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The Silence, Slenderman and Alan Moore's Ideaspace

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Here's a spooky thing to think about this Hallowe'en.

This is The Silence. I'll assume you know about the Silence from watching Doctor Who.


This is Slenderman. Slenderman (Or the Slender Man, if you prefer) is one of those internet memes you either know about or you don't. If you don't, an ideal place to start is this Darklore article by Cat Vincent, along with his follow-up article in the latest volume.



As you can probably guess by looking at the picture, when the Silence first appeared in Doctor Who, people who were familiar with Slenderman thought, 'Blimey, it's Slenderman!' The similarity is remarkable when you consider that, as well as his blank white face, height and his 'men in black' suit, Slenderman was sometimes said to have the ability to make people forget that they had ever seen him - the defining ability of the Silence.

As Cat Vincent's articles explain, Slenderman was an internet meme that rapidly went wild, spreading into videos, Alternative Reality Games, fiction, people's dreams and, if callers to radio shows were to be believed, into reality. This was the creepiest aspect of Slenderman; he was created in the imagination of many, but because he was imagined to be able to cross over into the real world then he was able to do so. He was believed to be a type of tulpa, a thought-form that takes on a more material form.


Those who have read my book The Brandy of the Damned may see a similarity with the character of Orlando Monk. But while Monk is a public domain Trickster/catalyst, Slenderman is a monster - and he is the monster of our age. Frankenstein was the dark shadow of the Age of Enlightenment and Dracula was the dark shadow of the Victorian repression, but Slenderman is the dark shadow of now. He is an emergent property of a distributed network. He's the nightmare of the current world.

Even for those who could never take the idea that he could develop a physical form seriously, he was still more than an idea. He was active. He displayed will.



In my probably-forthcoming book about The KLF, I talk about Doctor Who in the context of Alan Moore's concept of ideaspace (it's that sort of book, don't say I didn't warn you). If you are not familiar with ideaspace, it comes from Moore's interest in whether 'ideas' can be considered to exist in any meaningful sense. Moore takes the view that ideas do exist, and ideaspace is a model he created to understand how they work and how they behave. Ideaspace can be compared to Jung's 'Collective Unconscious', de Chardin's 'Noosphere', or Richard Dawkins' concept of 'memes'. Indeed, Dawkins' memes and Moore's ideaspace can be thought of as roughly the same subject described by two wildly different men with completely different beliefs who arrived in the same place from almost opposite starting positions.

Doctor Who, despite not having an individual creator, has become the most complex and extensive fiction of our time. The TV show is only a fraction of it. It is a never-ending story made up of thousands upon thousands of TV episodes, audio plays, books, comic strips, plays, games, fan-fiction and the like. It has evolved in a way that is exponentially different to any other British fiction from the mid-twentieth century. In ideaspace, then, Doctor Who would be a big deal. If ideaspace behaves like Moore suggests, and if you were to look for evidence that a fiction like Slenderman was behaving like a fiction that was somehow alive, then Doctor Who would be an obvious place to look. So the fact that the Silence popped up in Doctor Who suddenly becomes interesting.



Of course, the rational interpretation of the Slenderman/Silence similarities is that the Silence were inspired by (or, if you prefer, copied from) Slenderman. However, if the rules of Moore's ideaspace have any validity, there is no need for the creators of the Silence to have any conscious knowledge of Slenderman. What we have here, therefore, is a useful little real-world scenario that allows us to test whether Moore's ideaspace works as he suggests that it does.




I'm not, sadly, in a position to quiz Steven Moffat, the initial creator of the Silence, if he was consciously inspired by Slenderman. However I have been able to ask Jason Arnopp, who researched the subject in order to write the 'Designing the Silence' article in the Brilliant Book of Doctor Who 2012. He confirmed that of all the people he spoke to involved in the creation of the Silence, no-one mentioned Slenderman.

According to Arnopp, there was reference in the original script to the face of the Silence being reminiscent of Edvard Munch's The Scream, and this was the starting point for prosthetics designer Neill Gorton's design of the monster's face. The script also referred to the Silence "looming" over The Doctor, so the designers made them tall. The black suit was not in the script, but an outfit was cheaper than a monster body so several outfits were suggested. The 'men in black' suit was chosen to fit with the 1960s American setting of their debut story.


The Silence, then, were not a conscious copy of Slenderman, but emerged in the space created by the creative efforts of a number of different minds. The most rational explanation for the remarkable similarity between the Silence and Slenderman is that it is all just a coincence.

A different explanation is that ideaspace does behave like Moore describes, and that the concept of Slenderman was able to press itself into the fiction of Doctor Who, without any of the creators of the Silence being aware that this was happening.

With this is mind, it is interesting to consider the long extended middle figure of the Silence. This was an innovation from designer Neill Gorton who told Arnopp that the intention behind it was to make the design more alien and creepy, and that extended finger was inspired by the extended middle finger of the Aye-Aye lemur. Gorton told Arnopp that he wasn't quite satisfied with this aspect of the design. "We just didn't get it quite bony enough," he said, "It worked fine in the show, but if we do them again I'll make those strange, long hands even scarier." One curious aspect of Slenderman shown in many illustrations is that his long arms stretch out and become tentacle-like. There was nothing in the script to suggest that long finger that Gorton added, yet he felt an urge to stretch it out, and somehow knew that he hadn't gone far enough and didn't get it quite right.





All of which is suggests that ideaspace may behave like Moore describes, and that the concept of Slenderman had attempted to press itself into the fiction of Doctor Who, without any of the creators of the Silence being aware that this was happening, with a remarkable level of success.

Or in other words, it's evidence that the dark shadow of our age behaves as if it is more alive than a fiction should do. Especially when that fiction that is a monster.

So with that thought - happy Hallowe'en everyone!






KLF: Chaos Magic Music Money - new book out now

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In 1994 Bill Drummond and Jimmy Cauty took a million pounds to a deserted boathouse on the island of Jura, and burnt it. I wish they hadn't, to be honest, but there you go.

I read about it afterwards in an article in the Observer, which I immediately clipped and put in a drawer. I've still got it somewhere. I'd never clipped an article before, and have rarely done so since. The incident lodged in my craw and has refused to leave, especially after it became clear that neither Cauty not Drummond knew why they had done it. The more threads of the story I tugged at over the years, the odder the whole thing became.

The result of all this is that I have written this book, which is available on Kindle from November 23rd:


It is, needless to say, not a typical music biography. It's a story about The KLF, Robert Anton Wilson, Dada, Alan Moore, punk, Discordianism, Carl Jung, magic, Ken Campbell, rave, Situationism and the alchemical properties of Doctor Who. It's a story about all those strange ideas and influences that were swilling around in those days but which accounts of modern history are already leaving out.

It is totally unofficial. I had initially intended to approach Drummond and Cauty and seek approval but the whole point of the book was to capture the spirit of those times and, the deeper into that spirit I got, the more apparent it became that 'doing it properly' went against the grain. When you're echoing people who took huge samples of The Beatles and ABBA without permission and just stuck them out independently, asking nicely seems to miss the point.

There is also an automated algorithmically generated online radio stream called Radio Eris, built by Shardcore. which will broadcast for 14 days from November 23rd and then be switched off for good. Radio Eris will synthetically broadcast one chapter each day, at 3am, 9am, 3pm and 9pm GMT, with automatically-mixed audio in between.

The whole setup is completely devoid of human control and it should burble away into the void. Radio Eris is intended as a response to the burning of a million quid by Cauty and Drummond in 1994.


The book, meanwhile, is available in the UK at £4.54 and in the US at $7.00, or thereabouts. A paperback will follow next year.

Readers of The Brandy of the Damned will notice a lot of overlapping themes, for these two books were written at almost the same time, and readers of I Have America Surrounded will be able to see this as a sequel of sorts, due to the focus on Robert Anton Wilson and Discordianism.

The Superman/Doctor Who/KLF Popstar Car - An Unseen Transvestite Pirate Nun Photograph

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Here you go...





Okay, this picture might need a bit of explaining.

First of all, you may recognise the car:


As the car explains on its record sleeve, its name is Ford Timelord and it is the first car to have a number one record. This was in 1988, when the idea that an inanimate object could be a pop star was deeply controversial. Nowadays, of course, no-one would bat an eyelid.

Ford Timelord did not take to fame well. It started making bad decisions. It hung round with bad company.




Ford Timelord entered a self-destructive spiral that ended with a tragic final appearance at a stock car meeting.

But enough of the fall - what about the rise? How did this 1968 Ford Galaxy get from Detroit to Top of the Pops?



This is Christopher Reeve in the first Superman film. But look behind him - that's not the real Metropolis. No, that's a set in Pinewood Studios outside London. And those American cars had been shipped over from the US by Pinewood.

One of them was Ford Timelord.

Ford Timelord wasn't a cop car, then, though. It was all black - and it looked good. But the film industry is fickle and as soon as the car started getting on a bit, it was out. Pinewood sold it to my friend Flinton Chalk for a few hundred quid.

It was Flint who decided to turn it into an American police car. Here we see the car in mid-transformation. This is clearly in the mid 1980s, as we can date the photograph quite precisely by the jumpers on display.


Flint & Co proceeded to add the giant pirate flag and largely trash the car, pulling donuts in the fields around Godstone, Surrey. Frequently, they would do so dressed as nuns.

I quizzed Flint about this and he explains, "If you drive an American cop car around Surrey dressed as nuns, the police never stop you."

So that's his story, and he's sticking to it.

Flint later sold the car to Jimmy Cauty, Jimmy Cauty started making records with Bill Drummond, and the rest is history. You know it is history, because someone has made an action figure:


I think we can all agree, that's pretty fantastic. More details about it are online here, but what I particularly like is the way it comes complete with a tea-crate Dalek.

Steven Moffat boasted about a recent Doctor Who story that it would feature "every Dalek ever", yet that story failed to include the tea-crate Dalek. You can't believe a word that man says.

But enough of this blather, and let us remember Ford Timelord in its glory days:



As a footnote - anyone who wishes to hear how Operation Mindfuck, an attempt to undermine consensus reality by Californian Discordians in the 1970s, led to the profits from this single being squandered on an unfinished avant garde road movie staring the eighth Doctor Paul McGann should consult my new book, KLF: Chaos Magic Music Money.

The last days of Radio Eris

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Radio Eris is still burbling away, but it will shut down for good at midnight on Friday.

If you're not familiar with Radio Eris, it's an algorithmically generated audio stream that takes a bank of samples and the text of KLF: Chaos Magic Music Money, and generates a mix of synthetic readings and cut-up soundscapes as it sees fit. It was built by the artist Shardcore, who talks about it here.

If you are familiar with Radio Eris, then you might like to see what it physically looks like.





As you can see, Radio Eris is running on a cronky old 2006 MacBook sitting on a windowsill in Shardcore's home. The stream, therefore, is entirely dependent on this laptop not being knocked to the ground by the cats that prowl around his house, and its continuing ability to broadcast is very much dependent on the whims of fate.

The existence of Radio Eris has been described as a "bloody clever" and the "best book promo in a long while" which demonstrates a "clear understanding of viral marketing and the target audience." This is all very nice but it is more truthfully the result of a purely reactive marketing non-strategy that consists of saying yes to most things, and very little else. Using this method, it is not necessary to go out and proactively pitch the book to all suitable magazines and blogs. Instead, you go to the pub and, when an artist asks if they can build an algorithmic radio stream based on the book, you respond "Sure," and the next thing you know thousands of people have heard of your book.

Followers of the Church of the Subgenius will recognise this approach as 'Slack,' and it is very effective.

There's been a lovely unpredictable air to the whole thing. People and blogs we thought would love it have paid it no mind, whereas others who we never dreamt would mention it have plugged it like crazy. Even the broadcast itself, which is entirely automated, has been constantly surprisingly. It has refused to pronounce the Discordian word 'catma', for example, and instead replaced it with a barely audible grunt as if to suggest that a catma was a fnord. What's that about? The damn thing acts like it's got a mind of its own.

I highly recommend that you explore the other work of Shardcore, for he has created many strange and memorable things. I personally enjoy the flashing eyes in this portrait of Aleister Crowley:



And enjoy the last few days of Radio Eris, for none of us can say exactly what they will bring.

Danny Boyle's Jerusalem: The High Magic of the 2012 Olympics Opening Ceremony

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Bruce Robinson's 1989 film How To Get A Head In Advertising ends with Richard E. Grant paraphrasing William Blake's Jerusalem: "I shall not cease 'til Jerusalem is builded here, on England's green and pleasant land."


This comes at the end of a monologue about the triumph of consumerism. Its inclusion makes more sense in the context of the original screenplay, which differs from the scene as filmed. In the screenplay, Grant also quotes the opening lines of that poem, "And did those feet in ancient time / Walk upon England's mountains green?" and denounces them as pure marketing. The idea that Jesus visited England is obviously bollocks, he points out, regardless of what myths they tell you around Glastonbury. Blake was using the old advertiser's trick of false suggestion in order to make his audience believe that England was more special than it really was.

I read that screenplay twenty years ago, but I remembered it whenever I heard Jerusalem. Bruce Robinson had made a strong point and he had skewered the poem for me. I wondered if the reason why those lines were cut was because they were too close to the bone - Jerusalem means a lot to many people, both politically on the left and the right, and exposing the poem as a manipulative sham seemed cruel.


Watching Danny Boyles 2012 Olympics opening ceremony, however, showed me the error in the screenplay's logic and allowed me to understand Blake's poem. To understand why, it is necessary to appreciate why Boyle's ceremony was such a success.

Those involved in creative work have two different approaches that they can take in order to make their audience feel emotion. The simplest and easiest way is to force that emotion on them. This is the approach used in advertising - pummel the audience with emotive music, doe-eyed kids and as much pathos as you can muster. Doing this treats the audience like Pavlov's dogs, and the advertiser knows exactly what bell to ring to bypass the audience's critical mind and force the required emotion on them. It's not just advertisers who use this approach, of course. Writers and directors can make a good living out of it, as Richard Curtis' accountant would be the first to tell you.

Advertisers create that forced emotion in order to link it to a product you would not otherwise buy. The hard cut between a shot of a smiling child and an image of a sugary drink creates a link in a parents mind between their love of their children and the product, and this increases how positively they feel about the sugary drink. Unfortunately, that link goes both ways. Parental love has become linked with some valueless crap, and the parent's personal emotional landscape has been ever so slightly diminished. The arts of advertising are a form of subtle psychic vampire, feeding on what you value most and, over time, leaving you emotionally poorer and unsatisfied. It is black magic. That is why Richard E. Grant's character was evil. This is also at the heart of Bill Hick's advice to those who work in advertising and marketing.



What then, is the other approach?

Instead of forcing an emotion on an audience, it is possible to create a mental environment where that emotion will spontaneously rise within them - when they do not expect it and are unable to say how or why the emotion occurred. This is the approach used by poets and artists, and it is the approach used by Danny Boyle and his team in the 2012 Olympics opening ceremony. Who, amongst those who watched it, could explain why they felt the way they did when the torch-petals were lit and rose to form the flaming cauldron, accompanied by the simplest of whistled music? There was no bombast or Eye of the Tiger-type fanfare to demand a reaction. Emotions that arise like this are far more powerful than those forced upon you, because they are genuine and they come with deep roots. They are your own emotions, not ones that have been given to you.



Make no mistake, working on this level is hard. It is with good reason why those who succeed in doing so attract the title of genius, while those who do not attract the title of hack.

None of the decisions made by Boyle to lead you to that moment were obvious - from the sheep and the fake rain clouds, to the recreation of the spoiling of the landscape, or the comedy of James Bond and the Queen's parachute jump. The arguments that followed the celebration of the NHS in one section showed how little people understood what Boyle was doing. The use of NHS nurses was just one element in a much deeper tapestry linking children's fiction, the Exorcist theme, nightmares, protection, care and the value of a national community. The Tory MP only saw the surface of what Boyle was doing, and wrongly considered it to be a standalone item that could have been discarded without affecting anything else. He did not understand that Boyle's work was creating links in his subconscious throughout, or that Boyle knew what he was doing.


Boyles' opening ceremony - and ceremony is absolutely the correct word for it - was deeply inspired by Blake's poem. It began with a single child singing Jerusalem, and it reenacted the spoiling of the Green and Pleasant Land with the arrival of the Dark Satanic Mills. The flags of the nations of the world were arranged on a recreation of Glastonbury Tor (a recreation topped with the World Tree rather than St. Michael's Tower) where "those feet" were alleged to have stood. All this, though, brings up the question of what 'building Jerusalem in England's green and pleasant land' actually means? With all due respect to the citizens of the real city of Jerusalem, there is no desire to recreate that physical city over here.

It's hard to remember now, but before the London Olympics the expectations were that they would be a shambles. When Mitt Romney publicly wondered how well things would proceed during his visit to London, the negative reaction was caused by his undiplomatic rudeness, not by the sense that he was wrong. The build up to the Olympics, with the Visa-only booking, terrible mascots, McDonalds-only chips and the G4S security debacle did not look promising. The opening ceremony, it was thought, would be a pretentious embarrassment which would pale beside the vast fireworks-and-drumming display of state control seen at Beijing in 2008. It was imagined that it would be a empty, vapid spectacle much like, well, much like 2012 Olympics closing ceremony.

But after three hours of Boyle's magic, things were very different. It was not that a theatrical event had gone well. It was that the British were suddenly living in a different country. Our innate cynicism had been dispelled and we were now able to appreciate the sport on the level that the competitors' deserved. More than this, though, was the fact that we knew things had changed. The weeks that followed were a joy. Suddenly we had different values. We behaved differently to strangers. We celebrated the act of contribution. Perhaps in time we will forget how different we felt during those games, but I suspect that part of us will always remember, deep down.

Boyle and his team could have made a ceremony to please the rest of the world, but they opted to be true to the national character regardless of how baffling or eccentric it made us appear - or just what an effect it would have on those living in the UK. Boyle did not make us "proud to be British," as the political cliche goes, he did something far better. He made us grateful to be British. And he did this by evoking our higher values - acceptance, belonging, humour - and merging those ideas with the actual country itself (Oscar Pistorius' comment that "the world will now have to see disability through the eyes of the British" is perhaps the finest illustration of this). Ed Milliband's use of the political slogan 'One Nation' is a direct reaction to Boyle's work.

The 2012 Olympics opening ceremony was not as politically radical as the end of the Paralympics opening ceremony, or as blatantly pagan as the start of the Paralympics closing ceremony. It had bigger goals than that, because this bringing down and enacting of our higher values was what Blake was referring to when he spoke of 'building Jerusalem in England's green and pleasant land'. That was not advertising, for nothing was being sold. Blake was asking us recognise how much better things could be, should we look through different eyes. And the fallacy of Richard E. Grant's character in How To Get Ahead In Advertising is that he does not know that this is possible. Few people did, of course, until Boyle showed us what 'building Jerusalem' actually meant.

It did not last, alas. You could argue that the spiritually empty closing ceremony acted like a banishing ritual, dispelling the changes Boyle had created. The terrible Damien Hirst Union Flag and the appearance of Churchill brought back the "proud to be British" bullshit, and the cognitive dissonance created by Jessie J singing "It's not about the money, money" as she was driven round in a gold Rolls Royce proved that any coherent meaning had left the stadium. The smiling stage-school faces contrasted strongly with the genuine humanity of Boyle's non-professional cast. Others have detailed the problems with this ceremony far better than I can, but suffice to say that Jerusalem was dispelled and business-as-usual returned. We were back to the Spice Girls.

But we know that it is possible now - and that is Danny Boyle's legacy, right there.

Unlike Richard E. Grant's character, we now know it is possible.



The Red Room & The White Room

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Are there connections between The KLF's 'White Room' and David Lynch's 'Red Room' from Twin Peaks? Both are unreal places which represent a certain state of mind, but are there any, more concrete, links between the two?



Richard Murkin (@richmurkin on Twitter - go follow!) has pointed out the musical similarities between the track Build A Fire on The White Room album - specifically, the bit from 1:02 to 1:11...



...and Angelo Badalamenti's Twin Peaks Theme:



The White Room album was released in 1991 and Twin Peaks debuted in 1990, so could there be a deliberate, conscious link between the two? Or to put it another, did The KLF, who openly stole from many, many records, help themselves to the Twin Peaks Theme as well?

It seems not - true, Build A Fire (and it bloody would be Build A Fire, wouldn't it?) was released in 1991, but it dates back to 1989. It first appeared on the original, unreleased version of The White Room - the soundtrack to The KLF's unfinished road movie. So The KLF version predates the Twin Peaks theme and, as it was unreleased when Antonio Badalementi was scoring Twin Peaks, it seems unlikely that he could have been inspired by them.

It's all just one of them wild coincidences, in other words. You know the ones.

Those who have read my KLF book may remember that I refer to David Lynch's creative process (which he writes about in this book here) and compare it to Jung's Collective Unconscious and Alan Moore's Ideaspace. All these are models which allow a number of artists to stumble upon the same idea at the same time. In light of this, I find this interview with Badalamenti fascinating - he demonstrates how he and Lynch almost pulled the Twin Peaks music, fully formed, out of thin air.



(That video - which I highly recommend you go back and watch, if you skipped past it - is an excerpt from the extras of the complete DVD set. The full version also includes Badalamenti's anecdote about how The Queen snubbed Paul McCartney in order to watch Twin Peaks.)

So a musical motif which Badalamenti and Lynch uncovered for a series underpinned by the idea of the Red Room matched one from The White Room. Both stories are centred on fire, which is highly significant for both the KLF and Twin Peaks ("Fire walk with me"). They both include an otherworldly figure named Bob. Agent Dale Cooper seemed destined to remain in the Red Room for 25 years, while The KLF have vowed not to discuss their money burning for 23 years. Twin Peaks features a Black Lodge and a White Lodge (with the Red Room being linked to the Black Lodge), and this nicely echoes the KLF's Black Room and White Room.

All in all it's a nice example of how Alan Moore's Ideaspace can be seen at play in the world at large, how the synchronicities keep coming, and of how much fun utter coincidences can be. It might be worth noting that @richmurkin, who alerted me to this on Twitter, has a large scary rabbit avatar.

In 1992, incidentally, The KLF began (and abandoned) and album called The Black Room, whilst The Orb - who originally included Jimmy Cauty - released the forty minute long Blue Room, which has been called "the last truly original thing to ever appear on Top of the Pops." Clearly if coloured rooms are your thing, the early 90s was the place to be.



The owls, incidentally, are still not what they seem.

(***UPDATE*** It seems there may have been a window of a few months when The KLF could have been 'inspired' by Twin Peaks - see comments for details...)

Update on the KLF paperback

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So where's the bloody KLF paperback, then?

I get asked that most days and the short answer is that it will be a while yet - but it will be a much nicer edition when it arrives.

This is the longer answer:

My original plan was test the reaction to last November's Kindle version (ie, to see if led to me being sectioned), and if all went well I was going to put a print-on-demand paperback out via The Big Hand this month - along with iBook, Kobo etc versions.



Except things didn't go to plan. Things went far better than planned. The reaction to the book was *blushes* pretty damn great. It was apparent that the book could be published "properly," and indeed there is a small publisher that is a perfect fit, and who do lovely, lovely stuff, that are keen to do so.

Which would be great except - well, for years I have been wanting to write an alternative history of the 20th Century. Why? Well, almost all 20th Century histories are written by politicians or political journalists who, unsurprisingly, attempt to understand the period through the actions of the political class. Yet the ideas and innovations of the 20th Century - relativity, cubism, quantum mechanics, postmodernism, psychedelics, DNA, The Somme, video games, cosmology, the subconscious, moon landings, Dada, chaos maths, Hollywood and so on - don't make any damned sense from that perspective. Surprisingly, though, those things make far more sense together than they do when studied separately, because a few key ideas run through 20th century science, art and culture which are, I think, the key to unlocking the whole period. Hence my stupidly-ambitious intention is to write a book that will be a fun, easy read and which will casually make sense of the entire brainmelting, fascinating period. In less than 100,000 words.

This has never looked like a sensible, achievable ambition, but it's my ambition and I'm sticking with it.


The problem has always been that to write such a book properly you would need (a) a big publisher, and (b) credibility. One result of the fallout from the KLF ebook, however, is that I am now represented by one of the biggest and most prestigious literary agencies in the UK. It's nuts - I am now represented by the same agent as the likes of Julian Barnes, Blake Morrison and Ben Goldacre (who is responsible for this turn of events, and to whom I owe a massive debt of thanks). As a result I have received a unexpected blast of credibility and, as I'm sure you'll understand, am attempting use that to get the 20th Century book off the ground. The proposal and the Einstein chapter are currently landing in publishers inboxes.

So how does this effect the KLF paperback? Well, the aim is to get a good, long term relationship with the right publisher for the 20th Century book, and the KLF book has got caught up in this. Its sales for the first 10 weeks, all through word of mouth with no real effort at promotion, are such that picking up the paperback rights appears to be a no-brainer. It may well be - in fact, it's likely - that the publisher for The 20th Century wouldn't be right for KLF, in which case all well and good and I can rush the KLF paperback out through the perfect publisher mentioned above. But The 20th Century is the Big Goal, even if this slows down the KLF paperback. Thanks to the swamplike pace of Big Publishing, this means it will be while before I can confirm a release date.

This is far from ideal - making things not available in all formats is not the done thing this day and age, but I have to pursue any hope of getting the 20th Century book off the ground because if I don't get to write it soon I will burst.

So apologies to those who are waiting for the KLF book to appear in paperback, but hopefully no-one wants me to burst. I am leaving the KLF book available on Kindle format, for now at least, so that the text is available for anyone with a PC or a smartphone (details on how to read Kindle books without a Kindle are here). And if it helps any, the first draft of The First Church On The Moon will be done before the end of the month.

KLF fans, of course, understand the significance of waiting:



The KLF paperback: September

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I am very happy to announce that the paperback version of my KLF book will be released on September 26th and can be pre-ordered here.

And because this is a story that grew out of a fire, I'm quietly delighted that the imprint of Orion which it will be released under is... Phoenix.

One of the many Phoenixes I've been spotting recently.

Thanks for your patience while all this was being arranged. The book is largely the same, although we've added some photographs, a bit more polish, a 'notes & sources' section, a discography and a timeline. It'll be as good as it can be with a less-shit cover, basically, and should satisfy everyone who's messaged me to ask for either a physical copy, an ePub version, or the option to buy it from places other than Amazon.

The paperback - now going under the name The KLF: Chaos, Magic and the Band who burned a Million Pounds - is being released by Orion in the UK and Commonwealth (accept Canada). Note that the original ebook is still available from Amazon in those territories, but not for much longer - I'll be taking it down very soon (it will remain up in the rest of the world, of course).

And as for what's coming after that, there's some exciting news here.



Last Call for the KLF ebook

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Just to forewarn anyone with half a mind to pick up a copy of the KLF ebook - I'll be pulling it from Amazon on Monday (May 27th). It will then be unavailable until September 26th, when a shiny new edition will be published by Phoenix, in paperback and assorted ebook formats (including epub at last.)


The new edition will be essentially the same except with a new cover, a photo section, a notes & sources section, a timeline and a discography, plus a little more polish here and there. We've done it proud, in other words. Early word suggests it will be £9.99 paperback and £4.99 in ebook.

Note that this only applies to the UK and Australia/New Zealand - the original ebook will remain on sale in the US and Europe. What has disappeared from sale in the US is a Kindle edition of I Have America Surrounded which was not... strictly legit, shall we say. Rest assured a new version will appear in the not so far future. Until then, if you looking for a book about Timothy Leary, you could do far worse than the new biography by R.U. Sirius, which you can download for free from TimothyLeary.org


The NSA and Biographers

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When I was researching my Timothy Leary biography in 2005, I had access to Leary's archive. This is now being meticulously cared for by the New York Public Library, but it was then in this nondescript lock up somewhere north of Santa Cruz.


This is what was inside:

There was a lot of stuff there - letters, manuscripts, legal documents, tapes, videos, computer disks, you name it. You could spend years going through it all - as the New York Public Library have now discovered. I saw part of Ken Campbell's archive recently and it was much the same.

All this got me thinking about the recent whistleblowing on the NSAs blanket surveillance and storage of our digital lives. What would it be like being a biographer in the future, when your subject's entire digital footprint is preserved and available? How would you go about writing a life of someone when you had every email they had every written and received, every social media update, their browsing history, a GPS record of their every movement from their phone, every photo taken of them, details of everything they've bought, even the names and duration of every porn video they watched? As should be clear by now, our digital landlords are financially dependent on storing all this stuff, and there is little reason to believe that it will remain private.

It's too much, it really is. Biography would move from being a psychological problem and become a signal-to-noise problem. You'd need teams of people to even think about going through all that methodically. No, what you would do is search it for key words - you'd search for the juicy stuff. And with that much data, you'd find it. You'd find exactly what you wanted to find.

As I discuss in the KLF book, increasing the amount of data available should in theory create clarity, but in practise it tends to do the opposite. Instead, it creates more and more alternative stories that you can pull from the same data set. Supporting evidence will be found to support and entrench misunderstandings, errors and confused context. In-jokes and sarcasm between friends become evidence of bitter enmity. Greetings and terms of affection which were, historically, in common use become evidence of infidelity or tragic yearning (just ask Shakespeare). The filter bubble problem will be magnified. Biographies already reveal more about their author and their prejudices than their subject, in particular with regards to what they omit. That will become much more apparent.

Politically motivated biographers will be in hog heaven. George Orwell will seem even more prophetic. Saints can be turned into sinners, and vice versa. And will be, repeatedly.

I'm biased here: I write about the past. This all sounds great to me. The fact that it will help people grasp just how arbitrary our perspectives on others are is, to my thinking, a bonus. But how would our subjects and their families react to this? What would you think of people going through your existing digital life because, a few months from now, you accidentally do something brilliant and become massively famous? Or if not you, your spouse or children?

All that is part of the conversation we need to be having now. History's view of how that conversation develops, of course, will depend on who chooses to research it.


Gimpo's M25 25-Hour Spin

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Once a year, at the weekend closest to the Spring Equinox, Gimpo - best known to KLF watchers as the man who filmed the money burning - drives around the M25 for 25 hours. His aim is to do this for 25 years.

He's done 17 years so far.

Gimpo - photo by Iron Man Records

This week I was interviewed by Bristol filmmakers Dominic Wade and Rob Wickings, who are making a documentary called End Point of a Circle about this mighty endeavour. There's an early taste of it here, but it won't be finished for another eight years, after the 25th M25 Spin. (A 25-minute version should appear at the Portobello Film Festival at the end of August, and include interviews with Iain Sinclair and Bill Drummond.)

Dennis the Cat not happy that Rob and Dom filmed the interview in his garden.

Gimpo's M25 spin and Iain Sinclair's later book London Orbital were influences which fed into my book The Brandy of the Damned, in a which three people drive around the coast of Britain in a van for confused and uncertain reasons. Their most logical argument for embarking on the journey is that all the good quests have been done, but it is still better to undertake a stupid quest than no quest at all. I still think there is a lot of truth in that.

Gimpo's argument is that what he is doing is art. Normally this sets alarm bells ringing for me and reminds me of Julian Cope's perennial advice: "Never fall for the art trip!" But I have no trouble seeing what Gimpo is doing as art. It's outsider art, of course, but it's still a damn sight more interesting than anything Damien Hirst will ever do.

Here's why I say that: Driving around the M25 is shit. Sure, it's a necessary evil, but it's a grim, unpleasant way to spend hours of your life. It is part of most peoples lives, certainly in the south of this country. For that reason it should be a valid subject for artists to do something with, but making something transcendent out of M25 traffic seems to be beyond them. The only way to do so is through the sheer pigheaded determination of Gimpo, who committed to spending 25 years of his life on this project. This heroic dedication to seeing a commitment through to the end is noble and very human, and for me elevates the whole endeavour.

25 years is a long time. There's lots of things you could achieve in that time, so you have to assume that a nagging voice of doubt occasionally gets in Gimpo's ear and suggests that there are better things he could be doing with his life. Yet he keeps going.

I have total faith in him, I feel certain that he will see it though to the end. Gimpo is an ex-squaddie who served in the Falklands, and I like to think that he's still out on patrol, year in and year out, circling London and protecting it in his own way. I trust in him because I want to trust in people, and by sticking to his commitment he is showing that people can be trusted. This is, I think, a far more valuable and rewarding reaction than anything I have ever got from a Damien Hirst.

More power to him, long may he roll. Rather him than me, of course, but it's good to know that as the years pass he is still out there seeing it through. If he wants to call what he is doing art, then that's good enough for me. Here's a film of this year's spin:



More details at gimpogimpo.com


Brandy In The Basement

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Jason Arnopp is a lovely, charming man, so it is sometimes difficult to understand where the malignant evil in his writing comes from.

You may know Jason from his Doctor Who, Sarah Jane Adventures or Friday 13th work, but it is his horror fiction that really makes you question exactly what it was that his mother unleashed on the world. A case in point would be his Stephen King-esque no-don't-go-there psychological horror novella The Beast In The Basement.

I mention this because we have put Beast In The Basement together with my book The Brandy Of The Damned and called it Brandy In The Basement. It's the indie-author equivalent of a indie label split 7-inch single (ask your dad). We've basically invented the AA-sided ebook.


This means that if you PayPal a few buttons via this link here you will immediately be emailed the combined ebook in DRM-free pdf, ePub and mobi for Kindle formats. This is, incidentally, the only way you can get an ePub version of Brandy at the moment.

The price is something ridiculous like 99p at the moment, although that be raised shortly to the giddy heights of two quid. You can read Jason's take on all this over on his blog.

Have a read of the reviews of Beast In The Basement and see if it looks worth 99p of your hard-earned.

If you're not familiar with my short novel The Brandy of the Damned, it was written around the same time as the KLF book and is a companion book to it, in my head at least.  Here are the reviews.

It's all something of an experiment, and who knows if the world is ready for AA-sided ebooks? But if temptation beguiles you so, then you'll find Brandy In The Basement here.




















The First Church on the Moon - out now

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Today is my 42nd birthday. To celebrate I'm putting out a The First Church on the Moon, a Douglas Adams-esque novel and the sort-of sequel to The Brandy of the Damned, as a freebie.



You can get the Kindle version here, and it will be free for the next five days.

Alternatively you can get the paperback version here but you'll have to cough up real human money for it, such is life.

The ebook is free as a thank-you to everyone who has supported me by buying The Brandy of the Damned and the original KLF ebook, because that has led to me being able to stop making cartoons and become a full time author, for the medium-term at least. Please fill your boots and download away with my gratitude. If you were moved to leave an Amazon review or a Facebook like, of course, then I wouldn't try to talk you out of it.

The First Church on the Moon was written for the hell of it between finishing the unholy brain-mash that was writing The KLF and starting the epic quest that is my book on the 20th Century.  It is me enjoying myself, basically, and I hope that's infectious.

I talk more about the book in this interview with Jason Arnopp, over at The Big Hand.

*blows party blower*

EPIC UPDATE - Plate Spinning 101

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There's so much going on that I'm starting to lose track with what's been announced and what hasn't. Hence this EPIC UPDATE to put that right - more for my benefit than for yours, I suspect.

1. The First Church on the Moon


This is the sort-of sequel to The Brandy of the Damned and it's out now in paperback and Kindle (UK | US). It's also free to download - but only until about 8am tomorrow, so be warned. The free download offer is lazy marketing, basically, as I'm well aware I've too much going on at the moment to promote it properly.

Like The Brandy of the Damned and The KLF, The First Church on the Moon was one of the three books I wrote during 2012, so it's good to finally have it out. I hope you enjoy it - it was written just for shits n' giggles after finishing KLF and while sorting out deals for the forthcoming 20th Century book. Maybe I'm overly fond of it for that reason, but I think it stands up well and hope you give it a try.

2. The KLF: Chaos, Magic and the Band who Burned a Million Pounds.


The paperback of this - originally released on Kindle last November - will be published by Orion's Phoenix imprint on September 26th. It's available for pre-order now, and the first edition will come with a sticker of a sheep on the cover which completely covers the title, so get in early all you lovers of limited edition things, and indeed lovers of sheep stickers. The book is a slightly more polished version of the original ebook, now with photographs, notes & sources, a timeline, index and a discography. We've done it proud, I think.

3. I Have America Surrounded: The Life of Timothy Leary.


It's taken a while, but I Have America Surrounded in back in print in America - this handsome paperback edition is now available from Amazon. Got there in the end!

4. Brandy In The Basement.


The Brandy of the Damned has entered into an enforced marriage with another book, Jason Arnopp's psychological horror novella Beast in the Basement. The result is Brandy in the Basement, a low-cost, all formats, DRM-free ebook bundle. Details of where to find it are here. Note that this is currently the only way you can get an epub version of The Brandy of the Damned.

5. Jason Arnopp interview

Speaking of Jason Arnopp - seen here about to be shot in the head by crack UNIT troops for his crimes aiding the Sontarans - he recently interviewed me about The First Church on the Moon over at The Big Hand. Go there and see what regrettable confessions he forced out of me.

6. Robert Anton Wilson talks


I've been doing a number of talks about how, in a culture of people who DECLARE CERTAINTIES LOUDLY, we need Robert Anton Wilson more than ever. Come along and see me if you get the chance. Note that the October London talk with Daisy Campbell for the London Fortean Society has already sold out. If you're around Brighton, though, I'll be doing a quick 15 minutes at the Catalyst Club on Sept 12th.

I'll try and get some more arranged - they'll be announced on my Obligatory Facebook page, so like that to keep informed.

7. Shardcore is Up To Something.

You may know Shardcore as the artist/coder behind Radio Eris, an internet radio stream that ran for a few weeks when the KLF book was originally published. Needless to say, he is up to something different for the release of the paperback. No announcements yet, but watch this space as there may be a soft launch ahead of time.

8. The 20th Century.

And finally - deep breath - there's the real work for this year. This is my alternative history of the 20th Century, which I'm writing for Orion. I've just hit the half-way mark with this, and am feeling good about it. It's not a book that wants to improve your current understanding of that century, but a book that wants to see that period with completely new eyes. Wish it luck.

I'd better get back to it, come to think of it.




Go Home @klfbook, You're Drunk

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A relationship with a book is very one-sided. You learn from it, it does not learn from you. A book can alter your brain if it so wishes, but you can do nothing to the book. Except throw it at a wall. Even then, it's not that bothered.

Books are also said to 'live on' in the heads of their readers, but again this is a one-sided relationship. Pondering this, I fell into conversation with Shardcore about what my KLF book would actually do, if it could act more like a living thing. I wanted to somehow 'animate' the text through code, in the manner of a more hygienic Doctor Frankenstein, and let it loose online. One of the themes that runs through the book is identifying things that are not alive, but which act like the are, so it seemed fitting.

The answer, we decided, was that if the book was alive it would do what all the kids do: create animated gifs based on what they like and post them on Tumblr in the hope that they go viral. And also babble away on Twitter.

It wouldn't touch Facebook, obviously.


Shardcore then went away and gave the text life. He will blog about what he actually did soon, but basically he created a bot that knows nothing of the world except for the text of my book. From this, it worked out what was important by seeing what was listed in the index, and it attempted to deduce a relationship between those things by analysing their proximity in the text.

And that's it, that's the entire basis of its "thought". We have just switched it on and are watching it, slightly unnerved.

It is now posting animated gifs four times a day (in six hourly intervals starting at 23 minutes past midnight.) It first randomly selects a sentence from the book that is less than 130 characters long. It then tries to work out what that sentence relates to, and skims Google Images for pictures of whatever it thinks is important.

Then it mashes all these up into a seizure-inducing image. You can find them at klfbook.tumblr.com

Here's an example:



At some point we will probably see sense and get it to calm down a bit with the flashing images. But at the moment it seems happy going crazy, so who are we to argue? Part of the fun is trying to identify the images it has found as they flash by, and to try and work out why it thinks they are related to the text.

It is particularly keen on pictures of Patrick Troughton and seems to think that almost everything is connected to the number 23. It's working well, in other words.

It is also up and running on Twitter - you can find it @klfbook. It will tweet links to the gifs it creates, and will periodically scan twitter for popular tweets about subjects in the book, and retweet them. If you like the book, it should be worth a follow.

You can also talk to it. Follow it, and ask it a question. It will attempt to answer. It won't make a great deal of sense, obviously, because all it knows is the text from one book, and one book does not a good model of the world make. Much of the time its responses will be gibberish. But occasionally, you may be able to read some sense into them. Occasionally it will be far wiser than it has any right to be. Or more sinister:



Typically, though, it will make no sense at all:


What I find disturbing is that, even when it is talking nonsense, it still sounds exactly like me. This is very sobering. On the plus side, if I do loose the plot completely people will assume I've just gone on holiday and left the bot to take over.

What all this is, essentially, is an experiment in apophenia. Apophenia is the process in which people project connections and narratives onto random data. This isn't a bad thing - Humans are apophenia machines, basically - but we can come unstuck when we confuse the patterns we perceive with the objective reality. Robert Anton Wilson and Robert Shea used apophenia in their Illuminatus! novels. They invented the most absurd conspiracies that they could imagine and relied on apophenia to make them appear plausible to their readers. They did this in order to help us recognise how much of our own beliefs are similarly arbitary patterns of our own devising.

Apophenia needs a large data set in order to be really convincing. One single book should not be enough (sorry to break it to you like this, The Pope.) @klfbook, then, is an experiment in seeing how the early sparks of apophenia appear from a small, limited model. For example, the first gif it produced was this:


The quote about Bill Drummond not looking like a pop star is a line from the book, but the bot has chosen to illustrate this with a picture of Doctor Who's first script editor, David Whitaker. And in that context I suddenly realised that, if you saw him in his younger days, Whitaker did actually look like a pop star. That idea, that connection, is now lodged in my head, and it matters not how random the non-sentient code was being when it put the two ideas together.

Please feel free to play around with @klfbook and kick it about a bit to see what it does.

The real paperback book is released on Thursday, Sept 26th, and Amazon are currently offering it with a third off.


--

UPDATE: Shardcore has now posted on his blog about how @klfbook works, including an interactive data visualisation of how the concepts in the book are related.


Youth's early Killing Joke-era "acid flipout"

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Writing The KLF was in part an attempt to scratch an itch created by an aborted attempt to write a book about Killing Joke. There's a lot of cross-over between those two stories, and many of the threads I explored in The KLF would have worked equally well in a Killing Joke book - not least of which being the money burning (see below). 

Here's a transcript of an interview I did with Youth for that book, regarding his "acid flipout".
 
Youth, 1980, before Killing Joke gig at the Music Machine, London. Photo by Klaus Hiltscher on Flicker


YOUTH:
I was doing acid regularly. I’d done a German tour and I’d hooked up with this 21 year old hairdresser-come-acid queen called Heidi.  She gave me a little quarter trip before each gig. She was wealthy so she put me up in nice hotels and drove me to the gigs in a sports car which pissed the rest of the band off. 

So I was doing quite a lot but nothing cosmic had happened.  I was still treating it very much as a laugh. I was cocky, I always thought that I’d never lose it on acid. I thought that you had to be born a shaman to be cosmic or be like Jim Morrison or whatever, and I was too middle class, ordinary and normal.

The rest of the band weren’t really into acid.  Jaz had had a major freakout when he was 16. He used to take acid at school but one time he was spiked and he thought that his arm had disappeared. He was having The Horrors. His mum was an award winning teacher, very progressive.  She just sat him down, gave him some rocks to hold, did a bit of research.  She was very cool. So, yeah, the other guys weren’t into it, although we did take mushrooms together. But we’d rarely take acid. I was the acid head.

But then there was this one event that pushed me over the edge.  I’d let Ralph, this friend of mine, use my squat one weekend while I was away. When I came back my TV had disappeared.  I couldn’t get hold of him for ages, but then I bumped into him at a club one night. He was there with this other guy looking pretty rough.  I said, ‘Oh Ralph, how are you?’ And he goes, ‘I hear you think I nicked your TV.’ And I said, ‘No, no, I mean you stayed there and it disappeared and I wondered if you knew anything or had seen what happened?’  But he didn’t quite get that, he was fixating on whether I was accusing him and if I was still his friend.

Then he said, ‘If you are my friend, take this,’ and he gave me a tab of acid. It was this Sorcerer’s Apprentice trip with a picture of a little Mickey Mouse with stars going between his hands.  I said, ‘Acid? Oh yeah I take acid all the time.’ I took it. I mean he didn’t force me but at the same time I was taking it because that’s what he wanted.

Half an hour later I’m in the attic of the club thinking that he’s going to murder me. I went down to the bar and met this Polish ballet dancer. I said, ‘You’re going to have to rescue me, I think these guys are going to kill me. I’ve been spiked with this acid and it’s freaking me out.’ She took me back to Westbourne Grove and shagged me solid for three days. But I never quite came down.  I slowly started to come down a bit but it was very strong acid.

I was really upset about the whole thing. I thought my friend had set me up. He lived in Croydon with his Nan, so I wrote to him there.  In this letter I said, ‘Look that really freaked me out, you should never do that, and lets meet and sort it out’.  And then literally a few days later I found out that he’d committed suicide and thrown himself off a railway bridge.

He was obviously in a very dark place. But that just totally spun me out. By that point I was tripping all the time. I couldn’t quite understand how that could be, because I hadn’t taken acid for over a month.

As it progressed I got more and more out of it.  I started to get all the classic delusions of messianic complex. I thought this white van was following me around.  I thought the Masons were out to get me because of Killing Joke stirring things up. I started to get intrigued by Masonry and saw it as this dark conspiracy thing. I was reading Robert Anton Wilson and stuff like that. And this just progressed and progressed.  The band started to get a bit concerned because I’d always been very cynical about things and now I was starting to see Masonic conspiracies in the drain covers.

I remember breaking into the Masonic headquarters in Covent Garden, that huge square building. I’m not sure how I got in, it had this scaffolding over it and doors going in and I managed to get in a side door somehow. This was around 8 or 9 o’clock at night. I went through all these different temples and put the crosses down because I thought that they were abusing the cross. I ran up to the top of the building to these French doors which were locked, and I was banging on these doors. This African guy came out in red polka dot shorts. I thought they were going to use him for some sacrifice.  I said, ‘Come on! Open the door, I’ll get you out, I’ll rescue you.’ And this guy was talking to me in an African accent, saying ‘Go away’ or something.

Then this Welsh security guard turns up. And I showed him this signet ring with this crest on that my Dad had said was something to do with my family from Llangathen. It had a dolphin on it.  I said, ‘Look, I’m Welsh. This is magic. Help me.’ He said, ‘I’m going to arrest you’. I just did a runner.

I ran into this bar opposite which was where Blitz had been, or one of those New Romantic clubs.  I remember all these Masons were in there, all these guys who had come out from some ceremony all in suits. And these guys started talking to me, I thought ‘They’re on to me, I’m being followed’. I was very paranoid.

We’d got a five grand advance for something and my dad set me up with this bank manager at the Clydesdale Bank. He also tuned out to be a mason. I deposited this money in and said, ‘I want to borrow another five grand on top of this.’ He asked why and I said ‘Well I want to do my shamanic training, study kung fu and do all this stuff.’ He said, ‘Listen son, I’m not going to lend to you five thousand pounds. You’ve got to learn the value of money,’ And I said ‘I know what the value of money is’, and I took a five pound note out and set fire to it, there in his office. I said, ‘Look that’s the value, it’s just paper.’ The guy freaked out, cleared his desk and threw me out of the bank.

I just kept doing more and more crazy things like that. I was starting to tap into stuff, some powerful energy.  I remember getting the band to sit round and put their hands out and we’d focus on something, and we’d make something happen.  I could say to Geordie, ‘look, if we focus our minds on that streetlamp, it will go out. Or at least flicker on and off.’ He’d say, ‘Really? Okay, come on let’s do it.’  And we did, and it worked.  And other psychic phenomena stuff was occurring.

And, yeah, it just got progressively more and more crazy. Then one day I woke up at my step-mum’s. She’d just had a baby with my dad but my dad was in prison at the time so he wasn’t there, just her and this Spanish nanny. And I remember looking out of the window and thinking, ‘Oh the sky’s going green. This is it. It’s the end of the world. I’m going to the river.’

I just had this pair of swimming trunks on and a kimono. I started walking from Brompton Road to Chelsea. And I started going into these fruit and veg shops and going to people, ‘Look, you want some money?  Have some money!’ They would say ‘No thanks’ but I kept on at them. I was saying ‘Look it’s just money, I’ll start burning it’. Which I did.  And I immediately got arrested.  And shipped off to a mental hospital.

It was very strange. I remember in the ambulance on the way, if you looked out the front window it was like normal, if I looked out the back window I thought it was the future, and everything was underwater. I remember going past Tooting Bec tube and there was gondolas parked up outside it.

I was taken to Springfields Hospital, near Tooting Bec. I’d been put into a sort of flashers’ ward, which was odd in itself, with all these guys who were flashers because I was in a kimono.  And I was going, ‘I’m not mad, you’re all mad’, which of course makes them think ‘Oh he’s definitely mad’.

They gave me Largactil, which I think is supposed to make you compliant but it just spun me out even more.  And they gave me ECT [Electroconvulsive Therapy, also known as Electroshock Therapy], like in One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest. They still use it. I must have had two or three sessions of that. They put a wooden thing or something in your mouth, it’s all very Victorian.  I don’t remember it being difficult or anything, I just remember this white light.

And I just felt we were totally underwater. I remember my Dad coming to the hospital and sitting with him and seeing utter shock on his face. This was when Dad was doing time and he got let out to see me in the hospital, which probably didn’t do him any good. I said, ‘Isn’t it weird Dad, we can sit here and have this conversation and we are underwater.’

But there was one point where I thought the hospital was on fire. And I remember running away in the middle of the night and leaping over this fence, and stabbing my hand on the spike of the fence, running a few miles to where my Dad had been living, which was the Coach House on the other side of Wandsworth Common. He was in prison but his friend and his girlfriend were there. I was completely spaced out. I said, ‘Look’, showing them the wound on my hand, ‘I’m the one! I’ve got stigmata!’ I thought I was Jesus, that the whole world was all on my shoulders. 
They let me stay the night and my step mum came by the next day and said, ‘Look you’ve broken out, the hospital didn’t burn down, there was no fire, you’re hallucinating. If you don’t go back they’ll slap a section on you and you won’t be able to leave’. So she persuaded me to go back.

While I was in there this guy called The Wizard used to come up every day to visit me.  The Wizard lived in the church near Lyndhurst Road with twenty feral cats. He had a seven pointed star tattooed on his face. He’d never wore shoes, he was very much a nature magic person. This is the guy who used to come to the early Killing Joke gigs and blow fire and do circles and make ceremonies, he was our shaman basically. The whole ‘ceremony’ aspect to Killing Joke was there from very early on, it came out of the community we were living in really.

The Wizard came to visit me and gave me this crystal. I remember meditating with this crystal in the hospital and seeing these stars, like lights. These were my spirit guides. They talked to me and told me what to say and do. They said, ‘Look you’re going to come up to a panel of doctors, you’ve got to say ‘I’ve just had some LSD and I feel really tired and I want to go home and see my Mum’, and they’ll let you go. Don’t say, ‘I’m not mad you’re mad’.

And so I came up before this panel and that’s what happened. I was released from the mental hospital because I did what the spirit guides in the crystal told me do. They let me go and I went up to Wales with the band. I was in there for about two weeks overall.

It took me a good eight years or so, until I was about 29, before I would go near psychedelics again. I still smoked pot a bit but I kind of almost stopped that for a bit. It took me that time to rebuild my ego and get my confidence back, and find a good anchor again.

But what’s amazing is, I came back. I was watching that Syd Barrett documentary recently, and the Peter Green one, and I did achieve going to the place that they went to. But I managed to come back, which is very rare. And that is an amazing thing, I think. 

The Daily Mail is a Drug

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The reason for the Daily Mail's continued growth is simple. For every story it runs it asks itself, "How can I present this story in manner that will generate a feeling of disgust in the reader?" The paper is, by now, phenomenally good at presenting news stories so that they always do generate that emotion of disgust. From that, all else follows.

Should you think that this is an over-simplification, it would be worth pausing to look again at any edition of the paper with this idea in mind.

A photograph of the Mail's editor Paul Dacre, deliberately inverted.

Disgust is not just one of our many emotions. It is bedded deep in the foundations of our psychology. It is largely generated by part of the brain known as the anterior insula. Freud linked it to our initial oral stage, and Leary & Wilson to what they called the first circuit of their eight circuit model. It is not something that is learnt, like higher emotions. All mammals are born with the hard-wired ability to feel disgust, along with its opposite, attraction. Newborns feel attraction to food and comfort, and disgust or repulsion from rotting or poisoned food or stagnant water. This is the level it affects us at.

Disgust in itself is no bad thing, of course, but the Daily Mail's use of it is a problem because of the plasticity of our brains. The nature of reactive brain chemistry means that the more the experience of disgust is stimulated, the stronger the disgust reflex becomes and the more it gets linked to higher level concepts and models. Constant, repeated stimulation over time changes the brain and alters the personality of the Daily Mail reader. There is good reason why the common stereotype of Mail readers is as it is. There is also good reason for the rise of UKIP.

In the same way that heroin is so dangerous and addictive because it stimulates the deep psychological feeling of attraction and comfort, so the repeated stimulation of disgust is also addictive. It is important to recognise this, because it is being overlooked in all the current concern about the paper's actions and press regulation.

Most people have probably heard a Mail reader say, "I know that it is awful, but I can't read any of the other papers." Other newspapers do not provide that guaranteed hit of disgust that long-term Mail readers need. This is why they continue to buy the newspaper, even though they know how bad it is for them. It is not an act of free will. They are ill, they are addicts, and they need help. Mail readers simply cannot just switch to the Mirror, Times or Independent. They need to go cold turkey through a period of withdrawal.

Disgust-addiction is a terrible thing. It means that people spend their lives believing that the world is terrifying and cruel, when that is not the case. There is an argument that people have the right to their Daily Mail hit, of course, but we should remember that this is a public health issue, and it needs to be considered as such.

There are no easy answers. But one thing is clear: If you are a Daily Mail reader with a partner who would be expected to care for you when you become old and infirm, and if you do love that partner, then for their sake quit now.

If you still can, of course.



Jimmy Cauty's tiny police state

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Yesterday I went to launch of James Cauty's Aftermath Dislocation Principle, a square mile of post-apocalyptic landscape shrunk down to 1:87 scale. The model itself is huge - 448 square feet - but the details are tiny.


The landscape is covered in burnt out cars and the aftermath of rioting, but there are no ordinary people. Only the security services are left behind - around 3000 tiny policemen. The population has gone but the state remains. Exactly what has happened is left open to your imagination.

It's a phenomenal piece of work - although one that is bleak as all hell. Everywhere you look there are little dramas occurring, sight gags, and political digs at the likes of Wonga and Foxconn.





Normally the crowd at art openings has an initial look at the work and then ignores it for the rest of the evening. This was different - people kept going back to it. The more you look at it, the more you find. Here's a packing crate Stonehenge.


 There's a few little details will appeal to KLF fans.



Police cars have the number 23 on their roof, of course.


My friend Brian Barritt used to say that it was simple to tell whether a piece of visual work was 'art' or not. If you never tired of looking at it, then it was art. For this reason the work of Banksy wasn't art. It's still great, of course, because it was a giggle and that's entirely valid. But once you'd groked it there was no reason to look at it again.

I'm not sure why, but it's all kicking off at Burger King.



Cauty's obsessional model echoes of the shift that has happened in film and TV storytelling. In the 20th Century, the 'Hero's Journey' story was considered enough to hold people's attentions. That is no longer the case. Now we flock to things that are deeper and far more complex - the so-called '1000-hour narrative'. Examples of this include the complex politics of a series like Game of Thrones, the endless storytelling of the Marvel Universe or the 50-year character story of Doctor Who. For all the concern about our modern attention spans, we've actually become sophisticated enough to want far more intricate and rewarding work - narratives that continue to reveal details the longer we engage with them.

This was brought home when I walked home and passed street art. It just seemed shit in comparison to what Cauty had done. It just wasn't enough.

Here's a film to give you more of a sense of the thing.


ADP V 2 from jimmy cauty on Vimeo.

It's on display in London until October 20th and is highly recommended. You'll find it in the railway arches right next to Hoxton overground station.

Ten Reasons For Burning Money

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Burning money is an action where intent is everything.

I've already written at length about Jimmy Cauty and Bill Drummond burning a million pounds, but what other reasons are there for lighting up the magic paper?

Here's your handy top 10:


1. To Frighten

Here's The Joker in The Dark Knight setting fire to a considerable stack of cash.



He claims he does this to 'send a message', but what message is he sending? It is, clearly, that people should be afraid of him. The Joker operates on levels that are so far off the maps of other crime bosses that fear is the only logical response.

This is also the reason why Hagbard Celine burns money in Robert Shea and Robert Anton Wilson's Illuminatus! Trilogy - although Hagbard Celine is considerably more gentlemanly about it.


2. Ostentation

Should a TV programme or film wish to imply that a character has too much money, the standard trope is to show them lighting a big fat cigar with burning money.


This is the behaviour of cold-hearted corporate sharks and insecure rappers. It also has a poorer cousin, namely waving your money in someones face. See, for example, Harry Enfield's Loadsamoney character, city bankers during G20 anti-capitalism protests, or the overtime-rich police waving their bonuses at striking miners during the 1980s.

No-one who has ever undertaken these acts has come out of it well.


3. Protest

Here's an Occupy Wall Street protester burning a few dollars.



Like many protests, this is a largely symbolic act. The actual amount of money doesn't mean much in the grand scheme of things, yet symbolically it is sacrilege - like upturning a crucifix or denying someones gods. Like the Joker's 'message', it is a declaration that other value systems are available.


4. Spite



Here we see France's worst babysitter Serge Gainsbourg lighting a 500 Franc note in 1984, in response to what he felt were France's high levels of taxation. This could be filed under 'protest', but as it is also an example of burning money because you don't want anyone else to have it, it is placed here under spite.




5. Currency validation.

This is not a list about money being lost or squandered. I haven't included Yves Klein throwing gold dust into the Seine, for example, because the gold was scattered rather than destroyed. But there are other non-paper sources of wealth that can be physically destroyed, and that includes the virtual algorithm-backed currency BitCoin.

Here we see some people burning a memory card containing their bitcoin wallet. As the video states, "...the real aspect making it into a currency is not when it is spent but when it is burnt." Hence, this burning can be seen as further legitimisation of this mighty game-changing currency.


Hello Bitcoin from Videocassettera on Vimeo.

Love the marshmallows at the end. (h/t to @sinkdeep for this one)


6. Cracking up

Burning money seems to be a good way to get yourself locked away in a psychiatric institute - on the grounds that you must obviously be insane if you do it. One example was Billie Boggs, a homeless New York City woman notable for the legal test case that followed her being institutionalised for burning dollar bills in 1987 (h/t to Jonathan Harris for that one). Another example is Youth from Killing Joke, which he discuses in my interview with him here.

It's not hard to imagine that guy burning money at Occupy Wall Street in the video above being carted away some day soon for just this reason.


7. Becoming Sane

Allen Ginsberg's epic Beat poem Howl mentions someone "burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall." This is a reference to Ginsberg's friend Lucian Carr. Carr had claimed that he placed his head in a gas oven as "a work of art", but this argument was not accepted by the medical authorities and he was sectioned for suicidal tendencies. When he was declared sane and released he burnt his psychiatric record in a wastebasket along with $20, and Ginsberg immortalised the act.
cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wal - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15308#sthash.CZ2L54Sw.dpuf



8. War 

The 20th Century introduced us to aerial bombardment and as a result an unquantifiable amount of cash went up in smoke. True, it was largely very poor countries that found themselves on the receiving end of large amounts of bombs, but not exclusively - Dresden, London and Hiroshima will attest to that.




9. Forgiveness

Of all the reasons for burning money, the one I can get behind is that demonstrated by Jonathan Harris at our London Fortean Society Robert Anton Wilson event. He just burnt twenty quid, as you can see here, but doing so had a very powerful effect on those present:



Why? Well, his reasons focus on forgiveness, and giving without expectation of reward. I recommend you read his account of the act over on his blog, in which he explains his reasoning far better than I can here.


10. Housekeeping

Of course, millions of notes are burnt around the world every day. Such is the normal housekeeping involved in printing and maintaining a paper currency. You can see some of this here. And why not? It is, after all, just paper.

Almost every note you ever hold will be burnt in the end. That is the ultimate fate of every tenner or dollar bill. Hence the question when it will be burnt - and with what intent.



Moon Bibles

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This story appeared in The Times earlier in the week (many thanks to Steve Moore for sending me the clipping).

Microfilm moon bibles! What a wonderful snapshot of that brief moment in history when we were both an analogue civilisation, and also going into space.

But the story raises a number of questions. Every ounce in weight was precious to the Apollo programme, so taking books on microfilm appears sensible at first. Until, that is, you remember that there was no way a bulky microfilm reader would have been on board. Whatever reason they took those Bibles to the moon, it was not to read them. Their journey into space was for symbolic reasons, not practical ones.

Then there's the fact that they took 100 of them, as if the astronauts were intending to convert The Clangers.

Clangers: Not Yet Christian.
The answer, of course, is money. Those microfilm moon bibles can fetch over $10,000 a pop in auctions, so taking 100 will have made someone a nice little windfall.

But look again at what really happened - the proximity of the moon granted these old Iron Age texts an extra quality - they gained value. That is magical thinking. Money itself is magical thinking, as certain pieces of green paper are deemed to have value which other pieces of green paper do not, provided they have been blessed by the wizards at the Federal Reserve (as Robert Anton Wilson used to put it.)

So the Apollo Prayer League were using the power of the moon to take an old form of magic (sacred texts) and convert them into a more modern form of magic (dollars). That's an occult act, in anyone's book, and one performed for personal gain rather than the greater good.

Who knew that Christians were that ideologically flexible?


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