This correspondence is Copyright 1995. All rights reserved
Momus to Blam, January 1995
Eric and Keith,
Regina Joseph, now alas ex-editor of ROMzine Blender, sent me Blam 1, which I found very interesting. She mentioned that you'd heard of me (Momus, recording artist, author of 'Tender Pervert', 'Lusts of a Moron' etc etc).
I'm contacting you for two reasons. I'd love to get hold of a copy of Blam 2 (here in Paris even the up-to-the minute Pompidou Centre Interactive corner still only has Blam 1 in its little museum case display).
The second reason is that I'm totally up for any sort of artistic commission you might like to present me with for Blam 3, if you're planning that. Do you need a Paris correspondent?
Do get in touch if you're interested.
Blam to Momus
Thanks for your interest in BLAM! and Necro Enema Amalgamated. I'm
BLAM! 2: Dogs and Flowers! is not available yet. We are currently in
production. Due to the chaotic bullshit involved in our poverty stricken
lives and the fact that our computers are held together with accelerator
boards and spit, we've been set back by a few months. We plan on having
BLAM! 2 completed by April -- but that could always change.
The content for the second issue is going to make some major waves, I
fear/hope/know. But we haven't crossed our contribution deadline yet. If
you have ideas that are BLAM!esque -- shoot. We've already got a DIY
Gynecology number and plenty of anti-pseudo-downtrodden ejaculations --
and yes, we're concentrating on the performative aspects hardcore....
What we need are more dogs and flowers. Ideas?
That's great to hear about the Pompidou. I've never been to Paris and was
hoping to use the Pompidou thing as an excuse for going. But -- it's
a tough life, being Principal of Necro Enema Amalgamated. Not much time
to shit, let alone going to Paris and checking out museums and eating
Do you know Costes? As in Lung Farts and so on? I'd love to do his life
story. I used to be friends with his (ex-??) wife Lisa Suckdog. Anyhow,
poop on Costes would be fun. I mean, sure, a Paris correspondent could be
fun. But the deal is this, we don't function like a traditional magazine.
We hate magazines. We just call BLAM! a magazine because it helps it to
sell and it helps our financial situation to include advertising, etc..
So, the term "correspondent" doesn't quite work. But if you have ideas to
pitch -- pitch 'em. As an artist, you'd be a great asset to our cause.
Tell me about your multimedia/telecommunications experience. What media
are you interested in working in? (We are not prejudiced towards any
medium. We work with painters, singers, shitters, animators, rapists, dog
lovers -- anybody. We're perfectly willing to pick up the "multimedia"
production slack. Just remember: speed is the essence. Unless you're
really slow and you're into high-impact killer slow shit.)
Dogs! Flowers! Dogs! Flowers!
Down with the pseudo-downtrodden! Up, up, up with worthy people!
Momus to Blam
thanks for your encouraging reply. In fact I've had an idea for Blam 2. It would be a little program, 'Momus: Intelligent Agent'. When you clicked on it you'd get an intro with a robotic but sexy face and a breathy voice saying something like:
'Welcome to Momus: Intelligent Agent. Shortly I'll begin questioning you about your sexual preferences. In fact I'll be working in the background the whole time you are interacting with Blam, interrupting once in a while to ask you more questions, coaxing out one by one your most intimate wishes and dreams. I will then act on your behalf to suprise you with breathtaking suggestions about how you can improve and enliven the world of your erotic experience. Sit back: the real beauty is -- you don't have to do a thing!'
There would follow ('to get the ball rolling') a couple of dialog boxes asking questions about your sexual preferences. They start with simple questions like 'Which gender do you prefer your partner to be?' with check boxes for male and female. But then they progress to: 'Do you prefer your sexual activity to take place in surroundings decorated in Pink Baroque or Blue Baroque?' or 'Have you ever found animals sexually stimulating? Yes / No'.
The dialog boxes don't go away until you dismiss them with one answer or the other and click 'Okay'. The program stores the information you've chosen. When you think you've quit the program and are looking at the contents page, 'Momus: Intelligent Agent' will spring up with more questions or confront you with some activity it claims it has carried out on your behalf. 'Hi Eric, sorry to interrupt, but I just went online and have booked you a mud wrestling holiday in the Kamen Isles. You fly on the 17th August. Your credit card has been debited.' Or 'Hi, Eric, I notice your subscription to Gerbil-Stuffer Monthly has expired. I am about to resubscribe now!' At first there will be a countdown to these threatened actions with a Cancel button to abort. But increasingly they will be fait accomplis: 'Eric, I just placed a bid on your behalf for a fine Pink Baroque dildo at Christie's Online. Congratulations! You are now the proud owner!'
The program would ideally run with Speech Manager and read the boxes aloud. It should be able to read the user's name from the computer.
It won't matter if the questions and (hoax) actions don't fit particularily well. As it goes along, the program should give the impression of running scarily out of control.
Needless to say I don't have the skill to program such a thing, but I'd write all the dialog boxes and make (hoax) actions for all possible combinations of preferences. I think it would actually be quite easy for someone sussed to program and wouldn't take up much space.
Tell me what you think.
Blam to Momus
On Tue, 24 Jan 1995, Nick Currie wrote:
> Dear Eric,
> Tell me what you think.
Well, Nick. Sorry, but this doesn't float our party boat. Keith and I
read over your note and we both agree that your idea sounds just a LITTLE
too close to the jittery little blam! announcer we introduced in blam! 1 in the
introductory sequence. We are continuing to work with quasi-AI technology
and programming techniques to refine our narrowcast advertising engine
(something the jerks you read about in Advertising Age are still just
talking about while they spend millions of useless dollars)in BLAM! 2.
In general, the whole cybercrazy "agent" concept is a little too old and
boring for us. We try to stay away from concepts that are related to the
metacognitive nature of new media hype. For example, we both hate Wired
magazine and all of the artifice that it perpetuates. Such stuff does not
excite us. It bores us so much that we don't even want to mock it. There
are realities and there are inevitabilities. So be it. We are what we are
and we don't own a car -- and Keith lives above an old bar. Not me, I'm far.
Once, when we were in a BIG meeting, trying to scam backing money, a big
fat lady executive who had just looked at our mission statement and was
QUITE offended by it's references to Catholic pussy stood up screaming
and demanded that I tell her what I valued enough to DIE for. Without
hesitation, I put my hand on top of my penis, squeezed it, jumped in the
air and shouted back "BLAM! -- and everything it stands for! That which
gets me off!"
Well, "that which gets me off" changes on a daily basis. Sure, there are
constants in my life. But you never know. One minute, I'm jerking off to a
porno full of pregnant Mexican chicks with big, fat stinky holes full of
the next minute I'm fantasising about Nazi death camp guards and the
legends of their masturbation habits. Next minute, I'm fighting for
Israel, protecting the orgy mongerers of the Holy Land, shooting
Palestinians up the butt -- and then fucking their ladies. Next minute
after that, I'm sodomizing pretty young Jewish lassies who love me and
then I'm beating up their husbands for wearing boring clothes and smelling
badly. No one is innocent. And that's okay!
But I never am bored by my own lovely self. I am blessed with sacred
realty: the moral high ground -- and am armed with the weapons to
It's a loveless world and what it needs -- is more love. Hey, you never
know. A boner doesn't always have to show.
Interactivity is a lie.
Did you write the lyrics to the BLENDER theme song?
You want to do something for BLAM! 2? Then, get in touch with your animal
self. Sit in the bathtub and piss on yourself. Touch the pee. Feel the
pee. Smell the pee.Done that already? Sure. Then rape a homeless chick.
Beat her up. Apologize. Then adopt her. RElate your experience to the
current debate revolving around victim surrogacy, capital punishment, legal
rape, pedophilia, the IRA, pompous Francophiles, EuroDisney (is great),
Mexican piss-beer, constipation or food irradiation. Talk
about stuff that matters to you -- but in an HONEST and pro-active way.
Dogs and Flowers. That's what it's all about. If I can explain the way of
the world and the way it will be via my anal fissure analogy, YOU can
sing about the power of Dogs -- and FLOWERS today!
Remember Luke Skywalker? He had to "let go his conscious self" in order
to become a true rebel leader and a master Jedi Knight. YOu know, he and
I had a pretty long conversation together after he lost his hand in the
flying cloud city. AND HE TOLD ME how to beat death, the devil, and GOD
all at the same time. He likes me. AND, he taught me how to hold a rod --
of death -- without losing it to the dark motherfucker.
Trick is, to let go the conscious self, but to never let anyone else have
a looksy at it without paying for it first. Fear is for
limp-wristed faggots with demonic victim complexes. Leave the excuse
making and whining to the 12 step addicts. Down with the
pseudo-downtrodden! Down! Down!
Vile, self-congratulatory piss?
Well, even though a famous smoker chick who had a pompous set of tits
made too big a deal of this -- it's a fact. Selfishness is a virtue. Take
what is yours and shove the shit up the butts of the pseudo-downtrodden.
Throw away your technology magazines. CD-ROMs are for faggots and truffle
lovers. Interactive online services are for old policemen with small cocks
and butts packed with week-old shit. Love those rookies!
Plug your guitar into a Pignose and light up the sky with music that
will make frail kids cry!!!!
Forget about BLAM!. Let go your conscious self!
Up, up into the sky!
And when you get a new idea -- shove it up our butts!! And if you get
bloody -- it'll be time to study -- a brand -- new -- nation!
Encrusted with righteous inflation!
Man your station.
Fuck a Haitian.
Momus to Blam
Dear Mr Erotic Swansong,
your rejection really jolted me. Of course my idea was just a piece of nose-picking, and your thanks but no thanks contained so much more zap and colour it put me to shame. The voice you use (whether it's your own I don't really care), this scorched, prophetic, transgressive voice, is one I used to use myself. And hearing it from you made me wonder if I haven't lost some of my intensity. Damn it, maybe I should really sit in a bath of my own pee...
Your 'voice' reminded me of several people I'm (excitedly) ambivalent about:
1. Kathy Acker. I met her once and was surprised to see she had Bambi-like brown eyes which darted about, nervous for approval. She didn't have a banzai headband on, she didn't show her tattoos or talk about Rimbaud. She talked about house prices in Brighton. Above all she wanted to be loved.
2. Henry Rollins in a little film MTV is running just now. He says 'MCA just rereleased Hendrix at Monterey and if you aren't willing to kiss the sky like he did you might as well put that guitar down right now little boy'. Mr Rollins, we know, reads Mishima, pumps iron, plays cops in Hollywood films, presumably uses 'homosexual' as a term of abuse. I'm rather pleased that my girly music (without Hendrix guitar) accompanied his thick neck in the Blender titles. Yes I did write that lyric, and yes it is very girly: 'I'd scream and shout if you should leave me out'.
3. Certain people I know in London who run Creation Press, a publishing company dedicated to 'biological fantasy' ie resurrecting Gilles de Rais and describing the evisceration of infants at every opportunity. James Williamson, who runs the company, once wrote a story about a masturbating, pustulating demon called Momus under the name of James Havoc. One senses that he had no friends at school and settled on 'biological fantasy' as his way of getting even.
4. Nietzsche, Bataille, and lots of 'underground' journals.
5. Liam Hudson's experiments with English public schoolboys. No, he didn't slit their bellies open after anally raping them. He gave them a series of situations and two roles with which to respond to them: Masters, a bold and unconventional artist, and McMice, a timid scientist. The same boys who were mouselike in their McMice answers were orgiastically outrageous as Masters. There's nothing greater than unleashing the Masters within. Especially from the safety of a public simulacrum, an 'agent-shell' like 'Blam!' or 'Momus'.
Above all, your voice reminded me of my own voice, telling me to go further, to shock, to reveal. I suspect it's what makes Blam so interesting, that certainty, that sense of mission.
The difference is, I'm less certain, more dialectical. This voice is immediately answered by another, the voice of a shy young Japanese, who says (as defiantly as he can) 'I was born modest and inhibited, I am probably homosexual, I am ashamed and my shame is an energy, my ancestors didn't live in tight character armour for centuries so that I could throw it all away now.'
Born from the dialectic between Humunculus the Defiler and the Shy Japanese Girl, the key Momus concept is the Tender Pervert. For the TP, a tight-laced fear of exposure can only be overcome by abandoned (but self-flagellating) self-exhibition. That means Confessions, as in 'Confessions of a Mask'.
That means I express, exaggerated by guilt, the internalised policeman we all have. Rather than dropping my trousers and waiting for a real policeman to arrive, I show the internal policeman, I show the urge to drop trousers being defeated by the very guilt that makes it so attractive.
I suspect you really believe there is a horizon of freedom from guilt. In other words that you are a Hippy-Libertarian-Puritan-Pessimist-Romantic. I suspect when you say you occupy the moral high ground you mean you are pointed at that guilt-free horizon and mean to follow your instincts all the way across it. I suspect that you don't love your guilt enough, and don't realise that your guilt will be your utter master on this mission as on all others.
For I see guilt in your every utterance, the political correctness that forces you to follow your Nazi fantasy with a pro Israeli fantasy. Why not simply be a Nazi and have done with it? (After all, that's what the Israelis have done).
Once (in the 80s) I would gladly have written you reams of stuff about Transgression. But I'm living with an 18 year-old Bangladeshi girl I rescued from an arranged marriage and, beside her struggle with Islamic patriarchy, that former masturbatory transgression pales.
She's upstairs sleeping now. She wondered if you had a girlfriend.
I heard that Blam 2 'had gone too far'. That pricked my ears (read: cock) up. See, I want you to go too far so that I can gingerly follow, voyeuristic and condemning and secretly getting off on it all. I am homo normalis, I love and value my guilt.
I really don't believe in all this letting go the conscious self stuff. You hippy! Yes, you can find less abstract ways to express things. But every act is cultural to the hilt and we can't ever forget it. Why pretend to?
Dogs and flowers? I avoid the Paris poodleshit every day and my flowers are dying because I never open the shutters. I'm not really living here and asking if I could be your Paris correspondent was a way of getting a little closer to the fantasy New York that has become the refuge my fantasy Paris was before I moved here. Your onan-scatologies more than satisfied the tourist in me and I came away with a pleasant feeling of luxurious inadequacy, like you do after a really good holiday in the third world.
I would still love to make some contribution but I think maybe you don't have room for ambivalence, or rather you want it to take place at the juncture of Blam! and World rather than in your contributors, where it quietly defuses any potential impact. Nevertheless I remain quietly, defiantly ambivalent, which is to say, dialectical.
You're important to me because you sum up a whole wing of my inner dialogue. How exquisitely selfish of me.
I've changed my mind - don't learn to love your guilt.
You are not dialectical. I am sorry. But you are cogitable. And
coercible. And very guilty. You should join the army.
18 year-old chick? What kind of underwear does she wear? Is she familiar
with Indian female infanticide practices? What does she think of them?
Some of those Indian chicks have some pretty bold attitudes about it.
Too bad they don't do it to the boys too. Too bad they don't just eat the
shit. I wonder why more people didn't take Swift's "Modest Proposal" more
literally? If you want, you can ask her to send us some pictures of
herself or other chicks. NEA needs more female anatomy shots. No faces.
Chicks must wear MASKS (like MOMUS).
Anyhow, thanks for your note. I look forward to seeing some more of your
ideas. Don't be shy. Be bold. Don't eat mold.
Concerning your list of excitedly ambivalent analogues: Acker was a good
writer (for awhile) and is BORING and yucky as a cultural icon -- but I
hope you loved her anyway; Rollins was excellent in Black Flag and
deserves his current fame (as do all famous people) and "homosexual" is a
perfectly acceptable slur --
as is "retard" -- as is "breeder" if you're a militant retard homo....;
the underground is a lie but "Solar Anus" by Bataille is brilliant;
biological fantasies are stupid but biological warfare and the people who
make it possible are great; English schoolboys are pussies and deserve to
be put through such mundane tests; BLAM! is not a mask -- masks are for
criminals and party goers -- I am neither. I have nothing to hide -- and
I am not ashamed of my beauty. Except, I hear that hairy butts are not in
fashion this year -- so I keep my pants on at parties.
Guilt is not worthy of much discussion -- because it's for retards,
prozac candidates and the hesitant. But I will say that your desire to
project your own guilt onto others is nothing more than a feeble attempt
to acquire peace with yourself because you are either a rotten person or
you have been abused -- in which case you probably should revel in
thoughts (and actions) regarding violent revenge. He who hesitates is
lost. And quiters never win.
Bipolar oppositions regarding rape of Nazis/Israelis &
Israelis/Palestinians is not a PC guilt trip -- it's more likely a device
I employ when bored to excite tension and relive stress in the Self and
for others. Hmmmm. If you interpreted my suggestion that way, you are most
likely feeling -- guilty. But I will note your reaction and consider it when
composing future posts to quasi-dialecticians.
Ummmm. Paris and dog shit. You should like flowers. They're good for you.
If you don't like them -- then fuck you and all of your Marc Almond
records. All you pussies with your fairy girly music. "Numbers" comes to
mind. And that song "Martin." What ever happened to all that great girly
music? Sparks -- in Outer Space?
"Hit me with your best shot" ala Pat Benatar. "Come on Feel the Noize" by
Def Leppard. KISS! GG Allin! "Ass Fuckin', Butt Suckin', Cunt Lickin'
Masturbation." You've inspired me to relive rock & roll history!
Don't be a pussy. Send more (better) ideas if you have them. Or -- sell
your agent idea to some French CD-ROM magazine like the one we
were just in -- le cd-rom -- or whatever. They'll buy it.
So -- have you ever gotten into a bar fight with Costes? Do you know
Costes? If so, you could interview him for BLAM!. We love Costes. "Lung
Farts" is his best work! That and "Rape GG" .
Best to you and the little lady!
Regina sends her regards.
Darling Erotic Swansang,
this here is the 18 year-old chick, Shazna. I've been meaning to write to you for some time but alas, my Chaucer homework on the Wife of Bath has been hindering me. Do you know that she shagged five of her husbands to death? I intend to do the same and am awaiting this first husband to start flagging.
You want to know what kind of underwear I wear? Why assume I wear any underwear at all? It's easier to have a quick finger-fuck on the bus to school and besides, I don't see the point in panties apart from decoration or to catch dripping semen.
You say you want some naked pictures of me but you don't want my face. You cunt! What if I've got a luscious face? Rather than just a hairy (or shaved if you prefer) cavity where your prick disappears out-of-sight, isn't it more comesome to see a glossy, welcoming mouth begging to suck you? Then a face and surprised expression to spray and spurt all over? I'll send you photos on two conditions:
1) I send them WITH my face.
2) I want pictures of you, naked with a stiffy, in the process of jerking off whilst fantasizing about me. But you must be wearing a mask. I have no need for YOUR face.
I've been reading the letters you send Nick, and I am curious about a few things. Do you have a girlfriend? Have you EVER had a girlfriend? Are you a virgin? How big is your cock? Have you ever bathed in your piss and if so, how do you fill the bath?
You remind me of a 14 year old American boy in my class called Caleb. We call him Beavis and Butthead.
Yours in girly anticipation
On Sun, 19 Feb 1995, Shazna Currie wrote:
> Darling Erotic Swansang,
> this here is the 18 year-old chick, Shazna. I've been meaning to write to
> you for some time but alas, my Chaucer homework on the Wife of Bath has
> been hindering me. Do you know that she shagged five of her husbands to
> death? I intend to do the same and am awaiting this first husband to start
Yes. The Wife is one of my all-time favorite Chaucer chicks. I hear she
had a hot ass. My fiancee is a Chaucer freak. She's Turkish and knows how
to kill. Her name is Filiz and she sends her regards.
> You want to know what kind of underwear I wear? Why assume I wear any
> underwear at all? It's easier to have a quick finger-fuck on the bus to
> school and besides, I don't see the point in panties apart from decoration
> or to catch dripping semen.
Well, chicks who don't wear underwear shouldn't need to get finger-fucked
on the bus. I know women who can come on the bus by wedging their cunts
over the cusp of the seat and digging on the vibrations. My friend Coleen
says she can do that, at least. Can you? Can NicK?
Everyone wears underwear at one point or another. I think you can tell a
lot about a person from his/her underwear. Women more than men, although
it IS telling with men. I wear every type of male underwear except the
diaper kind (fruit of the loom, etc.) -- depending upon my mood. Chicks
who NEVER wear it often wear tights a lot. I could go on, but it's a
confusing issue. Yeast and bacteria is an issue you should remain
> You say you want some naked pictures of me but you don't want my face. You
> cunt! What if I've got a luscious face? Rather than just a hairy (or shaved
> if you prefer) cavity where your prick disappears out-of-sight, isn't it
> more comesome to see a glossy, welcoming mouth begging to suck you? Then a
> face and surprised expression to spray and spurt all over? I'll send you
> photos on two conditions:
Well, yesssssss. But that's not what I want for BLAM! 2. We want ckicks
with masks on. Bags over the head. Heads stuck in toilet bowls. In sewer
holes. In ovens. With brooms up the butt. Flowers up the asshole. Stuff
like that. No faces.
> 1) I send them WITH my face.
NO! We don't want faces for this project. They have to be masked. I don't
care if you have the hottest face on the planet. I want full facial and
hair masks! It has to do with a lot of issues -- none of them "sexual." I
understand your right wing reactionary behavior here -- but we're
definitely not connecting. I could care less if I have any pictures of
you, really. But send them if you want. I'll send you a release if we
decide to use them. Payment comes in the form of publicity (if you want
it) and exposure (although limited). Nothing else. Just your own
self-pleasure... We're not looking for girly mag shots -- or fake s&M B&D
shit either. We're looking for raw, uncontrollable power funk. Cunt shots
are okay -- but we already have enough of those. So, be creative. And
include an age statement as well as a copy of a drivers license or
passoport for proof of age....
> 2) I want pictures of you, naked with a stiffy, in the process of jerking
> off whilst fantasizing about me. But you must be wearing a mask. I have no
> need for YOUR face.
> Got that?
Well, you're beginning to get it. But no dice. This is business. Put up
or shut up. If you have any enema pics, you can send those -- provided
that you DO show your face whilst squirting. And you MUST be smiling.
Same age statement and proof necessary. We will not return photos.
> I've been reading the letters you send Nick, and I am curious about a few
> things. Do you have a girlfriend? Have you EVER had a girlfriend? Are you a
> virgin? How big is your cock? Have you ever bathed in your piss and if so,
> how do you fill the bath?
Didn't I respond to that question? Sorry. Yes. My femme of 7 years and I
are engaged to be married Necro Enema style. She agrees with your
assessment of my buttheadian proclivities. The beavisian laugh was stolen
from me. Beyond that, I carry much more willrobinsonian & eisensteinian
tendencies -- with a touch of hurculean and starbuckian wit and
pockerfaced wisdominianian. Cock: medium 6-7" thick white guy cock with
medium balls that don't hang too far. Good fucking and sucking cock with
lots of staying power -- but not great for g-spot eruptions or intense
positions which require longer horse, stud or black guy models. Not cool
looking or big enough to get me into the strip joints -- but probably
okay for snuff films. Fits my left hand quite well -- but not my right. I
jerked off into an apple core after reading about such tactics in a
journal at the mental hospital I worked in as a teenager. But this is far
My own piss? Yes. But not a full tub, of course. It's the
boner-in-the-morning thing that makes it so fun. When I go into politics,
I'm going to talk about this.
> You remind me of a 14 year old American boy in my class called Caleb. We
> call him Beavis and Butthead.
Caleb is a nice name. Being Caleb must be better than being a 14 year old
English boy who succumbs to stupid tests and eats that awful English
What about the infanticide shit? Do you know about these practices? Do
you eat crumpets? I had my first crump yesterday. I like bagels better --
but crumps are alright. No wonder English people are so bland.....
Long live George Washington!