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      CommentAuthorAlan Tyson
    • CommentTimeMay 22nd 2012
    No worries!
  1.  (467.742)


    oh. we are skyping now too.
    • CommentTimeJul 4th 2012
    Whitechapel chat is being taken over by prehensile venomous sheep.

    Also a wild applause appeared. Not sure if these events are related to Higgs Boson particle(s)
    • CommentTimeJul 4th 2012
    • CommentTimeJul 8th 2012 edited
    So, we just had a brain-communion session that would make the Great Spirits of Whitechapel proud. Hideous beasties were invoked, and the drums of weird things were given a good beating.

    A log of this burbling insanity can be found here:

    EDIT: This whole thing was inspired by this:
    • CommentTimeJul 8th 2012
    • CommentAuthorales kot
    • CommentTimeJul 9th 2012 edited
    I propose we all chat about:

    "I believe in the power of the imagination to remake the world, to release the truth within us, to hold back the night, to transcend death, to charm motorways, to ingratiate ourselves with birds, to enlist the confidences of madmen.

    I believe in my own obsessions, in the beauty of the car crash, in the peace of the submerged forest, in the excitements of the deserted holiday beach, in the elegance of automobile graveyards, in the mystery of multi-storey car parks, in the poetry of abandoned hotels.

    I believe in the forgotten runways of Wake Island, pointing towards the Pacifics of our imaginations.

    I believe in the mysterious beauty of Margaret Thatcher, in the arch of her nostrils and the sheen on her lower lip; in the melancholy of wounded Argentine conscripts; in the haunted smiles of filling station personnel; in my dream of Margaret Thatcher caressed by that young Argentine soldier in a forgotten motel watched by a tubercular filling station attendant.

    I believe in the beauty of all women, in the treachery of their imaginations, so close to my heart; in the junction of their disenchanted bodies with the enchanted chromium rails of supermarket counters; in their warm tolerance of my perversions.

    I believe in the death of tomorrow, in the exhaustion of time, in our search for a new time within the smiles of auto-route waitresses and the tired eyes of air-traffic controllers at out-of-season airports.

    I believe in the genital organs of great men and women, in the body postures of Ronald Reagan, Margaret Thatcher and Princess Di, in the sweet odors emanating from their lips as they regard the cameras of the entire world.

    I believe in madness, in the truth of the inexplicable, in the common sense of stones, in the lunacy of flowers, in the disease stored up for the human race by the Apollo astronauts.

    I believe in nothing.

    I believe in Max Ernst, Delvaux, Dali, Titian, Goya, Leonardo, Vermeer, Chirico, Magritte, Redon, Duerer, Tanguy, the Facteur Cheval, the Watts Towers, Boecklin, Francis Bacon, and all the invisible artists within the psychiatric institutions of the planet.

    I believe in the impossibility of existence, in the humour of mountains, in the absurdity of electromagnetism, in the farce of geometry, in the cruelty of arithmetic, in the murderous intent of logic.

    I believe in adolescent women, in their corruption by their own leg stances, in the purity of their disheveled bodies, in the traces of their pudenda left in the bathrooms of shabby motels.

    I believe in flight, in the beauty of the wing, and in the beauty of everything that has ever flown, in the stone thrown by a small child that carries with it the wisdom of statesmen and midwives.

    I believe in the gentleness of the surgeon’s knife, in the limitless geometry of the cinema screen, in the hidden universe within supermarkets, in the loneliness of the sun, in the garrulousness of planets, in the repetitiveness or ourselves, in the inexistence of the universe and the boredom of the atom.

    I believe in the light cast by video-recorders in department store windows, in the messianic insights of the radiator grilles of showroom automobiles, in the elegance of the oil stains on the engine nacelles of 747s parked on airport tarmacs.

    I believe in the non-existence of the past, in the death of the future, and the infinite possibilities of the present.

    I believe in the derangement of the senses: in Rimbaud, William Burroughs, Huysmans, Genet, Celine, Swift, Defoe, Carroll, Coleridge, Kafka.

    I believe in the designers of the Pyramids, the Empire State Building, the Berlin Fuehrerbunker, the Wake Island runways.

    I believe in the body odors of Princess Di.

    I believe in the next five minutes.

    I believe in the history of my feet.

    I believe in migraines, the boredom of afternoons, the fear of calendars, the treachery of clocks.

    I believe in anxiety, psychosis and despair.

    I believe in the perversions, in the infatuations with trees, princesses, prime ministers, derelict filling stations (more beautiful than the Taj Mahal), clouds and birds.

    I believe in the death of the emotions and the triumph of the imagination.

    I believe in Tokyo, Benidorm, La Grande Motte, Wake Island, Eniwetok, Dealey Plaza.

    I believe in alcoholism, venereal disease, fever and exhaustion.

    I believe in pain.

    I believe in despair.

    I believe in all children.

    I believe in maps, diagrams, codes, chess-games, puzzles, airline timetables, airport indicator signs.

    I believe all excuses.

    I believe all reasons.

    I believe all hallucinations.

    I believe all anger.

    I believe all mythologies, memories, lies, fantasies, evasions.

    I believe in the mystery and melancholy of a hand, in the kindness of trees, in the wisdom of light."

    And since someone mentioned Higgs Boson, here's a quote from this interview I did with Bleeding Cool that went online today:

    That reminds me of something I read today – do you know why is Higgs Boson called “the God Particle”? It comes from a title of a book by this important physicist, Leon Lederman, whose title was “The Goddamn Particle”, because he was frustrated with trying to nail the Higgs Boson. His publisher thought that “Goddamn” would be offensive, so they changed it to “God”.
    • CommentTimeJul 9th 2012 edited
    Ales, you have a thread for WILD CHILDREN as well as another thread to advertise in, post your stuff there. I know you want people to read it and I'm excited for it too, but come on now. Have replaced the image with PG Wodehouse's short story "The Secret Pleasures of Reginald".
    • CommentAuthorales kot
    • CommentTimeJul 9th 2012
    What's so bad about love and peace and understanding?

    Have replaced 'The Secret Pleasures of Reginald' with J.G. Ballard's 'What I Believe'.
    • CommentTimeJul 9th 2012
    A fair compromise. Wodehouse isn't for everybody.
    • CommentAuthorales kot
    • CommentTimeJul 9th 2012
    Nah, I loved the story - I just preferred something less in-your-face, because, after all, it's just a fucking chat room.
    • CommentTimeJul 9th 2012
    hahahaha sure.
  2.  (467.753)
    I'm curious as to what's been happening as of late in the Apartment of Horror or whatever it's being called :)
    And if anyone will be up to a skype tomorrow night? (wed evening).
    • CommentTimeJul 10th 2012
    The eldritch apartment is still a horrific mess. Concept art has happened. \o/

    Skype would be cool. GMT Amsterdam though, so may be short depending on when the skype starts. :)
    • CommentTimeJul 11th 2012
  3.  (467.756)
    Need to add lock-squid to the apartment of horrors creatures list.
  4.  (467.757)
    Do we have a wiki or something for the apartment of horror?
    • CommentTimeJul 13th 2012
    not yet. Going to make one. Checking in with chatroom about the how and where. :)
    • CommentTimeJul 16th 2012
    Goddamn it, we are having another big Skype night, and it's gonna be next week. It's been way too long.

    What nights would work best for everyone? The only night I can't do it Thursday.
  5.  (467.760)
    Don't know what my days off will be next weeek, but Tues/Wed would probably work for me.