The Island Of The Birds

Under the day moon I sat in Platt Fields Park, observing the island in the centre of its lake. The park came about in 1907 after the Worsley Family sold Platt Hall and its grounds. Once a thriving area of fun and slow walks, the park fell into disarray until slowly rising again to be one of the more popular green spaces in Manchester. Although I am not concerned with the history of the park or even its future. The reason I was there that day was to explore the island. The many species of water fowl that plague the toxic lake come hither and tother from the land, the actions which occur on the island are hidden from sight due to the foliage yet a great cacophony constantly squawks and honks away from sunrise to sunset. The island belongs to the birds. And like many great men before me I decided to explore their territory and if any treasures were to be found, bring them back to regular civilization. Leaving my electronic gadgets behind I stood at the waters edge and began to swim.

Signs around the lake remark that their is 'blue green algae' in the water which is poisonous to humans, causing Lou Gehrig's Disease or other brain wrongness. Inversely, blue green algae is used in health supplements sold in Holland & Barrett. I decided to ignore the warnings as there was worse in the sea and people surfed in that every day. The act of swimming itself was not tiresome, each gentle stroke from my breasts brought me closer to the mysterious land mass. Yet as I neared the birds began to circle. A tufted duck was first to come near me as I gently swam.
"Hello duck." I said, spitting out lake water. It tried to peck my eye, so I instead took it's bill in my mouth and bit it clean off. Another bird gently swam over to me, a Canadian Goose.
"Hello goose." I said. This one began to peck me all around the head and so I reached out of the water and snapped its neck. I was nearing the shore of the island now and thought I was clear from any more attacks until a Cormorant flew in and landed in front of me.
"Hello cormorant." I said, raising a foot from the silt in case I needed to kick it. But the Cormorant looked at me with one eye, turned its head and looked at me with it's other, and then vomited up what appeared to be a curry before flying away. I knelt by the strange evacuation, dipped my fingers into it and brought it up to my nose. Chicken Korma. I spat in dismay, for I had been damaged by a bird on a more emotional level than any physical violence could. Yet now was not the time to get in a tizzy, for there was an island to explore. And all around me were the shrieking of the birds.

The earth around me was covered in bird shit, miniature footprints and feathers. It smelt of dust. The island rose in a gentle slope to its low peninsula, I watched the ducks and geese waddle away from me. My clothes were coloured in algae and dirt, the blood from my goose wound ran down my face. I began to scramble over the ground, the terrain had been made by the birds and so their small paths did not fit my lumbering form. The shells of eggs crunched underfoot as did the hollow bones of long dead avians. Within five minutes I had pretty much explored every square metre of the island and had so far found nothing remarkable, besides glimpsing what the world would look like if completely overrun by birds. I could hear the sirens at the park gates, a crowd was beginning to gather by the waters edge, shouting every time they spotted me in the undergrowth. I didn't have much time. Batting away an ill-tempered swan I forced myself towards the centre of the island. Maybe there would be some kind of monument, some kind of reason for all of this. An end to justify the means. Yet all there was was a particularly fat goose that looked at me with those reptilian eyes, the same eyes as every other bird that betrays its evolutionary heritage.
"Why am I here goose! Why!" I shouted. I didn't expect a reply and just sat by it, beginning to cry at the hopelessness of the situation. I felt a scaly webbed foot on my hand and looked up. The goose was staring right at me. Maybe trying to convey some message. I think I understood and so nodded, taking firm hold of both the goose's feet. It spread out its wings and began to flap. Flap, flap, flap. Over and over. And slowly but surely we were beginning to fly! I dangled on the little orange feet and watched Platt Fields Park below me as both of us flew away, laughing together as if we were infants. When it dropped me off at home I caught it with a net and ate it for supper, for it was the biggest goose I had ever seen. I had tried to answer the mysteries of the island yet found that there was no mystery. Perhaps it would be better in future to pose questions than answer them.

Fifty Shades Of Grey Movie Discussion And Dinner

“The problem is, both actors are blonde. In the book they're brunettes. This movie's gonna flop big time.” she said. I nod nonchalantly. She continues; “And another thing, Charlie Hunnam just isn't Christian Grey, the guy looks like a total cretin. I mean hello, he's in that awful Sons of Anarchy show, always has cuts and bruises on him. It should have been Robert Pattinson or Ian Somerhalder.”
“And Anastasia Steele?”
“Kristen Stewart.”
“Of course. Hold on a second.” I say, taking off my sock and shoe.
“What are you doing?”
“I'm taking a picture of my foot. I've noticed it's been changing shape recently, I need to make a proper record of it.” I say, snapping a foot picture with my instagram. I am sat in a restaurant across from Sabby, the main blogger on ohfifty.com, the #1 Fifty Shades Of Grey fan-site. We are discussing the upcoming Fifty Shades Of Grey film to be released in August next year. I put my sock back on, though the heel section is now at my instep. I swear under my breath, angry at myself for misaligning the sock.
“Is everything alright?”
“Yes, yes. Everything's fine. It's just...I put my sock on wrong.” I say. Our gaze meets across the table, there is a certain electricity in the air I can't help but feel amidst the aroma of the two huge portions of white veal I have ordered. The waiter arrives with another bottle of champagne and pours out two glasses.
“Merci, garcon.” I say to him as he walks away.
“Do you speak French?” she says.
“Oui. Est-ce que ca vous plait? Tes yeux sont comme des fosses." I murmur. She giggles.
"What does that mean?"
"I'll tell you later. First, I want to hear more about the movie."

The Fifty Shades Of Grey trilogy written by E.L James has been one of the best selling books of the century. The plot involves a billionaire seducing his secretary, having sex with her and eventually they both fall in love and get married. As one flicked through the pages of this grumble book you could almost hear movie execs in Los Angeles scramble to secure the film rights. But what would this film look like? On almost every page there is a lewd sex act taking place, whether it's Anastasia being tied down and whipped across the chest or Christian ejaculating into a cup and drinking it, the sex isn't just a straight forward bit of how's your father but intricately designed BDSM conquests that spiral into abstraction as the books progress.
"How do you think they'll handle the sex element in the films? I can't remember when I last saw a dick or a bit of vag in mainstream cinema since maybe...Basic Instinct."
"Exactly. Any moment Anastasia's Inner Goddess is revealed the camera isn't going to show it. The blowjobs, the dildos, the fisting."
"I'm curious to see how they're going to show that bit where Christian presses his cock and balls between those two panes of glass. Or the infamous shit eating scene."
"A significant section of the fans were hoping that the film would be picked up by a porn studio, but do it tastefully, you know? Stay true to the source material."
"I don't see any problem with a porn film being released in mainstream theaters. Have they forgotten how successful Deep Throat was? Behind the Green Door?" I say. I can feel my foot changing shape inside my shoe.
"Don't get me wrong, it's not just the naughty bits that I like in the books. I like the romance too." she says.
"Of course." I say.
"Like the part where Christian announces his love for Anastasia? After they have sex in that public toilet?"
"Or that bit where he hires a new secretary and she's like, a total bitch. But he still loves Anastasia...right?" I say.
"Yeah...I think so." she says.

The meal continues, course after course is brought out. Braised beef, deep fried prawns, sweet breads with tomato chutney, tandoori chicken and pilau rice. The conversation switches from film adaptations to other kinds of adaptations.
"Do you think if they gave a dolphin legs it would be better than a horse?" I ask.
"You mean to ride or just...better?"
"Mostly better, but also to ride."
"Well dolphins are quite noble creatures. How would they breathe though?"
"Just stick some water bottles over it's gills." I say.
"Dolphins don't have gills, they breathe through that blow hole at the top."
"Really? Even better then. A tube filled with water can be fitted more easily." I suggest. The desserts are brought out, savoury ice cream served on a bed of cake crumbs.
"What about the legs?" she asks me, playing with her spoon.
"Robots." I reply angrily. We eat the rest of the dessert in silence.

"Well it was lovely to meet you." says Sabby. We are standing outside the restaurant.
"It was good to meet you to. Maybe we should go for drinks sometime...maybe brainstorm a petition to get the film cast right."
"Yeah, yeah, that'd be good. The studios will have to listen to the fans." she says. I stand there with my hands in my pockets, unsure of what to do. Do we embrace? Kiss? Or do I just walk away? "Well, I'm going now."
"Goodbye." I say, watching her flag down a taxi and step in. She waves at me through the glass and I am left alone outside the restaurant, wondering what to do next. Then all of a sudden I get an idea.

A few hours later I am sat between two computer monitors, editing together my own version of Fifty Shades Of Grey. I'm using footage from Twilight, Secretary, Water For Elephants, Cosmopolis and six or so different hardcore porn films. The Fifty Shades books are scattered around me, I read out the dialogue and dub it over the newly edited film.
"Because I’m fifty shades of fucked-up, Anastasia." I read in my best Robert Pattinson impression. I relight a cigarette from the overflowing ashtray.
"Because I’m fifty shades of fucked-up, Anastasia." I repeat. I cut out a section of Leather Teen Angels 2 in which an actress has a speculum inserted, splicing it between the baseball scene from Twilight. Over the actresses head I've placed Kristen Stewart. It doesn't look too realistic but I'm hoping to enhance it with CGI later. I check my foot again. It is now swollen to almost twice it's usual size.
“I want your world to begin and end with me." I say in my Pattinson voice. I cough as both monitors show huge stretched out versions of Robert Pattinson's head.

Scalextric Orbital

Jacob Donaldson has recently built a scale model of the M25 around his estate. The three and a half miles of track is home to roughly one hundred thousand miniature cars Donaldson powers with a small electric substation. The model is pretty much an exact replica in every way except at junction 4B, where the M25 usually intersects with the M4, Donaldson has chosen to pile up dead foxes. There is a small tunnel underneath this pile, every time a car passes through it usually disrupts the flies and maggots on the corpses. Another thing worth noting is the absence of traffic jams due to the constant speed upheld by the cars, something Donaldson is incredibly proud of.

Dancing

The Museum Of Museums

Due to public apathy and government entropy, museums from around the globe have got together to create the ultimate museum. Row upon row of tyrannosaurus rex skeletons stand watch over piles of mummies. An attempted chronology of every single object ever made, the cutlery section in itself stretches on for several miles. Every book, film and piece of music has been uploaded onto a big wacky computer that spits out various petaflops to visitors eager to see such nonsense. Such a library hasn't existed since the library of Alexandria, which has been recreated at the heart of the museum in chrome and steel. Although the museum has been opened for several months it has struggled to reach the 500th visitor mark.

(i)

Changing a light bulb is a relatively easy task although also quite important in contemporary times. During the day if you don't have artificial light it's not usually a problem but at night humanity has gotten used to using electrically powered light to see. The first step, before all others, is to see what kind of light bulb you have in the light that needs replacing. It is advisable to do this whilst the light still functions so that one has a surplus of bulbs before they need changing. Using a step-ladder or chair approach the light when it is turned off. If the bulb is easy to get to, good. Otherwise you may have to remove the shade or outer casing. Once that is done the bulb should be accessible.

The light bulb is made of glass and is traditionally the size and shape of a pear, although recently energy saving bulbs have begun to be used in the home and in the workplace due to them being more economical. The bulb will have writing on 99% of the time letting you know what time of bulb it is. The most important information is the Watt rating, meaning how powerful the bulb is. This will be a number followed by a 'W'. Make note of this. If for some reason you are unable to see the writing on the bulb you will have to remove it. The next step is to determine how the bulb fits in the socket and the easiest way to determine this is by removing it. If the bulb is hot after being switched on for a while you can touch it by putting a small towel or sock over your hand. Once you have a firm, but gentle, grip on the bulb begin rotating it anticlockwise. There are two types of way bulbs will fit into a socket, these are referred to as a screw fitting or a bayonet fitting. The type of bulb with a screw fitting does just that, it screws into the socket and requires several turns to remove. A bayonet fitting uses small metal clasps that click into place after a small rotation of the bulb. Note the type of fitting the bulb uses alongside what Wattage the bulb is.

If you are unsure about what type of bulb you need exactly it might be a good idea to take it along with you when buying spare light bulbs so you can show it to a sales advisor who will hopefully be able to help you out. Once you have bought your new light bulbs take them home and store them in a place you will remember and have easy access to if it were dark.

When a light goes out without somebody turning it off it is usually for two reasons. The bulb has broken or there is no electricity going into the light. The latter can get rather complicated and would need it's own guide although a good way to find out if there is any electricity going to any light would be by trying to turn on another light in a different room. Once you have established that the bulb is broken it is time to change it, although remember to turn the light off first so that there is no risk of electric shock. Go and get a new bulb from wherever you decided to store it and remove it from it's packaging. The next step is to remove the old bulb. There is a good chance you won't know a light doesn't work until you need it, so you may need to create your own source of light for the next few stages in changing a light bulb. Candles, torches and even the glow from a cell phone are handy sources of temporary light. Get a chair or some ladders and, like you have hopefully done previously, remove the bulb from the socket. It is a good idea to have a friend available to pass the old bulb down to and pass the new one up, although it isn't vital. If you have followed the previous steps correctly you should hopefully have the right kind of light bulb. If it's a bayonet fitting you should place the end of the bulb inside the socket and slowly rotate it until the clips slide upwards. Give it a short twist and it should be ready. A screw fitting simply requires putting the end of the bulb into the socket and rotating it clockwise until it is unable to any more.

After that your new bulb should be ready. Climb down, turn on the switch and see what happens. Hopefully everything will have gone smoothly and the light will turn on! Remember that some light bulbs, especially energy saving ones, may need time to warm up before reaching their maximum luminosity. Take care in disposing of your old bulb but otherwise congratulations on changing a light bulb.

Sham Poo

More science now!

R'n'R

Due to the 2004 film 'Crash' sharing the same name as the 1996 film 'Crash', many couples expecting 2 hours of social commentary were instead treated to a 90 minute exploration of erotica and automobiles. Many couples would then incorporate sexual acts inside the car, often when looking for a first house or waiting in line at a drive-thru. It is unknown how many of these couples then went further to simulate crashes to coincide with orgasm although recent trend of dogging and the advent of streaming pornography sites hasn't hindered this fetish. Those couples who wanted to watch the 96 Crash and mistakenly got the 04 version realized racism was wrong.

Please touch the screen where you feel most comfortable, the left most quads reflecting a 'left handed brain' whilst the right quads obviously represent fucking. Move your finger across the monitor to try and see how the different areas make you feel, preferably speaking out loud as you do so.

Precognitions

"Boy is my faeces red." - Me, 2012

- The internet will require a license, similar to having a bonfire or owning a dog.
- The first suicide by electric car in the garage.
- An orangutang will give birth to replacement organs for a human.
- Glasses that are cameras that also project electronic data into your eyes. These will mostly be used for Milkdrop.
- A government database will be hacked so that all resevoirs are emptied in order to hold a skating competition in the sewers of major cities.
- Being naked will become fashionable.
- A 3D movie will be released with only the third dimension is visible without the other two.
- The first animal to human hair transplant will take place.
- A black metal gig will take place on a barge sailing through antartica.
- Humanity will at last communicate with objects.
- Upon America leaving Iraq they will bomb it with nuclear weapons.
- London will be flooded in seven feet of water caused by a gaffe from Boris Johnson.
- 3D paintings will be used for decoration in homes.
- Wicker chairs become popular in car interiors.
- Smoking is made illegal to be seen or talked about. It is replaced with drinking.
- A volcano will erupt causing ash storms worldwide for about five minutes.
- A man is victim to a government conspiracy and succeeds in going public. Nobody cares.
- Budget airlines begin to use defunct military helicopters.
- People will pay for things by using pictures of money on mobile phones in order to try and be more environmentally friendly.
- A drug will come out that turns your hair a green colour leading to a generation of teenagers who need to dye their hair forever.
- North Korea will land on the moon, beginning a space cold war that will last four years.
- Slides will be installed in buildings to provide funportation.
- Animals will be trained to assassinate people by operating specifically made weapons.

The name's Bond. Bond Bond.

James Bond has been the subject of interest in the latest exhibition by The Triangle Collective. 'Fuck Face Fetish' takes place inside the Royal Observatory in which paintings of James Bond iterations replace the scientific equipment. When looking through the telescope viewers are greeted by a miniature James Bond (in this case Roger Moore) who re-enacts the opening sequence of the film in which he shoots the camera, or in this case, shoots a miniature ball bearing at the viewer in order to achieve maximum 'License to Kill' artstyles. When leaving the observatory people are then chased by an Aston Martin and assaulted with red paint. The Triangle Collective has really raised the bar with 'Fuck Face Fetish' leaving viewers shaken but not stirred!

There She Blows.

Side order

Hip new artist Johnny Gloves pulls no punches with his new piece “Statue of Liberty” at the new exhibition held at the National Institute. Upon first entering the building your first impressions might be what a good space it is. This building is six thousand square feet of white walls, art and not much else! Unfazed by the local public outcry, the “Arpeggiator” exhibition has caused controversy yet persevered in the face of sabotage, protests and political pressure. None the less I would have to say the exhibition is a breath of fresh air in the otherwise stale art world.

The hubbub has arisen due to the performance piece performed by Johnny Gloves in which he hanged himself in the centre of the gallery, using several loopholes in the law to go through with it. The much hyped piece had taken months to organize, though after seeing it you can definitely say it has been worth it. The musician, author and performance artist demanded his body to be left to decompose throughout the exhibition, the smell itself would have been a sculpture in any other exhibition. Though seeing it in the flesh, if you excuse the pun, one is overwhelmed with the feeling that this is the future of art.

Not that 'Statue' is the only piece of artwork here. A stencilled portrait of Barack Obama smoking a joint with Bob Marley greets you in the foyer, something cooked up from the three minds of the elusive Carling brothers. A series of black and white photographs of Rebecca Frost's grandma are hung in golden frames around the entire space, memories of days gone by adding a nice balance of reality amongst the detritus of art classes, post-recession, post-9/11, post-misanthropy. This new movement is making big waves across the pond already.

The visitor, over the smell of the rotting artist in the centre of the gallery, may also notice another foul smell weaving in the ether. In the far corner the sculptures of Scottish artist Bruce Clay are responsible. His series of hidden camera videos recording him purposefully stepping into dogshit are displayed on a dozen or so monitors around the central dog shit sculpture, “The Unattainable Bond”, two large panes of glass with a piece of shit squashed between them. Fascinating.

All routes throughout the labyrinth like Arpeggiator exhibition lead back into the central sculpture, 'Statue of Liberty'.The skinny grey body of Gloves is the icon of the end of an era. Or perhaps the start of another? Johnny Gloves had experimented before in corpse play, the video footage of him running across the M6 had gotten him a hefty fine. For Gloves though, this was no worry. The money his body will eventually be sold for will be used to upkeep a new art school he had unveiled at the start of the year to encourage new talent in the new practise of dying.

Engorged with Blood

The contours of her thighs, the cracking of her pelvis as she moves into the position deemed comfortable for viewing three dimensional news reports. Cameras capture natural disasters and war atrocities in stunning colour, they become as abstract and ridiculous as anything else.