Sebastian Horsley At Foyles

Ignore the opening few minutes and the my drunken Camera. This is an unedited experience. Not much of him exists.

 
 

Postcards From The Dead

Sebastian Horsley was a friend. He died 10 years ago tomorrow. I found this postcard a few days ago. I had used it as a bookmark, but not in his book: Dandy In The Underworld. Now it’s perhaps a Coda. He was a witty and mischievous soul, I loved him. I still, at times, wish he was playing a prank on us all. 

Isn’t this one of those moments when we have to entertain the notion of the dead communicating with us – Gustav Temple (Chap Magazine).

 

100 Things I Love (Part5)

21. I love waking up as the sun rises, usually around dawn. My mind is always filled with ideas for songs, poems, film scripts, a cure for cancer, then I drift back to sleep and all is forgotten.

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 Well, it depends on that dream doesn’t it 

Donald?


22. I love not having to work anymore: “The problem with not doing anything is you never get to take time off.” – Sebastian Horsley. 

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Count how much money you have in your pocket then calculate the chances of living long enough to spend it.


23. I love Sebastian Horsley. He was such a dear friend and like all my dear friends I lose them. I hope not carelessly. 

R.I.P


24. I love going to other town bars a few miles away. The anonymity is thrilling. It is like a cloak of invisibility. I can sit alone in public, my name is not shouted at me. I am reborn nameless. I could try flip flops.

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Do voyeurs like to be watched?

 

 

25. I love listening to film soundtracks on earbuds. The world is transformed. Crossing a road can become portentous, silly, ecstatic, deadly, pointless, but it is never just crossing the road.

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“I’m using the chicken measure it”


Reflecting Upon The Dandy Lion

Sitting stoned staring blankly at yet another shrine I have put together for dead friends. This one is dedicated to Sebastian Horsley. He wasn't everybody's cup of tea, nor would he have wanted to be. Even at his very worst he was far more refreshing to behold than a bag of dried leaves in hot water. One afternoon he crept up the stairs in Meard Street Soho, knocked on my door and gave me this lion's skull as it did not interest him.

 

He prefered humans

 

Aleister Crowley vs Sebastian Horsley

I wilt as Horsley berates the followers of Crowley, amongst other flotsom. Shot on a crapcorder by writer Christiana Spens.

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The Dawn of a New Error?

Greetings people of the planet digitalis. Here on this afternoon begins a blog amongst the trillions of others gasping for bandwidth. I have hopes that it will reach you in fair condition. It endeavours not to dull your senses in future postings.

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