This shit is blogoholic

Kirsty’s Glamorous Life.  ENTRY NUMBER ONE.

Yo, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.  I first used the internet in like, the seventies, when it was ARPANET when I was working as a cruise missile seeker for the secret police, but then I went underground, and had to pretend to be uncomputer literate, so I’m now here, 10 years later than planned.  I’ve now revoked my seeker status and feel I have some answers.  Some of which I hope to share with you, dear dear reader…

It’s been a crrrazzzy week at Slack Alice Heights.  Executive Pioneer of Creative Genius, Alexander Snelling, is making a Sex Pistols film with Julien Temple – director of Absolute Beginners, Filth and the Fury, Earth Girls are Easy and the Strummer film which won a massive award recently. My duties are cooking and cleaning and making polite conversation.   I’ve also had to hop to fashion shows for my exciting life earning money in the glamorous world of media.  Actually I earn very little, despite huge wafts of experience and talent…shucks.  But I get to interview people I like and think that I’m in the same league as them by sharing their air!  Cool, huh!

Tonight I’m getting ready to go out to my fabulous friend Fee’s party at the Truman Brewery (which she, like, invented when Hoxton was just fields)…

KEEP IT LOCKED MAN!

I:M GONNA MAKE YOU A BLOGOHOLIC!

______________________________________________

28 Jun 2007

CANARY WHARF

I’ve chosen to submerge myself in hell.

Well tailored suits, well groomed women, the gauzed snort of money and not having to smell their own shit. This is a fucking epidemic of blind greed. Lonely people trussed up in Louis Vuitton working their wiggles to freedom. Money baby. Show me the fucking money. I’m gonna rip it up and watch your eyes follow their loss. It’s all over for you. American Psycho has stalked the best of us and it’s finished. I got my warehouse penthouse in the eighties, my yacht in the nineties. I lost them. I put on weight. It all fucked up. I’m fucked up. What am I doing in a suit talking about hyper-inflation. Oh, I work here. I sell to sell, I’m the ubersalesman, the dreammaker, the heartbreaker. I gamble with your money every day. I am God. And I am your control. Outside the FTSE index scrolls past up and down, up and down legal and general Lloyds, Man Group up, Marks & Sp Up National grid up Next Up, Northern Rock up, Gen Inc of Humanity down. Gutted.

In the shopping centre when you leave Carluccios without paying, you will rise to me, I will show you my power. TopShop will tempt you, and I will win. I am capitalism and I rule the earth, from the bottom of the Thames to the mud flats that create the foundations for this techno shopping mall you’re amazed by. You think you’re in an airport, you’re right, it looks like one, but where are you going? Fucking nowhere. So why don’t you buy shit. Fill your house with shit that makes you think it looks pretty, stuff your face with my fancy tarts, drink organic and forget to wipe your arse because you want to be the people who surround you. You want to be the people that surround you. You want to be the people that surround you. You’re so easy to manipulate so easy to please. You have no strength of character. Look you’re trying on 10 things in TopShop and buying 4 of them. Look, you know you want to, you know you’ve got to. Why wouldn’t you want to get better? You know there’s something wrong with you, don’t you? You know you’re broken and fucked and don’t fit in to my temple of consumption and soulless futility. Where are you now? Shopping? I hope you bought some nice things.

©Kirsty Allison May 2007

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