Hey,
The institute played match maker and Oliver and Bernie from buzzbomb collab'd with Ben to make a video installation for his London show. It was projected onto a wall at bricklane. We're trying to track down some pics of the show, but in the meantime here's some from the shoot. thanks to Clem for being the model.

Further down the rabbit hole we go. Here's some pics from the Colour Parade after party.

Caleb from Regular John protecting the vibes from punk agitators:



The Follow:



















Hello Nurse... Jeff:



Dolly Rockers:
(psychedelic effects by jules)






Happy campers:




all over..
thnx to the lovers living at the Aviary
later heartbreakers..

Hey Kids!!! So it sounds more grandiose than it is but it's still rad. Here's some pics from a couple of indy art shows I've been in, and invited my friend Martina from Vienna to be in also. The first are from an online project started by Penny for the red collar workers project that requires you to e-mail a purpose made artwork to an artist who in turn e-mails an image to another stranger. The result was on show at The Wall in Sydney. Here's some pics:


the invitation:




a blurry pic of my artwork:

It's a portrait of my friend Louis sucking a myspace crack pipe. Link to the image

Here's Matina's video instillation:


And here's a link to the video

okay so enough of that one. The second show was Copy Cat II. You had to make an artwork that took advantage of photocopy as a medium and find an artist from o/s to do likewise. The artworks were pasted gorilla style beneath an overpass RTS styley by some art school degenerates. Bless. Comme ça:


Chloe



My pic of Lucas that read: "Another casualty bound, Pill box life, Call centre suicide"



Matina's pic of August 2002 with 3 days missing. I really dug this one.

And here's some more pics of the show:







Stripy dude who was hell into Christian iconography. Next time I'm doing nothing but satan and Ganesha.








Peace out, Woo. x x.

Check it. Almost famous, or guilt by association? not sure. And whose guilt and what association?? But anyway I'm going to fire my stylist for not powdering my forehead, and my assistant for not carrying my bag.. but I have a beer in my hand so someone is going to get to keep their job. I'm next to Dave the Hedwig producer, and Greg Sydney venue guy extraordinaries. The show was tottally fab. Iota was awsome, and the man friday a chick with a mo disguise turned out to be Saskia Smith a girl that was in the year below me a school.. Sydney is small. But anyway you have to go see it, it's like having your rocky horror cherry popped all over. Joy! I'll probably go again before the run is over, anyone fancy a group excusion? maybe we could angle for a degenerate artist discount, they give it to geriatrics so why not... Anyway here is the pic x x :

I have been getting horribly lost in london. I usually walk in exactly the wrong direction and feel that the tube is doing likewise. Part of this is because the tube map is a circuit diagram with little relationship to geography. Look it up it's true. Part of this is because London was created by wizards. No not that silly potter crap, more the careful pacts with hell kind. But more on that another time. For now I'm hankering for some military technology in the form of a Compass, Wrist. So if any fans were wondering what a man of the world such as myself needs, here's a picture.


If people came up to me to ask what the time was. I'd say:
"I don't care"
"well can you tell me anyway"
"I don't know"
"you're wearing a watch"
"No it's my wrist compass"
"Oh..."

Instead of knowing when I was, I'd know where I am.

===

update: check out my shinny new wrist compass you watch wearing lemmings



awesome.

Hey Kids! I'm little behind on the London updates. So I'm going try and catch up. For starters we're going to play a game. It's called "where's olly now?". This photo is from the Taka Naka London fashion week parade at the Kensington Palace Orangery. Play spot the mighty forehead top right.




I seriously need a new wig!
(sorry if I already sent this to you)

Bisous,
Olly.

In dedication to pubescant fans of melodic emo hardcore, and in dedication to the spirit of rock and roll international collaboration... I got to be bruno's in studio Eglish tutor. Sweet.




Working on lyrics at a house party. It is written and then it is sung, and sometimes the other way around, and often both. Writing is important, but spelling not so much.







Bruno, Frau, and Antoine The band sans booboo and with the engineer Antony (he has stolen my tshirt and I am going to kill him)





Working hard






Rocking out! It doesn't matter if the guitar is not plugged in... never stoped sid. it's all about style.





At the console, it is the mission control, the heart and the soul. and full of toys. There was even a pignose, and some softcore mags. It's like ant's teenage bedroom or something. FUCK MAN GIVE ME BACK MY TSHIRT.







Is it frau in the both, or a gateway to hell. Maybe he is singing from a booth in hell? Rock is definately satan's domain.. that's why god rock is so lame. That's not to say that there aint good song's about jesus, just that those dudes walk the line. all I'm saying is that the band is good, so a deal must have been done. Maybe frau wasn't the only one...




I AM WATCHING YOU SLEEP.. ahem I mean.. Rock is hard work and sometimes there is rest for the wicked. Bruno fans can print this photo out and stick it to their folders and draw hearts around it. Or maybe you can bribe me for a limited addition hi-res picture. I accept cash and photos that show nipple.


Peace out.

This is a picture of my butler Jean-Baptiste:





His interests include fridges, beer, meat, cheese and public urination. He lost his sailor hat and started humping a strangers leg so I had to send him to the colonies. So he's in Sydey now, if you see him say "Salut mec, ca va?" and then beat him with his own shoe. We must keep the help in their place.

HELLO!! I have way too many pictures of this stuff.



These are anti-blockers. You can see why everyone was afraid. Note the beady eyes and prada. They are taking my photo for the dossiare they are preparing for the flics. It reads something like: international rock cowboy, known revolutionary trouble maker. Warning block your ears when he speaks or you may catch sedition. But seriously 5 law students was the best the opposition could muster.





this is mission control. You can tell we are the good guys, because the computers are white. I have an evil computer.





Dinner with a norman blockade viking. Check out his defiant viking stare.




and now...



Uni streaking or the first scene of a gonzo gang bang movie with way too much sausage. We'll let the polls decide!





Peace out brother!

Hey kids! this is me in my revolutionary garb. Note the red cloth square.. Red is for revolution. Note the expression of disinterest.. this is the expression of French revolution. I have had twelve coffees, half a pack of smoke, and a warm middy sized beer.. a revolutionaries continental breakfast. French women don't get fat because they never eat.






exactly what you would do if you were left alone long enough when you 12. But here it is a serious business, it is to keep out the ant-blockers and allow us to drink our konigs beer in peace (at 4euro a case it gives philippe a rash, but he should drink it anyway. It gives me a happyness) ou peau tetre warm pastis. The barracade is mighty. The anti-blockers dispair.





HOORAY!! the carnies are in town. We make are own fun.. some kids chuck skittles in the air and catch them. Everyone is half dirty hippy, half revolutionary, but too wussy to be gipsies. But they are my friends, and dirty hippies can juggle shit. And they all know who the JBT is so they really are dirty hippies!!! except for the girl juggling, she can read fortunes so she is really more the gypsy type, just not the hard arse kind.





A science room becomes a squat. A sleeping man inhales chemical residue from the floor and the descent into madness begins. Later a seperatist tribe refered to only as corsica. I blame the residue. But maybe it is becaus they are having herbal refreshment and not leaving the building for days and hording and hiding all the fire extinguishers. None of the people in the picture are corsicans, they are just cool kids who shared their rose with me. And OMG 2 guitars. ROCK.



Look more guitar. More making of own fun. More warm beer. More revolution. Look a chalkboard... rock and roll high school. Except with french folk jazz. ARRGH ok well it not all bad, there is a band that has a folky song but the lyris go "you talk too alot, you talk allot, but no one is listening" Punk!





its not all punk folk rock jazz and residue and juggling... revolution is a serious game that require reading and preparation and planing and alter egos. The Aviator examines the action board. I liked to imagine that it was project meyham and teach the aviator kung fu until he dropped into a foetal ball of submission.



BIG EMPTY CORRIDOR. In a big empty blockade. I write my gonzo uni paper while hidden in it's crevaces. All work and no play makes olly a dull boy.

Painted on a bank window in broad daylight: Your profits our misery.





The view of a protest march from the castle of william the bastard





The front of the protest. The banner shows little fish running from a big fish, and then organising to form a bigger fish and chasing the bully fish.





French anarchy flag.


The next pictures show an altercation between students and CRS (the riot cops) on the major highway. My camera was flat so its all from my mobile. A whole lot of teargas followed.

I'm feeling kinda lazy so below is an abridged version of an academicish piece of writing describing my experience of a French Anti-CPE student blockade. I lived in a science building for a month. It was rad. Because it's was for uni it's the g-rated version. Maybe next time I'll tell you about the french dude who proclamed himself "crazy fucker of the shadows" and other tales of THC insanity.

DAY ONE.
13/03/06
My friend James is from Tennessee. His major is geography and he has a passion for activism. He leads me in to the Science bâtiment D through a guarded window. The building is vast; from bâtiment D, the corridors and occupation sprawls into B and E also. It is the first day and the barricades are already secure -inward swinging doors are buttressed against the opposite wall with flat packed desks.
The contents of my bag: laptop, Toothbrush, Phrase book, Professional looking camera to impersonate media with in case the shit hits the fan, One six pack of fancy beer to buy my way out of sticky social situations, Aspirin, Blanket.
I meet many people, drink warm French beer, and realise that my garage rock antics don't translate well into an environ that favours folk jazz. A girl tries to teach me to play accordion instead. Jo from the campus station Phoenix Radio befriends me, I don't initially notice that he has his mini-disc recording our five minute conversation. He tells me that he has organised a band for tomorrow night, and I should make sure I am here. They lock the window at midnight and I sleep on my overcoat on a classroom floor.

DAY TWO.
14/03/06

Today I am spending my second day at the barricade of the Sciences bâtiment D at l'université de Caen. Gone is the easy frienship of last night; alcohol fuelled and buffered by willing translators. Now the halls are relatively empty and the protesters polite but curt. If I had been any other Anglophone nationality than Australian I do not think I would have gotten through the barrier. They initially say 'non' and I prepare to go home until someone recognises me and proclaims 'kangaroo' and lets me in. Australia travels well, everyone in the miserable clime dreams of the sun -Centre Ville sports a plethora, of salsa clubs, rum cocktails, and purveyors of surf clothing.
The comradeship returns as the hangovers fade: a French man just said 'Ça Va Olly?' and handed me a coffee. If I smoked, it would be a continental breakfast. Through the piled chairs and desks of a barricade I observe international students posing for photos and giggling with their teacher. Their incongruence reflects my own, and I do my best to stave my disdain for their behaviour from exasperating my discomfort about my protest tourism.
At night the band that Jo organises plays. It is called 'Non Cote Punk': this is the side project of a Chanteur from the famous La Rue Ketanou (Read: Qu' Est A Nous!). He performs their song 'Tu Parles Trop'. Strangely this is the only French song I had recently heard and enjoyed. Apparently synchronicity prevails even in small towns, I thought this episode would be free from cameo appearances.
Later that night Jo makes the observation that while the comparisons to Mai 68 are obvious, the WWII resistance is always alive in a Norman's mind. Chillingly the CPE supporters are described as collaborators. The WWII analogy is not surprising as the region itself is a life size D-Day memorial. The local people are relatively free of morbidity and before this reference I had started to think that they had not noticed all the mass grave yards.

DAY THREE.
15/03/06

James wearing aviator goggles to fend off the tear gas. Well experienced at communal situations he attempts to sway some attention away from the fortifications and paranoia about counter protesters and towards basic life requirements. He takes the opportunity to explain the concept of 'Food not Bombs' and vegan eating. The Veganism is met with confoundment suitable for those who come from the land of Fois Gras and the Duck Press, but the total absence of refrigeration makes us temporarily vegetarians in practice even if not by choice. The improved availability of food sates my fears of starvation. I suggest that tomorrow we should requisition a citrus fruit so as to avoid scurvy.
My less left oriented friend Jean-Baptiste drops off a sleeping bag and a beer for me. He is dressed in his best clothes just to antagonise the gatekeepers who clearly think he is a Law student from the anti-anti-CPE movement. He's a provocateur, tomorrow he promises to come back in his dirty laundry so that he can be a source of irritation to even more grêvers.

DAY FOUR.
16/03/06

Today there is increased fear that the fascist Front Nationale will attack the building and it's occupiers. For increased security I am given a square of red fabric to pin to my top. I ask if this means I'm a communist, and an anarcho-Syndicalist looking guy responds as you like it (it turns out he's really a moderate archaeologist with a lust for linguistic ambiguity that likes wearing black). The man who gives me the square says it is merely so that they can see that I am one of them at the door.
Surrounding the window that serves as the entrance are twenty students who are against the CPE but also against the blockade. They are however even more staunchly opposed to the FN fascists so they will be with the blockaders if any trouble occurs. I think this means that they can be properly descriped as the Anti-Anti-Anti-CPE movement.

DAY FIVE.
17/03/06

For an hour it seems that I am the only one in the entire massive block. How absurd. This place always empties out on the weekend, and attention is being focused on the contested droit building, BUT I had thought that a few more of the thousands that voted in favour of the blockade would have stuck around. This sadly lends weight to the criticism that a bad situation is being used by some as a pretext for perpetual vacation from study. I watch the windows very closely and prepare 'aller plus vite' if needs be. If les flics brake down the doors to find only a lone typing Australian I will take advantage of the hilarity that ensures after I proclaim G'day copper to slip away.