Peaches - Forever Dark Takeover
1 hour ago
MOⒶNARCHISM
August 2, 1965@'Letters of Note'
Dear Keith,
We watched you on the TV the other night and the first thing that grabbed our eyes was your lovely Hampton Wick. After that we did little besides studying it. We're not kidding; you've got a very fine tool, as a friend of ours puts it. From the way your pants project themselves at the zipper, we figure you've got a beauty of a rig. Sometimes we hoped you'd whip it out or something, but they don't have TV cameras that could focus on anything that large, do they? Hey, tell Mick he doesn't have to worry about the size of his either; we noticed that already (well, who could help but?). Our favorite names for you are Keith the Giant Meat and Hampton Mick.
Keith, we're serious; we judge boys primarily by their Hamptons because they're so exciting to look at and contribute so much to a healthy relationship. We can hardly wait till you come into town in November, maybe then we can find out more about what's inside your pants.
We hope you don't think we ought to receive head treatment or be put away before we attack men or something. We hope you sympathize with us and agree that sex should be openly appreciated just like all other works of beauty and ingenuity. We like to say that we really think while other people just sit there all cringed and inhibited inside, afraid they'd offended someone if the told them something complimentary about their Hamptons or, as in your case, their shoulder boulders.
Would you like to write us back and confirm our beliefs about your Hampton Wick? Would you say, aside all the humility, that it is as spectacular as your pants have lead us to believe? Do you always wear your rig on the right side because you're right handed or doesn't it make any difference? What is the first thing YOU look for in GIRLS?
If you're interested, drop by awhile, why don't you, when you're in Chicago or give us a ring. We're both 18 and like to wear tight-fitting sweaters. We think a girl should wear things tight on top to please a boy, and that a boy should do the same at the bottom to please us.
So please don't forget to answer us. And keep pleasing us by wearing those pants good and tight.
Reach us at:
Cynthia Plastercaster
Chicago, Ill.
After [his mother's] death in 1973, Savile sequestered himself with her body for five days [in the morgue], which he subsequently claimed were the “best five days of my life … She looked marvellous. She belonged to me. It’s wonderful, is death.” In later years he felt obliged to explain that he had not buried her sooner “because the ground was icy”.
What's political music? All music is political, right? You either make music that pleases the king and his court, or you make music for the serfs outside the walls. It's what music (and culture) is for, right? To distract or confront, or both at the same time? So many of us know already that shit is fucked.(Thanx Will!)
In a lot of crucial ways, it's easier to find common cause than it was 10 or 20 years ago. You talk to strangers in bars or on the street, and you realise that we're all up to our eyeballs in it, right? So that right now, there's more of us than ever. It's a true fact. Every day it gets a little harder to pretend that everything's OK. The rich keep getting more and we keep getting less. Post-9/11, post-7/7, there's a police state that tightens more every day, and in our day-to-days, we're all witnesses to the demeaning outcomes of debauched governance – random traffic stops, collapsing infrastructure, corrupt bureaucrats and milk-fed police with their petty intrusions. Our cities are broke, they lay patches on top of patches of concrete, our forests cut down and sold to make newspapers just to tell us about traffic that we get stuck in. You get a parking ticket and you waste a day in line. Cop shoots kid, kid shoots kid, homeless man dies waiting to see a doctor, old men lay in hospital beds while a broken bureaucracy steals away what's left of their dignity. Folks flee to our shores, running from the messes we've made in their countries, and we treat them like thieves. Mostly it feels like whatever you love is just going to get torn away. Turn on the radio, and it's a fucking horror show, the things our governments do in our name, just to fatten themselves on our steady decline. Meanwhile, most of us are hammering away at a terrible self-alienation, mistreated, lied to and blamed. Burning fields and a sky filled with drones. The fruit rots on the vine while millions starve.
This was the first and only time that the band gave me something that they’d like for a cover. I went to see Rob Gretton, who managed them, and he gave me a folder of material, which contained the wave image from the Cambridge Encyclopedia of Astronomy. They gave me the title too but I didn’t hear the album. The wave pattern was so appropriate. It was from CP 1919, the first pulsar, so it’s likely that the graph emanated from Jodrell Bank, which is local to Manchester and Joy Division. And it’s both technical and sensual. It’s tight, like Stephen Morris’ drumming, but it’s also fluid: lots of people think it’s a heart beat. Having the title on the front just didn’t seem necessary. I asked Rob about it and, between us, we felt it wasn’t a cool thing to do. It was the post-punk moment and we were against overblown stardom. The band didn’t want to be pop starsVia