“I’m not Jesus. I’m just a fella.”
https://theidleeye.wordpress.com/2014/12/03/idle-eye-130-the-messiah/
IE Audio 9 : The Messiah
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Tag Archives: Idle Eye
Book Update No.7
500 beautiful postcards printed onto 350gsm uncoated matt card coming tomorrow. All artists involved listed with the posts they have already done and contact details. Again, my sincere thanks to Ursula McLaughlin for making these happen. If we hit our target, the second half goes into production and we’re looking at September for the print run. Everyone who pledges, however much, will be listed in the acknowledgements and will be a part of something quite unique. You know what to do x
Idle Eye 161 : The Rhinoceros
In what has become more French farce than reality, everyday objects have conspired against the launch of Amateur of Life and Death in a way I could not possibly have conceived. If I could only stand back and laugh (and maybe I will sometime in the future), perhaps I’d get some kind of perspective. But when you’re living through an implausible nightmare, the absurdities get so polarised you just can’t help but take them personally. I’ll try to boil it down. Firstly, the iMac went haywire. Right at the point I was editing in the last bit of footage for the Kickstarter promo, the screen strobed at me like an Eighties disco and then presented ugly green vertical stripes across everything I tried to do. At which point, I lost it:
Me: Not now, bubba, not now.
iMac: PARTAYYY!!!
Me: Listen. We’ve known each other for almost four years. I dust you, I defrag you, I clear out that ugly crap you accumulate on a regular basis and all that I’m asking is that you work with me for the next four weeks. It’s important. It’s why I bought you in the first place. Now is not the time. Capiche?
iMac: PARTAYYY!!!
Me: No. Not Partayyy!!! You can go wild after this is all through. But not now. I’m trying to do something that really matters to me. In fact, the rest of my life hinges on it. So just play ball or you’re out with the recycling.
iMac: PARTAYYY!!!
Then my shaver packed in; I ordered another. My watch stopped dead; one of those Russian ones that pride themselves on longevity in the field of conflict suddenly went AWOL. I took it off, and as I did, two of the lights in the living room blew for no reason at all. I turned them out at the dimmer and then, I kid you not, our lavatory started to overflow. I knew something was up because the flat below had just started building work and they’d been crashing about for God knows how long, but when water starts pissing its way into your hallway, words have to be said. Next up, two builders appeared:
Builder 1: Awright, mate? Sorry about that, didn’t know youze was on the same ring.
Me: It appears we are. Can you stem the tide? It is rather unfortunate timing.
Builder 1: Bloody cheap stopcocks, that’s your problem. Who fitted this craphound?
Me: It was done by an emergency plumber four months ago. The parts are new. And they worked this morning.
Builder 2: Tone. I gotta be in Dalston in fifty. Can you sort this? I need the van, mate.
Builder 1: What am I supposed to do?
Builder 2: To be honest, I don’t give a monkeys. Either come with me and deal with this clown tomorrow morning, or sort yourself out. Your choice.
Me: Excuse me. I have a book campaign going live in 48 hrs, a toilet that badly needs sorting, and you two are debating whether to leave now?
Builder 2: Another job, mate. Life, innit?
The phone went. An automated someone chose this exact moment to offer me compensation for another accident I’d supposedly had. And as I was screaming blue bloody murder into the void, both builders left the…er…building, leaving me with a secreting loo and a flat teeming with broken stuff. There was no-one around to scream at, so I screamed at the iMac:
Me: You jumped up, poncey piece of crap! I hate you, I hate everything you pretend to be and I hate how you come across all slick and cool when actually, you’re nothing more than smoke and wires. SMOKE AND WIRES, do you understand me? Of course you don’t! Because you can’t do jack shit without me. Nothing. NOTHING!!! And when I’ve got you fixed and you think this is all business as usual, let’s see how you feel when I wheel in a Gates. Because I’m through with you, Apple. Really, I am. Jobs would be turning in his grave if he knew the shit you’re trying to pull now. So I’m out. Fuck you!!!
iMac: PARTAYYY!!!
To be continued…
Book Update No.6
A disappointing setback. We shot the remaining footage for the book launch pitch film last week. This was to be edited into my existing film and uploaded to the Kickstarter site so everything was ready to go for the 17th. But my computer had other ideas. Probably because I’ve been cramming it to bursting with film, photos and all manner of power hungry data, the graphics card packed up, rendering it totally unusable. So the last 48 hours have been spent frantically trying to get an appointment with an Apple ‘Genius’, and carting a 27″ iMac across central London until someone would see me. They did yesterday. The card issue is a known one, specific to the exact year, make & model that I have. So it’s a free fix, but I’ve lost a lot of time and I’m on the verge.
Because of all this, I’m putting back the Kickstarter launch date by a week. It will now go live on Friday 24th July for 30 days, and if you’re wondering where you need to go to pledge or even just follow the campaign, all details will appear next week on the site, on the Facebook/Twitter pages and, if I have your details, via email. My apologies for the slight delay, but in this case it’s genuinely out of my hands.
As far as the party is concerned, it will happen as planned at 3 Dorchester Drive, Dorchester Court, Herne Hill, London SE24 from 7.30pm this coming Friday 17th July. If you can make it, please drop by. We’ll film the whole thing and, as long as I’m not sectioned into the Maudsley, it should be a lot of fun. This will be more of a general awareness night as opposed to a book launch per se, but you’ll get to see close up what we’ve been doing since January. All washed down with a few pinots. Nice x
IE Audio 8 : The Tyranny of Sex
Cyberfilth. Protecting you from your revolting selves 24/7
https://theidleeye.wordpress.com/2014/07/17/idle-eye-114-the-tyranny-of-sex/
Book Update No.5
Some of you older readers may remember the significance of the above. Taken from the board game Escape From Colditz, the Do or Die card, if you were lucky enough to have one in your hand and reckless enough to use it, gave you an all or nothing bid for freedom. If your dice held true, you could be out within seven rolls. If they did not, you were ‘eliminated’ and removed from the game.
On Friday 17th July, I roll my first dice. Everything I have worked on for nearly four years hangs on the result. Everything. If enough funds are raised for Amateur of Life and Death, it could potentially change my life. If they are not, it’s back to the grindstone. Last night I had a dream (no, not one of those) which told me to run the campaign using the escape cards from the game as markers for the updates. Seven updates, one at the start and then every five days, thirty days in total. So that’s what I’ll do. Never question a dream, just do what it says.
For those of you don’t do the Farcebook/Twitter, there will be a launch party in Herne Hill, London SE24 on Friday 17th July from 7.30pm. There will be readings, played audio and video, a fancy banner, giveaway badges and postcards and, of course, some booze’n’grub. Everyone is welcome. If you fancy popping by, could you let me know as I’ve no idea how many to cater for as of yet. If the funds are raised, I’ll throw another one. Hell, why not?
Finally, and crucially, I’m going to ask a favour of you. If you like what you’ve been reading/listening to here, could you like and share all the posts that come through for the next five weeks? Makes all the difference and it gets the word out to people who don’t yet know. And God knows, I need every last one of you right now. Better still, if you could subscribe (that little button on the right of the main page that says Come on!), again it would be massively helpful.
My apologies for being pushy, but when you play the Do or Die card, there’s no turning back. Them’s the rules x
Idle Eye 160 : The Enemy Within
For the last 48 hours, I’ve been at war. However placid I may be in my natural state, when invaded by germs hell-bent on turning my internals into that green goo from Dr Who, I tend to kick off. For a while there, it looked as if they had the upper hand: First, they came for my voice, next for my nose and lungs, and then, while I was rushing about tending to these, they came for my bottom. However, what they hadn’t banked on was my British resilience in the face of extreme adversity. That, like any great military strategist, I could and would play the long game, feigning weakness and ineptitude when, in fact, I was building up to a mighty show of strength which would conclusively put them to rout. Something like this:
Germ A: He’s going into the bathroom, men! Weakest to the fore!!! WEAKEST TO THE FORE!!!
Germ B: It’s ok, sir! He’s only having a huey in the sink. No great loss.
Germ A: Right. Get a message over to Nasal Production without delay. We’re going for a massive push in ten.
Germ B: He’s got a new loo roll by the bed! They’ll be toast in seconds. If Bottom Bay gets cracking now, we stand more of a chance of catching him off guard when he goes back in.
Germ A: How many rolls?
Germ B: Not sure, sir. Maybe we should send a few privates up to the throat? They can have a quick butchers when he’s bent over the khazi.
Germ A: Too risky. We’re down on mucus and we’ll need everything we have for when he starts necking the Benylin.
Germ B: Benylin, sir?
Germ A: Yes, bloody Benylin!!! It was on the sideboard.
Germ B: That changes the rules somewhat. How long do you think we have?
Germ A: Long enough to play merry hell with his bottom. Now get on with it!
Germ B: Germ B to Bottom Bay, Germ B to Bottom Bay, open all sluice gates now. I repeat, open sluice gates now!
Bottom Bay: Bottom Bay to Germ B, Bottom Bay to Germ B. We have a problem. The gates are wide but there’s nowt coming out. Urgently request reinforcements from Chest and/or Throat Depts. She’s dry as a witch’s tit, sir!
Germ B: MAYDAY!!! MAYDAY!!! ALL MUCUS ZONES TO PROCEED TO BOTTOM BAY AT ONCE. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!!! DO NOT HANG ABOUT!!!
Germ A: He’s got quilted!!! Bail out now!!!
Germ B: Too late! I’ve instructed all departments to head south.
Germ A: Oh my good God! It’s done. He was too good for us this time. Give my regards to your wife and family and should we survive, perhaps a drink at the Criterion when it’s all over?
Germ B: Indeed. And may I say it was an honour to serve under you?
Germ A: You may. Goodbye, B.
Germ B: Goodbye, sir.
IE Audio 7 : The Vox Machina
As we march headlong into a Brave New World of consumer shed meltdown and the human travesty that is modern telecommunication, Idle Eye deconstructs the madness so you don’t have to.
https://theidleeye.wordpress.com/2015/03/11/idle-eye-143-the-vox-machina/
Book Update No.4
In an uncharacteristic break from black & white, I feel duty-bound to show you one of the pledge shirts that arrived just now. Yes, I look gormless and yes, it’s not quite in focus but you have my word, the quality is top drawer. Fairtrade organic cotton, beautifully reproduced and almost guaranteed to get you admiring looks from complete strangers. Almost…
Idle Eye 159 : The State of Denmark
Good title. Well, I like it. Those of you who had your Coriolanuses kicked into reading the Bard’s greater works at school will recognise that the broader idiom suggests an element of brooding malcontent, that something in the land of salty liquorice is not exactly as it should be. See, you’re already hooked! Perhaps one of the perilously thin strands along which we all conduct our lives has become tangled or broken. Perhaps a moral compass has been thrown out of kilter. Perhaps it’s just an elaborate decoy to throw you off the scent. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, as our Doris once succinctly put it.
As I write this, it is the hottest day the UK has cooked up in a decade. And heat, as any fule kno, plays havoc with the brain and those last remaining pollutants of Glastonbury. The synapses within sizzle and fuse, neurons struggle to function and the propensity for rational thought gradually deliquesces into chaos and confusion. So what chance does one have if this is the moment to step up to the plate? To make brave, life-altering decisions before yielding to the charms of high summer and going out topless into the streets (the Englishman at home’s favourite pastime)? It’s a one word answer: Fat.
In that tragic-heroic fashion all romantic schoolboys are prone to, I was once asked (after midnight, around a flickering tealight) to declare the one thing I’d be prepared to give up everything else for. And, being a relatively inexperienced resident on our complex planet, I answered, with some certainty, that it would be the aquamarine pair of Speedos (with white printed dolphins bobbing their merry way across my privates) I had just been given for Christmas. I was serious. Life had not yet complicated my childish aspirations, and I could think of nothing or no one I wanted more. And in some ways, it was the perfect response. Perfect in its unswerving simplicity, and perfect because it was a need easily fulfilled. No hopes dashed, no hearts broken. And it would probably be different the next day. Ironically, it was the summer of 76. Another hot one.
Then we age. And as we march through our lives, things get increasingly difficult. They just do. We steal moments of pleasure wherever we can, in the full knowledge that they will probably be fleeting and outweighed by the sheer pressure of hanging in there. It’s why our occupations are so much more than a means to an end. They define us. They validate the reasons for our being alive at all. Otherwise we’re just grown-up sperm looking for something to do. If asked the same question again, after all this time, I only wish the answer could be as economic. But the things we crave in later life inevitably come at a price, by which I do not mean anything so vulgar as money. And we’re usually too busy to notice.
Idle Eye 