RIP Sebastian Horsley

[Sheikh Yerbouti]

The world loses a total one-off.

Farewell Sebastian Horsley: a true bohemian | Emily Hill | Culture | guardian.co.uk

I have to say, Easter never really meant anything to me. That season when we remind each other of the judicial murder of a Jewish revolutionary two thousand years ago by distributing chocolate eggs to the children of people we dislike.
But then I got crucified. Now, I'm not religious. Well it's true I worship beauty, and beautiful people like myself, but I never seem to be able to find the right church. But I've always had a bit of a thing for the crucifixion. A host of ideas are seen to meet at the site. God and Religion, good and evil, life and death. A man should always test himself in the most superficial areas of existence.
Now every Easter I get articles written about me in the press which is nice. Somehow whether you like it or not, the Horsley has got into Easter.
But so what? It's better than what you normally have. I mean, have you any idea how the rabbit got into Easter? Pagan fertility stuff or Walt Disney cuteness?
Whatever the reason, my feeling is : eat the fucker.
Sebastian Horsley

 

[Shooms]

Never entered my sphere of experience but reading that article he's like a brother from another mother lol

RIP... died like he seemed to have lived.

I love Britain for our eccentrics - we celebrate them So do the French to be fair...the closest the Yanks got to it is Hunter S Thompson

 

[Sheikh Yerbouti]

Never entered my sphere of experience but reading that article he's like a brother from another mother lol

RIP... died like he seemed to have lived.

I love Britain for our eccentrics - we celebrate them So do the French to be fair...the closest the Yanks got to it is Hunter S Thompson

Read his book fella

 

[adamw]

"Only last month, he was proudly saying of the new one-man play, "You realise all the people will be saying every night is: 'Who's that c**t in the front row with the top hat on? I can't see a f**king thing."

 

[Sheikh Yerbouti]

"This year will be my 45th Christmas. But how many since childhood can I actually remember? Only two. The first, I spent in Amsterdam alone I wanted to wake up on Christmas morning in the arms of someone I loved. I checked into the Grand Hotel. When the day dawned, I rose in solitary splendour and prepared myself to dazzle the prettily frost-dusted world. The streets were abandoned. The ice glistened on the canals. Down a side street, two lovers were leaning together and laughing. Away in a backyard a chained dog was yapping. Sparrows scuffled for dropped crumbs on a bridge. Solitude moaned across the city like fog horns over the sea.

But the Salvation Army was open. The true spirit of Christmas lies in people being helped by people other than me, of course. I joined the small congregation and sang. The service was touching. Men fear loneliness because it opens a glimpse into life's emptiness. But every taut sense thrills when you are alone on a day like this. Every footstep becomes philosophical. Every decision takes on a romantic cast.

I spent the afternoon chained in the arms of a whore. The brothel is a true home to the spiritual. You go there to pray. Stripped of your finery, you step into the holy of holies. You offer yourself up, your beating soul laid bare. On your knees, you discover that virtue and sin can exist in everything. This is the holy prostitution of the human spirit.

The other Christmas which I can remember was spent in company. There was no snow on the streets. But that didn't matter. I had made the preparations. And I was dreaming of a brown Christmas that year. Our presents came gift-wrapped in Cellophane. I and my friend proceeded happily to unwrap them: a sparkling mountain of extremely dangerous drugs.

Our living-room looked like a police narcotics laboratory. We spent the day roasting heroin on an open fire.

Like all creatures with a habit we did nothing. And then we did it again and we looked great not doing it. We shared our day. We slobbered sentimentally. A storm as turbulent as the traditional Christmas argument may have been brewing about us. We may have been utterly at sea. But we were jolly in our lifeboat. We pulled on another Christmas crack pipe together. The cold turkey only came later."

 

[Shooms]

"This year will be my 45th Christmas. But how many since childhood can I actually remember? Only two. The first, I spent in Amsterdam alone I wanted to wake up on Christmas morning in the arms of someone I loved. I checked into the Grand Hotel. When the day dawned, I rose in solitary splendour and prepared myself to dazzle the prettily frost-dusted world. The streets were abandoned. The ice glistened on the canals. Down a side street, two lovers were leaning together and laughing. Away in a backyard a chained dog was yapping. Sparrows scuffled for dropped crumbs on a bridge. Solitude moaned across the city like fog horns over the sea.

But the Salvation Army was open. The true spirit of Christmas lies in people being helped by people other than me, of course. I joined the small congregation and sang. The service was touching. Men fear loneliness because it opens a glimpse into life's emptiness. But every taut sense thrills when you are alone on a day like this. Every footstep becomes philosophical. Every decision takes on a romantic cast.

I spent the afternoon chained in the arms of a whore. The brothel is a true home to the spiritual. You go there to pray. Stripped of your finery, you step into the holy of holies. You offer yourself up, your beating soul laid bare. On your knees, you discover that virtue and sin can exist in everything. This is the holy prostitution of the human spirit.

The other Christmas which I can remember was spent in company. There was no snow on the streets. But that didn't matter. I had made the preparations. And I was dreaming of a brown Christmas that year. Our presents came gift-wrapped in Cellophane. I and my friend proceeded happily to unwrap them: a sparkling mountain of extremely dangerous drugs.

Our living-room looked like a police narcotics laboratory. We spent the day roasting heroin on an open fire.

Like all creatures with a habit we did nothing. And then we did it again and we looked great not doing it. We shared our day. We slobbered sentimentally. A storm as turbulent as the traditional Christmas argument may have been brewing about us. We may have been utterly at sea. But we were jolly in our lifeboat. We pulled on another Christmas crack pipe together. The cold turkey only came later."

What a sleazy decadent cnut

 

[Shooms]

Just as aside... does the fact yer man Seb is eloquent & can write creatively excuse the last taboo in town (H) ?

Didn't seem to help Pete Docherty but I think half the male population were just jealous he was nailing La Moss...

Ryder I guess may not have the lyrical turn of phrase had it not been for chasing that dragon... nor would we have the masterpiece that is "Golden Brown" from The Stranglers... same goes for Clapton.

It is viewed as a selfish drug I guess but if you have no dependancies & the means to support it is it 'OK' ?

 

[Lozzie]

Just as aside... does the fact yer man Seb is eloquent & can write creatively excuse the last taboo in town (H) ?

Didn't seem to help Pete Docherty but I think half the male population were just jealous he was nailing La Moss...

Ryder I guess may not have the lyrical turn of phrase had it not been for chasing that dragon... nor would we have the masterpiece that is "Golden Brown" from The Stranglers... same goes for Clapton.

It is viewed as a selfish drug I guess but if you have no dependancies & the means to support it is it 'OK' ?

pete d is just a twat really. a little brat that wants his bottom tanning into next tuesday.

heroin appears to be popular in london with ironic arty types, but i dont get it...far too many people have fucked their life up on it (someone very close to me died of 'misadventure' aka accidental overdose). It's safe to say it's not your usual club-good time-drug is it? A casual dig over wine? I think not...definately not for me anyway. It's filth. I know alot of good music/art has been cungured as a result of it, but a lot of good people have been fucked over for the pleasure. that just doesn't happen with other drugs the same. (bar fags and booze on a long term basis)...


not for me, im not even curious.

 

[Sheikh Yerbouti]

It is viewed as a selfish drug I guess but if you have no dependancies & the means to support it is it 'OK' ?

Yeah it's an interesting question. One I've thought about a lot. Particularly related to the 'line in the sand' (hehe) with trying drugs. Essentially all drugs are a bit selfish though. All have the potential to cause harm to you and therefore indirectly to loved ones as well. There just isn't a clear-cut right or wrong answer, because the flipside is that it's impossible to live your life without risk (and tragic to try).

There's a nice Horsley quote about that very thing which I can't remember off the top of my head, I'll have to see if I can find it.

I guess for me personally it's essentially the question of acceptance. The people who really love you accept you with all your faults, because your faults in part define you, so without them you wouldn't be you blah blah...

So long as you aren't directly hurting someone else by what you do (or animals and whatever), and as you said you have no dependencies and the means to support it, then I guess I'd say fill your boots & bon chance.

There's another interesting side to the whole skag debate though. The medicinal/legality debate, which is a whole other kettle of cod. "is it only wrong because it's illegal and consequently full of unspecified harmful shite" sorta thing.