Tag Archives: London

Breaking news: London calling. Gordon Brown will resign: 50 is a number stronger than 300: the anti Darwinism has finally arrived: more on Monday

GREECE is in LONDON (British Museum)

BREAKING NEWS

12:15 PM ET

British Prime Minister Gordon Brown Will Resign as Labour Party Leader By September

When 50 is a stronger number than 300

Saint Ives, Cornwall: Rocks that don’t roll, Tristan und Isolde, “my vote counts”, “press the hash key, UK – press the pound key – US”, if Britain were to press the pound key, the City would make billions!”  Hash!

Greece is in shambles, in shreds, in tatters, but if you go to the British Museum, you’d see part of the Greek ruins still there where Sofocles played as a child!”. Athens is burning! Atenas ligadas!!!!! Antenna.

WHEAL DREAMS”

That time, that last time, were the ruins still there where you played as a child…..When was that?” (Samuel Beckett). It’s amazing. But not many people know who he is! “When was that”. I’m looking at the Scilly Isles and, far away, the coast of Ireland, where Beckett was born and where the ruins are where he played as a child. “When was that?”

Have you heard of “Waiting for Godot”, I ask.

“no, not really”, he answers looking at me with small wide open 20 year old eyes.

“Never heard of Endgame, Godot, etc?”

“no, never”.

Hmmmm.

In the National Interest, it’s best to move forward”. Not my words. These are Alastair Campbell’s words. This is our man. Blair’s man. Blair’s conspiracy man. The man who is capable of forging words, forging documents and the man who (ultimately) took the UK into Iraq. I can imagine an Alastair as he would be perceived by Andy Warhol. Imagine all the Campbells, all the Elvises and all the Maos and Monroes together in stark pink and yellow. That’s my man! Star Spangled Banner! Rauschenberg has always been a HOAX. Not Jasper Johns but Robert Rauschenberg. Castelli needed a few and made them up as they came along.

I’m writing from Saint Ives, Cornwall where King Mark no longer reigns and where Tristan, Isolde, Kurwenal and Brangaene fought for their lives, love and revenge. Brazil’s emperor, Don Pedro, gave Wagner the idea: and the most incredibly beautiful opera was born. This is where I walk along its very very incredibly very narrow alleyways and look at the ocean, from the corner of my shy eyes:  “The Boat, The Boat (Das Shiff, Das Shiff) ”, as if it where the delirious last scene of a Richard Wagner opera which ends with the transcending of love and death: his Liebestod. Our lovedeath. Our deathlove.

And looking at the low tide with its boats almost capsized, resting its sides on the sands and on its sides as if a collapsed government, I realize that math has played a huge trick on us: Fifty is stronger than 300. Clegg has managed to become a pop star! Wow!

Everyone wants to go to bed with him: he holds THE power, in spite of the small representation he has. Make sense? Does it?

This proportional vote here in the UK must change. And so must the American system of electing officials who form the electoral college, change. I mean, CHANGE!!!!!

D-Day early morning: Great day. Clegg, Cameron and Brown are seen in a “presidential or prime ministerial manner” standing behind the Prince of Wales , Charles.

UNLOCK DEMOCRACY

Yes, we can.

REFORM THE ELCTORAL SYSTEM

Yes, we can.

Harrods has been sold.

Another Fayed is dead.

I can’t go on. I’ll go on.

Terror: London Calling.

Doomed by ASH clouds whether up here in the North. Or down below, in the Gulf of Mexico.

SHAME.

No we can’t!

Gerald Thomas

9 May 2010

some rocks don't roll

FOOTNOTE: Again a reminder: my TWITTER name is
geraldthomas1 (with the number 1 following my name, as you could easily notice)

any other – especially those badmouthing Brazil – is NOT me!

Em Por-au-Gois:

Mais um lembrete: no twitter eu sou

geraldthomas1 (NUMERO 1 atras)

qualquer outro – especilamente um IMBECIL que so fala mal do Brasil, nao sou eu.

MINE HAS MY PHOTO. MY IDENTITY and leads to my blog.
O MEU TEM A MINHA FOTO, MINHA IDENTIDADE, e tem ligação com meu blog

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Grounded: no way in, none out

no way in, none out

GROUNDED IN LONDON

No flights in, none out. Imagine that

Sounds like Beckett, looks like Beckett  and plays like Beckett. Including the volcanic ash cloud over our heads”. But it’s not Beckett.

Strange thing, this ‘volcanic cloud’. We’re told to wear masks. But how can I? My face is, in itself,  a mask.

What? Wear one over the other?

My London” isn’t mine anymore”

Better still, doesn’t seem to be. Always safer to speak hypothetically. Why? Because things “aren’t” or things “are”, depending of the time of day or night, depending on so many things that – a City of this magnitude is only (really) nothing but a state of mind. No way in, none out!

London now belongs to muggers, thieves of all kinds. From what I’ve been hearing or overhearing  and actually underhearing whilst eavesdropping amongst the ashes of yesteryear, everyone is having some sort of a problem with ‘identity theft’, actual theft and, pickpocketting and legends of the sort.

“I’m wired wrong”.  I overheard someone saying something like it. A City can be wired wrongly.

Writing or breathing under the spell of a volcanic ash cloud, makes me wonder if people are actually thinking right, in the right direction, in the writing direction. Uh, this is becoming a complicated way to say that….I saw, I witnessed some incredible Police activity.

London is becoming a dangerous town. Over the weekend, six friends have had their bags stolen, their apartments invaded and “cleaned out” and….I saw a scene close to 10 Downing Street that in 55 years on this planet I don’t recall ever seeing.

A white tall half drunk dude, holding a teddy bear in his hands was (literally) grabbed by the police and MI5, and other security agents on Whitehall, where the fingers or hands of the Big Ben sound like the ending of time itself: the un-Big Bang.

What I saw live is what I see on TV in America: cops from all sides holding a gun to this guy’s head. HOLD YOUR HEAD DOWN – DOWN – DOWN I said DOWN!!!!

Strangely enough, his head was down. And with a gun pointed right at it.

Why?

Could the teddy bear be and IED or a proper explosive?

Then, on Sunday (sunny morning, hundreds of thousands of people walking and sunbathing in Hyde Park…), police cars from all sides, sirens ringing, roaring, groaning from north , east, west and south, STOP. They stop a vehicle!

A white car. This white car was right in front of mine.The driver is grabbed by the most aggressive police activity, brutal forced and yanked out of the car and onto the tarmac.

I didn’t overhear a thing: we were told to MOVE!!!

Clockwise and Anti Clockwise

“PORRIDGE, an episode of crassness.”

What a language assault! Porridge! Imagine that. Oatmeal. Much  easier for the ear and the eye.

That will be the next chapter.

Please be patient. Queen Victoria was. Patient, I mean. See what happens?

Gerald Thomas

19 April 2010

London

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Wrong information!!!!

This tiny note says that I will be the curator of Afro Reaggae’s theater or cultural center in Vigario Geral, Rio. It’s not quite that way. They did get in touch with me and I replied: I live in London and in New York and how am I expected to be the curator (virtual, perhaps?)  of a theater in Rio? But the press publishes anything they want, without running it by me. They all have my email addresses and/or phone numbers.Is it really so difficult to make a goddamn call?

not quite true

Gerald ThomasLondon 18 April 2010

PS: in Jornal do Brasil, this Sunday, MORE …

JB online
Em 2008, Gerald Thomas se arriscou em formato híbrido No Brasil, em 2008, Gerald Thomas lançou mão das possibilidades da rede para produzir e veicular uma linguagem teatral híbrida que denominou “blog novela”. A experiência ficou no primeiro episódio, O cão que insultava mulheres – Kepler, the dog (2008), encenado no Sesc Avenida Paulista e transmitido em tempo real no blog que o diretor pilotava no portal Ig. A tentativa de criar uma dramaturgia interativa, esculpida a partir dos comentários que os internautas postavam em seu blog, era motivada por uma insatisfação pessoal. “Teatro é chato pra burro. Blog tá meio chato. Jornal é chato. A internet tem essas possibilidades. Resolvi então criar um híbrido”, comentou o autor sobre a ideia à época. Tempos depois, em setembro de 2009, ao longo de uma série de entrevistas em que anunciava o seu afastamento por tempo indeterminado do teatro, Thomas, um tanto quanto desencantado com a produção artística contemporânea, tomava partido contrário, e insurgia com ceticismo ante à convergência de mídias. “Teatro não é tecnologia, é algo para que o público esteja na presença do ator, a metros dele. Se você tenta transformar em tecnologia, fica pretensioso. Essa integração de mídias é a maior mentira que já houve”, disse. Procurado agora pela reportagem do Jornal do Brasil, Thomas foi sucinto: – Vamos ver se tenho saco para isso. Melhor perguntar para os “outros diretores”. Boa sorte – respondeu, por e-mail.

UPDATE , April 20

Correction was made by Gente Boa:

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Suicide Note part 25

Suicide Note

Wrists cut open, blood everywhere. Not my blood.  No Royal blood here.

How it all started?  A few things I’m making a tremendous effort to remember.  I read this on a wall somewhere. Or on the WALL, the Berlin Wall when it was still up and standing.

(images of a Wall crumbling, possibly the Berlin Wall)Sprayed  on the wall: “America is the only country that went from barbarism to decadence without civilization in between.”

“Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months.”

In fact, it all happened so fast, I think. There I was, staring at this wall as it was suddenly being torn down and the entire world was there to celebrate it. Those sentences I was staring at were being dismantled, destroyed as the Wall was being destroyed. Should that mean that the meaning of their content was also becoming meaningless?

Hospital: yet, these faces where hanging over mine and the questions becoming more and more annoying: “are you feeling better?”

Sidewalk: yet, these faces where hanging over mine and the questions becoming more and more annoying: “are you feeling better?”

My father, o yes, I remember him, was standing on one of those wooden platforms that West Berlin had built to overlook East Berlin.

And now? Now I am.

What?

Yes…. standing on one of those wooden platforms that West Berlin had built to overlook East Berlin.

I thought we were on Cornelia Street.

My father and I: His eyes, all tears. He simply could not understand what had happened to his city. They had CUT IT SHUT, doubled it, while I’m cut here all open trying to remember….I am desperately trying to remember.

Hospital: what really matters, such as, for instance, matters regarding my own survival?

Meaning…I am not a spy or a double agent. I’m a playwright and a stage director of theater and opera.

Yet, someone is writing my life for me. A Ghost writer? Some double, maybe.

Yes, it’s slowly coming back to me. The orgies, the great and wonderful cunts and ass holes and my life in hotels….

After all, Sam Beckett had been to Tunisia numerous times….and had Arab connections. But if this story were to have been written by anyone else, it obviously appeared to be much more in the style of …better shut up.

You have no idea where you are: they captured you after you fell on the street and your blood….

Reagan had warned Gorbachev and the world came to Berlin. Is that where I am? Why all these Arabs then?

I feel like Guernica. The painting, I mean.

“What? What was that?“, a lonely voice shouts from the dark. It’s the voice from another agent, perhaps another double agent.

Voices in my ears.

A bitter taste in my mouth.

Dry throat.

Maybe the note implanted in me – “you are S-trapped” came from …“What? What was that?“, a lonely voice shouts from the dark. It’s the voice from another agent, perhaps another double agent.

WHO IS WRITING THIS?

AND WHERE THE FUCK AM I?

Gerald Thomas

London – 15 April 2010

LATEST NEWS:

LONDON — British civil aviation authorities ordered the closure of the country’s airspace as of noon on Thursday to shield aircraft from a high-altitude cloud of ash drifting south and east from an erupting volcano in Iceland. The plume shut down airports and forced the cancellation of hundreds of flights in a wide arc from Ireland to Scandinavia.

THE CREATOR

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