Dog Owners Are Sadists - 4 Explore at your peril. The dog in the leotard is a bit rough.

Fake or Photo? Maybe I'm hankerng for something, or maybe I'm finding just too much good shit.

The Lost Vikings One of the gaming classics of yesterday, in a flash format - amazing what they're doing with flash no - it's becoming the main medium for transmitting all sorts of media.

Ageing abnormal star I love a universe capable of producing such outrageous unfathomable beauty, and I just wish we could take more part in it. Jeez, I'm writing lots today.

Octavo Collections and Projects, nowt to do with Mr Prattchett's fiction, but a selection of beautifully illustrated rare prints of fantastic ancient books. I'm in heaven, and my heart beats so... Note - check out the Bizzarie di Varie Figure -bit Bosch but without the grotesques (though theywere my favourite bit

Soul of the Web - more monadic selves than a Spinozan unified entity methinks

Dog Island Free Forever (Cat Island three fer ah pahhnd..?)

Matthew Barney: The CREMASTER Cycle - finalState.

Genuine plotless insanity at first, then themes develop. I nnnn... I prefer it without the plot. Go through the xposition of the first cycle,then watch the trailer (if you've the bandwidth) you'll see what I mean..

How to Overthrow a Country

The Terror That ?Dare Not Speak It's Name - now in cuddly plush form!

Spreading Peace and Lovecraft

charybdis' corner - rough Robert Rankin style satire for all those games-players out there

I've just been to a different place. There's a perfume that old greek women wear, and it was sunny today; these two transported me. I was sat in the pub and I fancied a break, so I wandered down to sit by the river. There was an old greek lady sat there and as I sat on the bench next to her, I caught a whiff of her perfume (I guess it smells like Madeleines, though I've never smelt them.) It instantly took me back to being a child on the beach; the shingly gravel beneath my feet became sand, the river became the briny sea, the sun was the same sun, and the old lady became my Aunty Nina (not a real aunty, but then they never are), enfolding me in her hot fat arms. I never saw her in that situation as a child, by the seaside, but I sat there transfixed for fifteen minutes, and came out of it like a yogic trance.

Sat back in office, behind with deadlines and in the middle of brainstorming with alec about how you'd go about getting an alternate persona, I suggested if you went and dug up the birth certificate of someone who was born in the same year as you, but died in infancy, then you could use them. Then I realise my eager yelpings have carried to the ears of our Production Editor, absent the last week as she'd miscarried... fun ensues.

Ach, welcome back. It's been a while, so I've been one of lazy, dead, ill or maybe all three. News; have been to Normandy on press trip; will update soon on three days of appid debauch. (and on how it takes nine hours to go fifty miles.) Have moved flat; am now living in Bath City centre with man called Kieron Gillen who is trying to make a name for himself on the internet (unfrotunately the name he's chosen is Minister Drillcock. Worries about sanity are not to be expressed audibly.) Am also ill, and have been all week. Finally got bored of fighting off cold today, and spent whole day recuperating in bed, drinking chicken stock, and blowing my nose. Had same impact on cold as hedgehod on express train. Nose feels like piece of meat kebabbed to face, fingers gone numb. Let's see if more sleep can cure it...

The horror, the horror. Hello people, I will write a blog soon I promise. Funny how when I'm having fun I don't blog, but then that's the same woth all good habits I guess...