This is Timmy Thumbs. I met Timmy Thumbs in august 2003 when he was the resident cat in the tattoo parlour on St. Marks around 1st ave. I was taking pictures of the tattoo artists and generally shooting the shit in this incredible cave of images. Timmy had had some kind of a chequered history, I think. Kind of a rocknroll polydactl.
There were Timmy Thumbs posters on the wall of the waiting room part of the studio, next to an old fullsize pacman machine. Timmy spent a lot of time hanging out on this futon sofa, showing off his crazy paws. I made him a photoshoot.
Saturday 6 September 2008
Friday 5 September 2008
Yes, folks, they exist. So 90% of black americans who vote, vote democrat. That leaves a lot of votes in the leftover 10%. I guess we're all human. Just goes to show, race is not a decider of the colour of greed. But best of all, this woman's comment that she doesn't want Obama to win because she "doesn't want to live under socialism". It's amazing, really. This kind of people just doesn't travel. Anywhere. They wouldn't know socialism if it bit them on the arse and gave them free healthcare.
John McCain: sheesh, this is a tough one. Singsong. Blinking a lot, especially when lying. Girlish. Approval-seeking toothy grins after every sentence, eyes scanning the nearby crowd for a friend. Jesus, I'm sorry to have to say this about a 72 year old, apparently heavily sedated man, but, impotent. It's really clear what the Republican end of this election is about now. Not surprising that none of the Republicans are addressing the economy, or you know, like, ideas. They, um, forgot to think about that stuff.
No wonder they need the lipsticked pitbull.
Thursday 4 September 2008
Tuesday 2 September 2008
Sarah Palin is Cloud Cuckoo People.
She's got a four month old infant with special needs (time and priorities are clearly elastic concepts for her), a 17 year old daughter who has just gotten pregnant, she believes in guns but not birth control, got her first passport a year or so ago for a quick tour of the Alaskan guard in Kuwait, and two and a half years ago she was a mayor of a town the size of Nenagh. And she thinks she's all set to step up in a crisis as president of the United States?
These people talk about family values as if the only family values were anti-abortion, anti-birth control, guns and anti-sex education. So, vice president of the united states: how many hours a day do you think that job entails? Twelve, at a conservative estimate? Always on call? How many weekends off scot-free do you think the job allows for? In terms of a constant presence in your life whether you're at your desk or not, in terms of your availability to the government machine, you are basically owned by the office. Does it really not matter if a mother does not see her children for most of their young lives? I mean, when your whole philosophical platform is family values, for instance?
You know, I think to be honest that Obama is also Cloud Cuckoo People, but I dig him anyway. At this point, he is speaking a tongue that is inspiring, quite possibly, a revolution in feeling in America, about what is possible. Sure, the system itself is the same corrupt lobby-ridden bureaucracy it has been for 232 years, but if you're a thinking feeling human being, your money has got to be on Obama. That said, the man is full of unattainable promises. He stops only slightly short of promising the manifestation of the lord jesus christ on the earth in the form of a wiggly piggly sexpot in a bikini and everybody to have cake every day and lullabies at bedtime.
But for the past day or so, GOP sympathy has gushed to this bear-shooting woman who has to cope with her white trash daughter's errant ways. Hurrah, another opportunity to entirely miss the point AGAIN.There are many points to be missed, they've really got to get to work on it. Only just over 2 months left to miss all of them. Christ, I seem to really CARE about this shit.
Monday 1 September 2008
So here's another perspective on this rainy miserable Irish summer: enjoy it while you can. Because very soon it might just be shorts all year round, and waves and waves of climate refugees fleeing their burning lands. According to Gaia theorist, and legendary climate scientist James Lovelock, Ireland, Britain and Scandinavia will be some of the few places left on the planet that will be habitable, when the fever starts.
How do you think the Irish economy would respond to that one? Do you think we'd let waves of refugees from Spain, Germany, France in, let alone Africans? Do you think it'll all turn into a huge money-fest, with property values REALLY soaring, as Ireland turns out to be actually one of the few habitable places left on the planet? Or will humanity step in and turn the mansions of Ailesbury road, Dalkey and the green fields of the west into refugee camps for fleeing Europeans? On what criteria would we allow them to enter: their professions? Or a demonstrated intuitive sense of understanding of nature, of the earth? How do we measure these things? I think we will all have to learn on the hoof as this episode of human history unfolds.
If you've ever seen James Lovelock being interviewed, you will know that he is a very mild mannered, practical and pleasant Englishman, and the original environmental scientist. His Gaia theory was treated with severe scepticism when he started talking about it back in the sixties (he's a feisty 88 now), and he's been warning about climate change for forty years or more:
"There have been seven disasters since humans came on the earth, very similar to the one that's just about to happen. I think these events keep separating the wheat from the chaff. And eventually we'll have a human on the planet that really does understand it and can live with it properly. That's the source of my optimism."
Rock your hearts out... apart from the pixillation, this is about as gorgeous as it gets. All dirty white brick, men in bowlers, orange raincoated Ringo, London black cabs, well behaved aback-taken "bit of an imposition to disrupt all the business in the area" humans on the street, the little twiddly fucking little microphones, the passion christ the passion, the beautiful fucking guitars held lovingly, bearded Paul, "everybody had a wet dream" John and fucking gorgeous sound of it all. Yeah, so they were bitching and falling apart at this stage. Who cares - look at them, they are having FUN. Oooooooh...
You know, I grew up at a time when John was dead, George - and indeed Bob Dylan, who I also only discovered a couple of years ago - had turned into a Travelling Wilbury, Ringo was a lardy old cigar smoker, and Paul was playing the pipes of peace, so I didn't get a Beatles infatuation until I lived with someone who had the White album. And then lived with my Brooklyn Lover last winter, who had the rest of them. I see footage like this and it makes my heart soar.
Must have also been such an antidote to all those early stadium gigs where they couldn't hear themselves play with all the screaming going on, to play a gig with such disappearing acoustics and bewildered onlookers. I am going to wear a miniskirt and boots tomorrow, mark my words. And play some guitar now.
And then along comes the fuzz. Boooooo!