Posts by Rob Stowell
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Riddley I will draw up papers with you both, but sort it out. I think the correct grammar is A twerp, but antwerp will do for the americans. And the papers- they must be drawn up in the blood of a haemophiliac to be appropriately blinding.
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Wise Industry heads like yourselves will know this project needs an obfuscator. I will obfuscate for the above terms, providing l'amie Belgique is not Flemmish, and lightly dipped in quality chocolate.
But enough haggling: money is so tedious and I'm self-abnegating so I'll handle all the cash.
What about the CONCEPT!
P1: We are not all cyclists? Mining this treadmill existance for germs of meaning? we pick up a scrap, hoard it to our hairy bosoms, march on, hearts lit-up with ghastly hope. And as the light fades, we let it fall, spying another scrap in another gutter? We seize it but it is mouldy. And when we look, we see it is but the scrap of last year or the year before, years are not what they used to be-
P2: Where the f00k is that goddard?
P1: and as we crumble into age we start a dim aprehension that all our days were thus, wandering in great cycles-
P2: Stop it's too much-
he throws himself in the path of a passing cycle and is flung aside like a rag on the wind. we hear the approach of a train as he staggers back to his feet.
P2: Must......go.....on......this.....is the .... the ....thre.... thre..... thre.... thre.... thread- thread that will not die! Must .... not.....
P1: for we are the undead of the undead thread, and we march to the song of the great Spokesperson. Cue sfx expensive holiday in Utopia. -
Merc, I can find people if needs must. But I'm not in it for the money. I just want a targa convertible and a Belgian girlfriend.
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Loud rapping:
Evil voice off: open the f00in door!
P1- it's the gestetno-
P2- they've come to check the ink!
P1&2 together: call the cyclist!
Rumbling and sfx sacks ripping. An eerie glow lights up the gloom as a single great purple potatoe eye floats up from the trapdoor....
P1- ahh- gett-out I didn't say cyclops.
He Attempts to hide the sacred gestetner under a stuffed alligator.
the eye, hissing, deflates. Door bursts open and three men in long coats enter. leader pokes his sharp 14" nose into each corner, before leaning over P1, who ducks to avoid the nose.
Gestetno Leader: I ssssssmelllssssss INK!
Ps 1&2 cower, sfx low sobbing swells, turns to violins.
GL: AAAArgh! the cyclist!
White light glowing, cheap midi vocal sfx "aaaaaaaaaH!"
suddenly diminishes, light fades. Gestetno gather, movements like heron on P, they stalk out.
P2: Whew. Where is merc? the guinea pig?
P1: there is no guineapig in catch-22. But i think we can get paul wolfowitz to play milo- he will need a job. -
Southern Psyclist?
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Oh dear, we've got it wrong- we've been going to "Costas". Still delicious. Still slide down yr arm, slop on yr shirt, smear round the lips. MMmmm
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Interesting, Mr Black- I guess that means he's "at large". I think there was never much on the brothers- "associates" seemed to go down for longer.
Just to get it off my chest (and apologies for obsessiveness!); the random violence I witnessed from a Harris "associate" while working for CTV in the early nineties. Driving a camera van north down Manchester street a journo and I were stopped at the lights at Cashel St.
A big-finned American car did a right turn onto Manchester, pushing through pedestrians who were crossing on the cross signal. One smallish chap, irritated, banged on the tail of the car. What I thought was the driver's door (turned out it was an import with the steering wheel on the left side) opened. A big, short-haired guy jumped out. He looked totally wired. He shouted "Don't touch my car" and punched the pedestrian in the face. The pedestrian fell into the gutter, the big guy jumped back into the car, and they drove off. It was over in 10 seconds.
We stopped to check the pedestrian was ok, and offered to be witnesses. There were probably 20 or 30 people who saw it.
A week later I got called into the police station, and failed miserably to distinguish the right photo among a collection of ugly mug-shots. They all looked a bit like the guy. The cops told me they'd nabbed the him in Nelson. He'd only been out of prison for a few hours. He already had a few other charges pending. They were more interested in any info I had about the driver: I couldn't help there either.
I knew by then he was a Harris associate, and it made me think hard about giving evidence. It was a relatively minor offence. I didn't think he should get away with it, but we had a young family and there was a record of Harris gang intimidation of witnesses.
Watching the rest of the saga unfold I kept thinking it was right out of Elmore Leonard. -
You've nailed something, Graham.
Bands can slog- tour hard- simply for "PR" and the love of making music only for so long. They also need to be hard-headed about whether the touring/playing gigs is paying the bills. 'Cos recording may just make their fortunes, but it's a long long shot.
If you can have fun and make money playing live, you've got a shot at a long-term career. -
Chaos, there's been a protest in Dunedin, and one scheduled for chch this weekend. Surely there's a subway outlet in nirvana you can raise a placard next to?
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Thanks for the link, Russell. (hope you're fully recovered, btw!) It's a bit like stepping into another world! tho I never got all the harris stuff from the thread- will go back later.
I should add: I worked with a guy who was an ex-police detective sargeant- long story, but he arrested their father for the first (I think) lsd bust in NZ.
The father was apparently running the odd little circus that used to be parked forlornly out by macleans island: half-a-dozen of those rip-off throw-the-ping-pong-ball in the clowns' mouth type trailers. Anyway, my mate reckons the mother was the tough one. Their dad kissed her after being sentenced and asked if she'd wait for him. "F# off" she said- "Who do you think I am?"
This was back in the late 60s I think, and my mate, who bought a garage and left the force, employed their dad when he got out and was quite washed up. (This is a chinese whisper- I do trust the guy who told me, but the details might be... dramatised)
The gang also had a truely mad associate, who exploded a nail bomb in the foyer of the Sydenham police station. People who knew said he was the dangerous one. But the Harrises were quite capable of burning down a house or two...
After being put in separate prisons, they ran up an $8000 phone bill, which they inisted the state pay.
And then one of them won lotto: $600k. He bought a big house in Westmorland. The neighbours organised a boycott of the real estate agent involved. The Harrises hung out there a lot; once when another friend was trying to film the house, they ran out and shouted at him; another time, they blocked the camera van by putting concrete blocks across the road.
It was a quite a long-running act...