out wether to grab Sean or not cos he knows Seans fucking massive and completely mental. And so he hangs back while Sean picks up this giant rubber plant and throws it against the wall. I think Good on yer son, thats the sean i know! Gaynors shrieking and tries to restrian him, i get old of her and i syas fuck off you, leave him the fuck alone. Come on Sean. I want to get him out before the old bill get here, c'mon Sean i say, we gotta get out of here pronto, c'mon mate........to be continued.
...............find out what happens when Baz and Sean hide out in the matrix of backstreet boozers between Shoreditch and Dalston.

Life in Poplar.

You might think being booted out of my gaff was bad enough, but yuo should have seen where they tried to rehouse me. They showed me some shithole estste in poplar that even the Homeless families unit rejected on the grounds that it was unfit for human habitation. I refused it, there's no fucking way yuo'd get me living in a dump like that.
So you lot out there who prefer hackney to be a yard full of braying toffs with wooden bikes and organic bread, BE WARNED, BAZ IS STILL AROUND. So now i've got me new gaff i'm gonna be back on here more often I"M TELLIN YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Tracing the path of the River Fleet.

We drift in circles around each other. Threads untangle in the memory flashes of an uncanny landscape.
One night in a pub on Rosslyn Hill, I witnessed three skirmishes, three explosive grasps at ultra violence. We ended up in a cab to Camden, shifting over the path of the Fleet, and I felt London cascading, cinematic and charged. When we got to Inverness street there was a carnivalesque loopiness , it was a feverish Summer night and there were hordes of screechers and brawlers, a real demented din. We weaved through a maelstrom of dodgy loiterers and onion fryers , delighting in the thrill and degeneracy of the fairground.

The slow arduousness of that coach trip ,the impossible yearning, stranded up North, I saw our first encounter played out in such vivid clarity, the frantic kisses, it was the most alive sequence, I just watched it unfold, didn’t have to focus or even try, all that plotting and dreaming, eyes pressed to the window to see the first ragged boundaries of Edgware. Drill holes in rock, ravines gouged out in the cliff face, envelopes of blocks opening one on top of another.
In Wooley Edge services I yearned for the baroque whorls and curlicues of the labyrinth, smearing red lipstick in the fluorescent glare of the mirror.

The coach stops at Golders green station, a limp nexus, then there’s an ecstatic bundling rush with a hip flask of rum to the heath. London sprawls under a canopy of ruptures and livid blooms. I’m so tuned in to the desire you wouldn’t believe it, it scuttles all over me, little shivers of pleasure, bursts of erratic joy from shoulders to finger tips.

The ancient pathways are hazy with smoke as I drop down to the glowing windows of the Vale of Health. I search in the November dark for the traveller site behind corrugated iron, briars and hawthorn. A big crew of skinheads smash up cars defying the dead time of the Barrat estate. Caravans and trailers are reconfigured as mobile architecture. .
To desire placelessnesss is to defy authority.

Bouts of extreme violence activate my desire.

Michael Foot campaigned against that traveller site when he lived up there, called them vermin.

The covert symbols of chance encounters are visible on the heath. The city becomes cinema, signs oscillating and shimmering. I find scattered rice and hearts chalked on stone. London is a character in flux, vivid and psychoactive .

Jack Straws castle. I run through the back to blush up face and backcomb hair. Stop for a pint and conjure up images of Wat Tyler on his way to invade London with an enraged mob, smashing open prisons, beheading judges and lawyers. The Jack Straws castle is now a weather boarded simulacrum dating from 1964, you can sit in the ‘turret bar’ and survey the ‘spectacular views of the heath’

Surveying London from Parliament hill I think about De Certeau’s writings on the city. He says the aerial perspective that offers an overview of the city in it’s entirety ”transforms the bewitching world by which one was ‘possessed’ into a text that lies before one’s eyes” but denies knowledge of the city in it’s rawest sense. I look down imagining all the knots of disorder and crave my place in it.

TO BE CONTINUED..........................

SPECIAL DOUBLE EPISODE!!!!!BAZ is BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sean gets dragged to Working Links by that orrible bird of his, GAYNOR.


I'm fucking sick of it mate i tell you.
Seans here, still. he aint goin nowhere, him an that orrible Gaynor or whatever she's called. Anyway, she comes over sometimes late, about three in the morning, sometimes dead early, just waltzes in ere, that daft barstard minted her a key, whaT a fucking mug.She walks in, puts the bleedin tv on to watch that cunt Kyle or whatever other miserable kangaroo court/freakshow they've got on ITV1, sits there with a nescafe, from MY JAR and smokes a lambert and butler and acts like its her GAFF!!!!
Where's Sean she said once just strolling in while i was sitting havin me breakfast readin the paper. In bed probably i said, it's 8 o clock in the mornin you know he aint an early riser. So she marches into his room, pulls the covers off him, i hear all this shoutin and commotion and then he's standin there all bleary eyed with his hair all over the place. make him a coffee Barry please she says. Whatcho doin to im? I demand to know cos thats my mate Sean she's makin a right mug of. He's starting his training today, at Working Links, i want him there at 9 on the dot looking smart.
You see Sean, what did i bleedin tell you?????!!!!!!!!!!!
to be continued.............


I LOSE IT WITH GAYNOR BIG TIME BUT SEAN STILL GETS DRAGGED OFF TO WORKING LINKS!!


Right so Gaynor's round our gaff, that fucking screw, she's just hauled Sean out of his blow up mattress, screamed all these commands and frogmarched him into the kitchen looking like a righHT MUG!!! So she says he's got an appointment at working links.... Now i'm tellin you, i got some experience of those cunts, the whole things a boot camp, American workfare shit, ie work for fuck all but the seats are in nice 'funky' colours so yuo don't get upset about it! Now i've done some daft things in me time, Sean an' all, but neither of us are completely fucking stupid. I used to like the dole office better when it was them sour faced bastards behind metal grilles, you knew where you stood with them, you hated them, they hated you, something like the way it was with Thatcher. In comes Blair an its all 'yeah i'm gonna be a right nasty cunt but i still want you to like me...'all pleading and wheedling and suddenly all the dole offices are in these open plan offices done out like estate agents with these orrible chairs covered in orange and turqoise material. Its to make you think they're alright, so you don't kick off ..
It has been brought to my attention that sean might actually benefit from this humilaition, i say come round ere mate and meet im yourself and tell me what good all this workfare nonsense is gonna do him, for a start when would he have time do run is businesses etc?
So anyway, this Gaynor is insisting Sean goes on this fucking course an i just kick off. DON"T COME IN MY FUCKING HOUSE LAYING THE FUCKING LAW DOWN!!!!!!!!!!!!!! she looks at me with these orrible cold fish eyes and says, don't make an enemy of me Barry, i'm warning you.
So i just stares at her,by now my face feels like its gonna explode and and she's got old of Sean an she's marching him out the gaff. this is fucking unbelievable. So there's nothing else for it, i grab me coat and go after em....

find out what happens in the new Kingsland road branch of Working Links in the next episode.

Just in case any of my loyal fans out there are wondering where i am, i'm happy to let you know that i aint been banged up, infact i've been down Stratford in me brothers lock up doin a bit off the old painting! Painting as in Art i'll ave you know not bleedin decoratin! It was Sean an is carryin on with that hatchet faced screw that drove me out of the gaff, an when i wanna bit of peace and quiet i go and do a bit of the old painting, calms me nerves right down. That's how it started as it goes, when i was inside, started the class just to drag out association time really, i mean i always liked drawing and that but i never thought i was gonna make money bein an artist..so i starts this class and fuck me i really loved it! I start doin these classes once a week an i start painting, this is about 11 years ago an it went on from there, now i'm workin on these massive fuck off canvases. I've put a picture here of one of me HQ paintings. if you like it you can commision me to do soem more but i aint jokin you better have a fucking fat wallet.
More on the Sean saga very soon, it aint nice i'm telling yer....
tell yuo what else i'm fucking sick of, these moaning old bastards on the estate complaining about me fucking Minder records, i wouldn't mind but that bastard drives me fucking mental playing all that weird experimental shit all the time that sounds like out of time drumming and weird clanks and squawks.
as i told yer before i got me own page on myspace so you can check me out on there, if you don't like it fair enough but there's soem good West Ham stuff and a nice comment form that cunt Jeremy Kyle.
laters,
Baz

London drift: Victoria to Bethnal Green.

Robbo came to meet me after work yesterday. We were wandering through some peabody estates behind Victoria station when we encountered the work of some of our acolytes; the We are Bad retard head was chalked all over the courtyards and alleyways of SW1!
We decided to follow the trail. It took us on a convoluted route through Westminster, along the embankment, through the maze of side streets on Ludgate Hill, on past the Barbican and through Smithfield. At Smithfield we stopped for a cup of tea at the 24 hour caf then returned to the search.
The graffitied pavements led us on through the Golden lane estate, Whitecross street and Bunhill fields. We found a proliferation of glyphs round the Foundry on great eastern street. From here the symbols were accompanied by increasingly aggressive text culminating with the particularly brutal defacement of a bollard in Horatio street, E2.
From here the trail could not be followed.

THEY WISH BAZ WEREN'T THERE

06 Feb 2008 Oioi!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

Alright, today i've been thinkin alot about the fuckin olympics, i'm not happy mate i tell yer. Anyway started writin stuff down, a few poems an that, don't fuckin laugh, its summink i started the second time i was inside, it was part of my parole terms, i had to do this daft fucking anger management and all this therapy shit and part of it was writing everyrhing down what you're feeling ,could be angry, pissed off, livid, whatever yuo happen to be feelin that day an just write it, maybe a poem, maybe a story or just like a diary, you know, just to GET IT ART O YER HEAD.....
so today, well waht wiv facin eviction an all that an facin havin to leave my lovely Hackney manor and ship out to some dump in Dagenham i started writing this poem, its called THEY WISH BAZ WERE'NT THERE.



THEY WISH BAZ WEREN'T THERE
THEY DON'T EVEN CARE,
THAT I LIVED ROUND ERE BEFORE THEY
AD EVER EVEN EARD OF HACK-NEY,
THEY THINK THAT THEIR PROPERTY WILL FALL IN PRICE,
COS THEY DON'T THINK BAZ IS THAT NICE.
THEY CAME ROUND ERE FOR A LOOK ROUND,
THEY SAID THOSE PROPERTIES LOOK REALLY SOUND,
BUT I DON'T LIKE THE LOOK OF THEM LOW LIFE SCUM,
SO WE'LL SEND EM PACKIN TO DAG-EN-UM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Brilliant eh? Fuckin ell i felt so fuckin great after i wrote that, yes i did, made me feel less AGGRO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

More on the story of sean and that pervert security guard later,
all the best mate,
Baz

Sean gets off with a screw, it aint funny.

Pretty bad aint it when you get driven out yer own gaff, yeah well that's what happened to me. Well Sean's one thing,I mean i invited him round, he's a mate inne so it don't feel like so much of an imposition; you can still eat pot noodles, belch and scratch in yer underpants when yer mates round but when ther's a bleedin bird there, well, it aint the same is it?
Right so Sean arranges to see this grotesque megaton security guard, this one that was groping him in a group4 van a few years back, one he never forgot..right, yeah yeah, i'll get on with it.
So he arranges to see her in the Dolphin, now i thought it was just me an him goin down there for old times sake, to talk about the old days and see if lovely Brenda the barmaid was still there, i didn't really think it'd be me, Sean and some horrible screw called Gaynor. So we gets there and its earlyish and there;s a few scruffy student types and a few of these ponces who think they're Russell Brand wearing pipecleaner jeans or whatever they're called and they're hair all up and backcombed like a 60's tart. its a fuckin disgrace Sean says ruefully as we settle with our pissy pints of stella, this place used to be a proper boozer.And i mean in a lot of ways it still is, if you look at the decor and the daft hours it keeps an all that, its just that the geezers and the vietnamese and the moody paddys playin pool and all them punk lot seem to have been driven out by these little ponces who reckon to be artists or some such shit. What these birds fall for nowadays is beyond me.
So we sits down at a little table by the window and Sean starts saying this stuff to one of these little wankers about how he;s elbowed his way onto our table and then , instead of backind down and giving Sean some respect he starts arguing the toss in this orrible nasal whining little voice, well i aint jokin i sees Seans face going through that weird trnasformation from pink to red to bright purple, his eyes have narrowed into thin slits and his skins gone all waxy. i'm thinking, o my god, any minute now an that cunt is goona have that stupid sneering face smashed across the bar and daubed ACROSS THE CEILING!!!!!!!!!!!And just as Sean's about to snap in walks Gaynor, all 6 foor one inches of her decked head to toe in sequins and glittery eyeshadow like shes been at some christmas office party circa 1986, i aint jokin, she's a disgusting mess, you know like when some kid nicks its mums make up and smears it all over its face, that was what gaynor looked like, she;d made a real special effort for Sean.So Sean gets to his feet, pushes the posh cunt out of the way and jumps to the bar offering to buy her a drink, but then i notice something really orrible, she aint alone, she's with this stringy blonde bird called Angie, oh no i think, i'm bein lined up with soem weirdo smackhead whose eyes won't focus, or worse still, another screw! But then in a flash i think about it, and yeah a jumps a jump, or should i say a screws a screw!!HA HA HA HA HA HA HA AH AHHHHHHHHAAAAHHHAH!!!!!!!!!!!!! Anyway i think, could be worse you know, better sink a few more pints......... oh god, me stomachs playin up, eugghchha, sorry, eughd, urgh god, its me ulcer, sorry, right more later when i've been to the bog.......

One of our HQ's

Our HQ, or at least one of them, this one is near Wick Lane, we have others in secret locations all over London from White City to leytonstone.

YEAH WELL I HAVE T SAY I"M FEELIN A BIT BETTER NOW..........

Yeah well i have to say i'm feelin a bit better now, stopped pukin about an hour ago, it was that whiskey what done it, well that an' that diluted aftershave Saen got me to drink, disgusting that is puking up perfume, anyway.....
so yuo might be wonderin where all the rest of these cunts in this firm are, yuo're startin to think its a bit of a one man show, well me too mate, me too. I saw one of the bastards last night down Ellingfort road sitting on the kerb drinking special brew, wher you off to mate i asked him but he just flicked the v's at me an told me to fuck off, nice one i thought..so that's him out wanderin around somewhere in aright fuckinstate and as for the rest of em, saw a load of em in Bermonsey Friday night causing havoc down the bookies. Robbo lent me this book by Zizek, i had to use it to smash some geezer in the jaw, it weren't funny, maybe i told you that already....
anyway, if you're bored of me tell them wankers to stop causing aggro down millwall and get back up here to the proper fuckin territory!
Right so where was i with this story, oh yeah, so Seans lyin there looking up at this golem in a securicor uniform and i'm thinking oh my god this is gonna be a fuckin disaster , and i'm thinking oh no this is lookin bad,looks like he's fallin in love, love at first bleedin sight, but then, get this, she says, Sean, is that yuo? And i'm thinkin eh? How the fuck does she know his name but then it turns out she used to do handjobs in the back of the van for him, he reckoned there was a time when he was getting shifted between Full Sutton up in Yorkshire over to Strangeways in Manchester and somewhere on the M62 she started havin a fiddle darn his keks. I mean bloody hell, you wouldn't think it to look at her, i would've thought she wouldn't be bothered about geezers, specially nasty lookin brutes like sean but there it is, someone out there for everyone they say. So he syas to her , what time do yo knock off? And they arrange to meet in the Dolphin at 8. Oh god i think, thats the end, AINT YOU SICK OF SCREWS SEAN YOU FUCKING KNOBHEAD? Seans gone all starry eyed lookin all dreamy and delerious, that was Brenda he says, i loved her.
I'll tell yuo the rest of the tale ina little while i just need the bog..sorry.......

www.myspace.com/barrysquiggins

Barry's here! Right fuckin pissed, eatin a curry, sean downstairs on blow up mattress, next installment of fucking saga.

Oh my god, i aint jokin i'm fuckin pissed as a cunt, what a fucking night. Yeah, i know, it was a bad move lettin him stay here, but what could i do, seans a mate, one of the old crew, you can't turn yer back on yer mates. Anyway, so we're out, walking round the Wick, so I says to him, listen Sean, there aint too many of the old boozers left but yer favourites still there, which i can't name here , for legal reasons an all that but lets just say its on hackney road and its been goin a good few years an it feels like yer on a ferry when yer in there on account of not havin no windows and loads of fruit machines and you start to feel abit sick after you've had a couple..right, so yeah, Sean wants to go there cos its been 9 years and he's hopin brenda's still behind the bar and i says to himyeah she is mate but i don ;t think your gonna wanna get involved there mate i can tell yer. Right so we;re on our way there to this place what for the time bein will remain nameless and i direct Sean along the canal with the intention of walking down through Dace road that way and out over the footbridge and through vicky park. But as we;re headin out Sean sees the blue fence blocking the road and i aint jokin he just went ballistic mate, FUCKIN BALLISTIC. Now i've seen Sean in some states, i mean you do dontcha after 36 years or whatever it is now since we've been knockin about togetehr but fuckin hell tonight he went beyond it all, really, except maybe the night he got nicked the last time, anyway less said about that the better. So he sees the fence and starts going mad hurling himself at it and screaming and headbutting it and stuff, oh yeah i think i told you that, anyway after a struggle i gets Saen away but this team of security cunts, don't know who they were, group4 securicor all the fuckin smae now aint they , anyway those cunts are suddenly there, van in the street gettin out, you alright there sir to me and comin over gettin all cocky and all i wanna do is smash the fuckers head in but you know ,gotta think of Sean innit cos i aint havin him sent back down, not for this daft pantomime anyway. So i goes, to the geezer ,look mate, its all under control, me mate here's just had one too many, his 40th you see, don't know whether its Christmas or Easter, i'll get him home. The geezer backs off, so i think alright, we can get goin, i really need a fuckin pint in me local. And then, suddenly, this horrible loomin lunk of a woman appears out the other side of the van, i aint jokin she;s like a bleedin cross between some screw off prisoner cell block h and some russian athlete, one of them they had to do medical examinations on to work out what bleedin sex it was, fuckin orrible. So she's standin over us, askin all this shit like what medication is sean on an all that, an Sean, instead of goin beserk and smashin stuff up goes all gooey and gaga an looks up at this monstrosity with eyes all dewy and loved up. Oh no, i think, oh fuckin hell no. And then Sean sort of picks himself up off the floor, raises himself up on his grazed elbows and stares at her and says, hello darlin...you're beautiful.....and oh my god, the rest of it, well i'll ahve to tell you tomorrow when i;ve sobered up cos its so disgusting i'm makin myself feel sick just thinkin about it, fuckin orrib;le..................................................


by the way, i've got myspace page now, load o wank yeah but i might meet some birds. But yeah if you've got a myspace page come and look me up cos i feel a right cunt with 0 friends.
www.myspace.com/barrysquiggins

Sean went MENTAL!

Fuckin hell, what a night, i aint jokin, Sean went MENTAL! He was headbutting fences and smashin stuff up and i had to grab him and wrestle him down and say look Sean, focus mate, its all about focus! ha ha ha. Anyway, i didn't want him dragged straight back to the nick after tasting freedom for about an hour an a half so i says look Sean, lets go an have a couple of jars, there's still one or two of the old haunts left, so we go to the top o the mornin and i get him a couple of jars and we start plotting. Seans up for a bit of aggro, so am i but i say look Sean we need to get the crew together, do it PROPER! Sean starts laughing and lighting matches in the pub with that manic gleam in his eye, he's fucking livid he can't smoke a fucking b and h with his pint.
Anyway, he's up for a campaign rather than a one night wrecking spree, which is good cos Sean seething and pacing in Belmarsh just aint good for his nerves.
Anyway so he calms down a bit and we get some of the old crew down there and Sean draws all these maps on beermats and starts doodling this weird head and then opens a plastic bag with loads of tins of spray paint and he's off round his old manor taking back his territory and promising revenge and i think good on yer son, it takes guts to fight back like that.
Anyway this morning we had our first proper meeting of the old crew in the mapps caf,Sean fuckin loved his first greasy fry up for 9 years, and i tell you, those cunts Jowell and Coe are gonna wish they'd never fuckin set foot round here, I"M TELLIN YEER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

stay tuned in for the next installment, amidst the chaos of trying to destroy the blue fence Sean tries in desperation to pull a female scurity guard and succeeds.........