Monday, 8 December 2014: Free event

I will be reading from my book in progress 1,000 Days of Sun.

There will be wine.

Two definitions for an Anticulturalist

1. anticulturalist

 we are surrounded by data

 this is only information when interpreted by the individual for his own needs

 therefore there is only one world view, only one world: the world of the individual

 this also applies digitally

 when information is pushed out to the world by any individual, this is inefficient and dishonest communication

 this is because information is received individually at the end-user stage as data

 it only becomes information on interpretation by the individual for his own needs

 culture is a shared illusion that the data has a certain shared meaning or force

 culture is a fatally flawed communication because each individual interprets data for his own needs

 culture does not exist aside from this shared contract of delusion because individuals cannot express this effectively. Imagine describing a colour to a blind man.

 Each person therefore is an Anticulturalist but this definition is also flawed because each person will interpret and utilise data for his own needs. 

anticulturalism is as unstable as anything else when signified, signifier and information are self-destructive concepts.

2. anticulturalist

. someone who does not like gardening

Guitartboard

I have solved the thorny problem of learning to play guitar... this will help the process. Simply hand out darts to your audience, and if you fuck up the song they get to try their luck at the dartboard. Hey presto! Instant guitar excellence, or alternatively your hands will get so injured you'll never play again. Double win!

An unused band name appears in a dream

Wearable poem 3: Anticulturalist

The anticulturalist 2.0

The Anticulturalist is both at the centre of and central to his own choosing and his own choices.

The supposed possibilities of imagery, emotions, arts, samples, foods, mash-ups, instantly-delivered data through the Internet are active only when accessed by the Anticulturalist and do not otherwise exist.

Nothing exists as an idea unless created expressly and personally by and for the Anticulturalist.

He does not care about or acknowledge politcs, love, history, context, cultural signs, signifiers, signified, slogans, thinkers, matchbox philosophies, television, music, altered states unless they specifically and individually refer to him and him alone. These data are not information until expressly achieved by the Anticulturalist, and may never become information if he chooses not to make them so.

Anticulturalism is anticommunication, antiempathy and antisex.

Anticulturalism believes in whatever is convenient at the time for the anticulturalist and the anticulturalist alone. For this reason it also resists labels including its own.

The Anticulturalist notes that culture is spread by force and fad; postmodernism by archness and arrogance that has collapsed under its own definition.

Anticulturalism is referrent to nothing aside from the individual that created and controls it. It is not a state of belief but of denial of the concept of externality. The Other is never central to anyone but itself. Thus, there is no Other. There is only Self.

Anticulturalism notes and states that every man may be an island and the island is self-created by each individual’s personal dictatorship which is also self-created and always in flux.

An apology from a fan to Bangor City Football Club, October 25, 2014

The Welsh Premiership table makes some pretty awful reading

We’re bottom of the league, the season’s hopes are disappearing,

We lost again – 2-0 at home – a terrible result

But I’ve got a confession, boys: I think it’s all my fault.

The Stjarnan game, the Euro trip, I’d booked to fly abroad

But on the eve of getting there an illness struck me hard.

My travel plans were thwarted, Lord, but I just couldn’t fly

We lost 4-0 without my voice to help the team apply.

At home the Iceland lads came down to drink in the Belle Vue.

They passed around the vodka shots; I’d had more than a few,

But when we started to the game there were still glasses full

It’s bad luck to leave alcohol like that; it’s terrible.

We won in the League Cup! Oh Joy! The season was on track!

The next game’s venue – England, on a plastic piece of crap,

2-0 the score – we lost of course, we never seem to win

Against the franchise; still, who cares? Those bastards mean nothing.

But Monday came, Newtown again; this time was not the same

It was too sunny; I’d forgot to bring a pair of shades.

I couldn’t see, that’s what it was, and three goals was the cost

Without my lucky Turkey hat, and that is why we lost.

An Aber game is usually an excuse for a laugh,

Away we go down winding roads, with beers in our bags.

This time, a Friday night? By Zeus – I just couldn’t attend.

We shipped two goals, then fought back for a 3-3 in the end.

So not the best; but not the worst; some unease at our start -

A 2-1 versus Cefn in the cup gave us some heart –

And then, another Friday game – big spending Airbus next

They had us off 2-1. But I was wearing the wrong kecks.

Rhyl was worse – oh God help me – 2-0 up at half-time

Somehow we lost; 3-2 the score. But the fault was all mine.

I was at home, watching on TV, tucked up with the flu,

My lemsip Cofi-yellow. And we know what that can do.

Prestatyn next. Another lot we really ought to beat;

A nothing side; a mini-Rhyl, a team we should defeat.

I must admit again here to my culpability;

I didn’t have my lucky pie –we drew the game 3-3.

Four days went past; Prestatyn once more in the league's own cup

Where our form had been decent; it had kept the spirits up.

But Christ Almighty, I fucked it up; I’m sorry of it still.

I didn’t have a lucky piss: we lost the game one nil.

The Friday next – another Friday, our unlucky night –

We were a goal to nil up then out went all the floodlights.

For fuck’s sake: everything was going really, badly wrong;

I’m sorry, boys, it’s my fault: I had unlucky trons.

October dawned. No wins, two points: officially bad form,

The kind of sequence of results that sends teams dropping down.

Me? I blame myself for this: a home loss to Carmarthen,

I’d not walked down my lucky way; was driven by my father.

Port Talbot – on a Saturday – shock horror! What is next?

A 2-0 loss, that’s what. A result that left us all vexed.

But it was only me that knows why that one went to shit:

My lucky shirt was in the wash so I couldn’t wear it.

Cefn at home. Another goddamned Friday fucking night.

Another chance for City though to start putting it right.

0-0   on 88 so muggins here, he checks the time

We lose one nil. It’s my fault: I’d committed the crime.

Finally, October ends, at home to Connah’s Quay.

Yep, Friday night again: this really starts to grate on me.

No surprise here: we lose 2-0 and I can take no further.

I had no cash so couldn’t get my lucky Big Les Burger.

So Nev, and Dilwyn, Gwyn and Pegler, Citizens and fans

I’m sorry for the bad luck since the first game’s whistle rang;

Please don’t sue me for lost earnings, it would be uncouth.

(You wouldn’t win in court: I’ve got a fail-safe, lucky suit.)