Situationism and the Art of Joy

I had a long awaited Zoom catch up yesterday with a long standing and dear friend who I worked with out in the U.S over twenty years ago (I was a mere embryo, hence my youthful good looks.)

I would help make money by heading out to steal luxury goods and deal high grade narcotics, which was the perfect crime as my finger prints had yet to form.

These days we are all grown up and responsible Gents, of impeccable character – just ask my probation officer.

After we had dispensed with the reminiscing of the joy we had trolling the Spam(tm) telephone hotline, with bizarre questions and requests, (one such example was asking if it would be against copyright to name our fictional child ‘Spam’ – the poor child still has no name), it was time to get down to the nitty gritty.

Situationism, is a topic of conversation that is usually met with the glazed look of a sheep trying to understand quantum physics I usually whenever I broach the subject. Mostly because, people in general do not care for conceptual ideas, particularly those which have a suffix of ‘ism’.

Cyberpunk Situationism GIF By Komplex

Art in general is an area of study which is often viewed as not having the same value as a ‘proper subject’, like Power Klingon. And I would suggest reflects modern societies perspective on art, as either high pomposity or contrived artefacts created for the purpose of making money.

My view of ‘art’ (and I use this across all disciplines, theatre, painting, sculpture, etc.), should grab the audience/reader by the throat and repeatedly smash itself into your psyche and then set you on fire.

Perhaps one reason for the lack of value placed on ‘art’, in today’s modern world, many original or powerful artefacts have been appropriated and homogenised into the machine of commercialism and arguably has lost any actual value and is merely another spectacle to distract an individual from theirselves.

Situationism, is about smashing through that spectacle, even for a moment and give the individual a break from the constant bombardment of images designed to fuel consumer behaviours of, more, more, more.

The machine tells us that more = happy, yet I have yet to buy anything which has filled the void within the self.

Within Stoic thought, ‘happiness’ is considered a vice – for it is a transient state of being.

Where as ‘Joy’ is considered a virtue, this separation does seem strange as some might argue that they are two sides to the same coin.

But are they?

Joy is something which is attainable and more fulfilling as it has fixed boundaries, which can actually be accomplished by doing an activity which you enjoy.

Happiness on the other hand is perhaps harder to define its boundaries, how many of you would like to be happy – yet outside having more money (to consume) what other metrics are there to measure happy?

Consumerism is like eating at an all you can eat buffet, yet never being satisfied (arguably not dissimilar to McDonald’s.) Or chasing a rainbow which is always three steps ahead.

Joy comes from within therefore attainable, why not take a moment to consider how you can find some simple joy/pleasure in your day?

It has to be cheaper than a new I-Phone.

Don’t Drill The Wight

It is a little known fact that in the, the Isle of Wight has functioned an internment camp for young people for generations.

With the iron fist regime of 1940’s conservatism reigning, it was deemed appropriate to plant ‘microchips’ into all new born children.

This implant would lie dormant until the age the child reached the age of 18, whereby it would ‘activate’ and prevent the individual from ever leaving the islands Sandy shores.

Thankfully, I managed to escape before the implant, fully integrated into my psyche (despite the haunting sirens call for me to return)

Some were not so lucky.

However, this post is in relation to another cautionary tale of local ‘government’

Owing to the unique geological environment on the Isle of Wight, it has long been posited that there be ‘black gold in them thar hills’

Previously too expensive to extract…

But thanks to the modern wonders of ‘fracking’, this has become far more ‘cost’ effective.

The Isle of Wight Council has set up a ‘consultation’ on its website (almost impossible to find though), which I am sure is a mere administrative error and nothing shady AT ALL.

Thankfully the folks at

Have done all of the leg work for you.

Consultation ends July 24th 2020, so the clock is ticking.

Malo accepto stultus sapitMalo accepto stultus sapit

Another week, another drip into the cultural toilet of post-modernity. (I’m sure Entertainment Tonight is on though if you look hard enough)

Have been working on pulling together some REALLY old fucking writings.

During my recent encounter with the unconscious, I awoke clutching a handful of hand written scribbles from ‘O.T Strange’ the younger.

The summary output of these twisted and desperate cries for help is ‘Contractual Obligations’

This will be released once I figure out how creating perfect pdf documents without sacrificing any more laptops to the great motherboard in the sky. (F in the chat bois)

Reflecting on those young man Scribblings, I am left with mixed feelings. On the one hand, the raw emotion is really difficult for me to understand. Emotions are something that I have spent the last 25 years purging and with some degrees of success.

Equally I’m kinda proud of the little twat for doing what he could to get through shit. Arguably in a more productive and brave modus operandi, than the one I adopted later in life.

Only I also know why the intent to purge emotions came from.

Emotion = Weakness/the feminine

Ergo, lack of emotion = Strength/the masculine

Such a hard line dichotomy would always bleed at the edges, however worked to a degree.

It is perhaps the bleeding edges where I show a semblance of being alive.

Guess this is the summed up dashboard figure, living or existing.

I can do both

But am I still brave enough to live?

Thiccler Likes This

And now over to Jerry with the Sports

My Favourite Code Snippets from 1998/2001

Number bases are a lot more entertaining than many people might imagine, Octal is one of my favourites, however when it comes to the expression of colour who does not like a good strong #c30e5c on their walls.

Spoiler Alert, this isn’t a tech blog…

Sorry for using my nerdy pals as a human shield here, but I like to ensure that only the attentive reader is still with us, as this shit ain’t as easy to write as it looks.

In addition this is a post for me, so most probably the less folk that read it the better.

It’s been a long time coming but I have been ragging the fuck out of one gear in the last 20 odd years, occasionally slipping into a 2nd gear when I could be freewheeling down hill.

In the process my other gears have had to sit and fucking watch whilst I seek validation for behaviours, which I never exhibit.

One major reboot later and I feel a little lost.

However some things that I know remain true, I am fiercely loyal for people and ideals I believe in and fiercely independent to the point of my own detriment.

These fundamentals have perhaps (I hope) been glimpsed (albeit in some Quasimodo form [can we still say that?])in my many online personas over the years.

I also really do not give a fuck about what folk think of me, for the most part anyway, but in first gear terms this means HIT IT, HIT IT HARD, HIT IT AGAIN, IS IT DEAD? WHO CARES HIT IT AGAIN!!!

There will always be some fucker who needs putting on their back, but not everyone and sometimes it also isn’t always gonna be my fight to have.

As I find myself looking towards ANY other approach, I have found myself enjoying shit that I have literally turned, my already pointy nose up at.

Exhibit A : Mrs OT Strange’s Egg sandwiches are literally the greatest thing inside two slices of toast.

Exhibit B : Ru Paul’s Drag Race is a fanfuckingtastic TV show and I am quite literally watching nothing else right now.

Two joys that I have stopped myself from enjoying, because of my own ego and bullshit masculine posturing.

25 years ago I would shop in the men’s department and the women’s department store and didn’t give a fuck about what folk thought – because any freedom from the norm gives me great joy.

This isn’t a coming out post btw, at least not in the traditional sense.

But if I will buy and wear whatever the fuck I want. and to be honest women’s clothes are a lot more interesting and FUN to buy.

I think Eddie Izzard once said, no these are not women’s clothes, they are mine.

There, I said it.


When Push Comes to Go Fuck Yourself

Much of our lives are spent, either, negotiating lines placed by others or your own.

In ideal circumstances, these lines are flexible, allowing each individual to explore and express their boundaries.

The reality is that, most folk take, then take a bit more, then burn your whole fucking house down and salt the surrounding earth.

The lines are drawn and redrawn, nothing changes.

Least not for the cunts holding the can of paint.

Be Careful Whose Shit You Are Carrying

Regular non readers, shall be aware of my stumbling, journey through CBT (Cognitive Behaviour Therapy)

For the uninitiated, CBT is a great way in understanding how and why you react to certain situations.

Once those readers of the 2nd paragraph have completed sucking Grandma’s Eggs, we shall move on, to the vague semblance of a point.

For my CBT this week, I have been tasked with challenging my ‘core beliefs’ and ‘rules for living’ .

In this example, I am seeking to challenge the ‘mind reading’, behaviours. This in short is a belief, that somehow I know what folk are thinking and ‘prepare’ accordingly.

If only Derek Akorah were alive…

However, with my standard distraction bullshit now out of the way, for those still with us, here is the Experiment.

Situation : Awkward conversation earlier in week, leaves me dreading next meeting.

Pre Experiment Assumption : I have done something that has upset the individual, this is why they didn’t reply to my txts or contact.

Usual response : Defensive, withdrawn, non communicative.

Potential other outcomes : The other person has had a bad week and needed to focus on themselves.

Spoiler Alert : My initial assumption was BS

Whilst perhaps not surprising, but how many conversations ot relationships are you in, which are shaped by what ‘YOU THINK’ might be the outcome.

My Old Dad used to say to me, “Put yourself down, before anyone else can.”

It is a great defensive posture, for a time.

And I don’t blame him for wanting me to be ‘safe’, it probably worked ok for him.

Remember this about your parents, unless they were Fred West types, most parents did the best they could with what they had.

One day you might be in a similar situation.

Over many years, it is easy to forget the ‘functional’ purpose of this reaction.

And you start to believe it, you find yourself riddled with doubt, second guessing and desperately seeking validation creeping through every fibre of your being.

[Blue Screen. Gif]

This is where CBT comes into play, training your thinking and emotions in ‘Bullet Time’, to understand and apply genuine meaning or value to your response.

And now a knob joke from Jeff in Entertainment News

Not Waving But Drowning, then swimming.

In a change from the usual drivel, prior to me getting to the semblance of the point I am seeking, I shall simply dive into more drivel that no one will read.

Despite spending the last decade slowly building up my resistance to complete cunts (it’s ok, I won’t say Cunt again for all you sensitive Cunts).

Firstly, I would like to say that I am speaking from my own experience and from other like minded folk.

Following a complete blue screen of the mind last year I have spent a lot of time reflecting on the roots and causes.

Seemingly I have built up a life based on ‘rules for living’ which, for the most part, are in direct opposition to what I actually ‘Value’ in life.

Emotions are for the weak and not to be trusted.”

Whilst pushing folk away and acting like a bad Clint Eastwood Character, is a sure way to make sure you don’t get twatted – it has its limitations.

For example, if you are not open to others when no fucker will help you when you ‘don’t need it’.

Recent weeks have felt every movement I make is like a desperate wave from a drowning man.

But I am really trying to swim back to where I was.

I can tell you this from my perspective, that every soul needs to bleed and ignoring this is neither, ‘brave’ or ‘masculine’

You have no idea how hard it is to not make a snippy remark and take it all back rn (right now)

“Its calling you my dear… Out of reach”


Firstly, as my bio states that I ‘sometimes write a bit’, I was unaware that this is in fact a contractual obligation to my ‘sponsors’, “”.

Apparently they are known as Google these days, who knew?

As the long haired pretentious drunkard, Jim Morrison, once said, “Weird Scenes inside the gold mine.”

Yeah, I know right.

[Non Regular readers may begin…..


Despite the internet, simply being a transport layer for noughts and ones, feeding into an algorithm which is then used to manipulate you as a ‘consumer’ into spending money that you might not have.

We are told that it is a manifestation of freedom and expression.


Equally it is apparently a tool for focusing and expressing perspectives which are marginalised at every opportunity.

If this was the initial intent or even the ‘culture’ of the digital space, then I think we have moved beyond any such expectations.

The horrific scenes in the US, sorry – I’ll narrow it down a bit…

George Floyd being killed with utter contempt, whilst depressingly not unusual, has ‘unified’ people against a common ’cause’.

I am 46, have I have heard the same bullshit every time.

It’ll be Capuulachachino Special day in Starbucks soon!

If you want to make a difference, get off the ‘internet’ and open your eyes as to what is happening in your own neighbourhood and what YOU are doing to change that, otherwise your opinion means jack shit.

So shut the fuck up.

Or don’t…

Just pipe down if you take the Starbucks Pill.


Bohemian Clunge


As regular readers will recall, at an earlier point in my life I was possessed by one or possibly two demonic entities – this as led to a proclivity towards living much of my life in the unconscious mind and an allergy to nuts.

Whilst I do not proclaim to be an expert on dream analysis, I have read a fair bit and dreamt at least as much as you – there I said it. I would like to add to my list of ‘airy fairy bollocks’ qualifications, I used to read palms for free drinks and other ‘off the menu’ items from Hippy chicks in the 90’s.

Learn to play ‘Run Away Train’ by Soultrain and you were literally swamped in bohemian clunge. [Note to potential time travellers]

Being a faux hippy in the 90’s was awesome, if you looked up a picture of ’90’s douche’ then I would be about two thirds down on the first page – probably. When I look back at the poor female souls who I encountered back in the day, I can only feel sorry for them that they ever crossed my path. Still, they live and learn…mostly…I think…

Any hoot.

I have been having quite a vivid dream where I am viewing as a third person, yet I am both characters. We are in a fast moving old U.S car, Batman is driving and the Joker and I are being rolled around in the back behind bars.

Just realised maybe I am with the Joker? In which case that pulls the rug on my initial theory that Batman was my ego wrestling against the ever unconscious desire to return to the ways of the Trickster.

Summary for super lazy assed readers : As the CBT journey continues this shit still ain’t getting easier.

Tizwas vs Swapshop? (aka Benny From Crossroads Bathwater?)

Saturday morning with Minioutatownstrange today was spent eating jellybeans, playing plants vs zombies battle for neighborville and carrying out bogey transplants.

I was reminded of how I would spend my Saturday mornings. Back in the day there were two offerings, or three if you were religious or autistic. The BBC has Swap Shop with Noel Edmonds, before the crinkly bottom. Or the still drunken ‘uncle’, who you saw wrestling your Mum, Chris Tarrant.

In my house ITV was considered to be ‘the light channel’, never more so on a Saturday morning when Tizwas was on the TV.

Thankfully I stayed with my far more Liberal father on the weekends, so I was a regular fan – even purchasing the bucket of water song on 7 inch vinyl.

When I was working in the entertainment industry, I met John Gorman and he was lovely. I only wish I had the opportunity to speak to him about his days on the show.

Saturday Swap Shop was for squares and my sister, John Craven held that show together.

Anyway, enjoy the madness my surrogate TV dad Chris Tarrant