The Prankster of the Cosmos

The bus is late on your first day at work.
"Common but fun," he says with a smirk.
A drawer full spoons when you want to cut bread.
"It isn't ironic, it was me instead."
A broken lace when you're in a rush.
"I love that one." His voice but a hush.
"You try and you squirm and you rush to and fro.
You make it so easy, don't you know."
Then he dances and glides and away he does fly.
His reason for being? We just can't say why.
He strikes when he wants and his word is law.
Whatever we do he always has more.
Be he a devil? A force? Or a god?
We just can't escape that mischievous Sod.


Fate, such as it is, can often times be a funny thing. Barely a week living in my new home and I discover a friend of a friend has moved in next door. A happy little coincidence. Now when I say funny I don't particularly mean humorous; I tend to find lots of things funny in a interestingly odd way. Rather than get angry or startled over some things, I get curious as to why they happened at all. Sods Law being the best example of this sort of thing. So it was that the mischievous being known as Sod got up to his old tricks again.

A month to the day of signing for my house keys and living it up in what my flatmate and I have dubbed Tall Tale Tower, Sod zipped in and sucker punched me. Rent, bills, food, personal savings, all this hinges on getting the regular wage. A hinge that broke when I got laid off from work. A month to the day.

It amused me.

 While my colleagues got suitably riled up over losing out on work, I remained perfectly calm and attempted to hide the kink in my lip so as not to smile crookedly as their and my financial security was swiftly floored like a Jenga tower. It's not that it was a surprise, since anyone who lives on top of rocks instead of under them knows how poorly the economy is doing and all that nonsense. It amused me that such a thing would happen at the moment my earnings took on an importance beyond "What do I want to buy next?"
Just like how a thing breaks the day after the warranty runs out, or how you always see that damn sock yet it vanishes when you try to pair it up, Sod, fate, chance, call it what you will, is far more amusing than irritating.

I'm Back! My Back!

*gasp* Wait! *pant pant* I'm...I'm here. *deep breath*

Delays. Lateness. While there's most likely a cream for that, I do have something in the vague shape of an excuse. You see just over two weeks ago I took the next step in this whole growing up nonsense and moved out of my parents' house. Sure I once did the same thing at university but any student will tell you that it's a completely different scenario. Why does a change in location warrant blogosite neglect, you ask? It doesn't really, but up until a few days ago the flat (that's an apartment to you colony-folk) was without access to the webway. Shock! Horror! I couldn't social network. I couldn't watch videos of cats. I couldn't read my e-mails from a Nigerian prince. The world became a bleak and horrid place. Survival in this harsh wasteland of reality was an arduous experience at best. Every time I opened a door and was not greeted with an advert for online poker or some other less than savoury pop-up, I didn't know how to react. The postman was less than happy upon my enquiry into the quality of his spam-filter and muttered something about Sue-ing. I don't know who Sue is but she's probably a lovely person.
 The internet is in my home now and will continue to be as long as me and my room/house/flatmate feed it monies on a regular basis. The extra bonus to moving? New neighbourhood! New experiences! All this amounts to finding things to inspire new thoughts, musings, rhymes, ramblings and adventures to write about. The first of which was going to be right here and filled with pictures of wonderful people in amazing costumes being wonderfully amazing. I planned on heading to Thought Bubble, you see. The annual comic convention in Leeds was this weekend and I was going to dash through and get very trigger happy with my camera, until dark forces conspired against me and through some ancient magicks and vile curses, a muscle was pulled in my back, thus rendering extended periods of movement stupidly painful. Now it will be a whole year before that plan is hatched. But don't you worry, the muscle is on the mend and I'll be back to thwarting villains and upholding truth and justice sitting around trying to amuse strangers with words.

Stay sexy!

Phat Fatties

Do you have a pet? I do. He's awesome. A one dog wonder! Josh is loud when he wants to be and quiet at any other time. He's also a little fat.
A fat pet can fall into two categories; overfed and spoilt. He is most definitely spoilt. Now spoilt pets are those who live the best lives, never wanting for anything be it food, toys or affection. They're tended to 24/7 and generally get fat because we care and it is all too easy to slip them a treat now and then. They're the furred, feathered and scaled image of Western society. The best example of this is any time your pet has been looked after by a family member who shares in your insanity. Whenever my dog is watched over by my grandmother I can guarantee he will return somewhat heavier than when he left. His time at her house is like going on a meat-tasting holiday. I'm talking fresh meat, cooked and served to him. The dog eats better than I do. It seems to be a common practice as well with my sister's dog gaining several pounds upon moving in with her boyfriend. Our very own Abbie has a fat pet too. A cat. Now rounder than ever. He's kind of more pinata than cat.

Overfed pets though, now they are another story. I don't quite know for sure but from what I can tell animals will eat their fill and then some. You ever heard an animal say "Ooh, you know what? I think I'll stop there. That last biscuit will go straight to my thighs." ? No, of course not. The very idea is ludicrous! Overfed pets are a cause for anger amongst animal lovers (the affectionate kind not the physical) because it's more than likely the animal is suffering. We've all seen pictures of rotund cats and dogs, their owners smiling with glee because their neglect has garnered them 5 minutes of fame while the animal in their arms has lost years of their life.
You can probably tell that any harm towards an animal ruffles my feathers (pun completely intended). I have been known to switch into a state of rage upon seeing a dog locked in a car on a hot day with the windows shut tight. Whether this has something to do with me looking something akin to a disco gorilla, all hairy with the occasional afro, I have no idea, but writing that sentence has just given me my next Halloween costume idea. No I'm afraid you people with obese pets need a good roundhouse to the face and the same goes for people who dress them up in things. Our pets are great, sure, they're funny, cute, puzzling and more often than not the thing that brightens our day up. Yes they're phat. But they don't have to be fat.


And now, Abbie weighs in. (Weighs in...'geddit? I'm frickin' hilarious!)


Abbie
"Ah, Norman. What can I say about Norman? We got him just about a year ago now as a tiny kitten from the RSPCA, and as stated, he was incredibly tiny. Granted, after neutering a pet there are some general cases of weight gain and whatnot…but for the love of GOD! How have you gotten THIS big?! We’ve never made any drastic changes to your meal, brand-wise or portion-wise, and try to play with you whenever you aren’t sleeping or eating or farting in a ghastly manner. Have we been doing something wrong?

Actually, no, we haven’t…you see, ladies and gentlemen of the internet, Norman has come across the old lady that lives over the fence at the back of our garden…and she is a ‘cat lady’. He has been tempted in by big portions and promises of nibbles during every visit. Since Norman has started popping that way on his little afternoon-ly adventures, he has been putting on the podge. Where once he was slim, lithe, and generally quite athletic before, he now waddles when he walks. He isn’t in an extreme case of weight gain, but noticeably, he has gotten much, much tubbier.

Safe to say, my mother and I are feeling betrayed…how could he just disregard our love like that and go to another woman?!!?

I’m off to drown my sorrows in a bucket of ice cream…"

Strange and Wonderful

"That man has another man's severed arm stuffed down his throat."

That was just one of the figures portrayed in a two-page spread at the beginning of the comic. It only got better from there.

 I'm not normally a fan of the ultra-violent, but the funny pages do it so much better than the movies. This is no more evident than in the hit new series The Strange Talent of Luther Strode. Only two issues in of a promised 6 issue story, the comic is already making a name for it's creators. And I'm already praying to the mighty geek gods for more from this series. Written, drawn and coloured by Justin Jordan, Tradd Moore and Felipe Sobreiro respectively, the story centres on scrawny, bespectacled teenager Luther Strode who upon the ordering of a fitness book, The Hercules Method, gets what he paid for and then some when he develops muscles, reflexes and abilities that rival the big name heroes from other publishers. Suddenly the cliché becomes a reality for Luther as all eyes turn to him along with that of a cute girl...and some with a more sinister gaze.

The cover drew me in way before the synopsis.

 Arriving from Image Comics who are fast becoming a fresh story goldmine, I was blown away by the quality of the book from the get go. The writing is spot on, giving you hints of back-story that seem to flow naturally from the conversations and make the characters seem believable. Information isn't forced down your throat (like severed limbs) and leaves enough mystery to satisfy you until the next hit. With the gorefest that is the opening pages set in the present, the story leaps back to when Luther Strode had just received his fitness book that had me begging to know how he got from there to playing here-comes-the-aeroplane with another man's arm. Justin Jordan couldn't have a better big debut than this and has hinted to future stories that I'm sure will eat my money before it knows what happened.
 The art is a treat to look at as well. Fantastically designed characters and environments that Tradd Moore has somehow managed to make both simple at first glance, yet filled with little details upon closer inspection. From tight profile shots to room-wide views. This is all brought to a high by the colours of Felipe Sobreiro, who makes the characters pop out of each panel and instils each page with life. Before I even knew what the story was about (and I'm a glutton for a good story) I was drawn to the book by the cover alone; a testament to the skill of Moore and Sobreiro.

The first issue has already gone in for a second printing as everyone hungrily snaps up each one. With an aim to appease fans of superheroics, old-school slasher flicks or just plain ol'fun, this series is well on it's way to doing just that. No doubt there are some suits in Hollywood ready to get into a bidding war over the movie rights. I can't recommend this enough. Available in both printed and digital formats, there's no excuse for not giving The Strange Talent of Luther Strode a try. Well, unless you have an arm in your throat.



For more details visit www.thestrangetalentoflutherstrode.com

Let Me Illustrate The Point

Posh Internet Gentleman #1: I say! What the devil is that hovering in the ether there above us?

Posh Internet Gentleman #2: Why I do believe it is a new title banner.

Posh Internet Gentleman #1: New title banner? With an image?

Posh Internet Gentleman #2: The very same. Spiffing, what.

Posh Internet Gentleman #1: Yes. Bully!


If the seeing-balls in your head haven't given it away, then those fine gentleman probably have. Yes readers that is a shiny, new title banner. How new? Brand spanking new!
As some of you more long-term readers may know (aka Team Superfly) I have dabbled with a doodle now and then. What's more you'll know that I lack the necessary skill and fancy-pants beret to be an artist. So where did this quality doodle originate from? What magics did I invoke to acquire such talent? Well let me tell you a little story. It all started in a rain soaked field in Derby...

...I awoke to stale air and a mesh cocoon. To my half open eyes and constricted limbs my world was naught but misty lime green. Gradually I unzipped my sleeping bag as the interior of my tent came into focus. Download Festival 2011 was in full swing all around me as the muffled laughs and greetings seeped into my fabric room in the field. The pocket of space I inhabited was quickly heating up in the morning sun, prompting me to scrabble for the doorway amidst my strewn belongings. The surrounding grass my friend and I had tried so hard to defend in favour of our friends had quickly become a nesting ground for more of the tent creatures. All ropes and striking colours. So much for that plan. Little did I know that my fellow defender had gifted some space to friends of his while I drifted amongst the crowds  the night before. To my immediate right stood a tent containing two bodies I would spend the rest of the weekend with. Reciting internet jokes (because that's how we roll) between band sets in the arena and swapping stories.
Soon after Download had ended the wonderful world of the book of faces kept me in contact with them. Soon after that one of them showed me what they could do with a pen and paper. Even now she adds drawings and sketches to the internet that make me and a mass of others chuckle. Being the evil genius that I am, I swiftly kidnapped her talent for my own use.

Ladies and gentlegeeks of the world wide web, it is with great pleasure that I introduce to you the new illustrator for My Mind Wanders. The doodling, zombie-killing, goth-living, snuggie-wearing girl of the hour, Miss Abbie Rial!

Abbie is going to be adding some much needed colour and style to kabamf.com by way of pictures to accompany the odd post. I'll spin the words and she'll dish out some magic with her pens. For now I'll leave it to her to explain a bit more about herself.

Abbie
"Now then, me lovelies! I’m Abbie, 19 years young, and I’m an Animation Student. Illustration has always been my passion, ever since I was a wee nipper, and I love coming up with, and drawing, Graphic Novels and short comics in my spare time. Mr. Kabamf and I met at Download 2011, amidst the legend that was: Black Camp: Camp Titty-kaka (A.K.A. Camp Coors Light, Nascar, Billy-Bob, LYNYRD SKYNYRD, HOOOOO-WEEEEEE!). He and our mate Rich rescued me and the other half from certain booze related trolley breaking disaster. Since then, I have forever become his sister-mother-cousin-yee-haw. Good times shall be had here, and I hope you enjoy my nonsensical doodles!"


So stay tuned you net surfers, you blog readers, you movers and shakers all. The fastest pen in the North is in town. (I'm not kidding either; that title banner was drawn up and scanned in about 5 minutes!)

Normal? Says Who?

What up, web-net? You good? Good.

There has been an article making the rounds on book of faces. An article that could well be poking a sleeping giant. An article many consider to be somewhat...controversial.
Now there are plenty of ways to go about dissecting what was said; the middle-class ramblings of someone still stuck in the past, the naive counter-argument of a young girl, the fact that something like this is even news worthy. The article draws a clear line in the sand and people have planted themselves firmly on either side. It came to my attention by way of the Download Festival group who for obvious reasons was angered by it and in turn have spread the article to tens of thousands of like-minded people, most of which probably have a new enemy in the media world. My personal opinion? I don't see what all the fuss is about. I can understand why a mother would be shocked and disgruntled over the dying of one's hair and the modification of one's body, just as I can understand why a teenager would want their mother to cede control over them. I for one have no tattoos, nor piercings, nor dyed hair and yet I am a fan of metal bands and the rock and/or roll genre. Were I to shave my trusty goatee into oblivion then that fact would be as elusive as Tom Cruise's sanity (ooh, more controversy). I don't have a problem with any of those things and truth be told it is more than likely fear that has stopped me from partaking in them. The small town in which I grew up doesn't have much in the way of sub-culture entertainment and neither of my parents nor any other member of my family, extended or otherwise, listen to the music that apparently causes this so-called rebellion. My father has tattoos and a pierced ear and when he sits down to listen to music you hear the sounds of the Rat Pack or motown drifting from the speakers, and if memory serves, Ol'Blue Eyes wasn't exactly the original metalhead.
You can probably tell by now that I'm leaning more towards the 'WTF, lady?' side of the argument than the 'Yes yes, kids these days' side. This apparent "normal" sense of dress that apparently is held for those of us who do not wish to shock and awe the masses has next to nothing to do with someone's personality as the writer makes a point of stating. There's that saying about books and covers that we all know, sure, but experience tells me more than an old idiom. The people I have met who dye their hair unnatural hues, stick shaped metal into bits of their bodies and dress in baggy, outrageous or scruffy looking clothing happen to be some of the nicest and most welcoming people I have had the pleasure of meeting. It's most likely safe to say that the judgement of their clothes and tastes has led to them being so open to others; if some of the world doesn't want you then "your own kind" will (a phrase I loathe to use). That isn't to say every metal fan and rocker are gems in their own rights. Anyone with half a brain knows there are more than enough arseholes populating the planet to find their way into any group, social, racial, religious of miscellaneous. The fact is the mother repeats over and over how beautiful her daughter is on the inside, how she has a "sweet, dreamy personality". With what seems to be hatred and disgust for something that's different, I'd say it's the mother that is lacking beauty on the inside. Were there less people like that around then perhaps I would have engaged in the "skin mutilations" that are increasingly common. Perhaps not. That choice is kept inside a cage made from fear of judgement.
Admittedly the daughter's response is intelligently worded and well argued up until the final two words "butt out", making her sound somewhat like a petulant child. The sounder arguments for her case can be found in the comments beneath the article. The point of the mother also has its own defenders, though some anger me a great deal, but then, I am bias in this regard.
In the end should this really be something in a major newspaper? Aren't there things going on in other parts of the country and planet slightly more interesting than the distress some "teenage rebellion" is causing between a mother and daughter who care for one another regardless? Or am I not being "normal"?

Merry October!

There is Christmas stuff on store shelves. It is not even mid-October! Halloween hasn't even had a chance yet, leaves have barely begun to turn and fall from their lofty perch, and Santa chocolates are being thrust in my face (at least unwrap them first and allow me to open my mouth). Don't get me wrong, I'm all for the holly-jolly season, but this is just...just...I don't know what it is! See my overuse of exclamation marks? That's how dumbstruck I am by these foolish goings on. Now when I see these things I become all too aware that I can't play my Christmas music yet. Jazz Christmas music. Yeah you read that right. JAZZ. You tease me high street shops and not in the good way.

Flashback! Free Track!

Remember that band I mentioned a wee while back? Those boys that Talk In Code? Well their first track is now available for your listening purposes. Best of all? It's free! You don't pay a penny. Nothing. Zilch. Nil. All you have to do is download it and you have a shiny new song from a shiny new band to enjoy.
Well? What are you waiting for? Get to it!

Business Pants!

Being the super-professional that I am, what with my business jeans and trainers look conveying the image of a man so professional he can afford to look lazy, I put out a small survey to certain individuals that basically asked "Yo dawg, this blog is tight! But could it be tighter?"

Note the intricate detail on the trainers and fastening.

The response amused me, all the while inflating my ego, as is the benefit of asking close friends for their opinion on something in a way a small puppy would ask if it were ugly (the answer is no). Regardless, something came to my attention; there aren't enough pictures. To date my blogosite is an almost impenetrable wall of text that, while effective at keeping invaders a bay, appeals less to the TL;DR crowd (that's Too Long ; Didn't Read for those not in the know). The answer to this is quite simple; use more images. I have a camera, it could be used to catalogue the outside world so you never have to leave the comfort of your home or, gods forbid, fully dress yourself. Is that what you want? For me to get my camera? Because heaven help you if I find it!
In conclusion, the foreseeable future may well contain my efforts to hurl images into your eyes at the speed of light. You have been warned!


BONUS: This month has seen a nice boom in traffic and has made it the most successful month ever! Thanks to all those who tune in and extra thanks to those over the pond in the colonies, who are creeping up on the number one traffic source spot. You hear that UK? The USA is after your belt. What you gonna do about it?

Pop Culture

Another quickest of quick posts. I'll try not to make a habit out of it or it will seem like I'm just using your time for my own benefit. Which is just silly of course. Ludicrous even!

So on one of my daily trips to The Awesomer (yes daily because it's that awesome) I was introduced to a certain video to a certain song. The problem however is that there is no sound on my office computer, "No matter," I thought to myself, "I'll get around to it at some other point at home." On I went. Time did that old passing thing it so loves to do and I found myself at home scouring the interweb for things to amuse me that weren't more cat videos. A few clicks later and there was that video. Around 20 minutes later I decided to stop watching and listening to it. Was I bored with it? Was it simply too long? Far from it. The video itself is just under 4 minutes in length and I had watched it on repeat since it began. In simple terms, it blew me away. The music, the dancing, the sheer spectacle of it! As soon as it was possible the song was sitting on my library playlist ready to be repeated at will.
It is in fact a music video of sorts but not to just any song, no nothing as simple as that. It is a music video to a song made up from 39 other songs. 39! To make things even more impressive, the creator of this wonderful piece of sound is only 17 years of age. Talk about putting your achievements in perspective or what. He goes by Madeon. The song goes by Pop Culture. And I'm going to watch it again. Enjoy.

(Psst! Down here! I spoke to the elves and they should have fixed the commenting system so you don't need to sign into anything if you don't want in order to...well, comment. Please do or all their hard work will be for naught. Those bytes, mega or otherwise, are heavy to tiny imaginary folk don'tcha know.)

Talk In Code

What do you get when you mix a little rock, some dance, good beats, clear vocals and catchy tunes? Talk In Code, the fresh new band from down South with a sound that seems stadium-ready. A five-piece consisting of the usual bass, guitar, drums and vocals only with the added electronics of the synthesizer, this group of lads hailing from Swindon have a single coming out at the end of the month that I can't wait for everyone to hear. I was personally treated to some tracks and I can already hear them playing to a crowd. The track Another Reason is my favourite of the samples available at their page on a certain social network and is the best example of what these boys can do. Give them a listen and if you're so inclined, a like, because with more likes to the page, their single gets brought forward a day. What have you got to lose? It's just a little click.

John and Jane Doe, Come On Down!

Names. If there is one thing truly difficult for me to remember, then it is undoubtedly names. That and birthdays that are not my own. Unless there is something altogether different, unusual or just plain memorable about either the name/nickname (Stitch, Puddles, +1 II, Download Festival 2010), the event surrounding the introduction (JW and BS, Mystery Google Mission 2009) or the individual, then my mind becomes a chasm for that name to fall down. It's a common failing no doubt and for some it's faces that give them the very same problem. Then for the unlucky few it's both. To counter this, when I wish to get the attention of one of the nameless or to greet them, I raid what little I do remember for ways to address folk. The resulting 'names' I give are simple; mate, dude, darling, love. This is effective so long as people (read: fools) don't name their offspring anything that is a form of social address, and, lets face it, when 'Frankly' is on a birth certificate then we can't be too far off.

Masterpiece courtesy of office computer.

  The issue here though isn't that my mind is how the French say, le shite, it's that I lose contact with people so easily. With the dawning of the social network and the almighty Google (long may he reign) it is no trouble to find people in order to continue the pressing argument of which Lethal Weapon Mel 'sugar-tits' Gibson lost his mullet in. But when you can't remember their name or at the very least their full name, it becomes next to impossible and thus you lose contact with someone quite possibly forever. A spin on this is trying to find old school friends whose surnames have changed due to a marriage. Or perhaps the very spelling of their name eludes you. The number of times my friends and I have returned from a festival, bodies deprived of sleep and saturated with enough bad food and alcohol to kill Elvis all over again, only to realise we don't remember the names of any of the amazing people we met, are all too common an occurrence.
  Recently I found myself wanting to reconnect with friends that have long been absent from my life, only to find their old e-mail address or phone number had fallen by the wayside or that their surname had up and vanished from the thing inside my head. It saddens me that for all the information available to me I can't talk to them for who knows how long, some possibly ever again. Can you think of 5 people right now who you haven't spoken to in some time? Can you readily contact each one of them? Would you want to? Unfortunately for my lost and found I am a persistent one in these regards and shall endeavour to bring them back into the fold.
  The poor buggers never stood a chance.

The Leader of Rings

"Roll up, roll up!"
The be-hatted man calls. White gloved hands shining in the spotlight.
The leader of rings is his name, spectacle and wonder is his game.
With a point of his cane the limelight shifts
And in from the curtain come those with gifts.
Fire and knives, heat and sharp edge.
Men as strong as the colours are bright.
Raggedy clowns with great big red noses.
Contorting girls striking unusual poses.
Sparkling assistants all feathers and sequins.
Pale ghosts spinning in the ether.
"Do not be afraid, but amazed instead!
Filled with awe and not with dread."
A swish of his tails, a stamp of his boot,
And silence befalls the audience.
He whispers so softly, smile creasing the makeup,
"I beckon you now; roll up, roll up."



There is a circus in my town. An honest to goodness, tent-raising, act-performing, circus. And a camel.
 Now as quaint as my nook of Yorkshire is compared to other cities, we do get some shows passing through now and then and sometimes they happen to be of the big-top brotherhood. Luckily for me, these travelling performers set up camp in a field I pass daily on my walk to and from work (I blog and I work, how does he do it?) and so in the mere moments we cross paths I get to peek into their lives; the lives of the latter-day jesters and bards. I for one have never been to a circus. Some of you may consider that to be a loss, others may not give a damn because you have cooler things to be doing or are too busy. But right now, as curious as I am as to the goings on inside that brightly coloured tent, a little part of me doesn't want to. The reason? Because in my mind that has been forever programmed by television, movies, books and stories galore, the circus is a place of wonder and magic. A place where everyone is forever in costume and going about their business while knives fly through the air, fire bursts from mouths and ghostly figures glide above heads, twisting and spinning on invisible wires. The nomads that drift in and out of town with their motley wagons, have an air of mystery about them, that I am more than sure would be eternally ruined by the truth.
 Childish? Most likely. Naive? Quite probably. Fun? You're damn right.

My gods, would I love to interview them though.

Shooting Up On Phat Beats

Okay I used some street slang, so sue me.
I've been on something of a new music binge of late; looking for new bands, musicians or albums that tickle my fancy (just where on the body is the fancy anyway?). This doesn't necessarily mean the music is new to everyone, far from it. Onwards!


The xx - I finally got around to listening to the whole self-titled album and fell in love with the sound right away. The song Intro has been in my possession for some time thanks to a certain someone and it gets listened to enough to make my abuse of other music in my possession almost criminal. The songs have a sound unto themselves and I struggle to find another artist or band to compare them to. Smooth vocals and electronic beats that are more calm and mellow than their nightclub counterparts make for a great debut album. If you haven't heard a track then hop on the information super highway and give one a go. If it piques your interest then you'll most likely enjoy the whole album.


Bitter Ruin - A gem uncovered by the ever wonderful LastFM recommendation list. Not a vastly popular band, this duo nevertheless deserves some recognition in the big, wide world. Consisting of an acoustic guitar with some quick fingers, male vocals that invoke similarities to Jonathan Rhys Meyers and female vocals that give me a Jane Horrocks vibe in their range, Bitter Ruin are the sound of noir-folk if there ever was one. Give this and this a listen and form your own opinion.


Dethklok - This quasi-imaginary band, stars of the hilarious animated show Metalocalypse, have two albums to date. I acquired the first some time ago and still find the melodic death metallers amusing when they spout lyrics like 'Do you folks like coffee? Real coffee, from the hills of Columbia' to the shred of a guitar and thump of drums. The second album is a recent acquirement though and the change is instantly noticeable. The music has found deeper comfort in epic melodies that a Viking biker might listen to on his weekly pillage, while the lyrics have moved away from the jokes and become those of a true death metal band; all aggression and violence. And still the riffs and guitar solos are something to behold. If you don't mind some fast and heavy rock music then this might be right up your street.


Hugh Laurie - As half of Fry & Laurie, the bumbling higher up to Blackadder or the ever scowling Dr. Greg House, this man already impresses the world. Somehow he has managed to do it again using that fantastic genre of music, blues. A collection of songs in the New Orleans style of blues that often can be overshadowed by the country and rock variants, Laurie has taken his own musical talent, fused it with legends in the industry from producers to musicians to singers (Tom Jones? Oh yeah) and crafted something that is everything I want from a blues album. He jokes, he acts and now he sings. You don't have to be down to listen to these blues.


Semisonic - Another band that I was fully aware of but never got around to giving them the full attention of someone who is forever flitting from subject to subject. The soundtrack to the film 10 Things I Hate About You introduced me the song F.N.T. and the joy that came with it. Some time later (years!) I managed to get a hold of the album Feeling Strangely Fine that includes the hit track Secret Smile. 90's music always did sound good to me. This is an album I can put on at almost any time. Mellow tracks, energetic tracks, feel good tracks, this is Semisonic at their best. While not for everyone, I still say give them a chance, for you might just find a track that sticks with you.


That's all from me folks!

NOTE: Please don't sue me. I'm a poor little writer with a slightly used blog and some fuzzy hair.

Who?

What kind of home is a bonnie blue box?
The home of a man as cunning as a fox.
Stolen, purloined, pilfered and thieved.
The other lords, well, they were quite peeved.
His stories and feats are hard to swallow,
But hot on his heels danger does follow.
That lonely man, that wandering god.
That one who dies and gets a new bod.
Who is his name. Or is it Smith?
To be honest and fair he's almost a myth.
As mad as a hatter and slave to no clocks,
That marvelous man and his bonnie blue box.



It's simple. But then so am I. It's also 2am. But then so am I...okay maybe I should go to sleep now.

UnPosts: Innuendo or In-your-end-o?

Blogger has just updated it's interface. Why does this matter to you readers? Well I'll tell you. In my study of the new quirks and clickables it contains, I found one that allows me to view my posts in a list. Handy. But surprisingly the list contains posts that were never posted, mysterious texts that exist as a sort of ghost writing, UnPosts. Things I had written and through some computer trickery, or my own stupidity, were lost to cyberspace. These drafts are now mine to peruse once more! And it is within these UnPosts that I discovered this little piece of writing. It cuts off mid-sentence so as to leave me even more confused about my own comings and goings than I already am. Feel free to complete it in your mind (now that is lazy writing). Enjoy!



"I don't know whether or not it's an issue with my brain, but my urge to make everyday tasks and chores sound seedy/dirty has struck again. I think it's just a way to amuse myself while I'm at work or engaging in any task that allows my thoughts to wander and get lost somewhere. Some little joke to give rise to that mischievous little snigger and grin that you never quite grow out of from the heady days of playground frolics. My inane musings aside, I couldn't help but find the idea of my dual-posts last week in one day giggle worthy;

"I just blogged all over the internet. Twice."

It tickles me. I was tickled. What being "blogged" on actually entails is probably best left to the rest of the dirty minds out there in Web-land. My immaturity is getting the best of me. And you know what? Good! I'm 23 years of age and I still find the word penis funny. Heh. Penis.
In fact, at the risk of this being read by any family members (so so sorry), I'm going to pour some more seedy jokes into this blog. Until its waters run muddy and no one can drink of it without going away with that schoolboy smirk on their faces. You'll thank me in time.

"School: Off to go into some rooms to be thoroughly educated over and over  for hours by older men and women." (Make sure to emphasise the overs when said aloud)

"You'd want some of this pasta bake. You'd be all 'Oh pasta bake you look so good! I want to put you in my mouth. I want you inside me!' and the pasta bake would be like 'Yeah baby, but you gotta get me hot first'."

It's when I get..."

Timey-Wimey

 A thousand apologies to the readers, stumblers, friends and bloggers. Almost a month to the day since I last wrote. Shameful. I started the odd post here and there but they never felt good enough. Funny enough. Poetic enough. I even sat down to write a short rhyme, yet the only topics that come to mind were things I've written about before and that just didn't seem fair to people who read my nonsense. So instead I'm going to write about a discovery I made that brings me into the modern world a bit more; Doctor Who.

 Time was (ha, time, Doctor Who, geddit?) I loathed the show. Truly hated it. The silly special effects, the stupid storylines, the cheesey acting. Some years after it aired I tried to watch the first episode when it restarted with Christopher Eccleston and Billie Piper. It was a struggle to say the least. The mannequins coming to life and the overacting just rubbed me the wrong way. How could anyone like this? I thought to myself. The sonic screwdriver that appears to do anything and the mysterious Doctor who seemed to know what to do at all times and how to do anything came across as cheap ways for the writers to make ever more fanciful adventures. Not to mention the seemingly omnipotent TaRDiS. Bomb about to go off? Sonic screwdriver. Door locked? Sonic screwdriver. Alien language? Instant translation. Things that would be cause for other shows to be critically panned as lazy writing, were somehow lauded in this show. I gave up, content that I had tried to watch the show rather than not giving it a chance. Fair is fair.
 I begun to watch Torchwood, the spin-off series, some time later. I watched it all, slowly becoming lost in the mythology of this world. Having been so entertained I resigned myself to allowing the good Doctor one more chance to amuse me.
 It was slow going, but the show didn't grate at me as it once did. Sure, I found faults with the effects, costumes and Billie Piper's character of Rose Tyler (who just seemed to have some stupid lines and thought processes). Until suddenly out of no where I began to enjoy these adventures and the people within them. The relationships that grew within single episodes were believable, as were the gradual changes in personality that the characters underwent. What I once perceived as childish and lazy became dramtic and well thought out. The ongoing story arcs slowly led on with tiny hints have brought me to believe that the writers themselves must be Time Lords, for keeping track of the twists, turns and breadcrumbs of seasons both past, present and future is a feat no mere human could undertake.
A month or so on I had become absolutely enthralled with the show, devouring episodes as fast as I could. As of this writing I am part way through seaosn 5 and my only problem now is in trying to decide which of the three Doctors I prefer; Eccleston, Tennant or Smith (I'm thinking Tennant, who just radiated such charisma and emotion in the character). Even people such as Catherine Tate who annoyed me outside of the show and in her first appearance in it, grew on me until I couldn't even remember why they bugged me in the first place. The latest Doctor and his companion have yet to wow me in any way, though I am sure that will happen eventually. Yes it has taken over half a decade for a geek to become a fan of one of the most famaous shows in science-fiction, but I can't deny it any longer; the Whoniverse has a hold on me and I am loving every minute of it.

Lord of the Domain (name)

I have news! Fetch yourself some tea before you sit down; you'll need something to spit out when I tell you otherwise you'll just look silly. Ready? Okay.

Look at the top of the page. See it? No, not there, the address bar. Your friendly neighbourhood Kabamf now comes with his very own domain name, or website if you will. Now you can spit your tea out if you haven't already. Yes, this simple blog is taking it's first steps towards becoming a full fledged website. They grow up so fast *sniff*
Over the comming months I will have some shiny new things to throw at you. Some will be pleasant while othrs will surprise you like a man dropping down from above, naked and screaming. Hopefully somewhere down the line the blog will get a shiny new design to go along with the shiny new domain name. Once again I must thank Bluebird for pushing me to set up shop in this little corner of the webnet. Writing here brings me a lot of joy and the increase in traffic over the past few months has filled me with a wonderful sense of achievement, so thank you to all the readers out there. Now I must fly, for there is evil to smite, wickedness to punish, injustice to avenge, and chocolate to devour. Util next time citizens!

Lost 'N' Found

My brain, as it so often does, decided that I should post something. Being a good boy and not wanting to anger the creature in my head I complied. I didn't, however, agree to what I would be posting and so I donned my mental headlamp and went spelunking (is it just me or does that always sound like a dirty act?) into my computer files. My first discovery was a half finished conclusion to a half finished post from some time ago. I promptly closed the window. My second find was all the more interesting though; a file titled confusingly enough as 'CAI ap bactoce'. What could this strange name be? I thought to myself. Is it in code? Or perhaps in another language? I stared at it in wonder, feeling something akin to an adventurer finding a new civilization.
The mouse moved, two clicks, and the file blazed into life. Before me was a rhyme written in my usual two line style. As I read the words a slight sense of recognition overcame me, when suddenly the reason for the curious file name stumbled from the text and slapped me across the face. Balls, I thought. This wasn't some mystery file received via the webnet that would start a chain of events involving shady government agencies, seductive spies, and one would expect a healthy amount of both ninjas and explosions. Nor was it some miracle of science that would bequeath on me fantastic powers, forcing me into some secret war. No, the reason for the words 'CAI ap bactoce' was both mundane and somewhat shameful; I was drunk. Somehow, some-when I had had arrived at my computer after engaging in that timeless act of getting fit-shaced and decided that I should write a poem.
My excitement snuffed out, I finished the thing with two final lines and now ladies and gentleman of the information super highway, with a title that seems most fitting, I give you the poem of note.


CAP ap bactoce

My eyes are closing, mind blank of thought.
Yet a revelation cannot be caught.
It bobs and weaves through muddled brain
From twists and turns it does not refrain.
Answers given are answers lost
Mental strife the constant cost.
Do I speak and risk being stung?
Or stand firm and loosen tongue?
Another rhyme, you say to yourself.
But did I promise anything top shelf?
These lines are simple, those born of booze
And forced through mind begging to choose.
I could go on and rhyme some more;
String words together until I snore.
Instead I'll end this wandering verse
And stop my nonsense before it gets worse.


The most amazing thing about all this? There were no mistakes in the typing or spelling whatsoever. Thanks Drunk-Me.

Extra Pillows and Added Demons

Mr Sandman,
Bring me my Z's,
These sleepless nights are now getting to me.
You owe so much you mysterious rover.
Just make these tired days be over.
Sandman,
Why did you leave?
My resting state, I just can't achieve.
Come on back I beg you please,
Mr Sandman bring me my Z's.

Mr Sandman,
Where have you gone?
This absence of yours just isn't on.
I toss and turn and try forcing sleep.
Please don't make me count more of those sheep.
Sandman,
I must concede.
I now have more time to sit down and read.
Was this your plan then all along?
Mr Sandman where have you gone?

Mr Sandman,
Where are those Z's?
You just left without talking to me.
Twenty four years and then not a word,
Who goes and does that you evil turd.
Sandman,
I'm so sorry.
Without my sleep I'm becoming grumpy.
Please return me to my dreams.
Mr Sandman where are, tell me where are,
Mr Sandman where are those Z's?


*Jazz hands* That's how the dance routine to accompany this would have ended anyway. If you hadn't already cottoned on that this is simply a rewrite of this famous track, then I don't know what to tell you other than "Hey, this is a rewrite of this famous track".

The keen detectives (or Batmans) amongst you may have noticed that I'm having trouble sleeping. Fortunately it isn't resulting in me being sleepy during the day, so that part of the song was an untruth. Call it artistic license. I have no idea where, when or why this started but all of a sudden my usual scheduled time of going to bed now results in me laying in bed in my unmentionables (another image just for you, ladies), staring at the ceiling or just laid with my eyes shut willing myself to sleep. It isn't often one tries to will oneself into unconsciousness but what can I say, I'm a risk taker like that. The only thing I can think of is that a few weeks ago I added a second pillow to my nest and I am now sleeping better, meaning I'm not nearly as tired as I used to be. Twenty four and a half years and I finally figure out how many pillows I need. When teachers say some people learn at their own pace they hadn't met me yet.

Meanwhile, there is a new book in my life, or books as the case may be. Her name is The Demon Trilogy and she's a Scorpio who enjoys diverging between three lead characters from childhood to adulthood in what I find to be quite an original world. The gist of it is this, every night demons rise up from the ground and lay waste to anything and anyone they can get their talons on. The only protection humans have is to hide behind wards, old symbols of power that repel demons, and hope that they don't fail. While they can be fought against, the demons are too tough and numerous for nearly everyone to risk it. To make matters worse the combat wards, symbols to fight back with, have been lost to history. The story begins 300 years after the demons appeared. Cue the heroes and world changing events!
The first book, titled The Painted Man, took hold of me and I devoured it in no time at all, swiftly buying the sequel, The Desert Spear, and carrying on from my kindle, that sexy little device I spend each night with. The concept of fear and courage/bravery seems to be the main vein of the first book, with the lead characters all experiencing it in different ways. The story also showcases the duality of people as well and you see that it isn't just in the night where the monsters lie. With a good two thirds left to go in the second book I'm already getting anxiou for the third and final which is yet to be published. If you're a fan of fantasy books and fancy a change from those that delve into the lives of wizards and elves, then you may well enjoy these books as much as I have. Action, adventure, romance, horror, the stories cover the lot. I'd give them two thumbs up, but I'd have to put the book down to do so. Something I'm not quite ready to do yet.

Don't Be So Rube!

For someone who advocates simplicity over the complicated, it's odd that one of my favourite things to watch are Rube Goldberg machines. Now some of you might be thinking to yourself what exactly is such a machine though it is more than likely you've seen several, while others might be making jokes about me being simple, for those I say this:

You're not coming to my birthday party!

No cake for them. Anyway. A Rube Goldberg machine is best described as a device that performs a simple task via a complicated and over-engineered action, often in the form of a chain reaction. Wallace & Gromit have many of these in their adventures. Other examples are littered throughout pop culture; the opening of Back to the Future (sadly I couldn't find a good clip of this), how one gains entrance to The Goonies home (with bonus truffle shuffle!), and of course a more modern one. It's not just movies either. Many of you may remember the TV commercial Honda put out several years ago displaying various car parts interacting with one another and culminating in the presentation of the car. Even the music industry has dabbled in the magic of the RBM with the band Ok Go using one in their video for the song This Too Shall Pass. I've even seen a man build one in his apartment with the function of proposing to his girlfriend. Needless to say she said yes. I'm almost certain she may have um-ed and ah-ed about it without the machine. Yes, the Rube Goldberg machine has permeated the media over the years and I for one and happy for it. I'm not alone in my adoration either; annual contests have sprung up around the world, inviting people to try their hand at building ever more elaborate contraptions in order to blow up a balloon, juice an orange or water a plant. On top of being fun, these contests encourage fresh thinking with the main contest in the USA sponsored by big corporate names such as Lockheed Martin.

We've all lined up some dominoes and set them tumbling at some point in our lives. I've always wanted to have a go at making one myself and who knows, maybe I will somewhere down the road. There are even people out there whose very jobs are to create these wonderful feats of engineering, and while I'm sure it can get stressful at times having to reset everything after each attempt, tweaking steps hear and there, the finished piece must bring a great sense of accomplishment. Each action and reaction precisely measured and coordinated to get you where you want to go. An idea that could be easily applied to day-by-day life. No rushed steps, just one measured moment after the other until you're where you need to be.

Mull that over the next time you keep stumbling from one disaster to the next. But don't forget to have a little fun along the way. These guys did.


[EDIT: I'm actually ashamed of how I ended this. "Applied to day-by-day life." UGH! What was I thinking. Pretend I didn't try to be deep or some such nonsense and said something gosh darned hilarious instead.]

Coloured Untruths

Stumbling upon new music never fails to put me in high spirits. Not just a new band or musician, but one in a genre of music that I wouldn't even think about looking into. My mood is lifted and I become filled with energy, pawing at the ground in anticipation of a new sound. This is exactly what happened to me when I discovered Vermillion Lies.

Vermillion Lies came to my attention through a project update on Kickstarter, a website deserving of an entire post itself for another time. Consisting of sisters Kim & Zoe Boekbinder, Vermillion Lies combines folk and cabaret music into something entirely new. The sisters, calling the music "junk store cabaret", have merged sounds into something that to me gave an almost Gogol Bordello vibe in it's peculiarity. With vocals and instruments split between them and the occasional addition of another musician when live, the songs are filled with piano, guitar, ukelele, triangles, xylophones and in one case a typewriter to remarkable effect. Combined with lyrics that sometimes evoke the debauchery of the cabaret, mild terror and at other times a story, songs like The Astronomer and Circus Apocalypse leap out and take hold of you, occasionally to humorous effect.. The line "your milky ways are all over me," had me snickering like a school boy in a sex ed. class. Ranging from gentle love songs, to classic folk, to gentle blues and to energetic rhythms guaranteed to get your foot tapping at the very least, the girls lead you down paths of wonder, horror and excitement, lured all the way by stunning voices.
Within hours of the find I had gone from testing the waters with some YouTube searches, to diving in clothing and all and putting my money down for the two albums Seperated By Birth and What's In The Box (for digital download). Digging further I was subjected to some news both good and bad; as of 2009 Vermillion Lies had somewhat parted ways, with Zoe & Kim both pursuing solo careers albeit with the intention of performing together at times as Vermillion Lies. The good news? Both now have an album on the shelves and after some Google wizardry and YouTube magic I can safely say that their work is just as good apart as it is together. Kim seems to favour a calmer style with the odd injection of an energetic song, while the same Gogol Bordello vibe I felt is still in some of her tracks as well as the cabaret style. Zoe on the other hand has focussed on the acoustic guitar and retains some of the quirkiness of Vermillion Lies while having some success covering various hits such as Hungry Like the Wolf and Single Ladies, adding her own special style to the songs. The Impossible Girl by Kim Boekbinder and Artichoke Perfume by Zoe Boekbinder are both available to listen to online here and here respectively.

I haven't been as thrilled with a new band or musician since Fink, who still gets played to death in my home. So when you have the time, try telling yourself some Vermillion Lies. You might just believe them.

The Good Uncle, The Bad Uncle and the Ugly Uncle (omit where necessary)

There are many milestones in growing up, most of which are obvious. Leaving home. Your first love. Your first heartbreak. Realising what you want to do with your life. Becoming a parent. Beating that high score your friend set on your game when he borrowed it that one time, thus asserting your dominance as the alpha male and giving you first bite of the antelope you all took down (ah, summer). People write poems about these things. They write stories and sing songs, paint pictures and make movies. Yet today I realised there's at least one thing that doesn't make it into the limelight. Becoming an uncle.
Come November my nephew will be well on his way to soiling himself and dribbling like a champ and I will officially be an uncle, and in doing so I will have one more follower in my quest for world domination. This will be the very first new branch in my immediate family tree. The first grandchild for my parents. Needless to say it is a pretty big deal. Huge in fact! And do you know what my first response was in learning my sister was pregnant?

"Okay."

That was it. After some follow up words from both parties I said goodbye, hung up the phone and then went back to something like playing a game or watching TV. Quite possibly in my underwear (that isn't relevant, but I thought I'd give the ladies something to go on). You see it takes a while for information and events like that to sink in with me. It wasn't until several weeks later when it had become public knowledge and some time after when I first saw my sister and the bump in question, that it dawned on me just how grand an event this was. A child, a baby even, was going to have a very strong connection to me both in blood and emotion. I am to be the little guy's sole uncle. I set my jaw and leapt full force for the wagon. I have now begun referring to my future organ donor as "the most spoiled nephew in the world" a title which I thoroughly intend to play out. I'm fully aware that a spoiled child, sometimes known as spoiled brat, has very negative associations but in this case I mean it purely as a show of the child wanting for very little. Yet I have not bought, purchased, bartered, purloined or acquired a single item for him...it...bump. Being unnecessarily rational at times I realised that until he reaches one full year of age, he will be blissfully unaware of almost everything short of the need for food or attention. Somewhat like a cat only with less fur (probably) and claws (lil'Wolverine? One can hope). Why buy so many things when they will most likely go to waste? Why not save your money? He won't know.

Now if you don't mind me I need to find my good suit. Bank loans are hard to get these days and baby gear is expensive.


NOTE: How awesome is this!?

*Witty Title #314*

It has been some time since I last wrote anything...well, anything of note anyway. The fire of a fresh idea or musing must have dwindled into embers for I haven't felt the urge of late. Last week was spent chasing sleep lost at Download Festival. That wondrous place overflowing with music and laughter (and alcohol, lots and lots of alcohol). As for the time before that I can't honestly think of a reason why I didn't write anything. The most creative I have been was in rewriting the Spongebob Squarepants theme to signify that I was indeed going to Download and how special it was. Last year it was a rewrite of a portion of One Week by Barenaked Ladies in an excitement fuelled state. Surprisingly this was written when there was one week left until the festival. My creativity astounds even me at times...

Never fear though good citizens of the internet, for your very own Kabamf will return with his brain in tow to spout more useless information and bad jokes. In the mean time please partake in one of the less boob-tacular delicacies the internet has to offer. BOOM.

Conqueror Chef

Last night I dominated my kitchen. I got all up inside it and went to town on chopping boards, hobs, vegetables and pans. The result of this saucy endeavour (that is a fantastic pun) was a vegetable bolognese, or more precisely, a Quorn bolognese. Those of you who have read into my bloggy-past may remember my blossoming love affair with Quorn being mentioned. Those of you who haven't been privy to such information should once more feel shame; vast oceans of shame that fester in the back of your mind, occasionally waking you from your slumber whereupon you clutch the pillow tighter and wish you had rectified the mistake. Fortunately I'm a gentle soul and will allow you a moment to go find the post. Go on. I'll wait here...
...
...
...finished? Good. Onwards!

Yes this meat substitute, that is in actual fact a fungus, has seen me expand my sense of flavour to previously unexplored regions as well as giving a new tool to my creative forge: cooking. While I may have dabbled with dishes that required a few ounces of patience (compared to the tried-and-tested frozen food in the oven method) in the past, rarely had a I gone out of my way to make a dish using nought but my wits. Advice from my mum and recipe book not withstanding. I even put in mushrooms. I don't like mushrooms. Something about them just doesn't sit right with me. Perhaps they appear too alien or perhaps it is their texture, either way I don't like them. However, saying that, the aged old technique of chopping undesirables into small enough chunks so as not to bother you was put into a play. A technique just as effective on your enemies as it is on inanimate lumps of fungus. Yes I chopped, diced and damn near Jack the Rippered my way through mushrooms, onions and carrots.
This was an impromptu cooking session you see. I had not been given the chance to meticulously order my ingredients on the worktop, making sure every ounce, gram and spoon-measure was exactly as stated in the recipe. A character trait I blame on my youthful scientific leanings. Nervously I proceeded to create this dish, nay, beast, for surely something not precisely calculated and born of chaos and impulse would be but a vile creature indeed. The onions and carrots softened, the mushrooms browned and the chopped tomatoes (canned) added. Paprika and oregano were added on the fly, guesswork and meh-ing my shadowy companions. Then red wine! Splashes of this dark claret swirled among the already crimson mix. What's this? Tabasco sauce? Why not! Drips of liquid heat plummeted into the pan, an ingredient not even mentioned in the recipe. I had begun going mad. Free wheeling my way into the unknown.
Time passed.
The cauldron was stirred again. And again.
Slowly this mysterious substance became a sauce and not once had I tested it's dark waters. On with the Quorn. Something I understand well enough to cook without instruction. A quick pan fry and then into the cauldron to begin the last leg. More stirring. It now began to resemble the bolognese we all know so well, that wonderful Italian creation (that country knows food). Left to simmer, I turned my mind to more academic matters, "Do I want that cheese or that one? Can I be bothered chopping that mozzarella? My toes are cold." Thoughts that would turn lesser men into gibbering piles of madness.
Time once again passed and the moment of truth arrived. Time to taste what my fit of insanity had wrought. A single scoop of the brew and then into my waiting maw. Anticlimax. It was...ordinary. Neither amazing nor bad, albeit hot enough to burn my mouth. Disheartened that I had not found a delicious way to enlightenment I got some fresh tagliatelle, prepared it accordingly and mixed it together with my normal bolognese and some grated cheese, then retired to my throne (read: sofa).

BOOM!

Somehow, somewhen, with the addition of pasta and cheese my ordinary monster had become a thing of beauty. Beast turned to handsome prince. It was delicious! I devoured it, savouring every bite. Wiping every last drop of sauce from the bowl with my bread like I was prospecting for gold in a river. It was a flavour miracle. Surely somewhere in the world someone had eaten the dark twin of my meal and most likely suffered some form of disgust fuelled stroke. Their taste buds forever ruined.

So it was that a boy set out to merely quell his hunger, and using a simple template that was twisted by imagination and curiosity into something unique, smote the force of hunger with extreme prejudice. I feel there should be some kind of mural depicting my victory. Something along the lines of me standing triumphant over a dragon. Maybe with jets flying overhead. Regardless the point is this:

Do you create better dishes when you follow instructions, set by top chefs of the world whose very job it is to create delicious flavour?
Or, do you fare better when you run off the beaten path, allowing yourself to pick and choose things on the fly following pure instinct?

I ask that next time you cook something, let your mind wander into pastures new and your hand pick and choose those ingredients less used. Cheese where there was none. Spicy where it was once mild. Let yourself be one of the top chefs of the world who do create at whim. You might just slay your own beast.

Where Oh Where

Looking high, looking low
Oh inspiration, where did you go?
The urge to write is going strong
But without you it all comes out wrong
Are you hiding, oh inspiration?
Or have you run off with motivation?
Lovers dear is what you may be
But I need you now, don't you see?
Looking high, looking low
Oh inspiration, where did you go?

Book of Face

Facebook. Book of many faces and a big book it has become. Nowadays it's as commonplace in conversation and everyday life as the word hello and there's no denying either that it is now part of our collective culture. And it is still growing.
I'm a Facebook user, have been for several years now and as such I have found it a great tool for keeping in contact with old friends, co-workers and classmates alike. The curiosity (read: noseyness) I occasionally have over where someone from my past is now stationed in life is generally only a few clicks away before it is sated. Information is freely shared amongst friends and family in a great show of community. Feeling sad over something? Say so in a status update and people flock to give support, light humour or just to find out why. Have some big news to announce? Status update. Have an opinion over a current event? Status update. In the latter case this can open up a forum for debate with points and counterpoints thrown against each other in a battle of wits. The sharing doesn't stop with words either. With the advent of the compact digital camera, photographs are uploaded en masse ranging from artwork to funny sights and special occasions to just days/evenings of fun. New haircuts, new purchases and newborns can be declared to the world with a triumphant "Look at this. Look what I have done."
Of course I am barely scratching the surface of what this social network offers. Games, organisational options for social events to rallying cries for people to make a stance, clubs, sub-networks, private messaging, the list goes on and it is constantly evolving and adapting to fit society. Evident by the fact that Facebook is no longer restricted to home use with many people now using it almost exclusively through their mobile phones and other portable devices. The ability to instantly communicate a photograph or thought just a touch of a button away. It is truly a tool to be marvelled at. But that is what it is when all is said and done; a tool. A fact that is hastily becoming forgotten.

Now some honesty, for I would lay rest the grace in my tongue and speak plainly (bonus points for guessing the movie quote), I am absolutely rubbish at remembering dates for birthdays, anniversaries and special events. Truly awful and it has caused no end of grief. But lo an behold Facebook swoops in to my rescue with a wonderful little use; birthday reminders. When it is the birthday of someone you are connected to on the network, it is displayed on the homepage to spark failing memories such as mine. Brilliant. Better yet you can look ahead into the mists of time and find out what birthdays are coming up. More brilliant. Herein lies a problem though; you can alter your date of birth whenever you want and with that alter when your birthday is (that part's tricky so stay with me). Now you'll think to yourself why in the nine hells would their be any point in that and the answer is simply: for funsies. The lulz. Cheap laughs. Whatever you want to call it. Alter your birthday and see which of your friends/family wish you merriment and good health thus making fools of themselves and showing that they don't really know when your birthday is. This is where all that writing up there is leading to okay so you haven't wasted your time...not completely wasted it anyway.

People are beginning to take the information on Facebook as gospel. The unquestionable truth.

It is so heavily relied upon by some that it is ceasing to be a tool and has begun dictating to some what to think. Just the other day a friend of mine turned 16 years old. Not bad for a man who had 3 birthdays within 3 days last month and has been around for about three decades in the real world. Sure that may be a case for abuse of a tool, but it is the abuse that leads to problems down the road. Don't get me wrong here, I find watching people blindly send good wishes to others quite amusing much in the same way I read excerpts from this website because they are highly amusing. But if we start believing everything that Facebook throws at us then we'd have to believe that some people have over a thousand friends in reality, that someone has ten siblings all of whom have different surnames and are about as related as Angelina Jolie's kids are (zing!) and that people are capable of having several birthdays a year and changing their names and gender every other week.
So next time you read something on the famous social network, try not to take it at face(book?) value, or you might just end up with egg on your face.

(And if you do feel like you've wasted your time then tough. That time is mine now. But you can moan about it in a status update)

Giggles and Yoga

Don't scowl just laugh
With a tee-hee-hee
Why frown? just giggle
Can't you see-see-see

Guffaw, don't snap
With a pah-hah-hah
Don't sit around and mope
With wah-wah-wah

Hah ha ha hah hah
Ha ha

That last bit is done in the 7-note couplet of "Shave and a Haircut Two Bits", which if you're not familiar with then you obviously haven't seen enough cartoons or Who Framed Roger Rabbit?. In either case you should feel shame. Deep wells of shame that should haunt you until rectified or you stop caring. You know, either/or.

Anyway!

Laughing is without a doubt quite good and one could even go so far as to say bloody brilliant or super smashing great. We all do it, we all love it and most don't get enough of it.
Recently I was talking to friend and she was going on to say how overwhelmed she was getting with work, education, friends and family, something else we all know of all too well. She then apologised for complaining to me to which I replied, "Hey, everyone needs to vent". But what to do when there isn't an ear readily available to vent to? When there isn't a shoulder to prop your head up as you give in for a moment? What do you do to feel better? An answer struck me.

You laugh.

Years ago I had stumbled upon an article detailing something called Laughter Therapy and I devoured it. The phrase "laughter is the best medicine" gets thrown around but few seem to realise just how effective laughing is on the body or how quickly the effects kick in. Now I'm not about pretend I know the ins and outs of it and delve into any medical science since there is plenty floating about on the interweb. But what I can tell you is this: it works.
Simply put, Laughter Therapy is laughing for the sake of laughing. Don't try to think of something funny or amusing, just laugh. Snicker to yourself quietly, let out a mighty bellow or anything in between, the point being that you must laugh. As it turns out the body can't really distinguish between fake laughter and natural laughter and because of this, it will react in the way it always reacts to laughter; it will make you feel good. Blood vessels open, endorphins are released (that's chemical happiness to you and me) and you relax. The beauty of it is two-fold:

• Making yourself laugh generally leads to natural laughter which is easier to sustain and hence prolong that feel good...well, feeling. Fake it 'til you make it.
• It's free (suck it recession!) and can be done any time, anywhere, any when (though don't hold me responsible for you choosing inappropriate times and places i.e. funerals, public places, airports).

You may find it hard at first to just laugh on cue and some will outright refuse to out of fear that someone will judge them. That's fine, I was hesitant at first to even when I knew no one was in earshot. Taking the first step is entirely down to you.
As time went on (as time tends to do) I discovered Laughter Yoga was more apt a name. This is generally the same idea only involving yogic breathing exercises and done in groups as it's easier to chuckle with other people. As of yet I have not tried it with the breathing exercises but I'm of the belief that it would open up a whole other relaxed world.
I finally convinced my friend to try it and she was surprised to find it working as much as I was, even when she was so hesitant at first. But being hesitant to laugh to yourself is a little daft in the end, isn't it?

So there you have it. Next time you're feeling fed up, overwhelmed or just plain blue I ask that you simply laugh for a while. Not that hard really.

Sunshine, Meat & Fermented Fruit

Barbeque season is officially upon us my friends. Let the cider flow and the charcoals burn!

Just Noticed

Our eyes droop.
We lay down.
We fall asleep.

There's a lot of downward motion involved at the end of the day.

Ploughing the Darker Places...

...of my memory. Get your mind out of the gutter!

I'm feeling particularly lazy at the moment, what with it being Friday and all, so I took some time out of my busy schedule (those channels aren't going to changed themselves) to travel backwards in time. Upon returning to the present I managed to bring two little rhymes I concoted not so long ago.


The first was a little something to help pass the time at work as well as a jab at the many friends I know who finish in the late afternoon.

I never understood, or as much as I could,
Why Wednesdays were so slow.
They stretch on so long and it's ever so wrong,
When home is where I wish to go.
But ever so soon it will be past noon,
So my hope, it begins to grow.
Because when the clock strikes 3, home is where I'll be.
You're jealous. Don't worry, I know.


The second comes with a little more background however. I mentioned in an earlier post about a rhyme I done did that was brought on by the seedy discovery of a certain street name. Throughout the country there exist streets called Grape Lane (and others of similar title, but they ruin the story). The one I'm most familiar with is in York, that old viking city of aged buildings and a cracking night out if I do say so myself. An innocent name if there ever was one, Grape Lane was named for something far from innocent.
Back in the middle ages (when bread were bread) many or most streets were named after the function or business that it served. Now you're thinking "So it had grape sellers, big deal," but this is where the fun part starts. Obviously a lot of time has passed since the heady days of peasantry and cholera (though replaced with unemployment and STDs) and as such names changed as well. Well this street was beleived to harbor that most ancient of businesses; prostitution. Yes often the busiest part of a town or city, ye olde red lighte district went by the not-so-subtle name of Gropecunt Lane. I don't think I need to eplxain anymore of the etymology than that. York isn't the only one, far from it. Many names have changed with the attitudes to Grove Lane, the more obvious Grope Lane and some altered altogether to places like Magpie Lane, a street quite familiar to those who have visited Oxford. And how did I get a poem out of this? I'm glad you asked!
Upon sharing this delicious morsel of trivia with facebook, a good friend of mine commented with the following:

"If we were in the middle ages, that's where you'd find me."

This got my creative forge working overtime and the result was a story of time-travel, debauchery and a life lesson. Enjoy.

Damien Allen, one Panama Jack,
Travelled backwards in time through a temporal crack.
Seeketh he did the Gropecunt Lane,
Where acts are performed that are quite profane.
There he did spy one with a mighty stack
And shouted "Alright pet, will you play with my sack?"
Off they did wander into an alley quite dark,
When he let out scream alarmingly stark.
Her teeth were black (those few that remained),
And her dress appeared as something quite stained.
With haste he did flee back to his time,
Where whores were cleaner with not so much grime.
Now the lesson is clear but at which some may scoff;
Use classier whores or it just might fall off.


Now you can put your mind back in the gutter. Comfort zones and all that jazz.

Bustin' of Moves: A Tale of Joy

Two posts in 24 hours. I must have hit my head or something, right? Wrong! (I just picture Kevin Spacey doing that every time). After yesterdays post I did a little bit of exploration of the blogger dashboard. It seems in my absence a couple of new features were added and one of them caught my tired eyes. Stats.

Back in the day when I was a scamp (about 6/7 years ago really) and revelling in the glory of 6th form, I was made to study statistics and loathed it. The stats I discovered yesterday though managed to put me in a good mood for the remainder of the day. For all my whining and self pitying about how no one visits my piece of the internet, it shocked me to see that my stats for traffic were considerably higher than I even thought possible. Sure, they're low by most standards. Yes, a fair portion have to be down to bad clicks and passers-by. Does that bother me? Like hell it does!
All the more surprising was the fact that my review of Lights' Acoustic record received the most traffic. Then it hit me. As my number of posts dwindled, so did my traffic. The graph only showing large peaks with relevant posts i.e. not me saying "oh hey I'm still here blah blah blah". So now I feel the urge to post more, to renew my babbling of tripe and nonsense. Perhaps with more tailored writing...though probably not. Look out internet; Kabamf is back!

As for the effect these revelations had on me? I was in such a good mood that I danced around my kitchen just for the hell of it and sang aloud without a care. I busted some moves. Young MC would be proud!

On Spontaneous Prose and Imp Theft

My own birthday seems little more than a few weeks ago and yet it has been about 6/7 weeks since that post. Somewhere a small imp-like creature is hoarding this lost time, caressing each flask with glee before placing it on the shelf with the others. You know the one; the shelf above the boxes of lost socks. That shelf. To what ends I'll never know.

In my absence (read: neglect) of this blog there have been moments of creativity. Quicksilver flashes of wit and rhyme that come and go without warning. I'm never quite sure if they're for my benefit however, or for those living in that magical font of social knowledge we call Facebook. A status post here a comment there is where my childish rhymes have taken residence of late. And like a good little vanity devil I've relished the attention they garner (I'm not that much of an attention whore, but who doesn't like positive feedback on their efforts?).
A Poem about wanting to leave work for the day. A quasi-sonnet detailing a friend's adventure to the middle ages in search some good ol'fashioned lovin'. The latter of which surprised even me in it's cleverness, which came about after stumbling upon the true origin of areas called Grape Lane. A raunchy origin story if there ever was one. All that and some quick four liners for funsies.
All in all, quite productive compared to my imagination dry spell of recent times.

Now I turn my scrambled mind towards greater endeavours. A journey out of whimsy and into reality. My oft spoken of but never acted upon hypothetical tour of the homeland. 24 years and this country is no better known to me than the metric system is to the USA. It will be short and sweet (thank you full-time employment...) but littered with friends as I intend to visit old and new in their respective towns and cities. And grab free digs in the process. Ha ha! Yes, a grand adventure it will be. From North to South, and every which way I can. London, Birmingham, Nottingham, Oxford/Cambridge (I always forget where he lives). These cities will harbour my good self before throwing me to the rails to be loosed upon another hive of activity. All that remains is to turn it from a thought into a reality...

...I may need a bigger cup of coffee for this one.

I'm all shook up!

When I turned 21 a small earthquake struck my hometown. Small wonders like that do so much for your confidence; the very ground shaking as you reach this important age.

On Sunday I'll be turning the not-so-important age of 24.

I can't promise any earthquakes, but I'll be damned if I don't have a good time anyway.

The Frozen Forge

A forge falls cold and ink runs dry
As the creator himself lets out a sigh.
He shifts in place from here to there
As if the fault lies within his chair.
Head resting foward with eyes shut,
Searching for words he lets out a "tut".
Ideas and rhymes dance through thought,
Though a complete creation cannot be caught.
A poem, a story, a sketch would be nice
But the long woken hours have come with a price.
No pretty words to make the heart soar,
Or fanciful stories to make them crave more.
His brain taxed and his body aching,
Perhaps he'll have more luck upon waking.
Desires unfulfilled and with nothing to write,
Our quiet creator turns in for the night.

A Curious Conundrum Quietly Contemplated

I find it odd, this urge of mine,
To write in humour and in rhyme.
A poem can be so much more.
With words and themes that seem to soar.
Some are sad and weigh on the heart,
Yet with jokes and laughter I cannot part.


That isn't actually my conundrum. I started writing and felt the urge to drop some phat rhymes like the super cool wordsmith I am. NO, my curious thought was this:

Why is it that I want to write things that are seen by an audience of people, yet I only succeed in doing so through some light-hearted musings on my facebook status?

A big chunk of myself wants to proclaim to the masses through said social network, "Hey everyone, I've written something new on my blog. Go look. Now!" But I'm far too scared of the laughter directed at me and my ramblings. So how exactly do you explain wanting an audience you're too afraid of getting? Tell me that Freud! The funny thing is, obviously this is on my blog so why am I writing it here? Now I'm not even sure I should post it. Maybe it should be A Confusingly Curious Conundrum Quietly Contemplated.

Where does the time go?

Would you look at that? 2011 already. It's quite terrifying how much time is lost without realising it. The 9-5 existence is an odd one to be sure, what with people choosing to do it in the first place (zing!).
So the new year has rolled around, festive holidays come to an end and the dreaded and oft forgotten resolution is concocted. I don't think one even crossed my mind this time. What say you internet? Resolution or not? (he asks to quite probably his one solitary reader. Well if crazy people can have a an audience then so can I!)