Someone forwarded Perfect Crime this link and I sat on it for a day, haughtily wondering if it all seemed a bit clichéd, a bit obvious.
Then I remembered I had already posted a gallery of babes promoting the Galactic Empire. (“Whoops,” he was heard to exclaim from all the way up there on his High Horse of Imagined Blogging Standards). So here you go: Via (once again) Swedish Bed comes some good girls—and a few bad—of the Star Wars saga for your comic book, pin-up titillation.
Oh, and links always welcome here. Don’t mind me—I was obviously just in a huff about something or other.
You will never understand How it feels to live your life With no meaning or control And with nowhere left to go You are amazed that they exist And they burn so bright whilst you can only wonder why.
Rent a flat above a shop Cut your hair and get a job Smoke some fags and play some pool Pretend you never went to school But still you’ll never get it right 'cause when you're laid in bed at night Watching roaches climb the wall If you called your Daddy he could stop it all…
I dated a bit of a posh young thing briefly when I lived in London. Went to Oxford and everything. And at one point during my darker days I did indeed rent a flat above a shop.
“The usual terminology of political language is stupid. What is ‘left’ and what is ‘right’? Why should Hitler be ‘right’ and Stalin, his temporary friend, be ‘left’? Who is ‘reactionary’ and who is ‘progressive’? Reaction against an unwise policy is not to be condemned. And progress towards chaos is not to be commended. Nothing should find acceptance just because it is new, radical, and fashionable. ‘Orthodoxy’ is not an evil if the doctrine on which the ‘orthodox’ stand is sound. Who is anti-labor, those who want to lower labor to the Russian level, or those who want for labor the capitalistic standard of the United States? Who is ‘nationalist,’ those who want to bring their nation under the heel of the Nazis, or those who want to preserve its independence?”—
Ludwig Von Mises, Interventionism: An Economic Analysis, 1940.
The Duke Spirit’s lead singer, a lovely young woman named Liela, lived in an upstairs apartment of the London pub I drank in. (The regulars were ardent fans and she had known many of them for years.) They were a nice lot, the Dukes. Hope all is well with them.
When you die, and it really could be this afternoon, you will not be happy about having said no. You will be kicking your ass about all the no’s you’ve said. No to that opportunity, or no to that trip to Nova Scotia or no to that night out, or no to that project or no to that person who wants to be naked with you but you worry about what your friends will say.
No is for wimps. No is for pussies. No is to live small and embittered, cherishing the opportunities you missed because they might have sent the wrong message.