THIS IS NOT A BLOG!

The face of a killer

2009-08-16T16:31:00.001+02:00

He told the flirty guy not to touch his wooden leg. The flirty guy did. He'll now discover that broken faces make friends badly.

This is the end

2009-04-30T21:59:00.001+02:00

... My dearest friend.

2008-08-09T17:17:00.004+02:00

This morning I was silently awoken by a few members of the cult. They were about to engage in a small and lesser known ritual and thought its practice to be of interest to me. The ritual is all about caressing and self-restraint. Sadly not that visible in the picture are the small pins with which they carefully and tenderly scratch each other's skins. Tracing and carving without bleeding. Rarely did I witness such loving destruction. How far removed is this from a Frostygirl's indifferent frenzy or the Aquaposies' vain self-esteem. I can already sense the difficulties I'll have explaining it all once I get back home in the BXL.SPHERE. Whenever I do, it'll be too soon.

2008-08-02T15:16:00.003+02:00

Time seems to fly by. I've been residing on the camping island for the last ten days. Weather control during the ritual mass has been fairly effective and only once did the rainclouds manage to get the upper hand. Resulting in a furious storm. Although frightening at first I must confess the lightning and thunder, the percussive sound of the rain on our tents did enchant me. I feel the architects of our urbanscapes painfully forgot to integrate the sensation into daily LifeProg. I'll need to annoy my local GovMan about the issue upon my return.

2008-06-25T23:48:00.003+02:00

Dead dogs get no love in this world. Or do you now suddenly care?

2008-06-25T23:43:00.002+02:00

Endless sequences of technical difficulties, the details of which I'll spare you, have prevented me of posting any sooner. They have all been resolved and luckily so, as I wouldn't dare keep you from the image above. I secretely took it while attending an Ardam cult weather ceremony. The trip there was easier than anticipated. A short ride by boomer to the northern border of the BXL.SPHERE and one of the boomboats to the flooded area of what used to be ADM.SPHERE. The densely populated floating decks should convince any GovMan to reinstate its SPHEREstat. However the lack thereof did give space for the strangest and most liberating movements to emerge. As demonstrated by the Ardam ceremony I was allowed to witness. Peaceful and superstitious they are. Praying to the clouds for guidance. And despite my inbred scepticism I wouldn't dare break the magic they see and live. Better yet, their Sahn-na (a sort of head priestess) invited me along to the forthcoming Ardihm camp. A two week trajectory for Ardam children on one of the remote floatSPHERES they built outside the grasp of Gov supervision. Trees, dunes, beaches, everything one could imagine. Needless to say, I accepted the offer. How could I not...

2008-05-15T13:44:00.004+02:00

It's long past newsworthy that the kids don't know the true and natural origin of their Calcimilk beverage. And I hardly found myself in the righteous position of judging them about the lack of that knowledge. Until this morning I no longer thought about the source of the fishmeat I consume on an almost daily basis. Yet this morning's encounter with an actual fisherman (a profession my naievete thought long extinct) only painfully revealed the damage done to my worldliness by networking ever farther in an ever more closed cocoon of entertainment, tech and consuming. This particular fisherman (the word still feels like antique to me) was in the unlucky position of venturing too close to the Northscreen barrier when the, until now badly explained, explosion in the LDN.SPHERE occurred. His hands blistered, burned and now feel almost as if molded out of chunky dried-up clay. What the violent event might have done to those dwelling nearer to the blast I hardly dare imagine.

2008-05-13T19:49:00.003+02:00

Most of the people living this side of the Northscreen Barrier will have been awakened by the flash and thunderclap behind the horizon around 0320CET last night. The ones that slept through it all will find their feeds incessantly buzzing with the news that the LDN.SPHERE is no more. Where once the towers defiantly stretched towards the skies craters have taken root. As far as designated GovMen dare to reveal it's all to blame on an unidentified "alien race". The alien scouts reported to their generals (throughout the 1950s) that our roofs were filled with antennae, suitable for docking their Hubships. The fact that these 20th century antiques of commtech no longer are in use must have ticked-off the captains after the long spacejump. The destruction that ensued, cold-hearted decimation by the sound of the earth cracking in two, nothing more than the rumblings of petty revenge and disillusion. It sounds awfully far-fetched, but it's all the GovFeeds are willing to claim. Meanwhile LDN is beyond ruin. And I reluctantly await the unavoidable flood of images showing us the dead, the homeless, the scarred and wounded...

2008-05-12T23:15:00.003+02:00

As luck would have it not too far away a reckless Frostygirl showed up in broad daylight. Probably lost, as the nearest frostybar was at least 10 miles more south in the BXL.SPHERENET, she turned out to be much less agressive than expected. Still, encountering one this far out of their regular Arcturf does make me seriously consider buying a Blojo Heatkicker of respectable caliber. Keeping it hanging at no more than an arm's length from my utility belt. Less than an eye-blink away from a possible icy death.

2008-05-10T19:09:00.003+02:00

As water grows scarcer the new fad among the new cultural twen-cen poseurs is to stick one's favourite brand of aqua to the face. A far cry from branded shirts and commercially tattooed bellybuttons of the late 20th century. Roving and violent gangs of Frostygirls notwithstanding the Aquaposies don't seem to diminish in numbers. Waterly devotion seems nothing if not ever more succesful in its infection of the young urban minds.

2008-04-19T23:08:00.004+02:00

Their faces all started to implode as the virally infused meatballs collapsed into their inevitable black-hole state. Moments later even the bar got sucked into oblivion. All its desperate attempts to withstand the gravitational pull of the meatball-singularity in vain. It most certainly was not a good day to be a carnivore. 0-1 for the vegans, but we'll get our revenge sooner rather than later!

2008-03-28T22:11:00.002+01:00

Brother Bear. Apparently.

2008-03-28T21:38:00.003+01:00

They call him the Human Bear. Wilderness-hair all over his rugged-shaped face, society has shunned him and forced him to shy away from most human contact in return. An abandoned riverboat has provided him with a home. Or at least a roof above his savage appearance. He's lived there ever since he growlingly chased away a roving gang of junkies. His reputation keeps the adjacent woods free from malignant individuals. The occasional portions of food I leave him on the riverbank are always thankfully devoured. You're welcome, lonely man-bear. Nice dreams to you!

2008-01-28T21:20:00.000+01:00

Your currently refurbished love for all things climatological notwithstanding, teddy wants (you) to die. No, he no longer believes in your good intentions. Not in your elitist views, your neo-imperialist solutions for issues abroad, your sacred belief in the development of viable economical justice/exploitation. "No more", teddy screams. Teddy kills and wants to be killed in return. Pedal to the metal. Spots on the curb. Fur in between the gnashing teeth. Teddy wishes you goodnight.

2003-01-21T20:59:00.000+01:00

So…
Where has the bastard been hiding out for the past few months?

A just question in its own right, but I don’t think many people have missed me.
Many people, as a matter of fact, don’t know I exist and so couldn’t care less. But just because you made an effort once more to check for any updates here let me offer you a brief overview.

First of all, I didn’t have a clue what to write.
I had been hanging out in Spain as you may have read previously and I got a little tired of my unrelenting, sleep-inducing need to deliver anything original.
And so it happened that for the past few months I haven’t taken the effort to write new comics, music, or movies.
I did hesitate to give you all an insight in my utter amazement for the power emitted by the Suede concert I witnessed. But then again many people around me didn’t seem to share that approval for Suede’s ability to produce undeniable energy on stage. So I just skipped that part.
Afterwards it got pretty boring.
School was a drag.
People were a drag.
Hell, even the world dragged its sorry ass back to the 80s. Just look at socalled modern music. Electro-pop rules the scene. Even the old hand-puppet at the head of the states tries to outdo his republican predecessor. Iran-contra, where have you been all the time?
Doesn’t anyone feel bothered by our collective nostalgia to yuppie-like cynicism?

Well… that’s about it.

If only I could get my media empire to squash all of you little bugs right now…
It would make me happier and richer!

But there is a light in the distance: "De Klootzakken" are on their way!!!
Let’s see how we can pervert your hairdo’s and cheap clothing.

Our first appearance is scheduled on april 3rd.
The pre-sales of our t-shirts are already exceeding the 100.
The little people around me are already subconsciously humming the words to our first single "Alle Koeien Moeten Kapot", and there is more where that came from.

Get out of the way.
And if you just cannot stand the waiting tune in to my radio-show, Timetunnel, accessible via the link to FMBSSL.

I dare you to adore me and to be loved in return!!

MAMALS WILL PREVAIL!!!

And now, begone…

Don Pablo A Eekman.

2002-10-03T01:19:00.000+02:00

Once upon a time, in the farthest reaches of a distant plane there wandered a man through a boiling desert of mud. If one were to see him and ask whence he had come, he might have replied that his land was shattered and broken into a thousand pieces. Pieces that, so is his quest, must all be rejoined would he ever desire to see his home again. And so he travels.
But none asked him and for not using his voice his tongue and throat had shrivelled to mere dry meat allowing him but to swallow the tender flesh he bit of the bones of the few creatures thriving within these parts. Filtering the dark and sandy mud pools has kept him afoot. And he remained forever searching for this man was a herder and the shards of his homelands his herd.
And as the desert stretched out for aeons, so did he slowly move on, ever leering over the sand.
This man has no name, for there is no one to call him. He has no will, for there is no thing to want. He is driven by desires spawned by faint memory. The images that haunt his eyes so bleak he can barely define the forms and colours and creatures that dance before his mind. He no longer knows man, no longer understands life, no longer perceives himself, for the water is no mirror and his eyes and appearance are tainted with the soil he walks on.
His knowledge long faded into oblivion by the endless sights of void and has made him quite mad and broken. Were he to meet another man, he would be tempted, deceived and murdered as a child, that knows not yet of the way of man. Were he to meet a woman he’d take is life by himself.

This man, my friends is you…
His lot is yours…
And there’s nothing you can do about it.

Unless, of course, you were to get yourself a copy of the new and improved MadMrMonkeyMagazine. If living at all, you know that you owe it to yourself to get one. Revolution has arisen. Mammals will prevail… Check for availability. monkeyafterdark@globalfrequency.org

2002-10-03T01:18:00.000+02:00

Everything has passed us by.
We live in the past.
Now Is History!!

Reading an unnecessary pseudo-scientific, but irresistibly good book (“Lipstick Traces”, by Greil Marcus), I felt compelled in trying to unveil my own revolutionary insight in the world and the way us humans live on it.
And I did…
Seeing that al we perceive of each other is dead, (the upper layer of our skins, the hairs on our bodies, the nails on our fingers, the jelly that covers our eyes) I was confronted with the inevitable conclusion that not only our presence is covered in death, but even the world we perceive is no longer living.
Remember how the Greeks said that one can never swim in the same river. The river is eternally alternating its state. Of course this applies to anything else but just the river. The bed you lay in, the streets you walk on, the car you drive, the elevator you make love in… All are different from one instant to another.
Enter the fact that our brain is a super-processor, a masterpiece of evolution, but a processing device none the less. This implies that every bit of information that enters is instantaneously calculated and interpreted. However fast this may go… it still takes its share of time. By the time you become aware of your where and when, that where and when has already fleeted into there and then.
So you see, there is no NOW. We are by fault of our construction unable to ever truly be there where we really are. By the time you know, the wind has blown it all to pieces. Think about it…
You might already be dead and not even know it yet.
We are victims of the fate we do not even know yet that we create. To speak of now is to live in the past. It is to act upon a world long since gone.
Our existence in the future, we are as yet unaware of, pre-ordains the past we live.
Don’t try to change the future, but BE THE FUTURE and deny yourself out of the now if you ever want to break out of the slavery to yourself.
Time is an option.
Place a movement.
Freedom is eternity. Overrated and unattainable.

Before the end of October the new issue of MMMMag will be out to break your neck.
And the designs for the official launch of MMMMusic and MMMMedia are on the verge of readiness. Listen for the firing in the distance, or get your head kicked in…

2002-09-23T12:24:00.000+02:00

But Rosas must be heaven in wintertime, when the wind blows a feisty 90 km/h half of the time.
Barcelona looks like a bollocks all year round: they don't nail the doors and windows shut, it never really looks like a ghost town.

Been drinking and smoking last night.
Been hunting (again...)
Didn't get any...
Probably better that way.

If you can spare the time and/or the money, then get yourself a copy of Neil Gaiman's "Sandman: The Dreamhunters". Fiction doesn't get anymore graceful and humble.

By the way... if you CAN spare the time and the money do yourself a pleasure and go eat at "El Bulli". There is no way you'll ever regret it. At that price you'll never eat in a 3* restaurant again. And neither will you ever eat the same food.
As a matter of fact... eating in general will never be quite the same, but that's for me to tell you and for you to discover!!!
www.elbulli.com

2002-09-22T12:44:00.000+02:00

Rosas, Spain: it's hot, humid, boring and filled with god's worst creation yet: tourists (and yes, they are available in all sizes around here)

By the way, Barcelona is a filthy, noisy and dangerous place to be. Oh, and it's hot, humid and filled to the brim with tourists (including some exclusive models at that)

But I'll be back in Brussels soon, to prepare my odyssey to glorious Am*dam!!!

2002-09-08T19:11:00.000+02:00

Well…

There’s been little to say, ‘cos I haven’t been doing a lot lately. One could call it my chronically arousing of utter voidness. Some lazy moments when all it takes to feel oneself a better person is to lie down and refuse to be of any use whatsoever. You should try it. It takes a while of getting used to before you stop feeling bad about yourself. But don’t worry. That gnawing at your conscience isn’t you, it is society demanding you to be productive. But could someone tell me why?
So dive into your sheets, preferably without anyone else and with the remote in hand start swimming the wondrous world of television. Look, absorb, think and notice how even they are not really doing anything (except selling you the illusion that they are), then get over it and deny the world in your own nothing-for-nada moments.
After a while, people will not even notice you’re around anymore…
And wonder how everyone is making too much of a fuss out of just about anything. See the real perspectives of the world. Watch some news in the evening and complain about the wrongs that you’re finally starting to perceive. Sleep. Wake-up. Repeat.
You Will find that doing anything, like you’re used to is way more tiring than you ever thought it would be. Get out of the bed and start doing some really useful things. Ignore everyone’s bitching about you being a lazy sod, just enjoy his or her ignorance and soak in some really right righteousness.

PS!!! September 27 is my 23rd birthday… Be a pal and buy stuff off list of the things I need this year… Just mail to dreamiii@hotmail.com with "birthday present request" in the subject header and you can rest assured that you’re finally one step closer to being a better human being, and there’s way too few of those.

2002-08-31T16:33:00.000+02:00

Been watching the VMA's yesterday.
How painstakingly obvious that POP IS DEAD.
The stars and their products lost any relevance, self-relativity and boldness. Where's the unpolished beauty of a raw, merciless and heartbreaking pop song?
Dragging myself through the 2h30 of the VMA's I was given to witness some of the emptiest and sickening self-promotions, ass-kissings and irrelevances ever seen amongst the so-called musical talents of our times. Their certain demise can be averted only if a ravaging tempest of a storm was to take place in musicland. Something heartlessly devastating, ice-cold with ground teeth ripping all our souls to pieces.
Last time it was called Punk. Now, Punk may be dead as a music and fashion genre (which, let's face it, it was never meant to be), but it's spirit is once more needed, now more than ever. Or the popstar's soul's only salvation lies in doing the Hutchence. And I wouldn't wish that to any of them.
Read "Lipstick Traces" by Greill Marcus, see Julien Temple's "The Filth And The Fury", listen to any British record of the late seventies and understand what I'm saying. Punk saved us from the Bay City Rollers, so be grateful. Punk is only about the commitment to what you believe and the courage to question all AND yourself!!

By the way... Work on the next installment of MadMrMonkeyMagazine is proceeding, so quit bugging!! Next issue will appear in October. It'll be worth the wait.

2002-08-29T14:46:00.000+02:00

The day of suffering commences!!

That's what I heard on the streets. Doesn't seem to bother anyone, though. Just make sure you don't miss the bus, just to get stuck in your favorite traffic accident. Seems everyone has been waiting for it. Waiting for it only to ignore whatever it may bring about. But we here at the monkeyMansion shall be laughing our asses of once it is too late to turn back. We saw it coming as you all did, but then we decided not to ignore it any longer and kickstart the boldest bastard of a party showcaseing your ignorance. Get ready for us. Mammals WILL prevail!!

Don't bother to understand it. The light may dawn upon you yet. You're all invited!!

And if you've got anything to say 'gainst it, print it on a bloody shirt then burn it.

MonkeyMaster,
don Pablo A Eekman.