manko

I'm leaving for Berlin in a couple of hours and still haven't packed yet. It's awful. I'm sitting here procrastinating in an extremely stupid mood, with the cat snoozing on my lap and blue dye on my hair. How can I possibly pack for a party days in advance?! I always have The Great Outfit Crisis for good 3 hrs before going out: the whole closet spread across the floor, running around the house like a headless chicken in underwear, screaming "But I honestly haven't got a stitch!", downing whiskey to calm nerves before genius strikes me and I throw together another fabulously scandalous look. Oh the fun! Perhaps one of the more exciting parts of going out - in these days of every venue crawling with toilet attendants, cctv and smoking ban, should you dare attempt to enhance your clubbing experience with sex or drugs, god forbid. Ugh, how did we manage to give up on our liberties so easily in this stupid world where the concept of smoking a cigarette in a nightclub already seems like exotic retro decadence. Ghhhhr how I loathe this fascism under the banner "For Your Own Safety" within our pathetic joke of democracy, aghhrr don't you fucking get me started!

Bloody procrastination. It's just pathetic. I haven't updated for months, I've travelled exotic countries and loved exotic people, and all I can write about is how I detest packing, flying and smoking bans. At least Berlin kept a bit of integrity and I'll sure be sucking on a cancer stick at the Bang Bang club on Valentines. Wearing... what? What the fuck am I gonna wear?! Ugh.
I made a lacy arm band specially for this trip last night, very very drunk on fabulous rum cocktails. It seemed like a great idea at the time, but I'm not so sure come hangover. Germans don't have much sense of humour about genocide.

I'll probably take it off for immigration, you think?

Now for something fabulous.
Recently I entered the Andy Warhol history. Very slightly did I enter it, just with the tip of my stiletto, but still. Leee Black Childers was doing a talk about the Superstars, Iggy, Ziggy, glam, punk and all the fabulous things I missed thanks to being born too late. Don't get me started. Anyway, I went onstage at the Royal Festival Hall and read excerpts from Warhol's play Pork. I read lines of Vulva - Manko reading Vulva, what a laugh - originally performed by Jayne County. When I catch that bitch next time I'm in NY I'm gonna snog the slap-on off her face. Fucking love her. Here's Manko being Vulva:

And here's a prove I ain't shittin ya (cause as it is commonly known, press never lies. Pft! Don't get me started )



Now for some plugging.
I edited a book. I had no idea what I was doing but it turned out rather cute, if I say so myself...

Go buy it. I made it. It's dirty. And he'll buy me a pretty dress from the profits. Then maybe I won't be sitting in my bathrobe when it's time to go to the airport.


Time for some candid photos, I guess. Ghhr! What can I show you that you haven't already seen? Thanks to 11 sets you probably know what my bod and my mug looks like better than I do. How about insides of my face? That's gotta be new to you.

Unexpected depths of intimacy with Manko.


Gods, someone shut me up and throw me out of the door... I have a bleeding plane to catch.

PS this is a terrible and lazy excuse for a diary entry and I apologise for resorting to rolling eyes via emoticons. Maybe you should ask me questions and I'll write replies in the next entry, it will be modern, jolly fun and interactive game. I'll write it when I'm drunk, not hungover.