Tuesday, 26 October 2010

Aspidistra II

Aspidistra is now looking for submissions to issue 2!

Aspidistra is a magazine of three parts. We are looking to bring words and art of all mediums together to explore interesting nooks and crannies of a philosophical kind. Submissions for issue 2 should fall under the following themes,


1. Persons Unknown

-Collective identity

-Non-identity

-Existing as an outsider


2. Reasonably absurd

-Why did the chicken cross the road?

-Reason vs Madness


3. Perversion in Utopia

-Debasement or subversion of ideals.

-Guns and babes of the future


Successful submissions will be included in the magazine and invited to exhibit at the magazine launch at the end of November. You will also get a free copy of the magazine for all your hard work!

Please send work to aspidistra-magazine@live.co.uk . Emails should be titled with the chapter you would like to submit to eg. Persons Unknown, Reasonably Absurd or Perversion in Utopia. Include your name and a brief sentence about yourself. Images should be sent as Jpegs and bare in mind that Aspidistra is printed in black and white. Stories or articles should be no more than 3000 words and poetry under 40 lines. Please make sure word documents are NOT docX files as we cannot read them. Final submission deadline is 10th November. We try to acknowledge all submissions within a week and the final content will be decided by the end of November.


I look forward to hearing from you,

Keep the Aspidistra flying!

Bella Dear.

Monday, 20 September 2010

Erotic Fan Fiction | Countdown

'Jeff Stelling knows my power'



"... consonant please Rachel ... a vowel please ... another consonant please Rachel"


I finish my request for the letters in this round of Countdown. The clock ticks and silence falls over the studio. After 30 seconds, I look up and see Rachel Riley in her tiny black cocktail dress. Her thighs like tender Tasty Bake sausage meat.


"Well, my word. I've never seen anything like this before!" said Rachel.


There it was, on the Countdown board, 'A R S E G A M E S'. I didn't even notice. I had been transfixed by Rachel Riley, Countdown's one and only perky princess - no, no one likes Susie Dent. And I had never been a fan of Carol Vorderman. I never achieved full tumescence when admiring Carol. No, she was not the erotic algebraist for me. Rachel is my girl.

"Never before ... " Rachel repeated. "Not even that time 'C U N T F L A P S' came up and it might have been a vicar who picked the letters ... Would you like to see something else, that we've never seen on Countdown before?"

I can't take my eyes off of her as she pulls her dress down, revealing her pert pale bosom, in front of the whole studio. No one complains. Not even Jeff, in fact he seems to be enjoying himself. He is arched forward, panting, and staring intensely at Rachel, beads of sweat on his forehead, one hand clenching the desk, the other hand rummaging for his keys .

Rachel then turns around, revealing her dusty pert buttocks. Jeff then stands up, his junk hard in his hand, proud in the hot studio. He looks ready to run over and treat Rachel to particularly hard 'ANAL-gram'.


"No Jeff ... she's mine" I punch Jeff Stelling, and stride over to Rachel. With one motion I am inside her, asking for more 'cuntsonants'. I am fully tumescent. She knows this and she feels me.

The producers must be very impressed by my power, because they turn on the famous Countdown clock. As it ticks down I am jackhammering into Rachel Riley. Rachel Riley likes this, I tell her to say her favourite dirty words,

"Coitus ... fornicate ... engorged". She goes on, "boff ... "

I tell her "Boff is not a word, it is a colloquialism". She knows my power.


She is moaning hard. I tell her to get on her knees. I will now deliver the final score, all up Rachel Riley.

My cum is a torrent, all over Rachel ... and the letters board. I know they will make me pay to have this cleaned, but I don't care.

Rachel looks up at me and says,

"Your cum made me cum"

Then I look down at her and say,

"Why cum ... when you can ejaculate ... for 9 letters"


Rachel sighs. She knows she will always be mine. The crowd give me a round of applause. Jeff Stelling is vanquished. Susie Dent is probably a lesbian.

Tuesday, 20 April 2010

Stockists of Aspidistra! Hurrah!

Get your copy of Aspidistra at any of these shops;
(more to follow)

Sister Ray
34-35 Berwick Street
W1F 8RP

London Review Bookshop
14 Bury Place
WC1A 2JL

Rough Trade
Old Truman Brewery
91 Brick Lane
E16QL

Monday, 22 March 2010

Aspidistra Issue one

Buy it now online!

Words from the Brutalist Poets, Paul O'Kane, Tony Rickaby, Kirsty Roberts, Kevin Thomas Rogers, Katie Green, Rhys Williams and Igor Wizard

Art from Chloe Bonfield, Peter Caul, Victoria Jenkins, Simon Leary, Myles Painter, Joesph Popper, Milo Reid, Rebecca Sloan and James Trimmer.

All the good stuff for only £3.
Fly the Aspidistra!






Wednesday, 3 March 2010

The Big Men


Matt Damon has managed to smash his way to the top of the Big Man list, one fist to the face at a time. He jumps and rolls and explodes, body riddled with bullets for our viewing pleasure.
It was a touching moment, at the 2008 Oscars, when Bruce Willis placed his rough hands on Damon’s shoulders and handed him a white vest, torn, dirty and splattered with the blood of a hundred terrorists,
‘Go on my son, do us proud,’ he said before blasting a shotgun into Damon’s stomach. Laughing Willis jumped onto the hood of a passing juggernaut and exploded in the dazzling Hollywood sunset. Meanwhile Damon rocks backwards smashing the glass bookshelf behind him and tipping over a fish tank, writhing around in a pool of piranhas he looks at the camera, ‘This isn’t realistic enough!’ he screams, his voice cracking with emotion, and BANG! Wins another Oscar. No one takes any notice though because Vinnie Jones walks in.
‘I really liked him, after watching BB Celebrity.’ Julia Roberts said.

Monday, 1 March 2010

Happy Birthday

The mixture is soft. I whisked it for longer than was suggested in A Good Housekeeping Guide. I folded in the flour with neat twists of my wrists, so as not to knock out the air. I even added a pinch extra of baking soda, just to make sure. This cake will rise. It was some trouble finding a tin large enough, for this will be a large cake; a big cake, but also a big surprise. The house is quiet, now that the beating is done. There is a hum from the oven, though I also hum. A thin tune, just a hum-hum. After I have poured the mix into the large tin, I take off my shoes and socks. The kitchen tiles are cold and tickle the soles of my feet. I remove my dress, knickers and socks and lay them on the chair. I am not so stupid as to forget to make arrangements for breathing. I have a straw that is long enough. Carefully I lower myself into the cake batter. It is pleasant, as it moulds itself to my skin, oozing carefully between my toes and then around my knees like a good sock, it squelches as I move into its embrace. There is a smell of vanilla as it creeps up nostrils. I must do this right and so I firmly pinch them closed, and breath deeply through the straw. I kneel here, somewhat awkwardly, though the thick mixture holds some of my weight. It is warming, a reaction between egg, flour, sugar, fat, binding and rising. I have time to think about the surprise, and what a surprise it shall be; me, emerging naked and beautiful from the golden glow of sponge. What a feast. A sprinkling of icing sugar, and I expect we shall laugh. Hands will be clapped over mouths in surprise, eyes wide with delight. What a delicious cake! Look how high it was risen! How long it must have taken you! What a surprise!

And I will say ‘Happy Birthday my dear. I love you.’

Tuesday, 2 February 2010

Avoid Pigeons



Good Morning On The Mountain

"Elaine, did I ever tell you...? Get in here Elaine. My god Elaine. They ring me up? They offer me things... they think they got something to trade with me? They say the wolf is at my door? The wolf runs from my door! The wolf craps a brick at my door!... I grill those damn wolves... Those young people, my god... trade with me?

Every generation. Always change. Every generation. All they want is revolution. Every generation. Always revolution... Get rid of the old people they say! Let us run things. Every generation is always young and they think they know.

But they don't know. They don't know who makes their shoes... who makes their cars... who sells their tunes...

And that's what we do. We sell them their change. Bob Dylan? Everyone knows Bob Dylan. Stupid kids nowadays still think he's a revolutionary? The spirit of '68? Fuck, the spirit of '68 is what bought my third house.

Stupid kids. We're in charge... Yeah maybe we had our revolution... And yeah maybe that's why I'm here, why I got these shoes, and this jacket on my back.

Every generation. Always change.

Well let me tell you something. There's no more change! I got dogs to feed! There's no more revolution. Only my change... my revolution.

Get rid of the old people they say. And yeah, sometimes we'll go hide for a while... we make our plans. Oh yes, we make our plans...

Bob... goddamn...

Obama! Change! Obama... what sort of change is that? Nothing's changed! It's fickle! Do you know how quickly you'd loose the soles of your fucking feet if things really started changing!? No... you don't... we're just fine. Don't you worry.

We say what change is by God. And we get paid for it.

- Very good, sir.

Oh, and Elaine? Bring me those, err, mini-golf clubs the rep from Adelente left, won't you? I got some time to kill here.

Tuesday, 19 January 2010

Windows 7

Windows 7...who's shit idea was that then?

Thursday, 14 January 2010

Jack of all Trades, Master of none

As a generation of wishful thinkers we seem to be faced, on a daily basis, with a rather flummoxing contradiction. Either we’ve determined the path that will lead us through a glittering career, resulting in a Times article written about our success and a place in the Observer magazine featuring the up-and-coming stars of the new generation, or we consign ourselves to a lifetime of bits-and-bobbery, flailing wildly from job to job, desperately trying to find our ‘niche’. This approach to the working world seems to be a result of growing up in a time of relative prosperity, fostering the idea that we had the freedom (and, more importantly, the time) to indulge our hobbies, drifting until they slotted neatly into the bracket of monetary gain. Unfortunately, however, just as we were being unleashed into this dream-like reality, the recession hit and our cosy fantasy was shattered, taking with it all hopes of finding a company that could ‘really use’ someone whose priority in life was to make model sandcastles out of bits of old maths books.
In the twenty-teens, keeping your options open is no longer viable. It is an age where success supposedly hits before you are 30, or not at all.
Let’s take, for example, the music industry – a worry in itself. In that uncertain world, if you haven’t been spotted and signed by the time your voice has broken then you’ll be struggling for the rest of your career. But is this behaviour something we can honestly support? It is no coincidence that, having hit the big time at a very young age, we see bands disappear from the radar entirely to lick their paparazzi-inflicted wounds and nurse their throbbing egos; only to return years later, sage, mature and able to cope with the colossal amounts of pressure regularly exerted upon them.
In this sense, surely we ought to be exercising some caution, cushioning the young talent and not squeezing it out onto the world (and its numerous critics) before it is ready? In doing this, it should be noted, we would also be sparing the feelings of the majority – whose attempts to join the race to stardom are sadly unfulfilled and who spend the rest of their lives wondering what it could have been like. The combined pressure of prosperous peers and the misanthropic media is enough to make any normal person shrivel. However, hope is not lost – life doesn’t end in our mid-twenties, some (old) people even claim that it gets better once the ravages of anxiety and unstable self-esteem have torn through us. All you have to do is act with a little perspective – continue having fun now without getting too serious. After all, children, bills and arthritis will do that for you, later on.

Here are some quick tips to save you some time:

If you weren’t 12 when you landed your first acting role then you won’t be featured in Vogue at 23.

If you weren’t spotted by ‘Storm Models’ whilst walking around John Lewis with your mum at 15, then supermodel you ain’t.

If you aren’t vaguely linked to Mark ‘the endorser’ Ronson (or some other faux-cool music mogul), then going platinum at 25 is laughable. Ha ha.

If Soho Theatre hasn’t put on your autobiographical tale of the hard times of a outlandish middle-class socialite then bye bye The Vics Old and Young.

Some facts to cheer you up:

Morgan Freeman was 43 when he made his first film, having only had some minor television roles prior to that. This lucky break was followed by Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves – WIN.

Hilary Mantel, winner of the most recent Booker Prize, had her first novel published at 33 years of age.

Bridget Jones and her impressive posterior didn’t get on TV until she was 32.

(Don’t aspire to this, she is a fictional character.)


EC.

Monday, 11 January 2010

The Past Is A Foreign Country

Quoted from Reuters News UK:

THE PAST IS A FOREIGN COUNTRY (PAUL ZENON DOES THINGS DIFFERENTLY THERE)

Well if that’s true then get out your phrase book because TV's most routine magician, Paul Zenon is establishing the worlds first Time Travel Tourism Company. At a recent press conference Zenon was reluctant to discuss the technical details of time travel, but enthused that we will all soon be packing our bags to enjoy the sun in 17th century Morocco, or take in the lowlands of 9th century Belgium.

Paul Zenon, largely forgotten since the advent of Derren Brown has been making a living with semi-regular guest appearances on Countdown and a long-standing 'magician in residence' slot at the Broadway Theatre in the Lincolnshire seaside slum-town of Skegness. But he is hoping to put all that behind him (or should that be in front of him .ed) by paving the way for a revolutionary new form of vacation adventure.
At a recent press conference Zenon stated:

"Tourism in the past is very different to how it is now. You can't just go to your favorite Spanish resort and expect your egg & chips to be served with a smile. Years ago Spain was a very different country, and if you were to go back there in the first half of the twentieth century you'd be holidaying in a fascist dictatorship! Goose-stepping waiters and leather trench-coats in the hot Spanish sun would put anyone off of their holiday experience!" Zenon quipped, and after finishing laughing at his own joke, wiping the tears from his eyes, added "What I'm saying really is, do your homework before going on holiday in the past."

He then concluded with a tone of severity in his voice, "Especially if you want to go to Italy or Greece or somewhere. They had a lot of mental things happen there."


Zenon is expected to be first to test the time travel machine, carrying out essential checks on its safety and reliability. He was keen to drive home the fact that the technology involved was highly technical and would require his expert knowledge if anything were to go wrong at this early stage in the project. But Zenon seems to think that if he were to accidently be trapped in the past by a faulty time machine then he'd have no problem acclimatizing to any situation he may find himself.

"People in the past, well, they're bound to know a true entertainer when they see one. I'll have no problem fitting in wherever it is I may get stuck".

But, the 'TV' magician is also quick to acknowledge that he is not everyones favorite light entertainer. "Derren Brown, I just don't get it... He's not even a proper magician. And he bloody admits it. I'm a true magician. I use real magic. And that means I've got staying power. Not like Derren Brown. He's just a flash-in-the-pan".

We contacted Derren Brown for a response on the Paul Zenon rivalry. He had this to say:

"I remember the name from telly in the mid 90's I think, but couldn't describe his face. Sorry, I've got to go. I'm absolutely snowed under here. I'm making an attractive student girl forget where she lives this afternoon".

So, in the off chance that Paul Zenon will become stuck in the past, what will be Countdown’s loss certainly Derren Brown's gain.

- REUTERS UK

Friday, 8 January 2010

A suitably fitting song




Gracie Fields - The biggest aspidistra in the world

A Brief History of the Aspidistra

In the last few months I have embarked upon a seemingly simple and straightforward task of buying myself an Aspidistra. So one bone clenching winters day I set out to do just that.

Aspidistras were a staple of pre-war ornament. They have loitered casually in the corner of most parlours, private and saloon, sipping in the smog of city air. Being of hardy constitution and resilient in the face of poor gardening they did a good job of this since their introduction to Britain in 1822.

George Orwell took them for his own in his novel ‘Keep the Aspidistra Flying’, to provide a symbol of middle-class mediocrity. To this end his character Gordon Comstock rallies against this ideal, throwing himself into impoverishment and wretchedness in the name of a romantic notion of artistic poverty. Since then the Aspidistra has floundered in popularity, disappearing from the English home, being replaced with a TV, a spiky palm, an Ă„svpiddystrke from Ikea etc and so we come once again to my task.

The first florist grimly told me that he did not sell them, that he did not know where I could get one and he could, maybe at a small charge, pick me one up but not before March. The second laughed as though I had told her a joke (perhaps the one about the Aspidistra and the nun). She did say that she stocked single leaves and that if I was really desperate then she could do me a cut price on buying say 20? Then I could stick them in a pot of soil and pretend. Not quite good enough. So suffice to say I learnt, after a few more enquiries that you could not buy an Aspidistra and that the Aspidistra is the florist’s biggest joke.

Although the Aspidistra may have disappeared in physical presence from our lives, they do have an important place in history. Churchill famously threw one through a window of Number 10 after hearing of Britain’s defeat in the ‘Battle of Singapore’. Then there is the infamous 1926 ‘Aspidistra Two’ whose brief stint as Britain’s most wanted inspired Bonnie and Clyde to later dabble with the law. So for good or bad the Aspidistra’s presence remains in our collective history and now future.

So with all this in mind I would like to introduce Aspidistra, in it’s newest incarnation.