ISSUE 1

Tower block lifts off

Glasgow is in shock after a proposed tower block demolition took a very different path earlier today. The Red Road flats in the north-eastern Glasgow suburb of Balornock were scheduled to be brought down in a controlled demolition at 11am, the first of six neighbouring tower blocks due to be levelled in a phased plan by contractors, Safedem. But according to eyewitnesses at the scene, instead of collapsing, the twenty-eight-storey building instead “launched into the air, like a rocket.” Even more surprising was the fact that the 1960’s tower continued to be propelled upwards, leaving the Earth’s atmosphere around 11:04am. The UK Space Agency confirmed that the building left the Earth’s orbit completely around 11:06am and is thought to be heading on a trajectory that may cause it to impact with the Moon.
Experts are completely baffled by the occurrence. According to Mike Langdon from the Royal Aeronautical Society, the event has no precedent. “We are struggling to understand the science behind this,” he explained to Sky News. “A twenty-eight-storey building doesn’t just launch into space. To our knowledge, there were no rockets, no thrusters, no adequate propulsion. It has literally defied gravity.” 
A spokesperson from Safedem has reportedly told the BBC that the tower was expected to collapse within four to six seconds after the series of carefully timed explosions. A standard 275 kilograms (606 pounds) of explosive supposedly ripped along the building at the scheduled demolition time in what was “an altogether routine demolition, following established practices to the book.” Safedem are now working closely with investigators and officials to try and understand how this extraordinary event took place. 
The launch was observed by people across the UK and much wider afield, with sightings as far away as Perth, Australia. It is thought to have caught the Ministry of Defence completely off-guard, something government officials have yet to confirm, saying only that they are monitoring the situation. Meanwhile, the tower is being closely watched by both the UK and International Space Agency branches, together with many keen amateur astronomers. 





STUPID GOOGLE!

  A bookshop search is similar to how a search engine works: look at the bully books pushed to the front, on podiums! You forget the eclectic stuff you came in for, anyway it's out of stock, but here's the easy to find famous people zeitgeist keyword dogshit. 
It's obvious all this, if you have a web presence at all, and don't have a rare name. Most of us don't exist in the google book warehouse, because other people with your name are more linked up, more narcissistic so they get more hits, maybe because they are better people than you? Or just have bigger tits? 
google prefers inflated bullies, not shy sweethearts. It's almost a badge of honour to disappear down the rankings because sweetness and little wisdom's sink, underneath big idiot shouts. Hi/bye D.Trump, Boris, the 'royals', shit films and 'famous' people who like doing drama. 

If you google something niche, you get a hollywood film, a cleb, a web designer, a new nature named toxic product. You don't get any answers to your questions, maybe because there aren't any, or maybe there's a word in your question and google jumps on that instead, then it finds the popular traffic hit. It's like flicking through a trade magazine full of adverts or a pornographic phone book, so many contacts and products, that all try to correspond easily to your search.  

It's very hard to find anything truly 'interesting'. Google, like most new tax-haven bully business models, aims for mob catchment, encouraging simple predictable searches and ever more predictable non-answers. It is suicidal in this unpoliced, immoral arena to be creatively unpopular. 

When we google it is a big thumbs up to inequality, to promoting everything big, and diminishing anything small.

All new ideas suffer on google, because they are rare and disconnected, old ideas bloom because they have huge amounts of hits, that can rarely be overwhelmed, until a new footballer, pop star or big brand trend overtakes the vacuous dreariness, which is very rare. It's about the sheer scale of hitness. It's a free market stupid and a democracy (but only for rich and famous people, and people with weird names) 

is Google really analyzing our funny little questions, that never find any answers? I doubt it. Google is not successful because it predicts our strangeness, the predictions are made by showing common ones and in so doing consistently taking you to the most clicked, most likely to be the least sophisticated.
Academia barely features in google searches, only about 4 people are posting and 3 are looking! The result of this is that lazy journalism and world leaders, and all the rest of us, are googling common answers, and slowly de-learning. 
Google is useful to study as a form of populist survey, but the intellectual trajectory is always down and never up. Statistics favour fear news, shock trends and mass hysteria, new trainers and dating sites, not interesting calm future thoughts. It is global pulp fiction news. Reality has gone elsewhere, meaningless, unclicked: it's too complicated, and anyway it takes too bloody long to type! So you get what you are given. Constant muscle chatter about competitive vanity. 
This top down machinery, initially trumpeted as bottom up democratizing force, is grand reinforcement of Authority writ large. Gangs of people v you. Ganged information v you. I was wondering why I was feeling increasingly claustrophobic even when in a park, it's the stupid chat, like everyone is still indoors, repeating rubbish, thinking they are thinking, when they are just re-tweeting. 
Imagine a site that has no trust stars, no likes, then why look? Beware, your device might catch a virus! Or even bend your mind! Join the safe google club. It's not your fault! You are not stupid! It's the search engine. We need better algorithms, search assistants, maybe an old geeky academic one? Set your sails for the new world, and new internet.















U I S C E
Uisce Beatha- Water of life (holy water/whiskey)
Gaeilge Bearla - Gaelic English.

Ubh, Uamh, uafasach, uillean, Uile, uair, uirthi, uirlis, uimhir, uan.
egg, tomb, terrible, elbow, all, hour, on her, instrument, number, lamb

Ithir, imeall, ithim, im, imithe, idir, inti, iobairt, intinn, iasc.
soil, periphery, I eat, butter, gone, between, inside her, sacrifice, mind, fish

Seas, Sean, Seal, Sealadach, seilide, sruth,  sruthan, solas, suile, suimhneas, samhlu, siochan, si, sos, siar, spraoi.
Stand, old, turn, temporary, snail, flow, stream, light, eyes, calm, imagine, peace, 
 fairy/her, rest/break, back/west, fun/play

Ceart, crann, cruth, creath, ceap, croi, craiceann, cra, clois, ceann, ciontach, ceist, 
corp, comhra, cogadh, cogaint,ceol, ceo, cothrom, cuardach, clann, ceili, cos, cur, cnoc, coill, cu, coirce, crua, croga. 
correct, tree, shape, shake/create, invent/think, heart, skin, pain, hear, head, guilty, question, body, conversation, war, chew, music, fog, equal, search, family, together, leg/foot, put/sow, hill, wood, hound/dog, oats, hard, brave.

Earrach, Eala, eas, ean, ealu, eiri, eile, eadarthu, eirimiul, eagla, easpa, eorna, eist.
Spring, swan, waterfall, bird, escape, rise,another,between them, wise, fear, lack, barley, listen.      6/2/21 Phoebe Cope 









I invited a real mix of people to contribute to this newspaper idea. I thought it would be lovely big real flower mess, of dark truth, bright hope, fake news,  silliness, rarely heard voices and rarely seen faces, all shuffled together. At the moment not enough people are contributing so I feel a bit hamstrung by my own dark mood. The idea was not a vehicle to show me-ness, but a sketchy idea of random/related mixed up chat, and a celebration of others! I started the blog to look at how things might or might not work together. I didn't want to have control, I wanted it to be an unedited free for all ideally! Like a jungle/garden, with dark bits, and wriggling compost heaps, but mainly bright life strangeness. I don't know!





why did we need Marcus Rashford to feed our poorest children?

Why did we need Greta Thunberg to consider her future?      




LAZY AFFLUENCE, SLAVISH MEDIA, THE SILENT POLYMATH POOR






                  

 
CLAP MARCUS AND GRETA

CLAP THE UMBRELLA    
COME ON THE REDS 
CLAP CLAP    
  clap yourself for clapping while you're driving
IT'S CLAP FEBRUARY!

LEST WE FORGET!!
OUR LANDLORD LEADERS ARE THICK, UGLY AND IMMORAL! THANK YOU ALL THE AUSTERITY PEOPLE WHO PAID FOR THIS FINE CHAPS JOLLY HOLS AND SWEAT-PROOF SUITS. WHY ARE THE WINDSORS (+CURRENT UK POLITICIANS) SHIT AT EVERYTHING? (SEE ANSWER ABOVE) NATIONAL STREET BOO-ING ANDREW 5pm DAILY I DIDN'T WATCH THE QUEENS SPEECH BUT I REMEMBER THE HEADLINE: "YOU ARE NOT ALONE" IT'S MENTAL CARNAGE OUT HERE 'MAAM' YOU SHOULD BOW OUT NOW, YR NOT HELPING. ALL ROYAL NEWS IS DISGUSTING AND DEMORALIZING.











LEST WE FORGET

BREXIT BREXIT BREXIT BREXIT BREXIT BREXIT COVID COVID COVID COVID COVID COVID COVID A STAR OF STAGE AND SCREEN HAS DIED!




     

                                                                                                       

strange, unsettling times i stay within my perimeter fenced in by work from home, lack of good strenuous exercise is affecting my sleep, always wide-open the window is six and three quarter inches from my pillow. Stretching out my arm the full wolf-moon lays pale rays across my fingers, lockdown late-night traffic much lighter, still, tyres hiss on the wet road a high pitched register to the major-minor cool wind breathing across my face and sucked under the door with a low choir-like hummmmmmm. Moonlight floods in and out with the waving muslin, lids close. Stray hairs tickle my forehead. Sound drops in. And out. Crossing the threshold from the ordinary to the sublime by a little wooden bridge, experience taught us care is needed to avoid a tumble into the bramble filled ditch

 

Truck Life *



Aristotle had codified the snobbishness of classical antiquity in distinguishing between certain arts that were compatible with a ‘liberal education’ (the so-called Liberal Arts such as grammar, logic, rhetoric, or geometry) and pursuits that involved working with the hands, which were ‘manual’ therefore ‘menial’ and thus below the dignity of a gentleman”
E.R Gombrich, The Story of Art

I enter the yard sometime around 6am and walk through a dimly lit corridor into the mess room. Large red-faced men sprawl on battered chairs sipping coffee, flicking absently through The Sun. 

I’m waiting to find out who I’m riding with today. It was always the most nerve-wracking part of the job – as you might draw the short straw and be confined to a truck for an indefinite amount of time, with someone that either, A. Doesn’t speak – at all. B. has abhorrent views (this was rare). C. works you harder as you’re a stranger and therefore need to prove something (this was common). On occasions of course, you would have combinations of these variables – mostly A and C. 

I got paired with R, a huge man and over 6.5 feet tall – despite his size he moved with real agility. It was as if R. had the musculature of a serpent, coiled and knotted, often overcome by a strange form of kinetic energy. Almost as if there was a faulty wire in his brain forcing his muscles to shudder with a terrific over-exertion. I was fascinated by the way R. moved his body along the low-ceilinged corridor as we made our way to the truck. He was forced to strain his neck – arms propelling himself along like the wheels of an express train – fractured motion coiled with an animalistic tension. Excited I could sense, he had the potential to unleash a raw urgent power. 


In his van the first thing I noticed was the smell. It was so bizarre – I couldn’t work it out. It was a combination of stale cigarette smoke and something sweet, perfumed and annoyingly familiar. Beneath the heavy odour of fag-smoke, there was something that I found oddly comforting – this unidentified perfume cut through and I relaxed into the passenger seat. 

R. asked if I smoked and once I said yes, he seemed to immediately relax rolling a cigarette and going through the day. We were to run around central London dropping off and picking up artworks from various museums and galleries around town. It was a Friday in October, already the sun was coming up and I could sense it was going to be a very hot day. 


We set off and started speaking about what we saw on television the night before and more interestingly what he used to do before handling art. R. used to fit and install washing machines in houses and flats across London for a company that would send the machines out with only one driver. R. was responsible for getting the washing machines delivered to the clients’ residence and installing them. This would include having to carry the washing machine up endless flights of stairs, as the passenger lifts in the blocks of flats were often in a permanent state of disrepair. 10-15 washing machines a day, 6 days a week. R said that his back was in a permanent state of pain from having to heave these washings machines up countless flights of stairs –  continuing to say that the job he is doing now, is a doddle by comparison. I sat back, happy to listen, noticing this story was punctuated by his large hand rubbing his regularly Bic-ed head, fag on constant go. 

We arrive in central London after doing some preliminary work outside town at around 11am. The office workers were scurrying around the city, carrying sandwiches and coffee cups. I remember R. become more animated at the site of a group of young women crossing the road – at this point 
I thought to myself, please no. R. stares out of the open cab window letting the young women cross for the green light, R is locked onto them – I turn my head 90 degrees to my left, hoping to feel the truck in motion again.  

Through the old back-winding streets of central London R. manoeuvres this gigantic 7.5 tonne vehicle. He pulls heavily on the steering wheel as if pulling an iron chest from the ocean, slowly the truck turns, his arms hauling the wheel in endless rotations. We come to a stop as a black taxi blocks our path. R. is instantaneously enraged, sweat already pouring from his large domed head which he delicately inserts out of the cab window to scream at the taxi driver. The taxi driver is of course very used to this and screams back. For a good few moments they exchange real hostilities – so much so I actually thought R. would leave the cab to confront the driver. We drive on in silence and R. eventually asks me to open the glove compartment so I can hand him a baby wipe. I search the glove compartment, finding the pack and pass them to him. R. takes a fistful, placing them directly onto his bald head – rubbing in concurrent circular motions as he steers the truck elegantly with his elbows. I realise then that this is the smell I couldn’t place earlier – a comforting, familiar, perfumed baby wipe. 

We eventually pull up at a central London gallery in the early afternoon. The street is full, lined with cars and we can’t find a spot for the van. R. decides to park in the street itself, where we unload. As I get out from the cab and work my way towards the tail lift, I see a man gesticulating from inside a small electric car. His car elicits a high-pitched horn. R. appears at the rear of the van as the man exits his bubble car. I notice his shoes – small slip on loafers with sockless tanned feet, cream chino shorts and a pink pastel shirt. The man is becoming increasingly irate as he cannot park his car in the street. R. explains we won’t be long, his body moving animatedly in that simian manner I found so alluring. This is when events took on a bizarre twist. The man from the bubble car, clearly annoyed by not being able to achieve his objective immediately, took it upon himself to mimic R’s body movements in some grotesque parody. We paused for a moment, then R. took a few steps closer to the man with real intent. I felt compelled to place my hand on R’s vast chest and nudge him back. Chino-shorts took a moment to compose himself, realising that he wasn’t in any immediate danger as the gallery manager appeared and diplomatic negotiations began in earnest. 

My impression of that brutally hot day is one I hope not to forget. The man in the slip-on shoes is not unique, embodying privilege and self-appointed rank in matters of the everyday. He, like many others of his social class, epitomises the arrogance of blind wealth and white privilege. Eschewing patience, virtue and decency for a self-appointed privilege. When you spend your youth carrying washing machines up-stairs, labour becomes something more than just being on time. Labour for a lot of these men, is the body dissolved of its essence – forced to mutate, yielding to the demands of capital. 






 

COVID FACE

The alcohol abuse and smoking doesn't help, and my 52 years, and being locked up, but covid has also had an unexpected impact. Being alone, not talking, not smiling: my face has become a fallen old bag, without cheek or jaw muscles, no expression, computer face, dead mask face, all day, for most of a year now, hanging there, like a T-shirt in the rain, like a horror face, without warmth, dropped porridge. 
Today I've started to do squirrel face exercises, fake smiles, solo irony winks. My cheeks soon get cramp, what is this face blood stuff?
This is exacerbated by Google face, which is the same really, plonked on google body, which is a mass mainstream indoor hunching. Looking through the windows of the global wild west ghostown, everyone's at it! 
I've also got laptop feet, which is a heavy blood purpleing, a symptom of a deadening heart. Sitting motionless, barely breathing, staring at the dead heart of the internet.
Covid/Google brain is similarly stultifying, greying. Mass self policed geno/sui/cide, to save a few vulnerable tory voters? Or the overstretched underfunded nhs? Or kill Labour friendly voters and businesses? Wtvr, let's all wash our hands, of any dirty dialogue.
The government stats are thick, and yet they come, unchecked, uncritiqued, daily. This is Tory techno, sabre rattling snare drum, skeleton dancing. Hammering home at the lectern: mass homeless, starvation, jobless, hopelessness. Pigs offering oinkment. It comes through the doors, as green stink gas, I wasn't expecting this B movie ending. 
Trapped, nonsense things repeated through the bars, rainbow pictures flash in total darkness. A stupid fucking rainbow? Rain+sun? There's nothing over it dear Britain, and no pots of gold for the poor. Just more green gas. Shuussh and sleep now, maybe die soon? Could this government have killed any more? Made Britain any more pathetic and shit? Even the rainbows have had a stroke.









I'm not sure I'm equipped to answer yr questions, but i'll have a go..

With Buddhism I think it is a useful tool to use while we bang around in the pinball machine. i think like most religious 'ideas' when they are followed devoutly you only see a finger in front of yr nose, then a smiling death, and there is no great wisdom in that. Most ancient religions are a conservative coping strategy, not a hopeful intrepid vision


Is there a universal soul? 
Universal? you mean worldly but common to all,  not intergalactic? +Soul? what is that? this is the hardest question..I think this is a Buddha quote: 'everything wants to live' and Blake: 'all desire is holy' although that breaks down when you think of pedophiles :( Still I think that broken urgent push/urge/life force is universal and  the broken urgency bit esp is the soul ..???


What is the notion of Progress? 
I think we always mean to do better, get more intelligent, but in doing so we can become more thuggish and binary! 


Are we here to continue with the projects of our deceased ancestors? 
In a way yes, we inherit a whole load of baggage and dna, but we are also designed to kill our parents and be new riotous fools! The world keeps changing, and all the dna too, to think the past is tactile is a mirage, but if the project was bumper harvest and healthy children, that is an eternal project no?  There are too many ancestors to get a clear unifying project? :)
 
Is  visualization  and the imagination the most important thing we have?  
It is  when you don't have the bumper harvest and healthy children! Or when you do and it's boring! It is an incredible tool, to foresee and play in space time, things can evolve and devolve quickly in this way. As species we would have killed ourselves  by now without long vision, long imagination. We never see far enough though! Like bad chess players.

Should we update our religions and have new stories to believe - or better still should we be forming a new system where all the world faiths were combined as one? 
I think religions should be abandoned as divisive and mystical whimsy esp now. If the worlds denuded species and climate were sorted we could return to the luxuries of bearded fantasy, but for now we all need to dig into the facts, this should be the new world 'faith/fact', we need some sort of new scripture/commandment very soon!

Which is better: to aspire to homogeneity or instead to promote idiosyncrasy? 
I think both come along whether you promote them or not, I think it's best not to promote either but come up with a common sensible way forward that people should agree with! until an individual comes up with an even better idea!

No, I'm a bit out of touch with yr reading list, i like writing more, being a clown full of ideas for academics to play with and make money from. Not many academics/writers are free to be stupid, Einstein was pretty good though  :) xxx

Few are those who see with their own eyes and feel with their own hearts.

Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.

Unthinking respect for authority is the greatest enemy of truth.

Try not to become a 'man of success, but rather try to become a 'man of value.

I am by heritage a Jew, by citizenship a Swiss, and by makeup a human being, and only a human being, without any special attachment to any state or national entity whatsoever.

Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds.

I would teach peace rather than war. I would inculcate love rather than hate.

I believe in intuitions and inspirations. I sometimes feel that I am right. I do not know that I am.

Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better.

All religions, arts and sciences are branches of the same tree.

A hundred times every day I remind myself that my inner and outer life are based on the labors of other 'men, living and dead, and that I must exert myself in order to give in the same measure as I have received and am still receiving.

A 'man should look for what is, and not for what 'he thinks should be.

The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious.

I believe in standardizing automobiles. I do not believe in standardizing human beings.

It is, in fact, nothing short of a miracle that the modern methods of instruction have not yet entirely strangled the holy curiosity of inquiry

A table, a chair, a bowl of fruit and a violin; what else does a 'man need to be happy?

A human being is part of a whole called by us “Universe.”

The important thing is to not stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing.

A question that sometimes drives me hazy — am I or are the others crazy?

The world is in greater peril from those who tolerate or encourage evil than from those who actually commit it

Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving.

Concern for 'man and (his) fate must always form the chief interest of all technical endeavors. Never forget this in the midst of your diagrams and equations.

I love to travel, but I hate to arrive.

All that is valuable in human society depends upon the opportunity for development accorded the individual.

The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existence.

Although I am a typical loner in daily life, my consciousness of belonging to the invisible community of those who strive for truth, beauty, and justice has preserved me from feeling isolated.

The years of anxious searching in the dark, with their intense longing, their alternations of confidence and exhaustion, and final emergence into light—only those who have experienced it can understand that.

Let us not forget that human knowledge and skills alone cannot lead humanity to a happy and dignified life

He who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead; his eyes are closed.

I have no special talent. I am only passionately curious.

 Invention is not the product of logical thought, even though the final product is tied to a logical structure.

Science can flourish only in an atmosphere of free speech.

Hail to the 'man who went through life always helping others, knowing no fear, and to whom aggressiveness and resentment are alien

I speak to everyone in the same way, whether 'he is the garbage 'man or the president of the university. 

'Man would indeed be in a poor way if 'he had to be restrained by fear of punishment and hopes of reward after death.

The great moral teachers of humanity were, in a way, artistic geniuses in the art of living.



FUTURE NEWS!

Charles funded Woo-Han lab

A document has been found to link the prince of Wales to Covid 19 manufacture. In the document uncovered by BSN reporter Gary McVitie, the 3 pages of scribbly, bad handwriting suggests Charles had the idea to protect the doomed environment from 'excessive democracy and the sexualized slave class' He lists a timeline of species decline, related directly to human population increase. 'The near future outcomes could be devastating and so much sooner than we think.' In the document he proposes a 'slightly mutated flu' that 'could be mutated further if necessary'. The Woo Han laboratory received funding from a variety of hard to trace companies, operating from island tax havens. Charles used his brand 'Duchy Originals' as a cover to siphon large sums of money into 'biscuit research' at Woo Han. Other investors pumping strangely large sums into 'Duchy Originals' include the gardener Monty Don, the ex singer Gary Barlow and haircut model David Beckham. 

The palace response has been a stony faced silence. Typical! 

THIS IS BSN 

Today, on Zoom, a large number of buff, tax avoiding minor celebrities 'joined hands' in support of Charles's 'biscuit research' and called for more severe mutations to 'save the planet'. Speaking from Dubai X factor contestant Jenny Maples said. 'We are all organic here, and trying to do the right thing for our children and the planet. Some people are still buying plastic products and acting like this is all trivial, and if they don't care then why should we? Most of these people are stupid and ugly anyway!' Rugby player James Hunkton said 'we're all with Charles and Becks on this, these breeding plastic peasants will ruin it for all of us if we let them. Let's let the weak die out, it's natural!' This  internet gesture has shocked many, today record breaking opposition leader, Keir Stalmer, wary of offending wealthy voters said 'people are free to have new ideas, in fact that's how we will solve the climate emergency, I for one wouldn't support a more lethal virus, but I know other respected colleagues who do. 

THIS IS BSN


 

ART DATING. MALE-ISH, 52, KNACKERED, INTO NATURE, LAUGHING, HOPE, SEEKS KIND HUMANS WITH A NICE SMILE, WHO LIKE MESSING ABOUT AND TAKING THE PISS 

FOUND ON THE FLOOR NEWS!!


TOPLESS WITH VEG UNITY PLATFORM

DRINKING GIN NEWS

A CAMDEN WINDOW NEWS!




WATER NEWS



BILLIONAIRES IN BIN BAGS? I DON'T HAVE PHOTOSHOP..ANYONE? 
CLOSE ENOUGH, THANKS PAUL



THE CUTE STORY AT THE END: A little poor girl 
was walking in the woods and bumped into Kate Middleton!!! duchess of something, she was very lucky! Smiles all round. Sadly she died of malnutrition, BUT SMILING! OH and then David Beckham and Lewis Hamilton turned up!!! Weird! and they carried the little girl to her grave. Both determined to get tattoos about it all. V. sweet. AAAAAHHHH :) THE END

I JUST DON'T THINK I CAN DO THIS, IT'S DOING MY HEAD IN, NEED LOTS OF GO GETTING JOURNALISTS TO TAKE OVER AND HAVE ARGUMENTS ABOUT CONTENT IN A BIG OFFICE. 

IN THE NEXT ISSUE: MORE FUTURE NEWS, PAST NEWS, SMALL NEWS, FAKE NEWS AND NEWS. THERE WILL BE MUSIC, VISUAL AND INTELLECTUAL DANCING AND LOTS OF DEATH.