#Skinhead Henry

[engineer-gunzelpunk]

Calling All Engines: I only saw this after I posted my first version:

So I had to do a second version hahahahaha!

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

[vampirewillows]

was tagged by the ever lovely @zhalar to share 9 albums i've been listening to, thank you for the opportunity <3 i've included my self-indulgent commentary on each, and i tried to mostly pick ones that i've specifically been listening to recently! (ps. thank you for songs you shared in the previous tag game we had, several ended up on my playlists)

lazily tagging anyone who sees this and wants to do it! just say i tagged you. i love hearing ppl talk about music

my album commentary under the read more cut bcs i ended up elaborating a lot

i. chappel roan, "the rise and fall of a midwest princess" — ALBUM of the YEAR. to me. i know it came out last year but still. no skips, love her and this album so so dearly. i need it on vinyl stat. inject that shit into my veins etc. current faves: guilty pleasure and super graphic ultra modern girl, but i did also recently listen to california for like a week non-stop

ii. ethel cain, "preacher's daughter" — again i'm LATE to this one, but as far as concept albums go, this is. the peak. like just. screaming crying throwing up, even. i made a powerpoint presentation abt this just so i could share its story with a friend. INSANITY. faves: american teenager, ptolemaea, sun bleached flies (i forgive it all as it comes back to me............. kill me)

iii. taylor swift, "tortured poets department" — i went to the eras tour earlier this month. speechless! wow. i still haven't recovered OR finished listening to all of anthology but i sure have been blasting who's afraid of little old me and but daddy i love him

iv. metteson, "look to a star" — actual album of the year for me. saw him live this spring and he was so so sweet (was manning his own merch booth afterwards and complimented my make up <3 also signed my vinyl) ANYWAY insane voice? like simply unbelievably beautiful. and this is just the debut album??? future records might simply eviscerate me i'm afraid. faves are second heart (!!!), naturally (but nothing comes natural to me / nothing comes naturally...... augh) and heavier than a heart

v. pet shop boys, "nonetheless" — breaking news my favourite old gay men are still releasing bops and bangers and heartbreaking melodies. this released close-ish to my birthday so i've claimed it as a birthday present. what more can i say, they're my favourite band of all time <3 faves rn: new london boy (skinheads will mock you, call you a fag / last laugh is yours, there's a brick in your bag!!) and bullet for narcissus

vi. orville peck, "stampede: vol. 1" — i adore this cowboy beyond measure. as i think i said in a different post, i don't usually care for features and duets, but this does indeed fucking slap. insane vocals as per usual. love the concept. can't wait for vol 2, and also, mr. peck PLEASE come to europe. faves: miénteme and cowboys are frequently secretly fond of each other <3

vii. sea power, "disco elysium" — this is FINALLY on spotify!!! the game of all time, and the soundtrack is equally heartbreaking and hardcore (to the mega). i was going Through It at some point this spring and replayed DE and then just listened to burn baby burn outside whilst smoking. european depression core. faves rn: burn baby burn, saint-brune 1147 (small pinewood church) and precinct 41 major crime unit

viii. jan valta + adam sporka, "kingdom come: deliverance (OST)" — finally bought this recently when it was on sale and my god i'm so glad i did. an immensely entertaining game that you can tell was made with much love. henry of skalitz my SON. been listening to the soundtrack on/off, currently absolutely obsessed with the song poverty and famine (and särmä if you're reading i think you might vibe with this one?)

ix. alkemie, "pentiment (original soundtrack)" — rounding up with another video game soundtrack because i'll simply never get over pentiment. stole my heart in a major way. this soundtrack is STUNNING. can't do it justice with words. my faves rn: sic arsit historia kiersis and rüdeger's rehearsal

[powderblueblood]

new pics of joe just dropped at the london photocall for QPD1. Are we loving the buzzcut or are we LOVING the buzzcut? because I've kinda fallen in love with it but I do also wanna bully him (affectionately) for being a big bald boy teehee

cannot look at them and not immediately think

but i am also SHOCKED that as far as this man's hair situation goes, lack thereof is fucking high on the charts for me. he looks so good. this might be my henry rollins fixation re-rearing its head but he looks so well. like the good kind of skinhead. i would leave my drink with him at a ska gig. i would let him corner me in the smoking area of tricia's in london. i absolutely want to slap his fuckin cranium though also

[eretzyisrael]

A year ago I posted newspaper articles showing that even the worst antisemites deny being antisemites. They always have a reason for hating Jews that has nothing at all about hating Jews. 

A neo-Nazi skinhead who said he doesn't hate Jews, just doesn't want them around anymore.

Famous firebrand radio star Rev. Charles Coughlin denied being antisemitic.

Henry Ford, who distribute the Protocols of the Elders of Zion in the US, denied it as well. 

Both the Soviets and Nazis (at one point) claimed they weren't antisemitic - but only anti-Zionist!

Here are some other examples of how, magically, no one is antisemitic.

General George Van Horn Moseley, 1939:

Charles Lindbergh's America First group, 1941:

[thequeenofcarvenstone]

He's my punk little dress up doll 🖤🧷

punk meta rambling under the cut

Okay okay so I think the thing that would draw Steve to the punk scene is the activism and the general Queerness of the scene. As well as the anti surveillance/police state stuff cayse after the shit going on in Hawkins? Jesus he doesn't trust the government.

As far was like his personal punk style I saw him as enjoying Black Flag and the Dead Kennedys, B-52s ect. He would also love Pansy Division but they're a 90s band lol. But because eof thst I kept his style a little more like relaxed?? More Henry Rollins skater punk then Sud Vicious (vomit). I also think he'd love The Cramps and Lux Interior's gender pagentry/fuckery but I don't see him as a psychobilly aesthetic kinda guy.

And you know his favorite band is still Wham and he has a Wham pin on his battle jacket and other punks probably thing he's such a poser but he's definitely the most hard-core in terms of ideology. Like he's getting arrested every weekend at the rallies and protests, he'll fight every skinhead or neo-nazi he sees.

[cleopatrachampagne]

About your thread on gun safety regulations: It's always so scary to see how even the smallest, tiniest little baby suggestion to improve things somewhat triggers such an aggressive response from US American gun nuts. There's millions if not billions of us on earth who've never even touched a gun and certainly don't need 300 bullets in our homes. We thankfully don't even have to think about firearms outside of the context of the US.

But every once in a while I'll see an American go "no actually if I'm not allowed to have 100 laying around my home and a garage full of ammo, I will certainly perish", as they send their kids to school on active shooter drill day.

I've got nothing but respect for people like your grandmother. I'm sure it's scary, having to deal with unhinged, antisocial maniacs who you know for sure are stockpiling guns and ammo at home. She sounds like a badass.

thank you so much for this. i sent a screenshot to my gram over text if you don’t mind that! gun violence isn’t the only thing she’s spent a lifetime fighting against — she’s followed in the footsteps of her parents (soldiers and journalists who were investigated by mccarthy for sticking by their morals) and dedicated herself to trying to stand up for what’s right and leave the world in better shape than she found it — but her work for feminism (burning bras and protesting banks for the right to have her own account rather than one co-signed by her father or husband and more), against antisemitism and the parents in an area heavy on skinheads recently managing to ban the holocaust from school curriculum, her work in conservation especially in the colombia plateau and henry’s fork, caring for a sanctuary farm in her retirement, battling for unions and workers rights, picketing corporations trying to pollute the columbia river, advocating for lgbt people even in the 1980’s and the aids crisis, the kids with special needs she and my grandfather fostered, her time as a special ed teacher, and her years spent with the pdx police force working to lower police brutality, improve responses to mental health crises, advocate for women and weed out the bigots have been almost overshadowed by her work towards gun control in recent years. she spends so much time on it i think because of the level of opposition and she even had to stop posting on facebook about it after receiving mailed threats from local gun nuts and skinheads but she still is a member of multiple activist groups and dedicates time to helping with campaigns and speaking out against it.

i feel so ashamed of how other countries must see america largely due to the fact that we send children to school in bulletproof backpacks but keep allowing the gun nuts and nra run the nation and keep us from doing anything to lessen the harm. mass shootings don’t happen elsewhere the way they do here and it’s embarrassing.

my grandmother grew up in a warzone, she saw people killed in front of her, she had my mom as a baby in her arms as they fled a bombing once, and two of her six siblings were held hostage by a drug cartel and tortured, but i believe her when she says the united states right now is in worse shape than spain under francisco franco or cartel-dominated cities in mexico when it comes to violence and shootings.

i know a lot of our legislation is absurd and unhelpful and performative but that’s because of the people who have been manipulated by western films and the nra pushing back against anything helpful. no one needs more than a basic, single shot hunting rifle and a small amount of ammunition. people put their children at risk, themselves at risk and others at risk by so irresponsibly owning guns and ammo. there are plenty of other forms of self defense that aren’t more likely to kill you than the assailant.

too many people seem to believe that if they have guns and a stockpile of ammo they could take on the government (which is laughable), invading forces or whatever other perverse fantasy they seem to have. in reality, having a gun makes you more likely to commit suicide, for a child to get shot, for a domestic conflict to end in death and so on. i don’t trust any government — believe me — but we have a government for the purpose of keeping our society safe and stable and it’s a display of utter narcissism and overconfidence to believe that your “right” to own a gun is worth more than someone else’s right to live.

not to mention that the frequent argument is that gun control won’t stop criminals from getting guns but the same exact people helped overturn roe v. wade to ban abortion under the assumption that it will stop abortions. absolute hypocrisy.

i not only appreciate the breath of fresh air from my favorite mutual and the compliment to my grandmother (she is a badass: she’s a wilderness survivalist, cowgirl and political powerhouse with a backbone of steel) but also the perspective from someone outside of the united states because i think it’s super weird that so many people here are convinced they’ll die without a rocket launcher and basement full of ammo — or that their 2k hours of fortnite have prepared them to fight an organized armed force — while the rest of the world is doing perfectly fine with reasonable gun control.

thank you, my sweet cheese, my rotten soldier, my good time boi 💝💝💝

[fearofahumanplanet]

Predator: Concrete Riven (WIP Intro)

Jane Doe doing fanfic??? It's not as unlikely as you think!

Genre: Action-Horror, Thriller, Science Fiction

Primary Influence(s): (films) Predator 2, Prey, Predator, Predators (comics) Bad Blood, 1718, the original AvP run, Concrete Jungle, Big Game

Word Count: None, so far

Started: October 2022

Finished: ?

Music Genre: 90s hip-hop and alternative

Available to Beta Read: No

CW (for story, not post): Gore, drug use (more detailed list to come when I actually write it)

Taglist: Ask to be added or removed! Full taglist at bottom of post.

Plot

She's back in town, and she's got a lifetime to kill.

It is the winter of 1999, and the inhabitants of downtown Los Angeles are settling in for a chilling turn of the millennium. Down the frozen-over streets of Skid Row, where the homeless, the downcast and the unfortunate live in rows of exposed tents, the police celebrate their Christmas season by making a unified effort to clean their precious city of those too impoverished to sleep anywhere else.

An Irish mob enforcer going by the name of Clíodhna Sweeney is on the run, an exile from her family in Boston and a marked target for enraged local gangs. A Gulf War veteran by the name of Henriqua Mora lives in a tent on Skid Row, fighting with her fellow vagrants for the only home they have left.

Walking very different lives, Clío and Henri nonetheless find themselves on the same path when something from space comes calling their names, taking Skid Row as its newest playground. Having already survived a Predator two years prior, Los Angeles has no idea what awaits them - for this one is far crueler than the last, far deadlier, and most of all, it is sick, bitter and vengeful.

The code no longer applies, and the hunt is on.

Major Characters

Clíodhna Sweeney - A former Irish mob enforcer and war veteran who has finally broken free of her family in Boston. Fleeing to Los Angeles in hopes of somehow surviving the morgue rule, Clío finds her Irish luck as bad as ever when she enrages a gang of skinheads. On the run in what she hoped to be refuge, her New Year's gets even worse when she becomes a fallen Predator's favored target - and now she's in for one final fight for her life.

Henriqua Mora Figueroa - A Gulf War veteran stranded on the streets of Skid Row, "Henri" is trapped in a war with a cocaine addiction that's killing them and the increasing police intervention of the "homeless problem" that's killing them even faster. Having lost a leg in the war and warding off crippling CPTSD, Henri unexpectedly finds themselves at Clío's side at the worst possible time.

"Riven" - An enigmatic Predator with particularly brutal methods, unique technology and a sadistic, contemptuous personality, Riven has come to LA in search of blood - blood as bad as their own.

And some surprises ;)

Themes & Things

This may be a fanfic, but I'm treating it just as I would one of my original novels, and that means all the heavy themes and anarchist politics you guys have come to expect! This one in particularly is centered around the effects of CPTSD, the stigmatization and perspective of war veterans, and the kind of cracks violent loss leaves in your mind.

We'll also be exploring along the way (in less detail) things like police brutality, the way cities try to sweep homeless populations under the rug instead of truly helping them, the sins of the past coming back to bite you, living with drug withdrawals and physical disabilities, ASPD and BPD, and how the history of Skid Row led to such a staggeringly high homeless population and crime rate. But with Predators, of course!

Taglist

@aohendo, @athenswrites, @impaledlotus, @bardic-tales, @creepypyromancer, @marinesocks, @writingpotato07, @hey-its-quill, @dogmomwrites, @andromedatalksaboutstuff, @bpdgotmelike (ask to be added!)

[meanwhileinstasiville]

They needed back in the dust collecting records corner of quiet; a couple old italian ladies who couldn't find what they were looking for, and later at 3:36 right under 3:37, a library director.

Who had previously been ok with someone easily moved, sitting back there.

I wrote this from the front of the Carnegie, sort of curious about how to go about *fifteen straight years of this shit*

(Way back when, someone parked a truck with a basketball hoop erected in the back, in front of Henrys laundromat in the wee hours of the morning blaring loud music all the while; that's called "play ball" I think they were gang saying back in the 00s. When I had a job to do and *nothing to do with them then as now*)

As I was sitting down out here, there's the yellow cooper waiting next to the fly shop, a chorus of "everybody's looking for something" blaring down east main (courtesy of cartels and kart els). Sequences that get you nowhere with a word salad of gang activity subject to to wide interpretation.

There's security lee "what are you planning on doing for the holidays" behind the reference desk, on the way out the front door to sit here. Where there's a lot going on.

I don't want anything to do with "lee" of palm in sign fame or really, any of the other ones; what *was* a courtesy desk next to a "courtesy collection" had Anna Strahm esque kid sitting at it, at the base of the stair. As a person *well aquatinted with bullshit from people who can kill me or others on a whim* all of this stuff is boilerplate. But *we're in year fifteen now* of every single day.

There's the gangs, some grown up into adult jobs while still carrying "Alive" gang associations. And the cartels; "Japanese toilets are really missing out on Mexican food" "we're white" "we'll make your life impossible" etc, and that last one long committed to before shop n kart had stopped being U-market. Can't make you white nor do I want anything to do with you. Coopers roll by next to cemeteries? Fun. And then what?

These are people who wore doc martens with razor bladed heads while listening to icp in the suburbs. All grown up. The backbone of theatrical experiences around town.

*waits for sequence of yellow and or english conoting vehicles to drive by*

(Because you can do anything you want except entice people to hang out with you)

What I'm hearing, isn't "why I shouldn't go somewhere or can't do something or what people say I look like (a Mexican "that's what they 'meaning white people' tell us!" favorite tested out on me) dispair, be discouraged whatever (Eric's son got a street person named evylin a job at ashland library, who hovers often in that section where I sit)...

I hear why I should kill someone because it's the only language they understand; Mexicans who don't mind going back to prison, and grown up skinheads who now don hair with their teardrop tattoos and/or camp with army gear. That's the thing.

And Khyron Horman, who was my uncle Ken's partner (something of a CSI as I was told hush hush, family member to family member kind of thing), was as much a partner to Ken as my aunt. Who's son coincidentally was named Aaron, not unlike one of Eric's kids. I think this, and that's it's important because "I'm really gettin into stuff now that I might not come back from" Arin was heard to say without context. And a long time ago though I don't remember when; in the 00s. Ken had *two partners* and *one was a detective*.

I'm not going to say Horman and the bike path killing are the same, but it smells the same way; Big Lebowski smell.

*more shop n kart regulars roll up*

*a dad hugs his kid with a red Honda driving by in the background* ah, technology.

And, you know, an awkward "social anxiety case hovers to get attention" at the library, has gotten old, but like the guy who's stalked me around town who seems to live in the vicinity of hargadine (because he used to hover right inside the door whenever I showed up), I feel like it has something to do with shop n kart.

A place I thought I had made a very clear point of not wanting anything to do with. Associates of slaughter's office now repurpose, back office; friends of friends.

*Ashland is getting pretty fucking seedy for all these "so here's how it works discussions" packed like theater and on wheels.

And I seem to attract this shit wherever I go, so the courtesy thing is to stay solitary; that doesn't seem to be enough because *someone seems to think* there's a way where I contribute something to discussions (again with snk associated people) by getting alternately sought out and harassed depending on the circumstances. (The "circus" yeah you're right, autocorrect).

People don't seem to think it's ok for someone to go around town *without knowing* it's infested with gang members former (in houses) and present down to school age kids, seeming also to be open secrets run by nazis.

(Meaning they're lost "in the bureaucracy" and paid but forgotten; having gotten "in" on name or something nazi pedigree. A height a color a complexion. All fine things Medford would have *absolutely no trouble believing about this place* given historical rivalry)

And I'm not mad about it and people *have been trying to kill me* since I was little, variously exploiting me and being stacked against each other like a house of cards.

A dad I swore was a serial killer; a "sword" raised couch surfing by italians and hailing from "hilt"

A mom who married Latino back when it was close to impossible for them to exist here, and she from a prominent family. A divorce after "seven months" *definitely* pissing off founding anchor families around here Hispanic Latino whatever. She had restraining orders; he was a sheriff.

And those to things alone and taken together are easily enough to merit all the times I've almost been killed. Even by my best friend, according to the state at the time.

*more yellow stuff* (something to do with the month? You're Chinese and think a lama is here needing a challenge session?)

I've been followed the wrong way by truck up a one way street, in the dark of night and while on foot.

I've had gang activity converge in public spaces and on all or most sides *to depth* at intersections.

Clearly this is worth a lot to someone.

[threebooksoneplot]

Episode 1: “We Like Mike” (Show Notes)

Content warnings: 

Skinhead discussion: 38:13—41:38 (racism, xenophobia, nazism, anti-semitism, brief discussion of 2012 mass shooting 40:00—40:18)

Discussion of Edward wanting to murder his class: 54:10—end

[00:03:56] Damn Shannon I don’t recall burning YOUR crops poisoning your well razing your house to the ground and salting the earth

[00:06:16]

[00:06:20] Read Lexie’s fic here!

[00:07:28] Lexie’s social media handles: AO3, fanfiction.net, tumblr

[00:08:06] Ashley Greene’s NFT. (Ashley Greene is the actor who played Alice in the Twilight movies, for anyone not in the know. Also note that we recorded this episode in April, shortly before the great NFT crash)

[00:11:16] Transcript of Shannon’s Life and Death summary:

Beaufort Swan “Beau” moves from Phoenix, Arizona to a small town called Forks, Washington to live with his father, Charlie, after his mother, Renee, gets remarried. He is decidedly not fucking happy about it and is loathe to be in Forks despite taking it upon himself to lie to absolutely anybody who asks him about it (ever the martyr.) While there, he struggles with the inadequate experience of what we know is called “being a goddamn teenager.” He crosses paths with a mysterious and not-cognito family, and when he quote-unquote “meets” his new Biology partner, he suddenly has more questions about Edythe and her strange but sudden hatred of him.

[00:13:30] The top Kristen Stewart’s Bella is wearing in the very first scene of Twilight:

[00:15:09] Wikipedia’s basic breakdown of economic info on the real-world Forks, WA

[00:18:59] Bella on her reading list in Twilight: 

It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner.

[00:20:36] The “canonical” heights for Jasper and Emmett, respectively: 6’3”/190.5 cm and 6’5”/195.6 cm

[00:30:10] Scroll to the bottom of this old blog post to see Stephenie Meyer’s original fancasts for Twilight characters (She had Jackson Rathbone as an Edward possibility?? oh my god)

[00:30:41] Some old, pre-movie era edits of Emily Browning as Bella:

source

source

[00:31:02] Shannon is metaphorically on crack here. Gerard Way was actually who the fans wanted to play Edward, though Stephenie Meyer is an MCR fan and says their music inspired her when writing Jacob’s character (source.)

[00:31:21] Henry Cavill in gold contacts, looking about as unlike Edward Cullen as a white dude can look:

[00:34:18] Anyone else notice that Shannon says “Rosalie” super weird? She also says “pillow” weird. Ask her to say it sometime.

[00:39:36] The SPLC’s timeline on skinheads (cw: racism, xenophobia, antisemitism, injury, murder)

[00:42:27] A blog post on the Tiffany Problem

[00:48:44] Advice for Edward:

[00:52:13] Fanlore’s definition of “fanon”

[00:54:24] Fanlore’s article on AUs

[00:54:34] The filmmakers even shot this as a deleted scene! And you are not prepared for the sheer brilliance of this 2009 Youtube DVD rip set to an A+ song choice (sound ON and pay particular attention to the background actors)

[00:56:19] In this most iconic scene from the first Twilight movie, Bella walks into the forest with Edward (without being asked) to confront him about his vampirism

[00:56:28] Renesmee, for anyone not in the know.

[00:58:27] Alice walking into the Bio classroom after Edward’s finished snacking

[00:58:47] G references the Trolley Problem from philosophy/ethics

...and that’s all we’ve got for Episode 1 show notes! We hope you enjoyed this Happy Birthday Edward edition of 3B1P!

[engineer-gunzelpunk]

Scenes from 'This is Sodor: The Iron Age'/Calling All Engines humanized: Diesel Gets Defenestrated

The Tidmouth Gazette reports:

CHAOS AT KNAPFORD

Tensions between steam and diesel locomotives are set to escalate from this latest incident from the so called ‘Sodor Airport Conflict’. Main heavy fast goods locomotive, ex-(railway of origin unknown)Stanier Black Five NWR#3 ‘Henry’ was captured on photograph defenestrating ex-BR Class 08 ‘Diesel’ from a station window into a pit of mud after the former engine was humiliated by ex-BR Sodor Ironworks Class 08 shunters ‘Iron ‘Arry’ and ‘Bert’, when they assaulted him and doused him in oil in an earlier incident of violence on our fair Island home…’

"But for a few bruises and a besmirched outfit, he was unharmed'

"This is merely the latest incident of steam-diesel violence which includes; the aforementioned dousing in oil, ex-GNR NWR #7 steam tram "Toby" being hung up by the ankles from a loading ramp by Diesel, ex-LB&SC shunter NWR #1 "Thomas" getting doused in paint by Diesel (the triggering incident of the conflict), 'Arry getting shoved onto gravel by Thomas and ex-L&Y Class 28 NWR #5 "James" being grabbed and thrown under a coal hopper where he was subsequently buried in coal. His outfit was besmirched but he was otherwise unharmed.'

"It is to the shame of the NWR that we on fair Sodor should witness the type of mindless violence plaguing the Mainland in imitation of the conflicts between the youth cults of Mods, Rockers, Teddy Boys and Skinheads, particularly from our naughty engines. It behooves Sir Topham Hatt to quell the violence and restore order before it spreads out of control..."

"The Tidmouth Gazette with the kind permission of the Daily Mirror has printed this invaluable guide to the youth cults from which the engines are patterning their style and dress."

[immortalconclusions]

So I watched several things recently (The Riot Club, Maurice, The Chair) which have me thinking a lot about academia and privilege and the visual ideal of the scholar.

I was thinking about how inseparably we associate these colleges with academic achievement. People who go there are supposed to be smart, they tell you that all it takes to be there is to be smart. Nobody’s surprised by the fact that it’s not. It’s obvious that the Alistairs and the Clives and the Maurices who went to Oxbridge were useless and lazy as fuck because they could be. And that the vast majority of Smart People don't go to those schools. It’s just that there’s more at stake than self-esteem. For some people it represents a way out, a means of safety or security or social mobility. (Because Western governments will admit some people into paradise and not others, and they want you to play their game, although that’s a conversation for another day). So it’s obvious there’s more to it than smarts. But why some people believe the lie is very interesting. What are the consequences if you believe the lie and take it to completion… this sounds stupid, but who is the symbolic Oxford boy to me?

My father, a foreign boostrapper, a nobody, the lowest on the totem pole. It didn’t matter if he came first on his A Levels, some stuffy man in a suit was kind enough to look down his nose and admit him to a nothing-college in West Bromwich, England, oh what a charity. A dark man from the global south, living in a Paki ghetto threatened by skinheads, poor and made poorer still by the trashed exchange rates—courtesy of George Soros' cannibalism of Southeast Asia, unable to travel home over term breaks so he snuck in to sleep in the dorms, ironed his clothes under his pillow and subsisted on mostly eggs and carrots and semolina for months. Still, it was better than living in a third world country under the thumb of his alcoholic father and his chronically depressed mother, themselves suffering from wartime PTSD. (Only white bodies are worthy even of statistics). The easiest, surest way out of that was to be a head-and-a-half smarter at maths and science than the soft spoiled English boys.

When he finally fought his way to London to study at the same university Thomas Young (Young’s modulus), Henry Grey (Grey’s Anatomy, the book), Sir Francis Darwin (son of Charles), and Edward Jenner (the smallpox vaccine) had all been birthed from, his eyes were opened. He loved Maggie Thatcher as she sucked the marrow from his bones. And an obsession began to take form. It was a goal made out of desperation and shame cloaked as whatever euphemism they were using at the time for social mobility. Like Ayn Rand, he built it up in his mind to become his moral code. He looked at the Oxford boys and he saw his Calliope, his ideal, his siren.

So it’s interesting to watch these movies about the men I was supposed to be. But never could be, because, well, wrong video game avatar. Incompatible initial conditions. I suppose he knew that, but he tried anyway. Isn’t that nice?

He always thought me so soft, too soft. Too feminine (except when I was supposed to be). Too enamored by art, music, fiction, fiction which he thought encouraged navel-gazing and could never measure up to the cruelty of the real world. It is no surprise that his fantasy Oxford boy grew up gay and gender confused and soft and mentally ill (‘just be normal’ -whose normal? A white man’s normal? A white woman’s? Threw a pin on the map, instructions unclear.) His disappointing son was really just a disappointing daughter. What a shame, we both thought.

I was supposed to be hard as nails, invulnerable, tough to a fault. Outwork and outsmart the soft spoiled American girls and become the Oxford boy he imagined. Laziness and weakness and emotion were one word and all led to the same punishment. The reason was simple: if I could calcify and learn how to be strong then nobody could get the best of me except him. So I necessarily became sharp as fuck. (Sally Hansen Hard As Nails). Redemption, revenge, and a weak thing to exert power over for someone who had been made to feel powerless himself.

He is a monster and I haven’t really spoken with him in years. I can’t, unless there are supra-physiologic levels of GABA floating around up there if you know what I mean. One man’s child abuse is another man’s discipline, as they say.

But I understand why he is the way he is. (Forgiveness is cheap, understanding is better.) I’ve read in books all about the people who turned him into that monster. I don’t know if I could’ve done any better; my life has been much easier but I’m still plenty hard and mean and angry. Anyways he thought he had the recipe figured out. I did everything he wanted, and yet he was crushed when I didn’t magically turn into that Oxford boy at the strike of midnight. There was no such thing all along.

[taking-over-his-life]

The solicitor and the skinhead

It was 2am when I received a call from the local police station. They had arrested a guy for violent disturbance and he had requested a solicitor. I was on duty tonight and there was no way I could get out of it. ,”45mins” I said as I put the phone down. I didn't need the money but decided to do this as I got to meet some real rough bastards, the type I fantasized over. It was the only way I could make contact with this sort of guy. 

One day I'd find one who would want to fuck me senseless.  I got dressed, white shirt, red tie blue suit black shoes, and picked up my leather briefcase, then onto the garage. The Audi was waiting as I sunk into its leather seats. I thought about what sort of dim witted fucker I would meet and it made me hard. I resented these dumb socialist thugs. Never worked, no morals, little diction. I resented how their bodies had grown so strong, their attitude so belligerent while they contributed little to society, while I had worked hard through school and university to get where I was and those low lives just took.

They looked so hard so masculine everything I wanted, I just needed one who I could get into my bed and fuck senseless, and let him do the same to me rather than the hooray henries I usually picked up.

I got to the station and parked in the yard. I was so sexually charged, probably the spliff I had had earlier and the tiredness. I spoke to Andy on the front desk a hot Latin looking cop, damn I wish I was in his pants, but I have to keep up the pretense.I was signed in and briefed on the job I had to see. Malcolm was his name. He beat a young guy senseless as he shouted abuse at him. I looked at the address a block of council flats, typical scrounger I thought.

I was led into the interview room and again shown the panic alarm which was standard procedure. Ill be ok I said as I sat down opposite my client“Hello” I said, “my name is George Anstey”, I am the duty solicitor. He snarled at me, I looked at him and took in every aspect of his look persona and dress. He has the same height and build as me, He put his feet on the table, red 30 hole doctor martins, worn and dirty from wear. I looked at them, tight on his legs, so tight I could imagine his muscles through them and how they must smell. 

I followed up his legs, white and blue bleachers, so tight on his thighs so muscular and that crotch, stuck up so high so packed, damn I was getting hard I was mesmerized when he said… “like what u see”? I was shocked and tried to speak but had to swallow to get a word out, “what do u mean” I said He took his feet off the table and I felt them rub against my legs under the table. It was like an electric shock I started to speak, as I sheepishly looked into his face. He was smirking. I saw his shaved head and face and his eyes peering at me. The ring in his nose glinted against the light and the swastika tat on his neck gave a strong message. “How can I help u” I said clearing my throat, he just looked at me, and rubbed his thigh against mine, I shivered he smiled an evil sadistic smile. “Got myself a bum boi have I” he said. I went red with embarrassment, “you like rough do u Mr. Solicitor” I did and by this time ii was hard and seeping “Get me out of here tonight and ill fuck, you raw to heaven, bum boi” he grunted.I questioned him at length and found a few procedural errors in the arrest. 

After an hours discussion with the police they released him on bail.I waited round the corner from the station and saw him walking towards the car, he swayed like a gorilla his shoulders huge in the jacket. 

I watched his legs in those tight bleachers as they caught the light. His huge crotch gently moving from side to side. I saw the light from the street lamp reflect off the rings in his ears and nose. His fists were clenched in tight black leather gloves as he moved closer and closer to the car. I opened the passenger door as he approached he didn”t seem surprised to see me.He looked at me and smiled, and instead of getting in the passenger side he pushed me over and jumped into the driver”s seat.I didn”t resist, I just let him. I knew it was a mistake but I was so horned up I was dripping into my silk boxers.“Nice car George boi, thanks for getting me out,” he said, he grabbed my crotch with his leathered hand and pressed; it was as if 50000 volts had gone through me.“Now lets pay the solicitor”, he looked at me and smiled, his nostrils enlarging showing the nose ring more clearly. I watched him as we drove, 4 rings in his left ear two on the top two at the bottom, ohhh what I would have given for piercings when I was young.I could see we were heading to his place into the worst council estate in the area he pulled over next to a block of flats and got out. As he did I saw his arse properly for the first time. Tight bleachers over two tight hard cheeks, fuck he was incredible.“Follow me georgie” he said as he walked in front of me to an entrance. It was filthy, litter all over, the stink of stale piss. I walked being him as we climbed the stairs, concentrating on his ass and legs, every muscle movement I saw I recorded, his red doctor martins moved with his legs and feet, the leather giving way to accommodate the muscle movements. The soles were worn, as was the stitching, I was just mesmerized by the time we reached the 4th floor. He turned around and looked at me. Smiling he said “you want this don”t you,”“ “want what” I said, “me” he replied, I said “very much,”We walked to the last door on the landing he fiddled with some keys and opened and iron gate which was over the door. In we went. I followed my stomach turning with excitement and my dick raging. When we got in he lit some candles. “No leckie” he said.We walked to a filthy kitchen. He got two beers passed one too me, “here” he said, “no I don”t” I said, suddenly he jumped towards me and pushed me against the wall. “I said fucking drink cunt” he said. I drank. The violence had my dick raging and he could see it. He rolled some spliffs and set them aside. “Now solicitor what do u want” he grunted. he grabbed me and started to kiss me, his tongue entering my mouth. “you like it rough eh”? He said. He lit the spliff and put it in my mouth. I didn”t care anymore and breathed it in. I coughed and then my head started to roll.He was all over me his hands in my shirt trousers, undressing me bit by bit. By the time he finished I was naked. He was there smelling my underpants pushed against his face, moaning with delight.I was totally naked, on the kitchen floor of a filthy council house, a solicitor out of my power clothing being controlled by a bigoted skinhead dumb fuck. 

I had my hands on his doctor martins feeling the worn leather. He sat down lit a spliff and that was it. “lick them cunt” he said and pushed my head to his boots. I was in heaven as I licked and licked that red leather.We played all night I woke up He was standing there, sweaty and dirty from our night of sex. His tattooed body got me hard again as I watched him smelling my undies. He looked at me, climbed on the bed, got sitting on my chest his legs either side of me. “I want you to stay here for a while fucker,” he passed me my blackberry, “tell everyone your sick” he said, “what?” I said looking confused, “text them now. Your sick” he ordered, he grabbed my throat and positioned his ass over my dick, smiling at me, “your sick, OK”? I was as hard as iron, and texted work and friends. “Ok Mal” I said.He went to his stash and lit a spliff and made me smoke it all. I was floating. I saw him smell my undies and put them on, then my shirt, “what you doing” I said (Must be honest it was turning me on) “I need to go out boi, need to look right for the car, eh?” “you make a hot solicitor Mal” I said, “go back to wanking skin fucker”” he said to me. He dressed fully in my clothes, and looked good, checked my wallet and left. I lay there in this stinking bedroom, rubber sheet stained with piss and cum the smell was electric and I was horny as hell, the spliff making it betterI saw his stained yellow jock, I reached out to smell it pushing it against my face and nose, to get his smell all over my goatee. I wanted it to linger, then I stood up and put my legs through the holes and pulled it up so it covered my raging cock. I pushed it tight against my dick and balls so they would absorb his smell as I looked around there on the floor was his gear, I saw the bleachers and started to cum, on my own as I picked them up and started to step into them, the feeling was so intense, and I fell on the bed.My cum soaked into his jock, I started to pull the bleachers up over my ass and dick, and managed to zip them up and fasten the button, as my cock rose to full height.I looked down at my legs covered in his filthy gear, damn I felt so good. I picked up one of his cigs and put it to my mouth, I lit up. I didn”t smoke but this was so hot I felt so horny again and picked up his socks, they were grey with dirt and foot sweat, I smelled them again and again wanting the smell to be mine.I pulled one on my left foot it came to just below the knee then the right one. I could feel his stink entering my pours. Then the pista resistance. His doctor martins. Worn red 30 hole monsters, I picked up the left boot and spent 5 mins with my head and nose it enjoying the smell and my tongue licking and tasting the leatherOn it went my foot fitted perfectly. It took me ages to get the laces on, I was out of it, but the fitted so snuggly and tight. Then the right boot, I looked down, damn I was a fucking filthy worthless skin. I could feel and smell who he was, and I was him for a day. I picked up his Fred Perry vest and savored the smell of the pits It was soon on my body snug and tight. I stood up and found a mirror again without any assistance I shot a load in his jock. I found a beer and another smoke and enjoyed his last spliff, if I was to play him I needed to act like, and fuck was it hot.I dozed off, it must have been evening when he came back, dressed in my gear. I heard something but just enjoyed the enforced sleep. Suddenly I felt myself being lifted, “hey” I said. There he was a pierced dirty skin boi in my suit. I smiled“You look fucking hot as a skin boi” he said, “lets make it real,” he laid out some coke and gave me a straw, “enjoy “ he said, I took two lines 

By this time my mind was floating I would do anything. I saw my reflection in the mirror, fuck I was a low life scum skin. I was so horny. “Sit here skin fucker” he said. I did suddenly I heard the sound of clippers and saw my hair falling to the ground, I put my hand up,” noooo” I said. Suddenly I felt a huge punch to my face and felt my nose break, ahhh I then blacked out.It was the next morning when I woke up, I felt something on top of me and realized it was him fucking my ass, the bleachers and skin gear was still on me and he was panting and sweating as he fucked me raw and senseless, my nose was in pain but the thought of him in me got me so hard he was shouting as he suddenly let rip into my guts, I came in his, no, my jock againHe got off me,” how did you like that fucker” he said, I looked up he was naked, tats down his arm back chest legs, fucking incredible. Strange I thought his hair was growing now. I got up and started to kiss him, my tongue deep on his mouth. As I did I caught a reflection in the mirror, two skins one in gear one naked. Fuck I realized that the one in gear was me. I was shaved, shaved head, face, damn I looked hot.He pulled me over to the kitchen fed me and gave me some e tablets. I took two. “Take one every six hours “he said.” Ill be back tonight.” I felt my legs and feet in the skin gear and rubbed my hands on my new shaved head, fucking hell, whats happening I thought. I looked in the mirror, who the hell was it, a thug, broken nose, shaved head, what was happening.He came out of the bedroom after getting changed. He was in my suit, in fact it was another suit of mine, where had he got it from. He walked up to me grabbed my crotch, stuck his tongue down my throat. “Now smoke these fucker” he handed me two spliffs, two e tablets and a pack of 20 ciggs.” Ill be back at 7 make sure u have had them all. It will be so hot tonight so fucking hot for you skin boi”. he looked into my eyes. “You like being a skin” he grunted, I rubbed my hands on my legs and chest, “fuck yeah Mal”, I said. “Lets make it real tonight fucker”. Think of yourself as me” “ Would you like to be me,”? “ wow”i said “you mean I could take your place” I responded, “yeah” he replied, “please “ I said not realizing what I was asking. I was still high.“Tonight fucker tonight” he said and left. I watched him from the balcony as he strutted in my suit to my car and drove off. I pulled out the cigs, sat on the ground with my dm feet on the railing and smoked two of the ciggs. They made me feel sick at first and then the euphoria kicked in. My mind was just racing at the idea of being a low life skin.I lay down on the rubber sheet of the bed and smelled the piss and cum, I was in heaven. I could smell my sweat mingling with his on MY skin gear, it was mine now, not changed in two days fucking hot. I wore his flight jacket and found his rings and gloves on they went along with the dog tags and thick metal chain around my neck.I stood in front of the mirror and just wanked for hours. I took the e tabs as instructed and the spliffs. I got though 18 ciggs before he got back. I could hear him and other voices along with things they were moving.I came out of the bedroom and saw two huge tattooed guys. “Hi Mal”, they said to me, I smiled and liked being addressed like that. They erected two chairs and some equipment.Mal was there again in my suit, he smiled, his hair was starting to really show on his head. “You shaved hour head today Mal ?” he said, “no sir”i said, “do it now while we set up” he said.He followed me to the bathroom. And gave me a razor and soap. He stood behind me his erect dick pushing at my ass through the cloth.“Take these, he gave me two tablets”, and some water,” swallow Mal “he said, “I like being called that” I said, getting on my knees to suck him, “later boi” he said. “Shave” he instructed I shaved, what an erotic experience. When he came out, the big buys introduced themselves, rod and jay. “Now heres whats going to happen” said Jay smoking a cigar. “I will copy his tats” pointing at Mal “onto your body. It will hurt a little. rod will remove them from Mal at the same time so its like a transfer”.“Tomorrow you will be an inked skin boi”he said smiling at me as he felt my crotch. “Ill start with some holes for you new piercings. what should I call u skin boi”? He said. I looked at Mal, “is it ok if I use your name”? I said “Yeah you be me skinboi”, he said. I looked at Jay, “I”m Mal,” I said and smiledIt seemed to last forever, the pain in my ears eyebrows dick nipples, and the sustained pricking on my neck chest arms back and legs. I was so out of it and watched Mal as he had them removed. I fell to sleep. When I woke up I was in bed, bandages where the tats had been transferred. Mal lying next to me in the same condition. I looked at him, “fuck what happened Mal”, he reached over, and squirmed as his back hurt, “I thought we agreed, who Mal was, you changed your mind skin” he said looking at me angrily, “no sorry” I said, “your George, I”m Mal”, “how u doing George” I said. “Ok Mal” he replied. “Here take these” he said and handed two more tabs and I was out.I must have been out for days. I woke up and he was standing there naked, no tats, smoking a spliff and wanking over me. I kneeled and put my lips around his cock and sucked like never b4 it wasn”t long b4 he came buckets in my mouth, pulling my shaved head to his groin. “You like that Mal. Like your solicitors cum, eh”? He said. “fuck yeah sir”, I said in his voice. “Come here” he ordered. He stood me in front of the mirror and removed the bandages from me. We were both stark naked. He revealed my tatts celtic on my legs and chest, wings on my back, my dick responded and was so hard I came without touching it all over the mirror as I looked at the new me“Lets finish this off skinboi” he said. he went to the kitchen. I just looked at the new me, thinner, shaved inked fuck I really was Mal now no one would know the difference, he came back with a bowl and some disinfectant “lets complete this” he said. He pulled out the huge pa from his dick and soaked it in the bowl of disinfectant. “lets see how it looks on you Mal” he said. My dick was erect again, as I wanted it so much. He got the pa and with difficulty pushed it through the hole the tattoo guys had made. He slapped my dick “horny cunt” he said. I looked down and saw his, no my pa I my skin dick, “fucking hell” I said, “is this real?” “Give me them all I want to fucking be you in everyway Mal” I shouted, desperate for every last piece of the real Mal.He took them out of his nips and put them on mine, then his ears, eyebrows, and eventually the heavy thick ring from his nose. “this makes you a skin pig boi Mal” he said, I was just mesmerized at how I looked and felt, I just gazed and gazed at my new reflection. He lit a spliff.” Here” he said. I smoked got high, and laid on my back as he fucked me raw. We were looking at each other as we changed identities.

After an hour of sex, he stood up and went to get cleaned up. I picked up my filthy skin gear and dressed. Maybe I could go out today as Mal I thought, who would know .He came in suited and booted. “Got go get back to my place today Mal” he said. “Here”s the keys to your council flat enjoy” he smiled.” Heres a few quid to get u by”.”Your m8s will be hear at 8 tonight for a skin fuck fest enjoy, you skin scum” he saidI looked in the mirror at a fucking shaved skin scum, Nazi symbol on me neck bleachers doctor martins Fred Perry a fucking dream, pig ring in me broken nose, rings on me fingers thick silver chain round me neck. My crotch was fucking huge as me huge dick stood to attention. I moved around seeing how masculine and thuggish I was.I pulled out the ciggs and went outside onto the landing and looked over at the estate. A neighbor came out a chav guy, he looked at me. “Aint seen u around for a bit Mal” he said. He thought I was Mal, in fact I fucking was, “been fucking busy m8, outa me head” I said. “He sidled up to me”, I offered him a cig as we chatted about nothing in particular. He rubbed his leg against mine. I looked at him, “you want to fuck cunt?” “Fuck yeah” he said. Within minutes we were inside his place fucking like rabbits. Me inside him, him in me, leaving our cum inside each others guts.I finished went outside and smoked two ciggs. time for a walk I thought. I locked me flat, my flat, I thought and headed down the stairs.

Filthy dump I though. I was greeted by a couple of skins and we chatted. Real fucking rough m8s I thought. Women moved outa me way as I came past. I was shocked when I passed the local shops to see me reflection, it was just like the time I saw Mal as he approached my car, my car, what was I thinking, I was Mal now.

[socksmagazine]

In between

È il 1985 ed esce nel Regno Unito My Beautiful Laundrette, diretto da Stephen Feares e scritto dal trentunenne Hanif Kureishi. Il film è destinato a diventare un cult e a far affacciare il suo sceneggiatore ad un successo, che lo porterà a diventare uno dei più importanti scrittori inglesi contemporanei. Siamo in pieno Thatcherismo nella periferia londinese di Battersea, Wandsworth, e vengono presentate sullo schermo le vicende di un giovane pakistano, Omar, di suo zio Nasser e del punk Johnny (interpretato dal giovane Daniel Day-Lewiss tutto ok) con cui Omar ha una relazione. Nonostante le sollecitazioni del padre (giornalista socialista in Pakistan, alcolista che non riesce a tagliarsi le unghie dei piedi da solo a Londra) Omar decide di non andare all’università e di gestire una lavanderia per lo zio, esempio perfetto di self made man che non perde mai l’occasione per fare un brindisi a Margaret Thatcher. Il desiderio di avere un’alternativa concreta e una realizzazione immediata porta Omar a investire tempo e denaro (non proprio suo) nella Laundrette di quartiere, cercando di farla diventare non soltanto una lavanderia accettabile ma un vero e proprio luogo d’incontro di uno tra i tanti e anonimi suburbs londinesi. Il giovane anglo-pakistano si fa aiutare da una conoscenza della scuola, Johnny, frequentatore di una banda di pseudo skinheads, che non accettano proprio benissimo il fatto che il loro leader vada a lavorare per un “paki”. La relazione amorosa tra i due è ripresa con una leggerezza ed ironia tipiche dello stile di Kureishi, molto simile al modo in cui è mostrata quella di Karim e Charlie in The Buddha of Suburbia (primo romanzo di K. del 1990). Ed è proprio la semplicità di questo film ad essere la sua forza propulsiva e disarmante, semplicità che ci rivela che la realtà è molto più complessa di come ce l’hanno raccontata fino ad ora. La lotta sociale, la stratificazione urbana, la nascita del neoliberismo con la sua lampante violenza ma con il suo ottimismo così tangibile, anche se illusorio, sono tutti insieme i catalizzatori e allo stesso tempo i protagonisti di una storia che, in fondo, non ha nulla di straordinario. È un film realizzato in 16 mm, pensato per la Tv e che risente un po’ degli esordi letterari del suo sceneggiatore. Kureishi inizia la sua carriera scrivendo libricini pornografici fino a quando non inizia a comporre opere teatrali per il Royal Court Theater; il suo debutto come commediografo si riflette molto sui suoi personaggi. I quali, di fatto, vengono mostrati quasi come vere e proprie maschere teatrali, predefiniti nel loro stare in between. È nel mezzo Nasser che vorrebbe costringere la figlia a sposare un pakistano ma che ha un’amante inglese, è nel mezzo Johnny che è innamorato di Omar ma che non riesce a ripudiare completamente i suoi amici, e sono nel mezzo Omar e Tania, inglesi di seconda generazione che costituiscono, volenti o nolenti, un nuovo modo di rappresentare la stessa identità inglese. Ed è proprio la raffigurazione di una nuova identità l’immediata novità di questo film. Afferma infatti Kureishi, in un’intervista della British Library: «And so when I did my beautiful laundrette it was the same kind of revolution you might say, that these people have never been portayed before. You had never seen Asian characters really, on the telly or in literature. So one of the things you can do as a writer is  bring in new news. This people are here too. This country is changing, and hello, you know, that’s how creativity develops, by people opening the door to new voices». Trovare, dunque, uno spazio per la rappresentazione è una necessità attuale oggi come allora, in Italia come in Gran Bretagna (forse oggi in Italia un po’ di più). Agli inizi degli anni ‘80 gli inglesi avevano una vera e propria ossessione per il loro impero coloniale e la sua rappresentazione sul grande schermo (nel 1984 esce A passage to India di David Lean); peccato però che i protagonisti siano bianchi (etero ovviamente) e che gli unici indiani che si vedono siano quelli che preparano il curry o il the come dice lo stesso Kureishi sempre in quell’intervista. In filigrana ma lampante è l’immagine della città, totalmente stravolta rispetto alla dimensione che ne aveva la generazione di scrittori precedente. La Bond street di Clarissa Dalloway è lontana. In The Buddha of the Suburbia il punto più estremo in cui si spinge Karim nelle sue peregrinazioni è West Kensington, ancora distante da un centro politico ma anche culturale e sociale. La denuncia di Kureishi inizia con My Beautiful Laundrette ma continua fino a The Dark Album, una critica feroce, sempre irriverente, verso quell’idea di città centralizzata e barocca, come ci ha detto il caro Lewis Mumford (da cui oggi possiamo imparare tanto tanto tanto). T.S. Eliot e Virginia Woolf ma anche, e soprattutto forse, Henry Green, erano loro contro gli altri, in una città che oggi è piccolissima, unici in grado di possedere un’individualità rispetto ad un’indistinta folla omogena. Con Londoners di Maureen Duffy (1983 libro super bello super queer) questa omogeneità inizia a sgretolarsi e a popolare il mondo delle peregrinazioni notturne del/della protagonista del romanzo. Kureishi prende tutti questi elementi e li mescola insieme, facendo di un non-luogo per eccellenza il place to be. Dunque la realtà, ancora una volta, si rivela proteiforme e la convivenza degli individui estremamente problematica. Insomma, per concludere, è nel dialogo tra Tonia e Rechel, all’inaugurazione della lavanderia, che si posiziona lo sguardo sagace di questo narratore che è, finalmente lo dico, in tutto e per tutto dickensiano: due donne di due diverse generazioni, di due diverse classi sociali e che rappresentano due approcci opposti alla vita ma che hanno la stessa ipocrisia e un analogo desiderio di sentirsi libere. Personaggi che nel loro relazionarsi non fanno che criticare al contempo il razzismo, la sinistra borghese che vede immigrati e operai come un’unica idilliaca classe sociale, la stessa comunità pakistana. Grazie quindi Kureishi per la totale assenza di paternalismo, per l’impossibilità di un’assoluzione, per il senso dell’umorismo e per la dolcezza che questo film stringe a sé in maniera indissolubile.

Text by Eugenia Gaudio

[lounesdarbois]

Une sous-culture est une épopée avec un commencement, une apogée et une fin. Elle débute dans l'amitié et la camaraderie locale, lorsque l'on est ensemble contre le reste du monde, elle s'épanouit inspirée par une musique voire inspire une musique, et à la fin lorsque tout est fini il ne reste plus que des films à revoir et des vêtements à acheter. Le marché absorbe tout et reste le dernier debout. 

Est-il honteux de porter un survêtement si c'est un beau survêtement? Oxymore? A voir. Il y a une haute et une basse époque, même en matière de survêtement. Pour friser tout à fait la provocation, disons que les racailles de jadis, avaient plus de goût pour s'habiller. Ils n'avaient pas ce goût par eux-mêmes mais par une influence jamais évoquée dans aucun magazine de mode ou d'enquêtes "socio-style", c'est l'influence anglaise. Le "Zyva" est afro-américain de valeurs mais il est perfide-albin de vêtement et Balzac savait que "nous recevons la loi de la mode des Anglais". Ce que nous appelions le "style racaille" en France dans les années 90 a correspondu chaque année avec un léger retard au "style casual" en Angleterre, à ceci près qu'en France les porteurs de croco étaient, pour simplifier, des skinheads exogènes anti-nationaux, alors que le même uniforme outre-Manche habillait, pour simplifier, des skinheads autochtones régionalistes. En France des bandes hors-sol anti-nationales, anti-régionales, en Angleterre des "firms" organiques, régionalistes, dont le ralliement autour du club de foot local exprime un enracinement local qui remonte à peu près à Guillaume de Normandie. Ce principe invisible de vase communiquant entre ces deux nations remonte à longtemps, et si au 18ème siècle la franc-maçonnerie a servi et enrichi les Hanovre, elle a ruiné et tué dans la révolution et les guerres des centaines de milliers de français. Un réfrigérateur, pour produire le froid à l’intérieur, produit un rejet de chaleur vers l’extérieur.

Quoi que l’on pense de la sous-culture issue des stades de football, elle fut la dernière à agréger des européens selon leur origine régionale et à transposer leur vouloir-vivre par des cortèges, des chants en chœur, des mots de passe, des scies et des codes hermétiques. Qui n’a pas vécu de l’intérieur ces silences brefs mais parfaits dans le Parc des Princes d’il y a 20 ans entre le slogan chanté par Boulogne et le même renvoyé comme un écho par le virage Auteuil en face à 150 mètres, lorsque quinze mille gars debout accordent leur voix et leurs deux bras tendus avec les quinze mille autres gars du kop opposé, qui n’a pas vécu ça ne peut pas comprendre l’énergie que recelait cette sous-culture, la vibration qu’elle produisait, le potentiel subversif qu’elle aurait déployé en se répandant massivement dans chaque ville de France. Nous connaissons la suite, la racaille en France a gagné, élue par l’anti-France pour exercer le monopole de la violence de rue, et les jeunes français toutes classes confondues sont désormais voués corps et âme à la racaille, au rap, au shit, au red bull, au nutella alors que si les casuals avaient gagné, les mêmes jeunes seraient aujourd’hui plutôt dans l’électro post New Order, dans le sport, l’apprentissage de métiers manuels indépendants à bon rendement (plombier, boucher...), et probablement dans le néo-fascisme.

Ces jeunes des années 80-90 issus des classes moyennes et prolétaires s'étaient mis à acheter ou à voler des vêtements destiné aux loisirs prestigieux des classes aisées, avec une prédilection pour les vêtements de tennis (Lacoste, Tacchini, Ellesse, Fila), de golf, (Hugo Boss, Lyle & Scott), de voile (Helly Hansen, Henri lloyd, Paul & Shark, K-Way), et de weekend à la campagne (Aquascutum, Burberry). La percée Stone Island et CP Company date de la toute fin 90'. On peut faire remarquer qu'il s'agit exclusivement de marques européennes, et pour une raison qui reste à expliquer les marques américaines positionnées sur les mêmes segments de marché du style North Face, Brooks Brothers, Polo Sport, et même Ralph Lauren restaient réduites à la portion congrue. Les casuals par exemple n'ont jamais chaussé de Nike, ils plébiscitaient Adidas. Autre remarque, la culture rock ne prenait pas sur les racailles, et ces derniers n'ont jamais porté de Fred Perry.

Le survêtement de tennis notamment, était la pièce la plus portée et la plus voyante. Pour des bandes qui traînent et cherchent la baston le survêtement répond aux critères de fonctionnalité (ample), de prestige (cher), et de distinctivité (couleurs variées), qui n'est pas distinction! Chaque âge a les armures qu'il peut? Pourtant à bien y regarder on trouvera dans les collections de certaines saisons reculées quelques indices hiératiques, une certaine sobriété, un certain arrangement heureux de blocs de couleurs qui rappellent vaguement l’art-déco et le mouvement futuriste, une certaine manière originale et systématique de traiter, de décliner des motifs sur l'ensemble de la vêture formant un style cohérent et accompli auquel on ne pouvait plus ni retrancher ni ajouter. Oui, pendant une vingtaine d'années, le survêtement atteignait parfois au classique.

LD

[creative-ive]

Yeezus by Kanye West (Album Review)

Yeezus by Kanye West

Kanye West’s 6th studio album Yeezus starts off with an ear-shattering noise like a robot being killed or sacrificed. “Yeezy season approaching,” the first words spoken give us a glimpse of the culture shift that was about to be brought upon us. His album, you either loved or hated… no in-between really. Kanye pursued to separate himself from the lack luster mainstream music going on right now. He chose no radio single. No huge marketing campaign. DONDA (his creative company) designed a marketing plan to use only the power of the internet and the creativity amongst die-hard Kanye fans. Who traveled distances to see the projections of “New Slaves” all around the world. The creation of “Please Add Graffiti” gave fans an opportunity to create an album cover out of the clear glass case with nothing but a simple red-orange sticker. With songs like “Black Skinhead” that have a dark, rebellious, and tribal influence raging against racism and establishments. Kanye being a successful African American as he is in a white-dominant culture creates the analogy that a white woman at the top floor with him would cause havoc to the point where they military would have to come in and kill King Kong. Although, it is the most dark-toned album Kanye has released to date it is also his most comedic and sexual one.

“I Am A God,” one of the most controversial songs of all time is essentially a masterpiece. He never does say he IS god. Simply a God amongst many while a man of God at the same time exemplifying that he is also able to fall to sin as other humans are. Again, “New Slaves” became the most talked about song (behind Kendrick Lamar’s Control) in various cities all over the world. Racism, corporations, greed, one-percenters, fashion, and black people all discussed and brought to life in this song. Kanye portrays himself as the epitome of an elusive and enslaving economic fantasy that is chased by black people their entire lives. Kanye holds himself to the level of Steve Jobs, Walt Disney, Michael Jordan, Mike Tyson, Henry Ford, Picasso, Basquiat, etc. Although, many might scoff at the idea of Kanye being at that level, only to call him arrogant are wrong. Kanye has differentiated himself from other rappers to call become a creative genius and in the position of power he’s at in culture he has every right too. With 21 Grammy’s, 1 away from Stevie Wonder, it is difficult to deny his influence.

“I’m in it,” is his most sexual song yet conscious battle between women, civil rights, the night-life that conflicts with his wife-and-kids life he has now. Then comes, “Blood On The Leaves” to what I believe is the strongest work on the entire album. From production TNGHT, 88 Keys, Kanye, Mike Dean, 6 July, Arca, monster line-up to sample “Strange Fruit,” (a Nina Simone’s cover of Billie Holiday’s classic song). It is one of the most politically driven songs of all time and Kanye chose to rap about past relationships which could have parallels within. “When I would hold you, before the blood on the leaves” is used to define sacrifice which could be a reference to a relationship that couldn’t handle the life of a rock star or his mother who passed away in 2007 due to plastic surgery who was stolen from him by the limelight of media. The outro essentially is the most intriguing aspect he’s waiting for the “summer rose” which is a metaphor for hopelessness of heartbreak after all other roses have died. From the poem “The Last Rose of Summer” by Thomas Moore, he plucks the last roses’ pedals to leave it from being lonely. “Guilt Trip,” is the after effects of a rough relationship and the guilt from sacrificing someone. It’s ironic that former G.O.O.D. Music member Kid Cudi harmonizes “if you love me so much then why’d you let me go?” when he actually left for his own label Wicked Awesome Records. This is when the heaven analogy starts to become more concrete with “Send It Up” whose beat is compared to that of 2003 “In da Club” by 50 Cent. “Tight dress dancing close to him, Yeezus just rose again” are his final words of the song which creates (possibly) this big phallic metaphor in which he refers to his penis as Yeezus since the attractive girl grinds on it literally causing it to “rose” or rise. It being the most sexual album to date and he’d much “rather be a dick than a swallower,” it makes sense. Also, sending it up Yeezus rose/ascended to heaven which would explain why “Bound 2” sounds more soulful than the rest of the entire album. Kanye was Bound 2 heaven. To fall in love finally after a seemingly lost Kanye throughout many failed relationships finally finding Kim Kardashian.

My favorite line is “Close your eyes and let the word paint a thousand pictures, One good girl is worth a thousand bitches,” which shows the growth of Kanye over time from his misogynistic views and paints the picture for those lost in the idea that lots of women is more satisfying. Kanye’s been talking to Jesus for so long, it finally seems like he’s talking back.

Overall, sonically this album has changed the entire music landscape and already sees early influences in Childish Gambino’s Because The Internet, Beyoncé’s surprise album with no marketing whatsoever. Changing what a ‘feature’ on an album really means. He’s a leader, not a follower. He continues transcending the genre countless times since he’s arrived in the industry. It is fitting that Yeezus deserves a Grammy/Best Album of the year for its daring and bold risks calls against corporate, racism, and various themes in a minimalistic Rick Rubin assisted piece of work. The Yeezus Tour has drawn millions of people to see the art that is his performance; including countless high-profile celebrities. 

Its cover art has become iconic. Its clear jewel case keeps it from being damaged but the gem remains to be seen in complete display. 

Art in an essence does require a frame.

By Erik De La Cruz

https://erikthegenius.com/

Originally published on December 30, 2013.