I have a serious literary zine in the works called Nicole Kidman, and since it is literary and I am homeless, everything in it has thus far been composed in the public library, mostly in the children's reading lounge where there are usually more available computers. Here's a preview story called "Enemies," which you can probably totally relate to...
About six years ago I was diagnosed with social anxiety and put on meds after a single visit with a college counselor in which I confided in her that I was suddenly unable to walk out of my apartment to get the mail unless it was dark outside. I took my pills for over a year, and then flushed them after I woke up one day and realized that I had become fat as hell and lost all impulse control.
If you looked over and saw that Guy Mariano "teaser" coming to Epicly Later'd and got an anger boner because you want it fucking now, chill out and go watch this recent interview Jerry Hsu and Spanky did with Patrick O'Dell. He'll tell you about magic and hidden episodes and unseen footage, and say more names that you can catalogue into your personal Dewey Decimal System of humans who float around on be-wheeled boards. And if even that wasn't enough, here's something sneaky.
I wanted to go for something truly grim to reflect the neverending cold and snowfall, but the only band that would have been truly fitting were Immortal, the true masters of nebular frost. However, I think I should save Immortal for the release of their new album later in the year. Plus, the snow has long since gone.
That earnest son-of-a-gun photographer Jonnie Craig is having his first solo show in London this weekend, which you probably can't go to since it's thousands of miles away. But you can read this interview with him about his early work with us (he's the kid who shot his friends streaking in Buckingham Fountain) and then buy his book.
Since Samuel F. Thorne's article about last years Melbourne Punk Pub Crawl just hit news stands and American Apparels all over this fair-haired nation I thought it pertinent to post this video of a "riot" at said event in 2007. It's actually just a bunch of shitbirds who haven't grown up yet getting arrested but it's still an entertaining view into the world of today's bored youth.
It's hard to imagine Blessure Grave even wanting to get out of bed, let alone make music. But they do, and it exists in trashy San Diego's somber and prescient third eye. Despite only having been around for approximately two and a half minutes they have numerous upcoming releases planned, including a split with Wetdog and a release on Blank Dog's Captured Tracks Records. They're prolific and maudlin, and that dynamic combo seems like they should sound like Dead Can Dance, but no, thankfully, they do not. Enjoy a listen...
Sorry, not to leave you hanging all cliff-style since Friday's demi-installment of Dickheadz. Here at long last is the gripping conclusion to the saga of B. "Baboon" Baboon.
OK, prank calls got old when we turned nine, and then they yellowed into brittle crumbles and blew away in the apathetic wind after that. But an ad like this? Who wouldn't ring up this cheerful chap for a lark? We're only telling you about it because what started as a bored lark turned into the kind of conversation that made us feel like we were genteel, monacle- and ascot-wearing flunkies who drink with our pinkies out and get upset if someone uses the wrong fork at dinner...
I have a serious literary zine in the works called Nicole Kidman, and since it is literary and I am homeless, everything in it has thus far been composed in the public library, mostly in the children's reading lounge where there are usually more available computers. Here's a preview story called "Enemies," which you can probably totally relate to...
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