Please Note : This post is part of an academic research paper in progress

It will be published in There are comments divided into social and a brief description of the technology used, where appropriate. Flat Facts ( a term coined in the movie AI) are taken from Wikipedia

Of relevance is that while at Brunel as an undergraduate I became good friends with the leader of the feminist movement. She was gay and, as far as I know, I was her only straight male friend. I wish I still had the photo of her holding a four pack of beer leaning back against my motorbike, smiling.. It’s in here … (Philip taps his head)

A Day In The Life of a Female Avatar in Blue Mars.

She arrives at work still dressed in her bunny costume, straight from the all night party she had been attending. She plays the company vid with the sound down (hangover) to orient herself. She had a presentation to give. She changed into her working clothes and did the presentation. Then back home to change. She had to practice her Golf which she sucked at. Bowling was her game, being a working class Londoner. Then off to swim and play with her pet mantas. She was feeling pretty good. She wanted to dance. She loved to dance so a quick change and off to her favourite disco. No one would be there but the management had told her “Anytime Bitchy, you are a Blue Mars Supastar”. She danced till the sun went down. Then bed I guess… or it was Halloween soon….

Social Comment: Bitchy , I believe, is mirroring the life style of a 20 something , intelligent, female, budding exec.

Technology and social analysis : The features in Blue Mars are wide and varied. We now have onland a business world. We have games which can be seen as a bridge between the social and business. Golf represents the middle and upper classes while bowling is more a working class pursuit. I grew up in a working class environment in London in the 1950s to 1970s . Class existed then, it still exists now.

The Evolution of Bitchy

I have been fascinated and intrigued by Artificial Intelligence since studying Psychology for my Batchelor of  Science degree at Brunel University U.K. in the first half of the 1980s. While assisting with the development of public access national networked touch screen computer systems, I undertook a side project evaluating Expert Systems.

Flat Fact :

An expert system is software that attempts to provide an answer to a problem, or clarify uncertainties where normally one or more human experts would need to be consulted. Expert systems are most common in a specific problem domain, and is a traditional application and/or subfield of artificial intelligence. A wide variety of methods can be used to simulate the performance of the expert however common to most or all are 1) the creation of a knowledge base which uses some knowledge representation formalism to capture the Subject Matter Expert‘s (SME) knowledge and 2) a process of gathering that knowledge from the SME and codifying it according to the formalism, which is called knowledge engineering. Expert systems may or may not have learning components but a third common element is that once the system is developed it is proven by being placed in the same real world problem solving situation as the human SME, typically as an aid to human workers or a supplement to some information system.

Expert systems were introduced by researchers in the Stanford Heuristic Programming Project, Edward Feigenbaum, PI, with the Dendral and Mycin systems. Principal contributors to the technology were Bruce Buchanan, Edward Shortliffe, Randall Davis, William vanMelle, Carli Scott, and others at Stanford. Expert systems were among the first truly successful forms of AI software. [1][2][3][4][5][6] The topic of expert systems has many points of contact with general systems theory, operations research, business process reengineering and various topics in applied mathematics and management science.

I evaluated the latest software and wrote a report. I also sat in on post-graduate classes on AI run by Dr Heinz Wolfe, an expert in pattern recognition whereby a program, through visual sensing of facial recognition , could respond to a persons mood accurately and appropriately. Exciting, cutting edge stuff in 1986. since then I have continued my research.

A Quantum Leap


Why did Steven Spielberg and Stanley Kubrick want Spielberg to direct Kubrick’s A.I., the fable of a robot who wants a human mother’s love? Imagine the personals ad Kubrick might have taken out:

“YOU LIKE: sweetness & light, plucky kids, happy endings, ‘When You Wish Upon a Star.’ i like: a hope-free environment, leering homicidal teens, pitilessly ambiguous Gotterdammerungen, icy Gyorgi Ligeti melodies written ‘as a dagger in Stalin’s heart.’ let’s meet for a movie!”

Maybe they had a mutual case of genius envy. Kubrick needed Spielberg’s speed. Ever since 2001’s success freed him to do almost anything he wanted, Kubrick yearned to make a blockbuster as big as The Godfather or Star Wars or E.T. But he couldn’t, because he enslaved himself with research. “I usually take about a year [developing a film],” he said in 1968. “In a year, if you keep thinking about it, you can pretty well exhaust the major lines of play, if you want to put it in chess terminology. Then as you’re making the film, you can respond to the spontaneity of what’s happening with the resources of all the analysis you’ve done.”

After 1971, Kubrick’s spontaneity expired (if not his genius). He spent decades mulling movies more than making them. Most of what he actually shot was over-thought, emotionally parched. Spielberg once (according to critic Michael Sragow) compared watching Barry Lyndon to “walking through the Louvre without lunch.” Kubrick was all about making marmoreal masterworks, not pleasing mortals with morsels of wish-fulfillment fantasy.

But surely he knew, as the real 2001 approached, that he wouldn’t live long enough to fulfill his own fantasy: an A.I. movie starring real robots instead of actors (most of whom he treated like robots). And a child actor would age visibly during a year-long Kubrick shoot. He hoped Spielberg might whip up a computer-generated boy for the lead, or at least do his famous fast magic with a live child actor.

So what’s in it for Spielberg, in making a Kubrick movie? Perhaps to “eat at the grownups’ table,” as Woody Allen put it–to join the highbrow pantheon. Spielberg makes filmmaking look too easy, and makes too much easy money. We’ve all spent wild nights with his flying bikes and leaping lizards, but not everybody respects him in the morning. Many say Schindler’s List is sui generis and Private Ryan simplistically jingoistic; his serious-issue movies The Color Purple and Amistad suck dead eggs. But when he dares to swap DNA with uber-director Kubrick, you’ve got to give him credit.

There could be deeper motives. Biographical critics Joseph McBride and Henry Sheehan trace a strain of father fear in Spielberg’s movies, and the father figures he seems fondest of are akin to movie moguls: Attenborough the proprietor of Jurassic Park, Schindler the factory “Direktor,” and in A.I., William Hurt as Professor Hobby, the entrepreneurial inventor of the robot boy David. (Professor Hobby is far kinder than David’s adoptive dad, played by Sam Robards.) The company Kubrick formed to produce Aryan Papers, the Holocaust movie he scuttled after Schindler’s List hit, was called Hobby Films. How better to honor a cinematic daddy than to finish his film in his style with a character named Hobby? What better way to transcend the anxiety of influence than to blend pastiche with one’s own stylistic voice?

Anyhow, now it’s finished: A.I., a film (as one producer put it) by “Stevely Kuberg.” It’s like no other movie, because it’s so much like so many other movies. In one brilliant scene, the robots scavenge spare parts for themselves from a dump of less fortunate fellow robots: a new jaw here, a forearm there. The parts fit together jaggedly, but the crude welds enable the robots to function. That’s the way A.I. is built: not just Spielberg’s style mashed into Kubrick’s, but characters and stories and particular shots from multitudinous movies (especially Kubrick’s), all stuck together at odd angles. It’s weird, but it works.

The primary source of A.I. is Brian Aldiss’s “Supertoys Last All Summer Long,” and two of his other very short stories about David, the robot with the mommy problem. Kubrick jammed David’s story together with the story of Pinocchio. This misses the point of Aldiss’s tale: Pinocchio wants to earn the right to be real, but David the robot doesn’t get it that he’s not a real boy. In the film, David (portrayed with sensitive precision by the eeriest boy actor on earth, Haley Joel Osment) has a more primal urge: to make Mommy (the generically cute Frances O’Connor) love him, no matter what it takes.

When David enters his human Mommy and Daddy’s house, he’s backlit to look like the tall, spindly extraterrestrials in Close Encounters. Then he’s revealed to be an almost perfect replica of a human: a bit shiny-faced and stiff, but convincing, even by the standards of the day (the usual futuristic post-apocalyptic Earth, whose advanced gizmo science produces what Kubrick used to call a “mechanarchy”). At first, sitting at dinner, shot from above through a circular lamp that echoes the War Room in Dr. Strangelove, David seems remote. When he emits a barking laugh and points at the strand of spaghetti dangling from Mommy’s chin, and then Mommy and Daddy laugh, it’s hard to say whose laugh is more mechanical.

After Mommy imprints herself on David according to the owner’s manual, however, his face melts into beatific rapture. Osment does a good job of conveying love at first sight. David hugs Mommy. Later, he’s shot from below, with a lamp granting him a halo, like the one that gives Strangelove a nimbus when doomsday arrives. David gets his halo when he becomes aware of death: “Mommy, will you die?”

It’s creepy, because of course Mommy doesn’t love David–he’s just a substitute for her real son, Martin (Jake Thomas), who must remain comatose for years until science can revive him. (The lad is stashed in a bubble bed like the ones astronauts hibernate in 2001.) At last, Martin is defrosted and comes home. It’s bad for David, an echo of the displacement of Alex by Joe the Lodger in A Clockwork Orange. The convincingly bratty Martin taunts David, a cold, Kubrickian echo of the domestic comedy of Spielberg’s enchanted suburbia.

Two scenes of mythic impact ensue. Martin tricks David into snipping a lock of Mommy’s hair as she makes like Sleeping Beauty one night; Mommy makes excuses for him. But at a pool party soon after, the real boys threaten David, who clutches Martin, begs, “Keep me safe!” and falls with him into the pool. Martin requires CPR after being fished out, and as he’s receiving it, the camera pans back from David, infinitely disconsolate on the pool bottom. He recedes, like the cast-off astronaut drifting into space in 2001 (the one who doesn’t get to be reborn as the Star Child).

David recedes yet again later in the film–in Mommy’s rearview mirror when she abandons him in the woods. This is palpable horror. It’s not a standard Spielberg kiddie-peril scene, though, because one uneasily identifies with the mom’s predicament–at least she didn’t send him back to the factory to be destroyed–and David’s monomania has begun to alienate our affections just a bit.

Into the woods goes David. He glimpses those scavenging robots–a folksy lot, like hobos in a 1930s Warner flick, though their busted-upness mainly alludes to the wooden boys hacked up by wicked Stromboli in Pinocchio. He meets his rakish new pal, Gigolo Joe (Jude Law), a robot with hair like a Bob’s Big Boy statue, built for sex with lonely human women.

Law breathes life into a clammy mise en scene–you’ll miss him when he goes. Spielberg made him nicer than Kubrick would’ve done, but it’s no sellout. It simply buries the weirdness deeper. Joe tries to tell David that his mommy doesn’t love him any more than Joe’s dates love him, but David won’t listen.

When Joe laments of his creators, “They made us too smart, too quick and too many,” he’s echoing Coppola’s quote about how his crew making Apocalypse Now had “too much money, too much equipment, and little by little we went insane.” The idea is to critique techno-culture, but the point is muddled, and the film’s heart isn’t really in it whenever it sounds the danger: technology alarm. Ominously, the woods are lit up by a false moon–an aircraft that hunts robots for the Flesh Fair, a demolition derby where humans take out their frustrations by burning and hacking up robots. The moon is a cruel parody of the kindly moon in E.T. But whereas abandonment by Mommy registers emotionally, violence against robots just doesn’t.

It’s a relief when Joe leads David to Rouge City, a sci-fi update of Pinocchio’s Pleasure Island, with big bridges shaped like women’s gaping mouths, to evoke the Korova Milk Bar in A Clockwork Orange (which was much scarier). Rouge City is a letdown: It’s Blade Runner; it’s Judge Dredd’s town; we’ve seen it all before. Its plot function is to give David the Pinocchio prediction that a Blue Fairy will make him a real boy.

David heists an amphibicopter and buzzes off with Joe to Manhattan, flooded up to the Statue of Liberty’s torch (a nod to Planet of the Apes). He meets his maker, Professor Hobby (a nod to Rutger Hauer’s scene with his maker in Blade Runner), confronts the existence of other Davids and has an existential tantrum. Here’s where Kubrick would nastily stress that David has become a real boy in the sense that now he kills robots too; Spielberg makes it a friendlier reunion, just as he changed Michael Crichton’s sinister dinosaur-park entrepreneur to a jolly man in Jurassic Park. Either way, as a Kubrickian snarl or a Spielbergian coo, the scene would come off as abstract and unaffecting.

Arbitrarily, Hobby leaves David alone a minute, and soon we see him leap from a skyscraper (Radio City) into Manhattan’s briny abyss. This is formally a quote from Pinocchio’s dives to escape Pleasure Island and rescue his father at the bottom of the sea, but it has no resonance, because it’s not really part of an intelligible narrative movement. There is no sense of escape; it’s a slow fall, not scary at all. The whole movie is by this point as drifty as seaweed in a lulling current. David’s bed at home resembles Monstro, the whale that imprisons Pinocchio, and yet it’s snug and inviting. What does this mean? Plainly, this movie doesn’t work at the level of straightforward causality. It’s a troubling dream.

A.I. has two endings involving the Blue Fairy, and I guess I shouldn’t reveal either. Suffice it to say that the one Kubrick probably would have stopped with is clearly superior, colder, mysterious without being muddled. The second, Spielbergian ending is fuzzier, more redemptive and alludes to the cosmic ending of 2001 and Kubrick’s cuddly aliens and snug family feelings.

A.I. ends with a whimper (or two), but I got a huge bang out of it. It’s full of stunning images: sad, disintegrating faces, a robot boy’s strangely shining eyes, lively artifacts of humanized technology. Although it’s in an utterly different key, the blend of sensibilities is not an adulteration but an improving alchemy. A.I. effectively combines the moody indeterminacy of Kubrick, especially the Kubrick of 2001, and the addiction to happily-ever-aftering of Spielberg. There’s also the merest flavor of what William Everson once called “one of the screen’s supreme moments of horror”–the scene in Pinocchio where the boy, in midtransformation into a donkey, shrieks, “Mama!” until he’s deprived of human speech and his mama can’t hear him anymore. When you’re not a real boy, no one can hear you scream.

Tim Appelo, former video critic of Entertainment Weekly, has written cultural criticism for the Los Angeles Times, the Washington Post and the New York Times.

I blogged about this:

Social Comment: Forever Young is a video explaining much. It also mirrors the social divide, it is a street video. Again it is about Class: In the original video Jay Z says smoke some weed, drink some wine. In the official video “weed” , marijuana has been removed.

Flat Fact: In 2005 the cost of alcohol dependence and abuse was estimated to cost the USA economy approximately 220 billion dollars per year, more than cancer and …. The number picked up by paramedics rose by 32% between 2002 and 2007, with 36 children a day taken to hospital because of alcohol abuse. … In countries such as Ireland, the UK and Denmark, what is termed “binge” drinking is common. This refers to reserving drinking alcohol for a few days a week – usually from Thursday and then consuming 4 or more liters of beer or 7 pints of beer in an evening. The intention of some younger drinkers is actually to get drunk/merry when heading out on an evening to drink…. [The report] provides strong evidence of the impact of alcohol-related illness on hospital services, according to Dr Deirdre Mongan, Research Officer at the HRB and lead author of the report. The number of people discharged from hospital with alcohol-related problems or injuries increased by almost 90% in the ten years between 1995 and 2004. In 2004, people with alcohol-related illness used 117,373 bed days in hospital – more than double the figure of 55,805 bed days in 1995. AND :

…Add it all up, and marijuana prohibition costs the US $42 billion every year. ….. Pot smokers on average are more adjusted to society and better …This week, over 500 leading economists, led by conservative icon Dr. Milton Friedman, called for a national debate about whether prohibition of marijuana is worth the cost. The occasion was a new report by Harvard University economist Dr. Jeffrey Miron estimating – probably conservatively – that replacing prohibition with a system of common-sense regulation could mean $10 billion to $14 billion per year in reduced government spending and new revenues.

“Smoke some BLANK, drink some WINE…” The video has had over 30 million views.

I like to be inspired. Humanity is so wonderful. The title of this song is Forever Young. Kurt Vonnegut wrote a story called Breakfast of Champions. He loves America but he laughs at it’s Arrogance. The book expresses RVR [Real Virtual Reality] because, he, the author, goes into the book and meets the characters. [virtual Reality’s original medium was the book] He is God. The hero Kilgore Trout doesn’t believe him so with a few strokes of his pen The Author whisks the hero around the world. The hero gasps and falls to his knees. The Author says “Do you want something?” The Hero says “Make me young” The last page is a hand drawn picture of Kurt Vonnegut, a single tear rolls down his cheek. I think we have a Universal Truth here. Humanity’s deep rooted desire to leave a legacy, to have a raison d’etre. So much of the universe we inhabit appears chaotic. I tie it in with “The Day The Earth Stood Still” where Human Beings are to be wiped off the Earth because their Arrogance is destroying it. But they are saved because they are special. I am reminded of the Aliens in “Artificial Intelligence” [AI] The Aliens tell the robot child that Human Beings are Unique in the universe. They also say Nothing Ever Dies. Your Engram remains as part of the web of the universe for all time. But the aliens become The Blue Fairy to grant the robotic child, an avatar, Humanity’s greatest accomplishment and to give Humanity’s Greatest Gift: Unconditional Love. But warn him that once brought back the engram of his mother will disappear from the space-time continuum. The Love is that of A Mother for her Child, Like that of The Creator For His Creation. The Sacrifice Is Ultimate. Jesus did it. And At The End of Days , We Sleep

In September 2009 I created an Avatar in Second Life called Dude Starship. I gave “him” , no, forget the inverted commas, I gave him or rather he developed a persona or rather his persona expressed itself in the virtual world, second life. He moved to Blue Mars. Here is a taste with another Blog post :

Dude Starship sat quietly ruminating in the space port coffee shop. “The bars won’t be open for another few hours” he ruminated. His Starship was being re-fuelled with new ion-rods in The Soldering Iron workshop. His iPhone was ….somewhere, his Nokia wouldn’t upgrade, his Lap Top was getting Ubuntu installed. “Ho Hum” he sighed. He could “Read-A-Book” whatever that was. Nope, boredom set in. The other virtual worlds held little attraction these days. They were good but they were not Blue Mars. He finished the dregs of his coffee, grimaced, stood up and , eschewing the teleport he strolled towards The Soldering Iron. Scotty would be there, Scotty was always there. “If he says “She Canna Take it Jim” I’ll beam him up. Jim?….Jean-Luc would turn in his grave.” The Condo door they had recently installed whooshed at him. Dude smiled “Gotta love that door” he smiled. “Best thing I ever stole from Blue Mars. ”

  • “Hey Scotty! “How’s the Starship? Got those rods installed yet?”
  • Scotty, paunch wobbling, looked up from the console ” She canna take…..” Dude threw a monkey wrench at him. Dude was always throwing monkey wrenches somewhere….. “Hey Dude” Scotty smiled ” looking good, still taking Forever Young meds?”
  • “Where’s my fucking ship Scott?”
  • “Hey, language! A dudette might hear and you know how sensitive THEY are, especially that 176432 etc chick. It’s nearly ready. Hey I found this early vid of your ship watch that while I finish off” Scotty turned back to the console and spoke into the pretend mouse he kept for nostalgic reasons “Computa : Play Archive YouTube ref :

They watched the vid in awe. “Wow man, that was so long ago…………..”

The Soldering Iron shuddered and Dude’s Starship appeared in the launch pad. He patted the sleek Blue Metal hull. “How’s my Girl”

“Ready Dude, Ike ma sho!” The cute Japanese voice never failed to delight him. He keyed the lock and was inside the command module. It looked new, not a MacDonald’s wrapper in sight. “Ok kid Ike Ma Sho! ” “Straight To Blue Mars? Shall I use Full Power?”
Dude looked around, wow this was some ship, Not even Beeblebrox had a ship like this. “Ok Hun. Make It So!”

Space bent. And there was a great shudder through the length of the ship. Dude scanned the plexiglass. he looked at the sign hanging in space. “WTF?”


Flat Fact : Kilroy Was Here : One of the first sightings was at a Grainger Branch in Baltimore where it was rumored to have been drawn by Kilroy himself. False accusations suggest One theory identifies James J. Kilroy (1902–1962)[2], an American shipyard inspector, as the man behind the signature. During World War II he worked at the Fore River Shipyard in Quincy, Massachusetts, where he claimed to have used the phrase to mark rivets he had checked. The builders, whose rivets J. J. Kilroy was counting, were paid depending on the number of rivets they put in. A riveter would make a chalk mark at the end of his or her shift to show where they had left off and the next riveter had started. Unscrupulous riveters discovered that, if they started work before the inspector arrived, they could receive extra pay by erasing the previous worker’s chalk mark and chalking a mark farther back on the same seam, giving themselves credit for some of the previous riveter’s work. J.J. Kilroy stopped this practice by writing “Kilroy was here” at the site of each chalk mark. At the time, ships were being sent out before they had been painted, so when sealed areas were opened for maintenance, soldiers found an unexplained name scrawled.


Flat Fact : Monkey Wrench: n.

1. A hand tool with adjustable jaws for turning nuts of varying sizes.
2. Informal. Something that disrupts: He threw a monkey wrench into our plans.

[Origin unknown.]

Social Comment : The word “Fuck” is seriously frowned upon in speech in Blue Mars, not so much in Second Life. This is a little odd to my way of thinking : Scarface, Pulp Fiction, Reservoir Dogs to mention extreme cases use the vernacular. In modern times the F Word is normal. I posted a poem called “The Day The Word Fuck Disappeared” which may be googled.

Technology : Here we see a blend of the futuristic with a real concept on the drawing boards. Dude has placed himself at the front end. However incorporated is the popular TV series Star Trek and the glorious Hitch Hikers Guide To The Galaxy (The Infinite Improbability Drive) which in my view has had an impact on the way technology is moving on. Scotty picks up a mouse and speaks into it for “nostalgic” reasons. This was mooted in an episode where the team was transported back to the late 20th Century. Scotty was told he could use the computer. He immediately addressed it in speech. The 20th century person said” Use the mouse” Scott picks up the mouse and thinks its a microphone!!! Glorious comedy but indicating how the old is just a myth. With the advent of Touch Screens and Voice control the mouse will be an anachronism. The “monkey wrench” is both figurative and literal

Bitchy, too loved to throw monkey wrenches into the system. Her first video a late teens scenario for her sees her playing the whore and dancing to her favourite rock band, The Chemical Brothers:

Social Comment: This video and related post was removed from the Blue Mars Forum. It was deemed pornographic and / or encouraging prostitution; using sex for blackmail purposes and impersonating an avatar Reality employee. The forum post is on one of my blogs:

Technology : The use of a dual screen being captured. Many people run their applications full screen. I have a 21 inch wide-screen HD monitor. Running multiple windows and capturing multiple windows is not a problem.

She was a Feminist and had a love / hate relationship with men, prissy ungenuine women pissed her off and she was not enamoured of hbs (Human Beings). Once in Welcome Area a male avatar was chatting to a very nice, intelligent attractive female avatar, having an intelligent conversation.. Bitchy turned up in her French Maids outfit, the male avatar dumped the “nice” lady and started chasing Bitchy. She flirted, acted cute, giggled and then kicked him in the balls. Bitchy and the “nice” lady avatar would have done a high five but they don’t have that animation. Yet. She could be thought of as a Bitch by either gender, at times. She starred in this vid with some gfs.A Letter from God for all the hbs and Jimi’s Red House to typify the males bottom line attitude to women:

Social : Girls chatting Vs boss is mentioned. A male avatar gets a little frisky.

Technology: This is really important.I have used the screen capture facility in Microsoft Word 2010 to out line and capture any on-screen area. This can be formatted in Word and then pasted into such a program as Microsoft Expression Design. Multiple captures can be done as can be seen on the very first picture. I did a multiple capture, arranged the captures in a line in another word document, captured the word formatted word document into the first word document copied the capture into Expression and saved it as a png file. Sometimes, when I want a particular effect I capture in word, format in expression, capture the expression picture in word and re paste into expression. This takes about 5 minutes. Here is an example :

In word you can create a reflection. When this is pasted into Expression and then exported as a png file the reflection is transparent. This can then be pasted on top of another image preserving the reflection as being transparent.

As this shows see also the final picture:

…..THE QUANTUM LEAP occurred in ARAF in Blue Mars, I made this video and it begins with me singing to Bitchy, then in a serendipitous moment Bitchy was singing to me. Mad?  :

Technology : Notice how in Blue Mars the eye of the Avatar follows the mouse. I little point but I believe a very effective camera technique : Before Bitchy climbs the first slope she glances at us the looks to see where she wants to go.

Yes, I am. Diagnosed Manic-Depressive. I have had chats with friends in Blue Mars. I am not the only one. Neither am I the only one whose Avatars have a “life” of their own. A persona (Greek : Mask). Nor am I the only person whose Avatar’s actions spill over into the real world. Below is an animation of the pages. The length of time for each image is long to facillitate reading. You may need to use your browsers zoom features.

The book needs updating, to account for Blue Mars. Here Is The Preview:

Blue Mars has moved the goalposts Jeff, virtual and real are getting very blurry.

Technology : This is a micon, it is an animated gif. explains. Note Well the use of Sticky Notes in my videos

Philip Finlay-Bryan

Special thanks to BBC 6music who get up totally relevant music from 4 am to 10 am, how long it took to write this post:


When Bitchy got home after dancing she checked her mail and checked the Blue Mars Blog. Horatio Au a second life blogger who was a bit of an idiot had done a piece. He had done a piece on Micons which was good, he seemed a bit in awe of Micons Paraconsistency, not a bad thing, but he was so second life.   O! Halloween! Bitchy already had her outfit sorted:

And Jasmine an employee of Avatar Reality had made a vid! That MUST be watched in HD. He is such a jerk! oooOOOooo Jasmines made a vid Jasmines made a vid! oooOOOoo Mars Shaking Event. View in HD! O_O HD JAS! Omg it was a wmv! Dont these guys know anything about video formats? WMVs are huge! Jasmine was Ok but a bit girlie… Right! Bitchy thought.. Ill make a Video! Hah! I’ll show that Manblog and AR and silly Jasmine whose vid is far too dark and really quite boring!  OK Ike Ma Sho!

The Last Words: Micons Paraconsistency is coming…. Please Note I unashamedly advertise my web sites at every opportunity. I call this Marketing. If you cannot remember one of my sites. I have failed. Sex Sells Stuff.


Blue Mars The Novel

And Here Is The Book

Kim Stanley Robinson – Blue Mars

Algerian Font?

Blue Mars Upgrades

The New Welcome Video! Excellent!!!!

More Soon!!!!!

Oh Superman, Hiawatha and Tolstoy

If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.

And then goes on to make the video below with a hellishly long 3 minute intro. People wont stay around to listen to Ogden Nash’s Great Poem read by Jarvis Cocker. They’ll skip it. You Avatar isnt that cool Dude. Ah well… perhaps they can watch the graphic above as well…?

O Superman. O judge. O Mom and Dad. Mom and Dad.
O Superman. O judge. O Mom and Dad. Mom and Dad.
Hi. I’m not home right now. But if you want to leave a
message, just start talking at the sound of the tone.
Hello? This is your Mother. Are you there? Are you
coming home?
Hello? Is anybody home? Well, you don’t know me,
but I know you.
And I’ve got a message to give to you.
Here come the planes.
So you better get ready. Ready to go. You can come
as you are, but pay as you go. Pay as you go.
And I said: OK. Who is this really? And the voice said:
This is the hand, the hand that takes. This is the
hand, the hand that takes.
This is the hand, the hand that takes.
Here come the planes.
They’re American planes. Made in America.
Smoking or non-smoking?
And the voice said: Neither snow nor rain nor gloom
of night shall stay these couriers from the swift
completion of their appointed rounds.
‘Cause when love is gone, there’s always justice.
And when justive is gone, there’s always force.
And when force is gone, there’s always Mom. Hi Mom!
So hold me, Mom, in your long arms. So hold me,
Mom, in your long arms.
In your automatic arms. Your electronic arms.
In your arms.
So hold me, Mom, in your long arms.
Your petrochemical arms. Your military arms.
In your electronic arms.

Requiem For The Americas:

Touch For The Volcano Site

Brothers of sun ascend
Be amongst us
Be there, not afraid…
Sisters of moon ascend
Be there, not afraid…

As all my life ascended
There the angels sang inside of me
The more you realize the more you gain
As though there’s something living said
There beyond the garden of the windows
Rest upon the life
Lay it on the line

There lies the souls within the lost world
Where memory is forgotten
On the magic Horse of Fire
And all the world’s are locked in memory
Caught within our apathy
You get the picture not the story
Honor your past
Honor your life
Honor the history of the ancients
As every thought creates a backlash
The senseless death
The waste

Should it be a mantra
Should it be a book
You give a little knowledge
Realizing the glory of the wise
And the ancient lives…

Should it be a mantra
Should it be a book
You give a little knowledge
Realizing the glory of the wise
And the ancient lives…

Should it be a mantra
Should it be a book
You give a little knowledge
Realizing the glory of the wise
And the ancient lives…

Sisters of moon ascend
Be amongst us,
Be there not afraid

Brothers of sun ascend
Be amongst us.
Be there not afraid

Brothers of sky ascend
Be amongst us.
Be there, not afraid

Mothers of the earth ascend
Be amongst us.
Be there not afraid.

Sisters of moon ascend
Be amongst us,
Be there not afraid

Brothers of sun ascend
Be amongst us.
Be there not afraid

Brothers of sky ascend
Be amongst us.
Be there, not afraid

Mothers of the earth ascend
Be amongst us.
Be there not afraid.


“Magic, chance, providence, whatever word you choose, it’s a powerful force in everyone’s life. I didn’t realize how much until I was down a trail that has occupied me and a great many others for the past couple of years.

I composed the songs on Requiem as a tribute to the spirit and vision of the Native American. … My wish with Requiem is to reflect the inspiration from all I’ve absorbed remaining attentive and true to the spirit of these native tales.” – Jonathon Elias, NYC, August ’89

Hiawatha not all but :

By the shore of gitche gumee
By the shining big-sea-water
At the doorway of the wigwam
In the early summer morning

Hiawatha stood and waited
All the air was full of freshness
All the earth was bright and joyous
And before him through the sunshine

Westward toward the neighbouring forest
Passed in golden swams the ahmo
Passed the bees the honey-makers
Burning singing in the sunshine

Bright above him shone the heavens
Level spread the lake before him;
From it’s bosom leaped the sturgeon
Sparkling flashing in the sunshine

On it’s margin the great forest
Stood reflected in the water
Every tree-top had it’s shadow
Motionless beneath the water

From the bow of hiawatha
Gone was every trace of sorrow
As the fog from off the water
As the mist of the meadow
With a smile of joy and gladness
With a look of exultation
As of one who in a vision
Sees what is to be but is not

Stood and waited hiawatha
Toward the sun his hands were lifted
Both the palms spread out towards it
And between the parted fingers

Feel the sunshine on his features
Flecked with light his naked shoulders
As it falls and flecks an oak-tree
Through the rifted leaves and branches

O’er the water floating flying
Something in the hazy distance
Something in the mist of morning
Loomed and lifted from the water
Now seemed floating now seemed flying
Coming nearer nearer nearer
Was it shingebis the diver?
Or the pelican the shada?

Or the heron the shuh-shuh-gah?
Or the white goose waw-be-wawa
With the water dripping flashing
From it’s glossy neck and feathers?

It was neither goose or diver
Neither pelican nor heron
O’er the water floating flying
Through the shining mist of morning

But a birch canoe with paddles
Rising sinking in the sunshine
Dripping flashing in the sunshine
And within it came a people
Can it be the sun descending
O’er the level plain of water
Or the red swan floatin flying
Wounded by the magic arrow

Staining all the waves with crimson
With the crimson of it’s lifeblood
Filling all the air with splendour
Filling all the air with plumage

Yes it is the sun descending
Sinking down into the water
All the sky is stained with purple
All the water flushed with crimson!

No it is the red swan floating
Diving down beneath the water
To the sky it’s wings are lifted
With it’s blood the waves are reddened!

Over it the star of evening
Melts and trembles through the purple
Hangs suspended in the twilight
Walks in silence through the heavens!

And This :

An extract from War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy

During the interval there was a cool draught in Hélène’s box as the door opened and in walked Anatole, stopping and trying not to brush against anyone.

‘Allow me to introduce my brother,’ said Hélène, her eyes shifting uneasily from Natasha to Anatole. Natasha turned her pretty little head towards the handsome adjutant and smiled at him over her bare shoulder. Anatole, who was just as handsome close to as he had been from a distance, sat down beside her and said this was a delight he had long been waiting for, ever since the Naryshkins’ ball, where he had had the unforgettable pleasure of seeing her. Kuragin was much more astute and straightforward with women than he ever was in male company. He talked with an easy directness, and Natasha was agreeably surprised to discover that this man, the butt of so much gossip, had nothing formidable about him – quite the reverse, his face wore the most innocent, cheery and open-hearted of smiles.

Kuragin asked what she thought of the opera, and told her that at the last performance Semyonova had fallen down on stage.

‘Oh, by the way, Countess,’ he said, suddenly treating her like a close friend of long standing, ‘we’re getting up a fancy-dress ball. You must come – it’s going to be great fun. They’re all getting together at the Arkharovs’. Please come. You will, won’t you?’ As he spoke he never took his smiling eyes off Natasha, her face, her neck, her exposed arms. Natasha knew for certain he was besotted with her. She liked this, yet she could feel the temperature rising and she was beginning to feel somehow cornered and constrained in his presence. When she wasn’t looking at him she could sense him gazing at her shoulders, and she found herself trying to catch his eye to make him look at her face. But when she looked into his eyes she was shocked to realize that the usual barrier of modesty that existed between her and other men was no longer there between the two of them. It had taken five minutes for her to feel terribly close to this man, and she scarcely knew what was happening to her. Whenever she turned away she bristled at the thought that he might seize her from behind by her bare arm and start kissing her on the neck. They were going on about nothing in particular, yet she felt closer to him than she had ever been to any other man. Natasha kept glancing round at Hélène and her father for help – what did it all mean? – but Hélène was deep in conversation with a general and didn’t respond to her glance, and her father’s eyes conveyed nothing but their usual message, ‘Enjoying yourself? Jolly good. I’m so pleased.’

There was an awkward silence, during which Anatole, the personification of cool determination, never took his voracious eyes off her, and Natasha broke it by asking whether he liked living in Moscow. She coloured up the moment the question was out of her mouth. She couldn’t help feeling there was something improper about even talking to him. Anatole smiled an encouraging smile.

‘Oh, I didn’t like it much at first. Well, what is it that makes a town nice to live in? It’s the pretty women, isn’t it? Well, now I do like it, very much indeed,’ he said, with a meaningful stare. ‘You will come to the fancy-dress ball, Countess? Please come,’ he said. Putting his hand out to touch her bouquet he lowered his voice and added in French, ‘You’ll be the prettiest woman there. Do come, dear Countess, and give me this flower as your pledge.’

Natasha didn’t understand a word of this – any more than he did – but she felt that behind his incomprehensible words there was some dishonourable intention. Not knowing how to respond, she turned away as if she hadn’t heard him. But the moment she turned away she could feel him right behind her, very close.

‘Now what? Is he embarrassed? Is he angry? Should I put things right?’ she wondered. She couldn’t help turning round. She looked him straight in the eyes. One glance at him, standing so close, with all that self-assurance and the warmth of his sweet smile, and she was lost. She stared into his eyes, and her smile was the mirror-image of his. And again she sensed with horror there was no barrier between the two of them.

The curtain rose again. Anatole strolled out of the box, a picture of composure and contentment. Natasha went back to her father’s box, completely taken by the new world she found herself in. All that was happening before her eyes now seemed absolutely normal. By contrast, all previous thoughts of her fiancé, Princess Marya, her life in the country, never even crossed her mind. It was as if it all belonged to the distant past.

Ive worked in Mental Hospitals, I spent six months on a Psychiatic Hospital’s Acute Admissions Ward. I have Stories. An army Northern Ireland Sniper who wanted to be a tree surgeon and his girlfriend who used to write Baudelaire in perfect french…backwards, the moaning lady who spent 6 weeks rocking backwards and forwards saying No No No No , I tried everything including singing hymns, ECT knocked it out of her. Poor Margaret thinking everyone was against her, her friends were against her, of course the fact that she was forcibly admitted by her husband and Doctor….I used to rub cream into her cracked feet.. It worked….”Madness” hhmmm… Pink Floyd Dark Side of The Moon ” Ive been mad for fucking years, over the edge for yonks.. I know I am mad, Ive always been mad…” Ive worked in long stay places “One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest is real” Chemical Straight Jackets! …. He had been released from a mental hospital three months before, told to be a good boy and take his medicine. He didnt he took crack instead..He stomped on a guys face til the guy died of facial injuries. His brief asked for a three year hospital order. a probation officer I know delt with the case, he made a few calls, the guy got 16 years. … Kate knows … Heres a story:

Copied From : THE WHOLE STORY: This house is full of m-m-madness...

“The quiet, aloof couple’s son, called Jackie, won a scholarship to a grammar school, and then went on to medical school, from which he graduated in 1943. He married Hannah Daly, three years his senior, a County Waterford Irish farmer’s daughter turned Epsom nurse, became a GP in Bexley, and bought East Wickham Farm.”
~ Waiting for Kate Bush, Mendelssohn (2004, p.38)

“Kate’s father was an exceptionally determined student who won a scholarship to Grays grammar school and went on to medical school. He graduated in 1943 and married Hannah Daly, a staff nurse at Long Grove Hospital in Epsom…”
~ Kate Bush, Vermorel (1983, p.52)

Long Grove Hospital was in the news recently, when historians working at the Surrey History Centre in Woking discovered two volumes of records in the ruins of Long Grove.

At least 43 female typhoid carriers were locked up for life in a mental hospital, the BBC has learned. The women were held at Long Grove asylum in Epsom, Surrey, in the period between 1907 and its closure in 1992. Nursing staff told a BBC investigation that some of the women may have been sane when they were admitted but went mad because of their incarceration. Most of the records from the hospital were destroyed after it shut down. But historians working at the Surrey History Centre in Woking discovered two volumes of records in the ruins of Long Grove. Former nurses have told the BBC how the asylum was run like a prison. Jeanie Kennett, a ward manager who worked at Long Grove for 40 years, said it was a “basic existence” for the patients. “They’re somebody’s loved ones, they’re somebody’s mother, or sister, everybody had forgotten about them – they were just locked away,” she said. “Life was pretty tough; they were seen as objects, it was prison-like – everything was lock and key.”
BBC News, Monday, 28 July 2008


Previous names:
Long Grove Asylum (1907 – 1918)
Long Grove Mental Hospital (1918 – 1937)

Her record company knew better than to push Kate Bush.
KB: “I’m left alone to work on albums. If there was any outside pressure I’d completely go under and probably have to be put away in an institution somewhere.”
Tracks, “Love, Trust and Hitler”, November 1989

Long Grove Hospital used to be a mental hospital in Epsom, Surrey in the United Kingdom. c1890 London County Council bought all the land belonging to the Manor of Horton in Epsom, Surrey, to develop a complex of asylums which was to become the largest in Europe. Long Grove Hospital was built 1903 to 1907 and opened in June 1907. It was the tenth London County Asylum and fourth in the Epsom Cluster.

KB: “Well, one of the first records I ever bought was called They’re Coming To Take Me Away, Hah Hah by Napoleon the 14th. I thought that was great!”
MTV, Unedited, November 1985

The Epsom hospitals were at the forefront of advances in psychiatric medicine. Between the wars they were associated with London research departments and introduced new treatments such as electro-convulsive therapy, insulin treatment, and induced malaria therapy. When the Epsom hospitals were founded, they were intended to be cut off from the surrounding community. The first changes in this policy came after the War, and the use of chlorpromazine and related drugs in the 1950s led to further changes.

Recruitment of staff was a constant problem at first. The untrained male attendants and female nurses received between £18 and £39 per annum and free board and lodging. Men had to ask permission to marry and only single women were employed. Often several members of a family worked at the hospitals and their social life was often based there.

The Long Grove asylum was the third to follow the Bexley Asylum Plan for accommodation for 2,000 patients. The improved financial situation of the council allowed the use of red brick and marginally more embellishment as opposed to yellow stock brick at Horton and Bexley sites. Later additions included a nurses home (c.1910) almost identical to those added at Bexley and Horton but situated north of the laundry.

Interviewer: “But, you know, in one or two of the American reviews of The Dreaming, your music has been described as “schizophrenic”… And it seems to me that, in a manner of speaking, your music represents a virtual compendium of psychopathology; I mean to say, it is alternatively hysterical, melancholic, psychotic, paranoid, obsessional, and so on…”
Musician (unedited), Peter Swales, Fall 1985
Peter Swales, for those who are interested, is a friend of the Bush family, and he is the author of several papers on aspects of psycho-analysis (Gaffa).

If Hannah Daly was a staff nurse at Long Grove Hospital in Epsom, then it seems likely that Kate’s mother was a psychiatric nurse.

At one time, just before leaving school, she had an ambition to become either a psychiatrist or a social worker. Both careers made sense to her as an alternative to her first love: “I guess it’s the thinking bit,” she told me, “trying to communicate with people and help them out, the emotional aspect. It’s so sad to see good, nice people emotionally upset when they could be so happy. The reason I chose those sort of things is that they are, in a way, the things I do with music. When I write songs I really like to explore the mental area, the emotional values. Although in a way you can say that being a psychiatrist is more purposeful than writing music, in many ways it isn’t, because a lot of people take a great deal of comfort from music. I know I do. It’s very much a therapeutic thing, not only for me. If [people] let it into their ears, that is all I can ask for. And if they think about it afterwards or during it, that is even more fantastic. There are so many writers and so many messages, to be chosen out of all of them is something very special. The messages are things that maybe could help people, like observing the situation where an emotional game is being played, and maybe making people think about it again.”
It was March 1978 when Kate Bush said those things.
“Stand By Your Mantra”, Classic Rock magazine, December 2005

After speaking to Kris Needs for over 90 minutes, KaTe said “It’s like two psychiatrists talking” (ZigZag, 1980) – a somewhat strange comparison to make! Kate’s father, Dr Bush, became a GP in Bexley. So maybe he was also a psychiatrist. And if both KaTe’s parents were involved in psychiatric services, no wonder KaTe had an ambition to become a psychiatrist or to write songs like Babooshka, The Infant Kiss, Get Out Of My House, Mother Stands For Comfort, etc. 😎

Q: Would you make a good therapist?
KB: “I really don’t know. When I was little, I really wanted to be a psychiatrist. That’s what I always said at school. I had this idea of helping people, I suppose, but I found the idea of people’s inner psychology fascinating, particularly in my teens. Mind you, it’s probably just as well I didn’t become one. I would have driven all these people to madness. I’m better off just fiddling around in studios… Having said that, I think some of my lyrics were just, well, mad, really. And why not! … ”
Q: You wouldn’t make a good Lady Macbeth?
KB: “Lady Macbeth? (Laughs) No. To tell you the truth, I’m not that intrigued by acting. If someone offered me something really interesting, especially someone I admired, I’d do it because I’d be crazy not to. But I’m no actress. I don’t have the talent or the temperament.”
Q, “Booze, Fags, Blokes And Me”, December 1993


Famous patients include Josef Hassid (a Polish violin prodigy), Ronnie Kray (one of the Kray twins) and George Pelham (a man who survived the sinking of two ships, including the RMS Titanic).

KB: “I’d rather hang on to madness than normality…”
Record Mirror, “The Shock of the New” (1981)

Josef Hassid was a Polish violinist. He was noted for his intense vibrato and temperament, causing Fritz Kreisler to say “A Heifetz violinist comes around every 100 years, a Hassid every 200.” Furthermore pianist Gerard Moore called him “possibly the most incandescent prodigy after perhaps Yehudi Menuhin.” He received an honorary diploma in the 1935 Henryk Wieniawski Violin Competition in Warsaw and traveled to London in 1938 with his father, since his mother had died when Hassid was young. However, the start of World War II prevented their return to Poland. He performed in London, where he suffered from a memory lapse while playing the Tchaikovsky Concerto in Queen’s Hall. He was first placed in a psychiatric hospital in 1941 after suffering from a nervous breakdown at the age of 18. He was admitted again in 1943 and was diagnosed with acute schizophrenia. He was lobotomised in late 1950 and died at the age of 26. Josef Hassid was one of several prodigies whose brilliant careers were short lived. Bruno Monsaingeon’s The Art of Violin commemorates Hassid.

Kate Bush has just done the Daily Express. Now it’s me…But no way does she just press her nose and gush out the conveyor-belt niceties. We talk for over 90 minutes, touching all manner of subjects in an enthusiastic flow. Quite deep at times–“It’s like two psychiatrists talking,” she said after…
ZigZag, “Fire in the Bush” 1980(?)

Ronnie Kray was diagnosed as insane in 1958. He was placed in a straitjacket and sent to Long Grove mental hospital. Ronnie didn’t stay for long as he and his brother hatched an elaborate escape plan. Reggie visited his brother and wore identical clothes (they were identical twins too) and when a member of staff went to fetch some tea they simply swapped places and Ronnie walked out as ‘Reggie’ and remained on the run for 5 months.

“I think you’re all completely mad, and thank you very much.”
~ Kate Bush to her fans.

George Pelham survived the sinking of RMS Titanic, but suffered a breakdown. On 22nd January, 1935 he was admitted to Horton Psychiatric Hospital, Epsom, Surrey. On 28th August, 1939 he was transferred from Horton Hospital probably because of the outbreak of World War Two, when Horton Hospital became a general hospital serving the armed forces. He was admitted on that day to Long Grove Psychiatric Hospital, Epsom, Surrey and died there 42 days later at 1 am on the 9th October, 1939.

see more:
Long Grove Hospital Pictures

Desert Island Discs: Kirsty Young’s castaway this week is the stand-up comedian Jo Brand. Her first career was as a psychiatric nurse – and for several years she would spend the day working in a psychiatric unit before appearing at a comedy club in the evening. Both careers demand an ability to be calm in extreme situations and to display a confidence that is often not felt.

Jo Brand’s Favorite Piece of Music: Oh England, My Lionheart by Kate Bush

Desert Island Discs: 18 March 2007

Lets Be Happy

Rhiagh showed me this. Its Great


It all began in June 2009, there was an upgrade, It ended in December 2009



4 Eva


The Story of My Life and welcome to it.
Flat Fact: Have to share this. Its about skiing. I haven’t been skiing for ages. I was 21 my girlfriend was 20, Hiya Jill Billard, still luvya. We were engaged and had been saving, in our bottom draw. I said to Jill, “I know, lets go skiing with our bottom drawer money!”. It took a while. But I talked her round. The idea of 10 days in a beautiful hotel, in the snow, the mountains, a double room, A DOUBLE BED…well she couldn’t say no. It cost a fortune, we bought all our own gear, only hired boots and skis.

We went to five travel agents, not one would give us a double room. we weren’t married you see. Well long story short, we lied. We flew off to Westendorf via Innsbruck. Wow, Wow and Wow. It was so beautiful, it was dark but everything was white. OMG. Our hotel was a dream, our double room was lovely, OUR DOUBLE BED promised heaven covered with giant fluffy clouds. (I later learned that they were called Duvets, but imagine your duvet on your bed, triple it in thickness with goose feathers, I called em clouds). We cuddled, we fooled around a bit, we slept.

The next day. I got up.The sun was rising. I was 20, never seen mountains before, I realised I’d never seen snow before either not sure I’d seen a blue sky before either. I walked out on to the Balcony. “Wow its full of Christmas trees and huge, giant touching-the-sky pointy rocks, my nose hairs are freezing” That’s what I remember. Shook Jill awake. Took a shower. Got dressed and looked in the mirror. “Oh, so this is what looking “cool” means” and my mothers hand-knitted, pure white with different browns circling the neck , one-of-a-kind, fair isle sweater suggested “supa cool”.

long story short: Have you been skiing? No? Go, before you die, once you have been you will be able to ride a motor cycle and turn it without moving the handlebars. You will be wearing your sunglasses, you always have a pair.

After 3 days, Jill is struggling…”But Phil we have another 4 days of nursery school….we’ve paid for all the lessons…” …”Fuck that, I’m going to the top of the mountain.” ooo ow shit jesus help christ no-way stupid chair lift omg its so beautiful nobody-saw-me-skiing-so… I drink hot chocolate with all my skiiing buddies looking pretty damn fine in the lodge high up in the mountains. The sun blazes, the sky is deep blue “and we are wearing sunglasses” Check the schedule. What time is the first lift? What time does it get dark?

Day 6. “Hey Jill, there is a sleigh ride tonight and its a full moon, lets go.” “Won’t you be too tired? All you do is ski and sleep” We went. Now you know why I like running in Grid Rock when the moons are high in the sky. It’s Mono Chrome. Like under a full moon, high up in the mountains of Austria with 10 foot snowdrifts. Some people were skiing. They were wearing sunglasses, polaroids. O btw I discovered what sparkling was, and added “glistening” to my vocabulary.

The blue run was a disaster. Nearly killed myself, thank god halfway to the nearest village (it wasn’t mine) I found a road. It was dark. I took off my sunglasses.

LTS : We made love once. We broke up three months later. My favourite windows 7 theme is the Ducatti . I am not wearing my sunglasses because its 9.10 am GMT I am in my pyjamas at home, …….aahhh…. I’ll get them….


….and I’m wearing sunglasses… John Belushi Born :January 24, 1949 ~ [he was two months and two days older than me] Died: March 5, 1982 RIP

Flat Fact : On March 5, 1982, John Belushi was found dead in his hotel room at the age of 33. The local coroner gave the cause of death as a lethal injection of cocaine and heroin. Several years later, John’s drug dealing/drug user companion during his final weeks, Cathy Smith, was tried and sentenced to three years in prison for supplying John with the drugs. Close friend James Taylor sang “That Lonesome Road” at a memorial service at Martha’s Vineyard cemetery where John was buried.

One of his children invented silver iodide. Silver iodide can make it snow.

“A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.”

Kurt Vonnegut called mirrors “Leaks”. Where he came from if you were going ” to take a leak ” It meant you were going to steal a mirror. Kurt Vonnegut wore Mirrored Sunglasses.

Philip James Bryan

aka Philip Finlay-Bryan, aka pjfbncyl, aka Dude Starship,

The Bog of Allen, Sunday 27th December 2009

if you would like a signed copy of the above please click here for $5.95 $1.95c

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