will catch up later with Hippy to compare notes on bad names; I reckon we could have a proper face off and I would win the contest...
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What's left to say after 4000 posts? I'm spent. 4000 will sit there like a brand, a black scarlet number scorched into the 'lectric flesh of my online persona. A leper bell for the real world, those four digits chiming their warning to the offline folk, "Stay away. Internet addict!"
It's not a pretty sight.
The leper image feels particularly appropriate because the pressure of fucking 4K is such; the poster's droop so acute that it feels like my cyber mojo is about to drop off altogether.
Will I ever get it back? I'd opt for therapy, hypnosis perhaps. Some online regression technique taking me back, back, back through those 4000 posts. Through the gaymo, through the meatspace, through the desperate need to be recognised, all the way back to the beginning. It would break the nostalgia regulations of course, trigger the Louche alarms, cause a rumpus, but it would all be in a good cause. At least I'd see it that way.
All the way back, all the way back to the beginning. If Darryn did wind me down, set me to zero, is that what would happen? Would I experience the journey as I went, all ticking clocks and clichés, Dickensian ghosts and wailing - vanishing post counts, words being siphoned from my persona like fuel, explosions of recognition, the playground - hideous phoo faces swirling around my head: "Jonesy fucks spiders! Jonesy fucks spiders." "That's the zenith of Mongoloid reasoning...the z-z-z-enith of Mongoloid reasoning." "You could have been a good poster…what happened?" "Fucks spiders" "Mongoloid!" WWhat happened…happened…happened?"
Sexual fantasies circling above me - bursting from the skirts of Disco, Tommy's cannon primed to shoot me in the back, Benway breaking me over the ironing board.
The fights, the squabbles, the shrieking voices, an army of trolls, taunting, taunting, always taunting.
Old faces sucking me in, a vanilla tornado carrying me back, back, back, the memories, the mammories, the family; the wasted hours demanding their money back, bellowing in the eye of the storm, "Why? Why? WHY?"
A hellish journey back to the beginning. Life. Missing memories and stories torn to shreds of pretentious debris and scattered across the web. Nothing left. No memories. Naked and vanilla and alone. The start of Life. Just a flicker…four posts only…the bold opening steps of a heartbeat. I don't know where I am. I don't know who I am.
That opening pulse slipping from the counter too, like the reverse click of an alarm clock stealing the new day and bringing eternal sleep. The beginning, the first breath. "Astonished Rolf" no less - a nascent Jonesy emerging from a gaping, glistening vagina.
An uneventful birth, a lonely child, ignored, crying for attention. Alone.
Trapped in the body of the babe, clawing at the birth sack like Abby fitting a plastic sheet to a window.
quote: All the way back, all the way back to the beginning. If Darryn did wind me down, set me to zero, is that what would happen? Would I experience the journey as I went, all ticking clocks and clichés,
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It was great. Almost a shame to top by plopping a little platitude on the thread after it. But I have anyway.
All your falling backwards through history made me think that a) you should write for Doctor Who and b) of Emily Dickinson. I tell you, my memes are all in a muddle.
ps. H1ppychick - I'm being about as internationally mysterious as an Eccles Cake. ie. only mysterious if you've never seen raisins before.
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I like my name, in spite of the fact that at school others found that it conveniently rhymed with a number of other words. Only my mother uses the version that can be found on my birth certificate, usually when discussing something serious.
I chose Samuelnorton because I got bored of using my real name (Rick J) and because I liked the idea of being associated with a particularly odious fictional prison governor.
I would never give my children names that would fit them into the Islington or Notting Hill set; they'd be unique but not to the point of silliness. Ludwig or Lukas/Lucas for a boy, Yseult/Iseult or Inés for a girl.
Nightowl has already ruled out Siegfried, which makes me
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I picked my screen name because Poshlust is a great 'phrase'. I don't really like Nabokov too much, small doses and all that.
Getting back to OJ's inspiration for this thread... is Fionnula really a guy here?
When it comes to kids names I like the ordinary, in fact where I live the ordinary has become quite extraordinary. I heard a mother yell at her daughters "Faberge & Medici" the other day.
quote:Originally posted by Poshlust: is Fionnula really a guy here?
A gay. In their underground slang "palare", they sometimes call each other female names.
Ben has got the wrong idea in his post on page 1: I actually like being called kovacs, Ko, Kov, Mr K, Vacs etc in person. I think it is funny and appropriate.
quote:Originally posted by Poshlust: is Fionnula really a guy here?
A gay. In their underground slang "palare", they sometimes call each other female names.
A pedantic point this Kovacs, but I've always thought that was "polari."
quote: A form of slang incorporating Italianate words, rhyming slang, cant terms, and other elements of vocabulary, which originated in England in the 18th and 19th cents. as a kind of secret language within various groups, including sailors, vagrants, circus people, entertainers, etc. Also occas. more generally (slang): talk, patter. In the mid 20th cent. a form of the language was taken up by some homosexuals, esp. in London. From the OED online
Mind you, it's pretty stupid to quibble the spelling of a word that refers to slang, because by its very definition its an oral tradition and is probably spelled many ways. So... anyway.
You surprise me with that interpretation actually, because I've always associated polari with far older men, a subculture which was far more in use in a more closeted/criminalised era. And I thought Fionnula was a young man.
Perhaps Fionnula should explain his own name if he likes. It certainly rhymes nicely.
Kovacs, which Kovacs did you name yourself after (I don't think it's your real surname though I can't remember what that is)? There's an illustrator and even a NZ furniture company apparently.
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"Polari" is another spelling I've seen, but the Morrissey song spells it "Picadilly Palare" so that's the one I came across first.
I was being a bit facetious really, but I can't help thinking Fionnula's choice of female name has something to do with him being the type of young fella who has to hide his eyeliner from his mum. Of course, that's different from being gay... but he is also gay, and a fey kind of gay.
Fionnula the Cooler is, anyway, a key character name from the novel The Sopranos, and it could be suggested that the character's Scottishness has as much to do with Fionnula the TMO Poster's choice of name as does her being a schoolgirl.
My "codename" kovacs is from the stinking, brutal, bigoted, possibly homosexual vigilante in "graphic novel" Watchmen. He has a very black and white view of things, which I found appealing when I first read this book and I must admit, still do now.
quote:RORSCHACH (1940-1985): Walter Joseph Kovacs. His mother was a prostitute, and his father is unknown. He was taken from his mother in 1951 after viciously attacking two bullies, and stayed in a home until 1956, when he became a garment worker. In 1964, after reading about the death of Kitty Genovese, he took up the identity of Rorschach, later partnering with Nite Owl II in 1965. He was at the meeting of the Crimebusters in 1966. In 1975, he experienced a change of philosophy after investigating the Roche kidnapping. In 1977, he was the only non-government sponsored vigilante not to retire after the Keene Act. In 1985, he worked to investigate the events following the Blake murder, and was framed by Veidt for murdering Moloch and arrested, being broken out of prison by Nite Owl and Silk Spectre. Eventually, with Nite Owl, he worked out the truth and confronting Veidt. He was killed by Dr. Manhattan to prevent his spreading the truth about the "alien invasion."
posted
I just spent a whole fucking hour trying to write about the character Fionnula (the Cooler) but everything I wrote was shit so I deleted it all. I wish posts would just fall out of my fingers like they seem to do for kovacs. Every single fucking word for me is like trying to pick up a peanut using two footballs. I - . It's - . The - . Perhaps - .
quote:Originally posted by H1ppychick: especially the 'whoa-oh-oh-oh' bit :doubleglum:.
Thanks for that! You've just put 'Montego Bay', by Amazulu in my head. Fucking Amazulu! What is this? 1986? This must be how the inside of kovacs's head feels all the time.
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Great, now it's switched to 'Too good to be forgotten'. Like all my childhood memories it's causing a nasty, nauseating, itchy tickle in each of my temples as I remember dancing to this in my sister's bedroom.
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ajax nearby (from adjacent?) basket the bulge of male genitals through clothes batts shoes bijou small bod body bold daring bona good butch masculine; masculine lesbian camp effeminate (origin: KAMP = Known As Male Prostitute) capello hat carts/cartso penis carsey toilet, also spelt khazi chicken young boy charper search charpering omi policeman cod naff, vile cottage public loo (particularly with reference to cottaging) cottaging having or looking for sex in a cottage crimper hairdresser dish an attractive male; buttocks dizzy scatterbrained dolly pretty, nice, pleasant drag clothes, esp. women's clothes ecaf face (backslang) eek face (abbreviation of ecaf) ends hair esong nose fantabulosa wonderful feele child fruit queen gelt money glossies magazines handbag money hoofer dancer jarry food, also mangarie kaffies trousers khazi toilet, also spelt carsey lallies legs latty room, house or flat lills hands lilly police (Lilly Law) luppers fingers mangarie food, also jarry measures money meese plain, ugly (from Yiddish) meshigener nutty, crazy, mental metzas money mince walk (affectedly) naff bad, drab (from Not Available For Fucking) nanti not, no national handbag dole nishta nothing, no oglefakes glasses ogles eyes omi man omi-polone effeminate man, or homosexual onk nose orbs eyes palare pipe telephone palliass back (as in cpart of body) park give plate feet; to fellate polari chat, talk polone woman pots teeth riah/riha hair riah shusher hairdresser scarper to run off (from Italian scappare, to escape) scotch leg sharpy policeman shush steal (from client) shush bag holdall shyker/shyckle wig slap makeup strillers piano thews = thighs trade sex troll to walk about (esp. looking for trade) vada/varda see willets breasts
Amazing how many of those are now commonplace in everyday conversation.
-------------------- my own brother a god dam shit sucking vampire!!! you wait till mum finds out buddy!
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I'm being plagued by a b3ta tune called "I'm Stuart Hall", which hilariously juxtaposes his reputation as a family fun kind of guy with his own fictional rampant sexuality. It's annoying, but addictive, and there will always be a place in my mind where it is playing.
posted
You know what - I only ever heard that joke in the playground. So I guess it was from something that was big with 8 year olds in the mid eighties, like Kenny Everett, The Young Ones, or Lenny Henry.
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Yes I realised how many of those words I knew when there was that documentary about Round the Horne recently.
Black Mask, thank you for revealing your sources. I'd not heard of the Black Mask group, but will look them up. It reminds me of the great Class War a decade of type compendium book I came across in Oxfam recently. Fantastic, but I can't help thinking they would've hated me. What am I talking about? They did.
And Kovacs, I feel somewhat silly for not knowing Fionnula the Cooler was a Sopranos character. I wish Fionnula would not feel so selfconscious about writing though. Just look at the self-indulgent drivel some of us pump out. I, for example, seem to be doing a Gwyneth Paltrow and tearfully thanking everyone for taking part in this thread.
Cheers for the 80s soundtrack guys. I'm still on AHA: The Sun Always Shines on TV, which I had to deploy several times this morning just to get out of the door.
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Kovacs is lying, I'm afraid. He confided in me that he actually named himself after Grzegorz Kovacs , the notorious Polish concentration camp guard who would herd frightened Jews into internet chat rooms and mock them to death.
He made up the Watchmen connection when the world went all politically correct.
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Hey, look! Remember me. I'm sorry. I've been spending too much time on b3ta recently.
Dr. When is an easy one. Back in the early pre-broadbandica period, about 1998, I signed up for my first tentative steps into chatrooms. Unfortunately, doctorwho had already been taken, so doctorwhen became my "online persona". He's grown from there to Dr. Agamemnon When, has his own steampunk website, and is my avatar representative in most if not all of my online dealings.
Me and Nursewhen once got drunk and decided if we had kids (unlikely, the little shits) what would we call them. It ended up with 26 boys and 26 girls, for which we had to find names for every letter of the Alphabet.
We found boys easier to name - Agamemnon thru Zarathustra etc.
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I've been in this town so long that back in the city I been taken for lost and gone and unknown for a long, long time-
Fell in love years ago with an innocent girl from the Spanish and Indian home of the Heroes and Villains.
Once at night, cotillion squared, the fight, and she was right in the rain of the bullets that eventually brought her down –
But she’s still dancing in the night unafraid of what a dude’ll do in a town full of Heroes and Villains.
Heroes and Villains: Just see what you done-done Heroes and Villains: Just see what you done-done
Stand or fall, I know there shall be peace in the valley, and it’s all an affair of my life with the Heroes and Villains.
In the cantina, Margarita keeps the spirits high. There I watched her. She spun around and wound in the warmth. Her body fanned the flame of the dance.
Dance Margarita! Don’t you know I love you! Dance (spoken) You're Under Arrest!
My children were raised, you know they suddenly rise. They started slow long ago, head to toe; healthy, wealthy and wise.
I been in this town so long, so long to the city I’m fit with the stuff to ride in the rough – and Sonny, down snuff, I’m alright by the Heroes and Villains
thats a song by brian wilson. off an album called smile. it includes the words 'cotillion' and 'dude', two of my favourites. i have been much more cheerfuller since i started posting as dancing marge.
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quote:Originally posted by Roy: Kovacs is lying, I'm afraid. He confided in me that he actually named himself after Grzegorz Kovacs , the notorious Polish concentration camp guard
Wrong info. Kovacs is a Magyar.
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