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etc Consignment Store Opens in London
This week, etcstore announced it will be opening a pop up store at Boxpark from Monday the 29th of April, the first of it’s kind in the UK. So what’s the deal? etc store re-sells rare and deadstock trainers from private sellers around the world, no fakes, no bidding wars and no dubious sellers via ebay. So if you plan on treating yourself to a new pair or selling off a few from the collection make sure you head down, the store will only be open for 6 weeks!
Trailer: Only God Forgives
Bring on July!!
Nina L’eau with Frida Gustavsson.
Sorry about the order of these pictors but l can’t be arsed to pick through html just now. Forgiveness purlease 
Now reading: God Is Dead by Ron Currie, Jr
Duiguised as a young Dinka woman, God came at dusk to a refugee camp in the North Dafur region of Sudan. He wore a flimsy green cotton dress, battered leather sandals, gold hoop earrings, and a length of black and white beads around his neck. Over his shoulder he carried a cloth sack which held a second dress, a bag of sorghum, and a plastic cup. He’d manifested a wound in the meat of his right calf, a jagged, festering gash upon which fed wriggling clumps of maggots. The purpose of the wound was twofold. First, it enabled him to blend in with the residents of the camp, many of whom bore injuries from the slashing machetes of Janjaweed riding parties. Second, the intense burning ache helped to mitigate the guilt he felt at the lot of the refugees, over which he was, due to implacable polytheistic bureaucracy, completely powerless.
#nothingquitelikeit
Fashion Film
Exposing all our whimsical nonsense, absolutely wicked ad by Viva Vena. Aays The Huffington Post; “Viva Vena’s “Fashion Film” may just be the cleverest commercial ever made. Directed by photographer and filmmaker Matthew Frost, and starring “Mean Girls” actress Lizzy Caplan, the creative ad mocks artsier-than-thou hipsters while actually selling the clothes they want to buy.”FASHION FILM from Matthew Frost on Vimeo.
The Status of Kate
What The Kate said in response to the helicopter crash in central London (which, incidently, was yards, YARDS from where she slept)
“Look, I know it may be too soon to be looking on the bright side, but may I be the first to point out that the streets of Vauxhall, home of some of the gayest gay clubs on earth, are now filled with policeman and construction workers.
All I’m saying is if anyone wants to join me in an Indian head-dress with YMCA on a ghetto blaster we could make a LOT of people very happy right now”
Whatta gal!! xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Everything Brannan- Ilsan Beach 12/01
And so it was that the 12th of January officially became the date that l fell back in ♥ with Korea in all it’s camera happy, overdressed, sentimental, teeny weeny bear-wearing (check the hoody in the last pic), toy-dog-loving nonsense. These pics where taken at Ilsan beach, Ulsan on this unseasonably warm and refreshing day.
In-keeping with the theme of love, those padlocks in the first pic are placed there by couples who, under the spell d’amour are compelled to leave a lovelock to declare they’ll be together “4eva n eva”, [wonder how many still are]. Best part of the day came when my gorgeous Korean and inexplicably single bud Sharon hissed, “hate” in my ear, while observing a couple engaging in the ‘lovelock’ ritual.
Bitterness will give you wrinkles Shazza ;D (Sasha)
The Caged Bird (Revisited)
Once upon a time, there was a bird. He was adorned with two perfect wings and with glossy, colourful, marvellous feathers. In short, he was a creature made to fly about freely in the sky, bringing joy to everyone who saw him.
One day, a woman saw this bird and fell in love with him. She watched his flight, her mouth wide in amazement, her heart pounding, her eyes shining with excitement. She invited the bird to fly with her, and the two travelled across the sky in perfect harmony. She admired and venerated and celebrated that bird.
But then she thought: He might want to visit far-off mountains! And she was afraid, afraid that she would never feel the same way for any other bird. And she felt envy, envy for the bird’s ability to fly.
And she felt alone.
And she thought: ‘I’m going to set a trap. The next time the bird appears, he will never leave me again.’
The bird, who was also in love, returned the following day, fell in the trap & was put in a cage.
She looked at the bird every day. There he was, the object of her passion, and she showed him to her friends, who said ‘Now you have everything you could possibly want.’
However, a strange transformation began to take place: now that she had the bird she no longer needed to woo him, she began to lose interest. The bird, unable to fly and express the true meaning of his life, began to waste away and his feathers to lose their gloss; he grew ugly; and the woman no longer paid him any attention, except by feeding him and cleaning out his cage.
One day, the bird died. The woman felt terribly sad and spent all her time thinking about him. But she did not remember the cage, she thought only of the day when she had seen him for the first time, flying contentedly amongst the clouds.
If she had looked more deeply into herself, she would have realised that what had thrilled her about the bird was his freedom, the energy of his wings in motion, not his physical body.
Without the bird, her life too lost all meaning, and Death came knocking at her door. ‘Why have you come?’ she asked Death. ‘So that you can fly once more with him across the sky,’ Death replied. ‘If you had allowed him to come and go, you would have loved and admired him even more;alas, you now need me in order to find him again.’
Paulo Coelho ‘Eleven Minutes’
Start as we mean to go on…
So the grown-up part of the holiday- New Years- is over, and now the vortex known as the internet will be swarming with people frantically uploading evidence of the great time they had, whether or not it was great being secondary to it looking like it was great. And that being secondary to looking like it was better than what everyone else was doing. I, however, would like to like to offer up an alternative; feel free to believe you had a better time than me this weekend. Use me as your comparative one-upper. I’m not saying you did necessarily, but l’m not gonna spend a minute trying to convince you that you didn’t (although you were probably warmer). Instead l’m beginning of 2013 with my big resolution. Write more. Be it the good, the bad or the downright tedious. Write no matter what is happening. Or isn’ t happening. Fucking hell, write to make something happen.My anecdotes may at time be mundane, they may at times be meaningless, but they are HERE which means l at least wrote something. And thats what matters the most.
So, this New Year weekend l stabbed my freezer to death. As in I took a huge psycho-style kitchen blade, knelt before my trembling fridge/freezer and literally stabbed it in its guts. Now this is not a lame metaphor for killing my “inner freezer” to thaw my “frozen heart” or some such crap cos while sounding a bit shit, would make sense. No. l actually stabbed my freezer that l put food in to keep it cold. But before you think me suffering from Requiem-style fridge delusions, l’ll explain l was simply trying to negotiate the problem of my freezer ‘drawer’ having been rendered a freezer ’slit’ by the sustancial ice-tumour that had encased it. So as l am an indepedent type of gal with a massive knife, l decided to tackle the problem head-on. I was chipping away at the ice, as happy as one can be doing such a thing, when l misfired and fatally wounded my cold storage appliance. It hissed and spluttered out a strange smelling gas which l instantly assumed to be noxious, causing me to run around my apartment, flinging open all windows and balcony doors lest l suffocate from inhaling the deadly fumes. However, as the Siberian freeze engulfed my apartment l considered freezing to death alongside my dying freezer another real -albeit poetic- possibility. Yet, for the second time in a fortnight, (l count surviving the Mayan doomsday the first) l cheated the grave but was left to consider the inconvenience l’d caused myself in what to do with the contents of my fridge. Then l figured that when you live in South Korea in Winter the entire fucking world is your walk-in fridge. And now my food is frozen au natural on my balcony. Silver lining as they say.
So that happened.
Did l mention its cold here?
It’ll make sense if you just keep reading.
Next l had the realisation that people in South Korea go shopping for outfits to go shopping in. As in they go to shops with the intention of buying oufits they will wear to go to more shops. Then they will wear these garments to buy more garments for the purpose of buying more garments. Not since l was told by my Sunday School teacher that, “God has always been there” have l been so overwhelmed by the implications of a ‘logic’ so implausible. I vividly remember my seven year-old self trying to make sense of the infinite; what it means to have “always been there”. I’d fixate on an image of God, (who looked a little like Santa’s more sculpted, handsome younger brother (makes sense now?), travelling backwards through clouds, hurtling towards the beginning of time. But knowing it would never conclude because there was no beginning- “God had always been there”- just totally did my head in. Then, as it is now.
“God has always been there…”
“The chicken or the egg…”
“Shopping for outfits to go shopping in…”
(Can l be first to say that, it works! Brad is, like, totes ‘Our Father’! I should get credit for pointing this out. And by credit l mean cash.)
“Go Back!” screams the poster, “lest you be served your exorbitantly priced green tea latte by this sexless oddity!” As Christmas is over l have to draw attention to this ad-bomination while l’ve the chance cos someone really ought to be held to account over this. I mean this guy is EVERYWHERE in Korea; he’s got a show on TV and mostly hawks make-up (true) and clothes but also does a few things in addition; promo for coffee chain being one of them which spawned this ad-trocity (stopping puns now). Now l’m aware of the laws of beauty and can see the appeal of his perfect, almost digitally symmetrical face. Also, l’ve no issue with feminine-looking guys, this is South Korea after all- in my eyes the nation responsible for one of the greatest cultural paradoxes on Earth; custom condemnation of homosexuality yet -unable to resist the high standards in grooming and scathing criticism of outward appearances gay culture is famed for - creator of THE most homo-centric culture since the the Greeks, to the point where you cannot tell whether any guy under 30 is being your usual oversensitive, bitchy gay, or just Korean. But back to this ad. What is it? Why is it? A cautious attempt at festive-cross-dressing? Cos if it is l guess l’m just used to more overt displays you know? Like screaming trannies or glamourpuss lady-boys or big burly men with bowed legs, stubble wearing negligees. I’m not used to this unnerving is he?/isn’t he? with everso-delicate moob-age, housewife hair and 70s-style lounge-wear santasuit which just screams ‘castration’ or ‘flat tiny penis’, (and believe me, Korea’s menfolk do not need anymore bad press in that department).
l’M KIDDING!!!
[swoooosh- sound of cloak covering back]
Happy New Year babas!!! May we make it happen in 2013 like nothing ever seen before! ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥(Sasha)♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
The Status of Kate(us)/(Ash)
(There’s definately a rhyme in this…)The stATus of kAT[e]us (ash).
The statUS of Kat[e]US??
kATE ASH and her stATE- ASH.
this is kATE and she’s my mATE, she’s fucking GrATE [sic]check out her stAT[E]uses… DAMMITT!!!!
So anyway, this here is the Kate. She’s pretty isn’t she? So pretty infact that when you remove that carrot her head lolls, her eyes roll, “Ah gots the glitterrrrr tittiieees” she hiccups and pops a spit bubble. Or that’s what should happen. However, her beauty has not stunted her brainty meaning removal of that carrot reveals a tongue as sharp as a needle, (not literally) eyes flaming with flames, (again- not literally) and - to quote Lloyd of Dumb and Dumber- “a rapist’s wit”, (there is that).
NB. Please replace carrot afterwards- t’is good manners to leave as we find.
Anyway, l begin the serialisation of Kate’s fb statuses with a rather firey entry and my personal favourite from 2012 thats l call, ‘Kate Goes Shopping for Finery’;
“Fuck you Lambeth Council online-payment-system!!
I type in my reference number and get asked if l would like to ‘add to basket’… So now lm ’shopping’ for parking fines??!
‘Hmmm, do you know l AM in the market for booting £65 into the sun for the unforgettable experience of momentarily straying into a poorly signed bus lane whilst attempting to navigate London’s wanky road system without killing the myraid cattlesque pedestrians blithely stumbling into the path of my metallic killing machine. Hell, why not make it two. Proceed to Checkout.’
FUCK YOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
You can follow the Kate yourself here* and actually us too here**
Status coming up; Kate tries meditation
(theres a rhyme in this…)
[medi]KATE tries to MediTATE.
(lm stopping now.)
(Sasha)
*/** twitlinksacoming
“I was bored before l even began”*
Blogs like ours are designed with the simple task of finding things that are interesting to us as bloggers and sharing them in the hope you’ll enjoy them too. Some of the content is ours some of it we source but first and last its entertainment - albeit of a more subtle kind- in the purest sense of the word. And what l’m about to say makes that no less true. Just kind of want to get real every now and again and say how things are… And that munchkins, is fucking dull.IM SO FUCKING BORED RIGHT NOW. Like l don’t recall ever feeling this before in my life. Fustrated? Yes. Suicidal… hmmmm, no, but despairing absolutely. Heartbroken? Irrepairable damage l’d say, but this kind of gently grating boredom might yet be one of the toughest things l’ve encountered. It is essentially a complete lack of wonderment or unpredictability in one’s life. If it sounds like a juvenile complaint, like lm some firstworld brat fastened in my safety seat in the back of my parents’ car with my felt pens and colouring book on the floor, bawling cos l’ve nothing to play with, then perhaps you’re right. But what would be a truer analogy is looking out the car window and seeing a world of limitless opportunity, a cataclysm of mayhem and mystery whizzing by at a thousand miles a second, yet l remained fastened in, a mere spectator to it all. Its the guilt of squandering the kind of opportunities** that millions would kill for that l feel it so acutely the sensation is almost physical.
Not boring #1: Tanadori Yokoo (1966)
Admittedly l do live in Korea which has the potential for endlessly fascinating encounters and mishaps. But that only happens with the will of curiosity. And sometimes money. And paradoxically NOT having a job. And I have a job, no money and a bad case of the homesickness and its DARK and FREEEEEZING which equals less fascination in what l see around me in this potentially exotic, distant land and instead the suffocating effects of routine smattered with weirdness in Baltic conditions. And weirdness is not the same as wonderment. Weirdness is a conclusion brought about from finding something odd but the lack of curiosity renders it just weird and nothing more. Curiosity is what compels us. Had we stood at the foot of the mighty Sphinx of Giza and said, “Well that’s just fucking weird”, we’d be no closer to learning the riddle of the Sphinx or there even being a riddle cos the Sphinx would just be some weird sandcastle of a big cat. No curiosity. No curiosity to kill the big weird sand cat with no nose which doesnt -to be perfectly honest - even look like a fucking cat.
Not boring #2: God Is Dead (cover) Ron Currie Jr
There is no resolution to this (until Spring) And there are other factors at work here- you could rename this post, “Why Ulsan is Shit and Why Am l Not in Seoul“, ‘The Eternal Siberian Winter‘ or ‘Deafening Silence… A Life without Music,ipod, Laptop,wifi, TV‘. The biggest truth is l have to, HAVE to write something and l’ve been holding off until something exciting happended. It hasn’t. Too cold. So this be it. l hope my beautiful CLFmag bedfellows Fifi and Anna dont mind my ranting because the last thing l want to do is bring them down with me. But it feels a relief to do this- to whinge. It does little but pave the way for more whinging (or not- l feel better already) but all l can do is promise to keep it as entertaining as l know how…
Lovingly everly Sasha.
* From The Smiths/Morrissey (who appeared twice in this post) ‘Shoplifters of The World’.
** Referencing the fact that l was lucky enough to be born in a First World country where education and opportunities to pursue dreams are there for the taking and to waste that, when l think of the millions of people who never and will never have that, kills me.
(One last thing… Today is 12/12/12 which a massive deal (or not) so l declare this post my revelation and promise to be honest & grateful foreverandeveramen.)
Addicted: exesandhoes.com
Top: Q-Tip & Janet Jackson
Middle: Carly Simon & James Taylor
Bottom: Mia Farrow and Frank Sinatra
Film Review: Prometheus
So l recognise that Prometheus is not a natural choice for a write -up given that its neither new nor retro, just kind of pottering around that post-dvd no-man’s-land but anyhoo l saw it again last night it feels all fresh and relevent and if it is to me, it is you too (l decided that). The film, for all intents and purposes, is a rather confusing voyage to a time pre-dating the epic and genre-defining Alien (1979). Its a story set aboard a space vessel journeying its way to Button Moon to follow Mr Spoon who is our great creator or something. Aboard the jolly vessel are Charlize Theron and Guy Pearce whose kryogenic chamber was just filled with water and looks like hes been in the bath about 80 years too long, and some other people doing and saying stuff. But most engimatic of them all is Micheal Fassbender as synthetic human crew member, ‘David’. The film plods along nicely, tripping in the occasional landfill size plot-hole, but that’s all by the by when you realise you’re not actually that bothered by all the unnecessary ‘twists’ excetera because you’re too preoccupied with thoughts of sexing the devastatingly cool, calm but essentially battery-run ‘David’. This brings about a multiple-choice style crisis of conscience centring around what is getting you off exactly.Is it-(a) Fictional ‘David’- because he’s a robot
(b) Human Micheal Fassbender- because he’s acting like a robot
(c) Human Micheal Fassbender - because hes ‘doing the robot’
(d) Fictional ‘David’ looking like human Micheal Fassbender acting like a robot
Great a sex and chess. Horrible at footwear choices.
Obviously its not (c) because theres no dancing in Prometheus [more's the pity] but there’s definate flirtation with the idea of love and sex with robots. Which is fair dues given its inevitability; their destined-to-be-prehistoric counterparts already live among us (in Japan, keeping old people company apparently). But rather than looking like a Dyson in a wig, those future-bots will - like David- be implausibly realistic and constructed with the express intention of getting us all excited. Its a lot to get your head and your ‘youknowwhat’ around [literally], or perhaps not if youre a man; there’s little dispute of whether they’d be willing participants in a rubbery tryst having been inserting themselves into inanimate objects since time immemorial, there’s little if any question of them screwing Mizz ‘Bot when it’s feasible they’d fuck the bubblewrap she arrived in. But the idea of women being attracted to humanoids is a largely unexplored and tabboo area. (Just wait for the ‘50 Shades’ style erotica about some pile of wet blamange getting electrocuted to the point of orgasm by her short-fused control-freak(y)-bot.) But for the rest of us normaloids, how do you make peace with being attracted to something whose evolutionary trail leads back to washing-up bottles and toilet-roll holders? Would l be willing to- lets face it- be penetrated by a robot? Cos that’s the ugly truth right there- except not so ugly cos its a Micheal Fassbender-looking truth which is what caused this problem in the first place. If he didnt make such a f**kable robot l’d be doing something more constructive with my life than going around asking friends if theyd make it with the Fassbender3.0 to which one mate came with the very considered reply, “Yes…. as long as he’s not a toaster.”
Joanna Everhart in ‘The Stepford Wives’. Clearly pre-programming.
There is an altogether more sinister side to synthetic allure however. Take 70’s classic film The Stepford Wives based on the 60’s Ira Levin novel whose message was so poignant, the term ‘Stepford Wife’ became part of modern lexicon referring to females who are so submissive, so perfect, so unobjectional to their menfolk they are obviously programmed that way (hint -like robots). I’ll not spoil the film any further for those who’ve yet to see it, but its worth considering the likelihood of synthetic company becoming preferrable to human females with our bloating and mouths that nag rather than give round-the-clock BJs, especially when the [non disputable] reality of ever frisky sexbots (who’ll be programmed that way) inches ever closer. Check this out (via) ” A 2012 report from Victoria University of Wellington, New Zeland, predicts red light districts by 2050 and claims this wpuld cutbdown on sex slavery and infections. And what do they call these prostitute robots? Hoe-bots. Meanwhile, a US profucer of cutting edge sexbots, Douglas Hines, has produced Roxxxy who can do pelvic thrusts and even simulate an orgasm. Ofcourse to some degree, all robot orgasms are simulated. Which would at least remove any uncertainty;
‘Were you faking?’
‘Yes, I am a robot.’”
So, like, yeah. Prometheus: ★★★☆☆
Sunday Afternoons: A spot of tea, Santa Teresa
“Chá inglês, por favor?”
The cutest thing about this place is not the myriad of, well, quite frankly everything that could possibly come under the heading kitsch shoved together under one roof, but the simple yet affectionate idea that you get to choose your own cup of which you would like to drink from. Take note budding teashop owners!
See more Lola-ness here: Lola Atelier Cafe
‘Fishing’ by A.A.Gill
…The galley is the only place to sit. It’s so cramped, if you put a stamp on it you could post it home. There are five of us on board now, but only four of us can sit at a time, which is okay because someone needs to drive and watch for tankers. There’s a filthy stove and a little sink with a plastic bowl full of slopping, turgid, lumpy water. This is the only tap on the ship. There’s no shower and no water you’d want to drink without boiling. They drink only tea, coffee and Tesco’s cola. There are five mugs that are never washed and when you see the state of the teatowel you’re grateful. We sleep in the bowels of the boat, a dark dungeon up the sharp end with pods in the walls like Davey Jones’s catacomb. The human part of this ship is made as small and claustrophobic as possible. The greatest part of it is given over to the fish, to the catch. To the cash. The engine rumbles and caws constantly, without cease.
There is a bin, a small bucket that’s emptied over the side, and a lavatory without a seat that would be impossible to sit on because its jammed sideways into a cupboard with a broken porthole. The thought of maybe having to sit on it - or, worse, kneel in front of it in the humping swell - is too awful to contemplate. Overall, l’d have to say that this is the most aasertively filthy environment l’ve been in since l was a student. This boat is a Norman Wisdom assault course of pratfalls, whacked heads, lost fingers, rope burn, slicing steel, crunching blocks and grinding gears, or just simply and silently tripping and disappearing overboard.
Sunday Afternoons: Gay Pride, Copacabana
Isn’t it pweeeeety? Rainbows everywhere. Just like we daydreamed of when we were kiddies! Except it didn’t involve 700,000 people, eardrum ringing beats of the techno remix of-the house remix of-the electro remix of-Britney Spears Toxic, beer fog, 30′C sun, sand, sea & …, aggressive kissing, intrusive fondling, gyrating glitter covered bodies or men with more tits, arse and hair (on their head) than I will ever have - or did it?
Rio’s 17th year of Gay Priding - this years theme? “Coração não tem preconceitos: tem amor” (The heart doesn’t have prejudice: It has love.).
*All photos have been stolen via google via online publications because I was too busy drinking and gyrating to take pictures of my own.
Korea #2
Back in Busan!!!
“They all float down here”
The death of reason
Salutations from Korea!!
being back in Korea was much easier a transition and glad to be back but already have the growing sense of restlessness thats gonna make these next 6 months a toughie. Buddah said, “the trouble is you think you have time”. I don’t think that for a second.
Sunday Afternoons: Posto 8, Ipanema
**In Rio’s defence, this is not all the city is cracked up to be, though this is one of its biggest stereotypes. Other stereotypes including that it’s so dangerous you can’t walk anywhere without being shot (thank you Ross Kemp and the rest), and the other extreme, that there aren’t any roads because all Brazilians live in a jungle (clearly it’s these folk that should be looking at the above delight). Rio de Janeiro is indeed a conundrum of bustling metropolis, politics, social class, religion, art, theatre, dance and music, topped with a healthy helping of rice & beans, beer and novelas. But who’s really going to complain when this is your Sunday afternoon entertainment?
