The Duke of Cambridge

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Roundhouse

http://www.camden.gov.uk/ccm/content/council-and-democracy/news/2008/feb/fire—3-chalk-farm-road—stables-market.en;jsessionid=49F1EE41F12BBC3F1BA7A34D317C00E6.node2

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/7237119.stm

http://www.camra.org.uk/

Dark corridors lead to storage rooms in a warehouse filled with freaks and ghouls forgotten by the post-industrial sprawl of modern society and left to brood in rhythmic euphoria. The music catches your heart with a malleable claw and drags you into primal bliss. Each beat is like listening to your insides being amplified by a thousand decibels. You can feel it take hold and exorcise the demons that lie deep within. They come out with a fierceness that remains forever more. One’s sub-conscious, in full fury, begins to understand why humanity partakes in rituals at all anymore. This is better than religion. The Slimelight comes from a deep, dark cavern from within that melts away the plasticity of the human soul and allows you to take on any form you choose.

Upon entering, one feels as if they had entered a tomb. The air is cold yet soothing and gives you the feeling that whatever may lie ahead will give you an appreciation for London’s damp, frigid froth of an atmosphere. Up another set of stone stairs covered with an unexplainable splatter of a substance that ‘looks’ like red paint and turn in your garments which you might not see again until daylight. Find your way to two forgotten rooms that are now remembered by black lights and are covered with phantasmagoric images displayed on the walls from flickering projectors overhead. And while the sounds of manufacturing from the warehouse’s former owner is now absent, it has been replaced with the gripping mortification of industrial synthesizers mixed with records of electronic darkness. But the vibrations that emit from this salem’s lot is not depressing by any means, but instead pulls you into a lost world of anomalous souls who take pleasure in creating a vortex of human flesh. The lighting transforms instantaneously from blue-red to black-green and dances with the motion of bodies in an orgy of life.

The floor is black as tar and little imagination is required to see one’s self in a cauldron of deranged personalities who need not rub up against you for their presence to be felt from close by. They are all part of a dance that will wipe the mess of humanity and rip a void in space-time wide open — a doorway for imagination. Follow the eyes: watching you, watching others, watching your ideas, fantasies and ego slip into oblivion. Their is no identity, no hollow echoes from the norms of society, no weak cries from government or god. Only the body remains and the mind was discovered to be a barrier in understanding the fullness of being empty. Nothing is what it appears to be. Seating is not seating, but places of rest for the tired and weary who dare to stay at the slime light past 4 am. The walls are not walls, but post-modern impressions of the morbid and manic.

If you look close enough one can find all sorts of strange aberrations in mere concrete, because art is not only created by human hands ,but simply seen. Chaos is what gives an environment depth and it is the black swirl of chaos channeled through the slime light that will make losing yourself in the dark the most ecstatic moment of your withered life. The bar isn’t much, but drinking alcohol isn’t even close to the reasons behind the Slimelight’s existence. This is where the lost children gather to partake in an energetic cycle of life, death and retribution. This is where viewing people in cages is not disturbing, but a metaphor for the times we are living in. Why not have one last dance? A dance of wicked splendor and depravity, but a dance none the less. Desire exists for a reason and the Slimelight is self-psychotherapy for the restless gothic spirit to receive a little peace in a world where it rarely exists.

http://www.slimelight.net

6-8 small potatos
3-4 carrots
2 cups rotini noodles
1 head of garlic (chopped fine)
1 onion (chopped and sauteed in oil)
1.5 cup lentils
2 chicken legs attached to thigh
Sunflower oil

Sautee onion in oil for 3-4 minutes in large pot, add 5 cloves of garlic to onion, sautee until onions are good and carmelised. Add enough water for a large pot of soup (use your own discretion, remember: the less water the thicker the broth). Bring to boil. Add carrots and potatoes. Add chicken. Remove excess fat floating on top if desired (I usually let it absorb into broth) and continue to let boil. After thoroughly cooked (broth appears golden or yellow), remove chicken, cut it up and then add back to soup. Add lentils. Once everything appears well-cooked add remaining garlic. Add noodles. Add salt and pepper to taste or other spices you see fit. Let simmer until noodles are well cooked. Perfect with a nice crusty loaf of bread.

During my usual evening route to South Kensington Tube Station with a couple of mates I was pulled into a violent atmosphere in front of a pub just across from the station. A man was stumbling, flailing his arms around as if here fighting the wind, he charged at a small, hunched over woman covered in charity shop clothes. She had two small dogs with her, one looked like a chihuahua. The dogs stood stunned as the maniac hit her in the midsection. She screamed in pain, falling to the ground her head nearly hitting the big, red double decker bus behind her. She laid on the pavement in a pre-natal position, her face nearly touching her knees. People flooded out of the pub, one tried to stop the aloof attacker who’s eyes were blank, emotionless, hollow. It all took place within a matter of seconds. So surreal that it faded as quickly as it had erupted. I urged my mates to walk with me in the opposite direction of the pub as people continued to gather about staring at the maniac as he walked into the street, stumbled into nothingness

These incidents are not unfamiliar to the Londoner whether they care to take notice or not. While London for its size is generally a safe city to dwell in, it is far from escaping the maw of violence that blends into its urban environment. Thankfully, it is no New York City (although according to recent stats NYC crime rate is dropping) or even *gasp* the city of peace, love, bullets and blood, San Francisco. Sometimes the scars of the city go so deep they blend in with everything else. According to the Evening Standard, London has 164 muggings a day. Whether you think this is too many or too little is up to you. CCTV cameras and police beats aren’t going to prevent crime in themselves. It’s time to heal. Quit worrying about the bloody Olympics (it’s not until fucking 2012). We need to be in the present. There is much work to be done in relieving the illness of poverty, violence, alcoholism and a whole list of other crimes that set human evolution into retrograde.

Few cities in the world can boast about balancing urban atmosphere with wildlife refuge. London seems far from being one of the ‘greenest’ cities in Europe, but it has aimed to preserve natural habitats that have existed long before its civilization was ever born. London’s parks are more than mere green spaces that break up the city, rather they seem to inhabit it. Parks such as Wimbledon Common and Richmond Park play a vital role in providing the ingredients (such as oxygen!) necessary for life to thrive in this dark, brooding, yet fragile and delightful social organism known as London.

As I hiked through Wimbledon Common I could feel its microclimate envelope me. The trees seemed like old friends or even grandparents. I thought to myself, ‘why is it that plants, animals or even sun light and water seems so distant from how we define ourselves’? ‘Must we always define humans as something other then what appears in front of us?’ I looked down to see mushrooms at my feet and looked up to see birds flying through the intricate patterns of the forest. ‘No, of course not,’ I said to myself, ‘perhaps it is because people forget too easily.’ My journey continued to Richmond Park, one of the most beautiful and peaceful areas of London.

Richmond Park is the largest Royal Park of Greater London. At nearly 1,000 hectaces, it is practically a naturalist’s paradise. Ricmond Park is zoned as a Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI). Indeed, as I weaved in and out of the trails, the flora and fauna above and below me were too many to recognise at mere glance. Closer investigation reveals much more than what first impressions provide. The deer of course are the most attractive creatures for people visiting Richmond Park. They seem perfectly at peace here, for it is their home. I have yet to find many human animals who appear this tranquil at home. What is it that we’re missing out on? Perhaps you should find out for yourself.

http://www.wpcc.org.uk/
http://www.royalparks.org.uk/parks/richmond_park/