Lying Digital Bastards

Lying Digital Bastards

This is a photograph of my first serious camera. It was built in 1978. I bought it in 1996 for one hundred & fifty pounds from a pawn shop in north London. It still works fine to this day. Admittedly it’s a little dented and scratched, but I blame the previous owners for dragging it around war zones, volcanoes and rain forests. It needs a new battery and a roll of film but I’m basically good to go. Somewhere. Somewhere you can actually still buy a roll of 35mm film. Somewhere you can still get a roll of 35mm film processed and printed. Maybe Poland? Liverpool? The point is that this lump of brass, glass and metal is still working after 38 years. Impressive.  

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Rust Never Sleeps

Rust Never Sleeps

Only the criminally insane never sleep. The rest of us mere mortals are haunted by insecurity and inertia. We like to sleep and do nothing. You’d never catch the likes of Peter Mandelson or Paul Dacre or David Cameron snoozing in bed surrounded by the Sunday funnies and a cold Chinese takeaway. That’s because they’re too busy plotting ways to make life even more miserable for the wretched population. It was alleged that Margaret Thatcher only slept for about 13 minutes every year or something. It showed. Manic eyes popping out of her blue-veined skull on stalks like laser beams of utter hatred and contempt.  It’s a sad reflection on democracy that things always seem to go bad when politicians get busy. Maybe the United Kingdom might now be a safer and more secure place to live if Maggie had just hit the snooze button once in a goddamn while.   Read More

Skyclad & Other Myths

photography on rhodes

Skyclad & Other Myths

Not all erotic art since the dawn of civilisation has been a great success. The 1970s, for example, were abysmal. You can blame the ’70s on a book called The Joy Of Sex. As a result all glamour photographers sported manicured beards and pot bellies. Sylvia Kristel could have made any number of erotic masterpieces if she had been so inclined, but instead she chose to star in Emmanuelle – a soft-focus numb-fest with delusions of spirituality and a saccharine soundtrack. At the other end of the scale the Americans released Deep Throat. This movie at least ticked all the correct boxes to ensure its notoriety –  bank-rolled by the Mafia, a drug-addled star, and the director was a gun-toting maniac. Lights! Camera! Court Action! It was still crap.   Read More