So when I was sat reviewing Bioshock a month or more back, Ken Levine walked up behind me (it was just after that moment, so I understandably feeling charitable to this god in human form) and I asked him who he’d named Sander Cohen after, as the character was obviously Jewish (Cohen is about the
.flickr-photo { border: solid 2px #000000; }.flickr-yourcomment { }.flickr-frame { text-align: left; padding: 3px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } experiment 029, originally uploaded by Hot Grill. Possibly the most disturbing shot I’ve ever taken.
http://youtube.com/v/Vt_tv7t79WY Oh, my. That’s supremely tasteless and slightly funny. I apologise for saying this, but I may have to see another Uwe Bolle movie.
Kieron points to Tony Wilson’s death. And then blathers on about context and contextualisation like he’s swallered a sociolinguistics handbook, as is his wont. The weird thing is, he was someone I grew up with, on the peripherary of my childhood. He was a friend of my parents when I was a kid (they said
My pound of flesh is sizzling away on the hob, producing murderous juices, and on the radio I’m happy to hear my supply of tasty corpses is being maintained. Yes, the Foot & Mouth quarantine has been lifted (a bit prematurely in my case, as my mouth is still foul and my feet are no
There’s a man stood behind me in the queue verbally abusing his wife. (What the fuck am I doing at Morrissons anyway?) I glance back. They’re both in their sixties, broken-down. He’s got a thicket of white hair, and looks he shaved with a lump of broken glass, she’s got a sadsack face that’s sucked
What a way to spend a Saturday. My acrophobia agoraphobia caught up with me again this weekend, and I found it almost impossible to leave the house. I kind of reflect it when I dress, veering between completely black clothing and bright pink Hawaiian shirts twinned with green-grey combat shorts. The nearest I got to
Gower was the last of the Banteng. His mighty hooves ploughed up the fresh ground beneath trees, his proud horns shed their winter coating against the trees. He was immortal, he was invincible, he was unchallengeable.A shot rang out. There were no more banteng.The rangers’ systems registered the death, sent out a patrol. Gower’s headless
There are twenty million people in the old Imperial India currently displaced by floods. They’re without food, shelter or water, in dire straits. Yet I feel no human impulse to donate money to them. Why should I? Out of empathy? The imperative simply isn’t there, or I’d already be doing it. My brain occasionally says
I remember my dream, for the first time in months. Now little is extant, but I remember a great chamber, so dark you can hardly see the walls, the floor strewn with rubble, half an ancient theatre or a great school hall, half a war zone, kipple everywhere. We’re all children (I sense my mother