Don’t really know what to say about fIREHOSE, cos I don’t know that much about them, except that I like their noise. They’re punky and jazzy, and guitarist/singer Ed Crawford has a winning way with a vocal tune. In my bass-playing days, Mike Watt (bassist with Minutemen and fIREHOSE) was an absolute hero, and I got to tell him that one time via myspace and he totally replied and everything. I was very chuffed.
Anyway. This is the sound of summer love.
“It’s one small step… What the..!?”
Yes! It’s six word sci-fi story time again. I haven’t written any short stories in a while, so I’m easing myself back in. Here’s a few more:
George Lucas. Time machine. History “improved”.
In parallel universe, this story better.
Repressed gay aliens enjoy closet encounters.
Aliens send Neil Armstrong parking ticket.
Danger signs: Skynet app for iPhone.
Monster in his pants – no metaphor.
Maverick mad scientist breaks all the rules.
Her perfume is my time machine.
(inspired by – oh, all right, nicked from – Wired Magazine.)
Inspired to write your own? I’d love to read ’em! Pop em in the comments…
Previous six word sci-fi stories.
Six Word Sci-Fi 2 by Harris
more tiny tales
…the show you can’t not see!
The what now? The Uninvisibles! A group of eight writer/performers doing a sketch show in Edinburgh this year, innit. (And man, you wouldn’t believe how hard it is to come up with a name for a group when there’s eight of you. It’s like getting a crate of kittens to, well, come up with a not-rubbish name for a sketch group. The kittens chose well, I think.)
The Uninvisibles are: Gary Skipper, Phil Tipper, Chris Stanners, Graham Lee, Hayley Ellis, Kathy Eastham, Kahn Johnson and me. All are lovely too, kind, generous and funny and with good skin care routines. All of us are writing and performing, and working out dance routines and sewing our own costumes.
We’ve been rehearsing fairly regularly, in a cold room above a pub in Leeds, and I’m pretty excited by the whole thing. The writing is sharp and varied, and it’s always amazing to see stuff you’ve written take life in front of you. And the pub does brilliant chips.
There’s a real sense of ambition, not career-ambition but ambition as to what a live sketch show can be. Funny, hopefully. But also varied. A comedy concerto as Mr Tipper put it, which sounds like it should mean something, doesn’t it? Something good. So that’s what we’re going to try and do. Something good.
The Uninvisibles: trying to do something good. Hmm… we might not put that on the poster…
…Is The New Baby Now.
Let Wayne Coyne tell y’all a story. Goodnight children, everywhere.
Giraffes have no tear ducts, so the only real way to tell if you’ve upset one is when they stop putting little kisses at the end of their text messages.
Giraffes evolved their long necks for a giggle. Irreversible evolutionary decisions should never be made while drunk.
Giraffes are vegetarian, but don’t bang on about it, or insist you use a separate grill when you’re barbecuing their beanburgers.
Giraffes have excellent eyesight, which they need to see if their shoelaces are untied.
Never play I Spy with a giraffe for money.
A giraffe’s natural enemies are lions, hyenas and vampires.
The knobs on the top of a giraffe’s head are called ossicones, and mean a giraffe’s choice of headgear is limited to the top hat or sun visor. Neither is a good look for a giraffe, but try telling them that.
Giraffe necks come in three varieties: straight, bendy and crazy.
A giraffe’s coat pattern is unique, and takes two hours to apply each morning, using potato prints and HP Sauce.
Giraffes are considered by naturalists to be among the worlds most fascinating animals, but you still don’t want to be stuck talking to one at a party. Yes, you are tall and acacia leaves are tasty, I get it! Jesus.
More facts next time, fact fans!
As if the original wasn’t mesmerisingly trippy enough. Saw this at an art do in Durham tonight; you had to peek at it through a spyhole drilled in a little door. Perfect. I could have watched it all night. Well, better that than seven black and white photos of various branches of Greggs, or a bunch of charcoal-rendered vaginas.
We’re all mad here, said the Hatter.
ps on an art gallery tip, I might have some quite exciting exhibition-related news to share soon. Well, it’s exciting to me anyway. Oooh, mysterioso.
The Story of Grass is is a new zine by James Harris and Gus Hughes. 28 pages of bits, bobs, hippos, muppets, jokes, pictures, Abraham Lincoln, giant eyeballs, this and that, all sandwiched like ham between card covers.
Issue 2 is out now. Issue 1 never existed.
Here is the thing as seen from space. Words and pictures and the spaces in between, lovingly arranged by Harris and Hughes for your bemusement. Want a copy? 3 squids to you sir, or 4 squids including postage. Get in touch…