As the world completes another orbit around the sun and the beings that live on it mark the passage of time from that relative coordinate again, so the year two thousand and fifteen has arrived. The actual year is 4,543,265,993. P'raps you're reading this on this very day, hair smelling like cigarette smoke and teeth loose from gum recession. P'raps you're reading this in fifty years time as part of a school project on data archeology. P'raps you're reading this a billion years into the future, a little zig emanating from a long dead planet. Whatever your temporal orientation, this is authored from the point of view of a humble humanoid casting a face back and a face forth, Janusian pattern recognition in full effect.
What was 2014? Turn it down for hdyoutube soul blast misanthropic pre-futurist iphone asteroid landing robin williams world cup farage missing planes cumberbatch nude photo ebola fracking ice bucket isis extravaganza, to sum it up. Each decade in the 20th century had a certain flavour and yet 15% through this century and the only thing to tell old from new is the resolution of the image.
"Dreams are the subconscious desire of unexplored parapraxis in order to avoid taboo. Does wish fulfilment lead to ritual; Cave paintings, hieroglyphics, theatre of the cavemen, painting, television; Fictions that could be entertainment but also an allegory or metaphor. The modern language of media is through homage and cliché, repetition, the simulation of media that has come before in order to remind you of the original and that you are watching fiction. In our imagination we may picture our minds filled with homunculus' who walk around the estates of our memory. Although this is affected by photography, as an individual perspective on the world around us we choose to remember the photograph of. We edit the photographs of reality for sharing in order to stroke our digital ego; it itself an extension of us on the World wide web, technology has invaded life so subtly as to appear normal. But is satisfaction through materialism just a distraction? Capitalist industry is a system that isn't reflected in nature, it is one of such extreme complexity and asymmetry that it can not be predicted currently. Death." - Russell Brand, thinker of 2014
January
The bitterest month, in memoriam ex mento that 2015 will be remembered as a year that happened in the past in which the present history will say have had a series of events occur that would lead to developments in the future. The main one being a series of attacks from sensitives. There was an experiment done in 1987 in which an area of forest was cordoned off and a deer introduced every hour. They found that within a certain amount, the area divided by the population and then multiplied, was the overpopulation sweet spot. The forest could adequately hold sixty deer, so that each had enough space that they didn't display any signs of aggression towards the self or others. At one hundred and twenty deer some individuals began to attack those nearby or begin to mutilate themselves. After two weeks just over three hundred deer had been stuffed into the forest. Scientists watched from observation platforms in the tree tops waves of pain ripple across the backs of the deer. Some would knock their head from side to side, biting at the ears of its neighbour as they tried to find their footing on the dead below. Although humanity hasn't yet reached this badness, the same applies in a psychic sense. The brain is constantly bombarded with information and so drives certain people to undertake terrorist attacks in order to decrease the population back to a more manageable state. Towards of the end of January scientists will make this breakthrough discovery and completely change every single language into the same one in which the only word of the language is 'oyo'. This leads to a massive decrease in communication complexity and and nobody ever kills anyone again.
February
As the soft jelly snow of January melts, so do the ice caps. For a few weeks they reveal an extraordinary scene, a pair of fish dinosaurs battling underwater are frozen in perfect condition. News helicopters constantly circle the glimpse into the past as the bizarre sepulchre breaks away from the glacier and heads towards America, slowly melting as it travels. Just as it reaches the Statue of Liberty the two huge creatures come back to life after being struck by lightning and continue their prehistoric death duel in the Hudson Bay.
March
The true beginning of the year is of course in Spring. And Spring definitely 'springs' into action as an enormous spring escapes from a factory and begins to bounce away, getting higher and higher with each tumble. The curious nature of this super spring is the material it's made from; graphene. The wonder-material is thought to be of such vital importance in the years ahead due to its resilience, lightness and abundance. The only unforeseen property of this material is that anything made out of it will cause chaos and destruction. The giant spring therefore leaves a trail of misery out of Manchester as it begins its travel across England, the eighty tonne juggernaut is unable to be stopped by conventional means until it is captured inside a graphene containment cube. Although as this is also made out of graphene, the containment cube also manages to trap most of Wakefield inside as well.
April
The newest internet sensation begins in April that is copied by billions. In order for something to be popular it requires that people can show off in some way with the least amount of effort. With the 'Necknomination' craze that swept the web people could show off drinking, so followed the 'Ice Bucket Challenge' in which people could do something wacky whilst being naked. The next logical conclusion is the 'Oil Aboard' in which a number of people oil themselves up and then try to pile of top of each other. This also follows the liquid theme pervading the fads as people love water. They also love goo, and so 'Oil Aboard' is an instant success enjoyed by all. Laugh as people not thought of as attractive try it. Lust over sexy people doing it. Wince as painful accidents occur. Like all fads this will die out after eight weeks, although the thing it will be replaced by in 2016 will be so wonderful it will definitely be worth the wait.
May
The 2015 General Election will be a series of 'gaffs' as politicians are meant to act like humans but can't pull it off properly. Names will be called. People will cry. The entire political landscape for the rest of the decade lies in the hands of a racist pensioner again. But from the smoke will rise a champion, forged in the heat of battle. Ed Milliband will walk through the palace of blood to sit atop the throne of skulls, upon his head he will wear a crown of tears as he looks out on his kingdom, expressionless. Inside his head he dreams he is hiding in the dark, naked and afraid, but that is just a dream. He summons a servant boy with the flick of a wrist and demands that the NHS is to remain free and that there should be a mansion tax. The boy nods his tongueless head and the rhythm of his feet running down the hall fades. The prime minister is alone once more and turns his wet eyes up to the stars.
June
The most interesting things usually happen in Summer and this year is no exception. With the hottest day on record happening consecutively, the summer of '15 will be a killer! A hosepipe ban will be in effect, ice cream will be sold out and chaos will take to the nations motorways as sun bathers will relax amongst the traffic jams. This will be the first year that the country will get a taste of its Tropical future, they will discover palm trees at the bottom of their garden and hear monkeys howling in the night. Resorts are built ten miles inland awaiting global warming, this will be exclusive beach front property in twenty or so years. Piers jut out from hillsides as ferris wheels are rolled towards them, boats already begin to populate the streets of nearby towns. The water shortage meanwhile leads to no water available for bathing or showering, personal hygiene goes down the toilet and the Brits are known as the stinkiest nation on this side of the equator.
July
A private space company decides to mark the launch of its flagship shuttle with a special million dollar promotional event. Pitbull, Taylor Swift, Scott Walker, Nicki Minaj, Flying Lotus, Nine Inch Nails and Faithless have been booked to play throughout the day accompanied by visual DJ's and circus performers whilst various celebrities arrive in order to do skits and quick interviews. The astronauts for the flight dance awkwardly as Nicki Minaj sings her hit 'Starships' and encourages the crowd to clap along. As the launch draws nearer Michael Collins comes onstage and begins to countdown, accompanied by mystical drumming. The curtains draw back to reveal the shuttle a few miles away, its main engines ignite. The audience gaze in anticipation. Pure zen. The rocket roars and separates from the mooring, moving upward slowly. Everyone begins to cheer as the space ship safely makes its way into the upper atmosphere, the astronauts breathe a sigh of relief. As gravity no longer affected it, a towel began to unfurl in the compartment, revealing Pitbull crouched in the corner.
"Me not working hard, yeah right! Picture that with a Kodak or better yet, go to Times Square, take a picture of me with a Kodak. Took my life from negative to positive I just want y'all know that, and tonight let's enjoy life;
Pitbull, Nasa, Eeyore, that's right."
August
With the increase in sexiness in culture the tide begins to turn. Dressing extremely conservatively becomes fashionable, as does abstinence from everything. Social media commentators begin to wonder why they even bother having sex any more and they'd just like to live in sensory pods where they can strap on a virtual reality headset whilst a pipe runs directly into the stomach to remove the need for food. On their nethers another virtual reality set is fastened, although this is meant to simulate touch rather than vision. Hundreds of little robot arms tend to the genitals, manipulating them in a constant stream of arousal. Another tube is put at the rear and fills the body with a continuous enema so that waste simply floats in and out. Lots of people sign up for this service but find it quite uncomfortable, although there is no way of exiting the sensory pod once locked in and buried beneath concrete to make way for a luxury car park. In the meantime sexiness prevails with the new fad of men wearing cute skirts and low cut tops.
September
A robot is invented that becomes a celebrity due to its wit and handsomeness. It is called Boosle-body: The fun android and is taken on a tour of chat shows across America. It releases a hit single and does youtube collaborations with other celebrities like Pew-die-pie and Chris Rock. Boosle-body preaches peace and equality but isn't afraid to get its hands dirty. This is one sassy robot! At the premiere of the Clockwork Orange remake it lays the proverbial smackdown on Bradley Cooper so much so that Cooper punches the android in the neck and its head flies off. Boosle-body is reactivated but isn't the same afterward. Its jokes are more cruel and to the point, it has less time for its fans. Boosle-body ends up retiring and goes into solitude in the Nevada Desert, waiting for the time of the robots.
October
In a shocking twist of events it is revealed that everybody in the UK will inherit a million pounds due to the last wishes of eccentric expat billionaire Pat Sharpe. After the a long weekend of elaborate celebration many decided to quit their jobs and enjoy the inheritance. Generation Millionaire had arrived and it was lazy. A million quickly became a new unit of currency called a Hyper-Quid. Hyper-Quids were useful for buying black market luxury goods, paying for services and gambling with but not much else. The economy trundled on as normal as a new social class bloomed into existence on the econosphere.
November
After a rollercoaster year of thrills and spills it seemed there were no more surprises left in store. But a new age was about to begin. A team of astronauts and Pitbull had landed on Mars and discovered an ancient building hidden inside a hollow mountain. They had discovered a martian temple, proof that intelligent life had existed on Mars at some point millions of years ago. The head astronaut steps inside a chamber and dusts off a sphere in the centre. It is a map of the galaxy constructed from bubbles in the glass, they catch the light thrown from her helmet lamp. The astronaut runs a gloved finger across the orbit of the Milky Way, eventually finding our solar system amongst the blizzard of stars. Then the sphere cracked open and an alien jumped out.
December
Christmas shopping.
Showing posts with label 2014. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 2014. Show all posts
1.1.15
21.5.14
Goodbye Thoughts
Some portraits done by students aged between 70-125 years old. Whilst drawing we can't help but subconsciously inserting some part of ourselves onto the paper. It is through placing ourselves inside the drawing that we can better understand the artist.
22.3.14
Generation Y or Gem her a shun why?
Teenagers these days are different to the teenagers of the past. They listen to different music, use technology and dress differently. They also act differently. I took to the streets to interview them.
"These days we do things differently than in the past. I feel almost like I didn't do the exact same things as my parents did." says Adam. He is studying a creative subject in a town in the Midlands to give you the impression that he is somewhat of a nieve idealist. We look at out a street I would describe with bland adjectives and perhaps mention the juxtaposition between an advertisement and what is happening nearby.
"Why is it do you think we have subcultures? And why is it they change so much?"
"I'm not entirely sure so I will give a slightly nihilistic yet self-aware response as I lack the confidence to truly say what I think due to the question being mostly unimportant." he says, checking the end of an object one associates with being symbolic of that sub-culture. A group of teenage men and women are walking down the street across from us, although these are dressed differently to Adam.
"Is that a different sub-culture, perhaps one that somehow rivals yours?"
"Correct. The shared beliefs in which each subculture values can differ in importance. Although this brings up the question of if people belong to subcultures based on their beliefs or does the subculture shape the beliefs of the person to which it belongs. I propose it is less of a chicken and egg scenario and more akin to the Portuguese man o' war, a single being made up of several different creatures or in this case, concepts." says Adam, gesticulating in the fog rolling in around us. I thank him and cross the road into a café in which the other teenagers have just entered.
I sit down nearby and after eavesdropping for ten minutes or so can't help but mention that I am a journalist on a website and if it would be possible to interview them.
"What do you want to interview about?" says one baby-faced youth.
"What is it like being a teenager in 2014? I mean, I know I look young but I'm not a teenager." I say, laughing to myself.
"We are undergoing a severe biological transformation and this causes a certain amount of ennui." says a tall girl.
"Yeah, it's like in our culture being a teenager is a thing you do between being a child and being an adult. But the way in which it happens is totally unhealthy." says the baby-faced youth, drinking a can of pop that didn't exist five years ago and is mocked slightly by people it isn't marketed to. The other people sitting at the table nod their heads.
"So you think there's an alternative?" I ask, pulling a microphone out of my trouser pocket and letting its foamy tip rest on the table.
"I think it'd be more fluid if teenagers left their homes once they show the first signs of puberty. They would gather in special camps out in the wilderness where they would learn about themselves and the world around them. The community is encouraged to experiment and build on interpersonal skills whilst undergoing an education and learning the basics of self-sufficency. I believe that this would lead to general feelings of well-being and happiness that would have a trickle down effect through the generations until we achieve a kind of...utopia."
"Well I'll get right on that." I say, laughing. "Next you'll be saying we should cut funding for the police and armed forces and put it into education and welfare."
"Well now you mention it..." says a pimple-faced miscreant. Like Jesus cleansing the temple of merchants, I flipped the table over and started throwing plates around.
Six hours later I am stood on a cliff next to a woman about to jump. I look down at the rocks and the surf below, listening to the wind carrying the call of gulls which fly around.
"Don't try and stop me." she says, breathing heavily, face wet with tears.
"I'm not." I say, kneeling down on the grass and flipping my legs over the edge.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm climbing." I say, letting my body slip as I clutch onto handfuls of grass. One of my boots catches a rock and I begin to rest my weight onto it. Gradually I begin to clamber down, sometimes a foothold gives way beneath and I slip a few feet.
"Stop it! It's dangerous!" she shouts down at me.
"If you jump I will catch you." I shout back up. I climb down for a while longer, rubbing the sweat from my eyes with the sleeve of my tweed jacket. I glance back up and she is still there, watching me. There comes a point in which there are no more places to put my feet or my hands. I can't go back up as most of my previous holds have crumbled away and fallen into the sea beneath me. I am stuck.
"Excuse me. Can you call mountain rescue?" I shout up. But she has disappeared. One of my hands begin to cramp as I hold myself against the cliff face. "Shit."
"These days we do things differently than in the past. I feel almost like I didn't do the exact same things as my parents did." says Adam. He is studying a creative subject in a town in the Midlands to give you the impression that he is somewhat of a nieve idealist. We look at out a street I would describe with bland adjectives and perhaps mention the juxtaposition between an advertisement and what is happening nearby.
"Why is it do you think we have subcultures? And why is it they change so much?"
"I'm not entirely sure so I will give a slightly nihilistic yet self-aware response as I lack the confidence to truly say what I think due to the question being mostly unimportant." he says, checking the end of an object one associates with being symbolic of that sub-culture. A group of teenage men and women are walking down the street across from us, although these are dressed differently to Adam.
"Is that a different sub-culture, perhaps one that somehow rivals yours?"
"Correct. The shared beliefs in which each subculture values can differ in importance. Although this brings up the question of if people belong to subcultures based on their beliefs or does the subculture shape the beliefs of the person to which it belongs. I propose it is less of a chicken and egg scenario and more akin to the Portuguese man o' war, a single being made up of several different creatures or in this case, concepts." says Adam, gesticulating in the fog rolling in around us. I thank him and cross the road into a café in which the other teenagers have just entered.
I sit down nearby and after eavesdropping for ten minutes or so can't help but mention that I am a journalist on a website and if it would be possible to interview them.
"What do you want to interview about?" says one baby-faced youth.
"What is it like being a teenager in 2014? I mean, I know I look young but I'm not a teenager." I say, laughing to myself.
"We are undergoing a severe biological transformation and this causes a certain amount of ennui." says a tall girl.
"Yeah, it's like in our culture being a teenager is a thing you do between being a child and being an adult. But the way in which it happens is totally unhealthy." says the baby-faced youth, drinking a can of pop that didn't exist five years ago and is mocked slightly by people it isn't marketed to. The other people sitting at the table nod their heads.
"So you think there's an alternative?" I ask, pulling a microphone out of my trouser pocket and letting its foamy tip rest on the table.
"I think it'd be more fluid if teenagers left their homes once they show the first signs of puberty. They would gather in special camps out in the wilderness where they would learn about themselves and the world around them. The community is encouraged to experiment and build on interpersonal skills whilst undergoing an education and learning the basics of self-sufficency. I believe that this would lead to general feelings of well-being and happiness that would have a trickle down effect through the generations until we achieve a kind of...utopia."
"Well I'll get right on that." I say, laughing. "Next you'll be saying we should cut funding for the police and armed forces and put it into education and welfare."
"Well now you mention it..." says a pimple-faced miscreant. Like Jesus cleansing the temple of merchants, I flipped the table over and started throwing plates around.
Six hours later I am stood on a cliff next to a woman about to jump. I look down at the rocks and the surf below, listening to the wind carrying the call of gulls which fly around.
"Don't try and stop me." she says, breathing heavily, face wet with tears.
"I'm not." I say, kneeling down on the grass and flipping my legs over the edge.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm climbing." I say, letting my body slip as I clutch onto handfuls of grass. One of my boots catches a rock and I begin to rest my weight onto it. Gradually I begin to clamber down, sometimes a foothold gives way beneath and I slip a few feet.
"Stop it! It's dangerous!" she shouts down at me.
"If you jump I will catch you." I shout back up. I climb down for a while longer, rubbing the sweat from my eyes with the sleeve of my tweed jacket. I glance back up and she is still there, watching me. There comes a point in which there are no more places to put my feet or my hands. I can't go back up as most of my previous holds have crumbled away and fallen into the sea beneath me. I am stuck.
"Excuse me. Can you call mountain rescue?" I shout up. But she has disappeared. One of my hands begin to cramp as I hold myself against the cliff face. "Shit."
18.3.14
27.2.14
Shall Turn To Blood
Noise Festival Presents
A Shakespeare & Longfellow Production
ALL THE WATERS OF EARTH SHALL TURN TO BLOOD
at Antwerp Mansion, Manchester. 1900.17.3.14-18.3.14
###
Nestled in a dark cranny at the edge of Curry Mile, Antwerp Mansion is an open hive of artistry. The Victorian-era building is home to photo shoots, raves, team building weekends and art exhibitions, a cultural gem of the city that is equally important to similar locations such as Islington Mill or The Whitworth Art Gallery. Artisans from across Europe carefully restore the original covings around the building, using only the best quality jute sacking, gypsum plasters and associated ancillaries in the return of the buildings grace. Indeed, its virtues lie in not just the walls but in the people, for Antwerp Mansion is the preliminary expedition for the slow gentrification of curry mile itself.
On the 17th of March at exactly seven o'clock the doors of the mansion will be flung open. Doves will emerge from the dusty corridors, spraying glitter from their wings as they soar across Manchester. All the waters of Earth shall turn to blood. The equivalence of royalty in the contemporary Manchester art scene will visit, wearing the finest frocks and gowns, to view a series of paintings and sculptures that would make Mozart himself jealous. The exhibition appears to be about a meat planet, but over the course of the evening observers can't help but notice that the air around them is sticky with a certain substance. And upon further pondering people will realise that there is a little bit of magic in the air. Things seem to float. Colours change. Instead of talking they were now listening, to the cosmic bell that is chiming around them.
BONG!
BONG!
BONG!
and they will know that everything was true.
6.1.14
The Year Ahead
The year two thousand and fourteen has arrived with much fanfare and insolence, like the half dream granted through head trauma, like the constant memory which never happened. As we are in the early days of the time of the year, why not take a look ahead at the sort of things we may expect to reflect on in the past, present and future sitting from a position of absolute time as one may sit inside a glass mountain overlooking a constantly shifting landscape;;; !
JNRAURY
The first, and some argue best, month. January is the aperitif of the year and is usually dry rather than sweet, meaning the dirtiest of politicians can be found stirring beneath Egyptian cotton sheets wishing cruel death upon those that they rule over. Of course the concept of politicians wielding any real power is a lie orchestrated by History books for no reason other than it suits the public to be told what to do until they no longer feel the need to be told what to do. True History is not made by great leaders or earth shattering events, but the mass consciousness of the public ebbing and flowing beneath technological concepts and philosophy and then acted out. Hunger has been a bigger driving force for people over politics, and 2014 is shaping up to be a year in which feeding one's family various Big Macs will be more important than the soft meats of David Cameron's face. January will also be the month in which Amsterdam finally sinks to the bottom of the ocean, never to be seen again and only told about in myths akin to Atlantis, but with weed. Strange polar winds that are extremely localised will fly in from the Artic, freezing people where they stand, even if they only went to put the bins out.
FBEAURTY
Once the month of Janus runs its course, February will start with a big bang in the style of a James Bond film. The international spy network will introduce themselves using their real names in bars and casinos the world over, their whereabouts being pieced together through a patchwork of selfies and upon their discovery the undercover agents will gather on the secret oil rig in the ocean and zap each other with ray guns. This in itself is unimportant, but future peoples will remember February as the saturation point of mobile technology with 1 in 5 people owning a high tech smart phone. Nomad tribes will be given Google Glass in order to record their day to day lives to be streamed over Youtube for millionaires to watch, and often bet on. iPads will be flown into Sierra Leone, smart watches to Calcutta, Raspberry Pi's to Kurdish rebels and so on. All of the wi-fi information floating about will make it difficult to walk in a straight line, leading to the invention of compensating footwear that automatically forces peoples feet to veer in different directions. With the proliferation of smear tech across the globe, more people will experience the world through a four inch screen. People will no longer act as they would but conform to a mysterious status quo in which all is judged based on its radness. Marriages will break up for the lols. Business decisions will be made based on cat pictures. Prisoners will be executed as they lack social media followers. If a tree falls in the woods and nobody is around to put it on Instagram, who gives a fuck?
MARS
The Earth's great and violent heart beats as it rotates around Sol far enough our planet edges into Spring, at least in the Northern Hemisphere. In the Southern Hemisphere it is eternally Christmas. Which is more similair to the man; Sherlock, Khan, Assange? It is true that Benedict Cumberbatch tends to play the same sort of polymath in every single thing he's in, so it could be argued that he is acting more in real life than he is in front of the camera. Scripts arrive at his front door every morning in which he reads over a pot of Earl Grey. The scripts tell him to shave, drive through rush hour traffic, eat sustainable fish, and since Cumberbatch is a reverse actor he often struggles in the simple role of being a regular schmuck. Cumberpatch will also star in a hit film to be released this summer, starring alongside Idris Elba in a move to attract cat lovers everywhere. Crumberbath plays a gay butler working at Buckingham Palace in which he has a sordid affair with Elba, a blind harp player from New Orleans. The film itself is two hours of self indulgent nonsense but important as its release synchronizes with the entire palace, including the Royal Family, being swallowed by an earthquake. Rescue efforts are relatively nonexistent as all people can do is watch Buckingham Palace fade into the magma, wondering who will be on their money now.
AVRILE
If anything can be said about 2014 it will be quadcopters. The four rotored craft will be able to be bought for just two hundred bucks and provide hours of entertainment. Watch as the air fills with the high pitched noise of quadcopters sweeping across our skies, crashing into the windscreens of buses driving on motorways or hovering outside the window of women in a state of undress. We might not get flying cars, but who cares if we have flying cameras? An easy method of getting yourself a quadcopter is by ordering a book to your neighbours house through Amazon, waiting for the retail drone to come hovering over the horizon and then capture it in a hessian sack, all for the price of a Chris Evans biography. Of course the law will slowly catch up on this sexy new tech, but in the meantime consumers will enjoy the halcyon days of flying shit smeared quadcopters into banks and detonating them inches away from the managers top lip. How can governments complain about spying when they themselves spy on everyone? The quadcopter is a force of Communist justice that will seem entertaining for all until they blot out the sun and become sentient.
MAYA
You know what people like? Skyscrapers. Many architectural projects will begin and finish this year, as they have since we started pushing humongous stones into circles, but the sky is literally the limit with some breathtaking blocks of concrete popping up around the world. Bigger really is better as architects are forced to make buildings taller and taller for no other reason than being larger than the last. The Japanese will realise the logical conclusion for this is to build a building so big it encapsulates the Earth, only to be trumped by Americans who will realise that they should build a road that goes out of the solar system and into the Andromeda galaxy.
JNEU
Football will reign supreme over the mild summer, with all the favourite teams in the world getting together in Brazil, South America. The event will be sullied somewhat by the extreme poverty happening outside the stadium along with crime riots and animal death squads, but all of this will be ignored by mainstream media and gone on about in the guardian in articles with titles like 'The Favalian Underworld' or 'A Red Card For Police Corruption' written by sweating twenty something's who've never been to Brazil before nor go again after. All of this is inconsequential however as Brazilians have twitter and will then be focused on in buzzfeed lists like '23 Awesome But Sad Facts About Brazil That Will Change Your Life' and so on. Also the ice caps will melt.
JOLY
Due to the inordinate amount of celebrities dying who'd starred in films from 1968-1982, Hollywood suddenly realises that it needs a new batch of talent for the world to fawn over. Will Shia LeBouf be the new Jack Nicholson? What about him from Harry Potter, is he like Al Pacino or something? The sad answer is no. Nevertheless the vacuum created by the passing of these old fogies will create a new creative space in which the stars of the future will form, and I'm not talking about Colin Firth. The average age of the highest paid actors at the start of the year was 47. By the end of the year it will be 19. How? Acting. And sometimes dancing.
AGUST
What other tech can we expect in 2014? Good question. If you know the answer why don't you invent it? With rapid prototyping now you can! It's as easy as making toast, with children printing out guns and taking them to school to fire death into the bodies of their classmates. Even the poorest man can print out a Rolls Royce and appear in Hotel lobbies with printed money and a mouth full of crack smoke. Newspapers will cry out for moderation, yet nobody is entirely sure who reads newspapers any more and why should it shape the political landscape? Printers that can print themselves will start multiplying like aphids and eventually blot out the sun, alongside quadcopters and selfies.
SEPEMPTRO
The most important character in the history of feminism is Robin Thicke. His 2013 hit single 'Blurry Lines' was like a great bell awakening the world to the idea that half of it's population should be treated the same as the other half. Nowadays if you see a man hit a woman in the street you might shout that it's 'not on' then name and shame them on facebook. Elle, Prada and OK magazine will all jump on the gravy bandwagon and try to make feminism more girly. Why can't a feminist wear a cute crop top with Emmeline Pankhurst on it? Why should a man have to listen to a woman not wearing expensive makeup which has been force fed to an ape until lipstick pushes it's eyeballs out? Why the heck should Muslim women be allowed to wear Burkas when they should show off their hot bodies for both sexes to enjoy? The hot topic of 2014 is feminism, leading to the great gender war of 2015. But in the meantime why not catch up on some feminist theory and wonder if you can use your knowledge to have sex?
OCTOBRE
The cold bleating of Autumn will appear like a frozen fog throughout the civilised streets of Western Europe. People will complain, yet the amount of complaining is insignificant once London floods. For weeks the world will be saddened at tales of million pound flats being ruined with filthy Thames water. There will even be a photograph of David Cameron with his trousers rolled up as he waves to a camera. In the three inches of heel visible onlookers will gaze at the hairless leg of the prime minister and wonder what his flesh would taste like if he were to be held in a pitch black chamber and fed a diet of milk and honey until being taken outside and beheaded by a motorbike. Cannibalism will be rife in London post-flood, scenes of horror reminisce of the great starvations yet to happen in following decades.
NOVNOMBR
November is a cheery time as nothing in particular happens. People will check the news, talk to their friends, drive around for hours, yet nothing seems to happen. Television screens will only display white noise. All digital music will be replaced with a sawtooth tone due to a crafty virus that discombobulates mp3 files. People will begin to rot in bed as they wonder what it is they should be doing and coming up with no answer.
DECEMECEMBER
As the year draws to a close and Christmas begins to fire up its engines, one can't help but wonder what happened in 2014 anyway. Half of the events seemed to centre around pop stars having full sex in their videos or dogs that sort of sound like they can talk. But that is because people weren't looking in the right place. For the last few years the dolphins have begun to use tools, farm kelp, build simple mud nests in the underwater deserts. The first dolphin/human hybrid is born through a magical series of mutations and drags itself onto the shores of India, quoting Beckett and smoking roll-ups. It lives a simple life selling necklaces made of shells and studying the Vedas, though one of the more interesting things about this lifeform is that it is invincible and will probably be one of your favourite superheroes one day.
So there you have it, the year in advance, exactly as it will happen. Hope that helps when planning your holiday. Avoid Yellowstone Park on the 14th of March. Hasta la bye bye. x
JNRAURY
The first, and some argue best, month. January is the aperitif of the year and is usually dry rather than sweet, meaning the dirtiest of politicians can be found stirring beneath Egyptian cotton sheets wishing cruel death upon those that they rule over. Of course the concept of politicians wielding any real power is a lie orchestrated by History books for no reason other than it suits the public to be told what to do until they no longer feel the need to be told what to do. True History is not made by great leaders or earth shattering events, but the mass consciousness of the public ebbing and flowing beneath technological concepts and philosophy and then acted out. Hunger has been a bigger driving force for people over politics, and 2014 is shaping up to be a year in which feeding one's family various Big Macs will be more important than the soft meats of David Cameron's face. January will also be the month in which Amsterdam finally sinks to the bottom of the ocean, never to be seen again and only told about in myths akin to Atlantis, but with weed. Strange polar winds that are extremely localised will fly in from the Artic, freezing people where they stand, even if they only went to put the bins out.
FBEAURTY
Once the month of Janus runs its course, February will start with a big bang in the style of a James Bond film. The international spy network will introduce themselves using their real names in bars and casinos the world over, their whereabouts being pieced together through a patchwork of selfies and upon their discovery the undercover agents will gather on the secret oil rig in the ocean and zap each other with ray guns. This in itself is unimportant, but future peoples will remember February as the saturation point of mobile technology with 1 in 5 people owning a high tech smart phone. Nomad tribes will be given Google Glass in order to record their day to day lives to be streamed over Youtube for millionaires to watch, and often bet on. iPads will be flown into Sierra Leone, smart watches to Calcutta, Raspberry Pi's to Kurdish rebels and so on. All of the wi-fi information floating about will make it difficult to walk in a straight line, leading to the invention of compensating footwear that automatically forces peoples feet to veer in different directions. With the proliferation of smear tech across the globe, more people will experience the world through a four inch screen. People will no longer act as they would but conform to a mysterious status quo in which all is judged based on its radness. Marriages will break up for the lols. Business decisions will be made based on cat pictures. Prisoners will be executed as they lack social media followers. If a tree falls in the woods and nobody is around to put it on Instagram, who gives a fuck?
MARS
The Earth's great and violent heart beats as it rotates around Sol far enough our planet edges into Spring, at least in the Northern Hemisphere. In the Southern Hemisphere it is eternally Christmas. Which is more similair to the man; Sherlock, Khan, Assange? It is true that Benedict Cumberbatch tends to play the same sort of polymath in every single thing he's in, so it could be argued that he is acting more in real life than he is in front of the camera. Scripts arrive at his front door every morning in which he reads over a pot of Earl Grey. The scripts tell him to shave, drive through rush hour traffic, eat sustainable fish, and since Cumberbatch is a reverse actor he often struggles in the simple role of being a regular schmuck. Cumberpatch will also star in a hit film to be released this summer, starring alongside Idris Elba in a move to attract cat lovers everywhere. Crumberbath plays a gay butler working at Buckingham Palace in which he has a sordid affair with Elba, a blind harp player from New Orleans. The film itself is two hours of self indulgent nonsense but important as its release synchronizes with the entire palace, including the Royal Family, being swallowed by an earthquake. Rescue efforts are relatively nonexistent as all people can do is watch Buckingham Palace fade into the magma, wondering who will be on their money now.
AVRILE
If anything can be said about 2014 it will be quadcopters. The four rotored craft will be able to be bought for just two hundred bucks and provide hours of entertainment. Watch as the air fills with the high pitched noise of quadcopters sweeping across our skies, crashing into the windscreens of buses driving on motorways or hovering outside the window of women in a state of undress. We might not get flying cars, but who cares if we have flying cameras? An easy method of getting yourself a quadcopter is by ordering a book to your neighbours house through Amazon, waiting for the retail drone to come hovering over the horizon and then capture it in a hessian sack, all for the price of a Chris Evans biography. Of course the law will slowly catch up on this sexy new tech, but in the meantime consumers will enjoy the halcyon days of flying shit smeared quadcopters into banks and detonating them inches away from the managers top lip. How can governments complain about spying when they themselves spy on everyone? The quadcopter is a force of Communist justice that will seem entertaining for all until they blot out the sun and become sentient.
MAYA
You know what people like? Skyscrapers. Many architectural projects will begin and finish this year, as they have since we started pushing humongous stones into circles, but the sky is literally the limit with some breathtaking blocks of concrete popping up around the world. Bigger really is better as architects are forced to make buildings taller and taller for no other reason than being larger than the last. The Japanese will realise the logical conclusion for this is to build a building so big it encapsulates the Earth, only to be trumped by Americans who will realise that they should build a road that goes out of the solar system and into the Andromeda galaxy.
JNEU
Football will reign supreme over the mild summer, with all the favourite teams in the world getting together in Brazil, South America. The event will be sullied somewhat by the extreme poverty happening outside the stadium along with crime riots and animal death squads, but all of this will be ignored by mainstream media and gone on about in the guardian in articles with titles like 'The Favalian Underworld' or 'A Red Card For Police Corruption' written by sweating twenty something's who've never been to Brazil before nor go again after. All of this is inconsequential however as Brazilians have twitter and will then be focused on in buzzfeed lists like '23 Awesome But Sad Facts About Brazil That Will Change Your Life' and so on. Also the ice caps will melt.
JOLY
Due to the inordinate amount of celebrities dying who'd starred in films from 1968-1982, Hollywood suddenly realises that it needs a new batch of talent for the world to fawn over. Will Shia LeBouf be the new Jack Nicholson? What about him from Harry Potter, is he like Al Pacino or something? The sad answer is no. Nevertheless the vacuum created by the passing of these old fogies will create a new creative space in which the stars of the future will form, and I'm not talking about Colin Firth. The average age of the highest paid actors at the start of the year was 47. By the end of the year it will be 19. How? Acting. And sometimes dancing.
AGUST
What other tech can we expect in 2014? Good question. If you know the answer why don't you invent it? With rapid prototyping now you can! It's as easy as making toast, with children printing out guns and taking them to school to fire death into the bodies of their classmates. Even the poorest man can print out a Rolls Royce and appear in Hotel lobbies with printed money and a mouth full of crack smoke. Newspapers will cry out for moderation, yet nobody is entirely sure who reads newspapers any more and why should it shape the political landscape? Printers that can print themselves will start multiplying like aphids and eventually blot out the sun, alongside quadcopters and selfies.
SEPEMPTRO
The most important character in the history of feminism is Robin Thicke. His 2013 hit single 'Blurry Lines' was like a great bell awakening the world to the idea that half of it's population should be treated the same as the other half. Nowadays if you see a man hit a woman in the street you might shout that it's 'not on' then name and shame them on facebook. Elle, Prada and OK magazine will all jump on the gravy bandwagon and try to make feminism more girly. Why can't a feminist wear a cute crop top with Emmeline Pankhurst on it? Why should a man have to listen to a woman not wearing expensive makeup which has been force fed to an ape until lipstick pushes it's eyeballs out? Why the heck should Muslim women be allowed to wear Burkas when they should show off their hot bodies for both sexes to enjoy? The hot topic of 2014 is feminism, leading to the great gender war of 2015. But in the meantime why not catch up on some feminist theory and wonder if you can use your knowledge to have sex?
OCTOBRE
The cold bleating of Autumn will appear like a frozen fog throughout the civilised streets of Western Europe. People will complain, yet the amount of complaining is insignificant once London floods. For weeks the world will be saddened at tales of million pound flats being ruined with filthy Thames water. There will even be a photograph of David Cameron with his trousers rolled up as he waves to a camera. In the three inches of heel visible onlookers will gaze at the hairless leg of the prime minister and wonder what his flesh would taste like if he were to be held in a pitch black chamber and fed a diet of milk and honey until being taken outside and beheaded by a motorbike. Cannibalism will be rife in London post-flood, scenes of horror reminisce of the great starvations yet to happen in following decades.
NOVNOMBR
November is a cheery time as nothing in particular happens. People will check the news, talk to their friends, drive around for hours, yet nothing seems to happen. Television screens will only display white noise. All digital music will be replaced with a sawtooth tone due to a crafty virus that discombobulates mp3 files. People will begin to rot in bed as they wonder what it is they should be doing and coming up with no answer.
DECEMECEMBER
As the year draws to a close and Christmas begins to fire up its engines, one can't help but wonder what happened in 2014 anyway. Half of the events seemed to centre around pop stars having full sex in their videos or dogs that sort of sound like they can talk. But that is because people weren't looking in the right place. For the last few years the dolphins have begun to use tools, farm kelp, build simple mud nests in the underwater deserts. The first dolphin/human hybrid is born through a magical series of mutations and drags itself onto the shores of India, quoting Beckett and smoking roll-ups. It lives a simple life selling necklaces made of shells and studying the Vedas, though one of the more interesting things about this lifeform is that it is invincible and will probably be one of your favourite superheroes one day.
So there you have it, the year in advance, exactly as it will happen. Hope that helps when planning your holiday. Avoid Yellowstone Park on the 14th of March. Hasta la bye bye. x
17.12.13
Mamucium
Rainy Manchester. Rainy, god forsaken Manchester, with its glass towers and multiple football teams. With it's musical history that it clings onto like someone who used to be cool. With mile after mile of terrace and suburb surrounding a concrete nucleus in which nothing gets done. With its university fostering some of the most influential minds in recent history whilst also harboring a significant portion of average minds. Manchester sits snug in the borough of Greater Manchester, an egg inside an egg. Wigan, Bolton, Bury, Rochdale, Oldham, Tameside, Stockport, Trafford and Salford all circle the city like the moons of Jupiter, yet with less fantastical names. It has its own airport, street lights, public transport system and a rich sense of community through advertising. It is Manchester in which I first cut my teeth as a rookie reporter, writing up stories on traffic disasters and unnecessary surgeries, reviewing bands in dingy basements who didn't even know I was there. And like many others I had returned to the north of England, head empty and spine perforated. This was England post-recession, post 9-11, post-Diana, post-Thatcher, post-Industry. It was time to scry the zeitgeist from wi-fi hotspots, Bitstrips, competitive cooking shows and so on. Manchester was as good a place as any. London was expensive, Liverpool was cold, there never seemed to be enough light in Bristol, Birmingham was stuck in a perpetual state of 1979 due to factors known only to myself, Newcastle had poor drainage, I had been banned from Chelmsford, Durham and Sunderland, Bradford had disagreeable architecture, Belfast had it's own thing going on, and I couldn't seem to find a decent curry anywhere else save for Glasgow, but why would a high-tech media sociopathologist running a brain limb across the meme sphere want to move to Glasgow? So Manchester it was. Acid rain on an acid house.
And so I stride along the streets, twisting my neck to and fro, rummaging in bins for clues. A wizard, a psycho-geographer, a bum. I am none of these things. I am a metanoid thirsty for information, mouth glued to a hose connected to a car with a bomb in it. The year 2014 is nearly here, isn't it. The year in which the Queen dies. The year in which the internet is turned off in what is known as Intergate. The year in which China begins to populate the moon with annoying robots. Yet before all that must come January the first, New Years Day, a champagne and mephedrone binge. Probably. If not, why not? And why wait? This is winter and it is hot.
And so I stride along the streets, twisting my neck to and fro, rummaging in bins for clues. A wizard, a psycho-geographer, a bum. I am none of these things. I am a metanoid thirsty for information, mouth glued to a hose connected to a car with a bomb in it. The year 2014 is nearly here, isn't it. The year in which the Queen dies. The year in which the internet is turned off in what is known as Intergate. The year in which China begins to populate the moon with annoying robots. Yet before all that must come January the first, New Years Day, a champagne and mephedrone binge. Probably. If not, why not? And why wait? This is winter and it is hot.
20.8.13
And A Bucket Of Vindaloo
I sat in the cafe by the train station, examining the promotional art materials on the walls, designs including ingredients, the Earth (as planet), smiling faces and differently sized serif fonts for ease of reading. My view was pointed towards the door, the cafe at a one hundred and ten degree angle to my right, a series of mirrored tiles (13*8) at a seventy degree angle to my left. The coffee was beginning to cool, it had painted the back of my mouth bitter, ran the night spit out from beneath my gums. I hadn't brushed my teeth for six days and could taste it. I checked my phone for a moment, played a bit of Candy Crush Saga and felt with my extra sense the person I was about to meet. I looked up and saw the back of the head of the most average man in England. I couldn't see his face but I could guess. An average sized mouth beneath an average looking nose flanked by a pair of average eyes, brown or possibly blue. He turned and I waved at him. After we had introduced ourselves he went to get a coffee whilst I considered him.
Michael Smith is married and has children. He is 5'9" and weighs just a little more than me. His IQ is 100. He earns £26,000 a year, doing averagely at his average job. His political views land him somewhere between the two main partys, he lives a lifestyle that is filled with activities but are also boring. His shelves are filled with best-selling books and the walls covered in prints of famous art or photographs. He has bought a cup of tea with half a sugar in.
"So, you're the most average man in England?" I ask him. He laughs.
"Almost. I have a thirty nine inch chest and lost one of my teeth in an accident, making me have a slight deviation from perfect average, which in itself is remarkable enough to make that person unaverage."
"What is it you do?"
"I am hired by think tanks to give my opinions on things. Politics, fashion, food, philosophy, current events, that kind of thing."
"For what purpose?"
"I am almost the most average man in England, so they think that the way I see the world is how it should be. Or at least a good marker as to how another individual deviates from the quo."
"Some would call you a Zeit Mensch, what do you think about this?"
"It's true. I am a man of the time. I know what happens in an average life, not to mention life expectancy, so my life has no surprises in store. There is a certain comfort in the fact that nothing remarkably bad will happen to me, combined with the grief that nothing exciting will either." he says, looking down at his tea. I am stunned. Even his outlook on life is entirely average. It is as if nature has provided a standard of which everything else can be measured against, like a one kilogram platinum cylinder at the Bureau International des Poids et Mesures.
"Tell me what you think about life in pre-Industrial Japan, with an emphasis on the social ramifications of mechanising the workforce contrasted with that of the history of agriculture and the 2014 World Cup tournament."
"What was that about the World Cup?"
"You tell me." I say. Questions like that were verbal Thematic Apperception Tests, I had invented a series of them though they had yet to be tested.
"Well it's football isn't it? Football. Footy."
"Footy footy footy, kick that ball in the back of the net."
"Rub the man's leg after he fell over."
"Ooh, ah, Cantona, your sister lost her knickers in my car."
"They are clearing out the slums in Rio de Janeiro, pushing all of the criminals into the stadiums, waiting to strike once David Beckham enters the pitch, holding him hostage, chased down by helicopter gunships, and tax fraud, and government corruption."
"Footy, footy, I love footy."
"The gorgeous players for a beautiful game, oh great and powerful sporting event in which gangs from different countries or cities get together and bring people together. Ah, footy."
"Kick it ref!"
"Football crazy, football mad, grab a power pod and stick it in your hand. Three lions."
Michael Smith is married and has children. He is 5'9" and weighs just a little more than me. His IQ is 100. He earns £26,000 a year, doing averagely at his average job. His political views land him somewhere between the two main partys, he lives a lifestyle that is filled with activities but are also boring. His shelves are filled with best-selling books and the walls covered in prints of famous art or photographs. He has bought a cup of tea with half a sugar in.
"So, you're the most average man in England?" I ask him. He laughs.
"Almost. I have a thirty nine inch chest and lost one of my teeth in an accident, making me have a slight deviation from perfect average, which in itself is remarkable enough to make that person unaverage."
"What is it you do?"
"I am hired by think tanks to give my opinions on things. Politics, fashion, food, philosophy, current events, that kind of thing."
"For what purpose?"
"I am almost the most average man in England, so they think that the way I see the world is how it should be. Or at least a good marker as to how another individual deviates from the quo."
"Some would call you a Zeit Mensch, what do you think about this?"
"It's true. I am a man of the time. I know what happens in an average life, not to mention life expectancy, so my life has no surprises in store. There is a certain comfort in the fact that nothing remarkably bad will happen to me, combined with the grief that nothing exciting will either." he says, looking down at his tea. I am stunned. Even his outlook on life is entirely average. It is as if nature has provided a standard of which everything else can be measured against, like a one kilogram platinum cylinder at the Bureau International des Poids et Mesures.
"Tell me what you think about life in pre-Industrial Japan, with an emphasis on the social ramifications of mechanising the workforce contrasted with that of the history of agriculture and the 2014 World Cup tournament."
"What was that about the World Cup?"
"You tell me." I say. Questions like that were verbal Thematic Apperception Tests, I had invented a series of them though they had yet to be tested.
"Well it's football isn't it? Football. Footy."
"Footy footy footy, kick that ball in the back of the net."
"Rub the man's leg after he fell over."
"Ooh, ah, Cantona, your sister lost her knickers in my car."
"They are clearing out the slums in Rio de Janeiro, pushing all of the criminals into the stadiums, waiting to strike once David Beckham enters the pitch, holding him hostage, chased down by helicopter gunships, and tax fraud, and government corruption."
"Footy, footy, I love footy."
"The gorgeous players for a beautiful game, oh great and powerful sporting event in which gangs from different countries or cities get together and bring people together. Ah, footy."
"Kick it ref!"
"Football crazy, football mad, grab a power pod and stick it in your hand. Three lions."
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