into and beyond the infinite

hello there


this post is one of them voyages into the unknown, then, where we shall seek to unravel mysteries which no human should be able to comprehend. except for the parts, look you see, which are known, and also are not mysteries. they should be fairly straightforward to understand, too.

somewhat rather fairly obviously, then, this is some fancy writing, some lovely images and a few badly edited down videos (by moi) of philip michael thomas, better known to a (if only my) generation as tubbs out of miami vice. no, i am not really in the mood for the so-called "proper" use of capital letters here.

for many people the instant association made when hearing tubbs out of miami vice is to think in terms of him being the other one what is not crockett. this is understandable, but quite unfair. in my period of state sponsored isolation, i have taken a moment or two (several hours) to watch miami vice (the proper tv show and not the woeful, irrelevant film) again. my confession is that i, too, had forgotten just how well developed, constructed and acted character tubbs was in it.

it is so that philip michael thomas has, just as to as similar extent is true of don johnson, come to become indelibly linked with miami vice. whilst this is not appalling, for both should be (and frequently are) proud of what was achieved with the show, and there are many worse things which one could be recalled for. but it is not like both, in their own particular way, tried to if not shed them momentarily break free from the association, if only to showcase the many other facets of their talents.

perhaps one day i shall explore the means and mechanisms by which don johnson did this, although in truth i feel they are fairly well documented. instead, then, the focus here (as you will have no doubt worked out from the image, and indeed the first chunk of text) is the remarkable path followed by philip michael thomas (tubbs out of miami vice). well, to be frank and clear and transparent, it looks at aspects of some of the steps taken on such a path, for to cover them all is beyond my talents.

yes, the above image (and i think the video below) showcases philip michael thomas using, or if you like projecting, his mystical (esoteric), perspective and speculative third eye. no doubt it is so once more i am telling you that which you are quite aware of, but anyway, yes, this image and the video are taken from the promotional film made to accompany the release of the single just the way i planned it, as performed and released by philip michael thomas out of miami vice.

most, if not all, would assume or otherwise take as a given that the magical intrinsic all seeing third eye of esoteric ways in this video being a special effect. in fact, so obvious that it (probably) is, one would reasonably expect that absolutely no one has given any consideration to the matter. this is a shame, really. whereas i would likely go along with such, surely it would indeed be as amazing as it would be excellent if that were a real thing on the go there.

as for the reason of this being visible, well, yes. in the 80s it was very much a "thing" for prominent stars, or actors, of (in particular american) television shows to "cut" an album. in some instances these were vanity projects, sure, but in other cases it was down to agents and studios forever seeking lucrative exploitation options. a third way was very much the way of philip michael thomas out of miami vice, who recorded an album as a perfectly natural extension of what he was all about.

one of the lesser known facts about 80s music is that, in adjusted terms, the album living the book of my life, recorded by philip michael thomas out of miami vice and executive produced by philip michael thomas out of miami vice, is the single biggest selling record of that particular decade. in regards of what the adjusted terms means, to get this one simply deducts all sales of all other records from that era, then deducts one more sale and there you have it.

the image above (and the video below) is a (are) further example(s) of his immense wizardry and incredible powers, as demonstrated in the video for just the way i planned it. showcased, maybe, is the right term, but one must be careful as it was not the case of him, philip michael thomas out of miami vice, showing off.

here one gets to behold as philip michael thomas out of miami vice very much goes full tilt transcendental with it all. again, a pretty reasonable and fair conclusion (or assumption) for one to make is that his morphing transcendental incidental appearance is down to some sort of special effects.

for some reason living the book of my life, recorded by philip michael thomas out of miami vice and executive produced by philip michael thomas out of miami vice, is not available on compact disc. whereas in 1985 the cd was still a bit of a novelty and by no means did everything come out on the new format, it is a mystery as to why this, 35 years (at time of writing) later, remains the case. as one of the biggest selling albums of all time (with the earlier mentioned adjustment) you would have thought a digital release, perhaps in the form of a special edition, would be available. but, no.

i have no conclusive proof or evidence to confirm such, but i think the lack of a release on cd comes down to mystical atmospherics. these are special sounds which are conjured up on analogue recordings and generally cannot be replicated via the conduit of a digital transfer. one would they are lost forever when compressed to the size of a (very small) peanut for "streaming" purposes. it would make little sense, then, to listen to the recording on anything but the original vinyl or tape.

making one of the most successful (after adjustments) albums of all time was not the only diversion into the diverse taken by philip michael thomas out of miami vice. there was also the establishment, creation and involvement with of and in the philip michael thomas out of miami vice international psychic network.

giving full consideration to any unforeseeable litigation concerns, or similar cease and desist correspondence, i have decided not to discuss this aspect in any great detail. however, that said, i would like it reflected that i would very much like to think that the international psychic network did an awful lot of good for those who had a requirement for that sort of thing.

so, anyway, back to the magical, mystical digression explored via the conduit of the promotional video for just the way i planned it. 

what is quite remarkable, as you can see in the above, is that philip michael thomas out of miami vice had, or hopefully still has, the power and ability to do that "astral project" thing where he can create multiple variations of himself at once. this is without, so far as i am aware, messing about with the complexities of all that "parallel universe" stuff.

true, some of you might well say that being able to project multiple variations of one's face, or if you like visage, isn't the most advanced bit of conjuring. you would hardly need to be a great, such as paul daniels to do it, and even the most basic of charlatans, be it david copperfield or dynamo, could probably do it, with some help.

it takes a little bit more, though, to be able to create as many exact versions of yourself as you care to do so, on a whim.

hopefully the video above plays fine, and you can witness the clear special powers what philip michael thomas out of miami vice had (and maybe well has) at his disposal. i have every confidence that this special power and ability was only ever used for good.

anyway, i pretty much think that's all there is i can add, say or comment on this subject. but, you never know, if anything else comes to mind then i can always do another piece like this, later.




be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

reading at a time of isolation

hello reader

well, i have finished (or completed) reading another two novels. not just one, look you see, or four or six or even five. two is the number upon which now i pause and pass some form of comment about them here.

this is all been written a good deal sooner than i had expected, in truth. well, what good would it do to be not truthful here, but let us move on. embarking on the first of the two which i have most recently read was a touch daunting, as in length it is somewhere either north or south of 700 pages. with limited time to read i suspected it may take a while to get through, but then that thing happened were we were all told to stay home, so i had considerably more reading time available than had been or was anticipated. every cloud, etc.

right, a look at the two (not three, or one, etc) books what i read, followed by a brief overview of each. yes, for those in a rush but wish to know the basics and to be aware of such in an entirely spoiler free way.

it is so that A Book Of Bones is John Connolly's 15th (or 14th or 16th or something like that) (could even be higher) novel in a series tracking the plight of the series' ostensible protagonist, Charlie "Bird" Parker. although he seems not to get called Bird so much now. as almost a very good entry into the series as this is, there would be little point picking it up and reading it if you hadn't read most (if not all) of the previous. yes, i would indeed recommend reading all (if not most) of them. meanwhile, Once A Crooked Man by David McCallum (yes, that one) is a rather flimsy, skimpy, frequently preposterous and at one stage downright crass, tasteless and disgusting (if not plain "offensive") novel which provides easy if not particularly enjoyable reading.

a fairly safe assumption for me to make, you would think, is that the above says all that one would probably need to know of the novels without giving all that much away. for the rest of this post, you are hereby notified that a *** SPOILER WARNING *** is in place, reading on is always your own choice, but don't say i didn't warn you.

starting off where i did, then, is to commence with A Book Of Bones by John Connolly. which is not to be confused with one that was called Bag Of Bones, which for some reason i think is the name of a Stephen King novel. yes, i am aware of it being possible for me to do a google thing and check on that, but i am not particularly interested. should you be, well i would say go for the google search.

that all important provenance of my copy? well, a tricky one for me to give an exact, precise and transparent honest on, for this was a birthday present from the family to moi. but, if you insist, around that time i believe it was available for either £3 or £3.50 as the Tesco "book of the week" sort of offer thing. now it is likely going for a "standard" price, whatever that may well be.

plot? you want me to narrow down 700 or so pages of a novel which explicitly follows some 3 or 4 previous books out of a number "in its teens" of books into a nice summary that is about a paragraph or two in length? not sure that it can be done, but i can only try.

Charlie Parker has little or no explicit interest in hunting down his quarry from the previous novel, a mysterious chap called Quayle, or his decidedly creepy companion (Mors, i think is her name). however, events and circumstances - and the will of others - compels him to carry on with the search to a conclusion. this sees Parker, along with some companions (notably the less than legally obedient Angel and Louis), and with FBI funding, head to take it key sights from Europe to bring an end to the hunt for Quayle.

overall, it's a good novel, as well written as ever and as we (being fans of the character, the series and so as a consequence the writer) have come to expect. the story is a good and interesting enough one, not tying up loose ends from the previous one as such but rather elaborating and expanding on aspects and elements of it. giving fans what they want, maybe.

but, there are some issues with it. as mentioned at least once before above, it is a novel which is on, near or around seven hundred pages in length. other than making it rather awkward to sit and read such a bloody big sized paperback, at no stage does it feel like it needed to be, or was naturally, a novel of such length. whereas one or two novels in the past by the author have been frustratingly short, this one is just too damned long for what it needs to be. yes, call me goldilocks for saying so, i guess.

another thing what bothers me is John Connolly's presumably wicked and naughty sense of humour. i flat refuse to believe that my complaint is resolved by assuming he does poor research. it was just a couple of years ago that Mr Connolly caused some outrage and upset by suggesting the English way of making tea was to commit the obscenity of (forgive me for writing this) putting the milk in first (no, it is not).that you can read more of by clicking these words. here, for some reason he describes and declares Middlesbrough (yes, that one) to be a "city". rather famously, or infamously, it is not a city, for it has not been awarded such status. no, the place is "just" a town. exactly how and why, out of all the places in all of the world, he decided to set some of it in Middlesbrough is a mystery maybe best left unsolved, but here we are.

something which might take my fellow enthusiastic readers by surprise is just how absent Charlie Parker is in this novel. maybe this is as a consequence of the exaggerated number of pages to the book, but it feels like the (ostensibly at least) main character disappears for a hundred or so pages at a time. the rest of the story going on is interesting enough, to be sure, but you get distracted by reading and thinking, well, where is he?

no matter how lengthy it is to get where it goes, A Book Of Bones is highly satisfactory. by no means is it the best of the Charlie Parker novels, but it is decidedly not the worst. curiously the next book, which i think is now out in hardback (i can wait), is a "prequel" thing, going back some 20 years. odd, as the conclusion of this one suggested that another, more "present day" story was imminent. hey ho, what there is of my wretched, f*****g miserable, hollow life is made noticeably better by the presence of John Connolly novels on a regular basis, so i shall take whatever he cares to publish.

moving on, then, and it was of course the case that i was drawn to reading Once A Crooked Man purely on the basis of the author. yes, David McCallum, as in that David McCallum. better known, possibly, over the last two decades or so as Ducky out of NCIS, but also known as Him out of The Man From UNCLE and Him out of Sapphire & Steel. if that is not reason enough to want to read a particular book, well then i do not know what is, or i am a dutchman, or similar.

provenance of my copy? off of internet, as it happens. i was aware of the book being published at the time it was, but it never ever turned up in the book section of any of the supermarkets that i went to. having forgotten about it for a year or so, recently i remembered it, and purchased a "used" copy off of internet for somewhere that i believe was just south of £3. whilst i don't remember the precise price, what i do not is that what turned up was an extremely carefully previously used (or "read") copy, as the immaculate condition of it gave every indication that no one had actually previously read it. a lovely surprise, to be sure, so i did not have to worry about a battered paperback falling apart in my hands as i read.

how about the plot? farcically whimsical, simplistically ludicrous and absurdly preposterous. and none of those in a particularly or realistically good way. let me try. in farcical circumstances a farcical investment banker / venture capitalist manages money for some farcical gangster types. when health matters make it so that, farcically, the gangster types decide to go legit, in farcical circumstances a getting by actor overhears their farcical plot to "clean up loose ends" and go straight. which sees the actor try to intervene and stop whatever it is they are doing (he is not entirely sure), by farcical means and in a farcical way. and this sees him take quite a farcical journey, or if you like, strange adventure.

i think i get what David McCallum might have been trying to do here. the vague, general sense i got was that he was trying to blend the traditions of good, old fashioned British "whoops mind my brolly" music hall farce with all this exciting crime gangster stuff what they do in America. this is a concept which generally may work in some form or another, but alas not quite in this novel.

why not? mostly due to the flimsy, skimpy way it's all written. oh, the words flow from the page just fine, it's just that everything is sort of rushed and compressed. to say characters are left one dimensional in the novel is an exaggeration, so thin on presentation are they all.

a most unexpected and indeed (very) repugnant consequence of the above is the "handling" of a British police woman of the lady type. mindful of a spoiler warning given, i would encourage you to note that decency and taste are about to go out the window here. this character is subject to a severe sexual assault, and the reaction to it is for her to fall for the abuser, ditch her police ways and follow him off in crime, all within 2, or maybe 3, pages. it serves to turn the reading experience from "harmless distraction" to "woeful garbage".

if McCallum was trying to be witty, funny, provocative, seedy or "meta", at no level does it work. a surprising element is the ringing, celebratory endorsement of the novel by no less than Joanna Lumley, who apparently is some go-to type for literary endorsements that i was unaware of. presumably she may not have actually read the novel, or is not quite so much a friend of the author as all would have assumed and her comments are sheer sarcasm, or she has a particularly peculiar slant on life.

to clarify then, those who have not a flying fig of a clue who David McCallum is will find nothing of value or interest in this novel, unless they have a most out of the ordinary value system. for those aware and do quite like him, all this novel will do is disrupt your view of that nice well spoken British chap. probably best to avoid this book all around, then.

maybe the time has come for me to simply cease indulging the literary vanity projects of actors and singers. the last few years have seen me endure, or punish myself (to varying degrees) with 'novels' by Steve Martin, Morrissey, Hugh Laurie and now David McCallum. whereas reading these works hasn't been all or mostly bad (well, yes, the Morrissey one was, and now the McCallum), none of them have brought the particular sense of reward for time invested one may hope for from a reading experience. hey ho, oh.

so, well, that's that for this, then. a formidable about of waffle i've done on two books that, in all likelihood, anyone interested or feeling compelled to read will have had a bit of a gander at long before my fingers touched the keyboard. but, thanks as ever for reading.




be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

a hero of the invisible war

greetings


and so it is that the battle (probably) rages on, look you see. we, as a planet, or rather a species which inhabits the planet, are more or less united in our quest to defeat this new plague; the coronavirus. such a coming together is quite rare, for it is normal that the minor differences between us all tend to far outweigh all that we have that is similar. perhaps it shall be looked back on and fondly remembered, but if history teaches us anything then maybe not.

few and far between are the times that i can recall so many of our (estimated) seven billion being as one. closest, perhaps, is Live Aid back in 1985. yes, true, also in 1985 was that time there was a proliferation of widespread condemnation of Phil Collins preventing Frankie Goes To Hollywood having a 4th number one single in a row (back when the singles chart was proper and based on actual sales), but as that particular crusade continues to this day it is unfair to speak of it much.

just as with any battle or war, heroes and villains rise in tales of bravery and treachery. it is totes absolutely so that this is happening with the present conflict. to highlight but one episode, or instance, let us be less Phil, more Frankie and look at a positive; if you will a hero.

this tale of courage, like so many of the better such stories, has simplicity at heart. it is an adventure pretty much all of us can relate to, and pertains primarily to the desire to obtain bread at the most modest and reasonable cost possible.

many of you will wish for an as objective as possible telling of the story, so that you may draw your own conclusions. very well. for those of you who want such, here is a link to the story on the bbc website. alternatively, if you are happy (or comfortable) to accept my brief retelling of the incident of bravery, a gent in Nottingham was stopped driving (quite fast) from there to London (and back) with his children in the car, claiming he was doing so as bread was £1 cheaper there.

having, maybe weirdly and certainly unexpectedly, experienced both places, yes, i do question the validity, or if you wish veritas, of this claim. absolutely nothing, except perhaps the value of life, is cheaper in London than is the case anywhere in the country, or the world. when you consider that for some reason Nottingham tries to present itself as "the London of the Midlands", it is not like prices are that reasonable for consumers or patrons of stores. if i were to speculate, to have some sort of educated, based on experience guess, then i would put forward the idea that the cost of things in London is probably similar to the base cost of the same in Nottingham. but this chap clearly thought different (unless he was lying about the reason for his travels), so let us go with it.

thank you for the picture

let us run with is, let us take as a given that the cost of bread in London is indeed £1 south of the standard pricing for such in Nottingham. i was curious about all of this, and wished to know (or understand) if this act of courage - to drive north of 100 miles per hour (around 160 km/h, Frenchies) down a motorway in order to secure a more modestly priced loaf. so, armed with pencil, paper and calculator, as well as an unusually high level of research (by my standards), i went right ahead and "did the maths" on it all. or, and it pains me to write it this way, "did the math" for our friends in America.

as a brief aside, just what is the problem America has with using an "s" correctly? not only do they drop it off of the word maths, but they also call Keith Richards Keith Richard. further, they go and add it where it is not needed, which is why on the internet one encounters the profanity that is "Legos" when "Lego" is the correct way to make reference to multiples of the item.

right, getting back to the (ostensible) point here, Nottingham to London and back is, give or take a little, a 240 mile trip. or about 386 so called kilometers for any Frenchies still reading this (merci). as it is one of the most popular cars for families (and the proliferation of them in Nottingham gives every suggestion that they might as well rename the place after them), i have taken it as a given that a Ford Fiesta was used. further, in terms of capital expenditure and other subsidiary costs, i have taken as a given than the car is either paid off in full (or "borrowed"), but have incorporated a basic maintenance cost in the estimated fuel charge.

thank you for the picture

on an open motorway with constant conditions being variable, it is so that one could plausibly get 68 miles per gallon (mpg) off of a Ford Fiesta. no, i am not doing metric measurements any further. thus, it is more or less so that the trip to London from Nottingham (and back) would consume about 3.6 gallons of fuel (petrol, presumably). with the oil market in freefall this is a tricky one, but for the sake of ease of understanding let us work on an understanding that the fuel cost £4.53 per gallon (oh, go on then Frenchies, £1.20 per "litre"). a rough fuel cost for this crusade in the war on coronavirus would in effect, then, "only" be slightly north of £16.

to this extent, then, the intrepid rogue male would merely need to have purchased 17 loaves of bread in London at £1 less than the price in Nottingham to have made this trip financially viable. any further, which is to say loaves in number north of 18, would see his quest become exponentially more of sound fiscal sense. to go further, if he had purchased (i think) 40 loafs (loaves) of bread and sold them in Nottingham for just 50p lower than the apparent base Nottinghamshire price for such, he would have turned a tidy profit from the war. and profit is generally what war concerns.

but it is of course the case that the police disagreed with this point of view, remonstrating with this entrepreneur or value hunter of the battle. and, as we are under instruction by consent not to travel excessive distances, they are correct to have done so. it is, after all, the case that the constabulary have their hands full with necessary arrests of various health ministers around the world who believe in the Orwellian adage of some animals being more equal than others.

undoubtedly there will be further tales such as this as the war rages. like all wars, many incidents and instances of this nature shall be turned into lucrative films. i suspect this one, when filmed, shall probably be less Full Metal Jacket, more Where Eagles Dare, in truth.




be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

touched by the hand of bowen

hi there


we are still, i would imagine (or presume) in some rather testing times, look you see. this is being composed within the first days of april, with the view being that it goes "live" later in the month. for the sake of clarity, yes, 2020. as in the year 2020, and not the vision thing or the cricket thing.

in these challenging times (and i assume they are not gone, nor shall they be for a while), i'd like to think it is a lovely thing to have something to if not quite clutch or cling to then to hold on, moving quite deftly away from "c" words in doing so. and surely there can be no better way to do this than welcome a return to these pages (or "internet things") of his holiness, the great jim bowen.

actually yes, one or two of you probably could think of some better way. but that is not how it works here on this blog. perhaps you will be won over to the perspective of jim being the way, so do stick with it for a bit. worst case, after all, is that your presumption which is the basis for your perspective shall forever after ring true for you.

that there above is what they call in the trade (and, for that matter, general everyday conversation that we, the people have as and when such a subject comes up) a publicity still of the gent, the once and future pope, his excellency, his greatness, jim bowen. whilst modesty would probably have prevented the great one from choosing or electing to have these, the clamour for such no doubt meant that he was persuaded so that we, the people, could have an image of him upon request.

yes, or no, you are not mistaken. as the clarity of commodore 64 mode brings out in great detail, this is far from being an ordinary publicity image of the great one. indeed it was signed by him, presumably (you would have to think) before his sad passing. which makes this all the more of a special, indeed precious, item to have.

provenance of my signed image of jim bowen (if you will excuse me not listing his many attributes and titles from here on out)? a gift from another esteemed and hallowed member of our society. this was a most generous donation from the (mostly self-styled) Viscount of Stockton, the Marquess of Tees Valley (and about fifteen other unassuming titles), sent with kindness and greeted with gratitude.

complementing the image (which required no further fanfare but still) was a set of stickers featuring the idol, or emblem, or icon most keenly and closely associated with jim bowen. that's right, bully himself, ready to throw a dart, of a juxtaposition which delightfully enhances the unique font employed for the most righteous and admired name of bullseye.

for quite some time, then - perhaps too long - i have kept these items private, reserving them for my own viewing pleasure. and to meet any medicinal needs or requirements which they may yield or provide, but that is a matter i am not prepared to go into detail concerning. let it be said that my guilt here is selfishness, and absolutely not because i left them in an envelope on my desk and sort of forgot all about them until an unexpected amount of time at home meant that i could no longer avoid a bit of a tidy up.

so, anyway, in these testing or trying times - or just generally, if all is now tickety boo and we are back to normal with things lovely - it feels appropriate to share these here. note, share, not show off as such. although yes, i am ever so proud of them, which is why i have had them on display for my personal admiration and totes not sat in an envelope buried on my desk.

a certain number of you might appreciate, or for some particular reason want, a non Commodore 64 version of the jim bowen publicity image which he penned his chosen name on. very well, so be it, there you have it above. my word, isn't his writing as eloquent and as exquisite as every other known aspect of the man.

you, as far as i am concerned, are very welcome to save or "download" these images and make perfectly acceptable personal use of them. this would be a most splendid thing to do in particular if at home, or verk, you have one of them printer things. whereas it is none of my business what you would care to choose to do with print outs of either (or both) of these images, perhaps putting them in a nice frame would be apt. or a smaller print out would allow you to carry both (or either) in your wallet, purse, or similar.

quite, indeed, for the sake of completeness there above is the celebrated, much vaunted bullseye motif, or logo (icon, maybe) in commodore 64 mode for your viewing pleasure.

does this post mark a return to more regular thoughts, comments and musings on the subject of bullseye in general and jim bowen in particular? maybe. i am quietly confident that i have covered every aspect of both that i can, with some of such even being more factually based than would be standard here. but, one never knows, perhaps i can consider more to say.

anyway, cheers, enjoy the pictures.




be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

south america

hola a todos


yes, i would indeed agree, look you see, that south america is a pretty broad, sweeping (and general) title for a post. rather than cover all, or each and every aspect, of what south america is, this shall instead be a bit limited. and that limitation focuses on how london born rock stars chose to sing the name "south america" on records in the 1980s.

so as to limit it further, avoiding the need for us to be here all day with it, this will all concentrate on just the two london born rock stars, namely david bowie and mick jagger. although saying the latter is london born is pushing it, but dartford is close enough i suppose.

for some reason south america has always appeared to have a special kind of allure (or appeal) for rock stars. if we assume that it isn't because of the proliferation of drugs, flexible morality, copious sex available, lax law enforcement and ease of access to firearms there, then it must be because they love the fans down in that part of the world. or, indeed, up, if you are reading this from somewhere geographically south of the continent.

at no stage, then, did any self-respecting rock star in the 80s refuse (or decline) an opportunity to mention south america. in the present day (the 2020s) this is called a "shout out", apparently. but we did not call it that back then.

yes, the above is indeed a sound clip of david bowie (sort of) singing "south america". as it was only about a second or so long i opted to repeat it a few times, so you can enjoy it over the course of a dozen or so seconds before you need to press the play button again. by my calculations, if you set this on repeat you could hear david bowie sing "south america" (or "sarfy hurmericaaaaa") considerably north of 84,000 times in one (1) 24 (twenty four) hour day.

the above has, of course, been extracted from the celebrated 1985 chart topping single dancing in the street, as recorded by david bowie and his mate mick jagger, all in support of live aid. which gives me the perfect excuse to once again use this "interesting" artistic rendering of david and mick, as featured in that documentary about bromley council services.

did mick jagger ever pay homage to the continent by singing "south america" at any point? why, yes, he did. which is very handy, otherwise this blog post would have fallen rather flat (if it has not done so already, anyway).

just 2 (two) years prior to the bowie recording he done with him, jagger had a preliminary crack at singing "south america" on a song. it was in 1983 when him and his more regular day job, the rolling stones, did an absolute belter of a song called undercover of the night. amazing video for it, too.

perhaps (as in i am) biased, but where the bowie version is vibrant, positive, optimistic and fun, the jagger take is somewhat broody, moody, downbeat and dark. if not for the dark we could not have light, i suppose. make no mistake, but i do believe i am an advocate of the bowie delivery more so than i am the jagger one.

some, perhaps even many, of you may wish for (or appreciate) a more "side by side" comparison of the variations of each artist performing the line "south america" in song. this is not only something i can do (or see as "doable"), bit rather a matter that i gone done.

yes, indeed, there probably are any other number of artists who have had reason (or occasion) to sing of south america. i am just presently not aware of them, or to be blunt not that interested. for what reason would i wish to listen to others in rendition of such when i have bowie and jagger doing it?

right, well, anyway, i suspect that the sound snippets are really all what was needed here. my text just adds a nice border to it all, maybe.




be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

motown junk

heya


indeed yes, another film post from. and you can probably expect more, look you see. whereas normally i don't get quite so much time as i may have liked to have a gander at movies, in the here and now all this "lockdown" to escape the new plague means now i kind of do.

unfortunately i have not always used such time as wisely as i might have. rather than re-watch some classics, or have a look at films which have come highly rated but thus far i have not watched (for example, inception is sat here next to me on a blu ray disc, unplayed. never seen it yet), recently i opted to watch collision course.

sadly, i am not talking about the ice age sequel (i think it was the fourth or fifth one) that has that title. nor am i speaking of any film which also might have that name. with regret it is that i am speaking about that one. the collision course made in the late 80s, dumped on audiences in the early 90s, total load of rubbish.

thanks wikipedia

how, or why, is it that it fell upon me to watch this film? well, my brother recommended it. as he considers the greatest film of all time to be convoy, closely followed by cannoball run ii, his taste is beyond question and his advice on films should always be trusted. well, up to the point where i watched collision course, at least.

plot? there really was not much of one i could work out, in truth. i think it was something about some super plans for some super japanese car engine being stolen by someone naughty, who was off to sell it to some american car maker in detroit. the japanese send a copper (pat morita out of proper karate kid) to detroit to fetch the plans, and there he teams up with a supposed to be affable, nice but dim copper but alas they didn't cast that part to a proper actor (played by jay leno, out of nothing particularly good except for when he plays jay leno).

yes, then. it does try and do that whole "fish out of water" and "mismatched cop partners who become buddies" thing. which worked well in the 2 - 3 years prior to collision course being made in films like red heat and of course lethal weapon. but them two films had things this film does not, such as actors, a script, and so on.

the only remotely enjoyable moment in this film takes a test of patience to get it. at around the 55 minute mark the inevitable, predictable and contrived "big bar brawl" scene happens. in it, though, you get to watch jay leno get repeatedly punched and kicked in the stomach and (particularly enjoyably) in the face. a close second to enjoyment comes at the end, when jay leno gets shot in the leg. it appears to hurt him a bit, and he falls over.

for some reason they went to the extent of getting a (reasonably) good actor, chris sarandon, to play the "big bad". yet this they make a mess of, as for some reason they have made him dress up like edward james olmos as castillo out of miami vice, and given him strict instructions not to act. equally wasted (although not resplendent in miami vice wardrobes) are tom noonan out of manhunter and robocop 2, and ernie hudson out of ghostbusters and all them other films what he has done.

with no nudies, no jokes, no decent action scenes and no real sense of story or idea, it is difficult to view collision course as anything other than a very expensive way of proving that jay leno cannot act, and that pat morita has many talents but being the leading man expected to carry a film is not one of them.

over the years this film has been released with different titles. most of them, like detroit vice and in particular kamikaze detroit (i really like that one), are better that collision course. but, if for some reason you have not worked this out yet, just avoid this film no matter what title it has, and regardless of what my brother says.



be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

forgotten cinema : gunmen

hi there


it has been a fair while since i have done one of these forgotten cinema thing. a few years, look you see. but, we are here now. and, as many (perhaps all) of you will have ascertained, the film at the very heart of this post is one called gunmen.

there is a case to suggest that gunmen is not quite so much forgotten cinema as it is a film that never really got a fair or decent release. why this is so, i do not know. maybe it did, but for some reason didn't find a suitable audience at the time. should that be so, that's a shame, as it really is quite the gem of a film.

my own first encounter with this film was not really a conventional exhibition of it, as such. a very dear friend, sylvia, had a brother what got a pirate video of it. as the film features one denis leary, who back in the early 90s (and today) i was a staunch admirer of, she felt it was quite important that i borrowed the tape and watched it as soon as possible. which i did.

some 27 (or maybe just 26) years later i happened to stumble upon the one and only dvd of it which i had ever found for sale. as provenance of my stuff appears to be a big thing for many of you, it was bought as part of a "3 for R99" deal in some shop in south africa. ostensibly it cost me R33, then, which at time of writing translates to £1.51 in real (as in british pound sterling) money. or $1.88 in american money. for european readers in certain zones €1.68 is the value you seek, and 202.46 for those of you what do the japanese yen thing. let us move on, though, as up to now i would seem to have spoken more of exchange rates rather than this film.

but, that said, i suspect the producer of my copy of the dvd simply used a variation of that pirate video what i had to make the disc. every now and then as the disc plays there are those telltale sort of white line "static clicks" on the image, associated with a dirty head or damaged vhs.

plot, to get back to the film? well, here goes. someone has stolen $400,000,000 (presumably in the american version of the dollar currency) off of a quite bad criminal type (not sure but probably some kind of drug dealer). they have done gone hidden it on a boat, in south america. whereas the authorities (here embodied by mario van peebles) know the name, they do not know the location of it. which is problematic, for if we are honest south america is pretty big, and surrounded by water. as it happens, the brother of him what stole the money (portrayed by christopher lambert, or him out of highlander) knows the port where it can be found.

with each holding a piece to a tricky two part puzzle, then, the copper and the scoundrel form an uneasy alliance, lacking trust and characterised mostly by double crossing and shooting each other. making things somewhat more tricky is the fact that the ipso facto legitimate owner of all that money, the mr big of the criminal world (patrick stewart out of space travel kids and mutant kids or whatever it was those films and tv things were called) would rather like it back. so he sends his evil, wicked and rather funny henchman (the excellent denis leary) off to get it, with extreme prejudice.

if the plot sounds a little contrived, tired, cliched and "seen it all before" but for a little bit of variation, well, it probably is, then. so are the overwhelming majority of films made, be it in this specific "action buddy thriller" genre or in the wider realm of cinema. making a success of stuff which has been done before relies on a decent, engaging execution of it all. as far as i am concerned, and hence me writing this, gunmen does so really rather well.

you know what, i have uploaded far, far too many pictures here for what i have to say on the film. basically the rest of this will be a lot of drivel and what have you, so know for now that it really is a decent film and it is worth hunting down a copy of. for the rest of this, then, to be safe, please take note of me putting a *** POSSIBLE SPOILER WARNING *** sign up.

let me start off with what kind of drew me to the film, then. actually, no, the reason why a good friend passed on a copy of it and suggested (or rather insisted) that i watch it. the early 90s (and 93 could be considered early 90s) saw a (very wise) attempt to make denis leary a "thing", which is to say bigger than just an extremely good stand up comedian. with this in mind he was cast in several films. it cannot be denied that of these demolition man was the finest, and best played to the strengths of his persona, but this one comes close to doing so.

but, you know, this one comes close. the general anti-hero, shock tactic nature of his stand up comedy made him something of a natural, i suppose, to cast as the affable, get away with evil bad guy. it works very well indeed in this cavalier, gung ho, foul mouthed and violent film. the same can be true of the other film in which he played a bad guy released in 1993. it is likely that the other such film, the very good judgement night, was also not seen by all that big an audience.

whereas i really, really like denis leary, at no stage have i ever felt obliged or compelled to retain or otherwise seek out a copy of every film what he has been in. this would be because he did a lot of rubbish. but, as you have no doubt worked out already, gunmen and indeed demolition man are two that i keep and treasure. and now that i have thought about it, let me have a look for judgement night too, as that was class.

since the subject of the bad guys (and there is a particularly vicious bad lady, too) is here, patrick stewart as the head honcho, then. by this stage it is, of course, true that patrick stewart had that iconic cult status what any actor gets if they play a sustained and decent part in any of the big budget star trek (there that was what it was called) series. for what reason he took on the quite minor and not particularly pivotal role in this, i know not. money, perhaps. it very much was a "thing" for american films to have a prominent english actor play the villain in action films at the time. well, anyway, much of the seven or eight (ten at most) minutes he is in the film feature him sat in a chair, watching people get buried alive. not his finest hour, but i have not seen enough of what he has made to comment if it is his worst.

on, then, to the "heroes" of the film, which would be christopher lambert and mario van peebles. two actors that i guess one could say i liked, if not to any particular great extent. off the top of my head, christopher lambert was boss in highlander, if somewhat overshadowed by clancy brown and sir sean connery. not sure if it was before or after this film, but i always thought that posse which mario van peebles was in was class. pretty sure he was in heartbreak ridge, too, which was also smart.

any sort of "action buddy thriller" film needs a smart level of "chemistry" between the buddy element to work. there must be a plausible "bromance" thing for it to work, for the audiences to be interested enough to watch. it is sort of (kind of) so that this is in place in gunmen. the dynamics of the plot, or film or story or whatever, are such that they are usually more apart than they are together as the action all unfolds. which is fine, as they are interesting enough as separate characters. but yes, it all works as it should.

but what of all the essential, requisite aspects, features, commas, components and what have you of such an action film? does gunmen have them all? oh, yes, in abundance. for the action bits, there is plenty of running, jumping, shooting and hanging off of (or out of) helicopters and that, with the latter not always by choice. there is also some lovely nudies, and an entirely needless, unnecessary and reasonably explicit that sort of thing (sex) scene. it is as foul mouthed a film as it is violent, which is a lot, and also entertainingly funny. or amusing.

in answer to your question (and remember the spoiler warning), if we assume that yes, of course, the ostensible "good guys" win, is it so that the baddies have an interesting demise? well, yes, indeed they do, or for sure. whilst patrick stewart has a "reap what you sow" ending, it is left to denis leary to have a quite lovely "break the fourth wall" departure.

the question posed by this is how, or why, did the film "fail", and why does it remain in a failed state. from what i can work out off of information available on the web, it was made cheap (south of $10 million budget, which in 1993 would not have even got you 25% of schwarzenegger or stallone to be in your film), yet only recuperated some 50% of that cost.

my basic understanding continues to the extent that the film did not have a general, or widescale, cinematic (theatrical) release. in a lot of places it was "DTV" (direct to video). maybe at some stage it did make the money back, as this film is totes one of them class word of mouth spreads that it is worth the rental fee type. or it could be that, like was the case for me, the only reasonable distribution of the film came via the video pirates, and that distribution model does not usually see the studio who made the film see too much return on investment.

yes, as has been written here, tracking down a copy of gunmen is something that i would consider to be worth your time. assuming you are an adult what likes watching action films. from what i can work out, it is available in long deleted, tres expensive dvds, reasonably priced second or third hand vhs copies and that is not. i wouldn't say i did too much extensive research, but from what i can tell it is not on any of them "streaming" or digital services, at least at time of writing and as far as those available in the uk goes. undoubtedly though them pirate types have put it somewhere on the internet, for those eager to see it but unable to locate it.

should for some reason you wish to have a read of other editions (or episodes) of what i, if not now then certainly at the time, considered to be forgotten cinema, then here you go -

nighthawks

the party animal

who finds a friend finds a treasure

king frat

moving on then, would be to say that this is all at an end. well, this post is. my thanks for reading, nice one if you are familiar with the film too, and good luck to all those who feel interested enough to go and find it. hopefully you have some success!




be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

rendezvous

heya


part of me has some doubts about posting this, look you see. there is something of an innate sense to it all which speaks of invading (or intruding) upon privacy. but, ultimately, this all played out in a quite, no very, public place. one should not easily abandon decorum just because they can, after all.

the clincher, or if you will deal breaker, for going ahead and composing this piece to share with you was, or is, that it all just so happened to take place on what was, or is (ostensibly) my birthday. circumstance, fate and choice determined that there was little in the way of traditional commemoration or standard celebration of this, which strikes me as reason enough to pursue this composition. if you at all disagree, well, i would accept such, but also encourage you not to throw any stones of guilt at me, instead suggesting that you simply stop reading.

one more we are in the realm of my most recent (and on the basis of what is happening in the world we now live potentially final) trip to that there london place. yes, i have milked this trip quite a bit so far for posts, particularly across much (or most) of march. but, here we go, potentially a final one in respect of it all. rather fittingly, then, it comes from the final stages of such, as in the trip home.

your attention is drawn to the lady in the pink (or off-pink, maybe even off-purple) jacket, provisionally at the forefront of the image. this would be rather fitting, if not apt, for it so that they are the protagonist of the piece.

with no knowledge of such i happened to be a passenger on the same train as this lady, from london, or for those who care for precision king's cross, to one of the more noted as being affluent regions of north yorkshire. equally, it was true that we had departed the one train at this particular station so as to board another, taking us closer to our destination. this, along with the obvious (or overt) biological differences, is where, i would like to believe true, our similarities end.

my own journey was marked (characterised, perhaps) by any number of aspects, although i must stress the number is in all likelihood finite. for me there was the delight of being safely on my way to be back with my family, relief that my purpose for being in london was a success, delight that i had been able to spend time with my chum Spiros and his family, reflections on another birthday being reached, and similar.

the journey of the lady was, evidently, quite or markedly different. i am aware of this as it was so that i, along with two or three other people on the platform (not the one pictured, but we shall get to this), were engaged by her in an enthusiastic retelling of certain key aspects of her trip. some might possibly say that they were highlights, and thus we missed some parts or context, and i would be inclined to stress that only her version, or interpretation, of events are available as testimony. if any of you are aware, or informed, of the concept of an "unreliable narrator" to tell a story, be it in literature, film or sometimes music, then note such now.

her account was characterised by colourful, yet obscene, cursive swear words of a sexual nature. also, as the tale progressed, it was clear that she had a particular proclivity to use a most offensive, crass and vulgar term which is supposed to be descriptive of an aspect of the female reproductive organ, but in a dismissive way. whereas such a word is not used lightly in other parts of our country, it is very much a frequently relied upon term in london. the word is embraced, and adopted, as a verb, noun, pronoun and adjective as and when required in conversation there, quite often in the same sentence. i make no bones of the fact that i propose to exclude such words from what i recall of the exchanges made.

from what we could gather, or ascertain, her trip on the train had been quite lively. it was, for this lady, a journey of a well refreshed nature, for she had opted to bring along a formidable amount of alcoholic beverages (both in tins and bottles) to ensure that no thirst was experienced or left unattended. sadly, perhaps even (indeed) regrettably, there was an incident with some of the ale, for a chair on the train ended up wet, perhaps even to the level of soaked, as a consequence. whereas no real clarity was provided on what, precisely, had transpired, the lady assured us, her unsolicited audience, that it was one of the unopened cans or bottles that had in a remarkable way emptied out all over one of the seats, and despite allegations made no, she was not personally responsible for providing such fluid which caused such wetness.

a rather distressing aspect of the retelling of her journey came in the section dedicated to her conversation with a humble employee of the train service provider. this was a conversation predominately focused on the (at the time) recently unscheduled soaking of the chair, but also contained elements of a reasonably expected level of etiquette from patrons using the train. whereas the actual provenance or ethnicity of the gentleman she spoke to is unknown to me, it seems in a rather rash mood she took it upon herself to assume that he was of Pakistan in origin, and used a term widely regarded as unacceptable to refer to this. it was at this juncture that it was suggested to the lady that it would be preferable for her to disembark the train at the very next station, for the wellbeing of all.

despite it being so that precisely none of us, her unable to escape with ease audience, inquired or asked, she proceeded to tell us why she was on the train, and to where it is she was going. apparently some action had been taken which resulted in her taking custody of  "free" train ticket, and so it was that she decided to travel to see a friend that she had not seen for some two decades. it was so that she was not entirely sure at which station this friend, who she shouted at repeatidley down the phone when not discussing some matter of a personal nature on the very same phone with someone we believe that she has an intimate relationship with, but when consulted by the lady myself and the fellow travellers on the platform were able to advise of the name of the station sought.

unfortunately, and indeed regrettably, vast swathes of the interaction via conversation that she had were us were not so constructive or agreeable. the sole other lady on the platform, for instance, did all that she could to avoid being spoken to or otherwise attract attention, but not so successfully as to avoid being accused of being with child (which is to say pregnant) in the opinion of the narrator. the rest of us, mostly me and a chap who appeared to thrive on a more sheltered from such life, were told in no uncertain terms by the lady that she should probably not have been allowed to travel alone or unaccompanied, and also that we should "f*** off", or do various activities and take numerous directions which involved variations of "f***".

perhaps this is needless narrative, but as you can see in the images used to illustrate this, the lady was able to make the rendezvous with her friend, all at a train station in an area noted and known for to be of a mixed, varied level of affluence. this all ended, you could say, for her quite well, then. sorry, no, i am unsure if the lady, whilst clearly and patently of london, was pure cockney or part of the social class they call "estuary" down there. it all sounds the same to me.

this was certainly one of the more interesting, and certainly unexpected, encounters to happen on my travels. for sure, it was truly one that featured considerable and formidable uses of foul language. needless to say i offer my thanks to you for reading this, and can but hope it provided you with entertainment, if not any particularly great (or discernable) level of information or insight.




be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

surprising sunday sainsbury (shortly after) day of release

howdy pop pickers


well, blimey, look you see. in these rather challenging times (or strange days), when for some reason hmv is not considered an essential service (which illustrates how far wrong we have allowed our world to go), there was no expectation from me to own or hear this album until "the fuss had all died down". or whatever level of seriousness you wish to place on the threat to our very lives today.

fate, fortune or sheer co-incidence, whichever you may prefer, intervened. or simply happened, should you be of a mind not to attribute senses of fate to things that just happen. which means that, yes, hence me being able to sit and write (or compose) this, i experienced a sort of day of release (give or take) (by that i mean give) experience with the new album off of Morrissey, the as usual confrontationally titled  i am not a dog on a chain.

yes, that Morrissey. the one who (as he is keenly and acutely aware of on this album, but as you may well expect he really does not care) is perhaps the most popular to be vilified and kicked for simply no going with the flow, for saying as he likes and speaking as he pleases without not even the singular of most single calories of concern being lost over how he doesn't get likes or retweets or followers.

a view exists that we should all abscond from listening to Morrissey; that we should use our freedom of choice to do exactly what people who speak their opinion the loudest do and turn our back on him, for he expresses unpopular views. granted, and true, the apparent lurch towards what anyone would reasonably define as more right wing views can be just as uncomfortable as they have been entirely unexpected. but, as i have mentioned before, and shall no doubt mention again, this thing called freedom of speech does (very much) have a price. the cost is all have it, or none do. with interest i can recall how few, if any, were horrified with him when the police paid a visit to his home, concerned about the song Margaret On The Guillotine, believing (rightly) it was "some sort of threat" made against glorious leader Thatcher.

under no circumstances is it that you (or i) have to accept and agree with everything (or anything) someone said just because once they said something that resonated with you. how much you let it bother, or influence, you, is a different matter. to randomly select highlights from a lengthy career, at no point has Morrissey, solo or in his band whose name escapes me for the moment, persuaded or influenced me to be vegetarian, anti-monarchy, anti-war, enthusiastic about the Krays and their way of "killing their own sort", someone wishing to bring actual physical harm to former drummers or overtly right-wing. but he has influenced me to stop, consider and think of subjects which either i may not have done, or do so in a different way. that, surely, is all any artist would wish to accomplish with their art.

perhaps i will get on to the actual album (eventually) at some point, but for now, the provenance. indeed i bought it a mere 48 (give or take) hours after the day of release, when i was permitted entry to a shop to purchase essential items, free briefly from my place of quarantine. i know some say we should speak solely of "isolation", but the Manics did a song called in my place of quarantine, and anyway, quarantine scores at lot more on scrabble than what isolation does.

for some reason Morrissey elected only to sell the album in a vinyl form off of his website, which is lovely but impractical. as i since long ago grew tired of the second class citizen status amazon now affords customers, i had assumed that it would not before the blackout ended that i would be able to get the cd. so it was a lovely surprise to see it on the shelf down at sainsbury's, despite the war effort dictating only essentials were to be made and sold. with no police around, i bought it then.

indeed, as those of you with a keen eye can ascertain in the above, for the same sum paid for the Morrissey recording (£10 but who is counting), i could have bought two (2) copies of the celebrated 3 (three) disc Gold by David Soul out of that tv show and that Dirty Harry film where he played a biker cop who was naughty. but, i did not.

how about, a few hundred words in, i do a bit of a listen to the record, and give some speculative comments on what i think of it? that is generally how a (for the wish and the want of a really better word) "review" of an album should go, i suppose. but such is never so simple with Morrissey. i would not wish it to be so.

to be honest, the very first time (as in initial) i played the recording that is i am not a dog on a chain it happened in a "background" way, with me (moi) being distracted by other things. it played on, and sounded quite like a conventional (if there is such) Morrissey album. at one or two points, sure, my attention was drawn to it. further plays were then made. but, for some of you, that it mostly sounds like a standard Morrissey album is enough to know whether you do or do not have an interest in it. except to say, like some reviews have gone into overdrive on, there feels like a lot more synthesizers and keyboards and electrical noise generators on it than i would have come to expect.

a general point about the latter would be that (quite) often the actual music would, as good (great) as it usually is, be very much a secondary to a Morrissey album, with his vocals and his words being very much front and centre, in your face via your ears. for some reason here i got the sense that such was being deliberately "mixed back" a little. maybe this is just me, but if it is so, then it was a subversion of expectation to the extreme.

if there is an over-reaching, consistent theme here, then it is time. this is to be understood in the broadest possible sense, though. at points we get treaties on his lower than usual level of patience, whereas at other junctures there are implications of time being up for others (or their secrets), and the notion that Morrissey himself is quite aware of his time, if either as alive or simply as a recording artist, is more discernibly finite than ever before.

but know that this is not a Blackstar orchestrated farewell. nor is it thematic pondering or exploration of loss as you would know it from Automatic For The People. it is, if anything, one of the final scenes of Blade Runner. Deckard is held from a tall building. the one who holds him, Batty, controls if he lives or dies. on the off chance that it is his final act, Deckard unleashes a weak, aimless attempt at a spit in the face of he who would see him end, not caring at all if it hits or not, the importance being that it landed.

of course the album is at times resplendent with the style of poetic sixth former wankery he is so associated as being an accidental inspirer and deliberate curator of. for this, darling i hug a pillow i look at you and nod. but for the rest, considering my statement above, the majority all feels that little bit more sharper, perhaps even more brutal than usual. i cannot say more direct, for the only time he has not (so far as we are aware) been direct is when he's discussing himself in song.

well, or but, even then, no. the most striking point of conversation from the album appears to be the opening track, jim jim falls, which would seem to reference an Australian (g'day) waterfall. the one line in it, if you're going to kill yourself, get on with it, kind of illustrates the patience and time part from above. it also masks a later line in the song, if you're going to sing, sing, don't talk. a reference to himself, a nod to those who are critical of what he has to say, or an attack on those who by profession are singers yet by trade seem to be speakers.

not sure if this has all added any value or information on the record (in the slightest), at all. for "my" generation, well, either you have stuck with Morrissey, or fallen out with him, or never took a shine in the first instance. many still view him as "that twat that waves flowers around", with the fact that he only did that once giving every sign of how iconic a gesture it came to be. is there such a thing as a new audience for him? i would hope so, although with being "right" in terms of what is trending on whatever social media, he very much falls to the left.

should for some reason you be a Morrissey fan (acolyte, admirer or what have you) and were unaware of him having a new record out prior to this post, then yes he does and yes it is worth getting. for those entirely unaware of what a Morrissey is yet have for some reason read all of this, every aspect of his artistic output is worth exploring, except for that fiction novel he did.




be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!