Posts Tagged: Panem et circenses

Panem et Circenses II

FRANCE // JULY 2010

Panem Et Circenses

The construction of an image.

Press photographers focus in on a young girl running around with the Tricolore at the Front National’s (France’s far right party) headquarters in Paris during the presidential election. Candiate Marine Le Pen won 18% in the first round of the election.

FRANCE // MAY 2012

Blame The Parents VI

‘When there’s no more room in hell, the dead will walk the earth.’ – George Romero

FRANCE // SEPTEMBER 2010

Ghost Rider II

In the deserts of Sudan
And the gardens of Japan
From Milan to Yucatan
Every woman, every man

Hit me with your selfie stick.
Hit me! Hit me!
Je t’adore, ich liebe dich,
Hit me! hit me! hit me!
Hit me with your selfie stick.
Hit me slowly, hit me quick.
Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!

In the wilds of Borneo
And the vineyards of Bordeaux
Eskimo, Arapaho
Move their body to and fro.

Hit me with your selfie stick.
Hit me! Hit me!
Das ist gut! C’est fantastique!
Hit me! hit me! hit me!
Hit me with your selfie stick.
It’s nice to be a lunatic.
Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!

Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!
In the dock of Tiger Bay
On the road to Mandalay
From Bombay to Santa Fe
Over hills and far away

Hit me with your selfie stick.
Hit me! Hit me!
C’est si bon, mm? Ist es nicht?
Hit me! hit me! hit me!
Hit me with your selfie stick.
Two fat persons, click, click, click.
Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!

Thanks to Ian Dury & The Blockheads

THAILAND // AUGUST 2014

Humans Outside New York XXV


Mary Henry: “It’s funny.. the world is so different in the daylight. In the dark, your fantasies get so out of hand. But in the daylight everything falls back into place again”

From the movie Carnival of Souls

FRANCE // SEPTEMBER 2011

Humans Outside New York XXIII

Bare-knuckle boxing at the Three Pagodas Pass, your typical lawless border town moment.

BURMA // DECEMBER 2005

Humans Outside New York XXI

This morning, while I was having breakfast, I watched a wasted, middle aged sex worker cough up her last customer’s effluent into the unforgiving street. I’m in Pattaya, possibly the ugliest, nastiest, most unfriendly, most cut throat and depressingly exploitative place I have ever been to…and I have been to a few horrible places in this life.
The resident and visiting Farang and Thais are uniformly nasty and the whole city stinks of rip-offs, abuse and tragedy.
Forget all the bla-bla about the place being a family destination. It’s a gigantic, tired whorehouse, a sex factory for old men without love, for emotional cripples and viagra-popping criminals from around the world, who should all be dead but are somehow clinging on to what can’t really be called life.
That’s a celebration of sorts of course, and places like Pattaya must exist somewhere other than just in our psyche, if for no other reason than to tell us clearly that there’s no hope for us. Pattaya is an American creation, a side-effect of our once desperate fight against the evils of communism, but it’s wholeheartedly Thai, because the Thais in charge of the place simply don’t care about anything other than making money, no matter now debased the method.
And while there’s nothing to look at, there’s plenty to see.
From morning to morning, a haze of mediocracy hangs above the city, an insipid film of average – best reflected in the prevalence of Hitler T-Shirts and other Nazi memorabilia in the city’s markets, the minute, dirty beach populated by hustlers, the overpriced restaurants selling Thai food that tastes like garbage, the piss awful cover bands on Walking Street that churn out uninspired, hollow rock standards to hundreds of drunken degenerates, the mean, beady eyes of white men that poke out of decrepit sports bars and follow passers-by like persistent venereal diseases, the incredible cacophony of terrible tattoos displayed on wilting flesh, and the thousands of burnt out and beaten women along the riverfront who are waiting to open their legs, mouths and asses for less than 50 bucks.

Welcome to Thailand, amigos. It’s a lot to swallow.

THAILAND // FEBRUARY 2015

Animal Farm

The democracy industry on the edge of the Sahara. Kids get paid to canvas, fibre glass horses are commissioned to wilt under the desert sun and vote banks have to be organised.

MOROCCO // OCTOBER 2016

Humans Outside New York X

Too sexy for his shirt

THE NETHERLANDS // JUNE 2014

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