Every-one loves Terry Richardson

I had a rather large laugh last week when i opened a box containing the new issue of Journal Magazine.

Yes, yes, yes, Terry Richardson has done it again.

I am Psychosomatic

I think i am potentially going crazy..

I think i am slightly nutty.

I think i may have aspects of Psychosomatic stress.

Being on the dole has a funny affect on ones mind. It has been the ruin of me.

Being left to my own devices all day means i have slipped from my boring reality into a limitless fantasy world where Voltaire rules and everyday life drools. Sitting in my pony skin chair all day everyday, sipping on double shot coffees and at 4.05pm double shot whiskeys, i have begun to have delusions of grandeur. I am sure that i am some type of phenomenal genius. some type of modern day literary winner like Nabokov.  The reality that i don’t excell at any skill particualy well, does not take these feelings away like some may assume. In fact ,my lack of skills only heightens my delusions further. The fact is, i am untamed, undiscovered, i am a muse in the waiting.

Anyhow, the reason i am telling you this is because i was kind of hoping that if i ever need to be committed to a mental institution i would become like my favorite Japanese women: Yayoi Kusama.

If i Kusama can dominate the art world from her mental institution in Asia then maybe i could to.

Self Obliteration by Dots….

x

The Birth of Uncool

Having been born as a Aries Child in 1987 i feel burdened with the curse of unleashing an era of uncool.  87 unleased some dire shit for the world: The wall street crash got nasty, televangelist Jim Bakker resigns amid accusations of sexual infidelity and financial impropriety, Prozac hits America, Andy Warhol was killed, the “Rhythm is Gonna Get You”  by Gloria Estefan was released  and Bow Wow, Joss Stone, and Hilary Duff were born.

Having to carry the guilt of this curse around on my shoulders has left me withered and scared. I have become a house hermit, living on the dole and trying my very best to become an intelligent and worthwhile citizen.

So, low and behold i have gathered up four books of intense prose and brilliance, in the hope that perhaps the aura of radical will sufficiently slide onto me, meaning i can be birthed back into the world on a rainbow of cool.. fucking hardcore cool.

SRS x

Decalart Delusion

Another dreary day in the middle of nowhere has meant my hobby –Decalart- has done its rightful job by keeping me disillusioned to the realities of my incredibly boring and unfulfilled life. Sticking, scratching and seriously concentrating on colouring means I have managed to pass at least 20 to 30 minutes of time. Leaving only another 14 or so hours to fill.

Look what you have done to me Tauranga. You fat fuck head.

x

The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test

My mums dedicated obsession to unusual authors and to her entrepreneurial baby, “Natural Healing by means of Crystals with Shazz”, is something that has always irked me.  This irritation spreads like a rash whenever i  find her tip toeing around my room, planting little saphire surprises (for help with friendship). Yet I have always put her unique habits and hobbies down to her seemingly innocent Whitianga upbringing. However, my doors of perception were ripped open last week, when a photo dislodged itself from a copy of ‘The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test’, which i had just found, jammed in a box at the back of wardrobe. The photo showed mum and dad standing in a well tended garden of cactus. Thousands, upon thousands of mini Peyote were growing everywhere, situated in what looked suspiciously like a shrine to the sun-gods. The photo was dated 1987. The year i was born.

Considering i now knew i was the product of Tie-dye wearing acid head hippies, and because it is so Radical-Chic to lust after the expansion of our conciseness through mind altering substances; i felt it was only acceptable that i should read the book. Not only to discover the mind set of those who had raised me, but also in the vain hope that i too, would experience some of my own super insane revelations.

Wolfe’s work of experimental literary journalism, ‘The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test’ , documented the alternative psychedelic period of the 1960’s and 70’s. The story of hysterical realism follows the infamous author Ken Kessey and his posse of Merry Pranksters as they fuck off around America on their highlighter bus “Further”;  searching for self- revelations and spiritual oneness. All with the help of a little white powder. Instant Zen/Infinity/Bart Simpsons/ Barrels, or just plain ole LSD. The group begin in Perry Lane, and continue around the country, hosting a fuck load of Acid Tests with a bunch of their friends and followers; the Hell’s Angels, The Grateful Dead, Kerouac, Ginsberg and of course our dear friend Cassady.

Known to be one of the best beat generation books, The Acid Test will light up your  dull life  and will leave you dreaming of a world where everyone snorts lysergic acid diethylamide.

P.S

Psychedelic revelations were a no show, but i did discover a curious love of heavy drinking and reading,

Ikhyd Edgar Arular Bronfman.

The only thing cooler than having a lifetime ban from Grumpy Mole in Tauranga, is having your new music video banned on youtube.

I can’t say anything new and interesting about Gavras’ current video for M.I.A. Everything has been said.  Even the most banal comments from the most generic people continue to intensify the hype factor, ever so effectively.

Romain Gavras was also the Director of  ’Stress’ (Justice’s video).  So, I wasn’t at all surprised to see another fucked up, far out and entertaining cinematic vignette by the guy.

M.I.A is now back in action.

Born Free

The history of full bodied plantain bananas.

Narcissistic citrus girl lived in the valley of the diamond king. Sometimes she felt sad and cried glass tears which she hung on magic chains and sold at the local Sunday market. She rode the farmer’s cherry picker up to her lone coppola, above an empty house where she cooed for the attention of the diamond king. A royal bane induced anorexia nervosa. She recieved an eviction notice to leave her little coppola straight away. She asked herself, “how does everyone pay the rent when everybody has AIDS?”.
She was unable to keep her job at the banana plantation where she picked full bodied, plantain bananas as her bones were too brittle and would snap like the chopsticks that one receives at Renkon.
Her only friends were made of lego but didge-playing, digi-mates on myspace are cooler so, her friends were sadly outdated and she wanted not a cunts hair of them.
She wore her rosary beads around her emaciated hips. “Sacrilege”, cried the outraged village people. So she pulled her elbow skin out like this, and screamed with spittle flying, “all of your faces remind me of bonkey-mall-sacks”. But the pressure of insulting an entire crowd caused a dyslexic cloud over her comback, thus creating an embarrassing downpour of mumbled words. The village people all laughed at her like this!
All sixty two village people chanted, “learning disorder, learning disorder”. So, when daylight retired she lit little fires beneath all sixty two and a half of the village people’s houses and whispered, “what I really meant to say bitches, was monkey ball sacks”.
Later that night after she skipped gaily home she stumbled upon a single package sitting on her doorstep. Inside was the mirkin she had won on e-bay! The very same mirkin Salma Hayek had worn in Freda. It had only cost her five hundred, twenty five thounsand, six hundred dollars. She trimmed her mirkin into a well known political statement and stuck it above her top lip. Ala, the toothbrush moustache was re-born.

x

The Picture of Pussy Portraiture

With over 3 dozen cunts of every size and description to colour, the Cunt Coloring Book will seriously stimulate your inferior temporal cortex . Published in 1975 as an elucidative education tool, this daringly designed sex-ed book will keep you down on your knees for hours, coloring with the precision and patience of a five year old.

Love from, Fitzroy

Hi readers,

We’re going to be giving a weekly commentary of what we’re getting up to in Melbourne.

Please enjoy our first installment.

The above  images were taken from Sammy’s bedroom.  One day, while walking home from our studio space, we met the guy that actually lives in the house.  Sammy whipped out the dictaphone and we began to secretly interview him, from his porch.

The guy’s name is Leo and this is what he had to say.

Before you start reading, please expel any negativity that you have and put forth all of your love and wisdom in to our beautiful universe.

Ciao. x

Who is Carrie?

My ex-girlfriend.

Did you graffiti your own house?

Nah, nah, no way. This guy called Toby did. He actually tagged my fucking house when I was working in Sydney for the weekend.

Is Toby your friend?

He was.  I also used to do posters for his band. He seemed like a regular lad until he started sleeping with my girlfriend every time I went interstate.  That was so often as well. So, yeah…They were thrashing every week for about three months.

Can we go into this, or is this a touchy subject?

I’ve never really talked about it. The whole ordeal really fucked with my zen.

None of my friends liked her anyway. So, who else is there to talk to about it?

Why didn’t your friends like her? Clearly Carrie bakes delicious cakes.

Well actually her cakes are shit, she’s vegan and only uses weird things like carob. My friends didn’t like her because she was deaf.

Your friends sound like douche bags.

Sometimes….but it was a language barrier thing, nothing too personal.

So where are Toby and Carrie now?

Toby is in a pretty well established Australian band and Carrie just lives with him…I don’t know exactly where they live because I don’t particularly care.  I sometimes pretend they’re in another universe.  Where they live an unpleasant existence.  You know, like something of the Planet of the Apes style.

Is Carrie a fan of Toby’s music?

What the Fuck? I meant deaf  like a fruit bat, as in chats with her fingers. Stares at your lips and wears plastic junk behind her ears.  That sort of deaf.

Why haven’t you got the tag removed?

I keep on asking my landlord, but my landlord is Toby’s dad. Can you believe that?

Leo begins to delve in to the ways of the universe.  We begin to struggle getting any more answers out of him, regarding the tag on his house.  Sammy, eventually begins to get the creeps and takes off home for a glass of her security wine.   Mon returns home an hour later, feeling spiritually enlightened and excited about the renewal of her soul.

Just-in Case You Seem Boring.

SWORN TO FUN, LOYAL TO NONE

I know a premium chap and I call him Cam.  Dreadfully close to forever ago, Cam sent me a link to some man’s website.  The website coordinator-man, is dubbed Justin Blyth.

I quickly became infatuated with what I saw. I continued to stare, scour and sift through all of Justin’s images. Ultimately, I began to delightfully salivate over them. It was usually at Uni and all over their communal keyboards. The only thing cooler than spreading germs to verminophobic Asian students are Justin’s cool page headers.

Please allow me to trail off from my current topic here.  I saw my first Henri Matisse painting when I was seven.  At that age, I learned that most art came with a title or a name.  So, I pointed to a Matisse of a lady, reading a book and asked my father what the picture was called.  ‘Reading Woman’ he replied.  I thought, what the fuck?  I was completely shocked with the idea that something so highly regarded and intricate, could be introduced with such standard and obvious words. I found a beautiful contradiction in that.  Seventeen years later, I still look at art.  Though, not before I have read the written gist.  This for me, is where the initial impression lies.  It’s like a little, lyrical entrée to my ocular feast.

The headers that you will find on Them Thangs are quirky, weird and badass. Overall they are exciting and I love them.

Monsieur Blyth is a talented graphic designer and art director. When looking at his website, it becomes clear that he has a trained eye for quality.  Here is a link one may follow, if they wish to view his personal portfolio. This is a very cool site too. Very impressive. Very original. Very inspiring.

http://jblyth.com/

After about a month of exploring Justin’s website, I decided to find his email address and ask him if he were willing to do an interview for FULS.  We had created a ‘choose or die’ style interview for him. For us, ‘choose or die’ is the least freaky way to approach an interview subject.  I received a same day reply and Justin asked me to email our questions to him. He also revealed that his father was from New Zealand and because of this, we would receive his ‘full Kiwi love’.  After my little heart melted, I sent him through the questions.  Five months later and still no ‘Kiwi love’.  In retrospect, the questions were pretty, fucking weird.

If you like Justin’s stuff and then show some slender interest in reading a Mon/Sammy styled interview of him. We will totally re-email him, with re-written questions.

In the meantime, enjoy his remarkable pool of images (Dan, you seem to be on a bit of a visual frenzy.  If you haven’t looked at this site before…I think it will suit you).

As Cam so kindly did for me, I also would like to introduce you to Them Thangs by Justin Blyth.

http://www.them-thangs.com

P.S Merci Cam.