Music from Frank Sinatra, Count Basie, Dory Previn, Stan Freberg, Morrissey...no, hang on - that's *next* week....
*Bugger*...
L.U.V. on y'all,
Once was Bob
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Friday, 29 August 2008
Thursday, 28 August 2008
There's a strange singing noise...
...coming from the bathroom "...ow don the whiney windy mo, sweet [gurgle...gurgle...spit...hawk...splash] A-TWO -A-FREE-FOUR...EEEFCLIFFF - IZ ME IZ KAFF-FEEE OH CUM OME OH-HO-HO-HO-HO LEAPIN' OUDDA YOUR WINDAH...HO-HO-HO..." I wish Penny Smith wouldn't just pop in like that and use my shower without so much as a by your leave. Oh, don't get me wrong, she's a canny enough neighbour, I suppose - couldn't be more obliging if ever I run out of sugar or need an Ordnance Survey map of the Peak District to borrow for one of my infamous pub crawls disguised as walking weekends. She has the whole collection, apart from the Solent/Isle of Wight map, of course, which I rather embarrassingly mislaid when I borrowed it from her a couple of months ago. Christ only knows why I took that with me to the Cairngorms, but there you go - mental note to self "buy Penny a replacement OS map of the Solent/Isle of Wight...and get in some more Imperial Leather"...
Yes, you couldn't wish for a better next door neighbour really. She even volunteered to give me hand relief the other day. Nice wrist action she has too - although I do wish she'd take the marigolds off in future. The chaffing has not been pleasant. Still, I've had worse from Garraway. She really wants to get those horny palms looked at instead of whipping her thrupennies out for any old stray livestock in need of a quick suckle. Still, I suppose it all works out in the end - I did proof read Penny's latest book for her after all. My goodness, you'd think that even for a job like being a presenter on GMTV there would be some need for basic literacy, wouldn't you? But no, there's scant evidence of any in Penny's - and I hesitate to use the word to describe a rambling bundle of unintelligable squiggles scribbled on the backs of envelopes and held in some semblance of order by three overstretched elastic bands - manuscript.
"wot you jus done was owt off this werld, Crispian", sied ower heroin as he messaged her pendyless brests wiv his hugh, comanding hans." "Urgh, urgh, urgh" replide Crispain as he workd away at the palzeed mass beneaf him liek a frenzeed babbon wiv a personige the siez of Llandudno"....
It's a history of women in Television, apparently. My goodness, I'd have expected a little better from Valerie Singleton, wouldn't you?
Right, I'm off to Fine Fare to stock up on soap-on-a-rope before she starts murdering "The Man With the Child in his Eyes"...
L.U.V. on y'all,
Bob
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Yes, you couldn't wish for a better next door neighbour really. She even volunteered to give me hand relief the other day. Nice wrist action she has too - although I do wish she'd take the marigolds off in future. The chaffing has not been pleasant. Still, I've had worse from Garraway. She really wants to get those horny palms looked at instead of whipping her thrupennies out for any old stray livestock in need of a quick suckle. Still, I suppose it all works out in the end - I did proof read Penny's latest book for her after all. My goodness, you'd think that even for a job like being a presenter on GMTV there would be some need for basic literacy, wouldn't you? But no, there's scant evidence of any in Penny's - and I hesitate to use the word to describe a rambling bundle of unintelligable squiggles scribbled on the backs of envelopes and held in some semblance of order by three overstretched elastic bands - manuscript.
"wot you jus done was owt off this werld, Crispian", sied ower heroin as he messaged her pendyless brests wiv his hugh, comanding hans." "Urgh, urgh, urgh" replide Crispain as he workd away at the palzeed mass beneaf him liek a frenzeed babbon wiv a personige the siez of Llandudno"....
It's a history of women in Television, apparently. My goodness, I'd have expected a little better from Valerie Singleton, wouldn't you?
Right, I'm off to Fine Fare to stock up on soap-on-a-rope before she starts murdering "The Man With the Child in his Eyes"...
L.U.V. on y'all,
Bob
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Wednesday, 27 August 2008
Friday, 22 August 2008
Poor old Bob...
...the more people found out about him (me?), the less they seemed to like him (us?) That's the trouble, you see, when you go for the old tortured artist, soul-exposure schtick, I suppose. Civilization requires of us a certain reticence and, though it's the artist's predicament (or duty, perhaps) to kick agianst such restraint, as with most things, the need is often there for a very good reason: in this case, self-protection. You see, people are indubitably selfish at the best of times, but audiences (and, yes, I would stretch that to encompass the likes of you too, dear reader) are especially so. Because we don't just want to watch or listen or read, do we? We want, having been duly entertained, to have our tu'pennorth too. And that's when *we* the audience become artists ourselves - artists of *appraisal*; connoisseurs of cavil. Then all reticence and restraint goes out of the window because - and you'll all know this to be true if you've ever so much as worn an unorthodox shoelace in public for a mufti day lark - if there's one thing on the planet that's more selfish even than an artist, it's ...yep, you guessed it.... the *CRITIC*.
And whereas old timer dudes like Matthew Arnold at least had the decency to do a bit of research into the whole span of humanity's artistic endeavour before squaring up the the world of art and proncouncing upon matters cultural, your modern critic needs little more than a barely skimmed through copy of the Daily Mail/Grauniad and - I'm adding this bit for (hopefully) comic effect, but you can probably come up with your own (and better) defining characteristics that you visualise when you think of a critic - a pair of Jesus boots. And that's your *educated*, graduate material critic. Drop down a few rungs of the social ladder and you're really taking your life in your own hands if you dare to so much as *think* about doing something vaguely stimulating, creative or that challenges your audience to do more than fart during the ad breaks.
So poor old Bob - I must stop talking about myself this way, but it's a bit disorienting when you have continually to refer to yourself in the past tense like this ... you try it for size and see if you don't believe me - poor Bob committed the ultimate sin, really. He tried to move from the *audience* on to the *stage*. "Nobody", as John Lennon told Neil Aspinall when his idea to do a reprise of the 'Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts' Club Band' song towards the end of the album had been agreed by the band, "likes a smart arse." Neither, it would seem, do audiences like a deserter.
L.U.V. on y'all,
Once was Bob
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And whereas old timer dudes like Matthew Arnold at least had the decency to do a bit of research into the whole span of humanity's artistic endeavour before squaring up the the world of art and proncouncing upon matters cultural, your modern critic needs little more than a barely skimmed through copy of the Daily Mail/Grauniad and - I'm adding this bit for (hopefully) comic effect, but you can probably come up with your own (and better) defining characteristics that you visualise when you think of a critic - a pair of Jesus boots. And that's your *educated*, graduate material critic. Drop down a few rungs of the social ladder and you're really taking your life in your own hands if you dare to so much as *think* about doing something vaguely stimulating, creative or that challenges your audience to do more than fart during the ad breaks.
So poor old Bob - I must stop talking about myself this way, but it's a bit disorienting when you have continually to refer to yourself in the past tense like this ... you try it for size and see if you don't believe me - poor Bob committed the ultimate sin, really. He tried to move from the *audience* on to the *stage*. "Nobody", as John Lennon told Neil Aspinall when his idea to do a reprise of the 'Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts' Club Band' song towards the end of the album had been agreed by the band, "likes a smart arse." Neither, it would seem, do audiences like a deserter.
L.U.V. on y'all,
Once was Bob
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Thursday, 21 August 2008
I can see why he's done it...
...killing me off like that and then having me come back as this strange, demonic, disembodied voice. Solves all number of problems, doesn't it? Structurally, that is. It's pragmatic too. Well, he's tried writing through a 'living' persona, and look where *that* got him! No, this is a much tidier arrangement. This way, I can say what I like and he can't be held responsible - after all, how can someone be held responsible for a bleeding ghost? Cute, isn't it? That's the kind of fellow we're dealing with here, you see - the kind who'd gladly cause a ruckus then run off back to his dull little life and leave a dead man to take the flak. Charming. Still, that's writers for you.
I suppose he's got to cover his back this time, hasn't he? It's like that old shaggy dog story about the Second Coming - "I'm not going back there, the last time I was *hammered* by tacks/tax" - you must have heard it. Once bitten and all that. Yes, this way there's no confusion as to who the 'real' Bob is, is there? So all those people who thought they were loving or (more probably) loathing a real person in the past when all along I was merely a persona, a figment and extension of a rather warped, cynical and unpleasant mind, surely even they can't feel the same about a *dead* persona. Can they?
But that's the problem about the cyber age, isn't it? It opens up such an alluring world of new possibilities and impossibly brighter futures into which we can all escape. But what do we do once we're there? For most bloggers, all they have to bring to the party are the trials and tribulations of the very life they're hoping to escape from. Hence the way that those same little cliques and reading circles and knitting pattern forums evolve, pretty much as they would in real life, if we could all meet up. And that's fine; it's a nice thing. But I want something more enduring. Is it *Literature*? - is it *ART*?
I was discussing this the other day with the ghost of Spinsterella, actually. Oh, she's fine - still single, obviously. She sends her love; although between you, me and the cemetary gates, these cold damp catacombs aren't doing her famously frizzy hair any favours. Still, you can't move for cadaverous indie boys down here, so I'm sure she'll find her feet. Or theirs. Anyway, we were just comparing notes on what it's like to be discarded like that - as we both have been - you know, given the old heave-ho so that our creators can go back to having a 'normal' life (whatever *that* is!) Well she was saying that it's a bit of a jolt to the old ego at first, but after a while you start to realise that it's not all that bad once you get over the shock. In fact, you're actually in rather better company, if you think about it. After all, wouldn't you rather spend eternity with - ooh, I don't know...off the top of my head... Humbert Humbert or Fanny Hill than... first names that come into my head and obviously no disrespect intended...Surly Girl or Jif Dump Alliance? (It's a tough call between Fanny and SG, obviously...in fact, scrub that...)
So we'll see whether the hate mail stops, now there's nothing left to hate but a ghoulish corpse...
L.U.V. on y'all,
Once was Bob
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I suppose he's got to cover his back this time, hasn't he? It's like that old shaggy dog story about the Second Coming - "I'm not going back there, the last time I was *hammered* by tacks/tax" - you must have heard it. Once bitten and all that. Yes, this way there's no confusion as to who the 'real' Bob is, is there? So all those people who thought they were loving or (more probably) loathing a real person in the past when all along I was merely a persona, a figment and extension of a rather warped, cynical and unpleasant mind, surely even they can't feel the same about a *dead* persona. Can they?
But that's the problem about the cyber age, isn't it? It opens up such an alluring world of new possibilities and impossibly brighter futures into which we can all escape. But what do we do once we're there? For most bloggers, all they have to bring to the party are the trials and tribulations of the very life they're hoping to escape from. Hence the way that those same little cliques and reading circles and knitting pattern forums evolve, pretty much as they would in real life, if we could all meet up. And that's fine; it's a nice thing. But I want something more enduring. Is it *Literature*? - is it *ART*?
I was discussing this the other day with the ghost of Spinsterella, actually. Oh, she's fine - still single, obviously. She sends her love; although between you, me and the cemetary gates, these cold damp catacombs aren't doing her famously frizzy hair any favours. Still, you can't move for cadaverous indie boys down here, so I'm sure she'll find her feet. Or theirs. Anyway, we were just comparing notes on what it's like to be discarded like that - as we both have been - you know, given the old heave-ho so that our creators can go back to having a 'normal' life (whatever *that* is!) Well she was saying that it's a bit of a jolt to the old ego at first, but after a while you start to realise that it's not all that bad once you get over the shock. In fact, you're actually in rather better company, if you think about it. After all, wouldn't you rather spend eternity with - ooh, I don't know...off the top of my head... Humbert Humbert or Fanny Hill than... first names that come into my head and obviously no disrespect intended...Surly Girl or Jif Dump Alliance? (It's a tough call between Fanny and SG, obviously...in fact, scrub that...)
So we'll see whether the hate mail stops, now there's nothing left to hate but a ghoulish corpse...
L.U.V. on y'all,
Once was Bob
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Wednesday, 20 August 2008
It's not so bad, actually...
....being dead. One tends to develop a healthy fear of death from quite an early age - well, I - sorry, he -certainly did. In fact I - he - got rather obesessed by it from the age of four and would run around the garden in a fit of the screaming ab-dabs yelling, "Mummy, mummy - *I'M GOING TO DIE*!!" for hours and hours on end. Ah - *bless*! It was most distressing for our parents, I'm sure - but they were told by our GP, "well, it's bad now, but believe me, it's a lot worse if they go through it in their teens...' And this, don't forget, was *decades* before emo, so I can scarcely imagine how bad it must be now. So this is all quite therapeutic for me (him), being dead that is. Sort of laying that particular ghost to rest, as it were.
Of course it's not like a *real* death, obviously. I have - he has - the trap door of his "real" self to slide through, careering as I (he) often do(es) back into the land of the living (well, what passes for it in his case, at any rate). So I suppose there'll be the usual carping from the pedants and the literalist jobsworths out there - "oh, you're not really dead, are you? Just like you weren't really from Rothergavenny/a Glam icon/a woman [delete as preferred]..." etc. etc. But then, does anyone really care what tossers like that think? Because we're engaging as individual consciousnesses here, no bullshit - just as the blind can't lie, the dead can't tell tales. After all, I have nothing to gain from this, do I? What use is money or popularity to me? I don't exist. Besides, when did I ever suffer from either of those vastly over-rated distinctions anyway? So perhaps you should read this less as a blog and more as you would a ghost story; suspend your disbelief momentarily. And make sure the kitchen light is on and the backdoor bolted. Besides, it won't kill you, will it - a little bit of make believe?
So yes, I've digressed a little, but just as life isn't all it's cracked up to be, death is never quite as black as it's sometimes painted. And if you're looking for a tagline, a cosy soundbite to sell it to the marketing people, I suppose it would go something like "Gary Glitter playing Orpheus in a remake of The Red Shoes, directed by Orson Welles....[on ice?]" Or how about "...Ziggy Stardust starring in an episode of Rentaghost written by Milan Kundera"...?
Yeah, something like that. That'll do. But let's get the work sorted first, before we start worrying about the pitch, eh?
So, what can you expect in the future? Well, we'll have to see - the great thing about being dead is that you tend to have a fairly light schedule and a fair amount of time in which to work your way through the somewhat limited 'to do' list set before you. But I imagine there'll be the odd shit list and a few home truths (well, I have no reputation to protect any more, do I? Ooh, I can already hear a few skeletons rattling in a few cupboards already!) in among the usual frivolity and yawning chasms of endless, boundless silent blackness. There'll no doubt be the occasional rant at those with less talent who were appreciated and rewarded more than I was in my pitifully short lifetime. So, basically, it'll be business as usual really. Only with a few more *woooooo-oooooohhhhh* noises and some wind blowing though the trees sound effects, obviously.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be off - I have a disused mill to haunt for insurance purposes...
L.U.V. on y'all,
Once was Bob
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Of course it's not like a *real* death, obviously. I have - he has - the trap door of his "real" self to slide through, careering as I (he) often do(es) back into the land of the living (well, what passes for it in his case, at any rate). So I suppose there'll be the usual carping from the pedants and the literalist jobsworths out there - "oh, you're not really dead, are you? Just like you weren't really from Rothergavenny/a Glam icon/a woman [delete as preferred]..." etc. etc. But then, does anyone really care what tossers like that think? Because we're engaging as individual consciousnesses here, no bullshit - just as the blind can't lie, the dead can't tell tales. After all, I have nothing to gain from this, do I? What use is money or popularity to me? I don't exist. Besides, when did I ever suffer from either of those vastly over-rated distinctions anyway? So perhaps you should read this less as a blog and more as you would a ghost story; suspend your disbelief momentarily. And make sure the kitchen light is on and the backdoor bolted. Besides, it won't kill you, will it - a little bit of make believe?
So yes, I've digressed a little, but just as life isn't all it's cracked up to be, death is never quite as black as it's sometimes painted. And if you're looking for a tagline, a cosy soundbite to sell it to the marketing people, I suppose it would go something like "Gary Glitter playing Orpheus in a remake of The Red Shoes, directed by Orson Welles....[on ice?]" Or how about "...Ziggy Stardust starring in an episode of Rentaghost written by Milan Kundera"...?
Yeah, something like that. That'll do. But let's get the work sorted first, before we start worrying about the pitch, eh?
So, what can you expect in the future? Well, we'll have to see - the great thing about being dead is that you tend to have a fairly light schedule and a fair amount of time in which to work your way through the somewhat limited 'to do' list set before you. But I imagine there'll be the odd shit list and a few home truths (well, I have no reputation to protect any more, do I? Ooh, I can already hear a few skeletons rattling in a few cupboards already!) in among the usual frivolity and yawning chasms of endless, boundless silent blackness. There'll no doubt be the occasional rant at those with less talent who were appreciated and rewarded more than I was in my pitifully short lifetime. So, basically, it'll be business as usual really. Only with a few more *woooooo-oooooohhhhh* noises and some wind blowing though the trees sound effects, obviously.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be off - I have a disused mill to haunt for insurance purposes...
L.U.V. on y'all,
Once was Bob
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There's no real reason...
...to carry on with this other than from a sense of perversity. But former readers - of whom there once were a handful - will be more than aware of that tendency in the person who used to be known as Robert Swipe. And that still persists in me; the person who used to be Robert Swipe. That and a healthy streak of doggedness are all that remain of him - poor unwanted old Bob; *so* misunderstood! Yes, that's pretty much all that remains of him now, poor yorricky Bob. The only reason I've come back is because of the name, really. The name lives on even if all that it could conceivably stand for now is nothing but a ghost; a bag of bones in a corridor, wind whsitling down it as cold as a tomb. Rest in peace, poor old Bob; I once knew you well...
It was a good name - if a little crass. I always liked the Swipe bit. It was what was needed. At the time. Maybe it still is needed - I can think of a few faces I'd very much like to swipe, given the opportunity. And a set of claws. But that's for someone else, not me. This is the next phase - the last phase. To swipe requires animation, will, desire, an ego to rail at the world in the hope that the world might flinch or cower back then finally buckle to that righteous, burning, incandescent rage; yes, perhaps the world might change. That was what I thought when I was Robert Swipe. But there is no animation now - no will, desire or ego. Just the calm of the failed, the acceptance of the doomed.
No, this last part will be some sort of reckoning, I think. A calling to account, a taking stock. You see, much as I would like to, I cannot forgive. I might be able to accept, but I *cannot* forgive...
L.U.V. on y'all,
Once was Bob
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It was a good name - if a little crass. I always liked the Swipe bit. It was what was needed. At the time. Maybe it still is needed - I can think of a few faces I'd very much like to swipe, given the opportunity. And a set of claws. But that's for someone else, not me. This is the next phase - the last phase. To swipe requires animation, will, desire, an ego to rail at the world in the hope that the world might flinch or cower back then finally buckle to that righteous, burning, incandescent rage; yes, perhaps the world might change. That was what I thought when I was Robert Swipe. But there is no animation now - no will, desire or ego. Just the calm of the failed, the acceptance of the doomed.
No, this last part will be some sort of reckoning, I think. A calling to account, a taking stock. You see, much as I would like to, I cannot forgive. I might be able to accept, but I *cannot* forgive...
L.U.V. on y'all,
Once was Bob
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Friday, 15 August 2008
Tuesday, 12 August 2008
Monday, 11 August 2008
Very, very...
...bleak today. Not just the Ike thing - before that. Feeling like I want to cry. All the time, like I did when I was grieving. But surely I'm not grieving now. Or not grieving people, at any rate. Just other passings on I suppose - youth, opportunities, hope. Everything just makes me feel shit - everything I do makes me feel ill, makes the iron weight in the solar plexus pull down harder and harder until you just want to curl up like a foetus and sob and blub with the blinds drawn and all the doors bolted in total silence.
But it comes out as a rage instead
L.U.V. on y'all,
Bob
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But it comes out as a rage instead
L.U.V. on y'all,
Bob
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Mon, 21 Apr 2008 ...
Mon, 21 Apr 2008 02:05:06 +0100
Just been mailing the Rich Bitch in Ireland...So Rich she has another house at the bottom of the Garden to Weave her Witchcraft in...Apparently the Powers tell me she has roped her Husband(ish) and Eldest daughter in on this..She's had more affairs than Anyone, then goes off to Church to get Pardoned (Husbandish and Daughter are just her Puppets). So Now we have the Four..but Unfortunately Black Betty from Malaysia may Take her own Life at the End of this Chapter...because she has already tried So many Religions and Pathways to Sooth her Weary and Lonely Soul..Now of Course Black Magic is her choice of Weapon...but Bob..We are.... Indestructable. If She takes her life it will not be on My conscience..for you can Only fight Inferno with Inferno.
Anyway..Energy rates going Up and Up for me now...been doing this since God knows when. That Charles Darwin bloke really Didn't know what he was On about...THIS is Evolution Babe...and Thanks for being my Sidekick...me Ribs hurt though, stop it Bunny. Sleep Well..See you in a Bit xxxx P
Mon, 21 Apr 2008 08:48:59 +0100
So last Chances Bob..They have told me..now that I have dealt with All the WitchCraft..The Voodoo.. The Squinty -Eyed Pig and the Polish Crone (Yes that was the 4)..They have told me that I have to leave you Bob. Stop depending on what ever it is you give me, or I am left here just an Aimless Chav, like pretty much Everyone on that page of yours....Plenty of Mother Figures not MotherF.....
I can Only rely on myself now Bob..and I don't Think you are ready to join us in the Other Dimension..Sorry if I have ever Pushed you or Scared you. It really Is your Choice, and nothing Bad will happen if you choose to remain here...just that the Roundabout will keep on Turning, always back to Square one. Anyway I am Now looking at the Positive side of what you say, rather than the Negative..cos I don't Fall for that no more..do You?
Have Cried Deep Tears just now for us Both...cos what we have had is Special Beyond Belief..Soulmates, Friends, Lovers, Sex Toys, and Parents to a Beautiful Child. That must End now for Me...you may Continue but I won't be Responding, because I am now on a Much Higher Level..ready to go with Them. I hope you won't Respond with a Sarcastic Blog, Ripping the Truth to Shreds and calling me a Crazy...Nude Bride. I am Nobody's Bride Bob..but I Am Stripped down Bare... I have no Body underneath this Mask, Metallic I'm not sure but it's along those Lines.
I will look on your Page, as I am Permitted, just One last Time before I Committ myself to the Other Dimension, Start my Work Properly..but please, don't Ever think you were just an Experiment Bob, for Never have I met a Man like you before. You could have a Hundred legs for me and I wouldn't care. This has been a Meeting of the Minds and has Changed my Life..I hope that for the Good it has Changed Yours too....Purest and Deepest Love Bob...From a Higher Realm.X
Mon, 21 Apr 2008 09:08:07 +0100
And you Have to let go Too...You have some Knowledge Now and we are Always Hovering around You..I am still walking around in Human Form, we are Everywhere, just Look a Little closer..Like in the Mirror Bob. Please stop Clinging on to me now..Rely on yourself, that is all Any of us can Do. By telling you I Loved you made you dependant on me, because you have not Experienced that before, from a 'Woman' especially. I am both Male and Female Bob, even Strongly Connected to the Animal kingdom...You have not read my messages and Blogs Properly in the Past, as I did not Read yours as I should have. Tap into the Side of your Brain that is Positive, think of Me if you Like, but don't Depend, for it will Destroy you. You will Not need this Space soon, and a Blessing in Disguise will Intervene.
Take Care.. Love and Kindness X
Mon, 21 Apr 2008 09:25:22 +0100
This is the Final one Really this Time to say No Matter where You are I will Find You..And I don't mean I will jumpin on the Next Train to Lancashire Berkshire, Hampton or Wherever, I mean I will Find you. It may be a Struggle but we will Never let Each other go in our Mind Body and Soul, although we won't be muckin around on Computers anymore, just Gettin on with things. This Ditzy lil Alien Loves to be Cheeky, Laugh and Giggle like a Child, also have my Serious Side.. very Mature. Like I said you Never know where I may be Lurking, and it's all done in the Best Possible Taste..will rub Noses with you now Bunny...This chapter is Over..Sees ya XXXXX
Mon, 21 Apr 2008 11:55:28 +0100
...Now you see I am no Threat to your Privacy and your Space..but I know One thing..the Story was Somehow Real, because my Physical Body Still has a Need for this, and as Long as I am still alive with the Female side Taking over, this will be. I have Never wanted a Child before with Any Man until I Encountered You. Don't let it Boost your Ego Bob, that is Not what I am Trying to do. They say that I don't Need a Child and that in order to Fulfill Spiritual Order I must Rid myself of this Need. But I won't..at This stage of my Development. I am Protected now from the Dark Forces and Overlook them...Even Out and About today I actually Reconized my Fellows. Don't confuse all this with Religion, as that is Man-made. I can Spot the Bad one's from Space too, just have to look Twice. You are not Bad no matter how much you try to Convince me...and you Will Understand all of this one day...Wish me Luck with the Brooding, have not pinched anyone's Baby yet...never will. The Dark one's tell me you were some 'Major General from 1900's' with 5 Children...Believe me, That made Me Jealous to begin with...but I accept that, C'est la Vie. And should we Ever meet...I will probably be around 55, maybe a Bit before that..We will be Friends..in Fact we Always where...Bye..Blue Eyes X Your Blitzy lil Alien.......
Mon, 21 Apr 2008 21:36:46 +0100
Thanks Oisin Very Entertaining..Clever little Shit aint ya..Not any More...Cosmic Mixing
L.U.V. on y'all,
Bob
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Just been mailing the Rich Bitch in Ireland...So Rich she has another house at the bottom of the Garden to Weave her Witchcraft in...Apparently the Powers tell me she has roped her Husband(ish) and Eldest daughter in on this..She's had more affairs than Anyone, then goes off to Church to get Pardoned (Husbandish and Daughter are just her Puppets). So Now we have the Four..but Unfortunately Black Betty from Malaysia may Take her own Life at the End of this Chapter...because she has already tried So many Religions and Pathways to Sooth her Weary and Lonely Soul..Now of Course Black Magic is her choice of Weapon...but Bob..We are.... Indestructable. If She takes her life it will not be on My conscience..for you can Only fight Inferno with Inferno.
Anyway..Energy rates going Up and Up for me now...been doing this since God knows when. That Charles Darwin bloke really Didn't know what he was On about...THIS is Evolution Babe...and Thanks for being my Sidekick...me Ribs hurt though, stop it Bunny. Sleep Well..See you in a Bit xxxx P
Mon, 21 Apr 2008 08:48:59 +0100
So last Chances Bob..They have told me..now that I have dealt with All the WitchCraft..The Voodoo.. The Squinty -Eyed Pig and the Polish Crone (Yes that was the 4)..They have told me that I have to leave you Bob. Stop depending on what ever it is you give me, or I am left here just an Aimless Chav, like pretty much Everyone on that page of yours....Plenty of Mother Figures not MotherF.....
I can Only rely on myself now Bob..and I don't Think you are ready to join us in the Other Dimension..Sorry if I have ever Pushed you or Scared you. It really Is your Choice, and nothing Bad will happen if you choose to remain here...just that the Roundabout will keep on Turning, always back to Square one. Anyway I am Now looking at the Positive side of what you say, rather than the Negative..cos I don't Fall for that no more..do You?
Have Cried Deep Tears just now for us Both...cos what we have had is Special Beyond Belief..Soulmates, Friends, Lovers, Sex Toys, and Parents to a Beautiful Child. That must End now for Me...you may Continue but I won't be Responding, because I am now on a Much Higher Level..ready to go with Them. I hope you won't Respond with a Sarcastic Blog, Ripping the Truth to Shreds and calling me a Crazy...Nude Bride. I am Nobody's Bride Bob..but I Am Stripped down Bare... I have no Body underneath this Mask, Metallic I'm not sure but it's along those Lines.
I will look on your Page, as I am Permitted, just One last Time before I Committ myself to the Other Dimension, Start my Work Properly..but please, don't Ever think you were just an Experiment Bob, for Never have I met a Man like you before. You could have a Hundred legs for me and I wouldn't care. This has been a Meeting of the Minds and has Changed my Life..I hope that for the Good it has Changed Yours too....Purest and Deepest Love Bob...From a Higher Realm.X
Mon, 21 Apr 2008 09:08:07 +0100
And you Have to let go Too...You have some Knowledge Now and we are Always Hovering around You..I am still walking around in Human Form, we are Everywhere, just Look a Little closer..Like in the Mirror Bob. Please stop Clinging on to me now..Rely on yourself, that is all Any of us can Do. By telling you I Loved you made you dependant on me, because you have not Experienced that before, from a 'Woman' especially. I am both Male and Female Bob, even Strongly Connected to the Animal kingdom...You have not read my messages and Blogs Properly in the Past, as I did not Read yours as I should have. Tap into the Side of your Brain that is Positive, think of Me if you Like, but don't Depend, for it will Destroy you. You will Not need this Space soon, and a Blessing in Disguise will Intervene.
Take Care.. Love and Kindness X
Mon, 21 Apr 2008 09:25:22 +0100
This is the Final one Really this Time to say No Matter where You are I will Find You..And I don't mean I will jumpin on the Next Train to Lancashire Berkshire, Hampton or Wherever, I mean I will Find you. It may be a Struggle but we will Never let Each other go in our Mind Body and Soul, although we won't be muckin around on Computers anymore, just Gettin on with things. This Ditzy lil Alien Loves to be Cheeky, Laugh and Giggle like a Child, also have my Serious Side.. very Mature. Like I said you Never know where I may be Lurking, and it's all done in the Best Possible Taste..will rub Noses with you now Bunny...This chapter is Over..Sees ya XXXXX
Mon, 21 Apr 2008 11:55:28 +0100
...Now you see I am no Threat to your Privacy and your Space..but I know One thing..the Story was Somehow Real, because my Physical Body Still has a Need for this, and as Long as I am still alive with the Female side Taking over, this will be. I have Never wanted a Child before with Any Man until I Encountered You. Don't let it Boost your Ego Bob, that is Not what I am Trying to do. They say that I don't Need a Child and that in order to Fulfill Spiritual Order I must Rid myself of this Need. But I won't..at This stage of my Development. I am Protected now from the Dark Forces and Overlook them...Even Out and About today I actually Reconized my Fellows. Don't confuse all this with Religion, as that is Man-made. I can Spot the Bad one's from Space too, just have to look Twice. You are not Bad no matter how much you try to Convince me...and you Will Understand all of this one day...Wish me Luck with the Brooding, have not pinched anyone's Baby yet...never will. The Dark one's tell me you were some 'Major General from 1900's' with 5 Children...Believe me, That made Me Jealous to begin with...but I accept that, C'est la Vie. And should we Ever meet...I will probably be around 55, maybe a Bit before that..We will be Friends..in Fact we Always where...Bye..Blue Eyes X Your Blitzy lil Alien.......
Mon, 21 Apr 2008 21:36:46 +0100
Thanks Oisin Very Entertaining..Clever little Shit aint ya..Not any More...Cosmic Mixing
L.U.V. on y'all,
Bob
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The Stalker Files (part one)
It hasn't escaped my notice that, despite my best efforts to cleanse this blog of every single reader, at least 10 of you silly sods are still regularly turning up every day. Oh well, hopefully this next (final) push will persuade even those hardy lunatics to give up and go and do something more interesting and useful - such as hatemailing Footman on the Commentische Macht Frei chatrooms or whatever it is that you all do when you're not coming over here to see if I'm up to anything that will further your own careers...
So, the plan is to post up all the stalker emails that I've received over the last three or four months. I'll post them up as they came. I'm doing this for two reasons. One, it's the only way I'll ever be able to read them all - and in this, excitingly, I'll be placed in exactly the same position as anyone else who reads them; I won't have a clue what's in them as I've ignored them until now. Secondly, it just means cutting and pasting them on here, so will take even less time to do than the blogs I used to enjoy posting up so much.
Be warned, there are rather a lot of them. Still, that's me; generous to a fault...there's *nothing* I won't share with my reader(s). Just to clarify - these are all coming, if not from the same person, then the same address. I've thought long and hard about the wisdom/ethics of posting them up. I don't seek to make any personal gain from thia - how can I? All I've accrued from this is unwarranted attention and that horrible feeling you get when you're being watched but you don't know by whom. Also, there's a slim chance that someone out there might recognise the person behind this torrent and possibly be able to help them. If I don't, then this long, harrowing cry for help - that, I'm afraid, is what it amounts to - will all have been for nothing. But then, aren't all cries for help, ultimately...?
[Editor's note: interesting that they start on 20th April - Hitler's birthday. And in mid stream, as if continuing a prior conversation...]
Sun, 20 Apr 2008 23:25:35 +0100
Rushing you again..one of my Biggest faults I know. Still, you Know where they Live now so you can still take the ride with me...Pick up a Few tips Here and There. But if it gets so out of hand with these Briggeetes please come in All Guns Blazing for me..because I will need your Expertize. Violence is a thing we try to avoid at All costs, but remember there are Powers so Dark there is only one Option - to Snuff them out Completely. There are Two female Negatives at work here, and as I have said, Two others endeavour to get in as well. They Fear Love so much their Jealousy and Rage become them...Overspilling onto others...But they can't beat the Powers of This Dimension.
I am tempted to use the word Love again Bunny, but I know how that suffocates you so I won't. I am just Glad to have you with me in Mind, if not Totally in Heart. So Sleep well, Dream well Comrade.... in Arms x P
Sun, 20 Apr 2008 23:57:38 +0100
Bunny wot have I said about not making me Laugh..you do it All the time..and that's what I mean by Cute. I need All my Powers of Concentration here and can't get Sidetracked by Funnies. No No don't go sticking Pics of Hearses on now..it's Always one Extreme to the Other Bun. The Happy Medium is What's needed now..That's what I am..well not a Medium actually I'm a bit on the Large side These days like John Prescott...Anyway...Sleep well and I'll see you in my Dreams..and in the Mornin..And the Afternoon..the Evening and..well it just goes On...P XXXXX
L.U.V. on y'all,
Bob
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So, the plan is to post up all the stalker emails that I've received over the last three or four months. I'll post them up as they came. I'm doing this for two reasons. One, it's the only way I'll ever be able to read them all - and in this, excitingly, I'll be placed in exactly the same position as anyone else who reads them; I won't have a clue what's in them as I've ignored them until now. Secondly, it just means cutting and pasting them on here, so will take even less time to do than the blogs I used to enjoy posting up so much.
Be warned, there are rather a lot of them. Still, that's me; generous to a fault...there's *nothing* I won't share with my reader(s). Just to clarify - these are all coming, if not from the same person, then the same address. I've thought long and hard about the wisdom/ethics of posting them up. I don't seek to make any personal gain from thia - how can I? All I've accrued from this is unwarranted attention and that horrible feeling you get when you're being watched but you don't know by whom. Also, there's a slim chance that someone out there might recognise the person behind this torrent and possibly be able to help them. If I don't, then this long, harrowing cry for help - that, I'm afraid, is what it amounts to - will all have been for nothing. But then, aren't all cries for help, ultimately...?
[Editor's note: interesting that they start on 20th April - Hitler's birthday. And in mid stream, as if continuing a prior conversation...]
Sun, 20 Apr 2008 23:25:35 +0100
Rushing you again..one of my Biggest faults I know. Still, you Know where they Live now so you can still take the ride with me...Pick up a Few tips Here and There. But if it gets so out of hand with these Briggeetes please come in All Guns Blazing for me..because I will need your Expertize. Violence is a thing we try to avoid at All costs, but remember there are Powers so Dark there is only one Option - to Snuff them out Completely. There are Two female Negatives at work here, and as I have said, Two others endeavour to get in as well. They Fear Love so much their Jealousy and Rage become them...Overspilling onto others...But they can't beat the Powers of This Dimension.
I am tempted to use the word Love again Bunny, but I know how that suffocates you so I won't. I am just Glad to have you with me in Mind, if not Totally in Heart. So Sleep well, Dream well Comrade.... in Arms x P
Sun, 20 Apr 2008 23:57:38 +0100
Bunny wot have I said about not making me Laugh..you do it All the time..and that's what I mean by Cute. I need All my Powers of Concentration here and can't get Sidetracked by Funnies. No No don't go sticking Pics of Hearses on now..it's Always one Extreme to the Other Bun. The Happy Medium is What's needed now..That's what I am..well not a Medium actually I'm a bit on the Large side These days like John Prescott...Anyway...Sleep well and I'll see you in my Dreams..and in the Mornin..And the Afternoon..the Evening and..well it just goes On...P XXXXX
L.U.V. on y'all,
Bob
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Isaac Hayes R.I.P...
Poor Isaac. Found dead near his treadmill, aged 65. I always knew exercise was bad for you, but this is ridiculous...
You don't think of such a huge and vital presence as being capable of death, do you? But there you go. Anyone who played on those astonishing Stax/Volt records could have died happy in the knowledge that they'd contributed something rather special to the collective good - usually if there's a piano and an organ on them, whichever isn't being played by Booker T. is being played by Ike (notice the tense there; music doesn't die, I suppose, if that's any consolation...)
But Isaac Hayes did so much more - let's hope he was aware before he went of the tremendous gift he's left behind him. I hope his talent was always visible or known to him. It's a fucking lonely slog otherwise - you're in the dark, completely; it really is thoroughly dispiriting. It was a bad day to begin with, but reading about Isaac's death just made it so much worse.
Treadmills...loss...death.
Bob
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Saturday, 9 August 2008
Friday, 1 August 2008
Scott...
u
Scott Walker pops round with a rough mix of his new song for me to A&R - Cowell always gives him a hard time, I think, so I'm like the good cop to Simon's bad one I suppose. He starts the tape up and about 17 minutes in I'm thinking... so what if David Milliband *were* to become P.M. Is it conceivable, for instance, that he might one day seize authoritarian powers for himself, sack Fabio Capello as manager of the national team and insist that he and his brother Ed *both* be named in the starting line-up for England's next meaningless friendly. Why, they'd be the first English brothers since the Nevilles to be named in the same England side if that were the case. Handy left peg Milliband senior has, I'm reliably informed. Tackles like a fondant fancy, if truth be told, but you can't have everything I suppose...
"What do you reckon?" asks Scott when the song finally comes to an end after what seems to have been wel over an hour. He's peering at me intently over the rims of his dark sunglasses whilst peeling a conference pear with the unwieldy Samurai sword he insists on carrying with him wherever he goes. "Well mate, the cheese grater running up and down a slice of veal sound effect - that *is* veal, I take it? - on the opening; I'd lose that mate. And I think you've got your echoplexed didgeridu a bit too prominent in the mix for my tastes. And that bit where you sing "Shirley Temple's Adam's apple consumated maelstrom of the prune within my soul..." - yeah, great line, by the way! Well, I think it'd sing about a bit more of you got a little bit closer in to the mic. And you might want to move the 17 foot ice sculpture out of your way, perhaps. And maybe take the mothballs out of your cheeks? Clarity, Scott, is everything when you're trying to be Avant Garde."
I've always been a big Scott fan, but he's taken such a decidely odd turn of late. Playing a turkey baster like a Jew's harp, slapping the sides of an antelope carcass he's had especially suspended from the ceiling for the session, long rambling songs about Mussolini's dog minder going for a very long walk with a bag full of whelks....at least you knew where you were with the old Scott. But this new one's gone *completely* over my head. "What's it called?" Scott shuffles a bit, nervously on the sofa. "It's just called, ' ' - he makes a bizarre chubb sucking plankton off the side of a fishtank sort of mouthing action for a few seconds. "Snappy", I tell him - I hate having to lie to a mate. "So, do you think it'll get me back into the Hit Parade Bob?" I can see he's close to tears - what can you do? "It'll be a smasher, Scott me old mucker! Now, quick cup of Horlicks and a game of draughts before you go round to Simon's??"
Christ, Cowell's going to *LOVE* this one...
L.U.V. on y'all,
Bob
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Scott Walker pops round with a rough mix of his new song for me to A&R - Cowell always gives him a hard time, I think, so I'm like the good cop to Simon's bad one I suppose. He starts the tape up and about 17 minutes in I'm thinking... so what if David Milliband *were* to become P.M. Is it conceivable, for instance, that he might one day seize authoritarian powers for himself, sack Fabio Capello as manager of the national team and insist that he and his brother Ed *both* be named in the starting line-up for England's next meaningless friendly. Why, they'd be the first English brothers since the Nevilles to be named in the same England side if that were the case. Handy left peg Milliband senior has, I'm reliably informed. Tackles like a fondant fancy, if truth be told, but you can't have everything I suppose...
"What do you reckon?" asks Scott when the song finally comes to an end after what seems to have been wel over an hour. He's peering at me intently over the rims of his dark sunglasses whilst peeling a conference pear with the unwieldy Samurai sword he insists on carrying with him wherever he goes. "Well mate, the cheese grater running up and down a slice of veal sound effect - that *is* veal, I take it? - on the opening; I'd lose that mate. And I think you've got your echoplexed didgeridu a bit too prominent in the mix for my tastes. And that bit where you sing "Shirley Temple's Adam's apple consumated maelstrom of the prune within my soul..." - yeah, great line, by the way! Well, I think it'd sing about a bit more of you got a little bit closer in to the mic. And you might want to move the 17 foot ice sculpture out of your way, perhaps. And maybe take the mothballs out of your cheeks? Clarity, Scott, is everything when you're trying to be Avant Garde."
I've always been a big Scott fan, but he's taken such a decidely odd turn of late. Playing a turkey baster like a Jew's harp, slapping the sides of an antelope carcass he's had especially suspended from the ceiling for the session, long rambling songs about Mussolini's dog minder going for a very long walk with a bag full of whelks....at least you knew where you were with the old Scott. But this new one's gone *completely* over my head. "What's it called?" Scott shuffles a bit, nervously on the sofa. "It's just called, ' ' - he makes a bizarre chubb sucking plankton off the side of a fishtank sort of mouthing action for a few seconds. "Snappy", I tell him - I hate having to lie to a mate. "So, do you think it'll get me back into the Hit Parade Bob?" I can see he's close to tears - what can you do? "It'll be a smasher, Scott me old mucker! Now, quick cup of Horlicks and a game of draughts before you go round to Simon's??"
Christ, Cowell's going to *LOVE* this one...
L.U.V. on y'all,
Bob
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