'Anything that ever got in your knickers would surely have to be diamond encrusted.'

Hidden and Wrinkled

Hidden and wrinkled like a budding violet
It breathes, gently worn out, in a tangled vine
(Still damp with love), on the soft incline
Of white buttocks to the rim of the pit.

Thin streams like rivers of milk ; innocent
Tears, shed beneath hot breath that drives them down
Across small clots of rich soil, reddish brown,
Where they lose themselves in the dark descent...

My mouth always dribbles with its coupling force;
My soul, jealous of the body's intercourse,
Makes it tearful, wild necessity.

Ecstatic olive branch, the flute one blows,
The tube where heavenly praline flows,
Promised Land in sticky femininity.

Arthur Rimbaud (1854 – 1891)

the boys i mean are not refined

the boys i mean are not refined
they go with girls who buck and bite
they do not give a fuck for luck
they hump them thirteen times a night

one hangs a hat upon her tit
one carves a cross on her behind
they do not give a shit for wit
the boys i mean are not refined

they come with girls who bite and buck
who cannot read and cannot write
who laugh like they would fall apart
and masturbate with dynamite

the boys i mean are not refined
they cannot chat of that and this
they do not give a fart for art
they kill like you would take a piss

they speak whatever's on their mind
they do whatever's in their pants
the boys i mean are not refined
they shake the mountains when they dance

E.E. Cummings (1894 – 1962)

To love someone is to see a miracle invisible to others.

Francois Mauriac (1885 – 1970)

I hate brandy ... it stinks of modern literature.

Harold Pinter (1930)

'I want to wrap you up in warm blankets,with silky bits on the edges.'

(Thank you, someone.)

Whether you love or hate Pete Doherty you have to admit the boy has had his share of adventures in the past year or so. Whilst Pete is, allegedly, going on the straight and narrow he doesn’t mind reminiscing about his madcap days, especially those spend in Wondsworth prison where according to Pete he spent most of his time reading. That’s, of course, when he was not interrupted by his cellmate who kept pulling his shorts down and going ‘ is this normal Pete?’ while Pete was trying to get to grips with Crime and Punishment. Ironic, don’t you think? Though what I find even more ironic is the fact that British press thinks this sort of trite newsworthy.

Loneliness is and always has been the central and inevitable experience of every man.

Thomas Wolfe (1900 – 1938)

Walking through the urban debris that constitutes most of Shepherds Bush I found myself confronted with a king-size billboard of four lovely fellas sporting modern-day mullets and very tight trousers indeed. At first glance the uber-cool quartet looked every bit as rock’ n’ roll as any one of the big name troupes from the seventies. But as I later discovered, Jet – as the handsome foursome is known – is just another band in a very long line of bands on the retro-rock scene. What makes this lot different, however, is the fact that they 'don’t give a shit' as, the allegedly multitalented, Jet vocalist/guitarist Nic Cester put it in a recent interview. Funnily enough, I suspect that Nic was being a little disingenuous. Only a few months ago he told a London audience ‘We’re gonna reclaim the whole fucking country piece by piece.’ So much for not giving a shit. And as for reclaiming Britain – I think these lovely fellas have their work cut out. The gritty pub rock in the style of Jet with vocal servings of whiny snarl, pioneered by Liam Gallagher, is a little tired . We’ve heard it all before, thus Jet should give us something new or jet off. But they won’t, not for a while.

Though their music is crap – and I suspect this might be because the boys have invested all their efforts in to looking like rock stars rather than rehearsing – the Jet-ers have a certain amount of appeal. Nic Cester’s cocky swagger and moody demeanour fills stadiums, so what do I know? Not that much, except that maybe Nic and the rest of the Jet boys are going a little bananas from wearing their pants a little too tight. And so I feel that vacum-tight trousers should come with a health warning or else we’ll have a load of really not very good wannabe-rockers saying crazy shit like: 'We’re here cause we fucking earned it and we deserve it cause we’re a fucking good band.'

Point me out the happy man and I will point you out either egotism, selfishness, evil or else an absolute ignorance.

Graham Greene (1904 – 1991)