When they say fight back, you say ‘but where will I buy my foie gras?’

There is something seriously vile about spoiled trustfunditizens who are more outraged when a luxury cheese-vendor is occupied than when healthcare and education are sold to the highest bidder. I would add hyperlinks to the offending twats on the Social Network that have riled me up the vitriolic lamppost this morning, but I’m not a journalist and therefore have no reason to abuse peoples’ right to privacy. Grow a sense of morality (not the same as a sense of taste, or fashion sense, closer to common sense, but with wider implications) or please leave opinions to the people who will suffer their consequences. O sorry, was your face too full with the oft baked cake-o-privilege to see the suffering and injustice being peddled out against your neighbours?

The following Guardian video gives a much more balanced view on yesterday’s March for the Alternative protest in London.


When even the friendliest factions of the mainstream press divide those participating in political dissent into ‘marchers’ and ‘criminals’, how can solidarity hope to manifest? The beans that burn at the bottom of the pan were being prepared for your meal just as much as those that ended up on your plate. Strangle metaphor, but it’s the morning (well, afternoon but only because the clocks have gone forward, bastards). Baked beans, again?


Students? Shimmy and seethe

Last night I went to see the Northern School of Contemporary Dance‘s Student Showcase with a lovely friend (whose new man is Deptford Goth – watch his space). Five out of my nine contemporary dancing housemates were performing, and it was a mixed bag to be honest. Luckily, when it comes to dance, I’m not (yet) that fussy.  While the first years responded to Antony’s Gormley’s ‘Another Place’ with human chains of tide, floating flotsam lifts and transient coastal structures, the second and third years moved to a baffling array of stimulus in several short pieces. One of the pieces was possibly an ode to An American Tail, another jabbed clumsily at immigrant sex trading and female genital mutilation (whilst wearing shiny red sequined bras – juxtaporubbish), another skitted sexily around the stage to swaggering rock-n-roll, channeling the Californian deserts – or something like that. The evening gave me some good ideas for movement, and I did enjoy seeing my housemates shimmy, but my friend (who is a world class contemporary dancer fresh off tour – ie, someone with taste) thought it was an insult to the art form. Undergraduate performance shows are often marred with technical difficulties and some really dodgy, overbearing direction/choreography from well-meaning but despotic tutors (really, I should know), with some of the school’s ‘stars’ pulling up the standard and giving a good twirl. The stars last night really did shine, but so much more for the blackness surrounding them.

I’m beginning to love dance (and pining for a summer intensive workshop that I can afford, is deliciously nestled in some quaint arbor, has the right balance of hemp kaftan’s and technical tools, and which I can bound out of, a hot frikn dancer. Don’t you make fun of me. Any suggestions are most welcome… )

Another thing students are doing this is getting very angry and shouty. Politics, thy name is covered in muck. This kid below seems to have summarized the plaque of bullshititus that has riddled the Tory Farty (oops, typo!) regarding the selling off of the NHS. Cruckin genius.

I offer that as a mighty two finger salute to the precocious little 1st year politics hickdweeb who called me racist yesterday when I tried to explain to him a little bit about culture and heritage in the Middle East. We can raise awareness by doing a lot more than stomping, shouting and holding placards, you vile ginger oik. xxx


Bryan Brown, a colleague at my performance studies department recently pointed me in the direction of Shirin Neshat as an example of a Iranian contemporary artist making poignant, precise and stunning film, photography and media works in New York. Whilst I had seen Shirin in interviews on illegal Persian satellite channels when I was living in Tehran last year, and began applying think swathes of black kohl to my eyes with cultish devotion, I had not seen any of her artworks, not even her highly publicized ‘Women Without Men‘, which won her the Silver Lion  66th Venice Film Festival in 2009.

There is plenty written about Shirin and her work, and I really love the use of vocal music and in Turbulent (1998). But, while I was scrabbling around for interviews of the softly spoken artist, I found the following:

The experience of watching this chopped up and always already unfinished video is SO unsatisfying that it created a craving inside of me. A performance of incompleteness and process representing the before and after of a work-in-progress screening of Shirin’s not-yet-successful film, her reticence and humility in presenting the work make for a tantalizing non-trailer. What are your experiences of watching this clip? Judging from the relatively low play count (especially compared to the tens of thousands who have watched her other interviews), people aren’t interested in the unfinished. So why am I?!

Also, watch this, he’s lovely.