insidious horror

I’m sorry.  Nasty Decibels.  Clean, pristine and privatised spaces rising up out of East End squalor.

What would Ozenfant say??  I say they should be torn down before they sully the neighbourhood anymore.

Honestly, Brick Lane on a Sunday awash with Fendi bags and gillets.  West Londoners, arms laden with lillies from the Flower Market on Columbia Road.  Stuffing Beigels into their made-up mouths.  Cramming as much of the supposed culture into their organic gullets as they can fit.

Here, what a glut…  Look at the way they stare.  I feel like saying, “Have you never seen a fucking hippo before??”

Not fare.  Come to accept pain.  More damage inflicted upon this material realm.  I was thinking about the girl I heard about, she’s Palestinian and she still has the bits of metal, fragments from a bomb which killed her father and uncle and embedded themselves in her brain.  She still has nosebleeds and almost constant headaches.  Now, what is the role of pain for this child, and for the human species.  What does her pain mean when this kind of pain is self-inflicted, for Taoist adherence??  I almost don’t understand.

From a cool and detached minimalist painted surface to a riot of colour and severe scarring.  I don’t understand

And then back again: this position, this weblog is becoming increasingly irrelevant, increasingly obscure.  And yet I cannot think of another way of grounding it other than in showing photographs of devotional self-hurt.

Ok, that’s all for now East Enders!!  Back with some more Ghost Style soon!


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