"Really, well I thought it worked on 9 levels..."

Recently, I have become increasingly disillusioned with the depth in which some things are analysed. This should come as no surprise to regular readers, who know by now I become increasingly disillusioned with everything. Constantly. One day I aim to reach a state of disillusionment where I transgress into another dimension which shall lead me to become a fat string-vest wearing man in a council flat with an obsession for brylcream and asprin.

Yet, political aspirations aside, I absolutely loathe the obsession some people have with finding obscurities in artistic works and claiming that they were not only intentional, but the main focus of the work.

Let me clarify a truth. The main theme, is the main focus. This is because they are both linked with the word "main." The idea that Mary Shelley's "Frankenstien" is a proto-feminist rant due to the face that she as an author was female is a big, fat, unadultered heap of horseshit.

There can be some hidden meanings. I do not argue that for a second. But does it ever occur to people that whilst you may be able to gather some evidence to support your claim, that because you are not the artist, nor do you look at the overhelmingly huge pile of evidence against you, that you might, just might, be FUCKING WRONG?

Yes, lets read into subtext. Stalin purged people because he liked courtroom dramas. Hitler killed 6 million Jewish people to be ironic on a grand scale, and Satan was cast out of heaven to show how the great inequalities in God's own creation in the transcendiant world exsist along side ours and to set the example for us to segregate good and evil, merely as a demonstration of his never ending agape towards us.

Problem is, some bastard can come and read this, my rant, and claim that I was suffering from anything from sexual repression to headlice due to the shaky spelling indicitve of frequent head movements. I AM NOT! I'M JUST TELLING PEOPLE TO SEE THINGS FOR WHAT THEY FUCKING ARE!

Any comments that don't involve the words "Meanings", "subtext", "nugget", or "perhaps what the artist meant to say..."?

The Run up to Christmas...

...and the fun never ends.

People are shopping in Clarks and Waterstones,
Northern Rock customers will soon have no loans,
The pretentious upper classes offset thier carbon,
whilst I swear and curse, downing my bourbon.

Trees stand illuminated, glaring white,
council houses too, in the night,
And Nasa delays another shuttle mission,
as the sensors are broken, by thier own admission

A small child is missing from a portugese holiday,
thier parents use charity to make the mortgage repay,
Robert Mugabe runs a nation into the depths of turmoil,
we'll just ignore him, only take action for oil.

Gordon Brown think's he king and will run a new britain,
Crisis after crisis though, he's no longer so smitten
with a vain and romantic view of politics,
in reality run by a shower of dicks.

Dunno why I wrote a poem, but it pretty much sums up my mindset right now.

Snack Sized Portions

Once upon a time, a bunch of not very bright people in a room had a meeting.

Hang on, let me rephrase that. All meetings are a bunch of not very bright people in a room. I need to specify.

Once upon a time, some morons who worked in catering for supermarkets had a meeting to design new cakes. They also decided to consider the size of such foods, in order to encourage beeter efficency, and eating habits.

So, these genii went and made "micro cakes", with the seeming intention of causing RSI in the motion of moving arm to cake box continuously to take lots of small cakes because THEY'RE TOO FUCKING SMALL FOR ONE TO SATISFY!

Now, normal cakes and mince pies or scone etc are fine. They have thier purpose. What I'm moaning about is cakes which are deliberately "mini" to sound "cute" when in fact it means you have more filling, less icing, more wasted packaging holding the space between cakes and I think they actually encourage worse eating habits. If I'm eating small cakes, it's harder to judge how much I've had than if I have a huge great big "fuck off" slab of cake in front of me (preferably with a little Nandos-esque flag sticking out of the top with "cake" written on it.) which is why I find the fiddly bastards so annoying! I want cake, not "micro cakes", which are just sold to stupid fat people who think they'll loose weight by eating more of something smaller!

I may be fat, but I ain't thick- unlike the layer of pastry on a mini- mince pie. WHERE'S THE FILLING? HELLO? ARE YOU THERE? No, because the laws of volume and surface area mean smaller pie= less filling, more pastry en masse. Which means your eating paper with the heaviness of butter and less rum soaked shrivelled fruit (get any images of alcoholics and prostitution out of your mind immediately) which is never a good thing (unless in the instance of the aforementioned image I just told to you get rid of.)

Alas, I doubt my message of sanity will get through, mainly as cake manufacturers will never read this, and my ramblings are always pointless and inconsequential.

I'll just have to add "Non-minicakes" to the wikipedia "Superfood" list :D

The information Superhighway!

I love hindsight- it creates so much humour! Anyone else remmember the old phrase that is the title of this blog post, from back in the 90's? Well, think of the irony that this was thrown about when the internet was new, and dial-up was the only connection.

Yes, the days of the AOL 9.0 "Free Trial!" discs, when you'd get about 7 in the door everyday, and end up using them all as beermat's, or mobile's for toddler's bedrooms. Made neat frisbee's too. But when you think about the old whiring connecting time of the crappy modem's, it becomes funnier and funnier how inappropriate "information superhighway" was. Nowadays, that wouldn be like an "neglected information B-road that's half quagmire leading from Norwich to Surbiton. A pretty shite transportation network i'm sure you'll agree.

And remmember how much fun the internet was? You'd look up utter crap just because you could! Garden furnishngs, how to milk your very first Yak, a brief guide to owl defecation. Well, unless your garden furnishings need some yak milk and owl crap, I don't think it was particularly useful.

Still, I miss those days when the internet itself was a marvel. But the pornographic capabilities have increased, so hey. Balances out I guess :P