Embed Size (px)
DESCRIPTION
The Mental Health Issue.
Citation preview
Disclaimer:The views and opinions
expressed in this
magazine are those of
the contributors and
are not necessarily
shared by Replica
Magazine or Global Tat
Productions. No
responsibility is
assumed by Replica
Magazine or Global Tat
Productions for damage
or offense caused by
any of the content
contained in the
material herein.
REPLICA MAGAZINEIssue VII
The Mental Health Issue
It is our birthday and rather tragically we
have been singing ‘happy birthday’ to
ourselves all week because no one threw
us a party. Bastards.
We would like to thank all of our
contributors and readers from the last
year, you are all utterly lovely.
Without you we would be well and
truly buggered.
This next year is going to be a big one for
Replica, just you wait and see.
Look out for us at the Urban Art Festival
(www.urbanart.co.uk) in July.
This issue is quite possibly the best
magazine ever made. Ever. We have even
included our first fashion section for all
you hipsters out there.
The World Health Organisation defines
mental health as "a state of well-being
in which the individual realises his or
her own abilities, can cope with the
normal stresses of life, can work
productively and fruitfully, and is able
to make a contribution to his or her
community”. I think we may have missed
the point slightly. Enjoy.
Rosie Allen-Jones, Editor
I
This magazine is a compilation of articles,
artwork, photos and other bits and pieces
sent in by its readers. Anyone can
contribute:
Try to keep articles under 800 words. The
next issue is out on 22nd July All
submissions must be received by 13th July
to be considered for inclusion.
Cover: Photo by Rebecca Lever
Left: Chris Getliffe
www.getliffe.com
Replica Magazine
Global Tat Productions
Chief Custodian
Thomas Foxley
Editor
Rosie Allen-Jones
Illustrations
Damian Zuch
www.replicamag.co.uk
Happy Birthday
It is our birthday and rather tragically we
have been singing ‘happy birthday’ to
ourselves all week because no one threw
us a party. Bastards.
We would like to thank all of our
contributors and readers from the last
year, you are all utterly lovely.
Without you we would be well and
truly buggered.
This next year is going to be a big one for
Replica, just you wait and see.
Look out for us at the Urban Art Festival
(www.urbanart.co.uk) in July.
This issue is quite possibly the best
magazine ever made. Ever. We have even
included our first fashion section for all
you hipsters out there.
The World Health Organisation defines
mental health as "a state of well-being
in which the individual realises his or
her own abilities, can cope with the
normal stresses of life, can work
productively and fruitfully, and is able
to make a contribution to his or her
community”. I think we may have missed
the point slightly. Enjoy.
Rosie Allen-Jones, Editor
I
This magazine is a compilation of articles,
artwork, photos and other bits and pieces
sent in by its readers. Anyone can
contribute:
Try to keep articles under 800 words. The
next issue is out on 22nd July All
submissions must be received by 13th July
to be considered for inclusion.
Cover: Photo by Rebecca Lever
Left: Chris Getliffe
www.getliffe.com
Replica Magazine
Global Tat Productions
Chief Custodian
Thomas Foxley
Editor
Rosie Allen-Jones
Illustrations
Damian Zuch
www.replicamag.co.uk
Happy Birthday
NEXT ISSUE’S THEME:
TEA AND CIGARETTESARTWORK AND ARTICLES PLEASE
DEADLINE 13/07/09
Table of Contents
III
Music at Funerals by Adam Vasey.........................................................................
Music for the dead
Man Fear by Andy Ives..........................................................................................
Andy is anxious
If You’re Bored... by Silvia Alba………………………………………………...……….................
Boredom-busting activites for people with a lot of time on their hands
Mental Health: A Contradiction in Terms by Nicholas Paten................................
Mental health: bollocks?
Replica Style Guide by Laurent Van Twinkle.........................................................
Laurent’s top tips for the coming season
Describe the Room You Are In by Luke Chilton.....................................................
Top quality school essay
Flat Shoes by Simon Hopper..................................................................................
Scandinavians are great
Replica Gallery.......................................................................................................
The finest art and photography from around the country
Being Small. by Georgia Fitzgerald........................................................................
Georgia recalls her childhood
Crossroads by Declan Tan......................................................................................
Right, left, politics, anarchy. You get it
Uncle Wetlegs: Collective Agony...........................................................................
Uncle Wetlegs is ill
Nervous Breakdown by Beck Robertson...............................................................
Poem
IV
VIII
XII
XVIII
XX
XXVIII
XXXI
XXXII
XXXXXII
XXXXXIV
XXXXXVIII
XXXXXX
NEXT ISSUE’S THEME:
TEA AND CIGARETTESARTWORK AND ARTICLES PLEASE
DEADLINE 13/07/09
Table of Contents
III
Music at Funerals by Adam Vasey.........................................................................
Music for the dead
Man Fear by Andy Ives..........................................................................................
Andy is anxious
If You’re Bored... by Silvia Alba………………………………………………...……….................
Boredom-busting activites for people with a lot of time on their hands
Mental Health: A Contradiction in Terms by Nicholas Paten................................
Mental health: bollocks?
Replica Style Guide by Laurent Van Twinkle.........................................................
Laurent’s top tips for the coming season
Describe the Room You Are In by Luke Chilton.....................................................
Top quality school essay
Flat Shoes by Simon Hopper..................................................................................
Scandinavians are great
Replica Gallery.......................................................................................................
The finest art and photography from around the country
Being Small. by Georgia Fitzgerald........................................................................
Georgia recalls her childhood
Crossroads by Declan Tan......................................................................................
Right, left, politics, anarchy. You get it
Uncle Wetlegs: Collective Agony...........................................................................
Uncle Wetlegs is ill
Nervous Breakdown by Beck Robertson...............................................................
Poem
IV
VIII
XII
XVIII
XX
XXVIII
XXXI
XXXII
XXXXXII
XXXXXIV
XXXXXVIII
XXXXXX
I hadn’t been involved in funeral
preparations before, it’s by no means
the most enjoyable experience, but
equally it came not without its
laughable moments.
The Funeral Director appeared at the
house dressed head to toe in black
and spoke with a drawl - he could have
easily been mistaken for Lurch from
the Addams family if the occasional
“you rang” had found its way into
the conversation.
After most of the arrangements had
been made, and enough tea had been
drunk to kill off a small firm of
builders, the conversation turned to
music for the day.
Lurch informed us that they already had
a wealth of music on the funeral
parlour’s iTunes. With this he delved
deep into his black briefcase, pulled out a
book the size of yellow pages containing
the names of the songs and artists’
previously played and slammed it onto
the kitchen table.
I set about going through this directory
of morbid musicality and was amazed at
some of the songs people had chosen as
their final statement.
By my reckoning these people had three
to four minutes to sum up their life so
you’d think that they, or their families,
would choose something good - this
obviously wasn’t the case.
Among the twenty versions of
Hallelujah, Candle In The Wind and Jeff
Buckley’s Last Goodbye, were some truly
strange selections.
Just as it would be unbefitting to play Led
Zeppelin’s Babe I’m Going To Leave You
or Paul Simon’s 50 Ways To Leave Your
Lover whilst holding an emergency
relationship talk with your partner. It
would also seem bad form to play Echo
and the Bunnymen’s The Cutter at the
funeral of a stab wound victim or The
BaHa Men’s Who Let The Dogs Out when
putting to rest the poor bastard who was
mauled to death by an Alsatian.
The Funeral Director had his own ideas
(of course) trying to push the operatic
boy band El Divo on us. I couldn’t help
but think that Simon Cowell had found a
new way of selling records. A tactical
ploy to get every Funeral Director in the
country pushing his band of
manufactured honey-dripping crooners
onto grief ridden people in order to sell
millions of records.
It’s safe to say that I became slightly
obsessed with this bible of damned
MP3s. I found myself trying to imagine
how dedicated to a favourite tipple
someone must have been to select I Am
A Cider Drinker as their swan song. Or
who would be happy with Cotton-eye Joe
to sum up their life. With this
IV
Music at FuneralsBy Adam Vasey
V
Illustration by Damian Zuch www.flickr.com/photos/45841296@N00/
information in mind I came to the
conclusion that the parlour staff must
put the I-pod on shuffle for those
so over-come with grief that they
can’t decide.
After hours of deliberation we finally
agreed on Morecambe and Wise singing
Bring Me Sunshine over a Bobby
Womack classic.
The thought of Living in a Box
reverberating around the funeral parlour
didn’t bear thinking about.
I hadn’t been involved in funeral
preparations before, it’s by no means
the most enjoyable experience, but
equally it came not without its
laughable moments.
The Funeral Director appeared at the
house dressed head to toe in black
and spoke with a drawl - he could have
easily been mistaken for Lurch from
the Addams family if the occasional
“you rang” had found its way into
the conversation.
After most of the arrangements had
been made, and enough tea had been
drunk to kill off a small firm of
builders, the conversation turned to
music for the day.
Lurch informed us that they already had
a wealth of music on the funeral
parlour’s iTunes. With this he delved
deep into his black briefcase, pulled out a
book the size of yellow pages containing
the names of the songs and artists’
previously played and slammed it onto
the kitchen table.
I set about going through this directory
of morbid musicality and was amazed at
some of the songs people had chosen as
their final statement.
By my reckoning these people had three
to four minutes to sum up their life so
you’d think that they, or their families,
would choose something good - this
obviously wasn’t the case.
Among the twenty versions of
Hallelujah, Candle In The Wind and Jeff
Buckley’s Last Goodbye, were some truly
strange selections.
Just as it would be unbefitting to play Led
Zeppelin’s Babe I’m Going To Leave You
or Paul Simon’s 50 Ways To Leave Your
Lover whilst holding an emergency
relationship talk with your partner. It
would also seem bad form to play Echo
and the Bunnymen’s The Cutter at the
funeral of a stab wound victim or The
BaHa Men’s Who Let The Dogs Out when
putting to rest the poor bastard who was
mauled to death by an Alsatian.
The Funeral Director had his own ideas
(of course) trying to push the operatic
boy band El Divo on us. I couldn’t help
but think that Simon Cowell had found a
new way of selling records. A tactical
ploy to get every Funeral Director in the
country pushing his band of
manufactured honey-dripping crooners
onto grief ridden people in order to sell
millions of records.
It’s safe to say that I became slightly
obsessed with this bible of damned
MP3s. I found myself trying to imagine
how dedicated to a favourite tipple
someone must have been to select I Am
A Cider Drinker as their swan song. Or
who would be happy with Cotton-eye Joe
to sum up their life. With this
IV
Music at FuneralsBy Adam Vasey
V
Illustration by Damian Zuch www.flickr.com/photos/45841296@N00/
information in mind I came to the
conclusion that the parlour staff must
put the I-pod on shuffle for those
so over-come with grief that they
can’t decide.
After hours of deliberation we finally
agreed on Morecambe and Wise singing
Bring Me Sunshine over a Bobby
Womack classic.
The thought of Living in a Box
reverberating around the funeral parlour
didn’t bear thinking about.
1. The ‘118 247’ advert
2. The Frosties ‘They’re gonna taste
great’ advert
3. Anything by Bob Sinclair
4. When you can’t get in to a club
because you have the wrong shoes on
5.People that say, “where did you last
have it?”, when you lose something
6. When you’re watching a film and
someone who’s already seen it keeps
saying “This bit’s really funny” or “you’ve
got to watch this bit”
7. Finally getting a chance to have a
smoke and not having a lighter
8. People with their shirts off in clubs
who are absolutely drenched in sweat
and insist on hugging you
9. Trying to understand baseball
10. Trying to understand Donnie Darko
11. Having tonnes of booze but no mixer
12. When you get in a lift, thinking it’ll be
quicker, only to find it stops on every
floor and no one gets on
13. Backing a loser
14. Missing a winner
15. Having more than a 1 minute
conversation about football with a Man
Utd fan
16. Minimal techno
17. No toilet roll
18. People who say ‘Whoop whoop’ or
chronically use it on Facebook
19. Reading lists like this
20. Schizophrenia
Dear Replica,
VI
Here is a list of things that will drive you mental...
Lots of love, Ken Dogg
“This is a max wicked sick BMX. It's a
Reliance Boomerang and it's done heaps
of maximum extreme stunts. I have
mostly done stunts on this bike since
forever. Once I did a boom gnarly stunt
trick on it and a girl got pregnant just by
watching my extremeness to the maxxxx.
Tricks I have done on this BMX:
Endos - 234. Sick Wheelies - 687. Skids -
143,000. Flipouts - 28. Basically if you
buy this bike you will instantly become
a member to every club that was ever
invented, worldwide, because you will
be awesome. “
Dear Replica, I thought you might enjoy this listing I spotted on eBay:
Dear Replica,
Dear Friends,
I send you some of my drawings and texts in English. Kind Regards,
Miguel Guzman
VII
Dear Replica,
Y - NOT WOULD LIKE
TO GIVE YOU A
BIRTHDAY
PRESENT....
THE RAVE BAIGEL...
(left)
Love from,
The Brick Lane
Gallery
xx
1. The ‘118 247’ advert
2. The Frosties ‘They’re gonna taste
great’ advert
3. Anything by Bob Sinclair
4. When you can’t get in to a club
because you have the wrong shoes on
5.People that say, “where did you last
have it?”, when you lose something
6. When you’re watching a film and
someone who’s already seen it keeps
saying “This bit’s really funny” or “you’ve
got to watch this bit”
7. Finally getting a chance to have a
smoke and not having a lighter
8. People with their shirts off in clubs
who are absolutely drenched in sweat
and insist on hugging you
9. Trying to understand baseball
10. Trying to understand Donnie Darko
11. Having tonnes of booze but no mixer
12. When you get in a lift, thinking it’ll be
quicker, only to find it stops on every
floor and no one gets on
13. Backing a loser
14. Missing a winner
15. Having more than a 1 minute
conversation about football with a Man
Utd fan
16. Minimal techno
17. No toilet roll
18. People who say ‘Whoop whoop’ or
chronically use it on Facebook
19. Reading lists like this
20. Schizophrenia
Dear Replica,
VI
Here is a list of things that will drive you mental...
Lots of love, Ken Dogg
“This is a max wicked sick BMX. It's a
Reliance Boomerang and it's done heaps
of maximum extreme stunts. I have
mostly done stunts on this bike since
forever. Once I did a boom gnarly stunt
trick on it and a girl got pregnant just by
watching my extremeness to the maxxxx.
Tricks I have done on this BMX:
Endos - 234. Sick Wheelies - 687. Skids -
143,000. Flipouts - 28. Basically if you
buy this bike you will instantly become
a member to every club that was ever
invented, worldwide, because you will
be awesome. “
Dear Replica, I thought you might enjoy this listing I spotted on eBay:
Dear Replica,
Dear Friends,
I send you some of my drawings and texts in English. Kind Regards,
Miguel Guzman
VII
Dear Replica,
Y - NOT WOULD LIKE
TO GIVE YOU A
BIRTHDAY
PRESENT....
THE RAVE BAIGEL...
(left)
Love from,
The Brick Lane
Gallery
xx
IX
Man FearAndy Ives is terrified…
Illustration by Damian Zuch www.flickr.com/photos/45841296@N00/
Five years ago, I was sitting at my desk in
the office of a magazine publishers in
Croydon; it was lunch time on a hot
summer day. Across the desk from me
sat my boss who was chatting about this
and that as she munched on a Marks and
Spencer duck wrap. As I watched her
talking I began to feel a little strange,
light headed. The hairs on my arms
started to stand on end and I felt my face
flush. I took a deep breath and tried to
ride it out; it felt like one of those
morning-after twitchy, spin-out rushes
that happen after a big night.
But the feeling didn’t stop, and suddenly
I felt a sharp pain in my chest that scared
the shit out of me and I slipped off of my
chair and on to the floor. My breath
started coming in gasps and I couldn’t
seem to get enough air into my lungs. By
now a circle of concerned faces were
looking down at me and I could hear an
ambulance being called. I’d like to
pretend I wasn’t frightened. That, as
what could only be described as a heart
attack was killing me, I had some calm,
witty and resigned thoughts going
through my mind. But I didn’t. I was
terrified of dying on my back in a shitty
Croydon office.
Obviously I survived. The paramedics
took one look at me and slowed from a
run to an amble. The doctor in the
hospital took one look at me and told the
nurse to give me a paper bag and sent
me to the back of the queue. It was a
panic attack, my first and the worst thing
that has ever happened to me.
That might seem like a big statement but
it’s true. For five years prior to that
moment, I had routinely jumped out of
planes and bungeed off bridges. I had
hurled myself over 20 foot snowboard
kickers and got my knee down while
riding racing bikes. I am telling you this,
at the risk of sounding like a macho twat,
simply to illustrate that I wasn’t a shy,
retiring flower. Panic attacks, as I thought
then, were the preserve of women going
through the change of life and of those
nervous blokes from accounts. Not for
an all-action adrenalin fiend like me.
Following the attack, it took me almost a
year just to get myself on a tube train,
and longer still before I could fly again.
The fear of having another attack
crippled me; it turned me into a nervous,
twitchy wreck and at the time, I couldn’t
see a way out.
Over the following years I read
everything there is to read about panic
attacks and anxiety disorder. Most of it is
shit and a lot of it is simply out to make a
fast buck. Perhaps more interestingly I
talked to a lot of people about it too. I
was surprised to find that most of my
male friends had suffered at least one
similar episode and many of them have
IX
Man FearAndy Ives is terrified…
Illustration by Damian Zuch www.flickr.com/photos/45841296@N00/
Five years ago, I was sitting at my desk in
the office of a magazine publishers in
Croydon; it was lunch time on a hot
summer day. Across the desk from me
sat my boss who was chatting about this
and that as she munched on a Marks and
Spencer duck wrap. As I watched her
talking I began to feel a little strange,
light headed. The hairs on my arms
started to stand on end and I felt my face
flush. I took a deep breath and tried to
ride it out; it felt like one of those
morning-after twitchy, spin-out rushes
that happen after a big night.
But the feeling didn’t stop, and suddenly
I felt a sharp pain in my chest that scared
the shit out of me and I slipped off of my
chair and on to the floor. My breath
started coming in gasps and I couldn’t
seem to get enough air into my lungs. By
now a circle of concerned faces were
looking down at me and I could hear an
ambulance being called. I’d like to
pretend I wasn’t frightened. That, as
what could only be described as a heart
attack was killing me, I had some calm,
witty and resigned thoughts going
through my mind. But I didn’t. I was
terrified of dying on my back in a shitty
Croydon office.
Obviously I survived. The paramedics
took one look at me and slowed from a
run to an amble. The doctor in the
hospital took one look at me and told the
nurse to give me a paper bag and sent
me to the back of the queue. It was a
panic attack, my first and the worst thing
that has ever happened to me.
That might seem like a big statement but
it’s true. For five years prior to that
moment, I had routinely jumped out of
planes and bungeed off bridges. I had
hurled myself over 20 foot snowboard
kickers and got my knee down while
riding racing bikes. I am telling you this,
at the risk of sounding like a macho twat,
simply to illustrate that I wasn’t a shy,
retiring flower. Panic attacks, as I thought
then, were the preserve of women going
through the change of life and of those
nervous blokes from accounts. Not for
an all-action adrenalin fiend like me.
Following the attack, it took me almost a
year just to get myself on a tube train,
and longer still before I could fly again.
The fear of having another attack
crippled me; it turned me into a nervous,
twitchy wreck and at the time, I couldn’t
see a way out.
Over the following years I read
everything there is to read about panic
attacks and anxiety disorder. Most of it is
shit and a lot of it is simply out to make a
fast buck. Perhaps more interestingly I
talked to a lot of people about it too. I
was surprised to find that most of my
male friends had suffered at least one
similar episode and many of them have
X
Illustration by Damian Zuch www.flickr.com/photos/45841296@N00/
had long term anxiety problems. My
doctor bore this out. He told me that a
huge proportion of male patients around
my age (I was 30 at the time) walk out of
his surgery with a bottle of anti
depressants in their pocket.
The thing that struck me as I was
trawling the internet and bookshops for
a way out of the cycle was that men are
hopelessly bad at recognizing that they
have a problem and are even worse at
seeking help. The nervous guy
stereotype of the panicky accounts geek
is at odds with our machismo. Just as I
couldn’t understand how one moment I
was kite surfing and the next moment I
was scared to get into a lift, your
average bloke often can’t bring himself
to admit that he has a problem with
anxiety. Self medication with Stella
seems to be the uniform cure, which only
makes things worse.
Almost all of the self-help material I
found on anxiety attacks has been
written by women and while some of it is
very well informed and very helpful,
none of it is written for people who
imagine themselves to be astronauts,
SAS heroes or professional footballers - a
group of men who we imagine to be
immune to anxiety and sweaty palms.
For most men I think admitting a fear of
being afraid is the single biggest hurdle
to seeking help and making a recovery.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that
anxiety disorder is worse for men than
women, just that it is different and there
are different obstacles to overcome
which are not always addressed.
I am much recovered these days. I
recently flew to Australia and back, 27
hours confined on a plane was
something I could not have considered a
few years ago. The mere thought would
have had me on my back, gasping like a
fish out of water. A period on anti
depressants, some counseling and most
importantly the support of some very
understanding friends has seen me
through. If you are reading this and know
how it feels to be drowning on dry land,
male or female, I can tell you now that
the second you tell someone you trust
about it your recovery has begun.
Anxiety disorder and panic attacks, along
with many mental health problems,
often go untreated because of the
perceived stigma that they carry. Your
doctor and your friends will hold no such
prejudices and the first time someone
says “that happens to me too” you will
feel a weight lifting from your shoulders
which, in truth, is half the battle.
NHS Anxiety Pages:
www.nhs.uk/Conditions/Anxiety/Pages/Introduction.aspx
X
Illustration by Damian Zuch www.flickr.com/photos/45841296@N00/
had long term anxiety problems. My
doctor bore this out. He told me that a
huge proportion of male patients around
my age (I was 30 at the time) walk out of
his surgery with a bottle of anti
depressants in their pocket.
The thing that struck me as I was
trawling the internet and bookshops for
a way out of the cycle was that men are
hopelessly bad at recognizing that they
have a problem and are even worse at
seeking help. The nervous guy
stereotype of the panicky accounts geek
is at odds with our machismo. Just as I
couldn’t understand how one moment I
was kite surfing and the next moment I
was scared to get into a lift, your
average bloke often can’t bring himself
to admit that he has a problem with
anxiety. Self medication with Stella
seems to be the uniform cure, which only
makes things worse.
Almost all of the self-help material I
found on anxiety attacks has been
written by women and while some of it is
very well informed and very helpful,
none of it is written for people who
imagine themselves to be astronauts,
SAS heroes or professional footballers - a
group of men who we imagine to be
immune to anxiety and sweaty palms.
For most men I think admitting a fear of
being afraid is the single biggest hurdle
to seeking help and making a recovery.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that
anxiety disorder is worse for men than
women, just that it is different and there
are different obstacles to overcome
which are not always addressed.
I am much recovered these days. I
recently flew to Australia and back, 27
hours confined on a plane was
something I could not have considered a
few years ago. The mere thought would
have had me on my back, gasping like a
fish out of water. A period on anti
depressants, some counseling and most
importantly the support of some very
understanding friends has seen me
through. If you are reading this and know
how it feels to be drowning on dry land,
male or female, I can tell you now that
the second you tell someone you trust
about it your recovery has begun.
Anxiety disorder and panic attacks, along
with many mental health problems,
often go untreated because of the
perceived stigma that they carry. Your
doctor and your friends will hold no such
prejudices and the first time someone
says “that happens to me too” you will
feel a weight lifting from your shoulders
which, in truth, is half the battle.
NHS Anxiety Pages:
www.nhs.uk/Conditions/Anxiety/Pages/Introduction.aspx
Photo by Silvia Alba
Photo by Silvia Alba
by Silvia AlbaIf You’re Bored…
by Silvia AlbaIf You’re Bored…
Photo by Silvia Alba
Photo by Silvia Alba
XVIII
In retrospect a lot of things that occurred
in ones childhood are shameful. But let’s
not allow that to stop the recollection. A
nervous, victimised boy raises his hand in
geography class to ask his teacher, “What’s
the name of the lake the Loch Ness
Monster lives in?”
The silence which follows is brief, as two
dozen infantile brains repeat the question
and find the answer within it. It’s a silence
breached by two dozen tongues sticking
out of the lips of two dozen faces. The boy
waiting to receive slaps from two dozen
hands and the silence to be broken by the
guttural drone of two dozen voices
harmonising “nrrrrrrrrrr, spastic!”
To his credit, the boy never stopped asking
questions, however stupid. That boy
wasn’t me. I chose to slap his chin and
taunt with the others: “spastic!” - the
terminology evolved by kids in the mid-80s
for anyone displaying stupidity. Shameful.
I’m going to stick out a limb – I’ll raise that
to a head – and presume a readership
which recognises the offensive use of that
word as being a product of fleeting,
childish ignorance, and not entrenched,
prejudiced malice. I’m going to move on
to something else reflected in that
classroom: approval.
Why did we all express the same
sentiment? Why not just one voice calling
out the abuse? Why not just two, or three,
or nine? Safety in numbers. We proved to
each other that we weren’t stupid – we’re
smart, capable, adjusted. Until you know
how other people are thinking, you cannot
know that what goes on in your head is ok.
We found approval from one another in
our communal cry. We may have all grown
up, but this yearning to know that you’re
ok never seems to leave us.
We live now in a culture of psycho-
analysis and self-improvement. If you
don’t feel ok there is no shortage of
therapists to speak to or self-help
books to turn to. Psychiatrists and
psychologists have created a model of a
healthy mind conducting healthy
behaviour by which they can measure any
deviation from and correct.
Now, I’m not saying there’s no place for
Mental Health: A Contradiction in TermsIt’s all a load of bollocks, claims
XIX
this. We are all preoccupied with ourselves
and we all want to be happy. If we cannot
find that in our day-to-day life, we are
most welcome to seek professional (or
pseudo-professional) help, and this indeed
may provide some answers. I myself found
guidance from certain popularised
Buddhist teachings. There is nothing
wrong in heeding the wisdom of others, or
incorporating wisdom into your own
world-view in a form which makes you
happier. Equally there are plenty of
unfortunate souls who suffer neurological
or psychological disorders which
undermine their ability to function in this
sophisticated world, and who require
professional aid.
But there is something we must be
cautious about – or sensitive to at least:
the notion that there is such a thing as a
healthy mind, as there is a healthy body.
Or is there rather an idealised mind, as
popular culture has us believe, in an ideal
lifestyle? Our inner world of memories,
thoughts and feelings is extraordinarily
complex and only grows more so with each
day that passes. Each of us is a unique
product of individual experience, uniquely
perceived. I do not believe that these
memories, thoughts and feelings can be
identified and quantified in the same way
that the biological properties and
functions of our bodies can be. Certainly
there are recurring patterns. There is a
chain of cause and effect between our
experience, our thoughts and our
behaviour and this can be analysed, to a
degree, to identify certain problems and
conflicts. But there is no such thing as
normal when it comes to your mind. You
are unique, however others may wish to
categorise you or however you may wish
to categorise yourself.
In short, do not compare yourself with
others: approval is not required. Relish the
points at which your memories, thoughts
and feelings intersect with those around
you. Relish where they diverge. Embrace
what makes you miserable as much as
what makes you joyous for it is yours and
yours alone. I know no-one who is simply
happy. I know no-one with a healthy mind.
It wouldn’t be a mind if it weren’t at least
a bit fucked-up.
Whatever you may think, it’s ok.
Mental Health: A Contradiction in TermsIt’s all a load of bollocks, claims Nicholas Paton
Background picture by unknown author, licensed under
Creative Commons Attribution ShareAlike 2.5
XVIII
In retrospect a lot of things that occurred
in ones childhood are shameful. But let’s
not allow that to stop the recollection. A
nervous, victimised boy raises his hand in
geography class to ask his teacher, “What’s
the name of the lake the Loch Ness
Monster lives in?”
The silence which follows is brief, as two
dozen infantile brains repeat the question
and find the answer within it. It’s a silence
breached by two dozen tongues sticking
out of the lips of two dozen faces. The boy
waiting to receive slaps from two dozen
hands and the silence to be broken by the
guttural drone of two dozen voices
harmonising “nrrrrrrrrrr, spastic!”
To his credit, the boy never stopped asking
questions, however stupid. That boy
wasn’t me. I chose to slap his chin and
taunt with the others: “spastic!” - the
terminology evolved by kids in the mid-80s
for anyone displaying stupidity. Shameful.
I’m going to stick out a limb – I’ll raise that
to a head – and presume a readership
which recognises the offensive use of that
word as being a product of fleeting,
childish ignorance, and not entrenched,
prejudiced malice. I’m going to move on
to something else reflected in that
classroom: approval.
Why did we all express the same
sentiment? Why not just one voice calling
out the abuse? Why not just two, or three,
or nine? Safety in numbers. We proved to
each other that we weren’t stupid – we’re
smart, capable, adjusted. Until you know
how other people are thinking, you cannot
know that what goes on in your head is ok.
We found approval from one another in
our communal cry. We may have all grown
up, but this yearning to know that you’re
ok never seems to leave us.
We live now in a culture of psycho-
analysis and self-improvement. If you
don’t feel ok there is no shortage of
therapists to speak to or self-help
books to turn to. Psychiatrists and
psychologists have created a model of a
healthy mind conducting healthy
behaviour by which they can measure any
deviation from and correct.
Now, I’m not saying there’s no place for
Mental Health: A Contradiction in TermsIt’s all a load of bollocks, claims
XIX
this. We are all preoccupied with ourselves
and we all want to be happy. If we cannot
find that in our day-to-day life, we are
most welcome to seek professional (or
pseudo-professional) help, and this indeed
may provide some answers. I myself found
guidance from certain popularised
Buddhist teachings. There is nothing
wrong in heeding the wisdom of others, or
incorporating wisdom into your own
world-view in a form which makes you
happier. Equally there are plenty of
unfortunate souls who suffer neurological
or psychological disorders which
undermine their ability to function in this
sophisticated world, and who require
professional aid.
But there is something we must be
cautious about – or sensitive to at least:
the notion that there is such a thing as a
healthy mind, as there is a healthy body.
Or is there rather an idealised mind, as
popular culture has us believe, in an ideal
lifestyle? Our inner world of memories,
thoughts and feelings is extraordinarily
complex and only grows more so with each
day that passes. Each of us is a unique
product of individual experience, uniquely
perceived. I do not believe that these
memories, thoughts and feelings can be
identified and quantified in the same way
that the biological properties and
functions of our bodies can be. Certainly
there are recurring patterns. There is a
chain of cause and effect between our
experience, our thoughts and our
behaviour and this can be analysed, to a
degree, to identify certain problems and
conflicts. But there is no such thing as
normal when it comes to your mind. You
are unique, however others may wish to
categorise you or however you may wish
to categorise yourself.
In short, do not compare yourself with
others: approval is not required. Relish the
points at which your memories, thoughts
and feelings intersect with those around
you. Relish where they diverge. Embrace
what makes you miserable as much as
what makes you joyous for it is yours and
yours alone. I know no-one who is simply
happy. I know no-one with a healthy mind.
It wouldn’t be a mind if it weren’t at least
a bit fucked-up.
Whatever you may think, it’s ok.
Mental Health: A Contradiction in TermsIt’s all a load of bollocks, claims Nicholas Paton
Background picture by unknown author, licensed under
Creative Commons Attribution ShareAlike 2.5
Replica Style GuideLaurent Van Twinkle tells you what’s hot this summer
Neon is well and truly back for the summer. Nu-rave is enjoying a second wind and every indie-
fashionista will be donning bright reflective colors coupled with a UV
light source come July.
Jacket by Seno d‘Ardore £225UV Strip Lamp from Ikea £20
Replica Style GuideLaurent Van Twinkle tells you what’s hot this summer
Neon is well and truly back for the summer. Nu-rave is enjoying a second wind and every indie-
fashionista will be donning bright reflective colors coupled with a UV
light source come July.
Jacket by Seno d‘Ardore £225UV Strip Lamp from Ikea £20
If you really want to make an impression then a knife and a cardboard box are definitely the way
to do it. Tiki gods are in this season and the bigger the better. Try not to over-do it with the
steel- a blade of no more than 7 inches manages to be imposing yet not too threatening.
Sailor’s T-Shirt by Fish & Tackle £65Jeans by Piccoli Ugelli £105
Dog-Head Tiki Box by Cartone £150
If you really want to make an impression then a knife and a cardboard box are definitely the way
to do it. Tiki gods are in this season and the bigger the better. Try not to over-do it with the
steel- a blade of no more than 7 inches manages to be imposing yet not too threatening.
Sailor’s T-Shirt by Fish & Tackle £65Jeans by Piccoli Ugelli £105
Dog-Head Tiki Box by Cartone £150
Cooked meats are going to be making a regular appearance on the catwalks over the next few years. Salami is a particularly trendy number at the moment. Placed with the right jacket it will really set off your features.
Fur Jacket by Brocche Pelose £475Silver Hoop Earings by Allentato £40Salami by Tesco £0.69p
End.
Cooked meats are going to be making a regular appearance on the catwalks over the next few years. Salami is a particularly trendy number at the moment. Placed with the right jacket it will really set off your features.
Fur Jacket by Brocche Pelose £475Silver Hoop Earings by Allentato £40Salami by Tesco £0.69p
End.
www.thebricklanegallery.com
www.thebricklanegallery.com
XXXI
Flat Shoesby Simon Hopper
In Sweden women wear flat shoes
Shake you firmly by the hand
Meet your gaze quite equally
I love this foreign northern land
They take their place within the scheme
With both feet firmly on the ground
And from the basement to the roof
Their self-assuredness abounds
Swedish women's confidence
Rings out like a crystal bell
Check the level of the ground
See, their feet are parallel
Stroll the streets of Stockholm town
Gallivant in Gothenburg
Use your eyes, the women there
Will prove the truth within my words
Swedish women take their place
They're not assigned a gender-role
Check the level of their feet
See, the heel's not higher than the sole...
www.myspace.com/thesimonhopperband
XXXI
Flat Shoesby Simon Hopper
In Sweden women wear flat shoes
Shake you firmly by the hand
Meet your gaze quite equally
I love this foreign northern land
They take their place within the scheme
With both feet firmly on the ground
And from the basement to the roof
Their self-assuredness abounds
Swedish women's confidence
Rings out like a crystal bell
Check the level of the ground
See, their feet are parallel
Stroll the streets of Stockholm town
Gallivant in Gothenburg
Use your eyes, the women there
Will prove the truth within my words
Swedish women take their place
They're not assigned a gender-role
Check the level of their feet
See, the heel's not higher than the sole...
www.myspace.com/thesimonhopperband
REPLICA GALLERY
Welcome art lovers and pretentious arseholes.
This is the Replica Art Gallery.
Right: image by Chris Getliffe
REPLICA GALLERY
Welcome art lovers and pretentious arseholes.
This is the Replica Art Gallery.
Right: image by Chris Getliffe
Bern Campbell
www.myspace.com/drunkenbalordi
Artist and band manager, Bern looks after the
world’s finest gypsy-punk band, Drunken Balordi.
Bern Campbell
www.myspace.com/drunkenbalordi
Artist and band manager, Bern looks after the
world’s finest gypsy-punk band, Drunken Balordi.
Olivia Bliss
I am an artist currently based in
Glasgow. Journeys, processes and
primary interaction within the
natural landscape are the roots of
many of my ideas. Using close up
imagery, can change the ways in
which the familiar is viewed, often
revealing the fragility of small scale
ecosystems.
www.oliviabliss.co.uk
Olivia Bliss
I am an artist currently based in
Glasgow. Journeys, processes and
primary interaction within the
natural landscape are the roots of
many of my ideas. Using close up
imagery, can change the ways in
which the familiar is viewed, often
revealing the fragility of small scale
ecosystems.
www.oliviabliss.co.uk
Chris Getliffe
www.getliffe.com
Getliffe makes fun dark comics, illustrates odd
things for people, and sometimes paints all big
on their walls, or smaller on his canvases.
Chris Getliffe
www.getliffe.com
Getliffe makes fun dark comics, illustrates odd
things for people, and sometimes paints all big
on their walls, or smaller on his canvases.
Rebecca Machin
Graphic designer Rebecca, aka ‘Beckaotic’, presents a
range of thought provoking work that explores the
bittersweet comedy of life through photography,
illustration and typography.
Rebecca Machin
Graphic designer Rebecca, aka ‘Beckaotic’, presents a
range of thought provoking work that explores the
bittersweet comedy of life through photography,
illustration and typography.
Daniel Silher
“My name is Daniel Sihler, I'm 21 years
from Brasilia. I work as graphic designer
and art finalist. Mental health for me is a
mix of sports, good reading and ice
cream, of course. “
http://dsihler.blogspot.com
Daniel Silher
“My name is Daniel Sihler, I'm 21 years
from Brasilia. I work as graphic designer
and art finalist. Mental health for me is a
mix of sports, good reading and ice
cream, of course. “
http://dsihler.blogspot.com
Evie Jeffreys
“I'm a journalism student in my 2nd year at
LCC. I also take photographs as a hobby.”
Evie Jeffreys
“I'm a journalism student in my 2nd year at
LCC. I also take photographs as a hobby.”
Sarah Phillips
“My friend and I have been designing
furniture in spare time for about 18 months.
We met randomly at 3am and decided to
start a business together.
Here are some pics.”
www.trevorandsusan.com
Sarah Phillips
“My friend and I have been designing
furniture in spare time for about 18 months.
We met randomly at 3am and decided to
start a business together.
Here are some pics.”
www.trevorandsusan.com
XXXXXII
Being SmallGeorgia Fitzgerald recalls her childhood
Waking up. Waking up in that half shack
half house was always unpleasant, going
to sleep was always more so. The damp
cold of old feather duvets the night
before turned to a smudgy sweat in the
morning and my naked father on one side
smelling musty, of earth and dirt, and
pushing out heat and my brother on the
other. Small bones arranged in thin skin
like a newly born bird or a freshly dead
mouse. As we got older Jasper began to
sleep on the sofa downstairs, I stuck to
the dirt bed, filthy grey.
And looking up to peep through the hole
that went right through the foot deep
wall to the outside. I’m sure the clarity of
sunlight lessens as we add on year upon
year. What came through that dusty hole
was palpable, honey clear like mead.
And don’t wake dad but get out, out, out.
Down the splinter steps that weren’t
steps but wide runged ladders,
slowly, backwards, quietly with careful
feet. It’s funny now to think how small
those feet would have been, clumsy on
the rough wood.
And come on Jasper and check the
cupboards for breakfast time. The
cupboards were bare; the cupboards
were almost always bare. Maybe a block
of butter on the bottom shelf to keep
cool and some old crumbs to dirty up the
newspaper lining the shelves.
I wish I could give you the colours
and the smells. Browns and dusty
blues, stale tobacco and cannabis resin,
cold flagstone grey on the small
feet. Dark inside but that mead
pouring about the house jumping in
here and there and falling through the
dust, like the golden peel of a
trumpet on a black jazz background. But
out, out, out.
Out and into the morning, which is clear
like a bell, it sings. Sings like the voices of
school children travelling far through cold
air. But already the air is warm and the
plants, green in the garden, vibrate
with a friendly greeting and the bee is
slow and methodical, and if you put your
hand in the pond to find a tadpole the
water is a perfect cool.
XXXXXII
Being SmallGeorgia Fitzgerald recalls her childhood
Waking up. Waking up in that half shack
half house was always unpleasant, going
to sleep was always more so. The damp
cold of old feather duvets the night
before turned to a smudgy sweat in the
morning and my naked father on one side
smelling musty, of earth and dirt, and
pushing out heat and my brother on the
other. Small bones arranged in thin skin
like a newly born bird or a freshly dead
mouse. As we got older Jasper began to
sleep on the sofa downstairs, I stuck to
the dirt bed, filthy grey.
And looking up to peep through the hole
that went right through the foot deep
wall to the outside. I’m sure the clarity of
sunlight lessens as we add on year upon
year. What came through that dusty hole
was palpable, honey clear like mead.
And don’t wake dad but get out, out, out.
Down the splinter steps that weren’t
steps but wide runged ladders,
slowly, backwards, quietly with careful
feet. It’s funny now to think how small
those feet would have been, clumsy on
the rough wood.
And come on Jasper and check the
cupboards for breakfast time. The
cupboards were bare; the cupboards
were almost always bare. Maybe a block
of butter on the bottom shelf to keep
cool and some old crumbs to dirty up the
newspaper lining the shelves.
I wish I could give you the colours
and the smells. Browns and dusty
blues, stale tobacco and cannabis resin,
cold flagstone grey on the small
feet. Dark inside but that mead
pouring about the house jumping in
here and there and falling through the
dust, like the golden peel of a
trumpet on a black jazz background. But
out, out, out.
Out and into the morning, which is clear
like a bell, it sings. Sings like the voices of
school children travelling far through cold
air. But already the air is warm and the
plants, green in the garden, vibrate
with a friendly greeting and the bee is
slow and methodical, and if you put your
hand in the pond to find a tadpole the
water is a perfect cool.
XXXXXV
CrossroadsPolitical decisions to be made… by Declan Tan
Illustration by Damian Zuch www.flickr.com/photos/45841296@N00/
The feet of a young Briton are planted in
a pair of pristine white shoes, standing in
a small town called Reason. Laid out
before them is a foggy crossroad.
The view to the Right presents a well-
worn and narrow dirt track; blood,
armour and bullets shape its long path. A
sharp pang of sound can be heard in the
distance followed by a faint but familiar
roar, a crowd chanting a mantra.
To the Left the road is wide, well-paved
and unused. It winds aimlessly and
confused, splitting off into many
directions. There is a sound there too, but
it is muted and incomprehensible.
The sounds the young person hears are
of crowds- congregations of people
pushed or pulled in a political direction,
eager for “change”. Whether that
politicisation is a result of a particular
event in a person’s life, or the result of
continuing culture-conditioning differs
from individual to individual.
This is the view taken by one law student,
Joseph Lappin, who says: “If someone is
personally affected by a particular event
in an adverse way, they may become
politicised to the right or left. But
generally the economy will be the main
reason for a shift in one’s political views.
If people are comfortable financially they
are less likely to become radicalised.”
Contending with top-up fees, rent and
an active social life puts stress on
every student’s mind to the point where
the survival of their way of life comes
under threat.
Although these are the conditions
students live in today they may be
changing. Peter McLaren of the Campaign
for a New Workers’ Party, a socialist
movement attracting more and more
young people, says: “I think money will
become increasingly irrelevant. If people
haven’t got any money they’ll be looking
for solutions that can actually provide
answers to why they haven’t got any.”
It starts with education: “To learn is to
change” it is said. The Morning Star,
Britain’s only socialist daily newspaper, is
dedicated to this cause. Not ‘education’ in
the traditional sense of a National
Curriculum but instead a spreading of
ideas. “What we’ve found is that most
people consider socialism, or
communism, to be dead,” says writer and
circulation manager, Ivan Beavis, of the
Morning Star, “but that is the only viable
alternative to what is going on. What we
want to inform people is that a form of
socialism is achievable, that the
multinationals and the people who tell us
it isn’t, are really only saying so because
it’s not in their interests.”
XXXXXV
CrossroadsPolitical decisions to be made… by Declan Tan
Illustration by Damian Zuch www.flickr.com/photos/45841296@N00/
The feet of a young Briton are planted in
a pair of pristine white shoes, standing in
a small town called Reason. Laid out
before them is a foggy crossroad.
The view to the Right presents a well-
worn and narrow dirt track; blood,
armour and bullets shape its long path. A
sharp pang of sound can be heard in the
distance followed by a faint but familiar
roar, a crowd chanting a mantra.
To the Left the road is wide, well-paved
and unused. It winds aimlessly and
confused, splitting off into many
directions. There is a sound there too, but
it is muted and incomprehensible.
The sounds the young person hears are
of crowds- congregations of people
pushed or pulled in a political direction,
eager for “change”. Whether that
politicisation is a result of a particular
event in a person’s life, or the result of
continuing culture-conditioning differs
from individual to individual.
This is the view taken by one law student,
Joseph Lappin, who says: “If someone is
personally affected by a particular event
in an adverse way, they may become
politicised to the right or left. But
generally the economy will be the main
reason for a shift in one’s political views.
If people are comfortable financially they
are less likely to become radicalised.”
Contending with top-up fees, rent and
an active social life puts stress on
every student’s mind to the point where
the survival of their way of life comes
under threat.
Although these are the conditions
students live in today they may be
changing. Peter McLaren of the Campaign
for a New Workers’ Party, a socialist
movement attracting more and more
young people, says: “I think money will
become increasingly irrelevant. If people
haven’t got any money they’ll be looking
for solutions that can actually provide
answers to why they haven’t got any.”
It starts with education: “To learn is to
change” it is said. The Morning Star,
Britain’s only socialist daily newspaper, is
dedicated to this cause. Not ‘education’ in
the traditional sense of a National
Curriculum but instead a spreading of
ideas. “What we’ve found is that most
people consider socialism, or
communism, to be dead,” says writer and
circulation manager, Ivan Beavis, of the
Morning Star, “but that is the only viable
alternative to what is going on. What we
want to inform people is that a form of
socialism is achievable, that the
multinationals and the people who tell us
it isn’t, are really only saying so because
it’s not in their interests.”
But what also exists, apart from the
explanation that people are not ready for
it, is a view that the Left is in disarray.
Without a unification of existing socialist
groups, splintered because of ideological
differences, the cause cannot succeed in
voicing a coherent message that people
can either understand or get behind.
As it is, the war for the minds of young
people is being won on a vast plain of
illusion with television, Hollywood,
computer games and, in a large number of
cases, the historically championed escape
from the insulated self: alcohol. Amongst
young people this culture dulls the brain’s
ability to realise a different concept of
existence. It is with scientific thoroughness
that the capitalist idea and mainstream
media have exploited the individual to the
point where people are now beginning to
“wake up”.
Deputy leader of the 10,000-strong and
growing British National Party (BNP),
Simon Darby, believes conditions are
reaching the cusp of this historical epoch.
Referring to the increasing recruitment of
young people, he explains: “People put up
with a lot of things if you can give them
money to buy electrical goods and gadgets
and have a good standard of life. But when
that goes I’m afraid it’s the old adage, “the
crowd is fickle”, and indeed they are and
they’ll look for something else.”
But perhaps they are not so fickle, as
Joseph Lappin comments: “The BNP has
been able to manipulate the working
classes into believing and adopting the
view that the Labour Party, the traditional
party of the working classes, is unable to
cater for their needs.”
Although today’s discontent has not quite
reached the edge of direct action, during
1968 a group began to organise: the British
National Front (NF), a party currently
experiencing a significant, if unsubstantial,
period of success by achieving their best
election results in thirty years. The party,
single-issue in its approach and
preoccupied with its obsession with a
white Britain, is as outdated and irrelevant
XXXXXVI
as the words of its leader, Tom Holmes,
when he says: “The whole thing is a plot.
It’s only the white people that do anything.
We say race and nation. Race is the
priority. Once the race is gone, that’s it.”
People are waking up, as Darby says, but it
seems more have awoken to the rise of the
divisive policies of the BNP and NF,
realising a reaction must come to quell
their appetite for power.
So now, before the young person there is a
parting of the mist; a third path straight
ahead. It leads upward, a steep climb
swarming with loose and jagged rock, as
thousands of familiar faces stare into the
same abyss.
Educator, linguist, philosopher and
anarchist, Noam Chomsky, believes that
every system you can imagine infringes
on personal liberty. We agree to that
infringement if we accept it as
reasonable, as part of our opinion of how
a reasonable society should be run. He
says choose your oppression.
An anonymous writer and member of
the Anarchist Federation says: “People
thinking and acting for themselves,
people organising without boundaries,
going where they like, confronting who
they want, challenging, fighting, resisting,
together. Getting to a place where
their laws and rules, their way of
thinking, their boundaries and walls no
longer have meaning and are never
again allowed to stop us doing what we
like and what we must; a world of freedom
and co-operation.”
The young person looks again and
realises: there was no Left or Right. Only
Up and Down:
“There's no black and white, left and right
to me anymore; there's only up and down
and down is very close to the ground. And
I'm trying to go up without thinking about
anything trivial such as politics. They have
got nothing to do with it. I'm thinking
about the general people and when they
get hurt.”
-Bob Dylan, 1963
XXXXXVII
Background photo by Paul Vlaar, licensed under
GNU Free Documentation License, Version 1.2
But what also exists, apart from the
explanation that people are not ready for
it, is a view that the Left is in disarray.
Without a unification of existing socialist
groups, splintered because of ideological
differences, the cause cannot succeed in
voicing a coherent message that people
can either understand or get behind.
As it is, the war for the minds of young
people is being won on a vast plain of
illusion with television, Hollywood,
computer games and, in a large number of
cases, the historically championed escape
from the insulated self: alcohol. Amongst
young people this culture dulls the brain’s
ability to realise a different concept of
existence. It is with scientific thoroughness
that the capitalist idea and mainstream
media have exploited the individual to the
point where people are now beginning to
“wake up”.
Deputy leader of the 10,000-strong and
growing British National Party (BNP),
Simon Darby, believes conditions are
reaching the cusp of this historical epoch.
Referring to the increasing recruitment of
young people, he explains: “People put up
with a lot of things if you can give them
money to buy electrical goods and gadgets
and have a good standard of life. But when
that goes I’m afraid it’s the old adage, “the
crowd is fickle”, and indeed they are and
they’ll look for something else.”
But perhaps they are not so fickle, as
Joseph Lappin comments: “The BNP has
been able to manipulate the working
classes into believing and adopting the
view that the Labour Party, the traditional
party of the working classes, is unable to
cater for their needs.”
Although today’s discontent has not quite
reached the edge of direct action, during
1968 a group began to organise: the British
National Front (NF), a party currently
experiencing a significant, if unsubstantial,
period of success by achieving their best
election results in thirty years. The party,
single-issue in its approach and
preoccupied with its obsession with a
white Britain, is as outdated and irrelevant
XXXXXVI
as the words of its leader, Tom Holmes,
when he says: “The whole thing is a plot.
It’s only the white people that do anything.
We say race and nation. Race is the
priority. Once the race is gone, that’s it.”
People are waking up, as Darby says, but it
seems more have awoken to the rise of the
divisive policies of the BNP and NF,
realising a reaction must come to quell
their appetite for power.
So now, before the young person there is a
parting of the mist; a third path straight
ahead. It leads upward, a steep climb
swarming with loose and jagged rock, as
thousands of familiar faces stare into the
same abyss.
Educator, linguist, philosopher and
anarchist, Noam Chomsky, believes that
every system you can imagine infringes
on personal liberty. We agree to that
infringement if we accept it as
reasonable, as part of our opinion of how
a reasonable society should be run. He
says choose your oppression.
An anonymous writer and member of
the Anarchist Federation says: “People
thinking and acting for themselves,
people organising without boundaries,
going where they like, confronting who
they want, challenging, fighting, resisting,
together. Getting to a place where
their laws and rules, their way of
thinking, their boundaries and walls no
longer have meaning and are never
again allowed to stop us doing what we
like and what we must; a world of freedom
and co-operation.”
The young person looks again and
realises: there was no Left or Right. Only
Up and Down:
“There's no black and white, left and right
to me anymore; there's only up and down
and down is very close to the ground. And
I'm trying to go up without thinking about
anything trivial such as politics. They have
got nothing to do with it. I'm thinking
about the general people and when they
get hurt.”
-Bob Dylan, 1963
XXXXXVII
Background photo by Paul Vlaar, licensed under
GNU Free Documentation License, Version 1.2
Can we really expect to be permanently happy?
No. Of course not. Not only is it not possible, it
would not be healthy either.
On that logic the lovely people at 68
Noscrotum Road, Manchester have reversed
the traditional agony uncle formula and sent us
solutions to end happy situations. How lovely.
UNCLE WETLEGS
XXXXXVIII
Download an agony sheet and put it on your wall:
www.replicamag.co.uk/Uncle_Wetlegs_Notice.pdf
Go on, entertain the Uncle.
COLLECTIVE AGONYFor the next issue Replica
to download an agony sheet
wall in your home. Here
anonymously post their
others can endeavor to answer
type up your solved problems
in to a frail Uncle Wetlegs
over and dream of his problem
My girlfriend loves me.
-That’s what she wants you to think. Secretly she’s
plotting your demise. Dump her. Dump her before it’s
too late.
I quit smoking a month ago.
-Quitting is for pussies. Think of all that wonderful
nicotine you have been missing out on. Man up and
have a fag.
I have recently discovered cream cheese. It’s so
wonderfully creamy and cheesy, it is bringing me
much joy.
-And it’s clogging your arteries with lots of saturated
fat. I’m sure you will appreciate the intense joy of a
heart attack before long.
Tequila. It makes me happy
-It also kills your brain cells,
a fortune, makes you sick and
I’ve got a brilliant new job.
-And you want to make a good
Why not buy your boss some
framed picture of the two of
to have a good picture to
your head onto a photo of your
Its my birthday.
-You don’t half go on about
me, me, me, me, me. What
accomplished in the last year,
coming to your party.
In these
think really
A cheeky
goes down
UNCLE WETLEGS COLLECTIVE AGONY
XXXXXIX
Replica will still need you
sheet and put it on a
Here all housemates can
their problems, and
answer. You can then
problems and send them
Wetlegs for him to mull
problem solving past.
I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts.
-No you don’t- they’re all hairy and brown.
Jesus saves.
-Don’t get me started.
I think I have a secret admirer. Every morning when
I wake up I find a dead fish on my doorstep. I’m so
excited to find out who it is.
-Sorry to burst your bubble, but it sounds to me like
your secret admirer might actually be a seabird of
some sort. And it also sounds like this seabird is using
your doorstep as a fish-stash.
This really isn’t very funny.
-That’s a good thing, is it?
happy.
cells, damages your liver, costs
and gives you a headache.
good impression, don’t you?
some flowers? And maybe a
of you? If you don’t happen
hand then you could stick
your boss with their spouse.
about it, do you? Me, me,
What exactly have you
year, hmmm? I’m not
these tough economic times I
really think it would be wise.
cheeky pat on the bum always
down well, too.
Can we really expect to be permanently happy?
No. Of course not. Not only is it not possible, it
would not be healthy either.
On that logic the lovely people at 68
Noscrotum Road, Manchester have reversed
the traditional agony uncle formula and sent us
solutions to end happy situations. How lovely.
UNCLE WETLEGS
XXXXXVIII
Download an agony sheet and put it on your wall:
www.replicamag.co.uk/Uncle_Wetlegs_Notice.pdf
Go on, entertain the Uncle.
COLLECTIVE AGONYFor the next issue Replica
to download an agony sheet
wall in your home. Here
anonymously post their
others can endeavor to answer
type up your solved problems
in to a frail Uncle Wetlegs
over and dream of his problem
My girlfriend loves me.
-That’s what she wants you to think. Secretly she’s
plotting your demise. Dump her. Dump her before it’s
too late.
I quit smoking a month ago.
-Quitting is for pussies. Think of all that wonderful
nicotine you have been missing out on. Man up and
have a fag.
I have recently discovered cream cheese. It’s so
wonderfully creamy and cheesy, it is bringing me
much joy.
-And it’s clogging your arteries with lots of saturated
fat. I’m sure you will appreciate the intense joy of a
heart attack before long.
Tequila. It makes me happy
-It also kills your brain cells,
a fortune, makes you sick and
I’ve got a brilliant new job.
-And you want to make a good
Why not buy your boss some
framed picture of the two of
to have a good picture to
your head onto a photo of your
Its my birthday.
-You don’t half go on about
me, me, me, me, me. What
accomplished in the last year,
coming to your party.
In these
think really
A cheeky
goes down
UNCLE WETLEGS COLLECTIVE AGONY
XXXXXIX
Replica will still need you
sheet and put it on a
Here all housemates can
their problems, and
answer. You can then
problems and send them
Wetlegs for him to mull
problem solving past.
I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts.
-No you don’t- they’re all hairy and brown.
Jesus saves.
-Don’t get me started.
I think I have a secret admirer. Every morning when
I wake up I find a dead fish on my doorstep. I’m so
excited to find out who it is.
-Sorry to burst your bubble, but it sounds to me like
your secret admirer might actually be a seabird of
some sort. And it also sounds like this seabird is using
your doorstep as a fish-stash.
This really isn’t very funny.
-That’s a good thing, is it?
happy.
cells, damages your liver, costs
and gives you a headache.
good impression, don’t you?
some flowers? And maybe a
of you? If you don’t happen
hand then you could stick
your boss with their spouse.
about it, do you? Me, me,
What exactly have you
year, hmmm? I’m not
these tough economic times I
really think it would be wise.
cheeky pat on the bum always
down well, too.
XXXXXX
Nervous Breakdownby Beck Robertson
do you know what it is to break in suburbia
the realisation coming up in some horrific
wave silence only intensifying the deadness
inside, houses cars all lined up in neat little rows
I see them on the way back from the supermarket
bags balanced precariously on the handlebars of my old
bicycle and each one stings a little dart under my flesh
thinking I won't notice the slow asphyxiation
as the tendrils of that unnatural quiet pull me in closer to
make me dead flesh dead wood stealing my thoughts
I am like a murder victim incarcerated in a sack
weighted with stones discarded in to icy river water
into chilling quietness, nothingness
takes me right to the wall pressing my face in to someone's
neat little privet hedge twisting my arms behind my back
supreme immobilisation
on my neck I feel
it's dirty killing breath guilty with
the stink of so many slaughters and I drop the bags, the bike the lot
and run
try and put so much distance between that stillness and
I have no choice
get out
where something might happen
or suffocate here in this town
Get off your arse and do something. Air your
opinions. Get published. Start a fucking riot
(just make sure you tell us about it).
“REPLICA
NEEDS
WE NEED CONTRIBUTORS
REPLICA MAGAZINE
Combating apathy and boredom nationwide.
www.replicamag.co.uk
YOU”
XXXXXX
Nervous Breakdownby Beck Robertson
do you know what it is to break in suburbia
the realisation coming up in some horrific
wave silence only intensifying the deadness
inside, houses cars all lined up in neat little rows
I see them on the way back from the supermarket
bags balanced precariously on the handlebars of my old
bicycle and each one stings a little dart under my flesh
thinking I won't notice the slow asphyxiation
as the tendrils of that unnatural quiet pull me in closer to
make me dead flesh dead wood stealing my thoughts
I am like a murder victim incarcerated in a sack
weighted with stones discarded in to icy river water
into chilling quietness, nothingness
takes me right to the wall pressing my face in to someone's
neat little privet hedge twisting my arms behind my back
supreme immobilisation
on my neck I feel
it's dirty killing breath guilty with
the stink of so many slaughters and I drop the bags, the bike the lot
and run
try and put so much distance between that stillness and
I have no choice
get out
where something might happen
or suffocate here in this town
Get off your arse and do something. Air your
opinions. Get published. Start a fucking riot
(just make sure you tell us about it).
“REPLICA
NEEDS
WE NEED CONTRIBUTORS
REPLICA MAGAZINE
Combating apathy and boredom nationwide.
www.replicamag.co.uk
YOU”
THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO
CONTRIBUTED TO THIS ISSUE
THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO
CONTRIBUTED TO THIS ISSUE
THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO
CONTRIBUTED TO THIS ISSUE
THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO
CONTRIBUTED TO THIS ISSUE
End.
