(no subject)

I'm doing the microfiction bit again for a little while: trying to develop a bunch of notions, and getting them out in front of me where I can see them properly.


You're welcome to watch.

-- W

Time To Go

Terminally bored now. LJ ennui has gotten to me. I suspect I should've disappeared for good after finishing SCREAM TALKING, but I wanted to try keeping a flow of smaller idealets going. Any kind of online community goes through cycles, though, and this one feels like it's on a very long downswing. So I'm off now.

I've set up a reading/commenting-only ID, which is warren_ellis -- if you see that appear on your friendslist, it's me. Don't expect any writing to appear on it, though. Any ramblings of mine will be found on the webpage or the mailing list.

* * * * * is my webpage/blog/tannoy/stage thing. Much filth here. Weird shit, new music, comics, my work, my strange friends. But mostly filth. It's basically where you'll find me from now on.

warrenelliscom is the LJ feed, and I'll probably be hanging around on that.

BAD SIGNAL: my email journal, which has been running in one form or another since 1998 or so. 6500 people on the list right now. It's announcement-only, so you only hear from me -- random rambling from the pub, mostly. It's often about comics and internet stuff, so, you know, buyer beware. It's lots of thinking out loud, and a fair amount of weird confused bullshit.

Main email address. Outboard short-term memory.

Telepathine: Free radio/new culture. Still on its first playlist, while I try and find the time to reinstall the software and re-rip all the musics.... is the link for a semiregular podcast, Superburst Mixtape. If you don't know anything about podcasting, check out

STREAMING: a year-long log of random thoughts about comics and the world, currently about 20 editions into the run. Look for it on the front page of every Thursday for the next 30 or so weeks.

Friendster: No idea why. I'll add anyone, me.

MySpace: I'm just using this to store new music I find on MySpace, really.

Flickr: is where I host all my photos.

And this is my listening group at Mperia, an experiment by the management.

And so it is said. Maybe I'll come back to this one day. Take it easy.

-- Warren

Saturday Night


As some people have noticed, I am indeed back on MySpace -- I set my account back up there to store music links, during a period where (my back-up short term memory, where I usually dump links) was determined to stay inoperable. I use MySpace for the hunting of music, and nothing else.

Saturday Night Open Mic:

What do you really want to be?

"I am a good listener."

[meta: jabber]

Mixtape Podcast

Drawn from music I’ve recently listened to and (often) talked about on Songs made freely available for download on the internet by the artists, put into a single file and released as a podcast mixtape. Go here to get the free iPodder podcast-catching program. The Superburst permanent location is

Superburst Mixtape 01
“I Have Known Love” - Sidecar
“Blue Hearted Fool” - The Violettes
“Death Parade” - thefireandreason

World Of Sport

You know I'm getting burned out when I start watching sports again.

They screen them in the pub, and I've found myself watching them when I should be working. It is very sad.

I missed the rematch between Arsenal and Dynamo Kiev, but I caught the first game and I'm amazed Arsenal won the second leg. Arsenal were playing terribly well-bred European football, delicately stroking the ball across the pitch from player to politely waiting player. At which point three Russian mutants would appear with turf in their teeth, break the Arsenal players' legs and punt the ball down the pitch at two hundred miles an hour. You could see the genuine confusion in the Arsenal boys' faces: "We are blow-dried multimillionaires who shag pop-star-lookalike groupies and have mock-Tudor mansions in the Home Counties. Why are these people, who probably live in tin houses and get their water from wells, being so nasty to us?"

It's a sort of football we seemed to stop playing in the 90s, the Kiev game. We used to call it "kick and rush," and when Watford played it in the 80s it destroyed the clever-clever "total football" that had held since the 70s. It was really simple. Watford didn't muck around with that careful balletic football skills shit. One bloke would kick the ball into the other side's half and nine half-bright ex-bricklayers would run after it, treading on anything and anyone in their way. It revolutionised the game by denying that there was any kind of cleverness in winning a football match. And, if you were facing nine bloodcrazed mongoloids in pus-yellow jerseys running at you like stabbed bulls just because you had the ball, you tended to agree. This was adapted by Wimbledon's "Crazy Gang" into a game plan that had bugger all to do with getting the ball and everything to do with mutilating the opposition so badly that they were literally physically unable to kick the ball. There's a famous photo of Wimbledon's Vinnie Jones, ostensibly shadowing his opposite half Paul Gascoigne -- reaching behind him and surreptitiously crushing Gascoigne's testicles in his fist. Gascoigne is a drunk now, playing right-barstool for Dago Rovers or something. Vinnie Jones is a film star. There's your lesson right there.

This was in stark contrast to England playing rugby against Uruguay, a game that would have been discontinued in the first ten minutes if it'd been a boxing match. The final score was something like 110 to 9. By the end of the first half the England players were doing everything but sinking their teeth into Uruguayan's throats and shaking them around like wolves with a rabbit in their jaws. It was horrible. By thirty minutes in, Englishmen were literally strolling to the other side and scoring, broken Uruguayans staggering and collapsing in their wake. At the end of the game, the English went around congratulating them on a game well played, but the Uruguayans were all so concussed by that point that they clearly didn't know where they were or why these wild-eyed freaks in white were groping them.

Sports are crap, they really are.

(Written in 2003 and dusted off tonight because I'm in the middle of something else and can't spare the brainjuice)
  • Current Music
    Experimental Aircraft - Symphony

Channel Rabbithole

The Monkees are back on TV, but the credits sequence is confusing me. Davy Jones is laying on a bed made of vaginas, and it's being pulled by a squadron of midgets in leather lederhosen who are very clearly physically excited by the exercise. "Here we come/Walking down the street" go the vocals, but I don't think it's the Monkees that are singing it. It's sort of like a descant duet between Ian Curtis and Diamanda Galas. "We get the funniest looks from/Everyone we meet/uuuuuuuaaaaaaa/eee/eee/uh/uh/aiaiaiaiaiai." Which isn't how I remember the song going. And the bed's being pulled past the White House, where Micky Dolenz is dressed as a US Army General and skullfucking quadriplegic "specialty" porn starlets dressed as ayatollahs. Under the keylights, grey, blood-flecked semen sparkles in their false beards, and their hysterical tears of terror glisten like diamonds cast in a river.

"Hey, hey, we're the Monkees. You never know where we'll be found."

It's spoken, now. Possibly by Orson Welles. Mike Nesmith is cavorting with zombies in Hell, naked but for his knit cap. He grins like the clever, cheerful teenager he once was while the leprous corpse of Richard Nixon vigorously fists his straining anus. Which is fleetingly captured in Sixties fisheye lens. In the background we see Peter Tork, with a flamethrower and a child's legbone through his glans, putting the torch to forty years' worth of boy-bands.

"So you'd better get ready. We may be coming to your town."

I wouldn't have expected this to be a Jerry Bruckheimer production.

  • Current Music
    Frank Sinatra & Sid Vicious, "Anarchy In Las Vegas"

I Bring You Joy

It is important to remember that, in America, running people over with your car can be considered a political expression, and therefore covered by the laws protecting free speech.

All Over The Floor

Look. I'm wearing my heart on my sleeve for you.

Okay. Maybe it's not my heart.

But the blood's fucking up my best shirt, so that has to count for something.

  • Current Music
    The Fire and Reason - death parade