Any utterance unaimed will be disclaimed, will be maimed...

How I do hate leaving a week between updates on this blog. Sorry for the lack of activity, my darlings, pressing family matters intervened in an already hectic schedule and production day on The Magazine Wot Pays Me is looming. I'm cooking up something suitably bile-filled about motherhood, welfare reform and other achingly sexy subjects, though. It'll be just what you've always wanted, I absolutely and completely promise. *grin*

In lieu of actual content, here's something I think is vitally, viscerally important: Coded Language by Saul Williams, who is a prince amongst poet-warriors even when he isn't being mixed by Trent Rezner. Listen to it, then read the lyrics, then listen to it again; it's like your soul sinking into a deep, hot bath after wandering in a cold field of bullshit all night.

ION: I just saw Susie Orbach speak about her new book. Much as I hate to be unsisterly, it was all kinds of bollocks, don't bother.

The Queen is Dead. The Queen of England is Dead.

Genitals, ladymen, rabid fans, frothing trolls, music-lovers everywhere: glory at the wonder that is Withiel finally getting his attractive posterior in gear to put his fabulous music (self-produced in our living-room, so if you listen really closely you can probably hear me cackling in the background) on the interwebs.

I said, glory at it!

And make sure you listen to the Smiths cover first. Although Ashtray is my most favourite song of this year. Right, I'm going to cough up my own pancreas. Be seeing you.