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I liked to carry my toys around with me. Not sure what that means on the friend front. 

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I didn't have one of these but I played it once at school when you could bring in games and then forever longed to call up guys named Zach, Brad and Jesse and find out if they liked me or not.

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Still my favourite :-)

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So fucking sick. The original is the ultimate one. Unfortunately i've lost trace of it now. Such as shame.

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This was too good a post for me to choose just one of my favorite kids toys, so i decided to pull out my action figure squad from 1997. From top we have:

- Ripster the street shark (halfmanhalfshark mutants in khaki shorts and roller blades that fought an evil geneticists and his dinosaurs!)

- Captain Planet (A superhero that could be summoned by 5 hippyish kids using elemental rings when 'Gaia' was threatened. The toy used to have a piece of string that came out of the caps back so you could swing him around to simulate flight. This, at the time, was second only in techyness to an eagle eyes action man.)

- Vinnie the biker mouse from mars (Halfhumanhalfmouse aliens from mars that rode around on harleys. Vinnie was the lady killer of the gang which is why i thought he was the coolest... The bestial nature of his flirtations were never obvious to me.)

- Bucky O'Hare (My favorite toy at the age of 8. Definitely the sickest space rabbit ever to wrap their green paws around a laser shooter. Ironically apparently the series was cancelled when the toy manufacturer underestimated demand, the shops sold out and kids lost interest.)

I lost all these toys when we moved house in 99. This theme has been a painful voyage to yesteryear, but i think i may now have closure... (Besides when hunting for photos on tinternet I've found specialist retro toy stores and bought them all again.)

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Ya this was my bear snuffles. not sure where the name came from but he was a Gund Bear. By the time of his death/retirement he was completely gray missing his nose and had several holes. I really loved the shit out of him. No Homo.

FAVOURITE CHILDHOOD TOY

I was a big fan of Lego when i was growing up. I had both of these. I used to spend hours sailing the blue carpet in my room with them. Fun adventures were had me hearties

RE: FANTASY

I'm in Tokyo right now. Never have I visited a country with such extremes of culture... it's totally nuts in the most brilliant of ways. It's also sakura / cherry blossom season, which turns great swathes of the city pastel pink. One of my favourite places so far has been Don Quixote, a department store of sorts in Shibuya, which has absolutely no order to it. The porn can be found next to the pet food, the sex toys with the kitchen utensils, and the crisps amongst the fancy dress. You can pick up a last-minute, impulse-buy pocket vibrator at the till, next to the chewing gum and the slippers.

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sexual fantasy

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Fantasy is when your not real. Fantasy is when your on a journey. On a mission. Fantasy is when you believe in the real that isn't. Fantasise. 

 Freya, Russ, Al 

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TIM WALKER

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100% handmade plush and packaging


keyring, 12cm, 2008


25cm, with hidden pocket, 2007


keyring, 12cm, 2009

FANTASY

RE: ABANDONED

We spent days running the beach, poking about rock-pools and smashing limpets off the salt bleached rocks. But the greatest thing about that pebbly strand was the tall mudstone cliff that rose up at its rear. Looming slabs of sedimentary stone that hid the most fascinating treasures; millennia old delights waiting for an intrepid and mac-wrapped young explorer to uncover them between the stratums of a turf-fringed rock.

My sister and I, who at the time was a wobbling and brightly coloured toddler, would hunt for hours with intense concentration for the extinct snails or bullet-shaped and petrified nibs of long dead squid amid the muddy rocks. Keeping our distance from the foot of the beach and the torrid rush of mucky water that would have piped us full of pneumonia and clogged our noses shut for the rest of the holiday if we had dared to take the plunge.

My only staying disappointment from those family vacations was my Mum’s repeated refusal to buy me the stainless steel fossil-hammer displayed in the shed-come-gift shop at the beginning of the beach. A delicate instrument that would have added some needed subtlety to my archaeological technique, which, up until then, had consisted of prising open the layers of mudstone by smashing them with a well aimed crack from a harder and more jagged rock. In the shed the yearned-for hammer gleamed dully between sparkling souvenirs. Jewel encrusted ammonites, compositions of crystals and green veined minerals that I assumed were imported from elsewhere as I found it hard to imagine Yorkshire’s ashen coastline yielding up anything so glitzy.

I sullenly dealt with my lack of proper equipment and carried on thumping rocks together, dealing with the broken fingernails and coarse and salty palms with a decided surliness towards my oppressoress. She failed to notice and my attitude was quickly drained by aching muscles and the drowsy headiness caused by the gushing gulps of sea air.

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So September 2008 I moved to London, my parents dropped me off and then left me at my halls. After about a day I realised I had nothing in common with pretty much everyone around me, I think that's the only time I've ever felt abandoned. I took this photo inbetween watching hours of documentaries filling the time before I finally got to move out of that hole.

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Old abandoned factory in Barcelona, 2008
FOREVER YOUNG!

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I'm an only child. When I wasn't busy playing Swingball on my own, a lot of my childhood holidays looked like this.

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These days the only things that land on Hashima Island are the shits of passing seagulls. An hour or so’s sail from the port of Nagasaki, the abandoned island silently crumbles....

http://www.viceland.com/wp/2009/04/battleship-island-japans-rotting-metropolis/

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a photo of Holly Lucas... check her photos here.

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To be alone is an illusion, the tip tap of silence seeping away through wiltered cracks of time.

To be abandoned is to be free, liberated from all expectation.

Dive deep into the dark memories of separation.
Hold on to the present, let go of all that passes.

Tread delicately on the whispered breeze the hugs and holds, ride it towards a better view, looking out
on a world that’s too close.

To be abandoned is an illusion, to be alone it to be free.

By: Aralid Roti

RE: ABANDONED

ABANDONED YOUTH, this is truly a nice slice of a good cross section of America's Youth.
I would be interested in people voting for their favorite sluttiest girls. i am a bit torn myself. i think i like the one in glasses because i know she is a liar. But the bigger girl who talks about being "gang related" and stabbing some girl with a screwdriver is pretty solid too, also she has a striking similarity to humpty dumpty.

ABANDONED

"Kidbrooke in south London is home to the Ferrier Estate, one of the largest and most deprived council housing developments in London. The housing estate is due to be redeveloped, and consultations with residents are on-going."

A few of us headed to this estate last Sunday. The result is so strange, it's literally like you've been fast forward about 100 years. What was once a lively council estate home to thousands, is now a complete run down ghost town. Everyone has been slowly moved out so the whole thing can be knocked down and redeveloped.

"Ferrier was constructed by the London Borough of Greenwich on an old brownfield site to the east of Blackheath. The Ferrier Estate was built on two sites. Site A, approved in 1967, consisted of five 12-storey towers. Site B, approved in 1970, consists of six 12-storey towers. The estate was built using a system of concrete panels, usually manufactured on site rather like the Thamesmead estate in order to enable buildings to be erected quickly."

RE: THE ORIENT

HERO (film by Zhang Yimou) is the most beautiful and visually strongest film I have ever seen.

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At the train station I was guided along the orient express’ bustling corridors and to my compartment by a sickeningly unattainable French stewardess, I became so preoccupied with the rhythmic bobbling of her tight derrière and fragranced slipstream that I at first didn’t notice the leper sat in the corner of my carriage. When I did notice him I thought he was an hallucination. A consequence of too much absinthe, or cheese, or some reaction inspired by the ingestion of the two.

It will take all your imagination to conjure up the image of this leprous Monsieur as he sat before me. His face, which protruded from the collar of a heavy black mac, was a confusion of pocks and scars. They scraped across its granite surface like veins of quartz or other igneous intrusions and his nose had rotted away leaving only two skeletal holes, entrances to the shadowy bronchial tunnels. The guttering light from energy saving bulbs that flickered as we clanked out of Gard du Nord did nothing for his complexion, turning it the same colour as old and dirt-stained bone.

His name, publicised by the tag of his suitcase, was M. J. Delape.

I stared away from this victim of that biblical bug and at the window rather than through it. At the smudges of grease made by the fingers and the sweaty heads of travellers that had sleepily lolled into it. Behind the countryside was transformed into blurs or browns and yellows, clouded by the streaks and smears of excreted human oils.

I thought for the first time how important skin is at keeping your insides in and away from the sickened stares of strangers on public transport.

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SPRING-SUMMER COLLECTION 2010

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Kyoichi Tsuzuki - Happy Victims