ISSUE 2

GET INVOLVED. SEND US SOME CONTENT!

REINVENTED? INDUSTRIALIZATION STARTED AS CLASSIC CREATIVE IDIOT EXPERIMENT. WHICH TURNED INTO A MONSTER. IT WAS AND STILL IS UNSUSTAINABLE. IT CREATED MASTERS AND SLAVES, MASS SPECIES LOSS, BAD HEALTH AND HOPELESSNESS, FOR A MINORITY GAIN, AND MAJORITY LOSS.

DEFEND YOURSELF WITH THE REAL WORLD, AND INTELLIGENT PLAYFULNESS. YOU ARE SURROUNDED BY BIOLOGICAL, CHEMICAL AND ALCHEMICAL FRIENDS!

THIS IS BSN

ST. VALENTINE WAS A PEDOPHILE!
PETROL STATION RED ROSES THROWN WILLY NILLY TO ALL BSN READERS. I LOVE YOU! PETROL STATION EGGS AND CHOCOLATE RABBITS SOON, DON'T PANIC!

JUST IN! SHOCK WATER
NEWS!

THIS IS BSN!

CAVELO NERO SAYS HI!

MUSIC IS POOR HISTORY

PRE DEATH MUSIC PRE DEATH MUSICXX XPREDEATH MUSIC

THE GREATEST VACCINE ROLL OUT EVER! MAKE BRITAIN GREAT AGAIN, REMOTELY, FROM PRISON.

The Annihilator

This morning MH said to me that when our employer (a well-known auction house) offered him a two day a week permanent contract – he couldn’t commit to it. I asked why? He said that “every time I get on the train to go to work & when that train comes, there is a second where I think I might jump.”

Clearly wanting those thoughts to stop – and knowing they exist in part, because of the relentless monotony the physical exhaustion the work entails, assures him that he is making the correct decision by handing his notice in.

MH is fortunate enough to live with his mother and as she’s coming up to her last ever mortgage payment – she’s offered to support him until he finds something more suitable.

There are of course there are many other people less fortunate – who must endure the entire hopelessness of full-time, back-breaking, impoverished wage labour for an entire lifetime. What happens to them when the next train comes?

One’s environment is possibly more central to their mental health than their genetic heritage and their predisposition to mental illness. It is a grotesque distortion of this world that assumes depression is independent from their working environment, which accounts for a such a significant proportion of most peoples lives-time.

The machinery at work, behind the theft proof metal gates of the auction house is nothing short of a non-consensual sadism – where class, rank and privilege are used as weapons to eradicate imagination and lobotomize spirits.

Artists, do everything possible to prevent your works from entering these nefarious channels.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! FUCK FUCK FUCK EMPTY LINES OF COLOUR FUCK do you think shakespeare would be writing that shit now?

LEST WE FORGET. REMEMBER WHO HAS DONE THIS TO YOU AND YOUR WORLD.

ALWAYS REMEMBER. ALL THE FEARFUL EYES, LOST LONELY FACES.

ALWAYS REMEMBER. THE INCOMPETENCE, THE DISRESPECTFUL TREATMENT.

THIS TORTURE PARENTING.

REMEMBER TO MAKE NEW STATUES OF YOUR TOLERANCE AND ENDURANCE, IMMORTALIZING YOUR HOPES FOR THE FUTURE.

There are only 2 issues. Living standards and future living standards.

HARRY AND MEGS, BABY 2! DICK OF EDINBURGH IN HOSPITAL! AGAIN! GRRRRRRRRR!

RAGE AGAINST ALL ROYAL TRASH NEWS! IT WASTES EVERYONE'S TIME! WE NEED MORE BRAINS NOT BLUBBER HEADS. A PASSIVE POPULATION IS EASY TO POLICE, BUT THE ECONOMY WILL SUFFER. ROYALS ARE ALL TALENT-LESS CROOKED ROLE MODELS. CHILDREN! AIM MUCH HIGHER!

UNKNOWN ARTIST IS THOUGHT DEAD! NOT SURE.

An ex British tired-out artist is thought dead. The unknown artist ran out of thoughts in 2020. His last works were crappy photos of himself. "It is very possible he may have committed career suicide" said an art insider, "I saw this grey light come from his mouth, then his sense of humour went, and then I saw all hope leave his body." He had been suffering from art disease for many years. No-one has seen the artist since December 2020. Another healthy covid related casualty? Rest in cultural peace. Jack of our Arts (1969-2020)

healthy excess lockdown deaths by party vote (relative)

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healthy excess lockdown deaths per career (relative)

musicians XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxx xxx

comedians XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxx xxxxx

artists XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

actors X

poets XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

greasy caff worker XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

pub owners XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

bankers

politicians

healthy excess lockdown deaths by pet (relative)

DOG XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

CAT XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

FISH XX

BIRD XX

LIZARD

TORTOISE

BEE

obsession with death graphs by year (relative)

2021

2020

1999

1945

1066

FUTURE NEWS

excess deaths and harms by covid 19

excess deaths and harms from lockdown

IM NOT TRYING TO DIMINISH THE MISERABLE VIRUS CASUALTIES, IT'S JUST BASIC MATHS. AND IT'S GALLING THAT AN ANTI NHS PARTY IS PREACHING FELLOW CARE. FREE MARKETEERS ARE USING THIS AS AN OPPORTUNITY TO SHUT DOWN ANY OPPOSITION. I'M NOT MAKING THIS UP. INCREASING WEALTH DISPARITY IS MASSIVE AND IT KILLS. THE LOOMING ENVIRONMENTAL DISASTER IS NOT BEING ADDRESSED, BECAUSE THE WEALTHY PEOPLE IN CHARGE DON'T NEED TO WORRY. YET.

BSN MORAL TIPS:

DO THE OPPOSITE OF WHATEVER PRITI PATEL DOES AND SAYS.

i'd like to work in a pet shop ideally

BOB

DEATH!

PRE DEATH!

THIS IS BSN

no housing news

The van is too small for winter survival, and it is too sad to be stuck on an alien street, in an alien place with ugly aliens creeping around attached to dogs, while I'm freezing inside my white tin. I'm tired of diesel travel, searching for free parking, plastic petrol station egg sandwiches, internet searches on zoopla. I am a battery egg on white bread on wheels, going off.

I sold my boat 6 months later than expected, lots of people were interested, asking for more pictures, where it was, does it have an engine, when can I view it? Yadda yadda chit chat. The plan was to spend summer searching for somewhere new, because the van is only ok as tiny summer shepherds hut. I eventually sold the boat at the back end of autumn, and drove into wales bursting with floods and night frosts. The smell of goats. Ancient human pretty, I got close to buying an amazing wild bit of land next to a dribbling river that in 200 yards met the big blue cliff edged gob of the pushing pembrokeshire sea. I went to the council and asked about building a hut there. The next day someone bought it. I nearly rented a house in Haverfordwest, but it was too expensive and lonely and I couldn't face getting all my stuff from Lowestoft, and it didn't feel at all clear what I was going to do there in west Wales.

Dark lost exhaustion plus damp van condensation equals swamp tramp. Sleeping in a wall wetted duvet and breathing in car seat mould came to hamstring my new home investigations, the whole thing became squalid and unhealthy, and I was so far away from my allotment greens, friends and stuff. So I went back east and looked round there, rental places mainly, but the prices were higher and I could only really consider the shittest shitholes. No open fires, double glazing, gardens. Stinky, freezing, dirty, with broken taps etc. I've had enough, I give up, again.

It is December, it has been sunny but cold. For two weeks i have been sleeping in my shed. I may have had some sort of breakdown, it's hard to say, because everything else in the last year has been threatening and nonsensical, is this new freezing shed home any different? I suppose the change is that any hope/optimism that kept me working towards something better, has been flattened, partly because I am old and mouldy now, partly because I see that all my other financial options are worse than camping in this cheap powerless shed. I'm interested in this next level squalid illegal experiment. Since ive been here I have been drinking rainwater, directed from shed and greenhouse roofs into home made charcoal and gravel water filters. New harder frosts have come and so I have had to line the shed with rugs, duvets, sheets and fire blankets, it is like a nomadic yurt hidden within a flimsy english tool shed, windows are blacked out and insulated with old, mouse chewed camping mats. I'm outdoors in the dark to watch the sun rise dimmer switch, outdoors always. I watch the sun sink too quickly, and rush to get ready, then I linger by the door to drink in the last lemon squeeze of light before the horrible dark 12 hour lock-in. I use candles first as both light and heat source. one tealight under a clay plant pot, raised with cut corks. This is a good red wine warmer. A torch hangs as kitchen spotlight from adjustable coat hanger armature, as does a red bike light, which is better for homely non-existant womb fake-hug. Inside I use camping gas for cooking and warming boosts. I considered installing a woodburner but that would weaken my stealthy camouflaged anime guerrilla North London lair. I could get kicked off the allotments for doing this but i am desperate, for this the only familiar peaceful place left. The faithful fake-family faces have gone, pretending to be nice somewhere else.

The shed is drier than the van, I have no near neighbours and there is a compost loo here at the allotments which also solves a small van life problem. In the van I piss into a funnel that flows via brass pipe through the van floor and out onto the street, but for shitting you have to wait for a library or public loo to open, campsites close for winter so that has ruined that luxury option. For keeping clean I used a flannel in water bowl but as it got colder, I got less disciplined, hairier, smellier, focussing mainly on preventing the potentially hateful screams of PLAGUE by cleaning only my hopeless face, pretending to be normal, performing, hiding.

Why doesn't the 51 year old white man rent a flat in london and get a job? Because the rents are disgusting and the only option is to look on spareroom dot com where everyone wants a 18-35yr old, sociable, non smoking, working pizza office bod for their shit box room that costs a minimum of 500 a month plus council tax, plus WIFI costs, plus bills, plus movie nights and upbeat fresh faced eating together. NOT political awkwardness, plus brainwashed TV intolerance or wrinkly old poetic equality idealist nature punk tramp.

So I'm here, in yurt shed, getting ill, 2 weeks in, the mice have found me out. I hit the wriggling wall, shuffling at 3 am, they laugh, like a stupid punch will stop them eating my soap and ciabatta bread crumbs!

Don't worry, they'll stop keeping me awake because they are kind disney mice, who know a good hearted genius prince when they see one, they'll forego the spilt drunken parmesan, scuttle off instead into the frost-bitten compost heap to eat rotten cabbage stems, play hide and seek with the friendly cartoon cats and owls.

Finding and dealing with squalid accommodation has taken up more than half my life, now it's three quarters. There was one 2 week period in my life when I stayed in a Chateau near Cannes, it was all free! Meaty meals cooked, rooms cleaned, fires made, and I could paint all day! The speed of progress in my painting and thinking was turbo charged, when my yawning privileged fellows where setting up thier easels I had done six paintings and wandered off for a siesta, in order to be fresh-faced for the pretty evening light. The experience of this one luxury moment in my life has stayed with me, as torture, and portrait of art history. That rich people move through life with ease and chat and exhibit, and the poor work with both arms tied, in extreme solitude with poundland shit for paint, used between rent payments and threats, heating freezing sheds, and eating cheap crap. If the art world had a moral revamp, art made under torture conditions might one day be valued higher. I think that would be missing the point though, that noone should have to exhibit this.

PRE DEATH

THE CUTE STORY AT THE END: ahhhhhhh

David Beckham and Lewis Hamilton were walking in the woods..again! It had been a hard day prostituting their images, they were both exhausted, so they lay down in the moss covered woodland floor and looked up at the tree canopy. David held out his hand and Lewis took it. Soon David was tongueing Lewis's arse hole and Lewis giving Davids big cock a good Formula 1 going over. Of course this was all well planned, and the photographer made sure to zoom in on the new trainer and watch logos, now covered in excellent dna. Elton John started playing a grand piano in the background and it was like a lovely greco roman product placement idyll. A cute little dog ran across the set, it was so funny! The end.

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IN THE NEXT ISSUE: MADE UP INTERVIEWS WITH ARTISTS?? BECKS AND LEWIS IN THE WOODS, AGAIN! REAL GP NEWS? POSITIVITY V NEGATIVITY AS FORCES FOR CHANGE? DREARINESS NEWS. IT ALL DEPENDS ON WHAT HAPPENS. I THINK THIS ONE NEEDS PADDING OUT FIRST BUT I DUNNO! I'D LIKE TO SEE SOME HORSES INCLUDED ASAP. THE PRE-INDUSTRIALIZED INTERNET SHIT-NESS OF BOTH ISSUES IS ENCOURAGING. HORSES, CHILDREN, MUSIC AND FILTH? HMMM