Review Notes: Jonty Tiplady, "Zam Bonk Dip" (Barque, 2007)

It happens that the door swings by the lamp's hook barely.

Weep to see the white girl in the rubber mask. The black girl in socks. The white girl in socks. The black girl in the rubber mask. The zipped sock. The unzipped sock. The rubber mask.

There are four socks.

Swap.

The early prince licked her all over.
Sailor Milan had fits or something like this
and said I cannot even tie a bow.
He could not pick up a two penny piece either.
The other two came back in the second film
and the key for the suitcase in the tarmac
drew new water out. [Tiplady, "4"]

Meat, greens, talc, unzip. Sweat through the joypad: declining to dinosaur, tractor, train. Blue duplo stuck to his thigh when he stands to go. Biplane.

NOW COMPARE: Anon. "Tom O'Bedlam", from "Ancient Songs" (1790)

Whimpered affirmations of the desk and bird. Extrusions slendering and dainty through the preventative come cropped, basted, Jeepsie.

Wildered in the pungency of an alp, sleeping with a gallant boy, the weeping door indicates no exit. Some minstrelsy in his bald chin who cried to see our shaving, residually. Unmasked, no socks.

Gameplay: 90% Graphics: 85% Sounds: 95% Addictiveness: 94%

RE: "MAINSTREAM" POETRY

My favorite thing about this video:



Is that it has less than half the number of hits that this video has:



Are YOU big in Romania, Armitage? Are you FUCK.

urgent

really urgent.

RR

SFBG Most of the trains in the film are freight trains, there are maybe only one or two passenger trains.

JB There are two: one was a commuter train, one was a passenger train. The amount of commuter travel, at least on the West Coast, is minimal — you hardly ever see a train with people in it. Amtrak leases the right to use rails from the companies that operate the freight trains. I've taken most of the Amtrak train routes. They're fun ... and slow.

SFBG How long did you shoot?

JB I shot for two and a half years, probably. I had so much fun that I didn't really want to stop. I still miss it. Sometimes I go back to those same sites and wait for trains, just to have that feeling again.

KLIT INFIDEL

FACEPLANT LONDON MEET: THIS WEEKEND?

Dearest DOPE, APE, JOW:

I will be in your LODNOD TOWN this weekend, staying at the palace of COMRADE KNIFE FIGHTS, and wondered if you'd all like to meet up. Perhaps we could do something like this:



Let me know yeahyeah.

Review Note: Tim Atkins, "Folklore" (Salt, 2008)

THE MATCHBOX CREW -interlude

for all one of you following the riveting saga that is THE MATCHBOX CREW

( part 1 here & part two here )

i just wanted you to know that the exciting conclusion will be coming as soon as i get back to my writing bunker located on earth's single moon

so keep your drawstring pants on &stuff

- fleas / pants

I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS

Dear "FRIENDS",

Are you trying to hurt me? Sure, we've had our ups* and downs** since this site took flight, but never has your negligence to alert me to matters of great significance left such a devastating break in my heartskin, my neck which connects passion to gravy. I am OF COURSE referring to THIS: knowledge of the existence of TWO POEMS by BARACK OBAMA, which I should have seen coming anyway since "Barack Obama" is a PERFECT ANAGRAM of "Frank O'Hara".

When and how will you mend me?

Your frenemy,

DOPE.

* More like YOU've had MY ups.
** i.e. September

ATTN: NOOBS

$%^&@#(@&!!!!

IF you have any time you're looking to murder, why not go HERE.

IF you can get past level 16, please screenshoot me the solution.

THX THX THX.

That Sarah Palin interview in full

ALIENATING IN-JOKE POST #004

DOPE!

Whatever you do, don't click here!

Revoked Cynicism.

Yo, that previous sketch was web-smart geek chic compared to the American media's attempt to explain the credit CRRRRUNCH. No? Jon Stewart's noticed the same thing, with dominoes.

High Psychedelic Performance

listening to la monte young in the army.
hoover tripe
Ju/'hoansi metal
this man walking, 1:40

Review Notes: John Cheke: The Hurt of Sedition (1549)

What grinds your face in the toothed slit is exactly what keeps the at bay looted. So what, when the door slides back to the yellow desk and she's not looking:

But what meane ye, by this equalitie in the comune welth? If one be wiser then an other, wyl ye bannyshe him, because ye entende an equalitie of al thinges?

Sure, only, there's no use opening your office door any more given the concentrations;

The thing ye take is not your ryght, it is an other mans own, the maner of takyng against hys wil is unlawful, and against the order of euery good commune welth, the cause why ye take it, is mischeuous and horrible, to fat up youre sedition, ye that take it wicked traitours, and commone enemies to all good order.

Debris, cylinder, the cogency of an eel. There is a woman violently over it, totally gaped, no mustache:

Now ye gentlemen be more in trust be cause the comunes be untrusty [...]

Brick, luxury wife, dependency, thin cones of optimist phut about a bank. Yeah:

Ye haue spoiled, enprisoned, + threatened gentlemen to death, + that with such hatered of minde, as may not well be borne, ye case thereof I spake not on, which tried wil happeli be not greate, but se ye thinge, set murder asyde which is ye heinostest faute to a pryvate man. What could more spitefulli haue ben done again them, then ye haue used with crueltie? Can this do anye other but brede in their stomakes gret grudge of displeasure towarde you + engendre suche an hatered as the weaker and the sufferer, must nedes bear ye smart thereof.

The desk is in that room. She is a kind of resin. Conferring about a kind of fact with one ear like feat.

6/10

REDUCTIVE BOX OFFICES SMASHING

like everywhere

I KNOW what you're thinking BUT IS IT REALLYRILLY SO BAD TO FRAMPLE YOUR SIT-DOWN-UPONS?

ergo my balls, jeff daniels

DAMMIT

I just spent ages trying to upload a .gif animation I made of a rotating PCP molecule interspersed with the image of George Trakl vandalised with lime green wingdings, but FUCKING BLOGGER kept converting it into a distinctly NON-animating .jpeg which is all but fecking useless to me.

*SIGH*

It is difficult to be a white 23 year old living with his parents these days.

I tried uploading the .gif to Imageshack but they were complete JERKS about it. I finally got it working, thanks to another image hosting service, but only then did I get to the realisation that the whole enterprise sucked anyhow, so I deleted it and wrote this instead.

Friends: I am tired of ironic WTFing. I would really like to contribute to an internet worth saving but I can't even imagine what one would look like. Would anybody be interested in launching, right here, a Faceplant Symposium upon matters such as these?

Friends, show us your internets; I want to touch yours.

Miffed stick figures

Oh Gee Capitalism Is Collapsing How Irresponsible Of Everybody OH SHIT I Guess Everyone Is Just Out For Themselves & They Don't Really Care About The COMMUNITY;
The Subprime Primer

Cake

Let Them Eat It

ELSEWHERE ON THE NETWORK #041

As well as breezing thru vanquished albatross daily, spaffing at the larynx everyday too, you, like "me time", gaze at the dashboard longingly. This is not your home-fried menagerie bap coated in hammers, nor your time to shine. Nova prospect, your fridge is hooked up and touching its purpose, yet all the same you bark on, lounge under punches all roughed up. What the fuck happened to you?! >> Shit we didn't get up to this week includes:

• This thing about Sonic cumming/shitting/vomiting in our mouths.


• This thing about smuggling cocaine in a giant squid.


• This thing in which "much placenta, much abdicated play" froths around the living room, you buy a mouthwash but everyone laughs at you anyway.
  
• This thing, in which we wonder if our American frat boys would be so kind as to confirm whether such behaviour is encouraged overseas (?- really).


• This thing we saw on Youtube.


• And this thing, in which a camera tripod looks a bit like a face, because you can't not use pictures like this when they come along:

IN SUMMARY: 4/10.

ALIENATING IN-JOKE POST #003

ADMIRE HOW BATTERED I AM.

ALIENATING IN-JOKE POST #002

sex

THE MATCHBOX CREW, p a r t T W O !

On Friday night Veronica and Robin sat in Veronica’s luxurious mansion. Veronica was wearing her new pink camisole and a white skirt that went just below the knee. She was touching up the make up on her big gray-blue-hazel eyes and her hair was done up casually. Robin was wearing a tight black dress and had on white eye shadow that looked, Veronica thought, great on her dark skin. Robin Hewison was bi-racial. Her mom was back and her dad was white. She had just put blonde highlights in her curly black hair.

Veronica stopped applying her make up to watch Robin. She was singing to the Hole song “Malibu” off the Celebrity Skin CD they had stolen that day. Robin had an amazing voice. She planned to move to LA after high school to pursue a singing career. Veronica would go with her to model. Veronica and Robin had been best friends since kindergarten and were the leaders of the Matchbox Crew. As Veronica turned back to the mirror to put on her mascara, the doorbell rang. All at once Rachel, Delainey, Samantha and Dorris plowed in dragging Lindsay with them.

Dorris smiled and all at once started gushing about the olive colored shirt that her new fling Brad had given her. Veronica had to smile and laugh a bit at seeing the girl who was usually so serious and sophisticated jumping up and down, eyes wide with excitement. Samantha was telling jokes to Lindsay to try to open her up. Samantha was from Korea and she had a great sense of humor. She was wearing a red slip dress with matching platform shoes. Delainey, who was quiet and very thoughtful, was near the closet talking with Rachel, who was loud and totally boy-crazy. Veronica tilted her head so she could hear what they were talking about. Oh, of course, they were discussing Bruce Bradbury and his new haircut. The two had been majorly crushing on Bruce since 7th grade. Veronica laughed as they sighed and stuck out their tongues, making panting sounds.

Veronica glanced at the clock. It was 8:00. Shit! If they didn’t leave now they would be late for the party that Jessie Friedman, who was in 10th grade, was giving.

“Guys, come on!” Veronica yelled.

In two minutes flat the girls were out of the house and on their way to Blake St. where Jimmy would pick them up in his old Chevy.
Veronica’s parents were out of town and everyone else’s parents thought they were sleeping over at her house. Veronica glanced down the street and saw the blue car rushing towards them. Veronica waved her arms and smiled. God, Jimmy was so cute! He was in 11th grade and was Veronica’s new boyfriend. Veronica and the rest of the Matchbox Crew were only in 8th grade but everyone said they were the coolest middle schoolers in the tri-state area.

When the girls got to the party they all sort of split up except for Veronica who stayed with Lindsay to help get her comfortable. There was a 311 song blasting over the speakers. Veronica closed her eyes and started grooving to the music. Lindsay was nervously biting her nails. She was wearing a maroon dress with daisies all over it – a little childish but somehow she could pull it off. Veronica was really getting into the song when she felt a hand on her ass.

“Ooh baby, you know I like it when you do that!” It was Jimmy.

“Oh shut UP, Jimmy!” Veronica said, laughing. “Hey, did you meet Lindsay? She’s new. Isn’t she a total Drew?”

Jimmy smiled at Lindsay, flashing his dimples. “Hi, do you got a boyfriend yet?”

Lindsay started, clearly a bit taken aback by the abruptness of his question. “Uh… no… not yet…” she answered, forcing a smile.

“Cool, well I think I know someone you would be into.” Jimmy pulled Lindsay over to a group of boys that the Matchbox Crew regularly associated with.

Veronica looked around the room. There must be one… no, TWO hundred people there, all dancing or talking or eating or making out. Veronica spotted Rachel flirting with Bruce in the corner. Dorris and Delainey were going upstairs with three guys. Veronica made a face. How was *that* going to work? Or maybe she didn’t want to know. Samantha was on the floor making out with some guy Veronica had never seen before and Robin was dancing with her boyfriend Tommy. Veronica smiled. They hadn’t even been there ten minutes and already everyone was set. Veronica pulled out a cigarette and sat down between a guy snorting heroin and a guy puking up green stuff.

Bored, she decided to find Jimmy. It took a few minutes before she finally spotted him in the crowd and called him over.

“Wazzup?!” Jimmy asked enthusiastically.

“What’s going on with Linds, have you seen her?” Veronica asked, concerned. She was a bit worried that Lindsay wouldn’t be able to party. She had told the girls earlier that she was a virgin and had never done alcohol, drugs, or had a boyfriend. In fact, Lindsay had never even been to a real party.

Greg looked puzzled by Veronica’s tone. “Oh, Lindsay? God, last I saw her she was shooting up in the bathroom and that guy Greg was groping her, but who knows what they’re doing by now.”

Veronica. was. stunned.


CAN YOU even BREATHE until YOU FIND OUT ALL ABOUT WHAT HAPPENS CAN YOU even ?!?!?!?!i!i!i!

ALPACA FURY INVERSION

THE MATCHBOX CREW , Pt.1

Lindsay was crying. She was curled up on the ground with her hands over her face. Coach Thomson was yelling at her. Veronica and the other teammates were standing back, not knowing what to do. They knew that they should not be there. They knew they should not be sharing this moment with Lindsay. Veronica knew this was all her fault.

When Lindsay arrived at SouthRidge Middle School in the fall, she had been a good girl. She was sweet and innocent when she moved to the New York City suburb from her quiet little town in Iowa. Veronica had watched her stand in the corner by herself, watching the other children socialize for weeks. Finally, in early October, Veronica convinced the rest of her clique, the Matchbox Crew (they had gotten their name from the smoking habit they all shared), to let Lindsay in as a trial member. The Matchbox Crew, or M.C. as they referred to themselves, included Veronica, Rachel, Delainey, Robin, Samantha, and Dorris.

The M.C. was probably not a good crowd to fall into, but Lindsay did. The Matchbox Crew were not popular, they were above popular. No one dared criticize them or hassle them, they were bad. The M.C. had a rep for being easy, willing to drink, smoke, get buzzed, you name it. They stole and hung out with the Blitz crew, which was a bad high school crew. Any name Lindsay had made for herself was now gone. She was strictly a member of the M.C.

Lindsay and the rest of the M.C. had good names with teachers, of course. They paid the nerds to do their homework and make them crib sheets for tests. They participated in several extracurricular activities including track, softball, yearbook, and more. Lindsay didn’t know the Matchbox Crew was bad news, she was just excited that she had been invited for a party and sleepover.




stay tuned!for more ok!!!!

NUDIST HERMENEUTICS IX: GRATUITOUS VIOLENCE, GRATIS

Ever since Al Jazeera discontinued their "This Week in Pictures" series, I've been at a serious loss to know where to source the good stuff. Nothing utterly remarkable about this week's octoshot, other than I STOLE it from here . Fuck Dorling Kindersly, greedy IP-grubbing swine.



Intrigue down, crime content up. And yes, friends, as you can see from the THIRD CONSECUTIVE DAY of me posting something, we are well and truly BACK.

GRINDING ON...

I'd like to introduce you all to COMRADE MELONS, our portable external HARD-DRIVE. MELONS not only has 500GB storage capacity - a vital boon to the FACEPLANT cause that should provide sufficient backup space until at least 2090 judging by our current rate of production - but can, as you will see if you condescend to click below, perform magic tricks.

WHAT'S MORE

SOMETHING needs to be done about this.

DOPE, FOR THE LOVE OF FUCK

TURN OFF the autoplay on yr wit-cum-grit-clit Cocacola post, PLEEZ. Every fortnight when I check to see if any of my HIGHLY SALARIED EMPLOYEES here at the once HIGH FEVER, SATURDAY NIGHT STD FEVER a fortiori hub of intellection and elite art reflex formerly known and FEARED as the FACEPLANT INTERNATIONAL BRUISING COMPANY, fifteen seconds or so into the inevitable experience of seeing that no-one's applied a cold compress to the malingering tadpole's brow this week I get THE SHIT FLIPPED OUT OF ME, a violent and literal red sock inversion spattering the bedclothes with last night's cocopops, by the sound of last quarter's concept art klangwitz. IT GETS ME EVERY TIME, JEFF, HAHA.

I'm not blaming you. Any of you, that is. I've been just as lax. MANY WARM THANKS TO OUR MOST VALIANT FRIEND FIFI SNOB APEMAN for attempting to keep this sinking juggernaut afloat with his styrofoam kidney bean. THX THX THX.

I mean, Comrades, look, I don't want to seem like a bad boss or a bully or anything but LOOK WHAT HAPPENS on the internet when we turn our backs on it:



Rebirth, Comrades! FACEPLANT STRIKES BACK in Q4!