Thursday, 25 November 2010

Villages of Futuristic Recreation

“Never trust what writers say about their own writings. When Zola undertook to defend his Therese Raquin against hostile critics, he explained that his book was a scientific study of the temperaments. His task had been to show, in an example, exactly how the sanguine and the nervous temperaments act on one another- to the detriment of each. But this explanation could satisfy no one. Nor does it explain the unprecedented admixture of colportage, the bloodthirstiness, the cinematic goriness of the action. Which- by no accident- takes place in…” W.B *

...The Villages of Futuristic Recreation

Now, you should hear Grooverider play at Helter Skelter. A legendary rave series which was actually produced by an ex traveling carnival showman in the UK. To quote mark-burden:

"Helter Skelter is owned by David Pratley, son of Teddy Pratley (Showman) they live on a showmans yard near Banbury, Helter Skelter is run from here also. Some rides are still travelling these days that was owned by Teddy.
This is why Helter Skelter is called Helter Skelter (ednote: Helter Skelter is the name of a UK spiral slide ride) and why it has a strong fairground influence from the beginning." - Mark Burden (Read more about the Helter Skelter and the fair ground influence here:

I found this extremely facinating because not only was this a classic rave orginization which featured top 'ardkore acts like Grooverider but it was also owned by a family of Showmen. This seems to seemlessly blend both of my hobbies together which is neat. By the mid-nineties the parties had undergone an expansion which included an outdoor complex, featuring a SONY Playstation zone, free fairground rides, cafe's and other types of recreational facilities. Helter Skelter began referring to each of these events as 'Villages of Futuristic Recreation.'

Social confusion was definitely in the place. Got busy. You were inside the biggest rave on earth.

But during all of this they went to our neighbours’ house, the Margom family. We heard shots and the screams of 15 year old Amy, Al and Si’s sister.

‘Leave her alone!’ screamed one of the brothers, ‘Kill us instead!’ Then we heard more shots.

Through the window we saw a half-dressed commander lying on top of Amy. I will always remember. He was wearing a new leather belt which I recognised to be one from Klef’s [market stall], which- to this day- I find troubling and sickening.

She was covered in blood from the bullet wounds. Another soldier shouted, ‘Hurry up, while she’s still warm.’

When she answered the phone she said I my god Dedwin, my head felt like it flew out of the room back to the feeling of the strange event out on the road on the way back from work. Moments into the darkest and most ludicrous conclusions. Likely my stomach had the faint memory my calendar-driven senses had long overriden. Only conclusions are too fixed for this as it was not a fear permitted by logic but a deeply lonely leap that words with the closest friend could only express with comfort. Mixing necessary relief with frustration inevitably furthers self-isolation. Senses and flashbacks intertwine in an undigestible speedy haze. Breathed in against the radiator and curtain; a perfumed smell sort of sucked into my mouth which gave me an actual sinister headfilled injection. Mind-filings, they were, to the point that it was too full to distinguish characteristics and polarities or even their material source- merely the unnerving speed of their morphing away from me. Not even protected by the curtains along with it being un-protectively cold inside. The live recording and its compressed space was probably not not helping my ears to gauge the real space and time through this horrorful journey. Fearful of calling the police for the doubt that I’d just imagined the whole situation. Thoughts lay around imagining turning the knob underneath the boiler immediately exploding shards of metal into my face and skull and what the house would look like with me dead dangling off the edge of it exposed to the neighbours and world.

*Taken from Walter Benjamin’s Archive. He is actually talking about the arcades in Paris, rather than Helter Skelter; “One knew of places in ancient Greece where the way led down into the underworld. Our waking existence likewise is a land which at certain hidden points, leads down into the underworld- a land full of inconspicuous places where dreams arise.” 

Monday, 1 November 2010


Someone suggested getting a ladder up to the outer layer, and whilst at it secretly copying the number on the lampfpost. Then copying it onto the glass with greasy fingers for us to see inside.
Mate, they’ve started to mark umages leaving the bulding. The arseholes even made me clare my own image. I feel like posing when I want a cifgarette turns a telegraph message onto guesswork. I’m sitting on a red leather seat. The sink is covered in the exact coloured ink. It acts as a sponge. Window desk 220 spends 20 min just trying to scrub off the red stains from his buttock cheek. Whilst in the cubicle he hears his co-worker saying they’re generating enthusiasm. They’ve got in some new people who’ve been introducing enthusiasm into their clients. A lot of it works by injecting things into the client. They feel moments of enthusiasm exchanged by appearance which consists of having intensely shared, short lived reactions to the product.