substrom:

surgeon-general:

(via hessianmuzzle)

I’m 99.3% convinced this is Bay 1 of the trauma unit at The Royal London Hospital in Whitechapel where I found myself looking for the entrance to the A&E one confusing Friday night.

It’s where you go to die or be magically resurrected with a plastic tube in your lung if you live in N16, N1 or E8 and happen to be male, black, on the dole, under 25 and unsure about your postcode. It’s not a sight you forget easily. 

Shocking! I completely forgot to bore you all with my Spitalfields update last week. So here’s two weeks worth of exploits (I’m on a strict budget…):

- Mechanical monkey of doom

- Two very beautiful newbies in the doll family (I lovingly call the head “Pol Pot Jr.”)

- An always useful hand clip

- A “pot” box to go with my “snuff” box.

YAY!

Spitalfields Treasures, May 20, 2010: 

It’s obvious that the doll and/or the chaps in the painting will try to kill me each and every night from now on, but the hell with it - it was all worth it! :) 

Photo © Wurzeltod, 2010

Just a new addition to the doll family (2nd in middle row from left). She looks like that supernaturally beautiful girl in your primary school class who always sat there all mysteriously silent and heartbreakingly gorgeous and when you realised that she’s really just completely vapid and apathetic you spent your sleepless nights trying to convince yourself that her apparent vapidness is really just a guise to cover up some eternal wisdom and esoteric insight into the secrets of the universe, but no, she was really just damn stupid and it hit you again how very painful beauty mixed with stupidity is to the empathetic mind.

Other items this week: Wooden ceremonial rosary that goes down to my thighs (Yes! Of course I’m planning to wear it and make people kiss it!) and a 1908 issue of M. M. Taylor’s “Hand Book of Craft Freemasonary Including Installation of Master and Investiture of Officers” which is always useful. 

After a near-fatal crash with the RESPECT party double decker this morning, I knew that things could only get better. 

And they did. 

Spitalfields was sweet and I managed to get a baby companion for my phrenology head, my own fancy copy of the Little Red Book (incl. original bag and Mao stamp!), 5 meters of super kitschy floral material and an ambulance truck. For emergencies, you know. All for less than half of my weekly antiques budget. 

I then headed off to Soho to bump into Willy “Wonka” George Harcourt-Cooze who didn’t have any chocolate on him which was a bit disappointing so I decided to go and stab Stuart Pearson Wright in the thigh for a while until he signed my Riflemaker book.

And if you people vote properly, this could actually end up being a bloody nice day. :)

Eyeless dolls’ heads, Victorian lace and Hitler satire. I give Spitifields a 10/10 today. 

nomoreheroes:

billyjane:Hans Bellmer ~Les crimes de l’amour,1961

I think I first saw this piece at the Whitechapel (yep, the show that got censored back in January 2007 and strangely enough doesn’t even appear on their website anymore… cowards!) and could never remember the title so my brain called it Boob Body Feet Hair which I think is a better title anyways.